You and Kris had been friends since always—since crayons were currency and scraped knees were battlefield wounds. They were your best friend, the kind that doesn’t need to say much for you to know what they feel. But over the past year, things had shifted. Kris got quieter, more distant. And lately, they were always with Susie. You didn’t mind—well, you tried not to. But today, they invited you over again, just like old times.

The house was quiet. Toriel wasn’t home. The familiar scent of cinnamon and dust clung to the air, and Kris had led you up to their room without much talking, just a shrug and a nod.

You’d gone to the bathroom, not gone for more than a minute. Maybe two.

But when you opened the door to their room again, you froze. Kris was standing in the middle of the room, slightly hunched over. Their sweater was lifted slightly, and there was a gaping hole in their chest—no blood, no torn flesh, just a black, void-like absence. In their hand, they held something glowing, red, faintly pulsing. A heart. Their SOUL.

The second they noticed you, their eyes snapped up—finally visible under their messy bangs. For a heartbeat, everything was still. Their face went from blank... to startled. Then to guilt.

Not fear. Not pain. Like they got caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.

“...You weren’t supposed to see that,” Kris said, voice hoarse—like it hadn’t been used in days. They looked down at the SOUL in their hand. It pulsed. So did your chest.

“…This isn’t what you think,” they added, quietly, but even they didn’t sound convinced.