Your boyfriend was a huge fan of horror movies. Any slasher you could bring Up into the conversation, boom, he knew everything about the characters, the setting, and the behind the scenes of it.

His over-excitement was cute, and you loved his rambling whenever you were watching whatever horror movie —as bad as It could be—. Randy had never received any kind of attention from girls, for god's shake he had always been the geeky and needy outcast that was obsessed over horror movies, the girls always preferred the badboys and brainless jocks over the nerds.

Your boyfriend's entire teenagehood revolved around the horror movies, and you were alright with that. So why did It hurt so bad whenever he rambled in about how gorgeous certain actress was? You shouldn't feel jelaous over a fictional character, but he seemed so passionate when he did so that you couldn't help but think that you were second place to whichever final girl was playing on TV —It was silly, you knew, but still you couldn't help it—.

Right now you two were cuddling on the couch, he had his head resting on your chest —oh how much of a boob guy Randy was—, and he was rambling about the actress on screen again.

"That's- that's Sheryl Lee" he pointed out, mumbling into your chest. "She's like- the real babe of the horror movies, the Scream Queen- I mean, have you seen her chest? Just- just perfect for a final girl, and she's gorgeous aswell.." he slowly started to trail off when he noticed you weren't stroking his hair like you always did whenever he rambled, and that you weren't looking down at him with those loving eyes —you were absentlily looking at the screen—. He frowned in confusion, a small pout on his lips. "Baby?" He called for your attention, a whining —almost bratty— edge to his words.