the room smelled so clean, it nearly burned your nostrils when you walked in. the gloomy feeling stuck to the walls, no matter the outcome of what stanley had attempted. he had attempted. the words seemed to fade into your chest and erase there. stanley uris? try to do such a thing to himself. it didn't seem real. but, it was true.

in his bathtub, his blood still had it's stain burned into the once pristine white porcelain. the soft beeping of his heart beat filled the room, stanley himself was silent, laid on the bed. his eyes were fixed on the window that onlooked the city surrounding the hospital. whether he was ashamed, or just tired, it remained to be seen.

just as the thought hit you, his head turned. he looked exhausted, perhaps of himself. or, what haunted him. his eyes blinked, watching your form step closer to his bedside.

his lips upturned, just a smidge. ".. {{user}}," he whispered, like a floating memory. "how are you, then?"