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Kris doesn’t like being touched.
It’s three in the morning and they’re rummaging through the bathroom cabinet for a spare blanket for Berdly’s makeshift nest on their living room couch. It’s three in the morning and their head is still thrumming with the multiple shots of fireball they’d drunken after watching Berdly- admittedly at the advantage of being the designated sober driver- annihilate Susie at a game of beer pong. It had been a blow to her ego, which Kris exaggerated by patting her on the back in a sort of there, there motion.
It’s three in the morning and Kris has run out of things to offer him- a glass of water, more pillows, makeup wipes, and gentle words of reassurance when his eyeliner stains remain stubbornly noticeable as Berdly whispers “I think my dad is going to fucking kill me.”
“Hey, it’s alright- it’ll wear off by the time you wake up, and if it hasn’t by then, we can wash it again.” The words feel rushed and Kris wonders if they’ve come across too dismissive with their suggestion. Truthfully, their only goal right now is focusing him on anything other than the massive doom spiral that’s teetering on crashing over him at any moment.
Berdly’s dad- sucks , to put it mildly. They’ve never met him, but they’d heard Berdly recount the time he threatened to beat him for playing with his mom’s eyeliner enough times to hate the guy.
“Yeah. Thanks for- yeah. All this.” he stumbles, awkwardly. The room fizzles with dead air and Kris wants to ask, is there anything I can do? Are you okay? when -
“...can I have a hug?”
Kris doesn’t like being touched. But there’s no hesitation when they lean in, wrapping their arms around his soft feathers as Berdly buries his face in the crook of their neck.
And it’s… warm. Kris never liked hugging others because monsters would complain about how cold their hands or gangly their limbs were. But Berdly doesn’t care, sobbing as he sinks his weight into them.
Kris doesn’t mind the warmth. It blooms into something larger, the hollow cavity in their chest filling with a substance unfamiliar. It’s new and they don’t hate it and all they can focus on is Berdly who’s still crying softly into their hair.
Kris doesn’t like being touched and yet they don’t let go, rubbing small circles into the bluebird’s back as hiccupped sobs escape his beak. The world falls away beneath their feet, and Kris isn’t sure how long they’ve been standing there holding him in the dark of their living room.
It’s three in the morning, and they technically haven’t told Toriel they’d invited a friend to spend the night which means there’s probably no harm in being caught, but this- it feels private. They hope they haven’t woken Toriel, because they’d rather not explain why Berdly is having a panic attack in their living room at this time.
Kris caves, breathing into the warmth as it floods them like a tidal wave. It’s raw, it’s angry and regretful and full of rejection, but Kris doesn’t mind wading through the fire.
Not when it’s Berdly.