Chapter 218: New Year’s Eve Part 2

At ten, someone brought out small plastic horns and handed them around. A few employees tried them once, winced at the sound, then laughed. Someone offered one to Timothy.He took it, looked at it like it was a piece of equipment, then put it on the table without using it.

Hana watched from across the room and walked over.

"You are refusing joy," she said.

"I am refusing that sound," Timothy replied.

Hana picked up the horn and blew it once, directly beside him.

Timothy flinched and leaned away.

Hana smiled, satisfied, then handed the horn to someone else and walked away like she had completed a task.

Timothy stood still for a moment, then shook his head once, like he was resetting.

Carlos wandered back over, holding two paper cups. He offered one to Timothy.

Timothy looked at it. "What is it."

"Punch," Carlos said. "Non-alcoholic. Relax."

Timothy took it and sipped. It was too sweet. He did not comment.

Carlos leaned against the table. "Hana is dangerous tonight."

"She is always dangerous," Timothy said.

Carlos looked around the room. "This is good, though."

Timothy did not answer right away. He watched a group near the projector setting up a karaoke app. Someone started singing badly on purpose. People booed, then cheered.

"It’s stable," Timothy said finally.

Carlos glanced at him. "The company."

"The people," Timothy corrected. "They work hard. They do not always feel seen."

Carlos nodded. "You’re here. They see that."

Timothy watched Hana again. She was laughing at something someone said, head tilted back for a second, then she covered her mouth like she remembered herself. It did not look fake. It looked like a crack in armor.

Eleven thirty came faster than Timothy expected. The room started drifting toward the projector where the countdown was displayed larger now. People gathered with drinks and plates, standing shoulder to shoulder. Phones came out. Some people started video calls with family, turning their cameras around to show coworkers waving.

Timothy stood near the back, not hiding, just not pushing forward. Hana found him anyway and stepped beside him.

"You made it," she said.

"I was here," Timothy replied.

Hana held out a paper cup. "Drink. It’s not poison."

Timothy took it.

They watched the countdown numbers tick down.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

The room got louder.

Seven.

Six.

Hana’s shoulder brushed Timothy’s. She did not move away.

Five.

Four.

Someone started shouting.

Three.

Two.

One.

The room erupted. People yelled. Plastic horns screamed. Someone popped a confetti tube that barely worked, sending a weak spray that fell on the floor like torn paper. A few people hugged. Others just laughed and hit each other lightly on the shoulder like that was enough.

Hana turned to Timothy.

"Happy New Year," she said.

Timothy looked at her. "Happy New Year."

A staff member near the front waved at them, then ran over, excited and fearless because the year had changed.

"Photo," the staff member said. "Just one. For internal."

Hana opened her mouth to say no, then paused. She looked at Timothy like she was checking whether he would hate it.

Timothy nodded once.

They stood with a group of employees behind them. No staged smiles. Just tired faces trying to look like they were not working. Someone held up a phone. The flash went off.

After the photo, the crowd loosened again. People drifted back to food. Back to chairs. Back to small conversations. The energy dropped into a calmer hum.

Hana leaned toward Timothy. "You can leave now."

Timothy glanced around once more. Carlos was laughing at something someone said. A comms staff member was helping an older admin employee set up a video call. A security guard in the corner ate quietly with his cap still on.

"I’ll stay a bit," Timothy said.

Hana looked at him, then nodded. "Okay."

Timothy stepped toward the drinks table and picked up another bottle of water. He handed it to a staff member who looked too tired to move. The staff member took it with a quiet thanks.

In the background, the karaoke started again. Someone picked a song everyone knew. People joined in badly and loudly. Timothy stood near the edge of the room, watching Hana talk to a group of employees like she belonged there, her keychain wrench flashing once when she lifted her hand to gesture, and the noise kept moving around them like waves that did not need permission.

He stayed where he was for a while, letting the room exist without trying to shape it. Laughter rose and fell. Someone missed a lyric and shrugged it off. A pair of junior staff members argued about whose turn it was to pick the next song and settled it with a coin toss that bounced off the table and rolled under a chair. No one chased it. They just picked anyway.

Carlos passed by again, slower now, carrying an empty cup. He stopped beside Timothy and followed his line of sight. "This is rare," he said.

Timothy did not ask what he meant.

"People not waiting for direction," Carlos continued. "They’re just here."

Timothy nodded once. "That’s the point."

Carlos glanced at him. "You’re not good at this part."

"I know," Timothy said.

Carlos smiled and moved on, disappearing back into the crowd. Timothy stayed put. A staff member from logistics approached him with a bottle of water and offered it without ceremony. Timothy took it, nodded in thanks, and watched her walk away to rejoin her friends. No awe. No stiffness. Just a normal exchange.

Hana eventually broke from her group and crossed the room toward him. "You’re hiding again," she said.

"I’m observing," Timothy replied.

Hana looked around. "Observation phase is over. People are starting to leave."

Timothy scanned the room. She was right. The noise had softened. Bags were being picked up. Phones were out, rides being coordinated. The night was folding in on itself.

"Good," he said.

Hana tilted her head. "You sound satisfied."

"I am," Timothy replied. "Nothing caught fire."

Hana gave him a look. "Your standards are strange."

She reached into her bag and pulled out her keys, the small metal wrench tapping once against the ring. "We should go before someone asks you to sing."

Timothy exhaled. "That would end poorly."

They made their way toward the exit together, moving past half-empty tables and stacked chairs. A cleaning crew had already started at the far end of the room, working quietly around the last pockets of conversation. No one made a fuss as Timothy and Hana passed. A few nodded. One waved. That was all.

The elevator ride down was quiet. The music upstairs faded into a low hum, then disappeared when the doors closed. Hana leaned against the wall, eyes closed for a second.

"You did fine," she said.

Timothy looked at the floor indicator. "So did you."

The doors opened to the lobby. The tree lights were still on, blinking steadily. The security guard with the red cap stood straighter when he saw them, then relaxed when Hana nodded at him like everything was normal.

Outside, the air was cooler. The street was calmer now, traffic light and spaced out. Somewhere nearby, fireworks cracked once, then again, distant and uneven.

Hana stopped near the curb. "Same rules tomorrow," she said. "No work."

Timothy nodded. "No work."

She looked at him, measuring whether he meant it, then turned and walked off toward her car without waiting. Timothy watched her go, then started in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, the noise of the night thinning behind him as the new year settled into something quieter and real.