My room was depressing to sit in. The walls were bare, everything was packed up, everything was clean. It looked like I'd never lived here to begin with. I walked around the room slowly, looking for any permanent thing to show that I had existed here. There was a coffee-stain on the rug by the desk, thanks to an all-nighter Kyle and I pulled in high school. He had been dozing off and he pushed it off the desk.

I was pretty lost in thought, staring at the damn coffee stain and sorting through all my discarded memories. I thought a heard a knock on the door, but it was so quiet, I wasn't sure. I waited a few moments and it happened again. I walked downstairs and stood in front of the door with my hand on the handle for a few moments before opening it.

It was Kyle. He stood on the porch, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His nose didn't look bad anymore, though it seemed like it was starting to bruise. I was never good at hitting, so I guess he lucked out there.

He ran his fingers through his red hair and looked up at me. "Hey, Stan."

I clenched my hand around the doorknob. "What are you doing here?" I said, my voice cold.

He crossed and uncrossed his fingers. I remembered seeing him do that during tests or when his mother yelled at him. It was a nervous habit he'd had since we were kids, unique to him as far as I knew. I'd never seen anyone else do it. And right now, for some reason, it rubbed me the wrong way. It felt like hearing nails on a chalkboard to me, seeing him with the same old habits.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I just- I was going to come talk to you, and then running into you like that, I-" He trailed off and stared at his shoes. "I just wanted to explain myself."

"And?" I said, my voice dripping with bitterness. "What excuses have you come up with?"

Kyle shook his head. "No excuses. I'm sorry, Stan. I shouldn't have bailed."

"Is that really all you have to say? That you shouldn't have bailed?" I glared at him. I felt tears stinging the corners of my eyes and I bit my lip to pouch them away. "It's been four fucking years! I had no idea where you were! You didn't even bother to fucking tell me you were leaving!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, and closed his eyes. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah? You're sorry?" I said, trying not to yell. "Well, you can take your sorry and shove it up your ass."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Kyle replied. He had an edge in his voice, like his patience was thinning. I knew Kyle hated apologizing, hated admitting he'd done something wrong. I could see how hard this was for him. And I hated that I cared. I hated that seeing him like this made me want to forgive him.

"Now? Nothing," I replied. "But four years ago? 'Oh, by the way, Stanley, I'm a piece of shit and I've decided to leave South Park suddenly and never speak to you guys ever again.'" I imitated his voice, making it as annoying and whiny as possible.

He took and deep breath. It almost looked like he was counting. He was trying so hard to stay calm. It was almost impressive, watching him control his temper. I remember all the times he snapped at the smallest comment. On a bad day, Cartman could make him yell and storm off in less than five sentences. He'd almost made a game out of it.

"It wasn't like I planned it," he said, his voice even. "It was an impulsive decision. I made a mistake."

"And then you kept making that same mistake every fucking day for four fucking years. Real nice, dude." My face felt hot. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep myself as collected as possible. I didn't want to lose it while he was keeping himself together.

"I'm sorry, man. I don't know what else to say." Kyle ran his fingers through his hair and his voice cracked a little.

"So then fuck off," I snapped. "Why the fuck did you even bother coming back?"

"I-" he started, but I didn't let him finish.

"I needed you, dude. And you just fucking left," I stepped out onto the porch and pushed him backwards. "Do you have any idea what it's like, to have your friend kill himself, and then your best friend is just fucking gone? Kenny and I thought you were dead! I needed you! And where the fuck were you?"

Kyle looked up at me, his eyes no longer shiny. His face had gotten red and his expression had gotten hard. "What, you gonna hit me again? Will that make you feel better?" He shoved me back. "Why do you think I left?"

"Like I give a shit!" I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. I hated my habit of crying when I was mad. It made fighting with people hard. I got in argument and I would just start tearing up. It was humiliating.

"What do you want from me?" he replied. He sounded like he wanted to scream.

"I want you to take it back!" I shouted. I felt tears spill over my eyelashes, unable to control them. "I want you to never have left!"

"Well, I can't do that!" he yelled back. He looked so desperate, so hopeless.

We stood there in silence for a few moments. I didn't know what else to say. My anger was dwindling. I felt more tired than anything else. It was draining to fight with him. Even after all this time, it took so much out of me to be mad at him in person. It was easy when he was far away, out of sight. I could be mad at an idea, at an image, or a memory. It's so much harder to stand in front of him and still hold on to that anger. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it up.

He sighed and stared at the ground. "Look, I know I fucked up. I'm sorry. I really, really am. I was just hoping you could forgive me, I guess. But you clearly don't want to see me, so I'll just go. I don't want to waste your time."

My heart pounded and I was suddenly terrified of losing him again. I didn't want it to be my fault if I never saw him again. He started to walk away but I grabbed his shoulder. "Wait, dude. I'm, ah. I'm glad you're not dead."

He gave a weak smile. "Yeah, me too."

"I really missed you, you know," I said softly, bringing my arm back to my side.

"Yeah, I missed you, too," he replied. His shoulders visibly relaxed. I hadn't realized he had been so tense. "I'm really sorry."

I tried to smile, but it didn't seem to work. "Yeah, I know. Do you want to come inside? Have a glass of water or something?"

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."