Where Is The Sun Now?
You can't take back what we never had. One can't come back. I can't. Pretty sad, right? ...I doubt you are.
No one said a word.
They were seperated; all of them. But no one said a word.
Sweden is still silent. Finland is haunted with those eyes- those empty, dead eyes. Iceland stayed at Denmark's room.
Norway is breaking apart.
Iceland noticed that he was there, but he didn't said a word. Norway entered the room.
The sky is dark. They haven't checked the time.
Iceland closed his eyes.
"I thought he'll never die." Norway had never sound so broken before.
The younger one looked at his brother, who is now poking through stuffs, as if finding something.
"You thought wrong." He simply said.
Norway never replied.
He doesn't know why, but he felt the need to find something associated with Denmark. Now that he is-
Norway stiffens. He can't.
He can't say it.
In the past, he have always wished that Denmark would leave him alone. His love is overwhelming. He was afraid-
He was afraid that he doesn't deserve such thing.
He was afraid that he won't be enough.
Afraid that he can't love him enough.
Denmark almost always proclaim his love for him. But what do he does? Shot him down every fucking-
Norway shook his head. Now is not the time for such things.
But it is.
Time is worthless now, anyway. He lost so much already.
Iceland is still there. The other Nordics are still there.
But they were all broken. Empty. Vulnerable.
Everything is a blur. Time passes by, but nothing changes. They were all the same for the world, but it's different for them.
Too different.
Norway quickly looked down when he heard something fall, and picked up the notebook.
He flipped through it, but nothing was written. The pages isn't that old, too- it looks well preserved.
The pages were blank.
Until something caught his eye.
There, in the center of the last page, were words that are written in such familiar words that he could recognize it in a heartbeat.
Alene kan være den måde, jeg dør, men du vil være der, ved min side.
Alone may be the way I die, but you will be there, by my side.
Iceland swears he heard his brother cry.
It's the tears, he swear to god, that is keeping him from speaking.
Smooth move, Sweden.
He never cry.
He never laugh.
He just argue with Denmark.
And those tiny moments, no matter how much it truly angers him, were those moments that he treasured that includes Denmark.
His attempts to make him laugh, and other small things that happens everyday.
He like those moments.
He like those moments as much as he like the moments that he share with Finland.
And the thoughts of it never possibly happening again bothers him.
But he can't break down, can he?
He can't. For the others. For Finland, Norway, and Iceland.
For himself.
"Fin,"
Finland woke up,eyes wide; his shaking figure and terrified face making Sweden more concerned. The smaller one was crying, and he was sweating.
Next thing he knew, the boy is in his arms, sobbing, and his shirt is wet.
They didn't said anything to each other. They just held each other in comfort, since they understand.
They have the same pain, yet so different, too.
Fin couldn't forget those eyes that held the pain that was hidden with smiles they thought was real.
Sweden is being haunted by the past- the regret and guilt refusing to leave him along with the memories that was left.
There was nothing they could do but hold each other, since thay could only find comfort with each other.
Outside, the wind is freezing and the moon shone brightly.
Time is fleeting.
It moves fast, but slow, as well.
Denmark woke alone. He then went down to make coffee.
Catching his reflection in the mirror, Denmark looked away.
Dull. Useless. Weak.
The same routine—always.
Upstairs, he looked at the reflection, finally. His bath has been lukewarm.
Like his life.
He looks dead.
"I'm leaving."
"That's good, then."
He looks pathetic. Useless. Weak. Dull. It's all the same.
Failure, too, was a word he could use. And did use. He was a failure.
He slowly walked downstairs to get his coat.
But he never made it.
Lukewarm. Disappointing. Dull. That may have been his life.
But there was only one word to describe his death.
Cold.
It's face-to-face.
He have never seen Denmark look so...
Stressed.
But his face kept it's stoic masquerade, his concern and nervousness kept inside. Hidden.
"So, what did you call me here for?"
"I'm leaving."
Like Denmark's previous conversations, there's a long silence.
"I see."
There's silence again.
"Can you stay for a bit?" Denmark looked at him, hopeful.
It almost made him stay.
Almost.
"I can't."
Denmark looked away, then faced him again, with a sad smile now. "Alright then."
Had he known what would happen, he would've stayed.
A/N:
That was rather short.
Ah you guys, thank you for the reviews- made me happy. I'm publishing this because I might be gone for a while. This is to make it up to you, if ever.
I know I just published this, but I'm gonna update it, da? Thank you.
Don't own Hetalia, though.