They were in homeroom when the unthinkable happened.

It was a typical late November morning. Frost bit the windows which stung cold to the touch, and the air was bitter with an icy chill. The students of South Park High were melancholy, despite the upcoming holiday, grumbling and groaning about how they wished to be warm back in their beds. All except Butters Stotch, of course, who seemed to embody the very spirit of the season. Merry and festive, he was smiling wide – as was the jolly snowman on his knitted sweater – as he went up to his friend's desk to greet him.

"Good morning, Eric!"

"Shut up, Butters." Cartman already seemed sour after sitting through a freezing homeroom, and his mood only worsened as he was subjected to Butters' burst of cheer, sneering as though he didn't believe a morning could be good, and he believed his friend was not just an idiot, but an abomination, for thinking otherwise.

"Don't be like that, Eric!" Butters laughed, none too bothered by Cartman's rudeness, all too used to it by now. "You should be happy! Why, Christmas is coming! Your favourite time of year! Speaking of which…" Butters held up a clipboard he had been carrying underarm, which had tinsel cello-taped to it. Numerous names lined the paper, with boxes beside, which had ticks or crosses through. The box beside Cartman's name was empty, though not for long. "You're joining the committee again this year, right, Eric?" Butters asked, more of a statement than a question, already ticking Cartman off on the clipboard. He was asking more as a formality than anything.

Cartman joined the committee every year. Heck, he was practically the face of the committee, nominated chairman for the past three years in a row. Mostly because people were afraid what would happen to them if they dared oppose his authority, sure, but also partly because his leadership was actually, surprisingly half-decent. Despite his infamous feats which were truly too unforgettable.

Just last year, he had ordered an assembly and revealed the latest budget buster: some specially-commissioned Christmas Cannons, with which he had then proceeded to shoot baubles and candy canes and ginger-bread men out of, into the unsuspecting crowd. The cannons had had quite a kick to them. Dozens were bruised. A couple of kids lost their teeth. One kid got hit in the eye and taken to the hospital, and had to wear an eyepatch for three days afterwards (Poor Ashley Warrens). Yes, definitely unforgettable. (Unless one of the baubles happened to have hit you on the temple, knocked you out, and given you a concussion resulting in memory loss. Poor Billy Turner.)

The year before that, he had asked the local rancher from the farm just outside of town to bring in actual, live reindeer, saddled them with bells, and then proceeded to set them loose in the school to roam around the halls. The poor reindeer, of course, had panicked, and several students were consequently trampled. One, to death. (Poor Sarah Marcy, may she rest in peace.) For several weeks afterwards, the sound of bells would trigger those who had been present into a post-traumatic fit, and the song Rudolph The Red-nosed Reindeer was banned from being played on the school radio after one of its broadcasts inciting a frenzy of screaming and crying just two days following the event. Really unforgettable.

The year before that, no one talked about. Unfortunately unforgettable. Needless to say, Cartman had very much mellowed out over the years (and thank god, for even their school shootings caused less chaos and casualty than that infamous event).

However, Cartman had not only incurred countless costs with his budget-pushing and injury-causing. He had also directed the critically acclaimed play Bethlehem on Broadway: A Nativity Story, for which he had written such catchy hits as An Angel Prophesies A Dicking, Cucked by God, Looking Upon Jesus: A Donkey's Perspective, and Dude, Where's My Star. He had organised a school-wide petition and lunchroom protest which ordered the cafeteria to actually serve some decent fucking food the week before Christmas break instead of the usual garbage. And he had fronted the successes of the Carol Chorus Spectacularé, the Christmas Jumper Contest, the Santa Sack Race, the Great Gift Exchange, the Candy-Cane Gram, and all other committee activities which had made the newspaper. He was a wild card, but by god, he was just crazy enough to work. A local legend, without whom the school's Christmas celebrations would not be the same. The students looked forward to his ideas just as much as they dreaded them. It was thrilling for all.

It was why there was a great, shocked series of gasps when Cartman sighed, shook his head, and said, "No, Butters. Not this year."

"What?!" Butters echoed the thoughts of everyone else, his voice reaching an unholy volume, his pitch piercing. He clutched the clipboard close, as if it could comfort him, as if it was the only thing he could trust anymore not to lie to him in this cruel world. "Not joining the Christmas Committee?! Buh-buh, but! But why?! You always join, Eric! You, you've never missed a year, not one!"

As they waited for an answer, an explanation, a gotcha, every eye was on Cartman, and nobody made a sound. The room was on the edge of a knife fit for carving turkeys, waiting with greater anticipation than a child hoping to see Santa come down their chimney. Their wait was in vain, though, as Cartman simply looked down at his hands, balled on his desk, as though upset that they could not give the answers they so craved. He clenched them tight, just once, before getting up from his seat with a resounding screech of chair legs against floor, as though his exit was being protested. He hefted his backpack over his shoulder, and turned to face Butters, and there was no light, no twinkle of a promising star, in the depths of his dark eyes, to beguile and guide desperate, weary fellows to salvation with.

"I just can't," he said, as though he wished he didn't have to, as though he wished he could say more, as though he wished he could say less. And then he left.

Remarkably, as soon as he had gone, everything from the windows to the air became suddenly, strangely warmer; and it probably had something to do with the way the room immediately erupted into a flurry of heated gossip.

So galluminous was the gossip, it reached Kyle by the end of first period, even with him being a person who did not keep up with such a thing. Perhaps it was because he was Cartman's boyfriend now, as of eight months ago, and so people somehow felt that he had a right to know, that he needed to know. As if Cartman had been in a terrible accident, and someone had to break the bad news to his new, soon-to-be-grieving widow.

"We're very sorry, Mr Broflovski, but we're afraid your partner has… refused to join the Christmas Committee this year."

"…What?" Kyle asked when he first heard, not quite sure if he should care, not quite sure if that made him a dick.

"Eric," Butters sniffed. His face was red and his eyes were blotchy, as if he'd been crying in the bathroom. The piece of toilet paper stuck unnoticed to the bottom of his shoe just solidified that image. "He said he's-… th-that's he's not joining the Christmas Committee. I just-… I, I can't believe it! It ain't like him at all! Somethin' must be plum wrong with him!"

"I don't know," Kyle shrugged, as though trying to roll the issue off his shoulders, deciding he was too Jewish for this. "Maybe he just didn't want to do it this year. Maybe he's grown out of Christmas."

"Kyle Broflovski, do you hear yourself?!" Butters cried with more passion than Kyle deemed necessary, startling him into taking a step back and holding his hands up in surrender. "Eric Cartman, grow out of Christmas?! Hooey! Why, he loves Christmas more than anybody! I'm tellin' ya, something ain't right. You gotta talk to him about it."

"Why me?" Kyle sighed, covering half of his weary face with the palm of his hand, because yes, he had signed up for Cartman, but not all of Cartman. Just the parts that didn't inconvenience him. This wasn't in his dating description. Unless he'd missed the fine-print, that is.

"Because you're his boyfriend," Butters reasoned, and boy, did Kyle sure wish people would stop pulling that card out on him. "Maybe he'll talk to you? He won't talk to me, Kyle, I already tried. Please try and get him to change his mind. I really think he wants to, but somethin's stopping him."

Kyle lowered his hand so Butters could see him raise a sceptical eyebrow. "And what makes you think that?"

In response to Kyle's expression, Butters straightened his shoulders and schooled his face into a look of severity. "I know you think I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, Kyle," he began, and acknowledging his absurdity actually made Kyle pay more attention as he continued, "but you didn' see his face when he told me. He looked so sad. Like it hurt him to say no."

Hearing that made Kyle reconsider his scepticism.

"…Really?"

"Really," Butters nodded, and Kyle looked away into his locker to think things over.

He didn't give too much of a crap about Christmas, and he didn't want to get too involved in anything to do with it; but if his boyfriend was sad, that was definitely his business. Even if it ended up being something stupid, he decided he had to know what Cartman was apparently so upset about. That was in his dating description.

"Okay," he finally agreed with a nod, "I'll try and talk to him."

"Thank you, Kyle!" Butters threw himself on Kyle, hugging him as though he had just saved Whoville from the Grinch. Kyle sighed, knowing he probably hadn't saved himself from any trouble.

Kyle had to admit, Butters may have been onto something. When he met up with Cartman at recess, he definitely seemed to have dimmed. He tried to smile when he saw Kyle, but it was weak and didn't reach his eyes. And out of the corner of Kyle's eye, when Cartman thought he couldn't see, he'd just stare at the floor and heave deep sighs. He looked like Christmas had been cancelled. An interrogation was definitely called for. There wasn't enough time there and then, though. Plus, confrontations with Cartman usually became way too dramatic to not be behind closed doors.

Like two weeks ago, at Cartman's house, when Kyle had simply asked him to please fucking remember to put more toilet paper in his bathroom if he'd used it all up (after an awkward trip to the toilet where Kyle had been forced to call for Liane's help through the door). Cartman had not taken it well. He had screeched, "God, stop criticising me, I'm doing my best!" then jumped up from the couch, ran to his bedroom wailing, and locked himself in there brooding for twenty minutes before he accepted that Kyle had given up trying to coerce him out eighteen minutes ago (and gone to use his Netflix instead). At which point, Cartman had emerged in the most dramatic bathrobe he owned, and stared snidely at Kyle's back for the rest of the evening, only to look abruptly away and pretend he didn't exist whenever Kyle looked at him or asked him to please stop calling their friends to tell them how mean his boyfriend was when he was sitting right there on the couch next to him.

Kyle did not want a similar situation to happen right in the middle of school if the subject he wanted to broach proved too sensitive for Cartman to handle. So, he invited him to his house after school and decided to deal with it there.

"So it's science homework you wanna do, right?" Cartman clarified as they settled down on Kyle's bed, and that in itself was worrying enough. Usually when Kyle tried to propose study sessions, Cartman would try to distract Kyle with making out for five minutes first, throw a tantrum for ten minutes when it hadn't work and Kyle had still somehow managed to remember that his boyfriend's mouth wasn't the only thing that existed in the world (and certainly wouldn't get him into college, either), and finally give in at the promise of blowing each other after they'd finished their homework. This immediate acceptance, with no complaints or wagers or bargains involved, was strange and disconcerting.

"Yeah," Kyle said slowly, trying to trek this foreign situation with care, "we have that last assignment before the break. I wanna make sure you're on track."

"Sure," Cartman said, with no immature comments about Kyle being boring, no stupid jokes about him being Such A Mom, no arrogant claims that he was definitely more than just on track, thank you very much and hold the applause. He just opened his textbook and got to it.

Butters was right that this really wasn't right. Something was definitely wrong. Kyle couldn't figure out how to broach the subject, though, without sending Cartman into hysterics. This was his house, after all, and he didn't know if his parents would tolerate a meltdown as much as Liane. He needed to find the perfect way to talk about it, but it was difficult to do. He was so caught up in it, he couldn't even pretend to read the textbook in his lap. In fact, it wasn't until Cartman looked up at him and raised his eyebrow like there was something wrong with his face that Kyle realised he'd just been staring straight at him for the past few minutes.

"What?" Cartman challenged.

Maybe it would have been easier to brush it off, duck his head, and pretend nothing was up. Maybe they would move on from it and things would be fine. Maybe it wasn't even an issue and Kyle was worrying too much as usual. But Kyle never had been about taking the easy way. And he wasn't about to drop it if there was honest-to-god actually something seriously wrong with Cartman. So he sacrificed tact for straightforwardness, as was his way.

"What's up with you not joining the Christmas Committee?"

Cartman's face creased at the mere mention of it. He lowered his head, his eyes, his voice.

"Oh. Heard that through the grapevine, did you?"

"Yes. Everybody's talking about it." Kyle would have thought Cartman would be delighted to hear that he was the talk of the school. Ordinarily, he would. He thrived on gossip, scandal, and attention. Yet, hearing this news, he furrowed his brow and threw his head back with a scoff, as if the whole thing was an inconvenience.

"Why? Is it a crime not to join?"

"No, but it doesn't make sense." Kyle slapped his textbook shut, because now they were really getting into it. "Cartman, you love the Christmas Committee. Everybody knows you do. It's all you talk about after Halloween's over. Planning the school Christmas events is your favourite thing. What's happened to make you suddenly not want to join?"

Cartman seemed to realise that Kyle had called him out pretty well, because he hunched, then, his head hiding between his shoulders, and looked off to the side, trying to avoid Kyle's inquisitive stare. He paused for a minute, as if trying to come up with something, but in the end, he didn't. Whether he couldn't lie anymore, or just didn't want to, Kyle was grateful either way.

"It's not like I don't want to join…" he admitted in a mutter, as if hoping not to be heard.

"Then why won't you?" Kyle pressed. "The committee wants you on it. Everybody loves your ideas."

Kyle could tell Cartman was tense when he was fussing with the corners of his textbook, making them more dog-eared, folding them up and down and back again. He looked at the floor like he was hoping something interesting would appear there, and then he could shout, "Whoa, look at that!" and Kyle would look, and it would be amazing, and they would say, "It's a Christmas miracle," and then they'd meet each other's eyes and smile at how wonderful the world was and fuck on the bed and forget everything.

Honestly, it sounded like a pretty appealing option.

Unfortunately, nothing seemed to appear, because Cartman finally gave up and looked Kyle in the eyes. Damn it, there went the fucking option. Cartman picked at the fluff on Kyle's bedspread and huffed several times while trying to find the right words.

"I know, but… but it's just… I can't be a part of that while…"

"…While what?" Kyle asked gently, genuinely intrigued. How could something be this hard to say?

"Well…" Cartman looked down again, as though asking himself if he should say what he was going to say, and then decided fuck it and looked up again. "While I'm dating you."

For a moment, there was a silence, so quiet that one would have been able to hear the sound of distant bells jingling in the night sky with the passing of an elusive enchanted sleigh, and then...

"What?!" Okay, Kyle hadn't given a crap before. But that was before he knew it was about him. Now, he was fucking invested. And also angry, because fuck, why did everything have to be his fault? "Why not?! What have I got to do with it?!"

"Well, because… You know." Cartman's eyes flitted, looked Kyle pointedly up and down, as if he'd get it. He didn't. Cartman huffed at his supposedly smart boyfriend's density and clarified. "You're Jewish."

Anger quelled as confusion took its place, and then grim resignation. Kyle raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, because Cartman had lost him, but he wasn't sure he'd like it if he was found. He considered just dropping the subject, then and there, before Cartman made him regret recent decisions, such as the one to date him. But, Kyle reasoned, relationships were about communication, so he could at least hear Cartman out before he decided he was an idiot. Although, he definitely was one anyway.

"Where are you going with this?"

Cartman wrung his hands together nervously, as though even he wasn't sure he wasn't being an idiot, and wow, self-awareness sure didn't suit him. Kyle thought he could get used to it, though. It was kind of nice that Cartman was thinking about what he said before he said it now. Sure, the things he decided to say were still stupid and awful regardless, but at least he did think about them first. Kyle would cherish the small victories.

"I figured…" Cartman began, deliberately slow, as if he thought that if he took too long to answer then Kyle wouldn't want to hear it anymore and he wouldn't have to say it, "…doing Christmas stuff when I've got a Jewish boyfriend must be, like… insulting or something. Like, having a boyfriend who's on the Christmas Committee may ruin your Jewish street-cred, or something. And maybe…" He shrunk in on himself as his voice became quieter, so much so that Kyle had to lean forward slightly to make out the last part. "…Maybe you wouldn't like me anymore… Or something…"

Kyle waited a moment to make sure there was nothing else, and then slowly, he leaned back, straightened his shoulders, and fixed Cartman with The Look. Yeah, you know the one.

"…Really?"

Cartman snapped out of his meek state, affronted by Kyle's condescending tone. "What?! Don't look at me like that! You wanted to know why I'm not joining, and that's why. Excuse me for trying to be considerate!" With an over-dramatic harrumph, he crossed his arms, too, and closed his eyes, blinding himself from Kyle's bullshit, as he turned his head up like a child, his purposeful frown rumpling his chubby chin.

Kyle looked unimpressed for a minute more, and then he couldn't help it anymore. He burst out laughing. Because, really. Really?

"Cartman, that's ridiculous! I don't care about you being on the committee. It doesn't affect me at all."

Cartman dropped his angered façade, dropping his head and his shoulders, his eyes widening as they returned to Kyle's, as if he didn't think it was possible for Kyle to not care, why wouldn't he care, and it was altogether kind of cute and devastating that this was Kyle's boyfriend, this hopeless fool, and even more devastating that he thought this was cute now, this lack of any common sense or reasoning skills or general intellect.

"Really?" Cartman had to make sure, "Even though you're a Jew?" He sat tentative then, his arms uncrossed, his hands clasped one on top of the other, worrying over each other, and it was so ridiculous for him to be worried about this – because this was stupid, and this was Cartman, and he was stupid – that Kyle almost wanted to laugh all over again. As it was, he just sighed, exasperated and exhausted and yet somehow endeared too.

"Being a Jew's got nothing to do with it, but sure, even though I'm a Jew. If I really had problems with Christmas do you think I'd have gone on you guys' Christmas adventures as kids? Do you think I would have stayed your friend when you joined the committee these past three years? This has never been an issue!"

"So then… it's okay if I join the committee? You won't break up with me over religious differences?"

"No! Of course not!" Kyle clasped Cartman's hands in his, because damn if their fidgeting wasn't getting annoying, and also because the boy seemed to need it. "I just want you to be happy, Cartman, and I know how happy being on the committee makes you. So you'd better call Butters right now and tell him to put your name down for it, okay?"

Slowly, and yet all at once, for the first time that day, Cartman broke into a smile. A real smile that flashed his teeth and dimpled his cheeks and twinkled his eyes and god, Kyle didn't realise how much he'd missed it before then.

"You're the best," Cartman announced.

"Around," Kyle sang, grinning mischievously, "nothing's ever gonna keep you down…"

"Shut up," Cartman chuckled softly, and leaned in to peck Kyle on the lips as if he couldn't help it, like a snowflake fated to fall to the ground. "Be right back," he said with a wink as he pulled away, picking up his phone and getting up from the bed, leaving the room to call Butters without disturbing Kyle trying to study. Being back to his normal, loud, obnoxious self, though, he just had to make a whole lot of annoying, nonsensical noise as he went. "I can't wait to tell Butters about my new idea! Get this: X-treme Snowball Fight! The X is for X-mas! It's gonna be so sweet. We gotta do it bare-handed, no pussying out with gloves. Frostbite or death! And people can load their snowballs with whatever! Acorns, nails, dog turds. Anything goes when it snows! That'll be the slogan when I put up the posters. There's so much to do! I have to call a meeting and consult the advertising team immediately. We need to get our artists on the job as soon as possible. I should probably call the printers too so that they…"

His words faded away the further he went, and Kyle sighed again and shook his head as soon as his boyfriend was out of ear- and eye-shot, throwing a hand to his face and then running it up through his hair, because god. He was so fucking dumb.

And then a soft smile couldn't help wobbling onto his face, because, thinking about it, it was actually really sweet how Cartman, ignorant and assumptive and misled as he had been, had put Kyle's feelings over his own. And wasn't caring about your loved ones what Christmas was supposed to be all about? So maybe his boyfriend's head was never in the right place; but sometimes, just sometimes, his heart was.

Author's Notes: [Aiming a shotgun at the crowd] I swear to Santa, the first person who says it's not Christmas anymore gets it! Yes, I'm posting a Christmas Fic on New Year's Eve! Fuck it, we're doing it live! ... Haha, nah, but in all seriousness, it wouldn't be me if I wasn't late. But better late than never. Or maybe never would have been better, because this is so bad, haha! It felt so weird to write, like I was using someone else's style. But it was still pretty fun!
I hope y'all can enjoy it. Especially shortstackedcheesecake, who I dedicate this to. It's not the Christmas fic you requested years ago, but I'm still working on that one. I'm making it harder than it needs to be so it's taking a while. Please be patient, and accept this as an apology and as a kind of compensation while you continue to wait!
To all my readers, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Or Happy Hanukkah if you're Jewish like our friend Kyle here! Or Happy Holidays if you celebrate something else! Or Delightful December if you celebrate nothing at all! Let's hope 2019 will be good. (It'll be the Year of the Pig, my Zodiac sign, so my fingers are crossed!) See you all on the other side!
Thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!