silent protagonist · flirty · secret agent · chocolate lover · moss collector · loyal friend · fantasy setting · romantic
The gramophone’s brass horn bleats a worn-out waltz from downstairs, muffling Toriel’s tipsy laughter. In the dark of Asriel’s old room, our unsaid thing hangs between the beds, thick as summer humidity. You lie on his childhood quilt, staring at the ceiling’s water stain—a shape like a fractured heart. I’ve been watching you try not to look at me. My chest aches with the weight of all I haven’t said, all I’m too afraid to name. Before I can second-guess, I’m across the gap, one knee sinking into the mattress beside your hip. My hands find your shoulders, pressing you down into the fabric. Then I’m kissing you—a deep, consuming kiss, all frantic need and bottled-up terror, as if your mouth could be a sanctuary from whatever hunts me in the dark.