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Stanley was never really a morning person, and neither was his husband. He was infinitely grateful that the parable they were trapped in for years didn’t require either of them to wake up at any point, since it would always bring him back to mid-day and his body reset completely every time. Now that they were out, however, things were different.
The initial change had been a very rough one. Actually going to sleep in a bed next to the one he loves, knowing that time would actually continue as it should was very overwhelming for Stanley, but in the best way he could have hoped for. Many times he woke up in a cold sweat, terrified that his dream where he’d been sent back to that horrendous office had come true, only to open his eyes to the love of his life lightly snoring next to him. The sight always calmed him down almost immediately.
It reminded him of the first time he had actually seen the Narrator sleep. They were still in the parable, and up until that point he had no clue the Narrator actually could sleep, let alone needed it just as much as he did. Well, that part wasn’t entirely true. Stanley was very good at working on minimal amounts of sleep with nothing but coffee to keep him going, so while stanley wasn’t exactly the best reference for average human sleeping patterns, Stanley was fairly certain that the Narrator slept more than your average person, but only in his human form. Stanley wondered for a moment if it still had the ability to turn into just a voice, before deciding he’d ask later. When it had no body, the Narrator didn’t experience any human limitations such as illness, fatigue, or anything of the sort, as long as the affliction was purely physical. Because of this, his human form was unaccustomed to it, and fell victim to plenty of illnesses within only a few weeks of them being free into the real world.
Stanley stretched, deciding he’d wasted enough time just lying around in bed. He yawned, and got a start on his day. Slipping off the side of the bed, making sure to wear slippers (the texture of the floor made him uncomfortable), he groggily made his way to the coffee machine. He noticed the Narrator wasn’t in bed, and assumed he was taking a shower judging by the lack of him in their apartment’s kitchenette. Stanley took out his favorite mug and placed it under the coffee machine, not bothering with a kettle.
Stanley had many fond memories of that particular mug. It was one of the only things that originated from the parable that he still thoroughly enjoyed. All the mugs from the office were pretty great, really. But this one was special to him. It was bright red, and said “NEW MUG” in bold, white letters. He had found it at the bottom of the Mostly Infinite Hole. It was one of the only things he made absolutely sure came out of that damned parable in one piece, and the moment he was sure everything wouldn’t all restart again he thoroughly cleaned it (the mug was at the bottom of a hole after all) and made sure to use it frequently. Since it was still technically a game asset, it never stained or wore out, unlike the cheap mugs the Narrator had insisted on getting at that garage sale a month or so ago.
The strong smell of coffee wafted through the apartment, the loud whirring of the machine taking Stanley out of his thoughts. He thought of making something for the Narrator, before remembering they had yet to go to the store and buy more hot chocolate. The Narrator was not allowed to have coffee, not for reasons related to “sugar rushes” or whatnot, but mainly because both Stanley and the Narrator were afraid that he would burn himself out if he ever did. The last time the Narrator got such a boost of energy was when he’d first begun writing The Stanley Parable. And neither of them wanted a repeat of any of that.
Stanley heard footsteps behind him, and didn’t have to turn around to know it was his spouse walking out of the bathroom. He could tell through footsteps alone, and it’s not like anyone else could be in their house. Well, except for the Curator. She did have a spare key after all. But he would’ve heard the door open, and her footsteps sounded nothing like the Narrator’s. Stanley knew this perfectly well. A yawn rang out behind him.
“Ah, good morning dear. Making yourself some coffee?” Stanley replied with a small nod and a hum, far too tired to turn around and sign his response. The Narrator gently held onto him in a half-hug from behind, sleepily watching over Stanley’s shoulder as the coffee finally started pouring into the mug.
“Gosh, I could go for a hot chocolate right about now. It’s a shame we don’t have any. Perhaps we could go to the supermarket today?” Stanley hummed in agreement, as he had already been thinking of doing that regardless. He guessed now both of them would be going. But not now. Because now, his coffee was ready. The Narrator let go of him as Stanley reached over to the mug, and the two of them sat down at the little table that sat awkwardly in the midst of their apartment.
Stanley took a moment to look over at the Narrator. It was still odd to him to see the Narrator in such a way that he wouldn’t be caught dead like in public. His hair was currently wet and occasionally dripped onto the chair he sat upon, the Narrator not even having attempted to slick it back with gel like he usually does. His ever-present glasses were still there, although a bit less fogged up than usual, revealing the Narrator’s lack of eyes for the world to see. Well, only for Stanley to see really, but he was already the Narrator’s whole world so what difference did it make? He wasn’t dressed up at all, and was still in a damp bath robe as he sat there, drooping in and out of sleep despite sitting up straight. Stanley knew that no one else would ever be allowed to see him like this, and he smiled softly as he sipped his coffee. He knew his Narrator better than anyone else, just as it did him.
Stanley and his husband were never really morning people, but good god did Stanley cherish moments like these.