Genre: Romance, Angst
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Style
Alternate Universe, First Person (Kyle) PoV
Warning: Um. Basically what I usually have, like violence, profanity, homosexuality, blah... blah...
Disclaimer: Belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker.
Author's Notes: I honestly have no idea what I'm doing.

Everything's Magic

I grin, nodding slightly toward my English teacher while mouthing, 'This is totally boring.'

Stan chuckles silently and nods, mouthing back, 'No kidding'.

Stan and I have been really close for about a year now, although it feels like I've known him forever. This isn't how it all began, though. In fact, I can still remember the first day I saw Stan like it was yesterday: He had just transferred in from North Park High School, and he was a stranger to pretty much everyone down in South Park. It was a Thursday, warm and slow, and all I wanted to do was sleep for hours on end...

----

The door's loud creaking announced his arrival, and he stood there, peering through the doorway like he was sizing up his new turf. He only hesitated for a fraction of a second, though, and when he entered the room, my breath hitched. In retrospect, I honestly think that from that very instant I liked him; everything from his graffitied chucks to his cobalt hair. His bangs covered his left eye, like a veil of cloth over a sapphire, because that's what his eyes were to me. Vibrant blue jewels, so deep and dark and soulful that I half expected myself to fall into them and get lost, to drown in the turbulent sea of his spirit as his thoughts and emotions washed over my own.

He was slim, if that fitted band tee and those tight pants were any indication, but not scrawny. Even the black fabric, and in large words, "Schoolyard Heroes," couldn't hide that he was obviously sculpted; not a big guy, but surely with enough muscle to get by. I considered that he might be an athlete, and it made me smile for a bit before I caught myself. His hands were large, with long, slender fingers that ended with paint blackened nails that shone in the light. I imagined that he played the piano, or the guitar, or perhaps, said a voice in some strange corner of my mind, the heart.

As he strode toward our teacher, I'm fairly sure my heart skipped a few beats. He reached her, came to a full stop, and murmured so quietly that it seemed like he hadn't spoken at all. Our teacher introduced him as Stanley Marsh, and pointed him to a desk directly across the room from mine. As he turn to go to it, I found it impossible to tear my eyes away.

Stan walked with a unique grace, his gait so easy and relaxed that he almost seemed to be gliding. His hips would lean slightly forward while the rest of him would lean slightly back, his head tilted up and to the side. He always looked like he was bored with everything -- school, people, life itself. He tossed his near-empty backpack on the ground beside his desk, and slid into his seat so smoothly that I couldn't tear my gaze away from him for several minutes, my paper completely forgotten. He grabbed a pencil from his pocket, flicked his head back to get the hair out of his eyes, and by some strange twist of fate, his eyes met mine.

I felt strangely humbled by that, because while he boasted beautiful blue oceans, all I had to tell of were green swamps...