New Years || Sebastian Stan x Reader

2008

"Oh, fuck, sorry!" The guy almost shouts even though you're away from the music, drink spilt down the front of your top. It's clear, thankfully. Vodka probably. At least it's not wine. Or whiskey. Or that awful concoction that Emma had put together minutes before the first guests had arrived. 

"It's fine, don't worry." 

"No, no. Look, let me help." 

You stand there, lips pursed together and eyes scanning the hallway as he pats your breasts with - wait, are they boxers? They manage to soak up some of the drink but your top is almost see-through now, the lace of your bra visible as he awkwardly meets your eyes with a gulp. 

"There we go... I mean, at least it's not merlot or something, right?" 

"Right." You say with a weak smile, wondering where Emma had found this one. 

"So, who did you kiss?" He asks, licking at the rim of his glass as some of his drink still dribbles down the edges from the crash. 

"No one, I missed it." 

"Missed it?" He echoes, tongue back in his mouth now. "How can you miss it, there's a countdown and everything?" 

"Yeah, I got that." You say with a smile, studying him now. Curly hair with some strands sticking to his face which looks hot as a sheen of sweat covers his clean and shaven skin. And he's a little pale. Eyes are a shocking blue, though. Like icecaps that haven't seen the sun in months, but it's you melting, not them. "I was in the bathroom." 

"What were you doing there?" 

"Crying, not that it's any of your business." You say, suddenly aware you don't have a drink. 

"Well, now I kind of think it is." He says and there are dimples in his cheeks when he smiles. Little dents in his skin, but they're perfect. And you hate them. "Why were you crying?" 

"Because I didn't have anyone to kiss." You pull at your t-shirt now as it sticks to your skin.

"Oh. Well, I didn't kiss anyone either, if it helps."

"It doesn't." You laugh and he leans against the wall now. 

"Well, we could kiss. If you wanted." He brings his glass to his lips again, eyes watching you over the rim as he drinks at nothing. He shakes his head when he remembered he'd spilt it. "We can pretend it's two thousand and seven again, countdown and everything. It'll be like the real thing." 

You don't know whether it's his eyes, his smile, the fumes from his drink, or the countless glasses of punch you had to try before the mix was just right, but you do want to kiss him. 

"Sure. Let me change my top, though." 

"Okay, sure. Do you live here?" 

You're walking towards your room now, and your mouth clicks open as you think. 

"No."

"So, you're just going to steal their clothes?" There's a worry in his voice as he follows you. 

"Yeah, they won't know." 

"I mean, they will when you walk back into the party wearing their top." He tugs at the crease in your elbow now as you go to open a door. "Are you serious?" 

"What's wrong, scared?" 

"Fuck." He whispers, following you inside.

It's quiet here, away from everyone. The drawers are against the wall, next to the door that leads to a small en-suit. It's covered in clutter, picture frames, jewellery holders and piles of books. There's a snake plant that looks like it's seen better days tucked to the corner, its tips turning brown from neglect.