Random and slightly pointless introduction: I'm sorry I'm terrible at updating. I'll try to be better but no promises.

I walked down the stairs after about forty-five minutes of staring at the guest room in awe. The walls were white, and all of the objects in the room were black. Including the fucking flat screen TV. Jesus Christ, that Cartman was rich. There was a computer in the room, too. And a bathroom. With the biggest bathtub I have ever seen. Damn, he's rich.

When I got downstairs, it took me a minute to find the kitchen. It was the only colorful part of the house. The rest of it was all black and white, like my room, and completely spotless. The kitchen had sunny yellow walls, orange trim, and dark red tile. The counters were off-white, and the cupboards were lime green. The only thing that matched the rest of the house was the black fridge.

Of course, the thing in the kitchen I found the most weird was Cartman himself. He had a rag slung over his shoulder while he cooked eggs and bacon and pancakes. He didn't notice me for a minute, but when he did, I only got more confused. "Hey, Stan," he greeted with a freaking smile. "Hope you don't mind having breakfast for dinner."

"Not at all, dude..." I said slowly. "Why don't you have a cook do this?"

Cartman shrugged. "A cook would be here a lot. I'm not fond of people."

"Fair enough," I said, staring at him.

"Plus, I like cooking. It mellows me out," he replied, glancing at me with a grin.

"I can see that," I chuckled.

"So remind me, why didn't you stay at Ken's place? Isn't he your new best friend or something?" he asked.

"I don't have a new best friend. No one can replace Kyle," I said, a little too sharply.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Stan. Sorry." Cartman rolled his eyes.

"I didn't stay at his place, because he insisted on trying to force me to talk about what happened with Kyle, and I just... I can't deal with that shit right now. Wendy keeps trying to get me to talk about it with her, and I just needed to get away from that. I'm tired of it." I surprised myself with my honestly, but I guess I had nothing to lose.

"Wendy's a bitch. No offense."

"None taken, she is," I laughed, sitting down on stool by the counter. It felt weird talking to Cartman about all of this, but it's not like I had anyone else at this point.

"Not to be pushy or anything, but seriously, what actually happened? No one really filled me in on all of this," he said, almost bitterly.

"Well, Wendy slept with Kyle."

"Yeah, I got that. How did Kyle die again?"

I got a bit tense at that. "Alcohol mixed with pills."

"Was it a suicide or not? I've heard both, so..."

My throat started to close with guilty nervousness. "No one knows."

"And what did him dying have to do with Wendy?"

"Look, maybe I should just go, there's probably room at Clyde's..." I said, getting up. "You don't want my here anyway..."

"Sorry, too many questions, I got it," Cartman said with an apologetic smile. "And, um, it's not that I don't, um, want you here... I'm just not used to having company..."

I gave a little chuckle and there was a short and slightly awkward silence. I was tempted to ask if he had any alcohol, but I felt too weird. This whole situation was just really, really weird.

"So how do you like your eggs?" he asked.

I smiled. "Scrambled with a ridiculous amount of butter."

We actually had a fairly nice time. Cartman and I always got along fine when Kenny and Kyle weren't around. As I fell asleep in his ridiculous guest room, I almost wondered how Wendy was before I stopped myself, telling myself over and over again that I didn't care how she was. I thought maybe if I told myself enough times, it would become true.