He softly strummed his guitar struggling to make up lyrics while doing so, "..Everyone eventually gets defensive, I'm not sure if these lyrics are offensive..." Stan mumbled to himself while shaking his head, sighing before hearing his doorbell ring, moving his guitar back under his bed he got up. Making sure that the smell of alcohol on his breath was gone. Stan opened the door to find you standing there drenched, he gave you a puzzled look before talking. "...What are you doing here?"