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Jaehee’s café is closed early on December 31st, as it will be the venue for the RFA’s New Year’s Eve potluck. While you’re helping Jaehee clean up, your cellphones are on the countertop buzzing nonstop with what must be Jumin and Zen arguing—for the umpteenth time this week—about whether wine is superior to beer or vice versa, as that’s what they’re bringing tonight.
“At this rate, I’ll chug both at the same time just to blur out the noise of their bickering,” you mumble as you sweep the floor.
Jaehee finishes loading the dishwasher and leans on it as it begins to whir. She chuckles. “You know, I might even join you.”
You mock-gasp, one hand over your heart. “Jaehee, an upstanding citizen such as yourself? You would never.”
“I can appreciate a good wine,” she says, a smile curling up the edges of her lips.
You point the dustpan at her. “Don’t let Zen hear you say that or he’ll rescind your backstage privileges.”
“I’ll risk it,” she says, the smile blooming full. “Although,” she makes a face, “if Jumin hears me say that he will have that smug expression on his face that always makes me want to—” she trails away, opting to have both hands miming the act of crumpling a paper into a ball to end her sentence.
You don’t know when you will ever get used to Jaehee talking about Jumin casually and even openly expressing her frustration with him. It took some time until she stopped calling him Mr. Han, and such a disrespectful gesture towards him is until now still a luxury only you, and sometimes Zen, get to appreciate.
You must look like an utterly helpless sap, because she raises an eyebrow and asks, “What is it?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
“It’s just,” you say, crossing the room with long strides until you are close enough to have your hands cup the sides of Jaehee’s hips, “I feel like kissing you again.”
Jaehee melts into your touch, her lips ghosting over yours, before she perks up, noticing something behind you.
You sigh. “They’re here, aren’t they.” It’s not a question.
“Yes,” she says, pecking the corner of your lips before slipping past you to greet the RFA crew at the door. “Save it for later?”
“We might as well,” you call out to her, “to break the news.”
“What news?” Jumin asks as he enters, a paper bag with three bottles of wine dangling from his hand.
“Um.” You make a show of helping him with the wine so he can take off his coat, which he accepts with all the grace of a young master. You say the first thing that comes into your mind, “Pietro and Wanda are having kittens.”
Jumin looks very pleased at this news, asking, “Are they?” at the same time as Jaehee exclaiming, “What? But they’re siblings!”
“Cats do not share the human belief that incest is taboo,” Jumin replies. “I’m sure the kittens will be as cute as their parents,” he says, and he doesn’t say although they will never rival Elizabeth 3rd so you mark it as progress on his part.
Seven burst in with a large cardboard box cradled in his arms. “Did anyone say kittens?”
“No,” says you, Jumin, and Jaehee.
Seven dumps the box on the nearest table; from the sound it makes, it’s definitely 25 percent Honey Buddha Chips and 75 percent air. “Defender of Justice, Seven Zero Seven can detect lies! And lies hurt his feelings!”
Yoosung enters next, carrying a stack of large Tupperware containers. “Hi everyone. Is it too early to say happy new year?”
“Technically, you’re supposed to say that,” Jumin glances at his watch, “four hours and thirty-four minutes from now.”
Zen, obviously doing his best to contradict Jumin, walks in with a loud, “Happy New Year!” Then, with a subtlety you don’t often see from him, he looks at you questioningly.
You nod, mouthing thank you, at him, and his mouth twitches a little.
After dinner, near midnight, you find yourselves huddled around the twenty-five shot cake firework at the parking lot. You count down, together.
Five.
Four.
Three. Zen lights up the fuse.
Two.
One.
As the first shot soars into the sky, you all—save for Jumin, who’s just watching everything with quiet amusement—yell, “Happy New Year!”
And you look at one another, giddy and giggling, then your eyes met Jaehee’s and she throws her arms around your neck, and maybe she’s had a bit too much wine, or maybe it’s the sheer invincibility this night has given all of you, or maybe you’re the one who starts it first—you’re not sure, everything’s a blur—but your lips crash into hers and it is all but chaste. It’s all greed and heat, tongues and wet breath, gasps that would be positively scandalous anywhere and anytime but here in this moment, with fireworks exploding over you, washing you in changing colors.
You break apart when it’s all quiet and the sky is dark again.
The rest of the RFA is uncharacteristically silent. Then Seven emits a high-pitched squeal, Yoosung exclaims, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeh?” and Jumin chuckles to himself. You and Jaehee are not looking at any of them, however. You both look at Zen, the person who brought the two of you together despite his own conflicting interests, and he’s just standing there, slack-jawed, and it’s dark so you’re not sure but you think he looks hungry.
And then that look is gone, replaced by his default playboy mode with twinkling eyes and ravishing smile. “You ladies want to repeat that performance?” he drawls.
Jaehee sputters, but you easily grin back. “Maybe, if you behave.”
“No need,” Seven says, still half-squealing, “I got it on camera!”
Jaehee exclaims, “Luciel!” but Zen pats her shoulder and goes after Seven to save the day. Jumin has started walking back to the warmth of the café, and Yoosung’s somehow yelling and running after Seven too.
You and Jaehee watch the boys for a moment. She entwines her fingers with yours. “Well.”
You squeeze her hand lightly. “Well.”
“I suppose we can now consider the news broken,” she muses.
“No take-backsies,” you say.
She leans her head on your shoulder. “Never.”