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Summary
“Uh huh. So you’re like, throwing this bullshit tantrum because - what? You care? Stew, don’t act all fuckin’ superior. Your whole thing is drugs and booze and getting your fucking dick sucked. Since when do you care?”
“Oh, I care,” Stewy says bitingly, like he can weaponize this. His sincerity is the only tool he has in his arsenal, for better or worse. “You don’t get it, do you? You think no one gives a shit about poor little Prince Kendall. Boo fucking hoo.”
“Yeah, that’s just how the fuckin’... Earth’s axis works, man. The sun doesn’t revolve around me. I’m not an idiot, Stew.”
Stewy isn’t brave enough to say that Yes, he could be Kendall’s sun. He could revolve around him, if he’d only ask. But he doesn’t.
or: it's 1999. britney is the moment, denim is everywhere, and stewy has a massive crush on kendall while they're roommates at harvard.