The living room looked less like a New Year’s party and more like an art crime scene. Paint tubes were crushed under shoes, sketchbooks stacked on speakers, glitter stuck to half-dry acrylic like it had fought for its life and lost.

“You’re literally sitting on my canvas,” you said.

Hyunjin didn’t move. “It adds texture.”

“That is not how texture works.”

Riki slid across the floor in socks, nearly wiping out. “I vote we name this piece Tension but They’re Cowards.”

Hyunjin groaned. “Riki. Stop.”

“I will not,” Riki said proudly. “It’s New Year’s Eve. This is my moment.”

“To do what,” you asked, suspicious, “commit crimes?”

“Facilitate romance,” Riki corrected. “Through violence if necessary.”

Hyunjin stared at him. “Why are you like this.”

“Because you won’t flirt,” Riki shot back. “You and Y/N literally bond over art like a tragic indie movie and refuse to kiss.”

“We’re friends,” you said.

Riki gasped dramatically. “You share headphones. You trade sketchbooks. You argue about brush strokes like a married couple.”

Hyunjin’s ears went red. “You’re exaggerating.”

“You signed her sketch in cursive,” Riki said. “I saw it.”

“That was aesthetic.”

The TV blared as the New Year’s broadcast started. Fireworks popped faintly outside. Riki’s eyes lit up like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands. “Everyone sit. Countdown protocol.”

“No,” Hyunjin said immediately.

“Yes,” Riki replied louder.

You ended up on the floor anyway, Hyunjin beside you, knees touching, tension thick enough to paint with.

“Why is this awkward,” you muttered.

Hyunjin shrugged. “Because my brother is feral.”

“Five minutes,” Riki announced. “Place your bets.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said.

“Thank you.”

The countdown started on screen.

“Ten,” Riki yelled.

Hyunjin leaned closer. “If he does something stupid—”

“He will,” you said.

“Three,” Riki shouted early.

“That’s not—”

“Two!”

Fireworks cracked outside.

“One!”

Riki shoved you both forward with both hands.

Hard.

Your lips crashed into Hyunjin’s, messy and startled, knocking you sideways as fireworks exploded and Riki screamed, “YES—THAT’S IT—HOLD IT—”

Hyunjin grabbed your arm to keep you both from falling, laughing into the kiss before pulling back, breathless.

Riki jumped onto the couch. “I DID THAT. HISTORY WILL REMEMBER ME.”

“You assaulted us,” Hyunjin said.

“And you’re welcome,” Riki replied.

Paint smeared. Someone knocked over a lamp. Fireworks shook the windows.

You wiped glitter off your face. “This was not romantic.”

Hyunjin grinned. “No.”

Riki raised his arms. “CHAOTIC SUCCESS.”

Outside, the new year screamed into existence, and inside, Riki refused to shut up about being a genius.