Work Text:
Ah, another morning. Another blessed sunrise, blue streaking real sky, actual tangible breakfast to start the day.
It was all so different. So wonderfully different, almost overwhelmingly so despite the countless days that had passed since the cycle had been broken.
Oh, he could go to the park, watch a movie, get lunch, even go back to bed if he wanted to. There was just so many choices now-
"He barely knew where to begin."
Stanley jolted, train of thought broken. He turned, exasperated and was met with a smug look in return.
'Narrator, we've talked about this.' Stanley tried to push his disappointment to the forefront of his mind, hoping his narrator would hear it.
One elegant grey brow rose in confusion. He was unsure if the Narrator was generally confused or just being stubborn. Perhaps both. "Have we?"
Stanley gave a stern look in return. 'Yes, we have.'
'You can't go around reading my thoughts out loud. It makes you look crazy.'
"Crazy?" While the offended tone didn't surprise Stanley, the hurt poorly hidden underneath did. "Cr – wha - Stanley, I don't understand. It's the most effective method of communicating with you!"
'We're not in the office anymore. This is the real world. Real people don't do that.'
For a moment the Narrator seemed to flounder wordlessly, caught in the ever-familiar haze of frustration and confusion that came with attempting to figure out the rules of this strange new world.
"W-well, how am I supposed to know? I don't belong here, among these –these 'real' people all going about their tedious yet
overcomplicated lives. You know that."
Stanley softened. His hand wavered in the air for a second, unsure, before settling down on the Narrators' shoulder. He didn't jump, he noted with a private smile.
'You don’t know that. You haven't even given them a chance.'
The Narrator gnawed worriedly at his lip and refused to meet his eyes. His posture was the very picture of vulnerability. For a brief moment, he looked painfully young to Stanley.
'Give them that chance. Please? Come out with me today,' Stanley pressed. 'Just for a short walk. We don't have to be gone for long.'
But the Narrator had already turned away, face pale and arms folded tightly around his middle. He shook his head gently. "They won't... they won't like me. They won't understand me." His voice was quiet, sad. He sounded all too certain.
While it hurt, Stanley reluctantly let go. He'd give the other some space. Maybe he'd pushed too hard. Too much, too soon. Stanley understood that feeling. He still had trouble himself not getting overwhelmed being in such an open environment, surrounded by strangers in a world that should be familiar but wasn't.
Even so, he couldn't quite hide the disappointment he felt. He'd really wanted to take his narrator somewhere today, instead of having him bunker down and hide from the world in their closet of an apartment. To show him new unfamiliar experiences.
Unpredictability wasn't always a bad thing.
Stanley sighed and tugged on his jacket. Oh well. There was always tomorrow.
He was just about to leave when a tentative hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Wait..." Stanley's lips quirked upwards as he turned expectantly.
'Yes?'
His smile fell when he saw just how concerned the Narrator looked. He looked distressed. "Wait! Stanley, you're leaving? For how long? When will you return?" His usually clear, baritone voice wavered.
'I won't be gone long. An hour or two at most. Promise.'
The Narrator eyed the front door nervously as if it was the gateway to hell itself. Perhaps to him, it was.
Abruptly, he stormed off down the hall.
Stanley went to follow him immediately, concerned. He stopped just short of the door to their room.
Then he heard the telltale sounds of clothes being hastily shoved aside in the wardrobe. Listening closer he could just make out the Narrator's irritated grumbles.
So that meant... the Narrator was actually going with him? They were going outside? Together?
He grinned, feeling at long last excited rather than worried about stepping foot outside – a place not carefully predetermined by his Narrator, where consequences were permanent and could actually impact his life.
That he was still coming to terms with.
They were still coming to terms with, Stanley mused. He sat on the carpet and waited patiently for the Narrator to finish getting ready.
After a good few minutes, Stanley's patience waned.
He was just considering knocking on the door to prompt the slowpoke into picking up the pace when the door opened and outstepped his narrator.
"Stanley! What do you think? Too garish or perfectly acceptable by human standards? You tell me, being the resident Homosapien." The Narrator's hands were firmly tucked away into the pockets of his brown tweed jacket. His shoulders were tense and he looked nervous in the face of his former protagonists' scrutiny.
Not that he needed to be. Stanley blinked owlishly up at him and tried desperately not to stare; a more difficult task than it should have been.
He had to admit, the Narrator was one snappy dresser. The man's usually-mussed grey hair was slicked back. That along with his formal attire, complete with a pair of neat, silver-trimmed reading spectacles - that Stanley knew the man didn't need - made him look very smart. Dashing, even.
'You look... nice.' Handsome. 'Very sharp. I like it.'
That answer must have placated him. Stanley could pinpoint the exact moment the Narrator's previous unease melted away and the familiar self-confidence returned.
"Excellent! Well," the Narrator frowned suddenly, looking down at the small scuffs on the heel of his shoes disapprovingly. "Perhaps not excellent per se, but given your lack of financial resources and not to mention pitiful taste in fashion, I suppose this will have to do."
Sensing that this was as close to an agreement as they would get, Stanley decided not to argue.
Instead, he straightened up and offered a hand to his companion, giving him a small smile. His grin widened when he felt the Narrator's fingers hesitantly interlock with his own.
'Come on then.' Stanley tugged on his arm until the Narrator caved in, sighing dramatically but begrudgingly following him to the front door.
-
It took a hell of a lot of time, patience, and gentle prodding but Stanley had done it. They were in the car. They were moving. They were going outside together!
He almost couldn't believe it. He didn't even have to bring his pad and pen since he knew the Narrator was here and more than qualified to translate for him.
-
The Narrator was seated in the car, hunched over defensively. His eyes were as wide as saucers, watching all the activity whizz by through the window. All the other vehicles, buildings, the trees, the people – it was all so much! Almost too much to process. He knew the human world was complicated but how did they navigate all this? How did Stanley cope with all this? His simple-minded button pressing protagonist?
It was all so overwhelming.
It was all so scary .
The Narrator flinched every time a nearby vehicle whizzed by them at high speeds, expecting a sudden and brutal collision. But that never happened. Each time, the vehicles and their occupants went on their merry way and he was left floundering at how humans navigated this-this death trap commonly referred to as driving.
He glanced over at Stanley once or twice, expecting similar expressions of horror and panic, only to find him looking as serene as ever, casually going about his business and not even sparing a glance to the passing vehicles.
It was beyond baffling.
After a while, however, the Narrator found himself relaxing just slightly. He uncurled from the seat. Although he still startled every time a vehicle passed by, he didn't feel the same stab of panic in his gut like before.
After all, he thought, Stanley didn't appear worried.
Perhaps there was no danger after all.
-
At last, the torturous journey neared its end. The car slowed to a halt in a nearby parking lot. Thank god .
The Narrator watched as Stanley parked the car and stepped outside. After a few brief moments, Stanley rounded the vehicle and opened the passenger door next to him.
He stared at Stanley's hand once again being patiently offered to him before accepting it, allowing the human to pull him up.
He didn't let go.
"W-where are we going, Stanley? You said we wouldn’t be long, correct?" The Narrator sounded anxious. His grip on Stanley's hand tightened.
Stanley turned, face apologetic. 'Oh. Sorry. Should have said. I thought we could maybe get some coffee and go to the park? How does that sound? Though I do have some groceries to pick up; you can wait in the car if you like for that. Supermarkets are loud, busy places packed with people. They're not very fun. I doubt you'd like them.'
The Narrator stared blankly, not understanding half of what the younger man was saying. Eventually, he gave a vague nod in response, signalling his assent.
And that was all Stanley needed. The man beamed brightly, looking happier than the Narrator had ever seen him. Certainly happier than he'd ever looked in the office, he thought dimly.
It was strange, but the Narrator felt his spirits lift as well.
-
It's wasn't a long walk to the cafe Stanley had recommended, but it was certainly a captivating one. The Narrator wasn't sure where to look first; buildings of all different shapes and sizes littered the sideway. People, all different, all unique, passed by, ever-tranquil and caught up in their own little worlds. Their own little stories, the Narrator surmised. But they had no one to tell it. No one to guide them. How did they all manage?
Curiosity lit up in his eyes as he spotted a small, furry, four-legged animal scurrying into a passing alleyway.
He tapped Stanley on the shoulder to get his attention and gestured to the scurrying little beast. "Stanley, what is that?"
The young man smiled wryly, coming to a stop. 'That's a cat. They're cute little critters, friendly too once you earn their trust. Humans keep them as pets, y'know, for companionship.'
"Hm. Companionship," he savoured the word, finding he liked it.
An odd thought crossed the Narrator's mind as he watched the small animal skitter away, one he voiced without thinking. "I - is that why you keep me around? For companionship? Surely, after all, I must be something of a drain on your limited resources."
Stanley looked up at him, his expression strange, one he couldn't identify. 'Sure, but it's... it's different with you.'
The human frowned, surveying the other cautiously. 'You're not... you're not a burden or anything, you're just... not used to this world. You need time.'
There was a beat of silence, one the narrator desperately wanted to fill with his usual insistent questions and demands.
He held off, noticing the discomfort in Stanley's eyes.
Another time, perhaps.
Stanley smiled. It looked a little more forced than last time. 'Come on. Coffee shop's not far.'
-
Stanley was indeed correct. Not five minutes into their stroll across pavements and crossings, it seemed they'd arrived at their destination. He and Stanley stood outside the entrance to a small shop titled in bold letters ''Cup O' Joes". A fitting name, he supposed, given its caffeinated produce.
Stanley opened the door and gestured to the inside.
'In here.'
The Narrator pursed his lips, looking unimpressed. "Yes, I gathered that, Stanley." He stood with his hands on his hips, peering inside nervously, looking very reluctant. "...Are you sure this won't take long? You know I'm not very good at communicating with these - these other people."
'Oh relax. You'll be fine. Just repeat what I'm saying to the cashier, okay?'
Oddly enough, the tall man seemed particularly pleased with that answer. "Oh! So I suppose from a certain point of view, you'll be doing the talking. Excellent! That means if this all goes downhill - which it inevitably will - we can both pin the blame on you."
Stanley sighed. 'Just get inside, smartass.'
The small chuckle he heard as the Narrator passed made his face warm up.
-
The cafe was near-empty, much to the Narrator's relief. A few paintings decorated the walls, lending the shop a homely vibe.
Only a few customers sat quietly within its walls and their attention was focused on their phones or their drinks or their friends. Certainly not on them.
The young woman standing at the counter seemed friendly enough, he noted. She greeted her customers warmly, with bright-eyed enthusiasm.
A melody played from a nearby radio. The tune was unfamiliar but not altogether unpleasant to the ears. When he'd figured out its beat, the Narrator found himself quietly humming along as he and Stanley waited.
Finally, it was their turn to be served. The lady smiled welcomingly at them as they approached. "Hello, what can I get you, sirs?"
He felt a nudge to his side and turned, seeing Stanley give him a pointed look. 'Two lattes. Regular.' Oh-
"Ah- two lattes please miss, if you will. Regular...?" The Narrator's voice trailed off, unsure. He looked questioningly towards Stanley. Had he understood correctly?
Stanley nodded approvingly and the Narrator felt himself relax. Yes apparently, he had.
They waited for a moment in silence, the woman serving them busy brewing the hot beverages. The rich scent of coffee permeated the air around them and it was as pleasant as it was familiar.
Back in his old office and depending on whether he was in a more favourable mood, the Narrator would brew a few cups for Stanley to enjoy.
After a while, he'd gotten curious. He'd wanted to try the hot drink for himself. It had ended poorly the first time. What he had failed to notice was that Stanley always waited for a short period of time before consuming the liquid and consequently, burned his tongue. Stanley had laughed at him, being the devilish individual that he was.
His next attempt had been much more successful and the Narrator, having learned patience was key, had found the hot drink soothing for the spirit. With that in mind, coffee was still absolutely one of his favourite human inventions, the Narrator thought.
The server's voice broke through his musings. "That's an interesting accent you've got, Sir. Don't get many Brits 'round here. You been in the US for long?"
The Narrator started. Small talk. He hadn't been prepared for small talk. What was a 'Brit'? What did he say? Not the truth, surely. Stanley said he'd sound mad if he told their story. He found himself shamefully tripping over his own words, desperately trying to string a sentence together. "I ah- no, I haven't been here long, miss. I ah, I suppose you could say I'm still adjusting, so to speak."
The young woman nodded sympathetically.
"What about you, Sir?" She looked towards Stanley, who silently stared up at the Narrator.
"Oh! Pardon my lack of manners. This is my good friend, Stanley. Stanley was born mute, you see. I'm his, ah, translator," the Narrator explained.
"Oh! Very sorry; you two must get tired of explaining that." The woman walked back towards them, places the two steaming mugs of coffee on the counter. She stopped and seemed to study Stanley for a moment, a curious gleam in her eyes.
The Narrator felt something protective stir from deep within him. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull Stanley away from the stranger and usher him out of the door.
The feeling didn't last long, hearing the woman's next words.
"Though I've got to say, Stanley, your translator has a lovely voice. You really couldn't have picked better." She nodded to the Narrator, whose whole being practically brimmed with pride.
Stanley let out a snort. Great. As if the Narrator didn't brag about it enough as it was. Now he'd never hear the end of it.
'Oh god, please don't let that go to your head.' Stanley's head snapped up to his Narrators', a glower on his face. But the Narrator didn't notice; he was too busy looking so pleased with himself it was almost criminal.
"Why thank you very much, madam! And if you don't mind my saying so, it's clear you have exquisite taste in translators. You've earned my wholehearted approval." The Narrator gave a flouncy bow to the server.
The woman looked more than a little amused, leaning heavily against the counter for support. "Here you are, Sirs, that'll be six dollars and fifty cents p-please," she said between giggles.
Stanley opted to ignore the baffled look on the Narrator's face. He fished out a note and passed it to the still giggling server, quickly taking the change. He nodded a farewell to the chipper woman, scratching the side of his face awkwardly.
'Thank her,' Stanley pressed.
The taller man visibly startled out of his reverie. "Ah. Thank you, madam...?"
"No problem at all. Have a nice day you two! Enjoy the coffee," the woman called out.
With that, Stanley picked up the hot drinks and led them to the closest park.
-
They had been sitting for what felt like forever, quietly sipping at their respective drinks.
The Narrator traced the pretty shapes the clouds made with his finger.
Gorgeous pastures of green grass stretched out in front of them. The sun beat down on them from above and the sky was a bright baby blue. It was just like his ending of the game, the intended one, except it wasn't. It was so much more than that.
The Narrator could actually feel the breeze against his skin, ruffling his hair. He knew if he reached down now, he could touch the fresh blades of grass that had so much more life in them than the fake facsimile he had constructed back in his office.
For a moment, it was too much. The Narrator felt his eyes tear up as he gazed at the sky. He began to panic. He stood still, terrified, waiting for the inevitable restart to take him. Waiting for the soft realization that this had all been an illusion and wasn't he the fool for believing it?
He closed his eyes, resigned and ready.
But the restart never came. The warmth of another's hand did.
The Narrator's eyes widened, his gaze automatically settling on Stanley, his dear protagonist.
He grinned, ecstatic. They were still here!
Stanley squeezed his hand in reassurance.
'You alright? For a moment you sort of... zoned out there.'
"I - I'm more than just alright, Stanley. I just," he laughed, almost hysterically. "I just feel so happy! I've never felt so happy in my entire life."
Stanley's thumb glided across the back of his hand in a circular motion. The movement tickled at his sensitive skin... but it felt right. As if it was always meant to there.
He had that look on his face again. The indecipherable one. The one where his eyes shone brightly, crinkling at the corners.
'Me neither.' Another pointed look; Stanley appeared to hesitate. He was nervous. The Narrator could feel the slight tremor in his hand and see the blush dusting his cheeks. But why though?
The Narrator's brows knitted in befuddlement. He could only stare as Stanley, face now hardened with determination, reached up slowly and tenderly cupped his face with one hand.
He flinched at first, feeling the warmth from his protagonist's palm hit his skin, seeing the human move precariously closer. Instinct screamed at him that this was unprofessional, that he should pull away. He fought down the urge. T-this was important, wasn't it? This felt important. More important than anything...
The scary, baffling, beautiful world melted away, time came to a stop, and Stanley's lips pressed firmly against his own.
Oh.
That look from before. That look had been love.