The past several days had been chaotic for the Lithuanian. And the nights were consistently sleepless. He knew he would have to face his neighboring country, but he didn't know how soon, let alone if he'd be able to handle it.

Stop it. Stop, you'll be fine. It's simply . . . Poland. "Poland." He had to get re-accustomed with saying that name. It was necessary. He had to be able to say it. "Poland . . . Poland . . . Poland—" Without sounding like he wanted to hurt someone. Lithuania sighed and lowered into the creaky rocking chair. He really didn't want to hurt anybody. Or himself. He sucked in a breath. "Poland."

Knuckles rapped against the front door.

This was it.

More knocking. "Liet?" called a voice with tentative emotion.

He didn't move.

"Liet! Open up! Come on; even though it's March, it's still, like, freezing out!"

Maybe if he didn't answer, the Pole would go away.

"Li-eeet. Seriously! Open up—I mean it! You freaking idiot! Did you go deaf, over at America's?" Apparently the voice had settled for anger. As well as the fists on the door. So be it.

But to sit there was cowardly. Lithuania wasn't a coward.

"LIET!"

Even so, the shriek made him jump to his feet. Everything was silent outside. Stilled in false calm.

" . . . Liet? Please? I-I'm scare—are you even there? Liet, are you—?"

He swung open the door. "Poland." Good. He didn't sound cold, but didn't sound like he cared, either. Because he didn't. He didn't care for this mood-swinging, forceful, energy-sucking Pole at all. And if the Pole was scared—

"Oh. Hi." Poland's face reddened as he realized his old-time "friend" had heard his moment of weakness, but it continued reddening as the thought was replaced with irritation. "Like, you are a freaking idiot for not opening the door in the first place. What's your problem?" He tried to push past, but Lithuania had one hand on the door and the other on the wall across from it. "Let me in! You go away for two decades, and now you're totally rude."

"I don't have to let you in. You're the one trying to intru—"

The blond shoved a paper in his face and ducked under his arm, ignoring that Lithuania had grown noticeably taller since the last time they'd seen each other. "Yeah, well, whatever."

"Isn't this supposed to go to Talli—?"

"Use your eyes, why don't you? It's not the actual thing. Well, it's like the actual thing, but the official official one is there. This one's supposed to be for the records or whatever. Why don't you have a fire going? Are you turning into, like, another Russia or something? Don't be a creep, Liet. Just don't."

Lithuania sighed, gritting his teeth. "Poland—"

"What?"

No. No, no, no. It was too much. He couldn't do it. He wasn't a coward, yet he couldn't successfully face him. Not like this. Not while he was sleep-deprived and irritable. But the blond had already shucked off his coat, boots, hat, and gloves, and now he was checking his reflection in the window.

"Just so you know, I'm not leaving til tomorrow."

"Wh-what?"

"You know how hard it was to cross the border? It was really hard! And it's chilly out there—feel!" Poland reached to touch the top sides of his fingers to Lithuania's face, but the brunette caught his wrists and forced his hands down.

"I did not agree to this."

The shorter country rolled his eyes. "So? When we were kids, didn't you ever notice how when I asked the cook for something sweet she'd shoo me out? But when I didn't ask, she didn't really mind all that much?"

"I am not a cook. And I do mind."

"Are short sentences all you can say? Or, like, all you think I can understand? I know more Lithuanian than you think I do. Gosh, stop underestimating me," Poland grumbled as he plopped onto the rocking chair. He crossed his legs and leaned his head back. "So, like, not because I can't keep up or anything, but I think we should switch to Polish."

Lithuania pinched his nose. "No."

"What?"

"We're in my country; we'll speak my language."

"Fine, whatever. Just stop being grumpy."

He couldn't believe it. Poland had entered his house and made it out like his own, as if their situation was the same as always. But it wasn't.

"Do you have a blanket or something? I can't believe you live here. What happened to your old house?"

Lithuania slammed the door shut. Though he despised the idea of agreeing with the blond, he knew he needed to "stop being grumpy". Yet . . . how could he get the unwanted visitor out of his house without being rude? He refused to give in so easily, but to protest excessively would mean a strike against his chance of winning.

"Hello? Where did you go? Liet," Poland lilted, up and waving a hand in front of his face.

Lithuania blinked. "In the cabinet. There's a blanket in the cabinet. It's wool and you'll probably think it's itchy, though."

"Oh well." An airy sigh. The blond sidled up next to him, making their shoulders press against each other. "You're warm."

The brunette froze. Were the rumors correct? Did Poland actually desire to be remarried? No. Maybe. No.

"Liet . . . I can be grumpy, too. And mean. And I will be if you decline. Just accept the ultimatum, alright?"

"Admit it," Lithuania said, abruptly turning to face him.

"Admit what?" he asked.

"That you need a friend."

Poland backed away and frowned. "I do not. I have plenty of friends. I'm not some lonely loser like you."

"Name one."

"Well, there's, like, Hu—"

"She is on the opposing side and you know it."

"So if we're on the same side, why can't we be friends?"

"Who says there is only two sides?

Poland stamped his foot. "Liet, you're so frustrating! I want to be your friend—I'm going to be your friend, got it? And you're going to be my friend, and your going to have my back, and—"

"Feliks."

The blond quieted and turned his head away.

Lithuania sighed, feeling rather helpless. "You know it's not that easy."

"No, you think it's not that easy," he countered softly.

"It isn't."

"Well it should be!"

The brunette could see his shoulders shaking and somehow hated himself. Not only for being the one to cause such a reaction, but for wanting to get involved with a country who would cry in front of him. "Poland, I . . . I can't guarantee they will agree to the ultimatum. Personally, I don't kn—"

"They'll say yes."

Lithuania's nostrils flared at the Pole's indignation. His government wasn't about to kiss their neighbor's feet. Oh, not at all. "What would make you say that?"

"Because I need them to," he answered, looking up. "Of course it will pass. If you don't accept, then—"

"I get it, I know."

Poland laughed lightly. "Check mate, Liet. You have to accept."

"If you genuinely believe that, why did you bother to come all the way over and find my house?"

True to his fluctuating personality, the blond's face changed into something too grave for his features. "An ultimatum only patches up our diplomatic relations, Liet. It makes Lithuania and Poland friends. I . . . Toris and Feliks need to be friends, too."

Lithuania watched silently as he grabbed the paper and took it to the desk in the corner. When he came back, he once again shoved it in the brunette's face. Lithuania quickly dropped it to his side.

"See? It's in writing."

"Poland, you wrote it. Not—"

"So? It's in writing! Who cares who wrote it? It's. In. Writing. It's, like, a condition, now. But not for Lithuania Liet. For Toris Liet."

"You sound like a child."

"It's a condition. You have to accept."

"Do you really think—"

"You have to! I won't accept one without the other."

"Feliks . . ."

"That's why I came. And I knew you wouldn't say yes right away, so I'm not leaving until tomorrow, and you have to take me to the border because I really don't know Lithuanian good like I said I did, and people were looking at me like I was filth under their shoe because of my accent, and it's horrible! You're horrible! A-and I want you to be my friend! We need to be friends!"

Lithuania stood speechless. It felt as if he was in a river that was sweeping his feet from under him, but if he didn't stand straight, his mouth and nose wouldn't break the surface. He had to get a hold on himself. He was angry. But at who? Himself? Poland? Feliks? Toris? His people? The German? Who?

Poland took a shaky breath. "So. We're going to try this again." He gathered his belongings strewn across the floor and pulled on his coat. "You sit down," he directed, grabbing Lithuania's arms; one hand held both his gloves and in the other was his hat. "Right there. In the rocking chair. It was moving when you answered the door. I knew you were listening." He situated his hat. "And I'll . . . here, I need the ultimatum back. And I'll be right outside. Don't take so long this time."

He closed the door, and Lithuania was rocking, alone, in his silent house just as he had been before. Swept off his feet. That was the phrase he was looking for. Wait. It wasn't. He wasn't in love. Or impressed. It was simply Poland.

Knuckles rapped against the front door.

This was it.

More knocking. "Liet?" called a voice with tentative emotion.

When he opened it, he was met with a growing smile and a paper shoved in his face.

"Stop looking so blank, Liet. It's creepy. You're like Russia in more ways than one, which is totally not cool," Poland said, walking in and throwing his belongings back onto the floor.

But Lithuania wasn't listening. Not really. His eyes were scanning over the bottom of the paper in his hands, at the note scrawled hastily in Polish:

IN ADDITION TO ALL THE THINGS MENTIONED ABOVE, Toris Laurinaitis must accept absolute "Polish" friendship with Feliks Łukasiewicz, or else aforementioned actions will be taken into action. Or something like that. Anyway, you have to be my friend both ways and not just because I said so. You need it just as much as I do, Mister Ghost-Looking Second-Russia fellow who thinks he's alright. You're totally alright. And my ponies are totally horses. Just get over yourself and be Liet again.

Signed,

Rzeczpospolita Polska

AN;;

If it seems a little rushed, it's probably because earlier the tornado sirens were going off and I wasn't sure if the weather would cooperate with me. But it did, and then I had the sense to save my progress.

Ever since I started The Roaring Twenties, I've really wanted to write something like this. So I did a little research. I hope I did enough. D :

I read that in Poland, friendships aren't taken as lightly as they are here in the US of A. To me, it sounds like a friendship there is more like a bestfriendship here.

But that's just me. That's why Lithuania has to accept absolute "Polish" friendship. If my mind is totally warped and it means nothing like that, then oops. Someone tell me and I'll change it, please~

I feel like a rebel not telling you guys about the ultimatum, but like I think I mentioned in a different author's note, I like detectives. And many of who who read this probably already know about it. So.

I'm gonna learn how to play the flute tomorrow~! And then I'm gonna teach my friend how to play the trombone.

Anyway, that's it.

EDIIIT~ So I fixed some typos. Yup, that's pretty much it.

Oh, and I think the summary for this is the best summary I've ever written. And it's not even that good. XD

Making summaries, finding main ideas and plots, and inferring have always been my absolute worst subjects in English. Bleh.