"Ai-ya! What do you think you're doing?"
"Wh-what?"
England had to run to keep up with China as he stormed out of town and back to his home. He didn't understand what he'd done wrong - it was just one little kiss. China was furious, though.
"What are you so upset about?"
"What do you think I'm upset about? What do you think you're doing, putting your lips on me like that! In broad daylight!" England's expression must have been as blank as his mind was at that moment, because China threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know what kind of customs you have in England, but here in China, that level of intimacy is only for married couples - and in the privacy of their own home!"
"That level of...intimacy?" England echoed.
It was difficult, though. England wanted to respect China's feelings and customs, but in London, a couple sharing a kiss was nothing to get so angry about, and the gesture itself was such a nice reminder of the love shared. Being not just refused but adamantly so by China wasn't only wounding England's pride, after all.
Soon after the first scenario - which China forgave because England legitimately had no idea what he'd done - though, England couldn't help himself, and was once again slapped.
"You knew exactly what you were doing that time!"
"I know, I'm sorry!" England held up his hands defensively. "China, I don't understand. That night, when France...left...you let me kiss your hand, but now you don't want me to touch you at all."
"I wasn't expecting you to kiss my hand that night!" China said, blushing. "Besides, that's just your English way of showing respect, isn't it?"
"It's my 'English way' of showing how I feel about you," England said. "Sometimes you don't need to say the words out loud to be heard. We understand each other, don't we?" He looked away, hoping that his blush wasn't as noticeable as it felt. China paused then laughed.
"Aiya, still so young. I keep forgetting how romantic you are," he teased. "You still need to learn the ways of the world, England."
"The world needs to learn the ways of the English," England corrected.
"Oh, so you're going to tell me how to live, now?" China asked, laughing again.
"The first thing to go is that 'no kissing' rule," England said, leaning closer to China, who expertly held up a hand to stop him.
"It's not a 'no kissing' rule, for your information. That kind of intimacy is simply reserved for married couples."
"So marry me, then."
The statement had come out with virtually no thought preceding it, and it caught both China and England off guard.
"Wh-what?" China asked, eyes wide.
"So marry me, then," England said again, the teasing light gone from his eyes.
After a terrifying moment of silence, China had stood and started pacing, ranting and raving about how they barely knew each other and it wouldn't make a bit of sense and where were they going to live it wasn't like England and China were neighboring countries. In fact, the more China yelled and protested, the more it sounded like he was saying "yes."
When England asked again, point-blank, if China would marry him, though, the only response was an exasperated "Ai-ya!" and China running out of the room blushing.
All night long, China had strange dreams about wearing a ring, pushing a stroller, and living in a city where everybody wore suits and kissed in broad daylight. Every time he woke up, he reminded himself aloud how ridiculous this all was, and every time he fell back asleep, a new dream would arrive, full of white cakes, hand-holding, and little babies with unruly blond hair and almond-shaped eyes. Finally, China fell into a deep sleep.
When he woke up in the morning, China knew that he had overslept because, firstly, hard sunlight was pouring in through the window, and, secondly, he could smell England burning breakfast downstairs.
Groaning, he sat up. There on the pillow beside him was a little box, and China frowned, not recognizing it. Was it England's? What would England have been doing in his room, though? China opened the box and froze.
Well, it was England's all right.
Lying on the box's pillowed interior was a ring, a gold band that China knew was more than the simple piece of jewelry it seemed to be. After what had happened last night, China wasn't sure if he were impressed or angry that England had the audacity to leave an engagement ring on his pillow.
There was something etched on the inside of the band. China picked it up and tilted the ring so that he could read the Chinese inscription.
Beautiful.
England hummed to himself as he put the last of China's surprise breakfast-in-bed on the tray, then reached into his pocket for the ring. He'd recognized the look on China's face the night before, and it certainly hadn't been one of rejection. With just the right romantic touch-
Where was the ring?
At that moment, England heard China's bedroom door slam upstairs, followed by footsteps rushing down the hallway and to the stairs, and panic flooded him. He must have dropped the box this morning when he went into China's room to make sure that he was still asleep. Now China was going to find it and get the wrong idea and-
China burst into the kitchen, hair still sticking up a little bit, cheeks stained with a blush, eyes softer than England had ever seen them. On China's left hand, England caught a glimmer of gold. He looked to China, not sure what to say, and China shyly pushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear, a small smile on his lips.
"England?"
"Y-Yes?"
"Aren't you going to kiss me?"
There would be another meeting tomorrow for the Allied nations. With America and France to think about, England should have been in bed hours before, resting up and building his strength, but it was hard to think about America and France with China occupying his mind. So, instead, England sat at his desk, the engagement ring China had thrown at him so many years ago now resting in his hand.
England never asked himself how it happened; he remembered that part quite well. The thing he always wondered, always in his mind and never aloud, was why it happened.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the soft, measured knocking at his study door. Hong Kong opened the door a crack and peeked inside.
"England?"
England jumped, shoving the ring into its box and hiding it in his desk, turning back to face Hong Kong.
"Hong Kong! What are you still doing up?"
"I had a bad dream."
Well, that was unusual. Hong Kong never got up in the night, even when he had bad dreams. England could remember on more than one occasion going into Hong Kong's room in the morning to find him wide awake in bed, a flashlight in one hand, a cricket bat in the other. If Hong Kong had actually gotten up in the night, it must have been an intense nightmare.
England held out his arms, and Hong Kong crawled into his lap, curling up in the safety of his embrace. Kissing the top of Hong Kong's head, England rocked back and forth a little bit, a comforting motion he'd picked up when Hong Kong was small. Hong Kong hummed and closed his eyes.
"I feel like a little kid," he mumbled, and England smiled.
"You're never too old to get nightmares," he said, "or hugs." Hong Kong coughed, hiding a laugh. After a moment longer of rocking, England asked, "What was it about?"
"It wasn't really a scary dream, like with monsters, or anything," Hong Kong said. "It was just..." He gestured loosely, failing to come up with a word. "It was scary, but different scary."
"How so?"
"Well, you were there," Hong Kong said, "but you were bad."
"I was bad?" England asked, and though his tone was gentle, his arms held Hong Kong a little tighter. Hong Kong nodded.
"Not to me. I don't even know if I were there in the dream, you know? I was just watching."
"So, I was bad to someone else?" England asked, and Hong Kong tilted his head back to look up at him before snuggling a little closer. "You can tell me. It was just a dream."
Hong Kong thought about it. "You hurt China," he said finally. England's hug tightened again. "I tried to stop you, but it was a dream, and I couldn't."
"Dreams can be scary like that," England said, swallowing. "You didn't want China to get hurt, but the dream wouldn't let you help him."
"It wasn't that, exactly," Hong Kong said. "I didn't want you to be bad, but, in the dream, I couldn't go to you. It wouldn't let me."
England didn't say anything, but he combed back Hong Kong's hair with his fingers and nodded. Hong Kong's eyes fluttered at the soothing gesture, and England relaxed at the first sign that Hong Kong was drifting off to sleep.
Snapping awake, though, Hong Kong reached into England's desk and pulled out the hidden box, opening it and studying the ring inside. England froze, not knowing what to say. Hong Kong turned the ring over in his hands, as England had been doing not long before, and read the inscription.
Hong Kong had done this before; though England couldn't say how, the thought entered his mind that this was not the first time that Hong Kong was looking at this ring.
"I'm sorry," Hong Kong said finally.
"F...for what?" England asked.
"For making China go away."
The statement nearly made England fall off his chair. "What? Hong Kong, you didn't make China go away! Where would you get an idea like that?"
"I did make China go away," Hong Kong said, his voice monotonous as usual. England stared at him, but Hong Kong looked away. "I went into his room without permission, and I took that powder, and that's when you guys started fighting."
"No, Hong Kong," England said, shaking his head. "It wasn't your fault that we were fighting. China and I...had our differences."
"You didn't have them before," Hong Kong said. "I wish I hadn't gone in there. I broke it."
"'Broke it?'"
"Our family." Neither Hong Kong nor England had ever used that word to describe their life with China, but it occurred to England that they really had been a family. Of course Hong Kong realized it; the result of the Opium War had been to him a terrible fight between his-
Between England and China. Of course.
Hong Kong continued to study the ring, adamantly avoiding England's eyes. "I'm sorry that I broke us," he said in a small voice. "I wish that I could bring China back."
"China and I had to go our separate ways," England said firmly. "We weren't fighting because of you, Hong Kong, I promise. We were fighting because of us. It was better that China went back to his home."
"But you came after us," Hong Kong protested. "You didn't want China to leave."
"No, I didn't, but I didn't realize at the time that China's leaving was the best thing." England ran his fingers through Hong Kong's silky hair, thinking to himself how it was just like China's. "We still fought after that. I wish that we hadn't, but I made some poor choices back then. I wish that I could change things, too."
"Why did you fight?" Hong Kong asked.
"There were a lot of reasons," England said. "China is much older than I am, you know, and he's seen a lot of the world. He knew things that I didn't, and I...made a lot of mistakes."
"I knew that you would be like this, aru. I wanted to believe that you wouldn't change, that you'd stay young and full of dreams and life, but look at you now. Mr. Empire-on-Whom-the-Sun-Never-Sets, aru. Look at this wonderful world you've made for yourself. Is any part of you the same as it was, aru? Where is he - where is the England I fell in love with? Where is the England who is gentle and kind and romantic, aru? You don't even remember, do you, aru? I can't even look at you right now."
"I was young when I first met China, and, as I grew up, I had to think about different things, like finances and politics - things that I had avoided in my rebellious teenage years." England tried to smile down at Hong Kong's expressionless face, but it was impossible. "I...didn't handle the transition well at first. That was when China and I started to fight."
"When did you stop fighting?" Hong Kong asked.
China's golden eyes were harder than England had ever seen them before, and he admired the fact that, beaten and broken, China still maintained his fighting spirit.
"Well, aru?" he spat, glaring up at England, pistol in hand, hovering above him. "I'm unarmed, aru. Aren't you going to finish it?"
England should have been angry, should have been blinded by fury after everything he and China had been through. English soldiers had died. The Chinese were refusing to trade. Even the system the British had worked out to bypass China's laws against opium, was failing.
Worst of all, China had taken Hong Kong away from him.
Even so, as England hovered over China now, the pistol shook in his trembling hand. He couldn't do it. There was no way he could do it. This had all gone too far, and no matter how angry he was, it didn't change the fact that his heart hurt as he looked down at China, who hated him.
"No," he said, his voice sounding more in control than he felt. "You're no good to me dead. You're going to sign a treaty that will make you regret crossing the British Empire, and you're going to live the rest of your life knowing that you couldn't beat us."
I love you.
I'm so sorry.
I wish it were different.
China stared up at him, his hard, golden eyes searching him as they had so many times before. England knew China's every idiosyncrasy, every habit, every flaw. China knew him better than he knew himself; he knew that England couldn't bring himself to finish it.
The hatred that had ebbed from China's eyes as he stared hard into England's soon returned.
"Coward," China whispered.
"Not for a long time," England admitted, picking up Hong Kong and carrying him back to bed.
The reason for that, England knew, was partly because the treaty he forced China to sign turned Hong Kong over to him. Despite everything they went through together, England knew that this was the one thing China would never forgive. Sometimes he wondered if Hong Kong resented the treaty, too; he'd made it clear that he missed China and the three of them being together. Hong Kong wanted a family, and England had deprived him of that.
"We still haven't really worked out all of our differences, but we're getting better." As England tucked in Hong Kong and kissed him good night, he added, "Believe me, Hong Kong, this isn't your fault. Don't you worry about that." He smiled down at the little boy, and Hong Kong stared back up at him.
It was amazing; though Hong Kong's eyes were much darker, they suddenly seemed identical to China's, staring up at England and tapping into his soul through his eyes. Hong Kong was searching for something.
"England?" he whispered. "China doesn't hate you...and neither do I."
