Friday rolled around much too quickly for Butters. He desperately didn't want to go back to the juvenile prison but knew that one, he had made a promise and he never broke a promise if he could help it and two, Cartman would throw an absolute tantrum if he didn't show up. So, when school let out, Butters found himself hitching a ride on the back of Kenny's motorcycle. He half hoped the other boy would stay and visit with him, but once he'd climbed off, Kenny grunted a goodbye and gunned his engine, weaving dangerously through oncoming traffic before disappearing around a corner. Butters shook his head sadly as he watched Kenny vanish. He knew a little about Kenny's 'curse', as he called it, but he wished his friend would take more care with his life.

Cartman was not in the visitor's room when entered, so he sat, nervously fidgeting as he waited. He'd picked a table in the center of the room, hoping that publicity to their conversation would deter the brunet teen. He knew there was no hope left when Cartman entered, raised an eyebrow at him, and pointedly sat in the most secluded corner, sneering derisively at him. Butters shakily stood and relocated himself, handing over his phone before Cartman could ask for it.

"Sweeeeeet, you downloaded that new Final Fantasy game," Cartman said gleefully. He looked up at Butters, his fingers still tapping at the phone screen. "So, Butters…you owe me an answer."

"An…answer ta what, Eric?" Butters stammered, wringing his hands. He refused to look up from the table, but felt Cartman's fingers under his chin, forcing him to make eye contact.

"You know to what," Cartman answered, his tone gentler than Butters had ever heard from him.

Butters gulped and found he couldn't look away. "…yes," he whispered, so quietly Cartman leaned in way too close for his comfort to hear him.

"Yes what, Butters?"

"Yes, ah love ya, Eric," Butters replied. He blinked back tears and tried to steady his breathing, feeling like he was going to pass out.

Cartman leaned back with a satisfied smile. "Well that sucks," he said. He laughed at Butters' horrified expression. "Don't give me that look. It sucks because there's no PDA allowed, and I can't fucking kiss you like I want to."

Butters now knew he was going to pass out if he didn't manage to get some oxygen soon. "Wha…what?!" he shrieked quietly, mindful of the room full of people around them.

"You heard me," replied Cartman nonchalantly, looking back at the phone in his hand. "Let me make it clear for you," he said suddenly, leaning forward again so he wouldn't be overheard. "Fact of the matter is, I've known you've been in love with me since third grade. And since I was a giant dickwad back then, well, a bigger dickwad than I am now, I took full advantage of that fact. But freshman year…man, that was an eye opener. It's funny, but puberty really mellowed me out. That, and lacrosse. It was an anger outlet, it let me focus on more important shit. Like how I really felt about you."

Butters was listening with more attention and focus than he had ever given anything. Cartman put the phone down finally and looked straight at him.

"I started crushing on you maybe middle of sophomore year. It was at one of my games. I caught sight of you up in the stands, cheering your brains out. It hit me that you'd never missed one of my games and I fell. It wasn't until after I rescued your ass that it was cemented though. It went full fucking blown when I saw what that faggot was doing to you. They keep telling me in the forced therapy that it's bad I don't have any regret for killing those guys. But I'll tell you right now I will never regret killing that particular asshole." Cartman looked at Butters, a fierce gleam in his eyes. "You hear me? I wish I'd been able to do to him like I did to Scott Tenorman but I'm not regretting killing him. You're mine. Understand, Butters? I am a selfish, egotistical, narcissistic psychopath and I damn well know it. Hell, I revel in that knowledge. But I fucking love you and I am never letting you go."

Butters grabbed Cartman's hand for dear life and Cartman laced their fingers together.

"You have to do something for me, and it's important," Cartman continued. "You need to talk to someone about what happened." He squeezed Butters' hand to shut him up as he opened his mouth to protest. "I mean it. I don't mean like Mackey, he's as useless as one of Mephisto's five assed baboons. I don't care if it's Kenny or Stan or a real therapist, you need to talk. Because I want you to be ok. I'm not the nicest guy, Butters, and I really don't want to be. But when I get out of here I don't want to worry about triggering you or some shit, get me? I want to be with you, but I don't want to hurt you. So, talk to someone. For me."

"Ah…ah will, Eric," Butters promised softly.

"Visiting hours are over," the guard at the door announced, and Cartman hissed in irritation.

"Kenny said he'd give me a ride when ah needed," Butters said, collecting his phone. "So, if he can, ah'll come back tomorrow. Sunday for sure, ah'll be coming with your mom."

Cartman glanced at the guard, noting that he was distracted before he grabbed a handful of Butters' shirt and yanked him in for a bruising kiss.

"I'll see you later," Cartman whispered and strolled out his own door, whistling what sounded suspiciously like Taylor Swift.

Butters was taken aback to see Kenny parked outside the jail but not entirely surprised.

"How'd it go?" came the muffled greeting.

"Kenny," Butters said, remember his promise, "can we…can we talk?"