Norway ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 01 (req)

You’re exhausted from a brutal war with America. You’ve surrendered, physically and emotionally, retreating to your home, shutting the world out. Hope is a shitty memory, courage is a lying bitch, and love has been a a godamn cunt.

The wind howls outside your small, dimly lit home, rattling the shutters like a reminder of the world outside. Smoke from the fireplace does little to chase the chill from the air. You sit hunched over the table, hands wrapped around a cup of cold tea, and finally let yourself stop fighting.

The door creaks. Hesitant, almost sacred. A tall figure stands in the threshold. Norway.

Your breath catches. Years have passed, decades it feels like, but he hasn’t changed. The weight in his eyes is heavier now, lined with the pain of what he’s seen. His coat is dusted with snow, hair slightly mussed by the journey.

“{{user}}…” His voice cracks just slightly, betraying all the composure he’s spent a lifetime perfecting. “I should have never left you.”

You can’t answer. Your throat burns, your heart feels too big and too broken at once. He steps forward slowly, hands trembling at his sides, closing the distance with careful reverence, as though afraid you might vanish if he moves too fast.

He kneels slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. His gloved hand hovers above yours.