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“You know that I’ve been in love with you for centuries, right?” Iceland hissed, his entire face glowing a mortifying red.
“Yes,” Norway said, unaffected. “I did think you’d be over it by now, though.”
They sat across from one another at Iceland’s small dining table. He rarely kept company enough for his four chairs to be necessary, and the table was hardly large enough to accommodate four anyway. They’ve reached the end of a spontaneous weekend visit that Norway occasionally asked about and Iceland always resisted. He regretted that he didn’t resist harder this time. The trip had been largely uneventful until a kneejerk, irritated outburst ruined everything.
“Well, sorry, but I’m just not. So can you please stop calling us brothers?” Iceland begged. It was taking all his strength to not start a shouting match. “I don’t think of you that way—I just can’t, even if you do.”
“But I am your brother.” Norway cut in, confused.
“Nore, we aren’t people.” Now Iceland was agitated and confused. “It was fine when I was little, but we’re practically equals now. Can’t we move past it? Do you need to label our relationship like that?”
“Label us as brothers? I suppose not.” Norway looked away, his gaze coming to rest outside a window. “To be honest, we look so alike and such, I’ve always considered myself to be as good as your father.”
Iceland involuntarily made a horrible noise. Norway looked back and raised an eyebrow, his face a little red from his own confession.
“You know what?” Iceland said, voice an octave too high. “You can say brother as much as you want, so long as you never call yourself my father again. Either way, nations can’t have real families. We all know this, right? That wouldn’t make any sense. And we do not look that much alike.”
Norway ignored the first part. “Everyone says we do, I’ve been hearin’ it since we were kids.”
“Well, I disagree! I’ve always disagreed with that.”
“We’re family, Is.”
“Yeah, adopted,” Iceland said.
“Blood,” Norway corrected.
Iceland rolled his eyes petulantly. “I’m no expert, but I think you need two parents to make a child. Who would my mother be, then?”
“Oh, please.” Norway waved vaguely. “Don’t need two to make a baby for our kind. Plenty of human genes to borrow from.”
“Exactly my point,” Iceland said too loudly. “There’s no way we have even similar genetic makeup, so who knows where our looks come from! If we look alike, it’s a coincidence, right?”
Norway shrugged vaguely.
“Hah, I get it.” He reigned himself back in, and furrowed his brow. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you? It’s not funny. Cut it out.”
“I’m serious. You are, at the very least, my brother.”
“Adopted,” Iceland ground out, jabbing a finger at him for emphasis.
“Blood,” Norway corrected again. He crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.
Iceland threw up his hands. “How? In what world?”
Norway cocked his head. “You’ve truly never thought this? I assumed when we called ourselves brothers, you also understood I meant it in a literal sense.”
“I only called you my brother because,” Iceland stopped, wracking his brain for ancient memories. “When we first met, didn’t you tell me to?”
Norway also thought about it. “I knew you were my brother from your birth. Wasn’t it the same for you? You already knew me the first time we met.”
“...Maybe.” That sounded right, unfortunately. “So, I guess I always knew.”
“You knew your existence was because of me,” Norway explained, “Because I’d fathered you, and from your earliest memories onwards—”
“Stop. Don’t say father, I’ll kill you.” Iceland half-covered his face with one hand, desperately fighting his flight reflex.
“We knew we were brothers from the beginning.”
Iceland sighed, defeated, drumming his other hand’s fingers on the tabletop. “Yes, we did.”
“Why would that be an adoptive relationship?” Norway asked genuinely, with only a small edge of mockery.
Iceland began ticking off reasons on his fingers. “We don’t have parents! We were born into distinct groups of people! We- I- I—,” He ran out of reasons. “I just don’t think it makes sense.”
“Look at us.”
“And see what? Two completely different grown men?” Iceland laughed. “You’re not going to psyche me out of having feelings for you, Nore. This and that are separate matters; you’re just being gross.”
“You think I’m lying?” Norway stared blankly at Iceland.
“You’re bullying me.”
“I’m being honest, Is.”
Iceland held his gaze accusatorily, until suddenly his face crumpled in horror. He buried his face in his hands and moaned, “Oh God, wait. So this whole time you knew I liked you (he hissed ‘liked’ like a curse word), you also thought that we were related? Literally related? Oh, that is so much worse than I thought. That’s so awful I could die.”
“It’s fine even if we are.” Norway smiled indulgently—paternally. “I’ve told you before, I don’t mind your little crush. It’s sweet.”
“It really isn’t fine!” Iceland wailed between his fingers. “Please just stop.”
“We aren’t people,” Norway echoed calmly. “It’s fine. I can’t say I feel the same for you, but I’m not upset by it. We aren’t bound by society the same way a human would be.”
“We aren’t, yes! It doesn’t matter what we call each other, so why do you want us to be family so badly?” Iceland said desperately.
“I don’t want us to be family, Is. We’ve always been family,” Norway said, voice tinged with hurt. “I’ve thought you the closest I’ll have to a son for the thousand-some years we’ve known each other.”
Iceland raked his hands down his face, eyes darting around his apartment. “Maybe you should leave.”
He sighed. “Is, my flight isn’t for a while yet. We should talk while we have the time,” Norway reached over and ruffled his hair, “Or I fear we never will.”
“This is my house, and I don’t want you here,” Iceland said coldly, emphasizing each word. Carefully, Norway pulled his hand back. “I’ll drop you at the airport early, or else you can call a taxi.”
Norway sighed, long and melancholic. “Fine.” He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table. “I’ll get my things.”
He hoped Iceland would change his mind on the hour-long drive to Keflavík.
Surprise teenage mood swings were never unexpected. Though, Norway supposed he understood him this time. He wanted space.
The drive was scenic as always, though Iceland didn’t offer conversation. Before leaving Reykjavík proper, Norway asked to stop for ice cream, and Iceland snapped that he could buy his sugar fix at the airport. ”The duty-free shops are cheaper anyway,” he said more quietly.
Norway went back to gazing out the window. His eyes traced the familiar mountain line, all the while admiring the mossy landscape. With every visit, this land became more familiar. The one representing it was as distant as ever.
Norway idly wished to roll around in that moss together again, like when they were children.
They didn’t speak again until he pulled up to drop Norway off at departures.
Iceland pulled the single carry-on backpack out of his trunk, and silently thrust it at his brother without bothering to look at him. Norway took the offering and slipped it on over his insulated jacket. Iceland shut the trunk, and still did not turn around.
They both hesitated.
Before Iceland could walk stiffly back to the driver’s seat, Norway grabbed his sleeve. He turned around enough that he could glimpse his face. “What?”
“Won’t see you again ‘til Christmas, I expect,” Norway said.
Iceland nodded. “See you then, then.” He tried to slip his arm free.
Grip still firm, Norway moved in to wrap his little brother in a bear hug. Iceland tensed up, and color flared back into his cheeks. Norway self-indulgently nuzzled into the nape of his neck, blond stubble scratching him uncomfortably. Iceland’s hands twitched at his own sides, holding the car keys in a death grip.
“Take care of yourself now,” Norway said quietly, before letting go and patting the younger’s back. “Call if you need anything before then.”
“Please just go.”
Norway looked at the watch on his wrist and huffed. “Alright. S’pose I’ll be off.”
“Bye, Nore.” Iceland said shortly, finally looking him in the face. “Sorry,” he added, not at all apologetic.
“It’s alright.” I love you.
Norway bounced the backpack up, pulling it snugly to his back with a noise like an old man, and went on his way inside. He did not look back.
Iceland watched him go until he rounded a corner.
Why on earth would he think they could be related? He sighed, and his breath fogged up in the cold mid-morning air. He got back into his car, and slammed the door harder than necessary. He allowed himself one scream of pure frustration between tightly grit teeth, forehead pressed painfully against the wheel. Then he began the drive home.
Norway had planted doubt in his mind, that bastard. He finally realized how quiet the initial ride had been, and moved to switch on the radio. Could nations be related? Surely not. Why couldn’t Norway see that was insane?
A DNA test would put this to rest.
Iceland made a spiteful mental note to order two kits before Christmas.