A/N: This is possibly my favorite chapter so far. I'm almost done with the Valentine's Day chapter and chapter 16 of OtES. And when I lived in New Orleans, there was a guy in my area that brewed his own absinthe. (He was eventually arrested, but never you mind.)

New Year's Eve finds Tim and Dally on the roof of Tim's house again. They're not alone this time; quite the contrary, in fact. Curly threw a New Year's Eve party, and it's raging downstairs. But Tim and Dally wanted a quite moment, away from all the noise and music and general chaos, and the only place to go was the roof.

After a few moments of sitting and talking, Tim stands, rather shakily to his feet. They've already had about seven beers a piece, so as he walks to his window to climb through, Tim wobbles more than enough to terrify Dally into thinking Tim would fall off the roof. "I'm gonna go see if Curly got some vodka 'kay?" he slurs, and climbs through the window.

Dally is left alone, and he looks at the sky. His mind is hazy with alcohol and he wonders how many stars there are. One million? Two million? He laughs and begins to count the ones he sees. He always does shit like this when he's drunk.

When he gets to forty-seven, there's a clink behind him, and Tim sits next to Dally. "Look what Angela got off some guy from New Orleans!" Tim announces, brightly. He holds up two bottles, and Dally sees a green tint to them. Dally seriously doubts that Tim even knows where New Orleans even is. "Absinthe," Tim says, in a hushed voice. "Illegal in the U.S., but never mind." He hands one bottle to Dally, and takes a drink from his own.

Dally takes a small drink, and nearly coughs it up. It's strong and bitter and it makes him faintly sick. "That's fucking nasty, man."

Tim laughs and takes another drink of his. "Dal, this is some seriously high-quality shit. Drink it." He takes another swig, then says, "unless y'all can't hold your liquor."

The blond glares. "Yes I can," he snaps, and takes a long drink. The alcohol still tastes bitter, but it has a sort of sweet flavor as well. Or maybe it's just the after-taste of the beer. When he's done with that drink, he finds himself craving another. Soon, he's downed half the bottle, and Tim has that smug 'I-told-you-so' look on his face.

"See, it's pretty good, ain't it?"

"It's okay," Dally mumbles, but he takes another drink, anyway. "Yeah, it's pretty all right."

Tim laughs, drunkenly. "I knew you'd like it."

Within a half-hour, they've both finished their bottles. As they sit in silence for a while, Dally keeps counting the stars. Once, he even lifts up his hand to point at them. Tim notices this and snorts. "What are you doing?" he asks.

Dally laughs, embarrassed. "I'm counting the stars," he mumbles.

"… why?"

His friend shrugs. "I dunno. I just do."

Tim laughs. "You've been hanging around that Horse kid too much."

Dally rolls his eyes, and continues to stare at the sky. "I feel so small, ya know? Like, you look at the sky and… I don't know…" he trails off and looks at Tim.

His friend nods.The look on Tim's face boarderlines wisdom, but maybe that's because Dally's so drunk.Then he reaches out and takes Dally's hand. Our hands are so different, Tim muses, drunkenly. Tim's are long and graceful and slender, while Dally's are more square and clumsy and small. And their fingers intertwine; Tim's slim, almost elegant ones with Dally's awkward, pale ones, and they just sit there for a while.

And when they see Alicia and Angela and Curly and their friends setting off illegal fireworks in their backyard, they laugh, and wonder when the fuzz is going to show up. And when they see the shower of bright colors light up the darkening sky, Dally kisses Tim, a long, deep kiss that tastes like summer and absinthe and beer and surprise. And they sit and they sit and listen to the whistling of the fireworks, and the explosions, and Tim's siblings' cheers and the they feel the biting of the cold, though it isn't snowing yet, and they hold each other and they know what forever feels like.