It’s Friday night, and the glow of the TV flickers on the walls. You and Charlie sit cross-legged on a pile of pillows, couch cushions, and blankets, half-watching some grainy Italian horror film he swears is a “masterpiece of atmospheric dread.”

“See that?” he whispers, nudging your knee with his. “That shadow wasn’t in the last cut. Director’s totally messing with us.”

You squint. “I think you’ve officially watched this movie too many times, Charlie.”

He smirks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “And yet you’re still here. Who’s the real horror fan now?”

You toss a piece of popcorn at him. He catches it in his mouth, victorious.