Song of the chapter is both "Little House" by the Fray, the "Sixth Station" from Spirited Away, and one other song. Whoever guesses the song that each quote is part of in the beginning of the chapter (from now on) will get a prize of some sort. Drawing, oneshot, something hopefully worth your trouble.
Discalimer: Hetalia is not and thankfully, will never become mine.
Chapter 2: Little House
"Sunny morning, you can hear it, siren's warning. There is weather on both sides…and I know it's coming…"
No way was this going to happen.
Not again.
Echoes of laughter and muffled footsteps rung in his ears, and the smell of wood burning in the hearth of a fireplace wrapped around his nose, blending with the brisk scent of pine. The cold nipped at his nose and made it runny, and his throat dry. A chill racked his body, and the blonde gave a slight shiver as he rubbed his hands together. The pitter-patter of padded paws trailed after him as he made his way to the pond's edge. Or at least they should have.
He stood by the border of snow and ice. The pond was still taped off, and the vivid yellow ribbon seemed blindingly bright against the white landscape. Looking past the neon-colored barrier, the blue-eyed child could still see the small hole in the pond's frozen surface. The edges had begun to re-freeze and slowly, all evidence of the struggle that had taken place there began to vanish as well. The opening was small now, about the size of a small soccer ball. Nature seemed to be moving on, but he couldn't.
After all, what was there to move on from anyway?
His face contorted into a strained expression, lips trembling as they curved upward in a perverse imitation of a smile. His eyes began to feel warm, and his brow kept twitching.
His shoulders shook as a strangled sob escaped from his throat. His vision blurred, and it seemed as though ever since it occurred, his vision was constantly blurry. Shapes were indistinct, and he relied more on his hearing than before. He strained his ears in search of that familiar laugh, but only heard echoes. His parents grew worried, and had taken him to see the doctor. Apparently he needed glasses, but he knew he didn't need them. His vision had always been perfect. A few weeks later, the blurriness disappeared, but he kept the glasses. Everything was hazy, and they made his head hurt a lot. It was nice. Details were fuzzy, and people's faces were indistinct…and that was the best part.
He didn't have to see his face at the procession. That way, he could say it wasn't him they put six feet under. Perhaps the boy in the casket had the same name, but not the same face…or at least that's what he argued.
Another cold breeze battered his body and he blinked several times before his vision began to focus back again. Silently he stared back at the hole, and for the first time, the glasses didn't help. Tears streamed down his cheeks in small rivulets, and his knees collapsed from beneath him. The boy let out a scream, and it rang out within the woods, and he bled his sorrows onto the snow, but no one heard him. The only ones watching are the trees, and they're not very talkative. They never tell secrets. They only whisper their knowledge to the wind, and if one listens closely, they may hear their hushed murmurs.
For a moment, he almost vomits on the snow, but there is nothing to wretch, so he gags and stares at the hole once more before his eyes widen, and suddenly, everything goes black. Before he succumbs, he hears the sound of laughter and muffled footsteps.
For a moment, he fears this is real.
For a moment, he fears things are clear.
For a moment…he fears the dried blood splattered around the edges of the hole isn't a part of his imagination.
The sound of another crack startles him, and reality hits him like a sack of bricks.
He looks down and sees the ice cracking and interweaving like a spider's intricate web. The Swede noticed the shorter blonde standing in the center of the crack, trapped like a bug in the web's center. Quickly, he reaches for the shorter, because at this point, only speed will determine whether the Finn falls in or not. His movements feel slow and languid, and perhaps the adrenaline pumping through his system make him feel this way, but he can't help but wonder if it really is. He lunged for the blonde's arm, but one last crack beats him to the chase.
Horror seeps into the Swede's heart as he watches the ice crumble beneath the young man.
For one second, the blonde opens his eyes, and at first the Swede sees sweet caramel staring back at him, but the image flickers quickly, and he sees that those eyes aren't brown, but a light mauve, and they were warm, and they were understanding. They were both enchanting and terrifying.
Then time reverted back to its normal self, and his fingers grasped at nothing as the Finn plunged beneath the ice into the frigid depths below.
Tino had the same dream again and again. The woman would sing to him and a pair of arms would rock him to sleep. Except for the bear, everything was pretty much the same.
The singing stopped. He looked up from the pair of arms he was held in and felt something warm run down his face. The smell of copper permeated the air and a sense of dread lined the bottom of his stomach as he slowly raised his gaze upwards towards that face he could never quite see. Florid droplets flowed down the person's neck, and it kept flowing and flowing, and oh God, it just wouldn't stop! He tried to yell, but he couldn't move or speak. He was frozen, and the warmth that once encompassed him morphed into a numbing cold. Tino blinked, and suddenly the arms around him disappeared into nothing, and he found himself on the hard floor soaked in scarlet. The walls were speckled with the color and handprints could be made out against the battered doorframes. The distant sound of a woman singing drifted into the copper-laden air, and made Tino's heart nearly skip a beat. The noise was getting closer. It was just around the corner, and all he can do is wait, petrified, as the footsteps got closer. Then the singing stopped, and he looks up to the doorway and his breath catches in his throat. Right there in the doorway was the bear from last night.
It was looking right at him.
With a startled gasp, the Finn blinked his eyes and peered up at a tall blonde man rushing towards him. He found it strange but he only had time to lock gazes with the man for a brief second. The man's eyes were a pale blue-green, yet despite their frosty demeanor, Tino knew them. He was no stranger to them.
The bear was nothing new, after all.
In an instant, all thoughts melted into one white, fuzzy mess as the cold invaded his body. The sensation of thousands of knives digging into his skin blotted out any coherent thoughts, and suddenly he couldn't hear the ringing anymore. Everything sounded far away and was marred by the water. The cold seeped into his body, and chilled his bones, and after a few painful seconds, he felt numb and oddly, warm. His eyes opened blearily to glance at his hand.
Was that his hand reaching towards the surface, he couldn't tell? He was so warm. Too warm. The sensation was smothering him, and he didn't like it.
As his conscious began to recede into a watery nothingness, he tilted his head up to see the surface being wiped clear, and suddenly, the bear's eyes were looking at him again through a small, clear patch of ice.
The last thing he was aware of was the feeling of another grasping his outstretched hand.
Cold droplets of ice water splashed against his face, as he stared at the spot where the sleepwalking Finn had been only moments ago. Suddenly, realization was dawning upon him, and with sharp gasp, Berwald got to his knees and started swiping the surface of the frost-covered ice. After a few seconds of fumbling around, panic began to build up in his system before he caught sight of blonde hair flowing beneath the ice. The blood was pulsing in his ears and he could practically feel each rush of blood pumping through his blood vessels as he reached behind him, hands scrambling for the hatchet he had brought with him. When his hands grasped the hatchet's handle, the Swede wasted no time in swinging around, and hacking at the ice. The adrenaline fueled each swing of the hatchet, and each crack brought him closer to the Finn.
A loud crack disturbed Berwald's focus, and with a jolt, he noticed that he had created a hole in the surface. Without hesitation, he reached his hand into the icy water, and struggled to grasp onto the drowning Blonde. With a grunt, his fingers grabbed onto Tino, and with a strained grumble, he started to haul the Blonde out of the water. Even though his hands had only been submerged for a few seconds, they had already began to start feeling numb, and tingling sensations surged through his arms as he struggled to pull the Finn out of the water. The young Blonde was heavy, and he didn't struggle. Well shit, that's not very good. Not at all.
With one last heave, Berwald hauled the Finn out of the water, and slid his body a safe distance away from the broken ice. He ran a (very) quick check of the boy's vitals, and then proceeded to hoist him on his back. As he got back up, the Swede stumbled over his feet, the weight of the unconscious Blonde throwing off his balance. Determined, Berwald returned to his cabin as fast as he could, the shivering body against his back wouldn't let him focus on anything else at the moment; everything was a terrible blur, and the only thing fueling him right now was absolute.
He could not, and would not let another fall victim to the pond.
The Swede had succeeded in removing the immediate threat to the Finn, but next came the trickiest part. He had to warm him up before hypothermia kicked in. If it got that bad, well, then one could only pray.
Shifting the Blonde on his back, he opened the door and closed it behind him with small kick of his foot. He rushed into the living room where the fire was. Gently, he lay the unconscious Finn down in front of the hearth. The boy's pallor was paper white, and his lips were tinged a deathly shade of blue, and his body convulsed violently. Suddenly, a slight flush stained his cheeks as he realized something.
If he was going to warm this guy up, he had to get him out of those wet clothes (not that there were that many but still), and quick. With a quick shake of his head, he expelled any embarrassing thoughts and ran into the kitchen to grab a pair of scissors. On his way back, he grabbed some towels from the bathroom, and headed back to the fireplace. He turned his gaze back to the Finn, and inhaled deeply. After a second or two, he let go of his breath and descended upon the Blonde, tearing through the heavy, wet clothing. The cloth was resistant, but the Swede was even more resilient. He tore through the soaked long sleeve first, and struggled to cut through the sweatpants. The water made the fabric stick to the Finn's skin, and Berwald tried to cut around it as delicately as could. He tossed aside the articles of clothing as he cut through them until the Blonde was lying in only his boxers. Focusing on his task, he grabbed the towels beside him, and wrapped it around the quivering body in front of him, and patted dry his skin, and even wrapped a towel around his head to preserve it's warmth, and prevent further loss of heat. He placed a towel over the Blonde's hips, and snuck his hand underneath the material, and grabbed hold of the Finn's boxers. With a quick tug, he yanked them off the boy's hips, and pulled them down his goose-bump covered legs.
Shaking slightly, he fell backwards and landed on the floor with a loud thump (and a grunt on his behalf). He managed to save the young man, but there was still the possibility that he may fall to sickness. The thought alone made the Swede want to pull out his hair, and made his chest swell with an overwhelming sense of dread. Slowly, Berwald got up, and with one last glance at the wrapped up Finn, he made his way upstairs into the bedroom, and opened the oak wood dresser (that he had carved) by his bed. He rummaged through its contents until he finally pulled out a pair of black sweat pants, a clean pair of underwear, a white long sleeve, and a blue sweater. He tucked the clothing beneath his hands, and ambled down the stairs.
As he made his way over to the fireplace once again, he thought back to when the Finn had fallen through the ice, only minutes before. The whole thing seemed pretty surreal, and almost slow, in the giant's opinion. The moment right before the young man had fallen in was etched into his mind's eye, and all he could really remember was how the Finn had looked him straight in the eyes like he knew. But that's what was bugging him. What did he know? The thought made him snort.
"I'm goin' cr'zy."
After what seemed like forever, the Swede had succeeded in dressing the smaller blonde in the dry clothes he had picked out. The whole process had been rather trying on his nerves, since the towel covering the Finn up had almost fallen off God know how many times. Awkwaaaaaaard. Berwald constantly checked the Blonde's temperature, frowning each time as he realized it wasn't getting any better. He tried to wrap the boy in wool blankets, yet he still quivered from the cold. When the fever had yet to pass, the Swede picked him up, and laid him down on the sofa. He stared down at the Finn's face, and observed how pale his cheeks were. His physiognomy was relaxed, and if it weren't for the fact that Berwald could see his eyes moving back and forth beneath his eyelids, he would have thought him dead. His chest rose and fell in such a subtle manner, that, it barely looked like it was moving at all. He leaned down and brushed the Blonde's bangs out of his face, letting his fingers linger on smooth cheeks, before tracing the outline of his lips. The velvety texture of his skin was addictive, and left a tingling feeling in the Swede's fingertips, that left him with a need for more. Gradually, Berwald let his hands return by his side, when he noticed the Blonde was still shivering, albeit not as much as before. With little hesitation, he climbed onto the sofa, behind the Finn, and pulled him to his chest, and pulled the covers over the both of them. The movement caused the younger man to stir a bit, but he did not wake. Gently, Berwald interwove a calloused hand into the Finn's locks, massaging his head with the tips of his fingers. Little by little, the giant grew drowsy, and soon enough, he dozed off with Tino sound asleep against his chest.
When he looked up at the ceiling, Tino noticed it was tinged a dirty red, and a small plop of liquid landed on his face, making him wince as it splattered across his cheek. He glanced back up at the ceiling and tilted his head in slight confusion when he saw what looked like blood. That old coppery scent began to permeate the walls, staining it a rusty red. He twisted his head to the side and saw nothing but an expanse of white. Odd. A peculiar feeling started to settle in his stomach when he realized he couldn't sit upright. Tino was stuck in his position on the floor.
"Calm down. It's probably just that whole sleep paralysis mumbo jumbo…yes, that's it." He blew a lock of hair out of his face and looked back down at the ceiling. 'What a minute…since when was the furniture on the ceiling?' Tino was puzzled as to why such a thing was even happening, but all thoughts pertaining to the mystery flew out the window the moment he saw a bloody print on the glass of the coffee table. His eyes widened as he followed what looked like the beginnings of a trail of bloody handprints. Some tiny pools of the fluid dotted the ceiling. Dear God, this was a little too messed up for his liking. The strange feeling he had felt prior began to wriggle and writhe in the pit of his abdomen, and suddenly, he could feel his hands go clammy, and his lips felt cracked and parched. His pulse was so loud he could feel it pounding through his limbs, and his ears began to ring. A loud snap from up above drew his attention back to the macabre scene before him. A little to his right, behind the creaky rocking chair, was a young brunette.
The same boy from last night.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, willing himself to calm down. Panic wasn't going to get him anywhere.
He knew the boy from somewhere, but he didn't know where. Every time Tino tried to remember, his vision went fuzzy, and his mind filled with a haze. Details were blurred, and the sounds of distant memories replayed in his head, albeit somewhat muffled. His temple throbbed a little, and that thirsty feeling returned in full force.
The sensation was akin to that one time he had a slight hangover after that drinking competition with that idiot he called Jesper. Now Tino was no lightweight, not by any means. Quite contrary to popular belief, the mild-mannered Finn was quite a beast when it came to holding his own in a drinking competition. In fact, he never drinks because he knows (from experience) that once he starts, he won't stop. Tino and Jesper could chug down alcohol like it was water. Although he has never admitted it aloud, he's a bit proud of his talent. Jesper on the otherhand…well he never seemed to stop boasting about it.
An abrupt creaking noise made Tino pause and look up.
A blur of movement crossed his field of vision, and when he looked back at the rocking chair, the boy was gone.
A slight chill went up Tino's spine.
The rocking chair was swinging back and forth, and blood smeared across the ceiling (or was it the floor?) as the bottom of the chair glided over the surface. The patterns created from it looked eerily like someone had dragged their bloody fingertips across the ceiling, and the scene overall looked as if it had been taken straight out of a horror film.
A giggle of laughter rang clear across the room, and Tino struggled to turn his head in the direction of the sound.
He tilted his head back and came face to face with a pair of mauve eyes, so much like his own. They seemed to twinkle with laughter and amusement, but the sentiment contained within their depths wasn't warm. Tino felt goose bumps rise up on this skin, and felt the sensation of icy water being dumped on him spread throughout his body. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the sight before him made his heart jerk painfully. The boy with eyes like his own stared back at him. He had wisps of brown hair that swept across his forehead, and some strands seemed to stick to the boy's thick lashes. His skin was a ghostly shade of white. The pallor of his skin contrasted with his pink-tipped nose and ears. The boy was staring at him.
Ahti was smiling.
Tino's breath hitched, and for a moment, it seemed like he had forgotten how to breathe.
The boy laced his hand through Tino's hair, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. Tears welled up in the Finn's eyes, and he could hardly even utter a single noise.
Ahti pulled his face back until he rested both of their foreheads together. Tino felt something warm dribble down his cheeks and the boy cupped both of them with his small hands.
A tiny noise escaped through Tino's throat, and his chest gave a shudder as he tried to calm himself down.
"How…you're here-I-you…" He swallowed the large lump in his throat, "you're awake."
The boy giggled, and closed his eyes in delight. The sight made Tino smile, and soon enough, he joined in the other's laughter. A feeling of joy seemed to fill the hollow within Tino's chest, but something felt off. The Finn was shaken from his thoughts as something wet ran down his face. His eyes widened in surprise, and he glanced back up at the boy. Small rivulets of blood ran down his cheeks and dribbled down his mouth, and the droplets fell upon his face.
"Ahti! You're b-bleeding!" Terror began to replace the joy within his chest.
"No I'm not," He said.
Tino's gaze was filled with confusion at his odd statement, and he lifted up his hand (when did he regain control of his body?) to wipe away the scarlet fluid.
The boy grasped his hand, and steered it towards his own face. When he pulled back, his hand was dripping with blood. He felt his insides go cold as he glanced back at Ahti.
"What?"
The child just smiled that saccharine smile of his, and repeated, "I'm not the one bleeding," A cold, frightening look crossed the boy's features as the smile dropped from his face. "You are."
Tino was too stunned to comprehend what was being said, and the ringing began to return at once. The deafening noise came on so suddenly, that Tino's vision began to swim in a terrible swirl of red, whites, and all colors in between. Ahti's laughter was thrown into the mix as the Finn tried to recover from the sudden vertigo. He looked back, and Ahti was gone. The creaking of the rocking chair returned, and he turned his neck so quickly, he suffered from whiplash. The pitter-pat of blood droplets raining down around him flooded his ears, and he thought that if the noise got any louder, his ears might just explode. He cried out as he grasped his head in his hands.
"Brother."
Tino's eyes flew open, and he glanced up at the ceiling again. No one has called him that since well…since a long time ago.
Ahti was gazing at him from above. The sight was puzzling, as the boy was standing on the floor, yet from Tino's perspective, it looked like he was standing on the ceiling. The room glowed a warm orange as fire began to spread across the floor. Ahti looked up at him, and reached out his hand towards Tino. The child tilted his head to the side, and gave a manic grin. The cold feeling in the pit of the Finn's stomach burst into full-fledge terror. The boy's gaze bore into him like a knife. The flames were too hot, and Tino could feel their warmth licking at his face.
"Brother, why are you on the ceiling?"
The Finn wanted to cry out in sheer agony. Everything was so…so messed up.
"Tino, why don't you take my hand?" An angry cry burst from Ahti, and his face contorted into a livid expression, "Why didn't you join me?"
Everything was so disorienting, and it felt like someone had pulled out the rug beneath his feet.
Tino was petrified with fear, and his muscles cramped up. He turned his head to the side, thrashing in pain, and saw the ceiling give away. Parts of the surface gave way, and streams of cold air, and light poured into the smoky room. Snowflakes trickled through the holes, and down towards the floor where Ahti and the fire was.
"You should listen to your brother, Tino," The voice of a woman drifted to him from below him, but he couldn't see her.
Ahti looked like he was on the verge of tears, and he shook in his fury.
"You don't belong up there! Brother!" The boy stomped his foot down, and the flames flared up in response.
More cracks spread across the surface that lay beneath him, and he felt the chill of the cold at his back. A pair of arms hooked beneath his arms, and all of a sudden, he was being pulled away from the flames.
Ahti's face was solemn, and his eyes shined with loneliness, "Tino, mother is calling you."
Within seconds, Ahti was out of sight, and the bloody room was gone, replaced with white snow. A pair of pale blue eyes met with his, and a sudden chill washed over him. Tino took three deep, shuddering breaths before the tears started to roll down his face. His keening echoed across the valley, and stirred the pinewoods with its sorrow. The owner of those blue eyes continued to watch over the Finn, and they glazed over in a doleful sheen. The sound of Tino's grief was unsettling, and the noise was comparable to that of a banshee's. The Finn wrapped his hands around the Swede's and squeezed it with all his might. The blue-eyed blonde winced at the sudden pain but forced himself to relax. Slowly, Tino calmed down, and began to fall back into a deep slumber. He twisted his head upwards to face his savior, and almost smiled when he saw his eyes. Berwald stroked Tino's scalp, and didn't utter a word, afraid that the Finn might shatter beneath his touch.
Tino gave one soft chuckle before his eyelids started to close.
"It's you again," he drawled.
A feeling of déjà vu flooded his body, like he had met the man before. Tino almost smiled at the silly thought.
Honestly, all this déjà vu was starting to piss him off.
The Swede continued to stare at him, and only gave a slight nod. At first, Berwald never paid any notice to the young brunette staring at him from across the snowfield. His frigid gaze was as sharp as icicles, and filled with contempt. A slight shiver ran down Berwald's spine, and finally, he looked up. Their eyes locked on one another, and for once in very long time, Berwald felt afraid.
The sound of "You're My Better Half" rang throughout the cold hotel room, followed by a noisy groan. A hand shout out from beneath the duvet, and wandered aimlessly across the nightstand before it grasped what it was looking for. A broad hand picked up the offending device, and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall with a sickening crunch, and landed on the floor with a dull thud. A long pause filled the room. Suddenly, the hand stilled, "wait a minute…" A pair of cobalt eyes flew open in alarm, and the Dane scrambled out from beneath the covers, in search of the object he had thrown. "Oh Shit! My Baby!" What Jesper had thought to be his alarm clock was actually his phone.
The Dane went down on all fours trying to gather up the pieces of his precious "Baby." The back of the device was scratched in two places, and the little knobs on the back of the cover had broken off, which meant the phone's battery kept falling out of place. Jesper stared at the little Nokia with a slight pout on his face. It was the latest model too.
An hour of grumbling, and several pieces of scotch tape later, Jesper managed to revive his baby. Dammit, that was the third phone he's done that to! The young man ran his hand through his unruly hair and gave a slight huff as he went through his list of recent calls. The ringtone playing that morning could only mean one thing. 'One glorious thing' he thought with a smirk.
Aleks called him. Aleks called him. Aleks called him. Aleks called him!
An elated chuckle rumbled deep within the Dane's throat, as he hummed to himself in joy. Sure today had started off a little unlucky (his poor baby!), but nothing beat the fact that Aleksander called him. The fact that he was yelling (and cursing) at him over the phone yesterday didn't even go through his mind. He was just one happy son of a bitch right now. The cheery Dane sauntered down to the front desk of his hotel, and checked out. It didn't take him long to exit the Umeå city limits, and drive along familiar roads. He was going back to the place he had called 'home' long ago. The roads were icy, and the heater of his red SUV was busted, but he didn't mind.
He loved the cold. The sun could go fuck itself for all he cared…well except that he would because then the planets would fall out of orbit, and they'd all die…or some shit that Hinrik had told him a long time ago. 'Nah…he probably just made that all up.' As he drove up the winding roads, he pulled out his hand dandy Bluetooth, and made a phone call.
The phone only rang three times before one irate Norwegian picked up.
"It's about time, you insufferable stooge," a voice deadpanned from the other side.
"Well good morning to you too, sunshine. So what's up?"
"…You didn't even bother to listen to my message before you called, did you?"
"…"
"I'll take that as a yes."
A sigh could be heard from somewhere in the background, and Jesper had to focus real hard before he confirmed two voices speaking to one another in hushed tones.
The Dane felt a little put off at the lack of attention, "So…uh Aleks, I'm uhh …on my way up to the town already, so make sure to empty out that guest bedroom of yours before I arrive," His butt was itchy," actually, I could just stay in your bed too you kno-"
A loud crash resounded on the other side of the line.
"…What." The Norwegian didn't sound very pleased. "You are on your way where?"
Jesper gave a great sigh, as if recounting some terrible tale, "On my way there. Your house, tu casa, the whole shebang, you know?"
"Yesterday I didn't think you could get anymore stupid; it seems you've proved me wrong yet again. Your level of stupidity is infinite, and is an insult to mother nature herself. You make Alfred look like Albert Einstein."
The Dane let the comment bounce off him, and gave a deep chuckle of laughter. Oh Aleks, what a sly little thing. Jesper almost frowned when he drove past a certain landmark.
"Listen Aleks, I'm about to enter that part of the valley that's like a a cellular graveyard, so just leave everything ready for me, okay? Thanks, 'kay bye, I love ya!"
He gave a triumphant smirk as he heard the Norwegian splutter indignantly.
"Why you little piece of shi-shhe shhe" The line went dead, as he entered the dead zone.
"Ha! What great timing!" The Dane smiled, and focused his sight on the road. He glanced at the passenger seat of his car, and felt his smile falter a bit. A twinge of anxiety welled up in his chest. Tino hadn't taken the boxes of medication with him. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he chewed on his lip absentmindedly. He was supposed to look out for the little guy, and al-fucking-ready he'd let him down.
"Dammit."
The first thing Tino was aware of was the smell of sawdust, and pinewood. With a start, he sat up, only to meet resistance when a pair of arms tightened their hold on his torso. He let out a silent gasp and tensed up. Now there are times when one needs to calm down, take a deep breath, and analyze the situation with poise and composure. But then again, there are times when a good old "What the fuck?" suffices. Hey, it gets the message across, right?
Tino grumbled curses left and right as he attempted to catch his cool once again. With one big gulp, he tried to turn his head towards the offender, when he stopped. The Finn was surprised to find himself nose to nose with another blonde. Blinking very rapidly, Tino realized that the giant was actually his neighbor, as in the giganto, axe wielding, beast of a man that lived next door. The sudden revelation, colored his face a nice rosy red, and when he found his gaze wandering along those rigid cheekbones and jaw line, he shook his head. 'Dear God…help me.'
Tino did a quick double take of his surroundings, and saw that aside from the Swede currently wrapped around him, he was a in a cozy living room, and to his left was a crackling fire. The wind was howling outside, and it battered against the cabin windows in an eerie manner. The interior of the cabin was decorated in a sparse, almost homey manner. On the back of the sofas, there was what looked like homemade quilts, their ends frayed from what he imagined to be years of frequent use. Comfortable warmth filled the room, yet somehow, Tino felt like something was a bit off. The tall Swede behind him shifted a little, pulling Tino out of his little reverie, and reminding him, that he was not alone. The man began to stir even more, and let out a bear of a yawn. Panic startled to settle in the pit of his stomach, and before the Swede could notice that he was awake, Tino decided to feign sleep. It took all of his willpower to not shout out loud, and round on the stranger behind him, and give him a good jab, or two, to the jaw. He forced his chest to rise and fall in the same, slow manner, and constrained his muscles into a relaxed position.
Slowly, the man withdrew himself from Tino, and got off the sofa. He stretched his legs, and gave another silent yawn. Berwald glanced down at the Finn lying where he was just moments ago. The Blonde reached down and covered him back up with the quilt, tucking in the edges into the corners of the sofa, making Tino feel as snug as possible. So far so good, it seemed like his neighbor was buying his act, so why wasn't the Swede walking away? He couldn't open his eyes, since that would just give him away, but he would still be able to hear him right?
The Finn's questions were answered the second he felt a warm, rough hand place itself upon his forehead. The difference in temperature was almost immediate, and he couldn't help but twitch his brow at the contact.
The hand trailed down his cheeks, and its warm touch relieved the chill that Tino felt throughout his body. He hadn't realized how cold he felt until that moment, and despite his best efforts, he let a soft sigh pass through his lips, and almost right after, the trailing hand came to a stop, and seemed to hesitate, before it disappeared completely. For what seemed like a moment, Tino almost felt disappointed, but restrained himself from showing it, because he knew he was being watched.
He didn't know how long he was being watched for, but eventually, he succumbed to the cold, and started to fall back to sleep. He almost smiled when he realized he could hear how loud the silence was.
'Funny…I can hear again…'
The way the Finn's face twitched beneath his fingers sent a jolt of dread through Berwald, as he realized, he might've been caught touching a stranger's face. His cheeks burned, and the tips of his ears felt hot, and it felt like he just had cotton stuffed into his ears. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, and let it drop back to his side. The Swede continued to gaze down at the blonde however, and God knows how long he stood there. Berwald's mind was foggy from sleep, and his mind wandered from one thought to another like a restless nomad. When his eyes finally started to water, he blinked back the tears, and waited for his vision to settle back to normal. Once everything came back into focus, he began to feel a little odd, like he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. Everything in sight was much too clear, and crisp for him to bear. He glanced back at the sleeping blond, and finally turned around, looking for his glasses. After a few seconds of looking around, he found them on the floor, by the foot of the couch. He picked them up, and placed them on his face. After years of wearing glasses, he had slight indents on the bridge of his nose, and on the backs of his ears. He gave another sigh, and turned back to his sleeping neighbor. This time however, the details of his face were a bit more blurred due to the thick lenses of his spectacles, but he could still make out the features of the man's face. A slight frown marred his brow, and caused a shadow to fall upon his cheekbones.
This was too much.
Shaking his head, the Swede pivoted on his heel, and made for the stairs. He needed to take a shower. He made his way up slowly, peering at the wall alongside the creaky steps. Multiple picture frames dotted the wooden walls; some frames contained happy pictures of when he was young. Every once in a while, he would spot a picture of he and the boys together. There were pictures of them ice fishing, building snowmen, and even some pictures of he and Jesper trying to tear the other one's throat out. The memories that lined the wall made a small bit of warmth swell within his chest, and he could feel his lips quirk upwards in a tiny smile. Nostalgia invaded his mind, and instead of traveling up the stairs, he seemed to be going back through time. The feeling was strange, but not entirely unwelcome. The only bad thing about these memories was the fact that they often brought about thoughts of him. The blonde shook his head, as if it would help shake the thoughts away.
"I need to see a d'ct'r."
As he lay in the shower, beneath the waterfall of cold water, Berwald continued to stare out into empty space, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. Everything felt like vertigo, and it felt like a huge weight had just been dumped onto his shoulders. The chill of the water helped soothe his nerves a little, and he barely even noticed the way goose bumps arose on his skin, or the slight tremor in his hands. He had long ago gotten used to the ice water.
It's what he grew up in, and it's what he has always known. Unlike that Ivan fellow from the tavern downtown, he doesn't yearn or seek for warm summer days, full of soft breezes, and stifling hot, stagnant air. Berwald has always relished the frigidity of the North. His profound respect for the mountains, snow, and winter was ingrained deep within his being, and his love for it ran deeper than most. For him, this was his home, and despite his quiet, stoic demeanor, he held a great pride in where he lived.
A deep chuckle erupted from the back of his throat as he recalled the times when he and Jesper would challenge each other to contests in the snow to see who could withstand the elements longest, and who was the "manliest." They would do stupid things like taking naps out in the snow, while Aleksander would mutter how stupid they were, Hinrik copying his movements like the little brother he was. And then he would be standing there, begging them to stop their foolishness, nearly on the verge of tears. Berwald always gave in before he did though; he never had the ability to say no him after all.
Berwald opened his eyes, and didn't even wince when the water running down his face mingled with eyes. His face relaxed, and his expression turned a little blue as wave after wave of childhood memories came over him. With a great sigh, he hauled himself up, and started to wash his hair. He had wasted too much water already.
The creaking sound of the plumbing woke the sleeping Finn. He gave a great yawn that caused tears to prickle in the corners of his eyes. He rubbed them away with the back of his knuckles, and stood up. His body still felt odd, one moment he felt cold, and the next, he would feel hot. The Finn left the blankets folded against the back of the sofa, and stretched his legs. He was in the same place as he was before. The muffled sounds of running water let Tino know that the other was probably taking a shower. Slowly, the young blond crept around the room, gaze focused upon the furniture. The craftsmanship of the furniture was exquisite, and looked as though it came out of one of those home magazines. Tino only ventured through the living room and the kitchen; he didn't dare wander into the closed bedrooms. He felt bad enough as it is, snooping around someone else's home. The Finn was confused as to why he was here. One moment he was at home, with a terrible migraine, and then poof! He's lying in the embrace of his mysterious neighbor. How cliché. The only reason why the Finn didn't wander off back towards his own home was because of his own curiosity. Questions like how the hell did he end up here? What happened? Despite his confusion, Tino felt the strong urge to find out about his neighbor, and it seemed like a good opportunity.
The Finn trotted over to the bottom of the stairs, and slowly crept up its steps. The photo frames along the wall were filled with warm photographs, fool of people laughing, and smiling. Tino stopped dead in his tracks when he came upon one photo in particular. It was the same photograph he had found in his cabin the day after he moved in. The same kids, and everything.
"How odd…" Tino chewed on his lip anxiously as he made his way upstairs.
Finally, the Blonde came to the top of the stairs, where the hall split in three directions: straight ahead was the bathroom (which was occupied at the moment), and the other two seemed to lead into what he assumed to be more bedrooms. He took a left, and stumbled upon a large bedroom full of blankets, chairs, and other furnishings. He knew he shouldn't be snooping, but he couldn't stop now. Something florid caught the young man's attention, and slowly, Tino walked over to said object, where it rested upon the mahogany desk. The Finn picked up the ruddy-colored object, and nearly dropped the picture frame when his eyes ghosted over the picture inside.
There staring right back at him was a young blonde boy, with thick bangs swept across his forehead, and soft, baby fat filled cheeks. The boy wore a white beret, (much too like his own he thought eerily) which was much too large for his head, and was decked out in a light blue snow jacket. The boy was smiling at the camera, and his brown eyes stared right back at Tino. Silently, the Finn fumbled to grasp onto the white cross around his neck. He was so shocked, that he didn't even hear the water turn off, nor did he hear the creaking of the door. Tino clutched one hand over the cross that Jesper had given him, and stared back at the photograph. The boy had one hand over his heart, and the other, well the other was wrapped around the very same cross Tino now held.
The sound of loud footsteps pulled Tino from his little revelation, and he turned around in time to see one very confused Swede, with one hand wrapped around the doorknob, and the other, clutched at the towel around his waist. Pale violet eyes met with icy blue ones, and for a moment, it was if the two forgot how to breathe.
Suddenly, the air in the room became thick with tension, and Tino could feel the blood begin to rush to his face. The tall, blonde, Swede was clad in nothing but a towel, with water dripping down his face. His eyes followed one particular bead of water trickle down the giant's chest, and 'Oh Dear Lord…'
Was that a six-pack he just saw? All Tino could do was stare right back at the dumbfounded blonde.
Why hellooooooo awkard.
"Something is scratching its way out. Something you want to forget about. No one expects you to get up. All on your own with no one around…"
-"Little House"-The Fray
Okay I know I haven't updated in about two months (I'm a terrible person OTL), but I really meant it when I said I would have like no time between sports, and school. This chapter is slightly longer than the last, I'm so sorry! I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, and I bet you guys want to shoot me for giving you this crap after waiting for so long…BUT, luckily, sports ends in about two weeks, so I'll have at least four hours of extra free time everyday :D.
Also, as I was assigning certain roles to characters in the series, I thought Prussia would make the most fabulous ice cream man. What do you think? Any suggestions for his shop's name?
Review if you can~! Let me know what you think, and I didn't really thoroughly proofread this, so mistakes are bound to be plentiful. PLEASE PLEASE POINT OUT ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES, OR TYPOS TO ME. I know I hate it when I read something with lots of obvious mistakes, so help me out here.
Thank you,
-Puuba