Post by Finland on Dec 8, 2011 9:49:19 GMT -5
Tino had caught a brief glimpse of Berwald standing in the kitchen, looking lost and obviously blind, just before he turned sharply and trudged back to his bedroom, his pup following him. Henrik had promised that he and his nation would be gone before Tino woke, which suited the Finn just fine.
Once in his bedroom, he closed the door behind him and shucked off his stiff uniform, folding the pants over the back of a chair and hanging the shirt in his closet. The last thing he needed was to let it get wrinkled before he had to present himself to his commanding officers. Too drunk and tired to bother finding his pajamas, he simply collapsed into bed in his underclothes and wrestled with the sheets a bit before tugging them over his body. He heard Hana curl up on the rug next to his bed, sniffing around the unfamiliar territory a bit before settling. Exhausted, he thought that sleep would surely come easily tonight.
Berwald’s never going to love you ever again.
Finland didn’t know what made him think that, but as soon as the whisper of a thought slipped into his mind, it echoed endlessly, becoming louder and louder and louder. He tried to make the voice shut up. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true. He pulled a pillow tightly over his head as if the taunting was coming from somewhere else in his bedroom. As if something was sitting on the chair at the foot of his bed, mocking him. He gave a frustrated growl and tears began to fill his eyes.
“Shut up…” he growled at the voice which had been harassing him all night. “I don’t need his love!”
The voice simply responded, Never again.
Tino forbade himself to cry. He didn’t want to hear his own voice. He knew it would sound drunk and hoarse, not how it was before the war. He was ashamed of himself – ashamed of becoming a drunkard, ashamed of doing everything he’d done during the war out of, what he claimed to be, necessity, ashamed of treating Berwald – Berwald, his sweet, beloved best friend – the way he’d done…
In a short while, the alcohol did its job and the Finn drifted off into a fitful slumber, cheek resting against the pillowcase that had not been washed for far too long. He dreamt, that night, of the pre-war times. Of the times before the Grand Duchy. Before Sweden had begun to falter as the Lion of the North. He remembered the happiness he and Berwald felt as they forged their life together, vanquishing any enemy that dared threaten them. They were the Kingdom of Sweden, Konungariket Sverige. But even when they weren’t, they were Tino and Berwald, best friends, husband and wife. They loved each other deeply, as much as it would have embarrassed the Finn to admit, and would have died if it meant saving the other.
And now here they were, Berwald a blind, useless weight on the cot in the living room, and Tino, hardened and cold to the world.
Even in his sleep, he reminded himself. This is what I want. This is all I need. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone else. I only need myself. Only myself. Only myself…[/color]
…
As promised, Berwald and Henrik were gone before Tino ever roused himself out of bed that next morning, head pounding and stomach lurching. All signs that they had ever been there disappeared along with them, save for a few things. There was the dog, still sleeping soundly on the rug. Tino wished, as he reached down to ruffle her ears, that he could be so oblivious to worldly matters.
Lured by the smell of coffee, another footprint left by the Swedes, he drifted into the kitchen and mechanically went to the cupboard, taking down a mug for himself. As he poured the strong brew, he let his mind wander. A huge mistake. He envisioned himself waking up on a warm, typical Sunday morning, wrapped in the luxurious blankets of Berwald’s bed as always. He would drift downstairs, hand gliding carelessly on the railing, chipper smile across his face. He’d poke his head into the kitchen doorway and greet Berwald, who would, in turn, give one of those small little smiles and motion Tino over for a routine hair ruffle and good-morning-kiss. Tino always objected to those, but Berwald would just grin and go back to fixing their breakfast.
The pounding in the Finn’s temples disturbed him out of his daydreams and reminded him that he was not in this warm, perfect place. He was in his tiny, drafty kitchen, it was the dead of winter, and he was alone.
Finland turned to take his coffee to the table and caught sight of the water and pills laid out for him there.
Y’need t’ take ‘em, Finn. Yer ‘eadache’s not gonna go away ‘less y’ take ‘em.
As plainly as he could hear the wet snow pattering against his window, Tino swore he could hear Berwald’s voice. Suppressed tears began daring to form along his eyelids again.
“B-But Berwald, I h-h-hate taking pills,” Tino spoke aloud to his empty kitchen. Something about his voice was eerie and off.
I know, but y’ don’ like bein’ ill either, do ya’?[/i]
A sick chuckle rattled out of Tino’s throat as he wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. “You always say that.” Tino took the pills and chased them with the glass of water before sipping at his coffee. He went quiet, then, because he was alone.
After some time, he noticed the piece of paper lying at the center of the table, weighted down by the salt shaker. He knew it had to be from Berwald or Henrik. He was terrified to read it, but the paper wasn’t going to go away.
Cautiously, as if it might sear his flesh, he picked it up, unfolded, and read.
“ Suomi,
I wish we could have met on better terms. I'm still sorry for what I couldn't do. For failing.
I hope we can rekindle our friendship when you're ready.
Waiting,
Sverige”
For a moment, Tino did nothing. He only sat frozen with the letter in one hand and his coffee in the other.
An expression formed on his face, but even Tino didn’t know what emotion it represented. He was smiling just as much as he was wincing and gagging, teeth bared but the corners of his mouth turned up. “God damn it, Berwald. This isn’t your handwriting.”
He got no answer because he was alone.
And then some switch inside of him was flipped and he just couldn’t stop the emotions from gushing out. And gush they did. He dropped the mug of coffee onto the floor, felt it shatter and felt the coffee splash across his feet, but he didn’t care. He sobbed long and hard, clutching the letter tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, thumb running over the perfectly penned signature on the note. “Berwald, I’m sorry! Please come back… Please… I can’t do this; I need you to do it! Please, Berwald… Sverige…”
But no matter how hard he pleaded, Berwald couldn’t hear him. Tino had pushed him away. He’d gotten what he wanted: he was alone.
…
[14 December, 1955]
“Kiitos!” the Finn called out in a rushed manner, handing his fare to the taxi driver and scrambling to collect all of his papers. He’d overslept that morning and now he was going to be late. Bounding up the steps to the huge conference center – how many steps were there?! – he dodged and weaved his way around the slower moving people until he finally came to the door, nearly throwing it open and running through. Inside, the situation got worse; this building was a maze!
Finally, the room numbers started to match the one on his agenda. 303, 305, 307…
Tino froze outside of Conference Room 309, chest heaving from exertion under his tie and business jacket. This was it. He was nervous, now. If he stepped inside, he knew that he would have to see him. The Finn felt faint and dizzy.
Taking a calming, steadying breath, Tino whispered, “I can do this.”
Tentatively, he turned the handle and opened the door.
____________________________________________________
Okie dokie, so Finn's at the conference room at the UN building where he'll be joining the other member states. I figured you could have Berwald already at the meeting.
Once in his bedroom, he closed the door behind him and shucked off his stiff uniform, folding the pants over the back of a chair and hanging the shirt in his closet. The last thing he needed was to let it get wrinkled before he had to present himself to his commanding officers. Too drunk and tired to bother finding his pajamas, he simply collapsed into bed in his underclothes and wrestled with the sheets a bit before tugging them over his body. He heard Hana curl up on the rug next to his bed, sniffing around the unfamiliar territory a bit before settling. Exhausted, he thought that sleep would surely come easily tonight.
Berwald’s never going to love you ever again.
Finland didn’t know what made him think that, but as soon as the whisper of a thought slipped into his mind, it echoed endlessly, becoming louder and louder and louder. He tried to make the voice shut up. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true. He pulled a pillow tightly over his head as if the taunting was coming from somewhere else in his bedroom. As if something was sitting on the chair at the foot of his bed, mocking him. He gave a frustrated growl and tears began to fill his eyes.
“Shut up…” he growled at the voice which had been harassing him all night. “I don’t need his love!”
The voice simply responded, Never again.
Tino forbade himself to cry. He didn’t want to hear his own voice. He knew it would sound drunk and hoarse, not how it was before the war. He was ashamed of himself – ashamed of becoming a drunkard, ashamed of doing everything he’d done during the war out of, what he claimed to be, necessity, ashamed of treating Berwald – Berwald, his sweet, beloved best friend – the way he’d done…
In a short while, the alcohol did its job and the Finn drifted off into a fitful slumber, cheek resting against the pillowcase that had not been washed for far too long. He dreamt, that night, of the pre-war times. Of the times before the Grand Duchy. Before Sweden had begun to falter as the Lion of the North. He remembered the happiness he and Berwald felt as they forged their life together, vanquishing any enemy that dared threaten them. They were the Kingdom of Sweden, Konungariket Sverige. But even when they weren’t, they were Tino and Berwald, best friends, husband and wife. They loved each other deeply, as much as it would have embarrassed the Finn to admit, and would have died if it meant saving the other.
And now here they were, Berwald a blind, useless weight on the cot in the living room, and Tino, hardened and cold to the world.
Even in his sleep, he reminded himself. This is what I want. This is all I need. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone else. I only need myself. Only myself. Only myself…[/color]
…
As promised, Berwald and Henrik were gone before Tino ever roused himself out of bed that next morning, head pounding and stomach lurching. All signs that they had ever been there disappeared along with them, save for a few things. There was the dog, still sleeping soundly on the rug. Tino wished, as he reached down to ruffle her ears, that he could be so oblivious to worldly matters.
Lured by the smell of coffee, another footprint left by the Swedes, he drifted into the kitchen and mechanically went to the cupboard, taking down a mug for himself. As he poured the strong brew, he let his mind wander. A huge mistake. He envisioned himself waking up on a warm, typical Sunday morning, wrapped in the luxurious blankets of Berwald’s bed as always. He would drift downstairs, hand gliding carelessly on the railing, chipper smile across his face. He’d poke his head into the kitchen doorway and greet Berwald, who would, in turn, give one of those small little smiles and motion Tino over for a routine hair ruffle and good-morning-kiss. Tino always objected to those, but Berwald would just grin and go back to fixing their breakfast.
The pounding in the Finn’s temples disturbed him out of his daydreams and reminded him that he was not in this warm, perfect place. He was in his tiny, drafty kitchen, it was the dead of winter, and he was alone.
Finland turned to take his coffee to the table and caught sight of the water and pills laid out for him there.
Y’need t’ take ‘em, Finn. Yer ‘eadache’s not gonna go away ‘less y’ take ‘em.
As plainly as he could hear the wet snow pattering against his window, Tino swore he could hear Berwald’s voice. Suppressed tears began daring to form along his eyelids again.
“B-But Berwald, I h-h-hate taking pills,” Tino spoke aloud to his empty kitchen. Something about his voice was eerie and off.
I know, but y’ don’ like bein’ ill either, do ya’?[/i]
A sick chuckle rattled out of Tino’s throat as he wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. “You always say that.” Tino took the pills and chased them with the glass of water before sipping at his coffee. He went quiet, then, because he was alone.
After some time, he noticed the piece of paper lying at the center of the table, weighted down by the salt shaker. He knew it had to be from Berwald or Henrik. He was terrified to read it, but the paper wasn’t going to go away.
Cautiously, as if it might sear his flesh, he picked it up, unfolded, and read.
“ Suomi,
I wish we could have met on better terms. I'm still sorry for what I couldn't do. For failing.
I hope we can rekindle our friendship when you're ready.
Waiting,
Sverige”
For a moment, Tino did nothing. He only sat frozen with the letter in one hand and his coffee in the other.
An expression formed on his face, but even Tino didn’t know what emotion it represented. He was smiling just as much as he was wincing and gagging, teeth bared but the corners of his mouth turned up. “God damn it, Berwald. This isn’t your handwriting.”
He got no answer because he was alone.
And then some switch inside of him was flipped and he just couldn’t stop the emotions from gushing out. And gush they did. He dropped the mug of coffee onto the floor, felt it shatter and felt the coffee splash across his feet, but he didn’t care. He sobbed long and hard, clutching the letter tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, thumb running over the perfectly penned signature on the note. “Berwald, I’m sorry! Please come back… Please… I can’t do this; I need you to do it! Please, Berwald… Sverige…”
But no matter how hard he pleaded, Berwald couldn’t hear him. Tino had pushed him away. He’d gotten what he wanted: he was alone.
…
[14 December, 1955]
“Kiitos!” the Finn called out in a rushed manner, handing his fare to the taxi driver and scrambling to collect all of his papers. He’d overslept that morning and now he was going to be late. Bounding up the steps to the huge conference center – how many steps were there?! – he dodged and weaved his way around the slower moving people until he finally came to the door, nearly throwing it open and running through. Inside, the situation got worse; this building was a maze!
Finally, the room numbers started to match the one on his agenda. 303, 305, 307…
Tino froze outside of Conference Room 309, chest heaving from exertion under his tie and business jacket. This was it. He was nervous, now. If he stepped inside, he knew that he would have to see him. The Finn felt faint and dizzy.
Taking a calming, steadying breath, Tino whispered, “I can do this.”
Tentatively, he turned the handle and opened the door.
____________________________________________________
Okie dokie, so Finn's at the conference room at the UN building where he'll be joining the other member states. I figured you could have Berwald already at the meeting.