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Description
I hesitated to go down to the basement. I knew I should apologize for being difficult. He was just trying to help, but he shouldn't have gotten upset like that. My journey down there was not for the sake of rolling over and showing my belly to him. There was something off in the way he spoke. He clearly wanted to say something important, but he didn't. That was why I was going down there. I needed to know.

I leaned against the doorway that led to the steps. So much has happened. This basement had almost no use until recent months. It was strange to be thinking about it now. I took a breath. And descended the stairs.

I stopped at the second level, his private study first. He wasn't there. Odd. I half expected him to be meditating in there. As he's been doing it frequently as of late.

With no luck on the second level, I went to the third. The five seconds in the elevator felt more like five years or each nano second spanned out across eternity. Whatever science-y metaphor I could use. The point was it felt like a long time.

The elevator dinged to let me know I had arrived. Not that I needed a reminder, I was itching to get off of that thing. But when the thought of approaching Stanford entered my mind. I wanted to crawl back in. I was hoping he didn't notice. He did.

At his desk busy as ever sat Stanford Pines muttering to himself and scribbling in his journal. He sighed deeply.

"Fiddleford, please. I wish to be alone right now." He tossed the comment to the side. It was plain to see he was low on patience. I was partially to blame. I inhaled.

"It's me." Stanford tensed. I saw his shoulders hunch forward and his posture straighten.

"(Name)...listen I-"

"No, let me speak. Please, Stanford." He turned in his chair. I never called him Stanford. His face was exhausted and strained, but his eyes were alive and bright. Even with the soft blue glow of the partially complete machine behind him. He nodded to me. "I-I'm sorry. Not for the snake bite. But for whatever is troubling you. You're stressed, more than usual, and you're always worried. I know I'm the source. You can't hide it. I can tell it's because of me. And it keeps you up at night, you're always frustrated, a-and I'm sorry."

Stanford smiled at me. At my small announcement about everything I'd noticed.

"You are too perceptive for your own good." He laughed, then he became serious.

He stood from his chair and crossed the room. He rested both his hands on my shoulders and captured my gaze with his.

"You're right you are the source. But you only see the negatives. Do you not see the joy in me. Can you not see it? And you are the source of that as well. Please, don't be sorry." His cheeks were dusted in a light blush that was probably a deeper red in brighter lighting. I knew mine was as well. What was this? What was he saying?

"It's normally me who points out the positives." I giggled. I gripped his wrists as he gently kneaded my shoulders with his hands. Stanford had a small laugh as well. Then he became serious.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" His hopeful gaze and halted breath convinced me that he was indeed confessing to me.

"Yes. Yes I believe I do." I smiled and rested my forehead to his. I'd have to go back and find that snake again, to thank it.

Description
I hesitated to go down to the basement. I knew I should apologize for being difficult. He was just trying to help, but he shouldn't have gotten upset like that. My journey down there was not for the sake of rolling over and showing my belly to him. There was something off in the way he spoke. He clearly wanted to say something important, but he didn't. That was why I was going down there. I needed to know.

I leaned against the doorway that led to the steps. So much has happened. This basement had almost no use until recent months. It was strange to be thinking about it now. I took a breath. And descended the stairs.

I stopped at the second level, his private study first. He wasn't there. Odd. I half expected him to be meditating in there. As he's been doing it frequently as of late.

With no luck on the second level, I went to the third. The five seconds in the elevator felt more like five years or each nano second spanned out across eternity. Whatever science-y metaphor I could use. The point was it felt like a long time.

The elevator dinged to let me know I had arrived. Not that I needed a reminder, I was itching to get off of that thing. But when the thought of approaching Stanford entered my mind. I wanted to crawl back in. I was hoping he didn't notice. He did.

At his desk busy as ever sat Stanford Pines muttering to himself and scribbling in his journal. He sighed deeply.

"Fiddleford, please. I wish to be alone right now." He tossed the comment to the side. It was plain to see he was low on patience. I was partially to blame. I inhaled.

"It's me." Stanford tensed. I saw his shoulders hunch forward and his posture straighten.

"(Name)...listen I-"

"No, let me speak. Please, Stanford." He turned in his chair. I never called him Stanford. His face was exhausted and strained, but his eyes were alive and bright. Even with the soft blue glow of the partially complete machine behind him. He nodded to me. "I-I'm sorry. Not for the snake bite. But for whatever is troubling you. You're stressed, more than usual, and you're always worried. I know I'm the source. You can't hide it. I can tell it's because of me. And it keeps you up at night, you're always frustrated, a-and I'm sorry."

Stanford smiled at me. At my small announcement about everything I'd noticed.

"You are too perceptive for your own good." He laughed, then he became serious.

He stood from his chair and crossed the room. He rested both his hands on my shoulders and captured my gaze with his.

"You're right you are the source. But you only see the negatives. Do you not see the joy in me. Can you not see it? And you are the source of that as well. Please, don't be sorry." His cheeks were dusted in a light blush that was probably a deeper red in brighter lighting. I knew mine was as well. What was this? What was he saying?

"It's normally me who points out the positives." I giggled. I gripped his wrists as he gently kneaded my shoulders with his hands. Stanford had a small laugh as well. Then he became serious.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" His hopeful gaze and halted breath convinced me that he was indeed confessing to me.

"Yes. Yes I believe I do." I smiled and rested my forehead to his. I'd have to go back and find that snake again, to thank it.