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No matter how many times England kept telling his husband to save money, he just doesn't listen.
He sighed as he looked into the closet where he placed the gifts America gave to him about a month ago. He even brought a chaperone with him that made sure he immortalised England's reaction on Instagram after a few minutes of it happening.
England would have demanded Philippines to take it down, but he just couldn't bring himself to be rude to him. Plus, it was mostly Philippines's face in the photo, anyway, with a caption of #bestwingmanever.
It's not that he didn't appreciate it. As a matter of fact, everything that America did was beautiful to him.
It was then England found himself smiling fondly. He recounted the years that he had been married to America. Fifty years? Seventy-five? Years just seem to pass by if one was an immortal, and he was just more than thankful that he was able to spend it with someone. Especially if that someone was the person that he loved more than anything else.
When everything just seemed wrong in the world, America made it right somehow.
Of course, England didn't usually say these things out loud. Unless he got drunk and America would record everything he said much to England’s embarrassment. America once complained about how much he would like to hear those words every day, and after a lot of poking and teasing, England finally said, "Don't worry love, I will tell you how much I love you every day. Not only that, l will show it to you too."
America was flustered at that. It took him a while to recover from that before laughing happily and pushing England down the bed. They just lie down there for a while in comfortable silence, their bodies warming each other up. America has always been his sun - the sun that chases away his grey clouds. That would never change no matter how many centuries passed.
"I am glad I married you, Arthur," he said softly with a name that he only uses - the names that they had placed in their marriage contracts. "Me too, Alfred," England replied.
Closing the door to the closet, England tried to compose himself from the sudden rush of memories. Apparently, America had to take care of something for his boss so he had the house for himself the whole day. Did he already miss him? Yes, he did.
Looking at the table by their bedside, England found this photo of him and America in front of the Statue of Liberty, holding a placard saying "Greetings from Across the Pond."
It was the photo in the postcard England had sent to his brothers many years ago. When he first told them that he and America would get married, they had mixed reactions about it. Scotland acted disappointed but he was the one who cried the hardest at his wedding. He even cried harder than England did. Wales, being the kind and gentle person he was, brought a lot of gifts with him. Northern Ireland and Ireland went together, and for the first time, Ireland behaved pretty well.
The whole G8 was there as well, and they had a big celebration. America wouldn't have it any other way.
Finding it increasingly boring to just stare at the ceiling the whole day, England groaned and got up from the bed. He remembered how his friend Japan used to say that there was a celebration in his place called White Day. It's a day in Asian countries where the people who received something on Valentine's day would give back something coloured white after a month.
It's been a while since he made something. Sure, from time to time he made his husband some scones, but he knew how he forced himself to eat those. That one time he finally made some decent scones, America wasn't around to taste them. He knew it was decent because Germany doesn't lie for lip service.
He tried to convince himself that he was going to make something "more than decent" for his husband as he made his way to the kitchen.
Racking his memory for the recipe for the sponge cake the Queen Mother told him about, he began to prepare the ingredients. It was a good thing that he had every ingredient for the cake. England took utmost care in measuring all of the ingredients. It would seem like that is where he messed up most of the time, and he could almost hear the Queen Mother yelling at him for being slow.
After carefully mixing all of the ingredients, he triple checked the length of baking time the cake takes. He didn't know why but he felt nervous.
"It's just a cake," England told himself.
—-
Looking at the end product, he wanted to bang his head into a wall. He managed to do everything right and he could have praised himself for that, but at the last moment, he fucked up.
He put the frosting and the ganache when everything was still hot. Now it looked like a white melting mess. The second layer of the cake looks like it was going to fall over, and he felt his heart fall to the floor when he heard the door open.
"Honey, I am home!"
Usually, that made him smile at how sweet that was, but now, all he could feel was panic when he dropped one of the metal trays, making a loud noise.
"Babe? Are you there?" England could hear the panic in America’s voice, as he ran to the kitchen, only to find his husband with a messy apron. England had white chocolate ganache all over his hands as he tried to hide the atrocious cake on the counter behind his back.
"Welcome home, love," He laughed nervously.
America looked at him, perplexed, as he made his way towards England, and he tried to step back out of instinct, only to bump a little painfully into the counter
He looks suspiciously in England’s hands and he could feel his cheeks flare up. "This is ganache, you idiot!" he said defensively.
"Whoa! I didn't say anything!" America said with a snicker as he made his way towards him. He then finally spotted the two-layer cake behind England’s back. The top layer finally slid off and it looked even messier than it was five minutes ago. Screw gravity.
"You don't have to eat it," England said as he refused to meet his husband’s eyes,
America sighed. "I thought there was a break-in. I was worried about you, y'know."
"Why would I let anyone break in? No one would be idiotic enough to break into the house of two nations," England huffed.
America hums as he moved to hold his hand, bringing England’s fingers to his lips and licking it. England could feel his cheeks heat up once more as America peered into his eyes with a hint of hunger.
He almost forgot how to breathe in the brief moment of silence that follows and was startled when America spoke up.
"Wow. This actually tastes good, babe."
England pulled back his hand and took a moment to compose himself with much futility as he was still flustered.
"You don't have to say that out of courtesy," England said instead.
"No, seriously," America insisted. He then looked at the things on the counter and dipped his finger on the bowl with leftover ganache and England instinctively smacked his hand lightly.
"You didn't wash your hands!" England interjected.
"Come on, babe. You were supposed to give it to me, anyway," he smiles teasingly as he licks his finger.
Of course, America knew.
England rolled his eyes, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to show on his face.
"I'm not saying that the cake looked pretty though, but I'm sure it tastes better than it looks. It doesn't look burnt, like your usual scones."
"Excuse me?" England tried to protest but America was already making his way to get a plate and a fork.
There was a spark in America’s eyes. “This is actually pretty delicious, and I’m not lying just to get laid!”
England was torn between smacking him and kissing him.
Before England could throw any words of self-doubt, America shoved a small piece of cake in his mouth. Normally, England would have been angry that, but he then realised that America wasn’t lying at all. Everything was at the right sweetness and the sponge cake was soft and fluffy.
The only thing that went wrong was it look like it was arranged by a child.
“See?” America’s grin was a smug one and England finally managed to smile fully.
“I’m glad you liked it, love.”