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Stanley was freezing. Not only did the heating not work in their flat, but the only blanket they could find was really just a moth-eaten rag. He knew that if Narrator stopped hovering about and making up excuses to not get in bed, they would be a lot warmer.
[ Please, Narry… I’m freezing my balls off right now. ]
“Well, apologies to your balls.”
Stanley sighed and scowled at Narrator, who was peering out the window, a pensive look on his face. [ There’s no one there. ]
“I know that…” He huffed a little, “but I don’t need sleep.”
[ You do. ]
“I don’t.”
[ You look dead on your feet. ]
Narrator shot him a look colder than their flat. “I’m not a human, Stanley. Thus, I don’t need to do silly human rituals to regain energ-” He yawned widely, “Energy…”
Stanley grinned at him. [ Sure? ]
“Very sure.”
[ So you're going to watch over me all night? ]
“Yes. It seems only right as you're more human than I am. I will protect you, in a way.”
[ Ok. ] Stanley knew exactly what was going to happen. [ I’m turning the lights off. ]
“Good. Save our electricity bill.”
[ Ok. Good night, Narry. ]
“Stop calling me-” Stanley turned off the light.
Narrator wasn’t scared of the dark in any way, but there was something about standing in the middle of a room surrounded by dark… He shuddered.
Okay, maybe it was a little chilly. And maybe the bed was a little warm.
Stanley rolled over, counting in his mind, 3, 2, 1…
The blanket was pulled back as Narrator flung himself into bed next to Stanley and pulled the blanket up to his nose.
Stanley grinned and rolled back over, raising his eyebrows at the grumpy face poking out next to him.
“I’m not sleeping, I’m just… I’m making sure that you aren’t afraid of the dark.”
[ Are you afraid of the dark? ]
Narrator huffed, “No?! What kind of man would—” The boiler groaned from somewhere in the flat, making Narrator whimper quietly.
Oh. My. God. Narrator actually WAS scared of the dark.
Stanley felt a little guilty now; he hadn’t meant it in a scathing way…
[ It’s fine to be scared, y’know? ]
“I am—.. I am not, Stanley. That's ridiculous.” Narrator laughed, but there was an edge to it Stanley didn’t like.
Stanley shiffed closer, pulling Narrator to his chest, and despite ‘not being scared’, Narrator clutched onto Stanley like a limpet and hid his face in Stanley’s neck. This closeness wasn’t rare, but it was always such a delight for both of them.
Stanley grinned, rubbing soothing circles over Narrator’s back, his face in Narrator’s hair. He smelt… coconutty? But also like old books. And rain. And static. His skin felt… You know when you lick a TV? But like if touching him had that feeling, you felt it in your fingertips? That’s how Narrator felt to Stanley. Soft, warm, static. Perfect.
“I’m still not going to sleep.”
And stubborn as an ox.
— — ★ — —
Stanley woke up with something soft, half-cuddling, half-suffocating him. His neck tingled from a gentle breath on it… Stanley craned his neck so as not to disturb Narrator as he…
Slept.
So much for “I don’t need sleep, Stanley!”
He was snoring lightly, eyes closed, and hair a mess over his forehead. He looked so peaceful, the usual lines from frowning were less severe, any worry or irritation was gone.
He looked adorable, really. Adorable and crushing.
[ Narry? ]
Stanley poked his side in a hope of waking him… Nope. He was out cold. He poked him more, and finally he stirred, blinking and mubling… just to cling onto Stanley tighter.
[ Come on.. we need to get up, and your- oof.. suffocating me! ]
“Your… very warm…”
Narrator snuggled his head into Stanley’s neck, a dopey grin on his face, eyes still closed.
Well. He was going to die here. Suffocated by his boyfriend’s love, what a blow.
Stanley finally monovered Narrator so he wasn’t at risk of death, and settled back down. He didn’t really have to get up, and if Narrator actually managed to sleep, it was a bit of a win…
It was nice too.
He always loved cuddling with someone, anyone really. The tangle of limbs, the warmth, the pure intimacy of the whole thing was so heavenly. But especially with Narrator. The soft static, the smell of books and rain and warmth, his simple softness and presence.
His humanity.
After years of knowing the man, he’d found that Narrator wasn’t human at all; he only looked the part. Stanley sometimes tried to imagine what he would really look like, and always settled on a jumble of words and colours and places and names. Nothing fixed, ever changing, like his mood swings.
But that didn’t matter, because here, now, Narrator was more human than anyone else. He was loving, messy, angry, sad, paranoid, scared… that’s what humans were, right? Just electrified flesh and emotion soup. That summed up Narrator to Stanley…
“Just because I slept last night doesn’t mean it will become a regular thing.”
Narrator's voice was rough with sleep… kind of hot, Stanley couldn’t help but think quietly.
[ How often then? ]
“Once a month, I expect. It seems realistic.”
Stanley grinned into the man’s hair.
Yep. Stubborn as an ox.