Work Text:
It was the perfect plan.
Weeks had been spent preparing for this day. Countless nights of staying up late devising the ideal way to go about it; how he would pop the question, where, when, etc.. So much was put into this whole event, and with Cartman spearheading it there was no possible way it could fail. All he had to do now was execute all his hard work and finally ask Kyle out to prom.
If his past self could see what he was doing now, he would no doubt explode with insults and frantic excuses to explain what horrors laid before him. Eric hadn't always been so open to the idea of liking Kyle. In fact, when he was younger, he wanted nothing more than for him to suffer and perish for what he was. Although he still viewed his kind with contempt, he didn't exactly feel the same malice towards Kyle as he did when they were in fourth grade. At some point in those seven years between then and now, he realized a hard truth about himself. That unfathomable truth being he held a strange attraction towards the Jewish boy. He was in denial for the longest time. How would you react if you found out you were crushing on not only a Jew, but a ginger Jersey Jew? Eventually, and after many years of attempting to fix his own feelings, he yielded to them. There was no getting rid of it no matter how viciously he fought, and so he chose to embrace it. Since then he’d been harboring how he truly felt under the disguise of petty bickering or picking on Kyle as a way to deal with his newly reevaluated obsession with him. Now, fueled by both underlying romantic interest and the need to be the best couple at prom, he was finally going to act on those feelings and sweep Kyle off his feet.
He figured during the school day would be optimal, maybe in the hallway between classes. That way, other students around them would influence Kyle’s decision with their presence alone. He’d heard of marriage proposals using this successful method of social pressure; someone purposely gets down on one knee in public so their spouse-to-be would rather say "yes" than be ridiculed for ruining the happy moment. I mean, who the hell would say no to the guy who just confessed their love in a big display of emotion when there's a crowd of people watching? A jackass would, that's who. And nobody wants to be the jackass. Cartman was banking on the Jew's unwillingness to violate that kind of social contract. That, and the small bribes of money and flowers he was planning to give him. It’s impossible for a Jew to decline free money.
A scheduled band was even hired to start playing once Kyle accepted the gift, laying dormant until a cue was made. Originally he wanted to hire a string quartet to play a love song, but finding it difficult to procure one in time for the scheduled date of his promposal, he settled on the next best thing; a mariachi band. Once that sweet, sweet Mexican music filled the air the two would walk off hand-in-hand as the planted pyrotechnics went off, cementing Cartman’s success. This was his vision, the child of his toiling from the past several weeks, the fruit of his fruity labor.
It was the perfect plan. The most perfect god damn plan he'd ever concocted, and he couldn't wait for the outcome.
Eric Cartman sauntered down the hall with a bouquet of roses in hand, a confident smirk cracking his face. He had bought the assortment of flowers that morning, meticulously picking out the best colors they had; a few light lavender, white, yellow with red tips, and of course you can’t go wrong with the classic red. The thing was nearly bursting from the amount all stuffed together in one set of wrapping paper. Forty dollars worth of bills were stuffed around the bright ribbon keeping the bouquet together. This would no doubt get the point across.
A handful of students watched him pass with mild curiosity, pausing as they opened their lockers or hushing whatever conversations were being had. With prom just around the corner, everyone was scrambling to find someone to take. Most people had already asked out their partners or friends to tag along with, but nobody had made as big a show as this. He had his hair combed back and wore the freshest button-down he owned, toting around that tumid floral bundle like a big beacon of adoration for his partner-to-be. Cartman loved to do things better than other people, and this was no exception. He was going to make the single greatest promposal South Park High had ever seen, just the thought of It filled him to the brim with excitement.
There they were. At the intersection between the two main hallways, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny all stood, chatting amongst themselves as Stan grabbed some books from his locker. Eric held the barely concealed bouquet behind his back as he walked up to them.
"Ah, if it isn't my favorite cohorts," he opened amiably.
Kenny looked over and gave him a small wave. "Mey, Carhmam."
"Hey," Stan shut his locker.
Kyle didn't greet him. Instead, he eyed him over skeptically. “Ok, what’s with the clean look and strangely cheery attitude?”
A little giddy from the unintentional compliment, Cartman cocked his head to the side a bit and furrowed his brows in mock confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Kyle?"
"For one, you never wear anything other than a fleece jacket, and two, you're way too happy for a Monday morning. You must've done something atrocious and gotten away with it."
Cartman simply smiled. Leave it to the Jew to always assume the worst in him. "Oh, I haven't gotten away with anything yet. I just wanted to come up and say hi to my bestest friends in the whole wide world."
Now it was Stan and Kenny's turn to look at him like he had two heads. He was never this, dare he say, "sweet" around them, so their reactions didn't surprise him. In fact he found the looks on their faces to be extremely funny. His goal was to butter them up a little before he opened himself up. That way he'd have better odds of not being emotionally destroyed by the very unlikely outcome of his plan failing. Kyle narrowed his eyes as Cartman blinked back innocently.
“What’s that behind your back?” Stan leaned sideways to try and peer around, but failed to see what the object was. It took all of Eric’s power not to snap at him and break his bubble of amusement. Why does that drunk have to be so nosy, he thought sourly. He jerked the bouquet further out of view before replying curtly. “It’s nothing for you.”
"Cut the crap, fatass. What do you want?" Kyle harshly asked.
Blunt and to the point. Cartman tsked. As always, Kyle had to be defensive. Over the years he became more critical of things, especially pertaining to anything Eric Cartman related. He found it endearing about the daywalker. It made it incredibly, almost laughably easy to get a rise out of him, which was in his favor since seeing Kyle get mad was one of his favorite pastimes. After all, a scowl looks best on that pretty face of his. The only downside was the difficulty of getting anything past him. He was always so skeptical about what Cartman was planning at any given moment and therefore more resistant to playing along. He was slightly disappointed he couldn’t drag things out a little longer. There was much to be done when Kyle said yes, however, so there was really no point to dawdle, even though toying with them is so worth it.
"If you really must know, Kyle, there's something I'd like to ask you. But first..." Cartman scooted over and somewhat forcibly moved the other two friends a few feet back with his free arm, ignoring their small protests. "There, much better," he cleared his throat and readjusted his stance to match his formal look. Kyle raised an eyebrow and crossed his arm, bracing for whatever game Cartman was playing.
"Now, I'd just like to preface with and acknowledge that we are best friends, Kyle. We've grown up together, gone through the good times, the bad, and the in between. We've been through so much and have become close over the years, as you have no doubt noticed, and therefore I think it's only fitting if we were to take the next logical step."
Cartman paused to gauge Kyle's reaction. So far he was making a face that can be best described as utterly perplexed with a sprinkle of fear. Not exactly how he imagined it going, but he was confident once he recieved the bouquet, intentions would be understood. He peeked around at the small groups of people dotting the hall, all watching curiously as to what was going down on this otherwise slow school day. Stan and Kenny exchanged worried glances.
Eric looked back and could tell his words were being parsed carefully. "What are you trying to say?" Kyle warily asked.
With an unfaltering grin, Eric produced the gift from behind his back and held it out for him, who was now staring at the gorgeous display of roses as though he just bore witness to the neighbor's puppy getting hit by a garbage truck.
"Kyle, would you go to prom with me?"
Everything went deathly silent. Kyle continued to stare shockingly, arms now limp at his sides. The other two were mirroring his face just a few feet away. After a few awkward seconds of dead air, Cartman nudged the flowers towards him and cleared his throat. "You're supposed to take this and say 'oh, why yes Eric, I will go to prom with you, handsome renegade!'" He explained in a poor attempt at Kyle's voice.
Unable to peel his eyes away from that mass of petals, Kyle shook his head in disbelief. "Cartman..."
Countless eyes were watching, waiting. Eric could feel those ever-judging gazes on his back and it made him a little anxious. Their presence seemed to be less of a benefit than he'd hoped. He needed to speed things up.
"It's alright, Kyle. I already know what you want to say, you don't have to tell me,” he reassured with a smidge of agitation in his voice. “How about you just--" he unsuccessfully attempted to shove the flowers into Kyle's hands, breaking into a cold sweat, "--just grab– dammit! Okay, I guess I'll hold onto these for now. Uh, how about I pick you up at eight thirty that day and we can--?"
"Eric."
Desperation was creeping its way into Eric's voice despite his best efforts to quell it. Why hadn’t he said yes yet? This was supposed to be an easy choice for him; just a quick, simple ‘yes’ without the unbearable pauses of silence. He began to flounder. "No no, it's all right, I know you want to say yes but you're too astonished by my stunning presentation to get the words out. I understand you want to be--"
His frantic attempts to salvage the moment were swiftly trampled by one, impossibly heavy word.
"No."
Eric froze, the remnants of a sentence dying on his tongue. No? No to what? No to being picked up a half hour before prom started? No to being enamored with the offering? He began to feel sick and dizzy all at once.
"What... what do you mean, 'no?'" His voice was uncharacteristically subdued.
"I mean I don't want to go to prom with you." Kyle said flatly.
It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. It was hard to breathe, hard to process.
His plan was perfect. What went wrong?
Immediately he ran the scenario through his head, over and over, looking for any faults. Should he have used more bribe money? Did Kyle secretly hate roses? Or... a horrific realization dawned on him, instantly chilling him to the core. Kyle must have already been asked out to prom. Stupefied distress was hastily thrown to the wind as an accusing scowl enveloped Cartman’s face. The crowd dissolved as his focus was solely on the other.
"Ohh, I see. You're already going to prom with somebody else, aren't you? You god damn dirty backstabbing Jew!"
Kyle scoffed at the burst of anger and returned the sentiment. "Really, Cartman? You think that's why I turned you down? I'm sorry, I should be grateful you’re trying to buy my affection with, what? Thirty bucks tied to a bunch of plants?" Sarcasm oozed from every word like venom from a snake’s fangs straight into Eric’s heart.
"It's forty dollars, actually,” he blurted without a second thought.
Nearly rolling his eyes right out of their sockets, Kyle threw his arms out exhaustedly. "I don't fucking care how much it is! The money doesn't have anything to do with this, YOU do!"
Cartman was appalled by the accusation. "What do you mean I do?! I did everything right! I even combed my fucking hair this morning!"
The other pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled. At this point several dozen new students had amassed in the halls, drawn in by the commotion. This whole event was the single most interesting thing to happen that morning. Onlookers reacted with gasps and ooo's for the entertaining drama. Neither one of them paid any attention to the spectators, too engrossed in their heated argument. "Eric, why in the world would I ever agree to go to prom with you?"
Cartman sputtered. "Wh-- why!? It's so blatantly obvious why, Kyle! I'm the biggest stud muffin in a town filled to the brim with gay little sissies! Why wouldn't you say yes?" he stated matter-of-factly. Kyle shot him a disgusted look as though that was the most exaggerated statement he’d ever heard, much to his dismay.
"Eric, all you've ever done to me is call me names and belittle me because I'm Jewish. My entire existence is just one big rip to you. You've made fun of my hair, my clothes-- hell, you still use the fact my mom’s from Jersey against me!" Kyle ripped the delicate bouquet out of Cartman's hands and shook it in his wide bi-colored eyes. "You truly think some stupid, pretty little flowers are going to make me fall for you after eight whole years of torment?!"
Almost posed as a question, Cartman meekly replied, "...Yes?"
Kyle glared at him wildly as he death gripped the poor bouquet, nostrils flaring with restrained anger. A few of the rose heads had snapped off during the violent gesticulation and were now occupying the short distance between the boys' shoes. The crowd seemed to lean in with bated breaths.
This was still fixable, Cartman desperately thought. Staring into those fiery green orbs pinning him where he stood, he realized where he went wrong and what he needed to address. Maybe, just maybe, something he viewed about Kyle was irrefutably wrong. He knew he had to admit it and make amends if he hoped to salvage this mess.
Cartman finally broke the silence. "Hm. I take it you don't like roses, then. What about tulips? You like those?"
In a split second Eric was knocked flat on his ass from a clean left hook to the jaw. Audible gasps were heard all around them and comments swam around in the sea of students like torrent fish. Through the confusion the mariachi band believed the cue had been made. A handful of band players burst out from a janitor’s closet into the already cramped hallway and started blaring a fast paced, upbeat tune on their trumpets and string instruments, utterly oblivious to the radical tonal shift.
It took a moment for Cartman to realize he was no longer on his feet. Dazed from both the splitting pains shooting through his skull and the music filling his ears, he swiped his lips with the back of his hand and stared thoroughly dumbstruck at the red smudge it left on his skin. The act even left its mark on his once spotless shirt in the form of two crimson dots. He was still mentally reeling when the declined gift was tossed in his lap.
He looked up just in time to catch Kyle whipping around and storming off in the other direction. Nobody dared move a muscle for a solid few seconds. It was around this time the band finally read the room and their music died off with one last wimpy toot of a trumpet, welcoming another suffocatingly awkward quiet. Stan’s eyes darted around the hall, unsure what to do, before ultimately deciding to chase after his best friend. In his peripheral Eric glimpsed Kenny standing amidst the crowd. Despite the majority of his face being concealed, his expression was clearly that of concern, yet he made no move to aid him. This wasn’t what occupied his returning thoughts, however. Eric was glued to the floor as he watched Kyle disappear around the corner, Stan hot on his heels and trying to call out for him to slow down. His hand absentmindedly rubbed the bruise now forming on his face. He tried to reason that the throbbing sensation from a tooth knocked loose from his gums was the cause for tears welling in his eyes, but he knew better.
He was utterly destroyed by Kyle’s rejection. He turned down the roses, even the money, despite his natural urges towards hoarding valuables. The outcome was wholly mystifying. The miserable weight in his chest felt as though he lost everything. Was this what heartbreak was like? Gradually his thoughts twisted away from these no good, nasty feelings, instead flipping the shattered hopes for a future with Kyle on its head. Why was he even so affected by the Jew? He clearly couldn't see how downright perfect Eric was, so why should he care about that ignorant asshole? Even after doing everything right, the ginger still wanted more, though Eric wasn't entirely sure what he was after. He supposed some Jews were just too greedy to understand.
Finally ripping himself from his thoughts he scanned the crowd of students who stayed and witnessed the altercation. Their scrutiny burned into him like a shower of flaming shame. The way the sea of eyes murmured amongst themselves, no doubt already spewing vile gossip, and the way none of them moved caused a surge of anger within him to swell. Who the fuck do they think they are? Who gave them any right to stand there and watch this? He made a mental note of all those present as he scooped up what was left of the once eloquent bouquet.
He slowly rose to his feet. After wiping his nose with a sleeve he did his best to glower at everyone equally, although the tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, which he hadn’t registered were there yet, counteracted the attempted intimidation. "The fuck are you all staring at?" he snapped with a shaky voice.
That was their cue. People began to steadily disperse, although the whispering and glances at his disheveled appearance never subsided. He refused to imagine what he looked like now compared to when he first strutted into the building. All that hard work getting dressed and looking his best, just to be– literally– smacked in the face. How ironic, he thought bitterly.
Mr. Mackey came rushing a bit too late from one of the halls, carefully navigating between students. He stopped in front of Eric and was alarmed at what he saw. "Now what in the hay happened here?! Eric Cartman, you better explain to me right now, mkay!"
Eric glared over at the adult. He contemplated telling on Kyle for hitting him. That dickhead would no doubt receive detention, or better yet,-- if he played his cards right,-- suspension. Normally he would jump at the chance to exact revenge on those who wronged him, but right now he just felt... a strange emptiness. Don't get him wrong, rage was bubbling up inside him and it was threatening to burst out like a volcano of molten resentment. He wanted to use that fuel to get back at Kyle in any horrible way he could. But right now, part of him felt like doing nothing at all, no matter how many wonderfully wicked scenarios he could think of to satisfy his thirst for vengeance. It pissed him off to no end.
Yet, that small part of him won.
"It's nothing, Mr. Mackey," he said frankly, mostly composed. He dried the rest of his face with his sleeve. "I was going to class but I forgot something and had locker problems."
The counselor didn't look entirely convinced, arms akimbo. He eyed the red blotch on Cartman's cheek. "Mmkay, I just hope you boys aren't fighting, or--or bidding on each other to see who lasts the longest in a throw down. You definitely weren't doing that, right, Eric?"
Eric shook his head as innocently as he could muster against his body screaming at him to snap back or throw insults. "No, Mr. Mackey. I wouldn't even think about harming another student!"
Mr. Mackey kept giving him a questioning look, clearly doubting his legitimacy. Cartman couldn’t blame him. Reputation aside, who in their right mind would believe a locker was the true cause of a bruise like that? It was far from his best lie to date, but as long as he remained innocuous on the outside, then maybe it would be bought. The fact he knew Mr. Mackey had scheduled morning meetings with other students worked in his favor as he was no doubt going to run late if he interrogated the boy any longer.
It didn’t take long before the counselor relented. "Hmm, alright. You better get to the nurse's office then, mkay. Bell's about to ring in a few minutes and you don't want to be late for class," Mr. Mackey began to walk away before pausing to add, "Oh, and don't leave that trash on the floor, Mkay. That's littering, and littering is bad."
Eric glanced down at the countless stray leaves and petals scattered under his feet. He grumbled at the thought of wasting any more time in this hallway. After all that meticulous planning preparing himself for this day, he was left alone to pick up the aftermath of his failed endeavors.
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, there was a small tap on his shoulder. At first, he thought with a small tinge of hope that it was Kenny, that maybe he had walked over to see how his friend was doing after such an ugly public rejection. But no, he couldn’t even be granted that, it seemed. Instead he looked over into the eyes of a Mexican nervously rubbing the side of his neck as his bandmates stood behind him.
“I told you I’d pay you guys after school, Ernesto. Why in the ever-loving shit are you bothering me now?” Cartman didn’t try to hide the bitter annoyance in his voice.
Ernesto glanced back at his bandmates. “Uhh… Did you want us to set the fireworks off now, or…?” He trailed off.
Cartman couldn’t contain it any longer. Too many things were grating on his nerves and plaguing his mind. He threw the floral remains at the startled man and screamed. “Of-fucking-course I don’t want you setting off the fireworks, estúpido idiota! And I didn’t fucking pay you to play background music to me getting decked by an asshole!” He threw his arm out and gestured strongly at an exit all the way down a hall. “Now get the hell out of my sight, or I’m knocking a hundred percent off your goddamn paychecks!”
Reluctantly, the mariachi band shuffled away, leaving Cartman alone in the barren hallway once more. Everyone else had gotten to class already. The bell rang, signaling his tardiness and imminent lunch detention. Among the many indignant and venomous trains of thought criss-crossing his mind, one stood out much more potently than the rest; This. Was lame. As fuck.