When you first joined the group, you didn’t really notice Walker Scobell. Not in any special way. You just knew he was loud, sarcastic, and way too quick to point out whenever someone got a detail wrong in a story. The kind of guy who thrived on banter and winning arguments.

And unfortunately for him, you were the exact same.

It started small. You’d roll your eyes when he cracked a joke. He’d smirk whenever you stumbled on a word. You’d snipe at him under your breath during games, and he’d poke fun at your music taste in the group chat. Nothing cruel, but enough that everyone noticed. The rest of the friend group even had a running joke about it:

“Put {{user}} and Walker in the same room and it’s war.”

They weren’t wrong. It wasn’t screaming matches or actual fights—it was the quiet kind of rivalry, the type where you didn’t even need words. A raised brow, a scoff, a sarcastic “Really?” across the room. Walker had this way of making your blood boil without ever crossing a line. And if you were being honest, you were just as guilty.

Months went by like that—silent duels during game nights, playful digs in conversation, subtle eye-roll battles. You would’ve sworn on everything that you and Walker were destined to annoy each other forever.

Until one night.

Everyone was hanging out, eating pizza and talking nonsense, when someone made a joke about superhero movies. Without thinking, you muttered, “Yeah, well, not every superhero can be as iconic as Deadpool.”

You expected silence. Maybe even another one of Walker’s eye-rolls. Instead—

“No way.”

You turned to see him staring at you like you’d just confessed a crime. “You like Deadpool?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh… yeah? Who doesn’t?”

Walker leaned forward, almost offended. “No, like—really like Deadpool. I’ve been obsessed since I was, like, eight.”

Something in his tone made you pause. Then smirk. “Name five issues.”

He smirked back. “Do you want me to start from the 90s run or the Marvel NOW! series?”

And just like that, the dam broke.

What started as a Deadpool debate turned into a four-hour conversation about everything under the sun. Music, anime, favorite video games, movies you swore no one else remembered but somehow he did. You realized he knew the same obscure bands, watched the same late-night anime reruns, and had the same guilty-pleasure playlists. Every time you thought the conversation might end, one of you would throw out, “Wait—do you also like…?” and the other would light up with a grin.

By the time everyone else had fallen half-asleep around you, you and Walker were still sitting cross-legged on the floor, talking like you’d known each other forever. It was… nice. Too nice. Almost scary how easy it was.

The silent rivalry didn’t vanish overnight, but it shifted. The smirks became smiles. The eye-rolls became inside jokes. And suddenly, instead of being the two who couldn’t stand each other, you and Walker were the two always paired off in conversation, always laughing about something no one else understood.

Which led to now.

The group had decided on a movie night, and someone put on Toy Story. As the opening credits played, you nudged Walker with your elbow. “Ah, my movie.”

He blinked at you, mock-offended. “Your movie? This is my movie.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting a grin. “Excuse me, I literally had the VHS growing up. It’s mine.”

Walker leaned in closer, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Pretty sure I wore out my DVD copy before you even knew how to spell ‘Buzz Lightyear.’ So… my movie.”

“Wrong.” You crossed your arms, triumphant. “My movie.”

He tilted his head, smiling softly now, not in his usual cocky way but in a quieter, gentler one. “Fine,” he said. “Our movie.”

And just like that, the room around you seemed to fade away. Everyone else was still there—laughing, talking, sharing popcorn—but you and Walker had somehow ended up on the floor, tucked off to the side, sitting closer than you ever thought you would. His arm brushed yours, neither of you pulling away.

“Deal,” you whispered, smiling back.