SPIDERLINGS

New York at this time of the year is always at its peak. It’s always the most alive and the most bright. You can hear people talking, laughing, being all cheerful everywhere. The billboards are blasting up colours. The weather is wonderful as well, if you think that freezing cold means wonderful– that is. He doesn’t really mind. He loves it. This city really does seem like it never sleeps.

From up above, he can already see people filling up the entire Times Square. They’re so tiny from far away, it’s like they’re not even real. They look like colourful specks moving along with the wind.

One would say that tonight is the loudest night of the year and he would wholeheartedly agree with it. If you’re down there, you practically have to scream to be able to have a chance at hearing each other. Peter’s never been so happy to have his heighten senses until now— if he only focuses, he could pick up some conversations from down below. It’s one way for him to feel like he’s being included when he’s actually not.

Peter’s now sitting on a somebody else’s balcony— could be a hotel or an apartment building, he didn’t really give it a thorough check. He’s sitting there up on the railing with his feet dangling up in the air, hair blowing in the wind and body trying to get familiarised with the cold air.

He can’t quite see anything from where he’s sitting– too many tall buildings blocking the way, but he could see enough glimpses to know what’s going on.

There’s still a few hours to go.

He’s been toying with the thought of staying at home this year, not doing anything– not doing this. He could just watch it all on TV and avoid all the firsthand madness, but that didn’t feel right– besides, there’s no firsthand madness from up here anyway. He’s been doing this for too long and he feels like it’s only right to keep doing it longer.

Peter just sits there, breathing in the wind, contemplating on his year. It was one of the toughest year of his life, but he’s made it out on the other side in the end, and that’s more than enough.

He closes his eyes, allowing himself to drift off for a few moments— he has plenty of that to spare anyway. He stretches his arms back, placing it on top of each balcony rails, and breathes out.

Nobody knows how much work comes with having heightened senses. Sometimes, Peter just wants to be left free in a world where everything looks and feels normal but he can’t– his ears can’t help picking up noises from an ambulance over a block away, his eyes can’t help focusing on the smallest details on an object, his nose can’t help picking up burning buns from a hotdog cart on a street sidewalk. It’s all too much. Peter learns how to control them over time, though, but he still doesn’t like to shut them off because he’s so afraid that as soon as he does it– something bad is going to happen, and it’d only happen because of him.

But right now, for a single moment– he just wants to feel nothing. So, he breathes in deep, and shuts it all out. No more noises, no more feelings, no more everything– just nothing. And, if the snow fell on his head, and melted on his face, he wouldn’t be able to feel it. His senses would all be working too slow to be able to detect anything in time. And, if someone were to be calling out to him right now, even if they were screaming, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

And that’s true, because Peter didn’t hear it.

Someone is talking to him and he can’t hear a single thing.

“Better to be up here than down there, isn’t it?” Says a voice.

His brain doesn’t start registering the words until after a few moments, he’s about to let the them slip pass him and land on somebody else until he realises that there isn’t anybody else for them to land on. Just him.

His eyes blink open and he turns halfway to find where the voice is coming from, except that he turns all too suddenly and his hands slip from the rail while doing so— his body becomes disoriented. He just moved too fast– he shouldn’t have moved so damn fast. He didn’t even have time to locate the source of the voice before he loses the grip of his posture and feels himself falling.

The next thing he knows, he’s laying on the floor, splaying with his back flat on the balcony.

Smooth.

At least he didn’t fall forward.

“Ouch.” — is the only thing he could say. It doesn’t actually hurt that much but he feels like the sound was appropriate.

Peter can hear feet shuffling.

“Oh God— hey, are you okay?” That same voice speaks again. Peter almost forgot that the voice was the reason why he fell in the first place, everything happened too quickly, his brain still hasn’t turned on properly yet.

He tries to prop himself up slowly, shaking his head while he’s at it. Once he’s able to sit up properly, he slides himself back so his back would touch the wall, he needed a support for his body, and for his mind too.

Peter brings his hand up to ruffle his hair, rubbing his scalp as he answers back, probably a couple minutes too late, he doesn’t know “Yup, yeah— I’m good.”

A concerned voice, “You sure? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startled you­–”

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” Peter repeats reassuringly, holding up a hand, with another hand still rubbing his head. You mumble something in reply but he can’t quite understand it, so he just nods.

In the corner of his eyes, he can see you pacing back and forth on your balcony, holding something in your hands­– and by the smell of it, he thinks it’s a drink– cocoa, maybe.

This isn’t how you thought the night was going to be. In your vision, you clearly didn’t see a stranger falling backwards, just because you thought it’d be nice to start up a conversation. You just wanted to come out here and sit in the cold for a while, clear your head. Let the world numb you up so you could forget about all the bad things that happened this year. Yeah, that was your plan. Hell– you even brought a cup of hot drink out here because you thought it would help with the process, but god knows how cold it is outside. Your hot drink now feels no different from an ice tray.

You set down your drink on the rail of your own balcony, eyes staring at the streets below. You’re too far away from where all the actions are taking place, but you can still see the lights, still hear the faint music. If you squint your eyes and focus, you can see the little ball about to be dropped from all the way over there.

There are some people below. Probably people who are second guessing themselves whether if they should go join the crowd of packed people or stay right here– observing from faraway.

That’s what you like to do. Not taking part, but thinking that you are anyway. It works.

But no parts of your plan include him, whatsoever.

“What were you doing, anyway?” You attempt to make a light conversation again. This time, he’s already standing up, arms propping on the rail, breathing out fog. No more risks of him falling.

He turns his head around, making you see him for the first time.

His curly brown hair is all muffled up, sticking out all over the place. There is even some snow on it. His dewy brown eyes look up, glazed with the possible tears from the cold. He looks to be about the same age as you.

It takes Peter quite a moment to reply. “Me?” This is the first time he sees you as well and he’s just­– starstrucked. “Um–” He truly hates himself for being so bad with conversations, “I was– sitting?”

before I fell, of course. He thinks.

You chuckle lightly with a grin. Sitting, huh?

you were about to grip your mug and take a sip out of your cocoa before you realised that it’s most likely all ice cold now. What a waste. Instead, you just wrap your hands around it even though it doesn’t give you any sort of warmth, and neither are these layers of clothes you’re wearing.

“Well– yeah, sitting.” You begin again, “I meant–” You try to rephrase your words “What were you doing sitting on the edge of my neighbour’s balcony?”

Peter stops, “Oh–” Is there a possible way to reply to that question without sounding like a scary stranger? It’s like asking a thieve why they were stealing your TV as you see them carrying it out the front door.

So, Peter tries his best to be witty– which, he doesn’t do a lot, God knows why, “How do you know I’m not you neighbour?”

You chuckle, “Because I live here? And I know what my neighbour looks like?”

Oh, right.

“I could be her niece.” He keeps on going.

You hold in a smile and reply, “He’s 20. And he doesn’t look like you.”

Just like that, all the witty remarks of his went straight out of the window. “Oh.”

Okay, fine. There’s no point in lying anyway.

“It was a good spot.” He starts. “Um–” He should be clearer. “A good spot to both be involved and not involved?” He wasn’t sure if you understand what he’s talking about but it looks like you do, he keeps going.

“I always do this. Every year.” Peter darts his eyes to the far distance, through the skyscrapers, into the heart of the city. “You know– watching from afar.” Looks like it’s more crowded now in the Time Squares. People below are all heading in the same direction.

You nod your head. Of course, you know. That’s what you were planning to do as well.

You step back, bringing your mug with you and set it down on the floor next to your little chair before you sit down. It’s really cold. They said it’s the second coldest night of the year and you believe them with all your heart. You hug yourself tight, breathing out cold puffs of smoke.

You shouldn’t be out here, you’re sure that if you stay longer, chances are you’re gonna end up with a cold in the morning, and you don’t really want to spend your first day of the year that way.

But, you want to stay. You don’t really know why, but you want to stay. Maybe it’s because you’re tired of being alone every single year and being with one stranger is enough.

You look over at him– shivering. His arms are folded to his chest and he’s still looking out into the city.

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask again, making an observation. Comparing to you, he’s wearing a lot less layers but still looks a lot warmer.

“Huh?” He hums, looking back at you– adjusting his beanie.

“You’re not wearing that many– stuff.”

He’s wearing a shirt and a jumper over that. And a beanie, too.

Well, Peter can’t exactly tell the truth about this one can he? He’s cold, yes, but not unbearably cold. His body can adjust to the weather given time. And, he thinks he’s got enough time to adjust from wearing just his spandex suit and swinging through cold wind across the city, but of course– you don’t need to know that.

“I’m– I’m used to it.” He vaguely replies, but before he could go back to staring off into space he notices your teeth clattering. You seem to be the one who’s cold.

“Aren’t you?” He queries, nodding to you, “Cold– I mean. Aren’t you cold?”

God, is it that obvious?

“A bit, yes.” Lies. You’re a lot cold, “I’m okay.” You lie once more and smile, but it doesn’t fool him, he doesn’t buy it.

“Maybe you should go inside.”

“I said I’m fine–” You were about to bark his name back, insisting you were completely okay when you realised that you didn’t know it. You’ve both been here for what– half an hour? More? And you haven’t managed to get his name, nor have he managed to get yours.

You don’t know if you should, is the problem. Maybe he doesn’t want to give you his name, hell– maybe he doesn’t even want to know yours. But, he does look like a genuinely nice guy and what more did you have to lose?

“I don’t think I got your name.” You say, not necessary a question but you hope he gets what you’re saying.

He laughs softly. God, he’s cute when he laughs. “I don’t think I’ve gotten your name either.” He repeats you.

“Y/N.”

“Peter.”

Peter. You didn’t expect that.

You smile in response and sit back more comfortably in your chair. “Well, Peter. I’m fine. All jolly and good. Not cold.” You insist on your words, making a stand.

Peter nods with yet another soft smile, before looking back out again. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you, because God, he wants too. But he knows that if he keeps on talking, then he’s going to go back to his babbly, awkward self in just a matter of time. So, the best thing to do is to avoid all the talking and keep on just standing. That sounds like a plan.

You both spend the next ten minutes or so being quiet on your own balconies, not really talking to each other but stealing glances from time to time. That keeps on going up until the point where you can’t stand it anymore. You take a deep breath in, gathering everything inside you and wish to heaven and gods above when you say,

“Hey Peter?” You utter, hoping he hears, “How do you feel about getting a cup of coffee?”

Oh, Peter heard alright.

2 hours 42 minutes before midnight

Let’s just say that the ‘getting down from a tall building to the street’ part the normal way isn’t as easy as he thought it would be. When coming here earlier he was jumping from rooftops to rooftops, and he has to say that it was quite easy, but now, after he’s said yes to your invitation and after you’ve gone inside, he’s stuck there with on lone balcony and a fire escape– which he had to climb down from, by the way. He considered shooting his webs down to the back of the building, but that would’ve gotten some questions asked as to why he came down so quickly. He had to choose the hard way and he’s now regretting it.

The moment he’s reached the bottom of the fire escape, he’s earned a lot of stares from people walking pass, and all he could do is smile apologetically and walk head down to the inside of the building, while brushing the dust and the snow off of his clothes. Do people even use the fire escape anymore? He swears he heard it creaked and groaned a couple times he thought he really was going to fall face first this time.

Peter tries to ruffle through his hair and make it not look like a mess as he goes in. He can see you already sitting there on one of the couches, holding another coat tight, eyes looking out of the window. It wasn’t so hard to spot you since no one else was really there except; you, the guards and some people waiting for the elevator.

This is the first time he sees you under real lights and not just reflective ones from billboard signs– you look different. Not in a bad way, of course. You just– look different.

Your hair looks shinier and your face sparkles under the lights even though it’s dark outside, he isn’t even sure how that is possible.

He walks over to you, face plasters with a smile. His hands feel too empty– he doesn’t know what to do with them, so he just tucks them inside his pockets and hopes it doesn’t look too awkward.

Your eyes move back into the focus of the room when you notice Peter. He looks different under the lights as well. Maybe even taller too. But, his hair is still messy and probably even messier than before from all that climbing down.

“Peter.” You greet

“Y/N.”

You stand up, smiling, and walking over too him. “You sure took you time.” You say, making him chuckle as a reply.

“Yeah, you try climbing down 30 stories next time.” He retorts.

“Told you to just go inside and go out the front door.” You reply back, suggesting him to head towards to door.

He follows right beside you. “That would be trespassing, wouldn’t it?”

“Only if they know.”

Peter pushes the front door open, and the cold air greets them, making you both shiver. He can see more snow falling down, not a lot, just a couple flying around, lifeless. The cold wind brushes both of your faces one more time as the door swings close.

You start down the pathway right before remembering something you grabbed for him before heading down– a coat. “Brought you something.” You say, smoothing the creases on the surface before handing it towards him. He grabs it and looks right at you, confused. “It’s mine, so excuse me if it doesn’t suit your taste.” You shrug, putting you hands in your own coat pockets to get rid of the cold.

He shakes the coat open and he swears that that surprised him even more. It’s green, and not a soft warm dark green, no. It’s bright green. Could’ve been neon in a different lighting. And not just that, there are these little colourful pompoms everywhere. You have to be kidding him.

“I’m not wearing that” He says, shaking his head and hand you your coat back.

“You’re freezing to death, you don’t have a choice.” You say, pushing it back to him.

He looks down at it again in disbelief, head still shaking, “I don’t even know why you would buy something like this.”

You huff, laughing. Honestly, you don’t even know why you bought it. It was probably on sale and you were probably in a very strange mood that day. “Hey,” You jab his arms with your elbow. “You don’t know what I like.”

He grins, still holding on to that bright green piece of cloth.

That’s true. He doesn’t know what you like, and he really doesn’t know you. It’s a miracle he hasn’t embarrassed himself and sent you running the other way yet. He can’t remember how long it has been since he’s talked to someone new and hasn’t made a fool of himself. The only people in his life that he hasn’t been a wrecked in front of are only his aunt and his best friend. No one else other than that.

There’s this something about you that makes him feel like he’s safe, welcomed, and confident– even. He feels like he could say whatever he wants and do whatever he wants without being judged. He’s only known you for a little over an hour at this point, but he trusts you. Maybe it has something to do with you not knowing who he is, too.

At school, he was always this loser Parker and he’ll always be that same person, but here– now, he’s someone else. Someone else that’s totally the same, but completely different and he thinks he likes that.

“Fine.” He mutters. “I’ll wear it.” He wasn’t even sure that it was his voice that just came out of his mouth, it took him by surprised. He shakes the coat open again and puts it on slowly. All you could do is gape at him.

When he finished putting it on, the first thing you do is laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh. Oh, he looks ridiculous. “You look silly.” You state the obvious.

“Trust me, I feel ten times sillier.”

2 hours before midnight.

“Okay, I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure most of the shops are closed today.” Peter finally admits after the walk doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere.

Your favourite coffee shop that you planned on bringing Peter to was the first place you checked. You were really positive about it being opened. But, with some luck of yours, it wasn’t.

That didn’t stop you, though. You promised Peter that there has to be some nice coffee shops that aren’t closed or overpriced and you were gonna bring him to it.

You went to three. Two were closed, and one was way overpriced, you could get a nice meal with that money.

You would’ve been cold and tired and begging to go home if it hadn’t been because of Peter– he is a great company. You two spend every moment talking about everything and nothing all at once. It’s been a while since you’ve connected with someone so much so that you start spilling your guts out to them, this is one of those rare occasions.

You were about to give up hope and tell Peter to find some other things to do instead before you noticed this green light-up sign in the distance that made everything inside you alive again.

You smile wide, “Starbucks’s aren’t.”

Peter joins you right behind as you peer into the coffee shop. Luckily, it isn’t so packed at the moment, there are people here and there but still enough spots for you both to sit down and you consider that as some kind of a miracle.

The door jingles as you push it open, Peter told you he’d get anything you’re getting right before going to find a place to sit.

Oh– his feet are both cold and sore, he can’t separate the two feelings apart anymore, he kicks his shoes off and leaves on his socks, letting it cool down along with the rest of his body.

You come back after a few moments, smokes coming out of your paper cups.

“Peppermint mocha, for the holiday spirits.” You say as you set the cups down, sliding one to Peter and sit you tired body down right across him. “Ah–” You groan.

Peter grabs a hold of his cup, his head turning left and right while doing so, “Don’t look,” He whispers “but I’m telling you that everyone over there’s been looking at my coat weird ever since I sat down.”

You sipped down your drink right in time before he finished that sentence, otherwise you might’ve laughed and spilled your drink everywhere. “Your coat, huh? Don’t grow too attached there.” You joke, gulping down the hot drink once more.

Peter grins back and takes a sip of his own drink. He holds on to his cup with both hands, letting the warmth from the drink seep through his skin and warm him up.

He can’t help but stares at you.

He didn’t expect his night to turn out this way either. He didn’t expect a night of usually sitting alone on stranger’s buildings– cold, to turn into a rather warmer night in a coffee shop with another human being, drinking festive drinks.

“How come you’re alone on New Year’s Eve?” Peter asks. He really wonders that. He didn’t expect any living person on this planet to be alone on a day like this, not if they could choose it– he didn’t expect a person like you to be alone.

Your eyes look up from your drink, questioning Peter, “How come you’re alone?”

He raises one eyebrow at you, stating that he’s asked you first, but you didn’t care. You won’t budge.

He sighs, setting down his cup, “Because,” Because. Another truth telling time, so it seems. “I’m not– I’m not the type of person who gets asked to parties a lot.” He replies, looking down at the floor, staring intensely as if something exciting was happening there. His fingers playing with one of the many pompoms located on the right side of the coat.

“I don’t– I guess I’m always alone on New Year’s Eve.” He keeps on going, “I don’t mind it.”

You can only nod, showing Peter you understand. You really do.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I hate parties.” You begin, looking at him even though he’s not looking back. You can see the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Too crowded, too many people, too much alcohol.”

“Too loud.”

“Way too loud.” You agree. Your drink is getting cold again– what a weather outside.

“So, is that why you’re alone?” He finally looks up from the floor, still looking at you in the eye, though, but he’s looking at you anyway. He didn’t mean to push, but he was curious. Maybe tonight is the only night you two have together, what’s the harm in wanting to know each other a little bit more?

It takes you a minute, or more, you’re not sure. Why are you alone? Great question.

“I wanted to be alone.”

“Wanted?”

“I like being alone.” You admit.

“But you talked to me.” Peter recalls earlier tonight when you spoke to him first, initiating a conversation than none of you knew would lead to this. That feels like so long ago, it’s starting to blur.

You smile again, “Yeah, but I talked to you.”

1 hour 4 minutes before midnight.

After about half an hour and 1 cup of peppermint mocha was gone, you both left Starbucks with no particular plans in mind. Staying inside felt rather boring, you had to get some air again.

You’re now outside, sitting on a bench on the sidewalk with Peter right next to you. This is the closest you’ve been to each other. No longer a balcony apart or across the table away. Just cold air separating the two of you.

Somewhere along the way, you asked Peter if you could swap coats. You felt like you wanted to wear the green one because you were so happy, you still are. So, you gave Peter your grey long one you were wearing and you got the pompoms one instead.

Peter felt much more comfortable he was finally out of that thing, he felt like a total clown wearing it. But you, on the other hand, look completely different.

It fits you perfectly, well– of course it has too since it’s yours, but it completes you. It makes you look more alive, more you. You look amazing in it, and you must know you look damn good in it too because you couldn’t stop smiling since. He’s certain he looks nothing like that when he had it on.

You look magical.

Suddenly, out of nowhere. Fireworks are being shot up in the sky.

Peter checked his phone for the time, he couldn’t have possibly missed midnight, could he?

No, it’s not midnight yet. Still exactly an hour away.

“God.” You mumble. Wincing at the sounds. You hate fireworks and the loud bangs. They serve no point in bringing the cheers on.

Peter turns his head and looks at you, worried. “You okay?” He asks.

You nod back to him.

“You don’t like fireworks?” He asks.

“No, it’s just– I don’t get the point of them.” You reply, looking up at the sky. “They’re nothing but fake stars.”

Peter smiles, looking up as well.

“I prefer the stars.” He says.

“Me too.”

31 minutes before midnight.

You didn’t spend time at the bench much longer because, like Starbucks– it was rather boring. So, you two starting walking everywhere. Taking every turn that appeared in front of you and wishing they would lead you in the right direction.

The time was being spent talking, laughing and jumping around with Peter. You felt happy. And Peter felt happy too.

“Are you taking me to the ball drop thing?” Asks Peter, as you walk the streets together, side by side.

You stop abruptly, looking at the area surrounding you. There are more people in the area, and more lights and noises. Are you?

“Are we heading to the ball drop thing?” You ask him back, not sure about the directions.

“I think so?”

Peter looks around as well. He doesn’t know much about where you both are, but from the looks of it, you two are definitely heading towards the heart of something.

“Do you wanna go?” You keep asking.

He shrugs, “Do you?”

If that question was being asked to you earlier on in the night, you would say no without thinking twice, but this is different. You’re out here in the city– with Peter, talk about taking risks.

It won’t hurt going.

“Yeah,” You nod, “Yeah, let’s go.”

You and Peter keep walking and walking, going where people are going, doing what people are doing. Blending in with the crowd for once.

There are more people in the streets now. Much more people. Everyone’s wearing these purple and yellow hats and glasses saying 2018. Everyone’s feeling the exact same feeling and wearing the same expression on the faces, it feels unreal.

You keep walking along together until Peter stops, craning his neck to see ahead.

“I don’t think we could go in any further unless you’re willing to squeeze into that.” He comments, nodding ahead for you to look. There’s no way you both could go and fit inside that. These people have probably camped out here since the morning, looking for the best spots to see the ball. This is the best you got.

“Not that dedicated.” You say. Giving up on trying to see anything.

“At least we could see the ball?” Peter speaks, unsured. He thinks he could see it, but he doesn’t know if anybody else could see it the same way he does.

“Could we?” You ask. “I think the building is blocking us.”

Peter slumps slightly. It’s just him, then. But says, “Good enough.” anyway.

He tries to move in, parting though some of the people. It works, but didn’t exactly help them with seeing anything better, and to be completely honest, making them more of a sandwich filling in the middle.

Everyone is trying to stand on the tips of their toes, in hope of seeing something– anything. Some people are even on the others backs. Is this what people of New York City usually do? Peter’s lived in New York ever since forever, but he never does this– whatever this is. It’s like he’s been missing out this whole time.

He brings out his phone to check the time. It can’t be too long now.

11 minutes before midnight.

He’s never been excited about New Year’s. It never feels like anything changes, never feels like a new beginning. Just another day that passes by. This is the first time he’s actually doing something about it.

Peter didn’t know when, but when he turned around to try to find you, he saw that your hands are intertwining– his and yours. It takes him a moment for that to register, and when it does– it makes him smile.

“Could you see anything?” You ask him, saying it louder than usual because otherwise, there’s no way for him to hear you through these waves of noise.

He shakes his head, shouts back. “Nothing.”

“How long?” You ask him again.

Peter stares back down at the time. “7 minutes.” He yells the answer.

You nod to him, gripping his hand a little tighter.

Peter really didn’t want to think about it, because he didn’t know if something like that is appropriate, but, what is he supposed to do at midnight?

Most of the people here came with their partners, most of them are holding hands or having arms around each other, and if you look at it from the outside, Peter and you are no different than them.

When the clock strikes midnight, there would be fireworks, confetti, glitters, and the unavoidable– people kissing. That’s what on people’s bucket lists, isn’t it, kissing at Times Square when it’s midnight? Is that what he’s supposed to do, too?

He tells himself that maybe you wouldn’t want something like that, and maybe by doing so, he’d be stepping over the invisible line someone has already drawn for them. And the magic of this night would die away. He doesn’t want to risk that.

But, on the other hand, what if that’s what you’ve been looking forward to as well? Is Peter supposed to make the move? Are you making the move?

Too many thoughts are rushing through his mind right now, he doesn’t have enough time to look through all of them anymore.

4 minutes before midnight now, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do and you don’t know what you’re going to do either.

“You’re strangely quiet.” You observe.

“Oh,” He didn’t even realise that he’s been lost in thoughts all this time without uttering a single word. “Just didn’t want to miss it.”

You squeeze his hand back, sending thoughts through him again.

Whatever he’s planning to do, he has to plan it fast.

2 minutes.

The ball is going to drop, the rings and the horns will fill the space. People will turn to each other and doing whatever they do. Will he just stand still with in hand in yours, smiling?

Maybe it’s too early to do this, for God’s sake, you two just met a couple hours ago. A couple hours that seems like a lifetime away. God– he feels like he’s known you forever.

Or, what if when the clock strikes midnight, you’ll be thinking about someone else entirely? What if there’s someone else? Peter clearly didn’t think this through.

1 minute.

He could hear you saying something to him, but he wasn’t sure what you said, so he just smiled back and nodded. Didn’t even look at you in the eyes– didn’t even look at you at all because he’s so scared.

Why are you even here with him? You said you hated parties, which means you’ve been invited to one, or three, or ten. And you said no to all that and chose to be with Peter– a stranger on her neighbour’s balcony. Have you made the right choice? He wonders

But, there they are. Standing under flashing lights and among thousands and thousands of people. The question of whether what he should do still hasn’t been answered.

Are you thinking the same thing as him? Are your thoughts also rushing fast? Or is it just him who’s thinking too much when there shouldn’t be anything to think about in the first place.

10! – screamed out by the crowd.

“Oh God.” Peter says, he still won’t look at you, but he squeezes your hand– just to remind himself that you’re really there right next to him and he didn’t imagine all of this up because it sure feels like it.

9!

You look at him.

Why are you looking at him?

8!

Peter turns to the side, looking at you back.

7!

Your body is facing his, now. Can you see how stressed he’s feeling? Can you feel the dampness in his hand?

6!

You smile.

5!

You let go of his hand. Oh God, is this a bad sign?

4!

Seconds. Time. Thoughts. Bad combination.

3!

He can see your hands moving up, both hands. They’re brushing the hair away from his face.

2!

The hands are moving down, grazing the frame of his face. The skin, the bones. He feels like he can’t breathe.

1!

Your hands grab both sides of his face, pulling him in.

And just as that, there were no gaps between the both of you.

“Happy New Year!” You both can hear the world cheers. The ball has dropped. Fireworks fly up to the sky, sending loud bangs and noises everywhere, confetti pieces are also flying all around you like colourful flakes of snow, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing in this world matters.

The two of you kiss, letting your own world swallow you whole. You are being transported to your own personal space. A space with no one but you and Peter. The whole world is forgotten. Fireworks are nothing but dead silence. New York is gone.

Sealing the start of the year, Peter deepens the kiss, reeling in the reality. This is the reality, the reality of you and him and only you and him. The voices are all muffled up and there’s only you who’s alive. None of you know what’s going to happen next, not today, not tomorrow. You only know what’s happening now.

But, you know that for whatever it’s worth– whatever the continuation is, it’s going to be a damn good one.

You don’t know how long the time’s passed when you pull away– could be minutes, could be hours. The whole of New York City starts to come back into view again. You can hear voices and you can see colours, now.

You laugh as you see Peter’s hair is now a nest for all the rainbow flakes, he laughs too when he sees that your coat is now even more colourful than how it was before. This is happy– you two are happy.

This feels like you’ve lived, this feels like you’ve begin. This feels right.

You steal another kiss from him before reaching out to hold both of his hands with a big smile and say,

“Happy New Year, Peter.”

Another firework booms in the distance.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.” He smiles.

And you both believe it. It’s really going to be a happy one.

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