Chap III – The Absolute Lie

Arthur woke up at the shuffling sounds around him. Blinking hazed emeralds open, he witnessed Antonio walking out of the shower and getting dressed. Arthur took his time to look over the bare chest of the Spaniard, the perfect way his jeans fell on his hips, the wet dripping black curls and his serious cold angry face …

Uh? Serious cold angry …?

Antonio glanced up as he saw Arthur wake up. The blonde sat on the bed, at loss and watching him with expectant green eyes seeking answers Antonio wished he didn't have to give. The Spaniard was about to growl at the blonde but when he crossed eyes with the glowing emeralds, all words flew out of his mind and his open mouth could only let out vague sounds.

"… Hi." Antonio barely managed to utter.

Arthur winced at the empty tone. He expected this much. Antonio was seriously drunk last night. He probably would have slept with anyone and Arthur just happened to be there. It was expected but Arthur couldn't help feel betrayed and played. He had truly believed Antonio's words last night. At the very least, he thought … he hoped that Antonio might have actually been serious!

"You're mine"

What a joke! Should have known better! After how many heartbreaks is he going to learn?! Well … it is his fault for falling for the empty promises of a drunkard. Arthur couldn't even find a reason to blame Spain on this one. But damn was he bitter about it all!

Antonio watched carefully at the blonde's expression. Arthur's empty blank face was hard to figure out. He never could tell what the blonde was thinking. At least, if Arthur could get angry, it'd be easier! Why is he staying silent like that?! Is he that upset of having slept with Antonio? The Spaniard couldn't help but feel offended and pissed off by the idea that Arthur was regretting sleeping with him that much that he couldn't even get angry!

"Hi." He heard Arthur's quiet cold tone, almost like the blonde didn't want to even speak to him.

Arthur hoped his voice didn't come out chocked up. He had to swallow up his bitterness and frustration, clenching his fists in the blankets as he tried not to throw a fit. This whole situation was just awful! The tensed atmosphere and awkwardness between them was making Arthur remember why he had promised himself never to be left alone with Spain when drunk. And damn, he didn't even have that excuse for last night! He remembers everything! But yeah … he shouldn't expect bloody Spain to remember! The guy is probably disgusted and thinking of ways to murder him!

"About last night …" Arthur looked up as he heard Antonio speak up again.

The Spaniard was glaring at the wall, avoiding to cross eyes with the blonde or he will lose all composure again. Why was he feeling so ashamed and nervous? He knew Francis cared for the blonde and the guilt he felt was impossible to describe. So why was he feeling a bit smug about it all? It's not like he ... well, no! He can't! He hates England, end of story! Besides he shouldn't have dragged Arthur into this. If England heard of the Rule, France will probably also be murdered alongside himself! Either way, last night was just a mistake! He was drunk! The blonde was probably a bit tipsy too despite having driven them back to the hotel. He could tell because Antonio remembers Arthur's cheeks to have been flushed the entire time they interacted. That must have been the alcohol … right?

"Yeah?" Arthur's quiet voice barely audible managed to reach Antonio's ears.

Frowning severely, Antonio snapped in a harsh and empty tone. All his inner turmoil and aggression flashed over his expression and seeming to direct all the blame onto Arthur as he glared at the blonde. Arthur didn't even wince or blink at the angry tone of the Spaniard. Should he have sounded angry too? Maybe. But all the blonde felt was ... empty and disappointed.

"All that was just a mistake! I was horny and you were there! You had drunk a lot and I took advantage! That's all! You can punch me if it makes you feel better but don't you dare go around saying anything about what happened last night! None of that means anything! Agreed?" Antonio finally glared into the eyes of the blonde. Arthur's emeralds seemed to dull and grow colder than usual. Antonio didn't know why but he felt a bit guilty when he saw the emptiness in those beautiful greens. The blonde nevertheless nodded compliantly.

"Nothing happened." Arthur dully declared as he pulled himself out of bed and walked to the en suite shower.

Before he walked through, Arthur shot back a dark glare full of bottled up hate aimed at the Spaniard and when he spoke, this time, Antonio felt his blood freeze from the icy venom in the blonde's voice.

"Don't talk or come near me again or I'll do more than just punch you."

Antonio blinked as the bathroom door shut closed. He didn't realise that he had followed Arthur's movements, his eyes trailing down the naked blonde, until he disappeared to shower. Arthur's threat, far from making Antonio scared, actually made his blood rush pumped in excitement. Face-palming, Antonio cursed his hangover for making him act like last night. He thought a shower would help him calm down and forget all those thoughts of Arthur and last night.

At least he cleared the issue with the blonde. Now, all he needed was to pretend nothing happened. How hard can it be? It's not like he has feelings for the Englishman. He can't have feelings for England! Even if he might ... maybe ... have a soft spot for the blonde, Arthur would never return any kind of feelings he might ... maybe ... possibly have. No, no, no! He hates England! That's how he decided things and that's how he's going to keep them! England is only a colleague and acquaintance! Even if he has a sweet ass ...

Francis and Gilbert groaned in misery at the table, Ludwig ignored their complaints as he sipped his morning coffee. He had woken the two drunkards and dragged them down to the hotel buffet for breakfast an hour before every other nation had woken up. Francis mentally cursed Ludwig and his German punctuality that made him get up and prepared early in advance so that they wouldn't be late for the road trip America had organised. Knowing how wasted America was last night, Francis doubts the host himself will show up on time so why did they bother getting prepared too early?!

"Weeeest … I don't feel so good …" Prussia groaned and without a word, headed for the bathroom.

Francis rolled his eyes and buried his face in his crossed arms over the table, hoping he could catch a bit more sleep before the others arrived. But seems like Ludwig would not give him a break!

"How badly are you feeling?" He asked and Francis, in his irritation, did not hear the concern in the young German's voice.

"Fantastic! Never better!" Francis snapped back sarcastically, making the other blonde wince.

"Sorry … I could have woken up only Brother but I had to hand back the keys of our room and your room is shared with Switzerland so I didn't think bringing you back to your room to rest would have been wise." The German tried to explain himself. For all answer he got a reluctant growl that Francis understood but still was pissed at him.

Sighing, Germany finished his breakfast without another word. He'd never get Francis to be cordial right now. All the times Francis had stayed the night at his place from having partied with Prussia, the next morning, Ludwig remembers the Frenchman to be extremely irritable and in a bad mood. His rationality was thrown out the window, and Francis would just remain silent and grumpy until the hangover passes. Which can take a whole day depending on how badly drunk he was.

Considering that America had planned a road trip across his nation for all his guests, Ludwig doubted Francis would recover his good mood before tomorrow. The road trip will only make him more irritable and grouchy. And it's very likely that if Ludwig had brought Francis back to his shared room with Switzerland last night, he would have ended up in a gun fight with the other blonde this morning that would probably blow up the whole building.

Chuckling softly, Ludwig imagined the face America would make when he would ask for Hangover-France and Pissed-Off-Switzerland for a refund. It would not look pretty! Glancing down at the other blonde, Ludwig noticed the silent regular breathing of the French and his face turned sideways as he slept his hangover off. A dust of pink crawled up his cheeks and the German tried not to stare too long at the sleeping beauty in front of him. It's hard with the breakfast area near empty and the only company he had was his crush.

Caressing Francis' cheek, Ludwig pulled away a few golden strands from the other's face. He really was gorgeous. And not at all as people judge him to be. Due to France's regular visits to his place (Thanks to Prussia inviting him all the time) Germany had grown to know the French nation better than all the stereotypes that surrounds him. Before he knew it, he was head over heels in love with his neighbour and European partner. And to make matters worse, Francis always treated him in a patronizing manner. He was officially labelled as "Prussia's Little Brother" in the French's mind. And no matter how much Germany tried, he never seemed to get Francis to see him any other way. It frustrated him. He wanted to be seen as a man and not as Prussia's little brother! He's taller and stronger than his brother anyway! He's by far no longer a child! And he is a lot more responsible and reliable than Prussia (Which admittedly is not hard an accomplishment)! Ludwig tried so hard to become perfect and yet Francis just never seemed to see him as more than a friend. No … a friend's younger brother. He's not even a friend himself. His brother is the friend. He's just the little brother of Prussia.

It's so frustrating …

Francis didn't move. He wasn't asleep, only resting, when he felt a large hand brush back his hair. It wasn't Prussia. He would have heard the loud moaning idiot return. So that leaves only Germany. Why is Germany caressing his face when he's "sleeping"? Francis felt his breath hitch. He didn't like this situation. It would be troublesome if Prussia came back and saw this. Not that anything was happening but it would be best not to create misunderstandings. As best as he could, Francis pretended to stir in his sleep. And as he expected, Germany's hand flew away instantly. He smirked to himself. Germany was much to prude to do anything. He was probably feeling bad about making the Frenchman so angry. Francis thought about apologising for his rude behaviour later once he wakes up. Smiling softly, Francis really fell asleep, not noticing the soft name he whispered as he did so. But Germany noticed.

When Italy joined them suddenly the Italian spent many minutes staring at the sleeping France and the beetroot red Germany.

"Ve … Ludwig? What's up with your face?"

"N-Nothing. It's nothing. H-here's some coffee …" Ludwig tried to distract his friend and succeeded. In the morning, nothing matters more to the Italian than his coffee. But in the German's mind the soft spoken words of France still rang pleasantly in his mind.

"Sorry Ludwig … Not mad at you …"

Ludwig shook his head and stared longingly at the peaceful face of the sleeping blonde. Italy was too busy eating to notice. The German sighed heavily. He couldn't admit his feelings to Francis. Not when Francis isn't even taking him seriously as a man. He was still just a little brother. And it really was frustrating … even if the soft voice of Francis sounded so melodic.

Prussia leaned against the sink. He felt nauseous but his stomach was growling painfully empty. A door opened and a gasp caught Prussia's ears. The albino was too hangover to bother looking at whom had entered the toilettes after him. He can't even tell how long he's been there, letting the tap water running like a leak.

A hand shot out and closed the tap. Prussia heard some profanities and a scolding familiar voice but his red eyes were still dully staring at the tap and the hand atop it.

"Oi! Bastard! Are you listening? Damnit! Are you sick or something? See, I knew you three bastards would get wasted like crazy! I bet the sleeping idiot with your brother is in the same state as you! And the tomato bastard is probably lying around outside from not having found anyone to drive him back! Serves you right, bastards!"

Romano paused in his rant as he noticed absolutely no reaction from the Prussian. It scared him slightly. The Prussia he knows would already be snapping back at him, claiming his awesomness and being the usual bastard he is. But his dull state of passiveness right now is just too freaky! Shaking the Prussian's shoulder softly, Romano toned down to a worried voice.

"H-Hey! Bastard! Are you alright? Is it that bad?"

Prussia blinked as he felt a hand shake him gently. He looked up and met the concerned amber eyes. Italy …? No. Those eyes were not oblivious and bright. Those eyes were soft in their shine and with an appeasing warmth rather than the blinding brightness of Feliciano. And those eyes had that constant twitching frown.

"Romano …?" Prussia croaked before he felt his legs give in and his body topple over the Italian.

Romano cursed as he caught the albino falling over him. The stench of alcohol still present from Gilbert's breath as he breathed over Romano's neck, his head resting on the brunet's shoulder and his arms falling limp by the side of his body as Romano wrapped his own arms around the taller broader figure to maintain both their balance.

"Oi! Bastard! Wake up! If you're going to fucking sleep, do it in your room!"

"West kicked us out … said he had to return to key …"

"Uh? He already gave back the keys? Well, whatever! It's your fault for getting wasted like that before the road trip! Damnit! You're heavy! Get off!"

"Hm … You're warm … and you smell nice." Prussia dully answered, half-conscious of his words.

Romano's face flashed every shade of red and a disgusted expression crossed his features. He dropped the albino and waked out of the toilets (Forgetting he originally needed to go). He slammed the door behind him but Gilbert was already snoring on the ground, oblivious to the turmoil he had stirred up in the oldest Italian.

"Fucking potato bastard! Who told you that you could flirt with me?! My brother isn't enough already?!" Romano cursed as he charged towards the table where his brother was socialising with the other potato bastard. Romano hated the way other nations looked at his brother with lustful eyes. It irritated him that people only saw them as cute little toys. So Romano made it a point to be rude and aggressive to any bastard that flirts with either him or his brother (mostly his brother). He first thought the blonde potato bastard to also be after Feliciano's ass but turns out Ludwig has no other feelings than friendship for his brother. Not even lust or other devious thoughts. So Romano accepted his presence, even if reluctantly. It was obvious anyway that the German had eyes on someone else …

Romano could only pity the potato bastard as he saw Ludwig shoot a longing gaze at the sleeping blonde at their table. France was just so oblivious to Germany's feelings, it was almost funny! But the albino potato head is another story entirely! That idiot is always making moves on Feliciano! When will he learn to back off?! And now, he has the guts to make a move on him? The bastard can go and die for all Romano cares!

"I hate German bastards!" Romano growled and went to get his coffee, lying to himself about the twinge of flattery he had felt at Gilbert's praise. It was only the slurred talk of a drunkard anyway!