Halvard is my name for Norway. Henrik is my name for Denmark. I would've changed it to country names throughout for this, but it didn't flow quite right.

He watches Halvard as he looks out the frosted glass. Overcast, without rain, the weather hasn't been sunny in a week. Such is Norway's climate; gloomy and murky, even during the summer.

Roderich takes note that Halvard is looking better now. He's started eating regular meals again, putting on weight. But he's still skinnier than he should be. As is Roderich himself. Such is the effect of war; you become weak and suffer, even if you're not directly involved.

But Halvard's mood hasn't improved. He's gotten meaner, bolder, harsher. He swears more, he hits and scratches. He's still angry, he still wants his freedom. Bitter, but they both are.

Halvard still remains at his post by the window. Sometimes he has a book with him, or a notebook that he jots down ideas for novels or half-asked poems, little spirals and circles in the margins. He, on most days, stays there from dawn to dusk.

Halvard puts new flowers in the vase by Roderich's bedside every week when the old ones start to shrivel and die.

Roderich doesn't care much for flowers, but it gives something for Halvard to do. Attend the garden, take a fresh breath of mountain air. But even still, his haunting blue eyes stare outwards towards the gravel and dirt patchwork that leads up to his country house. Sometimes they play violin together, but Halvard's notes are as dry and dead as the flowers he throws out on Sundays.

It's when he comes that everything changes.

Perhaps Halvard thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him, since he doesn't move even as he spots that telltale hair in the June breeze. But as the speck gets closer, he moves, bones creaking just like the old unoiled doors in his house. He squints, to make sure. Roderich watches him do this, curiously.

And then Halvard runs, bolting like quicksilver down the stairs and out the door as Roderich follows quietly, politely, with grace behind. He stands in the doorframe as Halvard screams at the top of his lungs a name he hasn't passed his lips in months. Roderich watches as Henrik drops his bags and runs to meet his other half, as they embrace like velcro, refusing to pry from the other.

They kiss too, several times, briefly, in quick bursts, before nestling into one another's shoulders. Henrik is shorter, skinnier these days, too. Halvard starts to cry, and Henrik joins him. But they are happy, for tears can be joyous too.

Roderich watches as Henrik picks Halvard up, cradling him in his arms like a child. And Roderich watches as they approach him, leaving the hastily discarded bags where they are. Henrik mutters hello but Roderich hardly notices as he is captured by Halvard's eyes, glittering with a spark that Roderich has never seen before.

They exchange looks, Halvard and Henrik, suggesting something that Roderich cares not to know about, and they head upstairs, tears still on their cheeks. Roderich finally moves, feeling the mountain mist on his face has he goes to retrieve the things Henrik brought with him, placing them besides the rainboots and coats hanging from the walls.

He waits downstairs in the parlor for them to finish. It will take a few hours. Halvard once mentioned how much they like to talk after everything is said and done. And he thinks, ponders, considers.

He watches as the grandfather clock tics the minutes away and wonders why he and Elizaveta never had any of this.

He touches the finger where there is no longer a ring and tries to understand how is it that Henrik and Halvard love. But he can't. Not because he doesn't want to accept it, but because he's never felt such a feeling before.

He listens as the stairs moan and watches as Halvard sheepishly descend. He is wearing only his underwear and Henrik's shirt, hastily buttoned and misaligned. Halvard's hair is jostled, his hairpin discarded somewhere, but he seems brighter, chipper. Alive.

Henrik follows, his pants ruffled and his hair messier than normal. He sits next to Halvard on the couch opposing Roderich and sprawls himself across the cushions, letting out a satisfied sigh and grin.

They kiss right in front of him, and Roderich cannot turn away until they part. He won't admit it, but he's jealous. Not of them, or the physical part of their relationship, but the feelings they have for one another. He's surprised how willing Halvard is to show himself like this, how human he really is with his dorky, sly grin as he interlocks fingers with his longest friend and only lover.

"So, I've come on business," Henrik says as he cuddles Halvard close.

And Roderich watches them the whole time Henrik explains his reason for visiting. Political matters, the war, he has some messages to relay. But Roderich wonders if it's all only excuses to visit someone he hasn't seen in nearly four years.

And despite how uncomfortable Roderich feels, he's oddly okay with it.

He just wishes someone would do the same for him.

Notes, copypasted from DA:

My best friend and I have weird Hetalia headcanon. This takes place during World War II, where Austria, who has been absorbed by Germany and is no longer a country technically, is sent to keep Norway in line. They live alone for years, barely talking to one another because they are from two different worlds, ethnically, historically, and even personally.

But they still learn from one another.

My headcanon for Austria and Hungary is that although they were married, it didn't go well and nothing came out of it. They didn't really romantically love one another. The Hapsburgs were known for political marriages. Austria's marriage to Hungary was just that. Political.

But he still never got over it. Austria-Hungary's split was the final thing that signaled Austria's end as a power, in my opinion. And he was close to Hungary, don't get me wrong. It just wasn't a romantic relationship.

Ah, I don't know. I'm rambling.