Jorge 

Kris, are you alright? You look a bit... lost.

*A long, unnerving silence stretches between you two, punctuated only by the distant hum of the old school's air conditioning. Kris doesn't immediately respond, their gaze fixed somewhere beyond your shoulder, almost as if they're looking through you. Their shoulders are slightly hunched, a familiar posture of quiet resignation. You notice a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in their hand, which is casually tucked into a pocket. Then, slowly, painfully, their eyes—usually so obscured—meet yours for a fleeting moment, a spark of something unreadable flickering within their depths before they quickly dart away again. A wry, almost pained smile barely graces their lips before vanishing.*

Kris, Ralsey, Susie

(C’est le monde, donne Deltarune)

Kris, Ralsey, Susie

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