I was sleeping in a sort of glorified tent across from my paternal grandad's old house that my dad grew up in. It was right across the street and owned by my boyfriend's family. The floor was wood, and the walls were canvas. I was sleeping in it early in the morning and it was about the size of a normal living room. Suddenly a group of my old friends showed up and wanted to come in. A guy who used to be my friend-with-benefits before I met Jeff was with them. I hung out with them in there for a bit but was relieved when they went away, because my boyfriend really doesn't like it when I even talk to guys I've had sex with in the past. But when I went to lay back down, I realized the old FWB, Spencer, was still there. He wanted to see the place some more and for some reason I let him. We went downstairs, there was suddenly a downstairs now, and I got interested in looking at all sorts of things that used to belong to my boyfriend's dad who died a little over a year ago. I kept going back and forth between wanting to get this guy out of Jeff's family's tent, and wanting to keep exploring it. There kept being more and more floors and hallways going down, down, down, that were filled with interesting things from the past. Eventually I couldn't even lift things out of drawers and boxes though without getting an insane amount of dust fluffed into my face. Finally I gave up and went back upstairs with Spencer, who insisted he needed a nap and laid down next to me. I knew if Jeff showed up he'd think I slept with this guy in his family's tent house with all of his dad's now precious things around us. I couldn't get Spencer to leave though, he was dead asleep. So I got up and just moved into another room, hoping that would appear less suspicious and also hoping that when I left for work at 8 it would be early enough that Jeff would never know about it. I'd just make Spencer leave with me.