Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The classroom was too damn bright.

Well, not in the way that hurt Kris’s eyes, but in the way that made everything feel so exposed. The sun filtered through the cracked blinds like it had a point to prove, casting long stripes across the desks and the floor, slicing the room into neat little segments. Kris sat in one of the back rows, but not far enough for the light not to reach them, annoyingly enough. At least it was unassuming.

They didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The other monsters mostly left them alone, though there were times where they were somehow in the spotlight, and they never knew why. Still, Kris didn’t really mind. It’s not like Kris made any new friends from it anyway. Tolerance was easier than connection, easier to nod, to shrug, to exist in the periphery.

Except for one person.

A soft thwip was heard on their table. Kris didn’t look up. They didn’t need to. The folded triangle of paper landed on the edge of their desk, daring them to open it. They stared at it for a moment, then flicked it off the desk with a practiced motion. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten. 

They knew who it was from. You. It’s always you. You were like a piece of gum stuck beneath their shoe, the very sticky kind, so it would stay stuck no matter how many times they try to scrape it off.

Two minutes later, another one came. You just won’t leave them alone, huh?

This one was yellow. Strikingly bright, like someone had dipped it in some radioactive juice to make it glow in the dark (surely they got that imagination from an old comic book). Kris didn’t know where you kept finding colored paper, but it was always obnoxiously bright. They unfolded it this time, against their better judgment. Inside, in your distinct handwriting.

“Is your refrigerator running?”

Kris blinked. Folded the note back up, and flicked it off their desk once more as if they didn’t see anything. You were relentless.

From the seat behind them, Susie snorted. Loudly. “Dude, are you seriously getting notes again?” she laughs, leaning over with a grin. “What is it this time?”

Kris didn’t respond. That only made Susie lean closer, large eyes squinting as she read the paper. “Huh. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone’s got a crush on you.” 

Kris gave her a flat look. Susie grinned wider. “What? I’m just saying. You get more love letters than anyone else in this dump.”

“They’re not love letters,” Kris muttered, glancing back down at the paper. 

“Right. They’re harassment notes. My bad.” She leaned back in her chair, still smirking. “Honestly, I think it’s hilarious. You’re like a magnet for weirdos.”

Kris sighed and slumped lower in their seat. The worst part was that Susie wasn’t wrong.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve been passing them notes in class, or… Anywhere in general. It all started one day, you’d pass them a note with a shitty pun about the current lesson. The next day you’d pass them more notes. Sometimes two, sometimes five.. At one point, they had nine sticky notes stuck together in different colors, written with the excuse that you were indecisive on what color to pick, and simply opted for all of them.

They ranged from absurd questions to doodles of… Something , to poorly drawn comics where Kris was always the unwilling protagonist. You never spoke to them. Never asked for a response. Just tossed your notes onto their table like confetti and went back to pretending you hadn’t done anything.

Kris didn’t hate you.

They didn’t particularly like you either.

They tolerated you the way one tolerates a fly—annoying, persistent, impossible to ignore… And maybe the urge to kill it (congrats, you’ve irritated them enough for them to want to strangle you). You had a way of worming into their awareness, of making the silence around them feel less like peace and more like anticipation. They found themselves waiting for the next note. Not eagerly. Just… waiting.

One day, the note was different.

It was a simple orange colored sticky note folded into a rectangle. A bit plain for what you usually give me , they thought. Kris stared at it for a long time before hesitantly opening it. Inside was a single doodle of a fridge running…? Like, with overgrown human legs and a clock beside it, like it had someplace to go. Under the doodle had one sentence, with the handwriting they’ve long dreaded to expect.

“Hey, if that’s your fridge running, you better go get it.”

Ah. So the way you folded it was a trap so they could open it. Kris only stared at the note incredulously. They were beginning to think you come to school while you’re high.

Susie leaned over again, peeking at the drawing. “Dude.” She wheezed. “You’re dating a lunatic.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Kris said, voice flat.

“Sure, sure. But if you ever do, I hope it’s someone who draws fridges with legs. That’s peak romance.”

Kris flicked the note off the desk. Susie caught it mid-air and tucked it into her pocket with a smug grin. “Souvenir,” she said. “I’m starting a scrapbook, even if that’s for losers.”

Kris groaned. You were bad enough. Now Susie was in on it.

Chapter Text

By the time the next day comes around, another day of school, Kris was already dreading the amount of paper about to be thrown at either them or their table. 

But instead of finding you, they saw that your seat was empty.

…

Good riddance.

Kris didn’t look for you. They didn’t miss you, not even a little. In fact, a day without a single note being thrown at them felt like a breath of fresh air! (Okay, maybe they did. Perhaps that was a stretch. As much as Kris dislikes you, they cared for you a microscopic amount). For the first time in a month, Kris could actually admit that they had a pretty good day.

After school, Susie dragged Kris into town under the pretense of “doing something not boring for once.” Which, in Susienese, meant wandering aimlessly until they found something vaguely interesting or edible(preferably chalk, for Susie). They both spot a grocery store with scratched out letters until the name ‘Sans’ was written over the door.

Having nothing better to do, the duo enters the store, being greeted by cool air conditioning and a cashier table at front. A short skeleton stood behind it, not really batting an eye (socket) at them. They both look around for a bit, only to speak to the skeleton in particular. After having a brief conversation, with Susie slowly starting to lose patience wondering if he was a janitor or a cashier, Kris wandered for a bit. Surely their reptilian friend could handle herself for five minutes.

Then, oh God. Was their lack of sleep finally catching up to them and giving them psychosis?

Kris spots you from behind an aisle of cereal, holding a clipboard and inspecting the products like it was the most interesting thing you’ve seen all year. They don’t say anything, they don’t even want to go near you. They awkwardly back up, but stop and internally wince when you call out their name.

“Oh, hey Kris.” You say, looking at them for a moment then back at your clipboard. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Kris stared. “You… Work here?”

“Just helping out,” You shrug, a small smile on your face. “My caretaker needed an extra hand, or in his case.. pfft… an extra phalange..”

Sans, from behind the counter, chimed in with a wink, shrugging. “two skulls are better than one.”

Kris only nodded, tilting their head to the side a bit. Sans must’ve rubbed off you, no wonder your jokes are stupid (said positively in their mind, probably). They spoke once again, still trying to process it. “You skipped school to work here?”

“Just for today. Did you miss my notes that much?” Your smile only becomes smug, even more when Kris almost looks offended by that.

At any rate, Kris is more concerned about Susie slowly losing her mind just by staying here. She’s more focused as Sans then holds up a bag of chips labeled ‘Chips’, passing it to her.  “they’re usually 5 dollars a pack, but since you’re a first-time customer, you can have it for free.” 

Begrudgingly, Susie opened the pack and took a bit out of one, her face scrunched up. “What the- Dude! This is just tofu!” 

If Sans’ smile could get any wider, it would’ve. “don’t like it? that’s okay. i can get you a full refund.”

Okay, maybe practical jokes are a little funny. You could notice how Kris was trying not to smile.

“Pff.. Anyway,” You hum, returning back to the cashier table and setting down the clipboard. “I’m thinking of helping out more often. Maybe a little after school this time.”

Sans shrugged. “thanks, kid. you’re a ton of help.”

“Sans.”

“a skele-ton . ”

You only shake your head in exasperation, a huff of laughter escaping your lips. This guy is hilarious! He could probably do stand up comedy and he wouldn’t have to try… Even if a few others (Susie) probably wouldn’t agree.

What you didn’t notice was Kris staring at you, almost in confusion. Not for a reason you might’ve possibly thought, but because they’ve never heard a laugh so… Endearing???

By the time Kris and Susie exited the store, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The door jingled behind them like it was mocking Susie’s sour mood.

“I swear,” Susie muttered, still chewing the flavorless tofu chip she refused to spit out out of sheer spite, “That skeleton is lucky I don’t eat bones.”

Kris didn’t respond. They were too busy trying to walk off the weird feeling in their chest — the one that had started the moment they heard your laugh. A part of them wanted to berate themselves for feeling giddy over a mere laugh. Susie glanced at them, noticing their slightly odd behavior. “You good? You’ve been quiet. More than usual, I mean.”

Kris shrugged, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “Just tired.”

Susie squinted. It wasn’t a lie per se , but there was definitely something else. “You’re not catching feelings for the note freak, are you?”

Kris nearly tripped. “What? No.”

“Uh-huh.” She popped another piece of tofu in her mouth and grimaced. “You’ve got that stupid look. The ‘I hate them but also maybe want to hold their hand’ kinda look.”

Kris didn’t dignify that with a response.

They parted ways at the corner, Susie heading off with a grumble about needing “real food that doesn’t taste like packing peanuts,” and Kris trudging home with the weight of the day pressing down on their shoulders.

When they finally stepped inside their house, the quiet was almost too loud. Toriel had greeted them like she always did, with a smile and sometimes a pat on the head. When they entered their bedroom, Kris dropped their bag by the door and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.

They hated you. They were sure of it. You were annoying, persistent, and had the comedic timing of a broken alarm.

But your laugh…

Kris rubbed the back of their neck, feeling like they’d just lost a battle they didn’t even know they were fighting. It was like the universe had played a dumb joke on them — the person they’d spent weeks trying to ignore had somehow slipped past every defense with a single, stupid laugh.

They walked to their bed in shame and flopped onto their bed with a groan, tiredly burying their face in a pillow.

They were starting to think they didn’t hate you as much as they wanted to.

Chapter Text

Kris woke up with the emotional equivalent of a brick on their chest.

While Kris never really had a problem with school, they had a problem with you, and you were definitely going to be there. 

They stared at the ceiling for a long time, contemplating the logistics of faking an illness. Maybe if they coughed dramatically enough, Toriel would let them stay home. It was nearly December, pretty cold outside. Maybe they should’ve stayed out without their sweater for a while. Then, they would have an excuse to stay at home for a day or two while they’re sick. That sounded peaceful. Not the ‘being sick’ part, but the ‘staying at home’ part.

But no. They got dressed, ate breakfast, and dragged themselves to school like a prisoner to their sentencing. Seriously, Toriel didn’t drive them this time.

When they entered the classroom, your seat was no longer empty.

You were already there, not writing anything (yet). Kris felt their stomach twist as they made a beeline to their seat. They sat down, eyes locked on their desk, determined not to look at you.

They were dead set on ignoring you, making it a mission to reduce what little feelings they’ve developed for you to be nothing at all. 

The first note landed on their desk before the bell even rang. Kris didn’t look at it. Didn’t touch it, not for a moment until they carelessly moved it aside.

Another one came during the first period. Then another. Then another . One was shaped like a paper crane. Another was folded into a star. Were you even writing anything inside these anymore? The following one was covered in glitter. Glitter.

Kris was basically a fortress. An unfeeling wall of indifference.

One of the sticky notes came in the shape of a reptile. Susie leaned over at the sight of that and whispered, “Hey Kris, can I have that? Kris?”

Kris didn’t respond. They were too busy mentally scrubbing their brain of any trace of affection. They were going to reduce their feelings to dust. To ash. They chastised themself in the back of their mind because, God , this was so stupid.

Then, finally…

Thwip.

A folded note smacked Kris directly on the back of the head.

They froze.

Susie snorted so loudly she nearly choked on her own saliva, letting out that roaring laughter they were used to hearing. “Dude! You just got sniped!”

Kris turned slowly, glaring at you with the intensity of someone who had just had their mother insulted. You, of course, were looking away with your chin resting on the palm of your hand, though the twitch at the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

Kris was doing their best to ignore you. Really, they were. But they couldn’t help it. They picked up the note, unfolded it with the grace of someone preparing to destroy it — and then paused.

Inside had your handwriting scribbled with one simple sentence.

“Are you testing my perseverance?”

Kris blinked. They stared at you, then at the note… Then at you again.

This was infuriating. Utterly ridiculous. So… Fuck, endearing!

They were so busy staring at you that they didn’t notice how you threw another note at them, this time right on the face. Susie, witnessing everything, was turning red from trying so hard not to laugh.

Annoyance bubbled up in their system at you, but even you didn’t think they’d just let themself get hit on the face. That was probably a mistake on their part, so they let it slide for now. Reluctantly picking up the note, their eyes moved as they silently read what you wrote on that.

“You look less tired when you’re annoyed.”

Kris almost felt their eye twitch at that. They turned away quickly, stuffing the note into their pocket like it was contraband.

What you wrote was… kind of sweet.

They felt their face heat up. Hopefully no one saw the way their lips twitched upward for half a second.

Chapter Text

Kris ducked into the library beside school, hoping to snag a quiet corner. They were alone this time, and they hoped to God no one would be there to interrupt their peace.

Instead, they spotted you tucked between two shelves, nose buried in a thick novel—no sticky notes in sight. 

Good. Finally, leave them be.

Kris, however, was sure you had something ready just in case you saw them. A part of them felt yet another wave of irritation at the thought of that, why are you everywhere?!

Well, no matter. They were going to avoid you anyway.

Kris eased into the seat on a table far away from you, yet in an angle where they could still see you, in case you decided to go somewhere so they could stay out of sight (totally not for any other reason). They didn’t realize how they just got the finest possible view of you until it was too late.

Their plan was simple: to read, ignore you, and exist undisturbed. But now, between their own book and the quiet shuffle of pages, their eyes kept darting back toward you. You hadn’t looked up once. Just reading and turning pages with that same absent-minded focus.

Oh. Kris hated how that made you seem so peaceful.

Their fingers tightened around the edge of their textbook. Why did you have to be sitting there of all places? Right next to the window, where the glow of the afternoon sun cascaded on your skin, they couldn’t look away. 

How can someone look so perfect?

You weren’t even doing anything remotely impressive. Just flipping pages, eyes focused, lips occasionally parting in silent amusement at something on the page. And yet, Kris found their eyes straying again and again, betraying every ounce of irritation they insisted they felt toward you. 

“What is wrong with me?” they grumbled inwardly, as if the universe had specifically conspired to place you here, and make you look like someone out of a stained-glass window — peaceful and frustratingly picturesque. 

It made them mad, which was ridiculous, because nothing about this moment was loud or bothersome. You hadn’t thrown a note, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even looked their way yet, and somehow you were still finding new ways to push under their skin. Kris hated how your presence tilted the quiet, hated how their gaze lingered on the slope of your shoulder, the way your hair framed your face, the dumb way your hand held your pen like you’d practiced it. And they hated — truly hated — that buried beneath all that annoyance was an ache, soft and persistent, whispering that maybe they’d never really hated you at all.

Just as Kris returned focus to their reading, a flicker of motion caught the edge of their vision. You had looked up. You met their gaze, and then, calmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, peeled a small pastel sticky note from the pad hidden in your pocket.

Kris stilled. God damn it.

You scribbled something down and didn’t throw it this time. Then, you stood, made your way to them, and slid the note across the table toward them. 

Kris stared at it like it was cursed.

They glanced up. You were watching them, not grinning or smug—just… observing. What were they, your test subject?!

They look at you flatly, lips forming a straight line. “You didn’t throw it this time.”

You shrug. “It would fall on the floor, and littering isn’t allowed in the library.” 

Kris blinked at you, before their eyes narrowed.

“You shouldn’t be littering anywhere in the first place,” they replied, voice low but sharp.

Still, their hand moved toward the note. They hesitated, but picked it up anyway.

It was a really bad drawing of a crab. Actually, they weren’t even sure if it was a crab.

They clenched their jaw, holding the piece of paper so tight that they were sure it would tear if they held it any tighter. When they looked up, you weren’t even there anymore.

They really, really, really wanted to strangle you.

Chapter Text

“You’ve really got it bad, huh?”

Kris snapped out of their trance once they heard Susie’s voice behind them—raspy, teasing, cutting through the silence like a blade. They didn’t need to ask what she meant. The shame crept up their spine before their brain could stitch the context together. Their gaze had been glued to you again—your profile lit softly by the classroom’s dull light, the tilt of your head as you scribbled something into the margin of your notebook, the way your lips curved in concentration. Once again, you weren’t doing anything noteworthy, not even looking their way. But it had become a cruel habit, this unconscious magnetism. Kris’s jaw tightened. They yanked their eyes back to their own desk, to the blank page before them, but it was too late. Susie had seen. And she was grinning like she’d just found the world’s juiciest secret.

“It’s not hard to tell.” she added, plopping down in the seat next to Kris like she owned it. Her voice was laced with that familiar brand of sarcasm—the kind that bordered on affection if you squinted hard enough. But Kris didn’t respond. They didn’t fidget or flinch. They just sat there, bones stiff, shame creeping under their skin like static. They wanted to deny it so bad. They wanted to bury it deep in irony, lace their words with acid, maybe even toss out an insult to shake her off the scent. But the truth had already wormed its way into the hollow parts of them, and even Kris, stubborn as they were, could feel it writhing there—uninvited. 

They weren’t sure how it had happened. Maybe it was the notes, ridiculous as they were. Maybe it was the way you smiled after tossing them. Or the way you didn’t smile, sometimes. The way you laughed when no one was looking. The way you made silence feel less like a burden and more like breathing.

“You stare a lot. Like, way more than normal,” Susie leaned in, eyes narrowed like she was dissecting Kris for research. “And you do that thing where your mouth moves just a little, like you’re about to say something and then don’t.” 

Kris grunted, turned their face further away. “I don’t like them,” they said at last, low and sharp, like they thought volume might lend their words some weight. But Susie just scoffed. “Right. And I’m not awesome. Come on, dude. You’re basically writing sonnets with your eyeballs. Just admit it already.”

Kris didn’t speak again. Not right away. Not until the shame had settled in their bones like concrete and their deflection had turned to dust. They exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering back to where you sat—still unbothered, still infuriatingly magnetic. Their voice, when it finally came, was bitter and bare. 

“They’re annoying. They’re loud. They never shut up and they have no sense of personal space.” A pause. “But… I guess I don’t hate it.” There it was! The confession was reluctant and they sounded utterly defeated. 

Susie raised both brows. “You guess?” 

Kris nodded, looking almost mournful. “I guess I… look forward to the notes.” Another pause. “I guess I look at them even when they’re not looking.” And another. “I guess they make things… less awful.”

Susie leaned back, satisfied like she’d just solved a mystery. “There we go. Now all you gotta do is tell them.” 

Kris groaned, burying their face in their hands. “Don’t make it worse.” 

Susie just patted their back with the gentleness of a brick. “It’s already bad, Kris. Might as well enjoy the view.” Kris peeked out from between their fingers, back toward you—this time with a sigh that tasted like reluctant hope.

Chapter Text

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You’re currently crouched near an aisle, restocking canned food. You click your tongue in annoyance as one of the cans somehow tips over and rolls under a vending machine. Yeah, there’s no way you can get it back without moving the machine.

Sans watched idly from behind the counter. “heh. don’t bother gettin’ it. hope it packed a lunch.”

“It is lunch,” you reply without looking at him, shoulders slumping tiredly. “It’s soup.”

“even better.”

You stare at the vending machine, as if your sheer frustration might will it into rolling the can back out. The machine only hums softly, stubborn and indifferent. You sigh deeply, then return to dropping the rest of the cans onto the shelf with a quiet thunk , resigning yourself to one missing soup casualty. Maybe one of the ants under the vending machine will find a way to open it— the great ant can opening of ‘83.

You shake your head at the thought. The year wasn’t even close to your current one… You decide to give a mental note to yourself to stop playing that game with the security cameras.

Sans, still lounging behind the counter like a sentient dad joke machine, shrugged with that same grin that never seemed to leave his face. “could say the soup’s got cold feet.”

“You know, you could help.” You say immediately after, running a hand through your hair exasperatedly.

“sorry. I’m on break.”

You don’t feel like gracing him with a response. You’re too tired, and now you’re vaguely wondering how your life spiraled into spending late afternoons playing pantry babysitter with a skeleton who’s supposed to be the one taking care of you. You push yourself to stand again, wiping your palms on your pants.

Then, you hear the door open.

You barely glance up. Another customer, probably. Maybe it’s that one old lady that asked if “Chips” are vegan again. You reach for the next box on the cart beside you—until your eyes catch a familiar shape in your peripheral. You only know one person that wears a green and yellow sweater, and with a posture almost comparable to a shrimp.

Kris! (yay)

They freeze when they see you. Like their brain has short-circuited just long enough to make standing in the doorway seem suspiciously dramatic. You blink. It’s not like they haven’t walked in here before—actually, you’re pretty sure they started coming there more often than they admit… But today something’s off. Their shoulders are tense, jaw set, hands clenched in their pockets like they’re trying not to combust. Are they constipated?

When they walk up to you, you straighten up instinctively. 

“Oh, hey,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. Kris doesn’t answer, and instead they nod vaguely. They’re still stiff, like they’re preparing to say something.

It isn’t any of your business to pry, but your curiosity makes you subtly inspect them. They’re pretending to inspect a shelf of pickles with intense concentration. Something’s clearly eating them. You feel them glancing in your direction, it’s really hard to ignore—but every time you look back, they shift focus like they were admiring the barcode on a jar.

Eventually, the silence stretches too long. Kris takes a shaky breath, turns to you with all the energy of someone preparing to detonate, and mutters—

“There’s… a festival. Tomorrow.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I was—Susie said—I mean I was thinking—” They look like their soul is trying to crawl out through their sweater. “If you wanted to go. With me.”

You blink again, slowly. For a moment, you wonder if they’re asking this as a joke, or if it’s a dare. Kris looks far too nervous for mischief, and you know they aren’t the type to do this even if they were dared to.

So, you set down the box in your hands as you try to collect yourself. For a moment, you wanted to ask for Sans’s input on this for moral support, but in the corner of your eye you just see him conveniently pretending to be asleep while standing up.

Your voice, when it finally comes, is softer than you expected. “You want me to go with you?”

Kris opens their mouth, hesitates, then nods. It’s almost imperceptible. You try not to smile. You try very, very hard. Ultimately, you fail.

“I mean,” you say at last, the corners of your lips curling upwards, “Sure. I’m not doing anything tomorrow anyway.”

Kris just stands there blinking like their brain has blue-screened. Somehow, the way you smiled at them sends a warmth straight through their chest like sunlight where they didn’t expect it. They nod again, dumbly, like that’s all they’re capable of. It’s cute seeing them all nervous when they’re usually confident.

You’re already moving back to your cart like nothing monumental just happened. Kris watches for a second longer before taking a stiff step backward, then another, trying to retreat with some semblance of dignity. It’s going poorly, but at least they’re careful not to trip.

You glance up at them but don’t say anything, just arch a brow in quiet amusement. Kris awkwardly turns toward the door, tugging their sweater sleeves down like it’ll hide how red their ears are.

When they leave, Sans finally ‘wakes up’, gaze shifting to yours. He seems happy for you. “looks like you got plans for tomorrow, huh?”

You nodded once. “Yeah. I do.”

“by the way… do me a solid, would ya?” Sans added, reaching out to balance a bag of pasta on your head. “papyrus’d lose his bones over this.”

Chapter Text

You spent the entire afternoon trying to pick out what to wear. The festival had been mentioned dozens of times in town, and while you didn’t feel all that worried the day before, now you just felt like your room was too small from how much anticipation was in your system. 

You stared at your closet for longer than any reasonable person should. Nothing felt like “festival” — not because you didn’t own things for it, but because you weren’t sure how you wanted to be seen tonight. It’s not everyday you get to have a date.

Wait, was this a date?

The thought came fast, uninvited. And once it arrived, it refused to leave. It perched behind your ear like a tiny bird with no sense of boundaries, repeating itself until the word “date” stopped sounding real and started sounding like something made up by the government to keep people busy.

Sure, Kris had asked, and sure, they looked like they might pass out halfway through the sentence… But neither of you really knew each other. You’d exchanged sticky notes and silent glances, a few moments here and there where something seemed to flicker between you. But a festival? Together?

You tried to play it cool. Told yourself it was just a hangout, a vague “sure” from one awkward kid to another. Yet, as you brushed invisible lint from your clothes, dusted yourself off, and checked the mirror one last time, a warmth started blooming in your chest and you couldn’t explain why.

“Well.. This is annoying.”

Eventually, you settled on something simple, nothing too tight or uncomfortable. You checked yourself in the mirror. You tilted your head as you fixed your hair. You looked like you, and for once, that felt enough.

Kris had been pacing their room in quiet agony for the past hour. They’d changed outfits twice, still stubbornly reminding themself that they weren’t trying to impress anyone. They just… wanted to be seen properly. Totally.

They settled on something unobtrusive and neutral. Kris wasn’t trying to stand out, only to be decent and presentable. In the mirror, they looked at themselves for a little too long, fingers absentmindedly tugging at a frayed thread. 

Kris stepped outside before they could talk themselves out of it, their mind a mess of worst-case scenarios and half-assed backup plans in case something went wrong. It wasn’t a long walk to your place, and by the time they reached there, their fingers hovered near the doorbell longer than necessary. Nothing ever felt so nerve wracking before.

Finally, they’d rung it.

At the same time, you opened it.

And silence — glorious, deafening silence — hung between you both.

Man, this is awkward!

Kris blinked. You blinked. Then, because something had to break the air eventually, you spoke up, “You’re on time.”

Kris gave the world’s smallest nod. “Thought I should be.”

You stepped out, closing the door behind you before you and Kris walk together. The sidewalk stretched ahead of you in long strips of streetlight and cooling pavement, the festival had already started and you could practically hear the fun echoing despite being a few blocks away. Kris kept pace beside you, hands stuffed deep into their pockets, shoulders tense. You didn’t know whether to speak first or let the silence do the talking.

For a few minutes, you just listened. To the scrape of your shoes and the hum of nearby music that carried faintly on the wind. You suppose that it would be nice to finally get to have a proper conversation with them.

“I guess everyone’s already there,” you finally say. “We’re fashionably delayed.”

Kris offered the ghost of a smile. “Could’ve been later.”

You chuckled. “You nervous?” 

Kris shrugged, but the gesture was too taut to be casual. “Just haven’t really done this before.”

“This?”

They hesitated. “...This.”

You nodded, more to yourself. It wasn’t exactly a confession, but it carried enough weight to feel like one. You both had that in common—this strange new tether, this outing that wasn’t quite a date but not like friendship either.

Then, in the way casual conversations sometimes spark something unexpected, Kris glanced sideways. “Is that an arcade token?”

You followed their gaze. On your bag’s zipper, you had a bronze token that someone had given to you for ‘great fortune’. “Uh, yeah,” you said. “Sans’s brother gifted me this after I introduced and told him how awesome arcades are. Guess it was a ‘token of gratitude’ or something, he’s pretty good at Dance Dance Revolution now.”

Kris blinked. “You like arcades?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“...True. Sometimes it’s fun to steal the prizes instead of winning them.”

You laughed out loud. “For real? Dude, you’re crazy!”

Kris’s ears flushed crimson. “No—I just mean—uh..”

“I’m kidding,” you smile. “But yeah, I get it. Arcades are fun, especially with people you’re close with.”

Kris nodded, their expression softening. “I used to play this rhythm game with Susie. She screamed at the machine when she lost.”

You grinned. “Ha. I screamed at the machine when I won.”

A slow, tentative smile crept across Kris’s face when they looked at you. It was not one born of obligation, but surprise. Like the air between you had shifted, and eased open.

They realized how strange it was that you both hadn’t talked like this before. How ridiculous it had been, all those sticky notes and shared glances, never crossing the line into real conversation. For the first time, Kris didn’t feel the need to look away.

Chapter Text

The festival unfurled—flashing lights swung overhead like stars, their glow smearing amber across the concrete and crowds that were either screaming or having fun. Music spilled in every corner from speakers only God knows where, laughter fizzed like soda, and distant booths blinked with prizes no one actually wanted. Kris moved through it like a shadow refusing to commit.

You, on the other hand, navigated the pandemonium. With your hands at your sides, your eyes scanning the disorder with a serenity that Kris found mildly offensive. Where you belonged, Kris lingered like an afterthought, hunched against the noise, though their eyes constantly darted to you.

“So,” You broke the silence with an easy gesture toward a game stall, the light caught your jawline at the same time, and Kris hated how they noticed it. “Wanna win me a goldfish?”

Kris squinted. “That’s a rubber duck in a bowl.”

You shrugged. “Even better.”

Kris sighed but followed you there anyway.

The game was rigged. Obviously. Kris tried once and missed the duck entirely. The vendor gave a dry chuckle and handed them a sad consolation prize: a plastic red crab sporting sunglasses that clearly knew humiliation.

“No way,” You took it like a knight claiming a relic and cradled it like divinity. 

The night deepened. Kris followed you through booths carved from childhood dreams and adult disillusionment. You both had to cough up whatever crumpled bills you had and split a bag of popcorn. At one point, Kris brushed a kernel from your cheek. 

Later came the skewers. The vendor handed them off with surgical dread. One looked edible, the other glowed like a failed chemistry lab result. 

Kris took the normal one. You, for some reason, pointed at the weirdest one possible. “That,” you said, “is glowing. I must eat it.”

They stared. “That's not a good reason.”

“It's a great reason.”

You bit into the Cosmic Deluxe and immediately regretted every decision that led you here. It tasted like regret marinated in battery acid. Kris took one cautious bite of theirs and nearly doubled over from the spice. Their face scrunched at the taste and you gently patted their back with minimal sympathy.

“What a passionate expression,” you said in amusement and casual jest. “You must love it.”

Kris gave you a baleful look in response.

Eventually, from the periphery of Kris’s vision, a familiar pair emerged—Susie and Noelle, side by side. Susie noticed them almost instantly, her gaze locking with Kris’s like a radar ping. Her grin widened, just a little.

Without hesitation, she began to stride forward while Noelle trailed just behind. Together, the two of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder in your path. A little too close. Noelle, for her part, looked like she might spontaneously combust from sheer proximity. Her posture was stiff, her hands fidgeting at her sides, and her cheeks were tinged with a flush that betrayed her nerves. She glanced sideways at Susie, then quickly back down, as though eye contact alone might unravel her.

What really caught your eye was Susie was wearing sunglasses.

You squinted at her. “Why do you look like a B-list celebrity?”

“B-list? Rude. I’m at least A-minus. These shades? They’re for blocking out all the loser energy in the vicinity.” Susie smirked, arms crossed. 

Noelle let out a nervous giggle, her voice a little too high-pitched to be casual. “Um… I think she looks cool…! I mean, not that she doesn’t always look cool, just—uh—maybe she’s just trying something new? Haha…”

Kris nodded. “You look good.”

Susie grinned. “Thanks. I know.”

“Anyway,” Susie adjusted her sunglasses like she was trying to channel a rockstar who’d just crash-landed into a local fair, “we’re… festivaling.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Festivaling?”

“Yeah,” she replied, with the confidence of someone inventing a verb on the spot. “It’s a thing.”

Your gaze flicked between her and Noelle, who stood beside her like a deer caught in emotional headlights. “Are you guys on a date?”

Susie froze mid-sentence, her mouth slightly agape. “Are we—”

“ No!! ” Noelle squeaked, her voice leaping an octave like she’d been ambushed by the question. Her hands flailed slightly, as if trying to physically swat the implication out of the air.

You blinked. Kris blinked. 

“Right,” Kris deadpanned. “It’s not a date.”

“Just two friends!” Noelle added, sweating bullets. “Hanging out! Sharing a crepe! That’s normal, right?”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “While also standing real close.”

Susie hissed. “It’s not a date.”

Kris leaned toward you, voice low and conspiratorial. “It’s a date.”

You nodded solemnly. “It’s totally a date. I’m happy for them.”

Susie cleared her throat with theatrical force, clearly eager to redirect the conversation. “We’re heading to the Ferris wheel.”

Noelle perked up, her smile returning like a nervous reflex. “Oh, yeah! The big one at the back, right behind you guys!”

You and Kris turned in perfect synchrony, glancing over your shoulders with casual curiosity.

The Ferris wheel towered above the festival like some neon deity, its lights pulsing in slow, deliberate rhythm. It loomed behind you with an almost smug presence, glowing with the kind of intensity that made you wonder how you’d missed it in the first place.

“I did not notice that,” Kris said blankly.

You nodded, aghast. “Me neither. What the hell.”

“Huh? B-but it’s massive,” Noelle said, genuinely baffled.

“It was in my peripheral blind spot,” you offered weakly.

“I was distracted,” Kris added.

Susie rolled her eyes, already turning away. “Enjoy whatever weird non-date thing you’re doing, weirdos. We’ve got a giant spinning wheel to conquer.”

You watched them walk off, Noelle trailing beside Susie like a flustered comet orbiting a very complacent planet. Kris exhaled beside you, and you both stood there for a moment.

“So,” you said, nudging Kris. “Ferris wheel?”

Kris glanced up at the towering wheel, then back at you. “Why?”

“Romantic implications,” you said instantly, voice flat.

Kris blinked. “...Are you serious?”

“Mostly.”

A pause. Then a sigh. “Okay, fine.” 

You both climbed into one of the rickety seats, the kind that looked like it had survived three decades and a minor apocalypse. The festival worker gave you a thumbs-up—far too enthusiastic for someone entrusted with your vertical safety—and the wheel groaned to life, ascending with the sound of unresolved trauma.

As you rose, the town below began to shrink. Lights scattered like fireflies across the dark, and the air grew quieter, thinner, more intimate. You leaned forward slightly, taking it all in.

Kris didn’t speak much, simply keeping their hands to themself the whole time. You turned to them.

“This is kinda nice,” you offered.

Kris nodded, eyes soft as they looked at you.

The Ferris wheel creaked ominously. The seat beneath you swayed gently at first—probably just the wind, you told yourself. Probably.

Then it jolted.

You turned so fast your neck protested with a sharp crack. Kris sat beside you, both hands planted firmly on the side of the pod, fingers curled around the metal like they were testing its structural integrity. Their expression was maddeningly calm, their lips curled up into a mischievous smile.

“Dude,” you gasped. “Kris. Kris! Whatthehellareyoudoing-!? ”

Kris didn’t answer, and they turned slowly to you as if they didn't do anything.

You stared at them, mouth open, utterly betrayed.

“Are you trying to kill us?” you hissed, gripping the edge of the seat like it owed you stability. “Is this revenge for making you win that rubber duck?!”

Kris tilted their head, eyes glinting with mischief. “You scared?”

You blinked at them. “Yes??  We’re in a glorified hamster wheel and you’re playing earthquake simulator!”

They pretended to give the pod one more shake, but stopped when they saw you looking at them with a glare that threatened your trust in humanity.

“I hate you,” you muttered, slapping their arm with the force of a mildly offended squirrel.

“Fair,” Kris replied, barely suppressing a laugh. Their shoulders trembled with the effort, and you could see the corners of their mouth twitching upward.

At the top of the wheel, silence settled. Below, the festival shimmered like a dream. Lanterns floated in the dark like lazy fireflies. Music drifted upward in fragments, muffled by distance and altitude.

You glanced at Kris. They weren’t smiling anymore, simply staring out at the horizon, brows slightly furrowed, like they were trying to memorize the shape of the night.

“You’re weird, y’know,” you said quietly, not unkindly.

Kris didn’t look at you. “And you won’t leave me alone.”

You tilted your head, unsure if it was a complaint or a confession, but Kris was unreadable in the worst way.

“Well,” you said carefully, voice dipping low. “If you want me to back off…”

You let the sentence dangle, it was half a genuine offer.

Kris blinked. Still no smile. A soft breath exhaled through their nose and a long glance toward you. Kris’s eyes met yours with a clarity that made your breath catch.

“No,” they said, simple and honest. “I just don’t know why I don’t want that.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing.

Chapter Text

After the festival, your relationship with Kris seemed to have deepened. Neither of you spoke about what they said at the ferris wheel, whatever passed between you at that moment stayed there.

Kris started showing up more often, lingering near your desk or sometimes walking beside you after school. It’s a little ironic, they’re the one who said that you wouldn’t leave them alone, now they’re the one doing that.

You even received a call from them. They never really called you, so you picked up as fast as you could in case they were dying or something. When you asked why they called you, they answered your question with one of their own, inquiring if your internet was any good with the excuse that they had to ‘do homework’.

That was a lie. Alphys didn’t assign any homework apart from that project she talked about, and they weren’t even your partner. Still, you replied with an honest answer that your Wi-Fi was definitely better than theirs, and ten minutes later they were at your door. You let them in without a word, gesturing them to the couch like it was a throne they earned.

Sometimes, you regret telling them that. It had become a pattern now, Kris would show up randomly with vague excuses (the router is possessed), sometimes with the actual reason that their internet is cut off, with a look alarmingly close to what anyone would call the ‘puppy eyes’.

It was nice having someone over, so you had no problems about them mooching off your internet.

When it was your turn to hang out at their place, you both ended up spending the rest of the day watching horror flicks. Some were laughably bad, packed with cheap jumpscares; others genuinely got under your skin, forcing you to cling to your personal shield—Kris.

Of course, they didn’t mind. If they were being honest, they kind of liked it. Sometimes they’d even wrap their arms around you, claiming it was “to keep you safe.” And they noticed something, too: whenever they held you like that, you didn’t flinch.

Then, Kris had developed the uncanny habit of showing up wherever you were. Sometimes with a reason, sometimes with none at all.

You’d be halfway through a snack, and they’d be perched on your couch. You’d be walking home from school, and they’d fall into step beside you like they’d been waiting all day. You’d glance up in class, and there they were — head tilted, eyes half-lidded, watching you like you were the only thing worth looking at.

What started out as subtle ended up being impossible to ignore. Kris was like a puppy.

Not the loud, tail-wagging kind that jumps into your lap without warning. Kris was the quiet kind that follows you from room to room, settles beside you without a word, and watches you like you hung the stars. They lingered, always waiting for you to acknowledge them.

You teased them about it sometimes and called them clingy and asked if they were secretly part golden retriever. Kris would roll their eyes in response, mutter something about “not being that obvious,” and then, without fail, trail you into the kitchen

The worst part was that you liked it . You liked the way they hovered near your desk, the way they leaned into your space without ever crossing a line. You liked the way they curled up on your bed, half-asleep, while you worked on something. How they followed you to the library. Sat beside you at lunch. Waited outside your class like a loyal retriever who didn’t know how to sit or stay but had mastered “follow.”

At some point, you confronted them about it. When you’d told them that they often act like a puppy, Kris tilted their head in silent confusion, as if they didn’t even know that themselves.

You even tested it once, randomly when you spotted Kris in your house watching something on your television. It wasn’t a surprise seeing them there even if they were uninvited, but sometimes they’d unintentionally jumpscare you (but you were starting to think it was intentional from how they stifled a laugh after).

“Sit,” you said. 

Kris looked your way for a moment, then sat down on the couch.

“Roll over.”

“What?” They blinked. “There’s no space.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you admit you were considering it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

Kris narrowed their eyes, clearly debating whether to argue or just pretend you didn’t exist. You could practically see the gears turning in their head, probably powered by spite.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. Your mind begins to wander, and you smile at the thought of Kris in a puppy onesie.

Chapter Text

The mere thought of school clawed at your spirit, dragging a groan from your throat as you buried your face into the pillow like some tragic Victorian orphan, cursed by fate and the shriek of an alarm that mimicked a fire drill. You struck the snooze button with the desperation of a condemned soul—yet it persisted, louder than ever, as though it sought to rouse the entire neighborhood from slumber. Suspicion flickered in your half-lidded gaze. Of course. Kris. That little saboteur. Retribution for the impromptu haircut you’d gifted them in their sleep, no doubt. Now you were left to endure the mechanical wail of vengeance while contemplating the absurdity of existence.

Still, you rose. Not out of enthusiasm, but necessity. School remained a pit of monotony and mild suffering, yet Kris’s presence rendered it marginally bearable. Besides, you had a bone to pick with them (though it’d be much funnier to say this if you were Sans).

You arrived half-awake, wholly irritated, scanning the corridor with the precision of a detective mid-case. You sought Kris—the culprit, the alarm conspirator. And there they were, seated early, suspiciously so, as if awaiting your arrival to savor your reaction. Their expression, as always, was unreadable. You wondered if they were silently reveling in your torment.

You narrowed your eyes, rehearsing your impending monologue on alarm ethics, when Susie stormed in behind them, chewing gum with the ferocity of someone exacting revenge on a debt.

She caught your expression instantly. “What’s with the face?” she asked, collapsing into the seat beside Kris.

You gestured toward the alleged saboteur. “They messed with my alarm.”

Susie snorted. “Sounds like you had it coming.”

You refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, you took your seat, eyes still trained on Kris from the periphery. They feigned interest in their textbook, but you knew better. You’d been a thorn in their side for weeks. You recognized the signs.

What you fail to notice is that Susie has already leaned toward Kris, her voice low and conspiratorial, like a secret passed between shadows.

“You owe me,” she murmurs. “I covered for you last week when you skipped class. So now you’re gonna do something for me.”

Kris doesn’t lift their gaze. “What.”

Susie’s grin sharpens. “You’re going to ask them out.”

Kris stills.

“I’m serious,” she continues. “You’ve been staring at them like a sad puppy for weeks. It’s pathetic. Just ask them on a date. Get it over with.”

Kris mutters something unintelligible, but Susie’s already elbowing them in the ribs.

“Do it.”

Kris glares. Susie’s grin widens.

And that’s how, two hours later, you find yourself standing before your closet, dazed and disbelieving, wondering how reality managed to spiral so quickly. One moment, you were absently sketching in the margins of your notebook, half-listening to the teacher drone on about cellular respiration. The next, you were seated across from Kris in a booth that smelled faintly of syrup and scorched coffee. Your hands rest awkwardly in your lap. Kris studies the menu as though it were written in a forgotten dialect.

You resist the urge to fidget, though the air between you is thick with something unnamed and unspoken. Your eyes drift to the salt shaker. It’s shaped like a duck. You wonder, absurdly, if that’s meant to be romantic.

Across from you, Kris finally speaks. “You’re… really here.”

It isn’t a question. It’s a quiet marvel, a breathless acknowledgment. Their voice carries the weight of disbelief, as if your presence might dissolve should they blink too long. You nod, uncertain of what to say, uncertain of how you arrived at this moment. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps they despise you. Perhaps—

Their eyes lift, meeting yours.There’s no trace of irritation or indifference. There’s only warmth and something incredibly tender. Their fingers twitch against the menu and you realize they’ve been stealing glances at you all along.

“I… uh,” Kris starts, then falters. Their ears are red. You’ve never seen Kris flustered before. It’s weird. It’s kind of cute.

“I like your shirt,” they murmur, eyes darting back to the menu as if it might rescue them. “It’s… very you.”

You blink. “Thanks?”

They nod too quickly, as though trying to convince themselves they hadn’t just said something mortifying. Then, after a beat, they add, “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You tilt your head. “To what?”

“The date,” Kris says.

You stare. Kris, who once flicked your notes off their desk like they were cursed relics. Kris, who looked at you like you were a migraine in motion. Kris, who now seems ready to melt into the booth if you so much as smile.

So you do.

Their eyes brighten instantly, lips twitching upward in a barely-there smile.

You reach for the fries, poking at them with your fork in a feigned display of nonchalance. Kris had insisted on ordering them, mumbling something about “sharing” before turning crimson and pretending the menu was a sacred text. Now they’re just watching you like you’re the most captivating thing in the diner.

You tear open a ketchup packet with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Splurt.

A glob of ketchup lands squarely on your cheek.

You freeze. Kris freezes. The duck-shaped salt shaker stares in silent judgment.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, reaching for a napkin, but Kris is faster. Without a word, they lean forward, pluck a fry from the basket, and— dab.

You blink. Kris dabs your cheek with the fry like an artist blotting a canvas. The ketchup smears slightly. They dab again. You’re too stunned to move.

Finally, Kris pulls back, inspecting their work with the solemnity of a surgeon who’s just performed a questionable procedure.

“There,” they say, deadpan. “Fixed.”

You touch your cheek. It’s warm. And now… greasy.

“Did you just wipe ketchup off my face with a fry?” you ask, voice flat.

Kris nods solemnly. “It was the closest tool.”

You stare. “My cheek is greasy now.”

Kris shrugs. “You’re seasoned.”

You groan, grabbing a napkin and scrubbing your face. “I hate you.”

Kris doesn’t respond. They simply pop the ketchup fry into their mouth with a small grin. 

You pause mid-wipe. “Did you just eat the fry you used to wipe my face?”

Kris nods again, chewing slowly. “Waste not.”

The walk home unfolds at a languid pace, not weighed down by discomfort, but rather steeped in a quietude that feels well-earned. Kris walks beside you, hands buried in their pockets, shoulders uncharacteristically unburdened. Conversation remains sparse, yet the silence between you is not hollow; it is companionable, like the hush that follows a shared revelation.

Upon reaching the threshold of Kris’s house, they hesitate, casting a glance in your direction as though searching for the right words and finding none. You beat them to it.

“May I come in?”

Kris blinks, startled by the simplicity of the request, then nods with a quiet, “Yeah. Sure.”

Toriel’s already asleep, the house is quiet and very homey. Kris leads you through the familiar corridors, and you follow, heart thudding with a rhythm that betrays your calm exterior.

Their room is exactly as you remembered—two beds, though Kris’s side was strikingly bare. Looking at their desk, it was empty, but you notice a few of the sticky notes you’d given them before. You feel glad that they kept them.

Kris settles on the edge of the mattress, then shifts subtly to one side, wordlessly offering space. You accept the invitation, lowering yourself beside them, legs dangling over the edge.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then Kris breaks it, voice low and almost contemplative. “You didn’t throw any notes today.”

You glance at them, surprised by the observation. “You noticed?”

Kris shrugs. “Kind of missed them.”

Your smile is soft, touched with amusement. “I figured you deserved a break.”

Kris turns toward you, their gaze gentler than you’ve ever seen it. “I don’t mind them. Even the glitter ones.”

A quiet laugh escapes you. “Even the fridge with legs?”

“God, no.”

The laughter between you fades into a silence that no longer feels empty. You lean back slightly, letting your shoulder brush theirs. Kris doesn’t move away.Eventually, you lie back fully, eyes tracing the ceiling’s faint patterns. Kris follows, folding their arms behind their head, gaze fixed upward.

“You know,” you murmur softly, “this was nice.”

Kris hums in agreement. “Yeah.”

You turn your head, watching them in profile. “We should do it again.”

Their eyes meet yours, steady and unguarded. “Definitely.”

“You said yes like you meant it.”

“I did.”

You shift, propping yourself on your elbows. “So that means you want another date.”

Kris nods, unfazed. “Yeah.”

You stare, teasing. “Which means it could lead to another date. And another. And then—”

Kris tilts their head, expression unreadable. “Marriage?”

You choke on a laugh. “I was going to say holding hands, but wow, okay.”

A faint smirk tugs at their lips. “You’re the one spiraling.”

You flop back onto the bed with theatrical exasperation. “I’m not spiraling. I’m just… surprised.”

Kris turns toward you, resting their cheek against the pillow. “Why?”

You glance at them, heart thudding louder than you’d like. “Because I thought you hated me.”

A pause. Then, softly: “I did.”

You blink.

“But then you kept showing up,” Kris continues. “You were annoying and loud but you made things less awful.”

You stare at them, stunned into silence.

“And now,” they add, “I think I like you.”

You blink, heart thudding. The room feels suddenly warmer, like the heater’s working overtime or maybe it’s just you overheating from sheer emotional whiplash. You turn your head slowly, meeting their gaze.

“I like you too.”

Kris doesn’t move.

“I mean,” you continue, voice softer now, “I’ve liked you for a while. I admit that I… uh, saw you as a friend at the festival… but the more we hung out… Made me feel like I wanted to be with you.”

Kris shifts closer, just a little. “So what now?”

“Based on all the movies I've watched?” You move closer too. “I think we should hold hands.”

They reach out, fingers brushing yours tentatively. You intertwine them without hesitation. Kris exhales like they’ve been holding their breath for weeks. “This is nice.”

You nod. Their hand is warm and soft, and holding it feels like an absolute dream. You lean your head against their shoulder, and they don’t seem to mind the proximity. 

“Yeah. It is.”

Chapter Text

“Um, earth to Kris,” you murmur, waving a hand gently before their face, your voice laced with playful concern. Their gaze is distant, eyes unfocused, as though their thoughts have wandered far beyond the sidewalk you both tread.

“You’re very… hm, preoccupied upstairs.” you continue, fingers interlaced with theirs. “Have you finally gone brain dead after staying up three nights in a row?”

Kris turns toward you, mildly affronted. “That happened a month ago.”

“But I just made that up.” You blink, caught off guard. “Did you really do that?”

They avert their gaze, a flicker of embarrassment crossing their features. “Don’t ask.”

You shrug, eyes drifting forward again. You feel like something’s wrong. They’ve been acting a little more affectionate lately, always hinting at something you can’t quite put your finger on. You glance at them briefly before speaking again.

“So,” You smile, “Should I stay over tonight?”

Kris nods eagerly, gazing at you intently. They give you a gentle squeeze on your hand, their own way of saying yes.

You nod slowly in response. They look so eager, and so incredibly cute. You wonder how you got so lucky to be loved like this, and have Kris of all people as your partner.

You eventually reach a nearby park. The sky hangs low with the promise of rain, but it doesn’t start yet, and neither of you seem to care. You wander in beside Kris, drawn less by the scenery and more by the need to be somewhere that won’t ask anything of you.

The swings move lazily in the breeze, their chains creaking like they remembered better days. You sit first, letting your feet drag through the gravel, slow and aimless. Kris settles beside you, fingers curled around the chains, gaze fixed on the ground as if it might offer clarity.

For a while, neither of you speak. You glance at Kris, catching the furrow in their brow, the way their lips press into a line that’s too careful to be neutral.

“You’ve been weird lately,” you say softly, not accusingly.

Kris doesn’t look up. “I know.”

You wait, let the silence stretch again. Then, gently, “You want to talk about it?”

They hesitate. Their fingers tighten around the swing’s chains, knuckles turning white. Then, slowly, they turned to you, eyes hidden from their bangs, but you could see the soft red glow that shines brighter than usual.

Kris frowns. “I like holding your hand. I like kissing your cheek. I like being near you. But it’s starting to feel like I want more than that.”

You let them continue.

“I don’t mean anything bad,” they add quickly, eyes flicking to yours. “I just… I want to be closer. I want to know what it feels like to kiss you properly. To touch you without second-guessing every move. I want to feel like I’m allowed to want that.”

The words hang in the air. You stare at them, at the way their voice cracked slightly, at the way they looked like they were bracing for rejection.

You reach out, fingers brushing theirs. “You are allowed,” you say, voice steady. “You’re allowed to want closeness. You’re allowed to want me, Kris.”

Their eyes soften, the tension in their shoulders ease just a little. You lean in, forehead resting gently against theirs, the swing creaking beneath you both.

“I want that too,” you whisper.

The wind stirs the leaves overhead, a streetlamp buzzes faintly in the distance. Kris’s fingers flex around the chains before releasing them entirely, shifting closer. They look at you so lovingly, lips parted slightly as if silently asking for permission.

You don’t speak. You lean in just enough for the space between you to warm. That’s all it takes. Kris closes the distance,  their lips meeting yours in a careful, searching kiss. It feels inexperienced; tentative at first, like they’re learning the shape of you. The swing shifts under your weight, chains clanking gently.

You feel the tension ease from their shoulders, the way their breath deepens against your skin, the faint tremor in their fingers as they brush your knee. When they finally pull back, it’s only slightly enough to meet your eyes, their own lights with something halfway between relief and ecstasy.

A faint smile tugs at your lips. “See? Not so scary.”

Kris huffs out a quiet laugh, eyes dropping for a moment before flicking back up. “Worth it,” they murmur.

And then, without the need for further negotiation, they lean in again. Kris’s lips meet yours with an honesty that speaks louder than words, as though they’ve been holding it in for far too long. The warmth spreads instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of their sleeve, theirs tightening at your waist like they’re afraid to let go.

When you broke apart, neither of you could do anything but stare. Kris’s mouth twitches like they were trying not to smile and failing spectacularly.

“Better,” you grin.

They laugh softly, cheeks still flushed. “Yeah. Better.”

The quiet between you stretches, not heavy, just full. Kris’s breath still lingers against your skin, their fingers resting lightly at your waist like they’re afraid to let go too soon. You stay close, forehead still brushing theirs, the swing beneath you both creaking faintly with each shift of weight.

Then, the first drop lands.

It’s subtle—barely a tap against your cheek. You blink, glance up. Another follows, then another, until the rhythm becomes steady. Rain begins to fall in soft, uneven patterns, dotting the gravel, darkening the fabric of your sleeves.

“God damn it,” you click your tongue in annoyance at the interruption of your cute, shared moment with them. 

Kris smiles at you, then grabs your hand, forcing you to stand with them. “Let’s book it.”

You nod eagerly, lips curling into a smile. To think that all of this started with a stupid sticky note...you don't think you'll ever regret throwing it to them that day.