They always say you never forget your first love. At least, you never forget your first real love. The first person you loved body and soul. The first person that showed you true comfort.

-

You're sitting in his old piece of shit car that he's always had. Carefully, you look over at him. He drives the same way too- one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick even though it's an automatic. His head is tilted to the side slightly and his eyes are narrowed. He's either thinking or tired, or maybe both.

One thing you had learned in the time you spent dating Eric was to not ask him questions that would piss him off, but you realize with a dull stab of pain that you're not dating him right now, you're just in his car.

"Are you still seeing him?" you ask finally.

"Who? Butters?" He replies, turning his head slightly to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah."

"No."

There is a brief pause. That answer was thrilling, but you don't want to admit that to yourself. Still, you open your mouth for more questions, but are interrupted by Eric speaking instead.

"We broke up about a year ago."

He sounds kind of sad.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't know. He and I don't speak anymore," you say quietly.

"I know you don't. That really bothered Butters while we were dating."

"While who was dating? You and I or you and him?"

"He and I," Eric says with a hint of irritation in his voice- like the answer was obvious.

You turn and look back out of the windshield, feeling foolish and hurt.

-

It bothers you that the first words out of his mouth are about Butters. And you only realize that by asking about Butters, he really asking about you, once he's quiet and you can tell he's done talking.

Your hand tightens on the steering wheel slightly and you fight to keep your eyes on the dark road in front of you instead of the man sitting beside you. Although, even without looking you know what he looks like. Every single angle and curve of Kyle's body is burnt into your memory. You know what his face looks like right now, his eyes are a little red from crying and his lower lip is between his teeth. His arms are crossed over his chest, his fingers knotting into his t-shirt.

It's been years, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

Once in a while a sniffle echoes through the silence in the car, and frustrated you punch the dial on your radio. The music to too loud and unfortunately about love, but you don't change it.

-

The music is a sign to shut up and so you do. Instead you look into the night outside and think about why you're here.

Calling Eric was probably the best idea and the worst idea of your life. When you told him you needed a place to stay for a few nights you knew he wasn't going to say no, but you also know that spending the night in Eric's apartment was going to do nothing helpful for your current, struggling relationship with Kevin Stoley.

He lives in Boulder now and you can't remember what he does for work, if you ever knew in the first place. Although you hope it involves manipulating people- you can't imagine Eric being happy if it doesn't. You're glad to be leaving South Park, where your boyfriend lives, where your job is, where your memories are. You'd much rather be in some place where the only familiar thing within several miles is Eric Cartman and his dirty laundry.

You can't help but look over at him softly. You missed him. You unfold your arms and reach over to him, grabbing the edge of his winter hat and pulling it off of his head.

-

The mood in the car seems to change the instant Kyle's eyes fall on you. You can feel him staring, and it's a not a burning, painful glare. It's warm and comfortable and you want to look at him too, only you have to stay in between the lines on the street.

He pulls at your hat and you smile, reaching up and taking it from his hand before tossing it at his face. You can hear him protest and you run your hand through your hair quickly, laying it flat as the brief moment of how it used to be passes. You watch him lean forward and turn the music off.

"Eric," he says quietly.

"Yeah, babe?" you answer, knowing you shouldn't have.

-

You tug at Eric's hat in your hands, unsure. He's parking the car beneath an apartment complex and you keep your eyes in your lap. He turns the ignition off and faces you, waiting for your answer. You shake your head. Even if you had had a question, you weren't going to be able to talk now.

You have a fleeting thought of why you're here again, but no new answers come to mind. Eric's hand suddenly finds the back of your neck. It's large and guiding, and his lips are warm and soft. Just like they always were.

-

It doesn't matter how bad the break up was, or how many people you fell madly in love with since. A deep, irremovable part of you will always long for the comfort of the arms that taught you what love really was.