They were listening.
That simple realisation caught her offguard, her breath temporarily stuck in her throat and she felt, just for a moment, her strength falter.
But the feeling passed quickly because of course they were listening, they were her friends, they had held her up when she was too drunk to walk in a straight line, pushed her hair back from her forehead when she cried and hugged her with glee everytime that they saw her. They loved her, of course they were there, listening as she conquered her fear of singing in public.
It wasn't that they had never heard her sing before, after all she could barely stop herself from murmuring along to television theme tunes or humming with the tracks played in shops they visited, or even from screaming along at the clubs they went to. But they had never heard her like this: Accompanied with a piano, singing a song that suited her voice and her personality.
They stood at the back of the room, having entered late to the event and not wishing to make a scene, which come to think of it, was a first for them. But she understood as she looked over their mismatched appearances, their band shirts and piercings making them stand out in the crowd, that they weren't here for them, they were here for her.