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Stanley laid down on the table, his eyes fluttering closed. He never got quite used to the hum of the yellowish fluorescent lights, his lips pressing together tightly as he felt his body drift away, wrought with exhaustion and mild frustration.
“Yet not a single— oh, Stanley! If you needed sleep you could have just asked! No need to continue dredging on.”
Stanley could hear the Narrator lean back in his chair, stretching. For a very rare moment, he heard what sounded like a yawn through the speakers.
“Besides, I’m feeling a little tired as well. You know, all this story writing takes a lot out of me.”
The doors to the meeting room shut. The distinct sound of the lock clicking tickled his ears. Stanley frowned. It wasn’t as if he were going to run. He was just as tired as he was. “Oh, don’t give me that look! You know fair well with your track record I have good reason not to trust you! The amount of times you’ve done something unpredictable in order to go against the story is shocking.” The Narrator explained, the frown audible in his voice.
Stanley quietly shook his head, giving a quiet sigh, rolling over on the table in order to make himself more comfortable.
The Narrator was odd, but not cruel. Well, not cruel most of the time. Some endings were disturbingly vile, where Stanley never realized he could feel such intense fear and hatred for someone. During their time together, Stanley had lost count of the amount of years that went by. He estimated a couple decades had passed since he first started. During the beginning, it was chaotic. It felt like both of them were pitted against each other. Designated rivals. No matter the circumstances, whether it was founded in reason or sheer tenacity, Stanley at the beginning always found a way to muck things up. He was quite proud of it, actually. Though as the two spent more time together, Stanley softened. Maybe it was because he was losing his grip. Or maybe it was because the Narrator was loosening his.
Even so, the Narrator always sought it, even if Stanley impulsively made not-so-wise choices, that he was well-fed and well taken cared for.
The Narrator was quite the strange man. Stanley hummed as he felt himself drift off to sleep.
When he awoke, there was a sound that pricked his ears. He sat up, slowly, his eyes wide as he slowly glanced around. The room appeared to be the same. Though…
He attempted to listen harder.
It sounded like heaving, through the speakers. It sounded like the Narrator panting into the microphone, as if he was on his last breath with each quiet, desperate gasp. Stanley’s lips flattened, his brows furrowing as he slowly got off the table. The Narrator said he was falling asleep, wasn’t he? Does that mean he’s having a nightmare? He scratched the back of his neck, gazing at the floor, thinking.
How would one exactly wake him up?
In an instant, Stanley snatched a coffee mug and shattered it against the wall, the glass splattering everywhere. The panicked breathing continued. Stanley frowned, picking up another coffee mug, but this time, shattering it on the floor. He considered his options. He knew the doors were locked, so he couldn’t go outside searching for the Narrator’s office. He couldn’t yell or scream because— well, he simply didn’t feel like it. So, his only option is to raise hell. He shouldn’t have a problem. Stanley was very good at raising hell.
Stanley grabbed an office chair, and proceeded to smash a hole into the meeting room table, a wheel dislodging from the chair leg, flying across the room.
Just then, he heard a sudden unflattering snort through the microphone, and Stanley heard the Narrator clearly jolt in his office chair. “Stanley, what the hell are you doing?!—“ The Narrator yelled. “You little—! Oh… Oh, you must have heard me, didn’t you? My sincerest apologies, I didn’t mean for you to see that. It’s unbecoming of me.”
Stanley frowned, tilting his head before signing, ‘Nightmare?’
“No, no. It wasn’t exactly a nightmare, per say, more of a… strange dream.”
Stanley gave a blank expression, looking expectant, as if he wanted the Narrator to continue.
“Well, Stanley, I’d have to say that whatever I was dreaming about, is none of your business.”
Stanley thought for a moment, before pointing at himself.
There was a palpable pause of silence, before the Narrator leaned back in his chair, sighing quietly.
“…Yes, the nightmare was about you. I just— …alright, you’re only going to hear this from me once. You mean the world to me, are you aware of that?” The Narrator took a breath. “Without you, there would be no story. And, much more importantly… There would be no you for me to talk to.”
Stanley leaned forwards, as the Narrator gave a frustrated sigh.
“I suppose what I’m doing my best to say is that I appreciate you. There. Are you happy now?” The Narrator groaned.
Stanley held in a laugh, giving a bright smile, giving a singular, resounding nod. He was happy. Very happy.
There was a poignant pause. For a few seconds, Stanley heard nothing but the buzzing sound of the office lights. Stanley stared up at the ceiling, his brows furrowing as his smile faded away, giving a concerned look. He couldn’t help but have the feeling he did something wrong, something settling in his stomach. Very slowly, he brought up his hands, beginning to sign. ‘Narrator?’
“What?- Oh, oh yes. My apologies, I was-” The Narrator cleared his throat, shuffling papers, clearly caught off-guard. “I was writing something down. For the story.”
Stanley didn’t want to question it. He found it odd, of course, but he wasn’t the one to ask things, and he wasn’t the type of person to voice his inner thoughts, instead giving a deadpan expression as he crossed his arms, shaking his head disapprovingly, before moving to the meeting room door.
Without missing a beat, the Narrator continued on with the story.
—
As after every reset, he found himself back at his office again.
It wasn’t a surprise, yet each time he was placed in front of his monitor, he felt a resounding disappointment. A deep, unsaturated feeling of no control. He didn’t fault the Narrator for it, though, he knew that despite his whining and bickering, the Narrator was just about as trapped as he was. He could sense it. The story was for someone, it all had a purpose, as meaningless it felt, the story meant something. Stanley just didn’t know who it was meant for. He stared blankly into his own reflection, a deep sense of unfulfillment settling in. He tapped on his keyboard, pressing buttons. Ah. At least the man had buttons to keep him company.
Tap, tap, tap.
Time flew by.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d restarted. All he knew was it was deathly quiet. As he pressed away at his keyboard, he thought to himself. Maybe he missed his cue line? Maybe the Narrator just decided not to say anything. Stanley didn’t know. He slowly looked up, forcefully prying himself away from the computer, stepping outside. He heard no sound, just an eery, desolate quiet. Stanley ran his fingers through his hair, nervously.
‘Narrator?’
He wasn’t expecting a reply, but the silence eluded him.
‘Narrator?’
He dwindled his thumbs, still, waiting for a sound to indicate he was alive, visibly worried. The silence was deafening, quickly straightening as he paced the office.
He needed to find him.
He needed to find him immediately, but he had no idea where he was. He furrowed his brows and attempted his best to think. He remembered that he jiggled the doorknob on door 430 five times, for an attempted achievement and the Narrator immediately reacted. The thing is, that wasn’t applied to any other doors. In any attempt to initiate the same response with any other door, it was met with a silent laugh from the Narrator.
It was a long shot, but Stanley made up his mind.
His expression slowly straightened, as Stanley rummaged through a desk, picking up a firm index card. Jiggling the doorknob, Stanley shimmied the card between the door’s lock, the edge of the card wearing down. It took a couple minutes of elbow grease, yet with much satisfaction, the door smoothly slid open.
The room was dark.
The first thing Stanley noticed was the large array of monitors lining the walls of the tiny room, viewing every perspective of every angle. At the edges of the room were large control panels, peppered with buttons and keyboards and screens.
Though, what was most notable was the man at the center of it all. The Narrator.
He was tall and bony, his legs long and his body slender. His fingers were delicate, long and thin. His silvery hair was brushed back. The older man’s face was obscured, resting on an empty spot on the control panel, seated loosely in an office chair. Stanley stared at the sight, blinking, completely dead quiet as if he was scared of scaring him away. Slowly, he walked towards him, as quiet as possible. He was wearing a gray suit, with a soft yellow tie. The Narrator was asleep, exhausted, his rectangular glasses decorated with a silvery chain, attached by his ear was a microphone, extending in front of his lips. Stanley couldn’t help but stare, captivated. He didn’t expect the Narrator to be handsome. His jawline was squared, his features well-defined.
On an impulse, Stanley reached out, gently tracing the Narrator’s cheekbone. Almost instantly, the older gentleman shot up, crashing, the chair tipping over.
“WHAT THE—! Stanley?!—“
Stanley gazed. The Narrator’s eyes were a soft yellow. He blinked, before quickly shaking his head, snapping himself out of it.
“How did— Why did— I thought I locked the door! How on earth did you get in?” The Narrator looked frenzied, holding his palm over the spot Stanley touched him. Though, even in the dim lighting, Stanley could spot a slight blush creep into the tips of his ears. Stanley hesitated before sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, pointing to the open door.
The Narrator got up, scrambling, clearing his throat, walking away from Stanley in a hurry, attempting to steady himself. He began messily shuffling through his papers, sorting through his filing cabinet.
“Oh, well then, I should’ve anticipated this— you’re more clever than I give you credit for— now… I’m not sure if there’s any protocols for this—“ He mumbled to himself, clearly a bit shaken.
Stanley tapped the Narrator’s shoulder, in which he violently jolted in place, and instantaneously, he spun around angrily, snapping. Up close, the blush was more apparent. “Do not touch me so spontaneously! I’ll have you know that it’s extremely jarring to have you touch me, especially since I haven’t had human contact since this whole project started!—“
‘You were sleeping?’ Stanley interrupted.
The Narrator’s mouth was hung open. He adjusted his glasses awkwardly, before turning his back to Stanley, continuing to file through the protocols. “Well… I suppose I must have fallen asleep in-between resets.”
Stanley gave a questioning look, visibly confused. He found it strange that after all these years, he’d never once seen the Narrator pass out mid-story.
The Narrator couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re asking why…? It’s rather rude of you to assume I don’t need sleep too, Stanley. Especially after what happened earlier.”
Stanley took a step closer, gazing up at him, before very slowly reaching out, measuring the Narrator’s response, and touching his forehead with the back of his hand. The Narrator didn’t resist, though he was unusually quiet, visibly a bit startled. His forehead was hot, warmer than usual. Even when the Narrator was asleep, he couldn’t help but notice how hot his face was to the touch.
Stanley took a step back.
‘Sick?’
The Narrator swallowed, rubbing his eyes, adjusting his glasses before sighing quietly. “You picked that up rather quickly.”
Without hesitation, he dragged him by the Narrator’s sleeve, pulling him out of the room. The Narrator yelped, stumbling, struggling to follow Stanley.
“Yes, now drag me along. It’s a statistical wonder how you manage to get me to leave only to pull me along like a disobedient puppy.” He sarcastically remarked. “Now, telling me where we’re going would be too much work. No, no, no, it would be inconsiderate of you to spoil the surprise for me.” He frowned, audibly irritated.
Stanley let go, slowly introducing him into the employee lounge. He gave a grand smile, spinning around. The Narrator looked unimpressed.
“Why have you taken me here, Stanley? If you wanted to show me around the office, I’m afraid I know the layout as well as you do.” The Narrator crossed his arms.
‘You need sleep.’ Stanley patted the cushion of one of the couches, giving a small smile. The Narrator’s mildly annoyed expression washed away as his eyes flitted to the side, a bit nervously.
“I can sleep perfectly fine, back in my own office—“
‘Please.’
The Narrator hesitated, visibly considering his options. He was thinking, his eyes narrowing at the floor, before he supposedly made up his mind, straightening his back, slowly sitting down on the couch. He crossed his arms, shifting his position to make himself more comfortable. Stanley watched as his eyes fluttered almost instantly, watching the Narrator struggle to stay awake, before unsurprisingly, he crashed, passing out.
Stanley smiled, sitting on a couch across from him, settling in, attempting to sleep.