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There's something in the observing. Even before you feel that you're ready to truly embrace it, being at the periphery of the joy can be enough to kindle something important.
Dan knows that tonight is not yet a night he will be ready to fully embrace it, but he wants to feel that ember, wants to be reminded that there is hope just over the horizon, waiting for him when he's ready to make that step.
So Dan gets ready for the night. And this alone is a step further than he's ever allowed himself to take before, but it's a night where doing this makes him more likely to blend into the crowd than not, so he takes the opportunity and lets himself hide in the excuse. Dan brushes out his curls, puts on the corset and a layer of dark red lipstick, and he feels something move in his chest. A settlement, or a release, or a new turn. A willingness to explore some of his own shapes.
And Dan brings himself out. Just him, inside this loud crowd of joy. A half smile and a deep aching in his chest, the swelling of tears held just under his lined lids just from watching those around him move, and love, and claim their space and themselves.
There's a man who is joy manifested. Blond hair and not-quite-a-tan. A man who looks like he didn’t have to worry about what this night meant, he showed up because he wanted to, because he was welcome. A man who sparkles in the center of the room without any effort, like he’s conducting the crowd.
Not a conductor, these people don’t need to be led; a conduit, for their energy and their joy.
So Dan watches the joy, and watches the man, watches the crowd, watches them bounce around and against each other, amplifying and energizing. He does the time warp and he finally cries. And on his way out the conduit smiles at him, gives a hug and an introduction, and asks him if he will see him again.