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Arthur hated Christmas. The season had heralded everything bad and wicked for him for the past few decades, since all his former colonies stopped celebrating with him. Understandably so - they were dating other nations, or they had their own lives.
But every Christmas since their departure had only made Arthur more and more miserable; he walked along his own streets, surrounded by Christmas cheer and happy families, couples - just another reminder of his loneliness, and how he’d inevitably caused it by being so goddamn… horrid sometimes. Yelling at Alfred too many times, ignoring Matthew on more than one birthday, scolding Leon too much. It had all built up, hadn’t it? This had to be his fault.
Well, Francis had invited him to some sort of party, but Arthur knew it was out of pity. He hated that. He didn’t want to go to a party, he just wanted to mope alone as usual and curse Santa or something.
He sat in his armchair, staring at the fireplace. God, this was sad.
“I need to leave this fucking place,” he muttered to himself - he got up, changed into a jumper and threw on his coat and scarf, before heading out of the door.
London had all these angel lights on the streets every Christmas - a cute tradition at first, but now it tempted Arthur into running into traffic. Loneliness was all he had ever known - but he still could not bear it. He walked through crowds of people, all doing their last-minute Christmas shopping.
He walked by so many people - but it seemed that no one noticed him. His chest ached a little - a lot. Arthur swallowed and moved on. What was so unusual about this Christmas, that he could not bear to be alone? Nothing. Absolutely nothing had changed. Perhaps that was the problem.
“Aiyah!” he heard a familiar screech - usually from the hallowed halls of the world meeting conference rooms. But there, he saw Yao Wang standing in front of a toy store, looking desperately into the display window.
“... Yao?” he said, bewildered by the Chinese nation’s appearance. Why was he in London ?
Yao made a face as he turned to see Arthur. “...oh, it’s you aru.”
“...this is my city,” Arthur said.
“Right,” Yao blinked at him. He was bundled up with so many layers that he looked a little like a baby penguin. “They just sold out of the last Hello KItty Christmas Santa V2.0 UK Special Limited Edition stuffed toy aru.. I.. I came all the way here to buy it.”
“You came all the way to… England to buy a stuffed toy?”
Yao shrugged. “Why not? You came all the way to China to get tea.”
“...touche,” Arthur coughed, remembering that trading period… which had gone… badly.
But at least Arthur and Yao had pretty much become cordial after the second world war, their relationship now somewhere between friends and acquaintances - that was good, wasn’t it? Despite that, Arthur felt so awkward standing here, looking at Yao’s pretty, scrunched-up face.
“So.. uh… what are you doing for Christmas this year?” Yao asked, a rare attempt of his to be polite.
Arthur tried to think of a lie - but nothing came to mind. “...I don’t have any plans.”
“What? But you Europeans go crazy about this holiday aru,” Yao said, his eyes widening. “And Japan too..”
“Well, not me,” Arthur scoffed. “I’m over Santa and all his nonsense.”
“It’s not really about Santa, isn’t it?” Yao said. “After all, Kiku isn’t Christian - he just likes to celebrate it with his friends because it’s fun aru.”
“I don’t have fun on Christmas.”
“Oh come on,” Yao rolled his eyes. “You’re being such a grouch as usual…”
Arthur folded his arms. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas! Why are you judging me?”
Yao didn’t reply momentarily, his face thoughtful. “I mean… because you introduced Christmas to me aru. Sure, I don’t celebrate it but - I remember the first time I ever learned about it was because you gave me that tea set..”
Arthur turned a little pink - he couldn’t believe Yao had remembered that little Christmas gift, it had been so long. More specifically, centuries and centuries ago… before Santa’s fat little face had shown up everywhere.
“Oh…” Arthur scratched his head. He had celebrated Christmas back then - he loved seeing Alfred and Matthew light up when they received their gifts. And he remembered how Yao had looked that Christmas too, in his blue hanfu and his long hair all done up with numerous hair ornaments. “That… that was back then.”
“So why not now?” Yao tilted his head, confused. “You seemed to really like it.”
“I did,” Arthur admitted, feeling strangely vulnerable.
A sudden gust of wind blew - and Yao shivered instantly, not used to London’s weather.
“Come on, let’s get you inside a cafe,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes at the older nation.
“Ugh..” Yao mumbled, but didn’t disagree - the two of them walked a little further down the street, turning into the nearest cafe they could find.
OK - it wasn’t a cafe, it was a chippy store, and half of the lights were flickering and the patrons were nearly all old drunkards. But it was warm , and anything would do at this point with the way Yao was shuddering to himself.
“Two hot chocolates. And some chips,” Arthur ordered at the counter, the cashier looking at him with bored eyes.
“7 quid.”
The blond paid and then went to sit at the booth Yao had chosen to tuck himself away in - the seats were brown and peeling and the lights were fluorescent and yellow - and Yao sat there, opposite of Arthur.
He couldn’t believe that he was finally spending Christmas Eve with somebody and it was… someone he spoke about eight sentences to annually.
“... so…” Arthur said.
“Just tell me the real reason why you’re alone on Christmas aru,” Yao said, his curiosity bursting at the seams.
Of course he knew something was up - after all, he’d known Arthur for centuries. They weren’t close but with time, you could always come to understand somebody, even without words.
Arthur looked annoyed - his pride was already so bruised after all. But he eventually took a deep breath, admitting it to Yao.
“...I had no one to spend it with,” he said. “You may laugh.”
But Yao didn’t laugh, he just sat there in a thoughtful silence. A busboy came by, setting down their greasy fries in a shoddy paper box and the hot cocoas in cheap, paper cups. Yao took a sip of his cocoa.
“This is watery,” he said.
Arthur squinted. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Oh - hm,” Yao said. “Probably not aru. You seem like you’re suffering enough.”
Arthur felt a little taken aback - usually the Asian nation would have commented something particularly snarky or sarcastic as was par for the course during meetings, but instead he simply sat there quietly, drinking his watery cocoa.
After a while, Yao spoke up again.
“Then…” he said softly. “Can I spend Christmas with you?”
Arthur was far too shocked to respond appropriately - the two didn’t even hang out after all, let alone… spend the holidays together. And plus, they weren’t close at all. The Brit closed his gaping jaw and touched his hair awkwardly, trying to play it cool.
“Uh, yeah, I mean,” Arthur shrugged, despite his ears flushing a little. “Why not? But… um. Don’t you have other things to do…?”
“Aiyah, no one’s working back home and I’m already in London,” Yao looked at Arthur knowingly - and Arthur tried not to think about how brown his eyes were. “Might as well aru.”
“...cool,” the other man nodded. “Splendid. I’ll… pop out the eggnog.”
“What’s eggnog aru?”
“Oh, you have to try it,” Arthur snorts. “You’ve got a sweet tooth, haven’t you? You’d love it.”
Yao nodded. “OK.”
“Agh, wait,” Arthur suddenly recalled - his fridge was nearly completely empty, save for some takeaway leftovers and an embarrassing amount of alcohol. “Uh, we’ve got to go down to the shops first. I’ve got nothing at home.”
Yao looked amused at the thought of grocery shopping with Arthur - but nevertheless, he agreed. How bad could it be, anyway? It was just his food that sucked, wasn’t it?
A horror movie - that’s what Yao would describe grocery shopping with Arthur. Actually, it was more like a thriller, given the amount of suspense that Yao was undergoing each time Arthur picked out a product. Actually, no, it was more like psychological torture, with Yao enduring ten minutes of Arthur’s deliberation (while he had that sort of cute, broody face he did) over each grocery product, which ultimately either ended with him picking up the worst choice or nothing.
“You’re judging me, aren’t you?” Arthur said, as Yao watched him pick out the most unripe bananas he’d ever seen.
“No,” Yao said, remembering Arthur was depressed this Christmas. But he also knew it’d be more depressing if Arthur bit into a disgusting, bitter banna. “I mean - yes aru. Why are you buying unripe bananas?!”
“It’s not as sweet. It’s healthier,” argued Arthur.
“It’s disgusting aru,” Yao smacked the sad, greenish bananas from his hands, and picked up ones that were a little more yellow - but without any brown spots, so that Arthur could probably eat them for a few days. “Please love yourself.”
“...” Arthur sighed and acquiesced, letting Yao place them in the grocery basket.
They walked around for a while, Arthur letting the Chinese nation nag him into oblivion. He even let him place a box of gingerbread mix into the basket - though Arthur hated gingerbread.
“We should make gingerbread men, I always see it on TV and American movies aru,” Yao had insisted.
“Look - Yao,” Arthur scoffed. “I’ll never admit this out loud ever again so listen closely - I’m not… that amazing at baking.”
“Well,” Yao said hesitantly. “Maybe not, but I’m here - so I can help aru.”
Arthur didn’t know why he felt so surprised, or happy.. again . But his heart and hands both seemed to tremble as he adjusted his scarf nervously.
“Of course.. you better help,” he said, his usual awful tone coming out strangled and unsure.
It was like this back then too, in the 18th century - Arthur could never speak as cruelly to Yao as he did to others, though his empire’s actions were another thing altogether. Why was it different? But this Christmas had just been that - different . He tried to tear his eyes away from the Chinese nation walking next to him, looking around at the Tesco’s in curiosity.
“I’m one of the best chefs in the world,” Yao said proudly, his eyes glimmering. “Trust me.”
I do - well, I trust you more than me in the kitchen anyway , Arthur thought - but he settled for a resigned sigh.
Not long after, they managed to pick up the last rotisserie chicken left - but not before Yao tussled with another old lady over it.
“Give it aru!” he yelled. “We touched it first!”
The lady had her own strength, despite the walking stick, and she pulled viciously at the chicken. “I’m older than you, this could be my last Christmas!”
“You’re definitely not older than me,” Yao said in response. And though it was true, she took it as some kind of sarcastic jab and let out an offended sound.
Arthur watched on, unsure as to whether he should stop it - he whispered to Yao: “C’mon, let’s just get the tofu version..”
“We’re not eating tofu chicken aru!” Yao shrieked. “Trust me, I can do this. I’ve wrestled with several people at several markets since the Silk Road!”
Well - he couldn’t argue with that. Yao probably had been arguing with random people since ancient times.
After about a minute, he managed to make the old lady lose balance and let go of the chicken.
“Yes!” Yao said triumphantly, ignoring the wail of the old lady.
Arthur felt weirdly proud, but also incredibly judged by the other supermarket patrons who obviously disapproved of the young-looking duo stealing a chicken from an elderly woman.
Despite his usual fears of being judged, he found himself lowkey admiring Yao proudly taking the chicken and walking away - so much so, that he couldn’t even be bothered to look at anyone else around them. (And they were all glaring at the two of them, anyway.)
Or maybe he just couldn’t look away from Yao.
–
The walk to Arthur’s house took about ten minutes. Yao was glad to see that its interior had mostly remained unchanged - it was weirdly comforting to know that another nation also kept their house in the permanent state of the early 1900s, like Yao attempted to.
“It still looks like a grandma died in here aru,” Yao said.
“Shut up,” Arthur scowled.
“It’s in a good way aru,” Yao said.
“How could that possibly be good? And speaking of grandmas, I think you nearly killed that one in the supermarket just now,” Arthur said, placing the milk and other products into the fridge.
“Whatever,” Yao said. “I am older - I have the right of way.”
“That’s not how it works..”
Yao ignored him, taking out all the groceries and helping Arthur to pack them. They fell into a natural rhythm - and Yao had been to enough meetings at Arthur’s place to sort of know what groceries went where.
Arthur felt strangely warm at this, the fact that Yao knew him better than he had expected. He wondered if he knew him just as well; he wondered if they’d come to know each other deeply, and that they just hadn’t realised it yet.
… no way, I barely know Yao. I don’t even know his favourite food or his current panda’s name or whatever. Was it Baibai?
Arthur’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Yao shaking the gingerbread mix box violently in front of Arthur’s face.
“Hello,” Yao looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Let’s make this aru.”
“Now?”
“If not, when?! We are supposed to give these to Santa, right?”
“Well we’re supposed to make coo-”
But the look on Yao’s face was so strangely adorable that Arthur suddenly decided that an expression of disappointment would be unbecoming of it.
“I mean- sure,” he said instead
“Yes!” Yao grinned. “OK, let’s get started..”
Arthur was a little nervous at first, but baking with Yao turned out to be surprisingly fun. He was patient with Arthur, and Arthur didn’t feel the need to overreact as he usually did when Yao corrected his mistakes.
Even he pointed it out.
“Hey.. I have to say aru, you’re not usually this calm,” Yao said, but he was smiling at him.
“I..” Arthur shrugged. “I mean.. you’re the expert.”
“That’s right!” Yao grinned, rolling the gingerbread out. “Ugh.. we need more flour - it’s too wet..”
It was like a spirit overcame Arthur then; he didn’t know why, but instead of passing the flour as he normally would, he decided to place a flour-stained handprint onto Yao’s jumper.
“…”
Arthur was laughing - and then he snapped out of it. “Oh.. um. Oops.”
Why had he done that? It had overcome him so suddenly, this sense of childishness- but before he could further process the thoughts in his head, Yao mischievously took a pinch of flour and threw it at Arthur’s face.
“H-hey!” he snorted, shaking his head.
“You started it!”
Yao was laughing.
So be it, then, Arthur thought - his usual seriousness dissipating.
“And I’ll end it too,” Arthur smirked, reaching into the bag of flour again.
“Hey..!”
Suddenly there was flour everywhere, and then bits of cream and icing from what they’d prepared earlier - and Yao found himself laughing as he smeared some over Arthur’s upper lip, gently thumbing it on him.
“You look so stupid aru,” he said.
“ You look stupid,” Arthur retorted, trying not to feel embarassed at Yao's touch.
“That comeback is stupid.”
“It is not!”
They stared at each other for a moment, covered in the remnants of their gingerbread journey, and then they both laughed. Arthur watched the crinkles of Yao’s eyes, his flour-tipped nose - every bit of it, and he searched deep within himself, for the annoyance that usually so easily spiked up around Francis gelling his hair back or Alfred talking with his mouth full, and he found none of it.
When he looked at Yao, he just felt warm.
“Why are you just smiling at me now, aru?” Yao chuckled.
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “Maybe I.. I just.. I’m not usually too fond of doing this kind of thing, you know.”
“I know,” Yao said. “The Christmas spirit must be possessing you.”
“Oh, is it now?” Arthur brushed some flour off Yao’s dark, silky hair - unconscious of how intimate it was.
Yao’s ears flushed into a little pink - slightly disconcerted by the unusual display of affection. “..yeah, maybe aru. Ah, we should clean up..”
They both looked at their faces and clothes and the floor, now covered in a various assortment of baking ingredients.
“Right,” Arthur said.
—
After they’d placed the gingerbread in the oven and half-heartedly cleaned up their mess, Yao and Arthur sat at the kitchen table drinking tea. Perhaps this was one of the only true hobbies they shared, though Yao still disapproved of the way he drank his tea.
“I really wish you would stop adding that stuff aru,” he said.
“You said it was alright!”
“But you should appreciate tea by itself too,” Yao held up his cup delicately.
“I’m appreciating it in my way.”
“.. fine,” Yao sighed.
He looked around Arthur’s home, noting that there was a significant lack of Christmas decor, unlike the other nations’ homes. Though he personally felt that Alfred did go a little overboard with the magnetized talking Santa on the top of his roof.
All there seemed to be was a small Christmas tree in the corner, with about three baubles and a forlorn-looking star perched on top of it. And no presents..
“You have no presents aru,” Yao said.
“Thanks, I didn’t know,” Arthur replied, his voice clipped.
“No - I mean, we should get some aru,” Yao said.
“It’s freezing now,” Arthur said, looking out of the window, his gaze lingering on the light snowfall. “No way.”
“Then.. do you have wrapping paper?”
Arthur snorted. “You want to.. make a bunch of fake presents?”
“It’s better than nothing..”
Oh, what the hell , the Brit sighed. “Fine, sure.”
Slightly curious as to what the crux of this zany plan was, Arthur decided to grab the old wrapping paper and decorations from his dusty attic, abandoned for years. The last time he wrapped something was for .. Leon? Peter? One of them..
He brought the supplies down the stairs and went over to Yao, who was already sitting in front of the tree on the rug, his legs criss-crossed.
“So..” Arthur said. “What are you going to wrap?”
With little effort, Yao cut up the paper and made an origami gift box within minutes. It looked.. cute.
“Not bad,” Arthur said, trying not to be too impressed.
“Come on, I’ll teach you aru.”
The blond huffed. “This is childish…”
Yao smacked him lightly on the head. “Arthur! It's a celebration!”
“It’s for kids ,” Arthur sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m so attached to Christmas because I celebrated it for far too long.”
“But I do this kind of thing during the mid-autumn festival too aru… and during Lunar New Year,” Yao said. “All around the world, people celebrate with the things they love, like gifts and food… it is not immature to celebrate, it’s joyful. So do the origami!”
The Brit felt surprisingly endeared by his words, and he relented. He sat down next to him, on the floor. “Fine. Where do we start?”
The Chinese man lit up at once. “Okay, so we begin with this…”
–
As the two of them finished stacking enough fake presents under the tree (not without several piles of crumpled up wrapping paper due to Arthur’s perfectionist nature), the gingerbread cookies were done baking.
Excitedly, Yao brought them out and set the tray on top of an old avant-garde ashtray on Arthur’s kitchen counter, since his last cooling rack had gotten destroyed on a baking adventure (“It was tiramisu,” Arthur said.).
“It looks… good,” Arthur said, thinking to himself that he might have never said that in his life before about his cooking. Usually, he had to sort of stare at it for a while and delude himself - but today… today was different.
Yao blew on one of the cookies and decapitated its’ head, feeding it to Arthur. “Try it aru!”
Arthur awkwardly ate the piece, trying not to think of how close Yao’s fingers were to his lips, and chewed on it slowly. It was sweet, not overly gingery… and most of all, it wasn’t burnt.
“It’s delicious,” he said softly.
“Haha! We did it aru,” Yao smiled proudly, eating a bit off the cookie as well. “Now we have to decorate it…”
“ Decorate it?” Arthur sat down at the kitchen table. “Why don’t I just leave this one to you?”
“No,” Yao forced Arthur to stand back up, facing the countertop. “We have to do this together aru! You can even give some of them to your loved ones… like Alfred!”
“....no,” Arthur made a face. “Definitely not.”
“...Australia - what’s his name, Liam?”
“Definitely not,” he rolled his eyes. “Look, Yao - I appreciate it and I get where you’re coming from but I mean, our relationships with our siblings are very different. Hell, even Leon likes you better than me.”
“Oh, well,” Yao brought the icing out of the fridge. “That’s because you’re too strict with him aru…”
“I was apparently too strict with everybody,” Arthur mumbled.
There was a tinge of sadness in his voice - and somewhere deeper than that, the guilt, the shame - maybe for the fatal consequences of his nation’s conquests.
“...so,” the Asian man looked at him, his eyes still doe-like, still… believing , in this strange way. “Try and make up for it. Try for the rest of your life to make up for it aru - they’re your family. Or at least - just… give yourself some grace for this holiday, and have fun doing this?”
Arthur laughed. “My icing skills are pretty awful though. I’ll ruin your work.”
“Don’t think about your skill level! Just do it,” Yao said.
–
And did Arthur try - and honestly, a few turned out pretty cute. A little blob-faced Alfred, a disfigured Matthew, and a few other strange, unidentifiable men.
“...cute aru,” Yao laughed.
“Oh, shut- is that me?!”
“Yes!” the Chinese man smiled, holding up the little gingerbread Arthur next to his face. “Isn’t it cute?”
He was cute - and Arthur was trying not to let it drive him crazy. “No, that’s…”
He turned pink, trying to grab it for a closer look, but Yao tauntingly moved it away. “Nope, it’s for me to eat aru.”
“Seriously? I just want a look..”
“No,” Yao glared at him. “I know you’ll eat it aru! I know you were the one who ate all those biscuits in the break room during that convention in the sixties!”
“Wh-” Arthur turned redder. “How?! I covered up my tracks perfectly - and that was once , Alfred cleared out the HQ pantry throughout the war!”
“You’re not getting it,” Yao stuck out his tongue.
“You.. that’s me you’re eating, git,” Arthur said, trying not to smile at Yao’s little scrunched up face.
Yao squeaked as Arthur suddenly grabbed him by the waist, lifting him up. He thought for a moment - this is it, the what-could’ve-been. “Aiyah! Let go!”
“Nope,” Arthur smiled, eyes glinting - this was the one way they kept Yao from exploding into his random tantrums back in the day of frustrating war meetings. “Give me that cookie.”
The Chinese nation tried not to blush as he wriggled a little in Arthur’s arms, trying not think about how easily he was being carried, or that he could smell a little more of his cologne - with a hint of tobacco, and chamomile. He really did try not to think of any of that. (But perhaps, he didn’t.)
“You can only look at it aru…” Yao sighed, his ears flushing as he looked down at his fellow nation, dangling the cookie in front of Arthur’s face.
It was actually quite detailed - Arthur took note of how he’d even added little whites into the cookie’s green eyes, and he even added his black gloves, the ones he used to wear.
He smiled so softly that Yao was taken aback - trying not to tremble too much in Arthur’s arms.
“That’s… amusing,” Arthur said, raising his thick eyebrows. “It’s nice.”
“...Thank you.”
“Now let me eat it-”
“No!”
But after being carried around the kitchen for far too long - the both of them trying not to laugh or smile or show any sign of glee at the situation - Yao finally gave up and conceded, by making a little cookie version of himself for Arthur to eat.
For some reason, Arthur didn’t want to eat any of the cookies he’d decorated.
“I don’t understand you,” Yao said, eating Arthur’s cookies. “These are fine!”
“They’ve been touched by me, and they look… horrendous ,” he said, eating Yao’s perfectly-decorated cookies.
“Fine,” Yao mumbled through a bite, still irritated.
–
In the matter of an hour, the cookies had been devoured. Yao and Arthur then binge-watched crappy horror movies on one of Arthur’s weird television networks, with the two of them criticizing all the effects and acting (“That girl talks weird aru!”, “That monster is not green.”).
Christmas dinner was then prepared haphazardly - by heating up the rotisserie chicken and Yao’s rushed, Chinese-style preparation of the side dishes. He’d insisted on cooking, because he didn’t want food poisoning on Christmas.
Meanwhile, Arthur simply pulled out the eggnog (courtesy of Tesco’s) from the fridge and poured each of them a glass.
“Honestly, what do you usually eat for dinner aru?” Yao asked curiously.
“Ready-to-eat meals from Marks & Spencers,” Arthur replied.
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds sad,” he said.
Arthur thought for a moment. “I suppose it is sad."
He watched as Yao prepared the food - it looked so good , and he honestly couldn’t even remember the last time someone actually cooked for him without a secret motive (e.g. poison) or disastrous consequences (e.g. accidental poisoning). He sat at the table, waiting patiently for the other man to finish cooking.
“Done!” he smiled, putting down the dishes around the rotisserie centerpiece.
Arthur looked amusedly at the dishes - they weren’t .. traditional Christmas dishes, but they’d certainly taken their inspiration from them. The roast potatoes had turned into a sliced potato salad with vinaigrette, yorkshire puddings into egg tarts, and pigs in a blanket into stir-fried sausages and bacon.
“I made them Chinese-style because it was easier and faster,” Yao said. “You can have your funny English dishes again next year.”
The blond raised his brows, picking up an egg tart to eat. “I’m not opposed to them, actually. They don’t look half-bad.”
Yao smiled, pleasantly surprised - the Brit was usually not the best with dietary changes, given that he couldn’t even handle their last annual world New Years’ party getting a different catering company than the previous year’s.
“Then.. good,” Yao said, trying not to smile too much at the way Arthur was eating everything, his pride bursting.
“Wait - try the eggnog,” Arthur said, curious on Yao’s reaction.
The Chinese man looked curiously at the pale milky drink. “OK..”
He took a sip, his face tweaking in surprise. “It’s sweet…”
“What did you think it would taste like?”
“Milk..” Yao laughed. “Well, it tastes like milk aru. But sweet… and alcoholic.”
“How about eggnog shots,” Arthur held up his glass, smirking.
Each of them thought of the other as a lightweight - so Yao couldn’t resist. He held up his own glass, grinning.
“You’re on aru,” he said. “But after we eat dinner!"
—
After many, many shots of eggnog - which wasn’t much alcohol anyway - the two went through about half a bottle of whiskey before they were bright red and drunkenly slurring at each other.
“You… you stupid opium bastard…” Yao’s old nickname for Arthur flared up again. “You know when .. Leon came back.. he..”
Yao hiccuped, his eyes now tearing up at his drunk memories. “He.. he kept wearing his hat backwards aru.. it looked so stupid..”
Arthur snorted. “It was a phase… it was all a phase.”
They giggled together for a bit, the smell of rum and whiskey and dinner lingering. Outside, they could hear carolers down the street, and the faint sound of windchimes. The same tinkling, musical feeling Arthur had inside of him, ringing away.
Yao sat there, looking at Arthur, all dark lashes and hair and his brown, brown eyes. Arthur noted that he was still beautiful as the day they had met, in front of that sweeping sea, after that arduous journey from west to east, his hanfu swaying in the wind.
“Yao,” Arthur said, not entirely sure of what he wanted to say. Was there anything to say? It wasn’t like they were actually close, though they did have that strange, lingering relationship from all those years ago - before it had soured completely due to his empire’s actions.
Arthur didn’t know if he’d ever loved properly - how strange it was to be a country and a human all at once, for love was a feeling that could never be properly grasped in his hands. Even if he’d been attracted to humans, in love with them at points, was true, lasting love possible? And why was he thinking of love, now, looking at Yao?
“Yes?” Yao responded to the sound of his name.
Could we ever fall in love - and actually be together? He thought, but he just said: “Want to go out?”
“Are you crazy aru? It’s so cold!”
“Oh come on,” Arthur hiccuped. “We can go skating. I still have Alfred and Matthew’s old skates.”
“Skating..?” the last time Yao had skated was in Fuzhou, years ago, at the incessant bequest of Yong-Soo and Mei. “Where?”
“The lake,” Arthur got up, looking decisive. “It’s frozen over.”
“Arthur-”
“Come on,” the Brit said. “Now..!”
Arthur dragged Yao to the living area and forced him to put on his multiple coats and gloves, while he dug through the cabinet for the old skates.
“You’re insane,” hissed Yao, but he’d obliged anyway, back in his penguin-like outfit.
Arthur grinned, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the front door. Alcohol made him more than a laughing, foolish drunk - it made him bold.
“Let’s go.”
–
Yao shrieked as Arthur dragged him onto the frozen lake. It wasn’t like the meticulously designed rinks back in China that he’d gotten used to, it was a legitimate lake near Arthur’s home. If he squinted beneath the ice, perhaps he’d see fish.
“Arthur…!” Yao huffed as the blond laughed at his reaction. “This is dangerous aru!”
“You’re not drunk enough,” Arthur slurred.
“One of us has to be sober..” Yao muttered as he skated with Arthur around the pond.
They skated for a while in circles, with nothing but the sound of their skates gently scraping at the ice, the distant sound of people and music from the surrounding homes, and the unusually gentle breeze. Yao looked up at the dark sky, no stars to be seen thanks to London’s pollution.
Arthur gazed at the other man - still thinking about all his feelings, all those questions in his head. The what-ifs from the past, the what-ifs that could come.
But they were just hypothetical. Yao was just being nice. He was just being a friend . Hell, were they even friends? They hadn’t spoken properly since the handover. Today had all just been a coincidence, a horrible one designed to get Arthur’s hopes up about a situationship from centuries over.
“Why are you looking at me?” Yao asked straightforwardly.
Because I want to. Because you’re beautiful. Because I’m a man before a country, so how can I just deny my attraction towards you?
“...can we skate together?” he asked.
Yao rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine..”
Their gloved hands grabbed onto each other’s, and they began to spin around - faster, and faster - till it was almost in a crazed, frenzied way.
“Too- fast!” Yao said, but he was giggling, and so was Arthur.
“You look like…a blur,” Arthur said, still slightly high, though he’d mostly sobered up from all the skating.
“You too,” Yao scoffed.
The spinning slowed down as snow began to descend upon them again. Little snowflakes all around them - like a shitty Hallmark movie, except that they weren’t going to kiss, they weren’t anything. They were just two lonely countries, holding hands in the middle of a lake.
Yao tried not to look at Arthur, his gentle gaze, or his face - he was just so… handsome, it almost hurt in a way. After all, by all technicalities, he should hate him, or just simply think he was ugly. Arthur’s country had done so many ugly, evil things - after all - but hadn’t his, as well?
All the excuses swirled around Yao’s head, and it was making him tired.
“You OK? Did we spin too much?” Arthur asked, snowflakes all over his hair and eyebrows and lashes. Yao stared up at him , trying not to be attracted to him.
“No… maybe,” Yao didn’t know how to respond properly - he let go of Arthur’s hands and looked over to the snowed over field next to the pond. “Let’s go lie down.”
Arthur raised his thick eyebrows. “OK..”
They laid there in the snow, creating sort-of, sad little snow angels in the midst of the white, icey landscape. That was what they were too: sad, sort-of, could’ve been, would’ve been, wasn’t. Yao and Arthur. China and England. Opium, war, greed, Hong Kong. Things of the past. They were a thing of the past.
“Why’d you spend Christmas with me?” Arthur asked. “Was it really just because we ran into each other?”
“I guess… I just wanted to,” Yao said, looking up at the dark sky, the snow still gently falling over them.
There was a moment of silence, before Arthur had the courage to speak up again.
“...thank you,” he said. “It was nice. It reminded me of - back then.”
“When we first met aru?”
“Yes,” Arthur said. “I still remember it all - your hair, your… hostility, your robes. The way you looked - I still can’t forget it.”
Yao’s cheeks turned into a faint pink. “You can’t?”
“I couldn’t ever, probably.”
Arthur’s heart was beating so fast - what way would Yao take it? Did it come off creepy? Did it come out wrongly?
“...I remember how you looked too,” Yao admitted. “You were in that… pirate outfit.”
Arthur laughed, slightly mortified. “Please forget that.”
Yao shook his head. “You looked good.”
Arthur blinked. “But… you- you were so mean to me when I first arrived.”
Yao shot him a deadpan expression. “Come on. I kind of knew what you guys were up to, aru. Only my emperor was stupid enough to think you came purely for ‘goodwill’...”
Arthur swallowed. “...right.”
“But that’s your country, I suppose - not you,” Yao shrugged. It had been so long ago - he was tired of being resentful and angry towards Arthur, when there were so many other countries he could be angry and resentful towards.
“So… what do you think of me? The blond asked.
Yao blinked at the question. Their relationship had been so long and complex. They had been different people at so many points in time. What did he think of Arthur- what could he think of Arthur?
“I think you’re mean and grumpy,” Yao said. “Cynical, negative.”
“Great, thanks..”
“But you’re sweet. You’re sentimental. You linger, you hoard memories, just like me,” Yao said, his voice growing softer. “You love… for a long time.”
Arthur turned red. “Well- I mean, I haven’t- really had a part-”
“No, I mean- love . Not just romantic aru. You loved Alfred so much, you still do… and I know you love Francis in your own way. There are so many memories and remains of them around your house - the skates, your old pictures…”
Arthur tried not to feel embarrassed at how accurate Yao’s observations were. He stifled a groan. “I.. I suppose.”
More silence. Snow, and more snow.
“I still have all your old hairpins,” Arthur said. “The ones you gave me before I sailed back - before the… war.”
Yao laughed. “The peony ones?”
“They’re pretty.”
The Chinese man smiled. “I have that tea set too aru - your first Christmas present to me.”
Arthur turned onto his side, looking at Yao. There was something indecipherable on his face, but it was emotional. “So… we keep each other’s old things.”
“We do, indeed,” Yao said, turning over on his side as well.
They were face-to-face now, green eyes meeting brown ones, their gloved hands inches away from each other. The snow was still falling, but even through the snowflakes, they could see each other as clearly as ever.
“...so, do you love me?” Arthur asked
Yao looked taken aback for a second - but he quickly schooled his expression back to normal, despite the flush of his cheeks. “..hm.”
“What kind of response is that?”
“I’m- thinking, aru!” Yao sputtered. “How am I even supposed to answer that? You do realise this is our first proper hangout in like, a hundred years aru? Why would you even ask that?”
“I just want to know!” Arthur argued.
“I-” Yao huffed. “Well, do you love me?”
Arthur blushed, annoyed that he’d thrown the question back at him - but it was to be expected.
“I..” Arthur said. “I don’t know.”
Yao made a face. “You either know, or you don’t.”
“But I really… don’t,” Arthur’s internal conflict was obvious on his face. “I.. think I could’ve- but…”
“But..”
“I… I stopped myself,” Arthur mumbled. “I just - chose my country first, before… whatever I felt for you.”
Hurt flashed across Yao’s face - and then a look of resignation, like he had known. Perhaps he had always known. “Right. I-I guess.. I felt something like that too, aru.”
Arthur snorted. “So.. what? We don’t love each other - we just almost did?”
Yao hated how succinctly he’d put it - but it wasn’t wrong. “I suppose.”
They laid there in the cold, the tension overbearing, overwhelming them. Yao didn’t know why he had spent Christmas with Arthur. He could’ve avoided Arthur so easily. He’d been doing it for years. He knew - that the both ofthem could have taken so many other routes today… he didn’t know why he’d kept choosing Arthur, choosing to bake with him, make fake presents, help him with dinner, everything.
“Choose me, this time,” Yao said.
He hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but it did anyway, and he covered his mouth at once. His face reddened. Weak. Stupid, the thoughts bounced around in his mind.
Arthur gaped, his heart going so fast that he couldn’t even formulate words for a minute. Choose Yao ?
“I-”
“Sorry,” Yao immediately said. “Forget- forget I said that.”
“No,” Arthur grabbed Yao’s hands, and the distance between them grew lesser and lesser as the Brit drew closer to the Chinese man. “Yao, I-I’m not choosing you.”
“Wh-?!” Yao felt his heart drop.
“No- that came out wrong, absolutely - wrong,” Arthur murmured. “I.. I didn’t choose to fall in love with you. You know, it just happened. I really-”
He was as red as Yao now, stuttering and unusually unconfident. But Yao had been vulnerable with him, and Arthur wanted to reciprocate that.
Yao looked confused. “But you said-”
“I know- I said I didn’t love you, but I- I mean the action of it. I most… definitely fell in love with you. I could’ve fallen harder. And I think I might have fallen really hard today,” Arthur looked frustrated. “Argh- I just..!”
Yao blinked - his heart soaring as he paced back and forth in his mind - but one thing was for sure.
“We’re both stupid,” he said, leaning forward at the same time as Arthur did. They hugged each other tightly, and Yao could smell that same faint cologne from him, with a hint of tobacco.
“I agree,” Arthur muttered, burying his face in Yao’s soft hair.
Yao laughed softly, hugging him tighter. “Merry Christmas.”
Arthur placed a gentle kiss on the other man’s forehead. The snow was still falling.
“Merry Christmas, darling.”