Work Text:
Unfortunately, Iceland does still have work to do. So he has no choice but to abandon playing with the adorable five-year-old to reply to some emails. They've settled into a companionable silence for the most part now - which he's glad for.
There's situations he knows how to deal with, and his boyfriend randomly transforming into his seven year old self is definitely not one of them. It's been about a week and Iceland has been showing him cartoons and cooking for the quiet toddler. Showing him modern Hong Kong wouldn't make any drastic butterfly effect change to history or anything like that, right? Probably not. He's only regressed, anyways - he's not sure this is the actual child Hong Kong from the past, only some strangely-magicked version of him to think and act like a kid. Probably something to do with his brother or England's shenanigans again. Fuck's sake.
He can see by how he's not all that fazed by television or the business of the large city - or is that just how Hong Kong is as a person? - and how he seems more comfortable with Iceland than kids normally are to strangers, and than he thinks a young Hong Kong would be with someone he didn't know. He might remember, subconsciously, and has no issue letting Iceland bend down to pat his hair or hold his hand.
Hong Kong had told him that he'd been quieter as a child than he was now, but it was surprising to see how much more reserved the child was than usual. It's low afternoon and the sunlight is streaming in onto the couch, and he works in comfortable silence until he realises that there's a sudden lack of rustling from the child exploring the apartment - he figured he'd be fine. Hong Kong seemed smart, and self-sufficient enough to know to stay away from anything dangerous and a child. But there's a silence blanketing the air that lacks the sound of quiet shuffling and a tiny blur of red shadow going from corner to corner.
Emil shuts the laptop and gets up, going to his boyfriend (and his, whenever he visits)'s room. He figures he'll check there first - it's not like it's a big apartment, anyways. He opens the door slowly, and-
Oh. A tiny Hong Kong is curled up in his bed, swamped in blankets pulled up so high only his eyes are visible. His face is flushed from what Emil can see, and he shivers and curls up tighter, seemingly so out of it he can barely react.
"Hey, what happened?" He rushes to the child's side and frantically fusses over him. "Are you feeling sick?" He'd seemed fine, if more of his quiet, reserved side as Emil had assumed was normal for a child in a relatively new environment this morning. But he was clearly feeling unwell now, shaking and curled up into a tiny ball in bed.
Ah, poor thing. Fevers and illness might actually be one of the things he's most acquainted with at this point, and the shivering, flushed experience is very clearly imprinted into his memories from centuries of unstable terrain and magma. He can only imagine how Hong Kong feels, and places a palm on his forehead, trying to comfort.
"Sh, it's okay," he tries, tentatively trying to run a hand through his hair, "We'll get you all okay, yes?"
Kar Long shakes his head. "Sorry."
Sorry? What does he have to apologize for?
"It's okay, I’ll be up in a second, sorry." And then he tries to get up, limbs flailing gently as he wobbles.
"No, no, it's alright," Emil shushes, ever more frantic now. "You don't have to get up, okay? Just- Just stay here and rest." He pats the baby's head in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.
"No?" Kar Long sneezes. "I'm really fine," He protests. "I can- Achoo! Be up, it's okay,"
You're the sick one! What are you reassuring me for?
"It's really alright," Emil tries to convince. "Just be good and rest for me, okay? Cmon, let's get you tucked in properly again." He lays the blanket carefully over the child, then gently tucks his head into the pillow until he seems comfortable enough. "Okay?"
"Mnph."
"Alright, I'm going to get you some water and an icepack, okay?" He pets Hong Kong's head again. and tucks the blanket over his shoulder.
As he thankfully finds a stray icepack in the bottom of the freezer, there's some rustling from behind, and he returns to the bedroom balancing a glass of cool water, the icepack and some medicine to find Hong Kong-
Gone?
A second later, the child slowly stumbles back in through the door, looking like a strong breeze is going to set him off balance anytime now.
"Didn't I say you should stay in bed?" Emil crouches down to help Kar Long back to bed, and make sure he's lying down properly now that his face looks more worryingly pale than flushed.
"I was gonna go get some tissues."
Silly boy. "Huh? Why didn't you ask me? I was going to the kitchen anyway, no?"
"I could do it myself. It's fine. I'm fine."
Emil frowns. "Here, drink some water." He holds the glass up to his lips, and coaxes the child into taking slow sips. Kar Long's lips turn downward, but he drinks it anyways. Placing a hand to his forehead- Good god, it's burning, like the fiercest of lavas.
"Oh, it's getting higher," Voice draped in concern, he dabs a wetted towel over his flushed face, hoping it'll cool. Is this how Norway felt like whenever he got sick? He's no stranger to fevers, but it still feels harrowingly strange to feel the he loves, even tinier and small now, concerningly warm.
"It's okay," Hong Kong says, voice breathy but choked as he's just wringing out a towel. "You can leave now." His breathing is choked, in stretches, like he's struggling and he looks terrifyingly faint. "I can do it myself. You can leave."
Why does he keep asking him to leave? It's hard to understand, and almost comedic how this baby seemingly insists on sustaining himself, being independent and not letting Iceland fuss over him. Iceland frowns again. "Why don't you want to be taken care of?" He continues. "It's alright," he says, placing a coolant on the child's forehead, "I don't mind."
"It's not- It's not your responsibility. I can take care of myself."
Well, no, of course it's his responsibility! He's the adult here, and Emil doesn't think there's a single universe he would leave a sick, tiny - or adult - Hong Kong alone. He's clearly exhausted and spent, and anyways, who in their right mind would leave such a sick child to take care of themself? Iceland has many memories of his brothers fussing and hovering over him over the many times he's had fever - and never, when they were at his side, had they left him alone and sick, muttering quiet reassurances and lullabies through the night. Surely there's no reason to leave a sick kid by themself when you could be there?
"It is," He soothes, holding his hand gently. "Why wouldn't it be? I'll be here to take care of you." He pets Hong Kong's tiny head again, curling his fingers through his hair gently.
"Well- Well-" The kid stammers, tapping his fingers slowly on the covers like he always does, "Mr. England says I should be grown enough to take care of myself."
"Even when you're sick?"
"Well he gives me medicine, of course! But sometimes he's busy and I can just get water myself, or tuck myself in." He pauses. Then, more quietly, "And sometimes I miss when Teacher-gor-gor would sing me a lullaby and brush my hair and tuck me in, and I miss Teacher-gor-gor, but it's okay because I can be grown and by myself, right? That's what Mr. England- sir- said, right! " His voice trembles a bit by the end, and Iceland hesitates on if it's okay to reach out and wipe the glistening tears from his eyes.
Oh.
Emil had known that his boyfriend had had somewhat of a, well, complicated late childhood - didn't their kind all? Being tossed around between parents and divorces and new kingdoms, handed around through treaties and trades. But his voice, now, betrayed a special kind of loneliness, the quiet, stoic voice of a sick child left alone with a foreign stranger missing his big brother.
His heart ached a bit, pulsing.
Real tears have begun to well up in Kar Long's eyes, and the child is hiccuping and shaking slowly, like he's trying to choke back his tears-
Oh. He really just is still a baby, tired and sick and overwhelmed, eyes overflowing with tears. No wonder. Iceland is no stranger to sickness, and he remembers the fervent, illogical emotional stress it had wrought on those illness-filled parts of his childhood. It's no wonder he's crying - ill, fever-flushed and in a mostly unfamiliar place, convinced he's not going to be taken care of. And he can sort of feel his heart breaking, really, at the thought of it. Never in his memory had his older brothers ever left him alone to deal with sickness or any injury when they could've been there, they would've cared for it the to the best of their ablity, fussing over him endlessly and coddling him. As a child should deserve. It's unthinkable to imagine otherwise.
Something in him steels.
Shushing Hong Kong gently again, he grabs some of the aforementioned tissues and dabs at the wet tears below his eyes - Pulling him into a hug and letting him bury his face into the soft sweater at his shoulder when he feels the grip tighten, and pats his pack gently.
"I'm sure you're very capable, little one," He says gently, "But it's always going to be our responsibility to take care of you, especially when you're little and sick, okay? It's alright, and I will never not take care of you when you are by my side." Another hiccup, and he shushes again, like he's calming the most precious thing in the world. He probably is. "I'll take care of you, okay? I'll take care of my boubui."
"You really will?" Soft, brown eyes are staring at him, still a little blurred from tears. "It's really okay?"
Ah, he might have to kill England after this. Just once.
"Yes." He presses a kiss to his forehead, softy, and Hong Kong sobs. "I promise, alright?"
Silence.
"Alr'ght." The baby mumbles into his shoulder, half-convinced. Then sobs into his shoulder just a bit more, mangled hiccups coughing from his throat slowly.
"I promise," Emil runs more comforting pats down his back, desperately, unconvincingly, holding and shushing him until the sobs abade gradually before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Now, drink some medicine. Okay?"
He holds a spoonful of grape-flavoured medicine out, and waits as Hong Kong tentatively swallows. He's surprisingly un-resisiting to medicine, being a child - Emil remembers when he'd wail and throw tantrums as Norway gently tried to coax him into drinking medicinal soups, or swallowing pills when he was older - but he guesses that's Hong Kong, always silently obedient at the strangest of times.
"Good," He tells him, before holding another glass of water to his lips, "You're doing good, okay?" And brings him back into his arms, safe and cuddled.
There's a sort of ache in him, really, seeing a tiny version of his beloved so irreparably hurt and fragile, in tears. There's an urge to hold away the pain; he wants to make sure every version of Hong Kong knows how much he's loved, just now many people are there to catch him if he falls. Emil drops a kiss to his hair, sighing minutely. He doesn't want to let go of Kar Long just yet - Doesn't really want to ever, if he's being honest - it would be nice to hold and be soft with this precious little child forever, but he does still need to adjust the ice pack, and he's worried about the mounting fever.
Emil lets a bit more time pass, then adjusts the baby so that he still fits cozily in his arms, and checks on the coolant. Pressing the back of his palm to his forehead proves his forehead cooler, but still flushed, and he gently continues to dab with the towel. The child in his arms gives no protest now, and is happily slumped over and half asleep. Iceland tries to lie Kar-Long down while not completely divorcing him from his hold, and ends up lying him down on the pillows and half laid down himself, holding the child.
He keeps fussing over him for a bit more, listening to his hiccups fade and shushing him comfortingly.
"Are you hungry?" Emil asks, patting Kar Long's hair. "You haven't eaten in a bit, right?"
"Mmnph."
"How about I go make you something? I'll be quick, right back, okay?"
"...Okay."
"Promise." He drops another kiss into the baby's hair, and goes off to the kitchen.
They have some spare rice, so he can make congee. It's what Hong Kong mostly always craves when he's sick, what he makes and feeds him or what he orders and brings home for him. He can't really think of anything else that wouldn't be unfamiliar to the kid, and anything else that would be as warm and comforting and not hurt his stomach.
He rinses the rice well, places it in the rice cooker with some chicken, water, mushrooms and a little chopped ginger before setting it to cook and taking some scallions from the pot, quickly washing and chopping them as well for later. Humming as he goes, before washing his hands and grabbing a refilled glass of water and a towel for Kar Long.
"It'll be done in a bit, okay?" Emil smoothes the mess of hair from Hong Kong's eyes - longer than it usually is now by a good bit, he notes, and pats the small face with a towel again before replacing the icepack to try and cool him down. "I'll bring it to you. You can rest." Kar Long looks a bit uneasy at that, but nods.
He sits and pats the child's hair absentmindedly, rubs comforting circles into his tiny hand, trying to offer some needed comfort until he hears the rice cooker sing a pixelated series of beeps.
Kar Long looks up, alerted by the noise, head turning to the door in silence much like a cat. His eyes still look a little tired and hazy, but awake. He turns curiously to the door, face ridden with curiosity so familiar.
"It's done. Wait a second, okay?" He waits for the hesitant nod before returning with a well-loved plastic tray with animals on it and a white-blue porcelain bowl of thick, warm congee with chicken on top. No chili oil - he's almost certain from what Hong Kong has told him that preferred milder flavors too when he was younger in an effort to comfort him, and he's not sure if the sick child would enjoy it or have his throat be upset by it.
Kar Long's eyes light up. "You okay by yourself?" He asks. He sees Kar Long move to nod, but then retract, slowly, and glance at him.
"It's okay," He reassures, petting his head, and rubbing comforting circles on his hand.
He blows on a spoonful of congee, then holds it out for the baby.
Hong Kong swallows it, and his expressions melt into something of contentment.
"You like it?" He asks. He'd been a little unsure of whether the child version of Hong Kong would like it too.
"Mmph!" He answers, mouth still full of chicken and soup.
Well. Only a little.
"That's good." He holds out another spoonful, putting a little mushroom on it as well. "Ah."
Hong Kong still looks a little unsure, but between bites he grows more content to just be spooned warm, comforting congee and spoiled without objection or insistence on doing it himself.
Hong Kong finishes the whole bowl of congee that way, gently hand-fed it in bed snuggled in-between the pillows and blankets. Maybe he's a little too old for this, even still now, but Hong Kong insists on delivering him bites of sweet cake and ice cream at cafes and restaurants anyways, even now, so - well.
Emil's glad to be able to coddle and take care of his love like this, when he needs it, anyway. He's glad to be able to give this precious child the love he deserves.
Hong Kong looks sated and full, a little less pale after finishing his food, and his eyelids are drooped down halfway anyways.
"Do you want to take a nap?" It's only midmorning anyway. "Resting would be good for you, I think."
"It's okay to?"
Sighing a little, he pats his hair again, soft and smiles. "Of course."
Hong Kong yawns, and shuffles back into the pillows, before adding: "Only if gor-gor promises to stay with me."
Emil smiles then, really smiles. "Of course, anything, okay? Now go to sleep." He lets Kar Long curl up into him, holding him in a hug before lying down and tucking the blankets solidly into him. Sunlight streams from the windows, languid and golden and soft.
Maybe it's not too bad. He's just relieved the kid is letting himself be taken care of and rest instead of trying to do it all himself. Emil's glad they can be soft and he can pat this darling's hair and shush and hold him while he sleeps his fever off, for him to know he's not alone.
Hong Kong snores in his arms, for what he can only assume is a few hours, and Iceland dozes, half awake and asleep, running caring fingers through Kar Long's hair and whispering comforting things intermittently, in Cantonese, in English, their usual common language, in Icelandic which seems to make the child relax; melting back into the blankets and Iceland's arms completely, like he always does normally when Iceland sings to him in his native language or tells him a story, falling into something softer, more relaxed.
They wake on the cusp of late afternoon, and Emil watches the child rub his eyes, soft from sleep.
"Hello," Emil says, running affectionate circles through his hair.
"Hi," Kar Long says back, and it's so innocent and different from what his grown self usually says, that Emil can't help but give a laugh at it.
"How do you feel," He checks his forehead once more - it seems like his fever has receded, but is still barely present with a small, soft warmth. "Are you up for dinner?" The child nods, so he holds his hand and ushers him to the couch, before putting on some quiet comedy or another and leaving him with another kiss on his forehead.
He makes rice, some stir-fried vegetables, steamed eggs and pork, simple things he figures will be comforting and familiar to the child. Then they eat, and he piles meat and bok choi onto Kar Long's rice bowl. And when he notices the baby drooping, still tired from fever and sleepy, feeds him careful bites between.
"Do you like it?" Kar Long nods from the chair Emil had padded with a pillow when he had noticed the child just a bit short of the dining table on the chair that usually sat a fully grown Hong Kong. "That's good." He ruffles his hair.
Emil clears the dishes away, half holds-half brings him to the couch, and they finish the comedy in comfortable silence interjected by conversation, Hong Kong quietly curled into his side until he sees the baby stifle a yawn.
"Do you want to go to sleep now?" Emil sees Hong Kong hesitate, just a little, and adds, "We can take a bath, and then I can give you a hug, okay?"
"Mnph," Kar Long yawns again, so Emil lets him settle into a lukewarm bath and wrap both of them up in soft pyjamas and tuck them in. His fever has, thankfully, mostly faded now, but he still seems tired from sickness and all the emotional spend he'd exerted.
"I'm sorry if you felt scared just now," Emil runs a hand through the child's hair. Kar Long's face is tucked into the crook of his neck, curled into his sweater, and tucked in. "But I'm always gonna be here, okay?"
"It's alright," a muffled voice says. "But are you really?"
Is he really? Emil pauses. There's been a lot of times where, separated by distance, there's only so much he could do, even while desperately wanting to just sweep his sweetheart into a hug and pat his head and offer comforting words. Emil can't be here for his childhood, as Leon couldn't have been there for his. But all they can do is chase away the quiet shadows with the light, with the warmth of embraces and reassurances and quiet, unwavering, devotion. And now, Emil has a chance, this little piece of curious serenity and innocence here, that needs him, that gives him a chance to give the love and tenderness that Hong Kong should've always had.
"As long as I am by your side," he starts, "I will always be there for you in however way I can. I will always take care of you when I am here. I promise."
Hong Kong sniffles, years of history, both before and beyond, built into it, and Iceland shushes him again, years and decades of trust behind and years more to come, and pats his head to hold him closer.
"Thank you, Ice-gor-gor."
"You don't have to thank me. I'll always be here. I'm happy to have been able to take care of you." A soft kiss, and he feels Hong Kong burrow back into the warmth of his sweater.
"Shh. Goodnight."
"G'night, Ice-gor-gor."
-
He wakes up to Hong Kong, tall and gangly-limbed, clinging to him, face still buried in his neck, and laughs, sweet and free in the morning light like the familiar and carefree church bells of Reykjavík that he loves, like he always does with Hong Kong.
"You were a very cute child." He tells him.
He feels Hong Kong burrow deeper into his shoulder, face surely burning.
"But actually," His boyfriend says, untangling himself and sitting up straight to meet Iceland's eyes, warm dawn amber in his.
"Thank you for... taking care of me. Putting up with me."
Iceland stares at him, "You're not something to be put up with."
"I know, I know-" Hong Kong winces, and ducks his head. "But I just- You know, like, what I said, and about my childhood-"
"It means a lot."
"I know, I know." Iceland shushes him again, like he had done yesterday with a fever-riddled child, always loving. "I know. It's okay."
Hong Kong smiles, but still weak - a watery laugh, like cool iced water in a glass, like half-prepared, warm congee. Iceland pauses and pulls Hong Kong into his lap, looking at him.
"I'd love you any way you are. I do love you any way you are." He hopes the sincerity in his words can reach him.
Hong Kong looks back up at him, amber eyes glistening just a little. Then he pauses, and laughs; A pretty sound for a pretty morning, one that he would be happy to wake up to for every day after this, one he hopes to hear often in abundance forever and ever
"What if I were a toad?" Hong Kong curls into his hold - the action now familiar, but just with a bit of added weight.
"I'm sure you'd be a very cute toad. Brown and round and adorable."
"Brown?"
"Mn."
"You guys don't, like, have toads in Iceland right? Just, like, checking-"
~fin.~