Picture Perfect Jack throwing parties on New Years just so he can kiss you.
Jack throws the party every year. It started as a joke—a way to avoid the overcrowded frat houses, to give everyone a place to be when the bars were too packed and the dorms too dull. But this year is different. This year, he’s planned every detail himself.
The lake house is strung with golden fairy lights, their reflections dancing on the dark water. A bonfire crackles on the shore, where people gather in clusters, laughter and warmth thick in the air. Music hums from the speakers, blending with the occasional pop of a champagne bottle. In the backyard, a massive white sheet is pinned between two trees, a projector casting the time in bold numbers for the midnight countdown.
And Jack? Jack is waiting.
He’s been near you all night—not in a way that’s obvious, but in the way that matters. Refilling your drink before you notice it’s empty. Laughing at your jokes even when they’re bad. Resting a hand on the small of your back when you weave through the crowd. He’s not nervous, exactly, but there’s a weight to this night that he’s never felt before.
Because this party isn’t just about celebrating the new year. It’s about you. It's the first New Years you're spending together. And he wants it to be perfect.
At 11:58, the energy shifts. The excitement builds, people grabbing their drinks, finding someone to hold onto as the final minutes of the year slip away. You’re standing near the bonfire, the warmth licking at your skin, the golden glow making everything feel softer, hazier—like something out of a dream.
Jack finds you easily, like he always does. He doesn’t have to push through the crowd or call your name; you’re already looking for him, too. When your eyes meet, he feels it—that pull, that quiet certainty that this moment, this night, is something more.
You smile up at him, cheeks flushed from the cold or the champagne or maybe just the way he’s looking at you. “Almost midnight,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.
"C'mon, let's go watch the countdown," his arm snakes around your waist, leading you front and center in front of the projected countdown. Trevor is nearby, holding a bottle of champagne that he's mischievously shaking vigorously. Quinn is sat in one of the lawn chairs, seltzer in one hand and a joint in the other. And Luke is somewhere trying to find some pretty girl to kiss.
The countdown looms closer, the numbers on the screen flickering in sync with the anticipation humming through the air. You and Jack stand right in the middle of it all—the laughter, the chaos, the warmth of friends and firelight. But for him, everything else fades into the background.
Trevor is still shaking the champagne bottle like he’s preparing for battle, grinning wildly. Quinn takes a slow drag from his joint, watching the scene unfold with his usual lazy amusement. Somewhere in the crowd, Luke is on a mission, scanning for a last-minute New Year’s kiss.
And Jack? Jack only has eyes for you.
The numbers tick down.
Ten… nine…
You shift closer, the space between you shrinking, your arm brushing his. He wonders if you can feel his pulse pounding, if you know this is the moment he’s been waiting for all night. Maybe longer than that.
Eight… seven…
You glance up at him, your lips parting slightly, and Jack knows. Knows that this isn’t just some party, just some kiss at midnight. It’s the start of something.
Six… five…
The speakers crackle with voices overlapping, Trevor is way too close with that champagne bottle, and someone accidentally kicks over a drink. But Jack doesn’t care.
Four… three…
His fingers brush against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send sparks up his spine. You don’t pull away.
Two… one…
And then it happens.
Jack cups your face, his touch gentle but confident, and leans in. Your breath hitches, but then your lips meet his, and the rest of the world disappears. The cheers, the fireworks, the pop of champagne spraying everywhere—it’s all background noise to the feeling of you melting into him.
You kiss him back like this is exactly how this night was always meant to end. Like there was never any other possibility. When you finally pull away, the new year stretching out in front of you, Jack lingers close, his forehead resting against yours. He exhales a soft laugh, brushing his thumb over your cheek.
“Happy New Year,” he murmurs, so enthralled in this moment, so in love that his body thrums with electricity,
You smile, hands still resting against his hoodie, holding him close. “Happy New Year, Jack.”
And just like that, everything feels picture perfect.
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yesss bringing back the picture perfect au. I missed it ngl. this one is superrr late lol but idc.
