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For so long Stanley had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to interrupt his all-to-normal life and turn it back into abstract chaos. It kept him from being happy for so long. Just waiting and waiting and waiting. Day after day after day. Knowing something would happen that would shake things up again, that would cause him a problem, that would prove the parable had been real, that wasn’t normal.
The Narrator was, he supposed, just that.
Not that he’d call the Narrator a problem. But there was something wrong. No matter how close they’d gotten, the Narrator was… different. It was almost frightening. Because Stanley found that he cared more than he ever had before, and the Narrator wouldn’t tell him what it was. He wouldn’t say a word.
It wasn’t as if Stanley wanted to pry. He wanted to help though. Wanted to reassure the Narrator, wanted to fix whatever was wrong. Couldn’t do that if he didn’t know what was wrong.
He tried. He still did. But his life went on. As impossible as it felt, his life went on regardless of how he felt. And he had to go to work every day.
This particular day he awoke to find… the Narrator sleeping beside him. Which wasn’t unusual in the slightest. He only noted it because when he had gone to sleep last night, the Narrator hadn’t been next to him. Insisted on staying up late to finish just one more page. For once Stanley had been too tired to drag him to bed.
After placing a kiss on the Narrator’s cheek, Stanley got up and went to get ready. Soon enough he was making breakfast. As usual, he made a little extra plate for the Narrator, then set it next to him as he sat down to eat.
The Narrator wasn’t there though.
Usually he was up by now. In fact, usually he joined Stanley before this.
With a small sigh, he got up and looked into their room. The Narrator still lay there. Fast asleep. For a moment Stanley considered waking him up. He must’ve been up late though. He probably needed the sleep.
Stanley left before the Narrator got a chance to say good morning.
Work was so normal that day.
So painfully normal and uneventful. Stanley should’ve known that something was wrong.
He saw before he even entered the house. The Narrator opened the door, and rushed to him as he approached. Sobbing and blubbering. Immediately Stanley’s arms were wrapped around him. Words failing to come to him but he hugged the smaller man and stroked his back.
It was a while before the Narrator could speak properly.
“You woke up a-and I was all alone-”
“At work.”
“How was I supposed to know?! I usually see you and I- I-I didn’t- I just didn’t know!”
Stanley was silent. Where else would he have been? He put his hand on the Narrator. He was here now. It just needed to be shown. He was here.
“I just- I was so worried that whole time Stanley,” the Narrator continued. “I thought you had left me again. I thought I was alone again and I couldn’t-”
Tears spilled out.
Neither of them could speak for several more minutes. Throats closing, minds going blank, minds being too full. There was nothing for a while. Then finally the Narrator spoke again.
“I didn’t… I feel like you just don’t understand how frightening that was. You can’t. Not unless… well not unless you know about the skip button.”
That was when it finally came out.
Stanley listened. Patiently. As kindly as he could, as the Narrator explained the events to him. It seemed difficult at times. Voice beginning to croak as he lost it. Eventually though, he got through it all.
Stanley didn’t know what to say. Which was probably why he immediately regretted the first thing that came out of his mouth.
“It hasn’t been that long though.”
Stanley grimaced as soon as he said that. Wishing he had a more comforting thing to give. In all honesty though, he was a bit stunned.
The Narrator stared at him. “I… what?”
“It’s been like… at most five years since I left the parable. Let alone since the ‘Ultra Deluxe' came out. It just- I’m sorry, it can’t have been that long though.”
“Well it. You know it must have.” The Narrator crossed his arms and sighed. “I don’t exactly understand it either. I mean I have memories from the parable after the desert… even though I went straight from the desert to here. And yet they were years and years before that even. Before the desert, but after the reviews, which led straight to me ending up in the desert- you know Stanley, the time in that place has never exactly been linear. With the resets and all. I don’t know how it’s possible but it happened.”
“Are you… are you sure?” Stanley asked tentatively. “I’m not- it’s not like I’m doubting you. But I’ve doubted some of the things I’ve experienced. So I’m just checking.”
“It was real.” The Narrator’s voice suddenly became flat. “I know it was real more than I’m sure this is real. More than I’m sure anything other than that was real. Well, except the bucket. That was real. Regardless, I spent too much time in there to doubt it for even a second. It was so long, Stanley. Longer than you can possibly imagine. Longer than anything else I’ve experienced. I missed you for every second. I’ve missed you longer than I’ve even known you.”
It was so hard to think of what to say. What was there to say to that? Other than maybe asking about the bucket. Now wasn’t the time though.
Stanley hugged him. A small choked noise was squeezed out of the Narrator’s throat.
“I just… I don’t want to go through that again. To be alone,” the Narrator whispered.
“I’m not gonna leave you. I promise.”
A promise wasn’t good enough though.
Despite Stanley’s insistence, the Narrator kept feeling this. He kept bringing it up. At times, he didn’t, and Stanley noticed something was wrong on his own. Each time, he gave reassurance. Over and over. Because he needed the Narrator to know. This was the thing he had known would come, this was the problem. He needed to fix it.
He had to be able to.
And even when the Narrator mentioned how silly he felt, how sorry he was for being such a mess, for being such a problem, Stanley insisted it was okay. He didn’t blame the Narrator. He wasn’t annoyed. He wasn’t frustrated. It didn’t bring him down. He just cared so much, and he needed the Narrator to know that.
“It’s okay,” Stanley said, placing a hand on the Narrator’s shoulder.
Time and time again he had said this. Done this. And it had worked before, he knew it.
This time the Narrator slapped his hand away.
“It’s not!”
Stanley’s eyes widened. He drew his hand back. “Narrator please, I promise-”
“No Stanley! I won’t hear it, stop lying!”
In the momentary silence, Stanley simply looked at him. The Narrator’s chest rose and fell, his hands were balled into fists. He didn’t look angry though, he looked pained.
“I just- you keep saying that! You keep saying that it’s okay, that you love me, that you won’t leave me, but I just don’t believe you! Maybe- M-Maybe at some points you had me convinced. Logically I know you’re not lying. I mean, why would you be? Why wouldn’t you just leave if you wanted?? But-” A gasping sob escaped the Narrator’s mouth. He put a hand over his face.
A thumping could be heard. Stanley realized it was his own heartbeat. He wanted to say something, he needed to, but he couldn’t say a word. Not a single one. He was forced to watch as tears slid down the Narrator’s face.
He couldn’t move. His muscles were tight and tense and frozen.
He just watched until the Narrator could speak again.
“B-But… no I can’t believe it. Maybe at one point but not now. I keep bringing it up. It keeps being an issue. For both of us. Because I-I make it your issue. Every time I don’t, I feel I’m going to burst but every time I do, I feel you sl-slip away a little more… and now…” The Narrator growled. “ I was doing so well recently too! And I had to go and ruin everything! Now I know you’re going to leave. I just know it, I’ve seen it too many times, and I’m just waiting for it to happen again. No matter what, I feel it, I believe it. Even when you feed me all the lines about how ‘okay’ it is. It’s not. It won’t be. I can’t be. And that’s it.”
Never in his life had Stanley wanted to disagree more.
But he couldn’t. Couldn't say a word.
Maybe it was because he knew he couldn’t be okay either.
Neither of them could.
…
…
And yet Stanley was there. Arms wrapped around his loved one. Against all belief. Against what the Narrator knew to be true. He stayed. It was the only thing he could do now. Even if the Narrator kept crying. Even if he couldn’t think of an argument.
He didn’t leave.