[Fic] Knowing My Fate Is to Be with You.
Title: Knowing My Fate Is to Be with You.
Author: Moi!
Rating/Warnings: G
Pairing(s): Sweden x Finland
Prompt: Sweden/Finland. Doing the house chores together.
Notes: Since it wasn't specified what type of house chores these would be I chose the one that most reminds me of summer, washing rugs. Hope you like it!
Knowing My Fate Is to Be with You
The hot midday sun shone down on them, reddening their bowed backs. The weather had been hot for days, for weeks now, neither of them could remember clearly how long it had lasted. One day blending into the next one in a flurry of hammocks, fishing, tar flavoured ice cream and other things that one filled one's vacation with. Their trousers were rolled up to the knees and two pairs of rubber boots lay on the shore because for some reason people always begun with boots on and shedded them when they accidentally waded a bit too deep and suddenly got a bootful of lake. The radio had given a storm warning for the night but so far there was not a single cloud on the sky and bad weather was still hours away. In short, it was a rather lovely day.
Multicoloured hand-woven rugs were lying in heaps on the shore, waiting for their turn to get washed. The clean ones were already spread on the rocks to dry in the sun. To the two men standing at the washing table the sight of them was the epitome of summer, and every so often one of them would turn to look happily at the results of their work. Rugs like these were nowadays more of a tradition than a norm born out of necessity, but the idea behind was that nothing was to be wasted. Not even old clothes that were so thoroughly worn they could not be darned anymore, no, instead they would get a new life first cut into long strips and then woven into a rug and eventually ending up on the floor of a cozy little summer cottage.
Stripe by stripe they worked, and it seemed that the colours were getting brighter under their hands. In all honesty one of the stacks lying by the shoreline was already beyond garish to begin with, so this may have been a trick of the eye, but sometimes a good illusion belongs to the tale. The other pile with its elegantly toned down hues showed no real change in colour, but they both knew already the difference it made to have them properly clean. It would make the whole house look a touch happier, and the hint of pine soap in the air made everyone instantly cheer up without even noticing what had caused it... and not to mention there would be far less dust. Happy banter filled the air although only one of them was talking, and his topics were all about things they both knew already: let's turn it around now, feed some more, this one goes in the lake, ha! On occasion the monologue was punctuated by a single word from the other man, and his replies didn't seem any more interesting or important as his friend's. Most that he said was "hn", or maybe just "n", sometimes "sure" but that sounded more like a "uur" coming out of his mouth anyway.
"Done, and in the lake it goes!"
The voice was happy and energetic, and, the other man thought, this was somehow a little bit annoying because rinsing off the soap was always the most tasking part. Wet rugs were heavy and, well, wet. They soaked the shirt through and trickled ice cold water down the legs. What business had his friend to be so cheerful about it, he wondered, and stretched his neck from side to side before he grabbed one end, and thogether they carried it a little way away to submerge it in the shallow water. He looked fondly on the pattern on it: this was Finland's - his friend's - handiwork, a little too busy in design, a little too colourful for his tastes, yet seeing it made him feel that somehow all was right in the world.
Perhaps surprisingly, of the two of them the other man was actually more skilled in crafts of all kinds which would have been hard to believe at first sight, looking at his muscular form and large hands. However, appearances here were ever deceiving. There was simply no end to his interest in making things for the garden, creating new items for the kitchen, learning new skills and bettering himself in them. His little friend on the other hand took a very abrupt look at things, resulting in making objects that were made to suit their purpose, crafted in the way they had always been done, and that was the end of it. Finland saw little reason to change designs he had used for ages to come, and the same approach went to honing his skills: it wasn't broken, why fix it seemed to be the motto behind it all.
Except that with some things he tended to get a little out of hand. Designing household textiles was definitely one. All his work seemed to compete in colourfulness with the next piece, and the pattern looked like his vision had so burned through his retinas that he wanted the viewer to feel it too. When it came to rugs it was as if he were pressing on the pedals as fancy took him, having a horrible case of hiccups or possibly being dead drunk. There was also always the chance that he had been all three.
His rugs all wore through very quickly too, Sweden shook his head to his thoughts. If only he'd used quality materials to begin with. Naturally everyone made rugs out of old textiles that were simply too used for wearing anymore but at least he could have cut away the thinnest parts... and maybe if he could persuade him to use a little less force when beating them...
"Neeext!"
Finland started towards the shore, making small waves after him. They splashed against Sweden's legs reaching exactly at his rolled-up trousers. He could feel goosebumps run all the way up his thighs and shivered a little under the scorching heat. By the time he had spread out the rug that was now clean to dry and made it back to the washing table Finland had already carried a new one on it and was scooping up water from the lake to wet it. There seemed to be no end to his strength today. Sweden sighed and stretched his neck again, took up his washing brush and began to scrubb diligently. Then something caught his eye.
"N'rway's shirt."
Finland turned to look at a stripe in the weave that he was pointing at.
"Nah, that's not - that's mine actually, it's just really old, from the fifties I think..." Finland poked at another stripe. "This pink one's his pyjama pants though."
There was a moment of silence and then he coughed uncomfortably.
"It was a bit of an accident - you see, it was that one New Year when I hosted that party and you guys all stayed over and I drank a bit too much and, uh, was sick all over his bag... so the next day I decided to wash the contents, right, and I didn't notice Denmark's shirt, his usual red, was in there too and it sort of dyed everything." He coughed again.
"It would be good, though, if you didn't mention that to Norway. I think he thinks Denmark made away with the bag."
Sweden was listening with barely half an ear now. That grey part, that had to be that sweater he often wore in the 90's. He was sure it would have been in a good enough condition for wearing still but no one could blame Finland for wanting to forget about that era of his life. That metallic turqoise was 80's, had to be, and the red and white that looked almost like a chequer pattern when woven in had actually been Marimekko's Tasaraita T-shirt. One of those that had such a tight collar that taking it off felt like a spirited attempt at removing one's own head. And that white glitter with large sequins hanging off it there -
Finland seemed to notice the change of atmosphere since he halted mid-speech. He followed his gaze to the offending stripe.
"Ah, that, er, it's not yours really, it's just a replica I made for a funny tv-show some years back... although you have to admit, those were some wild seventies you had, huh?"
"'Twas a Eurovision leotard. And Abba won." Sweden felt oddly uneasy about defending his past fashion sense. Then, to make some things clear he added: "F'nland, zero points."
A scoopful of water hit him squarely in the face. He staggered, lost his balance on the sandy bottom of the lake and fell back with a gigantic splash. The coldness of the water seemed to smack the air out of his lungs and he coughed and spluttered, fighting to get back on his feet with the voice of Finland letting him know in angry tones that it had in fact been FOUR points that year, FOUR you hear me? His thoughts were a blur as he stumbled towards the equally blurred figure of his friend - must have lost his glasses in the lake - but he quickly banished that distraction. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with now, and he smirked in an uncharacteristic way as his wet, cold arms locked around Finland whose voice developed a sudden falsetto pitch. Sweden leaned back with all his weight with the struggling, swearing man in a secure bear hug grip. The sun blinded him with a brilliant flash before the water closed above them, and all Sweden could think of was that indeed, it was a rather lovely day.
When the first lightning struck he opened his eyes in the dark. His glasses were lying on the nightstand, Finland had easily found them for him where they had fallen. He decided quietly that the sleepy warmth beside him made up for a dip in a lake, no matter how cold. Finland snored lightly and the whole cottage bore that mild scent of pine soap, and his heart felt very much at home.
End notes:
Washing rugs is a summer tradition, and can be done either at a specific area meant for just that purpose or on a wooden table carried out into the water on a shallow lake shore. Pine soap, or Mäntysuopa, is a traditional soap that's most often used while washing.
Finland had a serious depression during the 90's. In ways it wasn't as bad as f.ex. the one we had in the 70's which caused people to emigrate to Sweden in large amounts (a slightly painful period in time for both of the countries because obviously the people who moved out were often the ones who could not find work in Finland no matter what, and alas, the Swedes got a taste of the most drunken and violent type we have to offer), but it's the most recent one and therefore the one people remember best.
Tasaraita... well, let's say that Marimekko has since improved the design, but in its original form the collar was indeed so tight it tore your hair away to put it on and ears out to take it off. Boy I hated mine with passion!
The year Abba won the Eurovision Finland got four points indeed, but the joke is always "Finland, zero points" whenever it comes to that particular competition. :D