Author's Ramble: Hi. So, a new fan here. I remember the time this show traumatized me when I was a kid. Now, I'm shipping the boys like they're gay (which they may be) and everything has been forgiven. Ike Broflovski is adorable. And Kyle is a great big brother. It's a little fitting that I gave my "actual gay shit" virginity to the South Park fandom. #KyManShipper

I have more ideas, Cartman is a dick, Kyle is cute and smart, and the gay vibes are too much.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and do not share the same ideology as Eric Theodore Cartman. But he's a cute little fat fucker.

I know.

I had always known.

Before Stan knew, before Butters knew, even before Kenny knew, and that's really something.

But I knew.

I knew Eric Theodore Cartman was in love with my brother.

It wasn't hard to see it. The fact it was hidden so well was what made it so obvious.

Honestly, it was the little things that made me doubt that Eric's declarations of hate towards my brother were more outbursts of self-denial (and later on, simply keeping up with appearances) rather than actual animosity.

It was in the way he'd flush when Kyle got all up in his face during a particularly heated argument, the automatic downward drift his eyes would take to Kyle's snarling mouth, the hard clench of his fists, which would be mistaken for preparing to take a swing if it wasn't for the tight grip his teeth had on his own bottom lip, as if he was struggling not to just grab my brother and pin him to the brick wall of the highschool building with a kiss.

Oh yeah. Cartman wanted my brother. Bad.

And I could understand that to an extent, yes. Teenagers. Hormones. Some people get a little confused, their minds blur the lines between arousal and aggression. It's basic Psychology and Cartman had a lot of issues.

Fine. I could understand wanting a quick bang with the kid you've been screaming at for more than half your life, make him scream in a different way. I get it. Just another way to blow off steam, get the edge off. Just another competition.

If it wasn't for the other things.

Like how he's been sticking to more neutral, less derogatory slurs like "Jew" and not much more than that, and at this point it's almost like just an unconventional petname like "babe" or "sweetheart" with how Kyle naturally responds with "Fatass" in turn, or how he tries to school his expression into a grimace every time Kyle's within sight but allows the tiniest smile when my brother turns his back, or how his whole round face lights up whenever he says something apparently unwittingly funny and Kyle barks out a laugh out of surprised amusement, or the small touches he tries to sneak when the two of them talk (civilly and politely) to each other, wait for the bus together, walk home with Stan and Kenny, from Kyle's green scarf to the tip of one red curl when Kyle isn't looking or twirling a thick finger around a stray thread from Kyle's mittens.

Cartman wasn't just lusting after my brother. He was fucking crushing on him. Hard.

It would've been cute if it wasn't Cartman.

Then, Kenny started picking up on it. That guy could smell repressed sexual tension ten miles away. It's how he gets laid so much.

He began noticing the little things, too.

Quite like how Cartman had pretty much the entire season's schedule of Park County High's basketball games memorized, both home and away, or how he's been seeking my brother out more and more aggressively, both at home and at school, just to bother him about some inane, asinine thing but right when Kyle's about to storm off and leave him to stew in his bigotry and ignorance, Cartman flails, just for a second, and asks for homework help.

It's stupid how often I've heard: "Oh, I actually brought my backpack, what's your answer at #6?"

You just don't spend that much time with a person you claim to "hate", let alone make time.

Kenny said it best: "Cartman's had a brain boner for Kyle's smart mouth since we were four. It isn't that surprising in hindsight."

Then Stan started realizing the not-so-little-it's-so-effing-obvious-seriously-dude-just-ask-him-out-already-it's-embarrassing things.

Just like last week when Cartman insisted on teaching my brother the ins-and-outs of online gaming, specifically "World of Warcraft" and "League of Legends". Right in the dark privacy of Cartman's childhood bedroom.

"I never thought I'd see the day you two could be left alone in the same place for longer than ten seconds without anyone getting shivved." Stan had commented, wide-eyed, disbelieving, and a little suspicious when Kyle had answered his Super Best Friend's question on how the eff did he get so good at RPGs when a week earlier he had sucked.

"Cartman taught me." Kyle had said with a headtilt to Cartman, and Stan eyed him warily, barely catching how the fatso almost preened at Kyle's offhand acknowledgment.

But Stan caught it just like Kenny and I did.

And took note of the lack of any insult.

No, "'Cause Jews can't do anything kewl, ya ginger."

Nothing.

Just a pinking tinge on his plump cheeks. We knew it wasn't from the cold.

Stan's eyebrows had hid beneath his hat when he realized. He had covered his mouth to quell the gagging.

I knew how he felt.

My brother is so screwed.

I just didn't know how screwed Kyle was.

Just as I didn't know just how messed up Cartman really was.

Until tonight.

You do stupid stuff like climbing in through your friend's bedroom window at 3 AM when you're 9. You don't do creepy shit like creeping into your crush's bedroom at 3 AM while he sleeps at 17.

And you don't fucking talk to him, whilst he's asleep.

I don't remember what woke me. Maybe I heard the scuffling. Or the whispering. Maybe somewhere in my subconscious I knew something like this was going to happen.

Kyle, for fuck's sake, wake up! The fat bastard's right. Fucking. There! No wonder you got AIDS!

But my brother stayed asleep.

And the fat fuck kept cooing into Kyle's ear, stroking his red curls, playing with Kyle's lashes with his wide thumb.

His voice is soft, considerate. Almost as if talking to a lover beneath the sheets. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was sane.

"This is your Jew magic at work again, hmm, Kahl?" He whispers, a tap-tap-tapping ringing throughout the room. Cartman was playing with one of Kyle's pencils.

"Because why else would I feel this way? I'm not supposed to care about you. I'm not supposed to think about your feelings, your well-being, your life. I'm not even supposed to like you. Or worry about you liking me back. But I do. And it's fucking me up."

He keeps on twisting lock by wavy lock between his thick fingers. His voice still gentle and caring.

"I resisted you once, Kahl. Back in pre-school. Your presence was so strong. So powerful. So magnetic. I wanted to be around you, get to know you, be your friend. But I was warned of this, of you. That the enemy would be strong, charming. They didn't say you'd be lovely. But I resisted. So I said my first swear at you, instead of a 'hello'. I needed to stop your kind. And so I drew the line then and there."

Cartman's sleeve slips a little, revealing a light blue elastic band. It was the hair tie Kyle had used to keep his hair up while he washed the dinner dishes last night.

Kyle's been missing a lot of things lately. Scrap papers, booklets, socks.

Pencils.

Hair ties.

"But your magic has grown stronger, hasn't it? That's why I've been so eager to please you, to pander to your every whim and whimsy if you'd just so much as breath a word and promise me a smile in return, why I've been compelled to surround myself with you, and do whatever it took to accomplish it. Even if it meant being nice to you."

Kyle finally stirs, just a bit. His button-up pajama top rides up a little, unveiling skin, the collar slides and shows off a sharp collarbone.

Cartman lets out a strangled groan.

"Such a tease…" He whimpers, mouth hovering over my brother's parted lips.

"Get away from my brother, Eric."

He straightens, slowly as if stretching out a knot in his back.

He doesn't turn.

"Ah, the middleschooler with a brother complex."

His voice remains eerily calm, unwaveringly still, as if he has done no wrong and has no ill intentions, with a simple irritation like a boyfriend denied a kiss due to snooping family.

The bastard was fucking delusional.

"You're sick."

Cartman tuts teasingly. "And here I thought you learned more vocabulary words than that. Aren't you a genius, or something?" His tone turns bored.

"Leave. Or else I'll wake him."

"Kahl's a really deep sleeper, Ike. How do you think I infected him with HIV all those years ago?"

But Cartman has faced him, his voice lower.

"But Kyle would wake up to Mom. Or his phone."

"But the ol' dumb bitch isn't here, right? And…" Cartman tosses my brother's black iPhone in the air, catching the device in his palm. He grins.

"Now go back to bed. The adults are talking." The bastard chuckles, dark as the night, hands in my brother's hair again.

There was one other thing Kyle would get up for just short of Mom's bitching.

I rub at my eyes, the silent scroosh sounds echoing in Kyle's bedroom. Kyle's brow, earlier pale and smooth like cream, curdles and creases.

I sniffle, emphasizing every small snort with a weak whimper. Kyle shifts in bed, murmuring.

I conjure a helpless mewl in the back of my throat. Kyle's eyes begin to flutter open. "Ike?"

Cartman glares and I try not to smirk, arranging posture and features into a particularly pitiful picture.

The fat fuck wasn't the only one who could manipulate people.

The intruder stumbles over the windowsill just as my brother bolts up.

Kyle trips over to me, scooping me up into his flannelled arms. Good ol' reliable Big Brother instinct.

"Hey, ike. Why are you still up, buddy?" Kyle slurs, half-asleep but still concerned.

"I had a nightmare."

"Oh. Kiddo. Do you want to talk about it?" He asks a little more coherently, guiding me deeper into the room, shutting the door behind us.

"I dreamt you were swallowed by a 200-pound tub of cheese-lard." I hear a barely audible "fuck you" from outside. I really try not to snicker

"Maybe it's a subconscious representation of a real-life threat, then." I love how my brother takes such a rational, logical stance on my fears, even if I'm faking them. It means he cares enough to apply reason to what I feel and try to find a solution for them.

"Can I sleep here with you, though?"

"Going to keep your big brother safe?" Kyle smiles tiredly, but he scoots anyway to give me the spot nearest to the wall. Most likely because he's scared I'll fall off the bed.

There are worse things to be afraid of, Kyle.

I nod. At least I'm not lying about that.

"Could you close the window? It's freaking freezing in here."

"Huh, I thought I did before I went to bed." Kyle shuts the window pane, thumbing the lock.

"Another weird thing." He mumbles, tucking me in his bed with his blanket as if I was 2 and not 12.

"Good night, bro. Say your prayers." Kyle hugs me like he used to do when he was a kid and I was still a baby fresh from Canada.

God, please keep my good, kind brother safe from obsessive fat fucktards like Eric fucking Theodore fucking Cartman.

"Good night, bro. I love you."

"I love you, too, Ike." Kyle closes his eyes. He has SATs tomorrow and future to plan for.

To Hell with Cartman and his dumbass crush.

Author's Ramble: Damn, Cartman is such a cutely creepy nerd. In honor of Season 20!