Tense
He's been trying to ask his question for several minutes now, his impatience visibly growing as he struggles to find the long forgotten words.
"You can say it in Russian," Berwald concedes quietly from beside Timo, trying to diffuse the growing pressure. On the Finn's other side Christen is still eating, though his eyes are fixed on the just-returned Nordic nation.
"No," Timo says angrily, in a tone they've never heard him use with the Swede, "I can do this."
Berwald nods his head once, looking at his plate and pushing his food about with a fork. In the air they can sense the tension growing greater between the two, even now: Timo is still angry at how Sweden treated Finland, and yet Berwald is, despite what the rest of the world might call logic and reason, still in love with Timo.
Which has Lukas, on Christen's other side, shooting daggers at the two with his eyes, arms folded tightly over his chest. He's yet to touch his food.
Emil can only look helplessly from his brother on his left, to Timo and Berwald to his right. He decides Berwald is probably the most sane one at the moment, and mimics him by pushing around his food with a fork.
"Perkele!" Timo finally yells before saying something in Russian. It must have been about the butter, because that's what Berwald passes him.
"Smör," Christen says in Swedish, in some failed attempt at being helpful. Berwald turns his head slowly as if to tell him to stop, but before he can Timo has stood suddenly, his chair falling loudly to the floor.
He yells in wild Russian, and both Christen and Emil are left to watch without understanding. A long time ago Lukas had been the one who dealt with the Russian language in their house; when he left, Emil had tried to learn but just never could.
And yet no one seems to react to the Finn's outbreak: Lukas is still glaring, arms folded tight; Christen is still eating, seemingly unashamed of how he brought this burst of anger about; Berwald remains calm, turning in his chair to better face the Finn but making no other action; and Emil just sits, putting his hands between his legs and trying to look as small as possible so that the Finn does not hit him.
Finally Timo storms out of the first Nordic dinner the five nations had managed since the eighteenth century. What had once been normal, daily, has become a constant struggle, inevitable war and bloodshed.
When Berwald turns on Christen, his anger swells up. It's like watching a wave out in the water, building and growing and swelling until it's at full height, crashing down on the beach and destroying everything in its path. He lets loose on the Dane, screaming about what an idiot he is, about how this is why Berwald and Timo left the union, about how the world would be a better place if Christen would just do them all a favor and go kill himself. That last one hurts Emil, to see the Dan'e reaction as if his whole heart has just been cut from his chest. His face tenses as if to reply to the onslaught but then Berwald stands suddenly, leaning forward to hit Christen, break that face he's destroyed for so many centuries.
Two arms separate them, Lukas leaning over the table to keep them apart. First his glare is set on Christen, who sits huffily, the corner of his eye twitching. Then he looks at Berwald, hard, and Emil once more wonders what had happened between his brother and the taller man while they were in a union. The Swede even leans down, just a bit, and Emil can't decide if it's to kiss Lukas or to spit at him or maybe both, because the Nordic nations are like that.
Then Berwald too storms out of the room.
Lukas hits his chair with a thump, crossing his arms once more over his chest. "Idiots," he mutters under his breath as if the word is a curse. "You're all fucking idiots." The Icelander knows the statement isn't meant to include him, that perhaps it's best to be forgotten at the table like he normally is, but then again, as he watches the Norwegian stand and leave, Christen shoveling the food in now before parting as well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to draw a reaction, just once.
Humans have their heartbeats to check that they're alive.
The Nordic nations measure it by how terrible their fights are with each other.