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10
‘She’s a maniac! Maaaaaaaniac on the floor!’
Kyle blinks his bleary eyes open, sitting up in bed with a sleepy, confused scowl.
‘And she’s dancing like she’s never danced before! ’
Who could be calling at this time of night? Of course, he has a funny feeling who it is, and as he shuffles to his nightstand to retrieve his phone, he prays that he’s wrong. This is no time of night to be dealing with Cartman’s bullshit. Kyle doesn’t think there is ever a right time.
Sure enough, when he picks up his phone, Cartman’s face glows up at him, flipping off the camera with an evil grin. A grin that says “fuck you Kahl you really thought I’d let you sleep?” It’s hard to believe he actually felt happy taking that photograph, or at least, he was running on pure adrenaline and mischief when he took it. The guys had just tagged the Community Centre with a giant hairy dick and were running away from the scene of the crime when Kyle had this strange urge to capture Cartman’s contagious wickedness. Of course, Kyle should know better, but some days, when they’re bored, and antsy, and Cartman has the right idea he just… doesn’t.
“What the fuck does he want?” Kyle murmurs, intrigue overriding his annoyance as he accepts the call. “What?” He’s pinching the bridge of his nose like Stan and rubbing his weary eyes with his thumbs.
“ Hey,” Cartman replies, timid and relieved, which only makes Kyle more curious. “ Uh, Jewpacabra can't be real, right? Tell me again why it can't be real?” Okay, is Cartman actually scared or is he just messing with him? Kyle knows Cartman is fully capable of lying so well that he starts to believe his bullshit, work himself up into paranoia, is this one of those times? “I mean, it's impossible that something I made up could turn out to actually exist, huh, Kyle?”
Whatever Cartman is trying to do, Kyle doesn’t have the bandwidth for it right now.
“What are you doing?”
“ Okay, okay!” Cartman totally ignores Kyle’s blunt question. “Even if there was a Jewpacabra, it wouldn't know I was the one who got video of it, huh? How could it know that? It couldn't know that, right?”
God, Kyle wishes Cartman would have revealed he was calling to mess with him. He would much rather listen to Cartman’s nails-on-a-chalkboard cackling than this paranoid babbling. Cartman got himself into this mess, it’s not Kyle’s job to clean it up.
“Kyle? ” he presses when he doesn’t get an answer.
Kyle isn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He hangs up without another word, placing his phone back on the nightstand and getting comfortable in bed, hoping his annoyance will thin away soon so he can get back to sleep.
He winces when his phone starts ringing again, rolling over to grab it and throw it at the wall. The sound of it crashing against the wall is ominous to say the least, but… that’s for Tomorrow Kyle to deal with. He wonders if Tomorrow Kyle will be just as nonchalant about having to tell his parents he may have broken his phone. Rolling his eyes, he flops back into bed and pulls the covers up over him.
The next time Kyle is woken up, it’s by a loud clap of thunder and… this strange, primal instinct that somebody is watching him. He blinks open his eyes and instinctively hugs his quilt close to him, as if that can protect him from any intruders, but when his eyes wander to his rain-splattered window he screams at the figure outside. The stranger screams too, lightning illuminating their startled eyes to reveal it is none other than Cartman.
Any fear Kyle feels is turned to ashes by the anger bubbling up inside him, and he throws his covers back, teeth gritted as he crawls over to his window to demand what the fuck Cartman is doing.
“Dude, relax, Kyle!” Cartman exclaims when Kyle rips open the window. He’s sure he would have raised his hands to say he comes in peace if they weren’t clinging to the walls. “It’s just me!”
Kyle growls, because that doesn’t make him feel any better.
“I know it’s you, idiot!” He snaps, seething with his nostrils flared. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“You weren’t answering your phone!”
Again, that doesn’t make Kyle feel any better, nor does it answer his question. He huffs, brow furrowing.
“So you decided to come over instead?”
Cartman’s mouth drops open, and he rolls his eyes like he gets to be the incredulous one.
“Well, yeah!” he snaps, before his brow creases and his jaw starts to quiver. “Please, Kyle, I’m really freaked out and if Jewpacabra is real-”
“But it isn’t real!”
“God damn it, not now!” Cartman shouts, eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them, they’re gleaming. “If Jewpacabra is real, I think I’d be safe here since…” he sighs, raising wary eyebrows at Kyle. “You know… you two would have an understanding.”
Kyle grits his teeth and sucks in his lower lip. Cartman’s antisemitic bullshit is the last fucking straw.
“Right, that does it, get the fuck out of here, Cartman!” he replies, trying to shove Cartman away while avoiding actually pushing him to his death. As much as he hates this piece of shit, he doesn’t want his blood on his hands. It’s like when he finds a bug in his room. He doesn’t want to kill it, just… move it along.
Cartman’s eyes widen, and he’s digging his fingers in as much as he can.
“Kyle, please I-”
He’s interrupted by a boom of thunder and, temporarily blinded by the lightning, Kyle is unable to stop Cartman from scrambling into his room and fucking tackling him onto his bed. Kyle’s eyes almost pop out of skull, and he huffs, winded, at Cartman’s trembling weight on him.
“What the hell was that?” Cartman asks, whimpering, clinging to Kyle.
“Thunder and lightning, dumbass!” Kyle wheezes. “Haven’t you noticed the storm?” He grimaces when he realises Cartman’s soaking hair is dripping onto his face, his wet clothes dampening his sheets. “Shit, my bed is all wet now, get the fuck off me!”
Kyle pushes Cartman off him, and as he sits up he notices that Cartman isn’t wearing his usual red coat but some bright yellow, plasticky raincoat. He’s shivering, from fright, or the cold, or the rain, Kyle doesn’t know, and he’s curled up in a ball. Kyle has images of rolling Cartman down the stairs and out the door, but like that old story of that dude who rolled a boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down again, Kyle knows that’s easier said than done. He sighs, crossing his legs and burying his head in his hands. He groans.
“I just want to go to sleep.”
Kyle hears Cartman gasp softly.
“Does that mean I can stay?”
When Kyle looks up at him, he looks like an excitable puppy. A demonic fucking monster puppy, but a puppy nonetheless that Kyle just can’t kick out in the rain. Besides, like a puppy, Cartman will just whine and scratch at his window all night, begging to be let in so he supposes this is the lesser of two evils.
“Fine!” Kyle snaps. “Fine, you can stay, just shut the window and get straight to sleep! No more of this Jewpacabra bullshit.”
Cartman nods, shutting the window and shrugging off his raincoat. Kyle gets back under the covers, watching Cartman with faint amusement. Maybe even demonic monster puppies can be obedient sometimes. Kyle’s amusement dies however when Cartman crawls under the covers, taking up so much room that Kyle almost falls out of his own bed.
He grimaces as Cartman snuggles down, eyes slipping shut with this smug little smile on his face. He sighs sweetly, and Kyle could gag.
“Good night, Kyle.”
He sighs, staring up at the ceiling.
“Go to sleep, Cartman,” he murmurs, shutting his eyes too.
A few nights later, when Kyle finds himself at the park, standing over a distressed, bunnified Cartman with a chain cutter in one hand and a blanket in the other, he knows that it’s the thought of Cartman shaking in his raincoat, and sleeping like a self-satisfied baby in Kyle’s bed, that’s brought him here, at 3 in the god damn morning to come to his rescue.
And he hates it.
12
Sitting in Cartman’s basement wearing a Luigi costume and eating trick-or-treat candy, the thought has crossed Kyle’s mind a few times that this may be the last time he ever does this. Of course, there will be other Halloweens, but this will probably be the last time they walk around town, clutching pumpkin pails in sticky hands and digging into their candy collection. No, Halloween from now on will most likely be about tricks rather than treats, parties rather than pumpkin patches… at least until he’s old enough to have kids of his own and relive Halloween vicariously through them.
God, how is Kyle mourning his youth already? It’s putting a downer on his candy haul, and the spooky thrills offered up by the movie they’re all currently watching in Cartman’s dark basement. Whatever, he’s not going to finish it anyway. He has to leave early tomorrow morning for a debate meet in Littleton, so he had to forgo an invitation to sleep over. His phone buzzes once more in the pocket of his cheap blue overalls, and he figures it’s time to leave. He’s already pushing his curfew.
He sighs, getting to his feet.
“Alright, now I really need to go.”
The guys peel their attention away from the slasher shenanigans happening on screen, wide-eyed and a little timid. Huddled together in a dark basement in their Mario costumes, they are the very definition of a cursed image.
“Getting scared, Kyle?” Cartman snorts, dressed in a Bowser costume that has deflated considerably from the start of the night. “Fucking pussy…”
He shakes his head as he shoves a handful of popcorn and candy in his mouth.
“I’m not scared!” Kyle snaps. “But this is, like, the tenth time my mom has messaged me-”
“Sure, whatever.” Cartman rolls his eyes, smirking around a mouthful of food. “Just go and run home to mommy.”
Kyle huffs, fists clenching at his sides.
“God damn it! I’m not running home to-”
“It’s cool, dude,” Kenny interjects. He can always be counted on to defuse a situation. He moves his blonde wig out of his face to give Kyle a smile. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good luck, Kyle!” Butters chirps up at the other end of the couch, his spotted Toad hat almost falling from his head.
Kyle smiles.
“Thanks, guys.”
Stan, dressed as Mario, gives Kyle a smile and a nod too.
“Text us when you get home tomorrow and we can hang out-”
“God, are you still here?” Cartman snaps, frowning at Kyle.
Kyle rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t fade. After all, that’s basically Cartman’s way of saying goodbye.
“I’ll be leaving in a sec, asshole, I just need to find my jacket.”
Everyone’s attention has returned to the movie, leaving Kyle to search for his jacket himself. He soon spots it however, draped over the arm of the couch. He reaches past Cartman to get it, his hand grazing Cartman’s arm for a millisecond, but it’s enough for him to screech like a banshee, jumping in his seat and spilling the mammoth contents of his bowl all over the guys. Kyle chuckles behind his hand but makes no attempt to hide just how amused he is.
“Cartman, what the fuck?” Stan cries, lap filled with popcorn and Reese’s Pieces.
“I’m a pussy, huh?” Kyle asks, voice still bubbly with laughter. He leans in closer and sneers at a red-faced Cartman. “Not once tonight have I screamed like a little girl.”
Kyle isn’t going to stop laughing anytime soon, not when Cartman is pouting so ridiculously.
“Fuck you, Kyle, you snuck up on me!”
“Maybe you should’ve been Peach.” Kyle snickers, flicking at one of the foamy spikes on Cartman’s costume.
Cartman scowls at him, batting his hand away.
“Oh, get the fuck out of my house already, you fucking prick!”
Kyle rolls his eyes, slipping his jacket on before slipping out of the house. Tucking his hands in his pockets when he’s greeted by the crisp, fall breeze, he smiles as he crosses the street to his house, charmed by the melting candles in sagging Jack-o-lanterns dotted around the neighbourhood, little flickers of light shining from people’s stoops or in their window sills.
At home, he’s glad to get out of his costume - especially the itchy moustache - and he falls asleep pretty much straight away.
He doesn’t know what time it is when he’s awoken by impatient tapping at his window. To anyone else on Halloween night - or any night for that matter - this would be creepy, eerie, downright spooky, but Kyle hasn’t even opened his eyes, and he knows who is already looking for entry into his bedroom. He blinks his heavy eyes open and sees Cartman’s familiar silhouette outside his window, as timid and wide-eyed as he was when they were watching that crappy horror movie earlier.
Kyle sighs, rubbing at his eye.
“God damn it…” he mutters, before crawling over to his window and opening it anyway.
Since the incident at Passover two years ago, Cartman has made it a habit of turning up at Kyle’s window unannounced, looking for a place to crash. Usually it’s because he’s pissed at his mom, but Kyle thinks half the time that excuse is bullshit. He doesn’t call Cartman out on it though because it’s just easier to let Cartman crash than to argue with him… plus, when Cartman’s eyes are puffy and his tone is flat and dejected, fighting through the persistent hiccuping little sobs in his voice, Kyle thinks that pushing him isn’t going to solve anything. He believes that Cartman will tell him what’s going on at the right time, but that time is yet to come.
“What?” Kyle asks, sighing with his whole body.
“I’m crashing with you tonight,” Cartman announces with urgency, brushing past Kyle as he wriggles in through the window. He’s changed into his pyjamas now, so he doesn’t have to contend with manoeuvring the Bowser costume.
Kyle frowns, as he watches Cartman crawl under the covers with little discussion and no consideration to his guests across the street.
“What about the guys?”
Cartman frowns, like that was a totally out of left field question.
“What about them?”
Kyle tuts, his patience at an all time low when he’s essentially half asleep.
“They’re still at your house, right?” he raises his eyebrows. “In the basement?”
Cartman shrugs, holding the covers close to his chest as he studies the room as if he hasn’t been here before.
“Yeah, and it was all dark down there, and cold, and I just…” he rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, the vibes were off.”
“And what’s wrong with your bed?” Kyle asks, shuffling closer on his knees.
“I’ve told you, your bed is comfier.” Cartman sneers at Kyle as he gets under the covers. “Perks of having rich parents, huh?”
Kyle huffs, because he’s not having this conversation now.
“Whatever, let’s just get to sleep.” He yawns, eyes slipping shut as he tries to get comfortable again. “We both need to get up early-”
Cartman scoffs.
“Bro, I’m not the one going to Littleton tomorrow.”
Kyle’s eyes fly open.
“What, you think I’d just let you spend the morning here? So you can raid my fridge, and fart on my couch, and clog my toilet?”
Cartman gives Kyle one of his more loathsome smirks, actually wiggling under the covers he’s so self-satisfied.
“Well, I’m already sleeping here.” He tilts his chin up at Kyle. “Might as well make myself at home.”
“I don’t think so,” Kyle replies firmly. “You’re leaving as soon as I wake up.” He raises his eyebrows. “No late check-out.”
Cartman huffs, holding the duvet closer to him.
“Fine…” His eyes slip shut and his lower lip juts out.
Kyle takes a calming breath and settles down too, hating how much warmer his bed feels now that Cartman is in it. On the colder fall and winter nights, his presence is somewhat appreciated. In the silence, a small creak is heard, but Cartman jumps like he’s just heard an explosion.
“Fuck!” he yelps, sitting up in bed. Kyle can tell he’s shaking by the way the quilt practically fucking vibrates around them. “What was that?”
“A poltergeist,” Kyle mumbles, deadpan.
The shaking stops.
“What?” Cartman squeaks. “That’s not fucking funny, asshole!”
Kyle grumbles under his breath, opening his eyes to glare at Cartman.
“Dude, lighten up, of course it’s not a fucking poltergeist!”
“Then what is it?” Cartman presses, body stiff with fear and eyes wide.
Kyle huffs in exasperation, rolling his eyes, although the creak did send a shiver down his spine too.
“I don’t know! Houses just creak sometimes!”
Cartman softens, chewing his lip. He raises his eyebrows at Kyle.
“So this happens a lot?”
Kyle shrugs.
“Yeah, sometimes.”
Cartman nods slowly, his grip on the duvet slowly loosening.
“Okay…” he smiles to himself. “Okay, good…”
Kyle shakes his head, eyes slipping shut once more - hoping this time he’ll be able to drift off.
“Just settle down and go to sleep.”
“Fine,” Cartman replies, but he doesn’t sound too bothered by the prospect of sleeping when he lets out a big yawn. “Good night, Kyle.”
“Good night, Cartman,” Kyle replies drowsily, sinking into slumber already.
14
It must be difficult to engage in the usual teenage rebellion when your dad is Randy Marsh, Kyle thinks. Partying, binge-drinking, sneaking out, hanging out with the wrong crowd is just a typical Tuesday for his best friend’s dad. If Stan had an evening like that, the only thing his dad would be pissed about is that he wasn’t invited too. Kyle has to give it to Stan though, he is giving his version of rebellion a solid effort by not drinking, not doing drugs, and staying true to his quieter hobbies of tabletop board games and playing guitar.
In fact, the only reason Kyle and the rest of the guys are getting stoned around a bonfire at Tegridy Farms is because Mr Marsh actually slipped a bag into Stan’s coat pocket… and Cartman - the spoiled, greedy prick that he is - just had to push it by sneaking into Towelie’s hovel and stealing a full jar off the shelf… and pluck Towelie’s bong from his passed out hands. If Kyle hadn’t seen Towelie in similar states of marijuana-induced catatonia before, he would assume he was dead. It was like taking candy from a stoned baby.
Towelie’s bong must have magical properties that it imparts to whoever’s lips are currently pressed to it, like some shitty Excalibur, as Butters has been inhaling for a lot longer than Kyle thinks he should be, judging by his bugged-out eyes and his red cheeks that make him look like a tomato.
Kyle grimaces. He doesn’t think he has the stomach for it.
Stan sighs, brow creasing with concern.
“Alright, dude, that’s enough-” He reaches out to snatch the bong from Butters, but his hand is batted away by Cartman.
“Screw him, Butters, you’ve got to keep going!”
Kyle huffs, narrowing his eyes at Cartman being so plainly sadistic.
“Butters, seriously, you’re going to pass out if you don’t stop!” he says, raising his eyebrows.
Cartman scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Fuck off, Kyle, you don’t know anything!”
“No, he’s right, dude, you should stop now,” Kenny chimes in. Soft, authoritative, Kyle is glad Kenny spoke up.
“Come on, Butters, who are you going to listen to when it comes to weed, Kenny or Cartman?”
“Hey!” Cartman snaps, pouting at him. “I’ve hit the ganja before, Kyle!”
Kyle snorts and Kenny and Stan erupt with laughter too. Doubled over and giggling into his hand, Kyle feels like he’s had a hit already.
“ Hit the ganja? ” He asks, cheeks hurting, he's grinning so much. “Seriously? What are you, Cartman, a fucking undercover cop?”
Kenny nods, wheezing a little bit before he sits up, clearing his throat.
“‘How’d you do, fellow stoners, where are you getting all that sweet ganja?’” He can barely say it with a straight face. “‘Full addresses would be appreciated!’”
Cartman is still in a full-on pout, arms folded, and the dark night and the glowing bonfire does a good job of hiding his red face.
“Oh, fuck you, Kenny!” he snaps. “Just because you had a fucking crack pipe for a pacifier doesn’t mean-”
“Guys!” Stan exclaims, eyes darting urgently between his friends. “Butters is seriously going to die!” He grumbles under his breath. “Butters, come on-”
He makes another attempt to snatch the bong, but instead of being batted away by Cartman, Butters exhales throatily. The puce pallor is draining from his face, but the whites of his eyes are growing pinker, more bloodshot. Cartman’s pout has faded, the laughter has died down, as they wait for Butters to speak, throw up, pass out, anything.
Finally, Butters gulps, smacks his lips together and says: “ This shit hits hard, fellas.”
Hysterical laughter punctures the anticipation in the air. It sounds like Butters was sucking on sulphur hexafluoride.
“How you feeling, man?” Kenny asks, grinning, and swiping a tear out of the corner of his eye.
Butters has a dumb, wide smile on his face, and he’s swaying from side to side, clutching his ankles.
“Floopy,” he replies, voice slowly sliding back to its normal pitch. “I’m just gonna lie down.”
With that, Butters lies back and gets comfy in the cannabis field they’re camping in.
“I told you, Butters!” Cartman grins, chest puffed out. “The longer you inhale, the better the hit!”
Kyle scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, if you don’t fucking die first.”
Kenny is still chuckling to himself, and he holds up his hands.
“Alright, alright, let me show you assholes how it’s done.”
He retrieves the bong and the lighter, and while Kyle is pretty sure Kenny has never smoked a bong before, it seems like second nature. Kenny has that ability with everything he does, Kyle realises, nothing seems to faze him. It’s as if he’s lived a thousand lifetimes and tried everything. Kyle can’t help but watch him, fascinated… even Stan is a little intrigued.
Kyle is so absorbed in watching Kenny, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Cartman’s hand resting gently on top of his.
With how often Cartman sneaks into his room, the chances of Kyle waking up to find Cartman clutching at his shirt, or with his leg wrapped around him, or his warm, soft belly pressed against his back is fairly high, and Kyle is used to it. More than used to it. He actually - oh god - likes it.
But he can indulge in the way the fabric of his t-shirt strains against his side when Cartman is clutching him as tightly as he would his old stuffed animals, in how Cartman’s eyelashes and heavy breathing tickle the nape of his neck, when Cartman is unconscious. But when he’s awake, Kyle has to nip that shit in the bud. If not to prevent any weirdness, then to protect his pride. Cartman would never let him live it down if Kyle indulged in any physical contact between them.
“Cartman…” Kyle murmurs.
“Yeah?” Cartman asks, brusque but quiet.
Kyle’s eyebrows knit together, staring down at their hands. Surely Cartman must notice, right? Feel Kyle’s warmth? His knuckles beneath his palm?
Well, if Cartman wants to play ignorant, then Kyle will too.
“Nothing…” he whispers, revelling in this clandestine, taboo touch.
16
Walking back home from his first ever house party, Kyle feels giddy and invincible. He’s got more than a decent buzz going, his equilibrium is a little off and his thoughts feel slipperier, but he’s made it to the end of the night without throwing up. He’s proven he can handle his liquor. And if he ends up hugging the toilet later? Nursing a hangover tomorrow? Well, this night will still be a success. It’s just the price of having a good time.
Really, it’s the blunting of his razor sharp edges that is making him feel on top of the world. Free of pride, and doubt, and anxiety, he feels like he can discern more easily what he wants to do, what he wants to be. His thorns have been filed down and others are safe to come closer.
They’ve dropped off Kenny and Butters on their walk home, and it’s just Kyle and Cartman now. The single light radiating from Kyle’s house makes him bristle, a reminder of his responsibilities, how mundane everyday life can be, and how, at 16, freedom is drip fed to him.
“ I never meant to be so bad to you!”
Kyle jumps when Cartman breaks out into song. Clearly, he’s still riding high.
“One thing I said that I would never do!”
“God, shut up!” Kyle hisses, giving Cartman a shove.
If his parents overheard all this commotion and stumbled out into the street to see what was going on only to discover, well, this , then Kyle will be in a lot of trouble.
Cartman isn’t intimidated, chuckling at Kyle dumbly like this is all a big joke.
“ One look from you and I would fall from grace!” Cartman sings, directly in Kyle’s face, staggering towards him. The scent of beer on Cartman’s breath catches Kyle’s nose, and he quickly backs away before Cartman can fall on top of him. “ And that would wipe the smile right from my faaaaace!”
The gleam in Cartman’s eye, how his drunk smile looks almost… fond… makes something inside Kyle melt. A smile tugs at his mouth, but he bites his lip to smother the urge, reprimanding himself. He huffs and looks over his shoulder at his house. No one seems to have heard anything, but Kyle wishes there was a more concrete way of knowing that. He glares at Cartman.
“I’m serious, Cartman, knock it off-”
“ Do you remember when we used to dance? ” Cartman continues belting out the song, stumbling back with his arms outstretched, like the corny lyrics are his rebuttal. “And incidents arose from circumstance? One thing led to another, we were young!” He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists together, his volume rising . “And we would scream together songs unsung!”
Gritting his teeth, Kyle gives him a soft, sloppy punch on the arm. Cartman just laughs, and Kyle flushes, grabbing two fistfuls of his t-shirt and tugging him closer, so their noses are almost touching, and they’re sharing their humid, booze-soaked breaths.
“Shut the fuck up!” Kyle snaps. “My parents might hear you!”
He studies Cartman’s face for any indication that he’s getting through to him, and it’s only when he notices the glimmers of gold in Cartman’s brown eyes that he realises that maybe they’re a bit too close, and he’s into double digits of counting Cartman’s freckles when he realises that shit, he’d better let him go now.
Kyle chokes on a breath, releasing the fistfuls of Cartman’s shirt like they’re weapons he’s been caught red-handed with.
Cartman frowns, confused, and Kyle can’t tell what exactly he’s confused about.
“So what if your parents hear me?” he asks, smoothing down his shirt that Kyle has now stretched. “Why should I care?”
Kyle rolls his eyes.
“I just…” he sighs, tipping his head back to the starry sky before frowning at Cartman. “I don’t want them to know that I’ve been drinking.”
He scoffs, eyeing Kyle up and down.
“Dude, you reek of booze.”
Kyle blinks, face burning, mortified. He knows he smells of it, sure, but reek is a strong word.
“I do?”
Cartman nods so very smugly.
“And you can barely walk straight,” he adds. “You’ve been clinging to me for the entire walk home.”
Kyle clenches his fists and draws his shoulders back.
“I have not!”
“Have too!” Cartman snaps, eyes wide.
Kyle wilts a little, searching his recent memory. Okay, maybe he did reach for Cartman when he tripped over the curb when crossing the street, and maybe he did tug Cartman closer to him to have a quiet word about going too far with his not-so-subtle jibes at Kenny and Butters, who clearly have a thing for each other, and he was just making the whole thing awkward… and Kyle was right in his face not even five minutes ago, but that’s not ‘clinging to him for the entire walk home,’ is it?
Shit, maybe Kyle doesn’t have a leg to stand on. And Cartman knows it too, the smug bastard, with his neat, arched eyebrow, and his cutely folded arms, and his smirk that makes Kyle shiver.
“W-w-well…” Kyle’s fingers flex, and he clears his throat as he tries to find some solid ground. He tilts his chin up at Cartman. “You drank as much as me, how come you’re not falling all over the place?”
Cartman sighs, eyes slipping shut as he shrugs.
“Big-boned people just need more booze to get drunk, I guess.”
Kyle snickers, grinning.
“So you’re saying all that fat absorbs the alcohol, huh?” he asks, poking Cartman’s belly.
Cartman narrows his eyes at him, batting his hand away.
“Fuck you,” he replies, before his shoulders droop in a loathsome sigh. “And to think I was going to let you crash at my place tonight.”
Kyle blinks. This could be the answer to his problems.
“You were?” he asks, stepping closer to Cartman.
“Yeah…” Cartman shrugs again. “Or, you know, at least make you some coffee and let you hang out until you sobered up.”
“That does sound like a pretty good idea…” Kyle murmurs, before looking over his shoulder at his house, the threshold he’s unwilling to cross just yet.
“Yeah, but you ruined it,” Cartman replies, walking backwards towards his house so he can fucking revel in Kyle’s disappointment. “Have fun being grounded, Kyle.”
“Wait!”
Cartman’s face falls when Kyle follows him. They both stop in their tracks, with Cartman studying Kyle curiously as he prepares to gulp down a piece of humble pie.
Kyle sighs, eyes slipping shut as he nods solemnly.
“That’s actually really cool of you, Cartman. So…” he blinks his eyes open and tries to look convincing, a fledgling smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is there any way you would-”
“I’m afraid not.” Cartman sneers.
Kyle growls under his breath, stamping his foot and crushing that fledgling smile under his sneaker.
“Damn it, after all the times I’ve let you crash at my place?!” His eyebrows soar up his forehead. “Without an invitation even?!”
Cartman’s face darkens, and Kyle notices him biting the inside of his cheek. He may have blown this negotiation. He’s fully prepared to count his losses and cross the street, but Cartman starts to nod slowly, smiling to himself.
“Fine.” He draws his shoulders back and smiles down his nose at Kyle. “You can crash at my place if you tell me I’m not fat.”
Kyle frowns, eyebrows knitting together. Really, that’s it? That’s all Cartman needs from him?
“Alright.” Kyle sighs. “You’re not fat.”
A smile spreads across Cartman’s face that shows off his teeth. He runs his tongue along the ridges.
“And I’m ripped and sweet.”
Kyle grimaces, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, for fu-”
“Say it.”
Kyle grumbles under his breath and hangs his head. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek when he looks up, but he refuses to look at Cartman. Maybe he can get away with not making eye contact?
“You’re-”
“Wait!” Cartman interjects. It gets Kyle to meet his eyes, and he sees that they’re sparkling. “Get down on your knees.”
Kyle deflates, disappointed that Cartman’s love for humiliation has not ebbed over the years.
“Are you kidding me?”
Cartman fidgets, and his smile is a bit wobblier.
“Just do it, Kyle!” he snaps, like he wants to get this over and done with just as much as Kyle does. “Or do you want your parents to see you shitfaced and ground you for the year?”
He folds his arms, delighted that he’s found Kyle’s bluff to call… even if he went a bit overboard.
“They’re not that bad…” Kyle murmurs, before glaring at him. “But fine.” His glare doesn’t waver as he gets down on his knees, shoulders drawn up. Cartman is grinning down at him, pleased, and a tiny jolt of electricity nips at him when he considers if Cartman would look at him like that in a more, uh, ‘intimate’ scenario, where Kyle is more than willing to be on his knees for him. “You’re ripped and sweet.”
Cartman’s sadistic grin melts into a sweeter smile.
“Thank you.” He casts his gaze over Kyle’s head, before looking down at him coolly and nodding towards his front door. “Now get up and get inside before I change my mind.”
Kyle narrows his eyes at him and smirks, getting to his feet and scurrying after him. Once inside Cartman’s dark house, he tells Kyle to head upstairs while he makes him some coffee. Kyle is a bit taken back by Cartman’s hospitality, that is only slightly begrudging, deciding not to comment before trotting up the stairs before, again, Cartman changes his mind.
Even in the dark, Kyle knows where Cartman’s bedroom is. He has marched indignantly down this hallway too many times to count.
When he slips into Cartman’s bedroom though, it’s not with righteous fury but secret curiosity. He clicks the door shut behind him and studies the faded purple walls, his posters of Lady Gaga, Jinkx Monsoon, and Doja Cat, and his corkboard of photography. Pinned up are photographs of his backyard in the thick of winter with the mountain silhouettes behind it, his ancient cat before she passed away, and plenty of goofy and candid photographs of his friends. Kyle smiles back at the boys in the photographs, glad Cartman captured those memories.
He flops down on Cartman’s bed that has never looked more inviting, spread out like a starfish and when he blinks his eyes open he’s greeted by the peeling star stickers still on Cartman’s ceiling. Their luminescence is fading, but Kyle still thinks they’re pretty cool. He grins up at them.
“The fuck?”
Kyle jumps up, startled.
Cartman is now standing a few feet away from him, eyebrows raised, and holding a cup of coffee.
“Did I say we would be sharing a bed?”
Kyle scoffs, mouth dropping open. Indignation strips away the embarrassment he was originally feeling.
“What, you wanted me to sleep on the floor? You don’t seem to mind sharing a bed in my house!”
Cartman huffs and rolls his eyes in a clumsy attempt to counter Kyle’s retort.
“That’s because it’s not my bed .” He rubs his free hand over his face. “Alright, look, you can sleep in my bed…” Another calculating grin unfurls across his face. “If-”
“Oh god.” Kyle groans, throwing his head back.
“You suck my balls.”
Kyle drops his head back down to Earth. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten down on his knees. It’s given Cartman some dangerous ideas.
“What?!” he squeaks. “No fucking way! I’m not that drunk!” He has to think of a compromise before Cartman reneges on this whole fucking offer to stay here. “How about…” He hopes the grin that spreads across his face is calculating rather than awkward and nervous… which is a more accurate representation of how he feels right now. “A kiss?”
Cartman’s face falls, and Kyle is worried the mug he’s holding is going to fall to the floor too.
“Huh?”
Kyle nods, chewing his lip. He’s feeling giddy again, invisible, he can feel his blood run warmer through his veins.
“A kiss.” He smiles, getting to his feet. “And I can stay.”
Cartman’s lips are parted, and he’s watching Kyle, hypnotised.
“You…” he gulps hard before raising his eyebrows at Kyle. “You really want to stay here that badly?”
Kyle nods, hands twitching at his sides. He can’t lose his nerve now, especially when the significance of this kiss is unfurling before their eyes.
“I really do.” His voice is ragged and urgent. He jerks his head towards Cartman’s nightstand. “Just put the coffee down.”
Cartman obeys him, and he hasn’t even turned back to look at Kyle fully before Kyle grabs two, familiar fistfuls of his t-shirt and crashes their lips together. Kyle’s mouth tingles with the force of it, but he soon melts into Cartman’s warm, plush lips, his body heat, and he thinks he could become addicted to it. Cartman tilts his head to return the kiss, clasping their lips together like a necklace, and it just… fits.
Cartman whimpers when they pull back, like the soft, desperate noise has been buried inside him for ages. Kyle bites his lip, finding the whole thing adorable, his head whirring a little.
Cartman’s eyes are sparkling as he studies Kyle’s face, sighing dreamily.
“This…” his smile fades, and he raises his eyebrows at Kyle. “This isn’t because you’re drunk, is it?”
Kyle’s eyes sting at such an earnest question. He presses his lips together and shakes his head.
“No…” he whispers, before realising that’s not totally true and that whatever their relationship is going to be from now needs to start off on an honest foot. Like a twisted fairytale, this kiss is the start of something new, whatever happily ever after is for them. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I mean, sort of. I-I-I mean…” Kyle opens his eyes and is unsurprised to see Cartman’s eyes darting around his face, totally confused. Kyle sighs, gripping the fistfuls he has of Cartman’s t-shirt tighter. “I think the fact that I’m drunk is making me brave enough to do this?” he winces a little, embarrassed, before looking deep into Cartman’s eyes. “But I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time.”
Cartman’s mouth drops open and his eyes almost pop out of his head.
“Shit, really?”
Kyle chuckles, bubbling over with disbelief.
“Yeah…” he twists the fistfuls he has of Cartman’s shirt, eyes lidded. “Turns out that when you share a bed with someone for a while, you get kind of attached to them.”
Cartman nods slowly, in a daze.
“Yeah…” a smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, I get that.”
Kyle smiles too, and their gazes are only drawn to each other’s mouths for only a second before they’re colliding again. Cartman throws his arms around Kyle, one hand cupping his ass and the other clutching his hair. They find themselves swaying again, like there are traces of alcohol on their lips potent to get them drunk all over again, drunk on each other.
They stumble back and crash on Cartman’s bed, lips still fused together and limbs tangled up. Kyle’s coffee is growing cold as they kiss under plastic, neon stars.