Happy birthday to my favourite character, Norway! What's this about me having to revise? This was going to kill me if I didn't do it. I'm sorry if this is inaccurate; I haven't seen Hetalia or written anything Hetalia in a long while, but I still love my baby a heck of a lot. I hope you enjoy.
The seventeenth of May was always Hell for Norway when Denmark was around. It was especially bad when he came over and actually remembered what the day was - Norway's birthday. There had been a couple of years where, fortunately for Norway, Denmark had completely forgotten what the day was. But, this was rare. And so, every birthday, his door would be practically knocked down.
"Happy birthday, Norge! Let's go drinking!" he would bellow, dragging an unwilling Iceland behind him. The two of them would always have a present each, which Norway would place on the coffee table, intending to open them once they had left. Or, at least, once Denmark had left.
The answer would always be "No. I have plans today, go away," but the answer would never be taken as good enough.
And that was how Norway and Iceland found themselves at a bar with Denmark - a bar that knew the three of them fairly well - who had already chugged two beers in the past half an hour. He was by no means a lightweight, but once he was drunk, it was a sudden change. The other two dreaded that change. Norway, not being in the mood for drinking at that particular moment, took small sips of his rather large glass of beer. When Denmark made an attempt at ordering alcohol for Iceland, his older brother point-blank refused and made him get lemonade instead. And so, Iceland would have had to deal with an intoxicated Denmark soon enough.
Denmark separated from the two of them to mingle with strangers and regulars alike. They were content with sipping their drinks in the corner and pretending they didn't know the loud Dane. But Denmark didn't seem to want to let that happen, much to their horror.
Soon, Norway was pulled away from the sane company of his brother and dragged away to a more spacious area. Denmark had kindly requested the bar would play music - "It's my best friend's birthday!". Though Norway could try to push him away, it seemed that Denmark was a lot stronger when drunk. He would have to deal with the tight grip on his arm and around his waist that kept him in place and stopped him from making a dash for the door.
"Come on, let's dance!"
Norway could have said 'no' and struggled all he wanted, but he realised one thing. Denmark was like a wave; if Norway went along with him, he would survive, but if he resisted, he would end up drowning in the sea of complaints and pleads. He decided he should probably just go along with this.
Though the music didn't fit - Denmark seemed to have this thing about being awkward - he led the dance into some sort of odd waltz. Perhaps he was too drunk to dance properly, but he still made a valiant effort, one Norway could have applauded him for. He tried to relax a little into the dance, but it was impossible when he was held in a surprisingly tight grip and he could smell the stench of beer on Denmark's breath.
The song may have been over, but not the dance. When Norway tried to escape, Denmark was there to quickly start a new dance. Sighing in resignation, he danced along with him in a half-hearted attempt. He wanted to go back to his brother, who looked annoyed. Then again, it was rare to see him smile.
When Norway was finally released, he was going to sit back with Iceland. However, he seemed to be entertaining himself with a blond-haired stranger. This left the older brother with two options. He could go home and risk getting complained at by both Iceland and Denmark, and Lord knows he didn't want to deal with that the next morning. Or he could go along with the idiot and see where that took him.
He was glad that he picked the latter.
Norway might not have remembered the night when he woke up the next morning, but from the snapshots he remembered, it seemed like a good night. He woke up alone, which was another bonus; no regrets from the previous night would linger. The smell of sickness and beer hung in the air like a cloud of gas, and his head felt like an elephant was stamping on it with the beating of his heart, but he was content.
He knew that, once he could stomach the thought of getting up, he would find Denmark asleep on his couch, snoring rather loudly and sleeping as heavily as every year. Of course Norway dreaded this every day of the year, but when it came to the next morning, he did not regret the decision of letting Denmark crash his birthday.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was quite fun to have around. Not that he would ever know that Norway felt this way though, of course. There were a lot of things he kept to himself, so what was wrong with keeping a bit of fun to himself?