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stanley closed the door. opened it again. closed it. stared at the ceiling with a perplexed look. the door of his office creaked pitifully, over and over and ov-
"gah what's with the NOISE, stanley.."
the creak died midway, slain by stanley's hand letting go of the door handle.
complete silence again.
well this was new. but stanley wasn't as happy as he'd thought he would be. the narrator sounded.. off, somehow. besides the fact that he didnt even begin the story, his story.
this was definitely new.
stanley looked up at the ceiling again, tilting his head ever so slightly to the right, like a confused puppy. his hand reached for the door handle again.
"stanley why must you-" the narrator erupted into a coughing fit? "aHEM good lord- why must you torture me this way?"
stanley looked to the side and back at the ceiling.
[your story?]
silence. stanley could feel the gears turning in the narrator's head. seconds ticking away till an explos-
"OH GOODNESS GRACIOUS, MY STORY!!"
yep, there it is. or well, it would be, if the narrator didn't start wheezing into coughs again.
[narrator? are you okay? are you sick? can you even get sick?]
"....wh- m? what were you saying?"
stanley's eyebrows shot impossibly higher. The Mighty Narrator was definitely sick.
[you should come down here]
there was a slight rustling of papers and a muffled groan on the other side, stifled into arms on the table.
"do you want to torture me, stanley? moving is torture, is that what you want? cruel."
that last part was a pitiful whine more than anything. stanley's lungs squeezed. okay, now he was worried.
[you have to come down here. I don't know what's wrong]
"I have the feeling you will not leave me alone if I don't. ugh fineeee, but you're being very cruel, stanley."
stanley rushed to the employee lounge, the sound of papers falling to the ground and narrator's little "gH-", like he tripped, only hurrying him along.
...
this was not what he expected to see.
the narrator was on the couch, face tucked away into a pillow, hands wrapping around himself and said pillow. stanley nearly fell over as he stopped dead in his tracks.
the narrator was visibly shivering. no, shaking.
stanley sat next to him, tracing words into his back.
[turn over? just for a second]
he heard a grumble in the pillow.
"the lights are too bright."
stanley's worry dissipated for a moment as a chuckle was punched out of him. okay, okay, serious face.
[can't you make them dimmer?]
"you have pretty laughter.."
the hand on narrator's back flinched for just a moment. stanley shushed his beating heart; they had more important problems at hand right now.
he heard the tiniest shuffling that sounded like "need to see" and the narrator's face peaked out of the pillow. stanley placed his hand on the narrator's forehead and suddenly was very grateful it's not in his functions to be able to get burned.
okay. omnipotent narrators can get sick. he needed rest and preferably right now. stanley considered his options for a few seconds before settling on one.
[I'm gonna pick you up, alright?]
"pick up? ah, I actually learned about that recently! humans and their expressions- I don't know why you'd be flirting with me right now, but bring it, stanley."
stanley's hands sliding under the narrator trembled in laughter and he couldn't keep it in; he bursted into wheezes, thunking his head into the narrator's back. stanley felt the narrator trembling in soft chuckles too, not quite understanding what's so funny, but laughing along anyway.
alright, time to get to business. they can swoon and sigh later.
"stanLEY-"
hands scrambled to hold onto stanley as he lifted the narrator up bridal style, making his way towards the cargo lift. the narrator tucked his face into stanley's chest, away from the lights, exhaling softly and happily. stanley prayed the narrator was sick enough not to pay attention to his accelerated heart rate.
picking up the phone was a bit difficult in this position, but stanley managed to kick it off with his foot, sighing in relief. here they were.
the narrator let out a quiet "oof", despite stanley lowering him into bed gently. stanley rolled his eyes with a smile. drama queen.
[can I undress you?]
"first the flirting, now this? stanley, you're ferocious today."
stanley wished he could wipe the dumb smile off his own face.
[not like that. you'll overheat in your hundred layers]
"it makes me look distinguished, you know that... oh yes, yes, you can. I am a bit distracted today."
[you're s- ill]
stanley knew better than let narrator's delirious mind misinterpret that sentence too. fingers carefully unbuttoned the narrator's vest and suit, putting them to the side. the sleeping gown was a challenge since the narrator was shaking so hard his arms nearly ripped it at the seams.
at last, it was done.
"I'm coooldddd."
stanley sighed fondly, covering the narrator with a thick blanket and kissing his forehead. the narrator beamed at stanley, giggling as he reached to kiss stanley back, but getting stopped by stanley's finger on his lips.
[I'd love to kiss you, but I don't want you coughing into my mouth]
the narrator, clever bastard, made the most pitiful pouting puppy face back, asking for just one kiss. just one, come on, stanley, just one?
stanley knew better. stanley was stronger than this. stanley was already giving him a sweet peck on the lips, rolling his eyes with a smile. the daft sod always gets what he wants.
[I'm going to get you some tea, alright? I beg you, don't move too much]
the narrator only huffed in response. stanley would make it quick.
---
"staaaanleeyyyyyy.."
the narrator has been wailing from the bedroom ever since stanley had left to make tea. stanley's buckling legs nearly rushed him back, but he was determined. his narrator needs some tea; don't fall for his puppy eyes.
the kettle wheezes. the tea is poured. some honey and maybe chamomile. stanley (somehow) nearly burns his hand taking the cup to the bedroom, setting it down on the bedstand.
the narrator still hasn't taken off his glasses, mumbling into the pillow. stanley lifts his head up gently, sliding the glasses off the narrator's nose, putting them next to the cup. the narrator nuzzles his face into stanley's hand and- stanley falls onto the bed with a surprised gasp- pulls.
hands wrap around stanley and narrator's head tucks into the crook of his neck.
"stayyyyy, stanley, please?"
and just like that, stanley's willpower and resolve shatters like fragile glass. he kisses the narrator's temple and gets under the blanket, making quick work of his shirt and tossing it away.
[I'm here, honeybee. drink your tea?]
he passes the cup to the narrator, who sips it slowly. his breathing evens out and his muscles seem to relax.
"thank you, buttercup. my stanleyyy. can we sleep now, darling?"
stanley huffs out a chuckle, nodding. big on the petnames there, but he doesn't mind. he just wants his narrator to feel alright.
the blanket is heavenly, perfectly heavy. the narrator stops shivering at stanley's side, wrapping all his four arms around him, fingers intertwining with stanley's. their eyes close on their own and soon enough they're snoring, huddled together, happy and peaceful.
---
stanley wakes up with a sore throat.
the narrator shoots him a guilty smile.
just one kiss.