Swimming Pools (STAN ANGST)

The argument that started it all

Stan Marsh woke up to the relentless shrill of his alarm blaring in his ear. The room was still dark, and the weight of sleep clung to him like a thick fog.

He barely had the energy to open his eyes, as he had about 2 hours of sleep, but when he finally did, everything felt off. His head throbbed, and his stomach twisted in discomfort. He hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep.

Rolling out of bed with a groan, Stan rubbed his eyes and tried to steady himself.

He couldn't remember what time he'd gone to bed, but the late-night scroll through his phone—ending up deep in some random subreddit—was enough to leave him feeling like garbage the next morning.

He dragged himself to the kitchen, the house eerily quiet. As his fingers fumbled around, he reached for a water bottle that was already on the counter. The water bottle that he thought had just water in it.

His mind was so far gone from lack of sleep that he didn't even notice the bottle had been replaced with something else—a clear liquid that definitely wasn't water.

He barely even paid attention when he filled it up, completely unaware of the smell of alcohol that clung to the plastic as he screwed the cap on and shoved it into his backpack.

The day had barely begun, and it already felt like everything was spiraling.

By the time he got to school, Stan could already tell something was off. The weight of exhaustion was pressing down on him like an anchor.

His head ached, his vision was blurry, and he could barely focus on anything. The tiredness was a constant hum in the background of his mind. He wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

When he arrived at the school's front entrance, he spotted the usual group hanging out by the fence—Cartman, Kyle, Kenny.

They were all standing around, as usual, but there was a noticeable tension in the air. The cold chill of early morning mixed with the feeling of something about to snap.

Stan made his way over to them, but as soon as they saw him, their faces shifted. Kyle raised an eyebrow and glanced at Stan's disheveled appearance.

"Jesus, Stan," Kyle said, crossing his arms. "You look like hell."

Stan rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

Cartman scoffed. "You sure? You've been looking like a trainwreck all week."

"I'm just tired," Stan muttered, rubbing his eyes. He was hoping they'd drop it. He didn't want to deal with any of their shit today.

But then Kenny spoke, his voice a little quieter than usual. "You've been acting... weird, Stan. Like you're not even here half the time. What's going on?"

Stan winced. He wasn't in the mood for this conversation. "Nothing's going on," he snapped. "I just don't sleep much, alright? Can we not make a big deal out of it?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "It's not just that, Stan. You've been... pushing us away. You barely talk to us anymore."

Stan's chest tightened. He hadn't meant to pull away, but it was so hard to balance everything. School. His family. His own emotions. "It's not like I'm trying to ignore you guys, okay?" He clenched his fists, trying to hold himself together. "I'm just tired of everything."

Cartman stepped forward, his expression hardening. "Yeah, you're always tired. You're always so mopey, so self-centered. Maybe you're not even tired anymore, Stan. Maybe you're just acting like an asshole."

Stan recoiled, his chest tightening in frustration. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're always acting like we should just understand your bullshit," Cartman snapped. "You're barely even here anymore. You don't care about any of us."