A Miscalculation In Space

Disclaimer: Undertale belongs to TobyFox and any AU's, characters and otherwise mentioned movies, shows and games in this fic belong to their respective owners unless stated otherwise.

Warnings:
-OOC
-Not cannon to NaJ
-Mild profanity
-Brief (inaccurate) depiction of anxiety
-Brief (inaccurate) depiction of trauma (literally around five lines?)

A/N:

Sorry about the delay- hope you enjoy!
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“‘ive more m'ns…”

Killer doesn't even have to have his eye sockets open to know that his dad is rolling his eyelights with a heavily doubtful look, just as he predicts the way he stomps loudly and pointedly to the side of his bed, ripping his blanket away from him and leaving him sprawled facedown on the floor. He clutches weakly onto the blanket with one hand, the other managing to snag a pillow just in time before he had a meeting with the floor. He half-heartedly snuggles into the pillow as he lets go of the blanket, content to go back to sleep on the hard ground.

(Swap rolls his eyelights at Killer.

Honestly, the kid either has a total of maybe an hour's worth of sleep for a day or crashes for a full day when he does finally sleep properly. It's more evened out during long vacations like summer due to him being there to control the habit, but it's a struggle during weekends.

He shakes his skull, a fond and exasperated sigh leaving him. He's fairly sure Killer considers it a game or something, how long he can evade him and keep the habit. )

The feeling of leaving the ground abruptly wakes him up, eye sockets blinking in confusion at the navy fabric in front of him before he realises he's being carried.

Eh. Fine with him. Means he doesn't have to move himself.

“YOU WILL HAVE TO PICK UP TOFU FROM THE VET SINCE I'LL BE BUSY BEFORE THIS EVENING! YOU MIGHT AS WELL SINCE YOU DON'T WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME!”

Killer rolls his dark eyelights at his dad's dramatic sniff. Honestly, he's still gonna hang out with him before he has to go back. Wait, is he going by car? Probably. He's not sure.

Whatever. He'll find out later. For now, maybe he can get a bit more shut eye(socket)...

His plans are foiled only seconds later when he's placed on a chair in front of the kitchen island. He blinks, startled, then groans and screws his eye sockets shut. You'd think as a skeleton he wouldn't be affected by the light difference, but apparently, magic decided otherwise. Which sucks ass, but at least he's never gotten a fever!

(Killer will pointedly ignore that one time his magic got so unstable he actually ended up experiencing symptoms similar to a bad fever.

He doesn't remember it accurately, but he vaguely remembers Swap saying he's gonna send him into his death bed with all the worrying he's doing.

The memory… makes him feel odd. Warm.)

Killer kicks his feet under the table, tip of his toes ghosting the island, skull buried in his folded arms as a small embarrassed blush spreads across his cheeks. He sighs after a moment and leans back in his chair, stretching. The light doesn't have him feeling like a vampire now, so that's nice.

The chair tips back slightly, balancing on its back pegs as he casually puts his arms behind the chairs back. The new chairs really were a great decision. Even a month after they've gotten them, the thought won't leave his head. The stools were not his favourite.