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“Really, Stanley? You thought I would let you go into the broom closet again?”
Stanley stares incredulously at the boarded-up door. He tries pulling at the boards, and upon finding no budge, settles for glaring up at the ceiling. The Narrator has always found this amusing. Why would Stanley assume he is located within the ceiling, when he can make his voice come from literally anywhere within the office? Silly humans.
The Narrator clicks his tongue. “No Stanley, glaring at me won’t help. You did this to yourself. This is where your obsession with the broom closet has led you.”
Stanley had been going for the Broom Closet Ending these past couple of cycles, practically gunning it as soon as he woke up. The Narrator simply doesn’t get it; what could Stanley possibly get out of being cooped up in that cramped space? There was no plot there, no adventure! All Stanley got was hours of boredom and an angry Narrator. No, the Narrator has decided that this needed to end.
Stanley rolls his eyes, then goes back to looking at the boarded-up door. The Narrator has known Stanley long enough to practically see the gears turning in his head. Stanley looks back up, and begins signing.
‘How do you do that?’
“Do what, Stanley? Use your words.”
‘Board it up. Did you have to come down here while I was out?’
The Narrator scoffs. “Please Stanley, what do you take me for? I don’t need a body to perform such basic tasks. I am omnipresent.”
Stanley sticks out his tongue.
The Narrator feels his ire rising. Stanley is being especially uncooperative today. Something must be bothering him, but that is no reason to take it out on his Narrator! “Oh, real mature! Yes, show that tongue of yours, remind me once again that human bodies are disgusting and filled with completely unnecessary features.”
Stanley raises an eyebrow. The Narrator has come to expect trouble when Stanley looks at him like that.
‘You sure talk a big game for someone with no experience. I bet you’d sing a different tune if you actually had a body for once.’
The Narrator sputters in response, floundering for a witty comeback. Stanley grins widely, as if the Narrator not immediately replying means he’s won somehow.
‘Thought so. Not like you could get a body anyway.’
The Narrator falls silent as Stanley finally gets back on track to a different ending than that blasted broom closet one.
What would he even need a body for? They just seemed like a nuisance. Constantly leaking fluids, shutting down without input when overworked, clumsy and cramped and oh so small in the grand scheme of things.
He’s fuming, but also thinking.
Stanley’s words had rather sounded like a challenge. And who is the Narrator, perfection himself, to turn down a challenge?
He’s sure he can spruce up one of the mannequins lying around here. Yes, it wouldn’t be the same as a body made of flesh and bone, but a body was a body. He probably had some textures around here… yes, and something to imitate a nervous system… he didn’t need all the internal organs, not like they could get hungry or tired in here anyway. Maybe the heart and lungs for a premium experience. Yes, as long as it looked like a humanoid body and had similar basic functions, it would do. Ha! Oh, he felt giddy imagining the surprise on Stanley’s face, and how devastated he’d be to admit defeat.
As he guided Stanley through the Countdown Ending, making sure to use his most diabolical tone of voice, he was already anticipating the next cycle.
–
Stanley’s eyes shoot open, as they always do at the start of a new cycle. After so many times, he’s grown used to the abrupt awakening, no longer feeling disoriented.
Stanley shoots out of his office, thinking about once more going to the broom closet. Knowing the Narrator, he probably hasn’t taken the boards down again. But it’s not really about the closet. It’s about the reaction he can draw out of that posh British voice. Stanley revels in reaction.
He slows down when he notices an absence. The Narrator didn’t say his usual line. Or any of the alternatives he sometimes comes up with to change things up.
Stanley looks up at the ceiling. He knows the Narrator isn’t in there; after all, you can be anywhere if you’re not bound to physicality. But it’s easier to choose a point to focus on, rather than try to grapple with the fact that there’s someone who can see him from every angle no matter what, and whom Stanley cannot perceive back.
‘Narrator? Are you there?’
No answer.
Stanley shrugs and continues walking. It is unusual, but he’s sure the Narrator’s bound to pop up somewhere. Maybe he’s planning something, or he’s simply being grumpy.
Stanley smiles to himself. The Narrator is cute when he’s grumpy, or overly excited at the prospect of adventure. Well, as much as you can assign cuteness to a voice alone.
Stanley turns the corner and feels his heart leap. The broom closet is no longer boarded-up. Is this why the Narrator had been silent? Was it a surprise for Stanley?
He speeds up and puts his hand on the door handle. Before he can push down, he hears a voice that makes his breath stutter.
“I’m afraid this one’s occupied. You’ll have to look for your own broom closet.”
That voice… but it seems to come from within the room, rather than all around him.
Stanley steels himself, and opens the door anyway. When he looks inside, he freezes.
–
The look on Stanley’s face alone makes this whole endeavor worth it. Bulging eyes, mouth hanging open. Thoughts gone, head empty.
The Narrator feels rather pleased with himself. He knew Stanley would simply go for the Broom Closet Ending again, despite the boards. Thus making it the perfect hiding spot for his surprise.
Standing before Stanley, in all his perfect glory, was a body. A no longer empty mannequin, done up a little to imitate a human body, currently housing the Narrator’s presence. He’s adjusted the look of the thing a little; wouldn’t want Stanley to stare at just a blank face. He’s given it features: eyes, square glasses for a touch of dignity, neatly coiffed hair with a distinguished streak of grey. He’s wearing a white button-up, black slacks, a brown blazer with patches at the elbows, and a tie. He added crow’s feet and laugh lines; wouldn’t want to look younger than Stanley. He still needs his respect, scratch that, deserves it.
See, Stanley? Now you have a face to imagine with the voice. It can only be this face, whatever your imagination came up with is inferior. This is the visage I chose.
Alright, he’d admittedly had a little difficulty coming down here. The first few steps had been a tad awkward, and he had bumped into a cabinet or wall a few times. And feeling those objects brush against him for the first time had been strange and distracting enough to delay his arrival so much he almost had to sprint to stay on schedule. But Stanley hadn’t seen it, and thus didn’t need to know. Those baby steps hardly counted. He was the superior being here.
“Well, Stanley? Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going to give me your five star review?”
Hearing his voice seems to pull Stanley out of whatever reverie had befallen him. He closes the door behind him, sealing them both into the tight confines of the broom closet.
The Narrator frowns a little; he had hoped to do this outside, where there was more space. Oh well, as soon as Stanley admits he was good with a body, he could leave its cramped confines behind and return to the wide open space beyond the walls of the office.
Stanley is still staring at him, but at least he has closed his mouth. Good, the Narrator doesn’t want to feel him breathing on him. He can only imagine it to be warm and wet and uncomfortable.
Stanley reaches out a hand, and unceremoniously grabs his chin. Both of them jolt at the contact, something like an electric shock traveling through the skin where their bodies touch.
Is this what touching another body feels like? The Narrator hadn’t felt anything like this when bumping into the walls.
Stanley turns his face to the left, stares a little, then moves it gently to the right.
The Narrator swallows, not being used to scrutiny at this close proximity. Stanley has stared at him plenty in the past, of course, but never when standing right in front of him.
His voice wobbles a little as he speaks. “Ah, observing the packaging before giving your rating? Fine, go ahead.”
Stanley’s eyes shoot up to lock with his own. ‘Your skin is soft, but cold.’
“Well yes, I’m not human after all. This body doesn’t need to keep warm to survive.” Really, why does he have to explain this? Besides, a body that doesn’t need thermal regulation is surely superior over one that can die of cold or overheating.
Stanley lifts his hands to sign again, hesitates, then visibly makes the decision to go through with it, his expression growing determined. His hands are trembling, however . ‘Can I touch you?’
The Narrator rolls his eyes. “And what do you think you were doing just now? I already gave you the go-ahead, didn’t I? Get on with it.”
Stanley nods, and something about his starry-eyed excitement makes the Narrator just a little bit apprehensive. But he has no time to think as Stanley starts properly exploring his face.
Fingers that expertly push buttons and open doors and hold buckets close now prod and poke at the Narrator’s cheeks, brush along his eyebrows, carefully push under his glasses. The Narrator wants to protest, but his voice goes unheard when those same fingers move to follow the bridge of his nose, tenderly force him to close his eyes so they can stroke the eyelids, light as a feather.
The Narrator is perhaps a little weirded-out by the overzealous fondling of his new face. Yes, he’s crafted quite a good one, dare he say a visage that perfectly encapsulates his personage. But he didn’t expect Stanley to be so… eager.
He also didn’t expect the skin to feel tingly after Stanley’s fingers brush past it. Maybe it’s because Stanley’s hands, unlike his own, are warm. They’re leaving behind a trail of warmth that lingers, and somehow makes the Narrator crave for more. It must be his curious nature, that’s all. These sensations are just so new , that’s why he’s feeling like this.
Stanley now moves his hands up to his hair, and of course immediately dig in to mess it up. Typical Stanley.
Only, then Stanley does something unexpected and practically digs his fingers into the Narrator’s scalp, and oh , that feels nice. Really nice.
The Narrator lets out a small sound, and Stanley immediately goes to repeat the movement. The Narrator feels like a dog who’s being pet. He wants it to stop, but he also wants it to never end.
Stanley’s movements get a little more frantic after that.
He drags his hands down, briefly pinching his ears (“That hurts , Stanley!”), smoothing out the fabric on his shoulders, tickling down an arm and taking hold of his left hand.
The Narrator is a little transfixed on the way Stanley maps out the lines on his hand, before taking one of his fingers and squeezing at the pad. The Narrator’s breath hitches when Stanley lines up their palms, then entwines their fingers. His hand is warm, oh so warm, and there’s something entirely too intimate about the gesture.
Alright, enough is enough.
The Narrator tries to pull his hand away, but suddenly Stanley is moving in even closer, crowding his personal space. Without asking or explaining anything, he slots himself into the crook of the Narrator’s neck, and starts… nuzzling it. Rubbing his face against the Narrator’s jaw and neck and shoulder, and he’s shaking and-
“...Stanley, are you crying ?”
His suspicion is confirmed when Stanley gives a small soundless gasp, like dry-heaving. Oh dear. This is unprecedented. Why is Stanley this affected, by what? The Narrator being here, (symbolically) in the flesh? Is it the hand-holding? Is Stanley crying just from touching him, is he also feeling those tingles and that warmth? But he can’t be, for the Narrator’s body has no heat.
The Narrator’s confusion only deepens when Stanley starts signing a rapid stream of ‘ Thankyou’ s at him. What is he being thanked for?
The Narrator hates this. He feels helpless in the face of Stanley’s sorrow. He vaguely recalls an instructional video he’s once seen about this, yes that must help.
He raises a hand and starts awkwardly patting Stanley’s shoulder.
“Um, there, there. It’s alright Stanley. You’re safe here.”
Stanley hiccups once, then cries even harder. Shit. He’d really hoped that would work. Seems like there’s nothing to be done than wait for Stanley to get this, whatever it is, out of his system.
The Narrator continues patting his shoulder and back while Stanley clings to him. He tries rocking their bodies back and forth a little, like soothing a baby. Oh dear oh dear oh dear, it’s alright Stanley. Everything’s alright. Stanley’s tears are soaking his shoulder, but he can’t find it in himself to be peeved about it.
Once the crying turns more to the occasional hiccup, Stanley lifts his tear-stained face and looks up at the Narrator.
‘ Sorry. A little overwhelmed.’
The Narrator nods, although he doesn’t know what Stanley could be overwhelmed by. But at least that emotion he’s more familiar with; Stanley has gotten like that before. He usually signs up at the ceiling to wait, and the Narrator obliges, and eventually he’d always calm down enough to continue with the story. Apparently this was like that, but more intense.
“It’s alright, my boy. Now, are you ready for the rev- oh, Stanley, you’re still not done?”
Stanley wildly shakes his head as his hands once again resume their exploration, albeit a little less frantic, a little more leisurely, like they have all the time in the world. Like they want to savor this.
“I really don’t see what you’re getting out of this,” the Narrator complains, even though that is only a half-truth.
Because sure, he might not understand it, but there is a little something about the way his skin seems to react to Stanley’s touch. How their simple proximity lights up his newly acquired nervous system, and Stanley’s breath on his face is more warm than wet and not at all as unpleasant as he’d always thought. Not that he’d ever thought about being this close to Stanley, of course.
Stanley puts a hand on his stomach, and even with the layers of clothing the Narrator can feel the muscles jump in response. Stanley’s fingers hover over a button, before pausing.
‘This still okay?’
The Narrator huffs, a little impatiently. “Yes, Stanley, still okay. As long as you don’t expect me to have any human genitalia to gawk at, because then I’ll have to disappoint you.”
Stanley’s face burns a bright crimson. ‘ NOT what I was asking ,’ he signs with emphasis, and the Narrator chuckles.
“Oh, I was only teasing Stanley. I know you’re not thinking about thaaaaaa-”
The Narrator splutters as Stanley wiggles a hand into his shirt and places it flat on his stomach. Warm, so warm. And Stanley is standing so close, and the Narrator can tell he revels in the reactions this body gives to the touch. Stanley’s beaming, his eyes still damp, but positively enthralled.
He slowly drags his hand up, following the expanse of skin up to the base of the ribcage, and the Narrator can’t help the shaky laugh that’s startled out of him.
Stanley looks up at him, smile wide and fond. The Narrator swallows, an emotion both familiar and alien and all-encompassing swelling in his chest. He’s felt it before, but never on this level, like he could dig it out of his chest and cradle it in his hands. Sure, him and Stanley may be at each other’s throats a lot. But in the end, they were all the other had. And that made their bond some kind of special.
Stanley moves his free hand up, back to the Narrator’s face, and he places his index and middle finger on the Narrator’s mouth. The Narrator momentarily forgets to breathe when Stanley moves his fingers left, then right, rubbing gentle circles that seem to naturally push his lips apart.
The Narrator completely forgets he’s supposed to be witty and smart when Stanley pushes a finger inside, just barely touching his teeth, before slowly sliding back out over his lower lip. He completely forgets he’s a being that can think and have agency, just wanting to see what Stanley would do next. He may be currently inhabiting a body, but as he holds his breath, it feels as if the entire office has paused in anticipation, as if the walls themselves have fingers being dragged down their surface. As if the entire office is putty in those expert hands. It’s a little dizzying, to say the least.
Stanley looks at him, wide-eyed and flushed. He removes his hands to sign.
‘ May I?’
It takes the Narrator a moment to find his voice again. “May you what?”
Stanley shifts in response. He brings up a hand to cup the Narrator’s cheek, gets impossibly closer (how is he doing that?!), and lightly tilts his head to the side. His gaze briefly dips down to the Narrator’s mouth, before slowly moving back up, and-
Oh. He wants that .
…Why?! Haven’t they just confirmed that Stanley isn’t interested in having sex with him? Or had the Narrator jumped to conclusions? Well, kissing wasn’t sex of course, but it still implied a physical desire that Stanley wanted to fulfil. He wanted to-
Was… was that what all the touching was about? If the Narrator is being honest, he did like the sensations those touches brought about. Had Stanley missed feeling like that? Was that why he’d gotten overwhelmed? Was that why he wanted a kiss, just another thing he missed?
But Stanley is looking at him so sweetly. And he is the only other “somebody” in the office, so it isn’t like Stanley can ask anyone else. If the Narrator refuses, they’ll just both be left unfulfilled and let down. He is curious…
May I, he asked. It was consent he was after, of course. Consent the Narrator had so often denied him, when he’d forced a choice or ending on him. And yet here Stanley was, holding no grudge, offering something he’d been denied himself. Because he’s just that kind of man.
The Narrator doesn’t really know how to give it, is the problem. No sounded so wrong and painful, but yes held far too many implications to unpack right now. Damn, did people always feel this contradictory? Your body wanting one thing, but your brain telling you to slow down and consider the alternative. It’s agony! Oh, how much easier it was when he didn’t have to take this warmth and closeness and all these sweet things swelling in his chest into account.
Stanley hasn’t moved a muscle, but he’s smiling patiently and stroking his cheek, and the Narrator realizes then that his thought process has probably been visibly playing out in his features. How embarrassing .
Stanley’s eyes are so big and brown and lovely and hopeful , and the Narrator does something he’s not prone to doing: he makes an impulsive decision.
“You may?” he finally says, slightly flinching at the climbing octaves of his voice. He doesn’t want Stanley to think he’s nervous, doesn’t want to be perceived as a blushing virgin.
But when Stanley grabs his face on both sides and excitedly drags him forward, he thinks it’s fine to not be the one in control, to behave a little embarrassingly. Just this once.
Stanley kisses him, and it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before. He revels in the new sensations, the way Stanley pries open his mouth, drags a tongue along his bottom lip, how his body shudders at the touch. The multitude of it; nerves and temperature and chemicals working together in tandem. Heart hammering, hands lovingly holding him, mouths pressing together, warm and wet. He finds he doesn’t mind it at all, not when it’s Stanley.
Stanley pulls away after a long moment, and the Narrator must look a bit dishevelled, for Stanley laughs and boops him on the nose. The Narrator can’t find it in himself to glare back, he might be a little overwhelmed himself for once.
Stanley wraps his arms around the Narrator and buries his face against the other’s chest. The Narrator hugs him back in response, a pang of that same something bubbling inside him. He wants to protect this, keep it safe. This little something that’s just for the two of them.
He scrapes his throat. “So, Stanley. Think you’re ready to come out of the closet now?”
He feels Stanley start shaking against him, and for a moment he’s worried the other is crying again. But then Stanley pulls back and that little prick is laughing uncontrollably.
“What, what? Was it something I- oh, I see. Ha ha. Yes, get it out of your system. Hilarious.”
The Narrator can’t help the dopey grin that crawls onto his face at seeing Stanley laughing this hard. But it’s fine if it’s only Stanley that sees him lose composure like this.
“That really tickled you, didn’t it? All my best material is wasted on you.”
Stanley shakes his head, laughter reduced to the occasional snicker. The Narrator tries to pull away, but Stanley tightens his grip. The Narrator helplessly raises both eyebrows at him.
‘ Can we just stay like this? For a little while longer.’
The Narrator can only concede and move back into position. Dear God, he’s screwed.
They have so much to consider and discuss after this. The Narrator can’t just keep inhabiting this body forever, and they can’t just go back to how they were before.
But none of that matters right now. Right now, holding each other close, listening to two heartbeats, they can just Be. Stanley and his Narrator.
They’ll figure it out, as they always do.