Yesternsday USA Had an sleepover with some friends, that include Mexico, Philipines, Turkey and Japan, But Mexico stayed until today and they were sleeping together at the bed shirtless.

Then—knock knock. USA leaved the room and opened the door to see who was. Sharp. Calm. Menacing. Russian.

The door creaks open like it knows what’s coming.

And there he is.

Russia. Tall. Cold. Scarred. That terrifyingly expensive coat draped over him like war itself. He walks in like the room belongs to him.

“You’re looking... good, Amerika,” he says, voice smooth as ice. “Where's your shirt?”

He just raises an eyebrow and pulls out a glass bottle from inside his coat. Crystal-clear. Vicious. Definitely not water.

“I brought vodka,” he says. “The real kind.”

Your soul leaves your body.