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Worf approached New Year’s Eve the same way he approached battle, diplomacy, and courting: with preparation bordering on severity.
That alone should have warned me that something was about to happen.
We were both Klingon—though I existed in that strange, often awkward in-between, born to a Klingon parent and a human one. I had grown up learning to balance two worlds, two sets of traditions, two ways of loving. Worf, on the other hand, was pure Klingon in blood and spirit, even if Starfleet had shaped him in quieter, subtler ways.
Human holidays had been… a learning curve.
He had survived Thanksgiving by treating it as a ceremonial feast of gratitude, offering a solemn toast to honor, family, and warriors fallen in battle, while I tried not to laugh into my mashed potatoes.
Christmas had been worse.
He had taken gift-giving as a test of worthiness and spent weeks selecting what he deemed an “appropriate symbol of devotion,” ultimately presenting me with a hand-carved Klingon blade meant for ceremonial defense.
I still loved it. I loved him.
So when New Year’s Eve arrived—the final human holiday obstacle of the year—I knew better than to underestimate it.
We had made it through the others. Now there was just one thing left.
The New Year’s kiss.
“Explain it to me again,” Worf said, standing rigidly in our quarters, arms crossed behind his back like he was awaiting orders. “From the beginning.”
I glanced over from the replicator, where I was attempting to produce something resembling sparkling cider. “It’s… not that complicated.”
“You said that about mistletoe,” he replied gravely. “And it nearly resulted in accidental public affection.”
“That was one kiss in Ten Forward,” I said. “Riker applauded.”
“That made it worse.”
I smiled and handed him a glass. “Okay. Human New Year’s Eve tradition, simplified version. People gather. They reflect on the year. At midnight, when the year officially changes, they kiss someone important to them.”
Worf frowned slightly. “Why.”
I took a sip, considering. “It’s symbolic. A way to enter the new year with love and connection. A promise, kind of.”
“A promise,” he repeated slowly, as if testing the word’s weight.
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Well… each other.”
His posture straightened. That was not the reaction I’d expected. “Then it is not a casual gesture.”
“No,” I said gently. “Not really.”
“Good.”
That… should have been my second warning.
By 23:45, Worf had transformed our quarters into what I could only describe as a tactical command center for romance.
Chronometer synced to Earth time.
Lights dimmed to what he called “a respectful ambiance.” He had even replicated a small banner that read HAPPY NEW YEAR in bold, slightly crooked lettering.
“I did not trust the replicator’s spelling,” he informed me. “I verified it against three Federation databases.”
“I’m honored,” I said, curling up on the couch, watching him pace.
He stopped abruptly. “There are additional rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yes. I have researched extensively.”
Of course he had.
“Human sources are… inconsistent,” he continued. “Some suggest the kiss must last precisely until the final chime concludes. Others say it must begin at the first chime. One source implied it should be spontaneous.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Spontaneous isn’t really your thing.”
“No.”
“I appreciate the effort though.”
He nodded once, solemn. “I have decided on an approach that balances honor and intent.”
“Which is?”
“I will request consent.”
My heart softened instantly. “Worf, you already have—”
“Formally,” he clarified.
He moved to stand in front of me, shoulders squared, eyes intense but warm. “As the year concludes, and another begins, will you accept a New Year’s kiss from me, in the human tradition, as a symbol of devotion, continuity, and shared future?”
I blinked. Once. Twice.
“…Yes,” I said, laughing softly. “Very much yes.”
He exhaled, just barely. Relief. “Good.”
We waited together, side by side. The chronometer ticked closer to midnight. Outside the viewport, stars drifted past in slow silence.
“This year was… challenging,” Worf said quietly.
“It was,” I agreed.
“But it was honorable,” he continued. “Because you were part of it.”
I reached for his hand. He took it immediately, grip firm, grounding.
“Ten,” the chronometer announced.
Worf stiffened.
“Nine.”
“I believe,” he said quickly, “I am supposed to lean in slightly before—”
“Worf,” I whispered, amused and fond. “Relax.”
“Eight.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Seven.”
“You’re vibrating.”
“Six.”
“I am prepared.”
I laughed, squeezing his hand. “You’re doing great.”
“Five.”
He turned fully toward me now, eyes searching my face like this moment mattered as much as any oath.
“Four.”
“My heart rate has increased,” he informed me.
“That’s normal.”
“Three.”
“I do not dislike this tradition.”
“Two.”
“I find it… meaningful.”
“One.”
The final chime sounded.
Worf leaned in—hesitant for half a second, then certain—and kissed me.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy. It was careful, reverent, as though he was honoring the moment rather than claiming it. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb warm against my skin, and I melted into him without thinking.
When we finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine.
“Happy New Year,” I murmured.
“…Happy New Year,” he replied, voice low and full.
After a pause, he added, “I believe I performed adequately.”
I laughed softly.
“You did more than that.”
“Good.” A beat. “May we do it again next year?”
My chest tightened in the best way.
“I’d like that.”
He nodded, satisfied, and pulled me into his arms, holding me like the new year itself was something precious he intended to protect.