@islandiis
1952
Emotion gnaws at Fannar’s insides. So many feelings that it’s hard to actually pin them down, and they all war for dominance inside of him. He feels guilty, so guilty, and yet he knows he can’t apologise for any of this. He won’t. He feels endlessly proud of everything his nation has become, born of centuries of suffering and hardship, and yet feels the overwhelming urge to make himself small — as if sharing these accomplishments would be like salt in the wound to the man he broke away from.
He’s known this day would come, eventually. They couldn’t be strangers forever (although with their history, could they ever really be strangers in the first place?) and they would have to make contact again. It isn’t even that Fannar doesn’t want that; he does, he so terribly does. Being apart like this has felt so abnormal, like a piece of him is missing, even knowing this was an important separation to be had.
But now the time has come, his chest is so damn tight, and he can barely breathe. He’s been shaking all day, and he can’t seem to stop it. It’s so frustrating, because he wants this to go well, and he wants a clean slate. He wants them to be okay, and yet he can’t seem to control himself enough. He doesn’t want to ruin this before they can even speak, but guilt makes every word in his brain suddenly leave him, and the silence is suddenly too much—
He starts coughing, ducking into his sleeve to muffle the grating sound of it. Before the fit has come to an end, there is a hand on his shoulder, and it draws him into an embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, ducking his head in embarrassment; he can feel himself blushing. He doesn’t have the air he needs to say much more, but thin arms - terribly hesitant - wrap back around Mads’ waist. “Nervous.”
There’s a slight tremor to his hands, lips bitten raw. A heavy weight in his stomach, which he can easily identify as the last remnants of terrible guilt. All of it reflects in the way his smile doesn’t stretch, eyes don’t shine. 7 years are not enough to get over a war that ravaged the world. But those are excuses, aren’t they? All excuses as to why he wouldn’t come earlier than this.
Fannar looks taller, straightened up and it fills him with pride, pride that transforms into that easy admiration he has for him. This is, perhaps, what he was trying to avoid. Because all of this happened without him there by his side, so maybe, he would gain even more when he’s completely gone out of his life?
Ridiculous to think he could ever be so selfless.
The cough rips him out of his own thoughts and for the first time he really looks at the young man in front of him. Still so familiar, still loved. It fills a hole inside of him he didn’t know he had. Breathing gets easier with each second he drinks the Icelander in.
His hand moves without command to a still too thin shoulder and as even frailer arms wrap around his middle, it wanders to fine locks.
“It’s good.” A second too late he realises that he’s crying, quiet sobs shaking his whole body.
“I missed you. I’m sorry.”
What he means to say, he missed Fannar’s last seven years just as he missed him completely.
It’s complicated.
Like this, he can feel the way Mads shakes, and it makes Fannar’s own eyes begin to prick with tears. He doesn’t ever want him to cry, he never has and never will — isn’t this why Fannar has stayed away, all this time? To avoid hurting him more, to avoid pouring salt in a wound? He couldn’t (and wouldn’t) apologise for his people’s decision — not that Mads would want that, anyway, he’s sure. But it still feels too raw.
He has never wanted to hurt him.
Fannar raises a hand to swipe the first tears away from under his own eyes. Then, feeling embarrassed for crying, he folds his forearm over his eyes, and grits his teeth.
Only when he trusts himself to speak without his voice cracking, he answers with a watery, “I missed you too.”
Understatement of the century, truly, but this time apart was so needed. So needed; Iceland had to find it’s feet, free of dependence. Denmark needed to recover from the war, and adjust to their new situation…
Mads and Fannar needed this time to grow independently of one another, too. As painful as it was, it was equally as necessary. But it’s over now.
He swipes the tears away from his cheeks again, and looks off to the side, feeling a bizarre mixture of embarrassment and apprehension and the overwhelming desire to reach out, to touch for just a little bit longer — he’s just missed him so terribly. He still doesn’t know quite how to approach this, if there is any bad blood between them or how they should proceed. They’ll have to talk about all of this, certainly, but Fannar doesn’t know how to start. Talking about his feelings always seems like an insurmountable task, after all.
“It’s good to see you again.”
It’s weird.
He feels at home. Warm. Hyggelig.
Something he hasn’t felt since the beginning of the damned war, even earlier. Since it’s been only him, waiting for something that might have never happened. Even so, the helplessness still grips at him, unsure if he’s allowed to wipe the tears of the other away. It’s a moot point when Fannar does it himself.
This hesitation isn’t like him, he knows and he’s sure Fannar knows it too. If he himself won’t move, he won’t either. It’s like a unwritten law, written into the line between the Icelanders forehead. It makes him smile wider.
Fannar is different. But still the same.
It gives him the courage he needs, the little extra push, the belief that it’s going to be fine. Mads can show just how much he missed him, still does, even though he’s standing right in front of him.
So he does, carefully, placing his hand to a slightly cooler cheek, feeling the wetness still clinging to pale skin and waits for his eyes to rise to his again. It’s funny, how the tension vanishes from his own face, soft fondness replacing it easily. How his thumb finds an old rhythm, brushing over the apple of his cheek.
The feeling is the same.
“I’m glad you’re well, elskede.”
It takes another moment to remember where they are, that this isn’t the place to chase whatever his heart desires. Not that he should anywhere.
“Show me your republic.”
He means that whole-heartily, happy for Fannar, for what he accomplished.
Bittersweet too.