Blurry vision . . . an annoying beeping . . .

New Zealand rolled over to the source. Green, blocky text shouted at her foggy mind – 7:45 AM.
. . . Wait, what?

She shot up, her head swirling from the suddenness.

Oh, shit! Why hadn't it gone off sooner? Piece of rubbish!

New Zealand leapt from her bed, the covers flying and then drifting to the ground from the draft of the drastic movement. Quiet curses were breathed as she tugged on her football boots, hopping out the door and down the front steps as she did so. She had no time for breakfast . . . the instant coffee would have to suffice for now.

When New Zealand arrived at the ground everybody had already taken their places upon the field. She was panting when she took her position, and then saw exactly what she did not want to see first thing in the morning: Australia's smug, smirking face.

"Oh, Zea, look at the one who's late this morning-"

"Fuck off," she interrupted him.

The whistle was blown, and the game had started. New Zealand enjoyed it when she tackled the Aussie just hard enough for him to let out a grunting groan. Although . . . it sounded a little more sultry than usual . . . Ugh. Of course he would do something like that, just to gross her out! She frowned when he snickered at her expression, and then flipped him off when he winked.

By the end of the last half the Kiwis had won to the Aussies, of course~

"Good game, Zea," Australia said with a towel around his shoulders, wiping the sweat and dirt from his face. When he was in a good mood Australia was actually a fairly good sport when he lost, even if it was to New Zealand. Although . . . God knows when it's a serious game, like the Rugby World Cup semi-finals just the other day, Australia spits fiery acid like a cornered dragon.

"Mhmm, you too," she said, a bit distracted by her growling stomach. She clutched it absently.

"Here," Australia said while he unzipped his sports bag, noticing her hunger. "I brought a spare sandwich and Powerade for you."

He handed them to her and New Zealand took them slowly. "How did you . . . ?" She was grateful for her friend to be so thoughtful, but she was curious as to how he knew she wouldn't have her own food. Usually she was the one to give him her spares.

"Well . . ." Australia sipped from his blue drink sheepishly. "Who else do you think messed with your alarm?"

New Zealand's thick brows shot up and her eyes hardened.

"You!-"

Australia was laughing too hard to win the wrestle-fight that ensued.

. . .

New Zealand shrieked when she got home at the end of the day, slamming her front door shut and as a result scaring the absolute bejeezus out of her lamb on the couch. Work had just about pushed her over the edge and her anger had worn her right down to the bone. Right now, she was a skeleton on an unstable cliff. A very tired and fed up skeleton.

Politics, while it was her whole life, was not something she liked to think about all that much if she could help it. A little nation could only ever take so much war and hate and conspiracies and economic downfalls and climate change and all that other depressing talk that pressures her to the point where she just wanted to scream and cry and throw things and-

Ugh. New Zealand took in a deep, but albeit shaky breath, held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled.

No. She did not need this right now. The last thing she wanted was for her to lose her fucking mind right before the Rugby finals. Her team needed her intact for that.

She flicked on a light switch to the living room, dumping her bag by the front entrance and strode through to the kitchen to stuff her face with something . . anything . . she was starving! Her lamb plopped from the couch and pursued her.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away, mate . . ." she smiled down at her lamb who bleated as she clasped the red sphere in her hand. She sighed, cutting it up and feeding a slice to her fluffy companion. Yeah, things weren't really all that bad. Maybe she just needed a holiday . . .

She snorted. What a load of bull! Nations don't take holidays. There was far too much-

And then something caught her eye.

Through the open archway to the kitchen she could see a small folded up piece of paper, patiently waiting upon the coffee table in her living room. Curiously, with her mouth still half full, she placed her apple down slowly upon the kitchen counter top – much to her lamb's dismay, out of reach – and walked towards it.

What the hell? She hadn't put that there.

Swallowing the apple in her mouth New Zealand sat down upon the couch and took the paper in her clutches, taking note of the crude sketch of her – a stick figure with curls, to be more precise - humping a sheep on the front. God damn it, only one person she knew would do that . . . what was he doing in her house again, anyway? Bastard. What happened to good old phones? Or emails? Or texts? She knew he was fully capable. But no, instead he had to take advantage of his emergency key and break in to leave her a stupid letter. She took a side note to check her alarm before she went to sleep this time, too . . .

New Zealand unfolded the paper to reveal the message inside and concluded that she was right. Yep, the exact messy handwriting she was expecting – it was Aussie.

The message was as Follows: "Sheepshagga cum over when u get back from work pls alright?
Cheers Oz xo"

And no, she was not surprised that his spelling and punctuation was outrageously shocking. Was he stupid? Well, maybe. But that wasn't the point. He was just too damn lazy to write formally when it came to his favourite Kiwi, is all. He was fully capable of an intelligible sentence, just like he was fully capable of using technology. It always flattered New Zealand in the very least that he knew and trusted her to the point where these things no longer mattered or should be bothered with.

And yes, that last sentence was sarcastic.

Taking nothing but herself, her kiwi and her lamb, New Zealand ambled her way over to Australia's place. He really didn't live that far away from her – just a few minutes at a well paced walk. As kids they never let that opportunity pass them and they always spent time at each others houses, treating each others' like their own, coming and leaving without notice – even when one wasn't inside to greet them.

Aussie still followed that unspoken privilege quite often as you have already seen, and New Zealand sighed. She had started to treat him like it was odd for them to continue doing such things. Maybe her work really was getting to her, after all?

Nevertheless, she looked forward to spending some casual time with Australia. It had been a while, that's for sure.

. . . Little did she know that "casual" was the last thing on the Australian's mind.