Chapter Text
"Kris, honey, are you almost ready?"
"Almost!" Kris lies, frantically stuffing shirts into their suitcase. They look at Asriel, almost pleading. "Azzy, why do I own so many clothes? Why are clothes? If we must have them, why can't I just wear the same thing daily?"
Asriel looks at the brown and green lump of clothing in their suitcase. "I mean, you already kind of do," he points out with a teasing grin.
"It's called a fashion style," Kris says, shaking their head, fighting back a grin of their own. "Mori kei. I'm stylish."
"I mean, you used to just call it 'shut up, I'm comfy'."
"Still do, sometimes. And I'm not the one that dresses like a living rainbow." With effort, they zip the suitcase shut. "Help me grab my meds?"
Asriel nods, climbing to his feet, heading to grab the little assortment of pill bottles off the dresser and dump them into a ziploc bag. "You and mom got your prescriptions transferred, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. That's all set up, and I have references for new doctors and psychs and endrocrinologists and... the whole Kris Dreemurr assortment." They snort, holding up their hand. Asriel tosses the bag over, and they catch it with only a bit of clumsiness.
Asriel shrugs, going to check through the drawers for anything left behind. "Good. Because I will be texting you annoying reminders daily. You haven't seen nagging like this before. Gonna outdo mom, even."
They laugh at that, shaking their head. "Don't think that's possible, but... thanks."
There's a moment of quiet.
"Not sure what I'm going to do without you, you know?" they say, and their voice is hoarse, quiet.
Asriel hesitates, for just a second, smile more fixed on his face.
Then he goes to kneel by Kris on the carpet, wrapping an arm around their shoulders. With his latest growth spurt, he's started to gain height on Kris, his fur growing in denser and thicker, his arms broader. Kris almost seems dwarfed by him.
Looking at them, it'd be hard to tell that Kris is the older sibling.
"You're going to do great, Kris," Asriel says, soft. "You're going to knock everyone there dead. And I'll make it to all your recitals and stuff, promise. Cheering you on."
"I'm going to Rickroll you," they threaten. "Sabotage my entire college career just so that I can play the stirring notes of Never Gonna Give You Up to you, specifically."
Asriel grins a little, bumping his head against theirs lightly. "Looking forward to it." He smiles at them, warm. "Now c'mon. Let's get your keyboard loaded up before mom just physically carries you out of here."
"Kris!" Toriel calls, as if on cue. "Are you ready yet?"
They both pause for a moment, looking at each other, and then break into giggles.
---
Life goes on the same as ever.
Asriel has plenty to fill his days with, after all. Helping dad at the shop after school (still always in the red, but a little less every day, with Asriel encouraging and supporting him). Helping mom bake for bake sales or church events (and she smiles a little more, relaxes a little more, seems willing to let more things go). Texting Kris, when they give him updates on school (and they're making friends, slowly, finding places they belong). After school clubs and sports, and maybe talking to Noelle, after, since they're in so many of the same clubs (and he listens to her when she talks about her dad, offers the support he can). Church choir. Community service. Odd jobs around town.
The first time he finds himself somewhere odd, he's so exhausted he barely notices.
He's sitting on grass, back against something cool to the touch. The sun is setting, casting everything into reds and golds, and he can just make out the first stars coming out.
He stares up at them, hazily. They flicker and burn, infinitely distant, so much brighter than the sickly-green glow in the dark stars on the ceiling of his bedroom. There almost seems to be some message written in them, some secret encoded in their pattern.
It's a long time before he looks away.
He recognizes where he is, of course. The old rusty doors at the edge of town, leading to--some old mineshaft, or something. Toriel's warned him and Kris away from them before, worried about the many dangers of abandoned places ranging from tetanus to secret murderers, not that that had stopped them.
He hasn't come here in years. After they had given up on opening the doors, the spot had become less intriguing and more boring.
He doesn't know why he's sitting there again.
He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and pulls himself to his feet. Maybe he had come there with a friend after--track? Choir? What day was it?
With a wince, he presses his hand to his forehead, starting to stumble home. It was just exhaustion, most likely, he tells himself. All he needs is some proper sleep, and things will be better.
The town is quiet after dark, the shadows deep around him. He walks through, still gazing up at the stars now and again. He thinks of the telescope back home, wonders if he has time to take it out and spend some time stargazing.
The lights of his home are bright, warm, illuminating the way. He pushes open the door, heading in into the warmth.
"Asriel, honey?" Toriel calls from the dining table. She's surrounded by sheets of construction paper. "You're home quite late... I made dinner, but I put it in the fridge for you."
"Sorry, mom." He smiles, closing the door behind him, closing out the darkness and the stars. "Jockington needed a bit of help with homework."
She smiles at him, warm and fond. "Well, I will understand if you need rest, but..." She gestures at the construction paper. "While I get your dinner warmed up, would you mind helping me out? I have a new lesson plan for tomorrow, and the scissors are difficult to work with these." She waves her paw, shaking her head ruefully.
He grins, going to sit at the table. "No problem, mom."
The moment by the doors fades, slowly, back into a haze, as he chatters about his school day and plans for the week.
The kitchen is full of the smell of home cooking and the quiet sound of scissors through paper.
(He does not think of the stars again.)
---
Weeks pass, on and on.
He walks into the classroom one morning, rubbing sleep from his eyes still. It's early, and the classroom is mostly empty still - even Alphys hasn't arrived. The only two present are him and--
"Uh, hey, Noelle," he says, waving at the girl who is doing her best to glare at him.
"Where were you last night?" she demands, shaking her head. "I... I waited for hours, I tried to call, I... I thought you were dead or something because even Ms. Toriel didn't know where you were--!"
Guilt slams into him like a truck. "Right, right, uh--the group project... Sorry. Emergency came up, and my phone died halfway through." He presses his hands together, apologetic. "Uh. Tell you what. This Saturday, I'm all yours."
She stares at him for a second, then sighs, giving a rueful smile. "...A-alright." She shrugs. "If you... ever have emergencies, you can just call, you know. I know you can't be free all the time. I... I definitely get that..."
He goes to sit at his middle desk, stretching out. "I still feel bad. I really, really didn't mean to..." He shrugs a little, grinning. "If you want, I can make it up to you by slipping your number to a certain purple girl."
He's rewarded by Noelle going visibly red even through her fur. "I told you that in confidence, Asriel, not to tease me with every time we talk--"
He laughs, leaning back. "Alright, alright."
There's a few moments of silence except for the ticking of the clock.
"Um." A pause. "Would you... actually..."
He laughs, nodding, and watches her get redder and redder.
Slowly, others file in, one by one, taking their seats. Class goes on. And after--track, this time, he and Noelle talking as they run, planning out the first stages of the project, and they part ways with mutual smiles.
(He walks home late that night, still feeling cold metal on his back and the weight of the stars overhead.)
("Group project," he says, and his mother looks at him and says nothing for a long time.)
(He just smiles back, on and on, until she relents and calls him to the table.)
---
Staring at the sickly green stars one night, hands folded behind his head, he wonders, idly - how bad will it have to get before anyone notices?
It doesn't matter that much.
He can hide it a few days longer.
He can hide it until everyone is happy.
He sinks into sleep, and his dreams are dark and empty and cold and lonely, and in them he is at peace.