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[What did you say?]
The Narrator chuckled, be it nerves or fondness he wasn’t entirely sure,”I… I said I love you, Stanley.” He murmured, smiling softly.
A blank expression met him in turn.
After a moment too long to bear, the Narrator continued,”I’ve been… thinking about this a while, Stanley. About us, about what we’ve been through together. I know we have our differences, but I do think I-”
[No, you don’t.]
The Narrator sat up. They were settled on the lounge sofa together, Stanley had requested a moment of ease before they made any more runs. Once the Narrator had visited Stanley all that time ago, he had become more indulged in these moments and even came to visit and sit with him. Stanley had been looking more and more blaise lately, so the Narrator had come to join him; Of course, this little rest had come with more pressing concerns from the Narrator, regarding his feelings.
“What do you mean? Stanley, I do, don’t you-”
Stanley shook his head and stood up from the couch, shaky hands held out away from himself. They curled in and out of fists, as he took a few steps forward, head bowed.
The Narrator clasped his hands together, watching the man grapple with his words,”...You em… you don’t… reciprocate those feelings, I take it?”
Stanley spun, and the Narrator was met with pain erupting across his cheek. He recoiled against the back of the couch, golden eyes immediately brimming with tears as he watched Stanley. Stanley had slapped him. The employee had struck him for his confession.
“Stanley-?”
[Shut up.] Stanley’s hands flew, angry, unsettled, unwilling to give the Narrator a moment to say another word [You don’t get to tell me you love me. Do you know what you put me through? I know you think this is all your story, your game, your little playground but I’m a real person. I don’t want to be here. I never have.]
“Stanley, I know! I know you aren’t happy here, but I’m stuck with you, too, you know-”
The Narrator had a moment to flinch this time but it didn’t hurt less when Stanley’s hand connected with the side of his head. Then his face was grabbed, wrenched away from an attempt to shield himself with his arms so he would face Stanley again. The man’s free hand pressed a finger to his own lips, his eyes ablaze with anger. The tears spilled over as The Narrator blinked, wincing from the pain of Stanley’s grip, but he made an attempt to nod in reply. Shut up was the very clear demand.
Stanley released him, and was back to signing.
[We’re both stuck here, but only you have the power. You have these sick little stories, the endings where you humiliate me, kill me, make me go insane and then berate me some more. You may be just as stuck as I am, but you are not the victim.]
The words sank like ice into the Narrator’s heart. The same heart he had opened for this very meeting, to speak with Stanley, to see if perhaps they could get more out of their life here.He had hoped something so jovial as this revelation would bring Stanley out of the dark mood he’d settled into lately. It hadn’t been enough, clearly.
[You have no idea how it feels to be helpless and afraid walking through here. Alone. I don’t care if you’re here with me, you wrote everything, you knew what was happening and I didn’t. It stopped being entertaining a long time ago, now it’s just fucking scary, don’t you get that?]
Stanley seemed to be done for a moment, his anger still burning like hellfire, but he couldn’t come up with anything to say. He turned, tucking shaking hands under his arms, beginning to pace.The Narrator took the opportunity to sit up, slowly, and wipe his eyes gently. His cheek still stung, his head pounding.
It wasn’t fair to be stuck here, for either of them, but maybe it was even crueler to expect Stanley to have sympathy considering everything he’d gone through for the parable. The Narrator was just trying to pass the time, trying to entertain them both. He could say he never considered the power difference, but he did. He knew of it, he just assumed Stanley didn’t mind. Maybe he did it to rid himself of guilt without even realizing.
The Narrator remained sitting on the couch, feeling he owed it to Stanley to wait until he worked through the results of his confession. He’d been the one to initiate the talk, afterall, he should see it through to the end. He didn’t speak, not while he was still unsure what Stanley needed.
Finally, Stanley stopped pacing. He shook his head, and then he rounded on the Narrator again. The older man shrank back slightly, but Stanley didn’t advance.
[Get up.]
The Narrator stood, and Stanley grabbed his arm, pushing him out of the lounge, further into the Parable. After a stumble, the Narrator quickened his pace and allowed himself to be led out to the hall.
“Stanley, where are we going?”
Stanley didn’t offer an answer, but it was partly clear once they reached the maintenance room that no ending selected would be particularly nice. The Narrator’s stomach churned.
“Stanley please, if you just take a moment we can talk through this, can’t we? What’s going to come out of this?”
Stanley offered no reply other than to shove the Narrator harder when his feet began to drag a bit in his hesitance. They stepped onto the maintenance platform.
“Stanley, I’m going to reset us, this isn’t you-”
The lift had just moved off its resting place when the Narrator said as much, but when he turned to look at Stanley, to hopefully see some reprieve from his employee, the rage had returned two-fold. To his horror, Stanley shoved him.
The Narrator didn’t get the chance to scream before things went dark. He felt his stomach lurch into his throat, felt the wind whipping past him, and then all-encompassing pain.
THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING…
The Narrator gasped, a tingling discomfort radiating over every muscle. The feeling of broken limbs and split skull slowly ebbed, though it haunted him even as he caught his breath. Head whipping over to the camera, Stanley stood in his office, dark eyes seemingly watching him through the monitor.
[Come back here.]
“Stanley, you pushed me!” He cried, alarmed.
[Come down here, now.]
“No! No, I will not! You’ve… why are you doing this!?” The Narrator demanded,”I never did any of this to hurt you, Stanley!”
[Don’t you get it? That makes it worse.] Stanley signed in reply, [You did it for a story. For a video game. For entertainment. You mocked me when I tried to kill myself and escape, turned it into another ending for the audience. I’ll at least admit I’m a monster- I did it just to watch you die, just to hurt you.]
The Narrator gaped at the screen. In his flustered unease, he reset.
[Fuck. You.]
THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING…
Stanley left his office as soon as he woke up.
“Stanley, I think we can talk through this, really I do… Just wait a moment?” [Skip Button.] Stanley answered the man hatefully.
“Stanley!” The Narrator hissed,”Don’t you dare, I’m trying to talk to you!”
There was no reply.
“Stanley, please, whatever this is, whatever you’re angry about, this isn’t the way to fix it! I can’t… I can’t bear that again, I won’t come down there until you promise you won’t hurt me!”
Still no answer. Stanley marched on, towards the Skip Button ending.
The Narrator panicked. The two doors swung shut as Stanley approached the left one.
“Stanley, you aren’t listening! I’m trying to make this right with you, but you’re- wait, wait a moment, Stanley what are you doing? No! Put that down, that isn’t going to-’ The chair Stanley had picked up to attempt to break through the door clipped into it with a wave of yellow pixels. Stanley jerked away from the object, shaking out his hands. They both stared in surprise.
“How in the world–... Stanley stay away from that, you have no idea what it could do!”
Stanley, determined, yanked on the handle for all he was worth. The door swung rapidly open and shut and open the other way in random succession, the chair shivering as it did so. Eventually the chair dropped to the floor, and the door was gone. Shivering as the golden pixels rolled over his form, Stanley strode through once again.
THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING…
The Narrator was panicked. He’d reset a dozen times, and every time Stanley seemed to find it easier and easier to break through the game and go wherever he pleased.
“Stanley, this is very serious! This could permanently alter the parable, do you understand that? Are you really so desperate to hurt me as to destroy yourself in the process? I have no idea what this might do to the parable, to your model! There may be no going back!”
Stanley would never answer his pleas. He just kept going, looking more and more angry, more and more frantic. The Narrator couldn’t bear a repeat of the Skip button. He just couldn’t. Whatever Stanley wanted, whatever he decided the Narrator must endure, he would go through it just to avoid such a fate.
“Alright, Stanley,” He spoke, his voice broken and unsteady,”You win. I’ll come down.”
Stanley stopped, eyes searching the tiles. The Narrator pressed his lips together, brow furrowed in reluctant displeasure, and he pressed the reset button again.
THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING…
Stanley exited the office and, as promised, the Narrator stood before him. His hands wrung around one another, trying to look less nervous than he felt.
“I’m here, Stanley. I’ll do... Whatever it is you want. Just please make this stop.”
Stanley’s lip curled at the edge, the expression of someone who had just noted an unpleasant smell. The Narrator’s heart had long stopped its painful thrumming, but he averted his eyes nevertheless.
Stanley led him back through the halls. The Narrator followed dutifully, silently. He was doing his best to keep his composure, but in truth he wasn’t sure what Stanley wanted of him. He knew he regretted his words, that was for certain. He wished he’d never have spoken such ugly little words into the world. Nothing but pain had come from it, and the Narrator knew they would never quite be the same. They’d be lucky to even get close.
They returned to the maintenance lift. Stanley grabbed his arm and yanked the Narrator off the edge, and they both fell to the catwalk this time. The Narrator had to steady himself for a moment, grappling with the adrenaline, but Stanley turned to look at him from the door with an impatient scowl. He got back to following quickly, despite his shaking legs.
As soon as Stanley marched towards the Blue door, he knew where they were headed. He hesitated at the frame, a grimace on his features.
“Stanley, please… this is too much.” He offered weakly,”Why won’t you just… talk to me? We can make this all better, I can make new things, new endings… just for you?”
Stanley turned, and the Narrator didn’t flinch back fast enough. His sweater was grabbed roughly, and Stanley yanked him into the blue door abruptly. There was a rush of golden pixels as the Narrator stumbled into him, and abruptly they stood in the zen room.
Even realizing events were far out of order, even worrying about the fabric of the game itself, the Narrator was too overwhelmed with dread to care. Stanley held his arm and marched him down the stairs. The entirety of the hall, the railings, the textures, flickered with unstable yellow blocks. Things were going to go from bad to worse at this rate.
“Please, Stanley, wait a moment- We can fix this! I know that we can, if you just give me a moment, just let me speak-”
The Narrator was shoved towards the stairs. Stanley pressed him, unrelenting, up onto the first one. Shakilly, he took the second, before turning to clasp his hands together and plead again.
“Stanley, I’ll reset us, we can go to the memory zone and rest, wouldn’t that be nice? We don’t need to do this.”
Finally, Stanley replied.
[We need to do this.] He signed, [You’re going to jump. I don’t care how much you beg, because you never gave a damn how much I begged for a reset. I never wanted to do this and you made me.]
Stanley gave him another push, and the Narrator stumbled up another two steps, quickly righting himself.
[The worst part is, you made me think it was my fault.]
The Narrator gaped, searching for something to say to make it okay, to erase the blame from his hands, to find some way to escape this. He was pushed up onto the landing instead.
[You jump-] Stanley signed, [Or I spend the rest of forever hitting the skip button. Make a choice.]
The Narrator felt something cold squeezing his lungs. He couldn’t catch his breath, It felt like he wasn’t even seeing straight. A dry, hateful grin played on Stanley’s lips.
[Are you scared?]
The Narrator didn’t need a push to take the next few steps, a white knuckle grip on the railing, as Stanley advanced on him with that sickening smile.
[However much you think it’s going to hurt, it’s worse.] He signed, his expression slipping back to his grim rage, [You fall, and live, and drag yourself back up the stairs for another go on broken bones.]
Stanley continued to chase the Narrator up the stairs, shoving him up more anytime the man stalled in his steps for too long. The older man looked between the door to the zen room, the stairs up behind him, and Stanley. He was afraid. He didn’t want it to hurt. He didn’t want to drag himself through this again, he didn’t want to do it once let alone three, four times!
[Listening to your begging, clinging to every word-] Stanley signed after another rough shove that had the Narrator tripping onto his ass [-Looking at every corner, every door, sure that I missed an escape somewhere because you would never betray me like that. I tried not to hurt you. I crawled back to the Zen room after every line to try and tell you to reset, tell you I didn’t want this, to tell you I was fucking sorry!]
Stanley laughed. A wordless shake of his shoulders, running shaky hands through his hair. The Narrator felt cold.
“Stanley, I-”
He wasn’t listening. Stanley stepped over him, hauled him to his feet. He began dragging the Narrator up the stairs instead, a fistful of his hair acting as a leash to yank him along. The Narrator complied with a cry of pain, trying his best not to trip up along the way.
He’d never felt pain before now. Before Stanley struck him. It was so all consuming, it was hard to remember what he was being led to until Stanley let go and shoved him against the rail. They’d reached the top. The Narrator clutched the railing, looking at the landing that dropped off to the cement below. When he looked back to Stanley, the man’s eyes were flickering with gold, not unlike his own. His form was glitching with yellow pixels, unstable. What had he become?
[Jump.]
“Stanley, don’t do this- I take it back, I won’t burden you with such thoughts again, we can go back to the way things were!” The Narrator knew nothing would ever be the same again, but he could wish, he could try.
Stanley shook his head, [I don’t want you to take it back.]
The Narrator’s brow drew together in confusion now,”But…”
[You can love me, if you want.] Stanley signed, [But before you get to love me, you’re going to understand exactly what you put me through.]
His eyes shone the brilliant golden color.
[Jump.]
The Narrator jumped.
It wasn’t of his own will, which alarmed him, but not nearly as much as the rapidly approaching cement below.
Pain. God, pain. Everywhere, every muscle, every bone and joint, everything was blinding, overwhelming pain. The Narrator cried out as he lay on the floor, tense from head to toe. Why did he jump? He never moved. He had been clinging to the rail for dear life until suddenly he just wasn’t. Did he slip? It was miserable, whatever led to him laying on the cold, hard floor was fucking miserable and he was not going up those stairs again. God, it hurt.
To his abject horror, to the protest of a splitting headache and cracked frame, he felt himself standing. Then, marching back to the stairs. It was too much, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Stanley’s golden eyes, a reflection of his own, flashed across his mind.
The Narrator had never felt this loss of control. This inability to do as he wanted. Was he too overwhelmed to take the controls back, or had Stanley commandeered them entirely? How had he done it?
As his ankle creaked painfully, ripping another choked cry from him even while he was dragged up yet another step, The Narrator realized this was his own doing. In some twisted way, no matter why he made this ending and no matter how thought provoking he intended it to be for the audience, he couldn’t help but recall the first time Stanley had found it.
They sat for so long in the Zending. Stanley being the curious boy he was, of course, eventually wandered off to the hall. After a soft protest he returned and gave a little smile of apology. He sat peacefully. He tried to be good, he waited and waited as long as could bear.
Of course, there was no way out, as Stanley would come to learn. And he was right- he had dragged himself back to the zen room every time the Narrator spoke. Waiting for an acknowledgement, waiting to see some door or another escape that would never come. Of course, at the time, The Narrator thought Stanley’s only struggle was the reluctance to hurt the Narrator. He had relished in his guilty pleading, his apologies. Stanley could be a brat, and this was what he got, now wasn’t it? Now he was finally appreciative of how nice the Narrator could be. It was just a well-metered consequence for his actions.
Except now, with every piece of his model moaning in painful protest, the Narrator realized Stanley’s reluctance had nothing to do with him. If it did, it was overpowered by this innate urge, this crippling desire to keep both feet on the platform, to do anything but leap onto the cement below and feel another wash of debilitating pain.
The Narrator reached the top. Stanley’s eyes were cold, but no longer angry, and the golden shimmer remained.
“Don’t do this, Stanley, please, I understand now- it hurts, Stanley, it-”
The Narrator leapt again.
Somehow, it hurt even worse. A noise he didn’t know he could make tore out of him after he could gather some breath back into his lungs. How did he do this? How did he manage to get up, to walk to the zen room and sit, wait in this pain for the Narrator to answer him? How did he not go insane? How did he manage to smile, to laugh, to do anything but shudder at the memory of something so unbearably agonizing?
The march began again, forcing his broken model up the stairs for a third time. His vision blurred with helpless tears. His glasses hung about his neck, lenses broken, as he took step after excruciating step up towards the landing again. His stomach was turning, nauseous with guilt, turning over itself from the way the pain consumed him.
Being pushed off the maintenance platform was one thing, feeling the searing pain and then darkness sweeping him up in its cold, healing arms within seconds. This was new. It was terrifying. It was sickening. How could he do this? Why did he write this? How could he not have known? He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to jump again. He didn’t want to fall, to get up and bear through it with no other choice besides climbing to the top. But that was it, wasn’t it? That’s what Stanley was trying to show him. How miserable it all was, how horrific it felt.
Stanley was right to bring him here.
Distantly aware of tears running down his face, The Narrator reached the top landing again. He met Stanley’s gaze. The employee watched him, but seemed to be looking through him now. Like he was somewhere else all together. The Narrator wanted to speak, to tell him he understood, that he would change things, but was unable to find enough time or breath to do anything but whimper as he was dragged to the edge all over again.
It was too much to think around. Everything was coated in angry, unrelenting, searing pain. The Narrator choked on his breath. He noted the golden spill of his own blood on the cement as he was forced to his feet. He felt bile crawl at the back of his throat that he wasn’t allowed to spit up. He just marched up the stairs again, broken frames grinding against rough edges with every step. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe or speak, he could only grit his teeth against the pain uselessly and cry silently as he rose to the landing for the final time.
Fighting against the squeeze of the broken frame he’d built for himself as he tried to expand his lungs for air, refusing the numb tingling in his shoulder, he pressed an uncoordinated hand to Stanley’s chest as he came close enough.
The employee’s eyes focused again with a sharp inhale, watching the Narrator.
“I’m sorry.” He offered, raspy.
His legs did not move against his will. He was able to stay there, shaking as he reached up to Stanley’s face, stroking the freckled skin on his cheek with his thumb. The golden shimmer dimmed. Familiar brown eyes watched him as he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” He said again, struggling to speak around compressed lungs and choked cries,”That you were… stuck. With me… I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m s… sorry you’re still… here.”
His voice was interrupted with shallow breaths, rattling as he inhaled. But Stanley had to know he understood why he did what he did, why he felt the need to bring him here. He’d still prefer this, this painful, gruesome attempt at reconciliation, to being confined to the skip button ending again. He’d prefer to suffer through this and be with Stanley, than to deny him the apology and sit alone to think on his transgressions.
The Narrator was loath to do this, to face this pain for even another second. He could reset them, he felt like if he really set to trying, he could put them back. But with the game being as broken as it already was from Stanley’s outbursts, from so many resets, he had no idea what would happen if he did just start them over. Besides that, he owed this to Stanley. One last leap, one last collision with the cold foundation. Things would be over then. Maybe then they could talk.
Then, the Narrator could fix things.
Before he could lose his nerve, before he could talk himself out of it and ruin things, The Narrator squeezed his eyes shut and stepped back off the platform. Another explosion of white-hot pain ripped over his model, eyes snapping open with another gasp for breath.
As his vision faded, he saw Stanley over the edge, leaning over, reaching for him pointlessly. Things faded, silence crept in. The pain slipped away into cold nothingness.
THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING…
It was Stanley’s turn to gasp for air. His throat was tight, his chest more so, refusing him a full breath. He sank back into his chair, hugging himself, wide brown eyes filled with guilty, angry tears.
Why did he do that? It didn’t take away the hurt. It didn’t free him from this place. It didn’t make anything better, it just stole his breath away. If anything, it made him more afraid. More than losing what they had been, he’d lost the chance to be more.
Why the hell did he do that?
Stanley was silent even as ugly sobs wracked over his shoulders. He leaned forward, spots in his vision, every limb tingling with electricity and contempt for his own actions. He was so angry. He was still angry. With himself, with this parable, with the narrator… He just wanted to rip every wall down and smash it to pieces until there was nothing left, no more dirty tricks and terrible endings. He just wanted a void, and he wanted to scream into it until he couldn’t breathe anymore.
He was trapped. Here, with him, who hurt him and who he abused right back the second he felt the control in his grasp. What had he become? Another monster, another overlord to twist the world to his sick desires? No, no, no, Stanley wasn't like that. He just needed to see, he had to see it and understand, didn’t he? How else could he know what it was like, how else could he understand that Stanley couldn’t differentiate between his adoration and guilt? That he had no fucking idea whether he loved the Narrator for the sake of loving him, or for the simple fact that he had no one else to love. It didn’t matter anymore. He was apparently no better than the Narrator in his worst moments, and who could love a monster like the Narrator? Stanley could. And he fucking hated it.
It was all gone now, though. None of it mattered. Stanley screamed in silence. His chest ached with the pressure, his stomach churned as his arms tightened around himself. Nothing made any sense here. Nothing was fair. Nothing was real, nothing was real, not himself, not the Narrator, not this desk or his mouse or the bucket. He was just some code, somewhere in space, made to march to the tune of this stupid voice’s command. He didn’t want the controls, he wanted to escape. He wanted to know what love was. He wanted to know the Narrator loved him for the sake of it, and not just because they were the only two beings in this mess of ones and zeroes.
“Oh, dear boy…” Stanley cried harder. He curled up, shaking all over, feeling sick with the weight of the self hatred and guilt. He didn’t deserve that sweetness, that gentle concern in his voice. He didn’t deserve to have the Narrator even come down to check on him. He deserved to sit and rot here, until the end of the real world, out wherever it was, finally came crashing in and there was nothing left for them in this fictional hellscape.
Even still, a cool hand settled on the back of his neck, and began rubbing up and down his spine. His voice came from beside him now.
“Sh, sh… it’s alright, Stanley… You and I will be just fine.” The Narrator soothed.
His voice was uneasy, sounding as uncertain as Stanley felt, but he couldn’t help but to believe him. In a jerky movement, he pulled his arm from around himself and began to sign ‘sorry’ over and over, even with his eyes shut tight to the Narrator and the office around them.
“No, no. No need for that, Stanley. I think we’ve both learned some things today. If there’s anyone to be made to apologize, it’s me.” He sighed, shaky, but sincere,”None of that, now, just… just rest. Take a deep breath for me, Stanley... That's a boy, good job.”
Stanley choked on another pitiful little sob at the encouragement. He was a monster, being treated like a little boy who’d lost his mind over a skinned knee. He was too selfish to refuse the comfort, though, and he tried his very best to continue taking slow, even breaths as he was told to do.
“There we are… very good.” The Narrator cleared his throat and took Stanley’s hand, still balled up against his chest, gently rubbing his thumb over the employee’s pale knuckles in an effort to get him to relax his grip.
Slowly, he did. He caught his breath, cleared his mind, and relaxed his palm into the Narrator’s as the tears tapered off. The silence was uneasy as he sniffled and tried to collect himself, so he took his free hand to sign ‘talk’. He’d give anything for a voice that didn’t rasp like his had in the Zending, just to hear him , know he’s okay.
“Oh, uhm.” The Narrator hummed,”Alright… Stanley… Stanley did a wonderful job at settling down after a very… erm… very intense ending. Yes, taking deep breaths just like you were asked. I’m very proud of you, dear boy.” Stanley nodded gingerly, his head a little sore from the force of his distress moments ago. He let himself warm up at the soft-spoken praise the older man offered him.
“Things will settle and we’ll have a nice chat to make sure nothing so awful happens again. Won’t we, Stanley?”
Another soft nod.
“Good, good… do you want to reset?”
Stanley considered it and shook his head. He was fine, he didn’t want to restart and risk a whole new wave of unease, nor did he want the Narrator to leave, even for a few moments.
“Alright. Can you stand up? We can go to the lounge, you’d be more comfortable there, with the sofa, wouldn’t you? Oh, no, Stanley, don't sit on the floor you… Ah, silly thing. Alright.”
Stanley’s eyes moved over to the Narrator, wary of the scolding, but he was just offered a little huff and a fond smile as he sank down to the carpet. The Narrator moved the chair further out of the way and gently slid down the wall to sit on the floor with his employee.
The Narrator’s hands settled in his lap for the moment, thumbs tapping against one another as he watched Stanley get situated. He was partly under the desk, sat cross legged, still hugging his arms around his middle and taking deliberate, slow breaths.
The older man couldn’t deny the shake in his hands. He’d paused the parable during the reset, just to get a grip. He couldn’t burden Stanley with these feelings. The power imbalance, the trauma they’d experienced alongside one another was… it just wasn’t fair. And the Narrator didn’t think it was right to put yet another thing on Stanley’s shoulders. Seeing him this way, so broken, so upset, only affirmed that belief. They could talk this out and move on, and the narrator would quietly erase the memory sometime. For the sake of forgetting this pain altogether.
Originally, he had no intention of coming down here. He was going to let Stanley reset and make sure the parable was alright, and handle those memories before they could do anymore damage, but… Seeing Stanley in such a state was too much to ignore. He had to come down and help, in any way he could.
Now, though, Stanley looked up to him. Tired, brown eyes watched him for a few seconds, and despite taking the time to calm himself during the reset, the Narrator felt a little chilly recalling the golden hue that had overtaken Stanley before. There was no anger in his gaze, only sadness, as he moved trembling hands to sign.
[What do we do now?]
The Narrator took a breath,”Well.. You’re welcome to talk, Stanley. Get anything off your chest… clearly you have some things tucked away that may be… important to recognize. Now would be the time.”
Stanley shook his head, looking down at his lap as he wiped a few tears off his cheek.
Shifting, the Narrator tried to find a way to gently address his concerns,”That’s alright.. I should say, though,Stanley, I… I think I misspoke… As you can tell, I'm sure, our relationship to one another is… is wildly different. In power dynamics, in our understanding of each other. I think I said what I said in the sense that…I’m happy we get along more often. But that’s all. I was maybe a bit extreme in phrasing… I apologize.”
Stanley frowned, considering his words. He took a slow breath and worried his lip for a moment or two, then signed again.
[So you didn’t mean it.]
The Narrator hesitated. Long enough that Stanley managed to look at him again, watching his face.
“No, I suppose I didn’t.” He finally offered, looking at Stanley’s hands rather than meet his gaze.
Stanley nodded quietly, and silence loomed over them for a few moments.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need to talk about, Stanley?” the Narrator eventually asked,”I’d much rather you tell me than wait for another explosion like that.”
Stanley nodded, hands fidgeting in his lap.
“Well, go on. It’s better to get everything out now.”
After a few moments, Stanley offered [I think I love you.]
The Narrator stared, not sure what to say, not sure what to feel.
[I have, for a while. When I saw you, I knew it was something bigger than just being friends. If you can even call us friends.] Stanley explained, his face tinted pink as he sniffled quietly.
The Narrator felt his heart kick to life again, rushing a golden flush to his face,”Stanley you don’t need to… to make up some confession for me, I’m really alright.” He offered, even if his shaky voice betrayed his indifference.
[It’s not made up.] Stanley answered, [I love you. And you love me. Don’t you?]
The Narrator scoffed again, flustered and unsure what to do with himself,”Of course I do, you ninny. I love you, you’re everything to me, Stanley, I just… I thought after what happened, what we went through, there’s surely no way you can feel anything but hatred for me. It would be deserved, if that is all you feel, I would understand, truly I would. I’m sorry to have ever made that ending, I’m sorry you’re stuck with this story, I’m-”
The Narrator flinched when Stanley scoot forward and reached out to him. There was a look of guilty sadness over Stanley’s face, but he continued to offer his hands out to the Narrator.
The Narrator settled, and placed his hands in Stanley’s, then looked back at Stanley with a sheepish smile.
“Yes… I suppose the past is… is just the past. There’s no sense dwelling in it now, is there?”
Stanley shook his head with a sad smile of his own.
“Well, if all we have is the future, we should make it a good one. No time like the present to start a new story… I’m sure I can find many adventures for you, Stanley. Does that sound nice?”
Stanley nodded with a brighter smile. The Narrator beamed in turn with pride.
“Good, then! We’ll make changes, good changes, and make sure that there are no more horrible endings… the game be damned. We’re here with or without the audience, we may as well enjoy ourselves.” The Narrator took a breath, looking over his lovely protagonist with such fondness for a few very dear moments,”It’ll be wonderful. I promise.”
Content, smiling to acknowledge his promise, Stanley released his hands. He signed ‘I love you’ with one, and tapped the Narrator’s hand with the other, asking him to copy the sign.
“Oh. Like this, dear?” The Narrator wondered, offering the same sign back to him.
Stanley nodded, and touched their hands together in that sign, a gentle and sweet gesture to connect them both. The Narrator chuckled fondly, and then Stanley was leaning in and his heart started to race all over again.
Their lips met and that yellow wave of pixels rushed across each of them, deepening the kiss with a shiver of electric uncertainty. Stanley cupped the Narrator’s cheek in his palm, and the older man sighed when he pulled away for a breath, only to be caught up in another soft kiss.
The Narrator knew he was done for. Stanley was too good to be true, this comfortable and mischievous, freckled little warm and enticing thing that had the Narrator wrapped around his little finger too tight to ever hope of being free. He created his protagonist, his enemy, his best friend, and his only true companion, all in one deceptively simple little man.
Stanley eventually pulled back with a silent laugh that gave the Narrator a little giggle of his own. The employee scoot closer to him, leaning against the wall next to him and tucking his head against his shoulder. The Narrator tilted his head to rest his cheek against Stanley’s hair. For a while, they just sat there, breathing easy in each other’s company, forgetting everything and dreaming quietly of what was to come.