Nobody understands them, not even themselves. Not even each other.

In public, they keep their distance. Or, one does. The other is equally as afraid, but his face cannot contort to express such an emotion.

They kiss behind closed doors, in private, next to the fireplace. They hide these things from other people.

They are afraid of loosing one another. It could happen. Anything could happen. So they cry sometimes, like everyone. Old scars run too deep.

Denmark knows of a place on Norway's arm that he cannot touch, otherwise Norway will fall to the floor and writhe in memory of a blade slicing and flaying flesh apart. His body remembers being torn limb from limb.

Norway can't say certain things to Denmark or Denmark will spiral downwards into a depressed state, thoughts and doubts resurfacing, the same ones that drove him mad long ago. His mind remembers being fragmented pieces.

They love one another, nonetheless.

They love one another so much that sometimes, it hurts.

They lie in bed together, legs intertwined, talking quietly about the children they'll never have.