Archive of Our Own

It was late Monday morning when Kenny sat down beside Cartman in the otherwise empty classroom where the two always spent their shared biweekly free period before lunch. 

“Dude…” Kenny greeted his friend excitedly, “Kyle showing up at the bus stop in your jacket this morning?” He reached over to clap Cartman on the back and was surprised to find that he was a little tense. Though naturally, the brunet’s face brightened for an instant at the mental image of Kyle in his jacket. 

In fact, Cartman looked as if he had been about to full-on smile before he quickly recovered his previous stoic expression. “What about it?” 

“What about it?” Kenny was seriously confused. Why wasn’t Cartman gushing right now? “I was fucking stoked for you! I know how long you’ve wanted this, so I’m just really glad you guys went public so quickly."

“Oh. Thanks…” Cartman sighed. “But I’m… ugh… I’m still pissed at you,” he finally said as if the fact deeply frustrated him. 

“Pissed at me? Why?!” Kenny asked, genuinely taken aback. “If anything, I thought you’d be proud of our little ruse, especially considering how well it turned out for you.” He and Cartman hadn't had a chance to talk much one-on-one since the sleepover two weekends ago, but when they were all together last Friday, Cartman had seemed relatively normal. Kenny just figured his friend hadn’t texted as much throughout the week because he and Kyle wanted some space while they figured everything out. He didn’t think Cartman was mad at him. 

Cartman sighed again, as if he couldn't believe he had to spell out what the problem was. “Did you or did you not tell Stan?” 

Ahhhh, okay, there it is, Kenny thought to himself. With that one question, he immediately understood what was going on in Cartman’s mind, and he was honestly annoyed with himself that he didn’t grasp it sooner. For Stan and Kenny's plan to have been formulated at all, Stan had to know how Cartman felt about Kyle. Cartman had several secrets he guarded with his life, and what he had shared with Kenny that one afternoon in seventh grade was perhaps the biggest. Although there were multiple people who had discerned the truth on their own, Cartman clearly didn’t think Stan could be one of them. 

Even back in middle school, Cartman sometimes chose to stay in the art studio on days when he neither had therapy nor felt like going home to be left with his thoughts. While the studio after school hours still afforded him the solitude he craved in those moments, the act of either developing his photographs in the dark room or working on a charcoal drawing had the rare ability to calm and distract his mind.

On this particular day, he was startled when the door creaked open and Kenny walked over to the table where Cartman was working on a sketch of Mr. Kitty.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Kenny said, as he took a seat next to Cartman, the chair scraping slightly against the studio floor. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t want to be found,” Cartman huffed. “Why are you still at school, anyway?” 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Kenny said carefully. “You… you haven’t been yourself lately, dude.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Cartman replied, training his eyes back on his drawing paper as he shaded one of Mr. Kitty’s ears. 

“Well, me and the guys, we noticed. You hardly ever finish your lunch nowadays, you don’t want to come online after school— hell, you haven’t even been arguing with Kyle much.” Kenny saw that, at the mention of Kyle, Cartman jolted slightly. He filed that away into his growing pile of mental evidence regarding Cartman’s feelings for their friend.

Eventually, Cartman put down his pencil and crossed his arms. “So, what’s it to you?”

Kenny shook his head in frustration. “Cartman, we’re your friends and we care about you! And we… we also know you’ve been… hurting yourself,” he kept talking over Cartman’s half-hearted denials, “and, no, we’re not gonna tell a fucking teacher or some shit, since you said you’ve been going to therapy. I mean, that is true, right? You’re talking to someone?”

“Jesus, Kenny, yes. Why would I lie about that? It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not! We should probably all be in therapy with the childhoods we’ve had.” Kenny smiled seeing he had earned the laugh from Cartman he was aiming for. “But for real, Cartman… just because you’re talking to a professional doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me, too.”

Cartman’s face softened slightly. “I know… I’m just… you know I suck when it comes to this kind of shit. It’s been a lot, and like… I have my mom, but it’s hard sometimes, with everything, and I can’t really talk to her about it. I mean, I think we finally found the right meds — the last ones really fucked me up — but some days I wish I could just flip a switch and be totally fucking numb, you know? And then Kyle, he—” 

Kenny, who had been listening sympathetically, raised his eyebrows. “And Kyle, what?” 

Cartman hesitated before continuing. “Well, he... it’s almost like he’s been trying to start shit to get me to respond? Because I haven’t been, not like normal. And you said you guys have noticed, so… has he said anything?”

“He might have,” Kenny replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I… nevermind, actually. It’s nothing.” Cartman now turned his head away, finding a piece of chipped paint on the wall suddenly fascinating. 

“Cartman,” Kenny prodded gently.

“I said it’s nothing.” Cartman’s gaze remained fixed on the wall.

“Cartman,” Kenny prodded again, less gently.

“Fuck off, Kenny, seriously—” Cartman was rapidly losing patience with this line of questioning, but Kenny remained undeterred.

“Not until you say it.” 

Cartman turned back to Kenny then, looking like a lethal combination of extremely pissed off and utterly terrified. Yet Kenny fixed him with an encouraging stare, and a silent understanding passed between the two friends: The unspoken truth that Cartman was holding back was not going to come as a shock to Kenny, and now they both knew it.

“Jesus, fine,” Cartman snapped, without any real teeth behind it at this point. “I want to know if I’m on his mind. Because he… he’s been on mine, Kenny. All the goddamn time. Are you fucking happy now, asshole?”

Kenny paused, still somewhat surprised that Cartman actually made the admission. He also had to be 100 percent sure before proceeding further. “On your mind, as in, like a crush?” 

Cartman now found a spot to stare at on the ceiling in exasperation as his cheeks turned redder. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “Yes, Christ, but it’s not that simple! It's like…” his voice got quieter and took on a trembling quality that Kenny had rarely, if ever, heard from him. “I don’t know how to explain it, except that I would do anything, have done anything, for him. And it fucking sucks so bad.” He folded his arms over the desk and buried his face in them. 

Kenny’s eyes widened slightly. He had long had a hunch that Cartman held at least one other big secret pertaining to Kyle, aside from these feelings— he couldn’t help but think that was what Cartman meant when he referred to having done anything for the redhead. Knowing, however, that this was perhaps the worst possible time to bring that up, Kenny made a mental note to revisit it later. For now, he put his arm around Cartman’s shoulder to try to comfort him as he seemed to be quietly crying into the desk. 

“Cartman, hey. It’s okay. Thanks for telling me all this; I’m glad you felt like you could. And I’m so sorry you’re feeling that shitty. But listen, it doesn’t have to suck, dude.”

Cartman raised his head in order to look at Kenny, revealing red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Are you actually stupid? I like someone who will never like me back, and you think there’s a way that doesn’t have to suck?” 

Kenny rolled his eyes at the insult, but his tone remained soft. “Look, I don’t know how Kyle feels, but neither do you. You’re so certain he could never like you back, but what evidence do you really have of that?”

“Stop saying dumb shit to try to make this better, Kenny,” Cartman said, putting his head back in his hands. His voice came out slightly muffled as he continued speaking. “This is part of why I didn’t want to tell you, because you’d try to fix it when you can’t. There’s no world where Kyle would ever look at me like that, but I can tell that the way I… the way I feel about him is only going to keep getting worse. So, yeah… I’m a little fucking depressed.”

At this point, Kenny considered telling Cartman that there was a different word for what he was feeling about Kyle— a word that wasn’t “like” or “crush.” It was a word that most of their peers (except maybe Stan) were still too young to fully conceptualize, yet somehow Kenny could sense its presence in the agony on Cartman’s face. Ultimately, he decided against agitating his volatile friend any further and opted instead to focus on getting him to see that all was not lost. 

“Cartman, come on. Kyle has shown time and time again that he cares about you despite how heated you two get. And honestly, that whole thing has always just seemed like your guys’ special brand of flirting. You have much more of a chance than you think, if you ask me.” 

“Whatever, asshole,” Cartman said, clearly not buying into Kenny’s perspective. His voice again shifted to an uncharacteristically desperate tone as he continued, “Just promise you won’t fucking tell anyone, okay? Seriously, please.” 

And that was when Kenny got the idea. “I promise I won’t tell a soul,” he reassured Cartman, “but… you have to make me a promise in exchange.” 

“Ha, wow, I taught you well,” Cartman said wryly, looking up from the desk. “What is it?” 

“You have to tell Kyle how you feel before we graduate high school,” Kenny stated matter-of-factly.

Cartman gaped in horror. “What?! What the fuck, Kenny! NO.”

Kenny put his palms flat on the table. “If you don’t, I’ll have to! As your friend, arguably your best friend, I can’t allow you to be this torn up over your feelings for someone, someone who we both care about deeply in different ways, but then spend your whole damn life never knowing for sure. That’s fucking stupid, Cartman, and you know it.” 

Kenny rarely got that forceful in his tone, and Cartman was unprepared to have that sternness directed at him over this of all things. Still, he argued back, “It’s not stupid if you know what the outcome will be!” 

“My whole point is you don’t know that, though! I know what you think, but you said it yourself that you’d do anything—” All of a sudden, Kenny’s mental note regarding Cartman’s earlier use of that phrase interrupted his own train of thought. So much for not agitating Cartman further. “Dude, hold on. I need to know… that was you, wasn’t it?”

Cartman’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What was me?”

“In San Francisco. You saved Kyle and his family, didn’t you?”

Cartman’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, and Kenny would have found it funny, except that the other boy was clearly descending into a panic-induced rage. “Did fucking Butters tell you that? I’ll fucking kill that asshole, I swear to god—”

“No, dude, calm down! I didn’t even realize Butters knew. I’ve just, well, I’ve always suspected it.”

Cartman continued to stare at him disbelievingly, but Kenny just shrugged. “There aren’t many people who could pull that off, first of all. Plus, you were MIA that whole day. I went over to your house, and your mom had no idea where you were.” 

Cartman grumbled something along the lines of “Detective fucking McCormick over here,” and Kenny took that as a cue to keep going. 

“So then, I started thinking about why, if you did do it, you wouldn’t want Kyle to know. And the only thing I could come up with was that—”

“Okay, Jesus, you’ve made your point!” Cartman cut him off. “You better not speak a word of this to anyone,” he huffed. “I fucking mean it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kenny replied with a smile. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go play COD at your place.” 

Back in the vacant classroom, Kenny looked at his friend earnestly. “Cartman, listen. You know I’d never spill your secrets for no reason. The whole conversation between me and Stan actually started about Kyle’s crush on you.” 

Cartman remained silent, indicating that he was, in fact, listening— a good sign. 

“Basically,” Kenny went on, “Stan wanted to make sure that before we did anything, you felt the same as Kyle. He thought you did, but he was scared to be wrong. All I did was assure him that he wasn’t. And before you ask— no, San Francisco did not come up.”

When he finally spoke, Cartman sounded wary but also relieved. “You’re lucky that keeping secrets is like your gay little superpower or whatever, because it’s the only reason I fucking believe you.” 

Kenny shook his head good-naturedly. “You’re calling me gay here?”

In an instant, they were both doubled over laughing, and all seemed right again. 

When they’d calmed down, Cartman turned back to Kenny almost conspiratorially. “To your earlier point… Kyle wearing my jacket today is pretty fucking sweet.” 

“Yeah?” Kenny grinned.

“Yeah, like… I hate to admit it, but now I kinda get why the hippie turns into such a ball of mush whenever he sees his name on Testaburger’s back.”

“Ha, does that mean you’ll stop ripping on him for it?” 

“Uhhh, no?”

Kenny laughed again in spite of himself. “Never change, man,” he said jokingly before adopting a slightly more serious tone. “Something you should do, though, is consider telling Kyle about San Francisco yourself.”

Cartman groaned at the return to this particular subject. “What, confessing my big gay crush wasn’t enough? Do I have a graduation deadline for this now, too?” 

Kenny squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Nah, I’m not that mean. I’m just saying, the hard part’s over with, so what are you so afraid of?” 

If he was honest with himself, Cartman wasn’t entirely sure anymore. 

After school, Kyle, Stan, and Wendy had set up in the Testaburgers’ living room to work on their English project. There were an odd number of students in the class, so they were able to form a group of three, which they were all happy about. Aside from Stan getting to spend time with his girlfriend and best friend at once, there was also the fact that Wendy and Kyle had a mutual respect for each other intellectually. 

Kyle always knew Wendy was the right person for Stan, and not just because Stan had been in love with her forever. They truly balanced each other out well: Stan needed someone who would support his passion for sports and music while also pushing him academically; Wendy, on the other hand, needed someone to help her let go and have a little extra fun sometimes. Both were empaths who cared deeply about their chosen causes, many of which they shared. When Stan had enrolled in AP Environmental Science at the beginning of senior year, Kyle was both proud of him and hardly surprised.

For her part, Wendy was not shocked in the least when Stan told her that Kyle and Cartman were “a thing;” as far as she was concerned, the two of them had been “a thing” since fourth grade. Heidi had long ago told her friends that she didn’t think she was ever Cartman’s type, insinuating that she knew of someone else who was. Wendy was nothing if not intuitive; she knew instantly who Heidi was referring to, though her friend had refused to say at the time. 

The fact was, Wendy had also felt confident that the obsession was reciprocal, and she had contemplated on and off for years about how, or even if, she should bring it up to Stan. After all, what’s the best way to tell your boyfriend that you think his best friend has a psychosexual fixation on their other friend who he supposedly hates? Needless to say, she was taken aback the day that Stan brought it up to her. Shoutout to Kenny for that one. 

In any case, Wendy was happy for the new couple, not least because landing Kyle had made Cartman marginally less insufferable. She supposed that having finally gotten what — or rather, who — he wanted most, Cartman was determined not to fuck everything up, and that meant he was on better behavior. Speaking of which…

“So, Kyle,” Wendy said, looking up from her copy of The Great Gatsby, “how did it go when you told your family about Cartman?” 

Kyle shrugged, unbothered by Wendy’s bluntness; Stan had already heard all of this anyway. “Not as badly as you might think. I told Ike first, and his immediate response was to ask if Cartman would do a Twitch stream with him. Those two have always gotten along,” Kyle smiled and shook his head at the thought. “When I told my parents, my dad said they pretty much suspected I wasn’t really into girls at this point and had come to terms with it, I guess? And my mom, well. She was definitely not thrilled to find out about the Cartman aspect, but she said she’d give him a chance to prove himself, so I’ll take that as a win.”

Wendy nodded. “And do you think he will? Prove himself?” 

One corner of Kyle’s mouth turned up and his heart fluttered at the thought of what Cartman’s response had been when he had relayed his mom’s message: “Whatever it takes, Kyle. I’ll do whatever it fucking takes.” And Kyle had almost said them then— the three words that had been stuck in his teeth, disgustingly, for longer than he cared to admit. 

Realizing he hadn’t yet answered Wendy, Kyle nodded, despite the latent fear in his chest that threatened to claw its way to the surface in moments like these. “Yeah, I honestly do. He… he seems really committed to that— to me.” 

Wendy and Stan exchanged an unsubtle look. 

“What?” Kyle asked suspiciously, glancing between them. 

Wendy smiled. “No, it’s just that I was right. I told Stan that—”

“Hey!” Stan interrupted. “In my defense, that was when I had only just talked to Kenny about this for the first time. I was still processing the whole thing! But yeah… Cartman’s different when it comes to you, dude.”

Kyle blinked, fighting the flush he felt spreading across his cheeks. “Wow, I really was the last to know, huh?” 

“Yeah, for someone so smart, you sure can be oblivious,” Wendy teased.

Kyle rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly. “Well, excuse me for not catching on to the fact that the guy who constantly told me he hated me didn’t actually feel that way.” 

Wendy shrugged. “I mean, we all did! Also, you claimed to hate him just as much, and that clearly wasn’t true either, was it?” 

“Whatever,” Kyle said, waving her off. “We got there eventually.” 

Stan bit his lip, amused by the interaction. “I can’t believe I’m the one telling you two this, but we should probably get some actual work done.” 

The trio made significant progress over the next hour and a half, especially considering that their presentation had to be longer than their classmates’ on account of having an extra group member. Then, at around 5:30, Stan’s phone chimed. He opened the text, his brow furrowing in concern. 

“It’s Kenny,” he said, looking up at Wendy and Kyle. “Shit’s going down with his parents— worse than usual. He’s asking if I can come get him and Karen.”

Wendy nodded in understanding and reached out to squeeze Stan’s shoulder. “You should go, babe. Text me later, okay?”

“Will do,” Stan said, leaning over to give her a quick goodbye kiss before turning back to address his best friend. “Kyle, I’ll drop you off after we get Kenny and Karen.” 

“Sounds good,” Kyle said as he packed up his backpack and pulled Cartman’s jacket back over his shoulders, happy he’d get to see those two again today, however briefly. Kenny and Karen’s home life had gotten even tougher over the last year. Kevin, the eldest of the McCormick children, had lined up a mechanic job in Denver right after high school. He’d moved to a one-bedroom apartment in the city, meaning Kenny and Karen had to handle their parents alone. While Kevin sent his siblings money from time to time when he could to supplement what Kenny made from doing odd jobs around town, housing the two was not an option right now. Kyle was thus relieved that Kenny was not afraid to lean on Stan and the rest of their group when he needed to.

Once they were in the car, Kyle and Stan fell into easy conversation about the week ahead. The plan was to have their typical sleepover on Friday, though Butters wouldn’t be joining them this time, and not because he was grounded— Tweek had invited him to go bowling with Clyde’s crew that same night. 

“How pissed do you think Craig was?” Stan asked, entertained by the whole scenario. 

Kyle laughed. “Probably very, but of course he’d never say that. Tolkien and Jimmy obviously won’t care, but you know the minute Clyde says anything about it, Craig will defend that invitation with his life.” 

“Exactly,” Stan replied, joining in Kyle’s laughter. “Craig is so whipped… kinda like Cartman.”  

“Excuse me?!” Kyle snapped his head over in Stan’s direction, his voice coming out almost like a squeak. 

“Oh come on, dude, you know it’s true!” Stan replied defensively, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“I do not! How can someone be whipped and still argue with you incessantly? That makes no sense.” 

Stan shrugged his shoulders as much as was possible with his hands on the wheel. “Isn’t that just, like, how you guys, you know…”

“How we what?” Kyle prompted, despite having a pretty clear idea what Stan was implying. 

At this point, Stan pulled up to the McCormicks’ house, where Kenny and Karen were already waiting outside. They quickly approached the car and got in the backseat, temporarily saving Stan from an answer he really didn’t want to give. 

Kenny, however, was quick to notice the disturbed look on Kyle’s face. “Uh oh, what’s going on, guys?”

Kyle scoffed. “Stan was saying Cartman is whipped.” 

Kenny looked between Stan and Kyle for a moment before he burst out laughing. “I mean, yeah, duh!” 

Stan began driving again, while Kyle remained turned toward the backseat, gaping at Kenny. After checking that Karen still had her headphones in, Kenny continued, “Ky, really, you know as well as I do that if you say jump, Cartman will say fuck you, but he actually means how high.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Look, I know he loves me, but you guys are acting like he worships the ground I walk on or something.” 

“Because he does, dude,” Stan interjected. They hit a red light then, which allowed Stan to turn to his best friend in the passenger seat as he fully processed what had just been said. “Wait… he really used the L-word?” 

Kyle blushed furiously upon realizing what he’d inadvertently revealed. “I mean, he, um… that first night we, you know…” he trailed off, giving up on forming a coherent sentence. 

Kenny whistled. “Damn. I mean, we’ve basically known this, but damn— he really said it. I’m fucking proud of him.” 

“I gotta say, I’m also impressed,” Stan agreed. “Cartman being capable of feeling that way would have shocked me once, but now it’s more the fact that he actually, like, verbalized it. So… I have to ask… did you…?”

Kyle’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, as if he were scandalized by the question. “Oh my god, Stan, no! I mean, not all the way, yet,” he stammered furiously, his cheeks now nearly as bright as his hair. 

In contrast, Stan seemed confused at first, but then it appeared as though the color was rapidly being siphoned from his face as Kyle continued to try to awkwardly answer the question he thought his best friend was asking. 

After another 30 seconds or so, Kenny couldn’t contain his laughter any longer and decided to mercifully put both of his friends out of their misery. “Kyle, I think,” he paused to get a final laugh out, “Stan was just asking if you said it back. The L-word.”

Stan, who had the steering wheel in a death grip, nodded apologetically.

“Oh,” was all Kyle could manage, mortification only growing upon learning of his mistake. He turned to face the window, the glass pleasantly cold against his burning forehead, until he realized his friends were still waiting for an answer to the actual question. 

“Um, not right then,” he admitted, once he recovered from his embarrassment enough to speak. “It was all… so much. We were feeling things out, and I could tell he needed to get some shit off his chest? I just… I didn’t want it to sound rushed or disingenuous if I— when I said it.” The reality was, Kyle still hadn’t said it yet despite knowing it to be true, and he really didn’t want to confront the reasons why right now. So, he left that part ambiguous and hoped his friends wouldn’t pry further.

“Fair enough,” was all Kenny replied on behalf of both himself and Stan, who still looked hilariously pale. They were approaching the Broflovski residence now, so Kenny took a deep breath to gear up for what he wanted to say next. “I’m gonna ask you to promise me something, Ky, but I need you to not take it the wrong way.” 

“...Okay?” Kyle agreed hesitantly, unsure where this was going. Even Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t break his heart,” Kenny said gently but firmly. “I know it sounds crazy that I’m saying that to you and not him, but it’s like that Spiderman quote— ‘great power and great responsibility,’ or whatever the fuck Peter’s uncle said. Because you might not realize it, but you have a lot of power here. So just promise me, okay?”

They were stopped in front of Kyle’s house now, and while Kyle’s first instinct was to argue, to ask Kenny where the hell he got off thinking Cartman was the one in danger of having his heart broken in this relationship, his mind filled with the image of Cartman’s face right before he’d uttered those three impossible words— the immense fear in those brown eyes, eyes that Kyle would sell his soul to keep focused only on him.

“I promise, Ken,” Kyle said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

With that, the friends said their goodbyes, and Kyle exchanged a wave with Karen. The younger girl still had her headphones in, but now that the rest of them were no longer filling the car with their voices, Kyle could hear that she was humming a familiar melody. He recognized it in an instant, momentarily freezing in place and locking eyes with Kenny for a final time.

When Kyle shut the car door and headed straight for Ike’s room, he knew the promise he’d just made wasn’t only about Cartman.

As soon as school let out on Friday, the boys wasted no time getting to Stan’s. If any of them had been concerned that Cartman and Kyle’s new relationship would alter their group dynamic, those fears were quickly dispelled the previous Friday. At that first sleepover since “Batterygate,” as Cartman had taken to calling it, the atmosphere had been largely the same as ever, except Kyle had draped his legs over Cartman’s lap on the couch while they argued over whether or not Cartman was cheating at Mario Kart by yelling “psych-outs” at whoever he was playing. Granted, that argument had ended with Cartman looming over Kyle, his hands on either side of Kyle’s supine form, their faces inches apart, and their breathing slow as they stared at each other, completely oblivious to everything around them. Then Kyle had tilted his chin upward, almost like a dare, which Cartman surely would have accepted if Stan hadn’t loudly cleared his throat, bringing the two back to reality. 

Stan and Kenny had discussed how ironic it was that Kyle, who supposedly hated PDA, happily engaged in so much of it with Cartman (around their friend group at least). He would become embarrassed the minute they were called out, but then they’d be right back at it the next time. Kenny was endlessly amused by it, and much preferred this to their previous unresolved tension. Stan was supportive of the relationship itself; he just wished they could keep their hands off of one another for two seconds— he shuddered to think about what could be happening on the sectional while he and Kenny slept. 

But, god, his best friend seemed so happy; he couldn’t argue with that. And while he hadn’t expected Kenny to say what he said to Kyle in the car on Monday, he certainly understood it. Stan had thought about having a similar conversation with Cartman, but he was hesitating after all he’d learned from Kenny about Cartman’s longstanding feelings. Then, Kyle had told him about Cartman’s promise to win over Kyle’s family, which only solidified Stan’s confidence in the situation. Even so, a part of him still felt that he would be derelict in his best friend duties if he didn’t make some kind of statement about looking out for Kyle. And thus he remained conflicted on the matter, until Cartman ultimately made the decision for him.

When Stan got the notification that the pizzas were a few minutes away, he was surprised that Cartman leapt up from the couch to go upstairs with him. Kyle and Kenny raised their eyebrows as well; usually one of them went with Stan to help carry the plates and napkins along with the pizza boxes. 

Once the two were upstairs and standing by the front door, Cartman turned to Stan. “Alright, Marsh. Say what you want to say.” 

“What I… what I want to say?” Stan was caught off guard.

Cartman made a noise of exasperation. “Your Super Gay Best Friend spiel. I know you must’ve been rehearsing that shit for the last two weeks. So, let’s get it over with.”

“Oh…” Stan managed, buying himself a few seconds. Was Cartman really initiating this discussion? “Well, uh, to be honest, I wasn’t sure that I was going to say anything.”

Cartman gave him an I don’t think I believe you look, so Stan did his best to explain.

“I mean, actions matter most, right? And you’ve been… I mean, I haven’t seen Ky smile like that consistently in a long time, or maybe ever. So… yeah. I guess what I want to say is just that I hope you keep making him smile? And if that changes, then we’ll have another conversation. But for now… just take care of him, okay?” 

Cartman looked like he was about to respond, but they saw headlights in the driveway, so he just nodded at Stan before they stepped outside to accept the stack of pizza boxes. Back in the house, they stopped in the kitchen to get the plates and napkins, and Cartman, who was carrying the pizzas, placed them on the counter for a moment and cleared his throat. Stan looked at him expectantly.

“I love him, you know,” Cartman said, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I know.” 

“And I will. Take care of him, I mean.” 

“Good,” Stan half-smiled, before thinking of one other thing he wanted to say. “Just… please don’t fuck on my couch?” 

“Ha, no promises on that one!” Cartman laughed as Stan groaned.

Still, Stan felt somehow lighter as they carried their dinner downstairs to where Kyle and Kenny were waiting. 

After eating their pizza and rewatching Avengers: Age of Ultron and Endgame, the four boys played Fortnite until around 2:30 in the morning, when they all began to grow too tired from the combination of Kenny’s midnight blunt and their intensive screen time. 

As usual, Stan had moved the coffee table off to the side of the room to allow all four sleeping bags to fit between the couch and the television. The order was, left to right: Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny. While it may have made sense for this layout to have come about as a result of recent events, the reality was that it had been this way from the start.  

The very first time the four of them set up in this fashion at Stan’s house, after the Marshes’ basement renovation at the beginning of ninth grade, Cartman attempted to look casual as he rushed over to drop his sleeping bag on the other side of Kyle’s. Kyle and Stan were busy discussing which snacks Stan’s mom had bought that week, but Kenny, of course, noticed like he always did. 

“You didn’t have to worry, you know. I wasn’t gonna take the spot next to Kyle. That’s all yours,” Kenny said, smirking at his friend.

“Shut up, Kenny!” Cartman hissed. “They might hear you.” 

“Relax, dude. We’re fine. By the way, did you bring those cookies? I’ve been dying for one.” 

Cartman bent down to unzip his duffle bag and pull out two plastic containers, one red and one blue, both holding what appeared to be homemade chocolate chip cookies. Stan and Kyle stepped over to them then, having finished their conversation. While Stan was looking at the cookies, Kyle was focused on the placement of Cartman’s sleeping bag.

“Sweet, you brought cookies?” Stan asked. 

“Yeah, I—”

“There’s no way you’re sleeping next to me, fatass,” Kyle interrupted, “because I am not waking up with dicks drawn all over my face tomorrow or some other dumb shit.” 

“Oh please, like I would want to sleep next to your gay ass,” Cartman responded with practiced ease.

“So move then, dickwad.” 

“Actually, Kyle,” Kenny spoke up, “I asked Cartman to take that spot so I could be closest to the window. I always get too hot in my sleeping bag.” He shrugged apologetically. 

“Oh,” Kyle said awkwardly. “Sure… no worries.”

Kenny caught the grateful glance that Cartman snuck at him but didn't risk acknowledging it in front of Kyle. “So, the cookies,” he asked instead, trying to get back to the original subject. “Is there a difference?” He gestured between the two colored containers.

“Well, they’re both chocolate chip,” Cartman said almost shyly, “but, um, the red box… those don’t have sugar in them.” 

When his friends all but gaped at him, Cartman crossed his arms defensively. “I ran out by the time I got to the second batch, so I figured, what the fuck, at least someone would eat them.” 

The other three boys continued to look at Cartman in disbelief, but none more so than Kyle, who finally broke the silence. “You ran out of sugar? Really?” he asked sarcastically. “What’s actually in there? Poison?” 

Cartman glowered to try to hide the hurt on his face and was about to retort, but Kenny suddenly flung the lid off of the red container and shoved a cookie into his mouth. 

“Oh, these are super good,” Kenny said, his voice muffled by his chewing. “There’s definitely no sugar in them, though. And if I’m not dead in two minutes, no poison either.” 

Cartman was speechless at Kenny’s gesture, while Kyle’s expression softened. Stan took the opportunity to open the blue container and take a cookie of his own. 

“These are really good, Cartman,” Stan said between bites. “You should make them more often.” 

“Thanks, hippie. Glad the lack of granola didn’t ruin them for you.”

Kyle tentatively reached over and took a cookie from the red container, trying to ignore the fact that all eyes flicked toward him when he bit into it. Well, fuck, he thought to himself.

“Okay, yeah…” Kyle finally said aloud, the remorse evident in his voice. “I’m— these are honestly the best cookies I’ve had in a while, so, um, thanks… Cartman.”

“Whatever, Jersey,” Cartman said, his ears turning slightly pink.

Finishing his cookie and grabbing another one, Kyle wondered why his chest felt warm and why the thought of Cartman taking the spot next to him only because Kenny asked was suddenly so disappointing.

Kyle found himself reflecting on past moments like this between himself and Cartman as he lay awake gazing at the assumedly sleeping boy next to him. All week, Kenny’s words had echoed in Kyle’s head. Don’t break his heart. On some level, Cartman’s confession two weeks ago had demonstrated how much Kyle really meant to him, and now he was determined to win over not just Kyle but his whole family. That counted for a hell of a lot. And yet. 

Kyle knew better than anyone that Cartman had a mean streak a mile long inside him. Medication and therapy had helped immensely, particularly regarding the rhetoric he used to spew for attention and, at times, to disguise other feelings. Though he still had his conniving tendencies and penchant for elaborate schemes, these too had been relatively benign since middle school. 

Over the years, Kyle had also come to understand how intoxicating that mean streak could be when it was directed toward a common enemy or challenge that he and Cartman were taking on together. But he’d seen it directed at himself so many times that even knowing Cartman’s true motivations now didn’t completely dispel the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. All of this was to say, Kyle still felt that he was the one at a bigger risk of a broken heart. It was just that he also really fucking wanted Cartman, risk be damned. He was never going to stop believing in that asshole.

Satisfied that Cartman was definitely asleep after watching the steady rise and fall of his chest for the last several minutes, Kyle brushed the brown hair out of his boyfriend’s closed eyes and placed a kiss on his forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. “God knows I shouldn’t, but I do.” 

As Kyle turned over and curled into his own sleeping bag, Cartman inhaled sharply— the pounding of his heart was so loud in his ears that he was afraid Kyle could hear it.

The first thing that signaled to Kyle that something might be wrong was how quiet Cartman was on the walk home from Stan’s after breakfast the next morning. Kyle tried to engage him several times, with limited results. When they reached Kyle’s house, Cartman kissed him — albeit less deeply than Kyle would have liked — and affirmed he would be back around 3 PM, when Kyle’s parents were leaving to take Ike to a birthday party for someone on his hockey team. The parents of all the teammates had been invited as well, no doubt as a way to ensure there were enough chaperones for the massive and chaotic affair. 

The second thing that signaled to Kyle that something might be — or, more accurately, definitely was — wrong was the fact that it was 3:05 and Cartman still wasn’t there. In the two weeks they’d been a couple, Cartman was punctual to the point of sociopathy when they had plans. Hell, even before that, Cartman was rarely late to something he wanted to do. So, absent some grand gesture or semi-illegal venture he was planning, this was odd. Kyle felt a pit in his stomach; had he done something to upset Cartman? He wracked his brain trying to think of what it could be, but he was stumped. All was well when they’d gone to bed at Stan’s. Maybe Cartman had a nightmare of some sort that he didn’t want to talk about yet? That could be it. 

Up until this point, Kyle had been trying to pass the time that afternoon by working on his part of the group English project, but this distraction was becoming less and less effective with every minute that ticked past. As he sat at his desk anxiously waiting, unable to focus on the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald any longer, he pulled up Cartman’s contact on his phone and pressed the call button, only to immediately disconnect before the call could register. This was stupid— they were dating for god’s sake; why was he so nervous to check in? 

Pushing his chair back in frustration, Kyle let his eyes dart to the highest shelf above his desk, which functioned as a display for several prized toys he’d collected over the years. In the center was an elephant plushie that had been there since eighth grade, when Cartman had won it from one of those claw machines at the arcade. 

If memory served, Kyle had commented on how cute the elephant was when they’d passed the machine on the way inside. Someone — probably Stan — had asked him if he wanted to try to get it, but he’d declined since they all knew those games were rigged anyway.

Kyle, Stan, and Kenny had gone into the main area of the arcade then, but Cartman had stayed behind, never even playing any of the actual games they’d come there for. Instead, he’d spent the entire time at that stupid claw machine, all because Kyle had mentioned liking the elephant. Of course, that hadn’t been the rationale given back then. Cartman had rattled off something about the thrill of winning, or trying to get a stuffed pig that was also in there. Kyle hadn’t read much into it— he’d just been delightfully surprised to have the elephant in the end.

Looking at the stuffed animal now, he wondered how many quarters Cartman had used up before he’d finally gotten it. Probably all of them. How can I still be scared he’ll let me down? 

When Kyle at last heard the doorbell (a third thing wrong) around 25 after, his parents and Ike had already left, which was probably for the best if Cartman was in some type of mood. Opening the door, Kyle found Cartman with his hands in his pockets, looking pensive. 

“Hey,” Kyle said tentatively, letting his boyfriend inside. “Do you wanna go upstairs?” When Cartman came over, they typically hung out in Kyle’s room even when they had the house to themselves. 

“Sure,” Cartman said. Kyle could tell the other boy was aiming for a flat affect, but he sounded anxious, perhaps with a sprinkling of irritability on top. Kyle was going to have to confront the issue sooner rather than later, he realized, because he wasn’t sure how much more of this passive aggression he could take without losing his sanity.

They had barely crossed the threshold of Kyle’s bedroom doorway when Kyle turned on his heels to face Cartman, arms crossed. “Alright, Cartman, what’s going on?” 

Cartman backed up slightly, leaning against the half-open door. The clicking sound as it shut filled the momentary silence before he responded just as Kyle had expected him to.

“Nothing; everything’s fine.” 

Kyle sighed in frustration. “Can we please not do this? The thing where you act all moody since something’s obviously bothering you, but then you stall for hours while I try to pry it out of you because you don’t want to tell me but you also very much do?” Kyle softened as he stared up into the brown eyes he could never seem to resist. “Just… just talk to me, Cartman.”

Cartman tensed at Kyle’s incredibly accurate read of his behavior; it stirred something warm in him that Kyle knew him enough to pick up on these tendencies, but it also meant that the conversation he’d been ruminating on was happening more imminently than he’d planned.

Still leaning against the bedroom door, Cartman took a deliberately slow breath. “I heard you last night.” 

“You… heard me?” Kyle repeated, uncertain. “What are you talking about?” 

“When you— you said you loved me. You said you loved me but you shouldn’t.” There was a poorly hidden undercurrent of sadness in Cartman’s voice.

Kyle blanched, shame creeping onto his face as he absorbed this unwelcome revelation. “I… fuck, okay. I thought… I thought you were asleep.”

Cartman scoffed. “Clearly.” 

“Listen, Cartman, I’m… I’m really sorry. It was wrong of me to say that.” 

“Yeah, which part? That you love me, or that you know it’s a terrible idea?”

“I didn’t say it was a terrible idea!” Kyle exclaimed defensively. “It’s... it’s more complicated than that.” 

“Is it, though?” Cartman asked the question rhetorically, not really intending for Kyle to give a response. “Because it seems pretty simple to me.” 

Kyle knew that Cartman’s sardonic tone only served to mask the hurt he was feeling, but it was starting to really piss Kyle off nonetheless. “None of this is simple! I know you’ve changed a lot; we both have. But do you really expect me to have zero reservations here? After everything we’ve been through— everything you’ve done? How is this a shock to you?” 

“It’s not! That’s the whole fucking point!” 

“What? Then why are you so—” Kyle stopped and forced himself to breathe, deciding he should try, for once, to actually deescalate an argument between them, especially when it was his fault they were even having it. “Look, I don’t think you fully understand what I meant.”

Cartman’s eyes narrowed, but there was a quiet desperation in his voice. “Honestly, Kyle? There’s something I need you to understand. On the one hand, I find it really fucking hot that you know you shouldn’t want me and you do anyway. The idea that I’m destroying you as much as you’re destroying me? But it also fucking kills me to know you feel that way, when my worst fear, which I literally told you, is that you’ll realize you’re too goddamn good for me. Hell, you clearly already know that, but I mean that one day you’ll decide it matters and it’s not fun to play around in the fucking dirt with me anymore.”

“Cartman—”

“No, let me finish.” Cartman knew that if he didn’t say this shit now, he was probably never going to. And then where would they be? The forcefulness of the command made Kyle acquiesce. He didn’t like where this was going at all, but he supposed he owed it to Cartman to allow him to express it after what he’d heard Kyle say last night. 

“But I thought about it some more,” Cartman went on, “and you know what? Yeah, there are a million fucking reasons why you shouldn’t love me, but there’s also a damn good one why you should.” 

Cartman reached into his hoodie pocket then and pulled out what appeared to be an old bus or train ticket of some sort, yellowed and frayed with time.

“The thing is, Kyle, I’m never going to be the ‘safe’ choice. It’s just that you’re also never going to be safer than you are with me. Because I will fucking die before I let something happen to you— before I let anyone or anything take you from me.” 

Despite the confidence that had built in his voice, Cartman was trembling slightly as he grabbed Kyle’s hand, forcing the redhead’s palm open to place the worn piece of paper in it. Kyle blinked in confusion, then held it out in front of his face to get a better look. The ink was smudged, but he could still make out the largest words, printed in the center.

DENVER, CO — SAN FRANCISCO, CA
ROUND TRIP

Kyle stared at the words as if they were in another language; for a moment, he couldn’t absorb them. When understanding at last crashed over him, it was in waves so heavy he thought his legs might give out. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if all of the signals controlling his body’s basic functioning had been deleted en masse from his brain. At this point, the only things circulating in his head were the brief snippets he could recall from that day. 

First, it was the bedroom floor with his brother, their backs against the side of the bed, how Ike kept leaning on his shoulder. The air was thick and stifling, the sky outside so dark that it looked as though there had been an oil spill on the moon. 

Next, it was that voice calling his name— familiar, urgent. Almost like… almost like Cartman. Cartman, who hadn’t reached out at all since the move. Why did that hurt?

And then, suddenly, it was the figure in the diving suit. The voice calling his name again. Being lifted up and over the diver’s shoulder. Finally letting himself fall asleep…

Kyle shook himself from the memory to find that Cartman was gazing at him with a fierce apprehension, clearly awaiting some sort of verbal response. In fact, the emotion swirling in his eyes was so potent that when Kyle opened his mouth to speak, he was sure the room had become at least 10 degrees warmer.

“Cartman, is this…? You… my family…? You were… it was really you? How did you even— why?” 

“I think you know why. Since elementary school, remember?”

“But… but Stan said you threw a party!” Kyle shook his head as if that would help him better grasp this new information. “You were happy I was gone. You—”

“I thought I was!” Cartman interjected. “But then Stan told me my life would be empty without you to argue with… and I… I found out he was right. It was easy to tell myself I was only doing it because of that— I couldn't accept what it meant until later. But when I saw you there? When it hit me that I could have fucking lost you forever? I sure as shit knew I never wanted to feel that ever again.” 

“Eric… I…” Kyle’s voice was shaking under the heaviness of what he now knew to be the truth. He had a million more questions on his tongue, but the weight of them all together threatened to suffocate him. Rather than try to articulate one in this moment, he opted to express himself another way. 

After quickly stashing the ticket in the back pocket of his jeans, Kyle grabbed the fabric of Cartman’s hoodie near the zipper with both hands, pulling him down enough to kiss him on the mouth with every ounce of feeling he could manage. In seconds, Cartman’s hands flew to Kyle’s waist, gripping it possessively as he deepened the kiss. This caused Kyle to make a sound that Cartman tried his best to mentally catalog for posterity, because holy shit, here was Kyle fucking Broflovski who was beautiful and perfect and wanted him. The novelty of that still hadn’t worn off, and he wasn’t sure it ever would.

“Fuck, Kyle,” Cartman choked out as he pulled back for air, his voice raw. “Do you even realize what you do to me?” 

Kyle inhaled audibly and released Cartman’s hoodie so that his palms could rest on the larger boy’s chest. Finally, he replied, “Maybe you should tell me just in case.” 

For a moment, the two boys just stared at one another, breathing in the charged air around them. Then Cartman grabbed Kyle’s face in his hands, and the words poured out of him before he could second-guess them. 

“You… you make me want to tear you apart and hold you together at the same fucking time. You drive me batshit insane in the best way. You make me want to— fuck, you make me want to think about the future, Kyle. You have me out here dreaming up gay ass life plans and I fucking hate it because it’s scary as shit, but it’s also right. I mean, we’ve been dating all of two weeks and you make me want to break a goddamn glass.”

He paused in panic after the words left his mouth, but the look in Kyle’s eyes was not one of horror or disgust. Instead, while he did look a little shocked, his face could best be described as awestruck, cracked open by the severity of his affection. Cartman’s momentary fear dissipated, and his thumbs swiped at the tears that had begun flowing freely down Kyle’s cheeks.

“So, yeah, you’re too fucking good for me, Kyle, but you also make me better. And maybe that’s enough. Please fucking tell me that’s enough.” Cartman noticed then that his own face was damp; he hadn’t felt the tears falling. He’d been too distracted by the boy in front of him, who was now looking at him like he’d completely lost his mind.

“You fucking idiot, it’s always been enough. You’ve always been enough. It’s just taken me some time to wrap my head around how this shouldn’t make sense, but it does.”

When Kyle saw the look of confusion forming across Cartman’s features, he quickly tried to continue his explanation.

“What I was trying to say earlier… what I meant was, I know you’ve changed, but I never want you to change completely. It’s part of what makes you you and us us, and it scared me that I was so willing to trust you with everything knowing that.” 

Kyle realized that Cartman was still holding his face, so he reached up to take his boyfriend’s hands in his own, suspending them in the small space between their bodies.

“I guess on some level, I was convinced that to keep the things I liked about our fucked up friendship, I’d have to leave myself open to the possibility that this could all blow up in my face. And that’s not… I don’t believe that’s true anymore. All the shit you told me, I know it’s real, and I… fuck, let me say this properly.” 

Kyle let go of Cartman’s hands and reached his own arms up to link them around the back of Cartman’s neck. “I love you, Eric. I do. I really fucking do, okay?”

Cartman felt his heart beat into his throat. The cliché about time stopping? Turns out that was true. Hearing Kyle say those words to him, when he knew he could hear them, without any caveats, was straight out of his wildest fantasies (the PG ones, anyway). In one swift motion, Cartman lifted Kyle into his arms, kissing him hard. When Kyle wrapped his legs around Cartman’s waist, the brunet spun them so that Kyle was now up against the door.

“God, I love you, too,” Cartman whispered between frantic kisses. “You’re going to be the death of me, and I don’t think I want to fucking stop you.”

“Okay,” the redhead whispered back, green eyes hazy, “so don’t then.”

What happened from there could only be attested to by Cartman and Kyle.

The following Tuesday afternoon, Stan and Kenny were back in Stan’s room, studying for their U.S. Government quiz. Shelley had returned to CU Denver for her spring semester the prior week, so Karen was downstairs in the Marshes’ living room, working on a batch of beaded friendship bracelets with a kit that Sharon kept at the house for her. 

“Okay, dude,” Kenny said after they’d been running through flashcards for 30 minutes, “two things. First, is your mom making spaghetti tonight?” 

Stan laughed at the seriousness with which Kenny asked this question. “Yeah, I think so. I saw a bunch of tomatoes in the fridge when I grabbed our sodas earlier.” 

“Fuck yes! Karen’s gonna be so excited, too. I mean... if we can stay?” 

“Of course you can, dude. My mom asked earlier and I told her you would be. Honestly, I think she loves having Karen around because she misses Shelley.” 

“Thanks, man,” Kenny smiled warmly before his grin turned conspiratorial. “And now the second thing!” he announced, clearing his throat dramatically in response to Stan’s expectant look. “I think our boys, like, fully fucked.” 

Stan choked on air. “Dude! What the hell! I told you I don’t wanna think about—”

“No, listen, Staniel. Hold your barf for like five seconds. You said yesterday that you know about San Francisco!” 

“Oh god, yeah, I still can’t believe it was Cartman all this time! But it also somehow makes sense… I mean, who the hell else could have pulled that off? And I remember him being, like, weirdly happy that Kyle was back.” Stan paused to take a sip from the Sprite can on the nightstand beside him. “Honestly, it’s fucking insane that you’ve known since seventh grade and Butters has known since always. I obviously get why you guys didn’t tell, though.”

Kenny threw his arms out wide, palms up. “Right! So, what I’m saying is, you know about San Francisco, because Kyle told you about San Francisco, which means Kyle knows about San Francisco, because Cartman told him about it!”

“Um… obviously? What’s your point?” 

Kenny sighed dramatically. “My point is that this only bolsters my argument that they’ve gone all the way!” Kenny ignored Stan’s expressions of disgust as he kept presenting his evidence. “It sounds like Cartman told Kyle on Saturday, based on what you said. And they were barely in the group chat from Saturday night through Sunday afternoon. You didn’t even hear from Kyle until he called you Sunday night!”

“So? They clearly had a pretty intense conversation. They didn’t text much the weekend they first got together either.” 

“I know that, but also, did you see how Kyle let Cartman hold his hand in the hallway yesterday? As much as Ky will get caught up in front of us, you know that aside from the whole jacket business, he’s much more private at school. If it was only that one time, I could buy it as him just feeling sappy after learning Cartman’s secret. But then? I legit saw him grab Cartman’s hand this morning! I mean, Ky actually starting it? That’s a bridge too far, bro.” Kenny took a swig from his Dr. Pepper.

“Ken—” Stan started.

“Then, you add on the way Kyle’s been looking at him? It’s giving dickmatized. And don’t even get me started on Cartman and how he was openly staring at Kyle’s ass when—” 

Stan at last successfully interrupted Kenny with a noise somewhere between a groan and a gag. “It’s disturbing that you notice all this, you know that, right?” 

Kenny grinned. “You’re not telling me I’m wrong, though.”

“Ugh, I never wanna hear you say ‘dickmatized’ ever again,” Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But… yeah, Kyle’s gone, Ken. I’m serious, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s… he’s in love, even if he won’t admit it because he’s overthinking it to death. And I was worried at first because I couldn’t not be, you know? But then I saw how they are together, and Cartman… he actually approached me about it.” 

Kenny raised his eyebrows, less surprised than impressed. “Did he really? Was that why he went upstairs with you?” 

Stan nodded. “He straight up told me he loved Kyle.” 

“Damn, seriously? What did you say?” 

“I asked him not to fuck on my couch.” 

In seconds, Kenny was howling with laughter. This eventually caused Stan to join in, both of them dangerously close to snorting soda out of their noses. It took several minutes for the two boys to gather themselves before either one was able to speak again. 

“Okay, so,” Kenny said, still slightly out of breath, “I have to be fair and say there is one strike against my theory here, and it’s kind of a big one.” 

“Go on,” Stan replied, regrettably invested at this juncture of the conversation. 

“Cartman hasn’t said anything to me about it— literally not one word. Like, come on, him and Kyle banging is absolutely something he’d want to talk about expeditiously."

“Huh, that’s true,” Stan looked thoughtful for a moment. “Unless… unless Kyle asked him not to?” 

“Dude, as whipped as my guy is, there are always gonna be things that Cartman does after Kyle asks him not to. He’s just gonna be a lot more careful about what those things are. Picking his battles, and all that.”

“Right, so, don’t you think that if they, you know,” Stan waved his hand vaguely, “that’s a pretty big next step? I’m sure Cartman would have wanted to tell you, but isn’t it also possible that he was afraid of, I don’t know, not respecting Kyle’s wishes over something this important?” 

Kenny tilted his head in consideration as Stan went on.

“He might… he might feel like things are still fragile. I mean, you should have seen his face when he talked to me about Kyle. It was like… like he was scared of not getting my approval. And since when has he ever given a fuck about that?”

“You know, dude, that’s a really good point,” Kenny replied. “I hadn’t thought about it like that, but it makes total sense.” He shot Stan an amused look. “Wait a minute… are you actually helping me make this argument?”

“Well, you did clock me and Wendy, so…” Stan blushed and shook his head. “Maybe you’re right about Cartman and Kyle, too. Either way, can we please talk about something else now?”

“Ha, you got it, but… Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“RIP in advance to your couch.”