Through the eyes

Featuring: very slightly USxUK and UKxHK.

It feels good to be able to write about UK and HK again, I was half-afraid that the series is done for, since I don't have much inspiration these days. writing this to ask the world: how can you read people's expressions and feelings by looking into their eyes anyway? How are happy eyes different from sad eyes? I don't get the method, so does my HK ^_^

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Hong Kong doesn't understand the emotions in England's eyes. No matter what people say about them always being expressive and emotion-dwelling, Hong Kong simply can't see anything when he stared into England's eyes.
The first day they met, they said England's eyes were brighter than usual, thaat they were full of glimmering light and happiness. Hong Kong didn't see anything. All he could see were the widely-opened arms that greeted him, the salty scent of the ocean overflowing into his nostrils, the wide smile pasted on England's face and the warmth of the hand that held his.
The day when England had to leave Hong Kong for the first time for work in the West, they said that England's eyes were sad and longing and hesitation, and a bit of nostalgic. Hong Kong couldn't see anything in those beautiful green eyes. There were only the half-hearted smile, the hand patting gently on his head, the officers lining up at the port and the promise of return. In a glimpse, he saw a blond-haired child in his place in England's eyes.
The day when England returned, they said that England's eyes were joyful and warm, just like his smile. Hong Kong couldn't see how happy those eyes were, he could only imagine when he ran over and hugged England's waist.

They day when Japan came over and declared his claiming over Hong Kong, they said that England's eyes were duller than usual, that they looked afraid and helpless. Hong Kong, as his still-small hands trying to hold on England's sleeve just a little longer when the man was on his way back to the West with backs turned away, couldn't see England's eyes. But he could feel the walls that England built around him was already falling apart.
The days spent in Japan's hands were the days he kept on seeing England's face on the newspaper, saying things about the war in the Western World. They said England's eyes were full of determination and strength. But since he couldn't read England's eyes even if he was staring at them directly, it was no use in trying to read them all black-and-white on the printed paper. But Hong Kong could see the soldiers behind England, the men armed with weapons and a heart for peace. He could see England's abnormally unformal and messed up, but he had guns in hand. He could see the English flag standing still in the picture frame. He could see the war field. He could feel the taste and smell of gunpowder and engine oil and corpse and war. He could see England struggle with pain as he tried to strike back to Germany. He could see victory, he could see defeat. He could see the world behind England's back.
They day when England returned, with scars all over and opened wounds still bleeding, Hong Kong closed his eyes and pull him into an embrace. There was no need to read those eyes anymore. There was no need for trying.
Because England was back.

The days when they spent together, they said that England's eyes grew more and more proud and pleased, as Hong Kong tore off his cocoon to become a fine man. Hong Kong, who was casually holding England's hand and leading him around, couldn't read those expressions. He only saw the mop of golden hair blown in the summer breeze, the various scars on England's body, the silent tears that he shedded at night, the hands getting colder and colder as time went by, the tight embrace that they shared.
The days and nights that the officers came to see England, they kept on assuring Hong Kong that they were only there for little problems with the motherland, they kept on feeding him the thought that England's eyes were not changing, that they were sparkling and smiling as always. But they couldn't explain why more and more people kept on coming over, why England always held his meetings in secret, why England looked as if he was going to break. Hong Kong couldn't read England's eyes, but he could see everything. He saw the pain embing all over England's small body, the fragile shoulders supporting everything, the rough and scarred hands that unconsicously held his during his sleep. He saw the unnatural smile of England when he said him what was wrong, the single hand that lingered on his arm. He saw the lonely figure of England standing alone on the balcony on cold nights, dressing too lightly and too unformal. He knew the secrets that England held when he sometimes mumbled them in pain, too hurt from holding it all inside.
"Don't take him away from me. Not him too…"
They kept on telling him that England was fine, they everything was fine.
Hong Kong was no longer a kid. He knew it if it was all right or not.
And he saw the wall that England built around himself was gradually falling down, like the undestructable Berlin Wall cracking into debris.

The day when China came patting on his shoulder and welcomed him home, he was looking into England's eyes. He still couldn't read them, as they were half-lidded and dark from sleepless nights. When Taiwan came running towards him and hugged him from behind, when Korea jumped at him like a cat pouncing a mouse, when China shouted at Korea being annoying, when Japan chuckled slightly, England were not looking at him. He whispered something under his breath, the voice so small and broken Hong Kong couldn't catch any of the words. But he did catch England's last smile before he turned away for the plane.
Hong Kong couldn't read eyes, but he could read smiles.
He wanted to call out England's name, wanted to raise out a hand for him, to hold an embrace out like England did on the first day they met, wanted to hold England tight and never let him go. But all he could do was a pathetic "England." on the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes. It was over.
His cheek felt cold and his blood boiled. He opened his eyes, but everything was black. His nose were filled with the salty scent of ocean and bitter taste of tea. The hand that covered his eyes wasn't big enough, and from the loops and holes between the fingers, he saw England crying.
"Thank you, Hong Kong."
The next time he blinked, England was gone.

Hong Kong can't read the emotions in England's eyes, he can't see the joy nor the pain in those so-called expressive eyes. But he can see everything else, can feel everything else.
That, alone, is already enough. Because he can see what people can't, he can feel what people can't.
He can feel England's heart.