Jason closed his mother's door behind him, his mind heavy with their conversation. The weight of what she'd shared, his father's impotence, their fractured marriage, settled into his thoughts as he wandered the empty corridors of the bunker. His footsteps echoed against the concrete floors, each sound amplified in the underground silence.
He paused as he passed the cinema room, noticing the door slightly ajar. There was a slight dust and plastic smell coming from inside. Like the interior of a newly purchased car. The space had been abandoned since they'd moved in.The sound system was either broken or miswired, probably from improper installation during the bunker's hasty completion.
Jason pushed the door open wider. The memory of Lily's wistful comment from weeks ago suddenly surfaced, how she'd joked about trading her favorite teddy bear for just one night with a working screen and popcorn. It had seemed like such a small thing then. Now, it felt important.
He entered the room and turned on the ceiling lights.. The room was dim and cluttered—cardboard boxes stacked in corners, tangled wires spilling across the floor, and a technical manual tossed carelessly on a side table. The projector hung from the ceiling, unused and gathering dust.
Jason picked up the manual, thumbing through the dog-eared pages until he found the wiring diagram. He knelt beside the audio rack, examining the mess of cables at the back. Several were connected to the wrong ports and some cable ends are oxidized.
"Simple enough," he murmured to himself, his voice sounding strange in the empty room.
He worked methodically, rerouting cables to their proper connections, meticulously cleaning the oxidized tips and accumulated dust from the vents with careful fingers. Each click and snap seemed amplified in the quiet space.
After reconnecting the final cable, Jason pressed the power button. Nothing happened. He frowned, double-checked his work, then tried again. This time, the system hummed to life. Lights flickered on the control panel, and a soft test tone emanated from the speakers.
A small, satisfied grin tugged at his lips. Without wasting time, he darted from the room and down the corridor, calling Lily's name. He found her in her bedroom, hunched over a notebook, scribbling something.
"I have something to show you," he said, unable to keep the rare excitement from his voice.
Lily looked up, one eyebrow raised in question, but she set down her pen and followed him without argument.
When they reached the cinema room, her steps faltered at the doorway. The projection screen glowed with a standby image, the audio system humming quietly. Her expression shifted from confusion to disbelief to wonder.
"No way..."
"It works," Jason said simply. "Thought maybe we could watch something."
Lily stared at the screen, then back at him, her green eyes wide with disbelief. "You fixed it. Like... all of it?"
He shrugged, trying to downplay the hours he'd spent troubleshooting the system's cable connections and cleaning the damaged audio components. "Mostly, enough to work."
A beat of silence stretched between them. The hum of the projector filled the space, almost comforting in its normalcy. Jason watched her expression carefully, realizing how long it had been since he'd seen genuine excitement on his twin's face. Something about her reaction made the tedious work worth it.
"Then let's watch something. Together," Lily finally said, her voice softer than usual, a slight tremor in her words that caught his attention.
Jason moved to the control panel and pulled up the digital library. Thousands of movies and shows had been pre-loaded into the bunker's system—someone's idea of essential cultural preservation, he supposed. His father, probably. Richard had always been meticulous about details, even before his obsession with the bunker took hold. They scrolled through the options together, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they leaned in to read titles. Each accidental touch sent a small jolt of awareness through him, not uncomfortable, enough to remind him that he has been away from female touch for a long time.
"Wait…wait, that one" Lily said, pointing. "Didn't we watch that... I think it was at Grandma's?" Lily said. Her voice had softened, distant. A memory she didn't quite smile at, but didn't let go either.
"Oh yeah, that summer... rain hammering the windows, Grandma's cookies, those terrible movies.We laughed like idiots." he said with a crooked smile. They'd been younger then, sprawled on the worn carpet of their grandmother's living room while rain had tapped the windows like it was trying to get in. The scent of her homemade cookies had filled the air, and they'd laughed until their stomachs hurt. The memory felt impossibly distant now like it belonged to different people in a different world. A world where the biggest concern had been whether they'd get to stay up past bedtime, instead of wondering if we're alone in the fucking whole world.
"Let's see if this movie is as funny as I remember it or if it's because we laughed at even farts because we were kids?" he said, selecting it. His finger lingered on the screen for a moment, as if touching that title might somehow bridge the gap between then and now.
The system dimmed the lights automatically. They sat together in the second row of seats, which creaked under their weight. A comfortable distance remained between them, not too close, not too far. The screen flickered to life, the studio logo appearing with opening music that filled the room.
In the dark, Jason glanced at Lily. The changing light from the screen played across her features, illuminating her expression. Her eyes shone with quiet joy as she leaned forward slightly, completely absorbed in the opening sequence. The tension she normally carried in her shoulders had melted away.
For the first time in weeks, she looked... content.
Jason didn't say anything, but he made a quiet vow to himself: to do more of this. To give them reasons to smile. Even here, even now, while the state of the world above is uncertain. Maybe these small moments were what would keep them human. Maybe this was what mattered most—not the works his father obsessed, but the feelings his father forgot.This is what it should be despite everything.
He settled back in his seat, tried to concentrate on watching the movie, but his thoughts remained on his sister's smile. He couldn't save the world. He wasn't a time traveler, a Marvel or DC superhero, or one of those overpowered Chinese cultivators who could reshape fate just because some woman in their harem came from that realm. Still… he kind of wished he was. What guy wouldn't want a harem? But if making her smile was still within reach... he'd take it.
The screen glowed softly, casting flickering light across their faces as the movie played.