Scream 1996 X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Hi! I'm back with another request and it is stu again(I'm sorry I'm in a phase rn) . In this request I was wondering if we could get Stu walking the reader from class to their locker, waiting for them at their locker, and then walking them to their next class. I know you've mentioned it before yk with Stu waiting for the reader and I'd just love to see the casual intimacy like in the last request (and also I hope you're feeling better after the break down you went through I'm not sure if this is a good time for request for you and if not thats so understandable I'm so sorry take your time, obviously if you do do this request I'd appreciate it but if you don't thats so okay i mainly sent this in bc you said you were in your Stu era and what kind of loyal reader would I be if I didn't indulge one of my favorite writers by tricking them into writing/talking about one of there current favorite characters :)

A/n hi, i'm feeling better now :)) i'm home so that always helps and done with school until close to late january so that definitely helps lol

also side note, i try to keep the appearance of the reader as vague as possible but at the beginning i do mention the reader having long enough hair to be tied back/up with a hair tie 

this took a minute but i hope it’s worth it!! 

----

You're practically bouncing on the balls of your feet once the bell rings, more akin to a little kid getting ready to run across the park than a student simply getting a few minutes to move from second period to third. It feels a little silly, especially when you intentionally keep your freshly graded test on top of your folder instead of tucking it away, but it's become a bit of a habit.

You'd think about breaking it if it wasn't for the fact that no one ever gives you a reaction quite like Stu. Sure, he's purposefully over the top, oversaturating his enthusiasm with his tone and teasing humor, but it's nice. Comforting in the way it never dwindles no matter how many things you bring up that you don't think anyone else would have the energy to even pretend to care about.

Out in the hallway, you adjust your hold on your math textbook and the plastic folder that's resting over it. Your head turns left, towards the row of lockers that he's always waiting near. Only, this time Stu's not there. Not looking through his actual locker or talking to Billy or Tatum or anyone. He's not there. At all.

You're more confused than you should be, it's not like Stu owes you his presence, but it is weird considering that this is the first time he's ever not been there since your tradition started. You frown, a little offended by his absence. Things with Stu are more intentional than he wants them to seem, a fact you picked up pretty quickly after meeting him, but something insecure within you twists at the thought that maybe he just forgot. Or decided he just didn't feel like it today.

Even though the hall is quickly flooding with teens, you crane your neck in the direction of Stu's second period. Stu has a tendency to stand out, too tall and too much of a force to blend in if one makes up their mind to look for him. It shouldn't be hard to--you bite your tongue to avoid yelping as some firm force settles on your upper hip.

You've heard too many stories, seen too many girls rant or tear up in the bathroom after some entitled guy thought it'd be funny to grab or grope under the guise of accidentally bumping into someone thanks to overcrowding. For a brief second, the contact feels pointed and wrong. You turn stiffly, eyes wide until they settle on a familiar grin.

Panic fading almost immediately, you exhale. "Stu."

When you don't melt , Stu drops his arms, offering you a halfhearted, "...Boo."

You roll your eyes, half stepping back. "You scared me."

“Should’ve been paying more attention,” he mumbles, expression slightly scolding. 

A retort about how you were just looking for him because he’s always waiting across the hall rises and dies on your tongue. There’s no normal way to explain that, and even if the fact that you were waiting for him wasn’t totally mortifying, your sure he’d find a way to tease you. One of those jokes about how he didn’t realize the two of you hadn’t gotten so serious and since when were you such a ball and chain? 

So instead of saying anything like that, you tilt your chin up, “You snuck up on me on purpose and we both know it.” 

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The suggestive wink earns him an eye roll. 

“Sure,” you mumble pointedly, “Guess what?” The question is rhetorical enough that you don’t even have to wait a full beat to answer, “We got our tests back!” 

You lift your paper, careful not to cover the red A+ circled on the first page. Stu’s mouth falls open briefly in a look that’s just a little too amazed for a reaction to a math exam. “Wow,” he takes the packet from you, leafing through it without taking it in fully, “This is some complex shit, too.” 

He sets the test back down over your folder before ruffling your hair in a way that’s nearly too affectionate, harsh enough to make your head move at an angle that strains your neck. “Harvard bound.” 

You brush him off with a barely contained smile, softly pushing against his hands before attempting to smooth out the mess he made. “Okay--knock it off, I actually liked how my hair looked today.”  

“It’s not fair that you’re the smartest person in the room and the prettiest.” The blatant compliments without their usual layers of implication and subtle-not-so-subtle innuendos are enough to get you to pause. 

Stu briefly squeezes you to him before taking the textbook from your hands. It’s easy to let go now that the habit’s been established. You rarely carry anything in between classes anymore, Stu either making up a silly excuse to take your textbooks or doing so silently. "Someone’s too smart to carry things.” He forces mock irritation into his voice. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” It’s half accusing, but you make no move to take your books back. 

“Uh-huh,” he hums dismissively, “Whatever you say, smarty.” 

----

You can’t remember the last time Stu’s house felt so hot, maybe it has to do with how overly humid the outside world is today, but you’re struggling to feel fully comfortable despite your contentment.

Stu’s talking, reiterating everything wrong with some low budget horror film he stumbled onto last night. You’re listening a little less than you’d like to and you honestly feel bad about it, but you can’t help the way the heat on the back of your neck distracts you. 

Billy sits up a little more, “I’m not surprised, your movie instincts are awful.” It sounds like the start of one of their debates that are better off without your interference, and you’re okay with that. This week has been long and this is the first moment that’s allowed you to really breathe. You don’t mind absorbing that for a second and just taking in their presence and the easiness it brings you. 

“They’re not worse than yours.” 

“Even Y/n picks better.” 

Something about the way Billy’s eyes focus on you makes you feel like it’s a genuine attempt on Billy’s part to bring you in a little more. Even though you don’t feel insulted, you still sit up a little more, “Thanks.” 

“Ouch, man.” The fact that Stu’s basically dropping the argument in order to add to the jab at your taste is enough to get you to turn your head. 

You glare, shoving his shoulder. “My taste is not bad.” They exchange a look that has you feeling like you’re on the outs of some joke. “You guys are the worst, I have no idea why I hang out with you.” 

“’Cause you love us.” Stu nudges his foot against yours, bumping your knees in the process. 

The additional closeness reminds you of the warmth of the room. To avoid crossing your arms or doing anything that would get them to accuse you of pouting, you begin to pull your hair away from your neck. The hair tie against your wrist smacks against your skin. Loud and stinging a little too noticeably. It’s not painful, but surprising enough to make you drop your hair. “Stu.” 

He ignores the harshness of your voice, instead choosing to chase after your wrist with one hand. “Give it.” There’s something about the way he says it that stands out to you. It’s reminiscent of a child noticing a brand new toy and instantly deciding that they want it. 

Before you realize what he’s asking for, Stu pulls the hair tie off of you and takes a second to stretch it between his fingers. What he’s trying to do finally sinks in when Stu slides the band up his wrist. You’re not in the mood to redefine how tender scalped you consider yourself to be, but there’s no way to say that in a way that won’t make Stu moody. 

“Turn.” It’s a command so gentle you listen instinctually despite your reservations.

You barely have a second to adjust before Stu’s pushing your hair back. “Are you--” His touch is surprisingly focused, not tugging on the strands in the way you’d expect him to. “Are you putting my hair up?” 

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’ casually, like there’s nothing weird about this. 

He drags his palms against the top of your scalp a little clumsily. It’s not that weird. Not really, you decide, just different. Any type of ponytail or loose bun would have never taken you this long and it’s clear that Stu doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t hurt. He’s being restrained, gentle.

“You’re letting him do your hair?” 

You shrug at Billy’s comment, feeling a little awkward as Stu finally reaches your scalp. “The good thing about hair is that it always grows back.” Stu tugs at your hair pointedly. “Ouch.” 

"Rude.” 

“Billy started it.”

Billy half scoffs. “Just asked a question.” 

A pointed question. You’re about to point that out, but then you hear the tell tale snap of a hair tie being pulled off of a wrist. Stu twists it around your hair carefully and you ease. He lingers, fingertips brushing against your neck before releasing you.

You tilt your head slightly, surprised at how well your hair is pulled off your neck. Not tight enough to feel pulled or like the start of a headache but not loose enough to be annoying. Even though there was some hesitance, he did a lot better than you thought he would. Better than most boys would have done. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have assumed he had never done anything like this before. You know about his older sister, and while she’s a sore subject now, maybe there was a time when she wasn’t. And even if that’s a stretch, Stu’s a total flirt that’s been circling around a relationship with Tatum for a minute now. 

 Your fingers brush against the end of your hair. “You did good.” 

“Give me some credit, babydoll.” You wrinkle your nose at that and Stu grins. “I’ve had a lot of practice. When a girl gives he--” 

“Ew.” And just like that, the moment ends. “You’re gross, I hope you know that.” 

“He knows,” Billy mumbles, tone extra casual to compensate for his slight smile, “Gets off on it, too.” 

You snort, an ungracefully sharp laugh as you sink further into the couch. Stu lets out a sound of protest, shooting a glare in Billy’s direction. “Fuck off.” You laugh again. “Both of you.”

Stu scoots away from you. With a sigh, you reach forward. He plays up his pain for a second but eventually relents, letting you tug his hand into the space between you two. 

---- 

It’s twisting--the world, your mind, the blank spot of the wall you’re tying to focus on. All of it. Swirling at a rate that’s practically nauseating as emotions you can’t fully label in your current state spur on the feelings. They’re a fog, disorientating and complicated. You don’t want to figure out each hue of your feelings so you label them under one umbrella: bad. 

You take a breath that’s meant to settle you, but it does the opposite. Your unsteadiness leaves you instinctually wanting to reach over, to grab Stu’s arm and stabilize yourself. But he’s standing there with that same illegible, yet clearly irritated expression. You’re not sure if it’s the beer on an empty stomach or what happened five minutes ago or the silence, but the yellowish tinge of the bathroom’s light adds something to Stu’s features. Something bordering on eerie. 

Part of you wants to speak, the rest of you feels like the best thing you can do is just keep standing there. You’re not convinced that Stu’s anger is fully directed at the third party. He’s at the very least annoyed at you. 

Leave it to Stu to think that you’re taking the side of the guy that kept hitting on you despite how visibly uncomfortable you got just because you didn’t want things escalating. It wasn’t worth it. Was the guy an annoying asshole? Yes. But you had it under control and Sidney and Tatum were right there. It wasn’t exactly dire. 

The quiet is ebbing at your patience. There’s probably some perfect thing to say to shatter the tension, but you can’t think of anything clever or tactful and the last thing you can handle right now is a fight. Your mind tunes into the music that’s softened by the closed space. The thumping base is both terrible and familiar. “I hate this song.” 

Stu blinks, gaze shifting towards you. He doesn’t quite ease, but he lets out a breath that could be considered a form of lighthearted acknowledgment. You’ll take it. “Last one was worse.” 

You let yourself smile. “Definitely competition.”

He pretends to gasp. “No argument,” he shoots his reply back so quickly you nearly get whiplash, “Color me shocked.” 

The theatrics do little to take away from the lethal levels of aggression pressed into his words. That did seem too easy. “I--I didn’t--” You don’t want to explain. You shouldn’t even need to. You were keeping his ass out of trouble. “I just didn’t want you to get in trouble. It wasn’t worth it.” He’s silent for a second, which you can’t make your mind up about. “He wasn’t worth it.” 

Stu scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall. “You’re defending hi--” 

“I am not.” Ugh. Can he not hear you? If there’s anyone in this situation that you’re trying to defend, to protect it’s Stu. You try to swallow, but your throat still feels overly dry. 

“You heard the shit he said about you.” 

Okay, speaking calmly is not working. “I don’t care about the shit he said about me, I care about you.” The blowup immediately fills you with regret. “It wasn’t that big a deal. You’ve said worse while we were literally in class.” 

Stu straightens in a way that makes his full height unignorable. You doubt that it’s intentional--he can’t help that he’s objectively tall, but noticing it now...And the way he’s looking a little beyond you with a hardened stare that feels more sober than it did a second ago. “The way he was looking at you and then he grabbed your arm.” Stu’s voice changes with no warning, taking a dark edge that nearly startles you. 

You blink, biting your tongue to keep from admitting that you had barely noticed. That sounds like purposefully playing oblivious, but it’s true. You had hardly looked at the guy until his clammy fingers were around your forearm. That had been scary. Even Sidney and Tatum had reacted. “Thanks for getting him off of me, by the way.” It feels awkward, but saying it takes a weight off of your check. “Even though the weird, testosterone match the two of you had after was totally unnecessary, it was nice of you.” 

Stu tilts his head, taking in your inability to look him in the eye. A flash of genuine shyness despite what you’ve had to drink. He can imagine your thoughts, the running of different words together to make sure you don’t say anything that he could turn into something embarrassing. It’s cute. You’re all fidgety and still a little tipsy. A rush of fondness strikes him with no warning. It’s dangerous, distracting when paired with the little alcohol he did let himself drink. 

It’s too much and he’s not used to it. The feelings are a web and his mind tangles around all he could say. A mix of the obscene kind of jokes that always make you role your eyes fondly and genuine comments that all burn down to the same, general meaning: “I’d kill for you.” 

Great. The words come out at the exact second Stu recognizes the truthfulness of it. He scrambles for some kind of joke he could make to change the subject before you can think about it too much. The more you know, the more at risk you are. And this is the exact kind of slip up Billy always gives him shit about. 

You smile, either unaware of the intensity behind his words or just choosing to ignore it. “Then it’s a good thing I wouldn’t ask you to. You’re too pretty for jail.” 

Your casual acceptance makes it easy. Stu lets himself smile for just a second before letting his mouth fall open in mock hurt. “I wouldn’t get caught, babe. I’m slasher material.” You raise your eyebrows in a silent challenge. “And you’ve seen these guns.” He flexes one arm, waiting for your attention to settle on that before reaching for you with his still free hand. Your yelp is more of a laugh than anything else. “I’d be fine.” 

Stu pulls you away from the bathroom door and towards his chest. You halfheartedly fight against him, twisting your wrist back in a way that’d be more efficient if it wasn’t for your laughter. “Stu.” 

“What?” You push back, Stu’s fingers tighten just slightly. “Just proving my point, sweetheart.” Another laugh as his first hand finds your waist. “Practicing what I preach.” 

After a second of play fighting, Stu gets you close enough that there’s no point in resisting. It’s somehow farther and closer than a hug, especially when Stu angles his head downwards. 

You like the closeness more than you should. It makes your head feel too jittery, but the rest of you so warm you almost don’t mind the awful music. “This party sucks.” Stu’s eyes focus on the slight pout of your lips. “Want to go and watch a movie or something and then pretend that we stayed here until later so Billy never has to know that he was right about how much this party would suck?”  

Stu tugs on your arm, placing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Trying to get me back to your place?” You bite your tongue to avoid giggling again. The last thing he needs is encouragement. “Trying to take advantage of me? Because I promise you won’t have to work that hard at it.” 

You roll your eyes, half debating pulling away. “I’m taking back my offer.” 

“Hey--no take backs,” he squeezes your arm slightly and you resist for the sake of it, “C’mon, I’ll let you pick the movie if you sleepover.”

The offer surprises you as much as it doesn’t. Stu invites you more and more the longer his parents are out of town. He never says it, but you feel like it’s his way of keeping people around, reducing the quiet in his almost perpetually empty house. 

“Deal.” 

Hi! Currently on my period and horny as sin. When does reader get double stuffed by our boys? I need to know, for science and stuff

ahh bc i'm at this exact same stage in my period, i'm bumping everything else i'm working on down by one so i can talk about this 😭 we're twinning

since you said it's for science, i can give you a scientific breakdown of my thought process (bc nothing in the final girl universe is unplanned, i love them too much 😭)

okay so i've thought about this a lot for a few reasons:

I love slowburns!

i'm a little crazy when it comes to the final girl fic verse and am so actively aware of all their actions and want everything they do to feel like it fits with the way their character has developed throughout the story, so i just want the first time they hook up to feel fitting, y'know?

I think it would realistically take some time for billy and stu to come to terms with the tragic fact that they like someone else. I know hooking up doesn't have to involve feelings, but in my head, they'd be subconsciously aware of their potential feelings enough that they wouldn't want to rush into it bc of "practicality" (they can't be distracted right now, they've been planning out mass murder for a year)

Y/n is friends with Sidney and Tatum! I can't see her casually hooking up with their boyfriends (or anyone's boyfriend), even if they made the first move.

Okay, now here's where it gets a little complicated and where i am willing to take in other people's opinions, I know it's hard to apply ethicalness to this situation and it is a fictional story, but i don't want the boys doing anything too unforgivable on top of the whole murder and trauma thing (and i feel like billy would kind of be aware of this and not want to cross that line and risk losing y/n in the future until he feels a little more sure, stu could probably see the logic in this but is still willing to hook up with y/n at any place and time 😭)

i think y/n would have a lot harder time getting past/accepting everything if they hooked up before she knows the ghostface secret, soooo as of rn, any hooking up that's canonical in the final girl fic-verse is sadly a little far away in my current planning 😭

BUT! i don't think it'd be extremely out of character to have it happen sooner and i'm on the fence a little bc at the end of the day they're still teenagers that are touchy and always around each other and a little impulsive, so if anyone wants to share their opinions on when these three should finally hook up i am wiling to listen and take all thoughts/wants/perspectives into consideration!!

that doesn't mean i'll for sure move up my current plans but i'd love to know what you guys think. Also, if you just want billy, stu, and y/n smut i could write like a final girl alternate universe thing or just a smutty one-shot

but seriously! genuinely so curious if you think the tension would break sooner rather than later!

but! i will throw you this! while sex with y/n is one of the few times they exhibit any kind of restraint for the sake of another person's feelings, they are aware that it's going to happen eventually, so they are going to move to be progressively more touchy and more suggestive, kind of see how far they can go and how much influence they can have over Y/n. I think I might have to write a blurb about this.

Hi there!

If you accept requests, could you write a Halloween themed fic about y/n, Billy and Stu?

Like them going out to choose their costumes and decorating Stu’s house for a party, stuff like that

Hope you are doing well! Thank you very much ☺️

A/n omg i loveee holiday fics and halloween <3

----

You're staring down an aisle of plastic faces etched into neon bases. The differences between them are superficial, just a variety of colors and two or three alternainge expressions. Nothing distinct enough to warrant this level of analysis and yet...

You decide on one from the top shelf. Orange with simple triangle eyes and a double toothed smile. A classic.

You place your chosen plastic pumpkin into the cart that's slowly but surely being filled up by Halloween decor that's only somewhat cheesy. Okay, to be fair, the contents of your pile range in their levels of cheesiness...but still, mostly non-cheesy and perfectly fitting for a classic Halloween, high school rager.

"Really?"

There's nothing about Billy's voice that's worth getting. No soft lilt to indicate teasing or harshness to imply actual judgement. It's the factualness of the statement that leaves you doubting your choice, even though nothing about this is that deep. "What?"

Billy lets out a partial sigh, irritated by the way that fondness pinches his chest. There's something soft about your question, like his opinion on your choice of decorations could actually crush you. It soothes that part of him that's always searching for a reason to believe that those around him are flighty. "You just--you spent so much time looking and then you picked the orange one."

Shrugging, you place a hand on the side of the cart. "I was deciding."

"You picked the poster child of pumpkins." A pointless stance for a pointless argument. You beam at him and Billy starts to feel a little less ridiculous for entertaining this.

Still smiling, you start, "Pumpkins have poster children?"

"Hey, sweetheart." Stu appears halfway down the aisle.

You blink, instinctually squeezing the side of the cart tighter in your shock. For someone so larger than life, Stu can move quietly when he wants to. "Stu." Carefully, and only somewhat halfheartedly, you try to shrug him off. "Did you at least find the cups?"

Stu lifts his free arm, showing you the plastic covered set of solo cups. "You give me a job, babe, I get it done."

Billy rolls his eyes, "Since when?"

Stu scoffs, fingers pressing into your upper arm a little more firmly. "Since Y/n asked." His hand shifts up and down your arm. "Maybe if you looked like her, I'd listen to you."

There's nothing inherently wrong with the gesture, but there's an undertone of stiffness in his touch. That paired with the way Stu's attention remains on Billy makes you feel a little more like a prop than equal participant in the conversation. Deciding to shake off the feeling, you poke Stu's side.

"Ouch." A sound that's forced out much too harshly. Stu retracts immediately, like he's in agony. "What? I was complimenting you."

You roll your eyes. "I barely touched you."

"I'm wounded." He makes a show of clutching his side. "Kiss it better?"

Billy sighs, shifting his attention towards you, "We can't take him anywhere."

You nod understandingly, "We really can't."

Stu scoffs, offended, "Fuck you guys."

"We're kidding." Your concession comes quicker than usual, but you really don' mind giving in to keep the peace right now.

Today has been fun in that simple way that people forget about around middle school. Stu had called last night and mentioned something about wanting to up his party game for Halloween and a few things about decorations. He insisted that he couldn't go with just Billy because Billy has the decorative taste of someone that's color blind. Even though that's the strangest insult you've ever heard, it made you laugh and you agreed to tag along to cancel out any potential color vision deficiency.

They picked you up the next morning, swinging by your usual coffee place before stopping by a grocery store and then finally, the Halloween pop up store.

"You can't be mad," you mumble, "I need your held defending my pumpkin." Stu blinks, a little too surprised and confused to know how he wants to react. You gesture towards the cart as if that should answer everything. "Billy called it basic."

"I said you spent a long time looking at different pumpkins just to pick the orange one."

Stu turns his head, giving you a look that makes it clear that he has no idea how you've been putting up with this. "It's a classic."

"Thank you."

Billy's eyebrows pinch together. He's aware that there are few things you could say that Stu would publicly disagree with, but there's nothing to oppose. "I didn't--" He sighs again, giving in, "You should get a friend."

You tilt your head slightly in a way that's hard to read. "I'm not eight." Even though your tone leans towards argumentative, you walk towards the shelf and grab another orange pumpkin. This one's eyes are ovals, not triangles, and its dark smile is more lopsided and smaller. A variant that sticks close to the source material. "Two does look better, though."

With the pumpkin debacle settled, Billy begins to push the cart forward. You and Stu remain about two steps ahead of it, pointing out different decorations from time to time, most of them unserious suggestions.

"What do I have to do to get you in this?"

That sentence, coming from Stu, is enough to make you scared to turn around. The only reason you eventually do is because you can't justify staring at the wall that's stocked with costume add ons--fangs of both the glow in the dark and regular variety, cellophane wings, horn and halo headbands. You're also painfully aware of the fact that the more you resist and fluster, the more Stu will commit to his bit.

So you force yourself to remain casual as you look behind you. He's holding up a prepackaged angel costume that makes you feel like you're offending some religion by just looking at it. A corset top, small, frilly skirt, and white fishnets. It's not so much that makes the costume feel like something that belongs on stage at a failing Vegas show, it's the material and the styling.

"Uh..." In a way, you're glad that he decided to make the joke about something so blatantly not an option, because there's no way he's serious. It makes joking back easier, a little safer. "...Have a roll of one's ready?"

He doesn't miss a beat, "Deal."

Now that sounded a lot more genuine. You blink, struggling to hold your ground. Instinctually, your attention flits towards Billy.

"You should've known what he'd do with a stripper joke."

It's only a partial out, but you appreciate it greatly, "I have no one to blame but myself."

Stu scoffs. "I'm not that predictable."

You and Billy exchange a look. Stu pouts, turning enough to hang the plastic packaging back on its metal hook.

Instead of reminding him that if anyone should be offended about that last joke it should be you, you decide to shift focus. Your attention falls on the consistently growing contents of the cart. It might be a little much, but Stu's house is large. You'd need this many things to make the whole space feel decorated.

"You think we're good or are we missing something?"

Billy tilts his head downwards, taking an unofficial inventory of the cart's contents. It's more for your sake than actual interest. "You didn't get the lights. The twinkly ones."

There's something about hearing Billy say the word twinkly that's more entertaining than it should be. You smile despite yourself. "Say twinkly again."

He glowers, "No."

Billy starts pushing the cart, nearly running over your toes. You bounce back quickly, holding onto the side of the cart like a little kid as you follow him forward. "Why not?"

"The way you asked."

Rude. "He's no fun."

Stu turns his head just enough to look back at the two of you, "Billy?" His hand latches onto the front of the cart. Now, all three of you are clinging to the shopping cart like pre-schoolers that use those plastic rings to stick together. "He's moody."

The comment is meant to dig at you. "I didn't say that."

You'd never say that. If anything, oversimplifying Billy like that is one of your pet peeves. He likes to come off as a little closed off, but it's not such a basic teenage boy thing on him. You've never said anything explaining your defensiveness...you don't even think you'd be able to put it into words, but with Billy, any pretext of angst feels like a type of shield.

"He's just above entertaining me now."

Billy's eyebrows draw together sharply. "Now?"

Reaching the end of the aisle, Billy starts to turn the cart. It's a little awkward to make it around the corner without anyone releasing the cart, but you manage. "We all have to out grow our friends at some point."

"Mhm," he hums dryly, "Especially the dramatic ones."

Eyes widening, you turn on your heels to glare at him. He keeps his head angled downwards, a few strands of hair falling forward to hide the brunt of his reaction. That doesn't stop you from seeing part of his smug smile. If Billy's casualness wasn't always welcomed, you'd likely be a little more annoyed.

"The you that corrected the barista that misheard my coffee order before I could would have never spoken to me like that."

"That was this morning."

You shrug off his response, deciding that a comment about simpler times would over extend the bit. You're in the right aisle now, anyway, shelves full of decorations that require hooks or nails or something else to keep them attached to the wall.

Stu wanders away from the cart, picking up a cardboard box that displays a picture of purple lightbulbs strung up on a suburban house. "These?"

You shake your head. "Too bright, I think they're meant for outside." Stepping towards the shelves, you pick up a rolled up cord of smaller, darker purple lights and another set of boxed lights. "You need... mood lighting."

The cord for the boxed ones are way too long for a living room or kitchen and the bulbs seem way too bright and project a harsh, unflattering orange in their picture. The label on the other set says that they alternate between dark blue and purple and the bulbs are shaped like stars. Definitely a winner.

You look up, ready to say as much, but the words cram their way back down your throat before you can. Stu's closer than you realized, a lot closer than you ever expected him to be.

"Mood lighting?" You know that dropping your head and backing away would only make this worse. Stu likes to know when he's getting something. "What's the exact mood?"

He's grasping at straws in an attempt to fluster you. While mood lighting may hint at something suggestive, it's obvious that you meant the kind of chill, dim lighting that makes people comfortable yet energized. Party lighting. You should say that, laugh off his proximity and his energy. But for whatever reason, you can't quite think.

You press your lips together. "Exact mood," you repeat, still a little unsure, "I had more of a general mood idea."

Stu takes a partial step forward before extending his hand. He takes the wound cord, gently pulling it from your fingers. Slowly, he undoes the thick twist tie holding the cord together. You watch, more curious than you'd like to admit as he unravels it. With no warning, Stu pulls the string of lights over your shoulders.

He takes his time adjusting the string of lights over your shoulders. "I get what you mean."

Warmth you don't get crawls up your neck. It has to be about looking weird in a secluded, but still public, aisle. You tilt your head, trying to ignore that feeling you can't name. "You're tangling them."

"They're fine," he dismisses easily, twisting a part of the cord between his fingers. "We'll get Billy to untangle them later."

You laugh at that. Stu frees you from the confines of the string lights. Billy throws a look at Stu as he halfheartedly rolls up the lights before dropping them in the cart.

"So I'm un-fun and the light de-tangler."

You walk towards him before Billy can fully start pushing the cart again. "I take it back." You reach forward and squeeze his forearm without thinking twice about it. "You're fun." Billy briefly stiffens, gaze trained on what's directly in front of him. "Sometimes."

Billy hates the wave of fondness that that's trying to crawl its way out of his chest. "Like when I'm untangling string lights?" It's meant to be sarcastic in that biting, casually detached way.

If the shift in tone bugs you, you give no indication of it as you smile at him. "And some other times."