USA

The man lounged on the bench with an air of casual arrogance; his tailored suit and polished smirk bespoke a man accustomed to power. "Well, hello there," he drawled, giving her a smug grin. She didn't even look up, nibbling on another sunflower seed. "Get lost," she muttered, tossing the shell into his shoes. He chuckled, unfazed. "No need to be so abrupt, dear." She finally met his gaze, unimpressed. "I said get lost ." His smile deepened. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he sauntered away, leaving her scowling after him. (What did I just write—HAHA.)

The sun was setting, and Russia sat on a bench, crushing sunflower seeds. Then he appeared—the United States—smirking and plopped down next to her. "Brought you sanctions, sweetheart," he teased. She rolled her eyes. "Go to hell." He just laughed. "Don't be cruel—it'll make things worse." She snorted. "As you wish." He winked and stood up. "See you tonight." And just like that, the tension was still there.