Just like people, countries don't all have photographic memories, so they too keep albums to bring out every so often and remind themselves of everything they'd done throughout their long histories...
...including some things they had been glad to forget. Of course, the pictures they keep often hold both good memories and bad, so it's probably impossible to only keep the 'good photos.' They just have to look into their pasts and be brave.
"Wow...I didn't think it was this cruttered..." Kiku Honda mused to himself, peering into the darkness of his closet at the haphazard piles of boxes of old things he had accumulated over the years as mementos of his past days as a nation. Bending down, he opened one of these boxes, feeling nostalgic and wanting to remember some of his times as a younger country. The random album he selected certainly wasn't the oldest item he had on hand, but the picture on the cover- a fuzzy photo of Ludwig, Feliciano, and himself standing together at a 1940's-era gathering of sorts- made it seem like one of the more positively connotative ones, so he brought it over to his bed, blew some dust off of it, and sat down to look through it.
The first few pages contained various photographs of places he'd been to and things he'd seen when he had traveled in Germany and Italy, as well as various moments in time such as Feliciano trying on Ludwig's uniform (a terrible fit, even with the belt at its tightest) or Kiku himself wearing a new uniform with a navy cap casting a shadow over his features; he appeared to be smiling bit in this picture, standing next to a young, serious-looking teen...
"...K-Kaoru-kun?" he whispered, bringing the page closer to his face to discern the details more clearly. A memory came to him of that moment:
"So this is what Engrand-san surrendered to me?" Kiku narrowed his eyes at the colony in front of him whose face was blank, other than his angry, hurt-filled eyes. The boy rubbed his wrists together, annoyed with the handcuffs chafing them.
An official standing nearby nodded. "Yes. I believe Mr. England referred to him as Hong Kong, or Leon Kirkla-"
"I know his furr name," Kiku mused irritatedly, "and it is not what Engrand-san carrs him." He gripped his prisoner's chin and pulled it forcefully up to face him, annoyed that they were of equal height despite the difference in their ages. "Terr me, Kaoru Wang..." He saw Kaoru's eyebrows (they appeared quite bushy) twitch, but received little other indication of him hearing or understanding. "Terr me... do you think Engrand-san would try to rescue you after he abandoned you to me?"
Kaoru's lower lip quivered at the word 'abandoned.' He did not, however, respond verbally. This made his captor smirk. So, this child wanted to be tough? He didn't mind that. Not at all.
Kiku felt a bitter taste in his mouth, a wave of blame washing over him. The things he had done to break the colony down: imprisonment, starvation, torture...the colony of Hong Kong had lost 30% of its population while controlled by Japan due to the brutality it had to take. What made Kiku fidget, though, was the simple fact that Kaoru had remained stubbornly tough through all of the harsh treatment...
Kaoru looked intensely at Kiku, breaking eye contact only to blink when he was shoved into the wall behind him, the rock aggravating and reopening the bruises and gashes that had already existed there, courtesy of Kiku's kata. He refused to show any signs of the pain coursing through his body, however. He'd felt worse. He wouldn't appear weak to his enemy.
"You have disprayed your reberriousness quite enough for me, Kaoru," the older country murmured, smirking when he noticed how the teen's legs shook from the effort of holding himself up against the weakness he no doubt felt. "It is honorabre, I suppose." He grinned maliciously. "Ret us test it, ne?"
Kaoru barely had time to cock an eyebrow before he was pressed into the wall again, knocking his head against it hard enough to make his eyes water. Instead of cold metal at his throat, however, his eyes grew wide at the sight and feeling of Kiku...kissing him? He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to freak out when he felt a tongue running along his lower lip, trying to get inside his mouth. -Grossgrossgrossgrossgross!-
Kiku growled and knocked one of Kaoru's feet out from under him with one of his own, surprising the young colony just enough to open his mouth to yelp, which allowed Kiku's tongue to delve inside, battling with Kaoru's, the teen squirming and "Mmmph!"ing, unused to being invaded in such a fashion.
So, he'd found a small weak point in the kid's defenses? This would be interesting, indeed.
The next few weeks had differed greatly from the kind of torture and treatment Kaoru was used to. Kiku allowed him meager portions of food, but he controlled when and how he got them: after he finished his meals and from his own hands, to be specific. At first, the colony stubbornly refused anything offered to him, but a few days of hunger combined with the sight of such delicious cuisine forced him to accept it, eating only for the sake of keeping himself healthy. He was also allowed to listen to the news with Kiku, who watched the colony's unmoving face when word of the utter destruction in England came up. He was always disappointed, though, to see no reaction whatsoever. Anything and everything Kaoru needed to survive and remain civilized was given to him through his captor. The colony was completely dependent upon him, whether he liked it or not. He never spoke to Kiku during the day, but his eyes and body language betrayed all of the emotion the older country needed to know how to act around him- including the odd fact that Kaoru guarded his front bangs closely.* He could never figure out why, but that didn't matter. Even without the secret, Kiku knew Kaoru was slowly losing the game of psychological warfare.
The words 'Stockholm Syndrome' floated through Kiku's mind as he felt his face color at the devious memories he saw in the faces peering up at him photographs. Although Kaoru rarely appeared in any of them, traces of his presence could been detected. A scratch on Kiku's cheek, a bite mark on his knuckle, or the way he pulled up his collar served as hidden reminders of what he had pushed his prisoner to.
"I've been thinking, Kaoru," the nation mentioned, swirling the glass of sake in his hand, "about what to do with you once this war is finarry over." When the colony beside him remained silent, he continued, "I might keep you with me. Once the worrd is spinning on its new axis, nothing wirr be abre to come between us." He remarked, almost as an afterthought, "I do not rike having to resort to such measures as bombing Pearr Harbor or attacking China-san..." He sighed, finishing the glass and placing back on the table in front of him. He looked to Kaoru, who sat quietly under the kotatsu, eating with resignation and beating himself up for it for the hundredth time for allowing himself to be broken to such an extent. He made excuses in his mind, then shot them down with silent-but-sharp words that he reserved only for himself. But...each time he tried to stir up the spark of the will to fight, Kiku did something nice to him and extinguished it. Swallowing a bite of fish, he turned to Kiku and expressionlessly kissed his cheek. It was a gesture of thankless thanks, picked up from Western culture.
As much as Kiku knew this fact, the unexpected move sparked something- without thinking, he pushed Kaoru to the floor, the boy's head smacking against it, and hungrily attacked his already-bruised, swollen lips. Somehow, simple kisses and touches were never enough.
Unable to stop his mind, Kiku shuddered as memories came of of licks, bites, scratches, every inch of Kaoru's battered body as he used it, phantom-sounds of gasps, groans, and screams as the colony found out first-hand how surprisingly efficient blood and sweat were for lubrication before collapsing in the throes of lusciously excruciating ecstasy and losing consciousness. Kiku couldn't remember if he had cared or not- he knew he should have, given the number of times such an event had occurred. The pervading feelings of guilt and share wrapped him in dark blankets of something like depression as he again turned the page of the album to a photo taken of Arthur Kirkland and Kaoru, both battered but standing tall in front of a document officializing the surrender of Hong Kong back into the hands of England from Japan. That event had served as a harbinger of Kiku's eventual loss of the war in full.
"Don't wark away from me, Hong Kong-san." Kiku's voice wavered as he spoke to Kaoru from his position between two English soldiers, each of his arms held steady to keep him from trying anything on them...not that he would be able to after the beating he'd received (how ironically) from Arthur. Said country had already begun strolling down the road ahead, but Kaoru had hesitated, looking for a moment in a puddle at the reflection of his bandaged face. He again wore his British uniform.
"Don't wark away," Kiku repeated, a little more loudly.
Images of his country's land destroyed by gunfire appeared before him in his mind's eye.
Kaoru took a step forward, looking straight ahead. Kiku know how blank his face was.
"Don't! Do not wark away from me!" he said.
Hiroshima.
Atomic fallout.
The signing of the treaty with America in surrender of the war.
Kiku fell silent as Kaoru showed no sign of hearing him. His body gave up but his mind screamed for him to come back, to come back to him or at least to say goodbye before he left! His sense of dignity, though, kept him stiffly in check. He saw Kaoru for the last time for fifty years, after which he was released from England's ownership and allowed to be a Special Administrative Region of China, reuniting with his Eastern family. Kiku, having learned to forget most of the trials of World War II in exchange for a future of technology and no military, referred to him politely as 'Otouto-san', or 'younger brother'.
Closing the album stiffly, Kiku pushed it away from him, disgusted, and brought his knees up to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible and convincing himself that his eyes weren't watering, that he wasn't crying with self-deprecation.
He heard the door open behind him and sensed someone walk in and sit down on the bed next to him. Their greater height and aloof aura made their identity obvious.
"Konnichiwa, Kaoru-kun..."
Kaoru looked down at the older country and blinked, then gently wrapped an arm around him, pulling him up to himself. Kiku stiffened at first, but the young nation's stubbornly soft touches convinced him to relax as his eyes were dried, then be pulled into a full hug, feeling Kaoru's lips pressed to the top of his head.
Kiku sniffed. It was odd how the spirit healed itself, he thought to himself.
*- based on a headcanon that HK's front/side bangs serve as his erogenous zone, or are at least extremely sensitive