[Hetalia, Denmark/Norway. Late January, 1658; not long before the march across the belts.]
Norway barely acknowledges Denmark, who gasps upon taking his hands, exclaiming that they're freezing, that they're like ice, how in hell did he get like this, Nor wasn't out there very long, was he - but not to worry, he'll find a way to get him warm.
His mind is elsewhere, not listening as Denmark keeps going on: his thoughts are outside, where the wind is knife-sharp, and the cold sinks into the bones, and it feels deep enough to crack the teeth and frost the lashes and freeze the straits so solid that a whole host could cross without resistance.
"Have ourselves more to worry on than this, don't you think?" Norway says as he squeezes Denmark's hands, which are no warmer than his; and though his partner smiles it off and links their fingers together, he can see a flicker in his eyes, an acknowledgment of what surely must be impossible but – nevertheless – is quite a horrible thought.
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Norway barely acknowledges Denmark, who gasps upon taking his hands, exclaiming that they're freezing, that they're like ice, how in hell did he get like this, Nor wasn't out there very long, was he - but not to worry, he'll find a way to get him warm.
His mind is elsewhere, not listening as Denmark keeps going on: his thoughts are outside, where the wind is knife-sharp, and the cold sinks into the bones, and it feels deep enough to crack the teeth and frost the lashes and freeze the straits so solid that a whole host could cross without resistance.
"Have ourselves more to worry on than this, don't you think?" Norway says as he squeezes Denmark's hands, which are no warmer than his; and though his partner smiles it off and links their fingers together, he can see a flicker in his eyes, an acknowledgment of what surely must be impossible but – nevertheless – is quite a horrible thought.