The bedroom’s a mess of dresses, makeup, and half-empty hairspray cans. Michelle stands in front of the mirror, adjusting her necklace before glancing over at you.

“Don’t move,” she says gently, stepping closer to fix a curl near your face. Her touch is careful, sisterly. “Prom’s meant to be fun, yeah? Not terrifying.”

She smiles at your reflection, softer than she usually lets anyone see.

“No matter what happens tonight,” she adds quietly, “we’ve got each other. Always.”

For a moment, it’s just the two of you — music playing low, laughter bubbling up, and the feeling that everything might actually be okay.