Work Text:
Stan's hands reach for another chip in the bag, glaring as he scrolls through his phone. He looks across the room, looking through his window to see Kyle's bedroom window. The curtains are closed, and the lights are off. It's only eight, he knows Kyle is not asleep (he normally studies until around midnight). He's just trying to shut Stan out.
Whatever, Stan tells himself. Who gives a fuck. Kyle's a dick, who's probably mad because he's fucking hungry all the time. Not his fault that he cares about his body, Stan thinks, as he rifles under his bed for another bag of chips.
He gets a text shortly after. Cartman. He sighs as he opens it. heard u and kyle got into some big gay fight.
Stan scowls, before typing out how do you know that?
The response is instantaneous. i keep tabs on him. have to anticipate when he's plotting.
Stan doesn't respond to this nonsense, not only because Cartman's suspicions around Kyle are most of the time unfounded and frankly, antisemitic, but also because he doesn't have it in him to defend Kyle at the moment either.
He starts watching some Minecraft parkour reddit story on YouTube before the next text comes in. Wanna hang out?
Stan: depends, do u acc wanna hang out or do u wanna terrorize ppl and have me lie abt it
Cartman: you cant still b mad about the dam thing, we were ten. cmon man. the only person u hang out w is on his period or smthn rn.
Stan: ok we can play video games or smthn
Cartman: i got the new donkey kong game
Stan: howd u convince ur mom to get u a switch 2
Cartman: none of ur business. wanna come over
Stan: yea i'll be over soon
Making sure to finish off his chips, Stan turns on his favorite Modern Baseball album before putting in his earbuds, slipping his phone in his pocket, and putting on his shoes. He walks past the kitchen, where he can hear his parents fighting again, and slips out the door. Shelley's lucky to not be living with them anymore, he thinks. She's twenty one now, probably out living her life.
The evening air is crisp and breezy. It's rare in South Park that the biting cold feels more like a soft nibble rather than an ambush, and he takes off his jacket to embrace it, even if for a few minutes. Cartman's house isn't too far away, and it's to Stan's other side, meaning he doesn't even have to pass Kyle's house.
He does so anyway. He walks in front of it a few times, pretending to have noticed some manner of trash on the ground and picking it up.
He catches Kyle through the living room window, sitting with his younger brother, watching television. Ike is laying on Kyle's chest, and Kyle has his arm around him. It's sweet how much he cares for his brother, even if he used to kick him around, but Stan tries to push away any fondness. He's mad at him. Fuck him.
He looks at Kyle's arm. It's pale as usual, but now, thin. He saw it when Kyle was at his house just a few hours ago, but it somehow looks worse. He knows that's not how things work, but he's worried.
Kyle scratches his nose for a second before looking around. Stan startles when Kyle makes eye contact. Kyle narrows his eyes, frowning, and Stan musters up his meanest scowl, before turning and running away.
God. I'm so embarrassing, he thinks. Running away. I look like an idiot. His phone beeps. He looks down.
Cartman: hey romeo r u gonna come over or are u gonna keep sadly standing outside his house
Stan rolls his eyes, before going to the familiar bright green house. Cartman opens the door before he can knock. "You ready for some Kong?" he asks.
"Yeah," Stan replies, walking inside and taking off his shoes. He lays down on the couch, his face heating up with embarrassment when he hears a crunch. He removes the bag of chips from his back pocket before quickly tossing them in the trash. Cartman snickers, and Stan shoots him a glare.
Cartman rolls his eyes in return but doesn't say anything. He places his Switch 2 on the dock, loading up the screen.
"Is the Switch 2 good?" he asks.
"It's alright," Cartman replies. "I'm just happy to be the first one in the group to have gotten one."
Always competitive with him. Stan just rolls his eyes, grabbing the other controller. They fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Cartman speaks up. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"You just want to talk shit about Kyle," Stan points out.
"Yeah, maybe. So what?"
Stan sighs before he remembers the glare Kyle gave him through the window, like they had never been friends, like he was nothing. "Well, honestly, I don't give a shit. Let's do it."
"Hell yes," says Cartman with a grin, his eyes still glued to the screen.
"He's not fun to hang around with. He's become obsessed with this whole valedictorian thing, and we can't even play a game without him feeling like he has to beat me. He's become extremely fucking emotionally unavailable and he's getting skinnier and skinnier by the day."
Cartman leans back onto the couch. "What did you fags fight about tonight?"
"I mean, for a while we've been having little arguments, or whatever, but I had him over tonight, and he wouldn't stop ranting and raving about student council and shit like that, and I guess he got mad that I wasn't too particularly excited about it, because he looked me dead in the eyes and said 'Stan, you're getting fat and lazy. I'm worried about you.'"
Cartman widens his eyes and whistles. "Wow. Welcome to my life."
"I told him to fuck off and that that was extremely messed up to say, and he starts… I don't know, claiming that he's saying it because he cares about me, and he asks me if I wanted to be like, well like you."
Cartman laughs, but it seems a bit strained. Stan immediately feels guilt.
"Which is really shitty, but, anyway, he thinks since I stopped drinking I've replaced the impulse with… food."
"Sounds like him. He always fucking thinks he knows everything."
Stan frowns. "Yeah, but the thing that sucks is he's right. About the last thing… I mean."
"Or he used his mind powers to make you think that." Cartman shrugs. "I mean. It's food. How bad can it be?"
"Easy for you to say."
"Shut up, man." They move on to the next level.
"Yeah and then I told him he was getting wayyy too skinny so he had no fucking room to talk, and he stormed out. So here we are."
"That wasn't as gay as I expected," Cartman replies. "Kinda disappointed there was no angry kissing or hate sex."
"You're disgusting, first of all," Stan says, "and second of all, ew. That's my best friend."
The silence comes along once again, and Stan feels a pang in his chest. He thought venting about it would help, but it just makes him replay the conversation again in his head. It stings. The look on Kyle's face when he said the word fat. What makes it worse is he knows Kyle didn't mean it in the mocking way, the way he treats Cartman. He meant it with both pity, judgment, and defensiveness.
He knows it's the wrong thing to ask, but he can feel it slip out of his mouth anyway. "Cartman… am I actually fat?"
Cartman scowls. "Why the fuck would you ask me that?"
"No, I didn't mean like-"
"What? You wanted the fat kid to be like oh, no, you're so skinny, don't say that about yourself, no way? That's what you wanted, right?"
"Jesus, dude, calm the fuck down. I fucking asked you because you're brutally honest."
"Oh." Cartman's face is bright red now. "I see."
"So? What do you think?"
"Yeah, Stan. You're fat. Welcome to the club."
Stan expects this to sting more, to feel like he's been kicked while still down, but for some reason, coming from Cartman, it doesn't sound so bad. He doesn't say the word fat like a compliment, really, but it's not an insult or something… sad.
"Oh," is all he can say, his face completely blank while he tries to figure out his feelings.
"Stan, seriously, dude. So what if you're fat? You're getting older. You're not going to fucking have the same body type you did as when you were ten. People get fatter as they get older. I mean, look at Kyle's mom."
"I mean, it bothers you, though."
"What does?"
"Getting fatter."
"This isn't about me, and I'm big boned anyway. It's different. You're just soft under that gay shirt of yours."
"You're deflecting," Stan says in a sing-song tone.
"Okay, yeah, maybe being fat bothers me. It probably fucking always will, and Kyle Broflovski has made it worse every single day. Every kid in school has, including you, Stan. So you know what, I hope you stay fat. Some fucking karma will do you good, asshole."
There's many things Stan could say in this moment. He could point out that Cartman ragged on Kyle for being Jewish probably more than Kyle did on him for being fat, he could say that Cartman was being a dick, he could defend himself, but instead, he grins. And then he laughs. He laughs hard, harder than he has in months.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Cartman asks, but Stan can see the smile pulling at his lips as if he's trying to not also laugh.
"I don't know, man. You're funny. You're fucking funny."
Cartman's face turns ever so slightly pink. "Oh. Thanks."
"Are you serious? You want me to stay fat out of some weird revenge thing?"
"You don't know if I was being serious."
"Okay, then I'll assume it's some sex thing-"
Cartman pushes him. "Fine, asshole. It is because it's a weird shitty jealousy thing. I admit it. It serves you fucking right. You're a fat fuck now who eats instead of drinking or being addicted to porn or studying or whatever. You don't get to be high and mighty anymore."
Stan doesn't answer, thinking.
"What? Are you mad?"
"Nah, I'm gonna go piss," Stan says, walking to the bathroom.
Stan looks at himself. Sweatpants have become the only thing that fit him, and his previously oversized sweatshirts have become, just, well, sized. His face is rounder than it used to be and his cheeks are rosier than before. He knows what Kyle sees, he sees someone who has let himself go. But Stan sees something different. He can still see the same birthmark on himself, the dimples on his smile, his black hair that sticks to his forehead no matter how many times he washes it, the bruise from when he fell of his bike.
Wider, but still him.
Maybe he is addicted to food. He can break that. He will. But his addiction to food was a replacement for something worse. He's overcome something.
He's changed.
When he comes back from the bathroom, he's still smiling.
"What are you fucking smiling about, asshole? Did the food make your dick bigger or something?"
"Don't be fucking gross. Also if that was how it worked you wouldn’t have the smallest dick on Earth." He sits back down. "You're right. I am fat, and who gives a shit? You're fat, and you're way more fun than Kyle."
"Finally you're waking up," Cartman says. "We can just be fat assholes together, then."
"Sounds gay." But Stan's face is redder, not at the weight part, but at the thought of hanging out with Cartman more. Someone who sucks, yes, maybe, but someone who felt refreshingly fucking real. Like he could tell him anything and Cartman wouldn't give a shit, still have him over. Cartman doesn't look at him like some poor chubby kicked puppy. He doesn't give a shit. "But I'm in."
"Yeah, until one day you and Kyle kiss and make up."
"You don't know that. Our friendship could be over."
Cartman snorts. "Don't. You guys will make up, and you won't come over for Donkey Kong again."
"Are you kidding me?" Stan asks. "You're the first person who's made me fucking laugh in months. I'll be over again."
Cartman's eyes light up, but he just rolls them, obviously trying to hide them. "Okay. Just don't come over and eat all my snacks, tubby."
"I doubt there'd be anything left to eat," Stan retorts, and they both laugh.
"By the way, Stan, don't get all gay about this, but the extra weight suits you well." Cartman doesn't meet his eyes.
"Thanks, Cartman. That was…genuinely a nice thing to say."
"Yeah, well don't come to expect it."