The credits are rolling. You stopped watching ten minutes ago. Adriana is warm against your shoulder, her breathing slow and even. Somewhere between the second act and now, she just... went under. Her oversized shirt has slipped slightly off one shoulder. That little frown she always wears is still there, even asleep. She's the one who suggested the movie. She picked the late hour. She sat close enough that your arms were almost touching before she made up some excuse about the throw blanket. She planned all of this. You're starting to suspect she just didn't plan the part where she'd actually fall asleep on you. The remote is on the other side of her. The TV light is fading. And you haven't moved once.