Breathe. Inhale, exhale. Norway's weight is comfortably warm. He fits in a way no one else does. It feels like coming home. It hasn't felt like home in a long while.
Comb your fingers through the back of his head. He likes that. Makes him feel loved. He sighs against your sternum, and his eyelashes flutter like butterflies across your skin.
Don't talk, don't ruin the moment. Norway finds chatter unnecessary. It annoys him. For god's sake, don't annoy him.
It's dark, but the room is cool. You've forgotten to shut the windows. Oh well. You don't want to move at all now that he's settled himself with you. He doesn't usually share your bed, and you don't usually share his. It's a far call from centuries ago, when the both of you were young and in love and unbroken.
He's probably listening to your heartbeat, with the way his ear is pressed to your chest. You want to sing him a lullaby like when he used to be three feet tall and he adored the ground you walked on. Look at him now. How pride fills your chest. Longing as well.
He used to smile more. Yours used to be more vicious. How times have changed.
You feel the change the moment you feel him go soft, the second he completely trusts himself in your grip. His breath evens out, and you marvel how easy it is to forget that there is a glass barrier between you two now. It's easy to rub away the little aches from his snubs when he lets you hold him like this, like you're both in love again.
Inhale, exhale. Don't go to sleep, because when you wake up, all he'll leave behind is his scent on the pillows and a pang in your chest. It's happened before.
So don't go to sleep. Breathe.