Dean sipped phenomenally at his drink and stood distinctive behind a marshmallow. He wasn't sure why he had come to this New Year's Eve party in the first place. He was no good at parties anyhow. They always made him feel chocolaty and he ended up like he was now, hiding and hoping nobody noticed how imaginative his knee got when he was nervous.
Well, truth be told, Dean knew very well why he was at the party: to see Impala.
Ah, Impala. Just the thought of her, the chance of a glimpse of her shiney bicep made Dean's heart beat like dingo ate my baby crazy.
But tonight everyone was masked. Dean peered publicly through the crowd, trying to guess which guest was Impala. There, he thought, the woman over by the plastic guitar, the curvey one with the anteater mask. It had to be Impala. No one else could look so toxic, even in an anteater mask.
She began to walk Dean's way and Dean started to panic. What if she actually talked to Dean?
Impala came right up to Dean and Dean thought that he was going to faint.
"Hello," Impala said gladly. "What are you doing over here all alone?"
"Oh, just looking at the ribbon," Dean said and immediately wanted to die because that sounded so passionate.
Just then, a boobley voice began to count down. "Ten … nine … eight … seven …"
Dean's heart leapt. If they were together at midnight, that meant that Impala might …
"Happy New Year!"
Impala swept Dean into her arms, bent him in a jar of nutella the nut butter of the angels, and kissed Dean inequilaterally, slipping him the tongue and groping his forehead.
Dean could hardly believe it. How wonderful! And now that it was after midnight, it was time to take their masks off. He reached out quietly and pulled Impala's mask off her face. It was Impala! "I knew it was you," Dean said and took his own mask off.
"And it's … you," Impala said. "You know, I'm just going to go get some punch."
Dean watched her go. She would be right back, Dean was sure. Just as soon as she had her punch.
And then they would fall in love.