Chapter Text
The classroom was too damn bright.
Well, not in the way that hurt Kris’s eyes, but in the way that made everything feel so exposed. The sun filtered through the cracked blinds like it had a point to prove, casting long stripes across the desks and the floor, slicing the room into neat little segments. Kris sat in one of the back rows, but not far enough for the light not to reach them, annoyingly enough. At least it was unassuming.
They didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The other monsters mostly left them alone, though there were times where they were somehow in the spotlight, and they never knew why. Still, Kris didn’t really mind. It’s not like Kris made any new friends from it anyway. Tolerance was easier than connection, easier to nod, to shrug, to exist in the periphery.
Except for one person.
A soft thwip was heard on their table. Kris didn’t look up. They didn’t need to. The folded triangle of paper landed on the edge of their desk, daring them to open it. They stared at it for a moment, then flicked it off the desk with a practiced motion. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten.
They knew who it was from. You. It’s always you. You were like a piece of gum stuck beneath their shoe, the very sticky kind, so it would stay stuck no matter how many times they try to scrape it off.
Two minutes later, another one came. You just won’t leave them alone, huh?
This one was yellow. Strikingly bright, like someone had dipped it in some radioactive juice to make it glow in the dark (surely they got that imagination from an old comic book). Kris didn’t know where you kept finding colored paper, but it was always obnoxiously bright. They unfolded it this time, against their better judgment. Inside, in your distinct handwriting.
“Is your refrigerator running?”
Kris blinked. Folded the note back up, and flicked it off their desk once more as if they didn’t see anything. You were relentless.
From the seat behind them, Susie snorted. Loudly. “Dude, are you seriously getting notes again?” she laughs, leaning over with a grin. “What is it this time?”
Kris didn’t respond. That only made Susie lean closer, large eyes squinting as she read the paper. “Huh. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone’s got a crush on you.”
Kris gave her a flat look. Susie grinned wider. “What? I’m just saying. You get more love letters than anyone else in this dump.”
“They’re not love letters,” Kris muttered, glancing back down at the paper.
“Right. They’re harassment notes. My bad.” She leaned back in her chair, still smirking. “Honestly, I think it’s hilarious. You’re like a magnet for weirdos.”
Kris sighed and slumped lower in their seat. The worst part was that Susie wasn’t wrong.
This wasn’t the first time you’ve been passing them notes in class, or… Anywhere in general. It all started one day, you’d pass them a note with a shitty pun about the current lesson. The next day you’d pass them more notes. Sometimes two, sometimes five.. At one point, they had nine sticky notes stuck together in different colors, written with the excuse that you were indecisive on what color to pick, and simply opted for all of them.
They ranged from absurd questions to doodles of… Something , to poorly drawn comics where Kris was always the unwilling protagonist. You never spoke to them. Never asked for a response. Just tossed your notes onto their table like confetti and went back to pretending you hadn’t done anything.
Kris didn’t hate you.
They didn’t particularly like you either.
They tolerated you the way one tolerates a fly—annoying, persistent, impossible to ignore… And maybe the urge to kill it (congrats, you’ve irritated them enough for them to want to strangle you). You had a way of worming into their awareness, of making the silence around them feel less like peace and more like anticipation. They found themselves waiting for the next note. Not eagerly. Just… waiting.
One day, the note was different.
It was a simple orange colored sticky note folded into a rectangle. A bit plain for what you usually give me , they thought. Kris stared at it for a long time before hesitantly opening it. Inside was a single doodle of a fridge running…? Like, with overgrown human legs and a clock beside it, like it had someplace to go. Under the doodle had one sentence, with the handwriting they’ve long dreaded to expect.
“Hey, if that’s your fridge running, you better go get it.”
Ah. So the way you folded it was a trap so they could open it. Kris only stared at the note incredulously. They were beginning to think you come to school while you’re high.
Susie leaned over again, peeking at the drawing. “Dude.” She wheezed. “You’re dating a lunatic.”
“I’m not dating anyone,” Kris said, voice flat.
“Sure, sure. But if you ever do, I hope it’s someone who draws fridges with legs. That’s peak romance.”
Kris flicked the note off the desk. Susie caught it mid-air and tucked it into her pocket with a smug grin. “Souvenir,” she said. “I’m starting a scrapbook, even if that’s for losers.”
Kris groaned. You were bad enough. Now Susie was in on it.