Archive of Our Own

The Narrator was very old. He had a quite extensive collection of books and plays which he kept neatly organized along the shelves of Stanley’s boss's office, ranging chaotically in genre, topic, and period, but if they were any indication of The Narrator’s age, then he was at least as old as The Tale of Genji, considering his proudly exalted contemporary copy. So, about a thousand years old, but probably much older. 

Still, in all that time, The Narrator had never created for himself any sort of human form. He had existed for millennia in his natural state, that being, the story itself, ever changing to best suit a successive line of new protagonists. (of which Stanley was determined to be the greatest, and the last.) 

The walls, the floors, the objects which occupied the space, and, most importantly, the guiding voice. The prose. This was The Narrator’s true form, and anything else came unnaturally.

It made creating a human avatar rather difficult. And The Narrator hadn’t created a human body, not really. It wasn’t exactly an organic mass, it did not bleed, or sweet, or have any biological needs. But it did look and feel human, and The Narrator was always trying his best to improve it.

For Stanley. He did it for Stanley.

Thousands of years, thousands of previous stories told to thousands of previous protagonists, and Stanley was the first man to ever draw The Narrator down to his level. He had accomplished this staggering feat accidentally. Or, rather, it had been a natural consequence of his own odd personality. 

Most humans, terrified of The Narrator’s power and compelled by his authority, simply repeated the story at nausea, until they couldn’t anymore, and were returned, shaken, to their former lives. Stanley was unique. He’d been spirited away after a long, terrible decade of complete and utter mundanity, living the same day at the office over and over again. It was why he’d been selected in the first place, because The Narrator assumed he’d naturally take to the parable’s required repetition.

But Stanley was eager to break away from the life that had kept him so confined. He found the parable’s vast array of discoverable territory intensely interesting, and had begun to diverge from the canon path fairly quickly. The Narrator did not scare him. After so long placating actual office bosses, men who held his livelihood between their blood thirsty fingers, The Narrator was honestly trite in his attempts at intimidation. Cute, even.

When the only consequence for failing to achieve a divergent goal was being whisked back to the beginning of the board, free to try again, Stanley’s drive for discovery had quickly outweighed any internalized appeal to authority.

It irritated The Narrator to no end, at least for some time. The Narrator was aware that humans could not repeat the same set of events over and over again without going mad, but what he’d never considered, was that when humans had a level of freedom to impact their own stories, they became all at once more active as protagonists, and a great deal less likely to go insane. 

So The Narrator, hesitantly, at first, had started playing along with Stanley’s ploys for discovery. Adding new endings, and expanding on that which was already there. It was a win-win for them both, Stanley got to have his freedom, his agency, and The Narrator got to do what was most important- tell stories that had a real emotional impact.

It just so happened that after a few (hundred) years in each other's company, Stanley had, unfortunately, fallen victim to The Narrator’s charms. Yes, The Narrator was posh, and mean, and self absorbed, but he was just so genuine, so unabashedly passionate, so intensely emotionally honest, that it all began to feel more endearing than annoying. He was stupid, and shortsighted, and as quick to condemn as he was to forgive. Stanley wanted to kiss him.

He didn’t expect the feeling to be mutual.

The Narrator was fond of humans, and so shaped himself into something which might have been built by human hands. Still, the desire to meet a human face to face, to reach out and touch one in a way they might understand, it had never really occurred to him.

Until Stanley came along and uprooted everything. The Narrator was fond of humans, but The Narrator had, by his own admission, become very, very fond of Stanley.

Thus, the body. Partially designed by Stanley himself, or at least he’d provided some references, it was immensely appealing, and very much befitting The Narrator. It made sense, considering the absolutely enormous amount of time it had taken to construct, but even the way The Narrator existed inside it was compelling. The way he wrinkled his nose or grimaced at Stanley’s antics, the way he smiled in sheer, uncompromising excitement when Stanley interacted with his lovingly crafted environments, the way his hands gestured when he talked.

Even when The Narrator was, for all intents and purposes, just a voice, Stanley had still fallen for him. Adding a beautiful, mature face to that voice, complete with large, deep-set eyes focused behind a pair of square purple glasses and a wave of intricately coiffed salt and pepper hair was, frankly, completely unfair.

Stanley was so glad the body had been made with the intention of interacting with him, of being touched and kissed and held, (and of reciprocating it all in turn, as The Narrator learned more about the fascinating, wonderful world of human touch and physical affection.) because, Stanley didn’t know what sort of agony it would be to exist alongside a form like that, and be forced to continue onward acting as though it were all the same.

But Stanley and The Narrator didn’t just accompany each other through different paths of the parable. They spent a lot of time on the couch in the lounge, or in bed, or simply close beside one another. The cloth barrier hadn’t been breached yet, not really. The Narrator just enjoyed being in Stanley’s presence, it seemed. Being near to him, feeling his warmth. Stanley enjoyed it too, immensely. He hadn’t been so close to anyone in a long time, maybe ever. It was wonderful.

But something was up.

The Narrator was very proud of his physical form, despite all his self-bemoaned areas for improvement, most of which Stanley didn’t really notice. The flexibility of his limbs and joints, the way light interacted with his skin, his overall form and weight, and where it was distributed. They were all elements of Stanley’s body he’d never before considered, because he hadn’t needed to build anything from the ground up, his body had done most of the growing on its own.

But one thing The Narrator had perfected from the very start was his smell. It was something Stanley noticed almost immediately, because even when the body was newer and a bit off, not moving quite correctly, skin too opaque, temperature too hot, he’d still smelled like a human. It created a bit of, not unease, but more so confusion in Stanley's subconscious mind. An entity clearly inhuman, but which transmitted a fluent signature of human presence regardless. 

The scent wasn’t odorous, it was actually rather comforting. It reminded Stanley of past partners, somewhat. Fresh, effortless, clean. It was good.

But Stanley didn’t think The Narrator liked it very much, didn’t think he was a fan of his own olfactory immersions. Which begged the question, why had he designed it like that in the first place? Every decision The Narrator made regarding his body was something intentional, something built carefully and with purpose. Why would smell be any different? And why would The Narrator pick a smell he didn’t like? If he was worried about smelling bad, it was unfounded. 

So what was the deal?

The first time Stanley noticed The Narrator acting uncomfortably, he hadn’t initially connected it back to his awkwardness around smell. They were sitting intertwined on one of the plush lounge couches, The Narrator reading a novel while Stanley lightly dozed with his head on the man’s shoulder, content to rest a while in a comforting presence.

He’d rolled his head unconsciously into the crook of The Narrator’s neck, breathing in his essence and feeling all at once safer and more content than he had in ages. He either hummed or said some sweet nothing, the details he didn’t remember. But he had noticed the way The Narrator tensed, his shoulders raising suddenly and with enough force to dislodge Stanley from his settled position. 

When Stanley blinked fully awake, he eyed The Narrator, trying to figure out what had changed. But the man wouldn’t meet his gaze. He seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed. Fiddling with the pages of his book, tapping his feet.

“Why don’t we get a move on, Stanley? You’re well rested by now, surely.”

…

The next time Stanley noticed The Narrator’s odd behavior, he was able to better piece things together. 

Stanley was trying to figure out how to make one of The Narrator’s newer endings turn out a bit more in his own favor, so he was spending some time wandering the office, looking for avenues of change. This new run was a bit like the confusion ending, in that things did reset, but not really. The Narrator had gotten better at using false repetitions as an actual gameplay feature, instead of a frustrating glitch in the fabric of his universe.

Stanley was poking through his boss’s office, trying to determine whether any of the objects present might be of any use, and coming across nothing of value. When he passed by one of the large leather armchairs in front of the desk, he paused for a moment, considering it. 

Before Stanley had gotten properly invested in a new run of the parable, he and The Narrator had spent some time cuddled close in the seat, big enough to fit two only if they were willing to hang over one another.

Stanley enjoyed being challenged, especially by The Narrator, but there was a fine line between challenged and frustrated, and Stanley was starting to feel a bit antsy. He collapsed into the armchair, and curled himself into the corner The Narrator had previously occupied. He could feel The Narrator’s lingering human presence, the heat from his overheated body, the yet unhealed indentation they’d made in the leather, and, of course, the pleasant smell.

“Stanley? What are you doing?” The Narrator’s voice sounded from some place in the air. The body was stuck undergoing maintenance. 

“I’m just on a break, give me five minutes.” Stanley signed, tucking himself against the armchair’s side. He took another deep breath of leather, body, and books, and found himself relaxing with almost involuntary ease.

“Stanley, are you smelling the chair?” The Narrator asked, perplexed.

“What? Yeah. It smells like you.” Stanley was starting to feel cold. He’d rather the real thing than the remnant of it.

“It smells like me? Still?”

Stanley nodded. “Just a little. Leather, ah…tends to remember.”

“You’re not falling asleep, are you Stanley?”

Stanley shook his head and smiled. “No, I’m all good. It’s just nice. You did a good job with that bit.”

“What bit, the chair?”

“No, the smell. The human smell.”

The Narrator didn’t respond for a long time, long enough for Stanley to get anxious. Had he said something weird? He didn’t sound like some kind of pervert, did he?

“Narrator…?” He straightened. 

Stanley heard as The Narrator cleared his proverbial throat. “Let’s, um, let’s move on, why don’t we, Stanley? It’s been five minutes, hasn’t it? Surely.”

Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Okay, fine, fine. I’m up.”

…

When next Stanley encountered The Narrator in his human form, he knew something was wrong immediately. He looked the same, there was no difference in his clothes or his hair or his face. But something was still deeply, deeply changed, almost as though it wasn’t The Narrator at all, like some new entity had stolen his skin.

That wasn’t possible, Stanley knew. The Narrator was the parable, if there was someone else seeking to impersonate him, he’d know about it immediately. And yet, he was so strange now, like something had interfered with his very aura.

Something was lacking, and though Stanley couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was, he desperately wanted it back.

“Did you change something about your model?” Stanley asked as the two of them walked down the hall. The Narrator’s eyes widened a bit in surprise, and he seemed to be fighting a larger reaction.

“No! No, not at all Stanley. I’m still the same as I’ve always been! Yes, no! No change!” The Narrator smiled as though he was pretty sure he’d managed to pull off some major deception. 

“Okay…” Stanley stopped, and The Narrator took a step and a half before he realized. “Is it possible for something to have changed by accident?” He’d give The Narrator the benefit of the doubt, or perhaps a convincing ‘out’ in case something embarrassing had happened to cause the difference.

The Narrator simply stared, eyes-wide and trying, but failing, not to fidget. “I’m just surprised you noticed it so quickly, Stanley. I thought that--well, no. This means it was worse than I thought.”

“What?” Stanley leaned forward, trying to examine The Narrator’s form. What was he failing to pick up on? The difference was there, but he couldn’t find it. It was starting to really disturb him.

The Narrator responded to Stanley’s search by hugging his arms to his chest and shrinking away, as though to make himself smaller, and therefore less observable. 

“Just tell me, it’s weirding me out. Come on, please?” Stanley tired, and The Narrator dared to look at him, a measure of fear in his eyes. “And then, for god’s sake, change it back.” Said Stanley, and The Narrator looked almost offended.

“Stanley, it’s--it’s--Fine!” He threw his hands up. “I’ve done something wrong by you, Stanley.”

“Oh? Did you?”

The Narrator grumbled somewhat incoherently. “I did it because I wanted you to like the mode, even when it was in a, ah, less than ideal state.” He spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “New, rough around the edges, creepy. I was worried you’d be afraid of me, so I…but I shouldn't have done it! And now you’ll be so cross with me!” The Narrator lamented.

Stanley tried not to gawk. “What?”

The Narrator squeezed his eyes shut, half in frustration, half due to the concerted effort it took to speak. “Mind control! I used mind control on you, Stanley! I’m sorry!”

Mind control? What did that even mean? There was mind control in the narrative of the parable, but Stanley had never been controlled for real, not to his knowledge. But, people usually weren’t exactly aware they’d hypnotized, were they? Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose? Stanley swallowed, a sudden tenseness in his shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

“The smell! The smell, Stanley!”

“That’s it!” Stanley clasped his hands together. “You don’t have a smell anymore!” A moment passed. “Wait, what does that have to do with mind control?”

The Narrator looked at his shoes guiltily. “I made myself smell attractive to you, Stanley. I took advantage of your subconscious human signaling.”

“I don’t think making yourself smell nice constitutes mind control. People who put on deodorant in the morning aren’t super villains.”

“No, no! It’s more than that, Stanley!” The Narrator moved his hands about wildly. “Perfume is one thing. I was being dishonest!”

Stanley decided to wait and let The Narrator keep talking. There was something he was missing here, but he wasn’t sure his questions would get him any closer to the answer.

“I’m not really a human, Stanley! I can’t get sick, I don’t have genes!”

Okay…?

“But I-! I examined you, Stanley! I took a sample of your DNA and I studied it. I determined exactly what diseases you’re genetically resistant against, and it allowed me to craft an artificial scent which tricked your neural pathways into believing I was a worthy mate!”

Stanley raised his hands a few times, trying to find something to say. He couldn’t though, he was totally lost. “I don’t get it.” 

The Narrator seemed mad at him, but Stanley had no idea why. “MHC-dissimilarity, Stanley! I read on it while developing the finer points of my model!” He began pacing back and forth. “You are attracted to people, in part, who carry a genetic resistance to diseases which you lack. For example, you are vulnerable to cholera!  Did you even know that, Stanley!? Your major histocompatibility matrix knows it, and as far as that’s concerned, it’s better to reproduce with me, because our children will gain what it thinks is my genetic resistance! But it’s all a lie, Stanley! I am lying to your very chromosomes!”

“But we can’t have kids anyway?” Stanley's brain whirred in an attempt to understand what was happening. “...for a number of reasons.”

“Your DNA doesn’t know that. It’s as smart as it is stupid, Stanley! But anyway, that’s what I did. The human body is naturally attuned to those who can potentially produce strong offspring, and that is communicated through smell. I smell like someone resident to cholera and malaria, and your subconscious mind is into it, Stanley!”

“There’s no way that’s real.” Stanley shook his head. “That sounds made up.”

“It’s not made up, Stanley! If I smelled like someone resident to HIV or norovirus, it would be off-putting to you, my genetics would seem too similar to yours. At best, you’d naturally associate me with kin, I’d smell like your brother.”

Stanley cringed harder than he ever had in his life.

“Exactly, Stanley! Think of the damage this sort of power is capable of!”

“Okay, okay. I’m starting to understand.” Stanley took a breath. “Did you say I’m naturally resistant to HIV?”

“Yes. But are you vaccinated against malaria?”

“No…?”

“You should get on that, then.”

“But what does malaria resistance even smell like?” Stanley tried to recall what made The Narrator’s natural scent different from other people’s. He found he couldn’t devise any particular notes, he just smelled like, like what? A man? Like skin, musk, and life? 

“That’s the thing, it doesn’t smell like anything, it’s all subconscious! People have been drawn to others, in part, by something entirely invisible, completely outside their control, for the whole history of humanity, and they didn’t even realize it until the late 1990s! Isn’t that insane, Stanley? It’s not the only aspect of attraction, it’s rather minor in the grand scheme of things, actually, but it’s there, and it’s real!”

“Hey, so,” Stanley began. “This all feels really stupid to me.”

“Stupid? What do you mean, stupid!?”

“You built a human body from scratch, and you needed it to smell like something. So you chose to make a smell that was appealing to the only other person around. I don’t see the problem with that.”

“You don’t find it manipulative?”

“It’s no more manipulative than the rest of you. When you asked me to help design your face, you said to ‘draw someone handsome’.”

“That’s different. Wanting to look nice and customizing my immune signals to best align with yours are two vastly different matters.”

“Are they? You wanted to look nice for me, at least partly. I know that.”

The Narrator huffed, but didn’t say anything. It was too true to argue with. “I just worry you’ll find me strange. I’ve never done this before, I didn't want to screw up and have you sitting there disgusted with me.”

Stanley’s posture softened. “I’m not disgusted with you because you're new to the human body. You’ve really made something impressive, and I’d like you even if you were still a mannequin.”

The Narrator’s eyes sparkled. “Really, Stanley…?”

“I’m disgusted with you for other, separate reasons.”

“I am baring my soul to you, please treat this seriously!”

Stanley smiled. “Okay, you’re right.”

Stanley pulled The Narrator into a side hug and kissed his temple, The Narrator giving some token grumble before leaning back into him, too. 

“Please turn back on the malaria smell.”

“It’s not the--wait. You really want that?”

“It’s nice, you smell kind of like my high school boyfriend, but better, I guess? More optimized? I mean, right. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. I’ll still want you, you’re impossible not to want.”

“I’ll have to take the body in for modifications, to reinstall the feature.”

Stanley groaned. “Can you hurry?”

“Don’t rush me, I’m an artist.” The Narrator pursed his lips. “Stanley, do you…ah. You really don’t mind?”

“No.” Stanley shrugged. “It’s actually pretty thoughtful.”

“I figured you’d find it invasive.”

“Oh, yeah, it totally was. But you’re lucky I’m a freak like that.”

The Narrator grimaced. “Just how appealing is the smell, Stanley? It’s not causing you untoward thoughts, is it?”

Stanley laughed. “Honestly? Not really. It's not some kind of aphrodisiac, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The Narrator seemed to relax at that. “But it is sexy. You know it is, you did it on purpose.”

“I didn’t--!” The Narrator cleared his throat. “If you weren’t attracted to men, it would only make me appealing socially. It’s not--not inherently sexual.”

“But, I am attracted to men.” Stanley leaned further into The Narrator’s space, relishing in his flustered fidgeting. “You know I’d still make this work even if you were just a voice, don’t you?”

A tomato red blush bloomed across The Narrator’s stupid, pretty face. “I’ll be going now, Stanley! Back in a bit! Enjoy the free time!” 

And with that, The Narrator was gone.

…

Sometime later, Stanley was lounging with his head against the armrest of one of the employee lounge couches, reading a book taken from one of the shelves in his boss’s office. 

He heard footsteps coming toward him from the hall, and sat up enough to see as The Narrator sheepishly lingered in the doorway.

“Did you fix it?” Stanley asked.

The Narrator clasped his hands together, an attempt to keep himself from moving too fretfully. “Um. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Is that Jane Eyre you’re reading? That’s quite a good one, Stanley. I didn’t realize you enjoyed classical literature.” The Narrator took a step back out into the hall. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Sorry to interrupt."

“Oh come on.” Stanley dropped the book on the cushions and strode over to a flustered Narrator, backing him against the wall of the hallway before he could escape. The Narrator yelped as he bumped against the yellow plaster, starting at Stanley with a wide-eyed uncertainty. 

“You smell nice, good job.” Stanley gave a thumbs up, and when The Narrator was busy rolling his eyes, he leaned in to steal a quick kiss.

“Oh.” The Narrator chuckled, flustered. He brought his hand to his mouth as though he couldn’t believe the kiss had happened, as if it were the first time again. It was cute, so Stanley cupped The Narrator’s cheek and kissed him again, curling his hand through those well-coiffed locks and feeling The Narrator lean further into his touch.

The nothingness from before had gone away, and The Narrator was back to producing that steady sense of comfort and safety, which Stanley supposed was, apparently, his scent. It still seemed made up, but The Narrator certainly had done something, something impactful enough for Stanley to immediately recognize its absence, and celebrate its return.

Stanley felt The Narrator grip tightly to the fabric of his shirt sleeve and chest, drawing him forward and keeping him close. There was a lot The Narrator didn’t do, he didn’t breathe except to talk, he didn’t have a heart beat, or get goose bumps, or sweat, but it was still exceedingly easy to determine what The Narrator was feeling and what he wanted. He had never been good at masking his desires or intentions.

For example, The Narrator simply loved being kissed. He was vocal and encouraging, soft moans of approval and whines of disappointment when Stanley pulled away. He normally let his hands wander across Stanley’s chest, arms, through his hair, which made his tight grip on Stanley’s shirt a bit strange, perhaps an expression of anxiety. 

But the grip lessened in its intensity, and when Stanley paused to catch his breath, he saw a man too blissed out to think about anything unrelated to their touch and their proximity. Things had been righted, all put back into their proper place.

…

Stanley laid with his head cushioned comfortably in The Narrator’s lap, feeling very much content with himself and the state of the world alike. The Narrator was warm, and soft, and his slow, gentle strokes through Stanley’s hair were nice enough to make him dangerously sleepy. 

 “I can’t believe you’re letting me get away with this, Stanley.” Said The Narrator. “I was certain you’d be furious.”

“No, it’ll take more than that.” Stanley said. They weren’t in a position that would normally allow for proper sign reading, but The Narrator didn’t exist solely within his body, he was everywhere. Stanley found it more convenient than anything else. “You’re cute.” He said, and The Narrator’s hand hitched, breaking for a moment from the steady pattern.

“I’m not.” He grumbled.

“You wanted me to like you.” Stanley felt smug.

“I wanted you to tolerate my presence in spite of my physical failings.” The Narrator said.

“I’ll tolerate you any day, baby.” That got Stanley a small smack on the head. He laughed and rolled to face The Narrator, who was looking down at him, unimpressed.

“Hey, do I smell good to you?” Stanley asked. Surely it went both ways. “Doesn’t that mean we’re influencing each other?”

The Narrator shook his head. “I don’t have a sense of smell, Stanley. It’s unnecessary.”

“What!?” Stanley gawked. “That’s unfair. Give yourself one, that way you can experience the joys of using a lover's shirt as a pillow case.”

“I don’t sleep. Also, you only have one shirt, Stanley.”

Stanley rolled his eyes.

“Most of what I’ve focused on in creating this body have been outward methods of communication and interaction,” He said, voice low and thoughtful. “Means of interacting with you, Stanley.”

“Aw.” Stanley really was going to fall asleep. He might have been dreaming already, he wasn’t sure. “You’ve gotta…you’ve gotta put in some stuff for yourself. It’s fun having a human body, sometimes.”

“You would know.”

“...sure do…”

“I’m starting to grasp the limits of my own understanding of the physical form. Humans are such social creatures, everything they do is influenced, in some capacity, by their desires to be close to others of their kind. If I create for myself an ability to smell, or sleep, or experience different kinds of pain, then that will only strengthen our bond, I suspect. I’ll be drawn to you in the same ways I want you to be drawn to me.” 

“I want to be close to you, Stanley. I want you to touch me, and kiss me, and whatever else. But there are aspects of physical affection I can’t experience, or that you experience on a deeper level. Stanley, you’re dozing off in my lap because you trust me, right? But I don’t need to sleep, nor can I be made vulnerable. I don’t have any reason to seek you out for safely in rest. I like making you feel protected, but I lack the capacity to rely on you for protection in turn. Does that make sense, Stanley?”

“Mmm, it's okay. You can be the sleep top, I don’t mind…”

“What does that mean?”

“...nothing.”

“You know Stanley, when you stopped to rest in that armchair because it smelled like me, it was alarming, because I thought the effects of the emissions were so powerful, they were influencing you when I wasn’t even there to emit them. Especially because humans have terrible senses of smell, you see, I was worried I’d overdone it. That was before I realized just how attuned to those subtle signals you really were.” 

“I must admit, I enjoy being able to bring you comfort through something so simple. It makes me wonder what it would be like to experience that for myself.”

“You should install a heart beat, too. I want to listen to your heart, make it go faster.”

“Stanley, that would be embarrassing.”

“So is sniffin’ an arm chair. Humans are kind of embarrassing.”

“At least you know one thing.” The Narrator leaned against the back of the couch, and Stanley drifted entirely to sleep.