DenNor.

Magnus=Denmark.

Sindre=Norway.

Eírikur=Iceland.

Prompt: "That was barely even a kiss! Do it again, please?"

Oh, gods. He was never drinking again.

It is why he is currently waiting on the sidewalk outside of a club, tears streaming down his face as embarrassment eats him alive at the thought of how much he had screwed up. As much as he hated the crowds, he is thankful for the anonymity it provides; nobody had bothered to ask if he was okay, if anyone had even noticed.

He hates that he had to ask his younger brother, Eírikur, for help. But there was no one else he knew who would forgive him for calling at two in the morning for a ride. Besides, it was technically his car; Eírikur was twenty-three and still lived with him while he attended college. He owed him this, at least.

All this because he had too much to drink, and he finally kissed-if you can call it a kiss-his crush, Magnus. Who happened to be his best friend, a fact that complicated things.

It had been spontaneous, an act that didn't suit him. Hell, he had managed to hide his feelings for him for the past two years, finding it easier to cling on to their friendship than risk it. Afraid of the rejection. Losing his friendship. Embarrassing himself. Too many unnamed scenarios that he played out in his mind, whenever he even entertained the thought of asking him out.

All of his fears, come undone in one night by a couple of shots. He didn't even remember what Magnus had said, just that he had thought it was unbelievably cute, and the way hid mouth ticked up at the corner in a smirk...

It had been too easy to reach up and kiss him. Granted, he was already dizzy from the heat of the crowded room, slightly tipsy, and he thinks he remembers it actually landing on the corner of his mouth in his haste, rather than a full kiss. But his intent had been clear enough, and he hadn't bothered to stick around for the reaction.

Either way, he really, really hated Tino for convincing him to come to his anniversary celebration with his husband, Berwald. Inexplicably celebrated with drinking at a club that was more geared towards college students looking for fun, rather than gay men who were almost in their thirties, although it was safe to assume it was just for the drinking. They were relentlessly dedicated to each other. But the clubbing was something he could hardly reconcile with the other side of Tino he knew; the soft-spoken Finnish man who bakes for fun, cleans like a domestic goddess, and coaches the hell out of his son's soccer team.

Why couldn't they have just picked a restaurant like normal people? He winces, at he considers how much better this could have gone. If he had just stayed home, like usual.

"Hey, wait!"

Sindre stiffens at the familiar voice, and he hurriedly wipes away his tears as he turns to face Magnus as he exits the club's doors, dodging the throngs of people and making his way to him. Mentally, he tries to prepare himself for what he might say. It can't be anything pleasant.

Sindre takes a deep breath, in an attempt to stifle any hiccups-an embarrassing habit he has when he cries-and avoid making this any worse, although his voices still comes out breathy and fast.

"Look, I'm so, so sorry for doing that, it was stupid of me and I won't ever-"

He stops when Magnus holds up his hand, signaling him to stop talking. He obliges, although he dreads what he might say.

"Wait, wait. You lost me for a second. What are you sorry for?"

Sindre stares down at the ground, finding it a safe medium-away from his stare-that he wishes he could sink through and disappear.

"Kissing you. Or trying to."

Magnus narrows his eyes, as confusion crosses his face, until it dawns on him, and a knowing smile turns his lips.

"You think I'm mad, or something?"

Sindre huffs, in exasperation. "I don't know! What am I supposed to think? Are you?"

"Well, I'm not. I was just surprised, is all." Magnus looks at him, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh... Liked it. You don't have to be sorry. That's why I came out here to see you."

"You... What?" Sindre has to ask himself if he had heard it correctly, or if it was just alcohol and wishful thinking affecting his hearing.

"I liked it." Even in the dim lighting from the front of the club, Sindre can see the flush lighting up his face. "I like you."

"You... do? Like me?" He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, at the thought of how much useless stress he had given himself, over this.

Magnus nods, solemnly. "There was just one thing."

Sindre eyes him warily, weary of it. What else had he done wrong?

"What was it?"

"That was barely even a kiss! Do it again, please?"

"You want to kiss me? After that?"

"I just said so, didn't I?"

"Idiot." Truthfully, he is one. But Sindre still smiles. He knows he looks terrible from crying, and drinking, and he still wants to kiss him?

He can't resist, his heart beating wildly, as he pulls him in for a real kiss, one that he deserves.