As much as Jesse would hate to admit, he was having a decent time. Was even glad that Penny had made him come out, even if she'd pushed him to dress up. 'Dress up' was subjective. Autumn tried to throw some weird suit his way, like that would ever happen. But he took the shirt, his nicest pair of dark jeans, boots, and capped it with his favorite black stetson — this was the best they were going to get out of him, because he didn't own anything better and he sure as shit wasn't going to wander into town wearing a penguin suit over fireworks.
Besides; having to use the shirt made him feel crappy enough. Jesse didn't like feeling as if he needed other people's charity, as if his own greasy, dirt-ridden clothes weren't good enough. They were him, that's all that should ever matter.
He liked a good pair of jeans, he liked those faded boots. He liked the hat.
Despite it being a cold night, Jesse's skin was flushed, sweaty. In the last hour, he'd had several shots, loosened up, and got up for karaoke with one of his favorite songs, James Dean by The Wrecks. Why was karaoke so damn fun? It might be surprising to learn, but damn did he have fun doing it. Made him feel cool, behind the mic, connecting with the music and pretending he was somebody else for a couple of minutes — he got lost enough not to care who was watching.
Now, they had taken the party down the street and towards the park, with the rest of the crowd. Penny had run off somewhere, he figured she'd be back in a few minutes, wasn't too worried about it.
Jesse stood off from the crowd, red solo cup in hand. 'Fifteen seconds to midnight!' No idea who screamed that out, but it got everyone's attention, as verbal countdown to the new year suddenly began.
Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine..
Lifting the plastic cup to his lips, Jesse drank from it while his gaze swept the crowd. Passing over the faces of so many people he'd known however many years now, just blending together. Searching. Because he knew the damned painter was there, somewhere. Been feeling those pins and needles on the back of his neck all damn night, even before he'd caught casual glimpses of him, hanging around some finely-dressed (way better than Jesse ever would be, that's for sure) guy he knew was some foreigner that came around mostly in the summers, for as long as he could recall.
Nobody Jesse really interacted with, and now sure as hell never cared to. Fuck that guy.
Hazel eyes finally locked on a set of impossibly blue ones over the rim of that red solo cup. That telltale lick of frustration going through him, that he knew those blue too well now. Fucking figures the artist would show up in green. Looking like a damned snack, cleaned up nice and fine in a tailored suit and everything.
But all Jesse saw was paint-covered clothes, messy hair, and intense blue eyes.
"Oi, who was that and where can I get one?"
With a wide grin, Fitzroy came upon Elio after just having witnessed something very interesting indeed. That look on his face said there were a lot more questions coming, so the painter better buckle up. "And you know what else? Where's my kiss?" Fitz put on an affected face, like he was hurt, being forgotten.
Nevermind the fact that he'd kissed at least three people himself already — a peck for Ingrid, someone else's cheek, and that one lady slapped a good one on him before he got away. Not that he minded, it was all in good fun.
But it was too good to pass up messing with Elio, to test if the artist actually could blush. He was always such a grump. Finally, Fitzroy had some leverage to play with, push the man outside his comfort zone even further. Getting him to come out tonight hadn't been an easy task as it was.
Fitz leaned in, lips pulled into a smug sort of twist. "You're welcome,, by the way," he whispered, both hands landing heavily on Elio's shoulders. "Because if you think for one second that I'm not taking credit for that miracle, you're mistaken, my friend." The Brit let out a laugh, looking the way the other man had walked off, like some fire was lit under his ass. "Maybe I'll go see if I can get one too? It looked delicious—" he mused, too innocently, his touch falling away from the artist as Fitzroy made a threatening step in that man's direction.
Like he really would go search him down and snatch a new year's kiss of his own, too. He wouldn't, of course. He had a hunch, that's all. This was a test, to gauge Elio's headspace.
