"Three. Two. One. HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The crowd roared with applause as 1999 arrived. Multi-coloured lights flashed, pyrotechnics went off, Manson screamed, the drums pounded, the guitar squealed, the bass boomed, and Pogo drank a beer. A perfect way to welcome a new year.

Backstage, the celebrations continued. Manson was singing a Mansonesk version of Auld Lang Syne, firecrackers were being set off, and the roadies were running around like school children. It was all fun.

Too indulged in the celebrations, Ginger hadn't noticed an over-excited John dashing towards him and was therefore nearly bowled over when John wrapped himself around Ginger in a tight hug.

"Happy New Year, Ginger," he whispered to Ginger's ear, making the tiny hairs on his neck stand on end.

Ginger returned the hug, momentarily noticing how well their bodies fit together, and whispered back, "Happy New Year to you too, John."

They turned their heads towards each other at the same time when they were about to disengage from the hug, only to inadvertently brush their lips in a whisper of a kiss. They froze, both of them letting out a small gasp of surprise. There was a moment where everything just stopped. They stared at each other, eyes locked, neither speaking a word. John still had his arms around Ginger's neck. For the slightest split second, Ginger thought that John was going to kiss him. Really kiss him.

But then the moment was ruined by a cat-call from Pogo, and the two pulled apart like a pair of teenagers caught in the act. John's cheeks were bright red, and Ginger imagined he was in a similar state. Despite this, Ginger gave Pogo a pointed glare. Pogo just grinned at him and winked. The nerve.

Ginger returned his gaze to John, expecting to see embarrassment, but instead, he found him smirking. Smirking. Before Ginger could question him about it, John winked at him and swaggered off in those tight leather shorts.

Fucking tease.