Kyle rolls over in his bed, bleary and groggy after two straight days of studying. His phone has been buzzing insistently on his bedside table, and though it woke him up at least an hour ago he's been trying to ignore it. He knows it's probably not that important anyways, and he'd only gotten to bed as the sun was rising, he figures he deserves a little sleep.
Now, though, the racket of his phone is becoming unbearable. Head pounding ever slightly, he reaches for his phone and opens one sleepsand-crusted eye to stare at the screen.
CARTMAN 1hr ago
wake up i need 2 talk 2 you
CARTMAN 1hr ago
fucking jew wake up you fucking dick
CARTMAN40m ago
i stg you fucking fuck
CARTMAN 35m ago
MISSED CALL
CARTMAN 35m ago
MISSED CALL
CARTMAN 30m ago
MISSED CALL
CARTMAN 30m ago
why the fuck am i dating you
CARTMAN 35m ago
MISSED CALL
Kyle, unperturbed by the nature of the messages, scrolls all the way back to the beginning of notifications on his screen and then all the way back to the most recent:
CARTMAN 2m ago
fucking serious kyle i need 2 talk!
Sighing and sinking back into the comfort of his bed, he slides one of the missed call notifications and waits as the phone rings. It barely got through a second trill before there's a heavy breath in his ear. "Cartman," Kyle croaks, voice bogged down by sleep. "What the fuck do you want?"
Though Kyle had been expecting a lecture and the usual unfounded anger on Cartman's part—it's barely noon, wasn't as though Kyle had slept in that late—his boyfriend is suspiciously calm.
"It's so good to finally hear from you, Jew."
Kyle rubs at his eyes with his hand. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, what do you want?" He asks again, emphasis on the last word with as much force as he can muster.
"I have something very important to tell you, Kyle, and I need you to listen very, very carefully." Cartman speaks slowly, deliberately, a faux innocence lacing his tone. Kyle doesn't feel awake enough to deal with this bullshit, but there's a fondness in his chest that keeps him from hanging up. "Are you listening, Kahl?" Cartman draws out Kyle's name, as he so loves to do, and Kyle can easily hear the way Cartman's mouth is split into a shit-eating grin.
"Sure, fatass," Kyle mocks and delights in Cartman's grunt of irritation, "I'm all ears," he assures with saccharine sweetness in his voice. "Lay it on me."
Cartman takes a deep breath over the phone, and falls silent. His breath is quiet and switches between even and slow, then fast and sporadic. Kyle waits. The cycle repeats a few times before Cartman speaks again. "Kyle Broflovski…" He trails off again.
"Yes?"
"Shut up," Cartman snaps. Another deep breath, another drawn out exhale: "Kyle Broflovski, I. I—" Cartman's voice shakes and Kyle sits up in bed, holding the phone closer to his ear. Cartman continues what sounds like practiced breathing and carries on. "Kyle, I lo—fuck why is this so hard?" His laugh is just as shaky and his voice even cracks a bit.
Kyle, heart hammering in his chest and butterflies rioting in his gut, doesn't say a word. This is their moment, but it's mostly Cartman's moment, and he won't mess that up.
Cartman starts over, speaking each word like its own sentence, punctuated and forceful. He speaks as though he has to get the words out as clearly and strongly as possible. Kyle, heart feeling as though it's thundering in his chest, opens his mouth ready to reply before Cartman has even finished—
"Kyle Broflovski, I. Love."—when Kyle's ears are assaulted by something loud, obnoxious, and definitely not Cartman's voice—"JOHN CENA!"