A month had passed, and the snow that had been falling now stopped, covering the streets and walkways in the town and the trees of the forest behind their house. Denmark didn't mope around the house because sulking didn't fit his personality and was oftentimes boring. But everyone could see the shift in him, even Berwald was forced to acknowledge it on some days, though he usually chose to ignore it in favor of letting Tino and Peter try to cheer him up. He stood steadfast by the idea that if Denmark hadn't gone in the first place, none of it would have happened - which, of course, was a problem since they had no proof that Denmark had gone to begin with. Despite Tino being home, he had somehow managed to sneak back in and hid the entire night under the premise of playing hide-and-seek with Peter. Having not seen him for sure at the party, Berwald couldn't contest it and the issue dropped save for a week or so of disapproving frowns.

Denmark sat in the living room now, a month to the day since the party, with his chin resting on top of the arm folded along the back of the couch. There was no snow to watch, but he stared out across the white landscape as if there were something to be found in it aside from a certain bleakness. He didn't know what he was looking for, or at least he told himself that to keep the dull throb away from his chest. It was stupid to call it love at this point, since they had only spent several hours together at a party and that wasn't what determined such an intense feeling. At least according to Tino, whom he was fairly certain was just trying to cheer him up. The attempt hadn't really worked, but he liked Tino enough to pretend.

His blue gaze fell down to the pendant in his hand, fingers peeling back from his palm to observe the crystal axe carefully. He hadn't realized it that night, but the smaller back-end had broken off of it after he dropped it. When he realized it later he'd seen it as something of an omen, imagining that he had stepped on it in his need to leave. As the crystal shattered under his boot, his chances of actually meeting Norway again had done the same. Like a sort of mirror to the future, and as lame and corny as the idea was it still made his chest tighten a bit. He hadn't worn it sense, but he carried it around with him - in a pocket or clutched in his hand - for some reason that he wasn't completely certain of. It simply…felt right.

When he caught movement out of the corner of his eye he closed his hand quickly, as if he was hiding some kind of drug instead of a stupid necklace that really wasn't stupid at all. He looked up to find Berwald staring at him, fully dressed in his usual blue jacket, scarf, and scowl. Denmark snorted, "What?"

"Want y'ta c'me cut some firew'd," he replied, his voice low and cyan eyes reflecting something that bordered on awkward.

"Oh yeah?" Denmark replied, "Well forget it. It's not my job to cut wood for your stupid--" But he was cut off by his own white and red scarf flying into his face, followed by the weight of his winter jacket.

"J'st do it," Berwald near growled, turning to walk out of the house entirely with the not-quite-slamming of the back door.

Denmark glared after him, shoving his jacket and scarf onto the floor as if that would reinforce his spite and loath to be told what to do. Particularly by Berwald, a man who he didn't like much on even the best of days. He turned his face towards the window again, staring across the blank slate that extended all the way to the road at the edges of their yard. His thumb curved into the edge of the crystal axe, pressing the vaguely sharp but far from dangerous edge into the crease between the joints as his fingers curled into his own tightened jaw. After several minutes he gave up a frustrated half-scream.

"I'm actually doing what that jerk wants," he mumbled to himself, pulling on his jacket and buttoning it up with a forcefulness that was not required for the task at hand, "Maybe something is wrong with me."

Several minutes later, bundled up and in his boots, Denmark trekked out that back door to the shed, where Berwald stood with his axe already in hand. He didn't say a word as he yanked open the shed, finding his own and pulling it down from its nail-pegs. When he got outside and slammed the shed closed with appropriate force, he moved to walk ahead of the taller blonde, his free hand jammed deeply into the pocket of his coat. He didn't bother to look if Berwald followed as he trekked through the snow to their usual place. The wood wasn't required to heat the house, but Tino seemed fond of having a fire going around the holidays and even several weeks after - so of course Berwald would trek out into the snow to keep up a supply of wood.

They were both already panting before Denmark came up with anything of remote profoundness to say, tossing another group of logs into the tarp spread out on top of the snow, "I didn't come out here because you wanted me to."

"That so," Berwald said, bringing his axe down and cutting a chunk of wood almost clean and half. The second swing seemed almost unnecessary - he probably could have intimidated it into splitting if he just bothered to look at it long enough.

"Yeah," Denmark confirmed, re-gripping his axe to start cutting sections into another log, "I just got sick of sitting in that house all day is all."

"Starin' at noth'n 'r th' axe T'no got y?" Berwald asked, setting another chunk of wood on top of the tree stump they used as a cutting block and shifting his grip on the axe.

"That's none of your business, rocks-for-brains," Denmark snapped, hypersensitive to the tension that had blossomed across his shoulders, "I'll-"

"'S broke."

"What?"

"Th' axe," Berwald said, looking over his shoulder, "Y' broke it."

Denmark tried not to hesitate, but he felt something bubble up and stop his throat for a few seconds. His mind blanked on any response at all, much less a witty one. He half-laughed, but there wasn't the ego behind it. It felt like the axe was burning a hole through his coat pocket, "Y-yeah? So what?"

"C'ld fix it for y'," Berwald offered, "File down th'edge 'n carve a new pi'ce."

Denmark almost flinched as the sound of Berwald's axe resonated, crushing its way through another piece of wood with more strength than carving skill. He fished around in his pocket for the pendant, as if it had singed a hole in his pocket and could have dropped to the snow. Even when his fingers brushed its defined edges he cringed back, as if had burned him, before closing around the crystal and pulling it out. It fit perfectly within the small frame of his palm where he turned it over, pressing his thumb to the uneven edges that may have been sharp enough to cut if he hadn't been wearing gloves.

It hadn't occurred to him to ask Berwald to fix the pendant - possibly because that meant coming up with a lie about what happened to it and why he didn't have the other piece. Though even has he thought on the idea, he knew there was a certain falseness too it. If he had it fixed then it would go back to the same ornate, boring cross it had been. It would have been like that night had never happened, like Norway had never happened. As foolish as it was, despite the occasional aches in his chest, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it up yet. It wasn't like the axe held any special significance, it wasn't as though Norway could use it as a tracking device to find him. But there was a stupid sort of hope in its unfinished, broken edges.

Though, with a month of nothing under his belt, the edges were just beginning to feel sharp and cold again. A busted pendant, nothing more.

"Den--"

"Yeah," he said, pretending that his voice didn't feel choked in his throat. He turned around, swallowing something thick in his throat that made his esophagus feel tight. His fingers closed tightly around the shape in his palm, committing it to memory or trying to seal his own thoughts inside of it he wasn't sure. But he held out his hand towards Berwald's offered one, dropping it into his open palm.

"Wait a minute!"

Tino's voice was an unexpected by more than just Denmark and Berwald, who both turned to look towards his quickly approaching figure. Several birds took flight from their winter homes, causing snow to fall to the ground in several spots around them. One of which being on top of Denmark's head, who muttered a slightly startled curse as he reached up to ruffle the snow from his blonde hair.

"T'no?"

"Sorry to startle you," Tino apologized, offering his sincerest smile to both of them before setting his attention on Denmark, "Do you mind if I see your axe pendant for a minute?"

"What? Why?" Denmark asked, but Tino had already swiped it out of Berwald's palm. Both men, oblivious to Tino's intentions, couldn't completely see what he was doing as he held it close to his chest, fiddling with something in his other hand.

Several seconds later a smile lit up his features, "Wait here."

"Where the hell else am I going to--hey!" Denmark called, almost grabbing for Tino as the other turned around to retrace his own footsteps in the snow. He turned on Berwald, "What the hell? Can't you keep your wife from stealing other people's shit?"

But Berwald didn't reply, instead he looked towards where Tino had ran off to, vaguely able to make out something else in the trees. Denmark, however, seemed more inclined to continue cursing about his lack of attention and kicking snow either at the other's legs or off into the clearing.

"What the hell are you even--" He turned to face the direction the other had been watching, his arms crossed tightly over his stomach. As what he was looking at came into focus they loosened, and as the image of it registered in his mind completely they fell to his sides, numb. His mouth gaped just a tad, not even closing as Tino completely closed the distance and gestured lightly to the person at his side.

"This is Prince Norway," he explained, though his violet eyes were sharp on Denmark with a look that could only be described as the word 'busted' plastered across his expression, "He's been looking for someone he met at a dance held last month."

"Hn," Berwald replied, eyes flicking between Norway and Denmark. The former's expression was completely stoic, though he noticed he avoided looking completely at Denmark, who's mouth had not yet shut.

"A month?" Was all he managed, and Norway's eyes lifted just enough to flick a glare at him out of their edges before Tino continued. His voice became somewhat critical and it was clear that if etiquette allowed it, he might have reached out to hit Denmark right there.

"All he's had to go on was a piece of a broken crystal axe pendant. Since the person ran off without giving their name."

Beside him, Denmark heard Berwald make a sound that might have been considered a snicker for most people and it jarred him out of his resumed stupor enough to elbow the other in the arm. Berwald remained unfazed by it.

"I recognized the piece almost instantly," Tino said, though there was little evident condescending tone to his voice. He did, however bring up the two pieces of the axe pendant and connect them. Denmark, Berwald, and even Norway watched as the edges fitting without flaw, curve for curve and point for point. Denmark almost couldn't believe it, though not simply because the fragments fit together. His mind still reeled with the fact that Norway had searched for a whole month to find him. Despite the apparent disapproval, the almost completely unmoving expressions and little insults - Norway had actually looked for him.

With the pieces now confirmed, Tino pulled up Denmark's hand and dropped them into his palm before reaching out to snag Berwald's arm. His voice was cheerful as he wrapped his own arms around the taller male's limb, tugging him back in the direction of the house. "We'll let you two sort this out. Makes sure you bring the firewood home with you!"

"Yeah…" Denmark replied, not completely acknowledging Tino's words, "Whatever."

Not a lot of time passed between Tino and Berwald's exit and Norway speaking up, shifting with a very subtle awkwardness, "So, are you just going to stare at me with your mouth gaping?"

"You're even cuter in the snow," Denmark blurted out, which really wasn't a statement much different from anything else he would have said that night except that neither of them had been drinking today. Or at least he hadn't. Norway's eyes finally lifted up to him, the edges of his straight-line mouth turning downwards in a frown seconds.

"Dolt."

Denmark felt a grin pulling at his features, taking some immense comfort in the derogatory name and the ease with which it punctuated the air between them. "So, Prince Norway, is it? I thought the guy in the white was the prince."

"Who said there was only one prince?" Norway asked, crossing his arms and turning to shuffle with half-interest through the snow in the clearing. When he glanced over towards Denmark's confused face he sighed, "My brother, Iceland, was the one who was dancing."

Denmark tried to pull up even the slightest recollection of the other prince's face from the file he'd tucked to the back of his mind, but it failed. His memories of that night were filled with nothing but kissing the other. And the more he lingered on it, the more he wanted to do it again. But Norway lingered just beyond him, observing the forest as if there was something interesting he should have been noticing in it. Where Denmark usually could have struck up conversation about anything, about nothing, his tongue felt like dead weight in his mouth. Silence lapsed between them but somewhere within it, Norway had wandered close enough that he could lower his voice and still be heard. His pale eyes were focused somewhere around Denmark's knees, hands gripping the opposite elbows where they folded over his chest.

"You didn't tell me your name when I asked." There it was again - that air of hurt surrounding him that never quite touched him yet screamed at Denmark to do something. Anything. But the statement had him rooted to the spot.

"You asked for it?" The question sounded dumb, even to him. "But I told you my name at the bar."

Norway turned slightly pink in the cheeks, mumbling something like "I didn't hear you" under his breath before addressing Denmark more directly.

"I called after you," his monotone slipped away for something a tad more haughty, "You yelled something irrelevant back."

"It wasn't irrelevant." He grinned proudly. "I said we'd meet again. I told you to trust me."

"We only met because I tracked you down, idiot," Norway mumbled, his attention averted again. It provided the perfect opening for Denmark's arms to slide around his waist, pulling him close in an embrace that both of them had almost forgot. Yet despite hanging on the edges of their memories it came shooting back, like it had never left them at all.

"I was still right, wasn't I?" He lowered his voice as he leaned down near the other, their lips hovering inches apart. The strands of Norway's hair that were free from the clip tickled the edges of his cheeks in the cold and he could feel warmth radiating softly from the other's skin. Norway's gloved hands curled against Denmark's chest where the lapels had been so many weeks ago.

The word "idiot" was only a little more than a breath against his lips as he pressed them to Norway's. They were cold to the touch, but he felt a warmth buried beneath that surfaced gradually as their breaths entwined and bodies pressed together. He was aware how well his arms fit into the curve of Norway's lower back, and how the other's smaller body lined his own so well. The scent he hadn't noticed before combined with a taste he remembered all too vividly flooded his senses and it felt like he could never hold on tight enough or long enough. He tightly gripped the broken pieces of crystal in his hand as feelings of familiarity mingled with the unknown to create something entirely new.