Chapter Text
…At a glance, the bathroom and living room seemed to be intact. He could tell everything was in its right place. He liked being tidy. Precise. Everything is where it needs to be. It greatly bothered him to see anything “out of place” to him. However, he couldn’t be bothered to care right now.
Oddly enough, the door to the kitchen was wide open. Who would close the front door but ignore the following doors? An odd sense of dread fell on him as he took his first steps towards the room. What if the intruder left the door open on purpose to catch him off guard? No, they didn’t. Get over yourself, Sweden.
The kitchen was…
God.
Damnit.
The swede stomped over to the subject of interest, footsteps vibrating through the tile floor (and somehow not cracking them). Bottles and glass shards strewn under the counter shook, their clinking somehow not managing to wake the man currently passed out in front of him .
Crouching down closer to his level, Sweden spoke:
“Finland.”
…
No response.
“Finland.”
A snore.
“…Suomi?”
…
“FINLAND!”
The finn jolted awake, drool trailing across his cheek as he rolled over, groaning. With eyes squeezed shut, he croaked out a noise that the swede decided to interpret as a what?
“Finland. What— i. Y-you—
What the fuck, man?”
Sweden didn't know what he expected from the man. Surely not a response. He knows him. He knows himself and his knowledge of Finland. But for some reason, he didn’t expect him to roll back onto his stomach (and back into his puddle of spit) and fall asleep. Again.
Surely he wasn’t expecting him to just let him sleep in the middle of his desecrated kitchen. Right? He wasn’t that stubborn, was he?
…well… he was. Obviously.
…
…whatever.
One arm under, other arm over. Sweden wasn’t the strongest guy out there, but he could carry a guy out of his house if needed. He’s had plenty of practice with Denmark, anyway.
The finn seemed to notice that he’d been picked up after he’d been thrown over his shoulder. Obviously, he wasn’t happy with this. As usual, he expressed his disapproval via drumming the swede’s back and animalistic growling. It was almost like he wasn’t trying to kill himself earlier. But Sweden didn’t know that, did he.
In fact, Sweden didn’t have a damn clue what this was about. If asked, collaterally damaging suicide would probably be last on the list of possible reasons. First would probably be some weird solo revenge party for something he did before. Probably.
The banging on his back ceased once Finland was thrown to the floor, his own back hitting the stone pathway first. Sweden clapped his hands clean like he was dealing with something dirty.
Before turning back around, he threw one last look at him. He’d never seen him this weirdly pathetic. And he’d probably never want to see him like that again, considering the confusing feelings that’d likely follow him to bed that night.
Whatever, though. It didn’t matter. His feelings about him didn’t matter. Especially not after everything that happened. None of it mattered, and shutting the door would surely save him from thinking about the man.
Surely.