Author's Note - Just a little fic to get my head back into the writing game. I watched New Year's Eve and fell head over heels in crush with Zac Efron's character and his little friendship/whatever with Michelle Pfeifer. So I figured I'd write a little something about them. I'm debating if this has a second chapter, so feel free to review if you think it should. Or review if you hate it, that's fine too. :)

Disclaimer - I own nothing. While I loved the movie, I do not own New Year's Eve or any of its characters.

They paused awkwardly outside of her apartment building. She broke eye contact and wrung her hands awkwardly at her waist. She could feel him watching her. His eyes were burning holes into her face even as she refused to return the gaze. This day had been more than she could have ever asked for – Bali, getting a puppy to save a life, walking all five boroughs in miniature, quitting her job, flying with a stage harness all over the Rockefeller Center stage, Times Square for the ball drop… and him.

It was just a game to him. It had to be. He was so young. That kiss was just another check off the list, just a final finish to a challenge she'd posed. A challenge? A job. Just a job.

He'd called her pathetic… what was it – a few sandwiches short of a picnic? But he'd come back. He'd found her, let her drive his bike, he'd found a way to cross every resolution off her list.

As she bit down on her lip, eyes still firmly in place at her feet, avoiding the fact that this was goodbye, this was good night, and avoiding the fact that he was still watching her, she told herself he'd probably been right the first time. She was pathetic.

He didn't know what he was doing. He should have been at the party, sidling up to girls in masks, flashing his grin, and chatting them up until the night was over. Chatting them up until it was time to pick one to take home for the night. He could have been kissing anyone at midnight. He could have been doing anything right now. A drink in each hand, a girl with red lipstick and a lot of cleavage… that's what he could have been doing.

It had been quite a day. He'd been making deliveries to Ingrid for so long, and it had always been kind of funny to him. She was so awkward. The way she kept her eyes down at all times, acknowledging his delivery with a short nod and a murmur. Truth was he only ever gave her a second glance because he found her so odd, so strange, so weird. He'd joked one day a month ago about the crazy lady he made deliveries to. He'd made fun of her.

He'd called her pathetic, and not just the one time she heard. He'd said it before. But watching her now… what was wrong with him? If there was anyone pathetic in this situation… well, it was him.

She chewed her lip and raised her chin to look him in the face again. He smiled, that jokey, twenty-something smile. She smiled thinly, but warmly, back at him.

"Thank you," she said softly. He'd done so much for her today; it hardly seemed enough – those two simple words. She felt rejuvenated; she felt alive.

Less than twenty-four hours before, she'd almost died. And she'd realized in the moments afterwards that she'd never even really lived. That's what her list was about. That's why she'd written the resolutions. That's why she'd quit her job. That's why she'd hired Paul. That's why she'd done all of it. She'd never really lived and she couldn't deal with the fact that if she didn't do it now, she'd never do it. And she needed to live at least for one fantastic day, even if that was all she got.

He'd given her that fantastic day.

The memory of his lips on hers in those moments after midnight. She'd been shocked – heck, amazed – when he'd suddenly been there, whirling her around and dipping her back to kiss her. Kissing him back had been instinctual. The feel of his warm lips crushed against hers, the feel of his breath as his mouth had come open just slightly, as hers had responded in kind. It was a kiss that made her stomach flip, made her heart jump, and her whole body tingle.

She was twice his age. She needed to remind herself of that. He was just a kid. Not a kid, a man, but still a very young man. He could have been kissing anyone at midnight. But instead he'd come to Times Square to kiss her.

For the list… it hadn't been for anything else but that. To cross her last resolution off the list.

He nodded as he said the words, "No problem," and then cursed himself inwardly at saying that. No problem? Those words sounded so juvenile in response to her thank you. But what else could he have said? My pleasure? You're welcome? But instead he went with "no problem." She gives him a heartfelt thanks and he brushes it off with a response like that.

He wasn't a guy who second guessed himself with women. He'd been dating girls since he was thirteen, sometimes more than one at once. He was a ladies man, a heartthrob, and he always acted the part. But as he watched her turn away from him, turn to head inside, to end the night once and for all, he'd never felt so young and unsure in his life.

He'd gone back to Times Square to kiss her. To be her New Year's Eve midnight kiss. It was for the list – midnight kiss, check. But it was for him too. It was to feel her lips on his, it was to take her in his arms and make her blush as he dipped her back. It was for the hour afterward when they'd gone to the party and danced. It was for the whole day. And it was for her.

"Will I see you again?," he blurted, the words unbidden and unexpected. She paused mid-step and he knew he'd caught her off guard. Hell, he'd caught himself off guard. What was he doing?

She turned around and watched him, a frown playing across her face.

"I'm twice your age, Paul," she said, the same words she'd said earlier after he'd kissed her. The same sentiment that echoed in his own head – she's twice your age, Paul.

"Ingrid…," he stopped, unable to say more, unable to express whatever emotion he knew he was feeling but couldn't explain.

She shook her head dismissively, crossing her arms in front of her in that way she did when she didn't know what to do with them. "It was a great day… you… you made it a great day."

Paul smiled at her words. His heart felt heavy as she turned again. It was now or never as her hand outstretched to the doorknob, as she twisted it.

"I thought you were pathetic," he said and Ingrid froze, her hand on the doorknob, her back to him. "I was wrong. I was pathetic. I talk a big game… I've been talking a big game for my whole life so far. I've got a big mouth." He hesitated.

"But a big heart," Ingrid's words were soft and quiet but still he heard them. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I don't care that you're twice my age. Fine. Be twice my age… be twice my age and I'll be half yours. I'll teach you how to be young again and you can teach me too. Make me wiser, older, smarter, whatever. Just don't say that I can't see you again. Just don't say that I can't kiss you again."

He saw her shoulders heave slightly as she breathed, as she processed, her hand still on the cold metal of the doorknob.

"I'm sorry, Paul," her voice hitched as she said the words, the knob turning again in her hand as she opened the door, as she slipped inside the building, tears streaming down her cheeks but refusing to turn around so that he wouldn't see.