A/N: hey everyone! So I've made some promises about adding a chapter to the Christmas story I published last year and I did start it, but somehow I just couldn't find the right tone to continue it (does that make any sense to you?)

However, and to make up for it, I am gonna post a 2 part New Year's special; this being the first and the next one will come out sometime next week, not sure if before or after new year's, but it will be pretty close.

This work is not beta'd, the (probably many) mistakes are all my doing…

Thanks for reading!

As I grew older I've come to notice that life is actually made of little rituals that, while they're not meant to save our lives, they do help in giving us the illusion that things are under our control, when, in fact, we can control very little around us. Of course that doesn't stop all of us to give our best to maintain that illusion. Now, I'm not saying that is a bad thing: truth is, some of those rituals exist to comfort us, put some order in our lives, especially when we most need it they can serve as a welcome refuge.

Maybe that's the reason why I am, for the first time ever, really observing the collection of pictures on the wall in front of me, even though I've spent many hours in this room. I smile, my hand moving forward to reach the first photograph of the two neatly lined rows. There I am, five years old, my hair a cascade of wild curls, the hard work my maman had put into tame it meant nothing after spending not three minutes with the exuberant young girl. Cosima's smile hasn't changed in all these years, wide open and honest, the tip of her tongue peeking between her teeth are proof enough that even then she had some sort of impish charm, the bright glint in her eyes, still visible in the old polaroid just served to stack up the evidences. She's holding me from behind, her arms firmly wrapped around my shoulders and I still can hear her next to my ear "you have like… really long arms, you should take the picture". She'd put the thing in my hands and waited for the blinding flash. In the picture I look a little confused and overwhelmed, but I had tried to smile.

That was the first of now sixteen and counting, all pinned to the wall of Cosima's bedroom. As me eyes move along them I see us growing up, the same pose, over and over again, Cosima behind me, fighting against my hair to be able to fit on the photograph, sometimes with better success than others, but always smiling that ridiculous cute smile of hers. I'm sure some of these could've come out better if she didn't insist on us doing it just once, no matter the result. Every year since we've met, the first thing we do after countdown. It had been her idea, of course, but I believe that when we started to do it, not even Cosima could predict this would become our own special little ritual. It was something we've never really talked about, it just kept happening and another photograph was added to the wall. In fact, for the countless themes we've discussed over the years, the context of our friendship was never approached, it was something that grew naturally, effortlessly.

When Cosima showed up at our doorstep and invited me and my mother to celebrate New Year's with her family, I could hardly understand a word that was rapidly fired from the little girl's mouth, energetically balancing between each feet, as if stopping was dramatically impossible. We'd moved to the States only two months before and the grasp of the language still escaped me, her quick speech not providing any help to understand even the few basics I had learned so far.

My mother was thankful, of course and even if she'd put a bit of a fight, I could tell she was pleased to have someone else to celebrate with other than me. I had been happy about it as well, more for her than for myself. I just recall being happy to see her smile reach her eyes again. The two of us alone was still something new and I think that have someone else gave her a sense of normalcy.

I had been too young to realize then how difficult the whole change had been on her, but I remembered how back in France our house was always filled with people, not only during special occasions, but throughout the year, at least once a month there was a special dinner. As I got older my mother kept filling the blanks of my memory with her own. My father was always big on entertaining people and my mother was the perfect partner for it. Perhaps that was the strongest reason behind my mother's need for such a drastic change of scenery: she probably found it too hard to keep sharing her space with memories that did nothing but tormented her. My parents might've had many things in common, but loyalty was not among them, since the concept seemed foreign to my father. But that I didn't learn until several years later, on one of my visits to him in France, when a nasty neighbour opened her big mouth thinking an eleven year old wouldn't understand the obvious innuendos behind her words.

I never told my mother what I'd found out, but when I did I stop asking about papa and it was her who brought him up, never with bitter words, she always seemed to have nice things to say about him: his charm, his sense of humour, his kind heart… In truth, my mother was never able to get over my father and as I analyze it now, with the conscience of an adult, us leaving was the best decision she made, not only for herself, but for me as well.

The Niehauses from across the street became sort of a second family to us and we began to share every special occasion with them. Despite being so different from us, with their modern hippie style, they did become the rock in our lives and I don't know if our adaptation to the new country and totally different culture would've been as smooth if they hadn't reached their hands to us, in the form of a little girl knocking on our door with a brilliant smile on her face.

During the years, Cosima had been the one constant in my life. In fact she was the perfect counterbalance: where I was shy, she filled the room with comfortable easiness; things that rattled me, made her grew more confident in herself; overcrowded places makes me nervous, but Cosima seems to evolve in them. Unlike me, her awkwardness had developed into a gravitational charm and I was just happy to follow behind her, always in her shadow. And while many people might have found it annoying, I was not so secretly thankful for it; it never bothered me being called Cosima's friend, because that on itself was an absolute privilege. Not only that, the lack of spotlight in my person was something I enjoyed. Being on Cosima's shadow was never stifling, but comfortably warm and allowed me to watch her transform into the beautiful human being she is from the best seat in the house.

Besides, there were sides of Cosima she reserved to me alone. Very few people could see how vulnerable she could be, that behind all that bravado of hers there's a sensitive soul that could get bruised, sometimes too easily for her own good. I don't only consider her my best friend: she is my only true friend, the one I can go to no matter what and know that she won't judge me. Cosima's also the one I can count on to tell me the truth, independently of how much it hurts, she's not afraid to tell me what she thinks if she believes it will spare me pain in the future. Going to Cosima is my personal ritual, that while it might not save my life, it sure makes it a lot more bearable.

Which is why the last three months had been so hard on me. Both of us enrolled in Berkeley, but since the beginning of the new semestre attending different graduate programs I lost her constant presence and while at first I didn't think much of it, I now see that our routines had changed and we could no longer match our schedules to spend our free time together. It was easy on Cosima, even if she never mentioned it, I could see it. Contrary to me Cosima never had a problem about making new friends, in fitting in. People just like her company, they enjoy being with her, having her around. And why shouldn't them? Somehow she always ended up being the core of the group with effortless wits and crazy antics.

"Alright!" Her voice calls from the bedroom door. "How do I look?" She twirls around herself, showcasing the tight red dress she had been changing to in the bathroom.

My eyes inspect her attentively, taking in the petite form, noticing how the dress hugged her just in the right places. "Très belle…" I mumble after meeting her eyes and see an expectant expression on them.

"I was going for sexy," Cosima jokes, getting closer to me, "but I'll gladly take the belle thing."

I hum, not sure how to respond to that, my stare watching her approach the wall with all the photographs. "I've already made room for next year's," she announces tapping a naked space on the wall. "See?"

"You sure you want to keep doing that?" I ask suddenly, my eyes going to the empty space where her hand is.

"What?" Cosima says loud. "Of course I do! Where does that come from?" And I know her long enough to notice when she's getting hurt.

I turn in her direction and look her in the eyes with a soft stare, in an attempt to appease her. "I don't want you to think you have to do this," I explain.

She gives a small sigh. "I know I don't have to do this, but I want to!"

"I know you have your friends waiting for you, Cosima," I give a little step back and reach for the same polaroid camera that took the first and all other photographs. "It's silly to wait until midnight to take the picture. We can take it now and you're free to leave."

Cosima moves to sit on the bed and extends her hand for the camera. "No, we can't!" She says determined, placing the device on her nightstand. "It has to be after midnight."

"So…" I shrug with my eyes down on hers. "What difference will it make a few hours?"

"This is our thing, Delphine! The first pic of the year," she says with a slight edge, scootching more to the center of the bed, crossing her legs carelessly, the hands coming forward to grab her ankles and preventing the vista from becoming less innocent.

I feel my cheeks burning and turn around. It's stupid; we've changed in the same room countless times, there's no reason for me to feel so self-conscious about Cosima. Except, there is.

I've known it for a while, some years even. But was always able to swallow it down. It was a long process though, to become comfortable with it, with who I am, made even worse for the fact that I couldn't count on my best friend for help. Cosima didn't know what was happening until I've gathered the courage to tell her I wanted to date women. At first she thought I was joking, but when it didn't go away, she offered to escort me to a few places where I could meet ladies who love ladies, as she'd put it. For all the intuition she has, this went right by her head and that was the sign I needed to know that, in order to avoid some heavy heartbreaking, I needed to think outside the box - or better, outside Cosima. I've dated a few girls and it was nice and all, finally starting to feel comfortable about myself, but, of course, there was always something amiss. As far as I can tell, Cosima remains completely ignorant about why I just can't seem to be able to keep a steady relationship.

"What is this really about?" She asks in a low voice.

I shrug again, still avoiding to turn around and look at her. "I just don't want you to feel obligated to wait until midnight to join your friends at the club," I say quickly. "I know you like the parties and there's no good reason for you to have to spend New Year's with our parents at home."

"I can go to the parties all year long," she's on the move, I can hear her getting up from the bed. "This one is special."

"My point exactly!" I say, turning around and finding her close to me. "Why wouldn't you want to spend it with your friends?"

"You're my friend, Delphine." Cosima's eyes are soft, but there's a little glint on them as she reaches for one of my hands and covers it with her own. "Why wouldn't I want to spend it with you?"

I look away from her, scared that my feeling will pour out of my mouth if I keep my eyes on her. They land on the pictures pinned to the wall, the two of us staring back at me with silly smiles, even on the one when we're 17 and Cosima went through her rebel phase and the dreads and the pierced nose appearing for the first time.

"We're not the same girls we were in there," it's what I answer, my eyes steady on the wall.

She looks at it as well and then back at me, where my eyes are waiting for hers. "No," she concedes, shaking her head, "we're not. We've changed every year, Delphine, but that was never a reason to stop doing that. In fact, it's another reason to continue to do it."
"Why?" I knit my brows in confusion.

"Shit, Delphine!" She says loud, her hands releasing mine and flying through the air, as she starts to pace back and forth. "Because I like it! Because I like to have something to expect every New Year's! Because lately too many things have changed and I want to believe that there's at least one thing that will remain the same…" Her voice's losing strength during the speech, her pacing slowing down and when she finishes her voice is so low that I can barely hear it.

"You don't want things to change?" I ask, unsure if I should feel relieved or devastated.

She shakes her head again. "Not like this," and she remains soft. "I… I've missed you," Cosima says with her head dipped low, preventing me to see her expression.

I open my eyes wide. "You… you did?" I ask slowly.

Cosima looks up and she has a small grin on her lips. "Yeah… of course!" Her tone more joyful. "You're my best friend."

My heart sinks and I give a couple of steps back, the distance helping me think more clearly. "Right…" I whisper, moving to the door, my hand already set on the handle.

"Wait, Delphine!" She strides behind me and I feel her body brushing against mine. "Did I say something wrong?"

I chuckle sadly. "No, Cosima, you didn't say something wrong," I move my head to stare at her confused face. "You never do."

"Why do I feel like I'm missing something?" She comments, adoringly adjusting the eyeglasses on the bridge of her nose as she wrinkles it.

I can't help but bring both my hands to cover her cheeks. "Oh Cosima… how can you not see it?"

"See what?" She asks, her bright eyes steady on mine, searching for answers.

I open my mouth even before I know what I'm going to say, but am save by a knock on the door just behind me, "girls, dinner's ready!" Cosima's father calls from the other side.

I take the chance that she got distracted to escape through the door, but not before I can hear her whining, "C'mon, Delphine… see what?"

I only turn back on the hallway to pull her by the hand with a playful tug and drag her downstairs where our parents are already moving to sit at the table.