A Very Merry New Holiday Year Thing or Whatever

[Winter Rowley]

OOC: thread is backdated to December 31, 2014.

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Winter Rowley was the only sober person in the room.

To be fair, it was a small room: even with the furniture pushed against the walls, the apartment that he’d been sharing with Chris since just before Christmas was certainly not spacious. Still, it was warm, and had a couch and a television and a table full of booze and food. He had, at least, partaken of the food; Chris was a much better cook than he could ever hope to be, and he was desperate for something to do with his mouth other than scowl and drink Sprite.

There was music playing in the background, but he couldn’t hear it over the din of tipsy college-aged kids who had invaded his living space. He turned his gaze to the television and tried to read the white-on-black strips of subtitling scrolling under the New Years Eve Bash, but people kept walking in front of him and lingering just long enough to be infuriating.

He scowled. He drank Sprite.

Anyway, he’d managed to secure the dimmest corner, by virtue of technically being the first person to arrive. He’d been staked out in that corner for no less than three hours, sitting in one of Chris’s dad’s folding camping chairs. There was another one laid out beside it, but every person who’d come to scout it out had taken one look into the brown-black fire of his eyes and bolted. Even in human form, there was an unmistakeable aura of animalistic territoriality about him.

He scowled. He drank Sprite. He picked at the olive green canvas fabric of the arm of Chris’s dad’s folding camping chair.

[Avery Fields]

Avery had ended up here quite on accident. She had gone out with some people she knew from college. They were supposed to be going to a different party upstairs, but one of them had wanted to stop here to say hi to someone. That had been about an hour ago. They had gone ahead upstairs, but Avery had stayed behind.

Rowley was here.

It was silly really, but she had had the biggest crush on him in high school. He was several years older than her - he had never known she even existed. But she had always noticed him. He had that sort of rough around the edges thing that sparked her interest, though there was something more to it that she couldn't explain.

Of course, he was totally gay, so her crush didn't exactly matter.

But seeing him here tonight she had realized one very important thing - her crush had never really ended. Whoops.

Surely it couldn't hurt to just talk to him, right? I mean, it's not like she was the little sixteen year old that he wouldn't even glance at anymore. They were both adults now. They had to be capable of having a conversation, right?

However that was easier said than done. She felt oddly intimidated - after all this was the infamous Rowley, not just any old guy. So it took a couple drinks in order to work up her courage to approach him.

He was staring around the room. While his gaze seemed off-putting to most, Avery just noticed how dark and intense his eyes were. It was actually kind of sexy.

Well, she was also a bit on the tipsy side now.

Avery finally approached, plopping down into the seat next to him as gracefully as possible - which was to say, not very. She leaned over the arm of the chair towards him.

"So what's got you hiding in the corner brooding? Seems like it'd be more lonely than fun. And this is a party you know, which means fun is a must! Maybe I can help you with that," she said with a small giggle.

[Winter Rowley]

During yet another routine scan of the room, Rowley’s eyes locked with a pair of baby blues which belonged to a blonde-headed girl of indeterminate age. She looked a little too happy about the chance exchange for his comfort. He looked away, scowled, and drank Sprite.

Beside him, he heard the subtle pomf of canvas under someone’s weight. His eyes trailed slowly back to the chair next to his, which was now occupied. She was leaning over the arm of her chair and spilling into his personal space. He could smell alcohol on her breath when she talked.

He gave her a look over the rim of his bright red Solo cup.

“Yes, I know,” he said, impassively. “That’s what’s got me in the corner brooding.”

He didn’t offer a reply to the rest of what she’d said. Did they know each other? She looked vaguely familiar. He was good at remembering faces, but names were a different story. If she lived in the area, he might have seen her anywhere.

In any case, it didn’t look like he was going to be able to glare her away.

“I live here,” he said, lifting a few fingers off of his cup to gesture toward the crowded living room. “The party came to me. I’m doing everyone the favor of sitting here so that they can look at me and realize what a great time they’re having in comparison.”

He punctuated his sardonic reply by taking another long swig of Sprite.

[Avery Fields]

Perhaps he wasn't overly happy to see her. Luckily she was just tipsy enough to not notice that.

"Oh really now? Well that's just plain silly. No one wants to be lonely and miserable after all." She didn't remember him being so surly, but then again, he had always been heavily occupied by that boyfriend of his when she'd seen him at parties. Parties probably were a lot more fun whenever you had someone to make out with.

Her grin widened though as he said that this was his place. "Oh, so this is your place huh?" she repeated, looking around. It didn't look the way she thought it might. It was so... simple. Then again, she wasn't exactly sure what she had been expecting.

"Wait, if this is your place, that means that it's your party. You seriously cannot not have fun at you own party. That's just lame and you are not a lame guy."

She pursed her lips, watching him intently, trying to figure out how to make him have fun. "Surely there has to be something you enjoy?"

[Winter Rowley]

Rowley squinted into the distance at the girl’s assertion that nobody wanted to be lonely or miserable. He did not reply; his angular nose was still half-visible beneath the white-lined mouth of his cup. It was nearly empty.

“It’s Chris’s place,” he said, complementing his words with another vague gesture in his best friend’s direction. “I moved in a couple of days before Christmas.”

He watched her examine the room with mild interest. It was, at the very least, better and more interactive than trying to read the television. Or so he’d thought, anyway, until she made her next slightly inebriated assertion.

His eyebrows drew dangerously near to his hairline, wrinkling the space of forehead in between.

“I’m not a lame guy,” he repeated, tone thick with dry amusement. “Are you positive? I realize that I look like the life of the party at the moment, but you really can’t judge people based on appearances.”

He drained the last of the Sprite from his cup and briefly wrinkled his nose.

Something he enjoyed....

“Chess,” he said. Then, he laughed at his own answer. “Books. The BBC.”

He waved his empty cup menacingly at the throng of cheerful people before them.

“Quiet. You know, that sort of thing.”

He gave her another look.

[Avery Fields]

Her lips formed a small 'o' shape as he explained it was Chris's place. She remembered Chris too. The two had practically been attached at the hip. When Rowley wasn't with Grayson then he was with Chris. Unlike him though, she had talked to her before. It had been brief, just long enough for Chris to assure her that she wasn't Rowley's type.

Avery laughed at his response, even as she quickly responded. "No. You see, lameness is innate. You can act bored or dull or moody, sure. But you're born lame. That's just a fact and you are not lame. Stubborn maybe, but not lame." She punctuated her statement with a curt nod.

She watched him as he stared into his red solo cup, wondering what his answer would be. His answers surprised her a little. She remembered he had been involved with the chess club, but she hadn't expected someone who spent so much time skipping class to enjoy books.

"Oh come on, it's a party. It's not that bad. And it's not like you've never been to a party before, so you can't hate it that much," she pointed out.

Her glance shifted to the TV. "Oh look! They're starting the countdown! Almost time for 2015!" she said excitedly as she looked back at him.

[Winter Rowley]

Rowley nodded along to her tipsy explanation. She looked very sure of herself. He indulged her with a small, pensive hmmm at the back of his throat.

“Oh, no. I’ve been found out.” His dark eyes glittered with mirth, contrasting the listless expression that dominated the rest of his face. “Don’t tell me—you’re a lameology major.”

A streak of bitterness flashed across his mind, surprising even him. Why did she have to argue? Why couldn’t he call himself lame if he wanted to? Sure, it was easy now—she was tipsy-going-on-drunk and already giggly enough—but where had she been when he was Winnie the Fag, still wearing pink-framed lenses that were thick like bottle-glass?

The more she insisted that she knew who he was, the more determined he became to evade her. How on earth could she possibly know?

The countdown succeeded in distracting them both for a handful of moments. Rowley rifled through his hoodie pocket and procured a half-empty pack of Marlboros and a cheap plastic lighter.

“Well, that’s my cue,” he said. He fished out one of the cigarettes and clamped it between his lips. Then, wordlessly, he made a beeline for the sliding glass door that led to the apartment’s small balcony.

[Avery Fields]

She laughed at his joke about being a lameology major. "Almost! I'm a communications major, which really is half about reading people, you know." Not as much as being a psych major, but the next closest thing more or less.

Her head felt all tingly just from talking to him. It was odd really, the effect a silly little crush could have on a person.

Just then he stood and walked away. She was confused for a moment before she saw he was heading to join not another person but instead an exit. Avery stood with the intention of following him, only to stumble slightly.

Oh. It wasn't the conversation going to her head. It was the heat that came with a small apartment being stuff full of drunk people.

As if she really needed encouragement, that sealed the deal. She desperately needed some fresh air and Rowley had just stepped outside. Two perfectly good reasons to follow him. So she did just that, weaving through the people until she reached the door.

She slid it opened and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in deeply. Winter air was so crisp... it was lovely really. Of course, given that she was only wearing a thin blue and silver sequined top with a black mini skirt and sheer black tights, at a glance one would think she should be a shivering mess upon stepping outside. But for the somewhat overheated cryokinetic, she thought the temperature was pretty much perfection.

[Winter Rowley]

Rowley had hoped that the girl wouldn’t follow him, but he wasn’t surprised that she had. He looked over his shoulder. He was wearing all black, barely visible in the dark save for the orange glow of the end of his newly-lit cigarette.

He exhaled a long, leisurely cloud of breath and smoke. After a quick visual survey of her outfit, which seemed better suited to a summer resort vacation than the middle of a harsh New England winter, he turned his head back to the front and leaned onto the balcony rail.

“You’re going to miss it,” he said, matter-of-factly.

There was a beat of silence.

“You might also develop hypothermia,” he pressed. “And I really don’t want that on my conscience. It’s heavy enough.”

He took a long drag. Even from outside, he could hear the muffled shouts of a handful of inebriated college students attempting to count backward from sixty.

[Avery Fields]

Avery tilted her head slightly, a look of confusion on her face. "Miss it?" She laughed softly. "You can't really miss it. I mean, midnight happens wherever you are. So I'm not missing anything by being out here with you instead." Her voice was softer now, and the cold air had her feeling a little more sober for the moment.

She just casually waved a hand at his concern about hypothermia. "Please. I'm the original Elsa. The cold never bothers me," she said with a giggle. Granted, he didn't exactly seem like the Disney type, so there was a chance the reference was going to go straight over his head, but that didn't make it any less true.

"Besides, you're not the only person who could use some fresh air every now and then you know," she teased. She could hear the muffled voices of those inside counting down. It was nearly time.

[Winter Rowley]

Rowley wanted to argue with her again—indeed, he’d opened his mouth to do just that—but he realized that she was technically right. He hadn’t magically escaped the passage of time by fleeing to the balcony. He’d just escaped the noise.

He replaced the filter-end of his Marlboro between his lips and pondered this. Her words sank in, then. They were simple, but they warmed the quiet that followed.

I’m not missing anything by being out here with you instead.

She’d been drinking, of course. She probably had him confused for someone else. He really shouldn’t have taken her seriously—and, naturally, because he really shouldn’t have, he did.

He shifted on the balcony rail so that he could take a better look at her. Original Elsa, huh? He huffed out a brief laugh.

“I—”

His sentence was overpowered by a foundation-rattling bang! in the distance. His head whipped around toward the source of the noise—it had come from the lakeshore. A series of gold and blue fireworks bloomed against the clear night sky, popping and fizzling, leaving him momentarily speechless.

[Avery Fields]

Honestly, she was a bit surprised when he didn't argue against her - it seemed to be his response to everything she said after all. But something did change then. She wasn't sure how to describe it really. Just something in his eyes, like he was finally listening to her for the first time.

Maybe she was imagining things - after all, she had been drinking - but for the moment she didn't want to think about that. She wanted to believe that he was suddenly seeing her differently. Even if it was a stupid little teenage crush in control right now, making her see signs that weren't there, just for tonight she wanted to believe that was real.

She leaned forward slightly as he started to speak, curious to hear his response. What he was going to say she would never know because a distant bang interrupted both their thoughts. It seemed midnight had come, judging from the fireworks that were exploding over the lake.

Her gaze shifted back to him and after a moment's pause, Avery impulsively moved forward, balancing on her tiptoes and planting a soft kiss on his lips.

[Winter Rowley]

When Rowley looked away from the fireworks and back to his tipsy companion, he found that their faces were so close that he thought their noses might brush. His eyes widened. He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat—mngh?—that was muffled by the brush of her lips against his.

He didn’t move. He didn’t resist, either; that would have counted as moving. He didn’t make any more noise. He stood, silent and motionless, and allowed himself to be kissed until she saw fit to stop kissing him.

She pulled back and planted the soles of her feet flat on the balcony, which shortened her some four inches. Silence descended again, cottony and stifling in the absence of the pop-bang! of the fireworks. He licked his lips, which were chapped; he could taste cherry-flavored lip balm and flavored vodka where she had pressed her mouth to his.

He tried to focus on what he was thinking, but found that there was nothing of value occurring inside his head. He wasn’t thinking. He had been shocked beyond logical thought.

“Uh,” he said, accordingly.

More silence. His eyes flitted uncertainly before coming to rest on her again. He rubbed the fingers of his right hand together, and then, with some degree of panic, peered over the edge of the balcony to look at the patio below.

“Fuck. I dropped my cigarette.”

[Avery Fields]

Avery wasn't quite sure what had possessed her to kiss him. He hadn't given her any reason to think he might enjoy it. Not to mention he was gay, so she was missing some very vital anatomy to be his type. It was just a tradition, that's all, right? Crush aside, that's all it was. Just a New Year's tradition - for luck, wasn't it? Well, she'd hate for him to have an unlucky year.

She lingered perhaps a moment too long, especially considering that he hadn't reacted at all. So while on one hand he hadn't pushed her away, he also hadn't returned the kiss either. Still, when she pulled back, it was with a smile on her face. She had imagined that far too many times to not be more than a little swept away that it had happened all these years later.

"Happy New Year," she murmured breathlessly as she looked up at him.

For his part, Rowley seemed entirely stunned by the entire thing. Finally when he spoke, it wasn't anything she could have expected. Which in turn had her laughing. "Whoops. My bad."

[Winter Rowley]

Rowley couldn’t make anything out in the dark below, but he was still craning over the rail and looking down, anyway, as though he expected the suburban abyss to stare back into his soul Nietzsche-style.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was distant with thought. “Happy New Year.”

Inside the apartment, the drunken celebration had reached a fever pitch. Clean-up was going to be hell. Her laugh cut through the winter chill. He smiled, mostly to himself.

“You went to Hammel, right?” he asked.

It had taken him a while to place her face—it had been years ago.

“You dated that big athletic guy. Whatshisface.”

He pulled out another cigarette, taking care to clench it tightly between his numb fingertips. Surprise kiss or no, he was going to stand on the balcony until he finished a whole goddamn cigarette.