Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

¾ of nearly burning milk, ¼ of cold milk and two and a half tablespoons of chocolate. Maybe three. Definitely three, he needed strength today. Stirring his beverage, Cross made his way to the dining room and sat beside Papyrus. The sun began to settle in the sky, orange light slipping through the curtains. It was rather pretty but clashed with the purplish, minimalist, modern decoration. Most furniture, as well as the walls, were white; the doors, handles and the carpet were black; finally, small details like vases or cushions were a light purple. He grew used to this simplicity, how everything was always tidy and neatly organized. His dad liked his house to be clean, neat. At least Cross barely has to deal with lost objects (except the keys; despite the bowl specifically made to hold the keys he managed to lose his a few times. 3, exactly.)

He sighed, finally taking a sip of his cup, as the room filled with the rambling of his siblings. First day of school, last year of high school. What bothered him wasn't apprehension, it was the fact he despised school. Grades were unpredictable no matter how hard he studied and classes were boring. But he had to focus: his father disliked bad grades nearly as much as mess. What's the point of studying if his father's going to send him to the army anyways? He had no idea. But he obeyed, bidding himself from complaining. He knew it was for his future but it really was boring.

As the last drop of hot chocolate slipped in his mouth, he stood up to make his bag. He had everything already, but just in case he will check everything. Just in case.

“You should relax, it's not like you've never been to that school. “ it was Papyrus. “Plus, since I'm an incredible brother, I already checked your stuff: everything is in order!”

“You did?” rhetorically asked Cross. “Well thanks then…I just don't want to make a fool of myself by forgetting something. ” he admitted.

His brother smiled at him and returned to his breakfast. Oatmeal with weird eggs. Like every morning, he finished his routine far too soon and ended up on the couch, staring at the wall. Phone in hand, he wandered through apps. Some funny memes from his long distance best friend later, he finally opened the group chat he had with his friends. Well, his friend and a guy he didn’t know. Apparently, he was a good friend of the others… but just never went to school. Cross barely talked there-his screen time was strict and he spent most of it talking to his best friend or watching videos- but he recalled speaking a few times with this guy. Nothing much, almost nothing; a few emoji to react to a message and that’s it. Not even a greeting or questions. Maybe Cross should start speaking more there. He wasn’t the worst of them, the worst was Nightmare; he only owned a flip phone for emergencies and that’s it. (His family was weird anyways, they looked like they were straight from 1850 or something sometimes.)

Today will be their first encounter. Not a big deal. Totally not the matter of his dream for the past few days. Soon enough, it was time for Cross to go to school. He grabbed his stuff and headed off to the bus station. No more seats were free, resulting in him grabbing with a little too much strength the pole next to him so he won’t fall on someone. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived. Making his way between the cluster of students, he spotted his friends waiting by the heater, their usual spot. They appeared to be gossiping, as they all leant toward the others, whispering as they all looked in the same direction. Following their gazes, he guessed that today's victim was a blue bird. No idea what his name was but it definitely was his first year, appearing kinda lost. Cross approached the group.

“Good morning, Cross.” Nightmare always greeted him but with little interest, but Cross won’t blame him. Greeting people was how he was educated, it became a habit, but everyone knew this guy hated the whole universe. As for their little group, he put up with them for the sake of having something to do. Well, apparently he was actually friends with the guy Cross never saw, so maybe deep down he didn’t really hate everyone.

“Hi guys.” This year, he shared every class with Horror. That was a great thing if you turned a blind eye to his quirks. But Cross liked these guys. Pretty weird, that’s for sure, but they were fun. A break from the expectations the world had for him. “So, what’s the tea?”

His bag landed besides Dust’s in the middle of the little circle they made by talking to each other.

“Nothing that interesting.” Dust answered. “Just, look at his shirt man. ‘I paused my game to be here, you’re welcome' ?”

“Even my mom won’t find this funny.” snorted Horror. Cross smiled slightly, he didn’t like bad mouthing people but gossiping made his days a bit less horrible. And it’s not like they were ever gonna tell him or anyone else. Well, Dust and Nightmare would, but that’s beside the point.

“This asshole is late, I hate his guts. I hope he was rolled over by a car on his way here.” Nightmare must be talking about his … friend. “I don’t have any classes just yet, I came here specifically to show him around but no, Killer had better to do!”

“Damn, he really has a way to make ya angry, mh?” said Horror. “He’s probably stuck in traffic or, dunno, lost in the hall.” Nightmare snarled, irritated.

“If he doesn’t show up soon, he’ll miss Cross thought. But I guess it’s not really important-” “Hey! Shut up, Dust!” they bickered a bit, Horror even joined their antics. Nightmare's face suddenly softened, as much as it could at least, as a boy walked toward them. Nightmare scolded him for a little while, but it let time for Cross to look at Killer. He displayed an unsettling smile and his dark eyes were embellished by black makeup. In fact, most of his caramel-like skin was covered by accessories or, as for his face, makeup. Long and thin eyeliner lines splattered his cheekbones, making their way from his eyes to his cheek. Cross must have stared a bit too much, because a conversation already started without his involvement. Just as he left his intern monologue, both locked eyes with the other.

“Wait, Cross? That’s you?” Killer asked, pointing at him with a wry smile.

“Uh, yeah. Hi-” “Okay, def not expecting a future soldier to be smaller than me.” that drew a laugh from Horror, but not Cross.

“I never asked.” Not his fault if he wasn’t taller.

“Nah I understand, puberty sometimes takes time, I mean yours is a bit late considering your voice but, hey, at least you can pay less at the cinema!” what a bastard, Cross thought. Before he could retorque, Nightmare spoke:

“I’m not in the mood to see you fight like middle schoolers.” His cold blue eye darted at them, stopping their argument.

“As you wish, NM. Anyways, this school has a cafeteria?” Of course it was easy for him to change the subject. Dust looked at Cross with just the tiniest hint of compassion; but it was already a big sign of friendship from him, so it comforted Cross for a little while. It seems Killer was just a mean person, not that different from the rest of his friends. The only difference is that Killer hurted his ego right away. If they all liked him, surely he wasn’t that bad. But for now, Cross will stick to observing Killer. He was hurt, yes, but he made an effort for his friends. He imagined this moment differently; Cross would have introduced himself with confidence, then they would chat a bit with the others. The opposite happened. That was fine! It wasn’t perfect or as planned, but fine! Totally fine!

Anyways, Killer seemed, despite his awful personality, pretty cool.

Chapter Text

English was far from his favorite subject. It was long, dreary and overall useless most of the time. But the bright side was that Nightmare and Killer were in his English class. The tables were organized in groups of four, allowing them to be together. 

It already been two days since Killer and him met, and it sure was an experience. They mostly glanced at each other before letting out snotty barbs, but they still had a great time with their mutual friends. This guy was…special, something new he had never seen before. He met multiple weird persons, ranging from a guy with almost no memories to his stupid siblings, but Killer was different. To be fair, Cross admired his confidence: this guy had such a unique style and yet he wore it with pride. Cross could never. Then, he acted like everyone was his friend. It wouldn't be so weird if friendship didn't mean insulting the shit out of people for him. Just this morning, he saw him almost getting in a fight with a bunch of guys and then exchanging his socials with them, fist-bumping as the bell rang. He was extravagant, and Cross didn't know how to feel about that. He wished he had that level of confidence, yet it just looked foolish. Killer didn't talk most of the time; he almost yelled. It was cringeworthy, and yet Horror, Dust or even Nightmare didn't seem irked. 

“Ugh, this shit is boring. Y'all didn't lie when you said this school sucks.” for once in his life, Killer whispered. A miracle. Nightmare answered without even looking at him:

“If you listened instead of carving your table, you'll be less bored, Killer.”

It drew a smile out of the latter.

“What, you mad that I'm better at this than you?” no answers, Nightmare knew better than playing along. Horror leaned towards Cross, they were sitting besides each other. His voice was very low, clearly intending to speak only to his neighbour:

“I bet ya 20G Killer is trying to get in NM's pants.” Cross suddenly turned his head towards Horror, slightly shocked. He answered with the same volume:

“Is he stupid? No way Nightmare would ever love him back, it's already a miracle they're friends.”

Horror shrugged, taking some notes as the teacher talked. 

“Just saying. Look at em, they're cute.”

“What if he's not into guys?” Horror let a chuckle slip at that, drawing the attention of the teacher. Fortunately, after a few seconds, everything went back to normal. 

“Cross, look at that guy n tell me he's not gay. I've known him since middle school, def not straight.” Sure, he has a unique style but that meant nothing. “He framed a picture of Mettaton in his room and only talked about him for a month straight, even more than my brother. Pretty sure I even caught him reading fanfics ‘bout him. “ added Horror with a grin. Ok, Killer liked guys. He guessed some people did fit stereotypes after all. Still, he had no chance with NM; this guy knew nothing about love. Not even in a cringe, emo way: he just had no clue. He learnt last year that it wasn't forbidden to have sexual intercourse outside of marriage in the eyes of the law. What a weirdo. He almost called an uncle of his, a lawyer, to defend Dust in court when he announced he had his first time. Cross still struggled to understand how it was even possible, but the twin's parents were strange, even to Cross.

“To begin this chapter-” it was the teacher “-and to get to know each other, you will pair up and I'll assign you a subject to present to the class. You'll have, let's say, two weeks to do a ten minute presentation of it.”

Some complaints were heard, but the teacher didn't comment on it. He began to walk down the tables, giving the instructions. 

“Cross, let's do this together.” Killer said, bent towards him and resting his head on his hand. It wasn't a question, more like a statement or an order. “So we can get to know each other, blablabla.”

“...Sure.” He would've preferred Horror to work with, but he already moved to put his stuff on NM's table. Either he worked with Killer or he waited until the teacher assigned him a random partner. Killer's grin grew slightly, pushing his stuff on Horror's table, now empty, and changing seats with the latter. Now that they were side by side, he noticed Killer smelled like roses. Not the scent he expected, he thought this guy would stink. That was a good surprise. Killer sighed :

“Okay so, we will work outside of class, I'm not in the mood to think and all that stuff, ‘kay?” Killer stretched as he spoke. Cross smiled slightly :

“You think I want to work? I hate this class, pretty sure the teacher hates me as well, she keeps getting my name wrong.”

Speaking of her, she reached their tables. 

“Sans, are you willing to listen this year or do I have to take another appointment with your father?” she smirked. 

“Cross. And it's fine, no need to call him.” last year was so boring he kept sleeping in her class.. And it didn't end well for him. His father grounded him for a month, and now he has to deal with her teasing. Her gaze moved to Killer. 

“Making friends already, Killer? That's a good thing. Just make sure he doesn't fall asleep!” she really thought she was funny, and Killer's smile comforted her in that idea. They grabbed the instructions and she headed off, finally. 

“She really got beef with you, huh? At least that’s a gender neutral name, imagine if she called you, dunno, Christelle.” scoffed Killer. 

“Ugh, yeah. I still don't understand why she hates me, I'm not the only one to sleep in her class.”

“Anyways, got good stories to tell?”

“Uhm” Cross thought for a few seconds “I met Nightmare because I asked his brother out. Didn’t even have a crush on him, I just wanted to piss off my dad by having a date. Didn’t work.” okay he didn’t need to tell such an embarrassing memory but it was too late. His cheeks became red as Killer made fun of him.

“Okay, okay. Dream said no? Man, he never says no, that’s crazy.”

“Not my fault! I swear they are empaths or something in this family, he told me not to confess if I don’t have real feelings for him.” Cross sighed. “I couldn’t face him for weeks after that.”

Killer elbowed him, telling him he should try it with Nightmare. Cross looked at him, puzzled.

“You want me to go with NM?” Killer nodded, “It would be fun to see you try.” No thanks, he didn’t have a death wish.

“Okay, my turn to tell how I met him I guess!” Killer settles back in his chair. “We met in elementary school, a while ago. I wasn’t doing great in school, could barely read. We were next to each other, so I copied from his test most of the time.” nostalgia made its way into Killer face. Cross didn’t dare to interrupt him. “Believe it or not, I also asked his brother out! Except I didn’t get rejected-” “Not funny” “-he wasn’t an empath, like you call it, at that time, I guess. Never had feelings for that guy, I'm not fond of the concept of feeling things honestly. We organized a fake wedding one day at recess , and Nightmare snitched it to the teachers.” Typical Nightmare, Killer looked at him briefly before continuing. “I still don’t know why, but it kinda was forbidden. Like, the fake wedding in itself was allowed, but I guess they weren’t fond of the decorations we bringed. It was funny, so I started to be friends with NM.”

“That’s cute. Didn’t think I would say that about you or Nightmare but…yeah.” 

“Yeah.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

The bell rang, ending the awkward silence. The first one to stand up was Horror, he must’ve been hungry.

“Hurry up.” he muttered, leaving the room. As it was Wednesday, they planned to eat together.

The walk to the fast food restaurant was pleasant; despite not being close to Killer like the others, Cross wasn’t left out. 

“Next time, we’ll eat at my place. I hate going to filthy places like that.” snarled Nightmare as he put his long wavy black hair in a ponytail. “Dream better find something to do, I don’t want to see his stupid face.” it picked their curiosity.

“What did he do this time?” Dust was the first to react.

“Lemme guess, he stole one of your beloved books?” Killer exclaimed excitedly.

“Nah,” answered Cross, “pretty sure Dream won’t steal from his twin.”

Nightmare turned toward them. “He told my parents I was sneaking out, I have a freaking lock on my window now. I hate all of them so much.” His voice was full of hatred. 

“Wait, you, sneaking out?” noted Cross. “How? Why?”

Nightmare sighed as everyone in their group was now looking at him. “Don’t get any wrong ideas, I just can’t sleep so I go take a walk. But my parents are persuaded I sneak out to, I don’t know, commit crime I guess.”

“Nope, probably thinking you go fuck someone.” taunted his friend. They all laughed at the disgusted expression Nightmare made. 

They ordered their take-out food and left quickly, the restaurant beginning to get too crowded for their liking. Instead, they ate at a parking lot; it was calm and no one was here to hear their conversations. They kept bitching on Dream for a while: Cross had nothing against him but he recognized he tried too often to make a good person out of Nightmare. They split up around 2 pm.

When he got home, he saw his father at the dining table. He almost forgot his father didn’t work this afternoon.

“Hi dad.” he looked up from the newspaper to look at his son.

“Ah, you’re here. That’s great, can you hand me the phone?” Cross did. “How was school, any test yet?” Cross refrained himself from sighing.

“Yeah, a pair work in english.” the look his father gave him told him he needed to detail a bit more. Cross never knew when to develop or not; either his father wanted to know everything, either he wanted a short and clear sentence and nothing more. “I paired up with Killer, the new student. We’re working on the first chapter of the book she gave us on Monday.”

“Ah, Killer. Couldn’t you work with Nightmare? I don’t like him either but he has good grades.” He has good grades but sucked at pair work, though he won’t contradict his father.

“Well, him and Horror already teamed-up. And I don’t know him yet, surely he can manage to do well on a simple test.” he hoped so, at least. His father would kill him if his first grade of the year was bad. His expression confirmed his worries.

He grabbed his bag and headed to his room. Just a simple test, nothing to worry about. 

Except that, even at dinner time, he was still worried. Frisk noticed it, glancing at him across the table. Cross was lost in his thoughts, playing with his carrots instead of eating them. Killer didn’t seem to be the type of student to do well on a test, meaning Cross had to do the whole project. But Cross wasn’t that great of a student. They were going to fail so badly.

“Cross, pass me the salt. Please.” requested Chara. No answers. “Cross, the salt please? It’s right beside you, I can’t reach it.” still nothing. Chara squealed, finally breaking him from his trance before shouting “Cross you dumbass, hand me the salt!”

“Chara, no shouting during dinner.’ warned Gaster

“But since school began he won’t listen when we talk to him! I just want the damn salt!” complained the teenager. He quickly stopped when his father threatened to lecture him. Blinking a few times to leave his trail of thoughts, Cross finally gave his brother the salt.

“Cross.” shoot, it was his father. ”Care to explain why you keep daydreaming?”

“Uuuuhm…”

Frisk and Papyrus shared a look, clearly misinterpreting the situation. No, he wasn’t daydreaming about Killer, but he couldn’t confront his father about how his remarks were what made him worried, how he kept thinking about grades.

“I am         tired. Yeah, like sleepy and    stuff.” he didn’t know how to lie, his siblings cackling made it even less believable.

“I wonder what’s making you so tired” mocked Chara before bursting into laughter as he locked eyes with a flustered Cross.

“Hey, it’s not like that! School is just exhausting, okay ?” barked Cross. Great.

He went to bed frustrated. Normally, he wouldn’t mind his siblings teasing him. But he didn’t totally lie; going back to school was indeed exhausting. Hugging a pillow and eyes towards the ceiling, he went back to his thoughts like he often did. However, it was keeping him from sleeping. Instead, he grabbed his phone (his father didn’t take it yet). Hopefully, it will make him think of something else other than school.

Killer: yo, saturday library 2 work?

Well, time to switch off his phone and sleep.

Chapter Text

Saturday came faster than expected. The week had been rather calm, he spent most of his time chatting with Horror. 

Cross stood upright beside the library. His back began to ache from the weight of his backpack; he came earlier just in case and hadn’t moved since then. But 20 minutes earlier was maybe exaggerated. The library was near a park, trees formed paths and bushes bordered sidewalks. At Cross’ right there was a coffee shop; the small building was beige and the windows had rosemaries hanging from the sill. It was a cat cafe, Cross could see cats dozing off near the windows and occasionally on customers' laps. It seemed really cozy. Warm colours prevailed, mostly beige and light pink. A few hints of orange here and there.

Standing became really uncomfortable when he finally spotted Killer on the other side of the street. His usual grin on his face, Killer crossed the road recklessly, not even checking for cars. It made Cross' heartbeat stop for a second, seeing someone being rolled over wasn’t an experience he wanted to live. The other removed his headphones from his short spiky haircut, then ran a hand across his hair to remove the slight dent his headphone had created. A lot of silver rings were on his fingers, similar to Dust’s.

“Hiya Cross. What’s up?”

“Hi, fine I guess. You?” They started their way to the doors.

“Better now that I’m with you!” purred Killer. Well, that was     new. 

“Okay??” Cross spluttered, walking faster into the library. That was embarrassing, why was he so weird? Nightmare really had a talent to find the most odd person out there, no surprises Killer was the one he befriended. They sat down at a table and started to work.

“I can do the introduction, it’ll be more catchy this way. No offense, your voice is just a tad distracting. Pretty high-pitched.” a smug look on his face, Killer kept making fun of the other. Couldn’t he choose between flirting or being mean? “Man, didn’t think it would bug you so much. I’m no empath like NM but you seem angry.”

“Stop making fun of my voice then.” chided Cross. “You do the introduction, I’ll think of a plan.” he was annoyed; Killer could be fun and he was most of the time, but when he decided to make fun of him, Cross had a hard time remembering it didn’t mean anything, that Killer did this with everyone, that it wasn’t against him specifically.

Splitting up the work would make it easier. They had to highlight how the context of the story impacted the characters during the first chapter. Reading for a second time the chapter, Cross couldn't stop himself from looking swiftly at Killer. Just to make sure he was indeed working. While his smile never seemed to leave his face, it lessened a bit as he concentrated on the pages in front of him. Understanding Killer wasn't easy: knowing him for only a week sure didn't help. Caring for others didn't seem to be what he liked, yet he managed to befriend most people he encountered (probably a one sided friendship since Killer couldn't care less about them, but he still managed to look friendly enough to achieve it). Then, he never failed to smile, but it hardly looked genuine most of the time. He was weirder than Dust; and that’s not easy to achieve.

They worked for two more hours. Surprisingly, the boy was extremely serious in his tasks; he cracked a few jokes but was efficient. They had their plan and introduction; most of the job was done by 4pm. Killer leaned back, stretching his arms. “Well, we should stop here. I’m tired.”

“Okay, we still have time to finish it anyways.” The smaller one gathered his stuff, putting them in his backpack before … standing there awkwardly. Killer was slow, really slow. When he finally looked at Killer to tell him to speed up, he caught him drawing on the library’s table.

“Killer!” despite whispering, anger could be heard. “The fuck you’re doing?!” he grabbed his own head in his hands as he said it, his voice progressively more high as his anxiety grew. What if a librarian walked by them right now? Killer’s smug expression turned to him, unbothered. 

“Art. Wanna try?” Killer handed him the black marker. Cross was fuming:

“No way! I won’t damage their furniture, that’s stupid.”

Killer rolled his eyes, annoyed. “It’s not a permanent marker. I ran out of those. They can just remove it.”

Cross sighed, frowning, and looked at Killer’s drawings. Unexpectedly, the doodles were pretty cute, just a bunch of simple cats. Nothing bad, and not even damaging for the table if it could be easily removed. There were cats cuddling each other, running around: a charming view.

“... I guess I can draw one.” Cross had no idea why he said that, he WASN’T the type to damage furniture, let alone other’s furniture. The drawings were cute though. And it had been a while since he last drew something, fearing Chara would catch him once again and make fun of his sketches. Still, it wasn’t an excuse to damage one’s table. Before he knew it, he had made a silly looking cat saying ‘sorry’ in a wobbly speech bubble. Killer chuckled, taking a photo of the table, before bursting into laughter when he saw Cross’s expression. When he heard staff coming, Killer grabbed his wrist and fled the building. 

“You look like you just committed murder.” he bantered.

“I can’t believe I did this..I hope they won’t catch us, if my father knows about it he’ll kill me on the spot!” gulped Cross.

“Just for one tiny drawing?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll take the blame. Can’t let you die”

Cross looked at him before sassing at him: “Oh wow, look at that, the guy who tricked me into profanity is also my knight in shining armors!” He sighed once again. “That was stupid, I should have left.”

“Sassy, got it.” chirped Killer. “Couldn’t guess it was such a big deal for you, considering who your friends are.”

They argued for a while, blaming the other, before Killer stopped mid sentence to look behind Cross.

“What? You suddenly realised what a dickhead you are?” he growled at Killer. The latter’s smile grew, a genuine smile.

“That’s a cat cafe?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s written on it. You’re illiterate or what?”

Killer didn’t react. Instead, he grabbed once more Cross’ wrist to drag him toward the cafe. Cross tried to set his arm free.

“Relax, I’ll pay you a drink as a way of saying sorry, aight?” Killer looked at him. After a few seconds, Cross gave in.

“Sure, but I’ll take the most expensive thing I’ll spot, you’re warned.” It made Killer laugh. As predicted, the cafe was cozy. Calm music was played at a low volume, and Cross found it quite enjoyable to have some background noise. Killer stepped confidently into the cafe, a determined look on his face. 

“Let's buy something, these sofas look super comfy. I want to try it!”

That's the point of their visit here, no need to repeat himself. They didn't enter the cafe just to look at the decorations. His expression must have betrayed his thoughts. 

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” greeted the barmaid. Her apron had a cat pattern with the logo of the cafe on the middle; it almost was hidden by the thick blonde braid slumped over her left shoulder. 

“Hi, cute apron. I’ll take… oh, I’ll take a frappuccino, it looks good.” Killer turned his head to Cross, waiting for his order. He had no time to look at the menu. “Uhm, hot chocolate? With whipped cream?” he looked rapidly at the cakes; “I’ll also take a chocolate fondant, please.” While his drink was at a reasonable price, the cake was expensive for what it was. Not a lot, but slightly too much for its size. 

“Sure, are you paying separately ?” 

Killer grinned: “Nope, I’ll pay for him.”

Once seated, waiting for their order, they let themselves relax. Like that, a cat on his lap and a real smile on his face, Killer looked less like a bastard, he even looked kinda cute. Not that Cross would admit it. Petting the cat, his gaze was locked on the pet, not looking once at Cross during the few minutes they waited. The cat was a balinese, its fluffy tail kept on brushing the other cheek, making Killer chuckled. A young man came with their order. He had short black hair, looking a bit like a short wolfcut. It reminded Cross of his own hair, except Cross had more of a wavy hair type. The man was probably their age, or one year older.

“Here you go!” he said before heading out. The drinks were larger than expected, not that they would complain about it.

“Man, I should’ve taken something to eat as well.” whined Killer; the cake indeed looked good. With a smirk, Cross jeered at him, taking a bite out of his cake and exclaiming how delicious his cake was. It tasted good but not enough for such a reaction, however he enjoyed the annoyed look on Killer’s face. How his smile flattened a bit and the way he crossed his arms. He wasn’t that annoyed, but playing along with Cross’ antics was fun.

“I guess you won’t mind if I do this” Killer grabbed his spoon and took a large chunk of whipped cream; at that, Cross let out a fake gasp. 

“Oops, my spoon slipped.” 

“You’re stupid, dude.” laughed Cross. “I didn’t know you liked cats that much. Or that they seem to like you too.” Three cats were curled up near Killer; the balinese still on his laps, a black cat at his right and a british shorthair on the other side. 

“Cats are my fav. This place has expensive cats though. Look near the toilets, there’s a mainecoon. You know how much the one on my lap costs? It can go up to 2000G.” ranted Killer. He sure liked cats, with how he beamed as he explained the different breeds to Cross for five minutes straight.

“If you were a cat, I think you'd be…a chartreux cat. Not sure I pronounced it right.” explained Killer.

“Let me guess, they’re short and can make high-pitched noises?”

“No? Males can be quite tall and don’t meow often, actually. They’re smart, independent and agile. I was, like, not trying to be mean for once.”

“Oh..Sor-”

The door opened, revealing someone both of them didn’t expect to see here; Nightmare. Dressed in an elegant black ensemble, with accessories adding a gothic touch to the outfit, he clashed even more than Killer with the ambiance of the building. He always overdressed. Nightmare hated cats, colours, people, cakes, the whole coffee shop in theory. Killer and Cross looked at each other, bewildered. Too stunned to even call Nightmare, they watched him walking toward the boy who gave them their order and starting a conversation with him. 

“Since when is he friends with some barista?” murmured Killer, leaning over the table so Cross would hear him. So, even he wasn’t aware of what was going on. The barista even smiled at their friend, and it wasn’t like Nightmare was ordering something; they were beside the counter, simply talking.

“You know him?” interrogated Cross. He never saw him in his current school and if Killer didn’t know him, it would mean he wasn’t at their past schools as well since the two friends went to the same one until high school. When Killer said no with his head, Cross’ confusion grew even more.

After a few minutes of theorizing, they saw Nightmare turning back to leave. As he began to walk, he noticed the two teenagers drinking their beverages.

“Good evening Killer, Cross.” he said as he walked to their table. “I didn’t expect to see you two here.”

“You’re kidding? WE didn’t expect you to be here!” exclaimed Killer. “Don’t you hate places like that? Cute and… full of life.” asked Cross.

“Oh, I don’t enjoy this place. But Ccino works here”

“Who is this ‘Ccino’? Do you date someone without telling us?! You’re breaking my heart, Night!” Killer lamented, throwing an arm in front of his eyes in a dramatic way while leaning back. Nightmare huffed:

“Do you seriously think I have time to waste on dates?” “Yeah” “You are wrong. When I feel unsure, I come here, that’s all.”

“Oh, is Ccino like your confidant or emotional support? That’s sweet” doubted Cross. It would be surprising, shocking even. But his thoughts ceased when Nightmare sniggered at him.

“Of course not! That’s cheesy. I just came here to see how miserable his life is.” he mocked.

“Heh, it makes sense now.” Cross muttered.

“So, why are you two here?”

Both of them answered at the same time: “A date.” “Studying.” Cross nearly snapped his neck with how fast he turned his head to glare at Killer. The latter simply smiled back, proud of his joke. 

“Huh, this date isn’t working out, Killer. Might want to work a bit harder to steal his heart. Anyways, I don’t have all day ahead of me.” he left, enjoying how embarrassed Cross was. It was pretty easy to embarrass him when the person wasn't close to him; and Killer, while they get along well sometimes, wasn’t that close to Cross. Was he genuine? Does he see this as a date? And what if it was one? Too many questions, he finished his hot chocolate to stop thinking about it.

“So, you don’t enjoy our lil date, Cross?” his friend teased. Killer wasn’t embarrassed at all.

“That’s not a date.”

“You sure? I paid you food, we’re in a cute cafe, we get to know more about each other, I even compared you to one of my favorite cat breeds. It could be a date. Then, I would walk you back home and-” Cross interrupted Killer’s ranting.

“Not happening. Weirdo.”

“Ouch, you just don’t understand my super funny humour. Maybe you’re not a chartreux after all. They would’ve laughed.” he finished his drink.

“Cats don’t laugh, especially not at awful jokes.”

Killer shrugged.

“Anyways. I’ll just invite you to a date later. Nightmare maybe doesn’t like that guy, but he STILL walked all the way here just to see him. Kinda sus.” Time to gossip. Cross continued his cake, nodding.

“Mh, yeah. And it’s not the first time, apparently.” This guy was weird, and embarrassed Cross at every occasion given to him, but he was pretty nice the rest of the time. “Also, the way Ccino smiled at him???”

“I know!”sang back Killer “Oh, he’s so in love with NM. Poor guy.” 

"Wait, we still don't know why they know each other."

Chapter Text

Chatter filled the hall in a jungle of words and yells. Students were weaving their way through the crowd. The little group of friends was seated on the floor-their jackets beneath them to avoid grime-near the heater. They've just regrouped and started to talk immediately. Well, Killer was talking, Dust threw a few insults, Nightmare didn’t react and the other two shared some snacks between them. The thing was that Killer stared at Nightmare. In two days, he clearly hadn’t forgotten what they witnessed at the cat cafe and intended to annoy him all week about it. It was selfish, but Cross liked it; he wasn’t Killer's main target anymore and it helped him rationalize: Killer didn’t hate him nor love him, he just treated him like he does with all his friends. No big deal, nothing to add to his list of worries. Nightmare ended up scolding Killer;

“Stop staring at me.” They appeared to be in a staring contest as Killer answered.

“I’m just surprised that you like them cute and, well, males.” he grinned wider, happy when Horror and Dust turned their head toward Killer. Nightmare growled, not breaking eye contact once.

“I swear Killer, if you make this about Ccino-”

“Wait, ya have a crush?” interrupted the taller out of them, Horror, while letting go of his cereal bar.

“No! Ugh, see, that’s why I told you to not listen to Killer. This idiot consumes way too many romantic movies for his own good.”

“Sure, but we still want to know who this guy is.” jumped in Dust. “Then maybe you’ll beat the gay allegations. Maybe.”

If eyes could kill, Dust would be dead where he stood. 

“He’s a pathetic barista with a miserable life, seeing him struggle brings me peace.” Nightmare explained with a monotone voice.

“If I got it right…seeing him, him specifically, makes you happy?” teases Killer. Nightmare was quick to deny it, but the other just continued.

“Bet you have a soft spot for this guy.” “No way-”

“Does he give you free drinks sometimes?” “I don’t see why it-”

“I would’ve never guessed you had a thing for cute guys.”

Happy with the chaos he created, Killer let himself sit against the heater. It was, at least for him, always fun to make fun of his friend. He was always so full of himself and seeing him facing friendly criticism (they wouldn’t insult him with the intention of really hurting him) was a blast. Nightmare suddenly blared and got up. Just like that, Killer bag was thrown at the latter’s face before Nightmare stormed out, walking away. People near them were staring at a Killer huddled over himself with his hands slowly rubbing his face.

“Ow ow ow…”

“Shit, Kills you’re alright?” Dust got closer to him to inspect his face. Horror and Cross did the same. They kinda expected this reaction, but they couldn’t not react.

“Yeah, yeah. It landed right on my nose though.” mumbled Killer. “Was worth it.”

“Dumbass, you’re bleeding.” Chided Horror as he searched tissues in his bag. He handed one to his friend so he could stop the blood from slipping everywhere. They were used to Nightmare’s outburst, but they rarely happened in public. His family won’t be pleased if the school were to know what just happened. 

“Seriously though, what’s going on? I bet 30G on the fact he won’t be in love this year, it was supposed to be easy money!” complained Dust. “I don’t even have those 30G to give if I lose.”

“If you stopped spending all your money on craps, you won’t have this problem…” murmured Cross. Dust was prone to addictions and to useless junk like his collection of mugs, his collection of funko pop, his collection of robotic components. (This collection was okay, most of it came from dumpsters so little money involved.) Cross couldn’t really blame him for the first half, but as for the collections, he could. He should save money instead of putting all his allowance on it. “We saw Nightmare talking to that guy, Ccino, at a coffee shop.”

“He keeps insisting he only sees him to feel better about his life,” continued Killer, “ but oh boy this Ccino boy is sure in love! The way he looked and smiled at NM? I wish someone looked at me like that!” he took another tissue from Horror’s bag.

“Him, in a coffee shop?” grinned the tallest. “Went to a place he hates to see this guy. Kinda cute, if ya ask me.”

“I know, right! And mind you, it wasn’t some chic coffee shop his mom could force him to go in to drink tea or whatever; it was a cat cafe. A cat cafe, cats!” specified Killer. Just as Cross was about to reply, the bell rang.

“Guys…wish me luck. I have spanish with NM.” he sniffled.

“Good luck, Kills. Remember, if he kills you, he’ll get away with it; half of his family are lawyers.” mocked Dust.

“Ahah.”

“I was sure Killer had a thing for Nightmare.” mumbled Horror. They were in history class, but the teacher was talking so slowly it was nearly impossible to stay awake. A drastic change from his last history teacher; a man in his fifties with so much energy that two hours felt like 30 minutes. His classes were the best. 

“Well, he kinda flirts with everyone. It’s hard to guess if he’s serious or not.”

Horror huffed: “Nah, I know him well enough to guess it. I guess they just have a weird relationship.” Cross felt silly now, of course Horror knew him better than he did. 

“Like if Nightmare’s parents would have approved it anyways.” laughed Cross. At a reasonable volume to not attract the teacher.

“They already disapprove of our lil group. But who cares?”

Cross shrugged. They were weird anyway; Cross never saw this family wearing normal clothes, except for P.E. Even their pajamas were fancy, with embroideries and expensive fabric. Fabric was a big deal at their house by the way. Speaking of the house, well, it was almost a mansion and not a house. Cross went only once there, and he was amazed. He wasn’t poor himself; he wasn’t rich but he had a comfortable life and a pretty big house, but it was nothing compared to Nightmare’s. They were lawyers and psychologists from generation to generation. Well, the psychologist branch was pretty new, but they already gained a good reputation in that field. Cross believed there were also architects, notaries, dentists,... A bunch of wealthy people that could afford quite a lot. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the bell. 

Usually, he would take the bus back home. But he managed to miss his bus, so now he was stuck walking back home. It wasn’t that long, less than an hour, but he really was tired. That's probably why, when a hand touched his shoulder, instead of looking at who it was, he panicked and punched the guy behind him.

“OW! My nose wasn’t hurting anymore, you jerk!” hissed Killer. He walked back with the impact, eyes closed and hand in front of his nose.

“Sorry!!! I thought it was a creep!” squeaked Cross as he turned fully to look at him. Killer wasn’t bleeding, fortunately. His fist landed on his cheek, as it was now reddish. “I’m so sorry I..I don’t react so badly normally. I’m just tired.” Killer sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t gotta keep apologizing. I don’t care, you didn’t mean to hit my angelic face.”

Cross chuckled a bit. They started to walk together.

“How did I manage to never see you before school if we take the same path?” asked Killer.

“I usually take the bus. But I missed it today, I was too busy chatting with Horror…”

“Nah, I understand. A bit hard to catch what he says sometimes, but this guy is chill.” he smiled. “Let’s continue on with our anecdotes; I’ll tell you how we met, aight?” Killer didn’t let Cross answer, but the answer was yes. “ I met the big guy in middle school. He was looking super sad, to be honest. His mother already struggled to bring food home, and I guess he hadn’t eaten a lot recently. We shared some dates, the fruit, one day at recess. I kept bringing him snacks over the years, and in return he became my friend. Heartwarming, huh?” Killer walked with his nose in the air, proud of what he did back then.

“Wow, yeah it is. Who could have guessed you were capable of compassion?”

“Said the one who punched me in the face.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” they laughed a bit and entered a park. It was nice, walking beside the lake and listening to the birds. “I met Horror during the first year of high school.” Cross hesitated, leaving some details out of the story. Killer was nice, but he didn’t need to know everything. “I was dealing with some stuff and I guess he was annoyed by the way I kept fidgeting, because our first interaction was about the noise I made and how it distracted him. He was comprehensive about it, though. But we became friends later, when, well, I became ‘friend’ with NM. We’re not really friends but you understand.” it was pleasant to rant about his life. They talked all the way down to the park, sharing anecdotes on Horror or Nightmare. Killer told him how Nightmare avoided him for two hours today before deciding to pretend nothing happened. It was fine by Killer; Nightmare wasn’t nice, why would he apologize? When they crossed the exit, Killer turned to Cross, his hands in his pockets:

“Well, we split here I guess. Unless you wanna play the gentleman and walk me back home.” he smirked. His cheek had a mark, oops.

“In your dreams.” ribbed back  Cross. “See you.”

Waving his hand goodbye, Killer left to his street and Cross continued his route. Missing his bus sucked, but if it happened in the future, there were chances he could walk a bit with Killer again. It occupied him for at least ten minutes. Next time, I should avoid punching him, though.

Chapter Text

Days turned to weeks and soon enough, one month and a week had passed since school began. Everything was going smoothly: his grades were good and they gathered more and more information on Ccino. So far, they knew he was the son of the owner of the cat cafe, he and Nightmare met in therapy (apparently Nightmare went to therapy???) and they started to meet at the cafe once a month. They've been doing this for two years now and Nightmare didn't seem to love him romantically. It didn't stop Killer and Horror from thinking otherwise. 

“But you do realize he loves you, right?” asked Dust. They planned to either set the two together, or bother Nightmare until they grew bored of it. He sighed, taking a sip from his water. They were eating lunch, some eggs and a bunch of vegetables. Not very tasty, but it was okay. The best part was the dessert: fruit salad. Though chocolate would've been better. 

“He does not, Dust.” Nightmare, for once, didn't sound convincing. Killer noticed it immediately. 

“No way!” he slammed his hands on the table. “He loves you and you know it!” Killer beamed at that information. Nightmare denied it, but the thought was already well set in Killer's brain. He giggled, moving his legs back and forth while his smile grew bigger. Despite exaggerating everything, Killer wasn't one for real reaction. He usually reacted more out of habit than out of real emotions, but when he did like right now, he was so easy to read. His emotions were displayed on his face, on the way he kicked his legs and the proud look he gave them all. I did it, I proved Night was aware of Ccino's crush. His numerous accessories, keychains for the most part, made a jingling sound as he moved closer to his friend to continue the conversation. It was the most active they’ve seen him lately, he must need food,water and gossip to survive. Cross finally snapped out of his thoughts. Lately, he kept thinking about Killer. Gay . Which he wasn't. Killer was an interesting friend, that's for sure. They grew closer, and it sometimes felt like they both knew each other for as long as the other. He was stupid but lively.

“Fine, yes I was aware of his feelings. But I don’t share those feelings, so drop it!” commanded Nightmare while shoving his food in his mouth, annoyed.

“Ya know,’ started Horror. He already finished his food. “If you keep meetin’ him like that, he’ll get false hopes.” Nightmare looked up from his plate to glance at him.

“No way, I didn’t know.” he huffed with sarcasm. “That’s the whole point. It entertains me. He’ll be fine, it’s just a crush, it's nothing.” silence felt on their table. It wasn't surprising from Nightmare, but not pleasant to hear either.

“Pretty sure it’s not just a crush but sure, ruin this boy’s mental health all you want.” stated Dust. He wasn’t sardonic, he didn’t care. NM would never change, he was an asshole and they were cowards who would rather ignore his behaviour than have noone to hang out with. It was selfish, but as long as they didn’t personally suffer, they didn’t care. The exception was Killer; he didn’t care about Ccino, but he desperately wanted his friend to be with someone.

“Oooor… you could go on a real date with him! Don’t you want to be in a relationship?” he bubbled.

“No.”

“You could go on library dates, leave your stupid parent’s house to live with him, you could-”

“I am not gay.”

“Jeez, didn’t know you were homophobic.” Cross mumbled. He knew Nightmare wasn’t, he disliked everyone equally, but his parents definitely were. They probably were racist as well, with how they apologized to Dust for not having rice when they came to visit Nightmare. They all hated them afterwards. Dream kept apologizing to Dust for weeks after that. Cross should stop getting lost in his thoughts mid conversation but he was tired, making it hard to focus. 

“Says the one who keeps insisting he’s straight.” Dust began to make fun of him. “You can’t fool us, you asked Dream out-”

“I swear I thought he was a girl! I never heard him speak before that day , how could I know???” It made Dust laugh.

“Damn, never saw someone so deep in denial.” chuckled Killer. Great, they forgot about Nightmare and decided to pick on him instead. Suddenly, his food looked so much more interesting. He began his dessert. Tasty fruits.

“So you’re not interested in Killer? With how you keep looking at him, I believed you were in love with him.”

“WHAT.” he immediately stared, eyes opened wide, at Nightmare. He didn’t look bothered or amused by what he said.

“Wow, you fell for the worst person here.” Dust laughed  before sipping on his glass, looking to the side, already gossiping with Horror. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but he was really annoyed. 

“Okay I do NOT know where THAT came from but I’m not. Why would I ever fall for the only one who keeps making fun of me? I'm not stupid like him-no offense-, I can make good choices-”

“Chill, you don't need to hurt my feelings like that dude.” Killer calmly laughed. “Despite, aren't we supposed to speak about Ccino and Nightmare? For their first date, I was thinking about…“ 

Cross began his way to the bus station, arms to his side. Today had been rather calm which was good: he needed to rest. He had trouble sleeping last night. As he walked, he felt a hand on his shoulder stopping him. It was Nightmare. 

“Oh, uh yeah?” Cross was confused. Nightmare was usually one of the first ones to leave the building so they barely see each other after school except when a hangout was planned. His blue eye was locked in his, his grip still firm on his shoulder. He only had one eye, the other was a glass eye. It was honestly disturbing when it didn’t follow the other eye’s direction.

“It hurt Killer, what you said at lunch.”

“What?”

“I said Killer was hurt when you called him stupid and you said you could choose someone better than him.” Cross was about to answer when the other frowned. “I frankly don't care about why you said that. I simply don't want him to think you hate him. It's his first time in high school and I don't want him to have a bad experience, so you'll wait for him and you will walk together to sort it out. “ Nightmare said. 

“Wait, why do you mean I hurt him? It's not that deep.”

“I don't know why but he kinda seeks validation in you. I guess since you're the only person he doesn't know in our group, he relies on it for you to tell him if he’s acting fine. So speaking of him as if he was just a dumb second choice wasn't the best idea you had.” 

Cross was confused. He was this anxious, cringe-worthy, shy teen while Killer was this energic, confident and a tad lunatic person. Sure, lately he has been less energetic but everyone can be tired. What could he possibly seek in him? Especially if it was about his behaviour with others; Cross was as stiff as a stick and barely knew how to disobey and Killer was one of the most carefree boys he had ever seen. He also was way more sociable. They had almost nothing in common, why would he want his validation? He must’ve thought out loud because the other let out a loud sigh, agitated with frustration. He looked away for a few seconds to calm himself down before turning back to Cross. They were the same height, but his silhouette was intimidating; sharp angles given by his pad shoulder, spikes on his accessories.

“You know what? I think you’re the most stupid uncaring person I talked to today, and I spoke with Ink aka the biggest moron in our English class!” he pointed his finger at him.”I can’t believe it, do you use your brain? If he didn’t come for two whole years at school it’s for a good reason, Cross. You don’t need to read minds to see it! For someone who looks longingly at him, you’re missing a lot of details.” he really was angry at Cross.

The latter responded with outraged sound, scoffing and trying to formulate an answer. Nightmare looked down on him before leaving. Maybe he was right, maybe he idealized Killer too much. Or perhaps he was so jealous of how reckless he allowed himself to be Cross tried to experience it through an exaggerated version of Killer. They became really good friends, but Cross felt like he failed his task of being a good friend. His palms were sweaty with anticipation; he fucked up, the least he could do was doing what he was told. He would wait for Killer, apologize and make up with him. His inner monologue would have to wait as he spotted Killer.

“Wattsup Cross? You seem shaken up.” he smiled. Investigation time; his hair wasn’t brushed in short liberty spikes today, last time it wasn't either. He had his wild makeup, and a pretty basic expression on. His clothes; big faded blue jacket with cool patches on it, a black t-shirt with some band name on it. Black cargo paint with a chain and some keychain attached to it. He wore these pants for the past few days, but who wears theirs for only one day and wash it immediately? His shoes were cool and had platformes. 

“Okay you gotta stop spacing out like that dude.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” he cleared his throat.” Uhm you want to walk with me?” 

Killer shrugged. “Sure. Lead the way.”

They strolled down the street, alone since they left school later than most people. The weather was nice, if not a bit cloudy. Cross fidgeted with the heart locket collar around his neck. 

“I’m sorry for what I said.” Cross looked at his feet. He wasn’t embarrassed usually, but he was still ashamed of what Nightmare said.

“Don’t worry, it’s no biggie.” Killer lightly elbowled him. 

“Nightmare told me you, uh, kinda care, and it hurt you.” He received no answers for some time before Killer sighed. He still didn’t quit looking at the ground.

“He can’t shut up, mh? Yeah, it stinged a bit but it’s okay now. I just…” Killer paused for a few seconds and they took a turn at the same time. “I can’t really rely on others to be honest. Dust is an asshole, Horror is honest but weird himself and Nightmare, well, he sees only the negative sides of things. It’d been a while since I last went to a place with so many people. I just don’t want to act too, I dunno, weird, egocentric or like a douchebag.” Killer admitted. “I mean, you didn’t know, I can’t blame you.”

Cross looked up at him. They now were in front of the park, they’ll soon have to part ways. Killer sighed. “Okay, I still don’t totally forgive you dude, but I’m… Listen,”  He stopped walking to face Cross, speaking while moving his hands. “I’m a bit tired today, like ya, so I’m not the most rational guy. That’s nice of you to apologize and all but… we should talk about it later, ‘kay?”

“Sure, yeah.” he muttered back. “You’re, uhm, free tomorrow after school? We could, like, stop by the park for a bit.” he kept playing with his necklace. Confrontation wasn’t his thing; while he would consider himself rational and calm, the reality was that he was a bit dramatic. A lot, sometimes. But seeing Killer talk this easily made him want to stay calm; he fucked up, but he could do better. 

“Meh, sure. Anyways, we still have a few minutes ahead of us; tell me something cool, I’ll stick to listening.”

“Cross I swear on Toby if you don’t hand me the salt I’m going to kill you! Dad isn’t here tonight so I won’t hold myself back!” shouted Chara.

“Leave him be, Chara. He’s thinking about his true love!” Frisk teased Cross, but he didn’t react. “Uhm, C?”

“Am I a bad friend?” Cross almost whispered. They all looked at him as he handed the salt to Chara. “Apparently there's things I should notice and help him with but I.. I don’t know. Papyrus placed his hand gently on his shoulder.

“It’s not easy to help someone who doesn’t say anything. Reassessing and trying to do better is the first step if you want to help him though.” At this, Cross sighed. “Thanks, bro. I just don’t understand why something so little had such repercussions. It’s not the first time I say things like that.” Chara decided to interrupt, chewing on a piece of chicken.

“What if he’s just not doing well lately? I can’t say anything around you when you’re all sappy.” He growled. He wasn’t wrong, but how was he supposed to notice? And why would it matter so much if Cross hurt him a bit; Nightmare had been way too dramatic about this and now Cross was anxious. But he didn’t want to hurt Killer, not when they began to become closer to each other. Later that night, laying in his bed, he repeated over and over wha he could say to Killer. During his twelveth scenario, his three brothers appeared in the doorway.

“Brother! We came up with a plan thanks to my genius and their… Well Chara just complained but Frisk helped me! Invite him to play some game this weekend; we’ll take care of dad. He won’t know about this!” Papyrus beamed. Frisk smiled and added: “You’re too hung-up once you leave this house, sooo bringing you crush here is the best way to reconcile! Great games, no one around and you’ll be relaxed. I’m sure we can keep him busy for a few hours.”

Cross stared at them, processing the information. First of all, everyone was taking a simple joke way too seriously. But they referred toKiller as a “crush”, so they must think of it as a date. Then, they’re ready to cover him so he can bring Killer and talk with him calmly. 

“Wow, really? Yeah, for once I think it could be a great idea.”

“Ugh” Chara was of course complaining. He couldn’t resist bothering Cross. “Have fun getting laid by this random dude I guess.” at that, Frisk gave him a gentle smack at the back of the head with sermons. Despite being absolute idiots, Cross could count on them. Plus, he enjoyed the adrenaline of disobeying their father by bringing someone home.

“It’s not a date though.”

Frisk sighed in disappointment.

Chapter Text

Recess when you were alone was sad. He could go to their usual hanging spot, but he needed to properly apologize to Killer before facing him or Nightmare. Classes were even sadder as Horror couldn’t go to school that day with his migraine. As a consequence, he sat against a wall, his bag laying near his bent legs. He paid no intention to any classes he had today. Thoughts flooded his mind to the point he could hardly focus, but how was he supposed to not think about the upcoming conversation? To Cross, all this was exaggerated; but he seemed to miss Killer’s struggles, and must’ve crossed some unspoken rule. Clearly, his out-going personality was a façade. Nightmare pointed out how he basically didn’t interact with strangers since middle school and was scared to screw up. Killer himself said it. And Cross called him dumb and replaceable. Not his smarter move. However he couldn’t guess, could he? Killer talked easily with others and he was so confident. 

Cross was really ashamed of hurting Killer. At first, he had a hard time understanding Killer, but now they were really good friends. He wanted to continue to be closer to him, laugh and confess secrets together. Hurting Killer was the worst way to show how much he valued Killer. He was an inspiration for Cross; he wished for this confidence, being able to have such crazy outfits, overall he thought highly of his new friend. He kept thinking about it for a while, not noticing the person in front of him.

“Psst, C !” 

It startled him, making him jump. Ink was standing, smiling at him. They used to be best friends in middle school, but they parted ways when high-school started. He bleached his hair white, a miracle the chemical hadn’t made him bald yet. 

“Oh, hi Ink. What do you need?”

“Did you see there was a new guy??? Killer, I think.” he beamed. 

“Uhm, yeah? I mean, I spent all my recess with him for one month, you even saw us working in pairs…?”

“Oooh, yeah sure. Probably. Dunno, you know how my memory is ahah” Ink said with a tittering laugh. “Anyway, you look off. What’s the matter?” he threw his tote bag to the side and sat with him against the wall. Cross sighed; speaking to Ink may sooth him a bit.

“Well, it’s about him actually. I hurt his feelings but I didn’t mean to! I feel like everyone is taking it too seriously but at the same time I don’t want him to feel bad or believe I’m a bad person.” Ink nodded and answered; 

“That's an easy one: apologize!” he said while clapping his hands together.

“I did, but he wanted us to have a real conversation today after school.”

“I see, you’re nervous.” Cross agreed. “Well, what are you going to tell him?” he turned slightly to face his friend.

“Uhm. That I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t genuine I just wanted the others to shut up, and uhm, I actually find him cool. Yeah, I think I’ll say this.” he met Ink’s gaze.

“Hmmm, that’s a great start I think… But you should confess your love to him afterwards, for the plot you know!” Of course Ink would be missing the point.

“I’m not in love with him, Ink! I just don’t want to lose him because he’s my friend. You know, friends, like us in middle school ?”

“Come on, don’t talk to me like I’m a child!” pouted Ink. “But, as I thought, they bothered you about this, uh? What if Killer was hurt because HE loves you!”

Cross liked Ink’s support, but it wasn’t really helping right now. Not when he thought of it as simple gossip material. Ink seemed to understand that as his smile flattened.

“Okay, I'll drop the jokes. I think it’ll be okay.” he smiled warmly at him. “You care about him and I’m sure you didn’t say anything that bad. Don’t worry too much about it or you’ll be so lost in thought you will forget about the talk.” 

“You’re right… Thanks, Ink. But you really should work on your memory, you know?” Cross laughed. Ink had a point; thinking too much about it won’t end nicely. He needed to relax and think about something else. Good thing Ink was already talking about something else.

Cross was sliding the heart locket from the right to the left, making the tiny heart slide against the chain of the necklace. Killer was taking his time to leave the building. As he walked by him, Dust gave him an encouraging thumb up. Was it so obvious Cross was nervous about this?

“Careful, you’ll end up dehydrated with how sweaty you are.” Killer was here, finally. “Come on.” Killer smiled and headed out, followed by Cross. They barely talked during the walk, and soon found a bench to sit on. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as awkward as he believed it would. Cross let out a sigh before speaking, almost blurting out; 

“I’m sorry, Killer. I said those things so they would leave me alone but I didn’t mean to hurt you I swear. You’re really cool and uhm I really value you as a friend and I don’t want you to think it was mean-minded…Sorry.” 

Beside him, Killer moved a bit. He couldn’t see his face or movement as he looked somewhere else in shame.

“Okay, I forgive you. I had time to think and it’s not fair to blame you for things you weren’t aware of. I was kinda hurt but now I’m okay.” some seconds passed. “I’m just not really good with people. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it but that’s because I try to look ‘cool’, as you say. I guess it worked, eh. It made me doubt.”

“Yeah, I mean you laugh with almost everyone.” Cross finally turned to see Killer chewing on some chocolate.

“Want some?”

“...” Of course. “No, thank you though.” But he didn’t deserve it. It was already enough that Killer forgave him. “I’m just confused, I mean I understand you were hurt but all this seems… exaggerated. Especially Nightmare’s reaction.”

“Ah, Nightmare.” Killer chuckled, playing with the foil enveloping the chocolate. “Yeah, sorry about him. He, like, is a bit over the top sometimes. I shouldn’t say that but I don’t care; did you know he was bullied? I was his only friend for years.”

Oh . He wasn’t aware Nightmare used to be bullied. 

“You’re still his only friend.” Cross pointed out.

“ My point is , for years, it was him and me against the others. We always helped each other, that’s probably why he was so… eager to defend me. I would do the same, I think. He just doesn’t want me to feel worse than I’m already is.”

Cross noded. 

“I didn’t think it would hurt you. It’s not the first time I tease you.”

“I know, sorry. I’m not doing great lately, I thought you would have noticed. But it’s not your fault if you didn’t notice.”

“...you, uhm, want to talk about it?” He had no idea Killer was feeling bad, but he could be here for him. Killer shrugged.

“Classes are hard, and overall I just feel depressed lately. It’ll pass, it always leaves after a while, so don’t you worry too much for me, ‘kay? Even if you’re pretty cute when you’re worried, hehe.” Well, at least he still had his humour. Cross looked at him, shocked. He wasn’t the only one feeling depressed, heck Dust literally had depression, but it didn’t mean Cross expected Killer to be like this. He felt sorry for not noticing, but everything made sense now. His lack of energy, how he didn’t participate in class anymore, how he barely changed outfits. 

“Is that why you never went to high-school before?” Maybe he shouldn’t ask this. Killer seemed unease but he answered anyways:

“That’s one of the reasons, I guess. I won’t elaborate, maybe later.”

“Sure, it was bold of me to ask that anyways. Thank you for trusting me enough to share it.”

Killer smiled at him, placing his arm on the bench behind him with a smug expression.

“No problem. You’re a nice guy, I trust you not to tell the whole school about it.” Too close. Way too close.

“Mhmh. Oh! Before I forget, do you want to go to my place Saturday evening? My family won’t be here, we could play games.” He nearly forgot about this. But his sibling for once had a great idea, he couldn’t let it slide. Moreover, it was his way of apologizing; a good evening to make up for what he said. He heard Killer giggled, Cross could feel the way it made his shoulders move with how close they were now. They weren’t technically that close, but he expected Killer to be distant with him.

“Your old man seriously allows it? I’m lucky.”

“Pfft, you wish. He has no idea, my brothers are covering for me.” it was Cross’ turn to chuckle. Killer had a bad influence on him, he wouldn’t go as far as sneaking someone in his house normally. But he liked it.

“Ooh, rebellious. Not bad. Sure, but your house for a first date is a bit fast, don’t you think?”

“It’s not a date!” he defended himself.

“Ah, I thought you had a crush on me.” With the way his smile grew, Cross knew Killer was teasing him. 

“Ahah.”

Killer laughed.

“Anyways, I’m thirsty, you want to go grab something with me? I know a shop not far from here?” Cross accepted and they both left the park. The whole conversation went smoother than Cross expected, it had been rather easy for Killer to forgive him.

Later that night, he laid awake in his bed. He was glad, really glad Killer wasn’t mad anymore. Cross couldn’t stop thinking about the way he moved closer to him on the bench. He shouldn’t be so flustered, right? Besides, Killer was a boy and Cross wasn’t a boy kisser. He was into women and women only-even before he knew he was a boy he was into women and was proud of it- so Killer wasn’t a crush like everyone keeps implying. He was rather handsome but they were just friends. And even if Killer was a girl it would be the same. To be frank, Cross was scared to catch feelings and ruin their friendship, but he kept thinking so much about it that he over-analysed everything. They knew each other for less than two months but it felt as deep as his friendship with Dust and Horror. He couldn’t lose it. 

He better stop feeling like this.

Chapter Text

Cross rolled to the side of his bed with a grunt, sunlight passing through the curtains. Birds were singing near his windows and he could recognize the sound of the shower. Slowly, his eyes opened and he immediately sat. He couldn't risk drifting back to sleep today. After a few minutes of staring into space, Cross stood up to make his bed. Once the sheets were neatly replaced, perfectly tucked, he put on a big white sweater and left his room. It was the second door starting from the stairs: in order, there was Papyrus’ room, his, Chara and Frisk's and their dad's. The two youngest, both middle schoolers, often argued about why they are the one sharing a bedroom, and Cross will have to calm them by promising to give his room to one of them when he would leave the house. Yawning, he straightened his back and made his way to the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror, he stared back at his reflection. Two brown eyes looked back at him. Despite his recent lack of sleep, he didn't have gigantic eye bags. His zigzag-like scar beneath his right eye was already enough to make him stand out, he didn't need to look sleep deprived. He sighed and began to brush his black hair, barely any motivation was present but he needed to prepare for this afternoon. He should cut them soon, the bottom layer almost reached past his shoulders. After this, he went to the living room quietly. His phone should be there and Cross could contact Epic, his best friend. They met a while ago, when they were both teenagers. Epic was just a few years older, 2 to be exact. This friendship really meant a lot for him, Epic was the one helping him the most in every step of his teenage years. From learning to make friends to studying, despite his immature personality Epic gave him good advice. They were talking about Killer before he had to turn off his phone so he couldn't see the messages Epic sent. Cross grabbed his phone from the table and unlocked it. 

Epic : lmao u can't convince me its not a date bruh

Epic : but okay let say it isnt

Epic : You should make him play the game you like. I forgot the name, but yk the one where you dance and its like FNF. Sorta. 

Epic : Bruh ur sleeping? 

Epic : lol good night Cross, see ya 2morrow ‼️

Cross smiled at the texts. It's true that he had a good rhythm game they could play at. He was more thinking about Bernardo Kart or Smash Siblings Ultimate but it could be fun. 

Cross : Yo dude, sorry I couldn't say bye yesterday. That's a great idea tho! 

Cross : Ngl I'm nervous, what if my father suspects something? 

Epic : oh hi. Bruh ur worrying too much, just pretend to study, he'll like that 

Cross: sneaking someone in is already a lot dude idk I don't feel like lying… 

Truth be told, he was already really nervous. He despised the way his father controlled his life, but he didn’t want to disrespect him too much, especially concerning his house. Bringing someone over without his approval was utter disrespect, something Cross already felt ashamed of. His father wasn't so bad, he was caring and just wanted the best for them after all. However, at the same time, adrenaline rose in his system. He rarely acted against the rules established by his father, but when he did, this sensation was all he could think of. It was better than the crushing feeling of guilt and anxiety afterwards, obviously. The way everything seemed like evidence of his actions, how his father’s eyes seemed more piercing than usual. Cross would-

“Good morning, Cross.” his heart skipped a beat as he jumped from his chair with a shrill, high-pitched scream. His father simply sat at the end of the table with a cup of hot chocolate. “You're not interested in our afternoon shopping?” the man asked. 

“Nope, I have a lot to do for school you know… But next time, I'll come, I don't want to miss Chara embarrassing himself in public.” Cross chuckled. He figured cracking a joke at the end would make his lie work better, and it did. His father smiled slightly before drinking his drink. 

The family was quick to be reunited for breakfast. As usual, Papyrus did most of the talking, ranting about how exciting today was going to be. Deep down, Cross was a little disappointed to miss it: it wasn't often they could have a shopping afternoon. He wanted to be closer to his family: after high school he would leave the house and this was scary to him. Leaving his house, his habits, his family behind. But his father insisted he had to join a military school. While the teenager wasn't totally against the idea, he wanted to be in the army (it just wasn't his dream job), he couldn't bring himself to accept the fact he wouldn't be with his family. This year was frightening: he was aware of growing up, but he hadn't realized before growing up implied some sacrifices. 

He now was home alone. 1pm, Killer would be here in thirty minutes. The house was cleaned, he had some snacks but didn't put them on the table to not make it look like he was too excited about this, and he showered. Papyrus was sending him updates in case they were coming back sooner than expected. He sat on the sofa, phone in hand to scroll through memes. He checked the house twice already : if Killer said noticing any dirt, he was a liar. 

He rapidly grew bored of doom scrolling, but not long after, the doorbell rang. He practically hopped from the sofa and went to the entrance . He quickly fixed his black hair and opened the door to face Killer. The latter wore his usual dull blue jacket with a black shirt underneath. Thereof had a thoracic cage pattern probably made with bleach. Black cargo pants with a lot of keychains attached to the belt loops and cool silver shoes. 

“Yo.” Killer greeted, his constant smile displayed on his face.

“Hi!” Cross stepped to the side to let him enter. Killer, once in the house, stopped to look around. 

“You dad is colour blind? I never saw so much purple in one place. Sick house though.” it made Cross chuckle. 

“Believe me, if I knew what his deal with purple was, I would explain. You can put your shoes against the wall, I don't want dirt on my floor.”

Killer snarked back a playful remark, and after he removed his shoes they went to the living room. 

“Yup. Really nice house. I should crash here more often.” Killer said while looking around him, hands in pockets. 

Cross huffed : “If you wish to get both of us in trouble, go ahead.” Killer turned to face him, a fake expression of disappointment on his face, clearly teasing him : “Aw, I can't do that to you Cross. I would never. I'm offended you thought otherwise…” These conversations were what Cross missed the most, the way Killer made him laugh despite being insufferable. 

“Yeah, yeah. Dumbass.”

“So nice of you.” laughed his friend. 

“I have some snacks if you want some?” he changed subjects too quickly but he feared to forget the food. “We can play games too.” Killer smiled even more when hearing this. 

“Hell yeah! What games do you have? We totally should play Smash so I can beat your ass!” they made their way to the living room once Cross grabbed the snacks. Some chocolates, strawberries and potato chips. 

“OH, you'll never guess who I saw on my way here!” Killer exclaimed while lounging on the sofa. Cross put the bowls on the table and began searching the cables for the console. They had way too many useless cables. 

“Uhh, I dunno, Nightmare?” he smiled as he finally caught the end of the good cable. 

“Nuhu, even better. Nightmare AND CCINO!” he yelled at the end of the sentence, sitting up again. Cross turned immediately, nearly dropping the cable. “Whaaaaat???” Killer nodded, excited to gossip. 

“Yes! Okay I'll explain.” he grabbed a strawberry. “So, I was walking-by the way it's starting to get colder out there. I almost regretted not wearing a sweater under my jacket.”

“Yeah, yeah, speed up dude.”

“I suddenly spotted them on the other side of the street! Like, I was minding my own business and BOOM I saw them!” he mimed every action in a silly manner with his hands. Cross finally connected the console to the TV and went back to the sofa with the controllers. Killer took the opportunity to turn to face him, his side against the couch. They were about one cushion apart, but it was enough to smell this rose scent and mess with Cross’ composure. It was weird to think about someone's scent, he shouldn't think of it. It sounded so gross and weird too! But his perfume really did smell good. 

“Hehe, looks like someone is interested in my story time.” Killer snickered. Yeah, of course, the story time. Right. His friend placed a hand on his chest and had his nose in the hair, a fake proud look on his face. “Well, then, if you insist, I'll continue!” they laughed a bit before Killer did as he said. “I couldn't hear them, obviously, but I could look. This boy, Ccino, was showing something to Nightmare on his phone. It's pretty hard to tell with the distance and the way NM's long stupid black hair always hides his face BUT I bet he was confused. He barely knows how to use a laptop, let alone a phone.”

“Wait, I only thought of it now but they were, like, outside the cafe?”

“Duh. They were just walking, I don't know where though. I mean, the cafe wasn't far so maybe he just ended his shift and they decided to hang out… but we're talking about Nightmare.” he narrowed his eyes. “I'm so confused.”

“So… Nightmare has a crush on him?”

“No way, he's just an asshole who likes giving false hope. Ugh… Kinda feel bad about Ccino. Normally I wouldn't, not my business you know, but lately I've been… emotional, something like that.” he said while looking away. Not a word was uttered for a moment before Cross’ uncertain voice rose:

“Uhm, well, maybe we should warn this guy…? I mean yeah it would be mean for Nightmare but it's not like it's the end of the world and it makes you feel bad and-”

“Relax!” Killer almost whispered, placing his hand and Cross’ shoulder. His shoulder must be extra comfy lately. “If you want to do it, sure, but don't stress yourself over this.”

“But what if Nightmare is so mad at us he won't ever talk to us? I don't want to lose a friend, even if he doesn't technically see me as such, I do see him as a close friend.” Okay it was embarrassing to confess how he felt. His cheeks became red as Killer smiled. Besides, they were here to have a good time! 

“Aw, look at you being worried about you being friends with him. Don't worry, we don't have to do this. Let's just stick to gossiping about them and not moving our ass, shall we?”

“.. Yeah, okay. Sorry.” Cross smiled back. Killer grabbed the controller still in Cross hand, moving a tad closer as he did so. 

“The loser will have to do what the other tells him to, okay?” Killer chirped. 

“Heh, get ready to obey my orders!”

“Pfft, you wish.”

“What?? How???” cried Cross, shoving his hands on his face. Beside him, Killer let out an evil laugh. He won twice in a row, well more like once since apparently the first one was a warm up and didn't count according to Cross. The latter removed his hands to look at the winner. 

“Eeeh, I told you I was here to beat your ass!” 

Cross rolled his eyes, eating some of the snacks. 

“I have to think of an order now, yeah? Mmh…” Killer began thinking. “Uuuh….” his eyes kept wandering around, clearly struggling to think of something. “I can only think of bad questions… Like, tell me who your crush is? I mean it's juicy but…”

“And you have no interesting dare ideas? I don't mind though…” Maybe he will escape this. 

“Heh, I mean, we can move to the closet if you really want something interesting but-”

“Killer you're so gross!” Shrilled Cross, throwing a cushion at the laughing teenager. He won't do that, firstly because they don't have a closet with such space and secondly he's not the type of guy to kiss his friends. Still, his cheeks became warmer. Being attractive wasn't an excuse for such behaviour. 

“I'm kidding dude don't worry! Except if you're down for it-” another cushion. 

Killer kept laughing, sitting up. He really enjoyed embarrassing him. 

“We can't even fit in the closet.” Cross stated. It attracted Killer's attention. 

“Let me try, I'll prove you wrong.”

“What??? No, you'll make a mess. My father won't tolerate it!” It was a stupid idea… 

“Come on, we'll tidy up if anything moves.”

…but he liked doing stupid stuff with Killer, like teasing Nightmare or crossing the rules. That's why he finally agreed. 

“But you're careful in there, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Lead me to the closet, Cross!”

When he invited him, he thought they would spend the whole time playing video games. Not trying to fit in a closet. Behind the door was a lot of coats, mostly winter coats, as well as scarfs and boots. Several boxes, Cross noticed the raclette machine among them, occupied most of the space. 

“Mmh. Quite small it's true but I can fit in there.”

Cross placed his hand on the handle: “Well, I'll just lock you in then.”

By whatever miracle Killer provoked, he did fit in it. And there was still space apparently. Killer's smile widened and he suddenly clawed Cross' sweater and pulled him forward, yanking him in the little space left inside the closet. The door closed behind them due to Cross’ hand on the handle.

“UH???”

Killer laughed, and Cross could only focus on the way it echoed within him. They were pressed against the wall, closer than ever. It was an awkward position as their arms had not much space. So close. Too close. And this perfume once again invaded Cross' mind, leaving him more than embarrassed. It was a bit funny to be in such an improbable situation, but the proximity was too much for him to laugh about it. Cross held his breath, both of them staring into each other's eyes. Killer had beautiful eyes, black with brownish highlights. It was so pretty under the sunlight. They had no idea of what time they spent like that: a few seconds ? One minute? He felt the way their legs were pressed against the others, tangled, and the wall, how Killer's hand was still gripping on his sweater and how sweaty his own palms had become. He wanted to look away. To hide among the coats, but it was impossible to break eye contact. They were looking at each other's features, not moving as if looking away would startle the other. But as this thought formed itself in Cross's head, Killer talked. He could feel his breath from where he (hardly) stood.

“Well, that's it. We fit!” he pushed open the closet's door with his feet and Cross almost fled, leaving as soon as possible the narrow space. 

“What-”

“That was fun! I can't wait to win once again and see you crying like a kid about it. Come on, I can't win if I have no opponents!” declared Killer, returning to the sofa. 

What was that . 

He sat back down near him. Watching him eat chocolate as if nothing happened. 

“Next time, give a normal dare you weirdo!” he chided. He won't admit it indeed was great. Not awesome, but there was something amusing in doing unusual things. Like going out with a glass of water. It wasn't forbidden but it was unusual. Okay, I may have some problems with behaving correctly… No way I'm that happy to be weird for once. 

“Hey, you were the one talking about interesting dares!” Killer defended himself. “Besides, it was fun. Reminds me of hide and seek.”

They soon began another game, but Cross kept thinking about that damn closet.

They kept playing for an hour, switching to the rhythm dance game at one point. Killer was terrible at this, but so was Cross. The first one was too fast in his movements whereas the second was too stiff. Classical dance as a child left some bad habits. 

“Uhh, I don't think I can dance anymore… “ Killer whined, laying on the couch. Cross couldn't agree more. 

“Ditto. Want to move to my room? I have a CD player and cool albums.”

Killer titled his head just enough to look at him. 

“Sure but don't be surprised if I fell from exhaustion on your stairs.”

Cross chuckled before climbing up the stairs, on his way to his room. His room was rather simple, the walls were white except one who instead was black. Against this black wall was his bed and drawer. No posters were displayed but above his desk several photos of him and his family were pinned to the wall. Then, an imposant white bookcase housed a few books, a lot of video games, his CD player and drawing materials. It was tidied up, as always, and despite the lack of mural decoration Cross found it cozy. He threw his phone on the bed. 

“I expected purple here too.”

“Nah, I might have an overdose of purple if I had some in my room as well.”

Killer nearly jumped on his bed, the sheets not perfectly done anymore. 

“Are you in the army to make your bed like that?” Killer teased. 

“Well, no, but my dad was before he injured himself. So he always taught me to do it like that. I guess that's one thing I won't have to learn there.” Cross sat on his chair, looking at Killer. The latter looked at him with surprise. 

“Oh you really are going to join the army?”

“Yeah… Why, you thought it was a joke?”

“Kinda. I mean, you don't seem like that type of guy to do sports and all those things.” Killer shrugged. Cross narrowed his eyes. 

“I literally do sport almost every day?”

“Hey, don't blame me for not knowing! We don't do PE together, and you never talked about that.” Cross nodded. Right. Killer didn't mean anything bad, it's true that he indeed never mentioned it. 

“Damn you must have crazy muscles under those oversize sweater. Just saying.” Killer whistled with a smug look on his face. He was now laying on his stomach, his face in his head. 

“The day you'll stop being annoying I'll maybe show them.”

“Awww but you know it won't happen. I can't change who I am.”

“Too bad for you man.” He got up and walked toward the CDs. “Okay I have… Antarctic Monkeys, BlueDay, Renault…”

Killer told him to put the first one, PM by Antarctic Monkeys. He made space for Cross on the bed, after all it was his, and they simply listened to the album for a few minutes. 

“Hey, Cross?”

“Mh?”

“You know, I haven't been to someone's house in ages. It feels nice. Thanks.” he didn't look once at Cross while speaking, instead looking at his fingers as he moved them on beat. His smile was genuine, a soft smile who illuminated his whole face. 

“Ah, you're welcome   I guess. I barely have anyone coming over too, it's great to show my stuff to someone.” 

They smiled at each other, glad to be here. Killer ended up wincing, sitting. 

“I'm too sweaty uuugh.” he complained while removing his jacket. His shirt had long sleeves, which explained why he was hot. “Don't worry about the mess, I'll take it before leaving.” Quickly, the jacket fell half on the edge on the bed half on the floor as Killer pressed his face against the sheets . 

“If you don't I'll throw it in the trash.” it made Killer laugh, not scared by the fake threat. 

“Y'know,” Killer's voice was muffled by the sheet, almost inaudible. “I'm curious now. What else are you hiding? I'm not judging, I have secrets too .” He looked up at him. 

Cross froze. His secrets? Currently, he only kept secret his love for Killer's perfume. He couldn't say it. 

“Uhm, I have none. There just are subjects I don't often talk about, that's all.”

“Like what?”

“Uhm… Uhm…” His stare made him nervous. “I like roses.” He didn't even particularly like roses that much, but at least he didn't say anything worse. A thumb up emerged from Killer's sleeve. 

“Roses are incredible! Very romantic. But that's not a secret.” Busted. Right when he said the word romantic, I Wanna Be Yours began playing. It was one of Cross’ favourite song on this album: he sometimes wished to relate to the lyrics, perhaps with less possessiveness. Killer's face beamed, the boy grabbing a comb on Cross’ night table before sprinting to the center of the room. 

“I love this song! Love songs are just the best.”

“Heh, yeah they're good.” Cross chuckled. The lyrics started, and Killer started singing along, pretending to hold a mic instead of a comb. 

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust. 

A serious look on his face, he sang, covering the artist's voice with his. He sometimes turned slightly, not quite dancing but not quite simply miming the lyrics either. Cross began laughing, not because it was ridiculous; in fact he had a great voice, but because it was the most focused he had seen him. 

Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought. 

The light coming from the windows gave Killer's outline a captivating light yellow hue. He couldn't stop looking at Killer singing, the sun accentuating his features. His hooked nose created a harmonic face, enhanced by his signature eyeliner. Suddenly, Killer was looking back at him, smiling. 

“Come on, sing along! Don't you know the lyrics?”

“Pfft, yeah I know them but…Uh-” he was pulled to his feet. Well, he couldn't refuse anymore. It was rather silly, singing together, but in the comfort of his home he allowed himself to do it. Still hand in hand, Killer made him spin, both of them laughing. Dancing wasn't their strength, that’s for sure. 

I wanna be yours

It had been so long since he had so much fun at his house. They kept dancing, if spinning off beat was considered dancing, singing in between laughter. Unfortunately, the song quickly came to an end. They stood there, laughing like kids again. 

“I don't think I sang with someone since, I don't know, middle school?” Cross exclaimed, gleeful. 

“Mmh. That's really a shame you won't stick around. You're fun.” Killer handed him the comb with a genuine smile. 

“Aw, missing me already? I thought you weren't one for emotion and all that stuff.” he teased. He wasn't in the mood for this talk. 

“Heh, I guess you're so annoying you actually managed to make me feel something.” Killer snarked back. 

“If I'm annoying, then what are you? The most insufferable person on earth?” he pretended to think, grabbing his phone to check the time. “Wait, yeah, you are-SHIT!” Killer smile flattened. “I didn't check my messages, you have to leave, they'll be here in ten minutes!”

Papyrus indeed warned him twenty minutes ago they will soon go back home. 

“Ten minutes???”

They nearly ran downstairs, his shoes being tied at the speed of the light. Soon, Killer stood at the door frame. 

“Not even a goodbye kiss?” he whined. Cross shove his hand on his face. 

“Nope. See ya.”

Killer made a fake hurt face and walked away, waving goodbye. 

Despite the abrupt end, today was great. Incredible, even. He had so much fun and Killer had been so nice. He cleaned the mess they made in a hurry and, as he heard the car entering the street, ran to his bedroom with his backpack. Gotta pretend to work. He closed his bedroom door behind him, but was taken back when he looked at his bed. 

Killer forgot his jacket. 

He finished the dishes with a yawn and began his way upstairs. In the bathroom, he ran across Papyrus. 

“Cross! How was your..” he whispered. “date?”

Cross grabbed his tooth brush and applied the tooth paste. 

“It was nice. Not a date though. He's really fun.” He tried to look as detached from this as possible, but frankly he couldn't stop thinking about how handsome he was under the sunlight. He couldn't stop thinking about his smile or how they were close in that closet. Papyrus gasped and quickly closed the door for more privacy. 

“You are in love! Of course, I knew it, but it's so obvious now!”

“What?”

Papyrus hugged him tight, happier than usual. 

“I'm so happy for you brother!” he pulled back, a wide smile on his face that let his braces visible. Cross scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

“Wait wait wait. That's nice of you but I don't love him like that!”

“Mmh, I see. Denial.”

Denial.

He laid on his bed, the blue jacket beside him, untouched as if it was a forbidden artefact. His attention was drawn to it, and with a twinge of determination, he pulled the fabric toward him. It was soft under his touch. His face pressed against the fur of the hood, and he inhaled deeply. Roses. He kept breathing in the fur, an image of Killer glued inside his eyelids. If he imagined it hard enough, he could even pretend Killer was lying with him. 

He loved Killer. 

Chapter Text

Cross let out a long sigh, tapping his pen against his chin. He was studying for his geopolitics exam at the school library, sitting at a round table with his friends. Heritage will soon be his thirteen reason why, the whole chapter barely made sense. Even using books and online videos: it was a succession of examples. 

But what annoyed him the most right now was Nightmare. Not him particularly but what he was doing: texting someone. He wouldn't mind if he didn't have an old ass flip phone which made a high-pitched noise every time a key was pressed. If it wasn't for the distance between them and the librarians, Nightmare would've been banned from here. Cross couldn't concentrate on his work, not when the guy was using his phone like his life depended on it. He never saw him using it for more than two minutes, but now he didn't even look away from it for fifteen minutes. Apparently, he wasn't the only one bothered as Dust spoke:

“I don't know what you're doing but I swear if you decided to suddenly text everyone, go buy a normal phone. I can't stand it.” he snarled. If he didn't constantly look exhausted, Cross would have thought the reason for his frown and enormous eyebags was Nightmare. He looked even more unwell, hunched over his text book and eyes barely visible behind his black hair. It wasn't often he didn't wear his grey hood but it was forbidden in the library, much to his disappointment. Nightmare, his blue eye finally detached from the screen, looked at him before scoffing. 

“I didn't take texting as a hobby, if you can't bear hearing it you're free to leave.” They stared at each other before Dust simply walked out of the room. 

“Heh, who are you texting like that anyway?” Killer asked while doing tricks with his pen. 

“Ccino.”

The pen fell on the table, both the owner of the pen and Cross dropping their jaws. Horror was chill about this, like most of the time. 

“We talked the other day, he said I didn't give him enough attention. So I make an effort.” Nightmare simply explained. Cross struggled to understand the situation. Was he catching feelings for Ccino? Was he so involved in his misery he began to invest time in it? 

“So, you're together or something?” Horror mumbled. At that, Nightmare rolled his eyes and put his hands on the table. 

“No, I am not interested in twinks. It's just to spend time, to have fun. Not everything is a big deal.”

“Damn” Killer whistled. “I know you weren't one for empathy but I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.”

Cross stopped listening. As much as he liked Nightmare, his actions repulsed him. Ccino seemed like a good guy and, unlike Killer, he actually felt bad about it. It wasn't the end of the world but important enough to distract him from his notes. 

Killer spotted something at the other side of the library and smiled wider. 

“One sec, I'll say hi to Colour!”

“Ugh, do you really still talk to that guy?” Nightmare complained, not even looking at Killer. The latter watched him, his smile unaffected. He didn't seem bothered by what his friend just said. 

“He's my best friend, of course I have to say hi. Be right back!”

Killer left to talk to Colour. He seemed like a nice guy with a funky piece of rainbow hair. In front of him, Nightmare looked angry. 

“This moron is honestly getting on my nerves. Everytime he and Killer hang out, he always comes back with new complaints.” Nightmare growled. Horror blinked before answering:

“Maybe if ya weren't so controlling he wouldn't complain.” 

Horror received a chilling glance, a warning to not continue on this path. Cross stopped listening once again, quite annoyed by NM's attitude. First, he disturbed him and now he was mean toward his friends. He judged Colour like he wasn't a terrible friend himself. 

Breathe in, breathe out. He had to focus on his notes. This exam is extremely important, bringing a bad grade would be a shame. His father bugged him to study sooner but here he was, the day right before the exam and barely knowing anything. Anxiety rose in him, tapping his feet faster against the floor. Getting a bad grade was one thing, but bringing back a bad grade on such an important exam wasn't acceptable. He was getting less and less serious in class. Teacher had to call him back to reality or stop his chatter with Horror almost daily, it wasn't a good thing. 

But even now focusing was hard. He was almost glad when the bell rang and they had to leave the library. Walking through the heavy doors, Killer jogged to catch up with them. Only one hour of English and he could finally leave. Usually, he had classes until five, but some teachers were absent today. 

“You always look nervous but damn, you look like you're on the edge of crumbling right now.” Killer commented during class. He couldn't stop biting his nails, but honestly he had a good reason: he didn't remember a single thing of what he just studied at the library. Perhaps he won't even have Heritage as a subject, but the possibility of doing a long essay on it still existed: perhaps, it was even more likely to be that subject since they only studied two chapters so far: Heritage and Memory. Thereof subject was rather easy to remember since it was a parallel to history classes, whereas heritage was so weird. 

It wasn't quite soft power nor culture, but at the same time it kinda was. No way he could manage to write four pages on it. 

“I have an exam soon. I'll fail so hard…” Cross mumbled, resting his head on the table. He wasn't one for slouching during school, however today was an exception. 

“I can help you with that, if you want to. When I finish at 4, we can go back to the cat cafe . Plus, I have a Spanish exam soon.” he proposed while taking notes. Perhaps it was a good idea, he could work and at the same time ask some questions to him. Wait, is it a date?

“I'll take that as a maybe!”

It was raining like cats and dogs when he stepped out of the building. Because of this rain, he hadn't gone back home. He was waiting for Killer, and he quickly arrived. Quicker than usual. For once they managed to take the bus, but it was crowded.

Right now, they were pressed against one side of the vehicle, Killer's back pressed against his right side. It made his heart beat faster, his palms and forehead sweaty as well as his cheek probably red. He felt Killer's gaze on him which made things worse. Since he realized he had a crush on Killer-which hadn't developed in love yet, he couldn't say yet he was really in love but he definitely had a crush- it was harder to act normal when they were close like this. 

Killer slid his bag in front of Cross, making people move a few inches away from them. Killer himself moved slightly to make space for Cross. Everyone was still quite close, his feet were touching another pair of shoes, but it was better. 

“You're okay? I thought you were asphyxiating.”

He turned his head to Killer, puzzled. All he managed to answer was a nod. It satisfied Killer, and he passed an arm behind Cross's shoulders like he often did when he was about to talk to him. Or when they were sitting on a bench, but in those situations it was to bother him. 

As much as he was flustered, it was nice to have space and at the same time company. They had just a few stops and quickly stepped out of the bus, grabbing their bags from the bus’ floor. 

“For someone who takes the bus on a daily basis, you can't handle crowds.” Killer joke once they were outside. It made Cross roll his eyes. “Oh yeah, I should be thrilled by the idea of someone's butt glued to me while I gasp for fresh air!” The crowd wasn't even the problem, the problem was Killer and his damn handsome face. “That's fair.”

“Anyways,” Killer spoke “I can't wait to see these cute lil’ cats!”

“Don't you have one?”

“Duh, of course. But that doesn't mean I hate other cats.” They took a turn and arrived quickly at the cafe. Once inside, Cross immediately spotted Ccino cleaning some tables, his almonds-colored eyes drifting to them before greeting the two teenagers. They smiled back and Cross walked to the counter. Killer stayed a few steps away to pet a grey cat. Ccino took place behind the counter.

“We'll take a hot chocolate and a frappuccino, please.” he remembered Killer's order. 

“Sure, are you paying together?” the man began to enter their order on the register. Killer appeared beside Cross, smiling. 

“I'll pay.”

Ccino answered with a smile and, after taking the money, he went to the back of the cafe to prepare their order, visibly alone for this shift. The teenagers chose the seats near the door: two cats were sleeping there. 

“So, basically, the British Museum is made of a bunch of stolen artworks?” snickered Killer between sips of his drink. Cross shifted in his seat, ready to answer. They were studying for at least twenty minutes by now, switching between this and spanish. 

“Yeah. They even kept a piece of the Parthenon. Long story short they bought it from a guy who stole it centuries ago.” he paused to finish his cup, petting the cat on his lap at the same time. Killer's smile grew as Cross talked. “They still argue that they should keep it because, according to the British government, Greece doesn't have the assets to protect it. Which is… Stupid. They just rely on it too much for tourism; they're afraid of letting it go.”

“See, you know at least one thing from this chapter.”

“Yeah but…”

“Nu-uh. You deserve a small break.”

“Like you deserve a break from Nightmare…” Cross mumbled, looking away. Killer leaned closer, he hadn't heard what he said. “I said, you deserve a break from Nightmare. He treats you like shit. I mean it's good to challenge your ego once in a while but that's not the same.”

Killer looked away, forming an answer in his head. As expected, he was still smiling, but his body was tense. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ccino looking at them. 

“I know but what can I do?”

“Dunno, stop talking to him-”

“No way.” Killer sighed, locking eyes with Cross. It was hard to maintain eye contact. “He's not the best but he's my friend and… He suffered, you know. I still laugh and most of my best memories are with him.”

He was now looking inside his nearly empty drink. 

“Sure but don't you deserve better?” “Not really.” “Oh come on…” Killer laughed lightly, petting the cat at his feet. 

“I'll think about it after my Spanish exam, capiche? Okay, let's get back to this. Wait, do you speak Spanish?”

Cross sighed, unhappy with the change of subjects. It was clear Killer was dodging the subject with the way his question was lame. 

“No. I wish my dad would've taught me but…”

“Oooh, he's fluent?” Light made his way to Killer's eyes, seeing an opportunity to 1) change the subject even more and 2) learning more about Cross. 

“He's from Chile, so I hope he is.” His sentence ended in a small laugh. 

“And you can't help me with my exam on Pinochet?” Killer asked, bewildered. Cross roll his eyes as he snarked back:

“My bad, having half Chilean blood makes me an expert in Chile history!”

They bickered for a bit. However the conversation swapped to the subject of Nightmare quickly. It wasn't by choice this time, Killer just received a message. 

“Hello Killer. You and the others sleep at my house on the 20th.”

“Yoo, what's the occasion?”

“No one home. Well, except Dream but he can go to Swap's.”

“K, I'll let ‘em know”

“That's the perfect scenario to confront him about his situationship with you-know-who!” whispered Killer, a huge grin on his face. Cross nodded, though the idea seemed bad to him. Before he could answer, Killer jumped from his chair and lounged toward the counter. Ccino was a bit nervous, not expecting the person he was eavesdropping on talking to him. 

“Hi. Ccino, right?” Cross urged to join them. 

“Yeah, why? Do we know each other?” He tried to stay professional but failed. Killer crossed his arms on the furniture separating them. 

“I'm Nightmare's friend. Do you have a crush on him?”

Both Cross and Ccino choked in their saliva; Ccino from embarrassment and Cross because of surprise. Once he regain his breath, Ccino nervously laughed:

“I don't know, but I am not supposed to speak like that with customers. Sorry!”

Some would have dropped it here, but not Killer. 

“Let's share our socials then. I mean, if you want to. I have an opportunity you cannot miss! ”Ccino hesitated but they finally exchanged socials, much to Cross’ surprise. But, despite being afraid of messing things up, Killer always managed to be in good situations with strangers. He was a magnet for friendly people. 

Ccino and Nightmare together was, to Cross’ eyes, impossible. He wanted to see it, but it didn't mean he believed in it. Nightmare was cold and mean whereas Ccino was, from what he saw, kind and, well, quite the opposite.

This whole situation felt like a fever dream. 

Chapter Text

Heritage

It was heritage.

He spent weeks studying for this test, staying up late in order to memorize everything he could. He turned down plans to focus on this, especially for the theme he had a hard time with. And yet, but as expected, all his knowledge vanished before the question. 

The institutionalization of the heritage over the years.

He managed to create a somewhat cohesive plan for his essay: every part could be linked to one another and it stuck to the question. However the problem resided in his lack of facts. So he had to paraphrase again and again to have a minimum of 15 lines for each paragraph. Paraphrasing is exactly what he's not supposed to do. 

His heart ached and it felt like his ribs imprisoned his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Perhaps thorns grew inside his ribcage, impaling his organs and sending a burning sensation in his throat. Tears threatened to fall, obscuring his vision. He was in the school bathroom, hunched over a sink, he just finished the test and felt like disappearing. He did so badly. Sniffing, he noticed in his peripheral view someone walking in: Ink. Cross was in no mood for his cheerful personality, but it seemed that the boy himself wasn't cheerful. He was acting like he usually acts after feeling too much, after importants events. Frankly, he was sure Ink had some kind of disorder, a reason behind his occurring drastic change. However they grew apart and such questions were inappropriate to ask: Cross will stick to theorizing. But the way the student walked hunched over himself and how his arms seemed to follow a sluggish swinging motion as he walked, he was sure it wasn't the same than from a few hours before. 

The large bathroom was organized in a way where two pairs of sinks face each other. The smaller student chose the sink right beside Cross, probably willing to talk to him. 

“Hi, Cross.” he almost whispered. “Your hair… It's nice. And quite long now.”

Cross could see him washing paint from his hand. Splotch of green paint fell in the silver bassin, slipping through the strainer. 

“Thanks. And hi.” 

“So… What's going on?”

Cross sighed and looked at him, watery eyes.

“Nothing, it's just… I failed my test, it was a really important one.”He increasingly sounded more high-pitched, he whinged: “And my voice sound fucking stupid right now!”

Embarrassment made his cheeks red. Was he really crying right now? Yes, yes he was. He was because this test meant a lot; for his grades but also to his father. Lately, he noticed how Cross became less and less serious, but he still believed his child was capable of doing well in school. But he failed, and soon his father’s eyes will be flooded by disappointment.

“It’s not the end of the world, is it?”

Cross glanced at him with a glimpse of anger: “It doesn’t matter, Ink! What would my father think now? And the other would think I’m a failure, I’m supposed to be the smart one!”

Ink avoided his eyes, but despite looking uninterested he still listened to his former friend. Back in middle school, the few times Ink acted this way, he did the same; behind a jaded expression he tried to make him feel better. One time, Cross was devastated; he couldn’t bear being called “Sans” by teachers anymore. So Ink dragged him to the principal's office, and in the span of a few days, he was finally called Cross. He owed him this one, he had been way too scared to bother the administration to do it before. 

At first, he missed their friendship, they talked less and less, but meeting his other friend helped him to outgrow this crippling feeling. Ink still had a place in his heart, it was just smaller now. However, it didn’t remove the fact they would always be up to help each other, just like right now.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, looking down. “I’m just, dunno, mad at myself.” He whipped his tears. The teenager was glad he was not wearing graphic eyeliner like Killer since it would have smeared his whole face and sleeve.  

“You’re not in class?”

“Well, no? It’s recess.”

“Uhm, no? It ended, like, ten minutes ago.”

“WHAT? I gotta go, see you! And, uh, thanks.”

Cross hastily grabbed his bag and began rushing outside the bathroom when Ink grabbed his sleeve, finally looking at him.

“You have toilet paper stuck under your shoe.”

Oh.

On the way back home, he felt terrible. Each step made him closer to his home; normally it would have been great, but today was not an ordinary day. The other day, when he asked his father if he could go to NM’s, the man accepted (after he had given him a number of arguments) at one condition; doing great on his test. Which he hadn’t. At first, he wasn’t even willing to go to Nightmare’s house; lately he had quite a hard time with him and needed to think about it. But, firstly, he still liked him very much and wanted to spend time with him like usual, and secondly, Killer was going. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite, therefore he planned to talk to Nightmare. He was supposed to do it at school but got nervous; he’ll do it on the phone then. Tonight will be fun.

But this wasn’t all; he felt like a terrible person and the most ugly person ever. He usually avoided looking at himself in mirrors, it felt wrong to break the vision he had of himself with his reflection; but he couldn’t avoid it forever. Looking at the face in his mirror this morning felt wrong, but he was glad he only saw his face. He did everything he could to look handsome; from massages to subliminals (he just had headaches in the morning) and yet he looked stupid. He didn’t look much like a girl anymore, which he was relieved to notice, but he looked like a twink. It doesn’t mean he was particularly ugly, but he was so far away from the image in his head that every glance at mirrors made him mentally gagged. Some days were better than others, but with his hair framing his face and the eye bags growing more and more, he couldn’t consider it a good day. Every feature seemed foreign, like a different person was inside the glass. Simply thinking about the fact others were perceiving him like that made him uncomfortable, like he was forced to wear a costume of someone else. 

Cross kicked little rocks with his feet while walking. He chose, despite how long it will be and the weather, to not take the bus so he could have more time outside.

“Cross!” someone shouted. He instantly recognized Killer's voice and a sudden feeling of joy rose. He still felt horrible, but the happy voice behind him made it a little better. Killer ran to him.

“I almost missed you, good thing I left earlier than usual. Whassup? We barely saw each other today!” Killer chirped, smiling at his  friend.

“Ugh, can we not talk about today, please?”

“Okay. But don’t hesitate if you need to talk, ‘kay?” Killer placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m good. I already cried in front of Ink, it was embarrassing as hell.” he sighed. Killer looked at him, his smile dropping a little.

“Damn, you cried? You sure you don’t want to vent a little?”

“Uhm… no-”

“It’s a shame to see you sad, but it happens and you’re allowed to-”

“I know!” Cross stopped walking to face Killer. “I know, I just prefer to talk about something else, please.” Killer opened his mouth but no sound came out of it for a few seconds, his arm previously on his shoulder now hanging beside him. 

“Aight, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I know you were just trying to be nice.” he said while reciprocating the smile of the other. They started walking side by side. The air was chill, his finger might be freezing right now. He knew how cold it was by looking at Killer’s nose, which made him laugh. He laughed hard, hunched over himself. 

“What?”

“Pffft, I wasn’t aware Rudolph was walking with me!” The temperature dropped suddenly today, thanks to global warming which made seasons even more unpredictable. His town was cold most of the year anyway. Matter of fact was that no one was really prepared for the cold. It wasn’t horrible, but not agreeable. Killer faked a hurt gasp, putting a hand on his chest.

“Why, you’re so mean to me, Cross! Here I thought we had something… In the end,” he dramatically closed his eyes “you just hate me.”

“Oh no, that’s sooo sad!” Cross mimicked. “Seriously, the cold will be the end of us. We will die right here, on this pavement.”

“How romantic.”

They laughed a little. Killer made him forget about what he was scared of a few minutes prior. Instead he was laughing, enjoying the moment. But his hand still hurt from the cold.

“Dude, do you have gloves? My hands are dying and I have no pockets today.”

“No pockets is a crime.” stated Killer. “I don’t have gloves, sorry. But! I have a solution!”

Cross raised a brow, not sure what he was supposed to expect considering the smirk Killer gave him. 

He took Cross’ hand in his.

“Here you go, your hand is all warm now.” Killer cooed teasingly. Cross’ face heated up quickly and he blurted nonsense. Killer burst out laughing, watching his friend transform into a tomato. His laugh made the world brighter and warmer, his head fuzzy and his heart beating fast. The soft sensation of his calloused fingers against his hand tingled, and deep down all Cross wished for was for them to never move. Except if Killer wanted to gently brush his thumb against his skin.

Killer’s laugh slowly faded and he swung their arms back and forth. 

“I’m so hyped for the sleep over!” Killer smiled. “And- I have a great idea!”

“What is it?”

“Inviting Ccino!” he beamed, proud of his idea. 

“Like Nightmare would agree.” Cross sighed.

“Like I will tell him.” Killer snorted. “Dream will be there for a few hours I think, and he’s friends with Ccino. I want to ask him, let’s call him! I hate calling people, if you’re here it’ll be better.” As he talked, he searched in his pockets for his phone.

“Why didn’t you ask him in school?”

“I forgot.” That was fair. He finally found his phone and called Dream, still hand in hand with Cross.

“Good afternoon, Killer! Why are you calling?” Cross could hear Dream’s delicate voice. He also owned one of those old phones. 

“Hi Dream, you’re friend with Ccino, right?” he kept swinging their arms as he talked. They didn’t have a lot of time left together, soon they will have to part ways.

"Oh, Ccino is really nice indeed! I try to visit him as often as possible. Yes, we’re good friends. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you know about his feelings for your brother, right?”

“Yes! I knew it from the start, love at first sight. Well, I’m not sure if Night feels the same, honestly…”

“Let’s find out!” Killer offered. Cross in fact could see how unease calls made him; he was a bit twitchy and he grabbed his hand slightly tighter. Cross blushed when, by doing so, he brushed his finger against the back of Cross’ hand. Did his wish just have been granted?

“My plan is simple; during the sleepover just before Nightmare makes you leave, you invite Ccino to watch a movie! They’ll eventually bump into each other.”

“YES! Your plan is amazing!” Dream screamed. Cross strongly disagreed, but at least Ccino and Nightmare could talk. “I’ll call him right away! Have a great day you two!” He hung up, but despite the call being ended, Killer didn’t lose his grip on his hand. Cross wouldn’t complain.

“How did he know I was there???”

If the couch were the sea, Cross would be drowning. Laying on his stomach, he apprehended his talk with his father. He couldn’t miss the sleepover, but his only solution was lying to his father. He would receive the grade after the sleepover, it’s not like he could verify if Cross was honest. Besides, he already felt terrible, right now he couldn’t care less. His father would be disappointed either way.

“Why is there a corpse on the couch?” Frisk joked, sitting beside him.

“Can you, like, keep my spot warm? I have something to do.” Cross mumbled. His brother shrugged and turned on the TV. His father was probably in his room, cleaning like he planned to do when Cross arrived. He was right; his father was changing his sheet. His room was white and purple, just like the other rooms of the house, and Cross wondered for a moment if under the paint of his bedroom’s walls there was purple. His father acknowledged his presence with a tilt of his head, willing to listen to him but not stopping his activity.

“Hi father. I think I did well on my test, I made a great plan and- okay I’ll get straight to the point. Can I go to Nightmare’s sleepover?” 

His father placed the blanket neatly on the mattress and turned to Cross.

“He is not doing drugs, is he?”

what

“Uh, no? It’s not the first time I go sleep at his house, you know…” Cross was really confused; he expected his father to call Nightmare’s parents like he did back when he visited his friend, not that.

“I’m starting to be worried about your friends, they make you slack off. But I will call his parents, and trust you with this one.I’m busy, we’ll talk about it later.” His father sighed. He held so much hope in his son that he blamed his friends for his mistakes. He wanted to stand up for them, but didn’t.

“Thank you!” He quickly left to call Nightmare.

“I don’t understand, Cross.” It was Nightmare on the phone. Cross played with his necklace, formuling an answer in his head.

“I just think you’re not treating Killer well. I mean, he’s your friend.”

“Cross, you’re being dramatic! Don’t talk to me about this if it’s that time of the month, you take everything too seriously.”

“No, I’m serious!” It didn’t start well.

“Listen, I’ll make an effort, happy?”

“Uh…”

“It’s just, you know… I never learnt properly how to treat my friend…” Nightmare sighed with melancholy. Cross’ face twisted at that, feeling a little bad for him. “Killer is my first friend, after all.”

“Sorry, dude, I know it’s hard for you. Just, I dunno, try to be nicer? Oh and I can go to your house, by the way.”

“Nice. I have to go, have a nice day.” He hung up immediately. He’d been taught good manners except for phone calls, apparently. Naively, Cross believed Nightmare blindly. His past shouldn’t excuse his actions, but who was he to teach morals concerning the past when he himself didn’t want to move on?

Chapter Text

The sleepover arrived faster than expected, but they won’t complain about it. Cross and Horror were on their way to Nightmare’s house. Earlier, they went shopping a little, grabbing a few snacks but mostly sodas. Nightmare usually abnegated it, for the sake of his teeth he said, however he still had some when they were together. 

Cross was rather happy. Not so much about his life, it was stressful lately and he began to fall back into insecurities, but he was happy about his friendships. Nm was a bad person, and it affected the way they were treated; but he was smart and understood what Cross told him a few days prior. Killer told him how he deeply apologized and invited him to watch a movie as his apology. It was maybe a mere lure, but it was enough to comfort them.

“I can’t wait to be there, I want to try the piano once more.”

“And break everyone hears? No thanks.” laughed Horror. Cross elbowed him, laughing along. 

“I totally can play something nice on the piano!” He replied, tucking up his nose in the air. 

The walk was nice, not so different from his neighbourhood. Once they will reach a certain point, they will have to follow a grass path to enter the alley to the house, it really was the only difference. The sun was setting in the horizon and soon night would rise; Horror and Cross were the last to arrive. Cross begged to go earlier, hating to be last, but his friend wanted him to leave his comfort zone for once; which he did. It hadn’t been so bad.

“How is it going with Killer?” Horror asked with a grin. Cross jolted back, red and frowning. 

“What do you mean?”

“Your crush on him.”

He wished he could hide six feet in the ground, but he couldn't. Having a crush on Killer wasn’t embarrassing in itself,but how it made him act was. He resigned himself to admit it and sighed:

“Is it obvious?”

Horror made a so-so gesture with his hand. 

“Ya kept talking about him while shopping ‘nd you blushed several times. So, yeah.”

He sighed even louder. If Killer found out, he couldn't bear it. But hiding it from others wasn't useful if it was this obvious. He should talk about it with his family, probably. Excluding Chara. 

“Does he like my back?” 

“Don't know. Maybe.” Horror wasn't one of giving out information anyway, staying hazy most of the time. It still disappointed Cross, but just a little. Horror smiled at him. 

“Try to kiss him t'night.”

“What? No !” Cross yelped. “I can't go around and kiss him like that; it's not correct.”

Horror shrugged: “We can always spin the bottle. Apparently you already went to the closet with him, nothing new, uh?” he teased. Killer told him? Cross mumbled something before crying in a shrill voice, moving his arms in the air:

“Dude stop!” He calmed down a little. “First of all, nothing happened here. Secondly, I can't just make out with him! I want us to go on dates before.”

Horror laughed at his flushed friend. The bag was passed from his left hand to his right hand, leaving red marks on his finger due to the plastic handles. 

“I was just joking, you know. Why would I want to spin the bottle with Nightmare in the room?”

“Oh, you don't have a thing for edgy teenagers?” Cross laughed. They crossed a road and soon appeared in front of the alley. It was narrow and framed by bushes and branches. Nature took its reign over this path despite being used daily; a long corridor of plants stood in front of the teenagers. 

At the end stood a large house with three floors; it was made out of light stone. The place felt fancy -and it was- thanks to the size of the house but also the well down front garden. A path of neat bushes led to a massive dark door.

Horror's fist met the door in a knock and he stepped back two steps of the little stairs in front of the entrance. They expected to see a dark figure luring above them, but we're blinded instead. For all he knew, it could have been an angel right in front of him at this moment; framed by a long and voluminous curly blond-almost white- amount of hair, Dream stood there, a welcoming look on his face. Whereas Nightmare was sharp and repulsive-not because he was ugly but because he looked mean- his twin had soft edges and almost a goody-two-shoes expression. If it wasn't for their face, the way they both had narrow crooked nose and triangular chin, few could guess they were related to being with. 

“Cross, Horror! Welcome!” he clapped his hands as he greeted them: “Nightmare and the others are in the kitchen.”

Dream let them enter in the hall. While the house was light and cream colored, the amount of trinkets was enough to darken the place. From painting to shelves of diverse objects, most surfaces were covered. A huge staircase was displayed in the middle of the room, in front of it was the piano Cross wanted to try, and four doors on each side. If Cross remembered correctly, the kitchen was the first one of the left: in front was the dining room, or perhaps the living room. A quick look to the door approved his theory: a tiny sign was on the wood. A woman wearing a bigouden making crepes, a ugly yet welcoming drawing. He never had these since his father wasn't from the region, but he recalled seeing some here and there at flea markets. It probably was how they managed to get so many ornaments in the first place. Flea markets and heritage.

The kitchen door opened, revealing Dust in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. The thing with Dust was that, as long as Cross knew him, he was never okay, and his arms were a testament to this. It wasn't often he was wandering around like this. Cross couldn’t stop being a little envious; not of the scars but of the confidence he had. Surely, he wasn’t proud, but he still had enough confidence to trust his friend to the point of no hiding around them. Some could be disturbed, and Cross thought it would be a valid reaction, but they weren’t; unfortunately it was nothing new.

“We're cooking, go wash your filthy hands.”

“Yo.” Greeted Horror before urging to the kitchen, eager to free his fingers from the bag’s handle. 

“Uh, did you buy sodas?” The shortest asked. 

“Yeah, I doubt there's some here, I preferred to buy some in case.” Cross answered while entering the room with him. Inside, Nightmare and Killer seemed to sort ingredients for a homemade pizza. 

“Nice, I have a little something we can mix it with.” 

Cross questioned Dust with a raised brow, but Killer approached them. For starters, he was wearing a red hoodie which was probably the most colorful one he'd ever worn. His blue jacket could also be counted as such, however it now was hidden under Cross's cover. Killer never reclaimed it back and it was a really good pillow. Cross fell asleep on it more often that he would like to admit. The most shocking thing was his hair: they weren't in spikes. Sure, it wasn't the first time, but it looked even nicer today with his damp hair. Pushed back as if he just came out of the shower, and no makeup on, it looked almost domestic. If Dream was to be compared to an angel, Killer must be the sun itself as he shined more than the others and brought warmth to his chest.

“Okay, just say hi like normal people, weirdos.” grumbled Dust when he walked past the two of them. It drew a laugh out of Killer who stepped closer to the anxious boy. 

“You, being late? That's new.”

Cross sighed, smiling in embarrassment “Ah, sorry if we made you wait.”

“Nah, that's fine. We haven't even begun the pizzas yet.” Killer looked at him a few more seconds before heading back to the table. Chatter filled the kitchen, going from Nightmare complaining about the dough sticking to his fingers to Horror and Killer laughing. They slipped in two groups: Cross and Dust were preparing snacks while the others made pizzas. At one point, Dream entered the kitchen. Welll, his head popped out of the slightly opened door. He tried asking for fruits for five minutes, but frankly he spoke so low no one heard him. He only got his bowl of clementines when Horror spotted him waiting. 

“Thank you!” He beamed. “Oh, Nightmare, I invited someone to watch a movie so I hope you didn't plan on using the living room?”

Nightmare huffed: “Shut up, I hate the living room anyway.”

“Oh, yeah sorry. Hum, have a nice party, then!”

He left quickly. Most interactions between the twins were awkward, Nightmare clearly disliked his brother for whatever reasons. Dust grinned at him:

“Hey, don't you want him to be yelled at by your parents?” It picked Nightmare's curiosity as he looked up from his pizza. 

“Oh yeah. I planned to break some vase and put it in his room.”

“Dude, that's not cool… Let's do this.” laughed Killer. It made Cross winced: Dream wasn't that bad. Naive, yes, but did he really deserve it?

“He's the favourite, I bet my parents would forgive him before even punishing him.” Nightmare growled. Dust grabbed his bag near the door and opened it before the edgy teenager. The latter suddenly smiled. 

“Why didn't I think of that sooner? They will kill him, that's perfect!”

Killer peeked inside the bag and burst out laughing. 

“Why are we doing that?” Horror mumbled, too focused on his task to approach. Cross wished he wasn't so nosy but, unlike Horror, he had to satisfy his curiosity. 

“Because that’s fun and Dream is annoying.” Nightmare huffed with exasperation. Cross leaned closer and gasped when he recognized the object. 

“Vodka, seriously dude? I'm not drinking that!”

“Don't act like you never touched alcohol, you liar.” Dust rolled his eyes. “You don't have to drink it, I'm taking a few vodka coke then hiding it in Dream's room anyways.”

Killer grabbed the bottle, his rings clinking against the glass, and placed it on the counter. He inspected it for a moment before turning to Dust:

“Since when are you able to buy some? You look like a middle schooler.” Cross laughed at it: Killer wasn't incorrect, Dust probably was the one looking the youngest out of the five. 

“I bought it, he asked me to.” Joined in Horror. In the background, Nightmare grumbled something about being the only one working on the pizza. Killer looked at him with big eyes. 

“So you can buy him things and not me?”

“Killer, you asked me to buy you a cat. That's different!”

They began bickering, and Cross chose to escape at this moment. He should help Nightmare with the pizza before he gave up and poisoned them. Nightmare indeed seemed relieved to receive help making the food; he had dough all over his hands which was hard to do with pizza dough but apparently not impossible.

“Wow, it’s a… cute square pizza.” He wheezed, receiving a glare from the other.

“I’m supposed to be in charge of the sauce but, since I’ve been abandoned, I tried doing everything. My hands aren’t made for such work; it’s too dirty.” NM complained, actively trying to kill Killer and Horror with his gaze. The pizza didn’t look great; it was thick and not so round. Cross liked thick pizzas, but the shape bothered him; his father taught him a pizza had to be as close as possible to a perfect circle, not a square.

He quickly washed his hands, using the apple scented hand soap the twins had everywhere in their house, and began reshaping it. He was in no means a professional, but in the end he did a pretty good job. 

As he worked, someone had started their shared playlist. Currently, Perdition Above was playing, no doubt here Killer was the one adding it. 

After a few minutes, two pizzas were in the oven and they were all around the bowls of snacks, waiting for the food to be done so they could go to Nightmare’s room. They heard the front door at one point, Ccino was with Dream.

“He kept asking me for pictures of Classic, as if I had some to begin with!” 

“Error is such a creep. I hate his guts.” Spat out Nightmare. “Don’t you know about the stalker allegations, Dust?”

They all turned their attention to Nightmare, eager to hear about it. Error used to hang out with them at the start of high-school, but one day he began yelling at them, apparently he just wanted the gossips and not a real friendship. Now, it was a sort of ritual to talk behind his back; as immature and mean as it was, they found peace in hating the same individual. Nightmare smiled and leaned closer to them, hands locked together:

“He was spotted following Classic several times to his classes. That’s not all! He made fake accounts to speak with him. Classic never sent a message to any of those accounts.”

“No way he’s this desperate!” Killer burst out laughing. Horror wasn’t long to follow him.

“That’s actually scary, Classic is aware?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure.”

Cross watched as Killer ran a hand across his dark hair, hunching over as he laughed. Feeling his cheeks warming stupidly fast, he spontaneously decided to check on the oven in order to hide. He wasn’t ashamed of being in love, if it counted as love and not a simple crush, he’s been in love several times before. However, this was different. If he got rejected, he couldn’t just dodge him; they were a part of the same friend group. He grabbed his phone to text his best friend:

Cross: Dude.

Cross: What do I do if he sees me blushing

Cross: That’s urgent

Epic: Calm down bruh. B honest, it’s not gay 2 find ur homie hot, dw

Great, he was just supposed to say ‘Oh yeah you’re so hot. By the way, I sleep with your jacket every night! No homo ahah’.

Epic: Send me a message if u need me to call so u can escape. I got ur back bruh

Cross: thx dude.

He was on his way to send another text when his alarms for the pizza went on. Time to go upstairs.

Even the corridor screamed ‘money’; crown molding appeared on top of the walls and even more trinkets were displayed. It wasn’t simple bibelots but objects straight up from a museum; medals, coins, photos, and many other things. The crimson wall felt suffocating even in spite of the amount of space; lights being blocked out by heavy curtains didn’t help. Collecting objects was one thing, but the real deal in this place was fabrics. The neat curtains were white with embroidery resembling tree’s branches. Details were made out of gold thread; once it would have been considered as gorgeous, but it almost felt too much now.

The word museum worked well to describe the interior; in front of the staircase was displayed an armor behind glass. Killer smirked and dragged Cross beside it, turning to the others.

“Look, that’s Cross when he’s older.”

“And get him out of his white and black clothes? That would be a miracle.” Dust teased. Cross gasped: “Hey!” 

They stopped arguing when Nightmare and Horror left without them, forcing them to follow. 

“Oh, you didn’t lie when you said they put a lock on your window.” Horror said, entering the room. It made Nightmare sigh, sitting on his bed. Once again, it was surrounded by fabrics. Canopy bed on which Killer launched himself, spread like a starfish. It earned a growl from Nightmare:

“Don't mess with the fabrics, Killer.” It was in mundane moments like that their bond was visible; it may seem like nothing, but Nightmare was relaxed and let his friend do as he wanted, it was a lot from him. Especially when he didn’t scold him for the ‘seductive’ wink Killer replied by.

“I'm surprised you made it to the sleepover, didn't you, like, fail your test?”

Dust had a way of ruining his mood sometimes. 

“My father doesn't know… Yet.” Cross admitted. Horror laughed:

“Since when do you have the guts to disrespect him?”

Killer raised his head off of the sheets to grin at them:

“Since he invited me over without telling him!”

At the same time, the three teenagers gasped in surprise:

“You did what?” Dust nearly yelled, almost making the bowl in his hand fall. Cross blushed from embarrassment and agitated his hands in front of him:

“It’s nothing, really! I just needed to apology and-”

“Oh, so that’s when he dragged you to the closet.” Horror interrupted him, starting to cut the pizza. It drew a shocked sound from Nightmare and Dust, as well as another laugh from Killer. It really was embarrassing; they misunderstood the situation and left no space for him to explain. And, of course, Killer was too busy making fun of him to interject. Despite the admiration he felt for the boy it was tempting to mute his laugh by choking him with a cushion, right now.

As mischievous as ever, laying on his stomach and moving his legs up and down in a giddy way, he hummed; “Oh, we also went to his room for a while. We had fun, if you know what I mean-” He let his voice trail, staring right into his eyes. He wanted to deny, but mortification made him stammer over his words. Nightmare looked at him with shock for a moment before it struck him; Killer was trying to humiliate Cross for funsies. 

“Killer, stop lying.”

“Oh, but I didn’t!” He exclaimed, placing one hand on his chest in a fake hurt manner. “We did went on his bed-”

“To listen to music!” Cross finally yelped. Red covered his entire face at this point. “Don’t try to make it sound weird!” Once again, his voice went higher and higher as he complained. Cross was easy to embarrass as he unfortunately let his emotion take control more than he should. His father warned him multiple times how it would just take him down, make him a burden, but it was stronger than him; like a spark starting a fire. 

“If yall don’t grab a slice, I’ll give the pizza to Dream.” Horror chided with amusement. Dust practically jumped to take a slice, followed by the others. It was still warm, the melted cheese making strings. Cross must be deranged because his brain kept making obscene parallels. So, when Dust proposed drinks, he screwed his manners and nearly begged for one. Nothing bad could happen, it was just a few shots to loosen a bit, nothing more. 

“Can you grab me some ice?” Dust asked Nightmare. He shrugged and, warning them not to mess with his stuff, he left. Killer waited until he couldn’t see them anymore before suddenly grabbing his own phone to text someone. Dust laughed:

“Eager to talk to someone, uh?”

Killer lifted his gaze toward him: “I’m telling Dream to send Ccino to the kitchen so they’ll bump into each other!”

They chuckled, anticipating what interaction it could lead to.

Dream asked him to grab some more fruits while he searched for the right movie, but he hesitated to even enter the kitchen. In the dim light of the room, he spotted Nightmare searching something by the freezer. Ccino wasn’t shy, as to say, around him; he didn’t fret nor scared him, but he didn’t expect him here. It was common sense Nightmare lived here as well, but he also knew the boy had his own hang out, so bumping into him was surprising.

Not sure if approaching would be invading his private life, his comfort, he chose to wander by the door for the moment. Obviously, he was happy to have an occasion to greet him. Lately, they began exchanging more and more messages much to his delight. His therapist told him not to rely exclusively on that to feel better, but how could he not rely at least a little on this relationship? He knew how special it was; even Dream was baffled to learn his brother put effort in what they had. He should call it a friendship, but it was different than his friendship with Dream or anyone else; his feelings for Nightmare played a role in that, but he had hoped Nightmare felt the same connection between them. He knew deep down he had no chances to win his love; his efforts and gifts were in vain, but the faint illusion of something was addicting. He knew it would never be love, but until he got the confirmation, he could hide himself in desillusion like he always does.

Speaking of Nightmare, he closed the door of the freezer and turned, meeting Ccino eyes. He was holding a bowl of ice cubes. Ccino gave him a small smile:

“Sup!”

“Good afternoon, why exactly are you in my kitchen?” He enunciated, stepping forward once the shock factor left. Ccino chuckled a little.

“Dream invited me over to watch a movie. I was supposed to grab fruits but I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Like you would disturb me.”,Nightmare said as he let room for Ccino to prepare his snacks. “I bought a laptop, like you suggested. I don’t like it, but I guess I can try some of the games you talked about the other days.” He continued. It was little attention like this that made Ccino cling to him. His cheeks warmed up;

“Oh! We could play together, if you want. I have time, you know, since I stopped high-school…” The end was a murmur, unsure of the reason he opened like this. Well, he knew the reason; he was desperate to vent, running every happy and cute moment with his pathetic life, telling how his depression refrain him from doing the simple task of going to school. Great, he felt bad now. Besides him, his ‘friend’ hummed, comprehensively, and held him grapes. Ccino took them and thanked him.

“See, before meeting you, I had no idea one could be this… how to say it. This handicapped in life, let’s say it like that.” He made the ice circle in the bowl, looking at it. Ccino felt his heart squeeze in shame. “Really, I had no idea school could be this hard. I mean it’s a simple task. But you gave me another vision, isn’t that great?”

“I guess so.” Ccino doubted.

“Don’t be so sad, then. You’re pretty when you pout, but I believe Dream prefers you happy. I have to go, I hope we will cross paths again soon. Good night, Ccino.”

He waved him goodbye, and was left alone in the kitchen. Nightmare was an asshole to him, but everything he said were facts; and he even called him pretty.

He should befriend better people, in the future.

Chapter Text

When he returned to his bedroom, all eyes were on him. Nightmare squinted back, asking without a word what their problem was. 

“You got lost or something? I know your house is big but you took so long!” Whined Killer. It made Nightmare roll his eye, he only had one, and he gave the ice cubes to Dust. 

“Stop whining.”

Cross looked as Killer cringed in frustration: he really wanted to know how it had been with Ccino but asking so would reveal his plan. Dust gave him a glass he didn't even hear him make. Three ice cubes were covered in a brownish fizzy liquid; and for a moment Cross mistook it for a simple glass of coke. 

“Go on, taste it. I never tried, tell me if it's good.” Dust told him. Nightmare sat beside him and sniffed his glass. 

“Wow. That smells weird.” 

Cross agreed, but he wasn't surprised. Alcohol stinked. Hidden between the strong smell of it was the scent of sugar. He took a generous sip and immediately winced, making the others laugh. It burnt . 

“It must be disgusting.” Killer chuckled as he passed a hand across his hair, then taking the glass out of his hand to try it himself. The taste wasn't so bad; he expected better but he enjoyed it. However, even if it sounded obvious, the burning feeling it left in his throat startled him. It was a little fun as well, but mostly surprising. 

“It's not that bad, it just burns.” He coughed. “I think I drank too much in one go.”

“You're okay?” Horror asked as he pet his shoulder. Cross answered that yes, he was: “Yeah. It's fun.”

Killer, not willing to make the same mistake, took a small sip before handing it back to him. 

“Damn, it's good!” It made Dust smile with pride, even though all he did was pour drinks in a glass, and he began making one for Killer. The only one refusing to take some was Horror, but it was fine. They just wanted to try anyway and if the big guy wasn't willing to try it was understandable. 

“Can I try the piano?” Cross finally asked. He really wanted to play it. Firstly, because he prepared something for Killer. At first he wanted to play only in front of the one he was enamored of, but realized it would be unfair considering it wasn't a date but a sleepover organized by someone else. Also, he missed playing this instrument. Nightmare sighed:

“Perhaps it will be better than the last time.”

Cross immediately made his way to the door, impatient. He took a look at the dark bedroom. Most of the space was occupied by large bookshelves filled to the brim. The wallpaper was free from any posters or pictures; dark blue roses made a pattern onto a black background, almost invisible. It was old fashioned but certainly his style and the amount of details put him in awe the first time he saw it.

According to a website, his desk was a long wooden bench desk, however when he searched for images only benches appeared, so he wasn’t sure. It could fit a great amount of things thanks to the storage. Papers and books were splattered across the wood; it was the only messy part of this space. 

His eagerness drew a wheeze out of Killer. After making sure the drinks won't fall, they all left the room and went to the dark hall. Last time, Cross tried to play something he barely knew which resulted in something not good. However, since then, he memorized and even trained something else. It really was corny but he had learnt a piano cover of I Wanna Be Yours . He only trained on an online keyboard, his physical one was broken. Cross hoped that Killer would catch the gesture and get the hint; and if he didn't at least he would enjoy the song. 

As he sat, they all gathered around him. Dust was already mocking his last performance with Horror. The teenager didn't take it personally: he meant to play badly last time. He took a deep breath, still shy but eager to impress Killer and began playing. It was different than on his phone, that's for sure, but he quickly adapted and, while it wasn't perfect -which bothered him-, it was nice enough to recognize the song. He knew it because Killer gasped: “I know this one!” All these years of piano lessons were finally useful: each key pressed seemed to widen even more Killer's grin. He suddenly grabbed Nightmare's wrist to drag him in a silly dance. Nightmare complained but didn't stop Killer from making him spin haphazardly. 

“You're an awful dancer.” he snarled. It was the truth: Killer was bad at this, but his joy was contagious. He gently kicked his shoulder back. 

“For real, you look like a crackhead.” Horror laughed as he recorded the scene. 

Cross was happy. 

He truly was, but lurking in the shadows were the remarks of his father. He played too fast, his posture was bad, he made some mistakes. He suddenly remembered why his own piano was broken in the first place: he had been so frustrated with his son he slammed his fist on the keys. It was back in middle school, and he never had his own instrument since then. The laughter disappeared, replaced by a buzzing sound. His hands moved by themselves, and he kept a stoic face, but inside he was drowning in an ocean of fear. 

The last time he played, he knew it was bad and it made him laugh. It wasn't serious. But today was a big deal: he said he was better, they were supposed to enjoy it, Killer was supposed to love it, but how could they when he was so bad at this? What were they thinking of him right now? 

He pressed the last key, eyes locked on the piano. He returned to reality when he heard faint claps from his friends and steps coming near him. Suddenly, Killer slide his arms around his shoulder:

“That was awesome! I thought you were a shitty pianist!”

It took a few seconds for him to answer: “Ah, it wasn't perfect, you know.” 

“Boo, we don't care, it was good.” grumbled Dust. Cross wanted to interject, to point out every mistake he made and apologize, but Killer slid behind him to rest his chin atop of his head, his arms on Cross' shoulders. It made his brain shut. 

“Go on, play something else!” Killer chirped. Cross mumbled something, going from extremely stressed to extremely embarrassed by how close they were. Horror was trying not to laugh when they met each other's eyes, he must be blushing like crazy. 

“I don't know any other songs.” He admitted. He didn't dare to move, like when a cat sleeps on one's lap and any movement would chase it away. As embarrassing as it was, even more so when Horror was staring at him, he wasn't really willing to break the contact. 

“What other skills do you have? Seriously, I feel like you unlock something new each time we see each other.” Killer exclaimed. “Ugh, I'm honestly jealous.”

Cross hummed with pride:

“I can't reveal everything at once. You'll have to be patient.” They chuckled when Killer whined. Unfortunately, the contact broke and they headed back to the bedroom after grabbing a few other snacks, the other bowls already finished. On the stairs, Killer slowed down to be beside Cross, behind the others. He got closer to him and, staring in his eyes, he smiled:

“Great choice of song, Cross.” Immediately after, he sped up to assure his place on the bed. 

Another glass of cocktail should calm Cross down. 

“Nah, she's going to die first.” Killer stated, arguing with Dust. Cross could swear he was kicking Dust's head when no one was looking. They were prone to fighting each other anyways. The group was watching a horror movie on an old TV they managed to find somewhere in the attic. Killer was on his stomach on the bed, Nightmare was sitting near his cushions and the three others were on the floor, back against the bed. Cross was currently dying from the heat: he already removed his sweater, he was now only wearing his turtleneck. He could remove it, sure, but apart from his binder he had nothing underneath. He waited until the end of the movie to change in the bathroom, not wanting to disturb his friends, but it was taking so long. He tried to refresh himself with his drink, but he realised too late alcohol won't help, and he had no other glass to drink. In conclusion, he was stuck here dying from heat as a cheap horror movie was playing on the TV. On his left, Horror and Dust were sharing a bowl of popcorn, theorizing about the plot. Maybe he could just sneak out real quick. As he began to move, Killer grabbed his arms, making him yelp. 

“Heh, you're too scared to watch the movie?”

Cross sighed: “Ahah. I'm going to the bathroom. I want to put on my pyjamas. ”

“Okay- Can I finish your drink?”

“Sure.”

If stupidity were to have a face, it would be Cross’. He packed everything, he checked his bag three times, and yet he managed to forget a pyjama sweater. Sure, he was too hot anyway, but there's no way he was going to walk around in a t-shirt without anything beneath it. 

Not that his current problem was obvious, if he hunched over himself it wasn't that visible, but he didn't want to stress over it. Moreover, it felt wrong. He needed a sweater, but left his in Nightmare's bedroom. Great. He just hoped they were too busy watching the movie. He stood near the bedroom for two minutes before finally opening it and slipping in the room. Fortunately, they were glued to the screen. He went to grab his sweater where he left it when he realised Killer was using it as a pillow. He looked at him with a smug smile before rubbing his face against it with a mischievous expression. What a bastard. He tried to grab it with a sigh, but the other clung on it and even rolled to the other side of the bed, far from him.

“Killer, give me my sweater!” he half yelled half murmured. Not that the other couldn't hear them, but it was least distracting for them. 

“Nope.” He accentuated the ‘p’ with a pop sound. “I like it.”

“But I'm cold!”

Killer pointed lazily at his bag, lying near the door: “Just borrow my pyjama. Don't worry it's super huge, like, mega oversize.”

Cross sighed heavily, but it was hypocritical of him to be mad at him for that when he was the one keeping his beloved jacket under his cover. Defeated, but a bit excited to wear something smelling like his rose parfum, he searched in the bag until he grabbed it. Cross lifted it to take a look… And gasped loudly. 

“What the fuck dude?! Why do you-I won't wear that! Give me my hoodie back!” He shrilled, not bothering to whisper anymore. Killer cackled like it was the most funny thing that ever happened to him. 

‘Good boy’ with an arrow pointing to the collar. 

“The fuck Kills, why do you have that?” Dust asked, bewildered. Between laughs, he managed to answer:

“Oh, I found it at the thrift store! I hadn't washed it yet!”

Cross went pallid before throwing the cloth away: “Ew! I don't even want to know what happened to it!” He was really uncomfortable right now. Horror noticed it and threw him a plaid to wrap around him. He knew Killer didn't mean it, he just wanted to play and a part of it was fun, but he really didn't want that right now. 

“Killer, just give him his sweater. If ya want one of his clothes, steal his turtleneck.” Horror said with a smile. Right, no hard feelings. 

“Ugh, okay, sorry.” He slowly lifted himself off of the hoodie before giving it to the boy. “Your reaction to my sweater was incredible, though.”

Cross wasted no time to put on the hoodie. “You're crazy, dude. If you just wanted to check me out, just ask.”

“You would agree?”

“Maybe.” He grabbed the filthy pyjama off the ground and launched it at Killer. Right on his face. He yelped and fell on Nightmare, who himself screamed as he avoided the piece of clothing. They threw it between themselves, avoiding it at all cost. The movie, long forgotten, ended as they still were fighting to not touch the fabric. At one point, Cross got on the bed to avoid Dust; he specifically was targeting him. They fought like that for a moment; only Nightmare wasn’t laughing but he wasn’t a funny person. Killer and Dust were the cruelest; they even tried to choke the other with a sleeve. They didn’t really do it for obvious reasons, but they still pretended.

Now side by side since the fight ended, and another movie playing, Killer and Cross began speaking together. No one really paid attention to the movie anyway, Nightmare, Dust and Horror were just making fun of it. The two teenagers were pressed shoulder against shoulder and, even if the position was a bit awkward, Killer managed to play with a piece of Cross's wavy hair. He twisted it against his finger, it was really soothing. If their sleepover hadn't just begun, he might have fallen asleep with the other massaging his scalp. The thought that he should be more embarrassed than he currently was by their proximity crossed his mind, but he didn't mind being relaxed for once. It wasn't like he was on his lap or they were cuddling: he was only playing with his hair. He had given a reason but Cross forgot it: frankly it didn't matter, he already was allowed to invade his personal space right now. 

“It really was nice. The piano, I mean.” Killer complimented him. He smelt like coke and pizza at the moment, and Cross felt himself chasing the scent of rose he grew fond of. 

“Ah, thanks. But it wasn't great, I messed up some notes and… Yeah. Not that good. Sorry.”

Killer questioned him with his eyes before softly speaking:

“Why do you apologize? I loved it. That's, like, our song now.” He smiled before sighing. “Lemme guess, your father was never proud of your piano skill?”

Cross didn't reply, but it itself was an answer. They listen to their friends criticize the movie for a while, before Killer started once again:

“I should be the one apologizing.Heh, that’s not really my thing, but I owe you one.” He slowly stopped playing with the hair, grabbing some fruits from their bowl instead. Nightmare reprimanded him when it made the bowl pitch. “You seemed mad ‘bout that sweater. I didn't realise you were this cold!” He chuckled while chewing on grapes. 

“Oh, I wasn't really cold. It was a pretext.” Cross admitted. “I wasn't comfortable in a t-shirt, sorry dude.”

Killer faked a hurt face: “Well, that's it. I'll never be able to see those muscles. What can you even be insecure about? Oh, lemme guess!” Killer grinned, sitting upright. “You have a huge scar, or an ugly birthmark!”

Nightmare said: “Oh, he just doesn't want you to see his boobs.”

“That's… a way of saying it, I guess.”

He wasn't going to explain it like this, but it worked. His transition wasn't something he was ashamed of: it wasn't a subject often brought to the conversation but it wasn't a taboo. Beside him, Killer snickered: “Sure.” Why was he acting like they were joking; surely he didn't mean to sound mean, right? 

“I just don't put my binder to bed. So, yeah, kinda hiding like I can.” Cross blurted out in hope to clarify the situation. It immediately hit him, when Killer went silent for a few seconds, that he never told him that part of his life. He never had the occasion and it wasn't really a subject he talked about often. 

“Oh yeah, sorry, I never told you-”

“WHAT” Killer yelped, both hands glued to his head in a shocked way. He no longer was pressed against his shoulder, so stunned he had to move to face him. Dust turned to him while eating popcorn:

“Right! It was so stupid of the producer to end the movie like that!”

“You have boobs?” Killer yelled. Cross felt his face heat up:

“Not for too long hopefully.. Ahah. Ah.”

Killer stared at him, his mouth opened in shock. Nightmare laughed behind them. 

“You didn't know?” It made Killer face him:

“No! How should I know? I- There's no way I could've known!”

Despite being slightly embarrassed, Cross couldn't help himself but giggle in front of his confused attitude. 

“I mean, our english teacher outright says his old name.”

“Last week he literally complained about his period-” “I thought he was just sick!”

Killer turned to Cross, mortified:

“Oh my god. Everything makes sense now. Sorry I- It never crossed my mind!”

For once, the one blushing from shame was Killer. They were laughing, his reaction was priceless. 

“No problem, Killer. That's actually funny, I have to admit.” 

“That's crazy how you too are quite obsessed with the other and yet are so oblivious!” Nightmare taunted. Dust agreed while taking a picture of Killer, mumbling something about blackmail. 

It felt nice, not only to laugh, but also to know he really did look masculine enough to pass as cis. It felt nice, but it also felt scary. He was so deep in his fantasy he never thought about the possibility of Killer not being okay with it; and honestly, if he had a problem with this, Cross would be more than happy to get rid of him. But it would still hurt. It would hurt deeply because more than being a crush, he became Cross’ safe place. 

That's why his laugh faded as he heard Killer and Dust banter over his stupidity. Nightmare saw his expression slowly drifting to distress. 

“I hope you don't mind it, Killer.” Nightmare exhale. “It would be a shame if you were against it.” He didn't want him to bring that up, but it was too late: all he could do was glancing at him. Killer huffed and answered:

“I'm not that much of an asshole, I don't mind. I don't want to be peg, though. ” He snickered. Nightmare looked at him, confused, and Cross choked on his saliva. Well, at least he had an answer. 

Later that night, around midnight, they grew tired of the movies. Deciding to take a break in their marathon, Nightmare charged them to begin the plan to put Dream in trouble.

“Where should we hide it?” Cross asked, grabbing the bottle with more strength than necessary. They stood in the middle of Dream's bedroom. He also had a canopy bed with light and see-through white fabrics; most space was occupied by cushions and fluffy pillows. He also had a few plushies, probably gifts. How he could sleep in these conditions was a mystery. In front of the bed was his desk; made out of clear wood, it was neatly organized. He seemed to have folders for every chapter of every class he had, and surprisingly he owned a laptop. With the flock of stickers, Swap must have decorated it. He did that with every piece of furniture near him. 

The walls were filled with pictures of him and his friends, and for a while he looked at Ink's face. He missed hanging out with him, laughing and drawing for hours. He wished he could be his friend once again, but he had a hard time understanding his friend. Deep inside, he felt bad for having difficulties understanding Ink when he just tried his best despite his mental health: but he stayed nice to him and couldn't do anything special. The sparks of their friendship disappeared, and faking it would be horrible for both of them. 

Dream seemed to be friends with a lot of people, some he didn't even recognize. There also were trophies, Dream was really good at archery apparently. He did a lot of activities outside school, from drama -given the poster above his lightswitch he had his opening night soon- to archery but he also participated in charities  Most pictures where he wasn't with his friends had the same detail: a tree which often was being hugged by Dream, and even Nightmare for the oldest pictures. He knew trees had a specific symbolism for them but he never knew why. Usually he wouldn't ask, but he felt lightheaded enough to be nosy today:

“Hey, what's the deal with this tree?”

Killer and Nightmare both gave him a look: an angry one by Nightmare and something along the lines of ‘what did you just ask’ by Killer. 

“Shut up, that's where the ashes of my biological parents are.”

Oh. Okay. Let's never talk about that again then, he thought. Maybe it was the drinks or the ambiance, but Nightmare was more talkative, more willing to give information. 

“Just hide the bottle under his mattress, my mother loves to snoop in our room to see if we don't hide anything. I bet she will look here.”

Cross's gaze lingered on the pictures of Dream and his loved ones, on the neatly organized desk, and a sudden wave of guiltiness ate him from the inside. Dream could be annoying, and he did get Nightmare punished multiple times hoping he would become a better person after. But this was a big deal: their parents were strict and he feared what Dream could receive because of this. He didn't deserve it. 

“I'm not… Sure. He never asked for this, it's unfair.” 

He heard Nightmare sighed.

“Don't be so boring, you're a man so act like it. It's fun, come on! My parents love him, I bet he just won't be allowed to go out for a while.”

Cross didn't want to, but he indeed was the favourite, surely he won't be punished too harshly. 

“Right… Yeah, I'll do it.”

As he hid the bottle, he heard the front door close. Ccino just left, meaning that Dream would soon return to his room. Nightmare urged him to hurry up, and he did. They quickly left the room, not fond of the idea of getting caught. Dream wouldn’t do anything, but still, they had a plan to pursue. 

A few seconds after fleeing, Dream’s footsteps were heard. Instead of going to his room, he gently knocked on Nightmare's door before opening it. His ethereal hair clashed with the ambiance of the room, and he winced when he almost knocked over a glass taking a step forward. 

“Did you drink alcohol?” He queried. His eyes wandered around, looking at everyone. “Ah, at least you’re doing okay!”

“What, you want some?” Dust asked with a hint of scorn. Dream rapidly shook his head to decline.

“No! But I can throw the bottle away, if you need. My parents are… not fond of that.” He nervously chuckled. Wow, Cross felt bad for what they just did. Nightmare groaned before glaring at him; “Go buy yourself a life and let us alone, you hijo de puta.” It made Dream gasp loudly: “Nightmare! You can’t say that about mom! Especially not in spanish, that’s- that’s profanity!” “Womp womp.” 

Cross and Killer exchange an amused look at the interaction. They sat on the bed, back to shoulder against shoulder and Killer playing with his hair. He always was tactile, but even more so tonight, and Cross couldn’t bring himself to disliking it. In particular when it comforted him, assured him Killer wasn’t against his identity or repulsed. As a consequence, he let some of his weight down on the other’s shoulder. He could just slide an arm behind him like Killer often did, but it was maybe too much. 

Dream breathed in, breathed out and smiled, closing his eyes. “Right. Have a great time. Oh, and the piano was lovely, Cross! I just wanted to congratulate you. ” He closed the door behind him.

“I thought he was never going to leave.” Nightmare groaned as he let himself fall on the sheets. 

“Seeing a twinkified version of yourself everyday must be hard, that's for sure.” Killer chuckled. His laugh was warm and addictive. Nightmare, from his spot, glare at them with frowned brows. 

“You make me want to say the f-word.”

“For real.” Horror joined in. Killer laughed one more time. “Anyway, we should get in pajamas.”

“How can you stink even in pajamas?” Horror complained as he shoved Dust from his spot on the floor. 

“I don't stink!” He complained. He did, even in his blue two piece pyjamas. Killer petted his shoulder in an empathic way. It was past two AM, they continued watching bad movies for a while before having the motivation to change. 

“Oh, by the way, you're not sleeping in my room. I have standards. Two people can fit in a guest room. Just split into duos. I don't want to spend my weekend doing laundry. ” Nightmare casually said as he braided his long hair. It was like a trail of petrol clouds. When a song began on their shared playlist, he let out a sigh: “Why is there so much Veil Being Pierced on this playlist?”

Dust glanced at him. “I'm the only one contributing to this playlist. And that's a really cool song, Prince for a Day is really cool.” The owner of the room smiled and straightened his back. 

“Go once then, sing it.” He challenged him. Dust stood up, a lopsided grin on his face. He shared a look with Horror and without a word, they understood each other: Horror started the song from the beginning and Dust cleared his throat. Right when the voice in the record started being heard, Dust's deep and raspy voice was heard: it was a contrast from his usual weak voice. Here it was powerful, resembling a scream, and yet each words were understandable. 

“He can fry scream?” Cross murmured to Killer. 

“Apparently.”

They were too stunned to react at the beginning, but soon Killer started hyping him up. By the end of the song, which he clumsily performed as he was better at fry scream than singing, Dust was out of breath but proud. He bowed, then sat on the floor and grabbed a random glass to drink soda from. 

“I have talents as well.”

“Oh, sounding like a dying cat is a talent?” Teased Killer as he narrowed his eyes. Dust huffed: “Don't pretend it was shitty, you were cheering the whole time.”

Horror laughed and accused him of having a big ego. 

“Tss, can't a man be proud of his skills for once?”

“A man? Where? I swear I'm only seeing a kid in front of me.” Horror replied. It made his friend sigh. 

“No, seriously, I want to sleep.” Nightmare said. “I just wanted to make fun of you before sleeping. I’ll show you the rooms.”

With a smirk, Nightmare led Killer and Cross to a room. Cross bet he knew what he was doing and enjoyed seeing him flustered. The room was quite simple; a wardrobe, a full size bed and a chair. Here was the reason he was sure Nightmare wanted him to suffer; there was only one bed and no spare mattress. 

“You have plenty of beds, you can land us one mattress!” Cross plead. Nightmare smiled and just said ‘no’ before heading out. Before closing the door, he said:

“Oh, I have no birth control, so don’t do anything stupid. Good night, Cross, Killer.” He cracked an evil chuckle as he fled, right before Killer could throw his nasty sweater at him.

“What a bastard.” The latter huffed. He picked up the piece of clothing before wearing it. Now, Cross had a huge crush on him, he even loved him, however he wasn’t willing to approach him with that thing on. In front of the disgusted look on his face, Killer lifted both hand:

“I was joking earlier! I did wash it multiple times! I swear.”

“Mh, I don’t trust you.” Cross replied as he stepped back. He did trust him, but it was funnier to mess with him instead. Killer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“What, need to sniff it to see if it’s clean? ‘cause I’m not against all that but we’re not supposed to get freaky tonight.” It was Cross’ turn to roll his eyes, amused but mostly embarrassed.

“Do you think I’m a dog? I won't sniff you.” A dog, he probably was. He did chase after his perfume, and quite often after all . As this thought crossed his head, he blushed even More. Perhaps the sweater wasn't the only dirty thing. 

Killer shrugged and jumped on the bed, claiming the left side. Cross grabbed his phone from his bag and slowly laid on the other side, as far as possible. Carefully. One leg after the other. Stiff. Killer was playing with the tamagotchi he usually carries among his other keychains, but paused to make fun of the way Cross was laying. If he wasn't so handsome and surprisingly caring for someone who swore only by numbness, Cross wouldn't be this embarrassed. He would've been, but less. 

Usually, his father's voice would mess up his thoughts: but tonight it was Chara's.

They didn't have the best relationship, better than the twins living here but it wasn't great. Cross was obedient while Chara misbehaved as much as possible; they rarely agreed on anything and most interactions were insults. Sometimes, it was normal, but only sometimes. 

He did only thought of Killer lately like his brother reproached: he invaded his thoughts like plague. Except he wasn't like plague; he was more like an analgesic, he was awesome but Cross grew addicted to him. Not literally, he still managed to have healthy relations.

His gaze was locked on Killer. His pajama was mismatched: the top was this weird sweatshirt while the pants were a pastel yellow with cats head all over it. It was cute. But he mostly observed his face: his eyes to his mouth. His lips. He really loved him. 

“You look stupid in those pants.” Cross murmured. Killer turned his attention to him, then his own pants, and smirked. “Thanks. At least I changed myself before heading to bed.”

Cross couldn't help his laugh, touché. Though he didn't really have a choice to wear his sweatshirt to bed. 

He was going to text Epic before sleeping, he hadn't spoken to him since the prior morning. 

Dust came back from the window, throwing his cigarette in the trash before slipping under the cover, kicking Horror's leg for more space. He wasn't supposed to smoke while on medication, nor drink, but he had a hard time letting go of those. Which sucked because he was only seventeen and was ruining his teenage years. At least he did it less often now; he only had two drinks and made sure to pour less vodka in his. He still felt nauseous, mixing the two wasn't a great idea. 

“I thought they were gonna make out.” Horror said while stretching. He was talking about Cross and Killer. They probably didn't notice, but they mostly stayed side by side today. Even more shocking: they basically cuddled, Cross almost having his head on Killer's shoulder while he played with his hair. Dust took pictures, he will use it for blackmail one day. 

“I can't believe they fell for each other. They're opposites. Well, not really but you get it.” Dust sighed. Cross followed the rules whereas Killer did mostly as he wanted; Killer was carefree and Cross too stiff to even move. 

It was quite a surprise when Cross started to hangout with them, so different yet so similar to them. But the two boys together? 

They did talk a lot, that was true, but Dust really thought they wouldn't get along before school began. And yet, Cross seemed almost closer to him in a few months than he was with them in three years. 

“I bet they're kissing right now.”

“Nah.”, Horror denied, turning off the lamp. “Cross is really stubborn about manners and Killer would kill ya for insinuating he… He would do that without a proper confession before.”

“Mmh.”

Chapter Text

The sleepover had been awesome.

Nothing special happened in the morning. They all were pretty tired and spent the last hours in the mansion eating breakfast and helping clean the dishes. 

Remembering how close they were, Cross felt flustered for a while, but he managed to hide it from his friends. He felt bad about it because it felt selfish; he cuddled with him and then the next day he almost avoided him like plague. It wasn't nice, but Cross wasn't particularly nice to begin with. He just didn't like to know he was acting this way with Killer. 

When he felt embarrassed by something he said to Dust or Horror, he would reduce their interactions to the bare minimum without a care. It never affected their friendship and lasted only for one or two days anyways. But with Killer it was different; he couldn't. 

The next day was dedicated to his homework and sport. Somewhere at the back of his mind, his unconscious was screaming at him, telling him that soon his father will learn about his grade. So he drowned in himself in more homework, and more exercising, in denial of what was ahead of him. It was harder to think straight, these days, and so he clung to anything that could make his hypothalamus produce dopamine. 

It's in moments like that Cross found himself being hypocritical and being tempted to follow Dust way of life. Most students did smoke and drink and even hook up to feel better and maybe it was the answer to his problems. But he couldn't linger on the thought, he was a clean and stable person. All he needed was time and sport. 

“Cross, we're playing games downstairs.” Frisk said at his door. “Coming in!”

Cross hummed in agreement, closing his textbook as his brother entered the room before shutting the door close behind him. He looked at Cross for a few seconds. 

“You bought a new jacket?”

Oh. He was wearing Killer's jacket, and forgot about it. Speaking of it, it didn't smell like roses anymore. Stuttering, feeling like he was caught red-handed even though it was just a piece of clothing, he finally answered:

“Yeah, I wanted to, uhm, wear   colours. .”

Frisk squinted, approaching him. Without warning, he inspected the jacket, moving Cross like a punching bag. 

“That's clearly worn off.” Frisk enunciated. He suddenly gasped, stepping backwards and pointing an accusing finger toward the boy on his desk chair. “Don't tell me you stole it!”

It indeed was clearly not new: from the zipper which constantly broke despite repairing it to the patches covering holes on the pockets, no store would sell it. Cross jolted from his chair. 

“I didn't! I don't steal!” He defended himself. Sure he just admitted not being a saint, but he still was fairly normal. 

“Huh, yeah, then how did you get this?” Frisk was stubborn, when he wanted information he could argue for hours until he got it. 

“It isn’t theft if someone forgot it and I'm planning on giving it back… Someday.” He huffed back, crossing his arms. 

“Who?”

“Killer.”

Before Frisk could react, a loud gasp was heard behind the door. Not long after, Chara entered the bedroom. 

“You stole your crush's jacket? Wow, I never thought you could be like that.” Chara chuckled. Of course he was spying on them. 

“Don't tell dad, please.” Cross sighed. He hated the fact they already viewed Killer as his ‘crush’, he wanted to keep it secret from one of his brothers. His father wasn't a big deal; he mostly didn't care if he recalled his last crush, all he wanted was for his son to be perfect. Chara rolled his eyes at him. 

“I won't, you're funny for once.”

“Chara's right. I never expected this out of you. Usually you would give it as soon as possible.” Frisk whispered in awe. “That's pretty cool, actually.”

He sat on the bed, eager to hear more. 

“So-” he trailed off. “How is it going with him?”

Cross smirked and sat back on his chair. It was going very well. 

“We hugged. Well, kinda.”

Chara gasped and sat beside Frisk. 

“Chara, I won't tell you anything else. Get lost.”

As usual, they were gathered near the heater during their ten minute break. This Monday was already boring, worse than the other Mondays. Killer sighed, throwing his head backward. He was wearing a black turtleneck, it suited him very well. He usually was handsome but even more so in this; Cross could talk about it for hours. Staring at him wasn't intelligent of him, so he looked to the ground instead. But his father would tell him it looks stupid and Cross should look forward. 

“I want to go home.” His crush complained. 

“Same, ‘m bored.” Horror reciprocated. 

The hours seemed to pass slowly today. Dust looked up from his phone before speaking: “Uh, you won't be bored for long. Dream seem really mad.”

Cross turned around to see what he was talking about. He saw Dream, Ink and Blue making their way toward them. Once in front of them, Dream's shaky voice began:

“Nightmare! Mother called and-and!” Swap gave him a reassuring smile, petting his back. “She found a bottle of vodka under my bed-I never touched it!” He rambled. 

Cross couldn't help but look at Ink's angry face. He messed up, Dream was on the verge of tears because of them. He knew he shouldn't have done that. He met Killer's eyes, but he didn't seem that bothered. Even entertained. Sniffing and hands pressed into fists, Dream continued: “I never touched it, but I know all of you did. I-I would like to know who did it, please!” He pleaded. Dust couldn't help but snicker, probably finding Dream funny when furious. 

“Hey, don't laugh!” Swap shouted at him. 

Nightmare finally answered: “Cross was in charge of getting rid of the bottle. It's terrible what happened…”

What. 

What did he just say? 

Was he accusing Cross? 

Ink glance at him, brows frowned. “I can't believe it. What did you become, Cross? That's messed up.” He crossed his arms, judging him. 

Dream gasped and looked at Cross with watery eyes. He tried to deny it, but Dream spoke with a broken voice:

“That's the worst thing that happened to me in years, Cross! My parents don't laugh with that, that's one of the worst things I could do according to them! Why do you think I was ready to cover you? I got yelled at for twenty minutes on the phone, and she stopped only when she heard the bell rings!” 

“No, no I swear-”

“I can't go out for the next two months, but that's not the worst! I'm not even allowed to participate in my play; do you know what it implies? I'm making the whole play fall apart! I was one of the main roles and they have to find someone to replace me quickly!” Cross began to hyperventilate, he couldn't speak. But how could he defend himself, he indeed put the bottle here. He messed up hard. Dream was now crying, making a lot of people around them watch the scene. He could hear them speak, probably insulting Cross. “I can't do archery, I'm not allowed to do my hobbies and-” he broke down. “-I don't even know what will happen if I come home after school.” Swap urged to hug Dream. The crowd around them spoke louder and louder, glancing at them, and Cross's vision began to shake. He didn't want this to happen, he thought it would be okay, but it wasn't. It was terrible and he didn't like what Dream was insinuating with his last sentence. Ink was trying to make the crowd go away in vain when suddenly Killer shouted at Nightmare: “What the fuck Nightmare?”

The crowd went silent for a second before increasing in volume. The one with the black ponytail stared bewildered at his friend. Killer was on edge, and for once, not smiling. He stepped toward him. Cross, Dust and Horror glanced at each other, unsure of what was happening. 

“You are the one who told him to do that! If there is one person here who isn't guilty, it's him! Heck, he even tried to dissuade you!”

Nightmare's face was red from anger. 

“Come on Killer, he's the one that put the bottle there, not me!” As he noticed everyone staring at him, he buite back a yell and stormed out of the hall. 

Dream and his friends looked at the scene unfold. The twin was more than confused: why would Nightmare do that and lie about it? Did Killer really stand up to him? 

“I don't understand.” He whined. Nightmare may have lied, but the truth was unbearable. A whole group of people, people he considered nice because they were friends with his twin, tricked him for no reason. “All of you? I-” He fled, not willing to cry once again in public. Swap and Ink followed him. 

Killer wasn't looking well, that's why he let himself be dragged by Horror and Dust along with Cross to a more remote place. At one point, Colour saw them and nearly ran to speak to Killer. 

“You did it, Killer! You stood up against him! Don't look so defeated, aight?”

“Heh, I just… I’m glad I did it, but I still feel bad for leaving him alone. But I don't regret what I did.” He sat between the wall, rubbing the palm of his hands on his knees to soothe himself. 

“That sucks he act shitty two days after the sleepover.” Horror muttered as he sat down as well, followed by Dust and Colour. 

“Just pretend he wasn't there. That's what I usually do, I despise him most of the time.” Dust admitted with a smirk. Colour turned his attention to him:

“Aren't you his friend?”

“Hell, no” he exclaimed with a raspy voice. He let his hood fall on his eyes. “I hang out with him because they do, and I went to his party for the gossips, but we're not friends. He's nice sometimes but, no thanks, I made up my mind.”

Killer sighed, his smile foreign and almost nonexistent. Colour , who was right in front of him, offered him a warm smile. 

“He's… Pathetic and saddening. I think.” Killer continued. He was about to ramble on when he spotted Cross still standing. His gaze was dark and livid; he also fidgeted with his necklace in a nervous way. Killer looked at him with a hint of pity before petting the ground, inviting him to sit. When Cross didn't budge, he told him “Cross, sit.” with a caring intent in his voice. 

“You're paler than Dust, you alright?” Horror asked as the last one out of them sat. 

He sighed and shook his head; of course he wasn't. 

“We shouldn't have done that. Did you see how bad Dream was?” He rested his face on his hands, feeling more than guilty. “I can't believe we did that…”

Killer's hand went to his shoulder, rubbing it in a gentle way. 

“Yeah, well, he didn't have to scream it in the hallway either.”

“You don't understand! I went against what I stood for,” the volume of his voice was increasing. “I won't ever be friend with Ink and– Fuck it guys, Dream looked scared for his life!”

Colour shook his head and looked at him before chiding: “Don't yell like that. You all are guilty, yes, but complaining won't do anything.”

He was correct, painfully correct. Rage ran through his system. He was mad at Nightmare, at Dream, at Ink, at Colour but mainly at himself. He needed something to ground himself but his necklace didn't slide all that well, it was loud and he could feel their gaze upon him. 

He managed to bite back a remark before agreeing. Colour got closer to Killer and started to talk to him in a language he couldn't understand, possibly arabic. Great. He was about to get even more mad, but Killer laughed. His voice came out shaky and low, but he laughed, he even glanced at him for a millisecond. He was so deep in his anger he hadn't realized Killer was as disturbed as him. He was the one who yelled at Nightmare after all. 

He was about to apologize when the bell rang, it indeed was the longest ten minutes he witnessed in his life. Everyone started to go to their next classes, Horror waiting for him, but he quickly went to Killer. The latter smiled at him, oh he wished he could see his smirk everyday. It made his days better, and he felt bad to know that this one wasn't genuine. 

“Whatssup Cross?”

“I wanted to, you know, thank you for standing up against Nightmare.”

Killer grinned even more, lightly hitting Cross's shoulder with his fist. 

“No biggie. Hey, want to know something?”

Cross raised a brow, inciting him to continue. Killer licked his lips as he looked to the side, ready to let the foulest thing to bother him. Fortunately, they were in a rather empty corridor.

“I don't think I would've done it for someone else. Anyway, take care of my hoodie!”

He left while laughing, cackling with Colour. He swear he had seen the tiniest hint of red oh Killer's cheek. 

Oh. 

Chapter Text

Killer was staring at his wall, curled up on his bed. He didn’t bother to remove any of his outside clothes but his shoes, but after all he never understood how it was considered dirty; it’s not like he never changed his sheets. Well, there was a time he didn’t, but he never left his bed anyway. Despite being next to Nightmare in most classes, they didn’t exchange a word since this morning. Usually he would be a little pissed but that was it, but he was more and more emotional lately and right now he was worried. For himself, his friendship but also Nightmare. But mostly about himself. He barely knew life without Nightmare; they were friends since their childhood and even in his darkest moment the grumpy teenager helped him. 

He was aware their friendship had its fair share of problematic behaviours; Killer would lie to Nightmare, make him do crazy stuff because he felt like it regardless of the consequences it could have on both of them. He did it less often now, he was getting help to be better. On the other hand Nightmare was bossy, even more; he was controlling. Colour kept telling him he was manipulated and belittled by his so-called friend, and in a way it was true. He gave up hobbies because Nightmare criticised it, he almost stopped talking to Colour– but didn’t because how could he? Nightmare never lessened his behaviour.

It never really bothered him because most of the time he felt like he deserved it anyway. He made poor choices all his life long and he somehow had to learn a lesson. He never claimed to be stable anyway. When he felt at his best, he was the one taking the reins of their friendship, making Nightmare sign up for random things and spending money on stupid things because ‘we only live once’, and his friend had a hard time saying no because Killer would then grow bored of him for a while. But at his lowest, Nightmare made him sink in despair, taking all chunks or hope left and crushing it slowly, discreetly.

It got worse with each passing year, to the point Dust told him he could barely support Nightmare anymore with how he acted, but Killer was too much of a coward to react. It was routine, and routine was comforting. He usually didn’t care about habits, however Nightmare was different. He was a large part of his life and cutting him off would mean cutting a part of his life, tearing apart a piece of his heart in the process.

They did everything together, and he had some of his best moments with him. He knew that after every argument would come a hangout where they would laugh until they weren’t able to, where they would feel like nothing else mattered, and he desperately chased this feeling.

“Killer, someone’s here for you!” His mother called. Weird, he didn’t invite someone over. Internally, he hoped Cross had found his address and decided to pay him a visit. They could have hung out in his room–the living room wasn’t a good idea with his father around–and his voice would’ve made all his problems disappear for a while.

“Coming!” He slowly lifted himself from the bed, and he made his way to the front door where her mother waited for him. At the door stood Nightmare, and it made his heart ache with apprehension. 

“Why did you come here?” Killer sighed. They were walking in his street for a few minutes before one of them decided to speak. 

“I don’t enjoy being in conflict with you, Killer.” 

There was a time hearing his name came out of his mouth did things to him, and he would come home bubbly. But it felt gross, right now, to hear his name in this context. It felt gross because he didn’t know what they were anymore. Friends? Former friends? It was their third fight in three weeks after all, it was a lot. Even for them.

“My mom… My mother will call yours, I think. I tried to argue but she didn’t know who to trust between me and Dreams; but punishing my friends is a good idea of who she blames more. I’m sorry.” Hearing this made Killer gasp; he was supposed to be better, to make his mom proud of his progress. What would she think if she learned this? He only nodded, Nightmare didn’t like when he was too moody. Instead, he bit his tongue. It was cold outside, but the wind slamming in his skin was grounding.

They walked to a parking lot, the one from the store they always went to. They sat on some concrete blocks made for construction. Killer observed the smoke created by the cold slipping from his parted lips, swirling in the orange sky. It wasn’t that late, 6 o'clock, but the sun was already settling.

They never were silent for this long before, even after some big fights. It made him feel something close to nervousness. Nightmare began once again talking:

“You are my best friend, Killer. I can’t imagine a future where we’re not side by side. I know you feel the same, even if you insist on not doing favoritism between the group.” He ended his sentence with a chuckle, like they were doing something forbidden. For a few seconds, Killer held his breath while his eyes wandered to the opposite side.

“Why… Why did you come here to tell me that?” He wanted to sound proud, menacing, but it came out in an incertain whisper. 

“We shouldn’t be mad at each other. I’m sorry, okay?” Nightmare put his hand on his shoulder, but this time it felt like it was made out of acid. Of course, he was sorry. He always was sorry, he will always improve, and he will always make the same ‘mistakes’ over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and

“I don’t know if I can continue on like that.”

Oh, he gave an honest answer to Nightmare, for once. That was       new. Nightmare suddenly turned to him, his brows furrowed in incomprehension.

“What? We are supposed to work on our friendship, that’s what we said last time! You can’t just screw up all our progress, it is unfair!” Nightmare was speaking at a reasonable volume, but in the silent parking lot, it made it louder. His voice swathed Killer, making its way into his head as if it was a poison. For a split second, he wanted to comply, but he couldn’t. He didn’t mean to end his friendship right away, he thought he had time before being forced to do so, but the words slipped out of his mouth.

“I’m worth more than that, Night. I deserve better.” He didn’t believe it, but it sounded like the right thing to say because that was what Horror said to him by messages a few hours before. And what Colour said to him since middle school. Dust never said it like that, but it was probably the same outcome.

“What? Come on, I’m not that bad! I just lied a little; I didn’t want to get punished! Is that wrong? Do you want me to be punished, Killer? Do you think I deserve it, Killer?”

“Shut up! It’s not like that!” Killer stood up, and Nightmare did the same. They were now facing each other, and he swore he could feel his throat tighten with sorrow. He was scared to let him go. 

“Great, we can’t even talk anymore.” Nightmare sighed. 

“It’s… listen. Yeah, I’m mad about earlier, but that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure, but do you think I enjoyed it?” He threw his arms in the air. “I was scared, and you yelled at me in front of everyone! It’s the equivalent of sticking a note on my back with ‘go on, bully him!’ on my back!” 

“I know it wasn’t nice, but what else do you wanted me to do?” Killer wailed. It was harder to breathe, he wasn’t ready. “Did you take me for your dog, seriously?”

He received yet another bewildered look from Nightmare. It was the end, and it hurt so much.

“Of course no- I don’t enjoy being mistaken for a villain! I don’t want to be demonised, Killer, and that’s exactly what you are doing!” It wasn’t supposed to end so soon, so brutally.

“Maybe you deserve it.” He whispered. Nightmare didn’t seem to have understood him, as he stayed silent. “You treated me like I was nothing, an object to vent to. You made me insecure. You criticised every passion I had, heck you even found something to say about wood carving!” He chuckled, but not out of happiness; out of despair. It was a mystery how he found the courage, the strength to do so, but he looked him in the eyes. It was too late to back down. If he failed to make Nightmare or his mother proud, he could at least make Colour proud. Make his future self proud. “You talk to my friends like they’re less than you. Your only hobby is to objectify others- and you made me participate in your wicked games. I tried to help you with Ccino because I thought for once you were genuine but you weren’t. You never were. Not even with me.” He was out of breath, but he couldn’t stop or Nightmare would twist his mind. He had to finish. “I tried to forgive you, to believe in you. I had faith in every apology you said. But not anymore. Today was the final straw.”

He waited for an answer.

Nightmare was red, his hands tightly curled up in fists, and his posture wrecked. It wasn’t his friend in front of him, perhaps it never had been. Nightmare was breathing heavily, his fury visible on his whole entire being. He stepped back a few times, growling. Suddenly, he seethed, his hand gripping his temple.

“Alright! If that’s what you want! But remember, Killer,” once again, his name felt like a dagger in his heart. Why did it have to feel like that when it was the last time he would hear it? “I gave you everything I could; my house, my attention, my money, my time, my trust. Even my parents liked you, you had a place at our table. But you decided to throw away all of this for what? Because you couldn’t take jokes? So you could fuck Cross? Alright!” He searched in the pockets of his long coat before throwing a small object in the ground. “Take back your stupid tamagotchi, it’s childish anyway.” He turned away, left and never looked back.

It was cold in this parking lot.

When he got home, his mother was ready to scold him. But at the sight of the now broken toy in the trash, she sighed and told him to go to sleep early instead. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

They used to be happy together. They have so many pictures of just the two of them. Like this one, when they were trying fake mustaches at the mall. Or the one beside his perpetually closed window, where they tried to bake a cake but it looked more like a pile of organs than a brownie.

He scribbled over the pictures and threw them. His walls felt empty, now, beside some posters and a few pictures with his real friends.

Killer: It’s done. He’s not my friend anymore.

Chapter Text

Running always was a good way of letting things out of his system. It kept him aware of his surroundings and it occupied his time. The feeling of air filling his lungs, the impact between his foot and the ground. 

However, running while upset wasn't that pleasant. He was distracted and kept making wrong turns despite having the same path as the past couple of months. He struggled to breathe and he almost tripped. Therefore, he went back home defeated. His day was already pretty bad anyway. He received his grade, lost a friend and realised he hurt someone. The highlight of this day was Killer, but despite being his light in the dark he couldn't solve everything. 

He knew his father had seen the grade. He knew it because he demanded Cross to put the paper in his office before running, and his father came back home just after Cross left. He already texted Epic to warn him he probably won't be able to talk to him for a while. 

He carefully removed his shoes to place them near the door. His plan was to promptly go to the bathroom to change before his father would sermon him. However, he found Papyrus waiting for him. He loved his brother more than anything, but he knew this look, that smug expression. They were close, but in perpetual competition. While he didn't enjoy seeing Cross be scolded, he did enjoy being slightly better. Cross didn't mind, he felt like this too and they never ditched each other, they simply took comfort in the softer gaze their father gave them when the other messed up. A way of congratulating them for behaving when others didn't. 

However, his brother's smug expression twisted. He abandoned his pride to approach Cross and sigh. 

“I don't know what happened, but father seemed really mad. He's waiting in his office.”

Cross raised a brow. He never was this mad for a grade, not to the point Papyrus would highlight it. No time to change, then. 

His eyes were locked on the desk, more specifically on the three items on it. His whole body went stiff but his hands which were shaking; his lungs once filled with hair felt dried and narrow; and finally his peripheral vision was blurry. 

His father's phone with the contact of Nightmare's mom on the screen, his exam paper and Killer's jacket. 

“Sit down.” His voice was cold, strict and he didn't dare to look at his face because his facial expression was surely worse. 

He sat on a chair he didn't even notice before, it came from the living room. He expected to see his exam paper but the other two items? What did Nightmare's mother say exactly? Why did he have the jacket? 

His father made the paper slide to him, as if he didn't already know how bad he did. 

“5 out of 20. Cross, I don't know who you think you are but 5 is pathetic. My child isn't worth a five.” Cross held his breath, unsure if he should answer or not. When his father sighed heavily, he understood he had to. 

“This test was really hard– I know five isn't enough but I-I will improve! I swear.” 

“Sure.” He didn't believe him. “I don't have my whole evening dedicated to you, I'll try to make it quick.” his father threw the paper in the trash, and grabbed the jacket as if it was a dead rat. He jiggled it in front of Cross. 

“What's this?”

He couldn't do it. He wasn't supposed to know Killer was here, he wasn't supposed to know Cross sneaked in someone. 

“Hurry up!”

“My friend Killer forgot it! I-I planned to give it back but I forgot!” He yelped back. He heard his father growl, but he expected it. 

“You invited someone behind my back?” It seemed he tried not to yell but hardly achieved it. “You invited him over and he forgot his jacket on your bed? I'm not dumb Cross, but it seems you are! That was careless, we already talked about this. No one here, especially boys.”

Cross blushed, from embarrassment but also anger. First of all, he clearly misunderstood the situation, second of all he had the right to do what he wanted. 

“No no, that's not-” He tried to defend himself, waving his arms in front of him, but his father interrupted. 

“You refuse to work, you disobey me, you drink and you tried to sabotage a poor boy! You can't defend yourself, Cross, you know what you did!” He stood up and slammed his fist on the desk. “I don't want to hear you anymore, you understand?”

His father paced in the room. Cross's only hope was a miracle, that someone or something would appear to save him. But in the meantime, he was there, sitting like a toddler on a chair while his father was yelling at him. The man continued, but Cross didn't listen anymore. He was mad, furious. 

“I gave you everything to have a good life, I educated you, and that's how you turn out to be. Next time I will find you in some club doing drugs? Don't answer.” 

He gave Cross no time to even think before sitting back and glaring at him:

“Give me your phone.”

Not even a few seconds after giving it, his father threw it across the office, breaking it into pieces against the wall. Cross couldn't stop himself from jumping, tears already forming in his eyes. But he couldn't. He couldn't cry in front of his father. It was unfair, Cross bought this phone by himself with the money he gathered for years. It was a shitty phone, the screen had cracks and only one side of the camera worked but it was his. It held so many memories that were now destroyed. His phone was his only way to communicate with Epic beside his laptop, but he doubted he could access it anyway.

“Why did you do that!” He wailed, looking at the mess his phone had been reduced to. 

“Listen to me, Cross. Until you improve, you are not allowed to have access to any screen, they are distractions. And I won't pay for the cafeteria so you can hang out with junkies: you will eat here every day.” “What?!” “I don't want you to go near them anymore, you hear me?” He was shouting. Cross jolted from his chair. 

“You can't do that! They're my friends!”

“I told you to shut up!” His father was stuttering, sweating. “We'll talk later. It's… It's too much, right now. I trusted you.” The end was a whisper. 

“But you didn't even let me explain the situations!”

His father dragged him to the door, his grip firm on Cross's wrist. He tried to break free from it, but he couldn't. He received the jacket his father just threw at him. 

“I knew you were an over sensitive brat, Cross, but you're taking it too far. Go to your room before I snap your neck.” He then closed the door. 

Once on his bed, Cross cried. He cried out of sadness, out of despair, out of rage. 

“And he didn't even give me some time to explain!” Cross exhaled. He knew he wasn't supposed to be near Horror and Dust, but what could his father do once he was in school? Nothing. So he went to them immediately, as mad as yesterday. 

“Okay but, uhm. He actually threatened you?” Dust was staring at him.

“Yeah, I guess. I forgot. I wasn't listening for most parts.” Cross hissed. “I'm so.. So angry!”

Horror muttered something along the line of ‘he's crazy’, Cross couldn't agree more. Killer arrived, and he didn't look better than Cross. He didn't style his hair, he barely had any accessories on and he looked exhausted. He greeted them before sitting down beside them. 

“Wow, you got run on by a car or something?” Cross joked. He hadn't seen the text Killer sent and therefore had no idea what happened. Killer smirked slightly. 

“I would've preferred the car, honestly.”

Cross looked at him, worried. He guessed his parents also received a phone call about what they've done to Dream. He leaned a little toward him. Killer continued:

“Nightmare came to my house yesterday.” 

Horror sat upright, ready to hear what happened. He knew how it ended, but the full story was still a mystery. 

“We went to the parking lot to talk. He tried to apologize but… I dunno, I snapped and told him everything that crossed my mind.” He looked to the side, and it was the first time Cross had seen him this vulnerable. It made his heart ache. “I'm just starting to regret it. He's an asshole but there's good in him, I'm sure, and-”

“Killer, stop.”

They all looked at Dust. 

“You did the right thing.”

Killer chuckled, his hands rubbing his knees. 

“Seriously, Kills. He made you miserable. You deserve better. I won't say it a second time.” He snarled. It was unexpected but heartwarming to see him show affection to Killer for once. Killer was about to answer when the bell rang. He wished they had more time. 

Horror told them to go ahead as they had English; he wanted to walk with Dust to his class so they could discuss something. Cross didn't question it, he was happy to have some time with Killer. 

The walk was silent, but a comfortable kind of silence. They both went through a lot yesterday and weren't quite ready to speak more about it. They already had to explain everything to their friend, it was enough. Once in front of the classroom, waiting for the teacher to arrive, Killer smiled at Cross. It wasn't a huge smile and undertones of grief could be seen, but it was the most genuine he made since Dust spoke earlier. 

“I couldn't join the conversation earlier, I was talking to Colour, but I overheard what you said. You like my hoodie, uh?”

Cross instantly blushed. He indeed loved it. 

“Well, you also seemed to enjoy my sweater when you had it.”

“Of course I did!” He elbowed him. “You should let one at my house, we could match. I'm not allowed to go out but I never was forbidden to invite someone over. ”

“Ah… As if my dad would allow it…” Cross sighed. Killer shrugged. 

Class was rather awkward. Nightmare was alone, at the other side of the classroom. It was pathetic and a part of Cross liked it, driven by anger and resentment. A now empty place was beside Killer. Even the teacher seemed to have noticed as she stared at them for a while, but for once, she kept her mouth shut. The whole argument between Killer and Nightmare, and technically Dream, was known from everyone now, even teachers, as it gathered so many people when it happened. 

Cross felt sorry for Killer because it would be better if he could just move on, which seemed hard considering they were childhood best friends, and yet all eyes were on him today. It must've been worse yesterday. 

But he stayed here, smiling as always, almost unbothered. Cross knew how to see past this mask now, and it hurt to see him like this. It hurt even more because deep down he also was in pain and was too scared to deal with it. 

Life continued like that for a month. His father still held his new rules up, and it was driving Cross mad. The more time past, the more is anger grew. It flooded his veins, his mind, his entire being. He snapped more than once at his siblings because they were slightly loud and he was in a bad mood; he apologized though. Long, slow and painful weeks in which he barely had time to talk to his friends, let alone Killer who finally had time to speak to Colour. He was glad Killer could be happy, so he never said anything, however he hoped they could spend more time together. 

Nightmare's absence, at first, didn't change much about their dynamic. Except for the distant look in Killer's eyes, it was pretty much the same. They were on edge but that was expected. However, small changes began to appear. Dust was more talkative and, surprisingly, less crass when he spoke. He still was brutal and sassy but there was less anger in his voice. 

Horror didn't change much, he already was true to himself before, but it was clear he relaxed more now. Perhaps it was directly the absence of Nightmare or the effect it had, either way he was less twitchy lately. 

As for Killer, it was hard at first. He looked dull, as if he was a candle whose fire had been brutally taken down. But a candle could have a new spark to burn; one day, during the third week, he came back with his spiky haircut, his numerous accessories and overall, he came back happy. It was clear he was still grieving his friendship, he often looked with melancholy at his tamagotchi he apparently got to match with Nightmare, and his gaze chased him in the corridors. But he tried to move on, to live his life, and so far he achieved it. 

One day, during recess, Killer turned to Cross with a soft smile. Not a mischievous grin nor a fake huge smile; but a simple and sincere smile. Cross could only stare at it for a few seconds before meeting his eyes. Dust and Horror were still talking in the background, he hoped they would forgive him if he left the conversation for a little while.

“I'm done being a coward, Cross.” Killer simply said. Confused, Cross was about to ask him to elaborate but he continued:

“Let me take you out tonight.”

It made Cross blush lightly, stuttering: “Where?”

Killer said the park, looking unbothered. Was it a date? He looked back at Killer. 

“Yeah! Okay!”

Killer smiled wider before turning to the other and talking like it was nothing. 

He still was grounded, though. 

A date. A date with Killer. It felt like a dream. Technically, they never called it a date. But it basically was one; he said ‘let me take you out’ and not ‘let's hang out’ after all. They decided to meet up at 8:30, at first they went for 9:00 but since they still have school tomorrow, it seemed like a bad idea to stay up too late. 

Obviously, Cross couldn't just walk out of the house. He thought about fleeing by his window, but the only thing he could grab was a branch tree so slim it could break if a bird landed on it. He settled on something else. 

“I can open it, yeah.” Frisk said. The plan was for Cross to escape through the living room's window. His father will be cleaning the dishes around 8:30 which gives him time to leave. At 10 pm, Frisk would have to go grab a glass of water– nothing unusual– and open once again the window so Cross could sneak in. A simple plan. 

“Thanks, I can't see any other way to leave this rathole anyway.” Cross muttered. He removed his black hoodie–it was a scp hoodie, the logo on his back– to put on Killer's jacket. It was corny but he wanted Killer to see it. 

“It's dangerous to go out at night, C. You sure it's a good idea? “ Frisk sighed as he watched his brother freneticaly walking from one side of the room to another. Cross was searching his scarf; his father could notice a missing hoodie but probably not his scarf. He wanted to give it to Killer, to match as he said. 

“I'm not far, it's okay.” It was dangerous and reckless. “And if something happens, I hope father will feel extra guilty.” And childish. 

He finally found his scarf hidden among his winter coats. It was black with the border being white. He wasn't fond of colours. 

“It's time, or you'll be late.” Frisk warned before going downstairs. 

Leaving through the window was surprisingly simple, the hardest part was to stay relatively quiet. One leg after the other, he ended up on the other side of the window, in the bushes. He waved at Frisk before running out of the garden. Technically, he didn't need to go fast, the kitchen window was on the other side of the street where he was not going, but just to be sure Cross wanted to leave his street as soon as possible. Without a phone, he was worried that perhaps Killer wasn't able to come anymore and he couldn't warn him. It also increased the possibility of dangerous scenarios; he had no way of seeking help except screaming and running for his life. 

His face contorted in an angry expression, while he didn't mind all that much having a strict screen time scheduled, and while he understood why he could be forbidden from using his phone for a few days, destroying it was useless and horrible. What if something happened to him on his way to school? 

Walking on the pavement, he looked nervously around him. Night already settled, and he wasn't some child scared of the dark but he reckoned being vulnerable right now. 

After long minutes of worrying and walking, he finally reached the park. The dim light given by the street lamp reassured him slightly as searched for Killer. 

He spotted him waiting by a bench, he hadn't noticed him yet. Cross quickly fixed his hair before approaching him. 

“Yo.” How romantic, Cross. 

“Heh, you're wearing my jacket.” Killer chuckled as he waved at him. He wiggled to make some place for Cross to sit, which he did. Stiff.

“Yeah, it was cold and, uhm, it keeps me warm.”

“Just say you're obsessed with me.” Killer teased. 

“Pfft, you wish.” Cross huffed. He was, but he won't admit it. 

Killer slid an arm behind his shoulders. He continued to tease him for a while before changing the subject. 

“How did you get out, by the way? I just remembered but you're supposed to be, like, not allowed to go out.”

Cross winced. He was not allowed to go out or approach Killer, and yet he did both without remorse. He was more relaxed now, almost slouching on the bench.

“I left through the living room's window. Frisk helped me.” He admitted. Killer chuckled beside him. “Okay, you disobey now? That's new.”

Cross huffed: “You're to blame. I didn't plan on going out tonight!”

It was playful, he didn't care if he had to go against his father's rule anymore; in fact he yearned for it. His anger felt like the path to freedom, and while it was reckless it felt too good to stop. 

“That's a good thing, though. We don't have much time at school, it sucks.” Killer stated. 

“I mean, don't you like hanging out with Colour?”

“Duh, I love it! He's my best friend. But I want to spend time with you as well.”

Despite the cold air, Cross felt too hot, probably due to his burning cheeks and how Killer kept looking at him. 

“Let's walk, I'm freezing.” Killer exclaimed before standing up, waiting for Cross. The park wasn't huge, but they didn't mind taking the same path multiple times just to walk. Even with his dark blue coat, Killer indeed seemed cold. His nose was red. Cross let a giggle come out of his mouth when he noticed it, but didn't comment. Instead, when Killer's hand searched his own, he didn't step back and grabbed it without a word. Well, almost:

“Wow, your hand is so cold.”

“Yeah, I think I'm beginning to lose my fingers.” Killer laughed back. “I think the only solution is-”

“No.”

“Hey, I wasn't done. You don't even know what I was gonna ask for!”

Cross looked at him with a raised brow: “I know you enough to know it'll be stupid.”

Killer whined, making Cross laugh. He stopped to detangle his scarf and handed it to Killer. 

“So we could match.”

Killer's face lightened up. He didn't waste time and put it on immediately, smiling like a kid. 

“How do I look?” Killer giggled as he turned on himself. 

“Silly.” Cross replied. Killer stopped and searched in his coat for a moment before grabbing his phone. 

“I need a picture for your contact! Go on, smile.”

“Oh-uh, now?” When the phone camera was pointed toward him, he understood that yes. He smiled shyly and waved at the camera. He probably was blushing, not really used to being photographed. Killer lowered the phone as he probably was setting the photo as his profile picture. Cross went to his side. Looking over his shoulder to check the picture. 

“Lemme see, I don't want to look stupid.” He did look stupid, but Killer refused to take another picture. “Uh, is that how you write my name in Arabic?” Cross asked as he showed how Killer named him in his contacts. He knew nothing about Arabic, but he could at least recognize the alphabet. 

Killer looked at the screen. “What? Oh, حبي ? Yeah– sure.”

“That sounds nothing like my name.” Cross frowned. “Killer, what does that mean?”

Killer laughed and shoved the phone in Cross's hands. 

“Forget that. Take a picture of me, imma send it to you when you get a new phone! I bet I look cool with that scarf.” He snickered while stepping back for the photo. Cross rolled his eyes but obliged. He didn't mind having a picture of Killer, especially if he was wearing his scarf. He looked cute in it; if he looked down, half his face was drowned in the fabric. 

Killer did a thumb up and smiled widely for the picture. Cross could melt in front of this smile and how it almost forced him to close his eyes with how huge his grin was. Once the picture was taken, Killer took his phone back to look at it. 

“It makes me look like a cartoon character. Love it.” He breathed in the scarf before adding: “And it smells like chocolate!”

Cross chuckled as he played with his necklace: “Yeah, my house smells like that apparently. Sorry.”

“Cross, I love chocolate. Thank you.” He checked his phone. “It's 9:40. You have to head back, uh?”

Cross sighed before nodding. Contrary to him, Killer smiled and grabbed his hand once again. “Let me accompany you!”

“Oh, that's nice but what if my father-”

“I'll stop a few houses before yours, don't worry.”

He had no reasons to decline. They walked together on the dark streets. It was empty and silent, except for their laughter. 

“Okay, first one to this house over there wins, okay?” Killer said with confidence. It made Cross huffed with pride. He did far more sport than him, Killer held no chances. 

Cross indeed won, letting Killer grumble at his side, catching his breath. 

“It's your scarf. Not aerodynamic at all.” He complained. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just admit you run like a kid.”

He missed talking this freely with Killer. At school, Cross was always somewhat tense because of the people around. Not that he didn't react well with crowds, he just didn't want to stand out too much by being loud. But here, it wasn't a problem. It was a shame he had to go home this early. When he spotted his house nearby, he turned to Killer with a sigh. 

“That's my house. See you tomorrow.”

“Killjoy. See ya, and thanks for tonight. We should do that again.”

They both looked at each other for a few seconds, Cross's eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. He snapped out of it and waved him goodbye before going back home.

When he climbed the window and entered the living room, Frisk smiled at him. 

“Honestly, we've been waiting for years to see you disobey father. And that's the coolest thing you've done so far.” He whispered

Cross was removing his shoes. Maybe refusing to follow the rules wasn't right, but he waited years without living his life, leaving every detail between the hands of his father. Little by little, he was building his own experiences, his independence. If his father really sought to protect him, he wouldn't have stolen his freedom for his entire childhood. 

Under his sheet, he began to think. Freedom meant freewill. Freewill meant making his own choices and being who he wanted. Cross never sought to be a saint, but he wanted to improve and be a better person. If he wanted it, he had to start apologizing. 

The first one he should apologize to was Dream. 

Chapter Text

“Yeah, no, I don't want to apologize.”

“What? But, Dust!”

Once again, during recess, they were against their usual heater. Cross tried not to look too much on his right, disgusted by the weird couple making out beside them. High-school sucked sometimes. 

The teenager brought up the idea to apologize to Dream for what they did, but Dust didn't seem to like it. It was significant, to Cross, to do so because he couldn’t do this whole speech about his father being horrible to him and then acting like a reprobate person himself. Being a do-gooder wasn’t his goal here, but being slightly less of an ignorant person was. 

Even if he would do anything to get his phone back, for his independence and his best friend, he had to admit being without it for a month left him room to reflect. About his choices, but mainly about the consequences. He failed to predict the impact hiding the bottle would have; it must not be the first time he did something bad to someone without realizing. 

“Do it if you want, all I am saying is that I don't personally want to do it.”

“Yeah, don't want to bring that up again. Sorry.” Horror said apologetically. It made Cross whine, unwilling to go alone. But he really wanted to apologize; Dream deserved it. He heard Killer's voice next:

“I'll go with you. It would be hypocritical of me not to do it, after all.”

Cross frowned, but ultimately gave in. He didn’t get why Dust and Horror weren’t up to come with them, but time was running short, they only had ten minutes to find Dream and apologize properly. Killer wore with pride the scarf he gifted him during their unofficial date, and Cross found it charming. He nodded and, noticing the other two were already talking about something else, namely Dust’s dog, they left to find the trio.

Ink, Swap and Dream were always together. Swap was actually Dream’s cousin, and Ink tagged along at the beginning of high-school. They held almost every charity organized by the campus and Swap was actively helping the sports clubs, while Ink created the art club. They all had some kind of responsibilities among the school, Cross couldn’t even imagine the pressure they must feel. He was more than happy to be more of a simple student. 

“Okay,” Started Killer as they were walking between groups of teenagers. “They must be in the cafeteria.”

“If you say so.”

Killer snickered as he looked at him. “You’re always frowning, ya think your face will be stuck like that one day?.”

Cross rolled his eyes and dragged him to the cafeteria. They’ll banter another time, they have to apologize.

The cafeteria was crowded. Not the kind when you couldn’t walk freely, there was space, but crowded in the way their discussion will be heard. This fact made Cross anxious; he hadn’t prepared himself for that case. But he still followed Killer as he walked to Dream. He was on a table near the windows, reading some of his notes. Ink was doodling on Swap’s hand. They didn’t notice them at first, only doing so when Killer sat beside Ink, nonchalantly, and rested his head on his hand. Ink looked at him, the scarf, Cross, then his friends. The first one to really react was Swap, even though Killer was about to talk:

“You are not really welcomed here, sorry… It’s not that we don’t like you, but-”

“Cross wanted to talk to Dream.” 

He took a deep breath and looked at Dream;

“I’m sorry for, you know, the bottle. I should've declined or warned you about it. Killer is sorry as well.”

Dream was watching him with an indescribable expression on his face. It looked like acceptance, shock and something else mixed together. Brows were slightly up, but not enough to look surprised, and his mouth looked neither angry nor smiling. His body language didn’t help either; his breathing was normal, he was sweating or fidgeting and, as always, he had a straight posture.

“You look nervous, are you lying ?” Dream doubted. Cross held his hands up in a placating way:

“No, no! I just didn’t expect so many people!”

Dream stared at him before sighing. He put his pen back in his pencil case and joined his hands together, looking at the window. One day, Cross heard about someone’s spark; this thing that makes someone special, lively. Today, he swore Killer’s and Dream’s were faint, almost lost. Killer began to light it back, but Dream couldn’t without apologies, explanations.

“I believe you, but I can’t forget, or just… be satisfied with so little.” He sighed. “But I appreciate the effort!” He then nervously chuckled. 

Cross noded. He wasn’t done anyway and Killer has yet to speak. Speaking of him, he leaned back in his chair, his chin leaving the comfort of the monochrome scarf.

“You don’t have to forget or anything.” He told Dream. The latter inhaled sharply before rattling on:

“I’m sorry, I forgive both of you! No big deal!”

Swap and Ink groaned, looking at Dream with disappointed expressions.

“You were doing so well!” Ink huffed, throwing his head back.

“Yeah, that was perfect! Let’s just forget what you said, you can continue Killer.” Swap sighed. Dream protested, but Swap cut him off.

“You’re making progress at setting boundaries, Dream, I’m not letting you throw it away because Cross is frowning at you.” Swap gently encouraged, quickly hugging him. 

“...Right-” Killer trailed off, confused. Cross softened his expression; was he always frowning? Was it why people thought he was oversensitive? “Uhm, yeah so I don’t expect you to forget. You don’t owe us anything, we’re the one who messed up.” 

Cross decided to jump in: “I didn’t want to make your brother mad or anything, and frankly I thought you wouldn’t be punished, he kept telling us how you were the favourite, and all that.” He looked at Dream, who was now doing the same. “But I should’ve thought more about it and just not do it. I have no reasons, no excuses. Sorry.”

“I’m not the favourite. Well, it looks like it but, really, Nightmare lied to you.” He clarified, lifting a hand in front of his mouth. With his long angel sleeves, it hid half of his face. For once, he was the one frowning out of incomprehension. 

“I don’t get it.” Killer chuckled. Ink glared at him, signaling him to not laugh. Dream gave in, he shared far too easily.

“My parents are not always the greatest, and… I tend to attract people like that unfortunately, but they’re weirdly jealous of me. And at the same time they’re pushing me toward perfection? It’s confusing, sorry. But, anyway, every excuse to make a remark, from a stain on my clothes to my friends, they jump on it. So when my mom saw the bottle… I was doomed, quite literally.”

The table went silent, apart from Killer who gasped loudly and leaned toward Dream, his eyes wide opened. 

“That's crazy! How could I never notice?”

Dream laughed. “Oh, they were good at hiding it in front of you. You loved telling everything that happened at our house to your mom; just imagine what would have happened if she learnt it.”

It made sense for the two of them to grow up relatively close; Killer had been Nightmare’s only friend for years so they already met each other.

“But we're diverging from the initial subject. We don’t have much time left, is it okay if we continue this afternoon? We could meet by the science classes, it’s less crowded.” Dream suggested with a smile. “We have a few minutes left, though.”

They agreed. Killer was fiddling with the end of the scarf, waiting for someone to talk. Cross decided to break the silence:

“”Uhm, do you have questions? Maybe?”

“I do!” Ink said, even though he wasn’t the one being asked. “Why? What was the point?”

Cross expected Ink to be mad at him, disappointed, like he acted since the sleepover. But today, Ink was oddly calm. Not bubbly either, just calm, like if he had forgotten everything prior to the argument about Cross. Or the contrary, maybe he remembered who he was but forgot about what he did to Dream. It wouldn’t be surprising, Ink already did forget who he was once in middle school, but he straight up sounded and acted differently. It hurt to be forgotten, it’s part of the reasons why he preferred to think Ink had no clue what he did to Dream, and it creeped him out to see his former friend changing his personality overnight. Not only overnight; there were times when they still hung out together when he would just stare into space for minutes before coming back to his senses, disoriented and different. 

Frankly, their reason behind what they did was stupid. But he wanted to be honest, like he ought to be. Honesty was just what he was used to, and it was for the best right now.

“To be honest, we just thought it would be fun. Also, we indirectly had beef with you because Nightmare kept telling stories about how he was mad at you. But I know it’s not a good reason.”

Dream nodded, silent.

“Wow, low blow. I thought you were better than that.” Ink snickered before being lightly hit by his friend. Since when did he have morals ?

“At least you’re truthful now!” Swap congratulated Cross. There was no use of lying anyway. 

When they had to part ways to study, Cross thought he would feel lighter. But instead it was like the tiled floor was a puddle, dragging him in the depth of guiltiness. As they sat down for their Spanish lesson, Horror elbowed him then shot him an interrogative glare. As he opened his pencil case, he sighted and closed his eyes for a few seconds before meeting his..

“I don’t know, apologizing should make me feel better, but I feel like shit right now.” He didn’t care much about the volume of his voice right now, everyone was chatting and it would be so for the next five minutes, leaving time for the teacher to prepare his stuff. “Ink hates me now.”

“Well, it’s normal to feel remorses.” Horror shrugged. Like Killer, he mostly displayed a smile on his face, and it made his statement sound sardonic. However, Cross knew better. Horror was trying to comfort him, but he couldn’t stop feeling on edge. His smile flattened when Cross sighed in annoyance. 

“Sorry, but I think it's just that.” He said to Cross. He was right, though, so Cross was quick to apologize. 

“He felt so different than usual. He’s so… stoic, I mean he doesn’t get happy or overly surprised and he just looks off.” He admitted about the usually happy twin while avoiding his gaze for a moment. “He told me his parents were shitty and- okay, no, I shouldn’t just share his private life like that. Sorry.”

Horror hummed in agreement. He made a comment about Cross’s neat handwriting, his to comparaison was hideous. It looked like he just learnt how to write; the letters were uneven and spaces made in places it shouldn’t be. 

“How was your date, by the way?” Horror asked him. He stammered a bit. Cross blushed immediately; sure he called it a date in his head but was it really a date? 

“Uhm, what?”

Horror blinked before grinning. “Your date, with Killer. He kept talking ‘bout it in the group chat.”

The group chat he couldn’t access anymore.

“He called it a date?”

Horror hummed in agreement, making his friend hide in the neck of his turtleneck. Despite himself admitting it was a date, hearing it outloud made him flustered. It was a big deal; Killer had an interest in him and apparently talked about it for a while with them. 

“It was nice.” He muttered. “Only nice?” Horror teased. Of course not, it had been a bliss, but how could he express it ?

“Nah, it was amazing. We didn't have much time, admittedly, but it was the best evening I had since the sleepover. I gave him my scarf.”

“Oh, that’s yours?” Cross noded. He wore it multiple times in front of Horror, but he won’t highlight it. He was bound to forget some details, sometimes.

“Okay, is he interested in a second date? You have to tell me!” He whined so Horror would give him the information he wanted. But he just smiled, opened his text book and refused to say more. He still felt bad, but the distraction he gave him made it more bearable. 

Coming back home everyday at noon was getting on his nerves, severely. Killer seemed genuinely disappointed when Cross told him he was still grounded, and Killer wasn’t one for letting his true emotion on display except for mischief and happiness. He barely spent time with Dust too.

While he wasn’t the most sociable person ever, he still was a human being, meaning he needed social interactions. He felt deprived of it at the moment. No phone, no hang outs, not even lunches; his father knew what he was doing and it worked. It worked because, despite laughing with his friends and working on himself, Cross was different at home. Reserved, trapped in his own mind but too stubborn, or perhaps his sense of justice was too strong, to yield and accept his father was right. That man wasn’t right; Cross did bad and reckless things, yes, but outright making his mental health declined wasn’t the solution.

The worst thing, well there actually were two equally bad things battling for this title, was that it made him irritable, and thus confirmed his nickname of ‘oversensitive brat’. Moreover, it made every issues either come back or grow bigger. He couldn’t stand looking at himself in the mirror anymore. The last time he saw his face, it was with the picture Killer took and he didn’t even recognize himself. His features were foreign and yet too familiar; it wasn’t how he felt like he should look, but a part of himself wished he could’ve just been fine with how he used to look. It would be easier, more comfortable. He began blaming himself, blaming himself and feeling illegitime to see everyone calling him Cross because it felt like a squalor tantrum he used to feel seen where he could have just shut up and not bothered literally anyone around him with that. He knew it was wrong to feel like that, he had nothing to feel ashamed of and no one was bothered by his identity, but once this trail of thinking began, he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

When he wasn’t studying, doing sport or sinking himself in sorrow, he was cleaning. Like a madman; his room had never been this clean before. Not one wrinkle on his bed sheets either. Perfectly perfect. 

When he entered his house, he was struck by the person on the couch. Chara was there. His lunchtime was either alone with the TV- only screen he was allowed to approach- or with his father in total silence. His siblings were never present.

“What are you doing here?”

Chara looked up from his phone, grumbling.

“My PE teacher isn’t here, I don’t have school this afternoon.”

He sighed loudly in response. Out of all his siblings, it had to be Chara. Worse, he was the one cooking. His food wasn't bad, a bunch of vegetables and stripes of chicken, but for all he knew there could be laxatives in it. 

Their father was at the end of the table, Cross as far as possible and Chara on the opposite side. It began like usual, silent, but Cross was moody. 

“Stop stabbing the carrots, it's screeching against the plate.” Groaned Chara. He indeed was quite brutal in his movements, and his remark made him do it with anew strength. Just to piss him.

Despite their hatred towards the other, they were also close enough to have whole conversations through facial expressions. 

“Ugh, I gave up!” Chara yelled before being scolded at. Cross was satisfied. 

Someone knocked on the door. From his seat on the couch, eyes glued to the news, Cross mentally refused to go. He wanted to rest. His father seemed to do the same, not moving an inch from his spot near the window. He must be thinking it was Muffet's mother trying to court him once again. Chara thought the same and, up for mischief, went to open the door. His smile dropped when he opened it and began chatting with someone. It was quiet, and the TV was already making noises, so neither he nor his father heard what he said. Chara sighed exaggeratedly, his voice scraping in his throat as it transformed into a grumble. He was looking at Cross, and the latter knew it, but TV was more interesting. He set his chin on his knees, arms hugging his legs. 

“Cross, your emo boyfriend is here. Gross.” 

“What?” His father said as he suddenly turned. Cross, for his part, clicked his tongue and looked at his brother with annoyance. 

“Shut up, quit your pranks.”

Chara rolled his eyes. “Oh come on! I'm not even lying!”

The man, hearing them banter, returned to his activity. He didn't want to waste time with his son's objectively bad jokes. Cross sighed and decided to give in. If he did went to the door, Chara would drop it, make fun of him and that's it. As Chara made his way to the sofa, he kicked him in the shoulder as revenge for making him move for nothing. He received a hit in the back, and almost riposted, however the door was open. 

When he arrived in front of the door, he saw Killer smiling at him.

He closed the door.

Time to act. He let out a heavy sigh and growled: “You know what ? I'm fed up with you! I'll walk to high-school, so I won't breathe anymore of your putrid air.” The end was childish. When he locked eyes with Chara, they understood each other. 

“Hurry up, your voice is giving me a headache. Loser.” His brother huffed. He heard his father sigh in annoyance, but didn’t hold Cross back. He swiftly put on his shoes and coat before grabbing his bag and leaving through the door.

Killer’s grin reappeared on his face, waving a greeting at him. Cross’ answer was to drag him away from the house, breath tight.

Once far enough, meaning two houses apart from his, Cross turned to the other with a mix of shock and anger.

“What the fuck!” He just yelled.

“Heyyy-” He trailed off, sweat pearling on his forehead. “I didn’t know your father was here.”

He loved him, he did, but his smug expression was getting on his nerves at the moment. Of course he had been too dense and stubborn to even think of what it could entail to Cross. What if his father was the one opening the door? 

It was pure luck the man had been so fed up with work he had no energy left to spy on his son; any other day would have ended with Cross being grounded once again and Killer forbidden from approaching their house. He wouldn't harm Killer, he knew the repercussions. 

His hands formed fists and he clenched his teeth, mad. But when he saw the smile before him slightly flattening as incomprehension crept his way to Killer's face, discreetly, almost hidden, he took a deep breath, held it and exhaled. He worked on his breathing for a short moment before turning his attention back to him. 

“Why wouldn't my father be here?”

“You said he was a work alcoholic; so I thought he wasn't often at home.” Killer shrugged. He shrugged. Like it was nothing. 

“It could've got both of us in trouble, and I don't know for you, but personally I don't want that!”

“Yeah, not very appealing, that's for sure. I just thought it would be nice to, like, walk together.” He kept his hands behind his back as if he hid something from Cross. , looking around distractedly.

It’s a sweet attention, Cross thought, but what a timing. The day both his father and Chara were home. But even if he would have been home alone, seeing Killer impromptu at his threshold was almost raging. 

“You should have asked.”

“I know.” Killer replied while waving one of his hands in front of him, eager to explain. “I wasn't going to do it at first, I was afraid coming here would be too intrusive, but Horror and Dust encouraged me. I had no idea it would bother you that much.”

Cross took a few steps, mumbling it was okay. He was upset, but ultimately he was above all happy to see him. His smile was delightful. He grew fond of the way his eyes had to narrow because of his grin. Lately, Killer did it more and more out of genuine joy rather than habit; Cross liked it. Over the few months since they met he noticed details about this boy. How his laziness seemed more like nihilism, for example. He also had concerning habits like snapping a rubber band against his wrist. Dust was the one who taught him what it was, and since the day he noticed it with Killer, he found himself thinking more and more about it. It was details, but side by side it was more than obvious that Killer wasn’t one for optimism and joy.

So, when he expressed genuine positive emotions, Cross let happiness and pride toward his progress flood him. He didn’t overreact, he never would, because Killer didn’t bring those subjects with him and thus he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“It sure is a big monologue you’re having in your head, right now. Mind sharing it?”

Right, he was in a conversation. 

“Nah, I prefer it to be a soliloquy rather than a monologue.” Cross teased. Killer laughed back; “No idea what the difference is, but sure.”

He stopped laughing, as if a thought suddenly crossed his mind. About time. He slowly retreated his arms from behind his back and handed something to Cross. A large stick. 

“It’s… a cool stick. I guess.” Cross said flatly. Killer rolled his eyes excessively before holding it even closer to him, making it only harder to discern. 

“I carved your name on the side. And it looks like a sword, too. Once I find one for myself, we’ll spare!” He explained with a maniacal laugh. Stepping back to look at it once again, it indeed had the shape of a small sword. The hand was even crafted in a point, not too sharp. He grabbed it to inspect it better, and noticed it in fact had his name carved on the length. Cross, written in an impressively good cursive considering it was probably done with a pair of compasses.

Heat rose on his cheeks; it was more of a funny gift than anything else, but Cross was flustered by the attention and the effort. Killer snickered, sliding an arm around Cross’s shoulders. They began walking to school.

“Oh, wait. I'll put on some music.” Killer said as he grabbed his phone. 

I wanna be yours. 

They were at the meeting spot when Dream and Swap arrived. Ink wasn’t here, and Cross must’ve made a confused grimace because Swap explained right away:

“Ink doesn’t want to talk to you, but no worries! I’m sure he will calm down later.”

That wasn’t reassuring.

Unwilling to waste time, and the silence becoming awkward, Killer started:

“What I'm giving you is an explanation, not an excuse. I was… Not manipulated, but I wanted to prove my friendship to Nightmare. You know how insecure he can get. So I tagged along with his cruel pranks for years.” Cross didn't expect him to be this serious about it. This devoted to apologizing. But he wasn't that focused on it, right now. “To be honest, it was fun. Even the bottle; I had fun. I'm an asshole, I admit it.”

Dream winced, and he looked away for a split second. He probably had hoped Killer was against what happened. Too bad he was quite the bastard himself. 

“But if I knew how far it would get, I don't know if I would have done it. You didn't deserve all that, you deserve better.”

“Well, your honesty is remarkable. The bottle… Was it his idea?”

“Nah.” Killer smirked back at Dream. The atmosphere wasn't exactly tense but more sad, becoming more and more heavy as Dream gathered informations. It was no secret his brother hated him just as he hated most people; however, learning that a whole group of persons planned on tricking him, treating him badly, was a shock. 

“He wanted to put, like, a broken vase or some shit in your room. But Dust brought vodka and he needed something so Night would agree: so– we made this plan.” As he explained the story, Killer leaned against the wall, too relaxed for this situation. Dream sighed heavily and his eyes seemed duller than before, even if it technically was impossible. 

“I will tell you the truth, I didn't expect it from both of you. Killer, we grew up near each other. We're not really friends but I thought we still had a bond! And Cross, you seemed like a respectable person. Ink told us stories where you were a nice person. It's… hard to swallow.”

He sprawled a hand on his chest, dramatic as always. 

Cross could understand it. He wished Ink didn't feel the same, he wished his anger would ease soon. 

Dream's sigh was long and heavy, his disappointment clear as day. Beside him, Swap cringed in uncomfort, but he was proud to see Dream standing for himself. 

The conversation continued without much more information: Cross was trapped in a loop of silence and spontaneous apologies. It had been awkward, and Dream didn't forgave them totally, but it was a good start toward the road of redemption. 

Chapter Text

His pens had been neatly rearranged to form a color wheel inside his circular pen holder. This circular pen holder was perpendicular to his water bottle and the desk lamp. His sketchbook was in the exact center of the plank, open. 

It had been so long since he had time to draw, but after tidying his desk for the fourth time, he decided to pick it up. 

Lately, life has been confusing. Everything changed, from his friends with the departure of Nightmare from their friend group, to his future far from home to prepare for the army. Cross even began to change his actions, make up for his past mistakes. 

However, he never felt this far away from the present. His daily life at home was dedicated to mimic the comfort of the past. A past where he had no clues it was required to leave his hometown to pursue his destiny; a past where he still had Ink and even Nightmare in his life; a past where he was free to speak with his best friend; a past where every glance from his father felt less like a threat. In sum, a past full of freedom. 

Cross won't claim to have the perfect childhood, it was harsh and his father had always been strict and on the border of abuse. He distinctly remembered taking close to freezing showers and being forced to eat to the point he once threw up because he refused to try new food. Ink told him how his routine reminded him of something a training soldier would follow, which wasn't healthy for kids and teenagers. His life had never been totally easy. But a few years prior, he was ignorant and too full of hopes to even consider the fact he could be suffering from it all. 

Times like these were what he missed. 

It must be the reason he repeated the same actions over and over again. Cleaning like he had been taught. Organizing everything because it felt like home. Not caring about his hair because cutting it would mean changing it (even though they still changed if they grew, but his internal dilemma let them time to now reach the end of his scapulas.)

Memories flooded his mind, refraining him from drawing for a few minutes. 

When he finally began moving his pencil on the bond paper, shapes forming with swift and short lines next to each other–Ink called it something along the lines of chicken scratches before– he did it mindlessly at first. It began forming a head and a torso. It had no distinct traits, but that was mainly due to Cross's art skills. 

While he enjoyed drawing, it was one of his only hobbies, his drawings looked pretty bad half the time. Some were correct, but could be mistaken for a middle schooler's illustration. In rare cases, where his drawing looked half bad, all he could think about when looking at it was how kitsch it looked. But, even if he won't admit it, Cross still liked those. 

A large grin was then drawn, overhung by a line representing a nose. It didn't take him long to realize the face appearing in his mind was Killer's. 

Killer was like his lighthouse; when it felt too confusing, he often let his thoughts wander to him. It wasn't the first time he flirted with someone, but it definitely was the first time he felt such a bond. But this novelty wasn't overwhelming. In his head it wasn't classified with the rest of the twists. 

With him, he felt like he had a choice. 

Killer made him safe enough to go at his own pace. He could be clueless or tempting risky actions to gain his love; Killer would treat him with care in each scenario. His choices mattered, he had a say in this situation and it was incredibly grounding. 

He messed up the extravagant makeup; it didn't look as precise as in real life. For a second, he thought about ripping the page and throwing it. Starting from scratch once again until perfection. 

But Killer wasn't about perfection. 

All Killer awaited of him was respect, and perhaps love. 

With Killer, a wrinkle on his shirt was nothing, something the other wouldn't even notice. 

He finished drawing Killer. He was proud of this sketch, he kept it simple but it conveyed wildness and fun. A small smile crept his way on Cross's face as he looked blissfully at the portrait. 

His sketches were personal, almost reserved to his eyes. In the past, Ink could look at them. He was the one who gave him this hobby after all. The other person who could look at it, they were only three allowed to, was Epic. 

Epic was his best friend, his other half in a platonic way. 

If fate existed, his would probably be meeting this guy. And joining the army, but this fate was sealed since his childhood, it wasn't surprising. Saying this was maybe a lot, but it did feel like it. And he knew Epic held the same care for him. 

The worst twist that happened lately was not being able to contact him. 

He tried reaching out with the help of Dust's and Horror's phones, but he couldn't steal their devices. It had been nice to give some news to him and receive some, knowing the other was still here, but it ached not being able to contact him as usual. It felt like a part of his daily life had been cut off, thrown away, burnt to ashes. 

A lot of his life had seemed to be burnt, hence why he replaced every bits with cleaning and studying. It kept his mind busy. 

As embarrassing as it was to admit that, because he was a man and men never cry so much, tears rolled on his cheeks almost every night because of this. It was stupid, it wasn't like Epic was dead; but being the one responsible for their lack of communication let him stench in guiltiness. 

His thumb traced with carefulness the drawn cheek. He made his face symmetrical, but it wasn't in real life. Killer had been the one handing the most his phone to contact Epic. He gave him news of Cross to ease the latter's mind, and despite not caring much about Epic, Killer still made the effort. 

Killer was what could be considered as an asshole. He lacked some empathy, and social norms; but when it was for his friends and whatever their relation was at the moment, he was the most caring teenager he'd befriended. 

This was one of the reasons Cross loved him so much. He was a capable boy who made more efforts than most; and it was incredibly attractive. 

But Cross didn't want to take advantage of this, of his generosity. 

He needed a way of contacting Epic. 

He needed a phone, and he knew a way to have one for cheap. 

Until then, he would decay internally, swathed by loneliness and fear of the future. He wasn't sure if he was strong enough, but what could he do? 

Chapter Text

Walking side by side on the pavement was nice. It was threatening to rain, but Cross and Killer barely cared; they cherished every minute they could get together. Rain won't stop them from their daily walk together. 

Lately, his father had been more laid back on his punishment. Firstly, he reconsidered letting him eat at school. Well, no dialogue happened between them yet, but he told so to Frisk, who repeated it. Then, he didn't care anymore if Cross walked back home. He usually would have him a suspicious look, as if he was trying to guess if he walked by with a friend, but he stopped doing so.

It was nice. 

And so, they took the opportunity to see each other after school. 

Cross would like to put words on his relationship with Killer. They were flirting, it was no secret, but it was kind of Killer's way of joking as well. He gave suggestive winks to Dust and Horror a few times before.

At heart, Cross knew the difference between this and their interactions. But insecurities made it hard to stay confident. 

Killer's fingers brushed against his. His gaze stayed glued to the ground before him, too nervous to make a move. It became routine to hold hands, at this point, but this contact still made him sweaty. This act was weirdly personal, full of meaning he didn't know could apply to them yet. Full of love and trust. Letting the other in his life, following our steps, our path, our life. 

But when Killer finally grabbed his hand, he still grabbed back, letting a thumb running circles on his skin. 

“Maybe he will finally let you touch some grass.” Killer cackled. 

“I wish. I can't stand not doing sports outside anymore. I mean, I run, but..” Cross sighed, letting his head fall back dramatically, before looking at Killer. “There's this cool area nearby with a small parkour; I used to practice it. There's ton of different exercises in it.”

Killer chuckled beside him. “You're cute when you're passionate. We should go there sometime.”

If only he could. 

Maybe he could. 

Exercising was good and necessary; moreover fresh air would help him relax for his finals. There was a chance his father could accept. He just would have to refrain himself from mentioning Killer. 

“We could. Tomorrow after school?” Cross blurted out before chickening out. His lover's eyes widened a little, taken back by what he asked. 

“Won't you be in trouble if you go out like that?”

“Oh, screw my father. I just won't mention it's a date.” Cross huffed while moving his free hand in front of him like he was clearing smock. He realized too late, when he was face to face with a smug expression, he used the word date. Well, at least it now was official. 

Killer nodded powerfully, more than enthusiastic to accept. A bit of mischief shone in his eyes. 

“Well, tomorrow is good. Maybe change your outfit before doing that, I mean except if you want to do parkour in jeans.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I'll put on some sweatpants.”

Standing in the threshold of his house, he sighed a curse under his breath. He didn't know if his father would accept this at all. And he would have to lie, once again. 

Killer wrote his address on a piece of paper, he insisted on meeting Cross at the park but this was more thoughtful, Cross believed. He checked where it was on Papyrus's phone, it should be fine. If he was allowed to go out. Which he hoped he was because he had to leave in five minutes; he forgot to ask his dad last evening. 

His outfit wasn't fitting for a date, but he couldn't put on a suit and do parkour; he wasn't quite there yet in terms of skills. 

Still, he did the most neat ponytail he could, which was hard with layers and waves, and put on some concealer. Makeup wasn't his thing, but neither was looking like a corpse for his date. 

Wearing Killer's jacket crossed his mind, but wearing it in front of his father may be a mistake. His SCP sweatshirt will do, then. 

He entered his father's office after being allowed to. They barely spoke since their argument. Looking at his son, Gaster put his pen aside and locked his hands together. Not a word came out of his mouth, but his calculating gaze let Cross know he was listening to whatever he had to ask. 

Taking a deep breath, Cross stepped in confidently. “I would like to go out again, it has been so long since I last exercised outside. I feel like I'm, uhm, backsliding.”

Backsliding, he was. He still was good at sports, obviously, but he lost precision. 

“I already allowed you to run.” His father said coldly. 

“I know. But I really miss doing parkour.” 

The man looked at him before getting back to his paperwork. 

“At one condition. You bring Chara with you. I hope you will learn to behave around each other, your banter is getting on my nerves.”

“WHAT?”

He couldn't do that, he couldn't bring his sibling on his date. He couldn't bring CHARA on his date! He didn't even have a way of warning Killer; he hadn't memorized his number, and he would never answer to someone he doesn't know on his socials. Well, he would, but it's careless and he shouldn't be encouraged to do so. 

“Be back before eight.”

Cross stammered, sweat rolling on his forehead, but his father wouldn't yield. Clenching his teeth, he left the room. 

“Put on some shoes. Father wants you to come with me.” Cross huffed after hitting Chara in the head. He yelped from his place on the sofa and glared at Cross. “Mind you, I hate this situation as much as you.”

“Where are you even going?” Chara badgered as he flipped him off. Cross rolled his eyes. He despised this situation, out of all his siblings he had to bring Chara. And out of all the situations, it had to be during his date. 

His fist tightened with anger, everything was perfect until now. He had a date where he could show off and, if cowardness left his body for a second, he could conclude it by a hug or even a kiss. Playing babysitter wasn’t part of this plan, and it ruined everything. 

“Parkour park. Hurry up!”

Once they were outside, meaning far from their father's ears, Cross turned to his brother with a stern look.

“It’s supposed to be a date. I didn't want you to come with me, okay? So stop sighing so much!”

Chara snickered; “So your idea for a date is being sweaty ? That’s disgusting.”

He was about to reply, but he did have a point. However, Killer was down for this. It wasn’t like he would do much anyway, he wanted to spend time with Killer, not training.

“What can I say, having muscles is attractive. Not like you could relate anyway.” He decided to gibed. It made his brother hissed, stomping in anger. “I have muscles! I’m better than you at pushups too!” “You wish.”

The good side of having Chara with him was the phone. After the third turn, Cross lost track of the path he memorised and, checking on internet, they found a shortcut. Shortcuts were a must, if you asked Cross, therefore he was delighted to see one. They would be late otherwise.

Cross was punctual, but it wasn’t the case of Chara who, after taking a ridiculously long time to put on a pair of shoes, walked slowly for the sole purpose of making Cross worry about time. 

The shortcut made them go through a really narrow path, so narrow and close to houses they thought it belonged to someone afterwards. Thanks to this, they didn’t need to bypass a line of houses. Chara was grumpy, as usual, but even more so when Cross told him:

“You’re not about to ruin my date. We’ll drop you somewhere and I’ll pick you up later.”

The younger groaned and faced his brother, his arms tense in front of him. 

“Come on! You won’t leave me alone for hours!”

“It’s only three hours. Besides, you have your phone; you’ll be fine.”

He began walking faster to avoid him, establishing a comfortable distance. It didn’t stop his annoying voice to travel to his ears:

“What if someone kidnaps me, huh?”

Cross chose to not answer immediately. Night arrived faster this time of the year, letting his brother wander alone was indeed dangerous. But he really didn’t want him to be here. After some time, he came up with an idea;

“There's a playground just beside the park. Go there and don’t peep on us.” Chara was at first dubious, probably vexed by the implication he belonged in a playground. He crossed his arms on his chest and huffed, making the hair in front of his eyes rise for a second. Unlike the rest of his siblings, Chara had light, extremely pale blond hair. For years Cross made him think he was adopted because of it.

“Fine. But don’t do anything weird with me near you.” Duh.

He was excited to see Killer. They saw each other earlier, only half an hour from now, but the context of a date made it different. Thrilling. He was looking forward to the moment he would gather the courage to hug him. Cross wouldn’t consider himself this shy, it wasn’t the hug directly that scared him; but Killer seemed so out of his league he hoped he wouldn’t find this corny. Despites his insecurities, Cross still had a tinge of narcissism, the one that told him that he was good at flirting because the few times he did it he always received at least a hug. Which was already a lot from a teenager who wasn’t willing to talk to many people. He had few doubts about whether it was a good move or not; he had doubts whether or not Killer liked this move. Despite being close, they were totally different concerns.

But, once again, they did have the habit of holding hands. And Killer liked sliding an arm behind his shoulders. They even cuddled. It was quite impossible Killer could think it was bad.

They arrived at Killer’s house. It was white and the roof was flat; it kinda looked like a cube. His father would like the sobriety of the place, but it didn’t look modern. It just was a house with no proper style. However, the front was filled with plants, some chairs and even an orange cat.

He motioned for Chara to stay a few meters away so he could have time to explain to Killer the situation and walked toward the door. He hoped it wouldn't be a family member at the door. He knocked and waited nervously. He wanted to straighten his clothes quickly, but the door opened almost immediately.

Killer stood there, his usual grin displayed on his face. If he wasn’t in sports clothes, he would have thought Killer had forgotten about where they were heading. His hair was in spikes and he had elaborate black eye makeup on. Not the typical look for parkour, but he recalled seeing similar people at the skatepark and they were doing fine. He once saw a girl doing crazy tricks in a cosplay, too. His makeup looked like his daily one, except the lines from his eyes to his cheeks were longer and more black was applied around his eyes. It probably had a name, but he didn’t know what it was. It made his gaze even more attractive.

He also had a bag plastered with pins.

“Heya Cross”

“Hey. Uhm, just to warn you,” He saw Killer’s expression shift slightly. “My father made me take Chara, but we’re just going to drop him near our spot.”

“No problem, as long as we don’t play babysitters during our date.” He emphasised the word date, making Cross blush. Killer closed the door behind him.

“I didn’t know you had another cat.” Cross noted as he pointed to the orange cat. Killer smiled back and went to pet it. “Oh, it’s not mine. I think it’s my neighbour's cat. I call him Peanut.”

“That’s c-” “Stupid.”

Chara interrupted their conversation. Of course he had no patience in him, not when it concerned Cross. He shot him a warning glare before Killer approached the boy and extended his fist toward him for a fist bump. Chara hesitated, probably because of his larger-than-the-norm ego, before answering it and looking away with a frown. 

“It’s a family thing to frown so much I guess.” Killer snickered before resting his right arm around Cross’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Chara followed them, intruding on their conversation here and there. Killer didn’t seem to mind, after all he clearly had the advantage; he was older and more stylish than him. Which was a lot to the eyes of a middle schooler.

“Here we are.” Cross announced. The park had walls to climb on and platforms. Some pull-up bars were also present, mostly to link the wooden blocks. But they had to drop Chara to the playground before. They couldn’t exactly see the playground, but it was near enough to hear Chara scream if there were a problem. 

Once alone at the empty parkour park, Cross smiled. Finally, the date. 

“Chara’s fun. He looks like a gremlin.” Killer said, dropping his bag on the ground. The ground was made of sand. 

“Ugh, he’s annoying. But he covered for me, when you knocked on my door last time. I owe him this one.” Cross sighed. They were standing face to face, his soft smile right before him.

“Heh, I still have to find my own sword. I’ll make it extra sharp.” Cross smiled at that and turned on his heels to approach the parkour.

“Oh, because you think it’ll be enough to win? Don’t make me laugh, Killer.” He heard Killer scoffed behind his back. 

“Oh, sorry mister perfect! I’ll believe you if you do, let’s say, 10 pull ups.” 

Cross grinned and accepted the challenge. 10 wasn’t complicated anyway. He dried his palms on his sweatshirt before jumping and grabbing the bar. He waited months to find a moment to show off and impress Killer, and here it was. Killer seemed to find this idea rather attractive at the sleepover, afterall. 

He knew they will mostly talk and not actually do parkour but that was fine, Chara was right; getting sweaty isn’t ideal for a date. Once he finished his pull ups, he landed on the sand with a cocky grin. Killer smiled back; “Yeah, okay, that was cool. But I bet I can do the same!” 

He failed.

“Okay, maybe I’m not good at that BUT it has nothing to do with my sword skills!” Killer whinged while Cross quietly laughed. “Maybe seeing you without your sweatshirt would give me enough strength to try again.” He whispered before eyeing him. It caught Cross off guard, but when the surprise faded, he lightly hit his shoulder.

“Shut up, dude. Hey, wanna try something simple? There’s a rope near the end, to train balance. I’m bad at it, honestly.” He ended in a chuckle. Killer’s eyes lightened up, probably happy to have the chance to outdone him somewhere. He ran toward the rope and stepped on the platform from where it started. 

“If I end up injured, you’re paying my medical bill.”

“Killer, we’re not in the US, we don’t pay-”

“Blablabla, I don’t hear people with sweatshirts on!”

Oh, well, he will have fun seeing Killer fall then. Except if he ended up hurting, of course. He laughed before starting his way on the rope, one foot after the other. He managed to reach the end, almost falling four times. He immediately turned to Cross with a huge smile;

“Hah, who’s bad at parkour now?”

He joined him on the platform and they sat side by side. “Oh, I thought you didn’t speak to people with sweatshirts on.” Cross teased. Killer cringed before sighing : “Anyway.”

They continued testing each obstacle for a while. It was really fun, and for once Cross didn’t take it seriously. He could unwind a little. Obviously, he made sure they wouldn’t do anything careless, he didn’t want Killer to snap his spine because of him.

Suggesting a date here was a good idea; they were alone and could laugh as loudly as they wanted. With each passing minute, Cross was more and more engaging. It started small, fixing Killer posture.

“You’re not straight enough. Your back, I mean.” 

“No homo either, no worries.”

“Liar.”

He placed his hands on Killer’s shoulder and made him stand straight. Then, his cheeks turning bright red, he grabbed his chin to move his head. If Killer wanted to have better balance, he had to look forward and not at his feet. Or Cross’s arms: he ended up in his t-shirt. He had put his binder on since he knew he wouldn’t exercise much today, so it wasn’t a problem. He liked feeling Killer’s eyes on him, even if he won’t admit it. The teenager felt the jaw in his hand move with a laugh.

“Wow, I thought you were about to kiss me for a second.” He told Cross with a twinge of nervousness. It was odd. 

They ended up at the top of one of the walls, side by side. It wasn’t super large but not narrow either, just wide enough to sit and not feel in constant danger. Killer was looking at the orange sky above them, his hand resting on top of Cross’s. They took some pictures, Killer apparently needed some.

“I’m glad you accepted to go on dates with me, Cross.”

Him saying his name in an almost whisper was incredibly attractive. Their eyes met, but he quickly looked away, embarrassed. Which was bold considering he was the one planning the date.

“Yeah, it’s nice to see each other like that.” Cross answered softly. 

“I didn’t want to rush into this, you know. I’m a romantic guy, after all.” He joked while looking at Cross. “Damn, you’re jacked.” He then whistled while looking at his arms. He wasn’t that muscular but he won’t say anything, it was good for his self confidence. They fell in a comfortable silence where Cross had time to think about what was just being said.

They knew each other for four months by now. Nearly five since new year was approaching. Surely, it wasn’t rushed. They took their time, got to know each other more. But Cross was sure; he was in love with Killer. 

Killer. He sure was romantic behind his teasing. He was the one initiating the dates and most things, actually. He held Cross’s hands, made sure to listen to everything he said and memorized everything he could. It probably was the bare minimum, but it was so much for Cross. His soft gaze was filled with care and attention, almost too sweet. 

He was so out of his league, and yet he was caressing his hand, watching the gradient of the sky turning redder. 

The silence starting to be a bit long, he searched for a subject.

“I’m going to ask Error for a phone.”

Killer turned toward him, a puzzled expression on his face:

“You know he kinda hates you, right ?”

“Yeah, but I have bucks and he wants some.” Cross replied nonchalantly. His plan was to buy a phone from him, with a low price, and in exchange he will help him with Classic. At least he could try. After hearing the plan, Killer wheezed:

“What, you’ll stalk the poor guy with him?”

“No way!” Shrilled Cross, sprawling his hand over his chest in a hurt manner. “I would never. But I can talk to Classic for him. We’re in the same class.”

“It sure will be fun. Ugh, too bad Dust and I aren’t with you, I bet he would love to see that.” He sighed.

Feeling bold at the moment, Cross got closer to Killer, forcing their hand to leave the wood. Their thighs were almost touching, separated only because he wasn’t leaning on him. Killer let out a chuckle and grabbed his hand.

“I saw Nightmare in the corridor, and damn his outfit was so ugly.”

Trash-talking Nightmare was always a good activity. Not morally good, but after what he did to Killer, it was deserved.

They came to the realisation he made Killer dependent on him; it was toxic and Killer was still hurt by it. Whenever he received a message, he jolted thinking it was him. Criticising him was therapeutic, in a way, even though in hindsight it just feeded his dependence even more. But how could they move on when they saw him at school?

“His weird jacket with the leaf details? Yeah, it looks like something from a cartoon. And in a bad way.” Cross laughed, lightly squeezing his hand. “Gosh, his shoulder pads are larger than his ego!” They ended up laughing together, hunching over themselves.

“And- and!” Killer was out of breath. “He added freaking spikes to his shoes like it would make it scarier!”

They spent minutes laughing and nearly falling off the wall. Killer was more than handsome when he laughed. He absolutely loved this expression on his face. How much joy emanated from him; it made him want to grab his face and kiss him silly.

“Pfft, I can’t cry, my makeup isn’t waterproof.” Killer wheezed as he dried his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah… I should probably head back home soon. But not now, don’t worry.”

“Good. I, uhm, need my bag. Follow me.”

They jumped from the wall, even if Killer was clumsier than him. His feet met the sand with a thud and he followed Killer. The latter rummaged in his bag, his back facing Cross. He then stopped and, with how his shoulders went up, he took a deep breath and finally faced him. He had a box in his hands, a black one, and was handing it to him. Cross froze, forcing Killer to push the box in his hands so he would take it.

“I heard your birthday was in October and I missed it. It’s a bit late but, hey, it’s the thought that counts!” He didn’t know how to react. “You can open it, you know.” Right. He nodded and carefully opened it. Inside were various drawing supplies. He spotted some expensive markers and nearly snapped his neck with how fast he looked up at Killer.

“You bought me promarkers ?” His voice was high pitched, but he didn’t care at the moment. Killer smiled and looked away, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Let's just say I’m not welcome in the art shop anymore. It was worth it, though.”

Usually, he would scold him for stealing. However, with his gift in his hands, he couldn’t care less about thieving. 

“I… I love it, thank you Kills.” He stammered, his eyes locked on the gift.

They spent some minutes looking at the content of the box. Killer sat there, patient and quiet, a genuine smile displayed. 

“We should pick up your brother, it’s dark now.” Cross approved. It also was getting chiller, and the heat he gained from sport had disappeared. Killer whined when he put on his sweatshirt, making Cross smile.

When they reached the playground, Chara was laying on a bench looking at youtube videos. His father will be mad he spent the entire time on it.

“Get up Chara, we’re getting home.”

His brother grumbled before standing up. They wasted no time, unfortunately, and saw Killer to his threshold. 

“The date was awesome. Thanks Cross.” Killer concluded, his hands locked together. Cross would like to hold them a little more, but it was fine. 

“Ah, I should be the one saying thank you. For the gift.”

They awkwardly stood there for a minute.

“If you’re allowed to go out again, don’t hesitate to come here. My mom makes great cakes.”He breathed, clearly not willing to end the date. If he could, he would stay here for the night. Spending the evening with Killer, watching stupid videos and doing karaoke. But it was impossible, moreover Killer had family members. Goodbyes wouldn’t be this hard if he had a way of contacting him once at home.

He handed the box to Chara and hugged Killer. His hands went on the middle of Killer’s back, and he felt a choked breath from the other. Slowly, two arms wrapped around him. And, ever so slowly, Killer held him a bit tighter. He could feel each finger on his back, Killer’s perfume and hear his breath. He would never forget the sensation of his arms around him and his fingers brushing his back, a touch so soft because of the tissue between them. 

They slowly parted, and Cross saw faint blush on Killer’s cheeks. It was the most beautiful sight he witnessed tonight.

“See ya.” Killer whispered with a silly smile. Then, he was back home.

“I’m not carrying your crayon box any longer. Gosh, that was awkward…”

Chapter Text

Today was the day Cross will finally have access to a phone; his own phone.

He had waited a days for it, torn between excitement and doubt, he could feel his heart racing with joy. 

He recalled the situation starting like this:

His fingers tapped frenetic on the keyboard. To prepare for their mock exam, their philosophy teacher decided to book some classes in the computer science room. And since they all were teenagers, no one of them actually worked for their mock exams. 

He had one tab opened on some worksheet, and another on a quiz. If the teacher went by, he could just switch tabs. ‘Which colour are you?’. It was littered with mistakes, tacky images and overall didn’t make sense. He wanted to work at first but the call of silly games was stronger. 

“So, if I were an ant, would I be like the courageous one or would I get stomped on quickly?” Cross asked Horror. He turned to Cross and, after some thinking, replied; “The courageous one. The army.” He shrugged and chose this answer. Made sense. 

It was the last question, and his results were unpleasant to say the least. 

"Purple: You have a boyfriend (or girlfrend). Your popular, you have over 2987 followers. You have a dog and like to take photos w and/or without your friends." An image of a badly edited woman with purple eyes followed the explanations. He groaned when he noticed the colour. His father's colour scheme followed him even through the school laptop. Moreover this description was absurd, he literally replied he didn’t have too many friends. He couldn’t wait to leave this classroom. The boy had a plan to pursue.

“Hey, Horror?” He received a look as an answer. Enough to understand Horror wanted to hear more. “I have to talk to Error, come with me.” He saw him wince before agreeing. They weren’t fond of Error since he suddenly started to hate them, but it was either him or that boy a few years younger than them that was apparently good at science. It literally was his name. But his skills were only rumors; as for Error, Cross knew they were true. His hobbies were quite simple to remember; knitting, stalking Classic, telenovelas and computer science. Perhaps it was more of an innate talent than passion, but the point was that he sometimes got his hands on old phones to repair them. And, sometimes, sell them. Horror got one from him at some point. The price was nice at that time–not free though–however, since he moved away from their group, it must be pricier now. He internally cringed at the thought of buying something from him, but he couldn’t afford anything else. He needed a phone, and a rechargeable card. A subscription was off the table, his father would caught on his expenses too easily. 

Lately, school has been hard. Exams were creeping closer and he kept bumping into Nightmare. His sharp features and judging eye made him look too much like Gaster. His father. The man was probably why he was so stressed anyways. He tried to cut his social life, kept putting pressure on his grades, and the air at home sometimes was colder than a fridge. The thing was that it wasn't always all bad, he often acted not so much like a tyrant but more like a tired dad. But not lately. Not with Cross at least. Getting a phone back would be a good distraction. Cross had discipline, he won't fail his finals because of it, but he could unwind a little and breathe. 

Horror and Cross were wandering in the corridors near the lockers. Between onion scent from the science rooms and the odor of weed hidden in textbooks, they were searching for Error. Back when they were on good terms, they usually found him here talking to Swap, or by the music room. And sometimes stalking Classic. Through the crowd–it was ridiculously full of students today– they didn't spot Swap nor Error. If it was this crowded, he wouldn't have stayed here anyways. 

“He's probably in the music room.” Cross half yelled at the other, forced to raise his voice to bypass the chatting. 

“I hope so. ‘won't walk around the whole building.” He received back in a growl. 

When they arrived there, they saw Error laying on one of the sofas the music club owned. His long blue locks were cascading on the fabric and his gaze focused on his laptop. Right, he was a fan of those telenovelas. Cross recalled his aunt Toriel visiting them, playing some of it on the TV. It'd been a while since she came over. 

Horror approached him, keeping a certain distance to not startle him. He nearly stomped on the little box connected to a tube which was put on the ground. It was Error's talk box; he fancied this thing, claiming he was more comfortable hearing his voice altered by it. He couldn't blame him; if he had a box allowing him to swap his voice for a deep sounding one, he would. 

He definitely would. He still cried, during bad days, after hearing his voice. It wasn't that bad, he managed to sound masculine to some extent, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't Cross's. He would cry and cry until the corner of his eyes burned from how much he rubbed at them. 

The boy seemed to finally notice them as he removed his headphones to glare at them with annoyance. 

“What.” It didn't even sound like a question. 

“Hi, Error.” Cross replied with a twinge of annoyance himself. Error was hard to deal with when mad. He was a silly guy most of the time, but only with his friends. Meaning, not Cross. “You still sell phones, right?”

The other cringed, eyeing them up and down. It could mean two things; either he stopped his little business, or he was purely unhappy to sell something to Cross. Cross shared a look with Horror, unsure if he should talk or keep the awkward silence. Only the sound of the clock and their breathing were heard; neither of them spoke for one solid minute–which was a lot considering the fact they were in a conversation.

“...” 

“...” 

“...” 

“...” 

Sweat began forming on his temple from the amount of embarrassment it made him feel. If there were only silence, he would have been alright. 

But Error stared. 

His eyes slowly blinking, he pierced through his pupils with his gaze. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Not to you.”

“What? Come on!” Cross whined with his arms up in the air. “I really need it, can't you just push the past aside and let me have one?”

Technically, Cross never wronged him. Error left suddenly because he was moody. 

“I just don't like you. So I won't sell you anything.” He explained as stopped looking at him, turning his attention to Horror. “I'm fine with Horror, though. He's the least annoying.”

“Please Error, I need it!” When he noticed Error ignoring him, he sighed: “I can talk to Classic for you, but only if I can get a phone.”

“Deal.”

Oh. That was easy. 

They came to an agreement; Error would give a somewhat functional phone and a card to have internet on it, and Cross would have to pay 50 bucks. The reason it was so cheap was, except for Cross's persuasion skills, because the phone was in really bad conditions. It would be dead in a couple of months; the screen was cracked, the storage was bad and the battery went down extremely fast. In summary, it was a shitty phone. Moreover, his second way of payment was to talk to Classic. 

Not just talking to him, but talking to him about Error. 

To be sure he would respect their deal, Error wanted to see him in action for a few days. He still has some details about the phone he has to deal with anyway. Cross didn't mind; he at least got the guarantee his phone would be functional if he took extra time to fix it. 

As a result, the next day, he wasted no time and went to Classic as soon as possible. It was right before their first period. He wished he hadn't gone to school, today was a rather bad day–he got into an argument with his father about his grades– but he had to see Classic. His target was by himself, sitting on the floor near their classroom. Eyes closed, he seemed to prolong his night. 

Cross approached him. He didn't warn his friends, though Horror would deduce from their conversation with Error where he was. 

Classic. It wasn't even his name to begin with, it was Sans, but everyone gave him the nickname of Classic much to Cross's comfort. He couldn't bear saying this name today. Classic wasn't a popular guy per se. He did have his friends, and people could recognize his name, and he had his fair share of popularity with girls for some reasons, but that was it. However, everyone that knew a little about him – meaning everyone in Cross's grade – would describe him the same: the lazy dude that sells hot dogs. Not even good quality ones, but teenagers were eager for junk food instead of school lunch. 

The first time he ever saw him was when he tried to steal his lunch. Now, Cross would usually never do that. But that day, he was alone and with no money. He regretted it even before doing it, and still did to this day, but he was so hungry. Classic simply told him to meet him by the lockers and gave him a cold hotdog for free. One of the worst Cross ever tasted frankly, but so good at the moment. 

Upon seeing Cross approaching, he stretched and warned him:

“Hey pal. Sorry, I'm not selling today. Got some problems with the sausage. They were pretty saus-picious.” 

Cross snorted before shaking his head: “Hi Classic. No, I'm good. I wanted to chat.”

“Alright, what's the matter?” He didn't even sit straighter, and for a moment Cross swore he saw him closing back his eyes. 

“I heard Error tried to talk to you?” He had no idea how to introduce the subject of Error, thus he wasted no time. Classic cringed a little, shrugging his shoulders. “Heh, who wouldn't want to talk to the hot dog man?”

A lot of people. He thought about sitting with Classic but decided otherwise; they weren't close, it would've been weird. 

He seemed reluctant to the subject of Error; it wouldn't do it. In the end, he couldn't care less if Error succeeded to win the guy's heart. But if Error heard of it, he could say goodbye to his phone. 

“Don't you like him?”

“Why would I? Never heard a word from him. To be frank, I learnt of his existence a few days ago. But hey, it would be an error to not know his name.” His jokes were terrible. 

“Uh. I thought you were close, that's all.”

He kept talking in favor of the other for a little while before having to leave. It had been weird and unpleasant, he hoped it convinced Error. 

This afternoon, back home, he believed he would feel great. Confident, hopeful about the future. But, creeping at the back of his skull, munching at his brain for a few days, sat this numbing feeling. This sensation of drowning in his own skin, his ears filled with cottons and his eyes so slow. 

All the adrenaline he felt progressing in his task of getting his phone back was discarded, replaced by that. 

On his back, eyes glued to the ceiling of his bedroom, he laid there. Maybe for minutes, maybe for hours.

Cross could've felt illegitimate for such feelings if he could've cared. 

But, at the moment, all he could do was staring at the ceiling. 

Perhaps it was exhaustion, perhaps it was his mind and body clashing once again. 

Cross sometimes wished everything could go back to a simpler time. One where he didn't have to prove himself for a phone. One where his corridors weren't filled with pictures of a foreign little girl. One where he could manage his emotions. 

One day. 

But for now, his last grip on reality, he had to work. Mechanically, his eyes unglued from the ceiling, and with an awkward feeling of having another skin above his, he made his way to his desk. 

Tomorrow will be easier. 

Over the next day, he continued talking to Classic. Not everyday, he didn't want to annoy him, but fairly often. 

“Knitting? Nah, I'm good with my ol’ jacket. You could try wearing colours, though.” The other yawned before closing back his eyes. Cross faked a laugh, letting the conversation die naturally. 

He believed it was the last time he needed to do such things. For one, he played Error's game for a few days. Then, he gathered some interesting information for Error. 

Satisfied by this, he quickly went to the heater. Class started soon, but he could at least greet his friends. 

As he arrived at the heater, he was rather shocked to see Dust by himself. He was visibly pissed. 

“Hi, the others aren't here?” Cross asked, looking around. It was more out of habits than a real question. 

“Hi, yeah I'm fine, thanks for asking.” He snarled back. Sassy. “Horror woke up sick.”

It was common for him to feel bad or have issues with his health. It usually was migraines, but his health was fragile too. Cross winced. Poor guy, at least he didn't seem that affected by it. Emotionally. 

“Killer's sick too?”

Dust looked at him, sighing: “Dunno. I wish he killed himself.” 

“Dude, that's mean.”

Dust replied: “Chill. It was a joke. No, I don't know where your boyfriend is.”

Cross blushed lightly and went to correct him, but thought otherwise. They were running out of time. 

“Anyway. How's your week so far?” Cross started. Dust relaxed upon hearing the question. It had been a while since they last spoke to each other. They needed a moment to bond. Last year, he actually spent quite a lot of time with Dust. The latter was rather cold most of the time but they often met up to play some games. 

After school, Cross got an idea. He took Killer's and Horror's English papers, and while he didn't have time to go see his classmate, he could pay a visit to Killer. To check how he's doing. 

He just had to remember the way, which fortunately came back rather rapidly to his mind. Frankly, he hoped Killer wasn't sick to the point of being bedridden because it would mean no catching up. If he had a phone he could've just text him but a certain someone decided to take his time with his task of giving him a device. He hated it. At least, it gave him a reason to see Killer. The chances of his hair being natural and not in spikes were high, it really suited Killer. He still remembered how good he looked at the pajama party. 

The walk was cold, winter was well settled. Trees lost their leaves, the sky was constantly covered in clouds and the weather was unpredictable. It could go from cloudy to extreme rain and then a bit of blue sky. The only thing, unfortunately, the region's weather seemed to hate was snow. It wasn't snowing, it almost never was. And the little time it snowed, it consisted of ice-like snow, a little too hard for playing with it. Of course, Cross was a grown up and didn't need to play anyway. 

To go back to the walk: it was kind of surprising to see how their streets were different. Cross lived in a pretty place; houses were lined up on either side of a road. Each house had a front garden, a pointy roof and each house had its own garbage can. In Killer's street, the square houses were gathered in another square pattern. At first it could seem they were lined up, but it actually seemed connected to small buildings, almost closing an area in the middle. In the middle was a parking lot connected to roads with passages in-between buildings. They were four stories maximum, making it look like huge houses instead. Maybe Cross was being judgemental, but it wasn't visually pleasing. Heck, it even seems to be kinda bad living here with the smell of cars nearby. However, it still had some beauty in details; the front gardens were all well maintained and buildings were cleaner than most houses in his own neighborhood. 

As he arrived at Killer's, this time the orange cat wasn't there. Too bad, no Peanut this time. He decided to get Killer's papers immediately, just in case he wasn't the one at the door. Gathering all his confidence, his fist met the door in small taps. He heard some faint noises behind it. After a few seconds, a woman opened the door. 

She was pretty, it must be a family thing. Her eye bags and smile lines made him guess she was Killer's mom, and in the back of his mind he told himself he would be happy to have her as a mother-in-law.

Cross opened his mouth: “Hello ma'am. I'm, um, Killer's friend. I have some papers for him.” At the same time, he handed her the papers. The woman at the door took them while replying in a soft tone:

“Ah, thank you.” She paused for a few seconds, looking at Cross. He began to feel his cheeks warmed up, uneased by the silent analysis. What was she thinking? Did his voice clash with his appearance once again? Was he not welcomed here? I really have a problem lately, he thought. “Oh, are you Cross?”

Oh.

“Yes, yes I’m Cross. Nice to meet you ?”

“I would have loved to invite you but I don’t think Killer is up for visits right now. I will let him know you were here, though.” As soon as he was about to reply, she continued. Well, he understood why Killer was a chatter box; he got it from his mother. “I heard so much about you, you should stop by one day. Killer would be more than happy.”

Cross probably became redder; not only was this sweet but kind of awkward, but there was a lot of information to process at once.

Killer talked about him. It’s true that knowing he was pretty close to his mom, it made sense. It just never crossed his mind. Perhaps it reflected his own familial dynamic afterall. What did he tell about him? Was she aware of the dates? 

“Sure. I’ll try. Uhm, is he doing okay?” He asked while looking around the woman. The stairs were right beside the entrance, and he could catch a glimpse of a brown kitchen. Her smile dropped as she answered;

“He wasn’t feeling like going to school today. But Killer is a strong boy, he’ll come back soon, don’t you worry.”

Despite her reassuring voice, he did worry. At the same time, he understood Killer, and reality caught him; even though he was noisy and always up for jokes, it was clear Killer was unwell. Cross couldn’t do much about that except be here for him when he needed it. But right now apparently wasn’t the time. It’s the reason he nodded before saying goodbye.

Curled up on his bed, his cat next to him, he sighed at the sound of the door closing. He could have fixed his hair a little and said hi to Cross (his door was next to the stairs, he heard his mother talking). He should have. But he stayed here all day long, leaving his bed only once to pee. He felt gross, laying on the sheet he didn't have the strength to change for two months and his shirt from the day prior. He bet he smelled even worse than Dust. It was for the best Cross didn’t see him in this state. 

He felt guilty about missing school, like his whole progress fell apart. But he just couldn’t do it that day. His mother stayed patient with him, but for how long could she put up with him like that? 

It was pointless. Sleeping would be better. He even got his cat with him, perhaps a nap wasn’t that bad of an idea.

Two weeks. He had been waiting for two weeks, wondering if perhaps Error scammed him. 

He did everything right ; talking to Classic about Error in a positive way. Why didn't Error give him his phone then? He was starting to run low on subjects to bring up with Classic, and if it continued he might as well start to just tell everything to the guy. How Error was a creep and stalked him; the puppet of Classic he made once and their deal. 

His breaking point came one afternoon when, meters away, he spotted Error laughing with Swap. Nothing wrong with him being happy, good thing, but he clearly seemed to have forgotten about his promise. 

He stomped until he reached the two, locking eyes with Error. 

“You forgot about my phone or what?” Cross hissed at him. Error slowly moved his head to look at him, up and down, before scoffing: “About time.”

His bag slid off of his shoulder and he began searching for something in the front pocket. The situation made Swap smirks.

“That’s what you’ve been working on lately? Cool!” He said. Error didn’t bother to answer, instead handing a phone to Cross. 

“I was wondering how much time you would be oblivious to the way I scammed you. You can leave, I even put a card inside. We can go back to never interacting now.” He shoved the device in his hands and turned to continue talking to his friend. Never talking to him ever again, easy-peasy.

That was       easy.

At night, he spent hours talking to Epic. He told him everything; from his dad to his date, his exams, and in return Epic also shared some news. He almost shed a tear; it had been far too long since they really talked. He missed him so much.

Chapter Text

You: Killer! Got my phone back! 

You: I know you're feeling down today, want to talk? Maybe? 

You: You don't have to dw

You: I'll have to show you but my phone has this gigantic crack at the back lmao

You: So far my father doesn't even suspect a thing 

You: I think

You: You there? It's been 2 hours 

You: sry for the spam! See you soon!! Take care!!!!

[I already miss y|      ] 

[                                ] 

Killer hadn't answered his texts he sent yesterday evening. He knew Killer just needed space but he had been so happy about his phone that, for a moment, it had stung. Obviously he was aware he couldn't blame him for not being up to chat, he knew it, but it didn't mean he couldn't be a little upset at first. On top of that, he was still worried about him. Perhaps he will go back to school today. 

Anyway, Cross was searching for the cacao powder. Rummaging through the cupboards, his mood became more agitated as he found anything but what he was here for. Some coffee, except everyone here preferred chocolate. A jar of honey they bought months ago and barely used. Cinnamon that was supposed to be in the spice holder but somehow always ended up there. He even found a fork. But not cacao powder, despite living in the most chocolate-enjoyer family. Even cocoa would do, he was kind of desperate at the moment. Cocoa was less bitter anyway, Cross had this habit of putting slightly too much cacao powder in his drink. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped with a yelp, turning around. Frisk stood there, smiling at him. 

“Wow, you scared me! What's up?” Cross mumbled, resuming his task of searching for something to drink. 

“Nothing much. Good luck for today, you'll rock that!” Frisk sung with a thumb up. 

“What do you mean?” Far in the cupboard, his hand caught something with a familiar shape: a box of cocoa powder. He couldn't see it, but he felt the little dents on the sides, so characteristic of this brand of cocoa powder they always choose. “High school isn't that bad. I mean, it sucks but…” 

He heard Frisk moving, probably making his own breakfast. 

“Uh, I thought you had your mock exams today. My bad.” He almost whispered, too focused on his task of pouring milk over his cereals. 

Wait, mock exams?

Today? 

“Wait, why did you think it was today?” The older one asked, confused. 

“Calendar.” Was the only answer given. Dropping the oh so precious item back, Cross walked to face the calendar attached to the wall. 

“/!\ Cross: bring ID for exams/!\”, written in red, his father's handwriting. 

On today's date. 

Cross felt his throat tighten with anxiety, he couldn’t have forgotten about that. He checked his notebook yesterday evening to do his homeworks. Speaking of it, he quickly went for his bag, leaving behind the few things he found for his breakfast. As he opened it, he realized he indeed didn’t write it for today. Instead, he put it on next Tuesday. 

During school holidays.

Meaning, the wrong day.

“What?!” He screamed, beginning to hyperventilate. He wasn’t ready at all. Heck, he had no idea what this mock test was about! Philosophy? Geopolitics? Mathematics? 

He grabbed his phone–fortunately his father was still sleeping – and called Horror, hoping he would reply. He did, at the last second but he did answer. Horror went to talk, but Cross’ panicked voice went first.

“Horror! We have a mock exam today?”

He really wished he would hear a no, that he still had time to study. 

“Uh, yeah. Philosophy, at 8 am? Why?”

For a moment, Cross stayed silent. He was so dead.

“I totally forgot about it, I’m gonna fail so bad.” His voice sounded a little pathetic, but it was justified. Philosophy was already burdensome, somehow he always strove to express his opinion, but with no knowledge? Impossible. He had no quotes, no authors, nothing. 

“Ouch. Just call in sick, they can’t verify.” Horror’s voice was muffled, he probably put it on speaker and was doing something else. Cross sighed:

“My father won’t buy it, and even if I was sick he wouldn’t tolerate me missing it.”

“Pretend to faint, I dunno man.”

He was so dead.

The icing on the cake was that he had no one from the group in his classroom, no friends, no emotional support. Sure, Ink was there, but they hadn’t talked since the story with Dream. Cross wasn' t sure they were even good acquaintances anymore.

He fidgeted with his ID, already lost in despair. He couldn’t allow himself to get an awful grade, especially not on something so important. He already kind of slacked off the last few months, if he continued on like this, he would be good for nothing. Sure, it was almost certain he could join the army school, but with bad grades it would be harder. At least that’s what he understood from his father.

The bell rang, announcing the start of the test. Cross barely managed to look up from his table to grab the sheet his teacher handed. 

“Do not look at the exercise until everyone gets one and your identity is checked.” The teacher reminded, walking down the aisles of anxious students. With shaky hands, Cross handed his ID. The teacher barely checked it before smiling and giving it back. 

Cross kept shifting in his seat, reconsidering Horror's idea. He could just pretend to faint, sure, but it was too awkward. He was already making a fool of himself by being this twitchy, falling in front of everyone would be exaggerated. 

“Alright, you can start. Good luck.”

He turned the paper. 

“Does the truth always have to be convincing?”

In summary, he abandoned the idea of working on the essay subject. He opted for the text analysis instead, but was ultimately stuck. After three pages, he felt way too dizzy. The table began waving, oscillating like water, and he could feel his forehead  being damp from sweat. His heart was beating way too fast and way too loudly, and he could stop but feel trapped. He felt fear nagging at him, clenching at his throat. He stayed here for a moment, looking at an unfinished sentence. He had no idea what was written, what was happening or if he was really breathing as loudly as he believed he was. In a moment of clarity, he jumped out of his chair and wobbly walked to the teacher desk to turn in his paper. He signed beside his name on the list of students and nearly ran out of the classroom. Screw his stuff, he needed to go to the bathroom.

He threw up. 

Desperately trying to dissipate the acidic taste in his mouth with water, Cross whined. He had failed and got sick at school; truly the best day. How was he going to explain this to his father? Hi dad, you put so much pressure onto me that at every bad grades I throw up! I also forgot to study because your stupid son wrote the homework on the wrong date!

His fingertip began turning white with how strongly he clutched at the faucet lever.

“Heh, don’t break the sink, that would be sad.”

He slowly lifted his head to see someone he recognized. Colour. 

“Oh, hi. Sorry.” Cross shivered before placing his hands on the countertop.

“Let’s go to the infirmary, shall we?” Colour then handed him his hand. Feeling how numb his legs felt, he nodded and took it. The walk to the infirmary wasn’t long, but his vision made the corridor look so much longer.

“Here we go. Killer told me you were on edge during exams, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” Colour hissed, looking at him up and down. Cross felt irritated and clenched his fist, he didn’t need judgement right now. There was enough waiting for him at home. But Colour simply waved at him before leaving him at the door.

The infirmary was oddly cozy, like a place out of time. 

“So,” The school nurse said as she looked at her screen. Cross believed there were two nurses, a man and a woman. “Do you prefer to go home or rest in the beds. I have some apple juice, when you’re ready to drink something.”

Cross considered going home, but his father was at home and he didn’t feel like explaining why he was home so early. It was only ten in the morning, he had to wait until lunch.

“I would like to rest here, if it’s okay.” His voice was still shaky. The nurse gave him a warm smile before turning to face him. She put on a more serious but not strict face, it was more filled with concern.

“Cross, it is already a concern I share with some of your teachers, but is everything okay?”

He froze on his chair.

“I guess.” Cross doubted, a hand running through his hair. His forehead must be so shiny with how wet it was. He saw the woman wince before letting him more room. She cautiously added:

“Your grades are decreasing–nothing to be worried about, it’s not by a lot– but it was noticed you began to be even more stressed each test.” She typed a few things on the computer before the printer turned on. I startled Cross with how loud it got. “Final year can be stressful, but you don’t have to feel left behind. Here, I am printing you the school therapist pamphlet. You shouldn’t hesitate to ask for help.”

Asking for help.

He grabbed the paper, his vision still blurry and his stomach ached with discomfort. It was nothing, he just needed to study more, get better and then he would have good grades. He would be worthy of his statue of Gaster’s son-

“Is everything okay at home, Cross?”

Home.

“Put on some shoes. We're going shopping.” His father said, not even looking at him. 

Cross hastily turned his head, surprised. “What? Uh, sure.”

It's how they ended up, the two of them, in the car to go to the mall. Music wasn't really welcome, too distracting, therefore making the moment rather awkward. No words were exchanged. Cross was a little lost; he expected his father to question him about the test, but instead he decided to take him to the mall. He didn't know whether it was a good thing or a sign something was about to go wrong. 

“You look sad lately.” His father suddenly said, his voice plain and controlled. The teenager refrained himself from overreacting, surprised by the remark. 

“Yeah, maybe. Sorry.” He muttered back while staring at the road. If he asked, he must have wanted details. It was difficult to say when to be brief or not, but as it seemed to be a somewhat serious conversation, he should detail a little at least. “School is stressful, lately.”

“You failed your mock exam, didn't you?”

Busted. 

Sweat appeared on Cross's forehead and he began playing with his necklace. How did his father guess? 

“I don't know, it was hard. Sorry, father.”

The shop appeared at the end of the road, tacky red walls screaming ‘Come buy useless junks!’. 

“I read coloring books could help with stress.” His father paused for a second. “I guess working under stress isn't your thing anymore. If the books don't help, Toriel mentioned meditation.”

His father was actually trying to help him. Cross felt joy fill his chest, his usual frown disappearing. He was still mad at his father, some books wouldn't salvage their relationship, but he actually felt seen at the moment. He knew that later, he would feel confused, not knowing how to qualify his father. Abusive would seem too extreme, strict not enough when he could recall the cold showers and the hurtful words, but kind was definitely not a good adjective either. Ink would call Gaster something along the line of emotionally abusive but even this seemed like a foreign thing to Cross. It wasn't like he would hear Ink explain to him what it was once again. 

They finally stepped into the main store. The mall was filled with various stores but it was labeled under one main convenience store. Their supplies ranged from food to toys and even some niche objects like head gasket repair liquids. Papyrus tried to drink it once. 

Since they were here, they would do some groceries as well. They were running out of chocolate, toilet paper and, unfortunately, his periods threatened to start soon. They walked through the aisles, going first with the groceries. It was silent, like most of the times, his father wasn't really one for conversations. They still shared some words, occasionally :

“I can't find the milk aisle, they keep moving it.” Gaster growled under his breath. 

“Uh, I think it's near the cereals. It's written here.”

It wasn't much, and rather cold for anyone exterior to this, but it was comforting for Cross. Familiarity, habits, how things always had been. He liked this. 

They, or rather Cross, were scanning the different pads. He usually took the blue package but he felt like they weren't comfortable enough when he exercised. Wingless pads were out of the debate as they were clearly the devil's craft, and his father forbade tampons. Not like Cross was up to put chemical hazards in his body. His hand grabbed a pink package, the design was ugly but the pads seemed good. He should check the brand before buying it , just to see if they didn't provoke anything bad, but he chose to ignore how bad they could be. Dangerous. 

At the end of the aisle, he spotted someone familiar. It was only when they locked eyes, after a few seconds, that he finally recognized her. 

Killer's mother. 

It wouldn't be a bad thing if she wasn't coming to him and his father, smiling and ready to chat. He could hear his heart beat faster with the apprehension of what she could say. Would she mention how Cross still hung out with the three ‘delinquents’ as his father once called them? Would she mention the dates? 

“Cross! How nice to see you here.” She exclaimed, stopping in front of them. His father gave his son a puzzled look. “You must be his father, good afternoon.” She then greeted Gaster, shaking his hand. 

“Good afternoon. Sorry but do we know each other?” He asked immediately. Apart from his small circle of relatives and acquaintances, Cross didn't even know if his father had friends. With how rude he sounded, it would be surprising. Nevertheless, Killer's mother continued to smile. “I'm Mrs.Rahafwabas, Killer's mother. Our sons are close friends.”

Shut up. 

“Close friends, uh?” His father almost muttered through his teeth, glancing at Cross. The latter was red, sliding his necklace from side to side. He rapidly greeted Mrs.Rahafwabas, not wanting to be scolded for hanging out with Killer and being impolite. “I didn't know you were still friends with him.”

“Oh, why wouldn't they? If I'm being honest, Killer seems happier since he met Cross.”

If she could just shut up and leave them alone. He tried to make her understand through his look, but she wasn't looking at him anymore, too busy chatting with his father. Speaking of him, on the surface he looked calm, composed. But Cross feared what was awaiting him. Sure, he was lucky enough to not get beaten, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be severely scolded. If she could just stop, leave them, maybe his sentence wouldn't be too bad. He only wished she would leave right now. Please .

“Oh, they sure seem good friends.” His father spat. How could the woman be so oblivious to the way his father was unhappy with the conversation? Instead she smiled even more, she must have given this habit to Killer, and continued :

“Cross should come eat dinner with us one day. I already asked him but he looks shy, ahah. Anyways, I don't want to bother you too much. Have a great day you too! It was nice meeting you.”

Once she was out of the area, his father inhaled sharply before grabbing the basket and strode toward another aisle. 

Why would she do this? Did she really miss all the clues hinting that it wasn't the moment to talk about that? 

He exhaled and followed his father, keeping his head down for once. He was too ashamed to even look at his father. His father made an effort, and Cross was disobeying him behind his back. Maybe he searched for it, it maybe was just the karma reminding him of his poor choices. But what was he supposed to do? Be a puppet, a pawn to his father's idea of a perfect life? 

His father coldly pointed at the coloring books before urging to another part of the book aisle. Cross didn't know this part of the store well, he just knew cooking books were that way. Maybe his father was searching for the strongest cocktail he could make in order to forget his existence. 

His fingers lingered on the covers, too distracted to pay attention to them. Breathing became hard, and he had to blink several times to remove the burning sensation in his eyes caused by the humiliation. He wanted to apologize a hundred times, say he regretted it, but it would be lies. Yes, he feared his father's reaction, but he was too deep in to backtrack anyway. 

He finally focused a little on the books and grabbed one with a ramen plate on the cover. Epic would've liked it. He should send him a picture later.

His father came back and almost threw two books in the basket. Cross discreetly looked at the covers before choking on his saliva. “The Talk: A teen guide for safe relations” and “Hard drugs? Hard no!”. Cross made a sound akin to a squeak before looking with horror at his father. 

“What- I mean- Why would I need those? I'm not twelve!” He half yelled and half murmured with a high pitched voice. He was eighteen he didn't need that. If his father wanted to give him the talk, he could do it without a book. Moreover it was a little late, wasn't it something you were supposed to talk about at like fourteen? Fifteen? And drugs? 

“If you're going to disobey me, better be safe than sorry.” His father scoffed. 

“Drugs? Really? I had one drink, I'm not some junky or crackhead!” He once again squealed. He stopped when his father gave him The Look. 

“I've seen Dust smoke more times than I've seen him clean. I know how people like him try to influence their peers.”

Cross had the urge to defend his friend, Dust never even did drugs, but he knew it would turn badly. He shut up and nodded, hiding in the fluffy hood of his coat. Paying promised to be awkward. 

And it was. Cross couldn't even meet the cashier's eyes as they scanned the two books. He could feel their amusement from where he stood. He heard his father mutter “Kids these days.” but choose to not react. It was the worst errands of his life. 

Once sat inside the car, his father closed the door with a little too much strength. He held his breath, waiting for whatever his father would say. He actually started the car before opening his mouth. 

“Cross.”

“Yes?”

“I can't believe you!” Oh, here was the screaming. He made himself as small as possible. “I forbade you to see them for your own good and I learned what? That you're a ‘close friend’ of his?” Fortunately his father had to focus on the road, he couldn't shoot death glare at Cross that way. He gulped before answering:

“I trust them. And Killer isn't bad, he-”

“Oh, sure. The kid making cocktails and blaming Dream is a good person! Of course! Do you think I am stupid, Cross?”

He forgot how to talk for a second. 

“No. Sorry, it's just… I am old enough to choose my friends, and look, I haven't done anything bad since then!”

“I know I can't force you to stop seeing them. You obviously don't listen.”Gaster growled. 

He felt ashamed.

After a long pause, his father finished: 

“I don’t know what you’re playing. But your head teacher called, I was informed of what happened. I was told stress was the reason your grades worsened. So I’m doing you a favor, I’m letting that slide for now. But if you fail your finals? Don’t even think about going  back home.I do this because I care, you know?"

“ Thanks . It’s not like I could stay home after graduating anyway.” Cross huffed. No words were exchanged after that. 

He hated the fact he was still grateful his father made an effort.

He hated the fact he was happy to have hung out with him.

He hated the fact he still cared for his approval and love.

He hated the fact that, deep down, he still blinded himself with false dreams of his father hugging him.

He hated the fact he was crying and, even after such cruel words, a simple pat on his shoulder was enough to comfort him a little. To give him hope.

He tried to be tough, strong, independent, but he never left behind the love starved kid he used to be. He probably never will at this rate.

In the darkness of his bedroom, eyes burning, he knew he couldn’t grow up if it continued. He needed respect, he needed to talk with his father. 

Chapter Text

The cafeteria was crowded, students after students grabbing their meals. The air, as usual, carried the stench of eggs and fish– a normal dish but which odour soon filled the entire room. 

Near the microwave, at a four seat table, were Dust and Horror. Hidden behind his hood despite the school rules, Dust was munching on his fish. Lunch was quite quiet between them; neither were extremely talkative and after years of friendships, they managed to communicate with little to no words. They still talked but weren’t scared of offending the other by not always answering. For Dust, it was fine, he didn’t care much. And as for Horror, he often was the one not answering during lunch, he couldn’t be mad if someone else did it.

During lunch, the one talking the most were often Cross and Killer; however neither Cross or Killer were there today. Well, Killer was supposed to be there– Dust called him this morning–but he must have decided to come after lunch. And Cross, well-

“Hi guys. Sorry, I’m a bit late.”

Dust glanced to the side and ended up making eye contact with Cross.

“Oh, you're finally allowed to eat crap?” He asked monotonically without breaking eye contact. Cross shrugged and sat beside Horror. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh, that's because of what you told in history class?” Horror managed to question in-between bites. Dust began to wonder if perhaps Cross finally stood up for himself. If he was asked, he would say this situation would end up with his psycho dad throwing him out of the street, but Cross told him he wouldn't. The teenager nodded and began eating his lunch. After a bite, he looked at the boy across the table and realised he had no clue what happened. With his eyes opening a little larger due to the realization, he explained:

“So, I was at the mall with my father– he wanted to buy some coloring books because apparently it's good for my anxiety blablabla–” Cross marked a pause, letting time for Dust to raise his eyebrows. Since when did his dad actually act to help? As far as he knew, he didn't even accept paying a therapist. “But we ran across Killer's mother. And gosh, she's talkative. Way too talkative and kinda blind too.” Cross cringed. It brung a laugh out of Horror:

“She sure is chatty. Like mother like son.”

“Yeah but the thing is that she brought up the fact I was still friends with the three of you. Despite not being allowed.”

Dust winced, he must have been in trouble. He wanted to ask but, even though he was the one telling Killer's mom was too chatty, he himself didn't stop talking. 

“He wasn't happy about that, obviously. But honestly I was waiting for worse, he just screamed at me but quickly gave up. Oh, the most embarrassing part was the books he bought me. Some weird things about how to stay safe in a relationship and a book against drugs.”

Dust really laughed, this time. “Out of us, I think you're the farthest from becoming a junky.” The closest was Dust, but he viewed no interest in drugs. And even if he did, he was too broke to maintain a new addiction anyway. The smell of cigarettes on his clothes were the last traces of his money. 

“We said the same ‘bout alcohol.” Horror chimed in. 

“I think he's more scared of me coming back home pregnant, honestly. But hey, if he doesn't want that, he could just help me get T and that's it.”

Talking so much during lunch became unusual, but not unsettling. For once in a while, there was some sort of enthusiasm in Cross’ eyes. Fortunately, he had shown happiness before, but a feeling of resignation was floating around him. It would probably come back, according to Horror's mind, one because his father still had too much control over his life, and two because Cross was dramatic. 

“So, you can start to go out again?” Dust asked, eyeing his plate. With all the talking, the fish and the few potatoes were untouched. They would stay there for a long time.

“Yeah, no, I think this rule is still up. But I can at least eat here and not hide the fact I'm talking to you.”

He finally began eating more; he previously had managed to eat only one small potato. His punishment still being up regarding going out wasn't surprising, his father never had been fond of his children going out. 

Whereas Dust found his parents far too detached from reality, with only superficial love, he wondered if he was better with them rather than the man. But the answer always came quickly; he preferred parents forgetting important things that had his life planned by his dad.

“I won't obey, though.” Cross suddenly sighed. It earned stunned stares from his friends. 

“I knew you were less and less of a coward, but damn.”

Cross awkwardly smiled before a more concerned expression appeared as he finished his potatoes. Next to him, Horror shifted, patting his shoulder for a few seconds.

“I wanted to do something with Killer and you, but since he won't reply…” He trailed off, clearly concerned but disappointed. Not by Killer but by how unsure the situation was.

“Uh, I spoke to him.” Dust casually said. Cross didn't overreact, but his shoulders tensed with joy and apprehension. 

“Oh, nice. So- how is he doing?” 

“Bad, of course. He's back this afternoon.”

 Cross looked at him with surprise, continuing his food. “So, are you two a thing yet or not?”

Cross blushed immediately, shoving his fork in his mouth. He replied a little bit after : “I didn't confess yet. I want to! But he's not here and last time we went out I chickened out. He talked about liking taking his time and, I don't know, I'm just not sure if he wants anything right now?”

Horror chuckled, looking at Cross as if he was dumb. At that, he frowned. 

“Killer won't reject you. Doncha see how he named you on his phone?” The taller one teased. Cross looked at him with curiosity, but still frowning. If he recalled the last time he saw it, Killer told him it was his name in Arabic, but he knew it was bullshit because it didn't even sound close to it. 

“Uh, I have no idea what it means but yeah I saw it once.”

Dust and Horror looked at each other before laughing. Horror ended up out of breath, so Dust had to be the one asking:

“Do you really don't know what hobi means?” His voice cracked at the end, his laughter not done. Cross sighed, crossing his arms. 

“No, why?”

They never answered. 

Today, school ended at seven pm for most people in Cross grade; thus, he was waiting for Killer during the 4pm recess. 

“Stop playing with your hair, it makes you look like a twink.” Dust snarked at him. Getting defensive, Cross huffed and said: “Says the one looking like a femboy.”

An evil smirk on his face, hidden behind the shadow, he was about to answer when he felt a hand on his back, playfully pushing him. He got the surprise spoiled as both Cross and Horror greeted “Killer!” at the same time. 

Turning around, he saw him saying hi. “Uh, no spikes today. You look lame.”

Killer snorts: “You’re just mad I left you on read. I always look fabulous. Right, Cross?”

Before the stuttering mess could answer, Dust tsked. “Of course I’m mad. You could at least warn us before vanishing, that’s literally what you blamed me for last time.”

“Aww, you care about me. That’s sweet Dusty.” Killer crooned. “Howzit going ?” He then asked the three of them. 

“I found 5 bucks on the street. I basically have enough money to get ingredients for the ‘tarte soleil’ I saw in that cook book.” Horror replied. They all knew how much food mattered for this guy: he never had much. He must have thick bones because despite not eating much even now, he was massive, in height and posture. Hearing him talk about cooking always made them happy.

“Damn, you gotta send pictures of it then! By the way, sorry for not showing up at lunch.” 

“No worries dude. We wanted to explain what hobbi mean to Cross, but seeing him frown was funnier.” Dust said to provoke Cross.

Speaking of Cross, he had been rather quiet. He was blushing like crazy, Dust remark worked, he was embarrassed to not understand. But Dust wasn’t stupid, he knew it was also because of Killer's presence.

And, indeed, he had a slight blush on his cheek since Killer arrived. Or more precisely since he told his name. He was glad and relieved to see him, but tons of questions appeared in his head. Why was he absent? This was the most important question.

“Wait, Cross, here, at lunch?” Killer asked after laughing at what Dust said, confused. Time to speak.

“Yeah. We, me and my father, saw your mother at the mall and long story short, my father learnt I was still hanging with you. So he gave up on some rules.” He explained, finally meeting Killer’s eyes. “I’ll tell you the whole story later. You, uh, still want to walk back together after school, right ?” He scratched the back of his neck with nervousness. He calmed down when Killer nodded with enthusiasm. In the corner of his eyes, he saw his two other friends exchanging amused looks.

Here they were, walking hand in hand. Cross had explained the whole story: how his father tried to help, their encounter with his mother, the books and the ride back. Beside him, Killer was trying not to laugh. 

“‘Hard drugs, hard no’? Man, that’s kinda hilarious.”

Cross sighed: “not when you’re the one receiving it.”

“Eh, not like I could understand anyway. My dad would never buy that for me.” 

They reached the park and decided to take their time here. It was really cold, fortunately it hadn’t rained yet but somehow it made the air even harder to bear as it was too dry. Cross wanted answers from Killer: despite growing closer, it felt as if he kept many secrets from him. A part of him felt like he had the right to know, Killer couldn’t bring him on dates and then not tell the truth about his situation.

“Can we talk?” He asked as they sat on a bench. The surface was freezing, even through his pants, but it was nicer to sit. Killer looked at him and, for once, Cross saw a twinge of nervousness behind his captivating eyes. Silence kept buzzing for a while, interrupted by the whistle of the wind intertwined with the remaining leaves. Most were on the ground, flat from being stomped on, making the trees look duller than before. More naked. Like the naked truth Killer owed him.

“Why weren’t you at school? You never answered my texts either.”

Because of his mixed emotion, a cocktail of giddiness, stress and betrayal, he barely noticed the absence of Killer’s arms around the shoulder. The boy was stiff, looking around in an attempt to save time, to drop the subject. Ultimately, he sighed and turned to Cross, His hand brushed Cross’s as he shifted position on the bench to look at him.

His smile was faint, sad to look at. “I wasn’t doing well. Depression hits hard sometimes, hehe.”

“I didn’t know you were depressed… I mean, I kinda knew, but you never really spoke about it. Are you, uhm, not comfortable speaking of it?” He didn’t like how unsure he sounded, he feared Killer could mistake it for discomfort when in reality, Cross just felt guilty. The whole situation felt like he had corned him and forced him to share it. Killer shook his head:

“No, that’s okay.” His hair was pushing back by his hand, a sighed coming out of his mouth. “I just feel like I’m feeding you lies. Dust and Horror met me at my lowest, they knew what they were going for being friends with me. But you, you must think of me as that guy who smiles non stop and is always in a good mood. And in retrospect, it is my fault, because sure I’m usually happy but I shouldn’t have let you grow so close to me without letting you know about my depression.”

Cross didn’t reply, he simply listened. He was glad Killer explained things and, honestly, he was right: Cross should’ve known sooner. But it didn’t matter anymore. 

“Gosh, I even took you out, planned dates… I’m sorry, Cross. I’ll understand if your trust in me is dead now, I was just too scared. Once I realised you didn’t know, I freaked out and never knew when to mention it. I… I thought, and it’s stupid, but I thought that perhaps if you didn’t know I could be better by then.”

Killer was trailing off, monologing.

“Hey, it’s okay, I don’t need you to be perfect or anything. If you struggle, then I’ll help you as much as I can. But, depression or not, I care about you Killer, and I get it, I get what you hide it. I’m not mad or anything.”

Killer snorted and laughed sadly. “Dude… That’s so corny.” He half whispered before hugging Cross. Taken by surprise, Cross slowly lifted his arms to reciprocate. “Want to come to my place tomorrow ? There’s no school, and my family leaves at 1pm.” Killer’s voice was muffled as he hid his face in the fur of Cross’s jacket. “That was corny, but cute.”

“Uh-” He mentally sent a gg to Killer for switching subjects so fast. They will need to continue the conversation later. On one hand, he knew his father would never allow it, but he couldn’t care less. He wanted to see Killer, help him, and officialise things between them if possible. So, with a smile Killer couldn’t see in his position, Cross accepted.

He felt Killer’s hand playing with the end of his hair, still in his arms. “Thanks for telling me everything, Kills. It means a lot to not hide secrets. Even if I understood why you did it.” He moved his right hand, gently caressing his back with his finger nails.

Killer didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Over the course of the next hours, Killer let him know where and when to meet via texts. He told Cross he wanted to take him out to lunch, without telling him where precisely, and then crash at his own place, that way they would have more time together. He never entered Killer’s house before, he was curious. And whereas he wasn’t opposed to Killer’s idea, he was even thrilled to hear it, he was skeptical when the boy refused to tell him the place where they’ll eat. Cross tried to push for it but ultimately gave up. Killer could be really stubborn when he wanted to. According to Killer’s plan, they will meet around 12 at the bus stop to go together to the mall. 

Before going to sleep, he wanted to speak a little with Epic. They already did exchange a few minutes ago, but he had a new subject now.

Cross: Dude, I think tomorrow is the day

Epic: ??? 

Epic: for what bruh

Cross, hidden under the covers of his bed, sighed with amusement. He couldn’t be too loud so his father wouldn’t suspect he had a phone. The old man would probably have a heart attack if he knew Cross ignored his scolding at this point. And break once again his device. He couldn’t wait for him to give him back his laptop, so far he only was allowed to use the familial one for school, but the thing was so old he took almost two times more time than usual.

Cross: I have a date with Killer. All evening, lunch to 6 pm. I think I’ll confess

Epic: Oo go king

Epic: bruh i thought u would never do it

Epic:look at u, so confident lol! I’m happy 4 u bruh

Cross: .////.

Epic: loool, keep that blush 4 ur man (  ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Cross had a hard time falling asleep that night. His mind began picturing scenarios, situations that might happen. Most were bad, as expected from someone as anxious as him, but right before sleeping, some more wholesome scenarios appeared. The two of them cuddling after confessing to each other, listening to music while chatting about how they discovered they were in love with each other. Swapping kisses. He ended up drifting to sleep, a small smile on his face. Life could be hard, but it was easier around him.

The dream he had that night was obviously about Killer. They were in a dandelion field, holding hands. Nothing much happened, but this peace and calm atmosphere was totally what he needed to rest. A soft breeze, the giant cloud he always looked at with fascination– they were called cumulonimbus. And Killer, smiling at him.

When he woke up, his face against the soft fabric of Killer’s jacket, he sighed. Despite knowing he should get up, he curled on himself, sinking further into the jacket. By now, the scent of Killer’s perfume totally left the fabric, but he could wear it to their date so, once in his room, it could regain the scent. Obviously, he couldn’t wear just that, he needed to look well dressed. He wouldn’t show up in white tie, it wasn’t a wedding, but something between smart casual and casual would be nice. Smart casual was a little too much, he didn’t want to look ridiculous when he’ll kiss Killer goodbye. If he managed to confess, that’s it. He was determined to do it though, he couldn’t bear not being with him yet. He was pretty sure Killer loved him as well, but he hoped he was ready to be in a relationship.

But, before daydreaming, he had to tell his father he was going out.

With a groan, he got up. Replacing the covers was easy, he then stepped out of his room. Of course, he had to almost bump into Chara as he did so. Too tired, he didn’t say a word and simply shot him a glare before going downstairs. He thought about what he should do first: tell his dad or eat breakfast. His stomach answered for him as he entered the kitchen. Papyrus was here.

“Hey Paps.” Cross greeted him. His brother turned around and smiled. 

“Ah, Cross! I made too much hot chocolate, take some.” Papyrus handed him a cup of chocolate and, well, he couldn’t say no. He grabbed an apple on his way as well and sat at the table. Soon, the whole family was there. 

It wasn’t often they would have breakfast together; either school or work came in the way and made at least one of them leave the house sooner. Even though he wasn’t on the best terms possible with his father and Chara, he enjoyed simple moments like this one. A glimpse into the normality of the past. However, he wasn’t oblivious of his father's gaze.

Soon enough, his siblings chatted between them. Cross would usually join, but he knew he had to talk to his father before he would head out to work. Sure, he still had two hours before his father would leave, but if he needed to argue, he preferred to have time finding arguments.

“Father?” His father looked at him while sipping at his glass of hot chocolate. No turning back now. Cross took the time to breath before saying: “I have a date, I just wanted to tell you before heading out.”

He was glad to notice his brothers still talking to each other, it made it less awkward.

His father slowly put his glass back on the table as he raised his brows. He never had a problem with his son having dates, but when he’ll learn with whom…

“Oh. With who?” 

He could’ve just lied, say another name, but he wanted Killer in his life. Even if it meant facing his father’s wrath. He lowered his gaze, stirring his chocolate. 

“Oh, you know..” He trailed off, trying to look nonchalant. Maybe acting chill would calm his father. “Just..Killer.” His voice came out slightly too high and in a whisper. Immediately, his father’s fist met the table, making his siblings turned. He hid his head in his shoulder, rapidly drinking. It was silent for a while. Only the heavy breathing of his father cut the silence. 

“Killer?! ” His father yelled. “Have you lost your mind, Cross?”

He expected to be scared. To shiver and avoid eye contact. He thought he would still be that small child yielding in front of every sign of resistance. 

But it wasn't who he was anymore. 

He wasn't Sans anymore, he won't let himself be stomped on anymore. 

He himself hit the table with his hands, looking at Gaster with a determined look. 

“Yes, Killer. And I don't need your approval to love someone!” His hands trembled because of the strength he put on them, his half eaten apple rolled with the impact. 

“I don't forbid you to have feelings for him, I only worry for you Cross. What if he ends up having a bad influence on you, getting you into drugs?” He wasn't yelling as much as before, but he still raised his voice. The three younger boys stayed silent for once, no remarks or whispers. 

“He won't, he's not like that! I-I really do love him, father. I won't stop seeing him.” Cross's voice became more steady and calm as he went on. As he finished his sentence, he removed his hands from the table and continued his breakfast. He didn't care what his father had to add, he already made up his mind. 

“Fine.” His father sighed. Cross nearly snapped his neck to look at him, surprised. Even his siblings were surprised as, finally, they started murmuring, wondering what was happening. Gaster closed his eyes to rest his forehead in his head, clearly disappointed. “But you know the consequences, Cross. If you end up being a failure, I will throw you out of this house. And don't get pregnant either.”

“Yeah , yeah, I know.” Cross hissed back. All adrenaline left his body, he didn't have the strength to fight back once again and call out his behaviour. 

But it stung. It stung badly to know that his father cared so little. He could be in a bad state, and instead of helping him, he would leave him to rot on the pavement. Where did his father draw the line from sad to failure? What steps were there left for Cross to be considered undeserving of being his son? 

In the corner of his eyes, he spotted his father looking at him, then away, then back at him a few times before sighing and standing up. Cross heard Chara say something along the line of “good luck” as he braced himself for something. His father never hit him, but he did just cross a line, he probably deserved it. He closed his eyes with fear, but shot them back open when he heard his father:

“If you're going on the date, we should fix your hair.”

Here they were, Cross hunched over the bathtub as his father rinsed his hair. He was still too shocked to react, even if he squealed when some water slipped in his shirt. 

Cross wasn't dumb. He knew his father wasn't redeemed or changed suddenly, but helping him for his date seemed   surreal. 

“It had been so long since I did your hair, I forgot how difficult it was to manage.” He grumbled as he grabbed a towel and handed it to Cross. 

It was only when he dried like he could his wet hair that he began to realise and woke up from his inner monologue.

“Why are you doing this?” 

Gaster didn't bother looking at him, plugging the hair dryer. He took a few seconds before answering:

“I am highly disappointed in you. But, as it seems you decided to be a disobedient brat, I can't stop this relationship from happening. The best I can do is at least make this boy realise he doesn't deserve to be with one of my children.” He grumbled at the end, struggling to find the diffuser. “Keep the towel on your shoulder, I have to cut the ends. See, it was a good thing I scolded you for cutting your hair yourself. It's uneven.”

“Really? Oh…” Cross tried to look in the mirror, but he could not see his back. He had cut his hair before the start of the school year, hair salons weren’t his things anymore after his last experience. The hairdresser had kept calling him a girl and refused to give him the haircut he had chosen. He set the towel on his shoulder, wincing at the humid sensation of the towel on him. He then sat on the floor. It was just like it used to be when he was little. His father, sitting behind, combing his hair. At each touch of the comb, sliding more easily each time through his hair, the memories became more vivid. First the visuals, then the sound, and faintly some sensations. He felt his throat tightened.

When he felt his father reaching to grab the scissors, he suddenly panicked and turned around to meet his father's annoyed stare. 

“Don't cut it, I mean don't cut it short. Please.” He sounded whiny, but he hardly noticed. His father sighed. Cross didn’t wish to annoy him, but he wasn’t in the right space of mind for this. Which was ironic considering he was the one making numerous changes in his life.

“I thought you wanted short hair, isn’t the whole point of your thing to look more masculine?”

Cross looked to the side, ashamed of the reason. How was he supposed to explain it just felt wrong. Like cutting a piece of the past he wasn't ready to let go. He tried explaining, but the words won't come out at first. Fearing his father would lose patience and abandon this moment, Cross shakily said:

“I don't want it to change right now.”

His father raised his brows but didn't comment. He didn’t care as long as the haircut was perfectly done. Cross was glad for that as he turned back to his original position. 

As said, his father only cut the ends, the length barely changed. Apparently, it was more even now. Whatever made his father happy, he guessed. 

The hair dryer felt hot on his head, a little too close to his ear too, but it felt like home. Cross, already moved by the resurgence of memories, recalled how his father would dry his hair after the shower when he was young. 

He had to look after two babies, a four year old and Cross, around six at that time, but he still managed to learn how to care for his hair. They were all gathered in the living room; both younger twins on a purple playmat, Papyrus on the couch and Sans Cross, sitting on the floor while Gaster battled with the comb.

“Ugh, we should just cut it.” He sighed, trying to detangle the mess on Sans Cross head. It was like a waterfall of black wet curls, trapping the comb in its grip. The kid gasped: “I want the same as Papyrus!”

Tears gathered in his eyes, a few slipping on his cheeks. He hated to cry, even more in front of his father. However, this moment felt so close to home, a feeling that became more and more scarce through the years despite being in the same house. For once, he felt like Gaster's precious child once again, conscious of the expectations, still treated unfairly and scared of being dropped on the road for making a fuss in the car, but with warm and welcoming moments to cling on. Having his hair washed, bed time stories, being dropped to school.

Looking back, he never was a good father. But he at least tried. And, for once, it felt like he was a decent father once again. It was just an impression, the threats of being thrown out still fresh in his Cross's head, but he couldn't care less. He forced the tears to stay in his eyes, waiting for his father to be done.

“Perfect.” His father said proudly as he replaced some of the curls. “Go look in the mirror.” 

Cross nodded and walked to the mirror, admiring his hair. He hasn't seen his curls this good looking since elementary school. Drying quickly his tears with his palm, his head turned a few times to look at his hair. 

His father looked at his face, red from crying, but didn't say a word. He silently tidied the place before standing next to Cross. 

“Remember what was in the books. Come home before seven.”

He then left Cross. 

When he came back to the living room, he was still confused. But at least, he was now confused but with fabulous hair. 

His siblings, noting the absence of their father who must have begun preparing himself for work, strode over Cross. 

“Heh, didn't know he knew how to do your hair.” Chara wheezed before being punched in the ribs by Frisk. 

“What was that? What-how-” Frisk began sweating as incomprehension filled his face. Deciding to be a ‘brat’ as his father said, Cross huffed: “Elder's privileges.”

They bantered for a while, all as shocked as the other by the situation. They were all ready for Cross to be sent to his room but instead he had a bonding moment they all craved. Unfortunately, he knew they will all be jealous, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. He only had two hours, since it was ten, to get ready, and of course, his siblings decided to help him. He tried making Chara leave, but Papyrus argued it wasn't fair, so he gave up on the idea. 

He was still fiddling with a strand of hair. His father did his hair. He didn't scold him, didn't put him out on the street. He helped him for his date.

“Youhou, Cross! White or black for the button up?” Frisk interrupted his thoughts. They were in his room, and the two younger took the role of stylist as they rummaged through his clothes. 

“Uh, the black one. We're eating out, I'm scared to stain the white one.” Cross replied. Frisk bonded in agreement and set the black button up aside. Who would have guessed a date would have brought their family closer like that? 

Papyrus was trying, trying, to do his makeup. Nothing crazy, just concealer for his eye bags. However, considering how Cross was always moving, the task was hard. 

“You got any fun underwear?” Chara shouted. Cross shrieked and protested: “Don't look through that, asshole!”

“Ugh, I can't do this anymore.” Killer whined as he let himself drop on his bed. His arms felt numb. Looking for comfort, he tried petting his cat, but the animal was too far away on his bed. He was cleaning his room, but it wasn't as simple as it seems. He hadn't cleaned it in months, he should've started yesterday. So far, he only managed to clean his floor and make his bed. 

“Why don't you ask your mother to help you?” Colour asked. They were in a call, to motivate Killer. Music would've been too distracting and silence too boring. 

“I want to make her proud, ya know.” He sighed as he approached his desk unwillingly. He hadn't even showered yet, it was simply taking too much time. 

For the next hour, he cleaned his room while complaining to Colour. He was glad his best friend put up with his whining, he needed company. 

“Well, I can just close the drawers and pretend they're clean.” Killer exclaimed, happy to have finished. 

“Open your window, your room deserves fresh air.” Colour laughed, but it held no judgment. He would never judge Killer for his difficulties. “So, what are you gonna wear?”

A small smile crept on Killer's face. “I have this dark red shirt, it gives vampire vibes. And I just thought about a simple black pair of jeans. Want a picture when I'll be ready?”

“Of course.” Colour replied. 

He cursed under his breath as he tried to apply black on his water line. For once, Killer wanted a more simple look, just a little dark around his eye but not his usual eccentric eye liner. 

For one, he quite didn't have time, with how long cleaning his room took he had to be fast. Then, he wanted to look smart for his date. Well, as much as liberty spikes allowed him to. He could've just let his hair unstylized, but he found comfort in making his signature hairstyle. 

He cursed once again as he messed up, the eye pencil poking his eye. Admittedly, he was nervous. He planned a good evening for Cross and him, and the possibility of everything going awfully wrong scared him. Moreover, he felt bad. He felt bad because he hadn't told everything to Cross, and he didn't know how to tell him. He wanted to, but he felt stuck, unable to form the sentence he wanted. He hoped Cross would understand and that it wouldn't create a problem between them, between their relationship. Killer loved Cross, he loved him like he never did and found himself being as cheesy as a middle schooler every time he was with him. It was pleasant. 

At first, he was scared Cross wouldn't feel the same or worse, would feel the same but wasn't ready to wait. Killer preferred to wait, take their time, be sure of their feelings in order to not hurt each other. But not everyone viewed it the same as him, and if Cross had been too impatient, it would've shattered his heart. Fortunately, Cross had been understanding. They went on several dates together, but the question now was : was Cross ready? 

He finally finished his makeup and sighed. He had half an hour left to prepare his things. Remembering Colour wanted a photo, the phone was positioned for it and the timer on. The boy took a few steps back and posed for the camera. He looked fairly good in his outfit, nicely dressed but not too business looking. His outfit would be hidden by his coat and scarf for a great part of the way anyway, but he still wanted to look good. And he did. 

He sent it to his best friend before leaving the room. The atmosphere became tense as he entered the living room, avoiding his father. As always. He couldn't wait to live on his own, far from the man. It almost drew a laugh out of him when he noticed none of his friends had a good relationship with their father. He grabbed his bag near the door and began putting some stuff in it. Mainly his wallet, his keys and other useful things. 

“Killer, look at you! All handsome for your date!” His mother chirped as she hugged him. 

“Yeah, yeah. Lemme go.” He pouted while trying to leave the embrace. He then smiled at his mother: “Thanks.”

She patted his back before going back to her businesses, aka making lunch. It smelled good, like onions and sweet peppers. And a lot of butter. Killer almost wanted to pack a few of it for later, but he already planned lunch with Cross. 

“I'm going now!” He announced, searching for his shoes. He found a pair of not so damaged shoes and put them on before grabbing his coat and scarf. He then patted his pocket and smiled as he felt the bottle of perfume. Perfect. His mother arrived:

“Have fun Killer. You have money on you? I can land some, prices are going so high lately.” She ranted while going for her bag. 

“I'm fine, I think thirty is more than enough”

“Come on, you don't need to spend all your money on food. Here, take ten.” His mother handed him a note of then, but before he could even decline, his father grunted from the couch:

“He doesn't need that. Keep it for groceries.”

Great. 

His mother looked at him with furrowed brows: “Let me spoil our son if I want to.” She sighed before putting the note in Killer's pocket. “Your father, I swear…” She quietly laughed before hugging him quickly. 

“Uh, you're sure these pants are good?”

“Of course, it looks casual .”

“The colour is awful.”

Cross grew bored of his siblings arguing over a pair of pants for almost an hour. He was swapping memes with Epic, laughing like an idiot at his phone. His siblings sweated to not tell a word to his father about the device. He wanted to choose his pants himself, but with how Frisk looked at him, it appeared he didn't have a choice but to let them decide. He didn't have that many pants, they were taking a ridiculous amount of time to make a decision. 

As much as he wanted to look good, a simple black pair of jeans would do the job. But they threw it in the ‘no’ piles. Whatever. 

“Okay! Cross, put that on.” Frisk exclaimed as Chara threw a pair of jeans to him. He jumped as he clumsily grabbed it. He shrugged and went to the bathroom to change. Looking at the pants, he wasn't so sure. It was a nice pair of pants, dark blue, but he wasn't sure. Didn't it look too much? 

Knowing his siblings wouldn't let him wear another pair, he sighed and put it on. At least, he knew this pair fitted him perfectly. The shirt was a bit too loose, but it was okay. 

As he stared himself in the mirror, he winced. His father was right, he should cut his hair. It was way too girly. It looked-

“Cross, you fell down the toilets or what?” Chara yelled from the other side of the door, making Cross yelp. He put his pajamas in the basket and left the room. His two other siblings were still waiting, leaving Chara and Cross alone in the corridor. 

“Wow, what a face to go on a date. You're about to go to a funeral?”

“Shut up.” Cross grunted, crossing his arms. “It's just… you know. My hair.”

He felt Chara looking at it before shrugging:

“It looks better than when you brush it yourself.”

“It's not that. I look like a girl now-”

Chara let out an annoyed scream, dramatically letting his head fall. His gaze felt like daggers being thrown at him, making him shut up. He didn't know Chara had a problem with his hair. 

“Shut up, you don't. You look like a big dork, you're the only one noticing those details!”

“Oh.”

Not knowing what to do, mainly because he expected his brother to be mean and agree with Cross, he just stood there. It was awkward for a moment before Chara left. 

He wasn't convinced, but he was way too disturbed to think about it anymore. Why was his family so nice all of sudden? 

“I can't find it.” Papyrus sighed, searching through his father's drawers. They were looking for a cologne, but they had no idea where it was. 

“Wait, have you checked the top drawer?” Cross asked, still in the threshold. He didn't particularly want to barge in the room. 

Papyrus opened it and made a sound of victory. “Found it!” He grabbed it and put some of his wrist to smell it. Cross smelled it as well and shrugged. “Smells normal, I guess.”

“Well, let's put that!” Papyrus smiled and sprayed it on Cross's hair. It was supposed to last longer from what they saw on the internet. He closed his eyes, scared to receive some in it. After a second spray, Papyrus put it back in the drawer and closed it. 

“Here you go! If you want some dating advice, call me, dear brother.” He elbowed him, but since he was taller it landed on his shoulder, and left the room with him. 

Once the four of them were on the sofa, they were happily chatting. Except for Chara, he was always grumpy. He still asked Cross if Killer would come here, one day. Followed by “I hate him, but you have to admit he looks way more fun than you!”

He had ten minutes before leaving, and surprisingly he wasn't scared. Maybe it was thanks to his brother's encouragement, but he felt like everything was about to go smoothly. 

When he left the house, he did it with a smile on his face. The wind made his curls float as he walked to the bus station. Hands in Killer’s jacket pockets, he began day dreaming. With some luck, he could walk back home from the date hand in hand with Killer and, on the threshold, kiss him goodbye. Maybe they would end up hugging each other, Killer’’s head on his shoulder, his breath caressing his skin- He was glad his father couldn’t read mind. It wasn’t raining, which was fortunate. His hair had never looked this good since he knew Killer, going on a date, the date, with puffy hair would be dramatic.

At the end of the street, the bus station appeared. There, he saw Killer already waiting. Due to the weather, both had jackets or coats on, but he could see through the open coat a dark red button up shirt. Killer hadn’t noticed him yet, tapping on his phone, which let Cross admire him. Sure, he was as stunning as every time he saw him, but something today made a stupid smile appear on his face. It was only when he was a few steps apart that Killer noticed him.

“Hi, Kills.”

“Heya- wow, your hair!” Killer grinned as he looked at him up and down. Cross blushed before mumbling a thank you. 

“My father helped me.” Cross explained. He saw surprise pass on his crush’s face. Killer wasn’t one for subtility, so he directly asked:

“Your father? As in the man who despises me? Is he aware you’re out to see me or…” He trailed off, grinning. 

“Mhmh.” He acquiesced, playing with a strand of his hair until he felt Killer turn around him to look at the curls. “He wasn’t happy at first but he can’t do anything about it. So he tried showing you I’m clearly out of your league.” He huffed as he crossed his arms, a smug smile on his face. Killer, now beside him, snickered before putting his hands in the air:

“Aw, such confidence. Don’t let your old man feed you too many lies.”

Cross answered with a harmless kick on his shoulder. 

The bus arrived, and they decided to take two places at the end. Cross was more a middle of the bus enjoyer, but it was okay too. Once sat side by side, Killer took his hand in his, ranting about something. He was ashamed to admit it, but Cross lost his concentration, too busy wondering where they were going. He only had ten bucks on him, he hoped it was enough… He craved tacos, or pizzas right now. But unfortunately, he doubted Killer knew his love for them. Well, he wasn’t a fan of pizzas, but once in a while he wanted some.

“Okay, what’s on your mind? Spill the tea.” Killer asked Cross. Ah, he noticed. His cheeks lightly burned from shame, even though Killer didn’t seem to care. 

“Where are we going? For lunch, I mean.” 

Killer smiled at him. “Oh, well. I wanted to keep it a surprise, but a certain someone…” He took his time to create suspense. He probably asked Dust and Horror, and he was certain those two probably said something awful just to prank Cross. “... told me you had a soft spot for tacos.” Killer beamed, a huge proud smile on his face. It only grew wider as Cross’s eyes probably shone with excitement. This date promised to be fantastic.

Chapter Text

“That’s my favourite thing in the world beside chocolate.” Cross confessed. A genuine grin shone on his face, making Killer dizzy. He could stare at Cross smile for the entire ride, but the other would probably feel uncomfortable. 

“Ah, I see I have competition.” Killer laughed, leaning on Cross shoulder. “I’m glad you like it.” He happily sighed.

The bus went fast, making their seat shake since they were at the end of it. However it didn't mean they were near their destination yet. Suddenly, Killer straightened his posture. “Shit, I forgot to close my window. One sec, imma ask my mom to do it. Heh, having insects crashing our date isn't in my plans.” Cross chuckled back, watching Killer search for his phone. Given the opportunity, Cross took his own phone out and started discreetly texting Epic. 

Cross: he's taking me to eat TACOS

Epic: Bruh, if you dont end up together at the end of the day i dont understand :-\

Cross: duuude what's with the nose? 

He didn't get to see Epic answers, but it was probably for the best. Who willingly put noses on a smiley apart from this guy?

Killer, whose phone was now in his pocket, looked at Cross before chirping: “Watcha doing? Changing your socials status to taken?”

Ah, that was all he asked for. “I should, actually.” He smiled before looking out at the window. 

… 

… 

… 

“Horror and Dust look so gay for each other.”

Cross turned to Killer, he wasn't expecting gossiping about their friend but, oh well, it can't hurt. 

“Are you sure they are not together? And we somehow haven't been informed?”

“No way, they're basically my siblings, we're super close!” Killer told, clasping his hands together to emphasis on the closeness. 

“Oh, really?” Cross knew the three were close, they knew each other for a long time. However he didn't know this bond was strong to the point of telling each other everything considering cherishing their privacy was something they all shared. Then, Killer raised his index, as if telling Cross not to speak and wait. Curiosity won, he waited. Killer frowned, his smile a little embarrassed. 

“Forget the siblings part. Dust was my first kiss, it's just weird to say we're siblings.” what “And! That would imply Dust and Horror are siblings too. They're my otp, I can't do that…”Killer trailed off.

Cross's face displayed both amusement and surprise. The two boys, Dust and Killer, seemed like an impossible match. Yet, somehow, they had history? 

Cross had a hard time assimilating the information, he swore Dust was straight. Or at least not interested at all in Killer. Most of the time, the two argued and, even if he didn't witness it much since it often happened during lunch, they sometimes get a little brutal with each other. 

Killer was all for taunting, provoking Dust whereas the latter was as cold as ice, throwing insults at his friend as much as possible. Maybe an enemy to lovers, then. Epic would like it.

“Oh, I didn't know you two once were a thing.” Cross chuckled after a few seconds. He wasn't jealous, he couldn't care less about Killer's past relationship because, well, it was the past. It's not like Killer even judged him for his past crushes–not that he ever talked about them anyway– thus he really had no reasons to be bummed. Simply surprised. 

Killer looked at him, his expression making him seem like he was thinking hard. “Heh, there's a first time for everything, congrats for thinking so hard. It must take a lot of efforts-”

He got interrupted by Killer wheezing, slapping a hand over his own mouth to refrain himself from laughing too loud. They still were in a bus after all. Cross frowned, it's not like anything he said was funny. 

“Between us, you're the one who needs to think harder, Crossy!”

He frowned, crossing his arms as he looked at Killer. “Care to explain?”

“You really thought I would be in love with that guy? Please, I have standards!” He was outright mocking him, but how could he blame him for thinking that?

“Hey, it’s not my fault you said he was your first kiss, I just assumed-”

“Spin the bottle. It was for a silly game.” Killer answered with a grin, his laugh becoming quieter. 

Cross spent the next two minutes talking about how the sentence misleaded him. No resentment, it was fun despite the initial embarrassment Cross felt. After some taunting, Killer looked to the side, air coming out of his mouth, something between a laugh and a sigh. Cross quickly looked at him, did Killer have a bad story to tell about it? Wasn't he comfortable sharing this? It wouldn't make sense, though Cross would accept it if it was the case. Lately, Killer began showing a more vulnerable part of himself to Cross, and even though it made pride grow in his chest, he also worried from time to time. Sure, he just half sighed, but Cross wanted this date to be smooth and making Killer uncomfortable wasn't on the list.

“You know,” Killer started, still looking anywhere but at Cross, “That was actually the last kiss I had too. And the last form of physical proximity until you arrived, to be honest.”

That was quite sad. Cross probably winced. He should've probably comforted him, or hugged him, but sometimes he still acted like the dumb teenager he was, way too direct with his questions. So, he asked:

“So, your family or Color didn't hug you?” He immediately regretted how he asked it. 

He could've been more subtle, less harsh in his words, but curiosity was stronger than his mind. Fortunately, Killer didn't seem to care that much. 

“I didn't really come out of my room much for a time, so, yeah.” He laughed. It didn't sound like a genuine laugh, more like the generic one he used in conversations. 

“... Do you want to talk about it?” Cross asked, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. They still were in a bus, not the best place to vent but if Killer needed it, Cross would listen. 

“Later. That's our stop!” The one with spikes chirped before grabbing his hand and getting out of the vehicle. “Raincheck on that.”

The wind was colder than before, hitting Cross's cheeks more than caressing it. Hopefully, his hair wasn't too messy now. His father probably wouldn't be happy if he came back with a nest instead of hair on the head. Turning to Killer, he saw him looking at something on his phone. With further inspection – which could be considered creepy, he didn't mean it like that – he learnt Killer was checking the tacos restaurant location. 

Cross could've guided him but Killer seemed to be determined to have everything under control. Cross cherished having control over situations, even though it was hard with his father, but when it came to Killer, it was easy to let go and relax. It was akin to being gently wrapped in a warm blanket, being led away from controllers you had been controlling for years non stop and finally resting. 

They walked to the tacos place, quickly entering the building, the door becoming a shield against the wind. Winter settled well, a little too well, but it was common here. No snow, no extreme temperature, but cold and rainy enough to be annoying to tourists. It gave the region a quite bad reputation, even in his city which was the biggest out there. If only it could spare the locals from rich old men buying all the lands and houses for their vacations, but no, despite all the insults, this place apparently was still attractive.

Inside, it was the same orange wallpaper from his memories: kitsch designs, wonky chairs but the otherworldly smell of freshly made tacos. Killer let out a small laugh, elbowing Cross while inciting him to look around by scanning the area with his eyes: 

“Heh, I thought it would be less childish. Guess we’ll spare the champagne and fancy restaurant for our anniversary.” Cross blushed at his statement, smiling. Killer was talking like they already were together, but he couldn’t wait for it to actually be the case. Killer’s expression softened, they then sat at a table near the entrance. Sitting here brought back memories of lunches with Ink, laughing over silly things around food.

They soon enough got their respective tacos, with soft shells–Cross found it easier to eat, even though the crunch of hard shells is the best part– with some drinks. Killer got an energy drink whereas Cross chose juice. Killer seemed happy, looking around before settling his gaze on Cross. 

“I’m glad it’s a good spot. I wasn’t sure it would be.” Killer said before taking his first bite. Cross almost jumped on his tacos, refraining himself from eating the one in his hands in one bite. They got 2 each: they could’ve taken more, especially since it was quite cheap here, but their tacos were huge. After swallowing, Cross answered in a question: “How did you even figure I love tacos? Seriously, I adore these things.”

Killer snickered, leaning back on his seat. He finished his bite and said: “Epic and Ink helped me. I got the place from Ink, hence why I wasn’t sure.”

Cross froze with surprise and shock. 

“Ink?” 

He did mean to thank him beforehand but it spilt from his mouth. Killer’s mouth transformed into a straight line.

“Eh, yeah, I know you’re not on good terms. But ya know, I wanted to be sure Epic was right.” He then took another bite. Cross shook his head: “I understand, don’t worry dude.”

He smiled, trying to look reassuring. He really didn’t mind, he was simply too surprised Ink answered and remembered this place.

“We, Ink and I, used to eat here in middle school. I’m… happy he remembered. Heh, thanks for taking me here, it feels good.” His cheeks became a little red and his gaze fell on his tacos. Killer didn’t answer with words, but in his peripheral vision, he saw a genuine grin, and it was enough. Even with the cheap look of the place, it felt better than his slightly fancy living room. He used to call it his second home, he even learnt the past employers names.

“Wait, you asked Epic?” He realized, lifting his head. A proud look shone on the other’s face: “Yup!” He popped the ‘p’. “you texted him with my phone once, I kept his contact. I bet he didn’t tell you, imma right?”

“Yeah! He didn’t even tell me you messaged him.” A strange sensation went through him, he truly was moved he went as far for a date when he knew Cross would’ve been happy with way less. He was moved Epic and Ink helped create this moment. It was obvious, as he occupied the status of best friend, that Epic would help and would know his favourite dish, but he was nonetheless touched by the gesture: but for Ink, it was a different kind of emotion. A hint of bittersweetness followed by resignation, not so in a sad, giving up way, but more in a finally at peace attitude. He may not be on good terms with Ink anymore, and he didn’t know if it could be salvaged after months of avoidance, but neither felt hate toward the other, and it was enough to lift a pressure off Cross’s shoulders. 

Of course, he still wanted to talk and apologize to Ink–apologize about what he did to Dream but also for not being here after middle school and avoiding him for months instead of communicating like normal people– but he was okay with not being friends anymore if there was no hate. 

“I get why you like tacos that much, ‘s pretty tasty.” Killer mumbled before taking a bite, almost dropping half the fillings. 

“Duh, and wait until you taste the hard shell: it’s harder to eat because it tends to break easily, but the crunch? Delightful.” He lent toward Killer as if he was sharing a secret. It brought giggles out of the two before the conversation drifted to other topics.

And, like the two teenagers they were, they soon started to gossip.

“What, Fell as in the emo from our grade ?” Cross asked. Killer nodded frantically, shoving the end of his tacos in his mouth, eating it and then answered. If he wasn’t too focused on the story, he would’ve scolded him for not enjoying every bite.

“Yeah! I can’t believe he would go with him. But wait, the story gets even weirder.”

“Weirder than edgy boy falling for a nerd a grade below? Nah, I don’t believe it.” Indeed, they were talking how, apparently, according to Delta who told it to Color who then told Killer, Fell seemed to flirt with a boy. He was actually the one he almost contacted for a new phone. He never actually knew his age, but now he learnt he was just a year younger. Anyway, Cross was already surprised by what Killer taught him: Fell liked to seem tough, to be rude and he was pretty sure he was against minorities to look ‘badass’. Well, Cross had no proof, but he had the vibe. Leaning toward him with a menacing grin, Killer dared him to guess the plot twist. His interlocutor had no clues, so he began throwing absurd scenarios.

“Science is head over heels for Dust? They’re actually cousins? Error has a crush on the nerd too?”

“Ding ding ding, one is right!” Killer cackled before a bewildered Cross. Uh, maybe they actually were cousins then. “Well, we’re not sure about any of them. But yeah, Error at least has a soft spot for lil science boy.”

Cross almost choked on his glass of juice.

Error???

“What?! Why? Isn’t he in love with Classic?” His sentence was cut by a cough. He just couldn’t understand. Sure, they could know each other due to the fact they both were the improvised engineers among students, but that was it. Killer made sure he didn’t actually choke, rubbing his hand over his arm while he coughed a few times more.

“Yeah well, he does look a bit like Classic and apparently does act a little like him. So, he fits Error’s criterias. Heh, he may simply view him as a friend, but rumors prefer the label ‘crush’.”

“I certainly didn’t expect that.”

When they left, they didn’t spend time wandering in the mall, heading directly to Killer’s house. The exterior was the same as last time except for the absence of the neighbour’s cat, probably hiding from the cold, sleeping on soft covers.

Killer opened the door with ease, letting Cross enter first with a dramatic bow. He huffed in amusement and entered, pulling Killer's hood over his head. 

“Hey!” He protested, following his guest inside. 

Contrary to his sober house, Killer's house was less colour coded. The wallpaper was a dark green with some fake bricks walls here and there; the floor for its part was a simple white tiles floor. Not bathroom tiles though. Upon entering, they arrived in front of the living room: right at the left was the kitchen, the door opened, and at the back was another door and the stairs. It was quite cramped but nonetheless cozy. 

The living room seemed to be separated in two parts : the couch was near the entrance and the table just a few meters behind, leaving spaces for the chairs between the two pieces of furniture. 

It looked way more lived in than his house. Mismatched cushions, stuffs hazardly stuffed at random places like the pair of headphones in front of the TV. 

Cross liked it, it wasn't as filled as Nightmare's house but not as pristine as his place : it was warm and welcoming.

“Welcome to my house! You can put your shoes next to the door.”

Cross did as instructed, listening to Killer speak. 

“I don't have interesting things on my TV, but we can use my PC.”

Soon enough, since nothing in the living room was interesting, they ended up in Killer's bedroom.

The walls were a dark red with a singular white horizontal line in the middle. His bed was placed in a corner and around it were pictures of Killer and his friends. Most pictures were with Colour, but he mostly looked at the pictures of Killer and him. The one with the sunset at the park turned beautiful. 

He had a pc with a pretty big screen on his desk, the wallpaper was set on a picture of his cat. Killer practically launched himself on his dark blue sheets, sighing in comfort when he felt the fabric against him. Cross snickered and sat beside him, observing the rest of the bedroom. A wardrobe, some storages, a table with wooden pieces. Why not. 

“Uh, my cat must be hiding. Sorry, no cat today.” His voice was muffled by the sheet. Cross acquiesced, he could always see the animal later. 

“What's with the wood?” He asked, turning to the pile named ‘Killer’. It moved slightly before a face appeared between the clothes and sheets. 

“I carve wood sometimes. I actually wanted to make ya try if you're up to it? Just don't mess up or you'll lose fingers.” He chirped. Nice. Reassuring. 

Killer slowly unglued himself from his bed and walked toward the table, waiting for Cross. Praying one last time to keep his hands intact, he glanced at the content of the table. 

“So you carve with your nails or what? There's no tools.”

Really, except wooden squares, pencils and a ruler, nothing was there. Killer seemed to realize it as he turned to Cross. 

“Oh, yeah. My bad, it's not here. Heh, with such sharp words you could use them.” He started leaving the room, making Cross jog to follow him. 

“My mom keeps it in the garage.” 

Once they gathered the tool, and two pairs or gardening gloves to prevent them from cutting their fingers off, they went back to his improvised workshop. He didn’t question why the sharp tools were in the garage, he could guess the reason.

“We can try to make a bird, that’s for beginners.” Killer stated as he took a seat on the ground next to Cross. He grabbed some pieces of papers and handed them to Cross; it was the model of the bird, the lines to follow.

“So, I repeat it on the wood?” Cross asked. He was excited, it seemed entertaining to carve wood and it meant a free figurine to bring back home. Well, he doubted he could finish it today, but Killer could always finish it for him. That’s what he told him when they were picking the tools. Speaking of Killer, he shook his head: 

“Nah, you glue it on. At least that’s how I learnt to do it. Just put the side, and we can see if we have time for the top and bottom after.”

Once he finally was able to start carving, Cross found it way harder than he thought. It was hard to follow the lines, and sometimes the blade would stay stuck. But he didn’t feel frustrated or mad, he actually enjoyed it. Beside him, Killer seemed to continue an old project, sanding a wood figurine.

A cat, obviously. 

After quitting the activity to put on some music, Killer came back and a comfortable silence settled between them, only broken by the sound of the music and the sanding. Depending on the songs, Killer would hum along, and when their song arrived, Cross found himself joining him, swaying slightly from side to side in sync.

He took an hour to finish his part, and by then Killer had begun pulling a sort of wax on his creation. 

“All done! Look how shiny it is.” Killer exclaimed as he approached the cat to the other face. Killer put it too close to his eyes, he had to squint to make out the form. “There’s a lot of details. I had no idea you were this good in that field.”

With a smug smile, Killer brags about ‘natural talents’ and having ‘hidden skills’ as well. It earned a laugh out of Cross, finding his attitude silly but endearing. 

“Well, I don’t think I could finish mine today.” Cross shrugged, pulling his tools back. He could continue but Killer would grow bored if he simply watched him without having anything to work on. 

He doesn’t know how, but he ended up doing karaoke, badly singing random songs from the 2010s while Killer was howling with laughter. Singing wasn’t his talent, that was for sure.

His face must be red from embarrassment, but before he could back down, a song he knew by heart appeared on the screen. All ounce of shyness left his body; that was it. Yes, a song he would badly sing, but, as it came from a musical, he could play it. 

At that instant, mimicking the act of a play he memorized in his childhood, he realized how comfortable he was around Killer. 

Cross was an insecure teenager, like most teenagers, and impressions were a must for him. Maybe because of his education, but he hated making a fool of himself. Very rarely, he allowed himself to, mostly when on calls with Epic. But almost never in real life. Except with Killer. 

There were so many instances where the two acted like idiots, and it had felt right. By the time the song ended, Killer made him quit his intern monologue by pulling an arm around his shoulders. 

“My my, you should start a career in drama. I would watch all your shows.” He    purred? Somehow? 

Cross scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, continue making fun of me. I hate you, dude.” Killer laughed back before announcing it was already snack time.

“Not to be rude, but I admitted your father was way too shitty to even know how to do your hair. I'm surprised.” Killer stated before shoving a handful of chocolate in his mouth. They were at the table, a random movie on for background noises.

He used to love chocolate, but it had been a while since he really felt emotions because of food. There were tasty aliments, such as the tacos they just ate or what his mother prepared earlier, but it still left him indifferent in the end. Remembering he just said something borderline, he focused back on his guest. Cross had a soft blush coating his cheeks. He didn't look mad, Killer thought he would be since he was sensible, he looked more embarrassed, a faint lopsided smile on his face. 

“Ah. That's– yeah, that's probably the most he is capable of. He always had been… Ugh, neglectful seems too strong but you get what I mean. He wasn't the best.”

Killer nodded because, yes, yes he does get it. The difference is that Killer got his mother to compensate. The idea of asking about his mother crossed his mind, but he didn't want to push his luck. Cross absently stabbed a piece of apple with the toothpick, recalling memories. His smile grew a little, more so because of the heart to heart conversation than the memories. “When I was little, like around a few months, I apparently barely saw him. He used to rely a lot on Al’ to take care of me, even though she was so tiny too.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Al'. Pretty sure he never brought her before. He asked about her. 

“Ah, Alphys. She's my sister, kind of?”

In retrospect, he probably never mentioned her before as he barely spoke about his childhood at all. He didn’t hide her existence on purpose.

“You have a sister, what?” Killer dragged on the ‘a’, making it sound more dramatic than it should be. Cross snorted, resting his head on his palm as he answered. He tended to relax more, these days.

“To be fair, she’s not my sister, but I grew up seeing her as one. When I was born, Alphys was around ten and she began babysitting me when my father wasn’t home. Which means a lot of times. It’s silly to call her my sister, I’m sorry.” Embarrassment coated his cheek with a reddish tone, his look averting to the right. The hand on which his head was resting ended up covering half his face. For years, Alphys had been the one teaching them life, feeding them while waiting for Gaster to arrive. Despite her neutral, next to cold expression, Cross had found comfort in her to the point of really seeing her as part of family. However, he never outright told it to any of his friends because, as much as he cared for her, he knew it could sound dumb and even pathetic. So, when Killer put his hand on top of his, a soft smile on his face, he added another line to his never ending list of reasons to love him. That was before he used that cheeky tone:

“Aw, that’s sweet, Crossy.” It made him scoff. “No, really, it is. I don’t hear often about when ya were little, you can’t blame me for reacting when I get bits of info!”

“I don’t see why I would talk about it, that’s all.” Cross shrugged. “Also, you don’t talk much about it either.” 

“Heh, don't try making it about me, I'm not falling for that.” Killer chewed on some snacks, and a comfortable silence began between them. 

Such comfortable silence, filled with amusement from teasing each other and the date. 

Why would anyone ruin it? Who would dare to do that? 

“Once, when my father put soap in my mouth, I kicked him so hard and he got mad, he locked me in a room with no light until I apologized. Sorry, that's the first memory that popped up!” Cross ended with a chuckle, oblivious to the horrified look of his friend. He was glad his father stopped those punishments, not like he could really do it on teenagers anyway. 

“I don't even know where to begin.” It came out as a whisper from Killer's mouth, and that's when Cross noticed his expression. He may have ruined the moment. 

“What's the deal with soap’? I'm so confused, man.” Killer continued mumbling things Cross couldn't hear. 

“Having your mouth washed with soap when you talk back. Ugh, that one sucks, old school and all that. It was pretty rare, though.”

It didn't ease Killer's nerves. Cross tried to shrug it off because, clearly, he survived, it wasn't a big deal. “Let's, uh, not talk about it right now, but it's okay, you know?”

Killer grumbled before agreeing, but asked for a raincheck on that conversation. This sentence felt familiar, and he suddenly remembered they already had a subject to continue. Then, they'll stop basically trauma dumping. 

“Hey, we were about to talk about something, earlier. If you want to continue. It, uh, was about when you didn't come out and all.”

He heard Killer chuckled as he shoved a piece of apple in his mouth. He lent back on his chair. “Wow, what a mood for a date. But sure, if you want to.” He paused for a second, tapping the table with his fingers. The sound was regular, following an intern rhythm. “I stopped attending school at the end of middle school. I was bullied by a kid, I can’t even remember their name honestly.” Killer started. He totally remembered their name, but Cross’s brother had the exact same name, and perhaps thinking of the little brat instead of his tormentor could replace the bad memories he associated with the name. The one with the black and white clothes straightened his position, ready to listen. Afterall, he was the one who asked. He couldn’t help but feel a weird warm sensation in his chest; it wasn’t negative despite the subjects brought up, it was more along the lines of gratitude. Talking this openly with someone was probably one of the most romantic things he could think of: sharing secrets, trusting the other to the point of sharing your vulnerabilities. Perhaps it was wrong to feel giddy at this moment, where Killer was talking about how his depression affected his teenage years, but he really couldn’t help it. Obviously, he felt sad for Killer, and proud of his progress, but he couldn’t erase this sweet impression of ultimate trust. 

Still, he listened with care.

“And, sure, Colour and the others tried to reach out, but I just couldn’t go out. I simply didn’t see the point, it seemed meaningless ‘nd just a waste of energy. I even stopped talking to my brother. So- yeah, haven’t been physically close to someone in years, and even back then it was… meh.” Killer smiled a little, his fingers progressively stopped drumming against the wooden surface. “Dust isn’t a great kisser, if you want my opinion.” He mocked. Noticing how Killer wanted to change subjects, lifting the atmosphere, Cross played along and laughed.

“Because you were?” Some words went unsaid, feeling out of place, but Cross was so proud of Killer. Like a few days ago, when he went radio silent, he seemed to relapse, but he came back. 

The other scoffed, sprawling a hand over his chest as dramatically as possible. He wore a fake hurt expression and wailed: “Whaaat? You think so little of me, Cross?” Of course not. His hand went to grab some chocolate, but the bowl was now empty.

“You can’t blame me, I never kissed you, I can’t know!” He scoffed while crossing his arms, eyes closed in a haughty way. He slightly lifted his chin to exaggerate his expression, and he felt his cheeks burned. Flirting was fun, but oh so embarrassing at the same time. He pried an eye open to check on Killer, and saw him wiggling his eyebrows. 

“So you want to try?”

Yes, but after confessing. 

“When you’ll get good at it.”

It earned an honest laugh out of Killer. Then, he stood up, clasping his hands together:

“Want to go back to my room?” They have finished the snacks, no reasons to stay here. Besides, they only had two hours left, and his room was more comfy. He nodded and followed Killer to his room.

“Ah! That’s a mirage 2000, french fighter jet.” Cross exclaimed. They were looking through a random book in Killer’s room about planes and jets. Killer had no idea where he got it from, but the pictures were cool. Most of his books were about romance or medical stuff, his favourite one was about red blood cells like haemoglobin. But somehow, a book about air forces made its way here. He should ask Cross to draw him a vehicle one day, maybe not a fighter jet though. 

“Uh, I didn’t know. I’m more of a tanks guy.” Killer hummed. “I bet you know Tiger 2,  sure it’s a popular tank but I like it very much. I mean, in terms of shape, because if we speak about history…No.” Yeah, war sucks, but tanks have cool shapes in Killer opinion. Nothing political in his opinion, he didn’t accept the ideas of those who made this tank. Obviously. Cross seemed to think for a while before nodding: “I think I heard about it, yeah.”

Killer lit up and, shoving the book on Cross laps, he hurried to turn on his pc. He had to show something to him. He heard Cross protest and grumble about the book being thrown on his legs, and he chuckled.

“Don’t pout, I have to show ya something! I bet your otaku ass will love it.”

He just knew Cross rolled his eyes. He tapped frenetically on his keyboard before clicking on the image section of his browsers. Taking a few steps to the side so Cross could see the screen, he announced “tada!”.

Girls und Panzer.

Cross frowned in confusion before looking at Killer. The latter came back on the bed, smiling. “It’s an anime about girls fighting with tanks. That’s how I discovered most of my favourite tanks.”

Beside him, Cross tried to contain a laugh, but failed miserably. He hunched over himself, laughing so hard he had to put his hands over his face to try and stop the laughter from coming out. Seeing the one he loved shaking as he mocked his interest, Killer elbowed him.

“What? I swear it’s cool!”

“Dude, these girls are riding tanks? Look at them, they look twelve!” Cross wheezed. Killer continued lightly kicking him, accusing him of making fun of his passions. It continued for a few minutes until Cross laughed so much he had to stop to take a breath. Even with his whole face red, Killer found him incredibly attractive and, in a sudden rush of courage, he tackled him down for a hug. Cross yelped as arms wrapped around him.

“Dumbass.” Killer chuckled. He could’ve said something nicer, but Cross outright insulted one of his favourite shows. Cross rolled his eyes with a smile, though his face became even more red due to their closeness. Killer finally sat back, detangling his arms from around Cross as he helped him sitting up. He never felt this giddy before.

And it was the same for Cross. And maybe he felt nauseous too, thanks to his nervousness. This was it. The perfect moment to confess. His hands were still in Killer’s, and they had been laughing for minutes now. He couldn’t let that opportunity slide.

His smile was probably goofy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Feeling Killer lightly squeezed his hands, he took a deep breath in, ready to confess his love for him. 

“Cross,”

Oh. Another time, maybe. He was disappointed, but he didn’t want to let it show.

Killer had a serious expression on his face, but still displayed a soft smile, a genuine and sweet one. He caught himself staring at it before moving his gaze back at the other eyes. He looked weirdly nervous, and yet the most confident he ever saw him. Cross shifted slightly, feeling his own knees brushing against Killer’s legs. Automatically, his hand went to his necklace to fidget with it.

“When we started hanging out, I felt like despite being your friend for only a few months, you were the one understanding me the most, the missin’ piece I was searching for. I started feeling funny, like … like I was floating when I was near you. Heh, you don’t have the right to laugh right now, okay?” 

Cross gulped. 

“Whenever we're together, I feel like I can trust you and be myself. Cross, I spent my life hiding, keeping a lock on my heart, but I can no longer continue like that. I think about you constantly and being unsure of what we are makes my heart ache; I know I wanted some time to think, but I am sure now, I love you Cross, I love you so much.” He took a second to gather his breath, fighting his nervousness to maintain eye contact. His hands twitched with anticipation. “ Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Cross might faint. As a wave of shock passed through him, the world around them disappeared. Time felt suspended and space inexistant as he felt like he was floating in a field of roses. The surprise was so sudden he even stopped sliding the pendant of his necklace.

He hadn’t expected it, and he clearly hadn’t expected Killer to confess in such ways. He expected something short, not something straight out of a romance novel. He froze, his hands shaking ever slightly. 

Killer had to throw these words at him, shifting his world with tenderness, and expected an answer right away. He was supposed to confess, and Killer had to do it before and better than he had planned to do. He was drowning in emotions, waves of affection crushing him, as Killer simply watched him, waiting for an answer.

In front of him, Cross frowned like every time he was lost in his thoughts. Killer wasn’t afraid, he was pretty confident about the situation, but the wait began to worry him. However, he didn’t press, didn’t urge him for answers. He lightly tightened his grip on his hands, more to ground himself than anything. Their eyes were still locked when, finally, Cross nodded. Slowly at first, then with more enthusiasm. 

Killer exhaled with relief, throwing his head back before looking back at Cross with a huge smile. The most honest he probably showed him. However, Cross didn’t have time to admire it as he took Killer in his arms, his hug tight but warm. His head on his shoulder, he listened Cross chuckled, his voice trembling a bit.

“I wanted to confess first, but you had to… to say something straight from a romantic play. It’s sappy.” Killer swore he heard him sniff before chuckling once again, this time along with Killer. A hand went to his hair, playing with the end of it.

“Aw, but I told you I was a romantic guy.” 

They spent a while just hugging, words unnecessary. Nervousness dissipated.

Cross was on a cloud, surrounded by warmth and affection. They were together, finally. Killer was his boyfriend.

He waited months, and the pure relief and happiness of it finally happening was the most delightful event that happened for a long time. He could’ve melted in the embrace, Killer playing with his hair and his perfume filling the air. After a while, his head left the comfort of Killer’s shoulder to look at him with, he was sure, a giddy face. 

“How long?”

“Since I fell for you? Mmh, at the library. That was a while ago, heh.”

Cross sighed, a disappointed expression settling. He leant back slightly, his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders to steady himself as he looked at him.

“So, you’re saying you have feelings for me since the start of the school year but waited until now to confess?”

“Yup.”

He shook his head in exasperation, making Killer huff in amusement.

“I knew it when you came to my house. Or around that time, at least” Cross admitted. “But I was scared it wasn’t reciprocated.”

Such a silly smile on his face, but Killer couldn't stop it. Despite everything, he still was able to find happiness and perhaps he did deserve it if he managed to make someone else happy. Maybe he did have a place here, and this place was at Cross's side. 

Moving his hands so they rested on the other's back, he repeated: “I love you.” Seeing Cross's face red before he turned it away, hiding like he could, was hilaring. He mumbled something, and when Killer stated he had no clues what he just said, Cross sighed “I love you too.”

They spent the next hour like that, sharing cheesy anecdotes about how they fell for the other, times they wanted to confess their feelings. Neither realized any of it was happening, it still felt surreal. 

They were silent for a few seconds now, eyes locked. Having repositioned themselves to be more comfortable, Killer was now cozily sat against the corner. Cross was right beside him, and as usual, Killer's arm went around his shoulders. Except this time, it was out of love. 

Suddenly, Cross shifted on his spot. He was still looking at his face, but not his eyes. Lower. His arms went, with hesitation, around his neck. He seemed embarrassed. Killer found it cute. If it wasn’t for the way his heart began a frenetic rhythm, he would’ve teased Cross about it. Like the annoying person he ought to be.

Cross, for his part, was trying not to collapse in embarrassment. But, as he already started moving, he could just continue on with his idea. Often, he would daydream about kissing Killer, but could never do the same in real life. 

He slowly approached his head, so slowly and yet Killer found himself surprised when they became separated by only a few centimeters. Then, Cross stopped. He looked back at Killer, searching for an answer to his silent request. He wouldn't want to overstep. 

Now, Killer was romantic and loved these scenarios in movies. He dreamt of the day someone would lean toward him and kiss him. But he wasn't ready. He gave a wobbly smile, and Cross seemed to get the hint as he put a little distance between them. 

“Ah, not now. Sorry babe.” He said apologetically.

He almost felt guilty, but Cross simply smiled and told him it was okay. 

It wasn't a big deal if Killer wasn't ready, he could wait, according to what he said next.

Killer smiled, it was okay. 

His shoes were fast to put on despite the laces. Unlike Killer who simply shoved his feet in his shoes, Cross took time to do and undo the laces with care, but the repeated motion and the habit allowed him to be fast. 

Too fast, now. 

He didn't want to go home. His whole afternoon had been a relief. He always had a good time when he was with Killer, but usually a hint of frustration lingered because of their unsaid feelings. He finished the last knot before standing up, sighing.

“Okay, ready to go?” Killer asked while he wrapped the scarf around his neck. He took a sniff of it and winced. “Ugh, my mom washed it with her weird product. It stinks. Wait a sec.” His hand dove in his pocket, searching for his perfume. He already did put some before leaving, but by then the smell disappeared. Finally grabbing the bottle under Cross's curious gaze, he sprayed the piece of clothing a few times. “Better.”

He went to put it back in the darkness of his pocket when he noticed Cross staring. Heh, if he wanted it he could just ask. Without missing a beat, Killer sprayed him a few times, aiming for his jacket. It was still his, after all. It had to smell like him. He bet Cross preferred it that way.

Cross lifted his arms to protect his face, stepping back in a defensive position. “What the heck! Killer!” His voice rose an octave.

“What? You were staring at it.” He shrugged, finally putting it back. Cross lowered his arms before throwing him a glare. 

“Yeah, well ask me before!” 

Unimpressed, Killer chuckled before opening the door. 

“Aye, aye, understood. Let's go before my parents get home. “

At that, Cross rolled his eyes and stepped out. Discreetly, he approached the sleeve from his nose and grinned. Rose scent. 

Walking side by side, hand in hand now felt different. Good, but different. Instead of the fear of overstepping nagging at the back of Cross's mind, he was now confident. The whole situation boosted him. He had a boyfriend. More than having a boyfriend, he had Killer as his boyfriend, and he was pretty sure he couldn't have anyone better for the role. 

When Killer confessed, the first emotion that came up was confusion. As quick thinking was needed in military school, his wit was fast, and he understood the situation quickly. The wording threw him out, though, as he expected everything but such delicate words. He still felt giddy from it and the hugs. 

Being in a relationship hadn't been his goal at all, but he couldn't complain. They spent a while, holding each other and talking. No crazy scenarios, simply talking while existing near the other. Pure bliss. 

Feeling Killer fingers absent-mindedly draw circles on his arms could've put him to sleep as it brought more comfort to Cross than he could've imagined. 

“We should totally go back to the cat cafe. Remember the mainecoon?” Cross turned to Killer, a deadpan expression on his face.

“Sure, let’s go to a place where we can run into Nightmare.”

Killer wanted to argue back but, well, it was true. “Well that bastard won’t make me miss an opportunity to see cats.” He ended up hissing. “And if we do see him, we can always spill our drink on him. Ya know, by accident.” He displayed a fake innocent smile, chuckling. Cross smiled before elbowing him. “No way I’ll do that.”

The sky darkened, night already close to settling. With each passing hour, the air became chiller. Cross mentally cursed himself for not getting gloves.

“Coward.” Killer teased. They playfully bantered for the rest of the walk.

On his threshold, he turned to say goodbye. With a look of fondness and his usual smugness, Killer hugged him before leaving, not without saying one last time this day “I love you.” Cross watched him walking away before the cold air got the better of him and made him enter his house. Facing the curious faces of his siblings, waiting to know the outcome of the date, the goofy laugh he let out must be enough of an answer as Frisk high-fived him, followed by a hug from Papyrus and, surprisingly, a smile from Chara.

Who knew anime girls fighting in tanks would've led to this.

Chapter Text

The handle of his bag kept slipping off his shoulder even though he replaced it every time, switching shoulders in vain. His father was taking his sweet time to pick up him and Papyrus. Speaking of him, he was slightly bouncing on his feet, still excited by what they experienced.

For the last five days, since they were enrolled in a training program for military school, they had a sort of travel where they spent almost a week in a naval base. Papyrus had been waiting since the start of the year for this moment.

It had been very interesting, frankly Cross loved it, but he was so exhausted. All he wanted to do was to sleep, since it was already late, and retrieve his phone. He didn’t bring it because he feared losing it.

“I can’t wait to tell all of it to Frisk and Chara!” His brother beamed. He hummed back, the conversation stopping here. He had a great relationship with Papyrus, but still not the best. It was sometimes hard to communicate. 

Finally, they spotted their father's car arriving. He could’ve spoken to his father about his week, tell him all they did, but as soon as he was settled in his seat and the car began, he fell asleep.

“Wakey wakey, Cross!” Someone snickered. His surroundings felt heavenly, the fur of his hood caressing his face. The temperature was perfect, and the only downside he could point out was the pain forming in his back. Then, a pair of hands began shaking him lightly. “Cross!”

The latter huffed, his awareness slowly coming back. Firstly, he noticed the wind coming from his left. Then, the sensation of the seat belt against his neck. Right, the ride home. When he opened his eyes, a blurry silhouette was before him. Squinting his eyes, he slightly pushed them away, trying to make out the shape in front of him. Frisk. He huffed and mumbled something along the lines of ‘lemme sleep’.

“Father wants you out of the car in the next five minutes or he’s making you sleep here for the night. Hurry up!” He tried unbuckling the seat belt, but it was hard to do so with Cross shoving him away. He grinned before doing so himself. He could do it, he wasn’t five anymore. And even at five he could do it just fine. “You’re so stubborn.” His siblings said before going back to the warmth of their home. After sluggishly grabbing his bag, Cross followed him, still rubbing his eyes. He dragged himself to his bedroom and used the little strength left in him to put on some pajamas.  

Killer: come on just get home alrdyyyy

Killer: :((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((()

Killer: *( , typo

Killer: call me whn yu can 

He couldn’t help but snort at the messages. Such a dork.

His father was still unaware of his phone, calling was risky. He could whisper, but he was sure his father would hear; he had to wait until tomorrow to call Killer. 

Cross: Hey!

Cross: I can’t call you right now, sorry

Killer: HI

Killer: too bad </3

Killer: I wanted to ask you if you wat to hangout 2morrow w me and the other two? Parking lot like usual, 2pm

The wind was crashing against his window, startling him slightly. He was up for it, it had been far too long since he last hung out with the three of them, but he didn’t know if he could. He just came back, chores awaited for him, and his father was still not fond of his friends.

He didn’t want to summon his father’s wrath by being more and more bold. Dating someone he swore to never approve of was already crossing a line, and Gaster tolerated it, but slightly more could put Cross into his grave.

“For the last time, it’s no.” 

A sigh of resignation came from Cross’ mouth; arguing against the cold voice of his father looked like a losing game today. Like he thought, he refused as soon as he heard the names of his friends. He could try to sneak out, but with his father at home…

Yeah, bad idea.

“‘Kay.” He muttered, as deadpan as possible, turning to leave. He had to grab his phone and tell the others after all. However, as he lifted his left foot to step forward, a calloused hand wrapped around his wrist. It was a miracle his father was able to work with such hands: they had seen better days, and only with the touch Cross could feel cavities he shouldn’t feel on a hand. Yet, he was working in medical research. Meaning excuses didn’t really work with that man, he succeeded after getting his hands butchered so his sons would succeed too. He twisted his upper body to meet his eyes, already guessing where it was going.

“Cross, words have a start and an end, pronounce them right.” His eyes were as cold as ice, looking right into Cross’ own eyes. The latter put a lot of effort into not sighing, nodding along with his father’s scolding. “Come on.”

“...O-kay.” He accentuated before forcing his arm out of the other’s grip. He then quickly made his way into his bedroom, only then a long sigh escaping his mouth. His back against his closed door, he looked at the ceiling with anger. For one stupid thing they did, the sleepover, his father outright hated his friend. He wasn’t fond of them before, he never was, but he could at least hang out with them. Now, it felt like he was asking to go out to buy drugs every time he asked to see his friends: they weren’t even bad people.

Well, they kinda were but not that much.

From the start, they gave a bad account of themselves in front of his father. Decorum and good manners never were their strength, only for Nightmare as expected. That day, two years ago, they were shopping when it started raining so hard none of them were willing to walk back home. The bus wasn’t near, and so they settled with Cross’ solution: calling his father who was at home. First sight of Dust his father got? Him flipping off Cross. And Horror supporting Dust. Thus, not the best start. 

Back to reality, Cross walked to his bed and searched for his phone, finding him between his mattress and the wall. Bold, his father could’ve seen it. He waited beside the charger until the minimal percentage appeared and quickly texted his friends:

super awesome friendly group ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^

Cross: Hi guys, I can’t make it for today, I’m not allowed to go out. Sorry :/

He didn’t wait for an answer, leaving to take a shower. He should be used to it now, but he was still as angry as if it was the first time he was forbidden from seeing them. It was almost the end of the two weeks holiday and, apart from sport and the training program, he hadn’t been allowed to go out. He was wasting his winter holiday. 

Water running on his back, he was still fuming. It was just drinking sodas in a parking lot, it wasn’t much and he even told him he would be back for five. His fists shook, but his anger didn’t spread more.

It never did.

He always chickened out before.

Dust: Too bad. L

Killer: wHAT

Killer: gonna kms </3

Well, for someone who likes to pretend to be numb and almost emotionless, he sure overreacted a lot.

He needed to pass the time, end this already terrible day. It was one pm, just a few hours left. Long, boring lonely hours. Time to read, then. He had a manga to finish.

Someone knocked on the front door, disturbing Gaster’s work. By work, it of course meant today’s sudoku in the newspaper. With a frown, he hesitated. No one was supposed to show up, and he didn’t want to open to some door-to-door salesperson. He could just stay in his seat…

It rang. Nice.

With his characteristic frown, he set the paper aside and walked toward the door. His children were busy, he would’ve asked Frisk sitting on the couch if it wasn’t for the homework they were doing. Good thing kids were given homeworks during holidays, it prevented them from slacking off.

Turning the doorknob, he opened the door before frowning even more, his posture becoming contemptuous. Two teenagers he had the misfortune to recognize.

Horror, ready to knock if it wasn’t for Gaster opening the door, and Dust just a step behind.

“Good evening, is Cross here?” Horror spoke first.

“If it’s about your plans for today, I already told him no.” Why were teenagers so stubborn?

Horror waved his hands: “It’d been a while since we last saw him, sir. Could be good for him to go out n see people too.” He looked absently to the side before bringing his eyes to the interior behind Gaster. Of course those kids were also intrusive. However, he smiled and waved as a greeting this time: “Hi, Cross.”

Gaster turned suddenly and shot a deathly stare at Cross who, in fact, was standing with wide open eyes.

“Uh?”

At least, it didn’t look planned as his eldest was shocked to see them.

“Uh?!” Cross shook his head, sweat forming on his forehead. He glanced a nervous smile at Gaster, lifting both hands in front of him.

“I’ll handle it, don’t worry.” He trailed on in a tense chuckle, and Gaster simply rolled his eyes.

“If it means going out, it’s still no.”

He saw Cross face crumble for a second. Then, making him jump a little, a voice came from behind him; “But they already walked all the way here, it’s not polite to just close the door on them.”

He had no idea when Frisk left his homework session, but it was starting to get on his nerves. They kept pleading for minutes before it started to create him a headache. He growled and left the entrance.

“Don’t you dare come home smelling like alcohol.” Gaster half shouted at Cross. He then turned one last time to face the teenagers, but didn’t say anything. His glare must be speaking for itself.

Cross exhaled a breath he didn’t remember holding before hastily putting on his shoes and leaving as fast as possible.

Once in front of his house, with his friends, he was at a loss for words. He was surprised, shocked even, but somehow not mad since he actually was able to go out.

“Geez, you're welcome.” Dust pestered, turning to leave. It made Horror chuckle. Still speechless, he followed them. Voice only came to him after awkward stuttering:

“You saved me from boredomness.”

“Heh, no way we wouldn't at least try.” He passed his hand on his super short hair. Almost bald. Dust, whose mouth was already busy with a cigarette, turned to them:

“We tried your bedroom window, but there's no way to sneak in. We had to go to the front door next.”

Cross winced and confirmed: “Yup, not even a sturdy branch tree.”

.

.

.

“wait what?”

A random subject filling the conversation, they approached the tiny stores they grew so attached to. Near the outdoor lockers made for packages, Killer was waiting for them, playfully waving at them from afar.

Cross was way too happy to finally see him. 

“Heya guys!” He exclaimed when that arrived.

“Sup, Kills.”

He bumpfisted Horror, then Dust and nearly jumped on Cross to hug him. Disoriented but not less enthusiastic, Cross stumbled before wrapping his arms around the other. Killer had his head on the fur of his hood. 

“Are Horror and I not enough? You're never that happy to see me.” Dust snickered, which made Killer end the hug with a smile. 

“Well, if you want a hug too, you can always be my second boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. Cross was surely blushing like crazy. 

Dust rolled his eyes before smacking Killer's shoulder. A bit harsh, but Killer answered with a more violent one, and it seemed to make them laugh. 

They entered the store and began wandering through the aisles. Only drinks were on their list, and their budget didn't allow them to buy much more anyway. Killer was leading the conversations, as always. 

“And, like, it ended just like that, no revelations, no answers, nothing!” He complained loudly. 

“Uh-uh. And what’s the link with my soda exactly?” Dust answered, judging him with his eyes. With an excessive roll of his eyes, Killer inclined, in a condescendant way, toward Dust while taping his temple with his index:

“Cause they made a collab, duh!” Dust pushed him. “Anyway. I can’t find my drink.”

Cross’ attention turned to this information. He liked helping, and helping meant being useful. He could help Killer.

“Which one?”

“White monster.”

Horror and Dust cackled behind them and after a stare from Cross, Horror simply stated: “femboy drink.”

It made Killer turn to him instantally, mouth open in a dramatic gasp.

“I am NOT!”

Since his boyfriend was too busy arguing, Cross decided to pursue his quest; finding Killer’s drink. He scanned the energy drink section to find the shelves with monsters and it, indeed, didn’t seem to have the white one. But Cross wasn’t giving up. His hand passed above the cans, tilting them in case he could spot the one he ought to find. With high-precision and dexterity, the land of cans was now at his mercy, going through a meticulous analysis. The hand hovering above tabs stopped at the sight of the bright value; the accumulation of all colours; the white can. It got grabbed, rolled between fingers and transported to the light, the aisle the poor can had never seen before due to its place behind all the others.

Finally free.

“Here you go.” Cross said as he handed it to Killer, whose face literally lightened up. He received another hug from Killer.

“Go on, you can't just summarize five days with ‘cool’!”

“Yeah, we want some details.”

Cross took a sip from his drink before shrugging. “We stayed at a naval base. They showed us around, made us learn a few things… We did sports, some technical lessons.” He took another sip. “Ah, and we shoot with an assault rifle.”

Dust hummed. 

“Sick.” Horror laughed. “An actual weapon? Man, it’s more than ‘cool’ if ya did that.”

“I agree!” Jumped in Killer. “Crossy, you know me I hate war and military ain't my thing but this? It seems awesome!”

Heh, yeah .

“Poser. True punks won't say that.” Teased Dust. He was looking at Killer with a smile full of evilness, determined to get on his nerves. 

And when, only a few seconds later, they were bantering, Cross knew he succeeded. 

“Poser.”

“Yeah well, uh… At least I don't flirt with Horror? Okay, I have no ideas left to roast you.” Killer admitted, tapping Dust's shoulder apologetically before sitting back right beside Cross. He slid an arm in his back, earning a fond chuckle from the one with wavy hair. 

Horror squinted his eyes, looking back and forth at his friends.

“Dust flirts with me? What?”

“Yeah, what do you mean I flirt with him?”

Ah, denial. Though they seemed genuine about their confusion. In the end, it didn't matter if it was flirt or not, the idea already sprouted in Killer's mind. The latter scoffed:

“You keep being all lovey dovey, full of compliments blablabla. Heck, you even do your own sleepovers!”

Dust grumbled, looking at Killer: “God forbid I have a best friend.”

Cross lightly laughed at that. He truly believed them, but it won't be this easy to change Killer's mind.

Overall, he was more than glad his friends helped him go out. He missed simply seeing them outside of school, talking for hours sitting on cold concrete. 

Even when he got scolded by his father once home and sent to his bedroom without dinner, he didn't regret nor was mad at his friends.

It made him feel better to hang out.

Chapter Text

The aftermath of winter always left a sense of emptiness; the leafless trees, the sunlight being blocked by the clouds or the lack of fruits and their sweetness. However, one thing that clashed and overrode it was the new year. A new year, a new beginning and new chances to become the best version of ourselves.

Cross was a hard believer you can always be a better you, therefore new year resolutions were a must. But it didn’t seem to be the case for everyone.

“Who cares? It's been months, he prob doesn’t remember!” Killer complained in between mouthfuls. The juice of the poorly cooked steak dripped on his chin, a reddish flow, but he was quick to clean it up. Beside him, Cross was eating with way more grace than him; what wasn’t graceful though was his insistence.

“All I’m saying is : it’s now or never! Besides, even if he doesn’t remember it still has an impact.” As if it could change his mind, Cross’ hand rested on the other’s shoulder. He  could sense the limb lift and fall back with the strength of the heavy breath Killer took before looking at him.

“Right, and what will I say? As far as I’m aware, they may not even talk to each other anymore.” His fork, long forgotten by now, was once again picked up as he resumed his lunch. “Heh, it’s cute how you always care so much about doing what’s right or not.”

Cross internally scoffed at the way he switched the subjects, but didn’t point it out. He certainly will bring the matter back later, but for now he would spare him. This boy had the power to do everything to get on his nerves, succeed but ultimately still making him giddy.

The hand previously perked on the shoulder then lightly pushed Killer. “Shut it, you dork.” Cross half-heartedly complained. He wished he hadn’t as it lit up Killer’s face right before he let go of the silverware to face him. Across the table, he could already hear their friends– minus Colour because he tended to occasionally join them only for recess– acting like the carpers they were.

“I love a hella amount of things about you: how you snort when you laugh for real, that pretty scar of yours, or-”

“Right! We get it!” Dust interrupted, not amused. “Can you stop devouring each other with your eyes and start devouring your plate instead?” The pun earned a chuckle from Horror.

Cross snapped back into reality instantly, apologizing to his friends. He indeed got quite lost giggling at Killer’s words, but who can blame him? He had a thing for obnoxious dorks. Still, he was sorry it made Dust upset.

He needed to stay focused on finding a way to convince Killer anyway.

And to convince him, it took weeks. Nearly an entire month. And still, Cross’ words hadn’t been enough. No. An event came, like a sudden wave of wind crashing against Killer and sparkling some senses in him:

English classes, even near the end of the year, were still as boring and useless as before. Most of the time, they worked on terrible topics the teacher found and ^rinted from a textbook: and where it wasn’t usually a problem, it was when all they did this year was looking at copy from said textbook and answer questions from said textbook and looked at videos with the qr code of said textbooks- it became boring. Three classes were spent to answer only five questions since, every time she let a student speak, she went on a rant about even the tiniest mistakes.

From time to time, they had some group projects. The only fun they would get between those four walls.

“In groups of four, you will write a 100 word essay about the last documents. You have until the next class.” The teacher announced. Happily, Killer scanned the classroom, searching for the fourth member of their group. He tried asking a random person, but they already were part of a group. 

In the end, they still were three. And it apparently didn't please the teacher. 

“It won't do. You need to be four.” She affirmed. Hands planted on Horror’s desk, she looked around the classroom. Then, after a few seconds, she moved to another table. 

Nightmare's table. 

“Oh shit.” Killer whispered, his gaze not leaving the teacher talking to their ‘enemy’(such a childish nickname) Was she serious? She knew, or at least should suspect, their relationship with him was terrible. Couldn't they just work in three? 

Cross buried his face in his hands, not looking when he heard familiar steps coming toward them. 

When Nightmare, his expression betraying his anger, sat beside Killer, the latest made a show of dragging loudly his chair as far as possible from him. He was pretty sure the teacher rolled her eyes at it but didn’t push.

Most students watched. Waiting, the tension thicker than smoke. The movement probably left stains and dents on the floor, but it couldn't compare to the frowns displayed on both faces. 

It hurt Cross to see him in this state. Melancholy dripped on his face, a metaphorical tar staining his face into a blank state. He wasn't smiling, and his brows were furrowed, but in a few seconds a mask fell on his face. A shallow smile, eyes never quite moving yet not focusing on anything but a tension betraying his feelings. 

Killer had a way of lying around with his emotions. Maybe being closer to him allowed Cross to see a more honest side of him, but usually Killer would pretend to a certain degree. 

As pupils started focusing on their task, their group stayed silent a little longer. Unfortunately, Nightmare spoke:

“Did you have to make such a scene with your chair?” His chin lifted so he could look at him like he was a peasant, Nightmare sighed at Killer. “Here I thought we made up. You answered my texts afterall.”

Cross, despite his better judgment, looked at Killer with disbelief, his jaw dropping. Horror also gave him a look, and not a nice one. 

Nightmare gasped, and Cross knew it was fake because this boy never felt remorses, his hand coming to cover his mouth.

“Oh, you weren't supposed to know? I-” he turned to Killer, his apologetic expression turning to mockery. “I apologize, Kills. I had no idea.”

‘Kills’

And what did said ‘Kills’ did during all this?

He kept his fake smile, never interrupting Nightmare. Letting him call him nicknames. Never denying the texts. 

“Don't… call me that. Well, we should split the task!” 

Cross’ heart ached. He wasn't the jealous kind, he knew it, but Nightmare was an entirely different matter.

His and Killer's relationship was, from what Cross witnessed, deep. A sort of third category between friendship and obsession. 

He knew, because Killer told him, he had his own napkins with his name on it at Nightmare's. They hang out every week. They spent most of their life together. Essentially acted like highschool sweethearts.

It was immature of him to think like this, but love wasn't logical.

Before creating a bigger storm in his head, and because be couldn't ignore the subject, he asked Killer (not Nightmare):

“When? The texts.” His voice wasn’t aggressive, nor pathetic, but a certain seriousness was present. It could be really unfair if Nightmare, out of everyone, received answers back then instead of him.

Instead of warm eyes, a rehearsed smile looked back at him. 

Honestly, it made him angry. He didn't need his fake happiness right now, he just needed an answer. Trust and truth. He knew better than be vexed for so little, but…

Why talk with Nightmare ?

Speaking of him, he answered even though no one asked him:

“Right before the mock exams, you know, when he was absent.”

The asshole. He was mad now. 

He didn't answer to him, Cross, but he answered to Nightmare ?

Before he could start an intern monologue about how his trust was hurt, and the inaction of Killer making it worse, Horror patted his shoulder then glanced at the other. 

He didn't bother listening. His thoughts kept wandering.

It was so, so childish and uncharacteristic of him to act like this, and he will regret making a scene, but the blank state replacing his boyfriend left a bitter taste.

Admittedly, the texts weren't such a big deal. But the fact it was during a time Cross was being ignored, and instead of providing explanations Killer simply looked toward him--not even at him--was too much. It wasn't the time for this. Couldn’t they just communicate?

Maybe the presence of Nightmare was the reason he was so tense. Still:

It wasn't such a deal, but Killer's reaction bothered him so much that, in a selfish moment, he decided to make it one.

It was awkward to sit there, between a pouting Cross, Nightmare and Killer. 

Horror hadn't been surprised when, upon seeing Nightmare, Killer shut down. Ignoring his problems was his favourite activity: pretending nothing happened with an eerie smile. 

Except it was a shitty solution. Back when they were in middle school, when Killer mocked Dust's disorder and chose to become an empty shell to avoid conflict and responsibilities, it didn't do good. It cost a lot, actually. 

Cross probably took it badly, right now. And Nightmare played with this information. Pushing this new button until one of them would snap. 

Cross was smart and composed, Horror truly believed that despite his temper he had the capacity to hold back. But for how long?

“So, since when d’ya text others ?” Horror asked Nightmare. He still hated him, but it couldn't stop him from being curious. 

“Ah, Ccino convinced me to get something more high-tech. He's very adamant about texting everyday.”

Right, Ccino. 

Contrary to popular beliefs, Killer wasn't dumb. Mentioning Ccino here wasn't just to chat. 

Nightmare always had a plan. Thoughts behind his words. 

He used to admire it, worship the way he bent situations to his will, even trapping him. 

Indeed, his tactic worked. 

He actually wanted to ask him questions. About Ccino, their relationship.

And Nightmare definitely knew. He was aware as it was his plan.

He needed to create interest to keep him on leash. A new lock to add to his cage. A way of forcing discussions, not leaving Killer be and chasing him. 

He hate it. 

The rest was spent in silence, each one too deep in their thoughts to work. To conclude this horrible hour, Nightmare stated: “I'll write the essay.”

Horror and Cross shared a look. No way they would let him. Cross firmly believed he would sabotage them, and he couldn't have a single more bad grade. Before he could bark at him no, Horror laughed: “nah. Don't trust you.”

The way Nightmare's expression turned outraged was actually funny, Cross thought. But before he could even properly make fun of if in his head, his clipped tone rang, loud enough for at least half the classroom to hear:

“With that dent on your head it's certainly not you who will be able to write an essay.”

The silence following that sentence was heavy. Horror was rightfully ashamed, unconsciously bringing a hand to his head. A nasty scar, going all the way from the dent on the side of his head to his eye. 

Cross nearly snapped, but still in a public place, he held back enough and simply snarled: “Stop it. No one asked.” Having a glass eye doesn’t allow him to insult every disability; in fact, he should understand better than anyone how those remarks affected the beholder of the scar. And he probably did, hence why he told Horror that.

Cross, driven by hope, turned to Killer for a reaction. Despite looking like he was going to snap Nightmare's neck, Killer had no time to act since Horror lifted his gaze back to the other. The attention was turned to their little group when Horror huffed, as calmly as possible:

“Low blow, femboy kisser.”

Laughs were heard across the room: no one liked the one with the ponytail. Cross, proud that his friend stood up for himself, tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't comment how Horror pushed away his hand and, despite the class being on his side, urged to leave. He wouldn't comment, ask, but he would listen.

As much as he would've liked watching Nightmare's composure crumble, he couldn't leave the other alone, and so he also left. Leaving Killer there wasn't a good choice, but in Cross’ opinion, he kind of searched for it. Deserved.

He listened to Horror ragged breathing, his presence the only thing Horror allowed for now. They have yet to speak.

They were  sitting against a wall in a quiet corridor. Only two students have crossed the floor here since they arrived, but no attention was brought to them. Beside him, Horror was seething, grabbing the straps of his bag with enough strength to whiten his fingertips. His jaw parted, closed, and then opened again. From his lips, his voice dripped with anger:

“He has no right t’say that.”

The other nodded, letting him continue.

“They were staring. They… ugh, they’re no better than him.”

“We could go to the principal-”

“Sure, Cross!” Horror snapped. He was visibly twitchy, and his friend could recognize the anxiousness in his voice. He could be irrational, paranoid. “Let’s make the situation worse!”

In a normal case scenario, he would tell him to calm down, but not now.

They went back to looking at the opposite wall.

After a few minutes, someone sat between the two of them. Too close, unaware of their personal space: Killer.

His ‘smile’ had left his face, and it was for the better. It was way too creepy. The boy sighed and whispered a simple “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say more, and they didn’t ask him to elaborate. Later, probably.

That later, for Cross, came by the end of the day.

When Killer joined him, at their usual meet up spot to walk back home, Cross didn’t take the hand he was holding out for him.

“We should talk.” Cross said, because they couldn’t pretend nothing happened. Killer stayed there, his hand waiting for a while between them before hiding in his hoodie pocket. He looked quite distressed, his eyes darting away and his smile, the false one, flattening into a wavering curve. He swung one of his feet back and forth on the ground a few times, making the tiny stones roll under his shoe, before asking:

“Are you mad? For the texts.”

Cross’ shoulder lifted up slightly before falling back, turning his head to look at the road. He had the whole day to think, cool down.

“Not mad, but confused. And it’s not just the texts.”

Killer sighed, taking a few steps to distract himself: “Oh boy, I’m in trouble, aren’t I ?” It made Cross huffed a laugh. To his credit, Killer was as overreacting as him, but somehow it helped him be more grounded. He elbowed him, smiling a little which seemed to please him.

“Stop moping around or someone will end up putting your ass in the supply closet.”

The atmosphere seemed to lift as they shared a smile.

Until Killer grabbed his hand and snorted: “I wouldn’t mind if your in there too-”

Cross snatched his hand off, glaring at him.

“Not the time for that.”

“Ok, ok.”

…

…

…

Cross started walking, Killer would follow. It was better to talk on their way, and also less awkward. Killer indeed quickly arrived at his side, walking along.

“Okay,” Cross started, looking both ways before crossing a small road. “First, why did you answer Nightmare ?”

Killer was quick to answer, not searching for excuses or time.

“He asked me how I was doing, and so I sent him some news and told him to fuck off and stop messaging me. But he continued… and I replied maybe two messages before leaving him on read.”

A few drops fell, announcing upcoming rain. A shame neither had an umbrella: they instead put their hoods on.

“Cross?” Killer questioned, his face still buried against his shoulder as their goodbye embrace lasted a little longer than usual.

“Mh?”

“ow that we know they still talk and shit, and that Nightmare is…still Nightmare, I’m okay with apologizing to Ccino.”

Chapter Text

Colours after colours, the paper became more alive with each stroke of his markers. The thing he liked about the colouring book his father got him was the thickness: his alcohol marker barely bled through. 

Filling areas with the ink, watching the lines pop up and the familiar scent of markers helped him. He was slipping in a panic attack when Frisk shoved him in his desk chair, unsure if it would be enough or not. It took time, but he did calm down by colouring. Exams were a true fear by now.

Initially, if someone were to ask him, Cross would say a simple activity wouldn't be of any help. But since his father dragged him for the first time through the book aisle, he remarked how effective it was for him. The repeated motion, the sensation of control by choosing where to put which colour: it soothed him. Furthermore, the markers were Killer's gift and were by themselves a sort of tether. Positive plus positive equal positive. 

He heard footsteps by the door, and when he turned, he saw his father leaning against the door frame. Cross must’ve lost track of time if he was already home. The sleeping form of Frisk on his bed, homework sprawled next to him, as well as the dim light outside of his window were confirmations.

“Oh, hi.” He greeted the man. 

“I was wondering,” How are you? Oh, thanks, I'm fine as well, thanks for asking. “When do you plan to bring Killer for dinner ?”

“Oh!” Right, a proper introduction to his family was due: even though his father would prefer him far away from his son, he couldn't deny the sudden happiness he brought him. And so, he reconsidered things and decided to, at least, tolerate him for dinner. Cross has yet to ask him, though. “I thought about the 2nd? It's in two weeks but I checked and we shouldn't have any exams coming up… And it's a Friday.”

Okay he totally planned the whole thing by himself already. His father hummed before checking the little diary he brought with him, probably checking his planning. “I finish at six. It should do.”

The bench was so cold that even sitting on it made Cross shiver, so he chose to wait for his lover while standing up. He arrived way too early, excited to tell him about the dinner and the mandatory sleepover afterwards. 

Killer arrived fifteen minutes later, hair still damp from the shower and a detailed makeup on. Cross strolled over to him and took him in a warm embrace, greeting him. 

“Heya babe.” Killer answered after kissing his forehead. “Nice shoes.” 

He looked briefly at his new black shoes before letting go of him. “The others weren't suited for rainy weather. Ready to apologize to Ccino?”

“Nope, but I don't have much of a choice. Lead the way!”

Since it was raining hard and they had to quickly hide under their hoods, talking was hard. But silence wasn't all bad: and the walk wasn't that long. Soon enough, they got into the cosy cafe. Surely their coats would dry. 

“Oh, before we get to the serious stuff,” Cross jolted, “You're free Friday 2? My father wants you to come for dinner. And to stay for the night, of course.”

Before he could appreciate more of his surprised face, Killer nodded : “Hell yeah! I won't go against your old dad for once!”

Well, that was done. Now time for apologies. 

After calming Killer down, because of course he found a way of distracting himself from his duty, they walked to the counter where Ccino was absentmindedly cleaning cups. It was a quiet hour, the rush hours being nine am and lunchtime. They could have his attention without worrying about clients waiting. 

Ccino finally noticed them and, fixing his posture, he smiled: “Hello! What can I get you today ?” He must've been bored before they arrive.

Ccino hadn't changed at all, after all it had only been a few months. Cross stayed silent, it was Killer's task, he was only there to encourage him.

“Hi,” His boyfriend greeted back. “I don't know if you remember, or know me, but I'm Killer. He's Cross.” A look of shock, but not anger or anything negative, passed through Ccino's face at the mention of their name. “I was Nightmare..friend.” Friend, such a simple word to describe their relationship. 

“Of course I know you both. So, what brought you here?” He asked with a smile, leaning against the surface. “Sorry for not recognizing you.”

The monochrome couldn't help but notice the unease of his boyfriend. He was looking at everything but Ccino. Cross himself was a bit tense, knowing where the conversation was going.

“Right. So, I came here to apologize.”

Ccino smirked, seeming interested but also oblivious to what he was implying. 

“When I was still in touch with him, I uh, kinda forced things between you two and it may have led him to give you false hopes. Or make him toxicer than he already was.” He seemed to struggle to come up with words. “Anyway, sorry for forcing things between you two.”

Cross squeezed his hand as a congratulation. A cat gently brushed against his legs, it looked like Ink’s large brown scarf. He liked this space, it felt warm and welcoming. Ccino blinked, not responding for a while. Maybe one minute. Cross began making peace with the fact they were getting banned from this place, but he clearly hadn't expected Ccino to laugh and wave his hands before him. 

“No, no! Don't apologize. I'm glad you did!”

Uh.

“What.”

“Mhmh!” Ccino nodded. “Thank you Killer, you helped a lot actually. Look-” he giggled his hand and Cross nearly fainted. A ring, a simple golden one. “We're not fiancee, too early for it, but it's a promise ring. Isn't it romantic ? Heh, didn’t think I deserved it but it’s nice.” Ccino himself looked at it before noticing Killer's mortified expression and quickly removing his hand. “Sorry, I didn't mean to brag.”

“You're with Nightmare ?” Killer's voice was hollow. Cross already kind of guessed it but not to this extent. Ccino looked nervous, as uneasy as them. 

“Yup.”

“Shit.” Killer mumbled. “I can help you leave him if you want-”

“Killer, I am happy with him.” Ccino smile didn't falter, but he regained a more straight posture. “We go on dates, he offers me flowers, it's nice.”

Looking back and forth between the two while processing the informations was hard. He was still at the ring. Right, so no wedding planned yet. Nice. 

“I get it, he has some issues, but we're working on it.” Ccino said softly, as professional as ever. Killer passed a hand through his hair before sighing. 

“He's toxic. H-”

Ccino cut him, still displaying a professional mask. “If you came to discuss only, I am in the obligation to ask you to buy something or leave.”

Of course Killer would be making puppy eyes af him. He would gladly buy something but…Cross pointed at his empty wallet, making Killer sighed. 

“Have a nice day!” Pushed Ccino, already waving goodbye. Probably pissed but really skilled to hide it. He even pointed at the door.

Accepting his failure, Cross turned to the exit.

“Don't fall for his traps !”

“Have a nice day ! I have a business to maintain, please leave !”

“You deserve better.”

“And you're scaring away clients ! Have a nice day!”

They failed miserably, the trip to the cafe so short they couldn't even tell half the things they planned. 

It wasn't such a big deal, they tried but Ccino didn't want the truth: let him be. Cross was happy they at least overcame this wall, that Killer addressed his responsibilities. He still obviously wished Ccino would've listened.

The rain was less harsh, and despite the situation, Cross was happy. He was with his amazing boyfriend, ready to make up for his mistakes. And maturity was really attractive. They were walking for a while now when Cross’ mouth moved by itself: “Can we kis-””

“I don't think I was ready for this, in retrospect.” Oh. 

Killer indeed looked off, eyes lost looking at the void and back vouched. His boyfriend tightened his grip on his hand. 

“Ah?”

“Yeah.” Even his voice sounded tired. Not even fidgeting. “I didn't move on from Nightmare. Speaking… Speaking of him as a stranger is sometimes hard.” He didn't look back, if anything, he seemed even more distressed than before. Cross tried to think of something to say. 

“Well, you still often trashtalk about-”

“Yes! And!” Killer snapped. “It's not because I get mad at him and- and insults him that it doesn't affect me !”

His hand fled the embrace of Cross's. The ambiance became as tense as the grey clouds hovering above them, warning about an upcoming storm. Worse than now.

Cross frowned and himself put up some more distance between them. He didn't get it, nor did he like the situation.

“Don’t shout at me.” 

“But I don't mean it ! It's just-” Killer clawed at his head, his fingertips gripping at his scalp as his eyes squeezed shut. Taken aback by the pathetic display, Cross froze. 

“Feeling sucks, I hate it I HATE it, it makes me snap at you and then I feel even more miserable.” It was painful to watch. “I'm making an effort, I TRY to explain !”

Great, he was almost shouting some words. Nice. Cross’ throat tightened, getting yelled at was something he despised and could even be scared of.

“I said don't shout at me !”

It seemed to calm down Killer. Minutes after minute, his fist loosened and his shoulders relaxed. 

Cross crossed his arms, the whole thing making him uneased. Finally, Killer looked back at him with watery eyes. He whimpered an apology, and Cross didn't know how to respond. 

Out of habit, he wanted to say ‘It's okay’, but it wasn't. Sure, they already argued, but never shouted like that. 

“I don't understand. I get that you're sad but…” He finally sighed. 

The other appeared reluctant to answer, but he did anyway :

“Without Nightmare, I wouldn't be there anymore. I just feel like I owe him so much and… Ugh, sorry, I'm not used to feeling so much and being all pathetic.”

With a hint of hesitation, Cross approached him.

“What do you mean not there anymore ?” He feared the answer.

Killer's hand was shaking, even when Cross grabbed it again. A few tears were rolling.

“I tried killing myself.” It felt like an ice bucket being thrown on his head. His eyes widened: it was the answer he was afraid to get. “I planned on jumping from the blue bridge near the gas station, once. I was ready but… He followed me ‘cause he saw me leaving my house at night. And you know that bastard, always having a sort of sixth sense. He knew…somehow. He saved me, like, three times.”

If his shivering mouth and watery eyes were any hints, Cross was on the verge of crying. He knew, deep down, but being confronted to this was different. He didn't want to lose Killer nor did he want him going through that. With a squeaking voice, he asked:

“You still try?”

He internally begged for the answer to be no, that Killer was now safe. He loved him, he loved him so much and was distraught knowing he risked not even meeting him. 

Noticing his state, Killer took his other hand with the hope to be grounding. His thumb made little circles on his skin.

“The last time was before you brought me to your home. I'm… Getting better. I wouldn't have confessed otherwise. I mean, I still struggle but…Heh, won't leave you so easily."

Cross nodded, not at all comforted by the fact Killer could have killed himself just a few months ago. He finally looked at his face and couldn't help himself but laugh. 

“What?” Killer asked, confused. It wasn't such a funny subject, as far as he was aware. 

“Pfff, let's head back to your place. Your makeup is all messed up with how you cried.”

“Uh??” Killer snatched his phone from his pocket and looked at himself with the reflection. His expression dropped, making Cross's laughter start again.

“Shit, I look like a panda now…” He sighed and, after making sure Cross was okay to come to his place, they headed there. 

No one was at home except his father, but as the two teenagers reached the stairs, Cross noted they didn't interact at all. He recalled Killer telling him he had a bad relationship with his dad.

“How many wipes do you even need?” Cross grumbled in between serious bits of conversation. They were in Killer's bathroom, trying to remove his smudged makeup. 

“Hehe, a lot.” Killer chuckled, making another cotton soaked with makeup remover. Cross rolled his eyes playfully and hugged him from behind.

“... Is it why you're not allowed to have your knives collection ?”

“Yeah.”

They couldn't skip the subject, even if the atmosphere was more joyful it was impossible not to mention what was going on. Cross still felt like crying.

“You want some ?” Killer asked with a grin, giggling the eyeliner in front of Cross. The teenager cringed:

“Ah, makeup isn't my thing. Sorry.”

Wipes after wipes, Killer's face finally was clean from any messy black shapes running down his cheeks. He huffed: “Come on!”

“Dysmorphia.”

“Ah. Well, uh, you can do mine, it's cool too !”

Cross thought about it for a second before agreeing. Though he warned him of his lack of makeup skills. It made Killer beam, which was pleasant to see after his previous meltdown. 

Face to face, his knees touching the other's, he worked meticulously. One of his hands was cupping Killer's cheek while the other worked on drawing a line. With wobbly hands, Cross cursed a few times as he tried not to mess it up. 

They remained silent, occasionally looking at each other. When Cross deemed he was done, he closed the eyeliner. His hand cupping his cheek stayed in place as he looked back at Killer. He was simply gorgeous. Not only that, he boosted Cross's confidence, was the most generous person he met in a while, he was funny and caring.

Tears formed once again in Cross's eyes and he spoke with a broken voice:

“Don't die.”

He saw his expression saddening, wrapping his arms around Cross. 

“Crossy, I promise I don't want to anymore.” He leaned forward to leave a kiss on Cross's cheek. He felt quite selfish to ask him this, but Cross genuinely couldn't stand the idea of Killer dying. 

They stayed on the bathroom floor for a while before moving to Killer's room. There, they hugged on his bed, finally relaxing. Cross should go home, his father must be wondering what's taking him so long. But when Killer took his hands to lay the sweetest kiss ever on them, all thoughts of his duties left. He giggled, his cheeks red as his gaze was locked into Killer's. The latter proceeded to kiss his cheeks, forehead and even jawline, the both of them laughing from the display. 

Even if life had been hell, all his hopes crushed and emotions stolen from him, Killer was glad he was still here today. 

“Can we kiss?” Cross whispered, his natural frown replaced by a soft smile. Killer inhaled and nodded. He was ready. 

Cross approached him and, not wanting to cross any lines, landed a simple peck. 

“Mmh, Dust was right.” Cross stated afterwards.

“Uh? Wadya mean?”

He smirked and huffed: “You're a bad kisser.”

“WHAT”

Chapter Text

Throwing the trash wasn't that bad, except when it rained and you had to walk four minutes to reach the brand new communal bins at the end of your street. Cross would give it a D-tier; he was soaked and nearly slipped on the metallic ground surrounding the two dumpsters. Originally, they had their own trash bins but the city decided, for the dustmen’ sake, two huge dumpsters directly fixed in the ground were enough for a whole street. 

They were wrong. 

Cross stood, trying hard not to scream with rage, in front of a filled trash bin. Cursing and gagging with the smell, he forced the trash inside, sighing in relief when he managed to unblock the bin. He heard the bags falling far under the ground as he left, hands filthy and dignity sullied.

As he faced a laughing Frisk, he shouted angrily about the crass, then rushed to thoroughly wash his hands. 

But Cross had no time: his duty was to deep clean the house.

Killer was coming in three hours. 

So, he cleaned, dusted and tidied as much as he could. Most things were already done thanks to their chores but it needed to be perfect. Every swipe of the broom brought him closer to peace: a clean environment, more than being polite, would also put his father in a good mood.

He was currently changing his sheets when Chara came, bored as ever, searching for troubles. 

“You two better sleep early.” He chided. “I don’t want to hear you giggle all night.”

“Oh fuck off !” Cross huffed. “Why are you here?”

For a while, Chara simply stared at him with, certainly, death wishes in mind. Red progressively crept on his cheeks before he finally exhaled.

“Frisk and I wanted to look cool for tonight but, uh, we let Papyrus in charge of that and it's a catastrophe.”

“Heh!” Cross let a mocking laugh come out. It explained the padding shoulders underneath his pullover. 

Papyrus, even if far less extravagant from his younger self and his peers, was still one of a kind. Fashion is not among his variety of talents. 

Admittedly, the thought of his brothers wanting to impress Killer was as sweet as stupid; still, cute. 

Finishing his bed, he turned with a smirk, facing Chara. 

“Hey, if you want to be cool you could stick your nosy ass in the fridge.”

“Ugh, this one was terrible, comedian.”

—----------

“Uh, they really don't check the ID here.” Dust observed, taking a seat across Horror. They were inside a cheap bar at the waterfront, the harbour; every building in that place was either a bar or a restaurant transforming into a bar at night. Well, seven wasn't technically night, but they got bored of wandering under the rain. 

“Told ya.”

Drinks already there, as they ordered it right away, Dust sniffed Horror's. An overpriced cocktail, which was surprising since his friend was a paranoid freak, counting each cent in his pockets and saving for food. 

But tonight was different: it was a celebration. And, frankly, Dust argued beforehand to convince him to get something better than the crap he wanted to choose. 

The orangish, slightly pink drink smelled of peach and sugar, a dried piece of orange positioned on top of it to make it look fancy. He faintly smelled alcohol, dug under layers and layers of sugar. Horror appeared happy with it, looking at the glass under every angle possible, even snapping a picture. 

As for himself, a lager. The default. 

He never took himself for the kind of guy to hang in bars, too cliche and edgy for him, but it seemed clichés existed for a reason: he truly just was a soon-to-be young adult. In just a week, 8 more days to wait. They spotted some people they knew from high school, but none they liked enough to stick with. 

Lifting his pint, he flashed a smile to his best friend, seeing him mirroring his action. 

“To your first paycheck.” Dust cheered before their glasses clinked, only then taking the first sip. 

Indeed, Horror got a part time job; nothing huge, but he got a little something at the start of the month now. Some janitor thing for a shop, early in the morning right before school. Sometimes after as well. 

“Paid my mom a…nice shirt, her favourite colour.”

“Heh, that lady deserved a gift.”

Horror's relationship with his mother was sweet to see. This woman was beyond devoted to her kids, working like a dog to try and give them a good life. 

“Yeah. Paps got a-” Horror trailed of, trying to remember. “I dunno the name. Action figures. Cheap but he likes them.”

As for the little brother, Paprika, Dust saw in him the brother he never got. Ate him in the womb, leaving behind a constant feeling of loneliness. 

The kid was sweet, energetic even if a little rude with Horror when he got paranoid. Dust liked hearing about him, it's not like he really heard of his other friends’ brothers.

Cross had too many and he kept mistaking one of the youngest for the other. And Killer, well, after what happened, he probably didn't spend much time alone with him. It probably hurt like a bitch but, hey, if that's what was needed for that dumbass to realize he wasn't immune to feelings, Dust won't pray to change it. 

Horror sipped silently, basking in the warmth of the bar. It wasn't too loud, thankfully, but the air carried an unpleasant smell. 

“Did that guy just puked?”

—----------

DingDong

Cross jumped, nearly fell on the ground before getting to the door. Papyrus laughed at that. He turned the doorknob, opened the door which revealed Killer. Nicely dressed, a dark shirt with some black jeans and, thankfully, his natural hair. No spikes. His father wouldn't have appreciated it. 

“Hi Kill-” He stopped dead in his tracks when his boyfriend landed a quick peck on his mouth before greeting him. His blushing certainly didn't get better after the following interaction:

“Heya Crossy!” Said Crossy stepped back, letting Killer in before closing the door. With a lopsided smile, Killer, arms lifting in front of him, handed something to Cross. He refrained himself from laughing with both joy and surprise: a bouquet of roses. “I got you this on my way.” The flowers were still wet from the rain. Carefully putting the roses on the table, Cross hugged Killer tightly while thanking him. It was touching, and the flowers were beautiful. Letting him then remove his shoes, Cross searched for a vase, joined by Papyrus who gasped at the bouquet. 

“You got roses ! Romance isn't dead !”

No, romance wasn't dead, but discretion was apparently… The noise seemed to have attracted his father who just left the kitchen. He was preparing the meal for tonight. 

“Hi sir!” Killer enthusiastically said with a salute. It didn't make his father laugh. He instead scrutinized him.

“Good evening. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

“Nice.” Killer chuckled. “Oh! I brung you something, sir. Just a sec…” He rummaged through his stuff in his bag. It either could be a huge mistake, or the smartest move possible. His father seemed to go for the first option, right now. It made Cross winced, what a start…

With a satisfied smile, Killer took a few steps ahead in order to stand in front of the man. Papyrus came back with a vase, which Cross happily took to put the bouquet in. Then, Killer gave a purple– of course– box to the man who took it with little enthusiasm. 

“I was told they were really good quality chocolates. To thank you.”

Well, now his father had an ounce of enthusiasm in him. Even Cross got curious at that, looking at the box himself. “Uh, who helped you?”

“I asked Error, though it was hard to get an answer out of him.” Mused Killer. After a moment, his father thanked him before going back to the kitchen. 

Cross deemed it was the perfect time to go upstairs and unpack his stuff. But, as soon as they reached the top stairs, two heads appeared in a doorway : Frisk and Chara. They couldn’t have a second to themselves in this house? Immediately, Frisk jumped and went to greet Killer, Chara following.

“Hi! Nice to meet you! I'm Frisk.” He went for a handshake, but Killer misunderstood and high-fived him instead. It made Cross chuckle. 

“Heya kiddo. And that must be Chara behind you, if I remember well?”

“Yup!” Frisk beamed, already trying to drag Killer to show him around. Cross put a stop to it: “Hey, he still needs to unpack. Wait a little.”

Dragged around like a ragdoll, Killer let Cross guide him to his bedroom with little complaints. 

Once inside, he let his bag fall on the floor, sighing in relief when the weight left his shoulder. Stretching his arms, he chuckled to the other:

“Damn, I barely got time to breathe. But! I think I made a good impression of myself.”

Cross hummed in agreement. “The chocolates were a good idea, I have to admit.” As he spoke, the vase was placed on his desk. His fingers lingered for a second on the petals before he turned back to Killer: “Thanks for the roses, Kill. It's, heh, really cute.”

Such delicate flowers. Some were redder than others, intertwined with leaves and other slim plants he failed to recognize. Placed beside his textbooks, their colour contrasted well with the room, just like how Killer contrasted with the other inhabitant of this slightly-more-than-mundane house.

“Nervous about tonight ?” Cross teased. If he were Killer, he would've been. His father was all but welcoming. But the other simply chuckled before replying: “Nah, not really. I'm a chill guy, you know.” A shrug of his shoulders emphasized his sentence.

“Yeah? You're sure you're not simply too lazy to care ?” Cross mocked. He was allowed to make fun of him from time to time. Well, most of the time, actually.

The latter huffed, unimpressed by the teasing. “What? You're too much of a chicken to talk back?” Cross taunted once again, a huge smile on his face. Each letter was accentuated to give a snarky tone. Finally, finally they have more than three hours in each other's company before parting away. Cross was so hap-

Killer suddenly grabbed him and, with not as much struggle as expected, lifted the boy before throwing him down–without violence– on the bed. 

“Get dunked on!” 

—----------

“I'm freezing.” Complained Dust, gripping the edges of his coat to roll himself in it. The zip was broken, he had no way of closing it. Before him, Horror simply hummed back. A rectangular object in his hands was being played with. 

Out of boredom, and because neither wanted to part ways, they decided to start a pub crawl. They would have to switch to soft drinks really quick, though; Dust was lightweight. 

Horror struggled with the lighter, thumb slipping a few times before finally witnessing a flame coming out. It flicked, the flame contrasting with the coldness. A sigh of relief rising from his mouth, Dust approached his head just enough so the tip of the cigarettes he was holding between his lips would lit up. Once done, his friend put the lighter in Dust pocket. 

“No wonder you stink.” Horror barked, which earned a grunt from Dust. “At least ya could shower. Remove that ashy smell.”

Dust rolled his head back, not even hurt anymore. Horror said those lines so many times now, and to be fair, he had every right to. He was right. But Dust won't tell him. Instead, he told him to shut up. 

“Ya know what shut me up, Dust ?” Horror whispered. He took a step toward Dust, hovering above him. Their eyes were locked, separated only by the threat of the cigarettes's burning side. Dust tipped his head slightly. The face in front of him was more relaxed than usual, its traits loosened up and a mischievous smile curling his lips upward. Horror's lips parted before answering his rhetorical question :

“We should hurry up and try more drinks!”

—-------

“Hey!” Frisk joyfully said, entering Cross’ room with no care for their privacy. He could’ve knocked. From behind Killer’s laptop, because he was a nice guy and won’t let his boyfriend go nuts from the absence of screens in his life, the frustrated head of his brother lifted. “What?” A hand-Killer's-was running through his hair, making it messy. 

“...did you make out?” The teen asked monotonously, standing still as usual. Cross, dramatic as ever, shot upright, almost landing the laptop on the other side of the room with his boyfriend along. A face of disgrace took place. “What? No! Don't ask that !” He shrilled. 

Killer was too busy balancing both his laptop on one arm and gripping Cross with the other. Frisk shrugged and walked in the room with their tiny feet. Truly a short teen for his age.

Hands behind his back, walking around, he finally sat on the border of the bed, far from the couple. The boys were still in each other's hold but not as cuddling as before. 

“Why you here kiddo?” Killer chuckled, his laugh resonating inside Cross’ head. He liked it.

“Uh, dad said dinner was almost ready, but he wants Cross to prepare the table.” Frisk dropped their upper half on the side, now laying. “Since he's the one having a guest, blablabla.” His hand mimicked the act of speaking.

Cross sighed. “Really ?” He sighed again and again, head planted firmly against Killer's neck. After a minute, he landed a peck on it and left the comfort of both the hug and the bed. 

“I'll miss you habibi.” Pouted Killer, his fingers searching for Cross’. “Can't I help?”

Both siblings immediately declined.

“I think if I let you put a single glass, he'll kill me.”

Cross wasn't joking. His face retranscribed it pretty well, leaving the room while blushing at Killer's encouragement and pet names. 

“Clingy.” Papyrus noticed, but Cross hadn't the strength to reply. And maybe he was right. 

“Anyway !” Frisk huffed, jumping back on his feet. “Welcome back ! Wanna see my room? I share it with Chara but we can kick him out.”

The kids were fun. Trying to look old and tough but they were still kids at heart; Frisk's thirst for Killer's attention was proof. “Sure”.

The kid smiled before leading them to another room. 

—-----------------------

“Aaand-” Dust checked something on a piece of paper. “6 pubs!”

“Heh, would explain how you walk.”

“Oh shut up.” Dust laughed, leaning against him. 

The rain had long since been replaced by chilling air, the oppressing atmosphere above them.

For the two idiots, getting half-cut was a good way to celebrate, and so they went for a seventh. Even though they went to soft drinks by then: it was the ambiance.

Only then, at the door of the seventh bar, a man stood.

Broad shoulders, all black clothes, shiny shoes and serious dark eyes. After chasing cheap pubs for so long, only the fancy ones remained. 

One problem: Dust was two days away from being an adult. And he did not look more than sixteen. And still, it was nice of oneself to say sixteen.

The teenagers shared a look of failure and resiliation. No bother trying, they wouldn't pass. 

The walk back from the waterfront was quite shameful. So, as the responsible adult he was, Horror requested :

“Wanna grab beers at the store ?”

Because, of course, he was responsible and didn't just send off Dust to his place. And, yes, Dust agreed. 

—------------

If awkward wasn't an existing word, uncomfortable and eerie would be adjectives given to the beginning of dinner. Everyone was sitted, Gaster being at the end and Cross and Killer side by side. 

Silverwares moved mechanically, knowing damn well each taste and portion needed for anyone, until Papyrus who was the one serving stopped at Killer. 

“Oh! Would you like salad?” Despite being only a year apart, Cross still couldn't help finding his lil bro adorable at moments. Like right now, trying to seem smart and classy. 

Killer lifted his gaze from his glass and then nodded with a huge smile like the absolute dork he was. “Hell Yeah! Gimme some. Please.” He quickly added, letting a laughing Papyrus put his portion. Cross, for his part, refrained a sigh. It promised to be long. 

A handful of salad, Killer chew on it like a dog would eat a bone. Fist curled around the silverwares; elbowed balancing his frame on the table surface. Admittedly, he never was a fan of salad. But this one was surprisingly tasty 

“It's really good, sir!” Killer enthusiastically said once his plate was done and he was collecting plates. Chara was told to help.

“Of course, I spent years perfectionating it.” 

Killer chuckled, maybe nervously, and Cross patted his arm with an apologetic look. 

A pearl of sweat rolled on his temple, waiting for the other two to leave. He needed to have a chat with his boyfriend. 

Once he knew his father wouldn't hear them, Cross sighed and got up. He made his way behind Killer, who shot him a curious glare, before grabbing his elbows to remove them from the table. “Hey!” A stunned Killer was forced into a straight back, good table posture and a nice hold of his fork and knife. 

“I can't believe you have no table etiquette in your DNA !” Cross whined when he got back to his chair.

“I'm sorry, what?” Killer asked, not hurt but clearly confused. “I mean, okay, no elbows but I just forgot about it. ‘m sorry.”

“No, no it's fine. I just don't think my father was really happy with it.” Frisk chuckled. 

“Right! He was shooting death glares at you !” Papyrus added with a chuckle.

For his part, Killer gulped. 

He was in deepshit, wasn't he? He hadn't overthink tonight, he had no manners and he even brought that ugly pyjama.

Killer knew it was his chance to impress the man, mend the poor start of their relationship. And he was quite literally wasting that chance. Every gesture, every move of his were scrutinized with rapt attention. And he was doing everything wrong. Like usual.

“So, Killer, what are you studying ?”

“Uh?”

Cutting his trail of autodestructive thoughts, Gaster watched him, waiting for an answer. 

Cross never really asked but he knew he was in some science classes. 

“Oh!” He quickly moved back into a proper sitting pose before answering with a grin: “I have biology and math classes. I know Cross is into politics but, eh, I'm more of a science guy.” 

Gaster raised an eyebrow, but with surprises and no judgment. So, this boy was at least somehow intelligent. 

“What for? It's a difficult road, you know.”

And hell yeah it was, but it never scared him. Except when he got scared of leaving his room, that's it. He loved learning about science and especially the human body, how it works and how to repair it. It was like a giant mechanism of organs and cells, needing maintenance and fuel. 

“It's hard for sure ! But I'll make it work. I want to be a hematologist.”

A smile of victory shone on Cross’ face. That's his man, full of surprises. He was sure his father would be impressed, or at least like him a little. 

And he was right:

“I work as a medical researcher. There are many places available as hematologist. A lot of patients but few serious workers in the making… So, yes, you will make it work.” It was more of an order than an encouragement. 

“Wait, really? Nice job!”

“If I had to guess, I would say you were a future Hot Topic manager. It fits your style.” Papyrus hummed. 

“Yes! You look as cool as them!” Frisk beamed. 

“Aww, really?” Killer was honestly flattered. 

Dinner was smoother after that, more relaxed despite his father's reticence. Jokes were even made, and overall Killer seemed to go along with his entire family. 

Smiling in front of this realization, he didn't even notice the plates had disappeared until the smell of chocolate arrived to his nostrils. 

A chocolate cake. Simple but with nice swirls on top. In front of him, Frisk slightly blushed before asking, hiding behind his hands, if it was from Muffet's mom bakery. It was, and their cakes were always delicious.

Dessert went as well as dinner, but is it really possible to have a bad atmosphere around a chocolate cake?

Yes.

Yes, when your father suddenly ask:

“What is your opinion on drugs, Killer?”

Silence installed itself quickly among the teens. Don't make a joke don't make a joke don't

“Yuck.” Killer simply answered before continuing:“I'm a straight edge, promise!”

“Uh-uh. And the alcohol at Nightmare’s house?”

His father was determined to find a detail on which he could disapprove of Killer. Which was a good sign: Killer went beyond his father's first impression. 

“Um-” His eyes darted away and back at him for a moment before answering : “Yeah, okay I did drink a few coke vodka, but, my point is I won't do it again!” 

Before his father could talk, Papyrus let out a gasp: “A few?!”

“Yeah, three maybe.”

“Whaaat? That's a lot!”

Chara sighed: “What are you, five ? Three glasses isn't that much, it does nothing!” 

—--------

“Told you a second beer was too much.”

Horror was holding his hood while Dust threw up in a bush. Again, mixing alcohol and medicine. His back ached with how hunched he was, but in the split moment where his mouth wasn't actively rejecting everything he drank tonight, he huffed:

“I don't need you to patronize me-”

He threw up once again. 

Once he felt better, Horror handed him a tissue to clean his mouth. “Let's go to mine. Clean you up. My mom made soup.” He said, dragging Dust along. 

“Uuugh I don't want soup.” The other growled, still a little out of it. 

Horror didn't reply: it's not like if Dust had a choice. He lived too far away to go home safely. He won't let his best friend get lost into the wild. 

After a fifteen minute walk, they reached Horror's flat. Going up the stairs seemed laborious for both of them; they maybe went a little too far. 

Fiddling with the knobdoor, he finally pushed the door open. 

“Mom, Dust’s sick I brought ‘im here!” He yelled so his mother would hear. She arrived quickly, her smile as eery as her son. 

“Hi boys, did-” she stopped as soon as she got close to them, then pinched her nose. “Gosh, did you steal the entire bar or what?”

Horror tried an apologetic smile: “Just a few drinks, not much…Wanted to celebrate a little.”

Considering how she crossed her arms, she was not convinced. “Uh-uh. Celebrate by making Dust sick?”

Touché. 

“Ma'am, it was my fault. Horror warned me but, uh, I'm stubborn, so-” Dust trailed of. 

It made the woman sigh, but everyone knew she wasn't mad at them. They were still high schoolers, not responsible adults. 

“Horror, you can take a shower while I search something to give Dust. And you-” She gently placed her hand on top of Dust's shoulder “- don't even think about not showering.”

The teenager pouted but didn't decline. She was right, Paprika didn't need to find them smelling like alcohol.

—----------

“Yeah, let's watch it!” Killer bubbled beside him.

“I didn't even know we owned this movie…” His father then muttered before inspecting the DVD once more. 

To conclude tonight, they gathered on the sofa-and his own seat for his father-to watch something. But this one caught their attention as neither of them has seen it.

“It's about aliens so either it's super scary or super fun!” Frisk added with a smile. “I enjoy both.”

Cross was stuck between the two aliens’ enthusiasts: Frisk and his boyfriend. Boyfriend who, by the way, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

In the end, his father decided to start the movie. At least, if it's bad, they could throw it away. For now, the intro was playing. 

Not even a quarter of the movie in later, a scene began being displayed. 

A huge farm with lands, crops…and cows. 

Cross went pale. Of course, aliens, UFOs, and cows. 

He could already hear his siblings giggling when, at the first frame of a cow being shown, he let out a shrill and put his hands on his eyes. 

It's not his fault cows are horrible. Despicable. Evil by nature. 

“Wh- Cross?” Right, Killer was probably unaware of this. 

“Cows… He's deadly afraid of them.” Papyrus half laughed. His face regained one colour: red, from embarrassment. He could only nod in agreement. 

Killer shut up for a few seconds before speaking with a hint of amusement. “You do know there's a farm not far from here, right?”

“Oh, he's clearly aware!” Laughed Frisk, mocking his brother before turning back his attention to the movie. Then, out of the blue, his father added: “A cow tried to eat his scarf, there. Now we have to avoid milk bottles with cows on them.”

“Uuugh dad, not you too… Just tell me when there's no abomination on screen.” Cross whined. Immediately, Chara assured him the scene was done, but here is the problem: as soon as he opened his eyes, a zoom in on a cow happened. 

Cross once again yelled with fear before being rescued by Killer. The latter enveloped him in one arm and hid his eyes with his other hand. The boy let himself fall against his boyfriend's torso. Finally, Killer placed a quick kiss on top of his head, chuckling : “I'll let you know when it's done.”

He almost placed a second kiss but chose otherwise with how Gaster was throwing death glares at him. 

—------------------

“ ‘m sorry you puked.” Horror yawn. They went to bed as soon as they finished their soup, way too exhausted.

Dust had to wear some old clothes they found while his were being washed by Horror's mother. He didn't want to be a burden, but she reassures him that he was like her third son at this point.

He pretended to nap in order to not cry like a kid. He never cried. 

“Nah, best night ever.” Dust said, replying to his friend. As they couldn't afford much, they didn't have any spare mattress for him; but sleeping with Horror wasn't a big deal. He was too deep in his dreams to hear him snore most of the time anyway. 

…

…

…

“I started to hear voices. That's why I changed my medication.” Dust mumbled. “The other one didn't make me puke, just nauseous.”

Horror turned to him, his usual smile not on his face. “It's getting that bad?” He stumbled on his words, but Dust understood.

“It can worsen with addictions, yeah.” Same addictions he got to stop thinking about all the effects it had on him. “I should go clean but…” He trailed off, letting his head hit the pillow beside Horror. 

“You should've said so before tonight.” Horror chuckled with little joy. Dust simply hummed as an answer. He should have, but drinking with Horror was always fun. More than drinking by himself on his bedroom floor. He stopped doing so a few months ago, but the itch was still there. 

…

…

…

“Horror. Don't tell me you just farted.” 

Horror chuckled. 

With an horrified expression, Dust went to the other side of the bed, far from him “EW don't do that!” he yelled, putting his sleeve in front of his nose. He kicked Horror on the chest, he missed his stomach, while his opponent charged forward, gripping him by the hair. After a few minutes of ‘fighting’, the door opened. 

“Boys ! Quiet !” It was his mom, half whispering, half commanding.

“Ma'am, your son farted on me.” Dust complained as they got back to their place on the bed. She rolled her eyes when a satisfied look shone on Horror's face and went to sit by the edge of the bed. 

She handed a pack of ice to Dust, “You complained about your head earlier. It should help.”

Her mom kissed Horror forehead before chiding him: “Don't drink to the point of being sick too, okay?”

Then, she gently brushed her hand on Dust’s head. She was as soft as a feather. 

“Sleep well, boys.”

—------------------

“Meh, it wasn't that bad.” Chara concluded about the movie once they were done. Despite terrible scripting, the scenery was so incredible it became watchable. 

While everyone was heading to bed, Cross and Killer stayed a little longer there. Chara ended up approaching him and purposely ignored his big brother:

“Hey Killer, uhm, I know how to play guitar. We still have five minutes before quiet time arrives, so if you want, follow me.” Even with his big ego and mean demeanor, he looked shy before Killer. He seemed to breathe again when Killer accepted and both of them went upstairs. 

Cross still had something to do: speak to his father. He quickly turned off the TV and made his way to the kitchen where the man was cleaning up. With silent steps, he went to his side.

“So- what do you think of Killer?”

“Childish and loud.” What a great start. “He doesn't deserve you.” Cross sighed and prepared himself to just leave the room, defeated. But as he cleaned the counter, his father added with a sigh: “But he seems more mature and intelligent than I gave him credit for. His plans for the future are more than respectable. Way too tactical, though; he's currently under my house.”

“So he impressed you?”

He never got an answer, but it was okay, deep down he knew it was ‘yes’. Nearly jumping in place, he smiled stupidly. 

“Thanks dad, it really really means a lot to me.”

“Mh-mh.”

With that, he decided to wait for Killer to come back to his bedroom. 

“I can't believe you brought that shirt with you.” Cross bursted out laughing, sitting on Killer's lap. 

“Say the one with the batman shirt.” Killer huffed back while locking his arms behind his neck. 

“Batman is cool as hell. Shut up.” The last part was whispered as he pushed Killer back on the bed, steadying himself by placing his forearms on each side of Killer's head. The latter, who was as red as the bouquet he got him, laughed : “Damn, you're getting bold.” 

Cross didn't bother answering, he preferred kissing Killer with as much passion as he could. Tonight had been wonderful, he couldn't believe he finally got to show how incredible Killer was to his father. He also went along perfectly with his brothers. The perfect night. 

Killer tried to match his eagerness, not quite sure of what he was doing. If Cross didn't stop, it probably means it was okay. His hands ended up slipping past the hem of his long sleeve shirt, finding warmth in between the short sleeve one underneath and this one. Not too close, not too far. 

He hadn’t thought Cross was this bold, especially with his father not far away, but a particularly passionate kiss made all complaints disappear from his brain. 

It was the closest he ever been with someone and it was simply-

Scary. Why did he, Cross, good manners Cross, start it? He didn't know what to do. Killer neither, apparently- his kissing skill hasn't really evolved- so it was okay. He had just been so overly joyful about dinner that he acted without thinking.

Getting honestly quite bored after a moment, Killer switched and took one of Cross’ hands before peppering it with pecks. 

Suddenly, the door cracked open, revealing Gaster's voice: “The door. It stays open… Good night.”

They waited, startled, until the man's steps sounded far away.

“Okay, we're actually so lucky he didn't come inside.” Cross sighed with relief, making his way into the bed. Killer followed him, chuckling : “He could've done so one minute before, then it would've been a catastrophe.” 

…

“I have to tell Epic I made out for the first time.” Cross exhaled with joy as he dug between the mattress and the wall in search of his clandestine phone. Killer raised an eyebrow, mockingly, but didn't comment. That's probably the first thing he'll tell Colour as well.

“Past you from last year would faint if he learned YOU initiated this.” Killer joked as his boyfriend started to tap frantically on his screen. 

“Well, even present me fails to believe it. You do have a bad influence on me…” He finished his text before putting it back. “Sleep?”

“Mh-mh.” Killer turned to curl on himself, and Cross took the chance to wrap his arms around him. 

…

“I don't want to leave you behind.” Cross whispered after a few minutes, sorrow dripping from his voice. 

Killer shifted to be on his back, looking right into the other’s eyes. He looked really tired. “Uh, you don't have to. You're 18, you can legally choose.”

“And he legally can throw me on the streets.” Cross sighed. “Besides, what would I do instead of the army ?”

They had to be quieter now, everyone must already be asleep. 

“What you really want to do.”

Cross didn't answer right away. He wondered : what did he want? He wanted to study something he liked. But no way he'll enter an art school. History was fine, but he didn't want to work in a museum or something. It left sports: maybe there was a school to learn how to be a coach? 

It felt right. It wasn't as ambitious as his father planned for his future, but he could see himself working in that field. Maybe he didn't even need to continue studying!

“... I want to be a sports coach, or something like that.” He finally whispered to no one since Killer had long since drifted to sleep. 

Happy with his decision, but still aware of how his father wouldn't let it slide, he kissed his forehead and decided to join him and sleep. 

Maybe in the morning, Cross would have gathered enough strength and courage to talk about this to his father.

Chapter Text

Clutching at his necklace with a hand and colouring with the other was, so far, the only activity Cross managed to do. Like his eyebags turning blue, different hues and shades of blue filled the complex mandala from his book. 

Behind him, his CD player was blasting music ; he wasn't allowed to put it this high but his father wouldn't be here for another thirty minutes. Or fifteen ? Maybe even ten. He couldn't quite remember. 

The soft notes from To All of You by Syd Matters made his head move slightly, dragged by the melody. Just beside his colouring hand sat a pile of textbooks, those he was trying to memorize for his finals. Twenty minutes of reading back his notes, five minute breaks (04:43 to be exact, to be able to play the same song again and again.) And then exercises. 

On his bed, Frisk was also studying. Last year of middle school really hit hard : the boy's poor lips were damaged from all the time he spent biting them because of stress. In reality, his finals scores weren't even that important to get in high school. But he came to Cross, clutching at his books like his life depended on it. 

He couldn't say no to him. 

“I don't want time to pass.” The younger sighed sadly, he must have let go of his textbooks a while ago since it'd been an hour since he last saw him working on a specific page. 

“Don't stress yourself. You almost have twenty out of twenty on every exam, you'll pass.” Cross mumbled, getting back to his work now that the song ended. 

“It's not about that !” Frisk whined, turning and turning on the bed until settling on laying on his left side. Cross rolled his eyes, not really pleased to have his work session altered. Less time for blasting music afterwards.: “So what? I'm not a mind reader.”

Frisk took a few deep breaths, muttering something before speaking a little louder. He didn't dare to look at his brother, quite ashamed of what he was revealing. “It's just… You'll leave, and next year Papyrus will too and-” He shrugged his shoulder before playing with the end of his hair. Oh, that topic. “I don't want to see your or his room empty. It'll be so different at home too- not that I don't enjoy Chara's company. It's just different.”

Cross stopped his exercise. How could he really concentrate when his little brother’s voice was shaking like that ? So, he instead acted like the big brother, the strong figure he was: he got up and playfully towered Frisk.

“Aw, the baby's gonna cry ?” He said in his most annoying voice. 

“No! Stop! I'm not !” Frisk answered back, having to at least somewhat get back in a sitting position to kick Cross. 

Ouch, right in the stomach…

“Dude, it's okay.” Cross chuckled. Sure, Frisk was kind of an emotional teen, but he knew for years this was going to happen. Besides, it's not like Cross wasn't actively trying to change path, but he figured since he didn't talk about it to Frisk he had no way of knowing. 

He quietly sat next to him, pushing his stuff away. 

“We've all been so mean to each other at home, all of us, for years and- and now I just feel like we wasted our time together.” Frisk continued while totally NOT crying. 

“You've never been mean to me, Frisk.” He tried reassuring him, patting his shoulder. He, however, sighed upon his sibling eyes scanning his face and then crying harder. He knew exactly where he was looking .

His scar.

“That doesn't coun-”

“How could it not? I know you hate that scar, Cross!” 

Not knowing what to say or do, he simply wrapped his arms around his brother. Frisk squeezed him harder.

“Uuugh, I hate acne." A thirteen year old Cross whined. He should be cooking for his brothers. Dad had a night shift today, so Cross got stuck playing baby sitter. He'll add more pepper to Chara's dinner, just to ease his nerves.

For now, he was too busy looking at his face in front of the mirror. 

“Come on, we're hungry !” Yelled his so beloved brother Chara. “Just a sec !”

When he turned on himself, he saw a sobbing Frisk in the doorway. Immediately, Cross dropped to his knee and approached a hand to his brother’ shoulders. 

“What's the pro-” “Don't touch me!” Frisk sobbed, pushing back his hand. 

He was still in his soccer attire despite his match being done since four pm. Cross winced but stayed at eye level : he was the grown up for tonight after all!

… And Muffet's mother was ready to come if help was needed. But he didn't want to bother. 

“It was supposed to be me.” Frisk wailed, confusing Cross. Okay? He had no clues what was going on. And Chara began shouting again. And Papyrus was watching the TV at full volume. 

He was doing a terrible job so far. 

“Dad was supposed to see me play but-but he had to bring you to the hair lady instead! Everyone had their mom or dad to celebrate and I had no one! And-and Alphys couldn't even come! The coach had to drive me home !” By the end of his speech, Frisk was breathless. His tiny hands began to tremble with how hard he squeezed his shirt.

“Wowowo- it's not my fault my hairdresser appointment was that day! And they don't allow young teenagers to go there by themselves.” Cross tried to defend himself. It wasn't convincing, though, as Frisk grabbed his shoe … And threw it in his direction. 

If only he was allowed to curse !

“Stop that!” Cross began to scream. “I'll tell Dad when he gets back home, you'll see!”

“But it's not fair !” 

“And you know what else is unfair?” He got up, straightening his clothes and pointed an accusative finger toward the younger. 

“You can't control life. You can't control us and you certainly can't control me. It's your last chance to apologi-”

Frisk shrieked before taking his other shoe. The soccer ones, with tiny spikes underneath.

This time, however, he touched Cross.

Cross's face, and maybe even eye. 

It took a second for the taller to even realize what happened. A febrile hand came to touch his cheek and, seeing it covered in red, he suddenly regretted getting up. 

Frisk gasped, silent for a moment. Tears kept falling down on the child's cheek, but this time out of shame and not anger. 

“Cross… Sorry.” A tiny voice rang somewhere around him. Cross needed to sit down. If only the floor would stop moving so much…maybe then…

With the little strength he could gather, he managed to breathe out: “It's fine. Just- go call Muffet's mom alright? There's, uh, leftovers for Chara. TV is… Too loud, too.”

And then black. 

Not the best memory.

“See the bright side: you'll have your own room.” Tried to reassure Cross. It only earned him:

“I don't want a room, I want my brother !”

He continued petting his back for a while. Maybe he should just tell him his plans. But then, what if he fails ? What if he gives his baby brother false hopes?

Though he couldn't just stand there and let his shirt get covered in tears. 

“I will tell you a secret, but you have to keep it to yourself, okay?” Cross talked with a low voice, not quite whispering but being sneaky nonetheless. Frisk nodded against his shoulder. “I hadn't spoken to him about that yet… But I want Dad to leave me try and have a job as a sports coach. I mean, there should be schools for that.”

Frisk lifted his head, and his eyes were already more alive than five minutes ago. “You think that’ll work? You could stay ?”

No. He was practically certain he would just get yelled at. But who knows.

“Meh, I can still try. The camp was fun and all but I don't think the army is for me. Too stressful.”

Frisk quickly stopped crying. “... Can I call you if I get scared of finals ?”

“Of course. Don't hesitate, Frisk. You're like my best friend, remember ?” He proudly said with a big smile. It made the other chuckle before pushing Cross's face back. “Don't start with that.”

That conversation hadn't left his mind, even at school. He still had one week ahead before his finals, but Chara's and Frisk's were today.

Sitting by the heater with his friends- counting Colour as a friend now, he was quite chill honestly- he tried to relax. Petting Killer's head on his lap and stealing some chips from Dust helped a little. 

“And, mind you I wasn't even talking, he got up and began shouting at me. I was, like, what ???” 

“T'just how Error is.” Chuckled Horror. “Must have seen you hanging around us and got mad.”

Colour was telling how his first ever interaction with Error went sour; aka Error being Error. 

“He used to be cool. Now he sucks, I think apart from Swap no one can stand him anymore.” Dust continued, trying to catch some chips. It was his, how did the package manage to get empty so fast ?

“He’s just a big baby!” Laughed Killer, though it was muffled with how much food he had in his mouth. Dust turned to reprimand him about stealing from him, making Colour and Horror giggle. 

Cross was a tad too distracted to listen, busy looking at his phone's screen in case Frisk called. He didn't have much time left with this phone anyway, half the screen didn't work anymore and it barely charged even overnight. 

Suddenly, he sensed someone sitting close beside him. Vanilla scent with a bit of paint.

Cross froze for a second before slightly turning his head. 

“Heya C! Howzit going ? Long time no see, ahah !”

Ink.

Ink????

Words couldn't find their way out of his throat, confusion too strong to react. He made peace with the idea that Ink and him wouldn't be friends anymore only for him to act as if nothing happened?

He quickly looked at his friends who seemed as surprised as him. Everyone remembered well how it ended between the two and how it was hard for Cross to accept it. 

Killer gave him a smile of encouragement before lifting himself from him and turning to the others. It was Cross’ thing, not his.

Back to Ink. Patient as ever, or daydreaming, perhaps both, Ink waited for an answer. Sat crisscrossed on the floor, his long scarf enrolling him like a parchments, he had the same soft but goofy look than at the start of the school year. 

“Uh, hi?”

Not the best answer Cross could make. 

“Dream told me I was mad at you but, to be honest, I don't even remember half of the school year. Oh boy, I'm so screwed for finals !” He huffed dramatically. The other winced, his memory seemed to be more and more damaged with each passing year. It was starting to get critical, if he managed to forget entire months. 

“You should see a doctor for this, you know?”

“I was! But, eh, I forgot so many appointments that she doesn't want me as a patient anymore, so…”

He simply nodded back because, honestly, what was he supposed to do? 

“We should catch up, sure we're not besties anymore but we can still be friends.” Ink smiled widely, and for a second he almost caught a glimpse of the past. Middle school recess spent watching Ink draw, copying with precision each step. 

But was it a good idea? Wouldn't it just reopen old wounds? It was so sudden. 

“We could eat lunch together, what do you think?”

“Uh, I don't know…” Cross trailed off before turning to his friends. Wouldn't they mind?

Colour simply nodded with a warm smile, encouraging him to accept. And maybe he still finds from time to time that guy being insufferable with how much he was always right, but it felt like a blessing right now. 

“Okay.”

“I didn't know you still did art! Show me, show me!” Ink giggled in front of Cross. Their awful lunch was long forgotten as they kept swapping news and anecdotes to each other. 

Admittedly, it was still a little awkward. Ink and him grew to be so different it was a little hard to joke or anything, but they did their best. 

“It's not much… It's just colouring.” Cross quickly added, blushing a little from shame. Ink answered with a pout : “Come on, you can't say to someone who colours every frame of an animated movie that he's not an artist just cause he doesn't draw the lines.”

Cross shrugged. Yeah, probably. His precious colouring book in hand, he passed it to Ink with care. The other looked at it with attention, scanning every detail of every page. At the last one, still unfinished, he gave it back. 

“Hey, that's some good stuff you have !”

“Ah, yeah. Killer got alcohol markers for me.”

Literal sparks could be seen in Ink's eyes, like everyone he mentioned either a ‘new’ person or art. 

“Oh! By the way. He's my boyfriend now.” Cross proudly announced, because what could make him more proud than Killer falling in love with him. 

“REALLY?”

“Shhh, don't shout !”

“Sorry.”

But was it the moment in his life where everything would be for the better, his relationship and goals finally being stable, or was it the calm before the storm?