Peter sleeps in.
He isn't quite sure if it is the thought of safety that keeps him so comfortably unconscious, or if it is in fact the simple state of perpetual darkness that the shelter is in, even when the electric lamp is on in the corner of the room. Or perhaps the silence that is actually silence rather than the muffled drift that he has been stuck in. He comes close to waking several times, but in each instance, he is only aware of the old blankets and the soft mattress and it reminds him too much of home to finish the task of rejoining Denmark and Netherlands in the real world and he only rolls over and sinks back into the covers.
Eventually, though, he can no longer keep his brain switched off and he sits up against the wall, the blankets pooling around his waist, and yawns quietly into his hands, his eyes sore against the dim illumination from the light on the card table as he rubs the sleep from them and finds Denmark faced away from him on the other side of the room. He has one hand in his hair, elbow propped against the edge of the table, and the other stretched out in front of him, hand opened loosely and holding Norway's hair pin between two gentle fingers, his lips just barely moving in some silent monologue that Peter can't hear from his position on the bed. He watches him, not yet making himself known. His eyes are open only halfway and reflect the dull glow of the lamp as he stares at the pin in his hand, slowly turning it between his fingers and smoothing the pad of his thumb over the length of the cross. He stops whispering to himself long enough to cough into the crook of his elbow, but he doesn't resume the one sided conversation when it passes, settling instead to just stare at the pin.
He looks lost.
Peter clears his throat and it instantly snaps Denmark out of his own head, a smile coming at once to his newly brightened expression. He turns on the chair and starts to put the pin back in his pocket, but Peter stops him by holding a hand out.
"Can I see it?" He asks.
Denmark blinks but complies and hands it to him, placing it in his palm with more care than Peter is sure he has ever seen him give to anything as long as he has known him. He picks the pin up and holds it cupped in both hands. It feels heavy, but not with any kind of physical weight.
"You really miss him, huh?"
Denmark sighs and runs a hand down his face, palm covering his mouth when he tilts over to rest his elbow against the corner of the table. He exhales through his nose and nods.
Peter bites his lip and looks down at the small piece of jewelry. "Were... were you talking to him?"
Denmark closes his eyes and laughs from somewhere deep in his chest, sighing again. "Seems silly, doesn't it?"
"No." He pauses. "I mean, if it makes you feel better, it's not really that weird, right?"
"Maybe." He cracks open his good eye and smirks. "Or I'm just losing my mind."
"Or that." He reaches over the bed and hands the pin back to Denmark. After sitting back, he pulls the covers back over his legs and peers over his knees at Denmark. He has that lost look on his face again. "I'm sure he misses you too."
Denmark turns the pin over in his palm one last time before slipping it into his pocket and zipping it closed. "Nah," he laughs, sounding genuine for once. "He's probably too busy looking after everybody else to miss me. He's probably holed everybody up in the mountains or something and scolding Sweden for not getting enough firewood or nagging Finland to stop playing with his guns long enough to help look for food. No time to worry."
Peter grins. Fantasy or not, it's a nice thought. "What about Iceland?"
Denmark's smile falters. "Hm."
