Chapter Text
The class bell rings, technically waking Kris up as it brings them to that weird state between awake and asleep, of regaining a small bit of awareness while still feeling like they're sleeping anyway. They know they should probably get up and start the walk back home, but they don't really feel like doing it. Initially, they plan to just doze off for a few more minutes, like they usually do. It's not like anyone will mind, and they still feel really tired — they always feel so tired, nowadays…
But then, a voice. Her voice.
“Um, Kris?”
Their head shoots up instantly. A spectator would probably think something huge just got announced, in order to warrant such a reaction: a threat, or a tragedy, or something of the sort. But Noelle talks to them so rarely nowadays. Their interactions are strictly limited to class time, with a “Good morning!” or a “See you tomorrow!” or even a “Which pencil do you want to borrow?” and nothing more. If she decided to break this unspoken agreement of theirs, something huge, possibly life-changing, must have happened.
On her part, she looks anxious, like this is the last place she wants to be in. Her eyes are very purposefully as far away from their figure as they can be and one arm is squeezing the other with what feels like as much force as possible. Held in her free arm, which is extended towards them, is some sort of letter.
“An invitation,” she explains, voice still far too nervous and far too shaky. “For my party.” But that just raises more questions, because since when did Noelle host parties? “Well, it's not much of a party, more of a gathering — mom’s hosting it as a sort of farewell, since I'm leaving for college soon-”
Oh. Oh.
“Okay,” they mumble out, somehow more monotone than usual. Even as she keeps speaking, the words come out in a garbled incomprehensible mess, as if Kris is hearing them while underwater. “Okay” is all they reply with, again and again, over and over. “Okay.” They don't even know what they're agreeing with.
At some point, she leaves. They wouldn't know when, exactly. They weren't paying attention.
That's not what they were expecting, but it should've been. It's Noelle. She's so smart — far smarter than Kris, surely — and so hardworking and if anyone deserves to have that chance, it's her. Still…
“Okay,” they whisper to themself. They throw their head back, lean against the chair. It crosses their mind that such an act isn't very safe, but the thought of falling onto the ground doesn't seem too scary right now. “Okay,” they repeat instead. Is it an attempt at reassurance? At confirmation? It's uncertain even to them — okay is a pretty versatile word isn’t it?.
They breathe once, twice. Inhale, exhale. The air enters and exits their lungs the same way it always did, but there's still something different, somewhere, somehow. Life-changing indeed.
It occurs to Kris, then, that they should probably have said something akin to congratulations.
Their mind flashes back to the last moment when such an event happened.
Hometown is too far away from any university that’s even remotely respectable. As such, most people who complete high school end up moving away from the small monster settlement, seeking better opportunities in the large human cities. This transit is facilitated by the fact that, unlike any universities, the nearest train station is decently close — it's only about a twenty-minute drive, give or take. At that moment, though, Kris couldn't help but wish it was longer. If only it was an hour away, or even two… hell, why couldn't it be on the other side of the world?
They could still remember the day Asriel had told them all about his approval for the university at a far away city. It was a huge occasion. Life-changing, really, at least for him. It even got mom to tolerate dad for more than five seconds and travel in the car with him, both of them eager to see their son off on his next adventure.
Back when they'd been first told, Kris hadn't thought much of it. So what if their brother was leaving? At least there'd still be occasional interactions, at least it wouldn't be permanent, at least he'd be alive. Now, though, their stomach churned. Every passing second felt like a waste, another moment spent mourning his brother before he's even gone. It made them wonder: would they still have wandered into that forest, if there'd been a countdown hanging over their head?
Eventually, they arrived at the station, much to Kris’ dismay. Their parents were already hugging him, crying, repeating over and over the extent of their pride for him. Kris, on the other hand, tried their best to stay in the corner, small, too small to be seen. They knew this part would hurt the most. Yet, when it was all over, Asriel found them anyway, and walked towards them gently.
He didn't look happy, or sad, or angry… he looked sorry. That was when Kris’ heart broke.
“Azzy,” they mumbled. They usually mumbled out their words, but Asriel always seemed to hear them anyway. “You'll come back, right?”
“Oh, Kris…” he'd said, with an expression that felt too painful to look at.
Then, he hugged them. Soft, protective, but not pushy — Azzy's hugs were always the best. He always knew when Kris needed them, too.
“Hey, buddy. Shhhh,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing circles on their back. Meanwhile, Kris sobbed onto his jumper. “I'll visit whenever I can — college still has vacations, you know? And I'll call you so much, you'll start getting sick of my voice.”
Kris had laughed, then, miraculously. “Never,” they promised. And for a moment, it seemed like that was all. Their sadness was gone, their problems were all solved, right?
But then, as the whistle blew and Asriel walked away, Kris realized far too late that he never answered their question.
The issue with Noelle's imminent departure is that there shouldn't be an issue. This isn't like Asriel, who felt like the one person keeping them together at times, no matter how much their mind liked to tell them otherwise. There's nothing they'll lose out of this, because they've already lost her. Abandoned her, really, just like they abandoned… well, that's beside the point.
Maybe that's why Kris pushed her away in the first place, they reflect. Not for her own good, or whatever other virtuous reason they gaslighted themself into believing, but because they're a toxic, selfish freak who didn't want this part to hurt so much. If that's the case, then they must be stupid as well, because it isn't helping at all. She still won't leave their mind, her image practically imprinted onto their brain.
They still haven't gotten rid of the invite letter. There are absolutely no plans to show up, from their end, and yet they just can't bring themself to tear it apart or burn it or anything of the sort. They end up leaving it on one of the shelves in their side of the bedroom — there’s plenty of space, after all.
One night, after hours of failing to fall asleep, they turn on the desk lamp, pick up the invite and just… look at it. Noelle's handwriting is obnoxiously neat as always, contrasting with the fairly simple words of invitation. The date is scheduled for the middle of June, still months away. There's a picture attached to it: Noelle standing in her kitchen, smiling towards the camera. The room looks just like they remember, the background being taken up by both that old Christmas tree and the…
Kris makes a decision, then.
They act like they don't. They still weigh the pros and cons, consider how difficult it would be to follow through without getting caught, but deep down they know it's already a done deal. Of course, the fact there's virtually no risk helps, but it wouldn't have mattered. Not really.
The next day, they skip class. That's not necessarily surprising, in and of itself. The unconventional part lies in their destination, headed straight towards Holiday Manor.
Breaking in isn't too hard, though maybe doing it in broad daylight isn't the smartest idea. They're hoping everyone is too busy at school or work to really notice anything, including the occupants of the house — neither Noelle nor her mother would mind too much, probably, but Kris would rather not face either of them. Climbing the gate is even easier than when they were a kid, and the huge tree near the window to Noelle's bedroom is still present and sturdy enough to climb, and said window is easily pushed open.
As they awkwardly wobble into the house, finding it much harder to fit through the aperture now that they've grown up, it occurs to them how odd it is that the window is unlocked. Noelle always left it like that deliberately, knowing Kris’ propensity for sneaking in, but there was no reason to do so anymore. Maybe she just forgot to lock it, they reason with themself — she's always been pretty forgetful, after all.
The house itself looks exactly as they remember. Not entirely unsurprising, given how intense Carol is about preservation, but it still left them feeling like a little kid again. These feelings of nostalgia only intensified as they opened the kitchen door and walked closer to what they'd come here for: the piano.
In a rare stroke of patience and calm, dedicated only to this most sacred of activities, they don't rush themself. As they sit on the stool, their hands brush over the keys tentatively, almost scared to touch them. Kris closes their eyes. Their hand slides across that sea of black and white, feeling both like it's their first day all over again and like they'd never stopped playing at all.
Except they had. Stopped playing, that is.
The hospital's piano aside, which was too public for their taste, this was the only one they had access to. There was no piano at the Dreemurr residence. Toriel could probably afford one, if Kris asked for it as a gift, but they never did. They couldn't even bring themself to really want one, to be honest. And yet, something about the instrument still calls to them, insistent, demanding.
Their hand makes a decision. C, they tell themself, and that's the note that's played as their finger curls towards the ivory, sounding exactly as they expected, just as they remember.
A short warm-up follows, first with simple melodies, then with a couple of short songs they'd imprinted onto their memory during the most vivid phases of their Dragon Blazers hyperfixations. Their playing is far from perfect — they often find themself messing up the tempo, even getting a note or two wrong now and again — but it's so familiar that it makes their heart ache.
Satisfied and filled with dread, Kris moves on to the final song, the end of this private, empty concert. A song they're a composer of. After all, what better way to end a concert with no audience than with a song that lacks a name?
Well, that isn't entirely true. It had a name once, as all things do. Lyrics, too, as if that wasn't enough. Even the wordless parts of the song spoke far more than they do nowadays, the hopes and dreams that once belonged to every single note played within this orchestra now faded away to time.
Kris still remembers the melody with more clarity than any other, though, down to the time-signature. Seven quarter-beats per measure. And they play it in a way they've never played anything before, putting all their energy into it. When else would they get the chance? The idea of another visit just sounds like more trouble than it's worth. Even then, their hand could fall off out of nowhere, for all they know, and hamper their ability to produce something even half as beautiful. So for now, while they can, they play. Nothing occupies their mind, nothing but the rhythm. Seven-four, their mind reminds them. Seven-four.
Maybe that's what the song should be called now. Seven-four. What else would it be called, now that its origin was forgotten?
Except it wasn't forgotten. Kris remembers every detail meticulously, from the message of the song to the ideas that'd been bounced back and forth to the way her voice sounded as she sang. They remember the dreams this song had created and the way those dreams had died with her. Much as they'd tried to forget, those memories still remained. They could never wash it all away.
Seven-four, they repeat, trying to focus on the things they don't mind remembering, trying to stop their mind from wandering. Seven-four. But it's useless, for oh, how it wanders…
They think of Noelle. It shouldn't matter that she's leaving, but it does, because they still remember her. They still remember the days and nights spent playing, talking, laughing, doing anything and everything all at once. They miss these days so much. Kris knows they'd have just slowed her down, weighted too heavily on her emotions. Maybe she'd even have died, by now. Instead, without Kris in the picture, she gets to go to a nice college and start her career and go somewhere far, far away, and that's so amazing. They should be happy for her, and they are, but they're also heartbroken. Heartbroken because they're vile, they're selfish, and even though they know it's all their fault and they know it's for the best they still miss her so, so much.
It's just like the piano. They know they shouldn't play it. Why should they be allowed to, after all? If she's watching Kris, somehow, then no doubt she's feeling like they're scorning her legacy, arrogantly showboating the fact that they're alive and she isn't. But Kris is selfish, and they like playing, and they like the way playing makes them feel: focused, somewhat happy, and in control. So they play, for as long as their hands allow.
Seven quarter-beats per measure, they repeat, and that's how they play. Perfectly, exactly. What they want is what is done, and they'd be lying if they said they didn't get some pleasure over that autonomy. Just focus on the song. Seven-four, seven-
“-for?”
They glance to the left, towards the kitchen door. Captured fully within their gazes is Noelle, clad in that red and green checkerboard sweater she always wears for school. Kris blinks once, twice, convinced she's just a figment of their imagination, but their attempts to will her away are unsuccessful.
“I asked, um, how long have you been playing for?”
Their hand digs into their pocket, fishing out their phone to check the time. It's only been fifty minutes, roughly. A lot of time, certainly, but Kris wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out that hours had passed. Still, this outcome leads to an interesting realization…
“You're supposed to be at school,” they state. Saying it out-loud is an accident, and Kris hates how much it comes off as defensive, like they've gotten caught doing something they shouldn't do. In a way, though, they're also curious. Noelle being at school is expected, in a way that their presence isn't.
The mention of school, it seems, drives her to embarrassment, her cheeks reddening in a familiar way to a hue that Kris has always found adorable.
“I, uh, kinda skipped today?” Her cheeks redden even more and her nose even starts glowing. Despite themself, Kris can feel the beginning of a smile forming. “I just figured, you know, since I've already been accepted for college, it wouldn't matter so much…” she continues, and just like that, their smile fades just as quickly as it'd appeared. “H-Hold up, we were talking about you, not me!” she realizes the topic of the original question was being skirted around, and now their face is occupied by a rather annoyed frown. “What are you even doing here!?”
“Felt like playing,” they explain, figuring honesty would be best here. “The window was open. Let myself in.” Drawing their focus back to the piano, they press a key and listen to the note it plays. The spark is lost. It's a lot harder to ignore their dishonoring when there's a witness. “I'm finished now, though.”
As they look back at Noelle, they catch what seems like a flicker of disappointment on her face, but it's gone before they can acknowledge it. Wishful thinking, most likely.
“I… guess I'll walk you to the gate, then,” she states in a neutral tone before walking out of the dining room. Kris promptly follows after her, feeling more like an intruder than this house has ever made them feel.
The walk back to her house's gate is completely silent from both sides. Kris wants to say something, and they figure she does too, with how unnaturally her mouth moves throughout their entire walk, but it's difficult to find something suitable. Instead, she opens the gate without a word, and they leave just as quietly, figuring that's it. No more secret Holiday Manor visits, no more guilty pleasure piano playing, no more Noelle. She’ll be too far away to even longingly glance at, now.
But then, she finally, finally speaks up.
“Um, Kris?” she says nervously, and they instantly tilt their head back, listening with apt attention. “I, uh… thanks. I missed hearing the piano.”
They're not sure how to respond to that. Neither is unaware of why the piano is no longer played, even if neither is ready to say it.
“You could learn to play,” they settle on a neutral statement. “That way, you could listen to it whenever you wanted.”
“Well, yeah, but…” Her face does that cute blushing thing again, glowing nose and all. Kris already knows she'll ask something embarrassing, already knows they won't be able to listen to common sense and refuse her. “It wouldn't be you playing,” she finishes.
Maybe it's not a request, outwardly, but they can read between the lines easily enough. And they know they shouldn't play again, know they shouldn't even think of approaching her, of tainting the future she's crafted so wonderfully for herself…
But Kris is selfish. Painfully, utterly selfish, and knowing there's a countdown hanging over their head makes every decision feel a lot more urgent.
“If you start opening up your window again,” they start, trying not to sound too excited, “you might find me there, every once in a while.”
And then Noelle beams, from ear to ear, in a way that Kris hasn't seen for a very long time. An odd thought strikes Kris right then and there: she looks really pretty, smiling like that, so unapologetically joyful.
“Well, that shouldn't be too hard,” she says, giggling to herself in contagious happiness. “I never really stopped, after all.”
That night, they can’t stop thinking about the way her face lit up, and the way their heartbeat had sped up after hearing her response. Yet another memory they won't be forgetting, it seems…