send.

thoughts

     You laugh and roll your eyes. You're both aware that the chatting software isn't the most reliable program, but as you've said before, it's the best you can get without the real thing. Your fingers begin tapping away at your keyboard, pulling up your browser and setting up the usual screen-sharing site, musing absently to him as you go.

     "Okay, are you gonna give me the rundown on this stupid movie, or am I going in blind?"

     "Y'see, I'd tell you if I had any idea myself, but the problem there is that I don't."

     You laugh and slap a hand over your eyes, shaking your head before dragging it down your face.

     "Dear god. Why do I ever give you any sort of responsibility?"

     "Because you love watching me make grievous, terrifically painful mistakes and, subsequently, suffering alongside me. Pretty sure we've been over this before. Does it not have a description anywhere?"

     Your hands start up again, thrumming away at the keys as your pointer finger slides over the trackpad of your laptop. Things have been going good lately. It feels like things are on comfortable ground. You don't feel like you're toeing any sorts of lines anymore, crossing any boundaries, taking any risks, because Jon knows everything already. He's been good to you, much better than you expected, and sometimes, although it might just be your imagination, you feel like he's returning some of the affections you toss out.

     You'd never say anything, of course. You figure if anything like that were to ever come up, he'd come to you when he was ready. You wouldn't try to pry something of that measure out of him. Although the idea of him spilling something like that to you is awfully pleasant.

     "I know I had a folder of all of the movies you tossed at me somewhere.... Here we go. 'Jonathan's Indie Trainwrecks'." You flash him a wicked grin, earning a solid flipping-off as you open up the movie.

     "They're not that bad. You're looking at it the wrong way. Even if you can't appreciate them for their quality - which, just so we're clear, is absolutely fantastic every time without fail - you can acknowledge that they're at least an adventure. I keep you entertained."

     You laugh and shush him softly, mainly because you have no way to refute that point, motioning to the screen as the program loads.

     "Be quiet and watch the stupid movie that you made me pay for. Get my money's worth."

     However, approximately ten minutes in, after laughable amounts of unrealistic gore and an onslaught of terrible clown puns (three in the first scene alone seems deserving of some kind of record), you can't stand any more of his snarky comments. You burst out in a wave of laughter so sudden and aggressive that you're nearly snorting, pressing a hand to your mouth and shaking your head. The look on Jon's face is just as funny as his words, biting at his lip to keep in his own snickers and tangling a hand in his light hair.

     "You're such a dick! You're the one who roped me into all of this in the first place," you cackle over the screams of the actress in the background.

     "I think the adventure has run its course," Jon retorts, flashing you a grin.

     You spend the next few hours mocking the movie, exchanging links to clips from other subpar pieces, and doing your best imitations of underpaid and apathetic actors. The time passes much faster than you realize. In fact, you're finishing up your latest rendition of "Last Valley Girl Standing" when you notice the time, eyes widening.

     "Jeez, nighttime already? I didn't even realize how quick it went by."

     "Yeah, that tends to be how the whole time thing works. You do things, it passes. This is nothing new, man."