Brandon sat quietly, one hand wrapped around the warm mug while the other rested loosely against his knee.
The coffee's bitter scent rose with every slow sip, but it barely grounded him as his thoughts drifted back again and again to that strange dream.
White… endless white.
The flutter of wings.
A voice he couldn't quite reach.
Every time he tried to grasp the memory, it felt like trying to catch smoke.
Florence leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair falling in soft waves across his arm.
She released a small, tired sigh, and her fingers absentmindedly traced patterns across the back of his hand.
"…You're still thinking about it?" She murmured, and her voice was low with morning softness.
Brandon tried to piece together fragments he barely remembers.
The butterflies. The strange stillness. A feeling like someone was watching him… or waiting.
Finally, he breathed out "Yeah. It just feels like… something I shouldn't forget. But I already did."
