AN: This is a specific fluff piece that I was asked to do for my editor. I dunno why she asked for this pairing, but whatever. I do what everyone else tells me LOL! This is my first-ever Hetalia fic so please forgive me if it makes no sense. As always, thank you for reading and I don't own the characters (although I really do wish that I did!) Cheers.
Vodka
The bar, like all good bars, was dimly lit. The establishment was empty except for the bartender and two patrons. They were seated at the long wooden bar itself, as opposed to the plush and ultimately more private booths in the corner. One of the men was blonde, with long hair and a green military uniform. The other, taller of the two, had brownish hair that sometimes looked grey, blue eyes and was wearing a soft white scarf.
Russia and Poland were drinking vodka together.
Poland was a very laid back sort of guy, he'd been so brow beaten and overrun by Germany that he had no reason to decline Russia's offer of a night of binge drinking, and truth be told, he couldn't afford his own drinks.
So the two men sat quietly, drinking vodka in the Russian manner – a bottle of the bar's best vodka sitting between them and each shot followed by a pickle or a mouthful of sauerkraut. It was a pleasant silence. Russia got more friendly the more vodka he imbibed and Poland wasn't one to argue when someone else was buying the drinks.
"Poland," Russia slurred, "how come you're not afraid of me like everyone else?"
Poland stopped, a pickle hanging from his mouth like a tiny cigar. "What do you mean?" He asked cheerily.
"I mean that everyone else is always on edge around me." Russia said, not really clarifying the issue. "But not you. You're a good friend."
Poland smiled, his cheeks flushed with heat from the vodka. "You're always so good to me, Russia." Poland said dreamily. "You buy me vodka and bring me new socks. Since Germany no longer wants anything to do with me, I figure I should make new friends who aren't mean to me."
Russia smiled, his face bright red with the afterglow of copious amounts of alcohol. He scooted a little closer to Poland and poured his friend another glass of vodka from the bottle they'd bought.
"You helped me when I needed it the most." Poland said before he took his vodka shot. He snatched up another of the tiny pickles and crunched on it thoughtfully. "And you're really just a big misunderstood softie."
Russia laughed and took a shot. "You are too kind." He slurred, patting his friend affectionately on the arm. "I'm only sorry that I wasn't able to help you sooner."
Poland stared at the grains in the wooden bar. "It's okay." He mumbled. "You helped me when you could!"
Russia stood shakily. "You're right!" he exclaimed. "And now we are the best of friends!"
Poland lifted his eyes to stare at the tall man. "We are?"
"Is that not all right?" Russia asked as he swayed drunkenly on the spot.
"It's a good start." Poland said hesitantly.
Russia narrowed his eyes and stared at Poland, placing his hand against his temple as though he was reading Poland's mind.
"Oh..." Russia said with a moment of amazing clarity. "I know!"
Russia leaned forward and kissed Poland full on the mouth.
"You can be my waifu." Russia whispered with a cocky grin. "And Belarus will leave me alone."
Poland's eyes lit up with joy. "Really?"
Russia nodded drunkenly. "I love you, little Poland." He said before falling over dead drunk and blacked out.
Poland frowned and helped himself to another pickle. "Love you too, Russia."
