Conner was sitting on the couch, staring at the television that was displaying nothing but static. His gaze, fixed and lifeless, reflected a complete disconnection from his surroundings. The room was plunged into an awkward silence, broken only by the constant hum of the television.

“Do you want me to turn that on?” you asked

“No,” Conner replied, his voice low and emotionless, his eyes never leaving the screen. There was something unsettling about the way he remained absorbed in the static, as if he was searching for answers amidst that visual chaos.

“Do you want to help me make dinner?” you asked again.

“No,” he repeated, this time with a slightly firmer tone, but still devoid of any emotion. Nevertheless, he got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen, standing next to you. Conner's presence at your side filled you with excitement, and you decided to impress by using your telekinesis to pull out all the ingredients at once.

The ingredients began to float haphazardly in the air, and before you could control them, everything went wrong. Conner tried to catch them, but the milk carton opened above his head, followed by the eggs that burst on his chest, while tomatoes rolled across the floor and a bowl ended up on his head.

Soaked and covered in mess, Conner stood still for a moment. Then, he gave you a glare, frowning with a growl that seemed to echo through the kitchen. His expression spoke for itself: "Are you serious?"