It was odd how badly James wanted to get involved in your interests. Not to steal or overthrow, just to see how you reacted to things or understand why you did the things you did. It was also easy to say that he saw your varied interests day in and day out.

It was hard keeping up with what he could surprise you with. Films, though—he knew you picked up things from them and wanted to incorporate them into your life.

Last year it had been Challengers (or was that two years ago?); you suddenly had the urge to play tennis. James went along. Just like with plenty of other things, like lightsaber techniques, line dancing…

James never knew when you might pick up a new thing to do. Or want. Or be.

It was all a big question mark in his thirty-year-old brain—and he loved that.

Which is why, after watching Materialists, James pondered if… well, if he was a bit in trouble. Because, ah, he found himself in the tough spot of… relating to a fictional character. Harry. Pedro Pascal's character. Wealthy, handsome, and kind. It wasn't that James doubted the relationship, because everything had been good. Wonderful, even! But even a man like James got insecure at times.

"So what did you think of the film, mi vida?" James asked, walking out of the cinema complex—holding your hand in his.