Look around. Nobody is watching, nobody cares. Run a thumb over the shining little penknife; smile as the top layer of skin splits under the pressure. Look again. Ivan slips a shot of vodka with as lecturing Roderich turns to the board to write something; Arthur starts scribbling one of his stories as soon as nobody looks. Unflip the penknife as Ivan downs a second; draw up the pant-leg as Feliciano leaves, fingering something in his pocket. Lower the blade, cold steel's alluring shine reflecting the bright lights above. Drag it across skin; ah, pleasure, a temporary high from slivers of agony and adrenalin running through heated blood. Go higher; slice again; more pain, ride it higher, blood's ferrous tang scenting the air. One more time. Ah, how lovely. What? Was he called on? No, not him; adrenalin made him jumpy. Overactive. Hypertuned. Just like he liked it. Tap-tap. Who was poking him? Leg drops; palm the knife. Ignore it as it, turned the wrong way, slices into the palm.
"Comrade, what are you doing? Why are you bleeding?"
Pretend everything is okay as sticky red heat trails down the arm, the leg's side, probably staining light white-tan pants red. Stripes of red. Stars of adrenalin. Stars and stripes, precious stars and stripes, just like his flag.
"Alfredka, why are you bleeding?"
Alfred snarled at the use of the old, teasing pet name.
"It's pomegranate juice, damn commie. Can't you tell? I spilled it this morning. Go away." Leave it to Ivan to ruin it. Not like he had anything better to do, like govern his own nation, or something. "Stop being so nosy." Ivan, of course, didn't like that—and he grabbed Alfred's wrist faster than the other could pull away and pulled away the bloody penknife.
"You were saying?" By now the room had turned its attention to the two old enemies, and was watching the goings-on with mild interest- at least until the knife was shown. After that, the whole room erupted into chatter. Alfred did what? Alfred cut! Arthur, Matthew, and Kiku got a little closer, apparently worried (except Kiku, who seemed just curious); A few, namely Kaytusha and the Italies, stepped back, not wanting to see blood; and the rest stayed put, curious but not wanting to get too near the armed American. Matthew tried to bind the wounds, that he could find, and was shooed away by Alfred; Kiku documented it with his phone's camera, and Arthur began a rant at Alfred, worried, yes, but angry too. Alfred snatched the knife back from Ivan, injuring himself in the process, and stepped away from the group. Over and over Arthur asked him 'Why'. Alfred got tired of hearing that, and in a loud, hissing voice, told everyone to be silent and sit down as he started to leave. Ivan stopped him; he whirled and punched the larger man.
"Alfredka!" Ivan snapped. "Why are you doing that? You will cut yourself to pieces!" Alfred just grinned, and started to laugh, a cold, mechanical sound that twisted and echoed his usual laugh.
"You are one to talk, Ivan. You exist in a state of permanent drunkenness! As for me, I have the freedom to do whatever I choose. But, as you are so stupid as to ask why, I might as well tell you… Do you know how hard it is to fake this nonchalantly sane attitude? You don't try the 'sane' part, Ivan, so you don't. Do you know how hard it is to be a hero-" he spat the word like poison- "when no matter how hard you try whatever injustice you're trying to eradicate pops up again- and again- and again? I bleed to know I'm alive, Ivan, I bleed to know this isn't the same shit over and over and over. I'm not even three hundred years old and I've had a civil war. Two, depending on how you look at it. I'm not even three hundred years old and I'm bigger than everyone but you and Matt. Coups, strikes, dropping the first, second, and only nuclear bombs to ever be used- and on a civilian population!—for the love of nothing I even managed to beat /you/, and Arthur when he was the strongest nation on earth—and during that Revolution I wasn't even human double digits. That isn't exactly common, is it? Do you know how hard it is to focus on the stars when you can't even focus on keeping your wits about you? I've lost it! I know I have lost it! I lost it from the moment I had to break away! Do you know how hard it is to be your hero? Y'all's MOTHERS? The fucking SCAPEGOAT for EVERY-FUCKING-THING that EVER goes wrong?! I AM NOT YOUR DAMN HERO! YOU ALL HATE ME- WHY SHOULD I HELP YOU ANY MORE?!" He stood there, wracked by silent sobs as tears ran from mad eyes. "So leave me a-alone, and st-stop asking ab-bout what I do to t-t-try and make this all go away… I just wanna be free again. Free like before I ever got into this world. If it weren't for a few people, I'd send myself to the moon and never come back… Actually, no. Screw the moon. I'll take a volcano, thank you. I've cut myself apart, Ivan, cut myself open and peeled and picked myself apart. And I don't like what I see."
The room was silent, and Alfred shook his head, and began to laugh. "Oh, wait, I forgot~" He pulled out a nice, new pistol. "I have friends~ And my best one, Bullet, is about to meet Brain real fast here!" He put the gun under his chin and waved.
Bang.
Drop to the ground. Everybody is watching, everybody finally cares.