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The year ended the way most things at Tracen Academy did: too loud, too bright, and vibrating faintly with excitement.
Jungle Pocket loved it.
The party had taken over one of the academy’s larger common halls, strings of lights crisscrossing the ceiling, paper decorations shaped like horseshoes and plum blossoms hanging from the walls. Someone had set up speakers near the far end, cycling through upbeat music and idol tracks from the year’s biggest races. Everywhere Pokke looked, there were Uma Musume laughing, eating, talking over each other, tails swishing and ears flicking in time with the noise.
She stood near the refreshment table with a paper cup in hand, rocking on her heels and grinning like she’d already won something.
Across the room, Agnes Tachyon stood very still.
She had dressed up for the occasion, which in Tachyon terms meant her lab coat had been replaced by a neatly tailored jacket over a dress that still had too many pockets. Her hair was brushed, though only barely tamed, and her ears twitched constantly as if overwhelmed by the stimuli. She was talking to Manhattan Cafe, nodding along as Cafe spoke in her usual low, measured tone.
Pokke watched them for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
Tachyon laughed at something Cafe said, a sharp, quick sound that immediately turned into a flustered cough when she realized Pokke was looking. Their eyes met across the room. Tachyon froze. Pokke raised her cup in a lazy salute, her grin turning teasing.
Tachyon looked away so fast she nearly knocked into Cafe.
“…You’re staring again,” Cafe said quietly.
Tachyon adjusted her glasses. “Purely observational.”
Cafe took a sip of her drink, eyes half-lidded. “You’re terrible at lying.”
Pokke drifted over before Tachyon could respond, slipping easily into their space like she belonged there. “Hey, hey. What’re you two talkin’ about? Secret science stuff? Ghosts?”
Cafe hummed. “New Year’s traditions.”
“Oh?” Pokke leaned closer, tail swaying. “You got any good ones, Tachyon?”
Tachyon opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “Statistically, New Year’s rituals function as psychological resets. Humans and Uma Musume alike exhibit increased motivation when engaging in symbolic closure.”
Pokke blinked. “So that’s a no.”
“…I usually stay in the lab,” Tachyon muttered.
Cafe tilted her head. “This is better.”
Tachyon hesitated, then nodded. “…Yes. It is.”
Pokke’s grin softened at that. She bumped Tachyon’s shoulder lightly with her own. “See? You’re doin’ great already.”
Tachyon’s ears went pink.
The night crept forward in small moments. Pokke dragged Tachyon into a game at one of the tables. Tachyon lost immediately and blamed statistical improbability while Pokke laughed herself hoarse. Cafe watched from nearby, occasionally offering quiet commentary that somehow made everything funnier.
As the hour crept closer to midnight, the energy in the room shifted. Conversations turned anticipatory. Someone dimmed the lights slightly. A large screen near the stage flickered to life, a countdown clock appearing with festive graphics.
Pokke felt it then, that strange tightness in her chest she’d been pretending not to notice all evening.
She glanced at Tachyon, who stood beside her now, hands fidgeting at her sleeves. Tachyon looked nervous, eyes darting to the screen and then away, like she wasn’t sure where to put herself.
Pokke had felt like this before. Right before a big race. Right before the gates opened.
Hey, she thought. You’ve faced scarier things than this.
“Tachyon,” she said, quietly enough that the noise didn’t swallow it.
“Yes?” Tachyon turned, startled.
Pokke leaned in just a little, voice dropping into something softer. “You glad you came?”
Tachyon considered it seriously, then nodded. “Yes. I… am.”
“Good.” Pokke smiled. “I am too.”
The countdown began at ten.
The room filled with voices, a chaotic chorus counting down together. Pokke felt the sound vibrate through her chest. She was suddenly acutely aware of how close Tachyon was, how their arms brushed when they shifted, how Tachyon’s tail flicked nervously and tapped against her leg.
Eight.
Seven.
Pokke’s heart was racing harder than it ever did on the track.
Six.
She thought about all the times Tachyon had stayed up late with her, analyzing race footage. All the experiments Pokke didn’t understand but supported anyway. All the small smiles Tachyon tried and failed to hide.
Five.
Tachyon glanced at her, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Pokke, I—”
Four.
Pokke didn’t let her finish.
Three.
She took a step closer, hands coming up almost without thinking, resting lightly at Tachyon’s waist. Tachyon made a small, surprised sound.
Two.
Pokke leaned in.
One.
The room erupted into cheers.
Pokke kissed her.
It was soft, at first. Hesitant, like they were both waiting for permission that never came. Tachyon froze for half a second, then melted into it, a quiet, breathless noise slipping from her throat. Her hands came up, clutching the front of Pokke’s jacket like an anchor.
Fireworks burst on the screen. Confetti cannons went off somewhere. The world felt very far away.
When they pulled apart, Tachyon looked like her brain had completely shut down.
“…I,” she started, then stopped. Her face was bright red, ears flat against her hair. “I wasn’t… I didn’t… we hadn’t—”
Pokke laughed softly, forehead resting against Tachyon’s. “Yeah. I know.”
Tachyon stared at her. “You know?”
“Yeah.” Pokke shrugged a shoulder, still close enough that she could feel Tachyon’s breath. “I just figured… if we were gonna start a new year, might as well be honest.”
Tachyon swallowed. “…I was going to confess tonight.”
Pokke’s grin turned impossibly fond. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Tachyon nodded quickly, words tumbling out now. “I had prepared several potential speeches, but none of them accounted for a spontaneous kiss at precisely midnight and—”
Pokke kissed her again, shorter this time, just enough to make Tachyon short-circuit.
“Happy New Year,” Pokke said.
Tachyon’s voice was very small. “…Happy New Year.”
Nearby, Manhattan Cafe watched them over the rim of her cup. She sighed, long-suffering and fond all at once.
“…Finally,” she murmured.
Pokke eventually pulled Tachyon toward the balcony, away from the worst of the noise. Cold air washed over them, crisp and clean, carrying distant fireworks from the city beyond campus. They stood side by side, shoulders touching.
Tachyon was still blushing.
“So,” Pokke said lightly, rocking on her heels. “Guess that means we’re… y’know.”
“Yes,” Tachyon said, immediately. Then, softer, “If you want to be.”
Pokke bumped her hip. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t.”
Tachyon smiled, small and genuine, and reached for Pokke’s hand. Their fingers intertwined easily, like they’d always known how.
Fireworks bloomed across the sky, painting everything in color.
Pokke squeezed Tachyon’s hand and thought, not for the first time, that this year was going to be a good one.