Your Papa, Finland, picked you up and balanced you on his hip. "Well, sweetie, it's time for bed."
"Noooooo!" you whined.
"Come on, honey, you know that you have school tomorrow."
"But I'm not-"
"No 'but's', (f/n)."
You huffed indignantly. "Papa, I'm not tired!"
He smiled. "If you want, I'll even sing you a lullaby."
This made you brighten up immediately. You loved your Papa's soft voice, especially when he sang in Finnish. It carried clearly, but still remained quiet at the same time. The way he could hold a note was mesmerizing, and could make even the tensest person in the world relax.
Finland knew that he had you there. You loved hearing him sing, he knew it. When you were young, you would beg for ages for him to sing while he pretended to be thinking about it. Finland grinned at the memories.
"Really?" you asked breathlessly.
"Yes, really. Maybe I'll even sing you two if we leave right now."
You gasped. "Let's go, now!"
Your Papa laughed. He carried you out of the living room and into the kitchen, where Sweden sat at the table.
"Su-san, I'm taking (f/n) up to bed."
Sweden glanced up from his IKEA catalogue. "Mmhmm. G'd n'ght, h'ney."
With that, Finland carried you upstairs to your room. He tucked you in under the thick comforter and sat at the edge of the bed.
"Lennä, lennä leppäkerttu
ison kiven juureen,
siellä on sun äitis, isäs,
keittää sulle puuroo." 1
Repeating this a few times, he looked over at you. You were obviously tired, but were holding onto consciousness for the second lullaby that he promised you. Finland was surprised. You were usually out like a light within the first two times he repeated the song. He racked his brain for the other one you had loved as a child.
"Körö körö kirkkoon,
papin muorin penkkiin
pom, pom, pom." 2
And, finishing that last song, you were asleep faster than lightning could appear in the sky.
"Minä rakastan sinua 3 , (f/n)."