I hate Stan.

No, perhaps that's not the right way to put it. Stan's fine. He's a bit of a hippie and a lot of a pussy, but he's fine. I don't hate him, per se. No, what I hate is that, out of all the people he could've chosen, Stan chose him.

Stan's the school quarterback, for fuck's sake! As he walks through the hallways, hundreds of girls fall to his feet, begging to get laid by him! He could have anybody – anybody – and yet he chose a geeky, dorky, swotty, nerdy, lame, stupid, sneaky, greedy, filthy, ginger, Jersey Jew. And those aren't even half of the adjectives I could use to describe Kyle.

Why do I hate Stan for choosing Kyle? Is that what you're asking? What does it matter to me? Well, I'm glad you asked! Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, because I'm going to tell you, but I'm not going to tell you twice.

Okay. So I told you that I have other adjectives for describing Kyle, and now I'm going to share them with you: …beautiful…intelligent…funny…cute, adorable, kind, caring, passionate, hard-working, impressive, amazing, wonderful, the best thing in my world…Okay, that last one wasn't really an adjective, but you get the gist. You'd be stupid not to get it by this point, but I'm going to go ahead and assume you are stupid, so here, I'll spell it out for you:

I love Kyle.

I don't just love him as a friend or anything like that. No, I'm in love with him. When I'm near him or see him or hear him or just so much as think about him (which is something I do quite a lot), I get the whole shebang: butterflies in my tummy, faster heartbeat, dry mouth and sweaty palms. If I was a doctor, I would diagnose that I have a severe case of being in love. Not falling in love. No, I've been doing that for the past decade or so. By this point, I've already landed hard in deep, deep love.

And so, I guess you can understand now exactly why I am so incredibly fucking pissed that Stan, out of all the people he could've chosen, decided to choose the one person I am in love with, the one I've been falling in love with for – not just days, not just weeks, not just months, but – years; long, insufferable, arduous years where all I could see was Kyle and all I could hear was Kyle and all I could say was Kyle and all I could think was Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.

But why are you in love with him? I hear you, I hear you, you're dying to know. Well, since you asked so nicely, here it is: I don't really know. Lame, right? I'm so in love with Kyle, yet I don't even know why. It just sort of…happened, I guess…Well, maybe not. I didn't get suddenly struck by Cupid-Me's arrow or some shit like that. If I had to guess, I'd say it was an accumulation of the years I've been falling, all those times and moments we've had with each other. Hold on, let me try and pick one out…Ah, yes, perfect!

Kenny died.

Yeah, no surprises there, I know, but the point isn't that Kenny died. The point is that when Kenny died, something I never would've so much as dreamt up happened. It was small, but it was life-changing, and it shook my world to its core.

Kyle hugged me.

Not only that, but he let me cry on his shoulder, and he cried right along with me. I still find it strange, looking back on it now. I'm pretty sure Kyle full-on hated me back then, and yet he told me that it was okay to be crying, and that he was feeling what I was feeling, and then he stepped forward – not me, him – and pulled me into his arms, and I didn't protest, so we cried together for a while. I lost track of time in the hug, and forgot where I was and why. All that I was sure about when Kyle finally pulled away was that I didn't hate him.

Kyle was different. While other people who saw me crying immediately shoved toys and food and stuff like that in my face, Kyle pushed himself into me, and, in doing so, gifted me the one thing I'd never been given before: comfort. It scared me at first, being comforted, but I eased into it the longer my head laid on Kyle's shoulder and my hands clutched at his sleeves, and in the end I actually came to like it. It was new, but it was a good new. Kyle introduced me to it.

That was probably the starting point, now that I think about it – the point where I realised that Kyle wasn't like other people, that Kyle was better than other people. I couldn't let him think that, of course – I had to keep calling him all manner of nasty names and wishing death upon him, for appearance's sake – but after that hug in the hospital, something definitely changed between us. Or at least that's how I see it. I don't know, maybe Kyle felt nothing out of it, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I think that's when I tripped and began to fall.

Life went on as usual from there (or as usual as a town like South Park could be), until something else happened between us. It was just as life-changing and world-shaking as the last, if not more so.

Kyle moved.

At first, that didn't bother me. I was so convinced that Kyle and I were nothing more than enemies that merely tolerated each other's company that I even so much as threw a goodbye party that I didn't invite him to. Stan was more torn up. He wrote the gayest gay song that ever gayed about Hybrid cars, seeming to think that would bring Kyle back. I don't know why, so don't ask me why – all I know is that at the same time his gay little song was causing a gay lot of smug, I was coming to terms with how true Stan's words were. No, not the song lyrics. What I'm talking about is the words he said to me concerning Kyle, the ones I have never forgotten.

"You know, Cartman, you may be stoked now, but I bet you're gonna find that without Kyle around to rip on, your life is empty, and hollow."

Stan isn't the brightest crayon in the box, but, I've gotta hand it to the hippie, he sure got that much right. The realisation that hit me so long ago in the hospital came back to hit me for a second time: nobody was like Kyle. When I ripped on Kyle, he ripped right back, and it was oh so very fun. But when I ripped on Stan or Kenny, they just shrugged me off and looked the other way and sometimes even so much as walked away, and when I ripped on Butters he just took it, and agreed with me, and apologised, and it was all so very boring. I knew it then and I know it now: without Kyle, I would surely die of boredom.

But if he moved away, how is he still in your neighbourhood? I bet that's what you're wondering – I can see it in your eyes. Well I'll tell you, but you have to swear not to tell anyone, especially not Kyle. It would be the end of my reputation, if anybody found out I saved him. That's right, you heard me. When the smug storm hit San Francisco, I went right in there, and I saved Kyle and his entire family along with him. Don't think that I did it for him though, or Stan, or anyone else. I did it for me. I couldn't bear to be without him – still can't to this day – and yet the universe seems intent on tearing Kyle from me, because something else happened that almost ruined me.

Kyle died.

Temporarily, but he did, and, I'm not gonna lie, it was the scariest fucking moment of my entire life. I'd seen so much shit by that point, but nothing – absolutely nothing – affected me the way Kyle's death did. He looked like shit, laid out on the floor, unmoving, unfeeling, unhearing, unseeing. Gone. I didn't want that, and let it be known that I always get what I want. Even when everybody else said it was too late, I didn't give up. It took a lot of shouting in and slapping his face, and pumping and hitting his chest, but eventually he coughed, and began to breathe again, his eyes blinking back into focus, and the greatest relief that I had ever felt – have ever felt – washed over me.

Again though, I didn't tell him I saved him. I can't let him know how important he is to me. Because, I mean, seriously? Do you think he wouldn't hold that against me? Yeah, right! He'd totally rip on me for that, and I am not going to give him the satisfaction. And so, as it is, he still thinks I can't stand him. Even though we hang out together a lot, and he always makes me smile, he still hasn't figured it out. He is so fucking oblivious. But I suppose I'm grateful for that. I mean, just look at me, heh. Fucking pathetic, right? A fat, ugly asshole isn't really his type, I don't think. Ha…He wouldn't give me a chance…And why should he, y'know? I haven't been what could be called "nice" to him all these years…I've disappointed him so many times, let him down on countless occasions…I have to face it. I'm nobody's first choice, never mind his…

But still. Stan?

Apparently, yes. That hippie asked him out, and Kyle said yes. That Jew has got such bad taste…Hell, maybe I would have a chance after all…But anyway, back to the heart of the matter: Stan is a fucking asshole dickface and I hate him. Even if Kyle wasn't able to realise how much I love him, I would've thought that Stan at least would've figured it out! Kenny did (and he makes fun of me about it to no end, that little pussy-licker), so why couldn't Stan? Or maybe he does know how I feel about Kyle, but he just doesn't care…Selfish asshole…And why did Kyle even agree to date him in the first place? Stan is such a whiny baby, always going on about the problems that he doesn't have. "Wah, I'm a privileged, white boy and I'm so sad!" Ugh! Does Kyle really wanna deal with that? He wouldn't have to if he was going out with me…

And the funny thing is he'd be happy with me. No, really! I know what you're thinking. But you always rip on him and annoy him and act like a jerk towards him! Right? Well, yeah, but that's because everybody expects me to. I can't let down the adoring public. But if he was with me, I'd be nicer to him, as expected of a boyfriend. I'd hold him gently and kiss him tenderly and all that shit. Really, I would! I want to! You have no idea how many times I've looked at Kyle and just suddenly been hit with a strong desire to grab him by the waist, dip him in the middle of the hallway or cafeteria or wherever we are, and kiss him in a way that lets everybody around know that he's mine…Or at least, I wish he was mine…He's Stan's now, I guess, if anybody's at all…unfortunately…

Oh, don't do that! Don't do what? What else, dumbass?! Don't give me that pitying look – I don't need your fucking pity. Is pity going to make Kyle any more likely to leave Stan for me?…Wait a minute, what am I talking about? Of course it would! Kyle is the definition of the word sympathetic, the epitome of all that's empathetic! Hell, maybe if he knew how I felt then he'd give me a chance!…Maybe…maybe if I told him…Oh, what am I saying? Of course he wouldn't. Pity or no, he can't fucking stand me.

Aw, you don't know that… That's what you're telling me, isn't it, you patronising little shit? Well, sorry, but I do. I'd have to be blind and deaf and pretty fucking stupid to not see how much he hates me. He has made it pretty fucking clear over the years that he would be much happier were I gone altogether, had we never met, if only I had never been conceived in the first place. He looks at me like he wishes I'd ended up as some dried-up cum in the end of someone's condom; talks to me like I am just some dried-up cum in the end of someone's condom.

Gee, why do you like him then? Because he's absolutely fucking hilarious when he's annoyed, and so very adorable when angry, that's why. He gets all red like a tomato, and his brow furrows and makes him look like some sort of cranky old man, and when he shouts or screams particularly loudly his voice gets high to the point that it breaks in the funniest, cutest way. You'd love him too, if you saw it…By the way, don't ever fall for him like I have, or else I'll fart on your balls. I don't care if it's taboo, I'll do it. Don't test me.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes, going right back to Stan, that cum-sucking leech. Listen, I know he's my friend and all, but I wouldn't recommend him romantically. He's got a terrible track record with his last girlfriend, Wendy. Those two were breaking up then making up on pretty much a daily basis, so he obviously isn't very stable. He's got alcohol problems too. You can always smell it on his breath, that he's had a swig of whiskey before starting the day, and sometimes he even turns up drunk, stumbling and giggling like a dumbass. He's fucking awful to be around when drunk too. He's the type of drunk that's fun at first, but always ends up crying in a vomit-covered bathtub by the end of the night. Yeah, not a pretty image, is it? And yet Kyle wants that. He's strange, I'll give him that.

But hey, I'm not gonna keep whining about it, or else I'll be no better than that back-stabber Stan. I'm the tough one, after all, and I'm meant to be the mean kid around here. I can't actually look like I have a heart and feelings now, can I? No, I've just gotta deal. Sure, it'll feel like I've been stabbed in the chest every time I see Kyle with Stan, being happy with him in a way that he should be – could be – with me, and of course it'll feel like I've got a blade pressed to my windpipe when they start doing PDA right where I can see them, and yeah, my heart is kind of breaking into a million pieces right now. But whatever. I'll be fine. I can pick up the pieces by myself. I'm used to being by myself.

I'm fine.

Fine.

Peachy, in fact.

I'm Just. Fucking. Fine.

So get out of my face before I make you.

Author's Notes:

I decided to switch up my style this time and write with direct speak as though the character is talking to the reader. It was actually really fun to do - Cartman has such a wonderfully foul mouth! Alas, the subject matter isn't so fun. I went down that path, guys. The angst path. It hurt, I'm not gonna lie. But my hopeful shipper mind believes that there may be a light at the end of the tunnel for Cartman.
Also, the lovely nella311 told me that this reminds her of the song Jessie's Girl by Rick Springfield, and I agree with her, to the point where I was tempted to change the title of this story to Stan's Boy. I decided against it, but it's a good song and I'd recommend giving it a listen. Actually, the song that inspired this is Glee's cover of I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You (originally by Black Kids), although I haven't the faintest idea why.
Thank you for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed doing so as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.