Title: Cut and Paste
Characters: Denmark, Norway, rest of the cast later on. A book to the head.
Warning: Fail characters. Too wordy. Didn't finish the whole lot.
Summary: When Denmark is told by Norway that he has a secret admirer, he goes around the school trying to find out who it was exactly. Problem is, the admirer was actually Norway.
Notes: asdfghjkl what is this I don't even
Norway knew things were starting had grown from 'terrible' to 'worst' when word got out that England was out for blood that day.
More specifically, England was out for Denmark's blood. Because Denmark, the insufferable idiotic airhead, had touched Seychelles, who happened to be England's younger sister, in a not-so-appropriate area proximately where the lungs are at, accidentally (so he claims). Because he had tripped while questioning her. Because Denmark was trying to find out whom his secret admirer was. Because Norway told him this secret admirer existed. Because, and this is finally, Norway was the secret admirer and he was tired of hiding it.
There was pounding outside said secret admirer's bedroom door.
"Nor! Help! I think Eyebrows finally lost it! He's holding Russia's pipe! Don't let him get me! Norway!"
Norway paused; fingers poised on top of his laptop's keyboard and sighed. Why must his life be such a mess? Of all idiots to pick why did he love Denmark of all people? Because, seriously, there are other people around-
"Norway. I'm serious, heeelp!"
-other normaler people. People like...for instance, and this was just pulling it out of his head, Netherlands, Belgium, hell that person who looked strangely like America only quieter was good too. Even England, when not verging between one end of hysterical to another, was a somewhat better prospect than Denmark.
But it had to be Denmark.
Norway sighed again, continuing with his work, typing languidly away at the keyboard, ignoring the screams of agony outside his door.
Life was surely unfair, wasn't it?
They had known each other as children, growing up with other children but being closer to one another in the way neighbouring children tend to do. Denmark was always the brash wild child, the one who always wanted to lead in games and adventures, who always could find something better and infinitely more dangerous to do. Norway was the quieter one, the wiser one, the one who was always ending up leading them out of adventures and games that Denmark lead them into when it got too out of hand. Their dynamics never did change then, even when Iceland came along, swaddled in thick clothes and holding on determinately on big brother Norway's hand. Denmark lead in, Norway lead out. Push and pull, black and white.
But children changed, as they often do. Iceland grew to resent being babied and refused to hold on to Norway's hand any longer, Norway himself got caught up with other things and began making friends with Finland and Sweden. It was only Denmark that seemed to escape this mysterious childhood changing process. He was still brash in the way only Denmark could be, still headstrong and unthinking. It didn't matter whether he was seven or seventeen, Denmark was still Denmark. And Norway began feeling tired of having to watch over him.
The subtle watching over had turned into observation and the times when Norway had to save the blond from trouble had evolved into moments they shared with together privately. Norway had begun noticing things-simple things-about the other; things he hadn't noticed before. Like that Denmark had changed, had grown up, only that it wasn't as obvious as anyone else would think. He had mellowed out, became more thoughtful and the scraps and trouble he had gotten into was starting to be for other people than himself (to get flowers for Norway when he was sick, to help Sweden sell dolls, to get Iceland to talk to the girl he had been too shy to greet-). And Denmark, when Norway began noticing more and more, was also good looking. He was tall and toned, muscles overlapping over firm bones. His smile was infectious, bright blue eyes crinkling over when he laughed and grinned as he often did when he was with Norway. He was also warm, so very warm and very nice to touch.
But he was an idiot. An air headed idiot. But this was now tampered with the knowledge that he was an idiot Norway was in love with.
Norway was in love with Denmark.
He only realised it when Iceland had angrily told him so when Norway had tried, as Iceland called it, 'babying' him again. Maybe to Iceland the remark had only meant to hurt but it had served as a slap on the head for Norway, making him momentarily halt his dodging-of-things-thrown-at-by-Iceland, got him hit on the head with a surprisingly heavy book and waking up from a daze to see his little brother attempting to force his puffin to give CPR to his fallen brother.
(It was worth it though, because Norway know knew why his heart started to play drums whenever Denmark started with his glomp routine, or why he can't help but almost smile when the idiot did something, or why the day always seem to be nice no matter what when Denmark was there. Also, in retrospect, Iceland had also wailed and let Norway coddle him until he felt better and that was always a plus).
But the point is, now that he had realised it, Norway wanted to do something about it.
And one fine summer's morning during lunch in Hetalia Academy, Norway did just that.
With terrifying results.
This is actually for a friend of mine, who challanged me into writing this...even though I suck at dennor. Thoughts? Comments? Reviews are always nice~