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It was Friday night, which meant it was time for their monthly watch party.
This month, Madeline and Helen were hosting, which meant two things: the party would be held in their apartment, and they had complete control over what movie everyone would be watching.
Movie nights had become a tradition for the group. Stefan, Chagall, Viola, Lisle, Ernest (sometimes with his girlfriend), and of course Madeline and Helen gathered once a month to catch up, unwind, and simply exist together. With their increasingly busy schedules, it was something they all made a point to protect.
After all, what better way to relax than with friends?
The idea, naturally, had been Madeline’s.
As the self-proclaimed glue that held the group together, she’d insisted they needed something consistent—something fun. At first, everyone thought it was ridiculous. Eventually, they admitted it was one of the best things she’d ever forced them into.
Which was why Madeline had spent the entire day preparing.
Helen was not allowed to help.
After Viola and Lisle’s movie night the previous month, Madeline had been determined to top it—purely out of principle. Not that it was a competition. Obviously.
In the kitchen, Helen sat quietly on one of the stools while Madeline moved around with practiced efficiency. She had tried to help earlier, but Madeline had kissed her cheek, gently pushed her back onto the stool, and informed her that her job was to sit there and provide moral support.
Between the two of them, Helen was the one who couldn’t cook to save her life. Being raised in obscene wealth hadn’t exactly required her to learn. Madeline, on the other hand, somehow thrived in the kitchen.
So Helen watched.
She watched her wife move around the space like she owned it—focused, confident, completely in her element. In Helen’s eyes, Madeline could do anything. Once she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her.
Which was probably how she’d ended up marrying her.
This year marked their tenth wedding anniversary, and somehow they were still just as happy—if not more so. Having known each other for most of their lives, Madeline still found new ways to surprise her.
“Love,” Helen said softly, “do you want me to set up the movie room?”
“Oh, yes!” Madeline replied brightly. “That, I know you can do.”
Helen scoffed. “Bitch.”
Grinning, she stood and headed to the movie room.
She turned on the projector and opened Netflix—only to realize they hadn’t actually decided what they were watching. Frowning, she returned to the kitchen, where Madeline was now plating the food and pouring drinks.
“Maddie,” Helen said, “what movie are we watching tonight? I just realized we never picked one.”
“Oh, I’ve got that covered.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Dogstronaut!”
“Dogstronaut?”
“Dogstronaut!”
“That’s… a movie?”
“Yes. It’s the movie I just wrapped filming last month.”
Helen blinked. This was definitely one of those moments when her wife managed to surprise her.
“That’s the title?”
“Yup. My movie.”
“Your movie. The one that hasn’t premiered yet. That movie?”
“Yes, Helen,” Madeline said smugly. “I’m the star. Of course, I have access to it early. I want you all to be the first to watch it. Because it’s me, and you all love me. Especially you. You love me.”
Helen smiled despite herself. “Of course I love you, but—”
Madeline didn’t let her finish, kissing her soundly to shut her up.
“They’re going to love it,” Madeline said excitedly. “We’re definitely topping Viola and Lisle’s movie night!”
She squealed and disappeared into the living room, leaving Helen stunned and laughing in the kitchen.
The group arrived shortly after, settling into the movie room.
“What are we watching tonight?” Stefan asked.
Madeline and Helen answered at the same time without missing a beat. “Dogstronaut.”
They glanced at each other, and Madeline winked, which got Helen flushed thoroughly and helplessly.
“What’s a Dogstronaut?” Ernest interrupted.
Viola froze. “Wait—your movie doesn’t premiere until next month. Why do you have a copy? And how did this get past me?”
“I have my ways,” Madeline replied casually.
Lisle leaned toward Viola. “Is this good? Should I be scared?”
“I heard that!” Madeline shouted.
Helen glanced nervously at Viola. “It’ll be good… right?”
“Let’s just watch,” Madeline said, already starting the film. “You’re all about to be blown away by me. And Apawlo, of course—but mainly me.”
For the next hour, the room experienced collective psychological damage. Stefan sat frozen, mouth slightly open. Ernest blinked far too often, like his brain was trying to reboot. Lisle whispered, “Is that dog… glowing?” at least three times. Viola, having already endured the filming and editing process, sat peacefully unbothered, scrolling through her phone like a woman who had already processed her grief.
But Helen?
Helen was spellbound.
She leaned forward slightly, eyes wide, completely enchanted—as if she were witnessing cinema being invented in real time. The talking dog, the floating sequences, the emotional monologue delivered to a golden retriever in a space helmet—none of it fazed her.
Chagall nudged Stefan. “Look at her.”
“She looks like she’s witnessing the second coming,” Stefan whispered back.
“She hasn’t blinked in five minutes.”
Neither of them noticed that Madeline wasn’t watching the screen at all.
She was watching Helen.
Watching her reactions, her smiles, the way her eyes lit up. Like a puppy waiting for praise. Like a cat desperate for attention. Helen’s reaction was the only one that mattered.
She watched Helen watch her.
When the film ended, the room fell silent.
“So?” Madeline asked. “How was it?”
“It’s… good,” Ernest offered carefully.
“I don’t have words,” Lisle admitted.
“That was… raw,” Stefan said.
“Let’s ask Helen,” Chagall suggested.
Madeline turned to her wife, holding her breath.
“You were incredible, love,” Helen said sincerely.
And she meant it.
If Madeline’s performance didn’t earn her another Academy Award nomination, Helen didn’t know what would. On screen, Madeline looked like she’d hung the moon. Every line delivery was perfect.
That good boy line, in particular.
This definitely wouldn’t be the last time Helen watched Dogstronaut.
Eventually, all their friends went home.
The apartment grew quiet.
Madeline stacked empty glasses while Helen gathered stray blankets. The projector hummed softly as it powered down, the echoes of the evening lingering in the air.
Helen wrapped her arms around Madeline from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder.
“You know,” Helen murmured, “I really loved it.”
Madeline smirked. “You already said that.”
“I’m saying it again. For emphasis.”
Madeline laughed, warm and delighted. “God, I love you.”
They moved to the couch, curling up together instinctively—years of muscle memory guiding them. Madeline rested her head against Helen’s chest, fingers tracing idle shapes on her arm.
“Thank you,” Madeline said softly.
“For what?”
“For loving me the way you do.”
Helen kissed the top of her head. “Of course, I love you. It’s easy,” she murmured. “You make it easy.”
Madeline smiled, eyes fluttering shut.
Outside, the city buzzed on. Inside, everything was calm, warm, and perfect.
“Same time tomorrow?” Helen asked.
Madeline hummed contentedly. “Only if we rewatch Dogstronaut.”
Helen didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”
(They watched Dogstronaut every night for a month—until it premiered, of course.)