The paper burned slowly, the parchment slightly damp in the London fog, despite being indoors, and the small Asian child watched it with interest. The house was silent, mostly, except for the steady thumps and creaks from upstairs. Hong Kong watched as the fire fizzled out, and with a sigh tore another sheet out of the book. Looking down, he was brought back to his studies. Europe fought over the words in this book all the time, he was told, and he thought it a very silly thing.
The words in the book stared back at him, even as he lit the page on fire.
Colossians 3:12: Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged.
xxxxx
“Michael!” the long haired Asian chided, grabbing the stoic nations hand and dragging him over to the sink, “how many times have I told you not to play with fire?” Hong Kong just blinked, slowly, not even flinching as the burnt part of his hand, going across his knuckles and down the side, was thrust under cold water. China gave him a forlorn look, fine brows drawn together. “Why do you do this?” he pleaded with the other softly, “it only hurts you.”
Hong Kong shrugged, “I don't really mind,” he said simply, the burns covering his arms and hands a sure testament to that.
China frowned, more, fingers tightening around the others slim wrist, though not painfully. “Well then,” he said, as if considering, “it gets you in trouble with the others,” he tried, though it didn't really, mostly, they just worried about him, “doesn't that bother you?”
Hong Kong just shrugged again, face still frustratingly blank. “I don't see why,” the smaller Asian told him baldly, “no one cared before.”
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Erata [1/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 12:24 pm (UTC)(link)The words in the book stared back at him, even as he lit the page on fire.
Colossians 3:12: Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged.
xxxxx
“Michael!” the long haired Asian chided, grabbing the stoic nations hand and dragging him over to the sink, “how many times have I told you not to play with fire?” Hong Kong just blinked, slowly, not even flinching as the burnt part of his hand, going across his knuckles and down the side, was thrust under cold water. China gave him a forlorn look, fine brows drawn together. “Why do you do this?” he pleaded with the other softly, “it only hurts you.”
Hong Kong shrugged, “I don't really mind,” he said simply, the burns covering his arms and hands a sure testament to that.
China frowned, more, fingers tightening around the others slim wrist, though not painfully. “Well then,” he said, as if considering, “it gets you in trouble with the others,” he tried, though it didn't really, mostly, they just worried about him, “doesn't that bother you?”
Hong Kong just shrugged again, face still frustratingly blank. “I don't see why,” the smaller Asian told him baldly, “no one cared before.”