Chapter Text
December 12, 2023
Brussels, Belgium
“Surely this will not work.” The Germanic man leans back against the counter of the small hotel bathroom. He crosses his arms, fixing his gaze on the shining bathroom floor. He tilts his head up ever so slightly as his soft, blond hair is combed back out of his face.
“No, no,” a high, airy voice assures him from behind in smooth English. “It will. You’ve gotta trust me.” Feliciano Vargas sits on the counter behind him. He lightly rests his hands on either side of the man’s head, tilting the Germanic man’s head upward. He picks up a bottle of hair gel, squeezing some onto his hands, working it into man’s airy hair which insists on either falling forward or sticking straight up. He looks up, eyeing the Norwegian man who stands by, leaning against the opposite wall. “What do you think?”
The cool, purple gaze of Lukas Bondevik meets the sparkling, mischievous gaze of Feliciano before it slips to the Germanic man propped against the counter between the Italian’s legs. “I hate to admit it”—his eyes narrow—“but you are right.” He sighs heavily, the shining image of the Danish flag pinned to the lapel of his suit coat shifting with his breath. “Good God,” he remarks after another moment. “This is so terribly distressing.” His face twists with grief. “I never realized they look so similar.”
“No way,” Matthias Køhler pushes himself off the counter, stumbling forward out of Feliciano’s awkward hold. He turns around, spotting his reflection in the mirror behind Feliciano. He freezes for a moment, his bright gaze locked on his own image. He shifts a step forward, his brow furrowing. “Min Gud,” he remarks as Feliciano turns on the counter, pulling a leg to his chest.
“See!” Feliciano chirps. “You look just like him.”
“Can you pull off his accent?” Lukas asks.
The Dane shifts a step back, turning toward his partner. He straightens his tie; it is rather broad and the print is old-fashioned. It is certainly not his style. He drops his hands, tucking them into his pockets as he squares his shoulders. “My name,” he begins in the deepest voice and thickest German accent he can muster, “is Ludwig Beilschmidt. I am an associate with the Federal Foreign Office.” He turns smoothly, eyeing the Italian on the counter with bright, twinkling eyes of amusement.
Feliciano laughs, rocking backward, his arms wrapped around his knee.
Lukas sighs defeatedly, rubbing his face. “Feliciano, I swear to God.”
“Can I come in now?” a muffled voice calls from beyond the locked bathroom door. “You guys are laughing. Did it work? Does Far look like Mister Germany?”
Lukas sighs. He shifts a step toward the bathroom door, unlocking it. He steps back as it is slowly pushed open by the timid form of Ebbe Bondevik Køhler. The Greenlandic boy—who looks no older than seventeen—steps into the bathroom, pushing open the door. He broadens his shoulders, as he stands a little straighter, casting a judgmental gaze on his father who stands in the center of the bathroom beyond recognition.
Ebbe squints at him, his eyes some strange combination of both Lukas’ and Matthias’. “You’re messing with me, right?” he whispers. “That’s not—”
“Min skat,” Matthias whispers, his shoulders falling ever so slightly.
The Greenlandic boy’s expression twists with severe concern. He glances at Lukas with narrow eyes of questioning. “You can’t be serious about this.” He rests a hand against his abdomen, fidgeting with the buttons of his light gray suit jacket. “There’s no need for this. Where the hell is the real Mister Germany?”
Feliciano slides off the counter, gracefully landing on the bathroom floor, weaving around Nordics to exit the bathroom. “In Berlin this week,” he replies simply.
“Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to be here?” Ebbe whirls around, watching the man float out of the room. He shifts a step into the entry hall, watching Feliciano with narrow critical eyes.
“Yep! This is fine. Don’t worry about it!”
Ebbe whips around, staring at his parents—one so well disguised it is unsettling—his tone growing sharper. “Hvor er Herre Tyskland?” he demands.
The Dane shrugs, leading the way out of the bathroom, flicking the lights. “Han vil ikke fortælle mig.”
Lukas follows the man out of the bathroom, pushing him forward.
“I think we deserve to know!” Ebbe remarks as he turns to watch his father step toward the door. A pin of the Danish flag shines on his coat like Lukas. “I flew in from Greenland for this!”
“Dan wanted to cause problems at the last meeting so now Feli and Ludwig get to call in a favor,” Lukas reports exhaustedly. “I don’t think we are in the place to ask questions.” He watches Matthias take his coat up off a hook by the door. He drops his gaze as he scoops up a backpack off the floor in the entry hall, tossing it over his shoulder, fighting an arm under the strap.
“Are you here to help him or follow him around grumpily?” Ebbe mutters, taking up his own coat.
“Oh, I’m here to bitch,” Lukas confirms, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. “You are here to help him. You are the Danish representative.”
Ebbe’s expression twists with unease as Feliciano trots up from behind. He steps around the Greenlandic boy, handing an old satchel off to Matthias. “Here. You need this.”
Lukas watches this before turning back to his son. “You get to learn how to participate in meetings, and I am here to provide support while Matt plays pretend.”
Ebbe nods, blinking as the door is pulled open. He follows his parents out of the small room, holding the door open for Feliciano who stumbles out last. He takes shallow breaths, wringing his hands as he falls in step with Lukas.
“Relax,” the Norwegian urges. “The shoes you are filling are not all that big.”
“Hey,” Matthias hisses, whirling around.
“Hush,” Lukas returns in an equally low tone as Feliciano steps around them to fall in pace with Matthias. “Du er Tysk.”
Matthias’ expression twists with annoyance but only for the briefest moment before he skips a few steps to keep up with Feliciano who walks extraordinarily fast.
“I am willing to bet,” Lukas begins with a whisper, leaning close to his son, “Ludwig has no clue Feliciano put Dan up to this.”
Ebbe squints after them. “Yeah… I wouldn’t be surprised.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, doing his best to ignore the queasy feeling in his gut. “Far won’t be drinking this time, right?”
“No,” Lukas laughs. “God no.”
“Do we know who will be in attendance this month?” The Dane’s German accent startles both of the men just a few steps behind him.
“Oh, the usual people. Antonio, Berwald, Francis, Noé, and Marije,” Feliciano responds plainly. “The only surprise guests are me, Lovi, Lukas, and Ebbe.”
Matthias nods, blinking thoughtfully. His eyes latch onto the figure of a slender man at the end of the hall. He takes a deep breath, trying to release as much tension as possible as they approach the man who waits silently beside the elevator, head kept low, scrolling through his phone.
“Good morning, Saint Laurent,” Matthias greets as plainly as possible. He takes a deep breath, focusing his attention on the man.
Noé Saint Laurent slowly looks up, his soft blond hair shifting into his face as his neutral expression ignites with recognition. “Hello, Ludwig,” he greets cordially.
Matthias smiles with muted pride, gaining a slight degree of confidence.
Noé nods politely at the Italian, “Feliciano.” His gaze slips to the two Nordics. “Ah, and I heard we have ourselves a new and improved Danish representative.”
Ebbe flushes ever so slightly, nodding in silent affirmation.
“That just means we will have a quiet meeting.”
Lukas laughs, his soft purple eyes igniting with amusement. “Yeah, Matt is back home with Sigyn running errands around Copenhagen for his higher-ups.”
Noé nods, his gaze returning to the Greenlandic boy. “You have nothing to be afraid of. These things are generally fairly quiet. Attendance is light today as well.” He smiles, thinking about it. “Although Tomáš is here and he is bitching.”
Ebbe laughs softly.
“Tomáš is here but Tereza is not?” Matthias asks inquisitively.
“Oh yeah,” the Luxembourgish man laughs. “She was specifically uninvited this month. The Slovaks want to redeem Tomáš’ and his absence last month, but if she’s here—”
“It will simply be a repeat,” Matthias finishes the thought.
The Norwegian eyes him carefully, noticing that the Dane cannot shake a particular lightness to his voice; it is a lightness Ludwig has never really had. Luckily for Matthias, Noé doesn’t notice this.
“Did you check the agenda for today?” the Luxembourgish man queries as the elevator door slides open.
“Yes,” Matthias states firmly. “The usual lineup of issues regarding Ukraine, the Middle East, migration, security, and expansion, correct?”
Noé nods, losing a degree of energy as the list is repeated back at him. He leads the way into the elevator and the other four follow him in. He glances at Feliciano, staring the man down before narrowing his gaze. “And there will be no more of your antics this week, right?” He hits the button for the ground floor.
“No, no.” Feliciano waves the man off. “Matthias is not here! There is no one here worth drinking with other than him.”
Ebbe squints at the man. He is having way too much fun with this. Surely all of this isn’t because Mister Italy is simply bored.
“Like hell am I letting you go drinking again,” Matthias inserts with as much authority as he can muster. He glances at him with earnest warmth.
Noé laughs, stepping back. He shakes out his suit coat—it is a strange off-white color—before pulling it on over his salmon-colored button-up. “I guess if anything I’m surprised Lovino showed up. He usually doesn’t show his face if he doesn’t have to.”
“Antonio’s here,” Matthias points out dryly.
Noé shrugs. “I mean… I guess.” He tosses his hair back out of his face. “He’s honestly the least of my worries—”
“Because I spend the most time worrying about this one”—he motions loosely at Feliciano—“and Lovi,” Matthias inserts dryly.
“I guess you do,” Noé laughs, his bright eyes shining mischievously. There are certain moments where he looks eerily similar to his western neighbor. This is one of them. The elevator doors open as they are delivered to the first floor. Lukas and Ebbe lead the way into the vibrant lobby of the Sofitel. Feliciano follows them out followed by the two institutional seats—at least one of them and a fake.
“Will this be your first international meeting, Mister Bondevik?” Noé asks cheerily.
Lukas turns to his son. By tone and context, it is evident that the Luxembourger addresses the younger Bondevik.
“No.” The Greenlandic boy stands up a little straighter.
Lukas glances his way, suddenly realizing the boy doesn’t wear a tie, and a good number of his topmost buttons are left undone. He sighs, softly cursing the boy.
“I know I’ve kinda been off in the middle of nowhere for most of my life,” Ebbe continues, “but as of recently I have had my fair share of attending meetings.” He smiles confidently back at the man. “I’ve certainly been more visible since the 40s.”
The four mainland Europeans drop their gazes with various degrees of recollection. Matthias senses the vaguely tense glance the Luxembourgish man shoots him before turning to spot Feliciano. He frowns as the Italian’s gaze hits the floor. Matthias blinks a few times, something uneasy churning in his gut as he doesn’t dare to turn back to Noé; all he can feel is the young man's glare burning into his back.
Ebbe glances between all four of them, his bright eyes wet with worry. “Det er…” He whispers. He looks up at Matthias before turning to Lukas with unadulterated concern. “Far, det her er ikke rigtigt…”