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Chapter Text

Sweden appreciated that he looked like a young man in his late teens. It was nice, being able to tend to all the labor on his farm without having to worry about creaky knees or arthritic hands. He had the energy to get up with the sun and tend to all that needed doing in his modest home, often having some left over to help his not-so-lucky neighbors with whatever needed doing. He could even stay up late, carving a new chair or crib he'd been asked to make by candlelight, without feeling exhausted in the morning. It suited the simple lifestyle he preferred.

It didn't suit him much when he was called to court, though, and unfortunately it was precisely because of his youth that he and Finland had been forced to pack up and head to the capital for the eighth winter in a row.

The winter of his 14th year, Crown Prince Karl had decided that Sweden was now his best friend. Sweden had humored the Prince, assuming that he just wanted someone "older" to make himself look more sophisticated. But whether that had been his original intent or not, Karl definitely genuinely considered Sweden a close friend now, even as he'd reached and then surpassed Sweden's apparent age.

He wouldn't say it wasn't nice to have a friend, especially since he really didn't have any otherwise; he had enemies and territories and Finland, but not someone who actually liked him. Also, there was the tiny detail that Sweden couldn't say 'no' to his prince. Karl, however, was a very trying sort of friend. He seemed to have decided that Sweden was completely socially inept (not entirely untrue) and that he needed Karl's guidance to reform him into a charming member of the court. Which usually meant doing exactly what Karl did.

At first, it hadn't been so bad, but things had changed when Karl had discovered women. Apparently unconcerned with the fact that he would be marrying whomever his parents told him to, he gleefully instructed Sweden of all of the intricacies of wooing. Beyond the fact that any attempt would obviously end in unmitigated failure, flirting had never really been of any interest to Sweden, but when he tried to say so, then the Prince had cottoned on to the fact that Sweden had someone he loved already. After admitting under heavy questioning that the person in question did not share his feelings, Karl had latched viciously on to the idea of helping Sweden win them over, almost as if it was a personal affront to him that someone dare not love Sweden back. Hence, the yearly torture he endured listening to the Prince's plans and trying to get him to let go of this hopeless cause.

It wasn't that simple, Sweden wanted to tell him, even though he didn't dare. He understood how much it chafed to be subservient to another Nation, how it ached to be away from one's people, and he hadn't even been subsumed into another's house. Finland was weak and needed protection, and Sweden intended to provide it, but he still fiercely clung to his pride. It was pretty clear from the way that he refused to let Sweden try to treat him as an equal instead of a subordinate that he hated living with Sweden. And because Sweden was soft and let Finland have what he wanted, even his strange, symbolic protest, they'd gotten along more or less harmoniously for the decades since Sweden built their house and first planted their crops.

Prince Karl was intent on upsetting their careful equilibrium, though, blundering his way into Sweden's love life and insisting that Sweden stop silently taking "no" for an answer. Anyone was winnable, if you knew how to charm them, he claimed grandly. Sweden privately had his doubts, but again, he had no choice to listen to his only friend's advice.

Which is why, beginning the week they'd arrived that fateful eighth winter, he'd dutifully composed and sent love poems to his dear Finland. It was in fashion, Karl had claimed, and beyond that, it would be perfect to get around Sweden's speech issues. So he set his feelings into verse and sent it off with a messenger every few days. He never expected a response.

***

Although he liked to do most of his chores promptly, Finland tended to leave the mending for the winter. He liked to say it was because the castle's seamstresses were much better stocked than the anything he could hope to have on Sweden's little farm, but it was just as much because he didn't like to waste nice weather inside if he didn't have to. As a result, he was friends with several of the seamstresses just by virtue of spending so much time borrowing their thread and expertise. Maybe he was a little too close with some of them.

"A runner has come for you." Astrid held out a note to him. He could see Sweden's seal on it.

"Thanks," he said, making no move to take the message and returning to his sewing.

"You're not going to look at it?" A line of disapproval appeared between her eyebrows, making her look a little older. In actuality she was still only an apprentice, but she had a strong motherly instinct that lent itself to helping, whether the person in question wanted help or not. "It could be important."

"I know what it is," Finland said, trying to get her off the topic. She turned away with a near silent huff, and he thought maybe the subject was dropped, until he heard the rustle of her breaking the seal. "Hey!"

"Oh, Fin," she said, features gone soft. "This is beautiful."

"It's private," he protested, putting down the shirt he was mending and getting up to demand the letter back. She offered it without any resistance, and he folded it up again, tucking it away carefully.

"I hope I can find a husband who writes me poetry like that," she sighed just as he was sitting back down.

"I'm not his wife," Finland insisted through gritted teeth. "I'm not a woman."

Astrid picked up her own work and resumed the long hem she'd been working on before, effortlessly producing perfectly spaced stitches. "You're just not that pretty," she agreed. Upon noticing his glare, she tacked on a barely respectful, "m'lord."

"Anyway," he mumbled, "It's not like he's ever... done anything."

"If it bothers you so much, you're a man, why don't you touch him?"

Finland sputtered; that was exactly the opposite of what he'd meant to say. "It doesn't bother me!" She gave him a look, and he continued, "He's the one who kidnapped me from my home in the first place!"

"Plenty of people are forced into marriages they don't want. He treats you much better than some."

Just because that was the truth, it didn't mean Finland wasn't unhappy being someone's territory. Sure Sweden was kind to him and was adorable in the same way little babies or puppies were, but he was still a Nation. His stitches got more and more reckless until he ended up stabbing himself with the needle.

"He's just making the best of the situation as well," Finland groused. It didn't help his mood when he saw her try to hide a smug smile. "He doesn't actually love me like a spouse."

"Hence why he wrote you that love poem."

"They're all platonic," Finland protested, pulling the others out as well.

"And you carry all these declarations of friendship around with you?"

Swearing, he tucked them back away. "If he really loved me, he'd let me go back home. These are just pretty words. Empty words."

The playfulness dropped off Astrid's face. "Then why not use his feelings to get what you want?" she asked lightly.

"What do you mean?"

"No man writes love poetry like that unless he means it. So let him get close, and then when he's absolutely, completely mad for you, tell him what you just told me, that if he loved you he'd let you go home."

It had never occurred to him to try something like that. Any little thing he said was liable to have Sweden tying himself in knots to be as accommodating as possible, but he'd never tried actually asking for something, particularly because he knew the answer was "no." "You shouldn't be conspiring with me against your own Nation," he mumbled, not sure if he wanted to take her mercenary advice or not.

"I'm conspiring with my friend against his husband." She offered him a wicked smile. He tried to pushed away the discomfort he felt and returned it.

***

Sweden was honestly surprised to look up from his work and see Finland standing there. Maybe he didn't like the poems. He probably didn't. He should never have sent them--

"So, um." Finland fidgeted awkwardly. "Sorry to interrupt."

Sweden shook his head violently, gesturing for Finland to take a seat across from him.

"I, uh." He flinched, and Sweden tried his best to tone it down. Stupid scary face. "Thank you. For the poems."

For the second time in as many minutes, Sweden was taken aback. "Just the truth," he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"The one from this morning. Um, you mentioned stargazing?" Sweden nodded. "Did you want to...?"

"Yes," he said forcefully, before seeing Finland wince again and beginning to berate himself internally.

"Then, um. I'll see you then, I guess?" He waited for Sweden's nod before edging his way out of the room awkwardly. "Bye, then."

"Bye," Sweden said, wistfully watching him go. He nearly pinched himself, not able to believe it was true.

***

This was a bad idea, Finland thought to himself as he stood awkwardly in the snow a step behind Sweden, I never should have let Astrid talk me into it. The stars were the same as anything in nature to him, beautiful but not mesmerizing. Not like they seemed to be to Sweden, anyway. He had known the other man liked the night sky and would slip outside to look at it sometimes, but he hadn't realized until he'd read the poem that morning just how deeply he was moved by them.

That's what they were really good for, Finland supposed, absently stamping shapes into the snow with his boot. Giving him insight into Sweden. So he could use it against him. Something in Finland's stomach twisted a little at that, and he reminded himself why he was here. Straightening up ever so slightly, he forced out some words to break into Sweden's silent contemplation of the sky. "I wonder how many there are."

Sweden's gaze slid slowly to him, and from that angle, it was easier not to squirm when his eyes locked onto Finland's. "Don't think I could count that high," he said, and it was so hard to tell from his tone how he meant it, Finland just waited to see if he would say anything else and give him some kind of verbal clue to latch on to. "What're ya drawing?" Startled by the unexpected question, it took Finland a few seconds to realize he meant the shape at his feet.

"Oh, this?" He forced down the nervous laughter that threatened to bubble up and out of him. "It's a reindeer. I, uh, like them. A lot."

There was a long silence as Sweden nodded once, then looked back up at the sky.

Chapter Text

Sweden frowned at the neatly sealed letter in his hand. He'd agonized every word, revising until he had the perfect wording, but even with confidence in his message, it concerned him that he didn't know how it would be received.

He and Finland had seen each other socially quite a few times now. It was an odd thing to think that even though they had lived together for a while they were only just now getting around to getting know one another, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that all their conversation thus far had been about the business of the house or the farm and not very much about themselves. He still didn't know Finland's favorite color or if he liked parties.

Parties. Sweden hated them, even more when they were Court events. It was so much pressure to be interesting and charming without having enough depth to be even remotely offensive. He hated in particular hearing people who thought themselves above working in the fields talk about his farming as though it was just some eccentric hobby of his and not the foundation of their society and the thing that kept them all fed and healthy. But that was Sweden.

Finland was different. Sweden knew that he went out of his way to talk to their neighbors at home, and that he apparently had friends all over the castle. He seemed to like interacting with people and didn't seem to worry about what to say like Sweden did. That said, he seemed only to care for meaningful conversation, and this party would likely be anything but. Which led him back to his original quandary.

"Stop worrying and give it to him." Prince Karl's voice pulled Sweden back into the present. He was supposed to be waiting with the prince to greet the visitors in whose honor the ball the next night was being thrown, and he hadn't realized Karl had been watching him. Of course, it was probably more interesting to watch Sweden than the empty horizon.

"You think so?"

"I do, and I think my advice might just be worth something, lest we forget it was my poem idea that got you this far."

"It's just... A big step."

Karl laughed. "What's he going to do, divorce you? You seem awfully concerned for someone with nothing to lose."

Easy for Karl to say. He had never seen Finland hold a grudge before, and he'd be long dead by the time Sweden imagined himself forgiven if he managed to commit the faux pas he was more and more certain was a matter of "when," not "if." He was exceptionally aware that was playing with fire, gambling their impersonal equilibrium for a chance at something more like the partnership he desperately wished for, and it made him want to move very, very carefully.

"It's just a party," Karl said in a tone that made it clear he thought Sweden was being ridiculous.

It wasn't ridiculous to Sweden. He tucked the invitation into his breast pocket and stood up straighter, turning his attention towards the bare road in front of them.

***

The ball was overwhelming. It wasn't as if Finland had never been to one before, but he had never gone as a guest, someone expected to eat and socialize and enjoy himself. The strangeness of the experience of being treated as a man and not a Nation by those of high rank who attended these was not entirely without precedent in his life; most of Sweden's people treated him more as a foreigner than anything else. He had never been expected to speak to so many people before, though, or about topics of war and politics, and it made him want a little of the deference they'd shown him as a Mysterious Entity back.

Fiddling with the collar of his fine clothes, careful to treat them gently, he snuck a glace up at Sweden. He seemed to Finland to be even more scary than usual, but for some reason that wasn't keeping anyone away. Maybe as his people they had immunity to his glare? When Finland had first received the invitation to this party, he'd thought maybe Sweden enjoyed balls and wanted to share them with him, so he had accepted even though he didn't ordinarily like large groups of people, but it was now clear Sweden was having about as much fun as he was. He was idly mulling over the possible reasons for the invitation when he saw the Prince and a not-insubstantial entourage heading their way. He could actually hear the rustle of Sweden's clothes as he stiffened even more than before.

The Prince clapped Sweden on the shoulder and gave Finland a considering look, one that went on for so long it started to make him uncomfortable. "See?" Karl said finally, as though he had won some long-standing bet between them. "Although, he's not much to look at if you ask me. I suppose there's no accounting for the machinations of the heart."

Shifting self-consciously, he turned to Sweden and waited for what he'd say in response. Sweden did not agree, or even improbably defend Finland's appearance, though. He just stood stock still as if he hadn't even heard the Prince. Weren't the two of them friends? Why didn't Sweden answer?

"Er." The sound of his own voice surprised him. "He, um, hasn't been feeling well tonight, your highness. I think maybe some night air...?"

Karl looked at Finland as if surprised he could speak, before returning his attention to Sweden, brown creasing with worry. "Not well? I'll call my physician, then, right away."

"It's not that serious," Finland cut in, staring openly at Sweden now. "I'll just take him out to the garden." For a moment, he had a horrible flash of Sweden refusing to let himself be pulled away, but he came along when Finland tugged on his arm. Finland looked back over his shoulder at the Prince, who looked honestly troubled by Sweden's state, but waited until the cold winter air hit them before asking, "What's the matter with you?"

After a long enough silence that Finland began to wonder if he really had taken ill, Sweden said, "He was wrong."

'What?"

"He shouldn't have said that about you in front of all those people, even if it's what he really thought."

A small splash of disappointment washed over Finland's heart. "He's the Prince; he can be rude to whomever he wants."

"Not if he's going to make a good King," Sweden said, weary tone in counterpoint to his youthful features.

"Then counsel him against it in the future, if you're that angry."

"M'not angry."

As confused as Finland had been before, he was even more so now. Then he remembered that Sweden had locked up when he had first seen the prince, not when he'd made his intemperate comments. "What, then?" Finland asked, pushing at a boundary he'd never tried before.

Sweden looked at him blankly, and he was afraid Sweden might get annoyed at his impertinent question, but then he said, "Scared."

What? Sweden had been scared? Of the Prince? "But why?" The question slipped out of him, and Finland wished immediately that he could snatch it back. There was no way Sweden would permit a question like that--

"I was afraid," Sweden said slowly, "that you'd be upset. That--" Sweden let out a heavy breath. "Karl was the one who told me to write you poems."

Sweden clearly thought this was some kind of confession, but Finland was baffled. "But you wrote them all yourself, didn't you?"

Sweden nodded, and with the earlier reference, Finland could see in his movements that he was scared of Finland now.

Putting a compassionate hand on his arm, Finland said, "I'm not angry." Sweden's relief was so palpable, Finland felt the need to continue, "They're beautiful poems, and clearly only you could have written them. I treasure them." He touched his hand to his breast over where they lay folded carefully in his inner pocket.

Sweden followed the movement with his eyes, then seemed to understand a few moments later. He took in a breath, as though he wanted to say something, but then suddenly jerked away. He was staring at the ground, and Finland couldn't even begin to puzzle out what he was thinking this time.

"Shall we walk a bit?" he offered, a tinge of desperation in his voice. The paths in the garden had been cleared, although it was sure to snow again to-morrow or overmorrow, so it seemed to Finland like wasted effort. He could take advantage of it, though, if it might help him get back on track with winning control over Sweden's affections.

Sweden nodded and Finland started walking, trusting Sweden to follow. There was a raised ledge edging the path, and if he walked along it, he was just a little bit taller than Sweden.

"I'm sure the Prince will respect your wisdom on how to be a good ruler," Finland said lightly, trying to return to the topic from earlier. Sweden hummed non-noncommittally. "Maybe he thinks you value his candor as a friend."

Sweden looked up, finally, and scrutinized Finland for a long moment; he did his best not to flinch. "Why, when he's got no taste?"

"Of course he has taste. The most beautiful ladies at Court are the only ones who catch his eye, everyone says so." Finland could feel Sweden's intense stare, and tried very hard not to blush even as he deflected the comment.

"No taste in men, then," Sweden finally conceded, and it was difficult not to die of embarrassment under the weight of his achingly earnest compliment.

Frantic to distract himself from the aching feeling in his chest, Finland focused on his goal. Needing to get the situation back under control, he remembered a bit of advice from the sewing girls: purposefully create something for your target to save you from. The worst part had been when Astrid had demonstrated on him and he had fallen for it completely. It would be embarrassing to his pride, but not nearly as embarrassing as how she'd manipulated him. All he had to do was "trip" as he walked and let Sweden catch him in three, two--

He landed against Sweden's chest with an oomph, having been saved from his not-totally intentional slip. Well, at least no one could say it wasn't realistic. He was hyper aware of how Sweden's hands hovered over his shoulders as if afraid he might tip over again. "All right?"

Finland nodded. "I'm so sorry, I must have slipped on some ice--" He pushed away from Sweden's warmth reluctantly, but his feet were still on the ledge, meaning they were face to face for the first time maybe since they had met. Sweden was close, so close Finland could smell in person his familiar scent, which heretofore he'd experienced more as a trace left behind, perhaps paired with a lingering, fading warmth. He found one of his hands leaving Sweden's chest and caressing the curve of his cheek instead.

It was an awkward kiss, something that Finland realized with horror in the middle of it when Sweden wasn't kissing him back. Pulling away abruptly, he stood there, head down in shame for a moment, before deciding he'd better go. He hadn't gotten very far when Sweden called out to him, and he stopped but didn't turn around.

He could hear Sweden's footsteps come up behind him, and with a hand on his arm, Sweden turned him around to face him. Fingers under his chin forced him to look up, but he still kept his eyes averted. "Fin," Sweden said, plea in his voice, and Finland finally looked at his face.

He turned and ran this time and refused to look back, trying not to think about the way his heart felt like it was pulling itself apart, or why there had been fear in Sweden's eyes.

Chapter Text

Sweden gulped down the cold of the night air, fighting the dizziness and unease in his stomach that had suddenly come upon him. He gradually forced his breathing to slow down, closing his eyes and concentrating on returning to calm. The uncomfortable over-heat of his body gave way to the sting of the Scandinavian winter, and likewise he tried to order his thinking.

He focused on the most disturbing thing: he had felt it again when Finland had fallen against him. These flickers—these lapses—were not appropriate. He was Finland's protector, and a virtuous man would not think like this.

He was angry at himself, but if he was honest, also deeply frightened by these... whatever they were. They would appear, unbidden, and disappear as though they were lightning of the heart. He had never had a feeling like it before, but he suspected what it might be. They were coming more frequently, and he was terrified that they might snowball out of control. Already he had the sensation that he was descending recklessly, rapidly, down a path he could not in good conscience follow.

Even if— even if Finland had kissed him. There was another lightning strike at the memory of lips on his, and he forced it away. Surely Finland was not capable of such impure thoughts.

He was disgusted with himself; Finland had been right to flee.

***

The fact that not facing Astrid the next morning would say more than anything he possibly could was the only thing that drew Finland to see her. In truth, he would have preferred to stay hidden away in bed, huddled under the covers. It had taken him quite a while to fall asleep after he'd gotten back to his room, and the fogginess of mind from the lost rest was not a helpful addition to his overall confusion.

His distress must have shown on his face, because whatever teasing comment she had been about to make died on her lips in favor of a simple "What happened?"

Finland relayed the events of the night before as faithfully as he could, half-hoping that perhaps she could see something he had missed. His tongue stopped of its own accord after the compliment Sweden had payed him in contradiction to the prince, which was just as well, since she had already come to a conclusion. "Well, then, it's working, isn't it?" she said, clearly happy for him.

"Yeah," Finland said absently, not nearly as un-conflicted. He'd always had a vague impression of Sweden as a good man, but the deeper he'd gotten into this scheme, the more he'd realized it was the truth. It had been simpler before, when his feelings about his political situation weren't being influenced by his personal affinity for Sweden.

"Alright, what's really the matter?" she asked, voice tinged with sisterly exasperation.

Finland didn't particularly want to say, but after a few seconds under her concerned gaze, he caved. "I'm just not sure it's right to deceive him like this."

"Oh. I see."

Finland's cheeks warmed as he protested, "There's nothing to 'see'!"

"Of course not. That's why not hurting your cruel husband's feelings is suddenly more important than getting to see your homeland again."

"He's not cruel," Finland qualified. "I really think he might let me visit if I ask..." The words sounded weak even to his ears, and he trailed off in the face of her steady gaze. "I just can't help thinking that I'm confusing him." Or hurting him. "He was— he was scared. Of me."

"Who could be scared of you?" she laughed.

"When I kissed him," Finland said in a very small voice, but she seemed to have heard him, if the sharp hiss of indrawn breath was any indication, "he didn't kiss me back."

Astrid's hand on his shoulder caused him to look up to see her face, and his stomach sank at the naked sympathy he found there. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she said, voice filled with sincerity.

"Didn't know what?" he asked, clinging to what he was finally recognizing as the last vestiges of denial.

"Oh." It sounded like her heart was breaking for him, and her empathy made him acknowledge that his heart was breaking too.

***

"Cheer up," Karl ordered as he reloaded. "Your moping is throwing off my aim."

Sweden recalled pettily that the prince's aim had never been particularly good. Sure enough, the next bullet barely nicked the clay target, and Karl swore with feeling, his breath puffing in front of him. Waving a hand down the range as if intending to indicate as evidence in support of his earlier thesis, he seemed to have given up shooting practice as a bad job until Sweden's bad mood could be fixed.

Expectant eyes turned on him caused Sweden's irritation to slip into unease as he realized he would be required to vocalize the situation and then, worse, listen to Karl try to solve it for him. As far as he could see, there was no way to fix things. Finland was currently refusing to see him, and when he did catch the occasional glimpse, it was impossible to miss the tension in his eyes or the flatness of his voice. He looked defeated. Karl would only congratulate him for achieving in one winter what he supposed he was supposed to have been working for all the years Finland had been his. He wouldn't understand that Sweden wanted to protect Finland, defiant spirit and all, and the failure was all the more bitter for the nature of the weakness he had succumbed to. Finally he said, "Finland's upset."

"Comfort him, then," the prince said.

"Can't."

Karl's expression turned sour, his patience fraying. "Why not?"

"I can't be near him. I think... impure thoughts." His voice tightened. "I don't know what started 'em, but I can't stop 'em anymore."

Then, even as Sweden's hands were shaking with emotion, Karl laughed. Sweden frowned and turned away slightly, the lines of his body hunching in on themselves.

"Well, if you didn't want to bed him," Karl said with a leer that made Sweden very uncomfortable, "then why did you marry him?"

"I needed to be a man." Sweden waited for the prince's expectant look to fade, and he felt acutely the centuries between them. Karl didn't understand finally being a week out from home, and all the men around you speaking of their wives, their longing lurking in their eyes, when you had no memory of your family's warm embrace to take you from the merciless sea tossing your ship around beneath your feet. He had never witnessed the kindness in a man's heart multiply five-fold simply by holding his little daughter, or seen the lines around a man's proud smile as he shared his wisdom with his son. He had never been inspired to see strength bloom brilliantly in a young mother and compare it to the not-so-faded memory of when she had been just a girl.

He saw more than crops come up and bear fruit on his farm; he saw yesterday's children become men and women today. Nothing like life here.

"I was grown," Sweden tried, "but I wasn't an adult. Then I built my own house, with my own hands, so I could care for my wife."

"I'm not idealistic about marriage," Karl said, reaching for his powder to reload again. "Ours are going to be treaties, maybe yours more literally than mine." He smirked. "In treaties, though, typically both sides get something out of it. But you're sounding like this is all about you and not about the pair of you. I'm not sure that's the way to build a partnership, get it?"

At the truth of the words, shame flared to life and burned hot in Sweden's gut.

***

"Alright," Finland said to himself. "Alright. This is enough." He stood and paced the length of his room, energy having suddenly come upon him and spilling down into his legs. He had allowed himself a few days of listlessness over his broken heart, but he'd started to grate on himself, and it was time to get over it. He was stuck with Sweden, would be stuck with him in a small farmhouse where there wasn't nearly the potential for avoidance when the spring came, and it just wasn't dignified to pine like he was. For all that he insisted with his words that he was a man, it was time to act like one.

He grabbed his hat and coat, hastened out of his room, cleared his throat, and then promptly lost his nerve when Sweden's intense gaze met his. "Um. I, uh, I'm going out to look at the stars."

"Alright," Sweden rumbled.

"You could, that is, if you're not busy, I'd like-- Come with me." He didn't fidget as Sweden squinted as though he was unsure he could trust his senses, and he didn't flinch when Sweden shot up to his feet.

They walked outside in silence, and his nerves were on edge from the strangeness of Sweden following him half a step behind. He forgot it, though, at the first sight of the Moon. In contrast to his feelings for the stars, he was always mesmerized by the silvery glow of the Moon, and to-night it was shining brightly, hanging full over them. His steps stopped along with his breath, and Sweden made an alarmed noise before crashing into him from behind.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, wondering when he had become so clumsy to find himself needing to be caught for the second time in as many weeks. Sweden's grip was firm, and it lingered for a moment too long before he jerked back, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. Finland stifled a sigh. "I'm sorry," he said, and Sweden seemed to cotton on that he wasn't talking about his clumsiness anymore, at least if the firm shake of his head was any indication.

He could have taken the easy out Sweden was giving him, but his pride wouldn't have let him ever forget it. "No. I knew you didn't feel that way about me, and I pushed anyway. What's worse, my motives were less-than pure. I acted dishonorably, and I promise you never to do it again." Bowing his head, he waited.

"If ya did," Sweden finally allowed, "it's because I forced you into it. I've been arrogant."

Finland looked up and scrutinized Sweden's expression, honestly not knowing what Sweden was talking about, aside from the obvious, and he seriously doubted Sweden had suddenly decided to divorce him. "You have," he agreed slowly.

"I promise you," Sweden said, eyes closed as though it took all his concentration to say, "I'll become a man worthy of being yer husband."

He was so dear in that moment, Finland's heart felt as though it was being squeezed, and it apparently stole his sense along with his breath. He leaned forward and put a hand up to cradle Sweden's cheek.

The crunch of the snow as Sweden moved away rang loud in his ears, and the one emotion he could identify, fear, was back in Sweden's eyes. But why? Why? The confusion held him paralyzed, or so he thought, until the apology slipped from his lips. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-- I don't expect you to... reciprocate." He cringed; he hadn't been supposed to tell Sweden that his feelings had changed! That would surely only make Sweden's anxiety worse.

"What?" Sweden asked hoarsely.

"Is it so strange?" Finland asked, letting go of the panic as not helpful. "We're married after all, and like I keep telling you, I'm a man too."

Sweden's brow knit, and Finland tried not to be hurt that his love was so unwelcome; it was no news to him. "Lightning," Sweden mumbled.

"Sure," Finland said, used to non sequiturs at this point. "You could say it's like lightning." He carefully took a step forward, simultaneously trying not to spook Sweden or himself. Hands wavering, he forced himself to take the plunge. "When your gaze catches mine. When your arms are around me. When I kiss you." Sweden let himself be pulled, and it was just as electric when their lips met as the last time.

They lingered there, faces close for a few exhilarating moments, but when their eyes met again, Finland could still see the fear. "It's alright," he said blindly, hoping it would be enough. "It'll be alright."

Sweden's thumb traced the line of his shaky smile, and it turned up into one more genuine. "Anyway, the Moon's beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

Sweden grunted an affirmative as the corner of his own mouth flicked upwards. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Reminds me of you."

Finland sputtered for a moment, but Sweden straightened up and pulled him close, and he decided to stop being embarrassed and enjoy the night sky. The starlight, he supposed, reminded him of Sweden too.