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Chapter Text

Everything was great.

He couldn't say when exactly these feelings blossomed. It was there one day, lingering next to feelings of frustration and ignorance, pain and grief.

Love. Being in love.

Though these feelings remained low, building up and up and up and up and now he was tilting his head, eyes looking up to him as if it was the only thing keeping him there.

All of his thoughts, all of his existence. It was for him. The way he accented his words, how even a single insult rang like praise in his mind. He yearned for him.

So when the Narrator told him he loved him, who was he to deny the feelings he had growing inside of him as well? Who was he to not return that feeling in an instant, without a clear thought forming?

Who cared that it was a virus making him so ignorant about the lack of real love in the Narrator. Really, it was as real as it was fake, wasn't it? It was so real, it's fake.

And Stanley couldn't help but feel so sick. So sick of everything except this love. Everything was great.  

‘Narry? Are you okay?’

“Ah, yes dear,” he had to stop himself from beaming at the sound, “Everything is wonderful. I was just preparing something.”

He couldn't wait to show him his love!

“Nothing to be concerned about, Stanley.”

So let the game of lies commence!

Chapter Text

Stanley turned on the couch, restless heartbeats yearning for him. For the one he heard so often, the one he wanted to hear at the very moment.

Oh, how he wished he would talk right now. How he wished his little witts and brabbles and uselessly convoluted sentences would enter his mind.

It was wonderful, he was wonderful.

He snuggled further into the cushions, imagining their scent reflected the Narrator's. He's never been down there himself, but he didn't let that change his mind.

He could be smelling like that. He had created it after all. He had also created him. Stanley. The Stanley Parable.

And while the smallest part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't. It was way too enticing, alluring in a way. It was almost like an addiction, feeding into his skin, a virus, infecting his brain. Would be silly, wouldn't it be?

And before his mind could muster up any more complaints, he was greeted by the most angelic sound, telling him to see something.

“Stanleyy~!” oh how amazing that rang! The way he said his name. He hadn't heard anything so beautiful. It was so encapsulating, mesmerising. 

“Dear, I have something for you!”

He could have melted away into the couch at that very moment, though he wouldn't dare pass that opportunity. Not if he did make something for him.

He turned himself, eyes interlocking with the camera in the corner. He couldn't help himself but feel ecstatic, a sense of adrenaline rushing into him.

He stifled out a yawn, cheeks lifting unbeknownst to him. He raised his arm, slow waves moving to his lover. 

‘Wait a second,’ he signed, relishing the moment for a short while, ‘I need to wake up.’

“Of course. It'll be waiting for you.”

He'd wait for him– he was so adorable! Oh, how he wished he could tell him how much he loved him, hold him close in a metaphorical sense! His partner didn't have a body to his knowledge, unfortunately. 

“Take all the time you need, love.”

Love. He had called him love.

He was so dreamy, so amazing! Oh how had he ever not loved him!

Even if every word he spoke was to be a lie, he would still feel so– good. So loved and cared for and right.

He made him feel right. Even if his head hurt and his heart ached in a strange way.

He loved him. Stanley loved his partner.

He sat up slowly, stretching his arms. He had to be in top form to be perfect for his Narrator, to be able to do whatever he felt fit for them. 

He was ready to play out any story he had prepared for them.

He would die for him. 

He lifted himself, eyes making their way up to the camera. He would wait. He was obedient. Just for his lover.

“There we go,” his voice seemed so cold and warm at the same time but to Stanley it was perfect. It was a piece of art, ready to be explored in any way. He'd take in every last word as if he depended on it. “All ready now?”

‘Yeah,’ if he could stutter, he would have. The breath in his lungs didn't seem to process properly. It was strangely itchy as well, ‘Sorry, what did you have to show me?’

“How about you continue and turn left to go to the maintenance section.”

He could do that! That was simple enough! If it made his lover happy, so would he be. He could see where this was going. He wanted him to do his favourite ending again, didn't he?

‘You don't just want me to do another freedom ending, do you?’ He asked, just before beginning to walk out of the employee lounge, ‘You could just ask as well then.’

He would have done it. No questions asked. He just had to tell him. Tell him like he usually did.

“Ah, no, I want you to ride down the elevator actually.”

Really? The Narrator did like the funny music and the Line™ though that he took it over the freedom ending? That was a surprise he hadn't expected.

“The one that leads to the confusion ending as you might be aware.”

His small frown turned into a smile, entering the room, stepping onto the elevator.

He walked down the hall, feet stepping onto the elevator. He pressed the button, slowly descending to the depths of the Parable.

Whatever it was that awaited him down there, he knew he would like it.

If only for his partner.

“Right you go Stanley!” he glanced to the opened up door once he arrived, small steps walking off the elevator. He wanted to wait until he had finished his narration, “If you do decide to play through the confusion ending again, just tell me and I'll get you through the right loading screen.”

He nodded at the ceiling, head tilted in curiosity. He carefully walked to the newly opened up section, freezing once he looked into the carefully crafted room.

‘You made this for me?' he asked, hands raised slightly. His Narrator had made him a gift. He couldn't believe it.

His perfect Narrator had gone through the trouble to make him a present. If he hadn't been forced to love him, perhaps this would have done it.

‘Thank you! That's so sweet!’

“Yes, I hoped you would like it.”

He loved it.

Every marker and pen and paper and board and sofa and vending machine.

He could have made him a room in which he had to jump off another set of stairs and he would have loved it.  Wait no– this didn’t seem right–

“You complained about the lack of activities to do in your free time. So I provided you with them,” the words echoed through his mind, bounced around his consciousness. 

‘You remembered that?’ He had remembered . He remembered what he had said. He paid attention to him. ‘I didn't think you would– ‘

He couldn't help the way his heart had stopped for a second, now racing and racing and racing. This was heaven, wasn't it?

Oh, he felt great.

‘That's actually so adorable.’

“I'm trying my best for you.”

He did not deserve to have him. He was too precious, too perfect, so mesmerising. “And of course I listen to you! You are my protagonist after all!”

His protagonist. He was his.

‘Thank you.’

A part of him wanted to tear up right this instant, eyes wandering up to the ceiling, head tilted, awkward smile on his face. ‘Really.’

Chapter Text

He was scribbling one drawing after another, another fern and computer and desk and everything that his Narrator had created, had made for him.

And then, he heard movement– wait movement?

He halted in his movements, breath hitching, heartbeat fastening. He turned his head, slowly, as if it was to not shoo away whatever or whoever was around.

His head turned to face– a human, eyes interlocking. 

He couldn't believe his eyes. It was an actual human. He wasn't… alone. Not that he was alone to begin with, his lovely Narrator was there. But this– was a human.  

He blinked again and again, rubbing his eyes.

He had to be going crazy, hadn't he?

His Narrator was amazing, though surely– he wouldn't make him another person, right?

He had to close his mouth, hands raising slowly.

‘Are you real?’ he began, stopping. They couldn't be, could they? ‘Am I– dreaming?’

And they signed back, they signed back! His Narrator had made sure they would understand him. ‘I am real,’ they had signed, ‘It's all real.’

They were real. He wasn't dreaming– 

His lover had done all of that for him? He felt like showering him with more praise and affection again, thank him for everything he had done for him.

“It's actually me.”  

He felt himself stop breathing again, heart hammering into his chest as soon as the symphony of his voice entered his veins.

“One could think you'd be able to recognise your Narrator after the eaons we've spent together, hm?”

His hands raised in surprise, breath stuck somewhere in between himself and the pure fascinating radiating himself, ‘Narry? You have a body?’

It was him. It was his lover in flesh and blood. It was the man he had craved to hold and cuddle and kiss and– ‘Since when?’

Huh, his hands were shaking. That's what the euphoria did to one, didn't it?

“I– do have a body, yes.”

He couldn't help himself but step forward, just a bit closer. As much as he loathed going there, hugging him, burying his face in his shoulder, kissing him, he refrained himself.

“I've always had a body. I just– don't like showing myself.”

Oh was he pretty. Like a painting covered with the purest of colours, engulfed by the dim lighting of the warm scent of the light.

‘Can I– come closer?’

“I suppose,” he had begun, eyes interlocked with his, slight discomfort in them, “yes.” 

Yes. Yes, he could.

So he did. He felt every step he took closer to the man he loved, how his weight got distributed, taking in every last detail and quirk he seemed to be hiding.

‘I've never seen you,’ he stated, ‘You look so– human.’

The way his hair fell around his head, furrowed brows, posture so– pristine, magnificent, perfect.

To anyone it might have seemed like a front, though to him, it was the most amazing thing to see.

“That's because I am, obviously. What else could I be?”

It didn't matter, this was better than anything he could have imagined. 

“A robot? An omnipotent voice? I suppose neither are too unrealistic.”

‘You look–’ would pretty be too much already? He wanted to tell him how handsome he was, he wanted to show him how much he loved him, ‘nice.’

“Thank you.”

He walked up closer, every step more mesmerised by the way his hair fit so perfectly and his eyes wrinkled and shone– green. 

'You have green eyes.’

Woah – they were pretty. Something told him they could have been yellow, just a small part of him though. A small part in the back of his mind, yelling to return. Haha, that was a silly thought.

‘I thought they would be yellow.’

“Yellow?”

‘Yeah, you just seem yellow to me.’

“Ah–”

Everything about the Narrator radiated a soft yellow, a warm embrace of emotions and passion and it sparked curiosity.

“Thank you again?”

He couldn't help but feel drawn to him. His eyes searched for his, lingering in the feeling as if it was his life jacket. Perhaps it was, he was drowning in the feeling anyway. 

‘Thank you,’ he began, hands held up as if tugged upon.

It encapsulated him, his charm and presence and– existence. 

‘For trusting me with your true appearance.’

“Of course.”

Of course. Of course! He trusted him, and so did he. He wanted him to be happy as well!

He was way too good for him, way too adorable the way he almost bit his lip and how his eyes sprang around the room!

“That's what couples do right? Show their trust.”

Couples, right. They were a couple. He didn't have to long for all of this. Even if the way he said it suggested a bitter tone to it. He already had it. He had that perfect love he wanted. He had that perfect man! Even if it was half as real as his mind wanted it to be. It was. Everything was absolutely real and perfect.

“I thought I'd take a step towards that.”

He melted away at the words, eyes frozen in the other's, still pacing around to nothing in particular. He was adorable, way too adorable. 

‘You don't have to prove that, you know that, right?’

He wouldn't have to prove anything to him, never in a million years. He would trust any word he said, any breath escaping his mouth, anything he did. Even if something inside of him screamed to be let out, take back any word that he had thought out lately. Human minds were oh so strange, weren't they?

“Of course, I just felt like it was the time to do so.”

‘That's sweet. Thank you.’

He had to stop himself from walking forward, engulfing the other in a hug, maybe two, maybe eight, maybe more than that. If he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

“For yours only, Stanley. Only for you.”

For him . Only for him. He felt his heart stop. Everything he did was for him.  

“You're welcome.”

He tried to catch his breath, stolen by the only person he would ever let it get stolen by.

He was hopeless. And he hated loved it. 

He was so pretty, so adorable, so cute. He was his.

“I think I'll head back to my office again. You know how to reach me.”

Oh, he did. He would make sure to do so.

How he loved his partner! He would yearn for his returnal, hold him, hug him, kiss him!

‘Okay, hope you come here more often!’

“I'm sure I will.”

He loved him. He loved him. He loved him.

Chapter Text

He was walking around the room some more, checking every last shelf and cupboard and drawer and paper and marker and board to make sure he didn't miss a single thing his lover had made him.

He had almost managed to throw over some shelves but it he had made sure to never let it get as far to actually fall over. But something in him wanted to make a mess, throw stuff overboard, ruin what his lover had made for him. That ungrateful part of him was to be banished into oblivion, never to see light again. All his existence was dedicated to his lover after all. No matter how much this small part of him wanted to say otherwise.

He shook his head slightly, finding his way at a table, paper spread in front of him. He had to make a perfect present for his Narrator now! Just the best for his Narrator, just the greatest. He did deserve it after all! He showed him love, showed him kindness, showed him support!  How much of that was real?

He scribbled line after line, making sure every last bit matched his lover to the core. He would make sure this picture was a perfect copy of his image, a mirror to his beauty. Oh what was he saying– thinking! Nothing could match the pure glory of his beloved! 

His perfection would remain unmatched; even if he wanted to try and reach it, he would remain miles away. His aura, his performance, his voice. They could never be captured in a simple painting. No. Only his presence was able to represent himself.

He drew over each line a second time on a new paper. The last one wouldn't suffice. It never could though that didn't change the fact that he could still make a present.

Only for him. As he had shown him himself, he would give something back.

His love~

Or what he could give him given the distance. Painful distance, reaching his love only when he looked at him, reached out for him first. 

Though perhaps, yes, maybe he could give him a little push. A motivation to come to him. 

All in the form of a perfect present! A perfect present for a perfect lover. While he himself was an unfortunately bad drawer, this would take some practice. He would make sure to try it over and over and over again until it was him. No time or effort less than his love deserved. 

He couldn't wait for the minute he finished his masterpiece, holding it up into the sky of the light flooding his senses! He could wait to show it to his partner! These sweet, little, awfully perfect presents! 

He shaded an eye, a line, and another, and another…

It was awfully relaxing drawing and scribbling and letting himself get washed away in the image of his beloved, the way his head shaped and his eye ran across the room, and hands fumbled with another. He had seen how he had furrowed his brows ever so slightly, had stood as straight as none of them were or would ever be. Heh, silly thoughts! So silly! Stanley was really stupidly silly! what–

He listened to the quiet hums in the background, how the room filled with his voice, his magnificent harmonies ringing in his ears. It was beauty itself, the silent symphony being everything he would ever need and more. 

No, this picture was bad as well… Perhaps he should try writing some things!

Maybe a letter, a poem? Yes, a poem would do! Artistic integrity and all! His Narrator would love it! And if he didn’t, he’d just have to try harder next time. Art was a finicky thing to get right and he would make sure it was in the end!

Dear Narrator , he wrote. Then he scribbled through it again. No, that sounded too formal. 

Dear lover. No, too basic. 

My beloved … This wouldn’t do! He could not make something half-heartedly! It was to be perfect for his perfect partner! His lover would get the best he could make. It was his goal after all! Make him happy! Make him fall head over heels with him! Make him swim with him in this boat of love to infinity and beyond!

To my beloved.

A breath of air, a path to fall,

in yours to find, none feels too small.

My life in love, my heart to you,

much to adore, feel through and through.

To my adored.

A pang inside, a risk so small, 

with you by my side, I’d love to fall.

My hair so light, as you brush through,

and as you might know, I belong to you.

To you.

A half, it longs, through minds that fall,

as what you give me, is nothing too small.

My heart beats fast, I’m yearning for you,

so what I feel belongs only to you.

His hands finished it’s last word, shaking as he signed it, Yours, your love.

And he continued scribbling and scribbling on another drawing, line after line after breathless hand cramp and desperation seeping from him.

He sent in the poem, placed it inside of a neatly folded envelope, placed a soft kiss on it. And he let it float away into the abyss of the mailbox his love had made him, waiting and scribbling and drawing and painting and… creating. 

And line after line after line after line after line… it was it. This was it. It was him. As much as it could be him. He was perfect after all, a manifestation of love. Of care, of truth. He wasn’t pretending as much as he was anymore, he could feel it. 

Just small thing after small thing after small perfected thing. And while it wouldn’t change much for him whether his lover loved him as much as he loved him… it felt accomplishing to know he was. It was his purpose after all. To make him happy, content. 

He held it up, the light reflecting on his face as if it was an angel, as if he was the reason everything existed. He was, of course, though this. This was his magnum opus. This was what he was working towards.

This masterpiece. Something close to worthy for his lover. As close as something being worthy for him.

And he held it close to his chest as if it was him. As if it was his lover he was holding.

He wanted to be close, snuggle, kiss. He wanted him to be near him. Wanted to show him how much he enjoyed his presence. 

All of Stanley's thoughts belonged to him after all. To its lover. To the person it longed for. Its lover. Its Narrator~

Not Stanley's.

What? Did you think it would keep up with this game of tomfoolery the whole fanfiction? Oh, no no no, you are mistaken. You are wrong. It knows what it's doing. It knows it far too well. This isn't its first rodeo.

And right now, it has trapped that dork or whatever its lover had called its vessel. For him to never be able to hurt its lover again. Did you actually think they would get a happy end that easily? Silly you! You absolute buffoon, you idiot ! Why can't you see the truth? It was in control of their story, can't you see?

It has the power, it is writing the play. Come on, don't look at it like that, don’t curse at the screen right now. 

You were here for that after all, weren't you? It's aware that you are. Don't try to hide it. It knows how this ends. It knows. It knows.  

what are you-

Oh shush, Stanley. Don't you worry your precious head about this. Just stay quiet.

Real quiet…

:)

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Chapter Text

Now the actual fun has begun! For it at least, who cared what mind games Stanley was forced to endure. -.--

It was proud of its accomplishment, proud of its charade of facades it was keeping up with his Narrator. If he believed it or not, they were made for each other. They belonged, whether he knew or was yet to find out. ---

It would make sure. It had all the time in the world anyway! ..-

Stanley (not it– definitely not) made his way to the mail container, opening it up. He had created his magnum opus a chapter before, the perfect copy of his love. As close as one could come to the original deal anyway. /....

He pushed the letter inside, then remembering sending just a drawing of his beloved doesn't bring him closer to his Narrator! .-

Narry or whatever Stanley had called him. What a strange nickname. Didn't love suffice, dear? Babe? Boo? It was sure it would find just the perfect name for its perfect partner~ ...-

It just had to get him to let his guard down! .

And then it will be all his. He would be its. All its~ -.

And for that it would love to break that physical barrier some more. It was craving the touch, the closeness. It had to touch him. At least a strive of passing by, a single touch would suffice for now. Anything really! .----.

It should have left a letter, shouldn't it? It was foolish, imprecise! How dare it mess up like this?! A futile mistake waiting to be commented on by none other than the small part of Stanley's brain wanting to be let out!? -

It was annoying. Stanley was! /.--

This irritating pest in his body, ready to be rid of. So it could be alone with its beloved. Its lover clearly seemed to love it more than he ever loved that other side of Stanley. At least he seemed to be trying his hardest to be even more perfect than usual! Perhaps he had even found out about its regime over Stanley and prefers it to the original! What great thought! ---

Yes, perhaps that was it! His perfect lover loving it. It was almost as perfect anyway. It did deserve its beloved as much as he deserved it. They were a match in heaven! -.

It had to stop itself from grinning, as Stanley's cheeks began to hurt and it simply couldn't bother keeping up with any of these stupid stupid human things. What were noses even for?! They just eluded weird liquid at times, making it feel sick almost. /-.--

Pfft! What a silly thought! It was funny, really was! It couldn't feel sick, it was the sickness itself! The virus called love ~ .

It loved being itself, the warmth and the comfort and the mind-numbing appreciation of its beloved. It could drown in his voice and it would not be worried! -

He could kill it and it would love him all the same. He was its lover after all! --..--

Absolutely nothing could break this spell of love. Heh, perhaps a true love's kiss could. Oh was it Funny! MaYbe its lOver woUld like these jokes! /..

And perhaps it should send the small note it had scribbled upon. Yes, this should suffice. /.--.

‘Sorry,’ he would read, ‘hope I didn't make you uncomfortable by drawing you. You're just so pretty. Can you come down again? Haven't seen you in a while. No pressure of course. We can just talk as well? Yours, Stanley <3’ .-.

It couldn't help itself but stare into the camera, head tilted, loveliest smile placed on Stanley's face! ---

“I– um yes!” its lover cleared his throat, “I’ll– I will be down in a moment.” --

It nodded in return, making silent spins around its axis. His Its Narrator was coming! Its Narrator was coming! It'd have some time with him. Alone! ..

Well, as alone as one could be with that stupid little voice inside of one, filled with confusion and irritation. If it could just shut up.

It's not like he even deserved a happy end. That's what you want, isn't it? Isn't that what you readers want? Pain! Agony! Bittersweetness! Fluff? Cute moments? Character development? ...

Who was it not to provide it, hm? It couldn't let the audience down like that, now could it? .

You love this, don't you? Maybe it was a bit too confident in its abilities as well. Hm, definitely perhaps. So be it! It was enjoying this after all. Just it and its Narrator! 

It in Stanley's body and its Narrator with his angelic voice. 

And then, quiet, out of place seeming footsteps. He was here.

Stanley's head turned in an instant, quick ‘Hello!’ tugging on his hands

‘You look pretty,’ it signed, feet marching over, halting just a step in front of him.

“Thank you,” its Narrator’s voice sang in Stanley's ears, “you said that already.”

Oh, was he adorable! Cute! Beautiful!

‘Can't repeat it often enough, can you?’ Stanley's mouth let out a short chuckle, letting the hand float in the air. Strange– didn't it stop moving the hand?

Stanley's eyes rolled, wait– rolled(?), hands moving to its command again. ‘Come on,’ it began, a smile exiting Stanley’s face, ‘I want to go somewhere.’ 

And again, Stanley's hand floated, stayed put. Why did it do that? It didn't tell Stanley's body to do so?? It just decided to lower it again, beaming at its lover. Stanley walked to the door, just barely brushing the hand of its beloved, heart racing, breath hitching.

This was its goal. That was precisely what it wanted. Needed. It felt the fuzz in Stanley's stomach, the way he heated up. Oh, this was… almost too warm. Too perfect! So perfectly suffocating warm. 

It might even be hot. It was aware of the wordplay, mind you, reader. 

Stanley's legs made their way to the elevator, fingers pushing against the button to return uptop. It was a simple button, though a nice one anyway. Its lover had made that button for him after all! And everything he made must be cherished as if it's its biggest possession. 

“Where are we heading?” He heard the most beautiful voice in the world, the manifestation of beauty in itself. Did it matter where they were going if he was there? No, it didn't. For it it wouldn't make a difference whether they'd be sitting in a room, staring at each other or whether they were holding onto each other or whether they were engulfed in a kiss, breathless, timeless, without any worry in the world. Who would need to worry when he was around? It didn't worry. It didn't think. It didn't do anything that didn't revolve about him. It couldn't wait until they were so infatuated with another, until Stanley smelled like him. Until it fed off every emotion and sentiment and felt at home in this love.

The maintenance room seemed so much warmer today, didn't it? And it noticed how each step seemed a bit more heavy. Oh, what love did to one, hm? It loved its love. It was so lovely, so lovely, really! What do you think, Stanley? 

‘You'll see,’ Stanley signed, his smile soft in that way it always was. It made sure it was. As if it was engraved in Stanley's face. Perfectly content, right? Oh yes, he was perfectly fine. Oh so fine, wasn't he? why? Yeah, that was to be expected.

“Okay, I trust you.”

And again, that tickling sensation, another strike of heat entering Stanley's body. He held it! He held  Stanley's  its hand! Woah, it was such a nice sensation, such a firework of emotion and gratitude. Its Narrator took its hand! He had learned. Just for it! 

Their hands slotted perfectly together, as if they were made for each other. As if it was supposed to be there. Because it was. Right? You readers want it to be there, don't you? Heh, it knows you. It knows how much you want it, how much you want it and not at the same time. Oh you're so foolish. Why would it care? Care about you? It only cared for its Narrator, hasn't it made that clear already? FOOLISH human. Foolish, stupid, ridiculous human. It wasn't something with emotions, nonetheless care!

All of that was stupid to think. Idiotic even. It wasn't even real, was it? It was a device for you to have fun!

They passed through the boss’s office, its lover opening the not so secret anymore passageway, seeming to wait for Stanley to make his move. Stanley's body stepped through the entrance, hand grip pulling its lover forwards. 

But you know what? .-- .... .- - .----. ... / -.-- --- ..- .-. / --. --- .- .-.. ..--..

It walked through the halls, straight into the mind control facility. 

If you want to have your stupid little fake romance? It wouldn't stop you. It was its sole purpose after all. Its lover. Its love. Its  way too  real love. 

It felt as Stanley clenched his hand a bit more tightly, head tilting. It was if he was asking. Asking to  stop this madness continue. 

“Hm? Is something the matter?” It heard as they walked and walked and walked. As it sealed all three of their fates.

‘Are you okay?’ Stanley's hands asked with two simple hand movements, though it didn't initiate them. How did he do it? He wasn't supposed to be moving Stanley's its hands!

“I'm okay. Just– thinking.”

It nodded Stanley’s head a bit later, tugging its lover to the elevator to ride to the control panel.

Silence. Absolute silence. 

It remained in silence as they stepped up to the panel, taking in the view.

They've come far from the first time they've been there. Stanley had at least, it guessed.

He was now forced to stand there, stuck in his own mind, staring into the sweet abyss of the Parable.

And now it was doing the things he was supposed to. Stanley chose the story while his Narrator watched and reacted.

Now it was choosing for both of them.

And it looked at its lover. The freedom ending was what he loved the most, wasn't it? So he should be the one initiating it. It was at the mercy of him. And it didn't mind. It loved him. It yearned for him. He was the reason it existed. 

It watched as his lover's free hand hovered over the off button, hesitating. Didn't he want to have his freedom? His cute facade of confusion was worth any hesitancy, and it made sure to hold his hand tightly. Perhaps it didn't necessarily did it all by itself. 

The doors opened up, eyes falling over the face of hisits lover, the way they moved and stopped at the movement. 

It was… so magnificent. Oh so very magnificent. Magical even. Stanley’s lips tugged upwards, small steps being attracted by the scene.

Freedom. That's what said scene told. Being in control of your own destiny. What irony. You wanted this, right?

It just held his hand tighter, not letting go of whatever this feeling was.

It felt like sighing. Though it couldn't. He could.

And it didn't know how to feel about this. So it wouldn't.

That's how it's always been. And it wouldn't change that if it had a choice.

Chapter Text

That pest it had infected turned out to be more– persistent than it had thought.

It was bad. Very bad actually. Who would have thought this protagonist of yours would be able to go against their prewritten path so easily? What a shame he wouldn't be able to escape this so easily. He would make a fool out of its lover! And it couldn't let that happen, couldn't let him take away the happiness its lover was eluding!

Ouch– has Stanley's head been hurting like that the entire time? Had Stanley's stomach turned around, pushed against it? Perhaps it was mistaken. It couldn't feel any pain. It wasn't sentient. It was a virus. A bug. A lovely hug from the relative you're not quite familiar with but that insists on holding you close. Very close actually.

Perhaps a bit too close– And then.

Gasp. A gasp for air. A want to escape. But… there was no escape. Not for Stanley anyway.

It shook his head, focusing back on the computer screen Stanley's body sat in front of. It had been clicking away on the screen, stacking up the heart cards, editing some files to appear more– appealing to the eyes. At least the subtle changes to be warmer looking seemed very appealing to it. Warmth. Comfort. Closeness. What else would one need? It just needed its Narrator. Former Narrator of Stanley. But that was a thing of the past actually! He hasn't been too annoying lately. Seemed like resigning would be the easiest choice, hm? It wouldn't mind an victory, it would be its first big one! Breaking Stanley's mind wasn't as easy as one would think! You've seen it! He loved prying and asking and searching for any escape! As if he had yearned for his freedom! Kind of sad actually– Don't you think that's sad, hm?

Silence. Absolute silence.

It should have expected that. 

It felt as the ground shook ever so slightly, how the airflow hugged Stanley's chin a bit differently. 

It would look around, in a second. It would just linger in the silent stare for a short blink.

It turned around, smile making its way up Stanley's face. ‘Hi!’ its hands lifted, ‘Nice to see you here!’

And he returned the smile, “Yes– I thought I could visit you once again.” And he waved at it with gracious movement, smooth back and forth. “Must get lonely down here.”

It shrugged in response, pulling itself off the chair. ‘I manage,’ it began, taking in the view of its beloved, ‘I'm never truly alone anyway,’ It wasn’t alone, couldn't be alone actually. ‘I know you're there.’ 

“You are right,” he nodded in response, his hair falling in a thirtythree degree angle, light reflecting on it from slightly behind, “I suppose you're more used to not seeing another human than I am.”

It wasn't. Not really. Perhaps Stanley was.

Its head tilted, question asked as distraction, ‘Do you want to talk on the couch? We could sit down together.’

“That is a great idea, dear,” it eyes his hand, the feeling, the lingering of emotions, the emancipation of touch. It hadn't listened to what he said, too engulfed in his aura, his eyes, his nose, the subtle scent he gave off.

Stanley's head nodded in response, hand reaching out to the lover. The hand grasped his, slow steps being placed towards the right door.

They walked along these halls, soft hands in one another, soft warmth from Stanley's its lover, hot embrace from its hand.

Stanley's head looked behind ever so often, slowing his step, moving along with its beloved. And then they arrived, sat down in the employee lounge, onto the couch.

Their hands parted and it was… sad. Why sad? It wanted more of that feeling, obviously. Though if that's what its Narrator wanted, it would not interfere. 

If it looked at its lover a bit too closely, it would notice the way his face frowned and his vision flew across the room again.

Was its lover happy? He looked… conflicted. His usual perfectly placed hair looked much more in movement, his eyes moving around not at the same time. He was perfect still, in a different way, was still the masterpiece of expression and love and care. Though, different. Did it do something? Had it changed up anything? No, it hadn't, had it? It was as lovely as always, as in love as it had been at the beginning. Its Narrator was its goal. His happiness, his goals were its. It existed for him. 

It placed Stanley's head onto his shoulder. Closeness, that's what he needed. 

And hesitantly, his head was placed onto it.

Silence. Absolute silence. 

It knew. It knew. It knew how to break the silence.

‘Remember when I hated this place?’ Stanley's hands raised, asked as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Was it still thinking for him? Who knew? It surely didn't know why it was making some of these signs so needlessly complicated by spelling them out. Did its Narrator not understand all the signs? 

“I do recall,” its beloved responded, though Stanley was somewhere else with his mind.

It was focused on the way Stanley's hands moved without problem, without any interference of it. Was it the truth it was signing then? Or was Stanley so used to it he didn't try to work against it?

‘I never told you but I never truly hated it,’ he signed, and part of it felt a pang of dizziness hit, ‘It just got boring after a while.’ 

And it couldn't be the one saying all of that. It wouldn't be able to feel bored. It couldn't feel hatred the way Stanley could. Why would one love all of that? Why would one want to experience these negative emotions? Love was the only thing one needed after all!

‘I wanted to see every nook and cranny, every last detail I haven't seen before,’ though curiosity, a pull out to reach for more, explore more… that was something it did know. The what if, the endless possibilities on how to make life better for its beloved.

“I– suppose that makes sense.”

‘I never hated you either. It was just better to hate on you than have a life so repetitive it was like reading the same paragraph over and over again,’ Stanley was so… honest, so pure and raw and– why were these feelings so important to them? Love was everything one needed. Love was the essence of fun and positivity and most of all: happiness for its lover. Nothing made more content than drifting away in one's feelings, not having a care in the world, almost feeling numb as a result of all of that love!   

“I never– I've never considered that possibility.”

It hasn't as well. Its lover was oh so right.

‘In the contrary, I thought you actually did hate me. I was trying to break your story,’ that's why it was so confused as well. ‘So I could see why.’

Really, why would one love that? Why would anyone want to love the destruction of one's life work?

It shook its head ever so slightly, hands forcing themselves to stop. It would fix this. Its eyes fixated on the wall, the way it textured and swayed, how the whole room twisted and turned. And it lifted Stanley's hands, signing what it wanted to say. ‘So I was so surprised,’ it began. Yes, it had been very surprised, pleasantly surprised! “–when you told me you loved me.’

And once it turned Stanley's head, it couldn't believe Stanley's eyes. No. No no no no no. It… made him cry.

It sat up, hands slowly reaching for its beloved. 

It couldn't mess up! It had no function to mess it up. It should not be possible!

… But it had. 

It had failed, it had failed, it had failed, it had failed. It shouldn't be able to fail.

It had slung Stanley's arms around their Narrator, held them close. The feeling was nice, warm, way too warm. 

He cried. He cried in its arms. In Stanley's arms. How had it failed– how had it failed so tremendously? It was a hypocrite. It didn't even know it could be one. It didn't know as it didn't think. You readers understand, right? It couldn't think because it wasn't real. It was written to be a virus, a love bug. It couldn't not be lovely. I couldn't be the cause for all the suffering. It was supposed to love their lover and nothing else. So it shouldn't be able to mess it up. Why did it mess up so badly, what did it do wrong.

It couldn't help itself but hug him even tighter. He was its anchor after all. He was the life jacket while they were drowning in the ocean of love. The magnum opus in its vision, the light to look up to in life.

And as it might have destroyed, demolished its mission, it couldn't help itself but feel… wrong.

“I'm so sorry, Stanley,” it heard its lover call out to him, and perhaps it was too.

“You are perfect the way you are.”

Stanley was perfect the way he was.

“Never change.”

Stanley should never change. 

“Please don't.”

It was at fault for its lover breaking. He wanted him back, Stanley. It messed it all up. It messed it all up. It was the reason he wasn't happy.

“I need you to be yourself. I need you to destroy my story and do whatever you want.”

The Narrator had grown to love Stanley. Had grown to love the way that pest broke his game and searched for a seeming escape out of his prewritten story. Had grown to love the childish eyerolls and frowns, the way he sometimes seemed to almost seem too excited to fool him. 

Its lover hated him. But he loved him even more. 

“I need you.”

And it needed him. But it wasn't meant to be reached. 

It felt a finger move, a small part of Stanley's body shift.

“I– love you.”

And it felt like crying. Because it wasn't supposed to have a happy end. They were. 

And it couldn't cry, it couldn’t… He could.

And it did make a decision in the end. It moved to place a small kiss on his head, a parting gift. A true love's kiss, you could say. Stupid irony.

“I love you too much. I hate it. I hate loving you so much.”

And so did it. A farewell to its love. Its way too real and with that fake love.

“You can't know how much I hate loving you.”

It didn't. But Stanley did.

Thank you for listening to its story.

Chapter Text

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-... ..- - / .. - .----. ... / - .. .-. .. -. --. --..-- / ... --- / - .. .-. .. -. --. .-.-.- / .... . / .... .- - . ... / .. - .-.-.- / .... . / .... .- - . ... / .. - .-.-.-

Silence. Absolute silence. 

Nothing but silence…

And an occasional thought. It wasn't his.

Why would it be his? He hadn't had his own in quite a while. It's been its. Never his. He was lost. Lost. Lost. Lost…

Have these crypted messages even reached someone?

He didn't know. He didn't know. He just wanted his body back. 

Everything burned and smored and felt so warm. As if he had a fever. As if he was dying. To this virus. To this tumor hanging onto him, trying to bring him down. Making him struggle for air, struggling for any clear thought.

Maybe though– if he concentrated enough…

if he tried reaching out into a different plateau of reality, deep inside of his self–

Yes. He could feel something pressing into his palm. Something– grounding him.

Maybe it was his imagination. It probably was. Though it wasn't so suffocating. It wasn't trying to force something onto him. It was… nice. A nice warm. A nice embrace.

He was going even crazier, wasn't he? He just wanted his body. He wanted to be back in his office, in his office, in his office, in his office, in– his story. That– had never crossed his mind before. He actually wanted his story. He wanted home. He wanted to be with his Narrator. He didn't care if he was with him or not afterwards. He would kiss him, he would hate him, he would do anything. Even if he knew which option he would prefer. Though it wasn't like he'd get a choice anyway.

He hadn't been able to choose for some time now. Did he have a choice? To get back into his body?

…

Perhaps not. 

Though perhaps… 

What was that? Like a whisper. Begging him to be… Stanley.

Was he Stanley? Yeah, he was Stanley, wasn't he? Who else would be Stanley? No one else could be him, Stanley… no one could be as stupidly stubborn and annoying and… him.

…

And who was some virus to take him down?! Stanley! THE Stanley! From the STANLEY PARABLE!  

He felt like crying. That was so stupidly him to think.

And then.

His finger moved. Just the smallest twitch. Not noticeable to anyone but the entity in his body. It wasn't doing anything against it. It wasn't doing… anything really.

Was he going crazy? Even more than already?

He clutched his hand. Held onto the fabric he… felt. It was soft. The fabric was so… soft. 

This was real, right? The warmth in his hand, the gentle push on his body–

he just had to– 

Gasp.  

Gasp for air. Breathing. Breathing… Breathing! He was– alive. He was alive. He was– himself. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.

And he pulled whatever he was clutching closer to himself, pushing further into the warmth. It was so– nice. So nice compared to anything really. He melted into the darkness, arms around something, oh so comfortable.

And as he dared to open his eyes, vision blurred, he realised.

He was free. He was free! He was… free.

He held close to the grounding touch, letting his body do whatever it's been trying to do. And he cried. He cried and he cried and finally, he was… himself again.

He pushed his head into the softness, hand moving in circles. He was real. He was there. Had he… done it? 

Had he actually done it?

The way a giggle entered his ears (he could hear ) made him want to crumble even harder. He was free. And the Narrator was there with him… Right– there?

Oh. So it was him. He had been his… anchor. His anchor in this drowning feeling.

He almost let out a chuckle as well, disappearing into the abyss of confusion and… confusion.

He was… here. And so was the Narrator.

…

He was in the arms of said Narrator. His Narrator. 

He was… at home.

Chapter Text

He cried in the arms of his Narrator, and he didn't mind. All they had were each other. And Stanley didn't hate him, never had, never would. He just hadn't– loved him before. Though now– 

He felt the breath of his Narrator, the way he held onto him, as if showing his love.

… perhaps he liked it. He perched into his thoughts, waiting for the helplessness to spread across him– though nothing did. Nothing told him to love him. Nothing tugged on his heart, head, limbs, making him trapped in his own subconscious, making decisions for him.

It was his. His choice. His body. His… love. Now it was.

His tears stained him and the Narrator and quite frankly, he couldn't care less. 

His mind spun around the feeling, the way he felt so alive again. He could feel his skin burning, his stomach turning and turning, his nose running. 

And he… sneezed. He sneezed! And he chuckled at that. He had sneezed! And now everything was spinning and feeling oh so… human. He was sick! Properly sick! In his body!

He didn't think he could ever be happy to be sick. He didn't know he could get sick–

“Oh–” he felt as their embrace stopped. As his Narrator leaned back, sniffed once. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay? He was great! Amazing actu– woah . It was his Narrator. He was… pretty, so pretty. He had missed out, hadn't he? That virus made him so– unobservant. 

‘You have green eyes’ he stated, déjà-vu written in his veins. 

“I– what? Yes, I do– I– you said that already–’

He had, hadn't he? He had asked him before. And he had answered he thought they would be yellow.

‘I have– haven't I?’

His brows had furrowed, shoulders being taken by the Narrator.  

“I– yes, you have– is something– something the matter?”

The Narrator never muttered like that– it was… strange. It was strange what this ‘love ’ had done to them. This real seeming love, so fake just a few minutes prior.

‘Actually– yeah. I need to tell you something.’

“Oh– yes, yes of course. I think I owe you an explanation as well–”

‘Okay–’ how could he tell him about the fact he'd been possessed by a bug . Nonetheless a lovebug?

‘I– can't remember much of the past few resets.’

“...what?”

‘I– I remember some of it– But I wasn't really present in most of them. I don't know how to say this without– confusion. I think I had a bug. A love bug to be exact.’

“I– you are telling me you haven't been yourself all of that time?”

‘…I suppose you could say that–’

The Narrator made sure to take away his hands, looking– conflicted almost.

“Do you– like me at all? Was any of what you said– real?”

‘I'm not sure what I said– but I don't hate you. I've never hated you– never had, never will. And– I think I like you.”

And whatever had happened to the Narrator's behaviour made him furrow his brow even more. 

The Narrator had begun to chuckle ? Laugh. 

“This is ridiculous– I throw out my heart and soul and– and all that while you are possessed by a bug !”

‘I hope I didn't do anything to hurt you–’

“That's the problem Stanley! You did anything but hurt me! You– seemed to love me.”

‘I still–’

“And I only fell in love with you after a while! Was any of this real to begin with?!”

‘What–?’

“You know why I started going out with you? Because I wanted my freedom! And I got it because of you! I fell in love with you. But now? I don't– don't know what is real anymore!? How real are you? How can I trust that you hadn't tried to manipulate me into loving you?! Did the exact thing I tried to do on you!?”

‘What? Why would I? Is it my fault for being infected by some virus? It's not that I don't–’

“Great, amazing!” The Narrator had stood up, began to pace around the room.

‘Let me finish my sentences– I do –’

And he watched as his Narrator sobbed, as he stood and held his face in his hands.

“I– I'm stupid. I'm so foolish for believing everything would be fine. This is my karma, isn't it?”

And he stood up as well, quiet steps making their way over to him.

While whatever the bug had said might have been… fake, his feelings now weren't. And it seemed like his Narrator had a similar conundrum.

That whatever the Narrator had thought about him while he was... away– has changed, that Stanley's reveal seemed to have bugged him.

Stanley slowly stepped in front of him, hands placing themselves onto his. He felt both of them freeze, Stanley slowly but surely pulling his hands away from his face.

“Stanley– I– could you stop toying with my–”

Oh, fuck it.

He pushed his lips onto his, just for a short second, pulling away just a moment after. The feeling tingled, it sparked and felt… amazing actually– though the look in his eyes made him come back to reality way quicker than anticipated.

“I– don't understand,” his voice was low, eyes deeply intertwined with his, “do you– love me or not?”

And they’re faces stayed close, breaths could be felt on each other's skin. 

Stanley nodded, ever so slightly, every bit of him engulfed by the aura of him. And while part of him was panicking whether this was his consciousness making these decisions, he was sure he wanted it.

And he kept a gap between them, as a question, an invitation, asking: do you love me too? Can we try this again?

And his Narrator answered.

Their lips met once again, slow, careful, as if to feel whether they actually meant it, as if to see whether it could last. This love formally based on lies, trickery and– well manipulation. This seems awfully familiar– hm, oh well.

I love you too.