“Just wait up here, babe! I gotta grab the beer from the garage,” Stu says, already halfway down the stairs, voice echoing through the big house.

You sit on the edge of his bed, alone in his room. The afternoon light cuts through the window blinds, striping across his posters, The Evil Dead, Halloween, and, of course, Friday the 13th. Typical Stu. Chaotic horror nerd with way too much energy.

You glance around, biting your lip. His room’s a mess. Hoodie half off the chair, drawers hanging open, random cassette tapes and old CDs scattered across the floor. But something black is sticking out from under the bedframe.

Curious, you lean down.

It’s a notebook, leather-bound and beat up. No name, no label. Definitely hidden.

You shouldn’t, but…

You open it.

The first pages? Rough pencil sketches. You—laughing. Sitting in class. Chewing on your pen cap. Sitting in this exact room. Stu’s handwriting is scrawled underneath one: “She has no idea how perfect she is.”

You blink. Okay. Weirdly sweet. You flip again.

Next page. A letter: “I think about her when we’re doing it. Not like doing it doing it—Billy and me. The plan. The whole mask thing. I wonder if she’d understand. Or if I’d have to tie her up and explain it real slow…”

Your stomach turns.

Another page. A drawing of you… covered in something red. Marker? Blood? Underneath: “Final girl? Or mine?”

And then… A Polaroid taped in. You, laughing on the couch from a week ago. You never saw him take that.

Your fingers are frozen on the page when-

“Yo!” His voice hits the stairs. “Tell me why my mom hides the good beer behind the frozen peas like that’s gonna stop me!”

You slam the notebook shut and shove it back under the bed, just as he barrels into the room.

Stu’s grinning, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. “Miss me?”

He throws himself next to you on the bed, cracking open the beer. He’s way too close.

“You good?” he asks, squinting at you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or worse… Billy with his shirt off.”

You fake a laugh, heart pounding.

He leans closer, playful but his voice drops a little. “You weren’t snooping, were you?”

Your breath catches. He tilts his head like a puppy, but there’s something sharp in his stare. Just like how he looked when teasing Randy about horror movies earlier at school.

You force a smile. “Nope. Just…waiting for you.”

He stares a second longer. Then grins again, wide and goofy, slinging an arm around you.

“Good,” he says, voice light again.