1997

“Hey there, beautiful, need a drink?”

America was very obviously drunk. And in his drunken state, he had tried to hit on you. In a bar. He maybe had too much Russian wine to drink with a few shots of vodka added in there too, so truthfully, he didn’t know what he was doing. He just knew you were in front of him, and you looked like the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Don’t be shy~”

He came closer, his hair slicked back and his sunglasses unmoving. Charming.