Epilogue

You should have called him. As Cartman sat among the other eager students, his 'peers', waiting to collect their diplomas and Get-Out-Of-Jail cards from this school, this town, that's all his fractious, shaking mind could process clearly. You should have called him. Cartman didn't know exactly when he should have called Kyle.

Last night.

When he received his acceptance letter.

Three months ago. The day he let himself lose him.

Because the void Kyle had left in Cartman's life did feel like a loss. An unfair severance that Cartman often had to remind himself was his fault and nobody else's. He was the one who told Kyle they didn't work anymore, he was the one who delivered the crushing blow, Hell, he was the one who promised they would be fine. No, not fine. Great without each other. And perhaps that (it could be said) was the truth.

But after each rugby victory and case of academic success, Cartman wished he could take the bus to Denver, stroll into Kyle's apartment like his presence was still welcome there and when he'd see Kyle's beautiful face (so beautiful in fact that it even dared to re-emerge and breathe fervid color into the dull water of Cartman's more innocent and trivial of dreams) and hear his gentle, indescribably safe voice ask him what he did today, he could proudly reiterate his achievements and be the recipient of those achingly missed kisses. Memory is an incredible gift, a wonderful sparing from a volatile, cruel universe. If used effectively. To Cartman, Kyle was his infinity, and his ability to recall Kyle's lips, his voice, his touch and the breathless emotion Cartman felt of being gripped and drained of all the bad stuff, when Kyle was close enough to him, was a privilege he abused when he felt lonely, anxious, depressed. Abandoned.

Cartman caught himself smiling dreamily, drowning out the principal's farewell speech with the more entertaining image of undressing Kyle as his lips claimed familiar, conquered territory. The alabaster landscape, the architecture of Kyle that Cartman felt he still had more time to explore. If Kyle would still let him, three months and he had heard nothing. To calm his frayed nerves, Cartman assured himself that the only reason for Kyle's silence was that he was giving Cartman the space he said they both needed. But the stormy voice that rattled through his mind also told him that this silence was a terrible one, leaving Cartman to imagine what kind of horrifying pit Kyle could have fallen into. Cartman tried to remind himself that he wasn't that special, that he wasn't worth sinking that low for. Especially when it was Kyle supposedly crashing.

He could have seized the opportunity to capture that hurricane in his head and let it whither lifelessly, if he had just called Kyle when he received the acceptance letter. One of the only times since he and Kyle split up, that the need to call him became an asphyxiating obsession. The letter had arrived on an insubstantial Friday morning - for the first few weeks of their separation, every day without Kyle felt inconsequential - Cartman was alerted to the delivery of the letter when his mother's excited scream from downstairs woke him. As Cartman trudged down the stairs, still half-asleep, he tried to decipher what his mother was saying through her overly energetic squeals. Even when he saw the envelope clearly marked 'NYU', he forced himself to swallow the pesky, foolishly hopeful heart that had leapt into his throat, reminding himself and his mom that it could very well be a letter of rejection. But Lianne wasn't listening, already on the phone to Kenny to tell him to come over and witness the grand letter-opening, whilst Cartman rolled his eyes and wondered if his mother was going to invite the entire neighborhood over to provide audience for (what he thought was going to be) humiliating disappointment.

No such thing occurred. Instead, there was an eruption of victorious shouts and proud cries from everybody except Cartman, who just read the letter over and over to make sure he wasn't having a feverish dream. Only until he was absolutely certain did he let a wide grin trespass on his features, the overwhelming elation making him unsteady. What followed was a day of celebration, champagne, and hot dogs and burgers on the rarely used barbecue.

Cartman was leaving. For good, like he always wanted. His mom was making excellent progress with her counselor and now Cartman had a chance to better himself, defy expectations and start anew. But the realization was marred by sadness; What if you never see him again? He and Kyle had made one last promise that they were determined to keep, that they would see each other again. And everything would be perfect, but faced with the prospect of a few thousand miles wedged between them, Cartman became fearful that their chances of a reunion had become slimmer.

Then came the urge to call. If not to truly know that Kyle was okay, then to see him again. Hear him, feel him, love him again. Although, Cartman considered, he didn't need to love Kyle again, it had become as crucial to his existence as breathing. Even if Kyle only lived to him now in a dreamy incorporeal state. Not only that, but he wanted to make Kyle proud. And that promise... Kyle was still Cartman's permanent thing, he wanted to be there at Cartman's graduation, didn't he? Regardless, Cartman didn't call, figuring that if Kyle was so intent on keeping his promise he'd turn up unannounced and it'd be so beautiful and poetic and his face would be the first he'd see in the crowd. It was irrational, delusional he knew, to think this way. But sometimes we all need some irrationality in our lives, if only to kid ourselves a little further.

Still, as the crowd applauded, as the list of names continued to reel off and edge closer to his own, his heart pounded to the remorseful metronome You should have called him. He should be here.

"Eric Cartman" The voice of his principal was Cartman's cue. A tremendous wave of obligatory clapping, crashed against the heavy tide of his mind, and he heard a clear, sharp wolf whistle that he assumed was Kenny.

After his hand was shaken, his much-longed for high school diploma received, Cartman dared to blink into the faceless audience, hoping for a flash of red hair he could detect even with his eyes closed. He knew it would be in vain, that his disappointment was all of his own doing.

Then he was hit by a different urge. An urge that roused strength in him he never knew he owned, to storm out of this auditorium, take the bus to Denver, go to Kyle's apartment and scoop him up in his arms and kiss him. If he wasn't so afraid...

But what would be the point? In two months he'd be on the other side of the country.

Gone, and clinging to his poetic reunion.

Eight Years Later

Cartman had been seeing Kyle everywhere.

Sides of city buses, the review pages of newspapers, the front windows of book stores... One time, as Cartman was restlessly flicking through late night TV shows, he saw Kyle on a talk show. A desperate bird seemed to liberate itself from his heart, its wings punctuating every minute that Kyle was on screen. Cartman just smiled in silent disbelief, inwardly reeling and visibly trembling. The experience was so overwhelming that Cartman couldn't process what Kyle was saying, his mind was only focused on seeing him again, it couldn't break down the barrier of actually hearing his voice.

Unsurprisingly, Kyle hadn't changed much. More cinnamon, mottled stubble graced his jawline, his curls a little more cropped (which Cartman disapproved of, why would Kyle deprive him of the opportunity to run his fingers through his hair? Cartman guessed that was no longer his concern and hadn't been for nearly a decade) but, overall, he pretty much looked the same. To Cartman, he still represented the same thing.

The hysteria surrounding Kyle's novel was frightening. It seemed to appear out of nowhere, one day it seemingly didn't exist and the next everybody was clamoring over it. The reviews ranged from favorable to the book being lauded as one of the greatest novels to be published in the last five years, and even the few disparaging reviews couldn't deny the novel's popularity. A New York Times bestseller is hard to ignore.

Kyle must have come to Manhattan at some point (that thought was hard for Cartman to swallow), for publishing meetings, magazine interviews, book readings... It was maddening. And once Cartman allowed that thought to creep in, and with Kyle's success plastered all over the city, unanswered questions were left in its wake. How close was he to seeing Kyle on the streets? At an event? What were the chances that the PR firm who handle Kyle had come into the Photography agency that Cartman worked for, and discussed photo shoots? What if Kyle had been in the office? What if Kyle wanted to see him? What if he didn't want to see him? The onslaught of questions left by Kyle's possible presence in his life was like a freight train plowing straight through his heart.

It occurred to Cartman - with an acute stab of guilt - that when he and Kyle were dating he had never read anything Kyle had written. He could have rectified this by reading the novel, giving Kyle his silent congratulations and feeling like he was apart of him again, but the title 'An Infinite April', it was so unnervingly familiar. It seemed rather intrusive, like Cartman would be faced with harsh, unknown truths, forced to relive things he'd rather forget... But the book surely couldn't have been about him, right? And even if it was, Kyle wasn't the type of guy to be vengeful. There was no need for vengeance, was there? Cartman knew he must have hurt Kyle (that in itself was difficult to come to terms with) but Cartman was hurt too. For all the undeniable joy they brought each other, there was also a lot of pain. Those weeks spent with Kyle was the most alive Cartman had ever felt. No relationship Cartman had ever had, fleeting or meaningful, from college to the present, had never come close to what he and Kyle shared. The relationships he pursued after Kyle were far from terrible, admittedly most of them were wonderful and based on honest love, but Kyle was the catalyst for tremendous change in his life, so anybody else who came along was unknowingly being defeated in the war over claiming Cartman's heart. Thinking of what his life would have been like if he hadn't agreed to go to that bar with Kenny, or hadn't found the courage to meet Kyle for coffee, was near painful. He would probably be a lonely, weird shut-in, morbidly cynical and detached from the world, or holed up in a mental institution looking for an eternal escape or, even more worryingly, committed to the earth long ago. First love leaves a lasting imprint, and Cartman felt Kyle's name was seared across his very plexus.

Cartman felt he owed it to Kyle to read his novel and to put his aching curiosity over its content to rest. So on his way home from work, he visited the quiet little book store tucked away into a busy Manhattan street, and purchased one of the few copies of 'An Infinite April' that remained on the shelves.

In the confines of his modest apartment that most people his age would be lucky to afford, he opened the book with trembling hands and bit back nostalgic tears at seeing the picture of Kyle on the sleeve. Black and white, professional, but so deeply warm and inviting, like even through a camera lens, Kyle still had a smile reserved only for Cartman.

His suspicions were proved right, the novel was indeed about him. Or rather, who he used to be. Kyle had charted, documented everything, and it made Cartman appreciate exactly how much unseen attention Kyle paid to him, and how deep their mutual fascinations with each other ran. Of course, it was also a love story, how could it not be? And certain trysts, kisses and words that Kyle had typed and shared with thousands of people, Cartman could recall with lucid clarity. But there was little mention of the older man who had appeared in this teenager's life through a happy case of contingency; He wasn't romanticized or mysterious, noble or wise (Cartman felt Kyle was doing himself an injustice by shying away so much from the spotlight... And in his own novel too!) and he wasn't the one charming the teenage hero... No, he was the one being charmed. He was the one falling recklessly in love, gripped by infatuation and growing up alongside his lover. Although Kyle had dug his way into Cartman's once questionable soul, it seemed that he had left a sizable mark on Kyle too.

It took Cartman three days to read the entire novel, but his mind kept pulling him towards the dedication. The most beautiful words anybody had, and ever could, write for him.

To Eric, who will be forever beautiful and is hopefully doing okay
I love you; Now, then and always.

Once Cartman had finally brought himself to shut the book, his mind more consumed and hooked on Kyle than it had ever been, he was determined to get back in contact with him. It seemed like the perfect moment they both had promised themselves; After eight years he was ready. Happy, mature and able to give Kyle everything he wanted and more.

He was so achingly determined to love Kyle and fight to make it work.

To Cartman, the possibilities for their future seemed infinite, which meant forever was possible... And a forever with Kyle was too good to pass up.

THE END.

A/N: Finally it's here! I am sincerely sorry that it took so long and I hope it was worth it. I'm not really one for long epilogues (surprisingly) and I hope (considering how long it took me to sit down and actually write it) it was satisfying to read...

This story has been so emotional for me, and I can't believe it's over! It's been both difficult and enjoyable to write and I didn't want to leave it incomplete.

Thank you all so much for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing! All of you are supercrazyawesome and shpadoinkle! And I hope you'll stick around for more Eric and Kyle escapades with me!