"It's too much. Like, way to much. Too much, I can't, I can't, I can't."

Poland was slouched on the bench, shaking his head. His shirt slipped from his shoulder. Russia stared at him, frowning. If he continued like this, Poland was going to ruin his pretty make-up and the hair he spent so much time styling only a few hours ago.

"Why not?" Russia asked. "What's wrong?"

"Jus' can't," Poland pouted. "'s too weird, Like, sleepin' over at your place. Liet'd think it's too weird."

"Ah," Russia could understand, but Lithuania usually thought many things were too weird; he worried, but Russia never saw how it was a bad thing - it was pretty funny, wasn't it? "But you are drunk. Lithuania would not think it is very funny if I left you here by yourself."

Poland looked thoughtful for a moment; or at least, Russia though he was. His cheeks were red and his eyes unfocused, it was hard to tell. He was frowning a little, too, but that was easy; Russia knew Poland hated when he made more sense than him, especially when he had a few empty bottles on his side of the table.

When he tried to get up, stumbling a little as his knees caught the side of the table, Russia got up after him, a ounce (or perhaps a shot or two) more graceful, and caught him before he could fall to the ground and hurt himself, or worse - cause a scene.

Immediately, Poland clung to him, small hands clutching Russia's heavy shirt, his nose buried in the taller nation's neck. His body was warm and soft, and Russia felt the urge to pet his hair - like a cute small animal, his mind supplied innocently

A little voice inside his head, though, sounding suspiciously like Lithuania, scolded him for allowing such a train of thought, and he stopped.

"M' house," Poland slurred. "Liet's there. 's go to my house. Y' can stay 'f you wanna. 'd be okay."

Russia smiled; yes, that was something he always liked to hear. He picked Poland up easily, the smaller nation not protesting and snuggling closer to his body, and kissed his forehead.

"Sleepover?" he asked hopefully; but Poland was already snoring on his shoulder.

Cute. Russia shrugged, smiling, and carried him home.