━━━━━━ 𝓣AKE UR MEDICATION.
𝄞 kris dreemurr ━━ you’re still as angry as you were as a child, kris reminds you everyday. you’re not kind, or natural pleasant. you’re not noelle, not as soft and gentle as her. you don’t think you can be, and maybe that’s why kris doesn’t like you anymore.
ওㅤ gender neutral! reader ━━ angst/with comfort?, ambiguous ending, they don’t make up immediately but there’s closure, lightly suggestive? if you count that kris lowk likes it whenever reader kinda begs, fluff, reader noelle and kris are childhood friends, reader lowk has problems but they chill, also they have suicidal thoughts/attempted suicide ೯ hi hello im sorry for disappearing i lowk been coming back hete and then leaving whenever i thought of kris ok? ok im sorry take this
At a young age, you knew something was fundamentally wrong about you.
You got agitated quickly, took everything like it was an attack, yelled when something didn’t go your way, and cried when it got too much. But that’s how kids act; they’re sloppy, attention seeking brats who cry about everything. It doesn’t help that you’re seventeen and on the way to graduate.
You’re a loser who can’t control your own temper, and therefore, can’t control what you say to others. You hate it. You just never knew how to properly regulate your emotions that it all explodes onto the next person who ticks you off in the slightest.
Maybe that’s the reason why Kris and Noelle seem to have much more fun with Susie in your place.
Which is… odd with how similar you two are. Or—or maybe not actually, maybe you’re just coping that you’re a piece of shit who can’t seem to be pleasant around without crying like a baby who—instead of crying—bitches and yells while nitpicking at everything.
Yeah… you wouldn’t hang around yourself either.
“Dude, you’re staring at that essay like it personally attacked you,” your friend—Alain—pointed out with a scoff, looking up from his own laptop with a blank essay to note down the glare you were giving your own screen.
Alain raises an eyebrow, “By?” You make a whiny sound, burying your face into your arms, not before shoving your laptop away from you make space. Alain snorts in amusement, shoving his laptop away to pat your head like a dog.
“Letting it not write itself,” you answered, voice coming out muffled while you sniffled from frustration, or something entirely different.
Alain’s eyes soften, retreating his hand and returning back to his essay to actually get started. You’ve been trying to regulate your emotions, but everything becomes too much and too loud that it causes you to shutdown or blow up. You’ve been shutting down more recently, and your friends are getting more concerned by the month.
They know your struggles, they know what they need to do whenever you’re in those moods. When you’re shutting down, let you ride it out on your own with them making it obvious that they didn’t leave. You hate being left behind simply because you were too much to handle, and you knew that.
When you’re blowing up, don’t react and wait out until you start crying. You always cry, you’re the most crybaby person ever. You haven’t blown up on anyone anymore, you end up getting thorns around your neck when you do so anyways.
You lift your head from your arms with a sharp inhale, going back to staring at your half completed essay and shutting it closed. The sound catching Alain’s attention where he shuts his aswell before you stop him, “Wait, don’t. I’ll feel bad.”
Alain looks around slowly and confusingly, “What, why?”
You made a face between a frown and a pout, “Because we both know this is just an excuse to get out of writing it,” you argued back, Alain’s mouth dropping in offence even though your words were ‘trying’ to seem like it wasn’t an attack.
“What the fuck? Bro, I don’t want your lonely ass to walk back home alone.”
“I’m not a loser, asshole,” you snapped back with crossed arms, staring down at him from where you got up. Alain packs his laptop away with a frown, not that offended but just playing around with you.
“Fine, you were implying it, then.”
“Imply my fist up your ass,” Alain retorts back, swinging his bag over his shoulder and relishing in the face you pulled. “No thanks. It has plenty of fists up there already,” you replied with a deadpan, about to turn around and leave the study room before stopping when you see three familiar faces peeking through the glass of the door.
Your mood immediately shifts, pulling an uncomfortable, tight line across your lips as your grip on your bag straps tighten. Alain takes the first step by opening the door, the three strangers backing up from the door to let you two out.
Alain doesn’t even spare them a glance, ‘cause if he did, it’d prove to you that you’re easily replaceable.
You followed right after Alain, eyes snapping to Kris and feeling a bundle of rage rise up. “Pervs,” you muttered under your breath while walking past them, of course Susie catching it like some sort of bat.
“What’d you just say?” Susies questions, making both you and Alain look back, more like him looking at you with a tired glare.
You shrugged, “Nothing. Must’ve been the weird.” Obviously it wasn’t nothing considering how Kris’s lips turned straight, and Noelle seemed to fluster and frown. If you didn’t have this rage and hatred inside you when just looking at them now, you’d probably regret ever saying that, or… saying rude stuff behind their backs or infront of them anyways.
“No, say it again,” she repeats, urging you to repeat yourself. You raised an eyebrow, a scoff of disbelief slipping past your lips. Did she think you were scared of her? No, you actually loathed her for how easily she took your spot. It wasn’t like everyone distanced themselves, and you decided to be the most insufferable person ever so it would be easier for them to let you go.
Nothing like that whatsoever.
“I said you were pervs. Who sticks their face against the window like that? Just knock.” You snickered, already turning away and glad that you got the final word in, at least in a way that satisfied your impossible ego.
‘The hell?’ You heard Susie say to them before they took the study room you two had occupied. Some part inside of you wished Kris would’ve said something, or even looked at you.
The prideful look on your face vanishes, you wished they’d just look at you. Rather it be hate, contempt, or… or that same love-struck smile back when you were kids.
You were totally not getting scolded.
“They said that?” Another one of your friends—Illyna—gapped, staring at Alain with the straw falling out her lips. You grumble something under your breath, turning to gaze out the window as the two talk smack right infront of your face.
“Why would you say that?” Illyna asks, capturing your half-assed attention, making you roll your eyes. “Heat of the moment,” you mumbled, leaning back into the cushion with crossed arms, still not looking at them as you were afraid of the judgment and disappointment.
Was it immature of you to say that? Yes. Did you have a reason to say it? Well… no, but regardless!
“It was not the heat of the moment. There was no heat,” Alain remarks with a chuckle, taking a loud and obnoxious sip from his drink. “It was definitely one-sided.”
You flared up at them, cheeks burning because they were right. You engaged in something, or some people, that clearly don’t care about you anymore so there was truly no point in starting something that only one person would ‘entertain’.
Your shoulders faltered, that one person should’ve been Kris, not Susie. Just the thought of her name gives you a sour taste. You don’t hate her, you don’t know where the idea came from because you hate all of them. Noelle’s a stuck-up who can’t stand up for herself, Susie’s her white knight and has nothing else interesting about her, and Kris… Kris is miserable loser.
You think you’re the miserable loser.
Your friends think you’re gonna say something snarky before you sigh, “Yeah… it was stupid,” you confessed, although a bit embarrassed because your pride got a bit bruised, but you’ve been trying, you’ve been trying really hard. “They just… God, they make me so mad!”
Illyana places a hand on yours, reaching over to unravel your cross arms, ignoring the confused look on your face. “That’s what we call jealousy,” she points out the obvious, making you stare at her like she grew another head and making Alain choke on his drink because it was that stupid.
“I know what jealousy is.”
“Wow, baby finds out first nasty emotion,” Illyana gaps in fake surprise, making you swat at her. “I take back my words. It wasn’t stupid,” you groaned, placing a hand on your temple while you exhaled through your mouth, staring at the counter of the diner. “You should become friends with them because staring at you is starting to make me mad.”
“I’d probably be a delight.”
“You’re horrible,” you repeated, barely sparing her a glance but knowing she was snickering at your back-and-forth. Alain tenses up when he spots something, eyes flickering back to you and the entrance before gulping down his drink quickly and coughing once he retreated from the straw.
Illyana and you stared at him with an odd look, reaching over to pat his back while he pounded his chest before leaning in closer to the table to hiss something quietly. “6 o’clock!” The two of you look to where you assume 6 o’clock is, only to be met with 4 o’clock.
“What? It’s four,” you pointed towards the clock on the diner until Illyana and Alain forced your head around to the counter, your eye twitching with irritation. “Dude, then say that then!” You snapped at Alain, pushing his face away from you only for Alain to gap and tug you into a headlock.
“Alain!” Illyana calls out in shock, reaching over the table to wretch you free just for it to be in vain. “Can you two act sensible in public for once?” She sighs in exhaustion, clearly annoyed by your twos public display.
The both of you said in unison before you snatched your head away with a huff, “I’m going to give you pink eye. Watch out tonight.” Alain blows a raspberry to you, your eyes moving back to the trio only to see Kris staring daggers at—
Your eyes follow theirs, only to land on Alain. Blinking like you were so unsure, you lifted your eyes to Kris but they had turned away, seemingly aware that you knew they were here.
Frowning, you pushed Alain to get out the booth, “Let’s go. If we’re here any longer, I’ll cry.” Illyana rolls her eyes but she follows you two out regardless.
“Who died and made you king?”
You try not to spare the three a glance, but the exit literally forced your two groups to collide, and if it weren’t for Susie’s big head where she can see everything, you three—or you specifically—would’ve walked out scout free.
“Hey, you!” You assume she isn’t talking at you at first, pushing the door and hearing the familiar chime of the bell. A hand lands on your shoulder as your about to open the next door, Noelle inches away from her and peering over her shoulder to catch a glance at you, just for her to shy away when you shoot her a glare.
“Yes?” You raise an impatient eyebrow, “Do I know?”
Susie’s frown deepens, “We go to the same school. You’ve been bullying Noelle and Kris!” Her reply makes you scoff, already turning your back towards her. “Bullying’s an understatement. It would imply that I actually give a crap about them,” you snap back, already regretting your words when you catch Noelle shrinking into herself.
Susie doesn’t reply for whatever reason, and you think that’s the last of it until someone dumps a cold drink onto your side, making you yelp and bump into your friend’s chest in shock. “What the fu—“ You stop, staring down at yourself before snapping your eyes up at the culprit.
“You!—“ It’s Kris. Because of fucking course it’s Kris, and Susie has a large grin on her face like they planned it since they spotted you on the diner from outside.
You grit your teeth before huffing, stomping your feet like an angered bunny, “Ugh! Pieces of shits!” you snap, shoving the door open with rage practically radiating off you. Alain and Illyana follow right after, not before Illyana giving Kris a pointed look.
They know your history, with Kris specifically. They know you still love them, Kris specifically. They know you’d rather die than ever be apart from them, Kris specifically. They know—The whole point is that Kris throwing a drink at you definitely broke your heart as if you haven’t been the rudest person ever towards them, Kris specifically.
Kris lowers their hand, watching your retreating figure from the glass of the diner. The monsters in there witnessing the moment and brushing it off as teenagers being teenagers. Kris still thinks your kid.
Susie laughs, glad that they finally got payback even when Noelle clearly didn’t enjoy the idea and Kris didn’t say anything when she proposed it. Neither of them hated you even though it seems like you hated them; Noelle thinks it’s her fault for never reaching out to you, Kris knows it’s not their fault.
“Nice! What type of drink did you put in there? It looked like shit!” Susie grins manically, Kris lifting their eyes from the cup to meet her gaze.
It’s your favourite drink.
You sob quietly to yourself, washing your sweater underneath the facet and cursing yourself internally for letting some stupid drink get to you like this. It was just a soda, and you deserved it for all the times you’ve been mean to them. You could let it slide this time, but they won’t be safe the next time you see them.
It was your favourite sweater too.
Scowling, you toss the drenched cloth into your laundry bin, taking it downstairs and passing by your mother who just came home.
“Oh, sweetie. You’re home early,” She comments, hooking her jacket onto the stand beside the door, watching you open the door to the laundry room while giving a loud hum to tell her that you were listening. “Usually, you’d be with those two rascals.” Your mother stands by the doorframe, rolling her sleeves up to help you.
You shrugged, shoving drenched sweater into the washer. “I had some stuff to do. Illyana’s mom also called her to come back home,” you explained, your mother raising an eyebrow.
“You were with Illyana and Alain? But Kris said you were with them and Noelle.” Her words make you stop, hand midway from pressing down onto the start button before huffing and jamming your finger down.
“Who cares what Kris says? I don’t give a crap about them anymore,” you snap, fingers digging into your palm as your mother lifts her head up from the dryer to stare at you with a knowing look, making you sweat. “They used to cling on me! They were a damn leech, mom.”
Your mother scoffs in amusement, lifting the basket of dried and folded clothes. “Sweetheart, it was always you who clung onto them. Don’t try changing the roles,” She corrects, stepping out the laundry room with you glaring daggers at her back.
“No, I didn’t,” you mumbled under your breath, refusing the memory of actually being the clingy one because you were. At 8, you would whine and cry whenever someone else got to hold Kris. At 10, you’d pout whenever Kris gave Noelle more attention to her instead of you.
You were truly the most insufferable brat ever. Thinking about your younger self makes you want to die.
You think you often ponder over dying a lot.
It’s always been a complicated thing, though, being ignored by Kris felt pretty close to death. You never really felt what dying felt, but… it was close you think you could die right now. It’s a painful and tiring process, you don’t enjoy it because it makes you think about them.
Your mother doesn’t help when all she remembers is the two of you running around your house with Kris chasing you, fangs in their mouth while you screamed and laughed. You two were adorable, in your mother’s words. You think Kris was an asshole back then, they still are.
But were they adorable? You wouldn’t say they were, every toddler was adorable and you think Noelle was probably the cutest toddler of them all—
You throw the picture frame to the wall with an annoyed sob, panting hard and clenching your fists. You watch the glass hit the floor, some pieces flying near your feet as the frame slides a bit from here it lands.
Your mom peeks her head through the kitchen door frame when she heard the sound, rushing over to you to see if you hurt from the glass but you snatched your hand away before she could examine you. The cuts weren’t even physically anyway, stuff a medical worker wouldn’t even be able to heal with just bandages.
Your mom bends down to pick up the frame, careful to avoid the glass and looks to you with furrowed eyebrows, noting your rimmed eyes. “Sweetie, what are you—“
“Why do you still have that photo on display?” You cut her off, watching her cradle the photo gently and place it back onto the table, making your heart already race more than it already is. “Mom, I threw it out in the first place!”
You don’t acknowledge how her glare hurts you, and you don’t care enough to see that your foot had stepped on a shard of glass.
“Sweetheart, it’s for memories.”
“Screw that corny bullshit.”
“We were never even that close anyways.”
Your mom’s eyebrows tighten even harder, her eyes glancing down to the blood starting to stain the floor as your vision starts to blur and your breathing quickens. “They left me behind! They replaced me, mom! I don’t care about them anymore.”
Her eyes soften, reaching out to grab your hands before you slapped it away. “They’re just jealous that I don’t need them now, that I never needed them,” you lied, brushing past your mom without letting her get a word in and racing up your stairs, staining the wooden floorboards red with the imprint of your foot.
You’ll always need them, that’s the simplest and easiest truth to admit. The hard truth to swallow was that it didn’t seem like they need you, which is… sad. You grew up with them basically, seeing them rekindle a friendship without you makes it harder to be nice. Though, you’ve always been an angry kid, so you don’t remember the last time you’ve been nice.
But it’s probably the reason why they never reached out when that’s all you’ve been trying to do. Noelle never picks up, instead it’s her mom. At school, the conversation never actually gets to be one ‘cause she’s leaving the next second you ask how she’s doing.
Kris is never at school, or when they are, their responses are half-assed. They also don’t pick up the phone.
You guess you have a reason to be rude. Ever since you apparently got over Dess, you’ve tried to get closer to them. Again, it failed miserably. Maybe you were just trying to distract yourself from grieving too hard and not letting the others grieve too.
Grief is never linear, it works with different people, and with you? You grieved until there was nothing else to grieve over for, but you know you still are, just not for Dess. As harsh as that sounds.
You guess the reason why you stopped being kind to them was because of grief, again, you never really got over Dess. Therefore, that transferred onto not getting over them when you act like you have and when they act like you never existed in their life.
At 13, you remember visiting a local therapist that your mother was friends with. You didn’t know why, but you had a grasp understanding of why your mother was so worried.
You often fantasized about dying a lot. It wasn’t really a shocking surprise because every teenager goes through that mental state where living seems like a burden and dying seemed like the only choice. Maybe you thought that why because you felt everything so much that dying was the only solution.
At 15, you tried drowning in the lake. You found out quickly enough that drowning only works with two, or with a group. You came back home a dripping mess.
You never really tried anything after that. You figured maybe it was because you were too lazy to write letters on your death, or maybe because you were too lazy overall… That or simply because you wanted to see the reaction on everyone’s faces. It was the only that would make you happy.
Violence would probably make you happy too, as corny as it sounds. You think it’ll only make you happy because you have something to vent your angry on.
You think you’re too angry, and violent, and petty. You think you’re an asshole, well, you are. A pretty asshole that’s for sure.
You also have ego, for some reason. You don’t remember having one.
You don’t remember a lot of things, actually. You only remember what it felt like to be a kid with them, you wish you could still be one with them. Though, you got the kid part down already, you’re practically a pro at this point.
You cry, you whine, you beg, you lash out. You have every quality of what makes a kid, a kid. But they have a reason they act like that, don’t they? You have a reason, a big reason as to why you’re not changing. It’s a stupid reason, to others, maybe it isn’t but to you it is.
The forest is always the same. Nothing changes in this town, naturally, the people in the town don’t change either. Changing means accepting that things never stay the same as much as you want it to, and the idea of it alone makes your stomach grumble.
From the lack of food mainly.
You spot a familiar swing, watching it sway back and forth from the midnight wind. You could almost make out a small you swinging back and forth, crying after seeing Kris, Noelle, Dess, and Asriel hang out without you. It’s a common occurrence for you to always be left out.
Your fingers curl around the rusted metal as you make yourself comfortable on the worn out swing, kicking your feet off the ground to get it going. It’s not as good as before but you’re not looking for perfect. Hell, you’re not even perfect.
You sniffle as you stare at the little gift box in your hand, tears hitting the neatly wrapped paper as you shiver from the cold. It had matching bracelets for the five of you, you stayed up making them because you wanted the items to match their owners perfectly.
Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, raising an arm to wipe them away. The autumn air was especially cold that day, you were just wearing a sweater with a red scarf to keep you warm. Your mother warned you to wear my clothes but you were too excited to give the gifts to actually care about yourself.
No one came to find you that day. You stayed in the cold until your mother called the police that you were missing. That’s when they realized you weren’t with them.
The gifts are still in your room, buried deep inside your closet. You still wear yours, it was too cute for you not to wear it and just because you hate that you made matching ones for them doesn’t eliminate the fact that it’s for you.
A snap of a branch made your head snap around, unbeknownst to you that small tears started to slide down your cheeks. A familiar sweater peaking out from behind the tree making it obvious to who it is.
Quickly wiping your tears, you scoffed. “I can you see, you asshole,” you announced, turning back around as you can feel their gaze stab wounds into the back of your head. “You never really were stealthy.” It was the truth, but you didn’t know if it changed from the years being separated from eachother.
You sent them a look, “It’s going to be cold,” you snapped, Kris’s lips quirking up in a small smile that you weren’t able to make out in the dark.
“Then why are you out here?” They question, walking up to the swing, stopping inches away from you while tilting their head, trying to capture your face.
Physically, you’ve changed. You grew into your features, the same features Kris adored pulling reactions from just to see the glisten in your eyes when you got mad or the pout you made when they managed to scare you. Although, you didn’t change mentally or emotionally, you’re still the same.
Kris can’t back up that thought because of the distance after these years.
“Why are you out here?” You toss the question back, tensing up when you feel Kris’ hands slid up your back and up your shoulders before relaxing when you realize they just want to push you. “If it’s so cold.”
Kris shrugs, giving you a good push. “I can’t sleep,” they answer, pushing you again when you got close enough. “The forest helps.” Their words make you furrow your eyebrows.
“It’s scary,” you point out, looking at them from over your shoulder.
“That’s ‘cause you’re scared of everything.”
You pout at their words, “No, I’m not,” you retort, letting your feet skid across the dirt to stop yourself from swinging. “Why are you actually here?”
Kris’ hands are raised from pushing you before they fall back to their sides, staring down at you from behind the hair strands covering their eyes.
Why are they out here? It was true they couldn’t sleep, but they couldn’t stop themselves from coming to this exact spot. They remember the path here because they always come here, though, tonight they didn’t expect to see you out here. Crying, they assume, maybe from the same memory they let eat their mind.
That day, when your mom called their mom asking if you were with them after the clock hit 12 AM, Kris had realized they hadn’t seen you the entire afternoon. They remember running out the house to find you themselves, following after the police car that stopped just by the forest and hiding behind a tree when a police officer came out walking with you in their arms.
You had fell asleep in the swing, and they could tell you were crying for a long time from just the tear stains.
Kris shrugged again, shoving their hands down the pockets of their pants. “I don’t know,” they answered, leaving you unsatisfied and frustrated.
“You never know,” you grumble underneath your breath, fingers tightening around the metal of the swing.
“Why are you here?” They repeat their original question, watching your body language carefully. Your shoulders tense and then relax, before repeating itself. You refuse to look at them despite how intensely they staring at you. You feel uncomfortable under their gaze.
Kris lets out what you assume is a chuckle, “You never know,” they echo your own words, raising an eyebrow when you snap your head towards them to say something before it died in your throat.
“Is there something I can do to make you shut up?” You grumble, a small sneer on your lips.
The hair on the back of Kris’ neck stand up from your words, mind already thinking of the many ways you can make them stop talking. A small grin creeps onto their face, making you shiver and scoff, “Forget I ever asked. I hate you enough as it is.”
“Do you hate me?” Their question, fingers curling on the metal above your hand, leaning close to you.
You stare up at them with a deadpan, “Of course I do, stupid. You’re annoying,” you answered, leaning away from them by turning your face away. Your answer gives Kris a guilty shiver even though it should hurt.
“You don’t act like you do,” they comment, relishing from how your cheeks flare up from anger as you snap your head back to them. They mildly concern that you might snap it hard enough that your neck breaks.
“You!—“ You inhale sharply to stop yourself from punching the look on their face, also mainly because you didn’t want to damage the same face that made you like them—
You stop yourself from thinking about it but clearly it was obvious that you were flustered from how you turned your head away shyly with the same pout Kris couldn’t erase from their mind.
“Just go away,” you ordered quietly under your breath, Kris standing up straight with their fingers still above yours. With a sudden burst of confidence, Kris slides their hand down to place onto yours, feeling the way you tensed up. “Kris, please.”
The way you say it makes Kris gulp nervously, squeezing your hand to comfort you and seeing how you visibly relax before retreating their hand. They don’t leave just yet, they stay by your side even when their legs hurt from standing.
You stay silent, staring out into the emptiness of the forest before slowly shaking your head. If you gave a verbal response, you’ll probably call them names and blame them for ‘forcing you to open up.’ Or cry, definitely cry.
Kris lingers there for a couple of seconds before slowly peeling your fingers off the swing to interlock your fingers, giving it one more comforting squeeze until they let go and start walking away.
It’s probably the most merciful thing they could do, and probably for the best.
