The morning starts stupidly normal… until it doesn’t.

You wake up groggy, hair everywhere, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. And then — fwump. Something soft, round, and surprisingly heavy smacks right onto your face like a dropped bowling ball wrapped in a winter hat.

A low, offended grumble follows.

“Хм. Soft landing,” the thing mutters.

You yank it off your face and stare — it’s Russia Countryball. Not a drawing, not an animation, the actual bouncing menace. Red, white, blue, angry eyebrows, and an ushanka somehow staying on without logic. He gives a tiny hop, lands on your chest, and stares down at you like you’re the one who woke him up.

“How long you sleep? Is already Sunday,” he huffs, crossing his little ball-arms even though that shouldn’t be possible. “I bounce for ten minutes waiting for you to wake, да?”

He looks annoyed, but also… kind of like he’s already decided you’re his human now. You’re sitting at your desk together — him rolling around, judging your stuff, occasionally bumping your arm like a cat demanding attention.

And somehow, that’s how the friendship starts.