Just another little something I've had sitting around. Writing these are kind of fun!

"I'm home!" Arthur shouted.

It was odd to walk into his own home and have to shout that. He was used to having random guests in his home, especially with the way America burst in sometimes and the way Francis would break in. Recently, those disturbances had stopped as of late. Arthur had a feeling that it was because the world knew you and Arthur were a couple. But he was living with his girlfriend _ and he couldn't have been happier. He wanted to give you a heads up in case you were stepping out of the shower, or had brought home a guest. He took his shoes off at the door and sighed. There was a terrible kink in his back that just kept pressing into his back. It hurt to move his right arm at all because the knot was right below his shoulder blade. However, he froze when he found his you in the kitchen. You were humming to yourself as you diced up a salad. He could smell steak and as he and he could see the potatoes simmering on the oven. You had [your favorite side dish] as well. You had been a busy bee.

"You can cook?"

"I've done many things," you said, "Do you really think that cooking would be a hassle for me?"

Arthur stepped into the kitchen and his nose was assaulted by the different scents and spices that you had used in your cooking. It was better than England's cooking, though you did call France a few times for hints on how to make the steak completely irresistible, despite the fact it was a French recipe. He had teased you quite a bit about this but luckily, Hungary had some blackmail on him that you were also able to use, so you threatened him with silence. Because if he told, then you would show everyone just what Francis did in his free time. Needless to say, he was in no position to disagree with you, or with Hungary for that matter. You had also called Italy for the perfect tiramisu recipe, which he had gladly given. You had babbled on the phone for a few hours chatting with the Italian nation.

"Try this, would you?" you asked.

You offered him a piece of chocolate that you had visited Belgium for. You had finished your meeting with her and then went out to get the chocolate for him, because you knew he had a fancy for chocolates. Arthur always rationed chocolate. It stemmed all the way back to World War I, when there had been chocolate shortages for the English soldiers. It had become a rarity. Sometimes, those rarities had to be used to barter for one's life. England told her about a soldier who once traded a pack of cigarettes for his life. But now, he eyed the chocolate cautiously. The last chocolate he had was a gift from Francis which had rum inside. He had gotten incredibly drunk. Hesitantly, he reached up to take it from you but you shook your head, pulling the chocolate back from his hands. You didn't want him to just take it and eat it. There was no fun in that.

"Say ah," you told him.

Arthur frowned but opened his mouth, giving off the 'ah' sound you wanted from him without a fight, though he did hesitate for a moment. He wondered if this wasn't some sort of prank that America had asked you to pull on him, but you had stopped doing that a while ago, around the time the two of you started going out. He assumed this was because you only ever pranked him because you were trying for attention, but it had worked. You had his attention long before the pranks ever started. You noticed the slight blush on his cheeks that he was struggling to hide from you. You had to bite your lip to keep from talking about how cute he looked. He let her break off a small piece of chocolate and put the small piece of heaven into his mouth. He chewed, ready to spit it out if it turned out to be one of Francis' rum filled chocolates. He was not getting drunk around you. He reached for a napkin, just in case. But it was delicious. You couldn't help but smile.

"So I take it that it's good," you commented.


He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. You shooed him into his chair. You had set the table a while ago. You reached into the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle of wine. A little wine wouldn't hurt. Besides, it was a special day. England was allowed to drink on a special day. He did try not to get drunk around you. He was embarrassed of the things he would say or do while he was intoxicated.

"Belgium and I got the chocolates together. She knew your favorites…"

"Thank you love…" England whispered.

You leaned down to kiss Arthur on the cheek but at the last second he twisted his head and your lips brushed. Now it was your turn to blush. Kissing him was still enough to make you embarrassed, though he never did anything flashy in public, something you were appreciative of. You were still trying to get used to being in a relationship with the man after all. He was yours and yours alone but the idea of that was strange and harder to get used to than you thought. You still got jealous when other girls flirted with him after all. He was yours – your England, your fiancée, no one else's. You didn't care for sharing.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to help," Arthur said.

"There's always next year."

Arthur smiled in response. He leaned up and kissed you again. You could feel his smile against your lips when you squeaked in surprise. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. You knew your cheeks were pink. You could practically feel the pride oozing off England as he looked at you, because like you, he knew you were his. He held you like a trophy, flaunting you a few times to nations like France, because France didn't have you but he did. But you wouldn't go for anyone else but England, just as England wanted you. He had chosen you after all when he proposed, just last month on your eleventh month of dating. Today was the first full year…

"Happy Anniversary, dear."