Heal you

Prologue - Hole In My Soul

« We're gonna be the Nordics! »

Four blond heads turned to an adorable little boy with rosy cheeks, clear blue eyes, and spiky golden hair full of gel. One of them, looking particularly annoyed, didn't wait a second to react.

« Another great idea? »

His deep blue eyes were unusually cold for such a young child, contrasting with his wild curly hair – which he hated. A peculiar curl stood out at the back of his head, as if it refused categorically to disappear among its peers.

« But, Lukas, we're all from a different Nordic country! That's fun, no? Ber can be Sweden, Timo Finland, I'll be Denmark because of dad, and Emil and ya... Well, ya can choose! Since mom is Norwegian and your dad, Icelandic... ya can take the country ya want and Emil will have the other! Ya're the older one, so ya decide!

- Don't include my lillebror in your weird ideas, Mikkel.

- Hey! He's mine, too! »

At these words Mikkel puffed his cheeks, offended, while looking straight into his half-brother's eyes. Then, his expression changed radically as his gaze shifted focus, leaving Lukas with a bad feeling.

« Timo! Y'agree with me, don'tcha?

- Uh, me?

- Yes, you!

- Well... I guess it could be fun? Or at least better than most nicknames you tried to give us. »

The one called Timo was slightly shorter than the other two. His face, adorned with a sweet smile, was childish and plump like that of a cherub while his eyes were tinted with an amazing blue-violet shade. He also happened to be very misplaced to criticize any kind of nickname.

Naturally, Lukas lost to the boy's smile – just as Mikkel thought.

« I'll be Norway, then.

- Well, well, now ya changed your mind pretty quickly, huh? »

At this comment, Lukas shot Mikkel with one of the murderous gazes his brother was probably getting used to.

Despite his apparent hostility, a much younger boy was clinging to his arm, hair white as snow and eyes red as blood. He was most likely the cutest thing on earth – or the second, Lukas wasn't sure. With a clumsy smile and a childish pronunciation, he completed his sibling's words.

« So ay be Iselanyd!

- Ya like the idea, little Icey?

- Jà! That's dad's country! And if storebror and Timo agree, then ay agree too!

- That's adorable... Oh, and 'bout ya, Ber?

- If they're all 'kay with that, so 'm I.»

The last boy was the tallest. His greenish eyes, partially hid behind glasses, showed a scary expression quite far from the sensitive heart that hid behind: just like Lukas, if not more, he had a lot of trouble expressing his emotions.

As long as they could remember, the four of them had always been together, and five since Emil was in age to play with them. He was still a little child, Lukas' dear lillebror, only four years-old. Him, he was older! Eight years-old to be exact, just like Timo, while Berwald and Mikkel were nine.

They were family: Emil was Lukas' brother, Berwald his cousin and Mikkel his half-brother. Only half because their fathers were different, but Lukas thought this term was stupid since he was a regular brother to him – he could even share his dad if Mikkel needed one. He wasn't even close to admit it, though.

The only exception was Timo, who entered the group as the neighbour's son but the lack of a blood bound between them didn't make him any less important to the others. For Lukas, he even was someone unique – his "special one", as he called it – though he couldn't really put a word on his feelings.

They were happy – well, Lukas was often scolded by his older brother for not smiling enough, but he was truly happy. Five kids constantly stuck together. The Nordics, indivisible.

Or so they thought.

As everyone finds out, time goes by and things change. The eight-year-old was Emil now, Lukas was twelve and soon would be Timo as well, while Mikkel and Berwald passed thirteen a while ago. It was a twenty-sixth of June, in the Steilsson's living room.

Lukas stared at Timo's father with blank eyes, unable to think. His words echoed in his head again and again.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

They had always been together since they were two, Timo couldn't leave. And Russia? Why did it have to be Russia? Norway was a much more welcoming country. Was money the only thing relevant in this world? No. No, he couldn't believe it. Timo couldn't leave. He was Finland, right? They were the Nordics! The Nordics were five countries! Timo couldn't leave. They needed him. He needed him.

Why did his mother seem so joyous? She was hugging Timo's mom, saying that she was "so glad for them". Was she happy to see her friends go? Lukas wasn't. None of the friends were. Even though Timo kept on smiling, all he could read on his face was pain. His brothers and cousin, too, were on the verge of tears. Did Timo's parents care about that? Did they even take their son's feelings into consideration? No, they didn't. His father was always cold, in a very different way from Lukas and Berwald, and always managed to make him uncomfortable. Even Timo's liveliness was swept away in his presence. And his mother, though she seemed to love her son, was unable to stand against her husband, making her presence irrelevant. Timo's feelings didn't matter here. He was powerless, just like their whole bunch. Soon, Lukas had to face the evidence: his "special one" was about to leave soon, and there was nothing they could do about it.

« I'll write you! I swear! »

Twenty-seventh of December, at the airport. The Finn was smiling, holding back tears once again, a suitcase tightly gripped into his hand.

« Write us? Sending letters costs money, and you have none. »

Lukas' voice was colder than he wanted it to be. He was aware that Timo had nothing to do with that decision but that fact was buried under the void he felt, knowing he wouldn't come back, not even for holidays. It was too complicated. Too expensive. And none of their families would allow it: Timo's dad would consider it a waste of time, and his parents were wary of the latter. They were only "friends" because neighbourhood and politeness required it, after all.

« Hey... hey Finny, you'll come back to us, ja? Please, promise us ya will.

- It's a promise, then! I won't forget you. You're my precious friends, right? »

Good – now he was the only one who wasn't crying a river. His two brothers were hugging Tino with those big fat tears rolling on their cheeks, and even the tough-looking, scary Swede melted in tears. But he wasn't able to cry.

All he felt was emptiness.

All he did was watch the Finn go, five years ago.