Work Text:
Absolution
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Pacing in front of the closed door, China bit his lower lip, holding the package in his hands with clenched fingers.
He’d been standing there for at least ten minutes, unable to decide whether to go in or not, and he didn’t know what to do.
Fidgeting. Pacing around. A step forwards –then one backwards.
He knew what was beyond the door –something he wanted to face, something he had to face, but the first step was the most painful one.
Was it even right for him to be there?
He felt small and powerless, not at all like the great Nation that he represented, and in that moment of weakness, Yao’s determination wavered one more time and dissolved.
No, he needed to go back home and ignore everything –yes, maybe he could come back another day… as long as it was not now, maybe not even tomorrow, maybe…
Backing away from the door, almost absently, Yao slammed against the opposite wall, and gasped, suddenly reminded of an old, aching wound that sent a small pang through his body.
All of a sudden, memories slithered forwards to curl around his mind, dragging him backwards, to a time when the most painful thing he’d known was a blade against his skin, cutting through his back, painfully bleeding, and a young face –far too young to be holding such a weapon– turning around to leave.
Not looking back.
China shook his head and moved away from the wall.
Pale and hesitant, he turned to stare at the door, almost an invisible barrier he could not overcome, and took two steps down the corridor of the hospital. It was white, clean, smelling of antiseptic, empty and cold.
He didn’t belong there. This was not his place.
And yet…
Hesitating, Yao looked back at the door, and quickly made his way to it, one hand lifted up, hovering inches from the polished surface, about to knock… then he retreated, trembling.
He wanted to go, he had to knock, and–
The door clicked open in front of him. China gasped (a soft ‘aru’ sound leaving his lips, sweat rolling down his chin) and backed away, and glancing up he met with a pair of brown eyes that were strangely open, staring at him in silence.
China and Italy exchanged a look –it lasted mere seconds, even if to the Chinese nation it felt like hours– without speaking, and it was almost weird how serious that moment felt, how incredibly upset China felt when the other Nation didn’t move, didn’t stop staring at him, almost as if knowing what was going through his brain, almost as if…
‘It’s not my fault! I didn’t want this! I just came here to…’
No words escaped his mouth, silenced and dead before they could leave the safety of his mind, even before he could form them into a complete though.
Then, Feliciano’s eyes closed. Instantaneously, his whole demeanour changed –so quickly that Yao couldn’t believe he’d been stared at with such an intensity– his lips twitching, stretching upwards in a bright smile, that face shifting back to the familiar, silly expression.
“Ve~ look, look, it’s Yao!” Italy’s happy, loud, cheerful voice –it grated to China’s nerves, making him twitch… it felt false, but normal at the same time. “Oh, you came to visit Kiku! Splendido!”
China wanted to step back, to push the Italian Nation’s prying hands away from him –he was being hugged, no, held still, pushed towards the door and no! he didn’t want to– but the grip was too tight, constricting…
“Ve~ look, Yao brought a gift~ is it food? Is it food? That’s so nice of you~!”
“Felic–” he wasn’t even allowed to speak –one arm curled around his head, bandaged fingers covering his lips, silencing his protests.
Then he was into the room, panicking, arms waving wildly, eyes open wide, gasping for breath, about to turn around and yell at Italy, then –his eyes shifted upwards and he saw him.
“Kiku, I’ll go get some tea~”
The door closed behind his back, sealing him inside, but Yao barely took notice. His eyes couldn’t move from the figure on the bed, eyes turned towards him, cheeks vaguely flushed.
“Yao–san, hello”.
Everything Yao might have wanted to say, all the things bottled up, all his thoughts (’forgive me! I know it wasn’t really my fault, yet…’), China’s denial, his rage (‘I know what you did to me… but still you didn’t deserve this’), everything… vanished.
He didn’t know what to say anymore.
He didn’t think there was anything right that he could say, either.
“Kiku…”
Japan looked… he looked normal. Pale, with some bandage around his neck and arms, but fine. There was no evidence of what… of what he’d suffered. Of what Alfred… no, of what America had done.
Not Alfred, never Alfred.
Yao felt a strong wave of bile rush to his lips; eyes wide, he almost turned around again, but he knew the door was close, and he couldn’t simply look away.
He was there.
“I… you don’t have to stay, Yao–san. Feliciano–kun left to give us… privacy, but… you’re free to go”.
Japan wasn’t looking at him, hands neatly folded on his lap; his hips were also bandaged, and –oh. It was probably his legs –by where the cities had been… sitting stiffly, almost forcing himself to stay upright…
China’s hold on the bag tightened.
“I brought you… this, aru” Yao murmured, fidgeting and moving forwards, finally sitting on the chair next to the bed.
Deep black eyes, just as big as they were back then –before the sword, before their splitting up, before– stared at him, a mix of surprise and fear.
China was about to leave, but something stopped him.
They stared at each other in silence, quiet, waiting, but neither spoke. Without anything to do, China just looked around, his offered package now in Japan’s hands, as white as everything else in the room.
Peering back at Kiku, who looked so small and fragile on the bed, staring at the bag with a vague expression of mixed surprise, Yao felt something inside him twitch and shift back into place.
Why did he wait so long to talk to him?
Yes, Japan did hurt him, the wound on his back still hurting even now, aches making themselves known again, but… but…
But this was his little Kiku. His little brother. And he was hurt.
“Arigatou gozaimashita, Yao–san,” quiet, almost hesitant, Kiku’s voice echoed in the room. He was unwrapping his package, and Yao almost took it away from him, afraid that his gift wouldn’t be enough.
What do you give to someone who’s been hurt this much? Surely…
“Ah…” black eyes widening, Kiku rustled the bag, hands wrapped around a dumpling.
The fragrant smell of dumplings with meat filled the room. Kiku’s mouth opened to take a small, tentative bite, munching on it as if it hurt to chew but at the same time, savouring the taste as if it was the richest he’d ever had.
Kiku’s lips almost twitched upwards in a ghostly smile –because those were his favourite back then, because Yao still remembered… despite his actions, despite all that time spent ignoring each other…
The quietness around them wasn’t as tense as it had been before, and China felt himself relax, strangely tuned with the different aura, watching Japan slowly eat all three dumplings.
Maybe there were no words left to say, maybe there were no explanations needed, no begging for forgiveness…
“I can cook them for you again, if you want,” Yao felt his lips twitch up into a smile, exchanging a tentative look with Kiku, who wordlessly looked to the window, cheeks colouring lightly.
“… I would like that, Yao–san”.