So she doesn't seem to be very fond of horror movies. Or maybe she is, in the 'awful things bring you catharsis' kind of way. Whatever the case, the girl jumps at every scare scene, a hand firmly gripping the edges of her blanket, eyes glued to the TV, so Schadenfreudenly incapable of looking away that she forgets the popcorn she's squishing between her fingers. It's so entertaining in fact, that at some point he forgets the movie and entertains himself by watching her reactions to it.

"Jesus," she hisses at one especially gory impalement scene.

"I know." He covers his stupid grin by shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "Surprisingly realistic special effects."

She shifts, covering herself to the neck with her blanket. "You can call them that…"

"Right, you don't like blood."

"Is there anyone who likes blood? Other than a vampire or a potential serial killer?"

He chuckles. "Fair."

She turns to look at him, the lights from the TV reflecting on her skin. "You, on the other hand, seem to be okay with it."

"My job requires me to work with needles every day." He shrugs. "You build some tolerance over time."

"Hmm. Not sure about that."

"I mean, it's not the 'knocking on Death's door' kind of blood," he explains, the movie's anguished screams becoming background noise to their little chinwag. "Hospitals kind of blood sorta makes me queasy too. Can barely look at a blood bag without heaving."

She tilts her head, resting her cheek against the back of the couch. Her eyes are half-lidded like she's about to fall asleep. The huge blanket swallowing her makes her look tiny and younger. "Should I worry that you made it sound like you see those with quite some frequency?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "I'm a blood donor, dummy."

"Are you now?"

He throws a little over-the-top scowl in her direction. "What's with the slightly offensive tone of skepticism?"

"Sorry, that was completely unintentional," she says, appeasingly. In the low light, her eyes seem to sparkle like gemstones, or maybe it's the TV flashes playing tricks on his vision. "I'm just surprised. Pleasantly surprised."

Arm slung over the backrest, he leans his head against his closed fist. Grinning like a dork, he whispers as if confiding an important secret, "Careful, lady, or you might start falling for me."

"In your dreams," Elsa scoffs with a roll of her eye before diverting her attention back to the TV. And then promptly winces as another character meets their inevitable demise.

"Believe me, we can do a lot more than that in my dreams."

"Has that line ever worked on anyone?" She massages her temple with slow circles. Her lips are pursed; eyes narrow. There's maybe a tint of color on her cheeks.

Jack smirks. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"And you dare to question my flirting skills."

"... So you admit you were flirting with me before."

Second-hand embarrassment completely flying out the window, Elsa stops, straightens up, and slowly shakes her head. "I do not."

Jack, on the other hand, sits back, stretches his legs, and languidly relaxes, beyond pleased with himself. "Eh, sorry, no take-backsies."

"You are delusional."

"You just keep telling yourself that, lady."