#* interactions| ft. axel desravins. )

[ronniezhou]

Ronnie didn’t even flinch at his protest, already tucked into her burrito of a blanket like she was the queen of this self-declared cinematic kingdom. She took a long sip from her own bottle—something fruity and absolutely not beer—before cutting him a look over the rim.

“You say that like you didn’t laugh at at least two scenes in the last one. Don’t lie, Axel. Your left nostril flared—that’s a laugh in your language.” She grinned, not even bothering to hide how smug she was about it, the light from the TV casting quick flickers across her face. “And hey, if I’m corrupting your post-prison cultural awakening with trashy monster flicks and forgotten '90s rom-coms, that’s just the price of friendship.”

She gave his beer bottle a little nudge with hers. “Besides, you’re here. On my couch. Which means I win. You could be brooding in a dark alley somewhere or, I dunno, cleaning your guns like a villain from a bad cop show. But you’re not. You’re here. Watching this banger of a movie. So really, who’s to blame?”

Ronnie leaned her head back against the couch, her tone softening just a notch. “Also... come on. Admit it. You kind of missed stupid shit like this.”

who — @ronniezhou where — ronnie's apartment.

''For the last time, Ronnie, I'm not watching that shit with you,'' Axel exhaled, fingers rising to rub at the bridge of his nose in a soothing motion. His constant state of being since getting out of prison had been sheer exhaustion at simply being around other people. Ronnie was one of the few whose proximity and presence didn't grate at his patience, though he couldn't tell if she'd won him over by exhausting persistence or with her sunny disposition despite his constantly cold demeanour.

Regardless, he found himself sinking deeper into her couch, his legs stretched before him and a bottle of beer dangling between his fingers. Ronnie sat beside him, a blanket covering her in a way that should have been ridiculous but only endeared him further, quieting the conflicting maelstrom of emotions that usually plagued him. She didn't say a word; simply reached for the remote, ignoring his protest entirely and pressing play on yet another one of her asinine movies.

For all of his posturing, he could admit, at least to himself, that the movies she made them watch weren't half bad. ''Next time, I'm picking the hangout spot,'' he grumbled, resolved on taking her anywhere without screen displays. ''Why do you insist on watching these anyway? I missed out on ten years of good T.V. and this is all you can offer? ''