[50 Prompts fic] Time to Come Inside
Oh my god, I haven't written Hetalia fanfiction in so long that it was actually kind of fun to go on Wikipedia to look up history and incorperate it into paragraphs! I'm not terribly familiar with Scandinavian history so I relied much on the Interwebs. But I really love these two, these angsty lovebirds.
Title: Time to Come Inside
Prompt: Think about you later (empty room) by Every Avenue from measuringlife
Summary: It was over; it was time to come inside.
His biggest mistake, Denmark thought centuries later whenever he brooded about it at its every anniversary, was that he got too attached. They (being a collective term for all countries holding a considerable amount of power at the time) all knew it, that they couldn’t keep everything they had - the physical presence of their colonies suggested the need in the future of a house of their own, meaning separate countries, of course. Though he hadn’t really gotten involved much with the happenings of the southern part of Europe, he had still heard Spain’s heart wrenching cries when he lost Romano and Denmark decided that wouldn’t happen to him, ever.
Granted, even as he thought it, he was already much too in love with Norway for there to be any mention of otherwise.
It wasn’t his intention at all at first; Sweden had disapproved of his constant fighting and centralized government and Denmark had only wanted to have some fun and if he couldn’t have his fun in the Kalmar household, he was just going to leave. And obviously, playing by yourself is no fun, so he took Norway along and while Norway never really quite agreed, he didn’t argue either so that was that.
Norway was his cute little brother who didn’t always do as he said, but followed him anywhere nonetheless, so Denmark was fine with it. It was a big brother’s role to make sure the bullies didn’t come hurt his precious little brother (and even when the bullies had no interest, Denmark liked hitting them anyway) and so he didn’t complain when he came home all battered and bloody. Norway patched him up grumbling and asked him not to drag blood onto the floorboards again but Denmark tried to play with Germany and Prussia anyway until they kicked him out because they didn’t want an extra, useless player.
He was still playing when Sweden barged into his house and began taking his things, and he wasn’t mad when Norway just sat behind the couch and pretended he couldn’t hear anything because it wasn’t a little brother’s duty to protect the house and home. Sweden didn’t play fair in any case but at least he didn’t ask Norway to come with him so Denmark was relieved when he finally left and let Norway bandage him up without words.
Looking back, Denmark wasn’t sure when it really started, because Norway was his important little brother after all, but if he had to guess, it was probably around when the Rigsraad broke up that he began crawling over to Norway’s bed at night. The king’s hair would have curled on end if he knew, but it wasn’t anything physical at first. Norway had the biggest bed in the house since he actually stayed in the house most of the time and he didn’t throw off Denmark’s arm when he slid under the covers.
He should have stopped when they began touching, but he didn’t; he didn’t know how, he was so smitten, Norway was such a cute little brother (not little brother, really, sometimes Denmark admitted to himself, they were never really related) and he liked the feel of Norge’s fingers in his hair, liked the sounds from his mouth when he bruised him.
“You’re mine.” And it was absolute, no room for argument or disagreement, and Denmark kissed both closed eyelids as Norway clawed at his back. He was always going to be in this house with Denmark and there was no way for them to be apart, because he loved Norway, he always had, and he knew whenever Norway looked at him or spoke acidly of him. Because he had seen Norway fight and it was right.
But he’d gotten too old to play, eventually, and he liked spending the mornings waking up with Norway next to him, and he missed the mornings where this could have been. So he chose to ignore England and France’s bickering but England wanted a reaction and set fire to the garden. Denmark hadn’t wanted to, as France spent most of the time at his house giving long, lustful looks at Norway, but he took sides and kissed Norway in the pantry later.
England played with Sweden and made quite short work of them. Norway became distant in bed and as Denmark pressed a kiss against his temple, he said, “You’re mine,” but couldn’t stop, “…right?” coming after. And please say yes, say that you want to be with me. He wished it to be true.
“No,” Norway whispered. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”
It was over; it was time to come inside. There was no more recess, and he was older, but he still thought - Denmark could feel bits of himself being carved away as he breathed, and it made his muscles sore. “You’re going to Sweden’s house,” he said conversationally, staring up at the canopy above them, although he couldn’t really see its rich red color in the darkness.
“I won’t be his,” Norway assured him, rolling on his side to face Denmark. “Not like I was yours.” His emphasis stung and Denmark winced visibly. “Don’t think about it,” Norway murmured, leaning over to kiss a spot on Denmark’s jaw line. “Don’t think about it, don’t think about me. It’ll be better that way.”
So he didn’t, but it wasn’t until later when the bed was larger and colder that Denmark pried the lid of the box he had been holding everything in open and buried his head in the pillows and cried.