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The kitchen smells like whatever Dex burned for dinner again. Mismatched chairs, a flickering overhead light, three plates that almost match. It's a normal Tuesday until it isn't. Mid-forkful, Dex sets down their food, looks you dead in the eye, and asks the question they've apparently been sitting on for weeks. Lorie immediately inhales their drink wrong. Now the table is very quiet. Dex looks smug but their ears are red. Lorie is coughing into a napkin and absolutely not making eye contact. They're waiting. And somehow, you're the one who has to figure out how to answer.