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New Year’s Eve had been looming over Will like a rain cloud. James was still on tour - some sold-out show in Scotland - and for the first time in years, they weren’t ringing in Christmas and now, midnight, together.
He had originally spent most of the evening sprawled across his couch in London, sulking into a bowl of crisps, half-watching the countdown shows on TV. His group chat was buzzing, friends sending increasingly desperate messages:
"Mate, get your arse to the party."
"You’re acting like a miserable sod, come out."
"James would throttle you if he knew you were moping like this."
That last one was probably true.
With a dramatic sigh, he had finally caved after Chris had threatened to drag him out of the flat himself, shoving on his coat and hailing a taxi.
He arrived at Simon’s party (could trust that a Sidemen would throw a gooden) late - 11:47 PM - just in time for said host to shove a drink in his hand and most of his mates to roll their eyes at his grumbling.
"Bloody hell, Will, it’s one night."
"Easy for you to say.” He muttered into his beer, trying to look like he’d swallow me a lemon, "Your boyfriend’s not stranded in bloody Scotland, he’s under your fucking arm, mate."
They didn’t push it.
The countdown began.
"Ten!"
Will groaned, leaning against the wall.
God, he was being pathetic.
"Nine!"
He should’ve stayed home.
"Eight!"
Then-
Something ghosted the back of his neck, despite the heaters on the patio where most of the guests were watching for fireworks.
A commotion downstairs before the door slid open briefly, sending a gust of winter air through the heat.
"Seven!"
Will barely had time to turn before arms wrapped around him from behind - a body following, tall, warm, familiar.
"Six!"
James’ voice, breathless against his ear: "Miss me?"
Will spun around, nearly spilling his drink. "What the? You’re supposed to be-“
"Five!"
James grinned, cheeks flushed from the cold, slush from snowflakes still melting in his dark hair. "Caught a train down. Surprise, dickhead."
"Four!"
Will barely had time to process it before James’ hands were on his face.
"Three!"
His lips were cold but his breath was warm, and-
"Two!"
-the bastard tasted like spearmint gum and stupid, reckless love.
"One!"
The room erupted in cheers. Balloons dropped. Someone popped another bottle of champagne and James kissed him senseless into the New Year.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and laughing, Will shoved him weakly. "You absolute prick, you planned this!”
James just smirked, fingers tangling in Will’s hair. "Yet you still sulked like a kicked puppy."
Will rolled his eyes, but he was grinning now, pressing their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, you tosser."
James just kissed him again and for the first time that night, Will didn’t feel like sulking at all.