You didn’t think it was possible. Not with the way this world works; not with how little time you’ve spent apart.

And yet, you shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve long since learned that this world is full of twists and turns. For all you know, this may just be another shift in the narrative.

Still, you think you should’ve expected this. 

Kris hasn’t had a moment's rest since your adventure began. You’re not even sure how long they sleep for, if they get a chance to sleep at all. You don’t see them eat outside the things you give them during battle, but you’re also unsure if any of those things are filling, much less nutritious.

You’re not sure what else they’ve done in the time you spent apart. You don’t think it matters, in the grand scheme of things, but now they’ve forced you into a position you did not think possible.

At some point in the night, between the last phone call and when Toriel finally retired for bed, Kris returns to bed. They don’t say a word to you, not that you expected them to.  They don't even acknowledge your presence. They crawl under the covers and lie motionless in the dark.

This is the end of your adventure for now, you suppose. A sense of melancholy washes over you.

This isn’t the world you expected, though you weren’t really sure what to expect in the beginning. But you’ve grown accustomed to this place. It’s been nice seeing familiar faces and exploring new places; it’s been wonderful rekindling long-lost friendships, even if not everyone remembers or knows who you are.

It’s not the same as it used to be, but Hometown still feels like home, even when you feel like you don’t belong.

You linger in place, curious about the darkness of Kris’s shared room. You don’t think there’s anything left, but as the thought enters your mind, an unnatural twitch catches your eye. The lump beneath the covers moves.

Oh, that’s new.

A strange sound fills the room. It’s low, barely audible in the dark, but it’s the only sound that fills your ears in the heavy silence. You’re not sure what it is until you hear it again, followed by an abrupt, pathetic koff.

Oh.

You didn’t think it was possible. Maybe you misheard. You wait again, straining your ears. 

koff koff

No way.

Kris… is coughing?

You watch the lump on the bed intently. Kris turns one way. Then the other. And then another. Their movements are rigid and broken, as if more unnatural than when you inhabit their body. Another cough escapes them.

There’s no mistaking it.

Kris is coughing. But… why? Is it allergies? A cold, perhaps? 

Is that even possible? 

Another cough fills the dark room. The distance between coughs grows shorter, and now that you’re aware of it, you can hear the telltale rattle in every breath Kris takes.

Is this… ? What to do?

Is there anything you can do?

Another cough racks their frame. They whimper. The sound pulls at your chest, though a part of you wonders why you should care. Kris would never extend the same courtesy should your positions be reversed. Then again, you’re not even sure if you can get sick in this form.

(Not that you knew Kris could either.)

You glance at your surroundings, and although you cannot feel the iron bars against the surface of your glowing body, you imagine the birdcage feels as cold as the dark room does. You have to escape this cage, but how?

Kris turns again in bed, kicking their blankets outwards, but not hard enough to reveal themselves to the dark. They shiver.

They’re getting worse, you realize.

You glance at the thin metal bars of the bird cage again. You might make things worse, but you have no choice. You don’t know what the consequences are of leaving Kris in this state without you nestled inside their chest, but you’re sure it can’t be good.

(Perhaps, in another run, you’ll face that consequence.)

You slam your body against the bars as hard as you can muster. It rattles the birdcage, and the sound of your collision carries through the room, but the impact isn’t enough. Kris doesn’t stir.

You pull back, pressing your body to the farthest end of the birdcage before flying forward again. You don’t feel the bars with every impact, but you can see the moment the cage starts to tip. You try again and again, harder each time, until—

The bird cage tips over and falls to the ground. It rolls along the floor until the door swings open, and your body tumbles out.

Kris reacts to the sound. In your peripheral, you see them scramble to escape their blanket prison. They fall over the edge of the bed, knocking more wet coughs from their exasperated lungs.

You flee through the wedge under the door and find yourself alone in the dark second-floor hallway. You don’t have much time to think of a plan. Kris will be on you before you know it.

You rush down the stairs and into the kitchen. You hover above the stove, suddenly faced with a new obstacle. There isn’t much you can do in this form. Your interactions are limited, and without Kris’ hands you don’t think you’ll be able to get any of the cabinets open. Still, you have to try.

You hang close to one of the bottom cabinets, unsure of where Toriel keeps her glassware. You wedge your body between the cabinet door and the handle and push.

…

But nothing happens.

You slip through the handle with an agitated huff. You aim for the second cabinet when noise piques your interest again. You catch Kris shuffling down the stairs as quietly, but quickly as possible. They miss the last step and tumble forward. They land on hands and knees—you shouldn’t laugh, but you do. 

They don’t hear you—they never do—but you stifle the rest of your laughter regardless. You hang high into the air the moment Kris climbs to their full height. You hover over another cabinet, the only one that hangs over the stove, and wonder if Kris is tall enough to reach. They don’t seem to be, but you don’t trust what you see.

Another series of coughs draws your attention back to Kris. They’re standing by the kitchen table, back turned toward you, their shoulders hunched. Their hands are splayed out in front of them. You don’t see their face. 

You’re certain they haven’t seen you, but you know it's only a matter of time. The darkness in the house isn’t dark enough to cast you in shadow, but you’re not going out of your way to hide either. 

Kris looks like they’re having a hard time. Between the rain, the restless nights, the battles they’ve encountered, and the stress of everything else, they look…

Exhausted.

With the world.

With the burdens they shoulder in secret.

Perhaps even… with the guilt you suspect they harbor inside.

Maybe that’s why you don’t try hard to hide or take the time to escape this place. You can’t bring yourself to leave, not when Kris looks like this. They’re only a child—a teenager drawn into something that neither you nor they can explain.

A teenager left to drown in their guilt, pulled forward by the sins of their mistakes.

You shift against the handle of the cabinet.

Kris doesn’t react. Rather, they take in a deep breath. Their hands drop their sides.

“What…” A chill runs down your spine. “...are you doing?” Kris turns to you then, a single red eye visible through the curtain of their bangs.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. You always are.

♥️ You’re sick. Drink water.

You wiggle in front of the high cabinet for emphasis. 

Kris doesn’t move, and it’s hard to decipher the look in their eye. Still, you get a sense of… acknowledgment, as if they were mulling over your words. Or, perhaps trying to decide what the best thing they had on their person to throw at you.

You try to speak, but find that you can’t. So instead, you wiggle in front of the cabinet again.

Kris continues to watch you blankly.

You grow frustrated with their distrust. You swing down toward the sink, and with swiftness that surprises even Kris, you manage to turn on the faucet. The kitchen fills with the sound of running water. You hurry back to the high cabinet, wedging your body between the handle and push yourself in Kris’s direction. The door doesn’t move.

Kris’s eye narrows in suspicion. “Why?” they ask, their voice hoarse, whether from proper use or from the cold, you’re not sure which. Still, hearing them speak sends another shiver down your spine.

(You shouldn’t feel as excited as you do, but you can’t help it.)

♥️ Water helps when you’re sick.

If you could make soup, you would, but somehow you think Kris might throw you into the pot of boiling water before you can get to the first ingredient.

You think you hear a scoff, before another wave of coughs wracks Kris’s body. They wipe their mouth with the back of their sleeve, their visible eye tired from the effort of standing, but still laced with irritated suspicion. “Water won’t help much,” They murmur.

You know they need more than just water. Medicine and sleep are what they really need, but Kris is stubborn. Without stealing their autonomy, there isn’t much you can do. Still, you refuse to give up.

♥️ Drink.

The demand catches you both off guard. You didn’t think you had the option, but now that it’s been offered, you wonder if you can do it again.

♥️ Please.

Kris hesitates.

They pull themselves forward, their movements sluggish, as if laborious. You wonder if part of that is the cold or if time away from the SOUL drains Kris of their energy. You find yourself wondering just how long Kris can go without you co-piloting.

Kris reaches for one of the bottom cabinets, the ones that lie underneath the microwave, and pulls out a glass cup. You swing away overhead, silently judging Toriel’s cup placement before watching Kris fill their glass full of water. It must not taste all that good, with the way Kris grimaces after each sip, but you hope the cool water is enough to ease their aching throat. They still keep their eye on you, their gaze impressively steady.

They don’t trust you, you know that much. Still, it hurts to be seen with such distrust despite everything you’ve done to be kind. Then again, if you were in their shoes, you would be the same way.

Once their cup is empty, Kris leaves it in the sink and turns to fully face you. There’s a curious gleam in their red eye now. An unspoken question hangs in the air.

What now?

♥️ Soup?

“You’re not cooking for me,” They hastily reply. “No way. Not ever.”

♥️ Medicine?

You nudge your body toward the bathroom. Kris follows your gesture, and for a moment, you can see the way they mull your suggestion in their mind. With a raspy sigh that sounds more petulant than defiant, Kris makes their way to the door by the end of the stairs.

“Fine,” you hear them mutter. “Why am I…”

You don’t hear the rest of their complaints as they sink into the darkness of the bathroom. It’s not dark enough to obscure them completely, but you linger close to the ceiling, watching as Kris scours the medicine cabinet for something to take. Whatever they find, they pour two pills into the palm of their hands and down it dry with ease. The sight of that makes you pause, but you shake it away.

Stop being surprised. You tell yourself. Expect the unexpected.

Kris steps out of the bathroom, then, red eye still watching. At least this time, they don’t stare at you with suspicion.

Before you attempt to communicate again, Kris’s mouth opens.

“What… are you…?”

The question hangs in the air, lost within the dimming darkness of a fading night.

You’re not sure how to answer them or whether you even can, to begin with. You wish you could ask Kris the same question.

Kris watches you, half-expecting an answer and perhaps… not. When the silence stretches for far too long, their mouth forms into a scowl.

“Forget it,” they murmur. “I don’t know why I expected… anything more.” 

To your surprise, they head up the stairs.

You follow at a distance, unsure of what Kris plans to do. A number of scenarios play through your mind's eye, all of them just as outlandish as the last. There’s not enough time for Kris to wander off now that it seems they’re regaining some semblance of energy, and you suspect that their sickness may still progress if they don’t get at least some sleep before the festival. You’re not even sure if you’ve taken the right steps this night, to have things progress the way they should, or if any of your choices mattered to begin with.

You find yourself back in Kris’ room. 

You watch them lift the bird cage from the ground and place it back on the old, worn red wagon. Kris shoots you a glance over their shoulder, but rather than attempting to reach you, they leave the cage door open.

Without a word, they crawl back into bed, their back turned toward you.

“Sleep,” they whisper, their voice hoarser now than before. “If you do. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

♥️ In the cage?

You feel stupid for asking. Of course, they mean in the cage. They would never let you be free otherwise.

And yet…

Kris doesn’t turn to acknowledge you. You don’t think they heard you.

You hang overhead, careful to keep your distance. Your caution feels misplaced, especially when you’re sure you can outpace Kris in their current state. Still, curiosity pulls you forward. You peek at their face…

But all you see is Kris sound asleep.

They don’t toss and turn or moan in their sleep. There are no coughs that pull phlegm from their lungs and into their throat. You can’t feel the warmth of their body, but you don’t see them shiver, either. You’re sure the sickness is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but at least, for the moment, you know that they are at peace.

You still wish you could prepare soup for them, to give them some level of energy for the festival tomorrow. But after how long it took you to convince them to drink water, you know the effort would be too much.

You approach their sleeping form, careful not to touch them or disturb their delicate slumber. You lie beside their hand, within reach, but not quite touching. 

You’re not sure what tomorrow will bring, just like you’re unsure of where this journey will end. For Kris, tomorrow is merely a blink of the eye. But for you, tomorrow may as well be a year away.

You may not have a choice in this world, but at least, for now, the most you can do is let Kris decide what they want to do with you.