𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾.

𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖤𝖤.

You had sent Stan one message since that morning's incident. At first, he didn't want to check it at all, just seeing your contact name on his phone made his heart ache. Although, after about five minutes, he finally clicked on the notification.

𝗁𝖾𝗒𝗒𝗒𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇! 𝗎 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝖾𝗇𝖽? 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗆𝖺𝗇!
1:11 𝖯𝖬

Stan stared blankly at his phone for quite a while. Why would you still wanna hang out with him after he, quoting your own words, "ghosted you since you moved"? It didn't help that you were the girl that Cartman created a fake chat with to mess with Wendy's head. It was Stan's mistake for thinking it was good idea to not have a password for his phone and leaving it out in the open for anyone to take. He typed, deleted, and retyped many messages to reply to yours, some more passive aggressive than others while some just sounded straight pitiful. Stan settled with a casual response.

𝗇𝖺𝗁. 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗍 4?
2:48 𝖯𝖬

You replied instantly.

𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍! 😊 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄, 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗄𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖺 ❤
2:48 𝖯𝖬

Stan tilted his head to the side and raised his brow. He wondered why you added a heart at the end of your text. Were you lowkey trying to flirt with him? He waved the thought away and turned his phone face down on his desk. He stretched in his chair, a loud and somewhat dramatic yawn filled the silence in his room.

His back slouched as he opened a tab to check his grades. There were already over twenty untouched tabs open, but Stan didn't bother to close them. Once he logged in, he clicked on the icon called "Gradebook". The thing that was revealed to him was quite pathetic. He was failing most of his classes, with Baseball and Spanish being the only exceptions. What's worse is that they weren't "barely passing" grades, they were full blown bombing. He literally had a twenty-eight in Algebra.

Stan bit hard into the right side of his cheek while quickly closing out the tab. "Shit..." He muttered; his fingers ran anxiously through the dark roots of his hair. Stan had been skipping a few classes over the school year, some just involving him being knocked out in the corner of the classroom while others were him spending time drinking alone. Even before Wendy permanently broke up with him, joy and motivation lacked heavily in Stan's life.

Stan couldn't remember how many times he had told himself, "Ah, I'll do it later." He had over thirty missing assignments across all of his courses. It was just so hard to even think about sitting at his desk to try and catch up on his work. Pulling out the paper is one thing, but actually being able to process what's on it is a completely different thing. He was just glad to have a friend as smart as Kyle Broflovski.

Kyle and Stan would FaceTime each other often over school related things, Kyle always impatiently saying, "What is it this time, Marsh?" Stan knew at some point Kyle would stop saving his ass, but again, he was happy to know that one person hadn't given up on him yet. The consequences of his actions, or lack thereof, would come crawling to bite him back in the ass eventually.

Stan grabbed his phone off his desk and slid onto his mattress with little to no interest. He didn't have any social media, only a few pointless mobile games and an app to help track how long you've been sober, which he hasn't used since summer of last year. Out of curiosity, he clicked on the icon. When the app opened, the words "Congratulations! You are 3 months sober!" welcomed him with huge, bold letters. Underneath that text in tinier font read, "Last logged on June 16th." That alone made Stan want to hurl. He gripped on his stomach, swallowing hard to force down the vomit threatening to escape his throat.