So… I really should be working on the next chapter of TWL, but this idea just wouldn't leave my head.

So, yeah… There's not really much more I can say about this, other than it might be a little weird, XD. Enjoy this random little oneshot…

*Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya*

Transient

Iceland supposed it all started with a name. His country was very particular with them, after all, so it was no surprise that a scandal erupted from it. He thought that the parents should have known better, especially since the baby was female, but no. They wanted to be 'edgy', they wanted to be 'rebellious', so they gave the poor girl a male name, and one that had such a negative connotations. 'Ugly' was one of the meanings, and 'cloudy' was the other. Because her father held such a high government position, strings were pulled, and the name was allowed. Though the scandal died down, Iceland just knew nothing good would come out of this. He could feel it in his bones. He never realized how right he was until it was too late.

Because of her unusual name and high-profile parents, Iceland kept an eye on her. Of course, he had his own business to attend to; he was a Nation after all, so as the years went by, she slowly slipped off his radar. However, it wasn't long before she was back. She was fifteen now, the same age as his fellow Nation—and friend—Latvia. Like the short blond, she was blunt, affectionate, and eager for friends. Unlike him, though, she was one-hundred-percent more confident, and took on obstacles with ease. She was also a singer.

Iceland discovered her musical talent when he was flipping through his television channels one day. He saw her win a prestigious singing contest, and was impressed by her voice, not to mention how her stage charisma still felt genuine, even though she was obviously acting. He was enthralled by her, and he wasn't sure why.

/

Two years passed since then, and the silver-haired boy noticed a change in her demeanor, even if it was slight. He knew that she signed a contract with an American music company, and he winced, realizing what happened. The industry was controlling her, manipulating her like a dancing puppet. They made her change her name, the name her parents worked so hard to get, to something more 'American', and 'accessible to the public'. Iceland thought that was BS, but he wasn't about to outwardly complain. He was a Nation, after all. He had better things to worry about. However, that didn't stop him from worrying; she was a citizen of his, thus, she was important to him. Not to mention, the company was sucking all the culture out of her, and that offended him.

Iceland was just leaving a conference in New York when he literally walked into her. At first, he had no idea who she was, especially since she wasn't wearing the heavy eyeliner that he was accustomed to seeing her with onstage, but the shirt she was wearing gave her away. She was always fond of mesh… Before he could walk away, she grabbed his hand and started running, pulling him down the street.

"Sorry about that." She rubbed a hand through her seemingly-endless mass of blonde hair, looking sheepish. "I wanted to get away from some people, and I thought they wouldn't notice me if I was with someone, since I'm usually alone. Though not by choice…"

Iceland figured that the last phrase wasn't meant for him, but it still made a twinge of emotion shoot through his stomach.

Figuring he should acknowledge her, he began, "You're—"

She cut him off, placing a finger to his lips. "Yeah. I know. And your lips are freaking ice!"

Iceland noticed that she was trying to suppress her accent, and he frowned.

"Aren't you going to freak out? I mean, you're with a celebrity! Don't you have some ulterior motive now that you've figured me out, hmm?"

Despite the cocky tone, the Nordic boy picked up on her sadness. Though curiosity and even fear were apparent, too. Something is wrong, here.

Deciding to switch to his—and her—native language, he drummed his fingers on the side of the building they were leaning against. "Why should I, in your words, 'freak out'? You're a celebrity, yes, but you're also a citizen of Iceland. And a child."

"Dude, how old are you?" she responded in equally fluent Icelandic. "I mean, you look like a teenager, but you're hair's as silver as the seniors I sang for last week, ha."

"Sixteen," Iceland muttered, the quip about his hair reminding him of an interaction with Denmark that he did not appreciate.

"Wait a minute! You're Icelandic too? That is so cool!"

The Nation wanted to facepalm at the fact that she didn't realize that they both switched languages until now.

"Well, this is a first for me; I've never talked to someone from Iceland in America, before."

"Really?"

"Yeah… Not to mention, you're definitely not as creepy as a lot of my fans. Just this week, I was groped five times, and some creep kissed me! So much for bodyguards. I've been harassed so many times, but no one's doing anything about it! Everyone's in it for the publicity; I can't go anywhere without cameras in my face. It's not fun anymore!"

Before Iceland knew it, the taller girl lunged forward and grabbed his jacket, tears falling from her azure eyes. "I started singing for my dad, since he thought I was talented, but after he died, my mother sold my soul to the devil! Not literally, of course, but with the state of the music industry nowadays, it's pretty damn close." She rubbed her eyes and sat down, leaning her back against the building. "I'm just so…tired. They're controlling everything! My songs, my tone of voice, even my name! I'm in a cage."

Iceland's heart went out to the girl, and, in a gesture that seemed unlike him, sat down next to her and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. "Can't you just leave?"

"No. I have to stick with the contract for three more years. And mother dearest would throw a fit if I left early. Just imagine the scandal I would cause! I'd love to be remembered, but not for something that stupid. If I was to leave the industry, I'd want to go out with a bang, something so wonderful and awe-inspiring that people would be applauding for years to come!"

Iceland was about to respond, but shouting interrupted him before he could even begin.

"There you are! You had us all worried!" A woman who looked exactly like the girl sitting next to him reached her hand out. "Get over here! You don't have time to be bothering the locals!" She grabbed the younger blonde's hand and yanked her to her feet.

"But, mother!" she began in Icelandic.

"No. You do not speak that ugly language here. Remember, you are touring in America. No one wants to hear your stupid accent here. Why can't you learn to mask it like I do?"

Iceland felt sick. He knew that the girl's mother was Icelandic as well, and hearing her insult the nation he personified was too much.

"Excuse me," he stated, anger bubbling in his chest.

"Why don't you get lost, boy? You got your fifteen minutes of fame with her. Don't be one of those fans."

Not wanting to start something, he shook his head and began to walk away. When he saw the look on his new friend's face, he nodded to her. "Eiríkur Pettersson, Reykjavik."

"I'll find you, somehow," she responded.

/

Two more years had passed since their first meeting, and Iceland noticed that she had grown up. She had gotten slightly taller, and her figure filled out in the right places. He had no idea that Norway had walked into his room until the older Nordic turned off the television.

"You are getting too attached, Eiríkur."

"Is it so bad that I am looking out for her? No one else seems to want to."

"She is a nineteen-year-old human. You can't let her into your heart."

"You're making it sound like I'm in love with her," the silver-haired boy grumbled.

"Are you?" Norway's voice was hard, harder than it had ever gotten.

"No! You know me, Kjetil. Is it so bad that I consider her a friend?"

"You're only going to end up hurt. Just move on with your life."

"Fine."

Of course, Iceland did not mean what he said, so when he discovered that the girl's next tour stopped in Reykjavik, he quickly bought three front row tickets (one of the perks of being a Nation). One was for him, obviously, but the other two were for Latvia and Sealand, both of whom were fans of her music. Both were ecstatic to learn that they were invited to a real concert (though Latvia kept going on about ways he could pay Iceland back), and were happy to come.

The day before the concert, all three Nations (well, two Nations and one micronation) decided to eat lunch together at a local park.

Everything was quiet and peaceful until a loud, "It's you!" in Icelandic echoed through the trees.

Iceland's head snapped up at the sound; he knew that voice.

"Are these your friends? Wow, they're short!" She ran up to where they were sitting and plopped herself down.

"Yeah. And they can't speak Icelandic. The one with the big eyebrows is British, and the shaking one is Latvian."

"Oh, very exotic." She smirked. "Hi! It's nice to meet you." She directed this, in carefully pronounced English, towards the younger Nations.

Both boys looked in awe.

"You know her?" Sealand practically gasped.

"Yeah, he helped me out when I was in America once. He was a real gentleman."

"How romantic!" Latvia's eyes went wide, and he covered his mouth, embarrassed, looking away.

"Aww, you're adorable!" She scooted over to the tiny blond and ruffled his hair. "How old are you, eleven?"

"Fifteen."

"Wow, you could have fooled me!"

Not used to the (positive) attention, Latvia turned away and leaned closer to Iceland.

"Can I feel your hair?"

Sealand's request made Iceland want to bash his head against the nearest wall.

But instead of brushing the comment off, the girl shrugged. "Sure. At least you asked; most guys just grab it."

"That's just mean…" Sealand gently ran his fingers through her silky hair, amazed at how long it was. "Your hair's like an awesome waterfall!"

"Thank you!" Soon after, the smile disappeared from her face, and she turned to Iceland. "Eiríkur, there's something you should know."

"What?" He wasn't sure he liked her tone. She was speaking in their shared language, so he knew it was important.

"I'm ending it, tomorrow. Well, my music career, that is. I can no longer be controlled by everyone; it's driving me insane!"

"What are you going to do?"

"For the best effect, I'm going to pull out the front page of my contract during my last song and burn it in the pyrotechnics. Then, I'm going to storm off the stage after the song is over!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? It sounds dangerous."

"Ah, I've worked with pyrotechnics before. I'll be fine. I know exactly where everything will be; I rehearsed this too many times to mess up! I mean, the regular pyrotechnic guy got sick today, so I'll have a new one for the concert, but it should be fine." Switching back to English, she turned to the younger boys. "Sorry about that; I was discussing world domination and new song ideas with Eiríkur."

/

Something felt…off…to Iceland during the night of the concert. His stomach just felt weird, and his hands kept shaking. Latvia noticed, and grabbed onto it with his own trembling hand, looking up at his friend.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. Maybe just nerves of excitement?"

As the songs went on, Iceland became more at-ease. There was just something about her voice that calmed him, and made him smile. That, and the fact that both Sealand and Latvia were smiling as well, made the night, for him.

When she announced her last song, everyone cheered; it was one of her most popular hits. As she moved closer and closer to a certain spot, Iceland could sense her arms shaking. Finally, at the bridge of the song, she stopped moving, reaching into the front of her shirt. When she grabbed the piece of paper, she smiled, and Iceland could see tears in the corners of her eyes. He nodded, and she smiled wider, nodding back.

"Here's what I think of your contract!" she screamed in English, crumpling the paper into a ball. "You can't control me anymore!"

Suddenly, the fireworks went off, but something was wrong. Instead of standing just outside the dangerous zone, she was much too close, almost on top of it. Iceland could only stare as the girl he watched grow up was destroyed, a last look of horror on her face.

Latvia screamed, burying his face in Iceland's shirt, hyperventilating, frantically whispering something about 'barricades'. The entirety of the crowd echoed him, becoming a mess of screams so loud that the Nordic boy was disoriented. He looked to his other side and saw Sealand's face was frozen in shock. He also noticed that people were taking pictures. People were taking pictures of this horrific scene, where a young girl had just died. Adrenaline hitting him, he picked up both his friends and ran, ran as fast as he could to the emergency exit, and then outside. Once he was far enough away from the venue, he fell to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. His heart ached terribly, and before he could suppress them, sobs tore from his throat. He felt thin arms around him, and when he looked, noticed that Latvia embraced him.

Sealand grabbed his phone and shakily dialed a number. "Papa?" he asked, his voice tearful. "Something happened. Something really bad! Can you pick us up?"

That was the last thing Iceland heard before he passed out.

When he awoke, Iceland realized that he was in his bed, with Latvia sleeping soundly next to him, curled up against his side. He also noticed that Norway sat on the foot of the bed, his eyes filled with uncharacteristic sadness.

"Now, do you see?"

Iceland shook his head, trying to remove the images from his mind.

"By letting her into your heart, her death especially hit you hard. It doesn't help that she was one of your citizens…" He cleared his throat before continuing. "When Nations form a special bond with humans, it only leads to heartbreak. Humans are transient creatures, while we are eternal ones."

"I want to go out with a bang, something so wonderful and awe-inspiring that people would be applauding for years to come!" Her words echoed through Iceland's mind, and he threw his arms around Norway's body and cried. He allowed himself to be rocked, just like he was when he was a child. He sobbed and sobbed until he exhausted himself.

"Does the hurt ever go away?" he rasped, his swollen eyes looking up at his brother.

Norway turned away, but when he looked back, his eyes were glassy.

"No."

See? That was the weirdest thing I've ever written!

I wanted to try a somewhat different writing style, with this one.

I also wanted to explore the idea of Nations befriending their people, as well as the unfortunate consequences of it.

While the singer is fictional, she might sound familiar to people who watch my DeviantART account, XD. (Though, as a clue, the name that means 'ugly' and 'cloudy' in Icelandic is 'Ljótur'. :) )

On a list of popular names for Norway, 'Kjetil Thomassen' was one of the potential names Himaruya liked for Norge. (I liked it better than the more-common 'Lukas Bondevik', so I used it instead, XD.)

I hope this wasn't too bad…