Onion Tears
It was a cool spring evening in Oslo, the full moon was already high in the night sky and stars were appearing in little groups and gatherings. All was quiet on the outskirts of the city, all but a discrete chop of metal slamming on wood.
Norway, who was in his kitchen, was chopping onions for dinner, slowly and carefully, as his hands were already covered in scars from previous attempts to cook. As he chopped, the onions juices were gradually trickling out, causing invisible, slightly acidic gases to float upwards.
Before Norway knew what was happening, he felt a sudden pain in his eyes, forcing his eyes shut, hot tears pouring out onto his smooth cheeks. The knife fell out of his hands, landing with a loud clank on the kitchen's spotless tiles.
Norway's hands were now covering his eyes, rubbing furiously, trying to get the pain away, only making it worse. He was now crouching in the corner of the kitchen trying to get as far away from the onions as he can.
Then there was a knock on the door.
Denmark came jumping into the cosy home, shouting on the top of his voice.
"Hey, Norge! Norge!"
As soon as Norway heard his voice he tensed over.
Argh. Great timing, Denmark.
Denmark was now practically skipping to the kitchen, beer being the only thing on his mind.
"Hey, Norge," he shouted again, "I'm going to get myself some beer, ok? Silence means ok."
Then he stopped and waited for 5 seconds.
"I take that as a yes."
He then chuckled to himself and resumed skipping to the kitchen, quietly whistling to himself.
When he opened the kitchen door, the scene before him startled him so much that he stood rooted to the spot, his lips still puckered as if whistling yet no sound coming out.
Denmark had seen Norway at his most vulnerable, weakest moments, but had only seen him cry few times.
The last time he did, it was after the 2011 Norway Island Massacre.
Yet every time he sees him like that, his heart hurts so much, it felt like it was burning.
Denmark slowly and cautiously advanced towards the crying Norwegian, as if walking towards a ticking bomb. He touched the young man's shoulder.
"Are you ok, Nor?" He asked, quietly.
Norway looked up, eyes still brimming with tears, a slight pout visible on his rosy lips, shaking his head.
Then he covered his eyes with his hands again, rubbing them even harder.
"Hey, stop that, Norge. What happened?" Asked Denmark, getting really worried about his young friend.
Norway lifted his head again pointing to the table top where the half chopped onions stood.
"On the table top," he said.
Denmark stood up and walked cautiously towards the accused table top.
As soon as he saw the reason to why Norway was crying, he burst out laughing.
"No way. The ever strong Viking country crying because of onions?!" Denmark asked, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Norway looked up at him, glaring at Denmark, even though the deathly glare was softened due to the tears still overflowing his eyes.
Denmark chuckled and crouched down next to Norway, then he pulled him into a tight embrace, rubbing his back comfortingly.
"There, there, now, Norway. It's just a little bit of onions," Denmark said in a teasing manner, grinning to himself.
Norway just shoved him away, making them both fall over backwards.
Denmark started laughing, out of control, holding onto his tummy, because of all the painful laughter.
Norway just looked unimpressed rubbing his back and tailbone, which took most of the impact, although he too succumbed to quiet chuckling.
Later that evening Norway and Denmark were both in the kitchen preparing the unfinished dinner.
The silence was deafening, so Denmark, who couldn't handle long, awkward silences, finally said,
"Hey, Nor, could you chop some more onions for me? I just realised that you crying because of onions could be pretty awesome blackmail when I want you to do something."
Norway's breath hitched in his throat, then he breathed out slowly, seemingly calming himself, then stomped towards the terrified Dane.