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England was awake, but he did not open his eye yet. He was comfortable in bed, with the blanket pulled up comfortably over him. He was warm, and he knew that the air outside of this space would be chilled. It was fall, on the cusp of winter, and he preferred the feeling of soft cotton sheets and warmth to the outside world.
He let his mind drift as his eyes remained resolutely closed. He could hear the creak of floorboards in another part of the cabin, the sure sign that Portugal was already up and moving around.
He smiled at that thought. It was an old sailor’s habit to rise with the sun, and Portugal had never shaken it. England had managed to finally stop waking up with first light.
Portugal had always woken up early, and seemed to have no desire to change. But, he was always considerate to not wake the person next to him.
England was only slightly disappointed by the fact that if he turned, he would not see his partner laying on the pillow next to him, with a warm smile and his brown waves splayed across the pillow. That was one of his favorite parts of some mornings.
With a small sigh, England decided that it was better to get out of bed. Portugal would be waiting for him, and that was enough motivation to at least abandon the warmth of his bed.
He opened his eyes. The ceiling above him was a white expanse. But, as he looked at it, he could see the light pencil sketches where Portugal had drawn in stars.
It was a new project that he was embarking on. Portugal wanted to paint the ceiling of their bedroom like the night sky that had been a steadfast guide to both of them in the age of sail. England was certain that it would be a beautiful sight once it was finished.
It was one of his partner’s best traits that when he set his mind to something he did it and he always did it well. It was going to be modeled off of the constellations in the sky in London in midsummer. That had been the season the first time Portugal had visited him in his own home and brought him salted cod and fresh lemons.
It had been so long ago, but England still held the memory so dear to his heart. The idea that Portugal remembered it so fondly too filled his heart with familiar warmth.
England slowly got up, letting the cold air into his warm sanctuary. It was not as cold as he thought, and it might have been pleasant if he had not been so warm in bed.
He grabbed the thick robe that was hanging on the end of the driftwood bed frame. The robe had been a gift from Canada, who had intended it for when England visited him. It was soft, but surprisingly warm. He wrapped it around himself, before walking over to the chest of drawers where he kept his clothing.
The framed photo sitting on it was one of his favorites. It was Hong Kong and Macau playing a card game together. It had been taken at a chance meeting off the coast of China, when both he and Portugal had brought their colonies to meet each other. England smiled to himself as he remembered how the boys had easily gotten along.
He opened drawers and pulled out a pair of pants and a sweater. The sweater was thick and bright white, with a little golden crown embroidered on the sleeves. It was supposed to be a reference to the fact that England was named for a king.
He turned around and caught sight of another picture, on the side of the bed opposite his. It was of Brazil, Portugal’s favorite colony. She was dressed for riding, with her hair swept up under a hat. The smile on her face was familiar and playful. England found it amusing that, though she and Portugal were not related, they both had the same smile. It was a smile that made it impossible not to smile back.
As England pulled on the clothing, he let his mind drift to the other room, where Portugal was undoubtedly making breakfast. He knew he should help, but he knew that Portugal liked to cook alone, and enjoyed feeling like he was providing for his partner.
England finished by rolling up his cuffs on the sweater before walking into the kitchen. Portugal was standing at the counter with a mug of coffee clasped in his hands.
The brunette smiled when he saw England and he said, “Good morning, dear.” England walked over and kissed the other softly on the cheek. He felt Portugal take his hand and squeeze it affectionately.
He reciprocated, “Good morning, darling.”
The coffee in the cup in Portugal’s hand smelled delicious, though England had never been particularly inclined towards coffee. He knew it was a gift, the same one that Brazil sent Portugal every father’s day. She always sent coffee, wrapped in a ribbon and accompanied by a card. Portugal always drank his the same way: two cubes of sugar, no cream.
England pulled away only long enough to say, “I am going to make a cup of tea. Do you want anything?”
Portugal shook his head with a good natured smile that was so usual of him. He replied, his hand still on England’s, “I already made breakfast while you were sleeping. It’s on the veranda. I will see you out there once you have your tea.”
England loved the soft lingering touch as Portugal’s fingers trailed over his hand as he walked away. After so long, they could feel what the other meant through the little moments. England felt a smile firmly on his face as he put on the kettle.
He looked out the window at the serene ocean beyond the walls of their seaside cabin. It must be low tide, because the ocean seemed very far away. Usually they could hear the waves when they opened the windows, and the sound brought back fond memories of sailing.
He saw Portugal sitting on one of the chairs on the porch, looking out over the water. He looked so serene. England couldn’t help but think that after all the years of war in Europe, it was beautiful that they could have peace here.
They had started building this cabin nearly a century ago in the hope that they would be able to spend time here together in peace. Now, they could spend these weeks building a home away from politics and intrigue.
The shrill whistle of the kettle broke him out of his thoughts. He carefully placed a teabag in a cup before reaching for the kettle and pouring the boiling water. It was a routine so familiar that he could do it without much thought.
His thoughts were already beyond it, on the porch with his partner. He was at the door with the cup of tea in his hand without much conscious thought.
As the door swung open, he was met with the comforting smell of the sea. The slightly cold briny sharpness always felt like home. That was part of the reason they had chose this place to build this little paradise. It was near the ocean that had brought them both profit and prestige.
England sat next to Portugal, who immediately took his free hand in his own. Portugal said, his voice strong enough to carry over the time of the breaking waves, “What do you want to do today?”
England turned to look at him, and really considered the question. So long as there weren’t any political crisis any time during the day, they had all the time in the world. They had already agreed that they would use this time to work on this little haven they had built together.
He took a drink of the tea before he said, “Do you want to work on the ceiling? I was thinking that I could find some charts that could help with the accuracy.”
Portugal nodded as he took a sip of his coffee. Then he said, “I would like that. It will be beautiful when we finish it.”
England smiled back at Portugal. He could see the enthusiasm in the man’s eyes. And he was glad to be a part of that. Portugal took another sip of coffee and then said, “I think I made a sketch of the sky in my logs from that trip.”
There were bookshelves full of their ship’s logs in the other rooms, though some of the diaries and logs were still in chests. With time, they hoped to be able to organize all of them for easy reference.
England thought about what else might be in a formal diary from their early relationships. He said, “Are you sure that you want me to read your first impressions of me?”
He said it as teasingly as possible, because he suspected the answer already. Portugal said, leaning closer, “You don’t have to worry, dear. I’ve always liked you.”
England put down his cup of tea and took a piece of toast from the plate on the table. He could feel the warmth in his chest at the idea that Portugal had held affection for him even from the first time they had met.
He said, happy to continue the conversation, “I will see if I can find them. And then, later, we can walk on the beach.”
He was met with another sweet smile. Portugal said, changing the subject, “I’ve always wondered, does your boss know that you are here.”
England shook his head. The older he got, the less he felt the need to provide explanation for his whereabouts. That applied even more to the place he had built with his partner to be away from that. He replied, “The Prime Minister does not need to know. But Lilibet has my phone number for an emergency. “
Portugal nodded and took another absentminded drink of coffee. He then said, “I don’t usually tell them. They know I am on vacation, and that is enough.” Portugal then met his partner’s eyes and said, “And this is for us.” He squeezed England’s hand affectionately.
England looked down at their intertwined hands. The early morning sun glinted off of the silver bands that they both wore on their fingers. It had been his idea to buy the rings and wear them while they were at the cabin.
It was impossible for them to marry; that would involve some sort of political union that would be completely untenable for them. Even if they had agreed, in quiet moments together, that they would like to spend their lives together, it was not possible.
But, while they were here, they could wear the rings. It was a symbolic gesture, but one that showed their commitment to each other. It also allowed the mortals in the nearby town to make the correct assumption about their relationship.
The rings made them appear to be a married couple. It felt accurate enough. They were two men who had made a promise to each other to be faithful, and they had kept it through all of the trials of the world. Even through war and temptation, they had kept their vow.
Now their children were gone, off leading their own lives. In the twilight years of their glory days, they could enjoy this time and peace together, building a home away from it all.
That was not so different from marriage, was it?
It didn’t feel like it. This felt like love, and that was more than enough.