"Really, I'm 'kay," Mikkel insisted, even if he was reliant on the young Nordic to even remain standing up straight. Alcohol and bar fights could be a deadly combination that way; not that the Dane would have it any other way. It was a great way for an ex-beserker Viking to relief some stress and pent-up aggression. The other Nordics would of course rather see him take up a fighting sport or something of the like, but that just didn't give the same kind of thrill a real fight did.
"You're not okay!" the petite Icelander protested, clearly able to see that Denmark had sustained quite some injuries, even if he wanted to play it off as being 'alright'. Only after minutes of whining had Sigurd agreed to not take Mikkel to a doctor but simply to his home. At this moment he could not recall why he had agreed to go out with the Dane anymore; though the underlying reason had most likely been to impress him as one would want to impress an older sibling - to show him he was capable of taking care of himself and that he very much was as much of an adult as the other Nordics were. How better to prove such a thing than to go out and drink a beer?
Unfortunately, in Denmark's case, a single beer easily turned into five beers while Sigurd himself only just started his second one (though in Denmark's defense, he was a bit of a slow drinker).
"You're hurt. I'm no fool." Indeed, the bruises, swollen skin and blood dribbling from the Dane's brow did not fool the young Nordic nation. After making their way through Copenhagen, they finally made it back to Mikkel's house. There the Icelander helped the other to his bedroom and went to retrieve the proper material to clean and tend to his wounds.
"Ow, that hurts!" the Dane whined, earning him a glare from the un-amused Icelander who lightly dabbed a cotton pad with disinfectant against the small gash in the other's brow. Mikkel gave a lazy crooked grin at that, raising his shoulders in an almost unsure manner. "Well, it does?"
"Then don't get into fights!" Despite the response being one of Iceland's usual grumpiness that matched his blood brother's perfectly, the undertone of worry wasn't missed by the Dane. He himself was far less worried about his injuries as he had sustained much more serious ones in the past and this wasn't the first time he got into a fight while going out. Not even the first time to get into a fight with friends or family while going out.
"Heh, what was I supposed 'ta do? Jutland called me a Swede! Can't let tha' go unpunished. 's Like an insult of the highest degree righ' there. He's my brother but I ain't gonna make exceptions fer him." Mikkel winced as Iceland seemed to apply more pressure to the wound on his brow at the moment he spoke up, feigning a hurt pout at him before heaving a sigh. He could definitely handle being called 'devil island', but being compared to a Swede was just taking it too far. His brother did pack one hell of a punch, he had to give him that.
Sigurd shook his head in disapproval and joined in with a soft sigh, reaching for a new cotton pad to press against the disinfected wound, urging the other to keep it in place until the bleeding stopped. With a wet rag he made sure to wipe any dirt off his skin by gently guiding it along his cheek, careful to not apply too much pressure on the already bruised and swollen skin.
"I'll need to put ice on that so the swelling goes down. I'll be right back," the Icelander announced as he set the rag aside, about to get up from the edge of the bed when his arm was grabbed and he was pulled close rather unexpectedly. Enough to almost flop over and crash into the other as he used quite a lot of strength to pull someone so petite close.
"Wh-" Unable to voice his confusion in time, Sigurd was forced to silence as he felt Mikkel's mouth crash against his own and without hesitation the Dane seemed eager to deepen that kiss. Flustered, all the bordering young adult could do was clutch onto the other's shoulders and retaliate. The only underlying reason for that being he had to once more prove himself to the one he looked up to. Not because he liked him more than just platonically or still harbored feelings for him even after his independence.
With a slight triumphant smirk the ancient nation pulled away just as unexpectedly, a thumb affectionately grazing along Sigurd's cheek before sinking back into his pillow. Retreating his hand, he pushed and rubbed carefully into his own sore cheek as that did hurt when kissing or smiling. Or making any facial expression, really.
"Thanks fer takin' care of me, Siggy," he casually stated, amused as he watched the Icelander go from a shocked expression straight back to an annoyed one, loving to tease his young ex-husband like this - definitely harboring affectionate feelings for the kid. Feelings that wouldn't be acted upon in any other way than he had just done.
"Hmph, d-don't call me that, idiot.." It was the only response heard before the Icelander swiftly rose to his feet and hurried out of the bedroom to retrieve an icepack and recollect himself; face flushed and heart fluttering, much like the days of old.