Archive of Our Own

Hometown is incredibly small. Secluded, one might say. It’s both a good and bad thing.

The good part about a tiny population is that Kris never has to worry about meeting new people. They’ve known ninety-nine percent of the community since they were a toddler. And by now, everyone’s already developed their own cliques. In simple terms, no one goes out of their way to talk to them. It’s peaceful; simple.

The bad part? Everyone can tell when someone doesn’t show up to something. 

With Halloween approaching, Mayor Carol has organized a week-long celebration of activities all leading up to the day. Kris would much prefer to skip – maybe go TP some houses as per Susie’s request – but with the school’s major involvement this year, their mom doesn’t want them to ‘feel left out again’.

Of course, she concealed it under the guise of wanting Kris to make new friends, maybe socialize with their classmates more, but they could tell she was worried about their involvement in the community.

The past summer event went similarly so; they had run off from the frankly lackluster beach activities, considering the town’s next to a lake with a rather unusual ecosystem. And there’s barely any sand. Which kinda throws the whole ‘beach’ concept straight into the trash.

They’d have dragged Susie away with them, but she was too busy talking with Noelle (Noelle watched as Susie tossed progressively larger and larger boulders into the water, seeing how big the splash could get). They didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

It didn’t really matter. They’d gotten a stern talking-to by their mother when she found out they’d snuck in through the window at three in the morning, not having been seen the entire day. 

Long story short: escaping isn’t really an option this time.

Surprisingly, the school agreed to cancel said week as a last minute decision, which made today the designated Halloween-at-school day. They would call today their last day of solace, but they’re at school, which means solace is nonexistent.

They’d tagged along with Susie the day before, browsing through the remaining Halloween costumes at some random Party City. Susie had called all the ones on display dorky, but then immediately fell in love with a dinosaur onesie in the clearance section. She hid it horribly with an: “I guess this one’s alright.”

Afterwards, they followed her to the cheap accessories section. Her eyes immediately lasered onto a frankly nostalgic-looking red horned headband. She’d held it in front of their head, stating that they could pull off the horrifying-six-feet-under look. 

They cringed with an instant nope.

Then, she found a low-budget, matching, clip-on tail – red with a pointed tip – and told them the costume would totally give them an excuse to be an asshole; it was in character, after all.

It more so sounded like Susie was ready to terrorize people as Susiezilla.

They were about to disagree once again, but then the flashes of past Halloweens flew through their mind. Too many stupid costumes they were forced into by their mother. Too many looks. 

Maybe if they choose the type of stupidity, they’ll feel more ready for it.

But they didn’t know what it truly entailed. 

As soon as they got back home, Susie told them they couldn’t just clip on a fake tail and slip on a headband and call it a day – apparently they needed something to really bring home the look. So she rummaged through their closet only to find the same sweater and pants over and over again. 

“Psh, do you wear anything else?” She shook her head with disappointment.

The commotion caught the attention of their mother, of course, and she was more than ecstatic to help. 

“Oh, Kris!” Their mother lit up with an idea. “What about Asriel’s old suit he wore for his formal?”

There was no correlation between suits and demons. Their mind buzzed with an immediate no no no–

But Susie was already laughing, pawing at the garment cover their mother pulled from Azzy’s closet. They’re cut off from their protest when their mother gives them the ‘do it or I’ll be disappointed’ look.

So they trekked to the bathroom, begrudgingly trying it on. It fit better than they thought it would; they left the black blazer unbuttoned to reveal the grey waistcoat underneath. They didn’t bother with the tie. Or folding the sleeves of the dress shirt. The pants were a bit long, considering their brother has a few inches on them. 

They opened the door with an obvious scowl on their face, but it was unnoticed by a heart-eyed Toriel and a snorting Susie. Before they could stop the latter, she snapped the horns onto their head, ruffling their hair to hide the obvious thick band.

“You’re like some sort of butler demon!” She muffled into her hand.

They can feel the warmth of embarrassment dust their cheekbones.

But Susie thought it was hilarious and their mother loved it a little too much. So, by law of friends and family, they weren’t allowed to deny it despite how badly they wanted to.

This morning, to their surprise, they tried on the completed look, tie and all (even with the stupid tail clipped to the back of their belt strap) and they… didn’t hate it. They couldn’t stare at the horns for too long without getting a bit uncomfortable, but they could handle it.

When they arrive at school, they immediately lose their mother in the crowd of costumes when a furry hand envelops their wrist, dragging them near the bathrooms. They barely register it was Noelle before she starts spouting. 

“Kris! Catti’s doing makeup before the bell goes and she never does for other people but–” she huffs, significantly out of breath and losing more steam as she goes on. “Would you like some…? Only something simple! Or whatever you want–”

They take the chance to stare at her costume. Red hood, white dress with brown accents, white ankle bracelets that they’re sure are supposed to imitate socks. She seems to be little red riding hood, but–

“Did you get beaten up?” They gesture to the small rips, tears, and stains in her attire.

“This?” She examines herself as though not noticing. “Oh, no! It wasn’t like this before, but– Catti thought it could use a bit of… an, ahem, edgy touch. Hence the whole–”

She flicks her finger to her face, and she’s definitely got a point. Her undereyes have been enhanced tenfold, as well as the darkness around her sockets in general. Her cheeks; hollowed out with contour. But with the added mascara and winged eyeliner, it is edgy.

Noelle bounces on her hooves. “So… whaddya say?”

They’re already here. They have nothing else to lose.

With a quick shrug and a nod, Noelle leads them to Catti’s locker, in which she seems to be touching up her own makeup. She’s staring intensely into one of those cheap magnetic mirrors stuck to the inside of her locker door.

Noelle stands awkwardly behind them. Catti barely spares a glance to the two. “...Kris.”

“Catti! Kris was wondering if you’d give them a little something?” She motions vaguely.

They don’t react to the stretched silence. Nor the little squeak Noelle lets out.

Catti then pulls out a pallet of eyeshadow. “...Pick one.”

The next few minutes follow the same trend. They’ll point at some random shade of red, murmur a yes or no to her questions (despite not really knowing what she’s asking). They blink or shut their eyes when directed to, pucker their lips when told. 

When they’re presented with the mirror, they look more or less like themself. Sorta.

There’s a dust of a deep, red eyeshadow under their eyes. Their waterline is pitch black from pencil eyeliner, along with a bit of mascara. She also lined their lips with a similar red colour, blending it with a neutral matt lipstick. 

Noelle gawks. “Wow. You look…”

Catti shuts her locker, already turning her back to them as she adds on: “...Horrifying.”

She’s walking away – notably in the opposite direction of class – when Noelle stiffens up with a dopey grin from something behind them. 

“Hey, Kris,” they feel a hand on their shoulder. “I– woah. Are your eyes bleeding? That’s sick.”

Noelle seems ecstatic at her presence. “Susie!!! I, um, like your costume.”

Susie’s in the exact same dinosaur onesie they bought together.

“You’re little red riding hood, right?” She smirks, taking in the dishevelment of her appearance. “Did you eat the wolf?”

“No! I– well, maybe… It kinda felt like an apocalyptic red riding hood. But it can be what you said! If you think it’s cool.”

“It’s cool.”

The deer flushes. “Okay!!!”

Kris ignores the fact that they’re obviously third wheeling and scopes out the rest of the students. Most of them actually went all out, which is good. A surprising amount of formalwear and makeup. It makes them feel less overdressed.

Doesn’t mean they feel any less weird. Out of place.

They didn’t think it could get any worse.

Not until they saw you.

Your friend group is relatively diverse in costumes. Three of them are dressed as a trio: Cosmo and Wanda with Timmy Turner. They’ve even got the fairy wings, wands, and what looks to be those cheap spray-on hair dyes. There’s one as a stereotypical black cat; sleeveless top, circle skirt, whiskers, triangular ears, and a tail. There’s also someone in an inflatable hotdog. No need for further explanation.

But none of them are the issue.

You’re standing at your locker, laughing at something unknown to them. Their stomach churns at the sound.

You’re an angel. Well, you’ve always been an angel in their eyes. 

But you’re dressed as one. You’ve got a plastic halo that rivals their horns in cheapness, along with soft, white wings that fold against the length of your back. When you turn, just slightly, they can make out the shine of sparkly pearl eyeshadow along your eyelid.

The weirdest part is that you’re also in a suit and pants. Your colour pallet is just exceptionally white.

How did you both manage to sync up costumes?

This is horrible.

But.

…

You look so pretty.

Noelle appears in their peripheral. “Um, Kris? Catti might’ve gone a bit hard on the blush.”

They don’t remember Catti adding anything to their cheeks. Maybe Catti’s also responsible for the heat at the back of their neck. And the slight upturn of their lip.

“Oh, dude,” Susie follows their line of sight, much to their dismay. “Looks like you’ve become one of two in a matching set.”

Noelle copies Susie and giggles. “Woah, yeah– that’s really odd.”

They immediately revert back to their emotionless, monotone expression to hide any sort of panic welling up inside their chest. 

A few years ago, they’d have said you meant nothing to them. You grew up in the same town, with the same people, alongside your own clique. They felt nothing towards you. Yeah, they thought you were breathtaking inoffensive to the eye, but they never acted on it.

Maybe they’d stare at the back of your head for multiple, concurrent classes instead of napping (even if their body screamed at them to close their eyes). Maybe they’d tail behind you in the halls to smell your perfume for that day. Maybe they followed you home once but instantly talked some sense into themself because that’s creepy as fuck.

But they never. acted. on. it. 

…

Does that count as acting on it?

It doesn’t.

…

It was a normal day; one that felt like the day before, and the day before that. Alphys assigned groups for mini discussions. They weren’t put with Susie, how shocking. 

Instead, they were put with you. (And Berdly.)

“Hey!” You dragged your chair to the side of their desk. “Kris, right?”

They weren’t surprised you weren’t certain of their name. Nor did they care.

Their name sounded heavenly coming from your lips. They wanted to hear you say it again and again.

But they weren’t given the chance to respond (nor did they think their throat could handle it), as Berdly decided to interject from behind you. “Hm. The #3 and the #5. Although not ideal numbers, I presume all geniuses must be challenged!”

Despite the bird’s obvious diss, you seemed as cordial as ever. “Which one am I?”

“Number five. Obviously!” 

“Who’s number two?”

“Noelle. And I–”

“Huh,” you breathed, turning your attention to them. “You must be pretty smart then, eh?”

And your smile that followed. Ironic, joking, teasing. They swore their heart stopped beating.

They can’t remember what they said – something about Berdly having smarts they could never top – but you immediately caught their sarcasm and laughed. From the absolute dopamine rush they got, they could bottle it like a drug and snort it everyday.

After that, they knew they couldn’t continue their admiration-from-afar routine. And thankfully, it’s almost like you couldn’t, either.

The next day, you had scooted your chair casually between theirs and Susie’s, instantly instigating conversation. You were funny. You are funny. Thankfully, Susie seemed to think so, too. They don’t know what they would’ve done if she didn’t like you.

You still hung out with your own group of friends, but you’d make time for the pair at least twice a week. They’d be lying if they said they didn’t selfishly want you to ditch your friends to spend time with them 24/7. 

You’re so sweet you make their teeth ache. You’re so unbelievably beautiful. You make them laugh. No one makes them laugh, apart from Susie. Their infatuation grew much faster than what was probably healthy.

And here you are. Fueling it obliviously.

“Hey, Kris. I got an idea,” Susie nudges their side, snapping them out of their daze. “You should go take a pic together.”

It’s almost like she knew they’d refuse, because she doesn’t let them protest before continuing.

“Five bucks. Both faces visible to the camera. And the angel can’t know it’s for money.”

…

Damn. Five dollars? 

That’s really tempting.

But they never take photos of you together. Sure, their camera roll may be filled with random pictures of you sleeping in class, you down the hall, you across from them at the diner, sipping on their drink secretively as if they don’t realize it– but not because they wanted to catch you in the act; rather they wanted to capture your small, nervous, guilty smile–

Yeah. This won’t work. 

And they’re not about to whip out their camera randomly. They’re sure you wouldn’t care, but they don’t want you thinking they’re acting odd. They don’t want to make a fool out of themself in front of you and why’re you coming closer you’re making direct eye contact what’s happening–

“Kris!” Your voice rings through their ears, deep down their spine. “Aren’t we a pair? Look at us– a demon and an angel; it’s like we’re telepathic. Or we both went last minute shopping.”

They don’t realize you’re casually interlacing your soft fingers with their own limp, dead ones. Their palms immediately spike in temperature.

“Noelle,” you sing as a friendly greeting, nodding to her respectively. “Susie. Odd to see you here before the bell rings. Turning a new leaf? Taking a page out of Berdly’s book?”

She snarls. “It’s Halloween. The teachers aren’t teaching anyways.”

“Fair enough. I wasn’t planning on paying attention.” A hint of confusion leaks into your tone as you turn to Noelle. “Ey, riding hood? Got a story for the roughed-up look?

“Ate the wolf,” she chirps happily.

Your eyebrow twitches. “I– o-kay.”

“What’s your story?” They will themself to say, hoping you can’t feel how their grip tightens just a smidge. 

Your smile brightens. “Ooh, yes. I love this question– okay. I’m like… a court angel who decides who goes to the good place and who gets sent down.”

“You’re the judge?”

“No, no. I’m the biased attorney who chooses sides depending on the person. If I like you, then yeah, you might’ve robbed that bank and killed fifteen witnesses, but you did feed that street cat outside your apartment that one time. Boom: innocent.”

Susie pipes in. “Where would you send me?”

“Depends,” you shrug, eyeing her costume. “Are we talking you you or city-destroying you?”

“Oh, definitely city-destroying.”

“Mmm, gonna have to say guilty. Think you destroyed the interworldly firm we have on Earth.”

“Damn it. Looks like I’m gonna have to claw my way up there.”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, pulling their wrists to your chest. “You’d keep her at bay down there, right?”

They can’t help but let their lip quirk upward. “You wouldn’t persuade HR to bring me up, too?”

“Oh, Kris. I’m a great lawyer, not a godly one.”

They want to talk to you forever, hold your hands forever, maybe even stare into your lingering gaze for eternity. They’d take anything from you. 

But there’s two arms that wrap around your shoulders, and your grip loosens until it releases. Their hands return to their sides and they have to stop themself from clenching them into fists. They’re internally cursing out whoever’s caused this.

It’s the black cat. Her fake ears pop up from over your shoulder as she hums your name in a soft, sultry tone. They want to rip their ears out. They can say your name better than she ever could.

“Did you ask? You were supposed to ask,” she purrs, ever so in character.

They watch your grin grow with excitement.

“Right, right–” you clear your throat dramatically. “Kris, Susie, Noelle, how would you three like to join our team for competition-ween?”

“‘Competition-ween’?” Susie’s eyes narrow. “That’s what they’re calling it?”

“I hope not! I just made that up, like, right now.”

They can’t help but snort. And immediately hide their face in slight embarrassment. 

Completely burying the fact that your smile brightens (because that means you smiled at them), they watch you regain your composure, pointing to your remaining friend group. “We all kinda split up, y’know, for competition’s sake. Some bets were made, blah blah, not the point. We got some insider info on the games and you three are totally strong assets.”

You thought they were a strong asset? God, what a lovely thought.

“Right now, it’s just me–” you pat one of the black cat’s arms still around your shoulder, “–Bea, and–” you stick your thumb at the green-haired cosmo, “–Zee. Didn’t mean for that to rhyme.”

Susie’s eyes narrow in amusement. “Isn’t he terrified of me?”

“He’ll get over it. Probably.”

She seems to like that answer. “I’m so down.”

“Kris?” You ask, hopeful.

They’d be more focused on you if it weren’t for the fingers tapping your collarbone. The fingers that aren’t yours. Or theirs.

“Yeah,” they mumble.

Both you and the black cat appear overjoyed. They couldn’t care less for the latter.

“Noelle?”

“I–” She appears a bit regretful. “I’d love to, but…” 

As if on cue, an annoying squawk echoes through the halls. 

She sighs with disappointment. “Berdly already ’asked’ me to join his team.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool. No worries,” you’re holding in a laugh. “Pray for you, sister.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll need it.”

Both Noelle and the black cat make their leave as the warning bell rings. You linger for a second.

“They’ll send out an email. Or something. It’ll say where to go. The town’s small, anyway. Just call me tomorrow, if you get lost,” you salute, halo squirming from where it sits on your head.

You briefly hesitate. You’re almost debating whatever you’re thinking.

“Also– before I forget,” your hands fold behind your back, keenly focused on making intense eye contact. “Really like your makeup, Kris. Brings out the red of your eyes. I like your eyes, too. Okay, bye!”

You’re gone. Disappeared around the corner.

…

And every jealous bone in their body disintegrates.

The way you’re so concentrated on your confident persona– the way it just crumbles when you’re nervous. It’s adorable.

You’re perfect.

Then, they hear an evil snicker. They forgot Susie was behind them. 

“Deal stands. You got til midnight on Halloween, Kris.”

They pause. “Five dollars?”

“I’ll up it to ten if you’re both smiling.”

“Five dollars it is.”

~*•*~

They’d managed to convince Catti to do their makeup again. For no reason in particular. 

She seemed off put by the way they were asking; something other than a mumbly grumble. And their voice inflected at the end of their sentence? Who knew they could do that?

The street connecting to the school has been closed off. There’s orange and black bunting flags that hang from tree to tree, tangled with orange fairy lights. Plastic bats and ghosts are buried deep into the plumage of the leaves while the fake pumpkins clutter around the trunks. The whole town is here (give or take; even if others notice absences, they sure don’t), flooding the road.

There’s multiple canopies, all lined up along the sidewalk. Each canopy has its own bucket, about a third the height of them. And each bucket has…

Apples. And, well, water. 

It’s obvious. They’re apple bobbing.

You and the rest of the team are perched under the furthest canopy, almost hidden by the overhang of branches. From the way you’re thoroughly inspecting everything, they can assume you chose this spot. They like that about you. You don’t need to be the center of attention.

Some from other teams, like Noelle, call out to them in welcome. They offer indifferent greetings and nods.

When they hear their name in your gem of a voice, their lip upturns automatically.

“Kris Kris Kris. Look,” you’re nearly bent over the large bucket, leaning over the rim to examine each and every apple. “Apples.”

Their hands perch on the rim opposite to yours. “Apples.”

“Peeked over to the other buckets. Our apples look the best.”

“Do they?”

“Oh yeah,” your face draws closer to the water. “Just look at these bad boys.”

The band supporting your halo slides down your face, drooping over your eyes. They’re instantly pushing it back up your forehead. When you lift your head, their hand lingers right by your ear, just for a moment.

Your throat bobs. They watch you avert your gaze like a nervous wreck.

They’d be laughing if they didn’t feel the exact same way.

“Kris. There you are,” an unfamiliar voice calls out to them. It’s Cosmo; green hair and fairy wings.

He’s just about their height, stopping next to you. “We already chose the order for who’s going when. Do you wanna go second or third?”

“Stop taking this so seriously,” you mumble into your palm. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

He slaps the back of your head. “You were the one who wanted to win by any means necessary.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You alluded to it.”

They ignore your casual banter with your friend. They assume he asked because he doesn’t necessarily care when he goes. Good thing for them; they’d rather get it over with. “I can go second.”

“Great,” he taps his finger to his chin. “If there’s five of us, we all need to get at least four to clear the bucket–”

He silences himself at the sound of Susie’s footsteps. 

She pipes in over his shoulder. “Can we eat the apples after we’re done?”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. “No. They won’t count if they’re half-missing. Probably.”

“After we’re done. Like, after we win.”

“Only if we win.”

Cosmo scoffs. “And I’m the one taking it too seriously.”

“Good evening, everyone!” Their mother’s voice echoes through loud, obnoxious speakers. “I hope you are all ready for the first day of Hallo-week!”

Susie elbows your side. “Way better than your name.”

“I had three seconds to come up with mine.”

“Today’s competition will be apple bobbing! Each team has a bucket with twenty apples. You will all take turns removing the apples with nothing but your mouth. Each team has a maximum of ten minutes to fish for the apples. Because of the uneven teams, teams with less players will have larger slotted times for each member, while teams with more players will have smaller slotted times for each member. For example, an individual on a four-person team will be bobbing for longer than an individual on a six-person team.”

There’s a whisper in their ear. “I understood none of that.”

They give Susie a sideways glance. “Bob for apples. Get as many as you can. Stop when someone tells you to.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“When you’ve collected an apple,” she gestures to the staff and volunteers currently handing out baskets. “Place your apple into the basket immediately afterwards. You’re not expected to get every single apple, but try your best!”

They slip the horns off their head, sticking the band into a belt loop.

“Getting serious, huh?” You giggle.

They shrug. “You want to win, don’t you?”

“Definitely. They’ve got these plastic golden apples for the winners and it’s probably been spray painted with some crappy toxic paint and I need it.”

Say no more. They’ll help you win if it means you’ll smile like that more often.

“Everybody ready?”

Susie looms over the bucket with an excited grin plastered on her face. The black cat holds the basket next to her.

“Three, two, one… go!”

Susie nearly plummets into the water. The three of you flinch at the splash while Kris lets the mist coat their face.

“Okay,” Cosmo starts, gesturing like some analytics junky. “You’ve got two minutes. If we want to aim for the max, you need to get an apple every thirty seconds–”

Her head jerks up as she presents the apple caught between her sharp teeth. She spits the fruit into the basket, offering a smug eyebrow raise at the fairy. Twenty seconds.

“Keep spewing nerdy stuff. It definitely helps.”

Before he can interject, she’s already diving for more.

“She knows she doesn’t have to submerge her entire head, right?”

You snort. “If it works, it works.”

She comes up three more times, the last of which there’s a distinct chunk missing from the side of the apple. You’re about to scold her, but Cosmo’s already loudly signaling (screaming) at Kris that it’s their turn.

They take their time (much to Cosmo’s dismay), gathering their hair into one hand as a make do ponytail. They’d like to think they’re doing it to annoy Cosmo, but it’s probably more so because you’re staring at them like you’re entranced. 

They need to bite their cheek to stop themself from looking over. 

Leaning over the bucket, they can see multiple apples with aggressive bite marks; presumably Susie’s failed attempts. Hovering their face over the water, they use their tongue to push the apples right side up. Then, they effortlessly pinch the stem between their teeth.

As they rise, they notice there’s eight pairs of amazed eyes on them. They ignore it and drop the apple into the basket along with Susie’s.

One turns into two turns into five, and they’re pretty much on autopilot. They don’t much care for the team’s reactions, but they do notice you slowly approaching with each apple, watching their movements with a keen eye.

You’re resting your arms on the rim, nestling your cheek into your bicep. Just the proximity alone makes them slip slightly. When they come up with their sixth apple, they give you a side glance, raising their eyebrows just a tad. Your goopy smile almost melts.

And you speak, low and captivated.

“Wow. You’re really good with your mouth.”

…

Their eyes widen. And they immediately drop the apple.

It splashes both their face and your suit’s sleeve, but they’re too focused on the way your face lights up like a tomato.

God.

They can barely make out Susie’s cry of laughter while you stutter out in defence. “Wait– I didn’t mean it like that– it came out wrong!–”

They almost want to make like Susie and dunk their face into the water. It would cool off their smoldering cheeks.

They’re sure they’ve got a good thirty seconds left, but their flow has vanished. They can’t stop thinking about their mouth and what you said and your mouth and their mouth and–

They manage to get the apple they lost, adding up to six on their end. Cosmo seems to be too focused on it being his turn to acknowledge their horrible slipup by the end.

Their eyes are glued to you as you escape to examine the other teams from the edge of your team’s canopy. They feel a distinct nudge in their side.

“Move it, Kris!” Cosmo ushers them away from the bucket. “You may be good at this, but I need all the time I can get.”

They don’t take his compliment to heart. Their focus has been zapped into the hand on their shoulder. Black nails; long, sharp, and manicured.

“Don’t mind him,” the black cat squeezes. They realize she’s much more touchy than she appears. It bothers them more than it should. “I think a certain someone’s competitive nature rubbed off on him.

When they offer no response, she takes the hint. Her hand drips off their linen suit, moving to watch Cosmo dunk desperately.

“Wait, wait. Go for that one! No, not that one, that one!”

Susie’s begun spewing horrible, incomprehensible directions, where every peep of her voice makes him shake, startled.

He rises with an apple between his teeth. The front tufts of his dyed hair are doused, and he’s mumbling something along the lines of: “I don’t know which one you’re talking about!”

They’re alright with letting that sailboat drown.

You’re not even pretending to look busy, leaning against the pole of the canopy and fiddling with the strings of a fake cobweb. It’s like you sense them from the way your head turns with expectation.

“Kris,” you sigh. “Tell me the cheat. How’d you do that?”

So you’re not going to talk about what you said. That’s okay. It’ll stay safe in their mind and their mind alone.

“Choose one with a long stem. Move it with your–” their voice catches in their throat. “–to face upwards. Go from there.”

“Pshh. Easier said than done. I don’t have agile lips.” 

As if for show, you turn to them, pointing at your now puckered lips. They’re glossy, sparkled with a faint gold. They’re staring a bit too hard, but they can’t seem to stop.

“What defines ‘agile lips’?” They mumble.

“Well, mine are sticky, for one–”

You draw near, hooking a finger through one of their belt buckles and wow it’s getting uncomfortably hot–

But your hand disappears as soon as it comes, emerging with the red horned headband. They’re bathing in the feeling of your digits in their hair as you slip the cheap horns onto their scalp.

“–and I’m very… not good with annunciating. Like, I slur my words when I talk really fast. Isn’t that a lip thing?”

“Might be a tongue thing.”

“Same difference.”

“Ow!” You both hear Cosmo yelp. 

They didn’t even realize Cosmo finished, as the black cat’s already dipping into the bucket. While Susie holds the basket (sideways – half the apples are nearly tipped out the side), she uses her other hand to ruffle Cosmo’s hair, shaking most of the water out.

“C’mon, I’m helping!” Susie snickers with sarcasm.

“Yeah, just as helpful as your bobbing directions.”

“Maybe you’re not good at following my amazing directions.”

“Huh,” you blow. “At least he’s not cowering in his boots around her anymore.”

At the sound of your voice, Cosmo glances at his watch and instantly shouts your name in panic.

You cringe, removing your halo. “Oh god.”

“You’ll do great,” they smile, hoping to ease your nerves.

You hover around the bucket, waiting for Cosmo to shout again in a warning. The black cat picks up her fourth apple in the last ten seconds, automatically backing away to give you your space.

Cosmo yelps. “Go! Go go go!”

And you bend over like a pretzel.

They can tell you’re trying to take their advice to heart, but Cosmo’s yapping is obviously not helping your adrenaline.

“You only need to get three more and we’ve got all of them!” He’s tapping anxiously on the side of the metal.

Susie gazes into the bucket. “Yeah, I think that much’s obvious.”

But a minute goes by, and you only manage to get one. They see the array of glossy smears on the skin of the apple and their stupid, obnoxious mind starts to wonder what your lipgloss tastes like.

They instead focus on the array of nervous eyes on you, all itching to say something.

But then, it’s Cosmo who cracks.

“Don’t think smarter, think harder!”

You lift your head, eyebrows furrowed, as a realization dawns on you.

“Oh, yeah. The hell am I doing?”

And your face plummets into the water. They’d have thought you were drowning if it weren’t for your successful catch in ten seconds.

Your friends seem astounded while Susie seems rather proud, patting Kris on the shoulder. “Learns from the best.”

“You’re the best?” They can’t help but ask.

She immediately breaks character. “Okay, six-apple-alice. Didn’t take you for a bragger.”

They’re not. Maybe they were just hoping you heard it. Thought it was impressive, or something.

Your wings nearly hit them in the stomach because you’re flailing around so much. All it takes is another fifteen seconds for you to retrieve the last apple.

Your entire head’s drenched top to bottom, but you seem rather pleased with yourself. You toss the last apple into the basket; both Susie and Cosmo letting out a yell of victory.

There’s a quick blow of an airhorn to signify the end of the game. Susie almost immediately paws for the apples (she might as well be drooling), but their eyes point elsewhere. 

Your makeup’s completely ruined; the glitter around your eyes smudges to coat your cheekbones and your mascara’s running down your face like black tears. 

You look badass.

But the black cat’s much too close to you, with one hand on your shoulder and the other attempting to wipe away the smudge under your eyes. She’s going to poke your pretty eyes out if she’s not careful. They’d be careful. 

Just watching the casual intimacy makes them squeamish. You keep looking to the sky, eyelids twitching, but the grin on your face is evident. A pang of jealousy washes through them.

They glance over to the other two, watching Cosmo cleaning off an apple for Susie. With a tissue. Bingo.

Their feet carry them to him before they realize it.

“I need one.”

“Scram, Kris,” Susie bites. “The apple’s mine. I waited a whole twenty minutes–”

“The tissue.”

“Oh,” Susie drops her tough guy persona. She then rips the tissue from Cosmo’s grip, offering it to them wordlessly.

They’d never give you a used tissue.

“A new one.”

“Wow, you’re picky.”

She then digs her hand into Cosmo’s pant pocket (to which he flinches horribly at), pulling out a fresh one from the tissue packet.

Once retrieving the new tissue, they return back to you as soon as possible.

“Here,” they hold it out simply. They relish in the way the cat backs off from you at the sight of them. 

You sigh with relief. “Oh, that’s so much better.”

You immediately get to work, wiping away any areas that you know have smudged; under your eyes, your cheeks, your lips–

They’re not sure if the black cat could read the frankly hostile gaze they were giving her, but she seems to give up, returning to the others.

“Yeah, turns out I’m better at whatever that was than precision,” you admit. “Probably looked like a dying seagull."

“Nope. As graceful as an angel.”

Their heart warms at the giggle you let out. They want to curl into your voice.

They’re sure they look a bit creepy, watching you rub the remains of your messy face. It’s not messy to them. They’re fine with you looking like this any day.

Then, you blink up at them.

“Did I get it all?”

You didn’t. There’s some under and around your eyes, some on your nose…

“You still got some–” they point to their waterline.

You pull your eyelid down, attempting to wipe away the remains. You miss, just by a few millimeters. “Did I get it?”

“Mmm, no–”

You’re already pushing the tissue to their chest. “Can you get it?”

They feel their neck flare up. Okay. It’s fine. Stop the shaky hands.

They take the tissue, instantly getting to work. They remove the bits scattered along your chin, as well as the few dots on your nose, but they’re scared to touch your eyes. They try to be gentle, applying just the slightest of pressure, but you’re still a bit squirmy. 

“Am I pressing too hard?”

“No, no. I’m just sorta– freaked out with eye stuff.”

But despite your reassurance, it doesn’t stop you from flinching every few seconds. They almost think you’re doing it intentionally from the snarky, knowing grin on your face.

Eventually, they feel themself give up. Hoping to startle you, their free hand moves to cup your face, thumb under your jaw, tilting your gaze upwards. 

They can feel your skin heat up. You look a bit astounded. They’d mirror you to a T if they weren’t so satisfied with your reaction.

They continue as normal – pretending you’re not looking at them like they’re magic – now being able to get the bits under your eye. You still flinch, but not as much. In fact, they feel your fingers wrap around their wrist in defence–

Suddenly, they’re quickening their pace, cleaning any last bits and releasing you like you’re molten lava. 

You’re still in an obvious state of shock, even when they bolt like a coward.

~*•*~

Day two follows a similar pattern. They find themself under the same canopy, but instead of a large bucket of apples, they see sharp knives. Now this is their specialty.

(They wonder what argument their mother lost to have something like this be permitted.)

It’s a pumpkin carving competition. You, Cosmo, and the black cat left to retrieve a pumpkin while Kris and Susie stayed behind (mostly because they trust your judgement).

Susie’s sitting boredly on the plastic sheet that staff provided, picking at her sharp teeth. “You got that picture yet?”

They shake their head. It’s not like they forgot. They’re just looking for the right opportunity. 

“Running outta time, Kris.”

“It’s been a day.”

“One day turns into two, and before you know it, you’ll be five dollars down.”

“I don’t lose money. Not the deal.”

“I–” She pauses. “Deal’s changed. You owe me five dollars if you fail.”

They push down their smile. “How about you owe me twenty dollars?”

“No.”

They glance up to see you sprinting back to the canopy, with two unammused friends behind you. “We got one!”

You plop in front of them, showing them a 360 of the rather deformed pumpkin you chose. It’s not a circle by all means. It’s almost… banana shaped.

Cosmo pipes in. “Our ‘leader’ decided to choose the wonkiest one.”

“Hey,” you scold. “This one’s different. I like different. Makes things fun.”

While Susie and Cosmo (self-elected and forced-elected respectfully) gut the pumpkin, the three of you design the face. You seemed to have wanted to get dirty, but you said something about your parents disowning you if you got the suit too messy.

You all decide on a mostly-traditional pumpkin face; sharp teeth, downturned eyes, evil grin. You and the black cat do most of the talking while they pipe in every once in a while. You talk about morphing the mouth to follow the shape of the pumpkin, just to give it a bit of a unique flare.

When you suggest something stupid, like glueing the seeds onto the teeth to make braces, the black cat laughs, shoving you in good (flirty) spirit. They find themself clouded in your collective laughter. They don’t like the envy crawling up their spine.

It’s fine. They don’t need words, anyways.

Susie claws out the last few bits of seeds, rolling it over to them like a bowling ball. They can’t help but grin, albeit a bit egotistically.

Their thumb follows the blade of the rather large knife. They tilt it up, just as they did to your chin–

And they’re stabbing much harder than necessary.

“Wait!” You wince, and they find themself halting by instinct. “Don’t you need the stencil? We can cut it out–”

“Don’t need it.”

You appear surprised. “...okay.”

They love surprising you, they decide. The way your eyes part in curiosity; how your mouth falls open subconsciously. It’s like you’re drawn to them the same way they’re drawn to you.

They don’t let their infatuation show. Instead, they pretend they’re mindlessly cutting while their thoughts race with nothing but you. 

You’re seen in the corner of their eye, scooting closer and closer until you’re both practically hip to hip. Turns out you also have a bit of a personal space issue. They don’t mind as much with you, though. They see the way your hands clench and unclench, wanting to casually lay a palm on their arm for support, maybe lean on their shoulder to give yourself a better view.

They’d let you do it in a heartbeat. But it doesn’t seem like you have the confidence to do so.

They feel your eyes on their hands. An outsider would probably reason that you’re watching them carve, as their precise, even cuts are entertaining to watch. But they just know you’re not watching the pumpkin.

Your gaze falls where their sleeves are folded up. It was to prevent stains (as their mother wouldn’t be too fond of the idea, either), but they’re consciously patting themself on the back for the decision. 

Suddenly, your voice whispers in their ear.

“Can I feel your skin?”

They pause, knife frozen mid-cut.

“What?”

“Sorry. Is that weird to ask?”

Of course it is. They’d have scoffed if it was coming from anyone but you. Just one of the million things they’re asked because they’re human. Some monsters have skin, too. But because they’re human, it somehow means something different.

…

Although, you don’t seem weirdly infatuated. Just curious.

Against their better judgement (a lie; their judgement vanishes when they’re around you), they lodge the knife more securely into another cut. They watch you watch them as they slide their sleeve up.

Your fingers hesitantly brush their exposed skin, a shy smile spreading across your face. “I feel like I always touch you– not like that. But I never just sit and… I don’t know, really feel you? Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

You laugh at the honesty. “Like, fur and scales ’s cool and all, but skin just has that smooth, perfect feeling to it.”

…

You think they’re perfect?

Keep your head together, Kris.

“It’s very…” They actually think for a second, because how the hell do they explain having skin? “...bare.”

“Pfft. So I see.”

Shivers run across their arm as you lightly caress their forearm. They’re not exactly sure why you’re this interested, but their thoughts vanish when you pull your own sleeve.

“Wanna feel?” You offer, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world.

A quick laugh escapes their throat. From complete and utter surprise. 

“What?” You pout. “I’ve got interesting surfaces, too.”

They don’t need to answer your question because they’ve already decided that, yes, they’re definitely going to take the excuse to touch your arm. 

But a cough interrupts the moment. Your moment. Their moment. 

You both turn expectantly to the black cat, in which she’s calmly staring to the ground, knees pulled to her chest in awkward uncomfortableness. Maybe they’re delusional, but they’re sure her (fake) ears droop just a tad.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. You’re already scooting away from them, coming to the same realization that you’re both still in a public setting. A competition, nonetheless.

Yeah, of course they’re disappointed. They wish they had the will to scoop you up and run off, maybe take that five dollar picture while they’re at it.

But you three keep it relatively lighthearted; the atmosphere fills with the chattering of other groups, along with Susie and Cosmo’s bickering alongside the pumpkin guts.

When they’re just about finished, you hold up the stencil-turned-rough-draft and find it’s almost a one for one replica.

The black cat winces. “Ooh, think you missed a tooth.”

She points to a random gap. It’s a blatant joke, but they wouldn’t exactly call it funny.

But you’re nudging her shoulder, maybe a little too hard.

“Psh. I’d like to see you do any better,” you jab lightheartedly.

…

Yeah, it’s all in good fun, but knowing you’d defend them?

Best feeling in the whole fucking world.

~*•*~

Third day’s a candy eating competition. You seemed absolutely ecstatic.

Under the team’s canopy sits one giant candy bowl for the team. The team’s evenly standing around the bowl; they have you and Susie on both sides of them. They tune out their mother’s voice, hoping it’s as simple as it sounds. Thankfully, you don’t seem to be listening, either.

“Ooh, all the chocolate’s mine,” you spout like a supervillain, rubbing your hands together maliciously.

“If you can get to it in time.”

You gawk, punching them in the shoulder. “How dare you– actually, you deserve it for soloing the first place win yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t bother trying, anyways,” Susie comments offhandedly. “I’ve seen them inhale entire pies in less than five minutes.”

Cosmo’s mouth drops. “Oh, I’d pay to see that.”

“I’d pay to see other things, too. Right, Kris?”

Susie’s sly nudge couldn’t be more obvious, but they decide to ignore it for the horn signaling the start of the timer.

All the candy’s been unwrapped, to which they can’t decide if it’s disgusting or well thought out. There’s a mix of chocolate bars, gummy everythings, hard candies, licorice, and lollipops (which seem incredibly unfair).

But thankfully, they’ve got a Susie on their team.

You and Cosmo slow down at around the five minute mark. The black cat starts out averagely, peaks at about eight minutes, and almost immediately stops at eleven. They last for about twelve minutes.

Susie’s strong throughout the whole fifteen minutes, practically licking the bowl when the siren signals the final second.

Your friends nearly collapse onto the grass, holding their stomachs like they’re about to vomit their insides. Speaking of vomit–

“Did we win?” Susie cries triumphantly, stumbling backwards with a hand covering her mouth. “We better have won.”

They scan the rest of the bowls, some barely having scratched the surface of the absolute hell awaiting them.

“We won,” they state with certainty.

Susie’s laugh slurs together like one coherent gurgle. “Oh yeah.”

And she’s instantly dipping into a nearby bush to vomit out her insides.

The black cat seems triggered by the noise. “Nope! Can’t do it–”

While she sprints inside the school with a hand over her mouth, they notice Cosmo chasing after her in a similar state.

“You guys are wimps!” You call after them. You then proceed to take one step forward and nearly tip over.

Their hands instinctually fall to your shoulders as you clench your stomach. “Oh– mmm, yeah, I dunno.”

They’re pretending they’re not in the exact same boat. They appear to have eaten second to Susie (which may be a far goal but is still a lot of teeth-rotting garbage) and they’re sure they could vomit if they thought about it too hard.

But they may or may not want to impress you. So they’re trying to hold it down.

“Ugh– yeah, I know I was talking a big game, but fuck,” you groan, head flopping back like a limp doll. “How’re you not dying right now?”

They have the most shit-eating grin. They can feel it.

“I could go for seconds.”

You snap out of your self-pitying spiral, face turned challenging. “Oh, really?” 

You scan the ground, spotting a semi-clean candycorn (still gross but who cares) and pinching it between your fingers. You shake it in front of their face as a taunt.

“Open wide, Dreemurr.”

And they’re not sure why they immediately listen, but they do. You don’t let your shock distract you for too long, as you slip the candycorn between their lips casually. As if it didn’t viscerally affect them that your fingers grazed their lips.

They chew it, trying not to think about the fact that their stomach cannot take what they’re about to swallow.

But they’re not about to let their leverage go to waste. They copy your earlier movements, finding another candycorn on the grass. 

“You should have s’more, too,” they suggest with no good intentions.

And you follow their lead as they did for you. But they didn’t know how badly they’d falter from the sight of you parting your lips for them. 

Before you can comment on their embarrassingly obvious pause, they pop it in your mouth.

“Delicious!” You holler, voice wavering with nervousness.

There’s a distinct moment where you’re both just staring at each other. Waiting patiently for the other to crack. Little did you know that they’ve developed a stomach capable of eating any amount of anything from their time eating dirt as a child.

The sounds of Susie’s retches are enough for your eyes to widen. You immediately clutch your hand over your mouth, shoulders twitching. After a moment, you speak.

“Just threw up in my mouth,” you moan in grief. “You win. At least it’s gone, now– oh, nope, it’s coming back–”

And you’re bolting for a further but still nearby bush, heaving up the past twenty minutes.

As if on cue, Susie comes back, wiping her mouth on the back of her onesie’s sleeve. She faintly reeks of candy vomit. “Ooh, you could get the pic right now. Seems like a good, distracted moment.”

“Candy’s gone to your head.”

“What? I’m just helping you, ‘cause you’re honestly making this more complicated than it should be. At this point, it’s sorta sad.”

The sounds of you regurgitating your insides fill their ears. “Mid-vomit? That’s just mean.”

“Since when do you care about being nice?”

“I–”

Yeah, that’s a fair point.

“–don’t know.”

…

And the most knowing, scheming smile blooms on her face.

~*•*~

The fourth and final days sounded the same, from what you told them. Both days are costume parties. The difference is that one is hosted with adults, while the other is hosted without. 

The final day was intended to be spent trick-or-treating, but there’s not much to do with three dozen or so houses. There was an anonymous tip to some random, larger house down the street, and one thing led to another.

The former day, to put it bluntly, was horribly boring. They didn’t expect to do much, but they thought they’d do more than sit on a lone couch, nursing their flat soda. You were off socializing with other friends while Susie clung to Noelle for a majority of the night.

And their mother would do laps to check on them. It was bad.

Thankfully, the final day already started much better. Without their mother clinging to their side, they found themself taking a shot or two with Susie. And apparently that was enough for them to start clinging to your side.

Metaphorically, of course. Unless you want them to.

They can’t tell if you’ve had anything. You seem more relaxed than normal.

Maybe you do want them to. You’ve slid your arm to interlink with theirs. No one questions it, either. An angel and a demon. It really is fate.

You’re mostly bouncing from group to group, offering polite conversation while they shamelessly stare at your face. Whenever you see something funny happen, you whisper stupid commentary in their ear, and they find themself giggling like a maniac. Very out of character. 

Your wing brushes their back every other step, just as their pointed tail swings to hit your leg. It’s just a solid reminder of the picture they’re supposed to take with you. But they can’t bring themself to care. 

“Ooh, what about him?” You murmur, sticky lip touching their ear. “Last minute? Or preplanned?”

You point to a supposed vampire crowded around the kitchen island, pouring himself a drink; a cape, similar formalwear to you two without the suit jacket, hair pulled back into… a ponytail.

“Last minute,” they narrow their eyes. “He has no fangs.”

“How can you see that far?”

“Demon… powers.”

You quirk your head, inching ever so closer. They welcome your warmth easily.

Your eyes dart from their eyes, to their mouth, to their eyes. “You’re a demon and you don’t have fangs.”

Yeah, you’re completely right, and it’s certainly because their costume falls into the last minute category. But where’s the fun in letting you win?

“How do you know?”

You let out a ‘tsk’, attempting to push your fingers into their mouth. “I’ll prove it.”

They instantly push you away, a smile of ‘what the hell’ and ‘god you’re perfect’ growing on their face.

“Ey! Angel attorney!” They hear a voice call out.

It’s Susie. Her hooded dinosaur head pops through a doorway, only to disappear moments after you both notice her. You drag them by the arm, escaping to a more secluded area of the house.

She and Noelle have made home base in what’s either a storage room or cut-off garage. There’s empty shelves lined along the walls, and it’d be relatively bare sans the industrial, plastic table in the middle of the space.

On the table sits two triangles made of shot glasses. Susie shakes a random, cheap bottle of booze with no label. That doesn’t seem too comforting.

“You ‘n me, one round,” she taunts. “If I win, you give me your golden apple. If you win–”

You’re already gasping. “What? No.”

But Susie seems to expect this, grin sprouting across her cheeks. 

“–you get mine.”

Your mouth falls open.

“Damn. Two golden apples? That sure is better than one.”

If they knew you wanted two, they’d have given you theirs.

“No, Kris–” Susie scolds, and they realize they’ve said their thoughts out loud. “It’s for glory. The winner’s high. The bragging rights.”

You hold out your hand as an offering. “Deal. I accept your wager of fate.”

She shakes it, almost knowing she’s going to win.

Noelle fills your shots while Kris fills Susie’s shots as a way to ensure there’s no cheating. But around three rounds in, they realize it wouldn’t have mattered if you cheated or not.

To say Susie destroys you would be an understatement. She nearly clean sweeps you. The moment you hit glass three, your coordination went out the window. They’re not even sure you’d be standing without the support of the table.

As Susie sunk more and more glasses, she told you to give up (for the sake of your stomach and because there’s no way you’d win after this). You, hotheaded as ever, refused.

It wasn’t close. Not by a long shot. You dunked two before she hit your last one.

You tip your head back, liquid sliding down your throat with practiced ease. You groan in disappointment. “Nngh. How’d I lose? I’m– so good at this. And this s’nt even good tasting stuff.”

“Yeah, it’s sorta garbage,” Susie smiles. “So when’s the apple being delivered to my doorstep?”

You quirk your head. “Apple? What apple?”

“My golden apple?”

They thought you actually forgot, until you’re clutching their sleeve and dragging them out the same way you came in. “Nope! No recollection of such apple!”

They can’t tell if you know where you’re going. You shove past people with a quick sorry and end up in the kitchen. You release them to paw for a red plastic cup.

“You’re still thirsty?” They question.

“Hey. That stuff had no sub’stnce. Need, uhm…” You trail off, eyes lingering on a definitely spiked fruit punch bowl.

You fiddle with the ladle, spilling juice into your cup with incoordination. They try to guide your hand, but you nudge them off with misplaced independence.

“That’s not punch.”

“What is it? Blood? Did the vamp get to it?”

They pry the now sticky cup from your slack hands, taking a small sip. They watch your eyes follow the bob of their throat. 

They taste the overly sweetness of the fruit, slightly overpowering the bitter taste of whatever garbage’s also in there.

You waver, giggling. “I can smell how sugary that is.”

“It’s bad.”

One hand rests on their shoulder while another tries to seize the cup. They hold the drink away from you.

“Don’t care. I like obnoxiously sweet.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re obnoxiously sweet.”

You smile smugly at their obvious slipup, not stopping your advance. You’re pretty much chest-to-chest. And they’re so glad they’re not fully sober because they’d be dead on the spot.

Instead of setting it aside like a normal person, they decide the only way to stop you is to chug it themself. There wasn’t much in it (you missed most of your pour), but it still feels as though their teeth are rotting from the sensation. 

Your hand drops in disappointment, staring at the juice that drips from the corner of their lip.

They realize what you’re about to do before you do it.

Your other hand perches at the back of their head, lacing through their hair.

And you’re licking a stripe from their chin to their mouth.

…

You seem rather pleased with yourself, a dopey smile present on your pretty face.

They’re frozen, wondering what the hell they do now.

But it doesn’t matter. You decide for them.

You’re inching closer.

Hovering just before your lips brush theirs.

They swallow. Hard.

But you’re giving them a look. As if saying ‘do it. I dare you’.

And of course they’re not letting an opportunity like this slide.

They’re quick to lean in, pressing their lips against yours. It’s quick, chaste, small, perfect–

You’re perfect.

When you pull back, you seem almost sheepish.

“Oops. Thought it was new years,” you slur.

…

Yeah, you’re perfect.

And as if the stars were aligning, you fish out their phone from their pocket, swiping to the camera.

You forcefully squish your cheek against theirs, offering a pearly-white smile. It’s contagious– you’re contagious, and they find their lip turning upwards.

You offer their phone back to them. “And, for the record, I’d totally sneak you into the good place just so we could hang out.”

And they’d rip apart any demons in their way just to do so.

~*•*~

“Done.”

They show the picture to Susie. Surprise floods her face. “Wow. Didn’t think you’d make it, to be honest. And smiles, too? Damn.” 

They hold out a hand expectantly. “Pay up.”

She rolls her eyes, reaching into her onesie’s pocket for a crumpled up bill. Five dollars.

“Double it, scammer.”

“I don’t have ten dollars. I was bluffing.”

Damn. 

Well, at least they’re at a net positive–

“Besides, if I actually gave you ten, we wouldn’t be even.”

…

Their eyes narrow in confusion.

She pats their shoulders comfortingly. “Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention I stole that from your brother’s drawer.”

Of course she did.