Chapter Text
At five in the morning, Stanley’s alarm went off—and was silenced in less than three seconds. He’d been awake long before it rang, yet he preferred waiting for the sound before getting up. It was a habit he simply couldn’t break. His first class wasn’t until ten o’clock, and although he technically could’ve slept longer, he chose not to. He didn’t want to ruin his routine. Living according to a strict daily schedule might seem boring (and it is!), but to Stanley Uris, having a routine was a shield—a shield that kept his mind safe.
After turning off the alarm, Stanley sat on the bed for a moment, yawned, then got up gently and stepped out of his neat yet somewhat lifeless room to head for the bathroom. The apartment he shared with his roommate—who also happened to be his best friend—wasn’t big, but it was more than enough for the two of them. Eddie liked the size of the place anyway; the smaller it was, the easier it was to clean.
Stanley’s room was in a narrow hallway that ended at the only bathroom in the apartment. His room was on the left, Eddie’s was on the right—directly across from his. He reached the bathroom in just a few steps. There was no need to hurry; Stanley knew Eddie wouldn’t wake up until six, which gave him plenty of time. So he showered calmly, brushed his teeth, and got dressed. Most boys his age would probably throw on a T-shirt and jeans, but Stanley preferred dress pants and a button-up shirt.
He put on a light blue shirt, a pair of khaki trousers, and tidied up his messy curls before leaving the room. He walked through the small living room—which, like the rest of the apartment, was filled with warm shades of cream and pale green—and headed toward the little kitchen on the left. While the curly-haired boy was whisking eggs, he heard Eddie’s door open and close, and realized his friend was awake. Eddie headed straight for the bathroom as Stanley finished making breakfast, drank a sip of his coffee, and waited for him.
A few minutes later, Eddie came into the kitchen fully dressed and, with half-shut sleepy eyes, muttered, “Morning.”
Stanley nodded, took the last sip of his large mug of coffee, and replied, “Morning,” sliding Eddie’s cup toward him. Eddie grabbed the mug, sat down, and groaned, “I think I’m sick. My head hurts. I should stay home today.”
Stanley let out a tiny smirk before taking a bite of his omelet. “You’re not sick, Eddie. You just don’t want to go to class because it’s Tuesday.”
Eddie practically howled, “I hate Tuesdays!”
Stanley chuckled quietly. “I know.”
Eddie hated Tuesdays because one of his classes had a boy who constantly interrupted the lecture with stupid jokes. They had just started a new semester at university, and Eddie only shared that one class with him. He didn’t even know the boy’s name—Eddie was too focused on his coursework to bother. But those two hours every week were enough to make him despise Tuesdays. Stanley understood why Eddie disliked him, though he still thought Eddie was being a little dramatic.
Sipping his coffee, Eddie narrowed his eyes and grumbled, “Don’t laugh at me! You laugh because you don’t have to listen to that idiot’s jokes! I had to rewrite a whole paragraph—three times—because he kept interrupting the professor! He’s not even funny! His jokes are disgusting!”
Stanley gave a faint smile. “I think you’re exaggerating it.”
Eddie’s eyes widened as if Stanley had just committed some unforgivable sin. “Exaggerating it?! Take it back! That’s like saying an infected wound doesn’t matter!”
Stanley rolled his eyes but didn’t take it back. They’d been friends since they were teenagers. Because Eddie’s mother rarely let him out of the house, Eddie had never had many friends—and most people found him odd anyway. Just as people found Stanley odd. When they both got into university, they decided to rent a place together. At first, they’d worried the shared living space might ruin their friendship, but they quickly realized it wouldn’t. Eddie had cleaning OCD, and Stanley was obsessed with order… they worked perfectly together.
Once they finished breakfast—and after Eddie washed the dishes twice before approving his own work—they grabbed their bags and got ready to leave. Before heading out, Stanley checked his bag five times to make sure he had everything, and checked the front door three times to confirm it was locked. Only then did they finally leave the apartment.
It was just past seven, and Eddie’s first class was at eight. They climbed into Eddie’s cream-colored second-hand 2008 Mini Cooper, the one his mother had bought him when he turned seventeen, and drove toward campus. Eddie complained the entire way there, muttering about everything and everyone, while Stanley silently nodded along, occasionally humming his agreement.
After they arrived, Eddie went to class while Stan headed to the library. He still had a couple of hours before his own class, and he preferred to spend them studying. The library was almost empty and so quiet that the only sound breaking through the silence was the rustle of turning pages.
He hadn’t even finished reading two pages when a small bird landed on the windowsill, distracting him. Stanley stared at the bird with fascinated eyes, a tiny involuntary smile tugging at his lips. He loved birds. They gave him a sense of freedom—of forgetting. Watching them fly helped him momentarily escape the darkness that wrapped around his mind.
Stanley never got around to reading. He spent hours watching the birds that perched on the library window ledge. Around nine-thirty, he got up to head to class. His classroom was in a different building, so he left the library and checked his phone on his way out. There were several messages from Eddie. Knowing exactly what they were, Stanley smirked and stopped to read them:
Eddie: I’m gonna kill him.
Eddie: Who told him he’s funny?
Eddie: I’m breaking those glasses into his eyeballs.
Eddie: Why won’t he shut up?
Eddie: How hard is it to choke?
Eddie: Why won’t he just die?!?!
Eddie: If I don’t text you in ten minutes, I’m hiding his body.
Laughing softly, Stanley typed back:
Stan: If you need help hiding the body, just let me know.
He locked his phone, slipped it back into his pocket, and kept walking.
To reach his building, Stanley had to cross a quiet road lined with a large old tree. Birds often hid in its branches. Just like every morning, he stopped beneath it and stared up at them.
A cool breeze—still chilled from last night’s rain—shivered through the leaves. The sunrise filtered through the branches while cars passed in the distance, their tires hissing over wet asphalt. The brief flap of wings from startled birds blended into the noise. Messy as it was, the sound was calming. Stanley smiled softly.
A sharp screech of tires cut faintly through the air. It sounded far away, and it sounded fast. Stanley didn’t care. He kept watching the birds.
Suddenly, the sound was much closer—far closer than it should’ve been. The tires skidded on the slick road. A short, dull thud followed, like rubber hitting something small. Before Stanley could understand what was happening, a violent brake shattered the quiet morning—a sharp, unexpected scream of metal and rubber—
and the birds burst from the branches in a frantic storm of wings.