"Edward Baker decided to show up!"

The pub was more crowded than usual. Harold's blasting voice was merely an echo, blending into every other chatter. Tobacco smoke mingled with the scent of mild ale and bitter. Men huddled in clusters, some speaking in hushed whispers, full of hope for the new year. Others were already rowdy, swaying as they sang, careful not to spill their drinks. The world was still rationed — but it didn't dull their spirits.

Edward had never spent New Year's Eve at a public house. 

He wished he'd continued that tradition.

Harold waved him over. Nine other lads crowded around a table, perched on wooden stools and pressed into plush booth seating, none glancing back at Edward as he approached. A few young women sat along them; Lisa was engrossed in conversation, beaming about her Christmas gifts and a new friend she'd made.

Then there was Samuel. 

Edward hadn't seen him since the winter break began. His hair was slicked back, though a few loose strands had escaped to rest on his forehead. He wore a crisp cream shirt tucked into trousers of familiar brown tweed — darker than Edward remembered. A matching jacket draped over a nearby chair. His tie was reminiscent of red wine, neatly knotted at his neck. 

Samuel smiled at him, fingers lifting to loosen his tie just slightly. "I almost thought you wouldn't show," he said quietly, as Edward took a stool opposite.

Edward didn't return the smile.

The white shirt he wore felt cold against his skin; his navy jumper was heavily worn, with stretched sleeves and a neckline that hung too low. His shoes were polished yet scuffed — a stark contrast from Samuel's pristine Oxfords. 

What left him feeling smallest of all was his hair. Wild orange curls that defied every effort to be tamed. When wetting and combing failed, he searched the house for the hat — George's hat. It wasn't in his drawers or under his pillow. His mother had assured him his hair was fine without it, yet his uncle sat beside her, wearing that smug, knowing smirk.

It left him feeling uneasy. Irritated. On edge.

He shouldn't have come.

"Ed." 

It was Samuel's voice cutting through the noise — more delicate than anything around them, hesitant. "Can I get you... a drink?"

"No. No, I'll get one," Edward replied, standing abruptly. His tone came out sharper than intended. 

He turned to the bar, a sharp pain in his back as he leaned against it. During the break, he'd worked relentlessly — flowers and studying. His body ached, but he could afford a few drinks. Nothing fancy. 

One spirit would be okay.

A burn tore at his throat as he downed the whisky neat. It grounded him. For the first time, he understood Andrew's habit — the appeal of the sting, a distraction from reality regularly sought out.

He hesitated then chased it with an ale.

"Few hours left before closing," called a voice he was all too used to. Harold leaned against the bar with a faint smile. "Slow yourself, Baker."

Edward nodded, setting down his glass and coins on the bar before walking back, balancing two pints. "Sorry," he muttered as he sat, sliding a drink across to Samuel. "Rough day."

"Don't worry about it." Samuel kept his head down, eyes fixed on the table. Silence stretched between them, guilt tightening in Edward's chest. After a moment, Samuel spoke again. "Are you okay?"

All of the little things crowded his mind: waking to a tangled mess of curls, finding a hole in his jumper, stumbling on the stairs. Losing George's hat and seeing his uncle's smirk — it was the final straw. 

He wanted to tell Samuel. Needed to tell someone.

But he knew he couldn't.

Edward nodded instead, mumbling that everything was fine. He tried again to smooth down his hair, curls springing free immediately.

"Don't." 

Samuel leaned forward, meeting his gaze with steady eyes. "Your hair," he said low and quiet. "I like it, Ed."

Maybe it was the gentle way Samuel spoke, or the soft look in his eyes. Edward felt heat flood his face, certain his ears were burning. He took a sip of ale.

Then another. And another.

Until he could finally murmur, "Thank you".

...

Time slipped by unnoticed. Glasses emptied and refilled, laughter growing as the evening wore on. Edward hadn't realised how much he'd drunk until a warmth settled deep in his chest, easing the earlier irritation. The mixture of spirits and ales made his head feel light yet heavy.

Lisa tugged at Samuel's arm, her hand resting lightly there as her attention drifted from the group. She leaned close, whispering into his ear. Edward could only hear her excitement that someone would be arriving soon. Samuel's expression changed — warmth draining, replaced with hesitation. He glanced at Edward, then away, jaw tightening as he shook his head and muttering something. Lisa huffed in response, both amused and frustrated.  

Edward noticed the tension — the quiet between them, Samuel's pursed lips, his hand tightening around the pint glass. Lisa's eyes widened as she scanned the pub, before standing to wave someone over. 

A young woman approached, carrying herself with elegance, ever so slightly taller than Lisa. She had an effortless beauty often seen in portraits and society pages — dark, glossy hair, eyes warm and welcoming. Her tailored coat covered a pale winter dress, small heels clinking against the pub's floor. A rich perfume tickled Edward's nose.

"Edward, this is Adelaide," Lisa announced. "She really insisted on meeting you."

He straightened instinctively, rising from his seat and smoothing his jumper, aware of every loose thread and scuff. He could feel Samuel's eyes on him as he extended a hand. Those eyes sharpened as Adelaide happily placed her hand in his.

When they sat, conversation came easily — poetry, flowers, university. She listened with an intensity he rarely received, and he felt as if he fitted in.

Until laughter cut through.

One of the lads leaned back on his stool — the same one who'd scrapped with Samuel before. The chair legs rocked against the floor; his gaze fixed on Adelaide, eyeing her with a crooked grin. "Good Lord, Lisa. Have a bit of grace."

Another glanced over. "What's she meant to want with a lad like him?"

Heat surged through Edward, unlike the warmth from the ale — this was sharp and furious. His jaw clenched, fingers curling against his thigh. Years of biting his tongue to maintain appearances, to fit into the world of boys much wealthier than himself.

It was unbearable.

He opened his mouth to speak — 

But Samuel moved first.

Their knees brushed under the table, stealing Edward’s breath. His eyes flicked up to Samuel's, soft and calm, while his hand moved to trace Edward’s thigh. Warm and steady movements — something intentional.

The contact anchored him — and reminded him of what he'd nearly forgotten.

He could never fit in.

"I don't believe I asked for your thoughts," Adelaide said coolly, peering past Edward. "He is perfectly charming regardless of what is in his pockets."

"No more for these lads!" Harold called out, shoving the two who spoke. It seemed playful and unserious, but his usual cheeky grin didn't meet his eyes.

The atmosphere lifted but a sourness remained.

When Adelaide leaned closer again, brushing her shoulder against his, Edward couldn't focus. She was beautiful — a goddess showing an interest in him — but all he could feel was the hand resting on his thigh. 

Across the table, Samuel called for Harold. A tightness seized Edward's chest. He placed his own hand over Samuel’s, capturing his attention. Their eyes met briefly with something unreadable. Something daring.

Edward needed another drink.

-

The final bell of the night rang through the crowd, cutting through laughter and clinking glasses. Groans erupted, good-natured protests following as chairs scraped across the floor and men drained the last of their pints.

Edward's head spun. Standing wouldn't end well — but people around him were standing. He mimicked their actions.

A hand shot out, pressed firmly against his chest.

Samuel.

"Easy," he murmured, voice low and close. Edward could feel each syllable graze his skin. "Hold onto the table."

Edward complied, a loose smile forming as Samuel's hand remained at the centre of his chest. It sent a shiver through him.

He exhaled, long and hard.

"Edward." A delicate hand settled on his forearm and he froze at the touch. "It would be wise to miss the celebrations tonight." 

Adelaide looked at him with soft eyes. But Samuel stood steps away, coat draped over his shoulders, scarf in hand. Edward couldn't stop his smile. 

"I'm okay," Edward whispered.

"No. You're going home, Ed." Samuel's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument — followed by opposite actions. He wrapped his scarf around Edward's neck, covering his flushed cheeks. 

Then they moved. The door opened and cold air hit Edward’s face, a steady hand on his back. The door slammed shut.

"Stay here." Samuel said, gripping Edward's shoulders. His hands slid down and let go. "Lisa, can you and..."

"Adelaide," Edward supplied, the name tumbling from his lips.

"Adelaide." Samuel shifted awkwardly. "Can you make sure he stays? Standing, preferably."

The girls nodded. Edward swayed, watching Samuel disappear into the crowd; Adelaide tightened her grip to steady him.

"Edward Baker, you lightweight!" Harold's voice rang. "Happy New Year, mate!"

Edward waved back erratically. Harold's grin, the cheer in his voice — and Samuel rushing back. 

He was happy.

...

"The new years come, the old years go." Adelaide linked arms with Edward, her breath blooming in white clouds. "We know we dream, we dream we know."

Edward tilted his head. "Wilcox?"

Adelaide nodded, beaming. "It’s a favourite of mine. All the uncertainty of a new year — we never know, yet we still dare to dream. We can't help ourselves." She laughed lightly, squeezing his arm. 

Her words settled in his chest. His dreams were not beautiful. They'd destroy everything if spoken aloud. Samuel's hand on his lower back was a reminder. Warm with every stumble, steadying him. 

But steady was the last thing Edward felt.

...

The next street was quieter, the noise of the city left behind. A cool breeze shook the bare branches. Edward felt lighter.

A shriek came from behind.

Adelaide hugged his arm as laughter followed, but what he noticed was the absence of warmth on his back. Turning, he saw the pair with matching smiles. Lisa slipped her hands under Samuel's jacket, his hands on her waist.

Edward forced himself to look away.

Still giggling, Lisa leaned back. "Oh!" She straightened slightly, her hair falling over her shoulders. Pristine red bricks, untouched by soot. A polished brass knocker decorated the door. "We're here already."

She sighed and her smile faded, "When I hear the Church bells, I will be thinking of you." Disappointment threaded through every word and her eyes twinkled as she looked up. "I don't want you to go. Can't we welcome the new year together?"

No immediate answer came. With an unreadable face, Samuel looked down at her. Edward didn't want to go either. His own feelings mirrored Lisa's exactly, but there was no reason Edward couldn't return home.

Her delicate hands played with the buttons on her sweetheart's jacket until his lips curled into a small smile. A loose strand of hair was tucked behind her ear, a thumb stroked her cheek. "Next year," he whispered.

A frustrated sigh escaped as she tilted her head to the sky. Then Lisa's gaze softened, shifting to Edward. He stumbled; Adelaide's grip steadied him slightly. "You poor dear. You must hurry home. I'll have firm words with Samuel if you don't arrive safe and sound."

The warmth in her voice made Edward nod, yet his stomach twisted with guilt.

Then Lisa rose onto her toes, tugging at Samuel's collar as she wished him a happy new year — before leaning in for a kiss. It began innocent and sweet, until his hands cupped her face. The kiss deepened under the streetlights. Adelaide squealed, burying herself into the crook of Edward’s arm. 

But Edward couldn't tear his eyes away.

Memorising the way Samuel's hands moved, the tilt of his head. Gentle noises escaped each time he captured her lips. Warmth pooled low in Edward's stomach.

Then, for a second, Samuel's eyes opened and met Edward's immediately. It was so brief, like a hallucination born from drink and desperation. But the deliberateness was clear. 

Even as they separated, Edward stared at their swollen lips.

"I hope you'll greet me the same way next year," beamed Lisa as she took Samuel's hands. He nodded, though a smile didn't catch up with him. "Adelaide, my friend. You must sleep over. I refuse to be alone," she giggled, reaching for the other's hand.

Adelaide returned a smile, though her arm remained linked with Edward's. "It was lovely meeting you," she whispered. "I've been eager to meet the one who checks out Tennyson before I have the chance to."

He mumbled a soft apology, heat rushing to his ears.

"May 1948 be kind to you," she soothed, reaching for his hand. "Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering 'it will be happier'". 

"Tennyson was a fine poet, but also a wonderful playwright." She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Her lips were warm; Edward felt eyes on them. "The Foresters — I shall loan it to you one day."

Edward nodded. Her fingers lingered on his as she walked towards Lisa; with each step she looked back. 

Samuel's unreadable gaze found him. A step became two and he stumbled forward. Edward clung to the blonde's shirt, his head resting against a chest with a strong heartbeat.

The play is done; the curtain drops.

Slow falling to the prompter's bell.

Adelaide had recited it. Thackeray.

"Edward, are you okay?" 

Edward didn't look up, he couldn't. Inside his head, a dream unfolded — dangerous and vivid. With curls in his eyes, he smirked as his heart raced.

"He's okay. Just a little wobbly," Samuel called out. The vibrations from his voice sent shivers through Edward; he gripped the shirt tighter. Samuel carefully shifted his jacket, hiding the hands.

"Are you certain?" Adelaide stepped forward, concern creasing her brow.

Lisa caught her. "Don't fret. You'll see him off safely, won't you, love?"

He didn't need Samuel to return his affection. He knew that.

A moment yet the actor stops.

And looks around to say farewell.

Edward waited for the door to click shut before speaking. He spoke quietly, "I don't want to go home."

A whisper of his name into the cold, then a silence that ached Edward's chest.

"I... have no intention of sending you home." Samuel paused. "Not in this state."

Without hesitation, Edward lifted his head and met Samuel's gaze. There was no smile, no pretense — just a twinkle. Edward didn't look away.

"You're coming home with me," Samuel whispered.