Disclaimer: Push isn't mine
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A year, two, and Nick becomes paranoid about silences. He's crossed paths with Bleeders one too many times, and once you get him away from the ambient noise, all he can hear is ringing in his ears.
So they start going to shitty movie houses that play midnight horror marathons and Woody Allen retrospectives—places where the sound is turned up far too loud and Nick can sleep. They sit in the back row so no one can sneak up behind them and prop their feet up on the seats so their shoes don't stick to the floor. If the film's in Cantonese, Nick will spend the whole two hours draped over the arm of her chair, his head resting on her shoulder as he mumbles translations into her ear. Cassie's hit most of the Asian ports of call by this point, but damn if she can't speak anything except English. If it's in Mandarin, he'll nod off, more likely than not, with his head tipped back against the wall while she fights to get the future down in her notebook. The light from the screen is enough for her to see the outlines made by her neon gel pens.