Life is a fleeting thing, Sweden reflects, even for nations that no mortal weapon can kill. A single stroke of a pen, a single battle lost, and the work of hundreds of years comes tumbling down. Perhaps it's this thought, the knowledge that they may never meet again, that causes him to reach for Finland's hand. Or perhaps it's simply the desire to forget for a moment; to lose himself in shared movement one last time with the one he loves.
"Dance w' me," he half-whispers, half-pleads. Wordlessly, Finland places his hand on Sweden's shoulder and complies.
The motion is a familiar one, one they fall into with ease. They move together slowly, weaving a small circle with their bodies and their feet. If he closes his eyes, Sweden can almost pretend that they are safe, back at his house, whiling away another long winter night with a long slow dance until the fire burns low. So close them he does, pulling Finland closer and letting his body move of its own accord, to the steps so familiar neither of them need to think anymore.
Step left, turn. Step right, turn.
Finland follows Sweden's steps naturally, with an ease and familiarity born from centuries' worth of dances together. Sweden opens his eyes again, his vision filling with the smaller nation's tight, solemn face. There is no use pretending anymore, not when even with his eyes closed, he can feel the heaviness of Finland's once light steps, the slight tightness of his grip on Sweden's shoulder, giving away that this dance is different from the countless ones before.
They do not speak. There is no need. In the silence they twirl together to a tune only they can hear, speaking with their bodies a language far more eloquent than any words can express. For that, Sweden is grateful, even if he misses Finland's chatter and the easy smile that comes with it. His throat is tight, too tight to let words through. Instead he brings their dance to a stop so he can simply wrap his arms around Finland and hold the other nation tightly. Despite his best efforts, a few tears escape his eyes. He reaches up to brush them aside, but before his hand can reach his face Finland pushes him away gently and wipes them away for him.
"Sve," Finland says softly, and his voice is trembling. "Don't cry. I'll come back to you."
It's a lie, and they both know it. The past century has not been kind to Sweden. He doesn't have the strength to fight for Finland anymore. But the taller nation simply nods, and Finland responds with a shaky smile.
"Dance with me again," Finland says, reaching to hold Sweden's hands once more.
Step right, turn. Step left, turn.
Together they whirl through the night, not stopping even when their fire burns itself out.