They settle on his floor, wrapped in a fleece blanket, a bowl of popcorn between them. It's their thing, their weekend ritual, and it feels as familiar to Max as the beating of her own heart. Warren complains that she's hogging the blanket. She responds by dropping her feet into his lap. He yelps and scoots backwards, shooting her a look that doesn't look nearly annoyed enough. The X-files plays on the screen in front of them. She talks way too much during the show, but they have seen each season enough times that it doesn't matter anymore.

"Is this the one with the guy who can see into serial killers' minds?" Max asks. She realizes that her feet are back in his lap. He rubs them absently, and she thinks of pulling them back, but he's so attuned to the show he doesn't seem to notice he's doing it.

"Correct," he says, then shoots a quick glance at her. "Well, correct enough, anyway. There's more to it than that."

"Smartass," she scoffs and pulls her feet back anyway, startling him into the present. He blushes when he realizes what he'd been doing and switches his attention back to the show. She takes that moment to study the planes of his face—the crinkle of his forehead and his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He is here, but not here, she finds, his eyes glazed over with whatever is turning through his mind.

She lets the quiet build between them. His hand brushes against hers as they reach for the popcorn, a small burst of lightning between them each time.

She leans against him, because that is what she always does, but when her hair tickles against his lips, he flinches and lifts an unsteady hand to brush it away. His chest draws and pulls at his breath, as if he is calculating his breathing. It lulls her into a daze and she hasn't realized she's dozed off until he coughs and the sudden movement jerks her awake. Her mouth is dry and raw and she hopes to God she wasn't snoring.

She peers up to see him watching her, smirking. "You sounded like a chainsaw. I thought for a second you were going to wake up the whole dormitory."

"Oh, God." She buries her head in her hands.

"It's adorable," he continues.

"Oh, God," she repeats and he continues to smirk, tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth.

"You're not allowed to tell anyone about this, Warren Graham. Seriously. I'll tell everyone you sleep in bunny pajamas if you do," she promises.

"And how would you know?" he retorts and on a braver note, "care to test your theory?"

She blushes, which is ridiculous seeing as they're talking about bunny pajamas. She imagines him strutting about her dorm shirtless and with a bunny tail and an odd laugh bubbles inside her.

"Nope, still absolutely adorable."

She peers out from her fingers and meets his eyes, still dancing with laughter. He tugs her hands away slowly and the smile falls into a more serious one. "You're always adorable though," he starts and scoots closer, his leg brushing against hers. He tilts his head to capture her lips in a quick kiss. She laughs lightly against his mouth because it's still new and it catches her off guard, off balance. "Max, I-"

"Shit!" She yelps, ice-cold water seeping into her pants. She jumps up to see he'd knocked over her water and it had spilled all over the front of her pants.

"Oh," Warren says, staring at it and his eyes snap back to her bewildered face. "Oh!" He reaches for the blanket and tosses it towards her outstretched hands. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I'll change," his face darkens, "later, I mean," she adds. She doesn't want him to leave and the water isn't nearly as cold now that her body is flush in embarrassment. For now, she sits with the blanket in her lap and Warren focuses on the screen again.

When they reach the part where Mulder and Scully kiss, a muscle twitches in his jaw and he smiles smugly again. She places a hand on his knee and it relaxes. "You're the Mulder to my Scully, Warren," she jokes.

"Yeah," he says softly and pulls her close, chuckling into her hair.