… i’m sure it’s still valentine’s day somewhere, right?
anyway, i made a very short little something for you guys. happy valentines! (psst! you can read it here on ao3!)
characters; Tenna, Kris, Spamton.
“Do you think it’s distasteful?”
“I think you’re distasteful.”
“Because I’m not sure you can eat chocolate with his… you know! Don’t make me say it!”
Kris stared at him sideways. “His what?
“His… dental situation,” Anthony said, after carefully looking around and making sure nobody could hear him.
I mean, have you been in the sweets aisle on Valentine’s day? It’s hell! Pure, unfiltered hell! Can you blame him for not wanting his sweetheart’s private life to be the town’s new favorite gossip?
“His wha– Dude, you mean like, dentures?” They said, with no regard for privacy. They were even looking at Anthony like he was the crazy one.
Sometimes he couldn’t believe his precious, sweet little Kris turned out so… so sassy. He wasn’t who they took after.
Tenna leaned in so abruptly their cart squeaked an inch forward. He pressed a finger to Kris’s lips, glancing left and right, just to be sure nobody was eavesdropping. He still was somewhat of a celebrity, you know?
“Is it?” Kris said, their mouth moving under his finger. They pushed his hand away with two fingers, looking almost disgusted. Anthony felt his heart shatter. “What’s so bad about it?”
They hooked their thumbs into the straps of their overalls and rocked back on their heels, gaze drifting toward a pyramid of chocolate roses already collapsing under its own poor engineering.
“I wish I could unstick my teeth,” they went on. “That would be so cool. I could bite ice cream.”
“Could you?” Anthony replied, turning away.
Rows upon rows of pink, red, and way–too glittered boxes stared back at him. Dark Chocolate with Blood Orange & Black Pepper. Strawberry Cheesecake Truffle Collection. Lavender Honey Crunch Hearts. A limited edition White Chocolate Wasabi Raspberry premium bar. He lifted one, weighing it in his palm.
“You still have nerve endings in your gums,” he explained, squinting at the microscopic ingredient list. “It would still feel horrible.”
He replaced the bar he was holding with Spicy Matcha Unsweetened Artisan Squares, seventy-eight percent cacao, twenty-two percent additives.
“Do you think Spammy might like… spicy matcha unsweetened chocolate?” he asked, leaning his entire upper body against the cart, making it roll forward a few centimeters.
“I don’t think anyone might like that.” Kris rolled onto the balls of their feet, then forward again, hands now draped over the handle. “We should ask him, by the way.”
“Are you insane?” Anthony snapped, eyes widening as he gripped the cart so hard his hand started to shake. “He’ll know I’m late getting him something!”
“I was talking about the ice cream thing,” Kris shrugged. Couldn’t they show a little more enthusiasm?
They examined their reflection in a metallic red heart tin, unimpressed. Why did teenagers insist on dismantling the romance of a situation with such surgical precision? Did Kris not understand how important it was to celebrate the day of love with the one you love?
“Why do you care about being late?” Kris asked, flicking at a dangling price tag.
“Why do I–” Anthony straightened, scandalized, a hand flying to his chest, personally wounded. “Kris. Listen to me.” He leaned down slightly, lowering his voice into his natural wise, instructive register. “You know how good of a partner I am, right?”
“Right. A good partner never gets a gift on the same day of the holiday. It looks tacky.” He swayed one hand in a slow arc in the air. “It suggests poor planning and lack of foresight.”
“I don’t think Spamton cares about how it looks,” Kris muttered, now crouching to poke at a shelf of individually wrapped chocolate lips. Was Kris, perhaps, also looking to get something for someone?
Anthony turned back to the wall of confectionery.
“I do.” He lifted another box. “So, what about Caramel Marshmallow Pistachio?”
From behind him came a long, suffering groan. Again, maybe a little more enthusiasm could’ve been great.
“What about it?” Kris asked.
“I’m asking for your opinion!” Anthony whined.
Kris stared at him, puzzled. “What could my opinion on Caramel Marshmallow Pistachio Chocolate possibly be?” They gestured at the box. “It’s a perfectly fine way to ruin chocolate. And I don’t think you can eat caramel with dentures.”
“Why not?” Anthony asked, peering over his shoulder.
“Because it could, like– uh, dunno– get stuck?” They lifted their shoulders. “I can’t eat it with braces, so.”
Anthony considered this. He turned the box over, tapping the plastic window with his nail. A marshmallow dome glistened obscenely beneath it.
“But isn’t the whole point of dentures that you can unstick them?” He asked. “You pull them off, scrub them, and boom. Good as new?”
“You’re asking me?” Kris said, pointing weakly at themselves. “Dude, you’re the one dating him. You should know how this stuff works.”
Well. In his defense, Sal had never exactly sat him down and explained his dental routine.
“But I don’t,” Anthony said, recovering with a sharp little huff, “so you’re here to help me.”
Before Kris could object, he began sweeping options off the shelf with decisive, escalating panic, because it was almost dinner time, Sans was about to close, and he still accomplished nothing.
Strawberry Champagne Creams, Extra Dark Chili Cherry Bombs, White Chocolate Coconut Key Lime, Hazelnut Praline Swirl, and a novelty box shaped like a heart-shaped pizza inexplicably labeled Cocoa Marinara, all landed in the cart. Anthony was curious about where, exactly, Sans found his suppliers.
He was almost tempted to ask him as they queued to pay, but as much as Anthony had come to… appreciate the man, he didn’t think they had that level of confidence.
You didn’t criticize a man’s suppliers. A man’s workplace was his kingdom.
Once outside, Anthony blinked at the sun setting before him, blinding him for an instant. The handles of the plastic bags were digging into the soft flesh of his fingers, but for half a second, he tried to imagine Spamton at his side, enjoying the sunset with him, his hand replacing the plastic.
“So what’s your plan now?” Kris asked, shifting one bag higher on their wrist. “You’re gonna walk up to him with grocery store bags full of–” They paused and squinted inside. “–coconut piña colada white squares?”
Anthony swallowed. Definitely not those ones, no.
“Obviously not, silly.” He shook his head, brisk and decisive. “We’re going to try them. And then I’m going to get him the best one.”
The bags slipped from their hands and landed on the pavement as their head snapped toward Anthony, their neck cracking as much as the chocolate on the concrete.
“Better get started!” Anthony chirped, already marching toward a bench near the cart return. He set his bags down with care, arranged them neatly at his feet, and patted the empty space beside him. “Come on! We have a lot of ground to cover. Isn’t chocolate your favorite food?”
“Yeah,” Kris said, trudging after him. “Chocolate. Not–” They rummaged into one of the bags, fishing blindly until their fingers closed around a small box. “–cheese dark cocoa delight.”
“You never know until you try.” Anthony plucked it from their hands before they could reconsider, tearing the seal with his thumbnail. He tipped one dangerously yellow square into Kris’s palm, then took one for himself. “Well then– cheers!”
He grinned, wide and sincere, and popped it into his mouth.
Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chewing with concentration, occasionally pausing to press his tongue against his palate to thoroughly examine the taste. Kris sat sideways on the bench, legs stretched out, heel dragging idle half-circles through grit and cigarette butts, face contorting with each new bite.
Kris sat sideways on the bench, making gag noises at each new chocolate, and Anthony couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed at them. They were right.
Chili cherry made Anthony’s shoulders jerk at the heat and his eyes water behind his glasses. Raspberry white tasted cloying and artificial, leaving a smear at the corner of his mustache that he wiped away with the back of his hand, only managing to also stain his skin. Coconut key lime tasted like sunscreen. Cocoa marinara somehow tasted like olives.
Wrappers piled at their feet as the sun disappeared behind the parking lot.
It made sense, Anthony assumed. Light was associated with God, wasn’t it? And believe him– no God had part in what just unfolded.
Kris slid further and further down the bench, spine boneless, until they were practically reclined. At some point the straps of their overalls came undone and slumped into their lap. They pressed their palms to their stomach and groaned.
“I’m about to throw up,” they said. “Like. For real.”
Anthony wasn’t much better. His belt was undone and he was fairly certain there was still raspberry something stuck in his mustache. He could smell it.
“We still haven’t found anything for him,” he lamented, bringing both hands to his face and rubbing his eyes beneath the frames. “I’m a horrible partner. I suck. He’s going to leave me and I’m going to die alone in Toriel’s house.”
“Anthony, what the hell?” Kris said, turning to face him. “You think he’s going to leave you if you don’t bring him–” they squinted, searching for the name among the carnage, “–fucking strawberry champagne creams? Really?”
Anthony sighed, then forced himself upright. “I just wanted to do something nice for him,” he said, staring at the scattered wrappers catching the last of the light. “Wouldn’t you want to do something nice for Noelle?”
“Well– she isn’t my girlfriend,” they said just a tad too quickly. “So it doesn’t matter.”
“Not my girlfriend either.”
Kris scoffed, or coughed, or gagged. Anthony couldn’t tell. They drew one knee up and hooked their fingers in front of their calf to keep it from sliding off the bench. “I think if I gave Ralsei chocolates he might actually pass out,” they said. Then, without looking at him, added, “But you’re full of shit. None of this matters.”
“Hey!” Anthony snapped on reflex. “Language!”
Then he leaned in despite himself, elbow braced on his thigh, eyebrow arched with curiosity. “…What do you mean?”
“I mean you don’t actually care about doing something nice,” they said. “Because if you did, you would’ve just– I dunno– gotten actual, normal fucking chocolate.” They glanced at the wrappers, nudging one with the toe of their shoe. “You just wanted to do something flashy.”
Anthony flinched. “It’s not… it’s just…” He trailed off, then sighed and forced his fingers to loosen. His shoulders dropped. “Is it criminal to want to stand out? To make something special?”
“It gets to a point,” Kris said, rolling their eyes. “Just go get some normal chocolate before Sans closes. You’re gonna be fine.”
Anthony hesitated. It was their first Valentine’s day together after Sal moved to Hometown.
He really wanted to do something memorable; not even something big, no, but he wanted to do something they could look back at years later and smile about. Something like coconut key lime chocolate.
But Kris was probably right. It didn’t matter. What was important was just sharing something with the one you loved.
He stood and reached down to bury a hand in Kris’s hair and ruffled them.
“You’ve grown up so much, Kris,” he said, smiling fondly. “You were such a little pest as a kid, and now look at you; giving me life advice, leaving the house to me for the night–”
“Wait–” Kris shot upright, knocking his hand away. “What am I doing now?”
They sprang fully to their feet, glaring at Anthony in that terrifying way of theirs. “Forget about it.”
“Come on! Toriel’s staying with Sans tonight and I can’t go over to Sal’s– you know how Queen gets!”
“Then you better get cozy with her too!”
“Please! Just for tonight! For me?” Anthony clasped his hands together, tilting his head, dredging up the most pathetic puppy eyes he could manage. “For Uncle Anthony?”
“Absolutely not!” Kris whined. “I can’t even stay with Susie and Noelle! They went to the city for Valentine’s!”
Anthony grinned as he buried his hands in his pockets. “…I mean. I’m pretty sure Ralsei’s around, so–”
“I am not spending the night at Ralsei’s!” Kris squeaked. “His parents freak me out!”
“That’s too bad,” Anthony said, already turning away, “because I’ve already called Seam and they said they’re okay with you sleeping over. Better go prepare that duffle bag!”
He smirked over his shoulder and started walking toward the store entrance.
“What the– Anthony!” Kris yelled after him, scrambling to grab the bags. “Traitor! Judas! I regret everything! I hope Spamton leaves you!”
Anthony just giggled and disappeared behind the sliding doors.
The Dreemurr’s house never felt more stifling.
Anthony’s knee bounced without rhythm, his heel drumming into the rug as he felt himself sinking into the couch. His palms were damp and slick against the crisp paper of the small red box he held clasped between both hands. It was wrapped neatly, because he could do at least that right, with a gold ribbon.
Milk chocolate hearts. Their first Valentine’s Day together after years, and he had brought milk chocolate hearts.
He should have commissioned a skywriter.
His foot stopped bouncing only so he could inhale, then it resumed worse than before. Maybe, there was still time.
The corner shop was open late. He could run and grab something– anything– that would make his sad little gift a bit less sad.
He could… he could say he needed cigarettes. Didn’t matter that he wasn’t a smoker, Sal surely wouldn’t notice anyway, right?
Anthony rose from the couch and reached for his coat draped over the armrest, red box still clutched in one hand. He could do this. He had to do this. He could not fail on Valentine’s Day of all days.
He crushed the ribbon with his thumb.
Sal stood in the doorway between kitchen and living room, apron still tied around his waist. Under one arm he held a wrapped box of his own, though a little less neat. His expression was not amused.
“The fuck are you going?”
“Nowhere!” Anthony yelped, and jerked his arm behind his back. “Just– I’m out of cigs, you know? I’ll be right back!”
“Ant,” Sal said, tilting his head. “You don’t smoke.”
“I– uh– picked it up recently!” He giggled, breathy and nervous. “And you know how it is–”
Sal shifted the box under his arm, dug into the pocket of his jeans, and, much to Anthony’s horror. fished out a pack of cigarettes. He crossed the room in three strides and pressed it into Anthony’s free hand.
“Fixed. Now sit back down.”
“That ain’t a kind request,” Sal muttered.
He sat down first, thighs spread, draping one arm across the backrest. He gestured lazily toward the empty space beside him.
“C’mon. Get your ass over here.”
Anthony swallowed. He hung his coat with care, gazed at it lovingly until it was ultimately time for him to do as Sal asked. He sat, hiding the little red box behind his back.
“Dinner’s in the oven,” Sal said, visibly calmer. “Should be ready in about twenty minutes. Until then–”
He leaned in, placing a warm hand against Anthony’s side, brushing the seam of his shirt with his thumb, and– no.
He could not let this continue as though everything were fine. He could not let Sal touch him like this when he knew– he knew!– that he was about to disappoint him, that Sal was mere seconds away from leaving him again.
He placed his palm flat against Sal’s chest.
“We..” He began. “We need to talk, Salvatore.”
Sal backed off at once, confusion all over his face.
“Talk? ’Bout what?” he asked, and Anthony could not help but notice the way his shoulders stiffened. “Listen, if you got tired of this already, I–”
“It’s not that,” Anthony cut in quickly, turning his face away. His throat burned. “Sal, my dear, I… I’ve disappointed you.”
“I ruined this magical day,” Anthony continued, “I shattered those rose-tinted glasses you were watching me with. I understand if you want to leave me after this.”
“Anthony, the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Sal scooted closer.
Anthony flinched away before he could touch him.
“No!” He exclaimed. “I don’t deserve your love, your touch, after– after this!”
Sal leaned in instead of retreating. “…This?” he asked again.
“This!” Anthony thrust the small red box into Sal’s chest. He drew back immediately; he surrendered all evidence, now he was just waiting for his judgement.
Sal looked down at it, then up at Anthony, then back down again. Without saying anything, he began to unwrap, revealing those insulting, disgusting, unremarkable milk chocolate hearts.
Sal examined the box, turned it slightly in his hands, then looked back at Anthony.
“Anthony,” he said, utterly puzzled, “are you okay?”
“Don’t dance around it,” Anthony insisted. “Come on. I know you hate it. Hate me.”
“Hate it?” Sal repeated, incredulous. “Ant, baby, why would I hate it? I like chocolate.”
He shifted, reached behind him, and retrieved the package he had carried from the kitchen, placing it in the space between them.
“Besides,” he added, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand, “it’d be a little hypocritical of me.”
Anthony stared, uncomprehending, before picking it up and picking away at the wrapping, only to reveal– strawberry white chocolate.
“I’m, uh… kinda new to this whole–” Sal gestured vaguely through the air, “Valentine’s stuff. Gifts. That shit. I ain’t good at it. I asked Noelle for help to pick up something for you, but if you don’t like chocolate–”
Anthony surged forward without restraint, closing the distance between them. He wrapped both arms around Sal’s shoulders and squeezed, pressing himself flush against him, the boxes nearly tumbling to the floor. He kissed his cheek, his jaw, his temple, his nose, before deciding that, after all, his lips were the sweetest treat of them all.
“I love it! I adore it! I adore you!” He declared between kisses, hands gripping fabric and fingers curling into Sal’s apron.
Sal laughed and hooked his arms around Anthony’s middle, holding him steady against his chest. He leaned up and captured his lips in a slower kiss, granting Anthony the possibility to fully taste his favorite gift.
“You’re pretty great too,” Sal murmured against his mouth. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Specs.”
Anthony giggled, hot air crashing on Sal’s lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Spammy.”
Years later, when they spoke of that first Valentine’s Day in Hometown, Anthony never failed to mention how grateful Sal should’ve been for dodging the cheese dark cocoa delight.
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