This was beyond embarrassing.

His eyes searched the places he didn't necessarily want them to – alabaster lace hanging from the rim of the awkward outfit (which was much more fitted for Poland, he thought), the black-and-white center pretty much squeezed his form and therefore gave him a much, much more feminine look befitting that of a female and not a very unfortunate Lithuanian.

He pretty much looked like a French maid. This didn't make him too happy, but he had no choice.

"A-ah, is this really n-necessary, S-sir?"

"... Repeat that, hm?"

The brunette shuddered at the childish, slurred voice, and kept having to (begrudgingly) remind himself that he would have to clean up the clear bottles littering the floor, or else he'd forget.

English.

That's what the other was annoyed at.

That made him so angry.

"... S-sorry, m-mister Russia."

"Hm, good, da."

The blond on the other side of the room (actually, right behind him, although his attention wasn't set on him at the moment, to which he stopped to breathe a sigh of relief), shuffled his feet for a second and then glanced back up, smiling when he noticed the look on the Lithuanian's face.

Troubled, the brunette's eyebrows were knitted together. Russia was probably so happy right now.

"It isn't exactly necessary, but Lithuania looks so adorable, so the dress stays."

"I-I-I-I-I –"

The Russian wrapped his arms around his shoulders, causing Lithuania to wince and try to pull away. Russia held tight, though, and he finally gave up. Struggling against the other was futile – he was so much taller and stronger, and he had to reassure himself that he would be independent one day. Russia wouldn't hold him anymore.

"... A-are you drunk, mister Russia?"

Asking that was idiotic; He knew he was.

"... Ahm... n-not entirely, da? … It doesn't matter –" He put emphasis on the word, and Lithuania shivered, "– now does it?"

"N-no, Sir."

"Nyet, Lithuania?"

"I-I mean..."

I hate you. he thought, hissing something in his own language under his breath.

He would have thought Russia hadn't been lucid enough to understand it had he not been shoved into a wall.

"What did you just say, Toris?"

"I-I-I..." He didn't feel rebellious, and therefore wasn't able to answer.

This made things worse.

"Does Lithuania wish to repeat that?"

Why did his voice have to sound like that? Lithuania wouldn't have been shaking so much if only Russia weren't so tall and so authoritative (if he weren't drunk, which might have made things worse, actually).

"N-no sir! I'm sorry, I didn't say anything, I-I-I-I swear."

"It sounded like you did, Toris. Care to explain, hm?"

"I said I don't hate you,"

This caught the drunken blond off-guard.

His hand, which was intertwined with Toris' collar, loosened, and his prisoner let out a relieved sigh as Russia's face contorted with confusion, one eye-brow raised, the other lowered, fearful.

"... Why. Why don't you...?"

"It's not your fault. I saw you on Bloody Sunday –"

"... N-nineteen 'o five. P-please correct yourself."

Lithuania covered his mouth almost immediately, forgetting that Russia was sensitive on this subject (he should be – the riot was a quiet, peaceful one – why did he have to shoot them, they weren't doing anything wrong, it was a peaceful march, hardly even a riot, and Russia couldn't call himself sane anymore – Lithuania knew that).

"A-ah, Toris looks so cute."

Of all the things Russia could have said, why did it have to be that?

"Please, please stop saying that. I am not..."

"You're so modest, Liet~ Are you pouting, hm?"

"N-no!"

"Mmm, it seems like ittt~ I wish I could see your troubled face more often."

Shadow encased Ivan's expression, turning his smile feral and bringing a malicious gleam to his eyes.

Lithuania squealed.

Loudly.