Arthur noticed, with great annoyance, that warm sunshine was leaking through the blinds brightly. Though he hadn't even been awake for thirty seconds, his mind still processed agitatedly that it was morning and he had to get up; well, he didn't really have to, but he knew he should.
Waiting for a minute he tried to get his brain working again. Propping himself up on one arm, England felt resistance around his middle and, just slightly peevish, glanced downwards to see America stubbornly wrapped around his middle with his head buried in his chest as if it was a pillow. Actually, that was normal. Almost every day he would wake up to find himself being used as a pillow by the American.
So he only sighed and pushed the other away gently enough so he wouldn't wake him. Nothing was worse than an Alfred in the morning.
Getting up from the queen-sized bed, England left the room without another motion towards the younger nation, instead favoring to go down to the kitchen and pack the food he bought for the picnic. (As he went down the halls he made sure to purposely avoid the room ruined by the toilet.) And the only reason the food was store-bought was because of America and his nagging that Germany and Italy would defiantly leave if it was his cooking. Screw that, England could cook bloody fine! It's just that nobody had his tastes.
Jamming a tinfoil wrapped, warm piece of chicken into an old basket, he grumbled to himself, sounding like an old man, though he'd never admit that to America.
It took a half-hour to finish packing for the picnic, and by the time he was done the basket was filled with delectable supermarket treats. Delicious . . . so says America.
After finishing England sat down at the table with a bowl of instant-oatmeal, lazily eating it while at the same time wondering when America would come down. The clock told him it was shortly after eleven, so what could he possibly be doing? England sure hoped he didn't accidentally wonder into the bathroom and fall through the hole in the floor - that wouldn't do for today at all.
All the thoughts swimming throughout his mind made England oblivious to America, who had just entered the kitchen and had seated himself on the other end of the table, a stupid smile on his face.
"Hey, Iggy."
Said Englishman almost fell out of his chair in surprise. Clutching his chest and inhaling rapidly, all England could do was glare his emerald eyes at America, which, admittedly, didn't look all that threatening with him as he was.
The weird laughter of his lover got him out of his semi-stroke. "Ha! You're SO weird, Arthur! Heh, you should go see a doctor."
A doctor? Really?
"Shut up and get ready, we're leaving soon." Pushing his chair back with more force than needed, the British man stomped out of the kitchen, grabbing the basket on his way out.
"That idiotic Yank. He needs to work on his mannerism. I KNOW I taught him better than that! If only he would look back to when he was younger and realize the drastic change he so wrongly made. I'm sure that'd get his brain functioning properly again!" he ranted, annoyed at both himself and America. Pausing at the nearest wall, he banged his head against it. Sometimes he wondered who was worse off; meaning him or America.
England stopped causing himself the loss of brain cells and went back upstairs, this time going to his own room.
Staring for a full-on minute at his dresser, England felt himself getting paranoid. If he wanted to propose to America today he knew he had to wear something nice. Not too uptight, but rather something America would like. Today was for America, even if the nation didn't know it yet.
Although England hated to admit it, he may have a slight case of paranoia. A really really small case of it. Like so little you had to squint to see it.
He pulled out a pair of new pants and inspected them thoroughly. They were a dark green, had thin black seams, and hung down far enough to brush the ground just slightly. A black belt had come with them and could adjust with ease.
Deeming them good enough, England opened his closet door and tore up the inside to find a shirt. Each one in there seemed to have at leastone thing wrong with them.
Then there was one, all the way in the back, that caught his eye. It matched the color of his pants exactly and the sleeves and collar were cuffed. Overall, it looked good.
Throwing his own clothes off, he hurried to get into the new ones. He slipped on the pants - which were surprisingly loose fitting - and buckled them tight enough to keep them from sagging. Next came the shirt, and what England hadn't noticed before was that an undershirt was attached to it. Perfect. And the best thing about it was that it hugged his body snugly.
Now being satisfied the searching for gloves and boots began, and it went considerably faster than the two previous ones. Black boots and extremely dark green-black gloves were added to the outfit. He felt like he was planing a war in the outfit.
As he pulled on his leather gloves, England looked himself over in the mirror and grabbed a comb, trying desperately to calm the mop of hair on his head. It worked . . . sorta. Whatever, he looked good enough as it was. He mentally hoped America wouldn't suspect anything about it, though; if his plans got ruined he'd scream and throw a childish tantrum.
Setting the comb down he pressed a gloved hand to his face and steadily breathed in and out, thinking things over.
The weather was warm, the food was good, and the ring was beautiful.
The ring.
England slammed his hands down, causing half the contents on his dresser to fall. That's what he was stressing about! The ring! What if it wasn't good? Maybe he got something Alfred would deem "too girly." Who knew what the younger's reaction would be? But that's just it, right? Nobody could know until it happened. Arthur guessed there really wasn't anything he could do about it.
Shrugging the - or at least trying to - pestering thoughts away, his mind now focused on a small royal blue box that sat at his bedside table on a white cloth. He walked over to the stand and slowly opened the box, green eyes shimmering at what he saw as slim fingers picked it up.
The engagement ring was breath-taking. Small aqua diamonds dotted the entire perimeter, glistening brightly against the ring's silver surface. A small sentence was engraved along the circumference of the ring, right above the row of jewels. It read in Latin "Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori." Just that, to England, described the love he shared with America without flaw. The words were written in soft gold that shimmered in the sunlight. The ring was neither big nor small, but a nice size that would fit comfortably over Alfred's slender fingers.
Arthur spent a lot of money on the ring and he knew many people would save that kind of money for the actual wedding ring, but he found no harm in spending just as much money - maybe more - on that one, though it was a bit awkward going to the jewelry store and describing the type of person he wanted to buy the ring for. Sometimes the ladies there gave him funny looks, and he didn't blame them since he would too.
Carefully placing the ring back into its velvet box and shutting the lid, England placed the box in his shirt's pocket. There, all ready for a picnic.
Running down the steps with picnic basket in hand, England called for America and waited at the door.
As America entered the scene England saw that he was dressed in his regular attire, bomber jacket and all. England smiled and the other gave one in return.
"Great, let's go."
The local park was nothing to think lowly about. It was one of the most beautiful parks England had ever come across in his centuries on earth. And that could go for almost anyone.
Acres upon acres of luscious green grass overtook the majority of it all, creating enough room for a hundred picnics at once. Sweet maple trees sprouted from the field at random intervals, letting the place seem more nature-like, but not enough to surround it to be considered a forest. And to top it all off, a crystal lake resided at its center. Ducks, frogs, and the like could be seen playing in and around the glistening liquid. No park in any town had ever been this roomy and great. Surely the ideal place to do something romantic.
And that's the reason England picked it.
Going back to him, and America, the duo were currently heading towards the lake. America, who had wanted to carry the basket, was someways ahead of England, skipping like an excited child would at an amusement park. England was entertained by it. And it wasn't just because he had a good view of the American's ass from the position - he wasn't just some pervert; that was only half true.
He watched America stop under a tree at the lake's edge, blue eyes looking back over at him.
England nodded and joined America under the tree, taking the basket back and grabbing a blanket from it to set down. "We'll eat when Germany and Italy get here, alright?" England quirked and eyebrow when a groan came from the other's lips, but smiled when a forced "fine" was spoken. Really, how old was America?
Turned out they didn't have to wait long at all. Not five minutes later did the two Axis members show up then did America shove something down his throat. Well, that is what England had said.
"Hello Germany, Italy. I'm glad the two of you could come." First sentence of the day, check.
Italy, who was holding a container of what England guessed to be pasta, smiled and waved, returning the greeting, "Buon pomeriggio, England! America! I brought pasta!" Italy exclaimed, holding up the container as a reference.
America greeted Italy with a hug - when they became such great friends England had no idea - and smiled back. "Great to see ya! And to hear you brought food! I'm starving!"
"Aren't you always," England muttered under his breath.
"Ah, that's wonderful! Let's eat then!" the Italian said heartily, taking a place next to America on the cloth.
England watched as Germany awkwardly stood there, no doubt feeling perplexed and at a loss of what to do. England offered him a smile. "Don't be shy. Go on, join Italy in the fun." That seemed to strike its mark.
Germany, rather stiffly, sat across from Italy, avoiding eye contact with anyone but Italy, who didn't really look his way that often, instead conversing energetically with America. England too felt weird, and thus the talking began.
"I, er, was a little if-y whether you two would actually show up."
And for the first time, Germany looked over at him. "Why would you think that?"
England tensed under the German's gaze, but tried to relax. "Well, you know, we don't exactly see eye-to-eye."
"Mmm, yeah, but Italy wanted to go, and I didn't have anything to do really." Germany said, voice growing more comfortable. So maybe it was possible for this picnic to turn out good.
"You didn't make any of the food, did you?" England heard the other say, voice a bit quieter.
Oh, no. England wasn't at all offended. Not one bit.
"WHAT? DOES MY COOKING DISGUST YOU THAT MUCH?! WELL, FOR YOU'RE INFORMATION, NO! I DIDN'T COOK A SINGLE THING IN THAT BASKET!" That defiantly put a dent in the forming conversation. And in Italy and America's conversation.
"Dude, chill. I don't think Germany said anything like that." America, who paused during the loud interruption, smiled crookedly and snickered. England was totally bipolar and he knew it.
England, eye twitching, did something like a growl. "I clearly can see when someone is criticizing my cooking, thank you very much. At least people appreciate my cupcakes!" Those green orbs sparkled dangerously, creeping the others out a little.
Germany was just about positive on one thing: "Are you insane?"
Now that wasn't too intelligent.
"INSANE? WHO'RE YOU CALLING INSANE?! EVEN FLYING MINT BUNNY KNOWS I AM THE MOST SANE PERSON ON THE PLANET! IF YOU CAN'T SEE IT THEN YOU'RE INSANE! HA! THAT'S RIGHT! THE LOT OF YOU ARE THE INSANE ONES! Now please excuse me while I go talk to that unicorn over there. At least she doesn't look like she wants to burden me with these negative comments!" England screamed out all but the last part, eyes deadly and breathing heavy. He bolted up and stormed off to where his unicorn friend was located at. All the while, America, Germany, and Italy watched with worried eyes, silently wondering when the Brit had snapped and turned into . . . that.
"Oh well! More food for us!" America, the first to recover, resumed shoving various foods in his mouth. Italy followed his lead and started on his pasta, offering Germany some, who took it with eyes still fixed on the Englishman.
And that exact Englishman was currently immersed in a sad conversation with the pink unicorn he saw before.
He sat in a slumped position on a log, his head buried in his hands. "I just don't get it, Angel. Why is it that everyone hates my cooking? I'm not that bad, right?"
Angel sat her head atop the wrecked nation's, comforting whinnies leaving her snout. "I think your cooking is simply fine, England. You shouldn't listen to people who degrade you like that. They're rude and insensitive, while you're talented and wonderful! I am certainly your friend! See, most people just ignore me and pretend I don't even exist. How very rude of them!" she huffed, clearly mad that no one ever pays her any mind.
England pulled his face away from the palms of his hands and saw small tears shimmering in the unicorn's violet eyes. He smiled and hugged her around the neck. "Oh, don't pay them any mind either. They're just jealous of the beauty you posses. I, on the other hand, can see your kind perfectly. If you ever get lonely you can always come to me and play."
Angel blushed, giving a small giggle. "Aw, you're too kind!"
The two laughed for a bit, enjoying each other's company immensely. How rare it was for Angel to ever find such company like this.
To the trio sitting under the maple tree, it looked as if England was furiously hugging the air. And conversing with it. America averted his eyes, knowing that this was the guy who had raised and fucked him. The thoughts sent a shiver down his spine. Would he end up like that one day? Sure, magic was cool and all, but being mental was something completely different.
"Hey! America! Is there really a unicorn over there? Because I can't see anything!" the Italian said, worry evident in his voice.
"Uh, not sure on that one." Honestly, he really wasn't.
"Oh, okay!" Italy logic.
Germany heard the little exchange and had to briefly wonder as well if the magical creatures England claimed to see were in fact "real." A quick glance to the English nation verified that they weren't. How could he possibly believe they were when in reality he saw England nuzzling his face against the air. Just the air.
Perhaps he was the only normal one left.
America and Italy had made a small plane out of the pasta.
Yep, he was the only normal one. Now all that was left was to see how the Brit proposed. How interesting could that be? Especially with the other rolling around on the grass.
Wait, what?
A/N this is a story I had been writing with a friend and she decided she wanted out, so she let me post it on my page and continue it