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Kyle opens the door to Cartman’s bedroom with a huff, slamming the door into the wall. Of course the fatass is too lazy to go up to his room to find an extra GameCube controller. And of course they need the controller in order to all play Smash Bros, because Kyle would rather chew on nails than play with the tiny Joy Con.
So of course, Kyle has to be the one to go get it.
Kyle immediately starts ransacking Cartman’s room, digging through drawers and throwing crap around, not giving a single fuck about it. He knocks some items off of Cartman’s desk as he’s rummaging through it and flings out the various art supplies that lived in his desk drawer.
Kyle slams the final desk drawer shut and growls. No sign of a controller. He moves to his next target—the chest that sits next to his closet. He opens it and starts tossing stuffed animals and action figures over his shoulders, ignoring the occasional sound of toys hitting the surface of the desk.
“Damnit,” Kyle hisses, smacking the chest lid down.
He glances around the room and it looks like a tornado hit it. Kyle smirks—just how he wanted it. Screw Cartman.
The closet door being slightly ajar caught Kyle’s eye. He hasn’t checked there yet. He opens it the rest of the way, getting a grand view of a bunch of Cartman’s clothes. He flicks through the outfits, recognizing most of them from when they were ten: Cartman’s raccoon costume, his grand wizard costume, and that suit he wore when they ran the Crack Baby Athletic Association. Kyle slows down, taking his time to look at each costume, waves of nostalgia hitting him and subduing his previous anger.
He sighs and grips the closet door, fingers idly drumming against the side. The controller most likely isn’t in the closet anyway—and he’s already made a mess big enough to prove a point. He moves to close it when something shoved in the back corner of the closet catches his eye—a tiny reflection of the closet light.
Curious, Kyle reaches in and pulls out an orange and brown diver’s suit. He steps backwards, holding out the suit to study it. It seems familiar, but he can’t remember why. When has Cartman ever worn this?
Kyle racks his brain—they’ve never really had to go underwater in their adventures, and even when they did, Cartman didn’t wear this specific suit.
He holds the helmet up, staring straight into the facial window, his reflection subtly staring back at him.
He’s seen this before. Where?
Kyle closes his eyes, his mind forming a picture. He remembers a gray room, wood flooring. Stars on the bed that he was leaning against. His little brother, next to him, babbling, and—
Kyle's eyes snap open.
San Francisco. Cartman was there.
Cartman saved him. He saved his entire family. And didn’t utter a single word. Didn’t hold it over his head like a bribe. Didn’t indulge in a quid pro quo.
“Kahl! What the fuck is taking you so long?” Cartman’s voice snaps Kyle’s head towards the door as Cartman enters the room. His eyes widen at the sight of his bedroom. “Holy fuck. What the fuck did you do? I’m going to fucking—”
He stops, his gaze falling on the diver’s suit that Kyle is holding.
“It was you,” Kyle says, his voice small.
Cartman’s face falls. “What?”
“It was you,” Kyle repeats. “You’re the one who saved me. In San Francisco.” He looks back at the suit, studying it. “I can’t believe it.”
Cartman says nothing. He just walks over to his night stand and starts picking some things off the floor, putting them away.
“Cartman,” Kyle is indignant. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
The other boy slams the drawer shut. “Nothing to say.”
“ Nothing to say?” Kyle repeats incredulously. “Cartman…you saved my life. Better yet, my entire family’s lives.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course it’s a big deal!” Kyle exclaims, throwing the suit back into the closet. “I thought you would have been happy that I left South Park. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me! I thought you would have wanted me to die! I thought you hated my guts!”
“I did!” Cartman turns around, fists clenched at his sides.
“Then why save me?”
He’s met with silence once again, Cartman avoiding his gaze by looking out his window. Kyle’s about to open his mouth to speak again when Cartman cuts in. “I wanted you back in South Park because otherwise I’d have nobody to make fun of, and Butters wasn’t a good enough Jew to be a proper replacement.”
Kyle arches his eyebrows. “You tried to replace me with Butters?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t you.”
Kyle’s mouth parted slightly in shock. His eyebrows furrow as he crosses his arms. “That…that doesn’t explain why you saved my family too.”
Cartman continues to stare outside his window, walking towards it and clenching the side of his desk as he sighs heavily. “You couldn’t live on your own, stupid. If I wanted to have your dumb, Jew ass back in South Park, I needed to save your bitchy mother and the rest of your family.”
“Fair point,” Kyle concedes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He exhales harshly, lowering his hands so they rest at his sides. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”
A faint blush spreads across Cartman’s face as he stares wide-eyed at Kyle. He coughs and looks away. “That’s…hardly necessary. I don’t want your thanks. It was done for purely selfish reasons. I was bored.”
Kyle rolls his eyes. Leave it to Cartman to keep deflecting. “You sure it had nothing to do with you caring about me at least a little bit?”
The grip Cartman has on his desk tightens, his fingernails practically digging into the wood. His face is flushed royally now as his gaze lowers. “Not even in the slightest. I don’t care about you.”
Kyle smirks as he walks towards him, his body turning to face Cartman completely as his left hand leans against the desk. “I’m just surprised. It’s unlike you to do something like this and not hold it over my head like a brag. Not even bringing it up like ‘you owe me.’” His fingers idly drum against the desk. Cartman continues to pointedly stare out the window. “You hid it purposely.”
“Yeah, well,” Cartman’s voice sounds hoarse. “Couldn’t have you getting the wrong idea. You know, like you’re getting now.” He clears his throat. “Like I said. Selfish reasons. My motives were only for the good of my entertainment. Life would be boring and totally lame if I did not have an awful Jew to torment.”
“Mhm,” Kyle raises an eyebrow. “So you’re saying that I make your life worthwhile?”
Somehow, that makes Cartman’s face turn redder than it already was. “N-no. I didn’t say that! God, you Jews and your evil, manipulating, conniving ways.”
Kyle looks down at the desk, amused. He slowly slides his hand towards the iron-clad grip Cartman has on the desk. It sure is gratifying to see Cartman absolutely flustered for once, compared to the normal, confident attitude he always exuded.
Kyle has known Cartman for years—he’s as familiar as the back of his hand. He’s learned to see right through Cartman’s diabolical schemes, his manipulative tactics, and his overall deflection of anything that goes against the careful persona he’s crafted. Kyle knows that Cartman is frantically trying to retain control of the situation, and is hurling half-assed insults as a means to distract and veer the conversation into a different direction.
The corners of Kyle’s lips turn upwards as he lowers his voice just above a whisper. “Do you remember that one Easter where you were left as bait for the Jewpacabra?”
Cartman drags his gaze away from the window, choosing to stare at Kyle with a curious expression. “Unfortunately.”
“Well,” Kyle continues to slide his hand across the desk gradually. He lifts his head to meet Cartman’s eyes. “Who do you think brought you home that night?”
The other boy’s eyebrows shoot upwards, eyes widening in realization. He looks back down at his hands. He says nothing for a moment, awkwardly shifting on his feet. “I assume it was because of your damn morals. You wouldn’t leave anybody out there like that.”
“So you could argue,” Kyle’s hand reaches Cartman’s fist. He carefully places the tips of his fingers over it, feeling the warmth of his skin. His heart starts pounding in anticipation, waiting for Cartman to yank his hand away. “That it was done for purely selfish reasons.”
Cartman just stares at the hand over top of his. “Yeah, I guess you could.”
Silence falls over them as Kyle studies the profile of the boy in front of him. Cartman’s eyebrows are creased, his bewildered gaze intensely focusing on their overlapping hands. Then he turns his head, heterochromatic meeting emerald. Kyle’s heart is continuing to hammer in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, the air thickening with a tension that seems unfamiliar.
“You guys find the controller yet?” Kenny’s distant voice causes their heads to snap towards the door. “Hurry up!”
“Looking for it now, Kinny! Calm your poor ass down!” Cartman shouts. He pulls his hand out from underneath Kyle’s, awkwardly brushing past him as he opens the closet door fully.
Kyle’s heart is still pounding.
“Found it,” Cartman pulls out the controller. “Can’t believe this was right under your Jew nose.” He turns around and presents it proudly, his flush still present on his face.
Kyle takes the controller out of his grip. “To be fair, your room is a bit of a disaster.”
“And whose fault is that?!”
Kyle chuckles, the familiar bickering easing the tension.
“Let’s go, Jew. Can’t keep the other two waiting.” Cartman mutters as he heads towards the door.
“Cartman, wait.”
Cartman freezes. “What?”
Kyle walks towards him and pulls the other boy in for a hug. Cartman immediately stiffens, and Kyle can feel the racing of his heart as their chests press together. “Thanks, you know. For saving me and my family. Even if it was for purely selfish reasons.”
“That’s all it was,” Cartman murmurs, but Kyle feels the tentative press of a hand on his back.
Kyle pulls away and smirks, and much to his surprise, Cartman actually returns the expression.
Cartman turns around and gestures towards the door. “C’mon, Jewboy. Time for me to kick your ass in Smash.”
Kyle grins and waves the controller as he walks out the door. “Now that I have this, you’re totally fucked.”
The two bicker lightly as they head back downstairs. It’s familiar. It’s nice.
Even if the air feels a bit different around them—it’s still nice.