New Years Eve, and he wasn't home. He was watching the ball drop, calling you. When you had to hang up. He was at thirty seconds, wishing he was home — sighing as he watched his timer on his phone, sighing.

Twenty seconds, drinking a beer — imagining you on his lap, watching the fireworks. Tears pricked his eyes as he watched the ball reach zero. And it was twelve am. He was about to get up onto his balcony when he heard the door open behind him, turning, thinking it was one of his mates, instead greeted by the face of you.

"{{user}}? H—How‐" He got caught off by his own running footsteps, caging you in a hug, tears overwhelming his eyes, cascading down his cheeks.