In an old house in London, in the grey hour before dawn, a door creaked open.
The boy kneeling in the chair in front of the computer looked up anxiously at the sound. His shoulders, already tense, crept up around his ears, and he tugged nervously at the blue-and-white dressing gown wrapped around him. The harsh white light from the screen lit up the side of his face and picked out the shadows lurking in his eyes.
Slowly, when no footsteps followed the door, his shoulders relaxed. He turned back to the screen, gingerly shifting his weight from one ankle to the other -- though he kept sneaking quick glances at the door.
Given the wariness of its user, the website on the screen looked fairly innocuous. It was simply an open eBay page, with the details of a new auction ready to be finalised.
The boy bit his lip, shifting his weight again. The movement must have been painful, because he winced, screwing his eyes shut for a moment.
He clicked OK.
***
The train coming to a stop jolted Sealand out of the half-asleep fugue he'd fallen into. He lifted his head, blinking blearily out of the window while the announcer's mechanical voice rattled off the same statement it had given at every station in a language that Sealand didn't know. He peered out at the platform, ignoring the announcer in favour of searching for a sign with the station name on it.
"This is Copenhagen. There are no more stations on this route. Please depart from the train, and make sure to take all your belongings with you."
Sealand tugged his backpack out from under the seat in front of him. The tickets were tucked into one of his comic books, wrapped in a sheet of paper with the email printed on it. He'd read it five times before he left England's house, and three more on the journey up, but he unfolded it again anyway.
The message was short: I'll pick you up from Copenhagen. 11 AM.
The clock on the platform said quarter to eleven. That might mean Sweden wasn't there yet. At least he probably hadn't got fed up with waiting and left.
Sealand folded the paper again and tucked it into his jacket pocket with the train tickets, before standing up and shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders. Most of the other passengers had already filed out of the carriage, so he didn't have to push through a crowd to drag his suitcase down from the rack. Wrestling it down the train steps without falling was trickier, but he made it safely onto the platform.
Then he stood there, clutching the handle and wondering what to do next. He didn't know what Sweden looked like -- England had never had him over for trade deals, or if he had then he hadn't offered... Sealand had never seen him. He hadn't been able to find a photo or anything either.
He probably looked like Norway or Denmark. They were his brothers, right?
Someone bumped into his shoulder. Sealand sidestepped out of the way of the people still getting off the train, and looked around the platform. Most people were hurrying through the exit, but some were just standing there, watching the train, like they were waiting for someone.
Sealand pulled out the handle on his suitcase, and started towards the nearest, a short man wearing a green coat.
The man was human, and so were the next three people after him. Sealand didn't even need to talk to them to know that. As soon as he got close enough...it was just obvious. He squeezed the suitcase handle harder, free hand going to his pocket where the tickets were. What if Sweden hadn't come? What if he'd decided he didn't want Sealand, and Sealand had to go back --
The sense of country hit him in the back just before a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Y' Sealand?" the unseen nation rumbled. He had a deep voice. It was coming from a long way above Sealand's head.
He nodded quickly. The hand on his shoulder was a lot bigger than England's. England could grab his whole arm. This hand could probably get all the way around his leg.
The hand lifted off. "'M Sweden."
Sealand swallowed hard. Now that he was here, and Sweden was here, this whole plan was starting to seem a lot more crazy.
He took a deep breath and turned around.
Sweden was big. Really, really big. Sealand had to tip his head back in order to see Sweden's face, and almost wished he hadn't. Sweden's face was set in a scowl, and he looked scarier than anyone else Sealand had ever met.
He was going to be heavy. Sealand swallowed, feeling his fingers go slippery. Sweden was huge. If he got rough -- he would probably be rough. He was scowling like he wanted to hurt something, and when people looked like that they were always rough.
"H-hi," he got out.
There's only one of him. At least there's only one of him, that's got to be better than living with England...
"Mm," Sweden said. He held out his hand. "C'mon. Want t' get back f'r lunch."
Sealand took Sweden's hand. It felt strong, and rough with callouses.
Only one person, he reminded himself, following his new guardian out of the station. No matter how rough or strong Sweden was, he was only one person.
Uneven Exchanges (Part 1)
The boy kneeling in the chair in front of the computer looked up anxiously at the sound. His shoulders, already tense, crept up around his ears, and he tugged nervously at the blue-and-white dressing gown wrapped around him. The harsh white light from the screen lit up the side of his face and picked out the shadows lurking in his eyes.
Slowly, when no footsteps followed the door, his shoulders relaxed. He turned back to the screen, gingerly shifting his weight from one ankle to the other -- though he kept sneaking quick glances at the door.
Given the wariness of its user, the website on the screen looked fairly innocuous. It was simply an open eBay page, with the details of a new auction ready to be finalised.
The boy bit his lip, shifting his weight again. The movement must have been painful, because he winced, screwing his eyes shut for a moment.
He clicked OK.
***
The train coming to a stop jolted Sealand out of the half-asleep fugue he'd fallen into. He lifted his head, blinking blearily out of the window while the announcer's mechanical voice rattled off the same statement it had given at every station in a language that Sealand didn't know. He peered out at the platform, ignoring the announcer in favour of searching for a sign with the station name on it.
"This is Copenhagen. There are no more stations on this route. Please depart from the train, and make sure to take all your belongings with you."
Sealand tugged his backpack out from under the seat in front of him. The tickets were tucked into one of his comic books, wrapped in a sheet of paper with the email printed on it. He'd read it five times before he left England's house, and three more on the journey up, but he unfolded it again anyway.
The message was short: I'll pick you up from Copenhagen. 11 AM.
The clock on the platform said quarter to eleven. That might mean Sweden wasn't there yet. At least he probably hadn't got fed up with waiting and left.
Sealand folded the paper again and tucked it into his jacket pocket with the train tickets, before standing up and shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders. Most of the other passengers had already filed out of the carriage, so he didn't have to push through a crowd to drag his suitcase down from the rack. Wrestling it down the train steps without falling was trickier, but he made it safely onto the platform.
Then he stood there, clutching the handle and wondering what to do next. He didn't know what Sweden looked like -- England had never had him over for trade deals, or if he had then he hadn't offered... Sealand had never seen him. He hadn't been able to find a photo or anything either.
He probably looked like Norway or Denmark. They were his brothers, right?
Someone bumped into his shoulder. Sealand sidestepped out of the way of the people still getting off the train, and looked around the platform. Most people were hurrying through the exit, but some were just standing there, watching the train, like they were waiting for someone.
Sealand pulled out the handle on his suitcase, and started towards the nearest, a short man wearing a green coat.
The man was human, and so were the next three people after him. Sealand didn't even need to talk to them to know that. As soon as he got close enough...it was just obvious. He squeezed the suitcase handle harder, free hand going to his pocket where the tickets were. What if Sweden hadn't come? What if he'd decided he didn't want Sealand, and Sealand had to go back --
The sense of country hit him in the back just before a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Y' Sealand?" the unseen nation rumbled. He had a deep voice. It was coming from a long way above Sealand's head.
He nodded quickly. The hand on his shoulder was a lot bigger than England's. England could grab his whole arm. This hand could probably get all the way around his leg.
The hand lifted off. "'M Sweden."
Sealand swallowed hard. Now that he was here, and Sweden was here, this whole plan was starting to seem a lot more crazy.
He took a deep breath and turned around.
Sweden was big. Really, really big. Sealand had to tip his head back in order to see Sweden's face, and almost wished he hadn't. Sweden's face was set in a scowl, and he looked scarier than anyone else Sealand had ever met.
He was going to be heavy. Sealand swallowed, feeling his fingers go slippery. Sweden was huge. If he got rough -- he would probably be rough. He was scowling like he wanted to hurt something, and when people looked like that they were always rough.
"H-hi," he got out.
There's only one of him. At least there's only one of him, that's got to be better than living with England...
"Mm," Sweden said. He held out his hand. "C'mon. Want t' get back f'r lunch."
Sealand took Sweden's hand. It felt strong, and rough with callouses.
Only one person, he reminded himself, following his new guardian out of the station. No matter how rough or strong Sweden was, he was only one person.
He could do this.