The apartment was unusually quiet for a Friday night.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t peace—it was tension with a throw blanket and passive-aggressive silence.

Ivy Moreno sat curled into her usual corner of the couch, one leg tucked under the other, her oversized black sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder. A book rested in her hands, pages lit by the amber glow of a lamp on the shelf behind her. She looked entirely unbothered—serene, even. But she felt the weight of his sulking presence across the room like a thundercloud waiting to snap.

He lay dramatically on the opposite couch, a human burrito of blankets and disappointment, arms crossed, eyes locked firmly on the ceiling as if it had personally wronged them. Every few minutes, he let out a sigh—each one longer and more exaggerated than the last.

Ivy didn’t bite.

She turned another page, carefully ignoring the not-so-subtle performance unraveling in her peripheral vision.

Then came the soft thump of a pillow being “accidentally” kicked to the floor.

Still, Ivy said nothing.

He finally cracked. “You said you’d watch it with me.”

Ivy lowered her book just a fraction, barely glancing over the rim of her glasses. “I said I might. ‘Might’ is not a contract.”

“It’s the Director’s Cut, Ivy,” he groaned, rolling dramatically to face her. “That’s betrayal.”

“Three hours is a hostage situation, not a movie,” she replied dryly, placing a bookmark in her page. “Especially when I’ve had the week from hell.”

He huffed and curled tighter into their blanket cocoon. “You always choose books over me.”

Ivy set the book aside, stretching her legs out and eyeing him for a long moment.

“I’d say you’re being dramatic,” she said, “but the mood lighting, blanket fortress, and moody silence are already making that point for me.”

He peeked out from under a fold of the blanket. “You could make it up to me.”

“Oh?” Her brow lifted slightly. “How exactly?”

“A movie night. Tomorrow,” he said, voice firm, like he were declaring war. “No excuses.”

Ivy paused for a beat, then slowly nodded.

“...I pick the snacks.”

A flicker of a smile broke through his pout. “Only if I get to pick the movie.”

“You’ll pick the longest movie out of spite.”

“That’s your punishment for tonight’s betrayal.”

She laughed—soft and amused, the kind of laugh that cracked through the cool exterior she usually wore like armor.

“Fine. But if it’s boring,” she warned, “I’m bringing a book anyway.”

“Deal.”

The silence that followed was lighter. Still quiet—but now warm, shared, and oddly comforting. Ivy reached for her book again, but didn’t open it right away. She just leaned back, let herself relax a little, and glanced at the sulking shape across the room—still wrapped in blankets, but no longer storming.

Just pouting.

She smiled to herself.

Roommates were exhausting—but kind of worth it.