This is only a T because of swearing.

Anyway, this is something I came up with a few days ago and decided I might as well write as a New Year's present. So... Happy New Year!

(Arthur's age is mentioned several times but Alfred's isn't - he's 21. Basically, they have the same age gap as normal, just reversed. ;) )

Arthur had been perfectly happy with their usual tradition.

One year, they would watch the telly, stay up till the bells, have a drink and then he'd be sent to bed. The next year, they would go down to the Thames to watch the fireworks. As a child he had loved the latter; now, he preferred staying at home where his drunken mother wouldn't be an embarrassment. For seventeen years, it had been the same.

Then, all because his mother had married some Scottish widower a few years ago, all their routine had been thrown out the window. The family had travelled up to Scotland for Christmas to visit his step-brother and they had decided to stay, squashed into a small flat, till the New Year. His mother told him it would be good for him to get to know his new brother a bit better but Andrew McLeod was irritating and he was old enough to drink: Arthur didn't appreciate his alcohol-laced breath being blasted in his face all of New Year's Eve.

He sat as far back from the middle of the living room as he could, arms folded as he glared at his dancing family. Both Andrew and Colin were dancing with his mum, spinning her around and around as the ceilidh music continued on the TV after the fireworks and Auld Lang Syne. Arthur sighed. Barely an hour into 2016 and he was already wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

"Right!" declared Andrew, suddenly. "Let's go first-footing!"

Blinking, Arthur looked up at his giggling relatives with a certain amount of dread. "What?"

"I've got a whole loada stuff to take with us, too!" Andrew continued, not acknowledging Arthur's question.

"Really?" asked Colin. "Brilliant! We can go next door first and then do the rounds."

"Hang on," said Arthur, hoping he'd heard wrong. "First-footing?"

"It's where you go 'round to other's houses and be the first one over the threshold," Andrew explained.

"I know what it is!" Arthur snapped. "I meant, why on Earth are we going out of our way to go to other people's houses? It's supposed to be chance. Isn't it?"

"Aye, so? I like ta see mah neighbours 'round here. Besides, it depends where ye live!"

"Do we really need to? I'm not sure I want to be party to you bothering your neighbours at this time of night!"

Andrew rolled his eyes and cuffed him over the head. "Stop complaining. C'mon – get yer shoes on."

Grumbling to himself, Arthur pulled on his trainers as his parents pulled on coats and scarves. There was no need for them as they were inside a block of flats and it was warm in the hallway – apparently, they wanted to look 'festive'. Arthur merely pulled on a bottle-green jumper: it was a little big on his body but he liked the length of the sleeves which were long enough to cover his hands.

Finally, they were ready and Arthur turned to see Andrew reappear with a bulging carrier bag. "What's in that?" he asked, eyeing it.

"Some coal, shortbread, some kinda bun I got outta Poundland, a bottle of salt and a bottle of whisky," Andrew answered, nonchalantly, picking up his keys.

"Coal?! Seriously?" Arthur exclaimed. "What the hell-?!"

"It's symbolic!" Andrew interrupted him, scowling. "Come on. Stop yer fucking whining."

They exited the flat, waited for Andrew to lock his door and then turned to walk the few feet to the next door. Arthur raised his eyebrows, surprised by their choice. This was the neighbour he hadn't met during his time imprisoned in the block. On his first day in the building, he had met the Polish family who lived along the hall. Their son was the same age as Arthur but spoke with a strange accent, a mix of Polish and American. He and Feliks had been forced to speak to each other and it had been an awkward affair of shy mumbling. Just as they had knocked on Andrew's door a few minutes later, an Asian woman came out of her door. They had all said hello but Andrew said she didn't speak much. At the other end of the hall was the Indian family whom Arthur had met through Rajesh, a teen he'd bumped into when he had had to escape his drunken family a few days later. Raj had taken him up to his flat to 'feed him' and he'd had a lovely time with them, making sure to exchange numbers, e-mails and to add Raj on Facebook.

But the only person left on this floor had yet to be seen by the Kirklands (and Colin). Arthur had began to think whoever it was had been avoiding them. Perhaps they didn't like Andrew.

Yet, here was Andrew knocking on their door. The group waited, their parents nudging each other and giggling. Andrew caught his eye and grimaced; Arthur responded with an exaggerated shudder. Both of them had to hide their amusement as they heard the key being turned in the lock.

Finally, the door opened and, to a chorus of "Happy New Year!", Arthur was finally able to see the mystery neighbour. He was as tall as Andrew, seeming cramped in the doorway as he stared out at them from behind glinting glasses. His short blond hair was a little messy, as if he had been running his hand through the back of it; there was even a lock of hair that stuck up. A dark blue hoodie hid his physique from view but his skinny jeans emphasised his muscular legs. He was bare-footed and seemed rather bemused by the interruption.

"Hey, Andy," he said, slowly. "What're ya doing here?" Arthur noted his accent was American and raised an eyebrow. It was well known that Arthur Kirkland was rather partial to American accents. (At least, it was well known to his friends back in England who weren't here to snigger and nudge him – thankfully.)

"It's a Hogmanay tradition. If I'm the first one in yer house after midnight then ye'll have good luck all year 'round," Andrew explained with a grin. Then he turned to his family and introduced them. "This is Alfred Jones, the elusive neighbour. And this is mah da, mah step-mum, Vicky, and her son, Arthur."

Arthur flashed a quick smile in Alfred's direction: the American returned it with a grin of his own. Then he turned to his step-brother. "Why are you the only one to bring luck?"

"'Cause it's good luck fer someone tall, dark an' handsome. An' blond hair just brings bad luck." Andrew paused, swaying a little. "Prob'ly shouldn' 'ave brought ye."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur sighed and stepped back. Alfred still looked bemused. "I still don't get it, Andy, dude."

"First-footing! Look, we've brought presents – gonna let us in?"

Alfred surveyed them all before shrugging. "Sure. But it's kinda messy."

Opening the door wider, Alfred let Andrew step in with a flourish and a cheer from both him and Colin. Still clinging to Colin, Arthur's mother stepped over the threshold with him and laughed loudly. Arthur sighed as he followed them, glancing at Alfred with an apologetic grimace.

They all made their way to the living room where clothing and rubbish were strewn across varying surfaces. Alfred hurried around, grabbing things from the couch and armchairs and throwing them out of the way. Andrew took an armchair and Arthur found himself pulled onto the drab couch beside his mother: he tried to squash himself against the arm as much as possible to get away from her cuddling. A rickety coffee table laden with controls and comics took up much of the room – Alfred was quick to clear it after everyone was seated. The wallpaper was an ugly floral print which seemed at odds with the bookcase full of games and DVDs and the wide-screen TV. It was on and playing the same show Andrew had insisted on watching for the bells. A fake Christmas tree was sitting in front of the window with a meagre spattering of baubles and tinsel draped on it.

"Sorry," Alfred said once he had finished tidying up and re-entered the room. "You want drinks?"

"Just glasses, Al!" Andrew declared. "We have whisky!"

"Amongst other things," Arthur grumbled.

"Now, Arthur," his mother began but Arthur was quick to apologise and derail her lecture.

"You brought drinks with ya?" asked Alfred, clearly confused.

"It's part of the gifts we give ye! Ye only get a dram and then we're going on ta the next flat!"

"Oh, God," said Arthur, despairingly.

"I'll go get some glasses, then," Alfred piped up, hurrying off.

"You still want to do this more than once?" Arthur demanded, leaning forward to glare at Andrew. "We barely got into this one!"

"'Course we are! What about the rest of mah neighbours? Cannae leave them out!"

Arthur dearly wished to tell him to fuck off but his mum was right next to him and, at that point, Alfred returned. The American handed out the glasses and, when he handed Arthur one (surprising the teenager since he hadn't been expecting any alcohol with his paranoid mum around), they managed to catch each other's gaze. This time, Arthur could see the bright, blue eyes that had been hiding behind the spectacles. They took his breath away and he froze in the act of taking the glass. Alfred paused, too, staring right back at him.

"Ah, he's no getting any," Andrew said, interrupting them. Arthur grabbed the glass and took firm hold of it as Alfred unconsciously let go and turned to Andrew with a frown.

"What d'ya mean?"

"He's only seventeen," Vicky answered with a fond smile. "My little boy's growing up fast!" She tried to ruffle Arthur's hair and ended up leaning on top of him.

"Mum!" Arthur protested. "I'm eighteen in less than four months!"

"Never mind him!" Andrew cried. He waved the bottle of whisky in the air. "Time ta drink!"

Sloppily, Andrew poured out four glasses of the stuff. Once they all had them, the three drunken members of Arthur's family put them to their lips. Before they could tip them back, Alfred raised his and his guests turned to look at him.

"To the New Year?" he said, rather hesitantly.

"Aye!" yelled Andrew. "To the New Year!"

There were mumbled agreements from Colin and Vicky and they quickly knocked their glasses back, emptying the contents. Alfred chose to sip at his: Arthur watched him grimace at the taste but he politely kept the glass in hand.

Unfortunately, Arthur's family weren't being polite. Andrew quickly emptied some of the contents of the bag onto the table and stood, grabbing the bottle. "Well, we're going now. Have a good 'un!"

Wobbling, Colin and Vicky did the same, laughing and hanging onto each other. Arthur groaned, hiding his face with his hands. If he couldn't see them, maybe he could pretend they weren't being drunken idiots. He really didn't want to get up, either – trailing behind drunken family members hadn't been his plan for the new year.

"Hey!" cried Alfred, just as Arthur was resigning himself to the inevitable. Blinking, he looked up and found Alfred watching him. The American quickly glanced to Vicky, smiling politely. "Your son's looking a little tired. Maybe he should go home instead?"

Arthur almost bristled at that. He was speaking about him as if he was a child! If he wasn't a perfect stranger, he'd be showing him what for. But he didn't get a chance to speak up for himself. Instead, his mother, having already rounded the couch in her bid for the door, threw her arms around him, almost strangling Arthur as she tried to give him a tight hug.

"Shorry, honey. Not long t'go now! I don' wan' you 'ome alone. Terrible thingsh happen when kids are 'ome alone."

"Mum, that was a film..." Arthur sighed, patting her on the arm.

"I could look after him for ya," Alfred said, suddenly. Everyone looked at him. He ducked his head in embarrassment and shuffled his feet. "If... ya want...?"

"I dunno..." said Vicky, sounding confused.

Seeing an escape, Arthur leapt at the chance to get free. "I'll be fine, mum. Don't worry about me. Go... have fun." He grimaced, wondering what sort of drunken antics they could get up to.

"And I totally don't mind having company," Alfred added.

It took a lot of humming and hawing to get Arthur's mother to agree but, eventually, the drunkards left the flat and Arthur found himself sitting beside an American stranger on a tatty couch with an episode of Mrs. Brown's Boys to entertain himself.

Finally, he spoke. "Sorry about them."

Alfred took a while to respond, swirling the whisky around the glass. "'S'okay," he said before taking a swig.

"You didn't need to let me stay."

"'S'okay."

Pausing, Arthur frowned at him before angling his body towards Alfred. "Are you okay? You sound kinda upset."

"Oh, uh, sorry," Alfred replied, grimacing. He downed the rest of the whisky, shuddered and set the glass firmly down on his table. "I got dumped a few weeks ago. Still kinda upset about it, I guess."

"Right."

"It's just... I've never been on my own for midnight on New Year's Eve. This whole night's been miserable, y'know?"

"Oh," said Arthur, unsure of what to say. "Well. You're not alone now? Not... Not that I make up for girlfriends or anything," he added, hastily.

Alfred laughed at that. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Thank you for getting me away from my drunk family. I was afraid I'd be trekking around Glasgow all night!"

Chuckling, Alfred stood. "D'ya want a drink? I've got Coke and water. Coffee, too."

"Water, please."

It didn't take long for Alfred to fetch water for both of them. That meant that it didn't take long for them to settle back into an uncomfortable silence, watching the TV again. Alfred broke it. "Uh, want me to change the channel? Put on a DVD? Or something?"

"Sure."

"Anything in particular?"

Arthur shrugged so Alfred put on Captain America. As he set up, Arthur sipped on his water and watched him crouch down. The hoodie pulled up as he did so and Arthur could see his arse. He quickly gulped more water in an effort to cool his face. When the American stood up, he tugged the hoodie back down and retreated to the couch, much to Arthur's relief and disappointment.

"Thank you, by the way," Arthur said as Alfred grabbed his XBox controller.

Pausing, Alfred looked at him, blinking in surprise. "For what?" he asked.

"For letting me stay. For not sending me back to Andrew's." Arthur gave Alfred a grateful smile: Alfred's cheeks turned red.

"It was nothing," he said, giving Arthur a shy smile. "At least we both have company now."

"Hm. Why didn't you go home for the New Year, if you're lonely?"

Alfred stared at Arthur in silence for so long that Arthur regretted asking. Perhaps he shouldn't have given in to his curiosity. Just as he was about to apologise, Alfred spoke. "Well... My mom and dad are dead and it's... painful being with my grandparents and cousins when they're all watching me around this time of year, waiting for me to break down or something. And it's even worse when some of them make comments about my sexuality." Alfred glanced up at the TV and pressed play. Arthur thought he was finished but he spoke up again. "But it's just as bad being on my own. Probably why I usually spend it with whoever I'm dating at this time of year."

"I'm sorry," murmured Arthur, wishing he had the courage to ask about Alfred's sexuality. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"That's okay..." said Alfred. The American took a deep breath and forced a smile. "So, what do you usually do at New Year's?"

"Oh, watch TV or watch the fireworks – nothing exciting. What about you? What traditions do you have?"

"Just the New Year's Kiss, I suppose," Alfred replied with a shrug.

"That thing in American films where they kiss at midnight?"

"Yup."

"It's a shame you didn't get to do that this year."

"Uh huh." Alfred paused. "I suppose it was better than being at a party and not knowing which guys would be pissed if you kissed them." The American glanced at Arthur who nodded in response, dropping his gaze to the glass in his hand.

They fell silent and continued to watch the film. Arthur took none of it in, his mind filled with images of crawling into Alfred's lap and snogging him or being pushed down and devoured. It was making him hot under the collar but he didn't want to draw attention to his problem so he tensed, sitting as still as possible. Beside him, Alfred couldn't seem to get comfortable, shifting every few seconds.

When Arthur couldn't take the awkward atmosphere any more, he blurted out, "You could always kiss me." There was a long pause during which Arthur turned red and refused to look at Alfred. "I-I, er, if you... I mean..."

"O-Okay." Arthur turned to Alfred with wide eyes, the man looking as bashful as the teenager felt. "But... you probably shouldn't tell your brother."

"I won't," Arthur promised, smiling a little.

Alfred gazed at him for a while before shaking his head. "What am I talking about?! You're a kid. I can't-! God, I'm such a-"

"I'm not a child!" Arthur protested, eyes narrowed. "I'm seventeen, idiot. I can get married. I'm completely legal. Besides, I'm nearly eighteen."

"Huh," said Alfred. "Well... I just met you..."

"People kiss all the time after just meeting. It doesn't mean anything." Arthur wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Alfred or himself.

Raising an eyebrow, Alfred continued to stare at Arthur. "You really wanna kiss, dontcha?"

Turning red again, Arthur shook his head. "I just... You... I'm trying to cheer you up!" he cried. "Maybe I shouldn't have both-"

Suddenly, Alfred shifted and Arthur froze, blinking up at him as the man drew closer. Alfred raised a hand and gently cupped Arthur's cheek as he watched him pull his face closer. Their eyes met as they paused, noses almost touching. Arthur let his eyes close as he tilted his head a little. Alfred's breath ghosted across his lips just before they touched, their softness pressing insistently against Arthur's. It was a chaste kiss, their mouths closed, but it was enough to send tingles across Arthur's body. To anchor himself, he reached up and gripped at Alfred's hoodie.

The man pulled away and Arthur blinked up at him, watching Alfred's reaction. He seemed to be waiting for a sign, his eyes flickering as he took in Arthur's face. Arthur, almost unconsciously, reached up with a hand to run a finger along Alfred's cheekbone. Before Arthur could do much more than brush along his heated skin, Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrist and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of it. Arthur's breath caught in his throat.

That seemed to be what Alfred needed for him to wrap his arms around Arthur's waist and pull him close. Arthur's hands were splayed flat on Alfred's chest and he could feel the muscles underneath his clothes. Then lips were pressed against his again and he was distracted as he kissed back, moving his mouth a little. Alfred moved with him in perfect sync. A tongue flicked out and licked along Arthur's lips. Instinctively, he parted his lips. The tongue dove in, licking along Arthur's teeth before tangling with his own tongue. He could taste alcohol and chocolate, a rather pleasant combination. His hands ran up Alfred's body to loop around his neck and pull him closer.

Before they could get much further, however, Alfred pulled away, panting. Arthur was also breathing heavily at that point. He felt a little dazed, staring at Alfred stupidly, wondering what was wrong. "We can't go any further," Alfred said.

"Huh?" Arthur intelligently inquired.

Alfred laughed at Arthur's gaping. "It's a New Year's Kiss – not anything else."

"Oh," said Arthur, coming to his senses. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault. I just... I'd rather take you on a date first, y'know?"

"Ah." Arthur glanced at the TV, noting that Steve Rogers was in the middle of his medical examination. Then he looked back at Alfred who was watching him, looking rather concerned. "Well," Arthur said, tilting his head a little. "Are we allowed to kiss some more?"

Several hours later, Arthur woke up in a bed. Normally this wouldn't be a problem but the fact that he should have woken up on the smaller of Andrew's two sofas had him disoriented. It took a few more seconds for Arthur to remember that he was in Alfred's bed. Or, rather, on half of his bed.

Earlier, after snogging for several more minutes, both Arthur and Alfred had decided to stop. Specifically, they stopped because Arthur could feel himself becoming aroused and he doubted it was a good idea to continue. So they had snuggled into each other to watch the rest of the film, Alfred complaining under his breath about missing some of it. A few minutes afterwards, Arthur had yawned loudly, unable to stop himself as he felt his eyes drifting closed.

That prompted an argument about where he should sleep. Alfred insisted he take the bed. Arthur protested, saying he was used to a couch and it was Alfred's bed, not his. Their argument had grown louder and Arthur had become angrier at Alfred's stubborn chivalry until he snapped that he would just go back to Andrew's. Before he could leave, Alfred had desperately caught hold of him and pulled him into a kiss. Then he proposed that they share the bed. Arthur had been surprised but agreed when he saw it; the double bed was rather comfortable. He had even accepted a rather large Captain America shirt to wear: Alfred had turned red at the sight of him in it. Once they had settled down, Alfred had pulled Arthur into a hug and they had fallen asleep tangled in each other's arms.

Arthur was rather disappointed, therefore, when he found that he was alone in the bed, his legs tangled in the duvet and the shirt covering only his chest. The other half of the bed was cold and Arthur frowned at it as he groggily came to his senses. Was Alfred making breakfast? Or had he left?

Kicking away the covers, Arthur prepared to get up. A piece of paper on the bedside table caught his eye, however, and he ended up crawling over to pick it up. His name had been written on it in a hurried scribble so he unfolded it to read what was there.

Dear Artie,

Sorry to leave you but I've got work today. I know! Sucks, right?

But I'd love to keep in contact with you, if you want. So here's my UK number, my e-mail and my Tumblr. Follow me, pwease!

Thanks for being with me for the New Year.

Alfred. xxxx

P.S. I've left the spare key on the coffee table – just post it through the mailbox.

P.S.S Looks like Andy did bring luck!

Grinning, Arthur folded the note again and began to look for his clothes. He was definitely going to get in contact with Alfred the first chance he could. But, first, he would have to endure a day with his hungover family. The note, he decided, would give him the strength to get through it.

And, maybe, when he got home, he could even apply to universities in Glasgow...

First-footing tradition says you should turn up with symbolic pieces of coal, shortbread, salt, black bun and a 'wee dram of whisky'. Just FYI.