The streets he walks are familiar, and yet seem so unknown. There are barely any people around him, everything is coated in grey. Ashes and bits of fire dance around him. The air is thick, filled with chemicals that would harm any normal being.
But he isn't a normal being. He is the personification of a nation. Hong Kong, to be precise. The air doesn't feel nice in his lungs, but he's used to smog and harmful chemicals. It doesn't deter him.
He is on his way to the nation the lands he walks on belong to. He is worried, a natural disaster like this will not leave them unharmed. Even though Iceland is used to being hit by eruptions of volcanoes and the constant shifting of the tectonic plates, this must have hurt him.
A few days ago, the North American Plate and the Eurasian Plate moved apart, creating a huge gap in the lands. Magma flowed out of it, flooding the land. It must have hurt so much. When Hong Kong saw it on the news, he immediately left for Iceland.
Now, he is able to see the results of the earth shifting and the eruptions of multiple volcanoes by himself. There were numerous casualties, but some people had been able to get away safely. They were now searching refuge in Norway.
The smoke and ash start to burn in his lungs, making him slow down. He wonders if his raven hair is now more the colour of Iceland's hair. He hopes so. Iceland's hair is very pretty to Hong Kong.
He doesn't know what he expects to find when he arrives at Iceland's house. The whole scenery feels haunted. Everything is covered in ashes. The colours seemed to be sucked away, hidden underneath a blanket of greyness. It stings in Hong Kong's chest. But he moves on.
The door creaks, as if it's warning him for what he is going to find later on. A trail of blood leads the way. Inside the house, everything is dim. Electricity went out when the plates shifted and has not returned since. He wonders if Iceland is afraid.
His footsteps seem too loud for the room. Filling it to the brim. Hong Kong doesn't dare to breath, wants to run away from what awaits him beyond the open bedroom door. He is not ready for this. He will never be ready for this. He hopes, prays that Iceland is still okay. That he will be waiting for him, intelligent eyes smiling at him.
When he pushes the door open completely, he chokes on the pain in his chest. Iceland is not okay. He is lying on his bed, blood pooling on the usually crisp white sheets. His eyes are not smiling, instead ripped open and trained on the ceiling. His lovely hands are curled into fists, knuckles white. His mouth is agape in a silent scream.
The eyes move towards where Hong Kong is as soon as the Asian nation sets foot into the room. The floorboards creaked, which drew the attention of the other.
Iceland tries to speak. Hong Kong can clearly see it. His mouth moves. But no sounds come out. Tears fall down Hong Kong's cheeks, onto the dusty floor, mixing with the blood that lies there.
"Ice… Oh my god, Ice…", Hong Kong whispers as he hurries over to the bed.
"No no no, you stay there!", he says, when he sees Iceland shift in his bed, making more blood pool out of the wound on his stomach. Hong Kong briefly wonders if it's a representation of the cut that goes through his lands.
"It's okay Ice, it's okay. I'm here. You're going to be okay", he murmurs into his love's ear once he safely cradled him into his arms. "You'll get through this, wait and see", he tells him. Iceland sighs and closes his eyes. His hand moves towards Hong Kong's shirt, but he is too weak to hold onto it.
Tears stream down his face again, onto the now ashy skin below him. Suddenly, Hong Kong remembers a song he once heard a mother sing to her child every night. He closed his eyes and started singing the first verse.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are grey.
You never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away."
When he opened his eyes again to smile at Iceland, he noticed that the other had stilled in his arms. He smiled through his tears.
"Goodnight Ice. I'll see you in the morning."
He woke up to an empty bed. No warm hands clutching his, no lovely hair pressed against his nose. No one sleeping in his lap. It had been so long since it had happened, but it still felt as if it had been yesterday. The second verse of the song from his dream came to his mind.
"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken.
And I hung my head and cried."
~Hana