When Denmark had left Norway, the Norwegian stayed home for a few days. The silence was wondrous and he found it stunning how he could have lived without it. He used this newfound luxury to read the stack of books he usually couldn't finish because of a certain Dane. When he was done – it took no more than two days – he cleaned the house, relishing in the fact that it wouldn't be dirty again for a while. With Denmark around, it usually only took three or four hours before the floor was dirty again, plates were used or something was spilled somewhere.

Norway listened to his music and was surprised to find new tones and new vocals in songs he had heard lots of times before. He trusted that it was Denmark's fault – he had probably been talking at exactly those times.

But when there still wasn't any sign of the Dane three days later, Norway began feeling uncomfortable. The silence was still wondrous and the house still clean – only few plates and glasses had been used – and he had gotten himself some new books to enjoy, but even then, it was feeling… unnatural. He wasn't used to this. As welcome as quietude was, it didn't take long before he was uncertain whether or not it was what he actually needed. It was what he wanted but there was a significant difference between 'need' and 'want'.

And so it happened that he knocked on Sweden's door another day later. The man opened and looked surprised when he saw who it was. The surprised expression only lasted for a short second, though, before he stepped aside and let Norway in.

One might not expect the two silent and expressionless men to talk much but tonight, they did. Or, at least Norway did. He explained why he was here, what had happened and why he wanted to stay here for a while. Sweden didn't say a lot but mostly nodded and uttered a "Mh," here and there to show that he was following.

"Can you understand his nerve?" Norway snarled and took another swig from his glass with wine. "I mean, if I hated him that much, then I wouldn't even be with him! I would be more like you!"

"Mh."

"Stupid idiot. But I don't care. If he doesn't want to see me anymore, then that is fine. I don't care, I've lived without him time and time again. Why should now be any different?"

"'cause ya're not sure ya actually mean 't."

Norway shot him an incredulous glance over the edge of his glass.

"Not sure I mean it? The hell are you talking about, of course I know I'm sure!"

"No."

When he didn't say more than that, Norway stared at him for so long he was forced to continue. "If ya were sure, ya wouldn't have come t' me. Ya're here 'caus ya dunno what t' do."

The Norwegian glared at him for a while longer, not saying a thing. But the way he picked up and emptied his glass told more than anything that Sweden had hit the head on the nail.

"'s pretty simpl'. Talk 'bout 't," Sweden said and knew how ironic it was for him, a person who only talked very little, to advise another person to talk. Norway seemingly thought the same.

"Oh, I guess you talk a whole lot with Finland about your problems? Do you even have problems? You seem oh so happy and oh so joyous all the time." He didn't intend for them to do so but the words sounded sour and accusing.

Sweden nodded and drank some wine himself.

They were seated in the living room, by a big table made of dark red tree. Most likely mahogany. The chairs matched, of course, and a blue vase with roses created an interesting contrast. The room itself was large and richly furnished. Armchairs and book cases were a common thing to find in the entire house but the amount was particularly big here. In the middle of the room was a couch for three persons, a coffee table and two armchairs. These were placed in front of a fireplace. On the mantelpiece stood five pictures, all of them in golden frames – one of Finland, one of Norway, one of Iceland, one of Denmark, and one with all of the Nordics together. A small candle light separated each picture. Not too far from the fireplace was a dog basket, big and comfortable-looking with blankets, a small pillow and some toys.

"Mh. Fin 'n I talk 'bout things if they bother us. 'S not that hard." Except that it was. It was hard for Sweden to find the words he wanted when he talked with Finland about these sorts of things. He wanted it to sound as good as it did in his mind and if that couldn't be achieved, then at least make it sound respectful and nice. Sweden always wanted to sound as kind as possible when they were discussing something.

Once more, Norway stared at Sweden, this time dumbfounded. To think that even Sweden could talk about such things! But that also had to mean that their relationship wasn't as peaceful and problem free as it looked on the outside.

Norway pondered whether or not to ask about it over another glass of wine, slowly sipping the red, dry liquid. How liquid could be described 'dry', Norway had yet to find out but he had never bothered to ask about it and tonight wasn't going to be the day, either. Honestly, he didn't give a damn about wine. He rarely drank it – actually only when he was out – and he had no plan of feigning interest.

In the end, he decided to ask. Might be he could get some information he could use. It wasn't like he was seeking advice or anything. He was just… interested in hearing how Sweden dealt with Finland when they were having troubles in Paradise.

"What kind of problems do you have?" he asked nonchalantly, looking over at the Swede. The bigger nation returned the glance, though showing much less emotion. He then got up from his chair, took the empty bottle of wine – Norway was taken aback by the fact they had emptied an entire bottle already – and rinsed it under the faucet in the kitchen. A soft 'clink' sounded when he put the bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Fin has his days where he doesn't wanna b' social," Sweden then answered and came back into the living room, carrying a glass bowl with various fruits and berries from the season. "He grumbles 'n scowls at me. Never Peter, though. Fin's always nice t' Peter. Som'times, he yells, too. Ya ever seen him yell?"

Norway shook his head, honestly feeling surprised about this revelation. He hadn't expected Finland to be the yelling sort of person. He was always so nice and polite, always made sure that people had fun and felt good.

"I know whatcha thinkin'," the Swede continued, pushing his glasses further up his nose with a finger. "That Fin's not the person t' yell, hm?" Norway nodded. "The war changed him. With Russia, y'know? He came back 'n was… weird. Didn't talk f'r days, rarely exited his room, looked paranoid, angry 'n scared. Barely ate. 'T was a hard tim'."

The Norwegian could understand that. Finland had always been outgoing and easy-going – like a certain stupid Dane who was hopefully far away – and he never seemed to have any worries. He constantly blabbered away, laughed and treated you like his best friend. Always out and about being social, it was hard to believe he had ever shut himself away from the world like Sweden told. To imagine that Finland walked around with a frown on his face or always looked back over his shoulder was very hard.

But that wasn't what this was about.

"But what do you do now, when he's behaving like that?"

"Let him alon'. I know he doesn't want company, s' I let him get som' peace and time alon'."

"If only Denmark did that," Norway complained and rolled his eyes, taking a grape from the bowl and poking it with a finger. "He never lets you get a moment of peace, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Why doesn't he? He's constantly bothering me, even when I ask him to back off for a while." Angrily, he stuffed the grape into his mouth and chewed on it a few times before swallowing. "It doesn't matter how I say it or how often. He's always talking with or to me, always demanding attention and he acts confused when I say that I just want a bit of silence."

"T' read?"

"Yes, that, too."

"Mh. 'S actually pretty simple, though. Den has a simple mind som'times."

"Then tell me what the hell is wrong with that man!" Norway said, frustrated, and slammed a hand onto the table. The bowl quivered.

Sweden observed him for a long time, the glasses on his face doing nothing to hinder his appearance from being stoic and cold. The blue eyes revealed nothing, whether emotion or thought.

"Fears bein' alon'," was the calm answer, said so matter-of-factly that it almost upset Norway even further. Instead he stared at the Swede with his classical poker face. Sweden understood completely, though, and continued explaining. "Ya see, Den's afraid of bein' left again. When I left him in 1523, he wasn't pleased, as ya know, and fought hard t' get m' to stay. I took ya some hundred years later 'n he was all alon'. I think he fears that more than anythin'."

At some point, this made sense. In some strange way. Yet, Norway was still frowning. Why would Denmark worry about that now? They had long since made peace with each other, and Sweden hadn't had plans about stealing Norway again anytime soon. Not as far as the Norwegian was concerned, at least. Furthermore, if Denmark was so afraid of being alone, why had he stormed off like that and not called back or texted one single time? He was obviously with Finland but – and Norway felt a little sting he refused to admit in his heart – Tino could never do what Norway could. Finland could never reach Norway's status.

Denmark would never choose Finland over Norway. Would he? No, of course he wouldn't. Besides, Sweden would never tolerate that. Denmark would be flatter than a pancake and bloodier than the streets after the Stockholm Bloodbath if that happened.

Denmark wouldn't have the nerve to leave Norway for Finland.

Absentmindedly, the Norwegian man took another grape and quickly ate it. He took another one, and another. He ignored Sweden who stared intensely at him, arms crossed over his chest.

Nothing was said for a while and the two men ended up going to bed. Norway was accommodated in the big guest room on the second floor and he was given permission to borrow some of Sweden's clothes if he could fit them. Norway doubted he could but appreciated the offer anyway.

The room was big, as was the bed. There was easily room for two persons and right now, Norway hated that. It felt wrong to sleep alone in such a big bed. Not that he wanted company here, of course. He had come to love being able to sleep alone and stretch and roll around as much as he wanted. Bad habit he had gotten there, he would have to get rid of it as soon as possible.

Across the room was placed an interesting bookcase. It was made of uneven lines and circles with diagonal boards and painted in a horrible colour that seemed to be a mix of red and green. Norway didn't know whether he hoped it was something for Ikea or it was just Sweden's taste. Either way it was strange and didn't fit the room in the slightest. A cosy armchair stood beside the bookcase and looked more normal. Without a doubt leather. A little behind this stood a lamp and created a rather good place for reading.

Beside the bed was placed a big and pretty desk with matching chair. They were created of beech and had numerous decorations on the feet and the edges. Too much, in Norway's opinion. But he didn't mind. He wasn't going to stay here for long. Denmark would call him soon and Norway would be willing to accept an apology if the man promised to pay more attention to him. In a way he appreciated, of course.

With this thought, he took off his clothes and hung them over the chair before dressing in the night clothes Sweden had found for him. As foreseen, they were way too big which annoyed Norway a bit but he let it slide. After having put it on he turned off the lights and crawled into the bed. It was cold and much bigger than his own which only increased the irrational need of having someone to fill out the space.

'Whatever,' the man thought and rolled onto his stomach in the middle of the bed, 'once Denmark is ready to apologize, I'll be sleeping in a normal sized bed again.'

And if Norway thought that would be soon, he was wrong.

A week passed and Denmark still hadn't called. This surprised the Norwegian who pretended nothing was wrong. It was quite easy as his face was always a dead piece of flesh that only rarely let anyone know the muscles could actually take on emotions. But even if his face was empty, his mind was not. Thoughts about Denmark and why he wasn't trying to get in touch were constantly bugging him and he would often catch himself in planning a call to the stupid man. Most often he found himself doing so when he was working.

At Sweden's house, you didn't really nap or sleep. You worked. If not in the house, then in the garden, and if not in the garden, then it was in the communicating building right beside the house where Sweden kept his Ikea-related stuff. Seeing as Norway wasn't as good at building things as Sweden was, he was often given the job of archiving notes, articles, orders, tutorials, blueprints and all sorts of papers that needed to be kept organized and in place.

Very little was ever said between them. The most they talked was over dinner or in the evenings when they watched a movie. And even then it was mostly only ten or fifteen minutes they got to talk before it began feeling awkward. They worked in silence, ate in silence (except for dinner) and read in silence. Norway found that Sweden also enjoyed reading books and had asked him a few questions about his favourite genre and author but as soon as Sweden had answered, they both went back to silence.

Sweden called Finland every day to hear how he, Hanatamago and Denmark were doing. Norway was also pretty sure he heard them plan to go out to dinner quite a few times; that would also explain Sweden's mysterious absence some hours every third day. On the first night, Finland had been surprised to find out that Sweden knew Denmark was with him but hadn't tried to cover it up. He answered truthfully and in turn asked about Norway. And though Sweden also answered truthfully, he said a lot less. He rarely mentioned the Norwegian or how he was doing, didn't even mention how long he had been there. Norway didn't mind, though.

The less Denmark knew, the bigger were the odds that he would cave in first.

But when yet another week was over and Denmark still hadn't called, texted or sent a mail, Norway, for the first time, began feeling nervous. He hated to admit it and didn't do so before a few days later but when he did, it dawned upon him – could there be a real possibility that Denmark was not interested in seeing him again? Could it be true that Denmark actually did fine without him and didn't want to see him?

As soon as these thoughts started to enter his mind, he decided he had to stop thinking. He couldn't think like that, it would only make him weaker and he didn't doubt that was exactly what Denmark was waiting for. Denmark had to be waiting for him to give in first but Norway was too proud to let that happen. He simply refused. Denmark was the soft idiot here who needed company, not Norway.

He wasn't sure if it was something he made himself believe or if it was real but Norway could swear that Sweden sometimes stared at him for a long time. Longer time than he would usually stare at people, that is. It was as if he wanted to ask something but never did. Norway let it slide, not caring much for it if Sweden didn't really say anything. Yet it kept bothering him as days passed by and the staring didn't stop. If anything, it increased.

Two days into the third week, Norway had finally gotten enough of the silent stare. They were working on a new bookcase-design in the communicating building when the Norwegian finally snapped. He set a box of papers aside with too much force and turned around, only to see that Sweden was already piercing him with his cold and mysterious glare.

"Okay," Norway said and crossed his arms tightly, "you have been staring at me oddly much lately. Why?"

"Ya've been actin' weird," he answered, not taking his eyes off the Norwegian for a second. Leisurely, he put down his box of tools, pulled off his gloves and carefully folded them over the handle of aforementioned box.

"Acting weird? What are you talking about?" He hadn't been acting weird, what was that nonsense!

"Ya've been pacin' back 'n forth by the phone. Ya've been drinkin' more coffee than usual. Not healthy, by the way; ya already drink for three. Yar interest in books has changed, too. Ya're readin' more romance than crime novels. Ya eat more. 'N yar curl is twisted."

Hearing all of these things said out aloud, Norway found it scary that he could agree with them. He couldn't exactly remember when he had been pacing back and forth by the telephone on the little oval table by the front door, and he couldn't remember downing that amount of coffee. Had he really begun to drink more of that? He was quite aware that he drank a lot but not that much. And he had let something as cheesy and girly as romance novels take over his fondness of crime novels? Well, that in itself was a great crime!

But these things weren't what really bothered him. He hadn't gained weight so he couldn't care less about eating more and his curl had always been a bit unruly so he could stand that, too, but the thing he could not stand was what all these equalled – Denmark was changing him by not being close.

By staying away for so long, Denmark had – undoubtedly unknowing and unintentionally – made Norway change. If it was for the better or the worse, the Norwegian wasn't sure. Of course it was bad that he was eating more and that he was drinking even more coffee than usual. Pacing back and forth might not be too healthy, either. Having the curl live its own life more clearly than before was probably not a good sign. And the romance novel thing? He didn't even want to think about what that could mean.

"Ya miss Denm-"

"No, I don't," Norway snapped, replying before Sweden had even finished his sentence. There was no need to. They both knew exactly what he had been about to say. "I don't miss him. I don't miss his arrogance and his annoyance, his obnoxious behaviour and loud voice. I don't miss his teasing touches and his stupid advances that he thinks I won't notice before he has got me."

Sweden didn't say a thing, utter a mumble or anything. He simply looked at Norway as the man went back to the task of sorting papers. It didn't pass his attention that Norway's hands were shaking more than when they began working. The man kept talking, clearly under the impression that his words made a difference on Sweden's opinion.

"I don't miss his sudden interruptions and his dorky sense of humour. I most certainly don't miss him being a silly idiot who treats me like a princess. I don't miss how his hair is soft as silk in the mornings and right after a shower. I don't miss him smiling at me so that my knees grow weak and I don't miss the way he lavishes me with attention and love."

"Norway, you're-" 'Revealing yourself,' Sweden finished the thought in his mind as he didn't get to speak it.

"No, I don't miss how he can be sweet and gentle and caring. I don't miss how he holds me and cares for me, and I could be without the way he kisses me whenever he feels like. I don't miss his constant declarations of affection that sometimes makes me repeat them. I don't miss how he loves me and how I love him."

He was about to say something more – Sweden could see that, Norway had already taken another deep breath so he could continue his rant about what he didn't miss about Denmark – but he abruptly cut himself off. His face went bright red and his hands shook even more. Yet it seemed he remained determined not to let it be too clear to the other, though he was hopelessly behind.

"I-I mean," he began, papers rustling between quivering fingers and his back turned towards the silent and unmoving Swede, "it's not like I can't live without him. Come on, we're nations, our relationships don't last forever. There will be a time when you have to move on, right? It's just that I might have found my own time to do so."

Sweden didn't like the sound of that. He knew it was true but he still didn't like the idea. He didn't like the thought that maybe Finland and he would have to part ways someday. That was unpleasant to think of but he knew it might happen. And if that day came, then he would have to be as strong as Finland. If that day really came, he would be sure to be strong and independent, not only country-wise but also as a person. He would make sure to become confident and not in need of anyone to tell him what an amazing person he was.

When Sweden didn't answer, Norway turned his head the slightest bit. The little stray curl almost quivered, completely bent and twisting itself.

"I mean…" His voice turned lower and more insecure. The papers were held more loosely. The dull, blue eyes were directed at the floor and a conflicted look haunted them. "I can't go find him. I was the one who made him leave. It was me who said that he was being too clingy."

"All he needs 's a confirmation of yar love. He needs t' hear that ya were just upset 'n that ya had been thinkin' 'bout that for a long time."

"Would he understand that? He's pretty thick-headed, and-"

"Denmark might b' stupid but he's also just real'y anxious 'bout people leavin' him 'n lettin' go of people," Sweden instantly replied, this time being the one to cut off Norway who glanced at him for just a second before looking back at the floor.

"Denmark loves ya. He'd trade his crown 'n axe for ya. I dun doubt he'd sacrifice himself for ya. 'N no matter how much ya deny it, ya feel the same way. Ya'd do whatever ya could t' save him if he was in danger."

Norway was trying to find something to fasten his gaze on. There was a small dot on the perfectly clean linoleum floor but it wasn't interesting enough to keep him from hearing every single thing the Swede was telling him. Did he honestly think he had the right to teach Norway about how he felt and why his heart was aching and beating painfully fast?

"'N he's in danger, Nor. Ever'day that goes by 's one more day he get t' tell himself ya don't love 'n need him. Ever'day that goes by 's one that takes ya apart."

"I get it! Stop talking! Geez, what happened to your 'not talking'-policy?" Norway snapped. Both hands now lay flat on the surface of the table but he had yet to turn around and make his face visible to the other. His ears were bright red.

As demanded of him, Sweden fell silent. He took his glasses with one hand and tugged a bit on his shirt. They needed cleaning. For the short time he went completely blind and everything was only a blur for him, Norway seemed to have made his decision. The papers he had been holding were put in a messy stack and he removed all the ballpoint pens and pencils he had put everywhere in his clothes. During his time with Sweden, he had found that you always needed to carry something able to write with you.

A tense, yet emotional atmosphere appeared to have settled upon them. The room seemed full of only emotions and thoughts and words that should have been said long time ago, the only mistake being that one of the involved parts was missing. All this, the thoughts, the words, memories and feelings and emotions, were abruptly broken and lifted, giving way for a way more resolute feeling. Determined and finally facing Sweden, who now had his glasses back on his nose, Norway was breathing quickly; his chest rose and fell rapidly, his face was pale but his ears red and he wrung his hands as he stared up at the bigger nation.

"I get it. I get all of this bullshit romance stuff you're blabbering about. I'll… I'll go to Denmark's and find him and I'll… talk with him. About this. God, he's being stupid again."

"He's at Fin's place."

"Fine, I will go to Finland, then, and send your little wife back. Don't do anything that would burn out Sealand's eyes if he found you." With those words, he whirled around and resolutely marched towards the door out. Sweden slowly turned to look at him, his eyebrows only rising a tiny bit. Truth be told, he hadn't expected the man to actually seek out Denmark. He was, however, happy that he did. Those two really needed to sort things out.

In the doorway, Norway stopped and looked back. A frown was upon his face as he made eye contact with Sweden.

"Where is Sealand, by the way?"

"At England's."

"For two weeks?"

"Three weeks 'n two days. Mh."

For a moment, Norway stared at the Swede, disbelief clear in all of his features. Did the man really bother tocount every day that passed by? But he decided not to comment on it. Instead, he turned away from the other and continued his way towards the garage. Denmark would finally get to see Norway riled up because of him. That was what he always wanted, right?

Still angry, although also incipiently nervous, he made out a route to Finland's house. It was a bit far from here but it was obviously shorter than it would have been from his own house. All the way he let the radio play whatever it felt like. He didn't even care what channel it was on, as long as the music was decent. And even if it wasn't, he didn't care enough to change the channel. Norway was simply too preoccupied with the thought of seeing Denmark again, and pretty soon. It would only be two hours and forty-five minutes before he would stand by the front door to Finland's house.

He wouldn't even care at that point. When he saw the door, he would probably not give a damn about politeness and knocking on the door before entering. If he knew himself well – and he was beginning to doubt that he did – he would just barge into the house, find Finland, kick him out, find Denmark, aggressively talk things through with him and then… do whatever seemed natural after that.

It was a good plan. It was something he could cope with and it would only require emotions at one point. That was good, that was bearable.

Norway followed the road for the next two hours, driving a lot faster than the police would accept – though he managed to talk himself out of a speeding ticket – before he began slowing down. Less than an hour till he would see Denmark again. The stupid face, the smarmy smile and charming comments. But Norway felt about a hundred per cent sure those things wouldn't happen this time. He hoped – for Denmark's sake, of course – that the man would show some respect and meekness.

That would only be fair and proper, right? It was his fault that Norway was suddenly one big mess of thoughts, theories and emotions. Denmark should make up for that.

And yet, Norway drove slower and slower towards the house until the car finally came to a stop, not too far from the garage. An old car was parked in front of it. It was obviously Denmark's. Norway could easily see the huge and absolutely loathsome dices of pink fur that Denmark liked so much. 'Made him feel even cooler,' as he used to say. Norway only wished to burn them and see if the smoke would smell as awful as the dices.

Pulling the handbrake and putting the car in first gear, the Norwegian turned off the vehicle and stepped out of it. The first thing that hit him was the cold. Quite literally. He had completely forgotten how cold it could be out here – in the middle of nowhere – and when a cold gust of wind hit him, his teeth nearly immediately started clattering.

Therefore, he scurried towards the front door, heart speeding up even more. He was so close. Had he been the creepy type of guy, he could maybe have seen Denmark and Finland through the windows. But Norway was not the kind of guy who stared through the windows at people's houses – only creepers did that. And that included Sweden. Denmark had once caught him peering through the small circular window in the front door of Finland's house, obviously hoping he could get a glimpse of his partner without seeming too much of a creep.

This had, just as obviously, failed.

But now, just as he had planned, he slammed the door open, not caring for the noise he made – in fact, the more the better; then maybe Denmark would really know how pissed he was. As he stepped inside the building, he could still hear muffled voices and low talking. He continued further into the house and reached the dining room from where the voices came.

He entered the room just as he heard Denmark say that he didn't need him. With a sting in his heart, all that Norway could say to that now was:

"Virkelig?"

I hope you're enjoying the story so far!
Translation:

Virkelig? = Really? (Norwegian (and Danish)