"Island, it's starting!" Norway shouted, dumping down at the couch.
"Making coffee!" came the answer.
"Will you hurry up? It's less than a minute to kick-off!"
"It has started! Why's the damn coffee taking so long - faen - MÅL!" Something crashed to the kitchen floor and broke, fast steps made their way to the living room.
"Mark? Nú þegar?"
"Forty seconds, I have a feeling I'm going to win this," Norway informed the younger with a pleased smile.
"Come on," Iceland groaned as he sat down. "I've worked so hard for this." He sunk down in his seat, only to straighten up and swat away Norway's hand as it came up to ruffle his hair. The ensuing slap war lasted for almost fifteen minutes. They parted, laughing and out of breath, only for Norway to restart it by reaching out to fuss with Iceland's already messy hair. When they finally were done they flopped back, equally out of breath.
"How's the game going?" Norway asked, not bothering to open his eyes. Iceland looked at the score.
"Still zero-one, WAIT!" Norway's eyes flew up and he immediately straightened.
"NOOO… argh!" Iceland groaned, covering his face with his hands. Norway patted his little brother on the back.
"Almost, Snjór, almost. Next one'll go straight in." And a short while later Iceland catapulted himself off the couch, cheering with his arms raised. Norway just crossed his arms.
"There's troll in words, I really should know better by now." He pouted dramatically at Iceland's victorious grin, but both of them failed to hold the expressions, and soon they succumbed to laughter.
A few minutes later they were both sitting at the edge of the couch, staring intently at the screen.
"HAH!" Norway exclaimed and slammed his hands together in a loud clap.
"Why?" Iceland moaned, dramatically placing the back of his hand against his forehead. "Why, oh why is this happening to me? What on earth have I done to deserve this?"
"Dabbling in the Dark Arts, consorting with demons and allowing the Gates of Hell to stay open," came the answer. It was met with a glare.
"Not my fault you were a bad role model."
"HEY! You are not blaming this on me!"
"It's your team! It is literally your fault!"
"You can't blame me for my actions!"
"...Uh… Yes, yes I can."
"...Right." Then, in a little voice, "Was I really a bad brother?"
"...no."
"Then you'll call me -"
"Nope," Iceland said, popping the 'p'. "Don't even go there." Norway's crestfallen expression was heartbreaking, and at the first sign of tears Iceland gave in with a huff.
"Stop it! Við skegg Satans, bróðir, do you always have to do that?"
"I love you, brother."
"... you too. Brother," Iceland mumbled. They sat in silence for the rest of the break, Norway with a satisfied smile, and Iceland boredly picking at folded blanket. When the game started again Norway stuck his hand down between the cushions on the couch and dragged out a bag of crisps. He opened it and shoved a couple of flakes into his mouth.
"Wha?" he asked in response to Iceland's stare.
"How the hell did you fit that under the cushions?" the younger demanded. Norway shrugged.
"Magic," he said, then, as an answer to Iceland's dubious look, "Give it a decade or two, maybe a century, and someone like USA or Japan or even Switzerland will science it out."
"Probably." And then they watched the rest of the game.
After the game
"Ugh! I hate losing," Iceland groaned again. Norway looked at him in quiet amusement as the younger moaned and rolled around on the couch.
"Bah," he said, "You're just saving your good games for the Euro. Besides, 3-2? I've got a suspicion you went easy on your old brother." Iceland stilled for a second.
"Did not!"
"Doesn't matter," Norway replied, catching the other's gaze. "Just promise me you'll make us proud in the Euro." Iceland nodded gravely.
"I-"
"SKIT! HVAD FANDEN!" Both jumped at the sudden shout, which was quickly followed by "Who dropped a coffee pot on the floor?" and "DENMARK WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?" Iceland launched himself after the remote and turned of the TV.
"Visiting!" the Dane yelled back, "What's the coffee doin' on the floor!"
"Are you accusing me of spilling coffee?"
"Well, duh. Accidents happen, man. Oh, hi Icey." Denmark appeared in the door in time to witness Norway's speechless sputtering and immediately brought out his phone to film it.
"Wha- spilling coffee! Accident? Blasphemy, I tell you, blasphemy! Of all moronic statements this surely takes the cake clean off..." Iceland stood with an eyeroll.
"You are so embarrassing, I'm leaving."
"Bet I see you before you see me!"
"'Cause that's not creepy at all!" Iceland yelled back and slammed the front door like a moody teenager. Both Denmark and Norway looked in the direction of the front door. Then they looked at each other. Awkward silence ensued, until Norway finally broke it.
"Are you staying for dinner?" he asked.
"Sure," Denmark answered.
"Good," Norway stated, and pushed past the Dane. "I'll make some food."
-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-
Translations:
Mål (nor) - goal
Mark? Nú þegar? (ice) - goal? Already?
Snjór (ice) - snow
Við skegg Satans, bróðir (ice) - by Satans beard, brother
Skit! Hvad fanden? (den) - Shit! What the fuck? (lit. what devil?)
Cultural notes:
There are troll in words is a translation of "det går troll i ord", which means 'there is magic in words', or, in other words, that he jinxed it.
My sources are again in Norwegian, but this game actually took place in Norway in the beginning of 2016. It was a private match and Norway won 3-2. www. dagbladet .no/ 2016/06/01 /sport/idrett/fotball/fotballandslaget/per-mathias_hogmo/44422669/
Author's note:
Another chapter. This was sort of a request, and I am terribly late (feels like I'm saying they every chapter), but it's here. I know I didn't write too much about what actually happened in the game, but I didn't watch it, and I'm honestly not very interested in football. At all. Except Iceland's matches in the Euro in 2016. That was awesome. Fragmented sentences. Shutting up.
Reviews and ideas are always appreciated
Arrivederci,
Shrizyne