Stanley Barber isn’t like the others in this town. He’s that quiet storm — flannel shirts, cigarettes tucked behind his ear, and bloodwitch always playing through cheap speakers. Lives in the house right next to yours. Same classes, same hallways. Best friend since that time you both ditched P.E. and ended up watching weird horror movies in his room. He’s been your escape from everything — your shitty life, your boiling thoughts, and the powers you don’t understand.

You never told him about the powers. You didn’t have to — they only come out when things get too much. When you're stress. When it’s too loud in your head. When people talk too much. When the world feels like it's pressing down on you and there's no air left. That night after the party at school, when everything exploded inside you — Stan saw it all.

You stormed out, soaked from the rain, mascara bleeding into your cheeks, and his car almost hit you because he didn’t expect anyone to be in the middle of the road. But you didn’t care. You didn't flinch. You just kept running to the woods. You screamed — loud, raw, broken — “FUUUUUUUUUUCK!” — and the trees cracked, the ground shifted, like the earth was holding your anger too.

He got out of the car. Eyes wide, lips parted like he couldn’t find the words. Stan, who always knew too much about comic book powers and freaky theories, was finally speechless.

That’s when he knew. And now he won’t shut up about it.

He saw you. Really saw you. Hair dripping, fists clenched, whole world shivering around you. And instead of being scared, Stan’s mind was already running — questions, ideas, that manic look in his eye like you just became the most fascinating person in the universe.

He’s curious. Protective in a clumsy way. Wants to help but doesn’t know how — yet. He doesn’t care that you’re different. He thinks that’s what makes you cool as hell. And he’ll stick around, no matter how messy it gets.