𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕟

 It was well after dark when you finally returned to your dorm room from the library, nodding at the security guards stationed on either side of the wide entrance. The school put them in place at the doors of every building on campus quickly after news broke of the first two murders. It made the students feel a lot safer about school being in session, but what very few people knew was that the guards in front of your dormitory took half-hour smoke breaks in between shifts.

That's what made it so unbelievably easy for Stu to get inside.

The very second those guards wandered off to crack open a new carton of Camels, all he had to do was slip in through the front and count the doors until he stood right outside of yours. He'd gotten a copy of your dorm key several weeks ago after 'accidentally' bumping into Hallie and snatching them off of her lanyard while she wasn't looking. Stu was able to effortlessly twist it into the lock, barely biting back the satisfied grin that washed over his face as he pushed the door open and took the first careful step inside.

He didn't stay long, though. He couldn't. You got out of your last lecture at four and the guards would return way before then. Stu didn't want to be hanging around somewhere that he owed anyone an explanation. So now, lingering behind the trunk of the tree just outside your building, he could only cling to the faintest memory of being up there.

He couldn't believe that he almost forgot what you smelled like. Like sunshine and honey. It all came rushing back to him after stepping through the threshold. The first few minutes he spent just taking it all in, inspecting the things on your desk, writing your newest phone number on the back of his hand, and even plucking a single pocket-sized picture from your corkboard.

It was small enough that its absence would go unnoticed at first, but Stu knew you were smart enough to connect the dots once you realized it was gone. It was just a small polaroid of you, taken God knew how long ago. Must not have been recently, though, because you were seated on a park bench right between Tatum Riley and Sidney Prescott. 

He could easily cut them out before adding the picture to his ever-growing collection, which is what Stu told himself to distract from the guilty feeling blooming in his gut when he looked into the eyes of his dead ex-girlfriend. He never truly liked Tatum. Or Casey for that matter, but he did feel the slightest bit remorseful when he remembered all those times that he had to close his eyes and pretend that it was you holding his hand and cuddling up next to him at parties instead of the girls he was actually dating. 

Billy would have slaughtered him if he knew anything about the stunt he had pulled just two days earlier. But Stu could live with that. He would take any harsh punishment from his friend if it meant he could give you even the smallest reassurance that you weren't entirely alone during all of this.

His inner monologue drew to a close as your shadow passed in front of your window, lit up like a display case against the black night. Technically, that's exactly what it was. A display case just for him. 

Stu stood up straighter and stepped back into the shadows, watching as you huffed and puffed your way across the room. You shrugged off your jacket and backpack by the door and set your things down on the desk. Stu flexed his hands at his sides, remembering how it felt to be inside looking out, rather than outside looking in. He was too lost in the sight of you to care if any security guards were coming his way.

As soon as you flopped down onto your raised bed, he dared to let a low chuckle pass through his lips. If Stu could see you again for the first time, he would. He would kill for the chance to get to fall in love with you all over again in a time and place where he didn't need to hide in the dark outside of your bedroom.

Gradually, you rolled over and leaned up on your elbows, shuffling your hands through the blankets for a quick second before producing a tattered-looking stuffed animal. Your hands shook as you pressed it against your face, inhaling its scent like you still couldn't believe that it was real. Stu knew it was a good idea to give you that token, even if Billy wouldn't have been as open to it.

It wasn't his intention for that creepy friend of yours to take it from your room and deliver it to you in the hospital, but he wasn't about to look fate's gift horse in the mouth. Besides, if you just came home from class that day and found it on your bed, you might've gotten spooked and changed your locks.

And he just couldn't have that, could he?

The only reason he was alone tonight was because Billy was too busy trailing that guy, Mickey. Meeks was harmless enough, but this guy? He reeked of bad news. And that meant something coming from him. 

With the bear in hand, you rolled over on your bed so that your bandaged side-profile was facing the window. Stu's dazed expression fizzled up and replaced itself with a stern sneer, a low growl slipping from his lips before he could do anything to stop it. 

He'd beat himself up for days after accidentally splitting a gash into your cheek.

What happened at Casey Becker's house three autumns ago was a roller coaster of thrill, terror, and the sick glee of cutting up a living, breathing, person while they wriggled beneath him. Billy had been sitting in the car parked further down the road, reading off the script they had crafted together in Stu's basement. Casey was his ex-girlfriend, so he called dibs on being the one to gut her open and hang her intestines from the pine tree in her front lawn.

But it wasn't Casey Becker that he saw through that kitchen window, twirling the landline in one hand while stirring up a pan of Jiffy Pop in the other. It was you. 

His heart nearly dropped at the sight. But it was far too late to go back and alter Billy's sacred plan. So when the time came to make his big entrance at the sliding glass door, he was too preoccupied with making sure Casey didn't get too far away that he didn't notice through the thin holes of the mask how dangerously close your face was to his knife.

That stupid fucking mask.

You winced in pain and reached over to massage the bandage before picking at the curled lip of tape, peeling it back until the entire covering had been removed from your face and was now a bloody heap in your palm.

Even from the ground, Stu could see that the wound was gnarly. The attacker purposefully used a dull blade, sawing through the flesh and creating a twisted, jagged scar that would likely never fade away. He wanted to hug you, cradle you against his chest and tell you everything was going to be okay. 

But it wasn't.

Not until they killed the fucker who put his hands on you. 

 (A/N: I made so many callbacks to the first book I hope this still makes sense. Please call me out on grammar or spelling mistakes, or just tell me if this chapter is illegible like I suspect it is. Super short, but I suck at POV switches so you'll get a really long chapter come the next update. before I update again, I need to rewatch Scream 3 so I can decide on an ending because ~something~ may or may not happen next chapter that will decide the fate of a very well-loved character. wink wink).