“Do Love You Or Am I Filling A Hole?”

You walked into the office, shrugging off the purple cardigan that was slightly bigger than your usual size and draping it over your chair. As usual, you placed your bag under your desk and turned on your PC before settling down, ready to focus for the day. Though, the second you spotted Spencer approaching, you instantly announced your daily fun fact.

“Did you know that peanut butter can be turned into diamonds? Fun fact.” From the corner of your eyes, you saw Emily pause at your statement. Spencer, on the other hand, grinned at your words.

“Good morning.” Spencer placed his coffee cup down on his desk first before coming to your side, holding yours out for you. You carefully took the ceramic vessel from him, muttering gratitude at his kind action. His other hand lingered on your back before withdrawing out of respect for the fact that you were both clocked in at work. 

His eyes soon noticed the clothing item that hung on your chair. 

“Was wondering where that one went,” your boyfriend murmured.

Boyfriend. Even after three months and having grown used to calling Spencer by that title, you still feel giggly at such a term. In fact, your lips curled right then while thinking of the word again.

You took in Spencer’s attire, specifically, the way that his purple button-up (coincidentally) matched the purple cardigan you had stolen from him two weeks ago. For a split second, you considered coordinating outfits deliberately with him, but in subtle ways.

“Hold on a second, peanut butter can what?” Emily double checked.

“I know, right?” you breathed out before reaching under your desk and pulling out an information-packed tome, dropping the heavy object onto the furniture’s surface. 

It was Rossi’s courtesy. A month and a half ago, the old man decided to give you a fact book in hopes you could still win this bet before eight months were up. Unfortunately, his gift was unable to aid you much in your intellectual combat against Spencer, and thus, failed to prevent Rossi’s loss of his bet on a victory before the eight-month mark. 

You carefully opened to the page where you had seen the fact and held it up for Emily to see.

“Well, would you consider having a peanut butter diamond ring?” she joked, though Spencer quickly jumped in.

“Actually, I would advise against it. Oftentimes, the lab-manufactured results are small. So they’re unsuitable for proposal rings.” His words almost felt personal with the way Spencer’s eyes fell to your hand, and you smirked teasingly.

“Why? You think I should have a big diamond instead of a small rock?” Instantly, your boyfriend’s ears grew hot, and you almost laughed at the way he started stuttering. 

“Well, I just—on average, women tend to prefer a sizable diamond ring when proposed to. But also, like—well, I mean—you—”

“Me?”

“With your finger size—”

“How do you know my finger size?”

“Your ring was next to a couple of coins the other day—”

“Oh? And you decided to notice and remember this information, why?” You smirked, enjoying the way your relentless teasing was turning Spencer into a mess. But in all honesty, you were not that surprised. Spencer’s brain often stored information that most tend to overlook.

“Yeah, Spencer. Planning to drop down on one knee soon?” Emily’s added effort to poke at Spencer only made him more flustered, though the genius eventually was able to overcome it and continued speaking.

“With your finger size, the most suitable—preferences aside—would be a 1.0-1.5 carat diamond ring, and the peanut butter manufactured ones would be nowhere near that. Besides, diamonds made of peanut butter are often discolored largely due to impurities such as hydrogen and nitrogen, which are non-carbon components, getting trapped during diamond formation processes that involve high heat. Meanwhile, diamonds are mainly made of carbon atoms.”

“Would you like to know my diamond size preference, Spence?” was your only reply, and those words had Spencer’s face blooming bright red. Once again, he stammered to organise his words, yet a sentence could not be strung together.

Together, you and Emily burst out laughing at Spencer’s speechless state. Though the two of you began shifting to get back to work. Emily returned to her own desk, amusement lingering on her face. Meanwhile, you slowly spun your chair back to your PC, your laughter replaced by a full-on smile.

Yet, Spencer did not move from his spot. In fact, the sight of you smiling and your eyes crinkling had Spencer’s gaze softening.

Eighty seven days since he had told you that you were his favorite fun fact, a title Spencer continued to frequently refer to you as.

Prior to the prospect of you two, Spencer had made peace with a mundane dating-less life, living in a repetitive monotone manner. But now that he has you, that kind of life sounded dreadful. With you, mundane things became highlights of his day and the staples of his boyfriend-adjusted daily routine.

But above all, every day, he got to learn new things about you, like where you like to read in your apartment, how you like to separate your laundry, or your preferred side of the bed. Each and every new detail he discovered folded into the wrinkles of his brain like all along, the organ was made just to hold facts about you.

The genius bit back a smile.

That afternoon, Spencer walked you to your car like always. But instead of saying goodbye and heading off to the metro station by himself like before, the genius got into your passenger seat, and the two of you left the office together. As you were driving both of you back to his apartment, Spencer’s eyes darted to your hand again.

Calling you his forever favorite fun fact instead?

Spencer found himself really liking the sound of that.

The corner of his lips lifted before he looked away.

Maybe someday.

・┈・┈・┈・┈・┈・

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“Small facts lead to great knowing” - Patrick Rothfuss (2011)

“I can’t believe anybody would do something like this,” you commented whilst looking down at the two documents in your hands—your thoroughly highlighted case dossier and your finished report. Every new case always exhibits unimaginable horror and unfortunately, there will always be something worse than your current worst. 

You turned to Spencer whilst perched cross-legged on the edge of his table.

The corner of the genius’s mouth curled at your words. They were the very same ones that sprouted daily despite the nature of your job. But to Spencer, there was a strange comfort in such small repetitive murmurs of disbelief.

“I gotta agree with Rossi. This job really includes some of the worst lunatics out there.” You sighed before straightening up at a sudden thought. “Actually, fun fact…” You noticed the way your words peeled Spencer’s attention from his report. He finally glanced up, eager for the second half of that sentence. 

“The word lunatic was invented based on the belief that mental illnesses were affected by moon phases.” You beamed at the idea of potentially providing your genius friend with new knowledge. 

“Yeah, and it actually originated from the Latin word ‘lunaticus,’ which means moonstruck or influenced by the moon. The word was first used for conditions like epilepsy or overall just madness,” Spencer replied, perking up at the thought of a potential conversation about this.

The excited smile on your face instantly faltered and you groaned in feigned annoyance. Perhaps you should have known better than to think you could out-fact Spencer and say something he had not already known.

“Is there anything you don’t know, Spence?” you glowered jokingly.

“Well, it’s hard when you’re a child prodigy and genius.” You let out a scoff-like laugh at Spencer’s cocky admission, but you knew he was joking. Despite his IQ of 187, Spencer rarely ever announced himself a genius. It was a title dubbed by those around him. You knew if you had Spencer’s brain, though, you would hardly ever stay as humble as him.

“I’ll get you someday.”

Your declaration drew a snort from another work desk and you twisted around to face the source of such a faithless sound.

“You don’t believe in me, Derek?” You arched a brow, your competitiveness rising to the surface.

“Sweet girl, I believe in you for many things, but this is just not one of them.”

“But surely there is one single fact out there that Spencer doesn’t know about.” Penelope piped up from next to Derek, defending you.

“We’re talking about the same Spencer, right? Spencer Reid? Three PhDs and an IQ of Einstein?” JJ spoke as she made her way down the bullpen.

“Actually, there is no way of measuring Einstein’s IQ as he never took the test, so to say that—” Derek quickly interrupted Spencer.

“Come on, pretty boy. She’s backing you up.”

“Sounds like grounds to start a betting pool going,” Rossi spoke up as he approached the whole group, briefcase in one hand, car keys in the other. “$20 says she’ll do it within four months.”

“I think she can do it within three months.” Emily chimed up from her desk.

“I’m placing my bet on eight months,” Penelope added confidently.

“Alright, and if she can’t do it within one year, JJ and I will split the win,” Derek announced before directing his next words to you, “Stakes are on, sweetheart.” He winked.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” You rolled your eyes before turning towards Spencer, declaring to him with exaggerated cockiness, “I’m gonna get you real soon, just wait.”

“You’re welcome to try.” The challenging glint in Spencer’s eyes met your own. Again, you knew better than to think that you would know something Spencer did not already know. He was practically the master of facts. But, unfortunately, you were incredibly bad at quitting.

So, let the challenge begin.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Did you know that Australia is wider than the moon?” you questioned the second you saw Spencer enter the office the next morning. “Fun fact.”

“Yes, diameter-wise. Australia is almost 4,000 kilometres wide, while the moon’s diameter is nearly 3,500 kilometres. However, in terms of their masses, the moon is still larger.” You sighed dramatically at Spencer’s reply before spinning your chair towards your computer, turning the device on.

“And day one status: unsuccessful,” you grunted to yourself, catching Spencer’s grin from your peripheral vision.

“Oh? It’s gonna be daily?”

“You bet your ass it’s gonna be. There’s a betting pool and I’m unfortunately too competitive for my own good.” You caught the amusement dancing in Spencer’s gaze. 

“Well then, good luck.”

“Won’t need it.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Did you know a cloud can weigh like a million pounds?” You crossed your arms while peering at the cotton candy-like objects floating amidst the bright blue summer sky. “Fun fact.”

Both of you had your bulletproof vests on, leaning against a car while waiting for JJ to finish speaking to the press before driving back to the precinct. Another case wrapped. Another unsub locked up.

Under the nice weather, you had your cap and Spencer’s sunglasses on, having forgotten yours. He had heavily insisted so, even after you had declined a handful of times.

You turned and looked at Spencer briefly. Though, for a split second, your body stilled as the sun played in his favor, casting nice highlights to his woodsy colored locks. The light crinkle of his nose and his squinting eyes made your lips curl, cause once again, it showcased just how self-sacrificing Spencer can be when it came to the people close to him.

“Yeah, because they contain different states of matter like trillions of condensed water droplets and ice crystals. Its weight is equivalent to the world’s largest aircraft working at full capacity. Though despite its heaviness, clouds have lower density in comparison to the dry air around them, enabling them to float in the same way as oil floats on water.” Spencer tried to maintain eye contact with you despite the blaring sun shining into his eyes.

“Hmm…” you pursed your lips before removing your navy blue cap and placing it on your friend’s head. This cast a shadow over his eyes, blocking the harsh sun from blinding his vision. “Beautiful weather to fail at winning this fun fact thing again.”

Spencer didn’t reject the clothing item.

Some time in the history of human beings, the act of sporting others’ clothing items—especially of the opposite gender—had been made to seem important. Spencer has never understood the significance in such a small exchange. But as your hat landed on his head, Spencer felt an added weight that was beyond the small clothing item. 

Neither did he have it in him to adjust how you had left the cap on him, even if it didn’t sit on his head perfectly.

“I still have time to get you,” you continued after a moment of silence.

“359 days left.”

“More than enough.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

The clock was close to hitting 11pm. The whole team was taking a short break for a fresh perspective. Most were on their phones or taking a quick nap, but Spencer and you were playing a round of cards.

“Did you know ketchup used to be medicine? Fun fact.”

Both Emily’s and Derek’s watchful gaze panned from you to Spencer, anticipating his reaction to your daily shot at winning the bet.

“Around the 1830s, yeah. They marketed it as a cure for various ailments such as indigestion and diarrhea.” 

Emily instantly groaned at Spencer’s reply while Derek snickered. Once again, Spencer already knew the information you provided, just like the 13 previous times.

“See? Not a single thing he doesn’t know,” Derek chirped up, earning him a glare from the co-worker beside him.

You finally placed your next card down, instantly eying Spencer, wanting a read of his reaction to your play. There was a distant look in his eyes, a clear indication that he was taking this game just as seriously as you were.

Your eyes swept over the rest of your opponent. The un-neat edges in his usually tidy work attire and the way his hair stuck in different directions had your lips curling. They were details that only unveil during late work hours after a long day. But strangely enough, there was something endearing about the slight tiredness in his eyes and the way his cardigan hung disheveledly on him. 

“I won.”

Your eyes snapped to the pile of cards on the table at Spencer’s declaration.

“What?! No way. You must have cheated.”

“Now, now, don’t be a sore loser just because pretty boy over here won,” Derek teased you, despite also highly suspecting that Reid had cheated.

“Are we talking about the same pretty boy who is banned from many Vegas casinos because of his expert skill in counting cards?” JJ countered, placing her phone down. 

Your co-workers’ discourse began fading out of your focus as Spencer took out a ticket from his bag and handed it to you with a cheeky grin. With hesitation, you took the paper begrudgingly. You knew you had to hold your end of the deal. You had lost, after all.

You glanced back at the winner of the card game, catching his toothy grin at your sulking manners. Against all maturity, you poked your tongue out in petulance, but such childish action had Spencer laughing quietly in his spot, eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Sore loser.”

“Cheater.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

Hotch halted in his tracks upon spotting you and Reid in the break room.

Both of your heads were side by side, just a hair short from touching, fighting to have adequate sight of the newspaper that the two of you were sharing. Each of you also sported a pen in hand, scribbling hastily onto the delicate paper with vigorous competitiveness.

The unit chief entered to refill his coffee, though his eyes continued investigating you two. In the narrow gap between your heads, Hotch caught sight of Spencer rapidly filling out a crossword puzzle. Meanwhile, just as fast, you were solving a Sudoku piece that resided on the same page.

“Did you know, like fingerprints, people also have unique tongue prints?” you murmured, eyes still glued onto the puzzle in front of you. “Fun fact.”

“Yeah, humans have unique color, tongue shape, and textural features, therefore making it a great form of identification. However, we currently do not have the suitable technology to capture intricate surface details of tongue prints. Also, switching costs are high partially because the idea of having to stick one's tongue out in public for authentication can be seen as rather awkward, unhygienic, and undignifying.”

You pursed your lips at another unsuccessful day. But such expression vanished when you dropped your pen on the table and declared with unadulterated joy:

“Done!”

Your victory drew a defeated noise from Spencer.

“Imagine though, having to stick your tongue out at airport immigration and place it onto a public scanner or something like that.” You cackled at Spencer's grimace and the way his body slightly shivered from such a mental image. Eventually though, your laugh reduced to a teasing smile.

Spencer’s gaze lowered to the little crinkle that appeared around your eyes as you smiled, before holding eye contact with you. Spencer knew there was no such thing as “eyes twinkling,” but you had him doubting that scientifically established truth for a second. It was lighting and he knew that, but he had to admit that he could finally somewhat understand why poets and writers were so obsessed with dedicating lines towards such a tiny detail. 

Because even though there was no reason for him to, his own lips began to curl, mirroring the smile on your face.

From behind you both, Aaron Hotchner took a sip of his coffee before departing the room. Though on his way out, his eyes glinted a knowing look, while his lips lifted just the slightest bit before schooling back to a neutral expression again. 

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Did you know that back then, when raising a toast, people would literally drop a piece of toast into their wine?” you blurted out the second you slid yourself into the empty seat opposite Spencer at his breakfast table. Never have you ever skipped free hotel breakfast and today was no exception.

“Well, hello to you too.” Spencer grinned at your straight-to-business behavior. 

He carefully placed the coffee he made for you into your hand—a casual daily routine. You took a good whiff of the comforting aroma before humming at the first taste. It was exactly how you liked it: a dash of milk along with two and a quarter teaspoon of sugar.

To date, Spencer has never asked how you liked your coffee. 

He simply has always gotten it right.

It was not hard to guess that he had learnt your preferences from watching you make your coffee in the past. But you could not help but wonder if he took mental notes on others the same way he did with you. However, like every other time, you dismissed it as an occupational habit. Every member has been trained to be observant and notice little details. Spencer probably knew everybody’s coffee preferences.

“It actually originated from Ancient Rome, and back then, toast was an act to honor the gods and people would pour wine onto the floor. However, the custom evolved in many ways over time, depending on geographic regions. Around the 1600s, it became a common custom in England and this is where people would put a piece of spiced toast into their wine. They did it to improve the flavor of their beverage and also to “toast” to good health.”

Spencer caught your hum of satisfaction at the coffee and instantly felt pleased.

Science has long documented humans as naturally validation-seeking creatures. Your existence often humbled him from thinking he was not a recurring participant in that particular human instinct.

His eyes fell from you to your coffee—a particular mix that has ingrained itself into his memory since your first meeting. Funny that some time since then, he could no longer look at the beverage without ever thinking of you.

Neither could Spencer for the life of him recite the coffee order of anybody else at the BAU.

“36 days down…” you murmured, already picturing yourself rummaging the internet for more fun facts tonight.

“Maybe tomorrow.” The words came out softly, almost encouragingly. You hummed before matching his tone.

“Maybe.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Flies rub their hands as a sanitizing act, rather clean for an insect commonly associated with dirty places, no?” you murmured before peering up from your book whilst curled up in your seat on the BAU’s jet.

“Yes, it’s a self-grooming act. They do this primarily for two reasons. First and foremost, it’s because their legs are their flavour receptors, so they rub their front legs to ensure they can taste when eating. The other motivation is to remove dust and debris, therefore, ensuring survival.”

Your bottom lip jutted out slightly at another unsuccessful attempt.

“I’ll get you tomorrow…” you murmured with a teasing smile before re-immersing yourself in the fantasy world of your current novel.

Reading has become your escapism and method of self-grounding prior to any case. You tried to plunge into fictional worlds while flying to prepare yourself for the terrible realities that accompanied upcoming cases. Though at one point, Spencer started joining in. But instead of having his own book, he would lean over and scan your current page with unrealistic speed while you leisurely let each letter sink in. It became a routine that occupied your journey from Quantico, whereas on the way back, Spencer and you maintained your tradition of engaging in chess matches. 

Spencer spotted your finger flipping the page once more and his eyes instantly swept over the printed words hastily.

Twenty thousand words per minute. That was Spencer’s known reading speed, which meant in merely two seconds or three, he was already done with the two pages in front of you both. As always, you were still reading at your own pace, unhurried. He knew he could adopt a slower speed to enjoy your chosen fictional literature. But lately, he found himself in a hurry, rushing himself to finish pages in a way that made him think maybe he was now above his previously established reading speed. 

Why?

His gaze flicked over to you, mulling over the familiar details that made you, you. He studied the way your fingers trace the fore-edge of the book mindlessly, lingering on the way you tease your lips with your teeth as you registered the adventure that the story was taking you on. Spencer caught the slight shift in the space between your eyebrows and how they slightly twitch according to plot progression, displaying your commitment to your reading content.

Spencer would not classify himself as a people watcher, despite his necessary observant and analytical traits as a profiler. Yet, somehow, watching you had become one of his favorite quiet activities. In your little habits were his comfort. In moments when cases were overwhelming, his eyes have made a tendency to land on you. The spike in his heartbeat would normalize, whilst rapid thoughts would regulate. It was only in moments when Spencer would get caught by you that he would tear his gaze away sheepishly, before attempting to pretend that he was looking elsewhere instead.

The sound of paper rustling pulled Spencer out of his mind, and he instantly plunged himself into the same self-established cycle again.

And despite his fondness for literature, for once, it did not hold a candle in his eyes.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Cows have best friends, how great is that?”

Spencer stopped eating his ice cream the second he spotted someone passing the two of you in a cow onesie, giving away why you decided on that particular fun fact. His eyes fell back on you, glimmering with amusement. 

“Yes, cows do have a ‘best friend’ who they tend to share spaces and rest side by side with. Research shows that when separated, these cows would show signs of stress and anxiety with higher heart rates.”

You hummed at that. By now, you were used to his immediate expansion on your facts, no longer surprised or disappointed every time he added onto your words. 

In fact, you fondly looked forward to hearing what he had to say about whatever fact you would sprout. There was a deep sense of appreciation that you have grown for this challenge. You felt like, intellectually, your general knowledge had expanded immensely, both from researching fun facts to tell Spencer and also from the informative responses that you would receive from him.

“You know, cows also can develop what some may refer to as ‘accents.’ Research observed variations in their moos based on different regions and herds.” Spencer leaned closer to you before adding cheekily, “Fun fact.”

“Nuh uh, don’t go stealing my line. You’re not allowed to put me out of business.”

This tore a laugh out of Spencer, and you immediately bit back a smile at such a sound. 

If humans have the ability to bottle noises for keepsake, you know now what sound you would try to capture.

Surprisingly, this was only the second time that Spencer and you had spent time together one-on-one out of work. 

With the working hours at the BAU that forced you and all your co-workers to be in close proximity for an extensive amount of time, you tend to allocate your scarce free time to those who were outside of your work circle. But something about spending time with Spencer today had struck you with an epiphany:

You really, really wanted to see Spencer outside of work more often.

Both your phones started ringing at the same time.

“Penelope, is everything okay?” you answered quietly.

“Emily?” Spencer whispered at the same time into his phone.

After a few seconds, you both ended your respective phone calls before slowly turning to face each other again. You scanned yours and Spencer’s outfit before sighing.

“There’s not enough time to go home and change.” The devastation in your voice was imminent.

“I know.”

A few minutes later, both of you entered the office, and almost instantly, the noise level declined significantly as the whole team paused their actions. You winced, knowing immediately that you two were about to be the butt of many incoming jokes.

“Whoa, what time period did you guys travel back from?” Emily teased.

“We were at a convention, okay?” You huffed, picking up your go-bag from under your desk for a change of clothes.

“And you two are dressed up as…?” Rossi crossed his arms, undoubtedly amused.

The team scanned over both of your outfits. Spencer was wearing a brown fedora hat, an oxblood colored corduroy jacket, and grey pants. Despite the only semi-chilly weather, he also sported a colorful striped knitted scarf around his neck. As for you, you were in an all pink attire, but what stood out was your long pink coat, high pink boots, and long white scarf.

“The fourth doctor and Romana II, from Doctor Who,” Spencer answered, grabbing his go bag.

Derek’s eyes comedically bulged out at that, and he immediately spun his chair towards you. “Blink twice if Reid is blackmailing you with something to make you go to this convention with him.” You laughed at his remark.

“Listen, remember the card game I lost two months ago? That’s why I had to go, but when I actually started the show, I really enjoyed it.” You raised your hands in surrender.

“Oh, we lost another one. She got Reid-ified,” Derek exclaimed dramatically before placing a hand on his chest in jest heartbreak, grinning at your eye roll.

By now, Spencer had returned to your side with his go-bag. Though just as you two turned around to head off and change, an abrupt flash halted you both in your steps. Blinking away the after-effect of the blinding light, you saw Penelope with her phone facing you two and a cheeky grin on her face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Delete that,” you immediately instructed, hands on your hips while your brows furrowed in fussiness. You then sucked in a deep breath and used your hand to comb through your hair before a smile broke your feigned annoyed expression. “I was not ready.”

Then, with dramatic flair, you posed properly for the camera, grabbing Spencer’s scarf exaggeratedly with both hands while tugging him lightly. 

Spencer was unsure if his knees had buckled due to a slight loss of balance or from your proximity. He glanced at the camera, face slightly flushed, before witnessing another flash go off, evidencing his blush and putting it on record.

Your hands were gone from his scarf like a breeze. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go change now.” By the time Spencer registered your words, you were already gone. All that was left at the spot you previously occupied was his attention. Spencer's eyes eventually moved when he heard a quiet giggle from Penelope, who was indescribably entertained by the dazed look on his face.

The tech expert slowly angled her phone towards Spencer to show what she had captured, and she carefully observed Spencer’s contemplative gaze. His eyes landed on you first, and they softened at the sight of your beaming face. They then traced the slope of your smile and the crinkle of your eyes before reluctantly trailing down to your hands and the way they bossily clung onto his scarf. 

The sentiment of pictures has always been just a concept to Spencer Reid. He does understand the logic behind people’s attachment to colored captures of moments and why people have ‘important’ photos in their wallets or have framed physical copies. But personally, he rarely ever practiced it. Yet, in this precise moment, he suddenly wanted to begin.

Without even looking at himself in the photo, Spencer murmured to Penelope:

“Can you send that to me, please? Thank you.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Where is she?” Derek’s gaze darted up to his friend. One glance at Spencer and the man already knew who he was referring to.

“Garcia said she called in sick this morning. Why?”

“Nothing.”

Derek scanned over Spencer from head to toe properly this time. Realisation flashed through his eyes before the man smirked as he looked back down at his work. 

Ah, the perks of being a profiler.

“Sure, pretty boy.”

“What was that loo—” 

The sound of Spencer’s phone ringing interrupted his question. He took the device out of his pocket, and the phone almost flew out of his hand when he saw your name flashing on the screen. He immediately picked up and placed the device beside his ear, breathing out your name in greeting.

Instead of your usual cheery tone, Spencer was met with a muffled voice and snifflings.

Immediately, his body stiffened.

“Are you okay?” He was by his desk within seconds. His fingers grazed over his jacket, as if prepared to scoop the clothing up and dash out of the office if your answer indicated any distress. 

“My nose is blocked. Both sides. It’s horrendous,” then came a dramatic sigh, “I’m becoming a mouth breather, Spence.”

Your melodrama tore a laugh from Spencer’s throat.

Derek’s lips curled discreetly at the noise.

“Anyway, don’t think you can escape your daily fun fact just because I’m not physically in the office.” Spencer was glad you were not physically with him, because if you were, you would have seen the idiotic grin stretching his face. But how could he not smile at your stubborn resilience, and the cute sound of your nasally voice that was slightly more high-pitched than normal. 

“You’re sick, and you took a day off work, but not off the fun fact thing?”

“In sickness and in health, as they say.”

Spencer accidentally snorted at your words and immediately cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it.

Derek’s brows scrunched at that.

“Apparently, while wired to specific scientific machines and whatnot, two lucid dreamers can have two-way communication in real time. How cool is that?” Spencer hummed fondly at your words before sitting down, his plan to flee from office hours long gone.

“That’s quite a recent fun fact. The study was recently concluded just about two years ago,” his voice came out soft as he focused on any sound that the technological device beside his ear could carry over from your end. 

He caught your hum, though the sound resembled the same one you always did while sitting next to him on the jet as the team flew back to Quantico. The noise that often preceded the soft landing of your head on his shoulder and the way he’d sit straighter up to accommodate you entirely despite his germaphobia-led touch aversion.

“You should sleep and rest,” he whispered, despite wanting to hear your voice for longer. But selflessness came easy when you were in consideration.

Spencer carefully began listing all the things you ought to do later to get better. But halfway through, he noticed the lack of noise from the other end, except for your rhythmic breathing, signaling your sound asleep state. Spencer sighed before removing the phone from his ear. He stared at the device in long contemplation before clicking the end call button.

Finally placing down the device that signified his only contact with you today, Spencer flipped open today’s case dossier. However, he found himself re-reading the first sentence over and over again. His eyes kept scanning over the same words, and he felt the way they slid past his comprehension the same way small external details occasionally would escape his notice whenever he spent time with you. 

Spencer’s mind kept trailing back to the phone call and to you.

It’s familiarity—he tried to tell himself. Humans were, afterall, creatures of habit, and considering you have been swirled into his daily routine like a necessity, it made sense that the lack of your presence had set him off balance. 

Eventually, Spencer got up and went to the break room for coffee. But the second he opened the cupboard and his eyes landed on your mug, he felt his mouth run dry. 

For the past one and a half years, he has always made two cups of coffee instead of one at the start of each day.

His eyes darted to his mug right next to yours. The idea of separating them sent some sort of ache in his heart, even if logically they were just ceramic vessels.

Perhaps he had mislabeled what missing someone meant all along, because your absence was bringing a hollowness that nobody had managed to carve out of him before. It was the kind of emptiness that made him feel incomplete, as if a piece of himself was not with him. Yet, as opposed to the expected numbness that often accompanied such a feeling, Spencer felt every second of your absence with a constant stinging ache that felt too akin to withdrawal symptoms. 

Eventually, Spencer shut the cupboard and returned to his desk, coffee-less.

That evening after work, Spencer made a detour instead of going straight home, missing the way his friends huddled together, exchanging hushed whispers about his departure.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

Twenty two hours, forty eight minutes, and thirty one seconds.

Spencer witnessed as time quietly slipped through the cracks of his remaining strength. 

The whole bullpen lacked the life his work family usually colored in. The janitor had long shut off the main lights, so the only thing illuminating the space near Spencer was his desk lamp. Everybody else had gone home except for Hotch, but the unit chief was in his office, leaving Spencer as the last man standing in the bullpen.

After a few more ticks, Spencer finally tore his gaze from the timing instrument and glided his vision back down to the pen in his hand, forcing it to ink his unfinished report, but words refused to string together. 

Spencer’s free hand began tapping his desk rhythmically in a pathetic attempt to comfort himself.

Twenty two hours, fifty one minutes, and twenty one seconds.

Spencer wanted to say that it didn’t matter. Why should it? But he knew damn well that the answer was because the team mattered to him. 

However, perspective was truly a funny thing. Someone could be your number one priority, and you barely just made it in their list.

Spencer averted his gaze from the unfinished report to the brand new photo frame on his desk, where a captured version of the recent memory of you two as Doctor Who characters resided.

It did not take a genius to see that you two were closer to one another than with others on the team. However, the fun fact challenge had truly unlocked another level of bond. It was the kind of connection that meant he had started placing you above the others, a position that implied he also expected more from you, cause perhaps he thought you had also valued him just as much as he treasured you in his mind. 

So as much as the whole team was the source of his dismay, there was a spotlight reserved for your absence, one that was beyond glaring and punched his guts in ways that others could not.

His eyes traced your face in the photograph again, like they had done every morning since he had gotten the picture framed. 

Oftentimes, you could never be absolutely sure where you stand in someone’s life.

Twenty two hours, fifty nine minutes, and ten seconds.

A resigned breath escaped the narrow gap between his lips.

With more effort than it usually took, Spencer got on his feet, hoping that another cup of coffee would be the cure for his inefficiency. He slowly placed more weight on one side of his body to turn around. At the same time, Spencer began rubbing his face in hopes that exhaustion and melancholy would push themselves aside for a brief moment so that he could finish this impending task. 

When Spencer finally reopened his eyes to navigate the darkness, he froze at the sight that was once behind him.

Eight steps away was you, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

Then came your escaped nervous laughter, like you were scared of screwing up, but that was only because you were unaware that you could almost never do wrong in Spencer’s eyes. His heart—which Spencer’s brain has been having a harder time controlling lately—provided you with a much larger margin for error than anybody else.

Your gentle tone filled the fragile silence that was intertwined with suspense.

“Fun fact, birthday cakes are traditionally round as an Ancient Greek tradition to resemble the moon for the goddess Artemis.” Your eyes crinkled as your lips curled into that familiar smile that had previously held Spencer powerless on numerous occasions. “Happy Birthday, Spence.”

There you were, cake in hand after a long day of work on a gruesome case.

There you were, with a homemade cake after a long day of him thinking everybody had forgotten his birthday, or more importantly, that you had forgotten.

But maybe his probability was not entirely against him. 

“I know I’m quite late, but trust me, there’s an explanation. When I got to the office this morning, I realized that I had forgotten your cake at home. I was planning to grab it after work, but the case kept us all back so late, and then traffic was super bad because of a concert today. But hey, I got the cake now, and I really hope you like it.”

You peered down at your own baking product and the slightly wonky penmanship before turning your eyes back onto Spencer.

“Also, since it’s your birthday, I’ll give you a bonus fun fact. There are roughly 30,000 people who have their birthdays on October 12th in the States, but…” 

Your voice fell quiet as your eyes diverted back to the cake again. 

“You’re my favorite October 12th.”

And right at that second, all of Spencer’s previous attempts at rationalising his feelings via scientific explanations collapsed. For once, science could no longer shield him, because as much as it was a field built on facts of concrete evidence, there was also an undeniable truth: he liked you.

It might not be rational, but it was still a fact, and that alone terrified Spencer. 

And while he was your favorite October 12th, you were his favorite every day.

Spencer glanced down at the handmade cake and the singular purple candle pierced in the center. The tiny flame provided just enough light for the space between you both. His eyes then flicked back onto you, and they softened.

God, you were so clueless about the effect your actions have on him and his whole world.

One breath extinguished the fire, and grey smoke fluttered into the air.

Then, for the first time since he saw you five minutes ago, Spencer managed to form the only words he felt were worthy enough of your time.

“Thank you.”

Even if the significance behind those words didn’t reach you today, it was okay. But they carry the weight of his whole heart and every unspoken reason behind his gratefulness. 

Thank you for not forgetting about him today. Thank you for always being so kind and paying attention to the details about him. Thank you for being such an important part of his life. Thank you for choosing the exact career path that you did to lead you to him. Thank you for existing. 

And someday, maybe Spencer Reid will gather enough courage to tell you all of this.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

You halted in your step, and almost immediately Spencer followed suit. His eyesight followed yours, and he instantly knew what you were gonna ask from him.

“Come on, can you play for me? Please?” you urged, and it didn’t take more than your pleading face to make him approach the instrument that lay abandoned in the corner of the hotel where the whole team was staying.

Saying “no” became a significantly harder task for Spencer ever since he realised what kind of position his feelings were in when it came to you. It especially felt like an impossible task when your words came in that pleading tone and the smile that had him wishing stopping time was one of his abilities.

You followed Spencer and leaned against the instrument eagerly. You observed as he lightly cracked his knuckles, eying the mixture of ivory and ink-dark keys with a calculative gaze before placing his fingers delicately on them while his foot pressed gently on one of the pedals at the base.

For a moment, you wondered what Spencer would play. Maybe one of the classical pieces he liked a lot. Perhaps Bach? Or—  

A familiar tune overtook the pleasant quietness in the empty hotel lobby, and recognition struck you with every flawless execution of each note.

First off, you knew he was a liar, saying he only dabbled in piano. But what caught you off-guard was hearing the piano version of your favorite song. 

It was things like this that made you conclude that Spencer Reid was one of the sweetest individuals you have ever had the privilege to know. From making you coffee daily to hunting down first editions of your favorite books (the most recent one in which he handed over along with soup the day you got sick and were off work). Now, he was learning your favorite song on the piano. 

Lucky felt like an inadequate word to describe your position in life when Spencer was in the equation.

Only when he finished the very modern composition did you speak up.

“I thought you only listened to classical?”

“I…did,” was all that came out of Spencer’s mouth, but it was enough for you to catch his implication that he had learnt this song specifically on the piano for you.

Spencer sniffled, diverting his gaze from you shyly as he inspected the keys in front of him again.

Ever since his birthday, Spencer could constantly feel the urge to confess right on the tip of his tongue while his lips trembled in self-control to keep them to himself for now. According to the internet and its various articles, he should try to ‘woo’ you first, and hence these actions instead of confessing right away. He wondered if you got his message. He wondered if you could tell this was his version of flirting. However, Spencer also knew that he had accidentally portrayed himself as an extremely sweet friend from your perspective, so thoughtful actions with the aim of impressing you romantically were most likely ruled as platonic gestures. 

You began toying with the ring on your middle finger, the flattery from his sweet action manifested itself through the heat beneath your cheeks. For the first time in your almost three years of friendship with Spencer, you were struck by a minor nerve-wracking sensation. There was also a fleeting stutter in your chest that you decisively ignored.

You moved on with a quiet murmur.

“You know, humans owe squirrels a lot. They have planted at least thousands of trees.” You gave him a soft smile when his eyes met yours again. “It’s accidental, but no less a noble act contributing to the environment.”

“Yeah, they would bury nuts for later usage, but forget their locations. Many forgotten nuts can grow into trees, therefore, contributing to forest regeneration.” 

“Anddd another fun fact failure.” You groaned, though your expression melted into a smile when you heard Spencer chuckle at that. 

“We should head up. It’s getting late.”

You nodded in agreement and began walking, but looked back briefly at Spencer. “But it’s not too late for an episode of Doctor Who, right?”

An outstretched grin spread across Spencer’s face at your words.

“Never.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“No way.” You were speechless as you made way out of Spencer’s car, staring at the building in front of you in disbelief. “Don’t tell me…”

“Yeah, it’s for your favorite film,” Spencer confirmed your suspicion.

“So, it didn’t matter that I had lost, huh?”

Shortly after your Doctor Who convention together, Spencer had invited you to this event that was two and a half months after. Though he insisted on keeping the details a secret, relaying only the dress code—smart casual, but whatever you were most comfortable with.

The secretive factor of the whole ordeal had you guessing in suspense for the entire two months, but now that you were here, you fully understood why.

This was the event that you both would have gone to instead of the Doctor Who convention if you had won that game of cards.

An orchestra movie concert of your favourite movie.

Spencer sucked in a deep breath, fingers toying with the loose threads of his cardigan. There he went again, attempting to present to you that he was an option—the best one, at that—and giving signals that he was pursuing you. He has read at least five hundred online articles on the art of flirting in the past week alone. If Derek ever found his online searching history, Reid would never live it down.

“God, this is the best thing ever.” Seeing how pleased you were with his action made Spencer want to physically preen with pride.

Once you two had settled down inside, you took a couple of photos and observed your surroundings. You looked around at your neighboring audiences before averting your gaze to the empty chairs that were soon to be filled by instrumental experts. Your body was flooded with excitement at the prospect of finally being at this event. 

You decided to chime in with your daily fun fact just minutes before the concert was due to start.

“Did you know that there’s a planet that is ⅓ made of diamonds?” you whispered.

“55 Cancri e, right?” he matched your volume, shifting in the chair beside you to make himself comfortable.

“Yeah, that one,” you confirmed, turning your head back to him. “Go on, I know you have details on it.” You encouraged, shifting yourself into a comfortable position as well.

“55 Cancri e is a super-Earth exoplanet, approximately twice the size of Earth, though roughly eight times heavier in terms of mass. First sighted and discovered in 2004, scientists have found that it is a very hot and rocky planet with a molten lava ocean surface due to its incredibly close orbit to its star…”

You were leaning into your palm while listening to him, clinging onto every word as they absorbed into your brain. The space you left in between you both out of consideration for Spencer gradually lessened as he leaned in closer the more he talked. His tone, too, grew more quiet as he went on, as if the information he was telling you did not exist in some cyclopaedia, but a secret passed in full trust. 

The corners of your lips curled at the twinkle in Spencer’s eyes as he detailed out knowledge that previously sat in the corner of his brain, collecting dust.

Spencer’s intellectual rambling will always be one of your favorite things about him. You loved hearing him talk and the way he enunciated each syllable so clearly, as well as his wordings and his tonal patterns. You should have gotten used to it by now, but it marvelled you every single time that you had the chance to listen to him talk about things you would rely on an internet search to know. Just like usual, today was no different.

Spencer Reid was remarkable. It was almost impossible to take your eyes off him when he talked. He was a bundle of many things that made him an individual worth a lifetime of getting to know.

You wondered if you were looking at him a little bit too fondly right now. But how could you not when he was whispering sweet facts to you as if he only wanted you to know of it? It felt almost as if this fun fact challenge had turned into a sacred tradition between you two. 

“Even though it is widely said that the planet is ⅓ of diamond, this is actually still only a theory and yet to be proven. So, to dub it the Diamond Planet when they’re not even sure if there are diamonds on the planet itself is like…suspecting you are a quarter or half French and then introducing yourself as French to people anyway.”

Your laughter burst out unfiltered, and you instantly grounded yourself by clearing your throat and pulling yourself away from Spencer slightly, putting yourself on timeout.

That was kind of embarrassing. 

The joke was slightly funny, but nowhere close to warranting that kind of laughter.

It sort of reminded you of the videos you have seen on the internet about the kind of laugh that people would let out in reaction to their crush’s jok—

Oh.

You subtly slid deeper into your chair as thoughts shot in your mind at a hundred miles per second. Your fingers immediately curled into your palms to dig at it. You could not look back at Spencer in fear that he would notice that something was wrong. 

Oh God. 

But were you really surprised though? 

A part of you had seen it coming, because as much as you adore all your co-workers, you knew in the bottom of your heart that Spencer was the only one you were willing to lessen your sleeping hours to prolong hanging out and conversing with. Also, to be immune to such sweet actions, you would have to be some statue made of stone. For years now, Spencer had intently taken time to know you and go out of his way just to make you happy. If anything, you were grateful that your heart had picked someone so kind and worthy to give itself away to.

You glanced at Spencer from the corner of your eyes, and just the sight of him alone had your heart hiccupping in a way that you had become familiar with for the past month. It was the kind of stutter that you had outright been trying to ignore and written off as nothing. But unlike all the previous times, you knew you could no longer deny that man next to you was the reason for such palpitations.

And maybe it was also time to face it: you like Spencer Reid, your genius of a friend and very much also a profiler.

Your eyes snapped away from him the moment you realized the significance of playing it cool. You could not have him picking up the signs and figuring out that you have feelings for him. But then again, you have seen how clueless he was around women who were hitting on him and failing to pick up their signals. So, maybe he would not notice your current body language either.

Before you could think more on the matter, the lights dimmed and instruments began stringing together in a well-rehearsed manner. It was only then that you began breathing again, relieved that you had two hours to collect your thoughts and come to terms with the newly attained knowledge about yourself.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Alright, what’s the fun fact of today?” you heard Spencer’s voice before peering up and seeing him behind your chair, hands on the back of the furniture, looking down at you with a shy smile. The sight of his adorable expression made your cheeks heat up, and you had to avert your gaze to prevent him from spotting signs of your flustered state.

The other members just boarded the jet as well, settling into their own spots after a tiring case. You were much less the same, sporting the now more noticeable eye bags that matched Spencer’s. Yet, that does not deter his gaze from the warmth they hold.

You gestured to Spencer’s usual seat right next to you. Once he had settled down, you made your next move on his chessboard, resuming your current ongoing match with him. You could see the instant way the cogs in his brain started spinning. At that, you provided your fun fact of the day, hoping it would serve as a distraction.

“You know, I read that there are more possible variations of chess games than the number of atoms in the universe.”

“Yeah, it’s known as the Shannon number—the number of possible chess games, I mean, which is 10 to the power of 120. Meanwhile, the estimated number of atoms in the observable universe is 10 to the power of 80, to 10 to the power of 82.”

He made his move, catching your discreet yawn in the corner of his eyes.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” The weight behind your eyes turned them half-lidded. They landed on the chessboard, trying to formulate the next best move, but your brain refused to cooperate as a fog of sleepiness overclouded your judgments.

“You don’t have to play now, you know. We can just play next time.”

“No, no. Give me a second, I’ll make my move.”

“You’re tired.”

You slowly turned your head towards Spencer, and there it was again. You caught the concern leaking from his gaze, and it instantly reminded you just how caring Spencer was to those in his life and especially you. Your mouth formed a tired yet grateful smile at his expressed worry.

You felt sorry for those who have never had the opportunity to be the subject of his affections.

For a split second, you pondered the kind of doting that Spencer would do if he were pursuing someone romantically. You have never seen him express interest in any woman during your time at the BAU, despite the advances he has gotten from various good-looking women. But if he was already this sweet platonically, you were fairly certain your heart would give out at what he had in mind as romance.

Your shoulders finally slumped before a truthful sigh escaped from you. “Yeah.”

Unlike usual, where you would fall asleep and land on his shoulder while you were knocked out, he outright shifted to sit up straighter for you, offering his shoulder.

Spencer never admitted it out loud, but he had foolishly started wanting the friction of your skin against his or the fabric of his belongings. It was an impossible he thought would never occur, but here he was, anticipating the next rare moment of physical touch beside the one where his shoulder would become your pillow. 

Of course, he had noticed it—your lack of touch when it came to him. He was devastatingly aware of your mindfulness of his germaphobia, and Spencer was grateful, he really was. However, your reservation to accommodate his tendencies had begun feeling like deprivation. In fact, Spencer could count on one hand the amount of times you had ever touched him deliberately, with the last one being one hundred and sixty three days ago.

But it was that particular initiative factor that Spencer deeply yearned for. He craved and awaited for a touch made with purpose. 

He wanted you to mean it.

You stilled at such a small action, gaze stopping on his shoulder. You did not want to over-interpret such a simple movement, but knowing Spencer, there were implications and significance in that little offering. 

You knew it had become a recurring thing. As embarrassed as you were, you could not help the fact that you were the type to move around a lot in your sleep. You had tried using an airplane pillow, leaning against the wall, and so many other methods. However, most of the time, you would still wake up on Spencer’s shoulder before instantly jolting up and freeing him from the physical touch.

But the certainty on Spencer’s face left your rejection stuck in your throat.

Hesitantly, you began shifting closer, giving Spencer just enough time to retract the offer if he wanted to. But he stayed confidently still as your head started leaning down before finally landing on his shoulder.

One single small action had Spencer questioning how much longer he could go on like this. How much longer could he keep these feelings tightly locked and concealed? Because Spencer was utterly gone for you. Gone in the kind of way where one casual compliment from you about the cardigan he was wearing had him immediately putting the item into his clothing rotation a lot more frequently.

“I’m gonna get you some day, Spence…” Spencer watched as you drifted to sleep before closing his own eyes, all while he wished the flight back would last forever.

Unbeknownst to you both, the team exchanged knowing looks and discreet smiles at the sight they were witnessing. There had been nothing more obvious to them than this, but instead of intervening, they decided to let things play its course. 

Because, despite the uncertain nature surrounding the occurrence of events in life, this was the one thing everybody was sure was inevitable.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏

The jet finally arrived back at Quantico around 11pm. Spencer had finished his report a few minutes before you did, but lingered behind as usual to wait for you. About two weeks ago, he had established a new routine between you both. 

“Ready?” Spencer carefully peeled your bag from your hand, checking his watch to see that it was already past midnight, marking a new day.

“Yeah…” you breathed out tiredly, eager to collapse in bed. “More than ready.”

You like to think you have kept it cool well, in general. But Spencer’s new routine of walking you to your car after work had you a nail tip away from laying all your cards bare and revealing your feelings. Even on days when you finished your report first, he would walk you to your car before returning to the office. But the thing was:

Spencer Reid rarely ever drove to work, which meant he was going to the employee parking lot every day with you for no reason. 

Well, for no reason but you.

The elevator began making its descent from the sixth floor with both of you inside. You were listening carefully as Spencer discussed an academic paper he had read last night. The doors soon jerked open, revealing the fairly empty parking lot. At the sight of your car, you subtly began slowing down your steps, biting back a smile when you noticed him mirroring your change of pace. 

You observed as he animatedly gushed about the methodology of the research paper, paying particular attention to the tiny detail of his body language. The way his hands were passionately waving around, exaggerating certain points Spencer was trying to make. The flutter of his eyelashes as he blinked a bit faster than he usually would—a habit that often occurs when he speaks quickly, as you have learned. The smooth movements of his lips as his mouth tried to rush out words to match the pace of his incredibly brilliant brain.

Now that you were looking at his lips, you have to admit that it was kind of hard to look away.

Suddenly, an idea brewed in your mind, and it felt like the holy grail had finally landed in your lap. Who would have known that a random Thursday would be the day you ought to finally win this challenge and put Spencer in checkmate.

“Spence?” Your lips curled mischievously, observing the way Spencer halted in his steps at your tone. 

God, despite being subjected to harsh and unflattering parking lot lights, Spencer still had the audacity to look good in a way that tugged at your heartstrings. The sight had you questioning if he was capable of ever looking bad. His warm eyes colored with interest as he eagerly awaited your next words. You took a couple more steps forward, wanting to hide the plotting expression on your face. 

“Fun fact…” You paused before peering back at him. At those two words, you instantly caught the anticipation rolling off him. There was also a subtle confidence from him that signalled he was sure he already knew whatever you were planning to tell him. But you knew that this time, things would be different. 

With a competitive glint in your eyes, you finally divulged today’s fun fact, your voice calm and stable.

“I like you.”

Just as you predicted, Spencer froze while his mouth fell agape. No words fell out of those talkative lips, a stark contrast to how fast he was speaking a couple of seconds ago. You practically beamed in victory at such a reaction. You wanted to celebrate, you really did. But you decided not to gloat about your win yet. Instead, you prioritised the better option: teasing your friend.

“I recalled you mentioning once that kissing spreads fewer germs than shaking hands?” You winked playfully, expecting nothing from it. It was simply a joke to make Spencer flustered for your entertainment, and there was zero expectation that he would somehow miraculously confess that he had been secretly liking you too and would actually kiss you at your workplace’s parking lot at 1am.

Because there was no way Doctor Spencer Reid liked you, right?

You observed as his lips slowly curled up in amusement as your words sunk in, and that partially made your shoulders relaxed. Well, at least your joke landed, and your friendship would make it out intact despite your confession.

But then, out of nowhere, that closed-mouth smile stretched into a full-on grin before a chuckle of disbelief escaped from Spencer. 

Now, you were on alert. Instantly, you tried to read his reaction—was he in disbelief that he was finally stumped by a fact he had not yet known of? Was he amused by your clever trick of using your own feelings as a fun fact? But the elation on his face and the awestruck look in his eyes hardly aligned with someone who had just lost a long-term challenge.

Your lips parted as you continued assessing the man, but you caught the way his eyes flickered down at that small movement before he sucked in a deep breath.

Oh…?

Suspicion crept in, but confirmation came quicker.

In the blink of an eye, Spencer had completely eliminated the two steps between you both, sealing you two in a proximity that was closer than you had ever been with him. His palms found your face, and they cupped your cheeks in a careful yet certain way.

Spencer’s eyes darted all over your face, searching for all the clues that you were okay with what he had next in mind. He could see that your pupils were slightly dilated, as well as feel the way you were leaning into his touch and the heat that was transferring from your cheeks to his hands. Though it was only when you did not pull away and instead, had your tongue dart out to wet your lips, did Spencer kill the remaining space between your faces.

His lips slanted against yours in a desperate manner that outmatched his need for oxygen, kissing you like it was long overdue. He swallowed the gasp escaping your throat and the surprised noise that followed. There was an urgency he could not hide as his straining self-control snapped from your green light. 

You began kissing him back just a second or two after, and almost instantly, you heard a sigh of relief. Your lips curled, but any trace of smugness vanished when his thumb began rubbing your cheek fondly. Suddenly, you were aware of just how close you two were. Every point of contact was sending a searing heat through your body, because despite his fears of germs, Spencer was touching your skin like it was a need, rather than an obligation for moments like these. 

You pressed your lips harder against his.

Good lord, Spencer could do this forever. 

He might have been able to count the number of times you have touched him on one hand, but even with the whole team, there were not enough fingers to account for the number of times he had glanced at your lips this week alone.

Your own hands touched the sides of his waist, and you instantly caught the longing noise that escaped from Spencer’s throat, echoing onto your lips. At such an encouraging sound, you curled your hands to the back of his body and snaked them up his back. Your lips smirked against his at the way he arched into your touch. 

One hundred and sixty three days—Spencer reminded himself again, humming in utter satisfaction at the way those numbers spun down to zero. Finally, you were touching him on purpose and with purpose. He practically melted at the way your hands roamed so confidently without any trace of guilt that he was uncomfortable, because he was far from that.

In fact, he eagerly wanted to keep the number of days since the last time you touched him at zero permanently. 

You picked that precise moment to pull away, documenting the way his eyes fluttered open and dawned into existence the unadulterated glimmer of yearning in them. 

You have always thought he was gorgeous, but how he looked right then rendered the word inadequate. It was a vision exceeding all your daydreams, and to be the reason behind the look made you feel like you were an award winning fashion designer who had just invented a magnificent masterpiece. But unlike most, you had no intention of sharing this artwork with the world or with anybody else.

Spencer felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you again. Was it possible to miss someone so badly from not having a visual on them for approximately a minute? Maybe he was more screwed than he thought.

Breathlessly, he finally whispered the confession that he had long to say for a month.

“Despite all the facts I already know and have learnt during my whole entire life, you’re my favorite thing to study and know more about, and have been since you stepped into my life. Nothing I learnt after felt like it could outrank anything I learnt about you.” It was true.  Every speck of information about you gets the forefront of his memory’s line-up, taking priority over every other knowledge. Spencer licked his own lips for remnants of you before continuing, “You’re my favorite fun fact, you know that?”

Your heart tugged at his words. You had no idea how you managed to compete with the vast amount of interesting information that existed in the world, but under Spencer’s stare, you truly could see he meant every word.

“But…” The smile on your face instantly dropped at that single word from Spencer. Good rarely ever followed that three-letter conjunction.

“But?”

“I do have to admit that, uhm…” The familiar sheepish glint in his eyes had one of your eyebrows shooting up. “I kinda already know that fun fact already, that you liked me.” Your hands on him stilled their movement before falling onto your sides in disbelief.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” He resisted the urge to whine at the lack of physical touch from you. “But you looked shocked.”

“I was shocked you actually said it. I didn't think you’d do it today…or tomorrow…or maybe ever–” You slapped his arm, but he gladly welcomed that contact. Anything was better than nothing.

“I thought you’re like highly oblivious to romantic signals? I’ve seen you being completely clueless and not picking up on the fact that women were flirting with you.”

“I think I wasn’t clueless when it came to you because my eyes were always on you.” Those words came out shamelessly. In fact, Spencer almost sounded proud of himself. You tried not to let his words make you flustered.

“When did you figure it out?”

“That you like me? At the orchestra.”

“How? I barely figured it out myself that I liked you then.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Your huff drew a chuckle from him.

You finally peeled yourself completely away from Spencer, grabbing your bag from his hand before making your way to your car. As you unlocked the vehicle and swung the driver’s door open, you could hear his footsteps following. You crouched to lean into your car and place your bag onto the passenger seat. You could feel Spencer’s presence stopping just behind you, standing much closer than he had ever before tonight.

As you bent back up and leaned against your car, you didn't miss the way Spencer’s fingers twitched, giving away his urges for physical contact. You crossed your arms before tilting your head back teasingly.

“I’m still gonna get you someday.”

Spencer’s gaze melted to an even softer look than before at your declaration. There was a freeing component in his eyes, showcasing the joy from being able to openly look at you in the way he had really wanted to for a while. His voice lowered to a sweet, promising whisper.

“I’m counting on that.”

With that, Spencer leaned in again, wanting a second run of things before the two of you had to part ways for the night.

You grinned into the kiss and quickly wrapped your arms around him again. Quietly, your mind logged in today’s score. 

Day 187 status: unsuccessful. 

But it hardly matters when you think you’ve already won something a lot better.

link to: epilogue/bonus bit

・┈・┈・┈・┈・┈・

⟡ navigation ⭒ masterlist

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Ren Amamiya:

He knew about your little gaming adventure the moment you asked him if he could help install an emulator on your (frankly, dying) laptop.

He had to stare at the reddit post on how to download a game that hadn't even been released yet. He was a tiny bit confused, if you wanted the game that badly, then he wouldn't mind dropping a couple yen to buy it for you.

But then came the 'Switch 2' problem. And how lags would be less prominent if you buy a whole new console. So he was more than happy to pirate the game for you.

And after restless nights (it took him like, thirty minutes at best), he's filling his boredom by staring at you get whisked away in yet another cozy world-building game!

That was before he found that that the Tomodachi's don't really do much half the time. And the fact that you only have time to play quite late at night. Eventually he just leaves you to it, only checking in on your creativeness every once in a while.

About a week has passed, and you were once again laying on his bed. Your laptop in front of you on his mattress, and a controller in your hands.

And wow were you in the zone. Bubbly sound effects flooding the attic while he tinkers away in his workbench. The occasional robotic voice saying the most ridiculous thing would make him chuckle every once in a while.

An hour passed, maybe three. And he was finally done making the hundredth lock pick, setting it all down in one pile by the side. He turned his chair around, met with you laying on your stomach, flat on his bed. Your focused eyes staring intently at your screen. You haven't been talking at all within those three hours.

He let himself get a bit curious. Standing up and making his way towards you. You didn't even notice how close he was before you felt a heavy weight land right on top of you. The front of his body pressed right against your back.

Instinctively, you brought your hand up to his face, ruffling through his hair, you pulled away right when he started to lean into your touch. He's gone way too long without your attention, and it was making him a little bit hungry.

"You busy?" He murmured softly. Tired eyes shut, avoiding the brightness of your screen. You nodded lazily. "Super busy."

"Yeah?" He asked you, amused. Leaning his head further into the top of yours.

"Mhm." You nodded. He heard a few buttons being pressed again, before he felt a nudge on his cheek, opening his eyes to your finger poking his face.

"Look." You told him gently, voice showing to be just a little bit lethargic. "Look what I made." Though, the enthusiasm was still there. Much like a child wanting to show their friends their drawings.

His hands slid down to your hips. Squinting and trying his best to focus his gaze onto your screen. What he saw was absolutely adorable.

"Is that me?" He said as he saw the very cute version of him. His mii had a shiny whites in his eyes, and you drew his messy hair perfectly. A few strands coming out here and there. His glasses being the exact frame that he was using right now.

You nodded enthusiastically, admiring your creation.

"It's cute." He states, a smile already forming on his face.

"Cute?" You said in mock offence. "He is absolutely adorable!" You said defensively. "Look at him!" You pointed straight at him, who had suddenly stopped in the middle of the road to play with the maracas that you gifted him.

"He's.." a bit stupid, he fears. "I'm much better."

You rolled your eyes at him, "yeah but, I don't see you calling me 'the chosen one,' now do I?" You burst out laughing when you were met with his dumbfounded face.

You took an item from your inventory, grabbing the greatest looking item you could find. Before dropping it on his lap. "Okay, now watch."

And he did. He watched as that mini version of him danced around once again, jumping up and down while flowers flew out of his head. 'Wow! Thank you, The Chosen One.'

It was either the name he called you, or the funky robot voice that he put one. But Ren -- the real one-- started to burst out laughing. Dropping his head to the crook of your shoulder and smiling impossible wide.

"See." You said plainly. Giving his mii little head pats. "You should start calling me that if you want the attention I gave mini you."

"Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that." He started to tap on your screen, clawing at that stupidly cute guy. "And second of all, dear Chosen One.."

To which you smiled in a form of ego boosting. "I would not react that happily if someone gave me a box of tissues."

The both of you shared a laugh once again. "Then I guess I'll just have to replace you.

He laid his head back down on you. "Absolutely not."

═══════

Ryuji Sakamoto:

Have you ever read 'If you give a mouse a cookie'?

Well, if you give Ryuji the endless power of creating his own world where he's able to make anything, and make them say anything, and make them call you anything, and can name them anything. Then you can already guess where this went.

It's just chaos. Utter and complete chaos. You enjoy a little drama in your island, but dear god. Ryuji's file was just full and full of some next level soap opera bullshit.

"And then, Tung Tung started crushing on you after the both of you started talking about 'rizzing up the huzz.'"

It was concerning how he was still excited while talking about something so stupid. And just the fact that it was him talking about it, did make it a teensy bit funny.

"And I kept on telling you that talking to him was a horrible idea, but then you totally defied me! Which y'know, is totally whatever I guess because you have your own rights and you have the right to make your own decision--"

"-- and because my character is literally just a character." You cut him off. "And also, you made fucking tung tung sahur in your file, I don't think you have any right to complain."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Staring right at your screen.

"Hey.. you and I are dating in your island, right?"

You paused, trying your best to subtly hide your device from his eyesight. "Yep!"

Yeah, he knew you were lying. And you knew he knew, especially with that loud ass dramatic gasp that escaped him. Causing you to roll your eyes in annoyance.

"You're cheating on me now??" He slams his hand over his heart in disbelief.

"No!" You tried to stifle a laugh, "now why would I do that?? That's sooo ridiculous I would never!" You exclaimed theatrically. Hurriedly attempting to exit out of your game.

"Show me, then." He quirked an eyebrow at you. Both hands now on his hips as he looked at you suspectingly. Slowly making his way towards you. You scurry to exit the game entirely.

Ryuji looked like a spider in the corner of your room. Practically crawling towards you, eyes narrow and locked on your face. Your face that was very obviously stiffling a laugh.

"Oh nooo." You mumbled weakly. "I accidentally deleted it, whoo--"

Without warning, he jumped on top of you. Landing right on top of your torso. Scrambling to grab the console away from your arms.

"Hey!" Kicking your feet on the mattress, using all of your might to try and shove him off, but to no avail.

"Ya' can't even delete the file ya' dimwit." His grin impossibly wide on his face. Managing to grab it off of you. All while you remained laughing.

"What the hell!?" He yelled out the moment he saw your characters. "You're pullin' on my balls aren't ya??" He turns it towards you. "Gojo??"

By this point, you were already laughing hysterically.

"You married Gojo?"

"I didn't marry no one! These things have a mind of it's own!" You pointed at the game accusingly.

He scoffs in disbelief, "first you cheat on me in my island, and then you cheat on me in your island?? To Geto's boyfriend no less?" He shakes his head. "Love really is dead." He sighs.

You hit him on the chest. "Oh my god Ryuji, you're soooo dramatic." You say that, but you're having so much fun right now it's ridiculous.

"You know what." He unlocks your device, devilishly eyeing your island with that grin that told you how he was up to something. "I'm making you and him related."

"Nooo."

"Matter of fact, you're related to everyone except for me."

═══════

Yusuke Kitagawa:

You insisted that he play it with you. Telling him that the amount of creative freedom and customisation would make him explode in happiness.

However, he's not much of a fan when it comes to digital art.. especially on his barely put together laptop since you insisted that he shouldn't have to waste nine thousand yen on a whole new switch, and then spend a couple more yen on the actual game. .

And every time you asked, he shook his head. "I'll paint many, and many portraits of you, dear. Why would I need to draw you on a video game?"

Yet you persisted. Begging him to just play with you for ten minutes. And then he can continue to do whatever it was that he was doing (he was already drawing to begin with).

Finally, he reluctantly agrees. Clumsily using your trackpad and pressing a little bit too hard in the middle of the square.

"This is horrible!" He grumbled in annoyance. Moving his finger up, then down, then back up once again. "There's no blending in this, no cross shading or glazes-- how is this game so well-known amongst people our age?"

You found it adorable, really. Such a serious artistic boy was so serious about a silly little game. "Yusuke, it's famous because of the simple drawing mechanic."

You tapped on his shoulder, grabbing the controller from him and moving to your item inventory. "Look! I made pot gummies!"

He just stared at you.

"And then I made a pack of Marlboro's. And then a good can of beer. And then-- and I'm really proud of this one--" you spoke as you scrolled through the list. Yusuke only sighing in disbelief as you went on. "An ipad with Ao3 on it."

He began to stand up from his chair.

"Nonono." Grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him back down. "You are going to make something, and you are going to enjoy it." Pointing at him angrily.

He sighed once again. "It's no use to, I can easily bring in my canvases and paints and I'll make something so beautiful that it could never compare to that digitally made portraits."

You nodded along animatedly, "uh-huh, uh-huh. But what if I told you." Scrolling through the menu and clicking on the 'Residents' button. "You can draw people."

"But it's difficult to draw on this mouse-like thing." Pointing at your trackpad. A sad pout forming on your face.

"Well, lucky for you, I have a nice, new drawing tablet." Opening your drawer and pulling it out.

You watched as he merely stared at the screen. The typical and basic default mii staring back at him.

"So then.. I can draw anyone, yes?"

You nodded once again.

"Alright then," he turned his neck slowly towards you. "I will ask you to stay right beside me, if I want to embody your very essence towards this singular, small portrait."

═══════

Goro Akechi:

"Remind me what these things are for, again?" Akechi eyed down the fugly mii of him that you made. Cringing when he saw that mini version of him do a little dance that he would never do. "They aren't even accurate."

You rolled your eyes, "well duh. They're literally small tomodachi's, they're way too stupid to be accurate." You gave the mini Akechi a tuna fish.

The real Akechi's eyes widened, perhaps in frustration. "He's jumping up and down from a fish! That's nothing that I'll ever do." His hands landed on his hips angrily. Absolutely scowling at the blushing.. thing.. who had flowers floating around it's head.

"It's not even a type worth fawning over for god's sake!"

Snickering over his dramatic flair. "It's either that or you get a box of tissues."

"Do not refer to it as something that's on par with me." His head snapped to meet your eyes. Offence very clearly plastered on his face. "That thing is not me, it wishes that it was, but it's not."

"Hey now, he has a name, y'know." You moved your controller to click on him, dragging him to another avatar that looked a tad bit familiar. "Maybe this Akechi is a little bit nicer to Y/n." You emphasised by landing him down to that smaller version of you.

He rolled his eyes. "Ridiculous." He muttered. Moving his head away from your screen. "Such a meaningless game." He was truly about to make his way out. Truly.

But when he heard your giggles and feet kicking, he couldn't help but grow curious. Peeking a slither of his eye to catch a glimpse of what you were giggling to.

And of course, it was of a scene of mii Akechi confessing his love to mii you.

"Y/n. I would like to spend the remainder of my life with you!" The annoying, grating robot voice of little him was piercing through his skull.

"Oh, Akechi, I would love to spend the remainder of my life with you as well."

First off, your voice was a lot better than that. And second of all, his actual confession was a lot more romantic than whatever the hell that was. Could the mii set up a picnic on an apartment rooftop with fairy lights and a tent? Yeah, he didn't think so.

He scoffed at the image of mii him and mii you walking off together.

"Aren't we just so cute?" You gushed, showing him the screen from your hands.

"No." He answered bluntly, "we." Pointing at the space between the both of you. "Are much cuter."

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Searching your mind for something to say about how he was acting.

He noticed immediately. "You have something you need to say, I presume?"

"Babe.." you were on the verge of bursting out laughing. "Are you..." setting your controller down. "Jealous of my game?"

He stammered. "No! That's ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of the game I paid for." He raised his voice louder.

“I literally pirated this.”

“Well— I boguht you the controller.”

“It was like, second hand for 5,000 yen.”

An embarrassed flush creeping up his ears. "I'm leaving." He made his way to the door.

"Good bye." Shutting the door behind him as he left the room. With his cheeks heat up and all pink.

tglst

Have you ever downloaded any text file in Japanese but when you opened it, they're all garbled, undecipherable text? That's most likely because the original JP text is encoded using Shift JIS and your computer couldn't read it一as most non-Japanese device do.

Kyklos' line in Japanese is actually the result of an SJIS (old, deprecated) decoder trying to read a UTF-8 (modern) encoded string thus, it resulted in a garbled text. All you have to do is convert them back into the UTF-8 encoding and it will be readable. Here is the result, courtesy to Fujino-san:

English translation:

Guider: Oh, dear Master ......Can you hear my voice? I have brought you the Queen.

※ I translated 案内人 directly as it is but I'm not very sure if I capture the nuance right. "Guider" here is as in a navigator, an escort, the person who can guide you from one place to another.

Fujino-san had also confirmed that the displayed text on the English version is simply the result of trying to open an SJIS encoded text on a non-Japanese PC. So it's not the result of JP text → EN translation → garbled text, they're both actually encrypting the same Japanese text! Simply put:

JP → UTF-8 encoded text being opened as SJIS

EN → opening an SJIS encoded text on a computer outside Japan

Below is my personal thoughts regarding this revelation:

All this time we all thought that Kyklos is the last boss. That she is THE Big Bad and, in a way, MC's "goal". But now that we know she's basically just an escort and there's the existence of a "Master", this opened up to new possibilities. We used to wonder why would the Kyklos cursed MC in the first place and now we have a tiny bit of light to this. The Kyklos is working for someone else but... just who is this entity that the Kyklos refers to as her "Master"?

The way the shadows started clapping at MC's arrival, how the Kyklos spoke as if addressing a royalty... How is MC the "Queen"? Who (or perhaps "what") is supposed to be her subjects?

After recontextualizing the situation, I thought the cut off word is "She"一like when you capitalize the pronouns of higher/divine beings. But the cut off JP word is "シ" (shi, in Katakana) and I'm not sure if "Here stands She" is correct grammarly anyway so I think I was off base. Still, due to the capitalization in English, I'd like to think that it either stands for a name or perhaps a title.

To end this post, I'll bring up how Fujino-san pointed out that some of the compounds of the garbled text could form the word "Kusanagi" (highlighted below). It's probably just a coincidence一as Fujino-san admitted as well一but it's still quite an astonishing coincidence if true. Just as astonishing as how the date when MC were cursed is also the night of a new moon.

Studying alone with Noelle is what you’d consider a luxury these days. 

Every time you suggest something even remotely close to an after-school meetup, Berdly always weasels his way into the conversation. Whether it be by force or by Noelle’s kindness, he’s always invited. 

But you lucked out today; he had told you two, with absolute devastation, that he’d be busy volunteering at the library. You could just tell Noelle was about to suggest you both study there and wait for him to be done, but you quickly shut down the theoretical idea with an oh, how disappointing! We’ll miss you.

Eventually she had suggested her house as your home base, and it’s not that you were excited to go to her mansion, but you were excited to go to her mansion. She told you she doesn’t have people over as often anymore. It made you sympathetic because her outstanding hostess skills are being wasted. 

The mini-tour? The snack platter? The Christmas cheer? It was definitely your (and maybe an eight year old’s) dream hangout. 

You’re now planted on the couch in her room (couch? In her room?) while she sits on her bed, leaning on the wall to face you. 

“What’d you get for 6c?” You ask, barely peeking over the notebook situated in your lap.

“Uhm,” she pauses, skimming her answers. “78.2 Newtons?”

“After sig figs?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

You’ve been matching answers relatively well, with the exception of a few. It’s always just a small mistake, like punching the numbers into your calculator wrong or not copying the question info correctly. 

Deciding you deserve a break, you let your eyes wander. At first, you didn’t want to out of respect. You and Noelle also wanted to stay synced up with your pace to make it easier to compare. After an hour, you noticed that not only would Noelle be quietly (and patiently) waiting for you to finish, but you’d also feel pressured to be quicker and you’d make more mistakes. It wasn’t worth it, so you told her to continue onto the next one and you’d catch up eventually.

You did not. You’re not dumb, but she’s definitely smart.

You like her; she’s simple. Easy.

But now you just feel bad; you might as well be using her as an answer sheet.

Anyways, back on track. There’s something that stands out on her desk; a lone rock, stained with the pigment from dried algae. She doesn’t necessarily stand out as a neat freak, but it still confuses you why something so outside is very inside her room. 

“Where’d you get that?” You gesture to the stone, curiosity getting the better of you.

Her eyes follow your finger. “Oh, the rock? It’s just something– a friend got me.”

You’re feeling nosey. 

“Who?”

There’s a wavering, almost hesitant smile that grows on her face. “Susie.”

Susie… oh. Susie.

“The purple one?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” Noelle continues, despite not being prompted to. “She just… randomly came up to me at school and had it in her hand. Apparently, she found it at the beach with Kris and thought I’d like it, for some reason. Then, she proceeded to tell me she was going to throw it through my window to give it to me, but knew my mom would kill her for it. Which is weird, because I’m pretty sure she doesn’t care what my mom thinks.”

“She ‘thought you’d like it, for some reason’? But you obviously liked it enough to keep it,” you tease.

“Well, of course I kept it! But not because I– like rocks.” Her voice decreases to a murmur. “It’s because she gave it to me…”

You shake your head like a disappointed mother.

“I’m also pretty sure it was a joke. She laughed, like, right after.”

“Oh, wow,” you scoff jokingly. Her eyes widen, as if sensing what you’re about to say next. “I hate to break it to you. You’re down bad–”

Her smile explodes into an insane-looking grin.

“Okaywhatdidyougetfor6d?!”

“Noelle. You’re probably on 12. At least.”

“A-and? Maybe I want to check my earlier answers!”

“It’s also bold of you to assume I’ve even started d.”

She laughs, somehow willing away the rosy hue on her cheeks. She’s about to retort when you’re both interrupted by a knock on the door.

A knock? Her doorbell song is literally a Christmas jingle. It’s almost offensive that the unexpected visitor has chosen to ignore the doorbell. 

She scooches off her covers. “I’ll get it!”

You’re about to question why there’d be a possibility where you’d get the door, considering you don’t live here, but she’s already headed downstairs.

Her little click clacks from her hooves sound like heels. For some reason, it puts a smile on your face. 

You pretend to continue onto 6d while trying to eavesdrop. The front door opens, and you just make out the mumble of a name. You can’t actually tell what it was, though. Someone responds quickly and efficiently. Hm.

Noelle’s mom is far too commanding and, frankly, scary to have a voice so soft. You think you’d feel that iconic chill circle through the house, even if you’re on the second floor. You know Asgore occasionally helps out the mayor around the house, but he’s just… very loud. You know his friendly presence would cut through the walls. 

This must be someone you don’t know.

Noelle sounds hesitant, almost confused as she shuts the front door. But she sounds affirming, and something else opens and closes; it feels like it resonates in a different part of the house. Or maybe you’re hearing things.

The deer returns with a smile ever-present, but she notably closes her bedroom door behind her despite you being home alone. You grow skeptical.

“Everything alright?”

She hops back onto the bed, adjusting to get comfortable. “Yeah– it’s fine.”

You doodle a star in the corner of your page, waiting. Her lack of elaboration makes you raise an eyebrow.

“Who was it?” You pry.

“No one. I mean, it was someone, but they were just asking to… use something.”

Huh. She’s being awfully secretive about this.

“Okay,” you hum, hiding your interest.

You both fall back into your wordless rhythm of work, blurting out answers every few minutes or so. Eventually, the regret of chugging those water bottles Noelle gave you begins to surface.

“Can I use your washroom?”

“Yeah, it’s the door at the end of the hall.”

Your notebook becomes forgotten as you rise, stretching out your limbs for a much-needed break. Instinctually, you shut her door behind you.

The washroom trip was pretty uneventful, believe it or not. But, as you freeze at the top of the steps, your eyes gravitate to the snacks. They’re technically for you, right?

Tip-toeing downstairs, you round the couch and pop a cracker in your mouth. Maybe you’re starving, but this tastes ten times better than it did the first time. 

That’s when you hear it.

There’s… music. 

Someone’s playing that huge piano in Noelle’s dining room.

For some reason, your mind immediately thinks ghost. This house is haunted.

But honestly, you wouldn’t mind.

You feel lured to the kitchen door like a sailor to a siren’s call. Pressing your ear against the wood, you listen.

You’ve always loved piano. It was one of those hobbies you picked up when you were, like, six, and eventually pushed away from as you got older. There’s something so elegant about the sounds, the hand movements, the player. You’ve never seen someone play and not look like they’re being shined upon by angels.

This player, however, feels different. They seem confident despite the occasional pause or wrong note. They don’t get upset when they mess up, from what you can make out. They just keep playing.

Like they’re too engrossed to care.

Like this is more than music to them.

…

You need to stop analyzing random strangers.

Noelle’s definitely wondering if you died on the toilet. You should probably head back.

She doesn’t seem to suspect anything (not that you have anything to hide). You find her notebook sitting next to yours. She opens her mouth before you can question it. 

“I just finished the last question; if you wanted to look over my answers for me, check over any mistakes, that’d be great.”

You nod. You feel a bit hazy, for some reason.

“Are you alright? You, um, took a long time to get back.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh…” you trail off. “What’re you gonna work on?”

She’s already sifting through the files on her laptop. “I’ve got this group project in another class that I can start. Don’t worry, I’ll find something to do! Take your time.”

You plant yourself closer to the armrest. Only a minute or so passes until you’re fiddling with your pages, continuously skimming over the same problem over and over. Your leg’s bouncing, you’ve switched positions about three times, you–

“Who’s playing piano?” You find yourself blurting out.

“Who?–” She laughs nervously. “W-what do you mean?”

“I dunno,” you shrug despite being completely certain of yourself. “Thought I heard someone.”

You’re not exactly sure why she’s lying.

She gasps in faux realization. “Ohh! Yeahhh… haha. That– that’s Kris. Sometimes they just kinda… show up. And ask to play the piano. I– I usually wait for them to finish. Like, I won’t leave them down there alone– well, I do, but only because they don’t–”

“I’m not interrogating you, Noelle. I’m just wondering,” you giggle.

Noelle sighs in… relief. Her stress is stressing you out.

“Yeah, hehe. Sorry.”

You glance at the door. “Is that, uh, normal?”

She nods with an mhm, as if mooching off someone for their piano is normal.

“But do you, like… hang out? I don’t get it. Are they just here to play?”

“I mean, we used to. We’d play when we were younger. But then they’d see the piano, and kinda naturally drift to it. So I’d just listen to them play. From the other room–”

“‘Other room’?”

“Yeah,” she chuckles sheepishly. She doesn’t continue, so you don’t pry (despite really wanting to).

More time passes. You’re dying. Why? You have no clue. It takes ten minutes for you to finish off question six, and you’ve zoned out again.

Are they self-taught? Did their parents enroll them in piano lessons? You doubt it, considering how small this town is. They’re probably one of the only residents to know how to play.

Kris. That name is so familiar…

Oh, wait! That’s the human in your homeroom, right?

Kris… Dreemurr?

Uhh… that’s all you know. To be honest, you can’t remember where they sit. Or what they sound like. You only remember small parts of their appearance because they’re the only human you’ve ever seen. 

And now you know they play piano. Beautifully, at that.

Though, you find it hard for any piano player to sound horrible unless they intend to.

You pause mid-problem. Why’re you thinking so hard about this?

You’re a naturally curious (nosey) person; when you start to randomly dig into the life of a stranger, you always find something that irks you.

Maybe you need to find something that’ll make you lose interest. 

“Is it weird to go ask to listen to them?”

It’s been silent for the past few minutes; you can tell Noelle did not see that coming.

“I– I mean, you can try… but every time they’d catch me listening, they’d stop playing.”

Ooo. So they’re a bit closed-off. Are they insecure about their playing? Do they just not like the attention? 

Only one way to find out!

“Ehh, that’s alright. We’ll just be sneaky.”

Her eyes widen as a droplet of sweat glides down her temple. “We?”

It took zero convincing to drag her down with you. You just rose silently and gestured for her to follow. A grin spread across your face as her clacks followed en suite.

You almost hope you get caught. Maybe they’d snap on you (hopefully not Noelle) and you’d realize they aren’t worth digging into. No tear-jerking, mysterious past; no built-up walls or soft, deep insides. Just some angsty teenage douche.

The piano increases in volume as you both approach the kitchen. You watch Noelle out of the corner of your eye. She seems to grow more nervous and yet relieved at the same time.

You give her a stupid thumbs up as if you were on a stealth mission.

Hovering by the door, you feel a sense of deja vu when your ear meets the wood. Noelle appears to become lost in her own thoughts. She’s staring at you, but she’s not really looking at you.

You understand the feeling.

They’re playing a song you’ve never heard before.

…

You feel a pang of sadness. But it’s not yours.

You feel comfort. An easy comfort, but it’s not that nice. It feels like you’re being hugged right after a tragedy.

It’s… odd.

There’s a sigh to your left. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You can’t put into words how nice it is. Nice is just the start.

You close your eyes. Lean in just a tad more.

…

Your arm jolts the doorknob just slightly and the piano immediately stops.

Crap.

Your heart drops.

Noelle’s mouth cracks open, like she realizes your mistake, too.

You wanted to get caught, right? 

This is extremely incriminating!

Why’re you freaking the fuck out right now?

Your spying buddy has scurried from the door, seemingly ready to bolt. You’re about to scold her and accuse her of making more noise, seeing as the obvious best decision here is to hope they didn’t hear anything!

The ear pressed to the door presses harder. You’re trying to make out any signs of investigation; footsteps, murmurs, anything. 

But there’s nothing.

Are your ears clogged from the pulse echoing through them? Wow, your heart’s beating fast!

Or maybe they’re not moving.

Maybe they’ll start playing again.

Just the verdict of that possibility makes you a bit giddy–

The door swings open, uncaring of its hinges.

And the only thing you’ve been leaning on is ripped from you…

…as you stumble into a green sweater. 

You fix yourself almost immediately, but you can’t seem to make much distance when you’re pinned by their glare.

You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting, but this wasn’t really it. They look normal. A brown mess of hair, shaded eyes, a green sweater, and some pants. They actually look… oddly boring.

Maybe you were expecting Mozart. Yeah, that makes sense.

They don’t appear mad, per say. They have a really good poker face. Noelle, on the other hand–

“H-hi, Kris! We were– just grabbing a snack when we heard you playing and we thought it was lovely– and I know you don’t like when you have an audience and we weren’t trying to spy– actually spy is a very denouncing word–”

“It’s fine,” they say simply. 

Their voice is mumbly. Quiet. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but…

It makes sense why they’ve never caught your eye before. 

“We’re both sorry, right?” 

You realize she’s talking to you, now. She’s giving you the perfect opportunity to apologize.

When you keep your mouth shut, she squeaks your name.

You’re too busy trying to tear apart their face–

That sounds violent. You’re trying to watch carefully, for any slip in facade, any quirk of an eyebrow, twitch of the mouth, anything interesting. But you see nothing.

You’re hoping, if you don’t apologize, they might give you a demeaning look. You’re hoping they expect an apology; so when you don’t, their eyes will widen, just a miniscule amount.

But they don’t. As if they expect nothing.

No, no. That’s a good thing. If they react, that makes them intriguing. Well, not if they react in the stereotypical teenager way. Only if they do something you don’t expect. 

Which is hard, because you expect everything.

They’re playing a losing battle. However…

You stand your ground, trying not to cower under their blank gaze. You won’t be intimidated by random strangers. Right?

Right?!

They’re pretty much screaming: 

I’m just as uninteresting as I appear.

That’s the exact issue. They look boring, sound boring, are boring. But there’s just… something there. And you really want to know what it is.

But before you get that teenager reaction, they break eye contact first, stepping around you. “I’ll go.”

Noelle, afraid you’ve probably made an enemy, follows them to the door. “Hey! You don’t have to, we’ll just head back upstairs, and…”

But she can tell they’ve already made up their mind. 

This is good. No need for some high-tech investigation about this kid’s deep, inner core. They may not be like the average highschooler with angst and anger issues, but that’s great. They’re so uninteresting, it’s honestly worse.

…

And yet your brain continues to spiral. You just know there’s something.

You really shouldn’t.

Some weird fixation on some human is not what you need right now.

…

You’re shouting despite the lack of distance between you two.

“Wait.”

They turn, just slightly.

Your voice is cold, empty. You might even mistaken yourself for Noelle’s mother. 

“When you play, I feel like… I’m remembering a memory that doesn’t exist.”

…

And there it is.

Yeah, it’s covered in slight confusion, judging by the minute furrow in their eyebrow (the only emotion you’ve picked up by them thus far), but you can see it. In their eyes.

They know exactly what you mean.

That sort of… complicated emotion. They understand it.

And that’s not good.

It’s horrible.

~*•*~

Noelle texted them after their departure. It was as they expected; a million apologies on your behalf, as well as a few odd excuses from hers. They replied with a single thumbs up.

The streets are quiet, the haze of dusk spreading throughout the sky. They don’t spare a glance to the families having barbecues or those on walks. Their eyes are trained on the sidewalk as they head towards the water.

They don’t really feel like going home. 

It’s not like this is unusual for them; their mother won’t worry.

They pass the picnic tables, resting themself at the edge of the lake.

Besides, that– what was that?

You.

They’ve never been more confused.

They’re relatively observant. They know of you. They’ve seen you in the halls with a plethora of friends. But they just assumed you were another trying to get through high school relatively unscathed. Another popular cookie-cutter teenager.

But that… compliment? Can they even call it that?

They’re confused as to why they took it as such. 

They’ve never heard anything like it. Ever.

They’re not allergic to praise, or anything. They’ll still thank people for the admiration. But hearing the same you’re so talented over and over – especially when they’re not trying to impress anyone – can get old. Quick.

They do it for themself. And back then, their family and friends.

…

I feel like I’m remembering a memory that doesn’t exist.

That sort of off, tainted comfort. The type that doesn’t feel right. The type that makes them feel guilty. 

They thought they were the only ones that felt that way; that even understood what that feels like.

But, they’re not.

You feel that too. 

And that’s horrifying.

~*•*~

It’s like the universe is working against you.

Ever since you acknowledged that Kris exists, you’ve seen them everywhere. Around town, the school halls; Alphys even assigned you as partners for some random discussion thing. 

You’ve kept telling yourself to pay attention to the outer shell. Nothing to see there! If anything, they seem to actively dislike everyone! (Might be their RBF, though.)

And then you hear them laugh, and your brain starts to spiral into detective mode.

What’re they laughing about? What do they find funny? What did Susie say? Was it actually funny or are they just laughing because Susie said it? How much does Susie know about them? Do they let selective people into their psyche or can anyone break in? Would they let you, a stranger, learn more about them? Would they laugh at something you said?–

Okay. Maybe not that last one.

They’d definitely just push you away. Probably spit in your face.

No, they wouldn’t.

How do you know? You don’t know them! Nor do you want to know them! Right?

You’re in denial.

…

You think you’re going insane.

And to make matters worse, Alphys is calling your name. Hesitantly, of course.

She fiddles with her claws, keys nearly slipping to the floor. “I-I need to lock the d-door, and… you p-probably shouldn’t be in here. W-when it’s locked.”

You– what? You’re the only one left in the classroom. Is it time to leave already?

“N-no,” Alphys responds, and you realize you’ve been speaking your thoughts. “We’re going to the m-music room! Tori– I-I mean, miss Toriel had the idea to l-lead, er, teach music for today.”

“Oh,” you stare blankly.

“A-are you okay? Usually, Kris is t-the last one to l-leave…”

Just the name makes you go stiff.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

You’re thankful you’re hyperaware of your surroundings, as you’d rather not be wandering the school searching for an infrequently-occupied music room. You’ve seen some old, used instruments being transported to a specific hall. You can put two and two together.

There’s asynchronous music (if you can even call it that) being played through the walls. If that doesn’t scream music room, you’re not sure what does.

One peek into the room tells you everyone’s got no idea what they’re doing.

Jockington and Catti are fiddling with the electric guitars in the corner. Jockington is strumming the strings aggressively with his tail while Catti positions it upright, definitely doomscrolling on her phone.

Near the violins are Monster kid and Snowy. They’re both brushing the violin bow lightly against the lace, barely making a sound; almost as if they were nervous to break it. Temmie practices her singing into a microphone disconnected from any speaker.

Berdly is trying to impress Noelle with his (lack of) flute-playing skills, considering his beak leaves far too many holes for air to escape. She seems kindly uninterested.

Of course, your brain leaves Kris and Susie for last. Susie’s blowing as hard into her trumpet as possible, leaving an ear-piercing sound to echo through the already cramped space. Kris watches her with a light grin.

It’s a bit underwhelming; the room is relatively barren. A few corny music-themed posters are thrown up on the wall, but besides that, there’s nothing. 

You hear your name as you fully enter the room. “Which instrument would you like to try, dear?”

Someone’s talking to you. It’s Toriel; she stands adjacent to the door, watching the ‘blossoming talent’ with a gleam of motherly love. 

“Instrument?” You ask stupidly.

“Yes. This is music class, is it not?”

You honestly thought this was an excuse for Alphys to stop teaching for the day and goof off on her computer. Maybe both are possible.

“Uhh...”

To be honest, you’re not exactly thrilled about spending an hour messing with stuff you don’t know how to use, nor are you that interested in learning any.

Well, all but one.

Because of a certain player.

“Do you have a piano?”

She barely hides her shock. “Piano? I’m not too sure. There may be one in the classroom next door. It’s where we keep all the extra equipment, music or not. You can go ahead and check it, if you’d like.”

You huff out an okay and return to the hallway.

~*•*~

Is it bad they notice you leave?

They’ve been thinking about what you said. Maybe a little too hard. Maybe a little too much.

You probably didn’t even know what you were saying. They’re reading too far into it. 

They don’t read into anything. This feels so abnormal.

Susie’s honk snaps them back into reality. They both get a few annoyed looks. She raises an eyebrow, amused as hell. “You good, dude?”

They don’t get the chance to respond when their mother rests a hand on their fluffy hair. “Kris, you did not tell me someone in your class also plays piano!”

Susie gasps. “Oh, what?”

Yeah…

…what?

And, as fate would have it, your name slips from their mother’s mouth. She proceeds to explain how she could tell you held no interest in the instruments here, and wanted to find–

They didn’t think you played piano. Not that they know that much about you. But they’d think they’d know something like that. Or at least be able to assume it.

You’d looked at them like they’d done magic. Maybe you didn’t intend to look that mystically invested in them, but you did anyway.

Why would you seem so amazed if you could do it yourself?

“Kris?” They feel a nudge. They ignore it.

They’re on their feet before they realize it.

The door squeaks painfully as they throw it open, scanning the empty halls for that classroom filled with extra junk. Not you. You’re far too fascinating to be junk.

And they find it. The entrance has been left slightly agape, and they can barely make out a figure moving inside. It’s you.

They brainlessly push the door ajar just slightly, enough for them to slip inside. It’s only then that they realize you’ll notice the increased light shining in from the hall.

And you do. Their throat tightens.

You scan the room like a lighthouse. They watch your brow tense. 

They conceal themself behind some random crate of supplies before you spot them.

You’re quiet; unmoving.

Then, they hear footsteps. Extremely close to their hiding spot. 

Shit.

Your figure stands in front of the door. You tilt your head, just enough to glance out of the sliver. Then, you shut it fully.

That’s probably worse for them, actually.

Why’re they doing this, again?

You return to what you’ve been so invested in: an old keyboard, sheeted in dust. It’s not a piano, but…

They watch you run your fingers against the keys, not quite applying enough pressure to make a sound. Your pointer skids to a halt on a C. They think. It’s hard to see from here.

They can hear your breath in. You press. It makes no noise besides the rustic clack from the force itself.

“What?” You mumble, sorta pissed. You rapidly hit the note a few more times before letting out an exasperated sigh. Their lip starts to turn up–

–and they immediately run a hand over their mouth to force it back down.

Then, you spot something. A cord not plugged in. 

They allow themself the grace of looking away to wipe the sweat from their hairline. This is way too stressful. They just wanted to see if you knew how to play. For some reason.

After inserting the cord, you repeat your previous motion. The C key. It works. 

You laugh in disbelief. 

Although they usually hate their classmates who talk to themselves, they wish you did. It’s really hard to read what you’re thinking.

You experimentally play some random keys, one after the other. Two D’s, an E, F#, two G’s, G#...

Your other hand lays thoughtfully on your chin, as if you were memorizing something.

You play a note confidently. Then, another. More hesitantly. Then another, and another, and another. You start over, again and again. Starting with the same note every time. 

Or maybe… remembering something.

You get more confident as you play. But they’re not paying attention to you anymore. They’re listening to the song.

It’s so familiar.

It… almost sounds like–

It hits them like a semi. But instead of blacking out, they’ve flown above the road, ricocheting off of other cars.

They flush. Hard.

They feel warmer than they’ve ever felt before.

…

That’s the song you caught them playing at Noelle’s. 

They duck back behind the crate, running a shaky hand through their hair.

You remember the song. Why do you remember it?

You’re also really good at playing by ear.

When you mess up, you let out a little ugh. You’re only playing the melody, but it’s still… more than they expected. And you’re getting better; faster.

They don’t know how long they sit there, concentrating on the song. Playing the notes in their head before you play them. Letting out a huff of amusement when you groan. 

You start from the beginning. Multiple times. You perform it, continuously. They can almost hear your thoughts when you’re debating which note comes next. They don’t blame you; everyone’s memory is faulty at times. 

They want to come out of hiding, tell you which note to play. Show you. Hum the tune in your ear; see if you can guess it. When you don’t, they’ll guide your hand with their own–

Their breath hitches. 

You stop, fingers hovering on the next key.

God fucking damnit.

You heard them.

“Hello?” You call out. You’re not scared, you’re skeptical.

That is ten times worse.

Apparently hearing someone search for them is much more stressful the second time.

The squeaky tiles are trying to warn them of what will be the most awkward moment of their life. They better have the best excuse to ever exist to get out of this; something that would work on the most narcissistic person on the planet.

And then, their non-existent prayers were answered. They hear you stumble over something. A wire, toys, doesn’t matter. It takes them a millisecond to lock eyes with your head, currently trained on the floor.

That’s their ticket.

They bolt. They’ve never swung a door open faster in their life. They’re just hoping you’re too busy detangling yourself from whatever to take one eyeful of their neon-green sweater. 

Damn, they should just wear full black from now on.

~*•*~

You can’t get that poison virus of a song out of your head. You hear it everywhere you go. And, of course, that means you think of Kris wherever you go. 

Just hearing it ring in your mind makes you depressed. Manic. Longing. Curious. Did they write it? How’d they come up with it?

You want to ask them. Ask them everything about them. Screw being a normal, functioning being. You’ve never been so nosey ever.

So you give into your weird impulse; you somehow convince Noelle to text you when Kris comes over. No context given. 

With no texts related to such for days, you’re beginning to think she ignored your request (and maybe blocked your number while she’s at it). But your phone buzzed with a specific ringtone you may or may not have set for Noelle for this exact moment. 

They’re here.

A pause.

If you wanna come.

You’re there within the minute.

Noelle greets you at the door, graced with a weirdly-knowing look. “I don’t blame you for liking their piano playing, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You definitely are not. You’ve given up hiding your fascination (not that you were really hiding it to begin with).

“Yeah, I wish it was just that,” you mumble under your breath. She doesn’t catch it. Or she does, but doesn’t comment on it.

You’ve never been to Noelle’s house so many times in a month. And yet here you are, sitting on her cold floor like a loser, just outside of the kitchen. The kitchen door’s been left open; they’re already playing.

You’re entranced. Once again.

This one’s a lot happier. Faster paced, higher pitch. You don’t mind; you’re happy to listen to anything they play.

Right. You also plan on hardcore interrogating them. 

You rest your chin on your knees, hugging your legs closer to you. Yeah, that doesn’t seem as morally sound now that you’re sitting here.

You don’t realize you sighed until their song slows til it stops.

Seriously? 

Are you really about to get caught again?

…

But they don’t lift from the piano bench.

At least, you don’t hear them do so. But you’ve given up on your senses when trying to detect them. 

Instead, they start a new song. 

That song.

Your favourite song. 

Since when was it your favourite? 

You’re not sure, but you can’t help but close your eyes; a faint smile paints your lips. 

And there’s that feeling again. You haven’t been able to fully recreate it since you felt it the first time. You’ve tried to replicate the song, but you can’t get the notes perfect. It ruins it for you. But when they play it?

It’s like death decided to sing you a lullaby. You love it, but you shouldn’t.

Hours could’ve passed; you wouldn’t have noticed.

They play the song. Over and over. 

You let it consume you. Every time.

And you push down that nagging feeling of why every time.

Why do you feel this way? Why can they make you feel this way? Why do they keep playing it? Why do you feel their eyes on you?

The why’s don’t feel as important when you’ve got the answer ringing through your skull.

It may not be the answer you’re looking for, but it’s an answer you’re content with. 

~*•*~

They’ve never felt so giddy before. It’s like all their senses have been heightened to detect you.

The way your fingers rake against the ground, the way you sigh blissfully, the way they can blatantly hear you humming along with their song.

They wonder if you’re smiling. They want to watch you smile. They want to make you smile.

They maneuver their hands automatically, pressing each key like it’s muscle memory.

It takes two hours, but they take note of the front door opening and closing. You must’ve left. 

They play one more song to not seem suspicious and proceed to get up, heading out.

Noelle still sits on the couch, head whipping to face them at the sound of their departure. “You’re leaving?”

They nod. “Who was over?” 

They ask. Just to see if she’ll say.

And she does. She mumbles your name mindlessly. She recognizes her mistake immediately afterwards, zipping her lips tight.

“Why?”

Not even they know. And they doubt you do either.

She plays with a strand of her hair. “Ohh, b-because… she needed help. With homework.”

They don’t bother pushing. They already know she’s covering for you. 

They offer her a goodbye, slipping their hands in their pockets. They still don’t understand. They usually hate audiences. Why’re you any different?

Because it’s more than just a nice tune to you?

They stiffen. Speaking of you, you’re standing at the end of the driveway, just beyond the gate. You’re holding down a button on the side of your phone. Then, you lift your speaker to your ear.

Their song plays. Albeit slightly muffled, it’s there.

Their neck is warm to the touch.

You recorded it.

~*•*~

It takes a few more days, but Noelle texts again. You’re slightly more urgent this time, digging through your desk to find a certain small bundle of paper stapled together. 

You really hope you don’t get flat-out rejected. Actually, maybe that’ll turn you off of them. The embarrassment may steer you away forever. Maybe you want to get rejected! Then, this whole weird infatuation with piano and this human might end. 

You swallow the single voice of thousands in your head that speaks the truth you deny: you want them to say yes.

You run, maybe sprint, hoping to catch them despite Noelle’s text coming through five minutes ago.

Hiding the paper behind you, you greet Noelle civilly. She can definitely tell how flushed and out of breath you are, but she doesn’t comment. You appreciate that. You don’t need to hear what you objectively feel.

Making a beeline towards the kitchen, you halt. They’re just finishing up a song that you totally recognize oh god you remember their rotation of songs–

Okay. Don’t overthink it. Just ask like a normal person.

One glance to Noelle makes her quirk her head in confusion. You don’t hear the muffled yelp she lets out when you head face first into the shark’s den (the kitchen).

Kris immediately notices you, and your heart flutters. You scold your body for being so stereotypically corny. You watch their hands clench as they drift above the keys, returning to their side.

“Hi. Again,” you smile courteously, halting by their side. You can’t believe how confident you sound. Although, you probably look like you’re giving a presentation. Maybe a bit too sure of yourself.

“Hey.”

And your confidence immediately goes down the drain as they stand. Maybe you felt the height difference of them on their ass made you feel in charge of the conversation. Maybe it vanishes when you’re both eye-level. Maybe they’re still staring through your soul!

They gesture to the piano. “Did you…?”

You snap into reality. 

Oh, no no no. You’re not letting this opportunity slip.

“No, no. I actually–” you clear your throat. Your cheeks burn. “–wanted you. To try this.”

You whip the papers from behind your back, trying to ignore the crinkled spot from where your hand was squeezing. You force yourself to loosen your grip.

One glance to the sheet music makes their face flare.

You’re not entirely sure why, but you don’t care. You’ve never seen their eyes so expressive before.

A hand snatches the bundle (maybe a bit too aggressively) while the other glides its knuckles along their cheek, definitely attempting to will the colour away by force.

You hold back a snort. That is adorable.

“It’s one of my favourite songs,” you explain. “I’ve always wanted to hear it in a piano rendition but I don’t think it’s popular enough to warrant one. And I think you’ll be able to play it because you’re skilled, but that’s besides the point.”

Their lip shakily turns upwards as they seat themselves, skimming the notes like they’re on auto pilot. There’s still a faint tinge to their nose when they realize you’re still standing awkwardly beside them. They gaze at you expectantly.

“Oh, do you want me to?–” You jab a thumb at the door.

Their eyes widen, just slightly. As if that was the most offensive thing you could’ve asked.

…

And they pat the spot beside them.

“Sit,” they offer.

You quiver. Quiver. 

Now, that wouldn’t be unusual for someone playing a piece you suggested. It’s of your request, after all. 

But this is Kris. You know they don’t want eyes on them! Noelle, their childhood friend (which you can’t believe you didn’t know until recently), would make them flat out stop playing if they knew she was listening. 

And they’re just offering you a front row seat?

You wipe your drenched palms on your clothes. “Okay,” you shakily exhale.

The bench is small, but you make it work. Make it work means you’re hyper-focused on ensuring there’s at least an inch between your shoulders.

You’re too distracted to watch them position their hands over the white keys.

Then, they play the first note. And the next. Yeah, that’s how music works.

But their fingers. They’re so… graceful.

You realize how amazing they are at sight reading.

They take it slower, but they never lose a set tempo. They barely make any mistakes, barely pause, barely struggle.

Sometimes they have to reach over your lap to hit the lower notes. You change your mind; you want them to brush you. You want to feel their skin against yours.

…

The thought makes you hot.

When you finish thirsting like a dehydrated hyena, you find yourself closing your eyes. You love this song; it’s one that you never get sick of, no matter how many times you play it. 

But there’s something… off.

Maybe it’s the piano. Maybe it’s Kris.

But you don’t feel the usual rush of warmth that comes from this song.

No, if anything…

You feel nothing.

Like your family’s celebrating your birthday without you.

Like you wake up in a place you do not recognize.

Like you’ve just made a decision that’ll change your life forever. For the better, and the worse.

…

Is it bad that you like the feeling?

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

You like new.

You like Kris.

You like how they make you feel.

You really like it.

You’re humming the song, you realize. They become rigid beside you, slowing down. They’re watching you. You can feel it. They’re trying to be conspicuous, but you can tell.

“Don’t slow down on me now, Kris,” you tease. 

They let out a huff, almost a laugh. You shiver from the sound.

You absorb each note, ingraining the feeling into your soul. They’re still playing, but you can’t stop yourself from asking. Not out of a curiosity for why, but a curiosity for Kris.

“How do you make it sound like that?”

Each press of the keys becomes softer; notes quieting but not quite halting. “Like what?”

“Like we really are just some tiny speck in this stupid universe. It’s not just a phrase dumb adults tell you to calm you down.”

A pause. 

“I don’t know,” they respond honestly.

“Really? I’ve listened to, like, hundreds of composers. I’ve never heard anyone who…”

They’re studying you like they’re screaming for you to keep going.

And you do; you’ve rambled on about worse things. 

“–who, I don’t know, sounds so real. They all feel so practiced, perfect, performative. Not that you aren’t any of those things, but… y’know. You feel right, I guess. Raw. Like I can taste every emotion you put into your playing, rehearsed or not. Your songs or not. Happy or not. I can see it, y’know? I…”

That phrase. The one you told them, when you first met. That describes it perfectly. 

Damn it, what was it?–

“You feel like you’re remembering a memory that doesn’t exist?”

…

“You remember it?” You find yourself asking.

Confidence from who knows where plasters over their face. “Best comment I’ve ever received.”

You laugh nervously, shoving their shoulder like an old friend. “It was a compliment, believe it or not. It’s definitely kinda weird, but–”

There’s a pang of sincerity in their voice.

“Don’t worry. I took it as one.”

~*•*~

They hate to admit they’ve been finding themselves at Noelle’s doorstep more and more lately.

Somehow, you always know when they’re over. And you always approach them at the piano, no matter what. They can hear Noelle questioning what you’ve done to earn an audience spot beside them. But to be fair, they don’t really know what you did either.

You just… understand them.

To be honest, you barely talk when you’re together. You just sit and listen. You don’t pry. That’s normal; that’s what they’ve come to expect from most.

It doesn’t matter that you’re not really getting to know them as you hang out. You’re still open, gaining more confidence the more you see each other. 

But afterwards, you’ll tell them something. A metaphor, of sorts.

It’s become a game.

A game with a very gloomy, depressing meaning.

But they still enjoy it. Still enjoy you.

You’ll say something like:

“It feels like dancing in the ruins of a home I helped build.”

You’ll gasp it like a poet; exaggerated for dramatic effect. 

And they’ll chuckle, softly. You’ll laugh. But their mind always wanders to a different thought, like:

I wonder what dancing with you would feel like.

And it keeps going.

“It’s like laughing in a dream I don’t deserve to have.”

Your laughter is like a dream.

“This is what sunlight during a funeral creates.”

Your presence feels like a ray of sunshine.

“A sweetness with a bitter after taste.”

I wonder what you taste like.

Oh, god. 

Their eyes shoot out of their head. They blame the heat for the way fire spikes up their neck. 

…

They take a deep breath out.

Noelle’s not home right now, probably in the library with Nerdly. That wouldn’t be an issue, if they didn’t have an itch to play right now.

They’ve been playing more, they’ve noticed. In general. Not just because of you.

So they’ve arrived at the hospital. It’s the only one in town that’s free to play whenever. But when they push past the doors, they see–

You.

Despite the lack of receptionist at the moment, you still seem to be hyperaware of your surroundings, pressing the keys with a distinct gentleness they’ve never seen from you. You’re trying not to disturb the patients, not knowing they can’t hear you from here.

That’s… really cute.

You’re playing a few notes, pausing every few seconds to listen to something on your phone.

Oh. 

You’re playing their song. You’re listening to the recording of them.

It’s just as heart clenching the second time. 

They wait for you to continue playing before shutting the door as quietly as possible. You don’t peek over.

An evil grin spawns on their face step after step.

Step after step.

If they were about to kidnap you, you’d be screwed. It’s odd, considering they know you’re very observant. You must be extremely invested in their song. The idea makes their pulse quicken.

“Boo.” 

A quick slap on both shoulders makes you scream, dropping your phone.

They snicker as you clench your heart. “Kris! Holy shit, oh my god.”

You groan in embarrassment as they pick up your phone. Your hands brush and they hate how much it affects them.

“What’re you listening to?” They ask as monotonously as possible, really hoping to fluster you.

However, your eyes sparkle guiltily.

“You.”

“W-what?”

They curse themselves for stuttering.

You shrug nonchalantly. “I may or may not have recorded you playing at some point. But it’s alright, because it’s my favourite song that you play. That totally makes it okay.”

They try to spit out a retort, but they’re so hot and bothered. 

You just admitted it?

“What?” Your hand wraps around their wrist. “I’m man enough to say it!”

They’re yanked to sit next to you, flushed to your side. And if things weren’t bad enough, they feel your hand slither around their back, resting on their hip.

They let out an urgh as you squeeze. They couldn’t get any redder if they tried.

You smirk. “Are you ticklish, Dreemurr?”

“No–” they stammer. “I…”

They can’t bring themselves to finish explaining. You’re gazing through their soul.

Really hoping it’s because you’re in a weird position and not because you see how much you’re viscerally affecting them, you shift your hand to their shoulder with a cough. “Anyways, wanna help me out? You’re the expert, after all.”

They’re really glad you asked. They shift the arm around them to rest on the piano inconspicuously–

–and almost immediately regret your absence of warmth.

But, with something more familiar, their composure returns. “What do you know?”

You attempt to play through the first verse, hands a bit clumsy and uncoordinated. You’re not truly a piano player, so they don’t blame you.

There’s a specific part that makes you relinquish. “I just– can’t get to those notes fast enough.”

“Here,” they adjust your wrist slightly. “You’re too far, that’s why.”

You lay your fingers on random notes. “Here?”

“No, here–” they guide each finger, nearly interlocking with your own. They can just barely see your grin grow.

You twitch a finger to brush against theirs. They hope you can’t feel how hot their palms are.

“Take this seriously,” they try to say sternly, but it comes out as a laugh.

“I am, teacher!”

“I won’t teach you if you–”

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

You replay the first verse again. You’re a lot faster; smoother with the transition between notes. They’re proud.

“Wow, that actually worked.”

“You thought it wouldn’t?”

You shrug sheepishly. Stretching your arms above your head, you eye them curiously. “Any new songs you got for me?”

They embody the most emotionless expression they can muster. “There’s one.”

You watch expectantly. The smile never fades from your lips.

Their hands hover above the piano like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

…

They play the song they wrote for you. But you don’t need to know that.

There’s a repeating verse that you hum along to. You really are amazing at playing by ear.

At some point, you lean on their shoulder. They don’t mind. Of course they don’t mind.

…

Midway through, you break the silence. “What’s this one called?”

They’re paralyzed. 

You’ve never asked for song names. Why now? Why this song?

As if sensing their hesitance, you roll your eyes. “C’mon. By now, we’ve pretty much admitted we’ve both spied on each other before. This can’t be as incriminating–”

They choke. “‘Both’?”

You pause.

“I can’t tell if you’re asking if I’ve done it, or if I know you’ve done it.”

“Both,” they repeat.

“Well,” you gesture to your phone; the recording. That answers the first one. “And I know you were watching me in the music room.”

They stop completely. “I–”

You hold a single finger to their lips. “It’s the sweater. Caught the end of it on your way out.”

This damn sweater.

“So tell me.”

They’re already lost, pricking your finger from their face. “Tell you what?”

“The name of the song.”

They pause. “No.”

“That’s the name?”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it.”

Why can’t they will themself to lie to you?!

You’re insistent. “So what’s the name?”

“You’ll live without it.”

“No, I won’t. Tell me. Please?”

It’s like you already know and you just want to hear them say it.

You wait patiently.

And they cave. They mumble your name.

“Yeah?”

…

“That’s the name.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

They repeat your name. 

Their shame morphs into amusement as you shield your face, mumbling oh my god’s over and over again.

~*•*~

You’ve realized you’ve never been more happy without Kris by your side. Even if the thought makes you cringe hard. So what? 

You laugh together. You’re depressed together. You zone out together. It’s odd how much you used to do alone. Now, you can’t imagine a world where Kris doesn’t sneak through your bedroom window and sit on the edge of your bed until you wake up.

They’ve told you how self-indulgent you make them feel. Like you’re something they shouldn’t be around. That things are maybe so good that they feel bad.

You don’t really care if you make them feel guilty. All you care about is if any of this feels wrong.

And so you asked them.

They told you they’ve never felt more right.

~*•*~

But you don’t know what changed. 

Something’s wrong.

You haven’t seen Kris in days.

At first, you thought it was a you thing, selfishly enough. Maybe you did something wrong. 

But it isn’t.

You’ve realized, throughout everything, you never got their number. You know where they live, but after hearing that Toriel’s been signing them out day after day, you didn’t want to intrude. 

It’s not like you need them to be sparkly shining everyday. You just want to make sure they’re okay.

You don’t like how empty your days feel.

~*•*~

It takes another week, but you find them.

For some reason, your nerves spike at the thought of talking to them. You’re not sure why.

It’s like everything’s reset; everyone’s reset. But not you. You’re still the same. 

They’ve been scouring the town, conversing with everyone they’ve come across. An egotistical part of you wants to believe they’re looking for you. But there’s something off.

This doesn’t feel right.

You’ve never seen them talk to so many townsfolk before. Nor do you think they’d ever willingly do so.

So, you revert to your old self. You investigate.

You follow them from a distance, certainly making eye contact multiple times. But they don’t seem to care. It’s like they don’t recognize you. Your mind fogs over.

They head into the hospital. You’re not far behind.

The hopeful part of you lights up when they beam straight for the piano.

Okay. Keep it lighthearted and casual.

Just naturally ask them where the hell they’ve been.

Just–

You’re about to tap them on the shoulder when–

Plink!

…

They just…

…mashed the keys.

…

You barely realize they’ve turned to face you. They don’t seem surprised to see you, either. 

Like they knew you were behind them.

“K-Kris?”

They don’t respond. It’s like they’re a husk of their former self.

Their eyes, however, paint a picture. 

A horrifying picture. They look like they’re screaming for help; clawing at chains– no, strings.

And just as soon as they came, they’re gone. 

…

What was that?

…

You stare at the piano, brushing your fingers on the random keys they played. 

Is it weird to feel as though their talent was ripped from their hands?

…

Or maybe–

Maybe it’s something else.

Someone else. 

~~~

AND ITS OVER !!! ok ill be dead honest with u guys, im not FULLY happy with this one. i kept getting stuck and remotivated over and over (was even thinking about scraping the whole thing at some point but i wanted smt to show for the past few days) BUT i finally finished it !!! i really hope u guys enjoy it even if its not up to my standard sob

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.

~~~

OK THATS IT I hope the side characters werent too obnoxious LMAO i usually dont loveee when stories add 50 OCs so i tried to make them very side-character-esque (no true screentime lol) also cosmo wanda and timmy were a ref to me and 2 friends who dressed as the three in middle school for halloween

AND GUYS why is there no art of kris in fancy suits I LITERALLY SCOWERED THE INTERNET FOR SOMETHING AND EVEN PINTEREST HAD NOTHING GOOD (maybe im blind) SO YKNOW DO UR GIRL A FAVOUR AND HOOK HER UP W SOME KRIS SUIT PICS OR EVEN JUST KRIS IN EYESHADOW HAHA I NEED IT

You had a lot of fun spending the day with him, even if he did annihilate you at pool. These days, it was rare to be able to spend time with him because he was always busy with tennis or schoolwork, preparing for high school. You understood this, of course, so you took full advantage of these rare opportunities that you got with him.

You glanced over at him, watching the wind lightly ruffling his brown locks. A smile sat on his face for no reason at all, but it just made him more attractive, in your opinion. You bit your lip as your hand brushed against his own, so light that you wondered if he had even felt it. You wanted to hold his hand but you didn’t want to cross the line or make things awkward between you, so it was easy to resist the urge to just grab his hand. He did notice though, sending you a curious look. You turned your head away quickly, feeling your cheeks heating up.

To your surprise, he slid his hand into yours, lacing his fingers through your own before bringing your hand up so he could press a soft kiss to your skin. Despite the heat of your face, you couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at your lips which he returned, his cerulean eyes shining with warmth and love as they met yours.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

Morgana:

He was as surprised as he was absolutely determined to steal your heart. He'll be keeping an eye on you in-person for any changes in mood or behavior and report it back to the group. If you yourself are a phantom thief, meetings will be organized without your knowledge and the Phantom Thieves will conduct a web of lies to keep you in the dark. He is strategic, cunning, and genuinely worried for your well-being.

Ann:

She was initially confused, why would you have a palace of all people? You're far too great of a person! Unless... it was all a front? Now, now she's scared. She wants to cry, but similar to Akira, she puts on her bravest face and explores the palace to steal your heart. She wants to see the good in you, she wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, she wants to make you confess, and she will do everything in her power to make sure you atone and/or confess while still keeping you safe. You are still her best friend/lover, but don't take her love for weakness or you'll pay it. After all, the beautiful rose has thorns.

Yusuke:

He stood there, mouth agape at the sight of your distortions. He could paint a portrait of your hopes, your dreams, your beauty as a person, but this... he couldn't even begin to sketch just what the hell was going on in your mind behind that sweet face of yours. He has been wronged before when he was Madarame's pupil, and he wears his heart beneath layers upon layers of armor. He has no one. He lost his mother, his father is out of the picture, his father figure saw him as a commodity, and now you.... he prays to whatever god exists--if there even if one--to spare him yet another cruel joke to be played upon him once more.

Makoto:

She has seen it before with her sister, and she can't possibly bare to see it again. Makoto, the "Fists of Justice," one of the cooler, calm, level-headed members of the Phantom Thieves, would ironically be one of the most biased and irrational people in this situation. Even when she sees your shadow, or Heaven's forbid cognitive clones of her or anyone else, she will still stand there and try so hard to reason with the team or defend you. In the real world, she would try to get you to open up, insinuating that if you ever need anything, you could talk to her or anyone else in the group. Surely, you must be innocent. You just have to be! If not... well, justice will prevail. Especially if it's the Phantom Thieves.

Futaba:

She's on edge, slurping away instant noodles in the real world or eating Sakura's curry while eyeing you from afar and typing away to the other members. In the palace, she will analyze every little thing to connect it back to you, she will study every shadow, and she will do everything to help you while still maintaining the code of the team. Since she had a palace before, she is one of the more empathetic members of the team in regard to you. Despite her sympathy, since she can't truly grasp your cognition, just your circumstances, she will still fight for justice even if it means putting you in jail if necessary.

Haru:

After everything with her father, she believes that anyone is capable of being evil.... including you. As much as it pains her to think it, she knows in her heart that you're only human. Humans are greedy, lustful, sadistic, cruel, and depraved creatures. You are just as capable of being awful as she and everyone else she knows is. She is far too passive to address this to you in-person, but she might send a text asking if everything has been okay. Similar to Morgana and Futaba, she will start to pay closer attention to you in-person. Expect her to show up with vegetables as an excuse to monitor see you Kasumi:

She... doesn't feel like she really has any room to judge. Who doesn't have a few skeletons in their closet? But... if you're out there, harming people, she absolutely has to do something to stop you. It just isn't right! If you helped her find her true self... she returns the favor and help you do the same or face yourself! She's with you till the very end, even if you aren't. Akechi:

He's ready to fully wake up as soon as he hears your voice downstairs or just your footsteps. Morgana is not a fan of suddenly feeling his leg pulled out of bed.

Super ready to tease you. The guys smiling hard before he responds with something stupid. "I dare you" trying to hold off his chucking, he places his hand ontop of yours and spins you, stopping when you face him. "Are you a cheeseburger?" "no"

Let's you brush his hair, in fact you should. Curls are hard, ya know. His wrist can use a break, plus you're the one brushing it he sees it as a win. Ignoring the times you decided to give him pigtails

He can be super romantic at times, especially the most random, "I'm sorry I took so long, your beauty distracted me" he smirked twiddling a bit of his hair, you sigh, after a pause beginning to chuckle "I don't like you" "you love me" kissing your cheek he goes behind the counter "anything you wanna eat?"

He's always gonna be there to comfort you. Holding you close as you cry into his chest over something that had been bothering you, hearing you out while he cooks or staying by your side while you rant. "And then she was like," Oh well you need to go to extra help TO HELL WITH THAT!" You rub your temple "sorry she's just been getting on my nerves" "have you tried dropping or switching classes?" "She would reject the request everytime" you'd wonder why she suddenly accepted the following day. Maybe she finally thought you were just bad at chemistry

Will tell you he's a phantom theif trying to rizz you up. "So like we use these things called personas to fight these shadows" "woah, that's cool, Ryuji." You didn't believe him, but you let him cook, he's trying his best

Embodiment of the YIPPE sound. He loves seeing you. Could be walking to class, and he'd stop midway. "Yo!" "Hey Ryuji" great now he's gonna repeat that 3 more times a day, won't even start a conversation, sometimes, just likes hearing you say hi to him

He's super cuddly when sleepy. "Where are you going" "I told you I'm going home" "nooo" he wraps his arms around your waist "you aren't allowed to leave" trying to slip out he tightens his grip. You had to call your parents to tell them you had no choice but to stay longer

He'd get so excited when anything sport related comes along. "I wanna watch the track team compete this weekend. You should come" "do you need me to bring snacks?" "You bring them every time, though! I'll bring them this time" He'd get super hyped up about someone from the school taking the lead he almost fell off the bleachers at times.

He would buy you snacks, and you two would talk about it on a bench. "He's so annoyingggg" "I know, right!" "Like he can't shut up everything's quiet and this mf 'I HAVE A BUISNESS' shut up" "like at the end of the day he's still an incel" "EXACTLY" you two would end up ranting with eatchother so much you end up calming eatchother down, this would also translate into you just being too sad to even make funny comments. "He's just so draining, kinda makes me wish someone just told him to be quiet" "for real I almost cried at his voice" "it's too squeaky right" "totally" laying your head on his lap you look up at him just thinking. "You're staring into my soul here." he strokes your hair with a nervous expression "good" In the end, he still comforts you the same way

"Oh, it's you" turned to "it's you.." REAL quick, as soon as you started dating, he got shy

He's gonna ask you to help him with art. "Y/n do you mind posing?" "With what?" "These live lobsters I found" ".... no thank you" "but!" "I'm gonna buy you those little wooden dolls just for that" "you're better than any piece of wood!" It turns more into a praise sesson he forgets about the lobsters he's basically keeping as pets at this point

You tried to teach him how to cook, or atlesst follow the recipe. "OK so we have the custard" you grab his hand, holding it up. "Don't use that we need it for later." "My Appologies" "it's alright it's your first time making this" He's fine the first time but gets way better with practice. He'd make you jealous with how nice he'd make his food look

Tried pick up lines they were good, but the execution could use work. "Y/n! Do you have a map? " "For what?" He pauses, looking down as if thinking for the next line "because i can't help but get lost in your eyes" you smirk, watching him get more bashful than you from his own line. "Are you a painting?" You cup his face making him look at you "because I can't take my eyes off you"

He isn't very good in this field...but he has spirit! You'd sigh while watching him paint after a few eye rolls, vacant stares,leaning on him. He's gonna sense it even if you don't do all that. "Is there something on your mind?" You look down to his paints before answering "a friend of mine moved away, and I found out recently she used to steal stuff from others" crossing your arms you continue "I kinda get why some of my stuff went missing now but just to think" "that does seem rather unfortunate" "she's lucky the stuff she took was all under 10 bucks or I would have asked the phantom theives to do something" he pauses his brush for a secound before continuing on "via the website?" "Yea! They'll probably handle her if it genuinely gets outta hand" he smiles as he puts down his paint and brush. "How about we go for a walk for you to let out some steam?" "sounds great"

"I'm alone. Would you like to join me?" "Do you realize how that sounds?" "Do you realize how dirty your mind is?"

He'll be resistant to cuddling at first but then slowly realize he likes it. Won't ask for it tho but he will be a little peeved when they aren't given. Subconsciously learn the way he stares at your arms, how he grips his own, and the way he tries to get a bit closer to you, you've learned the secrets to a touch starved akechi

Would be a bit annoyed when you bring up another dude. "And then Ryuji was shaking the vending machine and the guard thought we were trying to steal snacks" "I see" "I ended up getting em though" "mhm" "you're so aggressively disinterested" "yes I am" You pause before letting the smirk take over your face "so then akechi rubbed my face and asked for a kiss" "I should" he stops typing to press his lips softly on your cheek.

He'd take you everywhere with him. Not a choice, it's only when he's at his job that he's away from you, everywhere else? Same class right next to you. Eating lunch with you, would ask you to play darts with him after school. He'd wonder why you'd look so tired when you two finally got home after school, atleast he helps with homework.

"Akechi" you move hair from his face. "What is it?" You continue touching his face as he watches as your hands move around his face. "Is there something on your mind" "is it that obvious" you pull your hand away, but he takes his into yours. There's a short pause before you decide to speak again. "A person close to me stopped coming to school after an argument we had. I'm pretty worried" "you didn't try contacting them?" "I have, but I think they'll just get more annoyed" you sigh "I just don't know what to do" "let them have their momment they'll contact you when they feel like it, in the meantime" he covers you in the blanket he shared with you momments ago "you could stay here until it leaves your mind"

"So what is skibbity toilet?" "Zen no"

He'd always order for you at places, unless you changed your order he'd get you everytime. "You gotta stop doing that" "Why you jealous I know you better than you know yourself?" "Yes"

He tries to ask you for advice on Akane. "She got upset she couldn't play and eat" "did you try making it a tea party" he scoffs, giggling a bit at the suggestion. "I'm serious. Do you have any tiny tea cups?"

He's definitely touch starved when he gets home. Barely awake, he'd cling onto you, mumbling into your ear. He's fallen asleep for a few seconds on your shoulder. "Let's get you to bed, Zen." "it's comfortable here though." "it'll be more comfortable in bed." "ugghhhhh"