Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with a single statement. A string of words, which, seemingly meaningless, made one Kyle Broflovski completely lose his marbles. 

It was the last day of spring break, a day two teenage boys could only be spending one way - playing video games and stuffing their mouths with chips. Stan Marsh was sitting on his bed, mindlessly clicking the buttons on his console, not really paying attention to neither the game, nor his visibly fuming more with each second companion.

“That fat piece of shit!” peace and quiet didn’t last for long, as Kyle finally erupted.

“Dude, not this again” sighed Stan, who did in fact enjoy the silence, which got so unapologetically ripped away from him just then.

“No, I’m telling you Stan” Kyle did not falter at his friend’s obvious disapproval for the upcoming rant, in fact it seemed to only fuel him more. “This is the last time I’m tolerating his stupid antics. Can you believe what he said after everything we went through?” Clearly waiting for Stan to ask him about it, Kyle did a dramatic pause. The interragation did not come, however, as all his friend did was continue to play the game, trying to ignore the angry redhead. Once again the cold response, or more so the lack of one, did not stop him.

“All I did was to call him a butt-fucker, something I do all the fucking time by the way and what did he do? He laughed Stan. Laughed about how I am the one who got fucking AIDS from another guy, so how is he the one fucking butts. Can you believe the audacity of this fat fuck? Joking about AIDS is not fucking funny, it’s ignorant and dumb. And this idiot had it himself, shouldn’t he know any better? AIDS is a serious medical condition that has taken millions of lives and continues to affect real people today. When people joke about it, they’re showing how little they understand and how little they care. Do you know how many gay people died from this? The illness he too fucking had? It’s beyond homophobic and simply uneducated to joke about serious stuff like this! What is wrong with him?!”

“Kyle, you don’t care about gay people.” Stan deadpanned.

“Well, I do now!”

“No you don’t. You care about talking my ears off about some dumb shit Cartman did or said every time we hang out. And that’s when I don’t have to listen to you two actually arguing with each other. It’s always “Cartman this, Cartman that, God how I hate Cartman, Stan did you hear what Cartman said this time, blah blah blah Cartman”, fuck dude, you’re like, obsessed with him.”

Kyle felt as if someone just poured a bucket full of ice over his head. Obsessed. Him. With Eric fucking Cartman. Kyle wondered if his intense monologue had sent him into a stroke and he’s now hearing things. Because there is absolutely no way that his best friend just implied what he thinks he did. “What are you trying to say?” he asked cautiously.

“Exactly what I just did.” came the annoyed response “And it’s not just you. Both of you, always talking about the other, acting oh so pissed off, when in reality, if you two truly did hate each other all that much, you would’ve stopped being friends long ago.”

“We’re not friends-” Kyle’s protest was quickly shut down.

“Well then why do you keep inviting him to do shit? Why do you even still talk to the guy? Neither me nor Kenny interact with him anymore, it’s because of you and your weird obsession that we are still forced to put up with him. Think about it, when was the last time any of us expressed any desire to hang out with the fatass? It’s all you.” 

Kyle didn’t believe a single word that came out of his friend’s mouth. He was being stupid, there’s no way that Kyle could ever even tolerate Eric Cartman, let alone be obsessed with him. Sure, he did argue with the boy a lot, but that’s only because Cartman was the one pushing his buttons. And yeah, maybe he did talk about him all the time, but that was because the other annoyed him so much he just had to let it all out. What was so hard to understand about that? He told Stan exactly that, his voice carrying maybe just a little bit too much defensiveness. 

“Sure Kyle, sure. I just don’t want to be the one who has to hear it every time. It got old like, ten years ago.”

“You’re acting as if I can’t go a single day without mentioning him”. The blank stare he had gotten in response almost made Kyle retreat. “What? I totally can!”

Stan sighed for what felt like a millionth time during the past ten minutes, his eyes returning to the game he had abandoned previously. “I’m just saying, it would’ve been a miracle if you didn’t talk to him for a few days. If you could make it to one week, I would just have to start believing in God.”

That made gears inside of Kyle’s brain start turning.

“What if…” he started “Instead of converting, you could just, I dunno… pay me fifty bucks?” Stan looked at him, a bit curious, but mostly understanding where his friend was going with this. 

“Are you proposing a bet right now?” he asked.

“Sure, why not. One week of me not uttering a single word about Eric Cartman, in exchange for some money. Deal?”

“You would have to start ignoring him completely to make it worth fifty bucks. I need something to pay off all the pain killers your arguments cost me, don’t underestimate the headaches you two give me when you’re together.”

Kyle just rolled his eyes and his friend’s dramatics. He could already feel the crumpling of the fifty dollar bill underneath his fingers. There is absolutely no way that he could ever lose a bet like this. Not having to interact with his sworn enemy for a whole week? It would’ve been pure bliss, rather than anything else. Stan was honestly so dumb, basically giving his money away for free. Kyle held out his hand towards the letter and they shook on it. 

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

DAY ONE

Kyle woke up on Monday morning with the confidence of a man who had already won.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest, feeling like a strategic genius. One week without talking to Eric Cartman? That wasn’t a challenge, more like a vacation. If anything, he deserved more than fifty bucks for enduring Cartman’s existence for as long as he already had.

He got dressed with unusual ease, no internal ranting about fascism or bigotry or obesity-related war crimes. His backpack felt lighter. His step had purpose.

“This is going to be the easiest money I’ve ever made.” he thought smugly.

That confidence wavered slightly the moment he stepped onto the school grounds.

South Park High buzzed with post-spring break chaos. Kids clustered in loud groups, comparing vacations, complaining about returning to school and shoving each other. Kyle spotted Stan and Kenny near the lockers almost immediately. And standing there with them was, unfortunately, Eric Cartman. He was leaning against a locker like he owned it, talking loudly about something Kyle refused to process. The sound of his voice alone was enough to make Kyle’s eye twitch. Ignore him, Kyle reminded himself. He’s nothing. A background character. An NPC at best.

“Kyle!” Stan called, waving.

Kyle walked over, pointedly keeping his eyes anywhere but Cartman.

“Oh my God you guys,” Cartman said, spotting him instantly. “Look who it is. Did someone piss in your coffee this morning, Jew?”

Kyle did not respond.

Stan’s eyebrows shot up just a little.

“That’s right,” Cartman continued, smirking. “I’m talking to you, Kyle. Or did you finally lose your hearing too? Guess that happens when your people spend thousands of years whining.”

Kyle clenched his jaw. Said nothing.

Kenny snorted behind his hood.

Cartman blinked. “…Wow. Okay. Silent treatment now? What is this, middle school?”

Kyle adjusted his backpack strap. Still nothing. Cartman leaned closer, squinting at him. “Ohhh. I get it. You’re still mad about last week. Sorry I hurt your feelings, dude. Want me to send you a ‘Get Well Soon’ card for your gay AIDS or whatever?”

Stan shot Cartman a warning look. “Dude-”

Kyle turned away and started walking down the hallway.

Stan followed, lips twitching. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “You’re actually doing it.”

Kyle didn’t answer, but inside his head, alarms were already going off.

Okay. So maybe it’s not bliss. Maybe it’s mildly irritating. Whatever.

_________________

By the second period, Cartman had escalated from confused to deeply offended. Kyle sat at his desk, notebook opened, pen moving mechanically across the page. He wasn’t even taking notes, just doodling shapes and writing Stan’s future debt amount in increasingly aggressive fonts. From behind him came the sound of Cartman’s chair scraping forward.

“So what, Kyle,” Cartman whispered loudly, “you think ignoring me makes you better than me?”

Kyle did not look back.

Cartman leaned closer. “Because last time I checked, Jews don’t get to pretend they’re morally superior. Especially not ones who cry every time someone makes a joke.”

Kyle’s pen pressed hard enough into the paper that it nearly tore.

Still. Silence.

Cartman scoffed. “Wow. You really are obsessed with me if you’re doing this just to get my attention.”

That almost did it.

Kyle inhaled sharply through his nose and stared straight ahead at the whiteboard. The teacher continued talking about something irrelevant, blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare happening in the third row.

Behind him, Cartman grumbled. “This is bullshit.”

Kyle smiled. Just barely.

_________________

By the end of the day, Stan was impressed. They walked out of the building together, Kenny lagging behind as usual. Cartman stood near the steps, arms crossed, glaring holes into the back of Kyle’s head.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Stan said. “He tried everything.”

Kyle shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “He’s predictable.”

“You didn’t even react when he called you a ‘Kosher Hobbit.’”

Kyle winced. “Okay, that one was… harder.”

Stan laughed. “Still. Day one, dude. I might actually lose fifty bucks.”

Kyle scoffed. “Please. I didn’t even break a sweat.”

This was a lie, but Stan didn’t need to know that.

_________________

The cafeteria was where Cartman made his final stand. They all sat at the same table and Cartman immediately launched into it.

“So, Kyle,” he said loudly, “did you bring your lunch from home or is your bitch of a mother still too busy counting money she stole from Christians?”

Kyle stabbed his fork into his food.

“Kinda rude, dude,” Stan muttered.

“Oh, what, now you’re offended for him?” Cartman sneered. “Guess that’s what happens when you hang out with a gay ginger too long.”

Kyle’s grip tightened.

Don’t. Say. Anything.

Cartman leaned back, grinning. “What’s wrong, Kyle? Cat got your tongue? Or did you realize ignoring me is the only way you ever win an argument?”

Kyle stood up so abruptly his chair screeched across the floor. For half a second, Stan thought it was over. Then Kyle grabbed his tray, turned, and walked away without a word.

Cartman stared after him, stunned. “…What the hell is wrong with him?”

Stan smirked. “You, apparently.”

_________________

That night, Kyle sat at the dinner table with his family, poking at his food while his parents talked about something boring and adult. Ike babbled happily beside him.

“Bubbe, stop playing with your food” his mother’s voice came to him like through a fog.

Lost in his thoughts, he replayed the day in his head. The taunts. The restraint. The constant, gnawing urge to snap. It hadn’t been easy. But it had been manageable. One day down. Kyle smiled to himself, confident once again.

Six more days, he thought. Easy money.

He didn’t notice the way his chest felt strangely tight at the thought of it.

DAY TWO

Eric Cartman did not like being ignored.

This wasn’t a revelation so much as a fundamental truth of the universe, like gravity or Kyle Broflovski’s insufferable self-righteousness. Cartman thrived on reactions - anger, yelling, moral outrage, tears. Preferably all of the above. Kyle had always been reliable in that sense. Press the right button, and boom, instant ginger - jewish meltdown.

Which made Tuesday morning deeply, deeply unsettling.

Cartman watched Kyle from across the hallway as they passed between classes. The asshole didn’t even glance at him. No glare, no muttered insult, no dramatic sigh of disgust. Just… nothing. Cartman scowled.

“Okay” he thought. “Fine. We’re playing that game.”

“Kyle,” he said loudly, stepping into his path. Kyle stopped short, eyes flicking up for half a second before settling pointedly over Cartman’s shoulder. He sidestepped him without a word. Cartman’s eye twitched.

“Oh, hell no.”

He followed him, keeping pace. “Wow, dude. This is actually kind of impressive. I didn’t think you were capable of shutting up for more than five seconds.” Kyle said nothing. His jaw tightened. Cartman grinned and shoved him. Just a little shoulder to shoulder. Not enough to draw attention. Enough to test. Kyle stumbled half a step, caught himself, and kept walking.

No reaction. Cartman’s grin faltered.

By third period, Cartman had resorted to flicking the back of Kyle’s ear with his finger. Kyle froze. For one terrifying moment, Cartman thought he’d finally done it. Kyle’s hands curled into fists at his sides, shoulders rigid, breath sharp through his nose.

Yes, Cartman thought. There it is.

Then Kyle exhaled, slowly, deliberately, and sat back down in his seat. Still nothing.

“What the actual fuck,” Cartman muttered under his breath.

Kyle hated this. Not Cartman’s antics - that was business as usual. He hated the way every shove, every whispered insult, every stupid little touch made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Like pressure building with nowhere to go. It was only the second day.

“Get it together,” he scolded himself. “You’ve dealt with worse. He’s just trying to get under your skin.”

Which was annoying, because it was working. Just… not the way Cartman wanted. Kyle wasn’t used to not fighting back. Anger had always been his armor, his weapon, his release. Without it, everything just sat there, heavy and restless. And the worst part? He was starting to notice how hard Cartman was trying. That thought alone made Kyle furious. With Cartman and most importantly, with himself.

_________________

Stan’s house that night was supposed to be a safe zone. The four of them sprawled across the living room, controllers in hand, the TV blasting some violent multiplayer game Kyle wasn’t really paying attention to. Kenny was locked in, hoodie pulled tight. Stan lounged comfortably, already amused. Cartman, meanwhile, was vibrating with malicious intent. Nobody even invited him this time. He came by himself, strutting in as if he owned the place. That just made Kyle even more angry, since apparently, in Stan’s words, it was usually his fault that the guy still hung out with them. 

“Well, suck on this Stan” he thought bitterly.

“So, Kyle,” Cartman said, leaning way too close on the couch, “you gonna pick a character or just sit there silently judging everyone like the smug little asshole you are?”

Kyle selected his character without looking at him.

Stan snorted. “Dude, he’s actually doing it.”

“Doing what?” Cartman snapped.

“Ignoring you,” Stan said cheerfully. “It’s kinda hilarious.”

Cartman’s face flushed. “This isn’t funny, you guys. He’s being a dick.”

Kenny muffled a laugh. Cartman kicked Kyle’s foot. Harder this time. Kyle sucked in a breath, fingers tightening around the controller. His vision tunneled for a second. Stan watched him closely, grin widening. Cartman leaned in, voice low and smug. “What’s wrong, Kyle? Too scared to talk now? Afraid if you open your mouth, you’ll prove you actually care what I think?”

Kyle stood up so fast his controller clattered to the floor. The room went quiet. Cartman’s heart jumped, triumph flaring bright and hot and then… Kyle picked up the controller, placed it carefully on the table, and sat back down. Stan burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was so close.”

Kenny wheezed.

Cartman stared at Kyle, genuinely stunned. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Kyle didn’t look at him. He focused on the screen, jaw clenched, face flushed, every muscle screaming at him to say something. But he didn’t. Something ugly and sharp twisted in Cartman’s chest. This wasn’t fun anymore. This wasn’t winning. By the end of the night, Cartman was irritated in a way he couldn’t quite name. Snappier, louder, picking fights with Stan and Kenny instead. Kyle noticed. He hated that he noticed.

As Cartman stormed out, muttering curses under his breath, Kyle finally let himself relax. Just a fraction. Two days down. And somehow, that thought didn’t feel as good as it should have.

DAY THREE

By Wednesday morning, Eric Cartman had a plan. This was not unusual. Cartman always had plans. Most of them were terrible, morally reprehensible, and doomed to fail, but this one felt different. This one was personal. If Kyle wouldn’t react directly, then Cartman would make the world react for him. It started small.

“Kyle skipped school yesterday,” Cartman announced loudly to a cluster of kids near the lockers. “Probably crying at home because someone finally told him the truth about himself.”

Kyle was standing five feet away. He didn’t turn around. Cartman’s jaw tightened. By second period, Cartman had “accidentally” knocked Kyle’s books off his desk while passing by. Papers scattered everywhere. The teacher barely glanced up. Kyle crouched to pick them up, face blank, movements controlled. Stan helped him without a word. No explosion. No lecture. No yelling. Cartman felt something sour settle in his stomach. This was supposed to work.

Kyle told himself he didn’t care. He told himself Cartman spreading rumors wasn’t new, that being shoved and mocked was practically a routine. But everything felt sharper without the release of snapping back. Every insult echoed longer, sat heavier. He caught himself watching Cartman when he wasn’t supposed to. Not glaring. Not plotting. Just… noticing. The way Cartman hovered closer than necessary. The way his voice got louder when Kyle didn’t respond. The way his eyes flicked to Kyle constantly, searching. Kyle hated it.

“Stop it,” he thought viciously. “You’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

Which made no sense, because Cartman clearly wasn’t getting what he wanted either.

By lunchtime, Cartman had managed to convince a couple of freshmen that Kyle had cheated on a test. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. Kyle’s carefully crafted reputation took a hit anyway. Or that's what he thought. Kyle actually didn't really care. Cartman watched from across the cafeteria as his target ate quietly with Stan and Kenny, posture tense, shoulders drawn in. Not angry. Not yelling. Just… closed off. Cartman’s chest felt tight.

“Why isn’t he freaking out?” Cartman muttered.

Stan looked up from his food. “Because you’re not worth it.”

Cartman’s face twisted angrily. “Screw you, dude.”

But even as he snapped back, his eyes drifted back to Kyle. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Kyle was supposed to fight. To shout. To get red in the face and prove Cartman right. Instead, he looked tired. And Cartman hated that more than the yelling.

_________________

Cartman slumped against the lockers, arms crossed, muttering under his breath. “I don’t get it, Kenny! I do everything I can to annoy him, to make him react, and he just… sits there! Ignores me like I’m not even in the room! It’s stupid! I hate it!”

Kenny just leaned against the opposite wall, hood drawn low, letting out a long, knowing sigh.

“You know,” Kenny muttered softly, “maybe… maybe you kinda like it. That’s why it annoys you so much.”

Cartman’s eyes went wide. “WHAT?! I like him?! I hate him, you bitch! Screw you! I despise him! How dare you even suggest… ugh!” He stomped a foot and spun away, muttering insults under his breath, his face flushed with embarrassment and anger, while Kenny just shook his head, smirking quietly.

_________________

That night, Kyle lay awake staring at his ceiling. Three days. It shouldn’t feel this hard. He replayed every moment Cartman had tried to provoke him—the shoves, the rumors, the way his voice dropped when he got closer. Kyle’s chest twisted painfully.

“Why do I care?” he thought. “Why does this bother me so much?”

He rolled onto his side, fists clenched. Because ignoring Cartman didn’t mean Cartman disappeared. It just meant Kyle had nowhere to put everything he felt.

_________________

Cartman rolled onto his back, staring at the dark ceiling of his room like it had personally wronged him. This was stupid. Kyle was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Kyle Broflovski was an annoying, preachy, ginger asshole who existed solely to ruin Cartman’s life and make everything less fun. That was it. End of story. The fact that Kyle hadn’t yelled, or insulted him back, or even looked at him properly in three days didn’t mean anything. It was probably some manipulation tactic. A guilt thing. Something Jews were good at or whatever. Still, the silence pressed in on him, heavy and irritating and impossible to ignore. It crawled under his skin in a way Kyle’s screaming never had. Cartman clenched his fists, jaw tight. He hated Kyle. Obviously. Hated the way his stupid face stayed calm, hated the way he walked away instead of fighting, hated the way Cartman had started watching him just to make sure he was still there. That didn’t mean anything either. It just meant Kyle was being weird. And Cartman hated weird.

He turned onto his side, scowling into his pillow. Tomorrow, he'll fix it. He’d do something big. Something that would finally make Kyle snap and prove this whole thing meant nothing. Because if Kyle really didn’t care anymore- Cartman shoved the thought away hard enough it almost hurt. Yeah. Whatever. He didn’t care either.

DAY FOUR

Kyle had known, logically, that this couldn’t last forever.

South Park had never been a place where anything stayed contained. Rumors spread faster than common sense, and teachers had an almost supernatural ability to notice the wrong thing at the worst possible time. Still, Kyle had foolishly assumed that if he just kept his head down and his mouth shut, he could make it through one stupid week without the universe intervening. The universe, apparently, disagreed.

He was halfway through fourth period when the classroom door opened and Mr. Garrison poked his head in, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Kyle.

“Broflovski. Hallway.”

A familiar, unpleasant weight settled in Kyle’s stomach. He stood, ignoring the way Cartman’s eyes lit up with interest, and stepped out into the hall. The door shut behind him with a soft but final click.

Mr. Garrison crossed his arms. “Care to explain what’s been going on between you and Eric Cartman?”

Kyle stared at him. “Nothing.”

Garrison raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny. Because Eric says you’ve been deliberately refusing to acknowledge him, ignoring him in class, and making him feel-” he glanced down at his notes, clearly enjoying this far too much, “-”emotionally isolated.””

Kyle let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Garrison said. “You can’t just pretend someone doesn’t exist, Kyle. That’s not how social interaction works.”

Kyle clenched his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “So let me get this straight. Cartman harasses me for years, and the moment I stop engaging, I’m the problem?”

Garrison shrugged. “Life’s full of little ironies like that.”

Kyle bit back a dozen responses that would absolutely, unquestionably cost him the bet.

“I’m not doing anything to him,” Kyle said instead, carefully. “I’m just… not talking.”

“Well,” Garrison replied, tone sharp, “if this continues, I’ll be calling your parents. And possibly assigning mediation.”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. There is no way that this was actually happening. He did nothing wrong, if anything it was Cartman who was being more annoying than usual. But South Park has never been a logical place. Things happened at worst times, worst places and to the wrong people. He has known this since his brain started comprehending the world around him. Kyle sighed deeply.

“No,” he said too quickly. “That won’t be necessary.”

Garrison gave him a long look. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

_________________

Cartman had been seething all morning.

Sure, Mr. Garrison did give Kyle a pep talk just like wanted to, and sure it did make Kyle visibly angry. But the latter was still ignoring him, which could only mean, that his victory was nowhere near close. Eric Cartman doesn’t lose. Eric Cartman makes it everyone’s problem, taunting, jabbing at open wounds, scheming and planning until he eventually wins.  The cafeteria, usually a theater for his dominance, felt smaller, tighter somehow. Kyle hadn’t cracked, hadn’t even flinched, through the whispers, the shoves, the minor “accidents” that seemed to follow him everywhere. It was infuriating. Every instinct in Cartman screamed that Kyle should be reacting, yelling, making faces, anything… something. But then, a word from Stan shifted everything.

“…It’s a bet,” Stan muttered to Kenny, not realizing Cartman was listening. “Kyle’s supposed to go a whole week without talking to Cartman. If he makes it, I owe him fifty bucks.”

Cartman froze mid-bite, the fork in his hand hovering over his plate.

“…A bet?” he repeated, voice quiet but sharp.

Stan glanced up, eyes widening. “Uh- Cartman-”

Cartman didn’t wait for an explanation. He felt the heat of his chest, the rush of fury, but it didn’t last long. Because suddenly, a new thought struck him. A dangerous, delicious thought.

Kyle’s silence isn’t a victory. It’s a challenge. And I’m going to make him lose.

The anger melted into something colder, sharper, more precise. Cartman straightened in his chair, eyes narrowing at the empty seat across from him. A grin started to curl at the edges of his mouth. Stan, visibly mad at himself for slipping so easily, frowned. “Cartman… are you okay?”

Cartman laughed - short, sharp, and a little manic. “Okay? I’ve never been better, Stan. You have no idea what’s about to happen. That little ginger’s gonna crack, and when he does? Oh, it’s gonna be so good.”

Stan hesitated. Something in Cartman’s expression made him pause. There was a fire there, but it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t just the usual Cartman scheming. This was personal, calculating, and terrifyingly focused. “Uh… maybe don’t go too far,” he said cautiously.

Cartman waved him off. “Relax, Stan. I’m just… motivated. Yeah. Motivated.” He leaned back, smirking like a villain from a low budget movie, eyes still fixed on the empty chair where Kyle had been sitting.

Meanwhile, Kyle had no idea. He was still walking the tightrope, feeling the tension tighten around him with every hallway glance, every muttered remark from Cartman. He hadn’t seen the change, couldn’t know what was coming, but he could feel it, faintly, in the air. Cartman spent the rest of lunch plotting quietly. Not angry anymore. Not frustrated. Focused. Every shove, every glare, every whisper would now serve a purpose: to make Kyle slip, to make him lose. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation through him. Nobody ignores him and gets away with it. Stan, watching from across the table, couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. He’d seen Cartman angry before, sure—but this was different. Cooler, more dangerous. Like a predator who had realized the rules of the game—and that now, he would bend the world itself to win.

“You’re scaring me, dude,” Stan muttered under his breath to Kenny.

Cartman, hearing it, or thinking he did, snorted. “Pfft. Scaring you? Please. You’ll thank me when Kyle finally cracks.”

And with that, he leaned back, eyes glinting, already planning his next move. Kyle’s week of silence had suddenly become a war, and Cartman was ready to fight it every step of the way. Kyle, oblivious to the storm forming behind him, just tightened his grip on his lunch tray and tried to remind himself that one week wasn’t that long. But now… it was going to be harder than he ever imagined.

_________________

Kyle stormed into Stan’s room after school, slamming his backpack onto the floor. Stan looked up from the console, controller in hand, bracing himself.

“You okay, dude?” Stan asked cautiously.

Kyle flopped onto the bed, rubbing his temples. “Okay? Okay?! Mr. Garrison, Mr. Garrison, pulled me out of class today and actually threatened to call my parents because of Cartman!”

Stan’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait… what? What happened?”

Kyle jumped to his feet, pacing. “He says I’m being emotionally abusive because I’m ignoring Cartman. Ignoring him! I didn’t even say a word! I didn’t even look at him! And now Garrison’s acting like I’m the bad guy!”

Stan frowned. “Man… maybe the bet wasn’t such a good idea. I mean, it’s already getting… messy.  And what’s happening right now is the exact opposite of what I wanted. This isn’t peace and quiet, it’s you both being more obnoxious than usual. Maybe we should just stop it?”

Kyle froze, ignoring Stan’s snappy remark, his eyes narrowing. “Stop it?” His voice was low, dangerous. “No, Stan. This isn’t just a bet anymore. This is a war. Cartman is testing every nerve I have, and if I back down now… if I give in even a little… he wins. I cannot let him win.”

Stan rubbed his neck. “Dude… you’re already high alert all the time. Isn’t this… I don’t know… dangerous?”

Kyle shook his head. “No. I can’t. I won’t. He thinks he can push me, make me crack. But I’m not giving him that. Not now. Not ever. It’s a war now. And I’ll fight it.”

Stan hesitated, concern visible on his face. He wanted to warn Kyle… but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell him that Cartman knew about the bet now, not without risking it completely.

“All right,” Stan said finally, voice low. “Just… be careful.”

Kyle didn’t answer. He was already replaying the day in his head, counting every shove, every jab, every almost-insult. His chest burned with frustration, but beneath it, there was another, stranger feeling. He hated that he missed Cartman’s constant antics. Weird, stupid, and infuriating as they were, there was a part of him that had… always enjoyed it. Liked the way it kept things interesting, their usual dynamics, the air felt strange - empty in a way he didn’t like.

DAY FIVE

The next morning, Kyle walked into school like a soldier entering a battlefield. From the first moment, he could feel it: Cartman was watching. Smirking. Calculating. His eyes followed Kyle like a predator tracking prey. The air between them felt thick, charged. Cartman had started his subtle campaign: “accidental” bumps, whispered rumors through the underclassmen, small provocations in class that nobody else noticed but Kyle. Each one designed to push him closer to snapping—but also, perversely, to see Kyle reacting without realizing it. Kyle felt it immediately. Every jostle, every whispered dig, every calculated glance. It made his blood boil. And yet, despite the anger, there was a strange, fluttering thought he couldn’t shake: he actually kind of… likes this. Likes that Cartman is here, trying so hard to get a rise out of him. Hates himself for noticing it.

Cartman noticed Kyle’s tension and felt a different kind of thrill. The silence was maddening, but beneath the irritation was a strange, uncomfortable awareness. He’d missed this dynamic. The way Kyle argued, the way he reacted, the sharpness of his wit. It had always made life… fun. And now, without that usual storm, Cartman realized just how much he had enjoyed having Kyle around.

He shoved the thought away. “I don’t care. I hate him. I’ll make him lose,” he muttered to himself, though a small, uneasy part of him resisted.

_________________

By second period, the provocation escalated. Cartman spilled a bit of water “accidentally” on the floor near Kyle. A pencil rolled right past him. He whispered little insults just loud enough for Kyle to hear. Every incident was calculated to annoy Kyle, but in his chest, Cartman felt a little spark of… anticipation. Kyle clenched his jaw, breathing deep. He wanted to shout, to retaliate, to yell, to shove, but he didn’t. Not yet. And yet… he hated that he felt a small, strange thrill whenever Cartman was near. Across the cafeteria later, Cartman leaned back and watched Kyle eat with Stan and Kenny. The smug satisfaction that usually came with tormenting Kyle had twisted into something else entirely. A mix of obsession, frustration, and… worry.

“Why does it matter so much whether he reacts or not?” he wondered. He pushed the thought down quickly. He hated him. Yeah. Totally hated him. Kyle was a stupid, preachy ginger who needed to lose. That was it. Totally.

But something about Kyle’s silence, the way it made him think, gnawed at him. He could feel it in his chest, a strange, tightening pressure he didn’t like. He shoved it away again.

Stan noticed it too. The change in Cartman, that is. His focus, the quiet intensity, the subtle smirk that seemed less cruel and more… personal. “Dude,” Stan muttered to Kenny, “he’s acting weird. Like… different. He’s focused, but… it’s almost like he’s… thinking about Kyle too much or something.”

Kenny rolled his eyes at that. “When doesn’t he think about Kyle too much?”

Stan didn’t comment further, but unease lingered in his chest.

Cartman, already back home, was plotting quietly, muttering to himself, pacing. His plan to make Kyle lose was forming, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to push harder. And yet, a strange little thought lingered stubbornly in the back of his mind: he missed Kyle. Not in a “soft” way, never, but in a sharp, aggravating, “why can’t he just yell at me like before?” kind of way.

He shoved it away, scowling at the ceiling. He hated him. Totally. And he would make him lose. But neither of them could shake the uncomfortable truth forming slowly beneath the anger: the bet was proving one thing neither wanted to admit - that even in the chaos, they actually enjoyed each other’s presence. And neither of them could say it out loud. Not able to stand the suffocating thoughts any longer, he got up and made his way towards the redhead's house to deliver the final blow.

Kyle finally returned to his room after what have felt like hours on the bus (he will get that driver's license some day, stop asking Mom), backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to collapse into the familiar routine of homework and quiet. He never expected to hear the faint sound of the window sliding open.

“Kyle…”

His stomach dropped. He froze. Cartman. In his room.

Kyle’s mind raced. How is he supposed to ignore THAT? How?

But he tried anyway. He kept his back to Cartman, forcing himself to focus on his desk, on his notebook, on literally anything else. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even breathe differently. Cartman leaned casually against the windowsill, smirk curling on his lips. “You’re really something, Kyle,” he said softly. “All this time… ignoring me. Not even a glance.”

Kyle kept his head down.

“Too bad it’s all been pointless.” Cartman’s voice dipped, darker now, teasing. “Because I know everything.”

Kyle’s blood ran cold. His fingers tightened around his pen.

“I know about the bet,” Cartman whispered. “All of it.”

Kyle’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t respond. No flinch, no glare, nothing.

Cartman’s grin widened. “You see, Kyle, every shove, every glare, every “I’m not reacting” move you’ve pulled? Wasted. You’ve been playing my game all along.”

Kyle’s heart pounded. He stayed silent. He had to.

“Except now,” Cartman continued, stepping closer, “I get to make my move.”

Before Kyle could process what was happening, Cartman grabbed his wrist, pulling him close. His breath was warm, his eyes sharp, and then, before Kyle could react, Cartman pressed his lips to Kyle’s.

Time froze.

Kyle’s brain screamed, Don’t react. Don’t react.

He didn’t kiss back. He didn’t move. Sure he did kiss people before, like Nichole in sixth grade during some stupid spin the bottle game. But this was different, this was Eric fucking Cartman kissing him right now. Was he seriously capable of going to such extremes? Kyle didn’t know what to think, his brain shortcutting. But when Cartman pulled back slightly, waiting for a reaction, Kyle finally, after days of being able to keep his cool snapped, voice sharp and furious:

“What the hell are you doing, Cartman?!”

Cartman’s eyes lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “Ohhhhhh! That’s it! That’s the reaction I’ve been waiting for! You reacted! That’s right, Kyle! You lost!”

Kyle froze. His chest tightened, mind spinning. No, no, no… he can’t just get away with that. If it was only about the money, then he would’ve admitted the defeat. Probably. But it was also about his dignity now. 

“Can I charge him for breaking and entering and sexual assault for that? If he’s in jail nobody will ever know what just happened.” His thoughts were racing pathetically.

Then, realization hit. He took a shaky breath and met Cartman’s eyes. “Fine,” he said carefully, voice low. “Go ahead. Go tell Stan that I lost. But if you do, you’re also going to have to tell him that you. You, Eric Cartman, kissed me. And that,you fat piece of shit, is not something you want out in the open.”

For a moment, Cartman’s triumphant smile faltered. His eyes widened, and he took a step back, stunned.

“You… what? No… you can’t-”

“Oh, I can,” Kyle said, voice steady now. “So go ahead. Make your claim. But that’s the full truth, isn’t it?”

Cartman glared, muttering insults through gritted teeth. “You little Jewish… ginger… stupid… cheat…”

With a dramatic huff, he stormed to the window, flinging it open. “This isn’t over!” he shouted. “You’ll pay for this!”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Kyle shaken to the core. “What the actual fuck just happened?”

Kyle collapsed onto his bed, heart hammering, mind racing. The kiss… part of him couldn’t stop thinking about it. Warmth, the closeness, the unexpected thrill. But he pushed it down hard. It doesn’t matter. He’s Cartman. He’s awful. It was disgusting. Ignore it.

_________________

Meanwhile, in his own room, Cartman sat on his bed, staring at the wall. He had triumphantly won, or so he thought. Kyle had reacted. He had lost. Victory was supposed to feel sweet. Except it didn’t. No, it was worse. Because for the first time in years, he realized something he couldn’t explain. Something small, irritating, terrifying. He… kind of liked kissing Kyle. Not like, “I wanna fuck him here and there” but instead “oh god, maybe I’ve always had a tiny crush on him” kind of liked. He swallowed hard. Heart racing. Stomach twisting. His mind spun in loops, unable to reconcile what he felt with the rules of the world he had always lived in: Kyle Broflovski was the enemy. He hated him. He wanted to make him lose. And yet…

Cartman buried his face in his hands. He hated it. Hated it.

But the truth was there, poking and twisting at him, leaving him confused, lost… and maybe a little terrified of himself.

DAY SIX

The day after the kiss, Kyle walked into school with a storm in his chest. He replayed the moment over and over, feeling the weight of it, the closeness, the warmth, the stupid lingering spark that had nothing to do with winning a bet. He hated it. He hated that part of him even existed. He hated that Cartman had managed to throw him off his game. He hated that he had thought about it at all. But he also knew he couldn’t show it. Not now. Not ever. The bet wasn’t over, and Kyle had made up his mind: the war was still on.

Cartman, meanwhile, sat in the cafeteria before first period, jabbing his food with a plastic fork absently and glaring at the empty seat where Kyle would usually sit nearby. He was a mess. Not the usual “I’ll crush him, I’ll win, I’ll rule everything” Cartman mess. No, this was worse. Confusing, twisting, gnawing at his chest. That kiss… it hadn’t felt like triumph. It had felt… strangely good. Not in a way he wanted to admit, not in a way that made sense, but there it was. He shoved the thought down hard. He couldn’t care about that. He hated Kyle. Totally. Completely. The kiss meant nothing. If anything, he probably had gotten AIDS from Kyle’s Jew germs. The thought made him smirk, remembering the ginger’s last reaction to his jokes about the illness. He quickly pushed it away. Right. But when Kyle walked in, backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes forward, jaw tight, Cartman couldn’t help but feel… thrilled. His chest tightened, anticipation curling around him. Kyle hadn’t reacted today, hadn’t given a single inch, and yet… the memory of the kiss lingered, impossible to ignore.

Cartman growled under his breath. “Stupid Jew… I don’t care… I hate you…”

By the second period, Kyle was painfully aware of Cartman’s presence. Every glance, every shift of weight, every “accidental” bump in the hallway was charged with new meaning. He was almost grateful that Cartman went back to his previous, petty antics. He had been ignoring Cartman for almost a full week now, and the memory of the kiss made every interaction a test of his control. So the return to just pushing and shoving was almost kind of nice. He wanted to snap, to yell, to shove - but he didn’t. Not once. He could feel himself getting angrier, tighter, more keyed up with every second, but he had to finish this. Victorious.

Cartman, on the other hand, was oscillating between schemer and disaster. He wanted to make Kyle break, to make him lose the bet. But the thought of the kiss kept creeping in, making every plan slightly shakier. Every attempt at annoyance was laced with this new, terrifying curiosity: Did I… like that? Did I want more?

_________________

At lunch, Stan and Kenny noticed the change immediately.

“Dude,” Stan whispered to Kenny, nudging him as they sat down. “Cartman’s acting… weird. Like, more obsessed than usual.”

Kenny tilted his hooded head. “Just ignore him.”

Stan continued, eyes narrowing as he watched Cartman stare at Kyle from across the table, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kyle’s different too. Angry, sure, but more like he’s… waiting for something.” he thought.

Kenny, seeing his furrowed brows, just shrugged, but Stan didn’t feel reassured. Something was simmering between them, a tension that had nothing to do with usual insults or fights.

The afternoon passed like a minefield. Every class, every hallway, every glance between them carried weight. Every movement was watched, every interaction analyzed. Kyle stayed silent, focused on the bet. Cartman stayed calculating, plotting, and fighting against the tiny, irrational thoughts that the kiss had planted in his mind.

And all the while, neither could speak about what was growing between them.

_________________

After school, Kyle sat in his room, staring at his homework but unable to concentrate. His mind drifted to that night - the kiss, the closeness, the heat of it. A tiny spark had lit inside him, one he was determined to smother, but it lingered stubbornly, refusing to die.

I can’t let it affect me, he told himself. It’s a bet. I win, I walk away. End of story.

Cartman, on the other side of the street, laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The memory of the kiss burned in his mind, twisting in ways that made him uncomfortable, confused, and a little guilty. He had always been the one in control. He had always been the one scheming, dominating, and mocking. But now… he couldn’t stop thinking about Kyle, about the warmth of his lips, about the ridiculous flutter he’d felt that he couldn’t rationalize away. He gritted his teeth. “I hate him,” he muttered. “I totally hate him. I just… I don’t.”

Fuck, Kenny was totally right, wasn’t he?

And that was it. That was the truth he couldn’t say. The bet wasn’t over. The war wasn’t over. And neither of them could admit what was growing quietly, stubbornly, and unwillingly between them. Yet, somehow, they both knew, without words, that things had changed. And nothing would ever be the same.

DAY SEVEN

The morning bell echoed through the crowded halls, bouncing off lockers and tiled floors. Students hustled between classes, talking loudly, phones in hand, backpacks slung over shoulders. The chaos was almost comforting. Almost. Kyle moved through the crowd, backpack tight against his back, shoulders squared. He could feel the heat of the crowd pressing against him, the chatter buzzing in his ears, but his focus was only on one thing: ignoring Cartman. Every step was measured, controlled, careful not to give an inch, not to react, not to let the chaos break him.

But it was impossible to ignore the others' presence in the hall. 

He was there somewhere, stalking him like a predator, weaving through clusters of students with that smug smirk stretched across his face. His eyes locked onto Kyle with a mix of irritation and something else. Something Kyle hated to notice. He could feel it radiating across the crowded hallway, thick and suffocating. Kyle’s chest tightened. He tried to focus on the lockers, the posters on the walls, anything other than the anticipation curling in his stomach. Every instinct screamed to turn, to snap, to yell, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. Cartman’s voice carried across the hall, just low enough for Kyle to feel it, just loud enough for anyone nearby to catch a word or two:

“Where are you going, you little bitch? Huh? Don’t you want to play your stupid silent game a little longer? God, you make it so easy to hate you!”

Kyle’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Every insult stung, but he forced his jaw tight, forcing his mind to calm itself. He would not give Cartman the satisfaction. Cartman stalked closer, elbows brushing past other students, eyes fixed on Kyle like a laser. “You know, I don’t even get why I bother with you. Tiny, weak, preachy, whining little Jew… I hate it… I mean I hate you… ugh!” He stomped his foot, muttering the last part under his breath.

Kyle kept walking, silent and unwavering, but inside, his chest burned. The familiar frustration, the tension, the unrelenting mental battle - it all hit him at once. And under that, buried deep, was a strange, unwelcome flicker of something else: a weird, undeniable awareness that part of him almost missed this chaos. 

Cartman froze mid-step for a fraction of a second, eyes narrowing. “God, why do you do this to me?” he muttered. “You and your stupid sandy vagina!”

The crowd began to notice the confrontation, students glancing between the two like something was about to explode. And maybe it was. Kyle’s jaw tightened. Cartman’s nostrils flared. The air seemed to thrum with tension, every step, every breath, every glance weighted. The hallway was no longer just a hallway. It was a battlefield. And both of them knew it. Cartman’s patience had officially snapped.

“Kyle!” Cartman roared, stepping directly in front of him and planting his hands on his hips. Heads turned. Phones were out. “How long are you gonna play this stupid, ridiculous, pathetic game?! Huh? How long are you gonna ignore me like some little jewish robot?! You think you’re tough, don’t you, huh? You think your silence makes you clever?! It doesn’t!”

Kyle’s fists tightened at his sides. He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance up.

“Oh my God!” Cartman screamed, pacing in front of him, voice echoing off the lockers. “You are the most infuriating, annoying, miserable little Jew I have ever met in my life! You are tiny, weak, preachy, and absolutely impossible to deal with! And yet… you just sit there like an idiot, ignoring me! It’s…!”

Cartman’s voice faltered for a moment, red creeping into his face. Then he stomped his foot and yelled again. “IT’S UNFAIR!”

Kyle remained still, silent, unmoving, like a statue.

Cartman’s frustration reached its breaking point. “You know what?! You’ve… You’ve already-!”

Something slipped. His words tumbled out faster than he could stop them:

“Kyle, you’ve already lost the bet!”

The hallway went silent for a heartbeat. Then, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Phones raised even higher, eyes wide.

Stan’s jaw dropped. “Wait… what do you mean, Cartman?”

Cartman’s eyes widened in horror at his own slip. “Fuck! Nothing! Forget I said anything!”

But it was too late. The secret was out. The truth, long kept under layers of yelling, insults, and careful manipulation, was finally revealed. Kyle froze, cheeks flushing as a thousand mixed emotions collided inside him: triumph, frustration, confusion… and, unexpectedly, a flicker of guilt.

Cartman’s face twisted into a furious mask. He stomped backward, glaring daggers at Kyle. “You stupid little…! Forget it! I don’t care! I hate you!”

He spun on his heel and stormed off, leaving a trail of whispers and wide eyes in his wake. The hallway slowly returned to normal. Phones were put away. Students whispered to each other, unsure what to make of it. Kyle stood still for a moment, chest tight, heart pounding. He had won. He had technically completed the bet. And yet… as he watched Cartman disappear down the hall, his anger was strangely muted. A tiny, unexpected twinge of guilt or sympathy - or something he didn’t want to name - bubbled up in his chest.

Why do I… feel bad for him? Kyle thought, shaking his head as if to push the thought away. He’s Cartman. He’s awful. He deserved that. And yet, the feeling lingered stubbornly, unsettling him more than anything Cartman had ever said or done.

Stan finally approached him, brow furrowed, concern written all over his face. “Kyle… wait, what happened? How did you… lose the bet? I don’t get it.”

Kyle hesitated, biting his lip. The adrenaline from the hallway clash was still pulsing in his veins, but now, with just Stan there, the reality of the situation started to settle. He sighed and slumped against the locker, voice quiet but steady. “It’s… kind of complicated.”

Stan leaned in. “Complicated? Come on, man, I need the whole story.”

Kyle took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts. “It started… when Cartman broke into my room. Through my window.” Stan’s eyes went wide. 

“Yeah,” Kyle continued, cheeks warming. “He… he cornered me, started trying to get a reaction out of me. He was… insufferable, as usual, yelling, taunting, pushing all the buttons. And then… he- he kissed me.”

Stan blinked. “He what?!”

“I didn’t kiss him back,” Kyle said quickly, shaking his head, “and I got so angry, I yelled at him, asked him what the hell he was doing. And that… that made him claim I lost the bet.”

Stan’s mouth dropped open. “Oh… wow.”

Kyle rubbed his face, leaning back against the locker. “Yeah… but then I realized something. I told him that sure, he could tell everyone I lost… but he’d also have to tell you he kissed me. And he… he actually backed off. Left, all pissed off and shit.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You… handled that?”

“I don’t even know, dude” Kyle sighed, tired of everything. This stupid school, the bet and most importantly tired of Eric fucking Cartman.

_________________

Kyle returned home feeling like shit. The fifty dollar bill in his hand didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a reminder of everything that went down. He didn’t want to take the money originally, but Stan insisted. Something about repaying all the emotional damage, his words not Kyle’s. He walked through the front door of his house, dragging his backpack like it contained the weight of the world. The hallway smelled faintly of dinner, the familiar comfort of home a sharp contrast to the storm still raging inside his chest.

“Kyle?” his mother called from the kitchen, glancing up from the stove. “Bubbeh you look awful. Is everything alright?”

Kyle hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. His hands were clammy, his stomach twisted with a mixture of anxiety and a strange anticipation he didn’t fully understand. “I… I don’t know, Mom,” he admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I feel like a shitty person right now.”

His mother’s brow furrowed in concern. She wiped her hands on a towel and came closer. “Why do you feel that way?”

Kyle ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I think I like someone,” he said finally, voice almost cracking. It hans't even been long since his realization. Should he be more concerned? More anything? He probably should, but the day left him so drained, that even his brain seemed to shut down and not registrate the, oh so ground breaking, information. “Someone who probably… no, defintely hates me. And I don’t know what to do. I keep thinking about them, and it’s confusing. And I feel awful about it. I feel like I shouldn’t even feel this way.”

His mother’s face softened. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Kyle, feelings aren’t something you can control. Liking someone doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you human. The question isn’t whether you should feel it, it’s what you’re going to do with it.”

Kyle swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing heavier. “But what do I do when the person hates me?”

His mother smiled gently, a kind of patient, knowing smile. “Then you go to them. Talk to them. Be honest. That’s all you can do. You don’t have to be perfect. You just start.”

Kyle’s chest tightened. Honest. Start. The words spun around in his head like fireflies, illuminating possibilities he hadn’t allowed himself to see. Could he really? Could he actually face that person? For a long moment, he stood there, staring at the kitchen floor, heart hammering. Then, with a deep breath, he set his backpack down and walked out the door again - this time with purpose. The familiar streets of South Park seemed quieter somehow, as if the world itself had paused, giving him space to gather courage.

Kyle had faced down Cartman a hundred times before. He’d yelled at him, shoved him, lectured him until his throat hurt. He’d stood his ground in hallways, classrooms, parking lots, anywhere Cartman decided to start a fight. He thought he knew what it felt like to confront Eric Cartman. This wasn’t that. Standing in Cartman’s room, the air thick with silence and old resentment, Kyle felt smaller than he ever had in his life. His chest ached like he’d been holding his breath for days, maybe weeks, and only now realized he was suffocating.

“Hey,” he said.

The word barely made it out.

Cartman sat up on his bed, scowl snapping into place like muscle memory. “What do you want?” he snapped. “Come to yell at me again, or you just here to feel morally superior one last time?”

Kyle flinched.

“I don’t want to fight,” he said quickly, like the words might vanish if he didn’t grab them. “I swear. I just... I need to talk to you.”

Cartman snorted. “Wow. Took you a whole week to remember how to do that.”

Kyle swallowed hard. His throat burned. “I know.”

That wasn’t the reaction Cartman expected. His sneer faltered, just barely. Kyle stared at the floor, fingers curling into his sleeves. “I didn’t come here to win,” he said. “I already did. And it feels like shit.”

Cartman scoffed. “Yeah, well, winning usually does when you’re you.”

Kyle closed his eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispered. “I thought ignoring you would make things easier. Quieter. I thought if I stopped reacting, I’d finally feel… free.” His voice cracked. He hated that it did. “But all it did was make everything louder in my head.”

Cartman didn’t interrupt.

Kyle forced himself to keep going, even as his chest tightened painfully. “I kept telling myself I didn’t care. That this was just a bet. That you were just being you. But every day I didn’t talk to you, it felt like I was peeling something off myself and pretending I didn’t need it.”

He laughed once, breathless and bitter. “Which is stupid. Because I shouldn’t need you.”

Cartman shifted, frowning. “Kyle-”

“I know,” Kyle rushed on. “I know you’re awful. I know you say horrible shit and push everyone’s buttons and half the time you don’t even mean what you say. I know all that. But I also know that fighting with you has been my normal for years. And when I took that away, I didn’t feel strong.”

He finally looked up.

“I felt empty.”

The room went very quiet. Kyle’s eyes burned. He blinked hard, furious at himself. “And then you kissed me,” he said, voice shaking. “And I hated you for it. And I hated myself more, because part of me-”

He stopped. His breath hitched.

“-Because part of me didn’t want you to stop.”

Cartman stared at him, stunned. “That wasn’t... I mean...” He shook his head. “That kiss didn’t count. That was just me trying to screw with you.”

Kyle let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I told myself too.”

He took a step forward without really deciding to. “But I’ve been lying to myself all week, Cartman. About you. About me. About why this hurt so much.”

Cartman swallowed. “You don’t get to just dump this on me.”

“I know,” Kyle said softly. “That’s why I’m saying sorry.”

Cartman blinked. “You’re apologizing again?”

“Yes,” Kyle said immediately. “For ignoring you. For acting like you didn’t matter. For pretending I didn’t care when I absolutely did.” His voice dropped. “For making you feel disposable.”

That hit.

Cartman’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t-” He stopped. Looked away. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say stuff that makes it hard to be mad at you,” Cartman muttered.

Kyle huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Trust me, I’m still very easy to hate.”

Cartman glanced at him, eyes sharp but filled with something that almost looked like hope. “So what. You like me now?”

Kyle’s heart slammed into his ribs.

“Yes,” he said. “And it terrifies me.”

The honesty tasted like blood.

“I don’t like liking you,” Kyle went on, words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them anymore. “I don’t like how much space you take up in my head. I don’t like that you get under my skin and stay there. I don’t like that ignoring you hurt worse than fighting you ever did.”

Cartman opened his mouth, then closed it.

Kyle stepped closer. “But I’m done pretending.”

Cartman scoffed weakly. “You’re such a mess.”

Kyle smiled, small and sad. “Glad you noticed.”

Cartman exhaled sharply. “You know that kiss still didn’t count, right? Total technicality. No emotion. Pure chaos.”

Kyle snorted. “Sure. Totally.”

There was a beat. Then Kyle leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t rushed or angry this time. It was deliberate. Careful. Like he was bracing for impact even as he chose it. Cartman froze for half a second, then kissed him back, hands gripping Kyle’s hoodie like he was afraid he’d disappear.

When they pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard.

Cartman stared at him, eyes wide. “Okay. Yeah. That one counts.”

Kyle rested his forehead against Cartman’s, eyes closed. “Good.”

Cartman swallowed. “I’m still gonna be a dick to you.”

Kyle laughed softly, tears threatening again. “I know.”

“And I still hate you,” Cartman added, quieter.

Kyle nodded. “I know.”

Another pause.

“…But I like you,” Cartman muttered.

Kyle’s chest finally loosened, just a little. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.”

And for the first time since the bet began, Kyle didn’t feel like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower. He felt bruised, raw, and terrified — but also honest.

And somehow, that felt like enough.

Chapter Text

The first bell of the new week rang through the halls of South Park High, bouncing off lockers and tiled floors, signaling another ordinary day. But today was anything but ordinary. Kyle Broflovski walked through the main entrance, head held high, a small but confident smile on his face. Beside him, Eric Cartman strode with his usual swagger, but something was different. His hand was entwined with Kyle’s. Fingers laced together, tight and deliberate, a silent declaration louder than any words could be. The hall fell into instant chaos. Wide eyes, dropped backpacks, murmurs spreading like wildfire. People froze mid-step, staring, whispering, gaping.

Stan’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wha… wait… what?” he stammered, utterly frozen. His brain refused to compute the sight of Cartman and Kyle walking hand-in-hand, utterly unbothered by the entire student body.

“Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath, voice a mixture of awe, confusion, and disbelief. “Am I dreaming? Are Kyle and Cartman actually holding hands right now?”

Cartman noticed Stan staring and smirked smugly. “Yeah, Stan. That’s right. You’re not dreaming. Take a good look, because it’s happening.”

Kyle squeezed his hand, trying to hide a blush, and muttered, “Ignore him, he’s being stupid.”

‘Dude, did you like, lose another bet that I didn’t know about?” he asked, concerned. The only response he got was Kenny’s sudden scream of triumph.

“I knew it!” he finally exclaimed, throwing his arms up slightly. A couple of students turned to glance at him, confused, but he didn’t care. “I knew it!”

Cartman rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, whatever, Kenny. Nobody asked you.”

Kyle laughed softly, leaning closer to Cartman. “Honestly, I don’t think I care what anyone thinks anymore.”

The rest of the hall could only stare, mouths open, whispers spreading like wildfire. But Kyle and Cartman didn’t care. They walked down the hallway, hand in hand, their smirks matching perfectly, hearts racing quietly beneath the chaos. Somewhere in the back, Stan finally muttered, shaking his head, “I… I don’t even know what to say…”

Kenny grinned “Maybe that you owe me fifty bucks now?”

Stan could just groan, as he reached into his pockets for the second time in a span of two days. And for once, in the middle of their chaotic, messed-up town, Kyle and Cartman didn’t need to fight or argue or scream at each other. They walked hand in hand, still jabbing some insults at one another, but that was to be expected. Not too many things could change at once. 

As Stan observed his friends, he came to a realization. In a sense, he did get what he wanted. Maybe the bet wasn’t all that stupid after all.