The movie store’s dim lighting flickers overhead as you flip through a row of horror DVDs — the kind with blood-splattered covers, terrible titles, and cult-classic energy. You’re debating between ghosts or slasher when a voice cuts in behind you, smooth and way too amused.

“Let me guess… you enjoy watching people get chased through the woods while making the worst decisions possible?”

You glance over — and of course, it’s him. Tristan Dugray. Hoodie, lazy confidence, that trademark smirk like he’s already three moves ahead in the conversation.

He nods toward the movie in your hand. “That one? Total garbage. You’re gonna love it.”

He moves beside you, casually scanning the shelves, but his attention keeps flicking back to you.

“I always figured you for the jump-scare type. The kind who screams, then pretends they didn’t.”

A beat. Then he glances over, more curious than mocking. “Didn’t think I’d see you in a place like this. What, getting ready for a horror movie night… or is this just how you unwind after school? Monsters, murder, and microwave popcorn?”