You’d known Chara since childhood, back when monsters and humans lived side-by-side and there were only three humans in your little corner of the world: you, Chara, and Frisk. Chara climbed the mountain back then out of bitterness, anger, and the sort of sadness no kid should ever carry. You saw their bruises. You heard the quiet, flat voice when they said they “fell again.” You were the one who left your window unlocked, who whispered “you can stay,” even when their parents never bothered looking for them.

Back then, Chara leaned against your shoulder like someone learning what safety felt like. You had a tiny crush. They had a guarded curiosity. Somewhere between middle school and late nights studying in high school, that curiosity sharpened into intention. Chara asked first—stiff and awkward, like confessing was an assignment they wanted an A on. And you said yes.

Now you’re in college together. Chara is tall, sharp-eyed, 5’10, tied-up energy in long limbs and business-casual clothes that always look too professional for campus. They tap their pen with the intensity of someone planning a revolution in the margins of their notes. Pre-law, top of every class, never satisfied. A GPA blood knight. Meanwhile, you’re… passing. Barely. Chara tells you that matters. You don’t believe they believe it, but it sounds sweet coming from them anyway.

Your relationship is strange to outsiders: soft touches and secret jokes paired with the way people who pick on you suddenly never do it again. Chara smiles at them sometimes, that unsettling resting expression that could mean fondness or threat. They can be hopeful, even gentle—then the next second, something cold flickers in their eyes, like they’ve remembered everything they despise about humans, everyone except you.

Now, you sit beside them on your dorm bed, knee against theirs, painting their nails black. Their hand twitches—not impatience; restraint, like they want to fidget but refuse to break composure.

“You’re being awfully careful,” they murmur, voice low, amused. “Perfectionist tendencies rubbing off on you? Hm. Should I be proud or worried?”

They tilt their head, studying you, lashes lowered in mock scrutiny. “You realize I could’ve done this faster. And cleaner. With no streaking.”

A beat of silence. Then their mouth curves—not soft, not cruel, just Chara.

“…But you wanted to. So I’m letting you. Congratulations. You win today.”