Soft hands cup my cheeks, and the swaddling sensation releases more golden light into my brain. We still haven’t found the right balance of medication for me, and I don’t know how long it’ll be before the clouds reconverge and swallow the light, but for this minute, I feel it. “I love you,” I tell him. “It’s so kind of you to visit me in my loneliness.”

He grins, cheerful enough for the both of us. “It’s kind of you to visit me in mine.”

We kiss, but the longer it lasts, the deeper my heart sinks. I still have a job to do, and I’ve put it off for way too long. “Go with me somewhere,” I whisper, breaking the kiss.

He sighs. He knew this was coming.

After pancakes, Marcos and I excuse ourselves without explaining our destination. If we had, Evelyn would’ve thrown herself in front of the door to stop us. It’s not that she’s controlling, she just knows that certain things—and certain places—set me off, especially when I’m already vulnerable. But the morning of a major holiday means LA will be empty, and I’ve been waiting five months for the right amount of privacy to do what I need to do.

As expected, West Hollywood is a ghost town. Marcos drives his rental car down Santa Monica Boulevard, its spray-painted, rainbow crosswalks still littered from Saturday night’s festivities. The closer West Hollywood gets to Beverly Hills, the more gay bars dot the landscape. Not that I’ve gone inside one—Evelyn made it clear that should my curiosity get the better of me, she personally knows every bartender and drag queen in town and they will text her the moment I’m spotted. “I know you think you’ll have fun,” she warned, “but if I hear you snuck in, I’ll be there faster than the cops.”

Evelyn jokes, but what she’s really worried about is losing me. After our escape, I’ve become quite well known, especially in queer-dense neighborhoods like this. One picture of me drinking, underage, and surrounded by dancing men, and I’ll be on the first plane to England.

But I’ve never been tempted to go inside. I just like to drive past and see everyone enjoying themselves. It helps to be around joy.

“Is someone gonna notice us?” Marcos asks, turning onto Havenhurst Drive.

“Maybe,” I say, hugging my backpack tighter. “But we promised.”

The lushly green street tightens my chest—we’re close.