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Under The Fireworks
The week between Christmas and New Year’s passed quietly. Not empty, not dull. Just… softer.
Remy noticed it first over coffee.
You stood in the kitchen one morning, mug cradled between both hands, hair still half-wild from sleep. He leaned against the counter across from you, trading easy conversation about nothing important. No teasing sharp enough to make you retreat. No sudden moves. Just presence.
It became a rhythm.
You shared coffee. Sat together in the common room, knees angled toward each other, never quite touching. You talked in low voices while the mansion buzzed around you, and sometimes you didn’t talk at all.
Remy flirted, because that was who he was, but he kept it light. Measured. He watched for the moments your shoulders tensed and eased back when they did. He learned the difference between your real silence and your overwhelmed one.
One evening, while you sat side by side on the couch watching snow fall past the windows, he said casually, “I owe you a real date.”
You looked at him, startled. “You don’t owe me anything.”
He smiled, soft and certain. “Still want to take you on one. After New Year’s.”
Not a challenge. Not a promise tied with a bow. Just an intention, placed carefully between you like something fragile.
You nodded, heart thudding harder than you wanted to admit.
By the time New Year’s Eve arrived, the warmth between you had settled deep enough to feel dangerous.
Christmas had been accidental magic. A collision of mistletoe and honesty and timing.
New Year’s felt different.
New Year’s felt like a choice.
And that scared you more than it should have.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
By early evening, the mansion was buzzing.
Jubilee had fully committed to her role as chaos coordinator. Glow sticks appeared in every color imaginable. A playlist labeled “COUNTDOWN VIBES” blasted through the speakers. Someone had been conscripted into testing fireworks earlier than necessary.
Remy suspected Logan was standing guard outside mostly to make sure no one blew themselves up.
Storm moved through the kitchen with calm efficiency, organizing hot drinks and gently redirecting energy when it got too wild. Kitty strung lights along the banisters, laughing as Kurt followed her, enthusiastically explaining New Year’s traditions from at least three different cultures.
Remy stayed near you.
Not hovering. Just close enough to check in.
“You alright, cher?” He murmured at one point, offering you a glow stick.
You took it, fingers brushing his. “Yeah. Just… a lot.”
He nodded. “Anytime you wanna disappear, you say the word.”
You glanced at him. “You’d help me disappear?”
A smile curved his mouth. “Darlin’, I’m excellent at that.”
The teasing around you started subtly. Comments about midnight. About fireworks. About traditions.
You felt eyes linger. Expectations settle.
The closer the night crept toward midnight, the more aware you became of what everyone assumed would happen.
And the heavier that assumption felt in your chest.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
Jubilee caught you both before you could fully retreat into the edges again.
“There you are!” She crowed, skidding to a stop in front of you with a clipboard you were fairly certain she did not own five minutes ago. “Okay, people, we are doing a practice countdown. We need rhythm. Unity. Vibes.”
Groans rippled through the small group of students she’d already corralled near the common room. Someone muttered something about how ridiculous this is. Jubilee ignored them all with military precision.
“You—” She pointed at Remy. “And you—” the finger snapped to you. “You’re in.”
“In what?” You asked warily.
“Countdown drills…” She said, as if that explained everything. “Everyone needs to be synchronized so midnight doesn’t turn into chaos.”
Remy leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. “Lil’ late to be preventin’ chaos, don’t you think?”
Jubilee’s grin was feral. “I manage chaos.”
She lined everyone up with alarming efficiency. You found yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with Remy, close enough that your sleeve brushed his coat when you shifted your weight. He glanced down at you, eyes bright with barely-contained commentary.
“She runnin’ a tight ship tonight…” He murmured. “Kinda proud. Kinda scared.”
You snorted despite yourself.
Jubilee paced in front of you like a drill sergeant. “Alright! On my count—”
“Of course it on her count…..” Remy muttered.
“—ten to one,” Jubilee continued. “Clear voices. Big energy. And—” She stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing as she looked between the two of you. Slowly, deliberately, she pointed.
“Wait. Important question.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Are you two kissing on one…” She said, tapping her clipboard, “.....or after one?”
Your face went hot instantly. “We’re—not— we’re not kissing.”
Jubilee blinked. “What?”
“We’re not….” You repeated, mortified. “There’s no kissing.”
She stared at you like you’d announced you hated puppies. “But it’s New Year’s. Its tradition.”
“I don’t like tradition…” You said weakly.
“It doesn’t matter….”
“Yes it does…”
She tilted his head. “Well, if you guys are a couple, it’d be bad luck not to kiss.”
Your embarrassment spiked. “We’re not a couple.”
“Sure….”
“I mean—we’re not…” You insisted, heat creeping up your neck. “We’re just—”
“Statistically speaking…” Kurt bamfed in suddenly at your other side, tail flicking excitedly, “...couples who do not share a New Year’s kiss have a thirty-seven percent higher likelihood of emotional drift in the following calendar year!”
You stared at him. “That’s not a real statistic.”
“It is very real…” Kurt said cheerfully. “I read it somewhere.”
Remy chuckled, clearly entertained—until he looked at you properly.
Your hands were clenched at your sides now. Your smile had vanished. There was a tightness in your expression that had nothing to do with shyness and everything to do with feeling cornered.
That wiped the amusement from his face.
He reached for your hand without ceremony, his grip warm and steady. “Alright, that enough.”
Jubilee spluttered. “Hey! Where are you two going? We haven’t even finished round one!”
Remy didn’t stop walking. “We disappearin’, chère.”
“HEY—!” Jubilee called after you. “THIS IS IMPORTANT FOR TEAM MORALE!”
The noise faded as Remy led you down a quieter hallway, away from the lights and the music and the expectations pressing in from all sides.
He didn’t let go of your hand until you both stopped.
You stood in a small sitting area, dimly lit and mercifully empty. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, softly, “You okay?”
You shook your head. “Not really.”
He sighed, not frustrated—concerned. “They mean well.”
“It doesn’t feel like that…” You said, voice tight. “It feels like they’re trying to make me miserable.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Maybe a little. Everybody here got a fondness for chaos.”
You leaned back against the wall, breathing out slowly. The tension ebbed, inch by inch, in the quiet.
After a moment, you asked, barely above a whisper, “Do you….expect us to kiss at midnight?”
Remy stilled. Then he smiled, gentle and sincere.
“Cher, I ain’t a man of expectation…” He said. “If you wanna kiss me, I’d love that. If you wanna shake my hand, that just as good.”
You blinked at him—then laughed, a small, surprised sound that loosened something in your chest.
“A handshake…” You echoed.
He grinned, clearly delighted to see you smile. “Very dignified.”
He stepped a little closer, careful not to crowd you. “We got four hours before midnight. We can hang out away from everyone. Hide out. Read. Talk. And—” His eyes flicked toward the windows, where distant pops of test fireworks lit the sky, “—we can do fireworks later. Or not.”
“Is that really okay?” You asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “More than okay.”
So you hid.
The library became your refuge. Low light. The scent of old books. You sat near each other at a long table, sometimes talking, sometimes reading in companionable silence. Time passed gently, the way it had all week.
At 11:50, Jubilee’s voice echoed through the mansion like a battle cry.
“EVERYONE OUTSIDE! FRONT LAWN! GET INTO POSITION!”
Remy looked up from his book. “Sounds like a summons.”
You hesitated—then nodded. “I want to see the fireworks.”
He stood and offered his hand. You took it without thinking.
Outside, the air was cold enough to sting your lungs. Breath fogged the night as everyone gathered on the lawn, Jubilee darting between groups, shouting numbers and pointing dramatically.
Remy stayed close. Close enough that your arm brushed his. Close enough that you felt the solid warmth of him beside you.
The countdown began.
Voices overlapped. Numbers shouted. Laughter and anticipation tangled together.
Your heart pounded.
You were acutely aware of him—his presence, his steady calm, the way he didn’t move closer unless you did first.
“Five!”
Fireworks sparked to life, the first explosions lighting the sky in brilliant color.
“Four!”
You turned toward him without meaning to.
“Three!”
He looked down at you, something soft and sure in his expression.
“Two!”
He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead —then pulled back.
And you didn’t let him.
You caught the front of his coat and leaned in, pinning him just enough to make your intent clear.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t overwhelming.
It was warm. Steady. Chosen.
Fireworks bloomed overhead, framing the moment without stealing it.
Cheers erupted around you. Jubilee screamed in triumph. Confetti popped somewhere to your left.
Remy stayed close, his forehead resting briefly against yours.
“Happy New Year, cher….” He murmured.
You smiled. Lighter. Braver.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
A few minutes later, the cold drove everyone back inside.
The mansion filled again with noise and warmth. Coats were shed. Drinks were poured. Someone turned the music back up just a little too loud. The chaos softened into something celebratory instead of frantic.
You were still close to Remy, close enough that his arm rested lightly behind you, not quite around you but clearly there. Like an anchor he had no intention of pulling up.
You were mid-sip of something warm when Jubilee barreled toward you.
“WAIT. STOP. DO NOT MOVE.”
You flinched.
She skidded to a halt in front of you, phone already raised. “I got it. I got the whole thing. Countdown, fireworks, kiss. Boom. Cinematic.”
Your face immediately went hot. “You recorded that?”
“Obviously…” She said. “It’s historical.”
Remy leaned in slightly, peering at the screen with interest. “Let’s see, chère.”
Jubilee scrubbed back through the video, then paused it right as the fireworks went off and the two of you leaned into each other.
“Aww…” She said, genuinely fond. “You’re cute.”
You groaned and covered part of your face with your hand. “Please don’t say that.”
“But…” Jubilee continued, undeterred, “...your timing is totally off.”
You peeked at her. “What?”
“You guys waited too long after one to kiss….” She said, tapping the screen. “That’s why we should’ve practiced.”
Remy laughed, low and warm, clearly delighted. “See? Educational value.”
Jubilee nodded solemnly. “Exactly. But don’t worry. Next year will be better.”
Your embarrassment spiked all over again. “Next year?”
She grinned, already backing away. “I’m optimistic.”
She vanished into the crowd, already replaying the video for someone else.
You dropped your hand and muttered, “She’s the worst.”
Remy hummed thoughtfully, keeping you tucked close. “Mmm. I don’t know.”
You glanced up at him.
“She rootin’ for whatever this is to last at least a year….” He said lightly. “Hard to be mad at that.”
The words settled in your chest.
A year.
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. You just leaned a little closer, and he adjusted without comment, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
As the noise swelled around you and the night stretched forward, you let yourself think about it. Not commitments. Not promises.
Just possibilities.
And for once, they didn’t feel heavy.
They felt like something worth stepping toward.