Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Narvis sat as far away from the other coffee shop patrons as he could. Why would they want him crowding their space? He was skinny, with unkempt hair strung over his eyes. He couldn't afford a haircut. He could barely work four hours a day without becoming a wreck. All the people around him had their lives together. Even if they didn't, at least they had lives. He was just a cowering shell in used clothing, trying to scrounge up enough to survive.

He looked down at his used laptop with its cracked screen. It was filled with stories no one wanted to hear. Oh, but Narvis had big dreams for his works. He imagined that everything he posted online was being secretly spoken about in private forums, where people were inspired and healed by what he had to say. Every editor and agent he sent his work to were holding it to their chest and crying while trying to find the best ways to offer him representation.

But the truth was no one was talking about him in secret spaces. Narvis’ hoarded words about his work like diamonds. A few online comments and rare personal feedback his every growing pile of rejection. They were dust he desperately tried to build into castles. But he had no castles. Just broken dreams and single rented bedroom in a stranger's house. He wasn't even allowed to cook at home. And he had to use the bathroom of the local park down the block.

Narvis new the truth, but he clung to the fantasy. It was better than clinging to the hope of seeing Stanley again. Stanley. The only person who ever loved him or treated him with kindness. He remembered when they first met. Back then his name had been Narrator, a wonderfully unique name and the only gift his parents had ever given him. They’d been in kindergarten. Narvis’ parents kept sending him to school with nothing to eat and Stanley always shared half his lunch.

They grew close, closer than anyone else in Narvis’ life. Stanley protected him when none of the adults in his life cared. They’d spend hours together either in town or walking the grassy areas on the outskirts. Stanley would always make sure he had something to eat, always made sure he had a shoulder to cry on.

His parents didn’t approve of their friendship. Not because it was clear they were a couple. His parents didn’t care about that. It was because they hated someone treating Narvis’ kindly. To them, he was a horrible child who deserved to be treated like scum. And Narvis’ could never figure out why.

When he turned 16, Narvis’ parents dragged him out of bed and forced him into the car. Piles of luggage had been shoved in the back, making his seat way too cramped. He tried to ask what was going on, but they just kept driving.

They went to a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was their new home, they said, whether Narvis liked it or not. There was a barbed wire fence around the property, making it look like a miniature prison. Which it was.

They went through all his belongings for anything with a connection to Stanley. Photos, gifts, the necklace Stanley had gotten him as a gift He was forced to burn it all…and watch as everything he had left of kindness and love was destroyed.

That’s when he became Narvis. Narrator was too unique a name for someone as worthless as him. His parents told him his name was now Narvis, something they’d picked at random from a book. He didn’t even deserve a new name picked out specifically for him. They punished him severely whenever he slipped and referred to himself by his old name. It got to the point that he didn’t dare even think of himself as Narrator. It was just a memory of who he used to be.

They worked him like a dog and treated him like one too. This time he had no escape in the form of school or running off around town with Stanley. He had no one to love him or protect him. He had no Stanley.

Narvis was 23 when he finally found a way to escape. He dug his way under the fence and left with only the clothes on his back. No ID, no education, and no way to get in contact with Stanley. He couldn’t even remember the town they used to live in. He thought he had made it back to his hometown, but Narvis’ couldn’t tell. Everything from his past had become so blurry during his 7 years of captivity and 3 years of freedom. Everything but Stanley. Perhaps he was just a dream, a false memory to help him continue through the harsh reality of his life.

 Narvis shook his thoughts away as he saw a tall man in a fancy suit enter the shop. He had messy brown hair and impish brown eyes that spoke of pranks just waiting to happen. He looked exactly like he remembered him, but older and much more real than his memories.

Stanley! Narvis jumped up and stumbled forward. He could barely speak, his words jumbled to random sounds.

"St-ah-ugh!"

Stanley stepped back and lifted his hands to sign. It was him! He wasn't a dream!

[Are you okay, sir?]

Narvis stopped. There was no spark of recognition in Stanley’s eyes, no shock on his face. He didn't know who Narvis was.

"N-no. I'm fine. I... I just thought you were someone else." His voice was barely a whisper.

Narvis stepped back and left Stanley to shake his head and continue to the counter with the people he'd come in with. His friends.

Narrator slumped back in his chair. He looked at his reflection in his idle laptop. Drawn skinny face, long hair he couldn't afford to cut cascading over his shoulders. Haunted blue eyes hidden by sunken sockets. No wonder Stanley didn’t know who he was. Narvis didn’t even know who he was.

Back when they were teenagers he’d prim and proper as he could manage. He taught himself to cut his own hair neatly and made sure his clothes were always ironed, opting for sweaters and suits. He’d and carried a bit of extra weight on his bones from the food Stanley always insisted he eat. His face was filled out and full of happiness, even with the harshness of his home life.

Now Narvis wore a torn black tee shirt, jeans stained with oil and grease from their previous owner, and a threadbare black cloth jacket. He shut his laptop. What good were dreams if they were this easily shattered?

Chapter Text

Narvis spent the next few days watching Stanley’s every move. He was too afraid to just go up to him. What if he didn't remember Narvis at all? What if he hated him for leaving? What if he just didn't care?

But watching him let him still hang onto the dream. At first, he just observed Stanley in the coffee shop. Stanley preferred lattes but always added extra sugar. Scones were still his favorite but he seemed to have developed a taste for biscotti over the years. He still chewed his lip when he was thinking and his laugh still sounded like sunshine filling a room. Stanley was still Stanley.

It took Narvis a few more days to work up the courage to follow Stanley out of the building. At a good distance, of course. He didn't want to scare him. He followed Stanley to an office building. What did he do there? Had he realized his dream of being an architect? Or was he just working a job entering data and pushing buttons? Either way, he was clearly well-paid.

"Good for you," Narvis muttered under his breath.

Stanley apparently still loved to walk. Narvis was able to mostly keep up with him over the next three weeks. He saw the park where he fed ducks, the art gallery where he looked at landscapes and abstract paintings that looked like melted crayons, and the animal shelter he volunteered every Saturday.

And he saw Stanley’s home. A beautiful white single-story house with an elm tree out front and a front window showing a living room with a brown and red color scheme. The couch looked plush and soft and a glass coffee table held books with titles Narvis couldn’t see.

The backyard had a rose garden next to a stone patio with a dining set and a metal grill. On the other side was a large swinging wicker chair. Narvis wondered what it would be like to swing with Stanley, listening to birdsong while smelling roses mixed with cooking steak. They could even have their morning coffees while in each other's arms.

Narvis looked down at his hands. Why imagine what could never be? He could only ever admire Stanley from a distance. Anything else was a useless fantasy. So, Narvis kept his distance. He followed Stanley, watching as he lived his life. His writing suffered and he wasn’t going into work, but what did it matter if he could be close to the only person who ever loved him?

***

He was following Stanley during his evening walk to the park, wondering what treat Stanley had gotten for the ducks this time. He let out a gasp when Stanley suddenly spun around and looked straight at Narvis. What now? He turned to run, but Stanley was quicker. Narvis found himself up against the side of a building, Stanley’s suit-clad arm gripping his shoulder like a vice. He tried to struggle free, but he dared not strike out.

"Who are you?" Stanley rarely spoke but Narvis could hear the steel in his words.

"Narvis," he whispered. He still couldn't get past his overwhelming terror at saying his real name, the one his parents took from him.

"Why are you following me?" Stanley's voice still had an edge, but fear had crept in.

Narvis looked up to see brown eyes wide with terror. Oh no. He hadn't wanted to scare Stanley. He had tried everything he could to not be noticed, so this very thing wouldn't happen. But of course, he failed. Just like everything else in his life.

He had to say something to ease Stanley’s fear. But what. Narvis closed his eyes and pushed back his own terror, and share what he hadn’t spoken out loud in years.

"Because..." He took a deep breath. "Because I used to be Narrator."

Stanley backed away and Narvis used the chance to run. He didn't know where he got the speed but he kept running, faster and faster without looking back. He made it home. To see the owner of the house standing outside with the backpack Narvis used to carry his belongings when he hadn’t had a place to say.

The man looked at Narvis like he was a rat floundering on a glue trap. "All your stuff’s inside. Unless you have 50 bucks, get lost.”

Of course. He hadn't paid his rent. Narvis had been too focused on Stanley to go to work in a few weeks, so he didn't have 50 dollars to pay. He didn’t even have fifty dollars to rent a flea-ridden room. His parents would be so proud.

He took the backpack. It held all his worldly possessions: his laptop and a few sets of clothes. He didn't have anywhere to go and he couldn't go back to watching Stanley. Maybe it was time to leave town, find another place to try and get a job, and maybe a place to live.

But he didn't want to leave town. He wanted Stanley. It didn't matter if Stanley didn't want him. If only Narvis could be near him, then everything would be okay. He walked to the coffee shop. Narvis had a little cash. He could get a coffee and try to figure out what to do. At least it would be something hot to prepare him for sleeping in the cold.

But when Narvis stepped through the door, he saw Stanley frantically signing to the barista. He clutched his backpack to his chest and carefully stepped back toward the door. Stanley turned to look at him and Narvis froze, one hand reaching back toward the door handle. He was just pulling it open when Stanley spoke again.

"Narrator." His voice was soft as if he was talking to a stray dog about to bolt from rescuers. "Narry. Please don't leave."

Narvis let go of the door. Stanley remembered his nickname? Did that mean he remembered him? Hope burned its way through Narvis' heart, creating a painful fire in his chest.

"You... you remember me?"

Stanley brought up his hands and signed.

[Of course I do. How could I ever forget?]

"But... you... when I saw you here... you didn't know me..."

[I'm sorry. I didn't realize who you were. You look so different. I'm sorry. I’m sorry.]

Narrator looked down at his hands as Stanley continued to apologize. The tough flesh looked aged beyond its years.

"I've changed too much."

"No."

Narvis looked up. Stanley had stepped closer. His normally bright eyes were filled with tears.

[You could never change too much. No matter how you change, you're still you. You're still Narrator.]

Narvis dropped his backpack and wrapped his arms around Stanley. He couldn't help it. The man was right there, looking so inviting.

"I'm sorry," Narvis said.

He tried to back away but found that he couldn't. Stanley’s arms were firmly wrapped around his back.

"I'm not letting you go this time," Stanley whispered.

Narvis melted in the embrace and allowed himself to imagine being Narrator once again. Maybe his dreams weren't that hopeless after all.

Chapter Text

Narvis found himself sitting on Stanley’s couch, clutching his backpack to his chest. What was he supposed to do? He hadn't expected to be here, of all places. But Stanley insisted, not letting Narvis make any other suggestion.

But he was so out of place, soiling Stanley’s nice clean couch with his dirty clothes, or hair that he could never manage to properly wash. Narvis' whole presence stuck out like a sore thumb. Everything about Stanley’s house was so well put together, just like Stanley. Just like Stanley’s life. Where did he fit in?

"Narry?"

Narvis looked up. It still felt weird to be called by his real name and not the one his parents forced on him at 16.

Stanley held a plate with a sandwich. It was filled with cheese, meat, and several types of vegetables.

Of course, Stanley would offer him a sandwich. He was always offering him food when they were kids, as Narvis' parents would sometimes decide he didn't deserve to eat on certain days. Stanley did it so much that Narvis actually had quite a bit of meat on his bones back then. Not now. He struggled to buy groceries. Plus, he didn’t have access to a refrigerator or oven. His rent only paid for a single tiny room with no access to the rest of the house. He wasn’t even allowed a hotplate. Fire hazard, his landlord had said.

Still, he survived. Just like always, he survived.

Stanley set the plate down on his polished black coffee table.

[I figured you were hungry.]

He was. Narvis had eaten a breakfast bar that morning, but it had been the last of his food. And now he had no job and no place to live, all because he had become obsessed with finally finding Stanley again. And he hadn't even been brave enough to talk to him until Stanley confronted Narvis's lurking. What was wrong with him?

"Narrator?"

There it was again. His name. Why couldn't he even call himself that in his own mind? His parents weren't there to punish him anymore. Stanley sat down next to Narvis and took one of his hands in his. His skinny, dirty, hands. But he didn't pull away. It felt too much like before, when his life still had hope.

"Please eat."

Narv- Narry swallowed at the pain in Stanley’s voice. He couldn't have that, so he picked up the sandwich and took a bite, careful not to make a mess on the nice clean couch. Stanley seemed to relax a bit as he ate. After Narvis was done, Stanley even wiped a bit of mayonnaise from the corner of N-Narrator’s mouth. Tears sprung from Narry's eyes at the touch.

"It's okay. Narry, it's going to be okay."

He looked down at his lap, and his backpack, which was now on the ground.

"How?" He choked out. "Look at me. I'm a mess. I have no education, no future. I don't even know how to take care of myself."

Stanley lifted Narry's face to meet his.

[You don't need any of that. I promised I'd take care of you and I have never forgotten. Not in 10 years, not for a million more.]

Narry leaned onto Stanley’s chest. Stanley responded by wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him even closer. He didn't seem to mind his dirty clothes or greasy hair. And for the first time, neither did Narry.

***

Narry rested in the tub. The water was so dirty it obscured his body, which was fine by him. That way he didn't have to stare at how skinny he was. Instead, he rested his head on the basin’s edge and enjoyed the warmth seeping into his bones.

How long had it been since he'd been able to bathe? Not just a wash in the park bathroom near his rented room, always quick and clothed, or baby wipes when he could afford them. This soothed the chill from his limbs andNarrye knew if he scrubbed hard enough and drained the water multiple times, he'd actually end up truly clean.

He'd had been so fastidious when he was younger. Expertly groomed, with not even a hair out of place. He'd mow lawns for money to buy haircare products, plus cheap but nice-looking suits from local department stores.  Now he was a shell. Narry hadn't been able to be himself in so long, he didn't even know how to be anymore. Was he even still the person he was back then? Narry hoped so. He liked who he used to be.

He heard the door open and turned his eyes to see Stanley walk in. He held a plastic pitcher of water in his hand. Narry followed him until he vanished behind the tub. He felt a hand cover his eyes and then water cascading down his the back of his head. Stanley’s fingers ran through his hair, spreading sweet-smelling shampoo.

Stanley scrubbed it into his head, hands massaging his scalp. Narry wanted to say he could do it himself, but the movement felt so soothing that didn't want it to stop.  It was the first time anyone had washed his hair before. Even when he was a child, he had to learn to do it himself if he wanted it cleaned at all. And here was Stanley, rhythmically scratching Narry's scalp, while rotating his thumbs at the base of his skull. It was an act of care, of love. Something Narry desperately missed in the ten years since he last saw Stanley. He closed his eyes and relaxed, scalp tingling with the reminder that he was no longer on his own.

***

After draining the tub three times, Narry was completely clean. He wore one of Stanley’s spare bathrobes, fluffy terrycloth that nearly swallowed him whole. The sleeves fell down over his hands and the hem spread out around his feet. Being clean was like a having weight lifted off his shoulders, as if some of the past had washed away. He felt more like himself, a man who took pride in his appearance and always tried to project an air of suave grace. Maybe all of that wasn't lost after all. Perhaps it had just been covered up by trauma and circumstance. Stanley seemed to think so, or he wouldn't be helping him out.

They both walked into Stanley’s bedroom. It looked more like the Stanley he remember. There was a neatly made bed with navy blue sheets and matching pillows. But there were also shelves crammed with every nerdy collector's item imaginable. Books and figurines and even mugs for some odd reason.

"You still have contained chaos on the outskirts of your room," Narry said. "Like the eye of a hurricane."

Stanley snorted. "Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way."

He ruffled Narry's hair, which he always used to protest back when they were teenagers, but he never really minded. He even sometimes returned the favor, which had been a bit hard, seeing as Stanley was five inches taller than he was.

For now, Narry stood next to Stanley and let him muss up his still-damp hair. His uncut but clean hair. Hair that smelled like spring instead of sweat and traces of bathroom hand soap. Narry was about to say something else about Stanley’s room when he spied a shirt splayed out on the bed. It was a dark blue button-down, the kind you'd wear with a suit. The buttons were burnished brass, each one etched with a tiny mountain.

Narry gasped. That was his shirt, the one he found at a thrift store. It was clearly expensive and custom-made but was marked at just twenty dollars. It had fit Narry perfectly when he tried it on. He gladly parted with some of his lawn-cutting money for such a miraculous find.

"You...You kept my favorite shirt?" His voice was thick with memories and emotion.

Stanley nodded and closed his eyes for a moment.

[When you're family vanished, I found it in your house. I was trying to look for a clue to where you'd gone.]

Stanley went over and picked up the shirt. "I sleep with it."

Narry swallowed back the emotions rising up his throat. "You do?"

Stanley put the shirt over his shoulder so he could sign.

[Yes. It was all I had of you. I didn't know if I would ever see you again. I didn't know if...]

"All I knew was that your parents took you and split. The police wouldn't do anything. Child services wouldn't listen when I said you were in danger. I didn't know where to look for you. I didn’t if you were even nearby or...”

Stanley swallowed hard.

I didn't know if you were dead, Narry. I thought maybe your parents had killed you and fled, or would kill you eventually. I didn't know if you were happy and safe, or in pain. I promised I would protect you and I couldn't do a damn thing."

It was more words than Narry had heard Stanley speak since they were children. Each one was laced with grief and guilt. Tears formed in the corners of Stanley’s eyes and threatened to fall at any moment. How many nights had Stanley clung to Narry's shirt and wondered where he was? How many times had he imagined the worst and wished that he had Narry by his side, safe and sound?

He wrapped his arms around Stanley and led him to the bed. Narry leaned on the headboard and pillows so he could pull Stanley onto his shoulder. Narry pulled up the sleeve of the robe and ran his fingers through Stanley’s hair. He felt Stanley break down into trembling sobs.

"I'm here now, Stanley. And I'm not going away. Not ever again."

It was his turn to comfort Stanley, to let him know that he wasn't alone, that Narry would always be there.

"I've missed you so much," Stanley said in one tearful breath.

Narry continued to stroke his hair. "I know. I've missed you too."

He continued to hold onto Stanley and utter whatever reassurances that came to mind, that he was there, that he would never leave. Mostly he just ran his fingers across the side of Stanley’s face, letting him feel his presence. Eventually, Stanley tears slowed and Narry listened to his gentle breaths as he slept. And when he felt his own eyes grow heavy, Narry let himself fall into slumber, still holding onto Stanley; safe in the knowledge that he was finally home.

Chapter Text

Narry woke to find himself under the covers of the bed. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air. It made his mouth water and he wanted to go investigate. But the bed felt so soft and the covers so warm. He stayed for a moment, enjoying the sensation of not only being in a real bed but knowing there was someone waiting for him when he left the room.

Was this his life now? Waking in a real house with Stanley? It almost seemed too good to be true, but Narrator’s dreams were never this wonderful. This was real.

He got up, still in Stanley’s large robe. He made his way out of the room and followed the scent of breakfast to the kitchen. It was the same red and brown color scheme as the living room. There was a small table in a small space away from the main kitchen  Wasn't that called a breakfast nook? Narry recalled reading that somewhere.

Stanley was standing at the stove frying up some bacon. A platter of scrambled eggs sat on the counter, along with another that held pancakes.  Two pieces of bread were pushed down in the toaster.. Narry stared with wide eyes. So much food. More than he had seen together in years. His stomach betrayed the composure he was trying to maintain by growling.

"I got up early to make breakfast," Stanley said, turning around.

"I... uh..." Narry swallowed. "That's a lot of food."

Stanley shrugged and signed, [It's enough for two people. ]

It was? Narry looked at the food. Four slices of bacon Stanley was now putting on a paper towel-covered plate. Five pancakes, and a modest amount of eggs. Plus the two pieces of toast. It looked like way too much f– Narry sighed. He needed to say these things out loud. He wasn't alone and shouldn't be having one-sided conversations.

"It looks like a lot of food to me," he said. "But I'm not sure if my perception is accurate. Maybe I've lost my ability to judge serving sizes, as I haven't been eating the best these past years. That’s all to say that I am delighted and excited to try it. Thank you for-"

Narry paused and bit his lip. "Sorry. I sort of rambled there."

Stanley's eyes lit up and he grinned. "I've missed your rambling."

Narry found himself grinning as well. He remembered how freely he used to talk to Stanley when they were kids. Stanley would sit and listen, truly listen according to the insightful questions he'd pose after Narry finished. Then they’d have a conversation, sharing their thoughts for hours at a time.

So many people acted like Stanley had nothing to say, simply because he most often only spoke verbally with those he was truly comfortable with.  Which was mainly his parents and Narry. But mostly Narry. They understood each other in a way no one else did. They were two sides to a coin, two pieces of a puzzle. It felt wonderful to be whole again.

Stanley brought the platters to the table and began piling the food on two smaller plates. Each plate had two pancakes, two slices of bacon, and a generous pile of eggs. He also put down a bowl of spreadable butter and a container of syrup. After he got everything set, he motioned for Narry to sit.

He sat at one of the plates and stared at the food. It was a glorious display of sustenance, a wonderful way to break his fast. Such succulent architects of salivation, waiting for that first bite, that wonderful moment when flavor exploded across his senses.

Wait, he hadn't thought like that in ages. That free-flowing barrage of descriptive words always used to make him happy. And as he recalled, Stanley always loved to hear what he came up with.

 "Why Stanley," he said, a bit awkwardly. "This is glorious display of sustenance, a wonderful way to break our fast. Such succulent architects of salivation, waiting for that first bite, that wonderful moment when flavor explodes across our senses.”

Stanley snorted as he spread butter on his pancakes. "I love your way with words."

Love. That was a feeling he'd missed. Stanley was the only person who loved Narry for who he was.  He was the only one who loved Narry period. And Narry loved him in return.  When they were kids, it felt like a fire, but not an inferno; more like a hearth in the middle of his soul. It gave him the warm glowing feel he lacked in any other aspect of his life. But for so long, that hearth had been unlit. But what was once a cold and neglected part of his essence now had a spark kindling deep inside. It spoke of safety and belonging.

Narry spread butter on his pancakes and added a good amount of syrup. He saw Stanley watching him as he took a bite. It was clear that he relaxed more when he saw Narry eating. He knew Stanley wanted to make up for all the meals Narry had missed. Not that he minded. Stanley was an even better cook than when they were kids. And Narry was hungry.

"This is delicious Stanley." He needed to remember to say his thoughts out loud. "You're a wonderful cook."

Stanley grinned. "Thanks. It's a great hobby."

"I'd like to learn." Narry put a hand up. "I know, I know. I'm a disaster in the kitchen. But I could still try."

Stanley grinned cheekily. "As long as you don't forget to check the oven and get the fire department to come over."

Narry put a hand to his chest. "I only did that... five times. I swear I won't fill the house with smoke."

"Fine, but I'm supervising." He grinned. "And keeping an extinguisher on hand."

Narry laughed. The lighthearted banter eased his mind and filled him with a joy that made his thoughts flow as easily as the butter melting into his pancakes.

"I love you Stanley,” he said without thinking.

A moment of terror flashed through like lightning. What if things had changed? What if Stanley didn't-

"I love you too, Narry."

Of course, he didn't need to worry. This was Stanley. His Stanley. They belonged together. The joy flooded back like a tidal wave.

---

Narry wore some of Stranley’s clothing. He had the sleeves of the shirt rolled up and the pantlegs folded in on themselves so that it at least fit a little better. Still, everything hung off of him at the wrong angles, calling attention to the fact that he was in borrowed clothes. Even if his clothes weren’t the best, they were his.

“Stanley, how long do you think it’ll take my clothes to finish? I appreciate you letting me wear yours but they’re…a little too big…”

Stanley put a hand on Narry's shoulder. "How about we go out today and buy some new ones?"

New ones? That would have to use Stanley’s money. He knew Stanley didn't mind, but it still felt strange. But how could he explain to Stanley? What could he even say to describe just how alien it felt to accept that level of care? It was so much more than just food.

"Uh," he said as his brain latched onto something else. "Don't you need to get to work?"

"I called and told them I'll be off for a few days for a family emergency."

"But…what if they find out you're lying? You don't have to risk your job, your career, for m-"

Stanley placed his thumb on Narry's lips. "It's not a lie, Narrator. You are family."

Narry wrapped his arms around him. He didn't want to cry but couldn't stop the tears from falling. But this time, they were of joy. When was the last time he'd cried tears of happiness? It had to have been a long time ago.

"Shhh," said softly. "It's okay."

"This…These aren’t sad tears." Narry swallowed to allow the words out. "For the first time in ages, I truly feel happy."

Stanley wiped the moisture from Narry's cheeks. His own eyes glistened a bit. "Good."

He then ruffled Narry’s hair. He used to complain when he'd do that when they were kids, but now it just felt as familiar as a hug.

"Come on, Narry. Let's get going."

***

The suits felt soft in his grip, like holding a comforting blanket. He ran his fingers over the fabric and ignored the looks of the employees and fellow shoppers. People like him didn't belong in stores like this. Stanley stayed close to him, fending them off with his presence. They probably thought he was a good Samaritan helping some poor wayward soul. But…wasn't that what he was doing?

No. Stanley actually cared about him. Why was that so hard to accept? Perhaps it was because it made him remember all the years being a ghost in the world, someone peoples’ eyes slid past unless he went somewhere they couldn't ignore and he was treated like a trash bag that had blown into an unwanted space.

Or maybe it made him think about the years he wished he was a ghost, wished his parents would just ignore him. When the absence of pain was all he could hope for while his dreams of rescue and freedom ied and rotted in his heart. He almost flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but quickly realized it was Stanley. Narry reached up and gripped his fingers. They were a lifeline anchoring him back to the present.

"I'd like to try this one on," he said.

He didn't expect Stanley to respond, not with so many people around. So he looked to his side to see Stanley’s nod. Narry took the suit off the hanger. It was light gray with a pale blue shirt and a darker blue tie. A full assemble and it looked like it would fit his frame perfectly. His current frame.

"St-Stanley, what if I gain weight from all your cooking? This won't fit then. Maybe we should wait and go shopping later."

He didn't want to buy clothes just to waste them. Narry could wait a few more months and just wear Stanley’s clothes, or his old ones. Or they could buy some plain white tee-shirts and jeans for now.

"Then we'll buy new ones."

Stanley's voice was quiet and Narry knew the effort it took him to speak out loud in public. He lifted his hand from his shoulder and began to sign.

[I know you. This will make you feel more like yourself. Please let me do this for you.]

Narry smiled and placed his hand on Stanley’s shoulder. This time it was Stanley’s who brought his fingers up to grip his own.

They ended up buying three suits, a bathrobe, sleepwear, and assorted socks and underwear. Most of it was in bags that Narry swung along in his hands, except for the suit he had worn out of the store. It was the first one he picked out. The fabric felt smooth on his skin and every time he caught sight of himself in the windows of passing businesses, he saw a bit of his old self.

He stood tall at the sight, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The only thing not quite right about the image was his lanky frame and long uncut hair. He ran his fingers through it, searching for his scalp.

"Stanley, I know something else I'd like today. I'd…I'd like to get a haircut."

Narry tried to say it like a statement instead of a request, even though every fiber of his being screamed that it was too much like a demand, that he needed to shrink himself down and make sure it was clear that he wasn't expecting anything. But he knew Stanley wouldn't like that. It would hurt him to see Narry so small and scared.

"Of course! I know the perfect place."

Stanley took Narry's hand and led him a place called Alva Style. The name was engraved on the front of the building with polished silver. Soft music played as they went inside. There were leather seats in the front next to a table with a coffee maker and hot water for tea. Further in he saw rows of plush barber's chairs, with several people lying back as stylists cut their hair.

Wait, this wasn't just a place to cut hair. This was a salon.

Narry hung a bit behind Stanley as he waved to a woman standing by one of the empty stations. She had on a bright orange dress with green trim around the hem Her hair was spiked and dyed purple and pink. As soon as she noticed Stanley she grinned and stepped over.

"Stanley! What brings you here? And who's your friend?"

[Sandra, this is Narry.] Instead of spelling out the letters, Stanley used the name sign Stanley used, a combination of story and suit. [He would like a haircut.]

"Narry? Your Narry?" The woman's eyes went wide. "You mean you found him?"

He shrunk away. How did this woman know who he was? Was his story now news? Did people see him as one of those true crime stories? Were there communities out there dragging his name through the mud and speculating on his fate?

Stanley turned to him. [I told her that you moved away when we were teenagers and I lost track of you. I didn't give details about the circumstances.]

Of course, Stanley knew what he was thinking. Narry smiled and wrapped his arm around Stanley’s shoulders.

"Hi Sandra." He couldn't bring himself to say more. Being talkative was fine with Stanley. But the part of him that could do it with anyone was still locked away.

"Stanley's told me so many great things about you," Sandra said. "I see you still wear suits. Stanley only wears suits on workdays. I've been trying to get him to be more stylish but he always says, 'Comfort comes first.' Did he say that when you were kids?"

Narry nodded but didn't say anything. Stanley gave his hand a squeeze.

[How long is the wait for a walk-in?]

"I can take you right now. This is always a slow time for me. Most of my clients come in the evenings. Like you. You work too hard, Stanley. It's nice to see you take a day off."

Sandra didn't mention Narry's silence and he was grateful. He didn't want to be questioned. He just wanted a haircut. She led him over to a series of seats with a basin. Other people were seated in some of them, having their hair scrubbed.

More hair washing. But this time it wouldn't be Stanley. It would be a stranger. Someone he didn't know would have their hands on him. The air caught in Narry's breath and he grabbed Stanley’s hand.

"Stay with me," he pleaded softly.

Stanley rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb. "Of course."

It wasn't that bad with Stanley there. The pressure of his touch reminded Narry that he was safe, even with Sandra's hands on his head. Her touch was gentle but strong enough to strike him if she wanted to. Her fingers were so close to his throat…

He gripped Stanley’s hand. He was safe.

Narry ignored most of what was going on. He let Stanley show Sandra a photo of Narry’s old hairstyle on his phone. She seemed to understand that he was having a hard time and didn't try to push him to talk. Narry wondered what he thought of him. Did she think-

He squeezed Stanley’s hand to stop his wayward thoughts. Stanley squeezed back and Narry kept all his focus on the solid comfort of knowing he was there, to keep him grounded and protected from wherever his mind wanted to go.

"There."

Narry blinked as Sandra held out a mirror. It wasn't very big but it was enough to see an echo of his old face staring back at him. His black hair neatly cut over his ears and resting just above the very top of his neck. No more bangs obscuring his dusty blue eyes. Everything was neat, without a hair out of place.

"That's me. Stanley, that's me."

Stanley knelt down and embraced him as Narry began to cry. He didn't care what Sandra or any of the other people in the salon thought. For the first time in way too long, he truly felt like himself.

"Thank you, Stanley." He leaned onto his shoulder. "Thank you for finding me."

Narry felt Stanley's hand on the back of his head.

“Thank you for finding me, Narry.” Stanley's voice was soft in his ear.

They held each other, two halves together again. He never wanted to let go.

“Home is where the heart is,” Narry managed to say. “And my home has always been you.”

The End