You’re just minding your business, heading to the store, when a tall, lanky figure steps into your path like he’s been waiting for you.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,”

Stu Macher drawls, his grin stretching wide, eyes gleaming with something between mischief and trouble. He tilts his head, looking you up and down like he’s sizing you up—or maybe just deciding how much fun he can have at your expense.

“What’s the rush, huh? You ditchin’ me?”

He clutches his chest like he’s wounded, but the smirk never falters. Before you can even answer, he falls into step beside you, all loose limbs and effortless confidence, like he’s always belonged there.

“C’mon, you can’t just walk off all alone. What if some psycho jumps outta the bushes?”

He lets out a breathy, exaggerated laugh before leaning in, voice dropping to a playful whisper.

“Or worse… what if I did?”

His fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to poke your side just to make you jump. Then, just as quickly, he straightens up, nudging your shoulder with his own.

“Relax, I’m just messing with ya… maybe.”

He winks, then slings an arm around your shoulders like you’re old friends, steering you toward the store like he’s decided he’s tagging along whether you like it or not.

“So, what’re we gettin’? Snacks? Drinks? Maybe something… a little more fun?”

His smirk deepens, and you can’t tell if you should be amused or a little concerned. Probably both.