Work Text:
kris looks at their hands.
kris has been looking at their hands for the last ten minutes. flexing their knuckles, digging their rough-edged nails into their palms, hooking their fingers into claws and then relaxing them.
it's not every day that it's this bad. usually, they can just pull their sleeves down and go on with their life, with only the black paint capping them visible past the edges. most days, they don't avoid their reflection like other people would dodge a car, but- but.
but the books on humans at the librarby. but talks about the history between humans and monsters, with alphys casting those looks at them every other sentence. but looking at their father, looking at their mother, looking at their brother's pictures… it's all too much. it's too much.
the tv being on gives them an excuse to be distracted and vacant, and it means their mother only looks her normal level of concerned when she pauses beside them, smoothing their bangs out of their face so she can give them a smile. 'i am going into town for a little while, my child. do you need anything?'
they force themself to shrug and shake their head after a moment, mustering up a quirk of their lips, the kind that keeps loving parents from asking too many questions. she smiles a little more, obviously relieved, and gives their cheek an extra pet before pulling away. 'well, the phone is working, and you have yours, of course, so let me know if that changes. it should only be an hour or so.' her paws are silent on the carpet as she moves towards the door, and kris swallows down their envy. 'i love you, kris.'
they tilt their head with the same plastered on smile, mumbling it back in more sounds than words. their mother is used to this, so she only waves with her hand full of keys before ducking out the door. they wave back, frustratingly delayed to the point that they don't even know if she saw it, then drop their hands to their lap, fists clenched.
kris stays in place, listening to the minivan start up and drive away, and stays through an extra ad break on whatever show is on just in case. once they're certain she's gone for real, their shoulders slump out of the projected cheer. it's better if their mom doesn't have to worry about them. worrying leads to questions, questions lead to talking, talking only ever leads to self-help books, pitying looks, and speeches about accepting who you are.
*easy enough to say when you can use magic to change your appearance. some of us have to work harder.
they click off the tv, enjoying the way the electronic hum trails off into the quiet background noise of a living house while they shove away from the couch. their feet argue with them about moving, but they ignore the slow response, lurching towards their room. each step is heavy and dragging, and they have to clench their jaw against the pathetic growl working its way up.
their knees hit the soft rug by their bed, and they twist over to root around beneath it. for all that kris might poke around at the outside of az's stuff, they would never dig deep into his things- to do so would invite him to do the same when he gets back, because those are the rules. do unto others, and all that, and kris would simply have to
turn into dust
die if anyone, especially their family, found what was in the dull purple box that they so carefully drag out.
the only disturbances on the dust covering the top are their own fingers, and they don't brush any of it away. it's too useful for making sure no one else has gotten into it. instead, they just set the lid to the side, tilted so nothing gets smudged. their hidden treasure sits exactly how kris left it, items stacked neatly, nothing bunched up.
they run their fingertips over the soft white gloves, breath shuddering in their thin chest, before shaking themself off and pulling them on. each inch of skin that gets covered up by the faux fur is a relief, the tempest in their head calming slightly while they admire their paws, their real paws, with black claws and little black stripes along the bases of their fingers. turned over, they brush pad against pink pad, watching the pressure dimple the suede skin.
now that their paws aren't shaking, they pull out the only thing in the box that doesn't technically belong to them: one of az's robes, lent when their clothes were in the wash from too many days playing in the dirt and running around in the woods. they had shrugged when he asked about it a few days later, and to soothe the guilt of stealing from their brother, they put some g on his dresser. he never pressed the issue. they tug it over their head, hiding their skinny legs and weird flat feet.
with that done, they can take out their 'lost' headband, adjusting the red horns to make them straight before putting it on. white fur, their ears, their ears, hang from the ends of the band, and they tuck their hair around them, enjoying the contrast. az had dark patches at their age. it's normal for a growing boss monster.
they don't need a mirror to paint the black circles around their eyes, or the curling stripes jutting up from their jaw. the make-up brush is long enough that they don't make a mess of their paws, trained to dexterity in these snatched moments. kris frowns at their emptying container, at the streaks that have dried on the jar, but refuses to dwell. they can't waste their moments alone.
this time when they go to face the mirror, they don't flinch, staring at the monster looking back at them. they look like their family.
kris tilts their head, watching their reflection do the same, and smiles wider than they have in weeks.
they look like themself.
*it's only you.