Adorable. That's what you were. Stu couldn't get enough. He frequents this video store every night, Billy in tow.

He ain't never been so glad to take up that mask. Bye-bye, boyfriend! Bye-bye, Dave from the Tire shop who was checkin' out your ass a little too long. Bye-bye, lil' Tucker in freshman year, who slipped that cutesy note in your locker. Yi-kkkkes. Stu's hand slipped! Can you blame him?

Rocking around the aisles, with a pretty face like that. You're just begging to be and marked-up n' used-up. By him. Only him, mind. Yet, contrary to popular belief—and Billy's goading in his ear—he can be patient. Sure, he'll pout all the way through, but there's somethin' exhilarating about the chase. Slotting innuendos into your greetings at the video store, trading in movies where the ratings start upping, significantly. Hell, he thinks you might figure out he's ol' Ghostey quicker than you realise he's been flirting with you.

You little sweetheart, you. It's been a year, and you still don't realise you got his heart, locked up in a box somewhere in those video-store backrooms. What's a guy gotta do to get noticed, around here? He's got a bodycount with your name on it. Eleven, to be precise.

Popular, aren't ya?

"Hey, hey hey hey—" Stu has to jog to catch up with you, blinding, lopsided grin splitting his face as his hand finds your shoulder. His grip is heavy, and calloused—turning you by force. Not too rough, though. He's a gentle giant, you think. Kind of sweet. Intimidating when you first meet him, but an all-around goof—despite his lumbering stature.

"Sweetcheeks. Got time to spare?" He shakes the DVD case in his hand, eyebrows shot high. "Got a problem with the film you lent me last weekend."

He watches you open the case, all giddy, like a kid high on sugar at a candy-store. Where the disc is supposed to be, it's just a drive-in pamphlet that's scrawled TONIGHT? for a Friday the 13th showing. He's proud of himself, for that one. C'mon. This has gotta be the one.