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Oliver hadn’t seen Stan in a couple of days, and to be honest he was getting worried. His friend rarely strayed very far from his side, but after Hardy had moved into the apartment, Stan had kind of been skittish; not that it was unusual for the smaller man, but to not see him at least once these past few days was concerning.
Times had been tough after the tent had burned down and their car had collapsed during a fight they were having over a mistake over £100 and some amateur local players. They had got their hands on a rickety cart sans anything to pull it with, meaning you had to pull it yourself if you needed to move it anywhere, but there was a place to put your belongings, and a canvas to put over it during bad weather but it was hardly a decent place to call ‘home’.
The apartment had come with a sudden windfall from Oliver’s uncle, who had shuffled off his mortal coil a few weeks previously, leaving him with the smallest of the many properties in his will. Sure his other more successful family members had some of the grander properties, but he was grateful for the apartment. Money wasn’t easily come by at the moment and with no rent to pay he was all too happy to have a roof over his head.
He’d moved in a week ago, moving his few measly possessions from the cart that him and Stan shared and putting them around his new home in an attempt to feel like it was really his. However, Stan had seemed a little off afterwards and had declined to come in, citing he had to be somewhere else. Something about an odd job he’d found for himself, which was very odd considering they did their jobs together. But Ollie had let him go, and he hadn’t seen him since.
A storm was passing overhead, thunder rolling in the distance, and the rain coming down in sheets. He watched from the window as the streets flowed, waiting on the whistling of the kettle he’d set on the stove. He hoped Stan was alright, wherever he was.
The knock at the door was almost lost over the sounds of the beating rain of the roof, but as Oliver hesitated he heard it again.
Stanley was stood just inside the brick archway around the front door, his slightly battered grey suit blackened with rainwater and his arms wrapped tightly around himself, which only slightly held back the quaking running through his body.
“Stanley?” Oliver frowned.
“H-hey, Ollie,” Stan shook out, giving a watery smile, eyes shifting around his feet.
“What the heck are you doing outside in this weather? Come inside, come inside,” he ushered him into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
”Sorry for intruding, I just... the rain caught me out.”
“It’s alright, Stan,” Oliver said, resting a hand on his sodden arm. “Where have you been?”
“Around,” Stan said vaguely, looking a little uneasily around the apartment like a stray dog inside a mansion.
“Let me get you a towel. Do you have any other clothes?”
“They’re all in the cart,” Stan thumbed over his shoulder, then turned to open the door.
”No, no, I’ll get them. Lets warm you up first.”
He went to fetch one of the towels in the airing cupboard, left there from when the apartment had been rented out. When he came back Stan hadn’t moved, still stood by the front door looking a little lost with a small puddle of rain water collecting by his feet.
“Sorry, Ol, I’ve got your floor all wet,” Stan looked down apologetically at the puddle.
“It doesn’t matter, I’ve got some spare towels I can mop it up with. You’re more important right now.”
Ollie put the towel over Stan’s shoulders and wrapped it around him.
“Where have you been these last couple of days?” Oliver asked cautiously.
“Uh...camping out, like always.”
“But the tent burned down,” Oliver frowned. Stan winced.
”When I said camping...”
Stan had been sleeping in the cart. It was obvious now, with the bags under his eyes and the cold pallor of his skin. But why? Oliver had an apartment now, there was no need...
Oliver was on a mission now, guiding him up the stairs to the spare bedroom and sat him down on the bed. He wanted to get Stan to sleep as soon as possible before the poor man fell down.
“You’re frozen,” Ollie noted, as Stan pulled the towel tighter around himself.
“Your room’s nice,” Stan said, looking around like the plain room was the Vatican.
“This isn’t my room,” Oliver said.
“Then who’s...?”
“It’s yours.”
Stan almost stopped shivering he was so startled.
“M-mine?” He frowned, looking around like he assumed Oliver was talking to someone behind him. “B-but...”
“I wanted to move your things in after mine but you took off suddenly and didn’t come back. I’ve been worried about you.”
“But- but I thought...” Stan hesitated, as if unsure if what he was going to say next was stupid. “When you took all your stuff from the cart, and said you’d got an apartment, I thought that you...”
“What?”
“That you didn’t want me around anymore.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Well you have a house now and... you were so happy about it. I didn’t want to intrude...”
“Stan, this house is your house too you know. No casa et su casa,” he pushed his chest slightly for emphasis.
“I’m not really hungry right now, but-“
“My home is your home,” Ollie translated. “Just know you can stay here as long as you want to.”
“Thank you,” Stan yawned, but smiled.
”Try and get some sleep, Stan.”
”I’m not tired,” Stan yawned again.
Thunder rolled outside, reminding Ollie about the cart.
“I’ll go and bring in your stuff,” he said, standing up from the bed.
“Thank you, Ol.”
“It’s good to have you back, Stanley.”
About ten minutes later Ollie came back in, having carried Stan’s now sodden possessions out of the rain. His clothes were now airing on the dryer downstairs, but Ollie had found some of his clothes he’d shrunk in the wash during a laundry mishap a few days ago.
“Hey Stanl-“ he began as he walked in, but stopped himself mid-sentence.
Stan was fast asleep in the bed, looking more peaceful than he’d seen him in years. Oliver sighed, putting the clothes on the dressing table before sitting on the bed.
“What am I going to do with you?” Oliver sighed to himself, then gave up and, dressing into his pyjamas, clambered into bed next to him. He had his own bed, but Stan was still cold and would probably sleep better having a familiar presence by his side. He knew he’d slept worse these past few nights with Stan out in the cold.
Both of them slept better than they had in days, the storm now subsiding but with the comforting sounds of raindrops on the rooftops and contented snoring now filling the room.