“Have you thought of a New Year’s wish?” he asks her.

Stars in the sky, stars in her eyes, and the only star she wants to wish on is

One that lets me stay with you and Hrodwyn and Hygd for the rest of my life
because without any of you none of it has meaning.

“Sure I have.”

She watches the wick of their sparklers burn down.
Time is ticking down.
She has to go home
back to that house.

Her smile dims by a fraction and she hopes she can hide it under the glow of the sparklers, of first love.

“Maybe I wanna keep it a secret,” she says with a teasing lilt.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” Merethel hums. “People say that if you say your wish out loud, it won’t come true, you know. I don’t think I quite believe it myself, but... better safe than sorry, I suppose?” he chuckles as his eyes drift to the dying light.

“Mm. Then I’m not going to,” she leans on him.

Then, softly, so just the two of them can hear, “Hey, Merethel?”

“Hm? Yes, Steora?” his finger grazes her cheek, and he carefully tucks her brown hair behind her ear.

She chances a glance at Hrodwyn and Hygd, making sure they’re busy with their own sparklers, because—

—she’s going to lean in, right as their sparklers burn out,

“I’m glad I’m going to start this year with you.”
said into the gossamer-thin space between them.

“I love you, Merethel.”
ghosts past his lips before her own closes the distance between them.

New sparks fly, ones that span infinity.

Merethel closes his eyes with the embrace. In this moment, they are untouchable like the stars in the skies, like the mist from their breaths when they part.

“I love you too, Steora,” one of the breaths whisper.

They are sixteen and there are certainly no forces beyond their control that can shatter this moment between them.

They are sixteen on New Year’s Eve and there are no such things as father figures that are about to re-enter their lives after ten long years of absence or mother figures that are mothers by virtue of purely blood relation and nothing more.

They are sixteen, and in love, and in that moment even one second can stretch into infinity.

She pulls back after the quick, chaste kiss, and reaches out to put a hand on his cheek, thumb smoothing across the skin.

“Wow,” she says, “you’re handsome.”

There are certainly better things that can be said here, but hey, they’re teens in love.

“Not as handsome as you are beautiful,” Merethel says without missing a beat.

Teens in love indeed. What more can be said?

It’s the last minute of 2016. Crowds merge. Sprinklers are raised in anticipation. Hrodwyn bends down to carry Hygd on their shoulders again, and the eldest walks towards the young couple — not to intrude on their moment, but in preparation for what will happen next. Hrodwyn’s eyes meet Merethel’s. The two share a knowing look. Concern creases Hrodwyn’s brow. They begin to take another step towards their little brother.

But Merethel looks away from Hrodwyn. So Hrodwyn lets space remain between the two of them. But they never let him out of sight, never let the clear line of distance between them fill.

Merethel looks at Steora. He hopes the cover of night hides his face, but the uncharacteristic waver in his voice gives him away.

“Hey, Steora?”

“Mm?” she responds, acknowledging him.

“I... think I should’ve told you this sooner.”

Some of the crowd has started counting down the last thirty seconds. Merethel laughs nervously.

“I, ah... this is my first time seeing fireworks. Out in the open, like this.”

There is more meaning in what is left unsaid. Fear. She catches onto his hesitation and holds him closer in response.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asks, hand sliding to fit into his, a lifeline of reassurance. I’m here echoes silently in the way she presses her form against his, side-by-side.

“Um…” he leans into the comforting pressure. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a pair of ear plugs and tries to laugh again. His voice is barely audible.

“I don’t know. This is my first time doing this.”

“It’s okay even if it’s not.” The echo of the countdown continues behind them. “I’m here regardless, Merethel.”

A smile that she hopes can be the least bit comforting.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”

Merethel presses himself closer to Steora, closer to the sanctuary of her smile.

“SEVEN! SIX!”

“I know. Thank you, Steora.”

“FIVE!”

He puts in his earplugs, pushes them in tight.

“Four,” Steora says, hand holding his tighter.

“Three…” Merethel tries to not shy away from the sky.

“Two,” Hrodwyn glances at their brother.

“ONE!!” Hygd, oblivious and above it all, looks to the sky.

Light erupts and colours burst from within. Fireworks.

[MERETHEL SANITY CHECK: FAIL]

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

Red, yellow, green, blue — the dreary winter sky has never been filled with so many rockets of colours. The park of people cheer, shout, and yell, embracing the dawn of a new year, of a new start. The fireworks are banging and cracking and snapping; the people are cheering and shouting and yelling and screaming. Merethel flinches, nearly doubling over to the ground. Steora feels his grip crush her hand for a second. The earplugs are helping, but they did not stand guard against the sudden implosion of sound and the brilliant flashes of light. His mouth opens. No words fall out. He tries to bring his eye to look at the sky, to see and hear the fireworks only for what they are. Frightful awe is frozen on his face.

Steora says nothing in response.

All she does is hold him — her frame belies her strength and ability to hold Merethel up despite their difference in size. She gently tries to maneuver him so that he has his back to the fireworks, away from its harsh lighting as she holds him closer to her.

His lips are dry, but he finally speaks. “Y-you don’t have to do this, Steora. I’m-I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I-I don’t know why... why I’m like... like this.”

She shakes her head.

“Hey,” she says loud enough to be heard over the fireworks, “why wouldn’t I do this? I love you.” She says it as if he doesn’t know it. “Whatever I can do for you, I will.”

A soothing hand moves up and down his back. He leans closer to his security and musters up courage to look at the sky again.

“We... we should enjoy the fireworks while we can,” Merethel trembles in Steora’s embrace, but he manages a smile. “And-and it’s my first time. With you.” He takes deep breaths, steadying himself. “It’ll be a shame to waste it. I don’t want to waste this moment.”

“Time spent with you is never time wasted.”

She looks up to the sky with him, the support on his back ever-steady.

“They’re really pretty, aren’t they?” she says looking at the fire flowers in the sky.

Merethel remains half-curled in a ball. He squeezes Steora’s hand, bracing for cover at every muffled bang of a firework. But still, he watches the fireworks burst in the night sky — he turns to Steora and watches the fire flowers bloom through the reflection in her eyes.

“Yes,” he musters, “they’re beautiful.”

She turns to look at her boyfriend in her arms, and smiles at him, mirth twinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“I guess I can’t say I think you’re more beautiful than the fireworks, huh.”

Merethel manages a soft laugh. He nuzzles his head against Steora’s shoulder. “No, no you cannot.”

He wishes he could close his ears like how he could close his eyes. If he could only focus on the lights, if he could only focus on her, all will be beautiful. All will be right.