"You're late." Iceland said from the couch, loudly flipping to the next page of his book, knowing that it would make Denmark cringe in pain. "You said you'd be home at five." He set his book down in his lap. "It's twelve. Care to tell me why it took you seven hours to get home?"

"Got…Got caught up…at the b-bar." Denmark's mind was a mess, and every thought was hard to process.

He could barely remember anything that had happened before he had gotten home. It was all a blur.

"And how exactly did you get caught up?" There was no use in trying to hold back the venom in his tone.

Denmark collapsed on the couch, trying to hold back the throbbing pain that shot through his skull. "I c-can't…remember…"

Iceland huffed, rolling his eyes. "Come here, you big oaf." He threw his book onto the floor, holding his arms open.

Denmark crawled over to him, letting his head rest in the crook of Iceland's shoulder. He felt Iceland run a hand up and down his back, before tangling in his hair, twirling locks of it around in his fingers.

"Can you remember anything?" Iceland asked quietly, sighing when he felt Denmark's hot breath hit his neck.

"Y-yeah…I thin-think so…" He wrapped his arms tighter around Iceland's waist, not wanting the boy to let go.

"Will you tell me?"

Denmark paused, his wrecked train of thoughts coming to a halt. The tiny bits and pieces that he could remember played out in his head, and he knew that if he told Iceland, this would be the last night of them being together.

He pressed a kiss to Iceland's neck and shook his head. Iceland would understand…right?

For some time, Iceland was silent. Denmark could feel the boy's chest rise and fall slowly, and he could hear his steady heartbeat. And then all of a sudden, it picked up speed.

"Did it happen again?"

Denmark felt his stomach drop.

"Y-yeah…"

"You promised it wouldn't happen again."

"I told h-him not to…"

"Did he force you?"

"No."

"Did you agree to it?"

The silence Denmark gave him was the answer.

"Get off of me."

Denmark felt Iceland shift, before the boy shoved him off, sending him to the other side of the couch.

"I'm going home." Iceland whispered, his voice cracking.

"Ice…" Denmark sat up, vision suddenly going blurry. Whether it was from tears or from the alcohol, he couldn't tell.

He watched as Iceland stomped up the stairs to their shared bedroom.

A minute later, he heard the door slam.

"What do you want?"

It had been two months since Iceland had allowed Denmark to see him.

Two months since Denmark had fucked up. One month to wallow in self-pity, and another to realize he had been the one to fuck up and that self-pity was useless.

"I know you're probably going to say no if I ask for you to take me back, so I'm not going to ask that. I know you're probably going to say no if I ask for your forgiveness, so I won't ask that either." He shifted from foot to foot, feeling small under Iceland's gaze, even though he towered over the boy. "So…I just wanna say…I'm sorry. I know I messed up, and I know you hate me. I hate me too, not that-that I'm trying to guilt trip ya or anythin'. I just-I'm-dammit, Ice. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

For a while, Iceland stared at him, his expression unreadable.

"It happened twice, Den. How am I supposed to think that you won't do it a third time, or a fourth time?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"I love you, Denmark, but until I know you're actually in this one-hundred percent, I can't be with you."

"I…I understand. I love you, Ice."

Iceland let out a sigh, before closing the door.