Iceland couldn't think of anything more irritating than his brother pestering him. They were only siblings, dammit, and siblings referred to each other by name. You wouldn't call your cat "cat" or a cousin "cousin" every time you interacted or for no good reason. Norway was Norway and he was Iceland, nothing else.

He went to bed with a frown on his face, groaning as he buried his face into the pillow and drifted off.

Iceland stood in the middle of a dark field, staring at the Aurora Borealis illuminating the sky. It was his favourite part of his country and one of the few things he was proud to have.

Stupid volcanoes.

"Hey, you, old guy." A female voice called from afar.

He looked in the direction it was coming from. Was that busty blonde referring to him? He did not look that old in the slightest.

"What do you want?" Iceland glared at the girl.

"Well, gramps, I was just wondering where I am." She shrugged.

"I am not that old." He frowned. "I'm seventeen, got it?"

Her violet eyes widened. "Really? Your hair tells me you're not my age."

"I know exactly how old I am." Iceland crossed his arms. "Now, who are you?"

"I'm Yang Xiao Long." Yang jerked her thumb at her chest. "You?"

"Emil."

"What, no last name?"

"Steilsson."

"Wait, what's your name?"

Iceland sighed. "Emil Steilsson. You're in Iceland, by the way."

Yang smiled. "That explains your funny accent."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Iceland blushed. "I have no accent."

"Yes you do. It's really thick, too." Yang teased.

"No, it's not." His blush worsened.

"Aww, you're so cute." Yang threw her arms around him and swayed back and forth. "You're blushing and everything. So adorable."

Iceland's head was pushed into her chest, somehow bringing more shades of red to his face. "Stop that."

"Come on, you'd be the perfect little brother." Yang grinned, pulling away from him. "... Do you have a big brother?"

Those two sentences just did him in. They hit him like a wrecking ball would a butterfly.

Iceland closed his eyes, groaning in annoyance. "Yes, I... do. Stop bugging me about it."

"There's nothing wrong with having a big brother." Yang's grin widened.

"There is when he constantly wants to be called big brother." Iceland retorted. "He's twenty-three. It's weird."

"I think it's adorable." Yang rolled her eyes and placed a hand on her hip. "So, what's he like? Handsome?"

The blush was resurrected on his cheeks. "We're brothers! We don't think of each other like that."

Yang laughed. "Fair enough. You still have to tell me what he's like, though."

Iceland looked up at the Northern Lights before shifting his gaze to his shoes. "He... doesn't talk much."

Yang's eyes lit up in interest. "Ooh, she strong, silent type." She clapped her hands. "What else?"

"Why are you so interested in him?" Iceland looked back up at her. "You don't even know his name."

"Then tell me." Yang smirked.

"Lukas," he said, "but really, why do you care?"

"Meh." Yang shrugged. "He seems like a big deal to you, and you're fun to tease."

"Yo, tough guy! Didn't know you had a girlfriend."

Iceland frowned. That gruff, mafia boss voice could only belong to one puffin: the one that took a seat on his head. He looked up at Mr. Puffin. "She is not my girlfriend. I just met her."

"Ever heard of love at first sight?"

Yang blinked at the talking bird. "What are you?"

"Hey!" Mr. Puffin barked, greatly offended. "Ya don't just ask someone what they are, it's who they are. Mr. Puffin here." He looked down at Iceland and spoke in a loud whisper. "I had no idea your type was so rude. Go for the polite, quiet girls, will ya?"

"She's not my type!" Iceland closed his eyes and crossed his arms. "You're so embarrassing."

If Mr. Puffin could pout, this was be one of those times when he definitely would. "C'mon, don't be so sour. It's like you're getting paid to suck a lemon by the second."

Yang stood back and watched the two bicker. She waited for a bit before deciding to get a word in.

"You seem pretty close," she piped up.

"Oh yeah, we totally are." Mr. Puffin looked up at her. "Ever since he was a shrimp, following his brother around like a lost, hungry puppy. It was the cutest thing, ya shoulda seen him. He's always tug on the guy's shirt-"

"Stop talking, Mr. Puffin." Iceland's face heated up.

The bird scoffed. "No. It's a good story. Anyway, he'd always call him "big brother" no matter what. Man, wish we had that stuff on video. Good for bad days, am I right? Ha ha!"

Yang laughed along with him. "If you called him that before, what's so hard about it now?"

"Nobody says it at my age like that," Iceland defended.

"I call my sister lil' sis," Yang countered. "I don't see what's wrong with it."

"I'm not doing it." Iceland huffed.

Yang out her other hand on her hip. "If you do call him "big brother", I'm sure it'll make his day. Try it sometime."

Iceland paused. He didn't want Norway to be unhappy with him for the rest of his days, his thousands of days, maybe even millions, so why not?

He looked down. "Alright... Fine," he mumbled.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mr. Puffin piped up. "A chick is all it took? Not your best friend in the whole world, but her? I see how it is. I'm out."

Vigorous shaking woke him up.

Is that an earthquake?

"Iceland. Get up. Breakfast." A monotone voice interrupted his slumber.

"Coming, big brother."