Opium War is a series of one-shot fanfictions featuring the relationship between England and Hong Kong, with the main theme of one-sided Hong Kong - England. The name 'Opium War' comes from the actual Opium War between China and England in the 19th century, which led to Hong Kong becoming England's colony. Historical events may not be correct, as I have very restricted knowledge about it. I also have no idea about Hongkongers' feelings when they're under England's influence, so the stories are completely fictional. The one-shots in the series are unrelated and can be read separately as they only follow the same theme. There are 4 stories for now, and I'm not at all sure if I'm going to continue or not.
Pieces
Featuring: depressing England, one-sided Hong Kong - England, mention of USxUK.
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It was a well-known fact that England was most crappy when he was drunk. That was what everyone said.
Hong Kong knew better.
He knew that England wasn't at his most unsettled and out-of-character moment when he was drunk, nor when he failed at baking yucky scones, nor even when he was at his table sewing, being a complete sweetheart even though his hands were still dripping blood from the war.
Only he knew England's moments when he was most breakable.
On such days, said man would arrive at the international port very late at night. He would try to walk straight and firm like usual, even though his legs were all jelly-like. He would shake Hong Kong's hand, looking all settled and formal as if his own hand wasn't trembling wildly under the thin layer of leather. He would step into Hong Kong's residence, take off his boots and coat, follow Hong Kong into the living room and sit still while waiting for tea.
He would sip a bit of the warm drink and would put the cup down onto its saucer.
"He always says that coffee tastes better, that stupid bastard."
He would always say that sentence, before leaning closer to Hong Kong and burying his face into the other's back. He would lower his head, as Hong Kong gave out a long sigh and turn around, opened up his arms. He would crawl slowly into that embrace, like a child in despair crawling over to his mother. He would stay in those thin, weak arms for a while, before breaking into pieces, scattering all over the dimly-lit living room.
Hong Kong was always the one who gathered up the heartbroken England and put him together into the usual self that everyone knew. He would kindly carried a newly-mended, all-sleeping-and-careless England back to his honored-guest-only room, place him in the huge double bed that no one else had slept on before, tuck him into the blanket and put down the silk curtain.
He would close the door behind his back and stay in the room all night, listening to quiet breathing and wiping away tears that only appeared during the slumber. Hong Kong would stay there, staring at the figure that he had been staring at for more than a hundred years. He would sit by the bed besides the window, letting the weak moonlight shine up that face that had imprinted in his mind ever since childhood. He would hesitantly touch the blonde strands of hair, would lean in closer and have himself ghosting right above the sleeping one's lightly-opened mouth. He would steal away a guilty, childish kiss before realizing what he had done.
He found his lips bitter like coffee.
The next morning, England woke up to the strangely damp feeling on his lips and the smell of tea from the kitchen. He would sigh at the trail of dried-up tears from the night, would put on an innocent smile and walk into the kitchen.
When England put on his coat, he thanked Hong Kong and smiled. Hong Kong would shake his head like it was nothing while telling England to come visit again if he wanted.
After England had left, Hong Kong would run into the room, drop himself on the England-scented mattress and chant:
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…"
He apologized so many times his voice finally got broken and funny and choking.
Next time, when England came over all shattered up and mending-needing,
He would do it again.