Forgot to put in paragraph breaks. Fixed now.

"You promised, Kyle," said Stan Marsh and patted his reluctant friend on the back. The gangly man shrank into his coat, yanking his lime ushanka so far down his head that it almost hit his nose. Stan gave him another sympathetic pet. "You just need to get it over with. Like pulling off a bandaid."

Kyle shrugged off the contact, miserably staring in at the salon window. A row of primped and preened women stared back, unamused by his gawking. I don't want to be here either, he protested internally but Stan was right. He had promised.

The door opened with a tinny jangle and he was pushed eagerly inside. "Morning," Stan grinned brightly at the receptionist. "Appointment for Broflovski."

"I know, Stan," she smirked. "I booked it for you. Mr. Cartman is expecting you."

Mister? Kyle relaxed a little. He wasn't sure he could cope with making small talk with a female stylist, especially about hair and weddings. Then again if he was in a salon then the guy would probably be…

"Bebe, darrrllling! Is my ten o'clock here?"

Kyle inhaled a harsh breath at the large man that had come out of a back room and he did the same as they surveyed one another suspiciously. For one thing, Kyle noticed, the guy had perfect hair – sleek and brown with delicate highlights that complimented icy eyes. It made him all the more embarrassed about the wreck he was sporting under his hat. His eyes wandered over the rest of the stylist. Offset against a sharp red shirt that just about slimmed down his bulky frame was a blue and yellow neckerchief. Smooth slacks, shiny shoes and a sparkling earring (on the right, Kyle was surprised to note) brought it all together.

Almost definitely gay, not that it mattered to Kyle. But what would they talk about? Plenty of gay guys watched basketball, right? Before a tiny feminist voice in his head could point out that women could be fans too, the stylist gripped his shoulders like a vice and with a screech exclaimed, "Oh honey NO!" and batted off his ushanka. Kyle's hands flew up with his own high scream. The other man gasped sharply. "My God, what have you done?"

"Excuse me?!" Kyle exclaimed in horror as the other man began to run his fingers through his matted tresses.

He whimpered softly against his curls. "It's okay, I won't let him hurt you anymore. Eric's here."

Was he talking to his hair?! "I take it you're Eric?"

"That's Mr. Cartman to you," he snapped his fingers in a Z-shape. "Eric is for people who are kind to their hair."

"Right," said Kyle, warily. "Look I'm here to get it neatened out and that's all. Just trim it back."

Mr. Cartman leaned in with a wicked sneer. "Baby, we are going to have to start over from the very beginning with this…" he waved a hand over his hair, "…whatever you want to call it. First things first, that hat is now banned from your head."

"You can't ban my hat!"

He spun him forward to the room from where he came out before. "In here please, sir," he lisped camply. "Don't worry sweetie, I'll take good care of him," he added to the bemused Stan.

"Okay well, I'll go run those errands Wendy gave us. Pick you up later, Kyle. Have fun!"

He certainly wasn't going to have fun. Kyle allowed himself to be led into the back room, where Mr. Cartman practically slammed the door off its hinges. "This gentleman is a special case; he's all mine," he explained to the shampooist waiting at a basin. "Shoo shoo!"

Kyle watched her scuttle away and was suddenly nervous at being alone with such a formidable character. The second the door shut again, he was surprised to see the stylist slump into a nearby barber chair and rub his chubby pink hands over his weary face, Kyle's ushanka nestled in his lap. "What's your story, babe?"

"My story?"

"The hat. Is it a gimmick? A love token you can't part with? A security blanket?"

Shit, this guy had him figured out already. "The last one I guess." Kyle answered and noticed the stylist's own voice was suddenly gruffer, more casual. He relaxed and in a hypnotic way found himself obeying Mr. Cartman's silent offer to sit in a chair by the basin. "I don't really want to go into it but I just feel safer when I wear it." Even here, under just one pair of eyes, he was shaking without it. "Please Mr. Cartman, you can help right? With my hair."

"Just Cartman is fine. That's what my friends call me." He combed back his hair with his fingers and the bangs fell attractively into his eyes. Kyle fidgeted with envy. No matter how much of a genius Wendy said this guy was, Kyle's hair would never look like that.

Cartman tapped his chin with his knuckle and relented slightly. "Anxiety huh? We'll make a deal. You've got half a year until this wedding right?"

Kyle nodded.

"So that's like six sessions. I'll do what I can, but you have to work on the hat thing. I mean, she's not going to let you turn up on her wedding day wearing an ushanka right? That's why you're here. I know a good therapist if you want. She'll help you out."

"I'm not going to a shrink, dude."

"Then this is just a waste of my time and your money. You'll be back to square one if you keep suffocating your head like that. Such a shame too." He ran his hands though a small patch of life on Kyle's head. "Got potential there babe, could have a gorgeous Jewfro going on."

"How'd you know I'm Jewish?"

He moved his finger down to Kyle's nose. "That or Eye-talian, but there's not many gingers in that gene pool. And your slacks are a little too tight around the crotch so I can see you're circ'd. Can't miss it – not that I'm complaining."

Kyle was too impressed to be offended or embarrassed, but he put his hands in his lap to cover up all the same.

Cartman smirked, draping a cape over Kyle's front and a cutting collar around his neck. "First I'm going to introduce you to Mr. Shampoo and Mrs. Conditioner.

"Sounds a little heteronormative," Kyle chuckled.

Cartman dunked his head roughly into the basin. "Less talky, more washy."

Kyle did as he was told, closing long-lashed eyes as he instantly melted into the strong fingers that massaged warm water through his matted locks. It wasn't long before he was stumbling half-asleep into the barber chair, Cartman carefully scrutinising his head from all angles. With a brief hiss of dismay he began to select his tools. Kyle glanced at the frightening collection and genuinely wished he was at the dentist instead. He still felt horribly naked and vulnerable without his hat. His chest heaved.

Cartman was suddenly back at his side with a calming hand on his arm as if he sensed Kyle's blood freezing in their vessels. He tapped an electronic hair clipper against his shoulder. "Sorry babe, but we're going to have to go back to basics."

"You're going to shave me?!"

"Not that far. You're not going to look like you stepped out of 'Nam. But most of it's going to have to go."

Kyle squirmed in the chair staring dolefully at Cartman's reflection in the impeccable mirror. "It'll grow back right?"

It was a stupid question, but Cartman was kind enough not to say so. "Bigger, better, and healthier; if you follow the regime I give you, and keep your appointments." Kyle looked down at his lap and the lump his fidgeting hands were making under the cape. Then warm breath with a hint of cinnamon caressed his cheek. "Do you trust me?"

Kyle shook his head. "It's not that…"

"Can't blame you. No-one does. No-one smart anyway." Cartman chuckled as he held out and tested the clippers. They let out a harrowing buzz that wriggled through Kyle's body directly to his spine. "Ay!" Cartman snapped when he noticed Kyle's green pallor. "Don't throw up!"

"M'not," he gurgled and Cartman handed him the wastepaper basket just in time. At some point during his retching he felt the soft fleece of his ushanka envelope his head and Cartman's large hand patting it into place, and his panic subsided. Cartman then sat patiently, watching him with a forgiving grimace, until Kyle was empty enough to accept a tissue to wipe his mouth and some gum to neutralise the acid coating his teeth.

"Sure you don't want my therapist's number?"

Kyle blinked and with a shallow breath he mumbled, "I want… to not be like this…"

There was a sharp grating sound as Cartman pushed his chair back, removed the defiled basket and went back to his tools. He selected a small shiny pair of scissors and showed them to Kyle's still watery eyes. "We can go slower. Just a trim today. You won't look as good as I want in time for the wedding, but you'll pass as socially acceptable."

Kyle lifted off his hat and smiled brightly at him, overflowing with gratitude. "I'm sorry. Thank you, Eric."

Cartman seemed to get flustered then, abruptly turning Kyle's chair back to face the mirror and preparing his hair to be worked upon. "Remember," he huffed, "It's Mr. Cartman to those who abuse their hair."

Kyle smirked and nodded, allowing the first curl to fall to the floor, feeling more peaceful than he could ever have imagined in spite of the situation.

The rest of the session was routine, or at least how Kyle imagined it would go. Cartman did his usual stylist patter, but with less of the camp 'luvvie' overtones. He saved all that for the ladies, he told Kyle, as they seemed more comfortable with gay men who flounced around their heads.

"So you're not in it for the amazing conversation or gossip? What made you become a hairdresser?" Kyle asked.

Cartman shrugged. "I just really like hair. Not in a weird sexual fetish way," he added suspiciously quickly. "When I was a little kid I had a friend who was poor as shit so his mom cut his hair to save money and it was so fucking awful he wore a parka all the time. But now and again I got to see it and even though it looked a wreck it was so soft and shiny. I think he stole product from my house to be honest. Didn't call him out on it, not when he looked so great. But oh man it needed styling bad. So I looked up some tips and videos online and offered to cut it."

"How'd it go?"

"Turned out I had a gift. He looked hot as Hell." Cartman's snipping slowed and Kyle saw in the mirror his eyes darkening.

"So what happened then?"

"He was too hot. Ran around with pretty much every girl he met."

"Oh," said Kyle softly, could read between the lines. First love gone horribly wrong.

Cartman shook himself out of the memory. "We're still friends though."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I fucked his big brother so I figured that made us even."

Kyle howled with laughter. "Oh man, serious?"

Cartman laughed as well and stood back after one last triumphant snip. "Done, or as done as you can be I reckon." He picked up a hand mirror and showed Kyle the back as standard.

Kyle admired his new hairdo with relief. It wasn't drastically different. He could live with it. "Thank you, Mr. Cartman," he breathed in exultation.

"I was just kidding about that. Cartman's fine. And don't worry…" He winked. "I'll make sure your fiancée isn't disappointed with her groom on your big day."

"Fiancée?" Kyle stifled a laugh. "Oh, no; you've got it all wrong. It's Stan's wedding. The guy I arrived with. I'm the best man."

Cartman paled. "What?"

"Yeah," Kyle blushed. "I'm not even seeing anyone right now. Taking my little brother as my plus-one. Embarrassing, right?"

Cartman made a strangled noise that was close to a nervous chuckle, marched to the door and threw it open. "Bebe, book this guy in with Heidi in a month's time.

"Heidi says 'go fuck yourself'," Bebe called back from her desk without even asking her.

Kyle pulled off the styling paraphernalia he had wrapped around his body and hung it over the back of the chair. Cartman rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, his body hanging awkwardly above his legs like a held frog. Kyle fidgeted with his hat, not quite ready to put it back on. "I thought you were dealing with my hair."

"I trained Heidi myself. She'll do a good job."

"I'd rather have you." Kyle flushed red at the way it sounded. He didn't notice that Cartman's face was redder. "I mean, they say you're the best."

"That's true," he grumbled, ego winning him over whatever it was that Kyle seemed to have done wrong. He stood aside so that Kyle could brush past him back into the salon. "Okay. From now on you're mine. Leave your email with Bebe and I'll send instructions on what you need to do to keep your hair sane. See you in a month."

"Thanks Cartman!" Kyle grinned, ignoring how ominous 'mine' sounded. "And I promise I'll follow your instructions to the letter." He put on his hat and half-skipped to the reception desk.

Cartman watched him for as long as he hoped still seemed platonic before retreating into his back room, wiping his face with an agonised groan of, "Always for a straight guy."

When Eric Cartman first saw Kyle Broflovski slink into his salon like a moody toddler he honestly hadn't thought that much of him. All he could concentrate on was the suffocated locks trying to crawl out from under the sweat-filled ushanka on his head. How the moment he had cleaned them and patted them dry they had sprang back to life and curled appreciatively around his miracle fingers. He had been genuinely distraught at their condition; how every single hair was split as if trying to escape itself and their filthy prison.

But Kyle wasn't a bad guy, or even ignorant. And Cartman was determined to save him.

His hair, he meant.

Shit.

He nearly always flirted with his customers, whatever their gender, it was just what you did. Women found it adorable, usually, their sexuality not withstanding. Straight guys he flirted with because if they were the kind to be in a salon it usually meant they were both taken and cool with it, often flattered. He never flirted with the other gay or bi guys. He didn't trust his own attractiveness and being turned down by someone who was a potential candidate was humiliating.

Straight single guys just did not come into his salon, until now.

At least he thought he was straight. He hoped so, otherwise he had just embarrassed himself horribly. Flirting with a guy clearly out of his league.

And he was coming back.

"BEBE!" he yelled the moment Kyle was gone. "Emergency cocktails in the back room. Get Red to take over reception."

She scuttled in a few moments later with a cocktail mixer and some rum and poured out a medicinal amount (i.e. a lot). "Talk to me, sweetie."

"That fine-ass Jew just now…"

"Slap some boobs on that kid and I'd be with you on that," she grinned and toasted his glass when it was offered.

Cartman sighed into his drink, forming bubbles up to his nose. "The little bastard is single."

"That's good, right?"

"Nyuuuu," Cartman wailed. "He'll think I was hitting on him all afternoon. Maybe. I don't know. Think he's straight or what? Your gaydar's better than mine on dudes. Mine gets stuck on hope-he's-gaydar."

"I don't know for sure." She smirked as she refilled her glass. "But he was looking at you like you were a Heaven-sent Angel of Hair."

Cartman downed his drink. That's probably what had him confused. The guy was thankful, in awe, comforted. Nothing more. Cartman could cope when he came back. He just had to hold back on the flirting.

"What do you think?" Kyle beamed as he held out his hat and twirled in front of the mirror. "I bought the products on your list and I've been using them exactly as you told me. I've got to admit, it feels better already. Does it look better?"

It looks amazing, YOU look amazing, Cartman whined internally. He gave him a pained smile and pulled out the chair ready to wash his hair. He'd been sweating for four weeks awaiting this calamitous day and it was worse than he feared.

For one thing it looked like the little asshole had deliberately worn clothes to make himself even hotter. He was wearing the same tight pants and a t-shirt that stretched tantalisingly across taut pectorals. Cartman was relieved to sweep the cloak around Kyle's neck to cover up the attention-seeking nipples that had perked up from the coolness of the salon.

Once Cartman got into his styling zone, things got easier. He discovered Kyle was actually a talker so long as he felt comfortable and he happily chattered away whilst his hair was worked upon. Cartman heard all about how he had been born in New Jersey and raised in South Park but moved away to Connecticut for college and ended up working there. His best friend had stayed in South Park with his school sweetheart and it was where they were having the wedding. He was staying with a friend in his mansion over the weekends when he was getting his hair done.

Cartman exchanged information too – he had been born and bred in South Park but moved to Denver when he was a toddler. He met his parka friend Kenny when they tried to jack the same car at eight.

"Love at first crime, huh?" Kyle laughed. "That's cute. It's a big shame though. We could have been at school together. I bet we'd have been best friends."

Cartman snickered as he evened out the curls around Kyle's ears. "Hah, not likely. I was a real cunt back in the day. Not that I'm much better now."

"So why'd you come back to South Park?"

"Too much competition in Denver. No matter how good you are there's always someone better, or cheaper."

"Well I think you're a total Hair Whisperer. And I'm glad you're here. I don't know what I would have done without you. Wendy will shoot me into the centre of the sun if I turn up in my ushanka."

"I guess you could buy a black one to match your suit."

"That's Plan B," he admitted, gasping delightedly when Cartman showed him the back of his head. "Serious dude, you're a genius."

"I can take it back more."

"Would you recommend it?"

Cartman teased the soft curls at Kyle's nape. "Nah, it looks better this way." Kyle giggled at the tickling and Cartman fell a little further.

The next few sessions only got worse and Cartman's hands began to shake more and more with each snip of his scissors and he was genuinely fearful of nicking the poor kid's ear. Between Cartman's flattery and having his hair restored, Kyle's self-esteem was soaring and it was apparent in every gesture and word and it was devastatingly attractive to someone like Cartman who thrived on confidence, both his own and others'.

He wasn't even his type; he was taller which normally irritated Cartman, and slender when Cartman preferred beefcakes – guys he wasn't afraid he might crush during snuggles or sex. He tried to convince himself that his eyes were the colour of rampant diarrhoea but they were a depressingly verdant hazel. And fuck's sake, his Jewfro was ginger, but God he made it look good. Cartman was too far gone. Nothing Kyle could say or do or be would put him off now. He even ignored the Family Guy t-shirt he wore one day.

The last session arrived and Cartman was terrified, sick and distraught. He would never see him again after this. He stuttered through the conversation, showed Kyle the results of his haircut, and tried not to brush against him as he left with fervent 'thank you's and a (maybe Cartman was being optimistic here and imagining things) sad smile.

A few days later, Bebe screamed from the reception desk. "Oh my gawwwddd!"

Cartman looked up from massaging moulding wax through his current customer's hair to see Kyle's nose pressed against the salon window, waving cheekily with one hand and cradling a bouquet of flowers with the other. Cartman's head turtled into his neck from elated embarrassment at the whispers and giggles from his patrons and fellow stylists.

"Morning Kyle," Bebe purred when he came through the jingling door. "What brings you here?"

"I just wanted to speak to Cartman for a sec before I get on my flight. If he's got a gap anywhere."

"I can take over," Red chimed, pushing Cartman away from his client. They both stared at him pointedly until he slunk over to Kyle.

Luckily for him Kyle looked almost as red-faced. He raised the flowers and held them out. "These are for you. I wasn't really sure how to thank you. I didn't know if flowers were appropriate because we're guys. Stan and I usually just pound each other's arm when we want to say thank you but I'm sure you don't want me to pound you."

Eric closed his eyes slowly. This fucking... did he even hear himself? He shakily took them in his arms. "No, they're great. But you didn't have to."

"Sure I did, if it makes you happy."

Cartman went a little weak at the knees. After a little more standing around with awkward coquettish grins, and Bebe glaring at him from behind Kyle, Cartman subtly excused himself. "I've got to get back to work."

"Oh yes, of course." Kyle bounced on his heels. "I'll see you around maybe? I mean, I'll visit Stan now and again so… I could drop by?"

"Yeah kewl. Just make sure you keep that mop of yours in check."

"Definitely," he chuckled with a shining smile.

And as suddenly and unexpectedly as he had arrived, Kyle seemed to be gone from his life. Cartman dumped the bouquet on the reception. "Put those in water for me."

"Cocktails?" Bebe asked perceptively.

"Cocktails," he repeated softly.

"Don't be mad at me," Bebe said after their fifth drink. "But I wasn't sure if you would do it." She handed Cartman a small piece of ivory-coloured card. "I think you might be far enough in love to brave it though."

"I'm not in love!" Cartman protested.

"Sure you're not."

Cartman read the card. A wedding invitation for Stan Marsh and Wendy Testaburger. "Dumb name. What's she going to be now? Marshburger?"

"You're missing the point. Kyle came here because I recommended you to Wendy. She's a friend of mine."

"Huh?"

"I'm asking you to plus-one with me to the wedding."

Cartman's jaw dropped. He could see Kyle again. More importantly he could see Kyle outside of the context of business. He chickened immediately. "Fuck no! He's gonna think I'm a stalker or some shit.

"God Cartman, it's been so long since you had a date your ass isn't going to be deflowered so much as dead-headed."

"Ay!" Cartman slammed his drink down. "It got deflowered a long time ago, not that it's your business."

"So what's the problem? Scared you might actually be loved back?"

"I don't even know if he's even into guys."

"Well if he's not, you did a pretty good job of turning him. Straight dudes don't buy gay dudes flowers on a whim." She threw back the rest of her drink and gripped his hands reassuringly. "If you don't do this now, you might not see him again for years. And it could be too late by then."

Cartman slumped down in his chair and agonised quietly to himself.

He could NOT believe Bebe managed to talk him into this. Cartman stood uneasily near the balcony doors ready to escape from the crowded room, even if it meant hurling himself two floors into the rose bushes below. It wasn't that he didn't like social gatherings – he was normally the life of the party – but he had no clue who any of these people were, except for Bebe (and she had abandoned him already) and Kyle and he was dreading bumping into him. He was going to think he was a creeper for sure.

He had caught a glimpse of him earlier with the bride and groom and immediately scuttled out of sight. He looked so gorgeous despite the ridiculous top hat balanced atop his adorable Jewfro. Cartman had gone out of his way to buy a new three-piece suit but he felt he looked like shit, at least compared with all the other men here.

Kyle could be gay as fuck, but that didn't mean he would want someone like him.

Cartman huffed and tried to drown himself in the wine he had picked up from a passing waiter. He heard Bebe calling him from across the room. "Here he is, Wendy! This is Cartman." She dragged the poor bride with her towards him. He considered throwing himself off the balcony early but decided to stand his ground and send them a weary smile instead.

Wendy threw her arms around him with an ecstatic squeal. "Thank you so much, Cartman, for what you did for Kyle. His hair looks amazing. You're a true wonder."

"No problem." Cartman nervously returned the hug.

"Stan's totally jealous by the way – you're getting in the way of their bromance," she said with a giggle as she drew back.

Cartman blushed. "Pfft, straight boys."

"I'm serious, Kyle won't shut up about you! And his hat has been all but banished into the back of his closet."

Closet. An unfortunate choice of wording. Cartman's lips ripped open into a grimaced smile and he excused himself onto the balcony for some fresh air. He flung the rest of his drink down his throat, deposited himself on a fretwork chair and slumped over the railing.

"I was hoping Bebe would bring you."

Don't read into it, Eric, don't read into it. Cartman swung around to see Kyle hunching his shoulders and holding a pair of drinks his hands.

"It's nice to see you. Outside the salon, I mean," he added coyly. "I wanted to drop by before I went home but… I was worried that would seem weird."

"Why would it be weird?" Cartman chuckled.

"I dunno. Might seem like a stalker or something." A short burst of anxious laughter escaped Cartman before he could stop it and he wrapped his hand around his mouth in embarrassment. Kyle bit his lip. "I was right?"

"No I… thought you'd think I was the stalker. Turning up here." He took the glass Kyle offered him and toasted away their shyness. "Wendy says you don't wear your ushanka anymore."

"Yeah."

"I just wanted to say that you shouldn't retire it completely. You do look…" he stared into his champagne, "cute in it."

"Thanks," he said with a blush. "And I am keeping it, especially since I'm considering moving here."

"Are you cereal?"

"Now that Stan's all settled down and will probably be having kids soon, it'll get more and more difficult to hang out. So I figure if I'm nearer it'll be easier."

"That's great!" Uh, I mean…" Cartman floundered. "I can keep an eye on your hair. Be your regular stylist."

Kyle blinked at him for a moment before setting his glass down on the balcony table and kneeling beside him. "Actually I thought it was a little silly to move to a completely different state for just my friends." He bit his lip again. "I was hoping to have another reason. Like maybe…"

Cartman stepped out on a limb and cupped his face. "Like maybe your boyfriend lives here?" He felt Kyle smile against his hand as he gave an affirmative, 'Mm-hmm,' before sitting up to kiss him.