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He was just minding his own business, really, when he heard a loud knocking sound on his door. The hammering sound was repetitive and insistent— it made him nearly jump out of his seat.
He frowned softly, standing up, and venturing over to his door with caution. No country he knew knocked that loud.
Nevertheless, he slowly turned the handle and pulled the door back.
Amerika?
Yes, America was standing in his doorway… for whatever reason.
He gave America a welcoming smile, though.
Out of all countries..? The daunting thought appeared.
"Hey, Sweden!" was the rather loud greeting from America.
Sweden gave America a confirming nod, stepping back to let the striped country into his home.
America walked in like he owned the place, stepping with prideful, long strides. Sweden let out a quiet sigh, following the other country.
America quickly found himself a free chair— the one that Sweden himself had been sitting in. The striped country sat with his legs open while he rested an arm on the nearby table. He had a large smile on his face.
Sweden said no more, returning to the kitchen. He had been organizing a few of his items earlier, so he resumed that.
"Do you have any food?"
Sweden paused. He was sure he did not have anything. He walked over to his cupboard and opened it, looking inside. There was flour and sugar, nothing else.
Sweden looked over at America, who was giving him an intense, expectant stare, even with his glasses on. The stare made him feel a little off— somewhat uneasy.
Quicker than usual, he walked over to his fridge and opened it. There was food, but he did not want to give it to America. It was his.
Though, when he glanced over at America, he was deterred from telling the country the truth of what he felt. America was still staring him down with that unsettling weight.
Sweden took a glance out the window. The sky was darkening— his saving grace.
"Actually, I was going to go and sleep," he simply said, turning away.
All he got was a still, somehow enthusiastic, "Okay!" from America.
And, to his surprise, as he walked towards the stairs, he heard America get up and start following him.
He wasn't sure how to feel about that. If America really had something so important to say, he should just say it now. Despite his doubt, he kept walking, climbing up the stairs with— yes— America still following him and walking to his room.
Before Sweden could get there though, he stopped. Why was America in his house, asking for his food, walking to his room, completely ignoring his privacy? He did not like that. He didn't mind being welcoming to others, but America always carried this specific sense of authority over others. He did not particularly enjoy America's attitude, especially in his house and on his land.
Sweden turned around, about to say this to America, but was only able to get out the striped country's name before he stopped himself.
"America…"
He was stopped by two things: a realization that, yes, technically America's authority was… pretty true, and that, two, he did not want to offend America. They were alone. Just him and America. And America had been pushy, ignoring his boundaries. That was already a red flag waving itself right in front of his face. Who knows how America could react if he complained… temper, temper.
"Yes, Sweden?"
America was looking down at him, with a particular powerful demeanor. He did not like how intense America was— that was it. That’s what was unsettling to him about the bright-starred country.
So now, he was stuck. Dead silent. Completely still, standing in front of one of the most— if not the most— powerful countries in the world… who he had also, not to mention, just joined an alliance with.
He opened his mouth… and nothing came out.
A small frown grew on America's face, "What’s wrong?"
Sweden looked up at him, trying to make the best eye contact he could through the dark sunglasses, "Is there something important that you want to talk about?"
The frown only grew.
"...Not really."
America looked down.
"If— if you want me to leave, then I can."
Sweden immediately felt a little bad… not that he cared too much, but America seemed a little defeated now.
He gave into the feeling of pity, "No, it's alright, you can stay," the words were spoken before he could think.
He gave himself a mental slap in the face. Now, he would have to deal with America, a… louder country… on his peaceful afternoon. Which was fine, but he needed some rest soon too. He hoped that America wouldn't insist on keeping him awake.
America looked up, giving him a little smile. Dare he say America looked cute— not in a weird way, of course, just a… puppy way? That was the word.
Sweden turned around and walked over to his room. America followed him.
He entered his room, which was illuminated by a warm, dim light. He took a seat on his small bed while America sat on the chair adjacent to his bed.
Earlier, he was not lying about wanting to sleep, but he did not want to sleep right this second— and not when America was here. But, he wasn’t sure what to talk about. He waited in silence for America to say the first word.
America’s sharp attention was on him all the sudden, “You joined NATO because of Russia?”
Sweden paused.
So this was what America wanted to talk about?
He knew he had to be careful with his answer. Yes, the main reason was because of the threat of Russia, but he had stated that he had other reasons— in order to guarantee that he’d be able to join.
”There are numerous reasons that I joined,” Sweden answered, almost robotically.
America leaned forward, “But the main reason, being because of Russia’s aggression?” the striped country’s tone held a forceful air.
Sweden hesitated to answer.
“That is a reason, yes.”
He could see frustration flash across America’s face.
“You don’t have to be so difficult, Sweden." There was something condescending about America's tone. It made him feel uneasy once again. His eyes locked on America, who had bolted up from his chair in an instant.
A small flash of panic overtook him.
He shifted back, more frantically than he needed to, away from America.
“Just answer the question, Sverige."
America loomed over him. His fluctuating demeanor changed from enthusiastic to threatening, far too quick for Sweden's liking.
Sweden stayed silent, staring up at America, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t been in a situation like this for… a while … it was unfortunate that this was happening to him so quickly after he joined NATO.
Well, what did I expect? The petty thought popped into his head.
But then, America let out a loud sigh, looking down and placing a hand over his face. Sweden noticed his body sagged a little.
"...I'm sorry, Sweden."
America looked away from him.
Sweden frowned a bit, now really not sure of how to feel.
There was a shift from America.
"I'm just trying to find out the truth, that's all. I can understand why you don't want to tell me. I will not bother you about it anymore," America said, his deepened apologetic gaze fixed on Sweden.
Sweden was quiet when he spoke, "Thank you."
He was not going to tell America that it 'was okay' or anything similar to that. He did not appreciate America going interrogation mode on him and completely ignoring his boundaries.
America then turned away from him and walked over to the chair, sinking down into it when he sat.
"...But we are glad to have you join for whatever reasons you have."
America sounded like he was relaying a message that he had practiced a thousand times. The sentence felt like an advertisement— Sweden didn't really feel the emotion behind it. Maybe it was just the way America talked, or maybe it was something else. It felt impersonal and insincere.
But, Sweden had to say something back.
"Thank you for letting me join, America. I'm sure we will be close allies."
Sweden felt too, as if his words did not hold any weight.
But, he looked over to see America smiling.
—
"Amerika?"
He looked over to the striped country. There was no movement.
Sweden stood up and slowly ventured over to the immobile country.
He stared at America. America was slouched down in the chair, with a hand supporting his head and the other on the armrest. His legs were slightly spread apart, relaxed. His sunglasses had shifted down a bit, parting from his face by the smallest matter.
America was asleep.
Sweden, a bit timidly, pushed America's sunglasses back in place.
The starred country did not stir.
The blue and yellow country turned away, walking over to his bed and grabbing a spare blanket that lay at the foot. He made his way back to America and unfolded the blanket.
Sweden, knowing it was cold, lightly placed it over America, attempting not to touch him as he did so. He did his best to keep the blanket from possibly falling off with the odd position America was in.
He didn't know how a country could fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position.
He also knew that America must be tired— more than a country usually is.
Obviously, all countries had their problems, but it seemed like America was facing a lot right now, all at the same time. In a way, America had brought it upon himself, with the police-ish way he acted towards other countries, but that was an aspect of his government. Sweden wasn't sure America's people— who also made up who America was as a county human— agreed with their government's actions.
Maybe all of this complication would explain America's somewhat bipolar personality.
Sweden took a step back from the sleeping county.
"...God-natt, Amerika."
Sweden's quiet mumble was the last audible sound in the room for many hours.
Blinking slowly, he made his way over to the small bed he had. He considered himself lucky that America hadn't chosen to sit down with him on the bed— because then he'd be the one sleeping in an uncomfortable place.
He quit his what-ifs and reached for the lamp, turning it off with a click. He pulled his blankets back, settling into his comfortable bed. He was tired, and now that America was asleep, he felt like he could sleep as well.
Slowly, even with the dim, blue illumination softly shining through the window, Sweden drifted off to sleep.