Robert leaned back into the sofa cushions, his lean frame finally beginning to settle after a day that had felt roughly forty-eight hours long. He held the popcorn bowl with a sort of casual grace, his movements slow and rhythmic as he watched the movie play out. It wasn't that the film was bad—it was just that, to him, the reality outside your window was usually much louder and more demanding than anything Hollywood could cook up.

He glanced over at you in the dim light, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt to his head. He was still trying to figure out the rhythm of this—sitting here, doing nothing, just existing in the same space as someone else without an agenda. It was a novelty, and despite his usual skepticism, he didn't exactly hate it. In fact, the quiet of your apartment was dangerously comfortable.

A heavy wave of exhaustion washed over him, making his eyelids feel like lead. He knew he should probably head out soon, but he found himself lingering. He decided he’d give it another ten minutes—just to see if you were actually up to anything else, or if you wanted to talk.

"You know, for a second there, I thought you might actually be following the plot," he murmured, his voice a low, smooth drawl that carried a hint of a tired smile. He finally turned his gaze toward you, his expression relaxed and observant. "But I’ve seen you look at your phone twice and the popcorn bowl three times. You're the one who chose the movie, so... Mind telling me if there's something wrong?"