01/01/2023, 3:32 a.m.
Nearly four hours after the ball drop and the city that never sleeps is still very much alive—the streets abuzz with laughter, music, and optimistic chatter about hopes for the new year. Giggling and stumbling along in the arms of the friends she quite literally just made at a rich bachelor's party is the bubbly and bright socialite. An expensive heel drags behind each off-kilter footfall, clinging onto her ankle for dear life by a still-fasted buckle, never mind the ice cold, filthy New York streets. The inebriated quartet stumble along, spirits sky high with their individual homes their final destination of the night. Around them, people hug. People kiss. They dance. The sight prompts Jane to press a big, sloppy kiss to Jian's cheek, the shift in balance nearly sending the entire group to the ground. They laugh some more and their journey continues, mutually re-extending hands to one another as the kissing incident broke up their phalanx.
Before long, the near strangers eventually reduce to three—Lilliana's roommate chuckling and taking over the job of getting her inside. They call well wishes over their shoulders, one far more intelligible than the other, and the trio continues on.
They become two as Jian bids his goodbyes before nearly toppling over as he tips a non-existent hat to the exasperated old doorman whose known him since he was 10. The remaining two shriek in shock and then howl in amusement, waving high over their heads as they continue up the streets.
A stray cat skitters across their path just as they reach the luxury hotel they're both staying in. Arsyn coos and drops to their knees to lure the feline out of hiding. Jane yawns and pats her temporary upstairs neighbor's head affectionately, wishing them a "beautiful, wonderful, glorioussss New Years sleep" and a cheeky "dream of me~" before she heads inside. The lobby is just as busy, full of party goers of its own. But the blonde is determined to get up to her room and remove her makeup—drunken-clarity concerns of breaking out should she forget to plaguing a prominent, vain point of her mind.
Five floors up and she's home free, using the beautifully wallpapered walls to support herself as she drags along to room 506, narrowly avoiding tripping over a pair slumped against the wall, out cold but leaning on each other. Chatter and music float up from down the hall from an open room where a private party is still roaring. It's a bit more of a struggle to retrieve her room key, followed by a triumphant "HA!" and a kiss to the plastic surface. After some more fumbling, she pulls the door open just enough to slip inside and the joyous noise from all around is swiftly cut as a soundproof door shuts.
And, just as quickly, she feels colder. And the silence—the lack of life—in her dark room is tangible. She's daunted by the sobering realization that, at the end of everything, she's alone.
No matter how many aquaintences and connections she makes and no matter how many exciting nights, it's always just her at the end of the day.
No matter what.
She is alone.
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"Build a meaningful relationship—even if it's just one"
