note ;; Hello again! I've been in a writing slump lately, so those of you waiting for Next! and Blue Eyes, I probably wont be updating them for a week, at least. Terribly sorry about that. I'm working six days a week, and I only write on my lunch breaks. While chowing Ramen, like a true author. I apologize greatly for the small length of this chapter. I got to the end of what I thought to be the second part, and I couldn't bring myself to add more to this one. I like how it ends. As always, reviews are loved.

personal note ;; I despise the six letter F word that Cartman is so often spewing. It certainly does not reflect my views, the heinous amount of times his foul mouth spits it out. Its simply part of the character.

warning / disclaim ;; Swearing, steamy scenes, the six letter 'f' word, etc. I don't own South Park.


School has never been so awkward in ten years. They pass in the halls without a glance, without a single jab. In their only class together, they sit far apart. It is not unusual, except that they have been lab partners for the last three weeks, and neither of them touched their bacteria cultures the entire period. Fortunately for them, the substitute teacher didn't see, and thus didn't send them both to detention. What an awkward detention that would be.

Kyle doubts if Cartman remembers, and Cartman doubts if Kyle remembers. And if either remembers the events at Token's party, it is doubtful how much they remember. Neither will bring it up because both are significantly embarrassed by their actions. It is why, instead of trailing home with his three friends as he has every day for ten years, Cartman chooses to stay in the building, milling near his locker until the last of the stragglers have gone to their after-school activities or started the walk home.

Having never stayed after school a day in his life, the pleasantly plump teen decides to wander the halls. During the school day, he is too busy pushing Freshmen around and asserting his dominance over anyone younger or smaller than him. As he looks at the displays on the walls of the High School, he notices how many pictures are of Kyle and Stan together. Kyle and Stan at a junior varsity football game, grinning and waving around a Cows jersey like faggots. Kyle and Stan sitting in the library, noses buried in text books like a pair of goody two-shoes. There are startlingly few photos of Stan without Kyle, and even fewer photos of Kyle without Stan. Even Stan's feminist banshee of a girlfriend, Wendy, isn't in as many pictures with Stan.

This realization makes his blood boil.

"What does that faggot have that I don't?" he demands quietly of Kyle's grinning image, turning away from the Seniors Photo Wall displaying the source of his irritation. He doesn't notice that he is not pictured once on the wall, and he doesn't notice that his pace is quickening towards the door. Deep in his mind, he is desperately analyzing every shred of evidence he has fueling his anger. As the pieces fall into place, he stops dead in the doorway, only stumbling out of the way once the heavy metal door smacks him in the ass as it closes, leaving him alone in the silent entrance.

"I fucking hate Kyle," he tells himself angrily, hearing the hollow echo back. He knows he is lying, that the truth is, he is in love with Kyle. This knowledge doesn't quell the anger in him, it makes it grow. If he is in love with Kyle, why is the red-head always with Stan? Why isn't the fragile-looking Jew with him instead? Questions rage through his head, and jealously jumps into his throat. He knows at once where his feet are taking him, and deep in the back of his mind, he is afraid of himself, afraid of his own motives. It is a small part, surrounded by a jealous rage, and though he will be conscious of it in later recollections of the events about to take place, it is just another part of his mind screaming at him to stop.

No part of his mind will ever be large enough to override his impulsive instincts.

He doesn't have a car, but Kyle has his truck, and as Cartman leaves out the wide metal doors of the school, he notices that it is still parked in the lot. Standing beside it, juggling keys, books, and an expensive laptop as he tries to open the rusty door, is Kyle Broflovski. The object of Cartman's increasingly jealous, misguided anger. Suddenly, his half-formed plan melts into a puddle of goo at the bottom of his idea pit and he sets his feet in the direction of Kyle. What he is going to do, what he is going to say, he doesn't know.

He knows Kyle has no idea he is there, and it makes him intensely happy as he grabs the red-head's arm. Kyle yelps, dropping everything except his laptop. In another situation, Cartman would make a snip about Jews and protecting money, but right now, he is shoving the Jew against the truck, pinning him.

"What the fuck, fatass?" Kyle snaps angrily, chest heaving as he holds the laptop defensively between the two, as if he will hit Cartman at any second. "Let me go."

"No," Cartman says stupidly, defiantly. He is suddenly aware of how little he has planned this, but reminds himself that nothing is new. He has a plan, to a point, and then sees nothing past his desired outcome.

"Eric Cartman, let me go. Now," he repeats, voice growing dangerously low.

Tightening his grip, the taller boy stares down, a mix of confusion, anger, and sadness across his face. Like most of his plans, he has again failed to produce his desired outcome, but he is too pig-headed to admit to his own faults.

"Dude, what the fuck are you staring at?" Kyle asks angrily, struggling feebly against the stronger teen. "Let me-"

Cartman presses him against the truck, roughly pressing their lips together, eliciting a moan of confusion and excitement from the helpless Jew. He moves his right hand, grabbing Kyle's hair and pulling his head back. He trails thick kisses down Kyle's neck, biting down on his shoulder. Kyle shivers, and Cartman pushes him back against the truck.

"I own you," he growls.

Kyle is panting, a growing bulge in his pants giving him away. He has never admitted to anyone, not even Stan, that he is into guys more than girls. In sixth grade, he and Stan had experimented, and he developed a crush, as all best friends do. He thought it was normal. Now, with a tingling through his entire body and a pulsing erection, he knows he isn't into girls at all. It takes him minutes, it seems, to understand what has happened. He sputters, fighting against Cartman's grasp. "What? No, that's not how it works!"

"This isn't Disney, Jew Scout," he responds, giving him a long glare before letting his wrists go. "You're mine."

"Walt Disney hated Jews! Where do you get your facts?" Kyle asks, bewilderment crossing his face.

Scoffing, Cartman moves Kyle out of the way and pops open the drivers door. "There," he says.

For a long moment, Kyle only stares. It crosses his mind several times that Cartman has done something nice for him. Each time he remembers the crude comments, and he finally shakes his head. He picks his things up and shoves them in the front seat, being careful with his laptop. "You're a jackass," he mumbles angrily, a flush crossing his cheeks.

"You like it, faggot."

"Goddamnit, Cartman. What is wrong with you?" Kyle asks, turning to face him. "Do you remember what happened at Token's party? Do you remember what we said?"

Cartman glares. "Well, yeah," he bluffs defiantly.

"No, you don't," Kyle corrects. "We agreed to never talk about it, never bring it up, and never, for fuck's sake, do it again!" His voice grows louder, and he is practically yelling by the end.

Too late, Cartman remembers their demented pillow talk. Remembers staring into bright green eyes as they agreed to never do it again, and felt the regret sink to the bottom of his stomach. He laughs uneasily, the grin on his face unsure. "Yeah, right," he says. "I was just fucking with you, stupid Jew. And you fell for it."

"No you weren't, fatass!" Kyle rages. He moves the driver's door of the truck between them. "Leave me the fuck alone. Stay away from me. Don't talk to me, don't sit by me, don't even think you know me. You piss me off and I'm sick of your shit."

Kyle slams the door, fumbling with the keys as he starts the engine. Cartman watches in uncharacteristic silence as the fiery redhead drives away. He can see the tears shimmering as they cascade down the teen's cheeks, then he is gone, pulling onto the street and squealing the tires. Alone in the parking lot, Cartman doesn't move. He follows the truck with his blank gaze, watching as it disappears down main street. As he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, a hot tear lands on his hand and he wipes it away in disgust.

Eric Cartman doesn't cry, definitely not for some Jew faggot.


Kenny sits at the park, perching on a pink piggy bouncing seat. His eyes are on the wood chips he continues to disturb as he slowly rocks back and forth on the piggy in utter boredom. Cartman is sitting on a bench, having said that sitting anywhere else is being 'too kiddy.' He is watching Kenny for the right moment, and Kenny is simply waiting for the stupid questions or insults that will come out of the fat teen's mouth.

"You're going to help me," Cartman says, though he isn't as forceful as usual.

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Are you going to harvest my kidneys?" he asks. "Because if you are, I'd rather you just kill me after, instead of leaving me in the bathtub to die. Again."

Cartman kicks wood chips at the financially challenged teen, shaking his head. "No, asshole, I need you to tell me how to make someone like you."

Kenny's boredom is suddenly and fiercely replaced by absolute shock. His head jerks up and he stares at Cartman with an open mouth. "Holy shit, dude," he says quietly. "Eric Cartman needs help and he's asking goddamned polite for it? Holy fuck, I need a drink, I think Hell froze over, did I get killed again?"

"Shut up. Do it, or so help me, Kenny, I'll cut your balls off and shove them down your throat," Cartman threatens.

Kenny just laughs. "You're pathetic. You can't even come up with a good threat. Who do you like? I'll just talk to them-"

"You don't need to know," Cartman cuts him off.

"Fine, fine," Kenny agrees, his feet digging into the wood chips as he stops his slow bouncing. "You just need to tell her. Maybe spread a few rumors around that you have a huge schlong, but we all know that's not true."

"Fuck you, faggot," Cartman retorts.

"You'd like it too much," Kenny says. "Really, what do you want from me? I can't get you a girl, dude. And I'm not sharing mine."

"I don't want your skanky whores," Cartman says, dismissing the mere possibility.

"Then find your own skanky whore. Go to Raisins."

"You're useless. I hate you, Kenny."

"I hate you too," Kenny responds.

"Good. We're on the same page, then," Cartman says, becoming all-business as he usually does when he is trying to wheedle someone out of their money. A glint sparks in his eye, and that grin creeps across his face. It has been only three hours since his stinging rejection in the school parking lot, but it takes more than that to make Eric Theodore Cartman call it quits. He puts his hands together in his familiar gesture. "I'll give you my lunch every Tuesday."

Kenny stares, blinking. "Salisbury Steak Day," he clarifies.

Cartman nods solemnly in confirmation. "Yes. Salisbury Steak Day. The best day in South Park."

"No shit," Kenny says, breathing heavily out his nose. "What do I have to do?"

"Never breath a word about helping me to anyone, Kenny. Not Stan, not Kyle, and not Butters." Cartman lets this sink in before continuing. "You have to make me look nice."

Kenny breaks out in fits of laughter. He nearly falls off the piggy as he holds his sides, laughter rolling out his mouth in an unending cascade of mirth. Cartman doesn't see this as funny, and Kenny tries to straighten his face. "You... haha, you're serious?" he asks between giggles.

"Goddamnit, Kenny! This is not funny!" he roars, stomping his foot. "You're the only asshole I can bribe to help me!"

"You got that right," Kenny replies, wiping tears with the back of his hand, still chuckling to himself every time he thinks of the request. "What exactly do I do?"

"I'm going to help you in class, and you're going to start telling everyone how nice I'm being. I'm going to be nice to Butters, too. You have to tell everyone, Kenny. Even Stan and Kyle. They have to believe you."

Kenny shakes as he controls his giggles, grinning. "Yeah, Cartman, that's really going to work. Are you sure you don't want me to just tell her you have a huge schlong, you're good in bed, and you once fucked a porn star?"

"Sick, dude. I'll just stick to my way."

"She's not that kinda girl?"

Cartman looks at Kenny for a moment, a frown on his face, before shaking his head. "I don't think so," he says.