A Waltz in the Dark (Norway + OC Hetalia fanfiction)

Chapter 50

    The following scene is written by the amazing Komeko-chan. (I am still fangirling. I can’t believe she agreed to collaborate with me. <3 Enjoy, guys!)

    Kaliningrad tugged at her dress and surveyed the room nervously. Every country seemed to be present, dressed in their best and all looking proud with their dates and expensive clothing. She recognized a few of them, some only vaguely, and others not at all. Many of them she had never seen attend a World Meeting, and it was a mystery as to how America even knew they existed, let alone manage to get an invitation to them.

    She was startled when someone bumped into her from behind, and she stumbled forward, tripping over her own feet and heading face-first for the floor. She would have, too, had Russia not snagged her by the arm and heaved her back to her feet, all absentmindedly done, of course, as he was still trying to get rid of Belarus.

    Grimacing at her own clumsiness, she regained her prior position, hands rekindling their grasp on her dress and eyes bouncing from one unknown face to the next.

    She was never very good with social events, especially big parties thrown by the loud, blunt America. But when Russia had proclaimed that they had received an invitation to America's New Year's party (in reality the letter had been addressed solely to her, but she had decided not to say anything), she couldn't turn it down. His face had been pink with delight and giggles had poured endlessly from his lips, childish and joyful. Very rarely did Russia attend parties. She knew it delighted him to have her with him tonight, she could see it in his smile and the way he hummed to the music, eyes closed and large body swaying just the slightest to the tune. So it was rather unfortunate that Kaliningrad did not feel the New Year's spirit as he did.

    She released her dress and instead fiddled with her fingers, twirling her ring around and around as she eyed the multitudes of countries in the large, expensive mansion. Directly below, hovering beneath her feet and visible over the small wall, was a large dance floor that was congested with a plethora of dancing personifications. Behind her, the bar was just as packed with swarming, buzzing faces, all smiles and pink cheeks as they talked animatedly and drank. Russia had gone to get vodka but had been, to his utmost horror, cut-off by Belarus half-way to the bar. He was forced into a rather repetitive conservation with her, leaving Kaliningrad on her own to nervously survey the pulsating party around her.

    Really, all she needed was one familiar face to break the ice. Just one. Then she would feel tremendously relieved and would be able to act natural again. But no matter how many times she scanned, the only recognizable personification was Belarus, and she was far too wrapped up with Russia to say anything to Kaliningrad. Which was probably a good thing. So when Belarus finally gave up on trying to dance with Russia and relinquished her grasp on his arm, Kaliningrad felt her nerves spike. The only familiar face and she was leaving. Soon, her and Russia would be drowned in a see of people she did not know. Again.

    “Oh dear,” Kaliningrad murmured to herself, feeling very self-conscious once Belarus vanished into the crowd around the bar. “Oh dear...”

    “What is wrong, dorogaya moya?”

    Kaliningrad turned to Russia in distress. “I feel so terrible!”

    He frowned, face crinkling with worry. “Are you sick? Should we be going home?” He placed a hand to her forehead. “You are looking very pink in the face, lapochka. You are not feeling well, da? Let us go home–”

    “Nyet, nyet,” she rushed, placing a hand on his arm to stop him from picking her up and carrying her out the door. “I feel fine. I'm just...nervous...” She paused and glanced down at herself, dress still bunched in her fingers.