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The man sank into his couch, his appearance slender and sickly, he had a bowl of popcorn in his lap and the remote already warm in his palm.

The flat screen flickered to life with a familiar chime. He exhaled through his nose—finally, something good to watch.

A living room appeared onscreen. Quiet. Sparse. A man sat alone on a couch. The camera framed him from behind, the back of his head centered.

“Huh,” the man said, tilting his head. “Literal sit-com, I guess.”

He let out a light laugh, obviously the type to laugh at his own jokes.

He flipped to another channel. A hallway. Dim, fluorescent light. Empty, until a man walked past the camera—same build, same gait. Wearing the same casual attire he had on. He walked to his couch and sat.

He changed the channel again. Now a kitchen—his kitchen? looked familiar. Except not quite. The fridge magnet was shaped like a cat instead of a banana. The man onscreen poured coffee, slowly, carefully.

He paused mid-chew.

“This new or something?” he muttered.

He flipped again.

A man reaching for a doorknob. A fork scraping eggs across a plate. A side profile scrolling endlessly on a phone. Always mundane. Always intimate. Always familiar.

The acting was incredible. Subtle, unforced. No music. No cuts.

He chuckled.

Then he got up to grab a beer from the fridge.

As he popped the cap, it hit him.

He’d just seen that scene on the screen. The same exact movement. Same bottle. Same hesitation.

He laughed. “Coincidence?” he said aloud.

He returned to the couch, flipping channels again.

The doorbell rang.

His doughnuts were here.

on the screen, the same bell echoed back a second later, .

He froze.

The man on the couch answered the door.

So did he.

He looked at the TV, same boxes, same doughnuts.

He chuckled, "Hope he wins the lottery next" he muttered, half-joking, half-scared.

He returned to the couch.

He grabbed the remote. Switched channels.

Now the man onscreen sat back down with a box of doughnuts in hand.

He blinked.

He set his beer on the table gently, he couldn't afford to lose few drops. His eyes scanned the room—framed photos, old rug, the clock ticking quietly on the wall.

Everything was as it should be.

He sighed.

He looked back at the TV.

The man onscreen did too.

They stared at each other across the silence.

Same posture and breath.

Only one of them looked afraid.

He raised the remote. Hovered over the power button.

The man onscreen did nothing.

Just watched.

Watched like someone waiting for something to happen.

The man licked his lips. Changed the channel again.

Onscreen, a man curled up in bed, eyes wide open.

The popcorn sat untouched.

He laughed nervously. “Weird show.”

He didn’t notice the faint background chatter from the screen. Dozens of voices murmuring over him. Making predictions.

He kept watching and so were they.

Waiting to see what next he would do.