Cartman's door. I'm standing at Cartman's door, in front of Cartman's house, with my clothing, for a sleepover.

"Christ, this has been a weird day."

I ring the doorbell, and I can hear the loud, church-like chime it makes from the inside. I start to hear slight shuffling noises, and after a few moments, the doorknob starts to turn. As the door opens, it reveals a slightly disheveled Cartman from inside. He's not wearing his favorite blue beanie, and his brown hair is a little tousled. It's gotten a little over grown over the summer. He's wearing a faux-leather jacket, which looks nice on him, but it appears like he rushed to put it on, and the zipper's not zipped either. He's wearing a worn out, light red shirt underneath, and dark, worn in, blue jeans. To be honest, he looks kind of cute.

After a bit of awkward silence, Cartman opens his mouth to speak. "You can come in."

I walk inside the house, after wiping my shoes off on the door mat, and give Cartman a rather awkward smile as he closes the door. "This really is different. This even feels somewhat… homey."

I figure I should say something. "So, you wanted to work on the project?"

"Yeah," Cartman shuffles his feet some more, "Do you have your stuff?"

I look down at the large, green bag clinging onto my shoulder, and look back up at Cartman. "Yup."

More awkward silence. Both of us just shuffle our feet, and avoid each other's eyes. I look over at Cartman, and he has a little pinkish tint to his cheeks. I try to think of other things to say, and finally break the silence. "So, do you wanna get started?"

Cartman looks up at me. "Yeah, I just don't know exactly what to do… I wasn't really paying attention to what Mr. Garrison said other than the fact that he gave us a project on the first day of school."

I smirk at him. "It's fine, I'll show you what to do. I wrote everything down in my agenda book. Where should we work?"

"We can work in the living room. My mom bought a new table for the front of the couch so both of us can eat in there when we're watching TV, so I guess we can write our papers on there," He started walking towards the living room and waved me over, "Come on."

I start walking towards the living room with him, and his house is nice, just like I remember it. It's a little bland, but comforting. "Hey Cartman, I'm just curious, but where's your mom?"

"Oh, she's out with a new boyfriend of her's, most likely making another fucking porno." I would expect him to have that same furrowed brow, and twisted frown he had this morning, but he just has this dejected expression on his face… "It must be difficult, having a parent like that."

"I'm sorry." I say as we sit down on the floor. We're both next to each other, on the same side of the wooden table. Me on the left, and Cartman on the right.

"Why are you saying sorry? It's fine, I'm used to it." Cartman looks down at the table, and grabs a sheet of loose leaf at the edge of the table, along with a pencil. I want to say something in reply, but Cartman speaks up before me. "So what's the project?"

"One second, I have it in my agenda book." I lean down, and open up my green bag, immediately spotting the green agenda book on top of my pyjamas. "Here," I take it out, and open it up to September. "Each partner has to write an essay about what their goals are for Freshman year. After each partner is finished, they have to compare their essays, and write about the similarities and differences in an essay they'll write together. Each piece of writing must be a minimum of five paragraphs."

I look back up at Cartman, and he's still staring at my writing. "Wow… Well this sucks. What the hell is up with all this bullcrap?"

"We're in high school, we shouldn't expect anything less. They do the same thing every year, and just pile us up with assignments until we practically break."

Cartman gives a slight hiss of frustration. "Well I'm sick of it. It's only the first day, and we already have this massive project to work on. Seriously, do they think we're work mules?"

"Not necessarily... But, this project isn't that big of a deal. The hardest part of this will be coming up with enough writing for our actual goals, the rest is just filler bullcrap."

Cartman looks up at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the first thing you have to do is write out a thesis statement. Since we're both together while we're writing our essays, all we have to do is really write the same thesis statement, and the same filler information, while just wording it a little differently. The only thing we'll really do separately is our actual goals."

Cartman looks somewhat intrigued, and rests his right hand on his paper. "That does make it sound easier… But just so you know, I really don't get essays, so you're going to be coming up with most of the writing."

"It's fine, they're easy for me. I'll teach you the way to write a proper one." I decide to smile up at Cartman, and give him a cheeky grin. Luckily, he smiles back, and it makes me feel relieved. It really seems like this night isn't going to be so bad after all, Cartman really seems to be improving.

"Thanks," he says, and his cheeks start to change into a light shade of pink.

"Cartman said thanks to me… I'm starting to think I can get used to different."

…

The clock below Cartman's TV reads out 7:30 pm, and I hear Cartman yawn next to me. I look over, and see his brown eyes are a little glazed over. He's getting tired.

"Do we have to keep writing this now? We can just finish the rest tomorrow, I'm tired..." he licks his lips, and I see the pink tip of his tongue peeking out, "...and hungry."

He really does look cute. "I guess so, we're pretty much done. We already wrote the majority of it, and I'm almost done with my conclusion."

"You're up to your conclusion?! I'm only just finishing my fourth paragraph! I haven't even written about my second goal yet…"

I roll my eyes and smile. "It's fine. I'll quickly finish mine in the morning, and then I'll help you write the rest of yours. Then we can work on our final essay together."

"Okay," he smiles back up at me, "but now, let's eat some food. I'm freaking starving."

"Sure," I reply, "I'm pretty hungry too."

He stands up, and reaches out his hand to help me up. As I look up at him, I grab it, and feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "That feels nice," I think.

After he pulls me up, we rush over to the kitchen. Cartman opens the fridge, and his gaze switches over to me. "Okay, so, what are you in the mood for?"

"You."

I feel my mouth curve into a nervous frown as I realize what my mind just wandered over to. "Wait, what the fuck?" I can feel my face flush in a bright red. "This is Cartman I'm talking about! Why the fuck did my mind go right to that? I'm such a freaking pervert!"

"...Kyle?"

I glance back up at Cartman, my mind returning to reality as my face is still in full flush. "Oh, um, I don't know…"

"Fuck."

"...I'll have whatever you want." I beam at him with a nervous grin.

"Alright," he faces me with a slightly confused expression, "How about chicken tenders?"

"His expression is weird, he definitely noticed something. Shit."

I feel embarrassed. "Sure, those sound fine. I'll help you make them." I purposely speak less flustered, and try to sound normal. My cheeks are starting to cool down a little.

"Okay," he looks a little less wary, "You can get the baking sheet in the drawer to the left most side, and preheat the oven to four hundred and twenty five degrees while I grease it."

I nod, and kneel down to the floor to open up the drawer. As I pull out the one that looks nicest, I say, "Is this the right one?"

"Yeah," Cartman says, "That's the one. By the way, how many chicken tenders do you want? They're pretty big."

I place the baking sheet on the countertop. "Um, three should be fine."

Cartman nods. "Alright."

I walk over to the oven, and press the "bake" button. It makes a beeping noise when I press it, and "350°" appears in red, digital lettering. I press the arrow facing up, and rise the temperature to 425° before pressing "start".

The oven starts to make a low humming noise, and reverts the numbers back to 100° as it starts rising in temperature. I look back over at Cartman, and he's just finished greasing the baking sheet. As he lays down the chicken tenders, I take some time to look at his hands. His fingers are long, and his skin looks pale, and creamy. "I see he has nice hands too."

I walk over to him. "How many are you having?"

He looks up, a little startled. "I'm pretty hungry, so I'll have five."

I nod, and watch him place the chicken tenders onto the baking sheet. They're all in perfect little rows, like the circles he made on his desk this morning. "Hey, Kyle?"

I look up at him, and he's still looking down as he puts out the chicken tenders. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about how I yelled in class today."

My mouth drops open a little bit. "He's sorry?"

"You are?" I say to him in disbelief.

Cartman stops putting out the chicken tenders, and looks at me. "Yes, I'm sorry."

I just stand there in silence.

"I know that doesn't sound believable, but I actually have felt shitty about what I've done to you for a while. Not just yelling at you today, but for the crap I've been pulling on you for over a few months now."

Cartman leans up against the refrigerator next to us, and looks down at his feet, "Pretty much ever since I was a little kid, I've had no regrets about anything. I was always pretty carefree, and didn't give much of a shit about anyone. When I met you, Stan, and Kenny years ago, my viewpoint was the same. I still didn't give a shit, and found it to be pretty funny to make fun of you guys. Especially you, because you're Jewish, and you're pretty much everything I hated at the time. It's just been recently that I've been feeling different. Like everything that I've hated for so long didn't really make sense, and it didn't really annoy me anymore. I told myself that it was nothing, and that it was just my mind playing tricks on me, so I just continued to do the same, and make fun of you."

He paused for a moment, "Even now, it's still continued, and I'm looking at things differently. My head feels upside down, and I'm looking at everything in an opposite light than I used to. Honestly, I think you're a pretty good person, I just didn't want to change. That's why I got so angry at Mr. Garrison this morning. Since everything feels different, and I really hate change, when he paired us together, I just kind of... broke."

After a few moments of silence, he speaks again. "I'm sorry."

I stare over at Cartman, completely flabberghasted, and muster up the will to speak. "Holy shit, Cartman, I… I had no idea." I pause for a moment, and look up into his eyes. Their normally bright, chocolate brown color has turned somewhat dark, and dismal. He's afraid this won't be enough for me to accept him. "Thank you."

I'm not sure why, but at that moment, I pulled him into a strong embrace. I feel his breath hitch a little, and he slowly wraps his arms around me in response. "So warm…" I think. "I can feel his heart beat through his chest, and it's getting faster."

I gradually pull away from him, not to make it too awkward, and beam up at him with a toothy grin.

Cartman smiles back, with a sort of kindness that I've never seen on his face before. His face is flushed with a dark pink, and his breathing is audible, in a staccato-like pattern . "You're a good friend, Kyle."

"So are you…" Before I say Cartman, I pause.

"...Eric."