Denmark took another swig of the strong beer as he let his head loll to the opposite side of the pillow. His gaze was focused on nothing in particular, but rather it just lingered in nothingness as he stared off into space. The last rays of the sun had long since passed and the room was now enveloped in utter darkness. It was an absolute wreck in the bedroom; clothes and empty pizza boxes, along with endless piles of beer bottles, were strewn carelessly across the room. One could easily fall and break their neck in such a cluttered space.

The only sounds in the room were Denmark's labored breathing and the continuous scratch of the old record player in the distant corner of the room. Even though technology had long since advanced since the release of the record player, he still loved to listen to its grainy quality. And he loved it also because of Norway: Norway, sarcastic, cynical, but also lovable and extremely adorable Norway. Norway had always played his old records while watching as Denmark sang loudly and waltzed around the room, much to his annoyment.

Even though Norway acted as though the act that the Dane put on everyday was enough to make him want to gouge his own eyes out and be forever deaf, he secretly enjoyed it. No, he secretly loved it. He had told Denmark that much one day when the Dane was in a depressive mood. His country was in turmoil and he- at his wits end- had nowhere else to turn. Denmark hadn't been like himself in a long time, and it was killing the Norwegian.

Norway had put on one of their favorite records and quietly walked over to where the Dane had been sitting for hours. Denmark's eyes didn't so much as even flicker in his direction; they stayed firmly glued to the wall ahead.

"Why aren't you dancing?" Norway asked gently, softly. He didn't get an answer. "Come on, you should be dancing like an idiot right about now."

Denmark's eyes never wavered from their fixated position but he spoke in a soft voice that was hoarse from its long period of misuse. "But why would I do that? You said that you loved it but… I can tell that you hate it."

Norway sighed and used a hand to grip Denmark's face by the chin and tilted his face so that he was directly peering at him for the first time in weeks. "No. Look… I was lying to you when I said that. In fact, I- I love it," he admitted sheepishly, a blush starting to crawl across his cheeks. "So quit sitting on your ass and moping around all day. Just because your country is suffering, that doesn't mean that you should suffer along with it."

Denmark moved then, and in one swift motion he had gripped both of Norway's hands as he glided them dramatically across the room, with Norway smiling slightly to himself the whole time.

But all of that was just a distant memory along with a dozen other jumbled up memories that were stored away in Denmark's mind. Just another drop of pain in a sea of sorrow that, for him seemed to expand to new levels at every second, its tumultuous waves constantly crashing against his heart.

It all had blown up in an argument that Denmark didn't even remember; he had been too drunk during it all to recall what was said and what was done. All that he knew was that he woke up in the house alone the next day and all of Norway's belongings, along with Norway himself, were nowhere to be seen. He had left without leaving so much as a note's farewell.

Denmark's eyes finally snapped up in recognition when he heard the words of one of their favorite songs. It was a newer song, but Denmark had managed to find a vinyl version of the album. This song had become one of their favorite songs to slow dance along to. As he listened, the words seemed to make much more sense now than they ever had before. He closed his eyes and let a few lonely tears trail across his cheeks.

You say I'm crazy

'Cause you don't think I know what you've done,

But when you call me, baby,

I know I'm not the only one.