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.”
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
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?”
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 (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: 🤯🤬
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.”
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 :)
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.”
