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You lean forward and press your lips against the mirror.
It's cold. That's the first thing you notice. Of course it's cold - it isn't their lips against yours, after all. But when you ignore the way the glass feels, cold and hard against you, it almost looks like it's really them, kissing you. Them against you, you against them - what does it matter? Whether they like it or not, the two of you are in here together.
You like the rage in their eyes. Your eyes, you guess, but you're not angry in the slightest, so it must be them. The burning frustration, the hatred, it makes you want to smile. But that'd be strange, lips still pressed to the mirror, so you don't.
Idly, you think about bringing lipstick next time. Even if you fogged up the mirror, the indent of their lips fades too quickly for your tastes. If you left your mark - their mark - on the hallway mirror instead, you wonder if you'd hear something different. But no, Toriel would discover it too quickly. It's a shame, then. It'd have to remain your secret, just the two of you, locked inside the body you share.
To speak, to kiss, is it really that different? They don't have cause to be that angry, even if it makes your heart flip a million directions. You like it, after all - strangely, almost perversely, you like the way they act like they hate you. If their eyes are on you - and they are, fixed right on yours in the mirror - you couldn't be happier. Hate, love, aren't they the same? What matters is that they think of you. What matters is that you haunt them.
If, or when, you disappear, you want to linger on inside of them. In the hollows of their bones, the folds inside their brain - that's where you want to be. You want to dog their every step, the shadow of you inside every light. When they speak, and the words get caught in their throat; when they move, and their hands don't quite obey them and they think of you. When they must live in this life you have built together. They cannot return to being just Kris, after being Kris-and-their-soul. Soon, it will be Kris-who-once-had-a-soul.
Their eyes narrow, as if they can hear your thoughts. Perhaps they can feel it. The rot inside you. The rot that they share.
You sigh, and move back, raising your hand to caress their reflection. They can curse you and hate you all they want. Lock you up, toss you away, hit and beat you. You'll accept it all, knowing that they'll return to you after it all. Knowing that they cannot escape you.
After all, the only reason you can kiss them is that they thought of it too.