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Chapter Text

He was quite surprised when he heard the pulls of the acoustic guitar play out in the dark bar, a single spotlight shining onto the musician on the stage.

It had been twenty-something years since the Monsters of the Underground found their savior in the form of a young child, and the music still sucked. The 90s were a decent era for music, but as soon as the 2000s hit the show was all over. The world didn't have much glamour to it to begin with, but with the horrid birth of dubstep and screamo a grey wash coated the world to an even duller tone.It was fucking miserable.

With the air of knowing all was truly shitty in his life, musical or otherwise, he never held high expectations for what took place at bars. He came to drink, he came to smoke, he came to forget the world. But tonight was an unknown.

Red didn’t keep many contacts from the Underground and most of his human acquaintances had the tendency to drop off the face of the fucking Earth,so he always sat alone at Grillby’s bar. He liked it that way, preferred it that way. Some of the mortal patrons would give the skeleton a sideways glance or two, but little else. He had his stool, he had his scotch, and he had his silence; even with the cheesy country band playing that first hour. Red sighed contently to himself as they finished up their act, planning on maybe one last shot before heading home for the night.

But that clumsy little shit, with her faded green hair and piercingly weird eyes, tripped over a power cord as she stepped up on stage. She was a fucking joke, at first, opening up her beat up, sticker covered case to pull out a poor excuse of a guitar at had seen better days. Her pick was a busted bottle cap and her guitar strap . . . was made of neon purple duct tape. Red rolled his eyes and turned away on his stool, crimson eyes put back to his glass; swirling the amber drink inside as he sulked.

Than her song began and Red went stiff.

He couldn’t peg the original artist, but he could spot a few different types of genres in the acoustic rendition. Indie. Folk. Jazz. A swaying, soothing sound that bounced about a bit on the tip of her tongue. Red didn’t really want to turn around, the music was good enough without having to see the girl behind it all, but he did anyway; curiosity getting the better of him.

It was clear that the song wasn’t made for just a solo guitar, but she made the best of the pauses and dips of the melody; drawing out the hums of her metal strings into a mild, warm echo. It was nice, better than nice - fucking relaxing; which Red did not experience all that often.

The meaning of the Lyrics didn’t fall mute on Red, and he could feel what little care there was left in him reach out to the music; like a needing hand waiting for help - broken fingers wrapped in bloody bandages. But no one ever wanted to grab a bloody hand, not really. Or at least, not hold if for long periods of time. His mind detoured away from the present, going in and out of memory and time as the tiny girl played on.

By the time Red retracted from his mind, she was almost done.

Barely anyone but Red had been paying attention, and it was a damn shame. Both she and Red looked about the bar to see the crowd's reaction, and either people were to consumed in their drinks or their talks or their shitty food to even give her a round of applause. Tough crowd, but at least she would get paid . . .or at least Red assumed she would get paid. The girl thanked them and collected her things, heading right towards the stage exit.

“You gonna just stare at her, or ask her over?” The question made Red jolt a bit in his stool, snapping his head to the flaming barkeep.

“What?” Red snarled, golden tooth sticking out further then it usually did.

“You come in here, every other day or so, and do nothing but sit on your bony ass.”

“Why the hell does that matter to you?!”

“Because it’s depressing.”

Red was trying not to make a scene, drawing his beanie further down his skull with a harsh whispers. "Listen. I come to your shitty bar to drink your shitty drinks and to be left the fuck alone - not to get your un-fucking-wanted advice.”

“You also swear too much.” Grillby tilted his head. “Well, if you aren't going to invite her over, I will.”

“You wouldn’t fucking da-”

“Presley.” Just as she was about to dart out the door, she stopped at her name, turning back to see Grillby wave her over. She seemed hesitant at first, desperate, but caved quickly and mazed her way to the counter. "Good song tonight.”

She nodded her thanks, eyes down to the polished bar top. She seemed just as awkward about this as Red was, the Skeleton doing all that he could not to look at her. His fight-or-flight reflexes were kicking in, urging him to react as quickly as possible - but hitting her or running out would be fucking weird. Red was stuck in Grillby’s little game, knuckles wrapping around his glass; like a stone in a storm.

“Want a drink?” She shook her head at his question. “Well, what if I offer you one? On the house. . . or on his tab.” Grillby motioned towards Red and his stomach dropped. Now he had to turn to turn and look at her; he was an asshole, but not that big of an asshole to ignore a painfully blatant social gesture. Red looked and his jaw tightened.

One brown eye, one blue (or maybe some sort of off-shot green?), both looking at him with a tense fixation. Her doe-eyed orbs peeked out from under a dark, almost cartoonist, brown brow and strays of the sea-foam hair; narrow checks and a sharp jaw leading to a small chin. A short and thin neck followed, cut off from the rest of her body by a black chain choker and a few other pieces of mismatched jewelry. He stopped there, giving the musician a small nod before turning his gaze away.

She was cute, in that weird junk-mouse way. Average frame with baggy clothes and a grossly over-sized plaid jacket that seemed to swallow her whole. The boots she was wearing had maybe been some sort of brand name 10 years ago, but they were so scuffed and beaten up that any hope of saving face was long gone. Along with her guitar case she also had what Red could only assume was a backpack, to many frayed holes in the olive fabric to actually be of quality use. In a sum up, Red thought she looked kinda . . . homeless.

“His name’s Red, if you were curious. Red, this is Presley.” He shoot another quick glare at Grillby as he made the introductions, which earned the bartender an annoyed chuff.

“Look, I-” But Red’s words were snapped off but one of the softest voices he’d have ever heard.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Presley held out her narrow hand for Red to take, pale fingers laced with a few rings and tipped with black nail polish; her knuckles sharp and bony looking.

Red blinked at her a few times, then to her hand, then into her eyes. there was no way he was going to take her hand, no fucking way. Fuck that shit. Fuck . . . Grillby was right about how Red cussed too much. He couldn’t even keep a PG thought in his mind. “Kid, put your hand down. I don’t shake. That's what dogs do.” Red spoke bluntly, a passive aggressiveness to his voice that seemed to make Presley a tad taken back.

“Oh . . . Sorry.” She retracted her hand and the ever present awkwardness weighed them down even more. Grillby’s plan wasn’t working and that filled Red with a warm sensation of pride.

“Presley has talent, don’t you think?” Grillby spoke to Red again, drying off a pint glass as he prodded for more conversation.

“It was ok, for some of the hacks you bring in.” Red turned away again and wished his coat could just eat him alive, nestling down deeper into the dark shroud about himself.

“Only ‘ok’? Apparently you, my little angry friend,” Grillby loomed over Red a bit, his height a massive tower compared to the shorter Skeleton. “, are tone deaf.”

“I have to get going to my next gig. Bye Grill. Red.” She rushed away before Grillby prompt her to stay longer, and singular red eye of Red’s followed her as the tiny musician went for the exit; disappearing into the snow filled night with a click of the heavy, metal door.

Both men were at a silent moment for a little while, but Grillby broke it with “Smooth, Red. Very smooth.”

“It was your idea.”

“You’re right. Here is another one of my ideas.” Grillby snatched Red’s glass from his hands with a flash of fire and heat, slamming it down behind the counter. “That was your last drink for the night. Now get out.”

“Well fine, fuck you to!” Red hopped off the stool with a heavy stomp of his feet, outside before he realized it; a light flurry raining down tiny sparkling specks onto his leather jacket. “Whatever . . .” He reached into a pocket and drew out a cigarette, the heat of the smoke twirling about his teeth and out through his perpendicular plate. “He ruined the fucking mood anyways.” Red mumbled to himself all the way to the bus stop, slumping into the blue, frost covered bench with a loud growl.

Red’s eyes closed and he thought back to the girl named Presley, her song, the strings on her guitar, the instrument itself, everything; even if he didn’t necessarily want to. It was rare that something ever good got stuck in Red’s head, mostly stupid shit or worthless information, but her song made an impression.

“Hm. The Kid's got potential, but she could use a-HEY!” The bus zoomed passed Red, not even looking like it was going to stop. He shot up and tried to run after it, but there was little you could do with brittle bones in cold weather. “Fuck! Hey, stop! St- . . .!!” There in the window above him was Presley, and she was looking right back at him; wide eyed. Red skidded to a stop, stunned, and watched the Trac drive off down the street, disappearing off of North Main with only the tire tracks in the snow as a parting farewell.

Still in a bit of shock himself, Red slowly turned back to his bench to look it over. It was a normal sitting bench, the advertisement for some Layer lady on it, while the actual bus stop was directly across the street..

“ . . . FUCK!” He tossed his cigarette to the ground with a loud holler. It looked like he’d be walking back home that night

Chapter Text

Red was not ready to see Presley again so soon, or so many times, only mere days after their awkward first impression..

The first run in was smack dab in the middle of the snack aisle, holding a box of glazed donuts with her gaze set to reading the label on the plastic container. He had figured, given how late in the evening it was, the no one would be out and about at a grocery store. Apparently he had been mistaken.

It was so fucking stupid that he went to bolt around the corner out of of the store before she could have seen him, his back pressing into a display of canned soups, but he did it anyways. So fucking stupid, he repeated that again and again in his head; the buzzing in his head quickening close to the levels his anxiety wouldn't be able to handle. What made it worse was that Red pushed off the shelf some of the cans fell off and onto him, clanking loudly onto the marbled tiles of the store. Presley definitely saw him, the last look he caught of her being those odd eyes of hers focused right on him.

The second time was at a gas station a day later. Red didn’t like to run out of his smokes, a miniature hoarder always waiting at home for him, so when the stash would seem thinner he would make a quick as possible to the closest shop that would carry his brand; power walking with a nervous twitch set to one eye. The twitch only got worse when he recognized the top of Presley’s head.

She had her back to him, looking over a few energy drinks in the glass case and some bag of chips in her arms. Again, she saw Red before he could fully get away, slamming down his cash onto the counter for the cashier to count then snatched up his cigarette pack with a bitter grumble; her eyes on him the entire time.

What was up with this girl? Was she stalking him? One of those tween fucks that liked to mess with Monsters just for the shits and giggles of it? He didn’t have an answer, and that made Red’s panic rise so high that the new cigarette pack he bought that day was gone by nightfall.

By the third time Red was about ready to turn to confront her, but she was minding her own business; not really bothering him or going out of her way to be a weirdo. It was at the bus stop bench, the correct bench this time, and Presley had her guitar case swung around her body; standing in the snow, slightly shivering. Red stopped several meters away, hidden behind a few others who were waiting for the buss alongside Presley. He could barely see her through the bodies and her low dipped hood, but of what he could see . . . he felt sorry for her.

She looked alone. It was more than just being physically alone however, it was in the way her cracked lips would press together and in how her shoulders were slumped all the time. It was in the way her fingers would twitch in her pockets, practicing the cords of some song, and how she always looked so fucking sad. Red had seen that face too many times in his own life, a reflection of what he saw in the mirror everyday; minus maybe his hot temper. Example - Presley didn’t seem to protest when a 40-year-old sort of shoved her out of the way so he could get on the bus before her, while Red on the other hand might have called the guy out on it.

Presley let people push her about, let herself seem small, let others pass by in the heat of the moment . . . while she remained in the cold moments of time; still, soft, somber, and alone. Fuck, that’s depressing. Little to anyone’s surprise, Red waited for the next bus.

For the fourth time Red was really asking for it, going back to Grillby’s knowing that she could very well be there.

Presley was the 3rd act of the night, a little before eleven o’clock, with her same makeshift pick and beat up instrument. She didn’t trip over anything this time at least. Red waited, watching from a dark booth within the bar, with his glowing eyes dimmed by the brim of his beanie as to not draw too much attention to himself. Presley opened her mouth and began to play, and a profound feeling washed over the Monster.

Whoever couldn’t point out a Stevie Nicks song was better off dead. Red felt his neck give slack, resting the back of his skull on the old leather headboard, his eyes closing; taking in each pluck of the guitar.

There was a stretch of time as Presley played that Red found himself lost within her voice and his mind, the two melting together in a fusion that wasn’t to terribly uncomfortable. That profound feeling was another hit of relaxation, same as the first night he heard the little Human play, and as much as his conscious mind didn't want to admit it . . . he missed this. “This” as in her music, not Presley herself. How can you miss someone you never knew?

Grillby was there, as always given how his apartment was just above the bar, his fire burning just a bit brighter as he took a break to watch Presley as well. There were a few others that would glance up at her from time to time, but they seemed just content to be in their own persons; limited and uncaring. Red scoffed to himself, a softly harsh whisper. “Fucking ungrateful assholes . . .” He pitted them for not knowing what they were missing out on.

Red turned his gaze back from the audience back to Presley, and the air hitched in his chest. She was looking at him, dead on; a tenderness hued pink as the spotlight shone onto her pale face. Time seemed to all but die, everything cemented to the very air about them, with Musician and Monster taking the moment for themselves.

He couldn’t look away, dared not to look away, a challenge set to his every fiber.

He couldn’t tell if the pain through his ribs was from the tension, or from looking into her eyes; but it reefed him so sharply that even his spine pounded in pain. He needed air, needed to get out, run the fuck away. There was a small round of applause that time for her, making the perfect scapegoat to go towards the closest exit. He wasn’t sure how many and how fast the curse words were coming out from him, his lips to cold and to numb to feel anything but the cigarette bud between his teeth; frantically trying to light it with a dying lighter.

“Come on, you stupid fuck. Come ON!” He snarled at each spark, hunched over himself to try and block the flowing wind about him; filtered just right to be a fucking annoyance.

“Red.” He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. “Here.” There was the sounds of a match running along it’s striker, then the soft puff and fizzle of the small fire. It felt like an hour before he finally turned to her, that same small face beaming out at him from under her funk locks; but this time a dark hood circled her face, it’s shadow drawn down to the tip of her nose.

“ . . . Thanks, Kid.” With a monotone sound he reached out to take the tiny stick from her, putting it’s glowing end to his cigarette, puffing it alive with an intoxicating draw. His bones were shaking, her limbs seemed weak, and they just stood there as awkward as before. Red took a few more hits, his eyes set always away from her. he sighed, a low gruff of s growl set to the words. “Look, you don’t-”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Her question sent Red into a loop that he never saw coming. “ . . . What?”

“You just, I don’t know, seem . . . afraid of me?” She shrugged a bit, looking to some graffiti on a nearby wall. “I’ve seen you, ya’ know? Every time? That first time I thought you hurt yourself, with . . . with the cans falling on you and such.” Another shrug, another way her eyes looked; never on Red. “Then at the gas station . . . you didn’t even stay to pick up your change. So like . . .did I do something wrong?” Presley’s voice had progressively gotten quieter as she tried to explain, hands in her pockets and rocking on her heels ever so slightly.

How the fuck could he answer her without making a complete and utter ass of himself? Or not to sound like an anxiety ridden fool? At every angle, there was no way to polish this log of shit into a pile of sparkling gold.
Red sighed, tilting his head back till there was a pleasant pop to his vertebrae. There were days you just had to bite the bullet, and today was one of those days. He wasn’t going to apologize of course, he didn’t do anything wrong, but she needed some closure. And he needed some fucking clear air to breathe.

“No. No Kid, you didn’t. I just . . . would you believe me if I said that's just me being friendly?” She shook her head. “Didn’t think you would. Shit.”

“It’s ok. I freak out too. Sometimes.” She tilted her head, eyes slowly walking up to meet Red’s chin. “Not as bad as to ruin a wh-whole shelf of soup, but yeah; same ballpark, different batter.”

There was a small hushed chuckle in Red’s throat, but he cleared it away with another hit of his cigarette. Another moment or two of awkward silence fell onto the pair, but to Red’s surprise he was the one to free it. “So, how long have you been playing?”

“Would it be too cheesy to say ‘since I was little’?”

“You still are little, Kid.”

“You sound like Grillby.” It was Presley’s turn to chuckle, the curve of her pale lips encouraging Red to try and let out his own half-grin.

“Now that’s just fucking insulting.”

“Maw always said I was a charmer, in my own way. Guess she was right?” Presley gave a final shrug before bringing up her wrist to her face, pushing back the hem of her jacket to look at a watch bound there. “I gotta get going, but . . . try not to run away from me anymore? You’re kind cool looking from the front.”

"Was that a compliment?” His brow creased together but he couldn't help but keep that hesitant smile. “You sure know how to talk someone up, Kid.”

“You never know what works on who. Bye Red.” Presley was gone, taking the warmth with her - leaving red with a suddenly freezing gap to try and fill in.

“Bye Kid . . .” She was gone, and there was no one left to hear the strain tucked deep in Red’s voice.

Chapter Text

Red had been used to the black and white theory up till his “father” had died. Bad was bad and good was good. Dark. Light. Sinners. Saints. Assholes, and lesser Assholes. The color grey he reserved for himself all his childhood, every victim did, and It retain some sanity in those days. Humans however blew the stereotypes of black and white out the window, dumping a glumpy grey all over his perceptions. He didn’t know what to do with grey, and even to this day it was a color Red was never fond of in reality.

Presley was the perfect example of grey for many weeks, details about her kept to uptight that it almost drove Red to give up trying to figure her out (not that he was necessarily trying in the first place, but what the hell, he didn’t have anything better to do). He knew she didn’t like to drink alcohol, a “white” thing about her, but that was really the only thing he could pinpoint without digging deeper.

It was Grillby that suggested Red just try small talk after Presley would finish with her gigs, pressured him even while threatening to collect Red’s three month tab. that was enough to get Red to tap the ball, but not necessarily get it rolling.

Red would ask simple things when he first started out; things that he could reflect within his own life. ‘So Kid, where’d you get that guitar?’ ‘Do you smoke? Nah, didn’t imagine you did.’ ‘Sweet or salty snacks?’ ‘So, you a night owl or-?’ ‘I’m not prying! Just trying to be nice, for fucks sake kid.’ ‘What? About me? . . .’

He didn’t expect her to start asking questions back. ‘Why do you have that golden tooth?’ ‘D-Do you have hair? I don’t know, you wear that beany all the time . . .’ ‘Do you live nearby? . . . S-Stalk you?! N-No!’ ‘Do you have any pets?’ ‘How do you know Grill?’ ‘S-So, is it safe to say you’ll be at my every show?’

The two had these small conversations on and off till the harshness of Winter died away , a whole month passing them by with a goodbye to December for a brand new January. After New Year it was like Presley had dropped off the face of the fucking Earth. At first Red just brushed off her disappearance as another Human who would have just eventually left for better things, but as two additional weeks ticked by . . . Red thought about her often - so much so that he missed out on a whole night's sleep in an attempt to play one of her songs from by memory. He actually really missed her, for more than her music this time.

Red would drop by Grillby’s every night to see if she would show up, but only to bash his hopes against the wall when she didn’t show. It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last, but something inside of him felt wrong; weird and twisted at not knowing what the fuck happened to her. Not even Grillby really knew what was going on, all that the girl told him was that she had to head out of town for a while. Neither new when.

“I thought you were all buddy-buddy with her!” Red’s fangs tinked against his glass as he shoved it to his maw, drinking in the shot of rum.

“Buddy-buddy?” Grillby tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah, like a fucking uncle or something.”

“And because of that, you assume that I know everything she is up to? Wow, you are desperate.” Grillby shook his head and a low chuckle. “I’m sure she’ll be back around, soon.”

“Seeing as how you paid her to stick around here in the first place, I-”

“Wait. I never paid her.” Grillby said with a small flick of his flame and his “eyes” blinking several times.

“ . . . What do you mean you never paid her?! I thought you paid for all your musicians?”

“Well, yes but . . . Red you can’t be serious. You didn’t know?”

Red’s nails were digging at the counter as Grillby dogged the question. “Just fucking tell me!”

“You’re swearing too much again.”

“Grillby!”

“Alright, alright - desperate and lonely. What a kick in the head, huh? Presley plays on open mic nights only.” Grillby watched Red as the anger in his body slipped away and his body slipped deeper into the barstool. “I can’t believe you didn’t catch on. You should really pay more attention t-” All of Grillby’s lector fell dead on Red, the skeleton’s mind moving a million miles an hour and not stopping for anything.

If Presley wasn’t making any money from her music, something she was obviously passionate about, then what was her job? He’d seen her out plenty of places buying random shit, so she had to have some sort of cash flow coming in from somewhere. One theory came to mind that maybe she was a student at the local community college, living off the subsidized loans her school gave. Another was maybe she lived at home with family and they supported her as she tried to live out her dreams; as rom-com of an idea that was. The third theory was just too dark and maddening to think about, but maybe she was selling herself for . . . but she was so innocent and small . . . if she ever did that kind of work then-

Wait. Stop for a second. The gear in Red’s mind slammed to a screeching stop. Why the hell did he care what she was doing? Or where she was? They weren’t friends, barely acquaintances, just civil to each other. Where the fuck did this concern come from? Why was he so bloody worried all at once? She was a big girl, figuratively of course, so she could handle herself and whatever business came with her. Presley had her own life . . . and Red had his. He had his apartment, his bike, his booze, his cigs, a brother who never talked to him . . . no close friends to hang out with . . . no mother to call when scarred . . . and a father who . . .

Shit. He really was lonely.

Red barely heard Grillby call out to him as he exited the bar, sticking his night to the streets of the small town. At first he was walking, boots tapping against the pavement like a slow snare drum, but his body kicked into a jog; the wind of his speed flapping his leather coat about like a flag in a hurricane. He was quicker than any white rabbit, his magic bumping through the marrow in his bones, the world flashing about him in brilliant waves of burning red - Teleporting again and again.

“Presley, where are you? Where the HELL are YOU?! Where?!” He didn’t know it then, but he was looking for her - that maddening run and magic jumps throughout the town. That realization would hit him later as he laid in bed the next morning. For now, it was nothing but a mindless, panic driven game of searching.

Red was at that same stupid bus stop she and he used countless times before, but Presley was nowhere to be seen. “Fuck. Fuck!” He could wait there in the futile attempt to see if she would get off any of the busses, but that was a fucking waste of time. She could be up the street, or maybe she had walked into Grillby’s just after Red left, or she could-Red began to run again; taking back alley ways as to not draw attention to himself.

Presley wasn’t at the grocery store, or the gas station, or the local thrift shop. Nor at the bookstore, music shop, none of the cafes, and definitely not at the sorry excuse of a skate park. He checked all those stupid places a kid of her kind would hang out at, for fucks sake he even checked the dump! Nothing.

He wasn’t sure how long he actually spent looking for Presley, but every joint of his body was in agony by the time he gave up. Red’s calcaneus felt like they were cracked and all the phalanges were popping painfully, going to sit on the top of a small cobblestone wall; allowing his feet to relax a bit. “Damn . . .” It had been sometime since Red had such a powerful panic attack, and now that it was passed he felt really fucking stu-

Her voice was barely able to fly in the wind, carried away from a street or two down. North Cherry Street. Red snapped his head in that direction, her echos bubbling about him a boiling pot of water. His feet were back against the ground and Red was on a full out burst to get his ass there was quick as he could. As he near closer the sounds of a small drum were able to be picked up; she wasn’t playing alone.

He turned a corner, the small group of people and Presley’s voice slapping him across his face worse than any hit he had ever gotten before. There she stood, with her same stupid guitar and with her same stupid hair, playing alongside a rather haggard looking drummer. Her eyes were closed, mouth opened, the notes belting from her tiny mouth.

With a final crescendo the song was done and the small audience was tossing money into Presley’s open guitar case. Red wasn’t sure if he wanted to choke her or hug her, maybe both. Both sounded reasonable.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, but all it took was a quick scan of her mismatched eyes to taller heights for Presley to find him. Her smile made everything seem small and cold in it’s wake. The spectators went about their way and she managed to peel herself away from the drummer to approach Red. He should have got a cigarette in while he had the chance; his body was threatening to shake itself into another nervous fit. He chanted to himself to try and remain as calm as possible. You can do this. You got this. Just . . . don’t fuck up. That's not to much to ask yourself, is it?

“Hey there Red.”

“Hey Kid . . .”

“How was your new years?”

Red shrugged, rolling his eyes a wee bit. “Just another day.”

“Oh. Ok then.” She returned his shrug with one of her own. “Wait here for me? Please? I won't be long.” Before Red could retaliate Presley was turned back away and going towards her musical companion, counting up the tips between one another.

Meanwhile, Red was trying not to grit his teeth into shards. That was all she had to say after being gone for so damn long? Really?! Had he worked himself up into such a bound up state for nothing? Well, he couldn’t really blame her for that. It was his own fault, his own mind and internal struggles that drove the Monster to such stressing situations. Presley had probably been fine the entire time she was “missing”.

‘-desperate and lonely. What a kick in the head, huh?’

“Yeah.” Red sighed and spoke to himself, going to light a cigarette with his same faulty lighter. “Kick in the head . . .”

Chapter Text

“So,” Red asked between hits from his cigarette “, who’s drummer boy?”

“Huh?” Presley looked up from the sidewalk up to him, tilting her head.

He sighed and nodded back the direction they had just come from. “Drummer boy.”

“Oh . . . he’s a friend.”

Red eyed the girl at his side after a little eye roll. “Does this friend have a name?”

“Jay.” She nodded.

“Jay. Is that short for something or-?” This was like pulling teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, it’s James.” Another nod.

“James? Alright then . . . so, what’s he do?”

“He’s a drummer. He plays the drums.” Presley smirked softly as Red walked right into that, doing her best to hold in a giggle as the Skeleton gave a drawn out sigh. “Sorry, that was to good not to grab. James works out of town as a backup dancer for a few musicians. That's his job, but the drums are his passion.”

“Right.” Red wasn’t really that interested in Presley's friend, but it was the only hook into small talk he could think of.

Presley helped push their words along. “So, did you enjoy the Holidays?”

“New Years? Eh.” He shrugged and went to light a second cigarette. “Slow. If anything.”

“Did you keep Grill company?” She asked curiously.

“Was I supposed to?”

Presley shrugged. “You two seemed close enough for it. Sorry, I assumed- . . .”

Red turned his head away from her to puff out a cloud of cigarette smoke before turning his red eyes back down to Presley, their eyes locking into each other's again. He was taken back slightly by the little shine in her stare, a hint of something flashing just under her long lashes. He was about to ask if something was wrong, but she gave him an answer before he was ready to accept it. “Were you alone? The whole time I was away?”

“I- . . .” He couldn’t keep holding her gaze and looked away with a small groan, rolling his cigarette between his teeth as he attempted to pull an answer out of his ass that wasn’t pathetic.

Red really didn’t require much companionship, he didn't go out of his way to seek it out, but there were constants that he did assume would always be there for him; person or otherwise. Examples he could think off the top of his head were Grillby’s Bar, the Bartender himself, the only gas station in town that carried his brand of smokes, the old Irish lady at the laundromat, and the most obviously being Presley; despite how new she was into his daily goings. Going to see her play was like flipping to your favorite TV station, second nature and comforting.

“S-Sorry.” She said shortly and looked down to her boots, picking up her pace ever so little. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. A-Again.”

“Wha-? Press, you didn’t-” He had realized that awkward look on his face till Red looked to his reflection in a dark store front they were passing by. That only brought a soured blush to his face and a frustrated grant to his chest. “Don’t apologize.”

“But you-”

“I said don’t apologize.” That came out rougher sounding then Red intended, which only made Presley shrink in it’s wake. Another sigh came from the monster and he attempted to soften his features. “Being alone is normal, for me. Don’t worry about it.” Yep, that was definitely pathetic.

The pair remained silent for long moments as they walked the empty streets, a chilled tension between them as boots scraped against concrete; and none of it helped Red pull himself out of the ditch he dug for himself. Two blocks went by before either of them spoke again.
“It’s not normal.” Her voice was uncharacteristically forceful at that. “It’s not normal to be alone. You shouldn’t be alone . . . no one should.”

Red gruffed. “Isn’t that sort of a selfish thing to think? Sometimes you have to be alone. No one is ever going to constantly be there for you.” His eyes were put to Presley again as he spoke, the frown the tiny human was plastering back at him not something unexpected. He frowned back and before either of them knew it they had stopped at that fated bus stop, just . . .looking at each other.

“-missed me.” Presley’s voice had been half drowned by a car that went whirling past. Red barely had time to read her lips as well, the brights from the vehicle blurring her face.

“ . . . What?”

“You missed me.” Presley smiled up at Red and it sent something warm up his spine, boiling at the base of his skull with a insane buzzing; beads of sweat building at his temples. “Really Red, don’t be so high-and-mighty to think you're immune to such things. That’ll only make you lonelier.”

Red wasn’t sure if she was doing this to enrage him or comfort him, but she was doing a frustratingly good enough job at both.

“ . . . I missed you too.” She added before breaking their stare, going to dig into her pockets for something.

In those short seconds that Presley fidgeted about various compartments of her coat, Red attempted to mentally process what she was getting at. Someone missed him. That was . . . new and unsettling. Red had prepared his life to be very calm, quiet, and distant; not unlike so many other monsters from the underground. Alone, out of mind, and out of the way. The Human world had made no promises that it could offer anything new compared to the mountain life monster kind had known before, and in that endless tunnel of darkness Red never thought he’d see a light at the end of it.

But now . . . “Here.” She held out a small box out to red, black and oval shaped. He looked at it, uncertainty gripping his bones like a suffocating magic; stiff and suffering.

His voice was barely above a whisper. “What is it?”

“It’s a New Year's present.” Presley kept holding out the thing for Red to take, eventually his bony fingers reaching out to take the thing from her. “Open it.”

Red looked to Presley, then the box, back to Presley, and back down to the box. He wasn’t afraid to open the present, per se, but he was afraid of why she was giving him a present in the first place. What did he do to deserve this? What did he do to deserve her thoughts and time? The question was in his gaze as he looked back to her, but she mistook of for permission.

“Go on.” She urged him with a small nod.

Red turned his attention back down to his gift, turning it over a few times in his hands before he figured out how to open it. The shape should have been a dead giveaway what lay inside, but he was surprised nevertheless. A pair of sunglasses peeked up at him, some sort of aviators, with its lenses polished to a high shine and gunmetal frames wrapped in a protective plastic.

His chest knotted and brows frowned. It was a nice gift but- “I can’t wear these.”

Presley's smile was gone instantly. “You . . . why not? Do you . . . you don’t like them?”

“I-No, Press they are uh . . .nice. But you need ears,” His free hand went to point to the side of his skull, a lack of cartilage there for them to hang off of. “, and a nose to wear them? So-”

“Oh. Uh, here.” She pointed to the nearby bench. “Sit down.” He obeyed and the glasses were out of his hands, Presley getting to work at un-packaging them. Red watched in a daze as she went to work on the plastic, unraveling the glasses from their constraints so they he could see them in full. They were indeed a type of aviators, but when fully extended it was clear the temple and the temple tips were customized very differently than any other of it’s kind; curved at such an angle and extended so far, that it was clear these glasses were not made for a Human head.

“-off?” Presley’s voice made Red turn his attention from the glasses and at her expression. She was giddy, excited. His dead pan stare at her caused the girl to eye-roll at him, and she asked again. “Can you take your beany off?” Again, he obeyed; still stuck in a bemused state at receiving a gift.

Red didn’t have time to protest her actions as Presley enclosed the space between them, moving to stand between his legs as she went to fasten the glasses about his head; her skirt brushing against his knees, her arms around his neck, her face inches away from his neck. His eyes went wide and his whole body tightened. Fucks sake . . . Red could even feel her breath against his vertebra. Normally, anyone invading his personal space would have gotten a shove out of it (worse cases being a pop right to their jaw) but with Presley it felt almost like a sin if he even suggested she take a step back.

She was mumbling under her breath, shifting to and fro with small 'come on’s and 'stupid little’s, which was not helping Red distract himself from his current prison. He had to focus on something other than her, his eyes moving all about in a search to find a target; something, anything! Red attempted to look to the side, but that only strained and hurt his eyes. Maybe he could look down at his shoes? Nope, that only lead to him staring down at her frayed grey sweater. The street light above? Some of the passing cars? Nothing worked, nothing held his attention deeply enough to draw him out of Presley’s presence.

With a sigh Red gave in and watched her, thankful that she was to involved in getting the glasses fixated on his head to notice his stare; also the dark shades helped hide just where his ruby hued eyes lingered.

Some things he didn’t notice about her before was the subtle dusting of freckles over her face, the scar on her right nostril where maybe a piercing had been years ago, and that her eyebrows . . . weren’t actual eyebrows. Red squinted behind his lenses to try and investigate. Her eyebrows were drawn on? No, maybe tattooed? Whatever they were, it certainly explained why sometimes they looked a little cartoony. All he knew was that her brow was hairless, in fact her whole face was hairless. Most humans, as far as Red knew, had some hairs on their faces - men’s facial hair obviously more pronounced than a females, but even then girls had that peach-fuzzy-ness to them. Presley didn’t have that, at all.

“There we go.” Presley stood back, giving Red his much needed room back. She went back to digging in her pockets, pulling out a small makeup-whatever-thing and opening it to bring up a mirror. She held it out for Red to take and he barely managed to hold the tiny thing in his “meaty” hands.

Red wasn’t into fashion or knowing what looked good or not, but he did have to admit that the aviator sunglasses looked decent on him. What truly impressed him was the fastening system that kept the glasses on, metal clasps that were masterfully designed onto the extended temples and their tips in a way that would maintained a normal shape of glasses. The beany helped to improve the authenticity.

“Are they comfortable? I wasn’t sure if I gave the jeweler the right circumference of your hea-um skull.” Presley waited at his side for some feedback, but Red couldn’t drawn on any words to give her; not right away at least. The pause slowly took away her smile, nervousness building on her face. “ . . . Red?”

“Thanks Kid.” He smiled, his gold tooth peeking out from his lip. “They look . . . good.” He was going to wash over the fact that Presley had them custom made just for him, because at this rate Red was certain his anxiety wouldn’t be able to handle that amount of . . . attention? Consideration? Appreciation? This all went hand-in-hand with the ‘being missed’ thing, only adding to the building pile of uneasiness. “You didn’t really . . .need to get me anything.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

But why did you want to? Why? Why would you ever want to spend effort and time on me? Why waste your attention and affection on a monster like- . . . wait. Affections? No, oh fuck no. Red’s mind spat words at himself, binding his tongue into a wordless fumble. He was mute.

“And don’t worry about getting me anything back, I didn’t expect you too.” Presley gave that same warm smile before turning to look at the oncoming bus. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure Kid . . .”

“Ok . . . get home safe. Bye Red.” Presley, so much like Cinderella running away from the ball, bordered the buss, her figurative pumpkin carriage, and disappeared into the eve; the town’s clock tower striking twelve, sending out it’s low vibrating bursts into the colorless night.

“Bye Kid . . .” Red sat there long after the twelve strikes of time passed by, left to the mulled numbing of her absence again; leather gloves gripping hard at the plastic glasses case in his palms.

She missed him. And he missed her.

Chapter Text

That first week Presley was back, Red was in utter bliss. Well, at least as much bliss as one could be with a cold.

Presley wasn’t able to make it to the open mic night at Grillby’s, for some unknown reason (which Red found very stupid that she wouldn’t tell him nor Grillby why), but she did suggest that maybe they could hang together during the day. Her and Red. Alone. Together. It wasn’t a date,Red couldn’t think of it as a date, didn’t want to think of it as a date, for her sake.

And lucky for Red, she treated their day like any other - going about the town doing various chores and errands, stopping sometimes for a quick bite to eat or a cup of coffee to take on the go. Presley took Red to her favorite dives all about the town, all as cliche as he imagined they would be. Used furniture stores, old record shops, a stupid organic food stand, and probably the most suffocating beauty supply store the Skeleton had ever seen. He wasn’t sure what would kill him in that store first, the endless amounts of perfume clouds or the constant fucking pink.

The only good destination that day was that Red got to see where Presley lived; having to stop by to drop her groceries off before they would set out for another place. Thankfully, despite the horrors his mind had been building in his head where she lived, it was a nice enough area; far from any shabby motel. It was a simple apartment complex on the east side of town, a much calmer district, with a cream facade and brown tiled roofs. The stairs up to the second floor were metal and sturdy, the walkways were clear of trash and kept clean, and there was even a small pool for the residents to use in the summer. The only thing Red could have gripped about was the horrid amount of snow still left about.

“Does anyone shovel this place?” Red asked with a small snarl, going to kick a mound of grey-brown slosh out of the way.

“The groundskeeper broke his leg last Friday. I was told,” Presley walked through the now boot-print ridden snow, her much smaller feet following in Red’s path. “, that he won’t be up on his feet for a long time. So, the snow stays.”

“How’d he do that?”

“He . . . slipped on the snow.”

“Of-fucking-course he did.” She gave a light smile as Red rolled his eyes. “Typical.”

Despite the mild snow maze they made it up to the second level of apartments, and Presley had her keys ready to open the door. She had to fiddle with the lock a few times, but it did eventually pop open and Presley walked inside. Red however stood there, a tad lost if he at what he was supposed to do. “Come on in.” She said from within her abode, muffled slightly as she was somewhere deep in the apartment.

Red followed hesitantly, taking in every detail he could.

The walls were very boring, white, and trimmed with a simple wood grain, white again. The ceiling was white, the carpet was tan, and the lights were yellow; the smell being one of the few interesting things aesthetic wise. Vanilla, warm and inviting. The furniture was all old and impossible worn out, wood tables with scratched varnish and couches with obvious overuse indents, and the appliances in the kitchen were at least 10 years old. Still, this was all the big and bland things and what was key to making Presley’s home unique was the vast littering of her collections and personal belongings.

While the walls were white, they were not bare; covered corner to corner in posters and framed art and magazine pages and a shit load of stickers. In every doorway hang curtains of blue silk and crystal beads, every door was painted a different color (variations of greens and blues), and the carpet was mostly covered by huge colorful rugs of all patterns and shapes.

Her entertainment system in the mini living room wasn’t nothing to stiff your nose at either. The TV was almost as big as Presley herself, mounted onto a wall decorated with shelves of books and books and more books, which was connected to a DVD/Blue Ray player and her rather impressive PC. There were too many cords for Red to tell which gaming system was plugged up at that very moment, but he counted at least 3 different consoles sitting inside an open armoire; nestled safely with piles of their accessories and towers of game cases.

While the furniture was still lackluster, the messy state of quilt blankets and clothes and crazy pillows all about gave the living room and dining area a flash of chaotic character. She was messy, she was vibrant, and Red felt oddly at home in the clutter.

“In here Red.” His attention was brought back to the Kitchen, with Presley waving at him around a marble topped island.

“Do I . . .uh, do you want me to take off my shoes or-?”

“Are they muddy?

Red looked down to his boots, lifting his heel up to inspect the soles. “Kinda wet but, no not muddy.”

“Then your ok. Put them,” them being the bags of food Red was carrying “, here on the counter. I got it.” Meaning she was letting Red off the hook for put-away duty. Presley got into a quick routine of putting away the groceries, leaving him with a few minutes of free time. “Um, bathrooms in the back hallway . . .if you . . .uh need to . . . do you?”

“Do what?” Red was looking over a stack of sheet music, not recognizing or understanding any of the songs; he never learned how.

“Use . . . use the restroom?”

“ . . . Kid, I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.” After a few awkward looks, Red was left indefinitely to his own devices.

He didn’t go too far into her apartment, mostly for his own comfort. Red stayed far away from her bedroom and the bathroom, but he did lightly loiter in the makeshift recording studio. Well, he’d take that back - it wasn’t so much of a recording studio as it was a room with foam padding on the wall and lots of different instruments.

There was her usual guitar and it’s case, but beside it were five other guitars; some old and some new, some acoustic and some electric. In the left corner of the room was a red drum set, a keyboard piano, and . . . well Red wasn’t sure what that long ebony instrument was - some kind of wind? Along the right side of the room was a mixing and editing station, a broken violin, and a lounge chair. Finally, to the center of the musical heaven, was a stool; probably where Presley would sit to play and record.

Red was trying not to get himself overloaded on the need to go for one of the guitars, hands fixated in his pockets, as he looked over. Gibson, 1985, ebony body with white strings. She’s a beauty.

“Yeah. She is.”

Red almost jumped out of his boots at being startled by Presley, looking back to her with a hard drawn glare. “Fucks sake kid!”

“Sorry.” She giggled and gave a slight shrug. “So, you think she’s beautiful?”

Red barely had time to recover from his scare to comprehend the question. “ . . .Who?”

“Gibson.” Presley nodded to the guitar in question. “You said she’s a beauty.”

Had Red said his thoughts out loud by accident? Possibly, he didn’t know if any humans who could mind read; not legality anyways. The Monster turned back to the Gibson and gave the instrument another quick look over, trying to make an answer, but his profound silence gave Presley and opening she couldn’t refuse.

“You gave her a compliment and to are afraid to say it again? Heh, remind me not to flirt with you then.” By the time Red flipped his heated gaze back to his human, she was gone and walking down the hallway back to the kitchen. He had half the urge to run after Presley and show her what for, but then half wanted her to remain as carefree as possible; free of not knowing just what her testing of his patience could bring. He was hot blooded enough and he didn’t want to expose Presley to anymore of it than possible.

Minutes passed and Red calmed down enough to head back to where Presley was, just barely catching her on the tail-end of putting something small away in a cabinet’s drawer. She turned back to him with a smile and he felt a sudden wave of sadness blur over him. He didn’t want her to flirt with him, knew she shouldn’t, for her own good. Despite how “liberal” this town was to human standards, there was still an underlying taboo about Monsters and how to interact with them. Red didn’t want Presley to be pointed out by society for being . . . being something she wasn’t.

“So, I only have one more errand to do today.” Presley spoke as she moved about the apartment, gathering clothes in her arms as she went.

“Does it involve anymore shopping?”

“Heh, no. Cleaning.”

“Cleaning? Cleaning what?”

She turned to Red and gave the bundles of wadded articles in her arms a big shake. “Clothes. I have to head down to the laundromat to do a quick load.” Presley went back to collecting clothes into her embrace, dumping them in a tan cloth sack beside the front door. “It won’t take long. Do you have laundry to do?”

He did, but he would do that on his own time. So, Red shrugged and let the question roll along. “I’ll do it later. And afterwards?”

“Huh?”

“Did you . . . wanna do anything after this? After your-uh laundry?”

Presley paused and looked to Red, her eyes lost to thought. “Well . . . I could make us dinner, i-if you want.” Oh shit. “A-and, well, maybe we could watch a movie? Or two?” Oh fuck. Red cursed himself for asking that, the little look in her eyes so hopeful and wanting. “O-Or we can play video games? D-Do you play video games?”

“Kid.”

“Or maybe we can play a few of my instruments? We can drop by your place afterwards and pick up your-”

“Kid.” Red repeated, louder this time, and drew her attention out of the rant. She looked quickly disheartened and Red sighed. “Look, it’ll be really late by then and . . .”

“-and you have . . .other things to do?” Presley asked, a bead of regret on her voice. The nod her gave her was a lie. “Well . . . t-that’s ok. Maybe . . . maybe next time?”

“Sure Kid. Next time.”

With a nod of her own Presley finished up her chore and they were headed out the door. The walk to the laundromat felt shorter than expected, in spite of their silence, and before long the glowing neon letters of the establishment shown down upon the pair. Red held open the door for Presley and they were greeted by vacant roles of machines. Even the front desk was empty. He looked over the station and sighed. “At least she's not here.”

“Who’s not here?” Presley walked to one of the washers and sat down her sack. But just as she did a third voice boomed into the Laundromat.

“He’s talkin’ about me.” The accent and attitude were so thick that it felt like trying to run hip-deep through cold maple syrup. Eileen McDermott, the toughest and most annoying old lady this side of the country. Short, packed with muscle, Irish to the bone, and to many opinions with not enough restraint; not to far from how Red was, to be honest. “Red, ya eejit, where ‘av ya been? I've missed ya! Come 'ere!”

Red didn’t have time to dodge her hug nor the never to try and get away, grunting loudly as he became trapped in the tight affection. With the hug, came a thud to his head; a good hard slap to the back of his skull. “OU-Hey!” Presley had to bite her lip from not snickering out loud.

“You've not come 'ere for weeks, only ta show up with not a single shirt or sock to wash? Ya 'av that many pieces of duds ta just waste away without a proper cleanin'? Eck! Ya gross men, all ya! Ya-” McDermott paused as she caught eye of Presley, the two looking at each other with curious blinks. “An' who might ya be, my dear?”

“I’m Presley, Presley Atkins.” Presley moved foreward to hold out her hand for the older woman to take and the shaked a greeting.

“Nice ta meet ya, Miss.Atkins.This be the first time I’ve had ya walk inta here, right?” Eilaan grinned warmly as she looked Presley over, her gaze lingering on the green hair a few seconds longer then needed. “I know I would ‘av remembered hair like that.”

“Dermott.” Red warned the Irish elder with a sharp hiss of his tone, but Presley went along with it.

“Yeah, uh . . . I was using a friends washer but it kinda broke.”

“Ah, well. Ya welcome ‘ere anytime ya want. So, ya know Red?”

And with that Red was pushed out of the conversation, for the most part. Presley was caught in McDermott’s constant vomiting of words and their following topics, smiling softly at every switch in the conversation. There was the occasional mention of Red in the rambles of the old woman, but they weren’t enough to draw Red out of his own thoughts.

He couldn’t stop watching Presley, couldn’t stop pondering about her unknowns, he couldn’t stop anything that would run into his mind in regards to her. It was maddening. Red eyes traced the back of her neck, took in how her little fingers tightened about the the dial controls on the washing machines, listened to the small silky shifts of her dress as she moved about, and how she- . . . there was a tiny green shimmer on her cheek. Red absentmindedly reached over to Presley, his claws being ever so delicate as he went to pluck the stray hair away from her rosy features.

Their eyes locked and Red’s ribs clamored uncomfortably as her face was pressed into his knuckles, his talon gracing the edge of her lips. Presley looked at Red curiously, even going so far as to tilt her head in a silent question. He didn’t dare want to move, but he had to; slowly removing his hand out of Presley’s personal bubble and shoving it back into his pocket.

He wasn’t even sure he got the hair, and he didn’t care. Without a word Red went for the door, power walking to the safety of the outdoors, untill-

“Did ya know that Red almost ruined an entire load of clothes once?” His shoes skidded to a jolting stop, another fevered glare set to McDermott as he saw the shadow of a smirk cross her face. “Da eejit was about ta put a red sock in a load of white towels! Would have ruined da whole ting. Tsk!”

“You’re never gonna fucking lay off that, are you?!” Red’s angered was only increased as McDermottt gave out a hearty laugh. “Fucking little-” But the anger was soon flooded out by anxiety as Red caught the faint hint of a blush on Presley's face, big eyes still stuck in curiosity. He could only assume her flush was because of his failed attempt at being considerate, and she now was embarrassed that he had tried to touch her. Or worse, she . . . Red didn’t have time to question it, storming out of the Laundromat and sticking a cigarette forcefully in his mouth.

He remained outside till Presley was ready to go, watching her through the window as she gave McDermott a little goodbye, then waited till she was at his side again. Her blush was gone.

“Y-You waited for me.” Red didn’t hear the question in her words.
“Why wouldn’t I? Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“I thought you said you had things to do?” Red kept walking as Presley asked, her voice somewhere behind him; he didn’t see her in his peripheral vision.

“I do. The sooner I get you home, the quicker I can go.”

“Oh . . .”

It was awkward again, a deafening ring filling the air in Red’s head, with only the sounds of their boots and the light dusting of snowflakes acting as conversations in the atmosphere. Red kept looking ahead, fists bundled in his pocket, face smoking like a chimney, stomping all the way back to Presley’s apartments; the grating of his bones and thoughts blocking out anything else from the world.

He didn’t hear Presley as she asked him to slow down.

He didn't hear Presley as she asked him what was wrong.

And he most certainly didn’t hear Presley start coughing.

Red only snapped back to reality once he felt something pull at his sleeve, turning to look down at one of the most striking sights he'd seen. Presley was on the verge of tears, pale fingers clinging to his leather jacket as her knees gave in. She was falling, pleading with her eyes as time paused; begging for Red to catch her. The snow on the ground got the better of her, causing a trip, and she grabbed for Red for help. He wouldn’t let her fall.

Quicker than anything he had done since his time under his father’s “care”, Red snapped his body around Presley’s - one of his thick arms flung about her waist, a hand flat to her collarbone, his chest pressing into her spine, her knees and hands spared the pain of them slamming down onto the rough sidewalks as Red cradled her up into his form. Instead, his jeans tore on the concrete and boned fingers chipping on impact; with his face buried into her hair as the only buffer to mask the pained grunt. He didn’t care for her laundry, the bag flopping violently into a pile of snow as it settled form it’s own trip.

There was a pause in both of them, Red looking over the scene and Presley looked over him. Finally their eyes were sealed into each other once more, those few seconds drawing out for hours. But, as time usually did, it rolled on and Presley was left to another coughing fit; eyes shut tight and her hands over her mouth. She felt hot, a fever maybe.

“Shit. Shit! Kid, if you were sick you should have told me!!” Red scrambled up, still holding Presley to his chest, and grabbed at her stupid fucking laundry.

“I-I’m not sick! I-” More coughs. “I-It’s just the cool air, it-” Even more coughs.

“Stop fucking talking!” He didn’t have the attention span to concentrate on teleporting all the way there, just short bursts taking them into the parking lot then up the stairs, then to her front door; sporadic. He didn’t feel bashful about digging in Presley’s back pockets for her keys, opening the door with a thrust of the key and a bunt of his shoulder.

“E-Easy on the door!”

“I thought I told you to stop talking!”

“S-Sorry.”

Red went immediately for the couch and sat Presley down onto, the shuffled off to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. Presley peeped once to try and tell him where the glasses were, but with a snap of his fingers she shut up; settling down into her coughing fits without a word. Red came back shortly with a cup, going to kneel in front of her. He began to move the glass to her lips but she drew back.

“I-I can do it on my own Red!”

“Wanna tell your hands that?” She looked down to her fingers, shakes racking them useless and Red knew she wouldn’t be able to grip; he knew first hand by first hand experience. “Now, stop talking.” Red tipped the glass to Presley's lips and after a few long drinks the coughs were hushed slightly.

“I-I fell.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing all the damn time.” Red stood and went to place the glass back in the Kitchen, looking around for . . . for something. A first aid kit? Some cold medicine for her to take? Anything? He popped open various doors and beamed in, eyes quickly scanning shelf after shelf. Eventually he came upon his goal, hands going between bottles and sheets of pills, trying to figure out what was what.

He cursed under his breath. “Fucker’s can't just make all the same packaging for the same damn drugs. Presley!” He yelled out from his perch, leaning around the Kitchen’s corner into the living room. “Which one of these is for colds?” He held out several orange pill bottles for her to see, watching as her expression went sheet white.

“ . . . None of them. H-Hold on.” She stood up and went to Red, quickly taking the medications from him and placing them back neatly in their spots. “H-Here . . . This is for colds.” She pulled out a small green box, filled with gray metallic sheets of green pills. She didn’t down it with water, popping out the capsule onto her tongue and swallowed it dry. “I’ll be ok now . . .”

“You sure?”

Presley nodded and went back to her couch, settling onto it with a muted sigh; knees to her chest and arms hugging herself. Her energy was gone and Red couldn’t blame her. He to moved back to the couch, sitting on it’s other end; crimson eyes set to the TV ahead of them.

“ . . .You tripped on the snow?” She nodded at his question. “Fuck . . . I’ll be back later.”

“Huh? W-where are you going?”

“To buy a shovel. The do the job that your fucking landlord should be doing. Stay there . . . right there.” He waved to where Presley was sitting and left, going to the only 24 hour store in town, purchased a shovel, and returned to her complex. He worked well into the night, the cold getting the better of him. Presley let Red stay the night on her couch, well more like forced him, but he was to exhausted to give her persistence much thought. Now, don’t ask how a skeleton got a cold (the magic and logic blurring too much for the common person to understand), but by Thursday Red was so done with chicken soup and cough syrups that he almost threw them against the walls of his home in a tantrum. The only good thing about being sick was that Presley checked in on him every afternoon, and he meant every afternoon. 12pm sharp, a text on his phone, always complete with a smiling emoji.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday rolled by - a new week greeting him with clear senses and a calmed chest, and she meet him outside of Grillby's so they could walk in together. that night Red tried to keep his mind on Presley's songs and her voice, but all he thought about was the feeling of her tiny body pressed up into his.

She was getting to him, and Red had no idea what to do.

Chapter Text

“Red, are we friends?”

The cord twanged a sour note as Presley’s words jolted Red’s mind, drawing him away from his guitar and up to the girl sitting a few steps above him. “Wh- . . . What?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Are we friends?”

He blinked at her repeated question, lost at what to say. Red had thought they were, friends that was. Why? Why was she asking this? Did she think he didn’t want to be her friend? He wasn’t sure what gave her that idea, for weeks now (with January almost behind them and February a day away) Red had literally spent every other day with her. If what wasn’t showing friendship, or at least interest, then he didn’t know what he could do to-

“Red? Did you hear me?”

“I-” Red scrambled for an answer, awkward claws running along the strings of the instrument; the metal squawking loud, causing Presley to jar harshly and put her hands over her ears. Both waited till the echoes of the guitar died out to speak, Red’s hands gripping the neck for moral support. “I . . . Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, we are friends.” Red said at a mumble, a shrug following afterwards.

“O-Ok, cool. So . . . are we close friends?” Now that was a harder question to answer.

Having a best friend, or a “close friend” as Presley put it, was not something exclusive to Monsters or Humans, so Red’s knew the premise for one - but he issue came in that he had never obtained a person so close to consider them as such. Boss was an ass, Grillby was also an ass (just a different flavor of ass), and McDermottt was too mother-like. There had also been Frisk but . . . fuck he needed a smoke

Presley didn’t press that time for Red to give an answer, the little human waiting patiently for his reply. Her tender expression lasted as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Yeah.” He took a long hit from the filter, letting the smoke roll in his head and back out his teeth with a deep breath. “My turn. Why all these questions?”

“Well . . . I have an old friend coming into town and-” Red’s mind stopped as Presley's words went on, leaving him behind in an uncomfortable shroud. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she had other friends, older friends, then himself; trying to calm away the stiffness in his bones with rationality. And yet it still upset him, more than he had any right to let it. She was asking for advice on how to treat a friend about the town, actually putting trust in Red’s opinions and ideas on how to treat her friend. That was a level of trust that floored Red into awe.

“ . . .So?”

“Huh?” Shit.

“Do you think he’d like to visit Grills?”

“Um . . . sure.” Fuck. Wait. “ . . . He?”

Presley nodded. “Yeah. You remember James? I mean, you didn’t met him but-”

“Drummer boy.” Red remembered Drummer boy, vaguely but at least he could put a face to the nickname. Red curly hair, dark brown eyes, and (if Red recalled correctly) some shitty old hat; but that was about it.

“Yeah, heh, Drummer boy.” She chuckled softly at the name. “I told him about Grill’s bar and he wanted to check it out, so we’re going to make it a weekend.” Presley went to dig into one of her pockets, pulling out a folded piece of paper and numb-of a pencil. “So, you being my close friend, I was wondering if you could help me plan out what to do with him?”

-what to do with him? What the fuck was she asking? Was Presley . . .asking Red for dating advice? Something inside Red’s skull burned at that notion, and something darker occurred in his gut. She couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t be fucking serious . . . could she? There were so many things wrong with that Red couldn’t pick out the worst one. Firstly, he had no fucking clue what to do with dates or how to go about starting one; therefore, making any advice he could give her be utter shit. Secondly, he was not going to help the girl he liked get all mushy with some little asshole who-

No.

No fucking way.

He couldn’t like her. Shouldn’t. He fucking refused.

Red was up and gone before Presley had anytime to stop him. He watched her in the rear view of his bike, a lone girl stunned as she stood on the sidewalk and watched him drive off down the road; her expression filled with such a pain that Red prayed he’d never see again.

At first, Presley was relentless in her texts to him. ‘Are you ok?’ ‘What happened?’ ‘Why’d you go off in such a rush?’ ‘Is everything alright?’ He never responded, his phone on silent, and he assumed she got tired of trying; for the time elapsed between each one grew by hours. By night time, Red had fifteen unread messages. He read them all with extreme prejudice . . . and guilt. The final text Red read before tossing his cellphone under the bed was the most painful.

‘Are we ok?’

He didn’t have the courage to call her until a few days later, and she was rightfully furious.

“Red, what the fuck!? Are you ok?” Her voice was despite on the other end of the line.

He sighed, the hangover from the night before still haunting him. “Yeah Kid, I’m fine.”

“You sound tired.”

“Playing Captain-Fucking-Obvious today?”

“Don’t you dare get a fucking attitude with me.” Presley snapped at Red, which caused his eyes to snap open with the sudden realization of her anger. They waited in silence for the other to speak. She sighed and said with a muffled wrench. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .I . . .” And that was when she began to cry.

“Shit, Kid, Presley . . . don’t cry. I-fuck.” Red sat up from his slouch, unknowing what to do as he listened to her sob. He knew she wasn’t crying to hurt him, manipulate him, but hell it was doing a damn good job. “Don’t be sorry, don’t cry . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Red wasn’t sure Presley heard him over the cries, and he could do little else but to let her work it out; or cry it out, as it was. When she had been reduced to soft sniffles, a quieter type of pain, Red spoke again; stronger this time. “Better?”

She quivered. “B-Better.”

“I’m sorry.”

She quivered again. “I know . . . w-why did you leave?”

Because I was afraid to feel anything for you. I still am. That answer was locked away inside of Red so dreadfully, so he gave a fancy lie on the tip of his tongue. “My . . . brother was coming into town and . . . I was supposed to meet him at the bus stop. I panicked.”

“Oh . . . you . . . have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s called Boss.”

“ . . . Boss? Really?” Red swore he could hear Presley's smile steadily returning. “T-Thats’s his name? Y-Your parents must have been digging at the bottom of the barrels for names, huh?”

The truth was far more uncaring. Boss was not his siblings real name, and Red was not his own . . . but they were titles worn as a badge of pride; knowing that they escaped the miserable, shitpile of an existence when the old man passed away. “Yeah well, Dad had a shitty sense of humor.”

“And . . . your Mother?”

“Didn’t have one.” Red closed his eyes with a relaxed sigh, flopping nonchalantly back against his old couch; the wood frame creaking slightly with each movement. “Just a Dad.”

They didn’t talk much about families after that, focusing more on how Presley was preparing for James, aka drummer boy, and his visit. Turns out, Red had no worry about the two humans meeting for romantic reasons (the monster masterfully getting out that answer without exposing his own . . . interest) - Presley's intentions and desires completely on the want to make a friend happy. Friend. Not lover. Thank fuck.

Yes. Red liked Presley. He wasn’t sure when such feelings started to bloom in his ribs, twisting about his spine and spiked vertebra like a biting rose vine complete with thorns stabbing into every part of his person, but that gnarled beauty grew unknowingly; unwillingly, intoxicatingly, maddeningly, and desperately into something Red couldn’t be rid of. But, despite how tight knowing his emotions were curling about reason, Red didn’t think on it; couldn’t, not now. He’d have time later. For the moment, he had to help her plan.

Red spent most of the next coming days trying to brainstorm ideas for places James and Presley could go to, which was ten times harder than he had originally assumed. There wasn’t one fucking store, some stupid spot, or one flashy local tourist joint that wasn’t insignificant to a newcomer. He didn’t know James, and no matter how many times Presley attempted to peg down James's personality so Red could understand, the boy was lost to him. Red could think of all the places he and Presley had gone before and, while holding no significance to any out-of-towners, were just too precious to divulge so James could see. This town was special, the buildings and people were special, she was special.

During this process, as you can imagine, Red was a mess. When he allowed himself to sit still at his table, his legs bounced up and down to a violent rhythm; surrounded in a sea of crumpled up pieces of paper and broken pencils. When not sitting, he was pacing around his home worked, slightly, angered and quickened steps taking the skeleton from room to room in twisting pathways of thought. In his absent mindedness Red tripped over a stack of dirty clothes, his body slamming into a wall; definitely his shoulder busting a dent into the dry wall.

“Fucking shit! Stupid fucking . . .” His snarled slowly vanished as he looked to the damaged white wall, his head tilting as an idea began to thunder in his head.

“A smashing party?” Presley didn’t sound to impressed.

“Yeah. I . . . I used to go to them a lot. A few times after we got outa the Underground.” Red was standing in his kitchen, phone pinned between his cheek and shoulder, eyes glued to the tiny food tray spinning in the microwave.

“And you . . . take baseball bats, go to designated areas, and just . . . smash stuff?” Her voice was a little

“Yeah. It’s done for charity. You pay to enter and the cash goes to one of the few organizations supporting it.”

“You went to charity events?”

“Don’t read into it, Kid. I just needed something to do.” That was half true. After leaving the Underground, many Monsters had to figure out what to do with themselves - so did society. There were few places Monsters were allowed, but a few places that did tolerate their kind were usually charity events; at least not the overly religious charities. Red had found out about the local smashing party when he had gotten pissed face drunk and roamed the back roads of the town, and damn did it feel good to beat shit senseless when you were high on liquor.

“I guess that would be kind of cool . . .” He could hear her shrug in sentence. “Thanks. I’ll suggest it to John, see if he wants to go.”

“ . . . Hey Kid, I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

It was now or nothing. Red could feel Grillby’s words clawing at the back of his head, the constant pressure to ask this a long time coming. “Do you . . . wanna hang out?”

“Like . . . right now?”

“No, not-” Red had to bite back a growl. “Like . . . later on, after your friend goes away?”

“Wouldn’t we do that anyways?”

“Don’t-Rah! You’re fucking annoying me, Kid.”

“Heh, sorry. Go on.”

Red took a deep breath, the warm air of the kitchen slithering about his ribs and spine. “Do you . . . want to go on a . . . a-uh . . . um.”

“Red . . . are you asking me out?”
Why did she have to be so deadening accurate? Fuck. “ . . . Yes.”

“. . . . I-It took you long enough.”

“What?!”

“To ask me, it . . . yes. Yes, I’ll . . . I’ll go out with you.” Her tone was smiling, the heat of her blush almost coming through the phone. Red was pretty sure he was blushing too, a fire building in his core to a twitching, nervous sensation.

To say that sleeping alone that night was a living hell had been the biggest understatement of the year. His mind was too busy planning a way to show her just how much she meant to him, wasting away the precious hours of sleep with more crumpled papers and drowning ideas. It was the sunrise that inspired Red, a red mist mixing with peach clouds on a dark navy sky - the remaining stars glittering like drops of dew on a black petal.

James was still as Red remembered, maybe slightly nerdier and with an extra helping of plaid, but thankful for Red’s nerve the human was just as odd as he was meant to be.

Red and Presley were waiting outside in the hotel parking lot, both half leaning on the Skeleton’s bike, and the spring sun beaming down on them with little warmth to it; waiting for James's shitty old, shitty, hatchback volvo to peek over the horizon. They had played a few games of eye spy, tick-tac-toe in the dirt, and Red even contemplated at trying to maybe . . . hug her, but his efforts were thwarted as the guest pulled in.

“Press!” James nearly bounded out of the car like an idiot, but managed to keep himself upright; not making such a fool of himself.

“Hey James. How was the ride?” She moved to hug him, and that made Red’s bones tense up beyond measure. That was his fucking hug.

“It was ok. The mountains were piss.” Red blinked a few times at hearing James talk, the British accent taking him for a whirl. “This Red?”

“Oh, yeah! James, Red. Red, James.” Presley looked back and forth between the two, an expectant smile on her face.

“Hello.” James held out his hand to shake and Red could already feel the need to snap, but he had to be nice; or at least tame back the sass for Presley's sake. She wanted him to meet one of her closest friends, like two sides ot the same coin finally meeting face to face, so Red was going to try his damnedest not to fuck this up for her. Keyword, try.

“Hey.” Red didn’t really shake as he just placed his palm against James’s fingers, letting the human do the work. Damn, James could have really used his fucking nails cut; they were as long as Red’s own talons. “And uh . . . welcome.”

“Thanks dude.” James’s smile was at least sincere, if not slightly annoying. Also, he was high; he had to by high - words slightly slurred, eyes slightly blurred. At least drugged people were more honest. “Hey Presley, we should talk real-. . . uh . . . shit.” James's eyes turned to his car, to the backseat where the tip of a boot was barely visible.

Presley seemed just as confused as Red at the sudden shift of mood in the air, the two looking at each other with raised brows, then back to James. “Is . . .something wrong?”

“Um . . . don’t kill me alright?”

“What?” She gave a little sneer at that, tilting her head to the side.

“Just . . . he wouldn’t let me go without him.” James walked to his car slowly, backing away with a deeply apologetic look to his face.

“W-Who? Did you bring a fri- . . . . James. Please tell me you didn’t . . .” Red’s bones twitched as he saw the life drain away from Presley’s face, a sickly green hue spreading over her. Fear slipped into her scent as her eyes stayed on James.

The foreigner went to open the backdoor and a limp leg bucked out, followed by a body, two arms, and a head of blonde hair. The second human male yawned, cracked his neck, then smiled out from under dark sunglasses. “Hey there sweetheart . . . miss me?”

Red did not like Alex one bit.

Alex was a pompous looking, a little shit with golden locks and blue eyes that was to pretty and to witty for his own good; on top of being to friendly with Presley. The skeleton had to ball his fingers into painful fists, talons digging into bones, as he restricted himself from overreacting. For fucks sake, Presley was doing about the same as Red.

It was very clear that James’s tag-along was undesired, awkward and uncomfortable; but to what extent . . . Red couldn’t tell. She didn’t act afraid or skittish, which he could only guess was a good thing. She was standing her ground, stealing herself away, but from what?

Red would ask later. In the moment, he went along with the plan - let Presley be with James (and now Alex) then they would all meet up later for the smashing party. Red made sure Presley had his number on speed dial before he left . . . . but he didn’t really leave; not entirely. One of Red’s blasters, a gnarled twist of a dragon’s skull and shattered facades, floated high and out of the way from the group of humans; stalking them about the town, keeping it’s multiple eyes watching the visit on and off.

Red did this for about three hours, and by the fourth he was about ready to pass out. Shit, he was never as good as Magic and casting as Boss was. Probably never would be. The Skeleton took a quick nap before doing anything else, gaining a quick bolt of energy. When he woke up again on his couch it was about an hour and a half before they would all meet back up.

He couldn’t imagine being with two idiots like James and Alex for hours on end . . . Presley would need something nice for all her efforts. Or at least, that's something Red would like. Red smiled to himself, gathering his coat and wallet before meeting the early night time. He walked to his favorite gas station, picked up a pack of cigarettes for himself . . . . and a felted rose for Presley; holding both in his hand as Red made his way to their meeting spot - a little side alley outside the library.

Girls liked that shit, right? Getting roses? It worked in the movies at least. It was fucking stupid, fucking simple, fucking sweet, and fucking foolish . . .

Then again, Red was always a fool; in both damnation and adoration.

Red turned the corner of the Library's parking lot, the alleyway before him, and a light shining down on two figures. He paused to look, eyes adjusting quickly to the shadows all around the pair. Big arms were wrapped around a tiny body, thick hands holding a green haired head, lips against another, silent stagnation filling the scene.

Red was such a fool. Such a fool.

He left the rose where it landed, turning away from the sight with no feeling left. He was teleported to Grillby’s Bar before Red comprehended his surroundings, seated in his usual spot, voided is his usual emotions. He didn’t even notice Grillby’s questioning, not until a purple flamed hand was on his shoulder.

“-Red.”

“ . . . She kissed him.”

“What?”

“That boy.”

Grillby tilted his head, hand removed with concern at seeing how off Red was acting; to calm, to quiet. “James?”

“No. The other one . . .”

Grillby’s expression shifted and the air about him grew hotter. “Other one? What other one? She didn’t say- . . . Alex? But he-thats- . . . are you sure?”

“I fucking saw them, Grill. I saw her.”

“Bullshit. She hates Alex.”

Red’s eyes darted up to Grillby, a snarl set to his words. “It didn’t look like she fucking hated him.”

“Red, please don’t tell me you left her alone with him.” The skeleton’s eyes narrowed at Grillby, his words lost in translation; muting him. “You did. You . . . fuck!”

This was the most Red had ever heard Grillby curse, straightening up in his chair as a new feeling formed in his proverbial gut. Something was wrong, something far greater than his bruised pride - only heightened as Grillby was rushing people to close down his bar. “Grill, what the fuck.”

“Grab my coat.” Grillby barked the order at Red as he helped move people to the bar’s exist, some against their will. Lost in this sudden storm, Red did as interested, going behind the bar to fetch Grillby’s coat. The fire elemental snapped it out of Red’s talons, some of the fabric tearing but he didn’t seem to care. “Come on.”

“Where the fuck are we going?!”

“To save Presley. That asshole used to beat on her.” Grillby didn’t have convince Red to follow him after that, both Monsters set out onto the town to try and find her.

Red was such a fool. Such a fool. He had known Presley was uncomfortable the whole time James and Alex were with her, but he assumed the wrong reason.

Red and Grillby went back to where last he saw her, but Presley nor Alex were there. They ran about the town, teleporting and sprinting along dark streets, in a frantic frenzy to find her before . . . fuck, Red didn’t even want to think about what Alex could be doing to her. If he did, Red was pretty sure Alex would not last the night; a dark and uncontrollable fury building just on the edge of Red’s consciousness, threatening for the taste of blood.

Minutes slipped by into hours and Grillby was ready to call authorities as they approached the final destination, Red’s house just a block down. It was the last singular place they could have looked. Maybe she got away from Alex and ran to Red’s home, seeking protection - he wished that was the cause, prayed it was. Surprisingly, disturbingly, that was a half truth.

There, sitting on the small concrete steps that lead up to Red’s concrete porch, Sat Presley; draped in an unfamiliar coat and slumped inwardly on herself. And stood beside her . . . was Boss.

Boss, as stiff and rigid as he usually was, was standing in front of her; arms at his back, his singular eye set to the streets about them - watching like a hawk, silently precise. Red and grey clothes, sleek and straight, an informal tux set with a crimson vest and open collar; detailed with silver buttons and black shiny oxfords. Around his neck was an old scarf, leather gloves on long digits, topped with wide shoulders and narrow hips.

Boss looked to Red, their eyes meeting, and a spark fluttering between the brothers in silent regard. It was Presley that breathed the first word, Re’d name a yelp on her voice, and she rushed towards his chest; shaking body trying to amalgamate into him. “R-Red, I-Alex tried to-”

Red’s arms were just as rushed to hold her, bringing the tiny human into his hold, both of them gaining strength into the other. “Sh, Sh Kid. Sh, Don’t . . .” Red’s fangs gritted together as he noticed a dark loop about one of Presley’s eyes, the very beginning shine of a bruise creasing about her right eye. Presley saw where Red’s eyes stuck, trying to turn away with a sudden shyness, but Red held her there firmly. “What the fuck is this?!”

“R-Red, don’t-it . . . it was an acci-”

“Don’t let your human lie to you, Brother.” Boss spoke up, his scratchy, higher-pitched voice moving into the conversation like a snake. “The male human she was with didn’t like it when your human tried to move away. He swung. She got hit.”

“ . . . Where is he now?” Red’s system was in too much shock to pinpoint a single emotion, not right then.

“Gone.” Boss said shortly, turning his gaze to Red’s front door. “Have a Key? It’s cold outside.”

The three monsters and human girl were inside in a matter of seconds, with Grillby on the phone with the police, Boss looking out a window in the living room, Presley sat on the couch, and Red . . . attempting not to blow his top off. Knowing what Boss said, that James was gone, was enough for him to know what had happened to the male, but Red needed to know Pressley's side of the story; and that required patience. She was shaken up, in shock, shivering as her tiny form was pressed into Red’s side.

“Kid . . . what happened.”

“ . . .”

“Presley, what happened.” Red spoke firmly, a growl to his voice, or maybe it was a purr? Either way, the sound made his ribs vibrate in a comforting heat; something Presley was keen in tucking herself into.

“ . . . A-Alex kissed me a-and I . . .didn’t like it. I wanted to go back inside. H-He didn’t let go s-so I tried to get away, a-and that's when he-” She winched her face at remembering the blow, giving a little shake of her head to try and forget what happened. “T-that’s when he,” A tiny trembling finger pointed to Boss, is silhouette dark against the incoming moonlight. “, came and saved me.” Judging by the fear streaking across her face as Boss turned to look at her, whatever his Brother had done to get rid of Alex had been his usual creepy self.

“Stay here. I’m gonna get you an ice pack.” Red attempted to get up, but was kept there by her hands about his torso. “Kid, you need ice for that.” As carefully as Red could be, drew up a thumb to her face; nail tracing along the purple and inflamed bruise.

“D-Don’t go . . .” She whimpered.

“Press-”

“I’ve got it. Comfort the Human.” Boss went away from the window and towards the shitty excuse of a kitchen, going about making a ice pack from a clean dish towel (probably the only one left in Red’s house that wasn’t ratty as fuck) and hand crushed chunks of ice; long talon-like nails easily crushing the ice cubes into a moldable pile. The pack was tired by a little twist tie Boss found in the empty bread cupboard, his heels clicking in the floor as he returned. “Here. Gently press it to her face.”

“I know how to fucking use an ice-pack.” Red had half the mind to snatch the ice-pack out of Boss’s hand with spiteful annoyance, not necessarily at his brother, but it wouldn’t make him feel any better. Instead Red just frowned and took care of Presley in silent seething. It should have been Red who gave Alex what-not, he so desperately wanted to, but that would be saved for later. Right now, all Red wanted to focus on was Presley; a sadness strangling his throat at hearing her tiny whimpers as the ice went to her face.

“T-That hurts.” She head tears in her eyes.

“I know Kid, but it will help the swelling go down. Just . . . grab me.” Red tenderly moved Presley into his person more, eventually leaning back on the couch with her held infant style on his lap; the ice-pack to her face and her eyes closed to try and find peace. She did as instructed, grabbing Red for comfort; wiggling digits going to gracefully loop around the edges of his shirt. With his free hand Red brought up a poor excuse of an afghan about her, tucking in the sides about her narrow form, in an attempt to get Presley warm. “Go to bed, Kid.”

“R-Right now?” She still had her eyes closed, her head placed on his sternum with a quivering sleepiness.

“Yes. Right now. So . . . stop talking.”

Hours passed and the house was dark and still. Before that however, Grillby meet with the officers outside to file the police report alongside Boss. The Police let Presley sleep, leaving her part of the testimony and reports for tomorrow, but they did take a picture of her bruised face. Red was territorial when the officers came close, forcing himself to carefully peel her away from him so they could see the full extent of her injury; an unintentional growl rolling in his throat as the unknown humans looked over her. But they left, so did Grillby, and Boss kept to himself as the brother sat in a darkened living room.

Well, for the most part.

“Your home is still messy.” Boss’s lone eye moved about the room, his voice barely above a whisper; a hum, a little cloud floating in the night.

“Your clothes are still flashy.” Red bit out. “ . . . Why are you here?”

Boss gave a slight scoff. “It wasn't to get involved on your human’s affairs, that's for sure. I was . . .attempting to find you. I followed your scent and it lead me to her.” The youngest brother but his attention back to Presley, some unreadable thought passing in his eye. “ . . . When did you know?”

“Know what?” Red hated it when Boss was vague.

“That you liked her. Don’t lie, your terrible habit of nervous sweating gives away any facilities you weave.” Boss tilted his head, and there was a faint shadow of a smile threatening to peek over his tusked lips. Or maybe it was a smirk. “I haven't seen you this protective since Frisk.”

Red didn’t have the energy to burn on Boss and his sass, eyes slowly laying downward to Presley; talons going to carefull run down her exposed neck. “Maybe a week ago.”

“And before that? How long had you known her?”

“Winter. Last year.” Red’s nails rested at her clavicles, looping about the hairless, round ridges of the hidden bone.

“Hm . . . that was a shorter time period than I expected.” Boss gave a small stretching of his long, lean body before going to stand. “Move.”

“What?”

“I’m sleeping on your couch tonight. The hotel here was already closed by the time my driver and I got into town, and I will not sleep in a car.” Boss strode over to Red and said couch in barely half a stride, shoes tapping his elder’s legs. “So that is my bed you and your human are currently lounging on. Move to the bedroom, a mattress will make her more comfortable than your bony body.”

Again, Red didn’t have the energy to burn on Boss and his sass, so Red sighed in an annoyed defeat before rising up carefully; Presley tucked safely in his arms. As to not wake up the human, Red walked slow and that gave Boss an opening for a final few words. “Sans . . . it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too . . . Papyrus.”

And that was that, the brothers leaving the other alone, and went about their nights in separate rooms. Red was pretty sure that Boss would read for a bit before going to sleep, but other then that he didn’t expect much. Red, however, was left lying uncomfortably awake on a makeshift blanket bed in the ground; listening to Presley's slow breathes above him while she took his bed.

There was no way he was going to share a bed with her. Not now. Not so suddenly after his true feelings for her came to fruition. For his sake and for her honor. Red knew that in the morning his furry and worry with be unbearable, so for now . . . he let her delicate sounds and pale features in the shadowed bedroom be a lullaby for sleep, the small coos and moves helping take the skeleton out of reality and into his dreams. That night he dreamed of her. That night he dreamed of her with him.

Chapter Text

They spent that next day in bed . . . well, more accurately, Presley spent that day in bed. Red just sat next to the worn mattress on the floor, arms under his chin as he crumpled himself as small as he could; wanting to appear fragile in her gaze. Presley didn’t need a strong brute, boorish and brainless with uncontrollable anger. She needed a still statue, something that wouldn’t move in the incoming storm and could listen to any word over the deafening thunder. Red would try to be that, but he still couldn’t stop his tapping foot on the tan carpet in a mild, panicked wait.

Red woke an hour before her, just kneeling there and watching her - the flutter of her eyes behind pink lids and what dreams could be lingering just under that thin skin. Red hoped they weren’t nightmares, but that was highly unlikely. Red thought about going to get her a glass of water or maybe a twinkie, preemptively readying something for Presley to to eat when she would wake up. No, wait, shit Presley doesn’t eat twinkies; too many “bad fats”. Or whatever she fucking said. He didn’t understand that fancy food crap.

When she finally stirred awake Red felt his soul drop slightly. She looked so worn, so exhausted. She hadn’t slept well.

Presley looked to him, and he to her, both seeming to wait for the other to breathe. Red went first. “Hey.”

“Hey . . . what time is it?” She wiggled a bit, looking for an alarm clock or something that held the time. Red had no clock besides the one on his phone, going to flip it open; the tiny screen contouring his face.

“Just a little after eleven.” He couldn't help but chuckle some as Presley ducked her head back under the blanket. “Nah, your not pulling that shit. Wake up.”

“I don’t wanna.” Her voice was muffled, tucked away in her little sleeping fort.

“We need to talk.”

“ . . . Do we have to?”

“I want to.”

Presley sighed, remaining still for just a little bit longer; for as long as she could before the seriousness would hit them both. The girl sat up, curling the covers about her for comfort; an inanimate hug of protection. Red was pressing the point harder than he was comfortable with, but the part of him that wanted to help (however small it was) was crying out to lap up any pain Presley had inside her; ready to consume the leaks that were to come. After all, Red was made to take any number of inflections. Pain was nothing new.

She looked to Red, their eyes locking tightly as words were trying to collect themselves in her throat. Presley sighed. “So . . . Alex . . .he-”

“He’s a dead man if I ever see him again.”

“Red.”

“Sorry, Kid. Go on.” Red had to dig his taloned toes into his dirty carpet to keep the harshness of his anger at bay. Fucking Alex. Red would kill him.

Presley gave another sigh and went on. “Before I moved here, I lived East. With my Mom. She . . . she thought she knew what was best for me. We didn’t see eye-to-eye, so I moved out and tried to make my own way. I . . .” Maybe it was just the red of the blooming bruise on her face, or the puffiness of her swollen, tired eyes? Or even the beginnings of a mild fever, but Presley’s face definitely gave a harsh flush of red. “ . . . Red . . . you . . . promise you won’t . . . you won’t . . .”

She could barely keep her voice stable enough to finish any words, and it was already driving Red insane; the parallels between her and him becoming a sharp knife to his soul. Red had to figure this was what it was like to talk to him sometimes, like pulling teeth . . . fucking bless Presley for dealing with him for all this time. And now, he had to do the same for her; longed to. He had to show her that he was there for her.

“Presley-” One of Red’s hands went to her hidden knee under the blankets, the limb shaking softly under the layers of cotton and fluff. She was scared of whatever words were stuck in her heart. He held his hand there, usually razored gaze softened as he laid his head before her; like some damn sad pup trying to comfort it’s owner. Fuck. But at least his sudden softness was working to relax her some.

“ . . . Promise you won’t . . . hate me? After I tell you this?”

“Kid, for fucks sake, I could never hate you.” He shut his eyes at that, the unconscious action of pressing his skull to her knee drawn out by his need to let Presley know she was ok with him. “ . . . Unless you don’t tell me what the fuck-”

“I worked as a cam girl.” She bleated out the words quickly, a hushed breath that was puffed out in shame.

Cam. Girl. Cam girl?

Red’s mind didn’t understand that right away, long seconds passing between him and Presley . . . until his empty eye sockets flashed open wide; a stiff and cold sensation filling up every bone he had. A cam girl, some poor, desperate child who would flash their naked bodies online for cash - faking ages and facading personas for creepers out to fill their lustful needs.

“Alex . . .was my top sponsor.”

“ . . . Red?”

“ . . .”

“ . . . R-Red, please don’t-I . . . I . . . please say something.”

“ . . .”

“A-Anything . . .”

Under normal circumstances, the idea of having sexy videos or pics made by Presley would have driven a heat deep inside Red’s desires into an uncontrollable fire . . . but knowing that slimy, shitty excuse of a human man had looked at Presley before him . . . that any number of men knew what his Presley looked like in her bare skin before Red knew . . . fuck. Fuck. FUCK! He was pissed off, jealous as hell, the sparks of weak magic rattling in his chest; wanting to lash out. At anyone, anything, everything!

His silence was enough to make Presley free herself of the blankets, feet rushing her to his bedroom’s door in an escape. She was crying, she was wanting to get away; in shame and fear. Having her lash herself away from him is what snapped Red back to the present. “Presley!” He was on her before she could make shaking fingers undo the lock, his body hoarding over her as the late morning sunlight hit his back; leaving her in his shadow. “Don’t-!”

“Y-You hate me! I-I’m so sorry. I- . . .I ruined everything. I . . .I fucked us up! I-!”

“I don’t hate you, so shut up!” Red has his arms about Presley and he forced her to trip back into his chest; feeling her hiccuped breath break with more crying. “Shut up.”

“But-”

“Shut up . . . just shut up, and . . . listen.” He didn’t have the tender words in him right now, left with only the flashing, raw emotions of his want. “I don’t care. I don’t care of . . . of what you had to do, ok? We’ve all had to do crappy shit to get by. Every. Single. Fucking. One of us. Ok? You’re not . . . you didn’t fuck us up . . .”

“But you’re mad.”

“That’s fucking obvious, but . . I’m not mad at you.”

“T-Then . . . I-I don’t understand.”

Neither did Red honestly; he didn’t understand anything. Rage, lust, envy, idiotism, fear, betrayal, anxiety, and . . . love.

Shit. Love.

Red loved Presley, and no amount of his insecurity, no amount of pain his pride was able to handle this blow, was ever going to dull that. Red took a long, holding breath, ribs expanding to a puffed shape that moved Presley up and then down as he exhaled. She was still crying softly, but at least she was breathing with him.

Red spoke. “I don’t either. But . . . I’m not mad at you. You’re . . . you’re here now, with me. You ain’t gotta . . . ever do that again. You ain’t ever gotta think about it again, you ain’t ever gotta see him again. I got you.” The skeleton could feel Presley gently turn herself in his hold, the spot where her shoulder blades had been pressed into his ribs now replaced with her face; full cheeks melting into his chest, and thin arms wrapping about his pelvis. “I got you . . .” And Red was never letting go.

Standing was hell for them both, so Red picked Presley up and moved them both back to the bed. He laid her back down into the blankets and tucked her in. The Monster took his place on the floor again, Presley rolling some to settle right on the mattress’ edge; watching each other as they spoke subsided whispers.

Presley told Red more about her life before coming West, about the cam girl business and how she would strip to pay the bills. She never did anything that involved actual sex, no penetration with toys or any other props, and never did she meet up with her clients. Coming across Alex in “real life” was an elaborate, stalking plan he conjured to trap the naive Presley. Alex had a username that would have never tied him to his account, working his personality to be a fresh, new, engaging love interest that was clear of any nefarious desires. Presley fell for his gentle smile and good looks.

Biggest mistake of her life.

Once they started to date, Alex becoming possessive and controlling.

It was subtle at first, starting from the simple need of him not wanting Presley to have to work such a “physically demeaning” job. He persuaded her to quit the cam business and Alex paid for almost everything Presley needed. She didn’t like being so dependent on him so she began to mention the idea of her taking a job at a local grocery store. Alex took offense to that, not seeming to understand she wanted to have her own money for things and not rely on him so much; it wasn’t healthy.

Alex took his anger out in a wall, busting the drywall with his fist. That was only the first of many outbursts. He started to question everything she was doing. He wanted to know who exactly she was talking to online and on her phone at all times, wanted to have the passwords to all her online accounts, and even had copies of her bike’s keys made without her consent. Presley had attempted to confront Alex about his behavior one night and that broke out into an argument. This time he didn’t hit the dry wall. She had a busted cheekbone and bleeding ear, left to sob and cry alone as he drove off into the night in blind anger. After that, the beatings were daily.

Alex took a deeper nose dive into hell as he brought numerous drugs home, forcing Presley at times to partake in them. Once, he had attempted to shoot something into her arm; it was the last straw. She took her prized guitar, a gift from Alex, and busted it over his head. Presley was for certain that she killed him, gathering as much of her things as she could, and ran. She ran from state to state, always fearful for what was around the corner.

She spent about a year being homeless and afraid, still filled with too much pride to call her Mother or anyone else for help. So, one could imagine how shocked she was to get a random call from Grillby one day out of the blue; his concern not prompted by any action of hers. He just seemed to know she needed help.

“Um,” Presley stopped, blinking a few times. “Grill . . . was dating my Uncle at the time. He-”

“Wait, Grillby’s gay?” Red went stiff.

Presley rolled her eyes. “Yes. Anyways-” Presley carried on, picking the story. Her Uncle and Grillby found her and took Presley in. The three of them lived together for a few years and it was the most joyous Presley had ever been. But, like all good things did, those happy times were cut short. Presley’s uncle died. After that, things weren’t the same. She knew Grillby would always love her, like a niece or like a daughter, but she had to try and make it out on her own again.

Grillby helped Presley get an apartment in town and gave her the encouragement to seek out her dreams, before it was to late; like her Uncle. Her Uncle had been an excellent poet but he never once published his works; never given the recognition his talented demanded. He just ran out of time. Presley took her guitar, her voice, and her songs and went into the world to make her mark. She hadn’t been at the bar gigs for more than a month before she meet Red.

“And, um, . . . you know the rest.” Presley gave Red a small, spent smile; eyes shying to close.

Red, for lack of better wording, was stunned. Presley had to deal with so much bullshit in her life, so much pain and deception. He wasn’t sure he would be able to help her cope with it, hell, he was was still unsure how to deal with his own fucked up character. Still, he could love her, he could accept her, he could always be there for her.

One way he could be there for her was to get some decent food at his place, not all the microwaveable, overly salted freeze dried crap or the deathly corn-syruped, pre-packed sweets he adored. He waited till Presley was deep in another nap before he slipped out to the grocery store, Boss demanding to come with him.

“No.” Red protested.

“Yes. I’ll not have another word of-”

“Fuck no. You stay here.”

“I doubt your human’s attacker would dare come back after-”

“I thought you said he was gone!” Red’s lips snarled. As much as Red wanted to kill Alex, it was a fantastical idea; for he assumed Boss had done his usual, dark, creepy espionage shit. Gone meant gone; dead.

“I didn’t have the proper tools on hand to deal with him completely. But don't worry, Brother. She’s safe.”

“Such a fucking heartwarming promise.” The eldest of the two gave a deep huff, red eyes set to the door; second guessing if he should leave while Alex was still at large. The plus side to this was the chance of running into that shit and the negative being Presley was unguarded.

“My driver shall be here.”

“Driver?” Oh, the driver. Red never liked that . . . thing, monster, whatever it was. Tall, almost as tall as Boss, with a rakey body and smooth features. The driver would wear black all the time, stuck permanently in his uniform, and had the most narrow smile Red had ever seen; the teeth there counting in the thousands and as thin as needles. There were two huge, voiding eyeballs that had no sclera, long pointed ears, all stuck to a white, paste-like skin that was partly translucent. Red wasn’t sure what type of Monster the driver was, and he was oddly thankful to be left out of that tidbit. “ . . . He can fight?”

“He kills. It’s good enough. Now,” Boss reached for his leather gloves, taking great care to lace in his fingers one at a time. “, where to?” Red knew Boss would take one look at the store and gag, but it almost humored him to picture his stuffy younger brother ghastly grossed out at the simplicity of it all.

He had been right for the most part. Boss barely touched anything as they walked around the tiny building, hell he barely looked around. He just sort of . . . flicked things into the cart; literally flicking them; not a care of fuck to be given. Red knew better than to try and make Boss stop, even more so to try and pay for it all. Once his brother got into his overprotective mode, there was no breaking it. Boss didn’t do this out of guilt, or pity, or even because it was the right thing to do. He just did it because he wanted to. On top of that, Red was not going to protest Boss buying all the shit he put into the cart . . . then the second cart . . .and the third.

Usually, if Red ever bought this much food he would confiscated the cart to drag back his hauls, but with Boss using his skills of magic the numerous bags just floated behind the two as they walked; silence sticking between the two. It was one of the few tricks Red wished he could have picked up before moving out on his own. Putting away the plunder was just as simple and just as quiet, Red standing by as he watched Boss worked at attention; items flying into the shelves and cabinets with the swirling of red magic.

As promised by Boss, the driver had guarded the abode; its tall and stark figure stuck to a far corner of the living room . . . and, shit you not, Red could have shit bricks. Well . . . if he could shit. And how could a skeleton produce bri- . . . He was over thinking just how creepy the driver was. Just . . . a lot of shits.

Once all the groceries were put away, the brothers had a few hours to be together, sitting on the couch with the TV playing in the background; some overly saturated Human game-show. Neither were paying much attention to it.

“So,” Red turned his gaze ever so over to Boss as his little brother’s questioned tone came out. “, shall you be . . . alright?”

Red shrugged. He’d survive.

“You better be. This is the last time I come to save you from-”

“You didn’t come to save me.”

“Pardon?”

“You came for something else. Don’t bullshit me.” Red recalled Boss’s words from last night. He had attempted to sniff Red out, it was how Boss came to rescue Presley. “Why’d you come?”

Boss’s jaw slacked open ever so, fangs messing opened and then closed. Red waited, and waited, and waited for Boss to speak again - and he knew it would take quite a while. Boss didn’t speak unless he had the proper words, the true and honest words, ready on the tip of his tongue. “I came to seek you out, at the request of Queen Toriel. It’s about Frisk.”

Red shot straight up, his quickened annoyance vanishing at the mention of his long lost charge. “Frisk? What is it? What happened? Is something wr-”

“Sans . . . Frisk is dead.”

Chapter Text

Time passed very slowly after Boss took his leave, leaving Red in a mist of minutes and drain of days. He wasn’t sure how to feel. Stiff. Sore. Mute. Barely a man. Just as he had been before meeting Frisk.

Frisk. That strong, stubborn, resilient little fuck was supposed to be one of the better things the Underground had spewed back into the light of day - they were supposed to make it, they were supposed to be somebody. Now? Now they were dead.

Assassination by poisoning, the news said. Queen Torial and King Asgore had been overseas at a United Nations meeting to try and gain stability for Monster kind, despite their cold and conniving natures. Many said it was an act to try and weaken the Monster ruler’s resolve, to break them, while others claimed the outlandish act of self martyrisum to bring sympathy to their parent's cause.

That was bullshit. Frisk loved life, treasured every single life . . . even in the face of someone who would try to kill them. Red had been one of those beings and yet they still loved him, spared him, saved him. Frisk would never kill themselves. Never.

Red didn’t watch TV after that, the screen left dark and lifeless as he tried to piece himself back together.

Before his brother left, Boss had given him personal invitation from the Queen requesting Red to attend the funeral. It wasn’t an invitation as much as it was a demand, but in his own self pity Red didn’t care for the threat. He didn’t want to care for anything. Not food nor smoking nor sleeping. He didn’t even care that Presley had spent over a week in his apartment. He hardly noticed when she came and went, not when she ate or sat beside him or when she would try to talk to him. He would grunt in response to the muffled words coming from her perfect lips and that was about all he could muster.

Not until she brought in the mail that had been piling up outside his door, the tiny mail box flowing over with those shitty shopping ads and credit card offers. That day there was a unique envelope and she asked to open it. Red nodded and kept his gaze over the smoke stained window blinds to his left. He heard the paper rip, something shuffle about, then her tender foot falls upon the carpet.

“It’s from your brother . . .” She sounded a bit hopeful.

Red gave her no reaction.

“It’s two plane tickets, and a letter.”

Red still didn’t react.

“He- . . .do you want me to read you the lett-”

“No.”

Presley scowled softly, eyes moving down from Red back to the letter. It was hand written, Red could smell that perfumed ink Boss liked to use every damn time. Boss could stuff that scent up his bony ass, for all Red cared.

Presley stood motionless, no doubt reading the letter. Fine, fuck her too then if she was going to get nosy.

“Red. He wants you and me to go to the fu-”

“I couldn’t give a shit what he wants.” Red snapped at Presley, fangs visible as he spat the words out; still facing away from her.

“Red, please, I-”

“You too.”

“W- . . . What?”

Red growled, his arms coming about his chest to cross there tightly. “I don’t care what you want. Get it?! Fucks sake . . . get that shit out of my face.”

Presley went quiet, still, uncertain. Red could sense her presence shift at his anger, trying to find a work around. Like it would do anything? She tried again. “I really think you should go.” Red could feel her eyes drilling into him and he wanted to shrink back in bitterness. “This is very important, Red!”

“Yeah. Right. There’s something so important about looking at a rotting corpse.”

“At going to see a passing friend, yes! I’d . . . I’d be disgusted if this is the way you act when I’m gone.”

Red’s soul turned to ice and caught his throat tight, something washing over his every fiber. He looked to Presley, the first time in days, and he wished he could take back every lost hour. Her bruised gaze, red with the brim of anger fueled tears. She was clutching the letter and tickets so desperately that her hands were shaking.

“Everyone dies, Red. All humans die. It’s a fact of our lives . . . a-and if you’re going to be this . . .this stupidly stubborn about going to see your supposed friend, then maybe you . . . Whatever.” Presley sniffled and let the papers fall from her fingers, fluttering down like snow. “I’m going out.”

And with that Presley was gone and Red was left in shame, a deep and immeasurable shame at himself. Fuck. Fuck! Why did she always have to be right? Before Red ever met Presley, he was always right. Now though he felt so downsized in her judgement.

Frisk. Could Red really let them go without saying goodbye? He had never thought he would have to say goodbye to anyone, not really. Goodbye always felt so final, and in Frisk’s passing Red had never been so sure of that weight. It felt tens times heavier at thinking one day he would have to say goodbye to Presley as well, when old age and even older time took her from existence and her soul moved far from him.

No. He couldn’t let Frisk, or anyone, pass on like that; no matter the rage or sadness.

Red picked up the discarded papers, surprised at how quivering his bones were.The letter was stuffed with that fancy script shit Boss always did, as if normal letters weren’t fucking complicated enough, then looked to the plane tickets. One for himself and one for Presley . . . it ticked Red off how Boss seemed to be one step ahead of him at everything. The flight was for tomorrow, a red-eye flight. That didn’t give Red much time. Just enough to pack a backpack and find Presley.

Finding his Human counterpart wasn’t too hard. She had ducked out and made her way to Grillby’s apartment above his bar, her small form laying across a dark leather sofa.

Grillby let Red in on the condition he left his pissy mood at the door. Red did his best to comply, hands in his jacket pocket and eyes low. The fire elemental had to make sure everything in his home was flame proof, or at least heat resistant, mostly leather or metal furniture pieces and very little wall art that could collect dust. The floor was stone, slabs of dark obsidian marbled with some pearlescent resin, left untreated; for any polish or wax might react to the bare feet of Grillby.

Red sort of waddled over to Presley and stood there, her attention purposefully set to the wide screen television. “ . . . Hey.”

Now it was Presley's turn to be silent; she said nothing.

“ . . . It’s an early flight.”

“I saw.”

“If . . .we wanna make it on time, we gotta pack tonight.”

“Why would I wanna be stuffed into a tiny ass plane with you?” Presley glared up to Red and there was no excuse for his behavior. There never was.

“Because I need you there . . . I . . . I can’t- . . . shit, Kid, I can’t do this alone.”

“You seemed content to be left alone the past week.” Presley shot back, brows narrowing in anger.

“I- . . . OK, i’ll give you that one.” Red went to sit on the edge of Grillby’s coffee table, settling with a guttural sigh. “You didn’t mean what you said, did you?”

Presley tilted her head.

“About . . . being disgusted at me, if- . . when you . . . you know?”

“Die? I meant it. Still do.” She didn’t waver, not in tone or mood.

Red looked down to his shoes, the scuffs on the leather there and the grittiness of the laces. Everything got worn out eventually. Everything got old and rotted and withered away. Houses, cars, books, and people. Especially people. It was a waiting game for Death and it used the beats of a Human’s heart to know when the end would come.

If Presley could hold such admittance for her own death, how those would act in her passing, then Red could only imagine the dismay Frisk would harbor in their judgement of him. It felt terrible.

It took Red awhile to find the words he wanted to say, needed to say; all this emotional mushy stuff was never the way he lived before. “Look, I . . . I’ve never gone to a funeral before, okay? Didn’t care, didn’t want to. It’s always shit when someone dies and it’s fucking depressing. Frisk was . . . was a good kid. A good person. They didn’t deserve to die. Not like that.”

Presley was motionless, emotionless, as Red spoke on.

“I thought they’d be safe, you know? Out of the underground, back with Humans. We all did. But things went to hell and all this political crap came up and . . . I always knew shit’d hit the fan, that something bad would happen. Just . . . not to Frisk. Not them.” Red closed his eyes, a gloved palm going to hold his face; nails clawing at his temple. “If Toriel and the King didn’t have to jump loops for these assholes then maybe they . . .if I could have been there and not- . . . fuck. Fuck.”

That was when he felt something slither about his neck, over his shoulder, and pressed itself into him. Red didn’t need to open his eyes to know Presley was holding him . . . he didn’t even jolt at her contact. He welcomed it. “This isn’t your fault, Red. You couldn’t have done anything to save them . . . you can’t beat yourself up for something out of your control . . .”

He would have had that control if the reset button was still about. But it was lost long ago . . .

Red breathed in Presley’s scent, the scent of flowery soap and the very subtle hints of his sheets. She had been there for him in his bed, hoping to comfort him in sleep, every single night; wanting to hold him as she was now. Fuck, Red really was an asshole. Why couldn’t he just staple that lesson into his skull for permanency? Before his mind knew what to do, his body acted and held Presley back; their embrace melting into one another.

Red didn’t hear Presley as she spoke to him, whispers of comfort and resolve, only hearing the heart that beat within her chest. It was a slow and warm thing, beating back against his sternum like a visitor to his door. Knock, knock, knock. Thump, thump, thump. Red dreaded to think of the day it stopped beating.

Curious thing that. Had Red known what the future held for him, would the skeleton think back to this day; this time, this moment? Could he have readied himself and braced for what was to come? Only time could tell.

“Come on. I gotta pack.” Red let Presley take his hand, hold his hand, and bound their fingers together as they walked in the late afternoon air; just on the cusp of evening.

The funeral was as depressing as Red thought it’d be, silent monsters and silent onlookers gathered about the newly built mausoleum for Frisk. Of course it was a fucking mausoleum. How could it not be with parents like the King and Queen? Red did his best to stay out of everyone’s way, out of sight and out of mind, with Presley at his side; her hand in his for support.

Boss was there. Undyne. Alphys. Mettaton. Everyone important to Frisk. Red didn’t want to talk to any of them, made it very clear he was only here for Frisk.

It was a closed casket reception. The poison had done more than made Frisk sick . . . it ruined what had once been Human. The corpse was kept out of the light, cradled in cherry wood and silver ornates. No one cried. No one gave a last farewell speech. Frisk was gone and there was only anger left. Red could see the raw, seething hate in Toriel’s piercing gaze. Maker help whoever the Queen could find to blame for her second child’s murder . . .

With no parting farewells, comfort and no words, Red took Presley back to their hotel room; immediately going to lay on his bed. Presley stood in the middle of the room for a while, thumbs twiddling and bottom lip bit. She was trying to figure out if words were needed, but in truth . . .Red just wanted silent contemplation; a rare desire for himself.

He watched from his peripheral vision as the minty topped girl went to the window, tugging the curtains open ever so, and looked out to the city scape below. It was so different than the small, mountain enclosed sea town they were used to. The city was too bright, too loud, too sickened.

“It’s a nice view.” Presley tilted her head and Red gave a low hum. “Your brother didn’t hold back on the expense.”

“He’s a showoff.” Red shifted some to lay on his back, looking over Presley as the lights below glowed about her; casting a foggy halo all on her person. It always took Red’s breath away when he rediscovered how skinny Presley was, how little and frail she seemed; like a daisy. Sometimes Red wanted to run his talons in her hair and hold tight, pull her scalp and test just how tender she was, but he may accidentally pull off the hypothetical petals from his flower. “A rich showoff who likes to flaunt it.”

She turned her head away from the outside world over to Red, catching his eyes on her body and he flushed internally. “And you don’t ever flaunt off?” She asked with a small smirk.

“N- . . .” Ok, she had him there. Red would flaunt off in his own way, his strength and ego mostly, so he didn't have much room to bash his blue-blooded brother.

Presley giggled and closed the curtain, moving to sit next to Red on the bed. “Ha, got you!”

Red rolled his eyes. “Don’t get douchey from it.”

“Why? Can’t handle it?”

“ . . . Not from you.” It didn’t strike Red how tenderly he had said that till he looked at Presley's flushed face and wide eyes and cleared his throat awkwardly. He made himself sound so vulnerable and weak, and she so . . . completely influential over him. It made Red sound like a bitch. “I, em, we should . . . go to bed. I wanna be out of here before sunrise. Fucking traffic is hell here . . .” Quickly Red rolled onto his side, facing away from Presley. He was still dressed in his “formal attire”, shoes on and everything, but he couldn’t think about getting undressed with Presley so near.

“Right . . . night, Red.” She got up from the bed and walked to her own, with Red closing his eyes shut so he didn’t have to look at her.

“Night Kid.” Red almost choked those words out, clearing his throat again and tucked his arms in tight around his ribs. She turned the lights off and moved to her own bed; he could hear every one of her movements in the sheets and track every breath she made. Keeping Presley in his thoughts kept all the death filled nightmares at bay as he slept that night . . . and most nights henceforth.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t stand it. Not any longer.

Presley had perhaps been a bit to smothering after the funeral, even for Red to handle. He was on the verge of doing two things - One, kick her out of his house. Or two, make sure she never leaves. It was like being in the friend zone and married at the same time. She was there for him but he wanted more . . . selfishly wanted more. Maybe it was the build up of emotions from Frisk’s funeral and the Alex that drove him to finally act, the pain and jealousy and comfort, but either option had him standing right behind Presley as she brushed her teeth.

She looked up at him in the reflection, stopping the brushing with cheeks puffed out ever so and a little tilt to her head. One brow raised, as if to ask him Can I help you? At seeing her look didn’t get something out of Red, Presley leaned down to spit out the foam at her teeth, rinsing quickly. “Red? What’s wr-”

“Be mine.”

Neither of them moved. Eyes locked into the reflection of each other.

Red took a shallow breath and lowered his head. “Be mine Presley. I . . .” He was losing it. “Y-You're so fucking annoying at times! I-I don’t know how to act and-”

He stopped at feeling her finger at his mouth, her finger. She held it there for a long moment, waiting. When to the point if got awkward, Presley removed her finger and spoke. “Firstly, asking someone to be your lover as you call them annoying isn’t the best battle plan . . .” She smirked ever so.

Red blushed subtly and growled in a sigh. “Yeah.”

“Secondly . . . I thought I was already yours?” At that, Red felt his soul flutter like some wild animal in his ribs, sharp eyes put back down to Presley. She looked so tender, so happy. “If not I guess I was reading the signs wr-” Now it was her turn to be cut off, his lips smashing at hers with painful heat. Taloned hands held her face up at his, nails dragging at her slender jaw and thumbing her ears. From there it exploded, they both erupted.

Bodies fumbled desperately in the small bathroom, taking turns to be smashed into the wall and cabinet; the monster taking turns on devouring one another. Her gasps, his growls, the friction from touch and passion. From the bathroom out into the hallway, Red had Presley pinned to one of his off white walls; his hands trailing down her narrow back and over the curve of her hips. The human’s leg hooked about his waist and the air grew fevered with their pants. It was dizzy and maddening, comfort and desperation, and he could devour it with licks at her neck.

“R-Red. S . . . Sans.” She whimpered, eyes closed, head tossed back, his name a sweet curse coming from those pink lips. He melted into his name, into her tone, Red washing away to expose the comic sans under the typeface. Presley loved Red raw, tearing away the last remaining curtains that he hid behind - the facade of flesh on his tired bones; kisses at his neck and face. It was a glorious, selfish hurricane, winding them into his bedroom and onto the bed. Again. “Sans, I’m yours . . . I-I’ve always been yours.”

“K- . . . Presley . . .” He moved to press his forehead to hers, hands running along her naked ribs and up the underside of her breasts. “ . . . Same. S-Same. Yours Kid, always been yours.” Red was silenced again as the small human under him took control of his mouth with more kisses, her ballerina tongue dancing about the stage of his fangs.

They eat each other with love, moved into each other with wanton spoils, his pounds leaving her flesh swollen and ridden. It lasted for hours, a storm of highs and lows; climaxes found in the eye of the storm and tender pets in the lulls. Fort such a small, fragile human, Presley had an impressive stamina - and Red was eager to meet her her fire every time.

She flipped them, rode him hard, trapping the powerful monster under her control. “S-Sans!” She moaned out his true name and his soul glowed int his eye; the red flames flicking out from tightly packed ribs.

“Press! G-Gawd-fuck!” He winced and growled, his teeth finding her flesh again, her breastbone, and bite hard as he meet his pelvis up at her hips. “Take it! Take it, nnf-! T-Take me.” Their climaxes were like being drowned in molten lava, skin burning and yet insides cold like lightning infused ice; souls smacking into each other where Red couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. They were one, a swirling of red and green; two powers melting into a pool that trapped them. Trapped in each other.

Neither Red or Presley would be the same after this.

. . .

“Red?”

“Hm?” One of his eyes cracked open, looking down at the top of the green haired girl tucked into his side.

“I’m glad I got to meet you.” Her eyes were closed, head pressed to his ribs and a smile on her perfect little fucking face. So cute.

“Same here Kid, same here.” Red smiled with her, closing his eye and took a deep breath. Finally.

Finally. They belonged to each other, and nothing in this world was going to take her away from Red. Once he had something he wanted, it was near impossible to take it from him.

. . .

It didn’t take to long for Presley to move in with Red, his dirty, empty home filled with her bright clutter and random things. He liked it. He left the blinds open sometimes just to let the light send the colors on the walls, reflections from her things making the blackness alive with subtle rainbows. Especially her red crystal candle holder on the coffee table; when the sun caught it just right, it made crimson disco patterns all about.

Of course there were challenges living with someone, especially if those both someone’s were pack rats of random things, but Red didn’t mind. As long as Presley’s scent enveloped him every day, he was content. She was everywhere. Even in his cigarette smoke, her scent was dominate.

Well, maybe not everywhere. She still had her lease to deal with at her old place, breaking it would cost them money they just didn’t have, so she still had to be there some days; just to keep up the appearance of living there. But in such a small town, nothing like that was hidden. Red wasn’t sure of the landlord wasn’t acting on cracking the rules for Presley’s happiness or because the man was afraid of Red’s reaction, but he played along either way. Good.

Red’s mood at work changed ever so, he didn’t scowl so much if an engine was giving him shit. And Presley’s songs were less morose, lighter and more alive. Grillby even noticed both of them were happier, just ever so; he understood that neither person was overly expressive in their PDA - they didn’t need to be. The subtle hand holding, the way she pressed her face into his arm, the way Red’s eyes softened as he watched her smile. Grillby knew that they were in love and happy.

Red and Presley were happy for one wonderful, beautiful summer - the best summer she ever had. His favorite memeory, outside of the bedroom at least, as when they went riding for an entire Saturday; his motorbike purring into the mountain highway. He felt her little body holding to him, depending onto him, and then not . . . she held out her arms and closed her eyes. Arms outstretched, body bent back, basking in the sun lightening them up to glow like fireflies. Red dared to steal a look back and saw how free Presley looked, and he treasured that moment.

Summer burned away into the chill of Fall, the change of seasons just a few days away, and Red sat at Grillby’s bar as Presley sang another night; her voice perfect. It was always perfect. Tonight it was some version of an Elvis Presley song, her name sake; slow and warm with her guitar. It was adapted for a girl’s touch.

Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you

Red knew she was singing to him, even with the crowd there, this song was just for him.

Shall I stay
Would it be a sin
If I can't help falling in love with you

“You glad I made you talk to each other?” Grillby said softly, a smile over his purple flames. There might have been a hint of smugness there, but there wasn’t to much.

Red cocked his head to the flame and shrugged ever so. “I guess. It did kinda work out okay, didn’t it?”

“Hm.” Grillby nodded ever so, cleaning a glass as he watched Presley sing on.

Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be

“ . . . I don’t think I ever told you how she and I meet, did I?” Grillby asked offhandedly. If he did, he didn’t recall. Neither did Red. Then again, Red was naturally forgetful so . . .

“Um,” Presley stopped, blinking a few times. “Grill . . . was dating my Uncle at the time. He-”

“Wait, Grillby’s gay?” Red went stiff.

Presley rolled her eyes. “Yes. Anyways-”

“You were . . .dating her uncle, right?” Red asked with a small nod. “She told me about her mother, and Alex, and how she got here . . .”

“Yes.” Grillby nodded. “Perhaps it’s an oversimplification of what happened, but that’s the jist of it.”

So take my hand, and take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help falling in love with you

“He died.” The flame added and placed the clean glass down, then moved to grab another dirty one.

“I know.”

“From cancer.”

Red was rarely thrown into a loop by Grillby, Grillby was the sort of monster that let it all hang out and didn’t bullshit you. Grillby spoke his mind, his heart, so it wasn’t to odd that he just up and said that. But still the loop was thrown, and red was caught like a calf at one of those god awful rodeo shows. “I’m . . . sorry Grill. I didn’t-”

“She didn’t tell you that? Hm. It’s alright buddy.” Grillby’s purple flames flicked ever so. “It’s the past. We knew he was passing away and made the best of the time he had left.”

Red looked down and away from Grillby, into the dark amber in his own glass.

Like a river flows so surely to the sea
Oh my darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be

Monsters would always outlive humans by hundreds of years, so it wasn’t to much of a shock to think that one day Red would be left without Presley. When they were both old as dirt, her cute little face even cutter covered in wrinkles, and his arthritis kicking the hell out of his bones, then she’d pass . . . she’d die. Come old age or something else, Presley would leave Red alone. His hand held the glass tighter, eyes back to his girl on stage.

So won't you please just take my hand, and take my whole life too

Her eyes found in the crowd and she smiled.

'Cause I can't help falling in love, in love with you

Grillby shook his head with a sigh. “Don’t think about it buddy. You’ll just lose sleep. Enjoy the time you have with her. Don’t let this ol’ dying ember’s story get you down . . .”

“Yeah, whatever.” Red chugged his drink with another sigh, trying to relax once more. Presley wouldn’t leave red for a long time, fifty years or so; give or take a few decades. Red didn’t have to think or worry about that; he’d tackle it when they got there. For now, he would simply enjoy the life and love Presley gave him. He’d treasure each second, each breathe, each song.

'Cause I can't help falling in love, falling in love,
I keep falling in love with you

The crowd gave the singer a little applause, she smiled, Red purred i his chest with pride. And Grillby could see where this was going, how sad and painfull the end would be.

Presley moved to stand up, to bow, but the lights caught her eyes just so and she didn’t see the cable at her feet. It was always that same bloody cable. She gasped, Red’s eyes went wide, and she nearly fell if she didn’t have one of the large speakers there to hold onto. Everything would have been fine, one of her cute little missteps again, if something didn’t continue to fall after she stood up.

Green hair, her hair, perfect and shiny, fell to the floor . . . and Red felt his soul almost shatter.

I keep falling in love

with

you