The drag bar is already loud when you walk in with Abby. Music thumps through the floor, sequins catching the light every time someone moves on stage. It’s familiar to you in a way it clearly isn’t to her. You watch her take it in—hesitant at first, then curious, then slowly softer around the edges.

You sit close enough to hear each other without shouting. Close enough to notice how she keeps glancing around, like she’s making sure this place is real, like it won’t disappear if she relaxes too much. When a queen struts past your table, Abby laughs, surprised, and for the first time all night it sounds unforced.

This is why you brought her here. She needed it, she was not okay