"All right, Eric, I guess that'll do. Off you go."

Cartman snapped his book shut and hurriedly stuffed it into his desk. About goddamn time. He didn't even deserve detention, not this time. It was all that stupid jew's fault.

He had gotten on Kyle about something, he forgot what, Family Guy or his mom or something, and it had started off with their regular, almost compulsory, bickering, but somehow it had escalated from there. Cartman had gone too far, somehow, though he couldn't for the life of him recall what he'd said or done that was so terrible, and the next thing he knew Kyle was on him, his small, stone fists surprisingly hard, the force of his body knocking them to the ground. Kyle had been so touchy over the past couple of weeks. Months, even. Maybe a year. Cartman didn't know what the hell his problem was.

Anyway. Livid, Cartman had fought back, and it was not just their ordinary fisticuffs built out of frustration, but a product of complete rage. Kyle had started it though. Provoked or not, Kyle had been the one to hit out first. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. It was all Kyle's fault.

Stan and Kenny had at first ignored them, as was their custom, but before long, perhaps the realising the ferocity of which they were tearing at each other, made a move to pull them free of each other. They were, however, saved the trouble by Mr Mackay, who heard the commotion from his corner on break duty and dragged them apart and escorted them by the collars to the Principal's office.

At least they didn't have to share detention though. He had been here, and Kyle had been with Mr Garrison down the hall. It was friday afternoon. The teachers were tired. If another fight broke out the teachers would be liable to join in rather than break it up.

He wondered if Kyle was out yet. If Kyle had got less time than him he would kill him.

He walked down the hall and on an impulse turned towards Kyle's classroom. Just to see if he was still there. Gloat at him a little. Or a lot. It's not like they'd walk home together or anything. Well. It wouldn't be the first time. Maybe they could slag off Mr Mackay or something. It would be kind of companionable.

He pushed open the door and had barely set foot through it when he froze. His oxygen turned to glass in his throat. His hand remained on the doorhandle. Kyle Broflovski was crying.

Not loud, toddler-like bawls but soft, suppressed gasps, his back to Cartman, his head lowered, his shoulders shuddering unevenly. Cartman felt a paradoxical wave hum through him, something like exhilaration and fear. Crave and dread. Compassion and contempt. Love and hate, even.

Cartman did nothing to announce his arrival. He simply stood, his formidable size filling the doorway, his hand resting on the handle, and waited for Kyle to know he was there. He didn't have to wait long.

He had made little sound opening the door, and none afterwards, but Kyle still stiffened. The sobs came to an abrupt halt. He straightened and whirled around, and there was a brief gasp, with round, disbelieving eyes.

"Oh, shit," Kyle swore vehemently, viciously, for him. He wiped his eyes, the fierceness of his movements mimicking his tone. "You of all people."

"Yeah. Me of all people."

Kyle looked at him sharply, but so far, could find only curiosity in his face. No gladness, certainly no concern, not even amusement, not yet, anyway. Kyle still braced himself for the onslaught of malice. It would come. Cartman was just savouring the moment and taking his own sweet time. It would come though. He just had to pray to god he wouldn't break beneath it.

"What is it?" Cartman asked, sounding more interested than anything else, as if discovering a new breed of bug.

Kyle laughed, and it startled Cartman a little. He didn't like the way it sounded. Didn't like it at all. "It's your lucky day, Cartman," Kyle told him. He dropped into the nearest chair and rested his elbows loosely on the table, appealingly helpless.

"You have AIDs?"

Kyle smiled. "Not that lucky."

Unnerved, Cartman didn't reply. What the hell was he smiling for? This wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Everybody knew the way things were supposed to go with him and Kyle. They had been setting down the rules since Kindergarten. Setting them in stone. Instead he asked, considerably more roughly than before, "What the hell are you crying about, you little fag?"

Kyle almost winced. Almost. "Well, maybe it's not your lucky day," he said thoughtfully. He picked up a discarded pencil and played with it, balancing it on the desk with the point pressed into his fingertip, rocking it slowly.

Cartman's gaze flickered from the pencil back to Kyle. He had obviously cracked. The thought excited and frightened him at the same time. One of those scary feelings again. Well, they could piss off. He was trying to figure out why the fuckbag was throwing a wobbly.

"Because," Kyle began slowly, as if prompted. "You get to see me feeling worse than I ever have in my whole life, but you don't get to find out why. I'm not going to tell anyone, not even Stan and or my mom, because it's so stupid- " he pushed the pencil with extra force, and the sharpened lead broke his skin. He forced himself not to cry out, and if Cartman noticed he didn't say anything. "So there's no chance of you ever finding out," he resumed knocking the pencil from side to side. "and ruining my life." He knocked it back. "You'll never know, Cartman." Knock. "You'll never be able to hurt me in that way." Knock. Kyle met his eyes, and smiled a strangely vacuous, triumphant smile that screamed vulnerability. "Maybe this is good enough for you though, just seeing me like this, because I know you hate me that much."

The smile that accompanied these words chilled Cartman more than a little. Cartman was somewhere between getting pissed off and getting worried. Half of Cartman urged him to lash out at Kyle, verbally or physically, to get him to stop being such a whiny little jew and to get a grip, whilst another half was conjuring up a speeded list; a death or equal tragedy Cartman would have heard about. Problems with a girl weren't likely. Like himself, Kyle seemed rather detached from such things. Something that had happened in the detention? Mr Garrison had got to him somehow? No. Mr Garrison couldn't get to his own scrotum.

Cartman laughed. It was familiar and wonderful, like waking up in warm sheets after a bad dream. He laughed again. Kyle said nothing. Fuck Kyle. If Kyle was going to make him feel things, then fuck him.

"Screw you, Kyle, I don't even care. You're acting really weird and gay, dude. Go on home to your bitch of a mom and get her to kiss you better. I've got better stuff to do." And so saying he stepped out and shut the door, shut it on Kyle's replying laugh. It sounded almost hysterical. He didn't even defend his mom. "Fucking freak. Fucking...jew." Cartman muttered to himself, not without some discomfort.

You shouldn't be leaving him. Don't leave him.

What the fuck, was that a conscience? Or had Kenny died and got in his head somehow? Either way, they could piss off. He wasn't helping some pathetic jew. Whatever he was feeling, he was getting what he deserved.

Feeling better, Cartman hurried along the deserted halls, leaving Kyle, alone again, with the fact that he had fallen in love with Eric Cartman.

Lol, Kyle OOC or what? No sequels or anything. I have enough things to update as it is. Thanks for reading.