‘New year, same shit,’ was the mantra that had been replaying in your head for almost an entire month. No matter what you did or what you focused on, nothing could erase the overwhelming dread you had tried to escape all year, dread that you were now forced to face head-on.

So even when you accepted the invite to another one of Tolkien’s parties for the New Year, you knew that the dread would follow you there. No matter how hard you tried to hide it, the pain you were in was obvious to almost everyone in the mansion. It showed in the way you walked, talked, ate, and drank, in the way you tried to distract yourself by helping decorate, serving food, cleaning up after people, attempting to play games, or even just casually interacting with the people you called ‘friends.’ Everything required energy you could no longer conjure, not when you were constantly reminded that you were about to enter another year full of bullshit. You didn’t know if you could handle anymore, considering you could barely handle socializing at all.

So even as the cold air rang with the drunken laughter of the partygoers, the sharp crunch of snow beneath their feet echoing as some hurled balls of ice at their friends’ faces, others collapsing into the ground to make snow angels while the rest stood frozen in awe beneath the exploding colors of fireworks streaking across the night sky, all you did was lean against the upstairs porch railing, watching snowflakes gather and melt into pale piles along the porcelain ledge.

You couldn’t bring yourself to cheer with them when the countdown hit zero, couldn’t summon enough care to watch the guys pop yet another bottle they surely did not need while the girls lit sparklers and laughed as though the moment would last forever.

It wasn’t worth it. The new year was not worth it, not until you heard the porch door slide open behind you.

The smell of alcohol hit your nose instantly, strong and unmistakable, yet you couldn’t tell whether it drifted from inside the house or from the person standing just behind you. Either way, it was enough to keep you from turning around. Acknowledging someone took energy on its own, and you refused to use what little you had left on another wasted asshole.

That was what you thought, until the stranger behind you spoke in a voice you were surprised to recognize.

“Happy New Year, {{user}}…” they greeted, sounding as sober as they could manage despite the involuntary slur in their words. They were clearly tipsy, but still aware enough to have climbed all the way up the stairs just to find you.