[New Year’s Eve: Hannah & Jeremiah]
He breathed in, breathing in the smell of the crisp winter air, and the scent of her shampoo, and the promise of the turning of the year, and something in her statement appealed to something deep inside of him. He wanted freedom for her. Wanted her to be able to feel at ease within her family, among her brothers and her sister, even if perhaps it wasn't the perfect relationship that she wanted, and in turn he wanted that for himself too. He wanted to be able to move without the past feeling as if it hung over his head, to no longer worry, particularly about what he said and to who, and what they might think about it. He wanted to write the story that he would, and he wanted to dance the steps he would, and he wanted to act again.
"I love that," he told her, quiet in her ear as the others around them were laughing and chattering, and waiting, and counting down: eight, seven, six. "I'm going to take risks," he told her. Because that felt right. Because all of the things keeping him from being free felt like fear binding him. And maybe risks would fail, but he wouldn't know until he tried. Like auditions he'd gone to - dozens upon dozens and so many hadn't turned into anything at all. At one point he had not been afraid of rejection in his professional life, but in his personal life it felt as if it might have paralyzed him: four, three, two -
"Happy New Year Hannah," he pressed the words against her ear as cacophony swirled around them, and with one hand, he turned her so that he was facing her, so that he could offer her a smile before lifting her chin up, and leaning forward to press his lips against hers for a new year kiss - one that didn't feel like a risk at all.