(2019-01-01) Happy New Year
Two in the morning, and… at least it's not a coincidence, this time. Vyv invites Cash to help remedy a NYE oversight.

New Year's Eve — well, technically, New Year's, really. It's going on for almost 1:30am when Cash's phone does whatever it likes to do to announce he's got a text message. At a glance, it claims to be from whatever he wrote down for Vyv.
V: Happy New Year
And a few seconds later, again:
V: Busy celebrating?

Honestly, Cash hadn't thought about the holiday at all. Curled in his front room, he'd found himself a book and disappeared into it for… The buzzing of the phone breaks his reverie as the screen lights up, announcing to him that he has lost track of nearly six hours of his life. There's a cringe at that, but nothing to be done for it really. The messages are glanced at, and then responded to promptly.
C: Would you believe me if I told you I'd completely forgotten that was tonight?
C: Happy New Year

The response is pretty swift — the first thing to come through takes a bit longer, as though he might have had to pick the phone back up or reclaim it from a pocket, but the others come with a 'typing' indicator right after each, except the last of the chain. Apparently, someone types pretty quickly on that screen.
V: Yes, but I'm impressed you managed it.
V: Personally, I've had the traditional crowd of people counting loudly in reverse, and the traditional champagne, but I seem to have neglected to bring along the traditional person to kiss.
V: I thought perhaps I'd see if you were inclined to help me rectify this omission. Say, around 2am?
V: I realise this spoils the pattern rather, but I couldn't help but feel relying on happenstance a third time might be asking just a bit much of the universe.

In contrast, there is a slight delay before Cash answers these messages. When the response comes, however, the messages are also in a quick sequence. Ah, children of the technology age.
C: Alright, but there'd best be some of that traditional champagne available still.
C: And does this grand plan require I move or are you kind enough to come to me?

There's even less delay, this time. Maybe Vyv wasn't sure he'd get a reply, the first time — it IS a little late, and given some NYE parties, a text message could be easily missed. This time the phone probably stayed out.
V: I am renowned for my kind and unselfish nature.
V: And as long as they'll allow me to bring the traditional champagne in the traditional taxi, I think that can be arranged.
There's a slightly longer pause than between the other two before he adds,
V: You may have to move as far as the door, though. My B&E skills are rusty.

Less delay from Cash this time, too.
C: I suppose I can forgive that small inconvenience.
C: You should invest in new lockpicks.
C: Everyone loves a rogue.

This time, there's no answer. And the time ticks onward, from there. Calaveras isn't that large, but for SOME reason the taxi companies are rather busy tonight. Not so busy that one doesn't pull up right before 2, though, even if it actually parks half a house down. Vyv emerges from it, quietly. He's wearing a pale cream linen-blend three-piece suit over a turquoise cotton aloha shirt printed with birds of paradise in their hues of orange, indigo, and green. It's a well-done pattern, if only saved from being Decidedly Loud by being mostly hidden under the suit. The points of a turquoise pocket square with tiny orange polkadots emerge tidily from his breast pocket, and on his feet are brown-and-beige brogued oxford spectator shoes. It does not seem likely to be quite his usual thing, but it works.
He doesn't immediately head for the door; instead, he pauses by the rear of the car, which isn't immediately leaving, and does something for a few seconds. When he does head toward the house, it's with a bottle dangling by the neck from one hand, and a pair of already-filled flutes carefully gathered in the other. The bottle itself gets set gently on the ground in order for him to ring the bell, and he doesn't immediately pick it back up, instead just waiting with the glasses. They're plastic, sadly. But needs must. At least what's in them is pretty good.

Who doesn't love a good, obnoxious print from time to time? (But more on that in the future…) The doorbell rings and Cash sets his book aside. Title down. A red paperback. Answering the door with a lopsided smile, Cash isn't nearly as put together as Vyv is. Then again, there is something to be said for black silk, especially when pants made of it are the only real clothing someone has on.
"How kind of the taxi." He quips, though Cash entirely ignores the champagne in favor of leaning in to wrap an arm around Vyv's waist and kiss him right there on the front step.

There are several things to be said for black silk, and most of them are complimentary, particularly when it's presented like that. Vyv might even be inclined to say them, at other times, beyond what the flicker of a down-and-up glance says all on its own. At this time, though, there's just one of those tiny half-smiles, one which gains a level at the quip, just before it disappears into that kiss.
It's lucky for everyone that the glasses weren't filled all that full, probably; one of them gets held out neatly to the side, perfectly safe, but the other arm goes around Cash's neck, and /that/ flute develops a seriously dangerous lean as the kiss goes on. It's a good kiss, one that invites or even urges more, filled with all the promise that a new year ought to hold. And it tastes like champagne and Mai Tais.

Well, see, Cash was just going to kiss him for a moment out on this step but he's drawn in without any real hesitation. For a moment the champagne is forgotten entirely. Would remain that way, too, if the base of the flute didn't brush against his bare shoulder. With a low purr an a deep breath, Cash pulls away just enough to break that kiss and smile. "Come in, it's cold out here." He says, little more than whisper, before reaching up and freeing that plastic flute from Vyv's hand and stepping aside to let him in the house.

Vyv knew exactly what he intended, so it's a good thing Cash is easily drawn in. The kiss breaks, and there's something Cash hasn't actually seem before, just for a moment: a proper smile, quick and almost shy but genuine, before it turns into a more usual — but, in its way, just as genuine — little half-smile. "Happy new year," he murmurs as the glass is taken, and leans to snag the bottle with his free hand as Cash steps aside. A glance over his shoulder at the cab, and then he's sliding closely past the other man, and inside.

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