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As Stan sat down and began eating his lunch, inside his head, he kept repeating “That wasn’t so bad”. He got exactly what he wanted, didn’t he? He was able to interact with an old friend without it being too awkward. He wasn’t rushing things; it was the ideal route to take. Yet, he couldn’t help but want more. Would it be too drastic a change if he tried to do more? Kenny did seem eager to wave back to Stan. Recalling it, Kenny looked really happy. The huge smile Kenny had given him a new kind of hope. One that he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. Maybe, just maybe, Stan didn’t ruin everything. That he didn’t screw up so bad he would be rendered a friendless shut-in forever. Who knew a simple smile could ignite such a feeling? After years of a dull sorrow, Stan wasn’t even sure he could feel something positive anymore. He sat and ate while contemplating ideas of how he could see the blonde more. The two shared no classes; Kenny probably was in some advanced classes while Stan wasn’t. He knew Kenny was genuinely smart but just never showed it off. He never let his intellect get to his ego, unlike Kyle. The redhead wasn’t necessarily egotistical but would always brag about his accomplishments. He used to constantly make it all about him and how he was so great or whatnot. He would always talk about how he needed extra credit despite having outstanding grades in every class. Stan used to hate hearing about it, and that made him feel like an awful person. What kind of friend couldn’t feel proud when their friend was bragging? A bad one, he thought. There was no other way to describe himself. Even when he put effort into hanging out, he must’ve been a bad friend.
The bell rang, signalling it was time to get up and leave. As he trudged through the hallways, he noticed a certain blond in his peripheral vision. He turned his head a little to see Kenny and Kyle talking about something. The halls were too noisy for Stan to figure out what it was, but Stan didn’t mind; he was used to watching them from a distance, after all. After a moment, Kenny seemed to notice the black-haired boy watching the two of them. Without even a second’s grace, a stupid grin spread across his face. The dorky look was met with confusion by Kyle, who turned his head to see what the blonde was smiling at. His eyes locked with Stan’s for the first time in years to be immediately met with him turning his head away. It stung. It stung more than Stan thought it would. He hadn’t spoken to Kyle in ages; of course, he’d be sour. Was it because Stan avoided him for so long that he didn’t see how cold Kyle had become towards him? He tried to brush it off; it was no one else’s fault but his. He looked back towards Kenny, who didn’t seem perturbed by the ginger's bitter attitude. Stan flashed a tiny smile before continuing his way to his class.
His next class was physics. He was barely passing, not because he was bad at it, but because he just never gave it any care. He didn’t plan to give it today either. He went over to his assigned seat and immediately rested his head on his arms against the table. He didn’t care to look up when his classmates came to sit beside him; they paid him no mind in return. After the first few weeks of the semester, the teacher knew he’d never get an answer from Marsh. He began to doze off, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. He’d been so drained every day of the past school year despite doing next to nothing when it came to assignments.
He suddenly came back to his senses when the next bell rang. He went to his next class. It was all an uneventful blur. Nothing ever happens in his class since he is never exactly conscious of them. The final bell rang, and he shrugged his backpack over his shoulder. He walked with the stream of students, moving slowly down the hall to the exit of the school. There, he got onto the bus and sat in the last row like always. Tegridy was the last stop, so he might as well wait in the back and let the others who got off earlier sit closer. He put in his crappy earbuds; it was a surprise they still work, considering he originally got them as a gift years ago. He never bothered to replace them. Why replace something not completely broken? He scrolled through Spotify and put on an old playlist he and his friends made when they still hung out. Despite not being in contact with them, none of them bothered to leave or delete it. “That’s reassuring, maybe it isn’t completely over,” Stan thought. Yet this hope was overshadowed by his regular doubt – “they probably just forgot to delete it” or “why would that even matter” – terrible thoughts flooded through his head. Shut it out. He just had to shut it out. That’s what Stan Marsh always did, at least when he was sober. He set his volume at its max setting and let the music play. It didn’t matter if he got hearing damage. A part of him didn’t think he’d live long enough to see the effect of it. He closed his eyes. The sound of the engine and the other students talking never seemed to fade away, but Stan tuned it out. He always tuned it out.
The bus reached its final stop: Tegridy Farms. Stan reluctantly got up and exited the bus. Looking out to the farmhouse, he noticed his father's truck was missing. Good. Stan didn’t care where Randy was, as long as he wasn’t home. He entered the house, ignoring the clutter and mess that filled every room. Neither of the two men cleaned nor made any effort to start. Stan entered his room and threw his bag down. The room was a pigsty, unlike his room at his mom’s house; no one worked to tidy it up. Besides, Stan can’t even take care of himself, so why would he take care of his room? He flopped down on his bed and took out his phone. He went through his apps to figure out what to do. Play a mobile game? Nah, whatever money he did have was spent on stupid microtransactions. Watch a video or a show? That would make him actually have to pay attention to something. He noticed something. He still had Instagram downloaded. Stan figured he deleted it since he hadn’t used it in ages. After distancing himself from his group, he couldn’t bear to see what they were up to.
But now, he's considering opening it after a few years. If he wants to be more social and reconnect with his friends, why not use social media? It’ll feel safer interacting with them there rather than randomly going up to them in person. Besides, he can always delete it if this half-assed plan backfires. He pauses before opening it. The first thing he sees as his page reloads is from a random meme account, causing him to let out an audible sigh of relief. First things first, he should probably update his profile. Clicking on his account, he can see that his profile picture is an old photo of his childhood dog Sparky. A moment of deliberation passes before he figures that he wants to keep that. Hell, there's not much to change about his profile. The one detail he edits that is in his bio it says that he was fourteen. He quickly updates his age before finishing. He goes back to his home page and takes a moment before scrolling. For a while, his eyes are met with random memes or animal posts.
Then he sees it, a post made two days prior by Kenny. It’s a random photo dump that’s lacking a caption. Stan swipes through each photo to see what’s been posted: a picture of a stray cat, photos of scenery, a few blurry selfies, and a group photo with Kyle and Cartman. They all look happy, Stan notes, at least as happy as they can be considering them as a group. They’re all doing fine without him. That’s good, isn’t it? He should be happy for them; they have their lives together, unlike Stan’s sorry ass. Even Cartman looks like he’s got his shit together, and that’s saying a lot. He stares into the photo. Why couldn’t he be there? He knew the reason, knew it was because of his actions, yet he felt envious. There’s no one he can blame but himself.
He has to like the post. It will be his first step to reconnecting with his friends. It’s a minuscule task, hardly noticeable or noteworthy. He just has to like it. Feeling the pressure building up, Stan likes the post before immediately shutting his phone off and burying his face into his pillow. He shouldn’t feel this stressed; it’s just Instagram. Even so, that fact doesn’t stop his mind from racing.
After five minutes, nothing happens. What did he even expect to happen? There is no notification, no random text out of the blue. Stan hesitantly turns his phone back on to confirm. Yup, absolutely nothing. Relief floods his body along with a small sense of disappointment. He opened Instagram, and he did, in fact, like the post. He exhales softly before opening up his messages. The last thing he sent was from two years prior; it was some shitty meme he found hilarious when he was fourteen, sent to the group chat. There's been no activity since then; they must’ve made a new group, he concludes. He scrolls through the old messages, especially careful not to like or engage with anything that would alert the chat. It’s nostalgic; he wasn’t completely miserable back then.
He clicks on each of his friends’ individual profiles. First is Cartman’s account. It’s filled with random shitposts that go past the border of offensive. Now and then, a cat photo of some kind is sprinkled in the mix. It’s exactly what he would’ve expected. He didn’t think Cartman would care much about his digital footprint, and from the profile he’s viewing, it’s definitely true. The account seems to be relatively active and posts frequently. It seems after a few years, Eric hasn’t really changed. At least from an outside perspective.
The next profile he clicks is his old best friend, Kyle’s, account. It’s not as active as the previous account was, and definitely not as problematic. The rare posts from Kyle only displayed his achievements; whether it’s an academic, athletic, or club achievement, it's on there. Each post and achievement shown brews more and more resentment inside Stan. Not towards Kyle, but towards himself. Why couldn’t he be happy for Kyle when they were friends? Why couldn’t he feel as proud as Kyle wanted him to? Maybe he could’ve been as successful as the other boy if he stopped wallowing in his own self-pity for one second. He could’ve been great– Stan clicks off the account, not wanting to think anymore about that.
The last account he views is Kenny’s. It serves as a mix between the other two. Personal photos are mixed with funny posts and memes. The humor isn’t as cringey as it was when they were fourteen. Stan scrolls through the blonde’s posts, landing on an older photo dump from a few months ago. He swipes through it and eventually lands on a selfie. It’s blurry; that’s always been Kenny’s style of photo. Stan stares at it.
Kenny always had a bright smile, something you could just tell was genuine. It was nice. It was warm. Stan missed it, maybe a bit too much. There’s a weird feeling in his stomach, a feeling that he was unable to put a label on. His insides were turning, but not in a way that felt sickly or gross. Staring at Kenny’s face, the way his eyes looked when he smiled, how his blonde hair was always messy, how–
“God, am I that lonely?” Stan mumbled, dragging a hand across his face. He’s so deprived of human companionship that the thought of his friends made him sick. How pathetic is that? There’s no other reason Stan could be feeling this way. He’s lonely and wants a friend. That’s all there is to it.
He lets out a low groan and isn’t paying too close attention when he attempts to scroll. When a small red heart appears on his screen, his eyes finally relock on it. When trying to scroll, he accidentally double-tapped on the older photodump.
Fuck.
Stan doesn’t know what to do. Does he un-like the photo? That’ll just make things weirder. Damn it- he’s screwed. He turns his phone off and stands up. He needs to get his mind off this somehow. He leaves his phone on the bed and pushes out of his room. He rushes through the hallway and makes it to the kitchen. The fridge door opens with a low creak, and his eyes lock in on a beer. He’ll forget all about it, no matter what.
Suddenly, his head hits the freezer door. “Damn it, Stan– you always do this.” He growls to himself. “It’s just going to make it worse– it always does.” He shoves the fridge door closed before he can give in to his temptations. He needs to leave the house- to get away. He kicks on his shoes, not bothering to tie them as he takes his keys and leaves the house.
It’s a long walk to Stark’s Pond. Especially when he’s walking from Tegridy. He doesn’t care, though; the longer the walk, the better. The fresh air works to clear his head somewhat. It isn’t dark yet; the sun is only about to set. He keeps walking.
The sun has set when he finally makes it to the pond. It’s not like he’s unused to the pond when it's dark; the last two nights serve as a testimony to that. He approaches the dock and sits down. He stares at his reflection in the water. It’s hard to explain how he feels, being met with his own face at this time. He patiently waits. The last few times he’s been here, he’s been met with a mysterious hero. Surely, the third time’s the charm. He needs someone to talk to, and today he’s willing to talk.
He sat and waited for a while, but nobody came.