The rain beats against the windowpanes as I sit on Dream's bed, the scent of his cologne lingering on the sheets. We've just returned from dropping my mother off at the airport after her unexpected visit, and the weight of her revelation hangs heavy in the air. She's leaving my father after discovering his years-long affair.

"You okay?" Dream asks from the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the hallway light. I haven't told him everything yet—the part about Dad already having someone else waiting.

I pat the spot beside me on the bed, and he crosses the room, his movements sure and deliberate. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits, close enough that our thighs brush. In the two months I've lived here, this has become our pattern—seeking comfort in each other's proximity when the world feels unsteady.

"She called while you were in the shower," I say, staring at my hands. "They're getting the divorce papers next week."

Dream's hand finds mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I'm sorry, George." His voice is low, serious—the tone he uses when he's truly concerned.

The simple touch sends a shiver down my spine. Since Mom's visit, something has shifted between us. The boundaries we carefully maintained for years have begun to blur, eroded by late-night conversations and shared vulnerability.

"It's not just the divorce," I confess, finally meeting his eyes. The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. "She found out he already has someone. Has for a while."

Dream's jaw tightens. "That's fucked up."

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Before I can process what's happening, Dream shifts closer, his free hand tilting my chin up. His green eyes search mine, and I see the question there—the same question I've been asking myself for weeks.

The rain continues to fall outside, cocooning us in this moment of fragile possibility.