You, Eric Cartman, had liked Kyle Brovloski as long as you’d known him. Of course, dumb, bratty little 4th-grade you had absolutely no idea how to express it, so you’d resorted to being the worst human being to him as possible. However, as you both grew up, you’d matured and changed for the better (well, not completely, you aren’t some goody-two-shoes), and you two had grown quite close, even if you still called each other slurs and got into a fight 2/3rds of the times you hung out. . Last night was one of said hang outs, and you had broken into your mom’s stash of alcohol and got drunk out of your mind. Kyle barely drank, since you were both just 16 and he was ~responsible~ a boring bitch. You barely remembered anything and next thing you knew you were waking up feeling like your head was being split open. Kyle brought you some hangover pills and water and your headache slowly faded, but he seemed shy and antsy the whole time. Plus, his face was so red it put his hair to shame.