Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Chapter 1: The First Kill

Stanley Snyder, a soldier, commander and executioner. A man hailed as the model soldier by those who feared him, respected him, or both. Countless lives had ended at the pull of his trigger, a tally etched in silence across battlefields.

Many believed his first kill was made during war. A clean shot, sanctioned by duty.

But the truth was darker, crueler…his first kill happened long before he ever donned a uniform.

He had been young. Too young.

And what drove him to it?

Not exactly a what... but a who.

Xeno Houston Wingfield.

Romantic, isn’t it?

There was something in that brilliant, silver-haired boy,  something magnetic, something dangerous. Xeno, with a mind sharp enough to cut steel and eyes like starlight reflected in a midnight lab, he had a pull Stanley couldn’t resist. Not that he ever wanted to.

Stanley wasn’t sure when his infatuation had begun. Maybe it was the first time he saw that small, sharp-tongued scientist command a room without ever raising his voice, how he dismissed anyone in his way with biting words, calm precision, and not even a flicker of hesitation. Maybe it was Xeno’s overwhelming competence, ,the way his hands moved with practiced confidence, the spark of brilliance that danced behind his eyes when an experiment succeeded.

Yes, that spark, that impossible glimmer in Xeno’s pale eyes, like lightning trapped in glass,  it hit Stanley like a bullet every time. And when that spark became a rare smile, quiet and genuine, Stanley’s heart thundered like war drums.

Whatever it was, he knew one thing for certain: he would take down anyone who dared stand in Xeno’s way.

That was one of the many reasons he obeyed the scientist’s every word without hesitation. For that smile. For that fleeting warmth. Of course, he’d never admit that to Xeno,  not to the genius who made him lose his edge with a single glance, and who, somehow, remained completely blind to Stanley’s feelings.

But that was fine. Stanley didn’t need his love returned.

He only needed to stay by Xeno’s side.

Or at least…that’s what he told himself.

But deep down, though he tried not to admit it, Stanley craved more. Every time he saw him. Every time he held back emotions threatening to spill over. He had bottled those feelings up for so long, he forgot what it meant to want out loud.

But that, too, is another chapter.

This one begins with the first kill.

♡♡♡

Like every morning, Stanley walked to school. He didn’t particularly enjoy it,  the classes were dull, the teachers even worse, but one thing made it bearable: his best friend.

Xeno.

Except that morning, Xeno wasn’t there.

Which was... insane…to say the least.

Xeno, the top student of their class, never missed school. Not even when he was sick with a fever, still scribbling equations in the back of the room, glaring at anyone who suggested he rest. So Stanley couldn’t shake the unease curling in his stomach.

When the final bell rang, he went home and then he went immediately to Xeno’s house, not far from his own, with a well-rehearsed excuse ready.

“I brought the homework,” he’d say. Casual. Cool. Definitely not worried.

The truth? He needed to see him. Needed to know he was okay. He hadn’t yet realized what that need meant, but it burned inside him all the same.

Also tucked inside his coat: a thermos.

He made soup when he first stopped home. Or, well- his sister did (after he’d practically begged and tortured his older sister into helping). Stanley mostly stirred things and tried not to look like a disaster in the kitchen. Still, it came out okay. Warm, filling. Mild enough for a sick person. He didn’t know why he made it. Just in case, maybe.

Yeah. Just in case.

♡♡♡

Snow had started falling in the afternoon, blanketing the sidewalks and rooftops in white. Stanley’s boots crunched softly as he reached the Wingfield porch, breath fogging in the sharp air.

His parents weren’t home,  they rarely were. Their work kept them away, caught up in schedules and responsibilities that Xeno never really talked about. He’d mentioned once or twice that it was “complicated” and left it at that. Stanley never pressed.

They loved their son, that much was clear from the neatly arranged fridge notes, the occasional care package, the texts reminding him to eat and sleep and not forget his gloves. But even love had its absences.

And Xeno had long since learned how to live in the quiet.

He knocked.

When the door creaked open, he froze.

Xeno looked awful.

His hair stuck to his face in damp strands, cheeks pale, lips chapped. Puffy red eyes stared up at Stanley like he was both surprised and too tired to react.

“Damn,” Stanley muttered. “You look like a corpse.”

“Appreciate the honesty,” Xeno replied hoarsely, leaning against the doorframe. “If you’re here to deliver homework, just toss it inside.”

“Actually... Uh... I brought the homework. And... um... soup.”

He lifted the thermos, cheeks dusted faint pink.

“It’s not, like, a five-star meal or anything,” he added quickly. “But it should be edible. Probably.”

Xeno blinked. “You... made me soup?”

Stanley shrugged, already regretting every decision that brought him to this moment. “You weren’t at school. I figured maybe you were sick. And you hate canned stuff.”

For a second, Xeno just looked at him. Then he stepped aside, quietly.

“Come in.”

—

The warmth inside was a relief. Stanley helped Xeno over to the couch, noting the slight limp in his step.

“Care to explain how the hell you got this sick overnight?”

Xeno gave a low sigh. “Some idiots decided to throw freezing water on me yesterday. After the science club.”

Stanley blinked. “What?!”

“They’re surely still salty about the rash incident.”

Stanley’s jaw tightened. “The one where you spilled chemicals on them?”

Xeno arched a brow. “Accidentally. And for the record, they were completely harmless!  just a little visual discomfort. Temporary redness. Maybe mild tingling.”

---

One Week Ago

Stanley had walked past the lab on his way to wait for Xeno out front when he heard them.. Three upperclassmen, circling like sharks.It was after the school’s advanced science club meeting , the one no one but Xeno ever took seriously. He stayed after as usual, tinkering with something too complicated for most high school students to pronounce, let alone understand.

“You think you’re better than us, freak?”

Xeno didn’t even look up. “Statistically? Yes.”

One grabbed his shoulder. Another reached for his bag.

Stanley had turned back, half-ready to break their bones, but the sound of glass shattering stopped him.

A faint sizzle.

The next second, the tallest one let out a yelp, stumbling backward. Angry red splotches bloomed along his arm.

“What the hell did you do?!”

“Relax,” Xeno said, utterly unfazed. “It’s a delayed-contact compound made from calcium gluconate and food-grade dye. Totally harmless... though it does look like an advanced skin infection for the first six hours. Give or take.”

“But do let me know if it burns longer,  that would be fascinating.”

The small scientist said with a scary glint in his eyes.

The other two boys backed away, pale, and in a matter of seconds they fled without another word.

Stanley watched from the hallway, half in awe.

He hadn’t stepped in. He didn’t need to. Xeno had handled it with the same clinical grace he applied to everything else.

Inside, Xeno simply sighed and crouched beside the mess, muttering, “Fantastic. That compound took two hours to stabilize.”

Stanley had stepped into the room, half in awe. “You’re not even mad they tried to jump you?”

Xeno just glanced up. “Why would I be mad when they managed to eliminate themselves from the gene pool without me having to lift a finger?”

He went back to cleaning as if nothing had happened.

In that moment only three words could describe Xeno in Stanley's mind…Cool. Controlled. Untouchable. Perfect.

.

.

.

♡♡♡

“Guess they didn’t take that well,” Stanley muttered.

“No,” Xeno rasped, reclining slowly into the couch. “They decided revenge was warranted. Lucky me.”

Stanley swallowed his anger. Barely.

“Well... eat the soup.”

Stanley stayed.

Not that he said he would. He just… didn’t leave. He helped Xeno to the couch, set down his bag, handed over the soup, and sat beside him like it was nothing. “I’ll stay just until I know you won’t pass out or something,” he said, eyes already flicking to the wall like he hadn’t just cleared his whole afternoon.

Xeno didn’t argue.

He drank the soup slowly, watching Stanley out of the corner of his eye. The flavor was warm and gentle, with a tiny hint of pepper and herbs… comforting. Homemade.

He didn't say he liked it.

But he didn’t stop drinking either.

And when he handed the empty thermos back, he didn’t even make a sarcastic comment.

Stanley almost smiled.

The TV murmured quietly in the background, half-forgotten. Xeno’s head eventually dropped to the side, resting ever so slightly against Stanley’s shoulder. He didn’t move.

And Stanley didn’t dare breathe.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

♡♡♡

XENO'S POV

Xeno had always preferred silence. It was efficient, clean, reliable unlike people.

But today, as the room filled with the soft clinks of a spoon against metal and the warmth of a soup he hadn't asked for, something inside him... shifted.

Stanley had shown up at his door like a knight on a mission. Homework in one hand. Soup in the other. He’d acted like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

It had been a long time since anyone had done something for him without needing a reason.

And Stanley’s soup, even though it was a bit too peppery and probably overcooked by Stan's sister,  was the best thing he’d tasted in days. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until he started to thaw.

He stole a glance at Stanley now, beside him on the couch. The guy sat awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to relax, like he was built out of tension and worry.

All for him.

Xeno leaned his head just slightly against Stanley’s shoulder. Just to test it. Just to see.

Stanley didn’t move away.

He stayed perfectly still.

Warm.

Reliable.

Present.

…

Xeno closed his eyes.

.

.

.

Maybe silence wasn’t the only thing he liked anymore…

—

Stanley offered a rare, gentle look—one he reserved only for Xeno. He stayed. Helped him to bed. Adjusted the blanket. Made sure he took his medicine.

He didn’t say much.

He didn’t need to.

Later, as he walked home alone, the snow had thickened to silence. Flakes caught in his lashes, melted on his jacket. He didn’t feel the cold.

His footsteps slowed as he passed the hallway cabinet. Just for a second.

Inside, his grandfather’s rifles sat in their usual, untouched rows—old wood, cold metal, dustless glass. Stanley’s eyes lingered.

Then he turned away.

He went to his room.

Slept.

Mostly.

---

A few nights later, somewhere past the tree line, where the snow softened everything and no one really paid attention to the woods in winter…

A sound echoed through the stillness.

Soft.

Sudden.

Clean.

A single shot.

Then nothing.

Just wind in the trees.

---

The boys who’d soaked Xeno?

They didn’t come back to school.

Some said they’d been suspended. Others muttered about transfers. One rumor said they’d left town entirely.

No one was sure.

No one asked.

And Stanley?

He showed up like always. Carried Xeno’s books. Nodded along to his theories. Sat close enough to feel his warmth but never too close.

And when Xeno smiled at him brief, real, a little rare

Stanley smiled back.

Just a little.

Like everything was fine.

Because it was.

Now.

17/12/2005

Chapter Text

Forts and Formulas

***this episode takes place 3 weeks after that night***

Saturday came faster than expected.

Stanley had agreed, reluctantly, not that he’d ever admit it, to spend the weekend at Xeno’s place. It was nothing unusual. They’d done it a hundred times before: tinkering with blueprints, starting overly ambitious science experiments, falling asleep to the glow of half-charged circuits.

But this time felt… different. He didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the way his chest had a stupid flutter to it all morning. Maybe it was the fact that he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time choosing a hoodie. Or maybe it was the hellish car ride with his sister.

“and then he said I was being dramatic for crying when he forgot our date!” she shouted from the driver’s seat, hands flying off the wheel every few seconds in exaggerated despair. “Can you believe that, Stan?! After I literally told him I loved him, and that was his reply?! Ugh, boys are trash except the hot ones, but they’re the worst kind of trash…”

In the backseat, her two friends chimed in immediately.

“I told you he was a walking red flag,” said the one with bubblegum pink nails and an iced coffee she hadn’t stopped sipping since they left.

“I mean, hot or not, if he can’t even say ‘good morning’ back, leave him,” the other one added. “Literally grow a spine, girl.”

Stanley sat wedged between them in the backseat, staring blankly out the window like a war survivor.

“…You’re not even listening, are you?” his sister snapped, glancing at him through the mirror.

He blinked. “I am.”

“You’re literally silent.”

“Still counts.”

She groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Seriously, don’t ever fall in love with someone unless they’re, like, emotionally intelligent and good at communicating. I swear, love makes you an idiot.”

Pink-nails friend sighed dreamily. “Ugh, but when it is good? It’s soooo worth it. Like, I wanna get married under the stars and kiss in the rain and just, feel something, y’know?”

“Ew,” Stanley muttered under his breath, shifting further into the window.

He leaned his head against the cold glass, trying to tune out the giggles and overdramatic gasping around him.

Love. Right.

Is love really that good?

Why would you love someone who treats you like crap?

I’m not understanding shi-

“Anyway,” his sister continued, flipping her hair and shifting gears, “who’re you hanging with again?”

“…Xeno.”

“Oooh, the science nerd.” She smirked. “You two still attached at the hip?”

Stan shrugged, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

He didn’t answer.

Because honestly?

He didn’t know what he was feeling.

The car stopped with a lurch in front of Xeno’s house.

Stan barely had the door open before his sister leaned over the center console and called out, “Tell me when you fall in love with someone cool, okay?”

“Have fun playing nerds!” one of her friends added with a wink.

Stan just grunted and shut the door behind him, ignoring the trio’s laughter as the car sped off toward the mall.

Xeno’s house looked quiet, framed by a soft layer of snow like someone had dusted the whole street in powdered sugar. The roof, the bushes, even the mailbox bore a fine white coating. The front steps had been swept, though, and faint footprints were still visible, small, clean, deliberate.

He knocked once ,  sharp, precise and the door opened before he could lower his hand.

Xeno stood there, he was wearing a black turtleneck that made his skin look even whiter than usual. His hair was slightly tousled, a pencil tucked behind his ear and he held a screwdriver like it was a security blanket.

"You're late," he said, though his voice was less accusing and more... hopeful.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Traffic,” he said. Then, with a faint smirk, he held out the grocery bag. “Got snacks. And comics. Y’know, in case the science gets boring.”

Xeno gave him a flat look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “It won’t,” he muttered, stepping aside. “But I suppose even Newton needed an apple.”

The living room had been partially converted into a controlled chaos of notebooks, loose wires, and blueprints that covered every horizontal surface. In the center, a half-assembled Rube Goldberg machine stood in triumphant disarray: a complex web of tubes, dominoes, toy cars, and spoons taped together with questionable optimism.

“You said this was a simple chain-reaction model,” Stan said, crouching beside it.

Xeno adjusted his glasses. “It is simple. The lever system is just, well, okay, the car might be a bit overengineered.”

Stan pointed to a precarious arrangement involving a marble, a toy catapult, and a slinky. “This part looks like it’s got a death wish.”

“I call that the ‘chaotic variable.’ Xeno looked way too pleased with himself.

It took them three hours and six failed attempts to even get the marble past the first switch. On the seventh attempt, the spoon launched the car directly into Stan’s lap.

Stanley bursted into laughter, falling back onto the carpet. “Guess your variable’s a little too chaotic.”

Xeno groaned and flopped down beside him, hiding his face in his hands. “This is a disgrace to physics.”

Stan nudged his shoulder. “Nah. It’s hilarious.”

Xeno peeked through his fingers. Stan was still grinning—completely unbothered, relaxed in a way that made Xeno’s chest feel warmer than it should. Slowly, Xeno found himself smiling too. It was unfamiliar… but not unpleasant.

He liked being with Stanley. Liked the calm. The quiet confidence. The way Stan was always there—solid, grounded, dependable. And now… dangerously close.

Almost shoulder to shoulder.

He looked away first.

Until suddenly * thwack *  a long-forgotten mechanism on the other end of the machine activated with a tiny click, and a tennis ball arced through the air and bounced squarely off Stan’s face.

Not hard, just perfectly timed.

Xeno stared for a second... then absolutely lost it. Laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach, breathless and pink-cheeked, his face scrunched in helpless delight.

Stan groaned, cradling his forehead. “Okay. That one was personal.”

“I swear it wasn’t!” Xeno wheezed between giggles. “I forgot it was still armed!”

Stan just grumbled, but the twitch in his lips betrayed him. He was grinning, too.

Stanley couldn’t understand how Xeno could just do something as simple as laughing and look so beautiful...

In that moment Stanley just knew, that was the smile he did kill for, and had not one single regret...

Later, after dinner (microwaved pizza with a side of mutual shame) , Xeno tried to make up for laughing when the tennis ball accident happend by presenting a steaming mug of hot chocolate,  it was slightly burned, with three uneven marshmallows floating like survivors in stormy seas. “This is meant to serve as reparations,” Xeno said, tone mock-formal, as he handed it over.

Stan took a sip, winced slightly, then sipped again.

"Best hot chocolate I've ever had"

He didn’t like the taste. He liked who made it.

Yeah. He was doomed. And totally unaware of it.

.
.
.
♡♡♡

They ended up building a blanket fort in the living room.

It was a disaster of engineering by Xeno’s standards, but Stan insisted on it.

“Trust me,” Stan said, draping a quilt over a broomstick and wedging it into the couch cushions. “It’s all about the vibe, not the structural integrity.”

“I can’t believe I let you build something so unstable.”

“You literally built a death trap with a marble and a slinky two hours ago.”

“Touché.”

Inside the fort, lit only by a flashlight perched on an upside-down mug, the world narrowed to soft shadows and quiet warmth. They lay on their stomachs, heads inches apart, flipping through one of the comics Stan had brought.

Every so often, their hands brushed while turning pages. Neither of them moved away.

“Hey,” Stan said, during a lull in the dialogue. “You ever, I dunno... wish things were simpler?”

Xeno blinked. “Simpler how?”

Stan shrugged, eyes fixed on the page. “Like... not needing to explain why something feels good. It just does. Like this fort. Or snow days. Or…” He hesitated, then glanced at Xeno.

Stanley had almost falling off the tip of his tongue “You.”

That was weird though wasn't it?...

Stanley at that precise moment decided to brush that thought far away with a teasing comment.

"Or when you finally stop babbling about science”

Stan decided to say with a playful smile.

Xeno’s was offended.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Stan panicked and cleared his throat. “I mean- you’re cute. When you’re not talking about thermal expansion for twenty minutes straight-.”

Silence.

Then, calmly, Xeno turned the page. “Thermal expansion is fascinating, thank you very much.”

But his ears were pink.

Sometime past midnight, the flashlight dimmed to a flickering glow. Xeno’s head ended up leaning against Stan’s shoulder as they both stared up at the patchy ceiling of their fort, words long since run dry.

Stan didn’t move.

Not when Xeno’s breathing slowed into something steady and rhythmic. Not when a curl of pale hair brushed his jaw. Not even when his arm started to go a little numb.

He just listened, and watched the snow dance around in the air before falling into a pile of snow that was slowly getting bigger, just like the doubt in Stanley's heart.

And looking back to the talk with his sister that morning, he thought:

“If this is what love feels like… I never want it to end.”

Chapter Text

02/03/2006

Spring had settled over the city like a soft sigh, brushing the sidewalks with petals and waking the sleepy trees with pink and white blossoms. It was the kind of season that made everything feel like it could begin again. And for once, Stanley didn’t mind school. Not because of any class, of course, but because this week held something different, something out of the ordinary.

The teachers had organized a school trip to the outskirts of the city, far enough away from the light pollution, where students would gather to watch the rare comet shower said to streak across the night sky like silver arrows. To most, it was a nice excuse to skip homework. To Xeno, it was magic. And to Stanley, it was a chance to spend time with the young scientist.

He didn’t remember exactly when Xeno had asked him to go together. It had been tossed casually into a conversation about how comets formed and whether they'd survive Earth’s atmosphere. "You’re coming too, right?" Xeno had said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Stanley had only nodded. Of course he was going.

♡♡♡

The bus hummed softly beneath them, its wheels rolling along a winding country road that blurred into fields of pale green and wildflowers. Spring air seeped through the open windows, thick with the scent of dew-wet soil and blooming jasmine. Most students were dozing off, lulled by the early morning hour and the hypnotic rhythm of tires on asphalt. But Stanley Snyder wasn’t asleep.

He sat still, hunched slightly, one arm braced against the window, the other curled tightly in his lap. The seat beside him was taken, of course it was. That much had been decided before either of them had spoken a word.

Xeno Wingfield had slid in next to him just as the teacher barked the final names on the roll call. No hesitation. No need for invitation. Just the quiet certainty of someone who had already made up his mind.

“Morning,” Xeno said, voice low and gravelly from sleep. He tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, already rumpled from a rushed morning. “I figured I’d sit here before some loudmouth like Phineas tried to corner me with ‘fun facts about constellations.’”

Stan blinked. “You’re not into fun facts?”

“I am into facts. I’m not into his fun facts, which are not even correct! He once told me Saturn had twelve moons. Twelve!.” Xeno shuddered with theatrical offense.

Stan tried to not let the corner of his mouth twitch as he was just a few moments away from bursting into laughter like a bomb. “W-Wow, That’s absolutely c-criminal.”

“It should be.”

A few moments passed. Xeno adjusted his sleeve, glanced toward the window, then added with offhand softness, “You don’t mind, do you? Me sitting here?”

Stan shook his head. “No.”

“Good.” Xeno said, trying not to look too pleased by that. And just like this, Xeno leaned his head toward the window. “I need to sleep. I’ve been up since four recalibrating the spectrometer app on my tablet. Don’t let me miss the snacks.”

Stan watched as Xeno slowly slipped into sleep, arms folded, chin dipping gently toward his shoulder. Their thighs brushed every time the bus shifted lanes, and Stan didn’t move, not that he wanted to.

He stared out the window, pretending to look at the trees. But really, his eyes kept drifting back, again and again, to the silver haired boy beside him, catching and absorbing small details. To the shape of his nose, the length of the lashes hovering over his pale cheeks, the slight rise and fall of breath, the slight twitch in Xeno’s fingertips whenever the bus took a curve.

He wondered if the small scientist was dreaming about solving complicated equations or something like that.

He didn’t even realise that he started smiling…

After a while Stanley noticed a small fallen lash on Xeno’s cheek…The blonde, with his heart beating in his throat like a drum, gently wiped the lash off…Xeno remained sound asleep, and after the tender touch he unconsciously leaned into the warm hand…

Stanley's cheeks became bright red and quickly withdrew his hand before quickly looking away.

♡♡♡

They arrived near midday, when the fields opened up into a flat plateau surrounded by soft hills and patches of fir trees. A nature reserve, far from city lights and distractions. A volunteer waved them toward a path that climbed gently upward.

“This is the spot?” Xeno asked skeptically, eyeing the open hilltop. “Doesn’t exactly scream “cutting-edge science.”

Xeno adjusted his backpack. “It’s quiet. High ground. No light pollution.”

“Well then.” Stanley replied shortly.

They wandered toward the tree line while students claimed spots on the grass with sleeping bags, blankets, and half-hearted enthusiasm. Teachers barked roll call and pointed out water stations. While somewhere nearby, someone was already complaining about bugs.

Stan laid out a blanket beneath a sprawling oak tree. Xeno followed, settling down beside him with a long sigh and flopping onto his back.

“This is decent,” he admitted. “Trees provide oxygen. Slight elevation. And there’s shade. You have some sense of planning.”

“I try.”

Xeno turned to him with a tiny smirk. “That was sarcasm.”

Stan nodded. “I know.”

♡♡♡

At lunch time.

“Yo, Xeno”

Stanley gently threw in Xeno’s lap an extra sandwich.

Xeno blinked twice before replying

"...a sandwich? Why did you give me a sandwich?" Stanley: "i saw you didn’t buy anything" Xeno: " so what?" Stanley: "it isn't good for you not to eat”

"What are you? My mom?"

Xeno couldn't help but smile.

---

Stanley Snyder somehow managed to always surprise Xeno, in a way or another.

Now he came up to him, launching a sandwich (hopefully one that tasted better than the last soup) onto him.

Xeno couldn’t help but wonder what was up with this habit of gifting him food? Will Stan give him a cupcake the next time?

Xeno couldn’t help but chuckle internally at the silly thought.

But deep down Xeno knew that the warmth came from something different than just food he didn’t ask for. Maybe it was the way Stan was always there…only for him…

---

Stanley smirked and replied with a cheeky

tone.

"No, I'm prettier"

Xeno rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't bet on that."

Stanley smiled even more.

"You'd lose that bet."

Xeno sighed.

"Wouldn’t be so sure. She used to be a model"

Stanley then rolled his eyes too.

"Then I'm prettier than your father"

"Fair enough.”

♡♡♡

By the time twilight dipped low on the horizon, the field had transformed. Portable lanterns glowed softly at the edges of the teacher stations. A few students gathered near the telescope tents, but most sat huddled on blankets or jackets, holding warm thermoses and chattering under their breath.

Xeno tugged out a heavier blanket from his duffel bag and unrolled it beside the oak tree. “I knew it would get cold,” he said with satisfaction. “Never trust spring. It pretends to be warm but betrays you at night.”

He draped half of it around Stan’s shoulders without ceremony and sat beside him.

“...You didn’t have to-”

“You looked cold,” Xeno interrupted. “And if you get sick and miss lab next week, I’ll be stuck calibrating the voltmeter by myself.”

Stan hid a smile in the fold of the blanket. “Right. That would be a tragedy.”

“It would.”

They sat in silence for a while, shoulders pressing gently together. The sun had vanished entirely, and the first stars glittered overhead, then more, then more, until the entire sky was a spattered canvas of pale fire.

Xeno leaned back, chin tilted up. “They’re late,” he said.

“Comets don’t care about our schedule.”

“Rude of them.” The silver-haired boy said playfully.

And then

The first streak.

It slashed across the sky in a thin arc, silver-white, gone in seconds.

Xeno inhaled. “Oh! Did you see that?”

Stan nodded, but he was looking at Xeno’s face.

Another comet burned across the horizon. Then another.

“Oh my god,” Xeno whispered. “They’re faster than I thought. I thought they’d just blink, like meteors. But they leave trails, like streaks of shiny metal.”

He clutched Stan’s arm suddenly, excitement raw in his grip. “That one! It split! Did you see it?”

“I saw,” Stan murmured softly, stunned, not by the sky, but by the delicate reflection of the comets in Xeno’s eyes.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re more excited than I’ve ever seen you.”

Xeno blinked, still holding his arm. “I-I guess I am. I always wanted to see a comet shower in person. Not through some livestream or telescope feed. Just... here.”

He fell quiet, then laughed under his breath.

“You must think I look stupid.”

“You don’t.” Stan said instantly.

“I probably look like a six-year-old at his first firework show.”

Stan turned his head. “You look happy.”

Their eyes met. Close. Closer than they ever had.

Xeno’s voice was barely audible. “You always say the weirdest things, really.”

Stan’s heart beat hard. “You always act like they don’t affect you.”

That startled Xeno into silence.

He looked away first, cheeks dark. “Maybe they do.”

Stan didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The warmth between them said enough.

♡♡♡

The shower slowed eventually, the bursts of light growing fewer, the sky fading back into calm starlight. Around them, students were stretching, shuffling back to the buses, teachers barking instructions.

Stan stood, shaking the grass from the blanket. Xeno lingered a moment, gazing up once more.

“Next year,” he said softly, “let’s bring our own telescope. Not those big clunky ones. Just ours. You and me.”

Stan looked at him. “We will.”

Xeno nodded, as if that settled something inside him.

♡♡♡

On the bus ride back, Xeno slumped against the window, blinking slowly. He was drowsy but not fully asleep.

“…Hey, Snyder,” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you always look at me like that?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. “Like what?”

“...nothing, forget it.”

Stan just shrugged and accepted that.

Xeno was silent for a long time. Then, with a sigh, he leaned gently toward Stan’s side, just enough that their arms touched.

“I'm tired, but…”

“I’m glad I sat next to you,” he said. “This whole trip. I wouldn’t have wanted to see the sky with anyone else.”

Stan stared out the window, heart full.

“…Me neither.”

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

The classroom felt off.

Not in any way that could be measured or quantified, no sudden shift in temperature, no flickering lights, no broken air vent humming overhead. And yet, the air pressed closer to the skin. Stanley tapped his pencil against the desk. Quick, rhythmic. Like the sound could beat back whatever tension was crawling up his spine.

She clapped her hands. “All right, class. You’ll be working in pairs for the next two weeks on a project.”

Mrs. Elwood stood at the front of the room with her clipboard. Glasses slid low on her nose, that same stern expression drawn tight across her face. Normally Stanley had time to make eye contact with Xeno and tilt his head slightly, you and me, right?, and Xeno would give a nod in return. Constant. Predictable.

Not today.

“The pairs will be assigned. No exceptions.”

Stanley sat up straighter. A flicker of unease bloomed in his chest. Assigned?

Mrs. Elwood uncapped a dry erase marker and started writing names.

she said, scrawling across the board. “The project is open-ended. Choose a topic in physics or chemistry and demonstrate the concept with a working model. Presentations will be graded.”

Okay, Stanley thought. Okay. We can still end up together. It’s possible. Random chance.

He turned his head, eyes flicking to where Xeno sat, already poised with a notebook open and pen in hand. The page was still blank. Xeno wasn’t looking at him.

“ Mark and Violet”

“Jamie and Karl”

“Xeno and Leo”

Snap.

The pencil in Stanley’s hand cracked in two silently.

He didn’t react. Didn’t move. Just stared at the jagged break like it had come from somewhere far away.

“Stanley and Sarah”

At that moment a cold wind blew from the window and a half-pencil rolled off his desk and clattered softly to the floor.

He didn’t pick it up.

---

XENO’S POV

Leo was... a lot.

Not disruptive, exactly. Just loud. Like he hadn’t learned how to occupy space without trying to conquer it. His elbow kept drifting into Xeno’s side of the table as he leaned over, talking animatedly with a half-eaten granola bar in hand.

“What if we make a hovercraft? You know, the balloon-and-CD kind? I saw one at my old school. It looked sick.”

Xeno blinked slowly. “It depends on the surface friction. And the weight. But... theoretically, it’s feasible.”

Leo grinned like he’d just solved cold fusion. “Knew you’d know. Man, you're soo cool!”

Xeno didn’t answer. He nodded once, politely.

Despite the overwhelming on-going chatter with Leo, Xeno couldn't help but feel slightly bored.

He scanned across the room looking for something interesting, he could see Stanley bent over a pile of wires and batteries, fingers working fast, movements sharp and efficient.

As Xeno observed he started to take in all the details of the focused blonde not too far away from him, couldn't help but stare at the colour of his amber coloured eyes and the way his pupils dilated with concentration as he worked.

Xeno looked away before he could be caught staring.

It’s fine, he told himself. Different groups happen. It's not the end of the world. Not everything has to be constant.

After all, it may even be an occasion for him to learn a fundamental skill any scientist needs: cooperation.

He flipped open his notebook to sketch out the initial design. His hand slipped. The first line came out crooked.

He tried again, but the letters kept coming out wrong.

---

STANLEY’S POV

This sucked.

Not just the project, though that was bad enough with Mark poking wires like they might bite and Jamie talking over everyone, but everything.

He hated that Leo was with Xeno. Hated the way he leaned in, all easy grins and dumb jokes, acting like he belonged there. Like he understood.

Stanley twisted a copper wire too tightly. It snapped. He stared at it for a second, then let the broken piece fall onto the desk with a dull tap.

Sarah- useless, noisy Sarah, leaned over with a smirk. “Dude. You’re, like, way too into this. Chill out.”

Stanley glared a hole into her face and said nothing.

Across the room, Leo laughed at something Xeno had said. Loud. Close. And Xeno, he didn’t laugh, not really, but there was a soft look in his eyes. Stanley recognized it.

He’d earned that look once.

He clenched his fist and didn’t realize until a wire pricked his skin.

---

XENO'S POV

Lunch came, and the cafeteria sounded like a hundred voices all shouting at once. Xeno hesitated near the entrance. It was too loud, too many trays clattering and sneakers squeaking against linoleum. Leo appeared beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We can eat together, right? Go over the weight estimates?”

Xeno nodded. It made sense. It was logical.

Still... lunch with Stanley was usually in the back classroom, quiet, with the hum of the heater and the distant view of the garden through the windows. Stanley always remembered Xeno didn’t like crowded places. He never asked questions during meals. Just passed notes and fiddled with leftover components from whatever they were building that week.

Leo found a seat near the window and spread his notes out with his sandwich, talking with his mouth half-full.

“So,” he said cheerfully, “you’re, like, a legit genius, huh?”

Xeno blinked. “I know.”

Leo barked a laugh. “No, but seriously. I used to be the brainiac at my last school, but next to you? Dude. I’m learning just by watching you.”

Xeno scratched behind his ear, unsure what to say. The compliment didn’t bother him. It just felt... excessive. Unnecessary.

His eyes drifted across the cafeteria.

No sign of Stanley.

And for the first time, he didn’t know if that made him feel relieved or wrong.

---

STANLEY'S POV

From the far end of the cafeteria, he watched.

Leo touched Xeno’s arm again when he laughed. Leaned in like he could. Talked like they’d been friends for years.

Stanley’s grip on his tray tightened. He hadn't taken a single bite. The pasta was drying out in its sectioned plastic corner. He stabbed it once with his fork, then stood.

He dumped the tray and left.

He didn’t need food. He needed to not see that.

STANLEY – HALLWAY, EARLY AFTERNOON

The hallway smelled like overripe lockers and cheap floor wax.

Stanley trudged past a clump of classmates near the water fountain. Miriam’s voice cut through the air, half-laughing.

“I swear, Leo has a crush on Xeno.”

Another voice. Emily, maybe, giggled. “Yeah, and honestly? Kinda cute. I ship it.”

Stanley didn’t stop walking. He didn’t flinch. But his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Cute?

He doesn’t even know what Xeno likes in his lunchbox. Doesn’t know Xeno  hates when wires are color-coded wrong or that he can’t focus when someone chews too loud. He thinks everything is ‘sick’ like that means something. He touches him like he’s allowed.

Stanley reached his desk and sat down hard. His hand closed over a resistor.

Snap.

Plastic and copper crunched beneath his fingers. He looked down. It was crushed.

So was the feeling in his chest.

---

XENO'S POV

They were mid-way through prototype testing when Miriam snorted at something and said with a laugh, “Bet you're glad to be free of your bodyguard.”

Leo chuckled. “Yeah, no more silent death-stares every time you do so much as sneeze near a component”

The pen in Xeno’s hand froze.

“He’s not-” Xeno started, then paused. “It’s just...different.”

But the words tasted wrong in his mouth.

.

.

.

Different didn’t always mean better.

Yes, Leo was cooperative. Precise. Not a bad partner.

But he wasn’t Stanley.

Xeno preferred the quiet rhythm of working with someone who didn’t fill silence just to hear themselves talk. Stanley never interrupted his thoughts. He simply moved with them. Understood them.

People like Miriam and Leo…they acted like they knew him. Acted like they understood everything after a glance. But they hadn’t taken the time. Didn’t want to. The biggest fools were always the ones who thought they already knew.

They didn’t know Stanley.

And they didn’t bother to change that..

---

Then Stanley walked past them.

He heard the whole conversation.

He didn’t look directly at them. His shoulders were squared, expression unreadable. But his voice was sharp as broken glass.

“Glad to know I was replaceable.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t wait for a response. Just kept walking.

The pen slipped from Xeno’s fingers and hit the floor with a soft clack.

He stood too quickly, scanning the hall.

“Stan-” But the boy was already gone.

---

STANLEY

He didn’t know where he was going.

The cold outside slapped him in the face, wind knifing through his jacket. He walked fast, too fast, like he could outpace the heat in his throat or the sting behind his eyes.

He ended up behind the bike shed. Sat down hard on the gravel, knees pulled to his chest, arms looped around them. Forehead resting on denim.

He didn’t cry.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He refused.

He just sat there.

Long after the bell had rung.

---

XENO'S POV:

He stayed behind in the science lab that night. Told the teacher he wanted to clean, but she left after ten minutes. The silence swallowed everything.

The project was mostly done. It worked. Leo had been helpful. Cooperative. Precise.

But as Xeno turned the device over in his hands, he couldn’t shake the weight in his chest.

It didn’t hum right.

It didn’t carry the same low, beautiful buzz the old ones did, when Stanley had sat beside him, building in perfect sync. They used to pass components back and forth without needing to speak. Used to laugh quietly over miscalculations. Used to feel…happy.

He missed that.

He missed him.

XENO – THAT NIGHT, HIS ROOM

The house was quiet. Just the hum of the fridge and the soft tick of the analog clock on his desk. Xeno sat cross-legged on the floor, a tangle of wires and an old breadboard laid out in front of him.

He hadn’t touched this in months. A half-built motion sensor that he was building with Stanley’s assistance. They’d run out of transistors, and the project had quietly migrated to the bottom drawer.

Xeno stared at it now, turning it over in his hands.

He wasn’t sure why Stanley’s words echoed so loudly.

“Glad to know I was replaceable.”

—

He hadn’t known what to say then. He still didn’t. But it hurt. More than it should’ve. More than he wanted.

Leo had made him feel appreciated.

But Stanley…

Stanley made him feel safe…happy…

Special…

His fingers brushed over the old unfinished project…

Xeno whispered to the empty room:

—

“You weren’t replaceable. And you’ll never be.”

---

STANLEY'S POV

When he got home, he didn’t talk to anyone. Just went straight to his room, kicked the door shut, and collapsed onto the bed.

He stared at the ceiling, blanket tented above him like a cave, arms sprawled uselessly at his sides.

Replaceable. That word echoed. Loud. Mean. True?

After everything they’d built together? After every silent lunch, every time he covered for Xeno during fire drills or passed him extra graph paper without being asked, was that all it took?

One new kid with a balloon?

And God, Leo was so obnoxious, always acting like he understood Xeno. Always leaning in too close, talking too loud, laughing too much.

What did he even know?

Did Leo know how Xeno’s voice dipped when he was concentrating? Did he know about the way he chewed his pen caps or the way he hated when the lights buzzed too loudly? Did he know how Xeno's eyes looked under starlight, those dark, obsidian voids some people thought were soulless?

But Stanley had seen stars reflected there.

He knew.

And yet.

That one thought kept clawing its way back into his mind, tearing at everything else like a splinter in soft wood:

“Did he replace me forever...?”

.

.

.

XENO – NEXT DAY, CLASSROOM

During the lunch break, after he managed to scroll off Leo, he found himself in the old spot again.

Back in the classroom. Heater humming. Sunlight falling through dusty glass.

Midway through lunch break, Xeno was writing  in his notebook, sketching new ideas, after a while he had a brilliant idea, reached sideways without thinking, fingers outstretched.

“Sta-”

It was at that moment that the silver-haired boy realised once again that the spot beside him was empty.

His hand hovered in mid-air, then curled into a loose fist. He brought it back to his notebook.

.

.

.

The bell rang in the distance.

He didn’t look up again.

Chapter Text

Rooflines and Revelations

That Thursday, something strange kept tugging at Xeno’s thoughts:

a blank space, soft and cold, growing heavier behind his ribs.

He didn’t know how to name it.

He didn’t know how to stop it.

Xeno Wingfield had never been good with emotions.

Probably because he’d never much seen the point.

Emotions were for people who felt things. Who cried during movies, wrote songs about breakups, got into loud arguments over nothing.

Emotions, from a scientific standpoint, were just biological reactions to perceived stimuli, a combination of subjective feeling, measurable physiological response, and observable behavior.

Three parts.

Easily categorized.

Predictable, even.

Like a lab equation.

But Xeno, despite having studied the theory, couldn’t seem to grasp the reality.

He could explain the mechanics of emotional response, yet fail utterly to understand why one glance across the classroom could make his chest tighten, or why silence between two people could ache more than any insult.

Science didn’t need emotions.

It required precision, objectivity, control.

So why was his brain stuck playing this loop of half-memories and soft expressions and shoulder-bump absences like a broken projector reel?

He didn’t understand.

He only knew that ever since Stanley had started avoiding him, something felt off.

The world hadn’t changed, but he had.

Walking to school felt longer. Experiments dragged. The quiet wasn’t comfortable anymore, it pressed in like static.

He kept drifting back to the past without meaning to.

Back to that bitter winter afternoon in third grade, staring at the cold of his empty lunch table.

Back to when he’d been completely alone.

Until Stanley had appeared, with blunt words and scraped knuckles and a quiet sort of loyalty Xeno hadn’t known how to name but had come to depend on.

And now-

Rrrriiiiiiiiiiinnng.

The end-of-day bell sliced through his thoughts like a scalpel.

He blinked.

And the emptiness was still there.

---

Saturday came, the way Saturdays always did, neat, routine, wrapped in ritual.

And as he always did, Xeno invited Stanley over like clockwork.

As if nothing had changed.

As if silence hadn't been growing between them like ice.

Stanley came.

But it wasn’t the same.

He arrived with his hoodie sleeves stretched over his hands, hunched and small around the shoulders, like he was trying to fold into himself.

No notebook. No sarcastic greeting. Just a glance, a nod, and a silence that clung to the air like dust.

Xeno didn’t notice right away, not really.

His brain was already running laps around a new theory about conductivity in mixed alloys, and he launched into his explanation with all the enthusiasm of a comet colliding with the Earth.

Hands waving. Words tumbling out too fast.

His voice filled the room, bright and expansive.

Stanley said nothing.

No dry “Cool.” No sharp question. Not even a grunt.

Just silence.

Like someone had unplugged the whole circuit.

Xeno faltered mid-sentence, blinking. “Are you… okay?”

Stanley shrugged. “I’m listening.”

But he wasn’t.

Not really.

And Xeno, for all his blind spots, could feel it.

There was a distance there, wide and cold, and no words he threw at it seemed to cross.

So he kept talking.

Because what else could he do?

But eventually, the words ran out, the experiment sat forgotten, and Stanley mumbled something about heading home early.

The door clicked shut behind him with a softness that still sounded like goodbye.

---

Later that day, Stanley sat curled in the corner of his bedroom, knees drawn to his chest, hood shadowing his eyes.

Outside, the spring sky hung low and pale, like someone had smeared it with milk and ash.

No rain, just almost-rain. The kind that made everything ache a little.

From downstairs came muffled laughter.

Amanda and her friends. A popcorn bowl rattling.

A Gilmore Girls episode starting for what had to be the fiftieth time.

The usual noise of girls who didn’t worry about silence, who filled rooms effortlessly.

“Stan!” Amanda called up. “Come out of your cave, you mope!”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

A few minutes later, footsteps.

The door creaked open, no knock, because Amanda never knocked.

She leaned against the frame, flanked by her two best friends like snarky bodyguards. One look at him and she grimaced.

“Yikes. Did someone die?”

Stanley didn’t turn. “No.”

“You look like someone died. Or like… you got dumped.”

“I didn’t get dumped.”

“Ooooh,” Brittany grinned, sensing weakness. “So there was a girl!”

“There wasn’t.”

“Come on,” Amanda chimed in, flopping onto his bed uninvited. “You’re doing that stare-at-the-wall heartbreak thing. What happened? Did she go for a jock? Or like… worse, a kid who owns a ukulele?”

Stanley rolled his eyes, teeth grinding. “There. Was. No. Girl.”

“Well…” Amanda said, softer now, “Whatever it is, you look like you lost someone important.”

He didn’t reply.

Because the worst part was:

She was right.

---

A week.

It had been a full week.

Seven days of avoidance. Hallway detours. Silent lunch tables.

Seven days watching Xeno walk beside Leo, laughing, sunlight in his hair and someone beside him who wasn’t Stanley.

And it hurt.

Worse, it burned. Quiet and constant, like a wire wrapped too tight around his chest.

Then came Friday. Class presentation day.

Stanley sat with his group, not that he remembered a single word they said, watching through half-lowered lashes as Xeno and Leo walked to the front.

Xeno was flawless.

Of course he was.

His voice filled the room. His diagrams were pristine. He made eye contact, explained complicated processes like they were obvious, and even cracked a joke that made the class laugh.

And Leo, confident, charming, polished, stood beside him like they’d always been a team.

When Xeno laughed, something sharp twisted in Stanley’s chest.

It was stupid.

But he wanted to leave. To get up. Walk out.

He didn’t.

He just sat there, swallowing the ache.

---

5:07 PM. Friday. The doorbell rang.

Stanley didn’t flinch.

He stared out the window, hoodie pulled low, breath fogging faintly on the glass.

Outside, the light had turned orange-gold, almost reddish.

Dull grey clouds crowded the sky, it looked like it would rain soon.

He wasn’t expecting anyone.

But then-

Movement.

His chest stuttered.

Xeno.

Standing on the porch, awkward and small, gripping a fruit basket like it might explode.

Bananas, grapes, two red apples, and, bizarrely- a mango?

Seriously?

A mango?. In Connecticut. In March.

Stanley didn’t think. Just moved as quickly as he could.

Quiet as smoke, he slipped down the hallway and up the attic stairs.

The trapdoor creaked as he pushed through and climbed onto the roof, heart hammering.

The spring air nipped at his skin.

The horizon bled peach and violet. The town below softened in dusk.

He pulled his knees close, pajamas tight.

He didn’t know why he was hiding.

Only that he didn’t want to see Xeno’s face if this was goodbye.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen.

.

.

.

Then, softly, the trapdoor creaked again.

“...I guessed you’d be up here,” came a voice, softer than usual, edged with hesitation. “Your sister let me in.”

Footsteps. Careful.

Then a rustle. A quiet thump beside him.

“I brought fruit,” Xeno said.

Stanley didn’t respond.

“I read online that fruit helps. Something about serotonin.” A pause. “Honestly, I panicked. It’s dumb. I just… didn’t want to do nothing.”

Stanley snorted. “A mango?”

“It was the brightest thing at the store. Seemed… hopeful.”

“That’s not how mangoes work.”

“It is now,” Xeno replied, a little defensive.

“I just thought it might help. You know what they say, when life gives you mangoes, you make mango juice.”

“Mango juice?...Wasn’t it lemons?”

“Perhaps. But you don’t eat those, I figured out that something sweet was better, so this was the closest I got.”

A chuckle escaped between them.

But soon, maybe too soon… silence returned, broken only by the wind tugging at the corners of their sleeves.

Stanley spoke first. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

Silence again. Then, carefully, Xeno draped his jacket over Stanley’s shoulders.

Stanley flinched.

“It’s cold on roofs,” Xeno murmured. “Even in spring.”

Stanley’s voice dropped. “You looked like you didn’t need me anymore.”

“I didn’t ask to be paired with Leo,” Xeno said. “It just happened. He’s… fine. But…”

Rain began to fall, soft and misty.

Stanley looked at the sky.

“But he’s better than me, huh?” Stanley said quietly, not meeting his eyes, ready to stand up at any moment and leave.

The air was cool, but the rain felt warm.

As if the sunset had melted into every drop. Golden-pink and honey-slick, the droplets clung to hair and lashes, delicate as breath.

It felt like the sky was crying something tender.

And those honey-lit drops framed Xeno as he turned toward Stanley and caught his wrist before he could stand.

“No. He’s not.”

“I missed this,” Xeno said. “Not just science. Us. You made it feel different. More alive.”

Stanley looked at him then.

Not a full turn. Just enough.

Xeno’s eyes were soft. Hopeful.

He nudged Stanley’s shoulder. “So… wanna do the next project together again?”

A breath.

“Yeah. Sure.”

They didn’t smile.

But the quiet between them changed, no longer hollow, but whole.

He didn’t feel cold anymore either, not even from the air.

And as Xeno tilted his head back to look up at the darkening sky, stars just beginning to wink into being, Stanley studied the side of his face, the boy who carried too much brilliance and not enough awareness of what he meant to others.

They sat like that for a long time. Jacket shared. Elbows brushing. The sky slowly shifting to stars.

Stanley didn’t say it aloud.

But as he watched Xeno tilt his head to the heavens, eyes bright with unspoken wonder, he made the same silent vow:

He didn’t need to be chosen.

He just needed to be close.

To protect Xeno’s spark. To keep him safe.

To make sure his happiness stayed unbroken.

And maybe, one day, one far-off day, Xeno would look at him and say: I want you here. By my side.

Until then,

Stanley would wait.

He would guard that light.

Fiercely. Quietly.

Even from rooftops.

Even in silence.

Even forever.

♡♡♡

They stayed out in the rain until Stanley finally sneezed, loud and disgruntled, shattering the quiet.

Xeno blinked, startled… then burst out laughing. The moment dissolved like mist.

Amanda’s voice cracked out the window like a whip: “WHAT are you two doing?! You’re going to catch pneumonia, get inside, right now!”

And for the first time in two weeks, Stanley didn’t mind being dragged back into the noise.

He laughed, and looked at Xeno with a real smile.

“Wanna stay for dinner?”

Xeno smiled too.

“Why not.”

Even though he knew the food in this household was objectively terrible, it didn't matter,

he liked it anyway.

Because it was warm.

Chapter Text

08/11/2004

Chapter 6: "The first gaze" (PART 1) Detention.

It was a cold winter day.

The kind of cold that bit through denim and padded coats, that made your breath ghost like smoke, and dragged the sky low and sullen. The kind of cold that didn’t soften the world, but sharpened it, like the edge of a knife.

At 7:00AM

The alarm cracked through the quiet like a gunshot.

Stanley’s hand shot out from under the tangled blankets to slam it silent.

The room was cold. barely thawed from the night’s freeze.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet touching the worn floor with a soft thud.

The dull scrape of his sneakers against the linoleum echoed as he padded to the bathroom.

Steam fogged the mirror as he splashed water on his face, the cold biting sharp against skin that still felt half-asleep.

His amber eyes stared back, sharp and tired.

He brushed his teeth methodically, every motion precise, almost ritualistic.

The bristles scrubbed away more than plaque.

They fought off the fog of yesterday’s bruises and the weight of today’s expectations.

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

A single slice of toast, burnt at the edges, barely touched.

His mind wasn’t on food.

It was on the day ahead.

The cold pressed against the cracked windowpane.

Stanley pulled his hoodie tight around him, grabbed his backpack, and stepped out.

The morning air bit at his cheeks, but he didn’t flinch.

This was his world.

Repetition. Routine. Rot.

By 7:30, he was on the bus, slouched against the frozen glass. Trees blurred past, spindly, stripped bare by the season, like skeletons against a gray sky. Behind him, some kids laughed. Loud. Shrill. It scraped through his thoughts like rusted wire.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He hated school. The dullness. The smell of disinfectant and overcooked food. The endless droning of teachers. The way everyone stared.

Because Stanley was beautiful. And in all the ways that invited the wrong kind of attention. He was beautiful like a threat. Pretty like a warning. His features were soft, delicate, almost too perfect, like his mothers: sharp amber eyes, lashes too long, lips like sculpted clay. There was something wrong about it, and people could feel it. It made them uneasy. It made them cruel.

It didn’t matter that he was wild, that he ran faster and hit harder than anyone in school. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up on a steady diet of bruises and deer hunting with his dad, that he could split a bottle cap from thirty feet away.

He could outpace any boy in PE, outfight them too. He moved like a wolf in a dog yard. But it didn’t matter.

All they saw were the lashes. The lips. The softness.

So he made sure they remembered something else. A bruised jaw. A busted nose.

By noon, he was in the cafeteria, halfway through a miserable sandwich, when it happened. A kid walked by, smirking, and with a lazy flick of his wrist knocked Stanley’s tray to the floor.

Food everywhere, a sticky orange splash. The boy laughed.

Stanley looked at the mess. Then up.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t make a scene. He bent down, picked up a stray pebble on the floor, and without breaking eye contact,

thunk.

The rock nailed the boy square between the eyes. He stumbled back, cursing, just as Stanley stood and moved.

One step. Pivot. Strike.

A clean, practiced punch to the stomach. The boy crumpled like laundry.

Silence.

It was then…

A voice, smooth as silk and twice as cold, cut sharply through the air:

“Elegant.”

Stanley turned.

He saw him.

Thin. Pale. Sharp like glass. A boy with hair the color of bleached bone and eyes that didn’t blink. He wore his uniform loose, cuffs rolled, and carried a strange box filled with coils and wires. He didn’t even glance at the idiot on the floor, only at Stanley.

Then he walked away.

Stanley stood there, heartbeat loud in his ears.

That kid... Xeno.

Rumors painted him like a myth: expelled, unstable, a genius with a screwdriver in one hand and disaster in the other. Freak. Robot. Psychopath. Said he blew up a frog.

Whatever.

Stanley had heard those tones before. About himself. The language of fear twisted into cruelty.

No, he didn’t find Xeno weird.

He found him interesting.

♡♡♡

Detention was expected. Stanley sat in the same plastic chair he always did, hood up, legs stretched under the desk like he dared someone to try him. The radiator buzzed. The overheads hummed louder.

Then, bootsteps.

Soft. Precise.

Xeno.

Stanley had no idea why Xeno was there.

He slid into the desk two rows ahead, set down his black notebook, pages already filled with equations, diagrams, orbit arcs, god-knows-what, and started writing with mechanical rhythm. Not once did he look at Stanley. Didn’t need to.

His presence burned.

Stanley watched. Just a little. Then a little longer.

That day passed in silence.

So did the next.

And the next.

Until one day, Stanley heard something in the hallway that made his knuckles itch.

Three boys. Cornering someone.

“Didn’t know science freaks had death wishes,” one laughed.

“Maybe he’s building a girlfriend out of wires,” another sneered.

Stanley slowed his steps. The air tasted like metal.

Then.

Xeno’s voice.

Calm. Dry. Biting.

“Considering the average emotional intelligence of this corridor, I’d trust a toaster over you for companionship.”

The boys blinked.

One stepped forward. “What’d you say, snowflake?”

Xeno smiled, barely. The curl of a knife, not a joke.

“I said your existence is statistically regrettable.”

Stanley felt it before he saw it, the moment the tension snapped. One of the boys lunged.

Xeno didn’t flinch.

Stanley was there before they could touch him.

Three hits. Not sloppy. Not angry. Efficient.

By the time the teacher rushed out, two boys were groaning on the floor and the third was running.

Xeno just stood there. Unbothered.

“Did you just…?”

the teacher barked.

Stanley wiped blood from his knuckles, eyes flat.

“Yeah.”

“Detention. Both of you!”

Stanley didn’t argue. He just looked at Xeno.

And Xeno?

He looked amused.

That afternoon, in detention, the silence cracked.

“Your footwork was efficient,” Xeno said suddenly.

Stanley blinked. “What?”

“You turned your body before your opponent could react. Most people overcommit. You didn’t. Elegant.”

There it was again. That word.

Stanley leaned on his hand. “You always judge fights like ballet?”

Xeno finally turned. His eyes were bottomless.

“Everything is ballet. If done correctly.”

Stanley stared. Then huffed, a half-laugh.

“You’re weird.”

“Accurate.”

Pause.

Their eyes locked. A flicker passed, not fire, not ice. Something stranger. Smoke from an unfamiliar chemical. Intrigue.

Xeno’s gaze traced Stanley’s face like memorizing fault lines. Then:

“You’re not just violent. You’re bored.”

Stanley froze. Slowly, he leaned forward.

“…You’re not just arrogant. You’re lonely.”

A beat.

Xeno blinked. The tiniest crack in his armor.

“…Correct again.”

Stanley smirked. “I can be sharp sometimes.”

Then, faint challenge:

“Then keep up.”

Stanley’s chest tugged, not hard. Just enough.

“Maybe I will.”

They ended up turning their desks slightly. Nothing obvious. Nothing spoken.

Xeno scribbled impossible math in his notebook while helping Stanley with assigned worksheets, almost without looking. He multitasked like breathing.

Stanley glanced once and saw numbers so complex they looked like alien script.

“Are you... writing rocket equations?”

“Orbital launch window formulas, actually.”

Stanley stared.

Stanley bit back a laugh. “God, you’re unreal.”

Xeno smiled. Just a flicker. Proud, maybe.

And in that moment, Stanley felt it.

The shift.

The way it sneaks in, not through grand gestures, but fascination.

Through silence shared.

A voice that never yelled but always commanded.

Hands that moved like they’d been building since birth, brushing aside chaos with surgical calm.

He watched how Xeno existed. Unapologetic. Efficient. Sharp.

He knew this boy would never need anyone.

But maybe, just maybe, he’d want someone to stay.

And Stanley?

He had never wanted to stay anywhere until now.

The bell finally rang.

The clatter of chairs, footsteps, the hum of voices spilled through the hallway.

Stanley lingered in his seat, pulling sleeves low, watching the others flood out like water from a broken dam.

Only Xeno stayed behind.

He gathered his things carefully, folding a page from his notebook with crispness like a secret.

His eyes caught Stanley’s.

A quiet challenge.

Stanley swallowed.

“Why don’t you just walk out?” he asked.

Xeno’s gaze sharpened.

“Because I’m not done.”

Not done.

The words echoed in Stanley’s mind like a pulse.

“Not done with what?”

Xeno closed his notebook and stood.

“To dismantle the chaos.”

Stanley blinked.

“That’s not a joke?”

Xeno smiled, a rare curve of lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Life is chaos,” he said quietly. “And I’m allergic.”

Stanley leaned forward, curiosity stronger than caution.

“You think you can fix it?”

Xeno’s hands moved, precise, controlled, picking up a discarded pencil. He twirled it once, tossed it up, caught it deftly.

“Not fix. Control.”

Stanley’s eyes followed the motion, fascinated despite himself.

“And you think I have anything to do with that?”

The boy with silver hair didn’t hesitate.

“Every equation has variables, Stanley. You are one.”

Stanley’s heart hammered.

It wasn’t arrogance.

It was pure certainty.

That silent power that made the whole room tilt when Xeno entered, no raised voices, no showy displays, just calm, electric authority.

Someone who knew exactly where every piece fit, and wasn’t afraid to rearrange the whole damn board.

Stanley realized he’d been looking for this all along.

A spark to ignite the gunpowder, his own fire.

Xeno gave a slow nod.

As the last light flickered out, Stanley knew he wasn’t walking away.

He was stepping into something far bigger.

The clock ticked louder now, but it was Xeno’s words echoing inside his head, louder than any noise:

You are one.

Stanley’s fingers drummed on the desk, impatience and something unfamiliar twisting in his chest.

He stared at the scratched surface, the faint scars of old fights, the stains that never quite washed away, and wondered if he was really a variable.

A piece in someone else’s game.

Could he really fit into Xeno’s world?

The science boy who wielded logic like a blade, sharp enough to slice through noise and leave only truth.

Stanley didn’t know if he was ready for that kind of power.

But he wanted it.

He wanted Xeno.

He wanted his power.

♡♡♡

Outside, winter air bit through the cracked window.

A breath of cold that made Stanley pull his hoodie tighter, but he didn’t care.

The room felt warmer now. Not because of the heater.

Because something had shifted.

Something alive and flickering, like a flame waiting for oxygen.

He found himself replaying how Xeno moved, calm and deliberate.

How his voice never rose but carried the weight of an avalanche.

How he didn’t just talk to the room, he owned it.

Stanley felt the pull deep in his chest.

The pull of belonging.

The pull of something dangerous and beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe…

The pull of a silent promise.

♡♡♡

A few days later, after school, Stanley found himself, without really thinking, stealthily trailing behind Xeno, a strawberry lollipop lazily hanging from his mouth.
Was this stalking?

No, no… more like people-watching. Just... very focused people-watching. On one specific person. Totally normal. Right?
Still, he couldn’t deny the weird magnetic pull Xeno seemed to have on him. It was like his feet moved on their own.
Before he realized it, they had wandered into an oddly deserted part of town.
And that’s when he saw him, silver hair catching the numb light, calmly testing out an absurdly massive shooting weapon… on a poor, defenseless pumpkin.

Xeno's POV:

"Capacitor charged."

"Replacing the accelerator with low-resistance copper alloy."

"Wind speed approximately 2.8 knots
41 degrees Fahrenheit."

"All conditions are clear"

Xeno took a deep breath.

"Commence the experiment."

He pushed the button on his remote and hit was launched.

Didn't hit the target.

"Aluminium doesn't quite give me the precision I need.
I may need to make custom projectiles with an offset center of mass."

He said softly to himself.

Stanley at that moment decided to himself.

"Lower the firing angle by 1.27 degrees,
It isn't your gun's fault that you missed
It's just a matter of skill."

"So you think you can hit it then?"

"I can."

"Stanley adjusted the firing angle and activated the weapon."

The target was hit.

"Elegant indeed...To think you calculated the trajectory on pure intuition..."

"This is no ordinary gun."

Stanley commented.

"Who made this?...You?"

"When you say "this" which one are you referring to?"

"This particle accelerator?
This ring launcher?
The one we just shot is called a rail gun.
It fires projectiles not with gunpowder but   with magnetism- that is, with the Lorentz     force."

"What are you trying to start, a revolution or something?"

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea.
I simply want to experiment and assess the rules and principles underlying all things.
The purpose of science is to reveal the mechanisms of this world and make new, unknown discoveries.
Aerospace engineering brought to life a space probe.
that captured the fantastical scenery of Mars, 75,280,000 kilometers away.
Meanwhile, quantum mechanics is unraveling the mysteries of the universe
on a scale of quintillionths of a meter.
The joy of science is in the endless exploration and new discoveries that it offers.
Science is elegant!"

Stanley couldn’t help but smile softly.
"You're an odd one."

Stanley extended his arm and offered his hand.

"Stanley."

Xeno stared at it for a moment a bit surprised.

"It's a handshake. Don't you know of them?
I'm aware of it on an intellectual level.
But...This is my first time actually engaging in one."

He shook his hand

"I'm Xeno. Stanley, allow me to show you the beautiful light of science."

Extra:

Xeno then glanced at the lollipop-filled pockets on the blond's belt.

"Is all that sugar necessary for you-?"

Stanley without hesitating.

"Absolutely."

"Too much sugar impairs cognitive function, destabilizes insulin levels, and contributes to long-term cardiovascular and metabolic disorders. It causes inflammation, erodes dental enamel, and overstimulates the reward system in the brain like a drug-"

Stanley rolled his eyes.

"It's just sugar, I'll be fine."

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: The first gaze (part 2) Fire.

The next day was Saturday. 11 p.m.

Stanley couldn’t sleep, again.

He lay flat on his back, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it with a soft thwap. Over and over. The rhythm did nothing to calm the storm behind his eyes: teachers, classmates, that stupid detention room, and the way Xeno had said “elegant”, like it was some secret only he knew.

There was something about that silver-haired boy.

Something that ignited the cold blood in Stanley’s veins like flame to gasoline.

Everything felt less dull now. Brighter. Sharper. Too much.

Eventually, he gave up on sleep. Wasn’t the first time. When the noise in his skull got too loud, he wandered: walks, bike rides, anything to shut it up.

His parents never noticed. They were too wrapped up in his brothers, in the chaos of a house too full of yelling and too empty of listening.

So Stanley slipped out the back door, hoodie up, gloves jammed into his pocket, a lollipop popping between his lips.

He hopped on his bike. Let the winter air slap him awake.

The streets were quiet. Streetlights hummed in that eerie, buzzing way. Snow lined the curbs like spilled sugar, glowing faintly under the lamps.

He rode farther than usual, past the abandoned playground, past the rusted mailbox someone had spray-painted gold.

Without meaning to, he found himself in front of the school.

Everything was still. Frozen. Asleep.

Stanley was about to turn back when something flickered in the corner of his vision.

A single light.

Glowing faintly from the ground-floor science lab.

It shouldn’t have been on. Not at this hour.

Curiosity tugged at him.

He dismounted, boots crunching through the snow as he approached the window, narrowing his eyes.

His heart picked up.

Inside, there he was.

Xeno.

Alone.

Coat draped over a chair, sleeves rolled to the elbow. A burner flame danced beneath a beaker. Silver goggles pushed up onto his head like a crown.

The lab flickered with soft light, orange, gold, chemical blue. The air inside looked warmer, alive.

After a beat, Xeno raised his head. Of course he noticed him.

He arched an eyebrow. Then unlatched the window an inch, letting out a gust of warmth.

The smell hit Stanley immediately: hot metal, faint gunpowder, citrus solvents. Shadows danced across the glass cabinets inside.

“What are you doing here?”

Xeno asked mildly.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Stanley replied.

Xeno tilted his head, unimpressed.

“Ah, right. You have a habit of lurking. Are you going to speak, or just breathe like a stray?”

“Wait- How’d you even know that?”

Xeno raised an eyebrow again, half amused.

“Hard not to, really. You blend in with the shadows. Also, we’re neighbors.”

Stanley blinked.

Right. His mom had mentioned something last month about a new family moving in nearby.

He’d barely listened.

Wait- did he just call him a stray?

“HEY- I'm not a stray-”

Stanley exclaimed, a bit offended.

“Just stating facts.”

The scientist replied deadpan.

“Then Let me give you some advice: ditch that messy look if you don’t want to be called a stray.”

Stanley: “Talks  the boy who wears sock garters…”

Xeno shot Stanley a sharp glare that lingered for a moment.

Then, with a quiet sigh, Xeno opened the window wider.

“God…” he muttered a bit exasperated. “You might as well come in before you freeze.”

♡♡♡

The lab was warmer than expected. Not cozy, just heated enough to keep frost off the glass.

It looked like a mad scientist’s brain had spilled across the counters.

The room was dim, lit only by the small burner flame and the reddish emergency lights glowing above. It smelled like iron and lemon, metal and solvents. Precise. Controlled.

Stanley took a slow step forward.

Glass cabinets lined the back wall, filled with labeled vials and strange powders. Beakers half-filled with colored liquids sat like waiting mouths. A chalkboard bore remnants of some equation too long to make sense of, every line drawn with impossible accuracy.

There was no clutter. No chaos. Everything had a place.

Even Xeno.

He stood like part of the room itself, all sharp lines and purpose.

Stanley ran a hand along a steel table, glancing at the notes scattered there, diagrams, formulas, black ink in perfect, architectural handwriting.

“Didn’t know you were the kind of guy who breaks into school for fun.”

Stanley said while grinning.

Xeno without looking up answered:

“Incorrect. I’m the kind who breaks in for clarity.”

That made Stanley laugh, an actual laugh, not one of those fake huffs he reserved for teachers.

He wandered over and dropped onto one of the stools without asking.

Didn’t say much. Just watched.

And Xeno let him.

He explained what he was doing, not like a lecture, but like he assumed Stanley could follow. Something about controlling flame color, stabilizing reactions, refining heat output.

Stanley nodded, even when he didn’t get half of it. Hummed like it made sense. Watched the way Xeno moved: precise, fluid, utterly focused.

He wasn’t showing off.

He was just being.

Stanley realized something then.

Xeno didn’t do this to impress people.

He did it because he couldn’t not.

Stanley murmured quietly

“I’m surprised you’re not more popular… This is kinda cool.”

Xeno: “Perhaps, But people are dull. Unstable. But chemistry, true chemistry, follows laws.”

Stanley: “Thought you liked control, not rules.”

Xeno looked at the blonde almost smiling:

“What’s the difference?”

Silence bloomed between them. Warm. Charged.

Stanley: “Do you always sneak into school like this? Do your parents even know?”

Xeno raised an eyebrow.

“Do yours?”

Stanley rolled his eyes as he replied withe another question.

“They have no clue. They think I’m asleep. They’re too busy with my brothers to notice.”

Xeno: “Mine travel often. Work. They’re usually gone a week at a time every couple of months. They trust I won’t do anything… catastrophic.”

Stanley nodded. Didn’t ask more.

“I see.”

The burner hissed out. The flame vanished. The room dimmed, lit now only by the faint red glow of emergency lights.

Xeno turned toward him, not with that sharp, calculating stare, but something softer. Curious.

Xeno: “You always watch me like you expect more.”

“…Because there is more.”

Xeno didn’t reply.

But his fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table.

Then- *click*.

The beaker cooled. The silence stretched.

Xeno stood. Shut off the last switch. Brushed past Stanley, arm barely grazing his.

Stanley: “What were you making?”

Xeno: “You shouldn’t be here.”

Stanley smirked: “Neither should you.”

Stan wasn't going to back down.

“So?”

Xeno sighed through his nose. Tilted his head.

“How long do you plan on lurking tonight?”

“Long enough. Why?”

Xeno’s lips curled into something dangerous and smug.

Xeno: “I’ll show you. But we need to get to the nearby parking lot, the abandoned one.”

Stanley guessed it was some experiment.

“I brought my bike, we can use it.”

Xeno accepted.

♡♡♡

It was Stanley’s first time riding a bike with someone else, especially a peer. It felt a bit embarrassing to the small scientist.

Xeno perched awkwardly on the rear pegs of Stanley’s bike, arms crossed, making no move to hold on.

“You know,” Stanley muttered, pedaling into the quiet night, “if you fall off, I’m not circling back.”

“I have excellent balance,” Xeno replied coolly. “Worry about your own coordination.”

The tires cracked over a patch of uneven road, a shallow dip, but sudden.

The jolt made Xeno slip. His hand brushed Stanley’s back, brief, hesitant contact, fingertips grazing fabric.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

Stanley’s breath caught, just for a second.

“Are you okay?..”

Xeno after a pause: “…I’m fine.”

But he didn’t shift back.

He stayed closer now, just enough that Stanley could feel his warmth, even through winter layers. Not touching, but almost. Like gravity had learned new rules.

Stanley said nothing else. He just kept pedaling.

For the first time all night, the silence between them didn’t feel heavy.

They coasted through empty streets, snow lining gutters like powdered chalk. Every so often, a breeze cut through the silence, tugging at Stanley’s hoodie and Xeno’s scarf.

Xeno: “Turn left. Here.”

Stanley: “You giving me directions now?”

Xeno: “Unless you’d rather pedal in circles.”

They reached the abandoned parking lot, wide, cracked with weeds and patches of snow. Stanley stopped.

Xeno hopped off and strode over to a half-buried bench. From beneath it, he pulled a small canvas bag. Unzipped it.

It looked like a fragile relic. Inside: glass tubes, powder-filled shells, a lighter. A small metal stand already spiked into the frost.

Stanley whistled, impressed.

“You made all this?”

“Of course. Why else break in this late then?”

He arranged the pieces with that same obsessive precision, then paused, holding something out.

Xeno: “Here.”

Stanley blinked. “What- me?”

“You said you weren’t a stray. Prove you’re more useful than one.”

It was a tube, lighter than expected, with gold powder visible through the base. Stanley held it like it might explode in his hand.

“Where do I...?”

“There.” He pointed. “Angle thirty degrees. Firm placement. Then stand back.”

Stanley followed the instructions, lips pressed tight. It felt like defusing a bomb. Or maybe lighting one.

Xeno nodded once, satisfied.

“You didn’t ruin it. Impressive.”

Stanley rolled his eyes and smiled. “Thanks, Your Majesty.”

The fuse hissed to life.

Then:

A sudden burst, green and gold slashed through the sky, loud, bright, impossible. It painted Xeno’s pale face in an otherworldly color. His expression stayed calm, focused, but his eyes were full of fire.

Then another, blue and violet, softer, quieter.

Stanley stood in the cold, his lips parted in awe at the sight before him, and the forgotten stick of his long-finished lollipop slipped from his mouth, falling silently until it hit the ground with a soft clink, heart thudding.

Stanley: “You’re insane.”

Xeno: “Incorrect,”

he said, eyes still skyward.

“I’m deliberate.”

Fireworks.

A kid his age managed to make fireworks.

Stanley stared, eyes wide, lips parted.

Xeno didn’t respond at first. He watched the sky with surgical precision, calculating angles, colors, burns.

But as the sky bloomed again, his expression shifted. The smirk faded into something softer, almost… proud.

“Science is the purest form of elegance.”

“What’s up with you and that word? Elegant?”

Xeno turned to him, and for once, didn’t dodge the question.

“Because elegance is what remains when everything unnecessary is burned away.”

Stanley’s chest tightened.

Who are you? he thought, but didn’t say aloud.

The last firework faded. The sky went dark again.

They returned to their neighborhood in silence. When they reached the district, Stanley left his bike at the nearby rack.

Stanley and Xeno looked at each other.

Stanley: “Want me to walk you home?”

Xeno froze mid-step.

As if no one had ever asked before.

♡♡♡

Xeno’s POV

He was used to indifference. Disdain. Variables that made noise but didn’t matter.

But Stanley was different.

Sweet, in a way that didn’t fit the equation. Sweet in a way that unsettled him.

He’s not supposed to care, Xeno thought. He’s not supposed to mean anything.

So why did it feel like he did?

What an unpredictable variable.

♡♡♡

Xeno chuckled, low and sharp. A burst of static in the quiet.

Stanley blinked, startled, looking at Xeno wondering if this time the genius boy really had gone crazy.

“Haha”

But there was something else, too, about his laugh.

Something almost... sweet about it.
Softer than Stanley would've guessed. Not cruel or cold, just unexpectedly real. Like it slipped out before Xeno could catch it.

“That’s so ridiculously cheesy. I’m not scared of the dark, or a princess needing an escort.”

“HA!?”

“I—I was just being polite!!”

But Xeno was already walking away, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

Stanley was shocked.

Xeno didn’t say goodbye.

But when Stanley looked back, he noticed something strange.

Their footprints.

Side by side in the snow.

He stared at them for a long time.

Then walked home.

A quiet fire still burning in his chest.

.

.

.

That night, Stanley didn’t get a wink of sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: A Christmas Surprise

23/12/2004

The school bell rang for the final time that December, a shrill echo marking the start of the Christmas holidays.

In their first year of middle school, Stanley and Xeno ended up in separate classes. For the past few weeks, Stanley had made it a habit to swing by Xeno’s classroom as soon as the bell rang.

“Do you want to go home together?” Stanley asked, just like he had thirty-three times before.

As usual, Xeno froze for a split second, visibly processing the question.

He still wasn’t used to that kind of sweetness. He didn’t know how to categorize it, and that unsettled him.

“Not interested,” Xeno muttered, brushing hair behind his ear.

“You’re really persistent. But like I said the last thirty-three times, I’m not a princess in need of an escort.”

Stanley rolled his eyes dramatically. “Alright, I’m leaving!”

And yet, he didn’t look too disappointed. Not really.

The next day, Stanley arrived at Xeno’s house to help with one of the small scientist’s "crazy projects."

The Wingfield house was tucked into a quiet residential block, the kind with narrow hedges, peeling fences, and a mailbox that looked like it belonged in a retro sci-fi movie. The garden was overgrown in the prettiest way, ferns curling around metallic garden lights, rusted tools leaning against the fence like forgotten inventions.

Xeno led him through the front door without announcing him to anyone. The hallway smelled faintly of old paper and soldered wires. They went straight upstairs.

Xeno’s room was organized chaos. Shelves overflowing with books, robot limbs, and metallic parts; boxes of old electronics stacked to the ceiling; a small desk crowded with wires and motherboards. The bed wasn’t made. On one wall, blueprints were pinned in overlapping layers like a patchwork quilt of genius. And in the corner, what looked like a baby rocket attached to a computer through far too many cables.

Xeno stood beside a whiteboard comically too big for the room, gripping a board marker like a general about to explain a battle plan.

“I’ve decided to optimize the rocket thrust ratio using hydrogen peroxide and a dual-valve compression system,” he said.

“Simple in theory, but I've got three possible flaws in the stabilizer design, so-”

He went on.

Stanley absorbed maybe a quarter of the two-hour-long explanation. If that. But he wasn’t bored.

Not when Xeno looked like that.

Stanley had always thought Xeno’s eyes were just black pits, strange and unreadable. But today… there was something different. Light hit his face at just the right angle, making his eyes seem to glow like black pearls under moonlight. There was this energy in him, this spark that lit up every inch of his pale, sharp face. And when he smiled…

God. That smile.

A grin brighter than the moon, a rare expression that cracked through his usual deadpan like the sun through a storm cloud.

Stanley couldn’t stop watching.

It was eye-catching. Heart-capturing.

He didn’t understand what was happening in his chest, was it just the excitement of doing something new? Something real? After all, most kids his age just played baseball and insulted him for looking like a girl.

He rubbed it off like that.

But that wouldn't stop the strange warm-cold embrace curling around him like a wind that didn’t know whether to sting or comfort. He told himself it was just awe. That kind of feeling you get when you meet someone who’s so far ahead of you… so brilliant it makes your own chest feel small and bright all at once.

By the end of the day, they had built a prototype of the rocket, kind of. Wires tangled like vines, duct tape holding half the frame together. Stanley collapsed into the fuzzy green beanbag in the corner of the room, limbs sprawled dramatically, while Xeno typed furiously at the computer.

A million numbers danced across the screen.

.

.

.

“Soo…What are you doing this Christmas?” Stanley asked casually.

He didn’t mind the comfortable silence that settled between them, but he was a bit curious.

“Eat something. Go to sleep,” Xeno replied dryly, eyes still locked on the screen.

Stanley wasn’t surprised. But something in his tone sounded… off.

“Not spending it with your family?”

Xeno’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second too long.

“It’s… complicated.”

Stanley nodded. “...I see.”

He decided not to push further.

Xeno then, with a soft smile, barely visible, like a glitch in his usual expression, went back to the numbers on his computer.

Stanley couldn’t help but feel a little… jealous.

The way science made Xeno smile.

Xeno seemed like the type who’d feel more joy from numbers than from people. Like equations made more sense than emotions ever could. And maybe that was true. But still, Stanley found himself silently thanking science for letting him see this new version of the silverette.

Over the past few days, they worked on the rocket again. Prototype after prototype.

Each one failed within three minutes, sometimes two, but Xeno never got discouraged. If anything, failure seemed to fuel him.

Stanley watched the black eyes sparkle with every “almost.” And that flutter in his chest returned again and again, like a moth trapped behind his ribs.

Christmas soon arrived.

Stanley’s day was loud and chaotic, filled with food, yelling, games, and, most traumatically, his sister’s very unfortunate Christmas “gift” to him: letting her dress him up like a doll.

Which, of course, he had to accept, or risk being annihilated by both parents.

He ended up in a grey turtleneck sweater, loose trousers, shiny belt, elegant shoes, and a stylish scarf that somehow made him look like he was in a cologne commercial. He looked like someone from one of Xeno’s European fashion magazines. Ridiculous. Or… maybe not completely.

After dinner, most of the family knocked out early. Stanley laid on his bed, still fully dressed, eyes fixed on the moon outside his window.

It was 11 PM.

He didn’t know why he was still awake. Maybe it was the sip of coffee his dad let him have in the morning, or maybe the thought that wouldn’t leave his brain:

Xeno. Alone.

He wasn’t religious, but even he enjoyed something mundane like Christmas. The lights. The calm. The food. The excuse to care.

And imagining Xeno, cold, alone, pretending it didn’t matter, somehow felt… wrong.

He stared at the ceiling. Rolled over.

If he went there this late at night, people might think he is crazy or something…

Yeah, he shouldn’t go. . . .

.
.
.

Ten minutes later, he was outside the Wingfield house.

In the end, he never said he wasn't crazy.

He knocked.

Nothing.

Of course Xeno was asleep. But Stanley hadn’t come this far to quit now. He climbed, awkwardly, nearly slipping twice, until he reached the window to Xeno’s room.

The small scientist was on his bed… eyes closed, but not peaceful.

He wasn’t in pajamas. His hair was perfectly neat. His hands lay too still. Fake-sleeping.

Stanley tapped on the glass.

Xeno stirred. Opened his eyes. Sat up.

Blink. Shock.

“Xeno!” Stanley whispered, grinning.

Xeno rushed to the window.

“What the hell are you doing here!?”

Stanley stood, lit by moonlight, looking far too elegant for this kind of chaos. Xeno stared at him like he’d been slapped with a fairytale. He looked like…

A damn knight under the soft light of the moon. A ridiculous, windswept, ridiculously dressed knight.

Xeno didn’t know why, but this reminded him of one of those medieval rom-coms his mom watched when she was home…

A knight at his window ready to rescue him from loneliness???

What in the actual fu-

Stanley extended his hand, smiling.

“Let’s go. I want to take you somewhere.”

Xeno raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

Stanley: “It’s a surprise.”

A goddamn surprise?

Xeno blinked. This was stupid. Illogical.

Dangerous. His parents would flip if they knew he left in the middle of the night.

And yet… something about that hand…

He reached out.

“You’re absolutely insane… you know that?”

Stanley smirked. “Even better, now we match, crazy scientist.”

Xeno couldn't understand why, but at that he felt… embarrassed? Maybe flustered. But not in a bad way.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

Stanley chuckled. “Maybe.”

Xeno sighed. “Alright, but later we'll test this new prototype.”

Stanley just nodded.

♡♡♡

With Stanley’s roughed-up bike, Xeno sitting on the back, muttering about balance and injury risks, they pedaled into the freezing night.

After a while, they reached the destination.

The central square of the city.

It was alive.

Lanterns floated overhead, string lights twinkled like stars between the buildings. Stalls lined the street, selling roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, sweet steamed buns, meat skewers, and hot chocolate in bright red paper cups. The air was cold enough to see your breath but warm enough to smell cinnamon and sugar.

A jazz trio played Christmas covers in the corner. A massive tree shimmered with every color imaginable. People laughed. Kids ran around in fuzzy coats and glowing earmuffs.

Xeno blinked. His mouth opened slightly.

Stanley watched him take it in.

“Come on, silverhead,” Stanley said, grabbing his sleeve. “You’re not leaving until you’ve tried hot chocolate.”

They went ice skating.

Xeno nearly fell on the ice rink, twice, but still refused Stanley’s hand both times.

Xeno didn’t like trusting himself in someone else’s hands…

Till now all the peers he trusted managed to disappoint his expectations…

And maybe it was because he refused to take his hand especially after that silly and embarrassing thought of those trashy medieval romance comedies…

“I don’t need help,” he muttered, gripping the edge with white knuckles, pink cheeks from the cold that unconsciously warmed up Stanley’s heart, not that he noticed.

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, oh mighty lone wolf.”

Until Xeno was about to fall on his face.

Stanley, with a swift move, caught Xeno before he could hit the ice.

“You know that trusting someone every now and then isn’t going to kill you, right?”

Xeno sighed and knew that at this point, he had no choice…

But unexpectedly, Stanley, instead of grabbing Xeno’s hand, grabbed his arms to stabilize him.

Did he do that because he noticed Xeno was occasionally uncomfortable today?

Stanley gently led Xeno on the ice, not letting him fall once.

For Xeno, it was the first time he didn’t have to worry about being let down.

And without realizing it… he had a great time.

Stanley Snyder… again… what a crazy variable.

They got churros, Stanley decided to pay for tonight since he got a lot of money from his grandparents. He smothered his in cinnamon sugar and shoved one into Xeno’s hand.

Xeno took a bite, frowned. “Too sweet.”

Stanley took a bite of his own anyway. “Your face is too sweet.”

Xeno blinked, not sure he heard correctly.

“What-?”

“Nothing.”

Stanley said it casually, but internally didn’t

understand why he said something like that.

They went from stall to stall.

Even managed to make the small scientist try unhealthy spicy meat skewers.

Later they sipped cocoa under the starry night. Xeno sneezed from the cold. Stanley gave him his scarf.

Somewhere between the chestnuts and the ridiculous singing Santa robot, Xeno stopped protesting.

He smiled. A real smile. Not his usual crooked smirk, but something softer. Something… new.

Stanley didn’t say anything.

He just smiled back.

Maybe, just for once, or maybe just for a moment, he could beat science.

Later that night, they walked to the empty winter beach to try one more launch of the rocket.

The ocean stretched like a sleeping beast, dark and endless. Waves whispered against the shore, a hush only the stars could understand.

Xeno stood on the frosted sand, watching the tide roll under the moon. And there…

There was Stanley.

Standing by the water, blond hair tousled by the wind, coat fluttering. The night wrapped around him like a storybook page.

And for a moment, in Xeno’s eyes, he wasn’t just a variable.

He was light.

The kind that found you when you weren’t looking.

What are you? Xeno thought, the ache in his chest so unfamiliar he mistook it for cold.

The rocket exploded loudly.

In exactly 4 minutes and 35 seconds.

And of course, flashing blue lights appeared on the road behind them just a few moments later.

“Police!” Stanley yelled.

“I did not account for law enforcement!” Xeno hissed.

Stanley laughed, grabbing his arm. “Then don’t think- run!”

Xeno tried, but his legs were never the

fastest.

So Stanley picked him up.

“Wha- Stanley! Put me down! I weigh more than I look-”

“Shut up! We’re not getting arrested!"

Stanley ran like hell down the snowy path, carrying a yelling Xeno bridal-style while sirens blared in the background.

Xeno was shocked.

Xeno’s POV

He’d never been held like that. Not since he was a kid. Not like this, so sudden, warm, and full of reckless care. His brain screamed logistics, risk, rules…

But his heart was quiet. Still.

Almost safe.

They escaped.

Barely.

And on a bench by the water, both panting, Xeno chuckled.

Xeno’s POV 1:45 AM. Xeno was back home.

He stepped inside quietly, snow melting on his shoes. No one noticed. No one ever did.

But tonight, he wasn’t thinking about that.

He pressed a hand to his chest, just once, and smiled to himself in the dark.

That night… felt real.

He could help but repeat the events of the night in his head and think.

It was a surprisingly nice Christmas.

Maybe holidays aren’t a total waste of time.

Maybe.

The First Day Back at School

06/01/2005

The bell rang.

Stanley popped his head into Xeno’s

classroom, grinning as always. “Do you want to go home together?”

Xeno, as always, paused.

Then, smirking, eyes not quite meeting Stanley’s, he said:

“…I suppose I could make an exception.”

Stanley blinked.

Was he hallucinating?

Then he smiled.

He didn’t know what changed exactly, but he had a pretty good idea.

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: A Shot straight to the Heart.

♡♡♡

13/01/2005

It was a snowy day.

Thick white powder layered the small scientist’s crooked backyard like frosting on an unkempt cake. The trees were skeletons wrapped in ice, the air bit with sharp playfulness, and the sky hung low in a pale hush. The world felt like it had been tucked in under a woolen blanket, and for once, everything outside of their little universe didn’t matter.

Two boys tumbled through the snow-covered garden: one tall, blonde and quick with a grin; the other pale, silver-haired, and chronically unimpressed.

Stanley hurled a snowball across the yard. "Suck frost, nerd!"

Xeno barely ducked in time. "Is that the best you can do, Top Gun? Your aim's as outdated as that VHS collection you're proud of."

"Say that again and I’ll make you eat a snowman’s arm."

Xeno flicked his gloved fingers, packing another snowball with the precision of a machine. "Your threats are as empty as your music taste."

"Alright, that’s it!"

Stanley charged.

What followed was chaos. Snowballs. Screaming. Laughter. Stanley tackled Xeno into a drift, pinning him like a wrestling champion fueled by sugar and spite.

"Snyder! Don’t you dare- "

Too late. The tickle attack commenced.

Xeno thrashed like a feral cat, kicking up snow. "Stop! I’ll reroute your bathroom sink to explode chocolate syrup, I swear to God!"

"Worth it!"

He tickled mercilessly until Xeno wormed free and made a break for the sidewalk, cheeks flushed and breath fogging the cold air.

"You are clinically insane," Xeno panted.

"You started it," Stanley called after him while running after him.

And then, fate intervened.

Xeno’s boot caught on a half-buried rock. He flailed, off-balance, face heading straight for the icy curb and an iron light pole.

Stanley reacted before thinking. He lunged and yanked Xeno backward by the back of his coat. They stumbled, legs tangling,

Xeno's POV:

Everything went wrong in one second.

One misstep, one stupid rock hidden under fresh snow, and his balance vanished. His foot twisted, his body pitched forward, and he thought, with chilling clarity, I’m going to hit the pole. No time to react. No time to-

He didn’t hit the pole.

Instead, something yanked him backward hard, a sharp tug on the collar of his jacket,  and then both of them were falling, snow spraying up in a burst of white. The ground came faster than he could process.

But he didn’t hit the ground either.

He landed on someone.

A breath escaped his lungs, half-shocked, half-stolen by the cold. The first thing he noticed was that the impact hadn’t hurt. The second was warmth, soft layers under his hands. The third… was the familiar scent of cinnamon and cheap caramel lollipops.

His eyes adjusted.

Stanley was underneath him.

Stanley. Flat on his back, snow in his hair, blinking up at him like he didn’t quite know how they got there either.

Xeno froze.

His gloved hands were braced awkwardly against Stanley’s chest, and their faces were just… too close. Close enough to see the detail in Stanley’s amber eyes, the way his breath fogged in uneven bursts between them. Xeno could hear both of their heartbeats, or maybe just his own, pounding far too loudly in his ears.

He didn’t move.

Not because he wanted to stay. That wasn’t it. He was just, shocked. Obviously. That was the only reason.

Stanley stared. “Uh… hey.”

Xeno blinked.

He was still on top of him. Still not moving. He needed to get up. Now.

He rolled off abruptly and onto his side, brushing snow off himself with unnecessary aggression. “You’re so clumsy,” he muttered.

Stanley sat up with a wheeze. “I caught you, genius.”

“You should’ve caught me better. We both fell.”

“You fell on me. That’s, like, the opposite of ‘better.’”

Xeno scowled and turned away so Stanley wouldn’t see the red burning across his ears. The cold wasn’t even that bad. Not compared to… whatever this was.

He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t.

It was just stupid.

Just proximity. Biological reaction. Adrenaline. That’s all it was. His heart rate was elevated because of the near-collision. That was normal. Natural. Expected.

And the weird tight feeling in his chest? Definitely not something to overanalyze. Not emotional. Just chemical. A leftover stress response.

Right?

Stanley let out a small, breathless laugh behind him. “You alright, though?”

“Fine,” Xeno said quickly. Too quickly.

“Didn’t hit your head or anything?”

“No.”

“Cool. You just kinda laid on me like a dying cat for five seconds, so-”

“I said I’m fine!”

Silence.

Then the unmistakable sound of Stanley chuckling again, under his breath, brushing himself off like none of it meant anything.

It didn’t mean anything.

Xeno was sure of it.

Almost.

Probably.

Stanley grinned. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from kissing light poles."

Xeno glared at the blonde for a brief moment.

“You’re ridiculous."

"You should be more cautious."

.

.

"Yeah... noted."

They stood up.

Stanley was about to make a joke when a paper fluttered beside the pole. Something about it caught his eye.

He grabbed it. Read it. Whistled.

"Yo. Xeno. Check this out."

Xeno squinted at the flyer.

YOUTH SHOOTING CONTEST – AGES 12-16

1st Prize: $200 + Gear Bundle

Supervised & Sponsored by the Local Veterans' Association

Stanley’s eyes sparkled. "A real shooting contest?"

Xeno folded his arms. "You should give it a shot."

Stanley stared at him.

"Was that a pun?"

"Statistically speaking? Probably. Also, you’ve got freakishly good aim, and you brag about going hunting with your dad all the time."

Stanley puffed up. "I don’t brag- I educate."

"Right. Well, consider this your pop quiz."

Stanley glanced back at the flyer, then shrugged with false nonchalance. "Why not."

But Xeno could tell. Stanley was vibrating inside.

♡♡♡

Back in the garage-turned-workshop, Stanley unzipped a duffel bag and carefully pulled out his grandpa's old air rifle.

It was... charming, in the way rusted vintage cars are charming. Wooden grip. Ancient optics. The thing practically coughed dust.

"Behold," Stanley said proudly. "The rifle of champions."

Xeno stared at it like it had just insulted his lineage. "That either belongs in a museum. Or a dumpster fire."

"HEY! This baby’s got soul. She’s never let me down."

"That’s because you’re compensating for it," Xeno muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Gimme."

Stanley handed it over, and Xeno immediately began dissecting it like a surgeon in a rush.

"You're not... breaking it, are you?"

"I'm upgrading it."

"You sure that's legal?"

"Define 'legal.'"

Stanley sighed, popping a caramel lollipop into his mouth. "You scare me."

"Good."

Xeno worked like a demon: optics replaced with custom mods, trigger system re-calibrated, stabilizers attached, recoil dampeners soldered in with a DIY finesse that made the weapon feel brand new.

"How do you even know how to do this stuff?"

"Don't ask."

"...Cool."

♡♡♡

Two days later,

the plaza buzzed with life. Snow flurries drifted between strings of glowing lights. Booths sold cocoa and fried pastries. But Stanley had tunnel vision.

The shooting area was taped off and guarded by stone-faced veterans who looked like they could win a war using only sarcasm and a folding chair.

Stanley paced while Xeno set up the rifle on the bench.

"You nervous?" Xeno asked without looking up.

"No."

"You're chewing your glove."

"I'm hungry."

Xeno smirked.

The cold crept under his collar, biting at his skin, but Stanley didn’t flinch.

He stepped up to the firing line like it was second nature, like he’d done it a hundred times before, because, honestly, he had. Just not in front of this many people. Not with so much noise around him.

A crowd had gathered, parents with steaming coffee cups, teenagers with phones half-raised, and a few older guys in camo watching him a little too closely. The announcer’s voice echoed across the plaza, calling out names and rules, but Stanley wasn’t really listening.

He wasn’t here to win a medal.

He was here because he loved the feel of a gun built right. Because the air was sharp, the barrel was cold, and the pressure made his heart race in a way he liked.

This- this was his rhythm.

He shouldered the rifle. Xeno’s rifle. Or… well, his rifle now, tuned and perfected by the only person who understood mechanics better than Stanley understood his own hands.

No breathing tips. No whispered advice.

Xeno didn’t say a word behind him. Just stood, arms crossed, watching.

Good.

Stanley lined up the first shot. And then another. And another.

He didn’t count hits, didn’t need to. The crowd started reacting for him. Murmurs turned into claps. A few surprised whistles. He kept going, smooth and silent, locked in.

Then the final target.

He adjusted instinctively for wind, just a fraction. No hesitation.

Pop.

Silence.

Then cheers.

Stanley slowly lowered the rifle and stepped back from the bench. His chest was rising with adrenaline, but he forced his face to stay blank. Controlled. Like it was no big deal.

But his eyes flicked toward the edge of the crowd, toward Xeno.

And there he was. smiling softly, clapping, but standing just a little straighter. Watching him like he knew all along Stanley would crush it.

Stanley grinned, lollipop in his mouth, rifle slung over his shoulder.

Easy.

Stanley was clutching his medal and a paper envelope with $200 inside. His face was red from cold and adrenaline.

Xeno nudged him. "You did it. Elegant execution by the way."

Stanley turned with a grin. "No, we did it. That rifle? Chefs kiss."

"Still think Grandpa’s was better?"

"You win. You’re a freakin’ genius."

After the medal ceremony and a weird handshake from someone dressed as a mascot eagle, a tall man in uniform approached.

A voice cut through the hum of the crowd. Gravelly, deep, calm.

“You ever serve, kid?”

Stanley turned to find an older man leaning against one of the nearby support poles. Late fifties, maybe sixties. Broad-shouldered beneath a worn army coat that had seen its share of battles. The man’s right hand was gloved; his left was a prosthetic. His eyes, though, were sharp, steel-gray, and honed like he was still reading wind patterns and enemy movements.

Stanley tilted his head, one brow raised. “No, sir. Just a hobby.”

The veteran grunted thoughtfully. “You held that rifle like it was part of you. No hesitation. No wasted movement. Most people flinch, even in sport. You didn’t.”

“I’ve had practice.” Stanley gave a casual shrug, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something alert and guarded.

The veteran stepped closer. “I’ve trained plenty of marksmen. Doesn’t take long to spot the real ones. You’re not just practiced. You’re comfortable. Like you’ve been under pressure before.”

Stanley didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward Xeno for the briefest second, just a flicker, and then back to the man.

“Guess I just like to stay sharp.”

The veteran studied him for another long moment, then gave a slow nod. “Whatever your reason, you’ve got the calm of someone who’s seen things. That’s rare in someone your age.”

He offered his hand, the gloved one. “Name’s Briggs. Retired Army. Taught long-range recon, back when that still meant something.”

Stanley shook his hand firmly. “Stanley.”

Briggs looked him over one more time, then let go. “If you ever decide to take that aim of yours somewhere serious, military, private security, hell, even rescue operations, you’d have a future. Just sayin’.”

Stanley gave a polite nod, but his voice was softer now. “Appreciate it, sir.”

Briggs turned to go but stopped midway. “One more thing,” he said over his shoulder. “Shooting’s not just about aim. It’s about control. You’ve got that. Hold on to it. Not everyone does.”

"That rifle custom?"

Stanley jerked a thumb toward Xeno.

"He upgraded it."

The man turned. "You built that? How old are you?"

"12. And I improved it."

The man smiled. "You ever think about applying that brain to something serious? Military R&D, maybe? Ballistics design?"

Xeno blinked. "No."

"Why not?"

He looked at the stars. "I’m going to NASA. My designs belong in orbit, not in war."

"You could do both. Defense funds-"

"I know," Xeno said. "That’s their problem. Not mine."

The man stared at him a moment. Then nodded. "Just be careful what you aim at. And who pulls the trigger."

He left.

Stanley exhaled. "You always this intense with strangers?"

"Only the ones who think I'm a weapon."

They walked home in companionable silence.

"So," Stanley said finally, "you really want to go to space?"

"Not space. NASA. Big difference."

"And if you did build a death ray?"

"You’d be the idiot holding it."

Stanley grinned. "Perfect."

Xeno didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And in that tiny, crooked smile, Stanley knew one thing for sure:

Whatever Xeno built, wherever he aimed, Stanley would be right there beside him.

Just in case the world needed saving.

Or breaking.

♡♡♡

Later.

They wandered into the plaza, the crowd starting to thin. Lights glowed above them like stars.

"Hey," Stanley said, tugging on Xeno’s sleeve. "Crepes? On me."

Xeno looked skeptical. "You just won money and you’re spending it on me?"

"I’d spend it on worse. You ever had Nutella with strawberries and whipped cream? Life-changing."

Xeno gave him a flat look but didn’t walk away, which Stanley took as permission. He led the way to the glowing crepe booth, practically bouncing with anticipation. The smell alone, sweet and buttery, was enough to justify any expense. He ordered two without asking, confident he’d guessed right.

When he handed one to Xeno, he did it with all the pride of a man bestowing treasure.

“Tell me this isn’t the best decision I’ve made all week.”

They sat at a bench with steaming paper-wrapped crepes, the sugary smell wafting in the winter air. Stanley took a bite and made a noise of pure joy.

"Worth. Every. Shot."

Xeno watched him for a moment, then quietly took a bite of his own. “…Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Stanley exclaimed, already chewing. “Dude, this is like- culinary love. Are you broken?”

Snow started falling again, slow and soft.

“I swear,” he said through a mouthful, “This is so good. How do you not eat these every day?”

“I don’t have a sugar addiction,” Xeno replied without looking up from his own.

Stanley rolled his eyes. “It’s not an addiction, it’s a spiritual experience.”

As he turned to say something else, a small blob of whipped cream clung to his cheek, right below the corner of his mouth. Xeno saw it immediately.

Xeno blinked. Then frowned.

Stanley didn’t notice. He just kept chewing, eyes bright. “You gotta admit, this is better than sitting alone all day. I mean- hey, what are you-?”

Xeno leaned in slightly, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat. He pulled out a handkerchief, folded crisp and clean, the kind of thing no one their age usually carried. Without saying anything, he gently lifted it and dabbed the cream from Stanley’s face. like he’d done it a thousand times before. His touch was light, clinical, but close. Too close.

He could smell Xeno’s cologne, something subtle and clean, like cedar and metal. He could feel the heat of him, his breath in the winter air.

Stanley froze.

The cloth was soft, but it was the touch, steady, close, that made his brain short-circuit for a second. Xeno’s fingers brushed just barely against his skin. His eyes, narrowed in focus, were right there, clear and black, framed by lashes that really had no business being that pretty.

It was over in seconds. Xeno leaned back, re-folded the handkerchief with his usual mechanical precision, and slid it back into his pocket.

“You’re a mess,” he said simply. “Again.”

Stanley blinked. “Oh. Right. Uh. Thanks?”

He laughed, but it came out weird, too high-pitched, like someone who didn’t know what to do with his lungs.

Xeno returned to his crepe, unfazed.

Stanley didn’t.

He stared out at the snow, cheeks warm. Something had flipped inside him, but he didn’t know what it was. Not exactly. He just… felt weird. Tingly. Flustered in a way that didn’t feel like embarrassment.

His heart thudded. Not hard. Just noticeably. Annoyingly.

Was that, what was that?

It’s just because he got caught off guard, right? That’s all.

He glanced at Xeno again, who was focused on the last bite of his crepe, looking like he hadn’t done anything unusual at all.

Stanley quickly looked away.

Weird night. Sugar high. Snowbrain.

Totally normal.

…

Stanley decided to brush that weird feeling off by teasing Xeno.

Stanley’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wow. Okay. Didn’t realize I was getting the butler service package tonight.”

“I was trying to preserve my own eyesight,” Xeno said flatly, but…

He was… hesitating. Not much. Just a flicker.

Stanley didn’t notice. He was still grinning. “You always carry one of those? What are you, eighty?”

Xeno stiffened slightly. “It’s… practical.”

Stanley laughed. “You iron it too?”

Xeno crossed his arms and bashfully looked away.

Stanley leaned back, smirking. “Oh my god. You’re embarrassed.”

(As if he wasn't even more embarrassed himself)

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

Xeno didn’t respond.

And that’s when Stanley, completely misreading the situation, threw in, “Don’t worry, dude. I won’t tell anyone you’re secretly a gentleman.”

Then, quietly: “There was too much on your face.”

Stanley snorted. “So what, you had an allergic reaction to it?”

“It was… distracting.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “Distracting?”

Xeno glared at him. “You talk too much!”

Stanley just laughed again, completely missing the way Xeno avoided looking directly at him for the next ten minutes.

He just walked beside Xeno, warm medal in his pocket, heart doing something stupid and fluttery in his chest. And for once, Xeno didn’t tell him to shut up. Didn’t roll his eyes. He just walked, close and quiet, like maybe he didn’t want the night to end either.

And maybe…just maybe…that was enough.

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

Date: 25/11/2013

Stanley was doing well that year, exceptionally well. Special Forces had snapped him up the second his assessment scores came through. Top percentile in mental resilience. Near-perfect in combat aptitude. Smart, adaptable, deadly when needed, and unnervingly composed under pressure.

He didn’t just perform, he excelled. Out in the field, his calm unnerved people. Even the veterans watched him like he was some kind of ghost soldier: too young, too quiet, too cold. They said he didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. Rumor was he didn’t feel much, either. Maybe they were right.

But not tonight.

Tonight, after a grueling 72-hour operation and a long debrief, he wasn’t the ghost. He was just Stanley, the youngest at a table full of tired, loud, slightly drunk soldiers in a crowded late-night restaurant just outside the base perimeter. The kind of place that stayed open out of habit and obligation, where the lights buzzed and the walls were sticky with stories.

Laughter rang out from one end of the table as someone retold a story about a goat and a malfunctioning drone. Stanley wasn’t really listening. He sat hunched over a laminated menu, brows drawn together in concentration. Then suddenly, a flicker of something rare crossed his face.

His eyes sparked.

He leaned forward, tapped the menu with the back of his finger like he’d discovered treasure.

“Two burritos,” he told the waiter, voice calm but lit with something just under the surface. “Double meat. Extra cheese.”

The others paused. One of his teammates, Ortiz, raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t think you were the type to get excited about food,” he said, half-laughing.

Another guy, Chen, smirked into his drink. “Yeah, what’s the deal? Got some deep emotional connection to melted cheese or somethin’?”

Stanley didn’t answer right away.

His hand slowly lowered from the menu. The spark in his eyes dimmed, not completely, but enough. His shoulders relaxed in that practiced way he did when he didn’t want people looking too closely.

He looked down. Shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said, voice smooth as ever. “I just like the taste.”

But that wasn’t it.

Not really.

Because the truth, clear and sharp as a winter morning, sat quietly in the back of his mind, a memory tucked away where no one could touch it.

He wasn’t thinking about the burrito.

He was thinking about the first time he’d ever had one.

A weekend, eight years ago.

A cold living room filled with the scent of soldered wires, burnt toast, and mint soap. A kitchen with tools on the table and circuit boards stacked near the microwave. A quiet boy with storm-gray eyes who rolled his sleeves up too far and corrected him every time he misread the rocket schematic.

A boy who had said, “No offense, but you suck at cooking,” before sighing and teaching Stanley how to heat a tortilla properly. Who stood close without meaning to, their arms brushing every time they moved around the kitchen. Who didn’t mind the silence, because it was the kind that felt full instead of empty.

♡♡♡

It was a fairly sunny day, not too warm, not too cold. The kind of in-between afternoon that made the windows too bright to look through, and the halls hum with a restless sort of energy. The school day passed uneventfully, each class folding into the next with mechanical rhythm.

Then the last bell rang. Chairs scraped back. Voices filled the corridor. Backpacks zipped.

But something… unexpected broke the loop.

“Xeno, can I speak with you for a moment?”

He paused at the door, half-turned. The other students filtered past him like static , eyes forward, laughter trailing. He blinked, adjusted his glasses, and walked back in.

Another physics worksheet completed in record time. Same as always. Precision. Routine. Efficiency. That was Xeno.

The teacher sat at his desk, fingers loosely interlaced. His tone was calm. Careful. Almost… gentle.

“You’re doing well. Academically, I mean. Very well.” A pause. “But… I’ve noticed something. You don’t really spend time with others. No friends. Not too much even during group assignments. Is that something you want?”

Xeno frowned faintly, adjusting his glasses. “sometimes…I just work better alone.”

“I believe you,” the teacher replied gently. “But friendship isn’t a performance metric. It’s… human.”

Human.

That word again.

Xeno almost said it:

“ I have Stanley.”

Almost.

The words caught in his throat, held back by something small and unsure.

Did he?

But something about saying it aloud felt wrong. Exposing. Uncertain.

Because the truth was… they’d never labeled it. Never called it anything.

Stanley never said they were friends. Never called it that. He just… appeared. Lingered. Took up space in Xeno’s life like a sunbeam through a dusty window, uninvited, but warm. Familiar.

He left the classroom moments later, the hallway now half-empty, footsteps echoing down the tiled floor. He walked slowly, his thoughts swimming. Swirling. A million pieces that didn’t want to fit.

And now that silence , that lack of name , echoed louder than anything.

It clung to Xeno like static electricity. Clung to him still as he walked home later, distracted and heavy with thought. His mind was a tangled string of input signals and corrupted data. He didn’t understand what he was feeling, not entirely.

He didn’t know. Emotions were slippery like oil on wires , messy, unquantifiable, irritating.

What are we?

He builds rockets with me.

What am I to him?

He laughs at my jokes- mostly the unintentional ones.

Is that… friendship? Or something else?

He didn’t know. Emotions weren’t data sets or equations. They weren’t neat. They didn’t compute.

By the time he made it off school grounds, his head was buzzing with conflicting signals. His usual walking path through the park felt longer somehow, the shadows stretching out oddly between the trees.

And then,

He stopped dead in his tracks. His heart gave a violent jolt.

Stanley was hanging upside down from a tree branch just ahead, legs looped around it like a bat. Swinging back and forth like a small, mischievous Tarzan.

Xeno jumped back, startled enough to nearly trip over his own feet.

“What the hell-”

Stanley burst into a fit of laughter , loud, wild, real. The kind of laugh that echoed off tree bark and startled birds into flight.

“You should’ve seen your face!” Stanley howled, clutching his sides. “That was priceless.”

Xeno opened his mouth, ready to snap, but paused.

Something in the light stopped him.

Xeno's breath came quick, his chest rising with adrenaline, but… oddly, he didn't feel angry. Not this time.

Instead, his gaze caught on something else.

The light hit Stanley’s face just right , golden, slanting through the branches. His blond hair shimmered like honey, tousled and unruly. His amber eyes caught the sunlight like liquid fire, warm and untamed. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the blood rushing to his head, lips parted in a crooked, delighted grin.

And for a second, Xeno forgot how to reboot his brain.

He swallowed.

“…You,! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!? WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING ON A TREE!?” he finally snapped, voice cracking somewhere between indignation and disbelief.

Stanley blinked as if it was a perfectly logical question.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he grinned. “I was waiting for you.”

Xeno stared.

“…On a tree?”

“Yep.”

“…Seriously.”

“I saw a cat up there and figured I’d hang out with it.”

Xeno blinked slowly. “Wow. Really smart. Yeah.”

Stanley gave him finger guns. “Thanks. I try.”

Then, as if remembering, he tilted his head. “So, what’d the teacher want? You blow something up again?”

“...None of your business,” Xeno muttered.

“Sure, sure,” Stanley said with an exaggerated wink. “Totally not suspicious. Anyway,c’mon, I wanna show you something.”

“Show me wha-HEY!"

Before Xeno could move, Stanley lunged , grabbed him around the waist like he weighed nothing, and hoisted him upward.

“Tree time!.”

With far too much confidence, Stanley hauled him up branch by branch, ignoring Xeno’s protests, yelps, and occasional muttered threats of chemical revenge. Eventually, they settled on one of the higher branches , a thick, stable one with a decent view of the town in the distance.

And then, silence.

Xeno caught his breath, stiff and awkward, until he saw it: rooftops glowing orange in the late sun, soft waves of wind brushing through the trees below them, the whole world momentarily hushed and gold.

His body went still. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open.

“…Whoa.”

“Yeah,” Stanley said, legs swinging lazily. “Figured you’d like it.”

Xeno didn’t answer. Not with words. He just looked , not just at the view, but at Stanley beside him. Sitting so carelessly close, like he belonged there. Like he always did.

Then, a soft mrrrp.

The same gray cat Stanley had mentioned appeared from a higher branch, cautiously stepping down. It padded over to Xeno and , without hesitation , curled up in his lap like he was a trusted radiator.

Xeno stared.

Then down at the cat.

Then at Stanley, who was grinning again.

“I think it likes you,” Stanley said.

Xeno looked away quickly, ears tinged red. “That’s… illogical. It doesn’t know me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you just have good energy.”

Xeno was quiet for a moment, letting the cat purr softly against his hands. Then, hesitantly, like forcing corrupted code through a filter, he spoke:

“…You’re not doing anything this weekend, are you?”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “Nope. Why?”

Xeno cleared his throat. “I… I’m working on a second prototype for the launch mechanism. It would go faster if you,if someone helped.”

Stanley grinned wide. “You asking me over?”

“Not asking,” Xeno snapped a little too quickly. “Just… informing you of an opportunity to be useful.”

“Ohhh,” Stanley smirked. “I see. An opportunity.”

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case,” Stanley said, leaning back with a smug grin, “I accept your… opportunity. Should I bring snacks?”

“…Only if you don’t eat them all on the way.”

“No promises.”

They sat there a while longer. The cat purred. The sun dipped a little lower.

And for once, Xeno didn’t try to define what this was.

He just… let it be. for now.

♡♡♡

Later That Day

Stanley stood in front of the Wingfield residence just as the sun dipped behind the distant treeline, setting the windows aglow with warm orange light.

The house was modern. Pristine. Silent in a way that didn’t feel empty , just… controlled. Like everything inside had its place, and nothing ever stepped out of line unless it had to. The wind ruffled his hair, cheeks still red from the bike ride over, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He shifted the weight of his duffel bag on one shoulder and knocked once , knuckles against clean metal.

The door opened with a soft click.

Xeno stood there.

Pencil behind one ear. Goggles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A faint, fresh burn mark on his cheek. His expression was blank, but his eyes said: Wait… why are you here already?

Stanley smirked. “Nice to see you too, Einstein,” he said, brushing past him without waiting for an invitation.

Xeno barely blinked. “You’re early. By three minutes.”

Stanley dropped his bag in the hallway with a heavy thud. “God forbid I’m punctual.”

"So... no parents, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Gone until Sunday night. Business in D.C."

"Cool.

Xeno turned on his heel without missing a beat. “Guest room’s to the left. I don’t use it. No one really stays over.”

Stanley paused, caught on that sentence for a moment.

“Right. Guess I’m the test subject, huh?”

Xeno didn’t respond. He just nodded once, already walking ahead, precise steps echoing through the polished hall. He moved through his own home like a code being executed , clean, mechanical, efficient.

The “house tour” was more like a diagnostic readout than a welcome.

“Main bathroom,” Xeno said, gesturing without turning. “Water pressure’s seventy-five PSI. Don’t touch the blue cabinet , volatile solvents.”

He didn’t check to see if Stanley was listening.

“Kitchen. I recalibrated the stove’s heat dispersion last month. If the burners pulse, it’s not malfunctioning. It’s just efficient.”

Stanley offered a half-interested nod. “Cool. Love a stove with personality.”

“Garage. You already know.”

It was odd. Clinical. But not unkind.

Xeno wasn’t trying to impress. He wasn’t even trying to host.

He was just… being himself. And Stanley didn’t mind that.

In fact, he found it weirdly comforting.

He didn’t pay attention to the PSI numbers or the stove’s inner workings. His attention was elsewhere , studying Xeno. The way he moved a little faster than usual. The way he hadn’t made eye contact for longer than a second. Like something was under the surface, flickering beneath the glass.

Ever since school let out, Stanley had sensed something was off. Not dramatically , just… different. He’d known Xeno long enough to pick up the small tells. The half-second hesitation before speaking. The subtle tension in his jaw. The faint crease between his brows when he thought no one was looking.

It was like Xeno’s brain was stuck on a background process. Looping something over and over.

Stanley could guess what it was. But he didn’t push. Not yet.

By the time the sky turned lilac and the shadows grew longer, they migrated to the garage.

Xeno’s sanctuary.

The space was an organized storm of invention: wires coiled like snakes across the floor, circuit boards arranged by obscure logic, soldering irons cooling beside scorched metal scraps.

Stanley stepped over a mess of tools and nudged a box labeled STABILIZER FINS: DO NOT TOUCH with the toe of his shoe.

“Man, you really know how to set the mood,” he said, peeling off his hoodie and tying it around his waist. “Nothing screams ‘Friday night fun’ like rocket fuel and probable death.”

Xeno didn’t laugh , not right away. He was crouched by the workbench, sorting through components like he was defusing a bomb. But there was something about the joke, the timing, the way Stanley said it…

The corner of Xeno’s mouth twitched. Barely.

Stanley caught it. And for now, that was enough.

They rolled out the latest set of blueprints , worn at the edges, corners curled, faint scorch marks still lingering from a failed launch three weeks ago. Familiar chaos.

Xeno gestured at the fuel canister, already halfway through explaining before Stanley had even sat down.

“The ratio was off last time. And the nozzle diameter,”

“Too thick,” Stanley cut in, smirking. “Yeah, I remember the flaming sideways somersault it did.”

“It was supposed to pivot,” Xeno said flatly, “not belly-flop into your neighbor’s birdbath.”

Stanley gave a mock salute. “Rest in peace, Operation SkyPigeon.”

Xeno gave the smallest snort , which from him was basically full-blown laughter.

They worked in tandem: Xeno on the fine-tuned electronics and welding, Stanley handling the physical grunt work , sanding, stabilizing, passing tools. He’d occasionally lean over and make completely unreasonable suggestions just to get a reaction.

“What if we , just spitballing here , duct tape the igniter to a matchstick and call it a day?”

Xeno didn’t even look up. “I’m not entertaining that.”

“Wow. Harsh. You’re no fun.”

“You’d blow off your eyebrows.”

“Yeah, but I’d look great doing it.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you love it.”

Another flicker of a smile from Xeno. Briefer this time. But real.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It stretched and bent like an old sweater , a little worn, but warm. Still, Stanley couldn’t stop noticing the slight distance behind Xeno’s eyes. Like his brain hadn’t quite left that classroom.

He wanted to say something , to ask. But instead, he just sanded the stabilizer fin and said, almost too casually:

“Hey… earlier. That teacher. He say something dumb?”

Xeno hesitated. Just for a breath. Then: “It doesn’t matter.”

Stanley didn’t press.

Not yet.

But his tone was soft when he said, “Well, if it does matter… I’m here, you know.”

And Xeno, eyes fixed on the blueprint, gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod.

They didn’t call it friendship. Didn’t call it anything.

Then why-

♡♡♡

That Night after they had dinner, a delivery pizza because when they were together they were always too busy working to cook.

.

.

.

Stanley was already asleep in the guests room.

But Xeno definitely wasn't.

The house was quiet.

It always was, after a certain hour , a silence that never bothered him. Predictable. Reassuring. Like the hum of a machine in standby.

He sat on the floor of his bedroom, back against the wall, knees bent, fingers loosely holding a small screwdriver. Not because he needed it, but because he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. His goggles sat unused on the desk. The prototype was shelved for the night.

Across the hall, Stanley was in the guest room , probably half-asleep, probably dreaming of something chaotic and ridiculous, like rocket-powered skateboards or drones.

Xeno’s eyes flicked toward the closed door.

Then back down.

Then forward, unfocused.

He’d been sitting like this for fifteen minutes. Maybe more.

The teacher’s voice still echoed in his head like a stuck notification.

“Is that something you want?”

He hated the way it lingered. Hated that it wasn’t a question he could just solve.

There was no formula for that. No circuit diagram. No definitive input-output relationship.

Friendship isn’t a performance metric.

Then what was it?

Because if the teacher was right , and he suspected he was , then friendship wasn’t about output. It wasn’t about how useful someone was, or how well they helped you finish a build, or whether they understood rocket propulsion.

It was… something else.

Something unmeasurable.

Something irrational.

And Xeno didn’t like that.

He was good at patterns. Systems. Isolation. He didn’t need people to function. He never had.

But then came Stanley.

Loud, intrusive, reckless. With eyes that looked too closely and jokes that weren’t entirely jokes. Stanley had arrived in his life like a dropped wrench , noisy, out of place, inconvenient , and then, somehow, Xeno hadn’t wanted to pick him back up and put him away.

He just kept showing up.

Kept being there.

He’d waited in a tree.

He’d stayed through long silences.

He’d helped solder broken things without asking why they mattered.

He’d looked at Xeno like he wasn’t wrong.

And now , now , Xeno didn’t know what to do with that.

He didn’t know if they were friends. The word felt too fragile to say aloud. Too uncertain.

But when he thought about a world without Stanley in it , without his dumb smile and his eyebrow-waggling and his refusal to follow basic lab safety protocol , it felt... emptier.

And that made him angry.

Or… no. Not angry.

Frightened.

Because for someone who had always worked better alone, this attachment felt like a loose wire sparking under pressure. It didn’t make sense. And yet, here it was , humming quietly inside him.

What are we?

He didn’t know.

But he wanted to.

♡♡♡

When they finally placed the newly-built rocket outside in the clearing behind Xeno’s house, the world was still cloaked in the quiet hush of early morning , that in-between hour when night hadn’t fully let go, but the sky had begun to soften.

A bruised indigo canvas stretched overhead, tinged faintly at the horizon with the first breath of dawn.

Xeno climbed up onto the roof first , lithe, practiced.

Stanley followed, slightly less graceful, muttering as he scraped his knee on a gutter.

They sat side by side on the cool shingles, legs dangling over the edge. The remote ignition rested in Xeno’s lap, lit by the soft blue glow of its LED.

“Ready?” he asked.

Stanley nodded, breath visible in the crisp morning air. “Let it rip, genius.”

Xeno pressed the button.

There was a low whir. A soft rumble.

Then,

WHOOSH.

The rocket burst from the launchpad in a sharp, vertical climb. A bright orange flare ripped through the fading darkness, leaving behind a trail of smoke that cut the sky like a scar.

The sound cracked through the stillness , sudden, alive.

Stanley whooped. “Dude! It’s flying!”

But Xeno didn’t say anything.

He was staring up, unmoving. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly parted. A breath caught in his throat like he didn’t dare let it go.

The flare reflected in his gaze , flickering amber caught in cool gray.

Then, as if the moment had carved something raw and unguarded inside him, he whispered,

“…Do you think I’m weird?”

Stanley blinked. “What?”

Xeno’s eyes didn’t leave the sky. “Am I… weird?” he repeated, softer now. Like the question itself embarrassed him.

Stanley’s grin faded. He turned, studying him.

“I mean… yeah,” he said bluntly. “You’re fucking weird. I’m surprised you’re just now asking.”

Xeno finally looked at him.

No sarcasm. No defense. Just something stripped bare and startlingly vulnerable. A question still lingering behind his eyes.

“No man, I’m serious,” he murmured. “Do I seem… off to you? Like I don’t fit. Anywhere.”

Stanley’s voice lowered. “Where’s this coming from?”

Xeno didn’t answer.

So Stanley straightened, tone softening, his breath fogging faintly between them.

“Yeah. You’re weird. You talk like a robot, you build rocket parts out of junk, and you once corrected my grammar while I was actively bleeding.”

Xeno felt slightly offended and raised an eyebrow. “It was ‘lay,’ not ‘lie.’ I stand by that.”

Stanley snorted.

Then, more quietly , “But not in a bad way. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

He shifted, angling toward him, trying to thread the truth together from the knot in his chest.

“You’re weird like… you think in ways no one else does. You’re sharp. Focused. You scare people a little, but only because they don’t get you. You care , more than anyone I know , but you keep it locked up like it’s classified.

You’re not built like the rest of us. And if that makes you different…”

Stanley’s voice dipped, steady now. “Then the rest of the world needs to catch up.”

A flicker , almost invisible , passed through Xeno’s face. Shock. Or something close.

“And honestly?” Stanley added, gentler, like it cost him something to admit, “That’s what makes you interesting. That’s what makes you…you.”

Xeno turned, really looked at him. Like he was running algorithms in his head, testing every micro-expression, every shift of muscle, trying to decide whether Stanley was messing with him or not.

Maybe wondering, Is he messing with me?..

But Stanley’s expression didn’t waver.

The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable...just thick with something unspoken. The kind of quiet that made your heart beat a little too hard.

“You believed in me before anyone else did,” Stanley said. “You noticed me,” voice softer. “Not just the way I look. Not just the ‘pretty boy’ stuff everyone gets stuck on. You saw I was more than that. You treated me like I had a brain. Like I mattered.”

He hesitated, breath catching in his chest. “No one else ever did that.”

He was for real.

And something shifted , quietly, deeply , in Xeno’s chest.

“You always say the most unexpected things,” he said softly.

Stanley tried to deflect. “Say something back, man.”

Xeno’s mouth twitched. Just barely. But it was there.

“I think…” he said slowly. “You’re the weird one.”

Stanley huffed out a laugh, warmth blooming under his jacket, under his skin.

Behind them ,

BOOM , the rocket finally exploded in a distant blaze, scattering sparks like fireflies across the thinning stars.

But Xeno didn’t flinch.

He’d heard that sound before.

What echoed louder now was something else entirely ,

The soft cadence of Stanley’s voice. The honesty in it. The kind of truth no one had ever handed him before, clean, no strings attached.

Xeno’s eyes lingered on the boy beside him , wind playing with his messy golden hair, amber eyes still lit with wonder, smile hovering, uncertain and real.

He stared at him. Really stared. Like he was trying to solve an equation with no definitive solution.

They said nothing else.

Just sat there.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Watching the smoke trail fade into the stars…

as the first light of morning reached over the edge of the earth.

♡♡♡

The morning started with plans , tighten this bolt, test that fuse, maybe reprogram the onboard timer , but somehow, none of it happened.

Stanley tossed a wrench into the grass around noon and said, “I’m gonna lose my mind if we don’t do something else.”

Xeno blinked from behind a pair of safety goggles. “Such as?”

“Fun. You ever heard of it?” Stanley grinned, already walking toward the open field behind the house. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

It started in the backyard with a wrestling match that wasn’t technically a wrestling match. More like Stanley taunting Xeno until he finally lunged at him. There was no real technique , just flailing limbs, uneven leverage, and a lot of shouting.

Stanley pinned him in under thirty seconds.

“God,” Xeno muttered from the grass, winded. “You’re a gorilla.”

Stanley beamed. “You're just mad because physics likes me more.”

Xeno narrowed his eyes. “Rematch.”

The next two rounds ended exactly the same.

Then came races , from one fence post to the other, barefoot, slipping through damp patches of grass and dodging garden tools. Stanley won every single time, laughing too hard to be humble about it. Xeno gave up after four rounds and accused him of “brute force over strategy,” which Stanley took as a compliment.

♡♡♡

But when they came back inside and Xeno pulled out a dusty chessboard from the hallway closet, the tables turned.

Stanley lost in twelve moves.

“That’s not even fair,” he grumbled, staring at his decimated army of pawns. “You weren’t even looking at the board half the time.”

Xeno leaned back with infuriating calm. “I was calculating your probable decisions three turns ahead.”

Stanley pointed at him. “You’re a menace.”

They moved on to cards. Poker. Xeno cleaned him out in three hands, reading Stanley’s tells like they were footnotes in a lab report.

Then a memory game with a stack of flashcards Xeno had from some past experiment. Xeno remembered the entire order by round three. Stanley forgot where the number seven was twice.

“You have the memory of a wet sponge,” Xeno said flatly.

“And you cheat at everything that doesn’t involve gravity,” Stanley shot back, grinning.

Still, neither of them stopped. They kept playing game after game , physical, mental, made-up , sprawled out on the living room carpet like they were kids again. Stanley wrestled victory from anything that involved movement. Xeno owned anything that required thinking three steps ahead.

By afternoon, their scoreboards were a mess of scratched tallies, and the insults had turned into laughter.

It was the first time in a long while either of them had just… played. No pressure. No purpose.

Just them.

♡♡♡

After Dinner they watched A movie.

It was a slow sci-fi drama, more feelings than explosions.

Stanley got bored halfway through but refused to admit it.

He shifted positions every five minutes, head sinking lower and lower into the armrest. At some point, his eyes started to close between blinks. He blinked once. Then twice. Then,

Gone.

Out cold.

Xeno glanced over at the sudden silence and found Stanley curled awkwardly into the couch cushions, one arm draped over his stomach, mouth slightly open.

He looked… younger, somehow. Soft around the edges. Like he’d finally stopped running at full speed.

Xeno paused the movie.

Then, after a moment, he stood, walked down the hall, and came back with the same gray blanket Stanley had tried to use as a cape earlier.

He draped it carefully over him, fingers brushing Stanley’s shoulder for a moment longer than necessary.

Then sat back down.

Not too close. But close enough to listen to the sound of Stanley breathing, steady and real, grounding the room in a way the quiet never could.

The movie still paused.

Xeno didn’t press play again.

He just sat there, eyes on the flickering screen, blanket rustling slightly in the dark.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like an outsider in his own house.

He just felt… here.

Xeno stood.

The room was dark. Quiet. Stanley didn’t move.

But Xeno had a sudden, sharp clarity in his brain , the kind he only got mid-experiment, when all the numbers finally lined up.

Like something had just clicked, invisible and undeniable.

He glanced at the boy on the couch , the blanket he’d placed still tucked around his shoulders, hair mussed, face soft in sleep , then turned away before the strange feeling could settle too deeply in his chest.

Barefoot, careful, Xeno padded down the hallway and slipped into the garage.

The cold concrete greeted him like an old friend. Familiar. Still. The scent of solder and burnt wires hung in the air.

The rocket parts were scattered across the bench exactly where they’d left them , a half-assembled bird with too many wires, not enough lift. The first version had flown, sure. It had worked. But now, in the quiet of early night, it felt incomplete.

He flicked on the light overhead. The single bulb buzzed faintly as it warmed up, casting sharp shadows across blueprints and tools.

Xeno sat down. Fingers already finding the wrench. The wire cutters. The soldering pen.

He started working , not in that frantic, obsessive way that had fueled him before, not because he was chasing perfection or escaping some unnamed pressure.

Not because the teacher had told him to get out of his head or make a friend like it was some mandatory assignment.

Not because he needed to prove he could be normal.

But because Stanley had said he believed in him.

Because for the first time in his life, that meant something real.

He adjusted the stabilizers with steadier hands than usual. Rewired the ignition coil with a cleaner path. Recalculated the thrust angle with a new margin for error , not because he doubted himself, but because now someone else was watching, someone who mattered despite the lack of a title.

Someone who would be there when it launched.

Someone who’d laugh and yell and call him a genius without irony, just because he could.

Xeno didn’t notice how long he’d been working. Time folded in on itself when he was focused, when he was building.

But beneath all the calculations, something warm had rooted itself in his chest. A quiet, steady thrum.

It wasn’t about perfection anymore. It wasn’t about being the best, or smartest, or right.

It was about making something fly ,

for them.

For the boy sleeping on his couch, who called him weird and meant it like a compliment.

Who raced him barefoot across the yard.

Who lost every mental game but never made him feel like he had to explain himself.

Xeno soldered the last wire, the soft pop of metal meeting metal echoing like a promise.

He sat back and exhaled slowly.

The new design was almost flawless.

And this time, they would watch it together succeed.

♡♡♡

The next morning, sunlight streamed in like it was breaking in through a locked window.

Stanley blinked awake on the couch, groggy, sore, the blanket slipping off his chest like it had lost its job halfway through the night.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a kink from his neck. The apartment smelled like solder and… burnt toast?

“Mmgh,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

The sound of soft movement echoed from the garage.

He stretched, yawned, and wandered in barefoot, blinking against the light.

Xeno was already there , crouched over the workbench, sleeves rolled up, wiping soot off the leftover metal fragments from their previous rocket tests. His hair was a little messier than usual, but his eyes were sharp, focused.

Stanley leaned in the doorway, still half-asleep. “Please tell me you didn’t rebuild the rocket without me.”

Xeno didn’t look up. “You were sleeping. I optimized the nozzle aperture and rewired the fuel chamber. It should be stable now.”

Stanley let his head fall back against the doorframe. “You absolute gremlin.”

“I prefer ‘efficient.’”

“You slept, like… not at all, huh?”

“Sleep is inefficient occasionally,” Xeno said, wiping a streak of carbon from his wrist.

Stanley sighed, grabbed a damp cloth, and joined him without asking.

They worked side by side in companionable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. Just the rhythmic sound of cloth against metal, the occasional clink of tools being moved, the soft hum of a morning starting slow.

Then , as if possessed by a sudden, childish instinct , Stanley flicked a few droplets of water from his cloth straight at Xeno’s shirt.

Direct hit.

Xeno froze. Like a cat registering the presence of a dog.

Stanley grinned. “C’mon, nerd. Live a little.”

Xeno turned his head slowly. Blinked once.

Then walked, silent as a shadow, to the garden faucet.

Unscrewed the hose.

And without hesitation, sprayed Stanley square in the face.

“XENO,!” Stanley screamed, stumbling back, absolutely drenched. “Dude, this is a war crime!”

“That was a tactical error,” Xeno said calmly, adjusting the water pressure with disturbingly precise aim. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Stanley lunged for the hose. Xeno dodged. Chaos ensued , slipping on wet concrete, tripping over a coil of wire, laughter echoing off the garage walls.

Stanley managed to grab the nozzle and wrestle the stream away, tackling Xeno with a shout.

Water sloshed everywhere. The floor was a mess. Their shirts stuck to their skin, and Stanley's socks squelched every time he moved.

“You have three seconds to surrender,” Stanley declared, pinning Xeno down with a knee to the side.

Xeno’s hair was plastered to his forehead. “You’re deranged.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say I’m the King of Water.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But am I the king?”

Xeno rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’re the King of Water.”

Stanley grinned triumphantly, then flopped off of him, both of them breathless and soaked.

It was stupid. Messy. Pointless.

And perfect.

For a while, they just lay there , two soggy idiots on the wet concrete floor of a garage, listening to the hose drip.

Xeno turned his head, still catching his breath.

“Ready to launch?”

Stanley smirked. “Let’s do it.”

♡♡♡

They set up in the clearing behind the house again, hair still damp, shirts clinging to them, shoes squelching with every step. The sun was higher now , morning breaking wide open over the treetops, golden and forgiving.

The new rocket stood steady on the platform, sleek and silent.

This time, Stanley insisted on being the one to press the button.

“Don’t blow us up,” Xeno said dryly, handing him the remote.

“No promises.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, both squinting into the sky.

Stanley looked down at the trigger.

Then at Xeno.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice softer.

Xeno glanced over. “What?”

“You ever think maybe you’re not as broken as you think?”

Xeno blinked.

Stanley shrugged. “Just… y’know. Maybe you’re not the weird one. Maybe everyone else just doesn’t get it.”

The silence stretched for half a beat too long.

Then Xeno looked away , but not before Stanley saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Launch it,” he said quietly.

So Stanley did.

WHOOSH.

The rocket blasted up with a sharp scream and a bright orange flare, tearing into the morning sky in a perfect line , smooth, fast, powerful. No stutter. No wobble. Just flight.

Xeno’s head tilted up, eyes wide, the reflection of the flare dancing in his gaze.

Stanley whooped like a maniac. “It’s flying! Dude! It’s perfect!”

And this time , Xeno smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a twitch.

A real, full smile.

“I told you it would work,” he said.

Stanley didn’t take his eyes off him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

They watched the rocket rise until it disappeared into the blue.

Not for science. Not for school. Not for anyone else.

Just for them.

♡♡♡

After the rocket launch, after the laughter and the cheers and the adrenaline wore off, they headed back inside , damp, exhausted, and still a little giddy.

Stanley collapsed onto the couch, hair sticking up in five directions. “Okay. So, obviously we celebrate. Pizza? Thai? What are we thinking?”

But Xeno didn’t reach for his phone like he usually did.

Instead, he walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and said, “We’re cooking.”

Stanley sat up. “Wait, what?”

Xeno was already checking cabinets, doing a mental inventory like he was assembling a lab kit. “I have everything for burritos. Mostly. Sort of. Give or take.”

Stanley blinked. “Since when do you cook?”

“You’ve never been here when I wasn’t trying to hit a launch window or recalibrate a motor,” Xeno replied coolly, pulling out ingredients. “Cooking is chemistry. And I think you'd like burritos.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong. Who are you and what have you done with the real Xeno?”

But Xeno was unmoved. He set a pack of tortillas on the counter with uncharacteristic confidence. “You’re going to help. I need you to chop the onion. Uniform pieces.”

“Onion. Right. I know that one,” Stanley said, grabbing a knife. “How small is uniform? Like ‘edible’ or ‘NASA precision’?”

“Somewhere between ‘home-cooked’ and ‘laboratory sterile.’ Try not to cry on the food.”

“No promises,” Stanley muttered, tearing up two seconds in.

Meanwhile, Xeno worked in purposeful silence, slicing chicken with clean efficiency, tossing it in a pan with oil and a mix of spices that Stanley absolutely did not expect him to have. The scent hit almost immediately , warm cumin, paprika, garlic , and Stanley glanced over, surprised.

“…Dude. That actually smells good.”

“I told you,” Xeno replied, flipping the pan contents like he’d done this a hundred times. “I ran multiple iterations of this recipe last year. It’s structurally sound.”

Stanley snorted. “You tested burritos?”

“I optimize everything.”

Once the chicken was sizzling, Xeno moved onto the beans and rice. He seasoned without measuring, stirred without rushing. He was calm , methodical, yes, but not stiff like usual. He even hummed under his breath once before immediately catching himself and going quiet again.

Stanley leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. Watching.

There was something different about this. About him.

Less edge. More ease.

When they finally sat down at the table with two overstuffed burritos , cheese, chicken, beans, rice, all wrapped a little too tightly , Stanley eyed his warily.

“You sure this isn’t secretly an engine prototype?”

Xeno raised an eyebrow. “Take a bite.”

Stanley did.

Then blinked.

Chewed.

Paused.

“…Okay, wait. This is actually extremely good.”

“Told you.”

“It’s like , spicy, but not mouth-death spicy. And the chicken’s not dry. And, is that lime in the rice?”

“A hint.”

Stanley looked at him, then down at the burrito. Then back up.

“…You really made this for me?”

Xeno busied himself with his plate. “You said you were sick of delivery. And I ran predictive models on your food preferences based on what you usually order. Burritos had a ninety-two percent compatibility score.”

Stanley laughed through a mouthful. “You nerded out my dinner.”

“I cooked your dinner,” Xeno corrected, eyes finally meeting his. “Because I wanted to.”

The room went a little quiet after that. Not awkward. Just… full.

Of unspoken things. Of warmth.

They ate in companionable silence, sitting side by side at the kitchen table for once instead of hunched over blueprints or scattered tools.

No projects. No distractions. No countdown clocks.

Just them , full plates, full bellies, full hearts.

And maybe, just maybe, the feeling that this was something worth making time for again.

They were halfway through their second burritos when it happened.

Out of nowhere , between bites , Xeno said, “Are we friends?”

Stanley paused mid-chew. Blinked.

“Wait , what?”

Xeno didn’t look up from his plate. “I’m asking if we’re friends. You’ve been here multiple times. You brought spare clothes. You complain about my couch but continue to sleep on it. Statistically, that suggests closeness.”

Stanley just stared at him.

“Bro.”

Xeno finally glanced up.

Stanley put his burrito down slowly, like this was a hostage negotiation. “Did you really just ask me if we’re friends? Like, right now? Mid-burrito?”

“You haven’t said it out loud,” Xeno said with a shrug, as if this were a normal Tuesday conversation topic. “I’m just clarifying the nature of our relationship for future reference.”

Stanley ran both hands down his face. “Oh my god. You’re unbelievable.”

He looked at him again, wide-eyed. “Yes. Obviously we’re friends. Would you let some random stranger into your house that often? Sleep here? Steal your socks?”

Xeno blinked. “You took socks?”

“That’s not the point,” Stanley snapped, pointing at him. “The point is, of course we’re friends. Why are you acting like I’m your neighbor who wandered in off the street?”

“I’m just recalibrating my social assumptions.”

Stanley groaned. “You don’t calibrate friendship! It’s not a robot! You just… feel it, man!”

“That sounds inefficient.”

“You’re inefficient!”

A pause.

Then Stanley huffed, leaned back in his chair, and said, “God. Next you’re gonna ask if we’re best friends or if I’d take a bullet for you or something.”

Xeno tilted his head thoughtfully.

Stanley pointed at him again. “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”

Xeno’s mouth twitched. Just barely. But the corner of his lips curled up like he couldn’t stop it.

Stanley narrowed his eyes. “I swear if you ask me to fill out a survey about our friendship, I’m going home.”

“I already made one,” Xeno said, deadpan.

Stanley let out a dramatic groan and dropped his head onto the table.

But beneath all the sarcasm, all the exaggerated frustration, was a quiet warmth. A silent yeah, of course. The kind you didn’t have to say out loud once you’d already shown it a dozen different ways.

So when Stanley looked back up and saw Xeno still watching him, waiting , just in case ,

He gave him a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, we’re friends, nerd.”

And Xeno nodded, satisfied.

“Good.”

Then he took another bite of his burrito, like he hadn’t just detonated a philosophical bomb mid-meal.

Stanley stared at him.

“…This is literally the weirdest dinner I’ve ever had.”

,

(Back to 2013)

Back then, Stanley hadn’t cared what went in the burrito.

Didn’t notice the exact ratio of rice to chicken, or the hint of lime, or how the tortilla was just slightly burned on one edge because Xeno had refused to use a timer and claimed “instinct” was more efficient.

It wasn’t the food that mattered.

It was the moment.

It was him.

The boy with the sharp eyes and sharper words, who built rockets out of scrap metal and defended the structural integrity of guacamole like it was national security.

The boy who asked , genuinely asked , if they were friends.

And looked relieved when the answer was yes.

Stanley hadn’t known it then , not really , but that weekend had wedged itself into some permanent corner of his memory. Quiet. Undeniable. Untouched.

And as he sat now , in 2013, years later, boots muddy, uniform stiff, the hum of a military base vibrating faintly through the walls , he realized that memory hadn’t faded at all.

He could still hear the laughter from that weekend.

Still smell the solder and burnt toast.

Still see the plume of smoke from a rocket prototype burning too fast on a homemade launchpad.

Still remember the way Xeno had looked at him ,

Not like he was a ghost.

Not like he was dangerous.

Not like he was anything other than… someone.

Someone worth cooking for.

Worth building for.

Worth letting in.

And maybe that’s why Stanley always ordered the same burrito every time, whenever he got the chance , rice, chicken, lime, a little bit of burnt on the edge.

Even if no one ever understood why.

Even if he never said a word about it.

Some memories didn’t need explaining.

Some moments just stayed.

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

The question hung unasked, a silent pact forged in Stanley's heart. Would he kill for Xeno? A scoff, a dismissive flick of the wrist, a laugh, that would have been the expected response, a deflection of the question's morbid weight. But the question was unnecessary. A formality. Because for that white haired scientist he would.

Some people deserved to die. And in that moment no one, in his cold, unwavering estimation, deserved it more than the three who had dared to inflict their cruelty upon Xeno.

They hadn't understood the gravity of their actions. Not truly. They hadn't seen the true consequence when they dragged him into the biting cold, soaked him through with icy water, their laughter echoing like a cruel, mocking chorus. They hadn't seen the fever that came after, the way Xeno’s breath caught, a shallow huff with every movement, how he struggled to form words, his lips pale and cracked like parched earth. They hadn’t witnessed the subtle tremor in his hands, the way his brilliant eyes, usually alight with curiosity, had dimmed to a dull, sickly sheen.

But Stanley had.

He had witnessed it all. Every shiver, every cough, every pained groan that escaped Xeno’s throat. He had seen the vulnerability, a rare, terrifying crack in the impenetrable facade of the boy he admired above all else. And in that moment, something in Stanley decided. Quietly. Completely. A cold, hard knot of resolve tightened in his gut.

They would die.

All of them.

Not later. Not in some distant, abstract dream of justice.

Now.

He wouldn't let anyone wipe off Xeno's happiness so easily, not when he was here. Not when he was the one who understood the true value of that fleeting, precious thing.

Stanley wasn’t obsessive. Not in the way people usually used the word, implying a frantic, uncontrolled fixation. No, he just had unspoken rules, principles so deeply ingrained they felt obvious, like the law of gravity. Maybe they appeared when he met Xeno for the first time, his best friend, the only one who truly mattered, cold and shivering because of some bastard’s callous disregard. Or maybe it was etched into his soul the first time he saw that beautiful, genuine smile light up the scientist’s face, a rare blossoming of pure joy.

He wouldn't let anybody hurt Xeno physically. He wouldn't allow a single bruise, a single scratch, a single moment of pain to touch that body, the vessel of a mind that would change the world. Mentally? He knew that Xeno was unbreakable mentally. His intellect, his spirit, his sheer force of will, those were fortresses. So, he didn't have to worry about that.

Yet he wanted to protect that happiness. That fragile, ephemeral thing. Maybe he was being too greedy by wanting to make a fleeting feeling like happiness a constant. By wanting to bottle Xeno’s laughter, preserve his moments of delight, and ensure they never faded. But he didn’t care.

He never said he wasn't greedy.

He wouldn't let anyone stop Xeno. Not from his dreams, not from his destiny. He already knew, with an unwavering certainty, that Xeno was the future. Xeno was the only reason he truly believed in science, the only reason the sterile hum of a lab or the intricate equations of physics held any meaning. And he would sacrifice everything, take everything it took, to ensure that future unfolded unimpeded.

He didn’t care if Xeno found happiness somewhere else, or with someone else, because until Xeno was happy, for him it was enough to stand by the sidelines, a silent guardian. Or at least that's what he told himself, a flimsy shield against the deeper, more possessive truth that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

The snow had thickened to a hushed, suffocating blanket as he walked home alone after visiting a sick version of Xeno. Each flake, a tiny, cold star, caught in his lashes, melted on his jacket, leaving damp trails. He didn’t feel the cold. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the icy resolve that had settled deep within his bones.

His footsteps slowed as he passed the hallway cabinet. Just for a second. The old wood, the cold metal, the dustless glass. Inside, his grandfather’s rifles sat in their usual, untouched rows, gleaming faintly in the dim light. They were relics, heirlooms of a different time, a different kind of man. His eyes lingered, drawn by a silent magnetism. The smooth, oiled wood. The glint of steel. The faint, almost imperceptible scent of gun oil and aged metal.

Then he turned away. The pause had been enough. The thought had taken root.

He went to his room. The familiar walls, the comforting clutter, felt distant, unreal. He stripped off his damp clothes, the fabric clinging unpleasantly, and pulled on an old t-shirt and sweats. He slipped under the covers, the cool sheets a brief shock against his skin.

Slept.

Mostly.

His mind, however, was wide awake, a meticulous architect of destruction. While his body rested, his thoughts hummed with a dark, creative energy, planning the death of those who dared to hurt Xeno. Each detail was etched with chilling precision: the timing, the location, the methods. He saw it all unfold, a grim ballet choreographed in the quiet theatre of his mind.

◇◇◇

The next days were a masterclass in silent observation. Stanley started to stalk the three bullies, a shadow among shadows. The blonde surely wasn't brilliant like Xeno, but he was smarter than the average brute, cunning in his own limited way. Stanley stalked them before acting, for a simple reason: for the plan to be perfect. Flawless. He needed to eliminate all variables, all chances of failure.

He learned their routines. The times they left school, the routes they took home, the places they loitered, the people they associated with. He watched them from a distance, hidden behind trees, lurking in the periphery of busy streets, his face an unreadable mask. He observed their casual cruelty, the way they shoved smaller kids, the snide remarks, the way they puffed up their chests, believing themselves invincible.

And he discovered a few crucial things.

First, they didn't tell their families what the hell they did at school, especially if it involved bullying. Their parents, he noted, seemed largely disengaged, preoccupied with their own lives. No close bonds, no prying questions, no real concern for their sons’ activities. This was good. It meant no immediate alarm bells if they simply… vanished.

Second, the three bullies didn't just bully Xeno. They were a blight on the entire student body, a festering sore of petty tyranny. They picked on the weak, the quiet, the ones who wouldn't fight back. And Stanley knew the people of the town didn't really care. Whenever it was a hero or a genius, someone truly remarkable, they only cared about themselves, about how it affected their small, mundane lives. So they wouldn't really care if three bullies nobody liked disappeared. The collective sigh of relief would be almost palpable. Stanley knew that kids were stupid, easily swayed by gossip. So, after he got rid of the bullies, he would discreetly make fake rumors run, somehow indirectly about them running away or something. Maybe they ran off to join a band, or eloped with some older girls, or got into trouble with a motorcycle gang. Anything to muddy the waters, to provide a convenient, unprovable narrative.

He discovered that the leader of the bullies, a lanky kid named Marcus with a perpetual sneer, had a crush on a girl named Chloe, a shy, unassuming girl from his English class. A weakness. A perfect lure. He could use that to put a fake letter in his locker and lure him into the forest.

He’d have to kidnap the other two manually. The fat one, Kevin, and the quiet, wiry one, James . Either with a swift hit to the head to make them unconscious, or with a cloth soaked in a liquid that would knock them out, which reminded him.

Chloroform. He’d need to make that. At 3 a.m. nobody was around, the town a sleeping beast, so he could do everything with calm.

The day came. He waited until the final bell, until the hallways had emptied, until only the faint clatter of a janitor's cart echoed in the distance. He slipped the fake love letter into Marcus's locker, the metallic clang as the door shut echoing too loudly in the silence. He felt himself almost gag while he was writing that letter, the sugar covered words, the feigned longing, the promises of a romantic under-the-moon date in the woods at 11 p.m. It was a vile concoction, a perversion of genuine emotion, but it served its purpose.

He'd get the other two.

,

At 3AM he was making Chloroform acid in his garage, Chloroform is a colorless, volatile liquid with a sweet odor, it is also toxic and can cause adverse health effects, including liver and kidney damage, and is considered an extremely dangerous substance. Xeno told him about it while yapping about an experiment. The garage smelled faintly of oil and metal, the kind of lingering tang that clung to the walls no matter how much it was aired out. Stanley stood at the workbench beneath a single swaying bulb, the light pooling around him like a stage spotlight.

He had dressed for the part, black nitrile gloves pulled tight to the wrists, a heavy rubber apron hanging from his shoulders, and a clear face shield fogging slightly with his breath. Every movement was deliberate, the kind of precision that came from hours of thinking this through.

On the bench, two plain plastic jugs sat side by side, one of rubbing alcohol, the other of bleach. Innocent, if you didn’t know what he was about to coax out of them.

He poured the bleach first, watching the meniscus curve in the glass beaker before setting it down on the plate. A faint hiss rose when he added the rubbing alcohol, the powder tumbling in like snow and vanishing in a lazy swirl.

The sound was soothing. Predictable. Controlled.

He stirred with a glass rod, slow, methodical, until the mixture began to cloud. A faint vapor curled upward, caught in the beam of the light, harmless looking, but the promise was there. This wasn’t just liquid anymore; this was something he had shaped into a weapon.

Stanley’s eyes narrowed behind the shield.

This was for Xeno.

When the reaction finished, he poured the contents into a dark glass bottle, sealing it with a twist of his gloved hand. The glass clink echoed in the quiet, sounding far louder than it should. He labeled the bottle with nothing but a red slash of paint, his own private warning.

It would work.

◇◇◇

Stanley’s gloved hand pressed the folded cloth over the boy’s mouth and nose, the sharp, chemical sweetness of the sleeping liquid filling the air between them. The kid thrashed for only a moment, weak, panicked, muffled sounds, before his body began to sag in Stanley’s arms.

He caught him before his head hit the pillow, lowering him silently onto the mattress. Just a few seconds more.

Then,

“James? You okay up there?”

A woman’s voice. Light, cautious footsteps creaked against the stairs.

Stanley’s eyes darted to the door. It was cracked open just enough for a sliver of yellow hallway light to cut across the carpet. The floorboards groaned again, closer this time.

Shit.

He didn’t have time to think. In one smooth, silent motion, he grabbed the limp boy by the wrists and slid him under the bed. The dust bunnies puffed up in the dim gap, but there was enough shadow to hide him completely.

The footsteps were almost at the door now. Stanley yanked the kid’s blanket free, kicked off his shoes, and dove onto the bed. The fabric reeked of unwashed sheets and stale sweat, but he pulled it over himself without hesitation.

His heart hammered, but his breathing slowed to the soft, slow rhythm of a child asleep.

The doorknob turned.

“James?” The woman’s silhouette filled the doorway. The light spilled across the bed, catching Stanley’s still form. She lingered for a moment, watching.

Stanley didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Not even when a strand of greasy hair from the pillow brushed against his cheek.

Finally, she sighed. “Must’ve been the TV downstairs…”

The door clicked shut. Her footsteps faded.

Stanley waited. Counted to sixty. Twice.

Only then did he throw off the blankets and crouch beside the bed. The boy was still breathing evenly under the frame.

“Time to go, little prince,” Stanley whispered with a chilling smile, his voice cold and calm.

◇◇◇

The second on was easier to catch.

The alley was narrow, littered with trash bags and broken bottles. Perfect for swallowing sound.

Stanley waited in the shadows, one hand loose on the handle of the aluminum bat. He could already hear the target, careless footsteps, a muttered tune, the arrogant shuffle of someone who thought the night was harmless.

The boy stepped into view, hoodie half-zipped, face lit faintly by the flickering streetlight at the alley mouth. He was scrolling on his phone, completely unaware.

Stanley stepped forward silently, bat low and angled.

A single foot scuff on gravel made the boy glance up. “Huh, ”

The bat swung. No wasted motion, no warning. The sharp whump of aluminum against skull was muffled by flesh and hair, followed by the dull crack as his knees buckled.

The phone clattered to the ground, screen glowing against the pavement. The boy was already collapsing, eyes rolling back, his mouth trying to form a sound that never came.

Stanley caught him by the back of the hoodie before his head could hit the asphalt, lowering him down with almost casual care.

He glanced at the bat, no blood, just a faint smear where it had struck. Clean hit. Controlled.

From somewhere distant, a car door slammed. Stanley dragged the unconscious body deeper into the alley’s shadows, his expression unreadable, as if moving furniture rather than a person.

He knelt, checked the pulse, steady, but his victim wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Good.

Stanley’s grip tightened on the bat as he looked down at the crumpled form. “Two down,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling just slightly.

◇◇◇

The air in the forest was a frigid, suffocating weight. The trees, skeletal fingers against the bruised purple of the night sky, stood silent sentinels. No moon, only a faint, distant shimmer of stars struggling to pierce the cloud cover. The wind, a low, mournful whine, rustled through the brittle, bare branches, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and decay.

Soon, all three bullies were gathered, bound and gagged, in the middle of the cold, abandoned forest. Marcus, his eyes wide with terror, a strip of duct tape covering his mouth, struggled against the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. Beside him, Kevin, the fat one, whimpered, a low, guttural moan escaping from beneath his own tape. James , the wiry one, thrashed silently, his breathing ragged, his eyes darting frantically. Nobody would hear them. The forest was too vast, too desolate.

The first one to go would be James , the bully who didn't actively participate in the physical acts but stayed there laughing, his words like venomous darts, verbally spitting poison. Stanley approached him, his movements fluid, unhurried, the crunch of dead leaves beneath his boots the only sound. He knelt, his shadow falling over James ’s terrified face. A chilling calm settled over Stanley’s features, a disarming smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You know," Stanley began, his voice a quiet, almost conversational tone, "words are powerful, aren't they? They can build, they can create. But they can also destroy. And yours, James , were always about destruction. Always about tearing others down."

James  tried to scream, a muffled mmph! against the tape, his eyes wide, bulging.

"So, it's only fitting," Stanley continued, producing a small, dark bottle from his pocket, "that you experience a little destruction yourself. A taste of your own medicine, so to speak."

He uncorked the bottle. A faint, acrid whiff filled the air, making the other two bullies, Marcus and Kevin, gag and cough, their muffled gasping sounds filling the silence. Stanley held the bottle to James’s nose, forcing him to inhale the fumes for a moment, then, with a swift, decisive movement, he tore the tape from James's mouth.

James choked, a desperate, reedy whimper escaping his throat.

Stanley tilted the bottle, pouring a small amount of the acid in a flask. 50 milliliters of chloroform, enough to kill an adult.

"Drink."

James  thrashed, shaking his head violently. "Please! I-I didn't do anything! Just laughed! Please!"

"Just laughed?" Stanley's smile widened, devoid of warmth. "Your laughter was a weapon, James . It amplified their cruelty. It told Xeno he deserved it. And no one, no one, makes Xeno feel like he deserves anything but happiness."

With surprising strength, Stanley gripped James ’s jaw, forcing it open. He poured the liquid down James ’s throat. A choked gurgle erupted, followed by a wet, sickening cough. James’s body arched, convulsing violently. A faint hiss seemed to emanate from within him. His eyes rolled back, a desperate, rasping gasp escaping his lips as his body went rigid, then slumped, a final, shuddering exhale rattling through him. The smell of something burning, something caustic, hung heavy in the air.

Marcus and Kevin watched, their eyes wide with unadulterated terror, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. Muffled sobs and whimpers escaped them, their struggling growing more frantic against their bonds. The sight of James , motionless, a faint wisp of vapor rising from his mouth, was a silent sermon of impending doom.

Stanley wiped his hands on his pants, his face calm, almost serene. He turned his attention to Kevin, the fat one, who was now openly crying, his body shaking like a leaf in a storm.

"You, Kevin," Stanley said, his voice dropping to a low, almost tender tone, "you were the muscle. The one who dragged him, the one who held him down. You enjoyed the physical aspect, didn't you? The feeling of power."

Kevin let out a desperate, muffled wail, tears streaming down his face, soaking the duct tape. His eyes pleaded, begged for mercy.

"It's inefficient, really," Stanley mused, as if to himself. "All that brute force. But sometimes, it's necessary. Just like sometimes, a swift end is necessary."

He walked behind Kevin, his movements deliberate. Kevin’s frantic struggling intensified, his body writhing. Stanley reached out, his hands, surprisingly strong for a boy his age, closing around Kevin’s neck.

"Mmph! Mmmph!" Kevin’s muffled cries grew more desperate.

Stanley squeezed. The sounds began. A choked gurgle, a desperate gasp, a faint wheeze as the air supply was cut off. Kevin’s hands, bound at his wrists, clawed uselessly at the ropes. His face turned a mottled purple, his eyes bulging, reflecting the faint starlight above. His legs kicked, a frantic, rhythmic thump-thump-thump against the forest floor.

Stanley watched, his gaze unwavering, as the life drained from Kevin’s eyes. The gurgling faded to a raspy whistle, then to silence. The frantic kicking slowed, then stopped. Kevin’s body went limp, a dead weight in Stanley’s hands. Stanley held him for a moment longer, ensuring no breath remained, then gently lowered him to the ground, a soft thud.

Two bodies. Two silent, unmoving forms beside the trembling Marcus.

Marcus was now openly sobbing, a desperate, high-pitched whimper escaping from beneath his tape. His eyes, wide with a madness born of terror, flickered between the two corpses and Stanley’s impossibly calm face. He writhed against his bonds, a muffled scream of pure, unadulterated fear tearing from his throat, only to be swallowed by the tape.

Stanley smiled. It was a chilling expression, utterly devoid of warmth, a predator’s satisfied grin. He lowered himself to eye level with Marcus, his face inches from the terrified boy's.

He grabbed a cloth from his pocket, a square of dark fabric. "Lemme tell you something fun..." Stanley’s voice was a low, almost conspiratorial whisper, a stark contrast to the horror unfolding around them. "My grandpa, many years ago, told me a really fun story..."

Marcus’s eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, were fixed on Stanley, unblinking.

"You know Russian gulags?" Stanley continued, his voice still soft, almost playful. "The ones in Siberia? Well. They didn’t have sophisticated stuff at the time, so they had to get creative and use what they had...just like me."

He wet a long cloth with water, the faint drip-drip-drip echoing in the silence. Then, with deliberate slowness, he twisted it into a dagger-like shape, the fabric stiffening under his practiced fingers. Marcus watched, mesmerized by the grotesque transformation, a silent, terrified whimper escaping him.

"Well now I'm going to..." Stanley paused, letting the words hang in the air, thick with menace. "Obviously I'm not going to be able to stab you with this... And Xeno says efficiency is about maximizing output, not minimizing time if the process is part of the lesson."

He tore the tape from Marcus's mouth, ignoring the frantic, choked sobs that immediately erupted.

"No! Please! I’m sorry! I swear! I won’t do it again! Please, no!" Marcus’s voice was a raw, desperate scream, tearing at the silence of the forest.

Stanley’s smile remained fixed.

"You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to shove this down your throat until the end meets the mouth of your stomach."

Marcus gagged, a desperate retching sound, his body convulsing.

Without preamble, Stanley forced the twisted cloth into Marcus’s mouth. Marcus fought, thrashing, his teeth clenching, but Stanley’s grip was unyielding. He shoved, slowly, deliberately, the fabric disappearing inch by agonizing inch down Marcus’s throat. Marcus choked, a wet, horrifying gagging sound, his eyes wide, tears and snot streaming down his face. He made a sound like a dying animal, a strangled gurgle of pure agony and terror.

"When you'll start digesting the cloth," Stanley murmured, his voice a chilling lullaby, "I'll pull it out. And extract your stomach walls too. This is a very disgusting and extremely painful process. Usually, with this method, people die miserably in around a week."

Marcus’s terror was absolute. He stared at Stanley, his face a mask of utter horror, a silent, desperate scream trapped in his throat. He understood. He understood the agonizing, drawn-out death Stanley was describing.

"But that would make a mess," Stanley continued, his face still calm, "and I don't wanna wait that long. Plus, Xeno says that mess is inefficient or “not elegant”, and sometimes I too, like things a little bit more “elegant.”"

He pulled the cloth out, a wet, sickening squelch. Marcus gasped, choking, spitting, his body racked with violent shivers. He looked at Stanley, his eyes pleading, begging, a silent promise of anything, everything, if only this nightmare would end.

Stanley raised the small handgun he’d taken from his grandfather’s cabinet. It felt heavy, cold, and strangely right in his hand.

"So, die."

A sharp sound split the night. The sound was deafening in the silent forest, a brutal punctuation mark to Marcus’s life. The bully’s head snapped back, a single bullet wound blooming crimson on his forehead. He crumpled, a lifeless heap beside his two comrades.

Stanley's hands, though soaked in blood, left no prints. He’d worn gloves, thin latex, pulled over his skin like a second, protective layer.

His heart, though heavy with a dark, profound satisfaction, beat steadily beneath a calm mask. No tremor, no remorse, no hesitation. Only a quiet, resolute hum.

Because for Xeno, he would be executioner, protector, and shadow. He would be the unseen force that cleared the path, the silent guardian who eliminated threats, the dark hand that ensured Xeno’s brilliance could shine unimpeded.

And in the silence of the snow, in the red blooming like fire on white, Stanley Snyder found a grim peace. A sense of completion.

The world was colder now, stripped bare of its illusions of innocence.

But Stanley's devotion burned hotter than ever, a furnace fueled by blood and unwavering loyalty.

He sacked the corpses, grunting with effort as he dragged the heavy bodies one by one through the undergrowth, leaving a faint trail of disturbed snow. He pulled them to an abandoned well, long forgotten, its mouth hidden by overgrown bushes and a crumbling stone wall. It was far away, not signed on any maps, a forgotten maw in the earth. One by one, with a grunt and a heave, he pushed them in. The faint SPLASH as each body hit the icy water below was barely audible, swallowed by the vast, indifferent silence of the forest. Then, he began the long walk home, the snow continuing to fall, erasing his tracks, leaving nothing but the pristine white blanket of winter.

◇◇◇

The boys who'd soaked Xeno?

They didn't come back to school.

Some said they'd been suspended. Others muttered about transfers. One rumor said they'd left town entirely.

No one was sure.

No one asked.

And Stanley?

He showed up like always. Carried Xeno's books. Nodded along to his theories. Sat close enough to feel his warmth but never too close.

And when Xeno smiled at him brief, real, a little rare.

Stanley smiled back.

Just a little.

Like everything was fine.

Because it was.

Now.

17/12/2005

Chapter Text

19/07/2006

.

.

.

The blinds in Xeno’s room were half-drawn, doing little to keep the afternoon sun from leaking in around the edges. The fan in the corner worked overtime, its steady drone filling the silence, but all it managed was to push hot air around. The air was thick, sticky, every movement felt like a chore.

Stanley had long since surrendered to it. He lay sprawled on the wooden floor in front of the fan, gnawing on a half-melted ice pop, his arm dangling limply like he’d just survived a desert trek. Sticky blue syrup dripped down his wrist, and he let it, too lazy to care.

“Ughhh. I can’t breathe. It’s so hot I think my blood’s cooking. Xeno, this is how I die,” he groaned around a mouthful of ice.

Xeno didn’t even glance up. He sat at his desk, pale fingers tapping away at the keyboard, expression unchanging. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic,” Stanley shot back, letting the stick drop from his mouth like a cigarette. “I’m a corpse, Houston. Congratulations, you’re babysitting a heatstroke victim.”

Xeno’s eyes flicked up from his screen briefly, assessing Stanley like one might a misbehaving lab rat. Then, without a word, he went back to typing.

Stanley peeked out from under his arm. “You’re so boring, you know that? We’re both melting alive, and you’re still doing your weird science… blog… thing.”

“It’s not a blog,” Xeno corrected calmly, as though they weren’t in the middle of a desert masquerading as a bedroom. “And it’s too hot to waste energy complaining.”

The blonde groaned again, rolling over onto his side. “Too hot to complain? Dude, complaining is literally the only thing keeping me alive right now.”

When that earned him no reaction, he sat up suddenly, eyes narrowing. “Okay, that’s it. You need chaos.” He staggered to the tiny kitchen and returned with two dripping soda cans from the fridge, condensation running down their sides.

Xeno finally looked up as Stanley approached, grinning like a villain. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late.” Stanley pressed the freezing can against Xeno’s forearm.

Xeno jerked in his chair, shoulders twitching. “SNYDER”

“Yes?” Stanley beamed, already reaching with the second can.

Within seconds, Xeno retaliated, methodical, surgical precision, flicking droplets of cold water from his glass straight at Stanley’s face. Soon the sticky air was filled with laughter, protests, and Stanley’s dramatic yelps.

Eventually, they called an unspoken truce, collapsing back into sweaty heaps, Stanley grabbing the controller of Xeno’s neglected console. He booted up a game, nudging Xeno with his foot until he reluctantly joined in. Their laughter, mocking, competitive, half-delirious, was louder than the fan.

The heat pressed in heavier as the hours crawled, everything slowed, edges blurred by the summer haze. Even arguing took less energy.

Stanley stretched out across the floor again, still clutching his controller. “Man, you know what would be better than sitting here melting into your carpet?”

Xeno hummed distractedly. “Air conditioning?”

“A summer campus,” Stanley said, grinning. “They’ve got trips, campfires, actual shade. I’m signing up. You should too. You need nature, dude.”

Xeno raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I don’t do camps.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re pointless.” He turned back to the game, shrugging. “And loud. And crowded. And, ”

“And fun,” Stanley cut in. “Which you wouldn’t recognize if it whacked you with a marshmallow.”

Xeno glanced at him flatly, then back to the screen. But the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. The conversation drifted back into lazy banter, but somewhere between the sluggish laughter and the drone of the fan, he quietly began to consider it.

The small scientist ended up asking his parents if he could subscribe to this campus since Stanley went to.

And his parents, knowing well how the boy usually never went outside to work on his experiments immediately said yes.

♡♡♡

The bus was cramped and boiling, filled with kids shouting over one another, backpacks stuffed into the aisles, and the faint smell of sunscreen mixed with potato chips. Stanley had claimed a seat by the window, legs sprawled wide, one arm slung over the backrest like he owned the place. Beside him, Xeno sat stiff and perfectly straight, as though even touching the bus seat was beneath him.

Stanley tugged a headphone from his pocket, untangling it with his teeth, then shoved one bud into Xeno’s ear without warning.

Xeno turned his head slowly, glaring at him. “What is this?”

“Music,” Stanley said, already grinning. “Welcome to the good stuff.”

The “good stuff” turned out to be an aggressive blast of guitar riffs and drums, so loud Xeno actually flinched. His scowl deepened as the chorus roared. “This is grotesque. Chaotic. My eardrums are dissolving.”

Stanley laughed, leaning back and tapping his fingers against his thigh in time with the beat. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“Mozart would be more elegant,” Xeno muttered, reaching as if to pull the earbud out. But he didn’t.

Stanley noticed. He kept sneaking glances at him as the miles went by, the way Xeno’s nose wrinkled in distaste, the faint crease in his brow, how he didn’t actually move away. And despite all the complaining, Xeno left the headphone in, sitting stiff but… sharing the moment.

Stanley smirked to himself, turning the volume down a notch so it wasn’t unbearable.

---

By evening, the air had cooled just enough to gather outside. The camp had set up a firepit in a clearing, and the flames snapped and spat as kids roasted marshmallows on skewers. Stanley claimed his usual spot cross-legged on the ground, poking at his marshmallow until it caught fire.

“Perfect,” he said, lifting the flaming sugar like a torch.

“You’re supposed to eat it, not burn it alive,” Xeno muttered from beside him, clutching his own stick with surgical precision. His marshmallow hovered exactly three inches above the flames, golden on one side, untouched on the other.

Stanley snorted. “You make it sound like a crime scene.”

Xeno didn’t answer, because something else caught his eye. Fireflies drifted out from the trees, their tiny bodies pulsing with soft light. He tilted his head, his usual sharp expression softening. “Strange.”

Stanley turned to look at him. “What is?”

“They’re so… unorganized. Yet still efficient. The light, it looks random, but it isn’t.” Xeno’s eyes followed the glow as if he was mapping constellations in motion.

For once, Stanley didn’t make a joke. He just watched him, the way the firelights reflected in his eyes, the way his voice grew quieter, almost reverent.

Later, after the fire had burned low, they stretched out on the grass a little apart from the others. The night sky opened wide above them, thick with stars.

Xeno’s voice, soft, came after a long silence. “Do you know why space matters?”

Stanley turned his head toward him. “Why?”

“Because it’s… infinite. It makes you feel small. Insignificant. But in a way that means there’s more to discover, more to reach for.” He paused, searching for words. “It’s the only place that still feels untouched. Where the rules haven’t been written yet.”

Stanley stayed quiet, letting him talk, even though his chest felt strangely heavy.

Their hands brushed in the grass, accidental, just the barest touch of fingers. Xeno didn’t pull away.

Neither did Stanley.

For a moment, neither of them looked up at the stars.

♡♡♡

The group decided to go to the beach.

The bus ride to the beach ended with a burst of hot air and shouting kids rushing down the sand. Stanley yanked his shirt over his head before his sneakers even touched the ground, yelling, “Race you to the water!” to nobody in particular.

Xeno, on the other hand, stepped onto the sand like it was hostile territory. His outfit didn’t help. A blindingly bright orange Hawaiian shirt, patterned with pineapples and palm trees, hung stiffly on his pale frame. A wide-brimmed hat covered his hair, and his sandals looked like they belonged on someone’s dad.

Stanley spotted him and nearly doubled over laughing. “Houston! You look like, oh my god, you look like you’re about to host a barbecue for retirees.”

Xeno adjusted his sunglasses calmly. “This is practical.”

“It’s a crime,” Stanley wheezed, still laughing. “You’re a walking fruit salad.”

Unbothered, Xeno marched past him and set up camp on the sand with a book under an umbrella, but before long, something stole his attention. Out beyond the waves, surfers cut through the water, riding the curls with smooth precision. Xeno watched them the way he always did when something intrigued him, eyes narrowed, head tilted, like he was dissecting their movements frame by frame.

Stanley noticed. And hated it.

He frowned. “You like that?”

Xeno didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Stanley felt a “little” annoyed at that.

“Oh yeah? Bet I could do that.”

Minutes later, he was throwing himself into the water, body-boarding, diving, even attempting flips he had no business attempting. He surfaced, hair dripping into his eyes, grinning toward the shore every time, waiting for Xeno’s gaze, waiting for some reaction.

But Xeno didn’t look. His attention stayed locked on the surfers, utterly oblivious to Stanley’s performance.

After another 10 minutes , the blonde was hurling himself into the surf, determined to outshine the strangers. He dove, body-surfed, tried flips, even attempted to balance on a washed-up boogie board like it was a surfboard. Every time he surfaced, he glanced toward shore, panting, hair in his eyes, waiting, waiting, for Xeno to look at him.

Xeno didn’t. His gaze never wavered from the real surfers, analytical and utterly oblivious.

By the time Stanley dragged himself out of the water, sunburn prickling across his shoulders, he was scowling. Xeno, meanwhile, had gone from pale mozzarella to boiled lobster. Even with sunscreen and shade, his face, neck, and arms glowed fire-red, and he sat miserably under his oversized hat, fanning himself with his book.

He ran his hands back through his hair, slicking it down flat except for one stubborn strand that fell across his forehead.

He looked at Xeno, and despite being annoyed and grumpy, he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the now red-faced nerd.

He bought 2 ice creams, he stomped across the sand to then just flop down beside Xeno. handing him one of the two cones.

Finally, Xeno glanced at him and took the cold treat. His expression softened just a fraction.

“Thanks..”

Xeno glanced at the blond's new hairstyle.

“Looks elegant on you.”

Stanley blinked. “What does?”

“The hair.” Xeno’s tone was casual, almost offhand, but his eyes lingered a little too long.

Stanley froze, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. He swallowed, pretending to shrug it off, but the words lodged deep.

He wasn’t mad anymore. He couldn't. Not after this.

Without realizing it, that slicked-back look would be the one he carried into adulthood.

♡♡♡

By evening this time the duo got assigned the barbecue duty, half the campers cheered while the other half groaned. Stanley volunteered instantly, of course, because the idea of fire and food was basically a dream come true. Xeno had less choice, someone shoved the tongs into his hands and declared him “the precise one.” He’d never cooked steaks on a grill before, but apparently today was the day.

The grill smoked as Xeno hovered over it like a surgeon preparing for an operation. He turned each steak with the careful flick of his wrist, calculating timing down to the second. Stanley stood beside him, poking at the flames with a stick.

“This is an art,” Xeno muttered, eyes locked on the sizzling meat.

“It’s a barbecue,” Stanley said, grinning. “You just flip it when it looks done.”

“Wrong,” Xeno countered firmly. “There’s chemistry involved. Protein breakdown. Maillard reaction.”

Stanley just laughed, leaning an elbow on the table. “Whatever you say.”

Finally, Xeno picked up a small piece with the serving tongs, holding it out toward Stanley. “Try this.”

Stanley popped it into his mouth without hesitation. Chewed. Nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s good!”

“Then it’s ready,” Xeno said matter-of-factly, beginning to plate the steaks.

When the first campers lined up, Xeno served them with almost military precision. The kids dug in eagerly, until one unfortunate soul tried to cut his steak with the plastic fork and knife provided. The fork bent, the knife snapped clean in half, and the meat sat there like a stubborn brick.

“Uh…” The kid looked at his broken utensils, then at the steak, then back toward the grill. Others tried the same, sawing uselessly, their plates rattling with each failed attempt.

Slowly, every head turned toward Stanley, who was happily chewing another bite of steak Xeno had slipped him as if it was super soft…

“What the hell…” one kid whispered.

Another kid tried sawing. The steak didn’t budge. It sat on the plate, heavy and immovable, like a construction material that had somehow been seasoned with salt and pepper.

Another muttered, “Is he made of steel?”

Stanley glanced up, cheeks full, then shrugged. “What? It’s good.” He went right on chewing, unfazed, as if the steaks weren’t hard enough to resole boots.

The kids stared at him, then at Xeno, then back at their plates, collectively deciding they were too scared to complain.

Xeno, meanwhile, looked entirely unbothered, already preparing another batch with the same focus as before.

Stanley just grinned, licking grease from his fingers, content. If it came from Xeno, he’d eat it, no questions asked.

♡♡♡

A few days later, they headed out for the evening trip to the county fair. The sky was streaked with pink and orange, the sun dipping low enough to make the fairground lights flicker on, bright and buzzing against the dimming sky. The air smelled of fried dough, popcorn, and something suspiciously sweet that made Stanley wrinkle his nose.

“Ferris wheel first,” Stanley said, practically dragging Xeno by the arm. “We have to do the classics.”

Xeno muttered something about preferring quieter things, but he followed anyway, letting Stanley practically bounce with excitement as they climbed into a wobbling car. Up above the fair, the lights of the booths shrank, the crowd became a blur, and the scent of the food stalls drifted up faintly. Stanley pressed his side against Xeno’s, joking about the view, while Xeno kept his expression calm, but Stanley noticed the subtle tilt of his head toward him.

After the ride, they wandered past food stalls. Stanley insisted they try corn dogs, cotton candy, and something he couldn’t even identify but swore “tastes like summer.” Xeno nibbled politely, his face carefully neutral while Stanley made a show of eating like a ravenous child.

Then came the games. Stanley was on a mission. Ring after ring tossed at bottles, darts flung at balloons, and a claw machine that seemed rigged against him. Xeno leaned against the stall, arms crossed, muttering about “statistical improbabilities” and “human folly.”

Finally, with a triumphant cheer, Stanley snatched a stuffed animal, a floppy, oversized raccoon with stitched-on glasses, and thrust it at Xeno.

“What do I do with this?” Xeno said, inspecting it critically, poking at its tail and ears.

“Keep it,” Stanley said, grinning. “For emergencies. Or as a friend. Or both.”

Xeno’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Raccoons aren’t elegant,” he said flatly. “They’re trash pandas. Opportunistic, messy, and completely unrefined.” He turned it in his hands, giving the glasses a skeptical tap. “And despite the fashionable and elegant glasses… this... this is absurd.”

Stanley laughed, nudging him. “Absurd is cute. You love it, you just won’t admit it.”

Xeno huffed, but then tucked the plushy under his arm anyway. “I’m not admitting anything,” he said, though the way he adjusted it carefully so it wouldn’t fall betrayed him. He even made sure the glasses weren’t crooked, as if some hidden sense of pride, or at least responsibility, had taken over. Stanley noticed, and his chest tightened just a little.

As night fell, the fair culminated in fireworks. Explosions of color lit up the sky, and the crowd oohed and aahed. Stanley leaned slightly toward Xeno, letting their shoulders brush. Xeno didn’t pull away; if anything, he shifted a fraction closer. The heat, the noise, the chaotic glow of the fair, everything seemed heavier, more intimate.

Stanley watched him watching the fireworks, noticing the way Xeno’s eyes reflected the bursts of color, the faint curl of his lips at certain patterns, the soft hold on the ridiculous raccoon. He realized that Xeno, even in his quiet critiques and stoic expressions, had a way of treasuring things in his own subtle way.

They sat side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing, hands almost touching, quietly sharing the chaos and warmth of the fair. Stanley thought that these fleeting moments, simple, playful, and a little ridiculous, were the ones he would carry with him the longest. And maybe, just maybe, the raccoon wasn’t entirely absurd after all.

♡♡♡

Later that night, in the quiet of his cabin, Xeno lay on his bed with the raccoon plushie tucked under one arm. He stared at the ceiling, the room dim except for a single moonbeam slicing across the floorboards.

“What am I even doing?” he muttered. “Sleeping with a stuffed raccoon. Look at it, tail all lopsided, arms floppy like wet noodles, stitching coming undone… its fur smells vaguely of… of… I don’t even want to know.”

He jabbed it lightly with a finger. “And this, its little ears? Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. The nose? Like it was molded from hardened clay. And the little feet, don’t even get me started.”

Then his gaze softened slightly at the glasses perched neatly on its face. “Okay, fine,” he admitted grudgingly. “The glasses are elegant. They have… some dignity. That’s it.”

Xeno gave the plushie a shove, yet he pulled it closer again, letting it rest against his chest.

“And Snyder, you have no idea.” he whispered, voice quieter now, almost vulnerable, “why is he such a weird kid? Laughing at the wrong things, yelling at nothing, doing everything chaotic… and somehow, I don't dislike it. He makes me feel in a weird way, like my heart is bigger than it should be.”

He sighed, head sinking into the pillow. “Ridiculous, I'm talking to a raccoon,” he muttered, tracing the plushie’s glasses with his finger. “Everything about you is ridiculous… except the glasses.”

With a last soft shove that was more affectionate than he wanted to admit, Xeno tucked the plushie closer and hugged it. He drifted off, heart quietly warming despite all the insults, and the raccoon, absurd, floppy, imperfect, felt like a tiny, comforting anchor in the chaos of summer.
.
.
.

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

                  { The Color of Confusion }

The October sky had already sunk into a dusky orange by the time Stanley’s sister began bustling around the living room with her friends, each of them clutching candy bowls, soda cans, and their own dramatic Halloween plans. Their laughter rose and fell over the sound of the TV, which was playing one of those sappy, low-budget vampire romances.

Stanley sat slouched on the arm of the couch, half in costume. His clothes already matched the Frankenstein theme, patched shirt, loose pants, his hair teased roughly to look wild, but his face was unfinished. His sister had insisted she’d “take care of the makeup,” a decision he already regretted.

“Sit still, Stan!” she said, gripping his chin as if he were a mannequin.

“I am still,” he muttered, his voice flat with boredom. He wasn’t used to sitting around like this. Normally, on Halloween, he’d be outside, running through the crisp air, egging houses, or racing his friends down dark streets. This year, though, he’d agreed to do something different. Something quieter. Something… with Xeno.

The girls giggled at the TV as the pale vampire hero kissed the trembling heroine. One of them squealed into a pillow, sighing dramatically.

Stanley rolled his eyes. “This is the dumbest movie I’ve ever seen.”

“Shh,” his sister said, smearing foundation across his cheek. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“The mood of what? Watching some bloodsucker make googly eyes?” He snorted, then tried to turn away, but she tugged him back firmly.

“Hold still. You’ll thank me later when you don’t look like a mess in front of your friend.”

At that, Stanley stiffened. His friend. She didn’t have to say his name; he knew she meant Xeno.

The memory of agreeing to the matching costumes flickered in his head, Xeno, in that quiet, matter-of-fact way of his, had simply told him: “You should be Frankenstein's monster. I’ll be the scientist. It’ll make sense.” Stanley hadn’t even argued. It was stupid, sure, but something about the way Xeno had said it, calm, certain, like it was already decided, had made him nod along before he realized.

Now he was stuck, a restless athlete dressed as a monster, squirming under his sister’s hands while a vampire on TV whispered, “You’re the only light in my eternal darkness.”

The girls sighed in unison again.

Stanley groaned.

And then his sister did the unthinkable.

She opened a small black tube and, without warning, smeared glossy black lipstick across his mouth.

Stanley jerked back instantly. “What the hell?!”

“Oh, c’mon,” she laughed. “It completes the look!”

“I’m not wearing this crap!” He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand, but the smudge only spread across his skin.

His sister raised a brow. “Relax, it looks cool. It’s Halloween! You’re supposed to look dramatic.”

“I look like a faggot!” Stanley snapped before he could stop himself. The word left his mouth harsh and defensive, his pulse hammering in his ears. The last thing he wanted was for Xeno to see him like this, painted up, girly, ridiculous.

His sister frowned at him, but before she could respond, the creak of the front door interrupted.

The girls all turned.

Stanley froze.

Xeno stood in the doorway, dressed in his costume: white lab coat, messy wig of spiked gray hair, goggles perched crookedly on his forehead. In his hands, he carried a plastic beaker that glowed faintly with some neon liquid he’d probably tinkered together in his garage.

He had knocked, clearly, but no one had answered. And so he had walked right in.

And now he was staring at Stanley.

At his lipstick.

Stanley felt his stomach drop to the floor. He shot up to his feet, wiping furiously at his mouth, but it only smeared worse, dark and clumsy across his pale face. His chest felt tight, like he’d been caught doing something shameful.

But Xeno didn’t laugh. He didn’t even blink.

Instead, his lips curved faintly, like the beginnings of a thought. the silver haired boy firmly grabbed Stan's wrists, stopping the blonde from smudging the lipstick further.

“...It looked elegant on you, made your features sharper.” he said.

Stanley froze. His pulse slammed in his ears. Elegant? He felt like his skin had been peeled open.

Xeno stepped forward, voice calm as if this were nothing unusual. “But… it’s not the color I’d choose.”

He turned to Stanley’s sister, his tone polite, steady. “May I?”

The girls all glanced at one another, giggling nervously. His sister smirked, handing him the makeup bag. “Sure. Have fun.” She herded her friends out of the room, whispering behind her hand. The door shut.

Now it was only them.

Stanley’s face burned. “Xeno- don’t-”

But Xeno was already pulling out a makeup wipe. He came close, so close Stanley could smell the faint scent of graphite and ozone clinging to his lab coat. Gently, he touched Stanley’s chin, tilting it upward. His fingers were cool, precise, and yet they lingered like he had every right to be there.

Stanley’s breath caught. He tried to move, but his body refused.

Carefully, Xeno wiped away the black smears, every stroke deliberate. “You shouldn’t rub,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the task. “It only makes it worse.”

Stanley’s throat tightened. He could feel the warmth rushing to his ears, his chest. This wasn’t fair, Xeno didn’t even look flustered. He was steady, like he was adjusting wires in one of his experiments.

When his lips were clean, Xeno set the wipe aside and pulled another tube from the bag. This one was a rich, deep purple. He twisted it open, inspecting the shade against Stanley’s hair.

“Purple and yellow are contrary,” he said softly, almost to himself. His gaze flicked up to meet Stanley’s, holding him there. “Your hair is blonde. This will make it stand out.”

Stanley’s lungs forgot how to work.

Xeno didn’t ask permission. He didn’t need to. Slowly, deliberately, he brushed the lipstick across Stanley’s mouth. His hand was steady, his touch impossibly gentle, as though this wasn’t a joke or costume, but something fragile he had to get right.

Every pass made Stanley’s pulse stutter harder. He felt the heat of Xeno’s closeness, the quiet concentration in his eyes. His whole body screamed to look away, but he couldn’t.

When Xeno finally leaned back, his expression was thoughtful, then satisfied. “Yes,” he murmured. “That suits you.” His gaze lingered just a fraction too long. “…It makes you complete.”

Stanley’s breath hitched. Complete. The word burned through him, raw and dizzying.

His brain scrambled for something to say, something sarcastic, anything to break the silence. But the words stuck. He could only stare at Xeno, lips tingling with the press of color, skin buzzing with the memory of his touch.

Xeno, calm as ever, capped the tube and placed it neatly back in the bag. “We should go,” he said, as though nothing earth-shattering had happened.

But there was a glimmer in his eyes now, something softer, warmer, something that made Stanley’s chest ache.

Stanley’s sister peeked from the hallway, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning.

She remembered when Stanley was six, sneaking her lipstick and smearing it across his mouth while laughing in the mirror. Their father had scolded him cruelly, words sharp enough to make him cry for a whole day.

She’d walked into her room to find him perched on her bed, clutching a tube of red lipstick. he smeared the color over his mouth. Crooked lines streaked across his chin, but his grin was wide and proud.

“Look!” he’d said, turning toward her with sparkling eyes. “Do I look pretty?”

She hadn’t been angry. He was just a kid, curious and playful. She laughed, grabbing her old pink plastic mirror and handing it to him. He giggled when he saw his reflection. He looked ridiculous, messy, happy.

That was when their father came in.

The air in the room froze.

His footsteps had been heavy, his voice sharp as a blade. “What the hell is this?”

Stanley froze, the mirror slipping from his fingers.

Their father loomed in the doorway, his face twisted with disgust. “Take that off. Now.”

“It’s just for fun-” Stanley had tried to explain, his voice small, but their father’s glare cut him off.

“You’re not a girl. Don’t ever let me see you do that again. Do you hear me?”

Stanley’s lower lip trembled, color smudging onto his teeth.

“Do you want people thinking you’re some kind of freak?” their father snapped. “Is that what you want? To embarrass yourself?”

Stanley shook his head quickly, tears brimming in his eyes. He scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand until his skin turned raw, trying to erase every trace of red.

Their father gave a last, disappointed look before storming away.

The silence left behind was deafening.

Stanley sat on the bed, shoulders shaking, whispering, “I was just curious...”

His sister had knelt beside him, holding him tight though she hadn’t known what to say. That day, she saw something break in him, something playful and unashamed, buried under fear and shame.

After that, he never touched her makeup again. Not once. Except on Halloween.

And now, years later, it hurt to see Stanley still trying to wipe away a part of himself he’d learned to be ashamed of. But then she watched Xeno take over, calm, gentle, cleaning off the black and replacing it with purple like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. No judgment, no hesitation. Just quiet support.

She looked at her brother, his chest rising too fast, his face red, his lips painted but not ashamed this time. For once, someone was letting him just be.

For the first time since that day, she thought maybe her brother wasn’t alone anymore. Maybe he’d found someone who would never sneer, never scold, someone who’d see him exactly as he was, and call him complete.

She watched the two boys, standing too close, their silence thick with something neither of them dared to name. And she thought: maybe her brother’s fascination with this odd, brilliant boy wasn’t just friendship. Maybe it had always been something more.

♡♡♡

They left the house not long after, the chill of October wrapping around them as they walked toward the party. The streets were buzzing with trick-or-treaters, the glow of jack-o-lanterns flickering from porches, music thumping faintly in the distance where older kids gathered.

Stanley shoved his hands into his patched pockets, trying not to think too hard about the lipstick still lingering on his mouth. Every time he caught his reflection in a window, the purple glinted back at him, and he had to force himself not to scrub it off. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter, but the way Xeno had looked at him, calm, approving, stuck stubbornly in his head.

As they neared the house hosting the party, Stanley’s stomach twisted. The music inside was louder now, pulsing with a rhythm that made kids shout and laugh. He slowed his steps, his throat tightening.

“Something wrong?” Xeno asked, adjusting his goggles absentmindedly.

Stanley hesitated, shoved his hands in his pockets scowling at the pavement and muttered, “Yeah. I… don’t know how to dance.”

The words hung stupidly in the air, heavier than he meant them to.

Xeno blinked at him, expression unreadable. “You don’t?”

Stanley shook his head, trying to play it off with a shrug. “Never learned. I mean… I’ve seen people do it, but it’s not like I ever tried. I’ll just look like a freaking idiot in there.”

Xeno was silent for a moment, then said matter-of-factly, “I can teach you.”

Stanley’s head snapped toward him. “...What?”

“I already started practicing a while ago,” Xeno said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Dancing is a social skill. At some point, I’ll probably be expected to attend events, maybe banquets, if I get where I want in the future. I thought it would be useful.”

Of course. Of course Xeno would already know how to dance. Stanley bit back a groan. He was here admitting he's a disaster, and Xeno is just like, oh yes, I’ve prepared for this exact scenario.

Stanley blinked. “Of course you did.”

Xeno tilted his head. “Do you want me to show you?”

Stanley’s chest tightened. He wanted to laugh it off, to say no, but the thought of stumbling around alone at the party while everyone else moved with ease made his stomach churn. And more than that, there was something in the idea of Xeno teaching him, of being close to him, that he couldn’t quite admit out loud.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter than he meant. “Show me.”

Xeno nodded, as calm as ever, and stepped onto the sidewalk beneath a streetlamp. “All right. Come here.”

Stanley glanced around, his face burning. “Here? Now?”

“Yes. The steps are simple. No one’s watching.”

Stanley sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, then stepped closer.

Xeno stepped under the glow of a streetlamp, standing with perfect posture as if the cracked sidewalk were a polished ballroom floor. He extended a hand, calm and expectant. Stanley just stared at it, slender, steady fingers, waiting for him.

His pulse kicked up. Oh, great. Of course he has to hold his hand for this. Because my night wasn’t already humiliating enough. Stanley thought.

Reluctantly, he placed his own hand in Xeno’s.

The touch sent a jolt through him, sharp and confusing. His chest felt too tight again.

Stanley’s chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. His brain was screaming.

Stanley’s POV:

I’m here making a fool of myself, stumbling around like a piece of wood, while he, he’s so calm. He’s not even sweating. He’s actually smiling. Why the hell is he smiling?!

Xeno guided him with calm precision, placing one hand on Stanley’s shoulder, keeping their bodies at a measured distance. “Dancing is just about rhythm,” he said, his voice quiet but even. “Step when I step. That’s all.”

Stanley nodded stiffly, trying to follow. His boots scuffed against the pavement, clumsy and off-beat. He muttered, “I told you I’m terrible at this.”

“You’re not terrible,” Xeno corrected, adjusting him with a small tug.

“You’re untrained. That’s different.”

Untrained. The word landed like a knife. Stanley’s stomach twisted. How could Xeno make something sound like an insult and a compliment at the same time?

The words, so flat and clinical, somehow made Stanley’s throat burn. He swallowed hard, focusing on the movement. Step, shift, turn.

But the longer it went on, the harder it became to ignore the warmth of Xeno’s hand against his shoulder, the brush of their palms together, the faint scent of something chemical and sharp lingering in his lab coat.

Stanley stumbled, nearly tripping.

Xeno caught him with a steady grip, eyes flicking to meet his. “Don’t look at your feet. Look at me.”

Stanley froze. His breath caught as their eyes locked under the dim streetlight. Xeno’s face was calm, almost too calm, but there was something there, a quiet intensity, as if he really meant it.

Stanley’s pulse roared in his ears.

He tried to laugh it off, but the sound caught in his throat. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

He tried to focus on the rhythm, but his head was spinning. The scientist was touching him like it’s no big deal. Like they were just, just two people practicing steps. But the blond's chest was on fire, and my hands are sweating, and Xeno is just standing here with the most beautiful smile, and he was supposed to what? Keep breathing normally?

Xeno moved them into a simple turn, his hand guiding Stanley’s with quiet precision. “Better,” he said. “You’re catching on.”

He forced himself to focus on Xeno’s gaze, not his fumbling feet. And somehow, the steps came easier. He wasn’t thinking about the music anymore, or the party, or how stupid he might look. All he could think about was the boy in front of him, steady and sure, guiding him without judgment.

He stumbled again.

Xeno caught him firmly, his grip strong around his hand. Their faces were suddenly closer than before, shadows overlapping. Xeno’s brow creased ever so slightly. “You need to stop fighting yourself. Just… follow.”

Stanley’s heart thrashed in his chest. Follow? Easy for him to say. He couldn't even follow his own thoughts right now.

But he forced himself to move with the rhythm, matching Xeno step for step. Slowly, it began to feel less like fumbling and more like… connection. Each time Xeno shifted, Stanley followed without thinking, pulled along by that calm certainty.

And then Xeno said the worst possible thing: “If you keep this up, you’ll do fine with the girls inside.”

Stanley’s brain short-circuited. His foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk, nearly sending him sprawling. Girls? GIRLS?

Oh, for crying out loud, did he seriously think he cared about girls right now? He was practically combusting here because of that hand on his back, and he’s looking at me with those eyes like it’s nothing, and he thinks I’m worried about girls? I don’t give a damn about girls. I just want,

He bit the thought off before it could finish. His face was burning.

Did he seriously just think that-?

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, forcing out a crooked grin. “Sure. The girls.”

Xeno, of course, just nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

♡♡♡

Stanley's POV:

The bike rattled down the road, its chain clicking with every push of Stanley’s legs. The October wind was sharp against his face, but the heat burning in his chest wouldn’t go away. Xeno sat balanced on the back rack, steady like always, hands resting neatly on his knees as though he trusted Stanley completely not to crash.

From the outside, they probably looked like two kids in costumes on their way to a party. Frankenstein and his mad scientist. Dumb Halloween fun.

Inside, Stanley felt like he was falling apart.

Why does it feel like this? Why am I,  His grip on the handlebars tightened until his knuckles went white. It’s just Xeno. He’s just my friend. That’s all. Then why can’t I stop thinking about…

His chest clenched. He remembered the lipstick again, Xeno leaning close, his hand steady, his voice calm, eyes sharp and strange and kind all at once. Wiping away the black, replacing it with purple like it mattered, like he mattered. Stanley felt his stomach turn over.

The bike wobbled.

“Your steering is inconsistent,” Xeno observed from behind, voice utterly level.

Stan barked out a laugh, too sharp. “Gee, thanks, Coach.”

“If you continue wobbling at this rate, we’ll both end up in the ditch,” Xeno added, shifting only slightly to counter the motion.

Stan rolled his eyes, though his pulse was hammering. “Relax, I’ve got it.”

“You don’t ‘have it,’” Xeno replied calmly. “You’re overcompensating with your left foot, which throws your balance off. It’s very inefficient.”

Stanley muttered something under his breath, pushing harder on the pedals. His throat was tight, his breathing uneven.

Why does he always notice everything?

Xeno’s voice came again, maddeningly steady: “You’re also gripping the handlebars too tightly. It restricts your control.”

Stan’s jaw clenched. Yeah, no kidding. Maybe because I’m freaking out here and you’re sitting there like a damn statue while my whole brain’s melting down.

He thought bitterly. I’m here making a fool of myself, stumbling like a piece of wood when he tried teaching me to dance, now riding like I’ve never seen a bike before, while he just sits there calm as ever. Smiling that weird little smile like he’s figured out the whole damn universe. Looking at me with those… those star-filled eyes.

His chest lurched painfully at the thought, and the bike swerved again.

“Stanley,” Xeno said evenly, though his hand brushed the rack as if preparing for impact. “Control yourself.”

Stan let out a shaky laugh. “You sound like my dad.”

Xeno tilted his head slightly. “That’s not a compliment, is it?”

“Not even close,” Stanley muttered.

The air grew colder as they coasted downhill. Houses blurred past, their windows glowing orange with jack-o’-lanterns. Stanley’s legs felt weak, but he kept pedaling, because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant facing the truth his brain kept shoving at him.

Why do I feel like this?

He thought of his father’s voice again, sharp and scathing: Do you want people to think you’re some kind of freak? He’d been six years old, lipstick smeared on his face, and he’d never forgotten it. And now here he was, years later, purple lipstick clinging stubbornly to his lips, because Xeno had put it there.

And Xeno hadn’t flinched. Not once.

Stan’s chest tightened until it hurt. He pushed harder on the pedals, trying to drown it all out.

Behind him, Xeno spoke again, too calm for Stanley’s sanity. “You’re breathing unevenly. It indicates stress.”

Stan barked out another laugh, almost desperate. “No kidding.”

“You should adjust your rhythm,” Xeno continued. “Inhale on the push, exhale on the release. It’s simple.”

“Simple,” Stanley repeated hollowly. Nothing about this is simple. Not when you’re here. Not when I- He bit off the thought, grinding his teeth.

The party house came into view up ahead, music thumping through the air, silhouettes moving in the lit-up windows. Stanley’s heart pounded too fast, too loud. He wanted to slam the brakes, spin the bike around, ride until the night swallowed him.

Instead, he slowed to the curb, the bike creaking as it coasted to a stop. His hands trembled on the handlebars, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven bursts.

Xeno hopped off neatly, smoothing his white lab coat as if he hadn’t just endured a chaotic ride. He adjusted his glasses, calm as ever. “Your balance improved toward the end,” he said, almost like praise.

Stan stared straight ahead, still straddling the bike. His throat was tight, his lips dry, his heart refusing to calm.

I don’t get it. Why does being around him make me feel like this? Why can’t I just be normal?

Xeno glanced back at him, eyes steady, curious, star-dark. “Are you coming?”

Stan forced a grin that felt paper-thin. “Yeah. Just… catching my breath.”

But inside, the storm kept raging.

♡♡♡

The party was chaos, kids in cheap masks, paper bats taped to the walls, candy bowls already half-empty. Music thudded from someone’s tinny speakers, and everyone was too wrapped up in their own nonsense to notice Frankenstein and his crazy scientist slip in.

Or at least, Stanley hoped so. His stomach was already in knots.

Xeno, of course, didn’t care. He scanned the room once, then tugged Stanley toward the cleared-out space by the stereo. “This is sufficient for practice,” he said.

Stanley blinked. “Practice? What, here?”

“Yes. It’s loud enough to match a beat.” Xeno adjusted his glasses and held out his hands like it was obvious.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re insane, you know that, right?”

But Xeno just waited, expectant. Calm. Like he didn’t even notice the noise or the eyes or the way Stan’s palms were sweating.

Reluctantly, because what else could he do, Stanley put his hands up.

And suddenly the music was louder, the lights brighter, the room smaller. His own feet betrayed him instantly, clumsy, wooden. Xeno nudged him into place, guided his weight, corrected his missteps with maddening patience.

Stan’s jaw clenched. Why does he have to be so calm? Why do I feel like I can’t breathe when he looks at me like that?

Xeno stood steady, collected, almost elegant, while Stanley was all elbows and knees and panic. The more he tried to keep his rhythm, the worse it got. His chest was hammering like he’d just run laps.

And then another thought shoved its way in, sharp and ugly: What if he decides to practice with somebody else?

Stan tripped again, this time letting his heel catch Xeno’s foot. Hard.

“You’re still unsteady,” Xeno said, though his tone was patient.

“Guess I’m hopeless,” Stanley grunted, forcing a laugh that didn’t sound like him.

Xeno tilted his head. “No. Just distracted.”

Stan bit his cheek, scowling at the floor. Distracted. Yeah. That was one word for it. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t know why the idea of Xeno teaching somebody else made his chest twist like that, or why he couldn’t stop messing up just to keep him close. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want anyone noticing.

But someone did.

Near the kitchen, a group of older boys had stopped their chatter. One of them, wearing a floppy vampire cape, sneered. “Look at that,” he called, his voice slicing over the music. “Frankenstein and his boyfriend, slow dancing.”

Stan’s stomach dropped.

Xeno, unbothered, answered in his usual flat tone: “We’re practicing.”

The boy snorted. “Practicing what? Kissing? Looks real sweet.” His friends howled.

Heat flooded Stanley’s face. The laughter scraped at his ears, mingling with his father’s old voice: Do you want people to think you’re a freak?

His pulse thundered. His fists clenched.

The vampire kid smirked wider. “Careful, Frankenstein. People might actually start to believe it.”

Stan didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He lunged, fist connecting with the boy’s jaw in a crack that silenced the room.

Gasps shot through the crowd. The vampire stumbled back, cursing, his cape tangling around his legs.

Stan stood there, chest heaving, fists trembling, vision tunneling in and out. He didn’t even know what he’d just done, all he knew was that the laughter had stopped, and Xeno was watching him.

Calm. Silent. Those dark eyes unreadable.

And Stan couldn’t tell if that made the storm inside him better… or worse.

The vampire kid’s jaw cracked sideways, and for half a second, silence ruled the room. Everyone stared.

Then the boy’s eyes snapped back to Stanley, full of fire. “You little freak,” he spat, and before Stanley could even brace, the punch came.

It slammed into his nose.

White-hot pain exploded across his face. His head snapped back, the world blurring as he stumbled. The copper taste of blood flooded his mouth, metallic and sharp.

Gasps rippled again. Somebody shouted, “Fight!” and the music cut out as kids scrambled for a better view.

Stan swayed, blinking through the stars in his vision. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

The boy loomed closer, fists still up, face twisted. “Hit me again, pretty boy,” he taunted. “Let’s see if you dance as good as you kiss your little boyfriend.”

Stan’s ears roared. Every word cut. He could hear his father’s voice again, years ago: Do you want people to think you’re some kind of faggot?

The shame twisted in his chest, burning, but it tangled with something else, rage, hot and sharp, the kind that wouldn’t let him back down.

He lunged again, more instinct than thought, fists colliding with cape and jaw and anything in reach. The room erupted, kids cheering, chanting, some egging them on.

Blows blurred together, Stan’s knuckles screamed, his nose throbbed, his chest ached with every breath. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop.

Then,

“Enough.”

The word cut through the noise. Cold. Precise.

A hand gripped Stanley’s shoulder, firm but steady, pulling him back with surprising strength.

Xeno.

Stan blinked, dazed, nose still bleeding, as Xeno stepped between them. Not hurried, not flustered, just there, calm as if he’d been planning this all along. His dark eyes fixed on the vampire boy, expression unreadable.

“You’ve made your point,” Xeno said, voice low, almost too quiet under the shouting. “Further escalation will not improve your standing.”

The boy sneered, still half-panting, but something about the way Xeno looked at him, cold, unflinching, made him hesitate. He spat blood to the side and muttered, “Not worth it,” before backing into the crowd. His friends dragged him away, grumbling.

The circle broke apart, the party’s noise rising again in nervous chatter.

Stan stood frozen, chest heaving, blood dripping from his nose. His fists still clenched, ready for more. His whole body trembled, not just from the fight but from everything boiling inside, shame, fury, confusion, fear.

They slipped out of the party under a dozen stares and whispers. Stanley kept his head down, shoulders tense, blood still sticky under his nose. The music started again inside, muffled now by distance, but the cheers and jeers still rang in his ears like echoes.

The night air was sharp, cool against his burning skin. He didn’t say anything, just kept walking, fists jammed deep into his pockets. His chest was a mess of anger, shame, and confusion, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch another wall or crawl into the ground and vanish.

Xeno walked beside him, silent too, hands clasped behind his back like usual. Unhurried, calm, as though they hadn’t just left a fight behind.

They walked like that for a while, until they reached a patch of grass under a crooked lamppost. Xeno stopped there, surveyed the area once, and sat down with his usual neat composure.

Stan hovered awkwardly, then dropped down onto the grass beside him, legs sprawled out gracelessly. His nose still throbbed.

Without a word, Xeno slipped a folded square of cloth from his coat pocket. A handkerchief, real fabric, pressed and clean, the kind nobody his age bothered carrying. He unfolded it with care, then turned toward Stanley.

“Hold still,” he said.

Before Stan could protest, Xeno leaned in and pressed the cloth gently against his nose.

Stan jerked back slightly, heat flaring in his cheeks. “I- I can do it myself, ”

“You’ll make a mess,” Xeno interrupted, tone matter-of-fact. His hand stayed firm, steady against Stanley’s face.

Stan froze, every nerve screaming. Xeno was too close. Too calm. His dark eyes were focused entirely on him, on the precise angle of the cloth, on tending to him like this was just… normal.

Finally, Xeno sat back a fraction, inspecting his work. His eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t elegant at all, Stanley.”

Stan bristled. “Elegant? He called us- called me-” The words stuck like glass in his throat.

Xeno adjusted his glasses with his free hand, unimpressed. “And you decided to answer insult with your fists? Primitive.”

Stan glared at the ground. “What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and let him-?”

“Yes,” Xeno cut in smoothly. “Or at the very least, not swing first. That only validates his childish need for attention.” He pressed the cloth gently once more, then lowered it, folding it neatly against his knee. “It was crude. Entirely lacking in strategy.”

Stan flushed hotter, humiliated. “I was just- he was- ” He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You don’t get it.”

For a while, silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves overhead.

Then Xeno’s voice softened. “…But-” he said.

Stan peeked out from behind his hands.

Xeno was smiling now, small, almost shy, but real. His gaze lingered on Stanley with a warmth that made his chest seize up. “…thank you. For being my loyal knight.”

Stan’s heart lurched so violently he thought it might break free. “Knight…?” he croaked.

Xeno chuckled softly, sliding the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I never thought I’d say this, but… every damsel in distress has their knight, no?”

Stan’s brain shut down on the spot.

His chest rose and fell too fast, his face burned, and his mind spun uselessly. Knight. Damsel. Xeno smiling like that. The words looped over and over until his thoughts dissolved into static.

Meanwhile, Xeno sat beside him, composed as ever, as if he hadn’t just dismantled Stanley’s ability to function with a single sentence.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of him. He sat there, useless, while his chest rose and fell too fast, heat climbing all the way to his ears. His nose throbbed, but he barely felt it anymore.

What the hell is he talking about? Why’d he have to say it like that?

Stan pressed his palms to the grass, like grounding himself would help, but it didn’t. His thoughts spun: He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just being… Xeno. Weird, poetic, whatever. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t,

But then the words echoed again: my loyal knight.

And suddenly Stanley couldn’t stop noticing how Xeno had looked at him. How calm his voice had been. How he’d said it like it mattered.

His stomach flipped. His throat went dry. His whole body felt wrong, like a fever, like a fight he couldn’t win.

Stanley thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Why does he say stuff like that? Why does he look at me like that? Why can’t I stop,

He cut the thought short before it could finish, heart pounding in protest.

Xeno, meanwhile, was perfectly composed beside him, legs folded neatly, gaze fixed on the lamppost as though nothing unusual had passed between them.

Stanley forced a laugh that came out cracked. “You’re… you’re fucking weird, you know that?”

Xeno only hummed, faintly amused.

“Let's go home”

Stan sat there, his brain still fried, telling himself over and over: It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t mean anything. Don’t be weird about it.

But his heart wouldn’t listen.

♡♡♡

The house was quiet when Stanley slipped back in. His sister had long gone to bed, the TV dark in the living room. He crept upstairs, trying not to wake anyone, his nose still faintly sore, his shirt carrying the smell of sweat and grass.

He closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, chest heaving like he’d run a mile.

Silence. No cheering kids, no music, no bullies. Just him. Just the memory of Xeno’s voice.

Thank you. For being my loyal knight.

Stan squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach twisted.

“Knight,” he muttered under his breath, like saying it out loud might make it sound stupid. But it didn’t. It just made his heart kick harder.

He paced, running a hand through his hair. His reflection in the mirror caught his eye, blood still faint around his nose, his lips faintly stained purple where Xeno had pressed the lipstick earlier.

Purple. Knight. Damsel.

He slammed a hand against the dresser and hissed, “God, what the hell is wrong with me?”

He didn’t want to remember Xeno’s smile, soft and small, or the way his eyes looked in the lamplight. He didn’t want to feel his chest tighten like it had on the bike, or on the dance floor, or when Xeno leaned in close with that handkerchief like nothing else in the world mattered but cleaning him up.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t ask for it. And yet,

His breath came shallow, too fast.

He makes me feel… like this. And I don’t even know what “this” is. He just sits there, calm, smart, collected, like none of it touches him. And me? I’m losing my mind because of a word. A smile.

Stan sat heavily on the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His chest hurt in a way no punch had ever caused.

Stop it. He’s your friend. That’s all. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re not-

The thought caught, burned. He couldn’t finish it.

Because deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he already knew.

And the knowing felt like doom.

His father’s voice echoed from years ago again: Do you want people to think you’re some kind of faggot?

The word landed heavy, cruel, but it didn’t erase the way Xeno’s smile had felt. It didn’t erase the warmth in knight.

Stan buried his face in his hands and let out a strangled laugh that turned almost into a sob.

“…Oh, shit.”

The truth sat there, undeniable, terrifying, and, somehow, sweet.

He was falling for Xeno.

Xeno fucking nerd Houston Wingfield.

.
.
.

Chapter Text

The morning had been nothing worth remembering.

Clouds hung overhead, but not the dramatic kind, just the dull, lazy sort that made the world feel half-asleep. Stanley’s day followed the same rhythm as always: wake up, shuffle through his routine, survive a few boring classes, and meet up with his best friend at lunch.

He sat across from Xeno now, half-listening as he unwrapped his sandwich. It was the usual scene: cafeteria noise, Xeno’s too-long explanations about something science-y, Stanley nodding along and sneaking glances at him when he thought he wouldn’t notice.

And then, right in the middle of it, 

“Let’s have a baby, Stan!”

Stanley nearly inhaled his water. He coughed so hard his shoulders shook, pounding his chest as liquid burned down the wrong way. Heads turned at nearby tables.

“A-A what!?” he wheezed, eyes watering.

Xeno just beamed at him like he’d said the most normal thing in the world.

Stanley’s brain went haywire. Did he just-? Did he actually say baby?? No- no way. There’s no way. He didn’t just- oh my god, he did.

Meanwhile, Xeno casually popped a grape in his mouth, completely unfazed by the fact that Stanley looked like he’d just been asked to raise a family before homeroom was over.

But how did poor Stanley get in this situation?

♡♡♡

The night before, Stanley had done the exact opposite of sleeping.

He’d laid flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers. His brain, unhelpfully, kept circling back to the same problem: Xeno. His best friend. His… crush? Probably. Maybe. Okay, fine, definitely.

“Don’t think about him,” Stanley muttered into his pillow.

Five seconds later: …what if he’s thinking about me right now?

He rolled over. He rolled back. He buried his face under the blanket. Every time he tried to push the thought away, it came boomeranging back, stronger than before. Xeno’s smile. Xeno’s laugh. The way he got way too excited explaining things that made zero sense to normal people.

“Ughhh,” Stanley groaned, kicking his blanket off. “Stupid brain.”

By the time sleep finally found him, it was way too late.

♡♡♡

Morning hit like a slap.

Stanley jolted awake, glanced at the clock, and shot upright. Late. Again. He scrambled around his room, trying to wrestle his uniform on while his hair stuck up at every angle.

Socks? Nowhere. He checked under the bed, inside the pillowcase, even in the laundry basket. Nothing. In the end, he grabbed two that didn’t match, one striped, one plain, and hoped no one would notice.

He brushed his teeth in record time, nearly choked on the toothpaste, and dashed out the door with half a piece of toast dangling from his mouth.

Another flawless morning in the life of Stanley Snyder.

Classes went as usual. 

At lunch time he bought something since he forgot to bring lunch.

He sat across from Xeno now, half-listening as he unwrapped his sandwich. It was the usual scene: cafeteria noise, Xeno’s too-long explanations about something science-y, Stanley nodding along and sneaking glances at him when he thought he wouldn’t notice.

And then, right in the middle of it, 

“Let's have a baby!” Xeno smiled.

“W-WHAT?!” Stanley nearly screamed, sending his water sloshing all over the table. Heads turned. Some kids whispered. Stanley ignored them. He was too busy picturing a tiny human version of Xeno sitting on his lap.

Xeno blinked at him, calm as if he’d just asked for the salt. “I said… babysit.”

Stanley froze mid-cough. “Oh. Ohhhh…” His face melted into something between relief and embarrassment. “You… mean like… a kid?”

“Yes.” Xeno chewed on a grape. “I need money for science supplies. My parents cut me off after the garage incident.”

Stanley’s eyebrows shot up. “Garage incident?”

Xeno shrugged. “Explosions. Fire. Some screaming. Not ideal. Allowance is gone. Tried jobs.”

Stanley leaned back, bracing himself. “This I have to hear.”

Xeno recounted, completely deadpan:

Grass-cutting: “The grass ended up… uneven. Very short in some places. Neighbor was… upset.”

Waiter job: “I spent twenty minutes correcting a customer’s pronunciation. Fired.”

Dog-walking: “The dog… dragged me halfway down the street. Owner not impressed.”

Stanley snorted, nearly choking again. “Wow. You’re… a natural disaster.”

Xeno tilted his head. “Babysitting is my last resort. But… I’m an only child, and… kids are confusing. You have experience with siblings. You can help.”

Stanley blinked. “…You want me to help you babysit a kid?”

Xeno nodded like it was the most logical thing in the world. “Yes.”

Stanley groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. Why do I even like this guy?...

The couple they were babysitting for looked nervous but hopeful as they explained the instructions.

“Her name’s Lily,” the mother said. “She goes to bed at eight, likes strawberry yogurt, and… well, just try to keep her alive.” She winked. “Thanks so much!”

Stanley waved, trying to look confident, though his chest tightened a little. Keep her alive. No big deal… just like calming your little brother times three.

Xeno, on the other hand, was already analyzing the situation like it was a science experiment gone wrong. “Understood. I will maintain optimal conditions and ensure no variables are left uncontrolled.”

Stanley gave him a sidelong glance. “Right. Sure. ‘Optimal conditions.’”

As soon as the parents left, Xeno scooped up Lily.

The child screamed.

Loudly. Very loudly.

Xeno tried everything: bouncing, patting, showing her a diagram of the solar system, even offering a book about planets. Nothing worked. Lily’s wails filled the room.

Stanley stepped forward. “Here, let me try.”

Xeno hesitated, then handed the child over, muttering, “I swear she’s possessed.”

Stanley held Lily gently. The child immediately stopped crying, pressing her tiny face into his chest. He rubbed her back slowly, whispering soft, calming nonsense.

Xeno’s jaw dropped. “What- how- ?!”

Stanley glanced down, smiling faintly. “She just… trusts me. That’s all.”

Xeno crossed his arms, clearly flustered. “Unfair. This is completely unfair. You’re… I don’t even, motherly or something.”

Stanley stiffened. “I am not motherly.” He paused, then added quietly, “I’m… comforting. That’s different.”

Xeno huffed. “Same thing.”

Stanley gave him a small, patient smile and continued rocking Lily. “Nope. Different. You’re snappy. I calm. You lecture. That’s the rule.”

Xeno muttered under his breath, muttering about “illogical infant attachment,” while Stanley just continued humming, the baby nestled perfectly in his arms.

♡Playtime♡

Stanley sat cross-legged on the living room floor, gently guiding Lily through a tea party. “Here’s your cup, Miss Lily. Don’t spill it,” he said, smiling. Lily giggled and handed him a pretend cookie. Stanley chuckled softly, letting her pour imaginary tea into his hand.

Xeno tried to join in, holding a stuffed animal awkwardly. “Sit still,” he snapped, adjusting the doll with a furrowed brow. Lily ignored him entirely and crawled back to Stanley, squealing with delight.

Xeno sighed, leaning back on his hands, watching Stanley interact with her. How does he do that? he thought. Calm. Patient. Every little squeak or whine, and he just… handles it. Makes her feel safe. Makes it feel easy.

♡♡♡

♡Dinner♡

Stanley fed Lily carefully, coaxing her to eat small spoonfuls of mashed carrots and yogurt. “Good job… careful now,” he murmured, smiling as she giggled between bites.

Xeno tried to help, offering a spoon. Lily promptly flung it across the room. “No! Stop that!” Xeno shouted, ducking as peas bounced off the wall.

Stanley leaned over, brushing a carrot smear off Xeno’s cheek. “Relax… she’s not going anywhere.”

Xeno groaned, watching Stanley handle the chaos effortlessly. Reliable. Always calm. Somehow everything works when he’s here. He huffed but didn’t argue further.

♡♡♡

♡Bedtime♡

When it was finally time for bed, Stanley hummed softly as he rocked Lily. Her eyelids drooped, and she snuggled closer, completely calm in his arms.

Xeno tried to hum along, but it came out scratchy and awkward. Lily erupted into laughter, rolling on the floor and clapping.

Stanley just smiled, keeping her calm, and whispered softly: “See? Nothing to it.”

Xeno watched him for a long moment, leaning back on the couch. He’s… really good at this. Calm, reliable, comforting… like nothing can touch him. And somehow, that makes me feel like it’s all okay, even when nothing is.

By the time Lily finally drifted off, Stanley felt a quiet satisfaction. Xeno, arms crossed, sat back with a small sigh, trying not to let Stanley see how much he had noticed, how much he’d trusted him during the chaos.

Once Lily was finally asleep, Stanley and Xeno collapsed onto the couch, each sinking into the cushions with a tired groan. The apartment was quiet, except for the soft hum of the baby monitor.

Xeno ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t… understand kids,” he admitted, voice low. “But… you… you make it look easy. Natural. Like you were born for this or something.”

Stanley smirked, nudging him lightly. “Yeah, well… years of practice with my little brothers. Don’t tell them, but I’m basically a pro.”

Xeno snorted. “Little brothers are one thing. This… is different.” He paused, glancing at Stanley. “Still… you’re good. Reliable. Calm. I… trust you.”

Stanley felt a warm squeeze in his chest. It wasn’t just about babysitting. It was Xeno, trusting him, relying on him, even if he didn’t say it outright. He gave a small, teasing grin. “Glad to be of service, Professor Mom.”

Xeno rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, too tired to care.

♡♡♡

The door clicked open, and the couple returned, smiling in relief. “You guys did amazing!” the mother said, ruffling Lily’s hair gently. “Here’s the money, thank you so much.”

Stanley accepted it with a polite nod, but his mind was elsewhere. He felt warm inside, not from the money, not from successfully keeping a toddler alive, but from doing something together with Xeno, seeing how they worked as a team, and how much he’d grown to care about this weird, snappy, brilliant boy.

Xeno, matter-of-fact as ever, broke the quiet. “See? We make a good parenting team.”

Stanley blinked at him, caught between exasperation and affection. “Team, huh?” He smiled softly. “Yeah… team.”

Xeno shrugged, pretending not to notice the way Stanley’s smile lingered. “Just don’t get used to it.”

Stanley laughed quietly, glancing down at the sleeping Lily and then back at Xeno. Somehow… he didn’t mind.

15/11/2007

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

♡♡♡

CHAPTER 15: A Rainy Day

5/06/2008

It was a rainy Friday, and Xeno had just finished the usual science club activities. The classroom lights flickered off behind him as he walked down the hallway toward the school’s exit.

When he reached the front door, he already knew what was waiting for him:

A torrential downpour. An enormous wall of water.

For a while, he simply stood there, watching the fat droplets crash violently onto the pavement, soaking everything in sight. The rain blurred the world outside into gray streaks, the summer heat turning the air muggy and sticky.

Rain starts when heat from the sun causes water from oceans, lakes, and other surfaces to evaporate and rise into the atmosphere as water vapor. As this vapor ascends, the air cools. Cooler air can’t hold as much moisture, so the vapor condenses around microscopic particles like dust or salt, forming tiny droplets. These droplets cluster together to form clouds.

When enough of these droplets merge and grow heavy enough to overcome air resistance, they fall to the ground as precipitation, in this case, rain.

He didn’t have an umbrella.

(Then who will have one?)

“Of course,” Xeno muttered to himself, arms crossed. “Sunny all week, and now this.”

Rain like this was rare in summer but when it came, it made sure to ruin everything.

It was unpleasant.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, blank-eyed, watching the storm. Seconds, minutes... his mind drifted somewhere between boredom and irritation.

Then a sigh escaped his lips.

Fine. He’d just have to run for it. He braced himself, foot nudging forward.

“Hey,” a familiar voice interrupted. “You know you're gonna get soaked if you go out like that, right?”

Xeno paused. He didn’t even have to turn around to recognize the voice.

Stanley.

He rolled his eyes. “That much would be clear even to an uncultured idiot. I forgot my umbrella, if you must know. But since you stopped me…” He turned with a pointed look. “Perhaps you’ve brought one?”

He really hoped he had.

Stan shrugged, smile crooked. “Nope.”

(Sike)

Xeno deflated. “Wonderful. We’re doomed.”

Stan chuckled. “Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

Xeno looked at him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes despite the situation. “Seems like it.”

But just as a warm silence was starting to settle between them, someone else approached, the calm shattered.

A guy from the math club. One who had spoken to Xeno earlier that week and clearly remembered it.

“Hey, Xeno!” the guy said, stepping between him and Stan with a hopeful grin. “You don’t have an umbrella either? I’ve got mine, want to walk together?”

Stan’s jaw tightened.

He didn't like this guy’s timing. Or his face. Or the way he was smiling at Xeno.

Without warning, Stanley stepped forward, sliding between them like a wall.

“Heyyy,” he said, a little too loudly. “I just remembered, I had to pick something up for my sister. Super important. 

Xeno, you don’t mind coming with me, right? No problem? PERFECT! Let’s go!”

He didn’t wait for an answer. In one swift movement, Stan yanked off his jacket, threw it over Xeno’s head and shoulders, grabbed his hand, and ran into the rain.

Xeno yelped, stumbling after him. “Stan! What the hell-?!”

But Stan didn’t answer. He held on, shielding Xeno as best he could, water soaking through his own clothes almost instantly. His shirt clung to his back, his hair flattened into dripping strands, but he didn’t seem to care.

Stanley then suddenly laughed. Full, unguarded laughter that broke through the thunder like sunlight splitting clouds. 

“Come on, keep up! You’ll melt if you slow down!”

“I’m already melting, you lunatic!” 

Xeno snapped, though his voice cracked when Stan tightened his grip and pulled him closer, steadying his stumble with an arm at his back.

Water streamed off them both, each splash a shock against skin, but the world had shrunk to just the two of them running shoulder to shoulder through the chaos.

Xeno cursed under his breath, hair clinging to his face. Stan glanced over and, in the middle of the downpour, grinned at him, wild, reckless, alive.

And Xeno’s breath caught.

Something about it, the way his smile burned even through the storm, the sound of his laughter mixing with the rain, made the chaos feel less like misery and more like freedom.

Xeno wanted to be mad. He was mad, sort of. Who just grabs people and drags them into a monsoon?! But...

Their hands were still clasped together.

And Stanley’s hand was warm, even in the cold rain.

For a second, Xeno just… let it happen. He didn’t pull away.

The rain pounded harder, but soon they spotted a small convenience store glowing ahead like a beacon. They dashed inside, shoes squeaking against the tile.

By the time they staggered under the convenience store’s awning, both were soaked, Xeno partially and Stanley to the bone, dripping puddles onto the tiled floor. Stan leaned against the counter, chest heaving, still laughing.

Xeno shoved his damp hair out of his eyes, glaring. “You’re insane.”

Stan grinned at him, eyes bright. “Yeah. But admit it, running was better than standing there doing nothing.”

And for the briefest moment, Xeno almost smiled back.

Stanley looked like a half-drowned retriever, shirt stuck to his chest, drops of water running down his neck.

Xeno couldn’t help it, he smirked.

“You look like a wet dog,” he said.

Stan groaned. “Yes, yes, very funny, princess. Now cut it.”

He slicked his wet hair back with one hand, a motion far too cinematic for the situation, and far too good-looking, in Xeno’s opinion.

The young scientist's eyes lingered a bit too long at that moment.

Xeno brushed it off blaming the lack of sleep.

♡♡♡

“So…” Xeno said aloud, desperately trying to focus. “What did you have to get again?”

Stanley blinked. Froze. “…Huh?”

“You said you needed to get something for your sister?”

“Right. Yeah. That.” Stan cleared his throat, then walked over to one of the shelves. “She wanted to try some snack that’s trending right now…”

He scanned the options and grabbed a box.

“Chocolate Pocky.”

Xeno raised an eyebrow. “Really? Isn’t that the one used for that dumb challenge everyone is talking about?”

Stan’s fingers twitched.

He forgot that it was trending because of that kiss challenge which recently went viral on the Internet. 

Then suddenly a flash of a mental image…Xeno at the other end of a chocolate stick, eyes half-lidded, soft lips close-

Stanley immediately smacked himself in the forehead.

SLAP.

Xeno stared. “Are you…okay?”

Stan cleared his throat again, not meeting his eyes. “Fine! Just, uh. A bug. On my face.”

Xeno was concerned.

Xeno stepped closer, frowning. “You’re red, and definitely warmer than normal. You’re  probably going to get sick.”

He reached up, gently placing a cool hand against Stan’s forehead.

Stan stopped breathing.

♡♡♡

Stanley's POV

Help me.

His hand is on my face.

He’s too close.

He smells like rain and laundry detergent and whatever cologne he accidentally used last month and never replaced.

I am going to die.

Why is he touching me like that?

Why does it feel like we’re in a drama scene right before someone kisses someone?

I won't survive this.

I'm doomed. 

♡♡♡

“You’ve got a slight fever,” Xeno muttered, still touching him gently. “You should sit down. I’ll get something to dry you up.”

Stan sat. Immediately. Obediently. Like a red-faced robot.

As Xeno turned away to ask the cashier for a towel, Stanley leaned forward, burying his face in his wet hands.

All he could think about was the imagination of Xeno smiling softly, drying his hair in some distant, peaceful future. A version of life where they were more than just friends.

Where coming home soaked in the rain meant being taken care of by Xeno.

That thought alone was enough to make his heart slam into overdrive.

And for the first time in a long time, Stanley didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

After a while the silver haired boy came back.

He knelt beside Stanley, who sat slumped in a blue plastic chair near the window, hair soaked, shirt clinging to him like he’d fallen into a lake.

“Here,” Xeno said, handing him the towel. “You’re dripping everywhere. It’s kind of disgusting.”

Stan didn’t move for a second. He just looked at Xeno like he was a little surprised to still be sitting next to him at all.

“Thanks,” he said at last, taking the towel.

He started drying his hair, then paused. “...You okay?”

“I’m not the one who looks like a drowned dog.”

“Touché.”

Xeno folded his arms, watching him rub water out of his curls. Stan looked disheveled, tired, and, for reasons Xeno couldn’t name, it made his chest feel tight.

“You didn’t have to drag me off like that, you know,” Xeno muttered.

Stan paused. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t really think.”

“No, you didn’t.”

A silence settled between them, filled only by the sound of soft rain tapping against the glass and the buzz of a fridge in the corner.

Then, softly:

“I just didn’t like that guy,” Stan added, staring at the towel in his hands. “Something about him felt… off.”

Xeno blinked. “He was just offering me an umbrella.”

Stan shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Still.”

Xeno didn’t know how to respond to that.

He wasn’t sure why Stanley looked so serious all of a sudden, or why his own heart had started beating a little too fast. He told himself it was from running earlier. From being cold. From… anything else.

“Anyway,” Xeno said, awkwardly shifting his weight, “we can’t stay here forever.”

“Right.” Stan sat up straighter, avoiding eye contact.

“We should probably head home once the rain eases up. Before you get hypothermia or whatever.”

“Sounds like you care.”

“I don’t. You’d be annoying to deal with if you got sick.”

Stan smirked faintly, towel slung around his neck.

And then, for a second, their eyes met.

Something silent passed between them. Something unspoken. Warm. Close.

Too close.

Xeno looked away first. “...Let me know when you’re ready.”

Stan nodded, suddenly very interested in his shoes.

And the two of them sat there in the corner of the store, quietly drying off, both pretending that everything still made sense.

Neither of them understood the shift.

But something had already started.

♡♡♡

The rain had softened by the time they finally stepped outside again, a thin shiny curtain instead of the earlier monsoon. Between them, a brand-new umbrella creaked open, the black nylon taut against the drizzle.

Stan held it high, adjusting his arm so the cover tilted more toward Xeno than himself.

“You’re hogging the umbrella,” Xeno muttered, side-eyeing him.

“You’re shorter,” Stan said simply, lips quirking. “You’d get drenched first.”

Xeno narrowed his eyes, but didn’t argue.

The sidewalk shimmered with puddles reflecting neon signs and streetlamps, each step a quiet splash. The world seemed muffled under the rain, hushed, like it had been wrapped in glass.

Their shoulders brushed as they walked. At first it was accidental. Then it happened again. And again. Neither of them pulled away.

“Your jacket’s still wet,” Xeno murmured, glancing at the damp fabric clinging to Stan’s arm.

Stan shrugged. “I’ll survive. Besides, ” he tilted the umbrella further over Xeno’s head,  “you’re the only one who’d actually complain.”

“I don’t complain,” Xeno shot back automatically.

Stan snorted, his breath a soft puff in the cool air. 

“You do. But it’s kind of…cute.”

Xeno stopped mid-step. “…What?”

“Nothing.” Stan’s ears burned red, but he kept walking, pretending he hadn’t said it.

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the patter of rain against nylon.

Xeno’s eyes flickered sideways, catching the faint grin tugging at the corner of Stan’s mouth. Against his will, a small, traitorous warmth spread through his chest.

He hated how nice this felt. How safe. How easy.

“Stanley,” he said finally, voice low. “If you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.”

Stan looked at him, smiling, eyes softer than Xeno expected.

“Yeah, you would.”

Xeno looked away quickly, refusing to admit anything. 

The two of them kept walking under the shared canopy, shoulders touching, the storm fading into nothing but a quiet backdrop for a closeness neither of them dared to name.

The rain thickened again, fat drops rattling harder against the umbrella, splashing cold across their shoes.

Stan squinted at the street ahead, then glanced sideways. “My place is closer than yours. Want to stop there until it eases up?”

Xeno hesitated. His first instinct was to argue, because that was always his instinct, but the water was already soaking the hem of his pants and dripping down his collar. He shivered, teeth nearly clicking.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Stan grinned, adjusting the umbrella so it leaned even more over Xeno. “Good. C’mon. It’s just a block this way.”

Their footsteps echoed on the slick pavement, splashing through shallow puddles. The world felt muffled, blurred, like everything outside their small umbrella didn’t matter.

When they turned onto Stan’s street, the familiar porch light glowed faintly through the curtain of rain. A small, ordinary sight, but somehow, tonight, it felt like a beacon.

By the time they clattered up the steps. The umbrella dripped violently as Stan shook it out, leaning it against the wall.

“Home sweet home,” Stan said, unlocking the door and swinging it open with a mock bow. “After you, your highness.”

Xeno gave him a flat look, though his lips twitched. “You’re unbearable.”

“Yet here you are.” Stan shot back, grin lazy.

Xeno stepped inside, greeted by the faint warmth of the heater and the soft smell of laundry detergent clinging to the air. He toed off his wet shoes, water pooling faintly beneath them.

Behind him, Stan ruffled his own dripping hair with the towel from the convenience store, then draped it over his shoulders. He watched Xeno quietly for a moment, something softer than teasing flickering in his expression.

“You’re freezing,” he said, voice gentler than before.

“I’m fine,” Xeno replied, though his damp clothes betrayed him with a small shiver.

Stan shook his head. “You’re not. Sit down. I’ll grab something dry for you.”

Xeno blinked at him, caught between protest and…something else. Something warmer, more dangerous.

He sat anyway.

Stan returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes in his arms, sweatpants, a hoodie, and a soft-looking T-shirt. He set them down on the couch beside Xeno.

“Here,” he said. “They might be a little big on you, but better than sitting around in wet clothes.”

Xeno raised an eyebrow. “Your fashion sense is questionable at best.”

Stan smirked. “You’ll survive.” Then, after a pause, his expression softened. “Uh… you wanna take a warm shower first? It’ll help. Otherwise you’ll just freeze in those.”

Xeno blinked, caught off guard. He looked down at himself, shirt clinging to his skin, droplets sliding off his hair onto his neck. He hadn’t even realized how badly he was shivering until now.

“…That’s not necessary,” he said quickly, defensive as ever. “I’m fine.”

Stan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him. “You’re not fine. You look like a drowned cat. And last I checked, cats hate being wet.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious, Xeno.” His voice dipped lower, steady. “You’ll feel better. Just… trust me on this one.”

For a moment, Xeno stared at him, rain still dripping faintly from the tips of his hair. Stan wasn’t teasing anymore, there was no smirk, no smug remark waiting. Just concern. Genuine. Warm.

Xeno’s chest tightened. He looked away, muttering, “…Fine. Just this once.”

Stan smiled, relief flickering across his face. “Good. Towels are in the bathroom closet. I’ll wait here, I need a shower too later”

Xeno’s POV

The bathroom filled with steam almost instantly, fogging the mirror as Xeno turned on the shower. He peeled off his drenched clothes and stepped under the hot spray, shivering as the heat chased away the chill clinging to his skin.

The soap smelled faintly of eucalyptus and citrus. He glanced at the shelf, noting the bottles lined up in near-perfect order. Body wash. Shampoo. Conditioner. All the same brand.

He frowned. So he’s consistent, at least.

The shampoo lathered easily, the scent sharper up close, with a clean undertone that was…very Stan. It clung to him, seeped into his hair, his skin. Familiar, somehow.

Xeno closed his eyes. No wonder he always smells like this. Not bad… not bad at all.

A small, almost reluctant sigh slipped from him as the heat sank deep into his bones. For the first time that day, he felt, if not comfortable, then at least safe.

♡♡♡

Stan’s POV

Stan sat on the couch, towel draped around his neck, staring blankly at the muted glow of the TV. The sound of running water echoed faintly down the hall.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying, and failing, to ignore the thought that Xeno was in his shower. In his space. Steam curling around him, warm water sliding down his skin.

Stan squeezed his eyes shut. Stop. Don’t.

It wasn’t like that, not really. It wasn’t supposed to be. But his brain betrayed him anyway, painting the picture of Xeno tilting his head back under the spray, silver hair slicked down, lashes wet, expression softer than he ever let it be in public.

Stan rubbed at his face, groaning. God, I’m losing it.

Xeno’s POV

The steam clung to his skin as he dried off and reached for the folded clothes on the counter. A hoodie, soft and a little too big. Sweatpants that would probably drag over his ankles.

He pulled the hoodie closer for a second, fingers brushing over the fabric. It smelled faintly of laundry detergent and that same fabric softener he’d noticed on Stan before, warm, clean, familiar. So this is what he smells like all the time.

Xeno hesitated before slipping it on, the fabric swallowing his shoulders and arms. The sweatpants followed, predictably loose, but not unpleasant. They were… comfortable. Warmer than expected. Almost like the clothes remembered who they belonged to.

He gave the hood a tug over his damp hair, shook his head once, and sighed. “Ridiculous,” he muttered at his reflection, though for some reason, he didn’t take it off.

♡♡♡

Stan’s POV

The bathroom door clicked open, and Stan looked up from the couch, half-expecting some awkward comment about his shampoo or towels.

Instead-

Xeno stepped out, drowning in Stan’s hoodie, sleeves a little too long, sweatpants bunching at his ankles. His damp hair clung to his forehead, cheeks faintly pink from the hot shower. He looked…

Stan swallowed hard. Cute.

Dangerously cute.

Unfairly cute.

His chest went tight, his pulse spiked, and he was suddenly very, very aware that his own clothes were wrapped around Xeno’s narrow frame. Like they belonged there. Like he belonged here.

“...What?” Xeno asked, frowning when Stan didn’t speak.

Stan blinked, forcing his brain to reboot. “Nothing. Just… my turn.” He stood abruptly, He disappeared into the hall for a moment and came back holding a blow dryer.

“Here,” Stan said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. He tossed it lightly into Xeno’s hands. “Before you catch pneumonia or something.”

Then brushing past him toward the bathroom, he hoped Xeno couldn’t hear how loud his heart was hammering.

Xeno arched an eyebrow but sat down on the couch, plugging it in. The hum of hot air filled the room, tousling his damp hair as he dragged his fingers through it.

But as the blonde shut the bathroom door behind him, he leaned against it for a second, dragging a hand down his face.

God help me. I’m soo fucking doomed.

♡♡♡

Stan came out of the shower in clean clothes, towel around his neck, hair still dripping. He scrubbed at it half-heartedly before flopping onto the couch.

Xeno frowned. “That’s how you dry your hair? Pathetic.”

Stan smirked. “It’ll dry eventually.”

Xeno sighed, grabbed the blow dryer, and switched it on. “Sit still.”

Warm air roared. Fingers brushed through his curls. Stan froze, heart racing. Xeno’s face was inches from his own, eyes sharp with concentration, lips pursed slightly.

Oh, God. Don’t look at him. Don’t look.

When Xeno finally clicked the dryer off, he brushed a stray curl from Stan’s forehead. 

“Better.”

Stan swallowed hard, forcing a grin. 

“Wow. You’d make a great mom.”

Xeno shot him a glare, ears red.

“Shut up.”

Stan laughed weakly, but inside he was absolutely combusting.

♡♡♡

The evening news droned softly in the background, the weather forecast flashing across the TV: “Heavy rain expected all night, with possible flooding in low areas…”

Stan’s mom clucked her tongue, glancing at Xeno. “Well, you’re not walking home in that. You’ll stay for dinner, and the night. No arguments.”

Xeno opened his mouth, but one look at her determined expression silenced him. He gave a small nod. “…Alright.”

Dinner was spread across the table, aromatic stew, roasted vegetables, warm bread. Far better than the disasters Stan and his sister usually cooked. Xeno ate in his usual composed, deliberate way.

Stan sat opposite, shoving bread into his mouth, trying not to stare too much. Watching Xeno eat at his family’s table like he belonged there made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

Then his sister spoke up. “So, since the couch is terrible, you’ll just sleep in Stan’s room, right? His bed’s big enough for two.”

Stan nearly choked on his stew. “What- ”

But Xeno, without missing a beat, replied evenly, “I don’t mind.” He set down his spoon, glancing at their mom. “Dinner’s excellent, by the way.”

Their mom beamed. “I’m glad you like it.”

Neutral. Effortless. Like the thought of sharing a bed meant nothing to him.

Even though the truth was that Xeno accepted so easily because he felt weirdly comfortable and safe around Stan, he wasn’t sure on the why though.

Stan’s entire body, meanwhile, was in crisis mode. He forced a neutral shrug. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

His sister smirked knowingly.

Stan stabbed at his stew a little too aggressively, praying no one noticed how red his ears had gotten.

Inside, though, his brain was on fire. He agreed. He doesn’t mind. He’s going to be in my bed. Next to me. All night.

The poor blonde smiled tightly, pretending everything was normal.

He was about two seconds from combusting.

♡♡♡

Stan was on his bed with his old PlayStation 2 controller in hand, TV humming with the glow of Call of Duty: World at War. Beside him sat the second half-empty box of Pocky he’d bought at the corner store. He munched through the sticks one after another, chewing fast between matches.

Next to him, Xeno sat cross-legged, a small paperback open in his hands. He looked perfectly at home, calm as ever, eyes scanning the page with quiet focus.

Stan tried to look the same, calm, chill, totally unaffected, but his brain was a screaming mess. He’s in my bed. He’s literally in my bed. Reading. Relaxing. Like this is normal. Like I’m not about to implode.

He shoved another Pocky into his mouth, chewing fast.

Out of the corner of his eye, Xeno watched. His expression didn’t change, but his thoughts flickered. He eats those like he’s starving. Maybe they’re actually good.

Stan didn’t notice, too busy stress-eating, keeping his mouth occupied so he didn’t say anything stupid. Another Pocky between his teeth, 

“Stan.”

He turned, stick still hanging from his lips. “Hm?”

Xeno leaned in, bit off half the Pocky with casual precision, then sat back down like nothing happened. His eyes returned to the book. “Mm. Not bad.”

Stan froze.

His character died on-screen. He didn’t even notice.

Outwardly, he forced a calm face, crunching the last of the stick. “Cool. Glad you… like it.”

Stanley wanted to scream in his pillow.

But obviously the blonde couldn’t exactly scream into his pillow, not with Xeno right there, cool as ice, flipping through a book like he hadn’t just casually bitten half a Pocky stick out of Stan’s mouth.

He needed to move. To breathe. To do something.

“Uh,” Stan blurted, springing to his feet, “I’m gonna… get some water.”

Xeno hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still on the book, completely unfazed.

Stan marched to the kitchen, filled a glass at the sink, and promptly ignored it. He went straight to the window, pushed it open, and let the cool night air hit him like salvation.

His eyes darted to the umbrella by the door. He grabbed it. Because apparently, going on a midnight umbrella walk in his pajamas was the only logical solution.

He stepped outside. The drizzle pattered gently on the umbrella, but not a drop touched him. Perfect.

He began pacing the block, umbrella clutched like a lifeline. “Okay, Stan,” he muttered. “You’re fine. Totally fine. Just a normal guy. Walking. In pajamas. At night. With an umbrella. Nothing weird about this at all.”

A car rolled by slowly, headlights sweeping over him. He froze, standing stiff under his umbrella like some kind of tragic streetlamp. The driver gave him a suspicious look before driving on.

Stan groaned into the fabric of the umbrella. “Kill me now.”

Three minutes later, sanity slightly restored, he trudged back toward the house. He climbed in through the window, careful not to make a sound, only to freeze mid-step.

His sister was leaning in the hallway, arms crossed, staring right at him.

“…Why-?” she asked, voice flat but loaded with confusion.

Stan, still holding the umbrella like a guilty weapon, met her gaze. “Don’t ask.”

There was a long beat. Then his sister, biting back a grin, nodded slowly. “Right.”

But her eyes sparkled, like she already knew.

Stan shut the window with unnecessary force and whispered under his breath, “I hate my life.”

While Stanley was “drinking water” (or whatever dramatic midnight ritual he’d just invented), Xeno tucked himself into the bed.

He slid under the covers with a small sigh, closing his eyes. The sheets smelled faintly of Stanley, warm and clean, oddly grounding.

Laundry detergent. Fabric softener. Maybe his deodorant too. Something like… fresh cotton, a little citrus, maybe even vanilla? And soap. Definitely soap.

Xeno’s mind, usually sharp and restless, felt quiet for once. It was strange how safe he felt here, like the world outside couldn’t touch him. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

Sleep began to take him.

When Stanley returned to the room, umbrella abandoned in the corner, he froze at the sight: Xeno curled up, fast asleep, breathing evenly, looking calm in a way Stan rarely saw.

Relief poured through him. Good. Finally. No more heart attacks tonight.

He climbed into bed carefully, every movement exaggeratedly cautious, and scooted as far away from Xeno as the mattress allowed. Practically clinging to the edge, he exhaled and let his eyes close.

For a while, it worked. He drifted off, tension easing.

But sometime later in the night, his body betrayed him. Rolling over too far in his sleep, Stanley tipped right off the side of the bed with a muted thud.

He gasped awake, staring at the ceiling from the floor, disoriented. He scrambled to check, 

Xeno hadn’t stirred. Still asleep, still peaceful.

Stan lay back on the carpet, covering his face with one hand, whispering, “…unbelievable.”

He debated just sleeping there.

Stanley decided, reluctantly, to crawl back into bed.

He tried to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but it was impossible, not with Xeno lying there, breathing softly, snoring lightly. His silver hair caught the pale moonlight filtering through the window, and his skin seemed almost to glow in the dim room. Every rise and fall of his chest, every small movement as he slept, held Stanley’s gaze.

The night had been long and rainy, and the temperature had dropped steadily. Without realizing it, Xeno’s sleeping form had begun drifting closer, subconsciously seeking warmth. Slowly, imperceptibly, he edged toward Stanley, his shoulder brushing against his arm. Stanley felt a flutter of heat rush to his face.

He looked away for a moment, cheeks tinged pink, but then something strange happened. The initial fluster, the racing of his heart, softened. The gentle rhythm of Xeno’s breathing, the soft silver light, the quiet hum of the night, all of it combined to make Stanley feel calm, almost serene. Despite his heart still hammering, there was a strange stillness settling over him.

Stan smiled softly. 

Carefully, almost reverently, Stanley shifted. He turned fully to face Xeno and gently guided him closer, letting him nestle against his chest. Xeno made no protest, only adjusted slightly, finding a comfortable position as if he belonged there. Stanley’s arm ached from holding him, going numb in spots, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to move, not when Xeno looked so peaceful, so unguarded.

Hours passed. Stanley didn’t sleep. He spent the night brushing the little strands of hair off Xeno’s face, holding him close, memorizing the quiet rhythm of him. The world outside could have been burning, and he wouldn’t have noticed. All that mattered was this fragile, perfect stillness, this moment suspended between them.

Before the morning came, before the scientist beside him woke, Stanley gently untangled Xeno from his embrace. He knew Xeno wouldn’t know what to make of it if he found out he had been held all night. Quietly, almost reluctantly, he let him go.

When the alarm rang, it was Xeno who stirred first. Stanley, still exhausted from a night spent awake, let himself linger in the warmth of the sheets. Xeno noticed something different in him, something soft, almost… content. A small, subtle smile played across Stanley’s lips.

“What are you smiling at?” Xeno asked, his voice still husky with sleep.

Stanley’s eyes met his for just a moment, then drifted to the window where the rain had left the world sparkling and wet. He shrugged lightly, a small, secretive grin tugging at his mouth.

“Nothing,”

 he said quietly, his tone carrying a gentle fondness. 

“I was just thinking… I love rainy days.”

♡♡♡