#userninz

It’s less than an hour before midnight when he comes in. Tall, thin, and pale, with dark wavy hair that hangs to his shoulders. He’s wearing a perfectly cut and immaculate tux, but there’s something about him that feels a little harried. Probably just because he’s running late. Mobius asks around, but no one seems to know who he is. Is there such a thing as a New Year’s Eve party crasher? He supposes there must be.

Mobius can’t tear his eyes away from the newcomer. For one, he’s gorgeous. It’s been a while since Mobius felt like the whole flirting and dating rigamarole would be worth it, but for him? Absolutely. But he’s getting ahead of himself.

He also watches because the man is clearly here for a reason, considering the purposefully way he moves around the room. He has an almost preternatural knowledge of the party and a prescience for what’s about to happen. Mobius watches as he saves a waiter from dropping an entire tray of champagne glasses, then plucks one off the tray and delivers it to a woman who’s only just finished hers and started to look for another. He dances with a young lady, leans in to whisper something into her ear to make her blush, and then delivers her to the flustered arms of a young man who’s been quite obviously pining over her the entire night. He stops an argument that was just getting going between two spouses, and places a slice of cake in the hands of a child who’s been up too late and is moments away from melting down in a tantrum.

But despite his near-frenetic activity, his movements never bring him toward Mobius, which Mobius tries not to feel too disappointed about. Several times, Mobius tries to approach him, only for something to draw him far away again. Eventually, Mobius resigns himself to the man forever being a mystery. Midnight is approaching, and with it comes a maudlin mood. Here’s to another year of exactly the same, boring life he’s always had.

He’s idly watching the Times Square feed when someone taps him on the shoulder. When he turns, the mystery man is standing there with two glasses of champagne and a strange, fond look on his face.

“There now, it’s just another year, Mobius. Nothing so dire,” he says as he hands Mobius a glass.

Mobius squints at him, surprised to hear his own name. “Do I know you?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. There’s no way he wouldn’t remember this guy if they’d met before.

“Sadly, no. But I know you,” the man says, which honestly should be more than a little creepy. Instead, Mobius feels his cheeks heat. The man offers a delicate-boned hand. “Loki.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Loki,” Mobius says, taking his hand. “You gonna tell me how you know who I am?”

“It’s a long story, I’m afraid. Longer than we have time for.” On the screen, the countdown to midnight starts, and the crowd picks it up, calling out the numbers as they flash up.

“Another time, then,” Mobius presses. They’re still holding hands, and he feels warm all over.

“If we’re lucky,” Loki says, blue-green eyes sparkling.

“Five!” the crowd shouts.

An almost magnetic force draws Mobius in, and he takes a step closer. “Sure you can’t give me a hint?”

“Four!”

“Unfortunately, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Three!”

“Try me,” Mobius says.

“Two!”

“I have. Nothing works. But I’ll figure out, I swear it,” Loki replies nonsensically. “For now, you’ll have to forgive me—this is the one pleasure I get tonight.”

“One!”

In a single fluid movement, Loki closes the space between them, takes Mobius’ face in his hands, and pulls him into a kiss as the room around them erupts in celebratory cheers. It’s like no kiss Mobius has ever had before, because it feels impossibly familiar. It feels like this is their thousandth kiss rather than their first, like he’s known Loki for years. Loki kisses him like he already knows every inch of Mobius’ mouth, and Mobius feels the rightness of it down to his toes.

Maybe this year will be a happy new year, after all.

~~~~~

Loki still tastes champagne when he cracks his eyes open at the familiar sound of a bird singing outside his window. Still feels the scratch of Mobius’ mustache against his lip, the eager swipe of his tongue. The press of Mobius’ body against his. Sometimes, it almost feels like Mobius remembers. That maybe this time, Mobius will know him.

That’s just wishful thinking, though.

He spent countless loops getting to know most everyone at that party. Mobius is the most intriguing by far. Loki’s spent all night with him before, lured him away from the party and even once into bed. He’s gotten to know so much about Mobius, about his fears and insecurities, about his hopes and dreams. He’s fallen in love. And yet, every time, Mobius looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.

Because he is.

Loki still hasn’t figured out what it is about that party that needs his intervention, but he will. He has to. And then, maybe he’ll finally break free of this endless night. Maybe Mobius will remember him.

The minutes tick by, and Loki reluctantly peels himself out of the bed to face the day.

Shaan had hoped for something… romantic. If he’d been able to properly plan, he’d have taken her to a nice dinner, or better yet, cooked for her—his mother’s recipes, which she’d assured him were guaranteed to make any woman swoon—but it’s late, and DC is Zahra’s turf, so he has nothing to offer but himself and a gift: a carefully-folded origami flower. Zahra likes to tease him for the hobby, but he finds it meditative, and anyway she always asks to see what he’s done recently.

They’d met at a bar nearby—absolutely no personal business on White House grounds, which he could only agree was sensible—and had quickly fallen into easy, familiar conversation, tucked away in a corner booth. It was intoxicating, being the sole focus of Zahra’s attention, and even though she must be exhausted, she was still so vibrant it took his breath away. Eventually, though, they’d had to call it a night so they might each get a modicum of sleep.

Outside the bar, they linger in a way that makes it clear that neither of them want to part just yet. It’s gone better than Shaan could have ever hoped for and now, as they stand there, the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to kiss her.

Surely, that’s too fast. They’ve not talked about taking this past friendship, though the spark between them is undeniable. There’s no rush. But at the same time, it feels like he’s been longing for this forever.

He finally pulls out the little origami flower, pinching it just so to breathe life back into it from where it’s been flattened for transport. “Something to remember me by,” he jokes, knowing how impossible it would be for her to forget him, given how frequently they speak for work and otherwise. “It’s not much, but—”

“I love it,” she says immediately, cradling the flower delicately in her hands. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Zahra do anything delicately. It’s entrancing. “It’s gorgeous. You made this for me?”

“Of course,” Shaan says. “Though I’m afraid it’s beauty pales in comparison to you.”

Zahra rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too much to really sell it. “Jesus fuck. That shouldn’t be so charming.”

“But you do? Find it charming?” he teases.

“Unfortunately,” she says, beleaguered. “Come here, you’re too fucking tall.” Then, without waiting, she closes a perfectly manicured fist in each of his lapels, drags him down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

It’s nothing like he imagined their first kiss might be. But then again, nothing about being with Zahra is anything like he expected—and that’s what makes it wonderful.