It was a normal day at school. Well, as normal as a day could get with a Polish, flamboyant, total-abuser-of-the-word "like" for a best friend. It was fourth period, History, and Toris was studying with Feliks for a test. Meaning, Toirs was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Feliks' desk while he read the material out loud; Feliks would just talk and talk, not really getting any work done.
"Like, OMG, Liet, ladies in the Renaissance were so totally prissy! Like, they'd see a speck of dust in their room and be all like, 'Oh, I could just faint!'" He cried, putting a hand to his forehead in mock horror and leaning towards Toris. Unfortunately, he had leaned too far, and Feliks slipped off the seat and landed on his Lithuanian friend.
"Whoa! Like, thanks for breaking my fall, Liet!" Feliks giggled.
"Ugh, Feliks, get off." Toris groaned.
"You're like, so squishy!" The Polish boy ignored his friends request and poked his cheek.
"Get. Off."
"But you're so cute when you're mad!"
"Wait, what?"
"Like, forget I said that!"
"I'll forget if you stop crushing me."
"Like, fine." Feliks obliged, and Toris took one look at him before slamming his head into the freshly-polished linoleum floor.
Why, of all days, did Feliks choose that one to wear a skirt? Toris was scarred for life.
…
Author's Note: I'm sorry for the title; I had trouble naming this fic. This could be taken as slight Poland/Liet, or simply Poland being Poland. I just came up with this for my friend and she loved it. I hope Poland's valley girl speech is right!