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When Nederland hears a knock at his door in the middle of the night, he considers just ignoring it. After all, he rationalizes, what’s the worst that could happen? If it’s an international crisis, everyone will ignore his input anyway. If there’s something wrong within his country, he would’ve been the first to know about. So unless the Euro has crashed and he has to now restructure his entire economy, he doesn’t care—
The knocking picks up again, more insistent than before. In fact, it seems as though someone is tapping out the melody of “Wilhelmus” against his door. And there’s only one person who would do that. Oddly enough, the realization does not make Nederland actually decide to ignore it.
He shifts aside the throw blanket he’d had over his lap and carefully replaces the ribbon that runs down the spine of his oldest book of navigational maps. He rises to his feet and rolls his shoulders, bones cracking back into place as he opens the front door just enough to peak through.
Nederland sees a shock of pale blonde hair, one blue eye, and half of the dopiest grin known to man or nation. He also sees what must be a bottle wrapped in brown paper.
“It’s eleven o’clock, Den.” He tries to sound as bored as possible.
“I know, I can’t believe the trains still run this late! We must be doing a good job, huh?” Denmark’s voice is always loud, tinged with laughter and entirely too effusive. If Nederland has to listen to him for more than fifteen minutes at a time, he’ll get a headache. He opens the door anyway.
“That better be for me,” he says, jabbing a finger at the bottle.
Denmark grins cheekily and holds up both hands—he’s brought two bottles. He doesn’t wait for an invitation before shuffling into the entryway, kicking his boots off and wandering down the hall. “Hey, I know you. You really think I’d show up empty-handed?”
Sometimes Nederland wonders why Denmark shows up at all. If he wants drinking buddies, England and Prussia are always available. If he wants companionship, Norway is closer. If he wants a fight, he has no better bet than Sweden. And yet without fail, for years and years, Denmark has been showing up at Nederland’s door and not anyone else’s.
When Nederland returns to his sitting room, Denmark has already made himself comfortable. Nederland’s good drinking glasses are now laid out on the coffee table, his map books leaned back against the bookshelf with care. Denmark himself is now sitting on the couch, in the spot that Nederland had just vacated.
“Man, you do not look happy,” Denmark comments. “Maybe we should go out, instead? Enjoy a little of that famous Amsterdam nightlife?”
Nederland rolls his eyes and pulls up an armchair, long legs splayed as he considers Denmark with bored eyes. “Maybe you should call ahead if you want to make plans. Or go yourself.”
“Nah, I never going through someone else’s cities without them present. Learned that lesson a long time ago.”
Nederland almost wants to ask which incident finally made the lesson sink in—Berlin, Las Vegas, Hong Kong? Or maybe some other night, when Nederland wasn’t there to keep an eye on him. He wonders…
“Hey—Copenhagen to Amsterdam. Are you there, Ned?”
He looks up and scowls, irritated to find that Denmark’s blue eyes are actually wide with concern. As soon as their eyes meet, however, Denmark looks away. He reaches for the first of the bottles, holding it up as he rips off the paper.
“Brennevin?” Nederland can’t help but be skeptical. It’s not exactly a casual drink.
“Yup!” Denmark’s already pouring them each a glass, sliding Nederland’s towards him. “I thought we could play a game, and this stuff’s perfect for it. What do you say?”
“I say you haven’t told me what the game is, yet.” Although if it’s a game with stakes, Nederland’s never been averse to clearing out Denmark’s wallet for him.
“It’s real fun, I promise. Basically, we take turns asking each other questions. If you answer, you don’t have to take the shot. But if you don’t, you do! And hopefully since you’re so tight-lipped about everything, you’ll get drunk enough to start answering some of ‘em, eventually.” Denmark looks up, smiling expectantly. Nederland hasn’t seen him this pleased with himself since he started designing that bridge between himself and Sweden.
Nederland shrugs. “Fine. But you’ve already miscalculated.”
“Huh? How’s that?”
“Thinking I won’t answer,” Nederland explains. “I’m not going to lose.”
“It’s not a winning or losing game, Ned,” Denmark insists. “It’s a we’re all gonna have fun game!”
“Mm. You going to start, then?”
“Sure, sure.” Denmark leans back into the couch, making himself comfortable. For all that people seem to think he and Nederland look alike, Nederland is often struck by the differences more than the similarities—Denmark’s shoulders are broader, his body built for strength. Every part of him is expressive, from his gesturing hands to his twinkling eyes to his never-ever-quiet mouth. Now, he’s thoughtful for a moment, chin against his fist. “How about this—why’d you always let me in, in the middle of the night?”
Nederland bites his lip and picks up his glass, downing it in one bitter swallow. He doesn’t flinch, which he prides himself on. “Not drunk enough to answer that.”
Denmark, who was probably expecting a simple answer, looks chagrined for a moment. His brows knit together and he leans forward, but then shakes his head and sits back. “Okay, fine. But you’re not going to win that way!”
“You said it wasn’t a winning—”
“Just ask me a question, alright?” Denmark waits, elbows against his knees and head cradled in his hands. He’s expectant, happy, like a kid waiting for a sweet.
Nederland considers for a moment. “Do you remember when we first met?”
“Huh? Yeah, of course I do.” Denmark looks a bit confused at the question, then looks searchingly at Nederland. “You don’t?”
“Not really,” Nederland admits. “Remember being small, and knowing who you were. Not much beyond that.”
Demark laughs. “Oh, that’s a shame! You were really cute, back then. All that flopping hair, and big, big green eyes. You always looked worried about something. Don’t think I ever saw you without your sister and brother, but you were kinda half in Old Man Rome’s house and half with Grandpa Germania…”
Nederland blinks, at that. “Didn’t think you were paying that much attention, back then.” He remembers Rome, of course. The memories are a bit indistinct, and he never took to the old man the same way France or Belgium did. He much preferred Germania’s brood, even though he wouldn’t admit to it even now.
Denmark huffs, now. “Of course I was. Like I said, you were cute. It was fun to make you laugh, see if I could get rid of that worry line. And just wanted to be left alone on that farm of yours. You still have that place?”
“That a question for the game?” Nederland asks, glad to move away from the past.
“Sure.”
Nederland eyes his glass, which Denmark reaches over to refill. “Yeah, I do. Looks a lot different now, but property’s property.”
The other man shakes his head. “You don’t fool me, y’know. I bet you spend a bunch of time there, on your knees in the dirt, planting crops, and tulips. You always loved that sorta thing, even without the money.”
Nederland lifts his head and looks down his nose at Denmark, feeling as though his pride has been insulted. But Denmark just grins back. Nederland feels the need to even the score, somehow.
“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?” he demands, thinking it’s a cheap shot. Surely, Denmark won’t be able to pick and will have to drink.
But Denmark surprises him. “I’m gonna have the shot and answer, alright? I won’t be able to, otherwise.”
Nederland nods, curious as to where this is going.
Denmark downs his glass and then refills it, setting it aside. After a noisy swallow he says, “Back in the fourties, when we tried to smuggle a bunch of my people over to Sve’s house. Would’ve been so fucking terrible if they’d been caught, but I was desperate. Now everyone looks back and says it was noble, the best thing I could’ve done. But at the time I was damn scared, and it seemed like there was a snowball’s chance in hell that it would work.”
He’s taken aback by the brutal honesty of Denmark’s response. Sure, the guy can never hear enough of his own voice, but Nederland knows him well enough to know that half of what he says is distracting fluff.
“That wasn’t stupid,” he grumbles. “It was brave.”
Denmark’s smile turns wan. “Thanks, Ned. That’s nice of you t’say.”
“Didn’t say it to be nice.” Nederland rolls his eyes. “Ask your question.”
“You know what I’ve always wondered,” Denmark says, in a sort of preamble. “Why’d you send me your fleet? Back in 1658. And don’t just say you didn’t want Sve on both sides of the Sound.”
“I didn’t want you on both sides, either,” Nederland reminds him. But there’s a faint blush building across his cheekbones, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol. “Not a big deal. You were a good trading partner. A good… friend. And I thought it was cool. Seeing someone smaller stand up to an asshole with a bunch of land and coastline.”
Denmark throws back his head, his laughter echoing through the room. “Wow, brave and cool! I didn’t know you cared so much.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Fuck off, Den.”
“Nope,” Denmark says. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”
“Were you mad?” Nederland asks. It’s a question he’s had for a long time, and so he doesn’t need to think about it before he continues, “When the Union broke up.”
Denmark’s tongue peeks out from his teeth, and Nederland can tell he’s biting it. Then he shrugs, picking up his glass and swirling the alcohol around in it. “Yeah, I was. But more sad, I think. And I didn’t want to admit to being sad, so I got angrier. It’s pretty fucked up, now that I think about it, because I never treated Norge or Sve all that well. So everything that happened after—well, it wasn’t all my fault! But it was a shitty couple of decades, yeah.”
There’s silence in the room, for a moment. Then, without speaking, both men reach for their glasses and down another shot. Denmark refills their glasses, and they set them back aside, ready for the next round of the game.
“Why’d you ask me that question?” Denmark asks.
Nederland shrugs. “I think about it, a lot. Why it never lasted with me and Bel. She didn’t want to leave Spanje’s house with me, she didn’t stay after Vienna. We might’ve been stronger, together. But we never got it to work.”
“But you did eventually,” Denmark says. “With your Benelux thing! And that’s probably the better option anyways, right? All the perks of being unified without actually being responsible for each other, or controlling ‘em.”
Nederland makes a dismissive gesture with one hand. Everything Denmark is saying is true, but some old hurts still haven’t healed over. He’s sure that the same is true on Belgium’s side of the equation, perhaps more so. They’re lucky, he thinks, that they manage to love each other despite it all.
“You ever been in love, Den?” Nederland asks. It’s not the sort of topic he’s usually drawn to, but it is one he thinks about a lot.
“Sure.” Denmark replies easily.
“With who?” Nederland presses, eyes narrowing.
Denmark wags a finger at him. “Nope, that’s another question.” He reaches for his glass and drinks again. “And one I’m not answering. Now I get to ask you two in a row.”
Nederland rolls his eyes, but waits for his questions.
“Who’s the first person you ever had sex with?”
Nederland chokes, because he certainly hadn’t been expecting that. Though he supposes he opened the subject up, bringing love into it. It’s not as if he’s ever had a problem talking about sex, though, so he just huffs a laugh. “Spanje.”
“No—seriously?”
Nederland lifts a brow, giving Denmark a smugly superior look.
“Man, I definitely thought you were like, a monk, before that whole thing with England! Damn, I was so jealous, back then.”
This time, when Nederland chokes, he doesn’t recover as quickly. “What?”
Denmark lifts a hand, lips pursed so that his smile almost disappears. “No, no, not your turn yet. I get one more. Why haven’t we slept together, Ned?”
For a second he’s sure he’s misheard. He shorts, shakes his head. “Not a question I can answer on my own.”
“Sure it is,” Denmark insists. “I’ve been sending you cows and stuff for like, centuries! With anyone else that’d be enough to start something, at least.”
“Cows are romantic?” Nederland asks blandly. Though he does appreciate Danish cattle, and would never scoff at having Denmark as a trading partner.
Denmark pouts. “You know what I mean, asshole. Just, we’ve been close for a long time. And without the drama, like everyone else we fucking know.”
“You’ve never asked,” Nederland tells him. That seems like a half-truth, because Nederland could have easily taken initiative himself. So he reaches for his glass and sips down half of its contents.
It doesn’t escape Denmark’s notice. He tilts his head, blue eyes glinting with tactical appraisal. He knows he hasn’t gotten the whole story.
“Your turn,” he reminds Nederland after a moment.
“Why’d you come here, tonight?” Usually, Denmark grabs Nederland by the arm and they do head out to Amsterdam, to find a bar or just lay out in the grass. Inside his home, everything they do and say seems more intimate. Nederland doesn’t let many people into his house, aside from his siblings.
“I like hanging out with you,” Denmark says. Nederland can sense the honesty in that statement, and feels warmed by it. “And it’s like I’ve been saying—I think I’ve hated everyone I know at least once, over the years. But not you, even when you allied with Sverige against me.”
“That wasn’t personal,” Nederland reminds him.
“I know. That’s why I’m saying what I’m saying.”
“And what are you saying?”
“What do you want me to be saying?”
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Nederland mutters.
“Who cares? It’s my turn, so you’ve gotta answer my question. Those’re the rules.” Denmark’s laughing, now, which means that if they had been approaching a moment of clarity, they are quickly drifting away from it now.
Nederland frowns down at his glass. He could drink it, let the moment pass, and refuse to answer the question. It’d be easy.
“I asked you if you remembered when we first met, because I’m trying to figure it out.” He sips down the rest of his glass, because he’s going off-topic. Maybe, he thinks, it’ll be worth it. He’s not one for bets of this nature, but this feels… this feels like it could be a sure thing.
“Huh? Figure what out?” Sometimes it’s impossible to tell when Denmark’s playing dumb.
“When it started,” Nederland says. “I’ve been saying it. Pay attention.”
Denmark is laughing in earnest now, but it’s a breathy sound, a bit strained. “Ned. You’re gonna have to spell this out for me. No more half-sentences.”
Maybe he’s emboldened by the alcohol, but Nederland chooses this moment to get to his feet. He edges around the coffee table and sits down on the couch beside Denmark, their thighs barely touching. Nederland angles himself so that he can look right at the other man.
“You’re cool,” he says. “And brave.”
“I know that.” Denmark huffs, blustering confidence not hiding the shine in his eyes.
“I can’t remember not knowing you,” Nederland continues.
“Yeah, and?”
“And I still fucking put up with you.” Nederland shakes his head, brow furrowing in frustration.
“Thanks, I think? So, what?”
“So,” Nederland says, bracing his hands against Denmark’s shoulders, “If there’s something you came here to say, just say it.”
“Promise you won’t punch me?” Denmark asks, but he’s smirking.
“No,” Nederland says. “Tell me anyway.”
Denmark reaches up with one hand, traces the line of Nederland’s scar with his thumb. The contact sends a jolt through Nederland, but before he can pull away Denmark tugs him closer, his other hand around the back of Nederland’s neck.
“I still think you’re cute,” Denmark whispers, conspiratorial. “In a completely different way now, but when you blush—ah, there it is!”
And it’s true, Nederland can feel his entire face heating up. He’s always prided himself on a certain level of dignity, on the severity of his glare and his superpower of not giving a damn about anything. But around certain people—his siblings, and the man next to him—that melts away. He can’t not care.
“Fuck you, Den.”
“If you want,” Denmark says. “But if this is gonna be a regular thing, I’d like for us to switch it up.”
“This isn’t any kind of thing,” Nederland retorts. But he isn’t pulling away, and somehow he’s ended up on top of Denmark, pushing him back into the couch cushions. It should be a more compromising position for Denmark, but really it’s Nederland who feels most exposed.
“Well, here’s what I came here to say—you’re my best friend, and damn good-looking, too. You put up with me, and you’re always there for me, even if you haven’t lent me your fleet in a while. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with, than you.”
“And you bring me alcohol,” Nederland mutters, eying the bottle they’ve yet to open.
“I do!” Denmark says. His hand is still against Nederland’s face, stroking gently. He has warm, strong hands, and the contact feels wonderful. “The second bottle isn’t even Brennevin! That’s how amazing I am.”
Nederland sighs, giving in. “I’ve always thought so,” he says sincerely. It’s as much of an admission as Denmark will get out of him, this night or any other.
It’s worth it for the way Denmark smiles back at him. “It’s cool, though—‘cause you’re pretty amazing, too.”
“And?”
“And I’m gonna kiss you, now, alright? Try not to bite my tongue off or something.”
Nederland opens his mouth to protest the second part of that statement, but Denmark is quicker. He pulls Nederland close and laughs as he brings their lips together. He’s warm from alcohol and happiness, maybe. Nederland feels particularly happy, himself.
There’s a simple joy to be found in kissing, he thinks, though that may be the alcohol talking. He certainly enjoys the feeling of Denmark’s body against his, and the subtle movements of his lips, and the quiet chill of his house that keeps him alert enough to map and measure every moment of this.
“How long’ve you been thinking about this?” Nederland asks, when he finally gets his tongue back from between Denmark’s teeth.
The other nation smirks. “How long’ve you?”
The glasses are no longer handy, the bottle of Brennevin too far away. They decide to settle their debts in other ways.
And in the morning, when Nederland wakes up wrapped in someone else’s arms, with the steady beat of another heart against his back, he feels content.