Second oneshot book

Call~Style (South Park.)

This is going to be a scene in my next story (which I'm planning through right now, is not going to be published in a long while), just altered to be Style and to not tell too much.
Warnings: Cursing and making fun of British people.
Ages: 18 both.
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Stan's POV.

"Sorry dude. I was asleep when you called," I say.

His face comes on the screen.

"Stan. It's night time here," he says, on a whisper.

"I know. I just thought you'd be up and I was right," I say.

He smiles at me.

"I miss you," he says.

"Calm down. Just a couple of months and we'll meet up again. You can do that," i say.

"I don't know if I can. We barely have time to talk about anything," he says.

"I promise that the next time you call I'll answer. Was it important?" I ask.

"I guess not really... not anymore. I got Kenny to talk to me about it," he says.

"Is there something going on with you two now? Is that why you don't have the time anymore?" I ask.

"Never! He's with Token! I'm not that much of an asshole when I know I have you," he says.

"Do you? I've been answering less lately," I say.

"Yes, I do. Don't worry your pretty head," he says.

"I just can't help but to, you know. I know you wouldn't do anything like that but I still worry. I know I shouldn't but I just get scared I'm not good enough. I mean, everything considered, I'm surprised you haven't dumped me," I say.

"You know. I'm always scared someone with a pretty face and nice, bubbly, personality will come along and make you forget me. I understand what you mean, I fear it happening just as much as you do, trust me," he says.

"Bubbly? Have you seen this shit? It rains so much I barely get a look at someone's boots before they've ran off to get away from it. Nobody here is bubbly and those that are, they are really crazy to be," I say.

"Oh no, poor British boy," he says, very sarcastically.

He turns his camera to snow that would probably reach me to the knee.

"South Park looks like this for December while what do you get. Like -1 degree minus?" He asks.

"Hey! It rains here all the time!" I say.

"What are you doing this year? I know you don't really celebrate Christmas but does your family?" He asks.

"I'm going to go meet up with some cousins in Scotland. If the first man I see isn't wearing the skirt thing, I will call cheating," I say.

He laughs, turning the camera back to him.

"What are you doing for December?" I ask.

"Dad is out and mom will go with her friends. Ike will be meeting with the three others. So, about 3-4 days to myself," he says.

"What are you going to be doing?" I ask.

"Find a random show, watch it in two days and spend the rest realizing that life doesn't actually matter and having a huge existential crisis," he says.

"What show will you do?" I ask.

"I thought about maybe doing Voltron or just some old kids cartoon I could just laugh at," he says.

"Voltron? Haven't you seen it?" I ask.

"Obviously. Maybe I should watch something else then," he says.

"Go outside? Just a suggestion," I say.

"That snow is just below my knees. Fuck no I'm going to go do anything in it when I have a bed and laptop," he says.

"Do work for school?" I ask.

He look at me with a 'Do you even fucking know me?' look.

"I've done it like 4 days ago, the day I got here to spend the holidays, on the back of the bus while talking to Craig," he says.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Um. Can you do anything productive with your time?" I ask.

"I'm doing something very productive by watching a show and crying at 4 am because I realized that the main character isn't gay and I spend too much time of my life looking it with shipping googles. Try, it's the best thing to do," he says.

"Unlike you, I'm not a try hard. I don't have work done already, I have to do it as soon as I can but I don't have the energy nor the time to do it," I say.

"What have you got?" He asks.

"I have to do work for... fuck," I say.

I take the paper.

"History, Swedish, oh shit, more Swedish, PE... how the fuck do I work on PE? I also have to better Maths and the shit class I will not name because I failed it. FAILED," I say.

"Do you struggle with Swedish?" He asks.

"Yup. It's the worst subject I've had all my life," I say.

"Well. Why aren't you reading? Stop talking to me and call Butters and Kenny or something," he says.

"It annoys me. It's so hard to actually work on it because languages were always so fucking easy and not my Swedish is shit and my future is crashing down in front of my eyes," I say.

"I knew you Brits were pessimistic but holy fuck. Your life does not depend on one grade," he says.

"Yes it does! Everywhere I go, they say I need to know Swedish to do anything with my life and I can't-, it's so fucking hard Kyle. Why is it so hard?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes.

"I love you but I'm supposed to be the one that is scared for their future," he says.

"I guess... but it's still scary," I say.

"You've got me. And hey, not everything needs you to know Swedish. You don't have to learn it if you really have such a hard time. It's not good for your mental health to worry so much," he says.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you too. If I was there, I'd kiss you, just so you know," he says.

"Same," I say.