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Tim knew so many people, and it seemed to Jon like every single one of them had come out to ring in 2016 at his flat.
There were Institute people that Jon had met, people from Tim’s old publishing house, and a few that Tim said were from the Institute, but Jon had never seen them before in his life. Everyone was nice, of course, especially on a night as high-spirited as New Year’s Eve, but all of them seemed to want to get to know everyone else, and the several drinks Jon had consumed had done little to ease his distaste for small talk.
Which is why, when the crisps ran out and the drinks stopped flowing around 11:15, Jon was quick to volunteer to venture out to the shops with him to restock. Sasha came too, along with the sole new person Jon met tonight who actually seemed interesting: Martin…Blackthorne? Blackburn? Ugh. Jon’s brain was barely functioning. He’d hoped the chill of the night would perk him up, but they were already on their way back and the ground in front of him hadn’t stopped swimming.
A whoop from behind him made Jon turn. Tim was grinning at the sky, pointing that silly VHS camera he’d insisted on bringing with him upwards. “It’s snowing,” he breathed, the sheer wonder on his face making him look much younger than he actually was. “Guys, d’you see, it’s snowing! It’s a New Year’s miracle!”
When Jon had first met Tim, he’d struck him as the kind of guy who might be an aggressive drunk, but that wasn’t the case at all. He always got like this, so sincere and happy and fun. Tim was always charming and upbeat, of course, but it was nice to see him without the heaviness Jon had learned to spot in the way he carried himself. It was good to see him have a good time.
Not that Jon would ever let anybody catch him thinking so sappily. He rolled his eyes fondly and turned away again. “Dork,” he muttered, more to himself than Tim.
A scoff and a playful shove announced that Tim had, in fact, still heard him. “Says the man who spent half the party talking about Shakespeare,” he fired back, wearing a triumphant smirk like he’d just said something deeply cutting. He glanced meaningfully between Jon and Martin, as if that offered literally any insight as to what he meant.
Sasha swooped in before Jon could try and get any kind of answers out of Tim, so Jon found himself at the head of the group with Martin. It was, in fact, snowing, he realized; a few flakes were caught in Martin’s curls, the glittery white striking against the deep red.
“Shakespeare, what the hell is he talking about,” Jon grumbled. He drifted too close to Martin in an effort to keep his voice down and accidentally knocked their hands together, nearly dropping the grocery bag he was holding. “Shit, sorry.”
“You’re fine,” Martin answered quietly, the tremor of a laugh in his voice. “And I’ve got no bloody clue. Maybe that’s what he thought we were talking about when he was filming us earlier?”
“I guess.” Jon glanced back at Tim, then snorted. “That damn camera. Wonder how long that’ll be his thing for.”
Martin giggled. “Did you know him when his ‘thing’ was collecting Funko Pops?”
Jon smiled. “Did I ever. He still has a few at the office, y’know.”
“Which ones?”
“Er…the Eleventh Doctor and somebody from Lord of the Rings, I think.”
“Classics.”
Jon watched Martin bite back a laugh as he turned to sneak a glance back at Tim. With his eyes off the sidewalk ahead of him, he stumbled straight into Jon, sending them both crashing into a lamp post. Jon smacked his shoulder against it and landed flat on his back, with Martin’s head winding up practically tucked beneath his chin. Somehow, all the snacks they were each carrying managed to stay in their respective bags. Jon was aching and breathless, but laughing hysterically.
“Shit, I am so sorry, are you okay?” Martin asked, though he too was already laughing. The orange light of the post they’d knocked into made the color contrast his features starker, until he was all round white face and shining dark eyes. Pretty, some half-working part of Jon’s brain managed.
“Yeah,” Jon exhaled. “I’m alright. You?”
“I’m great,” Martin answered, the last of his laughter escaping around the edges of his words. He dragged himself back onto his feet, but Jon lay there for a moment later, winded.
“Oi, Jonathan,” Sasha said, her face blotting out the light above him and the toe of her boot nudging him in the side. “We’ve got twenty minutes ‘till the year ends. Pine later. We’ve got to get all this nonsense back to the flat.”
“I wasn’t-” Jon tried to protest as Tim approached from the other side and helped him to his feet, but the amused expression Sasha and Tim exchanged stopped any protest of his before it could even begin.
The snow got heavier as they finally reached Tim’s building, and Jon felt himself dreading rejoining the party. The streets were quiet in this part of town, everyone away or indoors, busy with their own festivities. The air was freezing, but he had a good enough coat that it didn’t really bother him, and the snowflakes felt almost soft as they brushed his cheeks. As the other three headed for the stairs, Jon hesitated. Tim and Sasha were too busy with each other to notice, but Martin turned.
“Are you coming?” He asked, and while Jon didn’t want to, it occurred to him that he didn’t really want to leave, either.
“I…hm.” He shifted his grocery bags in his hands, thinking. “It’s just so loud in there.”
Martin considered this for a moment. “D’you want me to take your bags up for you? Give you an extra minute down here?”
“Can you come back down afterwards?” Jon surprised himself by asking. He quite liked talking to Martin, and he didn’t want to sit out here completely alone.
Martin raised his eyebrows, but smiled. “Yeah. ‘Course.” With that, he took Jon’s bags and turned away, heading up the stairs and out of sight. Maybe Jon’s vision wasn’t quite right, because Martin’s face looked redder then than it had before.
Martin did come back down, quite quickly in fact, and together they sat on the stoop with beers that Martin had taken on his way out. The drinks ended up sitting largely ignored as they talked, though, mostly about people they knew at the party (which evolved quickly into a more in-depth discussion of more of Tim and his quickly abandoned hobbies from before his current fixation on the video camera), but they couldn’t go on for very long. Jon happened to glance at his watch, and his heart fluttered when he saw that it was currently 11:59pm.
“Hey. Only a minute left,” he said in a hushed voice, holding his wrist out to Martin so he could read the watch’s face. They huddled in closer to do that, Jon’s right shoulder pressed to Martin’s left. They sat in silence, watching the seconds tick down.
“Ten. Nine. Eight,” Martin murmured under his breath. Jon smiled to himself, then joined him.
“Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
Jon was vaguely aware of muffled cheering from the building behind him and Martin. He turned to look at him, still smiling. “Happy New Year,” he breathed.
“Happy New Year,” Martin answered. They were still sitting so close, though the watch was quickly forgotten. In a moment of daring that probably had less to do with the dwindling amount of alcohol inside of him than his pride would let him admit, Jon let his hand fall slowly, settling it on top of Martin’s knee.
“Okay,” Martin said with a start, the word leaving him in a rush of air. “I am still not completely sober yet so I’m about to say something stupid, so if you don’t like what I’m implying, you can feel free to leave or slap me or whatever. Have you ever had a…have you done that thing, where. You know, like the couples on New Year’s, how they kiss at midnight?”
“Once,” Jon answered, heat climbing up his neck. “Have you?”
“No,” Martin said. “But I…want to.”
Jon didn’t know why, but he wanted to, too. He’d never kissed a stranger before, but then, he hadn’t met many strangers he felt were worthy of kissing. Besides, he reasoned. If it were awkward, at least he probably wouldn’t be seeing Martin much after this.
Jon brought the hand that was on Martin’s knee up to the side of his face and kissed him.
It certainly wasn’t awkward. Martin’s face was cool, lips just a little chapped from the cold night air. He tasted vaguely of the raspberry hard seltzer he’d been drinking earlier, and though Jon didn’t like it ordinarily, it was oddly intoxicating when on Martin’s lips. There was a gentleness in the way Martin moved, but an insistence, too; a silent urge for Jon not to pull away. Not that Jon was planning on it.
Jon brought his free arm up and hooked it around the back of Martin’s neck to pull him closer. In response, Martin wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist and brought him nearly into his lap. Jon let out a startled little sound at that, and Martin took the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth. Jesus. He was good at this.
Jon pulled away briefly, breathless. “Thought you said you hadn’t done this before,” he chuckled.
Martin shrugged and looked away, grinning sheepishly. “I said I hadn’t done it before on New Year’s.”
“Oh.” Jon didn’t feel like coming up with a better response just then, not when he could just keep kissing Martin. He leaned back in, but Martin stopped him.
“We’ll turn into snowballs if we stay out here too much longer,” he said. Jon looked out at the street and saw it completely covered by a thin but growing blanket of white. He was suddenly aware of all the snow melting in his hair. He shivered, clinging closer to Martin.
“We could go to my flat?” Martin suggested, biting his lip. “It’s only a few blocks from here.”
It took a moment for Jon to fully process the offer, and when he did, his heart skipped. “I’m asexual,” he said quickly. “Just, er. So you know. I wouldn’t, I mean, we can keep kissing, that’s great actually, but, in case you wanted. Something else.”
Martin offered him a small smile. “Honestly, I just wanted to get us both out of the cold and spare you the perils of getting a cab home. I’m fine with whatever.”
Jon smiled back, pulling his coat tighter around himself and taking Martin’s hand. “Lead the way, then.”
In the flats all around them, parties were ending as the clock ticked itself more firmly into the early hours of January 1st, 2016. More tipsy revelers spilled their way onto the streets, singular people or groups of friends trying to find their way home, couples trying to get themselves somewhere a little more discreet. Really, as Jon and Martin braved that snowy night hand in hand, either of them could have been anyone.
Maybe it was daft, considering they’d only met that night, but some part of Jon’s hazy brain told him that Martin Blackwood certainly was not just anyone.