Union
Norway was tired. The union was getting out the worst in him, bringing anxiety, depression, rage, fear, distrust, and doubt. He didn't want to eat, nor did he want to see anyone, least of all Sweden. Sweden, to whom he had been given as some sort of trophy for winning the war. Handed over, though obviously unwillingly, by Denmark. He wanted nothing to do with either of them. Now, though, he lived with Sweden, lived with him in this godforsaken big, empty house he wanted to get out of so desperately.
The Swede was controlling. Much like Denmark was, though in a different way. Whereas Denmark would be physically abusive when he was angered, sometimes even sexually, Sweden would mentally torture him. If Sweden suspected Norway was planning some kind of escape, he'd keep constant watch over him. If Norway acted rebellious, trying to gain his attention, trying to get his freedom, Sweden would overlook him completely. Sweden was the kind of person who stayed up those extra hours at night to do Norway's paperwork on top of his own, simply because he did not trust Norway not to do anything funny to get out.
So Norway isolated himself in his room, only leaving when forced to eat. Though Sweden kept a sharp eye on him, he seemed to care at least enough to insist on keeping him in some shape. Sweden fed him well and treated him mostly well, despite the fact that Norway kept trying to find ways to get out. The union was a cold one.
He found himself lost to his own mind when he sat there in his room, curled up on the edge of the bed, his feet pulled up in such a way that he could rest his chin on his knees, with his arms draped loosely around his legs. There was a silence in the room, as always, and with his eyes closed, there was nothing to distract him from the small environmental sounds nobody else could hear. The ticking of the wooden clock hanging on the wall, rhythmically, a tick or a tock with every passing second, reminding him how time passed and he was sitting here alone, trapped in the house of the union he didn't want. The wind blowing outside, flaring ominously, giving him a chilly feeling inside, even though his room was more than warm enough. The storm was freezing his blood to ice, he imagined, wondering if it would actually happen. He felt cold inside, nearly dead. One day, he thought, maybe the storm would calm down.
Another dull sound came from nowhere. For a moment, Norway tensed, his body freezing completely. The sound repeated itself, several times. It was the shuffling of feet outside his door. Norway heard the door finally click open, and didn't need to look up to feel the hesitant stare from the Swede. The latter made a small, barely audible grunt, and neither of them spoke. The silence in the room was deafening, aside from the occasional tick of the clock, marking every quiet second that passed without a word from either.
Another sound. This time, it was that of a closing door, though Sweden was still visible to him. So he had entered the room, Norway noted. Quietly, he pressed his body further together in a tiny ball, his face turning away. If Sweden even cared or noticed, he made no effort to make a big deal out of it. The bed made a low creek, and once again Norway felt himself tense up just briefly as the taller blonde sat down on the other side of the bed.
There were no words being exchanged between them, only a sort of quiet union, neither really seeming to acknowledge the other's presence for now.
A/N: I hope you appreciated my short drabble of this all too rare pairing. Cheers.