It hurts to be apart from him. It's absolutely unbearable. Finland can't stand it when Sweden is even an inch away from him. Long meetings turn into a miniature heartbreak, his mind focusing on nobody but his husband, who holds him close and tells him he loves him and that he had missed him "so terribly." The government meetings do not need him any longer, Finland thinks. He trusts his people. He trusts the decisions of the others, save for a few.

The few he doesn't trust, doesn't like at all, believe certain people aren't allowed to marry. Marry. His gaze travels to the beautiful ring on his finger that Sweden had made for him three years ago. Oh, how he'd wanted to marry in his own country. How he wanted to be able to flaunt how wonderful his husband was, how much he was cared for in the public eye. How he had wanted so badly to have others share this bliss.

It simply was not meant to be.

His eyes slip shut and he exhales.

Things become messy. He can hardly focus on the meeting, wracking him with guilt. Normally, he's very attentive, even bubbly. Finland can't keep attention because he is so far away from Sweden, yet he's also riddled with thoughts of how much there is to be done in his country. So many responsibilities. He'd be away from his husband for longer and longer.

A part of him is afraid he'll never see him again.

It's irrational, of course. After a few weeks, a month, he's running through the airport to be greeted by his husband, greeted by their children who have come to stay yet again. Kukkamuna yips and he catches her and he laughs and cries, because he's missed them all so much, but he has missed his love the most. They kiss, they catch up, they fall into routine before they're ripped apart once more.

The meeting drags on. Finland doesn't recall what they talk about. He goes through the motions. He calls Sweden. It's never the same. They sit, quiet and basking in the fact the other is on the other line. Finland falls asleep with the phone still on, not needing to care about the phone bill that month, not caring that Sweden never hangs up. He simply falls asleep, too.

"Berwald," Timo starts, hands moving from Berwald's to his lap. His husband stops his venture in taking off Timo's shirt the second his name is said. The way his name had been said alerted him well enough that his wife wants to talk. Simply talk, not make love. It's been a month, a month of loneliness and almost instability without the other by his side, but he holds off with ease. He'll talk (listen).

"I can't stand it here."

Berwald's face shifts into one of complete horror. Instead of being frightened as he might have been years ago, Timo laughs a little, quickly shaking his head. "Calm down. I can't... stand being how we are, separated constantly. I can't stand missing you so much."

Berwald frowns a little. Timo's hand on a cheek makes his eyes shift to violet, beautiful ones. He calms, shoulders relaxing. His wife spills everything out like water into a vase. He rambles on about how he hates the separation, hates the meetings, the responsibilities. He loves Kukkamuna, he loves their children, couldn't bear to be apart from them - but he loves Sweden, Berwald more than anything. Timo looks away, eventually, almost ready to cry. His heart aches and longs for the other nation in a way that can only be described as:

"Human."

The word is hushed, shaken by his longing. Berwald watches him, frowning more, though his expression is gentler than anything else in the world. Timo returns to holding onto Berwald, because Berwald grounds him, anchors him. He wants so badly to be human. He wants so badly to just bathe in sunlight and in snow with Berwald, to run out of a sauna naked with him in the middle of Winter, to drink and have a hangover the next morning that his doting husband would take care of. He wants to fall ill and be treated. He wants to tend to wounds, to a sprained ankle without it healing automatically. Timo wants to be able to experience everything, start to finish. He wants to be born, to be craddled, to meet Berwald and fall inexplicably in love, to be swept off his feet, to be wed once more. He wants to go to the marketplace and haggle for food, to laugh with other people and to be honest friends with no alliances involved, no dark pasts that need digging up.

Timo wants to forget this life. He wants to forget being taken from his natural world, from the pagan beliefs and force-fed Christianity. Timo wants to forget being so frightened of Berwald, of Sweden in his glory days, of that lion that roared and slaughtered. He wants to forget the heartbreak his husband endured the day Denmark slaughtered Sweden's citizens. He wants to forget the rebellions and punches Berwald faced. Timo wants to forget running away out of fright, out of his own selfishness so he could be protected and could avoid stronger countries. He wants to forget those times he was stolen away by Russia, hurt, forced to claim his own name, to part from Berwald over two centuries ago.

The pain and heavy burdens Timo had carried on his shoulders are too much. It's caused him to crumble, to feel weak, to shake and shatter and fall victim to the heaviness.

"Run away with me," Berwald murmurs. Timo's tears are caught by rough, yet gentle thumbs. His eyes widened as much as they had when Berwald proposed to him. He stares at his husband as he rises, his hands grasping Timo's, pulling him with.

"B-But, the kids-"

"Are grown. Sea lives away from us most of the time. Lad's a part of th'internet. Åland's autonomous."

"Kukkamuna-"

"One of th'kids would take her." Just as I took care of her for you when you weren't here.

Timo stares for so long. It almost intimidates Berwald, but he knows the stare is just from shock, not anger or anything else.

He shakes, leaning against his husband. Strong arms come around him and hold him, squeeze him. In truth, Berwald wants the same as Timo does. He wants to flee, to just live somewhere with hisl beloved, to just pretend they are human and that nothing can touch them. No government, no connections with other countries (though so many would be missed). Often, he has thought of taking Timo and leaving everything behind. They wouldn't regret anything. They would be missed, they would be searched for, but no one would ever find them. Berwald would take him to a place only they know. They would disappear.

"Okay." Timo's voice is hushed, yet so beautiful and ethereal. A chill runs down Berwald's spine. He wastes no time - they need nothing. They don't want to take anything with them. The scrapbooks his precious wife had slaved over aren't touched. The rings they had shared from centuries before aren't pocketed. Everything stays as is, the house lays untouched. So many memories are locked away. Kukkamuna is set outside with enough food and water and all things hers - her favorite toys are laid out, her home is checked. A note goes attached to the door, simply mentioning to take care of Kukkamuna. It goes unsigned. They don't say goodbye. The people who come to their door are strangers to them.

Berwald holds in all of the things he wants to say.

He wants to hold them all one last time.

He wants to brush back Peter's hair and kiss his forehead. He wants to hold Alex, even if he tells him he's an idiot and he'd never forgive the bastard Sve for leaving them. He wants to scoop Elina up and tell her she's wonderful, she is so mature and he is so happy for her. Berwald wants to pet and play with Kukkamuna with her favorite yo-yo.

He even wants to give the Danish prick one last, brotherly punch to the shoulder. He wants to shake hands with Lukas, he wants to get Eiríkur to call him "big brother," he wants to eat churros with Antonio and chuckle at Lovino's antics, he wants to -

Not forget.

One look at his wife, who is shaking and still uncertain, and he wants to turn around. They could forget this as if it were a game. They could grin and bear their immortal duties as nations until one day they all go ablaze and fade into nothingness with the world itself.

Berwald can't bring himself to do it. He can't ask Timo if he's really going to leave their wonderful children behind. He's already supplied reasons for them to go. They've already left, on foot, heading away from their house and on a road no nation normally travels. Everything that was once theirs, their family's, is all left behind. Memories, good and bad, stay tucked neatly in boxes and in closets and in their bedroom.

He finds his wife's hand and takes it. Timo says nothing. He frets endlessly about everyone he's leaving behind. Peter, Alex, Elina. Lukas, Mathias, Eirikur. Eduard. Elizaveta. Even Alfred and Matthew. Even Ludwig. Even Ivan.

The smaller nation gives one last glance back as their house fades into the distance. They'll make a new home. They'll pretend to be newlyweds. Berwald and Timo Oxenstierna. Early twenties. Carpenter and designer. His fantasies start melding into a reality.

Soon, after miles of walking, he breaks into a run, his hand tugging his husband along. He grins happily behind him as they make their way through endless forest. His mind is full of love for his husband, so devoted and perfect and amazing for just telling him to run away with him. It's how their tale began - it's how their tale begins again. Running away, though with no provisions, just each other, the clothes on their bodies, their rings on their fingers - the same things that bind them forever.

The chase lasts a long while. Berwald catches Timo eventually. The sky is dark, they can hardly see. The moon and stars shine the way for them. His wife almost trips, though he's there to catch him. They keep on the watch for animals. They hide behind trees, amongst shrubbery, amongst pine and dirt. Their clothes get scuffed and dirtied, their bodies are slick with sweat. Hips meld against hips and Timo holds back a cry as he feels full of his husband and warmth, his skin shining in the moonlight. Their clothes are only made dirtier and so are they. Dirty.

At least they are together.

After days, weeks, however long it has taken them, they've arrived. They look terrible, but they feel grand. Berwald and Timo converse in Swedish, as they always have, not minding the looks they get from people in the town as they walk. Their legs are tired. They are tired, hungry, and thirsty. They need a bath, a warm bed made for each other. They have no money, they have nothing. They have no identification. They are just them. People look at them with questions in their eyes, but their Swedish modesty make them not say a word. It isn't strange to the couple. They don't care.

In time, they patch themselves up. They find jobs. They forget about everything as they focus on building together, in some remote town no one would think to look, even if centuries ago it was so important to the two of them. They can't think of the memories it stirs up. They're replaced by new ones they talk about together, making them up as they go along.

"We met here. You found me crying over a scraped knee."

"Still a crybaby."

"Hush, you."

They exchange laughter, drink in each other as they settle down, settle into an apartment after earning enough money between the two of them. They fill the place with furniture as Berwald makes it, as Timo designs it. "That goes there!" And, "Oh, Ber, you're so smart! That would look amazing there!"

Soon, it is perfect. Their home is made and they make themselves along with it. Brand new.

After working, Berwald pulls his spouse to the shower, kissing him and holding him and feeling the warm water on his broad back. Timo giggles impishly, pressing upward. A leg slips in between Berwald's and he gains a gasp. They kiss, they meld together as they had in the forest (something else that goes forgotten within a week's time) and they make love.

"Morning, Berwald," he drawls, voice cracking a bit. He can feel the onset of caffeine withdrawals already and his once-happy greeting turns into a groan. Oh, he hates getting out of bed so early. There's so much to be done this weekend. New designs must be made for work, they have chores to split up (but at least it's Berwald's turn to cook tonight - he can only hope he makes something Finnish for him, it's been so long). It's dreadful and overbearing and he just wants to scream into his pillow, or his husband's arms. Whichever is within reach first.

"Don't get cranky now," his husband teases. Timo groans again and lifts his head, eyebrows knitted together in his best impression of the Swede's glare. It gains a chuckle, since he knows just what his lover is trying to do. A large hand comes to ruffle his hair and he leans in for a kiss, even though Timo turns away at the last moment. So cute. "I'll make your coffee. Relax."

"Fine, fine. Please hurry! I'm going to wither away here without it!"

"I won't let ya."

That, he means. He doesn't dwell on the remark, neither does Timo. It causes no strain. His little wife mumbles a relaxed, "good," before stretching his shapely, bare legs out. While Berwald would love to stay and admire the display, he has to make coffee. A pinch of sugar for Timo and none at all for him and he comes back with the savior that is known as instant coffee. They drink in bed, Timo sitting up and resting his head on a wonderful shoulder. His eyelashes slip shut, but the other knows he isn't asleep. He's merely relaxing, soaking things up.

"We should start saving for a house," he whispers, glancing up eventually. Berwald looks down, lips curving upward.

"A car, first."

"Okay, okay. Car first, then a house."

"And then?"

"Well, it'd be nice if we had a little extra company running around the house yelling, 'Pappa!' but that might be asking for too much, don't you think?"

"No. I'll do m'best."

"I know you will."

His violet eyes shine. Empty cups go on the nightstand and bearish hands are on a plump body. A soft belly is nuzzled with a sharp nose and Timo erupts into giggles. Daylight shines through, though soon it won't be shining at all. They soak it up. They soak each other up. They are inseparable, save for those grueling hours of work every day, and they only need each other's company to be happy.

Berwald lifts his head, leaning in. They reek of coffee and morning breath, but if they have a complaint, they don't voice it. Two married men happily in love - so in love they can stand even that. Their bond is unshakeable.

"Jag älskar dig."

Timo shuts his eyes again and Berwald kisses him.

Nothing can touch them here. No memories of the past invade them.

They are merely human now.

"Jag älskar dig också."

They go unfound for the rest of time.

A/N: Jag älskar dig - I love you. Jag älskar dig också - I love you, too. Names: Alex(ander) - Ladonia, Elina - Åland, Mathias - Denmark, Lukas - Norway, Eiríkur - Iceland, Kukkamuna - Flower Egg/Hanatamago (in Finnish). I use Timo because it sounds more of a Finnish name. There are numerous references to strips (and drama cds) with some history littered throughout. De-anon from the kink meme.