"No, I'm not sure if I'm into you

The last time that you checked I was probably so sad and confused

I don't know, no, I don't know

What you like"

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

"Mick-meister!" I called out loudly, coming up behind the bench he was sitting at with Derek, putting a hand on the top of his head and rustling his hair.

He ducked out from underneath my hand, grabbing my wrist and turning around with an annoyed look on his face- before he made eye contact and realized it was me, his face breaking out into a slightly less-annoyed look.

"What do you want, you fuckin' waste of space?" He asked, shoving my hand away from him.

"What, no hello?" I asked, propping my elbows on the back of the bench, leaning forward between him and his friend. Derek looked faintly amused, glancing up from the very thick textbook he had open in his lap and flashing a lopsided smile "Hi, Derek."

"Hi, (Y/n)," He responded promptly, looking as if he were suppressing a laugh as he turned back to the textbook, flipping to the next page.

"See, that's what we call manners," I continued, smacking the back of Mickey's head with a faint smile. Ever since the party, I had- besides the obvious hangover when I woke up- been over-compensating a bit...maybe...with our friendship. At least when talking to other people- this was the first time I had even seen Mickey since the party last night. Over-using bro and buddy maybe a bit too much. Or maybe I was just feeling like I was doing more than usual. Hyper-aware of our strange relationship.
Or was it even really that strange? We were friends. Accidentally kissed at a party. So what? We were both drunk, so it didn't really count. Not one bit. Besides, maybe our friends were the ones at fault here. Taking too much of an interest in us. They were the creeps here! Not us! We weren't to blame. Nah!

"Yeah, yeah, go suck on a massive dong," Mickey grumbled, turning away from me. I tilted my head just a smidgen as I walked around the bench. Only to see a dark bruise on his cheek

"Hey, what happened there?" I questioned, shoving him a little to the side and sitting next to him. "Have a little bit too much fun last night?"

Mickey scooted closer to Derek, a hand going over his cheek in a feeble effort to hide the thing. But it was a little too late. The bruise was a nice pretty purple color. And I'm pretty sure there was a little scrape in the middle of it. " 's nothing," He grumbled.

"Apparently Mister Dummy here got into a fight with a lamp-post last night after taking a walk outside," Derek hummed, a look of suspicious doubt on his face "Which I highly doubt happened. See here?" He asked, grabbing Mickey's hand and tugging it away from his face, pointing to the bruise as if he were in one of his medical classes "Running into a pole wouldn't cause this deep of a bruise- unless he were running full-speed at it...which, figuring how much alcohol he drank, is unlikely. Plus, the bruise is slanted- running into a pole would make for a strictly vertical line. And-the little cut here? Shows that whatever hit him was at an angle, as well. Enough to cut him up and down like this- sort of if someone had cut him with a ring on their hand."

"Ooh, Derek the forensic scientist-guy, you're so smart." I laughed, patting Mickey's shoulder as I leaned a little closer to inspect the injury "So you're saying Mickey's lying about running into a pole?"

"I think he got bitch-slapped," Derek agreed with an amused smile.

"Can you guys not talk about me like I'm not here?" Mickey snapped, slapping Derek's hand away "I'm not some fucking pig you get to dissect."

"Someone's snappish," The med student chuckled "Still hungover? You don't have to keep any secrets from us, you know."

"Shut up!" Mickey groaned "You don't need to know every detail of my life! Aren't you late for your class anyway, you wanna-be doctor?"

Derek ran a hand through his hair as he checked his watch "I'm not late- unlike you, I keep track of the time. I'm sticking to schedule. And it's not a wanna-be doctor if I'm studying to be one, you prick." He stood up, brushing off his pants and picking his stuff up- textbook and backpack "(Y/n), always a pleasure to see you," He nodded "Keep him in check. Bye, Mick."

Mickey didn't say anything back, just raised his hand in a wave as Derek walked off towards one of the buildings on campus.

"So," I started, leaning back on the bench a bit "I heard that someone's selling tickets to that new horror movie tonight- Slash or Stab or something. We should go. Aren't you, like, a super-big fan of movies?"

I could see his jaw tighten a bit, and he looked down at his lap as he clasped his hands together. "No. I don't want to go, thanks. And you shouldn't either," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"What, why not?" I asked "You love movies-"

"Yeah, but not that one." He interrupted, pulling his hands apart and grabbing at his camera next to him and turning it on, putting it up to his eye and squinting as he whirled it around the campus. I wondered if he was actually filming, or if he was just trying to avoid eye contact. "It's the premiere of it. Gonna be packed. Won't get to hear it for shit anyway, with everyone yelling and talking."

I looked at him for a while. Until he finally pulled the camera away from his face and realized I was staring at him. Like the creep I was. "What's up with you today?" I asked, nudging his shoulder with my own "You seem a little weird today." I decided not to bring up the bruise again...it was probably a sore subject, in hindsight. Maybe he just got slapped by some chick at the party. For some reason. Girls could be bitches.
Or maybe Mickey had done something to deserve it. He could be a bit abrasive sometimes, and not everybody got his sense of humor even when it was at its best.

"I'm not weird!" Mickey said, although he still didn't sound quite right "I just don't want to go to the damn movie. And my face hurts." He hissed, wincing as he put a hand over his cheek again, slumping forward in his seat

"Soooo, you're acting weird because of the movie, or your sore, poor cheek?" I asked, leaning towards him and patting his non-injured cheek with a mocking pout

"My sore, poor cheek," He responded, grabbing my hand and pushing it away with a far-away look in his eyes, mimicking some poor lovesick look. "But I guess the movie, too. Don't go to it, alright?"

"Why not?" I challenged, yanking my hand out of his grip. Half relieved that everything seemed pretty normal, other than that thing on his cheek. That he didn't mention anything about the party last night. Just best to put that in the past, isn't it? "Are you worried that the crowds will ruin my theatrical experiences?"

"No. I'd throw you in a sea of people if it meant that you'd leave me alone," He snorted, flicking some random knobs on his camera, going quiet for a moment as the little device made a few clicking sounds with his fidgeting "You don't know what happened to Randy and Sidney, do you?"

I tilted my head and smiled, confused. Did I know what happened to them? Of course not- was it something super dramatic? Were they secret agents? Or did someone they know die at a crowded movie theater? Maybe someone yelled 'fire'? "Uhm- no. I don't think so. Unless you're talking about that super-embarrassing moment when Sidney spilled her coffee on Randy and instead of just dealing with it, he yanked his shirt off and walked around bare-chested until his classes were over with?"

Mickey did not look amused at my guess "No, dipshit. You know anything about Woodsboro?"

I shook my head

"Ghostface? Billy Loomis and Stu Macher?" He continued, looking at me in pure disbelief, as if I had just said that the sky was falling "The Woodsboro massacre? The party of death? The-"

"I said I don't know!" I interrupted "Get on with it?"

"For Christ's sake, (y/n), do you live under a goddamn rock? It was all over the news..." He sighed and shook his head "Well, Billy Loomis and his little buddy Macher went on this sort-of killing spree. Terrorized Woodsboro- this little town in California- in Ghostface costumes. Killed a whole bunch of people. Loomis was Sid's old boyfriend- Randy was part of their little friendship gang. They survived this party that turned into a full-blown massacre. Saw all of their friend's dead bodies. Sid killed Loomis- Stu, too, I think? And there was this chick- Gale Weathers- who survived, too, wrote a whole book on it..." Mickey cleared his throat, glancing at me before looking away "Anyway. Stab- the movie you were talking about- is based on that. I just think it would be insensitive to go see that. You know, spare their feelings and whatnot."

Shit. I had zero clue about any of that. Maybe I should keep up with the news more...
I thought back to conversations I had with Sidney and Randy. Wondering if I said anything that made them remember that night, wondering if they lived in a constant state of suspicion and fear around their friends. Trying to see how those two guys- silly, dorky Randy, and calm, sassy Sidney- could have survived something so shit-tastic and not feel the need to talk about it daily.

"Oh- I-" I cleared my throat, as well, nodding my head slowly "Yeah, I guess- that makes sense. It would be rude of me...to go see the movie making a joke about their lives? Right?"

Mickey looked somewhat relieved, his shoulder slumping. Had he had them tensed up before? How come? "Yes, exactly. So you won't go?"

I took a deep breath before shaking my head "I guess not. I didn't even have enough money to buy the tickets, anyway. Shouldn't be wasting money on shit like that."

"Exactly. Go buy you a coffee or beer or...something." He said "How was the hangover, by the way?"

I raised a brow at him "It was so much fun. Thanks for asking."

"Figured someone should ask." He said with a slight grin, slapping his thighs as he stood up "Well, I'm off. My presence is needed elsewhere. See you tomorrow? Or today- maybe we could get something to eat later. Or not- I mean, I kind of have to do this project tonight around 7 or so. But anytime before that?"

"I think I'll pass, thanks. Maybe tomorrow. My roommate wanted me to help her get ready for a date tonight." I rolled my eyes, standing up and patting Mickey's arm "You should be able to manage without my wonderful personality, though. Good luck on your project."

"Good luck with the redhead," He retorted

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

I woke up around 11 pm, to Jessica shaking me awake.

She whispered something under her breath excitedly. I figured it was something about her date.

The window was cracked open. I could hear police sirens echoing from somewhere in the distance.

As I tried to wake up a bit more, I understood a few of the words Jessica was trying to tell me.

Murder

Movie theater- premiere

Stabbed