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It’s something of a miracle that Stede now knows enough people to fill every antique chippendale seat at his eighteenth century walnut dining table, let alone pack out the entire apartment. He only moved to the area last December, not knowing a soul. He’d simply thrown a dart at a map – literally – packed his bags and run. That New Year’s had been spent cradling a #1 Dad mug of brandy on a mattress on the floor, staring out at his sea view feeling very much like the biggest failure of a dad in the world. One and a half billion and he must’ve been the lowest of the low.
Fast forward a year, and he’s fluffing pillows and lighting candles around the place whilst on call to the kids, cherishing every word that echoes tinnily through his phone speaker. The conversations have been getting slightly less stilted; Louis still calls him Stede, not Dad, but at least it’s not with disdain anymore, and Alma has grown up so fast in just a year, filling him in on all of her resolutions for 2026 (something about letters and boxes and watching a movie every day? Stede’s not sure, but he is sure to sound as enthusiastic as possible about it all). Maybe still not #1 Dad, but definitely in the top 750 million.
Fast forward a year, and Stede’s turned that lonely seaview into a home, turned so many strangers into friends, and so he’d thought: what a perfect idea it would be to invite everyone round to watch the clocks strike twelve.
He opens the door to an endless stream of hugs. The windows start to steam up, cracked open to let a stab of fresh air in, gold jacquard curtains swaying in the breeze. Jim, Olu, Zheng and Archie squish onto the two-seater sofa, limbs all criss-crossed, and Pete sits in the armchair while Lucius perches on the chair’s arm. Stede’s upstairs neighbour Jackie has brought along five plus ones. Even the group of guys he met once at Pride and texted drunk invites to have shown up.
Hard to believe the shell of a flat he first stepped into looks so cosy now. Hard to believe the loneliness that once resided in his bones.
Well, almost.
Because Stede’s throwing this party so he can toast to another year of friendship, another year of cramming into booths in bars, booking out entire cinema rows, long and sprawling group messages and inside jokes. And yes, okay, another year of politely smiling at Jackie in the hall when collecting his mail like he didn’t hear the most god-awful noises to ever fall upon the human ear through the ceiling last night. He’d thought they could ring the new year in as one big, wildly dysfunctional family.
And now it looks like his toasts will be to absolutely no one but himself come midnight.
“Ed, did you know about this?”
“Hey,” Ed says, swallowing the sip of cocktail he’d been in the middle of when Stede came over. “Know about what, mate?”
“Everyone has schemed against me to have New Year’s kisses.”
“I meeaaan.” His eyes wander over the party of lovers. “Makes sense.”
Stede sighs. Yes, alright, it does make sense. When he first became friends with everyone he might as well have had a ball of red yarn with how hard he was trying to follow who dates who. Of course they’ve all got themselves a New Year’s kiss locked down. Fair play to them. It’s just…just–
“Even Izzy has one!”
“...Wait. Izzy has a New Year’s kiss? Who?!”
“I didn’t ask who, I was too bus–”
“What do you mean you didn’t ask? Oh my god, this is fucking crazy, I’m going to go interrogate Lucius right now. Fuck– no way, is it Lucius?”
Ed dashes across the room, leaving Stede with that baffling (and mildly concerning) thought. Stede cradles his drink and watches his own party as though on the outside of it.
He’s got no problem with everyone being in love. He’s happy for them, he is. He’d just sort of wanted to be part of something this New Year’s; wanted to feel the same camaraderie the rest of the world seems to when the fireworks burst on the TV screen over various tourist attractions. Wanted to celebrate the life he’s made for himself out here.
And alright, maybe he’s also a teensy bit bitter he’s not in love as well. Because when he moved out here, it was spurred on by this intangible scribble of a thing, the same wrongness that’s hung over him his whole life. He didn’t know the first thing about who Stede Bonnet was. And then there he was, alone, truly alone for the first time in his adult life, and somewhere between that ringing silence and a handful of late-night whims while exploring the town, he realised that a ginormous, load-bearing part of why Stede Bonnet is not a husband is because Stede Bonnet was never meant to marry a woman. And so began extensive research (sex shops, drag brunches, queer book clubs, queer history walks, queer birdwatching, you name it) that brought along a bunch of wonderful friends just like him, but no romance.
Crushes, a few. Great, big whopping crushes on tattooed, leather-clad, pub-on-a-boat owning best friends? One.
But he’s just, for the first time in all his life, got a best friend, so he’s hardly going to go screwing it up by confessing his feelings or something stupid.
Frenchie passes by, and Stede sighs a big dramatic huff in the hopes he might ask what’s up, but he joins Ed and Lucius over by the kitchen island in their raucously animated conversation. Stede sighs again, just for himself.
“Hardly the playlist for the occasion, is it?” comes a nasally voice to his left.
Stede frowns.
He doesn’t remember inviting his old upstairs neighbour on account of the fact he couldn’t stand his old upstairs neighbour. Sure, Ricky was quieter than Jackie ever is, and had never taken one of Stede’s parcels because he “saw the packaging and thought, now that’s a bit of Jackie” forcing Stede to order again and keep close tabs on the tracking updates, but he was…smarmy. Always too familiar in the stairwell, or god forbid the lift. It was clear he thought he was too good for the building, sure to drop in every conversation that his living situation was just temporary, that he’d been looking at houses down on the seafront but none of them were quite well-kept enough for his standards.
God knows how he’s got wind of this party. Stede supposes he has let the invite list get a little loose.
“I think it’s quite New Year’s appropriate, actually.”
“Ugh, no, it’s so tacky. I feel like I’ve stepped straight into Pop World.” (He separates the club name, Popworld, into two words. Stede cringes for him. How easy it is to lose touch and sound like a cantankerous old man.) “I’d much rather be listening to Ryan Adams.”
“Ha! Very funny. You had me going for a second there.”
Ricky blinks at him, brow furrowed.
Ohhh. He’s not kidding. Stede quickly clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I think my friend just waved… Oh, hi!”
He pulls a face to himself. Yeesh. It’s been a while since he’s felt bafflingly out of place in a conversation. He feels even luckier now to have found the friends he has.
Speaking of: Ed is crossing the room with two drinks in his hand. One that looks just like the delicious orange concoction that Ed makes him at the pub.
The smile returns to Stede’s face.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, no prob. Aw, hey, guess who it is that Izzy’s snogging at midnight.”
“I don’t dare to.”
“Wee John.”
Stede gasps. “No!”
“Yuh huh.”
“Who’s Frenchie kissing?”
“Roach.”
“But, then…who’s kissing the Swede?”
“Jackie.”
“Jackie?!”
“Yup.”
“God, this party’s making my head spin already.”
Ed chuckles. “Get that down you, then we’ll talk.”
Stede pouts through a sip. “I can’t believe Wee John and Izzy are kissing,” he mutters. “What’s next? You and Ricky?”
Ed’s entire face scrunches up. “Ricky’s here?” He spots him in the corner, and somehow the scrunch intensifies. “Aw fuck, why’s he here?”
“I don’t know! I didn’t invite him!”
“Eugh.”
“I know right.”
They sip on their drinks in companionable silence. Silences are always companionable with Ed. Companionable, if not a little filled with longing as Stede watches him bop his head cutely to the music.
“Anyway, I don’t, um…have a New Year’s kiss this year.”
“You say that like you’re used to having one every year,” Stede teases.
Ed shrugs. “Kinda.”
“Lucky you.” Stede frowns to himself. “I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.”
“What…ever?”
“Never ever.”
“Well, we gotta get you one! If you want one, I mean–”
“Maybe I do.”
“Okay, amazing, New Year’s kiss for Stede mission a-go. Who are we thinking? Guy over there in the kilt? Mr Mohawk? Geraldo, maybe, since Jackie’s busy?”
“Geral– Please! And that guy with the kilt is way out of my league.”
“No such thing.”
“There is such thing, Ed, he could be on the cover of Fashion Quarterly.”
“And you couldn’t?”
Stede scoffs. “Well, I– Alright. Worth a try, I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“On your head be it if he brutally rejects me.”
“Oh, shut up. If he’s stupid enough to reject you, you’ve got plenty more options. Like that guy there, if you’re into…I don’t know, uh…rippling muscles.”
“I do like muscles,” says Stede, thinking very specifically about the time Ed came round to help him put up his new bookcase in a black tank-top that exposed not only his bulging biceps and sprawling black ink, but also the dark coarse hair under his arms.
“Yeah. Cool. So.”
Stede snaps himself out of his arm-filled daydreams. “What about you? Shall we find you a New Year’s kiss?” he teases
“Maybe,” Ed murmurs.
“That fella with the beard over there? I met him at Pride, he’s an absolute sweetheart. I think. Can’t really remember.”
“Hmmm, not my type.”
“Well, sorry, I don’t know what your type is.”
“What about him? Blond in the crop top.”
“That’s– Ed, that’s the Swede.”
“What? No, it isn’t.”
“Uh, yes it is.”
“...No.”
“Mhm!”
Sure enough, the Swede turns around to go get another drink, and Ed’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god, that’s the Swede.”
“He does scrub up pretty well.”
“I’ll say. Jesus.”
“Ed!”
“What? He’s hot.”
“Yeah, but– It feels weirdly incestuous somehow, I don’t know.”
Ed chuckles. “Well, hey, best of luck to you, mate.”
“Oh. You too.”
“And uh. Not that you’ll need it, but. Back up plan?”
“I might need it.”
Ed crooks a grin. “Yeah, five to midnight you might decide all those guys are dull as ditchwater and you’d rather kiss a frog.”
“You calling me fussy?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“What’s your back up plan, special agent Teach?”
Ed shrugs one shoulder. His eyes wander the party. “Y’know. If you’ve got no one to kiss at midnight…and I’ve got no one to kiss at midnight…we could maybe– well, might as well just, I don’t know, kiss each other?”
“Yes,” says Stede, far too quickly.
Ed’s eyes come back to him. The warm light from Stede’s chandelier and the stained glass tiffany lamp in the corner make them glow golden as the fiery centre of a catherine wheel. Stede would happily watch the flutter of his lashes all night instead of the firework display. If he makes one single resolution at midnight, it’ll be to keep those smiling crinkles around his eyes deepening as the year goes on.
“Like I say, not that you’ll need it, eh? Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Stede blinks. Oh, right. He forgot there were other people in the room.
Perhaps he should just tell Ed he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else. He wants to be even braver come the new year, after all.
He takes a deep breath.
And then there is a loud, obnoxious sound, and there is a hand on Ed’s shoulder, and Ed is spinning around, and his eyes are crinkled by a smile not caused by Stede, and he’s shouting, “Jaaaack! Man, what the hell are you doing here?”
Far too loose with the invite list. Fuck. Fuck!!!
Stede gets a serious urge to unplug the music and tell everyone they might as well head on down to Popworld, actually, because this party is a downright fucking bust.
But no, this is his first New Year’s as himself, dammit, and he’s going to make the most of that in whatever way he can.
“You two have fun,” he mutters, and he walks himself right over to the man in the kilt. It’s a dark green plaid with lines of navy running through it, paired with a navy sweater, sleeves pushed up thick forearms. His hair is cropped short at the sides, but he does have a striking beard. He is, on a technical level, near enough to Stede’s type for this to be a good idea. Besides, Stede has to remind himself, he cannot just narrow his type down to: Edward Teach. There are handsome men out there in the world who aren’t Edward Teach. And they might not be as handsome as Edward Teach, but they are still handsome, and they are not too absorbed in dickheads called Jack to give him the time of day, and so technically they are a far better idea in the long run.
Right?
Right.
“Hi,” he says, plastering on his award-winning, certified cutiepie smile. “It’s my New Year’s resolution to be brave enough to talk to handsome men, so, hi, my name is Stede.”
“Yeah, we met before.”
“Oh. Oops.”
Before Stede has to awkwardly try to recollect where exactly they met before, he says, “But that was very smooth, Stede, so I’ll forgive you. I’m Darren.”
Twenty minutes later, and Darren clearly finds his phone screen more charming than Stede.
Stede can hardly hear the music anymore thanks to the grating sound of Ed and Jack playing some stupid, dangerous game that involves Stede’s freshly fluffed pillows. Jack’s drinking from one of Stede’s nice crystal tumblers. He’d let Ed take a glass from the set earlier, but no one else. Only Ed. And now it’s in Jack’s oafish, unmanicured hand.
Stede tries to be mad at Ed, but it’s like trying on shoes that don’t fit. He tips his head back with laughter, full-chested, and it lights up the room, damn him.
Stede looks back over to Darren. Ah, Darren. It’d been going so well for five minutes there, until they ran out of things to talk about. Or, well, until Stede started to feel more like he was conducting an interview rather than having a mutual conversation with someone.
“Anything interesting on there?”
Darren drags his eyes up from his phone. “Oh, just looking at my ex’s story. Look at this, he’s at the Crown and Oak on New Year’s Eve. Have you ever seen anything so lame?”
“Well,” Stede says, and leaves it there.
Darren starts to talk about the ex, and how ‘lame’ he really is, and Stede decides he’s had just about enough of that. It’s only ten past eleven, he can turn this around before midnight. Easy.
He excuses himself and approaches the tallest of his acquaintances from Pride, brushing a flirtatious hand over a large bicep, but it turns out the guy has already found someone to bring in the New Year with, as it were.
He tries to slot himself into the group Ed and Jack are a part of, now that the stupid game seems to have died down a bit. Immediately, Jack lets it be known what a terrible idea that was.
“Aw, hey, Steve.”
“Jack. Long time no see. How’s the new job treating you?”
Jack blinks. A chip in the bravado. Stede smiles guilelessly.
“Oh. Well, they decided to let me go, you know how it is.”
Stede shrugs and shakes his head, still smiling. “Afraid I don’t.”
“Apparently the stock and the tills, like, didn’t add up or something.” He scoffs. “If you ask me, they could’ve tried counting again.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that,” Stede says, like he didn’t hear it from Ed two weeks ago. “How many jobs was that this year again?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t been keeping count. But I’d say, maybe, pfft, seven. Or eight. Eight, maybe.”
“A record to beat for next year!”
Jack scoffs at him. “Alright, way to be a douche. Someone’s PMS’ing.”
“Shut uuuupppp,” Ed groans, knocking Jack on the shoulder.
Jack guffaws. Ed lets him.
Maybe he can be a little angry after all.
It spurs on some stubbornness in him. Fuck Jack, obviously, and doubly fuck Ed’s back up plan. He could’ve kissed Stede – Stede was very up for kissing, and he’s been told he’s a very good kisser, so his loss! Someone else will have to appreciate his kissing skills instead.
But midnight approaches, and basically everyone is all loved up. Things are so dire that he, for a split second, debates talking to Ricky again. Ricky would probably be his New Year’s kiss if he asked. He’s standing all by himself – in fact, he appears to be hiding behind Stede’s big, leafy monstera from Jackie.
God, no, okay, there’s such a thing as stooping too low.
23:44.
Yep. Alright. It becomes abundantly clear that this was a stupid idea. The party itself, sure, clearly, but especially the whole New Year’s kiss thing. What’s he even trying to prove? Why would he want to bring the new year in with anyone who hasn’t seen him at his highest of highs and lowest of lows this year? Because those are the things he wants to celebrate! When a tuneless Auld Lang Syne is accompanied by a ruckus of fireworks, those are the moments he wants to think back on. The late, lonely nights spent watching the ocean crash in close; the laughter, the friendship, the bustling parade and the glitter rainbow on his cheek. The times he wondered if he’d made a huge mistake, and the moments that made him sure he hadn’t.
So he slips away from the party.
His bedroom is dark, only a sliver of light slipping underneath the door. Stede steps out on the balcony. Along the coast, the lights of a dozen other parties sparkle. Moonlit waves lap at that familiar shore, the view that’s stuck by him every night since the first.
Despite the party’s disasters, the muffled music and laughter is a reminder that he is free. Free of cold, grey-suited get-togethers, free of gritting his teeth through perfunctory New Year’s cheers knowing the three hundred and sixty five days to come will be as desolate as the last.
Leaving it all behind was the most terrifying thing he’s ever done, and also the best.
Now, the year sprawled ahead of him is going to be every bit as wild and full of love as this last one was, Stede knows that. His sink will keep overflowing with dishes from having everyone round for dinner, his fridge will be stocked with every plant-based milk imaginable, his windowsill will always be home to vases of flowers and birthday/Christmas/thank-you cards. And knowing that makes welcoming it in a little easier. Even if he is doing so alone.
He checks his wristwatch. Ten to midnight.
He sighs a misty breath into the icy dregs of December.
Maybe this is perfect. A little pocket of a moment, tucked away for self-reflection. He stares up at the stars, still dazzling away even knowing they’re about to be upstaged soon, and he smiles to himself.
Yes, this year he will be kinder to himself, and he will be braver, and he will–
“Hey, mate.”
Stede blinks away from the starry sky. It’s been upstaged early. Ed twinkles in the balcony doorframe, spun silver from his hair down to the polished buckles of his boots. His smile is the showstopper, the final barrage of fireworks spiralling and showering a million little sparkling lights across the darkness.
23:52.
“Hi.” Stede smiles back.
Ed joins him, zipping his leather jacket all the way to the top, collar popped and chin tucked under it as he shivers.
“Sorry it’s cold. I’d offer you a coat but…” Stede gestures to the jumper he’s in, his only layer on top of a slightly risque lace number.
“Yeah, how dare you make it this cold. Couldn’t you shift the clouds around a bit and warm things up?”
“I’ll get right on that.”
“Well, hurry up about it,” Ed mutters. The second his eyes meet Stede’s, he cracks a grin.
Cold be damned, some warm, fond firelight glows in Stede’s chest.
“I’m sorry about Jack. I swear I didn’t even invite him. Well…maybe I might’ve mentioned it to him at some point, I don’t know, he’s been having a rough time lately and he needs the company, but I swear I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s okay. I know he’s your friend.”
Stede knows also, distantly, that he had felt a little bit peeved, but it’s so hard to remember that bitterness in Ed’s presence. And anyway, the new year draws near, and if ever there were a time for forgiveness…
“Yeah,” Ed says. “I forget what a dick he can be after a certain number of drinks, though.”
“Is that number one?”
“Haha,” Ed says dryly, but Stede catches the under-his-breath chuckle that follows, the twitch of his moustache, the crinkles by his eyes. “Nearly midnight, y’know?”
“Oh.” Stede turns over his wrist. 23:56. “Suppose it is.”
“You’re not going to head back in to celebrate?”
“Nah. It’s nice out here. Thought I might watch the fireworks.”
“Yeah…” Ed glances up at the sky. His moonlit profile is suddenly awash in a flash of pink from across the beach. A loud, echoing rumble of a bang follows. “Bit premature, mate.”
“It’s totally normal. Happens to every guy.”
Ed giggles. Stede likes making him giggle. Likes how his lip curls up to his gums with it, how he rolls his eyes with fondness. Likes the high-pitched nature of it abeam his leather-clad cool guy looks.
Then he turns to Stede with a sober expression, and he says, “Hey. I’m super proud of you for this year.”
“Thanks. Me too. And…I’m really glad we met this year. I’m glad we’re friends. I hope you’ve had a good year too, Edward.”
“Yeah, cheers, it’s been a good year. Been the best year, actually, in…fuck, as long as I can remember.”
Stede smiles. The fondness suffuses his insides. “Oh. That’s good, I’m glad.”
“Yeah. I mean work’s been stressful as shit, and the world’s a fucking shambles, but going shopping with you and going for dinner and, y’know, bowling and shit, just– just hanging out all the time. Like, all the time.” Stede does a poor attempt of biting down a grin at that. “What I’m trying to say is, I think maybe the highlight of it all was…you. You made it my best year yet.”
“Oh,” Stede says again, stunned. “Wow, that’s, uh, that’s–”
And then Ed’s kissing him, warm chapped lips in the cold breeze, icy fingertips cupping his jaw. The breeze blows a strand of Ed’s hair between them, and Stede pulls back to spit it out, then dives right back in to kiss that toothy, gummy smile he loves so much.
Distantly, he hears people shouting a countdown. Three, two, one, followed by cheers and a rippling eruption of fireworks going off.
“I think it’s midnight,” Ed murmurs against his lips. Colours flash across his face.
“What gives you that impression?”
“Sailor’s instincts.”
“I’ve never once seen that boat move– mmff.”
Ed keeps kissing him, and Stede loses sense of all time completely. When they finally break for air, he lingers for a moment, reeling, eyes shut as Ed’s breath fans against his lips.
“You’ve been the highlight of my year, too,” he whispers. He has to open his eyes, then, to catch Ed’s smile. “Do you want to be my New Year’s kiss this year?”
“Think I already was, mate.”
“No, this year. December 31st, 2026.”
“Oh. It’s good you’re asking in advance, you know, I get a lot of requests. I’m very popular when it comes to kissing.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“Just to let you know, I do take a deposit to secure your booking.”
“How much?”
“Just a teensy little kiss. Has to be a good one, though.”
“Bit of a rip off, but alright. That good enough?”
“Mmm. Might need more.”
Stede leans back in. The fireworks scatter, the odd burst of chrysanthemum light still illuminating Ed’s lashes, the crackle of cascading sparks burning smoky in the atmosphere.
“Is this…real?” Stede has to ask. “I mean, I’m not just– your back up plan?”
“Stede. Babe. You’re my fucking forever plan. Or, fuck, I don’t know, a long time, right? I’m not trying to rush into this, I just. I want to…share an ice cream with you, even though it’s kind of drizzly and cold. I want you to tell me the difference between all the seagulls at the beach. I want to thrash your ass at Space Invaders and win you heaps of those tacky little keyrings from the penny pushers. I– I just want to keep seeing you every day for as long as possible, please.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Stede chokes out, chin wobbling.
“Yeah?”
Stede nods. “Mm. Absolutely.”
“Awesome,” Ed whispers, rubbing the cold tip of his nose against Stede’s. “You want to head back in?”
“Okay,” Stede agrees, even though he could stay out here shivering with Ed all night.
It’s warmer inside, of course, but nothing is as warm as his cheeks when everyone cheers and wolf-whistles as they walk back in joined at the hip, lips kissed pink.
“Nice to see it’s not just the new year that’s starting off with a bang,” says Izzy.
Ed’s arm stays around Stede’s waist as he tells him to fuck off. “He’s jealous,” he murmurs, lips brushing Stede’s ear.
“You two are making me nauseous already,” says Lucius as he throws his arms around the two of them. “Congrats.”
Oluwande claps Stede on the shoulder and says he’s happy for them, and a few other heartfelt comments follow the friendly jeers.
Then Jackie turns to Jim and says, “You owe me fifty, kid.”
“Please. That wasn’t a serious bet,” says Jim.
“All bets with Jackie are serious bets. C’mon, hand it over.”
“You were betting on us?!” Stede exclaims. Ed chuckles beside him. “They were betting on us!”
“Yeah,” Ed says, pulling a face that says: what you gonna do? That says: that’s our friends for you.
Stede looks around the room, the corners where some people are still making out, the beanbag that Jack is passed out drunk on, the arms around waists, slung over shoulders, the hands in hands, the affectionate bickering. The smiles. The proper dysfunctional family they all make. And he thinks, yeah, that is our friends for you. That’s the life he’s built. That’s the home he’s made.
And maybe fast forward a year of drizzly ice cream dates, it’ll be the home they’ve made together.