The late August air in South Park still carried that dry summer heat that clung to the skin even as the sun started sinking behind the mountains. Eric Cartman’s backyard looked exactly the same as it always had—patchy grass, rusted lawn chairs, random junk stacked near the fence because his mom kept saying she’d “deal with it later.”

Stan Marsh sat slouched in one of the chairs, a soda balanced against his knee while Kenny and Kyle argued over some stupid movie reboot. Eric was in the middle of loudly complaining about how “everyone at school this year is gonna be even more annoying,” which really just meant he was upset people had lives outside of him.

Stan barely listened.

Because every few minutes, his eyes drifted toward the street.

“She’s not even here yet, dude,” Kyle said, noticing immediately.

Stan nearly choked on his drink. “I wasn’t—shut up.”

Kyle smirked. “You’ve looked down the road like twelve times.”

“I’m just watching cars.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Kenny snorted from beneath his hood.

Eric looked up from his phone. “You guys are acting weird.”

“Nothing gets past you, Cartman,” Kyle muttered.

Stan ignored them, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt stupid, honestly. They were seniors now. Eighteen in a few months. He shouldn’t still feel like the awkward fourth grader who nearly short-circuited every time Cartman’s twin sister smiled at him.

But he did.

Because you’d always been different.

When Cartman made fun of Stan for throwing up around girls back in elementary school? You told Eric to shut the hell up. When Stan got made fun of for crying too much, or being “sensitive,” or literally anything else, you’d roll her eyes and defend him before he even got the chance to say anything himself.

And somehow, after all these years, you were still the first person Stan looked for in a crowd.

The sound of tires crunching against gravel made all four boys glance toward the street.

A car pulled into the driveway.

Stan sat up before he could stop himself.

Kyle caught it immediately and grinned.

“Oh my God.”

“Shut up,” Stan hissed under his breath.

The passenger door opened first.

Then there you were.

Duffel bag slung over your shoulder, hair slightly messy from travel, sunglasses pushed up on your head. Summer camp had apparently done absolutely nothing to make Stan normal around you because the second you stepped out of the car, his brain completely stalled.

Eric stood. “Jesus Christ, finally. Mom’s been whining about missing you for like two months.”

You slammed the car door with your hip. “Wow. Nice to see you too, fatass.”

Kyle barked out a laugh while Kenny doubled over wheezing.

Eric flipped you off instantly. “Screw you.”

And God, there it was.

That familiar chaos.

Stan couldn’t stop smiling.

Your eyes swept across the yard before landing on him.

And for one second, everything else sort of faded out.

Your expression softened immediately. “Stan.”

Just hearing you say his name after months made his stomach flip in the most embarrassing way possible.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

You walked closer, dropping your bag near the porch before looking him over with a teasing grin. “You got taller.”

Kyle made the loudest fake gagging noise imaginable.

Stan shot him a death glare while heat crawled up his neck. “Uh… yeah. Guess so.”

“Still got that flannel obsession too, huh?”

He looked down at his red flannel overshirt and laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, well.”

“You say that like she isn’t wearing combat boots in ninety degree weather,” Kyle cut in.

“Fashion is pain,” You replied dramatically.

“Looking at Cartman every day must be agony then,” Stan muttered before thinking.

You laughed instantly.

Not polite laughter. Real laughter.

The kind that made your shoulders shake a little.

And Stan swore right then he could’ve lived off that sound for the rest of his life.