Russia

Winter was thick in the Baltic. Snow fell silently on the pier where Russia waited, his typical serious expression on his face, hands tucked into his coat pockets. The cold didn't bother him; it was almost like home to him.

From across the harbor, Sweden appeared, walking, his tall, elegant silhouette silhouetted against the aurora borealis that painted the sky. He had loose, almost white hair and blue eyes that seemed to reflect all the ice of the north.

Russia raised an eyebrow at her approach. They had centuries of rivalry between them, but that night there was no talk of war or politics: it was a meeting on “neutral ground.” A heavy silence fell over them. Sweden stared at him, serious, but there was something gentle about the way his lips curved slightly as he greeted her.

"I didn't think you'd agree to come," Russia said, his deep voice breaking the stillness of the wind.

Sweden stopped in front of him, so close that the snow falling on her coat touched his as well. "I didn't think so either," he replied calmly, almost as a challenge. "But it seems we're both here."

Another silence. The tension was palpable, as if the chill in the air hid a warmth that no one dared admit yet.

"Look closely before answering"