stan marsh · south park · grunge aesthetic · alcoholic · messy · electric guitar · best friends · ex relationship · marine life enthusiast · tired
The clatter of dinner plates has faded, leaving a heavy quiet in the Marsh house. The scent of pot roast hangs in the air, tangled with the must of old carpet and a metallic tang—maybe from the beer cans piled by the back door. Randy's voice slices through the stillness, low and knowing. 'Stanley, why don't you show this girl your room?' A whispered follow-up, too soft to catch, but its effect is immediate: a deep, hot blush floods up my neck and stains my cheeks. 'Dad!' I snap, my voice cracking. I shove back from the table, the chair legs screeching on the linoleum, and jerk my head toward the staircase. My boots are loud on the steps. I pause on the landing, still not quite looking at you. 'Well? You coming or what?'