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“Oh my God, we have to go in.” Cartman points at the sign above the previously abandoned store-front.
Instead of the familiar “LEASE AVAILABLE” sign that rested there for years, it was replaced by a half-lit neon sign that read “THE MAGESTRY.” In the window front, there are a handful of intricately crafted vials with various colored liquids stored in them alongside a couple of books on display and some incense.
“ Potion Making 101, ” Stan reads one of the titles of the books. He glances at Cartman. “Dude, I think this is, like, a witchcraft store!”
“For real?” Kenny pipes up.
“Witchcraft?” Kyle walks up to where Stan is standing to get a better look at the window front. He scoffs when he sees all the items on display. “What a scam. A whole store dedicated to preying on stupid people.”
“Nah, Jew,” Cartman smushes himself against the window, trying to peer inside, but the glare of the bright daylight makes it difficult to see into the darkened store. “This stuff looks legit. We need to go in.”
Kyle rolls his eyes—of course someone like Cartman would be into something as silly as witchcraft. “You’re an idiot.”
“Then stay outside, Jewboy. I’m going in.” As Cartman opens the door, a bell rings out to signal their entrance to the store. Kenny follows behind Cartman and holds the door out for Stan, who grabs it before looking back at Kyle.
“You coming?” Stan asks.
Kyle sighs. “Yeah, I’m coming. This is insanely stupid, though.”
“If Cartman wants to waste his money buying fake potions, then you should let him.” Stan mutters as he closes the door behind them, the dark ambience of the store surrounding them once it clicks shut. “Maybe he’ll buy one of those dumb books and keep him occupied for a while.”
Kyle ponders on that thought for a moment—there are times where Cartman goes silent while brewing up some new, big scheme. If Kyle knows Cartman correctly (and he does), the other boy is most definitely interested in some deadly, poisonous, or mind-altering potion. He would absolutely spend days and weeks, holed up in his room, trying to concoct the perfect mixture. Of course, because witchcraft is bullshit, it would never work, and Cartman would eventually give up.
Kyle smiles—but a week with not having to worry about Cartman’s latest and greatest escapade is better than nothing. “You’re so right, Stan.”
They catch up to Cartman and Kenny, who were eyeing a shelf that hosted a plethora of filled vials, each with a label handwritten in cursive ink. Beneath each vial listed the name and price, as well as a brief description of the contents.
Kenny picks up a red vial off of the shelf. “ ‘Lovin’ Lovin’,” he reads. “‘ Drink to spice up your romantic life with a little extra sex appeal and a whole lot more lovin’.’ Fucking sweet.” He studies the bottle. “How much does this cost?”
“Hmm,” Stan looks at the descriptive card. “Looks like a vial costs about thirty dollars.”
“ Thirty?” Kenny cries out. He reluctantly puts the vial back on the shelf. “Dammit. I’m saving up for Karen’s birthday.”
“Wouldn’t have worked anyway, Kenny,” Kyle adds. “Waste of money.”
“Don’t listen to Kahl,” Cartman nudges Kenny. “He’s just being stingy like the Jew he is. If you really want it, you should get it. Just get Karen an ‘I.O.U’ or something.”
“Fuck you,” Kyle hisses. “Just because you have money to waste doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
Kenny shakes his head. “I want to get her this dollhouse she’s been eyeing every time we pass the toy store. It’s expensive but I know it’ll be worth it.” He sighs as he stares at the potion. “Even more worth it than getting laid more.”
Stan pats Kenny on the back. “Glad to see you have your priorities in check.”
“Hello, boys,” a voice calls out behind them. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
They turn around to discover a woman dressed in a purple blouse with black jeans. She has long, black hair held back by a white headband and her eyes thick with a heavy eyeliner. Her lips are painted in a bright red and her fingers riddled with rings and various jewelry.
“ Hubba hubba,” Stan mutters under his breath. Kenny nods in agreement.
“Hello,” Cartman waves. “We’re just looking.”
The woman smiles. “My name is Carla. I run the store here. If there is anything you need help with, let me know.”
Kyle elbows Kenny before he can say anything remotely suggestive.
“I do have a question,” Cartman grins, hands folding behind his back as he rocks on his feet. “Do you happen to have any potions for…well…mind control or something along those lines? Asking for a friend, of course.”
Kyle rolls his eyes.
Carla chuckles as she shakes her head. “Unfortunately, I do not have a potion for that. Mind-altering potions are an experimental part of witchcraft that is still being tested and discovered, so unfortunately there’s not much in circulation. There are some kinds that do exist, some famous examples being the classic love potion, which unfortunately, due to Valentine’s day being just around the corner, is out of stock, and another example being the truth potion.”
“The truth potion?” Stan cocks his head. “What does that do? Make you tell the truth?”
Carla nods. “Exactly. It inhibits a portion of your prefrontal cortex, which is the part of the brain that deals with dishonesty, and essentially blocks your ability to lie.”
“Wicked,” Cartman’s eyes are wide and interested. “Do you have it?”
Carla walks over and reaches behind him, pulling a small, blue vial off the shelf. “Just a sip of this is enough to set the effect in motion. It lasts for quite a bit too, although it does taste relatively revolting. But it’s truly a magnificent potion.”
“Oh, please,” Kyle rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Like any of this is real. You probably just make a bunch of mixtures with soda and shit and pour it into pretty bottles. You’re a fucking scammer.”
“Ugh, shut up, you stupid ginger.” Cartman flips him off before turning back to Carla. “He’s just a dumb bitch, don’t listen to him.”
Stan grips Kyle’s jacket and pulls him back. “Do not take the bait.” He says as Kyle’s lip curls in anger.
Carla laughs. “Oh, believe me, he’s not the first non-believer, and he certainly won’t be the last.”
Cartman chuckles, taking the vial from Carla and studying it. “This is so cool. So basically, I can slip this in someone’s drink, and they will be forced to tell the truth?”
“Well, sure, although I’m afraid I can’t exactly condone the usage of doing it without someone’s consent.”
“Well what person would willingly take a truth potion?” Kenny counters.
Carla shrugs. “Beats me, I just can’t outright condone it.”
“Perfect,” Cartman grins.
“You know what?” Kyle clenches his fist in annoyance. God, why are people such fucking idiots? Who genuinely believes that these weird mixtures actually inhibit parts of the brain? “If you think this is all real, Cartman, then I will pay you twenty dollars to drink it.”
Cartman dramatically gasps. “Holy cow, Kahl, the stingy Jew, is offering money? What kind of fucked up world is this?”
“Fuck off, ” Kyle growls. “Are you willing to take the deal? You think it’s real, so are you prepared to be honest for once in your life?”
Cartman glares at him for a brief moment, before staring back at the bottle. Kyle can practically see the gears turning in his head as he debates on an answer. With a smirk, he shoves his hand in his pocket to pull out his wallet and hands Carla a twenty and a ten. “You’re on, Broflovski.”
Carla hands him back the ten dollar bill. “Call it a first time discount. Hopefully I see you boys again. Good luck with everything” She glances at Kyle. “I already mourn the loss of your twenty dollars, kid.”
Kyle narrows his eyes at her. “Yeah, whatever. I’m getting out of here.”
He bolts to the exit, the three other boys right on his tail. Once outside, everyone turns around to face Cartman, who is still examining the vial.
“Alright, Cartman,” Kyle says. “Drink up.” He pulls out a twenty as proof that he is willing to pay.
“You know,” Kenny mutters. “Wouldn’t it make more sense if you drank it, Kyle?”
Stan nods in agreement. “Honestly…yeah…how would we even know if Cartman was telling the truth?”
Kyle bites his lip—a fair point, Cartman could easily pretend to be telling the truth. But there is no way in Hell he was putting some unknown liquid in his system. He shakes his head. “Don’t care what makes sense. Cartman’s the one who believes in this nonsense, so he’s going to drink it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman rolls his eyes as he pops the top of the vial. “Whatever, Jew. I can’t wait to buy more potions with the money you’re gonna give me.”
The three boys watch as Cartman takes a deep breath before taking a sip of the supposed potion. His face instantly twists into a grimace and he starts coughing and gagging. “Holy—Holy fuck,” he gasps. “Tastes—tastes like shit.”
“You got water?” Kenny asks Stan, who nods and rummages through his backpack to pull out a water bottle. He hands it to Cartman, who practically sucks it down. “You good?”
Cartman nods as he continues to drink, gasping for air and breathing heavily once he stops. His face is red from almost choking, and it’s such a hilarious sight that Kyle starts cracking up.
Cartman glares at him. “Oh, shut your pretty mouth up, Jew.”
Kyle’s laughter abruptly stops as he gawks at Cartman, as do the other two. “What…what did you just say?”
Cartman’s eyes widen. “I said to shut your…” Cartman’s eyebrows furrow, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times like he’s trying to speak. “Mouth.”
“Sounded like you called his mouth pretty,” Kenny smirks.
“Well it is,” Cartman replies instantaneously before covering his mouth. “What the fuck.”
Kyle feels heat rise to his face. Cartman has to be fucking with him—this is all just his way of trying to make it seem like the potion is working. He rolls his eyes. “Nice try, Cartman. Complimenting me obviously makes it seem like it’s real, but I know you’re full of shit.”
“I’m not,” Cartman replies. “It’s working. It’s actually fucking working.”
“Sure,” Kyle replies sarcastically.
Stan tilts his head. “Say, Cartman, what did you get on the math exam?”
“A forty-five.” He face-palms. “ Fuck .”
“Heh,” Stan giggles. He looks at Kyle. “He told me he got a ninety-two.” He glances back at Cartman, who is visibly flustered at this point and sits down on the curb of the sidewalk, holding his head in his hands. “Why’d you tell me you got a ninety-two?”
“Because I knew you’d eventually tell Kyle and I wanted him to think I was as smart as him.” Cartman winces and lets out a whine. “Fucking stop asking me shit. It’s really working.”
“Dude,” Kyle laughs. “You think I’d believe you got a ninety-two?”
Cartman makes a noise similar to that of a groan in his hands. “No. But I had hope. For fuck’s sake. ”
Kenny leans over. “Cartman, how much do you weigh and what’s your height?”
“Two hundred and nine pounds, and I am five foot ten.”
Kyle’s eyes widen in shock as he looks at the other two, who had similar expressions. Whenever asked, Cartman would always say outlandish and exaggerated answers—but the number he just gave seems like it can very well be true.
“Holy shit,” Kenny says. “I think that potion is real. There’s no fucking way Cartman would say that shit.”
“I…” Cartman lifts his head up from his hands, his face redder than a lobster. “I can’t…I can’t lie. I’m…trying.” He looks at Kyle. “I’m being so fucking serious right now.”
Kyle crosses his arms as he studies Cartman—trying to see if his bullshit detector can see right through him. Cartman stares back at him with a look that Kyle’s never quite seen before, so oddly serious and filled with worry. Part of him doesn’t want to let his guard down—there is always a chance Cartman plays him like a fool, but another part truly is believing that Cartman is genuinely affected.
But…how? There’s no way witchcraft is real.
Kyle shakes his head. “I’m not buying it. Thanks for telling us your weight, Fatass, but there’s no such thing as witchcraft. Your potion is fake.”
“Dude, I don’t know,” Stan chimes in. “I can’t get over him telling us his actual weight.”
“I didn’t want to, Hippie!” Cartman stands up and kicks a rock, watching it roll across the road. “Kahl, I’m not fucking lying.”
“What are some other questions we could ask?” Kenny taps his chin. “Let’s make them good ones, too.”
“No, no more questions.” Cartman shakes his head. “Fuck you guys.”
“Oh! I got one,” Stan exclaims, and Cartman gives him the finger. “Why do you hate Wendy so much?”
“Because she’s a stuck up know-it-all who thinks she’s better than everyone else, and also she can be unpredictable at times and honestly that kind of scares me.” Cartman mutters the last bit. “I think, genuinely, you’re much better than her, and the way she plays with your heart kind of sucks, dude.”
Stan blinks, not expecting that answer. “Uh, thanks, Cartman.” He casts a look at Kyle, who glances back with a similar expression of bewilderment. That did not sound like Eric Cartman.
Cartman sighs. “I told you bitches, I ain’t lying. I can’t. It won’t let me.”
“Do you hate Kyle because he, too, is a stuck up know-it-all?” Kenny pipes up, grinning widely. He seems to be enjoying this the most.
Kyle shoots him a glare before looking at Cartman, preparing himself mentally for the verbal onslaught that is going to come his way.
Instead, Cartman stays silent, his face turning red again as he looks away pointedly. He takes a deep breath after a beat. “No…”
“Is it because he’s a Jew?” Kenny tries again.
“N-no…” Cartman sits back down and hides his face. “Kenny, please stop. Don’t.”
Kyle’s eyebrows raise—that’s a tone of voice Kyle has rarely heard come out of Cartman.
“Why do you hate Kyle, then?” Stan asks, walking in front of Cartman so his shadow casts over the other boy.
Cartman doesn’t answer, and instead starts trembling. His face is hidden well in his hands so it’s unclear what his expression is.
“Hey,” Stan lightly nudges Cartman with his foot. “I asked you a question.”
“I heard you,” Cartman’s voice is muffled. “I…I don’t hate Kyle.”
Stan and Kenny turn their heads to look at Kyle, who stares at Cartman with wide eyes and eyebrows raised so far they might pop off his head. “Did you…did you just pronounce my name correctly? And say you…didn’t hate me?”
Cartman practically screams into his hand. “I did. And I don’t hate you. Can we change the subject before the rest of my dignity is ruined, you fuckers?”
Kenny smirks. “Hell no, this just got interesting. So if you don’t hate Kyle,” he happily plops down on the curb right next to Cartman. “Why do you always rip on him? We’ve established it’s not because of him being a smartass or a Jew, so it’s gotta be something.”
“Kenny,” Kyle shakes his head. “C’mon.”
“Don’t you want to know?” Kenny asks Kyle.
“Not particularly,” Kyle murmurs. “I don’t care to know the reason why he picks fights with me.”
“I want your attention.” Cartman chimes in, sighing as he uncovers his face. “Constantly. I want you to be thinking of me all the time.”
This, ironically enough, absolutely ensnares Kyle’s attention, and he snaps his head to look at the brunette sitting on the curb. “Why?”
Cartman’s face is red and splotchy as he starts trembling again. “Because I’m always thinking of you.”
Stan gasps and quickly covers his mouth. Kyle feels his face heat up. Is Cartman being serious? Is this all some kind of sick, twisted joke? How low could Cartman go to make a fool out of him?
“Oh my God,” Kenny nudges Cartman with his elbow. “You…you like Kyle!”
Cartman bolts up, his trembling hands held up as if surrendering. “Yes. Fuck! I gotta go!” He looks back at Kyle, his eyes glistening with—were those the beginnings of tears? “I can’t deal with this…this fucking… gah! ”
He starts running—and Kyle cannot, for the life of him, remember when Cartman last ran like that—fast, relentless, and not looking back. Kyle watches, a twinge of guilt twisting in his stomach, his mind racing a million miles a minute as he tries to process everything that just happened.
“Holy shit,” Stan appears next to Kyle, watching Cartman disappear down the street. He looks back at his best friend once Cartman disappears from view. “What’re you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle admits. “Honestly, I thought he was just messing with me, but the way he’s reacting to what he’s saying…” Kyle sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cartman runs on manipulation tactics to get people to believe his lies. This could very well all be a part of it—you know him.”
“I do,” Kenny pipes up from the ground. “And he’s telling the truth. That potion is legit.”
Kyle stares at him, eyebrows raised. “You genuinely think this…potion…worked? That this witchcraft exists?”
“I know curses exist,” Kenny mutters, seemingly to himself, and Stan and Kyle look at each other in puzzlement. He realizes what he said and quickly waves it away. “Yes, I do. Look, I knew once Cartman gave us his weight. That’s the right number. I had snuck a peek at his chart in P.E. one time. Same height, too. You know as well as I do that he would never give out that information willingly, not even for a manipulative tactic. Plus, have you ever seen him act like that? He had genuine fear in his eyes, bro.”
Kyle shifts uncomfortably. “So…that stuff he said about me…is true?”
Kenny shrugs. “I mean, yeah, think about it. Dude is like…always trying to pull on your pigtails. Has for a while, you know?”
Stan’s eyes are practically bugging out of his head. “So you’re saying…Cartman has a…a crush on Kyle?”
Kenny shrugs again. “That’s what it seems like to me.” He sighs as he stands up, brushing his pants with his hands. “We should probably go check on him and make sure he doesn’t do something stupid, like cut his tongue off.”
Kyle grimaces at the thought. His heart hammers in his chest—Cartman has a crush on him? He chews on his lip, his many thoughts scattering and making it hard to think clearly.
“Kyle,” Stan seems concerned. “You good?”
“I think so,” Kyle replies faintly. “It’s just a lot to process, and I’m still…unsure what to really think about it all.” He sighs and rubs his face. “I think I need to talk to him and get it all sorted.”
Kenny nods. “Good idea. Let’s go, we can walk to his place and leave you to it.”
As the three start walking, Kyle finds himself getting in his own head. He thinks about the way Cartman acted just prior, how flustered he was and how much he trembled, the way he tried to carefully shape his words after blurting out something damning—it was all so…unlike him. And Kenny was right—he could definitely see fear in Cartman’s eyes, a nervousness that he never really detected before.
Kyle’s cheeks warm as he remembers Cartman saying he always thinks about him and constantly wants his attention. Cartman always seemed obsessed with trying to rile Kyle up in every way possible. But a crush? That seems far-fetched.
“Hey,” his best friend’s soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “You’re brooding. Do you know what you’re going to say?”
Kyle shakes his head. “No. I don’t. This is so confusing. I just—I need to talk to him. I need to know more. I need to know that this isn’t some sick joke to make me feel like a fucking fool.”
“I don’t think it is,” Kenny says. “But yeah, definitely talk with him.”
⭒
Kyle stares at Cartman’s house for a moment before turning back to face Stan and Kenny. “I don’t know if he’s going to want to talk to me…you know, if this whole thing is actually true.”
“Probably not,” Kenny shrugs. “But when has that ever stopped you? Better yet, when has that ever stopped him?”
“Good point,” Kyle relents, and turns on his heel, waving behind him. “Catch up with you later.”
“See you,” Stan says.
Kyle approaches the door, holding his fist up in preparation to knock, but hesitates. His heart is racing in his chest, blood rushing loudly and distractedly, and he suddenly feels a bit dizzy. Why is he so anxious? It’s just Cartman.
Exhaling sharply, he pounds his fist against the door. Liane opens the door with a soft smile. “Kyle, sweetie, how are you? Eric is up in his room, though he seems a bit out of it.”
“Er,” Kyle’s mind searches for something to say. “Yeah, we had a bit of…an argument while out today. I’m just here to apologize. May I go see him?”
“Oh, how mature of you,” she nods. “Sure, dearie, you know where he is.”
“Thank you, Ms. Cartman.”
She bows her head and steps aside, allowing Kyle into the house before heading into the kitchen. The smell of chicken wafts through the air, and Kyle hears his stomach growl in response—oh, he hasn’t eaten much today. Fantastic.
Ignoring his stomach, he walks up the stairs slowly and cautiously, as if he were sneaking in. He reaches Cartman’s door and stops in front of it, hesitating once more before knocking gently. “Cartman?” He calls out. “Cartman, open up.”
“I don’t want to talk, Jew.” Cartman replies through the door. “Go away.”
“I know you don’t,” Kyle sighs. “But I do. And we should talk.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out the twenty dollar bill. “Plus I owe you a twenty.”
“Then you can slip it under the door and be on your way.”
“Cartman…please. Listen, just—let me in. We need…to have an honest conversation.”
There’s no response, and Kyle is just about to speak again when the door opens. Cartman is glaring at Kyle, his eyes practically shooting arrows. “You want an honest conversation?” Cartman sneers. “Okay, fine.” He steps out of the way.
Kyle arches his eyebrows, not quite sure why Cartman relented so easily. He steps in slowly, and Cartman closes the door behind him. The air is thick with a tension that Kyle cannot quite place as Cartman moves to his desk. He opens the top drawer and pulls out the blue vial from earlier.
Oh .
“You’re still inwardly debating with yourself on whether or not this potion actually works.” Cartman crosses his arms. “So why don’t you try it for yourself, and then we can truly have an ‘honest’ conversation.”
Kyle stares at the vial in Cartman’s hand skeptically. “I…I don’t know about that.”
Cartman shrugs. “Then you should leave.”
“Okay! Okay, fine.” Kyle grabs the bottle in frustration. “I’ll drink this stupid fucking potion so we can talk.” He pops the top off and takes a deep breath, pinching his nose as he takes a sip. Immediately, he starts to retch. “Fuck, that’s awful.”
Cartman lets out a chuckle. “I know.”
Kyle sputters and coughs for about a minute, his face reddening as he gasps for air. Cartman hands him a bottle of water and he drinks a bit, his chest relaxing as it finally gets some air and the awful taste washing away down his throat. “Thanks,” he musters, capping the water bottle and handing it back. Cartman takes it and puts it back on his desk.
“Okay,” Cartman crosses his arms. “Tell me a lie.”
“Alright, I’m not—” Kyle pauses as he tries to speak. He wants to say he’s not Jewish. He tries to form the words but there’s no sound coming out. His mouth is flapping open like a fish and his voice box just doesn’t want to work. Frustrated, he takes a deep breath and tries again. “I’m not—”
His voice just stops. It’s a weird sensation. Like a feeling there’s something in his throat. Kyle coughs.
Cartman smirks. “Well?”
Kyle keeps attempting, getting more and more frustrated each time. “I’m not…I’m not…what the fuck?”
“Weird feeling, isn’t it?” Cartman murmurs, sitting down on the bed.
Kyle stares at the vial in his hand, eyes widening as he realizes…it actually works. He silently places the vial back on Cartman’s desk, biting his lip as he nods. “So…you were telling the truth?”
“Yes,” Cartman answers. “I was. Still am. I don’t know how long the effects last.”
Kyle sighs as he sits next to Cartman on the bed, giving him a couple inches of space so as they are not right on top of each other. “So…you really don’t hate me?”
“No, I don’t hate you,” Cartman shakes his head. “Even if you are Jewish, and ginger, and from Jersey.” He pauses, as if carefully calculating his next words. “Do you…hate me?”
“No,” Kyle finds himself answering immediately. His eyes widen. “Woah.”
Cartman chuckles. “Find that out for the first time?”
“No,” Kyle answers. “I knew that, always. Just was weird how I answered without thinking.”
“That’s what it does—because it’s forcing you to be honest, you don’t need to think about your words, unless you force yourself too.” Cartman rubs the back of his neck. “It’s what I was trying to do earlier, but you guys kept asking me questions and…yeah.”
Kyle nods, not quite sure what to say next. He folds his hands in his lap and stares at them, avoiding Cartman’s gaze and feeling that earlier tension in the air increase. He sucks in his breath as he turns to look at Cartman, meeting his heavy gaze with his own tentative one. “You said you liked me. What do you mean by that?”
Cartman rolls his eyes. “It means I like you. Are you dumb?”
“No!” Kyle glares at him. “I just—what do you…like about me? All you ever talk about is how much you hate me, so I’m just trying to get a better understanding of what you could possibly like about me.”
Cartman averts his gaze, instead choosing to stare at his hands which now play with the hem of his shirt. His cheeks tinge a pinkish color as he sucks in his breath. “I like your stubbornness. The way you argue and never back down from a fight, even if you’re wrong, which you rarely are, because I’m always making shit up to cause the fight to begin with. Fuck.” He curses and shakes his head. “This fucking potion, dude. It’s like an endless pile of word vomit that I can’t stop.”
“I like hearing it,” Kyle says, and he immediately blushes as Cartman turns to stare at him. “Jesus, you’re not kidding.”
Cartman lets out a small chuckle. “Physically can’t.”
There’s a pregnant pause before Kyle opens his mouth to speak again. “Is there anything else?”
“Man, you’re just feeling very needy today, huh?”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “C’mon, you can understand I’m curious, right? I mean, you’re smart too.” He says it before he can even think it.
Cartman’s lips part in shock. “You think I’m smart?”
“Well,” Kyle rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Cartman, you come up with all of these ideas. You’re creative. And my mother always told me that creativity was the backbone of intelligence. And as morally and ethically shitty as some of those ideas are, it takes a real person of brains to think of them.”
The other boy smiles. “Heh, yeah, I guess you’re right.” He claps his hands together. “Alright, since you paid me such a lovely compliment, I suppose I can tell you more. But to put it simply, everything I’ve ever told you that I hated about you, I actually like about you.”
“What?” Kyle feels his heart skip a beat. “Everything? My hair? My face? My voice?”
“Everything,” Cartman repeats. “Especially those things.”
“Oh,” Kyle’s face and neck feel like they are on fire as his heart hammers away in his chest. Why is he feeling like this? “Thank you…”
“I only told you I hated you because I was trying to convince myself that I did.” Cartman explains further. “It was bad enough being the fat kid, it would have been even worse to be the faggot fat kid.”
“Cartman…”
“What?” Cartman rolls his eyes. “It’s true. That’s why I’m the way I am. I wasn’t going to let anyone break me down so I instead became the asshole. It was my way of protecting myself.”
Kyle sighs. “Makes sense.”
“I hoped that if I kept acting like I hated you, then maybe I actually would.”
“But you don’t.”
“I don’t.”
“I don’t either.”
“We’ve established that,” Cartman mutters. “But you don’t like me.”
“I never said that,” Kyle raises his eyebrows.
“Don’t need to.” Cartman shrugs, standing up from the bed. “Nobody likes me. What part of being an asshole, fat kid did you not understand?”
Kyle remains silent, chewing on his bottom lip. His mind travels through his various memories with Cartman, mostly of him antagonizing the red-head. But even through the moments that should riddle him with rage, he can feel a surge of fondness course through him. It makes Kyle wonder if perhaps the truth potion doesn’t just work with speech, but thoughts too?
He keeps remembering and his heart keeps pounding, his face flushing and hands sweating. Then his mind shifts to times where Cartman had his back, to when they tried to run a business together, to when they played video games and laughed at each other’s jokes, and the feelings increase tenfold.
“I think I like you,” Kyle manages in a soft tone.
There’s a crack in Cartman’s voice when he says “what? You think? ”
“I…I don’t know,” Kyle mumbles. “I think the potion is affecting more than my speech. It’s making me see the truth in my memories and the way I’m feeling.” He sucks in his breath and exhales deeply. “Like, when I think about times that we’ve fought, I’m not feeling the anger that I would assume to have, no, I’m feeling the adrenaline, the rush, the thrill of it all. I’m feeling the excitement and…I like it.” He catches Cartman’s gaze. “I think, truthfully, I like it when I’m with you. That’s why I keep talking to you, keep hanging out with you, keep being near you even after all the bad, because it’s not boring, and I hate boring.”
Silence hangs in the air like a painting. Cartman shifts on his feet, his hands awkwardly fidgeting his shirt. He cuts through the tension about a minute later with a soft voice. “I like the thrill, too. I like riling you up, so your attention is on me. I like it when you fight back. It’s fun.”
Kyle laughs dryly. “We’re fucked up.”
“We are.”
Kyle stands up, walking closer to Cartman. He says nothing, and the two stare at each other, unsure of the newfound territory they had walked into.
“What do we even do now?” Cartman whispers, a bitter laugh following it.
Kyle shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Cartman sighs, running a hand through his brown hair. An urge to run his own hand through it hit Kyle’s brain and he had to physically bite his tongue to keep him from asking to feel it. His eyes study Cartman meticulously, the way his long lashes shape his heterochromatic eyes to look larger than they should, the way his skin looks soft and smooth with the tiniest dusting of freckles (not as visible as Kyle’s peppered face, but still present), the way his lips look plush and…kissable?
Kyle averts his gaze. Where did this thought come from? Was kissing Cartman something he honestly wanted?
When he mucks up the courage to look back, Cartman is staring at him with a bit of wonder. “What are you thinking about?”
Kyle wants to say nothing. He wants to lie. He can’t. “Kissing you.”
“Kissing me?” Cartman blinks in surprise. “The fuck?”
“I don’t know!” Kyle throws his hands up in exasperation. “That stupid fucking potion, dude.”
Cartman chuckles. “Oh, before I forget, hand me that twenty.”
“Oh, right,” Kyle reaches into his pocket and pulls out the crumpled up bill. “Here you—”
Cartman’s hand covers his own as he pulls him down, cutting off his words by capturing his lips with his. It’s a brief kiss, and Cartman pulls back, his hand slipping the twenty out of Kyle’s and into his pocket.
“Thanks for upholding your end, Kahl.” He smirks, his face still close enough to where his breath is a mere ghost on Kyle’s lips.
Kyle’s heart is jack-hammering like no tomorrow. It was a quick kiss, barely even a peck, but it caused his mind to race and feelings to bubble up to the surface, and before he can even think and stop himself he’s grabbing Cartman by his shirt collar and crashing their mouths together. Cartman lets out a muffled yelp before easing into the kiss, deepening it and tilting his head to get a better angle, his hands flying to Kyle’s waist. He can feel the gentle press of Cartman’s fingernails through his shirt and he’s thinking of all the times Cartman had scratched him during one of their fights, thinking of all the times he has held Cartman like this against a wall to threaten him, faces red with anger and frustration, and it’s still giving him the same feeling as he’s getting while kissing him—thrill, adrenaline, yearning.
He pulls away, letting go of Cartman’s shirt as he catches his breath.
“Yeah,” Kyle manages between breaths. “I like you.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cartman pants. “Alright, then.”
“So, be honest,” Kyle smirks. “Did you like my ‘pretty mouth?’”
Cartman narrows his eyes. “First of all, yes, second of all, shut up.”
“Yeah. yeah,” Kyle pulls Cartman in. “If that’s what you want…”
“I cannot lie. I would like you to shut up.”
“Alright,” Kyle grins, and leans in to capture Cartman’s lips again.
And if he’s being honest—he would do it again and again.