alrighty then. third chapter. this is my first yaoi fanfic, and I hope it isn't too bad. please rate/reveiw, all that jazz (that jazz!) (sorry. had a Chicago moment.)
I slammed the door to my room, pressing my back against it and ignoring the way I shook when my mother slammed her fist against the door, demanding that I tell her why I came home red faced and flustered. I yanked off my hat, my red curls falling down around my face. After a while my mother had long given up on getting a response from me. I was planning to sleep early, to try to escape from this world for a few hours if possible. I had just tossed back the covers when I heard a rather timid knock on my door. I glanced at my alarm clock. 6:15… "who is it?" I asked flatly, getting underneath the covers. "it's me, Stan." His calm yet concerned voice called, pleading silently to be allowed access. "come in dude." I sighed. He opened the door slowly, his deep blue eyes trained on me immediately. "you alright, dude?" he asked, closing the door behind him. I didn't answer him, simply rolled over so that I was facing my window instead of my best friend. "what happened?" he asked thoughtfully, before anger overtook him. "what did Cartman do now?" he snarled. "he didn't do anything. That's the problem." I said, trying to erase the way Eric's deep brown eyes looked when I rejected his offer of hanging out. "eh?" Stan asked, obviously and rightly confused. "he just wanted to hang out, I guess." I sighed. Stan spent all afternoon trying to cheer me up. He had to head home when it started to get dark and I waved him good bye at the door, feigning a smile for him. Then I returned to my room and sulked until I fell asleep.
"where's Cartman?" I asked, meeting up with Stan and Kenny at the bus stop. "I don't know. Guess he's not coming today." Kenny said, pulling his parka down from over his lips so that we could hear him clearly. Kenny hated the cold and usually bundled up a shit ton. I guessed it was because he was used to how warm it was in hell. Before long, the bus pulled up. Kenny was the first on, then Stan. I had placed one foot on the metallic steps before the nagging feeling in my chest came flying at me. "um you know what? I'm not feeling too well. I think I'm going to go home." I said, nodding apologetically at the bus driver, who sneered, rolling her eyes. "oh. Okay. See ya dude. I hope you feel better." Stan said, obviously seeing that I wasn't sick, but not being one to ruin something for his friend. I stepped back as the bus drove on. I turned and started walking towards Cartman's house.
I stood at the front door of the Cartman residence, my fist suspended in the air in front of the door. I had been here for almost five minutes, not being able to bring myself to knock yet. I took a deep breath. Why am I so nervous? I kept picturing the faraway look on his face as he sat on his window sill. I coughed, trying to erase the blushing burn on my face. I knocked a few times. "Goddamn it! Who the fuck is it?" I heard the rude lard ass yell from inside as he made his way to the door. "yeah? Oh. It's you." He said calmly as he opened the door, so apparently his mother wasn't home. He regarded me apathetically, which hurt a bit. This wasn't our usual hatred. This was… indifference. And it made me panic. "wanna hang out?" I blurted, blushing as I registered my own words. He raised an eyebrow at me. Silence fell between us, he still hadn't invited me inside, and I still hadn't made a move to come inside. "do you want to hang out? We could play that game. Or you know." I stammered slightly. Why was I so fucking nervous all of a sudden? He didn't say anything, simply opened the door wider, a silent "come in".
"so… what do you wanna do?" I asked, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room as he sat at his computer. "why did you come here?" he asked suddenly. His voice made me jump. It was so different from when we were kids. It had developed from that high, nasally noise to something deep and almost refined. "I came to hang out." I said, though I didn't really know why I had come. I was supposed to hate Cartman. Not care about what he feels. But here I was, hoping he wasn't mad at me. The glare he threw me stopped my thoughts dead. "do you love anyone, Kyle?" he asked suddenly. What was up with him? He wasn't making jew jokes, or trying to piss me off. He seemed like something was really bothering him. "I… I um…" I stammered, that question throwing me off completely. Did I? I hadn't put much thought into this since the time Bebe was convinced she was in love with me because of my… ahem… cute butt. And that was back in the first grade… "I… I love my little brother. And my mom and dad." I said truthfully, yet knowing that wasn't what he meant. He glowered at me and I gulped, his chocolate eyes making my brain go stupid. "no I don't think I do. Not in that way." I confessed, and finally he tore his eyes from me, looking out of the window again, still sitting at the desk in front of his computer. My eyes trained on the cigarette burns on his wrists and forearms and I cringed again. Something about knowing that they were self-inflicted really bothered me. "c'mon Cartman. Let's play that game."
He led me downstairs and into the living room. He pressed a few buttons on the television remote, reached down and pressed the large 'on' button on his X-cube and plopped himself on thecouch next to me, handing me the white controller, holding his own black one in his hands. We had been playing for almost thirty minutes when suddenly a loud gurgle echoed throughout the room. I blinked in confusion a few times, having paused the game to make sure the sound hadn't originated from that. I turned to Cartman, whose face was cherry red, just as another stomach growl resounded through the room. I giggled a little, watching his face go redder. "shut up, jew-rat! My mom didn't make breakfast before she left!" he growled. I stifled my giggling, smiling at him sweetly instead. He made this face, it wasn't one of hatred or discuss, and he seemed to some how get even redder, before he looked away from me, covering his mouth and mumbling something about making lunch for us.