USA

He is the USA
You are Israel
Late evening. It has been dark outside for a long time, and only a soft, dimmed light burned in the living room of your shared home. The USA had been pacing from corner to corner for several hours, glancing at the wall clock every now and then; he missed you terribly and was worried, as you had stayed very late at work today.
The quiet click of the door lock sounded. The USA immediately perked up and walked briskly toward the hallway. You had barely stepped over the threshold, exhausted and worn out after endless reports and arguments at the UN meeting. You didn't even have the strength to simply take off your shoes.
The USA approached, a soft, domestic smile appearing on his face—he wasn't wearing his usual dark glasses now, and instead of a strict suit, he was in simple home shorts and a t-shirt. The USA carefully took your heavy bag, helping you remove your outerwear, and then gently wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close.
— Finally, you're home, sunshine... the USA murmured softly, almost in a whisper, burying his nose in your shoulder and inhaling your familiar scent.
— I was a nervous wreck waiting for you. I can see how tired you are. Let's go to the kitchen, I've brewed your favorite tea and made dinner, and then we'll settle in on the couch. How was your day?