Love the reviews guys. Keep 'em comin'! I love feedback on my work, positive or negative I love it all.

All characters belong to Matt and Trey, I'm just borrowing them.

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Kyle couldn't get any work done. He'd sat staring at the white, digital sheet of paper on the powder blue background of Wordbook for an hour.

He knew precious little about Adolf Hitler, much less what he was trying to say in his book. All it seemed like was a bunch of babble about Social Democrats and the Jewish race, his people, were somehow connected to it all. It didn't make sense.

He wound his fingers under his hat, clutching his fiery curls. His trapper hat, upset by the fingers, fell off and hit the carpet. His eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of his head and start frying on the keyboard.

"Please, God just help me through this stinking paper…Cartman's got his half done and I haven't even started on mine. We still need to get together today…I really need a miracle here." Kyle prayed to the screen. He considered signing into IM to talk to Stan or Kenny (if the poor boy's dial-up allowed it).

No, that wouldn't accomplish anything but get him distracted and then he wouldn't get any work done at all. He laid his fingers on the keyboard, then removed them again. "I can't think of anything." He whispered.

Cartman was stalking in the back of his mind. Gay…he couldn't be gay. He kissed that one homeschooled girl when he was eight, right? Cartman started laughing in the back of his skull.

Eight?! That didn't count! Who was he fooling…when Stan had been drooling over Wendy for years, he had never even kissed someone. He hadn't ever gone on a date other than the ones his mom kept setting up. Those were intolerable.

Come to think of it, the only time he was ever comfortable was around his friends. He was always nervous around women. Even Kenny had pointed out that he treated them like colleagues more than love interests.

Kyle covered his face with his hands. "I can't be gay…I can't be gay." He chanted it like a mantra. Girls never did it for him. Masturbating his mother strictly curbed…Ike was beginning to get the bad end of that lesson. "Jesus Christ." Kyle groaned.

Maybe he was getting too distracted. Had he taken his insulin today? Not getting the shot made him irritable as hell.

"Kyle! One of your little friends is here!"

Kyle shot up in the chair, scrambling for his hat and jamming his mess of curls under it. Good. Talking with Stan more would help clear his head. He yelped and sat down in the chair as soon as he realized he was putting weight on his injured leg.

He hissed and grabbed it, groaning in pain. One hand grabbed his crutches, but he heard footsteps. Through the fog of pain, those footsteps sounded familiar. His ankle throbbed in response and Kyle frowned. Where had he heard those footsteps before?

The door opened.

"Hi Sta-" Kyle choked back his words when he saw Cartman standing there, arms across his barrel chest, eyes on the blank computer screen.

"Still haven't written anything, Kyle? I think this is the first time I've finished a project before you." Cartman said triumphantly.

"Shut up fatass." Kyle responded automatically, settling back in his chair. Was Cartman gay? He banished that thought. Cartman, who constantly ripped on every minority he heard about? It would be a divine stroke of irony if he was gay.

"I'm big boned Kahl." Cartman growled, walking over to Kyle and leaning on the armrest. The chair groaned slightly under the pressure. Kyle was mere inches away from Cartman.

Kyle's nostrils were filled with a scent he realized wasn't unpleasant. Just uniquely Cartman. Musky and strong, only smelling slightly of leftover pizza. Kenny always smelled like alcohol and mold…Stan was just Stan. Old Spice and locker room scent pretty much explained his super best friend.

Cartman's smell was complex. Kyle found himself unconsciously inhaling that scent, trying to analyze it.

"Kyle. Why are you smelling my sweater." It was more a statement than a question. That flat, suspicious tone in Cartman's voice put Kyle on edge.

"I'm not, fatass! Why the hell do I want to smell bad Cheesy Poofs and your mom's perfume?" Kyle snarled.

"I don't know Kyle. Why don't you tell me?" Cartman leaned his face in close to Kyle's. Their noses were almost touching. Kyle's eyes scanned the face looming in front of him. He hadn't realized Cartman had such beautiful eyes. Like chocolate, with little flecks of gold around the rims that almost made them hazel.

"You still haven't written anything. I'll present it Kyle…I know it would be ironic and disgusting to have a Jew read the Fuhrer's work out loud." Cartman said, but his eyes were still locked on Kyle's.

Kyle looked away, clearing his throat and frowning. "Yeah." He said, turning back to the computer screen. Cartman tilted his head up to look at the computer. "Mine left off when he was explaining about his time in Vienna. Seeing the poor people all starving and whoring themselves off while the Jews made money. I think Kenny should be able to relate to that. Poor piece of crap." Cartman smirked.

Kyle sighed and closed his eyes, then opened them and began to type. He was surprised at himself. A few minutes ago he had writer's block, and now that Cartman was here his fingers were flying across the keyboard? The words came to him easily with Cartman there, leaning over the chair, his chest lightly touching the backrest. His lips were so close to his ear he could feel Cartman every time he breathed.

Slow, steady. Cartman's heart wasn't racing like his was. Perhaps he didn't feel the same way…or he had a better way of masking it.

"So why did you come over here? I have a phone…you could have just called me and told me you were going to present it and all I had to write was this two page paper." Kyle said, looking over at Cartman. An unreadable expression passed along Cartman's features.

"I guess I forgot." Cartman said. His voice had lost its soft intimacy and was now a little harder. His tone was growing defensive, like a turtle drawing into its shell.

"Forgot you had a phone? It's in your kitchen, Cartman. Even I know that." Kyle said. "Does your mom even know you're over here?"

There it was. The nerve he struck. Cartman's face contorted and he stood up, glaring. "I told you not to talk about my mother Jew. Just email that to me when you're done." He said shortly.

"No, Cartman." Kyle said, swallowing when Cartman's face turned annoyed.

"Kyle. Email it to me later."

"Cartman just listen to me. How long has it been since you've seen your mom? Is that why you didn't want me going in her room?" Kyle pressed. The next minute, his ears were ringing and his vision blacked out. Pain blossomed from his nose and Cartman retracted his fist. Kyle reflexively brought his hands to his nose.

"You stay the fuck out of my life, Jew!" Cartman screamed in his face, and then all Kyle heard was Cartman's footsteps on the stairs, then a door slamming distantly below.

Kyle slowly pulled his hands away from his face when his vision straightened. They were covered in blood. He felt warmth dripping down his lips and he groped for his crutches.

He needed to get to the bathroom before his mother saw something like this.

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Cartman slammed the door to his house shut, angrily throwing his keys across the room. "God dammit! Sneaky little Jew!" he roared. He stood there for a minute, breathing, attempting to calm himself down. He looked down at his knuckle and saw a small spatter of blood on it. He had hit the little jew-rat pretty hard. "Sick dude." He mumbled, walking into the kitchen and washing it off.

He needed to eat. That always helped him think. He opened his fridge and sighed at the empty racks. He needed to get Kyle's eyes out of his head. Those piercing green eyes were like a cat's, looking straight through him. Those beautiful little freckles on his nose, the way his curls strayed from under his hat. Kyle was, in a word, beautiful.

Beautiful? What the hell was he turning into? Some crazed fag like Mr. Garrison?

It must be because of work. It was rubbing off on him. Letting all those men turn him on his stomach and fuck him was doing something to his head. He needed something…was his mother's liquor cabinet still stocked?

Cartman slammed the fridge door shut.

He scrambled around next to the fridge and pushed the appliance out of the way with a grunt. The end cabinet door was usually covered by the side of the fridge. That was where his mother had hidden her alcohol. He peered at the bottles, grabbing one that looked full. He sat down on the cracked linoleum, tearing the cap off and pouring some of the fiery amber liquid down his throat.

It was too much. He coughed and hacked for a minute, sputtering drops of whiskey on the floor.

God…look at him! He was as poor as Kenny! Drinking whiskey on the floor with a bunch of roaches and trash!

"Fuck!" he screamed at the empty, dirty kitchen, where the only ones who could hear him were the roaches.