Just a short one-shot involving Hong Kong and England, two characters I have become sort of obsessed with recently. I use the human name Maddox for Hong Kong in this fic. I know that it's not a Chinese name, but I can imagine England giving it to him when he takes Hong Kong, because he can't pronounce his real one properly. I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes, and for extreme out-of-character-ness on Hong Kong's part. Please review, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers.

The boy who was Hong Kong was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, scratching patterns into the wooden floorboards, when his guardian/captor pushed open the door. "What are you doing?" Arthur asked, frowning slightly at the young Chinese boy.

Maddox shrugged, his face as impassive as ever, and glanced up at England. He was dressed in a stiff-looking suit complete with thick woollen sweater vest, and his blonde hair was even messier than usual, as if he had been running his hands through it. The British man was tired, a little aggravated, and somewhat frustrated. For a boy who showed so little emotion Maddox was very good at analysing other people's feelings.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Arthur continued, "You're going to stop now. I want to teach you to read."

Maddox's face showed no hint of the surprise and slight annoyance he felt. "I can already read," he answered, monotone, and Arthur's green eyes narrowed fractionally.

"You can read Chinese," he corrected, "But not English. So I'm going to teach you." Hong Kong considered defying him, but knew that resistance wouldn't do anything except perhaps earn him a glare. "Fine," he replied instead, and pushed himself up off the slightly dusty floor.

In silence he followed England out of his bedroom, along the corridor, and through a door that lead to a flight of stairs. In spite of his slight irritation he couldn't help feeling a little interested as he trailed after the British man. These steps lead to Arthur's private quarters, which he'd never been allowed into before. Maddox was a little disappointed when the small, comfortable bedroom was revealed, complete with hand-stitched Union Jack blanket and a small photograph next to the bed.

Hong Kong stepped closer, squinting a little, and tried to see whom the picture depicted. But suddenly a hand grabbed his forearm and tugged him towards another door. "Come on," Arthur snapped. Maddox shrugged off his tight grip and reluctantly stepped out of the bedroom, glancing again at the photograph as he left.

Whoever it was, England definitely didn't want him to see it.

The door lead to a large study, with a mahogany desk at one end and a large red velvet armchair at the other. Maddox looked around the room with wide eyes, taking in the enormous bookshelves that clung to every wall. He'd never seen so many books in his life. "Sit down," England said, shutting the door firmly behind them and motioning to the armchair.

He then moved towards one of the bookshelves, skimming it with expert eyes. Maddox paused, unsure. Should he sit on the huge chair? Wasn't that where Arthur was going to sit? "Where?" Hong Kong asked, his voice carefully void of any emotion.

"In the chair," England replied absent mindedly without taking his eyes off the rows of precious books.

Maddox sat down, sinking slightly into the soft seat. The study was warm, with a merrily burning fire that he hadn't noticed before, and silent. If he wasn't careful he'd fall asleep. Finally Arthur eased a thin hardback book out of its place and turned around.

"Winnie the Pooh," he told Hong Kong, "Not exactly one of the classics, but it'll do for your first lesson." He stepped forward, then paused directly in front of Maddox. "Well, get up then," he said after a moment. Hong Kong resisted the urge to glare at him (why had he told him to sit in the chair if he was just going to make him go on the floor after all?) and scrambled off the seat.

Arthur replaced him with a slight nod, settling onto the plush velvet as Maddox sat down on the cold wooden floor. England gave him a half-annoyed, half-pitiful glance and said scathingly, "You are supposed to sit on my lap."

Maddox blinked, momentarily taken aback. Sit on Arthur's lap? Was this some English tradition? He hardly knew the man (even if they'd been living in the same house for almost a year now). "How else can we both see the book?" England pressed, and Maddox had to admit he had a point. Thanking whatever deity existed that he didn't blush easily, he reluctantly sat down lightly on the older man's thighs. "

There we go," Arthur said, sounding surprisingly at ease, and his arms snaked around the Chinese boy and opened the cover.

Maddox was feeling decidedly sleepy. It had been over half an hour since the "lesson" began (he'd been counting the minutes on the grandfather clock next to the fireplace) and he hadn't understood a single word. Arthur's chest was warm and strangely comforting against his back, and the British man's voice was low and soothing.

Hong Kong blinked forcefully, trying to wake himself up. Before long, however, his eyelids drooped closed, and the darkness overwhelmed him.

""If you live to be one hundred, I hope I live to be one hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you," Pooh said," Arthur read out. "Now," he continued, "What does the next word say?"

There was no reply from the boy on his lap, and England frowned slightly, "Hong Kong? What does the word say? Hong Kong? Maddox?" The Chinese boy's head moved slightly, tipping back to rest against Arthur's chest, and he realised that his young pupil had fallen asleep. England sighed.

"You'll never learn to read at this rate," he muttered, and closed the book.

Although he'd never admit it, especially not to the boy himself, Hong Kong's weight was sort of reassuring, resting on Arthur's lap. He absent mindedly let his fingers ghost over Maddox's hair, stroking the thick dark strands. They were surprisingly soft. "I know you don't care about reading," Arthur murmured, "But you'll thank me some day. It's a useful skill to have." And, he realised, I wanted to share something with you. I've found so much love, so much compassion, so much comfort, in these pages.

"I know I haven't been very good to you," he sighed, the boy's unconscious state giving him a strange freedom to say the things he couldn't find words for when Hong Kong was awake, "I… I guess I was a bit afraid. Last time I let someone get close… well, it didn't work out very well at all. But… I guess I shouldn't take that out on you."

After ten minutes of watching the boy's chest gently rise and fall, England realised that he wasn't going to wake up any time soon. With a slightly defeated sigh he stood up, shifting Maddox's slumbering body to carry him bridal-style, and walked across the room. He winced slightly, his aching bones protesting against the extra weight.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he muttered. Winnie the Pooh lay abandoned on the floor.

When Hong Kong woke up, his first thought was, "I'm on fire." Every inch of his skin seemed to be burning, and there was something heavy pressing on his chest. He struggled against the weight that was slowly suffocating him, but only succeeded in getting hopelessly tangled in the sheets. Hang on… sheets?

Hong Kong blinked, his eyes slowly growing accustomed to the dark, and realised that the only thing trying to smother him was three layers of thick blanket. A little less disorientated, he kicked them off, and finally realised that he was in England's room. In England's bed. Did that mean that Arthur had… carried him here? When he'd fallen asleep?

Unlikely as it was, it seemed to be the only explanation. The stifling heat was a result of the rather excessive coverings, which Arthur had evidently tucked around him.

Maddox lay back, still feeling quite confused, and as he threw his arm out across the mattress it brushed against something hard. He frowned, wishing the room wasn't so dark, and ran his fingers along the object. It was rectangular, slightly bumpy, like a block of wood or… "A book," Hong Kong muttered. Silently, clutching the book in his hand, he slipped out of bed and fumbled with the lamp.

It flickered on, illuminating the room in hazy yellow light. Maddox sat back down on the mattress and opened the first page. The characters blurred and swam in front of his eyes, completely unrecognisable. Hong Kong sighed and ran his finger over the spine. "I'm never going to be able to read," he whispered.

The boy dropped the book back down onto the bed, but as he did so, two pieces of paper tumbled out. Hong Kong reached for them, turned them over in his hands. "Not paper," he muttered, "Photographs." The first one, slightly faded by time, was of a boy about his age, although they couldn't have looked more different. The kid in the photograph had fair hair, glasses and an enormous grin. "What the hell?" Maddox wondered aloud.

He discarded the picture and turned to the other one. If he hadn't spent so long perfecting his disinterested expression he might have gasped. The photograph was of him. A slightly younger version, admittedly, but it was definitely him. The same straight nose, the same straight mouth, the same straight dark hair.

He was sleeping, tangled in the sheets, obviously unaware of the photographer. Maddox lay back down, fingers ghosting over the surface of the photograph. "He took pictures of me while I was asleep?" he muttered to himself, "Are all English people this weird?"

When Arthur came back into the room to check that the boy was alright, he brought two hot cups of tea with him. After all, it had been awfully cold in that bedroom. Thank goodness he'd tucked the blankets around Hong Kong so tightly. England put the drinks down on the bedside table and glanced at his young charge.

He was still sleeping, but he seemed to have thrown the covers off. Arthur bent forward to pull them up again, and caught sight of a photograph lying a few feet away from the boy's body. He picked it up, the blankets forgotten, and gazed at the face that had caused him so much pain.

Arthur swallowed, feeling nauseous. Alfred's gone, he told himself, You- you need to accept that. He tucked the photograph into his pocket and looked more closely at Maddox's sleeping form. Clutched between the boy's fingertips was another picture. England prised it out of his fingers and chuckled to himself.

The image on the paper was almost exactly the same as the scene in front of him.

After a few moments of hesitation, Arthur propped the picture up in front of the other photograph that rested beside the bed. That's the past, he thought, And this… this is the present.

The British man straightened up, ready to leave, but as he turned towards the door his eyes stumbled across a dark shape lying on the pillow next to Hong Kong's head. It looked worryingly familiar. Arthur reached past the sleeping boy to pick the book up, and turned his diary over in his hands.

Thank goodness Hong Kong couldn't read.

Thankyou for reading, reviews are always appreciated.