this new years eve was about to be fun.

maddy and you had gotten ready together, signing along to music while putting rhinestones and glitter on each others eyes.

you were wearing a white satin dress with some lace, silver glitter and rhinestones glued around your eyes while maddy was wearing the exact opposite of you. her dress was a dark purpleish color, sharp eyeliner and dark lips painting her face as the two of you completed each other.

"do you think nate and i will get back together next year?"

it was hopeless. maddy would never get over nate and you were getting frustrated with seeing your best friend suffer because of some douchebag.

"if he'd change his personality then maybe" you scoffed, making the latina sigh and pour another shot for the two of you.

"cheers babe" you clinked your glasses together "to one last night"

-

arriving at the house a little later than the two of you had planned, you were immediately sucked into the world of alcohol, marijuana and what not as you entered.

"maddy i think im gonna piss my pants if we dont find a toilet" you yelled into her ear as she tried pulling you through the crowd of sweating bodies.

"bitch im trying to find one" she yelled back "also you're not even wearing pants so the piss would just run down your leg, we dont want that"

you laughed at her words, she was right after all.

luck was not on your side when you finally found a bathroom but it was already occupied by no other than nate jacobs. great.

"nate open the fucking door y/n has to pee"

maddy hit the door repeatedly with her fists and you watched the door shake as nate yelled back "just give me a second, god!"

"fuck" you hissed, crossing your legs as you leaned your head against the wall "is he fucking taking a shit or something"

maddy snorted out a laugh at that, hitting the door once more "are you fucking shitting at a party nate? you're fucking disgusting"

a laugh wanted to leave your throat but you couldn't focus on anything other than holding in your pee so now it was your turn to slam your hand against the door

"fucking hurry up nate im being so for real right now-"

"oh shut the fuck up y/n!" you rolled your eyes when his voice cut you off and maddy turned to you with jaw agape and you knew what that meant.

"here we go" you mumbled and then she started kicking the door.

"no you shut the fuck up nate you fucking cunt!-" you closed your eyes as her yelling kept on going and you swore your bladder would burst any second if you didn't pee.

right when you were about to cry the door opened and you didn't even hesitate for one second before you rushed past nates huge body, not even caring about the fact that you almost body slammed him.

relief rushed over you when you were finally able to let out what was in your bladder, sighing out in content as you blend out how maddy and nate were arguing in front of the door. and it didn't even surprise you the least that when you left the bathroom maddy and nate were no where in sight.

"of course" you mumbled under your breath, getting a glimpse of them making out in the crowd of people dancing.

looking around you thought about what to do next. for a second you thought about joining cat and jules on the dance floor, but to be honest you were only a little tipsy, not even drunk yet so you weren't in the mood for dancing at all.

sighing to yourself, you walked up to a group of guys smoking.

"hey" you spoke, flashing them the best fake smile you could muster "can i have a few cigarettes?"

each of them didn't even hesitate to pull out their packs of cigarettes and you almost laughed. teenage boys were so easy to get around.

"wanna smoke with us?" one of them asked, already pulling out his lighter but you shook your head with a polite smile, happy to have gotten what you wanted.

"nah im good, but thank you for your service boys" you blew them a kiss before quickly walking away, rolling your eyes as soon as you were out of their sight. god you hated teens.

strolling around the huge house for some place you could smoke in private, you somehow got lost in the basement. there were so many doors to choose from and you tried opening a few, most of them were locked and you almost gave up with a sigh but then the one on the end of the hallway opened.

"oh shit-" your eyes widened when you saw a guy hunched over a washing machine, obviously snorting a line and you couldnt help but laugh when he straightened up as soon as you opened the door and tried his best in hiding the white powder behind himself.

"were you just snorting a line?"

"dont know what you're talking about" he sniffled, pointing to the front of the washing machine as he said "im just fixing this thing here"

"oh yeah of course" you chuckled, holding eye contact with him for a second.

his blonde dyed hair was showing some brown at the roots as it was starting to curl on top of his head. adding to that there were some tattoos on his face and you were pretty sure there were also some on his hands which you had seen for a second while he was still hunched over.

he was cute. like really cute. and you had not ever seen him around before.

before you could even think about it your mouth moved on its own.

"need some company?"

his eyes mirrored yours as he widened them at your words and he looked you up and down for a second, a lopsided grin spreading on his face.

"sure"

shaking off the surprise you had given yourself by asking him that you closed the door behind you with a grin, sitting down on the ground opposite of him as you put one of the cigarettes you had, in your mouth, looking up at the boy who was just staring at you from the same position he was in earlier.

"you got a lighter?"

he furrwoed his brows, now moving to sit down opposite of you. the fabric of his pants brushing your bare legs as he sat down on the ground. you took notice of his slender fingers as he passed you a lighter, your fingers brushing faintly.

"thanks"

he watched you light up your cigarette "you smoke but don't have a lighter?" eyes burning into yours as you took another puff. he was a very pretty boy.

"i dont smoke" you explained, giggling a bit as he raised his eyebrow teasingly at you "well, only occasionally at parties. i got these from some random guys, want one?"

he took up your offer with a faint smile. the way he smoothly put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it up in a second made you feel some type of way.

his long fingers pulled it out of his mouth as he exhaled, eyes still locked on yours and you had to turn look away, missing the way he smirked at that.

somehow he made you nervous.

"i like your make up"

as soon as those words left his mouth you could feel butterflies shooting through your tummy. he was a boy, usually they don't notice things like that. and theft that he said it so casually, made you want to kiss his plump lips right then and there.

"thank you" you smiled, looking down in your lap to hide the blush that crept on your lips but you knew he could tell.

for the next few minutes the two of you smoked in silence, sometimes your eyes met, sometimes you looked away from him.

when you were done with your cigarette, you took a look around the small room you were in. that was when your eyes fell onto the washing machine.

"can i try a line?"

you watched his brows furrow, his fingers pressing the cigarette onto the floor next to him and his eyes locked with yours.

"its not cocaine, its adderrall" he explained, pulling out a small pack of pills from his hoodie "have you ever done any drugs?"

you shook your head, watching him take out a pill and crush it on the back of his phone case, turning it into white powder

"what does it do?"

"gives a nice high" he formed a line with his credit card, bringing the phone to his nose and he spoke "doesn't last long tho" before snorting it through his nose.

you watched as he sighed, letting his head fall back in what looked like euphoria.

his neck was also clad in tattoos, small ones which you couldnt make out what they were since there was a little distance between you. his adam apple bopped and god you just knew his skin must feel so soft.

gulping, you tried stopping yourself from staring when he came down from his high, smirk growing on his face as he had caught you staring.

"you sure you want to try?"

were you?

after all you had never consumed anything besides alcohol or nicotine. so this would be your first time doing drugs, with a boy you had just met. if maddy knew about this shed probably kill you for taking drugs from a stranger, but somehow he made you feel like you could trust him, although you didn't know if that maybe was just the alcohol in your system that made you think that.

"yeah" you nodded, gulping down the nervousness that grew in you "i won't die right?"

he let out a laugh at that and you couldn't help but laugh too as you saw his teeth shining. for the fifth time that night you thought about how attractive he was.

"i promise you won't die, doll" the nickname rolled off his lips like it was natural, and he flashed a grin at you when he took another pill out and crushed it onto the back of his phone case "you want to snort it or put it on your gums?"

"dunno" you shurgged "i think gums"

he hummed, patting on the ground next to him and you immediately followed suit and moved so you now you were in the place where your feet had been before.

the scent of his perfume mixed with cigarettes filled your nose and you crossed your thighs on instant when you felt his leg brush against your bare one.

he smelled so good.

"here" he mumbled, turning to you with the phone in his hand.

you gulped as you looked at the white powder, and he must've sensed your anxiety as he lowered his phone again "you don't have to, you know that"

his brown eyes softened as they locked with yours. there were only a few inches between you.

"i want to" you mumbled, captivated by the look in his eyes and you had to look away when you noticed his eyes glancing down to your lips "can you do it for me?"

his eye brows lifted in question for a millisecond "want me to put it on your gums?" you hummed in response staring into his eyes as they suddenly became more hooded. before you could even process it, his index finger came up to your lips "open up"

like a bitch in heat you followed without much thought, letting him wet his slender finger on your tongue, while you watched his own lips part while he stared at his finger in your mouth.

what the fuck was actually going on.

his finger for sure had been wet enough by now, but he was still in trance staring at your lips. only when you were about to actually start sucking on his finger, his eyes locked with yours and the two of you stared at each other in silence.

clearing his throat he pulled his finger out, dipping it into the white powder on his phone before turning back to you and lifting your one lip with his other hand.

"its probably gonna burn a little" he spoke in a low tone and you took a deep breath in "just relax, i got you"

his words sent another wave of butterflies through your stomach but they were swept away as soon as the substance touched your gums.

for one second it burned but in the next you were experiencing something you had never felt before. it felt so good, like a nothing bad had ever happened to you in life. you felt so euphoric.

but then it was gone.

while you were gone for a few seconds, you missed how he was looking at you with a feeling he had never felt before. you were so captivating. the way your blue eyes shined like a starry night when you looked at him and how your soft lips parted as you let him put his finger in your mouth; he was so happy you accidentally stumbled into the room.

"jesus" you hissed when you came down from the high, licking over your teeth as you took a second to regain your self "that felt amazing"

the boy chuckled, holding eye contact with you as he licked the rest of the powder off of his finger. you turned to face him more, now sitting side ways against the cupboard.

his eyes closed for a few seconds and you took time to give him a look over once again. he was literally perfect.

"you keep staring at me" he mumbled with his eyes closed, smirk on his lips "dont think i didn't notice"

blood rushed to your cheeks, but you kept your head up, telling him the truth as you shrugged "you're pretty"

"pretty?" his eyes opened and found yours instantly "you're the first person to ever call me pretty i think"

not knowing what to say, you broke the eye contact, reaching for the cigarette that you still had left.

putting it into your mouth you were about to ask for the lighter but the was faster than you could talk and already lit the cigarette for you.

"thanks"

puffing out the smoke you passed him the cigarette, and so you shared it.

the silence you shared was interrupted by your phone vibrating, maddy was calling you.

exhaling some smoke, you sighed, passing the boy the cigarette before you answered the call.

"bitch, where are you?" maddys voice was barely heard over the loud music on her side, she must've noticed you were missing after she parted from nate again.

"went for a smoke" you answered, playfully kicking the boy to your right as he chuckled "ill be back soon"

"yeah you better be, its new years in 20 minutes"

the line cut and you threw a look on the clock in your phone "oh shit only 20 minutes left"

"new years is so overrated" the blonde spoke, offering you the last bit of cigarette that was left, which you accepted, just not before asking why

"i mean, everyone is always making such a big thing out of it, y'know? all that 'new year new me' shit and stuff" he imitated and you giggled "i think if someone wants to change then change now. if you want to become a different person in june, then why wait til january to change?"

his words went through your mind for a few seconds.

"youre right"

he flashed you a grin as he stood up from the ground, offering you his hand to pull you up, which you gladly accepted.

now you noticed how much taller than you he was. you were wearing plateau doc martens, which boosted your height by a few inches but opposite of him, you still had to look up to see his face.

you liked that.

"where are we going?" you asked when he pulled you out of the room, bigger hand still holding yours and you just let him.

he turned around for a second, grinning "upstairs? your friend is missing you, no?"

nodding, you followed him suit. you were a little sad that the moment you had shared with him would probably end now and you'd never see him again, but that was just how life was. you had gotten used to it by now.

as soon as the two of you were back in the huge crowd of people, your grip on his hand tightened and you swore you saw a grin on his lips as he turned to check on you for a second.

it was pathetic, really, but somehow you didn't want to loose him although you had literally just met.

he basically pulled you through the whole room, hand tightly gripping yours until the two of you reached the door to the backyard.

you exhaled hard when you were finally out of the sweating bodies, not minding the fact that his hand was still holding yours.

"found her yet?" he asked, turning his face down to you. you shook your head, maddy was no where to found and the text you had sent her, asking for her location was still unanswered.

"5 minutes left" you sighed, looking around just to see what felt like hundreds of people, running around laughing with their friends, excited for the new year. 

while you were busy looking around, still having a little bit of hope to maybe find maddy, you were oblivious to the boys still looking at you, taking full notice of how your hand fit so perfectly in his and he didn't want to let go. 

he heard someone yell 'one minute left' and was sure soon people would start counting down from ten. so he asked what has been on his mind since the minute you stumbled into the room. 

"hey uhm, do you have a boyfriend?"

his question took you by surprise a little, and you turned just to see him already looking at you. his eyes were shiny as they looked into yours, and you heart beat a little quicker, still you decided to joke a little.

"no i dont" a grin sneaked onto his lips but then your next words left your mouth "i like girls"

"oh" his face fell in a second, you almost felt bad yet you couldn't help but laugh. 

"im kidding" you giggled, his eyes widened and jaw dropped a little before he fell into a laugh. 

"thank god" he breathed out and now it was your turn to raid your eyebrows "why so glad about that?"

a grin appeared on your lips the same time he started grinning, pulling your hand a little so you were now fully facing him. exactly that moment the people around you started counting down from 10.

you gulped, looking up into his brown eyes with you big ones as he go closer to you "so i can do this without being scared of getting beat up" and then he kissed you.

in the background you could hear people cheering 'happy new year' left and right, but the only thing you could think of was the feeling of his soft lips on yours. 

it was a gentle kiss and despite the fact that you had just met him like an hour ago you were sure this was the best kiss you had ever shared with anyone before. 

"happy new year" he spoke with a triumphant grin which only widened when he saw the way you were blushing "happy new year" 

-

the hour after that was a blur to you since shortly after the kiss you shared with him, nate and fez got into a fight and of course you were right at maddys side when that happened. 

you had offered to go with them to the hospital, but somehow cassie jumped into the car quicker than you and just like that you were left standing outside the house alone. 

sighing to yourself you were thinking about your next move. it was only 1:30 am by now, new years night was not over. although if you were being honest, you were very tired and some of nates blood was smeared onto your arm (thankfully not your white dress-) also most of your friends were gone now, so it was valid if you'd leave now. 

it was kinda traumatizing after all, seeing nate being so brutally beat up. you had never seen a fight like that before.

but the boy would just not leave your mind. especially not after the kiss you shared. 

you had lost him in the chaos of the fight earlier, meant you hadn't seen him in almost 2 hours and it was very likely that he had already left, but you knew if you wouldn't go back in to look, then you'd regret it.

when you reentered the house, a few eyes were on you but you did not care. going straight to the bar and grabbing the first bottle of vodka you could find.

gulping down a few sips with a grimaced face, you pushed through the crowd of people to look for the cutie. 

and for some reason luck seemed to be just on your side; because suddenly an arm was wrapped around your waist and you were pulled into a body.

"there you are, doll" 

a drunk giggle escaped you when you looked up and saw the pretty face of the guy who's name was still unknown to you. one look into his eyes was enough to tell you, despite your drunk state, that he was high out of his mind. 

"are you high?" he hummed at your question, leaning down so his ear was at your mouth, he was held hugging you at this point and you enjoyed ever second of it. 

"i asked, are you high?" 

he chuckled into your ear "i am" which just made you burst into giggles once more.

he pulled out of the 'hug' the two of you were in, still crouched down a little so your noses were almost brushing against each other. the way his hooded bloodshot eyes were looking into yours made you feel dizzy and not because you were drunk.

"and you're drunk?" you nodded, biting your lip a little as you noticed his eyes glancing down at them. 

when you did that his eyes seemed to focus on just that, as if nothing else existed around you. his mouth parted a little and his tongue came out to wet his own lips. 

you laughed when you realized he was seriously stuck on your lips "eyes up here pretty boy"

your words snapped him out of his trance, eyes coming back up to yours and a dazed smile fell onto his lips, pulling you flush against his body with an arm around your waist and you let out a little scream at the sudden movement. 

"lets go" he mumbled into your neck and just like that you allowed him to drag you wherever he wanted. 

 "where are we going?" 

"somewhere quieter" he answered, arm still wrapped around your waist and  in a few seconds the two of you were out of the house, back in the cool night air.

despite his arm being wrapped around you, you somehow stumbled over your own feet, almost face planting the ground, but he caught you.

"woah! careful there"

you only laughed, bringing the now almost half empty glass bottle up to your mouth as you drank another sip of it, oblivious to the way his eyebrows furrowed.

"did you drink all of that?"

proudly nodding, you wiped your wet lips with the back of your hand, cringing when you gulped down the burning liquor.

"jesus" he mumbled, looking at your unsteady eyes and the way you slowly became limp in his arms "okay that's enough then"

despite his state of mind, he had noticed how skinny you were. he was sure you must've been at least a little underweight from the way you looked and although he didn't know if it were genetics or because you didn't eat, it was clear that you wouldn't have a high alcohol tolerance. 

you let out a whine when he took the bottle out of your hands, literally throwing it into a bush when you tried taking it out of his grip. 

"what the fuck!" you exclaimed when you heard the glass shattering "that was mine!" stepping out of his hold in protest which was a really bad idea because then you fell. 

"careful-"

no idea how you managed to do that, but suddenly you were on your butt, knees bloody and a pretty boy with red eyes in front of you. 

"oh man" he sighed, placing a gentle hand on your calve, feeling bad for having brought you outside. 

although it didn't seem like much blood, it sure hurt like hell, even in your drunken state it burned like hell. biting back your tears you lowered your head in embarrassment, this was honestly terrible. 

"im sorry" you mumbled out, the touch of his slender fingers taking you by surprise as he tiled your chin up so you were kinda forced to look into his eyes "hey, don't be sorry, its kinds my fault since i brought you out here"

he gave you a gentle smile and you were sure you could feel his thumb gently rubbing against your skin. 

"we should look for some thing to patch you up, hm?" 

nodding, you allowed him to help you up to stand "are you okay to walk-" "i need to throw up"

and after that everything went by in a blur. pretty boy holding your hair as you threw up in the bushes, him guiding you back inside where you continued to throw up into the toilet until you felt better and him asking you if he should bring you home or take you with him. you remembered opting for the latter. 

-

that was how you now found yourself waking up in unfamiliar environment, head groggy and mouth dry when you opened your eyes. 

"what the fuck" you mumbled as you sat up, rubbing your eyes to wake up more. the sound of soft snoring made you turn your head, your eyes almost plopping out of your skull when you saw no other than the guy from last night sleeping sound fully on his back, one arm over his head as the other was spread behind you, you must've slept on it. 

your eyes left his peaceful face to look around his room, it was messy, things were laying all over the place; books, notes, cds and vinyls - a guitar. a smile crept on your face, although you didn't really know him, you found that his room matched perfectly to the vibe he gave off. 

the sight of your phone at the end of the bed made you curious and so you reached for it, just to see that it was only 7:30 am. although you had no idea when you got here, you were sure you hadn't been asleep for more than 3 hours. 

there were a few messages from maddy, which made you frown as you saw that she had texted 'okay good' and  'love you bitch'

you did not remember having texted her before, but you were sure a lot more memories would come back later when you were fully sobered up. 

shutting off your phone, you placed it on the bed table next to you before drinking what felt like a gallon out of the water bottle you found standing there. 

and then - as if it was natural - you fell back into the bed, straight into the arm of the boy who's name was still unknown to you, and you knew what you had done was so dangerous, but with the sound of his soft snores filling your ear, you chose not to care.

-

the second time you woke up it was because you heard water running and pretty boy was not next to you in bed anymore. 

sitting up in bed once again, you took notice of what must've been the door to his bathroom being a little open, that's where the sound of water came from. pretty boy was showering. 

for a split second the intrusive thought of just joining him crossed your mind and you shook your head to yourself. you didn't even know him properly, yet.

the next thing you took notice of was how comfortable you were feeling, only a little sting in your head reminded you of last nights actions. you were feeling better than you deserved. a giggle escaped your mouth, your own anastasia steele moment.

right when you were reaching for the water bottle again, you took notice of the water stopping to run. trying not to panic you took a few sips of water and then he was already walking out of the bathroom.

"oh you're awake" he carefully spoke, smiling at you with his hair still wet and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. no shirt. 

dang it you made a catch. he was truly gorgeous.

"yeah" you adverted your eyes from his as you felt yourself growing nervous by the way he was looking at you. 

you were sure you mustve looked terrible. after all no one looks good after partying on new years, well except blondie of course. 

before you could think of anything else to say he already spoke up "how are you feeling? do you remember anything?"

you were sure your cheeks were flushing when he sat down at your feet, keeping a fair distance between you which you were in that moment thankful for. god you felt so awkward.

this guy watched you fall on the ground, scrape your knee and then held your hair while you vomited. 

"i feel pretty okay actually" you answered, pushing a hair strand behind your ear "i remember most of it i think, except everything that happened after i threw up - by the way im so sorry that you had to see me like that, and that i fell, and that you had to take me with you, really im so fucking sorry-"

"dont apologize" he interrupted you with a laugh "if i didn't want to do any of it i wouldn't have" his words made your jaw go slack for a quick second before you regained your posture. he wanted to?

"thank you so much" you spoke, looking into his brown eyes "seriously, tell me how i can pay you back" 

he shook his head with a goofy grin, teeth showing when he turned to look at you once again "you dont have to"

"i want to tho" you protested, staring into his eyes for as long as you could before you had to break eye contact with him. he was just too attractive.

"you're cute" 

his words almost made you throw up. you were sure no person on earth had ever made you feel so much in this short amount of time of knowing each other. 

he let out a chuckle when he noticed you blushing from his compliment.

"what's your name, doll"

your eyes lit up, right, you didn't do the formals with him yet and you wanted to know his name so badly.

"y/n, what's yours?"

he repeated your name with a smile, making you feel butterflies when he said "i'm elliot" reaching his hand out for you to shake.

with a giggle you shook his hand "it’s a pleasure to meet you elliot"

he grinned at you “the pleasure’s all mine, y/n”

looking into his eyes, you just knew that this was just the beginning.

The air in Boston turns sharp and specific with winter's arrival, carrying the sweet, insistent promise of hot chocolate from a corner cart, a scent woven through with the dust of nutmeg and the warm curl of cinnamon. It cuts through the crisp chill alongside the clean, resiny perfume of fresh-cut evergreens, a fragrance that seems to rise from the wreaths hung on every lamppost. And beneath it all, softening the edges of the brick and pavement, lies the silent, clean scent of falling snow, turning the city’s hard angles into a monochrome dream.

The brittle December sun did little to warm the stones of Boston, but the city itself seemed to vibrate with a frantic, festive energy that was utterly alien to the frozen silence of Barton. You, Angus, and Mr. Hunham moved through it like a small, discordant island. You’d somehow—miraculously—convinced him. It had been a perfect storm of your pleading, Angus’s surprisingly strategic muttering about “wanting a real Christmas, and ice skating,” and, you were sure, a quiet word from Mary about the cosmic sadness of two teenagers eating canned gravy in an empty mansion over Christmas. Hunham had finally relented, his face a mask of put-upon agony, citing something about “an accredited, if lamentably spontaneous, field trip.”

You and Angus hadn’t waited for a second invitation. You’d bolted for your rooms like startled deer, the frantic thump of your feet on the wooden stairs, a drumroll of rebellion. Now, walking behind Hunham’s stubborn, wool-clad form, you felt that giddy excitement settle into a nervous buzz. Angus was in his element, but in a new way. At Barton, his sharpness was a defensive hunch, a coiled thing. Here, he was all pointed curiosity, his head swiveling, cataloging everything.

“You’re in a festive mood,” You said, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“I’m in a freezing mood. And a historically accurate one.” But the corner of his mouth twitched. This was his version of giddiness—this sharp, observational cynicism. He was free, or as free as one could be with Paul Hunham as a chaperone.

You three turned into a corner, and the city was alive. Nestled between the tall buildings and shops, was a little bookshop, Brattle’s Bookstore. Its famous outdoor stalls, sheltered under bright blue awnings, stood bravely in the cold, rows upon rows of spines facing the world like a defiant, intellectual army.

You saw it first. Your elbow found Angus’s ribs in a sharp, silent nudge.

He flinched, his expression morphing from glum introspection to affronted dignity. “What? My spleen is not a door knocker.”

“Tully,” you breathed out, the word a puff of frost in the air. You didn’t even point, just shifted your gaze.

He followed it. And his entire being changed. The perpetual slump of his shoulders straightened. The guarded, weary light in his eyes ignited into a pure, unadulterated flame of avarice and wonder. It was the look of a pilgrim spotting the shrine.

“Mr. Hunham!” The call wasn't a request; it was a declaration, sharp and full of a sudden, desperate urgency. He was already drifting toward the shelves as if pulled by a magnetic force.

Your own face mirrored his brightness, the shared, secret thrill of discovery cutting through the cold. Hunham, who had been expounding on the granite qualities of New England resilience, stopped mid-sentence.

He glanced at the shop, then at the two of you—Angus, already pulling a first edition of something from a bin with reverent hands, and you, hovering at the edge of the stalls with a grin you couldn’t suppress. He let out a long-suffering sigh that condensed in the air, a sound of profound resignation. “I see no problem with books,” And in no time, you were scouring through the shelves.

You finally reached Brattle's, its old brick facade promising sanctuary. Inside was a warren of towering shelves, a sacred, dusty hush broken only by the soft rustle of pages. But the true magic, you quickly discovered, was out back. It wasn't just an alley; it was an open-air annex, a secret courtyard of stories. 

The high walls of the adjacent buildings rose up like the sides of a canyon, lined with floor-to-roof bookshelves braving the elements. Freestanding racks, their metal painted a fading industrial green, formed narrow, canyonesque aisles right there under the grey Boston sky. It felt like stumbling upon a library that had burst through its walls, its collection spilling gratefully into the crisp, open air.

You drifted into your own world almost immediately. The quiet chaos of the outdoor shelves was a siren song. While Angus likely launched a tactical assault on the philosophy section and Mr. Hunham emitted a low, appreciative hum near the history stacks, whilst smoking a pipe, you fell into a different rhythm. 

Your fingers trailed over spines, leather-worn and cloth-faded, absorbing the titles through touch as much as sight. The cold air was cut with the perfume of old paper—a scent like dry leaves, attic dust, and vanished afternoons. It was quieter here than inside, the city sounds muffled by the book canyon walls. You’d pull a volume out, flip it open to a random page, and for a moment, you were nowhere and everywhere, lost in a 1947 garden manual’s advice on rose pruning, or a travelogue’s description of a Venetian canal.

A mental list began compiling in the back of your mind, separate from the winter and the trip and the boys: that Woolf essay collection, the geology text with the marbled edges, the novel with the passionate marginalia in faded blue ink. It was a private, peaceful avarice, a promise to future, quieter selves. Here, you were just a reader in the cold, pleasantly adrift in centuries of other people’s thoughts.

You hadn’t even noticed it’d begun to snow until a boy, seemingly your age, reached for the same weathered copy of “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” you’d just let your fingers brush. “Oh, sorry,” he said, his voice friendly, his smile easy. 

He was dressed like a local college kid; thick, practical coat, a scarf that looked hand-knit, cheeks pink from the cold. He didn’t look like anyone from Barton. He looked… normal. Maybe a few ages above from you, fairly.. good looking? But not someone that would strike your eye.

“It’s okay,” you said, pulling your hand back. “It’s a good one.”

 “Right? A mind-bender.” He held the book but didn’t move away, his gaze curious. 

“You go to school around here?” It was an innocent question. A simple, human attempt at connection in a city full of strangers. You opened your mouth to answer, to explain the strange, temporary truth of being a holdover on a field trip.

From his vantage point two aisles over, partially hidden by a shelf of mid-century gardening guides, Angus watched. He’d been tracking you, a silent, brooding satellite. He saw the easy way the stranger smiled. Saw how you didn’t immediately deploy your own defensive sarcasm. His grip on his own book tightened, the cheap paperback cover protesting with a faint crackle. 

“Just visiting,” you said, a small, polite smile on your own lips. A smile Angus recognized—it was the one you used with Mary, or with a librarian. It was kind. He hated it. “Cool, cool. Well, if you’re around for a bit, there’s a killer coffee shop a block over. Best chai in the city.”

The boy leaned a shoulder against the shelf, settling in. Angus’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t a passing interaction. This was a conversation. He took a step forward, the snow-dusted concrete gritting under his shoe, ready to intercept, to dismantle the moment with his particular brand of acidic charm. But he froze. Something in him, something wretched and curious, wanted to see it. Wanted to witness the full, terrible proof of how you acted when he wasn’t the only variable in the equation.

 So he watched, a statue of simmering resentment, as you laughed at something the guy said about the book’s title. The sound was light, unburdened. It carved something hollow out beneath Angus’s ribs. 

“I’m Alex, by the way,” the boy said. You gave your name. Angus felt an irrational spike of betrayal at the simple exchange.

“Well, if you get bored of the tourist stuff,” Alex said, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a pen, plucked the receipt from his own book, and scribbled on the back. “My number. In case you want that chai. Or, you know, a tour guide who doesn’t charge.”

He handed it to you. You took it, the small slip of paper white against your glove. 

That was the moment Angus decided the experiment was over. The data was conclusive, and it was catastrophic. He moved then, not with his usual slouch, but with a stiff, purposeful stride that ate up the distance between the aisles. Snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, but his eyes were fixed on you, burning with a cold fire.

You looked up, your eyes widening slightly at his approach, at the intensity of his expression. 

Alex followed your gaze. “Friend of yours?” he asked, his tone still congenial, but his posture shifting slightly at the sight of Angus’s storm-cloud face.

Angus didn’t even acknowledge him. He stopped directly in front of you, his presence forcing Alex to take a half-step back. He looked from your face to the receipt still held in your fingers. His voice, when it came, was low, taut, and dripped with a venom so precise it could only be born of jealousy.

“Fascinating,” he said, the word a scalpel. “Collecting autographs now, are we?” His eyes were locked on the receipt in your hand. “Hunham’s waiting. He’s had an epiphany about the erosion of public decorum and is currently composing a lecture on it. He’s using words like ‘raffish’ and ‘indolent.’” His gaze cut to Alex, a look of pure, unvarnished dismissal. “I’d advise you not to be his prime example.” He turned on his heel, expecting you to follow. The command was absolute, leaving the snow, the book, and the boy with his phone number hanging in the frozen, ruined air between you.

“O-oh,” you muttered, the syllable knocked loose by the sheer force of his exit. You fumbled for a second, the receipt still pinched between your fingers, before letting yourself get pulled into his wake.

You managed a harried glance over your shoulder as Angus marched you away. “Well, it was nice knowing you, Alex!” The call was swallowed by the soft hush of the snow and the growing distance. Alex just gave a small, bemused wave, already receding into the landscape of the bookshop like a minor, forgotten character. Angus didn’t slow down. He didn’t look back. His grip on your arm was firm, not quite painful, but proprietary. He steered you through the maze of outdoor shelves, his jaw a hard line. “Nice knowing him?” he parroted, his voice a low, seething thing meant only for your ear.  “You knew him for approximately ninety seconds. You can’t ‘know’ someone at that time. You can barely ascertain their literary taste, which, based on that selection, is dubious at best.”

“Did Mr. Hunham really have an epiphany, or did you just have one?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady in the narrow alley between the walls. 

He finally turned to look at you, the movement sharp. The cold had painted his cheeks and the tip of his nose a faint red, but his eyes were all dark, volatile heat. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you dragged me out of there like you were putting out a fire.” You held up the crumpled receipt slightly. “Because of this.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” he snapped, but the denial was brittle, too quick. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, a defensive hunch settling into his shoulders. “I was preventing you from becoming a case study in Hunham’s inevitable treatise on modern indecency. That… person was clearly loitering with intent.”

“Intent to what? Recommend a book?” You took a small step closer. The snow was beginning to dust his hair, catching on the wool of his scarf. “You were jealous.” You tease, pushing his buttons.

The word hit its mark. He flinched as if you’d physically struck him, the cocky, intellectual armor he wore so carefully cracking straight down the middle. 

“Jealous?” His voice climbed, tight and thin, before he wrestled it back down to a furious whisper. “Of that? Don’t be ridiculous. I was acting out of… of basic social hygiene. He was a stranger. He was common. The whole interaction was dripping with a banal predictability that was practically offensive.” 

He was pacing now, a short, frustrated path in the slush, his gestures sharp and agitated. “He probably listens to… to The Carpenters and thinks a well-argued point is being ‘aggressive.’ He’s the human equivalent of beige wallpaper.”

You just watched him, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips. His rant was too loud, too specific. It was a confession screamed through a megaphone of insults. “You’re describing him in a lot of detail for someone who found him so forgettable,” you said mildly, leaning back against the cold brick. He stopped pacing. Swallowed hard. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once, leaving behind a boy who was just cold, and tired, and painfully, obviously caught.

“Just… throw it away,” he muttered, not looking at you, his eyes fixed on a frozen crack in the pavement. The demand was quiet, stripped bare of its earlier pretense. It wasn’t an order from a peer. It was a plea.

“Don’t worry, darling,” You taunt, “He wasn’t worth my precious time anyway,” You smirk, winking at him as you walk where Mr. Hunham was. Where he was skimming through books, smoking a pipe. Angus follows, flustered and red. He excused it because of the cold weather, but his racing heart tells him otherwise.

You browsed with a new, distracted focus. And then you saw it: a worn, olive-green copy of The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut. It wasn’t philosophy. It wasn’t history. It was the perfect, weird, humanist antidote to everything Angus pretended to be; cynical, yes, but with a bruised and beating heart at its center. A small, private smile touched your lips. You’d come back for it. Later. When he wasn’t looking. You carefully slotted it back between its neighbors, marking its location in your mind.

Just one shelf over, Mr. Hunham’s back was turned, a monument of scholarly absorption as he examined a set of vintage books. The scrape of a boot on grit announced Angus’s approach. He came to stand beside you, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold—or perhaps against the vulnerability still humming in the air. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, a silent, prickly presence, pretending to scan a row of titles he wasn’t really seeing. The proximity was its own kind of conversation.

A voice, syrup-thick and cutting through the cold, shattered the tense silence between you.

“Hey there, handsome. Got a cigarette?”

Both you and Angus froze, a united front of unwillingness to turn and see who the voice was addressing. You exchanged a single, brief glance, a silent pact to ignore it, to let the moment dissolve.

“No, sorry. I smoke a pipe.”

Well, so much for that. At the sound of Mr. Hunham’s tone, you both turned in slow, unison motion.

A woman with a riot of red hair spilling from a messy bun stood there, wrapped in a coat that looked like a diseased lemon and a fraying fur stole. She appraised Hunham with a weary, professional air.

“How about a date, then?” she tried again, undeterred. “You wanna get a date?”

“No, thank you,” Hunham said, removing his pipe with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady, offering a tight, nervous smile.

“Aw, come on. Let’s go somewhere warm.”

From beside you, Angus found his voice, low and laced with sudden, mischievous glee. “Go ahead,” he called over, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “We can wait here. We’ll be fine.”

You choked back a startled snort of laughter.

The woman’s eyes lit up. “See?” she said to a mortified Hunham, jamming her hands into her pockets. “The kids can wait. Read some books. They don’t mind if daddy gets a little… candy cane.”

“Thank you, but I’ve never much cared for candy canes,” Hunham said, his voice climbing an octave as he snatched a random book from the shelf and stared at it with desperate intensity. “Also, I’m prediabetic.”

With a disgusted scowl, the woman turned and clacked away into the falling snow. The second she was gone, Angus leaned over the low shelf separating you from your teacher, his earlier jealousy apparently forgotten in the wake of this new, glorious humiliation.

“You know,” he said, his voice a stage whisper dripping with false sympathy. “If you did want a little candy cane, your secret’s safe with me. No judgment here.”

You snorted, the sound escaping before you could stop it. “Come on, Mr. Hunham,” you chimed in, unable to resist the opening. “Live a little. Embrace the spirit of the season.”

Hunham’s head swiveled from Angus to you, his expression shifting from flustered to profoundly, academically disappointed. He pointed the stem of his pipe at Angus first.

“Mister Tully,” he began, his voice dropping into the cadence of a dire classroom pronouncement. “And by extension, you,” he added, cutting his eyes to you.  “For most people, sex is ninety-nine percent friction and one percent good-will. Call me old fashioned, but I place value on physical intimacy, and so should you two.” 

“You’ve never had sex, have you?” Angus asked, his tone more one of blunt clinical curiosity than mockery.

To your shock, Mr. Hunham let out a single, sharp bark of laughter, a dry, rustling sound you’d heard maybe twice before.

“Believe it or not, Mister Tully,” he said, a strange, almost wistful glint in his eye as he gazed at the snow-dusted books, “there was a time when the fire in my loins burned white hot.”

You physically recoiled, scrunching your nose in visceral horror. “Okay, can we not? Please?”

Angus, however, was undeterred, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You’re full of shit.” 

“I assure you, I am not,” Hunham replied, unoffended, his voice taking on a low, conspiratorial note. “The details, in fact, would curl your toes.”

Angus smirks, “Okay, we’re finally getting to the good stuff, let’s hear.”

“Maybe when you’re 18.” He blew the smoke from his pipe, “Curl your toes!”

Thankfully, the subject of Mr. Hunham’s romantic history was allowed to expire, buried under a mutual, silent agreement to never speak of it again. After another ten minutes of browsing in the gently falling snow, he announced it was time to reconvene—but not before a “call of nature” required a visit to the bookstore’s facilities. This left you and Angus alone for the first time since the tense standoff with the receipt.

The quiet felt different now, charged but softer.

“You’re horrible,” you said, nudging the toe of your boot against his.

“Unprovoked assault!” he yelped, feigning injury. “I’m reporting you to Hunham. This is exactly the kind of friction he warned us about.”

“You deserved it,” you shot back, shaking your head. “For pimping out Mr. Hunham to bootleg Mrs. Claus over there.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, a faint, almost shy smile touched his lips, and he reached into the deep pocket of his coat. His hand emerged holding a small, slightly worn paperback. He held it out to you, his earlier bravado replaced with a tentative sort of earnestness.

It was a copy of The Once and Future King, the cover softened at the edges.

The cold seemed to solidify around you, rooting you to the spot. You could only stare at the book in his outstretched hand. “What’s this?” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, the words simple and direct, yet they seemed to hang in the air, fragile as the snowflakes.

You looked up at him, your lips slightly parted. The surprise was a warm, expanding feeling in your chest, crowding out everything else, the chill, the memory of the other boy, the lingering awkwardness. Words failed you completely.

Seeing your speechlessness, Angus shifted on his feet, the confidence of his gesture giving way to a rush of explanation. “I bought it. Well, I procured it. It was inside, on a shelf near the history section. It just… it seemed like something you’d argue with. In a productive way. And I had Hunham front me the cash, obviously, because my mother’s idea of a Christmas allowance is a sternly worded note about fiscal responsibility, so technically it’s from him, but the thought— the selection— that’s mine. The debt is also mine, which is a less charming gift, but there you have it.” He rambled to a stop, his eyes searching yours, looking for a verdict. The offering, and the vulnerability behind it, lay plainly between you.

For a moment, you just stared at the book, then at him, the careful lines he’d drawn between you all afternoon blurring into nothing. Without a word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the rough wool of his coat. It was a hug so tight and sudden, a passerby might have mistaken it for a desperate attempt to share body heat.

Angus went completely rigid, a statue caught in an avalanche. Then, all at once, the tension melted. One arm came up slowly, cautiously, to circle your back, his hand splaying against your shoulder blade. His chin came to rest lightly on the top of your head with a shaky exhale that fogged the air above you.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled into his scarf, your voice thick with a giddy, disbelieving laugh. “You’re such a secret softie.”

You felt him huff, the sound vibrating through his chest. “It’s a book, not a declaration of fealty,” he muttered, but he didn’t let go. His hand gave a small, almost imperceptible rub against your back.

You finally pulled back just enough to look up at him, still clutching the paperback to your chest. His cheeks were flushed, and he quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“So,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. “Is it… acceptable?”

A wide, unstoppable smile broke across your face. “I love it, you absolute idiot.”

You flipped the book open, the old pages releasing a familiar, comforting scent. Angus watched you, his hands shoved back in his pockets, trying and failing to look indifferent. The silence between you now was warm, full of the unspoken things his gift had dragged to the surface.

A thought, sharp and clear, cut through the haze of your happiness. The mental list you’d made in the stacks. That worn, olive-green copy of ‘The Sirens of Titan’ by Kurt Vonnegut. You’d seen it nestled between two larger novels, its spine cracked with love. You’d noted it, promised it to yourself for later. But looking at Angus now, his guard down, the bitter edge in his eyes softened into something hopeful and terribly young, a new plan began to form.

You wouldn’t give it to him now. This moment, this perfect, fragile truce built on a single paperback, was his. To produce a gift in return would feel like an exchange, a transaction, and it would spook him. He’d retreat behind a wall of analysis, picking apart the motives.

No. You’d save it. You’d tuck the Vonnegut away in your bag, a secret for the journey home, or perhaps for the long, dark evening back at Barton when the silence of the empty school threatened to swallow you both again. It would be a follow-up, a continuation of this conversation when words might once again fail. A way to say, I see you, too.

“It’s perfect,” you said again, closing the cover and holding it close. Your smile was softer now, knowing. “Thank you, Angus.”

He gave a single, stiff nod, the ghost of his own smile still touching his lips. “Don’t sentimentalize it. It’s just a book.”

But you’d seen the way he’d held onto you. You knew better.

The crunch of snow announced Mr. Hunham’s return, his pipe clenched between his teeth, looking relieved to find you both where he’d left you and, miraculously, not at each other’s throats. “The municipal parking meter is a far greater tyranny than any monarch,” he announced by way of greeting. “We depart.”