The truth hurts “Okay, deep breath.” Dorian felt his mother’s fingers sliding between his, giving him something to squeeze as she tapped his nose, which reformed itself with a jarring crack. He gave a yelp of pain, his hand clamping down tightly on hers.
“Sorry, Xiǎo Tù,” she apologised, stroking his hair. He felt the blood being siphoned off his face, and a hand lifting his chin to look at him carefully. He met eyes that were swimming with tears “I’m so, so sorry… Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked, looking him up and down with concern.
“No… I’m okay,” he assured her. His head hurt. He thought he might need some bruise balm for his neck later. But those were less important right now. They weren’t things he needed her to fix. “But I want to talk to you,” he added, grasping her hand in case she moved to leave, “About what happened. About why-”
“That’s not your responsibility,” she assured him, “Matthieu is the one who needs to explain himself.”
“Please stay,” Dorian requested. Because the time he had to get this out had suddenly been reduced to the time between now and when his mother went to speak to Matthieu. There was no way his brother wasn’t going to tell - to try to mitigate his actions, to try to drop Dorian in it. To try to convince their mother that he was a problem that needed taking care of. In case she wasn’t capable of concluding that by herself.
“Okay,” she assured him, putting an arm around him. She was conscious that there was every possibility that Matthieu’s nose was broken too. Angry as she was with him in that moment, that did warrant being a priority But Dorian seemed to need her just as badly for something else. Something that wasn’t on the outside. His shoulders stiffened at the presence of her arm, wanting to believe in the loving mother who was sitting by his side, wanting to know that that wasn’t going to be snatched away - that she wouldn’t recoil in horror. He wanted to just hug her. Just in case. He didn’t want to have to tell her, not right now. But he only had until she went downstairs.
“When Matthieu walked in… Jean-Loup and I…. we were being… affectionate. With each other.”
“Friends are affectionate,” she stated, but he had felt her own arm tense around him and he knew that she knew he didn’t mean the bounds of a normal friendship.
“No. Mama. You know what I’m saying,” he pressed.
“I’m not sure that I do. You’re not well. And you’re confused. If Jean-Loup has somehow taken advantage-”
“No, Mama,” Dorian insisted. Because however mad he was at him right now, he couldn’t let her think that. “It’s not just today. It’s-”
“Dorian. Stop. You’re ill. You’ve had a trying day. Don’t say something you don’t mean.”
“But I-” he began, but she cut him off again.
“Once you say something, it’s said forever. Just… You’re not well and you’re stressed. Get some rest. You’ll sleep. You’ll sleep, and you’ll feel better, and I will deal with Matthieu. And then we won’t need to say any more about it,” she rattled off, her arm withdrawing as she prepared to leave. “I love you,” she reminded him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I only want good things for you.” And before he could argue any further, she was gone.