Chapter Text
“And then he said he don’t forgive me and doesn’t want me talkin’ to him.”
“That’s rough, Lee. I’m sorry, little brother.”
“I just..” Stan sighs, clutching the receiver tightly. “I thought it would be like when you got kicked out, how we still kept in touch behind dad’s back. I know he’s mad but it’s been like a month. I thought I could make it up to him but I’m running out of time, we’re gonna graduate soon and he won’t even talk to me! I dunno what to do.” He holds his palm over the phone as he sniffles, doesn’t want Shermie hearing how weak he is. “When he goes off to college I’m gonna lose him. How do I get him to talk to me again?”
“Stanley...” Sherman sighs, the phone’s gentle static doing little to disguise the weary tone. “You had to have known the two of you were gonna have to split up eventually.” Stan flushes with shame. Apparently everyone knew that but him. He was genuinely dumb enough to believe they were gonna sail off into the sunset together. What an idiot. “You’re not losing him. I think it's a good idea to try to reconcile before the school year ends but you can’t force it. Try meeting him on his own terms.”
“Recon-what now?”
“Reconcile, it means make up.”
“Oh. What do you mean ‘on his own terms’? Like somewhere he’s comfortable, in his element or whatever?”
“Yeah! That’s a great idea, Stanley. Course it can’t be at the house, but maybe at school or something. I’m sure our little overachiever is in more than a few clubs.”
Stan groans. “Sherm, he’s in nerd clubs! I’m not gonna fit in there! And there’s only two months left ‘til schools out. Do you think they’ll even let me join this late?”
“It’s worth a try!”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
So Stan makes a list.
Monday: Chess Club
Tuesday: Mystic the Grouping
Wens Wednesday: Mathletes
Thursday: Book Club
Friday: Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons
He doesn’t have any nerd cards so Tuesday is out and book club sounds like actual hell so Thursday is a no go too. So he’ll try chess club and mathletes and if he gets really desperate DDnMD. What a terrible thought.
“Whatcha up to?” Mz Blake peeks over his shoulder at the list and he flushes with embarrassment.
“Nothing! Just, uh,” He fidgets with his hands, folding the note up tightly. “Just trying to find an opening to get Ford to talk to me again.”
“Oh baby.” She brushes his hair back behind his ear and he blinks in surprise. When had his hair gotten so long?
“Sorry,” he mumbles absentmindedly, “I need to get a haircut.”
She gives him an odd look, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “Sorry? You don’t have nothing to be sorry for. If you wanna keep it long then you should. Baby, you really think I’m gonna have a problem with how you keep your hair?”
“I guess not.” They laugh together, and some of the tension drains out of him. “You think I’d look good with a mullet?”
“I think we’ll have to beat ‘em off with a stick, baby!”
He grins. Mullet it is.
“What are you doing here? And what happened to your hair?”
Stan startles at his brother's voice, knocking several pieces over and biting back a curse. “Nice to see you too, Six.” He peeks at the board of the couple playing next to them to figure out where all the pieces go. He really really wishes this could have been a checkers club. Why is there a clock? Is there usually a clock? Is this shit timed? He is so screwed. “I joined. Wanna play?”
Stanford stares at him with his brows pulled tightly together and his mouth slightly agape, looking for all the world like he has never been more confused. “You. Stanley. Joined the chess club?”
“Yep.” The affirmative answer has no effect whatsoever on Ford’s confused expression. He tries asking again, “Wanna play?”
Slowly, Stanford sits on the other side of the board, staring down at the shiny black pieces with a growing suspicion. “Why are you really here?”
“To play chess.” Stan answers, crossing his arms over his chest to hide his insecurity. What, like he can’t play chess? …Actually, no. He can’t play chess. But he’ll pick it up as they go, he’s sure.
Stanford lifts a piece from one of the corners, holding it aloft and glaring at Stan accusatorily. “What is this piece called?”
“It’s, uh.” Stan squints at it. “A tower?”
“It’s a rook, Stan. How—” He pushes his glasses up and groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How do you not know that?”
Okay, ouch. It's not often he manages to surprise someone by being even dumber than expected; people generally have pretty damn low expectations to begin with.
He's gotta turn this around, surely they can chat as they play and Stan will get to say everything he's been wanting to say ever since he saw that curtain close.
“Please, Sixer. Please can we play?"
“...Fine."
Stan's eyes brighten and Ford rolls his. They sit across the table from each other in silence until Ford huffs in annoyance. “White moves first.”
“Right. I knew that.” He definitely didn’t know that. Stan grabs the pawn in front of his king, then thinks better of it. Probably best to leave the big guy protected, right? He grabs the one to the right of it instead, pushing it forward one space.
He watches as Stanford silently moves the pawn in front of his own king forward two spaces. Shit, pawns can go two spaces at a time? Stan again goes to grab the pawn in front of the king but he doesn’t wanna look like he’s just copying Ford so again he changes course, picking up the pawn to the right of the one he’s already moved and placing it two spaces ahead. “So,” he begins nervously, “I was really wanting to talk to you about—”
“Checkmate.”
Stan blinks down at the queen Stanford has moved to the edge of the board. Fuck, is he right? Of course he is, he’s Stanford. How is it even possible to do that in two freakin’ moves?! He gapes at how shit his luck is, eyes flicking back and forth between the board and his brother’s face where a smug smirk is forming.
“Good game, Stan.”
“Oh come on!” But his brother is already sitting down across from someone else, not even glancing back towards Stan. He storms out of the room, heading straight for the library. He is gonna check out every single book they have about chess and he is gonna become a friggin’ master if that’s what it takes to get his brother to talk to him.