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it's been a few days since christmas and kaz can't stop thinking. although he hadn't expected - or wanted, really - for the story he asked charles to tell him to make him think, that's all he's been able to do since then. who would've thought charles had such power? he's amazed.
but back to the important things. all he does is think; in fact, he can't stop thinking. and it's all charles’ fault - well, his and that old money fuckboy.
arcangelo corelli. that beautiful fuckboy, with his luscious blond locks, those pretty pink lips and gorgeous smile. the one who, in charles’ story, wrote and sang him a song; who, in charles’ story, called him his “pink-haired prince” and kissed his cheek.
it boggles kaz, even to this moment, how easy his representative in the story had accepted arcangelo’s affections. is this really how charles sees them? kaz, feeling slightly annoyed but still indulging arcangelo? arcangelo, willing to make him a song? kaz can’t even believe it. surely charles was using his artistic license to play a bit of the characters, just to make the story interesting like kaz had asked for. surely.
but was charles even wrong? it’s true, arcangelo does annoy kaz, but, in some way, kaz can’t see his life without arcangelo in it, giving him wardrobe tips that kaz did not ask for, and mocking him.
calling him “his homie”.
he hasn’t called kaz that in a while.
it’s something silly to be bothered about. of course arcangelo would go back to annoying him in full and only hanging out with his east side crew once the board was fixed and back in action. it makes complete and perfect sense; it’d be weird if he didn’t.
and yet, now that kaz has time to think about it specifically and has given up a sliver of his pride to admit it, he had wished, even if just a bit, that arcangelo would still be his friend. he’d been a surprisingly good pal, for the short time they’d been homies.
but - and kaz can’t believe himself when the thoughts passes through his mind, then backpedals and settles in the mess that kaz’s brain is - is homies all kaz wants to be with arcangelo?
he can’t stop thinking about the story for many reasons and, admittedly, one of them is the kiss arcangelo gave his cheek.
kaz feels his face flushing, and holds back the need to bury his face into his hands. if he were at home, he wouldn’t be even attempting to control himself; however, he’s in public - and a very demanding one - so he just takes a deep breath in, holds it, and then leaves it out slowly. and then he takes a bigger-than-necessary sip of his champagne.
ah yes, the new year’s eve party: the one where all the most eligible bachelors, along with the most important people of the high society, gathered to countdown to 2019 - that’s where kaz is. he’d nearly forgotten.
he saw arcangelo as he came in, earlier. even if he’d wanted to avoid seeing him, he wouldn’t have been able to: somehow, at some point his life, kaz’s eyes were trained to search for arcangelo’s blond hair and loud but polite laugh everywhere he went, and he’d never even noticed it until now. it’s a nightmare.
kaz keeps his focus on the beautiful view of neo yokio that only the rich can afford, his back to the actual party. it’s nearly midnight already, a quick glance to his very expensive, new and great watch tells him - eleven hours, fifty-two minutes and forty-six seconds, to be specific - and the balcony he’s in is completely empty, save for him. he doesn’t find it weird, though. although the view here is great, the view from the other three balconies of the building are far superior.
the very best is what kaz always likes to have, especially if it’s within his reach; however, in this troubling night, as has been the past seven days, he finds that he prefers solitude, the dramatic flair that the dark sky provides despite all the lights, his glass of champagne and the fourth best view of the city better than the first three best views, the richest and loudest people surrounding him, and no dramatic flair - at least, in this moment.
he’s hoping for his 2019 to be better than 2018. at the very least, he hopes aunt agatha won’t overwork him like she’s been doing for the last three years. the fact that he’s been wishing for that in all the special days for the past two years, and yet, nothing has happened, doesn’t deter him.
closing his eyes, kaz also wishes for something to be done for these thoughts and feelings he’s been feeling for arcangelo. he doesn’t know which way he wants the solution to go; he just wants something to happen.
“kaz?” the very familiar voice of the one that he both wants to see and run away from comes from behind him, chipper in a way one’s voice is supposed to sound when drinking champagne at a party. “what are you doing here all alone, man? afraid of some fireworks?”
the tease, instead of bothering kaz, makes a small chuckle burst out of him, which surprises him before he can even turn around to greet arcangelo.
“what are you doing here, i’m the one who should be asking that.” kaz furrows his brow in confusion, once he’s controlled his expression and turned to face his arch nemesis slash homie slash crush (?). “shouldn’t you be enjoying the party on one of the other balconies? it’ll be midnight soon.”
arcangelo simply shrugs before throwing his hair behind his shoulder. “i was! and then i noticed my former homie wasn’t there, which led me to realise that even though i’ve seen you many times throughout the night, my former homie hasn’t bothered with coming to greet me and wish me a happy new year!”
if kaz knew arcangelo better, he’d know that his words, along with the pout that took over his lips, indicate that he’s sulking and hurt. but kaz doesn’t.
so kaz just rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his champagne. “so now we’re former homies? i wasn’t aware that we were homies at all, at any given moment.” he’s lying, and he knows he shouldn’t. but the words are out of his mouth before he can hold them back.
taking slow steps in kaz’s direction, arcangelo looks - and sounds - actually hurt by kaz’s words. “so you’re saying… you’re saying we weren’t actually homies?”
kaz thinks - about arcangelo’s suddenly sad expression and the gloomy way he finishes his drink and sets it on the floor once he’s reached kaz; about his own silly, silly feelings - and gives in. “no. i mean, yes. i mean, yes, we were homies.” kaz sighs. “we were very good homies.”
another quick glance to his watch tells kaz that it’s only a minute to midnight. his chest feels tight, for some reason. he turns again, to look away and at the view, leaning with his elbows on the very elaborated and elegant barrier. instantly, arcangelo mirrors him. “it’s nearly midnight.” kaz says, his voice soft. maybe it’s the alcohol, that’s making him feel this way, but he doesn’t quite believe that theory. “you should be going. otherwise you won’t be able to get the best girl to give a midnight kiss to.” he jokes, somewhat bitter, expecting arcangelo to straighten up, turn and leave.
instead, arcangelo straightens up and reaches for kaz’s elbow, tugging so kaz will turn to face him. taking a deep breath, arcangelo looks away, seeming embarrassed in a very uncharacteristic way. “i’m…” he gulps, and kaz watches distracted and interestedly at the way his adam’s apple bobs in this throat when he does so, before bring his eyes to face arcangelo’s handsome profile. “i’m taking a leap of faith, here.”
“what are you talking about?” kaz asks, suddenly aware of how confused he is in this situation. arcangelo is looking to the horizon and kaz is watching his beautiful face, and he is, somehow, reminded of a scene in a romantic movie - of a love confession.
arcangelo’s head turns quickly to look at him, and his green eyes look brighter when kaz meets them with his own purple ones. “kaz.” with one more self-encouraging deep breath, arcangelo admits, “there’s no one else i’d rather get a new year’s eve midnight kiss from.”
kaz feels as though the breath has been punched and kicked out of his lungs. his heart beats so brutally that he swears he can feel his chest actually hurting, and his lips part as his mouth opens to question arcangelo’s words, their veracity, whether this is a joke, whether he’s figured out kaz’s feelings, to question everything. but in the background he can hear the countdown, and he feels breathless.
“nine! eight! seven!”
because when he looks into arcangelo’s eyes, really looks, he sees how earnest he looks - how earnest this is. this isn’t a lie, or a joke, a story or even a dream. this is real.
“four! three! two!”
“one.” kaz breathes out before standing on the tip of his toes and cupping arcangelo’s cheeks with his hands, pressing his lips to arcangelo’s in the chastest kiss of his whole life, yet the most meaningful.
arcangelo’s hands find their way to kaz’s sides, settling with his palms splayed over kaz’s ribs over the expensive suit he’s wearing. they can hear the yells, the cheers, the fireworks coming from the rest of the place and also the city, but they barely even compute it. all that matters, in this moment, is the kiss they’re sharing and all the places in which they connect.
when kaz pulls away, the smile that arcangelo’s offering him is blinding, and kaz couldn’t fight - wouldn’t fight, didn’t want to fight - the urge to need to mirror it. “happy new year, homie.”
“happy new year, kaz.”