Cupid

when you're sitting in your room, f/o patters in with their hands behind their back. you ask them what they have like they're a dog with something in their mouth. they crawl up onto the bed up close next to you and they whisper in your ear,

"here. take this."

and put this in your hands

"you will need it." they say.

you look up at them confused, and they just have a smug look on their face like they're proud of themselves and hope the best for you. you don't quite understand but give them a little kiss on the nose as a thank you, their eyes fluttering a couple times before immediately falling asleep.

me when i get kissed on the nose by the person who if they kiss you on the nose it immediately puts you to sleep 💤

Kris’s brow furrows. 

Now you’re keeping secrets too? It seemed like this day was just getting worse and worse…

You slip back into the hallway after talking to Ms. Toriel, eyes landing on Kris. 

“Oh, ready to leave Kris?” 

They don’t respond immediately, still debating on whether or not to ask you to come over. 

“…Yeah,” they say finally. “Wanna come over?” 

Your eyes light up. “Yeah,” you say with a smile, hooking your arm through theirs. “Let’s go.”

As the two of you make your way through town, you talk quietly. 

“Your birthday is getting close,” you note. “Are you excited?” 

Kris simply shrugs in response, not in a talking mood. Plus all they can think about is whatever you’re keeping from them. 

They’re barely paying attention to where you’re dragging them, just assuming that they’ll make it back to their house eventually.

Should they ask?

Would you tell if they did?

Did they even want to find out?

They sigh again, the weight of the day heavy on their shoulders. 

When the two of you finally reach Kris’s house, you walk inside and set your bags down. 

You automatically pull out some of the homework and make your way over to the kitchen table, but Kris pauses in the living room, immediately tossing themself face down on the couch. 

“C’mon Kris, we’ve got work to do,” you say, walking over and tugging on their arm.

They groan softly as you pull, dragging themself up. All they want to do right now is lay in their bed and listen to music with you. 

But no, homework first. 

You always insisted on homework first because the few times Kris and you decided to wait until later, it was always way later. Like, you had to go home and go to sleep later. And the homework wouldn’t get done. 

Begrudgingly, Kris pulls themself up from the couch, following you to the table. 

They take a seat, their posture just as wrecked as usual, while you sit up straight.

You began writing on your page, mentioning something about how easy the work should be since you paid attention and Kris got to work on their own. 

After a few minutes, you flip your page over to the other side and Kris has written a single answer.

Without a word, they pull themself out of their chair.

“Hm?” you hum, glancing up at them. 

“I…” they shake their head, “don’t want to do homework right now.”

You blink. “Oh. Is everything ok?”

They think for a moment. Really think about asking you about earlier. 

Instead, they nod.

“Fine,” they say. 

But they can tell you notice the way their jaw clenches slightly. 

Silently, the two of you put away your things. 

You walk over to the fridge, opening the door, thinking maybe some pie might put Kris in a better mood, only to find the pie tin empty. 

“Ate it all,” Kris says from the stairs. 

“Of course you did,” you say with a small smile, closing the fridge door and following them upstairs. 

In Kris’s room, they do exactly as they did entering the house and throw themself onto the bed, taking in the scent of their clean sheets which had been changed the night before. 

You stare at them quietly, brow furrowed in concern, but you say nothing.

You sigh softly, pulling off your hoodie and tossing it on the end of the bed. 

Kris rolls over, watching you as your eyes scan their side of the room. 

“Looking for something?” they ask, though they know you’re not. Kris barely has any belongings. 

You shake your head, meeting their pretty red eyes again. 

“…Right,” they murmur, their hair falling to the side, obscuring one of their eyes. 

You walk over to the bed, taking a seat beside them, leaning back against the headboard.

Kris settles back beside you. Usually the two of you are close enough that your shoulders touch, but right now there’s a noticeable distance. Kris’s eyes stay locked on the ceiling. 

“So I was thinking,” you say, picking at the hem of your sleeve, “what did you want to do for your birthday?”

After a moment of silence they respond. “I don’t know. Whatever.” Their tone is indifferent, borderline dismissive. “It’s not like it’ll be any different from any other day.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s your birthday, Kris, of course it’s different.”

They glance at you briefly before looking away. “You don’t need to make a big deal out of it, it’s fine.” They pull their phone out of their pocket and begin scrolling mindlessly. 

Eventually Ms. Toriel arrives home. She makes dinner and calls you and Kris downstairs to eat. 

You follow Kris downstairs, the aroma of something baking hitting you immediately. Toriel is bustling around the kitchen, humming softly as she pulls trays from the oven. 

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” Toriel says, wiping her hands on a towel. “But first, tell me about your day! School can be… exhaustion, yes?”

“Uh… yeah, kind of,” you murmur, glancing at Kris, who’s hovering near the fridge, hand shoved in their pockets. 

Toriel tilts her head, ears flicking slightly. “Kind of? Just ‘kind of’? Were you perhaps… learning something exciting? Or did something frustrating occur?”

You blink. “Kind of both,” you settle on saying with a nervous laugh. “It was… a lot.”

Kris mutters something under their breath that sounds suspiciously like “obviously.”

Toriel chuckles warmly. “I see. And… did you eat lunch? I hope so. Nutrition is very important for growing minds.”

“Yes I… I did,” you say quickly. “I mean, mostly. 

Kris raises their eyebrow, scanning you silently. Their quiet judgment is somehow worse than any question. 

“And what about friends?” Toriel continues, placing a plate on the table. “Do you enjoy spending time together? Learning together?” You choke on your words a little, staring at the plate. “Uh… yeah? We… hang out sometimes. Group projects, you know?”

Kris shoots you a look that could freeze water. You meet it with an awkward smile. 

Toriel hums, clearly pleased with your effort. “Good! Very good. I am glad you are… well, comfortable with each other.” She glances at Kris. “Ans you, Kris. Did you have a productive day? “Mm,” Kris mumbled, lowering their gaze to their plate. Their fork twirls lazily in the air. 

Toriel smiles knowingly. “I see. Perhaps you’ll explain more as we eat. You must be hungry!” Dinner proceeds in a comfortable rhythm: small bites, quiet conversation, the occasional overly curious question from Toriel about school or homework, each of your replies a little clumsy, each of Kris’s reactions silent but expressive. A slight pause here, a twitch there. Kris says more with their body than their words. 

By the time the last bite is eaten, the plates cleared, and Toriel humming softly while stacking them, it feels like the day has gently been untangled. 

“I think… I should probably head home,” you say, standing carefully. 

Kris nods, quiet as always, falling in step beside you as you head to the door. 

Toriel waves warmly. “You are always welcome here! Come again soon!”

You wave back, smiling, feeling lighter than you have all day. Kris is beside you, shoulders slightly more relaxed, even if only a fraction. 

Out on the porch, you and Kris stand in silence for a moment, eyes on the setting sun. 

“Hey, Kris?” you say softly. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m serious about your birthday. Just let me know and we can do anything you want. Even if we do just end up spending it like any other day…”

Kris doesn’t respond. They don’t have to. You know they heard you and that’s enough. 

“See you tomorrow, ok?” you say, nudging their shoulder with yours. 

The rest of the night was quiet. You arrived home and took a shower, finished your homework, texted Kris to remind them to do the same, and read for a while before bed. 

You glanced over at the large box in the corner of your room, wrapped neatly in birthday wrapping paper and a comically small bow. You think back to Kris’s odd behavior today. Of course, you knew they’d been listening, you were sure they’d overheard the end of your conversation with Toriel. But you also knew they weren’t going to bring it up. The guilt was eating at you a bit, but what else were you supposed to do? Tell them your secret?

You decided to go to sleep, hoping the guilt would fade in the next few days. 

Meanwhile, back at the Dreemurr home, Kris was spiraling silently in their room. They tried to think of all the possibilities of what you could be keeping from them.

They lay on their bed staring at the ceiling, phone forgotten in their hand, the faint glow of the screen dimming as minutes passed. Their thoughts wouldn’t slow, no matter how hard they tried to make them. 

Don’t say anything to Kris. 

The words looped over and over, crawling under their skin. 

They turned onto their side, burying their face in the pillow. It still faintly smelled like you, your shampoo, your detergent, something warm and familiar. That almost made it worse. 

What could it be?

A surprise party? Kris hoped not, they couldn’t stand being the center of attention. 

Kris squeezed their eyes shut. Birthdays had always been… complicated. Expectations. Smiles they had to remember to wear. People asking what they wanted, what they planned to do, what they were excited for. As if excitement was something you could just turn on. 

And now you were involved too. 

They rolled onto their back again, hand dragging down their face. You’d been acting normal. Too normal. Gentle. Careful. Like you were handling something fragile. 

Like them.

Kris hated that feeling. Hated the idea of people whispering around them, planning things for them, deciding what was best without asking. 

But they also knew you. 

You weren’t cruel. You weren’t careless. If you were keeping something from them, it wasn’t to hurt them. 

The thought settles uncomfortably in their chest. 

With a quiet sigh, Kris pushed themself upright and reached for their phone, thumb hovering over your contact. They considered typing something, anything. A joke. A complaint about homework. A blunt, what did you walk to my mom about?

They deleted the blank text box without sending a word. 

They pulled the blanket up to their chin, and finally set an alarm for the morning. As the room darkened and the house settled into quiet, one thought lingered longer than the rest:

If you were planning something… at least you cared enough to try. 

And somehow, that was both comforting and terrifying. 

The next few days passed slowly. School, homework, sleep, repeat, until the weekend arrived. 

The morning of Kris’s birthday was here and you stood on the porch with the huge box. You’d called the Dreemurr house before leaving to let Toriel know you were on the way. She confirmed that Kris was still asleep and the pancakes were ready. 

You knocked softly on the door and moments later Toriel opens the door, offering to help you carry the box in. 

“It’s ok, it’s not very heavy,” you say quietly, carrying the box in. 

“If you’d like, you can hide it behind my chair, though I do not know if it will be tall enough to cover the whole thing,” Toriel suggests. 

You slide the box across the floor, careful not to rip the wrapping paper and hide it behind the chair. Toriel was right about the height, the top of the box is still visible, tiny bow and all. 

“Maybe… they won’t notice,” you say with a small smile. “Oh, I really hope they like it.”

“They’ll love it,” Toriel says with a kind smile. 

The smell of pancakes lingers warmly in the air, maple and butter and the ever lingering scent of butterscotch and cinnamon. 

“Kris has not stirred once,” Toriel says softly, lowering her voice instinctively. “I believe they stayed up later than they intended.”

You smile, just a little. “That tracks.”

Toriel chuckles under her breath. “You may go up whenever you are ready. I will… keep busy down here.” She gives you a small wink before turning back towards the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, slipping off your shoes and padding toward the stairs. 

Each step feels heavier than the last. Not because of nerves exactly, more like anticipation. You pause outside Kris’s door, hand hovering just inches from the wood. 

You knock softly. 

No response. 

You try again, even quieter, before gently pushing the door open and peeking inside. 

Kris is still asleep, curled slightly on their side, blanket pulled up to their chest. Their hair is a mess, falling into their face in uneven strands, their expression relaxed in a way you don’t get to see very often. The room is dim, curtains only half-open, morning light spilling across the floor.

You step inside and close the door behind you, careful not to make a sound. 

For a moment you just stand there, watching them breathe. 

Then softly, so softly, you say, “Hey… wake up sleepyhead.”

Kris stirs, brow furrowing faintly. 

You move closer sitting down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. “Happy birthday,” you add gently, voice warm and unhurried. 

They make a quiet noise in response, something halfway between a hum and a groan, shifting onto their back. One hand comes up to rub at their eyes, lashes fluttering as they blink against the light. 

“...You’re here,” they murmured, voice thick with sleep. 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Kris turns their head slightly toward you, eyes still half-lidded. For a few seconds, they just look at you, like they’re trying to orient themself. Time, place, day. 

Then it clicks. 

Their birthday.

The secret. 

The careful way you’d been acting all week. 

Their chest tightens just a little. 

They sit up slowly, pulling the blanket into their lap, shoulders tensing before they even realize they’re doing it. You notice, of course, you always do. But you don’t say anything yet. You just stay where you are, close but not crowding. 

“Did I… sleep in?” Kris asks quietly. 

“A little,” you admit. “Your mom made pancakes. She said you earned it.”

Kris huffs a small breath that might almost be a laugh. Almost. 

“...Ok,” they say after a moment, gaze drifting towards the floor. They don’t ask anything else. They don’t mention the conversation they overheard, or the feeling that’s been sitting in their chest for days. 

But the anxiety lingers there, subtle and unspoken, as real as the morning light creeping across the room. 

You shift slightly on the bed, close enough now that your knee brushes theirs. “We don’t have to do anything big today,” you say gently, like you’re offering an out before they even ask for one. “Just… whatever feels right.”

Kris swallows, nodding once. 

“Ok,” they repeat, softer this time. 

You stand first, smoothing your hands over your jeans. 

“I;m gonna go downstairs,” you say softly. “Before your mom starts wondering if I kidnapped you.”

Kris snorts despite themself, pushing the blankets aside and swinging their legs over the edge of the bed. “Yeah. Ok.”

You slip out into the hallways, footsteps light on the stairs. A moment later, Kris follows, hair still messy, hoodie pulled on halfway, shoulders hunched in that familiar way that means they’re awake but not ready.

The kitchen is warm when you step inside. 

Toriel is at the stove, humming to herself as she flips pancakes with practiced ease. She looks over her shoulder and smiles brightly when she sees the two of you. 

“Ah! Good morning, birthday child,” she says, voice cheerful but not too loud. 

You take a seat at the table. 

Kris mumbles something that might be “hi,” sliding into the chair across from you. 

Toriel sets a plate in front of each of you, pancakes stacked neatly, steam rising into the air. “Eat while they are warm,” she insists, pouring syrup with care. “It is important to start birthdays with a proper breakfast.”

Kris pokes at their food before taking a bite. You do the same, the two of you eating in a comfortable, sleepy rhythm. 

“So,” Toriel says after a moment, resting her paws on the counter. “Have either of you thought about what today might hold?”

Kris’s shoulder tense just slightly. 

“I was thinking,” Toriel continues, undeterred, “perhaps we could go for a walk by the river? Or visit the diner- oh! Or the library is having a small event today. There will be poetry readings.

Kris freezes mid-chew. 

“...I’m good,” they say quickly, swallowing. “We don’t have to… do anything.”

Toriel hums thoughtfully. “Of course, of course. I only wished to suggest.” She glances between you and Kris, smiling. “Birthdays do not need to be loud to be meaningful.” 

You offer Kris a small, reassuring look over your plate. They avoid your eyes, but the tension in their shoulders eases just a fraction. 

Breakfast finishes quietly. Plates are cleared and Toriel begins washing the dishes. 

You and Kris step into the living room and you glance at the top of the box peeking from over the chair, hoping Kris doesn’t notice it before you say something. 

“So…” you begin, feeling nervous. “You didn’t talk about much of what you might have wanted for your birthday, but I did get you something.”

Kris looks up at you. 

“And… I know you overheard me talking to your mom at the school,” you say softly. “I-I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I just didn’t want you finding out because I thought you would try to convince me not to get it.”

You step over to the chair, dragging the box from behind it. 

Kris’s eyes widened. They glance between you and the box a few times. 

“I promise it’s not just a smaller box inside,” you say with a small smile. 

They step a little closer.

Toriel leans against the sink, watching with a smile. Anticipation and nerves build in your chest. 

“I hope you like it,” you say softly. 

“...Why is it so big?” they ask, voice flat, but there’s something uneasy flickering behind their eyes. 

You shrug, a little sheepish. “Just open it.”

Kris hesitates, their fingers curling around the edge of the paper. 

They tear a long strip of the paper off, then another until they can clearly read what the front of the box says and see the picture displayed on the front of it. 

Their eyes widened again and their lips parted in shock, eyes shooting back up towards you, like their brain hadn’t quite caught up yet. 

“...Is that-” their voice cuts off before the thought can finish. 

You shift your weight, suddenly hyperaware of everything. The room feels too quiet. “It’s… yeah,” you say softly. “It’s a keyboard. Not… not a real piano or anything, I know.” you rub the back of your neck, words tumbling out faster now. “But I saved up over the summer. And I just- I thought maybe it’d be better than having to go all the way to Noelle’s every time you wanted to practice. 

Kris doesn’t move. 

They don’t speak. 

They just stare. 

For a moment, you worry you’ve misjudged everything. The size, the cost, the fact that you decided this for them. Your chest tightens. 

“I mean- if you don’t like it, that’s ok,” you add quickly. “We can- we can return it or-”

Kris shakes their head, sharp and immediate. 

“No,” they say, breath hitching. “No, I-”

Their hands tremble as they reach down, slipping under the lid of the box. They lift it slowly, carefully, like they’re afraid the whole thing might disappear if they move too fast. 

Inside, nestled in foam, is the keyboard. 

Real keys. Clean and untouched. Something that belongs to them.

Kris’s shoulders tense and begin to shake. 

They inhale, sharply, like they’ve forgotten how to breathe properly. 

Their eyes burn, glassy and they blink hard, jaw clenched tight as if that alone might keep everything from spilling over. 

“Oh,” they whisper.

It’s barely a sound. 

You take a hesitant step closer. “Kris…?”

They press a hand over their eyes, turning away just slightly. They don’t cry, not really. But their breathing goes uneven, chest rising and falling in short, unsteady bursts. 

“I-” they swallow. Try again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” you say immediately. “You always light up when you play. Even when you think no one is watching.”

That does it. 

Kris lets out a shaky breath that sounds dangerously close to a laugh and a sob all at once. Their hand drops to the edge of the box, fingers curling around it like an anchor. 

“...Thank you,” they manage, voice rough. “I don’t- I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you reply gently. “Just… have it. It’s yours.”

Kris nods, over and over, like they’re trying to convince themself it’s real. 

Their eyes flick up to yours, red-rimmed but shining with something warm and overwhelmed and impossibly grateful. 

Toriel clears her throat softly from the kitchen, eyes mostly but smiling. “I believe,” she says, voice thick with fondness, “that this may be the quietest birthday surprise I have ever witnessed.”

Kris lets out a small, breathy huff, wiping their eyes with the sleeve of their hoodie. They look back down at the keyboard, their keyboard, then up at you again. 

“...Can you stay?” they ask quietly. “While I try it?”

You smile, heart full to the point it almost hurts. 

“Of course.”

Kris steps toward you and pulls you into a tight hug, a rare display of affection. 

“Thank you,” they whisper again, against your hair. 

“You’re welcome,” you whisper back. 

You and Kris haul the box up the stairs and drag it into their room. You both glance over the instructions once before deciding that they’re ultimately unhelpful. The two of you get mixed up a few times trying to get it set up, refusing to look back at the instructions, laughing quietly as you both set it up wrong. 

But eventually the keyboard is set up. 

Kris sits at the small bench that came with the keyboard and plays a single note before glancing back up at you. 

The two of you spend the rest of Kris’s birthday together, Kris playing any song you suggest and trying to learn snippets of the ones they don’t know. At one point, they’re plastered on the floor in a fit of laughter as you try and fail to play like them. 

That night, it’s decided that you’ll stay over.

Curled up in Kris’s bed with them, you talk quietly about the day. 

As you talk, your eyes grow heavy. Both of you laying on your backs, shoulders touching, you whisper and laugh softly together about whatever comes to your tired minds. Finally, when one of you dozes and jolts awake when the other speaks you decide it’s time to sleep. 

You pull the blanket up to your chin, turning on your side facing Kris. 

“Thank you,” they say softly. “Again.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Kris,” you reply, yawning. 

They don’t speak for a moment. 

“I do,” they say. “You made this the first birthday in a few years worth remembering.”

“That’s good,” you say with a soft smile. “I’m glad.”