Kyle's POV

When I heard the alarm go off, I really did not want to get out of bed.

Of course, I never want to get out of bed, but there was something about how I felt this morning that made me want to linger more than usual. Even though I just woke up, my legs still felt sore from last night. I stretched my arms out as I thought about the absurdity of last night with Cartman. Who would have ever thought that the two of us- both at 26 years of age- would go fucking ICE skating?! But... It was kinda fun. Not that I would ever tell anyone that of course. In all seriousness, it felt good to do something different for once.

Maybe that's what I've always liked the most about Cartman growing up. Unless we were eating- or watching the TV show that HE wanted to watch, or playing the video games that HE wanted to play- it was always Fatass being the protagonist and coming up with new, outlandish shit to do (albeit immoral shit as well). Whether he was wrong or selfish, Cartman always was creative and kept things interesting. So far, it seems that he is still that way today.

Everything about yesterday was refreshing, but I know it was just a one time thing. Now things will go back to normal. I'll sleep around and drink and screw myself over and then bury myself in work while pretending I'm fine. It's a pretty vicious cycle, but what can I say? I'm trapped. Yeah, I'll admit it. I'm trapped. That's not going to change.

I take a long shower and jack off under the hot water. I close my eyes and start fantasizing. At first it's a faceless stranger, but then it turns into Cartman. I open my eyes and feel my brows draw together.

No.

I don't want to go there. I don't want a relationship - especially not with Eric Cartman.

But I can't help but think about how it felt when we hugged briefly last night. He's slightly taller than me and it seems like he is very much all muscle. I could feel it in his strong arms and I could feel the tone and definition, even though he had a thick sweater on.

But I've been with plenty of buff guys with hot bodies. Rarely do I find a guy with a body like that AND a handsome face. It's strange, it's the same damn face that I grew up with, but different. His jaws are strong, his thick eyebrows frame his big brown eyes, his turned up nose, and that devlish, up-to-no-good smile...

I fucking love his smile.

No... It's Cartman! I'm just SURE he would want me to have feelings for him, so that he could turn around, throw it back in my face (because he's not gay), and show me how pathetic I am. Then he would start preaching to me about some bullshit.

Besides, I know how every "relationship" ends. At least, I know how they end with ME.

I have no luck when it comes to romance. I'm high maintenance. I'm unmanageable. People grow sick and tired of me.

Being in a relationship takes a lot out of me. I feel like, in the start, I always feel the need to keep a happy mask on and pretend I'm different than I am. When the mask slips off and the real me shows, then it all turns to shit because no one wants to be with a guy like me. I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to be with me, either. I'm a handful. I need to be watched. I'm a slut. Sometimes I worry I'll just end up cheating on a guy. It hasn't happened yet, but it could. I play around a lot, though I don't necessarily like it. I can't really help it. I guess that sounds fucked up on my behalf.

Sometimes I want to cry for help, but I never do. Then again, maybe every little thing I do is a silent cry for help.

I don't think I want a relationship. No... That's a lie. That's just a lie that I've been telling myself for years. Truth is, I really, REALLY want a relationship and to love someone and to be loved for the rest of my life, but I know that's never going to happen. You can only fall in "love" and get dumped so many times before you give up on it completely. All men really want is sex anyways, right? So that's all I should want as well. Being single and fucking isn't bad.

I wonder if Cartman has ever been in love...?

Wait, what am I thinking?! Who cares if he has! Obviously he's single now, but apparently he's a real charmer when he goes on a date. At least that's what I gathered from yesterday. Speaking of yesterday, I wonder what he's up to today? Aw shit! I still don't have his number! ... Should I just go over and knock on his door?

No, no! Definitely not. I don't want to get too clingy. That just chases guys away. No man wants to be tied down, right? Especially not by someone as high maintenance as me...

Okay, I need to stop thinking.

The real question is... Why do I care? Do I have a stupid, little crush or something? How humiliating is this? I guess there's no denying it now. Well, I'll keep it to myself. I can't give him something new to rub in my face. He'd probably take a little too much pleasure in this. I don't want to give him another reason to laugh at me and be smug.

Er... Maybe I should go knock on his door? What do I have to lose?

Next thing I know, I'm grabbing my phone and my keys and heading outside.

Knock, knock, knock.

I stand there, feeling awkward as I wait. Then, I hear the door slowly crack open.

"...Kahl?" the brunet says, with utter confusion written all over his face.

"H-hey Fatass," I greet, doing my best to maintain my cool. Not working.

With his right hand still on the door knob, Cartman props his left hand on the side of the door. "Can I help you, Jew?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised very high on his forehead.

"Umm, about last night..." I start.

Wait... That doesn't sound right at all! Then I feel my face turn red. SHIT!

"Ohh, umm," I stutter, and I must look really stupid because Cartman's perplexed expression relaxes as he chuckles and his expression now looks more amused than anything. "I mean, it was fun," I cough. God, I'm such a dumb fuck.

"Yes it was, Kahl," the linguist replies, still chuckling.

"And, uhh, we sh-should do it again, sometime," I manage to stammer. God, I feel as awkward now as I did when I had a crush on Rebecca Cotswolds. I guess I'm not doing a great job of hiding anything...

"You want to ice skate again, Kahl?" he asks. Everytime he says my name I feel like he does it to get a rise out of me. Growing up, he always said my name more than anyone else's and I figured it was out of spite. I wonder if that's why he still says it so much today.

"N-not necessarily ice skating Cartman," I respond. "But... Ya know. Hang out."

I take a deep, quiet breath and force myself to chill out. It's only Cartman. It's just the fat ass, no one to be scared of or intimidated by. Shit.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," he agrees with a slight smirk. He looks a bit smug, which is the exact reason I didn't want to come over here. He probably knows I want his dick in my ass for real. After a pause he asks, "So, when are you free?"

"Um," I start. "Whenever, I guess. I kind of make my own hours."

"Me, too," he says. "At the moment, at least."

"So, we should do something tonight maybe?" I suggest.

He nods. "Yeah, a'ight. That sounds good. We should get fried chicken. I've been craving KFC."

I sigh internally. So not the date I had in mind. Nonetheless I force a smile and say, "Sure, whatever you want."

Cartman raised an eyebrow, as if he could sense my disappointment.

"I'm sorry Kahl," he says, "would you like somewhere more romantic than KFC? Bennigan's, perhaps?"

I feel my face turn beet-red, but I shrug and do my best to play it cool. "Nah. KFC is fine. That place has always been your favorite, anyways."

"We'll go to Bennigan's," he says in a determined voice.

"No, we'll go to KFC," I retort definitely.

"Gahdammit, Kahl!" he yells. "You've never been a good liar and even after all these years you STILL suck at it. Your face totally dropped when I mentioned KFC, so we're going to fucking Bennigan's, gahdammit!"

I feel my eyes widen, impressed. "O-okay," I say. "Sure. Beninigan's it is."

He gives me a smirk. Clearly he's satisfied that I relented.

You win this round, Eric Cartman.

.

.

So, now here we are. At Bennigan's.

It's a little past 7PM when we're seated in the pub-styled restaurant. My eyes immediately drift to the liquor menu, much to Cartman's chagrin.

"Kahl," he says in a warning tone of voice.

"Don't worry," I tell him, carelessly sighing.

It sounds bad, but I get mad when people worry about me. However, I also get mad when they don't. It's a lose-lose situation for me and everyone I'm around.

So, even though I'm thinking about buying a drink, maybe I shouldn't. Not tonight. It'll probably impress him if I show some self-restraint... For once.

Before we could have any small talk, the waitress comes back and starts filling our water glasses. She asks if she could start us off with anything to drink.

"Coke for me," Cartman says. Then all eyes are on me.

"Umm, water is fine, t-thanks," I say.

"Very good," the young waitress- probably in her early 20's- pipes cheerfully and then she adds, "Can I get you all started with any appetizers?"

"Yes, we'll start off with the calamari, please," the brunet orders, almost immediately after she's finished asking the question.

"You like calamari?" I ask after she leaves, somewhat surprised.

"Fuck yeah I do," he answers.

Then I can't help but notice an awkward silence.

"Ummm..." I start.

"Yes Jew?"

"Weren't you supposed to ask me something...?"

Cartman makes a puzzled expression as he takes a sip of his water. "Ask you something? Like what?"

I shrug. "I dunno... Maybe, something like, 'Do YOU like calamari? Yah know, just to make conversation."

Right after I say that I can't be feel very self-conscious. Am I acting weird? Am I being too sensitive? No wonder Cartman is sitting across from me, giving me a blank expression.

"Kahl, let's get one thing straight," he starts. "I really don't care if you like calamari or not. I bought it for me."

I stare at him, almost crestfallen.

"Jesus Christ, Jew!" he laughs. "I'm just fucking joking. I'll share the calamari if you want," and he immediately tears off the end of his straw and puts the straw to his lips to blow the paper wrapper on me. Geez! He's like a fucking kid!

I puff up my cheeks, trying not to blow up at him. He's making me want to order a fuckin' drink… but, still, I won't.

He just laughs at me. "You look like one of those really dumb looking fishes," he says. "What the fuck are they called?"

And here i was expecting him to be charming! He was like that when we went skating... but I guess I can't have everything as I want it. Maybe I'm the one acting like a kid.

"Puffer fish," I say tartly.

"Yeah, that!" he exclaims before laughing some more.

I grind my teeth and before I can help it, I kick him under the table.

"Ow!" he hisses.

"I don't like when people laugh at me," I tell him. "So, stop."

"Fine, fuck," he growls. "Hell, Kahl. You're not supposed to beat up your date."

"Suck me," I mutter lewdly.

"Gladly," he responds, smirking.

Yeah, I'm probably overreacting. I close my eyes and take a deep, calm breath before opening them again. "I'm sorry," I say.

"Uh, it's cool," he insists with a shrug. "It felt like we were kids again for a second there, heh..."

I smile bitterly at that, wishing it were true. I'd give anything to go back to the past. There are so many things I wish I could undo. There are so many things I wish I could have stopped from happening. There are so many shit things I can't stop thinking about.

Next thing I know, I feel something small and wet hit my face. I move my head to face Cartman and I see that he is now using his straw to launch out small, wet, wadded ripped parts of his napkin at me, chuckling like it's the most amusing thing ever.

"For fuck's sake, Cartman!" I snap.

"Du calme, Kahl," he says. "I was just trying to get you out of brooding, pensive state,"

"I wasn't fucking brooding!" I yell. I feel my face get heated as I know I am probably being too loud. "I wasn't brooding," I say again, more calmly.

"What were ya thinkin' about, Jew?"

I shrug. "Just... stuff. Yah know, life."

"So fuckin' gheyy Kahl," the brunet retorts.

"Well I AM gay, Cartman!" I state with no shame. "And I don't care if you can't understand it, but I am."

Then it looks like my childhood friend is adjusting how he is sitting. He clears his throat.

"Well, actually, Kahl..."

"What?" I ask tersely. I sound short-tempered, even though I don't mean to come off that way.

A pause.

"You know what, never mind," he says.

I gape at him. "Okay, no. You can't leave me hanging like that, it isn't fair!"

"Don't gimme your money making mouth," he taunts.

"I'm not a prostitute!" I nearly shriek, grabbing the attention of some people from nearby tables. I push my face into my hands and take a breath.

Cartman starts chortling again. "This is fun, huh?" he asks, trying visibly to stifle a smug smile. "Just like old times."

"A little too much like old times," I respond tightly.

Why did I want to go on this date again? Jesus Christ. Cartman has always been able to pull out this kind of reaction from me. He does it so damn easily and I fall into his trap every fucking time. I don't know why. I know what he's doing, but I still can't help but give him the exact reaction he's probing for.

"You know what, Fatass?" I start clearly. "Fine. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to tell me."

"Gahdammit Kahl, fine!" he says. "I'll fucking tell you, Jew!"

I listen attentively as he puts both elbows up on the table, crosses his arms tightly, and leans forward, indicating that he wants me to do the same. I learn forward and I look at a random spot on the table as I wait to hear what he has to say.

"Actually Kahl," he says in a whisper, "I DO understand. I'm not 100% straight myself,"

Wait. Am I hearing this right?

I quickly turn my face to look at him and he won't look me in the eyes. Instead, he leans up and adds in a low voice, "Not that I'm a fucking fag or anything. I've banged too many chicks to be a fag."

I laugh and it somehow turns into an awkward cough, knowing that his last part was another lame exaggeration of his.

Somehow, I'm not surprised. "I always knew your blatant homophobia was just a way to cover up how much you liked dick," I say to him, recalling how damn crude he was when we were kids. I might be fibbing a bit. I didn't know, but the entire thing makes so much damn sense.

"Watch it," he warns. "Don't make me regret telling you this."

I smile sweetly at him and then say, "You're right. I was being rude. I'm sorry."

His eyes narrow. "You're being facetious, aren't you?"

"A little bit," I admit with laughter.

He reaches across the table and gives me a light punch in the shoulder.

Damn. So maybe this weird little crush of mine won't be in vain after all. Not that I want to date him or make this a long term thing, but if the mood strikes I'd let him pound me. Maybe I just need to get it out. Then the sexual tension will dissolve.

"So, you're bi?"

My childhood friend fidgets a little, almost shrugging, and then nods his head. "More or less, yeah. Sounds weird when you say it though, Kahl."

I chuckle at how much he likes to say- and mispronounce- my name.

"Why's it sound weird? It's something newer for you too, I suppose?"

Cartman takes a sip of his water. "The last few years. It's more complicated with guys though,"

I lift a brow. "How so?"

"Well, I definitely like the sex just as much as I like it with women," he starts. "But the dating part... In some ways, that's actually more awkward and nerve-wracking then the sex."

I feel like I totally get what he's saying but I want to play stupid, so that I can get him to elaborate.

"Dating men is more awkward then having sex with men?" I ask, doing my best to wear my most perplexed expression.

"Don't gimme that eat-shit look Kahl," he says. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Shit! Busted!

Then, luckily for me, our waitress comes with Cartman's coke and calamari, levitating the tension between us.

"Are we ready to order?" she asks.

"Yeah!" Cartman says. "I'll have the Big Irish with a side of soup."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"Ay, I'm hungry!" he defends himself.

"Go big or go home!" the waitress pipes in, eliciting a nod of approval from Cartman. She chuckles and then looks at me, asking, "And for you?"

"Uhh, soup and salad," I say.

"Garden or caesar?"

"Garden."

With a nod, she smiles sweetly at Cartman and says, "Be back with your order shortly."

When she's gone, I mirror the smile. "She seems to like you."

"Jealous?" he asks with a snort before asking, "Why the fuck did you order a fucking salad? Boring."

"My appetite is lacking," I confess.

"Hm," he grunts.

I can't help but wonder if this is why he's being such a tool tonight. He feels uncomfortable. He feels uncomfortable because he's on a date with me. A man.

"So, as I was saying Kahl," my "date" says in a lower voice. "You knew EXACTLY what I was talking about earlier when I said that dating is more awkward then sex..." His eyes traveled to the right. "With men," he adds quickly and then coughs.

I shake my head. "No, I really don't."

His eyebrows narrow. "Yes you do, Kahl!"

"No I don't." I say, still trying to fake it the best I can.

"Bullshit!" he raises his voice. "You have sex all the time with random guys, and not ONCE since I've been back in town have you really talked about any past relationships, exes... Fuck, you haven't mentioned a single date that you've been on before."

I drift my gaze over to the right, not really sure what I'm looking at.

Fuck. He IS right.

I feel Cartman's big brown eyes staring at me and I finally meet his eyes with mine. I hate it. I hate how intensely he's looking at me. I hate how he has a pensive, interrogative and a slightly sad expression on his face. I hate how I feel like he can see right through me. But most of all, I hate how vulnerable I feel. I feel immensely nervous and unsettled, like I felt the first time I ever got naked in front of a girl when I was a teenager. But this time, I feel like this is the first time someone is seeing my naked soul.

I hate it.

"Kahl," Cartman breaks the awkward silence, maybe because he can sense my discomfort. "Don't tell me that you've known that you're gay for a while but you never actually had a boyfriend," he says sarcastically.

"Of course I have," I'm surprised at how weak my voice sounds.

He blinks. "Then why don't you have one now?"

I shrug. "It's pointless."

"What?"

"I said it's pointless!" I repeat and I can feel some sort of weird emotion emerging. "Of course I've had boyfriends, Cartman. I've been in love. Thought a time or two that I found 'the one'. But when it doesn't work out- and it never does- you realize it's not even worth the chance."

I close my mouth, pressing my lips together firmly. I feel like I might start fucking crying, but I don't want to. I don't want to keep losing it in front of him. I stare at him, urging my vision to stay clear even though I literally feel tears burning in the corners of my eyes.

"Well, shit," he deadpans.

"Yeah," I mutter before repeating him, "Shit."

"That's just the thing, though, isn't it, Kahl?" he asks before continuing, "You always feel like that until you do find the one. Then it stops."

I snort back a grim sounding laugh. "Yeah, right," I murmur. "Look, I'm not exactly normal, especially not when it comes to the spectrum of emotions. I am high maintenance. I complain a lot. I demand a lot. I'm a shitty boyfriend. One second I have you up on a pedestal, the next you're less than the gum at the bottom of my feet. I get moody and volatile. I can't really control it. People get sick of it. They get sick of me and my habits. I have a hard time saying exactly what I want, but when people don't understand I spite them for it."

Cartman listens intently and when I'm finished he gives a long nod, musing with, "Hm..."

"What?" I nearly snap.

"Why do you think you're like that?" he asks.

I sneer at him. "I don't fucking know. I just am. People leave when things get hard. People don't want to stick around when I'm not the easy-going horny guy they got used to. It's like they realize that isn't what they signed up for and they don't want to deal with me."

"Then they're not worth it," Cartman says simply. "When you find a guy that is worth it, he'll think you're worth it, too. He'll stay."

I let out a scoff. I'd like that, but it seems too good to be true.

"You think I'm just bullshitting, dontcha Kahl?"

I suddenly realize that I am leaning back up against my booth with my arms crossed. Reluctantly, I slowly nod my head.

"Well," he starts, "You know I'm not one to make shit up when I'm serious."

Then, as if the timing couldn't be better, the waitress brings the food. She puts Cartman's large platter in front of him and then places the soup and salad in front of me. She smiles at both of us- especially Cartman- and leaves.

"You're going to eat all that?" I ask, poking fun at my "date".

"Damn right I will," the brunet answers.

"But go ahead, continue." I say, gesturing with my hand.

"Continue what?" he asks with his mouth full.

"You say you don't lie," I say as I lean over my food and lock eyes with him. "But how would you know about all this if you yourself haven't found 'the one'? Shouldn't you be jaded, cynical, and bitter, just like me?"

"I guess I'm just trying to be optimistic," he says. "You're so fucking negative. You're negative enough for the both of us."

I laugh loudly, unable to help myself. The thought of Cartman as a positive person is just weird. I wouldn't call him negative, but he's too much of a douche to be a positive person. The entire idea is foreign and strange.

"What?" he snaps at me.

"You," I say, trying to sober myself.

He gives me a dull stare before digging into his dinner.

I guess that's that, but somehow I don't think I got the entire answer.

I stare down at my meal, picking up my fork and moving it through the salad.

"Eat," Cartman urges. "Don't just play with it."

"I'm not," I insist before taking a bite. Once I swallow I look at him and say, "See? Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he responds.

"Meh," I say while I roll my eyes.

"Okay, Kahl, tell me what's wrong," Cartman says as he puts down his fork for a second (probably not for long).

"Do you really think I'm negative?" My question slips because I actually contemplated whether I wanted to ask him that or not. Now I sound like an overly self-conscious little bitch.

Slowly, Cartman picks his fork back up. "Well, yeah," he answers honestly. He takes another bite and- while chewing with his mouth full- adds "but I know that's not really you."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask.

The brunet shrugs, taking another bite. "I just know that's not really you, Kahl. And the only real reason I know that is because I remember how you were back then," He drinks some of his coke.

I raise an eyebrow. "How was I 'back then'?"

"Well let's see," Cartman looks to the upper left-hand corner, as if that area of the restaurant has all his answers for him. "You were impatient, stubborn, a know-it-all, a pain-in-the-ass, greedy, a little bitch, annoying-"

"Are you going somewhere with this, Fatass?" I snap, feeling my face turn red with impatience.

"- But you were also smart, a hard-worker, honest, caring, loyal, and most importantly you were really, really... I don't know how to say it..." He taps his left index finger on his chin.

"Really what?"

"I don't know, 'eager', I guess?" he says in a questioning tone.

"Eager?" I echo, disappointed.

"I mean like, eager to learn an' shit," he explains as he takes another fork-full. "But not just eager with school. You were just, eager with life."

"And now I'm not?" I assume, finishing his thought.

"I guess," he says, "but it's because you're stuck in a rut, right? It happens to the best of us. You'll get over it."

"I feel like I've been stuck in this so-called rut for years and years and years," I murmur. "It's slowly becoming part of who I am."

"Don't let it," he says.

"It's hard not to…"

I mean it. I've been feeling out of whack since my teen years. I think this is when the whole "hermit" thing started. I stopped being social, but I always thought it was because of Ike. I wanted to spend time with him. He was more important.

"Ever consider therapy?" Cartman asks out of the blue.

I give him a dull stare before pointedly rejecting the idea, "No."

I'm definitely not the Broflovski that needs therapy. Ike is.

Cartman shrugs unceremoniously. "All right, no need to get snappy. It was just a thought."

"There's nothing wrong with me," I insist. "Maybe I just need to get out more. I'm a recluse and that can't be healthy, right?"

"Right," he agrees. "Well, I'll be sure to take you out again if this goes well."

"Goodie," I say, trying not to sound sarcastic but trying not to sound eager either.

He just smiles and he looks so fucking charming, like he's reading all my thoughts and it's making him smug.

"Oh, shut up," I mumble, moving the food around my plate with my fork.

"But I didn't say anything, Kahl," he responds sweetly.

"Are you finished?" the waitress intervenes, and for once she has good timing.

"Oh yes I am, thank you!" Cartman says, smiling. The waitress places his empty plate in her left elbow while holding the empty bread plates in her left hand as she reaches toward my plate with her right hand.

"Are you done?" she asks.

I look down and see that I've eaten about half of my salad. I feel Cartman's eyes burning wholes through me and, for a split second, I can tell that he senses my anxiety.

"Yes I am," I answer perhaps a bit too reassuringly, turning my eyes to the waitress. She smiles and with no judgement takes my plate.

"I'll be right back with the check," she says.

Immediately after she leaves, the brunet is frowning and staring at me.

"What?!"

"You hardly ate your salad, Kahl."

"I told you I wasn't hungry," I retort. "So fuck off."

"No need to get ugly, Kahl."

The waitress comes back with only one check.

I immediately feel uncomfortable and guilty. I turn to her and say before she can leave, "Oh, I meant to ask for separate ch-"

"I got it!" Cartman interrupts.

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yes I'm sure," he says. He then he nods to the waitress, dismissing her as he reaches for his wallet.

"You... You don't have to pay for me," I say timidly.

"I know that Kahl," he says, after he puts his credit card in the check booklet. "But I want to."

"But I feel bad," I moan, and I regret saying that as soon as I did.

"If you feel that bad Jew," he pauses to give the waitress the check booklet as she passes by, "then you can join me for ice cream after this."

"Ice cream?" I ask, puzzled.

"Because you hardly ate your salad Kahl."

I debate on declining just for the sake of it, but I don't. Instead, I relent and agree with, "All right."

He gives me a satisfied smile. "Good."

Once he is finished paying, we leave. We're quiet until we're back in his car. "Radio?" he asks.

"Whatever," I respond with a shrug.

He turns it on, probably in an attempt to make things less quiet and less awkward. It sucks. Things never used to be tense between us. Then again, maybe I'm the one making it this way. I worry too much. I'm being a moron.

"What's on your mind?" he asks as he backs out of the parking space.

"Nothing," I tell him.

"Liar," he says, "but whatever, I won't pry."

I stare out the window, watching the scenery pass by. Farmland, farmland and more farmland. I stare up at the sky. The sun will be setting soon. It feels strange to be out at this time. I feel like I haven't seen the sun set in years. I probably haven't.

Before I know it, we're already pulling up into Pavi's, a local mom-and-pop ice cream joint.

We step out of the car and for once, the weather isn't frigid cold with the sun setting. We walk up to the window and the young teenager working there asks us, "How can I help you?"

I watch Cartman, who seems absolutely mesmerized by the menu, as he contemplates with his finger on his chin.

"I'll have the double scoop large Belgian waffle cone," he orders "and I want one scoop to be chocolate chip cookie dough and the other to be rocky road."

I chuckle, seeing that he still has that insatiable sweet tooth.

"Your turn, Kahl."

"Oh!" I said, snapped out of my thoughts. "I'll have a single chocolate cone."

"Fucking boring Jew," my companion snaps.

"At least I'm not going all-out, Fatass!"

"Ay! I think I deserve to splurge every now and then, Jew!"

I snort back a laugh. "You used to splurge quite a lot."

"Well, times change," he says.

We wait silently as the kid scoops ice cream. When he hands us our cones, Cartman pays and we take a seat in the corner of the room.

"You didn't have to that," I tell him.

"Do what?" he questions.

"Pay for me again," I say.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Get over it, Jew. It's not a bad thing to let someone treat you, y'know. Just enjoy it. This is a date after all."

We eat, falling into another silence. Halfway through, I ask, "Cartman, why'd you used to eat so much?"

"Dunno," he says simply. "I just did."

I have a feeling that's a lie, but I don't pry. I guess I have no right to ask, especially not if I'm still keeping so man secrets from him.

"I always felt like there was something missing," he continues suddenly.

His voice jerks me from my thoughts. I turn my head to face him. "Yeah?" I urge him to continue.

"That was another reason I was so spoiled and was such a pain-in-the-ass to my myum. She would get me all the KFC I wanted, buy me all the video games I wanted, be there and console me whenever I cried like a bitch, and it STILL wasn't enough."

"What do you think it was?" I ask, before licking my ice cream.

"I could just point at the obvious elephant-in-the-room and say it was the fact that I didn't have a father growing up," he says, before biting into his ice cream. "And I'm sure that had something to do with it, but I've thought about it a lot over the years."

"What do you think it was?" I ask, carefully licking any ice cream that starts to melt.

I see Cartman do the same with his double scoop ice cream cone before he scrunches his eyebrows and asks, "Tell me Kahl. Have you ever heard of the expression 'a God-Shaped hole'?"

I shake my head.

"Well, when I went an NA meeting with my myum one time, they were talking about it in a meeting." He explains. "Basically, it's that part inside of you that desperately needs or wants something from the outside to fill it. To make you "complete", if you will."

I nod, listening. "Okay..." I say, before biting into the cone.

"Now, not everyone has a God-Shaped hole, Kahl," he says, now with the first scoop basically gone and is now working on the second scoop. "Some people are just so happy that they can shit, and that's fucking great." For once, he sounds genuine.

"And you weren't happy?" I ask, biting again in my cone.

"I wasn't happy," he confirms.

"Are you now?" I pry. For some reason, this conversation feels meaningful. I feel like, for the first time, he's actually talking to me and not just talking at me. He's telling me about things that matter and not just dumb shit to pass the time.

I'm discovering how much I like the sound of his voice. Somehow, it sounds differently. Perhaps it's because this conversation means something. He still has that strange, undistinguishable accent, but I can't help but find it charming.

"I'm content," he admits with a shrug. "It comes and it goes, but I do all right. I was a mess for a while, but once I got to the root of the problem, that's when the weight started to come off. I was just a teenager, but I was having a pretty hard time moving around. I think I realized that I needed to change when my doctor told me I was going to die if I didn't take control of my life soon. So, I did."

"That's good, Cartman," I tell him. "I'm happy for you."

He smiles and nods. "I guess I'm happy for me, too."

"You seem to really have it together," I say. "I'm a little envious."

"What about you, then?" he asks, turning the conversation towards me. "What's keeping you so down?"

"I thought you weren't going to ask," I point out.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I won't ask for details. You can be as vague as you want. Just talk."

"I just didn't really get to do what I wanted," I answer.

"You mean with work?" he asks, now biting into the cone.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess with work mostly. I mean, my job pays well, but it's really monotonous and it kinda sucks."

"What did you want to do?"

I scrunch my face. "I don't know, really. A part of me wanted to be a doctor, another part of me a veterinarian, another part of me a paediatrician,"

"Weren't you a biology major for a second, back in college?" he asks, making progress with the cone.

"I was," I say, taking another bite. "I changed because my GPA was dropping. I was upset that I couldn't keep a 4.0, but that's normal for bio majors."

Cartman makes a similar scrunched expression, digesting what I just said. "If that's normal for a bio major, then why did you really change your major? Because you have always been a perfectionist?"

"Sort-of," I say, after finishing the last bite of my cone. "I wanted to graduate magna cum lade, but that wasn't the only reason. Honestly, going into the medical field was always my dream."

The brunet lets out an wisp of air, irritated. "Then why didn't you just GO for it, if it was your dream?"

"I didn't think I was good enough," I say quickly, as if just to get it out of me.

Cartman lets out a scoff. "Damn, Jew. You have some major self-esteem problems."

"Shut up," I retort.

"Well, it's true," he says. "When people start to think they're not good enough for the things they want, then there's a big problem. You can't keep putting yourself down.

"I know," I admit. "It's hard... Things just piled up and soon enough I felt like I was fucking drowning. Everything in the world was going wrong. I guess I kind of gave up and started to sink."

"Shit happens," he says with a shrug.

"This was more than just shit," I murmur. "This was, like... a whole other level of shit."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

I sigh, thinking of how I want to explain it. "Cartman, you wouldn't be surprised if I told you that I've been struggling with depression for a long, long time, would you?"

He scoffs. "Well, no shit!"

"I don't know how to explain it," I say, crossing my legs. "It goes so far back that I don't even know where to begin to even look at the problem. Sometimes it isn't even just depression, it's all these other wrong moods. It's like no matter what I feel, I feel too much of it – especially with anger. I lash out at myself and I lash out at others…"

"If you don't want to see a therapist, you should really just get out and socialize more," he says. "Isolation just makes this shit worse."

I shrug. "Maybe," but I know from experience that he is right.

"Speaking of which," the brunet starts, "You ever just talk to Stan, or Butters? What about Kinneh? He's still here in South Park, isn't he?"

"Yeah," I say. "I don't talk to Stan much these days. I think I bring him down. Ironic, I always used to say that about him. The tables turned. He married Wendy and basically fucked out of my life. Um, Butters... He's gone, too. He's dating a Raisin's girl. They're in Denver. He teaches elementary. Kenny... I still talk to him sometimes. He stayed in South Park. He's always the one to try and get me out of bed on bad days. He's a bartender, but I think he has a few illegal side jobs, too. I don't know. I don't ask, but he's pretty sketchy sometimes."

"What do you mean?" Cartman pries curiously before chortling and adding, "Are you saying he's a hooker?"

"Er, I was leaning more towards drug dealing, but if he does hook... I guess that isn't shocking," I admit. "Not that I can talk. I don't do that, but I'm a fucking slut."

"Ah, come on," Cartman reasons. "You gotta stop demeaning yourself like that."

"I already told you I'm fucking depressed," I deadpan. "Self-hatred tends to come with that fun package..."

He shrugs his shoulders. "You shouldn't self-diagnose, Kahl. Lots of symptoms are the same. Go see a professional. It's really not that scary. I saw a few doctors when I was young and obese. Some of them are shit, but some of them are great. You might have to try a few doctors until you find one you really like, but when you do it'll help. Well, it'll help if you let it."

"It's pointless, Cartman," I say with a somewhat impatient sigh. "I know how I feel."

"Do you want to just revel in it?" he retorts. "Or do you want to feel better?"

"It's not that simple," I murmur.

"Sure it is," he argues.

He's starting to really piss me off again.

"To be blunt... You're clearly hypersexual," he continues. "Is that typically a symptom of depression? And what about the mood swings you just mentioned? I don't know. I'm not a doctor. All I'm saying is that there might be something more going on than depression. Depression is a part of other illnesses, too. Plus, don't you want to get to the root of the problem?"

"Shut up," I mutter. "God, I don't want to talk about this anymore... Besides, I am pretty sure I know the root of my problem already."

"And that is...?" he asks.

"Let's not talk about it tonight," I say, perhaps too sharply.

Then there's an awkward silence.

I clear my throat, feeling a big bad because I know Cartman's just trying to help. Fuck, he's the only person that has shown any real concern for my emotional well-being in years.

"Can I ask a really strange question?" I say gingerly.

Cartman raises a brow, a bit taken aback by my switching gears. "Go ahead, Jew."

"You remember college, right?"

He smirks, like that was a retarded question. "I didn't party THAT hard, Kahl."

"I mean, of course you do," I answer myself. "What I mean is, do you remember how simple life was back then?"

Cartman nods, and then moves his gaze out in front of him, in deep thought. "Well yeah, of course, Kahl."

"We thought we had it so stressful," I reminisce. "Having to balance school and work, and getting into maybe my first real serious relationship... I really thought I was an adult back then,"

"Annnnnd what's your point?" he says, growing impatient.

"I had it so good back then," I say. "I mean sure, I had my problems back then too, but it was nearly as bad now. Shit, back in college we ALL had it so good, we just didn't know it."

"That's how life is," Cartman says simply. "In high school, we thought we had it rough. In college, we looked back on it and laughed. Now, we do the same thing about our college experience. Things seem hard and then we kick ass and look back on it and realize it wasn't that big a deal. It doesn't just apply to school. I think it applies to life in general."

"Hm," I muse. Perhaps he is right. I think it would be nice if he was. Someday, I want to be able to look back at where I am now and be relieved that I'm in a better place.

"Ah, come on, you'll be okay," Cartman says, almost like he's reading my mind.

I juts smile at him. "Maybe."

"Not maybe," he insists, "you will be okay. Life is all about struggles and choices, Kahl. It's not fair, but then again... No one said life was going to be fair."

"Okay," I say, relenting. "Sorry for being such a downer,"

"It's okay, Kahl," he says. "Being human doesn't make you weak."

Is this Eric Cartman saying this? I mean, I know he's matured a good deal, but is this REALLY him?

"Well, shall we head back, my Jew?"

"Sure," I answer, following his lead and walking to the car. "...Did you just say, 'My Jew'?"

Cartman unlocks the door before he got in. "Why yes, Kahl," he answers. When we're both inside the car, he asks "Does that bother you?"

I shake my head. "No. Just different, is all."

The drive back is pretty quiet. The sun has just set and the sky is turning a dark shade of orange, with hints of fuchsia. To be honest, I can't remember the last time I've seen the sky look so beautiful.

Soon enough, we're parked. Silently, we move back upstairs and take the elevator to our floor. "So... This was nice," I say.

"Yeah, nice," he agrees.

More silence and soon the elevator dings. We move down the hallway and stop when we're standing in front of our apartments.

"So, hey..." he starts, "can I try something?"

"Sure," I say.

And slowly, he leans forward. He presses his parted lips against mine, sealing them shut like an envelope. The kiss is quick and chaste, but I can tell it means a lot.

"Was that okay?" he asks when we break apart.

I can't help but smile. "Perfect."