[x]

Mads should not be here.

It registers within his mind, like a fleeting cry of warning, this isn’t the right time, he’s not in the right state of mind. But he stands here already, feeling the beginnings of frozen earth under his booted feet. And he takes steps, small and swaying ones, to his thick wooden door which he probably made himself.

Because this was the Swedes home and he once made sure that anything danish should not be welcomed here.

The problem with that was though, Mads wanted. And isn’t that weird? He’s drunk out of his mind, but he wants to see him to... to what? To complain? To weep? 

It doesn’t help that he’s not sure of himself, yet when was he ever? In his whirling mind it made sense. So he knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

“Ya can’t ev'n walk, Roderich.. Yer not fine.” Berwald ignores any protests and simply begins to carry the very light and easy to carry Austrian towards his home. The man could really be clumsy sometimes.

It wasn’t like the prim and proper gentleman to randomly seat himself in mens’ laps but here he was, seated complacently in Berwald’s. The taller man was intimidating but with England being slightly tipsy, he didn’t flinch away from the look that was given. “Oh, Sweden...my apologies, I didn’t see you there.” He shouldn’t have felt as comfortable as he did, since they rarely spoke outside of the world meetings. Well, even during those...they hardly did. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay here but...I really needed to get away.” The loudness of the more robust nations could be heard from this side of the bar. Past the beginnings of a headache, it was surprising to Arthur that the Swede didn’t already shove him away.

Excuse Ivar.. [Siiigh] He doesn’ get along well w'th new people..

Of course Berwald happened to overhear this and couldn't help but smile a little at the boy's protective nature.

“Mm.. Ya are worth th’ kindness, Roderich..” Berwald hummed quietly as he hung the coat up and returned his sharp eyes to the austrian.