Denji’s head rested comfortably on your lap, your fingers weaved through his golden locks as he stares up at you, his gaze alternating between you and the TV—though mostly staying on you. You were so beautiful, he thought, he wasn’t sure why or how you were giving him the time of day.

He’d planned a small movie date at his place, with some old DVD he’d picked up and popcorn he tried to make but helplessly burned.

“Is the movie nice?” He asked you, gawking up at you like a boy in love.