White Lies

Chapter 2

Notes: Second chapter here! I hope you will enjoy a bit of fluff before the shit hits the fans. Thanks to the people who voted on this, and a special thanks for the comments, I hope you won't be disappointed!

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Chapter 2

"It wasn't Alfred's fault."

For a moment, everything stilled after Matthew's rasped words. Alfred's fingers were resting on his cheek, Arthur's hand was hovering over his head.

Matthew felt a burst of gratitude for the momentary respite – it didn't last long, but when Arthur spoke again, he had had time to suck in a few breaths.

"What do you mean?" the older nation asked sharply.

His voice sounded clearer. Matthew's ears were still ringing, but not as bad as before, and the pain had settled to a slightly more bearable level. He didn't dare to move for fear of aggravating one of his injuries, but he managed to raise his head and squint his eyes open. After a few moments, his eyes focused on the slightly blurred faces that were hovering over him, their features tightened in concern.

"Al didn't do anything wrong," Matthew repeated, trying to take time to come up with an excuse.

While he wasn't about to faint anymore, his brain still felt somehow muddled, and it wasn't helped by the nausea that was starting to rise from the pit of his aching stomach.

He saw Alfred bit his lower lip, the creases on his forehead tightening.

"I elbowed you and you went down like that," his brother said softly, but there was a hint of despair in his voice. Ignoring Arthur's scoffing, he swallowed and went on. "But I... I'm pretty sure I didn't hit you that hard, did I? I didn't mean to... but I'm sure I didn't!"

His cornflower blue eyes were looking straight into Matthew's ones, imploring. Matthew's stomach twisted at the clear distress on his brother's face. That was why he hadn't wanted him to know...

Arthur huffed again.

"Yes, I'm sure this is exactly what happened and the fact your brother looks like he's about to keel over is completely unrelated to the strength of the blow you dealt him. Bloody hell, Alfred, you really need to—"

Matthew couldn't let it go on that way.

"But he didn't hit me that hard, really," he confirmed, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "I... I was already hurt. I fell down the stairs yesterday..."

His voice drifted off. That wasn't even a real lie, technically. Would it be enough? Matthew hoped so, because his brain was too occupied trying to fend off the stabs of pain that hit him at every shallow breath to come up with a convincing lie.

He felt Alfred suck in a deep breath, while Arthur leaned over him, his eyes widened in concern.

"You fell down the stairs? Where are you hurt?"

"Ankle," answered Matthew, because he felt like it was the easiest thing to explain. "I slipped and landed on it."

Moving slowly, he managed to shift his weight against Alfred, stubbornly biting back a pained moan, and extended his right leg in front of Arthur.

Alfred gasped in participation as Arthur gently lifted the end of Matthew's pant, exposing his swollen ankle. It looked even worse than Matthew remembered, decorated with deep blue-purple patches that turned to an angry black in some points.