It was Eric's stag night, and Kyle didn't need to drink beer for there to be a bitter taste in his mouth. Hell, he didn't have to be there to have beer. He was drinking it alone in his apartment, slouching on his couch in a pair of plaid pyjama pants and one of Eric's t-shirts that he had neglected to get back after their split. The TV was on, but he wasn't watching it. It was just there – just a meaningless mess of colour and noise that he was numb to. It was better than aching amongst the merry-makers though, forcing false words of congratulations past a feigned smile. Call him selfish, but he couldn't be happy for Eric, not when his very own happiness was slipping away with the slip of a golden ring onto a fat fourth finger.
One year and six months. That was how long Luke had been with Eric when he had finally gotten down on one knee and asked for his hand in marriage. Kyle knew because he had been counting every day that Eric wasn't his, hating every single one of them. And Kyle? Well, before he had known how to tie his shoes laces or ride a bike, he had known Eric. He had known him first and foremost as a pudgy beach-ball of a boy who pushed other kids to get their crayons, and then tried to eat their crayons. Luke, meanwhile, only knew Eric as the man he was now: a practiced douchebag hidden underneath layers of natural charm, who was subdued with age and the grieving of his last break-up.
Kyle was grieving too, to be fair. It just felt wrong to because he had less of a right. He had been the one to call it quits between them, after all. The common misconception though was that he had wanted to. No, of course he hadn't wanted to. That was just what his head had told him was best. His heart was in solid disagreement, however. A war was being waged within him, his own being battling against itself. Therefore, he got sicker often. Lovesick. He felt torturous twists like Chinese-burns on forearms within his stomach where there should have been butterflies, and acid burning in his throat where there should have been hitched breaths caught in kisses. Without Eric, everything was wrong. Ironically, he had broken up with him because he had thought that it was wrong with him.
It was supposed to have been wrong. Their whole life, they had been like shoes on the wrong feet. They weren't supposed to work, but strangely, somehow, they did. They had, until Kyle had ruined that by running away. The most frustrating thing was that he wasn't usually one to try to outrun what life threw at him. Usually, he faced everything head-on. Even if it wasn't wise, he marched straight into the heart of conflict, and he looked around the wreckage for what the problem was, and then he solved it, objectively, logically, scientifically. Everything was a Rubik's Cube – coloured categories segregated by boundaries of squared blocks, becoming linear under his omniscient look. Except for that once, because Kyle was – dare he say it – scared.
Falling for a frienemy was a terrifying thing. Somewhere along the lines of adolescence, the taunting that had gone on between Eric and Kyle had turned into teasing, and then into what was undeniably, horrifically flirting. And Kyle hadn't been able to stop it. Everything had been out of his hands as he had slowly begun to pay very close attention to the way Eric's eyelashes swept his cheek when he blinked, the way his mouth crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his golden-brown eyes looked right into his when he talked to him. He had started to hear Eric's voice above all others in a crowded room, listen out for his voice, have his heart thud at the sound of it. It hadn't been a very fun period of his life.
Everything had been so confusing. He had thought that he would always, always hate Eric. But the thing was that he never had. Not really. That had been the scariest thing to come to terms with – that he had always liked Eric, deep down, despite their past and the history between them. It had been hard to realise that falling in love with Eric wasn't very hard at all. And then, to make matters worse, his feelings had been requited. Perhaps if it had been one-sided, Kyle could have moved on. But things never went the way he wanted them to, did they? Eric had felt the same, Kyle could tell from the lingering looks he sent his way, and the what-ifs of their mutual attraction had been too alluring to resist.
Their cards had been laid out at a party. These things always happened at a fucking party, so why Kyle hadn't seen it coming, why he hadn't avoided it, he didn't know. But they had been sat side-by-side in the shadows of Stan's backyard porch, hearing muffled music pulsing out of the pores of the house, hiding from those within and sharing a bright-green bottle of bitterness. Alcohol had eased their mouths open, the untold truths spilling like red wine onto a white carpet, leaving a lasting, scarlet, stark stain. It had intoxicated their minds with the dangerous lies that it was okay to bump shoulders with each other, that nothing would happen if they held hands, that it wouldn't change anything if their lips met…
Before either of them knew it, they were dating, and Kyle smiled every day because of it. Being in love, and having that love returned, all of him felt full and content. He hadn't thought it possible to be that happy. He began to wonder whether he was even sober, whether he was actually still drunk from that night at the party, whether a hang-over that would make him regret everything was a threat yet to come. It never did, yet still something within was screaming, that niggling little voice inside his head insisting that it shouldn't be that way, that they shouldn't be like that. Eric's eyes on his, hands on his, lips on his – it had all felt right. But his head had told him that it was wrong, and since when had he been right to doubt it?
Kyle had soon found out why a break-up was called just that. Uttering those destructive words to Eric had been like denoting a bomb within – he felt like his body was breaking, his soul was shattering, he was falling apart. What made it worse was that Eric had looked like the same was becoming of him. It was a necessary evil, or so Kyle had convinced himself. Except that whereas his head had screamed when he was with Eric, his heart screamed without him. It seemed that either way, he couldn't win. Either way, he was the loser of love. And going to Eric's stag? That would just remind him what a loser he was. Besides, if he went, he would just act as though he was attending a funeral. Yes, it was best that he hadn't gone…
Kyle was pulled from his thoughts by his doorbell ringing. He looked to the door in surprise, and then to the clock. It was way too late for people to come calling. Even the stags had probably collapsed into a drunken heap by that point. Since it was so late though, Kyle knew that it probably wouldn't be for something insignificant like his neighbour wanting to borrow a cup of sugar. It had to be important. Sighing as he set his beer down onto the coffee table, Kyle got up from the couch and stumbled across the living room to the door. He opened it, but he soon wished that he hadn't.
"Eric?" he asked, a surprised slur.
"Hey," Eric greeted softly. He tried a smile as he shuffled on the spot, with his hands in his pockets. "I just came to check you weren't sick again or anything. 'Cause, y'know, you didn't come. Hell, you didn't even text, so…"
"I'm fine," Kyle mumbled, wishing that Eric would stop being so obviously concerned when he wasn't supposed to be his concern anymore. It gave him hope that he couldn't afford to have. "Um, are you fine?"
Eric nodded. "Yeah. A little buzzed, but fine."
Kyle nodded too, acknowledging his answer, but then an awkward silence descended as he didn't really know what else to say. After a while, he patted his sides absently and decided to ask, "Do you, uh… want to come in?" He wasn't really sober enough to be a decent host, but Eric had gone out of his way to see him, so it was the least that he could do.
"Yeah," Eric said, so Kyle opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing him in. As Kyle closed the door after him, Eric looked around the dim apartment illuminated by the flickering glow of the TV, taking in the drawn curtains, and the dirty clothes hanging over the backs of chairs. His eyes were drawn to the cans of beer on the table, at which he chuckled, "Havin' a party for one instead, huh?"
"Sort of," Kyle laughed too, nervously, as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "Want one?"
"If you've got one." Eric went to lean against one of Kyle's counters in the adjoining kitchen, whilst Kyle went to the fridge and fetched another beer out for Eric, who thanked him as he took it for him. The weighty quiet between them was filled by the crack of the tab and sizzle of the beer as it took its first breath, before being pressed to Eric's lips. Kyle watched him sip silently, once more not quite sure what to say. Before he could figure it out, Eric pulled the can away to say, "Not bad. Beers at the stag were better though. You should've come."
Kyle shrugged, dropping his guilty gaze to his feet and rubbing his forearm. "Maybe."
Eric put the can down on the counter, and folded his arms as he looked Kyle up and down. "Why didn't you come? Did you forget, or…?"
It would have been easy to take that excuse. Kyle had become more disorganised since their split. It was feasible for him to forget. Yet, he had already lied to Eric enough, about his feelings – lied that he didn't have them. He didn't want to lie to him anymore.
"No," Kyle sighed. "I just… I don't know. I just couldn't, okay?"
Eric narrowed his eyes. "You know, you're the one who said we shouldn't be weird, Kyle. But almost two years later, here you are, making it weird. Look, we broke up, and that was a bummer, but I've found someone new. I'm over it now, so why can't you be?"
Kyle shrugged again, like he didn't know. Except, he did. He did know that he couldn't be over it because he didn't want them to be over. But it was too late.
Eric sighed again, massaging his temples, probably not feeling quite drunk enough to deal with Kyle. "I just want us to go back to the way we were. We're not exes, okay? You're Jew, and I'm Fatass. That's how it should be, right?"
'Wrong,' Kyle's heart said, but he nodded.
"Right," Eric nodded too. "So quit avoiding me. We're both going to my wedding in a couple of days, and it's meant to be the happiest day of my life, so I don't want it to be all awkward between us."
"Okay," Kyle sighed, looking up at Eric with what he hoped was an apologetic appearance. "Sorry."
"Alright. Well…" Eric, seemingly satisfied, took his weight off of the counter and stood up straight again. "…Now that that's taken care of, and since you're fine, I'll be off. You can call me if you feel sick though. You've always been shitty at holding your drink."
"I'm really fine," Kyle insisted, and he was, physically. Psychologically, Eric's presence was opening a gaping wound, like a bullet hole, and Kyle could feel himself seeping out, along with his wonderings as to why Eric had taken their break-up with such ease, why he hadn't fought back, why he had turned to drink in the days following, why he had chosen Luke, why he had dated Luke, why he had said yes…
"Why did you say yes?" Kyle blurted out without thinking. His eyes widened as soon as he realised what he had said, but the words couldn't be taken back. Eric looked surprised too, blinking blankly at him. Kyle sighed and decided that, oh well, he had already gone and put one toe into those waters, so he may as well dunk the whole foot. "…When Luke asked you to marry him… why did you say yes?"
Eric averted his eyes to the window and shrugged. "I don't know. Me and Luke've been together for… Well, Christ knows, a long time now. It just seemed like the thing to do, y'know? Marriage."
"Do you love him?" Kyle asked, perhaps a little too forwardly, but fuck it, he wanted answers, and it looked like Eric would actually give them. It probably helped that his tongue was loosened by drink.
"Ugh," Eric groaned. "I don't know, Kyle. The fuck is love anyway? Listen, Luke looks after me. What more could I want?"
Eric's response was foreign to Kyle, who could remember being woken up on Sunday mornings by Eric's chest pressed to his back and his hand on his hip, with his lips on his ear and his breath on his skin, warming him with whispered words of affection. With him, Eric had always known what love was – he had always known what he felt. So then, why not with Luke? Had Kyle turned Eric into a cynic, disbelieving in love? Or perhaps… was Eric not in love with Luke?…
There it was again, that cursed thing called hope, swelling in Kyle's heart and inflating his lungs 'til he felt that he could burst. What if that was true? What if Eric wasn't in love with Luke? Could Kyle then convince Eric not to marry him? It was a stupid, selfish idea, but damn it, he was drunk and in love, so he was allowed to be stupid and selfish. Besides, he genuinely, truly loved Eric, like he had never loved anybody before. He knew it – had always known it – and he wasn't afraid of that anymore. Fuck what his head said, because his heart wasn't wrong. And even if it was, fuck it anyway, because nothing made him happy anymore since their split – nothing had made him happier than being with Eric – so if being with him was wrong, then Kyle didn't want to be right.
Kyle took a step towards Eric, his heart hammering as he did. Eric watched him warily, unsure what he was up to. Kyle wasn't quite sure either. He was just going with what his heart wanted to do, finally. He took another step, so that he was right beside Eric, who leant back a little, looking lost.
"What?" he asked. "What are you doing?" Kyle didn't answer, but asked a question of his own.
"Do you love me?"
"W-what?" Eric repeated, and Kyle couldn't help noticing the red rising to his cheeks. "Why are you asking me that?"
Although Eric hadn't said yes, neither had he said no, nor scoffed scornfully at the concept of love like he had when asked whether he loved Luke. By then, Kyle's hope was full-fledged and soaring with bellowing flames for wings which burnt away any doubt that he should try to do something – something that might yet revive their relationship like a phoenix from the ashes.
The alcohol must have made Kyle brave, or foolish, or both, because then he shot up onto the tips of his toes, grabbed the collar of Eric's shirt, pulled him down by it, and kissed him full on the mouth. God, he had missed that mouth – it felt like his lips had been shaped by the heavens themselves, just so as to slot smoothly onto his, made to mould to each other. He clutched Eric's shirt as he kissed him needily, pressing his own body closer to Eric's, hungry to feel him in a way he hadn't in so long – too long. Alas, their union was not to last. Eric soon pulled away, holding Kyle at bay by the shoulders. He was staring at Kyle as though he was a stranger who had just kissed him.
"Kyle?" he said quietly. "What-?"
"Please don't do it," Kyle cut across to beg. He never begged, especially not to Eric, but damn it, he had to do it now. As he spoke, he gripped Eric's shirt, as though he would be gone the second he dared to let go. "Please don't walk down that aisle. Please don't say your vows. Please. Just don't."
Eric's face creased with confusion, and Kyle could see that he was doing it again, causing him pain. "…Why are you saying this?"
"I know I'm probably too late," Kyle continued. "I realised how I feel way too late, and now… God, this is selfish. I know I shouldn't. I should just shut up. But I can't help it, Eric. I don't want you to spend the rest of your life with him. I want you to spend it with me."
Eric's expression changed into the one that Kyle knew so well – the one that haunted all of his nightmares – the one that he had worn whilst breaking-up, whilst having his heart broken. "…Kyle… I… I can't…"
"Don't you love me anymore?" Kyle asked, desperately clutching tighter to Eric's shirt, unwilling to lose him, not yet, not ever.
"I… I…" Eric stumbled, then sighed. "…Yes," he eventually admitted, making Kyle's heart thud, "I do. More than anyone. More than anything. But you…"
"I know," Kyle interrupted. "I know what I said. But I was wrong. I do love you, Eric. For the longest time, I was scared of how I felt. I convinced myself that we weren't right for each other. I lied about how I felt to you – to myself. I hid from it like a coward," he spat the word, hating how no simile could describe him more perfectly, "because I didn't want to get hurt. Now I've gone and hurt myself anyway. Not just that, but I've hurt you too. And I'm sorry. But, Eric, it… it's always been you. All those other people I saw, who I tried to be with… none of them made me feel the way you make me feel. When I'm with you, I feel alive. I feel… happy… I always want to feel that way." Kyle quit clutching Eric's shirt, to ease his hands out flat against his chest. Underneath them, he could feel Eric's heart beating fast, just like his own. He smiled slightly as it renewed his confidence that this was right. "I always want to be with you."
Seconds passed, where Kyle looked pleadingly into Eric's eyes, and Eric stared back into Kyle's, looking so torn as he tried to make his choice. Finally, he sighed, extracting Kyle's hands from his chest, but keeping a hold of them as he spoke. "Kyle, I… I have to marry Luke… I said I would, and everyone is expecting me to, so…"
"That shouldn't matter," Kyle said, shaking his head. "What matters is whether you want to. Eric, do you want to marry Luke? If you married Luke, would you be happy?"
"I… I don't…"Eric stumbled. "…I'm not…"
"I wouldn't," Kyle murmured. "Maybe, in time, I could learn to pretend, to act like I'm happy for you both, if that's what you'd want. But I'd never really be happy."
Eric chuckled dryly, shaking his head with a sad smile. "I'd know. You can't act to save your life, Kyle."
Kyle smiled sadly as well, squeezing Eric's hands, which were still holding his. "Then make it so that I won't have to."
He kept his eyes locked with Eric's, hoping that his irises reflected all that he felt for him, and how much it would mean to him if Eric trusted him – to be accepting of his love towards him that time, instead of just running away from it like the last – enough to take that damned engagement ring off and throw it and his marriage out of the nearest window. Therefore, Kyle swore that he could feel himself breaking apart all over again when Eric pulled his hands out of his with a heavy sigh.
"…I'm sorry, Kyle… I can't."
Kyle had never hated five words more. Still, he nodded understandingly as he took a step back, lowering his head in defeat and hugging himself, biting his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Why was he being so emotional? Was it the alcohol, or did Eric really just mean that much? Kyle wasn't a gambler, but he would have bet all of his money on the latter.
"Okay," he said. "Sorry. Never mind. Forget all I said." He managed to look up at Eric again – managed to force a smile onto his face. It was one of the hardest things that he had ever done, and it became even harder when he was fighting back the sting of threatening tears whilst he almost choked on his own croaky voice saying, "Hey, congrats to you and Luke… He's a nice guy… I'm sure you'll be happy together."
Eric's brows crumpled, and he reached a hand out for him. "Kyle," he began, but Kyle couldn't stay to hear the rest. He felt like he was bleeding from the inside out, and anything that Eric had to say would just deepen the wound. Without another word, he hurried briskly past Eric, out of the living room and into his adjoining bedroom, slamming the door shut after him. Fuck, he was running away again. Why was it always Eric who made him act in ways that he usually wouldn't?
"Kyle," Eric called from the other side of the door. Kyle pressed himself back against the door, afraid that Eric would try to knock it down to get to him. He stayed silent, taking shallow breaths, as if he could convince Eric that he wasn't in there, that the floor had swallowed him up like he so wanted it to. He heard Eric rap his knuckles against the door before calling again, "Kyle, come out."
Kyle didn't. He didn't answer either, instead busying his mouth with nervously chewing his lip. For a moment, a sound wasn't heard on either side of the door as neither dared to move. But then Kyle heard Eric sigh tiredly, and heard the light, dull thud of him resting his forehead against the wood.
"You drive me crazy," he murmured, sounding tortured, probably thinking that Kyle couldn't hear. But he could, and he slid slowly down the door, sinking to the floor, and tucked his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His heart was beating faster than he could cope with, spurred on by fear.
"Ditto," he whispered, just silently shaping the syllables, not quite sure whether he wanted Eric to hear him too or not.
"Fine," Eric said, louder then. He obviously hadn't heard. "I can take a hint. I'll go now, alright? But just… just promise you'll be at my wedding, okay? I want you to be there."
Kyle said nothing, but, resignedly, he knew that he would be there. Even if it hurt to go, he knew that it would not be as painful as the consequence for not going: letting Eric down, again.
Eric sighed once more, heavier than before, and Kyle heard him take a step away from the door. "Later, Jew," he said, causing Kyle's heart to pang for some reason. What, did he want him to stay? Didn't he want him to go so that he could wallow in the would've-beens and contemplate the could've-beens in the isolation idiots like him deserved? He wasn't even sure anymore, but Eric left either way. Kyle heard his heavy footfalls, journeying across the living room, away from him, followed by the creak of the door closing, a short pause, and then the click of the lock.
After a minute had passed, Kyle decided that it was safe to leave his bedroom. He got up from the floor and opened the door, and sure enough the living room was empty of Eric. He went to the window, and there Eric was, standing by a taxi parked at the curb outside of Kyle's apartment. Just then, as though he could sense eyes on him, Eric turned his head to look up at the window, and Kyle could only flinch because it was too late to hide again. Their eyes met across the distance, but only briefly, before Eric turned away again with a grim face aged by turmoil, and got into the taxi. Kyle watched him go, wondering whether it would feel just as painful when he saw it again, when he would see Eric get into a long, white car sashed with satin to be driven away from him, forever.
"Just what in the hell were you thinking, saying all that?" Kyle chided himself. "It'd all be well and good if that's the last you ever see of him, but now you've got to go to his fucking wedding. Way to go, Kyle!"
With a cry of fury and frustration, Kyle pulled back his elbow and slammed his fist side-long into the wall. His hand ached for it, and he was glad. It helped to distract from the pain within, but only slightly. God, Eric had been right all of those times before. He really was a stupid Jew. A stupid, stupid Jew, who had confessed his love to his ex-boyfriend who was engaged to be married to someone else, someone who hadn't been afraid to face the way they felt like Kyle had been.
Cheeks hot with anger and embarrassment, Kyle stormed away to fetch another beer from the fridge. He needed to be really, really drunk, to drown in the oblivion of intoxication, to be numb, to forget. On his way though, he was stopped by the sight of Eric's half-drunk beer on the counter. For a moment, he thought, weighing up the pros and cons, before he came to his decision.
Kyle went to the counter, picked up the can, and, as though about to drink from it, pressed it to his mouth. He didn't drink though. He just let his lips linger there, where Eric's had been, and shut his eyes with heavy sigh, because he knew right then that, no matter how much he poisoned his mind, he would never taint those memories. He was doomed to remember.
Weddings took too fucking long, was Kyle's opinion. Eric and Luke had decided on a June wedding, so the afternoon sun was out in full, forcing its shine through the church windows, and Kyle was getting stuffy in his suit, constantly tugging at his tied collar in a fruitless attempt to get some air circulating around his sweaty neck. He wanted the ceremony to be done with so that he could go home and strip. In fact, he wanted to have never gotten the fucking suit on in the first place. The only thing stopping him from leaving was the moment from earlier, out in the church courtyard. Much like last night, his and Eric's eyes had met from across a distance, and upon seeing that Kyle was there, Eric had smiled. He really did want him there, the fucking bastard, so there Kyle had to be.
What was worsening Kyle's mood was that, all done up in his best suit for his special day, Eric looked unfairly handsome, much more so than usual. It made Kyle's heart ache all the more, to think that he wouldn't be the one waking up to such handsomeness every day. How he envied Luke, who was taller than him with tamer hair and a smaller nose. Maybe it was just meant to be, that those two handsome people were to marry. Maybe Kyle would have been nothing put an eyesore next to Eric, and it was for the best that he wasn't going to get to be next to him…
"Have you sucked a lemon or something?" Stan whispered in his ear suddenly. As much as Kyle hated to admit it, Stan was right – his firm frown and furrowed brow was no face to be wearing at a wedding, even if it was one that he wished wasn't happening.
"It's just hot," Kyle shrugged, which was a half-truth. However, Stan – who could read Kyle better than anyone, sometimes better than Kyle could even read himself – guessed the other half.
"It's Cartman, isn't it?"
Kyle sighed. "Dude, just… Just don't. Okay? I don't want to talk about it."
"Alright," Stan acquiesced, holding his hands up in surrender and leaning away. Kyle was grateful that Stan wasn't a pusher. He didn't want to be pushed to talk. If he was, then he would break down into a raging rant about how much his life sucked in the pews, and then he would be sure to start swearing inside the church, and he did not want to get struck by lightning from above for doing so.
Finally, the wedding march started up, and Kyle felt that the almost morbid thrum of the organ suitably matched his mood as he watched Eric walk down the aisle after Luke, with Liane holding his arm, gripping it almost possessively like she didn't want to let go when they reached the altar. Kyle was tempted to jump up and grab Eric's other arm, so that, together, he and Liane could drag Eric away and keep him for themselves. As it was, he stayed sat stiffly in his seat, and considered which store to drive to on his way home, because he was going to need a lot of alcohol once the ceremony – and his life with it – was over.
It turned out to be the longest wedding that Kyle had ever attended. It really dragged on. The priest seemed to love the sound of his own voice, and talking about how the Holy Ghost was watching them. Kyle didn't know about anybody else, but if he was getting married, he didn't think that he would want to be told for ten minutes straight that some strange spirit was spying on him and his partner. Maybe that was why Eric was looking so apprehensive.
Even from several rows of pews away, Kyle could see an unrest swirling in those golden-brown eyes. It could have just as easily been wedding jitters, Kyle didn't know, but seeing Eric so unsettled filled him with a burning need to go and stand beside him and place a reassuring hand on his and tell him that it was okay – to look after him. He quickly shook his head of that though. Looking after Eric was Luke's job now. Kyle had had his chance, and blown it.
At last, after what had felt like an age, the priest turned to Luke to ask, "Do you, Luke Reynolds, take Eric Cartman to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honour him, protect him, and, forsaking all others, keep only onto him, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," Luke promised, smiling and squeezing Eric's hands tighter. Kyle saw that Eric tried to smile back, but it was just a quick twitch of his lips, and then he was frowning again, looking down at their hands with what seemed to be… uncertainty, if Kyle was not mistaken. Eric jerked his head up, almost seeming surprised, when the priest turned to him to speak.
"Do you, Eric Cartman, take Luke Reynolds to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honour him, protect him, and, forsaking all others, keep only onto him, for as long as you both shall live?" As the priest finished speaking, all eyes were on Eric. Bated breaths hung in throats as they waited for those timeless words of tradition to pass his lips, sealing the union once and for all.
"I… I-I… I, uh…" Eric stuttered, looking from the priest's expectant face to Luke's eager one. His mouth opened and closed, but the words everybody was waiting to hear didn't come out. Hushed murmuring started up all around as people supposed that nerves were to blame. But then Eric looked away from his groom and the priest, to the pews, and Kyle's heart and hopes rose when their eyes met.
"Do you, Eric Cartman," the priest repeated, urging Eric to jerk back into the present and face forward again, "take Luke Reynolds to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him-"
"I…" Eric cut across the priest, his belated utterance spurring silence. Everything quietened, nobody spoke, and Kyle daren't even so much as breathe, especially when Eric looked over at him once more. Kyle returned the look, determined not to break their eye contact in the same way he had broken them, determined for Eric to see that he was still hanging onto hope like the fool in love that he was. Perhaps it would convince Eric to trust to Kyle with another chance.
In time, Eric looked ahead again, and as he did, the uncertainty was gone from him. Kyle could see it then – his choice was made.
"I don't."
Except for Kyle and Eric, everyone in the church gasped as one. Some clasped their hands to their mouths, watching on in horror and disbelief, as though Eric had just set fire to a basket of kittens. Luke wore a face like Eric had just kicked him in the balls. Metaphorically, he kind of had.
"…What?" he murmured. "Eric, what are you-?"
"I don't," Eric repeated, pulling his hands out of Luke's. "Listen, you'll make some guy very happy one day. But that day isn't today, and that guy isn't me."
Yet again, Eric looked back to Kyle, smiling with relief at his new-found assuredness, and people turned in the pews to follow his gaze. Maybe Kyle should have felt embarrassed to be the centre of attention, ashamed to be part of the calling-off of a marriage, but with Eric smiling at him like that, he could only feel elated, his heart all but dancing in his chest.
"I already found my happiness," Eric murmured wistfully, "a long time ago." To a chorus of further gasps, Eric then slid his engagement ring off of his finger, and pushed it into Luke's hand. "Sorry, but I can't marry you. You've been cool and all, but… you're just not the one I love."
Kyle might have felt sorry for Luke, had Luke's loss not meant Kyle's gain. Luke sobbed, giving Eric an aghast stare as he shook his head in disbelief, taking a step back. Eric didn't seem to be wavering in his sympathies though, or lack thereof. Even through his blurred vision, Luke could see that, and not a moment later, he turned and fled out of the church. His mother and father got up from the pews to chase after him, but not before first giving Eric the dirtiest and deadliest of looks. After the quick clapping of running feet against cobbles had passed, silence hung, until it was broken by Stan.
"Dude," he said, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. Kyle himself was unable to believe that he had caused it – he had never thought that he would be the sort of guy to do that. But there he was. He was essentially a home-wrecker, and fuck was he smug about it.
Eric was still standing alone by the altar, but he was looking at Kyle in a way which seemed to beckon him forward. Kyle got up from his seat, and went willingly towards him. His very own rendition of the wedding march was not the hum of an organ, but instead the mutterings and murmurings of the people in the pews, eyeing his every step to Eric. Kyle wasn't usually a crier, but there were tears welling in his eyes as he walked up the aisle to be beside Eric, as he hoped to be for the rest of his days. Eric smiled as he approached, and held out his hand in offering, which Kyle took without needing to think twice about it.
"What made you change your mind?" he asked, and Eric smiled wider and shook his head exasperatedly, as though he thought that the answer should have been obvious.
"You," he said. "It's always been you." He smirked as he added, "Plus, FYI, Luke's mom is a total bitch. I don't want a monster-in-law."
Kyle laughed, half-exasperated, half-ecstatic. "Eric, you call my mom a bitch."
"Yeah, but at least she can cook," Eric shrugged. "And, y'know, she made you. So she's not all bad." Kyle smiled gratefully at such sweet words, having missed hearing them in that voice, and felt something wet streak down his cheek. Eric laughed lightly as he chased the stray tear and wiped it away with his thumb. "Shit, you're actually crying? What's gotten into you?"
Kyle placed his hand over Eric's, holding it there against his cheek, and nuzzled his face into the palm of it, savouring the soft warmth he had missed. "You," he said. "It's always been you."
At those words, Eric's smile broke into a full, toothy grin, and his eyes were looking a little less than dry too as he leant down to press his lips against Kyle's. Their union didn't get the applause that Luke and Eric's would have from the onlookers, but Kyle couldn't care less. He didn't need anyone else's approval or congratulations. He just needed what was right, and that was to be with Eric, from then onwards, for as long as they both would live, 'til death did them part.
Author's Notes:
I originally wrote this back in the Spring, for my friend shortstackedcheesecake's birthday, because she told me that she wanted to see a fic where Kyle stops Eric from getting married. I disliked this fic back then, so I wasn't keen on sharing it. Now though, after some time and a few re-reads, I like it better, so I have decided to publish it here with my other fics. I think that I didn't like it at first because it frustrated me; shortstackedcheesecake wrote a fantastic fic for my birthday, but I couldn't seem to do the same and return her kindness with the fic that she deserved. I probably stressed myself out striving too hard for a perfection which I would never achieve. I realise now that this is the best that I can do, and it is good enough. I hope that you agree, Friend.
Thank you for reading this, and I hope you liked doing so as much as I liked writing it.
Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.