You smiled cheerfully as you arranged flowers in a vase in the living room. It had been about a year since you moved in with your boyfriend, England. You insisted on keeping it clean. You brushed your hands off and looked around, everything looked good.
You jumped and looked wildly around. You ran into the hall you were certain the band came from the kitchen. You ran to the kitchen and also most fell over twice. You swung around the door and looked around. There was pink everywhere…then you realized it was frosting.
From one end of the kitchen came a groan, “England!” you rushed over. He was on his back and had a blue bowl on his head. “Are you all right?!”
He peeked from under the bowl, you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression, “What?” he asked indigently.
“Nothing,” you said smiling. “What were you doing?”
He took the bowl off his head, there was pink frosting in his blonde hair and on his face. “Wanted to make you something.” He said sadly. You looked at and sat on his lap, (y/n)! your clothes.” He said, “They’ll get dirty.”
“I don’t care.” He sighed and you wiped a bit of frosting off his cheek, “Yummy.” You said smiling.
“Thanks.” He said sheepishly. Then he leaned forward, putting his hand behind you next and kissed you. You put your hand though his soft golden hair. When eh pulled away he held something between you. It was small velvet box, he opened it. A delicate ring gleamed inside. “(y/n) will you marry me?”
You looked at him and to the ring and back, then you almost shouted, “Yes!” he hugged you and you hugged him back frosting and all, “But” you said pulling away, “I’ll make the cake.” You both laughed there in the kitchen and on you left hand a ring claimed the place of your ring finger.