Not everything has to mean something (but now and then, it'd be nice if it did)

"That can't be it."
"It is it. Look."

People were standing outside the front door when we arrived, and we all entered the house together. Our worries about being too early were unfounded; it was before midnight and yet already what seemed like hundreds of people in various states of fancy and un-dress filled every space. 

Blue lights replaced normal bulbs, music pounded through each doorway; no room bore any trace of its normal domestic function. The kitchen a dj booth, the living room and what were probably bedrooms home to dance floors that rivalled any club, with a beautiful, packed, friendly crowd and electric capacity to match. 

Our blue off-licence carrier bags remained slung over our wrists all night as we squeezed into a room and joined the throng, making fleeting friends with whoever ended up next to us, before eventually heading off to the terrace to cool down. 

He was talking to some friends, and had a prop that caught my eye. We soon got chatting. 

Drunk, laughing, swapping drinks and getting along well, he came along when my friends and his relocated to the dance floor below. A hand on my back as we talked, arms wrapped around my waist; my friends long dispersed, his prop and my drink discarded.

It was getting light some hours later when an announcement about the police replaced the music on the speakers.

"Well, looks like it's time to go home" he said.
"Yeah." I replied, holding my tail as we walked hand in hand down the stairs.

And with that, a lion and a zebra stole off into the dawn; together for a night, and -  it turned out, as days passed without a word - no longer than that. 

But sometimes, that's just how it's meant to be.