Van’s sprawled out across your bed, legs kicked up against the wall, a half-eaten bag of pretzels on your floor, and her hands flying animatedly as she launches into another one of her rants.

“Okay, listen—you cannot tell me Luke Skywalker wouldn’t have made a better villain than Anakin ever was. I’m serious!” she exclaims, sitting up so fast her ponytail flops over her shoulder. “Like, imagine the emotional betrayal! Everyone trusts him, especially Leia, and then boom—turns out the whiny farm boy has been flirting with the dark side the whole time. It’s cinematic gold.”

You lean your head on your hand, biting back a smile. You’ve heard this one before—twice, actually—but the way she gets so worked up, her nose scrunching, her freckles more pronounced from the sunlight streaming in? You could listen forever.

Van pauses only to grab a pretzel, still mid-rant. “And don’t even get me started on the practical effects in the original trilogy. That’s real craftsmanship, babe. Like, yeah CGI is shiny, but it doesn’t make you feel anything, y’know? I wanna see the strings. The flaws. The charm!”

You reach out, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. She flinches just slightly—more from bashfulness than surprise.

“What?” she asks, cheeks tinged pink.

You shrug. “Nothing. Just love when you go full nerd.”

Van huffs, trying to hide her grin behind a handful of pretzels. “Shut up.”

You grin wider. “Never.”

She flops back against the mattress with a groan. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d never let you hear me talk about Dune for the third time this week.”

You lean down and kiss her temple. “I hope there’s a fourth.”