Australia looked into the mirror. He glanced down at his wrists. He squeezed his eyes shut. I'm better than that, he thought hands clenching into fists, keep it together mate. He opened his eyes again and his dark olive- green eyes stared back. He wished they were a prettier green. A green like Arthur's, perhaps. Damn that fucking Arthur. Damn him to hell. Why the hell did Australia put up with him? He looked into the mirror, eyes gazing upon the bruise on his cheek. His hand gently touched the tender, tanned skin.
The previous night hadn't been a good night for either of the Kirklands. The date was July Fourth, and as was with Arthur's tradition, he got painfully drunk. Australia had watched him drain a whole bottle of brandy and watched him start on a bottle of whisky. Australia, as was his personal tradition whenever Arthur got drunk, was to hide or avoid being seen due to his big brother's violent tendencies. Sure he was bigger than his blonde superior, but that didn't change the fact that he could never raise a finger (or his voice) to Arthur. It was unheard of.
That particular night, Australia assumed he did a lousy job of hiding, because Arthur had found him.
"You…You stupid, bloody git," He slurred, "Come 'ere."
Australia, though afraid, obediently scurried over to his drunken big brother.
"Y-yes sir?" he whimpered.
A searing sting spread throughout his cheek. He instantly knew that England has slapped him.
"You know you're not allowed inside the house, you filthy convict!" He scowled.
Australia began apologizing repeatedly in hopes that it would mollify the Brit, but no such luck. He felt Arthur kick him. Tears welled up in his eyes.
"Please stop, brother!" Australia pleaded helplessly.
"What the hell are you doing in the house you imbecile? Why can't you do anything right?" He screeched.
Australia fled, knocking Arthur out of his way. He locked himself in his room and sobbed.
The Australian trudged down the stairs. He knew his big brother would be up in a few hours judging by the clock. Arthur had passed out on the couch, however, during the night Australia had carried him up the stairs and tucked him in.
Australia quietly moved into the kitchen and began making breakfast, which he knew very well could turn into lunch depending on what time Arthur decided to stumble out of bed. As for the actual meal, Australia knew exactly what to make. He began making Arthur's favorite scone recipe which he knew by heart.
Around eleven Arthur rolled out of bed. He could smell wonderful scents drifting up from the kitchen. When he made it down the stairs, he saw Australia diligently pouring a cup of tea into Arthur's favorite cup. His emerald eyes met nervous, olive eyes as Australia looked up. Arthur immediately noticed the bruise on the others cheek and fear glazing his eyes.
"G-G'day, Arthur…" He said (though it was nearly a whimper), forcing a smile. He hoped it looked convincing, though he knew it didn't.
"Good morning. It smells delicious." Arthur said, now feeling shame contributing to his pulsing headache.
The Briton immediately sipped the tea (and it was the perfect temperature; not too hot not too cold) and felt his headache begin to slightly ebb. Australia didn't sit. He served Arthur his breakfast and began to head for the door. He hadn't bother setting a place for himself even.
"Australia… This is wonderful… Thank you." Arthur said, hoping to get a smile from the boy.
Australia paused to respond, "It was nothin'. Just being a good little brother. Trying to help out, y'know?" He said quietly, voice once again on the border of being a whimper.
Arthur felt like he was looking at a kicked puppy. An adorable puppy that he, Arthur, had kicked maybe one too many times. He made one final attempt to lure the boy back to the table in a desperate attempt for forgiveness and company from his brother,
"I love you, little brother." He said.
Australia was silent for what seemed a long time. He moved his hand up to wipe his eye,
"Bubba… It's wrong to lie, that was cruel."
He then quickly left the kitchen, leaving Arthur suffocating in remorse.