He's scrolling through the same news feed again. The same one he's gone through for the past twenty to thirty minutes. Same pictures, same stories, same funny cat videos, and same boring chain posts, but Iceland doesn't exactly know what to do right now. He doesn't want to talk to anyone, he already feels the need to completely isolate himself from humanity. He can't do that right now, though, his brother needs him, as intolerable as he can be, Norway needs his little brother. It doesn't matter if he doesn't want Ice seeing him, Norge needs him.
Iceland's thumb hovers over the news story he'd read earlier, there's nothing special about it really, all it's really addressing is an election from a country that's across an ocean from him. He's not all that sure why he read it, but he did, he supposes it was something to do. Other than dwell on recent events that is.
The longer he stares at it the less significant it actually seems. He scrolls past and ends up closing the app to… he doesn't know… Denmark had said he was on his way. He should be here fairly soon, the Dane wasn't that far away, to begin with. But Ice can't really shake the feeling of needing to do something. It's just there, nagging; clawing at the edges of his mind… if he would have to compare it to anything he'd call it something akin to cabin fever. One of the most skin-crawling sensations he's ever experienced. The persona takes a breath and waits a moment before exhaling. Letting his eyes slip shut for only a couple seconds before opening them. He's surprised to see a young woman in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes.
"Um…" she sucks on her bottom lip and rolls it, and that's when he realizes that she's one of the girls from the terminal in Amsterdam. "I'm sorry, are you okay? You seem really… nervous."
He's not sure how to answer that besides the obvious most obvious one and the truth. He gives a small smile, "I'm fine, thank you." Unpredictably, she blushes; it takes Ice a moment to catch up on why. The mild panic of embarrassment almost kills him; she asked in English, he'd managed to answer in Icelandic.
There's a moment of silence between them, he clears his throat, "I…I apologize for that, but yes, I'm okei."
She twists her mouth up, making it look contorted and unnatural, not very flattering on her at all. "Alright, I guess if you are, I'll go…" With that, she leaves back to her seat across the way, next to her friends who are silently giggling about something he's not aware of. Possibly their interaction…
Iceland gives a small sigh, hurry up Dan…
And like he'd been blessed by some sort of divine entity he sees the red dot moving rather quickly towards the building. Iceland's fairly certain who it is; no one else dares to wear that much red unless they're a mob boss. But, he really didn't need to come in to get him…
Before Ice can really even stand up Denmark bursts through the doors of the terminal. Wild hair whipping around as he spastically looks for any sign of Ice. He doesn't notice that the teen is basically right in front of him. Iceland manages not to burst out laughing, or yell at him, or do anything else that may result in his further embarrassment. Or even simply being drawn attention to, instead, he slinks from his seat and makes his way to the terminal door. Glancing back at the ladies chatting among themselves, once and a while glancing his way, he'd really wish they would stop doing that.
But as he makes his way to Dan, he notices that the girl he'd spoken to earlier isn't talking with the others. She's staring at him, eyes slightly widened to give her more of a mystified appearance. As he locks eyes with her he feels pried at almost, like she knows. As if she knows what he's going through, just by looking at him she's aware of everything, and somewhere in those iris's he sees pity. He despises pity.
…
Not a sound reaches him. Not a whisper or a whistle that wavers in his head. He just sits there and listens to something, anything. Finally, Norway opens his eyes, hands still clasped around the mug resting on the bar. The coffee contained within, cold and barely touched. The thought flickers across his mind of how wasteful of him it is to let it cool to this point. Norge finds that it doesn't bother him too much.
Instead, he gives a low sigh and lets his sluggish mind go over everything that's happened. He has a hard time comprehending it; almost automatically Norway pushes the mug away and lets his head rest in the palm of his hand. It's a rather ironic pose now that he thinks about it.
His eyelids slide shut again, he'd been so rash to leave the room and yet, for the life him, he still can't figure out why he left the room, to begin with. Was it fear that drove him? No, he was never really afraid of them actually finding out. Even if there was a part of him that said they would be concerned by it. He didn't expect this kind of reaction, though… of course, he wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd anticipated. Possibly some scolding, giving him the cold shoulder? He wasn't sure… and the more he thinks about it the more frightening it is that whenever he ran this scenario through his head, they never actually cared. The Norwegian doesn't allow it so sink in as he repeats the thought a couple times in his head.
It bothers him to think that in his head he believed that they didn't care about him at all. The question lingers, twisting and warping until it becomes something hideous to let in. In the cage his own mind he'd convinced himself that they didn't care about him at all.
Denmark chased him, for hours out in the cold, risking freezing to death just to make sure he was safe. When Sweden and Finland had found out about his problem they'd cared enough to create a whole elaborate scheme just so they could try and help him. In the olden days, they would have done anything for each other… Ice and Ice was so distraught and scared when he found out… so when did he create this idea that they never cared about him? He wasn't sure.
Perhaps, in a way, Norway comes to the conclusion that this illusion that his brain manifested was a way to justify the harm he placed upon himself. Or even a coping mechanism almost as to make sure they wouldn't find out. Although… absent-mindedly he runs his fingers across his face and rubs his temples in a rather confused manner. This… this is going in circles… of course, he's been going round and round in this circle for ages until the circle itself possibly can no longer be considered a circle. More similar to the long unending twists and turns of a maze that's he's constantly walking around trying to find an exit to. When in reality there really is no exit, he's just following the connected lines.
Dear god feelings are enigmas…
Rubbing his temples he again he allows his arm to drop to the table top. Hitting the plastic with a rather satisfying thunk. Norway just lets it lay there, preferring for his mind to drift from the complicated topic. Instead, he looks out the windows, taking in the snowy scene that lies beyond. The backyard's covered in the tiny flakes all packed together into a thick skin covering the dead grass and soil beneath. It's still falling from the sky, he realizes, drifting down from the heavens and falling upon their equally unique brethren below. He's often found that snow reminds him of people. All packed together and all of them equally unique. Gorgeous and lovely like people but easily killers. Under the wrong conditions, that is, to become a killer. Very briefly there's a moment when the Norwegian is gifted with a grim image of purple fingers frozen and ice covered reaching from beneath the white cover. The twitch that follows erases it easily enough, but none the less…
Norway looks again and finds that the flakes have made the backyard look almost majestic on this more or less gloomy day. Even if the overcast does look a little more uplifting, but the winter that comes tends to become drab after a while. Although he supposes winter has only begun. The snow cover is more appealing than what it previously was, he'll take the snow over dead plant life any day.
He stays like that for a while, just staring out into the yard, watching the snow fall. These little white specs being oddly calming.
After a moment or two the Norwegian's attention shifts to the coat rack next to the back door. His petticoat's still hanging there, he didn't take it the other day preferring a lighter jacket since the weather hadn't changed very much. Come to think of it, he hasn't seen that jacket again since yesterday… it's possible it's still in Denmark's car. He sighs, probably is. But… he stares at the jacket again, maybe one short stroll wouldn't hurt, would it?
No, with that he stands from his seat, pouring the cold coffee down the drain. Internally wincing, it's not worth trying to save but it still bothers him to be wasteful with it. Placing the cup in the sink he snatches the coat off the rack, putting it on with a memorized grace. Giving a yank on the collar to get the jacket to sit properly on his shoulders. That would be the only issue with this coat, very wide shoulder width, his more slanted ones tend not to sit correctly in the coat at all. The woman he'd bought it from had suggested shoulder pads but the idea was shot down since they were annoying, to say the least, and they didn't want to move with him. Either way, he just got used to it and found that after a while of wearing the coat it tended to 'settle in' and become more comfortable.
Buttoning the jacket up he pulled his scarf from the left pocket and wrapped it around his neck before extracting his glove from the right. It takes him a moment or two to find where he hid his boots but eventually he finds them. When he puts his hand on the handle he pauses for a moment, doubt running through the Norwegian's head. Maybe Svi and Fin would hear the door and come downstairs to see what was going on, but that wasn't very likely. Both were more tired than a koala on sedatives, and both tended to be rather heavy sleepers. Denmark wouldn't be back for another hour or so and he'd be back by then.
Norway gives a good twist of the knob and pulls the door open with practiced ease. He walks through the thresh-hold and quietly closes the barrier between him and his home. Funny, it would seem that that door and the walls would be the only thing between him and the cruelty of the outside world. It seemed almost a flimsy defense. When he lets go of the door knob it's almost a release and as he turns to face the yard and the small grove beyond, he gives a grin. The freezing breeze running its icy fingers over his face and through his hair. It's almost like an old lover greeting him, still soft but still bitter but somehow welcoming all the same. He embraces the air though as a friend, taking a step forward and walking forward until he meets the back gate. There's enough snow on the ground he knows it won't open without shoveling it out.
So instead, he does something he's known Denmark to do. Taking a leap and grabbing the top of the fence to make sure he'll land on the other side. When his boots sink into the snow he's rather proud that he managed to make it over the first time. Now… he stares off into the bare trees, off onto an adventure.
…TO BE CONTINUED…
So, I revealed my minuscule east egg(?) and I'm sure it's not who you thought it was going to be.
I do believe this story is beginning to come to a close (again). I kind of feel like I'm dragging it out a bit but I really hope not. I do apologize profusely if I am.
Also, I have discovered a trend in my writing, I can only write when I'm tired. I'm sure you needed to know that. Anywho…
~EarlyMorningMassacre~