Hello again! Happy belated holidays and happy new year!

Last year I posted fluff for the holidays. This year it's angst. Really shows the evolution of my writing, huh? Anyway, this really sprang from my interest in a Netherlands Denmark friendship. It all spiraled off after that. There are a couple of relationships in crisis here (not necessarily all romantic): Spamano, SuFin, DenNor, Netherlands and Belgium. So, go ahead, I guess. :)

"Netherlands!" The voice was exuberantly colored by a grin. Netherlands shoved his hands into his pockets. He walked faster.

"Huh? W-Wait up!" Well, obviously if it was that person telling him to wait up he would be sure to do the opposite. He sped up even more.

"Netherlands! No, hold on, Netherlands! Wait!" The voice was a little more insistent now. It was accompanied by rapid footsteps. Panting could be heard, and with a puff of white breath and some skidding he was soon traipsing beside him. "Hey! I was calling for you back there, did you hear?"

Netherlands waited a little, tested for any sign of annoyance on the other's part. Nothing.

"…Yeah, I did," he said, trying to provoke an intense reaction. But Spain only shrugged.

"Ah, that's all right. You were probably just busy."

"I wasn't."

"Anyway, wonderful Christmas, isn't it?" Spain sighed blissfully, ignoring Netherlands completely. The man grunted.

"I see you haven't gotten rid of that habit."

"Huh? What habit?"

"The one where you block out everything you don't want to hear." There was silence after that. Spain hid in the folds of his scarf and Netherlands stared straight ahead. After a while, he began to wonder at the prolonged quiet. Spain would usually be jabbering away by now. What was wrong with him today…?

"Hey, old man," he offered nonchalantly. "What are you doing in Amsterdam anyway?" Immediately the other man lit up.

"Oh, me? Nothing. It's just that it's Christmas, you know, and that peaceful, friendly spirit is in the air… Please be nice to me, just this once; it's Christmas!" Spain whirled on him, clasping his mittened hands together. He looked positively pathetic. Well, Netherlands had to admit that he'd never pulled anything like that before.

"No."

"What? But please, please, please—"

"No."

"Why?" Ah, the reasons. Netherlands straightened up and looked away imperiously.

"One: I don't like you. Two: You annoy the hell out of me. Three: I'm already in a bad mood and Christmas this year has sucked ass big time."

"What? But Christmas is supposed to be a happy holiday." God, he hated that stupid pitying look on Spain's idiotic face.

"What's it to you?"

"I just want to help you." The pity was replaced by hurt. Netherlands finally looked at the other man.

"You know what would help? If you went away and left me alone." Suddenly Spain seemed like he had had an epiphany.

"I have a better idea. What if I took you somewhere to get drinks? Your choice, and it'll all be on me." What an idiot. Netherlands could hold his weight in drinks, and everybody knew it.

"I'm not sure you could afford it, with your economy and all." It was meant to be a stinging insult, but Spain merely grinned.

"Let me worry about that. Tonight, it's just you, me, and—"

"Café Gollem. It's near Spuistraat; follow me." Without another word, Netherlands brushed Spain aside and made for the pub. The other man looked at him; then he happily ran to catch up.

"And then, and then he—hic!—hit me on the head and went out the door," Spain sobbed. His pint of beer wobbled dangerously on the counter. Sitting beside him, Netherlands mulled sourly over his current state of affairs. He stared into the dark gold surface of his beer and thought that he could see everything that had transpired in the last few hours.

He and Spain had gone to Gollem. It was more crowded than usual; to be expected, as it was Christmas Eve. They'd gone in, sat down, ordered what they wanted. Spain, wonderful drinking partner that he was, had gotten stoned after four pints. Netherlands was on his sixth and had only begun to feel buzzed. Now the Spaniard was crying over how that angry Italian he liked had left him alone on Christmas and Netherlands was wishing that he was dead-out drunk.

"Shut up, you," he muttered, hunching forward. He downed the last of his beer and called for another.

"Romano left me! He left—left me to go to Italy's house! Well, they are brothers, but he could have at least said Merry Christmas! He didn't even take the tomatoes I packed for him!" With that, tears cascaded out of Spain's eyes again. He slumped into his arms, wailing. His earmuffs rode up into his hair. Netherlands was disgusted.

"Pull yourself together."

"It's not just that, though!" Spain sat up and swiveled around on his stool to face the other man. His eyes were pale red all over. "He told me that I was too clingy, and—" His voice dwindled to a jagged whisper. "And that after this night, he was going to leave me for good. He's been threatening to do that for a long time, but he's never actually done it before!" Netherlands sighed.

"He's probably just saying that—"

"No. He meant it." Spain sounded sober. When he sounded sober, it meant that he was serious. When he was serious, it meant that whatever he was talking about would turn out to be true. When what he said turned out to be true, he would hole himself up in his house for months on end like a hermit. Netherlands concluded that Spain was seriously right that his Italian would never come back and he wasn't going to show his face for quite a while. In his mind, he cheered.

"Tough luck."

"I—I guess it is. I'm going to go home. Thanks for spending time with me." Spain managed a tilted, tremulous smile. He pushed himself off the stool, adjusted his earmuffs. "Good night, Netherlands." He made his way slowly to the exit. The Dutchman had just turned back to his beer when he remembered something.

"Hey, you still have to pay—" He saw the unsteady, lonesome figure of Spain framed in the doorway. His head was down, and his hands were crammed into the too-small pockets of his slacks. In a moment he was gone, had disappeared into the swallowing white of the snow outside. Netherlands huffed. Well, Spain had seemed really depressed, and Romano probably had left him for good… Perhaps it would be okay to pay for the guy this once. He went back to watching his mug. The liquid inside swirled around as he moved his cup. His eyes gradually flittered onto the muted gray walls of the pub. Occasional memorabilia, beer-related, were scattered here and there. The bartender dully polished the dirty glasses sent his way. His customers slouched in their seats, downing alcohol by the minute. Their faces were marred by five o'clock shadows. Dark circles lined the bottoms of their tired eyes.

Netherlands took a large gulp of his drink. How many beers had he had…? One more swig sent his head to rest on his crossed arms. Another made his vision flutter and distort.

Three mugs later, he was in the darkest, happiest oblivion of his life.

"Hey, Sve?"

"Hm?"

"Isn't that Netherlands over there?"

"I guess."

"He looks pretty drunk."

"Hm."

"Let's help him."

"I dunno. Th's is his turf; he'll find his way back ev'ntually."

"Come on, Sve! He's just laying there."

"Hm."

"… Fine. I'll do it myself."

"… All right, I'll h'lp."

"You don't have to do it if you're that against it."

"C'me on."

"Where do we take him?"

"I dunno, you're the one who w'nted to h'lp him."

"You're blaming me for helping someone? I can't believe this."

"I'm not blaming anyone, I'm j'st stating facts."

"I can tell when you're being sarcastic. Anyway, I do have an idea. He's friends with Denmark; we'll take him there."

"Fine."

"… Things aren't how they used to be between us, are they, Sve?"

"Hm."

Fake. It was all fake.

The lighthearted way that he yelled "Be there in a sec!" when he heard the knocking on his front door. Fake. The way that he smiled at his visitors when he finally got to the porch. Fake. The way that Sweden and Finland stood together, like they were one big loving family. Fake. The only reality that was present was the way Netherlands was balanced between the two Nordics; tilted precariously and liable to fall off at any moment.

"Hey, Denmark," Finland greeted. His voice was fabricated from synthetic cheerfulness. "Sve and I were going home when we saw Netherlands. He's pretty drunk, so… Since you two are good friends, would you mind looking after him until he's better?"

"Sure, no problem!" The plastic of his enthusiastic tone stung his own ears. "Give him here." Netherlands' solid weight was comforting on his shoulder.

"All right, then. We'll be going." Finland waved.

"Yeah. Good night." He mustered up a perky little wave too, then watched as Sweden and Finland walked away in single-file. Netherlands was put in the armchair in the living room. Denmark sat across from him on the couch. He'd never known his friend to be so vulnerable and still. Even as he slept, Netherlands' brow was furrowed. Perhaps he had had a bad Christmas as well.

It was then that Denmark noticed the dried beer at the corners of Netherlands' mouth. He sighed. The Dutchman must have gotten very drunk if he had allowed himself to become this sloppy. He was usually so neat, just like—

Denmark stood up to go to the washroom. There, he took a towel and ran it under some warm water. Then he carried the dripping washcloth to the living room and began to wash his friend's face. The water lapped the smudges away with gentle swirls. As he wiped the rest of the grime off, Denmark became increasingly incensed. Who was Netherlands to go out for a drink on Christmas Eve? Who was he to have someone to drink with? Who was he to enjoy his evening while Denmark rotted in the closed-off hell of his house?

"Wake up, damn you," he growled, and wrung the washcloth dry over Netherlands' head. The water soaked into the fine brown-gold hair, loosening the strands from their usual positions so that they hung down over and around his face. Yet he did not wake up. Instead, it was Denmark who started and staggered back, clutching the towel until his knuckles turned white.

"Norway," he whispered. His heart twisted. No longer was Netherlands sitting before him; rather, it was Norway, the very same Norway who had left their closely knit quadrangle to take up with Iceland, a little island off to the side. The Norway whom he had failed to confess his feelings to and who would never come to realize them.

The Norway who was here now, situated compliantly before him.

He took small, cat-like steps until he was standing in front of the armchair. Kneeling down, he let his delirium take over.

"Norway," Denmark breathed. "You have no idea how long it took me to say this. I'm not normally a shy guy, so you know how hard it is for me. Um… I might love you. Or maybe I really do; I'm not sure." He smiled widely at the broken figment of his mind. "So don't get freaked out or anything. Um… Is this usually the part where they kiss?" Norway sighed at his naïveté. Yes, idiot. Now come on.

"Yessir," Denmark grinned. He leaned forward tentatively. His eyes closed the moment his lips touched the other's. He could feel the chapped velvet of Norway's mouth on his own. When he begged for entrance, however, he was denied.

"Norway," he whined lowly. When it became apparent that his pleas were futile, he resorted to licking at the other's lips. They tasted like mystique and salt, with a strong hint of… beer. At that, Denmark opened his eyes. Norway was gone. Netherlands' closed eyes stared at him accusingly. He wrenched himself away.

"Damn it. Damn it all," he muttered, tasting the salt of tears on his tongue. Norway hardly drank at all, and never did when he was over at Denmark's house. "Goddamn it," he cried, breaking openly. He collapsed onto the couch again and covered his eyes with his arm. There he stayed, until evening turned to night and night turned to dawn.

When it was morning, Netherlands awoke. He winced at his unfamiliar surroundings and blinked at the sight of Denmark.

"H-Hey," he called. His head exploded. That was good; after one huge burst of pain he usually felt a lot better. Across from him, Denmark stared at his blank ceiling.

"Hey," he replied. "Merry Christmas." Netherlands grunted.

"Christmas, huh?" he murmured to himself. "How long have I been here?"

"Since last night." Denmark finally roused himself. He got to his feet. "You want breakfast?"

"No, I'm good." His head was a little clearer now. Netherlands tried standing up. He wobbled and then regained his balance. "Thanks for helping me out."

He looked out of the window at the orange sun. Maybe (not likely) Belgium would be home, where she belonged, when he got back.

Thanks for reading, and please tell me how it was! I'm always open to critique.