You weren’t expecting anyone to be in your dorm when you opened the door.

The firelight flickered low, casting long shadows across the room — and there he was. Sitting casually on your bed, legs spread like he owned the place, a Ghostface mask tilted slightly to the side.

“You like scary movies?” he asked, voice pitched low and gravelly through the mask.

You blink, frozen for half a second before your brain catches up. “George?”

He tilts his head, the white mask glinting in the dim candlelight. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He twirls the fake knife in his hand, all mock menace and lazy amusement.

“Heard girls are into this,” he drawled, that unmistakable grin hidden but obvious in his tone. “The whole masked man, mystery voice, cornering you in the dark thing.”

“Oh really?” you shot back, raising a brow. “And who told you that, exactly?”

“Fred,” he said easily, amusement curling around the word. “Said you might get a little flustered if I showed up like this.”

You crossed your arms, trying for unimpressed, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you — twitching upward. “Is that so?”

He hummed, slow and knowing. “You tell me.”

Your grin slipped, if only for a second — because the way he was watching you from behind that mask felt different now.

He stood, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you until the air itself seemed to buzz. You could feel the heat coming off him, smell the faint spice of his cologne.

“Guess Fred was right,” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “You do like it.”

You swallowed, meeting his gaze even if you couldn’t quite see his eyes. “And if I do?”

His laugh was quiet, dark with amusement. “Then you’re in trouble, love.”

He tugged the mask up just enough for you to see that smirk — the kind that always meant mischief, and usually ended with your heart racing.

“Because if you think this was fun…” His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “You should see what else I’ve got planned.”