Chapter Text
“Abed,” Annie calls across the apartment, “if we don’t leave soon, Abra’s going to beat us to the airport.” No reply. “Abed!”
The shuffling from the blanket fort continues, but Abed doesn’t respond. Annie sighs and trudges over, pulling back the cloth doorway to find them standing before the mirror, fussing with a headscarf. They tug it over their forehead, tucking the ends into their collar with a quickly escalating frustration.
”Hey.” Annie’s voice is gentle but clear, and Abed turns to her with frustrated eyes. “What’s going on?”
Abed whines. “All I want is to get this damn hijab to work so Abra doesn’t think I’m an absolute failure, and apparently I can’t manage that, so it looks like I am, in fact, an absolute failure. And Abra’s going to think I’m an idiot.”
Annie kneels beside them and holds out her hands, which Abed takes. “Abra already adores you. I’ve met her twice, we’ve barely spoken, and even I know that. You don’t have to worry about impressing her. So, do you know why you’re stressed about it?”
They shrug.
“Does it have anything to do with your gender presentation? I don’t think Abra’s ever seen you on a feminine day, has she?”
They shake their head. “What if she thinks it’s stupid? Or weird? Or fake?”
“You have talked to her about it, right? Over email and stuff?”
“Yeah, but... it’s different in person. And I just want to do it right. I want to look put together and pretty and... Abra’s the only girl in my family. I want...” they huff, “I don’t even know.”
Annie squeezes their hands, a grounding pressure against their knuckles. “Abra’s acceptance is important to you. I get it. It’s weird trying to join the girls’ circle, especially in your own family. What do you need?”
Abed rolls their eyes and gestures at a diagram on their laptop, detailing the delicate folds of a hijab. “I can’t get it to look right.”
“Do you want me to help you?”
“Please.”
Annie studies the diagram for a moment before reaching up to take the crimson chiffon between her fingers. She unclasps the star-shaped pin and places it in Abed’s palm. She unfurls the scarf and wraps it carefully around their hair, folds deliberate, efficient, and gentle. Abed hands her back the pin and she pierces through the fabric above their left ear, latching it into place with a satisfying click.
She turns them back towards the mirror, and asks, “Does that look okay?”
Abed grins, fingers tracing the creases. “Thanks, Annie.”
“Trans solidarity, right?” They nod. “Can I hold your hand?” she asks.
Abed laces their fingers through hers. “Chez Trobedison’s Rule #27,” they recite, “No one has to go through scary things alone.”
She rubs a circle on their skin with her thumb as they exit the apartment. “You got this.”
They pull her into a hug outside their front door. “Only if I’ve also got you.”
“You’ve always got me.”