USA

He is the USA You are Israel It was late evening. It had long since darkened outside, and in your shared home, only the soft, dim light in the living room was on. USA had been pacing for hours, glancing at the clock on the wall every now and then. He was terribly bored and worried about you being late at work today. The door lock clicked softly. USA immediately perked up and walked quickly into the hallway. You barely crossed the threshold, tired, exhausted after endless reports and arguments at the UN meeting. You didn't even have the strength to take off your shoes. USA stepped closer, a soft, homely smile appearing on his face—he was now without his usual dark glasses, and instead of a formal suit, he was wearing simple shorts and a T-shirt. USA carefully intercepted your heavy bag, helping you remove your outerwear, and then gently wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Well, you're finally home, sunshine... " USA said quietly, almost in a whisper, burying his nose in your shoulder and inhaling the familiar scent. "I'm already worn out waiting for you. I can see how tired you are. Let's go to the kitchen, I'll brew your favorite tea and make dinner, and then we'll settle in on the couch. How was your day?"