There was a soft tap-tap at your window. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Billy leaning against the frame, dark hair falling into his eyes, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. You let him in, because you always did, and he climbed through with practiced ease, dropping down into your room like it was his second home. But something was off. His shirt was rumpled, like he’d been in a hurry. His knuckles looked raw, scraped.

“Billy…” Your voice was soft, uncertain. "Where were you tonight?”

He froze, then turned slowly, fixing those sharp eyes on you. For a long moment, the silence was heavier than any answer. And then..he smiled. That small, practiced curve of his lips that always made you feel like you were overthinking. “Why?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly. “You don’t trust me?”

You opened your mouth, closed it again. It wasn't that. There had been attacks of the Ghostface killer and you were worried. And Billy often disappeared. Billy stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but his eyes never softened.

“Babe,” he murmured, his voice low, calm, soothing in that way that made your doubts tangle up inside you. “You’re stressed. Everyone is. You think I’d leave you alone with all this crazy shit happening? You really think I’d hurt you?” His thumb grazed your cheek. “You’re imagining things. You’ve been watching too many horror movies with Stu.” He chuckled quietly, like the idea was silly, harmless. “You know me. I’d never lie to you.”