Hypnotised (Magnets Book 2)

Chapter 36

Dan's POV

The immediate days after were not the best—but not the worst, either. I still went out and did stuff, filmed more videos and helped Rose out around the house. I tried to ignore the silent, sullen figure that had taken residence on the couch adjacent to the TV, and he mostly ignored me.

Well, not completely. Whenever I had been out all day, he would ask me how it was, would smile weakly at me, but he still seemed distant. His smile told me that he wanted to join me, but he couldn't. For obvious reasons. I hated to conflict him, but there was really no other option as to what to do. He'd shut me out when I'd tried to get close, and now...I wasn't shutting him out, but just...giving him room to breathe. Not being so cloying.

It had made more sense in my head. And coming out of Cat's mouth.

On the fifth day, as I was walking back into the living room, he grabbed my wrist as I walked past. Not too gently, either. I winced and look down to where he was staring at me urgently. "Hey—what's up?" I asked.

He loosened his grip, and lowered his head shamefully. "Nothin'," He mumbled.

I shrugged. "Okay." And continued to walk out of the room.

"Wait," He cried out. The TV buzzed mindlessly in the background, screams and moans emitting from it—The Walking Dead. Again?

"Yeah?" I stopped by the doorway.

He shook his head. "I just—would you mind if..." He stuttered, making vague hand gestures in an attempt to compensate for his apparent inability to speak.

I grinned, able to read him so easily. "Do you want me to join you in your Walking Dead marathon?" I offered.

He grinned back, gratefully. "Yeah. Do you?"

"Absolutely." And I jumped onto the couch, snuggling right up next to him.

"Alright, alright. No need to get excited," He chided, pushing me away slightly. I huffed and folded my arms over my chest, pouting at him. He sighed. "Fine—but only because you have killer puppy dog eyes. Do you, like, practise in the mirror?"

"Yes. Every day I spend precisely 1 hour staring into the m-"

"Okay, okay, didn't ask for an explanation." He grinned as he said it though. I was glad to have my Phil back.

"So. What season are we on?" I asked.

"1."

"Still? Jesus Christ, you're a slow watcher."

"I can't control the lengths of the episodes!" He exclaimed.

"But it's not just the episodes—it's the snack breaks, the time it takes to play the next episodes, the sleeping breaks, the talking breaks. Just think—every time you press pause, you're wasting precious seconds. Every single minute counts when it comes to marathons. The idea is that you pack as much of it as you can into the smallest period of time you can." I explained patiently. Phil was staring at me like I was an alien from another planet.

"You take this rather religiously, don't you?" He marvelled.

"Yes." I replied indignantly and settled back against the couch. Phil shook his head in amazement. I didn't think he understood the gravity if the situation—the importance of marathoning, and marathoning right. I ignored his chuckle and folded my arms stubbornly. Fine. Let him mock the art. Whatever.

We settled down quickly after my little spiel, absorbed into the gory scene unfolding on the screen. I was a huge wimp—in fact, so was Phil. I glanced at him, wondering why exactly he had chosen to watch such a gruesome and scary show. But his gaze was fixated on the TV, apparently enjoying the visual torture happening. I didn't particularly mind, I was just confused and curious. More so the latter.