Howell did not consider himself a very festive person. He liked the idea of the holidays, and of winter, of the warm parlours with lit fires in which families gathered for the holidays, but it had been many years since he had had such a Christmas, though he did his best for his brother and sister.
With warmly melancholy thoughts causing a hard lump to rise in his throat, he wrapped his arms around Saoirse's waist and let the world around them drift into a haze as he fell deeper into the kiss. This night was a far cry from their last new year's eve, and Howell could not stop himself from making all sorts of parallels between then and now, and of the years preceded by both.
He could not say if this year had been more or less eventful, in a better or worse way, than the one before it, but Saoirse and he had been together for all of it, or nearly all of it, and that was what counted. Still, he believed that they could weather anything if they stood by each other's side.
These moments were still preciously few and far between to Howell, and he slid his arms around her waist so he could revel in just the simpleness of touching her, being touched by her.
"Happy New Year," he agreed, holding her close, kissing her to the cheers and shouts of the noisy hall they drifted endlessly in.
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