This is for my BFF, Du'Varg, who is currently out of the country and in Sweden visiting family! I hope you get to read this, Du, and know that I love you!
The story behind this story is that Du'Varg is Swedish, so she/he is Sweden in our imaginary Hetalia world, and, apparently, I act like Denmark. -_-... Love you, too, Du...
Then again, I get an AXE! :D
P.S.: I don't own Hetalia. :*(
******NOTE****** This is NOT meant to be Sweden/Denmark slash, (that would be akward for me and Du... o.O) but I guess you can take it that way if you want to... I only meant it to be a bromance! XD
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"Come on, Berwald! We all know you wanna..." Denmark's teasing tone made the older Nordic's eye twitch.
"Nej."
Denmark groaned, turning and slinging his back over the recliner on which Sweden sat, reading the newspaper with a permanent scowl on his face. Denmark lowered his face to where he was right next to Sweden. "Why not?" he whined.
Sweden pushed the younger nation's face away, causing Denmark to lose his footing and fall on his rump. Denmark pouted up at Denmark, arms crossed over his chest. Suddenly, he got an idea. "Alright, old man. I guess you're just trying to save yourself the humiliation."
The newspaper dropped, and Sweden cocked an eyebrow at Denmark from behind his shiny glasses. "Hn?"
Denmark sat Indian-style, grinning. "You heard me, old man. You know you can't beat me!" He puffed out his chest. "I'm the amazing Den- oomph!"
Sweden had put his foot on Denmark's chest, towering above the other Nordic. His glasses shone brightly, adding onto the eerie effect of his disturbing smirk. Denmark gulped.
"I kn'w I c'n beat y'u..."
Pushing Sweden's foot off his chest warily, Denmark jumped up and clapped Sweden on the back. "Alrighty then, Bernie-"
"Br'wld."
"Alrighty then, Berwald! Off to the bar we go!"
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Denmark- or Mathias- had dressed himself in a deep red, long-sleeved, v-neck shirt with a black vest over it. He also wore black skinny jeans with chains hanging off from the back to the front pocket. His shoes were bright red Chucks (most likely having been 'obtained' [stolen] from Alfred) with black laces. Overall, Mathias felt like a stud.
Next to him stood Berwald, who wore a turtlenecked, baby blue cashmere sweater. Over that, he wore a dark brown suit jacket. He also had on tan pants with black dress shoes. His glasses were perfectly cleaned, shining in the dim light of the bar.
"M'wife-" he began.
"First off, Tino ain't your wife. Second off, he won't find out." Denmark straightened out his vest, mussing up his hair again. "Alright. Here are the rules. Number one, no hitting on girls that are with other guys. Number two, no getting wingmen; we're going solo this time. Number three, try not to get too drunk. And finally, number four, you have to get their name along with their number. Got it?"
Berwald grunted, and Mathias grinned. "Okay! Lets-a go-a!"
"D'n't try t' imitate It'ly... y'u suck at it..."
Berwald walked off, leaving a stung Mathias behind.
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Mathias leaned against the bar next to two scantly clad women. With his best, lady-killer grin, he began. "Hey, ladies-"
"Go screw yourself."
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Berwald frowned as three women slung themselves over him. One purred like a cat as she felt his biceps. Another ran her hands down his chest, while the last was hugging him from behind. "So strong..." the first said sultry-like.
Berwald flushed as the third lady squeezed his backside. "So firm!"
The second giggled. "Look! He's blushing..."
They all 'aw-ed' in unison.
Then, Berwald found three different napkins in his hand, all with names and numbers. "Call us," the first girl cooed, walking off and throwing a seductive glance over her shoulder.
Berwald looked down at the numbers, shrugged, and stuffed the napkins in his pocket.
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Mathias sat at the bar, getting thoroughly drunk. His face was red, eyes bloodshot, and he kept slurring his speech. The bartender walked towards him warily, taking the drink out of his hand. "Hey, man," he spoke with a thick accent, "it's half past two. We closed a half hour ago."
Mathias threw a hand in the air. "W'ever... I'll go..."
"Want me to call you a cab or-"
"I've g't 'im," came a deep, baritone voice. Mathias looked over his shoulder at Berwald, who had napkins and paper towels stuffing his pockets full.
"Sw'd'n!" he called, falling backwards off his stool. Berwald just managed to grab him. He turned to the bartender and nodded before leaving the bar.
They walked home, not having brought a car for fear that they would both get pulled over and ticketed for D.U.I.'s. Sweden had thrown Denmark's arm over his shoulders and had a supporting arm around Denmark's torso.
"I l've you, Sw'd'n..." Denmark slurred, his head drooping onto Sweden's shoulder.
"Hn."
"Y'know... I alw'ys looked up t' ya..."
Sweden's ears perked up at this. "Hn?"
"Yeah..." Denmark tripped, and Sweden caught him, steadying the younger Nordic before continuing on towards Sweden's house, where a very upset Tino and Peter were most likely waiting.
"You was... was alw'ys helpin' me w'th my ec'n'my and... g'vin' me adv'ce..."
Sweden's jaw clenched as he listened, his step slowing down slightly.
"Hn..."
Denmark laughed. "Y'know... I cried wh'n you n'... wh'n you n' F'nl'nd left me..."
Sweden stopped in his tracks, letting loose a breath of surprise. Denmark let out another drunken laugh. "Yup! I... I cried all n'ght long... like a... bab'..."
Sweden took several moments of breathing slowly, trying to still his heart. He couldn't apologize. He didn't regret leaving. He only regretted... leaving Denmark alone.
"I r'lly do l've you, Sw'd'n..."
Sweden smiled softly, hugging Denmark sideways. "I l've you, too, M'thias..."
Denmark only had to ruin the moment by barfing all over Sweden's sweater.
"Somet'mes..."
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Oh, mine Gott, Mathias... Just gotta ruin everything, don'cha? Wait... does that mean that I ruin everything? o.O
PLEASE REVIEW!