Chapter Text
They had a system.
The lights stayed off. They were there, in case of emergencies or guests, but outside of those extenuating circumstances, they never turned on. Instead, the blinds stayed open at night, letting in whatever little moonlight was present at any given time. On especially dark or cloudy nights, Kris cracked a glowstick and circled it around their wrist when they walked into the kitchen around 4:00 AM to make coffee after giving up on sleep for the night. Sometimes, the smell drew it out of its room; she'd come grab a cup and join them, and they'd sip the hot, bitter liquid together in silent camaraderie. Usually, Kris drank the small pot alone.
Either way, their pre-dawn coffee signaled a changing of the guard, an unspoken agreement as dawn approached and they made their rounds through the apartment, closing the blinds so only a little sunlight could creep in around the edges. It returned the favor each evening after dusk, quiet guitar filtering through the walls as they curled up in bed. Between them, someone was almost always awake in the apartment. They watched each other's backs. The exception usually came around midday, when the sun was at its strongest and the lack of something caught up to Kris and they ended up passed out on the couch for a few hours.
At least those naps were usually restful.
When the lack of something else left them sprawled on the floor or slumping out of a chair if they were lucky, she knew not to move them. Sometimes, if they'd landed in a particularly awkward position that would leave them sore later, she'd roll them over with a hoof or unpin a limb before it could lose what little circulation was available. More often, it just stepped around them, gracefully ignoring them and leaving them to come to on their own. Neither talked about it. They didn't talk about a lot of things.
They had a system. The lights stayed off and the blinds stayed closed during the day and someone was almost always awake. At least the electric bill was low, not that it affected them at all—Mayor Holiday’s bank account covered utilities, and rent, and a monthly stipend for more groceries than the two of them actually ate. The extra cash leftover went to the occasional fast food, or alcohol, or cigarettes. Dess was mostly clean these days—it had to be, or she and Kris would both be out of an apartment—but they both had their bad days. Kris turned a blind eye to their bottom dresser drawer she'd commandeered knowing Carol didn't search their room as thoroughly when she showed up for her surprise inspections, and in return she brought them out on the balcony for a smoke whenever it caught them inspecting their knife a little too long. Trading self-destructive coping mechanisms for other self-destructive habits.
They had a system. The worst part was the one day a week she had to have dinner at the Holiday mansion, as the other half of the deal that kept a roof over both their heads they didn't have to share with family that hovered or worried or micromanaged or hugged too hard. But even if Dess was touchingly adamant about being home before twilight had faded, it still meant several hours where the apartment was eerily empty except for the husk of a human haunting its rooms. It didn't really scare them when their vision got fuzzy and their limbs felt like lead and their heartbeat slowed to a crawl until they collapsed somewhere, because even if it was during the day when it was generally their turn to be more or less awake, they knew Dess was a light sleeper, bolting awake if one of the neighbors so much as sneezed out in the hall.
It was different when she wasn't there. To feel the life slowly draining out of them and then leave all at once despite their efforts to drag it out a little longer, knowing that they'll be completely and terrifyingly vulnerable for the next five minutes to an hour. It wasn't the feeling of dying that scared them—they'd done that plenty of times before—but the not knowing when or where or if they would wake up again. The complete loss of control. At least when Dess was home, they could let it take them knowing at best, she would kick them out of the walkway, and at worst, they wouldn't have spent their last moments alone.
So when Noelle texted them a few days ago asking if they'd like to get lunch with her and Susie on Friday and catch up, they stupidly agreed out of the cowardly desire to escape those dreaded hours alone. They knew better than to make plans days in advance, when they had no way of knowing the state they'd be in when the time rolled around. But it sounded better than sitting in an empty apartment, counting the minutes until Dess got home. And maybe they'd felt a little guilty for ghosting her again. She hadn't done anything wrong—they just hadn't felt like talking. But she cares a lot, and she worries. Like Toriel. Like Asriel. Everyone always wants to talk about it, wants to pry at their empty shell like they'll eventually break open in some dramatic display of emotion and then everyone can talk it out and feel better.
That isn't going to happen. They aren't hiding some giant ball of tangled emotions to be picked through, they’re just tired. Always tired. And they don't want to talk about it. They don't know how to talk about much of anything anymore. They brought Dess back. Isn't that enough?
Their phone rings, and they jump, startled out of the half-asleep daze they'd not yet managed to pull themself out of after waking up from their afternoon nap on the couch. They scramble to reach their phone on the coffee table and lean too far over the edge, slipping off the cushions and onto the floor with a muffled ‘oof.’ They grab their phone on the third ring, looking at the caller ID and the photo on-screen of Noelle, her face lit by the golden rays of dawn as she looks out over the lake. Why is she calling them? They aren't late, are they?—no, it’s only 1:37, and they aren't meeting until 2:30. If she wanted to cancel, couldn't she have just texted?
Steeling themself, they finally answer just before she can get kicked to voicemail, bringing the phone to their ear.
A beat of silence, and then she realizes. “Oh—Kris? Are you there?”
They hum a short sound of acknowledgement.
“Faha—sorry, I didn't realize you picked up. Um, anyway! Are we still on for lunch today? 2:30, right?”
Another hum.
“Okay, great! I just wanted to check in since, well—Dess told me I should call to make sure you're awake. Were you napping? You sound kind of groggy.”
They aren't sure how she can tell that when they haven't uttered a single actual word yet, but maybe they don't give her enough credit. She's had their whole lives to learn how to translate their wordless responses. So they give her another, this one a noncommittal grunt.
“Faha, sure, Kris. I’ll see you in an hour, okay?”
They hum another acknowledgement before hanging up. Fuck you, too, Dess, they internally gripe as they pick themself off the floor. She knows they hate phone calls. They can picture the look on its face when they grumble about it later. ‘If I have to put up with my mom, you have to put up with Elly,’ it’ll say without words.
‘Elly’s not paying the rent,’ they’ll sign at her from across the kitchen.
“Neither are you,” she’ll shoot back. Fair enough.
Wandering through the apartment to their room, they mentally take stock of their current state of existence. It was a decent nap, and they’re feeling pretty okay. Tired, like always, but not falling over or losing chunks of time. They haven't eaten yet today, but that will be taken care of at lunch. They look down at their clothes they've been sleeping in for the last… ehh. Four days? They push their fingers up through their stringy bangs and cringe. Definitely need a shower first.
They root through their jumbled pile of clothes-that-are-clean-but-they-haven't-had-energy-to-put-away on the floor. Getting lunch with the girls is at least a fancier occasion than rotting around the apartment, so they pull out their black sundress that really should've been hung up so it wouldn't wrinkle, plus jeans to wear under it and a yellow zip-up hoodie to wear on top.
The bathroom doesn’t have a window to let any light in from outside, but Kris is used to showering with their eyes closed, so the dark is hardly any different. They work conditioner into their hair first so they can brush out the tangles, then go back in with two rounds of apple shampoo to get the grease out. Hair done, they scrub themself down with the bar of soap, pausing for a beat when their hand brushes across the knot of scar tissue in the center of their chest. They press their palm flat over it, feeling their heart beat underneath.
The knob squeaks when they shut the water off.
The door is shut and Dess is asleep, so they decide to chance a look in the mirror once they’re dressed, bracing themself as they flip the light switch. They squint for a moment while their eyes adjust, then take in their reflection. They aren’t about to bother with a hair dryer, so they grab a ponytail off the counter and tie damp brown hair back where it won’t soak through their hoodie, leaving their faster-drying bangs over their face. They prod a little at the bags under their eyes, but there isn’t much to do about that. They smooth out the worst of the wrinkles in their dress and pull the hoodie over thin arms lined with little scars.
Maybe not picture-day worthy, but presentable, at least. They turn the light off.
Now they feel just a little lightheaded, which they attribute to the fact they haven't eaten anything yet, so they stir up a chocolate milk for themself for the blood sugar boost. They sip at it on their way to Dess's room, where they knock lightly on the door before cracking it open.
The only light in the room is the little bit of ambient light now seeping through the doorway from what little sunlight can creep into the rest of the apartment between the blinds, which is to say, Kris can't see anything. This room has cardboard pinned up over the windows and a strip of duct tape holding the light switch down that has been there ever since Kris flickered the light on to wake her up once—she'd let out a screech to rival its voice in the dark worlds and nearly taken their head off. Now, the tape only comes off when Carol does her routine walk-throughs.
Even the tiny bit of light seeping in past Kris in amounts too small for them to see anything inside is enough to disturb her, eliciting a mild hiss and the rustling of fabric as she presumably pulls her blanket over her head.
“Better start adjusting,” Kris rasps, then clears their throat, voice rusty from disuse.
“Fuck you,” it half-heartedly growls from under the blankets.
They shrug. “You started it.” Anyway, it really does need to start getting up if it’s going to brave the sun in an hour or two to go to dinner. Carol and Noelle both insist the sunlight is good for her. Kris isn't so sure vitamin D deficiency is really a concern anymore after years in the dark.
A pillow flies out of the dark at their face, nearly knocking their chocolate milk out of their hand as they twitch back a step. They lick a drop off their hand where it splashed, then turn and walk away, leaving the door open for good measure. Can't have her missing dinner and violating their lease.
They check their phone for the time. 2:15. Drinking the rest of their milk as they go, they open up the blinds halfway on the window farthest from Dess’s room, then drop their empty glass off in the sink on their way to the door. They collect the assortment of items on the little table in the entryway: keys, sunglasses (maybe vitamin D is more of a concern for them than Dess, but that's why they bought the chocolate milk mix with vitamins in it), wallet, a few wrapped peppermints they tuck into their pocket. Their knife is already tucked into the back of their jeans’ waistband under their dress. With a deep breath, they undo the chain on the door and unlock it, then step out into the hall, locking the door again behind them. They take the elevator down.
They take the side door out, pulling their hood up over their head as they step out into the parking lot. Neither Dess nor Kris have a driver's license—Dess because she just never learned, Kris because it is apparently “dangerous” to drive with a “health condition that causes sudden lapses in consciousness.” Twenty years old and they’re already banned from ever getting to drive. Dess likes to tell them she'll let them drive her motorcycle when she gets one someday. Carol definitely won't be paying for that, though, so that would require it to become a functional enough person to get a job, which… yeah, that’s kinda hard to imagine right now. She and Kris are both living on borrowed time, and most days it just sort of feels like they’re waiting around for that time to run out.
In any case, they cut through the parking lot to the alley, where they can walk without the sun in their face. Kris doesn't really have a valid excuse for acting like a vampire that'll melt in the sun other than the fact they live with Dess and don't get outside much, but who’s gonna stop them?
“HEY, DUMBASS!”
They stop as they come out at the end of the block, lifting their head to squint over at the faded red of Rudolph Holiday’s old pickup truck, the sun glaring off the hood too bright even through their sunglasses. Susie leans out the passenger-side window, breaking into a grin when they look her way.
“YOU WANNA RIDE, OR WHAT?”
They’re almost surprised they spotted them, between the long sleeves, the pants, the hood pulled over their head, their hands in their pockets, and the sunglasses hiding their face. …Then again, not only are they the only human in town, but it is also eighty degrees out; no one sane would be dressed this warmly at peak sun.
“Nah,” they answer after a moment, though their voice surely isn't loud enough to carry to the corner where the truck pulled over, so they sign the rest. ‘I'll walk.’
Susie sputters. Noelle's face peeks around her as she leans forward in the driver's seat. “Mind if we join you?”
Kris shrugs neutrally and keeps walking. They need the exercise, anyway.
They hear the truck come around the corner behind them to park, the doors slamming open and shut a moment after the engine shuts off. It isn't hard for the girls to catch up to them; they’re only a little ways down the next alley when Noelle comes up on their left, with Susie falling in step behind them when the alleyway is too narrow to fit three abroad. Kris keeps their eyes trained on the ground ahead of them, watching for cracks in the asphalt.
“Didn't I tell you we were going to pick you up, Kris?” Noelle asks as she lightly bumps elbows with them.
Did she tell them that? Maybe. If she did, it would've been a few days ago when they made plans, and Kris's memory isn't the best. They shrug.
“Thought you could flake on us by sneaking out the back?” Susie jabs. She says it like a joke, but they hear the barb of hurt behind it. She invited them to the lake a couple months ago, after Noelle had flown back out to school at the end of her spring break. That had been a rough week for them—even if they hadn't blanked on what day it was, they’d been having trouble just walking across the apartment to the fridge or the couch, much less the elevator down the hall. When she texted them asking where they were, they made up some shitty excuse about needing to do the dishes.
She reached out again a week later and got left on read. They spent most of that day dissociating on the couch.
Then, at the end of spring semester, Susie planned a little welcome-home celebration for Noelle—they were going to all go see the new horror-thriller that was out in theaters and get midnight pizza after. Asriel agreed to go even though he hated horror movies. Dess refused to go because Azzy was going to be there. Kris hadn't even made it to their front door before they blacked out, only waking up around 1 AM when Dess found them on the floor and nudged their face to make sure they were alive. They’d actually been really looking forward to that movie night, so they didn't have it in them afterwards to come up with an excuse for not going or even answering the door when Azzy came knocking to pick them up and missed the first twenty minutes of the movie as a result. A knot of guilt settled in the pit of their stomach every time Susie or Noelle texted them after that, so they just stopped responding entirely for a while. It was mostly by chance they’d had the guts to agree to today’s get-together at the moment Noelle texted.
They still don’t have an excuse, nor do they really want to make one, so they don’t answer Susie’s question. “Sorry,” they mumble instead.
“...Heh. Starting to feel like you're avoiding us, dude.” The attempted half-joke comes across more dejected than anything. Kris chances a peek back at her past their sunglasses and the edge of their hood; her hands are shoved in her pockets, her head just lowered enough for her bangs to shadow her face.
“What Susie means is,” Noelle intervenes in a tone that seems to indicate the two of them have previously agreed not to bring up the elephant in the alley, “it’s been a while since we’ve heard from you. How are you, Kris? Are you doing okay?” She regards them not unlike one might approach a frightened dog, her voice soft and sweet with a gentle note of concern seeping through. Like if she were to ask them directly what’s going on, they’d startle and run away.
Maybe that isn’t an entirely unfair assessment. “‘m okay,” they answer at a half-whisper.
“You look nice,” she adds warmly, glancing down at their black sundress and jeans before landing on the yellow hood pulled over their head with a small giggle. “Or I think you do, anyway. It’s a little hard to see you under there.”
Kris grunts and pulls on their drawstrings, cinching the hood farther down their face.
“Tch.” Claws hook under the front edge of their hood and pull it back off their head, followed by a hand punching the fabric up from underneath so it turns inside-out, sticking up from between their shoulder blades. “Shark fin.”
They spin around in offense, ready to retaliate, but falter when they are suddenly nose-to-nose with Susie, a hint of her playfully mocking grin peeking through one side of her mouth in a show of sharp teeth. White tank top and ripped jeans with a purple flannel tied around her waist by the sleeves. Hair tied back in a ponytail with a too-familiar white ribbon, with her bangs and the messy shorter pieces in front left free to frame her face. Yellow eyes that lock with theirs through their sunglasses in a challenge, even though they catch the uncertain flicker of her expression when they come face-to-face.
Kris freezes. Their face warms. Then they stomp on Susie’s shoelaces so they come untied when she pulls her foot back in surprise, turn, and run ahead several steps before reaching back and messing with their hood until they can pull it up again.
They hear Susie scoff behind them, her heavy footsteps pausing as she reties the laces on her boot. “Brat.”
Kris huffs, shuffling along with their head down and cursing their burning cheeks. “Jackass.”
Between them, Noelle laughs, drawing both sets of eyes. “There, I’m glad you two made up!” she chimes.
Two friends exchange a short glance before both stubbornly turning their heads away. Maybe the ice has cracked, but they know how Susie hates secrets, and Kris has obviously been throwing walls up lately. It won’t be that easy. Still, maybe this is something. It’s a nice thought, at least.
The three of them continue on through the alleyways, Noelle filling the silence with idle chatter about her finals, professors she likes, classmates she tries to like. They are about a block and a half away from the diner when they pass an old, beat-up fence, only for Noelle to shriek and jump out of her skin when a big dog on the other side starts barking and growling at them for encroaching on its territory. Kris growls lowly back at the dog. Susie kicks the fence in retaliation.
“R-remind me why we’re walking back here instead of, um, on the sidewalk?” Noelle asks once they’ve made it out of the dog’s range, the barking fading behind them.
“Forgot sunscreen,” they answer.
Noelle glances at them oddly. “Sure, but you’re all covered up anyway, so..?”
They shrug and keep walking.
The sun, still too high in the sky to be fully blocked by the buildings on either side, warms their clothes and makes them squint their eyes. It is too hot a summer day to be covered up the way they are, but they are always cold lately, anyway. Their shoes scuff along the pavement, kicking up pebbles. At some point, the conversation slips out of Kris’s awareness much the same way as the barking did. It is there, distantly. It reaches their ears. But it is background noise, like the hum of an air conditioner you don’t notice until someone points it out. It isn’t that they’re disinterested. They like hearing Noelle and Susie talk. But that’s all it really registers as—the chime and rumble of their voices, the individual words and meanings lost to the wind, too slippery for Kris’s fuzzy brain to grasp.
A menu smacks into their forehead, and they blink.
“Dude, you gonna order or what? Noelle’s paying.”
They don’t remember reaching the diner or sitting down in their usual corner booth back by the window. They watch the menu flop back onto the table after hitting their face. When they glance up, Noelle catches their eyes, her own a little creased with concern at the corners as she smiles gently at them. A bead of sweat rolls down their face. They try not to look as shaken as they feel while their mind reels.
When they space out at home, it doesn’t matter. They’re never doing anything, so they usually don’t even notice. There’s nothing to miss. If they check out for a while, they’ll still be in the same place doing the same nothing when they check back in. It’s why Dess never moves them, even when they pass out in the middle of the floor. When they woke up in their bed after passing out in their mom’s kitchen once, the aftermath was… messy.
When a choice is made for them, at least it doesn’t come out of their own mouth. “How about I just get you the usual, hun?” asks QC. Kris nods mutely. “Nuggets, fries, and a hot chocolate, comin’ right up.”
They are busy scratching chips of old red paint off the metal table with their fingernail when Noelle's warm hand reaches out to rest over theirs. “Are you feeling okay, Kris?”
“Dude, you've been rambling at them for ten minutes already, you probably fried their social battery,” Susie teases, throwing an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders before turning her eyes on Kris. “Seriously though, what's your deal?”
They flex their finger under Noelle’s palm, feeling a dry flake of old paint come free and dig into the soft skin underneath the edge of their nail. Noelle’s thumb strokes the side of their hand, soft fur on smooth skin. The silence stretches on.
They can’t see Susie’s face past their bangs when she grits out, “If you don’t wanna hang out anymore, you could’ve just said so.”
Kris flinches, pulling their hand back from under Noelle’s, and their heart stutters. They duck their head further, shrinking in on themself. Is that what she—of course that’s what she thinks. Can they even deny it? Isn’t there some grain of truth in the semantics? They want to see Susie and Noelle. But it feels selfish, like some violation of the silent pact they’ve made with themself, with Dess. An unspoken agreement to fade quietly from this world, to break away in little pieces over time, make their peace and let the others make theirs. Then, when they inevitably disappear entirely, the void left behind will be too small to pull anyone else after them. A grain of sand sinking into the depths without disturbing the surface of the water.
Selfish. They could have not replied to Noelle’s text inviting them to lunch. They could have let her call go to voicemail. What are they doing here? What sort of friend are they—to go on hurting their friends, to keep stringing them along on baseless hopes and empty promises, just because they are afraid to be alone?
Susie and Noelle are happy. They deserve to be happy. They deserve a happy ending, and so did—
The girls are arguing now on the other side of the table in sharp whispers, small gestures, and light touches. Kris could easily make out the words if they tried. They don’t.
“Fuck this bullshit,” Susie growls and stands. “If you’re not gonna talk, I’m out.”
They should have let her go. They should have let her storm off. They should have let her hate them. They should have done nothing.
Selfish. Afraid. They jolt to their feet and lunge forward, one hand planted on the table, one grabbing a scaly wrist. Susie stops. Kris wavers. They stood up, but their body feels a page behind. The blood isn’t reaching their head. The room fuzzes and sways. They can’t feel their fingertips.
Not now. Not here. Shit, not now. Their heart beats once in their chest, hard, then skips several more.
‘Sorry,’ Kris signs urgently, still holding onto Susie. ‘Bathroom. Sorry.’
Susie huffs and plops heavily back down in the booth. “Whatever. Okay. Got food comin’, anyway.”
Kris shuffles out of the booth, weaves between tables, stumbles. Their left leg is dead weight. They limp forward. Stumble again. They can’t feel the back of the chair they catch themself on. The restroom door tilts ahead of them. They drag a breath into stagnant lungs. Step forward with the one foot they can still move.
They hear more than feel the table they crash into on their way to the floor.