Work was shitty, as usual, and Chris had texted Sheila right around when he got off - work over, whenever ur ready - driving home a little faster than the speed limit recommended and almost scratching his car as he pulled into his designated parking spot. More out of the sadistic delight of sharing an awful movie with someone else than over the fact that work was out (and that was unusual), he bounded up the stairs, changed, and set to work shoving piles of clothes and other miscellany into slightly less obvious piles.
She didn't show up for a while - work was work, after all, fucking work - and he took the time to actually eat and half-watch the news with a disinterested eye. He almost had the fork to his mouth when he heard her yelling, right outside his door, and there went what little was left of the meal all over the floor.
"YOU CAN FUCKING KNOCK, YOU KNOW," Chris howled back, sweeping up the scattered debris back onto the plate and dumping it in the kitchen before opening the door, all slightly-affronted redhead and folded arms. "That's what doors are fucking for." He let her in anyway, because otherwise, how was he going to show her the horror that was this, one of his most hated/beloved movies?