After a long week of classes, extracurriculars, and a GCal schedule more jam-packed than a freshman’s car during move-in week, my overwhelmed mind and sleep-deprived body had only one wish (that is, aside from the recurring one that I’d get at least eight hours of sleep for once). So, I took a scalding shower, put on my pajamas, and snuggled up in bed for the most delightfully mind-numbing end to a hard week: the trials and tribulations of a Netflix love triangle.

The most recent victim of my rom-com fixation was Crew Girl, a new Netflix teen-drama series released in early September. The show follows Teagan Tao, an accomplished rower from Los Angeles who is forced to move to the seemingly “middle-of-nowhere” town of Eagles Cove, Massachusetts after her dad is accused of fraud. (He’s now casually on the run from the FBI.) When Teagan enrolls at the insanely wealthy Easton Prep, she’s horrified to find that due to low interest and insufficient funds (a weird plot hole considering the school has an equestrian team and is architecturally reminiscent of a Bridgerton castle), there’s no girls’ rowing team for her to join. Instead, she joins the boys’ team as a coxswain—pretty much the person in charge of steering the boat—and finds herself in the middle of a team of eight ab-sporting men. In the case that you have absolutely no knowledge of the archetypal Netflix plotlines, Teagan inevitably catches feelings for two different members of the team—Josh and Cam.

Here’s the simplified rundown of the two potential bachelors: On one hand, we have Cam—the kind-hearted and hardworking guy attending Easton Prep on a financial aid scholarship. And on the other, we have Josh—the rich and entitled heir to the Regis family fortune. (Bonus: his dad is also paying the school to give him the best spot in the boat.) It’s a classic Netflix teen-drama dichotomy: the difficult decision between the nice, empathetic guy and the rich, rude one that continuously makes fun of you, your friends, and your family. (Whichever will you choose?!) Of course, the brooding bad boy always has some dark secret that apparently “excuses” his past two years of bad behavior. (I won’t spoil Josh’s plotline, but let’s just say he follows a similar trend of being “misunderstood” and becomes much more tolerable after a brief insight into his rocky familial dynamics.)

Netflix has (more or less) copied and pasted this romantic plotline into the scripts of what feels like hundreds of TV shows (albeit understandably so, considering the millions they’ve made off of milking these tropes). Other notable examples include My Life With the Walter Boys and Never Have I Ever, where, despite entirely different settings and protagonists, the same issue always arises: whether the main girl should choose the misunderstood, brooding hottie or the kindhearted, soft-spoken (and usually just as hot) alternative for her high-school romance. (I mean, what could be higher stakes than that?)

In your early twenties, when every decision feels monumental and life-altering—should I go to grad school? What should I major in? What internship do I need to secure to be on track for the five-year plan in my notes app?—there’s something so comforting about these shows and their menial dilemmas. If only for a brief minute, you get to step away from the actual consequential decisions in your life and fixate on one that’s fun, meaningless, and somehow still gripping: whether a fictional protagonist should get with one fictional boy or the other. In a world where there are so many complex issues to debate (and rightfully so, as these topics do need to be addressed), it’s kind of nice to have these stupid love triangles in the back of our minds to analyze, argue, and discuss if we want to have a spirited debate but don’t have the mental energy to have a fight.

It’s even better when you have a friend or family member to discuss it with, as these trivial yet absorbing conversations can surprisingly reveal a lot about a person’s own values. For example, did they choose one bachelor over the other because of their honesty? Or did they simply choose the one they thought was cuter? No matter what their reasoning is, it’s always intriguing to hear them explain it—it’s like a subtle glimpse into what they value in a relationship, even if they might not be as forthcoming when talking about their real-life dating preferences.

But if we as viewers have such a hard time picking sides, how do the writers—who are likely even more attached to these characters and their endings—even begin to make a final decision in the writer’s room? Well, just like the tropes themselves, the endings of these shows often follow a predictable pattern. I’ll try not to list specific examples as to avoid spoilers (although those deep in the teen-drama world can probably guess which series I’m making references to), but almost all of these shows have a tried and true method for tying up their wonderfully messy storylines into a neat, marketable bow. It all boils down to one question: How do you end a show built off of making sides without angering an entire half of your audience? That’s where two of the most notable teen-drama screenwriting tricks come in. The first way to approach the problem is to introduce an alternative love interest for one of the bachelors (usually a female best friend that the guy has known since he was a kid), so that when he ultimately gets rejected by the protagonist, he still has a happy ending that can even give rise to a whole new ship of its own.

A prime example of this is My Life With the Walter Boys. From the very first episode, it’s clear that the writers had already decided that Jackie would end up with Cole—I mean, they had already strategically placed Kylie as the perfect backup love interest for Alex by making the two best friends since they were kids. Despite it only having one season so far, I can say with almost complete certainty that a nearly identical dynamic will play out in Crew Girl. Ultimately, (and this isn’t a spoiler, just a fairly educated prediction), Teagan will end up with Josh. Since Cam already has the “close-female-friend-who-he’s-known-since-birth” character by his side (in this case, her name is Madison), it’s clear that the screenwriters already have the final matches decided.

The second way to resolve a rom-com is to make all viewers—regardless of their original preference—hate one of the love interests: Have the character do something that even their most fervent Reddit defenders can’t justify, or have them betray the protagonist’s trust in a way that can’t be forgiven. The Summer I Turned Pretty effortlessly utilized this technique to avoid alienating a faction of its fanbase, as when showrunner Jenny Han realized that the fandom was relatively evenly split on who Belly should end up with, she turned Jeremiah into such an annoying, ignorant, and downright rude character that fans had no choice but to be relieved when the female protagonist ended up with Conrad.

In case you can’t tell by the fact that I decided to write an article about it in my spare time, these teen-drama love triangles have truly captured my attention span in a way that no other trope has managed. While I’m pretty sure I already know its ending (as you can tell, I believe I’ve got these shows down to a science), I’m still excited for the next season of Crew Girl—as well as any of the other rom-com series Netflix will cook up next.