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1930 blew in with a blast of sleet and snow, and Jonathan's hands shook as he tried to unlock the front door. It was close to two in the morning, he'd just left some party or other, and the drinks he'd had weren't doing a thing to keep the chill out of his bones.
The wind whipped around the house, icy shards biting through his coat and scarf, and he swore when he couldn't find the lock again. It didn't help that it was dark, and everything was a bit blurry, and he was shivering.
A moment later, the lock clicked and he paused. He hadn't done it. But the door swung open to reveal Rick in his flannel pajamas, looking down at Jonathan with an eyebrow raised.
"Oh, it's you," Rick said, and stepped aside to allow Jonathan to shuffle in.
"Yes, it's me," Jonathan muttered, all hunched against the chill, "or what's left of me, anyhow. Bloody near froze to death trying to get the ruddy door unlocked."
"Good thing I was here, then." Rick didn't mention that he'd sort of been waiting up for Jonathan, just to make sure he got home all right.
"Yes, well, always saving the day, aren't you, Rick?" Jonathan pitched sideways and Rick caught him, setting him upright again.
"I wouldn't say that. Want a cup of coffee?"
"Oh, no, I think not, old chap." Jonathan grappled at his scarf, trying to unwind it with hands that wouldn't work. "Maybe just a sip of water, and then it's off to bed for me."
Rick steered him into the kitchen, and Jonathan practically fell into a chair at the table, slouching forward with a groan. He just knew he'd had a raging hangover in the morning, and in fact, he was beginning to feel it already. Small price to pay, he thought, for a dreamless sleep.
"Wild party?" Rick asked, setting a glass of water in front of him.
"Not particularly, but there are worse ways to spend an evening."
"Didn't get a kiss at midnight, then, huh?"
Jonathan drained the glass, knowing he'd be glad he had in the morning. "I abstained," he said when he was done, "seeing how it turned out last time and all."
It was only because Jonathan was so drunk that he allowed his tongue to be so loose, but what he said was true. Last year he'd made the mistake of kissing someone and making a great mess out of it, so this year he'd channeled his inner wallflower and done no kissing at all. Not that there were any offers, of course.
There were worse ways to spend the new year. He could've been moping, or drowning his sorrows in a decidedly less festive fashion.
Jonathan thanked Rick for the water, denied needing help up the stairs, and shuffled up to his room.
Stripping off his coat with clumsy hands, he draped it over the chair at his desk, and fell into bed with a groan and his clothes still on. His room was dim, and he could hear the wind howling around the house. A lonesome sound. Fitting, really.
But all in all, he was beginning to get used to lonesome things. He was getting used to being glad Polly had rid herself of him, and he was getting used to longing for Ardeth—as much as one could get used to that sort of thing, anyway. He wagered he deserved being lonesome, and so he was beginning to get used to it.
Of course, the way he was getting used to it probably wasn't the best—he'd been to several parties since Christmas, and meant to attend more. Dancing, music, drinking, and a few friendly games of chance were the order of the day, even if he returned home with his pockets significantly lighter.
But he didn't think of it that way. He hardly let himself think at all.