Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Laying on the couch, Kanako heaved another cough, grimacing at the pink left in her hand. Gross. But it was her own fault for playing past her limit last night.

Could anyone blame Kanako though? It was Splatfest! And she was on a win streak with her friends! Who’d want to leave the party early?

The crafter should have. Because Axis had warned Kanako she was at her limit, and maybe if she listened, she wouldn’t be in an ill, lethargic state.

“I need to get outta here.” she groaned, turning away from the live Ink Sport channel she’d been staring dumbly at in an envious stupor.

Quietly as she could, Kanako sat up and checked Axis’ status. The nanny-bot had declared he needed to recharge a while ago, and it didn’t seem like he wasn’t done yet. If the crafter wanted to leave home without a tail, she’d need to move now.

Getting to her feet, Kanako waited just long enough for the wobbles to even out before sluggishly padding to the bookshelf, opening the door, and entering her room. Casting a look at her beautiful ink brush, in need of some repair, the crafter decided a little begrudgingly to take it along. Sliding open her closet, Kanako pulled out a yellow T-shirt pictured with something she didn’t register, a dark pink skort, and a blue haori decorated with pink flowers. Hair-wise, she forewent her usual bun n’ ears style for a simple ponytail, wrapping her tentacles up in a red cord.

In the mirror looked a bit messy, and sad, but it had to do.

Kanako hardly remembered entering the streets of New Home, or weaving though her shortcuts towards the Transit station, everything was a blur of autopilot until she tried slipping into sea form and sent unhappy jolts through her system. The crafter couldn’t describe the feeling other than that sparky, bead-like flow one felt when a limb fell asleep, but cranked up and all over.

An unfortunately familiar feeling. Kanako blinked out of the daze and stepped away from the line to board the train instead. In the crowded cabin, she thought about where exactly she wanted to go and checked her texts—Posey complained about missing Splatfest, and the Choco Trio were up to their usual shenanigans—smiling as she answered them.

Port Ocean seemed like as good a place as any, Kanako surmised as she entered 8-Bit Transit in all its mosaic glory. If anything, she knew of a few pretty good craft stores in that area she could browse while she was up there. Looked like she’d have to walk though, since jumping, like swimming, was out of the question.

So up the ramp the crafter trekked, weaving through the usual mid-day crowd and trying not to cough too loud when the feeling struck, making sure to wipe any spat ink on the inside of her haori so it’d fade away without causing a scene. In no time though, Kanako was boarding another train to Sopela’s only aboveground cavern.

Stepping out of the station, Kanako noticed something about atmosphere. It was dim, encouraging the lights to be on early. The air had this sharp, fresh feeling to it. There was this hollow patter-patter too…

Oh.

It was raining.

Kanako hadn’t seen actual rain in years. But at least she wasn’t trapped in a hotel room this time.

Walking through the streets, Kanako found it oddly serene. Port Ocean was always so lively, mostly because of the visitors. But the touristy areas were closed now, and the Inkadians were surprisingly chill, joining the murmur blanketing the streets alongside the lighting’s amber glow.

It was cozy in a way that gave the crafter some of her energy back as she asked around for a decent weapons shop. The octoling at the counter had an Octarian accent on the heavier side, that fact made Kanako feel better about leaving her dear brush there for repairs. “Good afternoon, ma’am.” Kanako greeted in Octari.

The shopkeep raised a brow, but smiled wider, “Not often I meet an inkling who speaks that language—what is it you need?”

Kanako rounded her weapon off her back, presenting it over the counter, “My ink brush needs some repair. I’d do it myself, but last night has gotten one over on me.”

“Ah, the Calligraphy, she served you well.” the shopkeep said, observing the bristles, “I assume the cosmetics are your handiwork?”

“Yes, the Deco version felt a little bland, and I wanted to pay homage to my mother.” the crafter answered easily and proudly. Her mother had a strong reputation in her minor league days, and her trusty weapon now rested in her room—which was dad’s request apparently—only used when Uncle Starlo or Auntie Martlet decided they wanted to die a lot that day.

“Are you looking for a job? Plenty of soldiers around here would pay a lot for work like this.”

Chuckling, and subsequently coughing, Kanako shook her head, “I have a business already and plan to enter the higher leagues. Though, would you like a mask? You keep reaching for something that isn’t there.”

“Ah.” the shopkeep realized, pointed fingers tracing her pink eyemask, “I will think on it. The repairs are simple, come back in a few hours.” She wrote a few things in a book, “Name?”

“Kanako.” the crafter smiled, bowing and heading for the door, “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll see you soon!”

“Get some rest, private.” The stern tone got Kanako to pause and look back, the shopkeep smiled in aching fondness, “Sorry. Just… had a soldier once with the same condition, strongest man I knew.”

Reading between the lines, the young fighter looked to the veteran and gave a light salute, “You will see me again, captain!”

“Ria, kid. Now get out of here.”

Obeying the order, Kanako went back to wandering, steadily heading towards the area that was being soaked by the rain. The cut off point was pretty stark, going from cheerful murmurings to whispered silence, the only people venturing in the storm being non-Inkfish who still carried brellas with them as shelter.

A gentle note caught Kanako’s ear as she stared into the rain. A moment later, it happened again. Curious, she ducked into the narrower streets and followed the sound, picking up the pace when she realized it was a chikara. She only knew of one musician crazy enough to hide away here during prime busking time.

This far in, the area felt like another world, or a maze lit up just for her. Close, with a hearty lived-in vibe and housing businesses that all seemed connected in the tight space. Kanako managed to navigate the alleys to the music’s source, but found no traveler. Agitation flickered through her tentacles, “C’mon, I know you’re here, traveler.”

A bark of laughter answered her muttering from above, “Looking for someone, mask maker?”

Whipping her head up, Kanako spotted Foxington’s signature dog-like mask, bow set aside and legs swinging off the edge of a roof as he shot her an amused grin. The crafter, in contrast, was unamused, “I’m coming up.”

“Careful!” Foxington warned as Kanako found the nearest ladder and prepared for the parkour it’d take to get up there, “Heard you pushed yourself too far last night.”

“Did you watch some of my matches?” she questioned, confused as to how the man knew that. But then again, the man just seemed to know certain things, he liked pretending to be one of those prophet-type characters.

“One or two.” the musician admitted, strumming a few more notes as Kanako worked her way up, “Those combos you preformed with their highness were beautifully executed. Did you happen to win a prize for that hundred-times battle?”

“A group photo with the hosting idols.” Kanako grunted. One more jump, almost there, “Chara did promise to order me a hairstick though.” The princess had already assured her that it was just a gift to symbolize her strength and connection to Cocoa Flower, even when she moved on to greater things, with thankfully no deeper meaning than that.

It made Kanako look forward to her birthday. “A token from royalty, huh? I keep forgetting you’re high class.” With the way you speak being the unsaid half.

“Oh, hush.” the crafter exclaimed as she finally got on the same roof as Foxington, heaving and coughing for a moment before her lungs decided to work again. Fiya, she hated the effects of overworking her soul with a passion, why couldn’t she have been normal?

“Are you ok? Should I call a hospital?” the traveler joked, seasoned with hint of actual concern.

“I’m fine.” Kanako moved to sit next to Foxington, clearing her throat, “And we’re friends, social standing has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh? So if your parents weren’t famous scientists, you’d still be friends with their highness, the laughing devil.” the musician challenged, continuing to pluck at the chikara’s strings like it was more akin to a guitar and not a violin.

Kanako gave the accusation real thought. If her mother hadn’t become a scientist, she’d probably be a pro Ink Sports player or maybe a Caretaker like the rest of the Ketsukanes. She’d still marry dad, probably, so she’d still be born. Frisk and Clover would still fall, Martlet adopting one and Starlo the other. And since Chara was interested in those two, they’d still meet. All that would change is that Frisk wouldn’t get the trick to supposedly help Kanako treat her condition.

“I would, though I might be dead by now.” the crafter answered, her tentacles’ glow subconsciously syncing with the somber melody Foxington was crafting.

“That’s grim.”

“True though.” Kanako would’ve still wanted to go into Ink Sports as a player, maybe even more so than now because her mother would be active. The crafter was certain, without any intervention, that battleground in which no one should’ve died would've be her grave. May still be, if she isn’t vigilant. “Foxington. Can I ask something kind of stupid?”

“I’m all ears. Though you’re missing a set.” the traveler teased, flicking the area one of her tentacle-made ears would be.

Rolling her eyes, Kanako leaned back a little, staring into the rain and rocking sea in the distance. “Do you think the Great Respawn Point exists? That we actually reincarnate again and again?”

Foxington didn’t answer, so Kanako continued talking.

“I know my mom believes it for dad’s sake, and part of our religion is the prophesy of Fiya reincarnating to guide us through crises, which she’s supposedly done three times now. Just—

“Do you ever get this feeling like we’ve been here before? Like you were meant to meet the people you have, see the things you’ve seen, do the things you’ve done. What if our souls have been cycling since humanity’s time, and we just dance the same patterns on a different stage?”

“Hm…” Foxington mused, “That isn’t as stupid a question as you think, Kanako. Just look at history, those figures written down continue to make the same mistakes, even as we try to learn from it. I wouldn’t be surprised if humanity faced those mistakes too… What made you ask that?”

“Earlier, I met a woman who was reminded of someone else by talking to me. Just now, the idea of me dying young… it felt tangible, like fact. And thinking back, I feel like I’ve known my friends for far longer than just a decade, Clover especially. So I have to wonder… How many Kanakos were there before me? How many were born to a Ceroba? Knew an Uncle Star, an Uncle Dalv, an Auntie Martlet? How many dreamed big and died before seeing it through, hells, before even starting?”

Silence enveloped the pair for a long moment, the only sounds they heard being the rain and the tune Foxington continued to play, now adding the bow back into the mix.

“I don’t think I’ve this song before, it’s soothing with a day like this.” Kanako remarked softly, like anything above a whisper would break the calm spell this moment held.

“I wrote it a while ago, on a rainy day it just came to me.” the traveler answered, “Like memories of another life. In a way, it’s not too dissimilar to what you describe. It’s admittedly why I choose to wonder, I want to capture as many of those fragments as I can.”

Kanako hummed, looking at him through the corner of her eye, “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that open about yourself.”

“Well, I also think I was dog at some point—” Foxington mused, startling the crafter into bursting out a laugh.

“R-really?! Ha, is that the reason you asked for a mask like that?”

“Yup! But is it any different from your usual hairdo or mask?” the traveler threw back.

Kanako recalled when she first begged her mother for the style. It was during their only trip aboveground, soon after they passed through that plaza and saw the statue their family took care of generations ago. It just felt right, white hair with white ears, especially when her mother picked up the same style. “Was I a fox at some point…?”

“Maybe.” Foxington grinned, “I heard an interesting tale the other day, wanna hear it?”

“Sure, I still have hours to kill.” the crafter shrugged. Even if Axis woke up and told her to come back, Kanako wasn’t leaving until her brush was fixed.

The musician changed the melody to the one he used for storytelling, it brought her back to when they first met eight years ago. “Once upon an old age, there lived not one, but two races. Humanity and Monsterkind.

“It was said that these monsters were spiritual beings, able to conjure great feats but swayed easily by their emotions, for good and ill. Furthermore, these beings left nothing but a sprinkling of dust behind when they passed, like they never existed in the first place.”

“So akin to us?” Kanako wondered, grimacing a bit at the memory of her father’s corpse slowly melting into a dissolving ink puddle on her parents’ bed. Bleach was terrifying like that.

“Yes, though our bodies get more time, while these people went poof.” Foxington informed, continuing the story, “As such, they were a fleeting race, more so when they drew the ire of the much greater humanity. Slowly they were hunted, until what was left was sealed by humanity’s greatest in a cave meant to be their tomb.

“Some wonder if, in their dying breath, monsterkind started the tragedies that consumed humanity. A prayer to serve humanity karma equal to the pain they caused.

“And from the ashes arose Seakind, but with how things they are today, are we doomed to the same fate?”

The musician preformed a finishing flourish, and once it was done, Kanako deadpanned, “That story sucked.”

Foxington laughed, “It’s supposed to be a cautionary tale, I think. What do you make of it?”

“I can’t say the tale’s improbable; it’d be hypocritical after the miracles I’ve seen. And I agree that if we don’t play nice as a whole, we’ll eventually drive ourselves to sleeping with the humans.” Kanako sighed, “But doesn’t it sound off? There just so happened to be another discriminated race alongside humanity, who just so happened to not leave any physical remains, who also could do ‘great feats’? I think whoever told you the tale was retelling the Aboveground’s Great Turf War under a human guise.”

“Mayhaps… it does ring a bell.” Foxington considered, using a tone that made Kanako wonder if he was actually the author. It wasn’t the first time he spun tales for others. “Either way, can I ask you a favor before you go?”

“What? Need another mask?” the crafter teased, “That one’s not even two years old yet!”

“No, this one will work for a while more, promise.” the musician smiled, “Could you add lyrics to this rainy tune?”

“Me? I’m not as good as Frisk when it comes to that.” Kanako would know, having soul-mending sessions at least twice a month that they loved to use as soundboard time.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Wow you’re pushy today… Does the song have a title?”

“It’s Raining Somewhere Else.”

“That doesn’t fit at all.” Kanako huffed, taking a breath and selecting a topic as Foxington restarted the song, plucking long tones. 1… 2… 3… 4…

Fairy lights, warm the alley around me as I

Wonder though, enjoy the sights

Feel the breeze, let the murmurs pass us by and wait

Although what for?

Stone walls, we know all the halls

And yet

Curiously, it ain’t quite the same

Though right now, as I’m turning around, I recall

The days and names

Standing there, a young shadow calling after

Moments of the far distant past

Friends and foes, mix with untold regret and joy, reflecting

A brand new play

Seasons change, life trickles on so slow, meanwhile

Rain patters all around

Phantom drops faze through my skin to wet the ground

Like I’m not even there

Clouds just keep moving no matter what we try to do

But I’m alright

It’s fine

As it’s clear

I’m still here

Take a breath, air is so clear and flowing

Clearing through, the sudden doubt

We are one, yet my story’s just begun, just wait

No time to waste

Fairy lights, tiny spotlights and I gaze out

At my other, the tale long gone

Give a smile, time to move on, let it slip from mind and know

The song continues on

“…Okay! I’m done.” Kanako announced a bit too loudly. Her face felt like it was on fire.

Foxington clapped politely, followed shortly by some passersby below. “That was a good show, certainly better than what I could do.”

“Aren’t you a musician?”

“Why do you think all I make is instrumental?”

Kanako huffed a laugh at the idea of an artist as popular as Barksalot not being able to write lyrics. “Do you think someone recorded that?”

The traveler shrugged, “We’ll know at some point. How do you feel about your lyrics?”

“I… feel a bit better, about the déjà vu, now.” she surmised, trying not to think of the fall as she stared at her twiddling thumbs, “Even if things are remixes of the past, it’s echoes, not a script. I’m them and myself, and damnit, I’ll do all I can to reach my dreams, even if the world says it’ll kill me.”

Kanako huffed again, mouth quirked up in a wry smirk, “Though, honestly, it's morbidly funny to think some details are more set than others. Like my dad putting work over family and dying for it. Or Frisk having something wrong with their sight, Chara facing public hardships, and Clover gaining an interest in cowboy stuff to cope.” She laughed bitterly, leaning back again, “Ah, I hang out with Clover too much.”

If Foxington was planning to say something, it was interrupted by a buzzing phone. Kanako fished it out of her haori and checked the texts.

Axis: WHERE ARE YOU?

Axis: I’M WORRIED.

Axis: KANAKO.

Axis: DON’T MAKE ME SEARCH THE WHOLE CAVERN.

Axis: AGAIN.

Axis: I KNOW YOU’RE READING THIS.

Axis: I WILL NOTIFY CEROBA IN ONE MINUTE.

Axis: 60

Axis: 59

Axis: 58

Kanako: I needed air.

Kanako: Port Ocean, Filefish Fabrics.

Kanako: No, I’m not going home yet.

Axis: WHY DO I PUT UP WITH YOU?

Kanako: Cause you’re programed to, and you love me.

Axis: I’M FULLY CHARGED AND FEEL TIRED ALREADY.

Axis: STAY PUT. BE THERE IN 20 MINUTES.

Chuckling, the crafter put the phone away and got away from the ledge, “Sorry we can’t talk longer. Axis woke up and now I need to get across town before he does.”

“Good luck. Hopefully the fox spirit still smiles upon your family.” Foxington waved, looking amused at her plight.

“Ha ha.” Kanako intoned, muttering moments later, “The speed would be nice though.” as she hurriedly found a way down. She prepared to leave, but not without the usual, “Goodbye, traveler. Maybe you’ll write me a theme this time!”

“Maybe, mask maker, see you later.” he replied as always, tacking on as he went back to playing, “Tell your cousin happy birthday for me.”

Kanako didn’t question how the musician knew that, Frisk must have told him at some point, just making a mental note as she jumped and began her sprint.

Racing though the colorful streets, Kanako felt her lungs stutter and sluggishness pull at her limbs. But at the same time, she felt lighter than she had all day, the wind rushing by her face and the pounding in her hearts filling her soul with something akin to adrenaline. The juxtaposition made Kanako feel alive, drawing a grin on her face.

Unfortunately, the thrill died alongside her lungs the moment she stopped running. Naturally freaking out the people around the crafter. A hand thwacked Kanako on the back, probably thinking she was choking, and it surprisingly worked. Breathing in deep, she lowered her sleeve to see a large pink stain stark against the blue. “That’s gonna be hard to hide…” It’ll take at least three minutes for the air to eat the ink, and Axis was likely closer than that.

“Dat doesn’t look healthy.” a voice winced beside her, reminding Kanako that she had company.

“It’s fine! Happens now and then, don’t worry for me.” she waved off casually, turning an easy smile to the stranger.

The boy was about her age and carried a splatling case on his back, must be pretty strong to main that hefty thing. “Ya sure, miss?”

“Yeah, thanks for the concern.” Kanako bowed, then swiftly entered the fabric store before the conversation could drag. Her family would rag on her for being rude, but the crafter didn’t want to explain her whole condition to another person she’d never see again, it was annoying.

Like clockwork, Axis showed up shortly after Kanako started looking at Octarian-style fabrics, and zeroed in on the ink stain. His eyes looked unimpressed, “WHAT WILL IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU GO HOME?”

That was about the only thing Kanako liked about this overworked state, her nanny-bot was forced to negotiate instead of immediately grabbing the girl by the nerve in her neck and dragging her away. “I need some more supplies, and my brush’s being repaired. Do you think mom would like a new kimono? Actually—does Clover have anything Octarian? They should have something of their heritage…”

“YOU’RE FULL OF ENERGY NOW.” Axis’ fans whirled in a sigh, “CEROBA WASN’T GOTTEN NEW CLOTHES SINCE DALV MADE HER THAT COAT. AND CLOVER RARELY WEARS ANYTHING OTHER THAN VAGUELY COWBOY, SO WHO KNOWS.”

“Something for both then!” Kanako decided, flicking through the bolts with practiced ease.

“WHEN DID YOU DROP OFF YOUR INKBRUSH?”

“Um… Half an hour ago? Little longer?” Oh, that shade of gold was gorgeous, and with rich blue peonies and white clovers, they’d love something with this.

“THEN WE’RE SHOPPING FOR DINNER TOO.” Axis demanded, and Kanako just nodded. She didn’t care what they did, as long as she wasn’t limp and drooling on the couch.

Despite the size of the Octarian section, it didn’t take too long for Kanako to find what she wanted, the outfits already coming together in her mind. Her cousin hated what was known as ‘loyal magenta’, so she stuck with their usual palate centered around the pretty gold fabric she found. Meanwhile, a white fabric with coral carnations and red camellias screamed of her mother, and would pair nicely with some of her red leftover fabric at home. The crafter even made away with something for herself, this pastel pink fabric with white karakusa and pops of golden sakura flowers, it just called to her.

Afterward, they stopped by a paint shop to pick up a few tubes she was running low on, and strolled through the local market. Axis insisted on holding Kanako’s hand through the bustling center, “Can we have udon for dinner?”

Axis stuttered in perusing a vendor’s collection of berries, looking over his shoulder, “SURE. WANT ANYTHING SPECIFIC?”

“Chef’s choice.”

“GREESE BROTH TOPPED WITH NUTS. GOT IT.” he declared flatly, turning back to the booth with a nod.

“What?! No!” Kanako protested around a smile.

Axis’ eyes scrunched subtly in amusement, “BUT THAT’S MY CHOICE.”

“Well, it’s awful. And you don’t eat!”

“BUT IF I COULD,” the nanny-bot reasoned, “THAT SOUNDS DELICIOUS.”

Kanako giggled, then was struck suddenly with the question of how Axis fit into her little theory, given the artificial soul he had received some years ago. Were there other Axises in the past? It’d be funny if there were, and did previous Kanakos know them? Were they as close as this cycle, or more distant? The questions fled to the back of her mind though as they continued bantering, soft background noise to the now Kanako lived in.

“Welcome back.” Ria greeted as they entered the weapon shop, naturally speaking in Octari as she glanced at the bags and Axis, “You’ve been busy I see.”

“Yup! Have to keep myself from going stir-crazy while on recovery, warden’s orders.” The crafter joked with a grin.

Axis took that as the cue to float forward and introduce himself, “GREETINGS, MY NAME’S AXIS KETSUKANE. I HOPE MY WARD HASN’T CAUSED ANY TROUBLE.” Kanako lightly elbowed him with a playful glare.

“She’s honestly the most normal customer I’ve seen today.” the shopkeep assured, looking a might annoyed at the fact. Kanako felt bad for her. “Speaking of, Kanako,” Ria addressed, “I’ve decided to take your offer. Is now a good time?”

The crafter brightened, pulling out her phone, “Of course! What’s your com number, and I’ll need your measurements too.”

“WHAT IS THIS?”

“I offered to make her a mask.” the crafter explained offhand.

“Do you normally give out your number to strangers?” Ria questioned, brow raised as she pulled out her own phone.

“I was hoping we could be friends.” Kanako admitted, smiling bashfully, “You seem cool, anyway.”

Ria stared, visually processing in a similar way Chara did, then relented, saying her number aloud, “Don’t abuse that privilege, alright kid? I’ll get your weapon.”

Kanako grinned, naming the new contact ‘Cap’n Ria’ and texting all the things she usually needed to make a mask. When she came back with the repaired brush, the shopkeep tentatively asked, “Pardon my rudeness, but did your robot mean ‘Ketsukane’ as in the murdered shrine keepers? How did the sacred name become attached to inklings?”

Ah, she should have seen this coming. “Well, long story short, we were driven away. A faction of the family anyway.” Kanako answered, “Great grandma’s still alive if you seek more details, but afterward, inklings married in and now we’re mainly Inkto Caretakers in Gazern.”

“I see. Well, at least we didn’t lose one of the great families.” Ria sighed, crossing her arms, “Not sure how the rest of the displaced would react though…”

“EMOTIONS CAN BE VERY FICKLE, IN MY EXPERIENCE.” Axis offered, touching his heart-shaped core, “THEY CAN TURN A SIMPLE FACT INTO SOMETHING VERY VOLITILE. THESE DISPLACED OCTARIANS CAN REACT EITHER BY SCRAMBLING FOR ANY SENSE OF NORMALCY OR LASHING OUT AT THE NEWS.”

“There’s also not telling them.” Kanako threw in, brow furrowed. She had not meant to open a can of glowflies, and she knew she wasn’t in the right state of mind for it, “Let us ask the elders, and put it aside. This is more than I can answer. Can you wait?”

“I will, please tell me when the meeting is.” Ria requested, the hardened worry of the leader flashing in her gaze, “If I may, you really should rest, Lady Kanako.”

“Drop the formalities, please, miss Ria.” the crafter asked, slinging her brush on her back, “Thank you for the service.”

“See you later, kid.”

Once they got home, the excitement of the day caught up and hit the crafter over the head with a splatana. Making Kanako flop onto the couch and pass out almost immediately.

The last thing she remembered was a soft pat on her head as Axis whispered, “I’LL WAKE YOU FOR DINNER.” and the faint echo of a melody mixing with rain.

Chapter Text

It was raining when they were dragged, some literally, to the front doors of the Hatchery. Guards surrounded Clover and the other servants, standard practice for a gathering like this, but the gaudy doors being propped wide open to present the steadily darkening torrent outside made him uneasy.

Inkfish couldn’t survive that without protection. He was sure of it.

And they, the merchandise, were expendable. One or two, at least.

Part of Clover hoped it would be him, given how much of a nuisance their overseers thought he was, it’d be an escape from this place. But then again, as Lady Senko smiled at him with sick sweetness, the bastard remembered he was the Lord and Lady’s favorite toy. “My children.” Lady Senko greeted softly, somehow clear over the rain.

“Good evening, my Lady.” The crowd of servants chorused.

A nearby guard rushed forward, grabbing a girl even younger than Clover by the arm, “You’ll greet your Lady when she speaks to you.”

The girl trembled in the tight grip, and Clover wished he was closer to block—

“How barbaric!” Lady Senko admonished, “What are we? Octarians? Oh, no no no.” she flicked her fan in a silent order, then turned back to the crowd, “We are here to be better than that! To look beyond our blood and helpfully contribute to Inkling society. The youngest, up to about five, come closer, would you?”

The servants separated out quickly, leaving the inkto to glance around in worry, some standing protective of the youngers in the group. Most of them might not know what was about to occur, but they all knew that being singled out was bad.

“Today, I wish to teach you a well-known fact of our kind, little ones.” Clover and the other four-to-five year olds tensed slightly, trying to keep their fear from showing. “Key, Clover, help me demonstrate.”

Carefully stepping out of the crowd, Clover was unceremoniously tossed an umbrella by a butler. The man liked trying to catch the bastard off-guard to get him in trouble, so he was expecting it and caught the tool with some fumbling. The umbrella looked flimsy and was light in his arms, not to mention the pattern...

What a way to go.

Clover closed his eyes for a moment, torn between wishing it was him instead and being somewhere else entirely. Key had looked after him for as long as he could remember, and she was one of the permanent inkto servants serving the Hatchery. He thought he hid his attachment to the older well, but he should have known better.

No one lived over twenty-five in these halls.

“I saw a lovely red flower across the way, Key, would you retrieve in for me?” Lady Senko ordered under her fan-shaded inquiry, “I don’t want my best gown dirty before tomorrow’s party.”

“Of course, my Lady. That would be disastrous.” Key agreed cordially, smiling like she vowed to, “Is Clover accompanying me?”

“Oh, no. He has a gift for you. Present it for us to see.” The Lady explained with a dismissive flourish.

Clover obeyed, pointing toward the servants and popping the umbrella he’d been tasked with painting today open. Through the sheer paper, he could see the symbols he had to write, and the flower he painted around them. The youngers oohed a bit, while the olders looked on grimly. “I painted it myself.” Clover announced to Key, eyes flicking to see Lady Senko made no move to stop his words, “I hope it’ll do.”

Key took hold of the offered handle with a hard sheen in her eyes, “It’s lovely, thank you.” Then she rested it on her shoulder with twirl, and grinned at the crowd, “I’m going now!”

Steadily, without a hint of fear, Key walked out the doors into the rain.

Lady Senko beckoned Clover to her side, placing her free hand on his head. “We must wish her well, lest she catch a cold.” she said, but the fingers curling over one of his tentacles held a different message. He had to watch. He had no choice.

The umbrella tilted toward the worst of the storm, blocking the pellets for a time. But then it started to sag, breaking apart like the paper was never there. Key continued through with steady feet, never showing in her frame how much the water burned her body as it beat down and soaked her clothes. And then, as she got to the edge of sight—

—Clover jolted awake as thunder boomed, whipping their head around in search of the guards or staff—

But there were none.

They were in a beige room with sparce furniture and a single lamp turned on across from them. The room pattered with the sound of rain against curtained glass, smelled earthy instead of nauseatingly floral, and they sat in a bed far comfier than the Hatchery’s with clothes that weren’t uniform. Beside them, in another bed, laid a white and pink blob, tentacles splayed over the pillow and unbothered by the noise…

Right. Clover was with the Ketsukanes on a trip to see some aboveground sights. They were currently living in a fancy hotel in a city named Inkopolis.

It was fine, they were safe and had nothing to worry about now.

Yet, as Clover nestled under the covers again, they couldn’t go back to sleep. Something was uncomfortable and their mind was still latched on the memory.

Sighing heavily, the boy slid out of bed and forsook their prosthetic to just brace themself against various objects and hop toward this curtained alcove in their room. Within the closed off space, the rain was louder, but not as loud as that night. Through the blurred glass, Clover could see no stars, only the lights of the city that insisted on staying awake.

The city that didn’t see the pain right under their noses.

It irritated them so much to be here because of that fact. Clover lost a leg to gain freedom, a couple hundred other inkto continued to suffer, and these people couldn’t give a shit. They had forgotten what they did to the Octarians, and didn’t even know what the boy was, or what they came from. The three of them were worried about hiding their traits for nothing. Clover didn’t know whether to be grateful or sick at the fact.

“Nightmare?” Kanako asked sleepily, scaring the boy from their thoughts.

“Sort of.” Clover admitted, watching as the blobby girl plopped across from them, “You’re gettin’ better at sneakin’.”

Kanako smiled softly, “Had a good teacher… You’re starting to pick up Uncle Star’s tendi—habit too.”

“Nah. Just tired.” They waved off. Starlo was an odd one, as far as people Clover’s met was concerned. He took the boy in and was ‘trying to be a father’, whatever that meant, and was apparently failing if the talks between Ceroba, Martlet, and Starlo they overheard said anything. Clover didn’t care much though, they had a bed, food, and the room to explore their new life. He and his family were fun to talk to though, and the cowboy movies were interesting enough, even if they were another reminder of what an Inkto’s ‘place’ was…

“You want to talk about it?” Kanako offered.

“Not sure I should.” Clover admitted, “Could scare ya—”

“Clover.” she pled suddenly, maroon eyes glowing intensely alongside her pink patterns, “I know I’m not Frisk, or Chara, but we’re cousins now, and I know your hurting, and I want to help you, but you won’t let me in! Let me be there! Please!”

The boy blinked, unsure of what to do, “Are ya sure? My past’s no rainbow, y’know.”

Kanako took a breath and firmly nodded, “I know. Mom left her computer on once and I read some stuff. You were a sal-ave?” she huffed, “Forever servant, right? To a hatchy-thingy.”

Clover’s brows raised, both at the website and the girl. Why was Ceroba looking into their past? They thought they were doing pretty good at acting like a normal kid. “Ya understood all that?”

“Well—no.” Kanako pouted, “There was a lot of hard words, and the writer was guessing stuff too. But I know you weren’t in a good place. Like Frisk was, but different.”

“I…” Clover took a breath, acting meant nothing when someone already saw the cracks, “Yeah, I was born in a Hatchery, prisons built to breed Inkto to service Inklings, however they ask… Remember how Starlo was freakin’ out 'bout a month ago?”

“Because your friend passed away, Scotty.” Kanako nodded, “You didn’t feel sad.”

“What good is bein’ sad?” the boy questioned, staring out the window again, they could practically smell the rain. “Cotty lived a long life, I’ll have a long life. That’s more than most inkto I knew have waitin’ for ‘em, the Hatchery loved makin’ examples.”

Kanako tilted her head, “They killed people like us? Sounds stupid if they also want them to sell.” she declared with bewilderment.

Clover often forgot they were both inkto, albeit the ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ kind. They still weren’t used to the fact most Inkfish didn’t get masks, or ‘skin’ as the servants called it, until they were a little over ten, so the features were harder to pick out. The comment made them cough out a sharp laugh though, “You would think, but there were always the unsold or difficult… I dreamt of one of those moments.”

“Did they shoot them without warning?” Kanako whispered, horrified by whatever her mind conjured.

“Shootin’ was too ‘barbaric’ for ‘em. If your time was up, ya knew it… It was a night much like this, and the Lady asked her to collect a flower across the way…” Clover sighed, chest aching a bit. In the corner of their eye, they could see the blobby girl’s lights flickering, hand over her mouth as she stared at the rain with new fear.

Time to pivot the topic, “Key once told me our only graves will be memories, and that she hoped to piss off all the purebloods when she died, like my father, Wen, did.”

Kanako’s face scrunched in confusion, “Your dad was an inkto?”

“Ya reckon I’d come out like this if I wasn’t?” the boy asked, gesturing with their Inkling hand to their overwhelming Octoling traits.

She looked at her own hands, already pointed like her mother's, “…Point taken.”

“Pretty sure she died ‘cause of me too, heh. The purebloods liked to pick on me the most, so when they caught wind that I was close to Key…” Clover smiled wryly, burning gaze straying to their nub, “Wasn’t long before I fell, now that I think about it.”

Suddenly, the boy found their arms full of blob as Kanako threw herself into a hug. Now, Clover wasn’t going to reject the contact, after all the pain it was nice, but it did confuse them, “Sorry. I thought you needed a hug. I did when dad passed.”

“Right, you and Chara both lost someone recently…” Clover mused softly, closing their eyes as they returned the gesture. Grief was a funny thing, so was this ‘trauma’ Mooch claimed the boy had, it seemed to affect everyone differently. It was hard to understand what was normal for a kid, much less an adult, but Kanako seemed to get it.

“I don’t remember much about dad.” she admitted into their nightshirt, “He was sick for as long as I remember, but I know he cared a whole lot about me and mom, and that he was dorky, and he liked robots, and he didn’t get along too well with Uncle Star. I also remember mom crying by his side as he left.” Her hands curled in the fabric, “I get his work was important, but did he need to be stupid and poison himself?! I don’t know how to feel about him anymore…”

Clover didn’t have any more of an answer than Kanako did, “Am I stupid then?”

“What? No!” Kanako sprung up, holding their arms tightly as she denied the idea emphatically.

“Really? I abandoned my mother and anyone I knew for freedom.” Clover pointed out, downcast eyes sliding to the unseeing window again. “It was selfish and cowardly of that boy to leave it all behind when they all will still hurt in ways ya shouldn’t try imaginin’.”

“Some might think that…” Kanako allowed, trailing to think, “But from what I know of sal-avery, they’d do the same, and want you to live, Clover. Oh! Maybe you could save them when you’re older, since you know what’s happening and have the ear of their highness!”

Clover laughed more genuinely. Chara would probably love to burn those buildings down, but from what they gathered, “Don’t reckon it works like that, Kanako, but I’ll think about it. What makes me and your dad different though? We both left people behind for a goal.”

That got Kanako thinking for a long time, sinking back into the hug, “Because he could have asked for help. Mom was right there, and he had the respect of so many too. But also ‘cause he was my dad, y’know? I loved him.

“You didn’t have that, and in the end, I just met you. That’s the difference.” She paused, propping her head on their chest to look in their eyes, “Can you tell me about your dad, Clover?”

“So that’s why ya shared that, ya knew I’d have to pay in kind!” the boy exclaimed in a hushed tone, naturally falling into the conversational habit all the servants had, “You little fox.”

Kanako let out a short, joyful shriek as Clover ruffled her head, so clearly different from them, “Yup! We’re raiding the fridge too, no buts!”

“Your mother’s goin’ to limit our shoppin’ funds for this, ya know that, right?” Clover watched the blobby head nod with a conspiratorial grin, “Fine. Get my leg, would ya?”

The girl moved so fast she didn’t notice when the boy winced at their wording. Pulling open one of the curtains, Kanako casted a smug look back at them, remarking, “You sound like Uncle Star, by the way.” as she left the alcove.

Clover felt their face shift in shock. By the swift spirit, did they?!

They didn’t understand. How long was the boy emulating the behavior—why were they? Sure, the ‘Feisty Five’ were fun to hang around, and their actions sometimes reminded Clover of the fantasies the youngers would weave. But they were open about being inspired by the same movies that portrayed Inkto as servants, and looked rather stupid too, nothing that would help them be a normal kid…

“I like ‘em because—no madder what—they help those who need ‘em.”

“Maybe you could save them when you’re older…”

…Their brow furrowed, remembering all the hits they took for the others and the anger that simmered in their veins at the thought of the ones they weren’t there for. Maybe the ideas spoke louder to their soul than how they were presented, as much as Clover was embarrassed to admit.

Kanako came back before the boy could ruminate further, bouncing on her toes as they strapped their right leg on. They swore she was more excited to drink whatever sugary thing she had in mind than getting Clover to talk. Of course, the blobby girl denied it, but they didn’t really believe her.

Still, Clover let Kanako drag them out to the central living space, only tensing slightly as they caught wind of something softly floral. Glancing over quickly, they saw a female figure lurking in the doorway, making their breath stutter for a moment. It was fine though, Lady Senko wouldn’t be caught dead, much less by an inkto, with her hair down. If Ceroba decided to join them at some point, Clover resolved not to make a fuss of it.

The jig of normality was up with these two anyway.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Time did a lot of things, Clover noticed.

It healed scars, strengthened bonds, grew skills, and faded memories.

The cowboy was deeply unsettled when they realized that, one night, they couldn’t picture the face of their mother or Key anymore. They laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, running through all they knew. But that was it, just mixed knowledge and habits they were stuck with.

They remembered bringing the breeders their food, seeing their naked bodies chained and limp on the floor, resigned after years of mistreatment. They recalled a few stories the women told them, but nothing in specific, no faces, and their voices were barely whispers now aside from the screams Clover wished they didn't remember.

They recalled the Hatchery’s halls, the basic goings on, the punishments, a handful of notable moments. But not much beyond that, and it hurt. Time was making Clover forget, robbing the only graves they had for people the cowboy wasn’t ever going to see again.

Breathing deeply, Clover got up and put on their leg. The cavern sun’s almost nonexistent glow painting a dim haze over their room, making shadowed silhouettes dance in ways they were used to by now. The main room had bioluminescent orbs strung along the upper edge to provide some light during the night cycle, the cowboy remembered how Starlo gushed about the little lights, thinking they held a candle to actual stars.

Simpler times, then.

Clover sighed, unfortunately familiar frustration mixing with this sorrow gripping at their hearts, and slipped out the front door. Using their key, the cowboy entered the Caliope apartment next door, hung their keys, and walked into Frisk’s room.

The motions were practically autopilot, Clover and Frisk had been treating the two residences as one for most of their lives here. Probably one of the factors that got Martlet and Starlo closer, if the cowboy was honest. Either way, they sat at the edge of the charmer’s bed and took in the room they knew as well as their own.

Clover had no real plan coming here, they just didn’t want to be alone in their grief.

Frisk’s room was brighter than Clover’s, courtesy of the nearby lamp. The cowboy was used to the dark, and the charmer gained a distaste for it after losing their sight. “I live mostly in the dark now,” they explained softly one night, “I don’t want to lose the rest of it.”

How come Clover can remember that, and not Barly’s favorite doll or the little trinket Nettle just had to smuggle back to the barracks?

It didn't make sense.

“I know you’re there.” Frisk commented, startling the cowboy as they shifted, “What’s wrong, my flower?”

Clover tried to smile, complaining with a hint of playfulness, “When will ya drop that nickname?”

“That bad, huh?” the charmer intoned softly, moving to sit up.

“I’m alright just sittin’ here, y’know.”

“I’m not. Spill.”

The cowboy never could decide if they liked how easily Frisk and Chara could read them, the latter once claiming they wore their soul on their sleeve. A part of Clover loved it though, to have this attention and know it was safe. Sighing, they let their leg drop and got comfy, looking up to see Frisk idlily watching them, arms resting on curled legs. Lamplight painted them in soft light and shadow, sparks dancing across their hair and eyes in a way that someone could stare at for a while.

“Try not to get lost in my eyes, Clover.” the charmer smiled knowingly.

Caught, Clover smirked with a light huff, “I can’t help it, Siren, they’re like lures in the night.”

Both chuckled weakly, relaxing in the other’s presence and gathering their thoughts. Not many got to see this side of Frisk, they both preferred not to openly dwell on bad things, like losing a match, or the stuff in their pasts. But like a current problem they were weathering, sometimes the things you thought were dealt with came back to hurt you.

“Do ya think about… 'bout the time before we fell?” Clover murmured.

Frisk hummed, lowering their head, “Sometimes. I wonder how Ameil’s life is going, hoping she isn’t still working for that family. Other times, their voices pop up to mock me… Like tonight.”

“Now all we need is Buttercup to call.” Clover remarked halfheartedly, it’d be rather shitty if they all had trouble sleeping tonight of all nights. Luckily, speaking it did not summon Chara, “Have ya noticed before that they’re incomplete? Faded?”

“Yeah, I can’t remember what a clear view looked like anymore. It’s scary, but relieving at the same time, in a way.” Their gaze turned back to the cowboy, “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Livin’ one, more like.” Clover grumbled, flopping onto the bed fully and flinging an arm over their eyes, “If we get in, we’ll be travelin’ all over. Can’t say we’d get close, but it had me thinkin’, and I realized the gaps.” That tightness squeezed their chest as they spoke, “Me or them, these memories are all they have. Maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard to be normal, shoving that part of my life aside, they’d still be clear. Maybe… I could’ve toughed it out, pushed one of the youngers out instead.”

“…Or you could’ve warped them.” Frisk added, ignoring the last bit, “I don’t think you’ve been hiding your past either, both of us didn’t act our age and have quirks drilled into us. Dwelling on those five years would’ve only hurt you too, I know.”

“Ya know?” Clover inquired, left arm sliding off as they turned their head.

The charmer laughed stiffly, “Walked on eggshells for at least a year, even with reassurance, until it got through my head that now I’m a Caliope not a… a Mesan.”

Clover clocked the strange air and got up to look Frisk in the eye, automatically shortening the distance as they asked, “What’s wrong?”

They looked so tired, were they even asleep when the cowboy came in? “Grandfather is the benefactor of the tournament.” Frisk stated, leaning into Clover’s hand when they cupped their cheek, “If we get in, we’ll travel on his geso, and face him in all the formalities. His family might even make an appearance…

“I never thought I’d have to hear them again, Clover.” the charmer whispered, voice breaking slightly, “I’ve been thinking about what could happen all night. What if they recognize me? What if I revert like it hasn’t been a decade. What if they try to kill me again?”

Seeing their eyes shine with tears, the cowboy was reminded of the girl they first met all those years ago, desperately trying to muffle sobs on a hospital bed. They didn’t cling quite as much as then, but Clover still felt the burning ache to ensure that never happened again, which they had to control lest they hurt their dearest friend. Especially now as it mingled with the preexisting guilt, shame, and whatever else was eating their chest.

“Hey now, Frisk. It’ll be alright, you got us backin’ ya—and if anythin’, they’ll splutter at the mere thought of ya bein better off without ‘em! They’ll be as envious as their clothing, Siren.” Clover assured, pressing their foreheads together and smiling to themself as they uttered, “We’re fucked up, aren’t we?”

A burst of genuine giggles bloomed with a wonderful grin, “Agreed.” Frisk moved away with a sigh, shine replaced by a mischievous glint as they wiped their eyes, “Normally, I would say sleep with me, but that definitely won’t help our case.”

“Ya won’t let that go, will ya?” Clover asked in mock exasperation, “I get it, it was in poor taste.”

“For you, my flower, maybe.” the charmer promised, enjoying getting the cowboy back for their earlier joke. They shifted over and patted the opening, “C’mon, we need rest before our friends flambe us.”

The image of Chara and Kanako brandishing their weapons at their tired forms made Clover grimace, “Hope rest finds us…”

“Speakin’ of our case though, I’d like to run somethin’ by ya.” the cowboy voiced as they resituated themselves under the covers, partially looking for a distraction from their feelings.

“Oh joy.” Frisk deadpanned, equally sick of the topic, “Hit me.”

“Well, one of Starlo’s concerns was how the family would react. So I reckon if I take that point down, they’d have less to stand on.”

“And you plan to do this when?” the charmer pushed in a skeptical tone.

Clover could already tell they weren’t a fan, but still murmured, “The day before we leave?”

“So, you plan to throw a splat bomb through the window and then ditch before the explosion.” Frisk summarized, pushing, “You’ve weighed the risks too, right?”

“I have and,” the cowboy sighed, for what felt like the millionth time since the ordeal started, “I’m tired Frisk. Tired of the rules, tired of the fightin’, tired of this goin’ nowhere. This affects you too, so I wanted to ask, but I don’t know what else to do to make ‘em come around...”

“I… don’t either.” the charmer confessed, “Mom’s coming around thanks to Toriel’s support, but the fear’s still there. At this point, something drastic might be our only choice. If it goes wrong, we have an exit plan, it’ll be fine, go for it.” they signed off with finality, sounding more like they were trying to convince themself.

“We can only hope.” Clover agreed, squeezing Frisk’s hand in comfort.

It didn’t seem the charmer was done however, nose scrunching slightly before facing the ink bullet, “Sorry I hijacked the conversation, Clover, did you just want me to listen?”

“Preddy much. Unlike anythin’ else, I don’t have a lick of control over my memories. I just wanted company.” the cowboy confirmed, and the fond look Frisk gave them made at least one heart skip a beat.

“Still, maybe you should ask Ceroba and the other Ketsukane about Octarian memorial shrines. Give all those you knew something more than fickle memory.”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Clover rhetorically asked, privately questioning why they hadn’t done so already as they snuggled closer. Sleep finally greeting the cowboy now that the storm inside them was breaking.

Frisk lightly kissed their hair, the sensation making Clover smile, “I’m sure your mother would love it, my flower.”

The cowboy knew one of their tentacles reached out to hold one of the charmer’s, and made no effort to stop it, long since given in to the fact their hair will search for the other two whenever their chest felt all fuzzy. Which chased away the last of the heavy emotions for the night, and leaving them to yawn, “I have a feelin’ she’d love ya too, Siren…” It was a hope anyway.

For a moment, the conversation seemed done. Clover had started to fully drift off when a whisper caught their ear, “I’m glad it was you who fell, Clover. If it took losing my sight to meet you two, I’d gladly trade it countless times…” Frisk shifted into their usual spot, “This is home. It wouldn't be the same without its Wildflower or Starlight.”

“Charmer…” the cowboy mumbled, stealing Chara’s nickname for them in their sleepy state. Then the world finally fell away.

That night, Clover dreamt of growing up in the Octarian Army with his parents, Hikari and Wen. Then of being sold to Mesans and running to the Bay with Frisk like they declared they’d do a decade ago.

They made friends; chose a weapon to specialize in; met Chara at some function that was kinda disastrous, yet worked it out and became friends, but never close; they’d see first-hand the zapfish raids and the agents fighting to retrieve them; lose a few people to disappearances and flee to Splatsville; see the Soulshine Courage Cup announcement and sign up themself, encountering Chara and Frisk together, probably acting like they do now, just without them.

They ran off hand-in-hand with Frisk, still clad in green; being homeless as they traveled and lived in the Bay; they were close, dependent on each other to thrive; they busked for geso and lived on strangers’ kindness until they trusted enough to let someone take them in; they heard tales about Sopela, visited Port Ocean, and grew up damaged, but happy; they formed a team and aimed for top rankings, getting there and being sent to the Soulshine Courage Cup, but Chara wouldn’t be there, and their splatana player wouldn’t have the same spark.

Both dreams were nice fantasies, but something always felt wrong in them. Missing, yet not quite empty.

And as Clover woke up, Frisk’s phone blaring with both alarms and Chara’s ringtone, while the charmer grumbled annoyances into their chest-turned-pillow, the cowboy knew what was missing from those fleeting dreams. The completed definition of the word Frisk used.

Even if they traded spots with someone else, the memories would still fade, and Clover nor that hypothetical wouldn’t be here. Shooing Frisk up with a kiss to the head, staying just long enough to hear Chara’s texts wishing them good morning, and laughing when the princess was clearly jealous of being left out of the cuddle pile. Waving a greeting to Kris as they padded out the door, hoping to get back before Starlo woke, and praying to all the spirits to have breakfast without the recent tension.

This was home. A path they'd follow countless times over, even if time wound itself back.

Would probably irritate whatever spirit orchestrated it, and it did no favors for the guilt to admit it. But things would be fine, Clover had accepted they'd never be normal a while ago, it was about time they put names to paper and stopped hording these names.

Their people deserved proper graves.

Chapter Text

“Frisk? My dear, where are you?”

Ameil whisper-shouted nearby, drawing Frisk out of her trance. The girl didn’t know how long she had been in the grand, golden hall, tucked against an arched window and visually hidden by a pillar. It was a perfect spot for Frisk to watch the outside world, since her family insisted on these lessons that hurt more than helped.

But Frisk and Ameil learned that if the girl wasn’t seen, she wouldn’t have those lessons.

It was odd to Frisk, the kids they saw in the city didn’t seem to have families like that, but that was normal. They weren’t as rich as the Mesan family, they didn’t have to watch what they said, did, or where they traveled. They weren’t born weak like Frisk.

Mother said they had a “higher standard to uphold”, whatever that meant. Frisk just knew she needed to quiet at parties, and if she did wander, to not be seen.

“Frisk!” Ameil called again, desperate.

“Over here.” the girl answered, softly leading her maid to the hiding spot.

Out of everyone in this house, Ameil was the one Frisk interacted with the most, she was there since her first memory. The handmaid was a rounder woman compared to Frisk’s family, with wide pointed ears, and tentacles done up in this twisty, braided updo the girl really liked. And Frisk loved her a lot. It would make her family mad, she knew, but the woman had a much softer hand and a smile that made Frisk feel all happy.

Ameil’s husband and their incoming baby were so lucky. The girl wished them the best days.

Speaking of, the maid finally found Frisk and grinned in relief, which the girl returned, “There you are. I was worried sick!”

“Sorry Mrs. Ameil. I know stress isn’t good on the baby.” Frisk apologized, curling her legs in sheepishly.

“That’s… that’s alright Frisk. Why are you hiding out here?” Ameil still sounded frazzled, sitting on the other half of the sill.

“I wanted to watch the rain without Mimi finding me.” Mirazel hated that nickname, Frisk didn’t know why.

“W-why? I don’t think I ever asked why you like it.”

“Because… I can’t ever touch it. Even something light like today would kill me.” the girl recited, looking back through to the garden, and the forest, and the cliff past that that her father said had a lovely view before he left, “The things we can’t have are the things we want most, right?”

Ameil’s voice was soft, “You want to feel the rain?”

“I read a story where the inklings danced in a drizzle, it sounded magical.” Frisk amended, half-lying from embarrassment. The scene was magical to the girl because of the joy and care the characters felt for one another, couples young and old, friends, neighbors, all brought together in a moment of merriment. It sounded beautiful. It made them wonder if the families in the city ever did something like that.

“Well…” the maid started, ear flicking as the silence was filled with pattering rain, “How you feel about dancing with me, Frisk?”

Really? “What about Grandfather? Or my sisters? Cousins? Mother? Auntie?” Won’t they find her if they make too much noise?

The look in Ameil’s eyes was so soft, Frisk ached to have that all the time, “I don’t think they’ll find us here, dear one.” She stood up, offering a hand in an exaggeration of what the girl saw men do at parties, “May I humbly request this dance?”

“It would be an honor.” Frisk breathed, meaning every word as she placed her small hand in the maid’s paler, larger one.

Guided to the center of the hall, Frisk felt smaller than she already was compared to the grand opulence, just two dots of green messing up the gold. But that weight lifted gradually as Ameil started humming, swaying the pair along.

It must have looked a little silly, but to Frisk it was a bit like playing a part. She could imagine, in a few years’ time, Ameil’s little one dancing on her toes like she was doing now. But for this moment, Frisk pretended it was hers.

Soft hands gripping hers firmly. A warm smile that her family never gave. An uneven tune as they snickered and giggled. Frisk grinned as she was spun, stumbling through the steps of dances she didn’t know. It was imperfect, her mother would get all green-faced if she saw, but it didn’t matter.

For one blissful moment, Frisk treasured the simplicity, imagining that this was her life. No dread, no sneaking, just little points in time with nothing of major note.

“Your birthday’s coming up soon.” Ameil broke the state to say, “Is there anything you want, Frisk? I’ll try to smuggle it in.”

Normally, once Frisk had become aware enough to ask and know what not to, the girl would ask for a book. In this rain-backed moment though, the thought slipped out unbidden, “I wish you were my mother instead.”

The gasp it drew snapped Frisk back to her senses, and she broke away from the hold, fearful of the reaction. They had an unspoken agreement to never say what they were, or wished they were, aloud. They were lady and maid, not daughter and mother, and that would never change.

Ameil’s face was washed in grief, hand over mouth and purple eyes tinted like Frisk had just stuck her with a mighty blow. “I’m sorry—”

“My child.” the girl froze, paralyzed as she watched the maid collapse to the floor and whisk her up into an embrace, “My child. Oh, my child.”

Frisk laid her head down on Ameil’s shoulder, listening as the title was repeated like a mantra that’d save her from what her family had planned for her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Not many Fallen celebrated the day they fell. But for Frisk, it was practically synonymous with their birthday. Not that they minded much after five years of reasons why it was a good thing.

This one seemed to be special though, as the charmer was banned from human form, cradled in their sibling’s arms, and forced to only look at various ceilings. Kris snickered above them as Frisk asked questions and tried to figure out where they were going.

Being blind wasn’t as bad as the charmer feared it’d be so long ago. Sure, it was still a major sense, and life had its difficulties without its full capabilities, but there were upsides too. Like how the world was colorful in ways Frisk would have never thought of otherwise.

Ignoring the smells of apples and wood from their family, the presence of sea salt was less prevalent, and the buildings were tall with all kinds of roof designs. So, they never left New Home, which Martlet confirmed with a chuckle.

Furthermore, they weren’t in one of the gathering spaces that attracted a lot of foot traffic, though there was a nice murmur around them. A tram or two trundled by with their bells, and they passed several stages already. The current closest was even close enough to hear the sounds of battle over the chippy music. Kris only hummed when they pointed it out, annoyingly smug but proud at the same time.

They always found it amusing how attuned Frisk was to the world, playing games with their ability to identify weapons by sound alone with Susie. Kris also enjoyed the degree of trust the charmer put in them, making sure the younger was situated so they didn’t lose what was left of their sight to the cavern’s sun.

The scent of wood strengthened, two fingers tracing their mantel with care, “No cliffs today, kiddo. I swear on Fiya and all the spirits that today will be such a blast you’ll never think of that pain again!”

Her soft and cheerful words swept over Frisk, relaxing muscles that had been tense since Martlet had told them to get dressed that morning. Wanting to believe her, the charmer relented, “If you say so, mom. Are we almost there?”

“Yes.” Kris answered.

“A few more minutes.” their mom added, probably smiling.

And so, Frisk waited. It was almost funny how much the skills they developed out of fear aboveground continued to be useful below it; if a situation was unchangeable, wait until an opening was made and change it. The charmer couldn’t help but wonder if Clover ever found uses for their past.

Speaking of, amongst the mingling scents that passed by, Frisk picked up the familiar scent of matcha, followed shortly by plants. They were wondering why the cowboy hadn’t greeted them this morning. If they had lips in sea form, Frisk would already be grinning.

“Mornin’ Feathers.” Starlo greeted enthusiastically as Kris came to a stop, “Everythin’s in order without a hitch this time! Where’s the birthday kid?”

Based on how the sheriff’s speech quickened, Frisk estimated that he was lying, or that Martlet visibly didn’t believe the assurance. Though the charmer didn’t care too much, as Kris finally let them go and they spent no time tackling Clover in a hug.

“Susie nearly set the electronics on fire.” the cowboy explained in a grunted murmur, hugging Frisk back.

Smiling, Frisk nuzzled into their shoulder and asked, “Is Chara here?” They could just recognize the royal family’s blend of vanilla and honeysuckle mixing with the matcha. Chara must have allowed Clover to hug them before they arrived.

“What? No. They hate parties, ya know that!” Clover joked.

“They don’t like fancy ones.” Frisk retorted, grip loosening to end the moment. “Though…” as their fingers ran along the fabric it felt hardy with a decent texture, it wasn’t the best the cowboy had, but, “Isn’t this one of your better waistcoats?”

“Yeah, it’s your birthday.” The cowboy muttered, slightly embarrassed yet unflinchingly honest, like always. The charmer liked the tinge of gold they could see on their cheek. “Not often I see ya in a skirt, Siren.”

Frisk admitted with a dismissive chuckle. “I was somewhere else for a bit.” Somewhere with cold halls and harsh looks.

“It’s just cleaning the house of tooth fairies, Frisk, nothing to stress over.”

A warm hand latched onto theirs and started pulling them away. “We’re goin’ inside, lovebirds.” Clover declared blandly to their parents’ flustered protests, “C’mon Kris.”

“Comin’!” the pianist managed around their giggles.

Electronic doors swooshed open, and Frisk had to ask, “Can I know where we are now?”

Clover hummed in thought, “Remember when ya mentioned wantin’ to dance in the rain?”

They did, though they couldn’t recall what prompted the remark other than a stray thought towards a rare happy moment. Still, it was a suicidal daydream, Frisk just wasn’t— Wait a minute. Ink Storm was a special weapon in Sopela, but how…

The charmer must have made a face, because Clover mused, “I might’ve tipped dad off a few months back.”

Then Kris’ phone chimed, “We’re at a recreational facility, so you’ll have a lot longer than seven seconds. Happy birthday, Riri.”

The charmer was, for once, at loss for words. Emotions they didn’t know how to express swirled inside them, it felt like wanting to cry. Instead, Frisk groped for Kris’ hand then shook both wildly, making the other two laugh—their sibling a little too much as they started coughing heavily.

Both of the younger children froze to stare. Frisk couldn’t shake the worry that rose every time they heard that noise, even as Kris waved off the concern and composed themself with a rasped, “Happy?”

Forcing themself to breathe, Frisk nodded, “Very. You and Chara owe me a dance, my flower.”

At the demand, Clover gave them a crooked smile that the charmer knew was already claiming admirers in their school, “‘Course we will, Frisk.”

“What are you volunteering me for now, Cowboy?” Chara asked, not quite as annoyed to Frisk’s ears as they were probably aiming for. Kris took this as a cue to venture past the childhood friends to wherever they should’ve been already.

“Nothin’ we didn’t already plan on doin’, Buttercup.” Clover soothed with a touch of mischief.

“I will believe it when I see it.” Chara might have glared, it was hard to tell with the mammal-like mask the princess wore over their eyes, “Happy birthday, Frisk. Hope the trip was not too unbearable.”

The charmer grinned, returning the courtesy, “Thank you, it wasn’t. Though,” they lifted their free hand in offering, “can you do me the honor of being my first dance?”

Chara did not move, even as Clover playfully complained like Frisk had inflicted them with a deep wound over. Just barely peeking out under the white mask was a sliver of orange, the glimpse made Frisk’s grin sharpen. “Charmer.” Chara huffed, poking said charmer between their brows, “Unfortunately, your mother has already laid claim to the privilege, so I must decline.”

As if summoned, Martlet sounded behind them, “What are you three doing out here?”

The Choco Trio, as Kanako dubbed them a while ago, kindly avoided beating the dead seahorse. So, Frisk lied, “I wanted to wait for you.”

They could perfectly picture their mother’s face soften in the adoring way Kris described. “Awww! You didn’t have to, kiddo!” she gushed, ruffling Frisk’s hair, “Now, let’s get your party start—Wait a minute. Where’s your cane?”

At home, likely. Frisk jumped in before Martlet could blame herself, “I’ll survive a few hours without it, mom. Besides, I have you to be guides, right?” They showed off the hand Clover was still holding, which the cowboy squeezed, in emphasis.

“…Alright.” Martlet accepted, “Let’s go!”

Further down the hall the group wandered, Frisk flanked by their friends and backed by two adults they trusted. Clover swung their arms gently, humming a moment before asking, “So. What were ya talkin’ about out there?”

Scratch that previous notion, Chara and Frisk decided not to beat the seahorse, Clover had chosen violence. It took a lot of willpower to restrain their snickering as the subtle sound of erroring minds drifted to the charmer’s ears.

Starlo recovered first, clearing his throat like it would dislodge whatever image his kid’s question conjured, “We were just makin’ sure our fish were in a group for today. Honestly, deputy, you’re bedder than to be insinuatin’ things!”

“Sorry, sheriff.” Clover intoned, leaning more toward ‘mockery’ than ‘sincere’. Then Frisk felt breath against their ear as the cowboy whispered, “The blush says otherwise.”

“Hey—”

Before it could escalate and land the cowboy another short grounding—what would this be? The third?—a door swished open, and Chara saved them by presenting Frisk like they were at one of the nobles’ fancy parties. The cheers in what felt like an echo chamber drowned out the conversation. “Apologies, Frisk. I forgot you were sensitive as well.” the princess spoke, face clearing as they clipped their mask to their headphones.

“It’s alright, Chara.” Frisk forgave, shaking the disorientation away.

“Happy birthday!” Kanako cheered, colliding with them in a poof of sakura blossom. Two small hands popped onto Frisk’s back to stop the pair from falling—where did Martlet and Starlo go?

“Oof—Heya Kana.” the charmer greeted, cupping the crafter’s cheeks to study the new face. Sometime in the last month, Kanako had grown her mask, so now she sported tan skin about the same shade as Frisk’s and her mother’s markings alongside her father’s white hair. “Wow, your even cuter now.” they complimented with a smile, making Kanako’s eyes glow under the praise.

“Frisk, would you come with me for a minute?” Ceroba asked, having appeared at some point. Relenting to the fact that this space was going to be a pain to navigate, they reached out for the scientist’s hand.

Steps and snippets of conversation bounced around Frisk’s head, allowing them to clock the presence of Papyrus—Chara’s guard today, they assumed—and Kris’ team, though the charmer couldn’t tell where they were exactly. Yet, despite the noise, Ceroba’s came through clearly, “Are you excited?”

“A bit. I’m… feeling a lot of things.” Frisk admitted, part of them trying to go back to that cold house, “Is Dalv here too?”

“Anyone who can stomach ink, yes. The rest will meet us at the restaurant.” the scientist answered, causing Frisk to look up with a raised brow.

“How many people did mom invite?” Martlet had a minor problem with moderation when it came to loving her kids.

Ceroba chuckled, “Just her majesty and Star’s crew, don’t worry. Might want to thank your sibling at some point for that.”

“Will do.” They could feel Kris’ gaze on them, and it felt like the same one that the pianist gave when they first met at the hospital. Mischievous, comfortable, someone who saw hell and decided to drag you out too. It was a rare kindness Frisk counted themself lucky to receive.

Before they knew it, they were standing in front of an electrical panel with some sea creature fussing with it, “O-oh! Um, you must be the birthday kid—sorry, just let me.” A grunt and metal whining, “There! So, kid, what color do you want the Ink Storm to be?”

Frisk closed their eyes and thought. Their first instinct was to say red, it was the charmer’s preferred ink color, after all. But a sneaking feeling told them that making the rain the color of most denizens’ blood wasn’t a great idea, so they looked elsewhere. What came next was the last time they saw rain, hidden in that golden hall. Water was typically a sparkling blue, but that day it fell like silver thread. “Will this do?”

“A greyish-blue, huh? Interesting choice. Now, if you could place your finger here…” Ceroba helped Frisk find the spot, and they winced a little as the replicator pricked their finger. After the technician fiddled with a few more clicky things, they called, “Listen up people! Change your ink color to match the gauge, you have about two minutes before the rain starts. And for the love of the Great Queen, don’t run into the panel.”

With that, Frisk meandered to where they thought the center of the room was, and waited. The chatter of the inkfish around them filling the emptiness with life. Kris came into view and their phone whispered, “You seem sad.”

Oh, the charmer hadn’t realized their face had fallen. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to.”

The pianist tsked, typing, “We aren’t them, Riri. You are in Sopela, the Homa Cavern, New Home, celebrating your tenth birthday with people who actually give a shit. You’re safe. You’re loved. Listen to the text-to-speech and come back to the moment.”

“It’s just so unbelievable, isn’t it?” Frisk argued softly, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere, “I feel like I’ll wake up at any moment—”

Suddenly, fingers danced along their sides as Kris tickled them, eliciting laughter that turned into a shriek as rain started to pour. But it didn’t hurt…

Angel, did they fall back into old habits? “Thanks, Kris.” Frisk murmured breathlessly once their sibling stopped tickling them.

“Course.”

Music kicked up a moment later, sounding like a cacophony of drum beats, making Susie curse and fix it to a song Frisk actually recognized. “Band practice?” they asked, knowing full well Kris was aiming to have multiple jobs like Dalv.

“Maybe.” the pianist weakly deflected with a shrug, “Weird.”

All the added noise, between the rain, music, talk, and echo, was disorienting to Frisk. They were starting to think they should’ve asked Chara for some headphones as well. Still, amidst the chaos, they just managed to pick out nearby footsteps, “Do you wanna dance together, Frisk?”

The charmer turned toward Martlet as she continued rambling, “You don’t have to, obviously, I don’t know how you imagined this would be, but—”

“Mom!” Frisk snickered, offering their hands, “Dancing with people makes it better, right?”

Martlet needed no further prodding to sweep Frisk into a whirlwind. She led them around with hops and spins, following the vibe of the song more than the rhythm. It was fun, yet part of Frisk that just couldn’t let go of the past focused on their joined hands.

The charmer’s hands were bigger now, but Martlet’s still overshadowed them somewhat, they were gentle too, just like…

Was this okay? To be this happy? To live this dream that seemed so fantastical? Friends, a family, a home, a life wholly their own. All little Frisk wanted was now real. They smiled, breath hitching as they realized what this warmth was. That, somehow…

“Frisk? Kiddo, you’re crying, is something wrong? Is it too loud—”

They shook their head, that wasn’t why. Martlet wasn’t Ameil, but that didn’t matter when one was out of reach and the outcome was the same either way. Frisk felt their throat clog up with the words, like a part of them still feared admitting something so obvious. Yet, a lot of impossible things were being challenged today, why not add another?

“I love you.”

Their mom gasped, so soft it was almost drowned out, and seemed to have trouble finding her words. The charmer didn’t understand why, Martlet had said those words for years, and Frisk had called her mom for just as long. Honestly, it was kind of silly how they didn’t say that sentence sooner.

Before they could get self-conscious though, Martlet wrapped them up close and leapt into the air, exclaiming with a bright laugh, “I love you too!”

Frisk clung tightly to her mother’s blouse, giggling at the weightlessness mixing with the euphoria of finally saying that phrase. That stupid, silly, oh so meaningful phrase. Gracefully, Martlet landed and set her child down. The charmer glanced up at her mouth to see a smile that mirrored their own, but before either could speak, another cut in.

“May I have a turn?” Clover asked from their right, tone too innocent, “Here—I’ll trade ya!”

What happened next was unclear, but there were cries and Frisk was yanked away into a body about their size and people were reacting to something with surprised shock, “Did you—”

“Yup!” the cowboy confirmed as they twisted the charmer into a more proper hold and made a getaway.

“Don’t you think we should cut them some slack, Clover?” Frisk sighed after a few steps, “It is my party.”

“After how long they’ve been dancin’ around each other?” the culprit scoffed, “‘Bout time they embraced the music, don’t ya think?”

“So long as Kris doesn’t change the music.” The charmer relented, whipping their head when they caught a flicker of green, “Don’t you dare.”

“Fine.” Kris drawled dramatically as Ralsei snickered in time with the music.

“I’ll keep them in check.” He promised as they moved away, the paler’s skirt twirling even with the rain pelting it.

“How’s the rain?” Clover asked, drawing their gaze back to the cowboy’s curious crosshairs, “Everything ya hoped?”

“It’s…” they delayed to really feel the drops hitting their clothes and bouncing on their hair, “Weird. It’s making my clothes wet and cold too.”

“I know! Feel like it should sting, but it’s not.” The cowboy agreed, causing Frisk’s fingers to subconsciously trace the scars on their hands for the hundredth time, along wavey patterns only they could feel. Clover just entwined their fingers as the song changed, leaning in enough that the charmer’s immediate vision was overtaken by joyful gold, “Ya thinkin’ what I am?”

“As long as you don’t run me into someone again.” Frisk answered teasingly, setting their footwork.

“That was one time!” Clover playfully huffed, taking the lead and sending the duo across the floor.

In the half year Madame Instrce was out for maternity leave, Mr. Danza had taught Chara—and the three they continuously dragged along—fun dances like foxtrot. The shrimp had put his all into his lessons, and clearly it paid off as the pair glided through the growing puddle beneath them. The audience’s clear shock was palpable by the sudden drop in noise, causing the pair to grin and fill the space with laughter instead.

Throughout it, however, Frisk’s mind was a little elsewhere. A trend that probably wouldn’t stop until the storm did, in all honesty. Clover’s hand was a different kind of rough compared to Martlet’s, born of old wounds instead of passion for a craft. Yet they were familiarly soft as the cowboy led them around with wild confidence, commanding the room’s attention as they spun and leapt.

As much as the charmer joked about their friend’s blunders, there was no one they felt safer with. Ever since the day the pair met, hurt and trapped between death and stone, Clover looked out for them, and through some twist of fate that happenstance became fact. Which Frisk cherished dearly and wished to hold for a long time to come.

Chest warming at the idea, Frisk blinked at the sudden feeling, confused at this adoration? Desire? It was hard for them to name.

“I reckon Buttercup would like a turn.” Clover mused, slowing down with the song, “Mind if I pass ya over, Siren?”

Frisk smiled, dismissing the weirdness as a breathless chuckle escaped their lips, “I trust your aim, my flower.”

Within a minute, the cowboy sent the charmer away and their hands were caught by a pair of partially gloved ones, “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Oh?” Frisk inquired, calling Chara’s bluff with a raised brow. The princess and Clover had to have some signaling in order for the pass to work.

Chara positioned them into a waltz, “I was looking to dance with Clover next.”

The charmer faked injury over the statement, waxing, “Here I thought you’d like to sway with me.”

“And humor a flirt like you?” Chara questioned, a hint of levity buried in their tone, “Why should I?”

Frisk smirked, what was left of their sight fixed on the star-like pupils that felt like waypoints. “Cause if really hated it, my star, you would’ve told me to stop by now.”

They paused in step as they both stuttered at the same time. Frisk had not meant to say that, and the blue flush on Chara’s face said they definitely weren’t expecting it. On one hand, it was about time the charmer gave the princess a nickname, all the other combinations had been filled for about a year now. On the other, unlike Clover’s, which was a request the cowboy made of Frisk, calling Chara their star was like a claim.

An avenue the princess already confessed to having no interest in, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“I…” Chara searched, halting Frisk’s apology as they whispered, “I do not understand.”

“I overstepped,” the charmer rushed out, “I didn’t mean to, I won’t say it a—”

“No!” Chara exclaimed, slightly panicked for some reason. Luckily, it seemed the rain and music swallowed the outburst. They collected themself quickly, “You can call me that, Charmer. I find that… I do not mind if it is you.”

Still felt like the princess had reservations though. “My star.” Frisk tried out, noting how their linked hands and the one on their waist twitched.

But all Chara said was, “Yes, Frisk?”

“Nothing.” they dismissed, smiling off their own nerves, this giddy curl in their soul, “Just getting you used to the name, my star.”

“You are insufferable.”

‘But you love me’ Frisk’s mind filled in but mercifully didn’t blurt, allowing them to hide the sudden panic with a snicker instead.

Love… so that’s what this feeling is, seemingly split between Chara and Clover. It was a revelation that both made sense and none at all to them.

Love in this sense was powerful, used as an ultimate weapon in countless stories they read. It was what schoolmates called upon when describing their feelings toward the charmer too. They liked their confidence and sought to call Frisk their own, not to dissimilar to how the charmer felt about their friends.

Chara had this strength Frisk admired greatly. No matter what the people thought, the princess continued to move unwaveringly along the path of the kingdom’s heir. Loving their people with all their soul despite being framed as a demon. That ever-burning fire shone in both their eyes and steps, leading Frisk around with bold pride, yet their grip in contrast was more guiding than controlling. Some part of the charmer, the one that claimed this love, delighted in the fact they saw this softness they others overlooked.

They wanted to protect Clover. They wanted to see Chara grow. They wanted to stay by their sides for as long as time permitted. Of course, they could never say it to either, the cowboy might take the confession in stride, but the princess would feel uncomfortable with their inability to respond in kind.

Then again, a small thought posed, how was this love any different than what they just confessed to Martlet? It was cozier than the passion and desire love was typically depicted as; Frisk would rather talk about silly things than go out on some emotionally-charged date. So maybe it was fine…

A squeeze to their hand brought the charmer back as Chara asked, “What is on your mind?”

“…Do we have time for one last dance?” Frisk whispered, uncharacteristically skittish.

The princess clocked the change, and after a moment said, “I believe so, is there anyone you want me to signal?”

“I want to dance with you and Clover.” Frisk confessed with a bit more energy. The princess was starting to get worried, and it wasn’t like it was anything to be ashamed of. Their friends deserved to know how much they cared.

Chara removed the hand on their shoulder, and Frisk allowed it to hang like an invitation. Soon enough, Clover grasped the extended hand in a rush, all giggly as they grinned, “Howdy, what do I owe the pleasure?”

The princess huffed softly, “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Cowboy. Do you intend to throw us around as well?”

“Not at the moment, no.” replied said cowboy, “Why? Did you spontaneously develop a crush, Buttercup?”

Frisk laughed as Chara spluttered, pulling their friends along as the next song started. The music was jaunty, the kind you’d hear at a festival, which was the perfect energy for the dance they incited. The charmer didn’t lead often, they’d rather let those with full sight worry about directions, but now Frisk flowed through the steps of one of Sopela’s dances, kicking up ink with a grin as they kept their hands connected to their friends’.

From the yelps and giggles, it was clear Clover and Chara were having as much fun as them. So, without another thought, when they were drawn close, Frisk whispered with as much fondness they could muster, “I love you two.”

Contrary to the pelting rain and music, the silence was deafening, and Frisk honestly thought they were drowned out for a second.

But no, flicking their gaze about as the trio spun, both were aghast with various degrees of blue on their faces.

Chara choked out, “W-what? You are teasing, Charmer. You know I—”

“I know, my star.” Frisk soothed, “But who says you can’t love your friends? I couldn’t imagine a life in which we didn’t meet, so thank you.”

“And—” Clover tried to add, but was interrupted as Frisk’s foot slipped and sent the three of them tumbling to the floor. Cackling, the cowboy crowed, “Was wonderin’ when that was goin’ to happen, and here’s to many more years together!”

“…I will never understand you two.” Chara concluded, sounding for all means lost, to Frisk at least.

“Good! You’ll stick around longer!” Clover teased, flopping into the puddle in such way that they didn’t need to let go of the charmer’s hand.

“Why do I put up with this, I should have left long ago.” the princess muttered, but the sentiment was undercut when they made no effort to move.

Frisk smirked, somewhat grateful as the rain stopped pelting their face, “You still could, Chara.”

“Idiot.”

And maybe they were, laughing in a pile with their closest friends as the crowd of concerned adult came to check on them. But the spirits would’ve damned them if they were anywhere else. No matter what happened next, or how this love evolved in the future, they wouldn’t trade this life for anything.