Sov Gott

Roulette

Denmark's light blue eyes cracked open, and despite the stiffness in his body, he immediately wanted to shut his eyes again and fall back asleep. But that was before he spotted his companion.

Norway's head was positioned in a way that allowed the Dane to see only the outline of his profile. The straight nose and elegantly defined features stuck out to Denmark as he let his gaze run over the familiar face, admiration filling his soul. Every sharp component of Norway's face was rounded in slumber, and the slight frown that was typically imprinted on the Norwegian's lips softened into a gentle smile. His blonde hair rested on the ground, curling at random intervals and being subject to rogue chunks that fell across the part or over his eyes. The long eyelashes that enhanced Norway's enchantingly dark, midnight-blue eyes were easily distinguishable, the very tips visible over the bridge of his nose.

Denmark had never appreciated Norway as much as he should have. He recognized this fault the night before his kidnapping, and the thought had eaten away at his consciousness ever since. That night Denmark had wanted to take Norway aside and tell him how much the Norwegian meant to him.

But Fate had a different plan for that night.

His bones had finally healed from the previous week. Denmark bent his fingers, tested his wrists, rotated his arms. Finally, after so long, everything had healed.

It was worrisome to the personification, however.

An injury that would have normally healed in a total of three days was now taking a week. Denmark wet his lips as he began to feel the bones under his skin, feeling their solidity once more. At the very least he was healed. It was a much slower pace than he would have preferred, but the fact that his arm had been able to heal was a comforting notion. For a week or so, his fears would subside. Then, when it came to the next time he was injured and it took a longer time to heal, the panic would set in again. He was old, yes, but it was too soon. He wasn't ready. There were things to be done, things to be said, places to go, people to see. It couldn't end like this; it wouldn't end like this.

Again, he let his gaze fall on the Norwegian's features. Nothing had changed since Denmark had laid eyes upon Norway's face, but somehow there was a great distance that persisted in separating them. It was as though a wall ten meters high and a hundred kilometers wide was between them, even though in reality the bars that caged them were facing each other across the hallway. Part of him was beyond relieved to see the familiar face in his presence, yet he simultaneously wanted Norway to be as far from him as possible.

Underneath his closed eyelids Norway's eyes began to stir, flitting back and forth behind their curtains with panic that increased every second. At last the eyelashes flickered and opened, revealing the sapphire irises that had been hidden in slumber. Instantly the Norwegian checked his surroundings, his features drawing into a confused expression. The edges of his facial features that had been rounded in sleep were sharpened once again as he continued to wake up. That was, his furrowed eyebrows and chiseled eyes were baffled until he spotted Denmark. Then all tension and fear was erased from Norway's countenance and replaced with amusement and laughter.

Norway's laugh bounced from one hard wall to another, sending ringing echoes up and down the hall. "Quite the mess we've gotten into." The Norwegian's voice was low and quiet, but his words were held upon a pedestal that needed no assistance.

Denmark chuckled at that, letting his head fall back against the wall of the cell. "One hell of a mess," he threw out in agreement, a sigh breaking through his lips. "It's a game none of us should have to play," the Dane added, covering his worn face with his hands. "I can't even blame myself. I wasn't being predictable that night. I was coming home an entirely new way. I just can't wrap my head around how they knew where I would be..."