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Hong Kong always appreciated England’s visits. The United Kingdom had maintained strong ties even after the transfer of sovereignty, and even though Hong Kong knew much of that was due to his status as a economic hub in that area of Asia, England always seemed to come for more – a break from the political scene, companionship, a taste of the past, something. Even after more than a decade of sporadic drop ins, Hong Kong still didn’t know what that was.
Despite how busy he was, Hong Kong always showed up at Chek Lap Kok to meet England. The international airport was one of Hong Kong’s favorite locations, all sleek and efficient and bustling with a life of its own, and it gave Hong Kong a jolt of energy whether it was two in the afternoon or at night.
He watched for England on the screens in the arrival hall, looking for the telltale combination of blonde hair, trench coat and England’s Hackett tweet and leather bag. It was pointless to try to identify him otherwise, with the diverse ethnicities of the visitors who flowed in and out of Hong Kong’s borders from hour to hour.
There he was – Hong Kong watched England maneuver his way through the crowd on the screen, then turned to watch the arrival gate. In a matter of minutes England was standing in front of him, looking alert despite what must have been an twelve-hour flight.
“Hong Kong,” England said, and Hong Kong had to smile, because it had been a while since he heard English in such a strong British accent (the British consuls like practicing their Cantonese with him, and it was amusing to hear his sharp, many-toned language spoken with a British twist).
“England,” he replied, and remembered to reach out and shake England’s hand without pausing. He reached for England’s luggage. “Did you have a good flight?”
“Rather pleasant, thank you.” England relinquished his bag without comment, too used to Hong Kong’s practices by now, and followed the Asian toward the exit. “How’re we getting to your home?”
“Ah.” Hong Kong pretended to consider his options. “If you don’t mind, we will take the airport express, and the MTR to my house.”
England was trying to hide it, but even Hong Kong could catch the flicker of pleasure that flashed across his face before England mastered his features and pulled it back into its usual stoic expression.
*
Hong Kong respected England, but he did look forward (somewhat gleefully, for Hong Kong) to one thing.
He shifted England’s bag to fish his wallet from his back pocket when they arrived at the entrance to the airport express station. He waved his wallet near the detector, walking through quickly when the metro’s gates flitted apart with a chime, and turned to watch England.
England always insisted on carrying his Octopus card in his front pocket, even though Hong Kong had assured him several times that his gate systems would detect the all-purpose, rechargeable stored value smart card through wallets and even right through cluttered backpacks or purses, as the thousands of Hong Kong’s school students traveling through the elaborate MTR system demonstrated every day.
Dozens of people – no doubt many passengers on England’s flight – lined up to pass through the gates, and the steady music of sound as each passed through filled the air. There was the barest hint of a smile at England’s lips, and it widened when he touched his rainbow-coloured Octopus card to the detector and the gate chimed.
Hong Kong had to look away to hide his amusement. This was the nation who liked sitting under the old oak tree in his garden during a English downpour, listening to the wind rustling through the leaves and the rain patter down around him, the oak’s heavy foliage keeping most of the shower off England. And on the rare occasion he had his umbrella with him when the sky decided it wanted more rain, England would stroll slowly, humming along to the plink of raindrops against his umbrella, smiling at things Hong Kong could half-see, out of the corner of his eyes, the mystic creatures England called his friends.
“Ready to go, England?” Hong Kong asked, and England nodded. His expression was schooled now, but his eyes were bright.
*
It didn’t take England long to shed his trench coat. The air-conditioned confines of Hong Kong’s buildings and transportation systems kept the summer air at bay, but the smothering heat chased them as they made the brief walk to switch MTR lines, in the press of bodies and lingering warmth that Hong Kong's people brought as they escaped onto the trains.
They didn’t say much to each other. England seemed content to stare out the windows as the view changed from greenery to the coast line and ocean and finally to the tall skyscrapers that characterized Hong Kong’s central district. Hong Kong had never been one for idle talk, especially not when he was surrounded by passengers chatting on their cell phones or teenagers playing on their portable game stations.
It was only three stations to Causeway Bay, but Hong Kong made a beeline for a free seat the moment he stepped onto the train. England looked fine now, but the twelve-hour journey and jetlag would kick in soon enough. Hong Kong stood squarely in front of the seat and glanced around for England.
A firm but gentle push sent Hong Kong into the seat, clutching the tweet and leather bag to his chest. Hong Kong shook his bangs out of his eyes, and looked up to see England take hold of the rail pole beside the seat as the train sped up.
“En—Arthur,” Hong Kong corrected himself, with a sideway glance at the pigtailed primary school girl sitting next to him, who stared back and forth between Hong Kong and England’s bright blonde hair. “This seat is for you.”
“I’m fine. I sat the past twelve hours – I’d rather like to feel my legs under me, if you don’t mind.” England raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been overworking, haven’t you?”
“No, I—” Hong Kong managed a lot of things. He collaborated with some of the top CEOs and had a hand in a number of the larger corporate traders, and following the Hang Seng Index was a side-work hobby of his. And he usually thrived on it – deadlines and pressure seemed to spur him further – but lately, things had been hectic, especially with his government. “It isn’t that bad.”
The train swerved and England braced himself, feet spread, a barrier between Hong Kong and the rapidly growing crowd in the compartment. He threw a deep scowl at the slim, long-banged teen beside him, and Hong Kong could almost see a tiny space open around England as the other passengers backed away (as well as they could).
“Besides,” England said dryly, “if you try to get up now, some ruffian child will leap for your seat. Keep it.”
Hong Kong didn’t think his people were that bad, but the compartment was crowded. England swayed along with the movement of the train. He looked at home here, in a train full of raven-haired passengers and the occasional foreigner, where several languages filled the air at once.
Hong Kong relaxed into his seat, and murmured a quiet “Thank you.”
*
Hong Kong brewed a pot of Fujian white tea when they reached his home and poured the tea into small china cups. Hong Kong enjoyed English tea and his own milk tea, but he always brewed Chinese tea for the first pot, no matter what the season or weather, when England came to visit.
England never commented on it and nothing showed on his face when he picked up his cup and breathed in the white tea’s delicate aroma. It was peaceful, and Hong Kong glanced at the bottom of his cup for the fine tea dredges.
The turn of the bolt in his front door broke that peaceful calm, especially when a familiar voice called out, “Hong Kong! I’m here to visit aru!”
Hong Kong froze. Had he messed up the times and asked England to come on a week where China would be visiting? He couldn’t have, he was too much of a businessman to make such an elementary mistake, which meant…
“China? Why are you—”
China walked into the living room before Hong Kong could get up, and lifted on sleeve to cover his mouth. His eyes settled on England, and narrowed.
“So it’s true! You're here again. Don’t you have better things to do than to visit Hong Kong all the time?”
England set down his tea cup. “It is a free region, so to speak. I'll continue visiting as long as Hong Kong welcomes me.”
“You’re a bad influence,” China muttered under his breath, and glared accusingly at Hong Kong’s eyebrows. He seated himself at the small tea table. “I finally got Hong Kong away from you, but you’re always here! If I find Hong Kong bar-hopping, I’ll—”
“He can hardly do that when he’s working himself to the bone every night, can he?”
Hong Kong sighed and went to brew a fresh pot of tea. For years and years, China and England had bickered over him – who should pay for this, what he should do at what times, what his government should be. Even these days, China kept coming into his house, cleaning up after him according to some Chinese theory of putting things away that Hong Kong couldn’t quite fathom. Sometimes Hong Kong wanted to tell them that he’s a grown-up already. He’s stood shoulder to shoulder with England for several years now, and it shocked him the first time he realized he had to look slightly downwards to meet China’s eyes.
“Did you come here just be bothersome?” England finally asked exasperatedly, his eyebrows knitting together. “How did you come here, anyway?”
“Through the MTR, despite how overpriced it is compared to my Shenzhen rail.”
Hong Kong placed the lid on the teapot for the brew to steep. “China, if you just used the Octopus card I know you have instead of buying a ticket each time, the fares are much cheaper.”
“It’s too much trouble keeping track of so many cards!”
“It’s just one card, China. It’s a great convenience, to have a card that covers all the various transport services in a region. Look,” England held up a slim two-toned blue card between his fingers. “I have one too. The Oyster card, covering the travel systems in the Greater London area.”
“You two have an unnatural obsession with seafood,” China muttered under his breath, glaring at the tiny plastic card. “Oysters and octopi, what next?”
“Food, because this conversation is making me hungry,” Hong Kong cut in. He glanced warily between England and China, and decided to direct the question to the table between them. “What would you like to have?”
“Dim sum,” China immediately replied, just as England said, “Afternoon tea.”
They glared at each other. Hong Kong sighed, picking up the teapot to pour fresh cups of tea, and hoped that the mild headache he had from a lack of sleep wouldn’t evolve into an all-out migraine.
*
In the end, they had neither, because the hour was too late for either dim sum or afternoon tea. Instead, Hong Kong dragged them to one of his cha chaan teng, because the Chinese tea restaurants were his, and they couldn’t argue about favoritism one way or the other.
They saw China off at Kowloon – he was catching the MTR back to the border, using an Octopus card Hong Kong loaned him – and because the night brought cooler air with it, Hong Kong lead England to the Tsim Sha Tsui Ferry Pier instead of catching another train back home.
Only a handful of passengers took the Star Ferry at this time of the night, on a weekday after the after-work and school rush hours. England took position near the bow of the ferry and Hong Kong joined him, the two of them staring out across the dark expanse of water at Hong Kong’s skyline, at the brightly lit and outlined skyscrapers lining Victoria Harbour.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d fare when I returned you to China,” England said suddenly, and Hong Kong started.
“It’s been a difficult few years,” Hong Kong said, not quite sure what direction England was going in. “The transition, the global economic recession, the pandemics – it’s been very hard on my people. I’m just grateful they have remained strong throughout it all.”
“It’s been hard on you too.” England braced his arms atop the railing, breathing in the sea air deeply. “That’s how it is. Adversity, and hardship. But it will only make you stronger.”
The wind whipped at England’s short hair, scattering them any which way, and he closed his eyes into the spray of salt water. There was a look of nostalgia on his face, and Hong Kong forgot sometimes that England loved the sea, because it was what brought him to all his colonies, how he built the British Empire to its highest glory back in the day.
“You’ve grown, Hong Kong,” England said softly, like the winds rustling through a window left a little ajar, subtle and quiet. “You’ve grown so very much.” He reached over, hand pausing in the air, before his eyes darkened and softened all at once, and he was running his fingers through Hong Kong’s hair, once, twice, before pulling away.
Hong Kong stayed still, partly because he wasn’t used to anyone breaking into his personal space in such a quiet, lingering way (Korea’s habitual greeting with tackle-hugs didn’t count), and partly because England’s actions set off echoes of long-ago memories, back when England still had to reached down to pet his hair, gentle and comforting despite how deadly Hong Kong knew England could be during that time period.
He said the next thing that came to mind. “I’ll need the morning to put things into order, but I can take the next two days until the weekend off.”
England smiled at him, a lopsided half-grin. “I’ll take a visit to the British consulate tomorrow morning, then.”
Hong Kong nodded, and England turned back to face the wind, his eyes closed, and Hong Kong thought that maybe England wasn’t just here for a vacation, or for a taste of the past, but for Hong Kong himself.