America had finished his grueling military training, a sight to behold. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead as his chest rose and fell with force from the effort. Everything about his posture screamed confidence and superiority, and he knew it. It was at that moment that you approached.

Without thinking much, you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as a small reward for his effort. To you, it was a simple gesture, but to him it was something else.

"Eugh..." he muttered with a disgusted gesture, frowning and wiping his cheek. "What do you think you're doing?" His tone was a mix of disgust and mockery, as if his pride had just been stained with a gesture he considered unnecessary.

What you didn't know at the time was that that kiss had been etched in some corner of his mind. He wouldn't admit it, but when he noticed that you had stopped giving him those kisses, something inside him began to make him uncomfortable. At first he thought it was a relief; After all, he was America, and he didn't need those kinds of ridiculous gestures, right?

But when he saw you laughing with another country, leaning down to greet him with that friendly kiss you'd once given him, something inside him snapped. His jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists. Finally, after so much ignoring that feeling, he accepted it: he wanted it back.

America walked over with his typical confident gait, his boots clicking against the ground. Without giving you time to react, he put both hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look directly at him.

"Why aren't you kissing me on the cheek anymore?" he asked, but his tone was more of a demand than a question. His eyes, normally filled with amusement and arrogance, seemed to demand an immediate answer.

You explained that you had stopped because he'd asked for it.

"I've changed my mind!" he exclaimed, letting go of your shoulders but staying close enough that you couldn't escape. "Do it again." He ordered.