Chapter Text
Stanley was sat at his desk once more, The Narrator was off doing his own thing, leaving Stanley to his own devices for the time being. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his desk, his thoughts buzzing around with no particular coherency to them. He wouldn't admit it outright, but it was quite.. boring without anyone to interact with.
His mind kept drifting to the strange events from before, he still wasn't sure what had happened, and The Narrator had been of no help to him. They both were clueless as to the reason behind the odd reset, and there wasn't much they could do to figure it out. The Narrator had already looked to see if it was a bug of sorts but came out empty handed, it didn't make sense.
Stanley began wondering if he really had just imagined it, the doubt in the back of his head only growing along with the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. This feeling of being watched constantly still hung over him, and it wasn't serving to dampen his anxiety. He felt unusually vulnerable and he heavily disliked the prospect of that. This wasn't right, nothing about this was right; he told himself.
As he sat there, now idly tapping the pads of his fingers against his keyboard, his mind continued to wander. The Narrator had been gone for quite some time now, and a creeping feeling of uncertainty began to settle down on him.
What if he didn't come back?
Stanley shook his head, brows furrowed slightly as he tried to compose himself. He didn't even care about The Narrator, why would he when all he's ever done is shove him face first into death countless times? He hated the disembodied voice that had trapped him in this endless cycle of torment and catastrophe. And he had every reason to.
So why did he care if he returned or not? Why did this sinking feeling appear in his chest whenever the voice wasn't with him, and why did he feel so isolated now that he had been given a break from the story itself? It didn't make sense to him, maybe it was because all he had ever known was the company of that wretched entity, the one who made his meaningless life hell.
Or maybe it was because he missed him.
No. He squashed that thought immediately, throwing it to the depths of his consciousness without hesitation. He didn't miss The Narrator, that would be ridiculous, unfathomable even. He groaned inwardly as he leaned his head back against his chair, a hand dragging over his face in exasperation as his brows furrowed further. This was horrible, he hated every second of the lasting silence that hung heavily in the office air.
He needed to focus, figure out something to keep his mind occupied so that he was no longer plagued by these stupid thoughts. His hands settled themselves on the armrests of his office chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he glanced at the clock on the wall absentmindedly, counting the seconds idly. He felt so tired, fatigue threatening to take over him at any moment as he pulled himself closer to his desk, resting his forehead against the cold wood.
He didn't know how long he had laid there, nor did he know at exactly what point he had fallen asleep, only to be awoken by the sound of someone impatiently clearing their throat from above.
It seemed The Narrator had returned.
His limbs felt sore, mostly his neck which was stiff from being bent in such an awkward position for so long. His eyes hazily focused on the room around him once more, blinking away the sleep that he had graciously been granted. He lifted his head off his desk groggily, giving a noncommittal glare to the ceiling as he raised a brow.
"Glad to see you were being productive while I was away." The Narrator commented sarcastically, an almost audible eye roll in his words as he sighed. "Really now, Stanley. You ought to do something meaningful with yourself once in a while, dozing off at work is horrible job etiquette."
Stanley deadpanned at the ceiling, making a subtle mocking motion with his hand as The Narrator droned on about whatever it was that he was talking about. The voice seemed preoccupied with his own speech, seeming to go off on a tangent about how bad Stanley was at his job.
Stanley wasn't paying attention, he rarely was to be fair, but his focus had been dragged to the screen of his monitor. It was blank, as always, and he was busy entertaining the thought of playing solitaire on it, he was sure it was possible. The Narrator sputtered above, annoyance and exasperation clear in his voice as he spoke.
"Really? I'm trying to have a meaningful conversation and you're over here dwelling on playing Solitare of all things! You're insufferable, Stanley. Really, truly hopeless."
Stanley let out a huff of laughter, amused at the reaction he had managed to get out of the voice. He shrugged nonchalantly, a smug grin on his face as he focused his gaze onto the ceiling. Solitaire was a great time killer, and god did he need something to distract himself from the boring monologue of The Narrator, dwindling on about the story and how horrid he was nonstop.
The Narrator let out a over-dramatic gasp of offense at that, clearly feeling his ego had been bruised. "Why you— I am not boring Stanley! My story is incredibly interesting, you just have ill taste."
Stanley rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a small smile playing on his lips. Sure, whatever you say. He let out a breath of laughter as The Narrator grumbled to himself, finding the entities response humorous. His thoughts wandered slightly and he began to contemplate that maybe, just maybe. This wouldn't be so bad after all.