The last thing most people expect to hear when they walk up to their crush's door is "Get off my lawn!" followed by several gunshots.
Fortunately for you, you knew of Switzerland's way of acknowledging visitors, so you simply flung yourself to the ground and yelled, "SWITZERLAND! IT'S ME!"
"(Y/N)! Why didn't you say it was you?" The door flew open to reveal Switzerland standing there, frowning, with his rifle still in his hand. "I almost shot you, you idiot!"
"How kind of you," you said dryly, propping yourself up on your elbows and scowling up at him.
His face turned pink. "Well . . . don't just lay on the sidewalk. You'll get dirty."
He knelt down and took you about the waist, pulling you upright with apparent ease. It was your turn to blush, but you were still too pissed over getting shot at to acknowledge the fact that his hands lingered on your waist.
"So, is this how you say 'hello' when someone visits you?" you huffed.
"I wasn't expecting anyone," he muttered.
"Well, you're a fun person to surprise," you grumbled. "Don't you at least look before you shoot someone?"
"Not . . . usually."
"Look, I'm sorry. You're one of the last people I'd shoot on purpose."
You paused. "You're still holding my waist."
"You haven't made me stop."
"I don't want you to stop."
"Huh?" You blinked in confusion.
He grinned slightly. "I don't want to stop."
You blushed again and lightly punched his arm. "Shut up. I like you too."
He pulled you closer, and you kissed him.