The phone call had left Willy shaken to his core. He stood in the dim light of his room, the snow outside pressing silently against the glass. His hand clutched the phone as though it were the only anchor keeping him steady. The voice, Tim's voice, still echoed in his ears, filling the silence that had consumed him for days. He wanted to ask a thousand questions, to demand explanations, but the line had cut abruptly after only a few words.
And then came the knock.
It was soft, almost hesitant, and yet it struck through him like a thunderclap. His heart leapt painfully, his breath freezing in his chest. Slowly, he turned toward the door, unable to trust his senses, unable to believe what he already knew.
His legs carried him forward, though they felt unsteady, as if the floor itself might vanish beneath him. His hand trembled as he reached for the handle. He told himself not to expect too much. It could be a guard. It could be anyone. But deep down, beneath all the fear, a fragile hope flickered like the first flame of a candle.
He pulled the door open.
And there he was.
Tim.
Snow clung to his dark hair, melting in small droplets that ran down his face. His coat was dusted white, his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, but his eyes, those sharp, steady eyes, were fixed on Willy with a softness that broke him completely. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to still around them, muffled by the falling snow and the distant sound of fireworks beginning to echo across the night.
"Tim," Willy breathed, his voice raw, almost unbelieving.
Tim's lips curved into the smallest smile. "I told you I'd come back."
Willy's knees gave out before he realized he was moving. He stumbled forward, crashing into Tim's chest, his arms locking tightly around him as though he could keep him there by sheer force. A choked sound escaped his throat, half laugh, half sob. The tension of ten endless days spilled out of him all at once, trembling through every muscle in his body.
Tim's arms wrapped around him immediately, steady and sure. He buried his face into Willy's hair, inhaling the familiar scent, grounding himself in the reality of this embrace. He didn't speak at first, didn't try to explain. He just held him, as though they had both been waiting for this moment to breathe again.
"You're real," Willy whispered against his chest. "You're here. You're actually here."
"I'm here," Tim murmured. His voice was rough, but steady, carrying the weight of truth that no text, no parcel, no note could ever give.
Willy pulled back just enough to look at him, his hands framing Tim's face. His eyes searched every line, every detail, as though afraid something had changed beyond recognition. There were faint shadows under Tim's eyes, a weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and unspoken danger. But he was whole. Alive. And he was here.
"I thought...." Willy's voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "I thought I'd lost you."
Tim shook his head gently, his hands tightening on Willy's shoulders. "You never lost me. I'm sorry for the silence. I couldn't risk it."
Willy closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Tim's. His chest ached with a mixture of anger and relief, of the torment of waiting and the overwhelming release of finally knowing. Tears slid down his cheeks, hot against the chill of the winter air. "Don't you ever do that to me again," he whispered fiercely.
"I won't," Tim said. His voice carried no hesitation, no doubt. "It's over now."
Those words lingered between them, heavy with meaning. Willy pulled back slightly, searching his face again. "Over?"
Tim nodded. He glanced past Willy, toward the faint glow of the fireworks in the distance, then back at him. "The mission. The man we were after, the one who's been pulling strings, hiding in the shadows, he's been caught. It's finished. We're safe now. You're safe."
For a moment, Willy couldn't comprehend the weight of those words. Safe. The word felt foreign, almost unreal after so long living in secrecy, in fear of discovery, in constant waiting. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his throat too tight to form words.
Tim cupped his face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently across his damp cheeks. "From now on, we don't have to hide. We don't have to wait. We can live, Willy. Really live."
The relief came like a flood, crashing through him so suddenly it nearly knocked him over. He laughed, a broken, breathless laugh, and clung to Tim again. "I don't even remember what that feels like," he admitted.
"Then we'll figure it out together," Tim said, his voice low, steady, certain.
They stood in the doorway, snow drifting around them, the sound of celebration swelling in the distance. Willy felt the tightness in his chest finally begin to loosen, the constant hum of worry quieting for the first time in years. He breathed deeply, and for once, the air didn't feel heavy. It felt clean.
Tim guided him gently inside, closing the door against the cold. Their coats dripped faintly onto the floor, but neither cared. The room felt different now, warmer somehow, as though Tim's presence had banished the shadows that had clung to the corners for so long.
Willy sat on the edge of the bed, his hands still unwilling to let go of Tim's. He studied him with quiet desperation, as though memorizing him anew. "I thought they'd taken you from me," he said softly.
"They tried," Tim admitted, sitting beside him. "There were close calls. Times I wasn't sure I'd make it back. But every time I thought about stopping, about giving up, I remembered you. And I kept going."
Willy shook his head, tears threatening again. "You shouldn't have had to carry that alone."
"I didn't," Tim said. "Because you were always with me. Even in silence. Even when I couldn't answer, I knew you were waiting. That gave me strength."
Willy let out a trembling breath. He leaned into him, resting his head on Tim's shoulder. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, his body began to relax. His heart still raced, but not with fear with something else. Something he hadn't dared feel in too long.
Hope.
The minutes ticked by, but neither cared for the clock anymore. The world outside erupted in cheers as the New Year officially arrived, fireworks blooming across the sky, their colors painting fleeting light across the snow. Inside, silence returned, but not the heavy, suffocating silence that had haunted Willy before. This silence was different. Peaceful. Whole.
Tim tightened his arm around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "This year," he whispered, "it's ours. No more running. No more hiding. Just us."
Willy closed his eyes, letting the words settle deep within him. For so long, he had lived with uncertainty, with the constant fear that their fragile world would shatter at any moment. Now, sitting here with Tim's warmth beside him, he allowed himself to believe in something he had almost forgotten: freedom.
They stayed like that for a long time, holding on to each other, letting the weight of relief wash over them. Willy didn't care what tomorrow would bring. For the first time in years, tomorrow wasn't something to dread.
It was something to look forward to.
And that, more than the fireworks, more than the turning of the calendar, was the true beginning of the New Year.