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DenNor--TitanicNot many things startled the Norwegian. He got bored during suspense films, and yawned at horror movies. If a meteor fell in front of him while he was walking, he wouldn't even blink an eye.
But what was really frightening to him was seeing Denmark, wrapped up in a fuzzy blue blanket, sobbing his eyes out.
It had started out as a normal day; if you could call any day in the Nordic household normal. Norway had been the first one up, so he took his time getting out of bed. A lot of time, to be exact (Norway knew he was not the most cheerful person to be around in the morning). By the time he fixed his hair and straightened his bow, all of the other Scandinavian countries were up already.
Except for Denmark.
A polite Fin, who was busily flipping pancakes, was the first to greet him. "Good morning Norway! Would you care to wake Denmark up? Breakfast is almost ready." With a silent nod of the head he walked off towards the Dane's bedroom, suppre
oo2. LoveLove: A form of insanity that is often caused from spending too much time with someone. Can lead to reckless decisions and, in some cases, horrible depression or false happiness.
It was something Norway had tried to avoid, something he never thought would happen to someone like himself. When he had gone to Finland for advice on what was happening to him, he got a simple, dreadful answer.
"You're in love, Norway!"
He had just brushed it off as a misdiagnosis though. Finland didn't know him, he didn't know how his brain worked. Though he did know what it was like to be in love, and Norway carried all the symptoms. He knew it himself too. His pulse raced from the simplest touch, hearing that voice sent shivers through his body. All of these years he thought he was happy, but now his heart ached with every passing day.
"Norge! Noooorge!" He curled himself into a ball under the covers of his bed, yelling back at the voice by the door.
"Go away, I don't wanna deal with you right now, Danmark
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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