A/N: GUEEESSS WHAAAAAAAAATTT? Yeah, after a 2 year hiatus, I just slapped up a chapter. My writing style has changed, my idea for this has changed slightly (it now reeks much more of angst and plot, you have been warned).

I must apologize to those who kept waiting, and I hope you're still into this fandom! Your reviews were what mostly made me man up and write this. And I can actually say I'll continue this with a clear conscience.

Let me know what you think, please! Concrit and ideas are always welcome and appreciated.

Hushed voices behind closed doors, wide eyes peeking through the keyhole, their shimmering surprise sending crackles of electricity in his muscles, tensing him up; shocked murmurs, the sound of his own fingernails scraping against the bedsheets as his brother stepped closer with every word he was saying. Iceland had been silent for a long time, not knowing if to believe or not.

"I can make you remember."

Heartbeat escalating dangerously.

"Do it for me."

Soft hands against his face, startlingly cold against flushed skin before sliding into nearly white hair. Iceland felt like on the verge of hyperventilation, confused and dizzy, as he absent-mindedly registered a shiver running down his spine. How… why had they come to this. So close. He could count every eyelash and see every strand of hair.

Ignorance was bliss, he wanted it back.

"N-Norge, are you drunk?" Was all he could stammer out, voice barely above a whisper. The younger of the two needed an explanation and he needed it now, before his mind started reeling with crazy ideas, twisting everything with underlying passion ruling over his rational mind.

"Please." Norge wasn't supposed to sound so desperate and gentle and… emotional. They had drifted apart three years ago, the warmth from his brother didn't belong in now but then.

Thin lips landed on his in a slightly awkward, chaste kiss; noses bumping, entirely one-sided. Iceland smelled and nearly tasted something that was so very like Norway. Fresh, minty air, something sweet and…

The younger brother pulled back suddenly before he could remember fully. This was a bridge he wasn't ready to shed light upon.

Norway was definitely sober.

Iceland opened his eyes to assure himself of the current reality he was in before cursing under his breath and rolling over to the other side, ignoring his body defying every wish of his logical self as he felt his lips tingle and face flush ever so slightly from the memory.

He tilted his head up to glance at the alarm clock. It was 4.59AM, Wednesday. It had been nearly five days since the swift room change, since the day he punched Norway. Since the day when the incident happened, that now kept replaying in his dreams every other night, jolting him up in the early morning hours, so vivid he ached all over, just to fade into a fuzzy fluttering by the time of the first lesson.

Iceland felt remains of the same anger bubble up in his chest again for a second and the boy growled into his pillow, a wave of contradicting feelings nearly suffocating him; at least Arthur was a deep sleeper, he didn't have to worry about waking him.

During these five days Iceland had quite successfully managed to avoid his older brother, hoping it would calm him, somehow make him forget the conflict, while it actually only aided his anger and the growing tension between them further.

It was already painful enough to meet Norge in hallways or during lunch, they barely spoke, their friends pissed at them since the sibling quarrel had caused both of them to act snappy and angry towards their friends, and the fact they were pretty much in the same friend circle didn't help.

At least Iceland had grown more accustomed to Arthur; you could even say he liked the boy. He was the only one who didn't pester him about making up with his brother. Probably because he was so interested in keeping the room arrangement and, Ice could only come to this conclusion in his hazy state of partly still dreaming, the English boy reminded him of Norge in some ways.

Iceland slipped back into a more peaceful slumber, already somewhat forgetting the details of the vivid dream of a flashback.

His regret of thinking that he liked Arthur was written all over his face, making Denmark laugh and land a wide hand on his shoulder, making the boy shake. "Life with Arthur catching up with you, without Norge waking you up lovingly every morning?" Denmark's voice rumbled with laughter that had an obvious ulterior motive.

Iceland had slept through the first two lessons, gotten detention and had teachers yelling at him for sleeping in class. In his opinion right now Arthur Kirkland was the second biggest prick in the whole school, first being his brother and the third – lovely Denmark.

"Don't even start." He gave the taller blond a look that he knew reminded Denmark too much of Norge (and, oh dear, he knew indeed not to fuck with Norge) to press the matter on.

Iceland plopped down at one of the tables, sipping on his milk lazily. This was more like breakfast for him, not lunch. Purely subconsciously he had been searching for his brother, scanning the cafeteria. The light eyes narrowed slightly when he spotted his sibling. He was sitting with Francis of all people, and the flamboyant blond had even thrown a hand around the stoic boy's shoulders.

Norge wasn't eating anything either, just sipping on a cup of coffee, a book, whose cover Ice couldn't see properly, propped up against the table. Iceland used the chance to take in the features of his older brother that he was so used to seeing every day that they seemed so self explanatory. Now they seemed slightly alien. The straight features, fair complexion, high, ever so slightly prominent cheekbones softened by blond hair falling against the side where it wasn't tucked neatly behind his ear, thick eyelashes. Iceland swallowed uncomfortably.

There was so much distance between them. That's what made the sight so alien. He noted the school cardigan slightly slipping off of one shoulder and, with an uncomfortable pang of something, Ice realized how he'd usually fix it without a second though.

His own clothes were slightly messy, a bit wrinkly from being thrown in the end of his bed. Norway would nag and–

He'd been staring. And now eyes lighter than his own were staring back at him, void of expression.

The white haired boy felt a slight flush grace his cheeks as he looked down on his carton of milk with a sudden jerk of his head. His fingers were gripping it so tightly that there were indentations in it.

"His jaw still hurts you know. It might be dislocated." Tino whispered to him, leaning in. Ice glared at the genuine concern in his friend's face. Yeah, that was exactly what he needed right now – getting caught staring and some more guilt to top it.

"I'm going to class." He announced quietly and got up, emptying the milk on his way out. He didn't feel his brother's eyes digging into his back as he went.

Norge let out a soft sight, expression unwavering. Why was his brother so bad at reading people? Probably because he couldn't put even his own emotions in order. But even he was out of ideas. What were they supposed to do?

Denmark could just watch everything subtly unfold. In serious situations like these, he was actually much more perceptive than most people thought. Something had to be done, another week and those two could stifle the whole cafeteria with that amount of tension.

And he had a plan. A filthy one, full of holes and imperfections, and he was about to stick his nose into something that very clearly had nothing to do with him… but a plan nonetheless. It was for the greater good, right?