Chapter Text
The mid-summer sun slanted through the carved wooden windows of the courtyard, painting the polished floor with the dancing shadows of temple bells and plum blossoms. China moved with quiet precision, brushing his calligraphy strokes across the rice paper in steady, fluid movements. His expression was calm, but his ears twitched slightly at the sound of barefoot steps approaching from the stone path.
“You could’ve at least warned me about the incense,” India muttered, wafting smoke from his face. “You trying to cleanse evil spirits or just drive me away?”
China didn’t look up. “Maybe both. Depends what mood you bring today.”
India smirked. “Feisty. I like it.”
He settled cross-legged opposite China, dressed in a long white kurta that shimmered faintly with golden thread. Around his wrist, a set of red prayer beads clinked with every subtle gesture. His dark eyes were half-lidded, but sharp as always—like someone who had seen a thousand sunrises and still didn't trust the next one.
“Tea?” China asked after a long silence.
“You know I only drink chai,” India said, but accepted the porcelain cup regardless. “Still not as good as mine.”
“Always so arrogant.”
“You love me for it.”
China finally looked up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I tolerate you.”
India grinned. “Same difference.”
They sat in comfortable quiet, the kind only two old souls could share—those who had bickered through empires, traded silk and spices, argued over philosophies, and still managed to share a seat at the same table centuries later.
Outside, a pair of cranes dipped their beaks into the koi pond. Inside, the scent of sandalwood lingered between them.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” India said, voice softening. “Even for you.”
“Too much noise in the world,” China said, refilling the cups. “Too many…young nations running around thinking everything is new. They forget that even lotus flowers grow from mud.”
India’s smile dimmed with understanding. “You mean America.”
“I mean everyone,” China said, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “But yes. Him too.”
India leaned back on his palms, letting his gaze drift toward the hanging lanterns above. “They forget we were already ancient before their ancestors were even learning how to plant rice.”
“We watched rivers shape civilizations,” China said quietly. “We carved our gods into mountains. We wrote poetry while the West still feared thunder.”
“Exactly,” India said, snapping his fingers. “So why let them get under your skin?”
China exhaled slowly. “Because they are loud. And foolish. And...sometimes, I worry they will break something that cannot be repaired.”
India was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Let them. The world bends but does not break. Haven’t we both proven that already?”
China gave him a long look. “It’s always simple for you.”
India grinned. “Because I stopped trying to control everything. You should try it sometime.”
“You’d be the last person I’d take advice from.”
“And yet I’m always right,” India said, stretching out like a lazy cat. “You’re too tense, Yao. Come meditate with me later.”
“I have temples for that.”
“You have dusty scrolls and rules. What you need is release. Sit on a rock, breathe in jasmine, talk to your inner soul.”
“I don’t talk to my soul.”
“That’s your problem.”
China stared at him. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re uptight.”
They both snorted, and that tiny burst of laughter seemed to ease the old weight between them.
Outside, the wind shifted, bringing the scent of jasmine blossoms in from the garden. India inhaled it deeply, eyes closing.
“I like it here,” he said after a while. “It’s peaceful. Your trees are nice. And the koi don’t bite.”
“They are trained not to,” China said dryly.
India tilted his head. “You train your fish?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
India just laughed. “No wonder you’re exhausted.”
A small silence bloomed between them again—comfortable, dense with meaning, like monsoon clouds ready to rain.
Then India spoke, gentler this time.
“Yao...when the world gets too loud, you can come to me. You know that, right?”
China blinked at him. “...I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“I didn’t say you did,” India said. “I’m offering a place. Not a rescue.”
China looked down at his hands, then slowly nodded. “I know.”
They sipped tea in silence.
At some point, India stood and wandered the courtyard, running his fingers over the red lanterns and tiled walls. “You should visit me again soon. I got new incense from Kerala. Smells like rain and sandalwood. You’d like it.”
“Too hot there.”
“You’ll survive.”
China allowed himself a smile. “I might come. If only to escape America’s voice.”
India smirked. “Then I’ll have the tigers ready.”
“You don’t have tigers in your garden.”
“Not anymore,” India said with a wink. “Budget cuts.”
The sun began to dip, casting the courtyard in gold.
India stepped toward the gate, then paused.
“Oh,” he said, turning slightly. “Tell your koi I said goodbye.”
China raised a brow. “You could say it to them.”
India grinned. “I just did.”
And with a flutter of white fabric and gold beads, he was gone—leaving behind only a trace of jasmine and the echo of shared centuries.
China watched the empty path for a moment longer. Then he poured another cup of tea—for himself and the space across from him—and smiled softly into the fading light.