A/N: December 24th, 9PM, not EST… how could I let this Christmas pass without writing something cute, pointless and… well, Christmassy??? Hope you'll enjoy it, guys! Merry Christmas!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for the idea, maybe.

December 24th, 1987, 8PM, Eastern Standard Time.

Christmas Eve; probably my most hateful night in the year. This is a time in which I look enviously at my friends and being reminded that I don't share their religious beliefs or their traditions. Our new coffee maker, a Chanukah gift from my parents at Scarsdale, stands on the counter as a painful reminder to this.

We're having a Christmas party at our loft tonight. Most of our friends are here already, in various stages of drunkenness. Benny is dancing with the-girl-of-the-week to the sounds of Kylie Minogue's latest hit, but it seems like another opportunity for him to be pressed against her slender curves, given the fact they're moving slow and amazingly out-of-rhythm. One of Roger's friends is laughing hysterically from an ancient joke of Collins' he happened to hear for the first time. He must be really drunk to laugh from this joke, I rationalize.

My gaze wanders across the room, where our Christmas tree is located. It's pitiful, but the best we could get in our lame budget. The decorations are pretty neat, though, I must admit. But then again, I might not be very objective. I do my best not to direct my unconsciously lustful gaze at one of the two girls who are responsible to the decorations this year, now seated beneath their creation. I choose the safer alternative and fixes my gaze on April, Roger's girlfriend. It doesn't last long, and my gaze is being shifted to her friend again. I let it linger for a moment too long, and as if she can sense it, she raises her eyes to meet mine.

Her lips curl wickedly, and she flashes me a seductive smile. The glimmer in her eyes is visible even though I'm standing across the room from her. I'm a victim to this smile. There's this weakness in my knees, as if she manages to turn them into rubber by the power of a single glance. Feeling the blush creeping up my neck, I look away from her and find a refuge in the kitchen. I lean against the counter, releasing a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

From the moment I was first introduced to Maureen Johnson, a song-writer and an aspiring actress, I knew I was in big trouble. She was an old friend of Collins', and he brought her to meet us several days after she has moved to New York City. Needless to say, she and Roger hit it off right away, both being song-writers and all that. She and Benny seemed to be getting along pretty well too. Me, on the other hand… I could hardly say two words to her without blushing or stuttering. I was… I am just so awe-stricken by her. To begin with, she's gorgeous; her chocolate-colored hair is long and streaming down her shoulders in soft curls, her hazel eyes are always sparkling, her figure is something that no sane, straight man can stay indifferent to. Everything she wears looks incredible on her, even if it's… I dunno, a fuzzy green belt, or something. She'll find a way to make it look right. She has this tattoo on her lower back that makes her all the more sexy; I know about it because she showed it to us once, during Truth or Dare. But it's not just her looks that makes her so amazing. She's always feisty and playful, as if she has this never-ending energy. It never ceases to amaze me.

Of course I'm in love with her. Who wouldn't be? I learned to hide it pretty well, I think, given enough opportunities to practice on it. I'll die if one of the guys ever finds out. I didn't even tell Roger because I was afraid he'd do something really stupid like trying to set us up together or something. Luckily, she doesn't live with us; she shares an apartment with a friend on Avenue A, but she's here most of the time. She hangs out with Roger and Collins quite a lot. I don't think she notices me anymore. I'm just the guy with the camera in the background. And boy, how much she loves this camera.

I shake my head to send away some disturbing mental images. I open the fridge, pull out some more beers. The memory of her smile is still there, alive at the back of my mind, keeping me distracted. Ugh. I must get rid of this pathetic high-school crush. I snort skeptically. Speaking of New Years' resolutions.

I grab the beers, momentarily in a loss of balance by the extra weight of the 10 bottles in my arms. I manage to steady myself and leave the kitchen. Not much changed, I observe. People are getting drunker, I guess. Tina Turner replaced Kylie at some point. The beat is faster, makes me want to dance to it.

Before I know it, Maureen shots off her seat, crying out, "Oh, Marky, looks like you need an extra hand there! Here, let me help." I try not to stare at the way her jeans hug her perfect curves, the way her hips sway as she approaches me. She takes some bottles from me, easing the pressure on my arms.

I fight my blush and brew enough courage to flash her a grateful smile, which she returns. Again I find myself at loss against it. I hear muffled giggles, and wonder if it's because I unknowingly managed to make a fool out of myself once again. I turn to shoot Roger a glare.

"Looks like you're busted, Cohen," he says, smiling like an idiot, and points at something above my head.

My gaze follows his finger, and I go pale. Oh shit. You've got to be kidding me! What are the odds for that to happen? I'm Jewish, I'm not even supposed to follow this tradition!

I quickly glance at Maureen, who by this point has already spotted the mistletoe that is hung over our heads. Her expression changes ever so slightly; that glimmer in her eyes is playful.

"I'll just get these for you, buddy," says Roger, suddenly very close. I can hardly feel when he takes the bottles of beer from me, nor can I see him doing the same for Maureen. My heart is pounding like crazy. All I see before me are those delicious cherry-colored lips, curling in a teasing smile.

Before I know it, those lips meet mine.

I swallow back a protest, reminding myself it's really not the time. Maureen's lips caress mine, and I can feel her tongue brush against my lower lip, seeking for entrance. I instinctively let her in as she wraps both arms around my neck. I wrap my arms around her waist, holding on to her as if my life is depended on it. I stop myself from pinching myself to make sure this is really happening. Somehow I know this is not what they meant by this strange habit of kissing beneath the mistletoe, but I could care less. I remain indifferent to the chorus of wooing that is audible in the background as our kiss deepens. In a small, almost unnoticeable motion, she presses herself against me. Her warmth weakens me; I'm intoxicated by her scent, sweet and seductive and unfamiliar.

Then before I know it, it's over. Maureen gently sucks on my lower lip as she slowly pulls away from our kiss. I feel breathless and dizzy, almost as if I'm drunk, only something tells me this is so much better. Her arms are still wrapped around my neck, and it doesn't feel as if she's about to take them off any time soon, which is fine by me. We say nothing, just stare at one another. I don't recognize what I find in her gaze now. It sort of looks like confusion… Doubt, maybe? Hesitation? But before I can make up my mind, the familiar glimmer returns, and she flashes me a small, almost secretive smile. I pretend to detect a slight blush on her cheeks but quickly dismiss it, telling myself the lights in the room are too dim to really tell.

I'm not sure what has just happened. Judging by the look on Maureen's face, she seems to be feeling the same. Clearly, something happened; a beginning of some sort, its essence new and unfamiliar to me.

Our eyes meet. Her smile sends all uncertainties away. As my lips curl into a smile, one thing can't be more clear to me.

It's gonna be a happy new year.