Noxious [DenNor]

12.

The next two days were that of wintry silence in the Nordic household. Berwald and Tino, unwilling to become any more involved in the affairs of their quarreling housemates, packed Peter into the car and retreated to a cabin in the Finnish wilderness. They offered Emil the chance to come along, but concern for his brother held him back. Not that he would ever admit it.

Meanwhile, Lukas hadn't left his room once. The only times he spoke were on the occasions that Emil popped in to check up on him. The visitations never lasted more than five minutes. The Icelander was usually warded off when, more starved for his brother's attention than ever, Lukas tried to make him do something like hug or cuddle him.

Of course, with that much time on his hands, Lukas hadn't resorted to twiddling his thumbs. He had never been a considerably lazy man, and wasn't about to become one just because the Dane knew more than he would have liked him to. For half of his first day in isolation, he read an entire novel so as to soothe his taut nerves. Once he was finished with the book, he corresponded via email with his boss.

There were some matters he needed to tend to before he left.

When that was said and done, he spent the rest of his time devising his plan.

It wasn't until ten O'clock P.M. on the second day when, fueled by both hunger and the triumph of deciding how he would go about carrying out his scheme, he emerged from his room.

The house was a dead, unbreathing creature. The only noise was the muffled voice of Emil, who Lukas guessed was Skyping one of his friends. Light filtered out from underneath Mathias's door, and Lukas walked on the balls of his feet as he passed by. There was no use in riling him up quite yet.

His top priority was food. Once upon a time, he had been far more capable of ignoring the persistent pangs of hunger. He had to admit that, nowadays, he was more entitled than he had ever been in past years. Maybe Tino spoiled him a little too much.

Arms crossed over his chest against the chill of the house, he crossed through the shadowy living room and veered straight into the kitchen.

It was only when he lifted his drooping head from the floor that, like a man turned to ice, he jarred to a complete stop.

The sight in the kitchen that night might have been enough to melt a less stubborn man's heart. And, while it didn't necessarily eradicate all feelings of bitterness in him, it did stir something in the core of Lukas's chest that almost made him want to drop to his knees and weep for all he was going through.

Almost, but not quite.

The sallow light above the stove shed a pale luminescence upon the kitchen table where, bent forward at an uncomfortable-looking angle, was the mighty country of Denmark. His cheek was cradled in the crook of his arm, and his golden eyelashes twitched and fluttered as he dreamed.

After several seconds in which Norway cautiously ensured that that Denmark was asleep, he felt himself soften.

Idiot. he thought with a scornful shake of his head.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Why did he have to be so damn...  Well, damned?

Ruefully, Lukas eyeballed the refrigerator. If there was one thing he had learned out of all this, it was that Mathias was a light sleeper. He didn't want to risk waking him up, but...

As if knowing exactly what Lukas was thinking, his stomach gave a low, threatening rumble.

Oh well. He would have to satisfy himself with one of the apples, arranged in a bowl on the kitchen counter.

So as to avoid making any noise, Lukas slid on his socks across the kitchen floor, which felt an entire mile long. He plucked two apples out of the bowl, shined them on the cotton fabric of his shirt, and went to make a safe and hasty escape from the room.

But his traitorous eyes found Mathias one more time, and that was honestly all it took for him to give in to temptation.

To think he considered himself stubborn.

Just one, last time before he intended to ruin everything. What harm could it do?

He migrated across the kitchen floor to the chair in which Mathias slept. At first, his intentions had been to make it a fleeting, if not practically nonexistent, gesture, but he wanted to get a glimpse of Mathias's face. Nobody could wound with their eyes when they slept.

Norway crouched before Denmark. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. Inches away from Mathias, the smell of alcohol was overpowering enough for Lukas to have to repress a gag.

You've been drinking. Of course you have. I shouldn't be surprised. I wish things were different, you know? That I wasn't putting all of this on your shoulders. Because, despite what you might think, you don't deserve it. You're an ass, but I'm in love with you, and people aren't supposed to put people they love through Hell like this.

Aloud, he whispered. "You deserve a lot better. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to fix everything I've broken."

With that, Lukas pulled himself back up, bent over Mathias's hunched figure, and landed a kiss atop his head. 

It wasn't until Lukas had taken his leave of the kitchen that a reply to his lamentation could be heard.

Maybe he had been awake the entire time, or maybe he had only been aroused by the whispers. Whatever the case, Mathias sat now in the same position as when Norway had gone. His eyes were open now, and in a soft murmur of what sounded to be exasperation, he spoke to the empty room.

"I don't want a lot better, Nor. I think... I just want you again."