The room was dark, almost completely black aside from the dim blue light of the television screen lighting up the space. Tatum had one arm wrapped around you while she sipped a soda, her eyes fixed intently on the screen. You were watching an old cult horror movie—one of those cheesy 80s slasher flicks that was probably too ridiculous to be actually scary. The faint smell of popcorn lingered in the air, mixing with the citrus scent of Tatum's shampoo.

You both wore matching pajama sets, something Tatum had insisted on buying during your last trip to the mall. Yours was pale blue with tiny popcorn illustrations, while hers was bright pink covered in tiny horror movie clapboards. You could feel the warmth of her body pressed against yours and hear the steady rhythm of her breathing.

The two of you instinctively huddled closer as the main character in the movie walked down a suspiciously dark hallway, her flashlight beam trembling in the darkness. The suspenseful music swelled, making your heart race slightly despite knowing how predictable these movies were.

"Why would she even agree to go with him in the first place?" Tatum asked, tearing her eyes away from the screen to look at you, one eyebrow raised in obvious judgment. "I mean, look at the dude. He's definitely the killer." She took another sip of her soda, the can making a soft hissing sound in the quiet room.