For a moment which stretched for an eternity, the house was heavy with silence, the nearly inaudible breathing of the two nations and the ever-present hum of a furnace the only sounds. Again it was Canada to speak, voice tamed and laced with disappointment, but not harbouring shock or anger, "Oh- I understand that you don't want to- I mean, I wouldn't force you into anything, it wouldn't really be- fair to..." His voice trailed off as a fabric encased hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"Yes." Short and simple came the word, and yet carrying so much with it. A confirmation, a promise of companionship. The promise that even in a world where Matthieu would make friends only to watch them sicken and die, he would have a constant, something more than a friend to lean on and love for at least a few years- hopefully decades, centuries, even. It was a promise that he wouldn't be alone any longer.
"I- yes? You- you said yes- thank you- thank you so much Berwald." He felt a gloved hand cup his face, and suddenly there were lips pressing against his own, gentle, almost as though the other were fearful the North American nation might shatter were too much pressure applied. The kiss they shared then was soft and warm and fresh- a clean beginning, the beginnings of what both hoped would be a smooth relationship.
When the two pulled apart, the Scandinavian standing up straight again, the Canadian's gaze lingered for a moment on the other's face, and then on the hand now pulling away from his face. "Berwald-? Why do you wear gloves?"
"That's for another time, Matthieu. When I'm ready. When you're ready."
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I apologize if either of them doesn't seem quite right, Author!Anon isn't the greatest at understanding characters that aren't her own!
Sweden/Canada - 1b/? - The Gloves Aren't Off
"Yes." Short and simple came the word, and yet carrying so much with it. A confirmation, a promise of companionship. The promise that even in a world where Matthieu would make friends only to watch them sicken and die, he would have a constant, something more than a friend to lean on and love for at least a few years- hopefully decades, centuries, even. It was a promise that he wouldn't be alone any longer.
"I- yes? You- you said yes- thank you- thank you so much Berwald." He felt a gloved hand cup his face, and suddenly there were lips pressing against his own, gentle, almost as though the other were fearful the North American nation might shatter were too much pressure applied. The kiss they shared then was soft and warm and fresh- a clean beginning, the beginnings of what both hoped would be a smooth relationship.
When the two pulled apart, the Scandinavian standing up straight again, the Canadian's gaze lingered for a moment on the other's face, and then on the hand now pulling away from his face. "Berwald-? Why do you wear gloves?"
"That's for another time, Matthieu. When I'm ready. When you're ready."
---
I apologize if either of them doesn't seem quite right, Author!Anon isn't the greatest at understanding characters that aren't her own!