Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s an old red car parked right in the middle of the ICE-E's P"e"zza parking lot. It’s covered in scratches and dents along the body, but it’s clearly a classic (aged, yeah, but still holding up surprisingly well). If you ignore the flaws, you can tell someone really loves this car. That said, it’s kind of hard to see inside, mostly because the whole interior is filled with smoke.

Inside the car, Kris is coughing their lungs out after taking a hit way too big for their unprepared lungs. Their eyes are dry and heavy, and for a second, they have no real sense of what’s going on around them.

“Shit, I told you to take it easy!” the girl next to them says half-laughing but mostly concerned, snatching the joint out of their hand. Kris eventually manages to stop coughing, leaning forward to grab a water bottle from under the seat.

The inside of the car is a sharp contrast to the outside. From the outside, it kind of looks like something a collector might own, kept alive out of nostalgia or love. But inside? It’s obvious the owner is just a completely irresponsible twenty-something. Which, honestly, is kind of charming.

There’s trash everywhere; empty wrappers, scattered ashes, stuff that probably should’ve been thrown out weeks ago; stickers cover the inside panels, CDs are stacked inside the glove compartment, pillows in the backseat for those nights when going home doesn’t really feel like an option. This car has seen things. Nights, stories. Some really messed up ones. And lately, Kris has been part of them.

“This one’s good,” December says, turning up the volume when the new song kicks in.

Most of their nights in this car look like this: getting high and cycling through whatever CDs they can find lying around. And honestly? It’s perfect. Kris had no idea how good it could be to just get stoned, listen to music, and not worry about anything else.

They close their eyes and sink a little deeper into the passenger seat, folding their arms behind their head. They take a deep breath and let the music hit them like a wave, as if the band itself is sitting in the backseat playing just for them.

For a moment, neither of them says anything. They just listen, wrapped in a haze of smoke and sound while the girl next to them finishes the joint that nearly killed them a few seconds ago.

“Hey, Kris.”

Her voice cuts through the music, soft but sudden. Kris had been so deep into the sound they’d honestly forgotten they had a body for a minute. They blinked slowly, turning their head to find her looking at them from the driver’s half-reclined seat, one arm tucked behind her head like she owns the world.

She’s wearing baggy jeans that look like they were made for someone twice her size and a plain white tank top. Her red flannel’s probably somewhere in the backseat, lost under all the chaos. Her hair’s longer in a way that she just stopped caring enough to keep it short. She looks beautiful.

“Kris, seriously. You alive in there?” she asks again, this time with a teasing smile.

They nod slowly, being too high to really speak but still tuned in enough to register her voice. It’s not that they don't want to talk to her. Dear Angel, no. It’s just that words feel far away right now, as if trying to fish them out of a dream. But she gets it. She always does.

“It’s getting late,” she glances out the windshield. “Just let me know when you wanna head back. I’m not getting chewed out by your mom again. Not twice in one week.”

Kris lets out a breathy laugh, remembering the look on Toriel’s face last time they stumbled in at four in the morning and Dess just waved from the driveway like it was no big deal. “She’s busy with her new boyfriend,” they mumble, tone turning sour. “Probably hasn’t even noticed I’m gone.”

“Ugh. I forgot about that.” Dess makes a face. “I think I’d lose my mind if I came home and found some random dude dancing in my kitchen with my mom.” She laughs, but there’s a note of genuine sympathy there too.

“You have no idea,” Kris mutters, staring out the window. Everything outside is completely dark, there’s nothing but the flickering neon from ICE-E’s. It’s comforting to imagine the whole town’s asleep and they’re the only ones left awake. “Some nights, I don’t even wanna go back,” they add, quieter now.

Dess turns her body toward them fully, as if they are the only thing worth paying attention to. “Lucky for you,” she says with a smirk, “I brought two pillows tonight.”

Kris snorts, glancing back at her. There’s something in her expression that makes all the heaviness inside them lift for a moment. “Thanks,” they say softly. “But I gotta pass. I have church tomorrow.”

She groans dramatically, flopping her head back. “Ugh. You and that damn organ.”

“Yup,” they add proudly. “Me and the organ against the world.”

“You know you can play my piano anytime, right?” she mutters, her voice so low it sounds like it slipped out.

Kris stares at the ceiling, watching the yellow smoke stains stretch across it like clouds. “Yeah, I know,” they say after a second. “But the organ’s got... personality.”

“Gothic,” she teases.

“Yeah,” they grind, not even trying to argue.

They fall into silence again. And honestly, this is Kris’s favorite part of their whole thing; how December just gets it. She doesn’t push them to talk, doesn’t try to fill the space with words when they’re not in the mood, especially not when they're this high. With that kind of silence, the good kind, they almost forget about their mom and her unfunny boyfriend. The car may be thick with smoke, but when they breathe in deep, it feels like the cleanest air they ever tasted. 

Eventually, the CD comes to an end and loops back to the first track again. December reaches forward and hits the button to eject it, sliding the disc back into its little plastic case. She pops open the glove compartment in front of them and starts rummaging through the messy pile of CDs, looking for something that catches her eye.

A few of them slip and fall, clattering down to the floor. The cervid girl groans under her breath, clearly annoyed.

“Got it.” Kris doesn’t even think before leaning forward and starting to help her collect the ones that fell. Some slid right under their seat, and they knew she would’ve asked them to grab it anyway. So, being the sweetheart they are, they roll up their sleeve and start digging.

There’s so much junk down there. Honestly, they’ve been in this exact situation before and the car always wins. They’re still pretty sure the pair of earbuds they lost two months ago is still buried somewhere in this car’s ecosystem. Between crumpled wrappers and things that maybe used to be food, they managed to fish out a few CDs. It takes some effort, and probably more than a few questionable touches, but eventually—

“Found it,” they mutter to themself, snatching the last one out from under the seat.

By now, Dess has already popped a different CD into the player, probably zoning out to the music like she always does, not even paying attention to them anymore.

Except… when they look at the last CD in their hand, their chest tightens. It’s not just some random album. It’s a blank white disc with red marker scrawled across it:
"These remind me of you."

The handwriting… Kris knows it immediately. It’s Asriel’s. Their breath catches in their throat. They look up at December, instinctively, hoping that maybe she didn’t saw it. But of course.

“Oh.”

She exhales when she sees the disc. Her eyes, which had been half-lidded and hazy just a second ago, suddenly snap open as she realizes what Kris is holding. But to their surprise, she doesn’t look sad. Or angry. Just… shocked.

“I forgot this was even in here,” she says softly, almost like she’s talking to herself. “Shit.”

“Uh...” Kris glances between her and the CD, unsure of what they’re supposed to do now. Even though Asriel’s their brother, they and December don’t really talk about him. Not much. For a few seconds, the silence stretches out between them.

“He made this for me when we first started dating,” she says suddenly, reaching out and taking the CD from their hands with a kind of delicate care that doesn’t match the way she usually handles anything. “Four, maybe five years ago? I don’t remember.”

Kris draws in a slow breath. For some reason, it doesn’t sit right with them how gently she talks about Asriel. In their head, she should be angry about how things ended. She should hate him, or at least roll her eyes when his name comes up. But whenever she talks about him, something in her just… softens. And that hurts, even if Kris doesn’t totally understand why.

“It’s probably been, like, two years since I listened to this,” she goes on, turning the CD over in her hands like it’s some kind of ancient artifact. “Angel, if I remember right, I stuffed this into a drawer just to avoid hearing it. I hated his weird religious ska shit.”

Kris says nothing. What could they say? They can see the way her shoulders dropped and her voice lightened. Everything about her changes the second Asriel floats into the room, as if just the thought of him is more calming than the weed they’ve been passing between them all night.

December lets out another quiet sigh, a smile lingering on her lips ever since the disc touched her fingers. She’s looking at it with so much warmth that Kris can’t help but wonder what the hell they’re even doing here. They feel like some ghost sitting in the passenger seat, witnessing something that doesn’t belong to them.

“...I should’ve listened to his songs more,” she murmurs. “Some of them were actually okay.”

“I always liked yours better,” Kris answered without thinking. The words slipped out before their brain caught up.

December laughs fully, the sound breaking through whatever fog had been weighing down the air. She finally lowers the CD and looks at them again, like she’s just remembered she wasn’t alone in the car. “Obviously. My music taste is amazing. Thank Angel I was around to raise you right.”

Hearing her laugh, Kris feels a smile tug at their lips almost involuntarily. It’s impossible not to respond to the warmth that always rises in their chest when they're near her, noticing every little expression, every twitch of her ears or flick of her fingers that seems to grab their full attention without permission.

“Anyway. Just toss that somewhere,” December says, sounding way too casual for someone holding a CD labeled These remind me of you. “I’ll figure out what to do with it some other time.”
She shrugs, already moving on. “So, what do you wanna listen to?”

Kris blinks, surprised at how okay she seems. It’s kind of a relief, actually, that Asriel doesn’t seem to mess with her the way they feared. At least, not anymore. Maybe she wasn’t that affected. Maybe that softness they saw was just in their head.

“Black Sabbath,” they answered without really thinking.

“Solid choice.” She reaches for the glove compartment again (this time more carefully) flipping through the CDs until she finds Master of Reality. One of her favorites. Which, by default, makes it one of theirs too. “I think this was the first album I ever heard from them.”

“Me too,” Kris murmurs, voice distant. Their body’s still in the car, but their mind’s off somewhere else, trailing thoughts they know better than to say out loud.

And that’s the thing. They rather die than make things weird with December. The idea of upsetting her, of dropping something heavy into the space between them, makes their stomach twist. They’d sooner snap their own neck than see her go quiet because of them.

“Yeah?” She asks, pulling them gently back to earth.

“Yeah.” They finally looks at her again, her voice anchoring them. “I was, like, eleven. I was hanging out in Elly’s room and I heard it playing from yours. I remember shushing her just so I could listen better.”

Dess smiles with the kind of smile you give when you see a dog walk into a screen door. Pure joy and slight disbelief. Before they can even think to escape, she reaches out and squishes their cheek like they’re five years old. “Awwww, that’s adorable! My little stalker.”

“Hey!” They protested weakly. Not really fighting it. Not wanting to, honestly. “I wasn’t stalking you. You know Tori didn’t let me listen to actual music when I was a kid.”

“Feheheh, true,” She giggles, leaning back in her seat. “She and your brother have awful taste.”

As soon as she lets their poor cheek go, Kris yawns. Shit. They reaches into their pocket for their phone and checks the time. 2 a.m. Their mom is going to kill them. “Fuck,” they mutters.

“What?” Dess asks, relaxing back into the driver’s seat again like nothing in the world could possibly be urgent.

“I think it’s time to head out,” Kris says, barely above a whisper. Their voice is so laced with disappointment that it almost sounds like they might cry. They’re not going to, obviously, but the sadness is there.

“Aww, really?” Dess sighs, sitting up a little straighter. “Alright. Fair enough. You gotta rest up for your big show,” she teases gently, even though her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She reaches for the windows and lowers them manually until the outside air slips in. The moment it does, Kris shivers.

The cold hits their skin instantly, a sharp contrast to the warm, hazy world they’d built inside the car. The smoke begins to unravel, dissolving into the night, vanishing out the window as a ghost that had overstayed its welcome. Dess turns the key in the ignition and the engine hums to life. The car glides into motion with practiced ease, taking the next left onto the empty street toward Kris’s house.

The drive to their house is quiet, the only sounds being the low hum of the engine and Ozzy Osbourne’s voice on the radio, singing lyrics into the night. Kris glances at themself in the car’s rearview mirror, checking out the damage. Yeah, there’s absolutely no hiding how high they are. But that’s fine. If all goes according to plan, they’ll find their mom passed out on the couch with an empty wine bottle nearby, like usual.

When they finally pull up in front of their place, the car rolls to a gentle stop without a sound. December lowers the volume on the stereo, letting the music fade into a soft hum. She doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there, hands still on the steering wheel, as if maybe she’s not ready for the night to end either.

Kris reaches for the door handle, but pauses. Something tugs at them, something quiet and nervous and unspoken. They turn to her. “You could come tomorrow,” they say, not really looking at her. “To the church. I mean... It’s not exactly fun or anything. But I wouldn’t mind if you were there.”

They don't expect her to actually say yes. They barely even expect her to respond. They’re already bracing themself for the soft letdown, the same one they always give themself before it can hurt.

But after a beat, she smiles. It’s a small smile, tired but warm. “Maybe someday,” she says gently. “Goodnight, Krismas.”

Kris nods, looking back at her and holding her gaze for just a moment longer, like if they look away too soon, they’ll miss something important. “Night, Dess,” they murmur, and then quietly close the door.

The cold greets them again as they step out onto the sidewalk. Behind them, the old red car idles for a moment, headlights casting long shadows across the driveway. And then, just as softly as it arrived, it pulls away; taillights disappearing down the street, swallowed by the dark.

Kris stands there for a second longer than they need to, hands in their pockets, watching the empty road. The smoke’s gone. The night is quiet. But the warmth she left behind still lingers in their chest.

And they carry it with them as they walk inside.

Chapter Text

There’s just something about the fruit juice at church that Kris has always found oddly irresistible. There’s nothing special about it on paper (it's just red juice in a plastic cup) but somehow it tastes better than any other drink on Earth. Maybe Father Alvin has some secret recipe he only uses to lure people into church like a trap.

A very, very delicious trap.

As they drink the last few drops, a bit of it dribbles down their chin. Kris wipes it away with their sleeve which at one point was probably white. Now it’s speckled with years of colorful stains, like abstract art grown through ritual. They’ve been wearing the same purple robe since they were about fourteen. Not because they’re sentimental about it, but because they never really grew that much to need a new one.

Church, whether they liked it or not, has always been... Comforting. Not because of the religion itself, really, but because of the routine. The stillness. The way they get to sit alone at their beloved organ every Sunday, playing for a crowd of familiar faces. If they close their eyes and focus hard enough, they can almost imagine the choir monsters aren’t just singing near them;  they’re singing with them.

They’ve been coming to this church since they were adopted, and it’s so woven into their life that the idea of not showing up would almost feel... Wrong.

As they scan the room, they see the choir already gathering. Everyone’s dressed neatly in clean purple robes (cleaner than theirs, for sure). Right in the middle stands Noelle, all polished and proper; hair perfectly combed, eyes focused, little deer ears perked for another Sunday of sacred duty.

Noelle’s been their friend for longer than they can even remember, but lately they haven't really talked to her much. Mostly because... Well, they’ve been spending more time with December than anyone else. Which doesn’t mean they doesn’t miss Noelle, obviously, it’s just that-

Kris feels their face get warm and their chest tightens with that same dumb feeling they keep trying to suffocate.

No. Nope. Don’t do this here.

Their train of thought is shattered when the plastic cup in their hand gives out with a loud crack, crushed in their grip as if it was somehow responsible for the war going on in their head. As soon as the choir finishes arranging themselves up front, Noelle gives them a small wave, trying to catch their attention.

Kris waves back without thinking, a soft smile tugging at their lips as they watch her. She is so neat and polished, looking like she’s ten years old again playing dress-up for Sunday school.

The quiet is broken by Toriel’s voice gently calling everyone’s attention. That was the signal. The monsters started filing into the pews, meaning it was time for Kris to turn to their organ and have another one-on-one with their most reliable partner.

“Dear Kris,” the organ would say, if it had a voice. “I do hope impure thoughts are not currently gnawing at your young soul.” It would probably use big, formal words, like some stern old man in a velvet coat. A judgmental but kind one.

Kris turns inward toward the console, settling into the worn bench that’s molded itself perfectly to the shape of their ass over the years, since they’re the only one who ever actually plays this thing. “Never, sir,” they’d reply, respectfully, as one must speak to ancient instruments who know your secrets.

Their fingers glide over the keys, soft and easy. Muscle memory kicks in like clockwork, ready to summon the same melodies they’ve been playing since forever.

“I certainly hope you’re not lying, dear,” the organ might say next, narrowing its imaginary eyes. “It would be a tragedy if you were beginning to covet something that was never meant to be yours.”

Plank.

Kris brings a closed fist down onto the keys, not hard enough to hurt the poor thing. Just enough to make a point. They’re not angry at their subconscious speaking through a cranky old instrument, it’s more like… frustration. The kind you can’t quite name but feel anyway, like pressure in your chest when the room’s too quiet.

“Welcome to today’s service,” Father Alvin’s tired voice echoes through the small church, like someone flipping open a very old book for the thousandth time. And just like that, service begins.

Kris finally lets themself breathe a little, letting their hands take over. At this point, they played these hymns so many times they could probably do it in their sleep. They don't even need to think, just let their fingers move the way they always have, the music living in their bones by now.

The choir sings. The organ hums beneath their fingertips. And for a moment, Kris’s mind falls quiet again, just trying (really trying) to sink into the soft rhythm of a Sunday morning.

As the hymn ends, the service goes on like always.

Kris sighs, hands sliding down onto the bench. This is usually the part where they let themself space out and reflect on whatever comes to mind. But lately? Thinking is the last thing they want to do. So, terrified of being alone with their own head, Kris glances back over the congregation, trying to anchor themself in reality.

There aren’t many monsters here today. And the ones who did come? The usuals. The same ones who show up every week, part of a routine Kris knows like the back of their hand. The colored glass windows cast soft glows over the floor, giving the whole place that same dreamy look it always has. You can see every little speck of dust floating freely in the air, all while everyone’s eyes are on Father Alvin, who’s deep into reciting verses from that ancient prophecy everyone’s long since memorized and tuned out.

Kris’s gaze drifts lazily through the room, scanning faces, robes, light… until it lands on the choir to their left. There’s Noelle completely in her own world, probably daydreaming about that game she’s obsessed with. Looking at her makes their chest twist a little. They don't even know if it’s nostalgia or indifference anymore.

“You ought to rekindle your camaraderie with the young miss,” the organ murmurs in their mind, sounding as an old professor dusting off a memory.

“Maybe,” Kris replies silently. “But… What would we even do? Things have been weird since Asriel left.”

“Then perhaps you might consider revisiting an activity of simpler times,” the organ suggests, tone warm but laced with a quiet insistence. “Something unburdened by the need for incessant dialogue. Familiar, comfortable… a balm for strained connections.”

A hangout where they wouldn’t have to actually interact much. That new movie came out recently, right? The violent sequel Noelle always pretends not to like even though Kris has caught her watching it alone more than once. They looked at her again. Yeah. They’re already decided. No need to overthink it. The second the sermon ends, they’ll walk over and ask if she wants to catch a movie with them. Could even be at her place, shit, that’d be better. Her house is way comfier anyway. Everything they need is right there. That massive TV in the living room, snacks for days, and if they’re lucky, maybe December will—

Fuck! Stop thinking about her, Dear Angel.

But the damage was already done. The moment she slips into their mind, there’s nothing that can force her out again. If it were just thoughts, they could deal with it; maybe even ignore it. But fuck, why does their chest have to feel so warm just from thinking about her?

That warmth… It bothers them more than they wanted to admit. It’s a very specific kind of feeling, one they probably couldn’t name if you asked them to. But if they had to put it into words, they’d say something like this:

Have you ever visited an abandoned house? One that clearly had a life before you got there; a story, people, moments lived in rooms now filled with dust. You might like the house, even fall for it. You start to notice every detail, the little cracks in the walls that somehow only add to its charm. But the thing is it was never yours. It was built by someone else. Someone who lived in it for years. And you don’t even have a key. That left with whoever used to live there, and it’s not coming back.

And yet, no matter what, there’s always been something about Dess that pulled them in. Not just the way she looks or the way she talks, but the way she makes them feel . When it’s just the two of them, when the music fades into the background and the familiar haze of weed settles around them like a blanket, the world quiets down. Everything feels softer and safer.

December is a house they always wanted to live in, but one they never been allowed to even visit.

As the sermon finally comes to an end, the faithful crowd begins to rise from the pews and make their way out. Some go to greet Father Alvin, others head straight for that sacred post-service juice. Gotta do something, right? Wait, was they supposed to do something? Talk to someone? ...Meh, forget it. Probably not important.

Kris gets up from the organ bench and gives the wood a little tap, an unspoken apology for the smack they gave it earlier. Sometimes they wonder if, after all the conversations they had with this thing, if the organ ever did gain consciousness... Would it try to help them? Or worse, what if it tried to spill their secrets? Kris narrows their eyes and glares at it in warning.

You’re lucky there’s a lot of light in here, the organ might be thinking, if it could. But that’s one of those thoughts Kris will never hear back.

They glanced around, watching the choir shuffle off toward the changing room. Right. They should go too. If they stay in this sweaty robe for another second, they're gonna have to scrub themself raw in the shower tonight.

As they walked toward the room, they hear the muffled chatter of the choir members echoing from inside. They pick out a few voices like their mom’s, Mr. Cattenheimer’s, Noelle’s—

Oh shit. Noelle. Right, they wanted to ask her to go watch that movie.

They step into the room and watch as everyone begins to slip out of their choir robes, changing back into their regular clothes. Over in the corner is Noelle, unfastening hers. Underneath, she’s wearing a crisp white button-up and a black skirt; neat as always.

Kris clenches their fists at their sides and freezes in place near the doorway, just... Staring at her like some awkward creep. Usually they’re not this tense around Noelle, but then again, it’s been a while since they’ve really talked. Not like they used to. But that’s kind of the whole point, right? They’re here to fix that. It’s never too late to try and change things.

The moment Noelle catches them looking, she offers them a polite little smile. Kris exhales sharply through their nose. That’s their cue.  They start walking toward her slowly, their steps hesitant, posture stiff like they’re bracing for impact. Their fingers tighten unconsciously around the edge of their purple robe, a nervous tic they had since they were a kid. They don't even dare to look up. Eye contact would make rejection feel way too real.

As they get closer, their eyes land on her shiny, dark hooves, polished to perfection. Different from Dess’s. Dess’s are a little more scratched up and messier, a little more her.

“Noelle,” they said finally, forcing the word out before their brain could trap them in another spiral.

“Hey, Kris.” Her voice is as soft as ever, easy and warm. She notices how tense they are, but doesn’t comment on it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” They nod too quickly, but their body doesn’t loosen at all.

The silence that follows stretches out just a bit too long. Damn it. It’s so much harder to talk to anyone who isn’t December. It’s like trying to speak in a language you forgot how to use, especially when you know the person in front of you won’t understand you the way she does.

“Noelle-”

“Kris-”

They speak at the same time, both stumbling over each other’s names. Noelle lets out a small nervous laugh. Kris finally lifts their gaze through the curtain of hair in front of their eyes, just in time to catch her watching them like she’s trying to figure out what’s going on behind their face.

“There’s, uh…” they start, then clears their throat, their voice barely above a whisper. “They released the third movie in that... Saga you like.”

“Oh, Blood Crushers 3?” she laughs again, more at ease. “I saw the trailer. It looks so bad.”

“Yeah…” They let go of the robe and ran a hand through their hair, feeling how the sweat has already made some strands stick to their forehead. “You... Wanna watch it together?”

There’s a pause. Not a huge one, but enough to make their heart sink a little.

“Oh.” She blinks, surprised. More surprised than they expected. Her eyes flick to the side like she’s searching for the right words.. Here it comes , they think. The soft, polite letdown. Thanks but maybe another time. I'm busy. I'm tired. I'm not really up for it. But instead—

“You know what? Sure.” She smiles at them. “When?”

Kris gasps like they didn’t prepare for this outcome. They exhale, and this time the breath actually helps. Their smile creeps up, soft and relieved. “Maybe... tonight? If you're free?”

“Tonight... hmm.” She thinks for a second, then shakes her head gently. “Can’t tonight. But... How about tomorrow? Around 7 p.m.?”

“Yeah- yeah, 7’s perfect.” They say it too fast, but can’t bring themself to care. They’re smiling now, really smiling.

“Great! See you in class tomorrow, Kris.” Noelle says it gently, giving their shoulder a light pet before turning to go. They nod, watching her walk away.

By now, the room’s already empty, leaving them standing there alone. Without wasting a second, they grab the robe and yanks it over their head like it’s on fire. They walk over to the locker and shoves the thing inside without even folding it (it's just a tangled mess of sweaty fabric, after all) way less graceful than how Noelle had folded hers neatly.

Okay. They’re doing this. Tomorrow. Seven p.m. 

They’re going to her house and spending time with Noelle. Their childhood friend. No one else.

They’re going to ignore anyone else who might be there. They’re going to focus, alright? It’s a promise. No distractions. Especially not Dess.

Chapter Text

The Holiday’s house had always been cold. Even with a blanket thrown over them, Kris still feels their body shiver every now and then from the ridiculously low temperature.

The movie playing is just like all the other ones in the franchise; full of violence, blood everywhere, people losing limbs for no reason. The only real changes are the different actors and the new creative ways they get brutally murdered. Still, while to them the movie feels repetitive, the reindeer sitting next to them is completely hypnotized by the massive TV. Kris has always found it funny how Noelle can be this neat sweet girl but have such dark tastes. She hugs a heart-shaped pillow, wide eyes locked on the carnage on-screen, not missing a second of it.

Kris looks around, trying to find anything they could use to start a conversation, but all they can notice is how dark and cold it is, as always. The whole place feels dead, suffocated by an overkill of Christmas decorations that, ironically, only make everything seem even more depressing.

In the end, the hangout hadn’t been all that great. They’d exchanged a few words at school that morning, but it was the kind of forced conversation where both try to act casual, pretending that natural connection was still there. They’d shown up at the agreed time and, as always, was warmly welcomed by Noelle.

They’d talked a bit more on the couch, but, honestly? It was kind of awkward. She basically carried the whole conversation while Kris just nodded every now and then, throwing in vague words whenever she ran out of things to say. They just couldn’t focus on her for even a second; their mind kept drifting upstairs and to the girl who might be there.

Now that Noelle is completely absorbed in the movie, Kris finally has a moment alone with their own thoughts to talk themself through the uncomfortable situation they’ve gotten themself into.

...

Anyways. Why hasn’t she come downstairs yet?

They’d texted December earlier to let her know they’d be stopping by, and all she replied with was a simple “have fun.” Okay, maybe they shouldn’t have gotten their hopes up… But come on, they thought she’d at least come down to say hi. They’re friends now, right? It’s not like the old days when they’d come over to see Noelle and Asriel would stay upstairs with Dess, both of them pretending their younger siblings didn’t exist.

Kris has been in Dess’s room before, but not many times. She always throws out some excuse about the walls being thin or her mom giving her shit if she brought them up there, and they never pushed it. Honestly, they love hanging out with her in the car… But sometimes they wonder if that’s really the reason she doesn’t want them up there.

BOOM.

Someone gets shot in the movie, snapping Kris’s attention back to the TV just in time to see the protagonist sprawled on the floor writhing in pain. Dear Angel. They glance over at Noelle, watching her expression shift from shock to pure delight. That scene is probably important to the plot, but there’s no way for them to know since they haven't been paying attention since the first twenty minutes.

They know there’s a real chance she’ll never invite them to hang out again after this. They’ve barely said a word to each other since they got there, and even less during the movie. But the thing is… They tried. Kris really wanted to have a good time with her, to try and reconnect, but… The words just wouldn’t come out. They have no idea how to talk to her anymore, how to seem interesting or even remotely engaged.

And that’s when it hits them. Whatever connection they had seems gone, and maybe (just maybe) that’s actually their fault. The truth is, Kris doesn’t even feel like talking. At least, not with her. Not with anyone . They sigh and grab their phone from the armrest, checking the screen for what has to be the fortieth time in the last half hour. They know they should be interacting with Noelle, enjoying the moment and making her laugh, but all they can think about is how fucking cold this house is and how dry and lifeless everything feels.

But that doesn’t really matter right now. At some point she’s going to come down and say hi, right? And even if she doesn’t… Another night she’ll probably text them out of nowhere and invite them to some random hangout they’ll immediately agree to. For now, they just need to relax and keep their head straight, focus on the friend sitting next to them and not on the stairs or the emptiness sitting in their chest. They made a promise to themself yesterday. They have to keep it.

Fifteen minutes pass, twenty, Angel this movie feels like it’s never going to end. Now the protagonist has lost a hand and is dragging himself across the floor swearing revenge to protect his friends. Kris rolls their eyes. What a cliché plot . Slowly their thoughts start to come apart, their head leaning comfortably against the couch back. Their eyelids start to feel far too heavy to keep open, and the cold around them starts to fade into the background. Within minutes, they’re out, already slipping into that space between consciousness and sleep.

Until they hear that sound. That sound they know way too well. The faint tap of a hoof against the wooden steps of the staircase. 

Their head snaps around so fast they swear their neck could’ve broken; their eyes heavy just seconds ago, are now wide open. Another step echoes from above, each beat as familiar as it is unmistakably hers .

And in just a moment she finally shows up for the first time that night. Her appearance is as casual as always, her hair a total mess and her clothes so oversized it’s a wonder she hasn’t disappeared completely inside them yet. Her brown eyes are glued to her phone screen while earphones are plugged in, one of the wires caught on one of the many piercings in her ear. She’s so fucking cool.

But there isn’t much time to admire her. She walks right past them without even looking up, heading straight to the kitchen like they aren't even there. Not that it stops their body from acting on its own, already pushing them to their feet before they even notice ready to follow her like a dog who’s just seen its owner come home (tail wagging, head empty) . “Gonna grab something to eat,” they say to Noelle without looking at her, already halfway to the next room.

In the kitchen, the place is just as dark as the rest of the house, except for the fridge wide open with December standing in front of it, bathed in the warm glow spilling out from inside. She doesn’t even notice they’re there at first, probably too focused on finding something while music plays in her ears, and it’s still enough to freeze them in the doorway like an idiot. Their mouth is already curling into a stupid smile, cheeks heating up again, and it’s so ridiculous but for the first time that night the cold doesn’t seem to reach them.

She grabs a fresh apple from the fridge and shuts the door with her hip, biting into it without hesitation. When she finally looks up from her phone and her eyes meet theirs, for a second Kris feels like they’re being truly seen for the first time in their life. There’s no background music, no perfect lighting, just her chewing an apple.

“Sup?” she says, her mouth still half full making her voice a little muffled. With one hand she pulls her earphones out and lets them drop around her neck, still holding her phone loosely like she might drop it any second.

“Hey Dess,” they reply, their voice sounding lighter than before. Compared to ten minutes ago, it’s like someone flipped a switch in their head and suddenly everything got more interesting. “What’re you up to?”

“Just came to grab something to munch on,” she leaned against the counter beside the fridge and set her phone down face-down. Kris can’t help but feel like when she’s with them she tunes the rest of the world out. That has to mean something, right? “And the movie, how’s it going?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and taking another lazy bite of the apple.

“Ah, yeah… the movie…” they sound like they’d completely forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. “Blood, death. The usual.”

“Wow. Sounds amazing,” she comments with a little smirk, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah… Noelle likes it. Not really my thing,” they shrug, keeping eye contact with her.

“Figured. When you told me you were gonna watch that with her, I laughed a little to myself,” she says in that light teasing tone only someone who knows you well can pull off. “You’ve always been more into introspective stuff, y’know? Emotional plots, long pauses, sad people exchanging glances in the rain… that kind of thing.”

Kris feels their face heat up again in a different way this time. She remembers the kind of movies they liked. She noticed . That alone is enough to warm them through with affection. They take a few steps closer, pulled by some invisible force. “Yeah… definitely not my favorite,” they say, now close enough to catch the scent of the apple she’s chewing.

Dess leans back a little, resting her elbows on the counter behind her, her expression easy and open. She narrows her eyes just slightly like she’s trying to read their face. “So you’re suffering through fake blood and bad acting just for Elly, huh?”

They shrugs again, smiling without even realizing it. “Trying to be a good friend.”

“Hmm.” She lets out a small sound of agreement, tilting her head. “That’s sweet of you.”

They can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or sincere. Knowing her, probably both. Or even neither. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. She raises the apple again but instead of taking another bite, she holds it out to them as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to share something straight from her own hand. “Want a bite?”

They hesitated for a moment, the offer feeling a little too intimate to accept. But they don't let themself think too hard about it before leaning in and taking a bite, careful not to let their lips brush her fingers, feeling her eyes on them the entire time. When they lean back, she brings the apple to her own mouth and bites into the opposite side from where they bit, for a moment the only sounds in the kitchen are the low hum of the fridge and the faint crunch of their teeth in the fruit. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to them.

“How much longer do you think’s left in the movie?” she finally asks, forcing them to breathe again.

“Shit, hopefully not long,” they laughed, trying to ignore the strange warmth running down their body. “I think I aged five years during the second act.”

“Poor thing,” she teases with a smile.

Now that they’re closer, they start noticing the small details, like how the nails on her right hand are painted black while the left is completely bare. “Gave up halfway through?” they tease back, nodding toward the unpainted hand.

“Oh, that,” she laughs, lifting her hand and spreading her fingers to look at it. “I forgot how terrible my coordination is with my right hand, so I just quit.”

“Heh,” they let out, falling silent for a moment. “… want some to finish it?” they offered timidly, the suggestion coming out softer than they expected.

Dess tilts her head slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. A few strands of hair fall to one side as she leans in as she is trying to figure out whether they’re serious. After a few seconds of hesitation she shrugs. “Sure,” she says with a faint smile, “but what about the movie?”

They roll their eyes, having already forgotten all about that couch and the promise they made to themself to focus on anything that wasn’t her. “I don’t think I can take another thirty minutes of flying guts.”

“Well,” she takes the last bite of her apple and tosses the core into the trash with the kind of perfect accuracy only someone who’s played more than five sports could have, “in that case, I guess I’ll just have to steal you from Elly for a while.”

They let out a short laugh, the words steal you from Elly hitting harder than they probably should. She crosses the kitchen without looking back, knowing that they will follow her; and they do almost immediately, like a dog on a leash.

They move quietly through the house. When they step onto the first stair to follow the reindeer already a few steps ahead, Kris hears a soft voice call from the living room. Shit . They totally forgot about her.

They glance over their shoulder and find Noelle watching them with the movie paused, her expression puzzled. “... I’ll be right back. Just gonna help Dess with something,” they improvised without thinking. Before she can answer, they’re already jogging up the stairs to catch up.

Kris can hardly believe it; maybe this is their reward for waiting so patiently for so long. They’re going to be in her room. Not in the car, not in the parking lot, her room. Even if it’s just for the excuse of painting her nails, it’s still rare for her to let them spend time there and even rarer for it to happen this easily.

December leads the way down the hall, passing Noelle’s door before stopping at the only one in the house that looks different, a small rebellion in wood and paint that fits perfectly with her black-sheep-of-the-family aesthetic. Kris catches up quickly, glancing between her and the door, their stomach twisting with that restless little chill at the thought that they’re finally about to step back into her space once again. She opens the door without ceremony and immediately a wave of warmth spills out, hitting them like a shock after being used to the icy air that clings stubbornly to the rest of the house.

The instant they step inside, goosebumps run down their skin; not from the sharp change in temperature but from the feeling of simply being there. Their eyes roam over everything, hungry to take in every inch, trying to commit it all to memory as if someone might drag them out at any second and lock the door forever.

The room looks nothing like the rest of the house, of course. There’s a heater shoved under the bed keeping the air at that perfect temperature (warm enough to lounge around in a sleeveless shirt but not so hot that it makes you sweat). After spending so much time downstairs in the freezing living room, stepping into the warmth of her room feels like entering a completely separate world. The door clicks shut behind them, Dess already stepping from behind them and crossing through the clothes scattered on the floor before sitting on the carpet, back resting against the bed.

In the ground there is clothes everywhere along with crumpled papers and stray wrappers tossed around without any real pattern. The air holds that faint trace of weed, but not enough to overwhelm, just enough to notice. The bed looks like it hasn’t been made in years, blankets twisted and piled without care, yet with that lived-in softness that makes it dangerously inviting.

Among the mess, instruments and sports equipment are dumped in the corners or propped against the walls as if they’re worth nothing. That’s the thing about December; she can be good at anything with barely any effort. She learns, she masters it, she squeezes every drop of novelty out of it and the second she’s bored, she abandons it.

“What?” she asks. “See something that caught your eye?”

“Since when do you play the violin?” they say, noticing it tossed in the corner half-hidden between a basketball and a tennis racket.

“Oh, that? I’ve been taking violin lessons for about four weeks,” she shrugs. “But I don’t know, doesn’t really feel like my vibe.”

“Obviously not,” they agree. “Weren’t you saying you wanted to learn bass?” They slip off the slippers they brought from home, now feeling the carpet under their feet and finally getting feeling back in their toes thanks to the heat of the room.

“Yeah, but my mom said she’d only sign me up for bass lessons if I learned violin first,” she complains, as if having a rich mom who forces you to learn violin is the worst thing in the world. “Like, OKAY, but once these lessons are over I’m never touching that shit again.”

“Eh, violin’s pretty cool,” they move across the room to sit beside her, crossing their legs. “Goes really well with piano.”

She lets out a small laugh, picking the nail polish up off the floor and shaking the bottle. “Hey, maybe we could do a duet sometime.”

A duet ? With December ? Holy shit. They’re pretty sure they’d completely lose control and embarrass themself. Sure, they’ve been playing piano for years and it’s the one thing they’re proud to say they can actually do, but with her? That’s… intimidating . “Yeah, maybe,” they try to sound casual.

She hands them the polish and holds out her left hand. Kris takes the little glass, unscrewing the cap and setting it carefully down on the carpet, one hand steadying the brush while the other takes hers gently. Their touch is careful and hesitant, bringing the brush close to her nails with slow precision. For a while, neither of them says anything; the silence settles naturally as they focus all their attention on the simple act of painting, feeling the soft texture of her fur under their fingers as they keep her hand steady.

While their eyes stay fixed on her nails, hers stay fixed on them. Dess watches the way they hold her and how every motion is deliberate and gentle. She studies the slight furrow of their brow, the ridiculous amount of care they’re putting into something as dumb as a coat of black nail polish; and it’s… kind of charming, in its own way. Above them, the warm glow of plastic stars stuck to the ceiling spills a faint greenish hue over the room, making the space between them feel smaller, more private. A soft laugh slips from them, breaking the silence.

“What?” she asks, glancing up from their work.

“Sorry,” they murmur, still looking down. “It’s just… kinda funny that you’re left-handed.”

“Why would that be funny?” Her tone is light but there’s a trace of defensiveness under it.

“You know… you’re good at every sport that’s usually easier for right-handed people,” they say almost to themself. “And instruments, too.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s funny. Honestly, it’s a pain having to order stuff that’s actually made for lefties,” she mutters, watching them move on to her index finger.

“That just makes you cooler, if you ask me.” They glance up with their crimson eyes for a moment, catching her gaze before returning to their work. “I mean, even with everything built for right-handed people, you’re still better than most of them.”

“Oh, shut up,” she says playfully, rolling her eyes like she’s heard it a hundred times before. “That’s just the same old motivational crap ‘you’re special in your own way.’”

They chuckle. “Fair enough.” Kris finishes the last nail and leans back a little. “There. All done.”

She stretches out her hand, turning it side to side to inspect their work, a small satisfied smile tugs at her mouth before she looks back at them. “Your turn.”

"Mine?" Kris, who was already screwing the cap back onto the bottle, looks up with mild curiosity. "Alright then."

"But first-" December gets up from the floor and walks over to the shelf where an old CD player rests surrounded by precariously leaning stacks of discs. She waves her freshly painted left hand in the air to dry it, crouching in front of the collection and flipping through the covers until she finds what she’s looking for.

Kris uses the moment to glance around her room again, that strange fizzy euphoria filling their chest just from the simple fact of being here with her even if it’s just to sit on the floor by her bed for a while.

It’s always like this when they’re together; the words come easy without having to force them. Dess has this way of pulling out a kind of quiet peace from them, the kind that makes it feel like they don't need to try or pretend because whatever comes out of their mouth, they know she’ll actually listen. It wasn’t always like that, of course. At first, they could barely breathe around her without tripping over their own nerves, but somewhere after so many late nights and half-finished conversations, being near her became… Natural.

This time, her choice is Ten by Pearl Jam. Kris recognizes it within the first five seconds of the opening track. December turns and walks back toward them, moving to the rhythm as the song builds until the guitar bursts in and she drops back down beside them, reaching out her hand for the nail polish. The volume is exactly the way it always is during the rare times they’ve been allowed in here; loud enough to fill the room but low enough that no one outside can hear.

Humming softly and nodding along to the beat, she takes their hand without saying anything. Words aren’t needed. She’s completely immersed in the music and they’re not stupid enough to ruin the moment by talking.

When her fingers wrap around their wrist and guide their hand onto her knee, Kris’s whole body hums from the contact, a shiver slipping out before they can stop it. Their hand rests against her leg while she begins painting their nails to match hers, but unlike them, she doesn’t need to focus. She’s always had a natural ease with her hands.

Kris likes this album too, though not as much as she does. Still, after hearing her play parts of it on her guitar during some practice sessions she’d ask them to judge, they practically memorized just the guitar lines. As the music surrounds them, they quietly follow along to the melody, tracing the guitar line under their breath while Dess takes the vocals without even realizing she’s singing.

She finishes one of their hands before reaching for the other, pulling it gently back onto her knee and starting again with the same precise strokes. Kris glances at the hand already done, observing how the polish looks smooth and even, letting out a satisfied smile at how good it looks. Their eyes shift back to the one she’s holding, studying every motion and the way she treats the whole thing like it’s no big deal.

For Kris, it’s a huge win. Who would’ve thought that tonight they’d be in her room, actually in contact with her? It might not sound like much, but if someone had told the them from a year ago that they’d be sitting here like this, they probably would’ve laughed in their face. Having December take care of them in this deliberate way sends electric currents through their whole body, relaxing and making them tense all at once.

She doesn’t take long to finish (unfortunately). “There,” she says, clicking her tongue and pushing a few strands of black hair back behind her ears where they’d fallen across her eyes. “Now we match.”

They look at their freshly painted nails then at hers. It’s such a small thing but it feels far more personal than it should, like they’ve made a quiet little pact no one else gets to be part of.

“Anyway…” she says with that tone of someone thinking about how to word something. “Oh! I remembered! I found that deck of cards we lost in my car.” She smiles, standing up again and walking over to the cardboard box that holds most of the clutter in the corner of her room.

“Aw, shit…” They murmur, sounding like a grumble. “I was hoping the car had swallowed it for good.”

“Don’t be a baby,” she shoots back, crouching in front of the box and starting to dig through it. “You only hate it because you lose every time.”

“It’s not that I lose,” they grumble back in the tone of a sulking kid. “I don’t know how you do it, but I’m pretty sure you cheat.”

“Me??” she throws a look over her shoulder, pretending to be offended. “Weren’t you the one who photocopied a bunch of aces years ago?”

Heat creeps up their cheeks. “I was eleven! Can we forget about that already??”

She chuckles under her breath. “Alright, here’s the deal,” she says, standing with the deck finally in hand and already shuffling the cards. “The day you beat me, I’ll stop bringing it up.”

“… Ugh,” they sigh, getting comfortable on the carpet. “Fine. Fair.”

“That’s the spirit. Show me what you’ve got, tough kid.” Her voice drips with sarcasm as she sits cross-legged in front of them, already placing the deck between them and starting the game.

And so the rest of the night goes with Kris and December playing cards for who knows how long, talking and laughing every now and then at some stupid joke one of them tosses out. But even while they’re having fun, there’s this persistent little sting at the back of their mind telling them that they’re forgetting something else they were supposed to be doing, something they can’t quite remember. And honestly? It doesn’t matter. The cold outside can wait a little longer; right now all they want is to soak in this separate world she always manages to pull them into whenever they’re together.

Downstairs, when the movie finally ends, Noelle is still there. She’s waited far too long for Kris to come back, but it takes a while for it to really sink in that they aren't going to. Part of her had already suspected this would happen; lately, Kris just doesn’t seem to care about her anymore. She shuts off the TV and starts folding the blankets she’d brought for the two of them.

Kris has been so distant from her these days and she has no idea why. When they invited her to watch a movie yesterday, she thought it was odd, but there’d been this stubborn spark of hope that maybe they really did want to reconnect, and maybe, just maybe , they wanted to be her friend again like before. But apparently, that wasn’t the case.

She’s not the type to jump to bad conclusions about people. She knows Kris has a good heart buried deep down, that they genuinely cares about the people around them. But lately it really feels like the only person they’ve paying attention to is… December. Of all people, it’s December who spends the most time with them now.

And why? Why have Kris and Dess out of nowhere gotten so close? She’d already asked her sister about it once, and Dess’s answer had been something along the lines of “I’m just bored” or “just passing the time” which, even if it was true, sounded a lot like she was using them simply because she didn’t have anyone else to talk to. 

Eventually, Noelle heads upstairs, clutching the folded blankets against her chest. At the top, she catches the faint sound of music coming from the room next to hers. She exhales softly and steps closer, pressing her ear to the door.

And then she hears it. Kris laughing .

No… it can’t be.

It’s not a polite or forced laugh, it’s a genuine full one, the kind you can’t fake, as if whatever Dess just said was the funniest thing in the world. And that  hurts.

Noelle hasn’t heard that laugh in so long she’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. Her heart pounds hard in her chest, her shoulders lose all their strength. So they really do have fun together? Did Kris really come here to watch a movie… or just to have an excuse to see Dess?

Noelle feels replaced by her own sister. Why would Dess be a better friend than her? When they were younger all Dess ever did was tease or correct Kris whenever they pulled some mean prank on Noelle. Kris and Dess were never this close, usually they were only in the same space because Asriel dragged Kris along somewhere or because Kris showed up to play with her. What changed so suddenly?

Tears start to burn at the corners of Noelle’s eyes. She steps away from Dess’s door and slips into her own room, greeted by the same loneliness as before and the sound of that laughter still cutting through the wall being impossible to ignore.

She lets the blankets fall onto the bed and sits at the edge, hands resting on her lap. The music still hums faintly from somewhere far away, tangled with voices and laughter that feel like they belong to another universe; one she was never invited into. For a moment, she thinks about knocking on the door, making up some excuse to interrupt… But no.

The cold in her room clings to her as usual, the silence growing heavier when the laughter stops for a few seconds only to return louder this time, as if the world next door would never notice she was missing.

Chapter Text

When Kris opens their eyes, the first thing they notice is the dry discomfort in their mouth, the kind that makes them lick their lips in a useless attempt to ease it. Their mind still feels hazy, taking a few long seconds before the focus fully returns.The ceiling above them is scattered with small stars glowing a soft green, but they’re nothing like the ones in their room (or rather in Asriel’s half of it). These are more spread out, arranged in a chaotic way that perfectly matches with…

Wait.

The floor beneath their hands is soft yet firm. Carpet. Why are they lying on the floor? Their body feels far too heavy for any quick movement as if they’d spent the entire night sunk into a warm lake.

The confusion begins to fade when they turn their head to the side. She’s there.

Asleep just inches away, December is lying on her side, messy hair falling over her face and calm breathing filling the space between them. For a moment, something inside them warms with a light that makes their chest heavy. It’s a feeling that only shows up when she’s near, even if they keep insisting it doesn’t.

They try to piece together what happened last night. They’d gone upstairs together… Painted their nails… Played cards… And then- oh.

Their gaze drifts across the room until it lands on the bong abandoned next to the bed. They’d smoked together, laughed at things they can’t quite recall now, lost themselves in conversations that seemed endless and at some point they simply collapsed side by side on the carpet and slept together, the floor becoming the most comfortable place in the world for the night to end.

Kris stays there unmoving almost holding their breath to not risk waking her up. A loose strand of hair sways gently with each breath she takes that they have the urge to brush it away, but they don't dare to get closer than they already are. There’s something about the way she sleeps that holds them there; whatever it is, they can’t seem to stop looking at her. 

The warmth in their chest blends with a faint nervousness, a feeling of being on the edge of discovering something important but not yet ready to face it. It’s strange… No matter how much they try to deny it, moments like this always end up leaving them more exposed than they’d like.

And at the same time, it feels good. Safe, even.

They remember the muffled laughter, the teasing during the card games, the strange ease that always came with her presence quieting the restless part of their mind. Now, with her so close and quiet, all the outside noise simply fades away once again.

As much as Kris might want to, they can’t exactly spend the whole morning watching her sleep like some creep who’s forgotten what’s socially acceptable. With a silent exhale, they push themself upright, feeling the muscles in their neck immediately protesting with a sharp ache they’re sure will be bothering them for at least the next three days. They bring a hand to rub the back of their neck while the other starts patting the carpet around them in search of their phone. Nothing. Shit, where the fuck is it? They can’t even remember if they brought it up when they came into the room.

What time is it? They had school today… They weren't even supposed to sleep here! What if their mom had already sent a dozen messages asking where the hell they were? Kris is already leaning forward to get up ready to head downstairs to hunt for their phone and assess the damage when a soft sound breaks the silence beside them.

“Mhmmm…”

Turning their head to the side, they catch the subtle twitch of her pierced ears glinting under the green glow of the ceiling, shifting just slightly as if it’s trying to pick up a sound. A second later, her eyelids lift just enough to offer them a faint glimpse of her brown eyes. It’s all they need to know her consciousness is stirring, and with it, that indefinable atmosphere that always seems to rise between them when they’re still caught in the remnants of the night before. She blinks slowly, the corner of her mouth curving into a small smile carrying that light that to Kris, never seems to belong anywhere except on her face.

“Hey…” her voice comes out hoarse, still wrapped in sleep.

And just like that the worries about the time, school, the possibility of their mom bursting in to drag them out by the ear, all of it vanishes in the snap of a finger. Kris can only think that maybe they have never seen anything as beautiful as her at this moment with her hair a mess over her face and eyes still hazy.

When they realize they’ve been quiet too long, they force themself to say anything back to her “Hey yourself.”

She lets out a little laugh, bringing a hand up to her face to rub her eyes. “How long have you been staring at me?” she teases.

Kris roll their eyes, but the smile creeping in gives them away. “I wasn’t staring. I just woke up too"

“Uh-huh…” she stretches her legs with a soft pleasant sound, letting them brush against theirs without meaning to. The contact is light, but enough to make them tense and wish she’d never move them away.

“I’m serious,” they insist, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling where the stars have taken on a sudden fascination. “I promise I wasn’t planning to murder you or something.”

She pretends to think about it. “Hm. Well, considering last night, maybe you’re secretly plotting revenge after losing so many times in a row.” Her smile widens with pride.

“I was completely stoned,” they turn their gaze back to her, unable to keep from smiling back. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Life’s rarely fair.” The line slips out alongside a lazy yawn.

Her hand starts patting blindly across the carpet, unconsciously repeating the motion they’d done seconds earlier, two minds working in quiet sync. After a few moments of nothing, she sits up on the carpet and crosses her legs, leaning forward into a slow stretch. “What time is it?” 

Kris spends a moment just watching the way she moves naturally flexibly, she probably could stretch herself into infinity without ever risking a strain if she wanted to. “No idea… I think I left my phone downstairs.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, straightening her back until her posture is effortlessly upright, perfect for someone who’s spent her whole life ready to sprint after a ball or dive to save a point. “No way,” she laughs, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe I left mine there too.”

“Could be.” They give her a small shrug, remembering the last time they saw her phone was in the kitchen right when they’d first bumped into each other.

“Well, let’s go check downstairs then.” She pushes herself up with ease before she offers them a hand.

Kris hesitates for half a second but takes it. Dess pulls them up with such ease they feel absurdly light, which only makes them that much more aware of her strength and of how small it makes them feel in comparison.

They glance down at their joined hands, observing how hers is a little larger than their. Their hands intertwined make the matching nail polish catch their attention, and Kris has to bite the inside of their cheek to keep a smile from breaking through. It doesn’t last long as the girl lets go almost immediately, already heading toward the door and leaving them behind.

When she twists the doorknob and pulls it open, the hallway’s brightness explodes in their eyes. The smooth white walls and polished floor throw the light back at Kris in a cruel glare after spending so long bathed in the greenish dim of the room. They blink quickly trying to adjust, but the shift is so jarring it takes a few seconds before their vision stops protesting.

While Kris is still recovering, she’s already moving. Not wanting to lag too far behind, they grab a red hoodie crumpled on the floor and pull it over their head before stepping out into the hallway, where the house greets them with a sharp unnecessary chill. They close the bedroom door behind them to keep the warmth trapped inside (hoping they’ll be allowed back in later) and rubs their hands over their arms, the cold seeping through even with the hoodie.

“In the end, you didn’t win a single one,” she teases from ahead, the soft thud of her hooves on the floor is the only other sound besides her voice.

“To be honest I barely remember any of it,” they joke back, glancing around. She’s already at the stairs, of course. December is fast when she wants to be.

“Oh, really?” Her voice echoes through the open space of the house. “Not even one of the six times I completely destroyed you?”

“Okay, maybe I remember a few.”

As they start walking, their gaze drifts to Noelle’s door before following Dess. Their chest tightens with guilt, mind already scrambling for something, anything they can say the next time they’re face-to-face with her. They’re going to have to come up with some noble reason why they bailed before the movie was even over.

Kris exhales slowly, sinking their hands deep into their pockets as they make their way down the stairs, trying to shove the guilt into some far corner of their mind at least for now. First things first: find their phone. Maybe she’d tried to text them or something along those lines. After that… Then they’d figure out what the fuck to do about all of this.

Reaching the last step, Kris instinctively slows down so their eyes can scan the open space of the lower floor in search of her. The silence of the house echoes in contrast to the muffled warmth of the bedroom they had just left, their mind struggling to readjust to the real world where nothing feels quite as comfortable.

In the living room, Kris spots Dess leaning over the couch, digging between the cushions with the focus of someone searching for buried treasure. The white light pouring in through the windows catches on her black hair, a few stray strands glint with a faint golden stemmer revealing traces of the blonde that might still be hidden beneath all that black dye.

The human starts walking toward her, the sound of their slow steps across the floor mixing with the soft thumps of cushions being tossed aside. Before Kris can say anything, her voice breaks with a “Got it!” bright with triumph, only to turn into a groan of disappointment a moment later. “Ugh, forget it. It’s yours.”

Kris raises their brows, their hand already half-lifted in anticipation. “Wait, gimme that.”

Dess extends her arm without ceremony and they take the phone from her hand, feeling her skin against their palm before she’s already back to rummaging through the sofa. Dropping their gaze to the screen, they finally see the time. 9:13. Yeah, class had definitely started without them.

A handful of notifications clutter the screen, though nothing as chaotic as they expected. A simple “good night” from their mom around 11 p.m. with no extra questions attached. A couple of messages from Asriel… Those they can check later. And then, the name they knew they’d see: Noelle.

“Kris? Are you at home?” — 6:38 a.m.
“Are you coming to school? Class is about to start.” — 6:54 a.m.
“Are you okay?” — 8:00 a.m.

The weight of guilt presses stronger into their chest. They swallows hard and types quickly, as if the faster they sent it, the less it would sting,

“im fine ig my alarm didnt go off”
“btw sprry for bailing on the movie last night”

They read it over once more before hitting send, hesitating. It’s not exactly a lie… But nowhere near the whole truth either.

“Call my phone, I can’t find this shit anywhere,” December says, her tone already edged with irritation.

“Uh, sure.” Kris exits Noelle’s chat and taps the pinned conversation on their messaging app, hitting call. Just as they expected, the ringtone starts echoing from the kitchen.

“Holy shit, I’m such an idiot,” she laughs to herself before heading toward the sound. Kris trails after her like a puppy following its owner, eyes still glued to their screen, checking if Noelle had replied. Nothing. She was probably already in class.

In the kitchen, the ringtone rings clear from the counter. December picks up her phone, turning her back to Kris as she answers. “Hello?”

Kris clears their throat, slipping into mock-seriousness. “Good morning. Congratulations! You’ve just won an exclusive raffle. You are now the proud owner of a… TV from the 90’s! Screen damage included at no extra cost.”

She laughs, the phone nearly slipping from her hand. “You’re an idiot. Who the fuck even joins a raffle for a busted old TV??”

“Well, you, apparently,” they mutter, trying not to laugh. “But of course, before claiming your prize, you need to answer the security question: why don’t skeletons ever fight each other?”

She rolls her eyes, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Because… They don’t have the guts?”

“Eh, close. But actually…” they pause dramatically, “it’s because they’re dead. Kinda hard to throw punches when you’re six feet under.” The delivery is so stupidly flat that it somehow makes it even funnier.

Dess throws her head back, laughing even harder before hanging up on them. “Oh shut up, Kris.” She drops the phone onto the counter and heads toward the coffee maker, still grinning. “You hungry?” she asks over her shoulder as if nothing had just happened.

They hesitate for a second, trying to hide their smile. “Hm… Yeah, I could eat.”

“Cool. I’ll see what we’ve got.”

They mumbles a quiet “kay” in response to her and drifts away, heading for the table by the kitchen. Kris pulls out a chair and drops into it, lighting up their phone screen once more. For a moment they just stare at it, waiting for the small device might somehow show them something that would make all of this make sense. Instead, they end up opening Asriel’s chat to read that earlier message, “Hey man, sorry I didn’t talk to you on saturday, things have been weird here. Can I call you tomorrow?”

Kris lets out a low “hm,” reminded of their brother’s habit of calling every weekend as some sort of ritual between them. It’s never anything too deep, just the basics about college, friends, random nonsense from the day. They type back a simple “ok” without the energy for anything more then flicks over to another random app.

Their thumb scrolls on autopilot, sliding past an endless stream of unfunny memes that don’t even make them laugh anymore. They just need something to fill the space in their head while the sounds of the kitchen reach them; the click of cupboards, the metallic shuffle of cutlery, and over all of it, December’s voice humming a melody without words. The contrast between the emptiness inside them and the life spilling out from over there only makes the weight heavier.

Still no Noelle. No reply.

A heavy sigh escapes before Kris drops the phone onto the table with a dull thud, giving in to the weight of their own head. They press their face against the hard wooden surface, eyes sliding shut as a single thought drums on repeat: they’re the worst friend in the world. They came here to spend time with Noelle and what did they do? Barely spoke to her. Walked out halfway through the movie. Disappeared and spent the entire night getting high in her sister’s room. Since when are they like this? Since when did they turn into the kind of person who hurts their friends without even meaning to? She probably thinks they’re an asshole. Maybe she's right.

Kris turns their head to the side, searching for something else to latch onto, and that’s when they see it: the piano in the corner of the kitchen, making their heart tight like they just spotted an old friend’s face in the middle of a crowd.

It had been so long. The instrument looked forgotten resting beneath a thin film of dust that caught the pale morning light. Kris couldn’t even remember the last time they’d sat there; the last few times they came to the Holiday's house recently they’d just locked themself up in the upstairs bedroom keeping their distance with everything. But now, looking at it, they realize just how much they missed that old partner.

The first thing that comes to mind is the memory of December’s impromptu lessons when they were younger, the way she showed them the keys with a patience that somehow survived her endless teasing. It was because of her that they fell in love with the piano, that they discovered they could pour feelings too big to fit inside them into the notes. Maybe without her they would never have found that quiet love, one that never went away, just stayed hidden, waiting.

Kris’ legs carry them up before they even realize it. They walk to the white piano and let their fingers drift across the keys, raising a faint trail of dust. The cold touch of the surface stirs something strange in them; a mix of nostalgia and a very particular kind of longing. They wonder if it ever minded the distance, or if it only waited calmly for their return.

Kris just let their fingers still rest there, too hesitant to press down for real. Part of them is afraid to play while another part aches for it, desperate for the release of finally letting everything locked inside them spill out.

“Why don’t you play something?” December calls from across the kitchen, her voice folding into the muffled theirs of the coffeemaker working.

Kris stares down at the keys as if waiting for permission. “I’m trying to figure out what I should play,” they murmur, eyes never leaving the instrument.

“Anything. Don’t get stuck on it,” she suggests lightly. “When I don’t know what to play, I just let my hands decide for me.”

Her words linger in them, simple but soaked in that careless confidence of hers that always manages to disarm them. Kris tries to empty their head to let their body move on its own as she suggested. Sitting down on the piano bench, they positioned their fingers over the keys hesitantly at first until, as if memory itself had a will, a note rings out. A familiar key, heavy with remembrance.

A smile tugs at Kris’s lips as their fingers begin to move instinctively, stumbling a little through the opening notes but soon finding their way back into the melody that has lived in their head for years. It was a song their mother always loved to hear, one of those that could fill the whole room with calm even on the grayest of days. They remember learning it as a kid on one of those afternoons when they insisted until Dess finally had the patience to walk them through each note slowly.

It’s far from perfect; their lack of practice shows in the slips and in the missed beats, but none of that matters because as the sound fills the house, Kris feels something bloom inside them: a kind of peace they haven't felt in a long time. The vibration of the keys resonates through their chest, each chord reverberating like it belongs to their own heartbeat.

The human close their eyes for a moment. Suddenly there’s no kitchen and no weight of guilt pressing down on them like it had minutes ago. There’s only them, the piano, and its keys answering with so much life to even the slightest touch. The instrument is the only thing capable of translating what they carry inside without words, that chaos they can’t explain about December, the guilt over Noelle, the fear of Asriel, the aching need to be seen. All of it spills out as sound.

They let their fingers run freely as the melody takes shape, swelling until it fills every empty corner of the cold house. The air itself seems to vibrate along with it and Kris catches themself smiling again, this time without effort because in that moment, they feel whole.

“Holy shit, Kris…” her voice cuts in softly, drawing their attention. December leans against the kitchen counter, a mug still steaming in her hands while her eyes are locked on them. Her smile is genuine as she watches how they look more at ease now than with any chemical haze. “I’d almost forgotten how good you are.”

They stumble on a note, losing the rhythm for just a second and let out a nervous laugh. “I just… Like playing, I guess.”

“I can hear that,” she replies without a hint of irony. She lifts the mug back to her lips, still watching them.

Kris drops their gaze to the keys again trying not to think about how deeply her words hit, and lets their fingers find the melody once more steadier, suddenly it doesn’t feel like they’re playing only for themself anymore. The song doesn’t last much longer; when the final notes fade, Kris looks back at her with the same smile that hasn’t left their face since the moment they sat down at the piano. By now she’s already finished her coffee, but she remains quiet, simply listening.

“Any requests?” they ask with pride after her compliment. Getting praise from someone who seems to be good at everything does things to a person’s ego.

“Actually, yeah.” She sets her mug down on the table. “You still know how to read sheet music?”

Kris’ eyes widened in surprise. “I… Think so,” they admit, their hands curling slightly in their lap as if bracing for impact.

“I’ve been learning a piece in my violin lessons,” the reindeer says casually, though there’s a spark in her eyes. “And there’s a piano part in it too.”

Kris feels their pulse spike at just the suggestion. Their throat goes dry and they swallow hard, praying it doesn’t show on their face how much the idea rattles them. “And?”

“… And you still owe me a duet, don’t you?” she adds, her smile tilting into that mix of playful teasing and something more genuine (expectation, maybe), the kind that makes it impossible for them to say no.

They scratch the back of their neck, eyes darting away from her and back down to the keys beneath their fingers. “Yeah… Guess I do,” they mutter, cornered. “But, like, it’s been forever since I learned anything new. I’m gonna mess up a lot.”

“Perfect,” she shoots back instantly, pushing off the counter and stretching her arms overhead. “I screw up all the time on the violin too. That way we’ll match.”

Kris lets out a nervous laugh, though underneath they can already feel their palms starting to sweat. They’d played in front of her plenty of times before, but this felt different. It wasn’t just them filling the silence with some random melody while she did her own thing. This was her idea. Her music. And they’d have to keep up.

Before they can come up with any excuse to stall, she’s already walking away from the room, her footsteps echoing through the house. “Be right back!”

Left alone in the kitchen, Kris lets their fingers brush over the keys just to hear the sound, but they can’t bring themself to focus on anything. Their mind slips back to when they were younger again; so small they could barely reach the octaves and she had the patience (or maybe impatience barely disguised) to show them how to read their first pieces of sheet music. They lean forward with their elbows on the piano, burying their face in their hands as they exhale hard. Shit, why did everything involving December feel like it would make their chest would explode?

The quick sound of her footsteps coming back down snaps them out of their thoughts. She appears holding a few crumpled sheets covered in pencil scribbles in one hand and in the other the violin they’d seen leaning against the wall the night before. “Here,”

Kris straightens up on the bench the same way they would do if they’re about to give a formal recital, even though it’s just the two of them there. “Alright, let’s see then.”

She hands them the sheets and leans casually against the side of the piano, watching closely as their eyes skim over the score. The feeling of being studied by Dess is almost unbearable, not because they think she’ll judge them, but because somehow her opinion always carries ten times more weight than anyone else’s.

Kris draws in a deep breath and forces a small smile. “Okay, I think I can manage… But you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

“When have I ever not been?” she teases, though there’s a spark in her eyes that makes Kris even more nervous. 

December lifts the violin to her shoulder with a familiarity that makes it seem it's second nature to her. The moment looks straight pulled out of a movie: her standing there, confident, holding the instrument with an ease that makes it seem it’s already become part of her life even though she’s only been learning for a few weeks. “Alright,” she says, taking the sheets from their hands and setting them on the piano. “This one starts with you.”

Kris adjusts the pages in front of them, their heart still racing. The opening part really does look simple; no complicated chords or sudden shifts, just a smooth steady progression. They exhale, placing their fingers on the keys, and let the music begin to flow.

((authors note! i really recommend you to hear the song while they play; it's The Duet from Omori!))

At first, their hands tremble. They hit a few wrong notes, pressed another too hard, but soon their body remembers what to do. It’s simple and manageable, after all. A clean melody begins to fill the room again, a delicate echo vibrating through the empty space.

“Nice,” December murmurs softly, holding the violin into place. She steadies her chin, takes a breath, and joins in.

The sound blends with theirs almost immediately, creating a texture that makes Kris lose track of time for a moment. They feel every note she plays slip in completing their own, and even when she slides on a string or they fumble with the rhythm, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels alive.

They share a quick glance when they both stumble on the same turn, making December laugh softly. Kris tries to refocus, but her laugh only makes them more nervous in that dizzy, pleasant way. Little by little, they find a rhythm not perfect (far from it) but clear. The piano holds down the ground while the violin dances above it, sometimes soft and delicate, sometimes sharp and fierce, carrying the music somewhere Kris could never reach on their own. There is only the sound they’re creating together and the strange certainty that even with wrong notes and all, there’s nowhere else in the world they’d rather be.

The melody swells, growing piece by piece, and Kris feels their fingers gliding over the keys with more confidence. It isn’t just an exercise anymore; it’s real music. Every note they play becomes a floor for December who now gives herself completely to the violin, the bow moving steady and strong, vibrating with intensity.

They notice the change the moment she truly focuses. Her expression shifts; the smile fades, replaced by a seriousness they rarely see in her. Her eyes narrow slightly and her brow furrows, her whole body leans into the violin as if every fiber of her being exists to draw sound from it. That’s where she truly shines.

They keep holding the foundation, but they can’t bring themself to focus entirely on the sheet in front of them anymore. Kris’ hands want to follow the notes, but their eyes want to trace every movement she makes. They don't understand how simply watching someone play can make them feel like this, and yet, somehow, they do… Because it’s December Holiday, and anything she does seems more alive than it has any right to be.

The music climbs toward its climax, for the first time the piano rises with it, no longer just a backdrop. With every chord that strikes harder, they feel her violin soaring above, cutting through into their sound. They meet each other’s gaze for the briefest moment, a silent exchange passing between both that pushes them forward. The final seconds arrive in a slow descent as the piano softens leaving space for the violin to carry the melody. Her bow draws out one last note trembling in the air, unwilling to disappear.

Kris doesn’t play anymore. They just watch.

Dess holds the note until it finally fades, then opens her eyes and finds theirs. The silence that follows is thick with something that feels almost like… Affection. Their chest is warm, the music made sure to leave a piece of itself trapped inside them. For a few long seconds, there are no words, just her gaze locked with theirs.

“I think I changed my mind,” Kris blurts out before they can stop themself. “Violin suits you.”

December arches her brows surprised, lowering the instrument from her shoulder slowly, uncertain how to hold the weight of the compliment. “Why?” she asks, trying for casualness, though her voice betrays a flicker of real curiosity.

They shrug, unable to hide the way they look at her. The image is burned into them; her messy black hair falling across her face, the glint of piercings catching the light, that whole careless punk aesthetic she wears all the time. But when she was playing the violin, it wasn’t a contradiction. It was as a part of her had aligned, revealing she was meant for it. “I don’t know,” they murmur with a shy smile. “It just… Feels right, you know?”

For a moment, her eyes soften in a way that leaves her looking unguarded, their words clearly cutting through the armor of irony she carries. Then, she looks away, clearing her throat and spinning the bow between her fingers. “Well… You did really well too, by the way.”

Kris notices the way she changes the subject and follows up with it. “Thanks. But I messed up a lot.”

“You did,” she agrees immediately, her lips curving into a mischievous grin that gives them no escape. “But so did I,” she adds, shrugging.

They tilt their head slightly to the side, curious about how soft she sounds. “That’s different. You’ve only been learning for a few weeks, I’ve been playing for years.”

“And yet we did great,” she fires back, her confidence flickering back across her face.

“I don't think great is a fitting word in this case” they tease in the same tone.

“Maybe.” December lets out a short laugh, her eyes still lit up with the adrenaline of the music that hasn’t faded yet. “We may need to practice more to get to that point.”

Kris holds her gaze for a second that stretches far longer than it should, their pulse still racing like they just sprinted a mile. “Together?”

Dess nods quickly, answering with a certainty so casual it feels inevitable. “Together.”

Chapter Text

The hot water from the shower streams down the human's body below, slowly easing the tension accumulated in their muscles. The sweet scent of apple shampoo fills the bathroom along with the steam, that same aroma which has become a part of them, always remembered by others as their trademark.

The light, however, remains off. It isn't a matter of laziness; it's a necessity. Kris cannot afford the luxury of seeing their own body so clearly. The shower is one of the rare moments when they are forced to face head-on what they spend all day trying to hide beneath baggy clothes.

They brace their hands against the cold tile wall and lower their head, squeezing their eyes shut to deny the reflection that insists on existing there, even in the dark. The water slides down their back and over their shoulders in a way that makes them want to jump out of their own skin, every drop a reminder that nothing is where it's supposed to be.

There is still an ache in their neck from sleeping wrong the night before, throbbing with every slight movement, but it's a bearable discomfort compared to the tightness born within them; this suffocating knot that no stream of hot water could ever loosen.

They had decided to skip class again today. The mere thought of facing Noelle was still unbearable, the full weight of the failed night rushing back all at once every time they thought of her. Kris couldn't stop feeling like shit for the way they had just left her without explanation and then had the audacity to spend the rest of the night (and the following day) with her sister.

Hell, not even they understood why they had done it. Lately, they didn't even recognize themself. Before, they barely opened their mouth, afraid to show anything even when completely alone. Now, just one night at the Holiday’s house was enough to make their face hurt from how much they had smiled. Since when have they become so fragile? Since when did they start losing control so easily?

Wanting to rip this thought out by the roots through their own skin, Kris drags their hand over their face. Coward. That's what they are. They can't even look Noelle in the eye, can't explain themself, can't even admit what's happening. What kind of person trades a childhood friend for a handful of laughs with someone who should be off-limits? Only an idiot. Only a coward.

And the worst part was that no matter how hard Kris tried to convince themself it was just a mistake that didn't mean anything, it was useless. Every time they close their eyes, all they can think about is her laughter echoing through the empty house at every silly thing they said and her cute habit of humming when she's distracted. Small things that normally no one would notice, but they cling to them as if there's no room for anything else.

And it consumes them, because Noelle had always been there for them since childhood. Always. And they just needed to be there for her too, that's all. But when the time came, they ran from her and went straight to December at the first opportunity they got. Running their fingers through their wet hair, they pull it from their scalp, inflicting physical pain in a failed attempt to distract from the guilt that suffocates them.

And why? Why her?

The question hits deep, hammering away with such insistence that makes one want to scream to drive any rational thought from their mind. But the answer is already on the tip of the tongue, and that's what terrifies them. Because deep down, Kris knows perfectly well. Their heart has never raced for anyone the way it does when Dess looks at them seriously, being the only one who could see beyond all the layers they wear. To admit that would be the same as admitting to betrayal. It would be to acknowledge that, in the end, that feeling had always been there inside, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

It was the same feeling that always prickled under their skin when they went to the Holiday’s house to play with Noelle, but secretly hoped that Dess would show up. Maybe that's why they always took the pranks on Noelle too far, as if by doing something big enough, December would be forced to leave Asriel's side and give them a bit of her attention, even if it was just to scream at them. And, somehow, even that was enough.

But therein lay the problem: December had always been untouchable. Always that cool older girl who seemed to live on a level above everyone else. She was the one they had drawn inspiration from to mold every little piece of their own personality, holding her up as the standard to be followed. In the past, before they understood who they really were, Kris thought it was just because they wanted to be her. But now they could no longer fool themself; that feeling wasn't about wanting to be, it was about wanting to have.

They bring their hands to their face and let out a muffled groan, swallowing a sob that they wouldn't let out for anything in this world. Okay, that's enough.

The shower is turned off abruptly and the curtain is thrown violently to the side, leaving water to stream down the tiles as the human steps out of the stall. The towel tossed on the sink is snatched up quickly, and they begin to dry their body with rough movements. Every touch of the cotton against their skin makes them shudder, being a reminder of every part of the biology they never asked to carry being still right there. They lift their chin to the ceiling trying to pretend they aren't there, that it isn't their own body they’re touching.

As soon as they’re done, Kris hurries to get dressed. The baggy clothes are waiting: the uniform for survival. The first thing they grab is the old binder tossed in the corner.

But as they bring it near their head, a strong smell of sweat hits them like a punch. Shit. It must have been weeks since they last washed it, wearing it every day, forgetting that it's also just a piece of clothing. Except it's not, is it? It's not just clothing. It's the only thing that protects them from facing what they hate most about themself.

Kris stands still for a moment, their fingers gripping the worn fabric. Maybe it was a sign to give themself a break at least for tonight. No one will see them anyway, so they won't have to fight against the usual constricted breathing. Maybe their lungs deserve a rest.

With regret, the binder is tossed aside and replaced by a black t-shirt they slept in. They pulled it on quickly, followed by December's hoodie that they brought from her house; something that can bring them even the slightest comfort right now is her scent that still lingers on it, even if it's very faint.

Before leaving the bathroom, Kris makes the mistake of looking at their own reflection and is immediately hit with that tragic scene they hated so much: the uncomfortable curvature on their chest that shouldn't be there. Instinctively, their spine curves forward, their shoulders slump and their hands pull at the hem of the hoodie, trying to disguise those intruders that share the same body without their consent.

It doesn't work. It never works. But that's all they have at this moment. "... It'll have to do," they murmurs to the person staring back at them from the other side of the glass, but not even it seems to believe their words.

Kris leaves the bathroom, shrinking inside their own skin, avoiding even looking up as they pass through the hallway. They don't bother to check if their mom is there. Not that it would make a difference; she's always so busy with anything that isn't them. It’s already common sense that even if her child was standing naked in the middle of the living room, she probably wouldn't notice.

"Kris? My child?"

Toriel's voice reaches them before they can make it up the stairs. Kris closes their eyes for a second, cursing their luck. Of course now , the moment they feel most vulnerable, she decides it's the perfect time to talk.

Turning slowly, they find her sitting on the living room sofa, illuminated by the faint light of the old TV that insists on showing some old-fashioned cooking program. Kris glares at the TV they had jokingly threatened to raffle off yesterday with December and greets it with a nod, thinking lucky for you she answered the question wrong . Their mother keeps her gaze fixed on them while they mentally communicate with the poor TV that did nothing wrong.

"Can you come here for a moment?"

The human averts their eyes and looks at the familiar monster in the living room, hesitating. Their entire body is screaming to run upstairs, but it's impossible to say no. So, dragging their feet, Kris approaches her with their spine curved forward beneath a weight too heavy to bear, brown hair still stuck to their neck and forehead from the dampness of the shower.

"You've been missing a lot of classes, little one." Her voice is soft but firm. "Is something going on?"

Kris freezes. It's no surprise. Being a teacher at the same school, it's obvious someone must have mentioned their absences. Deep down, it doesn't really feel like a question from a concerned mother; it feels more like a formality.

"No," they reply flatly.

"Are you sure? It's been so long since we've talked."

The sentence hits like a punch. Kris feels a dull anger ignite in their chest, spreading through their ribs. Of course we don't talk . How can they talk when she only ever talks about her stupid boyfriend or her perfect son who's shining on the other side of the state? She was supposed to be their safe harbor, the one being who would see them completely… But in the end, even she seems to leave them on the sidelines.

"I already said I'm fine." The same cold reply. They turn away, escaping to the kitchen, opening the cupboard and grabbing a glass, doing anything to occupy their mind enough to not have to look at her. The water from the tap fills the glass slowly, and the noise helps hide the sound of their shallow breath.

"Kris…" Her voice is quieter with melancholy. "Okay then. If you say so."

The grip on the glass gets even tighter. Is that it? Just like that? You're giving up so easily? Part of them wanted to scream, wanted her to insist, to push, to see how much they needed her… But she just accepts it. And that hurts more than if she had yelled at them. Evidently, mom doesn't care enough to fight for a real answer .

Kris brings the glass to their mouth, trying to swallow their frustration along with the water.

“Asriel texted me." Of course. The inevitable diversion. "He's been trying to call you to talk."

Setting the glass down on the counter, they close their eyes, feeling their shoulders tense up. Asriel again, of course. "I was in the shower." the voice comes out rougher. 

"Yes, I told him that." Toriel's voice is more careful now, cautious in the way one is around a rabid dog without knowing if they'll get bitten. "I mentioned you were at Noelle's house yesterday. He was happy for you."

Kris slowly lifts their eyes, staring at their mom through the damp strands of hair stuck to their face. Their jaw clenches and eyes narrow. Perfect . Exactly what they needed: Asriel knowing they were at the Holiday’s house. They can already picture the screen flashing with their brother's name and the first question getting straight to the point "So, how's December?"

They don't answer. The water is finished in one go on a futile attempt to drown the anger and the glass is slammed down on the counter a little too hard. Then, they spin on their heel and start up the stairs without looking back.

"Wait, Kris—" their mother calls, but they don't listen. Or rather, they do listen, but choose to ignore. Heavy footsteps climb step by step, drowning out any words she may try to say.

Perfect. Seriously, just great , they snarl to themself in their thoughts.
Fuck, what a nightmare. Of course she had to open her mouth and gossip about the one thing they least wanted Asriel to know. Now when they answer the phone, they'll have to invent some stupid excuse like, "no, I didn't see her," pretending they didn't spend the entire night and the next morning lying on her carpet listening to her breathing right beside them. Just thinking about it makes their stomach churn.

Kris grips the banister as they climb, their fingers almost slipping from the sweat. The last time they had the misfortune of mentioning Dess to Asriel, they'd regretted it instantly. It was the longest thirty minutes of their life, the phone glued to their ear while they listened to Asriel pour out an ocean of self-pity of how much he missed her. How he hated the way things ended. How maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance if fate would cooperate.

They hated every second of that. Not because they didn't understand… But because just hearing her name in their brother's mouth talking about her like that, missing her like that, made them completely lose their mind. It was suffocating.

And now, thanks to mom, they were about to be dragged into that nightmare all over again.

Reaching the top step, Kris lets out a shaky sigh and runs a hand over their face, which is now drenched not just in water but in sweat. The last thing they wanted was to talk about December with Asriel. Not after everything that happened.

When getting to their room, the door is shoved open violently, letting it slam against the wall. Fuck it. The sooner this gets over with, the better . All they want is to burrow under the covers and sleep for at least twelve hours straight, praying that sleep will drain at least some of the exhaustion accumulated over the last few days.

The door is closed with the same brutality and, this time, the key is turned in the lock. The last thing they need now is for their mom to decide to come in and demand an explanation. With a heavy body, Kris walks to the bed and picks up the phone lying on the rumpled sheets. The screen lights up in their hand, revealing exactly what expected: three missed calls from Asriel, useless notifications from apps they should have deleted months ago, and—

Oh.

An involuntary smile stretches their lips at the sight of a name. Beneath it, a string of stupid memes is waiting for them on some social media app. Their finger moves on its own, clicking the notification before the rational part of their mind has time to react.

And there she is, even if it's in the form of short, dumb videos. A dog barking pathetically for a treat followed by a 'you lol' that she sent, a cheesy edit with an absurd caption, something that would only make sense in the bizarre humor the two of them share. Kris let out a soft laugh, already forgetting the snarling anger they were feeling seconds before. For a moment, they almost sink back into that comfortable routine of spending hours exchanging videos with her; a silent ping-pong match that requires no explanations, just complicity.

But Asriel's name flashes at the top of the screen again, cruelly reminding them of where they are and what they’re supposed to be doing. The joy vanishes as quickly as it came. Kris pulls on their own reins repeating to themself: Focus, Kris. First, you talk to Asriel. Get it over with. Then, yes, you can lose yourself in her again.

Opening Asriel's chat and seeing the stack of messages and missed calls, they press the call button to end this agony. Kris drops their body onto the bed with the phone pressed to their ear, their feet planted firmly on the floor, preparing to enter an arena. Their entire body is on high alert, ready to defend, attack, lie or do whatever is necessary to protect themself.

“Hey, man!” Asriel's voice comes with an affection Kris wasn’t prepared to hear.

“Sup,” they replied quick and dry, their fist already clenched in the sheet beside them, right hand gripping the phone, clutching their only shield against him.

“I was dying to talk to you. Really sorry I didn’t call you on saturday like usual.” 

Kris rolls their eyes in silence. The conversation might start all full of fake sweetness, just waiting for the moment to bring his ex into it within seconds. The irritated human is already preparing the first sharp excuse they can formulate into their mind. “Yeah, I was busy too,” they reply, sounding indifferent.

“Well, I talked to mom and…”

Here it comes. Their heart is already racing and their chest tightens. Kris braces themself internally, ready to dodge or attack, already preparing for a fight they need to win at all costs.

“Man, she wouldn’t shut up about that boyfriend of hers.”

… Huh. The tension in their wrist immediately relaxes, the force they were putting into gripping the phone simply vanishes. He didn’t ask about December. He didn’t say her name like Kris was sure he would.

“Oh… yeah!” their voice comes out softer now, though they’re still somewhat suspicious. “Tell me about it. You have no idea how unbearable it is.”

“Damn, that’s rough luck.” Asriel lets out a genuine laugh. No irony, no comparisons, no making Kris the backdrop for another one of his amazing stories like they were expecting.

Kris feels their chest loosen slowly, noticing how they must have forgotten what it was like to hear empathy from their own brother. They were so used to handling everything alone, not expecting understanding from anyone, that being understood like this catches them off guard. The anger they’d been accumulating gives way to a timid relief they haven't felt since childhood. “Yeah, rough luck alright.”

“I don’t know how you put up with it, man. If it were me, I would’ve found a way to kick that guy to the curb by now.”

Kris even cracks a slight smile, surprised by the sincerity. It’s obviously an exaggeration, but for a moment they feel less alone. They props their elbow on their knee and runs a hand over their face. “Yeah, but you’re not here, are you? I just have to… Let it happen.”

On the other end of the line, Asriel is silent, and when he speaks again his voice is less full of that energy that always made him seem overly happy about everything. “You know I miss it there, right? Not just the house, but… You guys.”

His sibling frowns, still suspicious. They’re not used to hearing their brother talk in this tone, not with them at least. “... Is that so?”

“Yeah, man.” Asriel lets out a nervous little laugh, not wanting to sound too mushy. “Mom, even with all her dramas… You, even with your grumpy ways. I keep thinking about us playing video games until late, fighting over the TV remote… Those stupid little things I’d give anything to have back now.”

Part of them wants to believe in that vulnerability and let themself soften, but another part screams that it’s only a matter of time before her name comes up and destroys any momentary peace. They roll over and lie on their back on the bed, looking at the ceiling. “Yeah. I miss it too, sometimes.”

Asriel seems to perk up a little on the other end. “That’s good to hear, Kris. Because… I don’t know, I know I’m not really present, but I think about you a lot. For real. I worry about you.”

Kris closes their eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to maintain an indifferent tone. “Cool.”

“ Cool ?” Asriel insists, laughing lightly. “That’s it? I open my heart here and you answer with a ‘cool’?”

They smile instinctively, turning onto their side and feeling their face press into the pillow, wet hair and all. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Anything. That you miss me too, that I’m awesome, I don’t know.”

“You already know all that,” Kris counters, their voice now completely soft.

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable this time, making Kris realize that, for a few seconds, they even forgot to keep their guard up around him. But soon the fear returns, nudging their mind: at some point, he’s going to ask about her .

Asriel clears his throat on the other end, perhaps not quite knowing how to continue. “So… Dad? Do you still talk to him?”

Kris lets out a bitter laugh. “Hardly ever. He just shows up from time to time, always with that spiel about winning mom back. Pathetic, really.” They adjust themself on the bed, their eyes fixed on the ceiling again. “It’s always the same old story. It’s embarrassing.”

He is silent for a few seconds, and when he answers, his voice is heavy with a strange nostalgia. “Yeah, I can imagine. I remember him taking us to QC’s… He seemed so different back then. Like, for a few hours, he seemed like a real dad, you know?”

Kris bites their lip. They don't like to remember, because it hurts. “Yeah. But it’s like that was another life. Now he just knows how to annoy everyone.”

“Yeah…” Their brother sighs. “Funny, huh? How we think we’ll only remember the bad things, but sometimes it’s the good ones that end up haunting you.”

Kris doesn’t answer, just shifts their leg impatiently against the mattress, letting Asriel continue: “I was remembering the other day… Remember when we’d all get together at Noelle’s house and play cards until we almost fell asleep sitting up? You, me, her, and…” He pauses, and Kris feels every muscle in their body tense. “… and December.”

The name lands like a stone against Kris' face. They sit up again, pressing the phone hard against their ear, but refusing to say anything at least for now.

“She always beat us,” Asriel continues with a little laugh. “And you’d get so mad, saying she was cheating. Man, you were so bad at hiding your cards, I could see them from the other end of the table.”

They force a choked laugh, feeling their throat dry. Their heart is already starting to beat faster with adrenaline because they know exactly what’s coming next.

“Speaking of which…” Asriel hesitates, and Kris closes their eyes wishing they could disappear. “... Do you still talk to her?”

There is another silence for a few seconds. They wanted to be angry again, feel that familiar burn and lie without a second thought, to hide Dess behind a wall of anger and sarcasm. But Asriel's words about their childhood are still echoing, poking at a space inside them that had felt so empty. For the first time in a long time, they felt somewhat… Held . And perhaps because of that, they decided they didn't need to lie completely. Maybe they should return a little of the honesty they’d always demanded from their brother.

“… Not much,” they ended up confessing, voice low as if admitting a crime. “Only when I go see Noelle I end up running into her.”

“… And how is she?”

Kris bites the corner of their lip, their stomach turning. Part of them still wants to make up an excuse, but a reply comes out naturally. “Uhm… Pretty good, actually. She’s doing her own thing. She’s learning to play the violin.”

“Violin?” Asriel lets out a surprised little laugh. “Dear Angel, pretty soon she’ll have learned every instrument in the world.”

The human laughs along, a timid laugh that sounds strange even to their own ears, the sound of someone relearning how. Fuck, it feels so good to be able to talk about her with someone, to lift a little of the weight off their chest without fear of seeming obsessed. They never get the chance to talk about Dess, and even though they know they shouldn’t, that it's dangerous, the feeling of relief is inevitable.

“Yeah,” they reply, already letting slip more than they should. “I wouldn’t be surprised to show up at Noelle’s house one day and see Dess playing the flute like a witch in a ritual.”

Their brother lets out a sincere laugh that fills Kris's ear in a strangely comforting way. “That sounds just like her. Getting into everything, never resting. She was always like that.”

Kris grips the phone tighter, their heart warm and heavy at the same time. “Yeah… She always was.” their voice comes out in a whisper, laden with something they pray Asriel doesn’t notice.

“But…” he continues, “it’s good to know she’s okay. I worried about her a lot after we broke up, you know? I kept thinking if she was taking care of herself, if she was happy… But it sounds like she’s still the same old Dessy.”

Part of them wants to say no, that she’s not the same, that they’ve seen nuances Asriel never saw and never will, intimate details she never let slip before. But they hold back. “… Yeah. She is.”

“You know, I’m glad to hear that. To know she’s okay… And that you still see her from time to time.” Kris frowns again but doesn’t interrupt him.

“I always had this stupid fear,” Asriel continues, “that the breakup between me and her would end up pushing you away from Elly, too. She was always your friend, and I was terrified that everything would fall apart, that you’d stop talking because of me. But, from the sound of it, that wasn’t the case.”

Kris hadn’t expected that. Azzy had never put that worry into words or shown he’d thought of them in that way. For a moment, their chest warms not with guilt, but with something akin to gratitude. “… Yeah, we still talk. Not as much as before, but…” they reply slowly, a lie following up with it. “… I didn’t drift away.”

“That’s good,” Asriel sighs, relieved. “For real. It puts me more at ease knowing you still have them around. The Holidays were always like a second family to us, right?”

They press their lips together, feeling their throat tighten. Yes. They always were. And for an instant, the barrier they built against their brother, that thick armor of sarcasm, short answers and coldness begins to crack. They think that maybe… Maybe Asriel could understand. That maybe they aren't as alone as they thought.

Kris finds themself looking over at the side of the room that used to be their brother’s, wondering how it would be to just say everything. To confess that they never lost contact, that, in fact, December never left their life. To explain that, in some twisted way, she has become an essential part of their routine.

But the words get stuck.

Even so, the fact that Asriel showed this care is enough to shake them. The younger sibling feels their chest torn between fear and desire. The question hammers away: Would he understand? If I told him the truth, would he be on my side?

“… Azzy…” Kris wants so desperately to just open their mouth and let it all spill out at once, to scream I’m in love with her, please don’t hate me . The urge is suffocating, a knot stuck in their throat tearing at their skin, trying to get out. But nothing happens. Only silence, swallowing their courage.

“Yeah?” He answers on the other end, waiting.

Kris closes their eyes, their chest rising and falling too fast. They sigh, defeated. It’s obvious they aren't going to speak. “Thanks,” they say finally, in a low, broken tone. “For always being here… Even though you’re so far away.”

On the other end, Asriel lets out a warm sigh. “Don’t worry about it, Kris. Just a few more years and I’ll be back. Then I’ll be with you for real again, to help you face anything that’s bothering you.”

The words which should be a comfort, sit like lead in Kris's stomach. They want to cry. In any other situation, they might have cried from happiness; they do miss him, they really do. But now? Now the idea is unbearable. Just imagining Asriel coming back, returning to this same city, to this same circle of friends, to being near Dess… Makes Kris want to die.

If he can dismantle them so easily just with his voice over the phone, what will be left of them when they’re face to face? Kris knows with absolute certainty that they won’t be able to keep his secret. The instant they look at their brother, everything they’ve been accumulating will overflow.

All they can whisper is an “I love you.”

The silence that follows seems to last an eternity. Kris squeezes their eyes shut, their whole body trembling, waiting for a response that never seems to come fast enough. Until finally, “Love you too, man.”

Those words land like an invisible hug, squeezing Kris's body until it hurts. They wanted so badly to believe him, to cling to that simple comfort. But along with it comes the guilt, tearing beneath their skin: if he knew, would he still say that?

They talked about one thing or another after that, but nothing of real interest. Kris nodded and exchanged a few words here and there, but their mind was already completely lost. It didn't take long for the call to end.

As soon as the call disconnected, Kris finds themself staring fixedly at the bed on the opposite side of the room; the bed Azzy used to sleep in. At this moment, there is an enormous void inside them.

The empty mattress seems to mock them, a reminder that that space was once filled by someone who knew how to exist effortlessly while they just sank. The silence of the house weighs down, crushing every attempt to take a breath. The air won’t go in right, their throat tightens, and when they notice, their vision is already blurry.

Kris lets the phone drop onto the bed and brings their hands to their face. First a low sob, then another, until their breath is completely lost. They fold their body and pull their knees to their chest, shaking from head to toe. Every tear burns because it comes accompanied by the same accusation hammering in their head: worst sibling in the world.

What kind of person hears their own brother say he loves them and, instead of reciprocating, secretly celebrates the possibility of being free to desire his ex? What kind of person smiles just because it might open up a chance for them? The shame burns. Their body vibrates with panic, breath failing in short, desperate sobs. Kris covers their ears, but it’s no use; the thoughts scream louder. You were never good enough. Not as a child, not as a friend, not even as a sibling.

Suddenly they’re curled on their side, pulling the collar of the hoodie up over their face, searching for comfort. The fabric damp with tears sticks to their skin, gripping it tighter, searching for a remnant of calm. Her scent invades their senses and for a moment the tension subsides, but that only opens a wider wound. Because it becomes clear: there’s no letting go. They won’t be able to.

The idea of cutting December out of their life tears the ground out from under their feet. They love her too much to the point where their whole body aches with it, to the point where it’s a disease that gives no quarter.

Another sob breaks out, violent, shaking their entire frame. The hoodie is clenched between their fingers, their face hidden in the fabric. “Fuck…” they murmurs, their voice failing, breaking into pieces. “I can’t… I just can’t…”

And there, in the stifling room, Kris understands the gravity of what they carry: it doesn’t matter how much they want to be better or how many times they swear they’ll change. Deep down, there is only her . And this love is destroying them.

Their sobs have no rhythm now, just short spasms that rack their chest and make their breath hitch. The hoodie remains pressed to their face, soaked, and still won’t let go. Every time they try to calm down, their heart races again, reminding them there is no way out. There is no cure.

The phone vibrates beside them, the screen flashing in the dark. Kris doesn’t need to look to know who it is. It’s probably another meme that at any other time would have drawn an easy laugh from them and made everything feel lighter. Now, however, it hurts too much. They turn their face away ignoring the notification, the mere memory of how much they need her already crushing them all over again.

With swollen eyes and a throbbing head, Kris staggers to their feet and stumbles across the room to their brother’s empty bed. The mattress sinks under their thin frame, still warm from their crying. They lie down there, clutching the pillow as if it were Asriel, as if this were a way to apologize for being so weak.

The tears return, silent, streaming into the fabric. They love their brother more than they can say. Love him so much it aches. But they can’t stop also loving December in a different way. In a moment of raw need, Kris pulls the hood of her sweater over their head, tightening the drawstrings until the world narrows to nothing but the faint, lingering scent of her.

For one breath, then two, it almost calms them, but the guilt crashes back in. This is what they’ve been reduced to: stealing comfort from borrowed clothes, craving someone they can never have. This weight stays with them until their eyes close against their will and their body gives out, leaving them to fall asleep between sobs, drowned in the contradiction that consumes them whole.

Chapter Text

The red car crossed the town line in a familiar bolt, its paint no longer as bright as it once was, yet still carrying an aura of unpretentious elegance. It was a poetic contrast: the freedom of the open road and the quiet duty of returning home that the vehicle's owner carried every time she dared to venture outside the city.

Dry leaves resting on the empty asphalt of Hometown lifted themselves in a dancing whirlwind at the vehicle's passing, a silent audience heralding its return. From inside the car, the powerful wail of a distorted guitar poured out through the open windows, a personal soundtrack announcing her melancholic arrival.

The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple; that perfect twilight which promised the end of a day not yet swallowed by total darkness. The harsh winter, with its short days and freezing nights, was finally leaving space to the first whisper of spring. In the fields beside the road, small green buds stubbornly pushed through the earth, promising flowers where there had only been frost. It was a restart that ends up happening every year, whether one was ready or not.

Inside the car, December drove on autopilot. Her left hand rested lazily on the steering wheel, guiding the car by pure muscle memory. In her right, she held a clove cigarette with a certain elegance, bringing it to her lips for a deep drag. The smoke, with its sweet and spicy aroma, filled the car's interior, wrapping around her before being sucked out the windows and thrown into the wind. Her eyes, heavy from the drive and her own thoughts, remained fixed on the road winding out before her. But her mind… Her mind was far away. It wandered into unexplored corners of her own consciousness, revisiting conversations, pondering choices, and, unwittingly, always returning to that same thought.

The band chosen for the return trip was a screeching mix of 80's metal and punk, screaming about the desire to murder the president and about marital bliss, as if the two things had any logical connection. If you ignored the fact that most lyrics from that era had completely abandoned any notion of meaning, it was the perfect soundtrack for the brutal contrast of returning to a town where nothing ever happened.

And that contrast stung even more after spending the day in New Town, the city where her private violin lessons took place. That city seemed to breathe. It was alive and chaotic, everything Hometown was not. Just entering it was an adventure; it demanded total attention to avoid accidentally running over a hurried delivery biker or cutting off some impatient driver who honked at everything. There was movement everywhere: bar lights flickering, groups of teens laughing on the sidewalks, the distant sound of live music coming from somewhere. It was the kind of place Dess had spent her entire teenage years dreaming of living in, the perfect setting for the intense life she so desperately wanted.

But today, her persistent bad mood wasn't just from the forced return to that hole that insisted on being her home. On the way back, she'd hit a monstrous traffic jam caused by some driver who had apparently decided to take a nap at the wheel at five in the afternoon. That paralysis on the hot asphalt had stolen a precious hour and a half of her time, which she was forced to fill with the only distraction available: the chaotic pile of CDs stuffed into the glove compartment.

It was during this desperate search for anything that sounded better than the rumble of idling engines around her that her fingers stumbled upon a familiar case; one that had been burned specifically for her by someone she hadn't exchanged a single word with in months. The sloppy handwriting on the homemade cover was unmistakable from a time when things were simpler. For a moment, her irritation was replaced by the silent weight of that unexpected find.

The last time she'd seen it was during that last car hangout with Kris, when in an act of denial she'd ordered them to ”toss that somewhere." But Kris, in their weird little way, must have understood it as a coded request "Please place this exactly in the middle of the CDs I listen to most, so I'll stumble upon it in the future when I'm stressed in traffic alone with my thoughts."

The strategy (intentional or not) had worked perfectly. The gift had fallen into her hands at the exact moment she was completely sober, with no distractions or company to cushion the blow. It was the perfect final piece to utterly ruin what was left of her day.

It wasn't that remembering Asriel was bad, far from it. She still held him with a deep fondness and a love she knew would never truly die. Asriel had never been, and probably never would be, the problem in this situation. The real stab to the gut came from the realization that lately she hadn't been thinking of him with the same agonizing frequency as she used to.

It had been about a year since he'd left. In the beginning it was an immense pain for her, a constant vortex of longing and what-ifs that dominated every minute of her days. The breakup had been a long unraveling, with the two of them clinging to each other, knowing that distance and diverging plans were too great an enemy for a young couple. She remembered the promises that it wasn't a goodbye, just a see you later. And of course she wouldn't be so selfish as to try to hold back a genius like him just to satisfy her own neediness, right? It was the adult decision. The right one.

But now, holding the physical proof of a time when he was still trying to win her over with homemade mix-tapes, the only thing that frightened her wasn't the longing. It was the silence. The fact that, lately, days could pass without his name crossing her thoughts. And when it did, the pain was no longer a knife to the heart, but a distant dull ache. That CD wasn't just a memory of Asriel, it was a monument to her own ability to move on, and somehow, that scared her more than any longing ever could.

That time had been a period of profound pain and silence. One by one, all of her friends had left. They packed their lives into boxes, stamped new addresses on them, and moved forward to universities in bigger cities, toward futures that seemed to shimmer with promise. December was left behind, isolated in a town that had suddenly seemed to shrink, transforming every familiar place into a ghostly reminder of what she had lost.

The first month was the worst. The loneliness wasn't just a feeling; it was a physical environment. A large, empty house that echoed with every solitary footstep, a silence that forced her to listen to her own thoughts, all of them screaming that she had been left behind. That she was the piece that didn't fit into the puzzle of everyone else's progress.

It was at that rock bottom of her own room that on some unremarkable day she decided she had to get out of the house. She couldn't breathe that stale air anymore. She needed anything that wasn't the constant reminder of her own inability to progress. And it was in that moment of desperate escape, with the keys to her father's old car in her hand and no destination in mind, that they began to become a figure in her life in a completely new way.

Kris.

Before that, Kris had always been a constant secondary character in the backdrop of her life. Asriel's younger sibling, the quiet shadow during hangouts, the silent presence in the backseat during group rides, the familiar face she'd acknowledge out of politeness but never really given a second thought. All those descriptions of them were put aside on that day, when during her aimless drive, she saw them sitting alone on the steps of their father's flower shop, knees drawn up to their chin and a gaze lost on the horizon that seemed to mirror the exact emptiness she felt inside. This wasn't "Azzy's sibling." There, looking all alone, they were just Kris. Their own person. She didn't see the shy kid she'd always ignored; she saw a reflection of her own loneliness.

Without a second thought, she slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt halt beside the curb, and rolled down the window. "Wanna go for a drive?"

And they simply got up and went. No need to think. They just went.

In the beginning, it was aimless drives with the radio turned up loud enough to fill any awkward silence. Gradually, those drives became a routine. Kris never pressured her to talk about her sadness. They just… Were there. A quiet listener when she needed to vent, a calming presence when the world seemed too big to live in by herself.

They became her involuntary accomplice against the loneliness. Without her even realizing it, Kris was weaving the threads of a new routine. They didn't fill the void that Asriel and the others had left (nothing could do that), but they sat beside her on the edge of that abyss in silence, and suddenly the loneliness didn't feel quite so absolute anymore.

Finally, she takes the last turn and the Holiday mansion looms ahead, surrounded by a tall metal gate that protected its occupants from dangers that never materialized in this boring town. At that point, December wished someone would try to break into the property just so she'd have an exciting story to tell, like how she beat up a robber with her baseball bat or something equally absurd. 

With a deep sigh, she puts the car in neutral and pulls the handbrake with its characteristic groan. Now began the most irritating routine of all: getting out of the car, walking to the heavy iron gate, unlocking it with the rusty key, pushing the heavy gates open, getting back in the car, engaging first gear, and guiding the vehicle into the garden, all without letting the engine stall. Compared to her mother's wealth, an automatic gate would have cost a pittance.

It was a small ritual that perfectly encapsulated the irony of her life: all the family's wealth, and yet she was stuck performing manual antiquated tasks, trapped in a bubble of privilege that kept her uncomfortably tied to the most mundane things.

Once the tough task of manually opening the gate was finally complete, Dess guided the car onto the property and parked carelessly beside the garden, her wheels stopping dangerously close to an immaculate flowerbed maintained by a gardener she didn't even afford herself the luxury of feeling remorse for. Before getting out, her gaze was pulled to the half-open bag on the passenger seat. There was the CD, and all she felt was a weary frustration. Looking at it was supposed to hurt. She should be feeling a wave of longing that would knock her off her feet, but instead, it's just… A lukewarm reminder that something inside her had switched off, and she hadn't even noticed when it had happened.

She already knows its fate. She will go up to her room, pull that dusty shoebox from the back of her closet and place the CD inside it, alongside the faded photos and love notes he wrote back in elementary school for her. She will do this with the vague hope that maybe, someday in the distant future, those objects will manage to revive a flame she hasn't felt in a long time. It's what hurt girls are supposed to do, isn't it? Hoard pieces of the past in the hope of stitching it back together.

She zips the bag shut with force and gets out of the car, slamming the door with a loud thud that echoes across the admittedly empty property; the definitive sound of someone ending a day, but carrying with them a silence far heavier than any noise.

Her legs carried her heavily towards the imposing front door of the house. Her feet, clad in worn-out red converse, were rubbed with a certain violence against the welcome mat, not out of any respect for her mother's absurd rules, but out of a pang of consideration for the cleaner who came every week to battle the grime that December and her family produced. Fuck Carol, but the people who work for her don't deserve to clean the shit off my shoes. Well, some of them.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, an intense cold immediately hit her in the face, making her shudder. The house was always cold, as it is a law imposed by its matriarch. But this was a different kind of cold. It was the type of chill that only settled in when Carol was home, like her mere presence drained what little warmth or cozines the house might hold.

Immediately, her whole body went on high alert. Her ears twitched, tuning into any sound that might betray her mother's location. The silence was almost absolute, broken only by the distant ticking of a wall clock and… A noise coming from the kitchen.

The house was dark, save for a single strip of white light leaking from the slightly open kitchen door. From there came the clear clinking of a spoon against porcelain teacup. Was it Elly? No. The stagnant air and the peculiar quality of the silence screamed that it was Carol. It was rare for the woman to be home early (and by "early," December meant "at a normal time for other living beings,"). But when it did happen, it was because there was a reason. And, overwhelmingly, that reason involved ambushing for her eldest daughter for an interrogation.

A quick plan formed in her mind. Maybe, just maybe, if she were silent enough and moved like a shadow, she could climb the stairs and reach the refuge of her room before her presence was noticed.

It was a skill Dess had mastered like no other: the art of being quick. Who had scored the decisive goal in the hockey championship at the last second? Who had stolen bases and hit home runs that seemed impossible? She had. Her agility was her greatest weapon, her only defense in this house that felt like a minefield whenever her mother was involved.

She held her breath, muscles tensed and ready for escape. Every nerve in her body was on alert, every sense amplified. Her heart beat hard against her ribs from a fierce determination. This wasn't a battle she could win with words. But with speed? That was a language she spoke fluently.

It was now or never.

So, using all her determination, she dashes for the stairs. She actually makes it there before being called out, her foot landing on the first step—

“December.”

An icy voice echoed from the kitchen down the hall, slicing through the silent air. Dess closed her eyes on impulse, her whole body bracing as if for a physical blow. It was obvious her escape plan had been doomed from the start, no matter how fast she was.

“December Holiday, come here. Now.”

She could simply go up the stairs and pretend she didn't hear, but she knew that would only bring worse consequences. She could imagine Carol coming up after her, dragging her by the ear (not literally, of course; she would never lower herself to physical violence) and launching into one of her calculated threats, something like "Your allowance will be suspended if you don't do as i said." That was a tactic her mother employed in other situations that always forced her to surrender in silence. And, unfortunately, it was the only thing that still gave her a breath of freedom, which was ironic since it depended entirely on the money her mother controlled. "Fine." The word came out more like resignation than a response.

Dess turned slowly, adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and her wrists clenched at her sides, chipped black nail polish digging lightly into her palms. Fucking hell. She'll go there, hear what she needs to hear, and go to her room. It doesn't have to be a big deal; maybe Carol just wants to talk about some charity event that requires her presence or something equally trivial.

She walks to the kitchen door and pushes it open, already bracing for the battle she expects to find.

What awaits her, however, is a scene that feels like a domestic tribunal. The cold light of the kitchen glares down on the table where her mom sits, her hands resting on the surface beside a teacup as if ready to deliver a sentence. And on the other side, looking like she wants to disappear into her chair, is Noelle. Her swollen eyes avoid any contact, fixed on her own hands as they twist a piece of her skirt with desperate force. The air feels thick with a tension that had been woven long before December even crossed the threshold.

"How were your violin lessons?" Carol's question lands as the opening of an interrogation.

And of course, Dess was already aware of it all. "It was okay. Same as always," She replies, stepping further into the kitchen and crossing her arms.

"Great." The woman allowed her daughter to approach calmly before launching the first real attack. "And your little sleepover last night? How did that proceed?"

December feels a cold chill run down her spine. What the fuck was she talking about? Her gaze flies to Noelle, where her sister is sweating and shrinking even further into her chair. All she needed to know was right there; the confession had already been made. "Sleepover? I don't know what you're talking about, Carol."

"Let's dispense with the feigned ignorance, December."

Okay, she definitely knows things she shouldn't. Looking directly at Noelle, her younger sister's terrified expression feels like a knife to the back. She must have told her about Kris ditching her and coming up to her room. Anger bubbles in her chest, directed at the one person who seemed even more cornered than she was. "...Are you serious? Nice one, Elly. Thanks a lot." Her voice drips with a venom she didn't even know she possessed.

A pained sob escapes Noelle. It's a tiny sound, but it seems to echo in the silent hallway.

"Okay, look." December turns back to her mother, her fists clenching involuntarily. “I just needed help with some stuff and we ended up falling asleep on the carpet. We were just tired and—"

"Irrespective of your intent, December," Carol interrupts, her chin lifting as she looks down at her daughter, her voice carring a grave accusation. "What on earth makes you think it's appropriate to have a 16-year-old in your bedroom?"

That just adds more fuel to the fire burning in her chest. Insulting her is one thing, but talking about Kris like that? Nope. "Don’t talk about them like they are just some random person, it's Kris! And they’re practically family, for fuck's sake! You've known them since they were a kid!"

"Exactly. They are practically family. And that is precisely the line you do not cross."

The thought cuts through Dess’ mind like a lightning bolt, and for a second she stops breathing. Is she insinuating what I think she's insinuating? Line you do not cross. No. It's not possible. The fury that consumed her a second ago transforms into pure disgust. The idea is so far away from any reality that Dess feels her stomach turn. Her mother genuinely believes that she… That she and Kris…

The absurdity of the accusation is so monumental it makes her take two heavy steps toward the table. "What the fuck are you talking about?! We didn't do anything wrong! They’re my friend! Why does everything always have to be so dirty in your head?!"

In response to her approach, Carol rises from her seat and slams her open palms onto the table. "Do not raise your voice at me, young lady. And don't be naive. You know perfectly well this... Closeness between the two of you is a lapse in judgment."

"CLOSENESS?? We were just talking and listening to music! That's what normal teens do! Nothing is happening!" December practically screams, not backing down even in the face of her mother's intimidating posture.

The eye contact between them is a direct challenge. "Stop being deliberately obtuse! Boundaries are important, and you, December Holiday, seem to have forgotten all of them!"

December opens her mouth to retort, but Carol doesn't give her the chance. "And don't you dare tell me it's 'just friendship,' December. They are Asriel's younger sibling, for Angel’s sake. What are you trying to prove?”

Indignation washes over Dess. The insinuations are so absurd they feel like they're from a parallel universe. In a last ditch hope, she turns to her younger sister for backup. "Noelle! Say something! You know nothing's going on, dude! It's just Kris—"

"I… I don't know, Dess…" Noelle's trembling voice betrays any expectation Dess had that she would see how crazy this conversation is. "I thought… it was weird. Them sleeping in your room. It's… Odd."

"Don't you drag your sister into this."

She ignores her mother completely, her attention now fully turned on the younger reindeer. "Noelle, what are you saying? You're weirded out by me? What the fuck do you think I am??"

"It's just… Mom is partly right, Dess…" Noelle's voice is barely a whisper, thick with unshed tears and a betrayal that cuts deeper than her mother's accusations. "It's… strange. The moment Azzy leaves town, you and Kris start hanging out all the time and… last night… I heard you. From the hallway. You were both laughing so hard. It didn't… sound like you were just listening to music. It sounded like… more."

Everything coming out of the girl's mouth sounds completely absurd. "Are you eavesdropping on me now?!" Dess screams, losing all control of the situation.

“Don't you dare turn this back on her!” Carol interjects, slamming a closed fist on the table to force her eldest daughter's attention back to her. “This is about your behavior! What 'more,' December? What was so funny that it couldn't be shared outside of your locked bedroom at two in the morning?"

"We were just making jokes! Since when is laughing a crime?!" Her voice comes out thin and broken, her hands now flying to her own hair and gripping it tightly.

"It wasn't normal laughing, Dess!" Noelle counters, sounding genuinely concerned. "I know what just talking is like. This was different. It was… Strangely intimate."

With her point proven, Carol continues. "You see? You are blurring lines you have no business even approaching. This ends now. You can't play with your ex's younger sibling like they’re some replacement toy for when you feel lonely."

"IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!” December's voice shatters into pure desperation, feeling tears of frustration spring to her eyes. “You two don't understand ANYTHING!"

"You know what, December?” The matriarch's voice sounds unnervingly calm. “Since you're so convinced this 'friendship' is completely above board, perhaps we should get a second opinion. Let's give Toriel a call and ask what she thinks about her underage child spending private ‘talking sessions' in your bedroom.”

December stops dead. The blood seems to freeze in her veins. "... You wouldn't."

"Why? If there's truly nothing for you to be ashamed of, you shouldn't mind. Surely their mother would see it the same way you do. As perfectly innocent."

"Mom, no…" Noelle whispers, seeming to have no voice at this level of confrontation.

"Stay out of this, Noelle.” Carol’s eyes don’t leave Dess. “Well, December? What's it going to be? Do we go have a little chat with Toriel about boundaries, or does this… situation… with Kris end here and now?"

Dess knows how Toriel is; with her overprotective instinct and traditional views, she would only see the worst. She’d see perversion where there was only friendship just like her own mother was insinuating. It would be the end of everything. So, for a greater good, she swallows her pride for the first time in years. "...Fine. Just… leave it alone."

"I thought so. This discussion is over. And so is whatever that was.” The triumph in Carol's voice is sickening. If it were any other situation, Dess would die arguing and proving why her mother was wrong. But this time… She doesn't fight back. “Don't make me mention it again."

Then, completely defeated and destroyed, Dess swallows her tears for the moment and turns her back, ready to leave. Fuck what this old hag thinks, she would grab the car and go to Kris's house right now and—

"The car keys."

December stopped, her escape frozen mid-stride. Her brain, still smoldering with rage and disgust, took an excessively long second to process the words. "...What."

"You are grounded, young lady. Give me your keys and your phone." The order was given with a terrifying calm.

The world collapsed and rebuilt itself in the blink of an eye, transforming her previous fury into pure panic. Grounded? Grounded?! "No! Do you think I'm 9 years old?! Are you crazy—" Her voice came out shrill, a mix of incredulity and desperation.

"December, I know you." Now she was looking down at the teacup in front of her, bringing her hands to the porcelain. "I know you'll run off to do something rebellious. The phone. Now."

It was the absolute certainty in her mother's voice that snapped the last thread of restraint Dess possessed. The judge had finally delivered the sentence, unsatisfied with all the absurdity she had just spouted. Carol was treating her daughter like a spoiled delinquent who needed to be contained.

"FINE. TAKE IT ALL. THERE'S NOTHING LEFT OF ME ANYWAY." The scream tore from December's throat, echoing through the clean white walls of the kitchen. It was a primal sound from a cornered animal. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT? TO SEE ME COMPLETELY BROKEN? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!"

Her movements were driven by a tremor of pure rage. She shoved her hand into her bag and unzipped it, her fingers closing tightly around the phone, and hurled the device against the countertop. 

Without stopping, the car keys were ripped from her pocket and thrown forcefully next to the phone, clattering against the hard surface. She stood there, panting, staring at her mother with absolute hatred. Every shred of autonomy she thought she had was revoked and confiscated in that cold kitchen.

Without giving Carol a chance to issue another decree, Dess turned and stormed out of the kitchen with furious strides, leaving behind the wreckage of her social life and the sister who had witnessed it all in silence.

The reindeer shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time to get there faster, each impact of her hooves against the wooden steps a furious echo of the humiliation burning in her chest. Once she reached the top, breathless and with her vision blurred by rage, her gaze immediately collided with that animatronic decoration she had always hated, posted beside her door like a guardian of everything that was doomed in that house.

The poor thing didn't even have time to emit its screech before Dess, in a fit of blind fury, delivered a violent kick to its plastic body.

The impact was satisfyingly brutal. The figurine flew sideways, crashing to the floor in front of her blue door. Its internal gears seized and then rebelled, causing it to thrash pathetically, a broken arm swinging at an unnatural angle while an electronic groan of agony leaked from its internal speaker.

Before entering her room, December paused for a split second. With a face of rancorous determination, she lifted her hoof and stomped down with all her might on the figurine's face. The plastic cracked with a sharp SNAP. The music and spastic movements ceased instantly, replaced by an absolute silence. Only the sound of her own ragged breathing filled the hallway.

The job was finished.

Only then did she grab her doorknob and throw herself into her room, slamming the door with a bang that made the frame shudder, leaving behind the silent remains of the figurine and the echoes of that shattered day. The silence that followed inside the room was brief, broken by the muffled sound of a growl rising from the depths of Dess' throat.

Her entire body was trembling, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails carved crimson crescents into her palms. Her gaze swept across the room, and all she saw were targets.

The bag was the first. She ripped it from her shoulder with a violent jerk and hurled it against the wall with all her strength. Its contents exploded outward, scattering across the room. Her head swiveled, searching for the next thing.

Her eyes, still clouded by fury, landed on the farthest corner of the room. There were the pile instruments and sports equipment her mom had bought in an endless succession of attempts to mold her daughter into someone. Each item was a milestone of an abandoned phase, a silent testament to the expectations that weighed on her shoulders.

The silver flute, still gleaming under a fine layer of dust, was the first to catch her eye. She snatched it from the floor, and for half a second, a ghostly hesitation hung in the air. It was a harmless object, beautiful in its way even. But its beauty was the trap. It represented every role she was ever forced to play. She gripped the flute with both hands, her fingers closing like vices around its elegant body. Raising it overhead, she brought her knee up in one violent, precise motion, snapping the instrument's back.

The sound wasn't dramatic. It was a dry sound of wood splintering under metal, a sickening snap that echoed in the silent room like a breaking bone. The flute split in two, one end dangling by splintered threads of wood.

She threw the broken pieces to the floor with disdain and stomped on them, feeling the delicate structure crush under her hoof in a series of satisfying cracks. A wave of sick satisfaction washed over her, as intense as it was ephemeral, quickly swallowed by the shredding pain consuming her from within.

It wasn't enough. Her wild gaze scoured the wreckage of the corner until it found the next target: her old wiffle bat. It was a pathetic thing, really. The green plastic was yellowing and warped from the sun, marked by countless dents and cracks she herself had inflicted during boring afternoons. It was already in horrible condition, a discard waiting to happen. December grabbed it by the handle, and this time, there was no hesitation. Only a concentrated hatred for that object, which represented an empty promise of a talent she never wanted to nurture. She raised it and, with all the force of her arm, swung it against the wall of her closet.

CRACK!

The sound was far louder than the flute's. The bat, already fragile, split in half and clattered to the floor. The piece she still held was just a useless shard of useless plastic. She stood there, panting, staring at the shard in her hand. The void of complete destruction began to settle in as the adrenaline receded, leaving behind only the devastated landscape of her own internal storm.

She didn't cry. The sobs that wracked her body were dry, more like the convulsions of a wounded animal. Looking around, the room looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. The blinding rage had passed, leaving behind only an icy void and the sound of her own ragged breathing echoing in the ruined silence.

All that was left for her was absolute nothingness. What would become of her without the car? And without her phone? How would she text Kris?! Shit, they probably have no idea what's happening. The last time she remembers talking to them was before she left the town, they must be so worried about her and she can’t even tell them everything is fine!

Hah, they’re going to be so shocked when they find out everything that happened. Maybe they'll even let out that low chuckle of theirs at the absurdity of it all, showing a glimpse of those slightly crooked teeth they try so hard to hide from everyone even after she told them a thousand times they don't need to hide, because there's absolutely nothing wrong with them and they're actually kind of charming. Kris will listen to every word, nod in agreement, grumble about how unbearable her mom is, and only then will she finally feel that sense of peace return. All she needs is to see them. Talk to them. And—

Dess's eyes widen, surprised at herself.

All she wanted right now was to see Kris.

Not out of rebellion against her mother (which, okay, she'd normally love), but because… she genuinely wanted to see them. To have their presence. Since when did they become the first person she thinks of when she needs comfort?

It doesn't matter right now. She needs a plan for how to navigate this without her mother going around gossiping to everyone about things that don't matter to anyone but her.

With a heavy sigh, Dess gets up and walks to the bed, sitting on the edge and resting her elbows on her knees. She stares intently at the floor, as if the carpet she’d used as a shared mattress days ago could give her the answer she needed. Slowly, the gears in her mind begin to turn, gradually overcoming the frustration toward something resembling a strategy.

Jumping that gate doesn't seem too hard. Kris has jumped those metal bars countless times when she or Noelle lost their house keys, and she's seen them in action herself. So, yes, if she wanted to, she could escape in the dead of night with the subtlety of a ghost, lock her bedroom door so no one would suspect anything, and then jump the gate and run to their house. Getting in through their bedroom window… well, she’d figure out the details later. The important thing was that it was a plan. It was something.

That's it! A thread of hope ignites within her. Knowing them as she does, Kris probably won't be able to sleep anyway. They’re likely tossing and turning in their bed right at this very moment, flooding her with a bunch of absurd memes, trying in their own clumsy, cute way to dissipate the worry she knows they must be feeling.

An involuntary smile, the first real one of the day, tugs at her lips with an affection she doesn't even realize she carries. She doesn't normally think about how their crooked smile can melt all the tension from her shoulders. She doesn't analyze why the memory of them focused while painting her nails with comical seriousness warms her chest in a way nothing else can.

What she does wonder is if they have eaten anything decent today or if they’re surviving on chocolate again, or if they managed to have a good day without getting tangled in the anxious thoughts that so often plague their mind. The concern that rises is genuine but completely blind to its own meaning.

Because to Dess, it all still fits perfectly into the concept of friendship that lives inside her mind. The urgency to see them, the instant comfort that just the thought of them provides… it's all still part of a script she believes she knows by heart. She doesn't realize she's weaving the threads of a much deeper web, where every memory of them is another knot tying her to them, and that she honestly doesn't want to break free.

The plan is set. The target is clear. And her heart is already beginning to beat a little faster, anticipating the moment her eyes will meet theirs.

For now, she just needs to wait a few hours until everyone is asleep. Then, she'll slip out and put her plan into action.

Chapter Text

On that late evening, the silence reigned over Hometown. All its residents were plunged into peaceful sleep, bodies and minds quietly preparing for the day to come. Outside, the trees surrounding the Dreemurr's house whispered among themselves, branches intertwining in a dance whenever the breeze passed by, swaying their leaves in a constant murmur. In the dark fields, crickets wove their strident songs in a secret communication, while small owls, hidden in the gnarled arms of the tallest trees, watched the ground with penetrating eyes, searching for them with other intentions.

The night was perfectly peaceful, spreading its harmoniously over everyone.

Except for Kris.

Inside their dark room, the human tossed and turned in bed, rolling from one side to the other in a restless rhythm. Their poor pillow was being crushed forcefully against their face in an attempt to muffle the noises rising from the floor below; loud laughs followed by the loud, repetitive clinking of glasses toasting in what seemed like an endless celebration. Beneath it all, the television remained on an old comedy show where the volume was particularly louder, as if the CRT itself was partying, noisily celebrating the rare privilege of having more than one spectator to witness its broadcast.

It seemed as if the universe had gathered in council and decided, unanimously, that everything would go wrong for Kris. Besides having ruined the last bond they had with their childhood bestfriend, two days ago they had made a solemn promise to themself that they would do everything possible to distance themself from her, no matter how much it hurt. Kris just didn't expect the idea to become reciprocal.

Okay, maybe they weren't entirely serious when they conceived the plan. Right after the panic attack, Kris woke up the next day swearing they would put an end to it and stop their own suffering once and for all. But deep down, they knew that wouldn't REALLY work. Kris had made this same promise other times and, the next day, they found themself in her car again, with a joint in their mouth and another being skillfully rolled by agile fingers in the driver's seat.

The difference was that, this time, she was the one ignoring them. Her last message read only “heading to class.” And that was it. Radio silent ever since. So, by their calculations, there were only two possibilities:

1. Dess had died.
2. Dess had discovered all their deepest secrets through some cosmic entity specialized in reading the minds of dramatically lovesick teenagers.

Neither option seemed particularly good.

And, of course, as if the universe hadn't done enough, their mother, always so attentive to her precious child's mood, decided that the perfect solution to the evident melancholy hanging over Kris was to invite that convenience store guy over to keep company. The first thing they saw upon opening the door after school were the two of them on the couch.

Toriel was leaning forward in a clear effort to be at the same height as her new boyfriend, who, in turn, was trying to disguise a smile of satisfaction, perhaps because it was the first time a woman had ever gotten this close to him. They weren't just talking. They were flirting. The air in the room was thick with suppressed laughter, prolonged glances, and that specific brand of awkward energy only adults trying to seem cool can emanate.

Seriously. What an absolutely diabolical day.

All Kris wanted at that moment was to see Dess. Even if it was just to be in the same room without exchanging a single word. It was impressive how, in any moment of absolute stress, the first thing that came to their mind was imagining how she would break the tension. What she would say, what terrible joke she would make, how a single sarcastic comment from her would be enough to make them feel that maybe not everything was so hopeless.

But what could they do? Their mother was downstairs with an intruder, so leaving was out of the question. Call their brother? Kris was sure that, in a vulnerable moment like this, they would end up confessing too much. Noelle had never been more distant. And December… Well, December had become Schrödinger's deer.

Kris throws the pillow aside with a frustrated motion and snatches their phone. The gesture is so automatic that their fingers are already sliding across the screen before their brain even processes the movement. Once again, for the thousandth time that night, the bluish light illuminates their face in the dark, revealing tired eyes and a tense expression.

Nothing.

The screen, cruel in its simplicity, shows only the time and zero notifications beyond the daily “Did you stick to your pledge today?” from four hours ago. Nothing from Dess.

Their fingers dart to open her chat, hoping that maybe, magically, the three dots will appear, indicating she's at least considering a response.

Nothing.

They scroll up, searching for any message they might have missed, any crumb that could save them from this absurd anxiety. All Kris finds are the countless messages they sent after her brief warning.

“k. have a good trip” (14:34)

“hey? u make it to class?” (16:25)

(image attached) “lol look at this, reminded me of that time at the lake” (18:12)

“u good?” (18:29)

“dess?” (19:01)

“wanna do something tonight?” (20:12)

And then, the last one. The message that makes their chest ache with embarrassment just seeing it there, hovering at the bottom of the screen, unread, unanswered, a monument to their self-inflicted humiliation.

“did i do something?” (21:03)

It was utterly humiliating. A new level of desperation. Admitting, in digital letters, that they not only noticed the silence but was scouring their own mind for blame. That Kris was so needy they had to ask. Even if the answer was a devastating "yes," it would be better than this silent void.

A few more hours dragged on. Kris now found themself lying on their back on the bedroom floor, wrapped in that worn-out stolen hoodie that still faintly smelled of clove. They’d pulled the hood over their face, trying to envelop themself in whatever shred of comfort the used fabric could offer.

Unfortunately, the panic was a poison the cloth couldn't filter. Kris' mind spun in a whirlwind of what-ifs and what-to-dos. A half-formed plan took shape in their head: tomorrow, they would go to the Holiday’s house. They'd use the hoodie as an excuse ("just came to return it") and then corner December and ask her, straight up, what had happened. She wouldn't ignore them to their face, right? Not Dess. She might be evasive, she might mock them, but completely ignore them? No. That wasn't her.

Unless… Unless she had simply decided to disappear off the face of the Earth.

If that were the case, they would look for her. Even if it was a suicide mission, they would find her location. The determination, born from desperation, burned like a hot coal in their chest. They'd go to hell and back for her if they had to. Sacrifice whatever needed sacrificing.

Downstairs, the laughter had long since ceased. There were footsteps coming up the stairs a while ago, but they couldn't care less. The outside world had lost all meaning.

Where is Dess?

The question hammered against the human’s skull, synced with the accelerated beating of their heart. Their hand fished for the phone in the dark once more.

2:07 AM

0 notifications.

Fuck. They'd even messaged Noelle a timid "sup, everything’s ok?" in a final act of desperation. But not even she had replied.

That's it. It's officially confirmed. Everyone died in some kind of silent cataclysm and Kris Dreemurr had inexplicably been left alone on Earth.

Kris rolled onto their side and pulled their knees tight against their chest, curling into fetal position. The silence itself seemed to press down on them, pinning them to the floor, suffocating them with their own insignificance. They were a nobody in their own life; just living off the shadows and disappointments of everyone around them.

The world had moved on while they were left behind. While everyone else had someone else and some better place to be, they were here. Alone. With no one to send a single message to.

Even the one person they thought truly saw them for who they were, seemed to have forgotten them overnight. 

Kris was so replaceable they were sure she was already in the arms of someone far better than them.

Again.

Their eyes squeezed shut, trying to make the world around them disappear. But the thoughts just circled faster, a vortex of what did I do? where is she? why does it always end like this? I’m so alone, I’m so-

Tink.

The sound came small. A tiny, sharp punctuation against the window.

Kris froze.

Tink.

There it was again. Not a branch. Not the wind. Too precise to be rain.

Tink. Tink-tink.

It was falling into a rhythm now. Their heart, which had been a lead weight in their chest, suddenly stuttered back to a frantic beat. They held their breath, listening to the call.

Tink.

This time, it was followed by a muffled murmur from outside.

Kris pushed themself up from the floor, propping themself on their elbows. Their eyes widened, entire body stiff as they tried to decipher the sound. There was a voice out there. Maybe.

"Come out already!"

Yup. There was definitely someone out there.

Driven by a sudden wave of adrenaline, the human shot up so fast their blood pressure dropped, leaving them dizzy for a brief moment. Kris tried their best to ignore the unsteadiness, stumbling across the room in a few shambling steps to the window. Their trembling hands grabbed the curtain and yanked it aside, eyes frantically scanning the darkness below for the source of the noise.

There it was. A figure in the darkness of the night. All they could make out were the sharp antlers rising from its silhouette, one hand raised and ready to throw whatever-it-was it was launching at the glass, and...

Two small red points, glowing softly in the dark.

It was in that moment that they knew. It was her.

Kris shoved the window open with clumsy effort, hearing the wood groaning in protest. Their face, until then engraved with anguish, broke into a wide smile of pure relief. “Dess!” they called out, tone coming out louder than they intended.

From below, the now unmistakable sarcastic voice echoed up to them back. “Hey there, princess!” she called, trying to keep her voice down but failing miserably. “Your knight has arrived!”

Kris let out a genuine laugh at the way she announced her arrival. The whole scene did feel like something ripped from a cheesy romance movie. "What are you doing here? I've been texting you all day-"

Dess shrugged. "Wanted to surprise you," she said, tone dropping lower than before. "A little prank, you could say."

A prank? Dess had made Kris question their entire existence on Earth because she wanted to pull a prank? Of all the times, it was now that she decided to be funny? Well, Kris had to admit, congratulations to her for committing to the bit for so long. They let out a weak laugh and rolled their eyes, leaning their body on the window frame. "Wow."

"Anyways," Dess called their attention, dropping the remaining rocks in her hand to the ground and shoving her hands into her pockets. "I'm heading over to see my old man. Wanna tag along?"

"Yes." The word was out of their mouth immediately. They hadn't even fully processed the invitation, just registered the ‘tag along' and that was more than enough.

"So get down here then, princess."

Kris didn't think twice. They turned back into their room and, within seconds, was swinging their legs over the windowsill and launching themself down without any ceremony.

With the agility of a stray cat, the human managed to land squarely on their feet. They were used to throwing themself off of things at this point; gates, walls, you name it. It was their own incredible superpower, always landing  without breaking anything.

Dess, on the other hand, looked genuinely impressed. Now that their eyes were adjusting to the outside darkness, they could see more of her than just two red dots and a pair of antlers. Her hair was tied back, making her ears more prominent. She wore her military jacket and large shorts that fell to her knees. And, of course, those red converse glued to her hooves.

“Whoa. Don’t think you need much of a knight if you can do that,” Dess commented sarcastically, her smile practically audible in her words.

“Sometimes I’m my own knight. Sometimes I’m the princess,” Kris shot back, brushing off their clothes and straightening up.

“Is that, like, a non-binary superpower or something?” Dess stepped closer.

“Maybe,” Kris said, followed by a low chuckle.

“Incredible,” Dess remarked, slinging her arm around their shoulders and pulling them in close. “C’mon, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Kris felt their face grow warm, pressed against the side of the older reindeer as her arm kept them anchored. She began to walk, guiding them along the side of the house, away from the backyard. Rounding the corner, they reached the front of the residence, where Toriel's car was parked neatly to the side, and…

Kris looked around. Only Toriel's car was there. No sign of a red beat-up classic. And Dess kept walking, gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Dess?” Kris stopped on the sidewalk, forcing her to stop as well. “Where’s your car?”

“Uh.” Dess looked down at her own feet, scrambling for an answer. “I spoiled you way too much with all those car rides. Tonight, we’re walking. It’s good to walk now and then.”

Kris frowned. In the entire year their friendship had been building, it had never occurred to her to take them anywhere on foot. Let alone all the way into town. In the middle of the night.

But it was fine. What mattered was that she hadn't vanished and she didn't seem to hate them like they imagined.

The two walked in silence for a few more moments. The night was surprisingly gentle; a cool breeze whispered through the streets, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine. It was the kind of clear night that felt sacred, where the stars overhead seemed brighter in the absence of any competing light. The world was empty, every house shrouded in sleep, every window black. It was just them, two figures moving through the sleeping heart of Hometown.

As they passed the street that led to the Holiday’s mansion, Kris glanced down its length. The imposing iron gate stood sentry before the grandiose house in all its glory, and there was no car in sight. Dess must have been serious about this.

“Man, that girl who lives down this street is such a bitch,” Dess said suddenly, voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Huh?” Kris looked at her, seeing she was staring off in the opposite direction they were. “Catty?”

“No, the other one.” Dess continued, her tone shifting into something more annoyed. “She used to be all over Azzy every time she saw me with him.”

“Bratty? Yeah, I remember that,” Kris said, feeling a faint embarrassment tugging at them.

“But that wasn’t even what stressed me out the most about her.” Dess kicked a loose rock. “I mean, yeah, it’s annoying having some girls hit on your boyfriend, but Az was popular with everyone. I was used to it.”

“But what really got me was how much she messed with you.” Dess's voice softened, but with a protective edge. “Remember that time she told you to go grab some snacks, saying she’d let you hang out with the older kids if you did?”

Kris nodded, the memory surfacing with a dull ache. They remembered the hopeful flutter in their chest, quickly replaced by the sting of realization that they were just being used. They’d been so eager to belong, to be seen as cool enough, that they’d fallen for it. The familiar feeling of being an outsider settled in their chest.

“I wanted to wring her neck,” Dess stated. “Like, I know I wasn’t the best to you back then, but come on. Who did she think she was, talking to you like that? Thinking she could just… Use you for laughs?”

Kris looked down at their feet, feeling a complicated warmth spreading through their chest, momentarily overpowering the old sadness. The memory of the childhood humiliation they had been through still hurt, of course. But hearing Dess now expressing herself with such defensive anger in her voice on their behalf (anger they’d never known she’d felt), it was like she was standing up for that lonely kid they used to be. It made their throat feel tight. They weren’t used to someone getting angry for them. Kris was used to just swallowing it. But she hadn't. She’d seen it, and she’d cared, even if she’d never said a word about it in front of them.

They didn't trust their voice, so they just gave her another small nod.

Dess gave their shoulder a reassuring squeeze with the arm still draped around them. “Nobody gets to do that,” she muttered, more to herself than to them, before steering them forward again, further into the quiet, windy night.

Kris didn't say anything. They didn't need to. They kept their head down and continued walking, feeling small beside her. But not in a bad way. This feeling they got around her was… Good, sometimes. Like they could just… Feel like a kid again, and she'd be there to look after them. It was a stupid thought, but they liked feeling this way. Protected.

The walk continued. They passed the corner by QC's, heading down the street. Hometown was incredibly dark at night, with no streetlights, illuminated only by the "closed" signs left on outside of a few establishments. It wasn't a problem for the two of them, though. Dess had that whole seeing-in-the-dark thing thanks to her genetics, and Kris did too, more or less? Human vision could adapt pretty well to the amount of light offered in an environment. Sure, they couldn't see much of their surroundings, but they could see what they wanted to.

The mood had gotten heavy and quiet after their last conversation. As they neared the hospital, Dess opened her mouth again. “So,” she started, tone deliberately lighter, trying to shift the atmosphere. “How was your day?”

Kris let out a long, weary sigh. This was the moment they could finally open up a little and release the tension coiled tight inside them. "He showed up again today," Kris said, voice barely more than a murmur. "That guy." 

"Sheeesh, that sucks," Dess replied, immediately sympathetic. "How'd it go?"

The teen shrugged, shoving their hands deeper into the pockets of the hoodie, the one that still smelled like her. "It's annoying. Like always. But I don't know. Mom seems… happier, I guess."

Dess hummed in understanding, acknowledging their pain without needing to dissect it right then. She didn't offer empty platitudes or try to immediately fix it. She just let the words hang in the cool air between them, giving them the space they deserved.

So, they proceeded. Their footsteps, now in sync, were the only sound for a long moment. "... Before, she was always just… Kinda down. A little lonely, maybe. Stuck in the past. And I get it. I really do. She deserves to be happy. She deserves to move on from… Everything. From dad, from all of it."

Another pause, longer this time. The words felt awkward in their mouth, but they pushed them out. "But… I guess I just wish…" Their voice dropped even lower. "I wish she'd save a little bit of that happiness for me. Or at least, you know, look at me long enough to see that I'm still there."

Kris swallowed hard, feeling more vulnerable than they'd intended. "It's like she's finally moving forward, and I'm just… this piece of furniture she has to step around in the hallway. She's so busy being happy with him that she forgets I'm even in the room. I just… I wish she'd give me a little attention too."

The walk stopped close to the town hall. She let go of their shoulder, but only to turn and place herself directly in front of them, hands coming out of her pockets to gently hold their arms.

"Kris," she began. "Listen. Your mom... She's blind. It's not malice, probably. She's just so excited by the idea of not being alone anymore that she forgot she never really was alone in the first place."

She gave their arms a slight squeeze. "But you know you're not a piece of furniture, right? You're a fucking person. The most quiet and weirdly cute being I know."

Kris kept their head down, but they didn't pull away. They were listening to every word.

"And if she's not seeing that right now," December continued, "that's her problem, Kris. Not yours. Seriously. You deserve attention. You deserve someone who sees you. Every day."

She paused, searching for their eyes. "And until she remembers how to do that... I'm here. I see you, Kris. I've always seen you. Even when I pretended not to."

She let go of one of their arms and raised her hand, placing two fingers under their chin and tilting their face up gently. Her eyes found theirs. "Okay?" she whispered. "You matter."

And then, before Kris could process it, before they could even blink, she leaned forward. 

Their eyes widened to saucers, every muscle in their body freezing solid. A jolt of pure panic coursed through them. Their breath hitched in their throat, trapped. This was it. This was the moment everything would change, shatter, explode. Their mind screamed, 'oh angel oh no oh please yes what do I do I can't I-'

And then her lips landed on them. They pressed, firm and warm, against their forehead.

The tension shattered, but not in an explosion. It evaporated into a confused, breathless puff of air. All that world-ending adrenaline had nowhere to go. It left them feeling hollowed out and profoundly stupid. Their rigid posture slumped. The breath they'd been holding rushed out of them in a shaky sigh. Kris’ brain, which had just been screaming at red-alert levels, fizzled down to a single blank ”...Oh.”

The warmth lingered on their skin, a tender brand that now felt confusing instead of electrifying. The scent of clove wrapped around them, suddenly feeling less like an intoxicating perfume and more like just... Her smell. Kris just stood there, blinking into the darkness where her face had just been, trying to reboot their entire nervous system, which had just short-circuited over absolutely nothing.

"Let's keep going," she said, voice returning to normal as she started walking again, as if none of that had just tilted their entire world. "That old man isn't gonna visit himself."

Kris tilted their head back up, toward the distant stars that couldn't judge them. As December walked ahead without looking back, they took one crucial moment to collect their thoughts. Their trembling hands rose to their face, fingers pressing hard against their closed eyelids before dragging their hair back, away from their still-burning forehead. They drew in a deep, shaky breath through their nose, the frigid night air burning their lungs, and internally let out a soundless scream of pure frustration and embarrassment.

When Kris looked back down, Dess was already turning the dark corner beside the church, her silhouette about to disappear. The human stopped completely, recognizing the iron gates up affront, holding the angelic symbol at the top.

What were they even doing here?

The question hit them like a brick. They vaguely remembered her asking them to tag along, but they’d been so desperate not to lose sight of her that they would have followed her to the ends of the earth without question. Their mind, obsessed with her every move, had completely discarded the destination.

…She’d mentioned visiting her old man, hadn’t she?

Oh.

Shit. Shit.

Kris immediately pushed off and started running toward her. There they were, mere seconds ago, dying of anxiety, whole body tensing for a kiss they thought it would be so romantic, while she was walking to visit her dead father. She was probably feeling vulnerable, sad, alone, and they had misread everything, twisting a gesture of pure platonic affection and comfort into a selfish, absurd fantasy in their own head.

Kris felt monumentally stupid. A pathetic, self-centered idiot. They weren't the “princess”; they were the clown. The forehead kiss was just a calming gesture of care, the kind of thing you do for a crying child or a distressed friend, not the prelude to some forbidden passion.

And the worst part? They’d made that moment about them. About their own nerves and desires, instead of just being there for her. The shame burned their cheeks and the back of their neck, hotter and more intense than any warmth her lips could have left behind. They quickly caught up to her, falling into step a few paces behind. 

"Hope he doesn't mind us showing up so late," Dess whispered as she led the way through the wrought iron gate.

Kris's eyes traced the figure with wings carved above the entrance, its stone gaze looking down, perhaps judging them for their sins. “Uh,” they fumbled, brain scrambling to find a script for this place they hadn't prepared for. “Yeah... guess he’s probably not expecting visitors.”

The darkness began to intensify here, pulling away from any lingering glow the town might still emit. Finally, they reached the low fence guarding the headstones of the town's beloved, all presumably at rest. Right in the middle was a new one, placed no more than six months ago. It stood out, not just because it was more polished and clean than the others weathered by time and elements, but because of the fresh flowers laid at its base.

Dess entered by the entrance to the low fence, head fixed straight ahead,  shoulders so tense they looked carved from stone. “Sup, man.” Dess murmured, stopping just inches from the headstone. “Long time no see.”