x. new year’s eve - 12/31
It’s not snowing tonight, but there’s frost on the ground and a snappy chill in the air. I should probably be cold, but I’m wearing about five layers and those mittens you gave me and your arms are wrapped around my shoulders from behind, making sure that I stay warm. Beneath the glow of stars and floodlights, Times Square is packed, lined with people waiting for the glittering ball to drop.
Only a few minutes left.
“Are you excited?” you ask, your chin pressed against my head. I look up at you, smiling as you crane your neck to plant a light kiss against my lips.
“So excited.” I grin, twirling out of your arms and then back into them so that I fall against your chest, giggling.
2014 glasses dwarf our faces, slapping together as our cold noses touch. Figures blur around us, their voices stringing together into a rattling song that floats on the breeze. There are only moments left before the breaths we take belong to the new year, and I’m spending them with you.
“It’s hard to believe we’re here, you know?” I have to raise my voice to be heard above the chaos. “This has always been my dream, to see this all in person.”
You give me a shy half smirk. “I said we would, someday.”
And it all comes flooding back to me, that night in Krystal’s tea shop, watching one year fade to another on a TV screen. 365 days sit between then and now, and that’s a big number but it doesn’t seem far away at all. A year ago, in the tea shop, we sat on that ridiculous loveseat making promises and thinking everything was easy—now we know that the easy part isn’t true, but we still made it here somehow.
One minute left now, and the glittering sphere begins its slow descent. The anticipation in the air has a flavor—bittersweet, like coffee left on the counter too long. Attachment to the old year mingles with excitement for the new. Voices are already growing, small at first and then louder, stronger, all around us, counting down.
“Almost there,” you murmur. I turn so that I’m facing you, my fingers linked behind your neck and the ball shining out of the corner of my eye. The New York air nips at my cheeks, different from Portland and certainly from Florida, but okay now—it’s beginning to feel like I might be able to handle this weather.
Somewhere in the crowd, Valentina is standing hand in hand with her boyfriend. Somewhere across the country, in a few hours, my parents will raising champagne glasses to the ceiling. Somewhere, an ocean away, someone is waking to the first sunrise of the new year.
And here, amid a crowd of thousands, you and I are counting down.
Ten, with the voices of the crowds. Nine. Eight, seven, six, five.
I take a deep breath as the final seconds tick away, because I know that these few seconds, these last few moments, are unbelievably important, and that our hands, clasped together, mean everything.
Three, says the crowd, two. One.
“Happy New Year!”
The cheer erupts from everywhere at once, through the speakers and through my lips and yours. I kiss you beneath a downpour of streamers and confetti, standing on tiptoes, and it’s a new year.
“I love you,” we whisper at the same time, and then laugh, stupidly, and I don’t know about you but I’m thinking that when we first said those words, I love you, a door opened, and it hasn’t closed yet.
“Jinx,” we snort in unison.
I smack you across the arm. “Jinx again, you idiot.”
With a mischievous smirk, you poke me in the stomach, so that I fold over in a fit of giggles and fall into you. We stumble backwards, our boots crunching in the snow.
“Happy New Year, Sam,” I say softly, so softly that I’m not sure if you hear me. “And thank you. For everything.” You pull me closer to you, my face pressed against your coat, and I don’t say anything out loud but in my head I am saying thank you a million times over for everything you’ve ever done for me. And let me tell you—the list is practically infinite.
At some point last December, I remember telling you that it is sometimes necessary to pretend you don’t exist. I think I said that we had to be fictional. And I still stand by that; I think that sometimes, fiction has to replace real life, just for a little while, just to stay sane.
But not now. Not here, in the frosty air and the sweaty crowd and your lips against my forehead. For a moment, Sam, let’s not be fictional. Because standing here right now, with you—this isn’t just a made-up chapter in a storybook.
This is real.
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dedicated to varsha because she is wonderful, and so is the banner on the side (which she made, btw). this is the last part in sam and ellery's story (for real, this time), so i hope you all enjoyed it! i love you guys tons; your support on this story means the world to me, and have a wonderful new year, okay?
p.s. the song on the side is kind of the best thing that's ever happened to me and it fits sam and ellery (esp because hans and anna look like animated versions of sam and ellery) so i recommend listening tbh you probably won't ever stop
