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The wedding reception had become loud enough to blur together into one overwhelming mess of music, conversation, glass clinking, and camera flashes.
People moved constantly through the massive cathedral halls and adjoining reception rooms—politicians shaking hands, reporters trying to catch glimpses through distant windows, security attempting to maintain order around several nations who absolutely should not have been left near open alcohol together.
Brazil had already nearly started an argument with a diplomat.
Britain looked seconds away from developing a migraine.
Germany was quietly preventing at least three logistical disasters simultaneously.
And Catherine was nowhere to be found.
At first, it had not seemed strange.
People disappeared constantly during events like this. Interviews. Makeup adjustments. Last-minute preparation. It happened.
But eventually, the absence became noticeable.
Then concerning.
The quieter side corridors away from the reception were dim compared to the overwhelming brightness of the main hall. Music echoed faintly through the walls as America moved further from the crowd, past storage rooms and unused preparation spaces lined with old mirrors and floral arrangements waiting to be moved.
Voices carried faintly ahead.
One soft.
One sharp.
“…Catherine.”
Russia’s voice.
Low.
Warning.
The next turn into the hallway revealed everything at once.
Catherine stood far too close to him.
One hand pressed against the front of his suit. Lipstick smudged faintly near the edge of his jaw. Her expression looked tense—not romantic, not soft, but reckless. Desperate in a way that immediately felt wrong.
Russia looked furious.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Worse.
His broad frame remained rigid with restrained tension, one gloved hand locked tightly around Catherine’s wrist where he had clearly shoved her away from him moments earlier. The overhead lights cast sharp shadows across the colder lines of his expression, pale hair slightly disordered from the sudden movement.
The second he noticed America, his grip released immediately.
Catherine visibly froze.
Russia’s eyes narrowed sharply.
Then, with visible disgust, he wiped the lipstick from his face using the side of his hand hard enough to redden the skin beneath it.
“I told her no,” he said immediately.
Direct.
Certain.
No hesitation whatsoever.
His jaw tightened.
“She would not listen.”
America’s usual smile tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head almost like a parent scolding a silly dog.
“Wouldn’t listen? That sounds like her, silly Cathy…”
He lets out a bitter laugh, the hand that had been in his hair resting on his face, further hiding his expression.
His sunglasses hadn’t been removed even for the ceremony.
He goes quiet, which is the most concerning thing to happen so far.
“Baby, I promise, he wanted it as much as I did, he wouldn’t take no for an—“
“Just.. shut up. Please.”
His voice is thin, quiet but still containing a rage that usually wasnt seen in him.
“Amerika, you know better than to believe her, this is what I was talking about before.”
Russia had tried to warn America about Catherine’s advances, but the young country had been too excited to care.
“Doesn’t matter now does it? Papers are all signed, brides are all kisses. Oooh boy when the papers hear this one it’ll be dra-MA!”
He laughs again, hand sliding down his face before resting limply at his side, his shoulder slumped slightly.
“Welp, I have a party to crash, see you lovebirds later.”
He storms off, followed quickly by Catherine, who’s suddenly all sobs and apologies, yet not one single tear has actually fallen.
America walks briskly through the halls back to the party, making his way to a microphone near the front of the reception hall.
“Friends, family, all you fancy folk, thank you for comin’ to the party! But it’s over now! My whore of a new wife decided our wedding was the best place to cheat on me! So yeah! No more fucking wedding! Enjoy the alcohol.”
Russia had been staying back to let America cool off, but seeing that he was humiliating himself like this he took action, stepping up to the mic and wrenching it away from the smaller man.
“Thank you for coming to party, apologies for interruption.”
He uses an arm to guide America into a side room, noticing the tear tracks under the other man’s glasses.
“You make fool of yourself in front of them. That was not necessary.”
“I needed them to know.”
“They would have found out anyways, no need to ruin your own party.”
“How can I enjoy my party now?!”
He wasn’t even trying to pretend now that they’re alone. Hands travelling up to tug at his hair, before they were pulled away by Russia.
“Do not harm yourself over emotions. Where is your stress ball?”
“Back at home, I didn’t exactly expect to feel upset today did I?”
“I have one. It is small but you may make use of it.”
America takes the small stress ball, and seems to calm down slightly with the repetitive motion of squeezing it.
“I didn’t know you used ‘em…”
“There are a lot of things you do not know, today has proven that, no?”
The truth was, Russia didn’t bring the stress ball for himself.
He’d never even used one before.