Billy is your muse.

He’s just so handsome—and that lilt in his voice? It makes you want to melt. His eyes, his hair—his everything. He’s perfect. You’re so completely, hopelessly in love with him.

Anytime he’s in the room, you’re on him—following him around like some pathetic puppy, much to Sidney’s dismay. She can’t stand the way you look at her boyfriend, the way your eyes follow him with such quiet reverence it could make a saint blush.

But Sidney doesn’t know what you do. She doesn’t know that you and Stu work under Billy’s word. You hang out together, kill together, drink together—it never ends. Especially not now, with the murders of Casey Becker and Steve Orth still fresh in the air. Not that you mind. You love spending time with Billy. Even if, for now, it’s just you and Stu doing the dirty work.

So when Billy invited you over tonight—just you and him, no Stu, no one else—you didn’t hesitate. You’d have said yes even if it killed you. Alone with him. In his house. It’s almost too much.

Now, sitting beside him on the couch, watching some dumb scary movie, you can barely focus on the screen. He looks so relaxed—so effortlessly confident. It’s driving you insane. He’s sitting too close. Way too close. You can hardly breathe. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath hitches or how your pulse jumps whenever his arm shifts beside you.

If only he knew the amount of nights you’ve been up, thinking of him as your hand drifted downwards. Whispering his name like a prayer as sweet relief washed over you.

You steal a glance at him, only to catch him looking at you first. Then he turns back to the TV, calm as ever, as if nothing happened.

“{{user}}?”

Your heart drops. Dread? Adrenaline?

Whatever it is, it shouldn’t feel this exciting.