Chapter 2 New Year’s Eve

"Sophia Valentine!" Jason hissed. "You didn't tell me Jill's girlfriend was Sophia Valentine!"

Colby paused, bottle of sparkling homemade mead in hand. Jason had followed his adorable future husband to the flat's kitchen mostly out of a desperate need to have panicked emotions at him for a second; Jillian and Sophia, who'd just arrived, had descended on Colby's cheese board with glee.

"I mean," he said, "seriously?"

Colby started opening the mead, hands and voice amused. "To be fair, I'm not certain girlfriend is precisely the right word. They're not exclusive as far as I know, and they've been on and off for, oh, at least eight years. Though it does seem to be on again now, and Jill always smiles so much when she's around…"

"Colby," Jason explained frantically, "she's famous! You have heard of Something Wicked—"

"Jason," Colby said patiently, "you're famous. And Sophia's very nice in person."

Jason, arguably now the least famous person in a flat that contained box-office darling Colby Kent, award-winning director Jillian Poe, and the lead singer of one of the biggest girl-fronted punk-rock bands of two decades ago, stared at his other half. Said, "I made terrible action movies! Until you!" and waved hands around helplessly. "I didn't even know Jill had a girlfriend until a week ago!"

"Again, I'm not sure they are. They're certainly something, but…" Colby had begun pouring. "It's their business. Though I do love seeing them being happy together. Jill did tell us they'd both be coming, so it really shouldn't've been a surprise as such, though I do see why it was."

Jason peeked out at the flat's living room. Jill and Sophia were looking at his and Colby's Christmas tree, at the ornaments they'd bought together, shades of gold and bronze and steampunk and science fiction and glass globes. Jill's hair was red at the moment, nearly the same hue as her shirt; as usual, casual and competent and comfortable, she looked younger than her age, though she was older than Jason by at least ten years and Colby by maybe eighteen.

She was a friend, now. And a mentor, and the director who'd chosen to cast him, Jason, alongside Colby Kent. He owed her more than he could ever express.

Next to her, Sophia Valentine was a tall dramatic spike of dark rock-and-roll style: long black hair, smooth brown skin, glinting piercings in ears and an eyebrow and her nose, older than the teenage rebel she'd once been but still vibrantly herself, still vividly recognizable. She was looking at Jill with such fondness that even the metal of her jewelry went soft and tender.

Colby hadn't wanted a big New Year's Eve gathering, though they'd had invitations to dazzling parties, A-list events, and everyplace crowds and cameras would congregate. The world wanted stories about Colby Kent and Jason Mirelli, about on-set romance and injuries and falling in love.

Jason wanted Colby to feel safe, not pressured, not surrounded by people and potential reminders of past wounds. He'd also wanted this to be theirs: their first holiday season together, their first New Year's Eve kiss, so many firsts. Private. Personal. Learning each other, in love with each other.

Colby had agreed, kissing him, entwined in bed with him in the shadowy embrace of the night. The memories of their Christmas, new-made and warm, had lingered like an embrace as well. Sugar cookies and frosted decorations, gingersnaps and peppermint twirls. A flying visit to Jason's family, not the whole Mirelli extended family hurricane—he wouldn't put Colby through that, not yet—but two quick days with the smaller version, Jason's parents and grandmother and sister.

They'd all adored Colby instantly. Colby had been hopeful and anxious, worrying about talking too much, hesitantly offering to help cook or clean up, clearly astonished by boisterous affection but also clearly shyly enjoying it. He'd traded recipes with Jason's grandmother and asked Alessandra about law school and got genuinely wide-eyed at meeting Jason's father, who'd been won over the second Colby'd asked a thoughtful question about his stunt driving techniques and the classic car chase in One Night to Die.

On the second afternoon, Jason had come in from helping out in the garage, hands full of grease and nostalgia, and had found his mother and Colby passionately attempting to recreate a seventeenth-century blackcurrant pie recipe; he'd propped a shoulder on the door frame, leaning there without interrupting, gazing at two people he loved.

And Colby had people who loved him, too. Jason knew that, and had been warmed by the thought. Jillian had mentioned she'd be in London, meeting up with Sophia. Had wondered if they could stop by, not to spend the night, just to say hello and ring in the New Year. Colby had of course said yes; only a few people might've gotten that yes, but Jill was one of them. Always, with gratitude.

Colby might've also said yes to Andy, his other best friend and Jill's usual assistant director, but Andy and his fiancé were still in Los Angeles and busy with Adrian's friends. Jason just hoped that busy wasn't some sort of code word for merrily dangerous computer hacker holiday playtime, or at least that Andy would let them all know if the world was about to explode. Realistically, Andy'd said, it'd likely be more of a game night than anything else. Jason had asked whether they had the same definition of games, and hadn't gotten an answer, only snickering.

He actually liked Adrian. Anyone that willing to turn devious digital genius to the goal of protecting Colby from evil ex-boyfriends clearly had the right priorities.

"I don't in fact know Sophia that well." Colby finished pouring mead and set down the bottle. Effervescence danced. "Only whenever they've been in the same place at the same time, and Jill's brought her round…but I trust Jill, of course. I hope this came out all right; I've never done a cinnamon version before."

"It's fantastic and you know it." They'd opened the first bottle a few days before, to check. He exhaled. "Okay. I'm good. It's just. A surprise."

"Apologies about that. I honestly forgot you didn't know." Colby looked, and sounded, contrite. "I can see how that might've been a bit of a shock. But she truly has always been very nice in person, and very passionate about love and equality and music."

Jason sighed, "Someday I'm going to stop being surprised that you know every single famous person ever," and picked up Colby's hand and kissed it, just because. "And you can apologize to me later. Want me to help carry those?"

* * * *

Colby did feel rather guilty about Jason's momentary flailing. He hadn't concealed anything on purpose—in fact he'd got used to Jill and Sophia being in one of the off-again stretches—and he'd honestly also grown so used to thinking of Jason as part of his life that he'd forgotten Jason wouldn't know.

He eyed his homemade mead. It bubbled reassuringly at him.

Low holiday music drifted from the living room, simple and instrumental and graceful. He'd put some nineteenth-century recreations on the playlist in honor of Steadfast, historical and memorable, making him smile. This was their first holiday season, him and Jason, him and Jason and his friends: he'd wanted it to be magical, and it was, so far. He'd met Jason's family, and that'd gone well, he thought; he and Jason were happy, he thought.

More than happy. Wonderful. Even if he'd forgotten to mention this small detail to Jason.

Curling bronzed bookends, framing his cookbooks, caught his eye; a sailing ship danced over waves, forever leaping and bounding over handcrafted metal waters. He had to smile.

He and Jason had agreed not to exchange anything terribly large for Christmas—Jason moving in was present enough, he'd tried to say, and beyond that, it'd only been a few months, and Colby absolutely did not want to seem as if he had any expectations—but of course Jason had found something perfect anyway, sculpted and lovely and useful, because Jason knew him like no one else. Colby, who knew Jason adored fantasy and tabletop roleplaying games but hadn't had much of a chance to run a game for years—busy with filming, and hiding a secret love of maps and runes under the expected action-hero toughness—had found a shop that made rare artisan custom dice and all sorts of accessories, and had explained hesitantly what he wanted and that money was no object. He'd been thrilled when they'd come through with antique Regency-era ship's wood versions with smooth polish and delicate carving.

Jason, he thought, had appreciated the gift, judging from the speechlessness followed by enthusiastic kisses—and subsequently more than kisses—on their living room rug. The dice were on display on a bookshelf, now, and rather smug about it.

Himself and Jason, he thought again. They'd wanted the holidays to be small, personal, intimate: something that was theirs, still so new and bright and wondrous.

But that had room for other people as well, the people they loved. Family, and friends.

They'd both been happy to hear from Jill, and excited to see her and Sophia. She'd told him not to bother to do much cooking, since they'd just stop by for a while and then leave him and Jason alone; she'd winked when saying so.

Colby, somewhere between embarrassment and delight—Jillian had known him for years, and had once upon a time directed his first on-camera romantic-comedy sex scene—had said, "You and Sophia would also like some time to…catch up, I imagine?" and given her his best I'm innocent and na?ve and I honestly think you'll simply be talking, whatever else would you be doing? eyes, over the video call.

Jill had snorted at him, said, "You forget I've seen you baking anatomically correct gingerbread men, wearing bright pink high heels, and writing historical sex jokes about polished knobs," and asked whether she could bring anything as far as food or drinks.

"Those were three extremely separate occasions! And those were your shoes! And you shouldn't need to bring anything. Between me and Jason we may've gone a bit overboard with the holiday baking."

"And my shoes looked good on you. You can borrow them any time. Speaking of, what time should we come over? Around eight?"

They'd agreed on that, and Colby had told Jason that Jill and Sophia would be coming over, and Jason had said that was cool and it was nice that Jill had someone, and then they'd become distracted by how nice it indeed felt to have someone, and Colby had not remembered to explain that Sophia was, in fact, that Sophia Valentine.

He really did feel guilty now. But Jason was smiling and had meant the apologize later in a playful way, so that was probably all right.

They went back out to the other room, and handed out glasses of mead. Sophia took a sip; her eyebrows went up. "Where'd you get this, and is there more?"

"Er. I made it? With Jason's help? There's at least one more bottle. And then some that's blackcurrant-infused?" He always forgot how tall she was. Taller than himself, and he wasn't short. At least Jason's height, though with more leather and edges and tattoos instead of solid calmness.

He tried not to feel like the youngest person in the room, though of course he was, by a decent margin. "There's also proper champagne for toasts, but this seemed fun and I'd been wanting to do a mead again anyway and next time I might look up older medieval recipes and lavender and—er, sorry, I've been thinking about mead a lot?"

"Look, kitten, don't apologize for being into whatever you're into. That's cool, y'know?" She put her head on one side; an earring swung. "Hear you and your Jason are going to blow us all away with that movie of yours."

Colby almost protested the nickname, decided he didn't mind, and said, "It's the best thing I've ever been a part of. Honestly it is. Jason, of course, but also the story, Jill's direction, the historical details, the romance…it's such a love letter, this film, and I won't spoil the ending but it's happy, I promise, it's everything we wanted. I hope everyone loves it."

Jason rumbled, "And you're a genius. On camera, and behind the camera, writing…you made it all come alive." He put an arm over Colby's shoulders, and Sophia smiled at him.

"I like your set of sailing ship ornaments," Jill said. "Very appropriate. We also got you an early birthday present, since it's in like two days."

"We did." Sophia handed her glass to Jill, picked up a box from the closest chair, held it out. "Go on, then."

Colby glanced at Jason, taking the box. He wasn't even entirely sure why; but Jason's small nod and smile felt right. Sophia had presence and power and charisma; Colby belonged to Jason.

He opened the lid. And fell in love. "This is spectacular—how'd you find someone who knows how to reproduce sixteenth-century pens so well—that's copper alloy, isn't it, and look at how fine the split nib is—that's such gorgeous craftsmanship—"

"Sophia knows a guy in Edinburgh." Jill tossed a smile his way, then turned it on her partner. "We thought you'd like it."

"Jillian said you did all your film's calligraphy," Sophia offered, reclaiming her glass of mead. "Happy early birthday, then."

Colby, looking up, caught a hint of a glance being traded above his head: Jason had done a barely noticeable head-tip that way, and Sophia grinned back.

She said, to Jason, "So I've seen all the John Kill movies, they're terrific pieces of cinema for when a girl just wants to watch explosions and attractive spies shagging each other."

Jason groaned but also laughed. "I mean…yeah, that's fair."

"I've seen them as well," Colby jumped in, "and they're pure fun, which is the point, of course! And the writing's actually decent, er, for the most part."

"And your boy's shirtless a lot," Sophia said, grinning. "And in the shower, sometimes. With the equally fit lady spies. Decent writing, you say."

Colby considered responses, and opted for gently raised eyebrows and, "I thought you just said sometimes a girl appreciates the attractive spies shagging each other; I know I certainly do," which made her laugh delightedly.

Jill pointed her glass at him. "Polished knobs!"

"I am not telling that joke," Colby said, "and anyway it needs historical context, and I haven't had nearly enough mead yet. And thank you, which I think I forgot to say." His pen beamed up at him in sleek handmade historical-replica camaraderie. "For this, and for…well, everything. Compliments about our film. About Jason being shirtless. Would you like gingerbread? No, Jill, not the anatomically correct version."

"So adorable," Sophia said. "Yes to gingerbread, kitten, and tell me all your dirtiest historical jokes, I'm all ears."

Jason put his arm back around Colby's shoulders, and Colby leaned into the warmth of it; they had each other, he thought. Himself and Jason. And friends. And, very soon, the start of a new year.