Eric's POV

I watched them put my mother in the dirt. The funeral was small. Just like I assumed, she didn't have very many people in her life. She kept a circle of close knit friends and family, but they are small in numbers. I got many sympathetic stares and apologies. I just nodded along at every queue. That's what you're supposed to do, right?

Why the fuck do people apologize when someone croaks? It's not like they fucking did it... but I guess it's the only thing a person can offer at a time like this: Pity. I hate pity.

Now it's all over and all I can think about is the fucking stupid Jew. It shouldn't be like that. I should only be thinking about my mother, but Kyle is pushing his way into my head again. I feel like I'm not only mourning the loss of her, but the loss of Kyle as well. He's really far gone. I still have no idea how or why it happened.

I shake the thoughts away for now. I stop for coffee on my way home. I see that tweaker dipshit in front of the cash register, but he doesn't seem to recognize me. All for the best, I suppose. I order myself something with caffeine and then getting back into my car.

I'm not a fan of coffee. I think it tastes like shit. I don't know why I'm fucking drinking it. I guess I'm just fucking tired, but I can't afford to take a nap. I'm a busy man and I have shit to do. So, for now I'll have to tolerate it. It's keeping me awake, after all.

Feeling a tiny bit rejuvenated due to the coffee, I can't help but remember that I have next-to-no groceries in the fridge. I guess the most logical thing to do after a funeral is go grocery shopping, right? Not to mention that I'm wearing one of my nicest suits. But fuck it. Why should I care? Why should I ever care? It's not like anyone's dumbass opinion means anything in this lame little town anyway.

After throwing all my usuals in the buggy (fruits, vegetables, lactose-free milk, cereal, raw fish to cook later), I remember one last thing. I push my buggy to the chips and drinks isle so that I can get a large bag of Cheesy Poofs. Even though I do work out every day and work with a nutritionist to better my diet, I still have my one weakness. And nothing is ever going to change that.

As I grab my bag of Cheesy Poofs, I see someone I know looking at all the six packs in the aisle across from me.

"Kahl?"

Yeah. It's the fuckin' Jew. He's wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants tucked into some heavy duty winter boots. His brown parka is unzipped and he's wearing sunglasses. I assume he's either hung over or has light sensitivity since he seems to do nothing but sit in a dark apartment all day.

When I say his name, he turns to me and sighs. "Oh," is all he says.

"Oh?" I repeat, somewhat annoyed at the lack of response.

"Hi, Cartman," he adds wearily. He breaks eye contact and continues to rake his gaze across the beer before grabbing the one he wants. He looks contemplative and a split second later he grabs another.

"Christ," I mutter. "Gonna drink all that yourself?"

He glances at me once more. "Wanna share?" he simpers, giving me a sickly sweet smile and I can't help but grimace at him. "What's that look for?" he snorts, taking in my reaction with a look of mild humor. I guess everything is a big joke to him. I guess that's how he stays sane.

"You feeling okay?" I ask. I can't get past his comical appearance.

"I guess," he says, shrugging. Then he cracks a smile. Which, despite his disheveled look, is kind of attractive and it stands out with his sunglasses on. "It's so nice of you to care, though!" he retorts. A part of me thinks he's being genuine and another part of me thinks he's being facetious. I guess I'll never know.

"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss. "What are you doing after stocking up on your booze, Jew?" I ask, remembering that it is Saturday.

The redhead shrugs, still carrying two six packs, one in each hand. "Don't know. Why, you need to speak to me about something? I HAVE kept it down since you last saw me, right?"

I roll my eyes, not wanting to think about his seedy sex life. "No, Jew. Just wondering what you're up to."

He looks me up and down, with his eyebrows furrowed together, thinking. "Ohhh, shit!" he says, as his eyebrows lift up in exclamation. "Was today the funeral?!"

I nod slowly. "Yeah."

"Dammit, Fatass! Why didn't you tell me?! I would've gone!" he says and his tone sounds genuine.

I shrug. "Wanted to get it over with. It's no big deal," I say, even though I know that I'm just trying to act macho and not show any vulnerability. Before Kyle can protest again, I ask, "So, is that all you're buying?"

"You and your questions!" he says, smiling again. "...Yeah, it is."

"Why don't we pay for our shit and go to Tweek Bros?" I suggest. "Looks like you could use some fucking coffee."

And I could use another cup.

So, he accepts and we pay for our groceries. Well, I pay for mine. All Kyle buys is his liquor.

"Did you drive here?" I ask him.

"I don't have a car," he admits. "I walked."

"Can you even drive?" I snort.

He just shrugs and mumbles something indiscriminate. I take that as a no. So, we make our way to where I'm parked and put our things in the trunk. He sits in the passenger's seat as I get i the driver's and we pull out of the parking lot.

At Tweek Bros, Kyle finally removes his sunglasses.

Tweek immediately recognizes Kyle and goes on a jittery rant about thinking he died. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Yeah," Kyle says, showing an incredibly forced smile. "Nice to see you."

Tweek's eyes linger towards me direction, silently asking Kyle who the hell I am.

"That's Cartman," Kyle adds, jabbing a thumb at me.

Tweek looks surprised. "Oh," he says. "You're n-not... Um, never mind."

Not fat. Ha.

I buy my second cup of coffee and Kyle orders a half-caff. "I got it," I say when he pulls out his wallet.

"Wow, such a gentleman," he says in a cynical mutter.

Once I pay, we watch as Tweek makes our drinks. When he's finished, we thank him and go find seats in the corner of the cafe against the window.

"Thanks, Fatass," Kyle adds as we sit down.

"I'm not fat, Kahl," I point out. "I'm big boned."

He snorts. "Now maybe."

"Whatever Jew," I retort. "I work out at least 5 times a week now," I say, explaining my weight loss.

"Good for you," he says tersely. "Sooo..." He cups his coffee with both hands. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

I shrug. "Nothing. Guess I just wanted to really talk and catch up with you... Sober."

"Look, I know I acted stupid the other night," he says, lowering his voice. "I was drunk. Otherwise, I wouldn't have done have that shit that I did."

"Like get naked in front of me?" I raise a brow.

The Jew's face immediately flushes red and I can see how humiliated he is. "...Yeah," he mutters.

I stretch and drape my left arm over the back of my chair as I cross my right leg over my left, where my ankle is resting on my knee. "I don't know, Kahl..." I start, "they say that people's real feelings come out when they're drunk. Sure you haven't always had the hots for me?" I smile my best eat-shit grin.

"Fuck no!" he yells. He looks around and lowers his voice. "I mean, no. I was drunk and I tend to act out when I'm drunk."

"Whaddya mean, 'act out'?"

"Just... Just that I did that night."

"Like sex with ugly dudes?"

"That's... s-some of it, yeah."

I adjust my posture and prop one elbow on the table, with my fist under my chin. "So, were you exaggerating?"

He raises a brow. "Exaggerating?"

"About all the crazy, wild sex that you have, and how often you have it?"

"Ohh," he breathes abruptly. "No, I wasn't..." He tucks his head, ashamed. "But..." He tries to explain and trails off.

"Hm?"

"But I shouldn't have told you all that," he says, still cupping his coffee.

"Well, you did," I retort with a shrug. "You can't take that back."

"I know," he murmurs.

"You also can't un-suck a dick," I add, "so... you should be more careful from now on. This is a small town full of hicks. You might pick up some weird STI."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he mutters before wincing. He looks like he's mentally berating himself for letting out yet another confession.

I recoil at that, grimacing. "Fucking joke?"

"No joke," he says before sighing. "I guess I shouldn't have said that either."

"What did you have?" I pry.

"Uh, just a couple bacterial ones," he mumbles.

Disgusting. He's had more than one. "You're lucky," I tell him. "That shit can be cured. If it was like... fuckin' herpes or something you would have that shit 'til you die."

"I know," is all he says. He sounds detached, like he's trying to distance himself from the memory or maybe he's just trying to distance himself from the conversation he's having with me.

"Safe sex from now on, yeah?" I suggest, but he just shrugs his shoulders and I can't fucking understand why the hell he won't take care of himself. It makes no sense to me at all. He's still looking down at his coffee and it's starting to frustrate me. "Come on," I urge. "Look at me." He does so, resting an elbow on the table and putting his chin in his palm. "You deserve better," I say. "We often accept what we think we deserve. Why do you think you deserve all that shit?"

He only rolls his eyes at me. Clearly he wants to change the subject. "What are you trying to get at here, Cartman?" he asks, staring me point blank. "Look, it scared the fucking shit out of me the two times I got diagnosed with something, but I took what the doctor prescribed and I don't have anything now, okay?" he says. I feel his tone getting heated. "Besides, I do use protection... Most of the time now anyways," he adds defensively.

I scrunch my face. "If you don't know these guys, then 'most of the time' isn't good enough, Kahl!"

For the first time in our conversation, the Jew lets go of his coffee and leans back in his chair with both arms hanging down. He looks at me with a tired, worn-out expression. "And why do you care, Cartman?" he asks, but it sounds more like a statement. "Are you just taking this opportunity to make me feel like shit so you can feel better about yourself? Like when we were younger, Fatass?"

"I don't want to make you feel worse about yourself than you already do, Kahl," I answer and he makes a confused expression. He waves his right hand in a dismissive manner- as if to blow off what I just said- as he leans forward.

"Well, even if you are being genuine, are you trying to be my knight in shining armor? Someone to save me from myself? Because if you are, trust me, you'll get sick of my shit real soon, just like all the others in my past."

I stare at him, seeing his blatant distrust and his jaded outlook on life written all over him. "No Kahl," I start, "it's just that the Jew that I knew 6 or 7 years ago would've never had sex unless he were in a committed, serious relationship."

Kyle's angry expression softens, and i see the sadness in his eyes as he recalls how he was then, when he had only had sex with only 2 or 3 girls- all of which he dated for a while- and while he still had a tiny ounce of self-respect. I guess the Jew decided to switch teams in the more recent years, which doesn't surprise me.

"Well, I'm sorry about what all you had to see the other night," he says softly. "But to be honest, my sex life really is none of your goddamn business."

I laugh at that. "You made it my business when you got your dick out and then started crying like a fucking baby."

He cringes. "I didn't even fucking cry. Don't say it like that."

"Why?" I snort. "That's pretty much what happened. You're lucky I'm not the kind of guy to take advantage of someone who is drunk and stupid."

"You're such a saint," he simpers cynically.

"No, I'm not," I tell him. "I'm just being a decent fuckin' person. If you're drunk, then it's rape."

He scoffs at that. "You're quite dramatic. It's not like that."

"Yes, it is," I insist. I lean forward and quietly ask, "Now how many times has that happened to you? How many times have you been too drunk to function, forced to let some old hick take what he wanted?"

He smiles, but it's void of emotion. "Like I said, you fat shit, it's none of your motherfucking business what I do with my body or what I let people do to it."

"Right, right," I sigh. "It's yours to use and abuse, huh?"

His jaw tightens. His temper is rising, I can sense it. "I hate you," he bites out.

I give him my most serene smile. "Quite a mature sentiment, Kahl," I say with blatant sarcasm. "You definitely sound like a twenty-six year old man when you talk like that."

"I like sex," he says with finality. "Stop talking down to me for it."

"There's a big difference between liking sex and using it as a form of self-harm," I point out.

His face changes when he hears the words "self-harm". I know he knows that I just now mentioned his other addiction unintentionally.

"Can we PLEASE talk about something else?" he pleads. "Tell me more about your job."

"Oh," I say, trying to change subjects mentally, but it's hard when I clearly see the anguish and shame on the Jew's face and I want to get to the bottom of it. "Well, I still had to work a shitty retail job for the first two years after I graduated because I couldn't find a place that needed a bilingual speaker," I explain. "But I knew I was eventually going to get hired. With the way our country is going, linguists are becoming more and more and demand. So, eventually I was contacted by a German-based computer company, and they let me talk to our headquarters a lot and act like a liaison between us and them."

"That's really neat," the Jew says as I see his eyes peak with interest. He can try to cover it up with his new, dark lifestyle, but Kyle has -and always will be- a fucking nerd.

"Yeah, it's been pretty kick-ass," I chuckle.

"Have you gone to Germany yet?" he asks.

"Yep. Last year the company sent me for a month for training on some new admin work. Also, they thought it would be good if I got to finally meet the people I've been talking to for so long," I smile. "It was pretty fucking awesome, Kahl!"

I see a soft smile spread on the redhead's face. "Wow. That's really cool, Cartman." He takes a sip of his coffee. "To be honest I haven't been outside of the country yet. Growing up, my parents always wanted to take a vacation to Israel, but I know that's not going to happen now..."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why not?" The Jew shrugs in response and takes another sip of his coffee. "How are your parents, by the way?"

"They're good," he responds quickly.

"And Ike, how is he? Isn't he in college now?" I laugh at how absurd that sounds. "Christ, I feel so fucking old!"

I feel a strange awkward silence when the Jew doesn't respond. "He's fine," he finally says harshly.

I can easily sense that he's lying. "Chill," I tell him, somewhat annoyed at the sudden anger. He's up and down a lot.

Kyle lets out a breath. "I don't want to talk about him." There is a mix of emotions evident in his tone and I don't know what to do with any of them.

"Ike?" I pry.

Kyle closes his eyes. "Don't say his name."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Why the hell not?"

"Because I said so," is all he replies with.

"Not gonna cut it," I tell him. "Try again."

"No," he says.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!" he snaps loudly, drawing the attention of some nearby strangers. "Fucking hell, no!"

A pause. "Kahl, what happened?" I ask.

Kyle simply shakes his head, like it's something he can't bear to even think about. Clearly it's a sensitive subject. I don't understand why. "There's just a lot of stuff I don't want to go into about Ike," he says. "Stuff that, when me and you went to school together, my parents swore me into secrecy and made me promise that I would never tell any of my friends."

"So whatever it is with Ike, it's been going on for a while?" I ask softly.

The Jew nods, staring blankly at the table. "Yes," he almost whispers.

I wrack my mind trying to think about when was the last time I saw Kyle's little brother. Christ, I can't remember! Maybe when we were still in high school and Ike was in junior high? But, if I remember clearly, that was when he started acting weird. I remember one night inviting the usual crew- me, Kenny, Butters, Stan, and Kyle- to go see this new Terrance and Phillip movie. Just like old times, when I invited Kyle, I told him that Ike was more than welcome to come. Fuck, growing up, sometimes I wish that I could've hung out with Ike as opposed to his ginger brother. He was a lot more laid-back and less self-righteous than Kyle was back then. But, Kyle was always in my classes back then, and Stan and Kenny insisted on him being part of our group. Besides, hanging out with Ike without Kyle would've just felt weird, I guess.

But what I do remember about that day was when Kyle came to the theater sans Ike.

"Where's Ike?" I whispered loudly in the theater, right before I put more popcorn in my mouth.

"He didn't want to come," he whispered back.

"What?!" I asked, confused.

"SHHH!" Stan rudely interrupted me. "We're in a theater you guys!"

"Why?" I whispered more quietly.

"I don't know," Kyle answered. And that was that.

At that time I dismissed it, remembering that Ike was going through puberty so he was probably just too cool to hang out with his brother and his friends. But now I'm wondering if it was something more serious.

"Kahl," I start. "We're not in our early 20's anymore, and you no longer live with your parents," I explain. "If you told me what is going on with Ike, I swear on my mother's grave it would stay between you and me," I promise.

Suddenly, Kyle slumps forward with his forehead in his hands. He lets out a string of deep, heaving breaths. When I think he's about to have a panic attack or some kind of fit, he sits up straight. His eyes are glazed over and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind. It's unsettling to see. He lets out another breath, quieter this time, and then he slumps forward again. Wringing his hands through his hair, he starts to shake his head.

I simply stare. There's a knot in my gut, something telling me that whatever secret Kyle was forced to keep... It's something really fucking bad. Did Ike kill someone?

"Kahl..." I say slowly.

"Shut up," he whispers sharply. He sits up and leans back against his seat. He looks contemplative, like he wants to tell me but he's unsure if he should. He also looks like he's in fucking agony. "I can't say it," he murmurs mechanically after a few more minutes pass. "I've never said it. I don't think I'm able to."

I stare at him piteously. "Maybe I could help?" I offer.

He laughs at that and it's the bitterest sound I've ever heard. "You can't," he says surely. "No one can. He's had countless doctors throughout the years and nothing has helped."

I move my coffee more to the right so that I can face Kyle straight. "What is it about Ike that you are supposed to keep a secret?" I ask gingerly.

"He's... He's a mess," he says, looking at me straight. "Ike has been struggling with drugs for a long, long time. He's supposed to be clean now, but I don't know if I believe that."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Kyle," I pronounce his name correctly out of his respect. I know my mom struggled with drugs on and off too, and it scared the shit out of me. Growing up I cried myself to sleep at night, knowing that I had to go to school the next day and I wouldn't be there to protect her. It was the most amazing feeling of relief when she went into NA and decided to not only get clean but STAY clean. I'm so happy that- although her death was tragic- at least she died with dignity, being 5 years clean and sober.

Kyle shrugged. "It's whatever," he says, playing with my straw wrapper. "But to answer your question, my little brother really isn't up to anything. He never went to college. He sleeps most of the day and watches TV at night. Sometimes he'll get a job but he'll only be able to keep it for a couple of months, if that. Actually, he stole from his last job." And with that the Jew chuckles in a cynical manner. Then he shakes his head and sighs. "My point is, he's really, really fucked up, Cartman."

"All right," is all I respond with. "Fair enough."

For now, I decide to leave it. I can tell Kyle isn't going to relent so easy and tell me what's really going on. I guess it's not really my business, but I'm a pretty fucking nosy guy. I like to know everything about everyone. I've always been that way, ever since I was a kid. The only thing that has changed is what I do with the information I learn about people. These days, blackmail isn't at the forefront of my mind.

Kyle looks visibly relieved when I relent and he doesn't hesitate to change the subject quickly. "So, do you have any hobbies?"

I eye him critically and he seems to sense it, so he glances away. "Well," I start, "I don't have much time for hobbies these days. I mostly let my work fill up my schedule since I enjoy it."

"That's good," he says, staring down into his cup some more.

"Anything interesting in there?" I ask him with a smile.

He sneers at me. "Shut up," he mutters.

"What about you?" I ask as I cross my legs again.

"What about me?"

I clear my throat. "Your hobbies, I mean."

He slowly raises an eyebrow, as if the words somehow turned foreign. "Hobbies...?"

"Yah know, what you do for fun, Jew."

"Oh," he says, as if registering the thought. "I mean, besides sex? I like trying new beers, I guess..."

I roll my eyes. "No, Jew. What do you like to do that doesn't involve sex or alcohol?"

Kyle stays silence, thinking for what feels like a very long fucking minute. "Ummm," he starts. "Well, I do like to watch movies sometimes,"

I blink, in almost disbelief. "Kahl."

"Yes?"

"What the FUCK do you do for fun?" I ask, kinda pissed off.

"I just TOLD you, Fatass!"

"Ay! I'm not fat anymore, Jew!"

"S-sorry," he says, "it's just out of habit, I guess."

I roll my eyes again and urge him, "So...?"

He shrugs and wrinkles his nose. "I don't have any, I guess. I don't do much. I just work and drink and fuck."

"And cut yourself up," I add in a mutter.

He frowns at that. "Shut up," he whispers.

I tilt my head to the side and continue to stare at him. I'll never fuckin' understand why someone would go and do a thing like that. Your body gives you life and all that gay shit. It works to keep you moving and breathing. It works fuckin' hard. Is that how Kyle repays his body? I don't fuckin' get it.

"Stop staring at me like that," he mumbles, glancing away. Clearly he has a hard time maintaining eye contact with people.

"You need to have fun, Kahl."

The Jew blinks. "Excuse me?"

I clear my throat. "You heard me. You need to have some goddamn fun, Kahl!"

My redheaded "friend" gives me a look as though I have lost my goddamn mind.

"Let's go do something, Jew." I say, kinda surprised that I just announced that myself.

"What do you have in mind, Cartman?"

I shrug, irritated. "I don't know. Let's go fucking ice skating!"

He laughs at my suggestion. "You SURE you aren't gay, Cartman?"

I scoff. Of course, I know I'm bi, but I'm not anywhere near ready to tell anyone else that yet. But honestly, I just want to distract the Jew. If he's with me, then at least he's not fucking of hurting himself.

"Yes, Jew, I'm sure," I answer reassuringly. "So are we going fucking ice skating or not?"

He gives me a weary smile and sighs. "Sure, let's go fuckin' ice skating."

.

.

After finishing our drinks we get back into my car, making our way to the rink. I'd say let's go to the pond, but neither of us have ice skates. The drive isn't long, since most things in South Park are close together.

Inside, I rent us both a pair of skates and we enter the rink. I watch as Kyle slips out of his boots and puts on the pair of skates, tucking his pajama pants into them. He looks pretty fuckin' silly, but I won't say it out loud.

"I haven't been skating since I was ten," he confesses when we're both ready.

"Shit, for real?" I snort.

"For real," he says. He huddles against the wall, grabbing onto the rail. "Why, do you ice skate often?" he asks, with a bit of sarcasm in his tone.

"Did it in college, and one time after that," I answer, staying on Kyle's left side while I patently skate slow.

"Really?" he asks. "So, it's a hobby of yours?"

I shrug. "Not really. The one time in college was when me and some buddies were drunk. And the time after college..." I trail off, suddenly feeling awkward. "I was on a date," I finish, trying to sound nonchalant.

The Jew raises an eyebrow. "A date?"

I throw a glare of sarcasm his way. "Yes, Kike, a date."

The redhead is still holding on to the rail and inching his way along the ice, but his gaze doesn't move from my face. In fact, I can see from my peripheral view that he looks almost amused.

"Whose idea was it? Yours or the girl's?" he chuckles. "It HAD to be the girl's. There's no way someone as self-centered and thoughtless as you came up with that."

"Actually, it WAS my idea, you dirty Jew!" I give him my best "eat-shit" look.

He glances from the rail- making sure he's holing on still- and looks back at me, eyes widening. "No way!" He stops. "Eric Cartman being a gentleman?!" His chuckles get louder and turn into laughter.

"Why's that so fucking hard to believe, KAHL?!" I spit his name as I feel my face turn red from embarrassment. I decide to not wait on his lame ass and start picking up my speed, skating to get away from the Jew.

I can hear him behind me, still laughing. It makes me want to slap him, but I won't.

"Okay, sorry, sorry," he apologizes, sounding like he's still stifling snickers. He hobbles alongside me and we're quiet again.

"I can be a gentleman," I say out of the blue.

"Hm," he muses, sounding like he's only partially convinced. "I suppose."

"I was a gentleman the other night when you were begging for my dick," I point out. "I chose NOT to take advantage of your drunken desperation."

He sneers at that and I can't help but smirk. It's my turn to have a laugh. "Just stop bringing it up," he mutters.

I ignore him and it's silent again.

To be honest, I like skating (gay as that makes me). I like the feeling of cold air in my face. I guess it always reminds me of being home, even when I am far away. Skating was a daily thing when we were kids. When we all grew up and grew away, it stopped being something we did. Other things got in the way.

But for now, it's nice to just be in the moment and do something stupid and fun for no reason.

...It's been awhile since I've actually been in the moment.

"Hey, hey! Look Cartman!"

I turn my head to see the Jew is now skating (and by skating I mean taking baby-steps) on his own, not holding onto the rail anymore.

"Look at you! You're a real man now, Kahl!" I say smiling.

"Fuck you," he retorts, but he doesn't stay anger for long as he is too busy balancing himself. He stares down at his feet and has both of his arms out stretched on either side, as if keeping his arms stretched out will prevent him from falling. I can't help but laugh.

"You look so fucking stupid right now, Kike." I laugh again.

"I said, fuck off!" The redhead tries to look angry, but he's suppressing laughter himself since he knows he looks ridiculous. It's actually kinda endearing.

"Shall we try to skate around the rink, Kahl?" I ask, pushing him a little. "The bird has to leave the nest sometime."

He lets out a long, whiny moan and his eyebrows draw together as though he's unsure. "I'm going to fall on my ass."

"I'll be right next to you," I remind him, moving out into the rink.

He awkwardly hobbles and half-skates towards me. He's shaky.

"I can't believe you never learned to fucking skate," I say.

"Sh," he hushes me, concentrating on his movements. He bites his lower lip and soon enough, he's at my side.

"Yah did it," I applaud in a somewhat patronizing matter. He wrinkles his nose at me and promptly falls backwards with a shriek. I point and laugh. "That was awesome!"

"Asshole!" he snaps from the ground. "You're supposed to catch me!"

"Oh, so NOW you want me to be your knight in shining armor!" I retort.

The Jew just raises an eyebrow, as if I'm speaking some foreign language.

"You said that to me earlier, remember Kahl?" I ask.

"Look, can we forget about everything and can you just help me to fucking skate?" he asks, raising his right hand up, expecting me to help get him back to his feet.

Without thinking about it I take his hand with my right hand, use my left hand to get a better grip of his arm, and firmly plant my skates in the ground so that I can get him up off his ass. During this awkward transition the redhead makes numerous grunting noises in the way that one would think he was lifting weights. Once he's on his feet again, he's breathing much heavier than I am.

"Now, shall we try this again, Jew?" I ask while he pants heavily. It's pretty obvious that he never works out at all.

"S-sure," he says, trying to sound more confident than I know that he's feeling.

Finally, the Jew gets the hang of it after we go around the rink the second time. He's somewhat able to keep up with my speed and he doesn't fall, although he comes close a couple times. One time when he comes close, he goes into that weird, awkward position where he's trying to balance himself with his arms stretched out. I catch the redhead laughing at himself and -for once- not seeming to care that I'm seeing him act silly. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. It makes me happy because the Jew deserves to be happy (and besides, he does have a GREAT smile with perfect teeth), but it makes me sad because something tells me that the Jew rarely laughs these days.

He probably doesn't feel like he has many reasons to laugh and smile. I guess he doesn't. At least, going by what I know it seems like he doesn't. Still, it's nice to see.

Wow, I sound gay.

"What?" he asks, glancing at me.

"Nothing," I insist.

He shrugs it off, not bothering to pry. I can't help but notice all the little things. When we were kids, he would have pried until I relented. He was annoying like that. It's different now. Everything is. I guess age does that to a person, but it's more than that. It's all the shit. I guess it would have been stupid to expect him to have stayed the same forever.

Still, I miss that innocent and pure Kyle that stood for justice. I guess he's long gone now.

"Well Jew, should we call it a night?" I ask, noticing how my legs are starting to feel sore.

"I was thinking the same thing," he says, nodding.

After we exchange our skates for our shoes we ride back to our apartments. We tiredly climb up the stairs together and, at the top of the stairs, we look at each other, knowing that it was time to go our separate ways. For tonight, at least.

"Well Cartman, what we did tonight was sort-of weird," the Jew says, contorting his face into an awkward smirk. "But I had fun. Thanks."

I nod. "You're welcome Kahl," I respond.

Then we hug and, as awkward as it is, I can feel myself exhaling and feeling so relieved at the same time. THIS is what FEELS right.

"'Night, Jew."

"G'night, Fatass."