((told you I would continue this c: ))

Chapter one; Russian winters

Chapter two; Enter Paris!

--------




you are hurt!

let me tend to your wounds father!

Father?

Father!

Father help me please!

Master Russia!

...
just a dream...

The brunette held his head in one hand, groaning, he didn't remember coming to bed...uhg...hangover, must have passed out drunk he supposed...

it was all this god damn paperwork...

and Russia, coming home injured, oh how he loathed Germany, Japan and even that nitwit northern Italy.

at least whoever had dragged his sorry ass to bed had been kind enough to undress him and get his nightclothing on...

he stood.
got dressed.
grabbed the bottle.

the usual, probably shouldn't drink...oh well, hair of the dog...

"bon monsieur matin Vilnius"

The lithuanian jumped, eyes widening as he looked over at the source of the voice.

And indeed there Paris was, perched lightly upon the couch, France and Russia discussing something in the next room.

"a-ah, yes of course, Labas rytas Paryžiuje" he replied quickly, watching the blond nearly dance over to peck him upon each cheek, a soft flush rising at the action.

"I, I ask that you, refrain from...touching, me" he sputtered, blush deepening as he scrambled back.

"ah, what is wrong Monsieur? 'ave I scared you?" the tiny blond followed him as he backed up, giggling softly at his blush.

"why Vilnius, you look ill, do you 'ave a fever?" he asked, cobalt eyes playful.

ne! I, I am hungover, Taip, Taip! very VERY hungover!"

"you should not get drunk, 'zer is a war starting, you should be more careful!" Paris teased.

The brunette huffed childishly.

"I am well aware of that!" he pouted slightly, "but I live a...very...stressful, busy, life" he stated slowly.

Paris merely rolled his eyes.
"'zen you are to busy to go out and have a glass of wine with me...oui? oh well, I shall just go alone"

Vilnius watched him pick his coat up and head off.

a moment of pause.

"dammit..."

And he followed.