And then there were two.

(Second chapter done for the shiggles... Also, I needed to balance out the fluff.)

The next morning, Norway woke up alone in his bed, which smelled like beer, sugar, and strong men's deodorant. Pungent breakfast smells wafted through the halls and doorway, which prompted Norway to fully believe that the annoying dream he'd had last night (for he was sure he'd felt annoyed all throughout that—well, what he hoped had been—dream) was actually, to his dismay, a reality. And to top it all off, Denmark was still in his house (this was not an uncommon occurrence, however).

A feeling of deja vu swept over the flaxen-haired man as he traipsed down the stairs to the kitchen. Waiting for him was a breakfast of typical Norwegian spread, though he rarely ate much in the morning. Forgivingly, there was coffee ready and mixed with cream the way he liked it. Not surprising, considering the Dane's apparently-stalker-like tendencies.

Said Dane turned around when he heard the scraping of the chair Norway was sitting in against the wooden floorboards. He smiled, greeting his friend cheerfully, and brought over two more mugs to the table (to add to the two mugs already there, one being the cup slowly being drained of its caffeine-rich contents).

"How're ya feelin' this morning, Norge?" Denmark asked with a grin, sliding one of the mugs over to his friend, who pointedly ignored the action.

"Tired. No thanks to you." Truthfully, Norway was tired but not in an exhausted, stayed-up-all-night kind of way. Ironically, despite all the nonsense that had gone on the night before, causing him to lose at least a good hour of sleep, he felt unusually well-rested.

"Well, thanks to me, you'll have a good breakfast to get you ready for the day! And look, I made you something special." The end of the sentence had a teasing ring to it as Denmark pushed the mug toward Norway again. The quieter Nordic glanced down—deja vu, again!—and saw, to his annoyance but not surprise, a mug full of chocolate milk.

He growled to himself but then saw the perfect opportunity for some passive-aggressive payback. As Denmark reached for his breakfast sandwich, his magick-wielding friend poured his chocolate milk over it. The chocolatey dairy splashed all over large hands and dripped onto the plate and tablecloth. The boisterous man was quiet for a moment, lamenting the lost deliciousness of a perfect sandwich, before bursting out in laughter. Clearly not the reaction Norway had been expecting, the shorter, thinner Nordic sat down again in a huff and proceeded to eat some food to cover his inner-embarrassment.

"That was a waste of a perfectly good sandwich and a perfectly good cup of chocolate milk, Norway," the Dane pouted. Soon, though, he smirked as his brain hatched an idea. "So, now you owe me!"

"What?" Norway grit his teeth.

"You owe me! So now we have to spend the who-o-ole day together!"

"I do not."

"If you say so, Norge. So! I think think we should go to the bakery after breakfast. I don't know about you but want a wienerbrød. And then maybe we could go to the movies. What do you think, Norway, doesn't that sound like fun? Though, I think I've already seen all the new movies that are out but I guess it doesn't hurt to see them again. I think one of America's films just recently got released here. It's about one of his comic-book superheros only he's supposed to be Tor. Isn't that funny, Norge? We could make fun of how bad it is. Wanna go see it?" Denmark looked at Norway expectantly. The Norwegian, having barely been able to keep up with the finer details of the other's fast-paced ramblings, only caught the last bit: something about a movie, Tor, and making fun of America. Seemed like a decent enough idea, he supposed.

"…..Okay," the flaxen-blond answered hesitantly.

"Awesome! We should probably clean up before we go though, unless you don't mind going in your pajamas. Which I am totally all for, because that seems like it'd be hella fun to do. But we should probably at least brush our teeth and—"

"Denmark!" Norway interrupted, clapping a hand over his talkative friend's mouth. "Please. Just... shut up." Accepting a nod from him as affirmation that he'll be silent, Norway retrieved his hand and started to head back upstairs. He stopped briefly at the doorway of the kitchen and coughed awkwardly.

"Thanks for breakfast."

And before the Dane could say anything in return, Norway was off like a shot. Denmark smiled broadly, pleased with himself.

Later that day, the two returned to Norway's home after the movies. The normally-energetic blond was half-asleep when he flopped onto the couch.

Norway frowned. "At least take your shoes off, stupid Dane." There was no quip or cheesy remark. The Danish man was nearly-unconscious. The quick-witted Norwegian decided to wake his friend up... in a not-so-gentle manner.

"Ow! Hey, what d'you do that for?"

"You were drooling all over my sofa."

"You didn't have to push me off the couch! Head first, no less! Wood floors are hard, you know. They hurt," the man complained as he shuffled his way up to standing.

"Go to the guest room, you mooch."

"Aww, why can't I sleep in your room? Your bed is much more comfy," the Dane smirked cheekily.

"Fine, whatever. Just get on with it," the grumpy Norwegian man urged the other up the stairs. Once Denmark was settled and quiet, he retreated into the kitchen. He could feeling a craving in his mind and as he opened the fridge door, he realized what the craving was. Chocolate milk. The flaxen-haired man huffed but couldn't deny that he was now craving the beverage like crazy and thus reached for the bottle of chocolate syrup. With a gentle squeeze, he realized that it had already been emptied of all it's contents, probably from that morning's breakfast. Denmark had put the empty bottle back in the fridge, for goodness knows what reason. One eye twitched uncontrollably as he stared at the half-empty gallon of milk in the fridge and let his hand go slack, allowing the syrup bottle to fall to the floor.

"Damnit, Danmark!"