A/N: I thought school had killed my motivation and ability to come up with ideas. Then this lil' story saved me. So I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Oh, also, I apologize if Cartman seems OOC here. I think that, even though Cartman can be arrogant and confident, he's also extremely insecure, stubborn and incredibly anti-social. And this is the side of him I kind of wanted to focus on in this story. Just a heads up, I suppose.

And yes, this is my first (completed) attempt at a multi-chapter fic and that is terrifying.

Cartman played Rugby because it was different. Before he became Prop for his high school's team, he had no idea what the game was. All he knew that there was a USA Sevens team and that a couple of schools in California played it. He watched a game on ESPN and wasn't really that interested, he could barely concentrate on a game of football and he had played that since he was eight years old. But at least Rugby was different. Only parents really showed up to their games and his mom wasn't one of them.

Plus, there were injuries; lots of them. Of course, he didn't really like it when he was the recipient of a concussion or dislocated shoulder but it felt pretty fucking good to tackle someone and know that there was a possibility you could do permanent (or thereabouts) damage. And Cartman fucking knew he was capable of doing just that. The coach said so; they needed somebody as tall and broad as Cartman on the pitch. Cartman guessed that was a nicer way of calling him fat. But coach also said that he had never met somebody as indifferent and easily susceptible to anger, apparently that's a good thing. And Cartman guessed that was true.

Football got all the attention at Park County high school. And Cartman guessed that was true for the other schools in their rather small league. Rightly so, in Cartman's opinion, for that he was thankful. He couldn't handle the admiration, the reputation wordlessly forming around you, the friends gained and the unwanted attention. Just thinking about it was enough to provoke a panic attack and Cartman figured that even this imaginary popularity was asphyxiating and dangerous enough. The real thing would be positively lethal, unthinkable. As selfish and narcissistic as he could be, he didn't want to be remembered by people who weren't worth remembering themselves.

He was just fine with walking home from Rugby practice in the rain; his clothes getting soaked right through and having puddles in his old, flimsy sneakers that he didn't want to address. It kind of made the tight knots in his neck and shoulders loosen.

April showers were sure to clear the street. And Cartman liked that too. He could kick puddles, hum under his breath as the Pixies droned obnoxiously in his ears and tap his cold fingers to the beat, shoved in the warmth of his jacket pockets. And he could feel okay about it. Because nobody was around to see him. Being free meant being lonely and as long as he was stuck in some Podunk town, supposedly the responsibility of others he couldn't be that. Imagine it. Being completely lonely and calling all the shots, holding every card. Cartman could, with great pleasure.

Cartman didn't know why he flinched at hearing his mother's voice. It wasn't shrill, it wasn't even loud. It was thin and sandpapery, calling him to dinner. Long ago, when he was still young enough for things to turn out differently, her voice was smooth and warm, permeating him into sweet slumber.

He was lying on his bed, a French Revolution book held at arm's length. The book was old and it had a smell that he wasn't sure whether he liked or not. It smelt like the back of a shelf, the bottom of a box, something that's starting to become less and less significant. But Cartman was trying to read it and not finding it interesting at all. Ever since they stopped studying Nazi Germany in history class, Cartman was becoming increasingly bored with the subject.

Still, he would rather read about the Sans-Culottes than have to make listless conversation with his mother and stare at her pensively over meatloaf.

But he was hungry. So Cartman sighed and tossed his book over to the other side of his bed, making his way downstairs and vainly hoping that today's dinner would be more comfortable than the last.

When he saw his mother gently playing chess with the polished cutlery, he fought with the decision to hug her. Because her glassy eyes and pale lips, her incorrectly buttoned blouse and the creases on her forehead took him back to Nebraska. When he was nine, he had spent six months in the middle of nowhere with his well-meaning grandparents, wandering around a practically empty house, exploring the huge, dry fields surrounding it and blowing his pocket-money at the mall. And while he was trying to make the most of this unexplained trip, his mom was being forcibly detoxed at an expensive rehab in Arizona. Grandpa and Grandma became incredibly uneasy when Cartman asked about his mom and because he was starting to resent them more and more, he'd bring her up at the dinner table just to watch them squirm.

He was sure he slept in the car ride home from Nebraska. Because he couldn't remember driving into South Park at all. He could, however, remember sitting on the couch, surrounded by smiling strangers and unpacked suitcases and being applauded as his mom hugged him tightly. If only she had stayed that way forever Cartman often angrily thought. He loved her more when she was freshly detoxed, Hell, he loved her more when she was shooting up and snorting coke behind his back. At least he was blissfully naïve to it all, at least he was a kid who didn't know any better.

Because she was still sick, just a different disease. A new plethora of symptoms. Including a stubbornness that bordered on delusion, refusing to admit that she was suffering. Cartman often entertained the thought that he was being unfair to her, after all, nine years of withdrawal can't be easy. But then, he thought about how it seemed like she was almost trying to detach herself from him and that it had been that way since Nebraska. And he didn't feel so sorry for her anymore.

"Oh, hi hun" Lianne smiled, showing off her white teeth with a saccharine smile. Cartman weakly smiled back, running an uncomfortable hand through his hair as he sat down.

"Dinner's ready" Lianne thinly announced, gesturing the waiting food on the table. Meatloaf, vegetables still steaming and uncut bread. An intrusive knife hesitantly placed next to it.

"You said" Cartman nodded, his voice dry.

"Of course I did" Lianne laughed under her breath, blushing "How silly of me"

"Can I please eat now?" Cartman asked without thinking about it. It was easy to ignore the hurt on his mom's exhausted face. "It's just I have a lot of homework and stuff and-"

"Yes! Yes!" Lianne said, an energetic, enthusiastic spring looked more like a guilty, anxious fidget "Here you go, dig in!"

Cartman watched as vegetables tumbled over each other on his plate haphazardly. He snatched the knife to cut some meatloaf and bread before his mother could. And he'd offer to cut her a piece than watch her do it herself.

"How was school?" Lianne asked, sitting with a practiced posture in her seat. Her heavy eyes flitted back and forth as Cartman filled her plate for her.

"Okay, I guess" Cartman replied, a watered-down version of another mundane day "Algebra is still evil, Ophelia is still crazy and science isn't as bad as I thought it would be. So, yeah, okay."

Cartman's brief summary of his school day was punctuated by a bite of his meatloaf and he cringed as his mother watched him eat.

Lianne's mouth kept opening and closing, forming transparent words before discarding them altogether. She searched for an opportunity to talk, waited for Eric to ask her about her day. But he already knew. Her eyes were sore so she had obviously been crying but she was wearing a blouse and jeans so she had obviously been out. It wasn't that fucking difficult.

"There's a beautiful pair of sapphire earrings on the shopping network, Eric" Lianne tried to gush, but something clipped and cut had shaved away her enthusiasm significantly. "So, so pretty. Like teardrops or bluebells if teardrops or bluebells were made of Swarovski diamonds and sapphires."

"I doubt they're Swarovski" Cartman pointed out wryly "Otherwise they wouldn't be on the shopping network and marketed to people who watch camp, soft TV and cut coupons all day"

"Well, who can tell?" Lianne snapped, offended. Even Cartman was startled by that. "They're beautiful and that's all people will think when they see them."

"So you bought them?"

"Yes" Lianne smiled "They should be arriving in two days. They're so, so pretty"

"Yeah" Cartman replied "You said"

Lianne sighed irritably before taking a sip of her water, poured into a wine glass.

"I had Rugby practice today" Cartman mumbled mindlessly and he figured that this is exactly how his mom felt when she stupidly brought up those 'Swarovski' earrings.

"Oh" Lianne nodded, knitting her eyebrows together "You still play that?"

"I like it" Cartman partially lied.

"But why?" Lianne asked "It's essentially a less glamorous version of football and you already have a football team at your school. In fact, the word around Main Street is that your football team is excelling-"

"It's not my football team" Cartman snapped. "I don't want anything to do it with it for reasons you're clueless to"

"And I'll remain so unless you tell me"

"I don't want to. And besides, you wouldn't get it because you don't have to see those stupid, pussy jocks day in day out"

"Language, Eric"

Cartman shook his head and glared at his plate.

"And I think you're being very melodramatic" Lianne pointed out pompously and it made Cartman want to throw his plate at the ridiculous portrait of flowers that his mom also got from the shopping network. Or was it Grandma's? He didn't fucking care.

"What would you know about being melodramatic?!" Cartman asked indignantly "What would you know about anything?! What would you know about me?!"

Cartman didn't even realize he had stood up until his mom's eyes widened, like decaying moons blinking at an angry sun, until her alabaster hand had gripped the table in fear and until she whispered his name like a stranger's.

But that silence confirmed everything. That she didn't know anything at all.

"I'm done" Cartman spoke flatly, glancing at his half-eaten meal.

"No!" Lianne cried, bordering on a whine. Like a child, a clueless, bewildered child. Her perfectly manicured nails, red, purled around Cartman's thick wrist and clawed.

"Mom..." Cartman whispered desperately, his anger somehow faltering, struggling for revival.

Cartman gently sat on his knees, so he was eye level with his mom, but she still wouldn't let go.

"Sorry" Lianne shakily breathed out, gasping as her eyes clouded with tears. "I'm so sorry..."

"No. No, mom" Cartman frowned, shaking his head "I'm so-"

"Ssshh" Lianne whispered, closing her eyes and her whole being felt weightless as the word remained an anchored cloud that was all she had.

Slowly, she slipped from the chair and sat on her knees too. With her free, cold hand she tucked Cartman's hair behind his ear and thumbed at his cheek. "You don't have to apologize for anything, okay?"

Cartman nodded, expressionless. Confused and annoyed and he wasn't sure with who.

But he let his mom fall into his unwelcomed embrace and he sat there for what felt like hours as his shoulder got wetter. Scrambling fingers clawed into his back and something felt wrong and alien as he barely hugged her.

But this wasn't the first time and it sure as Hell wouldn't be the last.

Ophelia. Pale and blond. At least, that's how Cartman imagined her as the girls in class were called upon to read her part. Thankfully, he hadn't been chosen to read Claudius or even Hamlet yet, like some of the other guys had.

The only person Cartman knew who was pale and blond was Kenny. And he was sure Kenny could be just as shrewd and mysterious as Ophelia.

Bebe was nominated to read Ophelia today and with a few obnoxious giggles from her friends, she made her way, red-faced to the front to do her part. Cartman kinda liked Bebe's Ophelia, but she was too sun-kissed and soft, too bubbly and polite to be somebody as crazy and damaged as Ophelia. But her hair was blond and 'styled' in unkempt curls that crawled down her back like ivy and her voice was often elusive and eerily gentle, especially when quoting Shakespeare.

Cartman wondered if he could ever have a crush on her. Or any girl for that matter. Hardly, he figured, as he'd been staring at Craig Tucker for the majority of class and entertaining thoughts that didn't seem so shameful and confusing now. Four years ago, maybe, but today, never.

Cartman was fine with liking guys and noticing the beauty in handsome, hard features, rough hands and eyes framed with lashes that never fluttered flirtatiously. He was even fine with occasionally jacking off to these infuriatingly perfect, chiseled guys who fucked lovelessly for a camera so people could get their release.

Cartman knew that his feelings were his own, perfectly his.

But he couldn't help but wonder, in his more self-loathing moments, was it possible to change? Could he try to like girls as much as he liked guys? So that's exactly what he did. As Bebe read as Ophelia, he tried to find the beauty in her pocket venus shape, her dazzling smile and aquamarine eyes. He knew it was there but he just didn't want it badly enough. His mind kept wandering to his history essay, if his mom had idiotically ordered anything else from the shopping network and if Kenny was gonna be stoned when they met up later on.

Oh, Kenny was definitely Ophelia, Cartman thought, singing crazy songs about the bleakest things to anyone who would listen.

Still, even if girls were only to remain beautiful, pretty, their aesthetic qualities not really the forefront of Cartman's want and even if guys were the object of his desire, what me might let himself fall for, that didn't mean he was gay. At least that's what Cartman told himself.

But he was too closed off to find out.

A streak of sizzling orange had already rolled over the darkened, mountain peaks when Kenny finally decided to show up to the deserted basketball courts. Cartman didn't know how he could possibly be late, Kenny did nothing all day. He was expelled from school in the ninth grade for almost setting that Hellhole on fire and Kenny's parents were either too stoned or drunk to bother transferring him to Jefferson County or any other county for that matter. Cartman often wondered if people, let alone the school board noticed that Kenny is here, doing his impression of existing. Hanging out with Cartman from time to time, fucking guys in the parking lot of Taco Bell and smoking weed in his bedroom. It seemed difficult to comprehend that people didn't notice or not care about Kenny.

"Hey sports fan!" Kenny exclaimed, cheerful in a way that wasn't chemical.

"Sports fan?" Cartman smirked, raising an eyebrow "Really?"

"Meh" Kenny shrugged, sitting on the abandoned picnic table next to Cartman, overlooking the glistening puddles and hushed houses. "Thought I'd try something new. Shake things up in this town. Is this town getting boring or are we just getting old?"

"Both" Cartman quickly replied. Just thinking about it made him want to leave.

The smell of arid, cigarette smoke shook Cartman from his thoughts and he turned to see Kenny, pale and shivering like always, hunched over his beloved cigarette. He took a deep drag and laughed it into the sky, still playing with the lighter.

"I know my company is taxing enough, but do you really think smoking will make it less painful?"

"Shut up" Kenny mumbles through his cigarette, nudging Cartman before continuing "I have an addiction and it's cold. Fuck spring in Colorado"

"If you weren't so skinny you'd be warmer" Cartman pointed out.

And because he know Cartman hates it, Kenny ignores him and instead asks "Do you want one?"

"Sure" Cartman shrugged. Not even acknowledging Kenny as he took a Marlboro out of the carton Kenny held limply in his hand.

"Can I have a light?" Cartman asked, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

Kenny moved in closer and lit the end of Cartman's cigarette with his own, purposefully brushing their fingers together as he did. Kenny didn't know why, nor did he want to question it, but there was something so damn endearing about Cartman's squeamishness when it came to contact and the fact that people were willing to be close to him. Kenny started to wonder if his mother ever hugged him or kissed him, she probably did before Nebraska, he thought sadly.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Kenny giggled wickedly.

"You're a fucking douchebag, Kenny" Cartman snapped, shaking his head and blushing.

"Oh, Eric, are you going to have a surpise..." Kenny smirked to himself.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You freak out when somebody looks you in the eyes and lights a cigarette for you" Kenny explains "How are you gonna let a guy fuck you when the thought of intimacy makes you nauseous?"

"Intimacy?" Cartman argues "No, when I have sex with a guy it's gonna be just that. Just sex. No affection, no love, no feelings or any of that cloying crap. As long as he makes me come than I'm good."

"Suit yourself" Kenny practically sang smugly.

Studying his dirty, chewed fingernails Kenny asked "So when are you gonna meet this guy?"

"I haven't really thought about it" Cartman replied honestly. Because he really hadn't. What he just told Kenny was the first time he'd ever considered the type of sex he wanted and he was surprised by how good and practical it sounded.

"You know" Kenny began, putting on the voice he used to score drunken frat boys and suits on business, he ran his hand up Cartman's thigh and cooed "If you wanted me to, I could be just that"

"Fuck, no!" Cartman shouted, pushing Kenny violently away from him and his thigh felt like it stung from where Kenny's grimy hand had sleazily trailed up it.

Kenny may have no morals or principles when it came to fucking somebody he's known since preschool but Cartman certainly did. Though maybe it doesn't just apply to Kenny, Cartman thought, maybe it's everybody.

Meanwhile, Kenny was laughing madly and the cruel sound practically poured from his slender throat. Definitely Ophelia, Cartman thought, with an exasperated grin.

"Listen, sports fan" Kenny began, after he'd calmed down and threw his cigarette in a puddle "The kinda thing you're looking for, it's easy to get."

"Really?" Cartman asked dismissively.

"Yep" Kenny nodded "That's why hardly anybody wants it"

And Cartman thought that was a shame.

Friday had arrived without Cartman even noticing it. April made the days melt into one frigid, damp blur and Friday didn't make walking home from school in the rain any sweeter. Just like all the days before it, Cartman allowed his clothes to get soaked right through, his hair to fall in dripping bangs hovering over his golden eyes and the Pixies serenaded his journey home.

Apparently, Kenny had noticed Friday and in celebration was at Cartman's house at 11:00 PM throwing snowballs at his window.

"Who the Hell do you think you are?" Cartman called out the window, thinly amused and exasperated "John Cusack?"

"No, if I was John Cusack I'd be holding a boombox over my head, right?!" Kenny shouted back in an inebriated drawl.

Cartman shook his head and laughed warmly in spite of the cold "Right..."

"Get your ass down here, princess!" Kenny yelled, swaying his arms and struggling to keep his balance.

"Why?"

"Remember that bar I keep telling you about?" Kenny asked, his face twisting into a coy expression of hope.

"Kenny, I am not going to some run-down gay club dive on Colfax Avenue!" Cartman shouted, rolling his eyes.

Kenny sighed audibly before pinching the bridge of his nose "It's not a gay club it's a bar! There's a difference! You can actually hear yourself think and hardly anyone dances!"

"Still, I don't wanna get fucking mugged on Colfax Avenue!"

"Mugged?" Kenny asked, fluttering his ill-fittingly angelic, cerulean eyes "A big, tough guy like you?"

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me?" Cartman asked despairingly and somewhat indignantly.

"When am I not?" Kenny cackled, the same self indulgent way he always did when he was the only person who found things funny. "Look at it this way, princess... It kills a few hours, there are cute guys there and plus the dudes on the door are pretty lenient with who they let in so it's not as if we're hauling our asses to Denver to then come straight back because we're underage!"

"Well, that's comforting" Cartman snapped sardonically, folding his arms over his chest. God, he hated spring in Colorado.

"Yeah!" Kenny exclaimed, obviously missing (or just refusing to acknowledge) the sarcasm.

Cartman shot him a disconcerting look before asking apprehensively "And you've been there before?"

"'Course, dude!" Kenny replied, licking his gleaming teeth. "And it was awesome! I blew two guys in the bathroom then went home with this hot, Brazilian piece of ass. Highly recommend it."

Cartman exhaled, his icy breath looking so cruelly pretty in the dense air. His eyes were fixated on the slushy snow of his front yard, as if it had some magic-8-ball qualities that would give him a firm, sharp answer to whether he should traipse all the way down to Colfax Avenue with a clearly drunk Kenny just for some cute guys in a gay bar that apparently differed from a gay club. He tried to adopt the philosophy of what did he have to lose, an unexplained grimace hid the anxious excitement of the many things he could lose if he decided to follow his blond miscreant.

"Is that a yes?" Kenny sang, rather slurred.

"Yes it is. Now shut the fuck up you white trash dipshit before my neighbors hear you!" Cartman replied "Just give me five minutes to get ready, okay?"

Kenny saluted, practically giddy.

Cartman shut his window and tried to calmly count to three, but his chest had seized with blind panic by the time he got to two.

What does one wear to a gay bar? Cartman pondered as he rifled through his sparse wardrobe with a disapproving wrinkle on his button nose. He decided on his favorite jeans, the Oxblood Doc Marten's he had bought last fall with the money grandma had sent him in the mail, a marl burgundy t-shirt and a plaid shirt over the top. Looking in the mirror would be an excercise in futility so he left, leaving his bedroom light on.

His mom had been sleeping since 4 o'clock but he still looked at her bedroom door contemplatively, as if that was enough of a 'Bye mom, I'm going out for a few hours'.

After taking some cash out of his mom's purse, Cartman was ready to leave.

"Yay!" Kenny beamed when Cartman's unsure self emerged from his house. The blond's eyes were glassy and his matchstick legs wobbled worryingly under the weight of his malnourished body.

"Get off!" Cartman grumbled when Kenny's gin-soaked arms had thrown themselves around his neck. God, he reeked of a liquor cabinet.

"Let's dance!" Kenny shouted, his vocal chords eroding under an acidic heat "Let's waltz!"

"I'd rather not" Cartman replied, before holding Kenny at arm's length and trying to meet his unfocused eyes "We haven't got time"

"You're right!" Kenny nodded, grabbing Cartman's arm and pulling him down the street in an enthusiastic, uneven jog "Come on, the next bus to Denver leaves in fifteen minutes!"

And so they ran, their laughs of both exasperation and crisp excitement trickling like spilled whiskey down the sleeping, hollow streets.

Catching the bus just as it was about to pull off.

Cartman felt abandoned as soon as they stepped inside. Any charming atmosphere created by the glowing, low lit lights and muted decor was being mercilessly trampled on by the sheer volume of people talking. The bar was small and cramped as it was and every conversation created one loud, teeming hum that Cartman feared him and Kenny would not be apart of.

But while he was grimacing and tugging at his shirt self-consciously, Kenny was biting his lip in anticipation and Cartman felt only slightly envious that Kenny could be so God damn sure about this venture. He was struggling to find anything to get excited about. Although, Kenny was right about one thing, the guys were cute, gorgeous and Cartman would've happily stared at them all night whilst mindlessly drinking whatever Kenny suggested they order.

Cartman was sure Kenny shouted "Come on!" over the cacophony of voices as he grabbed his wrist and dragged him further and further into the crowd. He was unresponsive as Kenny led him, meeting unknown eyes only briefly before quickly averting his gaze.

Most of the guys who lined the bar table were dressed in suits; ties loosened and crisp white shirts slightly creased as they descended into dark pants. Cartman guessed that these guys had come straight from work, just itching to have a drink and perhaps meet someone who they could take back to the apartment their reasonably paid job afforded them. He wondered how they had the energy, the drive to go to a bar after working all day and possibly face rejection from the cute guy they've been making eyes at. He doubted he could ever do that, everybody here seemed so confident, assured that they could seamlessly fit in and Cartman swallowed nervously at the thought of exhibiting any signs that spoke opposite to that.

Before he could have an asphyxiating panic attack in a small space, Kenny thrust a bottle of Bud in his face and told him to drink. Cartman was surprised at how much better beer tasted when it was served chilled instead of served out of a crappy cooler in a molding basement.

That first drink was an hour ago and he hadn't moved from his comfortable perch. Well, except when he needed to go to the bathroom. Some guy was getting head in one of the stalls and whilst Cartman took a piss he tried to decipher the voice, wondering maybe if it was Kenny, as he'd disappeared fifteen minutes into his first Bud.

Cartman wasn't surprised that Kenny had left him. What was he supposed to do? Hold Cartman's moping hand while rejecting the many offers and pick up lines he was sure to hear this evening? Cartman couldn't deny that Kenny was beautiful, transcendently beautiful. His face was too cherubic, his features too perfect and symmetrical to be hot. Kenny was too deserving of that label. His choirboy face could soften anyone's heart, the way his lips pouted so prettily and how his hollow eyes seemed to shine with no beacon of light to really speak of.

And here Cartman was, the only attention he received this evening from somebody other than Kenny was some punk guy who said he liked his Docs, and some totally blatant dude checking out his dick while he took a piss in the urinal.

Sure, Kenny hung around for a little bit. Cartman watched curiously as your typical tall-dark-and-handsome stuck his tongue down Kenny's throat. Cartman wondered how the Hell Kenny did it, practically falling into someone with such minimal impact, their lips melding perfectly and before you know it, things get passionate. He could never see himself doing that, couldn't process the feeling of a pair of lips against his own or a tongue slipping into his mouth or hands travelling anywhere.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" A voice, mildly friendly and inexplicably collected asked behind him.

Cartman turned around to face the stranger who had asked the stupidest question he had heard all night and a quick, nervous leap of attraction played along his heartline.

For standing behind him was a cruelly handsome man. Attractive in the most peculiar way; the kind of infuriating attractiveness that you both crave and loathe. Mystery guy was roughly the same size as Cartman, give or take an inch or two, and his deliciously lean self was dressed in an olive-green sweater and dark denim jeans. There was slight red stubble on his jaw and his hair was a fiery, soft mop of scarlet curls, his face looked like he expressed a lot of emotion; laughing at the wittiest jokes, frowning solemnly at the most complex things and arguing and fighting passionately about something he cared deeply for. Cartman kinda liked the sound of the last one. His nose was kinda crooked and Cartman cringed at how even that was somewhat handsome. But his eyes were a bitter green, a nasty absinthe and Cartman would only dare to look into them.

"Yeah, sure" Cartman nodded, digging his crescent fingernails into his palm. He hoped mystery guy didn't notice. Cartman didn't know if he could handle this man sitting next to him. He smelt like faded cologne and lemon.

"My name's Kyle" The not-so-mysterious guy announced as soon as he sat down. Cartman almost jumped at the authoritative, confident hand poised in front of him, waiting to be shook.

"Cartman" He replied, what the fuck was happening? Why was Kyle even talking to him? He was too distracted by these nervous questions that he didn't realize he had introduced himself with his last name.

"That's an interesting name" Kyle grinned, taking a swig of his scotch as if he was just waiting for Cartman to give him the entire back story of his 'interesting' name.

"No, I mean, Eric" Cartman said quickly, blushing as his hand became damp around the bottle of Bud he was holding.

"What?"

"My name is Eric. My last name is Cartman" Cartman finally explained before taking a long swig of his drink in the vain hope it would lessen the horrific blush on his face and his dry, tight throat.

Meanwhile, Kyle laughed softly and eyed Cartman up and down. He had stared at the back of him for half an hour, partly betting himself that Cartman's face would be just as gorgeous as his back and insanely cute broad shoulders (And it turns out Kyle won) and partly deciding whether he would end up looking like a complete jackass if he went over and talked to him.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Eric Cartman" Kyle smiled, wondering if Cartman even noticed that Kyle was checking him out.

"You too" Cartman weakly smiled, his fingers shaking nervously and although he liked having Kyle here, he was becoming increasingly nervous.

Kyle sighed before saying "I would offer to buy you a drink but I'm guessing you've had enough of those, right?"

"This is only my third one" Cartman replied, studying his third bottle with some unknown suspicion.

Kyle moved in closer and Cartman sat there, prickling under Kyle's attention and debating whether to keep it at arm's length. Stuff like this didn't happen to him, people didn't offer to buy him drinks or stare at him like they could want him. But Kyle somehow made it seem so desirable.

"Maybe you're nervous?" Kyle suggested softly, wanting to touch Cartman's elbow comfortingly but not wanting to scare him. He had never met somebody so difficult to read and even after five minutes it seemed exciting. "Do you do this a lot?"

"No" Cartman laughed uncomfortably, shaking his head and staring at his Docs. Why was Kyle wasting his time with him?

"Quiet guy, huh?" Kyle teased.

"I don't know about quiet" Cartman paused to think before continuing "More like easily pissed off by people and their shit"

Hearing Kyle laugh startled Cartman slightly, it was mean and sly in the most charming way. It kinda made him want to elicit it again.

"I get that" Kyle nodded, amused before asking "But wait, if people easily piss you off then I guess my harassing you isn't doing any good, right? I'm not wasting my time, am I?" And Cartman didn't know whether he was joking or not.

Cartman shook his head quickly and tried to look somewhat attractive as he attempted to warmly smile.

But Kyle seemed to like it. "Good. So, another Bud?"

"Please" Cartman replied, but just before he could allow himself to feel comfortable, he remembered something;

"How old are you?" He asked, trying to mask his nervous fidgets at just asking that question.

Kyle looked at him, puzzled for a moment before replying "28... You?"

"23" Cartman lied and when he looked back at Kyle, something told him it was worth it. The same instinctive voice that desperately clung to every justification of all the lies he had told.

"You know it's funny, I thought you looked kinda young" Kyle mused before calling the bartender over and ordering a scotch on the rocks with a twist for himself and a Bud for the 'gentleman' next to him. Cartman found it hard to look at Kyle without blushing appreciatively after he referred to him as that.

"Thanks, Kahl" Cartman smiled quietly as another Bud was handed to him. Cartman burned at saying Kyle's name, like it was too illicit to roll off his already imperfect tongue.

"I like how you say my name" Kyle admitted gently as he twirled his index finger around the rim of his tumbler.

"Really?" Cartman asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion "I don't get what's so special about it"

Kyle shrugged, looking coolly and fearlessly into Cartman's eyes as he said, his words honeyed "Maybe it's just you. I don't know... Maybe there's something about you that's silently likeable and it's manifesting itself in the way you say my name or the way you steal quick glances of me when you think I'm not looking..."

Cartman stared at Kyle, dumbfounded, embarrassed and flattered as he asked "How the fuck did you come up with that?"

"I'm a writer" Kyle explained, as if that said it all "We turn everything into a fucking soliloquy"

As if he couldn't get any more out of my league, Cartman thought rather sadly. But he decided that Kyle was the only good thing that had happened tonight and he wasn't ready for it to end just yet.

"What, like 'To be or not to be'?" Cartman asked.

"'That is the question'" Kyle smiled "And yes, but I could never come up with something as great as that"

"Have you tried?"

"Not really" Kyle answered, effortlessly meeting Cartman's eyes "But maybe I'll take a shot at it" And it was then that Kyle realized that Cartman's eyes stirred the richest shade of gold he had ever seen.

So they sat there, looking at each other contemplatively and lost in the fleeting translations of their eyes. Sitting in a suspended infinity, ignoring their drinks and the other conversations. Cartman wondered if Kenny had ever held someone's gaze for this long, he even wondered if Kenny wanted to, but Cartman couldn't quite understand why he'd want to miss out on something as inconceivably wonderful as staring into the eyes of someone you hardly know but desperately don't want to leave.

Kyle broke first, regrettably dropping his eyes to their neglected drinks. He exhaled, his breath trembling, unsteady before looking into Cartman's eyes once again and asking "Do you maybe wanna sit somewhere a little more quiet?"

Cartman nodded, half-lidded and focusing dreamily on Kyle's eyes. With every heavy, tuneless thump of his drunken heart in his ears, something reminded him of how wrong this all was and Cartman was unsure of how long he could keep ignoring it.

Grabbing their drinks, Cartman followed Kyle to an empty booth and for a while Cartman nervously thumbed at the neck of his beer bottle, scanning the crowd for Kenny.

"Looking for someone?" Kyle asked, taking a sip of his scotch and Cartman blinked when he looked back at him.

"Yeah, actually I am" Cartman replied "My friend, Kenny. He was the one who dragged me here and now he's kinda ran off..."

Kyle took the lemon wedge out of his scotch which was now practically non-existent and watery. He sucked on the lemon and dropped it back into the tumbler, he moved in closer to Cartman until he could feel his warmth and scent. Cinammon and Bud.

He no longer felt cautious around Cartman and was becoming increasingly antsy with the need to just feel his beer-stained lips against his.

"He'll be okay" Kyle practically cooed, close enough for his sultry breath to prickle along Cartman's neck.

"I know he will" Cartman replied, trying to dismiss his overwhelming fear and excitement at having Kyle so close to him "It's typical. He does this shit all the time"

Kyle hated his own pathetic disappointment at Cartman's response and he tried to edge away from him without embarrassing himself or revealing just how disappointed he was. Cartman glanced at Kyle, staring disheartened into his empty tumbler in a way that Cartman knew he was trying so hard to hide, it was almost adorable.

Once Cartman had scolded himself for being a fucking clueless idiot, he then came to the realization he was both dreading and anticipating. But he didn't know how to seamlessly fall into a kiss like Kenny; he didn't know the right places to look or touch, he didn't know how to direct Kyle's lips to his own, he didn't know how to wordlessly tell Kyle what he wanted. He had no God damn idea. Shit, Cartman wished Kyle would've made the first move. But he didn't know whether his idiocy had extinguished Kyle's moment, his confidence, even. And besides, Cartman was becoming impatient, silencing every doubt, he had to kiss Kyle now. Fuck bad ideas, right? Cartman wasn't so sure.

Cartman's eyes dropped to Kyle's slender fingers, curled around his tumbler. Just one tentative touch made Kyle immediately stare at Cartman with gentle yet knowing eyes.

"Do you wanna kiss me?" Cartman thoughtlessly asked, it was a question he had never even considered asking anyone before, swallowing the panic in his throat.

Staring at Cartman's lips, Kyle whispered hungrily "Fuck, yes"

Before Cartman even had a chance to respond, Kyle had cupped his face and brought Cartman's lips to his own. Cartman mewled in surprise but quickly relaxed as Kyle's fingers ran through his hair, his other hand stayed gently on his cheek, his ear resting between Kyle's index finger and thumb. Meanwhile, Kyle's lips captured Cartman's over and over, licking at his mouth encouragingly and Cartman furrowed his eyebrows in frustration that he was too frightened and unsure to kiss Kyle back, although God knows he wanted to.

"You don't do this a lot, do you?" Kyle asked, the words tingled on Cartman's damp lower lip. Kyle still remained enthusiastic and eager and he gently nipped at Cartman's chin in reassurance.

Cartman shook his head apologetically. Kyle thought for a while, staring at Cartman's mouth before explaining huskily "Alright, when my tongue licks at your mouth, part your lips and let me in, okay? Then just do what I do until you feel comfortable..."

Cartman smiled awkwardly in response and blushed, he didn't suppose Kyle expected having to give kissing lessons tonight.

Cartman's eyes were hooded and he trembled as Kyle's hot, wet tongue softly licked his mouth, he was surprised at how he parted his lips without even thinking about it and it was when Kyle's tongue found his own, did Cartman moan, closing his eyes and squeezing Kyle's shoulder gently. They both smiled and giggled wetly before Cartman reached out for Kyle's plush mouth and tugged at Kyle's bottom lip. A tremor of pleasure permeated Kyle as Cartman whimpered, chastely kissing him before things quickly turned French.

The kisses were hard and increasingly wet, their tongues licking at each other while their bruised, kiss swollen lips took a break. And while Cartman would've cringed and barely entertained the thought of being so close to someone, touching Kyle as unabashedly as his quivering fingers were doing now and encouraging someone's mouth to taste every inch of his lips; now he found himself sucking at Kyle's bottom lip and they were biting and kissing with a heady, potent recklessness.

Their breaths and pants of exhaustion and lust were sultry, the air sizzling between them and when they grew tired of deep, throbbing kisses and tasting each other's tongues, they would press their foreheads together and nuzzle wordlessly. Eyes half-lidded and darkened with pleasure, mouthing the kisses they were constantly imagining. They would smirk and shiver feverishly before their lips collided again, sighing and moaning.

It was a clash of lips, teeth and fingers and before Cartman knew it, Kyle's hand was parting his thighs and stroking his groin and fuck, did it feel good. But terrifying. Suddenly, that fear and apprehension was back and hitting Cartman in unrelenting, suffocating droves.

Grabbing Kyle's wrist and releasing his swollen mouth, Cartman helplessly confessed "I'm 18"

"What?" Kyle whispered, not sure whether to laugh nervously. His ragged breathing becoming laced with disbelief.

"I" Cartman began, before sighing defeatedly and staring down at his lap "I'm 18 and... And you're the first guy who's ever kissed me, who I've ever done anything like this with..."

"Wow" Kyle whispered, before smirking timidly "Well, that explains how nervous you were, huh?"

Cartman nodded before shakily replying, trying to be a lot more mature and brave than he felt "Look, even though I'm clearly not good at telling the truth I feel like I should at least be honest with you now, right?"

Kyle nodded, clearly still shocked. "I think you should"

"If you walk away, I'd think you were an asshole. But, but I wouldn't blame you if you did-"

"Hey" Kyle firmly said quickly, interrupting Cartman before he could say anything more. He took Cartman's hand and squeezed it affectionately. "Who said anything about leaving?"

And Cartman couldn't respond to that, it was unclear to him why Kyle was acting so nice. Like he was still interested, like he still cared.

Once again, they were staring into each other's eyes, not with the previous wild sparks of intensity but with a fruitless search for answers. But both of them were asking very different questions.

"Here" Kyle said before pulling a pen out of his pocket and rolling up the sleeves on Cartman's plaid shirt. He began to write on Cartman's forearm "This is my number. Call me tomorrow and we can go for a coffee, okay?"

"But I-"

"And if you don't wanna get a coffee then please just call me anyway" Kyle said, a pleading tilt to his authoritative voice and he smiled honestly "I'd really like it if we could talk."

Cartman couldn't allow himself to smile when Kyle reached out to gently cup his face.

"I think you should go find your friend" Kyle advised.

And that's exactly what Cartman did. He left the booth wordlessly and ignored Kyle's goodbye smile, the taste of each other lingering on their tongues.

But every time Cartman looked back, a curious Orpheus, his Eurydice was still there, staring thoughtfully into an empty tumbler.

Kyle sighed forlornly as he walked into an empty apartment. The crowds of boxes in his humble little living room mocking him with Stan's imminent departure. Stan was staying over at Gary's house tonight and since most of his stuff was over at Gary's anyway, he was in no rush to pick these boxes up and take them over to the love shack.

Kyle was happy for Stan and Gary, he really was. But it had been him and Stan against the world since college graduation and this apartment had been the very foundation of that. They had gushed about their one night stands over breakfast (Who the Hell knew that the 'charming ex-Mormon who's still enjoying the rebellion of guilt-free sex and gives amazing head' would turn out to be Stan's soulmate? Kyle couldn't argue, they seemed to be tailored for each other), comforted each other and watched old movies on the couch in times of sorrow and laughed at practically everything in between.

But how Kyle longed to stumble into his apartment and find Stan on the couch watching late night TV or in the kitchen trying (and failing) to cook some Italian-Indian fusion dish he saw online. Just ready to listen to Kyle's neurotic, over thought problems.

Stan had assured him countless times that he was 'only a phone call away' but Kyle wasn't sure how to delicately say 'I just made out with a gorgeous 18 year old and I might be meeting up with him tomorrow' over the phone.

Kyle only ordered one more scotch at the bar after Eric left, he needed something bitter to erode the disappointment that had been left behind with his departure. But Kyle's faith was wavering in his seemingly reliable drink and no amount of scotch could drown the thought of trying to find Eric and talk to him, or, better still, running into him and his drunken friend coincidentally. Everything is so much better when it's poetic, Kyle thought, even the sad stuff becomes so beautiful that it can't help but make you smile.

Soon, thoughts of finding Eric were replaced with welcomed memories of his tongue sweeping across Kyle's, his soft, delicate lips and his newly-discovered want that Kyle helped elicit. Kyle stroked his lips fondly at the thought, the taste of that invitingly peculiar boy still dancing on his tongue.

Still, he found it maddening that a kid (as Kyle kept reminding himself) in his senior year of high school was able to make Kyle so painfully confused and excited. Come on Kyle reminded himself Like Hell he is an 'ordinary kid' if he was an ordinary kid then you wouldn't have written your number on his arm or still be thinking about him, would you? Kyle wondered if Eric even knew what he was capable of and if he would even believe it.

Kyle fell asleep to the thought of how frustrating it was to still be thinking about Eric. But what was even more frustrating was that he wasn't making any effort to stop.

A/N: You do not know how long I've wanted to incorporate my whole 'Cartman playing Rugby' head-canon into a fanfiction.

Oh, and Cartman likes the Pixies. Yeah. I dunno where that one came from. I was listening to the Pixies whilst writing the first half of this, and I think maybe listening to 'Where Is My Mind?' whilst reading this gets you in that angsty mindset.

Again, this is my first multi-chapter fanfic, my lovely people, so don't be too cruel if you're gonna leave a review! Thank you for reading!