'Everyone shut up!' Cartman banged his fist on the table. 'Now if you don't mind, I've invited you all to my basement for a very important and dramatic reveal.'

'I thought this was a pizza party.' said Craig.

'It is.' Cartman replied angrily. 'But you have to stay for my speech before you get the pizza.'

'Dude,' Kyle whispered to Stan, who was seated next to him at the conference table. 'Should we even be here? I mean, this guy freakin' tried to kidnap me last night.'

'I wanna know who wrote the book.' Stan replied blankly.

'Thanks for the support.' Kyle rolled his eyes.

'Come on.' Stan bumped his shoulder against Kyle's. 'I saved you, didn't I? Your prince charming?' He smiled teasingly and took hold of Kyle's hand underneath the table, earning a flushed look from the redhead.

The tubby brunette stood up from his seat, cleared his throat loudly, and began to pace around the conference table.

'Now, for the past few days many of you will have probably read a strange new book called 'My Ships'. Some of you will have wondered how a person could write such vile and evil things. A few of you have even aided me in trying to find this twisted individual. Who wrote it, and why? That is the very question I will answer today.

'But before we go around pointing fingers, we must determine the object of this horrendous crime. This book – that was distributed indiscriminately around South Park– contains gay pornographic 'literature'. There are graphic descriptions of homosexual activity between members of our class. Everyone – and I mean everyone – is a victim here. All except for one individual - one such individual who relishes our humiliation, who seeks to degrade us and defile our dignity!'

Cartman stopped in his tracks as he reached the space behind Kyle's seat. Stan, who sat next him, glanced at the brunette with uncertainty. He knew Cartman was about to start spewing out his usual slur of insults at Kyle, but he was hoping that maybe Cartman would be past this by now. Maybe.

'That individual's identity is made apparent when inspecting the evidence. The content of the book tells us much about the writer. For instance, why is it that nearly all of the stories star Kyle?' Cartman put his hands on Kyle's shoulders, who immediately tensed up and looked like he wanted to curl into a little ball, away from Cartman's grasp. 'Perhaps it is because our dear Kyle here would like to see himself as the main object of such perversion. Perhaps he himself has homosexual fantasies about his classmates, thinking of unspeakable acts when Clyde eats his sandwich provocatively, for instance –'

'I eat my lunch provocatively?' Clyde asked, looking around the table. He was answered by a unanimous nodding of the heads, including Kyle himself. He didn't know how, or why, but Clyde always made these strange little noises while he ate. Not that Kyle actually found them 'provocative', but he could see why people like Cartman might think otherwise.

Cartman continued with his speech. 'Or relishing the moment when he 'accidentally' brushes his hand on your ass in the hallway.'

'Get your hands off of me and make your point, fatass.' Kyle snapped, shrinking his shoulders away in an attempt to get the brunette off of him.

'Perhaps the most incriminating evidence of all is the fact that the handwriting in this book,' Cartman opened up the book to the first page and displayed it for everyone to see. '…Matches Kyle's handwriting.'

Everyone gasped. Kyle shifted in his seat, feeling scrutinized and very uncomfortable. Stan noticed this and squeezed his hand reassuringly. This made Kyle feel somewhat better, although he still wanted to get the hell out of there. He just wanted to curl up underneath Stan's warm bed sheets, and maybe have him sing that song again. Thinking about it made him melt inside.

Cartman's harsh voice pulled Kyle back down to reality, snapping him out of his momentary bliss.

'Now why would Kyle write about us being gay? I'll tell you why. Because he's a dirty, no-good Jew that wants to humiliate me and tarnish my reputation. He's a soulless ginger, and shows no remorse whatsoever!' Cartman raised his voice. 'So what shall we do about this? Well, I say we kill him!'

'That's enough!' Stan stood up.

'That's right! We've had enough, Stan!' Cartman yelled. 'So help me get rid of this stinking je-'

'No, I've had enough of you, Cartman!' Stan interrupted. 'So maybe you don't like gay stories. That's fine. You hate Kyle, that's fine too. But I won't let you terrorize him and treat him like he's dirt! How many times has he saved your ass when you needed it most? When you fused with a Trapper Keeper and became a gigantic blob monster, who saved you? Kyle did. Or how about when you were about to embarrass yourself on national television because you were pretending to have Tourettes syndrome? Who save you then? Kyle did. And who saved you when you were about to be raped by Snooki? Kyle did. As much as he hates to admit it, he's still your friend. So for once just fucking act like it!'

There was a moment of silence. Stan glared at the tubby brunette, a darkness in his eyes that Kyle almost never saw. In fact, he was pretty sure he's never seen Stan this pissed off. Even so, he felt a strange pride in having Stan shout at Cartman like that.

Stan grabbed Cartman by the collar of his shirt. 'And if you so much as touch a red hair on his head… I will make sure you pay for the pain you've caused him throughout your entire life a thousand-fold greater. Because he's not just my super best friend,'

Stan released Cartman and looked over at Kyle. '…He's my valentine.' Stan smiled affectionately at the redhead.

Kyle's emerald eyes lit up, feeling his face heat up. There was that feeling of butterflies in his chest again. He got up to throw his arms around Stan and kissed him on the lips as he did so, not giving notice to Cartman's bewildered look – as much as Kyle would have liked to see that.

Stan, as if having forgotten that a roomful of eyes were watching, wrapped his arms around Kyle and kissed back passionately. When they both pulled back, breathless, they looked around awkwardly.

'So, um… yeah. We're gay.' Stan spoke sheepishly, his arm around Kyle's waist.

Wendy, to Stan's surprise, started to clap. Eventually the whole room was clapping, congratulating the two.

'I've been waiting too goddamn long to see you two get together!' Someone shouted, although it wasn't clear who that person was amidst all the clapping and chattering.

'Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,' Kenny interjected from across the room. 'But I'm afraid Cartman's painted a very inaccurate picture of events. Allow me to clarify –'

'No, Kenny! I won't let you steal my thunder!' Cartman scrambled his way across the room towards Kenny. 'This was my case! My mystery to solve!'

'Ah, but you see…' Kenny threw off his jacket to reveal a Victorian style suit. 'I even dressed for the occasion!' The blonde pulled out a pipe. 'You've had your say, now it's my turn. Unless you'd like me to share the reason you're so adamant about finding the culprit…'

'What are you talking about?' Cartman glared at Kenny.

'Might as well get it out in the open.' Kenny ignored his question and opened up his tattered copy of 'My Ships'. He cleared his throat before reading the text out loud.

Jews. Gingers. New Jersey. Three things that Cartman hated with every bone in his body, and the only thing he hated more was the very embodiment of those three things; Kyle Brofloski. That damn ginger with his devious little snake eyes. Always sticking his nose where it didn't belong, meddling with anything Cartman had ever tried to do. He couldn't stand Kyle. And yet, almost paradoxically, he couldn't live without him. He was like…homework. No one likes homework. Especially Cartman. Who would? With all its demands and know-it-all attitude, giving you orders, then telling you how you went wrong – it's almost like it set you up to disappoint.

But even though he hated homework, wished it would die from HIV or something, he just had to do it.

'Ahahahaha!' Craig was the first to burst out laughing, soon followed by the entire room.

'H-Homework? Really?' Clyde snickered, tears falling from his eyes.

Kyle cringed. 'Dude…'

'I think you've made your point, Kenny!' Cartman grabbed the book out of the blonde's hands.

'But that's just the beginning! You see, if Kyle was the writer, would he be repulsed by his own supposed fantasy?' Kenny motioned towards Kyle. 'I believe the picture Cartman has just painted of our culprit is far from the truth.' Kenny lit up his pipe and puffed out a ring of smoke.

'In order to find our culprit, we must first understand his or her mind. What kind of individual would commit such an act? As Cartman pointed out, the use of Kyle as a starring role is frequent. However, that does not mean he is the writer. On the contrary, it means that he is simply the proxy through whom the writer lives him or herself through. The acts described in this book are graphic and most definitely the stuff of fantasy. Naturally, the protagonist would be the ideal version of the writer. Kyle is someone that this writer looks up to, sees as a role model of some sort.

'It came into my notice that of twenty-eight stories in this book, nine are about Kyle and Cartman partaking in intimate activities. And by intimate I mean hardcore gay stuff. Like… Seriously super gay stuff.'

'Aw-aww!' Kyle scrunched up his nose in disgust.

'That's pretty fucked up.' Stan added, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of someone fantasizing Kyle being the subject of Cartman's perversions, his grip around Kyle tightening a little.

'Naturally,' Kenny continued. '…it would be safe to assume that Cartman is the true main object of obsession. The writer is completely and utterly fixated on Cartman, perhaps even infatuated with him.'

'Then why aren't all of the stories about Cartman?' Token asked.

'I'm glad you pointed that out, Token. This is where it gets interesting.' The blonde slowly paced around the table in the same manner as Cartman did – albeit more elegantly. 'You see, while Cartman brilliantly deduced that the handwriting of the first story matched Kyle's, he largely overlooked that the handwriting was different for the rest of the book. Why is this so? This got the little grey cells working.' Kenny tapped his forehead and assumed a slightly French accent. 'Because zis information can only make sense in light of zee fact that there must have been a second writer, no?'

'Dude, since when did Kenny sound like a French detective?' Stan asked.

'It's a Belgian accent!' Kenny snapped. 'It's freaking Belgian! Get it right!'

Stan looked to Kyle with uncertainty, as if to ask for further explanation.

'He's imitating Hercules Poirot.' Kyle stated like it was an obvious answer.

'But I thought he was imitating Sherlock.' said Stan, to which Kyle shrugged.

'Quiet!' Kenny gave Stan a pointed look. 'As I was saying… This second writer must be the true culprit, perhaps influenced by the discovery of Kyle's story. After having read said material, the culprit was inspired to write more. In the beginning it was merely experimental, as seen by the mediocre and almost awkward writing style in the first half of the book – Mon dieu, it was horrific writing! But the more the culprit wrote, the more confident and audacious they became. They began to incorporate more daring and edgy dialogue, even went as far as to include their beloved obsession – Cartman.

'And yet, they still lacked the confidence to include themselves in their own stories. It came into my notice that this book has almost every pairing possible. I say almost because there is one individual who is completely absent from this book. Following my line of logic, this person should be the writer. And this individual is…'

Kenny took a dramatic pause, perhaps for too long.

'Just fucking tell us!' said Craig.

'This individual… is Butters.'

The room went quiet, everyone turning towards the timid blonde, who looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

'I-I- That's a lie!'

'It's not a lie. And Wendy can confirm that.' Kenny turned towards Wendy. 'Tell them, s'il vous plait.'

Wendy nodded. 'It was about a week ago that Bebe and I found a piece of notebook paper. It was the Stan and Kyle chapter from the book. I recognized the orange border on the page as Kyle's. He had already left the classroom, so I thought I'd just leave it on his desk. But just as Bebe and I were leaving, we saw someone go over to his desk and take it.'

'And who was this person, mon cherie?' Kenny asked.

'It was Butters.' Wendy answered, almost apologetically.

'Well, there we have it, monsieurs.' Kenny gestured towards Butters. 'Our culprit!'

The room stayed quiet. No one really knew what to do. After all, what was the point of all this again?

'B-Butters? You were the one who wrote that shit?' Cartman yelled. 'I'll kick you in the nuts so hard you'll squeal like a little piggy!'

Butters yelped and ducked underneath the table. 'Aagh!'

'Get back here you piece of shit!' Cartman strode over to Butters' seat, reaching for Butters. 'You fucking humiliated me!'

'Yes. Yes I did.' Butters arose from beneath the table, dressed in a green cape and tin foil helmet. 'It all went according to plan, for I am Professor Chaos!'

'Jesus, he still does that?' Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. They had all outgrown their super hero obsessions long ago, yet it made sense that someone like Butters would still hold on to his alternate persona – even if he looked utterly ridiculous in his undersized flashy outfit.

'B-behold my terrifying glory! Cower in fear of m-my –uh- destructive literature!' Butters climbed up onto the table, Cartman too stunned to respond. 'None of you even suspected your fellow classmate Butters, but it was me all along! I wreaked havoc upon South Park and there was nothing you could do about it!'

'Hold up…' Kenny rubbed the temples of his forehead, instantly dropping the accent. 'I-I thought you wrote 'My Ships' because you wanted to indirectly declare your love for Cartman.'

'Well… n-no. I'm not –uh – gay.' Butters looked down at his shoes. 'I just wanted to show that I'm not just some w-weakling! At first this book was private, just for me. But then I started to really get attached to my pairings. I wanted them to be real. So I thought if I showed everyone, they'd see what I saw. They'd see that these couples were right for each other. My stories might just become reality.'

Butters stepped down from the table and threw off his cape. 'But I feel pretty stupid now. I mean, my book really is shitty. It's not really a story. It's just a bunch of misinterpretations taken too far. Who actually thinks that because Tweek and Craig had a big fight in 3rd grade that there's something more going on? That they had some sort of romantic feelings for each other? I mean, that's just ridiculous when you think about it.'

'Except it's not.' said Craig.

'What…?' Butters looked at the dark haired boy.

'I said it's not. Because if it was, then I wouldn't be doing this.' Craig pulled Tweek over to his seat and kissed him passionately for everyone to see.

'What the fuck?' Cartman looked annoyed - almost disappointed, strangely enough. 'So you read a gay story and now you're making out with Tweek? How is that even-'

'If it wasn't for you sharing Kyle's story I wouldn't have realized I was in love with him.' Stan interrupted. 'We both felt the same but we were both too shy to even admit it. 'My Ships' got it all out in the open. So you shouldn't feel stupid, Butters.'

'And who's to say that your story is shitty?' Kyle added. 'You put just as much effort into that book as any other author. Sure, it might not get up on its high horse with symbolism and morals, but that's not what makes your expression of emotion valid. You brought to life a vision – as smutty or as crazy as that vision might be – and that's all that matters.'

Butters eyes started to water. 'Why are you guys so nice to me? You make it so difficult to be Professor Chaos when you start talking like that!' Butters threw off his helmet and leapt onto Stan and Kyle for a hug, wailing.

Stan and Kyle chuckled lightly, feeling just a little bit awkward as the blonde was smearing his tears all over their shirts. By this point people started to realize that there was no pizza – then again, what did they expect from Cartman? – and began to clear out of the basement.

'That's okay, Butters…' Kyle patted the blonde on the head. 'We just thought it was the right thing to say.'

'Don't mind me…' Kenny nonchalantly pushed Butters away and hugged Kyle. 'Isn't this nice?'

'Kenny.' Kyle glared at the blonde. 'Get off.'

Kenny let out a disappointed sigh. 'I'm guessing there's no chance of us working out with this guy in the way.' He indicated towards Stan.

'I have a name you know.' The dark haired boy growled.

'Anyway. Call me if things don't work out. Or if you prefer,' Kenny leaned in towards Kyle's face. 'I'm up for some ménage au trois, if you know what I mean…'

'I know what you mean, Kenny. And the answer is no.' Kyle answered bluntly.

'You're so cold to me, my ginger pixie!' Kenny pouted.

Stan stifled a laugh. 'Ginger pixie?'

'Don't even get me started.' Kyle exasperated.

'Watson?' A foreign voice from the foot of the stairs. Kyle and Stan looked over to the source of the voice, finding a dark haired man who looked weathered and rugged. His clothes were singed, and he was in desperate need of a shave. And a bath. And maybe some medication for good measure.

'Oh shit! It's Benedict Bumbercrotch!' Tweek shrieked, grabbing Craig's arm frantically. 'Jesus Christ! I thought he was dead! C-Craig, we need to get the hell out of here! Aagh!'

Craig looked at the dark haired man warily. 'Come on, Tweek. Let's go.' Although, Kyle was sure he had seen a tiny little smirk on Craig's face, presumably enjoying the fact that Tweek sought his protection.

'My name is Benedict Cumber- Excuse me, I mean Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.' The man said irritably in response, despite the fact that Tweek and Craig had already left. Just as Kenny walked past him, Sherlock grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

'Dude, what the fuck?' Kenny glanced angrily at Sherlock. He was all bubbly and cheerful when it came to Kyle – or maybe even Stan – but when it came to strangers he didn't put up with any of their shit. Especially not from this weird looking lunatic, who was glaring back at him with a hungry look.

'Watson…' The man's voice was shaky. 'You-You came back.'

Kenny was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was wearing a full Victorian style suit. 'Oh… yeah, no. I'm … uh… supposed to be Sherlock. That's why I've got the whole pipe thing going on, you know? Watson's the wussy dude that follows him around.' Kenny explained, hoping this would somehow clear up what he hoped was just a simple misunderstanding.

The man roared in laughter. 'Oh, Watson! Your jokes never cease to crack me up! Come on, now. Let's go.' He tugged at Kenny's arm, intent on taking him with him.

'Dude. Seriously. I'm not Watson.'

The dark haired man turned to him, his expression softer. 'You… Do you really want me to?'

Kenny's eyes widened in puzzlement. 'Eh?'

'Fine. I'll say it.' Sherlock grabbed Kenny' by the shoulders. 'I love you, Watson.' Before Kenny could protest, Sherlock had already drawn him in for a stubbly kiss. And strangely enough, Kenny didn't seem to mind all that much. In fact, he rather enjoyed it – so much so that he pulled Sherlock's head down to get closer.

When they broke away from embrace, the first thing Kenny noticed was the horrified expressions on Stan and Kyle's faces, who had witnessed the whole ordeal. And then he realized that, actually, this Sherlock dude was pretty hot.

'So what do you say we run away, Watson?' Sherlock held Kenny's face. 'Let's just go wherever ! Anywhere! And we can do whatever we want. Whatever you want! We'll stay up 'till the sun rises. We'll travel to distant foreign lands. Hell, we can even go back to solving crimes! Just you and me. What do you say?'

'Solving crimes? Adventuring? With you?' Kenny seemed to consider this, although it was pretty clear from the gleam in his eyes that he had already decided. 'Let's do it!'

Sherlock lifted Kenny up in joy, spinning him around and kissing him once more. 'Oh, I'm so happy, Watson!'

Stan and Kyle watched the two leave, their mouths gaping in disbelief, Kenny giving Kyle a wink and an 'Au revoir!'. Kyle wasn't sure whether he should report this to the police or just smile and wish them good luck. Then again, Kenny's lived through pretty much any shit the universe has thrown at him, so he was sure he'd be fine.

'Hey.' Stan half-whispered.

'Yeah?' Kyle said absent mindedly, thinking about Stan picking him up in the air like that and taking him away to some distant land, never to return to South Park. They would probably have to stay in some cheap-ass motel, but Stan would keep him warm at night, wrapped around him like a cocoon.

'There's something I forgot to give you yesterday.' Stan shuffled in his bag to look for something. He pulled out a green ushanka.

'You still have my hat!' He chuckled as Stan placed the hat on Kyle's head. He had almost forgotten about it, even though this was pretty unusual considering that he normally wore it all the time.

'Yeah… I kinda liked having it as a pillow to be honest.' Stan looked down, his face a little flushed. 'But I figured you would want it back, so…'

Kyle looked at Stan for a moment and smiled, not saying anything.

'What?' Stan looked up.

'Nothing.' Kyle said, placing his hands on Stan's shoulders. 'Just that it's not often I get to see you blush.'

'Oh please, get a room so you can make out.' Cartman mocked. They forgot that they were still in Cartman's basement. And that Cartman had been waiting for them to leave.

'Maybe we will.' Kyle ran his hand through the back of Stan's hair, leaning closer as if to test both Cartman's patience and the fragile state of Stan's pounding heart.

Cartman exhaled noisily in frustration. 'You know what, screw you guys. Seriously. Screw. You. Guys.' And with that the tubby brunette left the room.

Kyle exhaled in relief, although his hand was still in Stan's hair, now making circular motions. 'God, he pisses me off.'

Stan, finding Kyle's little fit endearing, leant down to peck him on the forehead. 'Let's go over to my place. We can go break the news to my parents in the bluntest way possible. Payback for all the crazy shit my dad's given me all my life. How's that sound?'

Kyle chuckled. 'Sounds good.'

The sound of a door locking made them both freeze.

'Did… Cartman just lock us in?' Kyle glanced uneasily at the door.

'Okay… What the fuck is this?' Stan walked over to the table, which now had a whole bunch of stuff on it. Monopoly. Some jigsaw puzzles. Cheesy poofs. A box full of chocolates. Scented candles. There was even something frilly sticking out of a bag. If Stan could give a wild guess, he'd say it almost looked like a French maid's outfit.

An unlabeled bottle caught Kyle's eye. He went over to pick it up and get a closer look - quickly regretting doing so and dropping the bottle like it was rat poison.

'Dude, what is that?' Stan asked.

'Er… um.' Kyle flustered. 'M-Massage oil. I think.'

'What?!' Stan's eyes widened, his cheeks coloring. 'You-You don't think Cartman left that here? For us?'

'Doesn't it sound familiar?' said Kyle, avoiding eye contact as he did so. 'Remember fourth grade? How Token and Nicole got together? And pretty much all of the 'minorities' in our class?'

'So… now he thinks fags should be together?'

Kyle gave Stan a pointed look, as if insulted by the word. Mostly because it was yet another slur for Cartman to use against him. Nevertheless, the puppy-eyed look Stan was giving him right now made him forget that this whole set-up was Cartman's doing. Kyle softened his expression.

'You know what? We'll let fatass win this time around.' Kyle slung his arms around Stan's neck, pulling him closer.

Stan put his arms around Kyle's waist, although his hands were shaking a little. 'You mean… use the massage oil?' His eyes looked into Kyle's with feigned innocence.

'Well, only if you want to. I don't know what kind of kinky shit you're into.' Kyle raised an eyebrow in the way that made Stan's breath quicken. Kyle didn't even realize how nervous he was making him.

'Judging from your story, I'd say you were into some pretty kinky shit.' Stan smiled when he saw Kyle redden in response. God, he loved it when he blushed.

'Just kiss me alre-' Kyle was cut off by Stan's lips, warm and soft. He never thought he'd like the taste of his super best friend's lips, but here he was, savoring the flavor of Stan.

Stan hugged the redhead closer as he kissed him, sighing out contentedly as he did so. He didn't care that they were in Cartman's basement, or that the tube of massage oil seemed to glare at him expectedly from the table. Hell, he didn't even care that Butters had stuck around and was watching them from behind the rails of the stairs with a starry eyed look, thinking they hadn't noticed him. As far as he was concerned, this moment was perfect. Kyle was perfect. He was his funny valentine, and nothing would ever change that.

Cartman whistled as he locked the door securely and walked away, smiling to himself. He almost wanted to burst into laughter, his chest swelling with pride at his recent accomplishment. It felt good when his plans went well, even more so in the face of obstacles that were way out of his control. The minds and hearts of others were difficult to manipulate, let alone sway in your favor. And yet somehow, Cartman had managed. Of course this shouldn't be much of a surprise. He was Eric Cartman. And Eric Cartman always got his way.

But this time, something was different. For some reason, his victory felt… kind of empty. Sure, it was great that all his effort and work paid off. But somewhere along the way he stopped caring about the result. Where did he go wrong?

Was it when he had just discovered 'My Ships' and started reading it religiously, even though it repulsed him and made him want to gag? Was it when he started to actually feel embarrassed when other people read it?

After having discovered the scrappy little book in Butters' room, he had thought it was the most hilarious thing ever made. The sheer amount of mushy sentiment and gay smut crammed into one book, penned by the ever-so innocent Butters, was just too funny to ignore. How could he not show it to everyone?

Of course, simply doing that wasn't much fun. No… he needed to spice things up a little. Make the game last a little longer. So what better way than to do so than by convincing Butters – via anonymous letter, of course – that the contents of said book could become reality, if only people would read it, with the insistence that no one must know the identity of the writer. And thus… all hell broke loose. Doubt and gay angst was all over South Park, and it was all thanks to Cartman.

It was beautiful.

So when did it stop being about that? When did he start searching for something else?

Perhaps it was…. Cartman clenched his fist. Why was he doing this psychoanalysis shit? He didn't need to know why or how. His plan worked. That was all there was to it.

He flopped onto the living room couch and switched on the tv – effectively switching off his brain as he did so. Or at least that's what he had hoped to accomplish.

Memories tugged at him tenaciously, asking to be examined, to be revisited. Goddammit. He sighed and rubbed the temples of his forehead. Feelings like this – he didn't know what to call them quite yet - were so high maintenance.

So… when did things change? Perhaps it began with his strange dreams. Dreams of…

Cartman shuddered. Hearing it in his thoughts made him sick to his stomach. He pushed himself to continue.

Dreams of Kyle.

At first he just thought it was the poison of 'My Ships' polluting his mind, that it wasn't something he actually wanted. In fact, his dreams were never about him and Kyle. They were always about Stan and Kyle. So he was sure that whatever this feeling was, it was because he thought Stan and Kyle belonged together.

'That's why you should be happy, Eric! Teehee!' A high-pitched voice spoke.

'I guess, Cupid Me.' Cartman sighed. Cupid Me was right. The real reason he set up this whole 'who-dunnit' fiasco was so that Stan and Kyle would get together. The reveal of the Stan and Kyle story, kidnapping Kyle, locking them in his basement. It was all staged so that they would finally realize what fags they were for each other. And it had worked.

So why the fuck was he not happy?

'Eric… Maybe it was you who was in love with Kyle.'

'Shut the fuck up, Cupid Me!' Cartman snapped his head to the little creature to his right. 'As if I'm in love with that sneaky little Jew!'

'I'm just sayin'.'

'No. No, you're not 'just sayin'. You and I both agreed that gay hippies should be with each other, so naturally Stan and Kyle are freakin' butt buddies. Do I look like a gay hippie to you?'

The little creature shrugged and faded away, leaving Cartman to untangle his goddamn thoughts on his own.

He sunk further down his seat and exhaled. Okay, so maybe there was a complication on the way, maybe he did feel a little something, but that didn't mean he didn't want Stan and Kyle to be together. They were so goddamn sweet with each other.

And… perhaps in spite of all the envy he felt, he couldn't help but feel happy for them. Cartman couldn't fool himself any longer with the lie that his satisfaction came with the flawless execution of his plan. No, he was happy because… Kyle was happy.

As much as he hated this little Jew, as much as he often grinned at the thought of causing him misfortune, nothing could actually compare to the warm, giddy feeling in his chest when Kyle smiled because of him. Sure, Kyle might have been blind to half the things Cartman did for him, but perhaps that's the way Cartman liked it. Maybe… Maybe he liked being Kyle's guardian angel in disguise.

Cartman smiled at that, feeling rather attached to his new title. Guardian angel in disguise. Yes, that's exactly how he would describe himself.

And then, for some reason, Cartman felt the need to laugh. He could feel these brand new sentiments bubbling up his throat, making him want to throw his arms in the air and laugh at everything. In fact, he found it unbearably funny that he was even feeling this. Never in a million years did Cartman think one devious little ginger would ever make his way into his heart like that.

After a fit of hearty chuckles and giggles, Cartman took a deep breath and smiled.

'That sweet, sneaky little Jew…'

THE END

So there it is, the end to my first multi-chapter story!

Thank you for sticking around until the end, and I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews - they really made it worth posting this story.

I hope to write more SP fanfics in the near future - hence I would appreciate any feedback on this story! - and once again, thank you for reading!