The Face as Cold as Stone {APH}

Norway's face never changes. It's just there, emotionless, uncaring, unfeeling - like Norway has shut himself off from the world, and he no longer cares. Denmark is determined to find out why. Hetalia fanfic, eventual DenNor. Hetalia does not belong to me.


5. Chapter Five

Right. First thing's first... 8 FAVOURITES???????????? WHAT???????????? :D :D :D :D :D :D

THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!

Alright, thanks to:


Thesis Jones

Rebelle MidnightMoon

Alex SHINe

мιмι ιѕн α υɴιcorɴ.ᵇˢʰ

Quiet Canadia



If I've misspelt your username or you change it, then let me know, but THANK YOU SO MUCH!




When the 'conference' was finished, Denmark obediently followed Norway.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, when they reached the guest room Norway was staying in. The Norwegian closed the door to keep out inquisitive people like Hungary, and sat down. Denmark nervously hovered by the two chairs, and Norway gestured to it, allowing him to sit.

Denmark sat.

"Why?" The Norwegian's voice was quiet, but demanding an answer. Denmark struggled to find his own voice.

"Because... Because he should call you that. It's not fair that he doesn't say it, even though you're related, but he just ignores you and it's not fair because he shouldn't ignore you, and..." Denmark realised he'd probably said more than intended. Swallowing, he looked up at Norway.

"Really? Why's that? Why shouldn't he ignore me?"

"B-Because you're a good brother! You're always looking out for him, Norge. You don't deserve to be ignored." Denmark didn't add that he thought Norway was the most amazing person he'd ever met, and that he just wanted him to be happy, and that Iceland wasn't saying the one thing that might, just might, make him smile.


And there it was. There is was again, that single word of thanks, that word that proved to Denmark that Norway didn't hate him completely, that Norway could sometimes actually feel grateful, despite what his face gave away.

Denmark, before he could help himself, threw himself up and grabbed Norway in a hug.

"Get off," Norway demanded, strangulating the Dane until he released the smaller Nation, staggering back with the grin still on his face.

"You never say that," Denmark beamed.

"Well, I just did."

"But I thought you were angry!"

"I am."

Denmark shook his head in confusion, but the grin didn't go. "You just thanked me!"

"Yes. I thanked you for thinking of me, but if you ever do that to Icy again, I will do worse than just strangulate you. Understood?"

Denmark gave a furious nod. "Got it. I didn't mean for America to scare him, it just kind of... Well, you know America."

Norway shrugged. "Yes, I do know him. But so do you. And if you know him, then why ask him about Icy in the first place?"

Denmark couldn't figure that one out himself, so he answered with a sheepish laugh. "Guess I wasn't thinking about that one. Sorry, Norge..."

The Norwegian studied his face for a few moments, then sat back down on the chair.

"Apologise to Iceland when you see him next."

Denmark grinned, nodding. "Sure. I'll tell him I'm sorry." A pause. And then, "Let's go look around, since we're in Italy. Rome has to be nice, and if you can survive England's food, then you should like pasta. Come on, let's go!"

Without waiting for an answer, Denmark dragged Norway from his chair, pulling the unwilling Norwegian along behind him, grinning back.

Only when they reached the elevator did Denmark release Norway's wrist, and by then, they were already going down to ground level.

"Next time," the Norwegian advised Denmark, the undertone of a threat in his voice, "Ask me if I want to come first."

"Of course you want to come!" Denmark insisted, his boundless energy filling him as the elevator doors opened and he tried to grab Norway's wrist again. The smaller of the duo snatched it away, choosing instead to follow of his own accord as Denmark practically skipped out of the lobby, inhaling deeply the scent of Rome.

Norway walked beside him, and Denmark could tell that his friend was resisting the urge to punch him as he grinned at the other tourists, pointing at each building like an eager child. Eventually, he found a café that even Norway shouldn't be able to resist, and dashed inside, with the Norwegian following almost begrudgingly.

As the Dane ordered the first thing on the menu, Norway scanned the Italian words, eventually shrugging and telling the waitress, "same as him."

As they waited for their meals, Denmark glanced up, spotting another woman walking into the café and sitting on the table opposite. Despite the Italian sun, the woman's collar was pulled up to disguise her face, a hat tipped low over her eyes. Her hair had obviously been tucked into the hat, but Denmark couldn't help but notice the strand of familiar pale brown hair, the Hungarian accent as the woman ordered her food.

Norway was already looking in her direction, and, as she glanced over, Denmark knew that there was no denying it.

He was looking at Hungary.




Dun dun duuuuunnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wolfheart, as my first favouriter, you get two requests, and Hungary shall be in the next chapter, as promised! :D

More DenNor there. Ish. You like? You hate?

Thanks again for liking/faving! :D :D :D

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