"Alright, this one may be good, but I think we should answer it for, like different eras of our lives." Elise raised her eyebrows like a question mark.

She and Harry were on opposite ends of the couch, their legs stretched out towards each other, layed right like sardines to fit. Elise was never going to move, she'd decided when her buttcheeks hit the cushions. If she was a millionaire, this is exactly the kind of couch she would want. Though no amount of money would make her feel like a white couch was a good investment. The thing was plush though, with deep cushions and maybe memory foam. She was sure her ass print was on it. To be fair, they had basically been on it in very similar poses for most of the day.

She'd slept in, and luxuriated in the very lovely bedding upstairs. She was noticing that Harry's taste ran to lush but very comfortable. Like the very bright cardigan he had on. If they had a few more days together she might have asked to touch it, it looked very cozy. The colors boosted her mood too, maybe why he wore it, for his own serotonin levels. Hers were pretty high, considering she was essentially trapped, it may have been the lovely cage and cell mate.

Elise wasn't sure what time she had stumbled up to the guest room. She knew it was late because they had watched both "To All the Boys I've Loved" movies and that was after Pretty in Pink. Who knew he loved a Rom Com? It wasn't like either of them had anywhere to be, and she had all her necessities now, down to her face lotion, though she bet if she hadn't, her have leant her some and it would also be lush and comforting.

They had settled in to quarantine. And it strangely looked like domestic bliss. Maybe mixed with a first date, hence the conversation starters.

"Well?" Elise prompted.

"You haven't asked the question yet. But I suppose I'll play."

Elise did a little air punch and Harry laughed.

"That was violently American." He chided, but she just shrugged because, yeah.

"So?"

"Ask the question, Elise." He rolled his eyes. She still wasn't used to him saying her name. Also, how honest was she gonna be here? Maybe she should have picked a different question.

"What are you obsessed with right now?" Her eyebrows ticked out to her hairline and then she made them dance. She giggled when he snickered. He had a nice laugh, though she hadn't heard the burst balloon one she remembered from his younger years. Maybe she should put that on her quarantine bucket list. She hadn't even indulged some of the other errant contenders in bed last night, but making him big laugh seemed innocent enough.

"Ah, now I see why you said eras." He pinched his lip.

"Don't touch your face." She reminded.

He scowled a little. "Not sure it really matters now!" And they shared a laugh. "So, are we starting now, or when we were younger?"

"What would you prefer?" She really wanted to know what was floating his current boat, but she had been told most of her life that delayed gratification was the stuff of maturity. This seemed innocuous enough of a situation enough to test the theory out.

"I have an idea- let's start younger and then work our way to now, and we can share the things?" He asked it with the little uptick in his voice that said it was a question, but was nodding. She was nodding along.

"Ok- ok-" she was smiling. His face was like a boomerang, you had to return the facial expression when it flew across his face. This was a great idea; this would fill plenty of time, days even maybe.

"So- what's the first thing you can remember being obsessed with? Go!"

They both shouted at the same time. "Twilight!"

"Harry Potter!"

Well, that was disappointing. She kinda thought he'd be less typical. Which was ironic, she knew she was completely predictable.

"I know," he said laughing at himself, them both, "but it was almost like you weren't British if you weren't reading Harry Potter."

"With Oasis in the background?" She teased.

"No, that was the time of Busted, and I didn't really like them. My sister was listening to older Britpop, Blur and such. I liked that. But, I was more likely to have Fleetwood Mac on." That made her smile. He'd had Tusk on the day before. "Also, you can't tease me. Yours isn't much better." His eye roll and the lighting made his irises look bluer than normal.

"They aren't bad books, really. I swear." She would assume he hadn't read them. "Not great, and definitely problematic, but I loved them with my whole pre teen heart." She knew she was blushing a little. "You've read them?"

"No, but I've seen the movies."

"Oh God! The baby!" They said together. And laughed, and it turned into one of those moments where you can't stop, a release of pressure, volcanic or something, with tremors and aftershocks as they added other cringe moments from the movies. "The head." Was shouted.

"The entire last fight scene was insane!" He hiccuped out.

"I can't believe you watched all of them."

"There were hours of downtime in hotel rooms." He explained as his tremors settled into ripples and they both sucked in that last gasp after huge laughs.

"What was your favorite movie then?" Elise watched him quash a tear away, "besides Twilight, I mean."

"Um, I really loved Serendipity." He sighed. "Started a long crush on Kate Beckinsale."

"You over it now?" She already knew the answer. Nobody was over it now, hell, Elise followed her in instagram. Did she have to be funny too?

"Oh, no, now I just like John Cusack too."

That made her crack up.

"Yeah, Rob Pattinson didn't really make it hard to watch Twilight for me."

"Team Edward huh?" He laughed.

Their conversation flowed like the hot coffee he made until well past three. She knew they would be up late.

"Of course you loved the Arctic Monkeys!"

"Well no more predictable than you being a Swiftie!" He leveled her with a dimple.

"Fair. But you were a Swiftie too....," she singsonged and he laughed. Elise almost couldn't believe her
gall.

"Yeah, yeah, I was a big fan, for a long time." He looked a little wistful, like his mind was years ago and heart somewhere with it.

Elise almost asked, but that felt like a conversation for another day. They could talk about favorites, hyper fixations, and still skirt the really deep subjects. Like love. Have you ever been in love may have been on the tip of her tongue and top of her mind, but wasn't really a topic she wanted turned back on her. So she shifted course, just a tiny bit to the left. "She's an amazing song writer!" He nodded, and his smirk came back and pushed back the wave of memory of a moment ago. She didn't say, especially when she is writing about you! Because that would be weird, and they both knew it, his face said so.

She pivoted. "Who's your favorite song writer, and you can't say Stevie Nicks and I can't say Taylor! Go!"

"How long are you looking to have this discussion?" He sighed and bit his lip in concentration. "Probably Kacey?"

"Kacey?" She racked her brain for her limited knowledge of 70's canyon rock and couldn't place it. Maybe a band member she didn't know the name of. Elise hadn't been alive, obviously.

"Musgraves." He supplied.

It clicked in her brain. "Oh, sorry, I'm not on a first name basis with many Grammy winners."

"Hey, don't go for the sore spots." He kicked her hip as well as he could with no room to get speed.

"You should have won." She ventured. "At least been nominated. Elise knew that much about his first single. She could recognize that one anywhere, even if she didn't really know the album.

He stretched uncomfortably. "Your turn, though I have a few more."

"I actually can't really think of any. I'm drawing a blank." And she wanted to hear him talk.

When he had pulled out the ear buds and they'd listened to some Harry Nillsson to educate her, she was more than willing to fall in love with all his favorites. So far, at least his music taste was spot on. Accessible, but alternative or classic enough to be new to her.

Elise was excited for other recommendations, other art he enjoyed consuming. He'd shown her his Traci Emin's and the Basquiat he had like a proud papa.

By six, they'd moved onto books, and were nearing their current interests. She was that's how she found herself in a window with waning light, trying to coax some vitamin D through the pane and reading of a cloudy day on page one of Norwegian Wood. She assumed they'd reconvene when they got farther into their recommendations.

She hoped she would like it. He'd looked so excited, all bright greens and pink shapes when she suggested they actually read the last book they immediately reread. She hoped he would like "Where the Crawdads Sing." That was the last book she had really loved. She wanted to have more in common with him than exposure to a disease and a band.

She had left it off her list of obsessions, and he let her, though he knew.

He knew.