HETALIA BELONGS TO HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA
THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST IS BROADCASTED BY THE EUROPEAN BROADCASTING UNION
Sweden was somber. One could argue that he had never been the merriest of men, but those who knew him, his citizens, his relatives, everyone who bothered to deepen into those dead cold eyes and never-smiling lips knew that that was just a facade; he wasn't that bad at all once you got to know him—he could even be considered a really thoughtful and easy-going person, if treated cordially and without prejudices. But those days, not even his own people liked to be in the same room with him, because it felt like stepping into a freezer. It was as if a gigantic cloud had come to steal his sun and rained over his parade, and he was spreading all the gloom. He barely spoke usually, but lately his lips were sealed. He had practically turned into a mannequin which spent its time gazing at Stockholm through the window.
Ruminating some dark thought, planning something with very ethical strong implications, or bearing the burden of an unspeakable secret...
That was the impression from the outside. That was what someone who was not from Europe would have thought was happening inside of his brain. Of course, they didn't know, they could not suspect...But the Swedish knew, specially those who worked closely with him. Anyone who was born and raised in Europe and was acquainted with a European nation felt that tingling feeling, that expectation which was eating Sweden from inside.
No one was worried about Sweden's state, because they knew it was temporary, something cyclic. It happened the same year after year. Checking the calendar, the 23rd of May he would be back to his usual self, not much more talkative and cheerful but definitely much less distant and grim. The cloud would stay over his head till the night of May 22nd, and then it would go away and him—everyone, would be back to normal.
Once Eurovision was over, everything would be back to the way it used to be.
In the meantime...
That was what consumed Sweden. He was the host, and also a contestant in the final round, since winning last year had secured him a place. A double calamity. Double trouble. Double pain.
The storm had taken over Europe. Everyone could feel it in their bones. They kept acting cordial during their scheduled meetings, took care of their own business, but there was still this sensation, like a cage being opened, a pressure cooker blowing up, a volcano erupting...
The wind was blowing, clouds were covering the sun...And in the middle of that picture, the slender, severe figure of Sweden at the window, watching his city, deep in thought.
Sweden's phone buzzed. He lowered his head and stopped glancing at the city for a second to check it.
An incoming text from Finland.
Just a series of emojis. Coffins and skulls.
No 'lol' afterwards, nor a friendly conversation after that. Finland's message was completely serious. A statement of intent. His honest intention was to classify in the semifinals that night so he could crush him in the final. He would do everything in his hand to get enough votes to get a place in the contest, so he could compete against him. He wanted to face him. He wanted to demolish him. Sweden knew of his intentions because, first, Finland was transparent to anyone, exceedingly easy to read and to make talk; and second, because that was his goal too. He would get on the stage and annihilate Finland. He would make him go home crying, take his pride and eat it, prove his superiority over him. Exactly the way he did the year before.
Finland wanted revenge...Well...Fine. Sweden was waiting.
Once a year, he forgot all feelings he had for him or anyone, let his heart freeze. One has no friends in Eurovision Song Contest. Just pawns at the most. Strategic allies. There is no room for feelings—those who still retained them and showed them were doomed to have their hearts broken and manipulated.
Sweden's eyebrows furrowed and raised his gaze to his city again...
...A city that soon would become a battlefield...