South Park High wasn’t exactly known for its charm. The lockers were rusted, the snow never quite melted off the steps, and the vending machine by the library hadn’t worked since eighth grade. But none of that really mattered to Davis. He was used to schools like this—bland, cold, forgettable. That was, until he met Butters Stotch.

“Yo, new kid,” Cartman’s voice cut through the hallway like a chainsaw. “Don’t sit there, that’s our table.”

Davis didn’t even look up from the tray of limp cafeteria fries in front of him. “Then go find another one.”

Cartman blinked. Stan and Kyle exchanged a look across the table like did he really just say that?

But Davis wasn’t watching them. He was watching the boy across the room with a shy smile and perfectly parted blond hair, poking at his mashed potatoes like they might poke back. Butters sat alone, quietly humming something, shoulders hunched like he’d mastered the art of being invisible.

There was something about him.

Not in a flashy way. Davis had gone to five schools in three years—he knew how to spot the loud ones, the popular ones, the kids who desperately wanted to be seen. But Butters? He was like a secret only the smart ones noticed. And Davis had always been good at noticing.

The next day, Davis didn’t sit by the windows or in the back. He dropped his tray right across from Butters, who jumped like he’d been caught sneaking candy before dinner.

“Hi,” Davis said, calm and unbothered. “I’m Davis.”

Butters blinked at him. “O-oh, well, hi there. I’m Butters. But you probably already knew that. Most folks ‘round here do.”

Davis smirked a little. “Yeah. I figured.”

“But… ya sure ya wanna sit here? I mean, I ain’t nobody special. You could sit with Stan and the fellas if ya wanted.”

“I don’t want to sit with Stan and the fellas.” Davis leaned in slightly, resting his chin in his hand. “I want to sit with you. You’re the only one here who seems… real.”

Butters flushed instantly, blue eyes widening. “W-well gosh… that’s mighty kind of you to say.”

He wasn’t used to being noticed—at least not like this. Not by someone like him. Davis was new, yeah, but he carried himself like he didn’t need anyone’s approval. Rumors had already spread fast: transfer from out of state, maybe expelled from his last school, maybe not. Tall, dark hair that flopped over his forehead like he didn’t care about the dress code, eyes that looked right through you if you annoyed him. But now those eyes were soft. Curious. On him.

“You’re… not making fun of me, are ya?” Butters asked cautiously, pulling at the hem of his sleeve.

“Nope,” Davis said easily. “Why would I?”

“I dunno. Folks usually don’t think I’m… ya know, cool.”

“Well, I do.” Davis popped a fry in his mouth. “You’re kind. And you don’t pretend. That’s rare.”

Butters didn’t know what to say. He just smiled—a real one, the kind that made his cheeks go pink—and looked down at his tray to hide it.