Chapter Text
The morning cold slipped through the cracks in the window, invisible yet present, like an icy hand slowly tracing the walls. Outside, the wind made the dry branches creak, but inside everything was calm.
Clover opened their eyes. Not to see, for it had been a long time since they could, but out of habit, out of that human need to begin the day as if everything were still the same. Their pupils, a milky white, looked dull under the faint light of dawn. Two thin yet marked symmetrical scars stretched from their cheekbones up to their forehead, as if someone had tried to etch a story into their skin.
They remained like that for a few seconds, motionless, letting the cold wake them completely. Then, with a slow movement, they sat up in bed. The mattress creaked beneath their weight, and for a moment, the air seemed to grow heavier.
With steady hands, they searched the surface of the nightstand. Their fingers first brushed against the dusty curve of their hat, its brim slightly worn from daily use, and then touched the folded fabric of their bandana. Gently, they picked it up.
It was a blue and yellow checkered bandana, its fibers already softened with use, its texture shaped by the passing of time. For Clover, it was not just a garment; it was a habit, a barrier, a comfort. They brought it to their face with care, as if the gesture itself required respect, and tied it around their head, covering their eyes.
Once the knot was secured, they exhaled slowly. This way, invisible to the world, though they already were, they could feel safer.
They stood up with soft movements, as if the room itself remembered their steps and they were simply retracing them. Their bare feet touched the carpet, and a faint breeze brushed their neck, making them hunch their shoulders for an instant.
Clover walked to the wardrobe, crossing the room with measured steps, the right palm barely brushing the wall, a gesture learned over time, more out of habit than necessity. They opened the wardrobe door without hesitation. The leather jackets hung in silent alignment, filling the air with their scent.
Their fingers moved along the hanging clothes until they found what they were looking for: a pair of pants, slightly rough from use, and a cotton shirt. There was no need to think about it; their hands knew exactly what to search for. They took everything out with precision, as if following an invisible map.
They dressed without hurry, with the ease of someone who has repeated the same motion countless times. Then, they took out a vest that completed the outfit, one that matched the western style that had always been part of them.
The vest fell over their shoulders like a second skin. They ran their hands down the front, making sure everything was in place, and then remained still for a moment longer, taking a deep breath.
Before leaving the room, their hand reached once more toward the nightstand. This time it was not for the bandana, already firmly tied over their eyes, but for the hat. The rough brim brushed against their palm with familiarity. It was old, a little misshapen from the years, but it was still theirs.
Clover placed it on their head with an almost ceremonial motion, tilting it slightly forward as if that alone could steady them against the world. The hat was not just part of the outfit; it was a promise to remain who they were, even now.
They then walked to the desk. Their belt rested there, with the revolver fitted into its holster. Their fingers lifted it with familiarity. It was not a real weapon, but it worked well enough to be useful, especially in their hands.
They fastened the belt with steady movements, feeling the weight at their hip as something natural, something right. The revolver rested at their side, as present as the air they breathed.
Ready.
Or almost.
From downstairs, the familiar voice of their mother broke the silence with strength and clarity.
“Kids! Breakfast is ready! Hurry up, or you will be late again!”
They brought a hand to the brim of their hat and adjusted it with a slight motion, making sure it was settled in place. Then, they turned on their heels and headed for the door, leaving behind the stillness of their room.
As they crossed the threshold, the faint creak of the wood beneath their boots was the last sound before the light of the hallway wrapped around them.
They had barely taken two steps down the hall when something, or someone, jumped onto their back with a soft, familiar laugh.
“Good morning, cowpoke!” sang a feminine voice just over their shoulder.
Clover barely had time to steady themself. Their boots slid half a step forward under the unexpected weight, but they did not seem surprised. They only sighed.
“Kanako…” they murmured with resignation, though the slight curve of their mouth betrayed them. “Are you ever going to greet me like a normal person?”
“Not as long as you have a functional back,” she replied boldly. “Are you excited for your wonderful and completely routine school day?”
“Impossible to match such… genuine enthusiasm,” they joked, as she slid off their back.
Kanako settled naturally at their side, hooking her arm with theirs as if it had been a lifelong habit. And it had. They went down the stairs together, one guided by touch, the other making sure her sibling got down safely.
“Mom is going to fry us if we don’t hurry,” she added, tugging them along with a mischievous smile on her lips.
Clover did not reply, but the slight squeeze of their arm was enough.
The smell of toasted bread, coffee, and something sweet wrapped around them as soon as they stepped into the kitchen. The table was already set: three steaming plates, arranged with simple yet careful details. Their mother, Ceroba, standing beside the coffee maker, turned slightly at the sound of their arrival.
“At last,” she said with a smile. “If you had taken ten more seconds, you would have been stuck with a cold breakfast.”
“Their fault!” Kanako jumped in, letting go of her sibling’s arm and pointing at them with theatrical flair.
Clover shook their head, holding back a smile as they felt for the edge of the chair and sat down.
“How curious,” they replied calmly. “I thought you were the one who jumped on me like I was a horse.”
Ceroba let out a low chuckle as she sat down across from them.
“So? Did you sleep well?” she asked while passing the butter and bread.
“I did,” Kanako answered energetically, spreading without much care. “I dreamed I was a slime. It was so weird.”
Clover gave a slight nod as they calmly broke off a piece of bread.
“Enough,” they said, avoiding further details.
Kanako tilted her head with mischief almost immediately.
“And you, Clover? Did you dream about cowboys again… or maybe about Chara?”
Clover froze for a second. They said nothing, did not even flinch, but the silence was answer enough.
Ceroba glanced at them sideways as she sipped her coffee and brought a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.
“Kanako…” Clover murmured at last, their tone carrying a warning.
“What? I’m just saying your subconscious probably still remembers what Chara looks like… down to the last detail,” she added with a sly smile.
Clover lowered their head slightly, pretending to be focused on their plate. They did not respond, but the faint blush on their cheeks spoke louder than any words.
The conversation paused, lingering in the air for a moment, before Ceroba stepped in naturally.
“Eat, or you will be late. And I do not want to give Mrs. Toriel any more excuses.”
Laughter returned. The tension dissolved like the steam from breakfast, and the morning went on its way.
Breakfast ended between hurried bites and scattered remarks. Kanako was the first to stand, stretching as if the day already weighed on her. Clover followed calmly, placing their plate in the sink without making a sound.
They both took their backpacks from the rack by the door. Clover’s was exactly where they had left it the night before and, beside it, carefully leaning against the wall, rested their white cane
Clover felt for it with their hand and held it for a moment before unfolding it. Inside the house they did not need it; they knew every corner, every step, every edge. But outside was different. Outside, the world did not adapt to them.
Kanako pushed the door open with her backpack over her shoulder and stepped out first, whistling a cheerful tune.
“Come on, cowpoke. The world is not going to conquer itself.”
Clover gave a small smile and followed, cane extended and hat firmly in place.
The cold morning air greeted them on the street, and the day finally began.
The morning breeze brushed their faces as soon as they stepped outside. The sky was still covered with low clouds, and the damp sidewalks reflected the gray of the day, as if the whole world were only half awake.
Kanako walked beside Clover, as always, her arm brushing theirs with every step, as if she needed to remind them she was there. She didn’t say it, but it was clear: she looked after them with constant, steady care, never suffocating.
“Cold?” she asked, adjusting the scarf around her neck.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Clover replied in a neutral tone.
They walked in silence for a couple of blocks. Kanako spoke about small things: a neighbor who had changed their curtains, a dog barking louder than the day before. But Clover only answered with short words.
“You’re very quiet,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Are you thinking about… someone?”
Clover barely frowned. Their cane tapped softly against the edge of a loose stone, but they didn’t stumble. They knew where they were.
“I’m just… distracted,” they replied after a pause.
Kanako smiled with a gentle hint of mischief.
“Uh-huh. Distracted with Chara-type thoughts.”
Clover didn’t answer right away. They lowered the brim of their hat slightly with their fingers, thoughtful.
“Maybe I still remember what they look like,” they finally said in a low voice, almost as if thinking out loud. “But that was a long time ago… I don’t know how much they’ve changed since… you know.” After finishing, a silence fell over them both.
The accident that had taken Clover’s sight was something neither sibling liked to mention. It was a tragedy that had changed their whole family overnight, something that had left a mark on everyone, but most of all on the human with the bandana.
Kanako watched them in silence for a few more seconds, then something came to mind to break the uncomfortable quiet between them.
“You know? If you’re that scared they’ve changed, you could… I don’t know, touch their face.”
Clover stopped dead for a moment, as if their boots had gotten stuck to the pavement.
“What?” they asked, incredulous.
“It’s not that crazy!” she replied, shrugging. “If you can’t see them anymore, why not do the logical thing? Hands to the face, tactile facial recognition, I think I read something about that.”
“That’s…” Clover started walking again, tilting their face toward the ground, “completely ridiculous.”
But their neck was already red, and Kanako knew it.
“Are you blushing?” she sang, skipping a couple of steps to get in front of them.
“No.” they answered flatly. But their tone betrayed them.
Kanako laughed loudly, spinning around before falling back into step beside them. Their pace resumed, steady and familiar. The walk to school went on, but the idea, that idea, lingered between them.
And Clover couldn’t stop thinking about it.