A chilling breeze tossed Donovan’s hair as he hastily rounded his car and flew open the passenger door.

“Out you come, hurry—”

A bundled-up Sylvia leaned her way out of the seat and up into the dark, evening air, slightly slouched over into Donovan.

“Cold,” she murmured, a hint of thrill in her voice, trailed by some slight and quiet laughter. She was immediately escorted by Donovan from the car and towards their venue. A valet driver collected his keys and— under Donovan’s scrutinizing glance— drove the car off and away from the roundabout driveway.

“Come on,” she goaded, tugging his arm while still standing so close.

“Right.” Donovan took her arm in his, huddling her close to escort her up to a glorious-looking mansion. Lights dotted the outside of the home, lighting up old architecture with a fresh coat of paint, appropriate for the occasion.

This was New Year’s Eve, 1943, a perfect time for revelry and celebration, ringing in the New Year with drink and festivity, to usher in well wishes and bring about change, new opportunities and a bright future.

This was New Year’s Eve, also cold as the dickens. Donovan and Sylvia were practically racing arm-in-arm up to the house, greeted by a warm interior opened to them by house servants. A distant big band was trying to coax them deeper inside, but they were having to shed a layer, getting checked-in. Sylvia was having a short run-in with the guest list that eventually accounted for Donovan as her plus one.

Donovan was already stuffy again, trying to air his collar while no one seemed to be looking, but after Sylvia wrapped up her troubles, she faced Donovan again. Donovan was adjusting himself like he was overdressed for the occasion, fitted in a dark waistcoat with almost a gilded pattern swirling over it. His outfit complemented his stature well, or rather it complemented Sylvia’s colors better. In that near-identical gilded brown, Sylvia wore a sweater and a blazer to cover up, but with that layer gone, she shuffled back over to Donovan to take his arm and escort him into the party.

Sylvia had a privilege, working in medicine. The doctors of her hospital, on top of any other supervisors, were well-off and loved to throw a party or get-together over just about any occasion. Ringing in the New Year was no exception. A company ball was the call, and Sylvia had enough wiggle room to drag Donovan along as a one plus. He was thrilled to go, maybe not necessarily thrilled to be in rooms full of doctors and nurses, maybe not while dressed up to the nines, but he was already here.

There was something that convinced him to fall behind, planting his feet firmly into the ground as Sylvia led him along, guided by the sound of music. His comically anxious brain toyed with him, watching the throngs of people pass by doorways after doorways, crowds behind each threshold. Doctors, nurses, and anyone in between, they were all drawing up his anticipation that he was walking right into a giant operating theater. Needles, clamps, tools, sterile light. Eyes watching, looking, glancing, staring. Scalpel, please—

“—please?” asked Sylvia. She was shaking him a little, and Donovan found himself staring dumbfounded into space, right through the doorway that led to the main event. His eyes were brought into focus, landing on several mingling figures, others walking to and fro, some dancing, monsters and humans alike. The distant music faded back into his peripheral.

“Hm?” Donovan glanced at his partner.

“Brave face, please. I don’t need you lookin’ scared at everybody.”

“Scared, who’s scared?” Donovan tried to chuckle his way out of his now fading stupor, but he was lying through a grin. Sylvia gave him a pout, scrunched up lips and a folded brow. She jabbed gently at his stomach with her elbow and his charismatic façade crumbled with a heave of air.

“You are. You ain’t lyin’ to me.” She gave him a laugh, taking his arm again. “Come on. I need a drink if you’re not going to keep me warm and fuzzy.”

They began to hover around the room. Sylvia was Donovan’s only real connection to these people, but even then, they were looking at tens, if not close to hundreds of guests.

Many monsters, horned or tailed alike, were wandering, chatting, or drinking the night away. Sylvia might have been a little overwhelmed, with all of the hospital staff and their plus ones adding to the immense variety of monsterkind, since she always talked up the trouble of trying to be up to par with her work on monsters, but she was comforted still by those she did recognize, like the twin brothers, half-satyrs putting on a bit of their own show for a small gathered crowd. They weren’t quite monsters, of course. They were more “earthly” than anything. Not quite monsters, not quite humans. Sylvia liked to joke with Donovan that the brothers were just halves of a whole satyr, one having just the horns and the other with just the legs. Their synchronous dance to the big band convinced him that it made no difference. They could have been the same person.

A gaggle of well-dressed giants in part of the crowd suddenly burst out in hoots and hollers. Donovan could feel the bellows of their laughter from so far away.

Donovan and Sylvia were tracing the room in a way that hardly felt comfortable as the first hour went by. Sylvia was starting to feel as lost as Donovan, and it was clear her nerves were getting up. It was nice to pass by a few coworkers and exchange pleasantries. Hi, how are you? I love your dress. Don’t you look spiffy? Donovan held close to her during every exchange, introducing himself where necessary. It was an evident breath of relief for Sylvia when she didn’t have to lead the conversation for a moment, but they both remained intent on keeping conversations brief. Sylvia wanted to make a good impression, but talking to doctors was so boring.

Donovan cheered her up each conversation by introducing himself with a lot of affectionate titles. He practically teased her by edging on words adjacent to marriage, what with the gold bands on their fingers being more than implicative. It would make her red for sure, an inside joke for their own open relationship, all complemented by holding her close, holding her hand, and, only as the cherry on top while walking between conversations, a kiss on the head and a smug remark.

Soon enough though, all the idle chit chat began to bore her. Wandering between coworkers was only so engaging, especially since everyone who was interesting was going to be late, they thought. It felt like she was just at work, talking to the same people in suits and dresses and fancy attire. Donovan made it a point that he was her arm candy, made for good conversation so far. She laughed and kissed his cheek.

The rest of the night was quiet until she lit up and started to pull Donovan one way.

She was maybe the only person Donovan was familiar with in a distant sense. Sylvia talked about her, talked about talking with her. She was maybe the only person Sylvia probably liked at the hospital from the sound of it, and it was a mutual distance. Sylvia probably talked her head off some time about him. What was her name…

“Lacey?” Sylvia greeted.

“Oh? Sylvia!”

The two ladies broke away from their predispositions, Lacey in the middle of a conversation, and Sylvia away from Donovan, to exchange a light, polite hug. Being acquaintances out of work meant very little until now. A polite hello in the market might suffice if they crossed paths there, but at a work function, their sociability was elevated, though there was still a semblance of their work environment. Lacey looked as though she was on the edge of a conversation, bored and looking for escape. What a savior they were to have arrived in the nick of time.

Lacey warmed up to Sylvia quickly, leaning away from another coworker and their conversation partner, who seemed to pick right back up on their own. Donovan politely sat through Sylvia and Lacey’s chit chat, the quick catching up. Lacey complimented Sylvia’s outfit, and Sylvia did Lacey’s. It all seemed like a normal-day-in-the-office conversation until Lacey noted all the dancing. One of the half-satyrs, the one with the hooves, was rat-a-tap-tapping out a mean tap dance that the band was actually humoring with their rhythm.

“Can’t dance worth anything. Looks impossible… all those fast and fancy moves.”

“All it takes is practice!” Sylvia laughed. “I’d love to show you how some time.”

Lacey took kindly to that, sharing her laugh.

Most of their conversation seemed the same, but a new difference this time was that Donovan was present and added another talking point, brought forward quickly in a quiet moment of the conversation.

“So… Is this him?” said Lacey, sing-songy. “Your… husband?”

Both of them started to grow red, laughing with Lacey over the joke. Sylvia stammered and stuttered trying to explain, and Donovan was figuring out how best to introduce himself. It was obvious to both Sylvia and Donovan how flustered the other had become. Partners, never quite married…

What was described so nonchalant before as a demon was panning out to be a man like any other. Maybe the accentuated features made him look more earthly, so he made his case. One small drag from an invisible cigarette and a puff of his own bright smoke, Lacey was humored and laughing it up. Donovan was humored as much as the next monster with a party trick up their sleeve. It wasn’t as nice as being able to use your body like a bottle opener, but someone had to leave the bar work to Tesque.

They exchanged their pleasantries, but with all good things coming to an end, someone else dragged away Lacey’s attention. Eventually, they broke off with goodbyes and New Year wishes, and the night progressed. For New Year’s Eve, it was still so early in the evening. Even if they were just an hour late from when the party began, folks were still strolling into the room as if it had hardly started, and it really didn’t. The band was playing up a nice sound, but its beat was practically idle. Some of the more jazzed-up guests were trying to cut a rug already, but it was evidently sloppy and in poor taste like somebody was trying to make fun of the band and get them really going. Only the half-satyrs made it look so good.

Sylvia was a little restless still, even coaxed by Donovan to just pick out some coworkers to hang near and have a good time. He tried to suggest heading back to Lacey, but she was leading him around more. Another few champagne flutes were passed into their hands by passing servants. It was an awful champagne, but it was exactly what they needed to immerse themselves for the evening. Being late themselves, they weren’t exactly up to speed.

Wandering, they both managed to— quite literally— bump into a group where one of the older doctors of the hospital was mingling with his most familiar nurses or instead their bored spouses. The doctor’s shoulder was nudged, Donovan trying to shift both him and Sylvia through a narrow squeeze of people, but instead of quietly getting by, the doctor greeted Sylvia. She went a bit pale, only because she had barely worked with the doctor and Donovan had to hear about it. Reading her expression, Donovan had the full picture now, a face to the name. He wasn’t the kindest sort, aloof maybe. That’s all he knew.

Sylvia and Donovan were making it clear, half an hour into his talk now also readdressing the others with them included, that their body language suggested a time to leave.

Maybe it was the doctor being so ignorant as to give a lecture to anyone that would or should listen, or it was that he was so wrapped up in himself to not have noticed that the two slipped out without so much as another word.

Donovan had a grip on Sylvia to comfort her, just as she had a rather tense grip on him, which relaxed as they stepped away.

They were tracing the room again aimlessly, walking somewhere between the people and the open floor of clumsy, fast-foot dancing just to make it to an off-shoot room where the crowd was thin. They kept the idle talk up with fewer folks on the way until Sylvia was finally sick of it and needed a break. Donovan coaxed her to this isolated part of the party where the house let out into an outdoor balcony, which just faced a bit of a street down the hill, but the cool air relieved Sylvia. She snatched a champagne flute off another servant’s tray. Donovan was tempted to take it from her just so that she could breathe, but she downed it too fast, nearly gagging at the taste.

“I almost might regret this,” she stated, blank, pointing the glass at Donovan.

“Almost, huh? You know nobody and are down six glasses of the cheapest, richest drink.”

“I know these people. I just don’t want to have to talk to them outside work.” She swirled a last drop of champagne in the glass and took it back with a sip. “Fraternizing is boring.”

“That’s what you get out of a rich man’s party. Least they got some music, huh?” Donovan started moving, mimicking the dance moves of someone they had seen out on the floor. They had fallen, and everyone was worried, but them getting right back up to do another worse dance had both Donovan and Sylvia stifling some laughter. Now though, as Donovan mimed that dance and played a charade of recovering from a fall for another stupid dance, Sylvia laughed.

“Donovan,” she sighed, a smile stuck to her face. She pulled him in at the next opportunity she had to ditch the champagne flute idle in her hand. She just took him by the hands and leaned into him. The music was still upbeat, too slow still for anything trendy, but there was a quiet moment here off to the side. Donovan let go of one of her hands and just held her, an arm secured around her waist and the other hand intertwined with hers.

She hiccuped.

He chuckled.

She chuckled.

“You’re nuts,” she murmured, grazing his cheek with her lips for a dainty, dizzy kiss.

Then the music faded, and before Donovan had the chance to react to the kiss, a chime sounded from within the house, the distinct sound of someone fumbling hitting a glass and then successfully getting it to reverberate. Most of the guests weren’t far from its source, so everyone filtered back to the edges of the room from which the chime was from.

A portly gentleman stood at the front and center of the room, right next to the big band. With everyone’s attention, he began to speak. Those too far to hear were only catching bits and pieces. Thank you for coming, glad to have you here, blah blah blah food and refreshments, blah blah blah music and dancing, the time until the new year is…

“Half an hour, to the minute!”

With that, the energy was ignited with the party at last. The big band picked up with the momentum of the crowd swarming the floor. Most everyone was cutting in now, all kinds of dances making an appearance from all walks of life. It was all an exciting mess. Donovan half-stepped towards the dancing when Sylvia caught him.

“Mm-mm,” she shook her head, gripping his hand and tugging him closer.

“Whaddya mean no?” he chuckled, a little uneasy.

“You wanna dance comfortably in that sea of people?”

Sylvia gestured at the floor. There certainly was a new density of people out there. Some giants populated the outskirts, making it hard to butt in, even on the edge. They watched as an earthly tail whipped into someone’s leg and a spat began.

Donovan looked a little disappointed, but when he turned back to Sylvia, she was already picking up the beat of the jazz number like a telegraphed rhythm, half-lidded eyes taunting him. The shade of the door from the bigger ballroom cast a shadow onto her brow, over the eyes, but a halo crest her hair and shone through the better part of her guise that made her a devil, a sweet seductress and an angel all at once, reaching for Donovan with touch so divine.

“Come on, handsome. We’re fine right here. I don’t need anybody out there.”

Donovan was charmed by her invitation, cocking a smirk to rejoin his partner. He took her hand and laughed. Sylvia challenged him by tapping her feet. He slid closer and mimicked her rhythm. Soon, they were dancing in time, swinging each other around at their own little party. Sylvia swayed easily to the music, loose enough with drink so that Donovan had to start keeping up to take the lead. They went through just about everything in their book, and the music kept playing on. Their energy peaked at about fifteen minutes when the band finished their third big number, and both of them, too captivated by energetic dance, finally fell into each other. Sylvia huffed and puffed against Donovan’s chest, leaning against him as he supported them back onto a wall.

The band was picking up now with something slow. Some guests went back to the edges of the room to cool off, content with their amount of dancing for the rest of the year. Couples, though, stayed out on the floor as finally the band was playing slower than what they had at the top of the party. The slow dances came out to play.

Donovan started to lean and sway Sylvia with him, mimicking the rhythm of the dancers from afar. Sylvia quietly protested him doing so, some murmur about being dizzy, so he held her head and let her rest. Five to ten minutes down with the music still going and Sylvia steady again, she turned her head up with a smile curled at the edge of her lips, her hands set on his chest.

“I ain’t had a dance that wild in a hot minute.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Donovan chuckled, his chest rumbling.

“Let’s… not do that again, tonight.” Sylvia quickly tilted her head back down and hiccuped again.

Donovan chuckled.

Sylvia half-chuckled.

“Deal. You need to take it slow anyway.”

Donovan locked his arms around her waist, Sylvia slipped her arms up high around his neck, and less-than-gracefully, she planted her face against his collarbone again. So, they swayed, gently to the rhythm to keep Sylvia steady. With a minute or so gone by, a waltz kicked up now. Sylvia adjusted herself and was almost going to retake the lead, playfully now that she was out of her tipsy stupor, but Donovan nudged her hands away with a laugh, grabbing her to sweep her off her feet. Sylvia locked with him in the dance, music swelling and echoing around them.

One-two-three, one-two-three…

The couple swept along in dance until Sylvia, simply stunned by the gesture of being led, settled back into Donovan’s arms. The cold air near the outdoors chilled her, and she shivered slightly, shuffling closer to Donovan’s swaying embrace.

Not a minute more passed, and cheering sounded from the main room of the party, passing phrases.

New Year, Happy New Year.

1944.

“New Year already?” Sylvia mumbled, tilting her head back up.

“Sounds like it. Happ—”

Sylvia shut Donovan up by tugging his collar gently. He understood the gesture immediately, their faces getting closer. He raised his hands and cupped her head, leaning down to press their lips together.

Their eyes shut.

The cheering in the other room faded away.

Sylvia kept tight her arms around Donovan.

Then they pulled back. Sylvia had a smile stretching from ear to ear, and her eyes darted away from Donovan.

Donovan shared her smile, holding the back of her head still.

They leaned together, and Donovan hugged her tight.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” she murmured.

“Happy New Year, doll,” he echoed, content, in love.