𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐘, stanley barber

vii. I LIKE IT WHEN YOU SLEEP.

SINCERITY IS SCARY, STANLEY BARBER
( vii. i like it when you sleep )

A SMALL KNOCK CAME ON MY WINDOW at about one in the morning, maybe an hour after I returned from Ricky Berry's party. Stan had dropped me off at home without so much as another word from either of us. After greeting my eldest brother, I crashed almost instantly, only bothering to change into a pair of Toby's sweats and a tshirt because I couldn't stand to be in that outfit knowing Stan had picked it out. Normally, I could read Stanley so well, but these past few days, all he had done was confused me. From the other day in the back of the Bowling Alley, to holding my hand in the car, to the kiss and the dance and now asking Sydney Novak to Homecoming. I just didn't understand. But I did, however, understand why he came knocking at my window during the ungodly hours of the night after seeing his face. "Oh, shit, Stanley." I gasped, closing my large bedroom window beside Stan and bringing him over to my bed. "I'm actually going to murder that shit head." I growled, tracing my fingers over the large bruise that ringed around Stanley's eye, with a deep and bleeding cut to match. I reached into the drawer of my bedside table where I kept my first aid kit; a habit for all the times Stanley had come over in the night after receiving a belting from his father. "He— he saw the car." Stan whimpered as I unzipped my medical supplies and pulled our a wipe to cleanse the cut with. "This might hurt." I said gently, and Stan grasped my hand tightly as I cleaned the wound, only wincing once or twice. "This can't have been from his fist." I observed, lifting Stanley's chin so that his eyes met mine. "No," he shook his head, aggressively wiping the tears that spilled from his eyes. "A beer bottle." "Oh, Stanley," I soothed, pulling his hands away from his face so I could apply a cold compress to the bruise. "Hold this here." He did as he was told, watching as I packed away my supplies before I sat back on my bed. "This isn't right, Stan," I said softly, and he nodded, tears still tracing patterns down his cheeks. "I know." He agreed, and we sat in silence as the ice pack began to thaw.

"Thank you," Stanley said slowly, his voice shaky as he watched me place the now melted ice pack back in the drawer and offer him a glass of water, which he took a sip from gratefully. "What for?" I asked him, foraging through my wardrobe to see if I could find another pair of Toby's sweats for him to sleep in, as he was still wearing his sodden blue suit. "For taking care of me," Stanley started. "For being my best friend, for not hating me." "I could never hate you, Stanley." I reassured him, handing him some grey sweats, which he refused to accept. "It's fine, Vi, I should head home now." "Not a chance." I demanded matter-o-factly, forcing the joggers into his arms. "You are not setting another foot in that house whilst he is here." Stan didn't say anything, instead, he just peeled off his dripping wet suit and pulled the sweats on instead, placing his wet clothes on the back of my desk chair. "Come here," Gently, I pulled back the covers of my bed, opening my arms up for Stanley who accepted slowly, resting his head on my chest as we lay together in the darkness. I heard him sniff, and wipe a few more tears from his face before he said, "I love you, Vi. I really do." "I love you too, Stanners." Running a hand through his hair, I could feel Stan physically relax as I wrapped my arms around him tight. I pulled up the covers so they were just underneath his chin, before placing a small kiss to the top of his head. "I really do."