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“Connor, come, baby,” Hudson yells across the room to Connor, who’s trying his best to keep up with the bottles strewn around Hudson’s apartment so there’s less for them to clean tomorrow.
“Sorry, sorry.” He runs over and joins Hudson’s group of friends for a picture. Hudson beams behind the camera, face a little flushed from the alcohol he’s had and the unadulterated joy he’s feeling. He snaps a few blurry pictures, chest clenching at the sight of his best friend among everyone else he loves so much. Before Connor arrived in Vancouver, they were apart for no more than a week or so, but calling and texting instead of taking up each other’s space became increasingly unbearable. Through all of the distance, Hudson has learned that he needs Connor kind of like oxygen.
Their eyes meet mid-photo and Connor’s smile widens into something more authentic. He knows he’s meant to be looking at the camera, but something about Hudson’s gaze feels magnetic, almost undeniable. Hudson kisses the air in his direction, and Connor winks back in appreciation. It means everything to him to be included like this. He’d always felt like an outsider growing up, but now he’s here, being fully embraced by Hudson’s inner circle.
When Hudson finally decides he’s satisfied with the overzealous number of photos he’s taken, the group disperses, returning to their conversations or to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room.
Connor and Hudson return to each other.
Connor, overwhelmed with gratitude and some other, unidentifiable thing, feels his throat begin to tighten. “Thank you for having me.”
Hudson grabs his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over Connor’s skin, as if to say Thank you, too. “Are you kidding? How could I possibly end this insane fucking year without you?”
Connor just shakes his head, eyes a little wet and alight with something Hudson can’t quite place. He squeezes Hudson’s hand three times, their quiet way of saying I love you. Hudson squeezes back.
Then the countdown to midnight begins, drawing them out of their own private universe. “5… 4… 3… 2… 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd yells, slurring in tandem.
Hudson drops Connor’s hand to grab his face, planting a dramatic, wet kiss on his cheek, right next to his lips. The sudden contact sends an unwelcome current of heat through Connor’s body. Then Hudson’s gone, making his way around the room to quickly kiss everyone else on the cheek. Connor watches, a little frozen in time. He almost has to remind himself that, whatever they are, Hudson doesn’t actually belong to him.
Later, when all of Hudson’s friends have trickled out and it’s just him and Connor again, they return to their delicate world. They’re squished side by side on Hudson’s balcony, sharing a blanket and a cigarette, both of them still buzzing from hours of alternating sips of wine and rips of Hudson’s friend’s bong.
“Hey, Con?” Hudson’s voice is barely above a whisper, low and gravelly. He’s still a little drunk and more than a little high, and Connor feels so, so warm against him.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think anything has ever made as much sense as this.” They’re not facing each other, but Connor can picture the steady expression Hudson always has when he finds new ways to, essentially, tell Connor he loves him.
“This…?” Connor trails off, pretending he doesn’t know exactly what Hudson’s talking about. Mostly, he just wants to hear him say it.
“You know. Us.” Hudson shifts as much as he can so that he’s looking at Connor.
And he does know. “Yeah. It's kind of like… like no one impresses me anymore. Like I keep waiting to meet someone I fuck with as much as you, but I’m not sure they’re out there.” Connor laughs, but it’s something solemn, and a little jaded. He turns his head, finally meeting Hudson’s eyes, which are now glassy. Instead of handing him the cigarette, Connor brings it all the way to his mouth, watching as Hudson’s soft lips part and curve around the butt of it.
Hudson hums in agreement and takes a long drag. “Can I be honest?”
“Always.”
“I wanted to kiss you for real, before.” He says it so candidly, so plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Connor blinks in response, unsure of how he’s supposed to react. Fuck. He knows how he wants to react, but when it comes to Hudson, rules don’t feel like they apply. Like, they live in some other world where you can touch and cuddle and say things like that to your best friend, and you’re expected to just keep existing.
His silence doesn’t deter Hudson. Nothing ever does, really. “I don’t know why, I just… hm. Yeah, I don’t know. I miss it, I guess? This is nice, but it’s not enough for me, not anymore, I think. Not even in a super sexual way, although I have thought about that, and, anyway, I’m rambling. I just feel like I can’t ever be close enough to you.” Hudson’s brow furrows like he’s admitting this to himself for the first time, too. “Fuck, does that make any sense?”
“Actually, it does.” The words come out surprisingly steady, but Connor’s hand shakes a little as he stubs out the cigarette.
“It does?” Hudson starts to say, half muffled when Connor presses their mouths together, deliciously, finally.
That first kiss is chaste, experimental. They’d only ever kissed as Shane and Ilya. They hadn’t ever been allowed to show up as themselves like this.
Connor pulls away first, eyes wide, a little bit petrified by how much he wants this. He presses their foreheads together just to keep contact.
“Is this okay?” Hudson’s voice is so gentle, so soft, and Connor can’t help but kiss him again. Hudson responds by grabbing a fistful of Connor’s curls as his tongue traces the outline of Connor’s top lip. Warmth floods Connor’s belly. As Ilya, he’s used to being the more dominant one, the one to deepen the kiss, to stick his tongue in Hudson’s mouth. This is so different. It’s so much better. It feels like them.
“That was definitely not Shane Hollander.”
“What, better?” Hudson says with a shit-eating grin.
Connor nods, smiling softly. He’s unbelievably hard, so much so that it’s starting to hurt, but he doesn’t want to break this spell by crossing that line.
Hudson’s own erection strains against his jeans, but he’s so tired, and he’s so kiss-drunk. He loves having Connor just like this. All his, but in the purest and most intimate way possible.
“Happy New Year, Con.” Hudson presses a kiss to his temple, then rests his head on Connor’s shoulder. He thinks he could probably fall asleep like this.
“Happy New Year, Huddy.” And then Connor lights another cigarette, and everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be.