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Final Girl

A/N I start my second year of college tomorrow and i wanted to write something for the movie series that got me through moving out on my own for the first time!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Final Girl Masterlist  (updated chapters 1-10 and extras, asks/extras involving the final girl fic verse are under the tag ‘final girl fic’)

----

Like usual, the bell that signifies the end of homeroom rings while I’m in the middle of a sentence. Mrs. Ramirez may be strict about tardies, but she always wraps up her announcements early, which means most of homeroom is filled by basic high school chatter. 

On the first day, that made me incredibly nervous. I didn’t think I’d have to start over at a new school almost two months into my junior year of high school, but now that I’ve been in Woodsboro nearly a month, the space in between instructions doesn’t bother me. The people here have been a lot more welcoming than I thought they’d be. And one of those surprisingly welcoming people is Casey, who’s patiently standing by her desk as I pick up my backpack. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” The question surprises me a little more than it should. I’ve been invited to a lot of things since I first moved here, and even when nothing’s going on I normally run into one or two of my friends on the weekends. Usually Stu and or Billy. 

I swing my backpack over my shoulder, “Uh--besides studying for that unit test in math, nothing much.” 

She smiles, “Okay, good.” Casey walks out of the door and into the hall with me. “I was going to rent a movie to watch with my boyfriend, but I’m thinking of blowing him off. You want to have a sleepover at my house? We can watch something scary and freak ourselves out and get no sleep.” 

I grin. “Sure, sounds fun. I’ll bring the Jiffy Pop.” 

“Great, I’ll write my address out for you tomorrow.” She turns her head slightly, taking note of the students crowding the hall, “I’ve gotta get to class. See ya.” 

“See ya.” 

A second after I’ve waved her off, a voice comes from right behind me, “New friend?” 

The words are so unexpected and strangely harsh in their lowness that I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn, posture straightening instinctively as I do so. Oh. Okay--not a threat at all. “Oh, it’s just you,” I exhale, “You scared me, Stu.” 

I offer him a partial smile in greeting, which is a gesture he normally returns with a genuine grin. Today, though, he just kind of looks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes look so dark, especially not while he’s looking at me. “Sorry.” He watches me blink at him. “I was just waiting to walk you to your first period like a good friend, but you seemed busy.” 

Oh, is that what his weird attitude’s about? “You mean Casey?” He doesn’t say anything. “She’s nice.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself or maybe even apologize, but I do. I don’t want him looking at me like that anymore. I want Stu to throw his arm around my shoulders with no warning after making an inappropriate joke that I pretend to get mad over. “We talk in homeroom, she’s a friend.” He doesn’t ease. “Are you jealous?” The joke doesn’t land. “Ease up, you know you’re my favorite.” 

At that, Stu’s oddly serious expression shifts into something softer, maybe even a little amused. “Your favorite?” 

He finally smiles, making the inky undertones of his expression disappear. “Mhm,” I continue, “My favorite out of everyone, but don’t tell Tatum or Sid because I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” 

“Fine,” Stu relents, casually throwing an arm around my shoulders, “I’ll just tell Billy.” 

I gape at him for a long second. After almost two weeks of eating lunch with their friend group every day, Billy offered me his drink after someone bumped into me and spilled mine. I had been sitting next to Stu, who had made some joke earlier that involved grabbing my hand and he had yet to let go. I released him to cross the table and thank Billy. Stu frowned and pretended to be seriously hurt until Tatum told him to leave me alone before he scared her new friend off. Since then, the two have a running joke (well, it’s Stu’s joke that Billy kind of just sort of allows) that revolves around me picking a favorite. 

“You’re in a drama starting mood today.” 

Stu hums once absentmindedly, rubbing his hand up and down my arm in a comfortable display of affection. ”What can I say? I want you all to myself.” 

Heat rises to my face for no good reason. Stu’s touchy, I learned that about him pretty quickly. “Haha,” I mumble dryly, hoping humor manages to come across in my voice. “We should get to class before you erupt into a jealous rage.” 

----

Temporarily discarding the cardboard lid of the Jiffy Pop container, I let my gaze linger on the few polaroids Casey took a little earlier in the night. Just a thing I’m trying out, she had explained before snapping a few awkward shots of me smiling before joining me behind the camera. The one where she’s cross eyed and I’m sticking my tongue out is kind of cute, but most of the ones of me are a little rough. 

Casey announces her return to the kitchen with, “Okay, I wasn’t sure what kind of movies you liked so I brought some variety.” She sets her stack of tapes on the counter next to me. “I was thinking Nightmare on Elm Street or Pet Sementary.” 

Leaning down, I turn on the stovetop before placing the pan on a burner. “Mmm, both are good but I’m more of a Nightmare on Elm Street kinda person. Can’t resist a story with a final girl in it.”  

“Alright,” she says just as the first kernel pops, “I’ll keep that in mind for future movie nights.” 

I turn my attention back to the stove in hopes of concealing a smile. Casey caught my attention that first day in homeroom because she’s just so effortlessly cool in a way that normally I find off putting. All morning, I tortured myself over everything that could go wrong. “Yeah, just--” 

A loud pop from the Jiffy Pop pan nearly makes me jump. Casey’s lips turn upwards like she’s going to make a joke about how easily startled I am, but a ringing sound spares me. “Hold on a second.” Casey pushes herself away from the counter she was leaning against. “Landline.” 

She casually picks up the receiver and I give the stove my full attention in an attempt to offer her some sort of privacy. Her words are low and easy to miss as butter begins to sizzle and more kernels start to explode. My gaze shifts and her slightly bothered expression makes me wonder if she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. I’ve never met him, but the few stories she told me earlier make me think I’m not going to like him. 

Casey hangs up with a sigh. “Wrong number.” She straightens, stepping away from the counter before grabbing a tape from her pile. “I’m going to go work on the movie, my mom was just complaining about the VCR. Careful with the popcorn, our stove’s a little iffy.” 

“Please,” I hum, “I know Jiffy Pop, I feel Jiffy Pop, I basically am Jiffy Pop. I’ve never burnt a single kernel.” 

She raises an eyebrow at my only slightly exaggerated claim before turning to leave the room. “You better hope you’re not all talk or you’re never living this down. 

I move the Jiffy Pop around the burner with a level of skill that’s worthy of someone of my expertise. About a minute later, Casey’s home landline starts ringing again. “Casey!”

“On it!”  

The ringing ends with the sound of a quick click. She must be on the living room extension. Her voice keeps getting louder, but I’m not hearing enough to understand who she’s talking to. She does sound like she’s getting a little annoyed, which makes me really think she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. Preconceived notions about people kind of suck, but Steve sounds like a total asshole. 

Casey returns to the kitchen with a playful, albeit softly irritated eye roll. “How do you feel about prank phone calls?” 

My eyes narrow in mock consideration. “Like making them?” 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘P’ sound. “Dealing with them.” 

She waves the phone in front of me like it’s some kind of offer. “That’s kinda an ominous question,” I decide, arm extending to take the phone from her, “I’m in.” Without thinking twice, I raise the phone to my ear. Static hums from the other end of the line. “Hi.” The only response to my greeting is the consistent crack of static. “Are random phone calls your big Saturday night plans?” 

The static is starting to feel a lot eerier than it did before. That, paired with the continual popping of kernels is starting to unsettle me. Snap out of it, it’s just a prank call. I begin to move around the pan again. I can’t afford to burn anything after all that big talk about my Jiffy Pop skills. 

Just as I’m settling the pan at a new angle, the sound of shifting fabric interrupts the steady stream of white noise. “Did your friend scare so easily?” 

I blink. Whoever’s on the other line is probably a total weirdo, but his voice is kinda attractive. “It’s not personal, she’s just busy messing with the VCR.” 

An unsettlingly deep laugh comes from the other line of the phone. Okay--his attractive voice is no longer enough of a redeeming quality for me to not see him as a total creep or perv. Actually, he’s probably both. “What’s your name?” 

The confident authoritativeness of the question rubs me the wrong way. I release the handle of the pan in favor of instinctually placing a hand on my hip. “I don’t share things with strangers.” 

A beat of silence is followed by the rustling of fabric. “But I already know something about you.” 

“Mhm,” I muse dryly, beginning to work on the popcorn again, “And what is it that you know?” 

“Your friend is setting up the VCR, you’re going to watch a movie, aren’t you?” 

I roll my eyes, understanding why Casey was so quick to leave them without hanging up. Weird people like this are normally more persistent when they’re ignored. “Wow, your detective skills have truly shocked and amazed me, Nancy Drew. Congratulations, now if that’s all--”

I’m not sure if its my sarcasm or my attempt at stern dismissal that amuses them, but a deep chuckle comes from the other end of the line. “What movie are you going to watch?” 

“Why? Are you looking for a recommendation?” My reply comes out too fast and too bitter and I regret it instantly. People like this can’t know that they’re getting to you. “Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

Static turns into the sound of more ruffling. “That’s scary.” 

“I think I can handle it,” I breathe. 

“Do you like scary movies?” 

I nod, “Yep, I even have a golden rule for them.” 

“Golden rule?” 

Rolling my eyes, I stare at the pan. The popping is starting to slow down. Soon enough, I’ll have an excuse to hang up and get back to my sleepover. “Yeah, it’s silly, but I think all the great scary movies have a final girl.” 

Another dark laugh. “I agree.” 

“Your approval fuels me,” I mumble. 

The stranger is quick to ask, “Is Nightmare on Elm Street your favorite scary movie?” 

I shake my head, turning the pan so that it’s more on its side than before. “It’s good, but it’s not my all time favorite.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

I sigh, a part of me wishing that Casey would come back. “I already told you that I’m not telling you anything.” 

“So I shouldn’t ask for your name again?” 

“You can ask, but you’re not getting an answer.” Rolling my eyes, I move my hand away from the pan and towards the switch that controls the stove. “Why do you want know so bad, anyway?” 

“It’s rude to not ask a pretty girl for her name.”

Wow--what a line. “That line doesn’t work in person and works even less over the phone when I know you can’t see me.” 

Silence stretches between us so long I start to think that he might have gotten up or something. “What makes you so sure I can’t see you?”

 It’s the kind of vague threat that normally I’d laugh off. But something about the stranger’s assured tone cuts right through all of my security. Irrational dread pulses in my stomach. “Yeah, I’m not interested in being in a scary movie. Bye.” 

“Wait--” There’s the slightest hint of panic in their voice. 

“I am so sick of creepy men trying to ruin everything just because they can.” 

“Don’t even think ab--!” = 

“Porn exists for a reason, perv!” And with a single beep, the man’s voice disappears. 

Ugh, men. Even though his threat was the kind of meaningless joke that creepy, horny men tell because they get off on scaring girls, I can’t stop feeling a lot less alone in Casey’s kitchen. 

I let myself shudder as I pace away from the kitchen and towards Casey’s living room.

“Y/n?” Casey’s voice is completely casual as she questions me. That means that weird phone guy didn’t scare her. 

Be more normal. “Hey--I just..” 

She turns her head, blonde bob falling to the side as I trail off. “Did something scare you?” 

There are a lot of things I could say, but nothing feels good enough. Denial crawls up my throat and just sits there as my thoughts beg me to tell her. To maybe even warn her. Warn her of what, though? That some weird guy has her phone number and the junior girl she took a chance on is this easily freaked? 

Before I can make up my mind, the living room phone rings. Dread roots itself in my stomach and tangles itself in my throat. Casey sits up a bit more on her couch as she reaches for the phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Casey raises an eyebrow as she picks up the receiver. “Forget that guy, he’s probably already forgotten us and is harassing someone else. She then raises the phone to her ear and listens for a long second, “Is this some kind of joke, because it’s not funny.”

I stare at her with wide eyes as she stands, quickly pacing away from the couch and towards the center of the living room, as far from any window as possible. The noise from the phone is muffled, but something about the tone feels a lot more aggressive than it was earlier. Maybe aggressively calling him a pervert and hanging up on him wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done. 

Casey’s face is void of any color as she slowly pulls the phone away from her ear. “He wants to talk to you.” 

My eyes widen as I play back the last words I said to him. An instinctual no crawls up my throat. With shaky hands, I take the phone. “Hi,” I curse myself for sounding so nervous, “Again. Hi again.” A nervous giggle crawls up my throat and I have to my tongue to keep it down. “Listen, you win. You scared us. Now I’m going to hang up and you’re gonna let me.” 

“Really?” The laugh, or maybe even growl, that follows comes out in the form of low grumble that turns my blood into slush. “And if I don’t?” 

Great. Of course phone freak is trying to verify my threat. I don’t exactly have an arsenal of intimidation tactics. “My mom’s dating a cop, and I’ll get him to arrest your ass.”

It’s not the most honest thing I’ve said to him, but it’s not a lie either. My mom’s boyfriend being hired as Woodsboro’s police chief is one of the main reasons we moved, but I’m not sure he’d particularly care about someone scaring me over the phone. I’ve known Wells for a few months now and the only thing I’ve seen him express interest in is my mom and beer. And occasionally, he shows a little too much interest in the length of my skirt. 

Silence. Okay--maybe he took that seriously. My finger moves towards the button that can end this call, but before I can convince myself that nothing bad will happen if I press it, the voice returns with a vengeful chuckle. “What’s Chief Wells Hoffman going to do for you?” 

I feel each drop of blood drain from me. My hands shake as my grip on the phone tightens. With a wavering voice I ask, “How did--how--” 

In an act of a sadistic sort of mercy, the man cuts me off, “Oh, doll face,” he breathes the nickname like he’s taking pity on me. Like I’m a child that needs to be comforted. “I’m going to play nice with you.” He’s waits a beat, “But your good friend Casey Becker’s not going to be so lucky.” 

At the threat of someone that’s standing right next to me, something in me becomes strangled. “How do you know her name?” I shake my head, forcing down the wave of dread trying to force me into panic. “Leave her alone, or-or you’re gonna regret it.” 

“You look too sweet in those cherry pajamas to be making threats.” 

My lips part but I can’t bring myself to ask the question because I already feel the answer in my chest. “How do you know what I’m wearing?” 

“Why don’t you look behind you?”

I pull the phone away from my ear slowly, my eyes snapping upwards in search of Casey’s. But she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at something that’s just over my shoulder, her hand covering her mouth in horror. I pull the phone away from my ear. 

My body does not feel like my own as I force myself to turn towards Casey’s sliding glass door. Despite the glare of the living room light against the reflection of glass, it only takes my eyes a second to adjust enough to see that Casey’s backyard is not empty. 

A figure that’s clothed in all black except for their contrasting, stark white mask that depicts a face frozen in a permanent, cartoonish scream is standing there. Now that he has my attention, he raises his hand, miming the action of answering a phone.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to settle myself, but all it does is make it harder to not scream or cry or laugh hysterically. I raise the phone to my ear again. “Hello, Y/n.” 

“Hi,” I squeak back before pressing the phone into the side of my thigh in a pathetic attempt to muffle my words. “Casey,” I whisper, raising my hand in greeting in an attempt to appease the figure on the other side of the glass, “R--” 

Before the single syllable can slip past my lips, the glass bursts. I turn in on myself, lifting an arm in a feeble attempt to protect myself from the explosion of glass shards. It only takes me a moment to look up in horror at the masked man that’s now in the house. If throwing his entire weight against gas sliding glass door with enough force to shatter it hurt him, he shows no sign of his pain as he begins to run. 

An instinctual scream escapes me as I blindly hurl the phone in the man’s general direction. I grasp Casey’s hand pulling her forward with all my strength as I start running. I urge her forward, ignoring the pain in my forearm and feet from the glass. We’re about to make it to the front door when I feel a firm grasp on my arm. 

I yelp, thrashing blindly as I’m yanked away from Casey. My body twists, but the leather clad hand holding me is unrelenting. There’s a strange strain in the way they pull me back, but I don’t care about his promise to play nice. In a move that likely surprises both of us, I kick behind me with all of my force. Their hold loosens for a fraction of a second, but they regain control before I can even take a full step forward. The man pulls on me harder than before, throwing me back and into the Becker’s entryway table. A scream that I only vaguely register as not mine is so terrible and high pitched my lip quivers at the sound of it. The vase on the table gets knocked over and shatters as I fall. 

My head slams into the wall with enough force to leave me disorientated for a second. Our attacker must not be completely aware of his own strength because for a brief moment, they just look at me as my body lays against shards of glass. With a shaky breath, I push myself to stand even though the movement forces large pieces of glass to cut into my palm. The man recovers before I’m fully up. He grabs me by my shoulder and forces me down on the other side of the hall. I push against him with the support of all the adrenaline in my body as he moves to pin my wrists above my head. The man reaches for something hidden among layers of black. All I can hope for is that my death might have given Casey a chance to escape. 

Instead of pulling out a gun or a blade, he reveals a small, white towel. The confusion makes my stomach twist in a different way as I fight against him even more now. He places the rag over my nose and mouth, forcing me to breath through it. Is this a form of suffocation? I blink twice, my limbs growing impossibly heavy the more I try to breathe. Eventually, that’s all there is. Just the weight of my body and the polluted air in my lungs until even that is replaced by darkness. 

----

NARRATOR’S POV

The one thing about meticulously planning is that it takes so little for plans to go off the rail. One can prepare for every possible outcome and life can still throw twists at them because the rest of the world can never seem to listen to the fucking plan. 

That’s how Billy felt when he saw you standing in Casey Becker’s kitchen, casually prepping Jiffy Pop like you’ve been best friends with her your entire life. Not only did a dangerous sort of aggravation pulse through him at the realization that his perfect plan needed to be adjusted, he also found himself dealing with the kind of anger that’s a result of betrayal. All the time Stu and him spend with you and you couldn’t tell them that you were planning on spending the night at Casey Becker’s? 

When you mumbled some vague excuse about why you couldn’t hang out with Tatum and Sidney Saturday evening during yesterday’s lunch period, Billy felt skeptical. He thought that that’d be something to figure out later. And then he saw you there, grinning and having the time of your life without a single thought about them.

For the briefest moment, Billy wondered if this was some kind of sign. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him to screw it, to let you get what you deserve for keeping secrets. But then he realized that if anything, this signified that he was right about you. After all, what were the odds that you’d be in the perfect place to make your debut as the one thing their movie was missing--a final girl? It only took a few minutes of watching you for Billy to be glad that he thought to bring some chloroform in case anything got complicated. 

The new and improved plan went off without a hitch. Steve was an easy kill and Casey’s death was even more satisfying than he thought possible. Nothing bad happened, so why the hell is Stu taking so long? 

Approaching the house’s entryway, Billy sighs when he sees that Stu isn’t wearing his mask. “What is taking so--” He cuts himself off as something he doesn’t quite get settles in his chest. There’s a hole about the size of his fist in the wall, blue and white ceramic fragments scattered around a small, knocked over table, and most unsettling of all, your unconscious, still bleeding form lying parallel to it all.

“I didn’t mean to,” Stu says, voice uncharacteristically shaky, “I--I--fuck, I didn’t mean to. I was just gonna put her to sleep, but she kept trying to get away--and the chase was exciting,” he scoffs the last word pathetically. “I didn’t think she’d fight back.” 

Billy lets out a breath, crouching down to get a better look at your face. There’s a shallow gash on your forehead that’s still dripping blood into a puddle that your cheek is resting in. If it wasn’t for that, Billy might have been able to imagine that you were sleeping. “What the fuck did you do?” 

When Billy’s hard gaze meets Stu’s, Stu blurts out the only thing he can think to say, “She’s still breathing! She’s not--she’s not dead.” He stares at your crumpled form, desperately studying the slow but even rise and fall of your chest. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Billy’s fingers brush against the side of your face. “I know.” Stu doesn’t ask him to specify which part of his defense he’s referencing. “She’ll be okay, someone will find this, they’ll take her to the hospital. She’s not that hurt.” 

“She fell into the glass,” Stu admits, “And--and her head hit the wall so hard. What if she has a concussion? Shit, aren’t you supposed to stay awake if you have a concussion?” He lets out an uneasy sigh that doesn’t seem to fit him. It’s the kind of breathy, uneasy sound that’s the precursor for a tantrum a child throws after realizing that they just broke their favorite toy. “What if she has some kinda brain damage? She has--she has the SAT next week and she’s been studying for it since before she moved here.” After a moment, Stu snorts, but the sound comes out more desperate than humorous. “She’s gonna be so mad.” 

The corner of Billy’s lips turn upwards. “For like a week, and then she’ll be trying to spin this into some kind of college essay.” 

Another uneven laugh escapes Stu. “You’re right.” He then looks down, something weirdly close to what some might call guilt cramming itself into his head with too much force. It’s all too much. All he wants is for you to open your eyes and smile at him. “Fuck, we need to call an ambulance.” 

“You know we can’t.” 

“She could be bleeding in her skull. Isn’t that a thing?”

Billy bites his tongue. So many versions of a reply are circling in his mind and not a single one of them feels right. He should tell his best friend, his partner in everything, that that’s just something he’s going to have to life with. Billy should tell Stu that what happens to you is on him. Instead, Billy just looks at you, at the cuts in your soft skin. Some dominant part of him is thrilled at your vulnerable state. All bloody and broken and still somehow so soft and warm. He could have you now, he thinks, and he wouldn’t have to pretend the way he does when you’re awake. But something else in him, maybe the part of him that knows the way he’s supposed to act, knows that to leave you like this, to waste any more time, could lead to something permanent.  

The updated plan is already in motion. After this, there’s no way you won’t need them. He likes the thought of you needing him more than anything else, and he knows that it’d be so easy to push you into a state of dependency. You’re going to be so scared that any reservations you feel towards them because they’re dating your friends will disappear. And how could Sidney and Tatum have a problem with Stu and him being supportive after everything you’ve been through? 

Besides, a part of him wants to see how your role plays out. After all, you said it yourself. All the great scary movies have a final girl. 

He cups your face, studying each of your features as if to commit them to memory. “We’ll call 911 from the house phone and not say anything. They’ll have to send someone over, but we need to get out of here quick.”

Final Girl (Part 2)

Final Girl Series Masterlist (currently updated parts 1 - 9 and extras) 

A/N this one’s a bit of a filler but it’s needed and i’m looking forward to part 3!! a scene in part 3 inspired this entire fic :)) also i love feedback!! comments make my day and motivate me to write :)) so if you’re so inclined,, i’d love to hear your thoughts :) 

also lmk if you’d like to be tagged!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: The only good thing that’s come from Casey’s murder and your injuries is that your good friends Billy and Stu are determined to help you. 

also i made the reader’s birthday Halloween bc it helps the plot and i love halloween and am so jealous of fall birthdays!! So on the really good chance that your birthday isn’t on Halloween, just go with it!! Also I named the mom character bc the reader’s connection to her mom is kinda specific and relevant for plot and that felt easier lol 

Warnings: maybe a tiny bit too fluffy in some parts but there’s a reason for it!! also gaslighting and the beginning of emotional manipulation (it’s billy and stu, y’all should’ve expected it lol)

----

I’ve always hated hospitals. Waking up with bandages I don’t remember getting placed on me just to receive the news of Casey’s death certainly hasn’t made me grow fonder of them. If anything, each additional second I spend in this hospital cot adds to the agony in my body.

“Miss L/n, are you feeling any better?” Nurse Samantha’s voice is cautious and smooth, but not overly peppy like Nurse Molly’s. 

In another life, in another situation, I might have really liked Nurse Samantha. She gave me extra Jell-O when she noticed that it was the only thing from my tray that I picked at. She was the only one willing to be honest about Casey’s death with me. But this isn’t another life or situation, so when I look at her, all I can think about is what it felt like to wake up here. Alone. 

But that’s not her fault, so instead of attempting to get out of this damn bed again, I just nod slowly. “A little.” My voice is so hollow and hoarse that it sounds wrong in my ears. 

She waits for me to clear my throat before speaking again. “Your boyfriends are here to see you, but if you’re not up for visitors--” 

“Boyfriends?” My voice is slightly less gritty than it was when I first spoke. “I don’t have a boyfriend, let alone a plural amount of them.” 

Nurse Samantha’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, my apologies,” she then tilts her head slightly, leaning against the doorframe of the hospital room. “But you might want to consider breaking that news to the two boys that have been harassing our receptionist since a little after you arrived.” 

My eyebrows draw together in confusion. What is she--

“You said she was awake, which meant she could take visitors, so take us--” 

Yeah, even in my state, that voice cleared everything up. “Billy.” 

He’s close enough to Nurse Samatha to tower over her, but when he snaps his head in my direction, all sense of anger is gone. In an instant, he’s in my room. I must be more out of it than I thought, because I’m slightly surprised when Stu comes in right behind him. 

“Visiting hours are technically over, but considering what you’ve been through and the late time you were brought in, I can make a bit of an exception. If you need anything, press the call button.” 

I nod again, a little more grateful for Nurse Samatha than I was before. Not only do I love the idea of not being alone here, I’m also glad she decided to let Billy and Stu in before they got irritated. I know I haven’t known them that long, but I think Billy has a bit more of a temper than he’d like to let on, and Stu takes not getting his way personally. 

“Okay, thank you.” 

She disappears down the hall after a quick nod of her head. 

Billy has pulled forward one of the hospital room’s chairs so that he’s sitting as close to my bed as possible. He grabs my hand as soon as he’s settled. His fingers are squeezing mine so tightly it’s slightly uncomfortable. “Hi.”

His greeting is oddly hesitant, maybe even a little nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Billy this unsure before. “Hey.” 

The silence that falls over us after that is serious. Much too serious for Stu to just stand on the sidelines in silence. Actually, it’s weird that Stu’s on the sidelines at all. What’s his deal? He never needs an excuse to be touchy and now that I actually need a hug, he’s choosing to keep his distance. Where was this restraint when I made eye contact with a cute boy during lunch and Stu decided that that’d be the perfect time to rest his head on my shoulder? 

I tear my gaze away from Billy’s hard stare, ready to call out Stu for being so weird. But then I see his expression. His face is oddly pale and his eyes are wide and kind of blank. 

“Stu, I’m fine, you can’t catch a concussion.”

Instead of taking the out and making some kind of joke, Stu’s expression falls even more. “A concussion?” 

Oh. Maybe Stu’s more worried than I thought. “Relax, we don’t know anything for sure. Concussions can take up to days to form, it hasn’t been long enough.” He doesn’t seem eased. “Would you stop looking at me like that? I’m fine, Casey’s the one that--” My voice catches on itself. Nope—still can’t even say it. “Would you please just come over here and be normal? I’m tired and I-I really want to pretend that I’m not in a hospital and I can’t do that with you staring at me like I’m on death’s doorstep.” 

His eyebrows draw together, but all he does is shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Stu,” Billy’s voice comes out so low and harsh I find myself gaping at him. “Y/n is asking you for one thing. For you to be normal.” 

On a normal night, I’d brush off their tension with some kind of joke or laugh. It’s not the first time I’ve ever witnessed the way they disappear into each other. A slightly longer than average glance or a simple sentence is all it takes to initiate one of their silent exchanges. Whenever they get like that, I can’t help but wonder what they’re like when they’re alone. 

Stu nods once, the motion oddly stiff, but then his eyes move so that he’s looking at me. And just like that, they’re back. Stu shuffles towards me. He moves like he wants to hug me but can’t figure out a tactful way to do it with all the wires connected to me. He settles for a gentle, barely there shoulder squeeze. It’s so awkward and unusually gentle I find an unexpected fondness tugging at my chest. 

He lets go of me, his hand moving forward to allow the knuckle of his pointer finger to graze the edge of the cotton bandage on my forehead. “It’s okay, Stu.” When he doesn’t ease, I continue, “No stitches. Doctor said it won’t even scar.” 

With that, Stu softens completely. He grabs the hand that Billy isn’t holding. “Won’t even scar, huh?” 

His easiness is infectious. “Nope.” 

“Good thing, too,” Billy says, “Wouldn’t want anything hurting that pretty face.”

My eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Shut up, I’m a total mess right now. I’m literally in the hospital.” 

“And you still look like an angel.” If I thought that the earlier comment had me struggling to form a coherent thought, this is something else. I hate how stunned into silence I am, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s totally reveling in my reaction. “Don’t even think a scar could make you less pretty.” 

Weakly, I try to cover how sentimental I’m feeling. “I almost got murdered, you have to be nice to me.” 

Billy exaggeratedly frowns. “I’m always nice to you.” 

I pretend to contemplate his words. “Mm...nice-ish.” 

There’s something oddly comforting about Billy’s mock gasp. It’s a display of the softer side of him that I’ve only ever caught glimpses of. “Now who’s mean?”

“Still you.” 

Billy rolls his eyes at Stu’s reply. I turn, expression easing at the look on Stu’s face. “You’re on my side?” 

“Always,” he hums pleasantly, thumb running along my knuckles. He’s definitely lying. Billy and Stu seem to understand each other in way that I’ve never seen between two people, but the gesture is still nice.

The realization that I’m really glad that they’re here settles into me comfortably, in a content sort of way. “I’m happy you guys are here.”

Stu tilts his head, his free hand moving to gently catch my chin between his thumb and pointer finger. I blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. He’s staring, analyzing me with a focus I didn’t think he was capable of. “You’re cute when you’re high.” My lips part in protest, but before I can get any words out, Stu continues, “You probably watched your friend get gutted, they definitely gave you something strong.” 

I frown, sinking further into the hospital bed without thinking about it. Noticing my reaction, Billy throws a dirty look in Stu’s direction before leaning over me in order to punch Stu’s arm. “Shut up.”

“What? She knows I didn’t mean it in any bad way.” He then turns to look back at me. “You know that, right?” 

I’m not exactly in the mood to brush off Stu’s insensitivity the way I normally would, and I don’t think I have the energy to humor him--but I also can’t bring myself to alienate them. I nod once, the motion tired and vague.

Billy runs his thumb over my knuckles gingerly, brining my attention back to him. “You did say you wanted him to be normal.” 

At that, I almost laugh. “Yeah, that’s on me.” A moment of silence passes, and for whatever reason, I don’t like it. “Y’know, I didn’t see anything. I-I was knocked out before it happened.” I can’t believe I’m talking about this. “I didn’t even know what happened to Casey until one of the nurses told me so that I’d cooperate with police questioning.” 

“The police already questioned you?” Billy’s question comes out too fast, too urging. “We’ve been waiting to be able to see you for hours, we didn’t know if y--” 

“Billy.” Some hard to name aspect of his personality takes on a darker shade, but he does stop ranting. So much for getting used to slightly more lighthearted Billy. “If it makes you feel any better, I was asleep for most of the time. One of the nurses had to borderline sedate me because I kept trying to pull out my IV and disconnect the heart monitor.” 

Instead of finding humor in my admission, the corner of Billy’s mouth turns downwards. 

“Why?” Stu asks Billy’s silent question before tacking on something to ease the tension, “This stuff looks important.” 

My nose wrinkles. There’s no good way to describe the panic I felt when I woke up here. No way to summarize the need I felt to be anywhere but the hospital. The desire to see Casey and be told that everything was just a bad dream. “Just didn’t want to be here,” I explain weakly, “I didn’t know what was going on and I freaked.” 

Stu’s eyebrows draw together. I’m too tired to hide the way I study him. It’s not that he’s never serious (though it is kind of rare), but there’s something strange beneath the way he’s looking at me. His eyes seem dark, tired and emphasized by the bruise forming near the top of his cheek.

Now it’s my turn to frown openly. Slowly, I pull my fingers from his grasp. Stu lets me move my hand towards his face with no reaction until my fingers just barely graze the line of barely formed purple.

He catches my wrist between his pointer finger and thumb, his grip just a little too tight. “You okay, angel?” 

The nickname leaves my face a degree or two warmer. Stu grins in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your face is bruised--what happened?” 

“You’re in the hospital and you’re worried about me?” He lets out a breath, demeanor shifting back into something easier.

I roll my eyes, glad that his strange worry is passing. “Shut up.” 

His hold on my wrist loosens. Stu twists my hand in order to press a quick kiss to the inside of my wrist, right above my pulse. “Billy and I were going to watch a movie. He threw the tape at me a little too hard when I wasn’t paying attention. Between you and me, I think he did it on purpose.” 

Billy sighs, throwing a mean look in Stu’s direction. “I told you I was going to give it to you right before--” 

“Yeah, give not throw--” 

“You were right next to the VC--” 

“Guys.” My interruption isn’t particularly loud, but they both instantly shut up. On a normal night, I really doubt that would have worked. I guess being in the hospital has its perks. “I’ve dealt with enough conflict.” 

After a second, Billy concedes, “You’re right.” He squeezes my hand once, eyes softening. “I can’t believe the police questioned you right after you woke up. You must have been so confused,” his thumb runs up and down my knuckles, “Probably still are. You can’t be sure about anything you picked up on.” 

An uneasy feeling I can’t name settles in my chest. The police were the ones that insisted on speaking to me as soon as possible, but if I accidentally gave them anything that leads to an inaccurate lead, I’m not sure I’d be able to forgive myself. “It was a man, I know that. I know that I wasn’t confused about that.” That was something I told the officers confidently. The voice on the other line was masculine and distinct and my attacker was too large and tall to likely be a woman. “I didn’t really remember anything else.” 

The memories of right before are seared into my mind perfectly. Casey and her polaroid camera, the phone, the popcorn. Or--or was it the other way around? Did I make the popcorn before or after the phone call? Did Casey come in with the movies before or after she took those pictures of me? 

What were her last words? 

I can’t remember them and for some reason, that makes me feel guilty. He wants to talk to you. That’s when she gave me the phone for the last time. The phone I threw at the killer’s head. Did it hit him? And then she screamed. Wait, no, she clasped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t scream until the glass broke. And then...there was a second scream much later, a much more pained, animalistic sound. 

My mouth goes dry. That might have been the last sound Casey ever made. I heard it, but I was too busy trying to escape the killer to pick up on it. Which would mean she was killed while I was being attacked. Which means...

“Hey, don’t think about it too hard. Don’t think about anything too hard, you said it yourself, you hit your head.” Billy’s voice is soft yet assured. He’s right, I know he’s right, and yet I can’t snap out of it. 

“I,” my throat aches, a part of me regrets sending away the nurse before she could bring me ice chips, “I think there were two of them.” 

The admission is so slow and unsure I instantly feel the need to defend it. “Maybe. I-I mean, I don’t--” I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly all I can see are stars that turn my stomach. The sharp ache in my head is returning. “I didn’t remember before, but now that I’m thinking about it--Casey ran while I was being attacked and I heard her scream. And not just a scared scream, it was the kind of scream that victims in a scary movie let out right before they die. I think what happened to Casey happened while I was still awake. Which would mean there were two of them.” 

The two gape at me before glancing at each other. Their silence feels like some kind of reproach that tears at my insides. Stu breaks the quiet with a laugh. A loud, free kind of laugh that’s usually only ever used after the kind of inappropriate joke that earns him some kind of scolding from Tatum. 

“You’re cute,” Stu hums with the kind of fondness a parent would use towards a child that proudly declares insanely unrealistic goals. Sure you’ll be the first president in space, here, have a gold star for being so creative. “This isn’t one of those books you read or a project for newspaper. This is about a real murderer that probably got hard watching you try to fight him off of you and finished to the feeling of killing Casey.” 

I flinch. A full body, knee jerk reaction that has me pulling both of my hands away from them. Blinking, I cross my arms across my chest. I’m tired and the irritated frustration and embarrassment running through me aren’t making things easier.

The look on my face is probably only making me look more childish. I’m only a grade behind them, but it’s come up before. Only in a semi-joking way after a particularly naive reaction to something. Like the time Stu made a vague sex joke that everyone rolled their eyes at but I missed. Need me to explain it, kid. Stu had said, emphasizing the nickname to further embarrass me before Tatum smacked him in the arm. If she’s a kid, then that was a total pedo move. 

Billy punches Stu’s arm again. This time he’s harsher. “You’re an asshole.” Billy then looks at me, expression placid with understanding. “Do you really think there were two of them?” 

“I--” Now my already rickety train of thought feels even more unsteady. “I don’t know. It was just a thought. My memory of right before has been kind of iffy.”  I scratch the back of my wrist, eyes focused on where my skin meets the plastic of the IV. “But shouldn’t I say something? Just in case? The police said that if I remembered anything a little more I should call.” 

“You’re the one in AP Psych--aren’t most serial killers loners?” 

The urge to rip off the tape that’s holding the IV in place leaves my fingers itching to do something. I tap my nails against thin hospital sheets. “We don’t talk about that kinda stuff, but yeah, I guess.” 

Billy’s gaze flits away from my hands and towards my face. “So that means it’s unlikely for there to be two of them.” That’s a fair point, or at least, a point that’s a lot fairer than Stu’s. “You can say something if you want, but they’re so desperate for leads they questioned you right away. And we both know that police officers aren’t necessarily the most driven.” He’s gently referencing my mother’s boyfriend, who’s a cop and the bane of my existence. Billy and Stu both know exactly how I feel about him. “What if it does more harm than good?” 

I frown, letting his words slowly sink in. Maybe if my head felt less sore and my body less far away, I’d be reacting a little more. “Yeah,” I mumble, “I’ll wait, see if it’s something I actually remember or not.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards. “Good, would hate to throw off your step-dad.” 

My glare is violent, which only fuels his smile. “That man is not my step-father. You know that.”

“Leave her alone, Billy,” Stu mumbles. I turn my head forward, gaze shifting upwards. Stu’s eyes are softer than they’ve been all night. He reaches for me, expression falling when I pull my hand back at the last second. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that.” My hand stays near my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for laughing, I’m sorry for what I said about you and your friend.” I try to glare at him through my lashes, but the look feels like more of a pout than anything. “Don’t give me that look.” He moves his hand again, placing it on my cheek before I can protest. “C’mon, hurting your feelings is like kicking a puppy.” 

Some instinct forces me to ease into the contact. Even though my shift is small, Stu picks up on it, because of course he does. My reaction unfortunately encourages him. His thumb gently brushes up and down my cheek. “Then don’t be mean.” 

It’s a sad attempt at holding onto my anger, and I’m sure all three people in the room know it. “Promise,” Stu nods, “Anything you want.” I thought he was laying it on thick as some kind of joke, but when I look into his eyes, I don’t see anything that indicates his usual brand of teasing humor. “I’ll even watch one of those lame chick flicks you’re always talking about with the girls.” 

A small, awkward noise that’s a hybrid of a scoff and a laugh escapes me. “Clueless may be my guilty pleasure, but it is not lame.” 

Stu kind of smiles, but he’s still stiff. “Still. I’ll watch it, whatever you want.” His touch loses all sense of hesitance. “You know I’d-I’d never hurt you. Not really hurt you.” 

“Stu.” Billy’s voice comes out a little too heavy, but I can’t look away from Stu.

“I’d never do anything to really hurt you, angel, you know that, right?” There’s something urging about the way he’s speaking. He’s waiting for an answer. 

I think of Stu, who I’ve only known for a little while but also forever somehow in a weird way. Stu, who’s always throwing an arm around my shoulders. Stu, who seems to know when I’m getting nervous before I do. Stu, who is always willing to hold my hand or say the wrong thing when I need a laugh. Stu, who’s always touching me but I’ve never thought twice about it until right now because he’s like that with everyone. 

Still, though, there’s usually something a little strange about the way his touch feels. More often than not, there’s a tension I don’t understand beneath his fingertips. Like he’s almost always trying to restrain the urge to hold on harder, to squeeze tighter, to keep pushing. 

I don’t know what that’s about, but I know that he always stops. That he’s never caused me any real pain. For all I know, he’s just so energetic that he has to constantly remind himself of his own strength. “Yeah, I know, Stu.”

My words are too honest. Something in Stu relaxes and that’s when I realize he wants me to be sure enough for the both of us. It’s an incredibly unfair--and weird--thing to ask for. 

Something flickers across Stu’s expression, but it’s quickly replaced by a grin. A genuine one. He leans down, pressing a shocking kiss to my forehead. My gaping doesn’t take away from his enthusiasm. “Does this mean I’m going to actually have to watch that movie?” 

“Oh, one hundred percent. No chance of getting out of it. Billy too.” 

Billy’s eyebrows draw together. “I didn’t make you any promises.” 

I feign a hurt look as best I can, turning my head to better face Billy. “I, your friend, was almost murdered and you can’t put aside your surprisingly good, but let’s admit it, pretentious taste for one movie?” He gives me a hard look, but it lacks any bite. “You know, if the killer comes back for me, you’re going to feel so guilty about saying no.” Billy must feel a little bad for me in some sense because at least he’s letting me continue this rant. “It’ll haunt you--I’ll haunt you.” 

He tilts his head downwards, the front strands of his hair falling forward. It’s an attempt to distract from the fact that he almost smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” 

I roll my eyes dramatically. “That was like the least important part of my argument.” 

“It was the main part of your argument.” Billy ignores my extremely pointed sigh. “Fine, compromise: a movie I pick, and then after, we can play your movie.” 

Biting my tongue, I fight down a grin and force myself to narrow my eyes. “Nothing too gore-y or stab-y.” 

“Deal.” He sighs the word like he can’t believe what he’s been conned in to. 

The feeling of having enough influence over these two to get them to agree to something like this leaves me beaming. They’re likely going to complain the whole time, but still, it’s the thought that counts. “No take backs, even when I’m out of the hospital.” A subconscious part of my mind begs me to yank out the IV and try to get out of here. “Which should be as soon as my mom gets here.” 

My mom and Wells were on a date--a show and a fancy dinner somewhere two towns over. The nurses and police assured me that my mom had been contacted, and that she was doing all she could to get here as soon as possible. But with traffic and the amount of time it took for them to get ahold of her, I’m not surprised that Billy and Stu beat her here. Actually, no, it is a little surprising. We didn’t have plans together that I missed and I’m not sure they’ve ever called me unexpectedly. Who told them I was here?

“How’d you guys know I was here?” The question is just as unexpected to me as it is to them. 

“Stu was over when your mom called me,” Billy says, ignoring the way I raise my eyebrows, “She said she still had my number from the time you called me from her phone when we were working on that history project, remember?” I nod, still in disbelief. 

Billy has been in my house twice. Both times were to work on the same project. My mom spent both of those times watching him like he was a danger to my entire future. I think in her head she was being subtle, but I can’t blame Billy for noticing. 

I give him a semi apologetic look. “You’re making it sound like my mom hates you.” He gives me a look that silently asks if I’m kidding. “She doesn’t hate you.” 

“Really?” 

“She doesn’t!” I sigh once, my face already feeling warm as I struggle to figure out how to best word my thoughts. “She doesn’t hate you, she just--” Ugh, there’s no non awkward way to say this. "On Halloween, I’m going to be 17. That’s the same age she was when she had me. She just worries and she’s going to keep worrying and giving any guy I’m friends with a hard time until I’m in college.” 

Billy pauses, letting the implications of my explanation sink in. With no warning, he pulls the sheets down just enough to expose a bit of my thigh. “So she’s worried that I’m gonna knock you up,” he teases, punctuating the comment by quickly pinching the newly exposed skin. 

My face has never been this hot in my life. I laugh, the sound somehow both lighthearted and nervous. “Shut. Up.”

Another rough yet brief pinch to exposed skin leaves me almost jumping out of my skin. I look up at Stu, glaring as he barely attempts to fight down a laugh. “Stu!” 

“What? I could knock you up just as easily.” 

I let out a sound that’s basically a snort. "That’s such a weird thing to want to be included in.” 

Stu half shrugs, placing a hand back on my thigh. Instead of pinching me again or doing something brief, he comfortably moves his hand up and down the expanse of visible skin. “The process would be fun.”

He’s joking, He’s joking. This is Stu--he’s definitely joking. Snap out of it, don’t be weird. I blink, coming to some sort sense. Pulling my legs forward, in an attempt to brush him off, I force myself to meet his gaze. “Fun for you maybe.” 

“I’d rock your world, babe.” I’m ready to roll my eyes, but before I can Stu moves his hand, pressing it firmly into my upper thigh. He slides his hand forward, his fingertips digging into the start of my inner thigh. I struggle against the instinctual need to press my thighs together. “You’d be begging to go again before we even finished.” 

In all fairness, I should have known better than to challenge one of those kinds of joke coming from Stu. He doesn’t know when to stop and doesn’t feel satisfied until I’m flustered. My brain must be as mushy as it feels, because I find myself digging my heels into the sand. “Pretty sure you’re all talk.” 

He tilts his head downwards, eyes darkening. “I’ll prove you wrong right now.” His fingers press even deeper into my skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found small, fingerlike bruises on my thigh tomorrow. 

“Mhm,” I manage after a long second, “There’s a supply closet in the hallway, give me a second to disconnect from all this and I’ll meet you there.” His expression is too good for me not to laugh. “Relax, I’m messing with you.”

“Haha,” he mumbles dryly, but makes no attempt to move his hand. And for some reason that I’m sure is head trauma or pain killer related, I don’t do anything to get him off of me. “You’re hilarious.” 

I poorly suppress another laugh. Stu frowns. Oh my god. There’s no way he’s going to be a baby about this. He’s the one that found a reason to put his hand between my legs and I haven’t smacked him upside the head for it. “Don’t pout. You had to have known I was kidding the entire time.” 

“Yeah, if she wanted to go to the supply closet with anyone, it’d be me.” I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by Billy’s comment or the way he says it. He’s much more evidently joking than Stu. The look he gives me after makes that clear. 

But there’s still something pointed about the way he said it. Pointed in a way that’s not meant for me. It’s another thing between him and Stu. I know I should make some kind of equally teasing comment just to keep everything normal, but I can’t help but sneak a glance at Stu. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something distinct about the turn of his head. More pressure is added to my thigh. Okay--that’s starting to become uncomfortable. 

“Alright,” I finally decide on, forcing a partial laugh into my voice, “We are dangerously close to either a bunch of threesome jokes or another one of those play fights over me.” I grab Stu’s hand by the wrist, moving it off my thigh before relaxing my legs. “And I do not have the energy for either.” 

Stu turns his hand over in order to press our palms together. I let him link our fingers. “You brought up threesomes pretty quickly.” 

My mouth falls open. “What?” 

“Fantasy or--” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Stuart.”

He holds up his free hand in defense, but he doesn’t have a chance to make some kind of comment. 

“Oh my god!” I’d know that panicked gasp anywhere. It’s been the same my entire life. One of my earliest memories includes that exact same shout, a bloody knee, and a tricycle that let me fall off the side walk and onto the (thankfully empty) road. 

Mom! “Okay, i know--” 

“Don’t you dare try to calm me down!” She reaches me in a flurry of motion that’s so her I can’t help but feel comforted. Stu steps out of the way after a second and my mom closes the distance between us, her fingers gripping the bed’s railing. “Oh my god, a concussion? You could be one of those professional football players--don’t they all have to retire early?” 

She presses the back of her palm to my forehead like I might have some kind of fever. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if she demanded the doctors perform more tests on me because something about me didn’t feel right. “Mom, be serious. Since when do you know anything about football?” 

Ignoring my response, she moves to cup my cheek. “I am so sorry it took me so long to get here. We were in the theatre when they first called and our cell phones were completely off. Never again.”

There’s so much emotion in her eyes I find myself feeling a lot less calm about everything. “It’s fine, how could you have known?” She’s still staring at me with so much maternal concern. Being so directly motherly is rare in our dynamic. If anything, I’ve spent just as much of my life parenting her as she has raising me. “I slept for most of the time, and when I woke up I had good company.” 

At that, my mom looks at Stu, analyzing his appearance. I’m ready to squirm for him. She then shifts her gaze to Billy and I bite my tongue to resist making some kind of joke. 

Her lips part and I fight the urge to interject, but then all she says is, “Thank you. I-I couldn’t think of anyone else I could call so late that knew her.” 

Billy’s expression is blank, but his silence lets me know that he’s as surprised as me. “No problem,” he finally settles on, “Wouldn’t have wanted her here all alone.” 

My mom nods once. She then looks over at Stu, “We haven’t met. I’m Gloria, Y/n’s mom.” 

I have spent my entire life dealing with reactions to people finding out my mom is my mom. I love her to death, but I don’t always love the way guys my age react. She’s pretty, I can’t be mad about that, but she’s also young and cool and I’ve had guy friends be super weird about it in the past. And she’s wearing a date night outfit. A dress that’s just a little too short that I’m pretty sure she stole out of my closet. 

And I know Stu. I know that he rarely filters through his thoughts before speaking. “I’m Stu,” he says normally, “I was over at Billy’s when you called.” 

My mom nods, processing the information before turning her attention back to me. I draw my eyebrows together, giving Stu a look. “Did they run tests on you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Answering was pointless, she’s already turning towards the hall. My mom waves down some poor, unsuspecting nurse. “You--I’m her mother,” she points back to me, “I want-I want her chart read to me, and I want every single possible test you could run done.” The doctor blinks. “If it’s something that could have been harmed, I want it checked out, I don’t care how unlikely--” 

“Ma’am,” the nurse finally says, “I can personally assure that your daughter received excellent care. I worked with her myself and her vitals have been regularly checked. I understand that this is an emotional time, but--” 

“If you tell me to calm down, I will sue this entire damn hospital and then find a way to personally sue you.” She takes a breath to prepare for her upcoming war path. “So go get a doctor. Now.” 

The nurse’s tired eyes widen before he scurries off. “Mom!” She turns to me, giving me a look that’s barely apologetic. “Relax a little, okay? They ran like a thousand tests on me already. They even said that if you approved, I could leave tonight.” 

“No way,” she gasps the words like the thought alone offended her. An instinctual, embarrassing whine escapes me. “Sorry, kid, complain all you want but you’re overnighting it.” 

Even though Billy and Stu are literally right here, I pout. “That’s so unfair! When you had complications after getting your appendix out, you signed yourself out even though everyone thought it was a bad idea.” 

“Totally different situations and you know it.” I glare at her. “Look, I know I’ve made a point of not doing this too often, but I’m pulling the mom card.” She ignores my frown, “Wells is already making calls and seeing what he can do--and do not roll your eyes, he is not some ‘monster that’s trying to ruin your life’.” 

“I only called him that once,” I mumble petulantly. “And you’re in my dress.” It’s a stupid thing to point out, but she’s being completely unreasonable. 

“You left home this morning in my skirt.” Ugh, why does she always have to have some kind of point? “I’m going to tell Wells that we’re staying.” 

Leaving no room for argument, my mom turns on her heels and leaves the room. Once it’s just the three of us again, an unfamiliar shyness rises up my chest. I know feeling awkward is such a small thing compared to everything else, but Billy and Stu are definitely thinking and analyzing that entire interaction. Their silence is starting to unease me. 

“Okay guys,” I say, eyes focused on the hands in my lap, “Let it out. I know you’ve got some kinda rea—“

“Your mom is hot!” These kinds of reactions aren’t unfamiliar to me, but from Stu, it kind of bugs me more than I thought it would. I don’t know why--I mean, he’s the exact kind of person to react like that. “I totally see where you get it from, babe. Amazing genes.” 

My eyes widen, “Stu, I get your sense of humor, but my mom doesn’t.” I drop my voice as I whisper, “Cool it with the nicknames as long as she’s in the same building.” 

“So now you’re embarrassed of me? I’m not good enough to bring home to mom?” 

I might kill him. “I’m serious--try anything and I. Will. End. You.” 

“You threatening me is really getting me going.” 

Rolling my eyes, I don’t even bother replying to that comment. I then turn towards Billy, who seems a little too amused by all of this. “I feel a little better about you, but same rules apply.” 

Stu gives me a particularly hurt look. “Him you trust?” 

“He’s met her before!”

With a sigh, I sink further into the hospital bed. They’re both being quiet. Stu made a comment about my mom, but I honestly expected more. I was mentally preparing myself for jokes about me being a mama’s girl or a little kid. Stu’s expression is something I don’t understand and Billy isn’t looking at me. He’s staring ahead, face stoic. He’s somewhere else now. 

“Billy?” My voice is soft, hesitant.

He blinks, the corner of his mouth pulling downwards as his head turns. “Yeah?” His voice reveals nothing. 

I didn’t think ahead enough to have a question to ask him. He doesn’t seem like the type to want anyone noting his feelings. “You okay?” I regret my awkward phrasing instantly. “You um...for a second looked kinda,” my noise wrinkles as I struggle to think of the right word that won’t offend him, “Wistful almost?” 

He side eyes me and I can’t even blame him. “I look wistful?” 

Billy nearly smiles at the look on my face. That alone makes my embarrassment worth it. “I said looked--past tense.” 

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes a little darker than before. I don’t break his stare until the sound of footsteps entering the room becomes impossible to ignore. A nurse has entered the room, likely due to my mother’s insistence. “It looks like you’re going to be busy, Stu and I should go.” 

Oh. I don’t know why that makes my heart sink the way it does. It’s logical--my mom’s here now and she’s going to force them to scan me with every single machine in this hospital. Maybe it’s because they calmed me down or maybe it’s because they’re the first familiar faces I saw, but the thought of them leaving bothers me. 

Stu squeezes my shoulder, his fingers lingering as he pulls away. “Yeah, babe, you don’t need us around while they poke and prod you.” 

The description of what I’m going to be doing makes me frown. They’re approaching the doorway. “Guys,” my voice surprises me. They both turn to look at me, and once again, I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to ask them to stay? There’s no way that’s normal. My mom’s here--it wouldn’t work out anyways. “Thank you,” I mumble, “Thanks for coming and staying with me and making sure I didn’t have a complete meltdown. I appreciate it.” 

Billy’s looking at me in that way that makes me want to shrink into myself. Not that there’s anything particularly wrong or uncomfortable about the way he’s staring, it just feels so sharp and analytical. “Anytime, angel.” 

“Yeah, couldn’t leave you here all alone,” Stu says, “Call me when you get out, okay?” 

I nod, smiling a bit. “Duh--don’t think I’m going to forget about the movie promise you made me, and you can’t back out because hospital bed promises are like way more serious than regular promises.”

Billy throws me a look I can only think to describe as ‘bitchy’ and Stu rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” Stu mumbles, “Take advantage.” 

They manage to leave me grinning as they disappear out of the doorway. I don’t know what it is about them, but they always manage to make me feel...safe, I guess. I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel like that. 

Final Girl (Part 3)

- Final Girl Series Masterlist (updated part 1 - 9 and extras) 

A/n yall have been so kind!! all of the messages, likes, comments, and reblogs for this series have made me so happy! this chapter is a little bit of filler bc my original idea for this part was way too long especially with how busy this week is supposed to be, so i sort of split it!! 

also if this has pacing issues, i’m sorry, i had a panic attack yesterday and a really bad migraine today so it’s been kinda rough lately but i wanted to get this out!! Part 4 is going to have a little more going on :)

if this is messy pls don’t give up on me 😭 i promise the next part will have more going on i just didn’t want to leave y’all waiting forever and we needed a bit of a filler

also if anyone wants to leave me an ask about this series pls do:) i’ve had so much fun talking about Final Girl

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Y/n’s first day back after the incident. 

----

My reflection has never bothered me more. I know vanity is such a stupid thing to worry about now after what happened to Casey, but I can’t help the way I scrutinize my appearance. 

The attention drawing cotton-y bandaid that was placed on the gash on the side of my temple has been (thankfully) downgraded to a regular bandaid. That’s fine--I can accept that. What I can’t accept are the stupid cuts caused by all of that glass.

After being released from the hospital, it took no time for me to learn that it’s going to be awhile before I can comfortably wear pants again. My arms are a little less cut up, so the white, long sleeved shirt I picked out covers my injuries without irritating them. I tried on a pair of leggings and I barely got them to my thighs without wincing.

So now I’m wearing the most comfortable skirt I own. Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice about it, I wear this skirt so often, but it barely covers any of the cuts on the back of my legs. God...people are going to think I’m doing this for attention, especially since media outlets keep calling my house. 

Ugh--this is as good as it’s going to get for my first day back. I pick my backpack up from my bed. My eyelids feel so heavy I have to fight the urge to collapse back into bed. 

The walk downstairs is painfully slow. Once I’m finally in the hall that leads to the kitchen, I stop. A vague confusion clouds my thoughts. Was I going to the kitchen? What did I want from the kitchen?

“Mornin’, kiddo.” I blink at the sound of Wells’ voice. At least it’s offering me a sense of a direction. 

Stepping fully in the kitchen, I greet back, “Good morning.” 

He eyes me for a long second, piercing blue irises lingering in a way that makes me feel uneasy in my own skin. “Skirt’s a little grown, ain’t it?” When my only reaction is to furrow my eyebrows, he continues, “What happened to those little girl dresses you used to wear? I liked those.” 

I grab the strap of my backpack, shifting slightly. I stopped wearing those dresses after he had been dating my mom for a few months. “Outgrew them, I guess.” 

Wells nods once, the motion gruff as he moves to grab his mug. He lets out a curt, gruff noise. 

“Oh, Wells.” Like always, my mom’s voice chases away all the tension. “Don’t you know better than telling a girl what to wear? Especially a teenager. Now ease up, 16-year-old me would make Y/n look like a saint.” With that, my mom finally looks at me. “You look pretty, like always, I especially like your top.” It takes me a second to realize that my mom’s referencing the fact that I stole this shirt from her closet. I let out a soft, slow laugh. “You okay?” 

I nod drastically. “Yep, just want to get the first day back over with.” 

“I can’t believe you only took one day off. When I was your age, I’d have taken half a week off for less.” 

“It’s going to be bad no matter when I go back. My name’s been all over the news.” I release the strap of my backpack, scratching the back of my wrist. “Plus it’s junior year and that one day off already has me drowning in makeup work. I can’t afford to fall behind. Junior year is the year colleges look at most. This year could make or break whether or not I get into Princeton.” 

My mom holds her hands up in defense. “Yes, I know, you ranted to me about it yesterday. Just promise me you’ll listen to your body. I don’t love that you haven’t had your follow up appointment yet to confirm whether or not you have a concussion.” 

“Mom, I’m fine, promise. I’ll let you know if I start to feel weird.” 

She watches me for a long second, likely attempting to scan me the way an MRI machine would. “Fine, you need a ride or--” 

“Actually, a friend’s picking me up.” 

At that my mom tilts her head in a way that’s so knowing I feel the urge to confess even though I’ve done nothing. “A friend as in one of those two boys that spent all weekend calling and checking in on you?” 

My mom spent the last two days at my side. Normally it would have annoyed me, but it was actually nice. It reminded me of life before Wells. There was one downside, though. She saw how often Billy and Stu called. It wasn’t terrible and she probably would have picked up on it anyway, but it’s opened the ground to a lot of jokes and comments on her part.

“You’re the one who brought them into this. I would have never thought to call Billy while I was at the hospital.” That’s true. Even though we were friends before the incident, I wouldn’t have thought to call anyone except my mom. “And they’re just trying to be there for me like good friends.” 

At that, my mom leans against the kitchen island. “Y’know when I was your age, I had a guy that just wanted to be a good friend and drove me to school. Now I have a daughter.” 

I roll my eyes, “Haha. Yes--I’m going to get pregnant in the less than 10-ish minutes we’re going to have before we need to get to class.” 

“It only took about 8 minutes to make you, and that includes me getting dressed and fixing my hair after. Just saying.” 

I make a point of fake gagging. “Bye mom, Wells.“

“What? I was joking!” 

I walk towards the front door. A hand on my shoulder makes me nearly jump out of my skin. “Mom! You scared me.” 

She offers me a sheepish smile, “You know I’m kidding, right? They’re nice for caring.” 

“I know, mom.” 

With a sigh, she continues, “Just be sa--” 

“Oh my God, mom! I’m not having se--” 

“Easy, pumpkin,” she laughs off my outburst, “I mean in general. Don’t strain yourself and don’t feel like you need to push through. You want to go home early and I’ll pick you up.” 

I smile softly. “Yeah, I will.” 

With that, I open the front door. The sun is so bright I have to drop my head as I walk down the driveway. Wells’ house is objectively nicer than the house my mom and I lived in when we were still in Texas, but I still find myself missing the familiarity of our old front porch. 

Squinting, I look up and notice a car waiting next to the mailbox. How did I miss that? Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I approach the vehicle. 

I pull open the door to the backseat. Two sets of eyes turn towards me. “You know you guys didn’t have to wait for me.” I push my backpack into the car before sitting down. “You could’ve honked or something,” 

“We just got here,” Billy says easily, but I’m not sure I believe him. 

Stu turns in his seat to face me better as I shut the car door. “Plus we don’t mind giving you time to get all dolled up. Especially since today’s going to be a total bloodbath.” 

His wording leaves me more confused than upset. I draw my eyebrows together, shifting awkwardly. “What do you mean?” 

“Everyone’s gone crazy over what happened. I think more people were talking about you than Casey, and Casey’s the one that got gutted. It’s all over the news. They hung her from that tree in--” Billy moves his hand from the console in order to smack the side of Stu’s head. “Ow, man--what was that for?” 

“It’s not even 8 yet, at least let her wake up first before you traumatize her.” 

The thought of Casey makes my stomach twist, but I’m not focused in on anything enough to really react. Tiredly, I pull my backpack onto my lap and squeeze it to my body. “It’s fine,” I’m not sure if I’m talking to them or myself. 

Stu and Billy exchange a look that I barely register before resting my chin on my bag. “Are you okay? You didn’t even do that cute, little glare thing you do when you want me to shut up.” 

“I’m fine,” I answer a little too quickly, forcing myself to sit up some more, “A little tired.” Stu’s watching me a little too carefully and I catch Billy glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Seriously?” Sighing, I shift in my seat, “First my mom and now you guys. I’m fine.”

My reaction is just a little too angry. Maybe if I felt a little more rested, I would have known better. Stu moves until he’s siting in the passenger seat normally. “Crying over the fact that you’re a total mommy’s girl.” 

Rolling my eyes and ignoring the way the motion irritates my migraine, I lean back in my seat. “Put on a seatbelt, asshole.” 

Even though that’s said with more bite and irritation than anything I’ve ever said to him, Stu laughs. It’s light and terribly offensive. I frown, looking over at Billy as heat crawls up my neck and towards my face. He’s just barely fighting down a grin. “It’s not that funny.” 

“No,” Stu sarcastically agrees, “That was so mean of you. I can’t remember the last time someone insulted me and tried to take care of me at the same time.” 

I cross my arms around my backpack. “Why did I agree to getting into a contained space with you two so early in the morning?” 

“Because you don’t have a license.” Billy looks way too smug as he turns the wheel as we move down a curb. 

I glare at him. “You extorted that information out of me while I was super out of it and half asleep.” 

“You said it yourself, it’s not like one of us asked.” 

He’s right and I hate it. I sink further into the seat, tempted to shut my eyes, but knowing that there’s no guarantee that I won’t fall asleep if I do. “Whatever.” 

Stu half laughs at that before starting to talk about a new scary movie that’s coming out. The plot sounds kind of basic, but I’m not one to judge until I see the movie. Normally, I’d be totally invested. I kind of like when Stu rambles about something he’s interested in, but now I’m struggling to hold my head up. 

I don’t register that we’re in the school parking lot until both Billy and Stu get out of the car. Once they’re both out, I shake my head once in an attempt to clear my thoughts. Get it together.

When I step out of the car, I make a point of keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me. Stu may exaggerate every once in awhile, but I don’t think he’s wrong about school. My mom has been fielding calls since the morning I was discharged from the hospital and last night while I was flipping through channels, I saw my face three times.

Before I can even think, a bright flash makes me flinch. The light is like a punch behind the eye thanks to my headache. That is followed by a series of other equally bright and irritating camera shutters. 

Shit. 

Billy steps towards me, dropping his voice so that only I can hear, “You know we don’t have to.” 

Taking a settling breath, I tilt my chin up a fraction of an inch. “It’s fine,” I say, hoping that I’ll convince myself, “Can’t hide forever.” 

We walk forward, me a few steps ahead of Billy and Stu. My fast pace is a sad attempt at ripping off the bandaid. 

“Excuse--Excuse me, miss!” I squeeze the strap of my backpack so tightly my knuckles must be white from the tension. “Miss Y/n L/n.” The woman that waves me down is holding a large microphone. She barely glances at me before turning her attention back to the camera man that followed her as she chased me. “Hi. Gale Weathers. I covered the last one of these.” 

I wince. “I’m sorry, when you say ‘the last one of these’ do you mean the last murder or--” 

“...And we’re rolling!” In nature, bright colors are meant to warn living things of poison. I think that logic could be applied to Gale Weathers and her auburn hair and blood red lips. “I’m Gale Weathers and I’m bringing you an exclusive with the lone survivor of what some are calling the worst murder in Woodsboro history.” She then turns towards me, “Now, Y/n, our viewers want to know exactly what you’re feeling.” 

Her microphone is way to close to my face. “Well, Gale, I’m glad you asked,” I’m speaking in the polite tone I used to reserve for rude customers when I worked in the mall last summer, “I’m feeling fan-freakin’-tastic!” 

The false enthusiasm jars her the way I hoped it would. She brings the microphone back to her. “Really?” 

“No, you vulture. Ambush interviewing is as tacky as that suit.” 

With that, I turn away and attempt to storm into school with an aura that scares away reporters. I’ve only ever seen that kind of confident magic come from my mom, but she’s half my genetic material, that means it must be in me somewhere, right?

Apparently wrong, because the cameras continue to flash. One man gets so close to me that his rapid photographing leaves me dizzy. 

“Okay,” an arm quickly wraps around my side, stabilizing me, “You got your pictures, now leave her alone.” The scent of Tatum’s perfume is comforting as she guides me the rest of the way inside. Once we’re inside, we’re granted the semblance of some privacy. “And I thought they were bad yesterday. Are you okay?” 

I nod, relaxing a little at her casual expression. Maybe if I try hard enough, I’ll be able to pretend that this is an average Tuesday. “I’m fine, I’m just tired, and I can’t believe how obsessed everyone is.” 

“Of course they’re obsessed.” For the first time ever, Randy’s voice is completely unwelcome. “You’re the sole survivor, the only witness to tell the story, the--for lack of better term--final girl.” 

Being in a friend group with so many people that are really into horror movies is all fun and games until they summarize the great trauma of your life in a movie trope. “Really? I never would have thought of it that way.” 

Sidney glares at Randy in defense of me. I appreciate it, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “It’s too soon for those kinds of jokes.” 

My sarcasm was pure venom and Sidney’s reaction, though well intentioned, only made me feel sorry. Randy offers me a sheepish sort of look that immediately makes me feel bad for being so snippy. His comment wouldn’t have bothered me so much if it wasn’t for what just happened, and he wasn’t really trying to be mean. That actually might have been an attempt to lighten the mood, especially since he knows that the final girl storyline is one of my favorites. He’s always recommending movies that end like that. 

“Thanks, Sid, but I came on a little strong. I’m sorry, Randy, I’ve been a total nightmare all day. Just ask Billy and St--” I look around, a little surprised that they’re not right behind me. Aw, I lost them in all that commotion. “Weird--they were just behind me.” Shaking off the slightly lost feeling with the turn of my head, I move on, “Ask them later. The point is, I’ve been awful. It’s not your guys’ fault that this is my life right now.” 

Randy’s expression morphs from being almost hurt to something that’s even more of a punch in the gut. He seems sympathetic. “It’s okay, you’re holding it together way more than I would be. I don’t even know how you’re at school today.” 

“Yeah, how are you even here, Y/n?” Tatum echoes, her voice a little softer than before. 

It’s a good question. Now that I’m here all those points I made about school and grades and Princeton feel so far away. “It had to happen at some point, I might as well rip off the band aid. I just want everything to go back to normal.” I shift awkwardly, watching them watch me. “And the man that did this doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of my fear.” 

After a moment, Randy prompts, “...And?” 

“And what?” 

He half smiles. “Come on, Y/n, if you want this to feel normal, you’re going to have to give us the Princeton rant.” 

I roll my eyes before scoffing. “I do not talk about Princeton often enough for you to warrant naming it a specific rant.” 

Randy raises an eyebrow at my obvious lie. “You must have really hit your head hard.” 

“Rude.“ I turn towards Tatum, “Tate, you don’t think I’m like obsessed with Princeton.

She parts her lips as she debates the way she wants to respond. Before she can say anything, Stu walks up from behind me and pulls Tatum into a hug. He then gives her a soft kiss that feels linger-y. Wait--why am I noticing that? That’s...that’s weird of me. And why does this feel more uncomfortable than the time I caught them full on making out in the girl’s bathroom? Why is that tiny display of affection sitting in my chest in a way that makes it hard to look at them? 

More annoyed at my thoughts than the way Stu cups her face, I force my myself to stare at the locker in front of me. There are polaroids of people I don’t know tapped to the front of it.

Ugh--screw the guy that threw me into that wall. My head must be totally messing with me. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Billy’s sudden appearance surprises me more than it should. At this point, I should know that when I see one the other isn’t too far behind. He has an arm around Sidney’s shoulders, and she’s leaning into his touch just enough for it to be noticeable. Since when is Billy so into PDA? 

Oh my god, what’s wrong with me? Maybe my mom was right to think I have some kind of brain injury. My eyes snap back to the locker. “Nothing.”

“Y/n’s obsession with an Ivy League school in New Jersey.”

After a moment of silence, I realize that everyone’s waiting for me to speak. “Not an obsession.” My response lacks my usual level of conviction when talking about Princeton in any capacity. I can feel the fragile way they’re all looking at me. My eyes focus on the polaroids in front of me until everything else blurs into the background. 

The polaroids have my eyes watering and I don’t know why. They’re just stupid pictures of people I don’t know. Casey’s voice echoes in my head. It’s a punch in the gut.

Stu’s voice cuts through the static of my thoughts. “Y/n? Are you o--”

“I think I remembered something.” The admission is so low I’m surprised anyone hears it. “Randy, do you have a copy of the news article? Not the first one, the second one that lists everything found at the crime scene?” 

“Yeah,” Randy admits it like it’s an apology, “In my backpack.” 

“Can I see it?”

Everyone stays quiet at that. There’s an energy in the air that makes me feel as trapped as I did in the hospital. “Come on, guys, I don’t need to be babied. The pictures aren’t going to freak me out, I was kinda there for the real thing.” 

“At the hospital, didn’t you say you were unconscious for most of it?” Billy’s remark earns him a glare so harsh that he moves his hands to hold them up in defense before dropping them to his side. 

“Fine. Whatever. Don’t show me the newspaper, I’ll find my own copy, it’s everywhere. There’s a good chance some jag-off shoved one into my locker anyways.” Ugh--why is everyone so impossible? I turn on my heels, unsure if I’m fuming or ready to burst into tears.

I don’t even make it a full step before something locks around my upper forearm. My head snaps back as the hand’s sudden grip softens. “Come on, bug.” That leaves me hesitant. Stu called me that the day after we first met. Since then, the nickname has mainly been reserved to calm me down. I’ve asked him about it before, but he always refuses to explain it. “You’re just going to make yourself sick.” 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I frown. The group learned about my weak stomach early on in our friendship. My first night drinking with them ended with me throwing up in Stu’s bathroom. That wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if I was totally wasted, but I was objectively way too sober to get that sick.

There’s some underlying quality to his words. A quality that’s too knowing, too sure. He’s being more condescending than sweet. “I think I can manage.” I pull my arm away, ignoring the way his expression blanks. “I’m not a vase or a little kid, I don’t need you all treating me like I’m that unbelievably fragile.”

Stu angles his head to the side. I force myself to tilt my chin upwards in an attempt to stand my ground. I don’t fully get whatever face off we’re in, but I’ll be damned if I lose it this quickly. “Since you’re all grown up, Y/n, look at whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me about it.” 

I take a step forward, indignation leaving my spine straight. “When have I ever--” 

“You couldn’t even spend a few hours by yourself in a hospital.”

The unfairness of his statement forces a scoff from my lips. I take a step forward. “I didn’t ask for your help then and I’m not asking for it now.” 

“Stu.” Billy’s voice is level, bordering on neutral. 

At that, Stu exhales, but he doesn’t stop staring at me. “It’s fine, Billy.” 

“Yeah,” Stu echoes, shifting towards me, “Y/n’s fine, she doesn’t need anyone.” 

A sarcastic, half thought out reply rises up my chest and jams itself in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about how much taller than me Stu is. He’s looking down at me with an intensity that hits me straight in the stomach. Great, another feeling I don’t understand. “Whatever,” I mumble, “I need to get to class.” 

The bell rings a moment after I turn. I walk to homeroom, not thinking twice about it until I’m sitting in front of an empty desk. 

My face is hot, my head hurts, and Mrs. Ramirez’s announcements are drowned out by a ringing in my ears. When the bell rings, I can’t get out of the room fast enough. Normally, Stu’s around right after homeroom, ready to walk me to math. 

I don’t know what that weird argument was in the hallway, but I’m not ready to deal with it yet. So even though I’m gripping the straps of my backpack so tightly it hurts, I take the long way to class. There are no memories of Casey in AP Calc AB, so this time when I sit at my desk, I can breathe.

By the time I’m pulling out my notebook, the bell rings. Mr. Williams walks to the front of the classroom, “Alright, everyone in their seat. For today’s exam, you are permitted the use of a graphing calculator.”

Shit. The test. I forgot about the calc test. Mr. Williams begins to hand out the exam. When he gets to me, I stop him, “Mr. Williams, I-I was wondering if I could possibly take the exam on another day? After the events of this weekend, I--” 

“Ms. L/n, I made it clear to the entire class that I do not believe in scheduling a makeup exam the day of.” 

My fingers nervously scratch at the back of my wrist. “And I understand that, and normally I’d never ask, but if you’ve seen the news--” 

“Ms. L/n, do you want to take the test or would you rather me put a 0 in the grade book?” 

I could scream. I want to scream, but instead, all I do is nod, “Take the test.” 

And with that, he places the packet on my desk. The sound it makes feels like a death sentence. The next 50 minutes are a nightmare. I don’t remember how to do half the problems, and what I do remember, I can’t seem to do right. By the time the bell rings, I’m in full on panic mode. Mr. Williams collects the test and I leave the room like it’s on fire. 

The sharp pain in my head has never been this bad. I reach my locker, unlocking it to grab my bottle of ibuprofen. I take two Advil without any water. Today totally, unbelievably sucks. I need to splash some water in my face. 

The bathroom is thankfully empty. Pushing my backpack off of my shoulders and onto the counter, I turn on the sink. The water is cool against my fingers, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. My bandaid is sticking out to me too much so I force my gaze downwards. 

There’s a long abandoned copy of a newspaper on the counter. Its corners are so wet that the words at the start and end of the article are unreadable. The page it’s opened to has no photos. I’m sure if I flipped through it I’d find something listing everything the police found inside the house that night. 

Stu’s earlier claim echoes in my head as I pick up the newspaper. I’m not sure if I’m more motivated by spite or the desire to answer the question in my head, but I guess it doesn’t matter, because the end result is the same. I turn the page, skimming the article. The intro is so long that I still haven’t gotten to the murder, let alone what the police found after. I flip ahead until I find what I’m looking for.

I read the section about everything that was found twice. They mention everything down to the burned jiffy pop and the tube of lipgloss Casey left in the living room. The paragraph never mentions the polaroids from the kitchen.

He took pictures of me from the crime scene. 

Unease leaves my stomach in knots. The killer, who talked to me on the phone like we were best friends and chose to not kill me took photos of me. 

I turn the page frantically, desperate to see if the polaroids are mentioned there. Big mistake. Casey’s photo is staring at me, but she’s not her in it. She’s hanging from that big tree in her yard and her--her intestines... 

Cold sweat leaves my hands clammy. My body knows what’s happening before I do. A stall door gets thrown open just in time for me to throw myself onto my knees. Bile and whatever’s left of last night’s dinner burn as they come up my throat. I wretch. 

An unexpected but not unpleasant touch is pressed into my back as my hair is pushed out of my face. More bile leaves me. 

After a second passes and I don’t throw up a third time, I turn my head just enough to see who’s next to me. Billy. He doesn’t say anything at my recognition, he just moves his hand up and down my back gently. 

“...I found a newspaper.” 

“Yeah, I assumed after i heard the…”

He’s trailing off to be nice. I shift in order to sit cross legged on the floor. “Right. That’s fair.” 

His hand stalls against my back. “I didn’t mean it li--” 

“I know.” My voice is too small.

Billy moves his free hand. I don’t know what he’s doing until he’s pulling the paper away from me. I let him take the newspaper and place it somewhere on the other side of him. “Why’d you look?” 

“I--earlier, I was looking at this locker in front of us and it had polaroids taped to it, and-and that made me remember that on Saturday, Casey took a bunch of pictures of me. Polaroids.” I wipe at my face with the back of my palm. "The article’s super detailed, but it didn’t mention any pictures. I-I think that means that the person took them.”  

Billy’s eyebrows draw together. The corner of his mouth turns downwards. “You’re making yourself sick over this.” 

“Because it’s a big deal!” My reaction is harsher than it should be. He’s being nice to me after I blew up at everyone this morning and they were just trying to be good friends. And after this, I’m in no position to talk about what I am and am not able to handle. “It’s a big deal that I’m alive and Casey isn’t.” Taking a shaky breath, I continue, “And I should--I have to make it right somehow. Casey’s dead and I’m alive because it fit whatever plot he wanted to make. It was total chance, the killer probably flipped a coin while outside of her house to pick which one of us would live and which one would end up like...” I gesture vaguely in the direction of the newspaper, “That.” 

He’s quiet for so long I think he may not respond at all. His hand begins to move up and down my back again in the form of small circles. “Do you really think that?” 

Shrugging, I lean into his touch. “I mean, it’s probably either that or a stalker scenario.”

“You don’t have to figure it out. Just because you’re the one that survived doesn’t mean you need to put yourself through this. Especially now. It just happened, give yourself some time.” His voice is so assuring and oddly comforting I feel my eyes water. “What’s wrong?” 

Despite myself, I almost snort. “I think you know what’s wrong.” 

He gives me a semi bitchy look. “Something else happened, I can see it on your face.” 

Frowning, I let my gaze drop to the ground. “Am I that transparent?” 

Billy moves, the hand that’s not on my back coming beneath my chin. I let him tilt my head upwards until our eyes meet. “You have no idea.”

Warmth crawls up my face. He smiles. “Fine, I’ll tell you but it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve had a really bad headache all day and then I get to first period and Mr. Williams starts talking about an exam. And that’s how I realized that I completely forgot about the calc unit test. I tried using the whole almost murdered excuse--I kinda hated myself for it, but it doesn’t matter, because he didn’t even go for it.” With a dramatic, deprecating sigh, I start to pick at a loose thread in my shoe lace. “Mr. Williams doesn’t believe in getting out of the test the day of. There’s no way I didn’t fail it, and it’s an AP class so that’s going to mess with my entire GPA.” 

He doesn’t comment on my teariness or the way that I almost sniffle, he just continues to softly rub my back. The gesture is starting to feel somewhat maternal, but it’s nice. “He made you take the test?” 

“Mr. Williams’ is a total asshole.” 

Billy’s mouth turns upwards, “He sounds like it.” I smile, leaning into his touch. “You should go back to the doctor.” He frowns when I move away from him. “Your head hurts, you’re moody--” 

“Am not.” 

“Right, because that stand off with Stu earlier was like you.” 

Right--that weird moment in the hallway. Great, Stu’s probably mad at me, and there’s no way that me going out of my way to not see him before math is something he’s going to take lightly. “He’s probably so mad at me.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Billy says, “He can’t stay mad at you.” 

I give him a look. “He’s petty.” 

Billy smiles after a second. “He’ll be petty about it, but he won’t actually be mad.” Before I can respond, Billy stands, “Come on, you need to go to a doctor.” 

After a second, I stand, taking his hand. “Fine.” 

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @i-amnotokaywiththis 

Final Girl (part 4)

(the scenes in this is what inspired the series so ig technically could be read as a stand alone and still make sense but the previous chapters obviously add context lol) Part 4 to - Final Girl Series Masterlist (currently updated parts 1 - 9 and extras)

A/n fun fact there are two alternate versions of part 4 in my drafts, if anyone wants a bonus scene of Billy and Stu having a full conversation with Gloria, and/or a short scene of Y/n and Gloria getting ready together (which shows. a little bit more of their dynamic) it’s basically done and would only need a little bit of editing lol

also!! thinking about doing a lil billy & stu blurb night or sleepover thing,, any thoughts on that lol (prob saturday afternoon, when i’ll be tipsy 😭,, tipsy writing is fun) 

my favorite thing about this chapter is how they’re all cute for 3 minutes and then get violently toxic 😭 duality ig?? 

Warning: i broke and put the first touch of smut into this 😭 everything before the switch in POV is pretty PG (very toxic vibes tho!!), so if you don’t want to read anything sexual just skip over the part at the end that’s in narrator’s POV!! (pls be nice, writing smut scares me, i’ve had very few sexual experiences and have enjoyed none of them lmao)

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at the Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Due to a family emergency, Y/n is left home alone for the first time since what happened to Casey. Luckily, her good friends Billy and Stu show up to surprise her just as she’s starting to feel paranoid. 

---- 

You’d think that someone that grew up with one parent would be used to being alone, but I have very few memories of total solitude. The few times my mom hasn’t been around, there’s always been someone.

Tonight, though, it’s just me. And I’m not alone in my childhood home--I’m alone in Wells’ house. My mom says that I don’t need to think too much about the fact that we moved into his family’s home, but sometimes I still feel like a stranger here. A guest.

Ugh, I shake the thought off with a roll of my shoulders. I’m freaking myself out for no reason, and I promised my mom I’d be fine.

She didn’t want to leave me, and I can’t blame her for her hesitance, but a family emergency is a family emergency.

I would have gone with her in a heartbeat, but I had the SAT this morning. My mom offered to have Wells stay behind, but honestly, the thought of being alone with her boyfriend for days made me more uncomfortable than the thought of being alone. At least it did at the time. But now that it’s dark out, I’m starting to think it might have been a bad idea to send away the trained police officer. 

I could always call Sidney or Tatum. My mom said I could have people over, or maybe even sleepover at someone’s house. She actually wanted me to stay with a friend, but after my last sleepover, the thought of spending the night at someone’s house turns my stomach. 

Now I’m alone, and it’s almost 9:00, and I’m really upset that most of my comfort movies are horror. The last thing I need is to make myself more para--

The sound of the home phone ringing snaps me out of my thoughts. It could be my mom, but we had just talked. She called me right before I got into the shower to give me an update. I guess it wouldn’t be that weird for her to call me again. She’s nervous about leaving me alone. 

“Hi?” 

There are no words, just soft breathing. “Hey, squirt.” 

Nerves and embarrassing excitement roll in my stomach. I’m so shocked I almost forget that I’m on the phone and I need to reply. “H-hi, dad.” I sit up a little straighter. “It’s you, you’re calling.” 

“Yep,” he breathes, popping the ‘p’ and breezing past my awkwardness, “Just checking in. I just heard what happened. Your mom called, but I’m in Europe on business, and because of the timezone difference it went to voicemail. My secretary somehow missed it. I am so sorry I didn’t call sooner, are you okay?” 

My lips part, a strange amount of emotions twisting in my stomach, “I uh--I’m doing better. I wasn’t the one that was really hurt.” The thought of Casey strikes me in the chest. I cross my legs beneath me. “I-um--I missed some school because I had a concussion. A friend of mine had to convince me to go to the doctor, actually.” 

He laughs lightly, “That sounds like you.” After a second, he continues, “You still want to do the whole Princeton thing?” 

“Yeah, I-I’d like to. I’m trying to. Even took the SAT for the first time today.” 

I can hear him shuffling. “Wow, squirt, the S-A-T,” he hums each letter, “You and Charlotte are really growing up.” 

When I was at that age where kids are obsessed with princesses, I used to imagine that Charlotte was my evil step sister. She was the perfect girl in front of our parents, but there was something about the way she treated me that I couldn’t support. Her and her mother, Alice, always made it clear that my mother and I weren’t the real members of the family. 

My mom was more open about my step sister than I was, and I can imagine how hard that was. She waited around for my dad for years, and he didn’t get his life together until grandfather told him to. She stood by him through addiction and through scandal, but once grandfather said dad had to grow up, he listened. He went to Princeton for undergrad and Yale for his masters and he married the woman Grandfather set him up with.

My dad’s only defense is that my mom sent him away. What he never seems to mention is that my mom’s breaking point was him leaving me alone at some dealer’s house when I was a baby. 

“Charlotte,” I repeat, trying to hide the way the name stings, “How is she?”  

“Oh, she’s good, she just heard back from Princeton because of their rolling admission policy, she’s in.” 

Oh. Charlotte is one year older than me, so I knew that it was possible that I’d have to hear about her getting into dream schools soon. What I didn’t expect was to hear that she got into Princeton, and I didn’t expect it now. “That’s really great, dad.” 

“Yeah, she’ll get the lay of the land, and once you’re in, she’ll be able to show you around.” 

“Yeah,” I mumble, “That’d be nice.” 

Another voice steals my dad’s attention. Likely his secretary. “Hey, squirt, I gotta go. Meeting.” 

“Oh, y-yeah, dad. Talk to you later.” 

“Yes, I’ll make sure to call soon.” He pauses before tacking on, “Oh, I sent you a get well soon present this morning. It might take a few days, but I hope you like it.” 

My nails dig into the palm of my hand, “Oh, thanks, dad. Bye.” 

With that the line goes flat. I place the phone back on my bedside table before grabbing a pillow that’s by my side. Settling the pillow onto my lap, I drop my face into it. “Ugh.” The groan is strangled and dramatic, but I don’t care. 

I cannot wait to call my mom and tell her about how little miss perfect Charlotte is going to Princeton. Princeton is mine, it’s been mine my entire life. There’s a freaking poster of it in my room.

“You’re in a good mood.” 

The words make me jump out of my skin. In a second, i’m on my feet, my hands reaching for the first thing I can find. It happens to be my bedside lamp. I blink, eyes wide as my head snaps towards my window. There’s a large figure sitting on the window sill. 

“Billy! Stu!” Adrenaline is still running through me. “I could--I could have hurt you guys!” 

Billy leans against my window’s frame comfortably, lips turning upwards. “With your fuzzy lamp?” 

“Do not make fun of me.” 

“He’s not,” Stu says, “You’re super threatening. I’m shaking so much I might fall off this ledge.”

I roll my eyes, shifting awkwardly. It’s not like Stu and I haven’t talked since my little blow up in the hallway, but things haven’t been the same. I don’t know if he’s waiting for something from me or if most of it is in my head because I feel a little bad. I never thought I’d miss Stu regularly jokingly hitting on me, but I think I’m starting to.

“Haha,” I mumble after a second too long of silence. Because I need an excuse to not look at them, I turn to set my lamp back down. “What are you guys doing here anyway?” 

Billy shrugs, twisting to place his feet on the floor of my room. “Stu talked me into renting The Craft.” He stands, giving Stu the space he needs to also come into my room. “It made us think of you.” 

“You two watched The Craft?” 

“We got halfway through,” Stu admits, reaching into the black backpack he came in with, “Not my best pick.” He walks into my room casually, like climbing in through my second floor window is a regular Saturday night occurrence. “Seems like the kind of thing you’d like, though. Brought it in case you wanted something to do later.” 

He tosses the tape casually onto my bed. I stare at it for a long second, hating the fact that he knows me so well. I remember seeing trailers for The Craft and wanting to watch it. Some joke about how he’s implying that he thinks I have bad taste tries to come out, but I can’t seem to form the words. 

I don’t know if it’s the casual gesture or the fact that they showed up when I didn’t want to be alone, but an emotion I don’t really get threatens to overwhelm me. Maybe this reaction is the result of the phone call with my dad.

Stu must notice my stillness because he asks, “You okay?” 

I take large steps, moving around my bed in order to reach him. My hug must surprise him, but Stu doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Tuesday,” I mumble, “I was moody and defensive and things have felt kinda weird since then and I just want things to be normal again.” This might be a total mistake, it feels like revealing an open wound. “You’re like one of my best friends.” 

He squeezes me tighter, “One of?” 

Tilting my head up to look at him, I reply, “Don’t get greedy.” 

“Fine,” Stu mumbles after a second of pretend contemplation. 

I should pull away now, but there’s something comforting about the position we’re in. Stu’s hugs are underrated, but his ego is big enough without me telling him that. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” 

“Mm...” He hums for a long second. “Nope, not really.” Well, getting along with him was nice while it lasted. I pull away sharply, shoving his chest when he reaches out to me. “I’m kidding,” Stu laughs, “Kidding.” I glare, trying to escape his hold. “I’m sorry, angel. I should have known that you were moody because of your head.” 

The nickname takes me by surprise. I remember it from my hazy night at the hospital. I didn’t think twice of it then. Should I think about it now? It’s not particularly weirder than any other of the other nicknames Stu’s always calling me, and they’re all the same level of flirty except maybe bug, which is only really used when he wants his way.

“My head’s hurting a lot less.” I straighten slightly, arms dropping casually as I take a step back. Stu lets me. “I even took the SAT this morning. Totally not ideal with a concussion by the way, if my scores come back and they’re bad I’m so blaming the killer.” 

“I remember your reaction at the doctor’s office.”

I turn towards Billy, who’s casually sitting on my bed like he lives here. “Yeah, not my best moment.” I scratch the back of my arm. “Thank you for making me go to the doctor, by the way. The first thing my mom said when I got home was that you must be some kind of saint to have put up with me like that. She’s always telling me that I’m a total monster when I’m sick in any capacity.”

Billy almost smiles, “So your mom likes me now?” 

“You’re making progress.” Basically a lie. My mom won’t like any boys I’m friends with until I’m a college graduate. It’s shocking enough that she tolerates them. 

“Really?” 

I shrug, slightly unsure. Stu moves to sit across from me. “You can tell your mom I’m willing to do whatever to get in her good graces.” 

Cringing, I grab a pillow from behind me and throw it at Stu. He barely manages to block it with his forearm. “She’s my mom!” 

“And she’s a total babe.” 

“You’re getting kicked out.” 

Stu holds his hands up in defense, “Don’t worry, you’re still my girl.” 

I roll my eyes, pulling my legs beneath me. “Mhm, I’ll mention that to Tatum next time she calls.”

Stu props the backpack up against the side of my bed. The way he dramatically falls across my bed is almost enough to get me to break character. He places a hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “Don’t turn this into something ugly. You know I love you both, just in different ways.” 

“I’m glad you two felt the need to sneak in through my window to tell me that.” The comment makes me think about something that they practically made me forget about. “Why did you guys come here through the window anyway?” 

“We missed you,” Billy answers with no hesitation. His tone is just a little too sweet to be genuine. When I give him a look, he tilts his head before actually answering the question, “We wanted to check in. It had been a few days, and you didn’t come back to school. You stopped answering calls. Sid told me the last two times she called you, your mom picked up and said you weren’t up for conversation.” 

Normally, the thought of people looking out for me makes me nervous. Especially when it’s a guy. I know that past friendships and family issues aren’t the kinds of things I should push onto them. They’ve been good friends. Maybe it’s okay to let people in a little more than I have in the past. Besides, they’re just worried about their high strung friend that was attacked by a murderer and then had a melt down at school, it’s not like they’re crazy for being concerned. 

“That’s nice of you guys. I’m doing better, I’ve just been...kinda disconnected lately. And honestly, I’ve been spending a lot more time doing makeup work than I’d like to admit.” My posture relaxes slightly. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“There’s also a killer on the loose, and you don’t lock your window.” 

Billy has a tiny bit of a point. In scary movies, I always get frustrated when characters are dumb. It’s the small, careless things that distinguish those that die and those that make it to the sequel. “My room’s on the second floor, I thought that’d count for something.”

“Not when the world’s easiest to climb tree is in your backyard,” Stu adds, “I thought you’d think twice about things like that.” He turns his head so that he’s staring straight up at the ceiling. “You’re always reading mystery books and the only thing you care about in movies is that there’s a final girl.” 

Great, now Stu’s right, too. “That’s not the only thing I care about.” He’s quiet, watching me with a strange level of focus. He’s weirdly calm...almost dazed. I blink, gaze shifting to watch Billy from the corner of my eye. He’s also seems a little weird. “Are you guys drunk or something?” 

Stu lets out a mock gasp. “Wow. You think that little of us?” 

My eyes narrow, focusing on the backpack I so quickly dismissed earlier. “I think that if I opened that bag I’d find beer.” 

With a wounded sigh, Stu sits up. He grabs his backpack, unzipping it casually. He reaches into it before pulling out a tall bottle. The liquid inside of it is as clear as the glass containing it. “Not exactly.” Stu unscrews the lid, taking an easy sip. He doesn’t wince as the liquid goes down his throat. “Here.” Billy shifts, reaching forward to take the bottle. “Ah--c’mon, Billy boy, let her have some. We’re being rude.” 

“It’s okay,” I interrupt quickly, “I’m good.” 

Stu frowns, extending his arm a little more. “Come on, angel, just a tiny sip. Less than a shot.” I don’t move, but my attention does shift to the bottle that’s hanging just a little too loosely from his fingers. “I won’t even tell on you to your mom.” 

I roll my eyes at what he’s so clearly implying. “I think she’d be more focused on the fact that you chose to come in through the window.” Scratching the back of my wrist, I admit, “Plus, she’s not downstairs, so you can’t tattle on me anyways.” I watch him take in the words, a part of me regretting bringing that up. “Why’d you guys come in this way anyways? I would’ve come to the door.” 

“You’ve been ignoring everyone’s calls.” Stu props his head up on his elbow. 

I look at him and then at Billy. “So this is an ambush.” 

Billy drops one of his bent legs just enough to bump his knee into mine. “A wellness check in.” 

Tamping down a grin, I roll my eyes.  “Right. Silly of me not to realize.” 

“If your mom’s not here, where is she?” 

Stu’s blatant nosiness should have been expected. “Why? You actually here for her?” 

“Jealous?” 

Pressing my back into a pillow, I fake gag.”She’s my mom, Stu.” 

He rolls his eyes at my theatrics before laying back down. I know that they must have noticed the way I ignored the question, but telling them that my mom’s not home and that she’s not going to be home for days feels a little like tempting fate now that I know they’re at least tipsy.

Billy lazily reaches for the bottle again. Stu lets him take it this time. 

“She’s in Texas, anyways.” Please tell me my voice sounds casual and not at all nervous. “That must be so sad for you.” 

I’m waiting for some kind of joke about blue balls or being heartbroken. Instead, Stu props his head up again. “So she’s not here not here?” 

The distinction sends nerves straight to my stomach and I’m not sure why. My confusion is more uncomfortable than what I’m feeling. “Yeah,” I mumble, sitting up a little straighter, “Family emergency thing. My godmother is like super pregnant with twins and just got put on bed rest. Her husband’s out of town for work this weekend, so my mom flew there to take care of her.” 

Billy’s head turns in my direction, “So it’s just you and good old step dad.” 

His lips turn upwards at my glare. “No, Wells is with her.” I shift uncomfortably at the thought of being alone with Wells with no buffer for that long. “I would’ve gone with them, but I already had the SAT scheduled and their flight was early.” 

Stu breaks the unexpected silence, “So they left you alone with a killer on the loose?” 

Shrugging, I drop my gaze to the floral pattern of my bedsheets. “It’s not like that. My godmother’s miscarried before, she’s freaked out.” My pointer finger traces the dainty pink petals sewn into the fabric. “And I just calmed myself down, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring that stuff up.” 

“Relax, angel,” Stu mumbles absentmindedly, “You can stay at my place if you want. My parents aren’t home either, so it’s just me and Billy tonight.” `

Yeah, I’ve done a lot of pathetic things recently, and I don’t need to add crashing Billy and Stu’s sleepover to the list. Plus I don’t think I need to know what goes on at boys sleepovers. Living with a grown man for the first time was enough of a culture shock. “I appreciate the offer, but last time I stayed over at someone’s house kind of...” 

“We could stay here.” Stu’s offer comes out so casual, so without a second thought, I nearly get whiplash. I stare at him, waiting for him to grin or do anything that indicates that he’s joking. He does neither, instead he just looks at Billy like he’s asking him if they’re staying here. Not me.

Billy tilts the bottle in my direction, silently offering it to me. “We could hang out, make sure you fall asleep okay.” He relaxes enough to let his free hand fall. His fingertips ghost my forearm. “Pretend all you want, but I know that staying by yourself has to be bothering you a little.” 

Ugh. I hate when he’s right. Maybe a drink isn’t the worst idea right now. It might give me the confidence I need to seem okay with being home alone. I take the bottle, cautiously bringing it up to my lips with the intention of only taking a sip. The bottle tilts upwards with no warning. The unexpected amount of extra alcohol leaves me nearly sputtering. I’m forced to down two large mouthfuls to avoid spilling it all over my bed.

When I finally get the bottle away from me, the sound of laughter and the rush of straight vodka leave me flushed. “Stu!” I’m trying to yell at him, but his name is barely sputtered out between coughs. 

“What? This isn’t even 40 proof.” 

Billy glares in Stu’s direction before he sits up a little more. I let him tilt my chin up softly. His touch is feather light as he wipes excess liquid up my chin and across my bottom lip. The motion is slow, the nail of his thumb pressing into the edge of my lip, pulling it just enough for me to notice. He’s looking at me with such deliberation my stomach drops. 

Wow, I really cannot handle my alcohol. I pull away, hand gripping the side of my bed as cautiously as possible. “You suck, you know how I get when I drink.” 

I’ve only been drunk in front of them once. The entire group was together and after my first beer, I spent the rest of the night holding Tatum’s hand and whining whenever Stu tried to steal her away. He was starting to actually get annoyed with me, but I ended up getting super nauseous before he could actually get mad. The next day, he teased me to no end about being an extremely touchy lightweight. 

“You weren’t that bad,” Stu lies, hand casually reaching forward to catch my ankle. “Just touchy. Thought you and Tay were getting ready to put on a show.”

“Shut up.”

He yanks my foot towards him, placing my calf on his lap. “Make me.” 

I roll my eyes, nerves that I don’t understand rising up my chest at the silence that follows. I could laugh, but he doesn’t need that kind of encouragement, so instead I kick the foot he pulled towards him. The movement is light, more of an attempt to shake him off than anything else. Stu doesn’t take it that way. His hand moves up past my calf, fingers harshly pressing into my skin. 

I’m reminded of that night in the hospital. The way Stu gripped my thigh. Small bruises that I thought about more than I’d ever admit lingered there for days. He was joking then, and he’s joking now, but his touch feels different. More (or maybe less?) restrained. There’s also something about the way he’s looking at me. 

My head turns in Billy’s direction. “Think I could take him?” 

Billy looks at Stu and then at me. “You’d kick his ass.”

I grin openly, glad for the break from tension. Stu’s hold on my leg loosens. He’s no longer gripping onto me, but his touch is persistent as he draws patterns against my skin. The change doesn’t exactly ease me, but I’m worried trying to pull away will make things worse. Something tells me he won’t take it seriously, he’ll think I’m challenging him as a joke or something. 

“You wanna kick my ass?” Stu drags his fingers up my leg, stopping at my knee before slowly moving back down.

I shrug, “Not sure yet.” 

Stu rolls his eyes before extending the hand holding the bottle. “Decide after another sip.” When I dramatically glare at him, Stu smiles slightly. “I promise not to do anything this time. I’m still not convinced, and it doesn’t entirely have to do with Stu. I’m not sure I want to drink anymore, I’m already finding it hard to focus. “Tell her, Billy.” 

“I can’t help that she’s not an idiot.” 

Billy’s response isn’t even that funny, but I laugh freely anyways. Stu pouts at my reaction, pulling the bottle back towards him. “Fine, don’t trust me.” 

I’ve dealt with Stu’s coldness for days and he’s just starting to act normal again. The last thing I want is for there to be another fight, even if it’s just a petty one. With a roll of my eyes, I lean forward and grab the bottle. “Don’t be so dramatic,” I bring the bottle to my lips and take a quick drink. The liquid burns as it goes down. “See, I trust you.” 

Stu doesn’t relax. He just stares at me. Are his eyes darker than they were earlier or is the alcohol starting to get to me? I need an excuse to break eye contact. I raise the bottle again, taking another sip.

Billy’s touch on my back is easing, which is nice because the buzz is starting to kick in a lot stronger than I expected it to. There’s no way Stu was telling the truth when he said that the vodka’s less than 40 proof. “Have you had anything to eat?” He’s moving his hand in circles like he did when he found me in the bathroom. It’s more soothing than it should be. “Last time you didn’t you got sick.” 

His words are so calm I find myself giggling. “That’s very motherly of you.” Billy throws me a slightly irritated look. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, it’s nice.” My head tilts forward, the motion more drastic than I intended it to be. Billy places a hand on my cheek, stabilizing me. “I um--I ate. Ordered Pizza earlier. There’s still some in the kitchen if you guys are hungry. Or I could--could get you something to drink. My mom would be mad if she knew you guys were here, but she’d kill me if she knew I had people over and didn’t offer then anything to eat.”

Billy tilts his head downwards, a strand of hair falling forward. The urge to push it back into place leaves my fingers itching. “Does that mean you’re letting us stay?” 

What does that mean? They’ve been staying. It takes me a second to realize that he’s asking me if they’re staying the night. “It’s--” 

“Come on,” his voice is soft, his breath warm against my jaw, “We just want to help.” 

My thoughts are mush, and I’m not sure that’s just because of the alcohol. I lean back in hopes of creating some distance. “You guys can hang out,” I mumble, “But I don’t think you should stay too late. I’m kind of spacey and a little tipsy and tired. Think it’d be good for me to stay by myself tonight.” The answer feels awkward, maybe even a little risky. My eyes focus on the Princeton banner in the corner of the room. His silence is beginning to crawl under my skin. “Billy?” 

When I finally find the courage to look at him again, there’s something eerie about the blankness in his expression. His hand drops from my face. “It is getting late.” He glances at Stu, nodding his head once in the direction of the window. “Wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” 

I settle the bottle in my lap before wiping at my face with both hands. I should have known better. He takes things like that more personally than one would expect. Memories of the time Billy asked me if I wanted to study for our History test together after school leave me frozen in place. I had already promised to help Randy study for a math test. Billy was cold towards me for a week. 

“Billy.” He doesn’t look back at me. I scoot to the edge of my bed, placing the bottle on my nightstand. “Stu.” Stu glances at me, but says nothing. “Don’t go.” I can’t look at them. My nails dig into my bedsheets. “Come on, I-I need you guys.” 

God, I’m never drinking again. The admission is so embarrassing I can feel blood rush to my face. I don’t look up until fingers press in to the skin beneath my chin. My head is tilted upwards before I can make any kind of decision. 

“Need us?” Billy’s voice is low and unbearably patient. 

I blink up at him, unsure on how to proceed. I learned early on in our friendship that it takes little to trigger some kind of power trip in them, and that that tends to lead to meanness. But every part of that’s lost to the buzzed feeling of the alcohol doesn’t care. I nod slowly. 

I’d consider the slight uptilt of the corner of his mouth a smile if it wasn’t for the strange look behind his eye. He’s so hard to read sometimes and that just makes me resent the fact that I’ve always been an open book. He knew about my concussion before I did. “A little bit of alcohol is all it takes with you, huh?” 

His tone is so patronizing I’d pull away if I was any less fuzzy. “More than a little.” 

Billy lets out a partially amused breath. “To you.” 

“Remember how you got after two beers?” Stu sits next to me, so close our knees touch.

I shift back, forcing my eyes to stay on my lap. “That’s why I didn’t want to drink a lot, but some asshole tilted the bottle with no warning.” 

“Mean of them,” Stu agrees, shockingly amicable as he takes my hand from my lap. I watch as he messes with my fingers, curling and uncurling them like a child would with a toy. “Let us stay, bug. We’ll have fun, watch movies, I’ll go downstairs for you if you get thirsty in the middle of the night.” 

The specificness of that last part leaves me confused. I tilt my head in his direction, but Stu pays no mind to it. Billy half huffs, “I’d get you the water, Stu’s too selfish when he’s tired.” 

“Fuck you,” Stu protests, squeezing my hand once, “Maybe I’d do for it Y/n. Maybe I like her more than I like you.”

Billy barely justifies that response with a look in Stu’s direction. He then turns towards me, eyes softening slightly as he shakes his head once. Despite myself, I smile fondly. “It’s not that I don’t want you guys to stay, it’s that I don’t know if it’s okay.” 

Of course Stu’s the one to ask, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?” 

Even in my state, I know he knows exactly what I’m implying. He’s fighting a grin, enjoying the prospect of me having to say it a little too much. For once, I can’t use my mom as an excuse. There’s literally zero possibility of her finding out, she won’t be in the same state as us until Tuesday. The only way she’d find out is if I tell her and if I admit that I’m scared of letting it slip out, the mommy’s girl jokes will never end. 

“You know why,” I begin, watching Stu trace the line of my palms. “Don’t think Sid and Tatum would love the idea of their boyfriends...” He’s really going to make me say it. I resist the urge to pull my hand back into my lap and curl into myself. “...Having sleepovers with me.” 

The words are barely out of my mouth before Stu laughs. “You and Tay get up to a lot at your sleepovers?” 

The alcohol’s really getting to me because it takes me a second to understand the joke. My delayed eye roll is definitely noticed. “That’s not--it’s--” I pull my hand away, crossing my arms over my chest. “You know what I mean. It’s different.” 

“Why’s it so different?” 

That’s the kind of question I expect from Stu, but from Billy, it’s not as easy to dismiss with an eye roll and halfhearted shove. “It’d-it’d seem weird,” I whisper, “Tate and Sid--” 

“Would be happy that we’re keeping you safe. They love you.” Billy places a hand on my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the strap of my tank top. I was too distracted before to think about what I’m wearing, but now I can’t help noticing that this is the skimpiest I’ve ever worn in front of them. 

It’s not like I’m naked--but my old, elastic pajama shorts are the kind of thing I can’t wear around Wells. My tank top isn’t scandalous, but I’m too aware of the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. I also don’t love being seen in clothes like this. Two different types of insecurity strike at the same time.  

“Sid would kill me if I let anything happen to you,” Billy continues, his thumb moving up and down my skin. “C’mon.” 

This was always a losing fight. It’s kind of hard to put your foot down when it comes to something that you don’t really want. I know that my points are valid, or at least, I think they’re valid.

Maybe I am being a little dramatic. It’s not like we’re doing anything bad. Even if they didn’t have girlfriends, I really doubt either of them would see me like that. And is it so bad that I don’t want to be completely alone in this house? We’re friends, friends have sleepovers. Plus it is nighttime and they’ve been drinking, sending them to walk home could lead to something happening to them.

“Okay,” I give in, “But best behavior. My mom will kill me if she thinks you guys stayed over.”

“Aw,” Stu says, moving to rest his head on my shoulder, “Willing to keep a secret from your mom for us.” 

Instead of shaking Stu off, I rest my head against his. “Guess I like you guys.” 

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.” 

I frown, “I’m not sleepy.” 

“Then let’s go watch a movie.” I pout when Stu moves away, “Come on, I brought options.”

Moving to sit closer to the edge of the bed, I wipe my eyes with the back of my palm tiredly. Stu brought more movies? For a spontaneous, tipsy visit, Stu seems remarkably prepared. He grabs the bottle off of my nightstand. The implications of that makes me sigh loudly. 

Billy reaches forward, grabbing my hand. “It’s easier to go along with it.” I let him help me to my feet. When I sway, Billy’s hand is quick to find my hip. “I’ll help you down the stairs.” 

I don’t protest. It’s probably for the best, anyways. Tipsy me isn’t exactly known for her coordination. 

True to his word, Billy’s hand stays on my hip as as we walk to the living room. Once we’re down the stairs, Billy’s hold on me doesn’t loosen. Stu’s already messing with the VCR by the time I’m sitting on the couch. I consider offering him some help, but decide against it. I’m comfortable, and probably too out of it to be useful.

Watching a movie feels like a good thing. Knowing them, it’s probably something scary, and they take their horror movies seriously. It’ll consume their attention, which means I’ll be able to recover from the alcohol in peace.

Stu must figure out the VCR because he stands up and walks towards us. He sits down next to me, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. “What’d you put on?”

"The Shining.” 

“Finished the book recently.” 

“Hm,” Stu hums in acknowledgement, already turning his full attention to the movie. 

The movie playing lets me relax. There’s no need to worry about doing anything stupid or embarrassing because the two of them are going to be immersed in what’s on the screen. 

Only a few minutes into the movie, Stu takes a sip from the bottle of alcohol. I almost forgot he brought that down with him. He then offers it to me without looking away from the TV. My hand wraps around the neck of the bottle. After a few sips, Billy takes it from me. He ignores the way I look at him, opting to drink even less than Stu did before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. 

I’ve watched The Shining before, and I’ve been meaning to rewatch it since finishing the book, but focusing isn’t coming easily to me right now. At least I know enough about to plot to not be confused as my thoughts tune in and out.

My head ends up on Billy’s shoulder. I don’t remember making the conscious choice to do so, but I’m comfortable and Billy doesn’t shake me off, he just brushes his knuckles up and down my leg absentmindedly. 

The longer the movie continues, the harder I find it to understand what’s going on. Maybe it’s because I’m tired, maybe it’s because the bottle somehow keeps making its way back to me.

I blink hard, trying to figure out what point of the movie we’re at. We’re not near the end, Jack Torrence hasn’t fully snapped yet, but his writer’s block is getting bad. A confident touch to my left knee snaps me out of my analysis. My head turns against Billy’s shoulder. Stu’s eyes are still trained on the movie, but his hand is on my leg, and not in a casual, mindless way, either. 

He squeezes my knee as the little boy rides his tricycle past room 237. “Stu.” His fingertips trail up my inner thigh slowly, lingering where my shorts end. I shift, unintentionally pressing myself more into Billy. Stu presses his hand down in order to keep my leg in place. “Stu.” What’s meant to be a scolding comes out too sleepy and slurred. It practically sounds like a whine.  “’M serious.” 

Stu’s nails drag up my skin. My breath catches in my throat oddly, a tiny sound slipping out. “Serious about what?” My lips part, but no words are ready to come out. “You’re okay,” he whispers, “Just watch the movie, angel.” I’m too buzzed to do anything but nod. “Want more to drink?” 

“She’s done,” Billy squeezes my forearm, “Anymore and she’ll get sick.”

The thought of drinking anymore does twist my stomach. Sometimes the way Billy reads people is a tiny bit eerie. I nod against his arm, squeezing his hand. Stu shrugs, turning back to the movie without moving his hand from my thigh.

By the time the movie’s ending, the fact that I’m aware of anything is a miracle. I only fell asleep once and woke up to the feeling of Stu squeezing my thigh. The fact that my initial reaction wasn’t to try to get him to knock it off, but to pretend to still be asleep scared me so much I didn’t let myself relax for the rest of the movie. 

"She asleep?” Stu’s voice is barely louder than the sound of still rolling credits. 

I shift against Billy in a sad attempt to sit up fully with no support. “Still awake,” my voice is too drowsy, I try a little harder to sit up before wiping my eyes. “’M up.”

Billy keeps a hand on my arm in an attempt to help stabilize me. “Clearly.” I try throwing a sarcastic look in his direction, but it feels kind of pathetic. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

Stu grabs my hand, pulling on my arm before I can respond. They help me stand and stay up. They’re attentive as we move up the stairs, pausing and holding me a little tighter each time I threaten to sway or stumble. I’m barely there by the time we get to my room.

The second I see my bed, I abandon them both in favor of finding my mattress. I stumble, pulling back my sheets before laying down. Billy sits down on the other side of the bed. I roll onto my stomach in order to reach for him. My hand falls short, but Billy moves to compensate for my lethargy. 

I can barely lift my head off of the mattress, “Hi.” 

His hand is on my back, moving in small circles. “Hi,” he echoes. I smile at nothing in particular as I try to keep my eyes open. “You need sleep.” 

With a laugh, I turn onto my back. Billy moves his hand away, looking at me sternly as I continue to giggle. “Astute observation.” I lazily try to wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Weird word, huh?” Using the last of my energy to sit up, I laugh again. The sound gets cut short by a yawn. “Never really thought about it before the SAT.” 

“Uh-huh,” Stu starts, placing a hand on my shoulder, “You spent who knows how long with your nose in an SAT prep book, we get it. Now go to sleep.” 

My head lulls to the side, mainly subconscious protest must be visible on my face because Stu pushes against my shoulder and that’s all it takes for my back to fall flat against my bed. My eyes go wide in surprise. I shift like I want to sit up, but then decide to just roll onto my side. “That wasn’t nice.” 

He sits next to me, “I’ll make it up to you in the morning.” My eyes are now shut but I can hear his movements. The feel of a hand brushing against my side should alarm me more. I open my eyes just enough to see Stu lying next to me. “Promise.” 

I hum vaguely in agreement, nodding my head more into my sheets than anything else. I’m so close to sleep I barely register the feeling of Billy’s hand against my back, moving in the same circular motions as before.

The last thing I register before falling fully asleep is the light getting turned off and long fingers brushing against my neck. I’m in a state that’s more dream than reality when something oddly sharp--but not painful--quickly brushes against my neck. Before I can think about it, I’m pulled under. 

----

Narrator’s POV

Stu can’t help it. He’s been trying to keep it together all night, trying to pace himself and hold onto the way he’s supposed to act, but it’s been getting increasingly harder around you. Especially tonight.

The urge to break character, in a sense, isn’t his fault. Not really. How is he supposed to focus and play best friend’s boyfriend when you’re everywhere? The postures and pictures on your wall, the overflowing, well loved bookshelf in the corner, and your sheets. The dainty floral pattern, the softness of the cotton, and the way that they smell so much like you. He can’t stop imagining what it’d feel like to press your face into them as you took him from behind. 

He thought being in your room would be easy. It’s not like he’s never checked it out before, but only while you weren’t home. But being here with you? A drunk, touchy, needy you? Almost impossible. He’s been trying to hide how hard he is all night. 

But now you’re asleep, and the alcohol he kept getting you to drink is guaranteed to keep you that way until late morning. His hands have been all over you since he first realized that your breathing evened out. He moves one hand to palm himself over his pants. His free hand trails down your side, squeezing your hip. 

“Go to sleep.” Billy’s voice isn’t tired, just a little flat, and maybe a tiny bit annoyed.

 Stu recognizes the lack of demand in Billy’s tone and decides that his words are more of a ‘knock it off’ than a serious ‘stop’. “Like you’re not hard.” Stu’s fingers brush against the hem of your shorts. “Y/n said she needed us and then spent two and a half hours basically laying on top of you.” Stu slips his hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, knowing that with a few more words he could finally get some release. “Remember yesterday?” Stu groans, his hand moving down his length. “You came to the thought of that.” 

Billy stays still, ignoring a feeling he’s been in control of since early in the night. “It’s too soon.” He glances at you, so tired and so needy. “We push anymore tonight and we won’t be able to blame it on drinking.” Your breath flutters slightly, your chest expanding a bit more than usual. “If she thinks anything’s up she won’t talk to us anymore. She’s still too close to Sidney and Tatum.” 

“Relax,” Stu sighs, his hand moving a little bit faster, “Sh-she drank enough to keep her knocked out until tomorrow. Fuck.” Stu turns his head at the sound of Billy moving. He frowns dramatically when he realizes that the movement was just Billy brushing his knuckles over your cheek in order to sooth you and make sure you’re still sleeping comfortably. “You’re babying her, we should just talk her into it already.” Stu likes the thought of that more than he can put into words. The three of you, like it should be. “Should’ve felt her when my hand was on her thigh. She--fuck--she was shaking, pretending to be asleep.” 

Billy lets out a breath, reaching over for Stu lazily. You don’t even shift at the motion. “You think I’m babying her, but she’s the one that has you wrapped around her finger.” 

Stu parts his lips to protest, but Billy pushes his hand beneath the waistband of Stu’s pants before he can get the words out. “Shit,” Stu’s breath hitches, “Fuck you, Y/n lets me do whatever I wan-want.” Billy moves his hand at a pace that’s agonizing. “She wouldn’t stop me if I-” 

Stu cuts himself off with a groan. Billy finishes the sentence for him, “If you spread her legs apart, pulled those tiny shorts to the side, and ate her out until she’s crying.” With each word, Billy picks up his pace, indifferent to Stu’s whines. “You want to do that?” 

“Yes,” Stu doesn’t hesitate, “Fuck, yes.” 

“She’d squirm under you like before.” God, Stu’s practically seeing stars. “She’d let us fuck her like a whore.” 

Stu bites his tongue to suppress a whine, his fingertips digging into your hip. “Shit, I’m close.” 

Billy moves his hand up, pulling it away from Stu slowly. He ignores Stu’s whine. “Go to sleep.”

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129

For some reason I came up with a fake scenario where Billy and Stu sneak up to Y/n's window and they open it and all they hear is music blasting through the house. They sneak downstairs confused and ya wanna know what they see? 🤣 Idk why, but I imagined Y/n just bustin it down with a bottle of vodka in her hand and Randy smoking a blunt on the couch and giggling to himself 💀🤣🤣 and Billy and Stu are so jealous cause Y/n hasn't been answering any calls and here she is, basically throwing it back in front of Randy 😭😭🤣 and dancing her little heart out.

disclaimer: if my writing is bad pls forgive me i just woke up from a drunk nap, violently hungover, there's just something about drinking in a frat that makes the alcohol hurt u more :,) pray for me

this scenario is so good tho?? as someone who is the drinking while others get high friend, i feel represented lmao (my lungs are naturally trash, they do not need the excuse to be worse!!)

also the implications? I love, like Billy and Stu casually hanging out in Y/n's house, Y/n and Randy being besties, jealousy? love!! that inspired a little drabble :))

----

Twice. Billy had called you twice. Once while waiting for Stu to come by and one more time with Stu right next to him. The long ringing rubbed them both the wrong way. That familiar pinch of panic that Billy only ever felt when it comes to you quickly struck him in the chest. 

His mom had pulled away slowly at first, too, until she left completely. His hands pulled into fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. Billy was so blinded that Stu, who was dealing with one too many flashbacks of his parents ignoring his calls when he was younger, had to be the voice of reason. If our babydoll thinks she’s too busy for us, we’ll make ourselves too busy for her. 

So they both spent a few hours with their girlfriends. It worked out well, Sidney and Tatum couldn’t begin to see themselves as afterthoughts, and they knew how you’d react. You never said anything when they made a point of spending time with their girlfriends, but they knew that it hurt you. The corner of your mouth would turn downwards, and you’d shrink away for a moment, nervously picking at your nails. Sometimes you’d even become a little snippy, the start of an attitude that they knew how to handle. 

It was kind of cute, the way you’d get flustered, trying to convince yourself and them that you’re not jealous.

Billy had a feeling that if he said the right things, pushed you the right way, you’d be needier than usual. He could use that right now, a reminder that you need them. Stu pulled the jealousy card a little more often, but it never grows old. It was the only time he allowed himself to think that maybe he does like seeing you a little upset from time to time if it’s over him.

They called you again once they got to Stu’s house. No answer. Enough was enough.

You were home alone, you mentioned that everyone you lived with would be gone for most of the weekend on Friday during lunch. Billy and Stu had been looking forward to it. With all the murders, you’d be happy for their company...expected or otherwise. 

When they get to your house, the first thing they notice is that there’s no light coming in from your bedroom window. That’s not enough reason to panic yet. Sometimes when you’re home alone at night, you like watching movies in the living room. 

This is far from the first time the two of them enter your room through your window. The lack of light doesn’t inhibit them, they’ve come here more times than even you know.

Your window is cracked open slightly. Billy’s already planning on teasing you about it. There’s a killer on the loose and you’re alone and you left your window open. With all the scary movies you’ve watched together, you really should know better. 

Stu wastes no time. As soon as he’s in your room, he starts looking around, noting the new arrangement of books on your shelf and the oversized shirt tossed over the chair of your desk.

“Wait a second,” Stu mumbles as Billy approaches the door to your bedroom, “She went to the mall with Tatum the other day. Tatum came back with a bag from Victoria’s secret, I want to see if she got anything new.” 

Billy sighs, lingering in the space between your bed and your door. The sound of distant music is starting to get to him, ruining the normal feeling he gets from being in your room. The music isn’t exactly shaking the house, but it’s a little louder than the normal volume you set. It’s also not the kind of music you normally listen to, the base is too intense. It reminds him of the music that’s in the background of parties. 

“She’s with someone,” Billy mumbles, jaw clenching. 

Stu freezes, gripping the handle of your dresser drawer. “It’s almost 10:00 and she’s not with Sidney or Tatum.” The thought that the reason you weren’t answering their calls is because you’re with someone hits him straight in the chest. “If it’s that guy from her English class that’s always looking at her--” 

The rational part of Billy’s mind that warns him against giving into his instincts too much is oddly quiet. That’d be too obvious, its whisper is practically drowned out by that damn feeling in his chest. She’s leaving you.

“I know where he lives,” Stu continues, “We can make it look like an accident.” 

Billy partially snaps out of it. “You’d gut him, and you know it.” Stu shrugs the dismal, making a mental note to bring it up later. “Let’s just find her.” 

Both of them walk down the stairs and into your living room. They round the corner, following the sound of music to your kitchen. You’re there, casually swaying to the music and badly humming along. You seem so content, so fine without them.

Billy holds out a hand, signaling to Stu to not make his presence known yet. They quietly walk further into the room, noticing someone sitting on your couch. Randy. This revelation doesn’t fully ease either of them.

You stumble in an attempt to turn to the music. Your eyes immediately lock on the two lurking trespassers. On a normal night, they might try to look apologetic. Tonight though, they have no reason to feel bad about coming here unannounced. It’s not even controlling of them, they called. Three different times. What were you and Randy doing that was so important you couldn’t even answer the phone to let them know?

Instead of expressing any sort of concern, you laugh, the bottle in your hand swaying. The clear liquid almost sloshes out as you grin. “You guys are here!” 

Throwing caution to the wind, you run towards them, pulling Billy and Stu into a quick hug. You nearly trip on your own feet as you pull away, giving Billy an excuse to grab onto your arm.

Randy, rightfully confused, tilts his head back, revealing red tinted eyes. “Shit, you like summoned them.” You scoff energetically at the comment. A peacefully high Randy and an enthusiastically drunk you. It’s a combination Stu and Billy realize they don’t have to worry about in the way that they were thinking. 

“Summoned us?” Billy tilts his head, already slightly amused. 

You nod happily,“Yep!” You squeeze Billy’s arm gently. “Missed you two, drinking’s not that fun without you guys making fun of me.” 

Stu blink, easing slightly. “We called.” 

At that, your expression falls. Your eyebrows draw together, eyes widening apologetically as your lips pull into a pout. “You did?” You twist in Billy’s hold, the bottle of vodka in your hand nearly slipping from your grasp. “I must not have heard music--” You cut yourself off, your head falling to the side in confusion. A small giggle escapes you at the thought of your mistake. “No, no--I-I heard the music. That was the problem. I didn’t hear the phone over the music.” Stu bites down a smile, wondering how far he can pull at your alcohol fused guilt. “I’m sorry.” 

He shifts, leaning against the wall. You frown a little more at that. Where’s your hug? You turn your head, moving past Billy and wrapping your arms around Stu. You grab onto him a little too fast. “Woah,” Stu mumbles, squeezing you back, “Guess good pal Randy didn’t think to tell you to slow down.” 

“I did,” Randy defends himself flatly, “She didn’t take it well.” 

Stu now smiles openly. “You were mean to poor Randy?” 

You shake your head against his chest. “Not mean, just didn’t listen.” 

“You almost ripped my head off.” 

“Yeah,” with a dramatic roll of your eyes, you pull away from Stu, “Because you’re making my living room smell like weed, not because of the drinking comment.” With a huff, you cross your arms in front of your chest, the bottle nearly slipping from your grasp again. “My family’s gone for a night, not forever.” 

Randy sighs, “Light a candle.” 

“Told you, doesn’t work if you smoke on the couch. It gets into the fabric and pillows and stuff.” 

He shuts his eyes at your whine, “You’re just upset I wouldn’t let you smoke.”

“Because you didn’t give me a good ‘no’-reason.”

Ignoring the slurred way your words come out, Randy lazily turns, “Drunk you is fun, high you is messy.” You glare at him, unable to argue. “Face it, Stu’s the only one willing to babysit you when you smoke.” 

“She’s not that bad,” Stu defends weakly, placing his hands around your waist, “Last time she didn’t even cry when she got paranoid.” 

You gently elbow him, upset that they’re ganging up on you. “You two aren’t funny.” 

“I’ll get high with you, babe,” Stu’s tone has taken on that slightly condescending softness as he reaches for you again. “As soon as you’re not hungover, promise.” 

You let him hug you. “’M not gonna be hung over.”

“Mhm,” Stu mumbles, “Tell me that again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Randy says as he stands, “I was supposed to leave like an hour ago, but Y/n didn’t want to be alone.” 

Randy starts approaching the front door. “Bye Randy! Leave me a message when you get home so I know you didn’t get murdered.” 

“Guy smoking weed, walking home late at night,” Randy muses, “Don’t love my odds.” He pauses at your frown. “Kidding, I live one street down from you. I’ll be fine and I’ll leave a message.” 

You nod in acceptance. “Bye!” Randy waves you off before stepping out of your front door. The sound of the door shutting reminds you of something. “How’d you guys get in? Door was locked.” 

“Your window wasn’t,” Stu replies easily.

At this point, the thought of them coming in through your window doesn’t even phase you. “You two, always with the window.” 

“Maybe you’ll learn to lock it,” Billy muses, voice oddly cold, “There’s a killer on the loose.” 

You frown at that. “One, I’m not high, you can’t freak me out. Two, it’s not like I want to keep you guys out.” 

Billy angles his head downwards, looking at you in a way you can’t read, so you choose to focus on the way his hair falls across his face. “You don’t?” 

You shake your head dramatically, “No, I like it when you’re here. I’d let you guys in through the front door.” 

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” he mumbles, “You didn’t answer the phone.” 

You move away from Stu to stand closer to Billy. You do feel sorry for missing the calls, but you’re not in the mood for this. You’re too tired for anything that isn’t casual and happy. “I’m sorry,” you say again. 

There’s something harsh about Billy’s expression. It’s so sharp it hits you straight in the chest. You don’t like it. You want it gone. It doesn’t feel like you’re standing next to the Billy you know. You reach a hand out without thinking, your fingers cautiously brushing against his lower arm. With no warning, Billy turns his hand over in order to grab your hand. He squeezes your hand so tightly it feels uncomfortable. He takes advantage of his hold on you, tugging you forward. You stumble, catching yourself before you can fall against his chest. Billy tilts his head down, his forehead just barely touching yours. The way he’s looking at you changes slightly, but it doesn’t lose its intensity. 

After a long second, you find a meeker version of your voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“Don’t leave me,” he blurts out, voice low and harsh and so close to vulnerable a chill runs through you. Despite the alcohol in your system, you know that this stray from his usual facade is significant. You just don’t understand why. 

You hold his stare as long as he lets you. He breaks away from the display of neediness, turning his head to hide his gaze in your neck. His father’s voice is screaming in his head, repulsed by his own weakness. Torn between pushing you away and pulling you even closer, Billy’s grip on you tightens even more. 

A more sober you would have reacted differently. You wouldn’t have pushed Billy away, not after what he said, but you might have hesitated a little more, maybe even questioned what he meant. “What?” You almost regret breaking the silence, one of your hands moving to smooth his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls away just enough to look you in the eye. There’s an uncertainty there that exhausts you. “You know how much you guys mean to me.” When Billy still doesn’t ease, you frown, placing a hand on his cheek. “You guys want to sleep over? We can watch movies and tomorrow morning you can see how not hung over I am.” 

“Adorable,” Stu hums teasingly, running a hand up and down your upper arm, “You two should kiss and makeup more often.” 

You roll your eyes. “We weren’t fighting and we didn’t kiss.” Billy, feeling a tiny bit better, places a hand on the back of your head. He pulls you forward, kissing the side of your head. You smile, fondness pooling in your eyes. “Haha,” you mumble dryly, “Are you guys staying over or not?” 

After a second, Billy answers, “We’ll stay since you clearly can’t be trusted to stay home alone. Leaving your window open is opening-scene-of-a-horror-movie level of a bad idea.” 

You don’t glare at him the way you normally would. Maybe it’s the buzz of alcohol, or maybe it’s the warmth of their touch against your flushed skin. “As long as you guys are staying.” 

The reader seems to be really close to billy and stu , so it got me thinking , what if she had little rituals with them ... like kissing their noses or rubbing their backs , and what if she got possessive of them and in a game of 7 minutes in heaven ou something she just makes out with billy or stu ( bcs in order to be with dark murderous freaks you have to be a freak yourself ...i dont make the rules)

Like imagine billy : im mf special 😏

a/n omg?? i love this!! this concept is adorable :)) i got so excited i put off writing my lit essay lol, this became A LOT longer than I thought it would be lol 

also do y’all like first or second person narration better?? i definitely like writing first person more in chapter fics, but in drabbles/one-shots i change my mind all the time. I did a little of both here lol 

---

The pile of homework I've been working on seems like it'll never end. Like there will always be another packet that needs to be completed or another essay I need to write.

Something behind me shifts. The noise is soft and easy to dismiss, but my body turns instinctually anyways. After what happened to Casey, there's no such thing as being too sure.

With a sigh, my entire body eases as I realize what the source of the noise is. It's just Billy and Stu, magically appearing like they often do on my windowsill. Stu's already inside my room, sitting on the edge of my window, his feet firmly plated on the floor. Billy's leaning against it, his lower half still outside.

Normally, when they show up like this, I grin and urge them to come in faster. "What are you guys doing here?" The way Stu pauses and the look Billy gives me tells me that they weren't expecting that reaction. "I told you guys--not today. I have a ton of homework and like half my family is visiting. My cousins have no concept of boundaries because they're like seven and they barge in here all the time. They're also snitches, the last thing I need is them running to the kitchen and telling their mom that 'Y/n has boys in her room'."

Stu holds up his hands in defense as he stands. "Relax, we're just here for our goodnight kisses."

I turn, adjusting the notebook on my lap as I look at them skeptically.

"We'll leave right after if you want us to," Billy says, pulling himself up onto my windowsill.

Still unsure, I twist my pen between my fingers. "I will want you guys to." My tone is a little harsher than I want it to be. Stu seems a little tenser and Billy's expression clouds. "No, that came out wrong. It’s not that I want you gone, it’s that I’m trying to be practical.” 

"You didn't want us coming over earlier," Stu mumbles, something harsh behind his eyes, "And we barely saw you yesterday."

"Yesterday wasn't my fault. You two went out with Tatum and Sid." I adjust my hold on my notebook. "And I didn't want you guys over earlier today because of homework. Literally all I've done today is go to lunch with my family and homework." Their unease settles in my stomach like a rock. I sigh, pushing my notebook off of my lap. "Okay, come here."

At that, Stu breaks out into a grin. He crosses my room in a few long steps. Once he reaches me, he sinks into my waiting arms. I hug him tightly before he can decide that all isn’t forgiven, burring my face into the side of his neck. He's so warm and always smells so much like him. Like expensive fabric softener, a little bit of body spray, and usually a tiny bit like weed. On anyone else the combination wouldn't work, but on Stu, it makes me feel right at home.

One of my hands runs up and down Stu's back. He eases into the contact. The shirt he's wearing is soft. There's little I love more than Stu's well worn, rich kid T-shirts. I'm already plotting how to steal it from him.

I lean my head upwards, pressing a kiss against his jaw. His eyes flutter shut as I leave a trail of kisses up his cheek and to his temple like I always do.

Billy must have come in while I was distracted. He's lingering next to us, watching with a blank expression. I learned early on that while Billy hates asking for physical contact, he loves receiving it. If I had to take a guess, Billy's hesitance likely comes from his home life, but I'd never say that out loud.

"Okay, Stu," I hum, my nails brushing through his hair, "You're good." His hold on me tightens. "Stu, c'mon." With a bit of a pout, he straightens just enough to place a kiss on my forehead. He's watching me carefully, silently asking me for a few more minutes. "Billy's turn."

Stu frowns, looking like he's sincerely weighing his options. "Fine," he mumbles, placing one last kiss against the side of my head.

Once Stu lets me go, he slumps back onto my bed, laying across my mattress on his back. That does make me a tiny bit nervous because the more comfortable Stu gets, the less likely he is to leave.

I reach over, grabbing Billy's wrist. Gently, I pull him towards me. He lets me. Like always, at first Billy's slow before reciprocating with full force. He melts into my touch, pressing his face into my neck. My fingers trace patterns against his back.

"Missed this," I whisper the admission.

"We missed you, too," Stu replies, hand lazily reaching over for my extended leg. His fingers begin to trace patterns against the skin of my calf. I'd think that the motion was absentminded, but once when I asked him about it, he told me that sometimes he writes out things he wants to do to me. "Soon it'll just be the three of us."

This isn't a conversation that I love. The more they talk about the day where they feel like Sidney and the friend group are stable enough to handle two break ups, the less I believe that that day will ever come. Thinking about it makes me feel like a terrible person.

Billy, sensing that he no longer has my full attention, shifts. He moves impossibly closer, his lips grazing my pulse. I used to jokingly scold him for kissing my neck during times like this before learning that things like that aren't always sexual to him. It's just him at his most relaxed.

My fingers rake through his hair, smoothing it back carefully before placing a series of kisses across his jaw and up his cheek. My trail ends at his temple, like always. The realization that the moment's passing leads to him squeezing me tighter. There's something distinct about his touch today, maybe even a little nervous. That paired with how uncharacteristically quiet he's being leaves me wondering if this ambush visit is a result of something else.

I know he was supposed to do something with his dad this morning. Okay, I need to stop thinking about that before it starts showing on my face. He doesn't like when I worry, he's never said anything, but his hot-to-cold reactions make me think he misinterprets it as pity. If anything, what I feel is anger that I can't walk up to his dad and punch him the face.

"Okay," I hum, "You both got your goodnight kisses...and I have to finish this essay."

"It's Friday," Stu replies, his fingers moving against my skin in what kind of feels like the curve of a 'c'? I'd ask if I wasn't worried about the conversation and mood taking a turn towards something I can't control. "You have two whole days."

I exhale, nails gently scratching at Billy's scalp. "You're throwing a party on Saturday, and Sunday's our first fully free day in over a week. You two aren't going to let me get anything done."

Stu turns his hand, running his knuckles up my leg. "Not true, babe. I've got a whole to-do list for you."

Softly kicking my leg in protest of his joke, I roll my eyes. "It's better for everyone if I just get this stuff done now, especially since you can't sleep over anyways. My little cousins are never in bed when they're supposed to be."

"You can do your homework, Billy and I know how to behave." When I raise an eyebrow at that, Stu concedes, "Okay, we at least know how to entertain ourselves."

Yeah, that's not comforting.

"You guys aren't being fair. I don't remember acting like this when you guys literally went on dates yesterday." I drop my arms away from Billy, ignoring the pinch of guilt that strikes with no warning.

At the lack of contact, Billy sits up. I avoid his gaze. "Is that why you're kicking us out? You're jealous? Upset we're not giving you enough attention?"

"No, I'm kicking you out because there's a group of seven to nine year olds that are super nosy in my house. Especially when it comes to boys. Kennedy's in the third grade and in her crush phase and she's asked me about whether or not I have a boyfriend 50 times."

"Your mom lets us sleep over all the time," Stu defends, "We just need to tell her that our parents did something and she won't care."

My posture straightens in an attempt to seem more determined. "That's different and you know it. She always has you guys crash on the couch and you sneak up later. We can't do that with all my relatives in the house, and you can't show up to my house so late."

Stu doesn't normally see--or at least, doesn't care about--reason, but Billy tends to listen a little more. I look over at him, gauging his expression. I still can't read him as well as he can read me, but I know that the blanker his face is, the more emotion he's feeling.

They're both starting to seem a little weird, maybe a little hurt, and I hate it. I do miss them, I want them here, but it's risky for me. At the end of the day, if my relatives find out, they get to go home. I'm the one that will be in trouble until I graduate.

"Do you really want us to go?" Billy's voice is as flat and void as his expression.

The hollow look he's giving me hurts. "You know I don't." That eerie blankness doesn't go away. "When I lock the door, they just keep knocking until I open it. I guess that gives us time for you two to get into my closet or something."

With that, Billy eases. He's not exactly as relaxed as he was before, but it's a start. I lean forward, grabbing his hand. Stu sits up, shooting up to pull me into another hug. His grin feels smug, but I can't bring myself to call him out on it.

"That's our girl," Stu praises, kissing my cheek.

I press my lips together, fighting a grin. "Wait--there's a condition. You two need to let me finish this essay."

Billy lifts our intertwined fingers to his lips. "Deal."

"You guys are unbelievable." They both look at me expectantly. "Can't believe I'm basically risking my life because I can't go one night without having you two sleepover."

----

Going out with my friends has become extremely bittersweet. I love when the entire friend group's together, but there's just something about seeing Billy and Stu and knowing that things are different. Knowing that they're right there and thousands of miles away at the same time. It's not that we don't talk in public, it's that it's inherently different. And it makes me feel awful.

Each smile I share with Tate and each time I laugh with Sid adds another layer of guilt. It's so bad that both Billy and Stu have had to talk me down from breaking it off with them twice now after large group hang outs.

Whenever I freak out, Billy tells me that this is for the best, that after everything Sidney's gone through, he can't just break up with her while she's still dealing with trauma. The one stable, good thing in her life right now is our friend group. Stu and Tatum breaking up would endanger that as well. Even though keeping these secrets is morally wrong, they're always promising that this is the best way to keep everyone happy. Sid gets the support she needs, Tatum doesn't have to feel weird in the friend group, and we don't have to be heartbroken because of our right person, wrong time situation.

I'm not sure when they started taking a more preventative approach to the whole thing, but now, whenever we have group plans, they make a point of spending some time with me before. Just as a reminder about how they actually feel, I think.

They still haven’t stopped by, which I’m trying to not stress about as I tear my closet apart. Stu’s parties are always crowded and low lit, so what I wear isn’t the biggest deal, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. 

After Billy and Stu left early this morning my entire family headed out so that my extended family could be dropped off at the airport. So now I have the house to myself, which is a good thing for when one gets ready. 

I play my music as loud as I want while I take an extra long shower and take my time putting on a face mask. I’m being a little extra about my getting ready routine, but I’m taking advantage of the space and the free time. 

Shrugging off my towel, I pull one of Stu’s old shirts over my head. I’ve had this one for awhile but it still smells like him. I shut off my music and throw open my closet door open. 

I grab yesterday’s jeans off from the back of my desk chair. I had half a mind to wear them again tonight, but they’re a little over due for a wash. My fingers dig through the pockets as I approach my hamper. There’s no change, but there is a tube of chap stick in the front pocket and a tiny slip of paper in the back.

Unfolding the scrap paper, I fold the jeans over my bent arm. Good luck on your math test - Billy. I grin, thumb and pointer finger pinching the torn piece of paper a little too tightly. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve found one of these notes, but each time is equally exciting. It started relatively recently, the appearance of tiny notes in places I’d never expect to find them. In between the pages of books, slipped into my pencil bag, tucked into my folder next to homework assignments, and sometimes directly written into my notebooks. And now, apparently, tucked into the pocket of my jeans. 

The notes range in levels of sweetness, some of them motivational when I’m stressed over something, and others a little more flirty. The one I found before this one was about how pretty he thought I looked while walking to class. They’re all well loved, kept in a shoe box under my bed for me to re-read whenever I need a bit of a pick me up. 

I go back to my closet, looking through my clothes to find something that looks like I’m in the party mood. If I’m being honest, after such a draining week, I think I’d rather stay home and watch some movies instead of being at a party where Stu and Billy are both going to be with their girlfriends. Normally, that’s not enough to get me out of the party mood, but that paired with how busy I’ve been this week doesn’t have me thrilled for this. At least Randy will be there. 

Sighing, I start sorting through my clothes, trying to get myself into a party mood. I’m sure once I have an outfit I like and I fix my appearance, I’ll feel better about this.

I’ve just laid out a few outfit options on my bed when I hear a few familiar taps against the frame of my window. Tamping down a grin, I look up, not even bothering to look surprised. Billy and Stu are already pulling themselves into my room.

“You know, I do have a front door,” I mumble, straightening the skirt I just laid out on my bed.

Stu dramatically sigh, stomping into my room before flopping face first onto my bed. “That’s the hello we get?”

I roll my eyes. “I was just saying.” Stu props his head up on his elbow, looking up at me with criminally soft eyes. I drop my gaze, reaching for the top that he’s now wrinkling. “And you’re messing up my outfits.”

He watches me as I hold out the shirt. “You’re wearing that?” 

“I don’t know,” I mumble, ignoring his tone, “I have a few options, but I was thinking this with the dark green skirt.” 

Stu rolls onto his back before reaching over for the skirt I’m talking about. He looks at it skeptically. “This skirt?” 

“Yep.” Stu didn’t sound too thrilled. “Why? Do you think it doesn’t match? Because I was thinking about that.” 

Billy pushes away from the wall he was leaning against. “It’s short, sweetheart.” 

I look at him oddly. It’s not insanely short, I mean, I’ve worn shorter. “Not that short,” my eyes look over the fabric that Stu’s still holding, “My mom bought it for me. It’s fine.” 

Stu drops his arm. “I’ve seen the way your mom dresses.” 

“Are you slut shaming my mom right now?” 

“No,” Stu begins lazily, “I’m just saying that that doesn’t mean the skirt’s not too short.” 

I didn’t even want to wear this that badly before. “Too short? You guys aren’t my dad.” 

“Well, considering what you call u--” 

“Oh my god,” I cringe, throwing my shirt in Stu’s direction. The fabric lands against his face. Stu ignores me, pulling it off of him. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a skirt.” 

“A skirt that’s going to have people looking at you.” Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I stare at anything but Billy as he approaches me. His hand clasps around my forearm, pulling me a tiny bit forward. “Looking at what’s ours.” 

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the possessive undertones of the words didn’t make my face feel warm. The hypocrisy, though, almost immediately dismisses that. “So I have to be all okay with you two literally having girlfriends, but the line is drawn at me wearing a skirt you guys think is too short?” He squeezes my arm. “Maybe I want a little attention, it’s not like you guys can give me any tonight.” 

Billy’s hold on me goes from casual to nearly painful. His knuckles turn white against my skin and I’m sure that if this goes on for any longer, there are going to be finger shaped bruises there. I meet Billy’s gaze. His eyes have darkened significantly. 

“So that’s what the skirt’s about? You’re throwing a tantrum because you’re not getting enough attention?” 

This is going downhill fast. I’m going to need to backtrack the hell out of this conversation. “No, I-I was just making a point. It’s a little bit of a double standard, you have to at least be able to admit that.” The lack of emotion in his expression turns my stomach. I force myself to hold his gaze. “It just sucks sometimes, going to these things and seeing you guys with your girlfriends, and then I feel bad about feeling like that because they’re my friends.” 

“They’re not our girlfriends, they’re a situation,” Billy’s voice is harsher than it’s ever been while directed at me, “You’re our girlfriend.” 

My eyes widen. Despite how close we’ve gotten, the actual ‘g’ and ‘b’ words have not been used. I know I’ve been tripping over myself to avoid calling either of them my boyfriend by accident. His hold hasn’t loosened, but I can’t help my grin. My head tilts to the side, eyes softening as I place a hand over his. “Girlfriend?” 

Stu walks up to us. I don’t realize that he’s moving until I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Of course you are, you’re our girl.” He extends an arm, somewhat playfully pushing against Billy’s forearm. “Old Billy boy here wasn’t supposed to just say it like that. We’ve been planning it out, we were gonna ask.” Stu doesn’t release Billy’s arm, “It’s all Billy talks about, might wanna ease off on the love spells, he’s obsessed with you.” Stu squeezes my shoulder, running his thumb across the skin. “All day, it’s ‘you think Y/n’s okay?, Y/n’s hair looked so soft today, we should go see Y/n.’” 

Billy throws a look in Stu’s direction, his grip on me loosening. I smile, “Really?” 

“Fuck off,” Billy mumbles, shoving Stu. “He’s the one that’s whipped. Sometimes he misses the smell of your perfume.”

I grin despite their odd tension. It doesn’t take much for play fights to turn into something else, something I don’t understand because half of it is unspoken between them. But I love this. 

“Okay,” I hum, probably a little too chipper as I step between them, “This is officially my favorite argument the two of you have had.” 

They’re both starting to move over to a different world that’s just theirs. I step forward, pulling Billy into a hug. After a second, he reciprocates. I shift, moving to press a kiss to his cheek. “I think about you a lot, y’know.” He’s looking at me calmly, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d think there might be the faintest tinge of color in his face. 

“A lot,” he echoes, tone amused. 

I grin, nodding once, “Yes, don’t make it a thing.” The way the corner of his mouth turns upwards tells me that he’d be happy to have me spend the rest of tonight unpacking what I mean by that. I tilt my head, looking at Stu, “And you.” Stu’s eyes widen slightly as he waits for me to continue, “Sometimes I miss the way you smell, too.” 

Stu’s eyes narrow jokingly, eyes soft, “Really?” 

“Why do you think I’m always wearing your shirts?” 

He smiles, pulling Billy and I into a hug that thoroughly squishes me between them. Sometimes I wish everything could be as easy as it is in our little bubble.

“Okay,” I begin pointedly, playing up my annoyance, “Watch the hair, I’m still getting ready.” Before they can make anything of that comment, I continue, “Even though I’m my own person and I hate that thing where guys are all like ‘there’s no way you’re wearing that’, I guess there’s nothing wrong with taking into consideration how my boyfriends feel.” Saying that makes me so happy I can’t even bother to hide my grin. “How about a compromise--the jean skirt I wore last week and the top I threw at Stu earlier.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Stu drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “You’re going to make tonight impossible.”

He’s exaggerating a little, which is fitting considering sometimes it feels like all it takes to get Stu going is a look that lasts a little too long paired with the tiniest bit of exposed skin. “Sounds like a you problem.” 

Stu looks up at me, half glaring at me through hooded eyes. He lethargically smacks the top of my thigh, right where his t-shirt ends. It’s a testament to his easygoing mood, but I can’t help my dramatic gasp. 

“What?” Sometimes I think Stu would be insufferable if his smile wasn’t so cute. “If you’re going to be mean, I’m going to be mean back.” 

Okay, there’s a chance I am being a tiny bit mean. Did I pick the skirt that had Stu making up a super lame excuse during lunch just so he could get me into a supply closet for a makeout session I had to cut short? Maybe. Was it on purpose? ...I’d like to say no, but honestly, maybe. 

“Alright,” Billy interjects, “I know that look in both of your eyes, and we don’t have time for that.” 

He’s not wrong. I reluctantly pull away from both of them and go back to getting ready. We’ve fallen into a little bit of a routine. I go through my getting ready to go out routine, and they casually--or not so casually--look around my room. If that isn’t entertaining enough, they patiently follow me around. 

It’s kinda cute. Especially if I decide to wear makeup and they ask about whatever it is I’m putting on my face. One of these days I’m going to have to let Stu put eyeliner on me. 

By the time I’m almost done, Billy and Stu are still content with looking around my room. I have no idea what they find so interesting about my space, it’s not like it changes often enough to warrant their curiosity. But if it makes them happy to look through my bedside drawer and leaf through whatever notebook or book are left out on my desk, why stop them? 

Now that I’m dressed and have given my appearance a once over in the mirror, I’m basically ready. All that I need to do is figure out how to get the clasp of this necklace to just...

“You okay?” 

Billy’s sudden appearance at my side nearly makes the chain slip from my fingers. His steps are so quiet sometimes. Honestly, a little more practice and he could play a killer in a movie he’d love. “Yeah, there’s just something about putting necklaces on yourself that’s impossible.” 

“Here,” he breathes, fingers barely grazing my neck as he takes the clasp from me. Billy turns the necklace as he steps behind me. He latches the clasp with surprisingly minimal effort. Instead of releasing me, he adjusts the necklace so that the charm sits perfectly centered. Billy leans towards me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

Stu, who was previously looking at a framed picture of me at some birthday party when I was little, turns his attention towards us. “Aw, how domestic, you’re like an old, married couple.” 

I turn just in time to catch Billy’s meant-to-be dismissive eye roll, but there’s the faintest touch of something else, something that might be a little flustered. It’s gone before I can be sure. 

 “We’re cute,” I agree, reaching for Billy’s hand to squeeze it once. “Okay, I’m ready, so you guys should go. I’ll show up in about half an hour, give people some time to get there so that nothing looks weird.” 

Stu frowns, setting the picture frame back in place. “It’s not that suspicious, we’re friends, you’re punctual.” 

I press my lips together. We have our rules in place for a reason, and talking about them too much makes me feel things I really don’t like feeling. “You know why I can’t.” 

Billy must notice my shifting mood because he cups my face. “You’re forgetting something before kicking us out.” When I don’t respond right away, Billy kisses my cheek. “In case you needed a reminder.” 

Of course. If there’s one thing Billy’s consistent about it’s our little traditions. At first, they were just excuses to be cheesy, especially when I was feeling a little insecure, but now, they’re more significant.

I tilt my head upwards, leaving a trail of kisses up his cheek. Stretching upwards, I then place a kiss on the tip of his nose. He then kisses my forehead. Our goodbye ritual. 

“Hey, I’m leaving too.” The fact that I’m surprised that Stu is already within grabbing distance makes me a little too aware of how tired I am. 

Pushing against the feeling that begs me to just stay here tonight, I beam at him. He lets me hug him. His hands find their way around my waist and I press kisses against his cheek until I’ve reached his nose. Stu tilts his head down to help me reach him. My body eases as he presses a kiss to my forehead. 

“Okay, you guys should go.” Shifting awkwardly and dropping my arms to my side, I tact on a half thought in hopes of making this easier on all of us, “Maybe some time alone will do me some good, help me get into the party mood.” 

There’s a brief silence, and then Stu steps back, “See you later.” 

“Yeah,” I say, a little flatly.

Billy’s eyes are trained on Stu, who just barely glances back. To anyone else, it’d come off as casual eye contact. A small feeling that’s little more than an itch at the back of my mind tells me that its the beginning of one of their exchanges. Or maybe I’m just on edge.

They approach the window, leaving like they always do.

----

Narrator’s POV

You never thought you’d want to kill Randy as badly as you do right now. One minute, the two of you are casually drinking, and he’s listening to a tipsy you summarize the plot of the latest show you’re invested in, and the next he’s trying to usher everyone into a game of 7 minutes in heaven. 

You swore you weren’t playing, even when Randy started complaining. No one will go for it unless they think they have a chance with someone as hot as you. Your no stood firm, even when other people started sitting in front of Stu’s guest bathroom.

All you wanted to do was be an observer. To sit next to Randy and to ignore the weird looks Billy and Stu took turns sending you from across the room as you finished off your beer. Instead, you had to watch Stu’s spin land on Tatum, and you had to watch him walk with her to the bathroom with enthusiasm. Those 7 minutes had you getting up to grab another drink that you nearly downed before getting back to your seat. 

That was what really set the night off. You had been pacing your drinks before then, wanting to keep the balance between being buzzed enough to be social and drinking enough to become messy. Stu stepping out of the closet with a grin and an arm around an uncharacteristically bashful Tatum pushed you right to that line. Billy ending up in the bathroom with Sidney next is what pushed you over it. 

It’s ridiculous, no one can fully control where their spin lands, but it was all too coincidental. Too perfect. 

And that’s how you ended up here. In a closet with Jonathan White from your second period. The same Jonathan White that’s always staring at your chest. You’re about two minutes into the most awkward small talk of your life while pretending to not notice his leering and clumsy, half thought out advances when the door opens. 

There’s no way that 7 minutes are already up, but you’re too relieved to question it. The calm feeling settling in your chest quickly disappears when you look towards the doorway. Stu’s leaning against the wooden frame, eyes cooly locked on you. 

“Dude.” Jonathan’s complaints die down at the back of his throat when Stu turns to look at him. You can’t fully see his expression, but despite how buzzed you are, you don’t miss his unexpected edge. 

“It’s my house, dude.” Stu’s reaction isn’t harsh in the way you expect it to be. It’s the calmness of his voice that cuts straight through you. “I can do whatever I want in my house, and you’re not going to stop me.” 

You’re not convinced Stu’s talking about his house. “Stu.” You have to bite your tongue to avoid blurting out that nothing was going on. Why should you clear the air? You and Jonathan were far apart, which is more than you can say about him and Tatum. “You’re drunk.” 

Stu ignores the touch of warning in your voice. He doesn’t even let himself look in your direction. It’s the only thing he can think to do to associate his anger with someone that isn’t you. 

“Whatever,” you breathe, deciding that the best thing you can do to diffuse the tension is to remove yourself from the situation, “I’m getting another drink.” 

You skirt past them, practically holding your breath until you’re fully out of the bathroom. No one’s sitting in that lopsided circle anymore. Whatever happened in those few minutes you were in the closet must have killed the mood just enough to end the game. Oh, well, you can’t say you’re too torn up about it. 

The alcohol isn’t settling in your stomach as comfortably as you’d like, but you meant what you said. You’re getting another drink. Maybe that will make you feel less like you’re balancing on the edge of a knife. 

You walk into the kitchen, frowning when you realize that the big cooler’s empty. It’s probably a sign from the universe to quit while you’re ahead, but you choose to ignore it. Instead of going back to the party and finding either Randy or one of the few familiar faces from some of your classes, you decide to go to Stu’s garage. You know for a fact he keeps extra beer in there. 

You step into the space, shutting the door behind you. The separation from the party is refreshing. A part of you regrets coming. Parties suck when you’re not in the specific mood for them. Why are you even here? To sit outside and listen to music that’s too loud while Billy and Stu hook up with their actual girlfriends while you down beer? You don’t even like beer that much. 

An idea latches itself onto your mind. You could leave. You could go home, change into pajamas, and pass out in bed. Sure, Billy and Stu wouldn’t be happy with it, especially considering the looks they gave you during spin the bottle, but you’re not happy with them. And why should you stick around in a setting you’re not in the mood for when they’ve been actively ignoring you since you got here? Obviously, they can’t get away with being all lovey dovey, but they could treat you like a friend. Or at the very least, not keep Sidney and Tatum away from you like you’re the plague.

Besides, all you’re going to do is go home and go to bed. If that makes them mad, then that’s their issue. Especially since they want to act all cute when they’re in your room, claim that you’re their actual girlfriend, and then treat you like you’re repulsive in public.

You’re interrupted from your fantasies of just walking out the front door by the sound of the garage door creaking open. You snap your gaze towards it and fight the urge to roll your eyes when you see that it’s Stu. You’re annoyed and tipsy, but still sober enough to know that the last thing you want to do is add any additional fuel to the fire. 

He walks towards the refrigerator without looking at you. The silence is starting to get to you as Stu opens the fridge. After a second of him looking around in there, Stu turns towards you. He’s holding your favorite drink. Wordlessly, he twists the cap off before extending an arm.

You blink once, slowly moving your hand to accept his offer. “I didn’t see these.”

Stu casually shrugs, shutting the fridge behind him. “Got them for you, Billy hid them in the back so no one else would grab them. Guess he forgot to tell you. 

The ‘forgot’ nearly makes you scoff. They both purposefully ignored you when you first got here and waved at them, and they’ve only looked at you to make you uncomfortable since. But you can’t say that right now. You’re tired and probably more drunk than him. Starting a fight isn’t something you can afford right now. 

“Oh,” you mumble, “Thanks.” You bring the drink to your lips, taking a slow sip. “Think I’m gonna go after this.” 

“Go?” Something flickers behinds Stu’s expression. “I thought you were staying over.” 

A sarcastic comment rises up your throat. After the way they’ve been acting, there’s no way he can think that your ideal ending of tonight is crawling into bed with them. Any bite in you dies down the second you meet his gaze. There’s no way to describe it. Unfeeling. 

“I uh-” You tilt your head, playing into your inebriated state. You shift back, which is all the excuse Stu needs to take two steps forward, practically caging you between him and a wall. “I had a little too much to drink and I’m not feeling great. I don’t think I’ll be a lot of fun, I just need to pass out in a dark room before everything starts spinning.”

He doesn’t look convinced or angry or anything. There’s something eerie about the cold indifference he’s radiating. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right, sweetheart?” 

You let your eyes drop to the glass bottle in your hand. You take a quick sip. “Was gonna ask you the same thing.” The mumble escapes you before you can think through your slurred words. 

Stu takes a step forward. You squeeze the bottle between your fingers a little tighter to avoid shrinking back. “What was that?” 

You look up just in time to see Stu tilt his head in order to regard you a little more cautiously. The last time you had a sub in your science class, they played a video about the structure of a predator’s mind and how they prepare to catch their prey. The way Stu’s eyes darken sends you straight back to that classroom. 

You can’t tell if the heat that rushes to your face is a tang of fear or something else. Or maybe it’s an uneasy combination of both. 

The door squeaks open again. Your head snaps in that direction, but Stu doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even bother putting a less conspicuous amount of space between you. 

“You two okay back here?” You let out a breath. It’s just Billy. 

“All good,” you manage just as Stu says, “She wants to go.” 

You keep your eyes focused on Billy, not wanting to think about Stu that way again. “I’m not feeling great and I’m tired.” The defense is weak, made even more pathetic by the slight pout of your lips. “Plus it’s not like you guys would notice anyway.” 

“What?” Billy’s question is oddly gentle.

The whiplash that gives you is nearly enough to make you drop the glass in your hand. You shut your eyes for a second, resting your head against the wall. Everything’s starting to feel a little too fuzzy. “You know what I’m talking about. At my house, it’s all talk about liking me, calling me your girlfriend, and then I get here and you don’t even want to be friends with me.” The blow up doesn’t make you feel better. The room is full on spinning now, you lean completely against the wall so that it can support your weight. Ugh, you know you won’t be able to handle their reaction. “’M tired, and I-I’m feeling weird. I think I should go to bed.” 

The quiet that follows has you fighting to not push past both of them in order to get to a bathroom. It’s shattered by Stu’s humorless laugh. His breath is hot against your jaw and it’s too much. “Aw,” he hums, his tone so sweet it circles right back to bitter, “She’s jealous, isn’t that cute?” 

You squint your eyes open. “Shut up.” 

“Why?” Billy asks, stepping further into the room, “He’s right. You think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me and Sid when we came out of the bathroom?” 

You sigh indignantly. “I’m too tired for this.” 

“But you weren’t too tired to be all over Randy or Jonathan White?” 

Your glare turns into something meek once you see the way Stu’s looking at you. “I wasn’t all over Randy, he was just the only person that was talking to me tonight because of you two. Neither of you even said hi to me and every time I tried talking to Sidney and Tatum, you’d come by and take them away.” The thought of Jonathan makes you sick all over again. “And I was nowhere near Jonathan White, and I’d never be willingly. He’s a total perv, and he made Shannon Walton cry before class the other day. And Shannon Walton’s the nicest, she always has gum and gives everyone her notes if they’re absent.” 

Stu doesn’t ease. “Don’t change the subject, you didn’t need to play.”

“You didn’t either,” you counter, “And I-I wasn’t even playing at first. I was just gonna sit in the room so I could keep talking to Randy, and then you two--” 

“So you only played because you were jealous.” Billy’s voice has taken on an edge that you don’t like. He continues, walking towards you with even, practically bored steps. “That’s not very nice of you.” 

They haven’t been very nice either, you think bitterly. “You started it.” 

The childish defense leaves the corner of Billy’s mouth turning upwards. “I’m not all over you for for 5 minutes and you get like this.” 

The dismissal makes your face feel warm. “Maybe we should give her a break.” The mocking in Stu’s tone strikes a nerve. “She’s just jealous.” You draw your eyebrows together, and Stu grins meanly. “You’re lucky green’s a pretty color on you, babe.” 

Chagrin fuels your reaction as you burst out a too confident, “’M not jealous.” 

Stu’s laugh is harsh, “You’re not?” 

Pushing down your instincts, you tilt your chin up a fraction of an inch in order to hold your ground. “Can’t be jealous because I know you two are mine.” 

At that, they both seem to still. You hold Stu’s stare until you no longer feel like you’re the one that’s trapped. The confidence is likely in your head and a byproduct of all you’ve had to drink, but it gives you the assurance you need to straighten your spine. Stu angles his head to the side and you’re not sure if it’s a good sign or not. To not panic, you extend your arms, resting them around his neck. The nails of the hand that isn’t holding the bottle trail down his neck. 

You can’t back out now. The way he’s looking at you changes. You can’t interpret his expression, which only puts you on edge more. He wants to be quiet, to dismiss you in one final, petty jab, but the more your nails dig into sensitive skin, the more he struggles. The nail thing’s a habit you developed after realizing how much it affects him.

“Watch the nails, sweetheart.” It’s meant to seem like a warning, but it slips out of him a little too low. He’s overcompensating to cover for what was almost a whine. 

You blink up at him through your eyelashes with maliciously soft eyes. “Starting to hurt?” He’s quiet, you scratch at his skin, hard enough to leave the kind of red marks that disappear almost as soon as they appear.

“This attitude’s cute, but don’t push it.” 

Everything from tonight hits you all at once as you tilt your head innocently. “Or what?” 

Billy knew that you were treading on ice so thin that even Stu couldn’t see the cracks since before you got here. That one comment you made before they left your place had been harder to deal with than Billy would ever admit. Stu pretended that he was fine with it, that he didn’t feel the strain of panic that comes from feeling like they need you more than you need them. And then you showed up here, as pretty as ever, and basically fine when they started ignoring you. And now this. 

It’s a slippery slope. The line between the amount of attitude that gets Stu going and the amount of attitude that pushes him towards something he can’t control is thin.

Billy steals the bottle from your hand and leans forward, grabbing your jaw with his free hand and pulling you into a kiss. It’s so sudden it takes you a second to relax into it. Once you finally do, a small sound escapes you. Billy deepens the kiss with no warning. You clumsily follow his lead despite how much they’ve annoyed you tonight.

He pulls away quickly once he’s sure that the energy in the room has been redirected, resting his forehead against yours. You don’t get the chance to recover. You’re still panting when Stu’s hand finds its way into the roots of your hair. He yanks on it, forcing you towards him. 

Stu’s kiss is hard and disorientating. You know that he has a way of being all consuming when he wants to be, but this is something else. You can’t take a full breath, but Stu doesn’t care. He doesn’t let you go until he’s done, and even then he takes his time releasing you, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. 

You’re dizzy and somehow even drunker than before. You reach for Stu unsteadily. He looks you over slowly. “You get her in bed and I’ll figure out how to start kicking people out.”

Billy places an arm around your waist. His lack of protest surprises you slightly, but you’re not complaining about it. You need his help, and Billy knows it. That, paired with the fact that this is the only time he has an excuse to publicly hold onto you, makes him love when nights end like this. 

He always has an excuse ready in case Sid or someone else notices. Y/n can’t handle her alcohol and she’d kill all of us if we let her go home like this. She’s gonna sleep it off in Stu’s room for a little. It’s basically true, and it also gives Billy the excuse to linger around you. There are a lot of people that’d take advantage of your situation. Sid can’t be mad at that, if anything, she’d be mad at him for knowing how vulnerable you were and not doing anything.  

Billy leads you into Stu’s room, abandoning your last drink on the first surface he finds. He sits you down on the edge of Stu’s bed before opening one of Stu’s drawers. “Here,” he tosses one of Stu’s T-shirts towards you, “You got it or you need help?”

Shutting the drawer, Billy turns back to you. You’re laying down now, not even under the sheets. “You can’t fall asleep like that.” 

“Mhm,” you mumble, face half buried into your mattress. 

With a sigh, Billy walks towards you. He grabs your arm, pulling on you until you’re finally sitting. With a bit of prompting, you stand. Billy watches you struggle for a second before sighing. He keeps you steady as you get out of your clothes and pulls Stu’s T-shirt over your head. 

You’re too tired to care about the fact that you’re supposed to be mad at him. “Bed now?” 

Billy cups your cheek, his thumb soothingly brushing against your skin. “Last time I let you pass out before washing your face, you made me promise to never let it happen again.” 

----

You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep when an unexpected pressure stirs you awake. Ignoring the feeling, you try rolling over in order to pull the covers up to your neck. Something doesn’t let you. 

“You’re up,” Stu whispers against your hair, “You’re up, you’re okay.”

Twisting so that you’re flat on your black, you squint your eyes open. It’s still dark, so you know it’s still night time. You don’t remember exactly how you got here, but you know that you were comfortable. You also only vaguely remember the weirdness and your anger from earlier. 7 minutes in heaven thanks to Randy, a bit of confrontation in the garage. It feels less important now. 

Smiling, you slowly extend your until your knuckles are brushing against his cheek. “What time is it?” 

“Late,” Stu answers. 

“Then wh--” 

“Need my goodnight kisses,” he breathes, pressing a few, quick kisses to your temple. 

You smile, “Thought you were mad a--” 

Stu’s fingers squeeze your hips. “Don’t want to talk about that.” If you were less drowsy, you might have jumped a little. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Nodding you reach for him a little steadier now. Stu relents, leaning into you as you start to kiss his cheek. 

Billy’s hand finds your waist just as you start relaxing again. “What about me?” 

Final Girl (Part 5)

A/n she’s here and she’s big enough to probably have been two parts lol, so feel free to carve out some you time to absorb all of this, also there are scene breaks in this one like in chapter 4, but no smut warnings!!

also feedback is always super appreciated :))

Final Girl Series Masterlist  (updated parts 1 - 9 and extras)

Series Summary:  Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Billy and Stu are throwing a party that's basically couple's only. Good thing a guy in Y/n's english class is always trying to ask her out...and a good thing that Gloria isn't around to stop Y/n from raiding her closet.

----

What. The. Fuck.

Like actually.

The first thing I registered when I woke up was the sunlight that slipped in past my curtains. The second thing I registered was how comfortable I was. I don't think I've been this comfortable sleeping since what happened to Casey. The third thing I registered was the hand on my back and arm.

I'm half curled into Billy, and Stu's asleep on his back, my arm pulled to his chest. Okay--this isn't the most shocking thing ever. There was alcohol yesterday, and drunk me is touchy. The fact that we all passed out in bed isn't shocking. What’s shocking is the fact that it’s...weirdly nice. 

This is the first time since Casey’s that I slept through the night without a nightmare. Was that because of the presence of other people or alcohol, I’m not sure, but either way the feeling of a full night of rest is refreshing.

I start to sit up slowly, doing my best not to shift enough to disturb either of them. Before my spine can straighten, a firm touch on my back has me moving back down. I slump against Billy, throwing a more confused than truly annoyed glare in his direction. “Billy.” 

“What?” The question is mumbled, Billy doesn’t even bother looking at me. “I’m comfortable.”

Rolling my eyes, I briefly consider pushing away from him, but he does have a point. It is comfortable, and he’s warm. “That makes one of us.” 

At that, he opens his eyes just enough to squint. I take a deep breath, a little too aware of the way he’s looking at me. Even jokingly lying to Billy feels exposing. I always feel like he can instantly tell.

He doesn’t call me out on it. At least, not directly, “You seemed comfortable last night.” The comment is just a tiny bit more suggestive than it needs to be. I sit up just enough to softly smack his chest. “You’re the one that fell asleep on me,” he defends, “So asleep that you snored.” 

My jaw drops in offense. “I do not snore.” 

The indignation in my whisper makes him grin. “Why are you whispering?” I tilt my head in Stu’s direction. As far as I can tell, he’s dead asleep and not loosening his hold on my arm any time soon.  Billy’s gaze briefly flits over to Stu’s sleeping form. “He sleeps through everything.” When I don’t ease, Billy continues, “He slept through all that snoring.” 

If looks could kill, I’d be a murderer. “You’re getting kicked out.” 

“You’re mean in the mornings.”

“It’s not the morning, it’s...” I sit up a little more, looking at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand. “It’s 12:09. Wow, I really passed out.” 

My mind begins to work in overdrive as I try to remember as many details about last night as possible. The gist of it is pretty clear, but what if I’m missing something? 

“Don’t worry,” Billy says, reading my face easily, “You were fine. A little touchy, but you fell asleep right after The Shining.” 

If I’m remembering correctly, I wasn’t the only one being a little too touchy. “Right.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

Eyes focusing on nothing in particular, I mull over my options. It’s not like there’s anything particular for me to complain about. I don’t remember being beyond uncomfortable or anything, just a little bit unsure. And I really don’t want to ruin everything by overreacting when I’m not even sure what my problem is. 

“Nothing.” My fingers move, nervously tracing the floral pattern of my sheets. “The morning after drinking feels weird.” 

“I thought it wasn’t the morning.” He barely pays any attention to the way I roll my eyes. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing, really.” I sit up, tugging my arm away from Stu as gently as I can. The space makes it easier to organize my thoughts. “Just thinking about yesterday feels a little weird. I don’t think I was the touchiest person last night.” My eyes awkwardly flit towards the one person that’s still asleep.

Billy shifts, watching me carefully. “He had been drinking since before I got to his place. He was moody, something about his sister and his parents.”

At that, I freeze, my breath catching itself in my throat. Mentions of their families, of what their dynamics are like beneath public perception, are rare...and always a little heartbreaking. “Oh.” 

“I wouldn’t bring it up.” His warning isn’t needed. Early on, I learned that this is the one topic I can’t get away with talking about. Still, I nod. “And you know how he is, a ‘knock it off’ is a joke until he’s beyond sure you’re serious. Especially with you.” 

My eyes snap away from the even rise and fall of Stu’s chest. “Especially with me?” 

Billy’s hesitant, thinking over his words. “Your attention means a lot to him.” 

I can’t bring myself to look at Billy. I can’t bring myself to do anything but stare at Stu. “Still,” I mumble after a second, “Boundaries.” 

“I’ll bring it up to him when he’s more receptive.” Probably a good idea. The last thing I want is to push Stu when he’s going through something that he’s sensitive about. Maybe my silence comes off as hesitance because Billy continues, “You know he’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose.” 

“Yeah.” I do know that, but I’m starting to feel like that doesn’t excuse everything. There are things that matter more than intentions. It’s hard to be mad at Stu when he’s asleep. When he’s this relaxed, he looks smaller, almost more vulnerable. 

From what I’ve pieced together through bits and pieces, Stu’s parents are rarely around physically, and when they do come home, they don’t exactly express a lot of interest in their son. I’ve heard even less about Stu’s sister. I only know she exists because of the one time I went to Stu’s house. There was a framed photo of a girl, and when Stu mumbled something about a sister, my surprise was clear. 

Growing up, I had always wanted a sibling, so I got a little excited. Stu’s reaction let me know that my enthusiasm wasn’t taken the right way. I didn’t get it until Billy mentioned that Leslie isn’t Stu’s favorite topic. He told me enough to let me know that it has to do with parental approval and attention.

Even though the way Stu acted yesterday was confusing and out of bounds, knowing where his head was at makes it harder to be upset at him.

Deciding that I don’t want to think about this anymore, I fold my hands on my lap.“How long do you think it’ll take him to wake up?”

“There’s no telling with Stu.” Billy moves so that he’s sitting up fully.

Frowning, I let out a too dramatic sigh. “I wanted pancakes.” 

The corner of Billy’s lips turn upwards. “You wanted pancakes the last time you were hung over.”

I lean back, my arm supporting my weight. “Not hungover,” I defend, “Just want pancakes. They’re the perfect after-drinking food.” 

“We can wake him up.” 

“Don’t.” Billy’s arm is already half extended, I grab his wrist, my words a whispered hiss, “He said he hasn’t been sleeping great. Let him get some rest.” 

Billy’s regarding me in a way that leaves me still. I think he might have found something about that amusing. “Protective.” 

I roll my eyes. “He needs his sleep.” Stu isn’t the best at taking care of himself. What teenage boy is? And it’s not like his parents are checking in on him.

Okay, staring at Stu while he sleeps is weird of me. I turn my head to look at Billy. The bags under his eyes are made more prominent by the light coming in through my window. And is it just me looking for an excuse to worry or does he seem thin? Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t think of anyone that’d be really looking out for Billy either. 

The few things he’s mentioned about his dad don’t make him seem like a caretaker, especially considering that up until kinda recently, Billy’s mom was around. “Are you getting enough sleep?” 

Oh my god, did I just ask that out loud? Billy turns his head, eyes softening just a little. “Worried about me?” Ugh, this is what I get for being nice. I cross my legs, eyeing him cautiously. “I sleep okay.” Before I can respond, Billy tacts on, “You?” 

“Fine,” I reply too quickly, “Better before the whole thing with Casey.” Scratching the inside of my wrist, I try to force away the images that come to mind. It’s strange, how quiet the killer and the case as a whole have been. “But I guess that’s normal.”

Billy reaches forward, long fingers wrapping around my wrist before I can pick at the skin too much. “If you can’t sleep and you need something to do, you can call me.” 

The offer is comforting. “Thanks, you’re a good friend.” His touch is warm, anchoring. “You both are. Not to make things weird, but you guys have been really helpful through all of this.”

“That doesn’t make things weird.” His response is delayed. 

I look up, hoping to get a little more out of his expression, but his head is angled downwards. He’s staring at my sheets. “Let’s go make pancakes.” 

Billy sits up even more before standing. I follow him, careful to not bother Stu as I move off of the bed. “You’re going to leave him here unsupervised?” 

It’s clearly a joke, but I still shrug as I consider my response. “If he wakes up and decides to be nosy and look through my drawers, all he’ll find is proof of my sticky note addiction.” 

----

This is nothing like what happened that night. I repeat that in my head again and again as I watch the stove. This isn’t like Casey’s and there are too many differences for me to feel like this. 

It’s daytime. What happened at Casey’s was late at night. And I-I wasn’t really using a pan, it was just Jiffy Pop. There have been no weird phone calls. There’s been nothing. I’m fine. 

I repeat the differences between now and then in my head like a mantra as I pour the pancake batter. It sizzles as it expands into the form of a lopsided circle. Forcing my focus to remain on what’s in front of me, I grab the spatula, lifting the pancake’s side to check how cooked the bottom side is. 

“Almost done?” 

“Patience is a virtue.”

Billy lets out a breath, supporting his weight with his arms as he leans against the kitchen counter. “You okay?”

I nod, tilting the pan slightly. “When it happened,” my knuckles lighten as I tighten my grip on the pan’s handle, “When Casey got that first call, I was standing in front of her stove.” Shaking my head to dismiss the potential downward spiral, I lift the edge of the pancake. “I can’t freak out every time I’m behind a stove for the rest of my life.” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Billy says patiently.

I flip the pancake. The loud hiss that follows leads me down a different road of memories. “I have good stove memories, too.” A weird thing to say, but it’s better than what I was thinking of. “When I was little, my mom didn’t have anyone to watch me and I was a terror unless I had something to do. So she used to sit me down on the counter next to the hot stove and had me mix the batter. It became such a thing she’d even put me on the counter when she was just baking. My mom went through a real baking phase from the time she was pregnant until around the time I started school.” 

Lifting the pancake from the pan and onto the plate, I look up at Billy before pouring some more batter onto the pan. There’s a pensive quality to his expression that’s vaguely familiar. It reminds me of that brief second in the hospital after my mom came in. What had I called that look then? Wistful. “I used to trail my mom around the kitchen. She’d pretend to let me help her.” Focusing on the spatula in my hand, I try to keep my expression casual. “That was awhile ago.” 

I abandon the utensil on the counter. Not being able to help myself, I turn and let myself look at him. What happened to his mother? She always comes up fleetingly, in ways that make it clear it’s a sensitive topic. I don’t think she’s passed away, the energy he reserves for her is too touchy. Maybe a messy divorce? I still remember that one summer my dad petitioned the court for custody and how much that sucked.

He’s closer than I realized. My hand reaches for his. He lets me intertwine our fingers. “Billy...” Thee’s something I should say. Something comforting and not pushy. Nothing good comes to mind. My thoughts are clouded by Billy’s eyes. My lips part, because he’s waiting for me to say something. 

The smell of burning snaps me out of it. Snapping my head towards the stove, I release Billy’s hand. I yank the pan off of the stove and quickly drop it into the sink. Turning on the water, I begin fanning out the smoke. “Great, the one thing my mom told me not to do was trigger the fire alarm again.” 

“Again?” 

Turning away from the sink, I halfheartedly glare at Billy. “Long story and I’m not as responsible for it as that made me sound.” 

He eyes me skeptically, taking a step forward. “Really?” 

Before I can think of a response or get too lost in thought, an unexpected, tired voice interrupts us. “What are you guys up to?” 

“Stu!” I grin, leaning against the counter. “We’re making pancakes.” 

At that, Stu blinks, glancing at Billy, then at the still smoking pan, and finally, at me. “Really?” 

“Trying to, at least,” I correct, “I’m way better at making them than it looks right now.”

Stu walks towards us with lazy steps. “I’m sure.” He ignores my pointed look, walking further into the room until he’s practically within reach. Stu extends an arm, vaguely reaching for me. I give in, closing the distance between us. He’s quick to wrap his arms around me gently. “Morning, angel.” 

“Morning? It’s like 12:30.” 

He runs his hand up and down my back for a second before I slip out of his grasp gently. “You’re the one making pancakes.” 

I return to the sink, scraping the burnt pancake batter off of the pan. “Fair.” I turn off the sink after everything’s clean enough for me to start working again.

----

Reaching forward, I grab a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl that Stu stole from me. He turns his head, jokingly narrowing his eyes. “Hey, I made that.”

I pop a piece into my mouth. “Because I asked you to.”

“First, you make us watch this movie and now you’re stealing my popcorn.”

“First off, I didn’t make you watch this. You made a hospital bed promise to watch Clueless with me. You can’t back out of hospital bed promises, that’s like, karmic bad luck.” I pull my legs beneath me, sitting up a little more. “Second, it’s my popcorn, all you did was pop it. And I made you pancakes earlier!” 

He shifts, pulling the plastic bowl towards him a little more. “Popping is the popcorn, without that it’s just kernels.” He ignores my glare. “Sorry, babe, but it’s mine.”

My last two pieces of popcorn go into my mouth. “Fine--if I say its yours, will you share?”

Stu sinks further into my couch, weighing his options. After a second, he shifts the bowl, leaning it in my direction. “Only for you.”

“We’re watching a movie.” Billy’s whisper is a little bit sharper than usual, irritated.

Billy being the kind of person to shush people for the smallest things during a movie makes sense. Even last night when I was basically wasted, he gave me a dirty look for mumbling something a little too loudly during The Shining. But that was the kind of movie he cares about.

I watch him as he stares at the TV. “Did you just shush me during Clueless?” He doesn’t react, just continues watching. I dramatically gasp, eyes widening. “Oh my god,” I don’t bother hiding the grin in my voice, “Are you, Billy Loomis, liking Clueless?”

“If you’re going to make me watch something, you should at least let me pay attention.” I press my hand against my mouth in an attempt to suppress a laugh. He is so busted. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m leaving.”

Holding my hands up in defense, I force myself to turn. “There’s nothing wrong with--”

“I’m leaving.”

“No!” My hand stretches forward, grabbing Billy’s arm. “It was a joke. I’ll stop. Promise.”

Billy looks at me skeptically for a long second. Cher says something to Dionne, and his eyes flit towards the screen, betraying him. “Fine,” he mumbles dismissively, attention already leaving me. 

The second this movie is over, he’s never hearing the end of it. Oh, maybe if I play my cards right I’ll be able to get him to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Unlikely, but I can dream. 

I don’t know how the late morning turned into us watching a movie, but the company’s nice. I’m not used to an empty house and Billy and Stu are the kind of people that are hard to get tired of. Stu’s sense of humor becomes a little much after awhile, but telling him off is half the fun. 

Billy relaxes against the couch, his arm eases as he turns over his palm. He intertwines our fingers before I can pull my arm back. 

With the exception of a few comments Stu mumbled under his breath, the rest of the movie is watched with no interruptions. By the end of it, Stu’s head is on my shoulder and Billy’s still loosely holding my hand. 

“I really promised you I’d watch that.” Rolling my eyes, I softly elbow Stu’s side. “Mean.” Before I can scold him for starting it, he moves on, “When is your mom getting back?” 

Weird question, but I guess not too weird for Stu. “Um, Tuesday after school, right after the long weekend.” A part of me wishes we had school on Monday, at least it’d be something to do while I wait for my mom to come home. The more time I spend with people, the safer I feel. “Why? Do you have plans that’d get me in trouble or something?” 

He moves away enough to look at me before throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll get you in trouble whenever, angel.” Stu squeezes my arm, looking me over with a suggestive glint behind his eyes. “Except for tonight. Billy boy and I have places we need to be. Big, empty house plans.” 

Oh. It’s not like I expected them to spend all weekend with me, but the vagueness of the statement makes me feel a little awkward. “‘Big empty house plans’ sounds like a code for an orgy.” 

“Someone’s jealous.” 

I half-scoff-half-laugh, “Of your orgy?” 

Stu’s fingers press into the skin of my arm again. This time, the touch is a little firmer and less easy going. He raises his eyebrows up and down teasingly.

“Not an orgy,” Billy corrects, throwing a look at Stu that comes and goes so quickly, I can’t even start to interpret it, “Just a hangout with some guys and their girlfriends.” 

I might not have the most experience with having friends that are (semi-)popular, and being left out of secret plans is a sore spot for me, but that sounds a little too much like: ‘Stu’s throwing a party that we don’t want to tell you about.’ But that’s a lot to assume from one sentence. “Still sounds like an orgy.” 

“I’d invite you to my orgy,” Stu hums almost sweetly, his hand moving up and down my arm. 

I shrug out of his grasp. “Really?” 

“Eh.” Stu tries holding onto me as I continue to scoot away from him. “But only because an orgy’s a rough way to lose your virginity.” 

Wow. Heat rushes to my face and the only thing that I’m thinking about is that I can’t just sit here silently. “What makes you think I’m a virgin?” Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. I shouldn’t humor him because now I’m going to have to have a conversation about virginity. “I was hot shit in Texas.” 

There’s some odd quality to Stu’s grin. If I didn’t know better, I’d feel like he was baring his teeth. “You’re still hot shit, babe, that has nothing to do with it.” He answers my unspoken question before I can think to change the subject, “With the way your mom is about guys and how you listen to h--” 

“I don’t always listen to my mom.” God, I’ve never felt like more of a little kid. “I-I drink and I don’t tell her about it.” 

“But you’re mom’s okay with drinking.” My head turns towards Billy. “The first time I came over she was trying to convince you to get wine drunk with her so that you could watch some movies together.” 

Do my mom and I enjoy the occasional tipsy movie night? Yes. Did Billy come over to work on a project with me while my mom was in the middle of trying to convince me to do just that? Yes. Did I need that thrown into my face right now? 

Absolutely not. “What’s your point?” 

“You always listen to your mom, it’s just not a problem because she basically lets you do whatever.”

Damn. Billy’s completely right, and so is Stu. I’ve never had sex or a boyfriend. I’ve never even had a first kiss because the one time I almost did at Chloe Woods’s 13th birthday party I freaked out and didn’t. They can never know that. 

“Okay, I’m done talking to you guys about whether I have or haven’t had sex.” Scratching the back of my wrist, I try to keep my face just slightly annoyed. “And it’s weird that you’re connecting it so much to my mom.” I need a change of topic, and I need one fast. I think through all of the potential topics and how to throw this back at them. “Is that thing you’re doing at your house tonight the couples only thing a bunch of football players are going to?” 

Stu’s smug grin turns, taking on an undertone that feels mean. “Pieced that together. You gonna put amateur detective on your journalism school application?”

I shrug, not loving this energy. “A few guys in my English class were talking about it on Tuesday.” The more time I spend with Stu and Billy, the more I notice their pension for staring when they want you to say more. “I forgot about it until Noel Thompson brought it up.” 

“When did you talk to Noel Thompson?” Billy’s question comes out in a way that almost seems like an accusation. 

“Uh, Friday, I’m pretty sure.” I scratch softly at my knee. “He came by to give me the homework I missed, which was nice because Mrs. Tegan assigned us another essay.” After a second, I meet Billy’s gaze, “He asked me if I wanted to go, I said I wasn’t really up for anything big, but he left his number in case I changed my mind.” 

Oh! I have his number, maybe I could still go. Noel’s nice, and it’s not like I’ve ever been asked out before. Plus, he’s like the only guy in my English class that doesn’t have super sexist takes on our readings. “Oh, now that I know it’s at your place, maybe I should call him. That could be fun since you guys and Sid and Tate are gonna be there.”

“Noel Thompson yells a lot,” Billy says, voice weirdly low, “You’re too sensitive to go out with him.” 

He doesn’t seem like the yelling type, but Billy’s demeanor keeps me from correcting him. “I wouldn’t be dating him, it’s just one party.” 

“We never said it was a party.”

“Noel did.” I bite my tongue a second too late. The reaction came out too quickly. It makes me look defensive. 

Stu’s touch on my forearm nearly makes me jump. “So you want to believe Noel because he came over to your house to flirt with you?” Not what happened, and before I can even open my mouth to defend myself, Stu continues, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you’re being naive, I feel like I have to tell you. Noel broke up with his last three girlfriends like a week after fucking them for the first time.”

Nails digging into the skin of my palm, I find it nearly impossible to meet Stu’s stare. “If you don’t want me there or don’t want me going with you, that’s fine, but don’t lie to me like I’m stupid.” What’s with them? One minute, they’re the sweetest, and then the next, they’re trying to parent me. “I get that it’s probably not fun to know that your friend’s a disaster when she drinks because then you feel like you need to babysit her, but I won’t be your problem tonight.”

“You’re always our problem.” 

I try pulling my arm away from Stu, but he’s holding on too tight. “Excuse me?” 

“Like you’re not going to come crying to us the second he tries something you don’t like.” 

Didn’t realize my friendship was so annoying considering that they literally snuck into my house last night. “If you don’t want me telling you about things anymore, congratulations, because I won’t.” I try yanking my arm away again, this time being more firm about it. Stu’s grip is too much, and for the first time ever, that sends a pinprick of nerves through me. “Stu, let go.” 

Billy places a hand over Stu’s. At that, Stu loosens his hold on me. “Stu’s just saying we don’t like seeing you upset.” There’s something about Billy’s calmness that bugs me. It’s feels as forced as the voice I used when I worked at the mall and a woman I couldn’t yell at kept snapping at me. “Noel’s an asshole, ask Sid if you want. He creeps her out.” 

That’s likely true. Sid gave me a bit of a ‘be careful’ look when she saw me talking to him after class once. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s not a big deal. It’s not even an actual date.” 

“It’s not a good idea,” Billy continues, “He’s going to hurt you.”

“I get that you’re worried, and that’s nice of you, but I can handle myself.” 

Stu releases my arm completely, sinking into himself, “We just want a night where it’s just us and our girlfriends. You’re around all the time.”

My lips part, but no words come out. Nothing angry or considerate, just silence. I’m 14 again and finding out that while I called all my friend’s houses asking if they wanted to hang out, they were out together. I’m 12 again and fighting with my mom, defending my dad for standing me up on my birthday just to find out that she lied for him. He wasn’t working. He was at my stepsister’s cello recital. 

Every moment in which I’ve been too much. Too attached, too needy, too dependent on others hits me at full force. And it hurts. And it’s unfair...it’s not like I ask them to be around all the time. I didn’t ask them to come over last night. 

But I do involve myself in a lot of the things they do with Sid and Tatum. Mall trips, coffee runs, movie nights. Sometimes Randy’s there as well, but there have been times where I just kinda involved myself. 

I thought we were all friends and that no one minded. This wouldn’t be the first time I made that mistake. Is this just a Stu and Billy thing or do Tatum and Sidney feel the same way? 

“We can do something tomorrow.” Billy’s voice is still patient, but it doesn’t feel fake anymore. I can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse. “I’ll drive you to the big bookstore on the other side of town.” 

That’s something I’d normally jump at. It’s one of the worst parts of having no license. No one ever wants to take me to the big bookstore because it’s far and I take forever. There’s nothing more time consuming than me in a bookstore with a cafe inside of it. 

I nod. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” Billy’s eyes are heavy on me. I don’t like it. “Maybe--I um, I have a lot of homework I want to get done before my mom gets back. She takes up a lot of time after trips, no matter how small. She has a thing about taking pictures.” 

“Don’t be mad at me, Stu’s the one that said it.” 

“Like you’ve never said it.” 

Great, now I have to think of them talking about how annoying and clingy I am. “I’m not mad.” 

“Stu’s an idiot, he only said that so that you’d be mad at both of us.” Billy’s words are too carefully picked. He didn’t deny thinking that. “You can do your school stuff tonight, that way we can go tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I need to act more okay about all of this before they accuse me of making a big deal about this. It’s bad enough that they already think I’m clingy. “You know I should probably start soon and I’m feeling kinda tired.” 

Billy turns to face forward. “You’re kicking us out.” 

His voice sounds so small I’d backtrack if it wasn’t for my thoughts. “I’m feeling weird, I’m not sure you’re supposed to drink with a concussion, which could explain why I got drunk so fast yesterday. I think I need a nap before I start working on anything.” I stare at my lap. “That way I’ll have time to finish it all before tomorrow. Besides, you guys have that thing to get ready for.”

At that, Billy seems to unfreeze. He nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” He moves to stand. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Stu gets up without looking at me. Whatever his problem is. Who is he to call me clingy when he literally got drunk and demanded to stay at my house last night? I say one last goodbye and the two of them leave. 

Never have I wanted to talk to my mom and dissect an interaction more, but I can’t without getting into the whole thing. I could edit out the details so that she doesn’t kill me, but I don’t want to get into all of that. Lying and keeping things from her isn’t my strong suit, and I don’t have the energy. 

Maybe I should just do homework. 

----

“Oh my god, you know what you have to do, right?” Hallie’s voice rings so loudly throughout the phone’s receiver that I have to push it away. “And if you say homework, I’m hanging up and never talking to you again. Please tell me you’re not doing homework.” 

I frown at the essay in front of me. “You’ve been friends with me long enough to know that that’s my go to panic move.” 

Hallie and I have been each other’s go to’s since we met in the first grade. I had been having a terrible day, and then when Samantha Colts made fun of me for reading during recess, Hallie pushed her off the swings. The teacher asked me if I saw what happened and I said I didn’t see anything. It was my first lie to an authority figure and Hallie’s first time hurting someone for me. 

“Okay, but this is different. You can’t let guys walk all over you like that. if you let them get away with it once, they will do it a thousand times.” Not only did I call Hallie because of how close we are, I also called her because she’s always so opinionated when it comes to guys. Not that this is really a ‘guy’ situation, because it’s not like I’m dating them. But still, they’re boys, and I’ve never cared about a guy’s opinion so much before. “You need to hang up on me, call that football player, and show up, looking super hot. Don’t acknowledge Billy or Stu unless they walk up to you and then be like ‘oh, haven’t noticed you, I’ve been busy.’” 

Do I want to do that? I mean, it’d be fun to get in a jab about that whole clingy thing, but it’s conflictive, and arguing with them is exhausting. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, I do,” she continues, “Go to that party in the outfit Gloria wore to chaperon our middle school dance. The one that almost got her called into the principal’s office.” 

Ugh...my mom was about to turn 30 when I was in middle school, and the crisis of leaving her 20s showed. “It’s late, Noel probably already has a date.” 

“So? Tell him that your schedule just cleared up and that you’re a better time than whoever he’s replaced you with.” I love Hallie, but she’s not like me. When she wants someone, she has them wrapped around her finger in an instant. “You’re just using that as an excuse. Go out, have fun, make them eat their hearts out.” 

I roll my eyes. “They’re not going to care that much. They have girlfriends, remember? It’s not like that.” 

“Guys are weird about seeing you with other guys, even if you’re just friends. It’s like a psychological thing, like they want you around as an option or think that you’re gonna get stollen or something. I don’t know. People have studied it.” 

While I doubt that, she’s never given me bad boy advice before. “I just don’t want this one thing to ruin our friendship. Maybe I should give them the space they want.” I groan, going from sad to angry. “You know what, screw them. If they don’t want to be friends with me anymore than who needs them?”

“No, those are your daddy issues talking. Just because you’re mad at a guy doesn’t mean you’re never going to talk again.” After a second of silence, Hallie asks, “Are Billy and Stu hot? I’m imagining them really hot.” 

This is the exact kind of question Hallie would ask, but I can’t help feeling embarrassed. “Hallie, they have girlfriends, remember?” 

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

Sighing dramatically, I cautiously eye my room as I pull the receiver even closer to my face. “Yes, they’re hot.” 

She squeals. “I knew it. I cannot wait until I visit.”

The thought of Hallie meeting either Billy or Stu makes my stomach feel unsettled. She earned the nickname Hurricane Hallie when we were kids for a reason. She likes to flit in, let others get wrapped up in the storm when they should be bunkering down, and then she disappears, leaving you alone with the aftermath. I love her, but I don’t want her interfering with my life here just yet. 

“Yeah, hot guys with girlfriends, your speciality.” 

I can practically feel her eye roll. “Yep, that’s me,” she plays along sarcastically, “Now quit stalling and call him. I’m hanging up before you can change your mind. And wear something hot for me, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll dress up all pretty just for you.” 

She giggles, “Alright, love ya. Call me tomorrow with the details.” 

“Okay, wi--” Before I can finish my good byes, Hallie hangs up. She’s smart, she knew I was like two seconds away from talking myself out of this. 

With a sigh, I flip over the English packet Noel dropped off on Friday. He scribbled his number on the back. I dial it before I can panic. After two rings, he answers. “Hello?” 

“Uh, hi, Noel, it’s me, Y/n, from English.” Ugh--I can feel Hallie facepalming from states away. “I know it’s kinda last minute, but I was wondering if you still wanted to go to that thing?” 

----

Those freaking liars. 

This is a damn party, and honestly, I’m offended that they thought they could get away with lying to me about this. It’s not like I’m social classes below them. At least, not all the time. At the very least, they should have considered that Sidney and Tatum could have brought it up to me. 

Honestly, this whole thing is starting to feel weird. Who throws a party that’s couples only? It feels like the kind of thing old married couples would say to get a group of swingers over to their house. Now I’m starting to feel weird. 

“You look really pretty, by the way.” Noel’s voice snaps me out of my train of thought. “I don’t think I told you that earlier.” 

I smile warmly, feeling the slightest bit easier. I went full in with Hallie’s advice and dug through my mom’s closet until I found her go to chaperoning outfit. Pink, low cut halter top paired with a pink mini skirt. Nothing flashy, just mildly suggestive. “Thank you.” 

He gestures towards Stu’s house with a nod of his head. “You wanna go in?” 

Bracing myself for what I hope won’t be a too drastically eventful night, I nod and let him lead me into the house. The second we step inside, the fact that this is most definitely, undeniably a party hits me at full force. From Noel’s truck, I could hear music coming from the house, but this is something else all together. The energy is absolutely magnetic. So magnetic that when Noel comes back from the kitchen and hands me a beer, I don’t think twice before drinking some.

I’m about halfway done with my third (maybe?) drink when a high pitched, “Y/n!” steals my attention.

I turn, searching for the source of the sound. Oh, it’s Tatum. Am I mad at her? What Stu said kind of made it seem like everyone was getting tired of me. I guess the only thing I can do is act normal until I figure it out. “Tate!” 

She runs up to me in a tipsy-enthusiastic way. I let her pull me into a hug. “I was starting to miss you. I even wanted to call you to come over but Stu hasn’t given me a minute.”  

The mention of Stu’s name leaves me feeling awkward. I almost didn’t notice him lingering around Tatum until she mentioned it. He places an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her even tighter as she giggles and pretends to push him away. “I’ve missed you, Tay.”

She rolls her eyes, pulling on Stu’s shirt slightly. “Boys are overrated. We should have a girls day soon.” 

That sounds nice, especially since I don’t think I’ll be spending as much time around Billy and Stu. “Yeah, we should go get our nails done or something soon.” 

“Yes,” she grins, “Oh my god, are you here with Noel Thompson? We saw you walk in with him earlier, I wanted to say ‘hi’ then, but I lost you.” 

Okay, maybe Tatum’s a little more than just tipsy. “That’s okay,” I giggle, “And yeah, I’m here with Noel, he’s just grabbing another drink. He came to my place to bring me some homework from English and then asked me if I wanted to come with him.” 

“Oh, that’s cute,” she hums, “Just be careful, though. I’ve heard enough girls crying over him in the school bathroom.” 

Stu’s lack of attention is starting to feel pointed as he continues to be all over Tate. I guess that’s what he wants tonight, but he could come up for air long enough to say hi. Whatever, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I don’t want to talk to him. 

“I know, I know. It’s casual.” 

“Good,” she agrees, “I’m gonna go get another drink, but you should find Sidney when you get the chance, she missed you, too.” 

Oh. Both Sid and Tate wanted me here. So Stu and Billy are the ones that have problems with me. Tate circles her way out of Stu’s grasp, laughing and throwing a look over her shoulder once she finally escapes. After she disappears into the crowd, I’m left alone with Stu. 

Just when I’m about to break and say something to him, Noel returns, swinging an arm over my shoulder and pulling me towards him. “Hey, you wandered off.” 

“Hi,” I grin, “Sorry, I saw someone I knew.”

“Oh, you’re friends with Macher?” Noel turns to look at Stu, who seems to snap out of a level of aloofness. “How you doing, man? I meant to check in after the whole Casey thing. I know you guys broke up awhile ago, but still, it’s gotta hurt.” 

Wait--did Noel just say Stu used to date Casey? 

How has that not come up? He was literally in the hospital with me after--? I guess that explains why he wasn’t thrilled when he saw me talking to her after homeroom. No one likes it when their friends talk to their exes, but not mentioning it at all? That’s weird.

“Hey, you okay?” Noel squeezes my arm. “You look a little uneasy.” 

“She’s the girl that was at Casey’s the night it happened.” Stu explains, his tone a lot softer than anything he’s used around me since our argument. “She’s still sensitive about it. Aren’t you, angel?” 

I blink twice, taking a long sip of room temperature beer. “I um--” 

“Shit, that was you?” Noel takes an awkward semi-step away from me. “I must’ve forgot it was you. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“It’s fine.” I internally cringe at how fast the answer comes out. “I’m gonna, I need to use the bathroom.” 

Waiting for nothing else, I turn on my heels. The sound of my name is faint in my ears as I rush away from the crowds. I just need a second away from this noise so that I can think. 

“Hey, Y/n.” I nearly jump out of my skin as a hand grabs my arm. I turn too quickly, nearly stumbling into the wall behind me. Noel’s watching me with eyes that ooze sympathy. “I am so sorry about bringing up Casey. I didn’t know you knew her, let alone--” 

“It’s fine,” I breathe through gritted teeth, “I just-I need a second.” Why am I melting down? Because he mentioned her name so casually? Because of the fact that Stu dated her? 

“I didn’t um-I didn’t expect to hear her name. The things that have been making me spaz lately have been so random.” 

Noel nods once, “That makes sense, I can’t even imagine it.” When I don’t ease, Noel drops his arm. “Wanna go into the kitchen? It’s quiet there and I can get you some water. You just-you kinda look like you want to throw up.” 

I nod gently, letting Noel lead me out of the hallway and towards the kitchen. My stomach is in literal tangles, Noel nailed the ‘wanting to throw up’ thing. 

He’s right. Stu’s kitchen is empty and well lit, making it a lot easier to breathe as Noel pulls a water bottle out of a cooler. “Are you feeling okay? You look really freaked out.”  

I twist the lid off of the water bottle before bringing it to my mouth. I take small sips until nearly half the water’s gone. “Do you think it’s weird that Stu never mentioned they used to date?” The second the question is out, I regret it. Noel doesn’t know the situation. I don’t even really know the situation. I can’t start rumors like that based on a bad feeling after an emotional day. Especially not when talking to a guy I barely know. Maybe I could get away with bringing this up to Randy, but not Noel. “Oh my god, I’m a terrible person for asking that.” 

“I don’t think you’re terrible,” Noel starts gently, “It’s natural to question everything after something like this happens.” I nod, fingers twisting the plastic cap between my fingers. “And I honestly don’t think it’s that weird that he didn’t bring it up.” 

My eyebrows draw together at that. I press the cap into the counter with my thumb. “What?” 

“It makes him look super suspicious. I don’t think I’d want to take that kind of heat over a girl I dated sophomore year of high school.” That’s a decent point, I guess. If most people have forgotten you dated someone, why bring it up when it could potentially ruin your life? “Plus, if we’re going to make everyone Casey Becker dated a murder suspect, the police will have their fair share of guys to look through.” 

My thumb digs so deeply into the plastic that I can feel the ridges of the cap dig into my skin. “Are you seriously slut shaming her right now?” God, what is it with men? “My friend’s--she’s gone and you feel the need to make a joke about her dating life?” 

“No!” He blurts out, moving like the implication scalded him. “No, I’m not saying that at all, I’m just saying that I know Stu. He’s a lot and he makes jokes, but he’s not a killer.” Noel shifts when he realizes that I’m not easing, “He’s not like his friend.” 

What? “His friend?” 

Noel leans against the counter. “Him and Billy are pretty close, and Billy seems impulsive and too attached to how people see him. I’ve known them since we were kids, but Billy’s the only one that gives me that vibe, y’know?” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “I’m not saying Billy did it, there’s no proof as far as I know. I’m just saying that’d surprise me less.” Noel’s gaze moves towards the cap I’m still fiddling with. “He’s just a little too...I don’t know--protective?”

The choice of wording cuts through me. While Stu’s up front about everything, Billy’s the one that’s quiet, hard to read, and cares so much about the people he’s close with in an invisible way. The way he reacted to me saying I might come here with Noel tonight demonstrates the distinction between them clearly. Stu was openly bothered, but Billy...he was nice. Maybe too nice? 

Okay, that’s ridiculous. I can’t suspect Billy, the same Billy that was making pancakes with me this morning and grabbed the syrup off of the top shelf when I couldn’t, of murder. Especially not because he seems like less of a wild card than Stu. 

But then again, most killers aren’t the larger than life personalities. The charismatic white guy is the bad guy so often I’m surprised they’re still never the first suspect. 

Ugh. I hate thinking about this. I’ve had too much too drink and my head’s starting to hurt. 

“I don’t think it’s Billy, for the record,” Noel says after I refuse to end our long stretch of silence, “I was just using him as a reference point.” 

It can’t be Billy. It can’t be. I’m drunk and creating conspiracy theories out of panic. I’ve done it before. Two seconds ago I thought it could be Stu just because he didn’t feel like advertising the fact that he used to go out with a murder victim. I can’t just switch up based on whoever’s name I hear while I’m freaking out. 

“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow, unsure. “Sorry, this is a party, and that was bleak.” 

“You’re fine,” Noel seems genuine, “You’ve been through so much I don’t even know how you’re out of the house. I’d be too scared to ever do anything again.”

I smile at his effort. “Guess I’m tougher than I look.” Letting go of my water bottle, I reach for the beer I abandoned. “No more talk about all of that, let’s just have fun.” 

Noel picks up his own beer bottle, tapping the neck of it against mine. “I’ll drink to that.” 

----

The alcohol, small talk, and forcing myself back into the party was supposed to help my anxiety. It hasn’t. No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking through every interaction I’ve ever had with Billy. Even the nice things feel weird now. I couldn’t even bring myself to meet his gaze when he nodded in acknowledgement towards me earlier. And when Sid called me over, I pretended not to notice. 

Ugh, I hate myself for letting these ideas get into my head. 

There’s no proof. There’s nothing. And because of that, even if I could form an opinion, no one would believe me. Whenever I mention anything about that night, people look at me like a child that needs to be coddled. Their eyes get all sympathetic as they dismiss me with kind phrases like, anything’s possible and yeah, I think the police should look into that. 

if I put this in the perspective of something I know well, all mysteries have evidence. They all go back to the crime scene. If Randy gets to pretend that this is a scary movie, I can pretend it’s a mystery novel. 

And following that logic, I need to go back to Casey’s house. 

After I pee. God, I don’t feel drunk, but it’s possible considering how many times I’ve abandoned Noel in the last hour to use the bathroom. I don’t hate the excuse to leave, everyone’s getting couple-y and making out and maybe Stu did have a tiny bit of a good reason for telling me not to come tonight. 

Whoever’s in there is taking way too long. I lift my hand to knock again, but before I do, the door opens. The lack of physical object in the way throws me off. My fist flatly lands against a chest. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” I immediately take my hand back, looking up at the person who I accidentally hit. “I am--” The rest of my apology is lost as I realize that it’s Billy. I take two steps back as my heart thrums in my chest. 

“Oh, Billy, it’s you.” Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. A nervous giggle leaves me. “I um-I didn’t see you there.” Shaking my head dramatically, I start over, “I saw you, I just-I didn’t see--before, you know?” 

He regards me cautiously. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not much,” I mumble, digging my nails into my palms to avoid bouncing on the balls of my feel, “I um--I’m not your problem, anyways, remember?” It’s supposed to be a joke, or maybe an excuse for my aloofness, but it comes out too bitter. “Sorry, um, we can talk more tomorrow. Bookstore, right?” When Billy doesn’t move or say anything, I tilt my chin up, “Bathroom. I need to use the bathroom.” 

Billy tilts his head, his expression unreadable as he takes a step forward. “You jumped when you saw me.” 

My eyes widen. “No.” The denial is too quick, too offended. “I jumped because I didn’t expect to see you, or anyone.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, tying to seem steady. “I’ve been drinking.” I whisper the last word like it’s some kind of secret. 

“I noticed,” Billy says flatly. His hands almost leave his sides like he’s considering trying to help stabilize me. Or do something more cynical. “Maybe you should get your boyfriend to take you home.” 

Swallowing back my dread, I watch him for a long second, “Boyfriend? Oh, Noel, he’s not--I mean he’s nice.” He thinks you could be a murderer. “I don’t think he’s in the going home mood, and I need some air. I’m walking home after this.” 

Billy presses his lips into a thin line. “Let me take you home, make sure you get to bed okay.” 

“No.” The word is basically a pout, and the way I sway slightly doesn’t make things any better. “Not your problem anymore, remember?” 

He pushes himself away from the doorway of the bathroom. Billy stalks towards me slowly. I hold my ground until Billy’s basically leaning over me. At that, I step back, but Billy keeps going until I’m backed into the wall. 

The hallway is empty, but the party is still alive and well around the corner. It feels like a world away with Billy standing this close. “I never said you were a problem and I never said you weren’t mine.” 

His words only half make sense, but the intensity of his tone edges me towards panic. “Billy,” I begin slowly, “I just want to go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and then go home.” 

He places a hand next to my head and I feel air claw its way back down my throat at the implication. He’s trapping me. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. Didn’t even say anything to Sid when she tried waving you over.” 

I shake my head the little bit I can in this position, silently praying that I don’t look like a deer caught in headlights. “No...I was just giving you guys the space you asked for.”

Billy leans impossibly closer, his hand sliding off the wall. I hold my breath until his thumb brushes against my cheek. Despite the tension in the air that I’d need a knife to cut through and my own nerves, my body relaxes instantly at the contact. “Do you remember when we first met?” 

It was during lunch. Tatum was the one that first pulled me towards their group and Stu was the one that kept calling me over. It was my first day and I was super nervous about lunch. Stu called me over before I could freak out and then a few seconds later began a joke that turned some kid into a punchline. I remember not being super comfortable, but not wanting to say anything because I couldn’t risk it. Billy had jumped in and saved me from needing to make a comment about it. 

“Yeah,” my voice is too soft, too flighty, “During lunch on my first day.” 

He nods once, eyes taking on a kinder hue. “You know what the first thing I noticed about you was?” Billy doesn’t wait for me to respond, “That you can’t keep a single thought or opinion off of your face.”

Every drop of blood rushes down my body. The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards at my expression. “That’s how I know that you’re lying. You don’t want to go home. Where were you going?” 

Staring at him is becoming too difficult. “The bathroom,” I mumble, “And then...Casey’s.” 

And just like that, any cracks in Billy’s demeanor disappear. “Stu’s right when he says you’re one impulse away from playing Nancy Drew.” I don’t say anything, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind my silence. “You’re drunk, you should go home.” 

“I’ll get there.” I try to sound serious as I say, “Go spend some time with your girlfriend, I’m fine.”

Billy looks at me for a long second, the fingers cupping my face pressing slightly into the skin of my neck. Something I don’t recognize flashes across his expression. All at once, it disappears and Billy steps away from me. “Sid would kill me if I let you wander the streets this drunk.” 

“Don’t do me any favors, I’m not trying to be anyone’s responsibility.” 

With a sigh, Billy looks me over again, “I’d worry too.” He studies my reaction, “Friends worry about their friends.” When I don’t protest, Billy continues, “Go to the bathroom, I’ll walk you home after.” 

---- 

I’m being ridiculous. If I don’t start acting normal, Billy’s going to realize that I’m freaking out. If he hasn’t already. 

Shaking the thought out of my system, I keep my eyes on the ground. People saw us leave together. Sid gave me a quick hug and told Billy to take his time keeping an eye on me, considering the fact that no one’s waiting for me at home and I’ve been kinda jumpy. Two girls from two of my different classes waved goodbye to me. I wanted to say goodbye to Noel, but I couldn’t find him. 

The October air bites against my skin. My mom could get away with wearing this in Texas no matter the time of year because it’s actually hot there. I keep my arms tucked into myself for warmth. 

“Here.” Billy’s stopped walking, and now he’s holding his arm out to me. 

I blink, realizing after a second too long that he’s offering me his jacket. He’s looking just past me like he can’t bring himself to meet my eyes. It’s weirdly cute in an awkward way. The endearment that I feel quickly melts into guilt.

I take the jacket, shrugging it on. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” Billy takes a step towards me, nearly making me trip off the sidewalk. “Be honest.” When I still can’t bring myself to say anything, Billy’s expression seems to cloud, “We’re not at a party, we’re not at school. It’s just you and me.” 

It’s ironic that the only anchor I feel is the warmth of Billy’s jacket. The patience that he’s looking at me makes the dam break. “I--I feel like I’m going crazy, all the time.” My answer is so honest, my throat feels raw. “And I feel like that because I lived I’m like indebted to the universe or something. Like--like I’m supposed to do something for Casey, but I can’t do anything because I don’t even feel like I can trust my own thoughts.” A small scoff leaves me. I’ve never been this pathetic. “What if I’m never normal again? I-I tried watching the movie that we were gonna watch before it happened the other day and I couldn’t even get through the first five minutes. And I--I loved that movie.” 

By the time I’m done with my rant, Billy is close enough to me to pull me into a hug. I let him, slowly moving my arms back around him. “It’s been a week,” he whispers, “You just need time.” I nod into his chest. “And in the mean time, we can find a better movie than A Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

I move away far enough to wipe at my face with the back of my hands. “Yeah,” I smile stiffly through a sniffle, “I just want to go home and not drink again for a really long time.”

Billy lets go of me. I turn slowly, already starting to walk again. Billy stays behind me. Shit, he picked up on it. I break out into a run, ignoring the confusion in my body. Billy’s footsteps are deceptively quiet behind me. 

We’re only blocks away from my house. I can--I can get there. 

He grabs my forearm, forcing me to face him. “Wh-what’s gotte--” 

“How’d you know what movie was playing?!” Billy pauses, his grip on my arm tightening. “I didn’t tell you. I only told one person, and it-it was the guy on the phone.” His lips part, but before he can speak I stomp on his foot with all of my strength. It doesn’t affect him until I throw all of my weight back, forcing him to loosen his hold just enough for me to squirm away from him. 

I start running again, taking off my wedged heels and throwing them blindly behind me, hoping that they somehow slow him down. Those shoes are more of a hazard than running barefoot. 

Now it’s just me and a race against Billy as I try to think of every horror movie mistake I could possibly make. My instinct is to run through the woods in order to potentially lose him, but that’s literally the opening scene mistake. So I just run fast and straight, staying on the illuminated sidewalk path and never looking behind me to see if he’s still following.

The house is only steps away from me. “Y/n!” Shit. I pick up the pace, ignoring the ache in my side and chest. “Let me explain!” I scramble to unlock the door. Billy’s close. 

Just as I throw open the door, Billy’s fingers brush against my shoulder. A scream that I can’t even recognize as my own bleeds from me as I slam the door behind me. Billy pushes against the wood, but I was expecting him to do that. I use all of my force to shove against the door. After slamming it hard a few times, the door shuts just enough for me to be able to twist the lock into place. 

This isn’t my first time trying to keep an angry man locked out of the house so I know better than to move away from the door while he’s still pounding on it. “You can’t believe that I’d do that.” 

My eyes squeeze shut, tears blurring my vision. “Just go away! Please.” 

“Not if you think I killed them.” He continues to knock and try the door handle. “You think I’d hurt you?”

I’m still struggling to breathe and the adrenaline is starting to wear off. My head is starting to pound. 

A familiar ringing cuts through my emotional haze. The phone. The living room extension is only a few steps away from me. It could be my mom calling because she can’t sleep, or my dad, or maybe even Hallie. All I know is that it’s a lifeline, and Billy’s no longer shaking the front door. 

I keep one hand on the door for as long as I can before picking up the receiver. “Mom?” 

A dark laugh that’s played almost every night in my head since I first heard it absorbs all the hope from my body. “I’ll give you one more guess, doll face, just cause I like you so much.” 

My bones are glass, the phone slips from my grasp. It clatters onto the ground, not loud enough to be heard over my heartbeat. The last time I ignored him, he didn’t take it well. That’s the only reason I find the strength to sit down and pick up the phone. I push myself back so that my back is pressed into the front door.

“You back yet? You’re cute, but I don’t like being ignored.” My breath comes out just shaky enough for it to be audible. “Oh, I hear you. What’s wrong, doll face? Not happy to hear from me?” My lips part, but my voice has completely left me. “Aw, keep the silent treatment up and you’ll hurt my feelings. And I play a lot less nice when my feelings are hurt. Might even have to take it on your buddy Billy Loomis, since you left him locked out like that.” 

Billy? “I-I’m still not sure that this isn’t Billy, but if it’s not leave him alone.” 

“Maybe you’ll believe it’s not him when he turns up gutted like your little friend.” 

The reference to Casey forces my stomach to lurch. I swallow back bile. “Why’d you do that?” I force my hand over my mouth as I almost let out a cry. Did I just kill Billy? “Why-why do that to Casey and just let me live?” Wiping my face with my palm harshly, I try to keep my voice steady, “Why call me now?” 

There’s the slightest bit of motion audible over the receiver. “What can I say, baby doll? I missed your voice.” If I felt any strength left in my body, I would have rolled my eyes at that. “You should already know why I let you live. You said it yourself the first time I called you.” 

“What?” 

He lets out a cruel laugh at such blatant confusion. “I’m not doing all of this to make a bad scary movie. And all the greats have a final girl, you said it yourself.” As his words sink in, a sob threatens to escape the confines of my chest. If he means what he’s saying, then a lot more people are going to die. “And, sweet cheeks, you’re mine.”

The possessive sort of growl that makes up the last word sends a chill straight through me. This game of cat and mouse is starting to make me sick. A floorboard from upstairs creeks and instinct takes over. “But you have to earn it, doll face, no fun if it’s guaranteed.” 

I force myself to stand on shaky legs. He could be in the house. Billy and Stu had no trouble getting in last night, but Billy already knew about my window. My breaths are too shallow as I reach the kitchen, stealing a knife from the block on the counter. 

“You know,” I start, trying to sound braver than I feel, “A lot of times final girls kill the slasher.” 

Another sharp chuckle. “I’m glad I picked you.” 

Footsteps are coming from the stairwell. I grip the knife’s handle, trying to force myself to walk towards the stairs. “You won’t feel that way forever.” 

“Feisty,” the voice either growls or groans, I can’t tell. 

My skin crawls as the steps from the stairs sound closer than ever. I hold the knife out in front of me with shaking hands.

“Y/n, I--” Billy stops in front of me, holding his hands out in front of him. “I just wanted to tell you that I knew the movie because they printed it in the newspaper. It was in the VCR when the police found you and they listed it in that article where they listed everything that was in Casey’s living room.” 

There was that one article that over analyzed everything about what was in Casey’s house. They even listed the lipglosses Casey was showing me and a bottle of opened nail polish we left out. The explanation paired with the fact that the person on the other line is still there leave my head spiraling. 

“Billy?” He’s probably so mad at me and I-I just--how did we end up here? I drop the knife, letting it hit the ground.

“I leave your friend alone and you thank me by ignoring me?” The voice on the other end of the line snaps me out of it. 

After stuttering for a moment, I finally blurt out, “Leave him alone.” 

“Protective,” the voice muses, “Careful, baby doll, I might get jealous.” Before I can get myself to speak again, the line goes dead. 

Billy’s the one that knocks me out if my panicked trance. He delicately places a hand on my shoulder. I can’t breathe. I don’t think I’m crying until my vision turns blurry. He tugs me towards him, placing a hand on my back. He rubs my back soothingly. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, “I’m so sorry, I--” 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, letting me hug him tightly, “It’s okay.” Billy pulls me away just enough so that I can look him in the eye. “We’ll call the police and figure it out, okay?” I nod, but make no move to let go of him. 

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things

----

A/n things were getting a little too nice and i had to remind y’all hehe

First Impressions

First ever final girl fic universe seperate fic!! all that means is that even though this is canon in the final girl fic world, it is a separate fic that stands on its own!! you don't need to read any part of final girl first!!

also if you’d like to request a fic that’s set in the final girl world, feel free too, just know that as of now there won’t be anything directly couple-y between Y/n and the boys, just specify in the request!

this is not part 6 of final girl, it's a separate little sort of prequel??

Summary: How Billy and Stu's feelings for Y/n first developed

----

Billy doesn't know when the official switch first flipped. He isn't sure when you went from being a pretty face with a sense of humor that he found a little more objectively funny than most to someone that started taking over his thoughts.

Maybe it did start that first day, when Stu kept making jokes that forced him to keep bringing up the 'hot new girl that Tatum wouldn't shut up about.’ After about the third comment about you, Billy realized that it wasn't really a joke. It was a testing of waters, Stu's not-so-subtle attempt to gauge Billy's opinion of you.

It wasn't like Stu wanted permission to like you, the two of them understood how they felt about others, about girls. But you were different, a thought that made something unfamiliar flare up in them. Feelings too possessive to be categorized as simply want. And too protective to be considered just ownership.

Maybe it did start the day he met you. The first words he ever heard you say didn't quite fit you, but they intrigued him enough to look at you twice.

----

Today is dragging on. It's not even lunch yet and Billy's trying to calculate if he can get away with skipping the rest of his classes. Maybe he'd grab Stu at the start of their shared 5th period and just go. They could get high or drive around for awhile or just cut early to watch a movie. Billy doesn't really know what he wants, he just knows that he doesn't want to be here. Looking through his locker and waiting for Sid.

Being around her is all hot and cold. Some days playing the good boyfriend is barely painful, making it easy to even actually listen to some of her stories. But on days like today, he has to be aware of all of his thoughts and impulses in order to avoid blowing up their plan. The one year mark is coming up soon.

"You know that much planning can make you sound like a psychopath." That's Sid. Billy can't see her yet, but she's still rounding the corner and her voice sounds light. The irony of her saying something like that only steps away from Billy would almost be amusing on a normal day.

"Psychopaths get shit done." A voice that's completely unfamiliar. Normally, he'd brush it off. He doesn't bother keeping up with many people outside of their inner friend group. He could point out a few faces from over the years, but no one else ever really stands out to him.

Just as Sid and the stranger round the corner, the unknown voice speaks again. "Uh--that's not the kind of joke you can make in front of someone you just met. Swear I'm not planning a mass murder, I'm just extra about planning my class schedule."

Billy turns away from his open locker, deciding that since he's this bored and the comment was somewhat amusing before the stranger started backtracking, he's intrigued enough to really look at them. Plus, Sidney seems to like them, so it's probably a thing he should be putting effort into anyways.

You're not what he was expecting. A true new girl. The true new girl. The girl most people glanced at a little too long this morning because when does anyone ever move to Woodsboro? And when does anyone start school here about a month into the school year?

You're holding a stack of heavy textbooks that seem like over kill and blinking up at him with eyes he doesn't think he'll immediately forget about. It's different than noticing someone he finds attractive. This is more intrusive.

Billy doesn't like that he doesn't instinctually dismiss you as high school background static.

His eyes eventually snag on what you're wearing. A sweater that doesn't seem to fit you that he recognizes instantly. He nearly tore it off Stu this morning before school when they both had half a mind to skip.

Billy's jaw clenches and he isn't sure if the sweater has him feeling territorial over Stu or if it has him looking at you a little differently. Maybe the sweater was a little situation Stu created for Billy to notice. A tiny, well orchestrated way to rile Billy up to get back at him for this morning. Or maybe a way to tag you, to tell Billy that he should look at you twice. It doesn't matter, he now knows for a fact that you'll be coming up later, the second Stu and him get a second alone.

"I believe you," Sidney breathes easily, a half laugh in her voice as she breezes past him, likely walking you towards their group's usual lunch spot. He doesn't like that a part of him hopes that his assumption is right.

----

Mr. James has been ranting about who knows what for the last fifteen minutes, and Stu hasn’t heard a word of it. He hasn’t even had a fully clear thought since you stumbled in three minutes late, mumbling an apology as you beelined for the first available seat you could find. It happened to be right next to him. So close Stu can see the doodles in your notebook. They’re cute, scribbled stars and swirls, but disappointingly un-telling. He didn’t expect to see you so soon after Tatum befriended you in the parking lot, and he didn’t think you’d look like this.

“I like your shirt better like this.” You look up at him like a deer caught in front of a moving car. “The neon green brings out your eyes.”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Oh, thanks, that was the goal.” You glance down at your shirt, crossing your arms in front of your chest self consciously. “This is a result of my annoying habit of not looking both ways before crossing the hall. Some guy ran into me and spilled his energy drink all over me, and he didn’t even stop to say sorry.”

“Wow,” Stu humors you because there’s just something about the irritated pout of your lips, “Rude.”

“I know!” You whisper-yell before cringing slightly at your volume. 

“Exciting first day so far.”

Shifting in your seat again, you blink once, pen tapping against your notebook. “No kidding.”

“If I give you my sweater, does that count as me bailing you out twice today?” 

Your lips part as you glare at him in a way that’s almost shy. Before you can tell him that pointing out a classroom doesn’t count as bailing you out, the two of you are interrupted. 

“Mr. Macher, since you’re so interested in talking today, why don’t you tell us how many delegates attended the Constitutional Convention in 1787?” 

Stu remains unfazed, turning away from you and towards the teacher. You begin writing something else down, and then, in a move so subtle and quick Stu almost thinks he imagined it, you tap the side of your foot against his. His eyes flit down towards the notebook that you’ve pushed to the edge of your desk.

“55,” Stu says confidently, reading the circled number off of your notebook.

Frowning, Mr. James continues, “That’s correct.” Pacing towards the bored, he asks another question, “And which state wasn’t represented?”

You’re quick to write out the next answer in order for Stu to read it out loud, “Rhode Island.”

Getting frustrated, Mr. James begins to press, “Where did they meet?”

“Philadelphia.”

At that, Mr. James lets out a sigh that’s more frustrated than it should be. Deciding that he can’t push this interrogation any further, Mr. James lets it go and moves on. 

Stu smiles despite himself, finding it a little...cute that you outed yourself as a bit of a nerd. It’s something about who you are that you’ve finally revealed. He glances back at your notebook as you inch it even closer to him. He reads over the last thing you wrote: who’s bailing who out now?

You’re smug about it, too. It’s adorable, like being near a puppy. A puppy that Stu isn’t sure if he’d keep around or accidentally squeeze just a little too hard. He just met you, but something about your demeanor is just so innocent and you seem so soft. It’s distracting and oddly riling and he hasn’t quite made up his mind if he’s going to hold it against you or not. 

God, if Tatum decides to really befriend you, this could be interesting. And if Billy were to meet you? Stu’s convinced that he’ll pick up on the fact that you’re something else just as fast. That realization leads to a train of thought that has him struggling to focus on acting normal. 

----

Stu knows two things. The first is that something is definitely on Billy’s mind, and the second is that Billy can tell that Stu’s focus is elsewhere. Stu also knows that right now is a terrible time to get caught up in some girl just because he can’t stop thinking about your eyes and the cute little turn of your lips that was almost a smile.

And seeing you in his sweater for the rest of the day just did something to him. 

Okay, technically that’s more than two things. 

“You wanna order takeout?” The question comes out perfectly casual in a way that Stu knows Billy will interpret as suspicious. “We can save the movie you rented for when the food gets here.”

Billy nods once, absentmindedly, “Sure.” His fingers press into the cushion of the couch, but that doesn’t do anything to relieve his tension. Billy moves his hand, squeezing the back of his turned over arm and letting his nails dig into the soft skin of his inner wrist. The pinching pain is meant to snap him out of it. “What do you think of the girl Tatum was all over today?”

The question nearly sends Stu spiraling. It’s rare for Stu to be unsure on what kind of reaction someone’s looking for, but he’s out of practice with Billy. He can’t remember the last time he cared about monitoring his reactions in front of Billy. “What about her?”

“Do you think Tatum will keep her around enough for her to be a factor?”

Oh. It’s about the plan. Of course it is. Stu thinks of your face, your eyes, the almost smile. It makes his blood rush in a specific way, and he’s not sure if he’d rather see you tremble out of fear or arousal. Maybe there’d be time for both.

“Don’t know. Tatum thought she was nice, didn’t shut up about her, but she’s a little book-y, y’know?” Stu shifts slightly, just enough to seem like he’s slumping further into the couch. “She’s probably too naive to be a factor either way.”

Billy half shrugs. “Not sure, she’s reading Carrie.” 

Stu almost points out that Billy isn’t usually the type to note details like that about people he doesn’t know or care about. “Think she likes scary movies?”

“There’s an easy way to find out,” Billy mumbles, only somewhat serious. He then drops his gaze towards his lap, nails digging just a little harder into his skin than before. “She doesn’t seem like the victim type. You know what she reminded me of with her too-nice-for-her-own-good, girl next door thing?”

Already piecing together what Billy’s getting at, Stu decides to play along. “What?”

At that, Billy throws him a somewhat scolding look. It’s a gentle chiding for trying to get away with bullshitting him. “A final girl.” With a slight sigh, Billy decides that he’s ready to bring up his real point, “You definitely thought so.”

The nail in the coffin hits Stu harder than he thought it would. Billy’s called him out on a lot over the years, but Stu’s never come this close to feeling embarrassed. He doesn’t get this difference, he doesn’t get why he didn’t just say something at the beginning. The two of them talk about girls they find hot all the time. Why are you the exception that makes him feel kind of awkward?

“What?”

Billy rolls his eyes before pointedly glaring at Stu in a way that can only be described as bitchy. “You think I can’t tell when you like a girl?”

The word like settles uncomfortably in Stu’s chest. “Jealous?” It’s a sad attempt at deflecting. “Like you didn’t think she was cute with the way you jumped in to save her just as I was getting her a little worked up.”

“You were making fun of someone and trying to make her uncomfortable.” 

“Since when does that matter?”

Billy pauses, thinking through his potential responses. “I didn’t give her my sweater.” It’s a flat comment, barely more than an observation. “I wasn’t the one looking at her like I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pin her against the wall or hold her there with a knife.” Stu’s eyes darken slightly as his posture stiffens and Billy struggles to not look smug openly. “Surprised you didn’t come in here trying to get me to jerk you off to the thought of her all bloody and begging you to let her live. I bet you’ve been thinking about that since you saw he in the parking lot this morning.”

Stu finds it in himself to keep it together enough to say, “You’re there too. She’s crying and looks over at you with those wide eyes like she needs you.” 

The comment serves as a ceasefire of sorts. A reminder that neither of them has a true upper hand when it comes to this kind of thing.

----

Maybe the change came the first time Billy was completely alone with you. The hall was empty, school had ended long enough for most club meetings to have started. Most of the people that linger after school have moved to the parking lot or behind the bleachers. 

Billy recognizes the back of your head instantly. You’re starting to become more and more noticeable. It’s a new development, something he still isn’t sure how he feels about. It’s good to be aware, but it’s more than that. A small part of him seems to jump whenever he realizes you’re in the same room. It’s ridiculous. If Stu knew about the pinch of warmth that rises in him whenever he realizes that you’re around, he’d never hear the end of it.

He almost walks away, leaving you there as you groan in frustration at your locker. “You okay?” 

You look up, eyes rounder than usual. You’re always a little fidgety, but today, you’re jumpier than ever. Stu threw his arm around your shoulders during lunch after making a joke that made you both seem like an old, married couple. It’s not rare for Stu to find an excuse to touch you, and you react to it a lot more casually than you used to. But today, you almost flinched. Something’s going on, maybe it has something to do with your mom’s boyfriend. 

You called Sid up the other night late, asking her if you could sleep over because your mom was out and you didn’t want to be alone with him. Maybe your mom isn’t back yet and the thought of going back to that environment has you on edge. Billy gets that feeling. 

“I think this locker has a personal vendetta against me.” 

He nods, trying not to focus on anything particular about you. Still, though, there’s something a little endearing about your dramatics. “A vendetta? Intense.” 

You pull on the lock again, trying to balance a bunch of binders and books in one arm. “Extremely.” 

With the way you’re struggling, it’s only a matter of time before everything collapses. “Here.” Billy pushes the lock in, holding it in position for a second before pulling it down. “It wasn’t still locked, just jammed. The lockers here do that.” 

You let out a relieved sigh. “You’re my hero.” It’s casual praise, a comment you’ll likely never think about again, but it leaves that strange warmth flaring through him. 

“Do you need any help?”

“I’ve got it.” The shake of your head is polite, but the fact that you’re clearly struggling to keep your hold on everything is apparent. You don’t always accept help easily. Suppressing an eye roll, Billy takes the top two books from your stack. You give him a look before admitting defeat. “Thank you.” 

You finish putting away the items in your arms before taking the textbooks back from Billy and making them fit into what’s left of the space. You then move to look through your backpack, taking out different colored sets of sticky notes and highlighters. It’s not really noteworthy until you start taking different sticky notes and highlighters out of your locker and putting them into your backpack. 

“Didn’t you just put those--” 

“Those were the note color combos for history, science, and english. These are the note color combos for my journalism class and math, plus my additional sticky notes for english reading that’s a book and not a textbook. I also like to use different highlighters for different levels of--” Billy’s watching you carefully as you cut yourself off. “I’m way more normal than this makes me look, I swear.” 

It’s that half thought out defense that has Billy practically frozen in place. There’s just something so you about the way you cut yourself off, and Billy’s practically lost in it. You’re an open book when it comes to feelings, but he always finds himself trying to guess what you’re going to say before you actually say it.

Billy fights against a smile. “I don’t believe it.” Your mouth opens in a mock gasp. “Do you have a ride home?”

You zip your backpack shut. “I was gonna walk.” 

He’s yet to see you drive and he’s starting to think you don’t have a car. It’s an unseasonably chilly day and you’re wearing something short with no jacket. Billy also doesn’t love the idea of you walking alone while looking like that. Too pretty, too noticeable, and there are some fucked up people out there.

In an impulsive move, Billy says, “I can take you.” The offer surprises you, you clearly weren’t expecting that from him. Billy can’t blame you for your confusion. It’s not that he’s cold towards you, he just hasn’t let himself get too close to you.

You’re a breath of fresh air to not just him. With the way everyone’s always all over you, Billy has let himself step to the sidelines a little. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but if he’s being completely honest, his thoughts around you are flighty and unsure. Sometimes if he thinks about it too hard it makes him feel like he’s a kid desperate for his mom to beam at him to make everything go away.

It’s twisting and weird and he’s not sure if it makes him want you closer to him or if it makes him want to just give in and force a knife through you just so that voice in the back of his head will stop. You can’t exactly reject him if he buries a knife into you first. But he’s been trying a little more recently. 

It’s only been a short time and you’ve already gotten so comfortable with Stu and his brazenness. It’s starting to make Billy a little more relaxed. Enough to crack a smile every once in awhile and partner with you for a project in English class.

“Oh,” you hum after a second, “Thank you.” You take your time zipping your backpack up to avoid needing to look at him. “But you don’t have to do that. I’d hate to put you out.” 

Billy knows that it’s likely you trying not to be an inconvenience. You never do accept help the first time it’s offered. You don’t know what you need. Despite Billy’s awareness, the slight rejection stings. That warmth you make him feel twists in his stomach in a way that burns. 

“It wouldn’t be putting me out.” He pauses, trying to think through what he can say to get you to agree without making his offer sound too significant. “It’s cold, I can’t let you freeze.” 

You shut your locker, letting yourself consider his offer. It was the right thing to remind you of. Even though it’s not exactly freezing here, it’s hotter in Texas and you’re not used to September feeling all that different than July. “One condition?” 

“I’m doing you a favor.” 

Playfully, you roll your eyes dramatically. Billy smiles at the gesture despite himself. “Don’t go around telling people I’m like some kind of weird sticky note freak?” 

“Weird sticky note freak?” Billy repeats the words like he’s seriously weighing the pros and cons of your request. “Nope. Sorry. Have to tell everyone.” 

The tension of uncertainty behind your stance disappears and the way you’re looking at him changes entirely. His joke surprised you in a good way. It’s a flash of a side of an easier going side of him. “Everyone, huh?” You tilt your head slightly as you consider what to say. “Wish I knew something embarrassing about you to...ensure your silence.” 

He almost laughs. “Ensure my silence? You’d blackmail me?” 

Shrugging comfortably, you reply, “I’d do what needs to be done.”

Billy takes a step forward, angling himself so that there’s a subtle implication that you’re trapped between him and your locker. You seem to pick up on it subconsciously, because the pure humor leaves your eyes. “Didn’t think you could be so mean.” 

You blink, a tiny bit of shyness making itself apparent. Your proximity to each other is just as significant to you as it is to him. Billy can tell by the way you struggle to hold his gaze. The fact that the nerves are mutual makes Billy feel a little easier, a little warm in a good way. 

“I’m multifaceted.” It’s practically a squeak and it sends a thrill straight through Billy.

He’s never been this close to you and yet it still feels so far. The urge to do something with his hands, to touch you just to know what the warmth of your skin would feel like beneath his fingertips, hits him hard and fast. Billy straightens in an attempt to break the spell.

It’s not enough, so he starts walking forward. “Come on before I see you do something really embarrassing like color code tabs in your binder.” 

You turn quickly, trying to match his long, even strides. “That’s actually--” Silencing yourself with a slight huff, you glare at him. “And...that was a joke. You’re making fun of me.” 

Instead of answering the question, Billy decides to push just a little more. “You know this isn’t exactly a sticky note level secret, but sometimes I color coordinate my pens based on each class I’m in. The ink matches my folders.” 

“Haha,” you breathe sarcastically, heat rising to your face. “You have a really underrated sense of humor.”

----

Now that you’re here, so casually taking up space somewhere that’s just his, Billy doesn’t want you to go. Your uncertainty melted away after the first two minutes and you’ve been casually chatting away ever since.

You tried making fun of his music, but ultimately had to admit your disappointment that Billy’s taste isn’t worse. He apologized and promised that next time he drove you somewhere, he’d make sure to have nothing but the cheesiest pop top 20 available, that way you could bully him to your heart’s content. He also made sure to tell you that if you really want to make fun of someone for their choice of music, you should ask Stu to show you his CD collection. 

After saying that, Billy watched your reaction carefully through the rearview mirror. You seemed to like the promise of future car rides.

You’re tapping your fingers against your knee casually, eyes focused on the window. The two of you are getting close to your place now, and something about your energy is beginning to shift downwards. You don’t want to go home.

Screw it, you don’t want to be home and after Stu’s stuffy energy today, Billy realizes that both of you could use a bit of a pick me up. 

"Today’s Thursday, right?” 

Turning your attention back towards him, your hand stills on your lap. “Yeah, why?” 

“I forgot I told Stu I’d be at his place by 3:30 today. We were supposed to go get something to eat.” It’s a partial lie. It was an assumed thing that Billy would make his way over to Stu’s at some point, especially since it’s been a little while since they both had a free day. Between school and their girlfriends, it just hasn’t worked out. But they never indicated a time and Billy isn’t actually late. “We’re about to pass Stu’s house.” 

Billy pauses, pretending that this idea just came to him. “Want to come with us? I can drive you home after and that way Stu won’t get into his whole thing when I’m late.” 

You’re intrigued by the offer, he can tell by the way you’re cautiously studying him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t need to crash your thing.” 

“You’re not crashing.” You don’t look convinced. “You’re our friend.”

At that, your demeanor seems to soften. The word friend leaves you beaming and that feeling flickers in Billy’s chest again. 

“You’re sure Stu won’t mind?” You’re watching him freely now, eyes cautious. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“As long as you don’t bring out the sticky notes and try to color coordinate anything.” 

Fighting down a laugh, you roll your eyes. “Sounds tough, but I think I can manage.” 

----

Stu’s laying against his couch, Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing on the living room television. He’s only half paying attention, strangely apathetic. 

The call had come this morning, right before he left for school. His parents were rescheduling their return, claiming that business was just too good for them to fly home already. Apparently someone offered his dad an in on some deal, and now they’re in negotiations for that. Stu barely believed them, considering that the business trip was in Vegas, and his mom has a pension for shopping in large cities. 

He didn’t call them out for it. He never does. Lie or truth, it doesn’t make a difference why they’re not coming back. The point is they’re just not. 

When Stu was younger, he used to complain a little, but that was quickly nipped in the bud by his father reminding him that he’s a man. He shouldn’t really need anything from his parents except assurance that his needs would be taken care of, and that’s definitely a problem they’ve never had. A large and safe roof over his head and enough pocket money to keep himself fed and entertained. What else could a teenage boy want? 

Stu was half expecting some kind of call. It had been a little over a week with no communication and they always announce their return home a few days in advance. They never tell Stu about their delays until the day before they’re supposed to come back. 

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this or why it’s getting to him a little more today than usual. Maybe it has to do with the fact that his parents are coming close to beating their record for longest time traveling without so much as a weekend pit stop at home to change out their luggage. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s barely gotten any time with Billy this week. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s phased at all is stupid.

A knocking at his door snaps him out of his train of thoughts. Weird. A spike of hope strikes him with no warning. It could be Billy, but Billy never knocks. He walks in and doesn’t even bother to greet Stu verbally before sitting down next to him. It could be Tay, but he can’t remember making any plans with her or the last time she spontaneously popped by his place without at least calling first. 

Stu opens the front door casually, because this is Woodsboro, and an unexpected knock is no reason for concern. His eyes immediately land on Billy, who’s standing there like there’s nothing weird about him knocking. 

“You kn--” He cuts himself off after noticing that Billy’s not alone. Excitement pulses through him at the realization that it’s you. Stu has no idea how Billy pulled this off, but it’s a good surprise. A good enough surprise to get him to shake off the weird way he’s feeling. “Look who wandered onto my doorstep.” 

Ignoring the consuming way he’s looking at you, you greet him normally. “Hi to you too.” 

“Picked her up,” Billy jumps in, catching Stu up on his innocent enough lie as casually as possible, “She’s a stray, so she’s coming with us to grab something to eat.” 

That paired with the subtle look Billy sends him is enough for Stu to piece together enough of the story to go along with it. “You’re late, but since you brought me a gift, I’ll let it go.” 

You practically laugh at that. “Dramatic.” 

Stu turns towards you, grinning at the excuse to grab you. He tugs on your arm, ignoring your protests as he pushes you against the doorframe. The sudden shift in mood isn’t something you’re expecting, but Stu can’t help it. Especially when he knows that he has your full attention. He can take seeming pushy if it means he’s the only thing you’re focusing on. 

“Stu.” It’s too surprised and amused to be scolding.

His smile widens at the way you’re looking at him. “Take it back.” 

You bite back a grin, watching him carefully. There’s an edge to his usual brand of chaos, but it’s not unnerving. If anything, a part of you feels the need to prove him wrong. “No.” 

It’s not so much the blatant defiance as it is that smug look behind your eyes that sets Stu off. His hold on you tightens, and the way he tilts his head leaves a feeling you don’t understand pulsing through you. It leaves your face warm. 

“No?” You blink at the question, chin sticking out just slightly in an attempt to hold your ground. “Brat.” 

Still not giving him the satisfaction of your panic, you keep your voice steady as you react, “Dra-ma-tic.” 

Billy straightens, watching the exchange cautiously. He understands that look behind Stu’s eyes better than Stu does. You’re teetering on the edge of either Stu forgetting that this is a delicate situation and crossing a line or something even more dangerous. But this is the most like himself Stu’s been all day and you’re smiling. It’s a moment that’s so domestic Billy’s not sure how he hadn’t managed to get you here sooner. 

Releasing one of your arms, Stu places a hand on your side. Billy studies the contact carefully before Stu starts to move. His fingers move quickly, up and down your side as you laugh and squirm. It’s cute and easy going, but considering Stu’s mood today, Billy isn’t sure how long it’ll stay that way. 

“What were you saying?” 

“That--” You cut yourself off with a loud laugh that’s almost a gasp as Stu’s hand brushes against your side. “That you’re the--the most even temper-tempered, understa--understated person I’ve ever met.”

Stu pauses, hands squeezing your hips once before releasing you, but he makes no move to put any distance between you. “I’d love to believe you, babe, but you don’t really seem sorry.” 

That does frazzle you enough to get your eyes to widen. You laugh or maybe even yelp as Stu’s hands move to grab you again. You turn quickly, nearly stumbling as you try to dodge him. 

Stu could probably grab you and force you back into place easily, but he lets you have your small victory. It’s more fun with a little bit of a chase, anyways.

Billy places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you steady as you fight against a nervous giggle. “Help.” 

He’s never had such a good excuse to pull you towards him. Maybe Billy should have been the voice of reason. After all, this is your first time all doing something after school and scaring you off really is a possibility. But he can’t help himself. In one smooth movement, Billy turns you and presses your back into his chest. “You know in the movies nothing gets you killed faster than begging for help.”

You’re barely given a second to register his words because Stu’s on you in a second, tickling you before you can read too much into the lowness of Billy’s voice. He rests his chin against your back, briefly hiding his face into your neck as you squirm.

Billy looks up, meeting Stu’s gaze as you fondly tell them that they’re, “Literally the worst,” in a voice that’s so sweet they’re surprised they hold it together.

It’s in that moment, that silent exchange, that they both come to a mutual decision. You’re theirs now, and even though you don’t know it yet, nothing’s going to change that. 

Final Girl Masterlist

Main fic: 

FInal Girl (Part 1) 

FInal Girl (Part 2)

Final Girl (Part 3)

Final Girl (Part 4)

Final Girl (Part 5)

Final Girl (Part 6)

Final Girl (Part 7)

Final Girl (Part 8) 

Final Girl (Part 9)

Final Girl (Part 10) 

Separate drabbles/fics set in the Final Girl universe

*these fics can be read as stand alones, they just happen to be canon in the final girl universe/timeline (to request a fic in the final girl universe pls specify in your ask:))

First Impressions - how Billy and Stu decided that Y/n was going to be their final girl  

Sick Day - Billy and Stu don’t get why they’re so antsy about the latest addition to their friend group being absent from school. Sure, they talk about her more than they talk about anyone else, but not seeing her for one day isn’t enough to justify panic, right? Guess that doesn’t matter, because they find a way to justify checking in anyways.

final girl asks with additional content can be found under the #finalgirlfic tag

Time of Need

had to give yall some halloween content (technically it's past midnight but whatever, also it's not really a halloween drabble bc halloween isn't mentioned, it's more just something i've written on halloween)

Summary: i've done drunk reader a lot but tipsy Billy and Stu being all clingy?? territory i've been desperate to play with

warnings: lowkey implies Stu has a bit of a thing for blood (we been knowing tho) but not really detailed (he basically licks a paper cut while tipsy lmao)

----

On good days you consider the way they make you feel when it's just the three of you in that little world you make silly. On bad days you think that feeling is straight up weird.

There's just something about Billy and Stu. Your two best friends, the only two people you trust in a way that you don't understand, a way that scares you because they're embedded so deeply in your life what is there to keep from them?

As much as it unsettles you when the realization that maybe you do need them catches you off guard, it's even more comforting during moments like this.

You're laying on Stu's bed, somewhat awkwardly pushed against Billy because Stu flopped on the bed with no warning, taking up as much space as possible. He's covering at least half the mattress and still more on top of you than not.

It's as nice as it is physically a little uncomfortable because you aren't sure you're supposed to breathe. You're not sure you're supposed to be in this position. It's been minutes now, and if they've noticed your hesitance, they've made no comment. Actually, they've done nothing to imply that there's anything weird or unusual about the two of them focusing on you silently like you might disappear.

The realization that they're both at the very last pretty tipsy hit you a little too suddenly. It took embarrassingly long for you to realize what about them was off, but in your defense, Stu's bad taste in jokes and touchiness are usual of him even when he's sober. It was Billy's blatant staring and pout when you moved your legs off his lap so you could grab your soda that gave them away.

Your realization that they had been drinking wasn't a big deal. It was noting that they were actually properly tipsy that got to you. At first it was funny, great, a way to get back at them for all the times they teased you about being a lightweight. You were amused and distracted until your thumb scraped against the jagged aluminum that once connected the little tab to the can (Stu ripped it off by accident and nearly choked on a laugh about it).

It was a tiny cut, but the thing about the edges of tinfoil is they always dig a little deeper than you thought it would. Blood bubbled upwards, a perfect bead of crimson that didn't even have the chance to drip down the side of your thumb before Stu grabbed your hand. You couldn't even ask him what he was doing before his lips covered the side of your thumb. You felt something oddly warm, Stu's tongue.

When what he was doing settled, you yanked your hand back instinctually. It was more ridiculous than unsettling and just the kind of strangely gross thing Stu would do for a laugh.

You vaguely registered Billy sitting up a little more before your snorted, an ungraceful, hyper sort of laugh escaping you. Later, thinking back, you'd realize it was the kind of panicked squeak an animal of prey lets out before playing dead. An instinctual attempt to appease. "You're so fucking weird sometimes."

Instead of laughing with you, Stu just held your gaze, something dark shifting behind his eyes openly. Without responding to your words, Stu grabbed your hand and pulled it towards him. He ignored your confusion, pulling your thumb into his mouth and swallowing just enough for you to notice. Like he wanted more blood to come out. The way his eyes watched you while he did it, emotionless, sent a chill straight through your spine.

You pulled your hand back again, a little firmer. Stu let you go with a slight pop, a subtle way of pointing out that you didn't break free. He let you go. You tried laughing it off again despite the way your stomach turned. Billy's hand lazily tracing patterns against bent knee made it a little easier.

After a minute of your heart slamming in your chest in a way you didn't understand, you decided that you needed to get out. To find a subtle, unoffensive way to go. To leave them until they're a little more under control.

Billy, who knows your instincts better than you do, was on the defensive. Instead of reacting in a way that emphasized the unnormalness of what just happened, Billy sat up fully, shoving Stu's shoulder just a little too harshly. A message to Stu, a change of subject to you.

"You're not funny," he mumbles, voice bored like the urge to leave flickering behind your eyes didn't make his stomach twist. To ease himself more than you, Billy reaches out, tugging on your arm. "Stu's an asshole." You almost soften at that, and that window of hesitance is all he needs. "That's why I called you," he pulls on your hand again gently, more of a request than a demand, "Needed you to see what I deal with."

A pinch fo humor twists its way between your caution, and that's all Billy needs. He squeezes your hand, pulling you down so that you're practically on top of him. You let out a sound, more of a laugh than a yelp and that's good enough for now. "You're just as weird sometimes, you know that?"

You're smiling, and that panicky, uncontrollable instinct of his is nearly satiated. It's pathetic, the things your proximity does. His mouth falls open in a mock gasp just long enough to make you fully grin. "As weird as him?" Billy lets his head fall back against the pillow supporting his back, "No way, he's a real freak."

Your small laugh is worth Stu's only somewhat serious, "Fuck you."

Stu's hand finds your other arm. You're tempted to jerk away, but his long fingers trail up your forearm so slowly you take it as a promise, a cease fire. "My girl gets that I'm joking, right, sweetheart?"

Wow. A 'my girl' and a 'sweetheart' in one sentence. Alcohol really does just make Stu more Stu. "You're such a weirdo." It's said too fondly, too easily. It doesn't get rid of all of Stu's uncertainty, a pinprick of rejection settling in his chest. But then you beam like you just can't help it, "But you're my weirdo."

Stu grins, fingers wrapping around your wrist, "Your weirdo?"

"Mhm," you hum, content. "Both of you."

Billy moves his hand, letting his open palm settle against your knee. "What did I do?"

"Besides call me over to Stu's house because you're both drunk?" He frowns, you laugh. "Kidding. I'm glad you called." You don't love admitting it, don't love letting them peak into the well of fondness you feel for them. "Was just starting to miss you guys. It's nice to remember that you're both..." You trail off with a wide smile.

Billy keeps his expression neutral, hand moving off of your leg and reaching forward to squeeze your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "Be. Nice."

Heat rushes up your neck. You barely manage to blink calmly. "I'm always nice."

He raises an eyebrow at that, enjoying how easy it was to get you flustered.

Stu's hand slides downwards, his fingers loosely making their way between yours. "You've got a bit of a mean streak."

You turn your head, rolling your eyes. "Name one ti--"

"The way you almost bit off poor Randy's head because he said--"

"If he's going to have opinions that are that bad about the best movie of all time, he deserves what he gets."

The return of your attitude makes Stu grin. "See, sweet cheeks? You're just as weird as the rest of us."

You roll your eyes, resting your head against Billy's shoulder. "Passion is not weird."

Billy lets out a breath, the noise is something you can't interpret. "Why do you hang out with him so much if all you two do is bicker?"

Bicker is the polite understatement of the century. You and Randy are fine, practically best friends until you're not. Your fights are weird and brief and petty and all in good humor. "Because he's like the annoying brother I'd never ask for but secretly would never get rid of."

"Ouch," Stu hums, sharp enough to make you cringe, "Brother zone. Harsh. Didn't realize you were such a heartbreaker, babe."

"What?" The genuineness of your question takes a second to settle, and once it does they both laugh once. "What?"

Billy extends his arm, resting comfortably around your shoulders. "He's in love with you."

The comment is so jarring you nearly blank. "What? You guys are--" They're too smug, too in sync. It's messing with your train of thought, your ability to focus. "I think I'd know if a guy was in love with me."

"Apparently you wouldn't."

You roll your eyes, half heartedly bumping your knee against Stu's. "Shut up." It's a weak argument, but you don't think you'll be able to do any better. They're both too stubborn even when sober. "I have to leave soon, but apparently not soon enough to not have to hear theories on stuff I never want to hear theories on."

Neither of them return your joke. Billy's fingers press into your arm. "You're leaving?"

"Homework, parents. You didn't give me a ton of notice."

Billy slumps downwards, pulling you with him slightly. You can't tell how intentional the move was. "Say you're sleeping over at Sid or Tatum's."

"You're drunk." Stu moves your hand, settling it on his lap comfortably. "Both of you are drunk."

"So stay," Stu mumbles easily, not an argument, just a statement, "Take care of us in our time of need."

You roll your eyes despite the way that an awkward feeling settles in your chest. Both Billy and Stu have put in their fair share of time making sure that you were okay after drinking. Even if you're not a danger or feeling particularly sick, they stick around, soothing you, making sure you're okay until you're sober.

Stu drops his head onto your shoulder, and the weight of it is nicer than it should be. All three of you are a tangle of limbs and comfortable warmth. You like when the world is just this, the three of you in your own makeshift web. You'd never admit that out loud, though.

"You two don't seem that in need," you mumble, a final shot at a losing battle. "Fine, I'll call my mom."

i loved the newest chapter of final girl!! saw that you updated and began foaming at the mouth lmfao

anyway, just wanted to say i thought it was so cute how stu and billy were talking about yn when they weren’t around (i know it was like, a scheming type scene but shh) and was wondering if they’ve done it multiple times? do they see yn wearing a new outfit or doing something they’d find attractive and talk about it with each other?

omg excited to talk about this, i was literally looking at how to insert this topic into Final Girl, 

yes they talk about y/n OFTEN!! absolutely obsessed in a way that toes the line between having an intense crush and straight up stalker-y, sometimes it’s a little bit like foreplay for them LMAO

anyways had to write a scene about this :)) (i had more ideas for mini scenes like this, but i wanted this up, so i might make a part 2 ish to this blurb??) 

----

Billy keeps one hand on the throw blanket he stole from the living room, fingers curled into the soft fabric like he can feel you in it. 

His mind feels muddled, twisted. Your existence makes Billy feel an intensity that is reserved for one of two broad categories: want and get rid of. You’ve just recently crossed over to the less openly violent of the two, but it’s an uneasy transition. The line blurs from time to time when you look at him with those soft eyes that make need flare up in his chest. 

Stu lets out a sigh, low and almost lethargic. “Last night took forever.” Tatum kept asking Stu to have the whole friend group over for a movie night meant to end in a sort of sleepover. A chance to binge watch movies and talk late into the night thanks to Stu’s perpetually empty house. “Our girl looked cute, though. Fell asleep on top of me.” 

It’s a bit of an exaggeration. Stu pulled on your arm while you were half asleep so that your head would rest against his shoulder. You were too tired to protest, but did eventually move to share a web of blankets and pillows with Tatum. 

Billy lets out a slightly irritated noise at the back of his throat. 

“What?” Stu lifts his head slightly from the pillow he’s resting again. “She’s cute, you never shut up about it.” 

That’s why Billy’s annoyed. You did look cute. Your pajamas--a matching short and tank top set was distracting enough on its own. But then Stu knocked over a coke can while reaching over for the last slice of pizza in the box. It seemed accidental enough that no one in the group thought twice about it. Tatum scolded him and you complained, but no one but Billy noticed that pinch of smugness behind Stu’s eyes. No one picked up on the look Billy and Stu exchanged as Stu apologized with a sloppy kiss to your forehead and the promise of getting you a new shirt. 

The two of you disappeared into Stu’s room for a few minutes too long. Billy kept glancing in that direction that the two of you walked off in, planning to ‘walk to the kitchen to get some water’ if Stu took any longer. But right before Billy started worrying, you came back, wearing one of Stu’s go to sleep shirts. 

“Cute enough without your shirt.” Billy’s not mad, just a tiny bit annoyed and its being amplified by irritation. 

Stu knows that Billy’s attitude is more about frustration than anything else. An empty stomach, too much time apart, and lack of release mixing together. He lets his arm relax, partially curled fingers brushing against Billy’s side.

“She was all wet and sticky.” Billy turns his head, eyes narrowing slightly at Stu’s suggestive wording. Stu’s lips fall open in a mock gasp, he moves his hand pinching at the tiny stretch of exposed skin where Billy’s shirt had ridden up. “Dirty mind,” Stu grins, “I was talking about the soda.” 

Billy rolls his eyes, trying to control the way the corner of his mouth instinctually turns towards an amused smile. “And whose fault was that?” 

For a brief second, Stu thinks about playing it off. He could joke about being clumsy and Billy would let it go. “Fucking Randy’s,” Stu mumbles, a tiny bit of real annoyance bubbling in his chest, “He kept looking at her in that tight tank top and no bra and she’s too oblivious to notice.” 

Sometimes your niceness is more of a nuisance than it should be. It’s not your fault you think everyone’s as good of a person as you are. It’s what Billy tells him to keep him calm. It’s a mantra Stu repeats in his head when that flutter of something uncontrollable rises up his throat when he sees you smile politely at guys that look at you a little too long. Like there’s no such thing as an ulterior motive. 

“C’mon,” Stu breathes, hand relaxing in order to press against Billy’s side, “We can’t touch her, I had to do something.” 

Already relenting, Billy lets out a breath. He had been watching Randy too. With the way you and Randy bicker like siblings, little kids fighting for the right to the VCR, Billy really doubts that you see anything else there. That doesn’t mean that Randy doesn’t have a crush on you, though. 

Though Stu’s excuse is likely an attempt to make a bit of foreplay seem innocent enough, he does bring up a good point. Still, though, Billy spent the entire night hyper concentrated on his thoughts to make sure he didn’t ask you to go anywhere with him. 

It was hard enough to not think about how easy it’d be to get you alone before hand. Your hair was loosely pulled up and you were sitting right next to him and Billy’s mind kept wandering back to your exposed neck. What it’d feel like to run his fingers down to your pulse. The way your breath would catch on itself with just a little bit of pressure. What it’d feel like to graze his teeth along the skin. 

Even though the collar of Stu’s shirt covered more skin, it added fuel to a precarious fire. “I hate being so careful around her.” 

“I get it,” Stu mumbles, comfortable understanding softening his voice, “She just looked so pretty I couldn’t help it.” Stu runs his hand up Billy’s side, reveling in the way goosebumps just barely begin to break out against his skin. He wonders how Billy manages. At least Tay puts out. “We don’t have to go that slow with her. She’d--”

“No.” The single word is just as much for him as it is for Stu. Equal parts reminder and warning. “We stick to the plan.” 

There’s a stubbornness there that Stu recognizes. He lets his nails dig into Billy’s skin a little rougher than he needs to. “Always with the plan.” It’s a teasing comment. “Fine, we’ll wait.” Stu sits up a little more, “As long as I get to rough you up in the mean time.” 

Billy rolls his eyes, a partial scoff escaping him. “Fuck you.” 

Stu props his head up on his freehand, raising his eyebrows up and down dramatically until Billy finally cracks a smile.

I’m obsessed with your final girl series! I couldn’t stop reading it since I found it! But I have a question. Are billy and Stu like a thing or are they just besties? Cuz like billy seems territorial over Stu and like he did jack him off so…just wondering!

Can’t wait for the next chapter!!🫶🏻

hi! saw this ask while on my way to work on final girl lol

anyways i do go into some depth about this in a little ramble that's linked here

but the concise answer is basically that i see them as together in an unsaid way, a sort of friends with benefits but they're both pretty aware of the fact that they're the only person the other really cares about (with y/n as a relatively new exception) but they don't really talk about it outside of the occasional possessive burst just bc they don't like/need to talk about feelings

side note, i can kind of see them talking about their feelings a little more through y/n, meaning that their endgame goal of running off into the sunset after committing murder so that it can just be you three cements the permanence on how they feel about each other.

i do, however, try to leave it open for some interpretation so that readers can project how close they are more or less

hope that explains it!

Final Girl (Part 7)

Final Girl Series Masterlist  (currently updated chapters 1 - 9)

a/n me basically throwing the scream timeline out the window so i can have all the cute little scenes i want, let’s just pretend september/october are LONG months lol, also sorry this took so long!! 

the demon known as finals season is officially here so i’m going to be slower 😭 but...after it ends i will have a little over a month to myself! and it’ll be christmas time ! 

Series Summary:  Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Stu decides to dedicate some time to getting back into Y/n’s good graces. Or, when Stu finally learns that there’s a reason Y/n doesn’t have her driver’s license and Y/n realizes that there’s no point in resisting that little bubble Stu’s always pulling her towards. 

----

The textbook flops awkwardly against my forearm as I let one side go in order to extend my arm. I pick up an apple from the bowl on the kitchen island and move to turn instinctually.

I move the apple towards my mouth, never once looking away from my history book until a quick tug yanks the book forward. I scramble, squeezing the hard cover instinctually.

My head snaps up and I see my mom, one hand on her hip and the other on my book. “Mom!”

“Come up for air,” her voice is scolding, “Your face has been glued in that textbook for days.”

“It’s not healthy.” The voice is surprising enough for me to let go of the book. My arm falls to my side and my mom just barely grabs it in time. I blink, turning to see the last person I’d expect to see in my kitchen.

It’s Stu. I’m mad at him, some rational part of my mind knows better than to forgive him when he hasn’t so much as apologized. When he’s been off sulking and switching up between different levels of mean to overly, practically violent levels of affection, like everything’s all good and I’m a bitch for prolonging a stupid fight. And now he’s in my kitchen, standing near my mom like this is the most natural place for him to be.

I squeeze the apple between my hands. “What are you--why are you--”

“He’s checking in on you because you’re worrying your friends.” Oh. My. God. My lips part but I have nothing to say, not with that what? this is totally innocent look he’s giving me. His eyes wide and soft. “They’ve barely seen you.”

A tiny pinch of guilt settles in my chest, because while I might not currently be at my most social, there is someone that’s seen a lot of me. Billy. I don’t know if it’s because of what happened with the phone call or something else, but Billy’s been around a lot more. It feels like he understands better than others because he’s seen it.

He also has a habit of coming in through my window and spending the night to avoid his dad. At least, that’s why I think he comes. He’s only ever hinted at it in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t want to elaborate, so I don’t ask. It doesn’t bother me to have him come and go as he pleases. I wasn’t wrong when I said he was like a cat.

“Yeah, you haven’t been around,” Stu begins, “Makes me think about who you’re spending all your time with.”

Stu’s expression barely shifts, just the slight raise of his eyebrows. There’s no way he doesn’t know that Billy’s been around. “Just school stuff.”

“Really? All that time--”

“Some of us actually need to study.” God, I know Stu and I aren’t in the best place, but is he really trying to tell my mom on me? There’s a knowing glimmer behind his eye that makes me want to squirm. “So you’re here to check up on me?”

My mom lets out a sigh and shoots me a look. “Be nice.”

Stu’s smugness feels physical. He’s holding what he knows over my head, enjoying being a ticking time bomb. “Oh, she’s always nice.” His expression soften slightly, a silent cease fire.

I can finally breath again. “Thank you.” Then I remember my mom’s in the kitchen so I tack on, “For checking in, but I’m fine, just behind.”

At that, my mom places the text book on the kitchen table. “You’re young, you should go out every once in awhile, see your friends, eat an actual meal...” When all I do is give her a sarcastic look, my mom goes for the kill shot, “Practice for that upcoming driver’s test.”

Okay, she has a point. Driving practice is something that we’ve both put off. Me, because I hate feeling like I’m endangering lives, and my mom because she hates having her life endangered. “You don’t want to do that anymore than I do.”

“You need to practice because if you fail another one, you’re going to have to wait six months.”

Six months of not touching a car doesn’t sound terrible. I mean, it’s pretty embarrassing, but it also feels like a sacrifice I’m making for public safety. “Six more months of not getting arrested for vehicular manslaughter doesn’t sound like a loss.”

“Something little miss perfect isn’t good at?” Stu’s grin in his voice is loud and he’s clearly fighting the urge to laugh.

“It’s not,” I sigh, turning the apple over in my hand, “It’s not that bad.”  

My mom raises an eyebrow, “Well--”

“Mom!”

“You can’t park,” she sighs defensively, “You knocked over the recycling can last time and kept going.”

“Because I thought it was the curb, it’s not a big deal to hit the curb.”

Stu laughs, the sound loud and so amused I have to glare. “Oh, I need to get you out on the road.”

“No.”

My mom places a hand on her hip, “Nice.”

I sigh, wondering why I even came out of my room in the first place. That was me being nice. “What’s nicer than sparing someone from a potential car accident?”

“I’ll risk it,” Stu hums a little too happily, ignoring my glare. “Passed my driver’s test the first time.” Yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if that’s because his family’s loaded and because they knew leaving him alone would get a lot easier if he could drive himself places. “An hour with me, and you’ll be good to go.”

“I have to st--”

“Do you know how embarrassing it’ll be to be the only Princeton student that can’t drive?”

It’s a fair point, which means I’ll have to fight my mom’s logic with mom logic. “You’re not seriously trying to get Stu to take me driving right now.” Please remember he’s a boy; please remember your hatred of boys.

She raises an eyebrow at me and then at him, likely doing that weird calculation thing of hers. “He offered.”

Oh this is a total con. I don’t know how or what I missed while he was here and I was upstairs, but it must have been something if this is what’s happening. The feeling that I’m being played in some way I don’t really get sneaks up on me. I eye Stu skeptically, who has yet to drop his I’ve done nothing wrong expression.

“He was joking,” my words are not-so-subtly pointed, an attempt to force Stu to take the out.

The more I grind my heels into the sand, the more Stu will want it. “I’m never joking when it comes to you.”

“I think it’d be good for you--get some air, time away from those textbooks.”

How has his blatant flirting not scared my mom off yet? Maybe I can convince her that he broke up with Tatum so that she’ll shut this down. “You want to send me off with some guy you’ve barely spoken to?”

Stu lets out an indignant noise. “Are you saying I might have bad intentions?”

The inflection of his voice is so comical and him that a sense of longing rises in my chest with no warning. Despite my best efforts, I miss him. Fighting against an instinctual smile, I bite my tongue. Something about the way Stu’s gaze lingers makes me feel like he knows.

“Pumpkin, I mean this with all the love in the world, but I cannot think of a bigger mood killer than you being behind the wheel of a car.”

“Mom!”

She ignores my outrage, “And he’s one of your best friends, you say it all the time.”

Oh my god. I don’t have to turn my head to feel Stu’s grin. Ugh, I hate that it’s true and I hate that now Stu knows it. “Fine. Give me five minutes to change.”

Content to have gotten her way, my mom turns, “Be safe.” Sure, now she cares about safety. “And have fun, I need to run, I’m meeting Wells for lunch.”

Stu doesn’t give me a chance to say anything, because the second my mom’s out of the room, he moves around the kitchen island to stand next to me. Close enough that I can practically feel the warmth of his skin radiating from him. I hold my ground, tilting my chin up enough to look him in the eye. He at least owes me an explanation for all of this.

He smiles, briefly flashing his teeth. “You talk to your mom about me?”

The words come out too excited for me to dismiss them as just conceited. Too happy for me to dismiss his giddiness by telling him that it’s not a big deal. “Shut up.” I duck my head down slightly as he grins. Out the corner of my vision, I see him shift. For a second I think he might move to grab me and pull me into one of those hugs that are a lot nicer than I’d ever admit. “I need to go get changed since I’m being kidnapped.”

Choosing to only hear what he wants, because he’s Stu, he replies without hesitation, “Getting all pretty for me?”

I roll my eyes, vaguely flipping him off over my shoulder before walking up the stairs. The distance is welcome. When Stu’s right there, it’s easy to forget things and just go along with his mood, but this is not okay. I stop talking to him because he wanted space, so he just decides to ambush me? And how long was he in the kitchen chatting with my mom? Oh. My. God. What did he say to her?

Okay, okay--probably nothing too bad. She told me to leave with him. She wouldn’t have done that if he said anything that bothered her.

With a sigh, I take off my sweatpants and sweatshirt and search the chaos that is my closet for an acceptable outfit. It’s getting chilly considering the time of year, colder than it would be in Texas but not deep fall yet. I find a pair of sheer tights bundled up between pairs of shorts. Then I pick out a skirt and long sleeved shirt that matches before pulling my hair out of its sad bun. I smooth it out and fix my appearance in record time. 

Stu looks a little too pleased with himself when I finally walk down the stairs. There’s a smugness that adds to my irritation. I have a feeling he can sense my disapproval, because he pulls his arm as we reach my front door. He squeezes me into his side, I roll my eyes. The amount of comfort the hint of something normal brings me is so shocking I can’t bring myself to squirm out of his grasp. 

-----

Eyes narrowing, grip on the steering wheel tightening, I prepare to face my enemy. A tight squeezed three point turn. 

“You’re overthinking it.” 

“Am not.” 

“Just like you under thought the red light.”

“It was yellow when I saw it.” I turn my head enough to face him, “It changed color deceptively fast.” Stu draws his eyebrows together, smiling in an oddly soft way. “What?” 

My dumbfounded tone makes his smile broaden. “You’ve gotta be right about everything, don’t’cha, angel?” 

I’m not sure if it’s his words or the deliberate amount of focus he’s using, but heat rushes to my face. “No, I just--I am.” Dropping my gaze, I tact on an awkward, “Usually.” Shifting in my seat, I refocus on the parking spot. “You sure you want me to park here?” 

“It’s easy.” More like easy for him to say. When I don’t ease, Stu extends his arm, placing a hand over mine. His hand is large enough to cover mine, his fingertips long enough to splay across the back of my palm and steering wheel. He’s always so warm. “You just need to open up. Take your time turning.” 

I nod, taking a deep breath as Stu scoots back in his seat to give me some mobility. Last time he tried holding my hand through it, but I think he’s starting to see how much of a disaster I am. This is around our fifth attempt. Earlier, I got his car stuck at a weird angle between a mail collection box and someone’s truck. 

With a deep breath, I put the car into reverse. I look through the back window, cringing when the curb comes a little too close. My foot hits the break, shifting the car back into drive. I inch it forward, stop, and put it back in reverse. I hit the gas a little too fast, making it a bumpy transition, but I haven’t hit anything yet. With one last turn, the car is put in the right direction. It’s a lot further than I’ve gotten before. I straighten out the wheels, minding the back of the truck as I drive forward, and--

Oh my god! Stu cheers, I can barely get the car into park before Stu places a hand on the side of my head, pulling me towards him with no warning and placing an overenthusiastic, partially open mouthed kiss against my temple. It’s pushy and honestly a little damp, but I’m too excited to mind. Can’t have him getting too comfortable, though, so I shrug him off a little in order to high five him. His hand lingers, squeezing my hand. 

“I did it!”

“Because of your talented, amazing, hot teacher who--” 

There’s that touch of over confidence bordering on narcissism that’s been missing. “What was that last o--” 

He turns my wrist over, striking the back of my wrist  with his pointer finger. A literal slap on the wrist. “Interrupting’s rude, princess.” Stu ignores the pointed look I send in his direction. “As I was saying,” he over emphasizes each syllable, “You should appreciate me, and I can think of a few ways for you to express your gratitude.” 

I should have seen that coming. I pull my hand towards my lap, my eyes settling there as well. “Your thoughts are the closest you’re getting.” I don’t realize what I’ve said until the muttered half thought is out. Great, now I’m going to get even more of this. 

Stu drops his head back, a hand flying to his chest. “You wound me.” His other hand finds itself settling right above my knee. “And for no reason.” His fingertips are pressing into my skin with just enough pressure to steal all my attention.  

The heat of his touch bleeds through the thin layer of my tights. My body tenses. “Knock it off, I still need to drive on a highway.” 

“Why?” The excitement in his voice gives away exactly where he’s going. “Distracted?” 

I shove his arm away with a sound that’s equal parts real laugh and awkward giggle. “The only thing I’m distracted by is the driver’s test I have in two days.”

Stu pouts, sinking into the passenger seat, “Boring.” 

Taking the car out of park, I mock his tone, “Driving.”

----

There’s something about the smell of books that’s comforting. Which why the bookstore might be my happy place. Which is why we should not be here. It’s basically impossible to be mad here. 

A fact Stu definitely knows considering the way he’s casually following me around, holding an ever growing pile of books with no complaint. This was the trap all along. 

“I know what you’re doing.” 

Stu hums once in pretend thought. “What? Spending time with you?”

An instinctual ‘why, was Tatum busy’ almost slips past me. “It’s not working, I’m still mad at you.” I pick up another book, turning it to skim the summary on the back before placing it on the stack Stu’s carrying. “You can’t just barge into my house, use my mom to arrange whatever this is--” 

He huffs, half stepping in front of me. “You don’t complain when it’s Billy.” 

That is completely different. First of all, it’s much less of an ambush considering that Billy has never once involved my mom or stopped me from studying. Second, Billy also never said anything about me being around too much.

I pause, tilting my head to look Stu in the eye and tell him all of that. He’s already looking at me with wide, attentive eyes that are distinct in a way that makes me still. Analytical in a way that’s unnerving. “You--you asked for space.” Feeling antsy, I scratch the back of my wrist as I try to keep myself from saying anything stupid. “And you were mean.” 

Wow. So much for holding it together. He angles his head to the side, regarding me cautiously. “It-it wasn’t about you.” The admission is practically pried from him. “There’s a lot going on right now, but I shouldn’t have hurt your feelings.” It’s not exactly the perfect apology, but there’s a surprising amount of vulnerability there. “Don’t you miss us?” Totally not a fair thing to ask, but Stu can definitely tell that I’m easing, “C’mon, let me make it all right. I’ll get you all the books you want.” 

I do, but that’s not a fair angle. Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I sigh. “I...I can’t be bought.” 

Maybe it’s my hesitation or the way my eyebrows raise instinctually or something about how fake my words sound, but Stu smiles, bouncing on the balls of his feet so quickly he nearly drops my pile. “We haven’t gotten to the hardcover books yet.”

Damn him. I roll my eyes as I drop my arms. There is no way I’m making a big show of dropping this, but I don’t exactly have enough fight left in me to prolong this. “Hardcover? Your arms are going to get tired.” 

The pile isn’t comically large, barely coming up Stu’s torso, but it still sways when he moves a hand away from the center. He flexes his bicep. “With these guns? No way, baby. Do your worst.” 

And so I do. We walk through the aisles together, giggling at any title that Stu can turn into a joke so dumb it circles right back around to funny. He’s patient, letting me debate between different books, and sometimes even giving me actual opinions outside of just get them both. He listens when I read the backs of books and sometimes excerpts from the first page or two.

He’s a good sport about the whole thing, only poking fun at my excitement in lighthearted ways and never really complaining until we’ve been there long enough to justify the hunger he starts talking about. I never did eat that apple and it is kind of close to a late lunch time. 

“You know I’m not actually making you buy all those books.” 

“I’m a man of my word, angel.” He hums, almost offended that I’d even imply he’d lie in a joking context. “Can’t have you making me a liar.” Stu sets down the pile in front of the cashier.

The thought of someone spending money on me in any capacity isn’t something I’ve always been comfortable with. I eye him, the hint of determination behind his eyes serious as he reaches for what I’d bet is a card backed by his parents. If Stu’s trying to make it up to me, I guess this is okay for a one time thing. “All I’m hearing is daddy’s money.” 

I’m grinning despite the look of warning he gives me. “Don’t start.” Stu’s eyes narrow as he pinches my cheek too quickly for me to protest. “I’m being nice.” 

He is. The realization that I like it, like him, like this hits hard and fast. “I like you nice.” 

Stu seems to pause at that like he’s actively trying to take in my expression. It briefly feels like just another one of his analytical moments until I notice the soft, almost unaware smile ghosting at the corner of his lips. Maybe he is trying to absorb some aspect of this. “Like me enough for a lunch date?” 

“If I fail my chem quiz on Wednesday, that’s on you.” 

He shrugs, grinning a bit with the motion. “Flunk outta that whole school thing and I’d take you in. Make you a cute, little housewife, get you one of those aprons.”

I should I have seen that coming. “I’m sure Tatum would love that.” 

“Tay’s fine, she passed chem.” His smug expression earns him a glare and a not-so-gentle elbow jab. “Ow.” Despite the definitely exaggerated sound of pain, Stu still looks happy, or at the very least amused by something I don’t get. “Feel like I’m with Billy.” He mumbles the comment under his breath instinctually. “Only he doesn’t hit me as hard.” 

“It was not that hard.” 

He makes a point of rubbing the side I elbowed. “If I’m bruised, will you kiss it better?”

Stu’s joking. I know that he’s joking, which means the way that heat rushes to my face is totally unnecessary. “You’re fine.” 

-- Narrator’s POV --

The low dip of the collar of your shirt is a lot harder to not focus on now that you’re sitting directly in front of him. You’re too content to notice any drift of concentration, you just continue to take bites of your food in between topics of conversation. 

It’s been silent for a few seconds longer than normal, and that cues Stu in to the fact that your attentive gaze is meant to be something more than cute. You’re waiting for some kind of response. He scrambles, snapping his gaze down towards his drink and then back up to you. What were you talking about? 

At first it had been something about a book series that recently released its third part. Stu didn’t get much, but you were excited to talk about it. Sometimes the reminder that under your particular sense of humor and pretty face you’re kind of a dork is endearing. Then you two had talked about school, the middle of the year approaching and an upcoming unit exam in your mutual history class. And then lastly...a movie or two you wanted to see. Were you still talking about that? 

“What’d you say?” 

You blink, only slightly confused as to why it took him so long to admit he didn’t hear you. “Just that I haven’t seen the new Amityville Horror movie yet and that I’m still on the fence because of the last one.” 

“It was okay. A little slow.” You nod at his reply absentmindedly, turning the straw in your cup in an attempt to push past cubes of ice to get to bit of liquid left at the very bottom of the cup. “Like most of the series, so I guess you’d like it.” 

The comment is equal parts honest as it is an excuse to get your lips to press together in that passive aggressive way. That paired with the way you raise your eyebrows in offense always makes him want to laugh. You’re upset enough to stop the shifting of your straw. “Are you saying I have bad taste?” 

“You like the slower ones, the ones with a psychological angle. You don’t like the gory ones because you can’t stomach them.” You pout, reaching for your glass, tilting it in another attempt to get some more liquid out of a cup that’s just ice. “You’re a girl, it makes sense.” 

“So now you’re saying I have bad taste in movies because I’m a girl?”

“All I’m saying is that good, bloody deaths is more of a guy thing. That’s why girls are never the killers.” 

Your eyebrows pinch together as your fingers move that straw again. “There are girl killers.” 

“Yeah, but they don’t give the good kinda cinematic kills, y’know.” You’re debating on pushing. Stu can tell because your pout morphs into something contemplative as you tilt your head. “Need a refill?” 

It’s only somewhat of a deflection. Stu doesn’t mind conflict (clearly), but it’d be nice to get through the day while keeping the peace. Plus, this isn’t something worth truly arguing about, at least not after all the work he’s put into getting you to relax again. And you do need a refill because pushing against ice with your straw isn’t getting you anywhere. 

You can tell that the abruptness of the question is likely a sign to drop it. It’s random enough to fit into category of Stu’s casual outbursts, so you don’t think he’s actually trying to force you to cave so you decide to go along with it. “Yeah.” You both look forward, noticing that even though the restaurant you two are at is pretty empty, no one’s coming towards the back section of booths you two are sitting in. “Might take a minute, but that’s okay.” 

Stu absentmindedly pushes his cup towards you, too hyperaware of how alone the two of you are. You smile gratefully before innocently taking a sip. “Thanks.”

He nudges your foot with his own, gauging your reaction to the contact. You give him a somewhat questioning look but do nothing to break the contact. Stu takes a deep breath, forcing himself to not react too outwardly at your acceptance. Stu takes your lack of protest as permission to push his leg even closer against yours.  He leans forward, supporting himself on his forearms in a way that makes the sleeve of his shirt ride up enough to expose some of his forearm. “Anything for you, babe.”

You roll your eyes, but all Stu can focus on is the way the corner of your mouth pulls upwards. There’s a sarcastic retort coming, Stu can feel it. Your lips part just as your gaze hones in on something that makes your eyes widen. “What happened?” 

Awkward nerves spike through Stu briefly. The last time this much genuine, gentle concern was so openly displayed towards him was when you were at the hospital. Despite a concussion, the meds coursing through you, and enough trauma to constitute a final girl origin story, you still noticed the bruise on his face. A mark caused by you and the phone you threw at him in Casey’s house, but you didn’t know that, and the way you watched him. Your worry was so innocently domestic he almost couldn’t look at you. 

And now you’re regarding him in that same way, staring at a nearly healed mark that’ll likely take time to fade. A jagged line that cuts across the side of his palm and into the start of the back of his hand. Stu doesn’t remember cutting himself while dragging you away from the shattered glass. Instead, all that comes to mind is a vague pulse of pain drowned out by the panic he felt after realizing that you weren’t waking up.

“Broke a glass.” He hopes the casualness of the lie compensates for his vagueness. 

You frown, taking his hand without asking and forcing him to keep his palm exposed at an angle that makes his arm feel stiff. “Did it hurt?”

Stu’s glad your eyes are on his hand because now he doesn’t have to worry about hiding his smile. Your question came out so instinctually, so caring. Like the most important thing right now is if he was in pain. 

“Nah,” he breathes, “I was--” He pauses briefly, because it’s not like he can say that he was distracted by the fact that he might have given you brain damage or worse. “High. That’s why I cut myself. I was too high to think through picking up the glass.” Looking up, you tilt your head to the side, almost smiling. “Are you making fun of me?” 

“I’d never.” You’re amused now that you know everything’s okay. “Wanna know something kinda cool?” With the way you’re watching him, waiting for an answer, Stu decides that you could say anything and he’d agree that it was the coolest thing ever, even if it’s just a lead up to another book rant. “Okay, well not cool cool, honestly, a little morbid, but in a cool-ish way.” 

Now actually curious, Stu nods, “Hit me.” 

You let go of his hand in favor of holding up your palm. He doesn’t get it until you tap the pointer finger of your opposite hand against a deep pink line that traces up the skin at an angle. It’s only a little thicker than your natural palm lines. “If I angle my hand like this,” you lay your fingers over his, taking a second to adjust the way your hand’s sitting, “They look alike.” 

It’s true, or at least, true enough. When you tilt your hand like that (and ignore that Stu’s cut crosses over to the back of his palm), the lines are practically identical. You’re smiling, like this is a sign, an indication that your kind of hurt could ever align with his.

Stu hadn’t thought much about it before. It’s not like the scar is on his face or anywhere significant to his appearance. But now that you’ve brought it up like this, Stu thinks about maybe taking a knife to the cut again, guaranteeing that it’ll become something permanent. 

“Okay, cool might’ve been a little much, but--” 

“No, no,” Stu finally settles on, “It is cool, like a sign or something.” 

Your eyebrows draw together for less than a second as you deduce exactly what kind of sign he’s talking about. Stu can tell the exact moment you piece it together because you press your lips together, al most glaring as you take your hand back. Your leg shifts, tapping your foot against his ankle in an attempted scolding. “Shut up.” 

Already feeling like he knows the answer, Stu asks, “How’d you get that one?” 

Your fingers curl forward even though your palm is already facing away from him, a sign of insecurity he doesn’t get. “Y’know.” There’s a pause as you stare at nothing in particular. “At Casey’s.” 

The hollowness of your voice strikes him in an unexpected way. Yeah, what happened must have scared you and the phone call probably didn’t help, but there’s such a sensitivity around Casey. 

Stu’s rational enough that he can get that it was traumatic, but it’s not like Casey was some lifelong friend. She wasn’t even your best friend. That’s been him and Billy since you got there.

He tries not to focus on it, but it’s too easy to let that grade school mentality take over. That overwhelming mine. The only thing that even comes close to rivaling that is the ugly tinge of worry colored in an ugly shade of guilt that comes up whenever he thinks of the way that you looked in the hospital. 

It gets under his skin a little, thinking about what it felt like to hurt you. The rush of the moment was unmatched, adrenaline from the kill and your unexpected protests mixing together. And there was a moment, when you were lying there, that Stu liked in a way he can’t put into words. Exciting in a different way. But then he noticed that you weren’t waking up, and blood was puddling around your face, and then he found out about your concussion.

Stu rarely seriously considers the possibility that something about the way he’s wired is wrong. “You’re uh--” You’re watching with patient eyes as Stu vaguely gestures to his temple, “Okay with all that, right?” 

Your chin tilts upwards as you briefly slip away. Billy had talked about potentially over traumatizing you. That’s why Stu had to drop the idea of you getting another ghostface call while alone with him so soon. When Billy mentioned it, it felt like all talk, but now with you getting like this... 

It’s weird. The thought of pushing you to the cusp of your breaking point isn’t unappealing, but the thought of having you broken is another thing entirely. Being broken is permanent, being broken changes things. 

“Concussion’s gone.” It’s a mumbled comment. You tap your nails against the table again. “But if you’re asking about the other stuff. I don’t know, I hate to admit this because Casey’s the real victim...” Stu nods, a tiny bit annoyed that this is somehow about Casey again. You’re so much better off without her. She was a bad girlfriend, she wouldn’t have been a good friend to you. She would have managed to get in between the two of you in the long run. “But I have good days and bad days and that’s part of the reason I’ve been home so much. It sounds stupid, but--”

“It doesn’t sound stupid.” This is a better topic. A safer one. You nod once, but your expression isn’t convinced and Stu doesn’t know how to dive in. “And this is about you way more than it is Casey. Casey’s dead and you’re not.” The bluntness nearly makes you flinch, something Stu only somewhat dislikes. He didn’t mean to be harsh, but you needed to hear it. “What’s today?” 

The change is jarring enough to keep you from getting lost in your head again. “Today?” 

“A good day or a bad day?” 

Your expression turns, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. After a second of thought, you settle on, “Good. Especially now.” 

He beams. “Especially?” You nod, returning his enthusiasm with the single motion. Stu focuses his energy on gripping the edge of the plastic booth seat to keep himself from reaching over and pulling you towards him. He settles for nudging his foot against yours. “You want to get into the effect I have on you?” 

“Your ego’s plenty healthy as is.” 

“So it’d be good for my ego?” 

At that, you freeze, the coy expression on your face slipping. The flash of nerves fuels Stu. “Why are we friends?” It’s a cop out sort of comeback, and you instantly pop a french fry into your mouth to avoid having to say anything else for a second.

-- Y/n’s POV -- 

I didn’t expect to be here tonight, but my mom was more than happy to keep me out of the house. According to her, I’ve been a little too much into the books lately, but that’s not my fault. I fell behind a little after the attack and my concussion, and I will not let some sociopath ruin my GPA...or my social life.

Just because I feel like me and everyone I care about is safer when I’m home and out of everyone’s business doesn’t mean I need to cower in my room constantly. Even though that’s been pretty good for some of my grades (and I’ve written out some points of what I’ve been through recently that’d make a pretty good college essay), but that’s not the point. I can’t let that bitch win.

So now I’m here, sitting in Stu’s living room with the group, a movie that’s a little more bloody than I’d like playing. It’s okay, though. Everyone’s reaction to me showing up again was worth it. They weren’t overdramatic about it, but the warmth of it was nice.

Now we’re all a mess of blankets and pillows and couch cushions. I managed to snag a middle spot on the main couch, Tate’s head on my shoulder and Billy’s hand loosely resting against my forearm. The gesture is a barely there display of consistency that keeps me relaxed, even as the on screen action gets more and more gory. 

“Stu,” Tatum mumbles at another extended stabbing scene, “I said nothing too stab-y.” She lifts her head slightly, vaguely gesturing to me as Stu tilts his head far enough back to fully press into her knees. 

He’s been sitting with his back to the couch since we got here. I thought he’d be more annoying about it since Tatum told him to knock it off earlier in the night, but once the movie started Stu dropped it. If there’s one thing that’ll get Stu to focus it’s any movie that clearly saved a large part of their budget for fake blood.

“She’s fine,” Stu hums petulantly before turning to look at me, “Aren’t you, bugaboo?” 

I wrinkle my noise at the nickname, smacking his hand away as he reaches for my knee. Gory movies have been a little difficult for me lately, but this hasn’t been too bad. I’m surrounded by people in a well lit area and every time the action picks up, Billy runs his knuckles up and down my forearm until it ends. 

Stu pokes at my knee, trying to get some kind of reaction. “It’s not that--Stu, knock it off, I’m literally agreeing with you.” At that, he flashes all of his teeth before leaning towards me. He sticks his tongue out, quickly licking the side of my knee before I can react. Stu has the audacity to laugh as I smack the back of his head. “Stu!” 

“And...you two not fighting lasted an entire hour.” Randy sighs, glaring at us from his own seat. The pinch of actual irritation in his voice is fair. Stu and I haven’t exactly made it easy to be around us. Our casual bickering is a cakewalk compared to how we’ve been acting. Kind of more my fault than his because every time Stu tried to force niceness, that’d just irritate me more. Lots of petty comments. Lots of bickering. “New record.” 

“Oh, there’s no fight,” Stu’s insistence is loud and over enthusiastic as he leans his weight against my leg. “Me and sweetcheeks here are as strong as ever.” 

I sit up enough to gently flick the side of his head, “Keep telling yourself that.” 

Stu lets out a mock gasp, “That wasn’t nice.” 

Billy taps my arm, “Mean.” 

Shrugging a little too smugly, I sink further into the couch, “Guess I’m a bully.” 

Stu blinks, turning his head even more, “What. An. Attitude.” The over emphasis on each syllable makes my face feel oddly warm. 

Tatum shifts, lifting her head off of me and kicking Stu’s side. It doesn’t look like a totally violent move but it feels more pointed than a joking shove. The way Stu sits up straighter tells me he didn’t quite expect that. “Knock it off.” 

Frowning, Stu relaxes his back against the couch. “She started it.” 

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21

le babe: you guys don’t need to go out there’s a killer :(

stu-billy: aww, are you scared?

le babe: yeah you guys could get hurt :(

stu-billy: windows error noise

they start glitching like the chromebook i tried to illegally downloads sims on for free in middle school

Gingerbread

 A/n small christmas drabble i talked about earlier,, just a cute little holiday snippet 

Summary: Billy and Stu don’t particularly care about Christmas, but they like being around you.  

----

His words are sinking in because it’s been long enough and you can’t just stare at Stu forever, but you can’t think of a way to react. After all, one of the most enthusiastic people you’ve ever met just casually admitted to not being super into the holidays. 

The holidays aren’t something people are or aren’t into. They’re a state of mind, a ritual, a time of year to put aside the pretext of angst in order to take joy in the simple things like decorating little cookie people and walking around to look at everyone’s lights.

“You’re ‘not into the holidays’?” Stu blinks, a pinch of humor playing into his expression at your disbelief. “What do you mean you’re ‘not into the holidays’?” 

“What I said, sweetheart,” he hums with a casualness that’s nearly suspicious because you’re still not convinced, “I’m not nine so I’m not super into it.” 

It. “What’s there not to be into?” You feel a bit like a kid with your insistence, but come on--it’s weird that Stu, who’s all energy and pro anything that gets him time off school is indifferent about the holiday season. 

Who’s indifferent about the holiday season? You get why some people might hate this time of year and you don’t expect everyone to be all deck the halls, tinsel coming out of every crevice of their being, or anything--but this much flatness? It’s weird. Especially from him. 

Stu’s eyebrows pull together. He’s clearly enjoying something about your shock. “It was fun when I was a kid, but you grow out of the holly jolly. The decorators come, Leslie pops in, and we get gifts. It’s nothing world changing.” 

The bit of insight only vaguely helps, shifting your total disbelief into something a little more downcast. His apathy seems to stem from his family dynamic at least a little. “Well, what about you?” 

Billy angles his head in your direction, leaning against the island of your family’s kitchen. His pause is cut short by Stu, “Oh, don’t even try with Billy. He’s the real Grinch here.” 

Your head snaps towards Billy. “You hate Christmas?” 

“Hate’s a strong word,” Billy answers, his flatness ruined by the slight amusement at your total shock. When you don’t ease, Billy shrugs, eyes dropping to focus on the granite countertop instead of your face, “Christmas was my mom’s thing.” 

You have to bite your tongue to keep from asking if you heard correctly. Billy mentioning his mom in any capacity is shocking enough, but hearing him talk about her so casually and with such blankness is something else entirely.

“My dad and I just aren’t that into it.” 

Nodding once, you’re not sure there’s a good way to continue. “So no baking cookies? Got it.”

Stu leans forward, nudging you with his elbow. “I didn’t say that, princess, I’ll play house with you.”

It takes a second of reflection, but you guess you can see how Stu found a way to weasel in that angle. You weren’t thinking of it when you brought up the cookie thing, but you should have expected it. Stu has a talent for reading between lines in a way that makes it easy to translate subtext into anything he wants it to be. You don’t think you get why he’d want to perceive it that way, but decide that a dip into psychoanalysis will derail the afternoon.

It’s not too weird, you guess, at least not too weird for Stu. His parents aren’t around much so all those little things need to be found in friendship. It’s the defense you use for a lot of Stu’s tiny comments and actions. It’s a fair excuse, and not the worst way his potential parental issues come out, and--

Okay. This is the exact psychological deep dive you didn’t want to take. If you think too hard on it, you feel bad about it. What kind of friend needs to over observe and read into everything like that? 

“Yeah?” You tap your nails along the granite, “Willing to wear an apron and everything?” 

Stu tilts his head, leaning forward and lifting his hand to your cheek. He pinches the skin of your cheek too quickly for you to protest. “You’re the one with the legs for it.” 

It’s dumb enough that you should be able to think of some kind of retort, but the way he says it, voice all low and eyes too focused, derails your train of thought entirely. “And you’re the one with the legs that can reach the top shelf where the flour is.” 

----

“I’m doing it right.” It’s little more than a huff and it’s quickly followed by a full, unashamed pout. “You just like being bossy.” 

Glaring at Stu as he squishes the dough between his fingers instead of fully flattening it, you cross your arms across your chest. It’s a bad idea, because flour is coating both of your hands and more powder smudges against your shirt. You’re surprised that you didn’t think to expect such a mess.  “Do not.”

“The power trip’s adorable.” 

“And how cute will you find it when I kick your ass?” 

He does the most offensive thing possible. He grins, full teeth and not even the tiniest bit menaced. “Yeah? You’re gonna kick my ass?” 

His reply is equal parts teasing and something you’ve never been able to name but have always known not to push too far. Winding Stu up is fun until it’s not and the line shifts with little warning. “Maybe,” it feels more like a retreat than you’d like. 

“I wouldn’t try her,” Billy’s voice comes out half disinterested as he continues to mostly do as told, evening out the dough Stu un-smoothed. “She can be mean.” 

You fight a smile, “Not mean--fair.” 

Billy pauses in a consideration so deliberate it almost feels like he’s making fun of you in a lighthearted way. “Tough.” 

Nodding once, you move to press your palm into the dough. “I have to be to keep two specific people I can never shake in line.” 

“Two people you can’t shake.” Billy’s thumb presses into the side of the dough stiffly, flattening the dough too thinly. “Sounds like you have some stalkers.” 

You move your hand to adjust the distribution of the dough, your fingers brushing against the side of Billy’s hand. “Nah,” you hum casually, “They’re nice in their own weird way.”

Billy turns his hand, skin settling against yours in a way that’d feel intentional if it wasn’t for the way he dutifully returned to evening the dough. “Weird?” It’s said softly enough, a touch of lightheartedness etched into the word. 

You’re about to make some joke about how weird is a total understatement when you’re yanked back with no warning. Your body has barely moved a full step, but the sudden, firm grip on your waist and left forearm forces you to bite your tongue to avoid yelping. Flour puffs into a cloud that gets all over you and up your nose.

“Stu!” 

He laughs, not letting go. “What happened to keeping us in check?” 

The jab makes you feel like you could kill him in order to prove a point. You squirm aimlessly, too offended to manage anything else. Stu’s relentless in his hold as you twist until you’re facing him. His expression leaves something in your stomach on edge. It’s not genuine panic or comfortability either. You can’t decide whether that makes you want to move or stay in place.

Stu angles his head downwards and you slowly raise a hand. He doesn’t question it until it’s too late and you’re opening your palm in order to let out a quick, sharp breath. Flour strikes Stu in a way that seems to genuinely catch him by surprise. It’s enough to make you laugh until his stillness sinks in. His hold on you feels firmer now and you’re not sure if the change is new or if you had been too distracted to notice before. Your lower back presses into the kitchen counter as you instinctually shift back. 

The bubbling of your internal awkwardness combines uneasily with the humor of earlier. It sits and builds with no where to go until you blurt out, “You in check yet?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Don’t get a big head, babydoll.” 

You’re not sure you get the framing of his words and their uncharacteristically stiff undertone. Before you can dwell, Billy sighs. “You two are little kids.” 

Any hint of edge that had just started building up vanishes as Stu turns his head. “Moody.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, feeling like your proving Billy’s point, “We should dump flour on Billy.” 

“An entire bag,” Stu angles his head to face you again, slowly releasing you, “We could wait for him to go to the bathroom and ambush him.” 

“You hide around the corner and I’ll hide behind the couch. No escape.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “You’re conspiring in front of me.” 

“Maybe I’m just trying to lure you into a false sense of security and I’m actually planning something a lot worse.” 

His eyebrows draw together, a desperate attempt at annoyance. “You wouldn’t make a good bad guy.” 

You let out a sound of mock offense. “You have no idea what I’m capable of plotting. I could be a total evil mastermind.” 

With a loud snort, Stu brings attention back to him. “You’re better off sticking to the cookies.” Before you can protest, Stu challenges your irritated expression with a question, “Okay--slasher movie, how do you take out your first victim?”

You’d point out that you weren’t trying to prove you’d be a fantastic killer in a scary movie, but they’d take that as giving up. Especially since you should have known that one of them would go there eventually. “Those things are unrealistic because half the time not getting caught isn’t a priority.” The answer feels a little bit like a cop out, and so you take a second to actually think it through, “But, I guess, off the top of my head I’d take out the first victim way before the others to make the crimes seem disconnected.” 

Billy asks, “Then what?” 

Ugh. You don’t love being put on the spot and this could easily turn into a sore subject with how seriously they take their scary movies. You’re not in the mood to be made into a joke as they pick apart your murder plan without taking into consideration that they gave you no notice. “I don’t know--take out the second victim alone to allow suspense to build and then attack the last of them all at once at some place I’m supposed to be at and then injure myself to make it easier to frame someone close enough to the victims to already have the police’s eye on them.” 

“Boring,” Stu exhales, dragging out the two syllables, “You left out the good, bloody details. Think you’d look cute all stabby--” 

“You want to see me stab happy? Because I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.” 

“Ouch,” Stu drops his head onto your shoulder, feigning a pain to rival an actual wound, “I’d let you live if I was a killer.” Not breaking at what’s clearly a compliment, you cup some more flour into your hand before blowing it into his face again. “You’re mean.” The whine is followed by him burring his head into his shoulder as he pretends to cry, affectively forcing the flour all over your shirt. 

Billy leans forward, grabbing a cloth rag from the other side of the counter before dropping it in front of you. “Clean up before you get it on me.” He catches the look behind your eye before you even realize what you’re doing. “Don’t.” 

His warning isn’t serious to constitute a threat or ruin the mood, but you’re not in the mood to make this painful. He’s already precarious enough when it comes to Christmas as is. “You’re no fun.”

----

Baking cookies has never taken you this long in your life. You’re sure that you were a better cookie assistant when you were a toddler than Billy and Stu were today, but you don’t mind. 

You had to take a quick shower while the cookies were in the oven because there was no other way to get all of that flour off. Stu did the same once you got out of the bathroom. Though, according to Stu and his never ending jokes and little comments, the truly practical thing would have been to shower together.

But now you’re dry and clean and Stu finally put on the shirt you stuck in the wash back on, you’re all left with a tiny army of gingerbread men. Yours are decorated a little cliche, gum drop buttons and crooked frosting smiles. Stu took creative liberties in the making of his thanks to help from the red food coloring he found in the back of the kitchen cabinet. Billy’s was surprisingly the neatest but was only decorated as an average guy in order to be a victim to Stu’s axe wielding gingerbread man. 

You rolled your eyes, but the amount of background and voices that went into the production of the mini massacre that only spared your cookies was funny.

"So, sugarplum.” The nickname forces your nose to wrinkle and you fight a laugh the same way a parent who doesn’t want to encourage bad behavior in a toddler would. That much affirmation could lead to sugarplum joining the already lengthy lineup of pet names Stu rotates through on a regular basis. “What’s your heart’s Christmas wish?” 

Okay--you’re not made of stone. A laugh that’s a little too loud slips out. “You don’t need to be that cheesy, all I did was get you to bake cookies.”

Stu forces out a mock gasp, eyes flitting towards Billy. “Can you believe her?” 

“I can’t believe you used ‘sugarplum’ and ‘Christmas wish’ in the same sentence.” Billy lifts his head up from the couch long enough for you to catch his slight smile. You laugh again, a little more comfortably. 

“Yeah, yeah, gang up on me,” Stu says this like he has never been this tired or this victimized in his life. He moves to sit on the couch, taking a second to comfortably adjust before patting his thigh. “If I get one of those hats will you sit on my lap and tell me what you want?” 

You roll your eyes, fighting against the burning sensation in your face. “Yeah,” flopping onto the couch at what you consider a safe distance, you continue, “And then if I’m lucky you’ll put me on the nice list.” 

“There’s an easy way to g--” He’s cut off by a pillow hitting the edge of his chin before smacking against his chest and landing on his lap. Stu gasps with an over the top level of offense. “What? I was going to say all you had to do was get me another cookie from the kitchen.” 

It’s blatant bullshit. “Mhm,” you cross your arms, settling on your spot, “I’m sure.” 

“Cross my heart.” He makes a point of tracing the ‘X’ motion over his chest. “I’m easily pleased.” 

Billy gently kicks his foot against Stu’s. “Since when?” 

“Since always.” Stu sits up, turning his full attention back to you. “But seriously, princess, what do you want for Christmas?” 

The question makes you feel awkward despite it’s casualness. “Um...” Every time people ask it, your mind instantly wipes and you can’t think of anything you’ve ever desired or needed. Besides, gift buying is inherently awkward when it’s talked about. “Nothing really, as of right now, I guess.” 

Stu practically whines like your response is a seriously, deeply personal issue. “Don’t pretend, it just makes Christmas shopping harder.” 

“You don’t have to get me anything.” 

“Like I’m not getting my best girl anything.” 

Sitting up a little further, you’re not sure what you to say to that. Sometimes Stu’s joking flirting is a little hard to laugh about when it’s that blatant. “You guys should help me put up some lights in my room. Last year I almost broke the curtain rod so now I’m banned from doing it alone.” 

You stand before any further comment can be made, fully aware of how transparent and flimsy the transition feels, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’d much rather be playing with colored lights as Stu gets too comfortable climbing up stepping stools and furniture than having whatever that conversation would have been. 

Final Girl - Part 8

Series Masterlist (updated chapters 1 -9 and extras) Final Girl Masterlist

A/N this took awhile,, but i always want to put my best foot forward bc of how much this series means to me, which means i work when i’m in the right headspace for it and have the time to invest,, which hasn’t been lining up too much recently 😭 anyways i see all the supportive comments and appreciate them sm!!

also keep in mind that my priority is not the timeline, like if you’re feeling like the month before halloween is the longest month of all time,, it’s bc i want to give them bonding time before the heavy murder stuff! 

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at the Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s/

Chapter Summary: Y/n tries to get back to normal and work on her friendships, but there’s nothing normal about surviving a serial killer attack, and it’s no one’s fault her friends keep noticing. She’s navigating the start of dealing with her trauma while also trying to be a good friend, especially since Billy hasn’t been feeling like himself lately. In a desperate attempt to feel like a normal, healthy teenager, Y/n crosses a personal boundary. 

----

My mom has often told me that in many ways, I was born as an old lady. 

She’d always say it after I tried being responsible. Suggesting that she give herself a curfew on weeknights, or at the very least, call if she was going to be late. Reminding her that there’s a reason people gave her the side eye when she took a visibly underage me into R-rated movies. 

Now that I’m older, I guess she was right in a lot of ways. I wasn’t the kid-iest kid, if that makes sense, but there was one thing I was always good at: playing dress up. 

With a mom like Gloria, it would have been hard not to. For years, my mom’s closet basically had the same magical properties as Disneyland. I thought that that mindset might have just been nine-year-old me, but apparently not, because Tatum and Sidney have been looking through it like it’s life changing. 

“Okay.” Tatum picks up one of my mom’s shimmery wrap and tosses it over her shoulder. “It’s official, when I die, I want to be buried here.”

I look over in time to watch her observe herself in the mirror. “Then I hope you live for a very long time.” 

She wrinkles her nose.  “That better not be the only reason.” 

“Course not, you know I love you very much, Tate-a-boo.” I make a quick kiss-y face, and Tatum almost giggles before returning the gesture. 

Turning away from my mom’s dresses, Sidney smiles. “Please, for all our sakes, don’t let Stu hear you say that.” 

After the joke settles, I practically snort. “Good point.” I step a little further into the closet, refocusing my attention. The only reason we’re all in here is because I wanted to borrow a pair of shoes before going out to the nail salon. It was Tatum’s idea, and the state of my cuticles made me agree. My social hibernation has not been good to them. “Okay, these are the shoes.” 

Sidney steps out of the closet to give me the space to do the same. I slip on the shoes, happy with how they look with my outfit and their level of comfortableness. My mom rarely buys any shoes for herself that aren’t heels, so she ends up taking anything that’s remotely comfortable from my closet. 

“I want to stay here.” Tatum’s hand brushes against the sleeve of something cashmere. “Maybe forever.” 

“And leave your nail beds like that?” Sid glances away from the full length mirror that’s right outside of my mom’s closet. She turns her attention to her reflection, adjusting the fluffiness of her always, almost magically perfect bangs.

Tatum halfheartedly glares before stepping out of the closet. “You’re such a liar.” She raises a hand, studying her palm while walking out of the closet. “You told me they looked fine yesterday.”

Sidney almost smiles before throwing me a look. A quick raise of eyebrows that seems to say got her. “We’re gonna be late.” 

----

The first nail appointment after awhile always feels like willingly volunteering to get a bunch of paper cuts. It’s not overwhelming painful, just a little irritating. After feels nice, though, now that my nails look fresh and I know I don’t have to worry about having my cuticles professionally gutted for a little bit. 

And being around Sidney and Tatum is nice. Familiar in a way that’s still new. It’s weird in a good way. Like I could start throwing around cheesy terms like BFF and it wouldn’t even be dumb. It’d still be ironic, but I think they’d get the sentiment. It’s not that I’ve never had good friends, but this is different. A little more open.

Like right now we’re in Sidney’s room and we’re not talking about anything in particular, just going off of whatever comes up. I could probably say the dumbest thing in the world right now and it wouldn’t even feel unfitting or awkward. 

“...Shut up, he was not that bad.” Tatum’s trying to sound more upset than she is. Somehow Sidney found a way to tell me about Tatum’s first boyfriend. A total middle school romance--they even went to the 8th grade dance together and held hands and had their first kiss under the bleachers. Sounds cute enough, but according to Sidney he was a total weirdo. Even by 8th grade boy standards. “He wasn’t.” 

Sidney laughs again, the movement has her arm bumping into mine. “He tried to eat a live lizard because Stu dared him.” 

“No way.” I snort. “Your first kiss was with a lizard eater?” 

Tate sighs, dropping her head against the side of the mattress and crossing her legs on the floor. “Tried. It ran away and no one ever found it.” That’s still objectively hilarious. I can’t picture Tatum with anyone that out there, but then again, she is with Stu. 

Not that he reminds me of an 8th grade boy trying to eat a lizard, but he was the one that came up with the idea. “Maybe Stu ate it.” 

Tatum glares, halfheartedly shoving my leg as Sidney clasps a hand over her mouth to avoid laughing too hard. “I’ll ask him.” 

It’s strange to picture them like that. A little younger, growing up together. “So you guys knew each other back then and now...” 

She shrugs, “I don’t know...it just kind of happened. He was always hooking up with or seeing any girl with a pulse and I didn’t even see him like that until after--” She cuts herself off with no warning. “You know Sidney and Billy have a way nicer getting together story.” Tate snaps her head up to look at Sidney, whose expression immediately shifts. “Right, Sid?” 

Sidney’s eyes briefly meet mine. There’s a bit of uneasiness there that I don’t get. What could the end of Tatum’s thought have been? What could she have been about to say that might have been--oh. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, “Billy and I were hanging out for weeks--” 

“You can say her name.” My throat feels drier than it did a second ago. “I won’t freak out if you mention Casey. Promise.” 

Tatum’s eyes briefly shut. “That’s--” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. I’m right. Why wouldn’t she think I’d freak out? After the way I acted at that party. “No one would blame you if you did.” 

It’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter when you’re not the one that has melt downs. “Yeah.” 

There’s a brief stretch of awkward silence, the light mood now tainted by the exact thing that’s kept me away from my friends for so long. Maybe keeping to myself was about more than the safety of others--maybe I don’t want anyone to know what I’m like now. 

“It’d be weirder if you weren’t a little messed up about it.” Tatum hums the words with such casualness I can’t help but laugh, even when Sidney snaps her head to the side to give her a seriously look. “I’m serious, only a total psycho would be able to see that and jump back into things.” 

Sidney sits up a little more, “And you took the SAT a week after it all happened. You’re doing a lot better than most people would be doing.” 

I nod, glad that they’re at least good at pretending that I’m not a total mess. “Yeah, guess I’m just sensitive about it because I freaked out on Noel at that party.” Ugh. That’s been something I’ve been trying really hard to forget. “He probably thinks I’m a total freak.” My eyes squeeze shut at the memory of the party. I had been a total mess. I flip flopped on murder accusations like it was nothing and nearly ran to Casey’s house in the middle of the night. “He’s probably told everyone I’m a total freak.” 

“You don’t know that.” Sidney’s nice for trying to comfort me, but it’s not the best argument. She picks up on my expression because she then immediately tacks on, “Okay, let’s be logical--why would he do that?” 

“Why wouldn’t he after the way I acted?” Ugh. Every guy that knows him is going to think I’m a complete weirdo. This is what I get for trying to date. “And it’s not like he called after. He hasn’t even talked to me in class since.” 

Sidney’s eyebrows draw together briefly before her hands move off of her lap and land on her comforter. She pushes herself to stand. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” 

“Noel’s a total scrub. You’re better off.” Tatum stands too, scratching the back of her arm once. She approaches the bag she abandoned near Sidney’s door, “I brought that eyeshadow I was telling you about. The sparkly, blue one that makes everyone look like Baby Spice.” 

She exhales what’s almost a laugh and I find myself not being able to answer. That does sound like something I’d normally happily go along with. Even though Tatum tends to go for a more subtle look on the day to day, she has a solid makeup collection. Lots of trendy shimmers and bright colors that are fun to swatch and mess around with. But there’s something about the way she said it...breezed away from one topic to this.

And the way Sidney just got up like she was hoping that’d change something. I sit up a little straighter, trying to remember what it’s like to not feel paranoid all the time.

Sidney stops adjusting her hair and messing with her bangs in the mirror. “Or we could hold off on that and go to the video store.” Another change to a topic that normally I’d be all over. “I think Randy’s working, we could bug him a little and get something to watch later.” 

Okay, another thing I’d normally want to do. It has been a minute since I’ve gotten to annoy Randy, and the itch is definitely there. Maybe they’re just trying to be good friends and cheer me up, but they’re spitting out suggestions in a way that feels like they’re really hoping one will stick.

 “Are--do you guys know something about something?” Ugh. If this is my paranoia acting up, I’ll never recover. Why can’t I just go along with things? “I don’t know if it’s me and my head, but you’re acting kinda weird.” 

“No, we’re just--” Sidney’s eyes don’t stay on me, they shift over to Tatum for the briefest second. I blink and almost convince myself I’ve imagined it. “You’re not crazy, we just don’t want to stress you out.” 

I push myself onto my feet. “That is the worst thing you can say to someone you don’t want to stress out.”

Sidney’s eyebrows draw together like she’s worried. I almost feel bad for pushing. “Noel not talking to you isn’t an accident or your fault.” 

“Sid.” I snap my head in Tatum’s direction. She hesitates beneath my stare and gives in with a sigh, “Okay, Noel’s a player who brags about crushing girls’ virginities and breaking up with them the next day. He talks about every girl he’s dated like they’re some kind of car and there are even worse things written about him in the handicap stall of the second floor bathroom.” Tatum pauses, considering how she’s going to word what actually happened. “You’re going through a lot right now and that’s the last thing you need, and we were worried about you, so we talked to Stu and Billy and basically...got Noel to back off.” 

Oh my god. The embarrassment, anger, and shock are all fighting for dominance in my mind, but none of them overpower the other so the feeling is just really fucking bad. All I can picture is Billy and Stu talking to Noel like I’m some little kid or someone with brain damage that can’t make their own choices. 

“You guys suck!” I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, exhaustion cutting into my irritation. “Like really suck. I’m not some child that can’t make her own decisions.” Ugh--I can’t even decide how to react. “It’s not like I was going to marry him or anything.” 

Tatum watches me with a certain level of uncertainty. I don’t think I’ve ever snapped at her or Sidney before. “You’re not exactly a casual dater.” 

“Well--I-I could have been.” It feels awkward, almost reluctant, and I hate myself for it. She’s technically right. I’ve never casually dated, but I’ve never seriously dated either, so it probably wouldn’t kill me. “Either way, it might have been a mistake, but it was my mistake to make.”

“I know, Y/n,” Sidney breathes the words slowly, “We didn’t mean anything by it, it wasn’t like a whole scheme or anything it just--” She’s trying, really trying. “We wanted to help you.” 

I didn’t need help, I was fine. The genuine hint of worry in her tone keeps me from pointing that out. I just stare at her and then at Tatum. Why does it matter anyways? Everyone gets to be normal and do dumb things and have people they’re close with and relationships and all I have is the stupid ‘almost murdered’ label. 

“Why does it matter enough for you to--” I cut myself off, not sure what I’m really asking or what I mean. 

Tatum lets out a small sigh, the sound almost reluctant, maybe a tiny bit annoyed that she even has to talk about this. “Because you’re our friend,” she half shrugs like what she’s saying should have been assumed , “And we love you.” She presses her lips together briefly, “Duh.” 

Sidney throws a look in Tatum’s direction, “Yeah, we love you so much we were willing to risk you being super mad at us because we were worried.” Sidney pauses to take a breath. “We shouldn’t have done it behind your back, and in the future we won’t meddle.”

When I don’t ease, Tatum tacts on, “If it makes things any better, Stu’s normally a total guy’s guy about this kind of thing and even he thinks Noel’s a total creep.” She scratches the back of her wrist, “And those two never care about this stuff, so, boohoo, we all love you.” 

Okay, that doesn’t exactly fix things but it does take the edge off just a tiny bit. They all go way back, and that’s intimidating. And Tatum’s trying to be funny about it, layering on the sarcasm so that I’ll laugh. I hate that it’s almost working. “Well, as long as it’s just everyone being obsessed with me...” The joke feels like a bit of a betrayal, so I tact on something else, “I’m still mad, though.” That feels even weaker. I’m too in my head about all of it and still pretty embarrassed despite the fact that I didn’t do anything. It won’t last forever, but right now, it’s all feeling like too much. The safety of my bedroom feels miles away instead of the few blocks it actually is. “I think I-I’m gonna...” 

“No,” Tatum huffs, “It wasn’t supposed to be a thing.” She tilts her head to the side, silky blonde hair bouncing with the motion. “We haven’t seen you in forever and it was more Stu and Billy’s thing, they’ve been ready to start a thing with him since like the 9th grade.” 

More Stu and Billy’s thing? That almost makes sense for Billy, who Noel casually suggested could be a murderer. But Stu? Noel seemed to like him well enough. Maybe it’s a loyalty thing. I can see Billy and Stu having a bit of package deal friendship. You can’t hate on one without becoming enemy of the other. And with how generally protective Stu seems to be over his friends, it’d make sense. 

But still. I am not a bargaining chip or an excuse or someone that needs their approval on who I do or don’t date.

“Let’s do whatever you want to do and then if you’re still mad, we can invite them over and you can yell at them.” 

Tatum almost smiles, “You’re good at that.” 

That...feels a little weird. “I’m good at yelling?” 

“No, it’s like when you told off that reporter. One minute, you’re normal, but then, when you need to be--bam! You’re super bitch.” 

I laugh, this time it’s genuine. “Super bitch strikes again.” The exit is still close, and some nervous part of me wants to cling to the out. I’m not sure if it’s out of some form of fear or genuine anger or both. But I do want to stay around them a little longer and go take way too long renting a video just to annoy Randy. “If I get to pick what we do, I say we go bother Randy and get a movie. He’s had it easy for too long.” 

Sid half scoffs at my ominous tone. “How do you know?” 

"Knowing whether or not Randy needs to be annoyed is my superpower.” 

----

The video rental is surprisingly empty for early Thursday evening. Schools are out and it’s close enough to the weekend where normally there are more people stopping by to check out what they want to watch in advance. Today doesn’t reflect that. Good to know that my Randy distress radar is still in tact. 

There’s an older man adjusting the latest release aisle, changing out movies. He’s the only employee that I see as I scan over the store and a part of me nearly deflates. Sidney did say she thought Randy would be working and I have no way of knowing. Our friendship has also been a victim to my recent hermit ways, and it’s likely suffered more than my connection with anyone else. At least my other friends are in a couple of my classes or need to walk down the same hallways. Most of Randy’s classes aren’t near mine and we only share a study hall, which he often uses as an excuse to leave early in order to get to work. Meaning that most days I only see him during lunch. 

The door to the back swings open and behind a cart of VHS tapes, there’s a familiar face. Randy. I find myself smiling as I approach the counter he’s coming up from behind. 

“Excuse me,” he glances up, a bit of surprise causing him to raise his eyebrows, “I was wondering if you have a copy of Child’s Play 2, but not the original, the extended cut with the alternate ending, Sorority House Massacre, uncut, duh, and/or Fox’s original version of Clueless.” 

Randy blinks, unfazed by my bullshit. “I’ve been around you too long to fall for that last one.” 

I almost laugh. I can’t believe Randy remembers my rant about the developmental nightmare that was the original Clueless pitch. Fox wanted a TV show, but they got a movie instead, and that took way too long for no reason. I had talked about it a lot longer than I meant to the other day at school. “You caught it.” 

“Decoys are always more obvious than they seem to the person making them.” It feels like some kind of movie rule reference, vague enough for me to get how it applies but not so random I feel the need to ask. “So are you here to rent something or make my job harder?” 

“A little of both.” Turning my head, I gesture to where Sidney and Tatum are. They’re in the same aisle, backs to each other as they scan through options. “We wanted something to watch and Sidney said she thought you’d be working today.” I tap my nails against the counter. “And I had this feeling that things have probably been too easy for you.”

Randy’s lips turn upwards but it feels a little different than a smile. “Yeah, nothing but peace since you...” 

“Became a total paranoid PTSD recluse?” 

He half shrugs, “Jack Torrence.” I roll my eyes, a little relieved that Randy’s joking about it instead of pressing. It’s part of the reason he’s a good friend to have. “You’re feeling better, though, right?” 

Spoke a little too soon, but that’s an okay question. It’s not invasive, it’s just an offer. “Getting there.” 

Randy nods, taking in the answer for what feels like a little too long for two words. Maybe he’s feeling the honesty of what does seem like a cop out answer. I’m not over it by any means, but feeling better is a process that’s starting to work. “That’s good.” He pushes the cart slightly before pulling back to place. “You’re good.” Randy lets out a breath, tugging and pushing the cart again. “I mean--deserve to feel good and normal.” 

I grin at the stumble in words. It’s rare that we’re openly nice to each other instead of acting like little kids after one pulls the other’s hair. “I get what you mean.” 

His lips part, but no words come out. Randy’s eyebrows draw together as his mouth shuts. What is--a firm touch on my shoulder snaps the question out of me. My head turns and some kind of comment about being rude to people in line rises and immediately falls back down. Stu! And then I remember my earlier conversation and it feels a lot more like: Oh. Stu. 

It’s such an instant flip that for a second I don’t react. Stu pulls his arm around me in a quick attempt at a side hug, but I’m so stiff it’s more like being shoved into him. “Look who’s here.” 

Bumping into him is by no means new to me. Small town, same friends, some overlap in hobbies. But this time it’s different. I promised myself that Stu and Billy would get scolded for meddling as soon as possible, but I didn’t expect run into him in public. It’s like being a parent with a child that’s misbehaving in church. You can’t do anything but redirect until you get to the car. 

Stu drops his arm back to his side. “Thought you were doing something with Tatum and Sid?” 

“They’re over there,” I gesture vaguely with a tilt of my head, trying to seem casual. I might not be willing to get into the whole Noel thing in front of Randy and the suburban mom trying to settle a dispute between two kids who can’t decide which movie to get, but Stu probably is. “I wouldn’t look too closely, girls’ night movies might make you sick.” 

Stu misses by just a second. He does wrinkle his nose in a display of the kind of good humor I’d expect from him, but it doesn’t feel as natural. There’s nothing wrong about his reaction, it just feels lacking. Missing his usual brand of energy. “I have no issue with girls’ night movies.” 

Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with him because I get the joke instantly. Now it’s my turn to cringe. “Why do I even talk to you?” 

“Because, buggsie, your life would be so boring without me.” The nickname does make my expression warp, but this time it’s more like trying to keep in a laugh than anything else. “If your only movie influence was Randy, you’d be a lot less likable.” 

Randy sighs. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The words are just a little too sharp. They’re good enough friends in some senses. Not two I’d guess hang alone together, but I like to think at the end of the day they like co-existing. That doesn’t mean they don’t bicker from time to time in a way that feels different than when Randy and I fight like little kids or Stu and I fight like an old married couple too lazy to get divorced. 

“No need to be bitter, dude,” Stu’s hand is back around my shoulder, “I gave you a whole five minutes.” That was a weird thing to say. Random, and not in a fun sort of way, but before I can ask, Stu’s pulling me forward. “You want to help me sneak up on Tay?” 

I throw Randy a look that hopefully communicates my level of confusion and some sort of see you later. “Uh...” Stu’s already turning like I’ve answered, “Sure?” 

When we’re finally closer to the shelves than the counter, Stu lets me go, his hand sliding down my arm a little before retracting. “So you go up to Tatum, talk to her, keep her distracted, and I’ll sneak up behind her.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He’s moving along so quickly and casually, but I’m still fixed on that last comment to Randy. It wasn’t banter-y and Randy didn’t say anything back, which feels a little weird. “That last thing you said, the five minute thing?”

Stu barely pauses, head tilting in a way that feels confused. “Oh. Gave him five minutes to make a move, but you know Randy, not a closer.”

It’s said casually enough that I could think Stu’s being serious, but there’s also a hum of sarcasm in there. And what he’s saying does feel too unrealistic to not be a joke. Randy and I are completely platonic, there’s no way he sees me like that. Plus, I’d like to think that if a guy I’m around that regularly liked me in any sort of way, I’d have at least somewhat picked up on it. 

“Shut up,” I shove Stu’s arm, “You’re not funny.”

He holds his hands up in defense briefly. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

It’s said casual enough that I’m finally given a second to think. The nagging voice at the back of my head is finally given the opportunity to remind me that I’m supposed to be mad at him. Or, at the very least, irritated until I can tell him off for trying to make decisions for me behind my back. 

“Interesting that you mention shooting you, be--” 

“Ouch,” Stu hums, a little too pointedly, “Thought we were all good, angel.” I press my lips together, staring at the ground to avoid giving him anything to latch onto. “I’ve been on best behavior. Minding my business, just here to check something out.”

I stop, a motion I think is subtle enough but Stu picks up on it immediately. He turns and grabs my wrist. The contact is sudden enough to force me to look up. Stu’s watching me, his expression seems innocent, and not in that pretend way either. There’s a hint of confusion behind his eyes. I’m not sure I entirely believe it, but I think it’s possible that what I’m mad about isn’t coming to mind. He has no reason to think I’d know about it. 

His hold is firm and oddly warm and bordering on distracting. 

“Stu,” Tatum’s cheery voice snaps the two of us out of our stand off.

He pulls away quickly, eyes falling on Tatum. “There’s my girl.” Stu pulls her into a hug and gives her a quick kiss. “Y/n was going to help me sneak up and surprise you, but she’s in a mood.” 

Ugh. Stu has a way of dismissing any type of reaction that doesn’t work for him as me being in a mood or pouting. “I am not in a mood.” 

“Give her a break.” Stu’s hands are still on her. “Y/n found out about the Noel thing.”My gaze instinctually shifts back to Stu. His easygoing grin falters. Tatum smiles at him with a coy look that I guess could be interpreted as some kind of apology. “Don’t get moody, she pulled it out of us.” 

It takes him a second, but Stu eventually eases off of her. He doesn’t look as content as before, but his expression hints at nothing else besides casual annoyance. “She can’t be too mad if she’s still hanging around you and Sid.” 

“I got to tell them both off already.” 

Stu turns, something smug tugging his face into an almost smile. It’s infuriating. “If that’s what you’re into, babe.” 

Tatum scoffs and halfheartedly smacks his shoulders. “You’ve been around long enough that I don’t have to apologize for him anymore, right?”

“Right.” 

Stu lets out a breath, “Geez, you two sure act like you love me.” 

I am so not in the mood to say anything nice about Stu in front of him. “Maybe if you minded your business a little more--” 

“Okay,” Tatum pushes herself into the budding argument and looks at me. “Save your energy for when there’s two of them.” Good point. If I yelled at Stu and Billy separately every time they messed up, I’d be yelling constantly. Tatum’s attention shifts back to Stu, “Is he around? Sid’s around the corner.” 

Stu shakes his head once. “Nah, it’s still early and he only said he might call. He’s been a little out of it.” 

Billy’s out of it? And out of it enough to not be around Stu for once? It’s not like they’re literally attached at the hip but a weekend evening where both me and their girlfriends are busy and they’re not hanging out together? That in itself hints at something being wrong. 

I think through the last I heard from Billy, but nothing particularly stands out. He might have briefly mentioned his dad but not in a concerning way. Not in a way that indicated he’d have to spend extra time with him or anything.

Billy has also been weirdly absent. No recent warning-less appearances at my window. Has he been going through something and I’m just too caught up in my personal issues to notice? God, this serial killer nonsense has turned me into a terrible friend. 

“He okay?” 

Stu’s eyes flit up to meet mine. “You might want to hold off on the scolding, but last time I checked in, yeah. Just all angsty, you know how Billy gets.” 

I blink. Last time he checked in. Maybe I’m idealizing their friendship too much, but I’ve always felt like they were looking out for each other. Closer than Stu’s current reaction warrants. Or maybe I’m overthinking things and Billy’s just taking some time. He doesn’t seem the type to want to talk about fuzzy things like feelings. 

“We were going to ask you guys to come over, but if he’s not up for it, that’s okay,” Tatum says, “You can still come by later, but I think you should check in on him.” 

Now I’m starting to feel antsy. Like I should go check in on Billy, but I don’t even know what that’d look like. The realization that I’ve never been to Billy’s house hits hard and with no warning. Whenever we all hang out, it’s at my place or someone else’s, and when it’s the three of us we go to Stu’s and sometimes my house. The thought rubs me the wrong way, like this one thing is pulling on the threads of our friendship. 

He’s one of my best friends and I can’t even say I know what his room looks like. 

“I’ll probably stop by soon.” 

That makes me frown. Probably. Soon. 

“Oh, that reminds me.” Tatum’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Dewey wanted me to give you a head’s up that he’ll be trying to meet with you soon. He wants to go over some....stuff.” 

Ugh, this again. I can’t escape it. “Yeah. He has my number, Dewey can call whenever, but the warning was nice.” 

Stu shifts back like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “He wants to talk to her again?” He’s more offended than I am. “What? It’s not like anything’s changed.” 

Tatum shrugs, “I don’t know. Dewey doesn’t give me the details.” 

“Unless they have new evidence, they shouldn’t be dragging her back into it just because they don’t know shit.”

I should tell him to drop it. That this is my business and maybe it’s time we establish some firmer boundaries, but I can’t get the words to form. The whole thing feels hypocritical. I should be annoyed, but I’m not because he’s saying what I can’t. 

It’s brief, but for a second it almost feels like Stu might be the closest to someone that gets what it feels like. The irony is insane, considering that there’s no way that empathy’s his strong suit. 

“I don’t know. It’s not my thing.” 

Tatum is understandably a little defensive, which is fair. Especially when considering our earlier conversation. This isn’t fair to her. “It’s okay.” The words feel like a flat cop out compared to Stu’s instinctual defense. “It’s not Tatum’s fault and Dewey was really nice about it last time--” 

“Last time? You mean when they ambushed you at the hospital before they let you take visitors?” 

My stomach knots at that. The feeling of waking up there, confused and unaware of what I’d just been through and then being made to feel like I was completely alone while Billy and Stu were waiting outside for me. “That’s not his fault.” A dry defense. “It sucks, but it’s for the greater good and it won’t take long.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or him. “It’s okay.” 

Stu half sighs. “I’m going to grab my movie and head out, maybe stop by Billy’s.” He tuns to give Tatum a brief goodbye kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll see you soon, Y/n. Make sure you get to yell at me before it builds too much.” 

At that, I roll my eyes but still wave him off. 

---- 

My eyes are on the phone again, staring down the extension on my nightstand like it’s keeping things from me. 

Ugh. This is ridiculous. I snap my attention back to the homework in front of me. Some extra credit for my math class. It’s an attempt at damage control because the test I had to take the morning after being attacked by a serial killer is seriously bringing down my GPA. Too bad calc has never been my strong suit. The distraction that is my inability to move on from what Stu said is definitely not helping. 

Even after Sidney, Tatum, and I left the video store, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Stu’s uncertainty and what Billy could be going through. Maybe Stu was playing down how much he knows because Billy didn’t want anyone else knowing. I could see that. Hope for that since the thought of Billy locking himself in his room and dealing with whatever it is completely alone tugs at my heart.  

I could call. He might not answer, but that’s okay. It might make me feel better to just do something and it’s not like I’ve never called him. There’s also the more extreme option of showing up to his place. I’ve never been to his house,  but he’s pointed it out before. Even though I physically could get there, that feels like too much. If I’ve never been over, it’s probably for a reason.

There’s also Stu. I could call him to ask about Billy. He’s more likely to tell me about how Billy’s doing than Billy. But that also feels weird for no reason. Again, it’s not like I never call them. 

I glance over at the digital clock on my desk. 7:56. Okay--it’s not too late. Not weirdly late. 

I stand before I can think about it too much, walking over to the phone. If it’s going to be distracting, I should just get it over with. Maybe having some kind of answer will make it easier to focus on things.

The phone rings about three times before there’s an answer. “Yeah?” 

“Hey.” Okay, that one word feels super awkward for no reason. “Hi--it’s um--” Be more normal. It’s just Stu. “It’s Y/n.” 

A quick breath that feels more like a laugh than it sounds. “Yeah, I figured that out.” Great, now he’s making fun of me. “I also know why you’re calling.” 

“Really?” 

I can feel his amusement over the phone. “You can’t stop thinking about me and want me to come over.”

I snort as soon as the words wash over me. What was I expecting? “You figured it out. This is a booty call.” 

Stu sort of laughs. “Yeah? I can be over in five.”

Pressing my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, I sit up a little more. “Loser.” I reach over for a pillow and pull it on to my lap. “Okay, so actual reason, I was trying to do something for calc, so obviously my mind was wandering and thinking about literally anything else.” 

“Obviously.” 

My fingers brush the fluff of the pillow’s exterior. I brush the strands flat and then back into little spikes of hair. “And at some point, I started thinking about what you said at the video store. About Billy.”

There’s a brief silence, and then another one of Stu’s breathy-accidental-laughs. “Aw, you’re worried.” Ugh. “That’s cute, angel, I’ll make sure to tell him.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.” 

My nose wrinkles at that, nails smothering my pillow’s layer of fluff. “Is he okay or not?” 

For a second, the only thing coming from the other side of the phone is the general static of someone’s movement. “Bossy.” I roll my eyes, but before I can tell him to spare me tonight, Stu continues, “Why didn’t you just call Billy?” 

It’s a fair question, which only bugs me more. “Because there’s no way to call someone and ask if they’re okay based on a passing comment without sounding insane.” 

I pinch the thin hairs of my pillows between my thumb and index finger. “And it’s less insane this way?”

Feels like it. “Kinda, yeah.” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Billy’s fine, he’ll be back to his usual levels of brooding soon. Promise.” I don’t know what to make of that, so I just focus on my pillow. “It might help if you called him tomorrow. Let him sleep it off for a little longer.”

That’s probably a good suggestion. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” My eyes drift back to the still open textbook on my desk. My mom is out with Wells so I can’t even use her as an excuse to not be doing this right now. I briefly bite my tongue to give myself a second to think through what I’m considering. “You um--are you doing anything right now?” Even more awkward. Great. “I could really use an excuse to not work on calc right now.” 

“Now it’s a booty call.” 

Being friends with him is so annoying sometimes. “I hate you.”

“Ouch,” a brief shuffling before he speaks again, “You know I love distracting you--” I roll my eyes. “But tonight’s--” 

“Shit, is Tatum over or something?” A hand flies over my mouth. Of course I’d call at a time where he had someone over and be a total mess. “I’m sorry.” 

Some more static before a response, “No, it’s--” He sighs once. “Billy’s here and he’s--” Oh. My embarrassment is definitely doubling, but there’s still some relief there. At least he’s not alone. “Maybe you should come over, help cheer him up.”

“You’re kind of an asshole for not mentioning that earlier.” I push the throw pillow off my lap and let my back fall onto my cocoon of larger pillows. “And it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm him or anything.” 

“No,” Stu’s answer is quick but feels a little flat. Almost worried. “You--I think it’d be good for him to see you.” There’s still a bit of hesitance there, like Stu’s not telling me the full story. Maybe he can’t. “We rented a few movies and I think I might still have those sour gummy things you like.” 

I really do love sour gummies. “Is Billy okay with it?” 

“It’s my house, bug.” When I don’t say anything, Stu sighs, “Kidding. C’mon, he loves you.” I don’t know why I’m debating so much, it was my idea, but now it feels a little intrusive of me. “And we’re a lot more fun than calculus.” 

“Not a high bar you’re setting there.” Stu pointedly scoffs. “Okay--if you’re sure Billy’s okay with it, I’ll be over in a few.”

“Need to go ask your mommy?” 

I’m already pushing myself to my feet. “Shut up.” An ‘at least I have a parent that gives a shit’ nearly slips out and I just barely manage to bite my tongue. That’d be like reacting to a playful shove with a punch to the face. Besides, my mom’s not a factor right now. She and Wells are out to dinner with some friends. She left me with a 20 to order pizza and maybe rent a movie. “I can still not go.” 

Stu chooses to ignore the (empty) threat, “See you soon, babe.” 

I push open the door of my closet and search through it as quickly as possible. It’s not like I need to get dressed up to go to Stu’s, but my stained pajama pants from the ninth grade and practically threadbare tank top aren’t things I wear out of the house. Especially now that fall is making evenings a lot chillier. “I don’t get our friendship.”

“I keep you supplied with those awful sour gummies.”

I smile despite myself, grabbing something out of my closet. “That explains it.” Bending down, I pick up another article of clothing. “See you soon.” 

----

“There she is.”

Stu pulls me into a hug before I can think to react. He’s always so warm and everywhere. I think it has to do with his smell. It sounds weird but he’s so consistent about it. Enough expensive laundry detergent to drown out most of the usual teen boy body spray musk to a level that’s tolerable and sharpens the slight hint of weed that seems to cling to him. Even that is balanced. Subtle unless you know to think about it. But now it’s a little more overwhelming than usual...fresher. 

Like he just finished a joint. I stare at him for a second and while his eyes seem mostly normal, there’s a bit of a red tinge there. If it wasn’t for the smell of weed, I wouldn’t have noticed. “Are you high?” 

The corner of Stu’s mouth pulls up into an almost smile. He’s amused. “That’s a fun way to greet me.” I give him a pointed look. “Mmm...maybe a little.” Stu extends an arm, halfheartedly punching me in the shoulder. Instead of dropping his arm like usual, Stu relaxes his fist in order to squeeze the top of my arm. “What gave me away, angel?”

“With you, it’s always a safe guess.” He sort of frowns, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Kidding. You smell like a dispensary.” 

Stu squeezes my arm a little harder. “Judgy.” He tilts his head slightly. “And here I was going to offer you some.” 

“No one likes me when I’m high.” That’s true enough. I get all paranoid and clingy. Randy won’t even smoke around me if we’re alone just in case. 

He half scoffs. “Nah, that’s just for people that don’t know how to handle you.” 

Handle me? I’m about to give him some sarcastic answer, but when my eyes meet his, the reaction freezes over. He’s staring at me with a concentration that feels more prominent than his hand on my arm. I don’t know why, but I feel the need the redirect and break the silence. “Where’s Billy?” 

“In my room.” Stu swings a hand around my shoulder and starts guiding me forward. “C’mon, he’ll be happy to see you.” 

I should shrug Stu off of me, but it feels easier to just let him. Besides, there are other things to worry about. From the vagueness Stu’s been handling mentions of Billy with, I half expect him to be in a straight jacket or something. “He--he does know I’m here, right?” 

The only answer I get is Stu placing a hand on his bedroom door once we reach it. He releases me to push open it open. “Hey, feeling any better?” Billy doesn’t get a chance to reply before Stu continues, “Because I brought you a present.” 

Weird...and kind of objectifying, but in a weird way. It’s not so much the words, but the way he’s saying them. This is definitely an ambush. Stu pushes the door open all the way before I can really react. I still make a point of smacking his arm. “Don’t make it weird.” 

I turn my head towards Stu’s room. Billy is in there, sitting with his back against the headboard and he’s looking at me but there’s little recognition. It’s more like he’s seeing through me. I want to assume it’s part of some kind of side effect of being high, but I can’t quite get myself to dismiss it as something so casual.

Any fight directed at Stu evaporates into the air and morphs into this weird veil of tension. Not good or bad. Just heavy and full, bleeding through the room and into the hall where I’m still standing. 

“Hi,” it feels like an attempt at cutting through the harshness, “I heard you were feeling bad so I thought I’d come back and make you feel worse.” 

Billy’s eyebrows draw together slightly, like he’s considering how to react. He settles on a, “Yeah?” It feels smaller than the way he usually is. 

I swallow my instinctual reaction. “Yeah--things aren’t looking too good in Iraq and everyone’s getting too comfortable with nuclear bombs.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up into an almost smile. It’s not quite there, but the thawing of the icy layer behind his gaze is cracking. “Anything else?”

“I still think the Princess Diana divorce is kind of a bummer.” 

Stu sighs dramatically. “Of course you’re on her side.” 

“There is no other side, Charles is the worst.” 

Stu walks fully into his room and practically flops onto his bed. His head hits Billy’s calf and Billy throws him a dirty look before adjusting. “Charles is next in line for the throne. That entitles him to all the girls he wants. That’s just history.”

I wrinkle my nose and halfheartedly glare at him. “He’s also probably inbred.”

Billy sits up a little further, reaching for what I’m assuming is a joint. “Definitely inbred.”

The small vouch of support is strangely easing.

Stu tilts his head to look at me briefly. “You two deserve each other.”

“Don’t pout.” Maybe not my smartest joke, but it’s too easy to pass up on. 

He props his head up just to glare at me. “I can still kick you out.”

I roll my eyes and Billy wordlessly extends what he’s been smoking. Stu reaches for it absentmindedly and Billy moves his arm away. “You need to slow down.” 

Stu doesn’t protest, which has to be a byproduct of his easy high. I’m so distracted by that it takes a second for it to click. If Billy isn’t handing off the joint to Stu, he’s trying to give it to me...the person who’s going to be around their mom and a cop before the night’s over. 

“Can’t tonight.” I’m so going to get bullied for this, “My mom would know immediately, and then she’d kill all three of us.” 

Billy sits up a little more, not fully taking his hand back but relaxing it a little. Stu drops his head back down, accidentally landing on Billy’s leg. I suppress a laugh when Billy lazily shrugs Stu off. It doesn’t work, because Stu still glares at me as he curls into himself slightly. “You could stay over, sleep it off.”

Maybe Stu’s more high than I thought. I take a step forward, feeling awkward about the distance. “I don’t see how that helps the my mom killing us all thing.” 

“You could call her from my home phone, tell her you’re staying over at Sidney’s or Tay’s.” Stu doesn’t wait for my response before stretching out an arm in my direction. “Come here.” 

It feels a little bit like a trap, but at the same time, standing this close to the door is probably weirder than anything Stu’s going to try. I walk forward and sit down on the edge of his bed. Stu smiles lazily and adjusts so that his legs are on my lap. They’re long. He’s basically an arachnid. 

With Stu, a firm approach is usually best, but this seems harmless enough so I don’t kick him off of me. “You’re like a spider.”

He laugh-scoffs, stretching even further. “Like a daddy long legs.”

There’s a weird attempt at sultriness in his words. It’s so stupid I can’t hep the terrible laugh that comes out. “Shut up. You’re so gross.” Now I do want him off of me. He won’t move so I try dragging myself back a little. All that does is make me bump into Billy’s arm. “Sorry.” 

Dismissing my apologetic look with a short wave of the hand still holding the joint, Billy sits up even more, angling himself towards me. “You should be.” It’s sarcastic, but still oddly flat, like Billy’s putting work into being a part of the conversation.

Stu, clearly feeling forgotten, softly kicks his leg. “Your sobriety’s bringing old Billy Boy back down.” 

I lean back, ignoring the way my fingers brush against Billy’s. “I promise me being high would only depress him more.” 

“I like you high,” Billy muses flatly, “You get all jumpy.” 

I roll my eyes, trying to straighten to pull my hand back but Billy doesn’t let me get that far. His hand turns over and pulls his fingers between my own. It’s a casual enough attempt to pull me back into place, but his eyes are so quick to meet mine. There’s something almost nervous about the shift, and vaguely familiar. An uncertain, begrudging request for reassurance I’ve come to associate with people going through some sort of depressive episode. 

“That was one time,” I mumble, “And it was because you guys are assholes and didn’t tell me that it was extra strong.” 

Stu’s leg moves again, “It wasn’t extra strong, we just didn’t pace you.” 

“Either way--assholes.” 

Billy moves his thumb along my knuckles. “We’ll be nice this time.” He takes a deliberate hit and exhales the smoke in a way that lingers. I can feel the smell of it, a paranoid part of me thinking it’s already caught up in my hair and clothes and skin. Like my mom will just be able to tell already. Maybe it is already too late. 

And it’d upset her. She’s already worried enough about how I’m handling all the killer stuff, if she thinks I’m acting out and smoking she’ll probably freak. This also wouldn’t be the first time I did something like this and didn’t tell her...or the first time I stayed over at a friend’s house to sleep something off. 

It’s also objectively nice to be around them. Also, Billy’s whole slightly off thing is something I’ve definitely seen before. The familiarity finally clicks into place, a few memories of my mother from when I was younger. Bad ones, days in which things slipped through the cracks before my mom was diagnosed and started managing that part of herself.

“Even if you don’t smoke, you should call your mom...stay over.” Billy gets the words out stiffly, like some invisible force was trying to shove them back down his throat. “Keep me from being alone with that one.”

Stu lets out a sound that’s sounds a lot like a tired “fuck off”. The casual disapproval makes me smile.

Billy takes another, much shorter hit. I let myself observe the process. The way the smoke goes in, how he holds it in, and finally the way he forces it out. Billy wordlessly turns the joint around in a silent offering. I give in with an exhale and reach over. Billy doesn’t let me get that far, moving so that his fingers are almost to my mouth. I part my lips and let him hold the joint there as I inhale. He doesn’t give me long before taking it back. He runs his thumb along my knuckles. “Hold.” I struggle, but follow through. “Good. Now breathe.” 

I let it out with a slight cough.

“There ya go,” Stu mumbles, patiently dragging his leg up my thigh. “You’ll feel better.” I wish I had more experience with smoking outside of them. If I did, I’d have a reference point to tell me if Stu’s weed is actually extra strong or not. I’m sure what he gets is considered good shit, since he definitely has the money and tolerance. “You should call your mom before you get all giggly.” 

I openly frown. “I do not get ‘giggly’.” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

I’m not in an argumentative mood. Maybe it’s the atmosphere or the weed is already starting to cloud my judgement. I should call my mom, though. It hasn’t been that long since I left, which means she’s probably still out with Wells. It’ll be easier to just leave a message on the machine. She always checks when she gets home. 

Ever since the first incident, my mom keeps a cell phone on her that’s always on, but it’s still weird to both of us. I don’t have the number fully memorized yet, it’s written on a note held to the fridge by a magnet back home...a few blocks away. The cell phone isn’t exclusively emergency, but my mom doesn’t love portable technology. She thinks they’re tacky and breed rudeness.

I tap Stu’s leg, “Up.” 

Surprisingly enough, Stu listens, letting me go. I let go of Billy’s hand and reach for the extension on Stu’s nightstand. I quickly dial my number and leave a flat message. Staying over at Sid’s, have fun but not too much fun, love you and see you tomorrow. 

In a moment of straight forward association, I almost went with telling my mom I was staying at Tatum’s, but I have to talk to Dewey soon and my mom will probably be there and that felt like a potential loose end. 

Stu half snorts, “Love you and see you tomorrow, mom.” 

I shove Stu’s shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“Have fun but not too much fun,” Billy mumbles, a lot more subdued but just as teasing. 

Rolling my eyes, I move back to the edge of the bed where I was sitting before. “It’s an inside joke.” 

Stu leans forward and pinches my cheek. “That’s adorable.” 

The patronization doesn’t sit well and my eyelids feel heavier than they did a second ago. “I hate you guys.” 

“Clearly,” Stu breathes, reaching over and taking the joint from Billy. “Oh, Billy, forgot to tell you, Y/n’s supposed to be mad at us.” Billy tilts his head a little too far to one side like that’s news enough for him to be curious. “Tay told her about the Noel thing.” 

Billy feels imbalanced, head leaning one way and spine straight. His eyes harden over again. “Really?” He takes my hand again, this time a lot less softly. “Over that asshole?” I let him run his knuckles over my hand again, even though this time it feels a lot less soothing. “If none of your friends like a guy, that usually says something about the guy.” 

I’m sure there’s some kind of joke I could spin. Maybe about where he learned that one from. Get that from Cosmo? But the bordering on defensive look behind Billy’s eyes is overbearing and messing with my head. Stu is seriously in danger for bringing this up right now. 

“It’s not about the guy,” I manage, “It’s about...” All the points I had feel a lot less concrete under Billy’s scrutiny...or maybe it’s the weed. Or both. I swallow, dropping my gaze to my lap as I try to really think. Okay, it’s definitely both. “Timing and boundaries.” It feels fractured. “Like even if a guy totally sucks, you can’t go over my head about it.” 

Stu lets out a sigh, dropping his head onto one of his pillow’s. I glare openly. This is all his fault. Why bring it up now? Billy was just starting to act a little more like himself. “I don’t know what you see in him.” Ugh. It’s like he’s not even hearing me. “Especially with the way he talked about Casey.” 

That last part hits its intended goal. Stu’s staring at the ceiling, so I can’t see his expression, but he seems to take my silence as a win. I don’t know Noel as well as they do, but he did talk about Casey at that party and it wasn’t exactly kind. 

I squeeze what I can grab of the comforter like that will tether me here. It half works but it does nothing to ease the tightening in my chest. The memories mix uneasily with the start of my high. The dip of panic doesn’t suit the way my body wants to feel and it all blends together in a way that leaves me on edge and a little nauseous. 

There’s the sound of someone moving, but I barely pick up on it. Billy smacks the side of Stu’s head. “Too much, asshole.”

Stu throws Billy an offended look before craning his neck to look at me. I must look as off as I feel, because Stu does sit up. “Shit,” he pushes himself back, “Sorry. I didn’t think--” 

“You never think.” The words are pointed, but not completely angry. If I was feeling any better, I would’ve laughed. He slowly reaches forward and I don’t stop him from prying my fingers away from the sheets. “Your trip going a little bad?” I nod. “Don’t think about it.” Easier said than done. “You could end up like Stu the one time he smoked too much while watching one of those old horror movies where the special effects are basically held up by a string.” 

That cracks at the panic a little. “What did he do?” 

“Convinced himself that it was real and we were the ones that were off.” 

I almost laugh. “Actually?” 

“Shut up,” Stu sighs, a little bitter but not actually mad. 

Billy ignores him, “Actually.” He turns my hand over carefully before running his fingers over the thin scar on my palm and up my wrist. “So you’re already doing better than him.”

For a second, I let myself study Billy. The wisps of hair falling forward, the slight pinch between his eyebrows, his focused expression. Billy almost always holds himself with a certain tenseness. Whether that’s force of habit or natural to him, I’m not sure. Maybe that’s why he gets along so well with Stu. They balance each other. 

“Are you...” I don’t know where I’m going with this. “Are you feeling any better?” 

His expression briefly clouds, pulling into something much more blank. He drops his gaze and for a second I feel like I might need to take it back. “Yeah--yeah, don’t worry.” Again, easier said than done. Billy clears his throat almost immediately after, like that will erase the fact that he actually responded. 

“Good.” It doesn’t sound overly positive, but he hasn’t convinced me. “I’ve missed you, a little.” That feels a lot more real.

Billy angles his head downwards, almost smiling. “Only a little?” 

“It’s not like you haven’t been around at all.” He traces an invisible line up my wrist. “Maybe more than a little, anyway.” 

“Aw,” Stu hums, his hand finding a place on my back. He leans forward and rests his head on my shoulder. “You two are adorable.” I’m not really given a chance to answer before Stu lets out a sigh that I feel against my neck, “Don’t be mad.” 

Honestly, I’m not feeling any anger. I’m a little annoyed at him and frustrated that I’m still not normal. That’s all there is. It’s too tiring to turn into anger. “’M not mad,” it feels like a confession, “A little annoyed at you, but not more than usual.” 

He breathes a sarcastic, “Haha” into my shoulder. 

With no warning, I start to unweave myself from them. I think they’re too confused to ask until I’m actually standing. 

“Where are you going, angel?” 

I don’t really know, so I can’t really answer. Stu’s room isn’t super familiar. I’ve been in here a couple times, most of them brief. I take a second to really take in the space. A lot of posters, the ones that aren’t directly bloody movie posters feature practically naked women and some combine the two. It fits him.

“Getting a feel,” I decide on, “You can tell a lot about a person based on their room.” 

Stu moves to the edge of his bed, grinning at my focus. “Really?” 

I move to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. “Mhm.” 

“You’re not going to like anything you find in there.” He places a hand on the front of drawer but doesn’t stop me. 

It takes me a second too long to realize what he’s getting at. By then, I’ve already taken in a cover of a magazine with a model that’s wearing even less than the girls on the posters, a box of condoms, a surprisingly neatly stacked set of polaroids, an old deck of cards, and a few random odds and ends all crammed in there. 

My nose wrinkles, but I’m too distracted by the polaroids to make fun of him. I can only see the top one, but it’s innocent enough, an accidental snapshot that sort of looks like a blurry person on a couch.  

“Polaroids?” I pick them out of the drawer and flip to the next one. A small lump that looks like a cat in Stu’s living room. Weird, I’ve never seen one in his house and he’s never mentioned having a pet. Maybe these are old pictures. Before I can snoop any further, Stu pulls the stack of photos away from me. “You’re no fun.” 

He rolls his eyes as he moves the first photo back into place. “You’re nosy.” I don’t say anything because I’m not so high that I’m clueless. This is a little weird of me, but I can’t help the impulse. “What if the next picture had been me naked?” 

“You take naked pictures of yourself and keep them in your nightstand?” 

Stu intentionally ignores my laughter. “You don’t need pictures for that, baby, you can see the real thing.” 

My laughter picks up again. “Yeah? Let’s go right now.” 

At that, Stu does crack a bit of a smile. “Let’s make Billy strip first.” 

“Deal,” I mumble through another laugh. 

Billy drops his head onto a pillow, “Fuck off.” 

I turn my attention back to the card deck and dig them out with my nail. “Any naked pictures hidden in here or am I good?” 

“No promises.” With that as my warning, I begin to shuffle the cards absentmindedly. “Why? You wanna play strip poker?” 

Ignoring him, I move back to my previous position on the edge of the bed. “Think I’m good.” 

I drag the nail of my thumb along the edge of the cards and focus on the sound of them. Billy nudges my knee with his. I look up as he extends his arm, silently asking for the cards. I hand them over without thinking much about it. Billy begins to actually shuffle in a way that would fit Vegas. 

He has to notice my mesmerized stare, but he says nothing. “Do you actually know how to play anything?”

My mom briefly worked at a casino when I was in the first grade and she’d have to bring me in sometimes, but I retained nothing. “Not really.” 

That starts something. A process that should have been short and easy. Billy trying to explain different versions of poker and Stu trying to trick me, but only sometimes so I couldn’t know to for sure not trust him. It’s a mess of laughter and a refreshing lack of angst. Every once in awhile, someone insists that a loser has to take a drag from a joint, so everyone’s progressively getting worse. I’m pretty sure Stu’s cheating somehow, but I have no proof and I’m too out of it to get any. 

It’s so lighthearted and genuinely fun that I’m fighting against the heaviness of my eyelids. It can’t be that late, but I’m already starting to feel drowsy. I’ve finally been given good cards, so I really need to get it together. “I won.”  

Stu scoffs, eyebrows drawing together as he eyes the cards I just set down. “No--that’s not--” 

“I won,” a yawn cuts my sentence in half, “Don’t be a loser about it.” 

Stu picks up all the cards, ignoring my protests. He’s already mixed me up a couple of times. “I can let you have this one, because you’re--” 

“Because you have to.” 

Billy turns his ankle, tapping his foot against my leg. “Don’t be mean about it.” 

That was nowhere near mean. “Dramatic, both of you.” 

Stu’s mouth falls open in a mock gasp as he continues to gather cards. I don’t know what he’s doing until he drops them all back into his drawer and shuts it. He then walks towards his dresser, pulls out a T-shirt, and tosses it in my direction. “After all I’ve done for you.” 

I pick up the T-shirt and fold it onto my lap but make no move to go to the bathroom to change. “I don’t want to go to sleep.” 

“You’re half asleep already.” Billy ignores the dirty look I give him. “Just change in case you fall asleep.” 

Stupid voice of reason. I scratch the back of my wrist and decide to give in. If for no other reason than the fact that Stu’s shirt is almost weirdly soft. Rich people must have access to different kinds of fabric. I reluctantly get up and find Stu’s bathroom.

I change quickly and take a second to make sure Stu gave me a long enough T-shirt. Thankfully, he did, so I don’t have to feel extra awkward about anything. I fold my clothes and bring them back with me. 

“Looks nice on you, babe.” 

Drowsiness hits harder without any distractions. I blink, unsure on how to respond. Stu’s always a flirt with everyone, but it feels a little weird to react to it while standing in his room at night in one of his T-shirts. “It’s the rich guy cotton.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “And those legs.” 

“Shut up.” 

Billy turns onto his side, fluffing his pillow. “Go to sleep before he gets worse.” 

“Yeah.” The two of them look comfortable, all settled. “I’ll crash on the couch.” 

Stu props his head up on an elbow. “You don’t wanna do that. Living room’s creepy at night and you’ve smoked too much. You’ll get scared.” 

“I’m not 12.” 

“It’s safer here, you wouldn’t be alone if something happened.” 

Ugh, Stu can never resist trying to get me paranoid. “Nothing’s going to happen.” That’s what I thought when I was at Casey’s. 

“Just get in bed,” Billy mumbles, half asleep, “I know how this argument goes with the two of you.” When I don’t move, Billy sighs, “If I fall asleep and you get freaked out, I’m not helping.” 

Stu lays back down, “He means it. He’s an asshole when he’s tired.” He pauses for so long, I briefly think he might have fallen asleep. “...’S not a big deal.” 

True. It wouldn’t even be the first time we all fell asleep in the same bed. And Billy’s slept over in my room enough times for that to barely phase me. “Yeah.” 

I walk over towards the bed. “Drink water,” Billy mumbles the words with his eyes still shut. I look over at the nightstand and there’s a glass there that wasn’t there before. I drink a few long sips until Stu sits up to steal the glass from me. 

Rude. “Give me--” 

He downs the rest of it in a few gulps, “Go to bed.” 

I roll my eyes, but unfortunately do listen. Stu pushes me towards the middle, ignoring my surprised huff. I smack his arm before covering myself with his bed sheets. I barely get to reflect on how much of an asshole move that was before I fall asleep. 

----

A/n fun fact, there’s a moment in here where Y/n came superrr close to accidentally finding out who Ghostface is :) 

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21 @aonungs-tsahik @finnydraws @slytherhoes @vxarak @xofeeeeelsxo @thewayiknowyou @yourslashersfinalgirl @winterridinghood @maggieleighc 

Sick Day

Set in the Final Girl universe, but it is a stand alone fic that can easily be read with no context :)

Summary: Billy and Stu don’t get why they’re so antsy about the latest addition to their friend group being absent from school. Sure, they talk about her more than they talk about anyone else, but not seeing her for one day isn’t enough to justify panic, right? Guess that doesn’t matter, because they find a way to justify checking in anyways.

a/n if you haven’t read final girl and this makes you curious,, the main fic and extras can be found here: Final Girl Series 

fun fact, this is chronologically set at some point after ‘first impressions’ but before the main series, if you haven’t read either that’s fine, it’ll still make sense, i just like building “lore” lol 

also if there are any typos i’m sorry, i’m stuck wearing a wrist brace for a little while, especially while writing

also this was really fun to write so i might do some more mini fics in the final girl universe in between full chapters, it’s more low stakes and is a good way for me to work on adding to their dynamics,, so if you have any ideas/requests for final girl universe specific stuff pls feel free to ask! 

----

It didn’t take Billy long to realize that part of your appeal comes from the fact that you’re not as predictable as everyone else. Maybe it’s because you’re still new, but that’s easy in Woodsboro, where lifelong friendships are practically assigned by the locker you’re given on your first d of middle school.

You’re also a contradiction. Almost everything you’re feeling is visible on your face, but what you’re thinking isn’t as easy to guess. It balances you out, keeping you from being unknown enough to be threatening but still letting you pop enough to keep you from blurring into the background. 

That’s part of the reason he picked up on your routine so quickly. What he knows about you isn’t as concrete as what he has on the people that are a part of his plan, but he knows enough. More than he intended to. He memorized your classes without meaning to and knows the time you get to school and the approximate time you leave. It’s useful, he tells himself, you’re around Sidney and Tatum all the time and him and Stu are still working on fitting you into the plan.

Sure, they’ve decided that you fit as their potential final girl, but it’s rocky. You bring out something panicky in him and some days it’s too much to be around you and know you have the ability to affect him. It’s not the same, not at all, but Billy can’t help the way it reminds him of what his mom’s distance used to make him feel. At risk. And Billy knows Stu, knows that he probably thinks about you twice as much as he brings you up and that there’s such a thing as Stu liking someone too much. 

When there’s uncertainty, it’s easy to fall back on routine, and you stick to a relatively simple one. You get to school riding close to late more often than not, during your study hall you tend to study outside unless Randy doesn’t use it as an excuse to leave early, then you bother him in the library (something Billy doesn’t get), and you take a little longer at your locker at the end of the day. Billy also knows you’re not one to skip. 

You’re never not at school (which may or may not have lead to an increase in the regularity of Stu and Billy’s attendance). You’re too hyper focused on your grades to not show up without a reason. So when Billy passes by your locker right before the home room bell rings and you’re not there it’s weird.

Billy knows you really must not be here when his eyes land on Stu, who’s staring at your locker. Stu walks you to most of your classes and always walks you to homeroom. 

“She’s not here,” Billy summarizes flatly. 

Stu turns his head, a little unsure. “Or she went to class without me.” 

The jab would be subtle to anyone else, but Billy knows what Stu’s getting at. “She’d still be at her locker, she’s always running late in the morning.” Billy focuses on hearing his words, tries to feel them. “We can check her homeroom.” 

A casual enough suggestion. Still not overly concerned. Stu has to walk past your classroom to get to his anyways and Billy takes that route sometimes. With that justification, the two walk down the hall and peak through the door’s long window as un-notably as possible. You’re not in your usual spot, at the desk right behind Casey Becker, who you talk to from time to time (a potential future problem they’re both aware of).

By lunch, it’s confirmed that you never showed up. You’re not in the first period you have with Stu or the third period you have with Sidney and Billy. Tatum brings it up first. Where’s Y/n? Sidney shrugged and mumbled about how you weren’t in second period today. It only took a minute for the girls and Randy to brush over your absence with a simple she must be sick. 

That got under Billy’s skin a little and he couldn’t figure out why. You’re almost weirdly into the whole school thing--everyone here could likely list your top 3 colleges--and stubborn. Even if you’re only absent because you’re sick, you must be pretty knocked out to not be here. But why should he care about you being really sick or your friends being relatively dismissive? 

“Isn’t she a little...Annie Wilkes about school?” Stu’s question comes out casually enough.

Randy looks up, “She’s not that bad.”

Stu blinks, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Randy was quick to defend you even though Stu’s seen him call you worse to your face. Maybe that back and forth is a sad attempt at flirting. “Easy, no one’s saying anything bad about your girlfriend.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“Knock it off, Stu, they’re basically related,” Billy forces the words out as casually as he can manage.

Sidney picks up on the joke, mumbling some comment about how they do sort of act like siblings, which gets Tatum off on some tangent about her brother. The conversation doesn’t circle back to the person that’s missing.

In the english class you share with Billy and Stu, the teacher hands back an old essay and gives out a homework packet. The two of them exchange a look. That’s a good enough excuse to stop by your house...if they...wanted to, which they don’t because it’s not like your absence is that relevant.

Billy talks to the teacher after class anyways, saying that he could make sure you get the graded essay and homework. You’re friendly enough that he’s sure he’ll be able to get it to you before you come to class and it’s never a bad idea to have options. Stu doesn’t say anything when Billy gets the papers and neatly places them in a folder. 

----

There’s all this energy and there’s no real outlet for it. Stu doesn’t know what it is, he can’t tell what he wants to do with it or what’d make it feel better. He’s felt versions of it all day, having it drop and morph into an off-brand version of that dark, craving feeling he gets at the thought of feeling a knife plunge into someone and rise back up to an antsy-ness that’d better fit a kid in line for a ride at a theme park.

The energy reaches its peak on the front steps of your porch, but the feeling doesn’t settle on a particular charge. It remains focused on the more positive side of the spectrum, but it’s undercut by some of the urgency of the other urge. 

He had been the first one to bring it up after school, when Billy and him were finally alone. It had started relatively detached, things are still weird when they mention you outside of certain contexts. They’re so used to being open about other things that the fact that they’re both almost shy about something--someone--is twisting. It’s a feeling they’re still learning to take in larger doses. 

They had spent a little too long trying to find an angle to justify a pop in to themselves. It’s one thing to think about you, to talk about you, to like you even. But it’s something else entirely to openly care. To worry about why you’re missing school or if you’re sick. 

Eventually, want won and Billy finally said something that stuck. She can’t be a final girl if she’s dying, and we need her to trust us, to like us. 

This is stupid. A flaring feeling in Billy’s chest has been yelling at him to stop since the idea first formed his mind. It’s a distorted echo of his father’s voice. 

Billy swallows once, forcing himself to finally knock. The only thing more pathetic than what he’s doing is lingering, coming here and then turning back. 

The seconds pass and with each of them, they both feel worse about their decision. And then they hear the lock click and the front door opens and they see you. 

You look more tired than usual and the blanket that’s practically swallowing you whole makes you seem smaller, more vulnerable even though you’re more covered than usual. You squint at the sunlight in a way that makes them think you’ve spent the day in intentionally dimly lit spaces. It takes you a second, but once you finally register them, it’s visible. You’re grinning, practically beaming. 

Billy feels the reaction in his chest. It strains uneasily beneath his ribs, not much unlike what he imagines a heart palpitation could feel like. He briefly thinks he might be able to hold the discomfort against you, but even that thought mostly fades. 

Stu’s flooded with the strange desire to wrap you up in bundles of blankets the way that his mom used to when he was younger. The few times it happened, it was weirdly comforting. He can’t remember the last time she took the time to make sure he was warm until his fever broke, but he knows his dad put a stop to it at an early age. Too needy, too dependent.

“Hi?” It’s partially a question, and your voice hints at raspiness. 

Snapping back into reality, Billy answers, “You weren’t at school.” Your eyebrows draw together and Billy realizes that that wasn’t the easy reaction he thought it’d be. It’s too open and implies concern. 

“Yeah, I kinda have a cold-fever-something. It’s a bug my mom brought home from work. I thought she was being dramatic, but it totally knocked me out.” You lean against your front door. If you sense either of their conflicts, you give no indication of it. “Karma, I guess.” 

Stu lets out a laugh at that. “Karma? You were that mean?” 

Your lips pull into an almost-smile. “The universe seemed to think so.” 

“You think the universe gave you a punishment cold, but your mom’s the dramatic one?” Stu’s biting down a grin, all concerns about showing up melting. 

You glare halfheartedly, “You can’t be not-on-my-side when I’m sick. That’s like...against friend...rules.” Your eyebrows draw together. “That was--that was really lame, forget I said that.” 

The reaction is so warm and you’re doing your best even though you’re clearly still not feeling well and Billy feels an awful swell of what’s likely fondness. “Not sure I want to.” 

Rolling your eyes, you relax even more of your weight against the doorframe. The shift is small, but Billy can’t help but note it. Are you just being casual or are you that tired? “You’re both here to cause problems.” 

“We’re here to be nice.” The look on your face says you might be a little out of it but you haven’t lost IQ points. “We got our essays back and some homework. Billy picked up yours and I drove him to school, and because one day felt way too long to go without seeing you...”

Your laugh is punctuated by a brief cough you burry into your elbow. It’s not like you’re coughing up a lung, but it is a little concerning. “You guys grabbed my stuff?” 

The genuine surprise in your voice sticks out. “Yeah,” Billy slides his backpack off of his shoulders and starts unzipping it, “One of those friend rules.” 

Billy finds his folder as you roll your eyes. “Funny.” 

“It’s what I’m known for,” he keeps his voice flat, and the sarcasm feels a little off, but you smile and that makes it a little easier.

He hands you the papers, his fingertips brushing against yours. “I see why.” 

“I never get that many gold stars.” Stu leans forward, re-reading some of the notes scribbled on next to your grade. “Maybe you should invite me over, tutor me...”

Your nose wrinkles. “Shut up.” By now they’ve learned that that’s the closest you’ll come to retreating.

Stu exaggerates a frown, “What? Bringing you your stuff doesn’t get us invited in?” 

The redirect is a bit of a stretch, but you’re used to the jumps and you’re tired enough to not read much into it. Not as much as Billy does, who’s a little surprised because he and Stu never talked about what they’d do after. He decides that it’s harmless enough. 

Turning your head a little, it almost feels like a part of you forgot there was anything to be invited into. “I don’t want to get you guys sick.” 

It’s such a you response. Always considerate, polite. Billy looks past you and into the house. There’s no noise indicating that anyone’s in there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alone. Though the one time he came over to work on a project, he briefly met your mother and was given the impression that she likes making her presence alone. There’s also your mother’s boyfriend, who wasn’t around when Billy came over but based on your comments, he’s not sure being alone with him isn’t worse than being alone. 

“Are you okay?” The question comes out of Billy a little unexpectedly. “You don’t look too...” 

You glare. “Thanks.”

“Not like--” Billy cuts himself off with a sigh. Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. “You look too sick to be alone. At least say your mom’s here.” 

Billy takes in the details of your reaction even though he already has a good idea on what you lying looks like. Harmless, white lies often used to seem more okay with things than you actually are. He sees something similar in the way your chin tilts upwards slightly. “I’m fine.” 

That’s all the confirmation Billy needs. You’re definitely alone. The lack of lie and attempt at dismissal is oddly endearing, especially while you’re like this, leaning against the front door and squeezing your blanket a little tighter. Wait--are you colder? It’s warm out today and there’s not even a breeze. 

A half thought embeds itself beneath Billy’s skin. He gives in, extending an arm slowly. You’re just as confused until Billy’s turning his hand so that the back of his palm is facing you. “I’m--Billy, it’s--” 

The cutoff of your words is sudden, your lips still partially parted, some other jumble of words dying in the back of your throat as Billy’s hand meets your forehead. You don’t move away. It’s been a few seconds, definitely long enough for Billy to have deduced whether or not you have a fever. How did his mom use to do this? 

He takes his time dropping his arm back to his side. Billy doesn’t have too many references to what a fever feels like on someone else, but you did feel warm. “You have a fever.” 

You press your lips together briefly in a forced pout. “You’re worse than my mom.” The blanket is slipping off of your shoulders, you tug it back up. “I’ll take some Tylenol, find a jar of vapor rub.” Angling your head to glance behind you again, you’re returning to that awkward uncertainty. 

The small dismissal digs at them both. It’s bad enough that they let themselves get to this point over one absence and here you are, alone and unwell and completely okay with sending them away. “You sure you’re good here?” 

This time you’re considering it. The proof of the deliberation is there in your silence. More often than not it takes you two or three offers to accept anything you think is an inconvenience. You’re nice to a point of fault. “I’m okay, because no one dies of fever, but if hanging out for a little and seeing absolutely nothing happen to me makes you guys feel better, that’d be cool. But you need to be careful.”

Stu grins, “I thought no one dies of a fever.” 

You take a step back, offering some space for them to pass, “I hope you get this, I think you could use a karma cold.” 

“Now I see why you have one,” Stu mumbles, pretending to be more annoyed than he feels as he steps into your house as you turn your head to stick your tongue out at him. 

Billy follows, lingering in your doorway before shutting your front door. You’re approaching the kitchen, turning your head to look Billy in the eye, “What do you think? Stu deserve one?” 

He briefly pretends to debate, “Worse.” 

You laugh at the irritated sound Stu lets out at the back of his throat. “Do you guys want anything?” They swear they’re fine as you pour yourself a glass of water and use it to down two tylonel tablets. “If my mom gets back from work and thinks I haven’t offered you guys anything to eat or drink, I’m not hearing the end of it.” 

“We’ll defend you.” Stu rests his weight against the kitchen counter, noting the bottle of cough syrup still out. “You need this?” 

You shake your head immediately. “I took some earlier and still feel foggy. I slept most of today.” 

Stu runs his thumb over the white cap, watching it spin without coming off. He considers pushing. Billy changes the subject before Stu has fully made up his mind, “You would be the type to have the most boring sick day.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re offended, and it’s oddly soft. “I didn’t just sleep.” 

Billy’s amused enough to press, “What else did you do?” 

“I think I know...” There’s a smugness in Stu’s voice that instantly floods you with embarrassment. Oh no. He’s found them. You snap your head up in time to see Stu holding up some of the tapes you left stacked on the counter. “Beverly Hills 90210, the first four seasons.” 

Billy looks right past you and focuses on Stu. “Only four?” 

“Uh--” You’re caught. “Five’s on right now...and I don’t have a copy of six.” They’re both too quiet, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. “Don’t judge. Trashy teen soaps are popular for a reason.” 

“What about artistic integrity?” 

You dismiss Billy’s question with a scoff that’s a hint too raspy. “Cheap writing in Hollywood isn’t my fault.” 

Instead of returning with another joke (maybe some comment about what Randy would say if he ever found out), Billy pushes himself off of the wall he was leaning against and approaches your refrigerator. 

Billy knows he’s at least heard of the usual home remedies, but he can’t quite place them. Won’t place them because the only person that ever worried about these kinds of things isn’t someone Billy’s willing to think about right now. 

Starve a fever or maybe that’s colds. There’s also...electrolytes? And hydration. That’s probably the best idea. Why does it matter? That thought bothers him, digs under his skin and settles at a wrong angle. He’s seen you. You’re alive, unscathed, and relatively fine. It’s not like any of the bad thoughts were proven right--you weren’t skipping for some other person or leaving.

But you’re uncomfortable. And alone. And vulnerable. Billy hates it. Hates that his awareness of your feelings is lodging itself in his mind and that he can’t really help and that it matters. He’s not sure he remembers the last time anyone besides Stu’s feelings actually mattered. Maybe Sidney’s did once, awhile ago, but that--that didn’t feel nearly as urgent as this.

“You okay?” Your voice snaps him back to the moment, to the glass of water he was getting. “You’re kind of staring at that glass like it knows something it shouldn’t.” 

You drop your voice a little, chin tilting down as you try to be funny. The humor is real enough that Billy doesn’t feel overly pushed, but he does note the thinly veiled genuineness in your words. That’s another thing about you. You say things and you mean them. Even if it’s completely casual, even if it’s a sentiment you’ll forget about immediately until it comes up again. You mean it. 

Billy sets the freshly filled glass on the counter, “Drink more water, your voice sounds like it could be used by a horror movie villain.” 

You frown like Billy’s offended you beyond repair. Just as he thinks you might protest, you pick up the glass and down a fair amount in a few gulps. “Happy?” 

“Oh, he’s thrilled,” Stu hums, “That’s what he looks like when he’s happy.” 

“I think I believe you.” Billy waits until your attention is fully on Stu before letting himself give in and smile a little. 

Stu takes a step towards you, “I’d never lie to you, baby.” He ignores the slight face you make at the nickname. Being sick must make you more irritable because you’ve let much more creative nicknames slide. Stu cups your face between his hands before you can protest. You don’t move or try to shake him off. He takes a second to exaggeratedly feel your skin. “You’re as hot as you look and that’s saying something.” 

“I’m wearing Christmas pajama pants that I got in 8th grade and I spent half the morning on the bathroom floor. No one could find this look attractive.” Stu half shrugs, protests already building, but you snap back to reality before he can get them out. “And if I’m that hot,” you step back, using your hands to pry him off of you, “You shouldn’t be touching me.”

He takes a step towards you. “My immune system’s strong.” Stu briefly flexes an arm, “You think all this could be supported by a weak one?” 

You half smile, giving Stu the opportunity he needs to place his hands on the soft blanket still on your shoulder’s. Again, he’s pleasantly surprised when you don’t brush him off. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Stu rubs a hand up and down your left shoulder, hoping the gesture comes off as light and comforting. “I’ll be fine.” 

Nothing about Stu has given you the indication that he’d be a tolerable sick person. Also, a small part of you is worried a cold like this could really take him out. He rarely dresses warm enough and you’ve seen the amount of energy drinks he’s willing to consume on one day. You’re also not sure you’ve ever seen him eat anything with significant nutritional value. “Every day I find out you’ve managed to keep yourself alive, I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

He squeezes your shoulder. “You’re cranky when you’re sick.” 

“At least she said pleasantly.” 

Stu looks past you to throw a dirty look in Billy’s direction. “Aw, he’s jealous of what we have.” 

Okay--you might be drowsy but you know where the play fighting over you goes. It starts off lighthearted enough, but if you’re not careful it can end kind of sour. One second everyone’s joking and the next Stu’s actually pushing you to pick a side on something that should be harmless but feels heavy. Sometimes Billy gets a little more involved than you think he wants to seem and it never feels fully about you. It’s like half of what they say means something else to them. 

“Okay, no fighting over me,” you shrug Stu off as best you can without losing your blanket, “I belong to this blanket and the couch.” 

You grab your cup of water off the counter and start walking to the living room without checking if they’re following. You hear their footsteps, but pay little mind to that as you settle on the couch and set your glass on the coffee table. 

Billy sits down next to you. “Couch and not your room?” 

Reluctantly sighing, you drop your head back, letting your neck rest at an awkward angle. "I live here now.” 

He can’t tell how much of that is a joke. Are you feeling that sick? “Right.” 

Your attention briefly flickers to the TV, the cliche teen drama that’s still playing being enough to suck you back in even though you’ve missed some context. To him it just looks like overly pretty-ed people overreacting. The scene ends and you return to the present enough to shrug off your blanket and settle the fabric more comfortably on your lap. “You guys can change the tape if you want.” 

A small mercy. Billy stands and begins looking at the tapes stacked on a shelf near the TV. It’s a fair collection, but the movies he saw in your room the time he came over to work on a project were better. He picks the first title that feels decent enough for background that doesn’t seem like too much just in case you’re prone to nausea. 

You’re patiently waiting for the tapes to switch out. Stu’s being quiet, which would have clued you in on a better rested, less sick day. You don’t realize he’s planning anything until you feel the side of your blanket being tugged on. “Stu.”

He scoots closer, “It’s cold.” 

Stu stretches his legs, weaseling himself under your blanket. You weakly try to push him out “There’s another blanket over there.” He ignores you, adjusting so that your legs overlap. “You’re going to get sick.” 

“Your pants are soft,” it’s said so softly, like a kid getting clothes fresh from the laundry.  You’re not sure you have it in you to ruin his good mood. He stretches a foot past your knee and a few inches up your thigh before relaxing back into place. “Fuzzy.”

Despite what you’re wearing, you can feel the comfortable warmth radiating off of him, turning the space beneath the blanket into a space heater. “You’re like a radiator.” 

“I’ll keep you warm an--” 

“Don’t ruin it.”

He frowns, mumbling something about you being “no fun” before sinking further into the couch. You pull more of the blanket onto you and Stu’s hit with the realization that you might not be warm enough. “You want another blanket?” 

You’re clearly surprised by the question. “Uh--no, I think I’m--” 

Stu pushes himself so that his legs are almost off your lap in order to reach the fabric draped over an armchair. He moves back into place and makes a point of draping the blanket over you. “Warmer?” 

“Yeah,” the admission is hesitant.

That is so like you, needing a little push to accept what you need. “Told ya.” 

He must be right because you don’t say anything else. Silence is usually your way of being reluctantly wrong. Stu takes his victory as an excuse to move a little closer. 

Billy sits back down, settling a little closer to the side of the couch. He’s not exactly jealous of how open Stu is. Distance is a good thing, a smart thing. But he does--

A weight on his shoulder. It takes less than a second for realization to wash over him. You’re relaxed, head resting on his upper arm. The room feels a little snugger but it’s not an uncomfortable change. 

The opening credits of the movie are rolling off screen and your eyes are focused on that. “Not to make this weird or lame,” you pause, sniffling slightly as you breathe, “But you guys are kind of nice, sometimes.” 

That has to be a sign of you being tired. Billy fights down a smile. “Sometimes?”

Stu turns his leg to tap your knee, “I think we deserve a little more than that.” 

You move your hand under the blanket to halfheartedly flick his leg. After that, your hand relaxes and rests there. “Fine. Most of the time.” 

Final Girl - Part 9

Final girl Masterlist (all parts in order and extra fics, updated parts 1 - 9)

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: Nightmares aren’t that bad when you’re sleeping over at Stu’s house. Too bad no amount of late night movie watching and hot chocolate can cure a bad case of being on Gale Weathers’s radar. 

----

The light glints off the knife’s edge so sharply the entire thing warps. The blade looks longer, then smaller, then larger. It changes with each movement of the person holding so much it’s fascinating, almost like a cartoon. 

For a second it feels like it’s just that. Like I’m watching Scooby Doo or Nancy Drew or some other kids’ mystery show. Then the knife comes down. 

I scream, snapping into the moment as I start running. Everything’s hazy, I can barely register how unfamiliar this place is. Branches are tugging on what I’m wearing, scratching at my face, but I can’t feel them. All I feel is the blood rushing in my ears. 

Something cold and sharp digs into my shoulders. I’m thrashing, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. My attacker forces me to turn. It’s him--the too familiar white mask, the permanent scream. 

He lifts his knife and forces it down. My eyes shut as the blade meets my chest. The pain is a barely there flicker. It’s being drowned out by a tingling sensation that’s taking over my entire body. The feeling disconnects me from it all until my vision fades to black. 

Reality returns quickly. My body is laying on something soft, my face pressed into something cushioned. 

“No, don’t--” The words come out so tight I almost don’t recognize the voice. Billy. 

My head snaps up. The dimly lit space looks like it should be Stu’s living room but something about it feels off. Like everything’s been flipped or something. I don’t see Billy until my mind reconnects the dots and refocuses.

He’s standing with his hands held out cautiously. His back is to me but I can feel his tension. Swallowing back my panic, I force myself to look in the same direction as Billy. That damn mask. Ghostface. 

“Billy...” It’s a shaky whisper and I don’t know what I expect from it.

The helplessness washes through me. My eyes drop down, but that makes everything worse. 

There’s a thick puddle staining the hardwood floors reflecting the low light of the room. It leads to a pale arm that leads to a shoulder that leads to what--oh. The realization that the mess of glistening red used to be a chest sends a sharp wave of nausea through me.

My gaze shifts up, catching eyes that should be familiar but are too hollow, too blank as they stare up at nothing. Stu. 

I scream, my entire body shaking with the urge to get closer like that’d mean something. There’s another sound, some kind of grunt or cry--I don’t--I don’t know--and then Billy falls. First to his knees before slumping over. He lands on his side...next to Stu. 

The killer looks up at me with a tilt of their head, they walk over my friends, but they don’t--they--

----

When the darkness of the room washes over me, I’m already sitting up. Not real. Not real. Not real. The tightness in my chest doesn’t go away and a type of sickness that hurts stays in my upper stomach. 

I can hear myself panting, but I don’t feel the relief of air entering my lungs. My hand stretches over tangled sheets, a part of me trying to stabilize myself. Maybe that will make the nausea go aw--no. 

I’m on my feet in a second, crossing the room to get to the door. Autopilot leads me to the bathroom. Wait--this isn’t my house--I fell asleep at Stu’s. They were both here--so where are they now?

My nausea spikes. I gag, moving instinctually onto my knees. 

“Hey.” The voice feels far, I can’t grasp onto it. “Hey,” a warm touch on my back as my hair is pulled back. “You’re okay, angel.” 

Oh. I try to breathe through my disorientation as I turn my head. “Stu?” 

The amount of nerves in my voice must throw him off but I can’t make out too much of his expression in the dark. Just as the thought settles, the light flickers on and my eyes are squinting to adjust. 

Stu moves to stand and keeps a hand on my arm to encourage me to do the same. I’m so stiff and the world is so hazy I don’t think, just follow. The same thing happens as Stu sort of extends me so that I’m in front of the sink. 

Another arm is in front of me, holding a tiny cup between two fingers. The liquid is a sharp green. I take the cup before I really know what I’m doing. It smells like the heavy kind of mint that belongs in a dentist’s office. 

I bring it to my lips and swish the mouthwash around for longer than I normally would before turning on the sink and rinsing. Such a small thing shouldn’t make that much of a difference but getting rid of the taste of acidic bile in my mouth clears my head enough to let me think. 

My head turns in the direction of the arm. “Billy.” 

Something clues him into my confusion. It could be the way I said his name or the way I’m just staring like he’s some sort of ghost. He’s trying to figure it out, or maybe he’s trying to piece together a reaction that’s appropriate when someone’s staring this much.

“Hey,” it’s said a little unsurely, “You’re okay. You’re--” His hand finds its way onto my upper back, moving in that circular motion that’s become familiar. It’s enough to let me feel okay about looking towards Stu again.

“You guys are--” I can’t get the words out, can’t figure out how to explain it. “You’re--you’re okay.” I can feel the shakiness in my voice but I can’t bring myself to fix it. 

Again, instinct takes over and I pull Stu into a hug. He has to be surprised but he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze me back just as tightly. Billy stays close, his hand still on my back. 

They’re both here, still warm and breathing and here. The relief is too much and it joins a flurry of other feelings. 

I pull my head off of Stu, “Where were you guys?” I know that anger’s irrational, there are hundreds of reasons they could have both been up, especially since we didn’t fall asleep too late, but I can’t help the panic hiding as aggression in my tone. I try to pull further away, but Stu doesn’t let me. “I woke up and you guys weren’t there and I thought--” I’m not even sure if what I’m saying makes sense, but it’s coming up the same way the bile did, “You can’t do that--you--you left. You can’t just leave.” 

“No one’s leaving.” Billy’s voice lacks the defensiveness I expect. “We were just downstairs. I couldn’t sleep so I went to get some water and Stu woke up, and you know how that is.” The attempt at a joke is appreciated, but I can’t bring myself to show it. 

Normally, Stu not letting go when I try to push him off bothers me, but now I’m kind of glad he didn’t let me get too far. Something about having them this close is grounding. They’re okay. 

“Yeah,” Stu hums, “Who’d leave you?” He says it so casually, so assured, like the thought of going somewhere would have never crossed his mind if I hadn’t said that. 

It’s assuring in a different way, not quite getting at all of my panic. “I had a dream that--” The longer I’m awake, the more aware I am of how unnormal I’m being. That doesn’t mean I can stop it. “It was--it was so real, and then I woke up and you--” 

They’re being quiet. I know that I’m being a lot and they’re probably still trying to figure out how to react to my panic, but it’s making me antsy. If they’d joke or tease me about this, I’d be able to convince myself that I haven’t fully lost it.

Billy smooths my hair back carefully. “We’re okay,” his voice is low, a little tight. “Everyone’s okay.”

I nod once, trying to convince myself that his certainty is my own. “In my dream--you guys ended up like--” It’s hard enough to mention her when I’m well rested and feeling together. “Like Casey.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” Stu’s hold on me goes from fully relaxed to a little firmer.

Argument and doubt immediately bubble up. No one counts on dying. Casey was in her house. I got a call from the killer while home and they knew that Billy was locked out. The cops are still so lost Dewey wants to meet with me again to go over some details. There’s no reason for the killer to just go away...and from what they said the last time we talked, they’re not planning on it. 

Stu places a hand on the side of my head, angling me closer with no warning. He places a quick kiss against my temple. I nearly jump before realizing what just happened. That was such a Stu reaction I can’t help but smile a little, even though I shouldn’t encourage him. “You’re cute when you’re worried about us.”

At least that’s the return of something normal. “You say that about everything.” 

He breezes past my attempt at harshness, “Not everything.” 

“You said it when you noticed that my history folder and notebook match.” 

The corner of Stu’s mouth turns upwards, “Ah. The matching notebook-folders.” 

I roll my eyes, regretting bringing that up again. He had asked about the matching thing so much I felt like he had to have been making fun of me. “I’m not doing this again, a lot of people color match their stuff.” 

“And their sticky notes,” Billy mumbles. I turn my head enough to glare at him. He found me sorting my sticky notes by subject early into our friendship and so far it’s kind of been our secret. Not because it’s a bad thing, just a little type-A and make-fun-able. “Kidding.” Maybe I’d find him funny if I was better rested. He stares at my blank expression for a second, “Are you going back to bed?” 

There’s a small chance I’ll never sleep again. I don’t get a chance to answer. Billy steps back, pulling me forward a little. We all walk out of the bathroom and down the hall. Before I can say that I really don’t feel like sleeping right now, Billy walks past the door to Stu’s room. 

----

Stu pushes the mug so that it slides against the granite countertop. One of my hands wraps around the handle and the other presses against the ceramic’s side. The warmth soothes me as it leaches into my fingers.

“Thanks.”

He smiles a little, tapping his fingers against the kitchen island, “It’s the least I could do since you’re worried sick over us.” 

Billy looks over at us, mumbling some response I barely register, “The least you could do?” 

“Whatever, man, you kn--” 

The block of knives is only a few feet away. I can only see the handles, the blades are hidden in the wood, but that doesn’t make it any less distracting. 

Trying to force myself to stay in the moment, I stare at my mug, studying the giant, cursive London and cartoonish city line that wrap around the ceramic’s side. Big Ben is at the center, almost piercing the lettering. I almost ask about England, but decide not to risk it. Stu’s parents are always traveling. There’s a good chance he wasn’t on this trip. For all I know, the mug was what they brought back for him. 

I lift the glass to my lips, taking a few sips. The hot chocolate is almost shockingly good. Perfectly balanced between sweet and cocoa-y. Even the whipped cream and marshmallows are paired so well it feels scientific. 

“Y/n?” 

I set the mug on the counter, eyes studying the deflating marshmallow lump. “Yeah?” Tearing my eyes away from the marshmallow mutant, I force myself to look up. Billy and Stu share a look. It’s brief, but it feels heavy. Like one of those moments where they slip away into their own world. Normally, when they do that, it’s more like being left out of a joke. This time it might as well as be a psychological assessment. Be more normal. "I’ve never had hot chocolate after 2 AM before.” I take another sip, “It’s nice.”

My recovery feels smooth, so I let myself look up again. Stu’s already staring at me. It’s the kind of focus that wouldn’t be suspicious from him if he’d make some kind of joke about it. Any kind of flirty comment would make it okay and cancel out the seriousness behind his eyes. “You’re feeling better, right?” 

The worry is there, but pushed forward with such Stu-like energy that it almost feels more like a statement or request than a question. “A little.” I don’t know how true it is, but it’s easier to say that than admit how unsure I am. And maybe I’ll speak feeling better into existence. “Seeing you guys...knowing you’re okay helps.” 

Ah. Sleep depravation is no joke because that’s something I’m definitely going to regret. It’s way too vulnerable and easy to make fun of. I stare at my mug until the quiet’s too much and I have to face what I’ve done. Stu’s not holding in a laugh or radiating a smugness that he’s given into over less. He’s still watching me, but it’s different, softer and more open. I set my mug down before looking over at Billy. His eyes dart down to the sink almost immediately.

My attention snaps back to Stu as he moves forward to place his hand on mine. “Look who loves us.”

I glare halfheartedly as Stu gently bends and squeezes my fingers. “Duh.” Like these two weirdos don’t already know. “I know it was cheesy, but given the circumstances, can you guys please not.”

“That wasn’t cheesy.” Billy’s voice is low, a little rough. “But the nightmare over u--” 

“Shut up.” He’s smiling, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Sorry that I’d probably lose it if anything happened to either of you.” 

Billy rests his weight on his forearms, leaning forward. The front strands of his hair fall forward as he angles his head towards me. It’d be so easy to extend an arm and push his hair back into place. “Probably?”

I use the hand Stu isn’t still holding onto to grab my mug. “You were mean about it. That got you guys downgraded.”

Stu tugs on my hand with just enough pressure to get my attention. “Hey, leave me out of whatever he says.” I roll my eyes as I take a sip of hot chocolate. “I’m a total sweetheart compared to grumpy over there.” 

A burst of laughter tries to claw its way up my throat as I’m swallowing. I know what Stu said wasn’t that unbelievably funny, but something about oversimplifying Billy like that gets to me. “He isn’t grumpy.” I set my mug down. “He’s multifaceted.” 

“Multifaceted?” Billy repeats, tone trying too hard to be more wary than amused for it to work. The failure makes me fight down a grin. I like the slips from his usual demeanor, not that Billy’s rough around the edges exterior is something I’d change, it’s just nice to see him relaxed from time to time. It’s also probably good for him. 

I nod, committing to whatever bit I’ve accidentally started. “Like a house cat.” 

Billy’s eyes stay focused on me, the corner of his mouth hinting at what’s close enough to a smile for me to count it as a win. He looks like he might say something, but then Stu snorts. Laughs in a way that has him pulling on my hand again. “You nailed it, angel.” 

Billy tilts his head stiffly, still managing to glare at Stu. It’s still part of the joke, for now, and I need to make sure it stays that way. “So we agree, not grumpy.” 

“Hm...” Stu pauses, scrunching up his face as if I’ve just asked him an incredibly deep question that warrants this much reflection. “He’s not grumpy to you because you’re pretty.” 

Warmth rushes to my face and I don’t get why. Stu’s definitely said similar and much more intense things before. This comment shouldn’t be different, but he breezed out that last part so casually...like it was factual. “Shut up.” 

Stu turns my fingers. “And you have this kicked puppy thing you do with your eyes that makes it not worth it.”

That snaps me out of any embarrassment. I try pulling my hand away, but Stu doesn’t let me get too far. “I do not.” 

Stu squeezes my hand between both of his. “Yeah, you do, babe.”

I glare at him and Stu has the audacity to grin. The brief flash of teeth is a little too confident for my taste. He needs to be humbled. I turn my head enough to look at Billy. “He’s exaggerating, right?” 

Billy’s expression is hard to read. “It’s just...your eyes.” No. They’re teaming up and turning on me. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

Yeah, just what I need, another reason to seem like a cute little, doe eyed victim. It gets under my skin even though I know they didn’t mean it like that. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice is low as he leans a little closer, “We’re just kidding.” 

I know that, which only adds to my irritation, because why can’t I just be normal? 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Stu tries, “You’re all big, bad, and scary.” 

Stu drops his voice dramatically, and despite myself, I smile. It’s awful how funny I actually find some of the things he does. Sometimes I feel like I have the sense of humor of a middle school boy. Billy raises his eyebrows, giving me a look that screams we really choose to deal with this, huh? He picks a mini marshmallow out of the bag before I can fully react and tosses it at Stu.

The marshmallow bounces off of Stu’s forehead and lands on the counter. I laugh a little more than I should. “What was that for?” 

“For being an idiot.” 

Stu scoffs, picking another marshmallow. He throws it at Billy. The marshmallow bounces off of Billy’s chest and falls in front of me anti-climatically. “Fuck you.”

His reaction is half joking and half not, like a majority of his more aggressive comebacks. It’s always just Stu going along with it until he’s not anymore. Maybe I should try to say something calming or distracting, just to assure the preservation of the easy mood. But I can’t think of anything, so I just pinch the marshmallow that fell in front of me between two fingers and toss it in Stu’s direction. It hits his arm and falls onto the counter. 

They both turn to look at me. The weight of their full attention takes me a little by surprise because I have no good justification for that. “What?” I shrug a little, “Everyone else threw one and I felt left out.” 

Stu lets go of my hand, which is a little concerning. He leans back, leg moving forward to push against my seat. The barstool is the kind that swivels so he succeeds in turning me. “You’re lucky you’re cute or people would talk about how weird you are more.” 

I push the front of my leg against his in an attempt to get my seat back into place. He doesn’t budge. “Right. I’m the cute, weird one.” 

His lips part slightly and his grin feels a little surprised. That can’t be a good thing. “You think I’m cute?” 

Oh my god. What have I done? “Hm. I don’t think that’s what I said.” 

“That’s what I heard.” His leg shifts, moving so that he’s touching closer to my knee than before.

There’s a chance that I could turn away or push him off, but that feels like letting him win, so I ignore the warmth rushing to my faced. “That’s what you always hear.” 

“I heard it, too.” 

My head snaps in Billy’s direction. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“If Stu had made it up, it would have been dirtier.” 

They don’t need any motivation to make these kinds of jokes. I know that I should be smarter about this, commit to my annoyance, but I can’t stop the laugh that slips out. “You guys are the worst.”

Billy moves so that he’s leaning even closer. So close I can make out his individual lashes. “Really looks like you feel that way.”

His voice comes out low, a hint of rasp finding its way into his voice. The words are casual, a return of a joke. Nothing in them can justify the weird rush of heat to my face.

“Yeah, well,” this has to be a sign of sleep depravation, “Looks can be deceiving.” 

He adjusts the weight resting on his forearms, “I believe you.” 

The reply is a little flat, hard to get, but the underlying amusement is clear. Like there’s some joke I’m missing. “Shut up.” I push myself further back into my seat.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

I pick up my mug. “You had a...vibe.” BIlly’s eyebrows draw together. “A making fun of me vibe.” 

The corner of his mouth pulls upwards. “A making fun of you vibe?” 

“You know what I mean,” I mumble, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. 

He tilts his head, as if seriously thinking through what I said. “You sound like you’re tired.” 

I knew we’d circle back to this eventually. There’s a good chance they’re tired. When they woke up in the middle of the night, they probably expected to go back to bed soon enough. “If you guys are tired, you can go to bed.” 

“We sleep when you sleep.” Stu turns my chair so that I’m facing him a little more again. Great, add their sleep schedules to the list of casualties my new weirdness is responsible for. “Don’t worry, babe, I can go all night.”

Stu looks so pleased with the stupid joke that I give in and crack a smile. “You shouldn’t have to, though.” 

His eyes lose some of their humor, softening in a way I don’t quite get. “I’ve stayed up for less important things.” 

“He’s tried,” Billy mumbles dryly, looking over at me, “I’ll actually stay up with you.”

I grin, “Wanna draw on his face when he falls asleep?” 

Stu lets out an offended scoff from the back of his throat, Billy ignores him, returning my smile. “Permanent marker.” 

“Hey,” Stu pouts, “Don’t be mean, or I won’t tell you about my surprise.” 

Hm...with Stu, there’s an 50/50 chance that whatever he’s referencing is weird. “Ominous.” His smugness does make me curious. “Okay--tell me.” Stu’s quiet for a second, a hint of smugness in the tilt of his head. I move my arm forward, softly shoving his arm. “Please?” 

At that, he cracks, his hand turning over in order to grab mine. Stu places a kiss to the back of my palm. “Only for you, angel.” He then lets me go and stands. Whatever the surprise is, Stu apparently has to leave the room for it. 

I blink, turning my attention to Billy, who halfheartedly shrugs. “There’s no telling with him.” 

Definitely an exaggeration on Billy’s part, considering the way the two just get each other. It’s a bond anyone could pick up on. “As long as he comes back fully dressed.” 

Billy faintly smiles. “Probably a 50/50 chance.” 

Tapping my fingers against the counter, I turn my attention back to my mug. “I don’t know, he seemed a little excited.” 

Stu comes back before anything else can be said. He’s holding out a VHS tape. Even though he’s still at the edge of the kitchen, I can make out a familiar red on the cover. No way. “You--” 

He keeps an arm extended in front of me until the tape’s in reach. I take it and he sits down with a triumphant grin. “I know my girl.” 

After I forced him to watch Clueless, I didn’t think I’d ever get him to do anything like that again. And now he just has it here, lying around on a night he didn’t even expect me to come over. He also didn’t pull it out for points earlier. If I hadn’t woken up, he might not have even mentioned it this visit.

It’s sweet and oddly thoughtful, especially coming from Stu. That fits him, though. When I least expect it, he’ll hit me with something like this. I grin, “Someone’s getting soft.” 

“I can take it back.” 

Gently tapping the tape against his arm, I look up at him. “Don’t you dare.” 

The tape is pulled out of my hands. I turn my head in time to see Billy fully steal my weapon from me. “Before you kill someone.” 

He’s joking, but the thought of their death is still fresh. My mind isn’t given a chance to latch onto the thought, because Stu leans forward and steals the tape back. “I’ll go set it up.” 

Stu stands up again, walking towards his living room. I slide off the stool, ready to follow him. I only make it a few steps before feeling a touch on my shoulder. It takes me a second to think to turn. Billy’s standing closer than I thought he’d be. On anyone else, that natural tendency to move so quietly would weird me out at least a little. But on Billy, it’s just another thing to add to the list of cat qualities I’ll definitely have to mention later.

Or now, considering the way he’s just staring, hand still on my shoulder. “Hi?” 

His thumb runs past the loose collar of the oversized shirt I’m wearing and over the base of my neck. “Hi.” Billy presses his lips together briefly, “You’re--” He stops himself, eyes flitting away from my face. “You’re okay, right?” 

From him, the question isn’t so much an assumption as it is an almost nervous check in. Billy’s stiff, like he’s bracing himself for hurt. Whether that’s stemming from forcing the question out or concern over my answer or something else all together, I don’t know.

His eyes are focused on something just past me. Billy’s so tense I can feel it in his hold. He’s not squeezing me, but there’s some rigid quality to the contact that wasn’t there before. Whatever he’s thinking of must be heavier than what I’ve been feeling. I don’t know why, but I shift closer and pull him into a hug. 

He lets me, eventually moving to place his free hand on my back. “I’m okay.” Billy’s surprisingly warm. “You and Stu just need to really try not to get murdered.” 

I feel his exhaled almost laugh more than I hear it. “We’ll try.” 

“Good.” The word comes out blunt and hard. I feel the tightness of it in my chest, aggravating the panic that took over earlier. Helpless and grieving and guilty. “Cause I’d--I’d lose my shit if--” 

My hold on him tightens. I’m squeezing him so much it has to be uncomfortable and my face is pressed into his shirt even though I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

He runs his hand up and down my back firmly, assuringly. “Nothing’s going to happen.” There’s no way of knowing that. My silence must get to him, because Billy moves his other hand near the nape of my neck, slowly forcing me to move my head away from his shirt. “Look at me.” It takes me a second, but I eventually find it in me to meet his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to be okay.” I sniffle once before nodding. “All of us, because you’re not the only one that could lose their shit.” 

His tone comes out so hard it radiates an aggression that should make me feel worse. It doesn’t, the anger doesn’t make my throat feel tight like it normally would because it’s not directed at me. He’s watching me intently, hand shifting onto my collarbone as if he’s starting to regret what he said. 

I nod again, a little more convinced because it’s hard to challenge Billy’s intensity. Almost impossible to not believe him, no matter how little control he actually has over the situation. 

“Y-yeah.” My voice feels too small, too childish, like most of my actions tonight. His hand moves forward enough to get his thumb to brush against the pulse point of my neck. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you two graduate.” 

I’m joking. Mostly. Billy lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We’ll be around, so much you’ll be sick of us.” Again, another thing I want to believe just because Billy’s the one saying it. “If anything, you’re the one that’s going to break us up.” My eyebrows draw together as his thumb presses down a little harder.“Princeton, taking over the world...” 

“You’re exaggerating a little.” All of that’s still a world away, and there’s always a chance--knock on wood--that I won’t get in. But the shift in his mood tells me that those maybes don’t matter right now. “You guys could come with, there’s a lot of stuff in New Jersey.” Ah--that was kind of a weird thing to say. I can’t just pack them up and take them with me. That’s not how the world works. “Or--y’know--you guys could just visit and I--visit--I can visit you guys, too.” 

Smooth. Billy’s thumb drags down again, the touch regaining its comforting feel as he presses his lips together to fight down a smile. “Come with you?” 

“Not like--” I have no one to blame but myself. “I mean--yeah, it’d be cool, and New Jersey’s probably a good place to figure things out...” He’s just letting me ramble, which has to be intentional because he knows how I am. Honestly, it’s a little rude that he’s forcing me to elaborate with so little sleep in my system. “Plus your super awesome best friend would be there.” 

His smile eases a little more, “Super awesome best friend?” 

“It sounds like something you’d say about me.” 

He lets out a breath that’s definitely more amused than he wants it to be. There’s something about getting an extra smile or clearly suppressed laugh from Billy. It’s fun, like a game I’m forcing him into. 

“That is how I talk.” His lethal levels of sarcasm take nothing away from my victory. 

Billy steps forward. Instead of letting go, he moves his arm so that it’s around my shoulders. I’m kind of glad that he’s staying close. We walk to the living room together. 

Stu’s head snaps up from the VCR. “Took you two long enough.” He tilts his head back even further before raising his eyebrows dramatically. “Leave me out of something fun?” 

I roll my eyes, slipping out of Billy’s grasp and moving to sit on the couch. “Yeah, actually.” I relax into my seat. “We just hooked up in the kitchen.”

Stu jumps to his feet as I struggle to commit to the bit and not laugh. “Careful, angel.” He sits down next to me, so close our knees are touching as he moves his arm to get me even closer. “I might get jealous.” 

It’s not really a threat when he goes there often. Sometimes joking, like he is now and sometimes actually annoyed, like the time I couldn’t go to the movies with him because I had already agreed to hang out with Sidney for the third time that week. But now’s not the time for that, so I play along, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The other side of the couch dips, Billy’s arm moving to rest on the back of the couch. “Ouch.” 

There’s little harder than trying to keep them both equally happy. “Relax.” I relax further into the couch. “You know you’re both my favorites.” 

“But if you had to pick a number one...” 

I lift my hand, lazily swatting at Stu’s arm. The back of my hand barely brushes against his forearm. Stu moves quickly, grabbing my wrist before I can retreat. He pulls my arm towards him, slipping his fingers between mine. “Instead of starting problems, you should start the movie.” 

“Bossy.” He lets out a quick tsk, reaching over for something on the end table next to him. The crinkling sound of a wrapper has my eyes following his movements. He holds the packet in front of him triumphantly. “Now I don’t think I should give you these.” 

My sour gummies! “You actually have--” I reach forward with my free hand, but Stu pulls them back. “C’mon, you don’t even like them.” 

“You were mean.” 

He’s basically pouting, especially since I didn’t really do anything. But pointing that out won’t get me my gummies. “Fine. I’m sorry and you’re a treasure that I don’t appreciate enough.” 

Stu grins, angling his head towards me. “That’s more like it.” He shifts his arm, pulling the packet open before handing it to me. I grin, happily taking the pack and popping a gummy into my mouth. Stu wrinkles his nose. “How do you eat those?” 

I pick another gummy from the pack. He has to be exaggerating how much he dislikes them if they’re at his house. “If you hate them, why do you always have them?” 

Stu shrugs, a movement I can feel against my arm. “They’re on the list, the house shopper gets them.” 

I almost snort, nearly choking on the gummy that’s in my mouth. “I should make a list of all the rich people things you say.” 

“Ask him the difference between a house keeper and a house manager.” That only makes me laugh more. 

Stu glares past my head and at Billy. “Ask Billy about his family’s vacation cabin.”

This conversation belongs to a different tax bracket. “If either of you bring up skiing I’m leaving.”

Billy angles himself towards me in order to grab a gummy out of the pack. He squishes it between his thumb and pointer finger, exaggerating his skepticism. “That’s where you draw the line?”

I let myself sink further into the couch, “I’m being generous.”

“Mhm.” Billy shifts, moving his shoulder away from mine. I’m about to dismiss it as him being in a personal space mood when he rests his arm on the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against the collar of my shirt. “I believe you.” 

The response is brushed over, but there’s a pinch of smugness there that would be easy to dig at. I’m pretty sure that if I were to lift my head, I’d see evidence of it. A sarcastic smile he can’t explain away or a hint of too much humor behind his eyes. But I’m too comfortable to go after it

With no warning, the other side of the couch dips with no warning. My eyes snap towards Stu. I frown. “Stu?” 

“Just starting the movie.” His back is to me, but the grin in his voice is is audible. “Try not to miss me too much, sweetheart.” 

My nose wrinkles, face briefly pressing into Billy’s side as I cringe. “I think I’ll live.” 

The upbeat music of Clueless’s opening starts playing. After a second, the couch shifts again. Stu pulls the now empty gummy packet out of my hand and place sit on the coffee table. He then sits down, closer than before, our legs touching. After my dream, I can’t bring myself to scold him. They’re both here, completely okay. I don’t even say anything when Stu pulls my arm towards him. 

Billy lets out a breath that I feel more than hear. “Don’t fall asleep,” he whispers, “You’ll hurt your neck.” 

I roll my eyes. Sleep isn’t going to come back to me. It might not for a really long time, and there’s no way it’ll happen during Clueless. And sometimes Billy can be such a mom about things. It’d be more annoying if it wasn’t kind of...endearing to think of Billy as being a little bit of a secret softie. He likes to seem detached, but it’s all surface level. 

“Fall asleep during Clueless?” I tilt my head up enough to look up at him. “Do you even know me?” 

----

Narrator’s Perspective 

Stu’s eyes move away from the screen and towards your face again. It’s been less than 10 minutes, so checking on you is a little pointless, but Stu can’t help it. Sure, you must be tired, but there’s no way--oh. Your eyes are shut and you’re completely still, temple resting against Billy’s side. 

“She’s asleep,” Billy summarizes, not looking away from the screen. 

Nodding absentmindedly, Stu keeps his attention trained on you. There’s a softening of your features that always comes when you’re asleep. He can make out enough of that easiness, but there’s an underlying quality that feels stiffer. Stu tries to convince himself that any inconsistencies with the pout of your lips and the set of your brow is a product of the low lighting or his own tiredness reading too much into things. 

Your reactions tonight had been a surprise display of how well things are working. You’re all over them, you need them, you--He had never seen you like that. Most of it felt the way he imagined it would, but that relief was undercut by a different kind of tightness in his chest.

Stu runs his thumb over your knuckles. Billy sighs, finally turning his focus towards you. He smooths his thumb across your collarbone. “She’s fine.” 

Stu presses his lips together for a moment. “Yeah.” 

Billy manages to read that just as easily as he read Stu’s silence. He moves his hand to reach for Stu’s shoulder. “We want her needy, not broken. We’ll just ease off, no calls until she’s ready.”

“Yeah, she just--” There’s no way to say it without pushing at one of the lines they’ve both silently agreed to never mention. That moment in the kitchen when you slipped away, the blankness behind your eyes. It paralleled the way Billy gets when he gets into his head and disappears for a few days. The way he’s been for over a week. “You think she might need something?” 

It’s an awkward thought to force out, Stu so skeptical of the idea it’s almost like it came from someone else. Therapy, psychologists, all of that mental fix-what-isn’t-broken bullshit has always been a sore subject. “Isn’t her mom a little...” 

“Who gives a fuck about her mom?” Billy’s voice comes out more strained than he wants it to. Part of it is worry, part of it is the implication of motherhood and maternal genetics being that significant. “She--” There’s no real end to his sentence. What is it about you that makes Billy so sure you’ll be okay? Makes him so sure you have to be okay?

It’s not that you have that much going for you survival wise. You’re a good person, but that doesn’t mean much. Good people die all the time. You’re smart, but sometimes that just makes things worse. Billy lets himself mull over it, reflect on you and the way you made him feel when you walked in today. He decides then that you do have something going for you. “She has us.”

That admission serves as a sort of apology. “You and me. That’s all the help she needs.” 

You shift against his side, still asleep. The way you held onto him earlier bubbles in his chest. It’s one thing for you to need them, another thing to think that they’re so fucked up they broke the one good, normal thing about them. 

Stu frowns, noting the heaviness behind Billy’s eyes. It’s familiar, and now some version of that shadow that pulls Billy away from him is trying to take you. “We just won’t leave her alone.” 

That might not be the best thing to say, considering that the closest they come to acknowledging Billy’s occasional slip aways is Stu’s extended presence during those periods. The implication that Billy needs to be looked out for the same way you do is also risky, something that could be taken too seriously depending on Billy’s mood. 

A beat of silence, but Billy doesn’t stiffen or react to the implied similarities. “Until she snaps out of it, we don’t leave her alone.” They already spend an amount of time with you that’s hard to justify. Especially with the ever approaching grand finale of their plan. “I’ll need help with my history homework or get tickets to some movie, and when I’m not doing that, you’ll need help with an essay or be in a fight with your parents or--or anything.” 

Letting go of your hand, Stu leans further into the couch and stretches his arm over the couch. He rests his palm against Billy’s shoulder. “Yeah.” There’s more he could say. A range of things, maybe a joke or two about your unexpected outburst of worry. “We’ve got her.”

Billy nods, the motion stiff as he avoids looking at either Stu or you. He’s used to Stu’s closeness, and your openness tonight did ease that part of him that always assumes anyone that matters is flighty, but it’s pairing itself with things he’s not used to. The combination is starting to make him feel off, uncomfortable in a way he can’t understand.

“We should wake her up.” Billy’s voice is flat. “Her neck will hurt in the morning if we don’t.” 

Stu’s expression shifts to something a lot more smug. “I’ve got it.”

Billy rolls his eyes. Stu’s exaggerating in an attempt to bring back a more easy going atmosphere, but Stu’s definition of reasonably touchy is different than most. You’ve been through enough for one night, so Billy moves away. You let out an annoyed sound, trying to move closer to him in your sleep. He ignores the fondness that stabs at him and gently shakes your shoulder. Your eyes squint open. 

----

The dimness of the room makes it hard to register the fact that I’m awake. It takes a second, but I get there enough to pull myself off of Billy’s shoulder. I straighten my back, ignoring the hint of stiffness I feel in my neck.

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, looking at Billy and then Stu. “What?” 

“So much for too riveting to fall asleep.”

Billy’s a little too amused by the fact that I briefly dozed off. “I was...barely out.” 

The corner of his mouth turns upwards, “Then explain the snoring.” 

I scoff, moving back to give myself some space to hit his arm. “I do not snore.” He raises his eyebrows at me and somehow that’s more insulting than if he would have pressed the argument. I turn my head to look at Stu, “I don’t snore, right?” 

Stu takes my hand, squeezing my fingers. “It’s a cute snore, angel.” 

Sighing, I pull my hand away from his grasp, ignoring his pout. “You are so just taking his side.” 

He holds up his hands, “You’re adorable, but I’m neutral.” 

Yeah, right. “Yeah, you’re Switzerland.”

“Someone woke up moody.”

Because I have no good defense and sleep is still making my eyelids feel heavy, I just glare in his direction. Stu chooses to retaliate by placing a hand on the side of my head and pulling me towards him, placing a kiss against my temple before I can tell him to knock it off. 

Wrinkling my nose, I twist my arm back, trying to smack his chest. Stu lets go of my head and catches my open palm with an ease that’s a little insulting. He squeezes my wrist to his chest, head angling downwards. The light coming from the TV changes as one scene cuts to the next. The dimness seems to briefly lodge itself behind Stu’s eyes. 

“You know you’ve played into my trap.”

Stu angles his head to one side, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He makes a silent point by lightly tugging on my wrist. “Really?” 

“Mhm.” I straighten my spine instinctually, even though any height I get from that is useless. “I’m building your confidence, so that when I decide to attack you, you’ll never see it coming.” 

He grins before letting out a laugh. I know that I’m joking, but again, being dismissed that quickly is a little rude. I’ve never given him any reason to think I could kick his ass, but it’s not that impossible. “When?” 

I pull my arm towards my lap and Stu lets me go. “Shut up.” 

“What? I’m on your side.” Right. “You’re a mastermind, angel.” 

Billy sits up before exhaling. The sigh is low and brief but gives away how tired of us he’s getting. I can’t blame him, Stu and I are a lot to manage even when he’s well rested. “I don’t think you have to try too hard to build his ego.” 

I smile, turning my head to look at Billy. “It’s not a complicated plan.” 

Stu scoffs out a sound of protest before sinking further into the couch. “Fuck you guys.” 

A joke about how he’s pouting briefly comes to mind, but I decide that I’m too tired to push it. Considering how little sleep we’ve all gotten, it’d be easy to pass the line between easy going teasing and into one of Stu’s actual moods. “We’re kidding.”

“Yeah,” Billy starts, and I already know it’s not going anywhere good, “You’re the most humble.” 

Stu looks over my head to flatly glare at Billy. “Hysterical.” 

Despite Stu’s annoyed expression, there’s something about the exchange that’s so familiar it feels easy. Lighthearted despite potentially sharp edges. It’s the specific energy that’s usually associated with a specific group. “You two argue like an old, married couple.” 

That shocks Stu enough to make him forget any potential argument. His expression blanks as he turns his head down sharply to look at me. Whatever he finds in my amused expression makes him laugh. “Yeah, like I’d tie myself down to Billy’s sorry ass long enough to grow old together.”

Billy scoffs, and even that feels in good humor. “Like I’d be able to put up with him that long.” The words are dismissive, Billy’s tone bored, but I don’t miss the way he glances over at Stu. 

“Please,” Stu mumbles, pushing Billy’s arm from around the ledge of the couch before leaving his hand there, “You’d be lucky.” Stu scoffs out the sentence, but again, there’s something warmer lurking beneath the surface. 

It’s hard not to smile at the hidden in plain sight display of fondness. They really do get each other. I don’t know what’s shifted in the two seconds of silence, but I can practically feel them disappearing into one of their silent exchanges. It’s weirdly cute, but it’d be cuter if I wasn’t sitting between them during it. My position feels like it’s highlighting how out of place I am. 

Stu’s arm moves off the back of the couch and settles on my shoulders. “Who’s too good for who, sweetheart?” 

Yeah, there’s no way I’m even giving that a joke answer. “I’m tired, not stupid.” 

He frowns, “You’re no fun.” Before I can respond, Stu adjusts his hold on my shoulder to angle me a little closer to him. “I get it.” To his credit, Stu is whispering, but his voice is still loud enough for Billy to hear. Definitely on purpose. Stu angles his head towards me, leaning closer in order to pretend that this next part’s the real secret,“We’ve got to keep Billy’s feelings safe.”

Billy lifts a hand off the back of the couch and flicks the side of Stu’s head.

Even though I’d have to crane my neck awkwardly to look at Billy, I can feel him shrug. The motion briefly brings how close the two of them are to the front of my mind. 

“Ow--man, what was that for?”

I laugh, the sound too sudden and loud for this time of night. Stu might take that the wrong way, but I can’t help it anymore than I can help the way I slump into the couch. 

“Okay.” Billy sounds a little like someone speaking to a child resisting nap time, but does nothing to get me off of his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed before you fall asleep again.”

The thought of going to bed isn’t appealing, but I’ve complicated enough things tonight. I peel myself off of Billy’s shoulder and he keeps an assuring hand on my back. Stu follows along, standing up first and then making a point to hold onto my arm like I could fall without his support. 

We walk up the stairs almost exactly like that, hovering close together like kindergarteners on a field trip. It’s reassuring as we get to Stu’s room, helping me fight against the lingering anxiety from my dream. I focus on that as I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed. They’re fine.

Billy lays down on the same side he was on before. When I don’t move, he turns enough to nudge my shoulder. I take that as a sign to force myself to actually lay down. There’s no good way to justify the nerves. I fell asleep earlier and nothing bad happened. 

“Nothing’s going to happen.” The sentence is forced out and mumbled in a way that doesn’t fit Billy. It feels so hesitant I almost convince myself that I imagined it. 

“Yeah,” Stu echoes, moving so that his arm brushes against mine, “Everything’s okay, angel.” He pulls my hand towards him. “Promise.”

Still not the kind of thing that can be guaranteed, but I want to believe them. I nod even though it’s too dark for either of them to see. The motion is more for me, anyway, an attempt to force myself to agree. Things are okay for now, and that’s enough for me to close my eyes. It doesn’t take long for the lingering sleep in my body to come back, dragging me under before I can overthink anything else. 

----

Sunlight speckles the darkness behind my eyelids. It’s not an overwhelming brightness, but the change is jarring enough to wake me up slowly. I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, a little disappointed that the hazy feeling in my head doesn’t go away with the movement. Lack of sleep, I guess. 

I blink, turning my head to check on Stu. He’s still asleep, partially curled onto his side. It could be because of how energetic he is while awake, but Stu’s sleep always seems so full. My head turns in the other direction. Billy’s still, eyes shut, but something about his position feels stiff. I frown, making a point of only studying him out of the corner of my eye even though his eyes are closed. I wouldn’t put it past him to just know. 

Billy turns a little, the motion controlled enough to pass as something someone would do while asleep. He lets out a small sigh, another thing that could or couldn’t be sleep. “You’re up.” It almost sounds like an accusation. 

So he was awake. Knew it. “So are you.” 

He squints his eyes open. A few strands of hair fall forward as he angles his head to look at me. My eyes lock on the way they brush against his forehead. I squeeze my hands together, weirded out by the fact that I think it’d take less effort to push his hair back into place than to not, that it’s taking any effort to not fix. 

“Did you sleep okay, at least?”

The question surprises me more than it should. Billy may seem like the kind of teenage boy that’s too cool for a lot of things, but every once in awhile something a little softer slips out. A bit of a mother hen quality that likes to hide under a thin layer of snarky concern. I’d point this out, but I’m attached to our friendship. 

I prop my head up. “Yeah, I slept okay.” And I don’t even have to lie to say that. After lying down, it took no time at all for me to fall asleep. An all consuming, dreamless sleep, which is all I wanted. “You?” 

“Okay.” 

Hm. That was a quick answer. He seems fine, but the shadows under his eyes have been a little more prominent than usual lately. That paired with the glimpse of what I saw yesterday has to be worth noting, right? 

My eyes drop to the comforter. “You um...” I press my nails into the fabric. “Yesterday, I know I totally freaked, so I might sound a little hypocritical, but when I got here...you didn’t seem...” Ugh...there’s no good way to say this to him. It’s easy for him to twist things in his head and I don’t want him to feel attacked. “...Like you.” 

It’s only been a few seconds, but the silence expands something between us. My nails dig into the plush comforter even harder to distract myself, but it’s not working. I have to look up. Billy’s expression shifts from overwhelmingly blank to something a little harder when our eyes meet. 

“It’s just been a long week.” His tone is casual enough, but it’s missing what makes him familiar. “My dad’s on me about grades, senior year...” 

Billy did not just try to pin everything on his ‘senior year’. The realization that he’s probably lying, or at the very least, not telling me the entire truth, tries to crawl to the front of my mind, but it fails. It doesn’t matter. 

“Whatever it is...” I take a deep breath, “If you ever want to talk about it more, or just...need anything...” 

His eyebrows pinch together, eyes taking their time passing over my face. I don’t know what he could possibly be looking for in my expression. He must find it, because he eventually looks down. “Trust me, if I ever want to have a feelings talk, you’re the first person I’ll go to.” 

There’s a hint of teasing in his voice that makes it easy to smile. “I get it...” Billy places his palm over the back of my hand. “I’m all mush.” 

“Eh,” he tilts his head, playing into the joke as I roll my eyes. He shifts so that more of his weight is resting on his elbow. “You’re nice.” The shift in tone is sharp enough to give me whiplash. “You care about people.” 

I keep my eyes on our hands. “You’re nice, too.” He might not be aware of it, but he’s a lot kinder and more careful than people give him credit for. He’s always there when I need him and he always tries to understand. “You’re a good friend, so if you--” 

“I’ve seen you get worse over a math test.” Technically true, but that was a complicated situation. It wasn’t just the math test, it was the morning after the Ghostface attack and then I found photos of the Becker’s yard printed in a copy of the newspaper abandoned in the bathroom. But I have reacted pretty dramatically to less than ideal grades before. 

Billy’s hand grips mine with a little more pressure than before. “Yeah,” I mumble, already regretting trying to push.

He sighs, “I’m okay.” 

Billy relaxes his hold on my hand. “Yeah,” I nod, “Guess I’m just a little overprotective.”

“You like me that much, huh?” 

I roll my eyes. “Eh. You’re okay.” 

His eyebrows draw together in exaggerated offense, “Just for that, I’m not making you breakfast.” 

He lets go of my hand and moves to stand in an attempt to make his threat seem more genuine. I push myself to sit up fully, “You know how to make breakfast?” 

Billy’s already approaching the door but he turns his head enough to glare at me. “I’ve never set off the fire alarm.” 

“That was one time.” 

He dismisses my defense by opening the door. I push myself off the bed, looking over at Stu. He’s still out. “He’s fine, he’ll wake up when he’s hungry.” 

I focus on the even rise and fall of his chest. Stu’s face is pressed into his pillow, one leg still covered by his blanket and the other kicked out, dangling close to the edge of the bed. At least one of us knows how to sleep. 

“Yeah,” I agree, walking towards the door, “He’s lucky we’re too nice to draw on him.”

Billy looks back at me as he steps onto the stairs, “He’s lucky I don’t have a pen.” 

I laugh. “Maybe we can find one.” 

The part of the living room that’s too far away from the windows to reach a decent amount of sunlight is still illuminated. An artificial glow catches my attention. I guess no one turned off the TV last night. 

I walk towards the TV, crossing my legs beneath me as I sit down. It takes a second because of all the extra buttons on the control panel--rich people TVs should have instruction manuals taped to their sides--but my eyes eventually find the off button. I press it and all the TV does is turn staticky. 

“The tape’s still in there, you need to turn off the VCR first.” 

Makes sense. I mess with the buttons, turning the whole thing back on and starting over. Billy waits near the couch as I manage to turn the VCR off because after a second, regular cable starts playing. I hit another button. Instead of powering off, the TV switches to another channel. Before I can press anything else, a voice catches my attention. “The police department still has no leads on the crime that has rocked this sleepy community almost a year after the still unsolved murder of Maureen Prescott.” 

“Isn’t Gale Weathers that journalist you yelled at?”

Ugh--that’s how I know her. "I didn’t yell.” I stare at her focused expression as she stares down the camera. “I just made my thoughts on her journalistic process clear.” She’s wearing a suit that’s as vibrant as the one she was wearing when I met her at school. “Also my thoughts on what she was wearing.” 

The studio lights reflect against her gingery red, blonde highlighted hair in a way that’s unfortunately put together. “She’s kinda pretty, I guess...” Her getting-the-story-at-any-cost personality is something I’d admire if it was directed at anyone else. “For someone that totally sucks.”

“Which is why I’m still pressing forward with an updated version of my book detailing the two crimes, the suspects, and the most recent piece to the complicated puzzle--the sole survivor of the Becker Case.” 

Oh, there is no way she means--

My yearbook photo flashes onto the corner of the screen. “Local high schooler, Y/n L/n.” 

Blood rushes to my ears. Something warm and assured squeezes my shoulder. Billy. “Y/n?” 

The floorboards creek beneath the weight of even footsteps. “Thanks for--” The grogginess in Stu’s voice disappears with the rest of his original sentence, “What happened?” 

I finally connect with my body enough to pick my jaw up off the ground enough to form a sentence, “She put me in her fucking book.” 

----

a/n billy and stu when the traumatic thing they do is actually traumatic: 😦

also we’re about to get into the gale arch! yay!

----

Taglist:  @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21 @aonungs-tsahik @finnydraws @slytherhoes @vxarak @xofeeeeelsxo @thewayiknowyou @yourslashersfinalgirl @winterridinghood @maggieleighc @kobababysblog @moved2burntrubbertoast @gamecrew209 @idkf-loll @wolfgirl-205 @ultimatequeenieofsass @kathanibennett @itsjuststaticnoises @brittney69 @domaniquessidehoe

thanks for reading!! <3

Final Girl (Part 10)

 Final Girl Masterlist  (updated chapters 1-10 and extras, asks/extras involving the final girl fic verse are under the tag ‘final girl fic’)

A/n i’m leaning towards starting to write shorter chapters in order to be able to update a little faster but idk

Series Summary:  Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of learning that a certain redheaded journalist is making you a focal point of her true crime novel. 

----

In the least cynical way possible, sometimes I think a part of my mom craves conflict. Not in a narcissistic or violent way, just in a protective one. 

She doesn’t pick fights for the sake of having them, she doesn’t tear into things for the rush of adrenaline or to feed some complex. My mom likes standing up for people in a way that would be annoyingly self righteous if it was any less genuine. Any incident that could be interpreted as blood in the water has her diving in head first, ready to ward off any potential sharks. 

That’s why nothing about this rampage is surprising. She’s been pacing the length of the kitchen without giving the phone in her hand a break, typing out numbers at an unbelievable speed, only occasionally pausing to flip through the phone book on the counter. 

“Well then put me through,” she stalls long enough to put a hand on her hip, “Not to an assistant, not to the station, or the publishing company. Get Gale Weathers on the phone. Now.” 

This is the third time she’s pulled this stunt since I walked into the kitchen to grab a pity snack. The way she presses her lips together tells me that this time hasn’t been any more successful. “She’s too busy? Well, I hope she’s not too busy for a law su--” Something cuts her off. My mom blinks. “Hello?” 

“I told you that threatening to sue people wouldn’t work over the phone.” 

She pulls the phone away from her ear with a sigh. “It’s not a threat if I mean it.” The phone is placed on the counter as she turns her attention to the phone book. “That woman can’t do this. You, and your legal guardian, never consented to your likeness or story being used.” 

Unfortunately, that’s not completely true. Or, at the very least, it’s not that concrete or straight forward. When something’s news, information becomes a lot less easy to claim as personal or yours. Especially if personal information is kept vague enough. The second I was attacked by Ghostface and the news reported it, a lot of me in that context became a lot less legally sound. I’d have to prove it defamed me or hurt my life, which can’t be done before the book comes out. 

“We can’t prove that until the book is out.” 

She sighs, “There has to be something.” My mom taps her manicured nails against the granite counter top. 

My stomach twists with helplessness as the most urgent issue rushes to the front of my mind. It’s more than just someone taking advantage of my trauma or the fact that books are so much more permanent than any news headline ever could be. Books take time to come out, to circulate, which means that this tell all could reach its peak during my college app season. Princeton could see this. All colleges could see this. 

“Mom...” I can feel the tremor in my voice, but I can’t bring myself to stop it.

In a way, isn’t this best case scenario? Compared to what could have happened? Isn’t this such a small thing compared to what happened to Casey? I know this, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel it fully. Not when it comes to something I’ve worked for my entire life.

“What if--what if this gets in the way of Princeton?” 

She presses her lips together, watching me openly in a way that’s become familiar. “Oh, pumpkin,” she breathes, moving across the counter to pull me into a hug, “I’m sorry you’re going through this.” I squeeze her tightly. “And that I don’t know what to say or how to help.” She smooths my hair down gently. “But when it comes to school, all you can do is keep up your grades and when the time comes, write the best essay you can. And if they’re stupid enough to turn down your weirdly-good grades and insane resume, then screw Princeton.” 

Despite myself, I smile. Those soft digs at my type-A-ness aren’t lost on me and the sense of familiarity I get from them instantly make it easier. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, and if you want, you could always write your own tell-all book that would outsell hers because yours is from the--” 

“Excuse me?” 

She lets go of me, taking a step back at my offense. “I’m not telling you to write it, I’m just saying a published book would look good on an Ivy-league application.” 

Sometimes I’m so crazy about school that I forget my mom is also capable of insanity. “Mom!” 

My mom lets out a sigh. “What? You’ve been obsessed with Princeton since your dad gave you his old college sweatshirt in the third grade, but now I’m crazy?” 

She’s half joking and I know she’d never actually push me to write something like that, but my stomach still turns. Yes, I have made a ton of jokes about having no morals when it comes to college apps, but it’s different now. Anything that has to do with that Ghostface stuff feels tainted. I don’t want success from him. I don’t want anything good from Casey’s death.

I pick up the spoon that’s sunken into my partially melted bowl of ice cream. “I am not exploiting this.”

She holds her hands up in defense, “It’d ruin Gale’s book, jump start your career in journalism.” My mom extends an arm, asking for my spoon. I sigh before handing it to her. She eats a healthy spoonful of ice cream. “Two birds, one stone.” 

I scoff, taking the spoon back and eating my own spoonful. "You’re sick.” 

My mom steps back form the counter. “Just a suggestion.” 

I’m about to assert my previous point when the doorbell rings. I raise an eyebrow at my mom, silently asking if I’m expecting anyone. I’m not so I just shrug, moving away from the counter and towards the door.

There’s a chance it could be Wells. He’s at work, but it wouldn’t be the first time he forgot his keys. I peak out the window and am instantly pleasantly surprised. I’m more excited than I can justify as I reach for the front door’s lock. 

The door creaks open and I fight down a grin. I don’t know why they’re here, but I don’t mind the unexpected visit. I had been planning on moping and rotting in bed until school. 

“Hey,” I mumble, latching onto my surprise. 

Stu flashes a warm smile in greeting, “Hey, sweetheart.” 

I wrinkle my nose at the nickname despite its tameness. My mom’s way too close for that. I’m torn between making a joke about it and avoiding drawing attention to my concern and giving Stu a reason to push. I settle on looking over at Billy. He’s standing in a way that feels a little stiff. 

There’s a chance they called first, since they usually do when they come over through the front door instead of just showing up at my window. “If you called, my mom’s sort of taken over our phone line.” They both already know about Gale’s book and the fact that she’s editing it to include me, since they were both there when I found out. That still doesn’t make it easy to talk about, “She’s hunting down Gale Weathers.”

"Then I’m scared for Gale Weathers.” Stu raises his eyebrows, exaggerating concern.

Billy nods once, “She deserves it.” 

That’s true. I wasn’t exactly kind to her during our brief meeting, but she ambushed me at school after I was attacked. But that can’t be enough to justify what she’s doing now, especially without so much as a ‘heads up, you’re in my book’ phone call. If you’re going to potentially ruin someone’s future because they happened to have survived a serial killer, it wouldn’t kill you to call first. 

“Anything...else up?” Stu’s question surprises me. Maybe I didn’t react fast enough or I still look as worried about all of this as I feel. 

I don’t want to get into the details of my concern. I freaked out in front of them enough after I saw Gale’s announcement on TV, but there’s no way I can get away with acting like I’m perfectly okay with it all now. I guess I’ll go with deflecting, “Just my mom being a total college obsessed psycho.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth tilts upwards, almost a smile. “You had to get it from somewhere.” 

I glare at him in a way that I really hope is cutting. “Shut up. I’m not psycho.” 

“I’ve seen the Princeton poster in your roo--” I shake my head sharply, extending an arm to softly punch Stu’s arm. 

He stops, more out of surprise than decency. I drop my voice to a low whisper in order to explain, “My mom’s not that distracted, and she doesn’t know you’ve ever been in my room.” Stu grins at my seriousness. “And she can never find out.” 

This only makes him grin more openly, “Keeping secrets for me?” 

“I’m not above kicking you guys out.” 

Billy sighs, a defensive huff. “I didn’t do anything.” 

A slightly too aggressive you brought him here almost slips out, but I manage to stop it. Maybe if I was in a more joking, lighthearted mood I’d let myself make that kind of aggressive joke, but I’m moody and there’s a good chance my irritation will slip into that. it’ll taint the comment and make it something a lot more serious than it’s supposed to be. 

“Yet,” I settle on, trying to feel as easy as the comment.

He frowns, eyebrows pulling together like he just watched me kick a puppy. After a second, Billy parts his lips, but he doesn’t get to say anything back. 

“Who’s at the door?” My mom’s voice carries from the hall and to the entryway, a moment later she appears. I turn my head in time to see her polite smile, a little irate thanks to how the last day and a half have been. “Oh, hi, Billy, Stu.’’ Her greeting is flatter than usual as she barely takes a second to look up from the phone. “Come in, come in.” 

I step back to create space for them to come in. Despite my mom’s instinctual fall back to politeness, she barely notices the difference as she hits redial before pressing the phone to her ear. “Do you guys want anything to drink or...are you hungry or...going...” She trails off, attention visibly shifting as she waves us off, “Hello, can I--look, that’s great, Jocelyn, but I need to get in touch with your supervisor?” 

With one last force-of-habit smile, she turns away from the entryway and walks out. I walk towards the front door, instinctually shutting and locking it. “That’s basically my life now.” 

“Poor thing,” Stu’s voice is thick with false sympathy, “Your mommy’s fixing everything for--” 

“Shut up.” The reply comes out too quickly, too serious.

Stu blinks once, clearly not expecting the hint of actual tension and hostility that managed to press itself into the two words. “Someone’s moody.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut for a long second. “Sorry, I didn’t--” Sighing, I try to force the stiffness out of my body. “This book thing’s starting to get to me. I know that’s not an excuse, I just--” I don’t know how to explain the knot in my throat or the nerves in my stomach. 

The thought of this one thing I was delusional enough to think that I might be able to one day put behind me being everywhere is starting to claw at my insides. That helplessness is being amplified by a strange form of guilt, because I’m the one that’s still alive, so why should I get to complain? 

“Hey,” Stu interrupts my derailing train of thought. He places a hand on my shoulder, “No hard feelings, okay?” 

I nod, irritated at myself for the tears I feel burning in my eyes. “Okay.”

“You wanna get out of here?” Billy’s question is so low I almost convince myself I made it up. But then he lets out a breath and tacts on something else, “...Or we could go upstairs or watch a movie or whatever?”

The offer is so gentle I nearly melt. “Did you guys want to do something?”

They did come here, probably for a reason. Not that they never come over just to hang out, but they usually have some kind of plan or suggestion, like going over to Stu’s or driving around or watching a specific movie. 

“Just wanted to see how you were doing.” Billy’s reply comes out slowly, his eyes not fully focused on me. “We called and you didn’t answer, and after the news thing...”

That’s fair. I did leave Stu’s house pretty fast after the Gale Weathers thing and haven’t talked to anyone outside of my house for over 24 hours. Usually people worrying about how I’m handling things makes me feel uncomfortably hollow, but this doesn’t make any of that come up. Maybe it’s because they’re not making it feel like pity. 

“Uh...” There’s honestly not much that seems fun right now. A part of me still wants to crawl under my covers and pretend that nothing else exists, but they’ve pulled me out worse moods before. “I can show you guys that album I was talking about?” The offer feels weak, a little hollow. Stu squeezes my shoulder before relaxing his arm. “The CD’s in my room.” I shrug, looking between the two of them, “Or we could do whatever.” 

“You’ve been talking about that CD for a long time for someone who always forgets to bring it.” Stu’s not even trying to hide his accusation as he starts walking down the hallway.

I cross my arms, giving Billy a look that asks if he can believe all I have to deal with. “Yeah, I’m just worried your top 20 pallet is too complex for our tastes to ever overlap.” 

Stu scoffs, “Yeah, I’m the one that’s into top 20.” 

“Out of the three of us?” Billy’s question rivals Stu’s blatant sarcasm. 

I fight down a smile as Stu turns his head enough to glare. The display of irritation is short lived, because Stu has to turn back around to avoid tripping on the first stair step. He nearly misses, but recovers so quickly I wouldn’t have noticed the misstep if I hadn’t been looking at him. Sometimes his stability surprises me, because Stu’s energetic and lanky enough to warrant being a little clumsy, but he’s a lot better at not tripping than me. 

We walk up the stairs, the only sound filling the space is my mom’s voice, too far for any specifics to be made out. 

“I think I miss your mom not trusting us.” Stu lets out a wistful sigh.

Rolling my eyes, I push open the door to my room. “Don’t worry, she’s just distracted.” 

Even though my mom’s phone tirade is definitely helping her be so easy, I know what he’s talking about. When Billy and Stu first started hanging around, my mom felt the need to hover a lot more. She’d check up on us a lot more than she would when I was alone with Sidney or Tatum. My mom would also make a lot of jokes and comments in order to pry as (not so) subtly as possible. Slowly, she became more accustomed (or maybe desensitized), to them and now my mom acts a lot more normal in front of them. When they leave, she normally still pushes a little, usually through humor, but it’s a lot more tolerable now.

Stu walks into my room before I can, walking towards my bed. “We’re growing on her.”

I sit down next to him. “Or she finally gets that you two barely register as guys to me.” 

Stu moves, intentionally bumping his knee into mine, hard enough to make my knee move. Once he has my attention, he flexes an arm. “I’m all man, angel.”

There’s an exaggerated quality to his reaction that I can’t tell if I’m meant to take seriously or not. It’s the uncertainty that makes me let out a slight laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

He turns his head, leaning back slightly as he presses his palms into my comforter. “Then how’d you mean it?” 

My face feels a little warmer than before and I can’t figure out what that’s about. I’m used to Stu pressing after comments like this. Sometimes his humor focuses on making someone feel uncomfortable. Retreating or acting awkward gives him a reason to keep pushing. But I have no good way to answer. 

I wipe my hands on the fabric of my jeans. “Don’t start.” 

“Maybe I don’t get it.” 

I stand, throwing him a dirty look as I move towards my CD player. “Maybe you’re full of shit.” 

He huffs, “Mean.”

My fingers skim the row of CDs on my desk before finding the one I’m looking for. I use my nail to pop open the case. “Yeah, I’m a real bully.” Billy, who’s been lingering near my desk, opens my CD player before I can. I set the disk in place. “Can you believe him?” 

Billy shakes his head once, a few strands of hair falling out of place with the motion. He picks up the CD case and starts studying the back of it. “I can’t believe you can’t.” 

Stu lets out a distracted sound of protest. I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned around and found him fidgeting with something. My room’s not a total disaster, but I’ve been too busy moping to fully clean it, so there are a lot of contenders for things Stu could be messing with. I can’t think of anything that’s within his reach that’s embarrassing or important, so I let it go. Billy seems a little tense and considering the headspace he was in the last time I saw him, figuring that out is important. 

“Fair,” I hum, shutting the CD player, “You uh--” His eyes flit upwards, away from the CD case. The look is kind of stiff, but not annoyed or wary. It makes me realize that I don’t really have a good way to finish my sentence. Asking if someone’s okay never feels natural. Especially when he’s only been here for a few. “You okay?” I force myself to focus on the CD player, messing with the volume instead fo just hitting play. “You seem a little tense.” 

He sets the plastic case down. “I’m okay.” Billy straightens, shifting his weight off of my desk. The movement is small, he hasn’t even taken a full step, but the change makes him feel a lot closer. “Just can’t believe she can do that.” His tone takes on such a hard edge it takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about. Is the book thing really bothering him that much? “To you, to--does she think she’s untouchable? That guy’s still out there, what makes her think he won’t find her and rip that bitch’s--”

Billy cuts himself off with no warning, eyes focusing on me. I blink. Billy might come off as intense and reserved before you know him, but he’s never seemed explosive or prone to emotional impulsivity like that. Even when I briefly thought he could have been the killer, he never came off as aggressive. He never even held the fact that I put his life in danger and accused him of being a serial killer against me. 

This tension is new and it came from feeling defensive over me. The realization that it has something to do over me makes me more antsy than Billy’s actual words. 

“Woah,” Stu says through a dry laugh. “Relax, dude, there’s no need to write the next news story for her.” Stu swings an arm over my shoulder. I’m still stuck on what just happened, so it takes me a millisecond too long to weakly attempt to get Stu off of me. He pinches my shoulder, the nail of his thumb digging into my skin just enough for it to register as stinging. “You’re in poor Billy’s head.” I can’t tell if Stu’s teasing is meant to be sympathetic towards Billy or accusatory towards me. “Give the boy a break.” 

My chin briefly tilts downwards, a compulsory movement that seems to genuinely want to listen to what’s clearly a joking command. “I’ll try.” 

Stu relaxes his hold on me, dragging his thumb up and down the exposed skin of my shoulder, soothing the skin he accidentally irritated. I extend my arm, turning on the music absentmindedly. The room doesn’t exactly feel tense, but I feel a lot smaller than I did a few seconds ago. I don’t know if it’s because of the dip into a gory, too real topic or Stu’s comment or if I’m still just irritable.

“Guess it’s not your fault,” Stu hums, squeezing my shoulder once, “You can’t help being lovable.”

I try to keep myself focused as I adjust the volume of the first song. “That’s true.” He lets go of me and I stand a little straighter. “We all have our faults.” 

Billy lets out a breath that’s suspiciously close to a laugh. “Yeah, your only flaw’s that you’re too perfect.” 

“You were the one ready to support a murder for her,” Stu defends bluntly, “Not saying that Gale Weathers doesn’t deserve what she gets.” 

In all honesty, I had been so distracted by the way the book would affect me and my chances to get past the Ghostface thing that I didn’t even think about the actual killer. This could get him to hurt someone else. Gale Weathers could be making herself a target, but I find the thought unlikely. The more I reflect on why he left me alive the more I think that it might have been because there’s more of a story when there’s a survivor. He joked with me about the final girl thing. He also called me once without attacking anyone. The asshole probably gets off on attention. 

Gale Weathers is probably the safest person in this town. The more she talks, the more attention he gets. It probably also helps his ego because he knows everyone’s after him and he hasn’t been caught. It’ll probably get him to hurt someone...just not her. Not that I hope Gale gets stabbed, it just makes her choices that much more selfish. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at my open palm. The tiny white line, the scar carved into the skin of my hand seems bigger right now. “I don’t--it’s not like I want Gale to get hurt.” 

“No one’s saying you do,” Billy says, voice patient. 

I sigh, a part of me wishing this hadn’t come up. This was the last thing I wanted to think about, that’s why I’ve been ignoring calls and just focusing on homework. I walk away from my desk and sit down on my bed before slumping back semi-dramatically. If this is how Billy and Stu are acting, everyone at school is definitely going to start treating me weirdly again. Maybe Gale will be there, trying to chase me down for a quote. 

Ugh...maybe I can get my mom to bully the principle into letting me homeschool for a few days. A week maximum. Or maybe she’ll let me pretend to have mono or something. I have most of my textbooks here and I could get assignments from-- 

My bed dips, cutting off my train of thought. I turn my head enough to see Billy. “I--” His voice comes out so low I’m surprised I even heard him over the music. “I didn’t want to bring all of that up for you.”

There’s a softness there that makes it easier to genuinely shake my head dismissively. “It’s okay.” 

His eyes briefly meet mine. “I also didn’t uh--didn’t want to freak you out or--” 

“You didn’t.” That’s true, at least in the way he meant it. That level of anger over something that only really affects me did surprise me, but it’s not like he scared me. He hesitantly focuses his attention on me. I prop my head up on one elbow, watching him carefully. “You’re not as scary as you think you are.” 

Billy tilts his head, his lips tugging into an uncertain smile. “Oh, yeah?” 

He’s probing, likely trying to trick me into a compliment. “You’re losing your edge.” I keep my voice as nonchalant as possible as I drop my elbow and lay down again. “I think it’s all the time around me.” 

His eyebrows draw together like he’s seriously considering my hypothesis. “Valid theory.” The bed moves with no warning, the space to my left indenting. Billy lays down next to me without moving to make sure there’s enough space between me and the headboard. His arm presses into mine. “All the time in here can’t be helping either.” 

Billy does come over to my room a lot, usually crashing here when he needs to avoid his dad and doesn’t want to talk about it. Recently, though, he hasn’t been around as much. I didn’t think too much of it until I went over to Stu’s and saw that Billy wasn’t up for much of anything. “It’s the exposure to all the fluffy pillows.” 

“Probably.” Something warm brushes against the back of my wrist. Billy carefully traces an invisible line up my forearm. “This song’s nice.” 

The warmth of validation tugs at my chest. “It’s my favorite one on here.” He follows the same trail back down the inside of my forearm. “I think you’ll like the uh--” There had been a specific one on the track list that reminded me of a few songs he had shown me before. I list the titles in my head until I remember the right one, “Fourth track.” 

“Hm,” he hums in a way that doesn’t feel dismissive, just relaxed.

The bed shifts again. I crane my neck back, eyes straining to see behind me. After a second, I make out Stu circling my nightstand. “This is new.” He’s picking something up. Stu sits back down, making it easier to see what’s caught his attention. 

Oh. Not new, but I don’t blame him for not having my bookshelf memorized. “Not new.” He turns the book onto its side, studying the worn spine as if to confirm what I’m saying. “Just haven’t read it in a minute, thought it might cheer up.” 

There have been few problems that American Psycho and Patrick Bateman haven’t been able to at least help. It didn’t make me feel a lot better, but it was nice to distract myself from a real life murderer with the fictitious kind. 

Stu pauses, skimming the back of the book. “A little dark for a pick me up.” 

“It’s well written.” 

That’s true, and its commentary on social values and the rise of well off, stockbroker success and the culture that’s developed because of it is interesting and a creative analysis of society’s values. It also helps that despite being written with only a few redeeming qualities and being the literal villain (and weirdly misogynistic), I might have the smallest bit of a thing for Patrick Bateman. Not that I’d ever go for anyone like that in real life, but my fascination with his character is definitely a guilty pleasure. A guilty pleasure they really don’t need to know about.

He thumbs through the pages, attention focused like he’s actually reading it all that fast. Stu nods once, setting the book down at the edge of my bed before picking up a sweatshirt I almost forgot was still on my bed. He takes a second to feel the fabric of the sleeve before loosely folding it. Stu leaves it next to my book before laying down. 

We’re all lying horizontally now, but Stu’s backwards, his head closer to my torso and legs than anything else. The position makes it easy for me to secretly move my hand and softly flick his shoulder. Stu snaps his head in my direction, expression so shocked and slightly horrified I might as well have slapped him. 

It’d probably be smart to backtrack, but I’m clearly in no mood to make intelligent decisions, so I let myself laugh. The sound is a quick, too-smug giggle. Stu’s eyebrows pull together at the sound, the look concerning in its seriousness. I move to pull my hand back, but my reaction is too late. Stu throws his hand forward, grasping onto my wrist. I yank back once, had enough to be considered serious. Stu squeezes tighter, pulling my arm forward with an ease that embarrasses me.

“Stu!” A partial squeak, a partial laugh. 

He squeezes my arm to his chest, forcing my body to lean forward. I squirm, attempting to slip out of his grasp. I come close to escaping when I twist my arm back and turn my wrist without warning him, but Stu recovers. Growing desperate, I use my free hand to shove his shoulder. That backfires, too, encouraging him to use his other hand to keep me trapped.

The play fight escalates, both of us trying to win without getting up or seeming too invested. My wrist makes a cracking sound as I finally slip out of his hold. He’s quick to throw his arm forward and grab me again. Before I can even think to react, Stu tugs my hand upwards and briefly nips the side of my hand. 

I gasp so dramatically one might think he tried to gnaw off my entire hand. “Did you just bite me?”  Stu laughs, finally letting me take my arm back. I take a second to examine my hand, even though his teeth barely touched me. After deciding that my unmarked skin will one day recover, I prop myself up on my forearm and look over at Billy. “He fucking bit me.” 

Billy turns his head, unbothered by our conflict. “You started it.” There’s an underlying smugness that makes me want to shove him. I frown openly, not caring if I get accused of pouting. He sighs, holding up a hand. “Fine. Let’s see the damage.” 

“I didn’t even touch her.” 

I roll my eyes at Stu’s defense. Did it hurt? No, but it was deeply offensive. “You’re lucky I don’t bite you.” 

Stu lets out a breath, “Sweetheart, you can bi--” 

“Do not.” I keep my voice stern as I look at Billy’s waiting hand. He asked to see the damage, but there really isn’t any. The skin beneath my thumb wasn’t even grossly damp. It was more about my shock. But I still listen, setting my hand on his. 

Billy pulls on my hand gently, studying my skin intently. He even takes a second to bend my fingers and stretch them back out. “Think you’ll live.” 

I nod, letting Billy take his time still examining my hand. “Optimistic prognosis.” 

He shrugs slightly, his shoulder bumping into mine. “Only if you’ve had all your shots.”

Stu’s scoff and offended, “Fuck off,” are nearly drowned out by my laughter. Billy sets my hand down between us carefully. My giggling fit is drawn out by the rush of fondness in my chest. These two really are so much weirder than people realize and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Wow. They really are my best friends, and maybe arguably the most important people in my life. 

Feeling this close to anyone usually makes me want to be flighty. I’m not used to it when it comes to people I haven’t known my entire life, and there’s an inherent nervousness when it comes to growing attached to people you don’t completely know. It is kind of weird to feel this close to them and I haven’t even seen Billy’s room yet, so it makes sense that sometimes it feels different than what I’m used to. 

“What are you thinking about?” The question takes me by surprise, breaking the easy silence that’s been carried by the soft music. 

I blink at Billy’s words, a small part of me reacting like I’ve been caught doing something embarrassing. “Uh...nothing.” Fairly true. It’s not like my train of thought was focused or made much sense. Still, though, I should probably give him something more so he doesn’t assume that I’m trying to hide a mental break down. “...That you’re one of my best friends and I’ve never been to your house before.” 

Stu lightly squeezes my forearm. “You’re not missing much.” 

“You bit me,” I mumble, “What do you know?” 

He relaxes his hold on me in order to run his knuckles up and down my arm. “It was a love bite.” 

“Like a feral cat.”

Stu scoffs. “This is why Billy doesn’t want you at his place.” 

Wow. Rude. I part my lips, ready to insult him. “Okay,” Billy interjects, “Don’t start again.” A part of me’s offended by the defense. I should be able to fight Stu over this. “You guys are kids.”

I glare, “Rude.” 

“Fine, let him bite you again.” My nose wrinkles, but before I can say anything, Billy continues, “And he’s not wrong, you’re not missing much.” 

He’s probably right, I’ve just been thinking about it a little more than usual. “Until I see it, I’m going to think that your bedsheets are bright pink.”

“Actually, they’re bright purple.” 

The sarcasm comes out so quickly, so casually, I almost think he means it. “Nice try, but I’m still assuming neon pink.” 

He sighs, “It’s neon now?” The question’s mumbled, and before I can say anything back, Billy sits up. 

Stu turns onto his side, eyebrows drawn together in order to silently ask what’s up with Billy. “What are you doing?” 

“If she’s going to make up things about my room until she sees it...” He walks away from my bed, stopping close to my door. “We should get it over with.” 

Oh my god?? I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I also wasn’t prepared for the wave of excitement buzzing in my chest. I sit up too quickly, too telling. “Really?” 

It’s a casual thing that I really don’t want to make weird, but I wasn’t angling to get him to take us over there. And the thought is nice, they’re my best friends and a bedroom gives insight into a person. It’s also the perfect distraction after everything that’s happened today. 

“Yeah? Really?” 

Billy shrugs, already reaching my door. “It’ll be better than whatever she makes up about it.” 

A good point, because I was already thinking about ways to work in an assumption about him having zebra print lampshades and posters pulled from pre-teen magazines. “Am I getting that predictable?” 

He raises his eyebrows and Stu tries to conceal a laugh. I roll my eyes as Billy returns the question, “Getting?” 

“Haha.” Why do I hang out with them? I take back all the warm, fuzzy thoughts about them. 

I push myself to my feet, looking for my shoes. Stu sits up, waiting for me to find my sneakers. Because I was planning on hiding in my room until school, I almost didn’t change out of pajamas and now I’m glad I changed into some leggings and a comfortable shirt this morning.

My shoes were hiding underneath a pillow. I free them and sit on the edge of my bed to pull them on. Stu taps my knee, getting me to turn. “What?” 

He pats his lap once, implying something I don’t get. When I don’t react quickly enough, Stu sighs and bends forward. He pulls on my laces. “I can--” It’s too late, he’s already looped them once and is working on doing it again. “Double knotted?” 

Stu squeezes my ankle after tying my last shoe. “You trip too much for me not to.” 

I scoff, “You were almost nice.” 

“I’m always nice to you, angel.”

rolling my eyes, I move to stand after Stu straightens. 

“Grab a jacket,” Billy mumbles, “It’s cold.”

If my mom could see this, she’d never make another joke about him again. Actually, she’d probably say he’s one of my only friends with good sense. “Nerd.” 

He gives me a more-than-slightly-annoyed look as I reach for the jacket hanging on my desk chair. I make a point of holding up the jacket before folding the fabric over my arm. 

----

It’s a lot harder to not look like a little kid on a field trip than one would think. Maybe it’s the jacket that’s gone from neatly folded over my arm to a wadded up lump pressed snugly into my chest, held in place by my crossed together arm. The spring in my step could be part of the problem, a slight bounce that has to be a result of the touch of fall chilliness in the air and has absolutely nothing to do with internal excitement. That’d be way too dramatic. 

Billy unlocks the door and pulls it open. Stu walks in first, I follow. We walk down a short entryway that leads to a main living area. The living area is put together, radiating a neatness that almost feels clinical. Maybe that’s an exaggerated way of taking in the precisely angled arm chairs and the glass figurine that’s sitting on the coffee table, but I can’t help the thought. It has to be a byproduct of the ‘organized chaos’ my mom raised me on, a stack of magazines in the living room that never seem to fully straighten and unmatched pillows that get paired together to tell a story. 

The space is nice, though, some underlying factor I can’t pinpoint making it still feel a little homey. It’s almost like the room’s covered by an invisible cloak that makes it clear that people live here, that this isn’t some open house. I take my time looking around the room, trying to find a source for this feeling. 

There are a few framed photos, but none of them revolving around family enough to offer a homey feel, just pictures of a little boy growing up. The fuzzy one of the boy at maybe the age of six stands out on the coffee table, his smile reveals a missing tooth in a way that makes it a personal favorite. For a second, I think the subtle lived in atmosphere could be coming from the few knick knacks on the coffee table and book shelf, but quickly rule that out. Sure, they’re objectively nice decorations but they don’t fit together in that way. There’s no way a dad didn’t pick them out. 

I guess the feeling comes from the details. The most comfortable looking arm chair is the one closest to the bookshelf even though that corner of the room is almost a little too cramped for the two to sit next to each other. The rug matches the walls and the couch in a way that makes the cream colored pillows seem sad and out of place. 

“Is it everything you thought it’d be?” 

Stu’s voice snaps me out of my train of thought. I nod once, stepping towards the coffee table. My hand reaches forward, picking up the picture of the kid with the missing tooth. “Oh, most definitely.” 

Billy sighs at the same time Stu lets out a quick, easy laugh. “That’s a good one.” 

“Put it down,” Billy mumbles halfheartedly, but it’s too late. Stu’s at my side, taking the smooth frame. He holds it up and then down, squinting like he’s studying a complex work of art. “This was a mistake.” 

I grin, “Once again, most definitely.” 

“You used to be a real softie.” Stu delivers the comment in a way that feels almost factual. I bite down a joke about how used to feels like an exaggeration as Stu sets down the frame. 

Billy frowns a little too pointedly. “Yeah, I was the one that was sensitive.” 

I turn my head towards Stu, who’s stiffer than he was too seconds ago. There’s definitely a story there. “What’s that about?”

“Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” Stu pouts, lazily extending an arm in my direction. “He’s always been jealous of me.” 

Mhm. I roll my eyes, sighing as I reluctantly step forward and meet him halfway. Stu squeezes my shoulder. The gesture is gentle enough, but I still halfheartedly try to push him off. “Yeah, jealous sounds like the right word.” 

He huffs. “Don’t be mean.” 

I force my thumb downwards. My nail pinches at my skin a little but it works, I get in between the fabric of my shirt and Stu’s palm. He curves his hand to give me the space I need. “I’m never mean.” He tries to squeeze my thumb down flat. “Seriously, though,” I turn my head enough to look at Billy, “Story?” 

Billy tilts his head just enough for me to notice and his eyebrows pull together. The feeling that he’s silently trying to tell me something I can’t interpret tugs at me briefly. He straightens his stance before I can read too much into the look. “Imagine that with the impulse control of a seven-year-old, that’s the story.” 

Stu being a former terror is a topic that’s been touched on before. Usually, the issue with befriending people that have known each other their entire lives is that you’ll never have the childhood experiences together. You’ll never know whose parents hosted the sleepovers or who had constantly scraped knees or who went through an embarrassing obsession with some child targeted franchise. 

It’s a fair thing thing to be intimidated by. And normally, it’d sting from time to time, but with them it rarely does. I like hearing the stories, like the details that come up. 

Stu scoffs in complaint, fighting back with renewed interest as I come close to freeing my shoulder.

“He used to have a thing for bugs,” Billy offers after a second, “Didn’t like when people would mess with hives and-and food routes or whatever.” 

The hand on my shoulder nearly goes slack. I blink, twisting my neck to look at Stu, whose staring straight ahead. “Shut up.” The words come out uncharacteristically passive, and maybe even a little flat. 

Picturing Stu as one of those insect fact kids wouldn’t come to me naturally, but it does kind of fit. Not the defending them, but the interest in something that gets people to react. 

“Really?”

Stu sighs, “Not really.” Again, a surprisingly flat defense. “I didn’t have a thing...just thought they were...” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, “Cool.” 

“So cool you had to put a beetle in Valerie Thompson’s cubbie.” 

...And there it is. I laugh despite myself, imagining a second-grade Stu and some poor girl getting into some kind of argument and then later finding something crawling between her crayons and coloring sheets. Maybe it’s a good thing we met when we did. Little me could be a monster in her own way, a way that wouldn’t have fit theres.  “That poor girl.” 

“Valerie Thompson had it coming,” Stu says, “Y’know what she was like.” 

I don’t know if it’s weird that I assumed that Stu was talking to me or both of us instead of just talking to Billy. The comment was small, offhanded and focused on a topic only they know about. It’s fair for him to not be talking to me. Rationally, I get it. That doesn’t mean I like it, though. 

I’ve seen them interact in ways that make it feel like everyone else is invisible. They get each other like that. Anyone that’s around them long enough to see them relax has to get it. It’s the kind of understanding that makes people insecure about their own best-friendship. Not that it makes me feel like that. Most of the time. 

Something about it right now burns more than usual. My feelings aren’t hurt, I’m not upset because that wouldn’t be fair, but I’m not comfortable and breezy either. That just makes it worse, why does it feel different now?

Maybe my irritability is a result of multiple things. All I’ve had to today is a few spoonfuls of the ice cream that I mainly picked at so that my mom wouldn’t worry and I’ve had no water. The whole book thing has been stressful, too, and the pulsing ache of a migraine is starting to settle behind my right eye. 

It was nice of Billy to invite me over because I asked, but maybe it’s too early for me to be out again. Maybe what I need is the safe enclosure of my bedroom, dim lighting, and a nap. 

I try to shake off my discomfort by acting on instinct. The instinct of a feral toddler that isn’t getting enough attention. I twist my thumb, poking his hand with my nail. I’m not being mean about it, but I could have been gentler. Stu doesn’t react, which only adds to my annoyance.

My knuckles bend, giving me the space I need to get enough leverage to separate Stu’s hand from my arm. He lets me. 

“Guess he hasn’t changed that much since he bit you today.” 

The direct comment has me easing slightly. I get myself to smile. “Clearly.”

Billy takes a partial step forward, “You good?” 

I scratch the back of my arm, trying to ground myself in the present. Be normal. “Yeah...just tired.” Which is true enough. I wipe at my face, pinching the bridge of my nose in an attempt to control the dull pain. “And I feel like I’m getting a headache.” 

He nods, expression cloudy. “You want tylenol or water or...something.” 

Pull it together. I force my hands to my side as I shake my head once. “I’m okay, just spaced out for a second.” 

“You need to lay down?” Stu tilts his head, watching me like a part of him thinks I could faint.

My fingertips press into my side. “I’m good, it’s just a migraine.” This is what happens when someone decides to write a book about the most traumatic thing I’ve ever gone through. “Probably just stress.” They’re staring attentively. I can’t blame them for their concern. If I freaked out right now, this wouldn’t be my first meltdown. The fact that it’s warranted makes everything feel like too much. “Can we get back to analyzing Billy’s baby pictures? I think I saw one with a pool floaty on the bookshelf.”

“Baby pictures are low tier.” Stu briefly lifts a hand before dropping it dismissively, swiping at the air. “The real making fun of Billy’s in his room.”

“Really?”

"Yep. All the angst.” 

Intriguing. “All the angst and pink sheets, right?” 

“Neon.” 

Billy sighs once, reluctantly stepping forward. This is all out of his control now. “You two don’t need to be around each other.” 

He walks past the couch, approaching a hall that leads away from the living room. Stu turns his head the second Billy’s back is to us. “So jealous of us.” 

Despite myself, I smile, finally feeling a bit more at ease. “So.” 

We walk down the hall together. Billy’s fully ditched us, but Stu knows where we’re going. The hall is short, we pass one door before Stu stops us in front of one that’s partially open. He opens it fully with a gentle push and walks in without a second thought.

I’m still stepping into the room when the bed creaks loudly thanks to the sudden addition of Stu’s weight. He’s making himself just as at home as he does in my room, rolling onto his stomach to reach for a pillow to tuck beneath him. 

Billy sighs from his desk chair, moving his legs off the foot of the bed. “What did we say you were? Seven?” 

Stu cranes his neck, glaring at Billy before relaxing again. “And a half.” 

“Feels generous.” The joke comes out instinctually, but my attention’s already divided.

Billy’s room is made up of deep blue-grey walls, not quite dark but nowhere close to light either. All the furniture is made of dark wood that matches the hardwood of the floor. The room is decorated a little neater than one would expect for a teenage boy, a few posters that are sized too well to not have been picked out carefully. They’re movie themed, though nowhere near as openly gory or sexualized as the one’s in Stu’s. 

Everything’s also nicely organized. Like, even more organized than my room. No clothes on the floor or laundry sitting in a basket or on a chair in a pile that’s left to grow until it eventually topples over. What I can see of his desk is also put together, no assignments or unfinished books or projects cluttering the surface.

I walk towards the bed, siting down on the edge. The comforter is navy blue and a lot softer than I thought it’d be. His sheets are dark colored, neutral plaid. Not hot pink or an obnoxious shade of purple, unfortunately. I can’t bring myself to mind being wrong. The space is really Billy in a reserved sort of way. It fits him. 

“No pink sheets.” Billy’s voice snaps me out of my analysis. It’s a good thing, too, because I was probably seconds away from touching things on his bookshelf and messing with the lamp and being nosey about knick knacks. I’d feel worse about the desire to pry and investigate for entertainment’s sake if both of them weren’t constantly looking through my things. 

My hand brushes the edge of the sheet that’s folded over. “Disappointing.” I twist awkwardly to better look at him. Billy’s bouncing his leg, not looking at anything in particular. “But besides that, it’s nice and not as embarrassing as Stu said it’d be.” 

Billy’s eyebrows draw together, “As?” 

Stu props his head up on one elbow despite the fact that most of his arm sinks into a pillow. “Look through his underwear draw and then we’ll talk.” 

I laugh, surprising myself with how loud and genuine it is. The suddenness aggravates the background soreness of a headache. I ignore it. “You’ve looked through his underwear drawer?” 

“It--” Stu cuts himself off with a sigh that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

Our laughing fit ends as Billy stands up. “Where are you going?” 

He walks around the bed, barely glancing over at me to answer, “Give me a second.” ...Okay? “Don’t look through my underwear drawer.” 

“No promises,” Stu calls after him.

Billy doesn’t react, extending an arm and instinctually half-shutting the door. Stu adjusts, forcing himself to sit up. He’s farther back on the bed than me, but his legs are so long his knees are nearly level with mine. “We’re not really gonna do that are we?” 

Stu half laughs-half scoffs, wrinkling his nose and scrunching his eyes together in pretend disgust. “I’m good.” I smile. “We can tell him we did, though.” 

“We should also tell him we found something really embarrassing.” Stu raises his eyebrows and I immediately regret it. I scoff, reaching back to smack his arm. “Not like that, I meant like a stuffed animal or something.” 

“Don’t you have stuffed animals?” 

My posture stiffens, a tiny part of me offended that he’s implying that my children are something I should be embarrassed about. “That’s different.” I frown, thinking of the one stuffed animal that lives on my bed and the few that live around my room. “And you said you liked them.” 

Stu never said that, but he has implied it. Nothing crazy, just a few debates between a duck my mom had given me as a child and a bear from my grandparents. He even asked about their names. 

He shrugs, turning towards me. His knee taps against mine. “I’m not complaining.” I narrow my eyes, skeptical if this is leading into some kind of joke. “As long as Daisy leaves Blueberry alone.” 

I fight down a laugh, because laughing would undo all of the work I’ve put in to convincing him that making up lore about my stuffed animals is something he should stop. “You made that up.” 

He tilts his head, “That’s what Daisy wants you to think.” 

“I don’t even think you actually remember which one’s Daisy and which one’s Blueberry.” 

Stu gasps like I’ve slapped him. “Daisy’s obviously the duck with the--the sweater--blue sweater with daisies--and Blueberry’s the bear in overalls.” 

This time, the giggle slips out. I’m still not convinced he’s not making fun of me in some way or setting up for some kind of joke, but the way he grins might make it worth it. “Too easy. Which one’s Jellybean?” 

He presses his lips together to demonstrate serious thought. “The...bookshelf one. The bunny with the--the ears.” Stu lifts a hand, using his fingers to try to draw something long and floppy in the air. “The grey one.” I grin. “And the last one’s French Fry, the dog on your desk for good luck.” 

“Okay,” I manage reluctantly, a confession pulled out like a tooth, “You did a good job.” 

Stu’s smile impossibly widens, reaching forward to wrap an arm around me. “I know my girl.” 

I sigh, mumbling a quick, “Not your girl.” Stu ignores me, squeezing me to him a little more confidently. “And you know I don’t actually think French Fry’s lucky anymore, he just lives there.” 

He scoffs, “Don’t talk about French Fry like that, babe, all he does is guard your homework.” 

I frown, craning my neck to look at him, “Are you making fun of me?” 

“No,” he breathes the word out in a way that makes it feel like the opposite of what it means. 

Some joke about how French Fry’s going to have to start guarding me from him is almost out of my mouth when something creeks. Billy’s opening the door, a glass in his hand. He extends the glass towards me. I take it instinctually, even though I have no idea what the water’s about.

“Drink,” Billy says, already moving to the other side of the bed, “For your head.” 

Ah. Not the first time Billy’s blamed an issue on me not drinking enough water. Even though I didn’t ask for anything, the gesture makes my chest feel warm. I take a few long sips. “Thanks.” 

Billy nods once, sitting at the edge of the bed. Stu twists himself to make it easier to look at Billy. “You know she just said French Fry’s not lucky.” 

“Wow,” Billy shrugs, a distinctly sarcastic lilt to his shock, “That’s blasphemous.” 

I roll my eyes before drinking some more water. “I just meant that I’m not like five and that I don’t actually think he can bark away the bad grades.” A barely covered laugh overlaps with the last of my words. I snap my head towards Billy. “What?” 

“Bark away the bad grades?” Okay, it sounds dumb now, but when I was younger the thought of doing my homework in the presence of French Fry was comforting. A school counselor recommended him to keep me calm during tests and now he’s just a good omen. “You just--you don’t seem like you were that weird a kid and then you say--” 

“I was not weird!” A little defensive for someone that was in the fourth grade with a stress plushy. “I was--I was like one of those kids that was basically an extra excited old person.” 

Stu’s arm slips off me as he adjusts the way he’s sitting. “Yeah, that sounds normal.” 

Really? After what’s been established about him? “Okay, bug boy.” 

He glares, openly offended. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Billy’s interjection tells me that he’s hitting his petty fight limit earlier today than usual. He only tries to preemptively intervene when he’s hitting a specific wall that Stu and I make people realize they have. “Before you guys start fighting like little kids, have you had lunch yet?” 

Unless you count a bowl of ice cream that ended up abandoned in my kitchen... 

Stu sits up a little more, “Nope.” He turns his head enough to look at me, “What about you, angel?” 

I tap my nails against my knee. “Not yet.”

“Wanna go to that pizza place?” Stu offers, already moving towards the edge of the bed to stand.

The thought of food isn’t particularly appealing, but I’ve moved past the stage of panic that made the thought of eating nauseating. What is nauseating is what could happen if I go out in public. Gale Weathers has been nonstop promoting her book. What if someone recognizes me? It was bad enough when the attack first happened and my school was buzzing with journalists...Now things are confirmed and Gale Weathers can’t keep my name out of her mouth. 

My grip on the glass of water tightens, “Sure.” 

“We can do something else if you want?” 

Ugh...a selfish part of me wishes I had it in me to pretend not to hear the hint of uneasiness in Stu’s voice. I could shake my head and say that pizza’s good, blame my hesitance on the beginnings of a migraine and sleep depravation. 

“It’s not...” Both of my hands grasp the glass. I press my thumb against the rim with enough tension to leave a red line indented into my skin. “She’s still talking about it and--and I saw some other show doing a segment on it and my name came up like three times in the five minutes that I watched.” 

It’s going to take over my life. Slowly but surely, it’ll take more and more. The buzz will die down and the side stares and not-so-mumbled comments will stop, because they did before. But then the book will come out and it will start again, and by the time it stops being super relevant it’ll be linked to my identity. Colleges will see it, any job that requires a background check will find it in seconds, and all it takes is for one person to find out and then it’s everywhere. 

What if I get into a great school and start making friends and then one person realizes they’ve seen my name before or looks into Gale’s career for whatever reason and then suddenly it’s everywhere? It’ll cling to me like a shadow, the label of victim the kind one and the conspiracy theorists... 

“You don’t have to put up with it.” Billy’s voice is low, almost unfeeling. I don’t get what he’s saying. Billy understands my question before I can ask. “The Gale thing--if she wants to use your name every two seconds to promote her book, you should let her know you’re not okay with it. Don’t make it easy for her, you’re not helpless.” 

The sharpness in his tone doesn’t feel aggressive, it’s urging. Honest. “Sorry, that was--” 

“Don’t be sorry.” I mean it. The directness and the lack of coddling forced me out of my the-world-is-ending spiral. My mom’s trying to track Gale Weathers down logically, but with someone that doesn’t mind playing underhanded to get what she wants, you have to work the same way. She ambushes people all the time. “I think I needed to hear it.” 

Gale’s office is probably in a public directory, and if it’s not, she’ll probably try to find me at school. There’ll be a chance to tell her off, a chance to stop her. Or at least, to get her to stop mentioning me like I’m a tagline. 

“We’ll take her down,” Stu encourages, gently bumping his fist against my arm, “After food.” He stands up, the bed shifting beneath his weight. “C’mon, if anyone looks at you, I’ll beat ‘em up.” 

I roll my eyes, letting Stu pull on my free hand until I stand up. “You offer to do that a lot. I think you just want to beat someone up.” 

“Nah, if I did, I’d just punch Billy.” 

Billy lets out an exhausted sigh as he stands. “Seriously?” 

“What? I’d say I’d punch her, but she scares me a little.” Considering how often Stu and I do fight each other, I really doubt it. “She fights dirty.” 

“Yeah.” Billy’s agreement comes out suspiciously fast as he opens the door. “I’ve seen her kick your ass.” 

----

a/n billy and stu when someone else takes advantage of y/n’s trauma: 🤯🤬

also next chapter should be a lot messier hehehe

Taglist:  @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21 @aonungs-tsahik @finnydraws @slytherhoes @vxarak @xofeeeeelsxo @thewayiknowyou @yourslashersfinalgirl @winterridinghood @maggieleighc @kobababysblog @moved2burntrubbertoast @gamecrew209 @idkf-loll @wolfgirl-205 @ultimatequeenieofsass @kathanibennett @itsjuststaticnoises @brittney69 @domaniquessidehoe @kaydesssssssss @superhighschoollevelnerd-blog1 @classicbandtrash83 @itzz-me-duh 

Hi there!

If you accept requests, could you write a Halloween themed fic about y/n, Billy and Stu?

Like them going out to choose their costumes and decorating Stu’s house for a party, stuff like that

Hope you are doing well! Thank you very much ☺️

A/n omg i loveee holiday fics and halloween <3

----

You're staring down an aisle of plastic faces etched into neon bases. The differences between them are superficial, just a variety of colors and two or three alternainge expressions. Nothing distinct enough to warrant this level of analysis and yet...

You decide on one from the top shelf. Orange with simple triangle eyes and a double toothed smile. A classic.

You place your chosen plastic pumpkin into the cart that's slowly but surely being filled up by Halloween decor that's only somewhat cheesy. Okay, to be fair, the contents of your pile range in their levels of cheesiness...but still, mostly non-cheesy and perfectly fitting for a classic Halloween, high school rager.

"Really?"

There's nothing about Billy's voice that's worth getting. No soft lilt to indicate teasing or harshness to imply actual judgement. It's the factualness of the statement that leaves you doubting your choice, even though nothing about this is that deep. "What?"

Billy lets out a partial sigh, irritated by the way that fondness pinches his chest. There's something soft about your question, like his opinion on your choice of decorations could actually crush you. It soothes that part of him that's always searching for a reason to believe that those around him are flighty. "You just--you spent so much time looking and then you picked the orange one."

Shrugging, you place a hand on the side of the cart. "I was deciding."

"You picked the poster child of pumpkins." A pointless stance for a pointless argument. You beam at him and Billy starts to feel a little less ridiculous for entertaining this.

Still smiling, you start, "Pumpkins have poster children?"

"Hey, sweetheart." Stu appears halfway down the aisle.

You blink, instinctually squeezing the side of the cart tighter in your shock. For someone so larger than life, Stu can move quietly when he wants to. "Stu." Carefully, and only somewhat halfheartedly, you try to shrug him off. "Did you at least find the cups?"

Stu lifts his free arm, showing you the plastic covered set of solo cups. "You give me a job, babe, I get it done."

Billy rolls his eyes, "Since when?"

Stu scoffs, fingers pressing into your upper arm a little more firmly. "Since Y/n asked." His hand shifts up and down your arm. "Maybe if you looked like her, I'd listen to you."

There's nothing inherently wrong with the gesture, but there's an undertone of stiffness in his touch. That paired with the way Stu's attention remains on Billy makes you feel a little more like a prop than equal participant in the conversation. Deciding to shake off the feeling, you poke Stu's side.

"Ouch." A sound that's forced out much too harshly. Stu retracts immediately, like he's in agony. "What? I was complimenting you."

You roll your eyes. "I barely touched you."

"I'm wounded." He makes a show of clutching his side. "Kiss it better?"

Billy sighs, shifting his attention towards you, "We can't take him anywhere."

You nod understandingly, "We really can't."

Stu scoffs, offended, "Fuck you guys."

"We're kidding." Your concession comes quicker than usual, but you really don' mind giving in to keep the peace right now.

Today has been fun in that simple way that people forget about around middle school. Stu had called last night and mentioned something about wanting to up his party game for Halloween and a few things about decorations. He insisted that he couldn't go with just Billy because Billy has the decorative taste of someone that's color blind. Even though that's the strangest insult you've ever heard, it made you laugh and you agreed to tag along to cancel out any potential color vision deficiency.

They picked you up the next morning, swinging by your usual coffee place before stopping by a grocery store and then finally, the Halloween pop up store.

"You can't be mad," you mumble, "I need your held defending my pumpkin." Stu blinks, a little too surprised and confused to know how he wants to react. You gesture towards the cart as if that should answer everything. "Billy called it basic."

"I said you spent a long time looking at different pumpkins just to pick the orange one."

Stu turns his head, giving you a look that makes it clear that he has no idea how you've been putting up with this. "It's a classic."

"Thank you."

Billy's eyebrows pinch together. He's aware that there are few things you could say that Stu would publicly disagree with, but there's nothing to oppose. "I didn't--" He sighs again, giving in, "You should get a friend."

You tilt your head slightly in a way that's hard to read. "I'm not eight." Even though your tone leans towards argumentative, you walk towards the shelf and grab another orange pumpkin. This one's eyes are ovals, not triangles, and its dark smile is more lopsided and smaller. A variant that sticks close to the source material. "Two does look better, though."

With the pumpkin debacle settled, Billy begins to push the cart forward. You and Stu remain about two steps ahead of it, pointing out different decorations from time to time, most of them unserious suggestions.

"What do I have to do to get you in this?"

That sentence, coming from Stu, is enough to make you scared to turn around. The only reason you eventually do is because you can't justify staring at the wall that's stocked with costume add ons--fangs of both the glow in the dark and regular variety, cellophane wings, horn and halo headbands. You're also painfully aware of the fact that the more you resist and fluster, the more Stu will commit to his bit.

So you force yourself to remain casual as you look behind you. He's holding up a prepackaged angel costume that makes you feel like you're offending some religion by just looking at it. A corset top, small, frilly skirt, and white fishnets. It's not so much that makes the costume feel like something that belongs on stage at a failing Vegas show, it's the material and the styling.

"Uh..." In a way, you're glad that he decided to make the joke about something so blatantly not an option, because there's no way he's serious. It makes joking back easier, a little safer. "...Have a roll of one's ready?"

He doesn't miss a beat, "Deal."

Now that sounded a lot more genuine. You blink, struggling to hold your ground. Instinctually, your attention flits towards Billy.

"You should've known what he'd do with a stripper joke."

It's only a partial out, but you appreciate it greatly, "I have no one to blame but myself."

Stu scoffs. "I'm not that predictable."

You and Billy exchange a look. Stu pouts, turning enough to hang the plastic packaging back on its metal hook.

Instead of reminding him that if anyone should be offended about that last joke it should be you, you decide to shift focus. Your attention falls on the consistently growing contents of the cart. It might be a little much, but Stu's house is large. You'd need this many things to make the whole space feel decorated.

"You think we're good or are we missing something?"

Billy tilts his head downwards, taking an unofficial inventory of the cart's contents. It's more for your sake than actual interest. "You didn't get the lights. The twinkly ones."

There's something about hearing Billy say the word twinkly that's more entertaining than it should be. You smile despite yourself. "Say twinkly again."

He glowers, "No."

Billy starts pushing the cart, nearly running over your toes. You bounce back quickly, holding onto the side of the cart like a little kid as you follow him forward. "Why not?"

"The way you asked."

Rude. "He's no fun."

Stu turns his head just enough to look back at the two of you, "Billy?" His hand latches onto the front of the cart. Now, all three of you are clinging to the shopping cart like pre-schoolers that use those plastic rings to stick together. "He's moody."

The comment is meant to dig at you. "I didn't say that."

You'd never say that. If anything, oversimplifying Billy like that is one of your pet peeves. He likes to come off as a little closed off, but it's not such a basic teenage boy thing on him. You've never said anything explaining your defensiveness...you don't even think you'd be able to put it into words, but with Billy, any pretext of angst feels like a type of shield.

"He's just above entertaining me now."

Billy's eyebrows draw together sharply. "Now?"

Reaching the end of the aisle, Billy starts to turn the cart. It's a little awkward to make it around the corner without anyone releasing the cart, but you manage. "We all have to out grow our friends at some point."

"Mhm," he hums dryly, "Especially the dramatic ones."

Eyes widening, you turn on your heels to glare at him. He keeps his head angled downwards, a few strands of hair falling forward to hide the brunt of his reaction. That doesn't stop you from seeing part of his smug smile. If Billy's casualness wasn't always welcomed, you'd likely be a little more annoyed.

"The you that corrected the barista that misheard my coffee order before I could would have never spoken to me like that."

"That was this morning."

You shrug off his response, deciding that a comment about simpler times would over extend the bit. You're in the right aisle now, anyway, shelves full of decorations that require hooks or nails or something else to keep them attached to the wall.

Stu wanders away from the cart, picking up a cardboard box that displays a picture of purple lightbulbs strung up on a suburban house. "These?"

You shake your head. "Too bright, I think they're meant for outside." Stepping towards the shelves, you pick up a rolled up cord of smaller, darker purple lights and another set of boxed lights. "You need... mood lighting."

The cord for the boxed ones are way too long for a living room or kitchen and the bulbs seem way too bright and project a harsh, unflattering orange in their picture. The label on the other set says that they alternate between dark blue and purple and the bulbs are shaped like stars. Definitely a winner.

You look up, ready to say as much, but the words cram their way back down your throat before you can. Stu's closer than you realized, a lot closer than you ever expected him to be.

"Mood lighting?" You know that dropping your head and backing away would only make this worse. Stu likes to know when he's getting something. "What's the exact mood?"

He's grasping at straws in an attempt to fluster you. While mood lighting may hint at something suggestive, it's obvious that you meant the kind of chill, dim lighting that makes people comfortable yet energized. Party lighting. You should say that, laugh off his proximity and his energy. But for whatever reason, you can't quite think.

You press your lips together. "Exact mood," you repeat, still a little unsure, "I had more of a general mood idea."

Stu takes a partial step forward before extending his hand. He takes the wound cord, gently pulling it from your fingers. Slowly, he undoes the thick twist tie holding the cord together. You watch, more curious than you'd like to admit as he unravels it. With no warning, Stu pulls the string of lights over your shoulders.

He takes his time adjusting the string of lights over your shoulders. "I get what you mean."

Warmth you don't get crawls up your neck. It has to be about looking weird in a secluded, but still public, aisle. You tilt your head, trying to ignore that feeling you can't name. "You're tangling them."

"They're fine," he dismisses easily, twisting a part of the cord between his fingers. "We'll get Billy to untangle them later."

You laugh at that. Stu frees you from the confines of the string lights. Billy throws a look at Stu as he halfheartedly rolls up the lights before dropping them in the cart.

"So I'm un-fun and the light de-tangler."

You walk towards him before Billy can fully start pushing the cart again. "I take it back." You reach forward and squeeze his forearm without thinking twice about it. "You're fun." Billy briefly stiffens, gaze trained on what's directly in front of him. "Sometimes."

Billy hates the wave of fondness that that's trying to crawl its way out of his chest. "Like when I'm untangling string lights?" It's meant to be sarcastic in that biting, casually detached way.

If the shift in tone bugs you, you give no indication of it as you smile at him. "And some other times."