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Stanley liked the broom closet. Most of the time he could ignore The Narrator’s stabs at comedy while making fun of him for it, but today was different.
He liked the broom closet because it was somewhere familiar, somewhere where he could usually (before the disappearances of his co-workers, obviously) stim freely during work hours, as to not draw attention to himself. It smelled like chemicals, something that he also liked; it calmed him, being there, alone with his thoughts and the happiness that came along with flapping his hands for a few minutes.
He knew that he was ungrateful, though, staying in there while The Narrator waited and waited, equally as bored of the same story over and over and over again - but it was the only place he felt safe. He wanted to make the disembodied voice happy, and so usually he walked past the closet and carried on with the story as he was supposed to, yet today he stopped beside it.
He had looked inside for a few seconds, and The Narrator instantly sighed in frustration. Stanley felt bad, but for now, his emotions came before the voice’s. The Narrator was an alien with no regard for his emotions, so why shouldn’t he take a few minutes for himself?
He had stepped inside, ignoring the noises of continued frustration from the alien dictating his existence, and smiled to himself softly.
Here he was, now, breathing in the smell of bleach and multiple other chemical substances in bottles upon the white shelves, and he moved aside the brooms standing up against the wall, before sitting down. He looked around the room a couple times, his eyes wrinkling as his smile widened. Even he himself didn’t understand why he loved this room so much. It was simply a small broom closet filled with, well, brooms. And cleaning supplies.
The Narrator obviously didn’t understand either.
“Stanley, can we please get on with the story?” His voice had a pleading edge to it, and it took the human a few seconds to look up and actually, well, care.
‘What? The same story we do constantly? No thanks,” He signed up to the ceiling, where he assumed The Narrator could see him from, “I’m fine in here.’
“Aren’t you- y’know, bored? It’s a pretty simple room. Wouldn’t you like to feel the breeze on your skin again? The true ending awaits!”
‘The feel of the breeze. What breeze?’
“Outside! The freedom endi-”
‘Yes, I fucking kn-’
“Language, Stanley!”
‘I know. I know. You’ll just restart again. I’ll be sent back to the start and you’ll spew the same bullshit as usual. I don’t want to. Not right now,’ His signing became slightly messy as he continued on, ‘Let me stay in here.’
“Stanley, I- it’s a tiny broom closet! Surely, it can’t be more interesting than the freedom ending, or the countdown ending, or the-” The Narrator stopped speaking as Stanley covered his ears and glared up at him. He let out a sigh of anger.
And then he chuckled. Suddenly, Stanley was standing outside of the broom closet. The broom closet that was boarded up with wood and nails, the obvious doing of The Narrator.
“Carry on, Stanley. The broom closet doesn’t matter. My story does.” He held back a deep chuckle, “Go on.”
Stanley didn’t walk further. His eyes filled with tears as he lifted his arms to shakily sign up to the ceiling, ‘Fuck the story!’
“Langu-”
‘Fuck your stupid rules. Fuck you! I don’t want to play this stupid game anymore.’
“You are so ungrateful, Stanley. Why do you care so much about the stupid broom closet? I crafted this story just for you, and now you don’t want it?” The Narrator’s voice would’ve sounded hurt if it wasn’t for the sneering undertones, a cruel sound that Stanley wished he didn’t have to hear - he just wished the alien understood.
He carried on, “I don’t understand your petty human emotions.” There it was.
‘My emotions are petty now, are they? Is my autism petty? Am I petty? Because I’m starting to think that you might be. It’s only a broom closet. If it’s only a broom closet why can’t I go in there?’
“Because- because the story!”
Stanley cried out helplessly, trying to pry the nails from the wood, wanting so desperately back in, though they wouldn’t budge. He took off the opposite way The Narrator wanted him to in search of a crowbar or a hammer, anything to get out the nails blocking him from the only comfort in his strange existence. He searched almost everywhere, yet he couldn’t find anything.
Making it back to the broom closet, he sat on the floor just outside, his head resting on his knees, arms around his legs which were pressed to his chest; he wasn’t going to cry, wasn’t going to show weakness that severe, because he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t weak at all.
Or, at least, that’s what he wanted The Narrator to think.
He didn’t want to hear The Narrator’s annoying voice anymore.
“You can’t sit and sulk forever, Stanley. You just have to stand up and get on with it.”
Stanley really didn’t want to. He also didn’t want to stim in front of The Narrator, but his arms were suddenly moving without his permission. He started snapping his fingers frantically, wanting to stop it and just cover his ears, close his eyes - he didn’t want to deal with what the alien would say or think anymore, couldn’t be bothered to stop at this point. He couldn’t control it, so why try?
“What- what are you doing, Stanley? I’m so confused,” The Narrator said sincerely, “Do you want me to remove the boards from the door?”
This piqued Stanley’s interest and he nodded vigorously, hands trembling.
As soon as the boards disappeared, Stanley was opening the door in the rush, before sitting down in the same spot he was in before, smiling softly at the smell of chemicals, the slightly slippy floor below him, the bordering on uncomfortable heat of the un-conditioned room - he felt calm, again.
After a few minutes his stimming turned happy, and he started flapping his hands with the same soft smile on his face.
The Narrator stayed silent for those few minutes, letting Stanley have some time to himself, before he eventually spoke, “I can see it makes you genuinely happy being in here, so if you’d like, you can stay in here whenever you want for as long as you want. I won’t stop you.”
The smile Stanley gave him made him melt. Almost literally. He felt he would melt if his cheeks heated anymore, and if the human could see him now, he’d surely never let him live it down.
...Stanley was really cute.