Jancy and Azul's New Year's Eve

Specks of brightly colored biodegradable strips dancing through the crisp, New York air. The smells of champagne and sweat wafting and weaving in between dancing bodies. Lights flashing every which way. Jancy twists her ring uneasily around her fingers, numb and raw. Shouts and laughs and cheerful buzz suffocate her, and draw her in. She hangs her head low, eyes fixed on the reflection of her friends in a puddle of spilled wine. It's late, much too late, to be out on New Year's Eve, she thinks to herself. She takes a step toward the porch, heels wobbly and uneven. The room, crowded with people and filled with thick air, is spinning. Double vision, blurred edges, and screaming colors. Blue, red, yellow, pink, white, then black.
Jancy wakes up with a start, her eyes watery and her hands trembling.
"Azul," her voice is urgent, as she tugs at the sheets. He turns his head to look at her, their eyes meet. He smiles, just visible in the dim bedroom as the city lights break their way through.
"It's fine, just another night dream."
Jancy shakes her head, trying to get the images out. "I was alone on New Year's," she whispers, soft and tentative as if the walls would crumble at the sound of anything louder.
"It's only December 30th," Azul reassures her. He throws a lazy arm around her waist, then pulls her close. "The year isn't quite over yet."
Jancy nods, and curls her ice cold toes, embedding them in the warmth of the sheets.
Why, Azul was right. The year wasn't over. And it was never too late to make things right.