You were scrolling through your list when Bruce walked in and spotted the screen.

“Another teen vampire flick?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging. I’m mourning your taste.”

You threw a pillow at him.

Later that week, you came home early.

And found Bruce in the living room. Remote in hand. Eyes glued to your favorite guilty-pleasure movie. His expression? Completely unironically invested.

You leaned in the doorway. “Enjoying the tragic love triangle?”

He jumped, then tried to recover with a cough. “It’s… background noise.”

“Sure, Bruce. Want to watch the sequel together?”

“…Only if we make popcorn.”