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Entry tags:
Nightingale ~ Sylfiden [Denmark/Norway]
Title: Nightingale ~ Sylfiden
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Denmark/Norway, reference to past Sweden/Norway
Rating: 13+
Length: ~2600 words
Summary: Copenhagen, January 1914. Denmark's more than happy to take an old friend out to a show, but spending time with Norway means treading carefully.
Other: Written for a very special DK/NO fanbook. The prompt was to write something inspired by the plotline of HCA's "Nightingale"; I also incorporated elements of the ballet Sylfiden.
Many thanks to Kanadka for beta reading this, to Lena for translating it into Chinese for the zine, and to Lumiere for inviting me to participate in the first place!
2024 note: Written in 2022; now available publicly. :)
Nightingale ~ Sylfiden
On a cold January evening in Copenhagen, the theatre was alive. Snowflakes drifted in the sharp winter sky while, in the glow of the stage's lights, sylphs fluttered and twirled. A picture of elegance and grace, the fairy-like dancers in their long dresses seemed to float in the air as they performed in synchronised perfection.
From their box seats, Denmark and Norway watched.
Norway watched the stage.
Denmark watched Norway.
Oh, he kept one eye on the show, and applauded in all the right parts. But he had seen countless performances of Sylfiden, and he knew every step, every turn, every delicate jump. What was different now was the company he was keeping.
Whenever he glanced over at Norway, he saw him with eyes bright, looking like he'd never seen anything like this. Which wasn't true at all – but what was true was that it had been over a century since they had been to a show without Sweden sitting between them.
It was damn strange, being in Norway's company. Damn strange, having him here at all. Within Denmark's capital. Inside his borders. And why? The letter Norway had sent ahead of the visit had been vague, and when he arrived, the business he'd wanted to discuss could have been handled by almost anyone. Christiania wasn't that far away, and the trip wasn't that much trouble, but there'd been no need to come all the way to Copenhagen. In January. A century after –
Don't get ahead of yourself, pal, Denmark thought.
So, he wondered, but didn't ask. Whenever Norway leaned close to make a quiet comment praising the show, Denmark replied in kind, but didn't take the gesture as anything else, no matter how tempting it was to hope that there was more to it. He kept himself to himself, and sat at a friendly distance, and applauded whenever Norway did, and kept glancing over to drink in the sight of Norway's smile.
It was nice to see him looking so well.
Applause. Curtain. Encore. More applause. Then the pair of them made it out into the night, and into a cab.
The plan was for Norway to get out at his hotel, and then Denmark would continue alone to his house. Denmark still found the thought galling – someone he'd been so close to staying anywhere other than within the comfortable walls of his admittedly too-large home? Perish the thought! – but in his letter, Norway had been firm about his arrangements, and there was no arguing against it.
Then again, things weren't as they once were between them, anyway.
"Was a nice show," Denmark found himself saying out of a lack of anything better to say.
"Mmhm." In the scraps of light spilling from the streets, a small smile was visible on Norway's face. "The lass dancing the Sylph's part was good."
"She was," Denmark said, though he hadn't noticed. He cleared his throat. "You seen this one recently?"
"Not since that time me and Sweden saw it with you."
Denmark felt his ears grow hot, and found himself glad for the cab's darkness. Go figure that Norway would mention him like that. Drop his name matter-of-fact, like it was nothing much.
Then again, maybe that was how Norway saw it.
For almost a hundred years, an invitation for Norway was an invitation for Sweden too; the union had meant they came as a package deal, and there was no way Denmark could argue against that. As the losing party, his opinion wasn't worth a single øre, though it had taken him a damn long time to admit it. And so for much too long, he'd dutifully addressed letters and extended invitations to both of them. All in the name of friendliness and neighbourly cooperation, or at least that was how they played it. But while Scandinavianism was all well and good, Denmark had put up with Sweden for the sake of having Norway as a guest, and all three of them knew it.
It had always set Denmark in a black mood, having to pretend otherwise.
There was no need for pretense now.
"Never liked the ending, mind you," Denmark said, wanting to leave the topic of Sweden behind. "The story, I mean."
"Oh?"
"The Sylph becoming air, and her lover left without her? Nah. It's too sad."
Norway huffed. "Brought it on himself, he did."
That seemed a strong way to put it. Denmark shrugged. "Well, 's complicated, yeah?"
"Ain't in the least. Ought to've known better, trying to trap a wild magic thing for his own self. Some things ought not to be kept."
They'd left the story behind. Denmark didn't like where this was going, but he sure as hell couldn't blame Norway for thinking how he did, after everything. Or for saying it.
Denmark cleared his throat. Took a deep breath. "Reckon you're right. When you put it that way."
"'Course I am."
The edge in Norway's voice had softened, but Denmark knew it would take more than that to satisfy him. He bit his lip, the better to keep the words in, and thought carefully of how to turn the conversation around. It wouldn't do to let just anything spill out. "Might be that the sylph's lover learned a thing or two from it."
"That so."
"After thinking it over, y'know? Where he went wrong, and all that. Takes some people a while to get it all figured out." Just as Denmark had thought about Norway himself, over and over, every damn day since he'd had to give him up.
For a moment, their eyes met. Norway's face was as unreadable as it ever was, and he held Denmark's gaze in the splashes of passing light, dark eyes boring into him as if he could tell what Denmark was thinking. Then he looked away, out the window, watching the streets go by.
"You ought to come up for a drink with me."
Denmark's heart leapt into his throat. For once, he was at a loss for words. "...Yeah?" was all he managed.
"Aye. Could use the company."
As if it was that simple. As if it was nothing. As if they hadn't spent a century keeping their distance from each other.
"Far be it from me to refuse!" Denmark said, and gave Norway a nudge. He got a cold look for that.
"Don't go thinking we'll spend the whole night at it," Norway said, a sharp edge to his voice. "We've things to do tomorrow."
But if it was anything like the business they'd handled that day, Denmark thought, it wouldn't be half as important as Norway made it out to be, and that was quite a thing.
At one time, an offer like that would have been a thinly-disguised invitation for something else. But when Norway led Denmark up to his rooms, he kept his distance, the space between them all appropriate and friendly-like. Denmark tucked his hopes away, difficult though that was.
Best to leave it aside for the moment.
The suite was tidy, but small and sparsely-furnished. Nothing like the lavish lodgings they might have once shared when travelling together – but then again, Denmark's spending had been part of the problem, hadn't it. Among other things.
Denmark sank into an armchair, letting his gaze slip around the room. Simple and plain, with hardly anything of Norway's in it.
"You aren't staying long, are ya," Denmark said, and could have kicked himself for the disappointed note that even he could hear in his voice.
"No," Norway said, glancing over as he busied himself with a bottle and glasses. The suggestion of drinks had been made in earnest. "Said that in the letter, didn't I? Three days here. Then on to Amsterdam."
Denmark made a noncommittal noise. Of course Norway had said that in his letter, and of course Denmark remembered it. He'd read through it enough times to recall every word. "And you can't change plans? Make Neds wait a little, yeah?"
Norway snorted. "You know well's I do that Netherlands only agrees to summat if the terms're good for him. I'm not about to give him a reason to change his mind."
He came over, handing Denmark a glass. Their fingers brushed. Norway showed no sign of noticing. Denmark downed a mouthful of brandy to stop himself from thinking of Norway's cool fingertips, the delicate slip of skin at his wrist.
There was a ring on his finger. A new one. Denmark had been staring at it all night. It was not the broad, heavy band with three lions that Denmark had insisted he wear during their union. Nor was it the narrow, elegant ring that he'd worn last century, so well suited to him even if it made Denmark sick to the teeth to think so. No, this new one was a simple signet, the lion rampant with axe etched neatly on its surface.
Denmark wondered if Norway wore it to make a point. An assertion of himself, or something of the like. Or maybe it was merely on account of being unused to having bare hands after so many years.
He ached to comment on it; the words crowded his mouth. But Denmark knew that it wouldn't go over well, and wouldn't get him what he wanted.
What he wanted was more time with Norway.
"Well!" he said. "Even if it won't be long, I'm glad to have you here at all. There's no need to be a stranger, y'know."
The words felt heavy, forced. Denmark could hear his own awkwardness, and wasn't that a kicker. As if he didn't know what to say, didn't know how to talk to him now that so much time had passed.
Norway didn't seem to notice Denmark's fumbling. "Ain't a matter've being a stranger," he said, sitting himself down across from him. "It's a matter've being busy."
"Busy?"
"Takes more than a few years to get settled. Been a while since I was on my ownsome. Stands to reason."
"Dunno' about that. Looks like you have things in hand."
And Norway did look well. He'd been looking well all night. Here he was, in a better state than Denmark had seen him in ages. There was a sturdiness to his bearing, a straightness to his shoulders that Denmark had forgotten. He shouldn't have appeared any different than he had twenty years ago, fifty years, a hundred; but he carried himself like someone who knew who he was and wanted to make damn sure the entire world knew it, and Denmark hadn't seen that in him since the year he'd come into Denmark's home.
Norway said nothing. Took a slow sip of drink, looking at Denmark as he savoured it. It was that soul-searching look, that watching-you look, that reading-your-mind look that he'd perfected centuries ago.
Denmark stared right back, his gut turning. He wanted to say a million things, but nothing seemed right, and conversation with Norway wasn't something that could be rushed. Not now. Not like this.
"So." The glass lowered. "How's Ice?"
That gave Denmark the opening he needed. He relaxed, letting a broad smile spread across his face "Well!" he said, and rested back in his chair, settling himself in. "Hard-headed and stubborn, of late! Bit of a pain in the ass."
A smile tugged at Norway's lips. "Sounds like he's taking after you."
And Denmark laughed, and went on. If Norway wanted to talk about Iceland, Denmark was happy to oblige, though in truth there wasn't much to tell. Just petty bickering, and Iceland spending more and more time at his own place, getting sarcastic and snippy whenever Denmark made a go at setting things right. Getting stuck with Norway's younger brother after the split hadn't exactly led to them being best pals, much to Denmark's disappointment.
"But then again," Denmark said finally, "he always did favour you."
Norway made a soft, noncommittal noise. He rose and picked up Denmark's now-empty glass, taking it to the sideboard along with his own to pour another. There was a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Best let him be," he said quietly. "Needs to figure his own self out, is what."
Denmark bit his lower lip. "You're still talkin' about Iceland, yeah?"
Frowning, Norway glanced over at him. Then he looked away. Set the bottle down. "'Course I am. Who else would I be talking on?"
"Sounded like it could be someone else." He stood then, striding over to him. "I really did mean what I said before, y'know."
"What was that, now?" There was sharpness in Norway's words, eyes flashing as he turned to face him.
Denmark knew that it was almost too much, that he'd already pushed more than he should. But he had to try. Another nudge might be worth it. "That you should come over more often," he said. "That you should... I mean, you can do as you like, yeah? But we could -"
"There's no 'we', here. And I'm already doing as I please."
Denmark's mouth went dry. The words were firm – not cold, just firm; but damn if it didn't hurt to hear them, anyhow. "And what's it that pleases you, exactly?"
"Keeping myself to my own self. A body might find himself needing time apart when he's been linked to others for a few centuries. Ain't that so?"
"It's..." Sighing, Denmark swept his hair out of his eyes, trying to find the right way to say what he wanted. Stepping over Norway's borders wasn't anything close to what he had in mind; he missed him, and that was all. But every time Denmark opened his mouth, Norway jumped to another conclusion, and after what they'd been through, in his heart of hearts, Denmark couldn't blame him for it. "Makes sense. When you put it that way."
"Of course it does." There was a barely-there softening in Norway's face, a slight shift in the way he carried himself. One step toward Denmark, and he held out his hand. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't want to visit you now and then. When time allows."
The words made Denmark's heart ache, but he knew that it was the best he was going to get. He took the offer, and took Norway's hand, clasping it tightly. Then – he couldn't stop himself – he pulled Norway into a hug.
It was a loose embrace; not the tight press of a lover but the sturdy openness of camaraderie. He felt Norway stiffen and draw a sharp breath. Then he returned it, giving Denmark a firm pat on the back before pulling away.
"Belay that," Norway said, his voice more affectionate than expected. "No need to get soppy."
"'Course!" Denmark said, almost gasping the words. "I'm just glad to hear you say that, y'know?"
Norway sighed, eyes rolling ceilingward in exasperation. But he was smiling, just a little, and that was enough. "Sit yourself down, won't you? Let me get you another drink. 'Less you don't want me thanking you proper for that show you took me to, that is."
"Thankin' me proper?" Denmark asked.
"With conversation," Norway said. "Since you're keen on that." His tone made clear that it would be nothing else.
As if it was that simple. As if it was that easy. And maybe, to Norway, it was.
Denmark settled himself down. Took the glass Norway offered him. And as the snow slowly fell outside, he listened while Norway talked about his plans for the future – his own dreams for himself, for his people, concerning nobody else. And while Norway's eyes lit up with happiness, Denmark knew that he could learn to live with things as they were.
It was the best it was going to get.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Denmark/Norway, reference to past Sweden/Norway
Rating: 13+
Length: ~2600 words
Summary: Copenhagen, January 1914. Denmark's more than happy to take an old friend out to a show, but spending time with Norway means treading carefully.
Other: Written for a very special DK/NO fanbook. The prompt was to write something inspired by the plotline of HCA's "Nightingale"; I also incorporated elements of the ballet Sylfiden.
Many thanks to Kanadka for beta reading this, to Lena for translating it into Chinese for the zine, and to Lumiere for inviting me to participate in the first place!
2024 note: Written in 2022; now available publicly. :)
Nightingale ~ Sylfiden
On a cold January evening in Copenhagen, the theatre was alive. Snowflakes drifted in the sharp winter sky while, in the glow of the stage's lights, sylphs fluttered and twirled. A picture of elegance and grace, the fairy-like dancers in their long dresses seemed to float in the air as they performed in synchronised perfection.
From their box seats, Denmark and Norway watched.
Norway watched the stage.
Denmark watched Norway.
Oh, he kept one eye on the show, and applauded in all the right parts. But he had seen countless performances of Sylfiden, and he knew every step, every turn, every delicate jump. What was different now was the company he was keeping.
Whenever he glanced over at Norway, he saw him with eyes bright, looking like he'd never seen anything like this. Which wasn't true at all – but what was true was that it had been over a century since they had been to a show without Sweden sitting between them.
It was damn strange, being in Norway's company. Damn strange, having him here at all. Within Denmark's capital. Inside his borders. And why? The letter Norway had sent ahead of the visit had been vague, and when he arrived, the business he'd wanted to discuss could have been handled by almost anyone. Christiania wasn't that far away, and the trip wasn't that much trouble, but there'd been no need to come all the way to Copenhagen. In January. A century after –
Don't get ahead of yourself, pal, Denmark thought.
So, he wondered, but didn't ask. Whenever Norway leaned close to make a quiet comment praising the show, Denmark replied in kind, but didn't take the gesture as anything else, no matter how tempting it was to hope that there was more to it. He kept himself to himself, and sat at a friendly distance, and applauded whenever Norway did, and kept glancing over to drink in the sight of Norway's smile.
It was nice to see him looking so well.
Applause. Curtain. Encore. More applause. Then the pair of them made it out into the night, and into a cab.
The plan was for Norway to get out at his hotel, and then Denmark would continue alone to his house. Denmark still found the thought galling – someone he'd been so close to staying anywhere other than within the comfortable walls of his admittedly too-large home? Perish the thought! – but in his letter, Norway had been firm about his arrangements, and there was no arguing against it.
Then again, things weren't as they once were between them, anyway.
"Was a nice show," Denmark found himself saying out of a lack of anything better to say.
"Mmhm." In the scraps of light spilling from the streets, a small smile was visible on Norway's face. "The lass dancing the Sylph's part was good."
"She was," Denmark said, though he hadn't noticed. He cleared his throat. "You seen this one recently?"
"Not since that time me and Sweden saw it with you."
Denmark felt his ears grow hot, and found himself glad for the cab's darkness. Go figure that Norway would mention him like that. Drop his name matter-of-fact, like it was nothing much.
Then again, maybe that was how Norway saw it.
For almost a hundred years, an invitation for Norway was an invitation for Sweden too; the union had meant they came as a package deal, and there was no way Denmark could argue against that. As the losing party, his opinion wasn't worth a single øre, though it had taken him a damn long time to admit it. And so for much too long, he'd dutifully addressed letters and extended invitations to both of them. All in the name of friendliness and neighbourly cooperation, or at least that was how they played it. But while Scandinavianism was all well and good, Denmark had put up with Sweden for the sake of having Norway as a guest, and all three of them knew it.
It had always set Denmark in a black mood, having to pretend otherwise.
There was no need for pretense now.
"Never liked the ending, mind you," Denmark said, wanting to leave the topic of Sweden behind. "The story, I mean."
"Oh?"
"The Sylph becoming air, and her lover left without her? Nah. It's too sad."
Norway huffed. "Brought it on himself, he did."
That seemed a strong way to put it. Denmark shrugged. "Well, 's complicated, yeah?"
"Ain't in the least. Ought to've known better, trying to trap a wild magic thing for his own self. Some things ought not to be kept."
They'd left the story behind. Denmark didn't like where this was going, but he sure as hell couldn't blame Norway for thinking how he did, after everything. Or for saying it.
Denmark cleared his throat. Took a deep breath. "Reckon you're right. When you put it that way."
"'Course I am."
The edge in Norway's voice had softened, but Denmark knew it would take more than that to satisfy him. He bit his lip, the better to keep the words in, and thought carefully of how to turn the conversation around. It wouldn't do to let just anything spill out. "Might be that the sylph's lover learned a thing or two from it."
"That so."
"After thinking it over, y'know? Where he went wrong, and all that. Takes some people a while to get it all figured out." Just as Denmark had thought about Norway himself, over and over, every damn day since he'd had to give him up.
For a moment, their eyes met. Norway's face was as unreadable as it ever was, and he held Denmark's gaze in the splashes of passing light, dark eyes boring into him as if he could tell what Denmark was thinking. Then he looked away, out the window, watching the streets go by.
"You ought to come up for a drink with me."
Denmark's heart leapt into his throat. For once, he was at a loss for words. "...Yeah?" was all he managed.
"Aye. Could use the company."
As if it was that simple. As if it was nothing. As if they hadn't spent a century keeping their distance from each other.
"Far be it from me to refuse!" Denmark said, and gave Norway a nudge. He got a cold look for that.
"Don't go thinking we'll spend the whole night at it," Norway said, a sharp edge to his voice. "We've things to do tomorrow."
But if it was anything like the business they'd handled that day, Denmark thought, it wouldn't be half as important as Norway made it out to be, and that was quite a thing.
At one time, an offer like that would have been a thinly-disguised invitation for something else. But when Norway led Denmark up to his rooms, he kept his distance, the space between them all appropriate and friendly-like. Denmark tucked his hopes away, difficult though that was.
Best to leave it aside for the moment.
The suite was tidy, but small and sparsely-furnished. Nothing like the lavish lodgings they might have once shared when travelling together – but then again, Denmark's spending had been part of the problem, hadn't it. Among other things.
Denmark sank into an armchair, letting his gaze slip around the room. Simple and plain, with hardly anything of Norway's in it.
"You aren't staying long, are ya," Denmark said, and could have kicked himself for the disappointed note that even he could hear in his voice.
"No," Norway said, glancing over as he busied himself with a bottle and glasses. The suggestion of drinks had been made in earnest. "Said that in the letter, didn't I? Three days here. Then on to Amsterdam."
Denmark made a noncommittal noise. Of course Norway had said that in his letter, and of course Denmark remembered it. He'd read through it enough times to recall every word. "And you can't change plans? Make Neds wait a little, yeah?"
Norway snorted. "You know well's I do that Netherlands only agrees to summat if the terms're good for him. I'm not about to give him a reason to change his mind."
He came over, handing Denmark a glass. Their fingers brushed. Norway showed no sign of noticing. Denmark downed a mouthful of brandy to stop himself from thinking of Norway's cool fingertips, the delicate slip of skin at his wrist.
There was a ring on his finger. A new one. Denmark had been staring at it all night. It was not the broad, heavy band with three lions that Denmark had insisted he wear during their union. Nor was it the narrow, elegant ring that he'd worn last century, so well suited to him even if it made Denmark sick to the teeth to think so. No, this new one was a simple signet, the lion rampant with axe etched neatly on its surface.
Denmark wondered if Norway wore it to make a point. An assertion of himself, or something of the like. Or maybe it was merely on account of being unused to having bare hands after so many years.
He ached to comment on it; the words crowded his mouth. But Denmark knew that it wouldn't go over well, and wouldn't get him what he wanted.
What he wanted was more time with Norway.
"Well!" he said. "Even if it won't be long, I'm glad to have you here at all. There's no need to be a stranger, y'know."
The words felt heavy, forced. Denmark could hear his own awkwardness, and wasn't that a kicker. As if he didn't know what to say, didn't know how to talk to him now that so much time had passed.
Norway didn't seem to notice Denmark's fumbling. "Ain't a matter've being a stranger," he said, sitting himself down across from him. "It's a matter've being busy."
"Busy?"
"Takes more than a few years to get settled. Been a while since I was on my ownsome. Stands to reason."
"Dunno' about that. Looks like you have things in hand."
And Norway did look well. He'd been looking well all night. Here he was, in a better state than Denmark had seen him in ages. There was a sturdiness to his bearing, a straightness to his shoulders that Denmark had forgotten. He shouldn't have appeared any different than he had twenty years ago, fifty years, a hundred; but he carried himself like someone who knew who he was and wanted to make damn sure the entire world knew it, and Denmark hadn't seen that in him since the year he'd come into Denmark's home.
Norway said nothing. Took a slow sip of drink, looking at Denmark as he savoured it. It was that soul-searching look, that watching-you look, that reading-your-mind look that he'd perfected centuries ago.
Denmark stared right back, his gut turning. He wanted to say a million things, but nothing seemed right, and conversation with Norway wasn't something that could be rushed. Not now. Not like this.
"So." The glass lowered. "How's Ice?"
That gave Denmark the opening he needed. He relaxed, letting a broad smile spread across his face "Well!" he said, and rested back in his chair, settling himself in. "Hard-headed and stubborn, of late! Bit of a pain in the ass."
A smile tugged at Norway's lips. "Sounds like he's taking after you."
And Denmark laughed, and went on. If Norway wanted to talk about Iceland, Denmark was happy to oblige, though in truth there wasn't much to tell. Just petty bickering, and Iceland spending more and more time at his own place, getting sarcastic and snippy whenever Denmark made a go at setting things right. Getting stuck with Norway's younger brother after the split hadn't exactly led to them being best pals, much to Denmark's disappointment.
"But then again," Denmark said finally, "he always did favour you."
Norway made a soft, noncommittal noise. He rose and picked up Denmark's now-empty glass, taking it to the sideboard along with his own to pour another. There was a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Best let him be," he said quietly. "Needs to figure his own self out, is what."
Denmark bit his lower lip. "You're still talkin' about Iceland, yeah?"
Frowning, Norway glanced over at him. Then he looked away. Set the bottle down. "'Course I am. Who else would I be talking on?"
"Sounded like it could be someone else." He stood then, striding over to him. "I really did mean what I said before, y'know."
"What was that, now?" There was sharpness in Norway's words, eyes flashing as he turned to face him.
Denmark knew that it was almost too much, that he'd already pushed more than he should. But he had to try. Another nudge might be worth it. "That you should come over more often," he said. "That you should... I mean, you can do as you like, yeah? But we could -"
"There's no 'we', here. And I'm already doing as I please."
Denmark's mouth went dry. The words were firm – not cold, just firm; but damn if it didn't hurt to hear them, anyhow. "And what's it that pleases you, exactly?"
"Keeping myself to my own self. A body might find himself needing time apart when he's been linked to others for a few centuries. Ain't that so?"
"It's..." Sighing, Denmark swept his hair out of his eyes, trying to find the right way to say what he wanted. Stepping over Norway's borders wasn't anything close to what he had in mind; he missed him, and that was all. But every time Denmark opened his mouth, Norway jumped to another conclusion, and after what they'd been through, in his heart of hearts, Denmark couldn't blame him for it. "Makes sense. When you put it that way."
"Of course it does." There was a barely-there softening in Norway's face, a slight shift in the way he carried himself. One step toward Denmark, and he held out his hand. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't want to visit you now and then. When time allows."
The words made Denmark's heart ache, but he knew that it was the best he was going to get. He took the offer, and took Norway's hand, clasping it tightly. Then – he couldn't stop himself – he pulled Norway into a hug.
It was a loose embrace; not the tight press of a lover but the sturdy openness of camaraderie. He felt Norway stiffen and draw a sharp breath. Then he returned it, giving Denmark a firm pat on the back before pulling away.
"Belay that," Norway said, his voice more affectionate than expected. "No need to get soppy."
"'Course!" Denmark said, almost gasping the words. "I'm just glad to hear you say that, y'know?"
Norway sighed, eyes rolling ceilingward in exasperation. But he was smiling, just a little, and that was enough. "Sit yourself down, won't you? Let me get you another drink. 'Less you don't want me thanking you proper for that show you took me to, that is."
"Thankin' me proper?" Denmark asked.
"With conversation," Norway said. "Since you're keen on that." His tone made clear that it would be nothing else.
As if it was that simple. As if it was that easy. And maybe, to Norway, it was.
Denmark settled himself down. Took the glass Norway offered him. And as the snow slowly fell outside, he listened while Norway talked about his plans for the future – his own dreams for himself, for his people, concerning nobody else. And while Norway's eyes lit up with happiness, Denmark knew that he could learn to live with things as they were.
It was the best it was going to get.