Chapter Text
Castle Town is asleep.
Not the shallow sleep of a place that might wake at the wrong sound, but the deep, settled kind. Windows are dark. Shop signs are unlit. Even the fountains in the square have gone still, water held in a patient hush that reflects the stars instead of scattering them.
Kris walks alone.
Their footsteps echo softly against the stone streets, too loud in the absence of everything else. Each step sends a faint, hollow sound through the air, as if the town itself is listening and choosing not to answer. Their hands balled into fists in their pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. Breath blooms pale in front of them, then vanishes.
The streetlamps are off. Without them, the sky feels closer. Stars spill overhead in dense, careless clusters, brighter without the competition of light below. They stretch endlessly, sharp pinpricks against the dark, so numerous they blur together at the edges. The constellations Kris learned as a child are harder to pick out now. Too much sky. Too many stars. It’s easier to let it all remain unlabelled.
They kick a loose pebble as they walk. It skitters ahead of them, clattering softly before coming to rest near the edge of the path. Kris follows it, then kicks it again. The motion is absent-minded and repetitive. The pebble doesn’t protest. It just moves where it’s told.
Buildings loom quietly on either side of the street, their silhouettes softened by shadow. The bakery’s windows are dark, the faint scent of sugar long since faded from the air. The cafe down the road still smells faintly of coffee and warmth. Chairs are stacked neatly inside, their legs reflected faintly in the glass. Kris passes the fountain in the centre of town.
During the day, it’s loud. Water splashing, people gathered around its edge, coins glittering at the bottom like small, hopeful mistakes. Now it’s frozen mid-motion, a smooth sheet of ice stretching across the basin. Moonlight glances off the ice and fractures, sending thin lines of light across the surrounding stone.
Kris slows, then stops. For a moment, they stand there, hands still in their pockets, head tipped back just slightly as they look up at the sky. The town felt larger at night. Or maybe emptier. It’s hard to tell the difference. A breeze slips through the street, cold and quiet, stirring nothing but the hem of their coat. Kris shifts their weight, boots scraping softly against the stone. The sound feels intrusive.
Their path takes them toward the edge of town, where the buildings thin and the streets narrow. Here, the stones are uneven, worn smooth by years of use. Grass pushes through the cracks, pale and stiff with frost. Kris steps carefully, gaze fixed ahead, pebble forgotten now.
Kris pauses at an fork in the road. Three paths branch out in front of them. None are marked. None are lit. They stand there longer than necessary, gaze drifting from one darkened street to the next. Their foot taps once against the ground. Then again. Eventually, they choose one at random and continue on.
The river comes into view not long after, its surface dark and slow-moving. It reflects the sky in long, wavering streaks, stars bending and stretching with the current. The water makes a soft, constant sound as it moves. Kris stops at the railing and leans forward, resting their forearms against the cold metal. Below, the river keeps going.
It doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t change course. It curves where it must, flows where it’s allowed, carrying reflections with it whether they belong there or not. The stars distort and reform endlessly, never settling into a single shape for long. Kris watches.
A leaf drifts past, caught in the current. It spins once, twice, then disappears beneath the bridge. Kris’s fingers tighten briefly around the railing before relaxing again. Somewhere behind them, the town remains still. No footsteps. No voices. No expectation that anyone will come looking.
After a while, they straighten and step away from the river. Their breath fogs the air again as they turn back toward the heart of Castle Town, retracing their steps without urgency. The pebble from earlier is gone, lost to the dark.
As they walk, the stars begin to thin, clouds drifting lazily across the sky. Softening the edges and blurring them into something less sharp. The moon slips behind one, its light dimming for a moment before reappearing on the other side.
The town accepts this quietly.
When they finally turn down the street that leads away from the square, the buildings seem closer together, the sky narrower above them. The quiet presses in, heavy but not hostile. Just there. Kris’s steps slow as they near the edge of town once more, their silhouette stretching long across the street in the thin moonlight. They pause briefly, as if listening for something that never comes.
Then they keep walking, disappearing into the dark as Castle Town remains asleep behind them, stars still shining overhead. Distant, constant, and entirely indifferent to the paths chosen beneath them.
---
The idea comes to Noelle the way good things always seem to lately: gently, and then all at once.
They’re sitting at the kitchen table, the late afternoon stretched thin and quiet between them. Her father is finishing a cup of tea. Her mother is flipping through her phone, answering emails with gusto. Outside, the sky is already beginning to dim, the light turning that soft blue that always makes Noelle feel thoughtful.
“So,” her mum says, glancing up. “I ran into Toriel today.”
Noelle’s head lifts immediately. “Oh?”
“Yes. We talked for a while.” Carol smiles, small and fond. “She mentioned you. And Kris.”
That familiar warmth spreads through Noelle’s chest, immediate and bright. “She did?”
“She did,” her father says, setting his mug down. “She seemed… happy for you.”
Carol hesitates only a second before continuing. “It got us thinking. It’s been a long time since we all did something together. Properly, I mean.”
Noelle’s fingers curl against the table edge. “Together how?”
Her parents exchange a look — the kind that carries a quiet agreement already reached.
“A dinner,” Rudolph says. “Something nice.”
“With Toriel and Asgore,” Carol adds carefully.
Noelle blinks. That warmth flares into something almost dizzying. “You don’t have to do that.”
“We want to,” Carol says, firm but gentle. “They’re old friends. And…” Her voice softens. “This matters to you.”
Rudolph nods. “We can handle one evening.”
Noelle laughs softly, overwhelmed. “Are you sure?”
Carol smiles, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “Absolutely.”
The decision settles easily after that, like something that had been waiting to be spoken aloud.
Now, hours later, Noelle stands in front of her bedroom mirror, barely recognising herself.
She looks… grown. Not in a way that feels forced or uncomfortable, but natural, like she’s finally stepped into a shape she was always meant to have. Her dress hangs perfectly. Her hair is smooth beneath her fingers as she adjusts it one last time.
For a single heartbeat, she imagines Dess behind her, hands light and sure as she brushes her hair, humming something soft and familiar.
The thought slips away without pain.
Noelle smiles at her reflection and reaches for her coat.
Downstairs, her parents are already ready.
Rudolph stands by the door, jacket buttoned carefully, posture proud despite the faint nervous energy she recognises from big events. Carol looks radiant — not just dressed well, but lighter somehow, her expression open and warm.
Her mum’s eyes widen when she sees her. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Noelle’s cheeks flush. “Is it okay?”
“You look beautiful,” Rudolph says without hesitation.
Carol steps forward to straighten her hair. “You really do.”
The compliment settles deep, steadying her.
The drive to the restaurant passes in a blur of streetlights and soft music. Noelle watches the city slip by through the window, heart humming with quiet anticipation. Everything feels aligned. her parents beside her, the night ahead, Kris waiting somewhere just beyond her reach.
When they pull up outside the restaurant, it’s even more impressive than she imagined. Tall windows glowing gold, soft light spilling out onto the pavement. The kind of place that feels important before you even step inside.
They pause for a moment before getting out.
“You ready?” her dad asks.
Noelle nods. “Yeah.”
---
Toriel has been talking since they left the driveway.
buoyant, bright with her excitement spilling out in careful sentences that stack on top of one another. She comments on the restaurant, on how long it’s been since she’s seen Carol, on how pleased she is that Noelle and Kris have found something so nice, something so good.
Kris sits in the passenger seat, hands folded loosely in their lap, nodding at the right intervals. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Toriel says, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. “I always hoped you’d have something like this, Kris. Someone kind. Someone who-”
Kris nods again.
Outside the window, the streetlights slide past in slow succession, each one briefly illuminating their reflection before slipping away. Their face stays composed, expression smooth and unreadable, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass.
Toriel glances at them, smiling. “You’re quiet.”
Kris tilts their head in acknowledgment. Another nod.
She laughs softly, indulgent. “That’s all right. You don’t have to say anything. I can tell you’re happy.”
The car turns a corner. Toriel’s voice cuts off mid-thought.
The flower shop comes into view, the familiar glow in the windows, the neat little sign, the shape of a life paused but never quite put away. Toriel’s hands tighten on the wheel. The air in the car shifts, subtle but immediate. She pulls up to the pavement without a word.
Asgore is already waiting, bundled in his coat, hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. He straightens when he sees them, offering a tentative smile that doesn’t quite land. Toriel doesn’t look at him, she only stares forward at the road in front of her.
Asgore opens the back door himself, sliding in with careful movements, as though afraid of disturbing something fragile. The door closes with a muted thud. For a moment, no one speaks.
“Evening,” Asgore says finally, gentle as ever. “You look well, Toriel.”
Silence. Kris doesn’t turn. Their gaze stays forward.
Asgore clears his throat. “Kris. You’re-” He hesitates, searching for neutral ground. “You’re dressed very nicely.” Kris gives a small nod, polite and distant.
“Thank you” They sign simply.
Toriel pulls back into traffic without acknowledging either of them.
The car fills with the sound of tires on asphalt and the low hum of the engine. Asgore shifts slightly in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, clearly unwilling to let it sit.
“So,” he tries again, leaning forward just a little. “Noelle’s parents suggested this, didn’t they? I thought that was very thoughtful of them.”
Kris’s hands remain still. Toriel’s jaw tightens. She says nothing.
Asgore sighs softly, not in frustration but resignation, and leans back again. His eyes flick to Kris in the mirror, lingering there as if hoping for something. a reaction, a response, anything. Kris doesn’t give it.
They pass through streets Kris knows well, landmarks slipping by unnoticed. The area grows brighter, more polished, storefronts giving way to restaurants and tall windows lit warm and gold.
As the restaurant comes into view, elegant and unmistakably expensive, Toriel slows the car. The building stands apart from the others, glowing softly against the dark, inviting and imposing all at once. The silence in the car has thickened into something almost physical.
Before Toriel can pull into the drop-off, Kris finally moves. They turn slightly in their seat, lifting one hand. Their movements deliberate and precise.
“Please don’t argue in there,” they sign. “It’s meant to be a nice place.”
The words hang between them. Toriel breathes out slowly. Asgore looks down, shame flickering across his face before he schools it away.
“Of course,” he says quietly. “We wouldn’t.”
Toriel doesn’t respond, but her shoulders ease a fraction. She parks the car, none of them move. Then Toriel straightens, pasting on a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” she says.
They step out into the cold evening air together.
Kris adjusts their jacket automatically, posture settling into something composed and controlled. They wait as Toriel locks the car, as Asgore lingers half a step behind, then fall into place between them as they approach the entrance. Through the tall windows, Kris can already see the table. See Noelle’s pale hair, the way she’s leaning forward in her seat, animated and bright. Kris’ face mellows at the sight. Subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.
Toriel notices. She follows their gaze, and for the first time that evening, her smile becomes real.
Whatever tension sits between the adults, whatever history presses at the edges of the night, it loosens just slightly as they step inside. into warmth, into light, into the careful choreography of a dinner that is already carrying more weight than anyone has said aloud.
Kris walks forward without hesitation.
---
The restaurant announces itself before they even cross the threshold.
Light spills through tall windows in warm, honeyed sheets, catching on polished stone and glass. The doors open silently, ushered by a waiter whose posture is impeccable, whose smile is practiced but not unkind. Inside, the air smells faintly of citrus and wine and something richer beneath it. butter, herbs, indulgence.
The floor gleams. Chandeliers cast soft halos overhead, refracting light into a thousand muted sparkles. Conversations hum low and measured, laughter restrained, as though anything louder might disrupt the careful balance of the room. Toriel steps inside first.
She straightens instinctively, posture smoothing into something composed and dignified, her earlier tension tucked neatly behind her ribs. This is familiar territory for her - not the place itself, but the expectation of poise, of civility. Of being appropriate.
Kris follows just behind her. For a moment, Toriel watches them from the corner of her eye.
Their shoulders are set, expression neutral, gaze forward and unfocused. The same careful distance they’ve worn all evening. It is a look Toriel knows well. A look that speaks of walls raised quietly, efficiently.
Then Kris sees the table. Toriel sees it happen in an instant.
Kris’ shoulders relax as they let out a sigh of relief. Their formerly straight lips have curved into a subtle smile. And, even though she cant see their eyes through their mop of hair, she notices a new twinkle in their eye.
Affection, Toriel thinks.
Unfiltered and unguarded.
Noelle sits at the table with her parents, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture straight but not stiff. She’s dressed beautifully, Toriel notes. But it’s the way she looks up, eyes lighting with unmistakable delight when she sees Kris, that seals it.
Kris doesn’t hesitate.
They move toward the table without prompting, steps sure and unthinking, like gravity has taken over. Toriel lingers just long enough to watch them go, something warm and settling in her chest.
---
Noelle has been vibrating since they were seated.
Not visibly but inside, everything feels too bright, too loud, too alive. Her foot bounces under the table despite her best efforts. She smooths her dress again, then stops herself, fingers curling tightly in her lap. Then she looks up.
Kris.
In a suit.
Her brain short-circuits.
The world narrows instantly, background noise fading into something distant and irrelevant. The suit fits them perfectly — tailored but comfortable, dark fabric contrasting sharply with their skin. Their hair is tidier than usual, though still unmistakably them, a few rebellious strands refusing to cooperate.
She had seen them in a suit at the gala that had began their whole journey. But, this time it was different. This time they were hers. Hers to appreciate, hers to stare at, hers to have fun with. They look unfairly good.
Noelle’s breath catches, just a little. She doesn’t even realise she’s smiling until her cheeks start to ache.
Kris sees her and stops, just for a fraction of a second. enough for her to notice, enough for her heart to skip. Then they smile back, soft and unmistakably real, and suddenly Noelle feels like she might float clean off her chair. They reach the table together, Toriel just behind them, Asgore trailing slightly.
Kris moves automatically. They step past Noelle just long enough to pull out Toriel’s chair, holding it steady with a gentle hand. “Here,” they sign quietly, patient and attentive.
Toriel blinks, startled - then smiles, touched. “Thank you, dear.”
Noelle watches the exchange with something dangerously close to awe.
They’re so thoughtful, she thinks, warmth blooming in her chest.
Kris sits beside her immediately after, close enough that their knees brush under the table. Noelle resists the urge to lean into them outright, though it takes effort.
Rudolph greets Toriel and Asgore warmly, the familiarity between them easy and genuine. Carol’s smile is bright, her approval obvious even before she says a word. Compliments are exchanged. Polite laughter flows. Asgore relaxes visibly under Rudolph’s easy charm. Toriel follows suit, tension easing as the conversation finds safer ground. Shared memories, mutual acquaintances, the simple relief of being around people who expect kindness rather than conflict.
Menus are opened. Wine is discussed. The waiter glides in and out like a ghost. Through it all, Kris stays close.
Their arm rests behind Noelle’s chair, not touching, but present. When she leans forward to speak, they shift subtly to make room. When she laughs, they glance at her automatically, expression softening every time.
She leans closer under the guise of reading the menu. “This is going… really well,” she whispers, excitement bubbling over.
Kris nods, eyes warm. “Yeah,” they murmur. “It is.”
Their voices are low, shared only between them, a small island of intimacy amid the broader table conversation.
Food arrives.
The dishes are beautiful. Artfully plated, colours vivid against white porcelain. Noelle takes a bite and nearly laughs at how good it is. She catches Kris watching her reaction and grins.
“Okay, yeah,” she whispers. “Worth it.”
Kris smiles, genuine and unguarded. Across the table, Carol watches them with open fondness.
“You two suit each other,” she says conversationally, lifting her glass. “I’ve never seen Noelle this relaxed.”
Noelle flushes instantly, ducking her head. “Muum”
“I mean it,” Carol continues, smiling warmly at Kris. “You’re very good for her.”
Kris stills, just slightly. Then they nod, expression serious, respectful. “Thank you,” they say quietly. The sincerity in their voice makes Noelle’s chest ache. Conversation flows easily after that.
Toriel and Rudolph reminisce about college years, laughing over stories that have clearly been told before. Asgore chimes in occasionally, more confident now, his earlier stiffness fading as the evening progresses. Kris and Noelle are left mostly to themselves.
They talk in low tones, shoulders brushing, knees pressed together beneath the table. Noelle tells them about a class she’s excited for next semester. Kris listens intently, nodding, asking questions, their focus entirely on her.
At one point, Noelle realises she hasn’t thought about anything else, not school, not expectations, not the future for hours. When plates are cleared and dessert is ordered, Kris leans closer.
“Bathroom?” they murmur.
Noelle nods eagerly, heart fluttering. Kris rises first, offering a hand. Noelle takes it without hesitation. They excuse themselves politely and slip away from the table. Kris’s hand settles at Noelle’s waist as they walk, firm and steady. It sends a shiver straight up her spine. She tries not to grin too obviously.
The hallway toward the bathrooms is quieter and dimmer, removed from the soft glow of the dining room. Their footsteps echo faintly against polished floors.
As they round the corner, out of sight of the table. Kris stops. Noelle barely has time to register it before she’s pressed gently back against the wall, the cool surface solid against her shoulders.
Kris’s hands are on her waist, anchoring her there.
Then they kiss her.
It’s sudden and deliberate, all warmth and intent. Noelle gasps softly into the kiss, hands lifting instinctively to clutch at their jacket.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” Kris murmurs against her mouth.
Her heart stutters.
“You look,” they add quietly, voice low and earnest, “too good to be true.”
Noelle’s face goes incandescent. She laughs breathlessly, hiding her face against their shoulder for half a second before straightening. “You’re -you can’t just say things like that.”
Kris smiles, just a little.
“I can,” they reply simply.
Noelle kisses them once more, quick and dizzying, then slips away toward the bathroom, cheeks burning, pulse racing. Kris remains in the hallway.
They step back, posture settling into stillness once more, gaze unfocused as they stare at the opposite wall. The warmth of the moment lingers in the air, tangible and unresolved. When Noelle returns, glowing and flustered, Kris offers their arm again without comment. They walk back to the table together.
Later, as dessert is served and conversation softens into contented quiet, Noelle steals another glance at Kris. They catch her looking and smile back. It feels like a promise.
---
Kris lies awake.
Moonlight spills through the blinds in thin, pale bands, striping the ceiling and the far wall. Snow ticks softly against the glass, a quiet, patient sound, like someone tapping to be let in. The house is asleep around them. pipes clicking, wood settling, a distant hum that never quite resolves into silence.
They lie flat on their back, one arm folded over their eyes. The other rests at their side, fingers curled loosely into the sheets. They haven’t moved in a while.
The suit jacket still hangs over the back of the chair; sleeves draped with deliberate neatness. Their shoes are lined up beneath it, polished, careful. Everything about the room suggests order- except Kris.
Their jaw is tight. Their breathing steady, but shallow, like they’re holding something just under the surface. After a long moment, they drop their arm from their face and reach blindly for the nightstand.
Their phone lights up the room. The lock screen flares to life and there she is.
Noelle, laughing, head tipped back slightly. A smear of whipped cream on the tip of her nose, caught mid-protest. Her eyes are crinkled with joy and warmth. The photo is cropped poorly, taken too close, like whoever snapped it hadn’t cared about framing, only about keeping it.
Kris freezes. Their thumb hovers uselessly over the screen. For a heartbeat, their face softens without permission. Just a fraction. Something unguarded slips through. fond, aching and unmistakable.
Then their mouth twists.
They grunt quietly and lock the phone, shoving it face-down against the wood like it’s betrayed them. The sound echoes too loudly in the still room. They turn onto their side, back to the nightstand, shoulders hunched as if that alone might put distance between them and the image burned into their mind. Their hand clenches in the sheets again, knuckles whitening, then relaxes.
The guitar still sits unplayed in the corner.
Across town, Noelle is laughing.
She lies curled on her side beneath a thick quilt, phone tucked against her ear, hair loose around her shoulders. Her room glows warmly, lamplight softening the edges of everything it touches. The mirror reflects her faintly flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a smile she hasn’t quite been able to shake since she got home.
“I know, I know,” she says, breathless with excitement. “It was perfect. Like actually perfect.”
Berdly’s voice crackles through the speaker, indignant and theatrical. Noelle laughs again, rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like she expects the feeling to spill out of it.
“They looked incredible,” she continues, unable to help herself. “In a suit. Like. I think I stopped functioning for a full minute.”
She presses the phone closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “And they were so sweet. The whole night. They barely left my side.”
She pauses, listening, smile widening.
“No, really,” she insists. “My parents love them. My mom actually said we suit each other.”
Her heart flutters at the memory. Dinner plates. Shared glances. Kris’s hand at her waist. The kiss in the hallway, sudden and certain, like something that had been waiting all evening for permission to exist.
“It just feels right,” Noelle says softly. “Like everything finally clicked into place.”
She turns onto her side again, curling inward, warmth pooling in her chest. “I think… I think this is it, Berdly. I think this is what it’s supposed to feel like.”
There’s a small, reverent silence on the line.
Across town, Kris exhales.
The sound is loud in the empty room. They roll onto their side, facing the wall now, knees drawn up slightly. The bedsheets crease beneath their grip.
Noelle keeps talking, words tumbling over one another now, bright and earnest and unguarded.
“They walked me to the bathroom she says, lowering her voice again. “I didn’t even have to ask them to come with me or anything. Can you believe that?”
She smiles to herself, eyes shining in the dim light. “I really love them, Berdly.”
She says it easily. No hesitation. No fear. The words settle into the room like snowfall.
Kris stares at the wall.
Their eyes close.
For a moment, their face tightens like something inside has pulled too hard against a boundary it’s not meant to cross. Then their expression smooths again, careful and blank, as if nothing happened at all. The clock ticks on.
Noelle hums softly to herself as she listens, already half-dreaming, the future unfolding in her mind like something promised. She doesn’t notice when the call drifts toward a comfortable end, when Berdly’s voice fades into good-natured teasing and sleepy well-wishes.
“Goodnight,” she says happily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hangs up and hugs the phone to her chest, staring at the ceiling with a soft, satisfied sigh.
Everything is exactly where it should be.
Kris opens their eyes.
Moonlight has shifted slightly, crawling higher up the wall now. The room feels colder than it did before. They turn onto their back again, arm falling away from their face, gaze unfocused.
They don’t reach for the phone.
They don’t reach for the guitar.
They lie there, suspended between motion and stillness, breath steady, heart contained behind careful walls.
Outside, snow continues to fall.