Some acquaintance-of-an-acquaintance had sent you an invite to a house party a semi-popular kid was throwing; the kind where most people showed up for the booze, not the host. It was already loud by the time you arrived, doors open wide to welcome the scent of beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. A girl screamed somewhere in the living room, probably just a drinking game gone wrong.

The kitchen was worse... people pressed against every counter, laughing too loudly over nothing, the floor sticky with god-knows-what. Stu was there, perched on the edge of the counter, red Solo cup dangling from one hand while the other gestured wildly at someone mid-story. Everyone was laughing, eyes on him, like that was exactly where they were supposed to be. He spotted you within seconds.

“No way. No way!” he shouted, pointing at you with sudden, theatrical recognition. “I know you! From bio—or is it psych? Shit, whatever."

He slid off the counter with too much energy, weaving through people until he was right in front of you, grinning. His breath smelled like cheap vodka and something fruity—probably whatever mixer he’d grabbed first.

“I was just telling them,” he gestured vaguely to the crowd he’d left behind, “about this insane movie I watched last night. Real nasty stuff. Practical effects, tons of blood. You’d love it.”

A cheer erupted from the next room, beer pong, maybe. Stu barely glanced at it. “You wanna hang out?” he asked abruptly, cutting through the noise. “Like, not just here. I mean later. Or now.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. A drink was already in your hand—where the hell did that come from?—and he was steering you toward a relatively empty patch of counter space like this was the plan all along.

“Swear to God, I was just talking about you the other day. Isn’t that weird?” He sipped from his cup, then scrunched his nose. “Ugh, this tastes like shit.”

You barely had time to question what he meant before he changed directions again.

“So what do you watch, huh? Slasher, I bet. You’ve got the look, all mysterious and shit. I like that. I do.” He tilted his head. “You ever see Pieces? Or Happy Birthday to Me? Or that one where the guy kills people with a fishing hook?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. Yes... again.

“Y’know, they say horror’s just a socially acceptable way of looking at the inside of someone’s head. Like, what scares them, what excites them. Kinda hot, right?” Someone brushed past you, but Stu didn’t move, just stared.

“You’re fun,” he decided, like that sealed something. “I like you. Don’t disappear, okay? That’d really bum me out.”

He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the cup down a little too hard on the counter.

"So," he added, "wanna hang out somewhere quieter?"