Zeragii

Sans crawled out of the tent as quietly as possible and sat down facing the mountain, a darker space against the stars. A breeze smelling of night rock and woods rubbed up under his jacket, against his ribs, like a cat. Out here on the Surface, the darkness was always bluish and luminous, never the pitch black of the dark caverns in Waterfall, and this softer darkness shimmered with the sounds of singing insects. “Whole world’s a concert, huh?” he reflected to the crickets around him. They kept chirping as if he hadn’t spoken. It was the crickets, Sans told himself. Them and the other night noises he wasn’t use

Papyrus was laying in his bed, hugging an ugly but very much loved plushie that Sans had made him when they were kids. It was a femur with two buttons for eyes and a lazy smile on its face – admitting that bones could have faces –, but the coolest thing about it was the little red cloak that accompanied it, that made it seem like a little super hero. The house was silent, the only noise coming from the clock on Papyrus’ nightstand. He didn’t really need to set the alarm for the morning, since he always woke up before it started ringing, but, since the wall between Papyrus’ and Sans’ room was very thin, the