Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a well-known fact around the office that Stanley Rider and Nathan Parable… didn’t get along so well. The men could often be seen in the breakroom bickering over every topic under the sun- whether it was work-related or otherwise. Even the higher-ups knew not to pair them together on projects, and most tried to distance the two as much as possible, in order to keep things moving smoothly. 

It wasn’t so much a hatred as it was a complete separation of personalities- Nathan was consistently on track, on time, consistently diligent and witty, too. Stanley was a little forgetful, though he tried his best- which often was a little less than average. He had a ‘chill’ attitude, and whilst Nathan had his moments, he was much more staunch about rule-following, instead of rule-breaking.

They argued over whether or not the other had stolen their lunch out of the fridge, over who broke the coffee machine (even if it was a third party who held no personal grudge against either of them), they argued over interpretations of different media, they argued over the benign and serious. Eventually, their respective friends would come and usher them away from each other- another problem, since their friends were friends with each other, and it caused some tension in their little social circle.

Nathan was most well-known for his insults. The man spoke quick and sharp, like a switchblade, especially during his spats with the taller brunet; and if Stanley didn’t use sign instead of speech, he probably would’ve been spoken over before he could even retaliate.

Their fights were always passionate, though, and a spectacle- it’s shocking that the two haven’t been fired yet, but it’s probably just for narrative purposes. They were filled with yelling on Nathan’s part, and a lot of huffs and stomps and furious signing on Stanley’s. It was even more entertaining for those who didn’t know ASL- to them, it was just a load of British jabber, followed by a couple seconds of tense silence, and then the same voice would begin yelling again, as if in an argument with himself. The only way you’d know, if you weren’t in the room with him, that the older man was fighting with another would be via the frequent use of Stanley’s name.

Interestingly enough, there were no curse words used on Nathan’s part- he ‘refused to sink down to Mr. Rider’s level,’ according to him. Stanley’s opinion was that Nathan ‘was just a prissy asshole who wanted to act better than him,’ which- you guessed it- spurred on another argument.

It was a regular Thursday- the kind that seems to drip by, and every time you check the clock you could swear that it had been 2:05 for the past ten minutes. Time became a slow jelly, an endless wading pool of work, check the clock, work, check the clock…

…before there came the sound of shouting. They were at it again. This time the pair was fighting over… ah, yep, it was about the copy machine.

“Stanley, you god-forsaken lump, you’ve been standing there for twenty minutes! What in the world are you printing?”

A loaded silence. Then-

“ Really!? You haven’t- but you just- why?”

An employee went around passing earplugs to those nearest to the pair. Some accepted, others denied in favor of hearing the full conversation.

“Stanley, that is perhaps the worst, the most idiotic reasoning I’ve ever heard. All for- why do you need 598 photos of your cat?”

Several people had started recording.

“You’re- you must be joking. It’s- it’s your cat’s birthday.” A heavy sigh. “That doesn’t answer my question, you thick-headed buffoon, why do you need to waste so much ink- colored ink, I might add- on photos of your pet ? Why do you need to hog the copy machine? Explain it to me.”

Someone moved to call management, and was quickly stopped by a surprising number of people. Their phone was unplugged and taken away by a couple employees.

“Because you’re- you’re throwing a party..? ” A terse pause. “A party. For your cat.” Nathan sounded like he believed Stanley to be the biggest dumbass in the entire office- and he did. “And you need the photos… why?”

“You’re- oh, Lord, why do I waste my time talking to you? You’re inviting everyone in the office? Everyone? Wait, that excludes- there’s 600 employees, and take away you is 599… oh, I see. Hm. I’m not invited, is that right?” If the two men had been paying attention, they would’ve heard a quiet “Ooo…” circulate ‘round the room. A certain employee was attempting to get her phone back, and it was being held just out of reach by a taller man, who was fixated on the argument occurring in the center of the room, as were many.

“That’s it. I don’t even want to go to your cat’s birthday, I’m sure she’s just as stupid and bull-headed as you are. I hope this is her last birthday. Who ever held an exclusive birthday party for a cat , Stanley? A total social recluse, I’m sure.”

And with that, the older of the two stormed away, grumbling, presumably in search of an unoccupied copy machine. Stanley just blew a raspberry at him, which made the Brit whip around, red in the face, and point at the younger.

“Do that again and I’ll pull all those copies into my personal home shredder.” The rest of the employees settled back into routine, and the large man sheepishly handed the woman her phone back. People with earplugs in were tapped on the shoulder and were able to go back to their regularly-scheduled work.

Well, that was it for the day. There weren't typically two arguments within the same 24-hour period. 

Which was why most looked around in confusion when they heard more shouts coming from another area of the office. Except… Stanley was still standing at the copy machine, printing images of a grey cat grumpily donning a little blue birthday hat.

In another part of the office, Nathan had walked into the breakroom, still a bit red in the face after his argument with Stanley. He was just passing through, when someone called him over- Employee #348, who was named Craig; a guy who wore shirts a bit too small, so you could see a sliver of gut and belly button, and sideburns that didn’t quite fit his overall appearance. 

“Hey, Nathan! Heard a spat going down, who were ya fightin’ with? Sounds like you left ‘im speechless!” For reference, Craig was a relatively new hire, and he only knew Nathan because he was tasked with showing him around his first day on the job. Nathan didn’t like him much- a bit brash, and he tended to speak before he thought.

The Brit sighed- he really ought to get to that copy machine. “Well, it’s not like he would have responded, even if it wasn’t an argument. There’s a man named Stanley Rider, who, I’ve already implied, is mute, and with whom I have the extreme displeasure of working nearby. He’s printing- get this- 598 photos of his cat. Can you believe that? For birthday party invitations. I can’t even- where would he fit that many people? That’s a small college’ worth!”

Craig nodded, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head. “The guy’s mute? Pfft. What a retard. Bet he looked so stupid, just standing there. Good job, man.”

Nathan nodded, before freezing. He called him a- what? “What did you just call Stanley?”

“What? Oh, I called him stupid. Y’know, cause-”

“No… before that. You said, ‘what a…’”

Craig snorted, grinning. “What a retard. Yeah, I know. Dumbasses who can’t speak- it’s like, what, were you just born an idiot?”

Nathan couldn’t respond. A white-hot rage was welling up inside of him, so quickly that he was startled by its arrival. Before he knew it, the Brit had grabbed the man’s collar and pulled him down to eye level, snarling.

“Don’t you ever call him that again! I swear to fucking God, Craig, if I ever hear you utter that word again- especially when referencing Stanley- I will personally pull each and every tooth out of your skull and make you eat them. You hear me? I’m not fooling around, I’m not exaggerating. You call Stanley a- a- god, I can’t even say it. I will make your life a living hell-” Nathan could see, distantly in his peripheral vision, people crowding around the two, some recording, others confused, a couple employees almost seemed to be panicking- “-if you even think about calling him that again. Stanley, although he may be idiotic and childish, is a thousand times smarter than you’ll ever be, so keep his name out of your goddamn mouth!”

Nathan was seething, and barely registered being pulled away by the regional manager- his older sister, Carrie- until they had exited the room, and she hugged him. He also hadn’t noticed that he had begun to cry, great, heaving sobs, and he wrapped his arms around his sister while his chest heaved.

“Nathan, buddy, are you alright? What happened?” Carrie just rubbed her younger brother’s back, albeit a bit awkwardly. Nathan didn’t- he couldn’t respond. He just kept crying, before finally sniffling a few final times, and meeting her gaze. The older of the two was shocked to see a still-smoldering rage apparent in his eyes.

“It’s nothing. Everything’s been taken care of. Don’t worry, Carrie, I’m alright.” Pushing back the last of his tears, Nathan stiffened to see Stanley standing awkwardly nearby the entrance of the breakroom. The brunet met his gaze, and his cheeks reddened slightly, before he looked away.

Nathan huffed, and walked up to the man, leveling him with a hard gaze again, before speaking. “You’re not stupid, Stanley. At least, not as stupid as Craig .” 

Nathan spat out the latter’s name like a curse, and huffed, pushing past the wide-eyed younger. Stanley observed the room- Craig stood stock still in the center, white as a sheet- and glanced at Carrie, who was also scanning over everything, confused.

He walked up to the woman. What was that all about?

Carrie sighed, before shrugging. “Honestly, I don’t know,” she replied, sounding a wee bit out of it, “But I think it had something to do with you.”

Chapter Text

A big, fat, incredibly disgruntled photo of Bucket the Cat sat on Nathan’s desk the next day. You’re Invited to Bucket’s Seventh Birthday Party!!! the paper advertised, in big magenta Comic Sans. 

Nathan groaned when he saw it, dropping his head into his hands immediately. The older man marched down to Stanley’s office, holding the piece of paper like it would contaminate him with something icky.

“I thought you said you only printed enough for everyone except me.” Nathan announced, in a confused voice, which was much too annoyed for a Friday morning. Stanley turned in his chair, and shrugged, smirking.

Decided to uninvite someone else. I had an extra invitation that way, and obviously I can’t just go around wasting paper. Stanley replied, before turning back to his work.

Nathan huffed. “There is no way I’m attending this.”

We’re having seafood for dinner. Fish and lobster and shrimp.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Shrimp, you say..?”

Later that day, Nathan checked and cleared his schedule for the day after- Saturday. Once that was all set and done, he called Carrie.

“But how did he know?? ” bemoaned the Brit thirty minutes later, as his sister juggled trying to calm him down and texting her girlfriend about what specific brand of cereal she needed. “ I didn’t tell him, that’s for certain. And that idiot Craig wouldn’t have said a thing, not after that.”

“Nathan,” Carrie repeated for maybe the sixth…? time. “I didn’t even hear most of the fight. Nobody was ready for it. I don’t know what you said- I still don’t know! Because you haven’t told me !”

Nathan sighed. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. And returned to the call, now calm and collected.

“I told Craig Assmann where he could stick it because he used some incredibly derogatory language regarding Stanley. And now, that imbecile seems to think we’re- friends or something! I would’ve stood up for anyone who was being gossiped over in such a way, he’s not special. ”

Nathan heard Carrie go ‘ Ohh. ’ on the other end of the line, as if she had just figured something out. “I know that guy. He’s the one they just transferred from over out in West Virginia, right? And what did he say regarding Stanley, precisely..?”

Nathan scoffed, walking from the couch where he was sitting to the dining room table, where Stanley’s party invitation still lay. The upset Korat kitten stared up at him, his little blue party hat a bit crumpled, with itty bitty tooth marks decorating the sides. 

“He called Stanley the- the r-slur , if you know what I mean. Just because he’s mute. What kind of- the audacity! ”

A muffled gasp on the other end of the line. “Oh, that’s- sadly, that sounds about right. You did a good thing, Nathan. Although… I thought you hated Stanley? Despised him, even? Yet, when I found you..” His sister’s voice grew quieter, more serious. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so upset.”

Embarrassment flared across Nathan’s cheeks and down his neck, and he groaned, rubbing his temples and taking his glasses off momentarily. “Yes, um… I don’t exactly know why I did that. I probably ruined my reputation… I’m shocked no one’s called in to management yet to complain. I seem to have caused quite the ruckus.”

Carrie laughed, and there was a brief pause in conversation. “I have to go, Nate, but I’m certain your reputation will remain quite intact. It seems to have even increased, from what I’ve heard.” A smile was audible on the other end.

Nathan just rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched upwards. “I told you not to give me a nickname. It’s ‘Nathan’ or nothing. I’ll see you at work, Carrie.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” she replied, chuckling. “I’m attending that cat birthday too. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nate.” With another laugh, Nathan’s phone beeped, signaling the end of the call.

Nathan sighed. Tomorrow’s party was going to be hard. Maybe he could arrive late and leave early.

**********

Picking out an outfit for a cat’s birthday party, hosted by a man you despised but still defended in public as if he were your one and only, which was the whole reason you were invited in the first place, was… interesting , to avoid any usage of improper adjectives. (Because everyone knows that ‘interesting’ doesn’t mean a thing when describing a scenario. Duh.)

A suit or tuxedo was much too formal, but Nathan was going to be amongst coworkers, not casual friends- he wasn’t about to arrive in a tank top and shorts, no sirree. Shuffling through his closet for the fourth (or seventh..?) time, he finally decided on a plain pair of brown slacks and a brown blazer, with a simple walnut turtleneck and a pair of snappy black formal shoes. Might as well put in a little effort.

Finally, since Nathan felt he looked a bit drab, he secured two proper gold studs to his earlobes, fluffing and gelling and coercing his hair to its perfect form, combed his brows and dabbing on just a bit of tinted chapstick to really make his look pop. If he was only planning on staying for a bit, he might as well look good doing it.

The whole drive to Stanley’s place, the only thought in Nathan’s head was, ‘Why the hell am I spending my Saturday evening attending a cat’s birthday party? This is ridiculous. I should turn right around, right now.’ And still, he persisted, making the surprisingly short drive over to the address supplied on the invitation, which was easily recognizable by the large bunches of balloons and streamers decorating the front of it.

The house was large enough to be considered a mansion, completely decorated with pillars, arches, topiary, and- are those seriously gargoyles on the roof?

Befuddled by the idea that Stanley could possibly own a house such as this one, Nathan approached the front door with as much casualty as anyone who arrives to an event half an hour late. He lifted the brass knocker and pounded on the door twice, shaking his head in wonder and a bit of jealousy at the grand show of wealth.

The door opened, and there stood Stanley, who blinked in surprise upon seeing Nathan. The Brit shuffled awkwardly, nodding a bit. “Uhm… I’ve arrived. May I come inside..?” he asked, shifting on his heels.

Stanley nodded, stepping back to allow Nathan in, and gesturing with his hand to the house, which was covered in more printed out photos of Bucket, and blue streamers and balloons, much like the outside. The inside was just as extravagant, with high ceilings and hardwood floors, the likes of which Nathan could barely see in the crowd of guests who had already arrived.

Bumping into countless coworkers along the way, Nathan managed to nudge his way into the kitchen, where the crowd thinned out. Huffing, the Brit turned to Stanley and promptly shoved a package into his hands.

“For your cat.” he said shortly, looking away and cursing himself as soon as he did so. Fuck, why’d he give it to Stanley in person instead of just leaving it somewhere with a note or something?? “It is her birthday, after all.” God, maybe he shouldn’t have even brought a gift in the first place. Who brings gifts to cat birthday parties? Weirdos, that’s who.

Stanley blinked in surprise yet again, and fumbled with the parcel wrapped in brown paper and string- a simple ‘For Bucket’ was scribbled on top, hardly comparable to the usually-neat cursive produced by Nathan- he really didn’t care what a cat thought of his handwriting, though.

Um. Thanks. Stanley signed, looking awkward and as if he would rather be anywhere else. What is it..? The brunet asked, eyeing the package suspiciously, handling it in a fashion similar to that of a brand new EOD specialist.

Nathan suppressed a sigh of annoyance. “You’d really believe that I would booby-trap a present for your cat? It’s a toy. A little, feathery… wand thingie.” He waggled his fingers for emphasis, and felt like smacking himself in the face. God, he was acting like a dimwit. He should leave before he embarrasses himself anymore. This is why nobody invites you to their cat’s birthday parties!

Stanley nodded slowly, setting the package down on the counter and clicking his tongue once. Alrighty then . He signed, albeit a fraction less offensively than before. Can’t blame a man for being cautious. Um.. The younger man looked around, scratching the back of his neck and obviously uncomfortable. I guess… make yourself comfortable..? We’ll probably be having dinner in twenty minutes or so, everything’s set up in the backyard. But, don’t trash the place. It’s my uncle’s house, and he’s loaning it to me for the weekend for this whole event-thing. He’ll literally murder me if things aren’t perfect by the end of it all. Stanley shrugged, and with another awkward glance, shifted back off into the crowd.

Nathan scoffed, but peeked out a back window into the backyard area. It was dominated by a massive lawn, with finely pruned hedges lining the main area, and paths winding all over. There seemed to be two levels to it, even- the upper yard, and the lower yard, which wasn’t easily visible, but it seemed smaller, and Nathan could even make out what looked like some string lights and maybe a couple benches and patio areas.. and was that a tennis court ? There was one thing undeniable about the enormous estate, though- it was very fancy, and very well kept.

Nathan nodded to himself, and turned from the window, facing the sea of coworkers, all dressed up in casual and more extravagant clothing. Well. He might as well enjoy himself, and just try to ignore the fact that this was Stanley’s party, for Stanley’s stupid cat.

A loud cheer came from one corner of the huge living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen- Nathan could see a gray ball of fur being hoisted into the air and reached at by many hands. It seems the star of the show had arrived.

Another heavy sigh. This was going to be a looong night.

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes later, everyone had gathered together outside, onto the truly massive, pristine lawn. Nathan settled into one of the hundreds of white wicker chairs, all placed strategically in groups of six, around dozens of tables adorned with plain white tablecloths. He chose a seat closer to the front- the man wore glasses for a reason, after all.

Huffing, he looked about, eyeing the long tables down one end of the large tent they were assembled under, which were piled with silver trays of seafood, crockpots and low porcelain platters. Nathan’s mouth watered- however awkward this party was, at least they had fantastic catering.

Glancing around, Nathan flipped out a small golden pocket mirror, fussing over his hair and attempting to push it back into a perfect form. More people began to filter into the tent, some drunker than others. It’s only been an hour, Nathan thought. Can’t they keep it together for longer than sixty minutes? Wrinkling his nose up, the Brit shook his head, putting away the mirror and huffing softly.

Lost in his people watching, Nathan didn’t notice his sister approaching his table until she was right next to him. The man jumped at the tap on his shoulder, screwing his face up into an embarrassed scowl as Carrie laughed, her arm wrapped around a blonde’s waist.

“Ease up, Nnate! What’shh got your panties.. in a twisht?” The woman on Carrie’s arm giggled, her words just a little bit slurred. It seems she was already tipsy. Nathan snorted, shaking his head. 

“It’s nothing, Mariella.” he assured, sighing. “I just don’t exactly… know what to do here. I mean, forever since before yesterday, Stanley and I have been arch nemeses, enemies till the end.”

Mariella giggled and laughed, blinking rapidly, before tossing her hair back and snuggling closer to her date; Carrie smiled affectionately at the woman clutching to her upper arm, watching the entire exchange silently.

“You can shuure say that again, N-Nathan.” Mariella laughed again, her head nodding woozily- okay, maybe she was more than tipsy. “Iam surrprized you twoo haven’t fought yet. I’d assuuuuumed you woulda already, given your hiis.. uhm, w- what was I sayiing agaain..?”

Nathan sighed a bit as the woman nuzzled into Carrie, who clicked her tongue, turning back to Nathan with a helpless smile on her face. She always looked so much more relaxed around her girlfriend- it was adorable, honestly, and a refreshing relief from the stern businesswoman she usually personified. “I’m sorry, Nate; Stanley bet her twenty dollars that she couldn’t down a full glass of vodka in a minute, and you know how competitive she can be. We’ll be back soon, I’m just going to try and convince her to drink some water, see if it’ll flush it out of her system.” 

The Brit nodded. Turning, the pair began to walk away- Nathan glanced back towards the center end of the tent, where a small stage was being set up. 

“Oh, and Nate?” Carrie called- Nathan turned back to them. “Try to enjoy yourself, please? You look quite like an upset goldfish.”

Nathan silently gasped, moving his hand to clutch his chest dramatically, while Carrie just giggled and went back to half-accompanying, half-carrying her partner. “Come on, Mari, one foot in front of the other, there’s a good girl..” Their voices trailed off, and Nathan was left there to sit and subtly try to not look like an upset goldfish.

A quarter of an hour passed by, and nearly all the seats were occupied at this point. Mariella and Carrie had returned, and the remaining seats at Nathan’s table were occupied by a cheerful, round-faced man, with fingers the size of sausages and a proud, fuzzy mustache furrowing along his upper lip; and a spindly younger fellow, with dark, greasy hair that touched the very tops of his shoulders, and watches on both wrists- one sleek and digital, the other a grand analog watch with silver and copper details, that of which the band must’ve been at least an inch thick. They were acquaintances of Nathan, and good friends of Stanley.

Jim huffed, eyeing the silver dishes near the end of the tent with great interest. “I heard they’re serving seafood,” he rumbled to no one in particular, grinning. A silvery filling in his mouth glinted under the big string lights in the tent. “I’m a big fan of red meat, but I could go for a mean lobster right about now.”

TK nodded, taking a hidden pocketwatch out of his vest and flipping the cover to check the time. “I’m just waiting for this whole thing to start . I mean, it’s been an hour, seventeen minutes and twenty-four- twenty-five seconds already. Why all the holdup?”

Suddenly, there was a loud, attention-grabbing clap from somewhere in the tent. As if scripted, a row of spotlights hung just above the stage swung over to focus on one seat in particular- Stanley was standing on his chair, a big fat grin on his face.

Good evening everyone! The brunet signed, and Nathan sighed, resting his cheek in his hand and leaning forward to read his hands. It was a little hard to see what he was saying from a distance, but from the applause that circled the tent at the greeting, it wasn’t hard to guess. Are you guys all ready to get this show on the road!?

Jim let out a loud whoop of excitement, and Mariella shouted, “Hell yeaaah!!” right into Carrie’s ear. It looks like the water didn’t work as well as intended, Nathan thought, a bit amused. 

I’d like to thank everyone for being here, the man continued, grin never faltering. He looked like a Jack o’lantern, eyes lit up with unabashed glee and a fat, happy smile permanently staining his features with joy. He spread his arms out wide, and turned slowly, taking caution to plant his feet sturdily about his chair so that he wouldn’t fall over. And a special shoutout to my uncle, for lending us the house for the weekend! Thanks, Uncle Matt!

More raucous applause followed, and Stanley nodded, finishing his slow turn and beginning to clap as well. Nathan let out a small, polite pattering of applause, a small smile on his face that wasn’t intentional, but was true all the same.

The brunet swiveled his gaze around the massive tent yet again, and Nathan blinked as his eyes locked with Stanley’s- they stared for one beat, two, and Nathan tried to twist his open expression back into neutrality, or better yet, a frown, and found that he was unable to. Come off it, man! He looks like a dope, stop grinning! Quit smiling, face, quit it- before the man began to address the calmed crowd yet again, not pausing in the slightest. As the brunet turned away, Nathan released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Huh. Maybe he’s the intoxicated one.

And finally, Stanley pronounced, his smile never wavering. A big shoutout to Bucket, my dearest companion, my best friend. Happy birthday, Bucket!

The crowd went berserk- a couple people stood and tipped their chairs over in frenzy, and someone climbed up on a table to shout their excitement and love for the cat. Nathan quietly absorbed it all, but quite frankly, couldn’t take his eyes off his younger coworker. He didn’t know what had shifted- maybe it was seeing just how much this man loved this cat, or the fact that he was, surprisingly, not having an awful time at this surprisingly well put-together birthday party- but for once, that stupid, effervescent grin didn’t make Nathan want to bash the guy’s face into a wall.

It actually looked- well, pretty alright, to say the leas- most.

To say the most. I mean, for cripes sake, this was Stanley he was talking about. Just because the man could party plan and address an audience was- it was just basic social skills. Nathan could do it in his sleep- he was charming, when he wanted to be. It wasn’t impressive or admirable in the slightest.

It wasn’t.

At all.

Yep. I was right. Definitely gonna be a long night.

Chapter Text

Food was served, and it was ridiculous how good it was. Multiple species of flaky, juicy fish, served with slices of lemon, butter, capers, soy and tartar sauce- you name it, they had it, and it was top fucking quality. Pan-seared shrimp served with either marinara or a sweet-and-sour sauce that had a surprisingly good aftertaste, fishsticks fried in a specialty breadcrumb and parmesan coating, bright, shiny lobster served on crunchy lettuce with smooth, yellow butter dishes sat on the side, crab legs served ready for you to break into and feast upon…

Nathan couldn’t think of a meal he’d ever had quite like it, and doubted he would again. Stanley must’ve spent the entire party budget on catering and getting the tent and small stage rented and set up- heck, he had to have been saving for this party for a while.

Everyone indulged in the good food and the fine white wine that was generously provided, and after a solid hour and a half, everyone was set on dessert- a neatly-layered tiramisu for the 599 guests and Stanley, and some cat-friendly ice cream for Bucket, who was sat on her own little pedestal, surveying the party with quiet yellow eyes.

Once dessert ended, everyone started to rise from their seats, but not to leave- it was still much too early for that. No, people took to milling about the grounds of Stanley’s uncle’s property, little groups scattered amidst the gardens, admiring the fine handiwork, the upkeep.

Nathan, for his credit, had the self respect not to overindulge- on the alcohol, that is. Whether or not he returned to the tables for a second and third helping was between him and the catering company.

Mariella had thankfully sobered up over dinner, and the whole table had been in high spirits– under the din and chatter that were permanently present in the dining tent, there was a sense of gayness and whimsy that had settled like snow over all who were present. Even once most had dispersed about, an excitement hung in the air like skunk scent– permeating and consistent.

Rising from his seat, Nathan sighed contentedly, stretching his arms back behind his head casually and letting the tension out of his back. Mariella and Carrie had popped off about a quarter hour back, something about getting a closer look at some of the topiary, and TK was fiddling with their watches again. Jim was slouched back in his seat, his breathing deep and settled– he had passed out after dessert, his mustache fluttering with each exhale.

Shivering slightly, Nathan nodded to himself. As pretty as it was outside, it was too cold for his liking. Yes, a retreat indoors sounds about right.

Strolling across the grounds, crisp grass crunching and breath curling up into plumes of chill, Nathan turned his gaze upwards. The stars winked and twinkled up above, their sparkly brilliance not lost on Nathan– and for the first time in forever, he felt truly peaceful.

That was, until a solid mass collided with his back and sent him stumbling forward with a cry.

“A- aaah! What in the–” Twisting himself around, Nathan winced as what felt like little needles dug into his skin– groping blindly backwards, there was apparently a small but concentrated bunch of fluff that had attached itself– or her self– securely to Nathan’s shoulder blades.

Grabbing best he could, Nathan gripped Bucket firmly, pulling his arm around with the gray thing in tow. “Just what do you think you’re doing, hm?”

Bucket meowed, squirming in his grip, and as soon as Nathan let her go, she was right back on him, curling around his feet and standing on her hind legs to lean against his knee. He could’ve sworn that she was purring, a faint rumble in her chest and a small, catty smile on her muzzle.

“What– no, Bucket, I’m not– I’m not Stanley, come on, what is it? Do I smell like lobster or something? Release me, you little–”

Another mass hit Nathan in the back, and he jumped in alarm, before relaxing as the being’s face came into view– it was Stanley himself.

“Oh, there you are. This little blighter has apparently mistaken me for her owner, Stanley, care to help out?”

It was then that Nathan registered Stanley’s appearance– he was grinning, but not in the wide, aggravating way that Nathan was accustomed to. It was easy- languid, even. His eyes drooped and hooded, hair mussed up in the back to give him resemblance to a duckling. His suit jacket was wrumpled, bunching up around his shoulders, and his bow tie was missing.

“Stanley–?” Nathan’s query was cut short as Stanley gasped silently, having caught sight of Bucket. He reached down to grab her, making small clicks with his tongue as if to beckon her close. He was bent over awkwardly, lolling as if to fall at any moment.

Bucket sat primly, her tail wrapped around her paws as she looked at Stanley, unimpressed. That makes two of us, thought Neil, as he laid a hesitant hand on Stanley’s upper back.

“Stanley, you’re going to fall on her. Stand up straight, for Christ’s sake.” Stanley turned his head slowly, still not rising from his awkward position, and narrowed his eyes. For the first time during this incredibly awkward encounter, he seemed to fully register who it was standing in front of him.

Nathan? The brunet signed, blinking forcefully as if to shake away an unpleasant sourness on the tongue. Why are you– Stanley paused for a moment, swaying oddly on his feet, still bent at the waist and at cat-level, when he really ought to be at person-level at this point, come on, all the blood’s got to be rushing to his head.

–with Bucket? He finished off, eyebrows knitting in confusion and possible dizziness. Nathan pursed his lips, and resisted the urge to let the man fall face first onto the manicured lawn. He’d obviously been drinking.

“ She pounced on me . It’s most likely because of all that seafood you served. What I want to know is what in the blazes happened? You seem primed to keel over at any point, is this what happens when you have all but two glasses of champagne?” Nathan rolled his eyes, and Stanley finally stood up, posture haggard.

Oh, is all the younger man had to say back. Then he looked blearily up at the house, squinting, even though the light bleeding from inside was a mere dim glow. Do you want to go inside?

Nathan shivered, reminded of just how cold it had become. “I wouldn’t be adverse to it. Heaven knows you need a sit down, quite possibly a psychological evaluation as well. I’ve never met such a lightweight. I shouldn’t be surprised if a shot of fireball were to send you into a ten-year coma.”

Stanley just nodded along, eyes turned downwards as he watched Bucket trot steadily towards the mansion. She’s a smart cat, Nathan thinks. Maybe some of her brains could rub off on Stanley.

Pushing the door open with his hip, Nathan huffs, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he half-dragged Stanley through the back door. Bucket wove through his legs quick as a whip, running off and quickly disappearing up a staircase. He didn’t bother worrying about her– she was obviously in a much more sensible state of mind than this poor sod.

Stanley stumbled his way to the living room, mumbling apologies to the coffee table as he bumped his knee into it and flopping onto the lavish couch like a wet towel. Coworkers dotted the space, quiet conversation occasionally making way for rounds of laughter, but there weren’t nearly as many people in here as there were outside.

Nathan sat next to him, sighing with satisfaction as the warmth of the house sunk deep into his bones. It felt as though his blood was finally pumping again, his limbs alive and well once again, freed from the coolness of the outside world.

Stanley shifted, gaping his mouth open in a yawn that he didn’t bother stifling– though, it’s not like he stifles his yawns when sober. Nathan saw Stanley look up at him from the cushiony tan, that stupid grin still spread over his face like grease.

You want a drink? He signed. Nathan sighed, rolling his eyes openly.

“No, Stanley, I don’t. I want you to sleep off this drunken stupor of yours and get a grip.” 

Stanley shook with laughter, reaching over and tapping Nathan on the bridge of his glasses. You’re giving me that crumply look again.

“I beg your pardon?”

More silent giggles. Then beg. Now you’re going all up with your voice.

“‘All up’?” Nathan sighed. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere, and he just wanted to sleep at this point.

Yeah. Stanley’s signing was getting sloppier by the minute, words colliding in his fingers as his eyelids drooped dangerously. You sound… all up. You know.

Before Nathan could reassure Stanley that no, he most certainly did not know, Stanley took it upon himself to stand up, stretch, and plop back down on the couch- the only drawback being that he’d managed to turn himself around, and his head was now slumping heavily onto Nathan’s left shoulder.

Nathan stiffened as Stanley’s breathing slowed, and before he could shake the man and shout for him to stay awake, this is your party that you are hosting, I’m not a pillow, the young brunet was unconscious, snoring softly into Nathan’s nice dinner outfit. 

Nathan’s immediate instinct was to pull away from him– leave Stanley to be passed out on the couch, it’d probably do wonders for the state he’s in. But on the other hand… this party was full of 599 guests, including Nathan, and he knew for a fact that Stanley didn’t know all of them. If any of them were anything like Craig… Nathan shuddered at the thought. 

(Nathan wouldn’t admit it, but this sudden protectiveness over Stanley and his well-being was… strange. It could be because Stanley was just such a good rival, and any harm to his emotional or physical well-being would be detrimental to both parties, but if he dug straight down, deep into his psyche, he knew he’d find out the clean-cut truth.

Maybe another day.)

No, better to stay seated right here. As much as Nathan perished to think of sitting with nothing better to do then be used as a headrest… well, he did come inside to get warm. And all the body heat radiating from Stanley right now, combined with the natural warmth of the house, was dealing with that quite well. It was enough to make even Nathan feel drowsy.

Stanley let out a small exhale, nuzzling further into Nathan’s chest, and for once, Nathan didn’t have anything more to say.

Chapter Text

Nathan woke in a manner similar to an anchor being reeled in from the depths of a very deep sea. His mind felt fuzzy, impermanent, like someone could wave a hand through it and all thought would dissipate into meaningless vapor. There was a heavy weight resting firm and immovably against his chest, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quite a bit like the gentle pressure of a resting cat, curled contentedly onto his torso with no intent to leave any time soon.

Dredging up the will and mind power to do so, Nathan managed to lift his hand and stroke absently at whatever was on his chest. Of course, it had to be a cat, his thoughts drearily mumbled to themselves as the old engine that was his mind and soul warmed up for average daily use. Nothing else could be quite this soft, this fluffy, this… nice.

Hm. Cats. Why did that remind him of something?

Was he doing something regarding a cat before falling asleep? He was, wasn’t he? And there was… a lot of people… a party, yes, he had attended a party, and Carrie was there, and the food– yes, the food, he remembered how divine it was. And the party itself… it was for– it was hosted by–

Oh.

Nathan’s eyes flew open at last, his right hand freezing its slow, methodic pets as he realized that no, that was not a cat or any other sort of small, affectionate furry creature that had snuggled into his chest during the night. That warm, firm, soft presence was none other than Stanley Rider himself– asleep, lips parted just so to allow a thin line of drool to dribble mindlessly onto Nathan’s rumpled button-up, hair now mussed and partially entwined into Nathan’s fingers as he had unknowingly stroked Stanley like he was a sweet kitten, and not Nathan’s daily annoyance and general pain in the ass.

Before the shock and disgust of the situation could really dig its claws in deep, Stanley made the tiniest noise– a small mumble, protesting, pushed up from a mind deep in the wallows of slumber– and he shifted ever so slightly, rubbing his head back against Nathan’s stationary hand. Nathan felt like he was entering the early stages of rigor mortis, as Stanley continued to shift, small sounds that would be inaudible if not for the complete dead silence surrounding them bubbling out of his throat as he pressed against Nathan’s hand quietly, but insistently.

What the hell. No, what the fuck. 

Nathan’s hand, as if possessed, gently started to move against Stanley again. The brunet sighed contentedly, pressing further into Nathan with a delighted little hum, completely unaware of the raging inner turmoil that was coursing through Nathan’s every vein at the moment. This was not happening. He was not cuddling with his ene– rival. Although, maybe rival wasn’t the right term. Cocky son of a bitch? Now that’s what he’s looking for.

Summoning up his strength, Nathan pulled his disobedient hand away. Stanley, still peacefully unconscious, muttered his complaints in what was a plaintive tone, but no real words formed. Nathan wriggled his left hand out from the man-blanket that was covering him and shoved Stanley away firmly, pulling himself up and away from the brunet.

Stanley made a noise of surprise, his eyes fluttering open, still murky with sleep and filled with confusion. Nathan shook his head in disapproval, clicking his tongue and trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“Falling asleep on one of your guests, Stanley? Not your proudest moment, I must say.” 

Stanley just blinked, not understanding, and Nathan could see the gears in his head turning as the meaning of the noises just spoken at him sunk in. His mouth gaped suddenly, eyes wide, hands scrambling up from below him.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Although, you did look really comfortable– uh– oh fuck my head.

Nathan was trying to process what that last bit meant when Stanley stumbled off the couch and beelined out of the living room. A retching noise sounded from a room further down one of the grand hallways, and Nathan stifled a sigh, standing up from the rather grand loveseat he had collapsed onto yesterday evening and surveying the room.

A few people were strewn about, some quietly making conversation in the kitchen, others passed out in chairs or their own couches. One employee was even lying spread eagle on a rug so plush, Nathan wouldn’t be surprised if there were two more employees in there with him, hidden in the soft faux fur.

An agonized noise echoed down from the same hallway, followed by a faint clunk. Well. That would be his host, Nathan supposed. Better see how he’s faring.

The halls were just as grand as the rest of the house. Pictures hung tastefully about, fanciful paintings and professionally-shot photographs. A distinguished-looking man who steadily progressed in age as the photos continued must’ve been Stanley’s uncle, Matthew, whom he’d whooped about so gaily in his speech last night. Nathan didn’t recognize most of the faces, all men, women, children– none of them bearing any significance to him.

Except when he took a closer look at a photo of a young man in a graduation gown, and realized with a jolt that he did recognize that face. It sent a roll of emotion through his gut– Stanley, Employee #427, looking young and joyous in his gown and cap. An older man and woman stood either side of him, and Nathan recognized some of Stanley’s features on either smiling face– his parents.

And as Nathan took a closer look at some of the pictures in this particular frame, his previous reason for walking down the hall forgotten, he realized– most of them featured Stanley. Somewhere. His toothy grin poked out from under a birthday hat, a few guys and girls surrounding him, a cake with two big candles in the middle– 21 , they read. A much younger, more pimply version of the brunet, waving from where he sat on the diving board of a pool, his awkward, lanky teenage legs submerged in the water halfway up his calf. A more familiar face, smile tired but proud, posing out front of a very familiar building.

It was their office, Nathan realized. That must’ve been taken when Stanley first started working for the company. 

His attention continued flitting around at the tiny photographs, absorbing every detail of Stanley’s life, his irritating coworker’s story laid out in film right before Nathan’s very eyes. It was odd to think that Stanley had a life story. That he came from someplace. To think, all of the events that had to have happened before he came to work for the same company, in the same office, in the same department as Nathan. They very well could’ve never met.

Another clunk from the bathroom tore Nathan away from the collection of pictures at last, and he continued at a sharp clip towards the noise. Opening a door with a crystalline handle, Nathan was not at all surprised to see Stanley knelt down in front of the toilet, flecks of last night’s dinner and stomach acid on his lips, a mess in the porcelain in front of the brunet. Stanley looked pained, his face a twist of disgust and upset. 

Nathan wordlessly began running the water in the sink, digging into the cabinet underneath for a cloth he hoped would be there. He ran a corner of said cloth under the stream of water for a bit, trying to ignore Stanley staring at him, blank. 

“Here,” Nathan said, holding the cloth out to Stanley, who looked at it like it was a three-headed goat on stilts. “To wipe off your face. I’ll go get some water.”

Hesitantly, Stanley took the cloth, rubbing across his mouth, and Nathan strode out of the bathroom to fill up an ornate mug he'd found in the kitchen. There was a flush from down the hall, and some shuffling heard from behind him minutes later.

They sat awkwardly in the living room, on the same couch they’d fallen asleep on. Together. Nathan was still trying to wrap around the fact that– on a purely literal level– he and Stanley had slept together for a night. And it… somehow … wasn’t terrible?

I mean. It was just on the cusp of terrible. Obviously. It wasn’t like Nathan had greatly enjoyed having another person’s presence with him while he slept, nor did he have what was probably the best night’s rest he’d gotten in a long, long time. Perish the thought.

Catching a glimpse of a soft wave in his direction, Nathan turned to face Stanley, who was avoiding his gaze, but who had angled his body Nathan’s way.

Thank you.

Oh. 

“Oh. Uh. It’s– yes. Um.” 

…

“…Anytime.”

Stanley snorted, but continued to gently sip his water. And, uh. Sorry my cat pounced on you.

Nathan nodded softly, rubbing his eyes. God, he didn’t typically get up this early, or stay out as late as he did last night. Now that Stanley was taken care of, the exhaustion was really kicking in. “I-I would advise to put her on a leash, but she doesn’t seem the type to be receptive towards force.”

Stanley shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirking up. Yeah. Sometimes it feels more like I’m the pet, you know? I swear that cat can read minds.

Nathan would’ve scoffed at the absurdity of the statement, if he wasn’t slowly falling back asleep where he lay. “Yes, she’s… very feisty.” A yawn punctuated the end of his sentence, the Brit’s eyes drooping.

Stanley placed the cup down on the beautifully carved wooden coffee table that sat in front of them, standing. Do you want some breakfast? I could whip something up for the two of us. And, uh, anybody else who happens to wake up. The man winced, looking around at the sleeping bodies that surrounded the two of them. I mean, since you helped me out, I figured…

“Yes.” Nathan interrupted, wincing at his abruptness. “Breakfast sounds… acceptable. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a few minutes longer.”

**********

In what had to have been at least twenty minutes later, but what felt like two seconds, Nathan woke up to a gentle sizzling sound coming from the kitchen behind him. Peeking over his shoulder, he could just make out what looked like several fluffy pancakes on a platter, Stanley standing over a saucepan and a griddle alternatively, donning a spatula and, surprisingly, an apron that read ‘ Maybe just give the chef a friendly hug.’ in red print. Flecks of batter dotted the fabric, as well as his hands, forearms, and parts of his face.

Sitting up fully, Nathan glanced around and found the house substantially emptier than before. The only remaining persons that the Brit could see were the man on the rug and a figure of indeterminate gender slumped in a chair.

“Where’d everybody go?” he mumbled, stretching his arms above his head as he stood. His little cat nap had surprisingly worked wonders– at this rate, a good cup of tea would have him up and kicking as usual.

Stanley put the spatula down, turning to sign. A few of ‘em woke up just after you passed out. Thankfully they knew each other, and their Uber showed up about two minutes before you woke up. Don’t worry, I supplied them all with water and Tylenol. Picking back up the spatula, the young man jabbed it in the direction of the still-steaming pancakes. Help yourself. I know there’s syrup somewhere, but don’t use all of it.

Blinking in surprise, but never one to decline a free meal, Nathan rummaged through a few of the many cabinets they had in the kitchen– Top right, over by the knife block– no, the other one– yeah, there you go– for a plate, before loading it up with a few of Stanley’s fluffy creations and sitting at one of the posh, elegant stools that sat at the edge of the countertop to dig in. Albeit, he held a healthy amount of suspicion and fear when it comes to Stanley’s cooking– the food last night might’ve been good, but that was just amazing catering. To say the least, he waited until the brunet was seated and eating himself to start digging in.

They chewed awkwardly. Everything they did together was awkward, Nathan noted. And god, he couldn’t wait to finish eating and leave this all behind them. 

“...This tastes alright.”

Oh. Yeah, uh, no problem. 

“...”

…

“Do you… often cook?”

Whenever I need to, yeah.

“Oh.”

…Yeah.

What was Nathan doing?

“I, well.” He started. Stanley nodded to show he heard, gaze focused solely on the plate of pancakes in front of him. 

“...I saw your pictures in the hall.”

In his peripheral, Nathan could see Stanley start, head jerking up from its hung position. When the Brit turned to see his response, he could’ve sworn there was a quiet blush on Stanley’s cheeks, an air of embarrassment hanging about him.

Oh. Yeah, Uncle Matt likes to– you know how family can be sometimes, he’s a real– just ignore them, really.

Something strange settled in Nathan’s chest just then– a resolute determination, it was, a need to know. He– well, maybe he despised the man sitting just opposite to him, even though for some stupid reason he got upset to the point of profanity when said man was insulted by… well, anybody. But that fact didn’t deter the burning curiosity that now filled Nathan’s being.

Besides. It’s not like being a little nosy could ruin any sort of friendship between the two. The peace this morning had been… repaying favors.

“How come he’s got so many of you, anyways? Are you particularly special in his regard?”

Stanley looked– shocked, was that it? No, bemused– that Nathan was addressing him further; and in complete sentences, no less. Well, he has told me that I’m his favorite nephew before, if his word is any good. 

Nathan couldn’t hold back a half-laugh, half-scoff. “Can’t imagine why.” he mumbled under his breath.

Stanley’s expression changed, then, to one Nathan was incredibly familiar with. That look of irritation, of annoyance. It sparked something in Nathan, a kind of strange joy. This is it. How things should be.

Oh, please. I bet all of your uncles are dead and gone by this point, old man.

“Well, I never! Imagine if one of my uncles had passed away recently, say, in a tragic accident related to– oh, let’s say sentient clouds. How would you feel, to have insulted my poor, recently deceased uncle, Stanley? You should really watch your hands.”

Hey– don’t act like you’re better than me all of a sudden! Hell, I bet I’d be your favorite if I made you those pancakes every day. He jabbed a fork in Nathan’s direction, his glare not matching the small, challenging grin on his face. Oh, Nathan hated that look. He felt a churning in his stomach, a burning sort of excitement, singed with dislike and irritation.

“ What? What exactly do you mean by that, Stanley? I’ll have you know, I’m only eating these to try and be a polite guest! ” he blanched, pushing the plate away from him whilst simultaneously pushing down his terrible need to gobble up each and every bite of the golden flapjacks that now lay despairingly out of his reach.

Oh, and I’m sure letting me pass out on you last night was you being a ‘polite guest’, too?

Nathan bit his lip and tried to keep down the furious blush that fought, kicking and screaming, to coat his cheeks and neck. “You can’t– that’s different. A completely separate topic, Stanley, why would you even bring that up?”

Stanley eyed him, something concealed behind a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Hey. You could’ve pushed me off at any time, but you waited till I got my full eight hours? Very suspicious, considering our track record. I might just have to report you to HR…  

“Oh, shut up, you imbecile. You couldn’t. I have seniority.” Nathan retorted, face flaming with embarrassment at this point. “You’re the one who drank himself into oblivion last night, anyways.”

Well, maybe you’re just too much of a stick-in-the-mud to– is something burning?

Surely enough, the pancakes on the griddle were blackened, smoke wafting off the surface. Stanley let out a strangled, silent yelp, jumping out of his seat and running around the kitchen island to turn the burner off and scrape the ruined cakes into the garbage. 

“Hah! Karma!” Nathan barked from around a victorious (and less secretive than he would’ve liked) bite of pancake, a cackle breaking free from his lips as Stanley glared at him. “Serves you right.”

Shut up. Stanley replied, huffing angrily through his nose.

“Nope.” Nathan popped, grinning. “Oh, that reminds me, Stanley– so many photos in the halls of your uncle’s home, and yet you’ve only got photos of your friends at work.  What’s the deal with that? No family to cheer you on during long Wednesday afternoons?”

The question was meant to egg Stanley on, to continue the steady banter they’d had going, but Stanley seemed to stiffen a little at the question. Nathan passed it off as nerves from the almost-fire. 

I guess I– I don’t want them getting… lost or damaged.

Nathan nodded slowly, though it seemed like Stanley wasn’t telling the full truth. Thoughtlessly, he reached over the kitchen island and placed a hand on Stanley’s forearm. “Ah, I understand. Quite the notorious loser, aren’t you, Stanley? Remember that time you lost your fountain pen and practically turned the office upside down looking for it, and it was right behind your ear the whole time? Yes, I suppose losing must be a knack for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lost everything in the world, Stan. Tell me, what is it like–”

I think it’s about time you leave, Nathan.

Nathan blinked. Did he read that right? “Pardon?”

Stanley’s expression was stony, no trace of the teasing, insufferably smug man he was just moments before. You’ve overstayed your welcome. I think it’s time you go.

“I–” What? Never had Stanley been so cold towards him, even during their worst of arguments, even when the screaming matches got so raucous they got sent home early from work to cool down. “Did I say something–”

You always say something. You always have to say something. It’s like you can’t shut that ignorant mouth of yours up for one minute or you’ll die. I’m fucking sick of it, I’m sick of sitting here and pretending we know each other. You know why I invited you to this? Because you’re at least better than the guy who called me a fucking slur. But holy shit, Nathan, it’s a damn small margin. So get your stuff, get out of this house, and don’t say another syllable. If you’re still here in sixty seconds, I’m calling the police.

Stanley was shaking by the end of it all, hands trembling with every violent word, practically spitting at Nathan with unexplained fury. His eyes were maelstroms, dark and unyielding, devoid of any one emotion. And something told Nathan that, despite their years of warring, this was the first thing that Stanley really meant.

Nathan nodded once, and Stanley turned sharply on his heel, marching up the same staircase Nathan had seen Bucket disappear up last night. As the brunet rounded the corner, there was a quiet sound that echoed through the silent house. A sob.

The Uber arrived in five, at a house further down the street. Nathan was on the curb waiting for it, body idle, mind racing. Glancing down at his crumpled turtleneck, he could see a couple tiny brown curls still clinging to the fabric. Glancing back at the house, sat the man whom the curls belonged to. The man who, inexplicably, went from Nathan’s host, to his acquaintance, to something bordering– well. Back down to his archnemesis, in less than two hours.

What just happened ?

**********

Chapter Text

The following weeks at work were… tense.

It had never been so quiet in the office. Where there were once near-daily arguments, there were now tense silences, impromptu coffee breaks, and an atmosphere not unlike that of a thick, damp, smothering blanket.

It made Nathan want to scream. 

He’d fucked up. Obviously. It was a stupid decision to even go to that party in the first place, and now that it’s all said and done (though he didn’t even know what he’d said and done), he can’t even settle back into his regularly scheduled animosity and upset with Employee #427.

He’d run their last conversation together through his mind time and time again, and at no point could find any part where he’d said something that could potentially cross a line. Sure, they were toeing it, making fun of dead relatives and all, but he hadn’t said anything outright offensive. At least, he didn’t think.

And yet, Stanley avoided him like the bubonic plague. If they happened to be in the same room together, the brunet’s eyes would darken considerably, and he’d usher himself out within seconds of Nathan’s entry, leaving whatever business he’d been in there for forgotten. He’d started working noticeably later, and if Nathan did as well, Stanley’d put in the overtime to avoid being the first to leave (and, Nathan assumed, to reduce the risk of bumping into him on the stairs or in the elevator). He’d even asked their mutual friends not to let Nathan in on any of his personal feelings or goings-on, something Nathan had to hear (apologetically) from Carrie. Altogether, it served to make Nathan feel like the parent of a toddler who just wouldn’t admit what was making them so upset.

For the first time in their… mutual existence, Nathan didn’t want to fight Stanley on this issue. He just wanted to be able to sit down with the man and ask him what had happened. Where he went wrong. He wanted to– God, kill him– fix things between him and Stanley. 

He never ended up washing that turtleneck– the one he wore the night of the party. That damned party. Instead, it just sat on his desk chair, rendering the piece of furniture obsolete. Every time Nathan looked at it, the small pieces of Stanley’s hair stuck out like gold nuggets in a pile of coal. It turned his stomach, thinking about how close they’d been. Which was an altogether strange phenomenon– they’d been close like that before, during fights that pushed them toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose. 

But, he supposes, they’ve never been close… like that. Stanley’s face, not snarky or sarcastic but sweetly, heart-achingly peaceful, the faint worry lines beginning to show on his forehead and peeking from around his eyes now smooth and relaxed, his entire body resting on Nathan’s, trusting to be held by him, to be kept safe by the one man Nathan could’ve sworn Stanley hated, the one man Stanley hates now because he said something he really shouldn’t have and now it was over, it was all over before it even began and Nathan missed it–

Which is about the time he usually ends up wretching his gaze away from the sweater and busying himself with some other task, one that doesn’t involve thinking about worry lines and soft hair and trust.

It’s Friday. There’s a buzz in the office atmosphere, the cheery sort of peacefulness that rises when conversations at the water cooler grow livelier and a cheerful whistling can be heard coming from the breakroom, gentle mumbles being shared between coworkers, soon to turn back from ‘work friends’ into just ‘friends’ over the weekend.

Nathan has just finished reorganizing his filing cabinet, something he actually enjoyed doing every once in a while, and stretched his arms way far back, enjoying the crisp pop that sounded from between his shoulders and sighing with relief as his back loosened. Standing, he makes his way back to the break room, in desperate need of coffee (or a nice, strong tea, if they still had some).

Unfortunately, when Nathan checked the cabinet, the box full of lemon tea bags had been picked clean. He shrugged to himself, hummed, and went to make a steaming cup of coffee instead. It’s alright. It’s Friday, after all, and there’s more tea to be bought.

Picking up the paper cup and slipping a coffee sleeve around it so as to not burn his palm, Nathan added in a splash of creamer (an indulgence), and drank deeply, barely feeling the heat of the bitter liquid as he sighed once again, content.

That is, until he turned around, and Stanley was standing right there, and Jesus Christ, Nathan hadn’t even heard him enter the room, much less stand inches behind him while he made coffee. Nathan let out a small shriek, jumping, and a splash of fresh, hot coffee hit Stanley right in the face.

Nathan gasped, trying to calm down his heart enough so that it felt a little less like he was currently experiencing cardiac arrest, and immediately grabbed a wad napkins that had been stacked next to the coffee maker. “Fu– Jesus, Stanley, I didn’t– didn’t see you there–”

Stanley was hissing in pain, eyes squeezed shut as Nathan pressed the napkins against him and wiped away as much of the coffee as he could, panic making him stutter between profuse apologies and flagrant swearing. Finally, Stanley grabbed Nathan’s wrists, making him pause for a moment. 

Nathan. Stanley’s eyes weren’t angry, as Nathan had feared– they just looked… tired. Quietly resigned. It’s okay. You don’t have to.

Nathan bit his cheek, trying to force a cap on the words he could feel bubbling up inside of him. It didn’t work. “Of course I don’t have to, I don’t have to do anything.” 

The brunet bit his lip, still guarded, still sad. Nathan didn’t like it. He could feel the familiar taste of disgust on the back of his tongue, soured by Stanley’s closed demeanor. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, self-conscious and upset and missing Stanley. “I should think before I speak.”

The breakroom was quiet. The whole office was quiet. If either men were to break eye contact at this point in time, they’d be met with the stares of dozens of their coworkers, including Carrie’s, who was in the middle of a rapid play-by-play conversation with a rabidly-curious blonde over text.

Stanley, as Nathan expected, didn’t respond immediately– but he shifted, his shoulders relaxing, something changing in his eyes. His ice melted, just a bit.

You really should.

Nathan waited for anything more, any follow-up, but it seemed like Stanley was done talking to him. The brunet turned back to what he was apparently doing before deciding to sneak up on Nathan, and continued unwrapping what looked like a sandwich from its parchment paper.

The Brit sighed and turned to leave, waving his hand tiredly at the crowd that had collected at the breakroom door. “Shoo, you nosy vultures.” Nathan grouched with minimum fervor. They scattered back to their cubicles, and Carrie stepped forward, following Nathan back to his office.

“So… that just happened.” she quipped, leaning against his doorframe.

“Oh, leave me alone, Caroline. We both have work to do.”

“So we’re using full names now? You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize for speaking before. Where’d that come from?”

“Tsk. Up yours.”

Carrie gasped quietly, taken aback. “Nathan, seriously. Are you okay? You seem so upset over this.”

Nathan felt a squirming feeling in his stomach, uncomfortable and called out. “I… he just hasn’t been talking to me, Carrie. He never doesn’t talk to me. More than that; he’s avoiding me! I don’t even know what I did wrong! We were doing fine; great, actually, you would’ve been so proud of me, I was civil. I was a damn load nicer than I usually am and now he decides to shut me out? Does that incel get off on people mistreating him? I can’t bloody ask him about it, he won’t even let me see him!”

Nathan didn’t realize he was panicking till Carrie laid a hand on his forearm to soothe him. His breathing was heavy and quick; his hair hurt from gripping it so tightly. 

“Nate,” she said slowly. “It’s going to be okay. If you’d like, me or Mari can always ask Stanley to consider having a talk with you. You don’t need to work yourself up over this. And frankly, I don’t think Stanley’s going to avoid you for much longer.”

Nathan blinked at her, incredulous. “You don’t know that, Carrie, don’t lie to me for my sake.”

Carrie scoffed, removing her hand from his arm and straightening up. “Maybe so. But according to the text I just got from Mari, he’s doing better than he has these past couple weeks. Why don’t you try to meet him somewhere normal— outside of work or a party? Somewhere you two can talk without being drunk or in the middle of your jobs?”

Nathan gawked at her for a couple seconds, before nodding jerkily. “Okay. Fine. Text him to meet me in my home tomorrow, for all I care. Just stop sharing all my business with your girlfriend.”

His sister just smiled evilly, stepping out into the office again. “My eyes are her eyes and my ears are her ears, Nate. Now get back to work, you’re slacking.”

“And whose fault is that?!” He called as she shut the door behind her, quiet laughter muffled by the wood.

Chapter Text

Carrie didn’t like being cruel to her little brother. Their parents were cruel enough during their youth, and past the routine playful banter, she and Nate kept an all-around civil relationship. They didn’t invade too closely on each other’s personal lives, but were comfortable calling one another up for a heart-to-heart when either were having a rough time.

Deceiving her brother was also not on her list of priorities. She wasn’t a sadist. Nathan was her only confidant up until they were both grown, when the universe apparently decided she’d suffered enough and decided to bless her a million times over with Mariella. They trusted one another because they were the only people they could trust, for so many years. 

However…

Nathan could handle himself. He was older now; he had literal decades put between him and the once-terrified little boy Carrie had practically raised, had a life and a job and friends who cared about him. But sometimes he could be… emotionally immature, for lack of a better phrase.

In short, Nate was being dense. So Carrie, being the good big sister that she was, decided to give him a little push in the right direction.

It wasn’t being cruel or deceitful or giving him a good shove into the tracks of the ‘recognize the fact that you have feelings sometimes and this is a normal, human thing to experience and petty rivalries just get in the way of actually having to interact with and get to know someone you like’ train . She was doing him a favor .

Someday he’d understand. Hopefully, someday soon.

[Hello, Stanley?] 

[...]

[Yes, it’s Carrie.] 

[...]

[Yes, good morning, I know it’s early. I’ve just– got a bit of an odd request for you…]

**********

Fucking Carrie. Fucking. Ca-ro-line.

Nathan had gotten up the next morning in his usual manner– by hurling drowsy, pillow-muffled curses at his alarm clock while groping at the snooze button til it finally ceased its incessant beeping. He sat up after half an hour of silent contemplation on whether or not he had the energy or care to get up today (if you asked him, he’d say he was ruminating on the secrets of the universe), and dragged himself to the kitchen.

Putting on a kettle, Nathan looked through his fridge and pantry, sighing at the realization that he’d run out of milk and eggs yesterday. 

“Downsides of living alone, part twenty-four; nobody’s around to bully into going to the market in your place.” He grumbled to himself, reaching into his cabinet for a tea bag and mug once the kettle started whistling. Shuttering open his blinds, milky sunlight poured into the kitchen, the morning so new that dew still glimmered on his front lawn. 

Nathan leaned against his windowsill and sighed, letting himself relax for the first time in weeks. The doves were singing on the wire, the street was still quiet from the early hour, Stanley Rider was on his way up the walk to his front door, the sky was clear– it was well on its way to be a beautiful Saturday, and–

Nathan felt something crack in his neck as he snapped his head back towards the walk, gawking at the man making his way towards his front door. Stanley was steadily approaching, like a footsoldier who’d spotted your foxhole.

What is he doing here? Why is he at my house?? It’s eight in the damn morning on a Saturday, no less, what the fuck!? Go away, go away, please don’t knock on the door I’m still in my robe, I haven’t even had my tea yet! I’m not ready to be social, I need an hour minimum before I start interacting with people, fuuuck meee.

There was a knock at the door. Nathan opened it with a perfectly neutral expression, trying to detract from the fact that he was ungroomed and still in his bathrobe and pajamas.

“Can I help you?”

Stanley looked… lost. What? Two seconds ago he was marching up the path like he owned the place– if anything, Nathan should be the one looking lost! The audacity!

Hey, uh, Carrie called and–

Nathan slammed the door shut, in a perfectly not-neutral way, and resisted banging his head into the wall a few times. Of-fucking-course Carrie called, that over-stepping insufferable nosey know-it-all cunt–

Stanley knocked again. Nathan opened the door again.

“Sorry, I’ve only just woken up. What were you saying?” He smiled in a bracing way, trying not to make it obvious he was gritting his teeth.

Stanley just raised his eyebrows, bemused. She said– she wanted to invite me over, to have a chat? He scratched the back of his head, and Nathan had a sudden vision of soft brown curls, his own fingers bunched in them. She might’ve mentioned your name and– and something, I don’t know, she was being vague. Clearly– he gestured between the two of them– she gave me the wrong address. 

Nathan had a feeling he wasn’t doing a very good job hiding his teeth-gritting, as Stanley had just started to look more and more uncomfortable as he spoke. Nathan just let out a weary sigh, and stood back.

“I can explain everything.” He said flatly, accepting his fate. “Come in. I’ll put on another pot.”

**********

Stanley stood on his doorstep for a beat or two, before apparently deciding to trust Nathan. He stepped inside, awkwardly trailing behind Nathan as he followed him into the kitchen. 

Nathan picked up his own cup, tsking in disapproval as he realized his tea had gone cold. Ugh. Figures. And this was going to be such a great morning…

“Alrighty, then, Stanley,” he began, pouring out the old tea and refilling the kettle with twice as much water as before. “Tell me everything you remember my treacherous sister telling you over the phone, and then I can tell you why she sent you here, and we can go on with our separate Saturday mornings.”

Stanley took a seat at Nathan’s dining table, fiddling with the little porcelain napkin holder– it had yellow lines running across it, like racing stripes. Nathan had found it at a garage sale and bought it on impulse back during his uni days, and was definitely not devoting a very small part of his brain to panicking over whether or not Stanley would break it. 

Well, she just called this morning– it actually woke me up, hearing the buzz, so I picked up the phone and asked ‘Who is this’? And she said ‘Hello, Stanley?’ and I said ‘Carrie?? Is that you?’ and she said ‘Yes, it’s Carrie.’ and I said ‘Um, okay. Good morning. Do you know how early it is?? On a Saturday, no less?’ and she said–

“Yes, yes, you can skip the pleasantries.” Nathan waved his hand. It was so surreal, talking to Stanley in his own home, watching his fingers run over the painted yellow lines again and again, waiting for the kettle to sing so that he can pour tea for the two of them. Especially considering how tense it had been yesterday… now, there was this strange feeling of domesticity, nestling into his ribs like a stray cat curled up next to a car engine. He was scared to see what would happen when the car started. “Just get to the bit where she convinced you to come– here.”

Stanley scratched the back of his head again, and reasonably Nathan knew it was just a nervous tic, but for some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Well, like I said, she was being real vague– I think her exact words were something like ‘I need there to be a talk about you and some of the things that have been going on at work recently, some of them have to do with Nathan, please come to this address ASAP because I’d like to have it resolved before Monday, blah blah, here’s the address.’ He shrugged after the monologue, as if to say see? I’m innocent!

Nathan busied himself with the kettle and tea as he tried to piece together what exactly to say next. He knew Carrie had been dying for him and Stanley to ‘talk it out’ the last time they’d spoken, the real reason is why? He supposed… the strain they may have been putting on the friend group… but it’s not like they didn’t fight before! Hell, they did nothing but fight before! You’d think that now–

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a hot flash of pain in his finger, hissing as a splash of boiling water landed on his hand. He could hear Stanley perk up in intrigue from behind him, and gruffly set their mugs down on the table, ignoring the look of mild concern he was being shot.

You alright? Stanley signed, finally removing his hands from the napkin holder to pull his mug closer to him, squinting at the light lemon tea that was steaming from inside.

“It’s nothing. Just a burn.” he dismissed, before choking on (admittedly too hot) tea. “Oh, oh my– Stanley, I forgot– is your face, erm, okay? After yesterday’s, um, incident?” Nathan wouldn’t admit it, but he’d stayed up hours later than usual last night, playing the scene over and over again in his mind. The coffee, the apology, Stanley… You should. You should. You should.

It had been burning like an old tire in his gut, heavy and dark and gunky. There was a dull ache of curiosity that had been clotting his mind ever since he got home for the weekend; here, he would finally have it removed, like a bad tooth. He could rinse the rot of mistake from his hands.

Stanley blinked a couple times, shifting uncomfortably. Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Stung in the moment, but it really wasn’t that bad. The coffee machine in the break room is pretty old anyways.

“Ah– yes. You’re right. Okay, then.” 

Well, that was… anticlimactic.

They sat. Their mugs sat. The tea sat, getting cold. The air sat, heavy with unspoken words and heavier with spoken ones. The napkin holder sat, because it was an inanimate object and, according to Newton’s first law, couldn’t move unless something made it move.

…Do you have any sugar?

“Ah, yep. In the cupboard, I can get it.”

Thanks.

“...”

…

…do you not drink your tea with sugar?

“Well, not my lemon tea. It’s sort of the antithesis of lemon, y’know, and I can’t stand paradoxes– at least, not this early in my morning.”

Right, right. Can’t have a tea paradox before your tea.

“Exactly. That would make it a double paradox. Ridiculous.”

Mm. Sure.

“...Why? Should I drink my tea with sugar?”

I mean, it’s a free country. Drink your tea however you want.

“Well, what, then? Would it make you more comfortable if I put sugar in my tea?”

I don’t know! I was just asking, I don’t care about your tea or your sugar.

“Oh, you don’t care. Wonderful. Why are you even in my house right now, then, if you don’t care?”

Because you invited me in, asshole, I didn’t even know I was going to your house!

“But you thought you were going to my sister’s. Didn’t it seem weird that she called you so early? Why the hell would you go to that?”

I was told it was a work-related issue, holy fuck. Why are you so upset about this? Why do you have to turn everything into an argument?

“Because, Stanley, I can’t comprehend what on God’s green earth would make you want to go to an early, off-the-clock meeting, with my sister, about me, and then stay once you realize you’ve been misled. In case you didn’t notice, we haven’t spoken in, oh, I don’t know, weeks? And not once have you explained why? You’ve just been avoiding me and I don’t even know what you want from me anymore, or why you were directly behind me yesterday, or why you’re sitting at my goddamn dining table right now drinking my lemon tea and you won’t stop playing with my bloody napkin holder–”

Because I fucking care about you, okay?!

Nathan pauses mid-sentence, partially to catch his breath, and partially because he was one-hundred-percent certain he misread that.

But Stanley didn’t stop, and for the first time since their argument began Nathan noticed angry tears pricking at the corners of Stanley’s furious eyes. 

I fucking care about this shitty fucking whatever-ship we’ve got, I fucking care when you say stupid shit, and it makes me so mad I feel like I’m going to explode. You think you’re so fucking smart? Huh? You think you know every fucking thing? Well newsflash, asshole! Maybe if you stopped to think about the guy you stop and interact with every fucking day and the kind of shit he’s got going on, you’d notice he’s not some doofus who doesn’t know what he’s doing! Maybe you’d notice–

Nathan didn’t know what he’d notice, because he stopped watching Stanley’s hands and started watching his face. He watched as angry tears slipped free from their ducts and started pouring down bright red cheeks, how Stanley’s expression wasn’t as angry as it was anguished, hurt, how his eyes were filled with hate, yes, but there was a stem to that flower, a rose stemming from a prickly vine of pain and sadness. How had he missed that the first time?

Before he knew what he was doing, Nathan reached across his little dining room table, and gently rested his hands on Stanley’s, pausing the signing that had gotten so violent it was nigh-incomprehensible. He and Stanley sat together; slow, even breaths: ragged, heavy breathing.

“...I’m sorry.” Nathan spoke eventually; quiet, almost hesitant. He winced at the sound of his own voice. “I’m sorry,” he said again, stronger now. “For not… considering. How you might feel.”

Stanley just stared at him like he’d grown a second head, tear tracks still prominent on his face. Nathan bit the inside of his cheek, feeling like he’d been scrubbed down with steel wool; humiliated, in the sense that it reminds you of your own humility. He couldn’t stand seeing how… wounded, Stanley looked.

“...I will start doing. That. Um. Do you… want to tell me?”

Stanley stared. Then he stared some more. Finally, he raised his hands. There was… a strange sensation under Nathan’s fingertips, as those warm hands drew away. They felt too cool now, somehow.

…Tell you what.

“About. Uhm. The ‘kind of shit’ you’ve got going on?”

Stanley blinked at him owlishly, and Nathan feared he’d somehow messed up again, when the brunet finally let out a huge breath, and slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

“...Is that a no?”

Stanley peeked out at him from between his fingers. His jaw was set. His eyes were unreadable once again.

…I’m not talking to you until you change out of… that.

“...Right. The bathrobe. I will… go change.”

And if it isn’t too much to ask, do you have anything to eat?

“I’m fresh out of milk and eggs, sorry.”

Of fucking course.

**********

Chapter Text

Nathan emerges from his bedroom, feeling self-conscious in his own home. He may have had a small, itty bitty panic attack after getting inside his own room, but he soon recovered, throwing on a definitely-random and not at all meticulously chosen, stressed-over outfit and stepping out, bold and confident, to face his coworker.

Stopping by the kitchen to throw away his abundance of tissues, Nathan fidgeted with his shirt sleeves for the umpteenth time, tugging at his collar and wondering if he should change again. No, he’d left Stanley waiting long enough, and he’d only just managed to get his breathing back under control. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and Nathan groaned, praying for a fatal heart attack, a hemorraged blood clot, anything that would excuse him of his fate. 

The heavens were silent. Nathan felt perfectly normal. His nose itched. A fly buzzed around ceaselessly in another room.

Damn it. There is no god.

Stepping out into the dining room with a breath, Nathan swept his hand down the buttery yellow button-up, ironing out any non-existent wrinkles. He’d swapped out his casual, black-framed glasses with the more delicate golden pair, the ones he usually wore at work. Moving felt like a chore, every step an act of an iron will. Nathan couldn’t help feeling a bit like a prized pig approaching a slaughterhouse. 

Stanley was sat in the exact same position as he was ten minutes ago, minus the ceramic napkin holder, which was safely out of his grasp– for now. The only other thing on the table was a plate that Nathan recognized as a gift from a collection given to him by Carrie when he finally bought his own house; and atop it, there sat a–

“Now, wherever did you find that?” Nathan blurted out before he could stop himself.

Stanley himself looked unamused, raising an eyebrow. There’s an open box of ‘em in your pantry. I figured since you didn’t have the ingredients for a proper breakfast, I’d just see what I could find.

“You are aware that having won an argument doesn’t give you the right to–” 

Stanley leveled a look at him that spoke of a long, slow, painful death. 

“...I suppose I wasn’t using the Pop-Tarts, anyways.”

Thank you.

Nathan settled in across from Stanley, trying not to squirm in his seat. It was unlike him to be so fidgety, but emotional subject matters always had a way of making Nathan unpleasantly tense and anxious. He could usually talk his way around them– but this time, Stanley had cracked through him like a gooey, runny egg, and Nathan was left struggling to mop up the yolk. He couldn’t talk his way around an issue that got worse the more he spoke.

The sun had started to strengthen outside the window– the mourning doves, which had sounded so bittersweet just a few minutes ago, were now serving to make Nathan’s anxiety spike just those few extra inches. Light poured through the blinds, weeping over the kitchen and dining room table like a sinners’ relief, flowing over the sides of Stanley’s face. His lashes culminated as long streaks in his shadow, sweeping against the slight aquiline of his nose and elegantly curving down to the gentle dip of his shallow Cupid’s bow. There was strange elegance to be found in his posture, in the way a unique kind of genial normalcy clung to him like a child clings to her mother, his presence as out of place as it was in place, as all things are naturally in place when they are set in order. As they watched each other for a long moment, Nathan could feel something twist inside his chest, like a wind-up doll’s key turning. Click.

Well, what do you want from me? Where do you want me to start? Stanley signed. Nathan jumped a bit, having forgotten the reason he’d gone through all that fuss and trouble in the first place. Right. It was Stanley’s turn to speak.

“Well, er… I don’t know. It’s your story, Stanley, start at wherever feels like the start. Don’t look at me for the beginning, I haven’t the foggiest on what you’re even talking about.” Nathan replied, feeling the familiar prick of a good rambling starting up, before forcing himself to nip that bud before it spiraled out of his control again. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Why don’t you just tell it how it happened? I can stand to bear it, for once.”

A shadow of a smile crossed Stanley’s face, before he settled deeper back into his chair, sighing and suddenly appearing very small. Nathan felt as though he had gone from facing Stanley, a grown man with all the strength and surety (that is propagated as a typical succession from adolescence, but is really quite rare) that comes with adulthood, to facing an insecure teenage version of his coworker, shrunk in on himself, shoulders drawn and expression a tight knot of worry and angry confusion. 

He felt his own face pinch slightly, the corners of his mouth threatening to slip down. Stanley was not an easily cowed man. As the gravity of their situation began to settle, Nathan was urged to raise his hand, some small gesture of comfort or plea, to stop Stanley and whatever load-bearing wall he’d just leaned against: but Stanley lifted his hands faster, and the words that came pouring out were as follows:

It’s… it’s not that easy. Mind you, I got all of this dumped on me by my very drunk father at Thanksgiving a few years back, so the details might be screwed up. My uncle is my dad’s brother, right? And he and my dad… they were always competitive, I guess. My uncle Matt is younger, and even though they look pretty similar… most people would point Matt out as the more attractive one, I guess. My dad’s a little older, a little… shabbier, I guess? He’s got a bit of a beer belly, a couple crowns in his mouth– he had a rough time after he got out of high school, before he met my mama in college.

They were together a few years, got married, found jobs– the whole suburban package, y’know? Back then, I guess the busted-up look was better suited for a young face. Made my dad look ‘sexy’, so says my mama. His drinking problem was still mostly manageable back then. She’d just gotten out of a shitty relationship, so I guess… I guess she was just trying to get with anyone who wasn’t particularly threatening. And if you saw photos of my dad back in his twenties, I’d probably call him one of the least threatening looking dudes around. He still had this rounder sort of baby face look. Always smiling or laughing. He looks like he’s got his whole life together, y’know?

Stanley paused and smiled. It was one of those smiles, where it looks like the person who’s smiling wants to frown, but they find their lips have gone and gotten all mixed up again. So they’re smiling on the outside, but you can see in their eyes that they’re really frowning, and the fact that they’re smiling is distressing to the them.

It’s funny, he– he never lost the baby face, I guess. It just started sagging a bit, y’know? And then– and, and then I guess it just shrunk into his neck a little? And now you can’t even tell he had a baby face to begin with because it’s all sort of loose, but if you see photos of him, there he is, firm and baby faced, and that was my dad.

Stanley’s lips figured themselves out after a few more stumbly-grey sentences drummed off his fingers, and once he had his contemplative frown back, he began the story once more.

Look, according to my dad, my mama started pushing for kids. That whole ‘give birth before you hit the ye olde age of thirty’ thing from their generation, y’know? So they started trying for the baby. But after a few months and still no baby…

Well. I guess my mom just got desperate or something. I don’t know.

All I really got from my dad was that he came home from work one day to see her with a positive test and a big grin. Said that the previous one must’ve been faulty. He believed her. Of course he believed her, she was his wife. She’s my mama. And when my mama tells you something, it’s like… you just gotta trust her. She’s just got that sort of warm energy about her. Besides the fact that she’s my mama, I mean. She could get into Fort Knox if she only said please.

So, boom, I get born. All is lovely and joyous in the Rider house. How picturesque! How suburban! How white picket-fence and golden retriever! How fucking lucky is my old man! Stanley’s signing has gotten more jagged– Nathan zeroes in for a fraction of a second on the way his shoulders tense, a hard, narrow line drawn tight like a bowstring over his back and torso. Sure, it threw them for a loop when I didn’t start talking, well, ever, I guess. But they managed. We managed. The schools managed, after they finished calling me a fucking– 

Stanley took a couple deep breaths. Nathan had never heard someone swear so loudly without making a single sound.

My uncle Matt was always involved in my life. If you look through some of the halls in this place, there’s like, a ton of pictures of us hanging out here. Me, my mama and dad, some of my cousins, I think. Matt’s all fresh off the presses and living the bachelor life, making money, meeting girls, the whole deal. And here comes my dad– graying hair, up a belt size, raising a toddler and looking like it. If you look at half of those photos from around that time, my dad is the one dead on his feet. Or the one passed out in an armchair with an empty six-pack, or the one with his arm around my mama like he just won the lottery. I can barely recall the last time my dad looked at my mama like that.

One night, when I was younger– my dad didn’t tell me when exactly, but I garnered it was sometime around when I was kindergarten age– he brought up potentially having another kid. And he said that when he mentioned it, my mama just got all still, like she’d remembered something. 

Stanley took a short, shuddering breath, pausing to flex his hands and crack his fingers, shaking them out for a few moments. My dad started getting all choked up around this bit. Started hiccuping more. I tried to tell him that it was okay– I couldn’t figure out why he was telling me all this. It wasn’t like it was the first time I’d ever heard our family history. At least, I didn’t think it was.

My dad just shook his head, eyes full of water and regret, pupils all blown loose from the alcohol and the weight of memory. He goes, “Stay, Stan. I have something to tell you. My boy. My boy.” He repeated that a couple times. I’d never seen him like that before. Not while drunk, not while sober.

He reaches a hand over and gently holds my shoulder. Not a firm clap, like he always did. It was so fragile. It almost felt weak, and my dad is not a weak man in any sense. He may have gotten older and his skin is so thin, his veins look like they’re ready to pop, but he’ll lay into you no problem. It’s natural for him. This… this wasn’t.

I could feel my stomach start twisting up, like a spring coiling up, blocking all this… sad, awful emotion. My dad sighed, like his heart was breaking. 

“Stan, you’re not my son.” 

He just… said it. Said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it didn’t matter. I thought he was lying– prayed he was. But I guess, in that moment… there was no god. My dad held all the power, and it drained out of him like a… shitty cell phone. “You’re Matt’s. Your mother slept with him and ended up pregnant. Managed to pass you off as mine, you know. Family resemblance.” He said those last parts in Spanish– I’m assuming you don’t know LSM, though.

Nathan jolted as he realized he was being addressed directly, and for once found that language had escaped his grasp. He shook his head, his skull lead-heavy, swimming with new knowledge and trying to catch hold of it all.

“So– is that why Matt favoured you so much?” he asked gingerly, not caring to agitate Stanley while he shared very sensitive– and very personal– information.

Stanley just scoffed. His face was drawn, loose and empty. His gaze was distant, as if he were in another world, another time. I guess? I mean, it was just a matter of being the favorite nephew when I was little, but now that I look back on it… it feels like he was compensating for something. 

Nathan nodded. He thought back to Stanley’s announcement the night of the party. His shoutout to his uncle Matt had seemed silly, a show of grandeur at the time, to top off the sense of good fortune and general wellbeing, but looking at it now… There was some strange dynamic at work, lending your ‘nephew’ this huge, ornate living space, for something as insignificant as a cat’s birthday party. ‘Compensating’ was putting it lightly.

“And your father? What was his reaction?”

Well, he was basically incoherent by the time he got to this point in the story, so I’ve pieced the rest together by memory. Given the timeline he provided, it would make sense why he divorced my mama later on– after I entered first grade, just about. He never got– I dunno, distant. Not that I remember first grade very well. Although I do remember him getting pissed off at my uncle more often. Their relationship totally shifted. I doubt I would’ve noticed if Matt wasn’t my favorite uncle.

“Well, that’s a perfectly reasonable response, I should think.” Nathan butted in, unable to restrain himself any longer. “Given the gravity of the offense and everything of the sort. I’m honestly appalled your father wasn’t more enraged by your uncle’s actions.”

Stanley offered a half-shrug at Nathan’s words, looking as though he were in two places at once and was quite put out by it. I’ll never know the extent to which he actually did for retaliation or anything– it’s not really something I want to know, anyways. All I know is that from the moment my dad was divorced, and every moment moving forward, he stopped encouraging me. To do anything at all. I don’t think he felt encouraged to do much either, to be fair. He was always the fun parent: he didn’t have restrictions, as long as I was alive and in general good health. It felt freeing, but looking back on it… I think he just quit. 

The silence stretched on, long and steely. Stanley was sat with his hands drifting, midair and lax. The whole room felt like it was being crushed under the gravity of the situation. 

Nathan hesitated. Here it was, a moment so fragile, a snapshot of spun-glass sugar, and he had no idea how to handle it so that it wouldn’t break apart in his hands. The brunet across from him was staring aimlessly, looking dangerously untethered, like he would crumple under the slightest touch. 

So, he did the only thing he knew how, in any emotionally raw situation. He stood, and silently put the kettle on. Sugar in both mugs, this time. There was more to worry about than paradoxes.

When Nathan turned back to Stanley, the man was still frozen in his seat, looking for all the world like a statue, if not for the shallow rise and fall of his shoulders. He nudged his wrists gently, placing the warm cup of tea against his motionless palms. Stanley stayed still for a long moment more, before grasping the mug with trembling fingers.

“Drink.” he urged quietly, shocking himself with the soft sincerity in his own voice. “It’ll help.”

Stanley brought the mug to his lips, pursing them around the rim of white porcelain and slowly sipped. He peeked over the mug at Nathan from under his lashes, eyes vulnerable, yet utterly unreadable; and Nathan felt a strange, embarrassing thrill, swirling around his chest before settling warmly in his stomach. It felt like that windup doll in his chest again, another twist of the key. Click.

How inappropriate, he quietly admonished himself, before taking his seat across from Stanley. He watched the man continue sipping at his tea, and felt a sudden, ridiculous urge to apologize for all the times he’d ever been cruel to him. 

Well. If that ever were to happen, it certainly wouldn’t be happening today. But maybe… maybe someday in the future.

Nathan looked up at Stanley again. He was focused on his drink again, his curls falling down to cover his eyes from view, and Nathan had a flashback to the dark turtleneck that lay across the back of his chair in his bedroom. He swore it still retained the body heat absorbed from the man sitting across him: knew it still had physical evidence of the best night of sleep Nathnn’s ever had. 

Someday in the future. Someday in the future, for certain. 

Chapter Text

Stanley had left soon after, excusing himself with hardly any effort. Nathan was eager to let him leave (he had a very, very long and heated phone call due with his darling sister) up until the door shut behind him, when he looked back at the now-empty house and felt nothing but dry apathy. The sunbeams looked emptier, somehow, without anyone for their light to catch on. 

A few days later, Nathan was attending a meeting over video call– something about audits and the budget and a net rise in sales– when something next to him started sending tiny quakes through the desk. Glancing over, he noticed multiple new messages lighting up his phone screen. 

Clicking on the group chat, fittingly named ‘Stanley’s Birthday Party”, Nathan was mildly surprised to be met with an entourage of messages from his and Stanley’s shared friend group. 

Hey everyone! It’s Mari. As most of you know, Stanley’s birthday is coming up! We’re (me and Curie ;)) hosting a surprise party for him, and you’re all invited. Party details (such as location, theme, time, etc.) will be released later. Hope you all can make it!

Nathan stared at his phone with mild disbelief. A surprise party? Just the words alone sent a shiver down Nathan’s spine, but not fo the the reasons he initially expected. 

The last time Stanley and I went to a party…

Visions of rich food and drowning lights and dark, droopy eyes peeking out from underneath swooping eyelashes rocketed to the front of Nathan’s mind, and he blanched, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed from exasperation and exhuaion. 

I can’t do that again. I don’t think I’m strong enough.

There was a flurry of affirmative texts in response to Mari, but Nathan just flicked his silencer on, letting the notifications run as he flipped his phone over and tried to return to work.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a silencer for his own thoughts. He found his mind soon plagued with thoughts of Stanley, how honest and sweet he’d seemed the other day. Vulnerable and bared, elegant fingers forming words in his own language, delicate and deliberate; wholly aware of who and what Nathan was, how nasty and argumentative he could be, the viciousness with which his jaw could snap. Steely eyes and a steely heart and Stanley still allowed himself to spill forth, trusting Nathan in a way he wouldn’t have trusted himself. 

He won’t be like that again, he sought to remind himself desperately, wrangling his wandering heart into control, but the thought only made it beat harder, beating right back against his mind. I want it to be like that again.

That was a one time thing. You know how he is at parties. He’ll be right back to being loud and obnoxious and arbitrary and you’ll be sick of him soon enough.

Seemingly of their own will, his fingers were caught flying over the keys, the query What to buy for male friend’s birthday? appearing on the search bar in seconds. 

Nathan sighed, leaning off the the keys before his traitorous finger could hit Enter. Was he really up to seeing Stanley again?

We’re not fighting anymore. 

That could change in a matter of moments, given my track record.

Stanley won’t want to see me again. We left things too awkwardly. It’ll all be convoluted.

We’ve made it through worse.

I miss him.

The webpage reloaded, and Nathan started scrolling.