Chapter Text
It’s something, being himself and also Him. If Stanley had to compare it to something, it’s like being chained to a sentient cannon ball. He doesn’t trust anyone else with the Mask (though many have gotten their hands on it), but does he really trust himself with It?
He looks at the other side of the bed. His jack russel terrier is snoring there, flopped on his back with all four paws in the air. Milo is a smarter pup than most, even more so it would seem after the influence of their shared Little Secret. Stanley’s eyes go to the closet. He always keeps The Mask there.
For propriety?
He snorts at this thought. The Mask is here, isn’t he? The being the papers write about, that’s apparently his inner self spewing outwards. But then again, most people's Freudian id can’t have a building dropped on them and survive.
Stanley goes to tickle Milo’s tummy, and the dog awakens. He flips over and stretches, yawning.
“Sorry,” Stanley says, picking Milo up and pouting affectedly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep.”
Milo licks him in the face. He scrunches up his eye, laughing.
“I guess I just felt,” he says, scrubbing behind the terrier’s ears. “Kind of lonely.”