Happy Birthday! Sweden

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June 6

Getting your afternoon snack out of the microwave, you made your own little dance to your room. Everything was good and happy until you got to your room.

You should of expected and known about this already, but it was like a bomb exploded in your room (though the cause of this result is because you don't care to clean up your room. I mean, c'mon, talking to your internet friends is way more important than that). But that was the problem. Your computer was on the other side of the vast, black hole-like, mess of your room.

Biting you lip in concentration, you tip toed across obstacles, risked loosing your snack and your own safety, to finally get to the other side.

Doing your victory dance of triumph and then halting, much to your horror, you were watched through the whole act.

There he stood, with his arms crossed and stern face.

"B-Berwald!" You squeaked.

"Y'u need t' clean y'ur room." He ordered.

"But--!" You protested.

His glare stopped you right there and your slumped your shoulders. You glumly stuffed your mouth with your snack and moved to clean what you believed was your bed.

Berwald acts more like a mom than a boyfriend...

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