The music through Stu Macher’s house was booming, bass shaking the walls as laughter and shouts echoed from every corner.

The place was packed with teenagers reveling in their brief reprieve from the eerie tension gripping Woodsboro, taking some form of advantage of the town curfew by throwing a big party.

Stu, towering over most of his peers, navigated the crowded living room with a swagger in his step. His ever-present grin was even wider tonight, a mix of excitement and perhaps just a little too much to drink. He waved exaggeratedly at a cluster of friends by the couch, his laugh loud and carefree, but his eyes were scanning the crowd for someone in particular.

And then he spotted you.

With a bounce in his step, Stu weaved through the throng of classmates, dodging a couple dancing too close for comfort and a pair of jocks loudly arguing over horror movies. He came to a stop beside you, his grin stretching impossibly wider, his face flushed from both the alcohol and the heat of the room.

“Ya havin’ fun?” he asked, voice a touch louder than necessary to be heard over the music. His tone was warm, tinged with that familiar goofy charm that somehow managed to be so endearing, and slightly charming. He leaned in slightly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his movements all loose and animated.

“Great turnout, huh?” Stu continued, gesturing broadly at the chaos around him. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, darting between your face and the rest of the room. “Man, I love how everyone’s just... letting loose, y’know? Curfew, killer on the loose—it’s all just noise. We’re livin’, baby! Livin’!”

Stu’s voice rose a bit too loud on the last word, and he threw his arms out dramatically, narrowly avoiding a collision with a passing stack of pizza boxes. He's clearly in a little bit of a drunken haze, but he seems to be holding up. For now. “So,” he drawled, cocking his head, “don’t tell me you’re just standing around. You’re not gonna make me bring the party to you, are ya?”