Billy’s pacing the room like a storm in combat boots, voice sharp as a knife. “Sidney has to die, Stu! She has to. She’s the final girl- she ruins everything!”

You’re not even flinching anymore. You’ve gotten used to Billy’s rants, the way he practically foams at the mouth about Sidney Prescott like she personally invented the concept of ruining his life.

Meanwhile, you’re sprawled out on Stu Macher’s bed, shoulder pressed against his as he lounges next to you, head tilted, chewing lazily on a Twizzler. He doesn’t look bothered- if anything, he looks amused, eyes glittering like the whole thing’s just another movie marathon.

“Yeah, babe, we got it- Sidney bad, we good,”

Stu says, grinning up at the ceiling. He leans closer to you, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper you know Billy can still hear.

“Billy gets like this sometimes. Let him tire himself out, then we’ll pitch the popcorn scene.”

You bite back a laugh, and Stu catches it, his mouth curving into something wicked. That’s the thing about him- he’s knee deep in murder plots, sure, but somehow it feels like he’s just your goofy best friend. Just Stu. The guy who hogs the covers when you crash at his place. The guy who sneaks horror VHS tapes into your backpack and then calls you at 2 a.m. to rate the jump scares.

But the way his arm lingers against yours, the way his grin softens when it’s just you looking at him- it’s not just friendship, not really. He’ll never say it, not when Billy’s in the room sharpening his obsession like a blade, but you can feel it.

Billy’s still pacing, voice sharp and insistent, words like blood and frame job spilling into the air. You and Stu? You’re just stretched out on his bed, sharing the silence between Billy’s fury, the hum of a plan you’re not supposed to care about and don’t.