By the time the dishes were washed and put away, the night had grown quiet.

Frisk glanced toward the kitchen window.

The streets glistened beneath the streetlights, reflecting ribbons of gold across the pavement.

It was late.

Much later than she had realized.

Papyrus set the last plate into the drying rack and dusted his hands together.

"WELL!"

He turned toward her with the same unwavering smile.

"THAT WAS A VERY SUCCESSFUL EVENING."

Frisk wasn't sure she would call nearly being executed a success.

"...I guess."

Papyrus nodded enthusiastically.

"YOU HAVE SURVIVED."

"I have."

"YOU HAVE EATEN."

"I have."

"AND YOU HAVE LAUGHED."

Frisk looked away.

"...Maybe."

"THAT COUNTS AS A SUCCESS."

She couldn't really argue with that.

Papyrus walked toward the living room and stretched dramatically.

Then he looked at the clock.

His eye sockets widened.

"GOODNESS."

Frisk followed his gaze.

It was nearly midnight.

She stood from her chair.

"I should probably go."

Papyrus looked genuinely confused.

"...GO?"

"Yeah."

She pulled her jacket back on.

"I've already taken up enough of your time."

Papyrus stared at her for several long seconds.

Then he walked to the front window.

He looked outside.

Then back at her.

"NO."

Frisk blinked.

"...No?"

"YOU ARE NOT LEAVING."

She frowned.

"I'll be fine."

"I DISAGREE."

"I've spent plenty of nights outside."

Papyrus's smile disappeared.

"WHY?"

Frisk immediately regretted saying it.

"I just have."

Papyrus folded his arms.

"I DO NOT LIKE THAT ANSWER."

"It wasn't meant to be a good one."

He shook his head.

"YOU WERE SHOT AT TODAY."

"I wasn't hit."

"THAT DOES NOT MAKE IT BETTER."

"It kind of does."

"IT DOES NOT."

Frisk sighed.

"I'll find somewhere."

"NO."

"I always do."

"NO."

She rubbed the back of her neck.

"Papyrus..."

He pointed toward the staircase.

"YOU ARE STAYING HERE."

She stared at him.

"...Is that an order?"

"IT IS A VERY STRONG SUGGESTION."

"You know those are basically the same thing."

"I DO."

"And if I say no?"

"I SHALL ASK AGAIN."

She almost smiled.

"And if I still say no?"

"I SHALL CONTINUE ASKING UNTIL YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND."

"...That's incredibly stubborn."

"I HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT BEFORE."

Frisk let out a slow breath.

She could keep arguing.

She already knew she would lose.

"...Fine."

Papyrus beamed.

"I KNEW YOU WOULD MAKE THE CORRECT DECISION."

"I'm not sure it was really my decision."

"EXCELLENT."

Before she could protest again, Papyrus was already marching toward the staircase.

"COME."

She followed him upstairs.

The second floor was just as cozy as the first.

Family photographs covered the hallway walls.

A bookshelf overflowed with mystery novels and cookbooks.

Everything about the house felt lived in.

Comfortable.

Papyrus stopped in front of a bedroom door.

He proudly threw it open.

"WELCOME TO MY ROOM."

Frisk stepped inside.

Then stopped.

"...Oh."

The walls were covered with racing posters.

Small model cars lined shelves that stretched nearly the entire length of one wall.

A tall trophy case displayed ribbons and medals for things Frisk could not begin to identify.

And sitting proudly in the center of the room...

Was a bright red race car bed.

Complete with molded wheels.

A spoiler.

And headlights painted across the front.

Frisk blinked.

She looked at the bed.

Then at Papyrus.

Then back at the bed.

"...Seriously?"

Papyrus looked offended.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BED?"

"...Nothing."

She looked at it again.

"It's just..."

She couldn't find the words.

Papyrus proudly walked over and placed a hand on the side of it.

"IT IS VERY FAST."

Frisk stared.

"...Papyrus."

"YES?"

"...It doesn't move."

"THAT HAS NEVER STOPPED IT FROM BEING FAST."

She laughed.

A real laugh this time.

Papyrus pointed triumphantly.

"I KNEW IT."

"You knew what?"

"THE BED ALWAYS MAKES PEOPLE HAPPY."

"I don't think it's the bed."

"I RESPECTFULLY DISAGREE."

He patted the mattress.

"YOU SHALL SLEEP HERE."

Frisk's smile vanished.

"...What?"

"I SHALL SLEEP DOWNSTAIRS."

"No."

Papyrus blinked.

"...NO?"

"This is your room."

"CORRECT."

"So I'm not taking your bed."

"YOU ARE MY GUEST."

"And you're sleeping in your own bed."

"YOU ARE SLEEPING IN MY BED."

"I'm not."

"YOU ARE."

She crossed her arms.

"I'm absolutely not kicking you out of your room."

Papyrus considered this for exactly one second.

"I HAVE A SOLUTION."

Frisk narrowed her eyes.

"...I'm afraid to ask."

"I SHALL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR."

She sighed loudly.

"That's somehow worse."

"I DO NOT MIND."

"I do."

Papyrus tilted his skull.

"...WHY?"

"Because it's your house."

"CORRECT."

"And your room."

"ALSO CORRECT."

"And your bed."

"VERY CORRECT."

"So you sleep in it."

Papyrus stared at her.

She stared back.

Neither moved.

Finally, Papyrus let out an exaggerated sigh.

"I HAD HOPED THIS WOULD BE EASIER."

"It would have been if you'd just slept in your own bed."

He tapped a finger against his chin.

Then his eye lights brightened.

"I HAVE AN EVEN BETTER IDEA."

Frisk immediately regretted standing there.

"...What?"

"WE SHALL SHARE."

Silence.

Frisk's face immediately turned bright red.

"W What!?"

Papyrus blinked.

"THE BED IS QUITE LARGE."

Her brain stopped working.

"I..."

Papyrus looked at the bed.

Then back at her.

"...ACTUALLY."

He frowned.

"NO."

She waited.

"I MOVE AROUND A GREAT DEAL WHEN I SLEEP."

"...Good."

"I WOULD LIKELY ACCIDENTALLY KICK YOU."

"...Also good."

"I SHALL TAKE THE COUCH."

Before Frisk could object again, Papyrus nodded firmly.

"THE DISCUSSION IS OVER."

He walked toward the door.

"GOOD NIGHT, FRISK."

He paused in the doorway and smiled.

"I AM HAPPY WE ARE FRIENDS."

Then he closed the door behind him.

The room became quiet.

Frisk stood alone in the middle of Papyrus's bedroom.

Her eyes drifted slowly around the room.

The trophies.

The toy cars.

The books.

The carefully made bed that she had somehow been talked into sleeping in.

This belonged to one of the highest-ranking members of the Monster Syndicate.

A feared Capo.

A recruiter.

According to the Black Roses, someone capable of manipulating anyone foolish enough to trust him.

Frisk reached into the inside pocket of her jacket.

The burner phone was still there.

Cold.

Silent.

Waiting.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then slowly slid it back into her pocket.

She would make her report tomorrow.

Tonight...

She was too tired to remember which side she was supposed to hate.