Hei.

I wanted to upload here too, my writing challenge, about Iceland. And his relationships. You can also find it on Tumblr.

Fist prompt of the 30 days writing challenge. A place that you love. I was just inspired by the weather outside, windy, rainy, cold weather. Reminds me of Iceland bleh. So. There's a crappy DenIce for the first day.

Enjoy!

A single tear rolled down his cheek, he wiped it away and looked right in front of him. There was a strong wind, causing his hair to be even ruffled than usual. But he didn't care. He just stood there, watching the whole landscape in front of him. He sighed, hands in his pockets. The sensation to be all alone in the world, he could feel it right here, right now. He was alone. Or not so.

He didn't hear the footsteps behind him. Maybe because of the wind. Maybe because he didn't pay attention. But he could feel the shoulder pressing against his arm. He turned his head, looking at the teenager standing next to him, eyes riveted on the landscape. He didn't say anything. For once, the other began to speak.

"What are you doing here, Danmörk?"

_ Just taking a look at your land.

_ That's useless. You had like eight centuries to do that.

_ I know. You don't have to be that cold, Is.

_ … You should leave already. That's not yours anymore. You better go back to your home.

_ I never said it was mine. All that. That always was yours.

_ You did.

_ No. I said you were mine. That's kinda different. I was afraid to loose you, not that."

He said that while pointing the landscape. He gave a look at Iceland. He did grow up. He wasn't the child he used to know. He wasn't a child anymore. And he didn't saw that coming. He didn't know how to react when those lips were pressed against his. He just remained silent when the teen turned around and began to go away. He stretched his hand out, grabbing Iceland's shoulder. The other didn't make a move, waiting.

"What was that for ?

_ You know. Even if I'm independent. You can always come to visit."

And he pushed away Denmark's hand and left, not letting the blonde say any other word. Denmark watched him walk for a while, then he gave a last look at the land. It was always breathtaking. Iceland was right. He could always come back here, that won't disappear. He loved that island. But was he sure, that it was only the island?