Leo hated dressing up for opening night.
Sebastian did not make him.
He wore clean jeans, a green jacket, and shoes that actually fit.
Elena wore a blue scarf. Vivian sat in the front row, quieter than she used to be, still carrying guilt carefully because Elena had not let her put it down too quickly.
That was fair.
Healing did not require everyone to feel better at the same speed.
Before the first performance, Sebastian crouched beside Leo near the stage.
“Nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Leo smiled.
A small smile.
A real one.
“Maybe a little.”
Sebastian touched the edge of the flute.
“You don’t have to play that song.”
Leo looked toward Elena.
“She likes it.”
“So do I.”
“I know.”
Then he stepped onto the stage.
No one shouted for security.
No one laughed.
No one asked him to prove he deserved help.
He lifted the flute and played.
The melody moved across the terrace again.
But this time, it did not sound like accusation.
It sounded like return.
When he finished, the room stayed quiet for one breath.
Then applause rose.
Gentle.
Respectful.
Not the applause of rich people congratulating themselves for feeling something.
The applause of people who understood they had been trusted with a wound.
Later, after the guests left, Sebastian found Elena near the railing.
The city glowed below them.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Elena said, “You mocked him.”
