Very hesitantly, Summer asked, "Could... is there some way I could... I don’t know. Try something like this on? Or at least see them in person?"

  Andy lit up. "Yes," he said immediately, sitting up straighter against the pillows. "Absolutely, yes. We can make that happen."

  Summer turned to him, the glow from the laptop screen casting delicate shadows across her cheeks. "But how? I don't know... I don't exactly move in the kind of circles that rent out couture gowns."

  Andy tilted his head, smiling like she'd missed something obvious. "You forget who your boyfriend is."

  She narrowed her eyes. "I haven't forgotten. But I thought you didn't just wave a wand and make things appear."

  "I don't. But I have contacts. Stylists, designers, showrooms. There's a whole quiet little network for people like me, and for people I trust. I can pull some strings. Have a few things sent over for you to try. We could even go to one of the private studios if you're up for it."

  Summer's mouth parted, astonished. "Like, real ones? Not mall dresses?"

  Andy laughed, thrilled at her amazement. "Not a mall in sight. These are the places where stylists pull looks for runways and red carpets. Some of them owe me favours, or just like me enough to say yes."

  Summer stared at him, uncertain. "Wouldn't they expect you to be the one they’re dressing?"

  He smirked, delight dancing in his eyes. "Sometimes I do. But this time? I want you in them."

  The quiet that followed was full and breathless. "I just... " Summer's voice trembled slightly. "I don't want to waste their time."

  Andy reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "Summer, you would not be wasting anything. You're not an obligation. You're not some favour I'm trying to cash in. I want you to have the chance to try on things that make you feel powerful and gorgeous. And maybe," he added with a small smile, "one of those dresses will feel like you. And then we'll know it's the one."

  Her eyes grew glassy at the corners, but she blinked fast, nodding. "Okay. Okay. I'd like that."

  Andy lifted their joined hands to his lips. "Then it's a date."

  "Andy," she said, voice hushed.

  He paused.

  "I don't know how you do this. Make everything sound like a dream that's real."

  His eyes softened. "It's not a dream if we're wide awake together." Andy set the laptop aside. The bedsheets rustled as he shifted, drawing Summer into his lap with the ease of someone who already knew she belonged there.

  Summer leaned against Andy's bare chest, his arms loosely draped around her waist. The scent of him — warm skin, faint cologne, something almost smoky — felt like safety now, like gravity. Andy was quiet for a long moment, his breath stirring her hair. Then, softly, he said, "Sometimes I think you're the dream."

  Summer tilted her head back, blinking up at him. "Me?"

  "I mean it," he whispered. "Every time I'm at a party, or with someone, or stepping into another perfectly curated room filled with people pretending not to ache... I remember that first night. You under that lilac, with tears you weren’t hiding. You weren't posturing or calculating. You just... saw me."

  Her breath caught.

  "You looked at me, and you didn't flinch. You weren't scared or disgusted or trying to fit me into some fantasy. Even when you were crying — " his voice cracked a little — "you looked at me like I was human. And then you said, 'You're not a thing.'"

  Andy looked down at her now, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. "You didn't say it like you were trying to comfort me. You said it like a truth, like you were ready to fight anyone who saw me otherwise. And ever since, it's... it's stayed with me. That I'm not just something pretty to look at or someone to be booked. That maybe — " he swallowed. " — maybe I'm allowed to be more."

  Summer reached for his hand, cradling it against her heart.

  "Even when I'm at my most glittering," Andy said, a wistful smile at the edges of his lips, "it's your voice I hear. It keeps me tethered. Like I'm not floating so far out into the performance that I lose myself. I still feel seen."

  She looked away, but he reached up, fingers curling under her chin to guide her gaze back.

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  "I've had a lot of patrons make me feel important, wanted, even loved — for a night. But that wasn't love. It was luxury. And I knew what I was selling." His gaze was locked to her face. "But you... you weren't buying anything. And somehow, you still made me feel more real than I ever have."

  She touched his cheek, voice trembling. "You are real. You're vivid and brilliant and flawed and alive."

  "You're the dream," he said, almost reverently. "Not the gowns, not the glittering people, not the perfect scenes. You. I sit there in rooms full of expensive smiles and empty words, and all I want is to come home and tell you about the stupid canapés and the woman with the too-loud laugh who kept grabbing my arm. I want to lie next to you and feel the way you breathe when you're drifting to sleep. You, with your laptop, or in my shirt, or in a corset looking like Persephone daring Hades to kneel."

  She swallowed hard, blinking fast.

  "I thought I'd learned to keep my heart out of reach," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But then you walked in, and you handed it back to me."

  She folded into him without words, trembling a little, holding him as tightly as her small frame could. Andy wrapped her up like she was everything, pressing his face into her neck.

  They stayed that way for a long moment, breathing into each other, two dreamers wide awake. Summer's voice, when it came, was muffled slightly against Andy's shoulder. "It shouldn't just be me."

  Andy stirred slightly, tilting his head. "What do you mean?"

  She sat back, just enough to see his face. Her eyes searched his, as if the right words were hiding in the blue. "You talk like I did something extraordinary, like I saw something no one else could. But that's not right. It shouldn't be like that."

  "I know you think that. But it is like that."

  "No, it's not fair," she said, more forcefully than she intended. "You're kind. You're sharp and funny and so good at what you do. You're art, Andy. You're more than just your looks or your job. Anyone who really looks should see you."

  His smile faded, softening into something unreadable.

  "But they don't," she continued, quieter now. "They see the show. The performance. The fantasy. And maybe that's what they paid for, or what they expect, but it's not you. Not really. And I don't understand how they don't see it. How they can't want to."

  Andy smiled faintly, but there was something sad in the curve of it. "They don't want real, Summer. They want illusion. The idea of the courtesan, the performer, the fantasy. They don't want to look past the paint and lace."

  Summer's hands clenched against his chest. "That's monstrous."

  He chuckled quietly. "No, sweetheart. That's people. Not everyone. But enough of them."

  She shook her head, eyes shining. "Well... they're wrong. Every last one of them. You're not a prop. You're not just a pretty ornament or a professional fantasy. You don't have to hide any part of yourself with me."

  Andy leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering half shut. "I don't want to hide with you. That's the dangerous part."

  "Dangerous?" she echoed.

  "You make me want things I'm not sure I'm allowed to want," he whispered. "Peace. Safety. Love. Permanence."

  Her breath hitched. "You are. You are allowed to want those things."

  "I don't know what I did to deserve you seeing me this way," he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. "But I'm never forgetting it. You peeled away the costume with a single sentence."

  Summer gave him a wobbly smile. "It wasn't a costume. Not really. You were still in there. I just... I saw you." Her breath hitched. "I wish I could make them all see."

  "You don't need to." Andy leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead. "I don't need the world to understand me, Summer. Just you."

  She closed her eyes at the tenderness in his voice.

  "You're the one I want to come back to," he added. "You're the one who looked past the glitter and touched the person beneath. That's more than I ever expected. More than I thought I could have."

  Summer's voice was barely audible. "You're more than I ever dreamed I was allowed."

  They lingered in the moment a little longer before Andy shifted, brushing his lips to Summer's hair. "Let me feed you before I accidentally devour you again," he murmured.

  She snorted into his chest. "You're so dramatic."

  He gave a mock-wounded gasp, reaching for his phone anyway. "You wound me. Chinese or Indian?" he asked.

  "Indian," she said without hesitation. "I want something spicy. Feels like we earned it."

  Andy laughed. "You and your love of reckless heat." He placed the order, tossing his phone aside, then rolled to kiss her bare shoulder. "You're adorable when you're smug about spice tolerance."

  He insisted she stay curled up while he answered the door, making her laugh as he strutted out in leggings and a longline cardigan like he was walking a catwalk. "Don't trip on the welcome mat, model boy," she called after him.

  They ate on the couch, legs tangled together, sauce packets scattered like confetti. Summer stole a few bites from his plate without remorse. Andy threatened vengeance and promptly forgot it when she smiled at him, sticky rice clinging to her lip.

  When she asked what they should watch, he scrolled dramatically through the options, then tapped Deadpool with a flourish. "A timeless love story," he declared. "Girl meets boy. Boy abandons girl due to cancer. Boy survives disfigurement and becomes emotionally unhinged."

  Summer grinned. "So, a rom-com."

  "Exactly."

  They ended up missing parts of the movie — pausing for kisses, leaning into laughter, Andy narrating the fight scenes with deliberately bad impressions until Summer threatened to throw a pillow at him. Her head found his shoulder sometime in the third act. He pressed a kiss to her temple as the credits rolled.

  "I should take you home," he murmured reluctantly.

  "Don't wanna move."

  "I know," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "But if I let you sleep here without prep, you'll wake up without your proper pillow or your morning juice and I'll feel terrible."

  Summer sighed but sat up. "You're... disgustingly considerate."

  Andy grinned and stood, pulling on a loose black shirt that hung perfectly off one shoulder. "It's part of the fantasy package."

  She rolled her eyes and let him help her up. The drive was quiet and gentle, the kind where words weren't needed. When they reached her place, Andy turned off the car but didn't unlock the doors immediately.

  "I know it's only been two weeks," he said softly, eyes on hers. "But this — us — feels real."

  Summer nodded slowly. "It does."

  He leaned in to kiss her, sweet and slow.