#aphsecretsanta

“Ivan, are you ready yet?” he heard the Brit’s voice through the door, not mad but vaguely worried. About him or about being tardy for their arrival it was hard to tell. The door cracked open quietly and there the Englishman stood, dressed as if he had been ripped out of the pages of a Victorian fashion book, he was stunning-- and Ivan swelled with happiness and the air of embarrassment as he watched the man’s expression go from vague concern to confusion. 

“Sorry, I know we’re already running late, I was just…” he glanced away from Arthur, to the mirror. “Having some.. wardrobe issues..”

Arthur frowned, moving across the room and over to Ivan, who had buried his face in the neck of his sweater. “I thought you wanted us to dress up like the old days, love. Are you okay?” Arthur asked.

“I just… don’t feel comfortable in it..” Ivan glanced away as Arthur tried to look him in his eyes. “I was so much smaller back then...” 

“Ivan, of course you were, but back then doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful to me right now.” Arthur frowned, taking Ivan’s hand into his own and giving it a soft squeeze. “And if you’re not comfortable with wearing these old things, and just want to wear sweaters and slacks, then that’s perfectly right by me.”

“I know, I just… are you sure you don’t mind?” Ivan frowned, “I can wear it anyway it’s not--” 

He stopped as the Englishman had immediately taken to unbuttoning his vest and jacket, a grin on his face. 

“I absolutely don’t mind, this corset is bloody torture-- christ on a bike how did I manage this back then I can’t breathe.” he said, happily shedding his upper layers. “Do you have any christmas vests, dear?” 

Ivan turned bright red, not only because the Englishman had stripped quickly without even a word of warning, but also because he had realized they had both been in the same predicament. He laughed, first softly, then heartily from his belly, glancing toward his bed at the discarded clothes. He felt so silly getting caught up in his past self’s wardrobe. Of course it was different, he was a different man now. He glanced to his wardrobe as the Brit had started to properly put back on his dress shirt, without the corset this time. 

“Are you sure you want to wear one of mine?”

“Absolutely, your sweaters are much warmer than mine, and besides, I still do want to match. Give me the worst one you’ve got.” he smiled, happily taking the cringe worthy holiday themed sweater Ivan handed to him. Arthurt pulled him in front of the mirror, the two of them both in khaki slacks and ridiculously adorned christmas sweaters. Arhur’s was a red sweater vest covered in multicolored tinsel and fake lights with the words “merry christmas ya filthy animal” in bright green lettering. While Ivan had picked out a red one with white stripes depicting an image of Krampus holding chains and his sack of stolen children. Arthur laughed at the sweater the Russian had picked out. 

“Alfred is going to scream, you know.” 

Ivan chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I know. That was the idea.”

Matthew had been visiting this cafe for a while now, to the point where it just felt like a natural part of his day. He'd drop by in the morning, grab a hot chocolate and/or some sweets depending on his mood, and just relax and take in the warm atmosphere of the little cafe.

Truth be told, though, it wasn't the food or drink that kept him coming back (although both were the best in town in Matt's opinion), it was the staff. Or, rather, one member of the staff in particular. A kind, lighthearted Italian guy named Feliciano. He seemed to run the place with his brother, and he was very much the source of much of the cafe's welcoming feeling, to Matthew at least.

He'd first ventured into the cafe on a really rotten day. The weather was cold and rainy, work had been a slog, and Matthew was just so tired. Coffee sounded like a decent pick-me-up, and he hadn't really noticed the little cafe before, so he figured he'd give it a shot, figuring his day couldn't really get any worse. The coffee was certainly delicious and served to lift his mood a bit, but what really surprised Matthew was when one of the servers, who introduced himself as Feliciano asked to sit with him.

"It's alright if you want to be left alone! But I noticed that you seemed like you were having a rough day, and, well... I thought you might enjoy some company? And also some cake? On the house!" Feliciano had offered with a warm smile.

Matthew remembered feeling his face almost certainly turning red the first time he saw that smile. The way it spread across his cheeks, making his eyes crinkle just slightly, was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen. And it seemed his smile was contagious because soon enough, Matthew had a small smile of his own tugging at his lip as he accepted Feliciano's offer.

Since then, he'd been coming to this cafe nearly every day. And no matter how dismal the rest of his day was, he could always count on his visits with Feli to be a bit of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds. And one thing that really made their hangouts feel special to Matthew was that he was always pretty shy, and talking to people, especially ones he'd just met, felt like an awkward dance he didn't quite know the steps to. But with Feli, even from day one, it felt natural. He didn't find himself worrying over what to say next or how to fill a silence between the two of them, it just sorta... worked.

Matthew was thinking all of this over on his way to the cafe as snow fell to the ground. He had a bouquet of flowers in hand, and a plan to finally ask Feliciano out in mind. He entered, placed an order for hot chocolate with Feliciano's brother at the cash register, and took his seat, tucking his bouquet under the table and out of sight, trying desperately to convince himself not to chicken out. He had to go through with this! He really liked Feli, and he felt sure that Feli liked him as well. He could do this.

"Ah, Matthew! Ciao!" Feliciano greeted, breaking Matthew's train of anxious thought as he emerged from the kitchen doors, carrying a mug full of hot chocolate and a slice of cake on a platter. He hurried over to Matt's table, quickly setting the hot drink down in front of him. "I'm glad you came today! There's, uh, actually something I wanted to talk about."

Matthew blinked in surprise. He was just building up the courage to ask Feliciano, but it seemed that would have to wait. He was a bit relieved that he now had just a little bit more time to continue building up his nerve. "Oh, sure! What is it?"

"Okay, so... We've been hanging out like this for a while, right? And I really, really like it! You're super nice, and fun to talk to, and you're seriously just one of the sweetest people I know. Talking to you is one of the best parts of my day! I really mean it! You... You make me really happy. So, I was wondering if, uh... Maybe you'd like to... go out? Sometime? Maybe?" Feliciano asked, clearly nervous by the way he was gripping the plate in his hands and rambling just a bit.

Matthew paused. Wait, did he just...

Feliciano's shoulders bunched up just slightly at Matthew's silence. "I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine, too! We don't have to! I was just thinking that I really wanna spend more time with you, and--"

"Feli, Feli!" Matthew interrupted Feliciano's nervous ramble. "It's okay! I'm sorry I didn't answer, I just, uh..." Matthew pulled his bouquet out from under the table with a sheepish smile. "I... was about to ask you the same thing."

The two just looked at each other for a moment, processing the situation, before they both burst out into laughter. Feliciano wound up laughing so hard he let out a little snort, which only made him giggle harder, much to Matt's delight.

Once they settled down, Feliciano took the seat across from Matthew. "Ah, tell you what. I'll say yes to you asking me out if you say yes to me asking you out!"

Matthew chuckled. "Sounds like a deal. I do!"

Feliciano absolutely beamed. "I do too!" With that, Feliciano pushed his plate of cake towards Matt. "So... trade?"

Matthew handed over the bouquet and gladly accepted the cake, digging in with a smile. It was the same kind Feli offered on the first day they met. 

The sun set earlier here than Belarus was accustomed to.

Belarus glanced at Norway. In the thin glow from the streetlamps, he looked paler than usual. There was a hint of a smile on his face.

She looked away. Considered this for a moment. Decided that she liked that expression on him. So she moved her hand just enough to brush against his, then took it in her own, and squeezed it.

He squeezed back.

They said nothing as they walked back to Norway's house together.

Norway had invited her to spend time at his place. Personal time, he'd said. Just the two of them. It wasn't anything new; they had done this before. But every time he asked her for this, with his quiet voice delivering such a personal invitation, it made her feel strangely warm.

This time was no different.

Nether of them had given a word to what they had together. They were something other than friends. They were something she didn't know how to describe. Belarus didn't care. What would be the point of putting a name to it, anyway?

It certainly wasn't anyone else's business.

But they had something. A satisfying something. A something only between the two of them. Hence the invitation, which Belarus had accepted, when she wouldn't have from anyone else. And the afternoon spent skating together.

At one point, her skate had hit a flaw in the ice, and she'd slipped. Norway had caught her, steadied her, kept her from falling. Asked if she was all right. Belarus had straightened herself, and told him that she was.

She hadn't minded his concern.

If it had been anyone else, she would have removed his hands from her person, and with much stronger words. She knew that for certain.

But this was different.

Snow fell in lazy, delicate flakes, caught in the light from Norway's porch lamp.

Belarus waited while he unlocked the door. Watched as the snow settled on his hair, dusting it with white. She reached out to brush some of it off, taking a liberty that she knew not everyone had.

Norway smiled, or perhaps it was a trick of the light, looking over at her for a second. Then he opened the door, and let her in.

They lingered in the entranceway of his house, taking their time with stripping off their outer layers.

The awkward shuffle of taking off boots and shrugging off coats usually annoyed Belarus. Tonight, it did not. Not so much. It helped that Norway took her coat. Polite, but without comment.

When Norway turned to her again, he took hold of her hands. Belarus allowed it, watching his face. His expression was quiet for a moment as he rubbed her hands between his own.

"You're freezing," Norway murmured. He didn't sound overly worried.

"Yes," Belarus said. "And so are you." His hands were just as cold as hers were, if not colder.

He seemed to take a moment to consider this. Then he looked at her again. "I'll put the tea on for you."

"And I'll take care of the fireplace," she said crisply.

He left her to it.

She was familiar with his house by now. That was very surprising, Belarus thought as she arranged the logs and kindling. To think that she had visited Norway often enough to be comfortable in his home – it was frankly bizarre.

This was not just his apartment in his capital, not the tiny flat in Oslo with all the sparse feeling of a hotel room. No, this was his personal, private home out in the country, and it was warm in a way that anyone who did not know him well would never expect.

Very odd to think about. Belarus frowned as she struck a match and touched it to the kindling.

From the kitchen came the sound of cupboards opening and mugs being set on the counter. Soft, low humming.

Belarus could count on one hand the number of nations whose homes she was so familiar with. And most of them were family.

She straightened. For a moment, she watched as the fire caught, spreading to sink its teeth deep into the logs in the fireplace.

Did it matter that Norway was an outlier in her life?

No, she decided. It did not.

There were small candles throughout the living room. She lit one, then went about using it to light the others. It kicked up the soft fragrance of melting beeswax.

Finally, she sat down and waited.

Norway came in with the tea. He handed her a mug, then sat down next to her with one of his own.

"I put supper in the oven," he said. "We'll have a while afore it's ready."

Belarus nodded. They had spent that morning preparing it together, getting the lasagne ready so that after they returned from skating, they would not have to do anything with it except shove it into the oven. It was, Belarus thought, a very good plan.

Her body ached. She hadn't skated in years, and his invitation had surprised her. It had been bold. He couldn't have even known if she liked skating, because she had never mentioned it.

For a moment, after he suggested it, she thought about refusing.

But she hadn't.

She didn't regret it.

The two of them sat close together. So close, their bodies touched. Just slightly. She could feel the heat rolling off of him.

She glanced at him, watching as he warmed his hands on his mug of tea. There he sat, in his hand-knit sweater, with his hair tousled from being stuffed under a hat all day. The firelight softened his features, usually just as sharp as her own.

There was something comfortable about him. About this. About everything.

Belarus gave this a moment of thought. Then she nestled closer, and rested her head on Norway's shoulder.

He didn't comment on it. He didn't move away. He didn't do anything about it at all. He merely looked at her for a moment, then relaxed, and shifted the slightest bit so that she could fit more comfortably against him.

It was, Belarus decided, not a strange thing at all to be here with him.