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Stanley got bored of laying down on Xeno’s bed as he waited for his friend to return from his afterschool activities. Stanley didn’t go to school today. He wasn’t sick or anything, he just had a heated argument that needed a day to cool down or he’d get into another fight. Then he’d probably get suspended, landing him a harsh beating from good ol’ pops. Even if he’s not suspended, it’s not like it’s totally ideal to be at his ‘home’ when skipping. So, Mrs. Wingfield lets him stay over. Well, she doesn’t really know he’s here right now—she’s always encouraging him to study and stuff—because she’s at work.
That’s why he isn’t out watching television or something, just bumming around. Stanley got up from the bed and looked around. Finally, he wandered over to Xeno’s desk and decided to snoop. Surely the little genius wouldn’t mind, right? They’re best friends anyway.
Stanley groaned as he saw all the bullshit smarty-sciencey books. Books about rocket science? What kind of thirteen year old reads that shit? Whatever. Stanley started to look through papers. Homework, homework, a few lunchbox notes from Mrs. Wingfield, and a piece of lined paper with a shit ton of writing on it. That caught Stanley’s attention the most. He grinned eagerly, hoping it's something embarrassing that he could tease Xeno about.
But that grin dropped almost instantly as he read it. On this piece of lined paper, one buried under everything else, was a suicide note. Xeno wanted to kill himself. The thought made Stanley sick. Why would Xeno want to die? Did he hate himself? He’s incredibly smart, pretty— he’s perfect, why? Why?
Stanley put down the paper with shaking hands, not being able to bear the sight any longer. He took a few steps away from the desk entirely, finding himself back at Xeno’s bed, where he sat down. He stared at the floor with wide, confused eyes. His hand went to his head, as if he was trying to hold himself up.
Xeno wanted to die. He was going to do it soon, he probably even had a date set out. He wrote a fucking letter. A letter. He was going to do it, he really was.
Stanley strained his mind to try to find any signs, any signs that could’ve indicated that Xeno was planning something so terrible. Has he been sadder lately? Did Stanley not notice something obvious?
Stanley’s other hand joined its pair to grip his blonde locks. The signs aren’t important right now. What’s important is keeping Xeno alive. But how? That letter seemed eerily definitive.
Around ten minutes after Stanley found the letter, Xeno opened his room door to see his friend. He wasn’t all that surprised, as Stanley often came over when he didn’t want to be around his parents, (which is pretty much everyday). Though, Stanley seemed tense. Not carefree or playful as usual, which was a bit concerning.
Stanley looked up at Xeno, instantly composing himself. How was he meant to approach this? Should he say something now? Tell Xeno’s parents?
“If you keep skipping school, not even I will be able to repair your GPA.” Xeno stated clearly, putting down his backpack. He showed no signs of what he’s been planning, just the same old Xeno, who Stanley now knew wanted to die.
“...Right,” Stanley needed to act normal for now, “yeah, yeah, had some issues with some guys and I’m not lookin’ to get suspended. I’ll be there tomorrow.” His casual tone felt forced now.
“Mom went out for a work trip,” Xeno mentioned, “so she won’t be home for a couple of days.” Xeno put down his thick math book from his advanced classes on his desk, not noticing anything out of place as Stanley had put everything back to its original state.
“Cool, cool…” Stanley still felt so lost. Xeno seemed like a whole new person right now, and Stanley was frankly terrified of losing him, “Can I stay the night?” He blurted out.
“I guess.”
The rest of the day, he was spacey and didn’t focus on conversations. Stanley usually zoned out when Xeno went on about science that only a genius like himself could comprehend, but it was especially noticeable today. In contrast, he tried his best to snap back to reality and be attentive. Maybe it’s his fault Xeno is so upset that he feels unheard.
Stanley went into the kitchen to start making some food. He wasn’t a chef or anything, but he knew how to flip a patty. When he sat down to eat, he deliberately made sure to sit next to Xeno rather than across from him.
“Why are you sitting there? You never sit there.” Xeno pointed out the new seating arrangement immediately.
“Just feel like it.” Stanley gave a half-assed answer. He was hoping that being closer would show support or something.
Around eight o’ clock, Xeno crawled into his bed. Stanley wasn’t tired, but he joined him anyway. They often shared a bed when Stanley came over, and tonight was no different. Stanley laid stiffly beside his friend, not comfortable at all. He was still trying to come up with an idea to approach this.
He hardly noticed how long it had been, but Xeno getting up to get water marked the time. Around two or so hours after Xeno hit the hay, he got up to get a drink. Stanley pads quietly behind him after waiting a minute.
Stanley saw Xeno standing there in the dark kitchen, the light from the refrigerator’s water dispenser illuminating him. He stood there wearing his grey pajama pants with little rockets all over it, and the matching top. Stanley remembered the day that Xeno had been gifted it from his mom a few years ago during Christmas.
“Xeno,” Stanley called out, his voice firm despite its low audio. He felt a knot tie in his stomach and throat as he started. Xeno’s black eyes turned to Stanley, calm and composed. The boy was smart, and could tell that this was going to be some sort of discussion. So, he set down his glass to grab a lighter and light a candle. He preferred gentle light over the big light up above. Xeno took a sip of his water, waiting for Stanley to continue.
“I was looking around your desk today. You know, when I was waiting for you to get home and all.” Stanley started, watching Xeno’s reactions closely.
“Mhm?” Xeno didn’t care, or at least he didn’t show it. He stood there as if he didn’t have a goddamn suicide note written on his desk.
“I saw it. The letter. The one about you…” Stanley paused, feeling sick saying the word out loud, “about you wanting to kill yourself. The goodbye letter.”
Xeno froze. Stanley felt the terrible feeling in his eyes again, but he held back his tears.
“I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I don’t know what to do—” Stanley started to talk without thinking, “—I was raised with religion, God saying not to kill yourself and all, but you’re atheist and I can’t bring Him into this to try to help you,”
Xeno had to put the glass down otherwise he’d drop it. The way Xeno suddenly looked so small made Stanley break. God couldn’t help him. So he had to do this.
Stanley opened a drawer with cold familiarity, taking out a large kitchen knife and slamming it on the counter in front of Xeno.
“Do it.” Stanley said harshly, his voice shaking with emotion, “Do it. Kill yourself.” Xeno stared at Stanley in horror, tears forming around his eyes.
“Take the fucking knife and do it!” Stanley shouted, and then his voice went disturbingly low, “See what happens. See how all of your problems just vanish in a flash, right? That’s what’s going to happen, right? That’s what you think will happen?”
Xeno couldn’t say anything. He was frozen in place, staring at Stanley. The only movement from him was his trembling body.
“You think your problems will go away?” Stanley repeated, stepping closer. He pointed a finger jaggedly at the blade, “Stab yourself. Right in that heart of yours. Do it anytime you want. I’ll stand here, all night with you.”
Xeno’s eyes went from the knife to Stanley in a way that felt like an earthquake each time his gaze flickered.
“Your blood will pool all over the floor. And your mom will come home, and see her sweet little boy dead on the ground.”
“Imagine her sobbing, holding your lifeless body in her arms. Then she’ll have to call your dad.”
“And your dad will have to fly all the way back home. All the way back to what’s become a fucking shithole without you.”
“Imagine your father, waiting in airport customs with the knowledge that his only son is dead. Sitting on those uncomfortable chairs, trying not to bawl in front of all these people…”
“Imagine them calling up my house. My mom’d pick up the phone, and I’d take it from her knowing she’s probably drunk and can’t tell her elbow from her ass. And I’d hear the way your mom’s voice broke as she told me the news.”
“I’m sure your dad already has some black formal attire, but your mom definitely doesn’t. The only dark thing she likes is your eyes. Imagine nice, colorful, Mrs. Wingfield buying a black dress for your funeral.”
“Imagine them going to a place to buy a casket for you, the sullen look on the store owner’s face as they go to the smaller section.”
“Your mom would probably never go on a work trip again, knowing that last time she did she was too late to save her son.”
Xeno was sobbing now, unable to even look at the counter. Every day for the past months, those kitchen knives when he put away dishes were so tempting. He would stare at them for far too long, imagining what would happen if he just slit his throat or stabbed himself. Sometimes he would go as far to cut himself—on his shoulders so nobody could see—but now, now it was horrifying to see.
“But go ahead. Take the knife and do it.”
Xeno cried, and cried. He stood there for what felt like hours, his arms at his sides, clenched into tiny fists as he bawled. The cuts on his shoulders felt like they were consuming him. Xeno choked on his sobs, barely able to breathe.
The pictures that Stanley was putting into his head were traumatizing, and all of Xeno’s emptiness seemed pointless. He had his mom, his dad, Stanley, and he wanted to lose it? To never return? To go to an endless, dark, unknown void of death?
After ages, he raised his arms, reaching out to Stanley desperately. He was snot-nosed, tear stricken, and had these red puffy eyes that were pitiful. Stanley grabbed Xeno’s arm, pulling him in.
Xeno cried into Stanley’s shoulder, even louder now, “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die–hic–, I want to stay with my mommy, with my Stanley—” Xeno shook his head vigorously. Stanley held Xeno tightly, his own tears falling quietly.
“You aren’t going to die. You’re staying with me. I’m staying with you, no matter what.”
Stanley guided little Xeno back to his room. He clung to Stanley the entire way, his sobs had now calmed into hiccups and a drying stream of tears. Stanley climbed into bed, and Xeno curled up beside him, refusing to be any distance apart.
“I’m scared.”
“You don’t have to be,”