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The TV is already on.
The commentators talk over each other, filling the living room with noise that doesn’t really demand attention. Bright lights flash across the screen: crowds, neon signs, stage lights. The giant glittering ball is still perched high above everything, waiting its turn.
Tony’s stretched out on the couch, one arm draped along the back, remote loose in his hand. He doesn’t look up when he speaks.
“You know,” he says casually, “the couch is right there.”
Above him, Peter shifted. Just enough for Tony to register the faint whisper of fabric. He glances up after, more out of habit than curiosity.
Peter’s on the ceiling, of course. Like it’s a perfectly reasonable place to be. His hoodie is hanging down a little, one knee bent, curls loose, doing whatever they want.
“I'm good up here."
"Sure." Tony snorted. “But there are snacks down here...”
That got the kid's attention. He twists his head to look down, an upside-down grin already forming. “What kind of snacks?”
“The good ones,” Tony says, gesturing to a row of bowls filled with salty chips and dip, a plate of greasy mini-burgers, and a tall stack of cookies. “The kind I hid from Pepper.”
Peter canted his head to the side, like he was considering it with all the seriousness of a life-altering, boardroom decision. Then he settled back against the ceiling, eyes glued to the television.
“I had a bunch of pizza with May earlier. Maybe later.”
Tony hummed, accepting it. It wasn't a battle worth fighting. The kid would eat when he was ready. Probably leaving sticky fingerprints all over his pristine ceiling. He grabbed a chip, dragged it through the dip, and popped it into his mouth.
The TV droned on, the ball still unmoving.
A few quiet minutes pass. Tony flipped channels once, then flipped back. Peter absently shuffled on the ceiling, the soft scuffling syncing with the background noise.
“So.” Tony glanced at the clock and snagged a cookie from the plate. “Any particular reason you’re staying up there tonight, or are we just doing our usual thing?”
There was a pause overhead.
“I dunno. New Year’s reasons."
The answer was suspicious. Tony tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he gave the kid a proper look. “What kind of New Year's reasons?”
“It’s symbolic.”
“You know what?" Tony leaned back on the couch, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes for a beat. "Keep your secrets. I’m already tired.”
“It’s the end of the year." Peter shrugged. "I figured I should spend it upside down. You know, for perspective.”
Tony's lips quirked into a fond smile. “That's not even a real answer."
"Sure it is."
"Stop talking, or I'll get the broom."
Peter grinned, unapologetically. “You won’t.”
Tony didn’t answer. He figured that was answer enough.
The living room stayed dim, lit mostly by the TV and the city beyond the windows. They could probably see the ball from up there if they really tried. If he turned off the TV and leaned closer to the glass, they could see it in the distance. But the screen was better. Easier.
Tony checked the time again.
11:48.
He leaned further into the couch cushions. “Any wisdom from above?”
Peter hummed thoughtfully. “Gravity’s overrated.”
“Incorrect." Tony raised a finger, jabbing it in the kid's general direction. "Gravity keeps you from falling off buildings.”
Peter scoffed, a happy, bubbly sort of scoff. “I don’t need gravity.”
"Uh-huh." Tony glared. "And that's the kind of sentence that makes me worry.”
Peter laughed, soft and genuine, the sound settling warmly into the room.
Peter pulled his phone from his pocket, almost dropped it, then caught it easily. Tony didn’t react. He'd seen that entire scenario play out too many times to bother. There was nothing to worry about. The kid always caught it.
“People are already posting New Year stuff,” Peter said. “There's a lot of, ‘This year changed me,' going around.”
Tony hummed. “It's been twelve months. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Not changing would be concerning.”
The kid chuckled, but it died off quickly. A little too quickly.
When Tony looked up, Peter was lying on the ceiling, holding his phone against his chest.
“You okay, kiddo?”
"Yeah." Peter hesitated. "Just… thinking.”
“Thinking’s allowed,” Tony replied. “Just don’t do it too hard.”
At 11:57, Tony reached for the stemmed glasses on the coffee table and the bottle of sparkling cider he set out earlier. Peter follows him across the ceiling, easy and practiced, dropping down just long enough to steal a glass before retreating upward.
“Hey, those are for midnight. For people who aren't on the ceiling.”
“I can still have it on the ceiling,” Peter replied. “I just have to drink it... inverted.”
Tony rolled his eyes and settled back onto the couch.
A quiet beat passed. Then Peter asked, “Did this year feel long to you?”
Tony thought about it. There were good moments. A lot of very good moments. Sprinkled in between them were long fights, underlying fears, and nights that stretched on forever. Not just for him. For everyone. It was collectively exhausting. He sighed tiredly, rubbing his hands up and dwom his face.
“Yeah, bud," he said, "I guess it has been kind of a long year."
“I’m glad it’s over,” Peter admitted quietly.
“Me too, kid,” Tony says softly.
At 11:59, the TV shifted tones. The commentators sharpen. The camera cut back to the ball.
It finally starts to move.
Tony straightened just a little. “Alright. New year incoming. Ready to count it down?”
"Yeah!" Peter lowered himself just enough to hang upside down, face level with Tony’s. Hair brushing the air between them.
They count with the TV, their voices joining the commentators and the thousands of people filling Times Square.
“…Five.”
“…Four.”
“…Three.”
“…Two.”
“…One.”
The screen erupted into noise and light.
“Happy New Year!” the commenters shouted, as the camera panned over the crowd. There was confetti everywhere, people cheering, couples kissing... the band started to play Auld Lang Syne.
Tony gently tapped his glass against Peter’s. “Happy New Year, Buddy”
Peter smiles brightly. “Happy New Year, Mr. Stark.”
They drink.
A moment later, the real fireworks bloom outside, reflected in the windows in golds and reds and blues. The sound reaches them faintly, softened by height and glass.
There's a sudden thump beside him. Then, suddenly, he was blindsided by a hug he didn't see coming. He laughed, catching his balance before readjusting so the kid could tuck himself in his arms.
“Hey.” Tony grinned, “Check out that gravity.”
Peter laughed into his shoulder. “This year's gonna be so much better.”
"Yeah. It is." Tony tightened his hold just a little.
Above them, the ceiling is empty.
He knew it wouldn't stay that way.
And wouldn’t change it for the world.