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Jemilla's head swam dizzy with the homemade cocktail Zazzalil had shoved into her hands straight from her secret bottle. The lawn had started out empty hours ago, frosted over in a thin elegant white layer, but as the people started to pile over all across, ice had turned to mud had turned to public danger and she was glad to have secured a good spot to lay their little blanket, no matter how cold their butts. Night had fallen pitch black and a new year was about to be born.
"You cold?" Jemilla asked as a shiver ran down her body − and Zazzalil’s hoodie too seemed so very thin as she palmed it. "You look cold."
There was something oddly timid in Zazzalil’s smile as she shrugged, only for Jemilla to wrap an arm around her and pull her close to wrap her cardigan around the both of them. They stared at each other, well aware of how much of their bodies was touching in this new embrace. It was all much too new, this and all the rest. They had hugged each other a thousand times as friends, even a few times as less than friends, that was sure, but such a short time had passed since they had settled on something more neither of them had gotten used to it yet. Certainly Zazzalil had not expected that kiss, Jemilla remembered with fondness, though she had given it back and back and back. No one was as generous with their affection, once it was earned.
"Here," she said, handing Zazzalil back the plastic cup. "You’ve barely had any."
Zazzalil took a long slow gulp of the beverage. What she had poured in that bottle exactly, Jemilla did not know and did not wish to know. It tasted sweet, at least. A bit on the strong side, devilishly covering it up with something rich and sugary. If they both had their way, they would finish up the entire bottle before the night died down.
"So, you come here every year?"
Zazzalil nodded. She seemed to have accepted the new position so gladly she closed up the buttons of Jemilla’s cardigan around both their bodies up to the waist, so that only her hands came out of the narrow gap to pry the cup from Jemilla’s fingers back and forth. They were still in this specific part of a relationship Jemilla loved so much, those few days and weeks when every touch was exhilarating, when every kiss was divine and otherworldly, when their lives became suddenly so entwined they could not imagine ever parting from another, even for just a minute. She had fallen for Zazzalil hard and fast and she would never let go. One cardigan was plenty enough for two.
"Yup," Zazzalil replied. "It’s like a tradition, I guess."
"You must know the fireworks by heart," Jemilla teased. Another sweet, sweet sip from Zazzalil’s cup. "I’ve heard they’re really pretty."
"They change them up every year," Zazzalil said. "But yeah, they’re gorgeous."
Their fingers met at the rim of the cup, Jemilla’s short neatly manicured nails against Zazzalil’s bitten down mess. Still a little bit cold, but there was plenty enough of warmth between the two of them, and more as the night went on.
"The fireworks, they’re…" She paused, her mouth twisted in deep reflection, trying to find her words. Jemilla wanted to plant a kiss right on those pretty lips, and did, and Zazzalil’s idea came back to her. "They’re how I feel about you."
Tightly, she extirpated her arm from the cardigan too small for two to burst her fist into fingers she wriggled down and back into the warm little cocoon they shared. Jemilla quirked an eyebrow. Without much more explanation, Zazzalil grabbed the glass again and, finding it empty, pouted. Benevolently, Jemilla used her free arm to pour some more. Midnight was not too far now.
"What the fuck does that mean, now?" She asked.
Zazzalil snickered and did not reply. She did not have to. Around them, the people began to chant the start of a countdown well in advance, a minute or so left before the end of the year. Zazzalil scooted a little closer. Her head leaned against Jemilla’s shoulder, she gave her a quiet smile. Some days, Jemilla had learned over years of friendship, the booze had her soft and docile. Others, she was a little feral beast Jemilla had to keep from destroying the house − and herself. She pressed a kiss against her hair.
"It’s how I feel," Zazzalil said. Yes, Jemilla thought, definitely tipsy, or even well past. Her voice was slightly slurred and she had a feeling she would be carrying her back at least some portion of the walk back to her place. She had signed up for this, she supposed, with that first kiss. It had sealed their fates together. "Poof…"
The last thirty seconds, twenty, ten. Five, four, three, two, one…
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Zazzalil reached up a single hand to pull Jemilla’s face to hers and kissed her. The first burst of fireworks zoomed up into the sky and splattered across all heavens as far as the eye could see, and Jemilla’s heart exploded with joy in her chest as sparkles of bright light filled her up to the brim. Their mouths parted under a multicolored sky mirrored in Zazzalil’s dark eyes, leaving Jemilla breathless. They should have grabbed earplugs, she realized too late, but again and again the fireworks boomed around and she could not have described a single shape of theirs, nor given any color, a hint of any part of the show. Her heart was pounding at her ears and she kissed Zazzalil again, held her so tight they forgot about the chilly winter night together. Despite it all, she couldn’t hear a thing, not one note but the love she felt for Zazzalil singing out in her heart.
"I feel it too," she said and kissed her and kissed her.
Later, she would carry home her pretty-much-girlfriend, lay her down in bed, kiss her pretty cheeks goodnight and turn off the lights on them. A new year was dawning and it promised to be the first of what was to be the better half of Jemilla’s life. This fireworks show neither of them had watched tonight was to be the prettiest sight ever caught.