Chapter Text
Upon opening their bedroom door, Kris immediately checks Asriel’s alarm clock, left behind from his transition to college. 12:25, it reads, which means they still have about a half hour.
Today’s going to be a good day.
They wring their hair out one last time with a towel before tossing it unceremoniously on the floor, then they turn to their closet and slide it open. Hanging on the inside of the door is the bane of their confidence, a full-length mirror.
Years ago, Toriel had got it for them, thinking it would help with them getting out the door on time for school, but after the divorce and, later, Asriel leaving, it quickly became the worst part of their routine. On better days, Kris avoided their reflection as much as possible, grabbing whatever they could off of the clothes hanger without considering a put-together look. On worse days…
They don’t need to think about that right now.
Susie invited them to QC’s, and Kris couldn’t help but accept. Their heart fluttered when she offered that, after, they could hang by the lake or just do whatever around town. As long as it was the two of them.
So, they’re meeting at one. Both of them have a late-streak when it comes to most things, but this time Kris at least wants to be late for a good reason. They’ve previously been negligent of their appearance, and though Susie couldn’t care less, they still want to show up for her. They don’t have much to offer, but she deserves the best.
Parsing through the closet rack, they catch a glimpse of themself out of the corner of their eye, and immediately flinch away.
Why not check, though, a voice, one that’s regrettably their own, whispers in the back of their mind.
Because it’s not good for me, Kris retorts.
They snatch an under-armor top out first, unwilling to risk being exposed to their bare, bony front in the mirror. They like this top—it’s smooth, so they won’t have to feel their itchy sweaters on their skin, and it has thumb holes to prevent it riding up on their forearms and potentially revealing their scars. They miss when it was skin-tight, though.
Next, pants. Kris feels goosebumps on their shins.
They mostly have hand-me-down jeans from Asriel that their mother graciously hemmed to fit their height. Paired with a belt tightened to its last notch gives them easy options as to what to wear each day. However, the look is unimpressive, and they want to show Susie something special.
Found it, a flattering brown high-waisted, straight-legged pair with bronze buttons. Kris had gotten it quite recently, once they had warmed up to Susie. It might have been subconscious, to get something this fancy, but they haven’t yet had a chance to wear it for her. Now, an opportunity presents itself.
They slip it on with ease and fiddle with the hem of their undershirt to tuck it into the waist. Sucking in a breath, they clench their fists and turn toward the mirror.
There’s something off about their reflection, but there always is. Beyond their exhausted eyes, acne scars, messy hair, angular shoulders, and awkwardly huge hands. Almost instinctively, their hand sneaks to their waist and pinches at whatever flesh it can take hold of. Almost to prove that what they are seeing is real.
Rather surprisingly, or alarmingly, the waistband, which was advertised to sit comfortably at the waist, rests loosely around their hip bones. Kris had gotten the pants quite recently, too, within the past few months.
Their heart beats anxiously as they decide how to process that information. The voice in the back of their mind whispers look, you have control, after months, you can prove yourself, you can choose. It’s still not enough, that voice says, even when Kris nearly passes out in class.
On the other hand, it’s terrifying. Ralsei, Noelle, Tenna, all of the darkners in Castle Town, and Susie motivated them, even a bit, to live rather than wither in self-loathing. Perhaps there’s a reason to listen to them rather than the voice inside insisting you’re never thin enough, you’re never hurt enough, you’re never—
They shudder and redirect their attention to picking out something to hold the waistband where it ought to be. This is supposed to be fun. She doesn’t need to worry about all that. Today’s going to be a good day.
Satisfied with their choice of belt, something simple that complements their attire, they pick a sweater off the hanger. It’s one they’re been planning to wear all day, a mossy-green one, not too unique from their usual attire, but it’s less loved than the one they stole from their brother. The way it’s cut gives it a bit of a crop top look, and it bulks up their silhouette enough as not to invite immediate concern.
Kris tugs it over their shoulders and adjusts it, before checking themself in front of the mirror. It’s odd, seeing themself like this, so close to their actual shape rather than the shape swathed in baggy fabric. They clench their teeth and their lips draw back in disgust. They slide the closet door shut, concealing their reflection.
Exhaling a long sigh, they rest their head against the plain oak door, slightly dizzy. Earlier they had promised themself that, even if just for Susie’s sake, they would try to eat something at the diner. Having unfortunately guilted themself into skipping breakfast, they ought to share a meal with her, at the very least not to ruin their date.
Could they call it a date?
Neither had named it as such, but Kris is still going the whole nine yards in getting ready. Something about Susie makes them feel different, in the best way possible. Safe, respected, appreciated, loved, and they hope they can make her feel the same way.
They shiver and pull their shoulders closer to themself, silently cursing their lower body temperature and sabotaged metabolism. They wish she were here, to smother them in a hug or comment on how small their hand is in hers. They long to hear her say you look good, you’re enough, it’s okay to eat. Patience is a virtue, though.
They peer out from behind their messy bangs at the alarm clock. 12:41, it reads, giving them plenty of time to do their makeup and fix their hair before leaving.
Kris’ head feels heavy as they lift it away from the door, and they cradle it as they descend the stairs to the bathroom. Once they’re there, they grab a comb and a minimalist makeup kit from the cabinet and close the door.
They retrieve a hair tie and pull their hair back so it stays out of the way, then turn on the tap to splash some refreshing cold water on their face. After rubbing in some light cleanser, they splash their face again and pat it dry.
Let’s hope those late nights watching tutorials paid off, they think, removing the small containers and some brushes from the pack. They’re unfamiliar with how to use many of these products, and very lucky that they happened to get colors that matched their undertones.
They squeeze some moisturizer onto their finger and massage it into their skin. Feeling the uneven surface of their skin, they cringe, but continue rubbing it in until it’s matte.
First step is concealer, right? Kris leans closer to the mirror, and it’s clear they need it. Beyond their acne, there are deep, dark shadows beneath their eyes, proclaiming to all that yes, they have not gotten a good night of sleep in perhaps months.
Stress weighs on them like lead. Even when they try not to think about it, directing their attention to other things, a subtle panic strangles their subconscious. What if they failed to secure the better outcome in the prophecy? What if that entity returned to steal their limbs and voice? What if their friends abandoned them after seeing what a loser, liar, and utter mess they are? What if Susie left?
Inhaling sharply, Kris grips the edge of the sink, fingers straining. They stare into the drain, trying to keep their thoughts from swirling like water in the basin.
Today is going to be a good day. Stop it.
They shake their head then dab the concealer on their face and rub it in, putting a relatively heavy amount under their eyes. They apply foundation next, then a bit of blush and contour, aiming for a natural, minimalist, and androgynous look.
In some ways, brushing it on reminds them of going to art therapy, when their parents would force them and Asriel out of the house as to not bear witness to their shouting matches.
It had taken them several tries to practice with the eyeliner pen, but they’ve gotten to the point where it doesn’t look awful. Susie would surely pardon a wobbly line or, more likely, ignore it. They take out the mascara brush and apply it, accidentally getting some on their cheekbone, which they rub out. Finally, they set their face with some powder.
They don’t bother with lip gloss, opting instead for simple balm. They always thought lip gloss looked too girly.
On seeing their reflection, they wince. All the tutorials they watched made the people look so effortlessly beautiful, or handsome, or whatever. They smooth out the patchy foundation, but their scarred skin is still evident. They put more concealer under their eyes, but dab it away when it only makes them look worse. No amount of blush can fully disguise their pallid skin. No amount of makeup can hide their hollow face.
Sighing, they scratch their wrist, agitated. Nothing, they feel, makes them feel better about their body. Not their clothes, their makeup, their hair, their scars, their weight.
But Susie says only good things. She compliments them on new shirts, or noticing when they wash their hair and subsequently burying her nose in it. She offers to take them to QC’s, and wears a cautious and concerned gaze when she brushes their wrist when trying to hold their hand. She comments on their hands, how they dance over a keyboard, wield a sword, and fit so effortlessly into hers—their painted nails are nice too, the dark color contrasting the white keys.
Oh, how they long for her sweet, gruff reassurance.
They smile, and for a moment their expression looks less wrong. They gather their supplies and put them back in their case, then retrieve another box. Opening it reveals several small accessories.
Similar to their makeup, they never styled their hair much, but they didn’t plan to. Too much effort. They remove their hair tie and pick up a comb to drag it through their slightly damp hair until it’s detangled. Digging through the box, they pick out a little hair clip.
It’s decorated with a bright red apple. They already liked apples before, but after meeting Susie, the fruit never fails to remind them of her. It’s sentimental. They select some apple earrings to match and put them on. Surely she’d notice.
Angel, they do so much for her sake.
But why wouldn’t they? In all her unique, audacious ways, she changed their life irrefutably for the better.
Just as she had challenged the prophecy, pointing her finger to the sky and swearing on a better future, so does she challenge Kris’ internal monologue. Despite being puppeted for so long by that entity, she learned to befriend their real self after they desperately wanted to show it to her for so long. If there’s anyone Kris is comfortable bearing their vulnerabilities to, it would be Susie.
They might not be there yet—they haven’t even talked about Kris' scars together—but she said herself that she’s “in it for the long haul.”
Just the way she conducts herself, especially after learning to be a hero in her own right despite fate, inspires them. She has struggles of her own, after many conversations her home life is no secret from them, but she still lights up the room wit her triumphant grin. Throughout all their time as a cage, Kris yearned for her audacity and autonomy, but now, when they have it again, it’s shaped by all the harmful habits they adopted from that time and before.
They step backwards toward the wall and lean against it. Fanning their face, they will themself not to cry as tears form at the corners of their eyes. Fixing their makeup again would be tiring.
They’re still not sure how it feels. It’s confusing, wanting to be vulnerable after remaining guarded was their best way of protection. Wanting to stay by her side for life, fall asleep next to her, but not reenact the teen romance novels Noelle was a fan of way back. They wanted her in some sort of way, but that way is simultaneously both foreign and comfortably familiar.
They always thought that they would be alone for life, then she showed up. She knocked down the walls to their heart and only then asked for permission.
No matter what, she’s there for them. She inspires them, gives them a reason to try and get better.
A tear slides down their cheek and a gentle sigh escapes their lips. So much for that.
Kris sits down, and for a while they rest, waiting, head against the wall. They use a dark colored hand towel to catch sparse tears as they come, unwilling to reapply foundation.
They couldn’t tell how long it was since they sat down, but they eventually hear distant knocks. They scramble to stand, a wave of dizziness crashing over them, but they thankfully recover quickly. They grab two rings out of their accessory box, a white one and a black one, and slip them onto the middle fingers of both hands. They swing the bathroom door wide and dash across the kitchen and living room.
Their hand wraps around the doorknob and twists, tugging it open.
There Susie stands, wearing a confident smile that fit her so perfectly.
“Hey, man, who thought I’d be early?” She rubs the back of her neck.
“You’re right on time.”
Kris doesn’t speak as she scans up and down their body, instead wincing. She blushes. “Uh, nice fit. It look good on you.”
“Thank you,” they smile, “I got it for you. Haven’t had the chance to wear it.”
She chuckles, lightly smacking their shoulder. “So you been holding out on me, bro?”
They jab her with their elbow in response. “What if I have been?”
“Wear what you like, dude, I always think you’re pretty.” This time, it’s Kris’ turn to blush. Susie’s eyes widen as she realizes what she said.
“Ah, I mean—” She reaches a hand out. “Let’s just go, ‘kay?”
They take her hand then both begin their stroll. Her hand is nice to hold, sturdy, supportive.
Among the anticipation and butterflies, there’s still a lingering fear. They would be watched while they eat—and they decided they would—unable to fake anything or ditch. On the flip side, it’s a step in the right direction. A step toward becoming healthier.
Susie grins at them as they walk, and they can’t help but return the expression.
Today’s going to be a good day.