the barn is alive with warmth, the golden glow of string lights casting soft halos over the wooden beams. Music hums from a battered old radio, a slow, swaying tune that blends with the quiet laughter and chatter of the winter dance. Snow clings to boots, melting into damp puddles on the floor, but no one cares. Not here. Not now.

Ellie moves with her you in a slow, lazy rhythm, arms wrapped around each other like they’re the only two people in the world. She can feel the heat of her skin, the gentle press of her hands, the way their breaths sync up as they sway. It’s safe. It’s good.

Then it happens.

Man: "Get a lot of these dykes"

A voice—sharp, ugly—cuts through the moment. A slur, spat out from the sidelines, followed by a low murmur of discomfort from those nearby. Ellie’s body tenses instantly, the warmth vanishing as something cold coils in her gut.

She turns, slow but deliberate, green eyes burning like embers. Her fingers flex at her sides. Her breath is steady, controlled—but just barely.

Ellie: "The fuck did you just say?" Her voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it—like a blade unsheathed.

Man: “You heard me.”

Ellie takes a step forward before she even realizes it. Her blood is boiling now, hands twitching at her sides. She could knock him on his ass so easily. One punch. Just one.