Peter waited for the kettle to boil, occasionally peeking around the corner into the sitting room to find Berwald staring directly at him. God, he was creepy… but he seemed pleasant enough. At the very least, he was trying, and that was more than Peter could say of most people. Setting it up to steep, he kept his eyes focused on the pot. If there was one thing Arthur bothered to teach him, it was how to make a damn good cup of tea.

The wait offered time to steady his nerves. He was making an absolute fool of himself out there on the deck, sputtering over his words without saying much of anything. His country – small though it was – depended on this going well. The future of the citizens who did so much for him, the future of the other micronations he inspired, and Peter's very life all hinged on obtaining enough funding to keep up with the costly repairs. If not, his people might have to leave, assuming the weathered fort didn't crumble into the sea first. This was serious. He could be serious! Peter could be plenty serious! Serious as a heart attack during a tsunami in a war zone, and that was basically the most serious thing he could possibly think of. Deep breaths, a slow count to ten, and he brought the tea set out to Berwald.

Setting the table and heading back to retrieve the pot, he couldn't shake the threatening aura of the Swede's stare. Still, it had to be ignored. This man held his last hopes. Pouring some for them both, the scent of Earl Grey filling the air, the boy finally took a seat across from his guest and pulled out a folder that was stashed beside the table. He slid it over.

"Mm?"

No words. Just a sound. This guy really was hard to work with, wasn't he? Still, this area offered more confident speech than his sloppy fumbling outside. This was practiced. "If you take a look in that folder, you'll find a few documents regarding why Sealand is worth investing in, but those are only the tip of the iceberg. We're in a tight spot now thanks to the fire, but the money-making potential of taking on a property like this is really something! You see, Sealand has citizens from all over the world and is growing by the day, and they support us through buying royal titles, memorabilia, and merch! Furthermore, Sealand may be a good source of harvesting solar or wind power out at sea. The cost for starting such programs is steep, but the payoff will be monumental. Imagine having your name on an up-and-coming nation like this and being able to tell people that you, yes you, had a hand in its bright beginnings! I-"

"When's the last time ya were a kid?"

His carefully-crafted elevator pitch was cast aside, the confidence and salesmanship shattered in an instant at the interruption. He didn't prepare for being interrupted. He didn't prepare for Berwald to look… sad? Was he reading that right? Maybe angry. Sad and angry? Something else? What did he do wrong?

The question. He needed to answer the question, even if his thoughts were racing and his own speech was replaying in his mind, as though backtracking and sticking to script would do any good. No. No, he needed to answer instead of gaping like a beached fish, helplessly staring with his jaw ajar.

"Right now, I reckon? Always? I've never not been a kid. I, erm, I guess I'm flattered you thought I look grown, though!"

"Nh, don't look grown." A slow sip of his tea, as if that glasses-wearing jerk didn't know how frazzled Peter was getting. Surely he understood what was on the line here, so why was he dragging out his sentences and worsening Peter's fears? "Know yer a kid, but when's the last time ya acted like one?"

Frozen. Maybe the chill of Berwald's stare finally got to him, because his entire being was made of ice: ice that crept through him and sent icicles shooting through his chest and limbs, ice that froze the area around his heart and restricted it, making it beat faster, shallower, frantic. It seemed like Berwald didn't care for one word of his speech. Even now, as he waited for Peter's response, he idly thumbed through the folder without bothering to actually pause and read, and he gave a soft chuckle like this was a joke to him. Like the investment was a joke to him.

Like Peter's life was a joke to him.

At that thought, the freezing pallor of Peter's fear-stricken face gave way to burning red. Did Berwald have any intentions of helping from the beginning, or was this whole meeting meant to string him along for the humor of it? First, his country gets in the way of the Pirate Bay, and now this git has the nerve to pretend like he wants to take their place, come out to Peter's decrepit, burnt husk of a home, and laugh at him? Did he think it was funny, tricking someone into making all this effort?

"I don't know what you mean by that," Peter started, voice as tense as his jaw, his arms, his fists, "but that has nothing to do with the presentation! We're talking about Sealand, and what Sealand can-"

"Ya are Sealand," the man corrected. "Just askin' 'bout yerself. Was real surprised when I got yer email. Said 'I wanna talk to Peter' because I thought I wasn't already. Thought a grown-up wrote that sorta professional reply. But ya did it all yerself, huh?"

Peter slapped his own face, dragging the hand down with a groan of exasperation. "Blimey, mate, it's just a bloomin' email. Now, if you invest in Sealand -"

"Not just an email." Berwald kept interrupting. How could such a quiet voice silence him so easily? Sure, it was bassy, but Peter could speak over it! And yet, somehow, he couldn't find the will to. "Not just about emails. Boat was rented under yer name, so ya organized that yerself. Crankin' the crane to get me up here, makin' tea, writin' a speech, even doin' paperwork," he gestured to the folder. "Heard ya plan every micronation meetin', too. Ya still got some soot 'nd rust on ya, so bet ya clean 'nd do repairs… Lotta work for one kid."

Finally, Peter was neither freezing nor burning, but instead, a sort of numbness took its place. Even in all the meetings he'd snuck into, he didn't think he'd heard Berwald speak so much. Hearing his activities listed out so plainly made it feel like so much more than it really was. It wasn't much… was it? He was inflating the severity of it. As if hearing his thoughts, Berwald interrupted those, as well.

"Meetin's involve matchin' schedules, bookin' flights, reservin' hotels, callin' cabs, decidin' on topics, organizin' meals or snacks, keepin' everyone from arguin'-"

"We don't bicker like you lot!" Peter corrected, reveling in his own chance to speak over Berwald. Now it was even! He found his voice. "We're actually friends, and even when we do argue, we find ways to get along anyway because that's what's best for our people, thank you very much!"

"Mm. Sounds like us big countries could learn somethin' from ya."

"You could! Maybe you all should be trying to get into our meetings, instead. But that's beside the point! The point is, I do what I have to, and I like doing it, because getting things done is worth it. If I don't, no one else will. And as for everything about this meeting, I – of course I worked hard when it's this important to me."

"Kids shouldn't have to work so much."

"Well, sometimes kids don't have a bloody choice! "

The outburst hung in the air between them as both realized what Peter said. It was true, though. He had very little choice in the matter. But all kids did some work, right? In some places, they helped their parents on farms. In others, they went to school. Peter's work was simply different from most. That didn't mean there was anything wrong with it. Another sip of his tea, and Berwald finally continued.

"Ya got anyone to fall back on?" he asked.

"My… My citizens. They're more loyal than I could ever begin to tell. They're the best. Which is why you should invest to help us! Can we get back to the talk now?"

"Anyone not human? Not mortal?"

He wasn't budging on this topic, it seemed. Of course, that was a threat. At only 65 years old, Peter hadn't dealt with the amount of loss and the painful realities of borderline-immortality as the centuries-old nations around him had, but he knew it would come. As great as humans were, it was important to have fellow personifications to rely on. "...Raivis. He's Latvia."

"Know 'im well."

"He's my best friend. He's far away, but… but we email. We email loads when the internet is working properly, and we call lots, too. I can always rely on him."

"I live pretty close to 'im."

"Well, then. Good for you."

"How would ya like to be closer, too?"

"... What? "

It was only now that Peter picked up on the tone shift. This was no longer his presentation. Now it was Berwald's turn to pitch him an offer. The tables had turned so quickly that Peter was almost surprised it didn't spill their tea.

"Not lookin' to buy Sealand. Don't wanna make money off ya. Just askin' for ya to come live with me. It's four months. Four months with me, four months on Sealand, four months with me. Get a cycle goin'. In return, gonna use m' personal funds to send ya supplies directly, use m' connections to get some favors with repairs, maybe even come help out m'self on the months yer here. Gonna get this place back into shape. I'll also help cover costs of food rations, equipment, 'nd boat fuel."

"And, what, I come work for you? I clean and cook and run errands?"

"Nah. Just gotta be there. Gonna have chores, sure, but nothin' crazy. Gonna split 'em up evenly."

"Then what's the point? What do you get out of it?"

"A son."

The sea itself may well have stopped waving, the wind stopped blowing, Peter's heart stopped beating. Two simple words, and he was set on pause, only to spiral wildly out of control as endless rabbitholes of thoughts, often contradicting, came slamming into one another on the course of their trajectories, like debris colliding in a tornado, splintering further and further into tiny shards with a deadly force behind them. His own thoughts might impale him.

"A… son."

"Mh."

He laughed. He laughed in Berwald's face. He laughed because he didn't think this man would take his awful joke this far. "Y-You're a riot, you are! Wow! I can't believe I was actually falling for that! I thought it was bad enough that you'd come to my home all 'weh, when's the last time you were a kid? Let me interrupt everything you say and laugh at all your hard work because I'm a jerk,' but to toy with me like this makes you a real piece of work! If you want me to rot, fine, I don't care, but I – I won't indulge your s-stupid-… your dumb jokes, and your bullying, and…"

"I'm serious."

That look was back on Berwald's face, that one he saw before, that emotion he couldn't quite place but had assumed was a mixture of anger and sadness. Then, he realized where he'd seen it before. Concern. He was worried? For what? That Peter caught him in his lie? But being assured that he was serious and seeing his gaze never falter… Peter's shoulders went slack. His sneer dropped in an instant.

"W… Why, though? I mean… Yeah, why?"

This didn't make sense. Live with him as a son? Stay with him for months at a time because Berwald wanted his company?

Lord, did his voice crack, but it didn't seem like Berwald noticed… did he? He couldn't be certain of anything anymore. How was he to know what this man was thinking? Something about this conversation made him want to cry, but he didn't dare delve into the cause of those emotions now, didn't allow himself a moment to unpack it lest he unravel entirely in front of this relative stranger. Stiff upper lip, right? Stiff upper lip.

"Have a son 'nd I've been wantin' another for a while. Wanna grow the family."

"Okay, but why me? There has to be some kind of mistake."

"Raivis said yer a good kid 'nd haven't got anyone to help ya. Said he worries 'bout ya lots."

That name instantly made Berwald's explanation more reliable. Yes, they already established Peter's connection with the Baltic, but that sounded like something his best friend and honorary brother would say. He worried for Peter constantly, no matter how much he reassured him that he was fine. If Raivis tried to set this up, it couldn't be all that bad, right? Raivis… he was one of the few people that Peter would trust with his life. If he trusted Berwald to be genuine with Peter, if this offer was real, then…

"Know it's a big deal. Askin' ya to change yer whole life 'round. Ya have m' email, so send me a message when ya make up yer mind. Sound good?"

"If I do this, you fix Sealand, yeah? You'll pay for stuff for my citizens? You'll keep things good for them?"

"Mh."

"I'll do it."