Norway's hands felt freezing when he came back home that night. The outside world was dark and the cold seemed to seep down through his clothes, through his skin, right down to his bones.

The house was quiet. Far too quiet, considering Denmark was home. A quick peek at the kitchen showed something hot and delicious waiting on the stove, but no tall loud Danish.

Norway climbed the stairs and followed the warm, damp scent that led to the bathroom. He pushed the door open and found Denmark fast asleep on a tub full of colorful sparkly water. Norway narrowed his eyes at him. The bedsheets would be full of glitter now, he just knew it. And yet, as he looked at him, he found that he couldn't get angry.

Eyes closed, head lolled to the side, and with that dumb spiky hair that always seemed to pretend like gravity wasn't a thing.

He was home.

Living, breathing home.

Notes:

Dedicated to nekochanthekitty who requested it over at my Tumblr.
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