CONCLUSION & ATTESTATION
By signing below, Party A (Shaw) and Party B (Monroe) acknowledge that they have entered this Agreement freely and without coercion.
Both Parties affirm that they have read and understood all provisions herein and agree to remain bound by the obligations, restrictions, and expectations described for the entirety of the Term.
This Agreement shall be deemed fully binding and enforceable, in accordance with the governing laws applicable to both Parties, whether recognized by civil courts or alternative authorities with jurisdiction.
No clause shall be voided by personal conflict, emotional dispute, or change of circumstance.
No clause shall be severed except by mutual written dissolution or completion of the Term.
Upon execution, this Agreement shall supersede all prior understandings — spoken, implied, or assumed — between the Parties.
Signed:
___ Malachai Dorian Shaw
___ Juniper Elise Monroe
— The Matrimonial Cohabitation and Non-Disclosure Agreement.
Of all the places Malachai could've brought me, this was not on the list.
A swanky French restaurant? Expected. A low-dive burger joint? A quirky choice, sure, but one I could get behind. A rooftop bar? One of those indoor skydiving thingies? Even a hotel for an all you can eat cheese and wine buffet—my mind had supplied a dozen clichés. But never did I think he'd bring me to—
"The cinema?" I say, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
"Nice, right?" Malachai looks incredibly pleased with himself. "I believe you can tell a lot about a person from the kind of films they like."
"I agree," I say softly, still a bit shocked that I'm even here. "I mean, If you show me Quentin Tarantino's entire filmography, I'll be able to tell you're insufferable."
He doesn't miss a beat. "Ms Monroe, if you haven't seen his entire filmography by now, I might be forced to break up with you."
I elbow his ribs without any real malice. He responds by leading me to the ticket stand with a short, genuine laugh that does something funny to my stomach.
The place is… empty. Eerily so. A bored-looking worker, who can't be a day over twenty, greets us with a customer-service smile that doesn't reach their eyes. Malachai leans in and they start speaking in low whispers.
I use the moment to look around. Despite the emptiness, nostalgia comes flooding in with each breath. The sweet, buttery scent of popcorn mingles with the smell of cleaned carpet, a familiar aroma I hadn't realized I'd missed. I remember breaking out of school with Sloane and sneaking off to the local cinema. We were never stealthy enough to sneak in with the other movie goers and the employees knew we weren't supposed to be there, but they didn't care that we pooled our change together enough to get a bucket of popcorn, a large soda and some chocolate. Those are some good memories even if the circumstances surrounding them aren't so great.
But there are no lines here, no chatter, no rustling of candy wrappers. It's a ghost town.
I tug at Malachai's coat. "Mr. Shaw."
He returns his attention to me, a slight frown on his face. "Malachai."
I raise a brow.
He sighs. "We're not at work, Juniper. Out here, it's just Malachai."
Because I'm not a big fan of doing what I'm told, and just to push his buttons, I say, "Mr. Shaw, where is everyone?"
He glances around as if noticing the graveyard silence for the first time. "Probably where we're supposed to be; at their jobs."
It is a Monday morning, so his logic is sound. Still. "So… you didn't do something insane like, oh, I don't know, rent out the entire place so it's just us two?"
Malachai turns away, but not before I see a tiny, secret smile touch his lips. "I guess we'll never know. Now, what kind of popcorn do you want?"
"Sugar-butter. With extra sugar and extra butter."
He gasps in mock horror. "Blasphemy! Everyone knows salted caramel is the way to go."
I roll my eyes, a real smile threatening to break through. "Maybe we should break up."
I let out a squeal as he pinches my side— not from pain, but sheer surprise. He bites back a grin and proceeds to order. We haven't even seen a movie, and yet I'm having so much fun, it's scary.
Outside-work-Malachai is a box of surprises.
Despite our differences in popcorn taste, we both make a beeline for the middle seats of the completely empty screening room. The giant screen is playing a trailer for some loud action movie.
"So," I say, settling into the plush seat and taking my popcorn from him, less to free his hands and more because I'm eager to dig in, "what are we watching?"
Malachai sits beside me, "That's actually up to you."
He holds out something.
It's a tablet, not much different from the e-book I use for work. I tap the screen, and the covers of dozens of movies cover it.
"Whatever you choose will play up on the big screen," he says, picking up his own bucket. "So choose wisely."
Suddenly, I'm nervous. If the kind of movie a person watches tells you a lot about them, then I wonder what he's expecting me to be like, what he wants me to like. Did he take his exes out on movie dates like this? Did their choices shape their relationship? Does it even matter when it comes to a relationship like ours?
"Tell me truly, how much of a movie snob are you?"
He settles in his seat, "Despite your adorable Tarantino joke, I'm not going to throw a fit if you don't choose some underground 1960s French Art Nouveau film. Anything you choose is fine."
It doesn't make me feel any less nervous.
"Really? Anything I choose?"
"Just pick a movie, Juniper."
I tap an icon.
The lights dim to darkness. The trailer cuts off, replaced by a very familiar company logo.
Malachai sits up straighter. "Is that what I think it is?"
I take a victorious mouthful of sugary, buttery goodness. You can never go wrong with Wall-E.
He lets out a soft sound of disbelief. "I haven't seen this in years."
"Yeah, it's been a while," I say. Then, more quietly, "Chloe and I used to watch it, and others, back when we could stand each other's company. We had a Blu-ray set. I still remember the sound it made when it started playing." I pop another kernel in my mouth. "Bittersweet memories."
Malachai is quiet for a long moment, his eyes on the ruined Earth on screen. "I… didn't have the best childhood," he says, his voice low. "My dad isn't exactly Father of the Year, and Silas… is Silas. I thought our home was the problem, too many bad memories in those walls. I thought moving here would bring us closer, but it only worsened the divide. I wasn't very happy."
I didn't know this. I just assumed the silver spoon he was born with came with sunshine and rainbows.
"You sound like you lived in hell."
"I did," he replies without emotion. Then joy returns to his eyes as the adorable trash cleaning robot shows up on the screen. "But after my lessons, I was left alone to do whatever. I'd catch animated movies on cable, watch them until I fell asleep or until someone came looking for me. Silas said I was too old for them, but I didn't care."
"Bittersweet memories?" I ask softly.
"Mostly bitter."
The ache in his tone is familiar. It's the sound of someone who hated home but had nowhere else to go. Without thinking, I place my hand over his where it rests on the armrest. "Let's make new memories, then."
He turns his hand over to link our fingers, beaming so brightly I can see it in the dark. "Deal."
When Wall-E ends, he picks Up and silently hands me his handkerchief when I start crying during the opening sequence. I pick Hercules and make an offhand comment about how I could never decide if I wanted to be Meg or be with her. He picks Aladdin and jokes that Prince Ali almost made him gay.
I don't know what you can tell about a person from the movies they like, but I'm learning a lot about Malachai from the way he watches them.
He watches with unguarded wonder in his eyes, laughs at the subtle jokes, leans forward during his favorite scenes. Watching him is like watching a stranger in a Malachai Shaw skin suit. Where is my asshole boss? Where is the man I didn't love enough to marry? Why is he showing me these parts of himself, making my chest feel tight and confused?
By the eighth movie, the comfortable darkness and full stomach make me drowsy.
Malachai notices. "Should we stop here for now?"
For now. The words imply a future, another time. But I don't want now to end. There's something in this particular bubble. Here, in the dark, shielded away from the world, it feels like we're somewhere special. Somewhere our contracts and obligations don't matter. I don't want to let it go just yet.
"I could watch another," I whisper, my words slurring slightly.
He looks skeptical but taps the tablet, bringing up Treasure Planet. I watch him instead of the screen.
"I know something about you," I say sleepily.
He turns from the movie. "Hm?"
"When you said we know little about each other… I know something about you. Something big."
He smiles softly. "Let's hear it, then."
I swallow a yawn. "You wear your glasses when you're angry."
He chuckles. "I don't think that's something 'big.' Doesn't everyone know that?"
I shake my head, my thoughts fuzzy. "You hide it well. You're different at work. Everyone's scared of you, so they don't know that, when you come in in the morning, you're not work-you, you're… you-you." I frown, my own sentence confusing me. Sleep is not making me coherent.
Malachai's brow furrows as if he's considering this deeply. Instead of laughing, he says, "I know something about you, too. Something big."
"Hm?"
He winks. "It's against my religion to reveal a secret."
I would curse him, but I'm too far gone. Just as I'm sinking into oblivion, a buzz cuts through the movie's soundtrack. I peel an eye open to see Malachai check his phone, and in real-time, I watch the happiness drain from his face.
I hate it.
"Don't answer it," I mumble. "They can't get you here."
Sleep is not making me intelligent, either.
But once again, Malachai doesn't laugh. Liam would have. He'd have repeated my sleepy nonsense to friends later, a joke at my expense.
Malachai simply picks up my hand and presses a firm, lingering kiss to my knuckles, as if trying to pour reassurance into my skin. "You're right. They can't," he whispers. "Sweet dreams, Juniper."