Beep. Beep.
You shift and turn away from the annoying sound.
Beep. Beep.
"Five more minutes," you mumble sleepily to yourself. "Five more minutes only."
You grope around on your bedside table, searching for the alarm clock, which is beeping obnoxiously. Slamming a hand on the button, it immediately turns off and you snuggle back into your blankets.
As soon as you drag yourself off your comfy (albeit slightly lumpy) bed, you know you're gonna be late.
8:07, your alarm clock flashes smugly.
You're really late.
You move sluggishly, brushing your teeth sloppily and showering as fast as your heavy limbs will allow. It seems like all of your body is achy and unwilling to get you to school.
Not that you're a student, or anything. In fact, you've ascended to the teaching position.
Of course, teaching seems like a good job and all, but from your experience, you'll readily tell anyone that it's rough. After graduating teacher's college spectacularly, you'd been immediately moved up to a steady position in a high school teaching two advanced math classes in grades nine and ten. A big jump, some would say, but you almost (quite literally) aced your way through all your qualifications. It had been three years since then and you were twenty-five, turning twenty-six in August.
It was a relatively well-paying job compared to the odd jobs you'd used to work back as a broke college student, but it was tiring. You loved all your students dearly and they (if not liked you) tolerated you, but there were always students struggling, kids falling behind their classes. While you enjoyed staying behind and going the extra mile to help students who weren't even in your classes, it was a lot of work. There was barely a day in which you weren't staying up late, grading papers and tests or preparing work for a student you were helping.
Looking in the mirror, you cringe at the dark circles under your eyes and the haggard expression on your face. Sometimes you'd question choosing such a grueling job, but your high school was in the toughest part of Ebottville, where crime was everywhere and bad influences lurked. You found yourself looking around warily as you got into your car in the evenings when you left for home.
The teens in those neighborhoods had seen more than you could imagine, and it broke your heart seeing them stray from a safe and happy path. Which was one of the reasons why you couldn't bear to ask the teachers' board to move you somewhere else.
You change into a dark blue blouse, black pants and black flats. Simple clothes. It's teaching, not a fashion show. Throwing on some quick makeup to hide the exhaustion on your face, you grab your purse and keys and scramble out the door.
8:23.
Damn. Classes begin at 8:45 and you live about half an hour away from your school. Not to mention the rush-hour traffic.
Shit.
As you drum your fingers on the steering wheel, you jab a button and the car radio turns on.
"...As more and more monsters are emerging from Mount Ebott, authorities are in a jam trying to hold back the waves of these intriguing creatures baying for freedom. Here's Anna Cadence with the special report."
Oh, yeah. It'd been buzzing all over headlines since a couple of days ago. The mountain overlooking Ebottville had suddenly erupted in a blinding flash and soon, strange beings that identified themselves as (oddly enough) "monsters" began appearing. Honestly, you're a little concerned about these... monsters. You'd seen a couple on television, and they sure did look bizarre. At least they all looked kind (though confused about where they were.) Surely things could be worked out. They could integrate into the community, you suppose, with some effort and compromise. Then again, humans aren't even accepting some of their own kind.
Sometimes humanity really sucked.
"...all over media, that monsters, fabled creatures that had been supposedly sealed away and locked up underground for centuries, have risen again. A small group of monsters has stepped up to speak about it and explain their story.
The most surprising thing is that a human child has declared their young self as a part of their group. Francis "Frisk" Gray emerged from the mountain just days ago with the group of monsters, claiming to have been trapped in there for months.
There has indeed been a Francis Gray that had been reported missing four months ago in June in the small town of Ebottville, which resides underneath Mount Ebott, and the case had been ruled unsolved. Despite the connection, the police has been keeping Francis Gray in custody for questioning, much to the monsters' dismay. According to several monsters, Francis, or "Frisk" as they lovingly refer to the child, is a kind and gentle youth, their one hope in the bleak "Underground". A skeleton gave a heartfelt speech while in handcuffs for being too "overzealous" in trying to take back Francis from police custody.
"FRISK IS... WELL, THEY ARE TRULY A KIND AND GENEROUS SOUL. NOT ONLY DO THEY LOVE PUZZLES AND PASTA..." The skeleton sniffed loudly. "THEY DID NOT HURT A SINGLE PERSON DOWN IN THE UNDERGROUND. PLEASE. FRISK DOES NOT DESERVE THIS! THEY DESERVE TO BE FREE AND HAPPY, AND I BELIEVE THAT WE MONSTERS SHOULD, TOO."
A monster introducing himself as the King of the Underground is currently discussing the monsters' futures with prime ministers, presidents and chancellors from all over the world. King Asgore Dreemurr had this to say to interviewers as he exited a meeting with President Barack Obama:
"We monsters do not intend to harm anyone. We have been trapped for centuries in the Underground, you must understand. All we wish for is a bright future in which monsters and humans can coexist peacefully and happily. I believe that this is entirely possible, and I am working day and night to ensure this future is within our reach."
Dreemurr has managed to seal a deal with the mayor of Ebottville to allow a number of monsters to-
You turn off the radio. That sentimental shit won't help your drowsy state.
You turn right into the school parking lot, chewing your lip. Those monsters... they seem even more kind than ever, and they must really care for Frisk to want to protect them so badly. Your heart swells with a desire to help them, but you know that you're incapable of anything, at least for now.
Especially since you're ten minutes late for class.
"Fuck," you mutter as you sprint to the doors of the high school, fling them open and scramble up to your class. Even worse, it's on the second floor.
Panting, you burst into class to find your ninth-graders chatting idly as they wait for you. They stifle grins as they take in your disheveled appearance, but you know that behind their grins is genuine fondness.
"Alright, alright," you grumble good-naturedly. "I'm late, haha, I look stupid. Open your textbooks, brats."
Laughing along with the kids, you delve into the lessons.
"...and pages 420 to 422 are for homework," you say, slamming your math book shut. As if on cue, the bell rings and your kids start filing out of the classroom for their next class.
"Don't forget, quiz is on Thursday!" You call out over the din of scraping chairs.
One student stays behind, as usual. It's Charlotte this time. Ah, Charlotte. Bless her soul, she's easily the shyest and quietest person you've ever met. Her anxiety around people tends to make her so nervous, she can't do work properly. Her marks used to be in the C- to D+ range, but thanks to your careful mentoring, she's blossomed into a solid B+ student. It's a start, at least.
"What's up, Charlotte?" Smiling at her, you see Charlotte look down and fidget (a habit of hers which you've tried hard to break) before speaking.
"Oh, I, uh, needed some help on today's lesson. I didn't catch all of it."
"Sure, honey. But weren't you here for the whole class? How could've you missed some of the concepts?"
Charlotte bites her lip. "I was distracted. By s-something," she stammers.
Obviously she's hiding something, but experience has taught you not to pry too much with students like Charlotte.
"Okay, so where're you having trouble, Charlotte?
You decide to have lunch in your classroom today. On occasion, you'll eat with the other teachers in the staff room, but today seems like a good day for some peace and quiet. Besides, the teachers here treat you like a child still, probably because of your youth in such a tough job.
After dashing out to buy a quick lunch from the nearby deli, you sit back on your chair and munch on the ham-and-cheese sandwich you bought. It tastes pretty good and the coffee you got with it rejuvenates you. You've had a tiring morning without your caffeine, and the strong drink is heavenly.
You grab your phone and take a quick glance at it. Several texts from your best friend Isabelle, an email from the principal, Mr. Underwood and a missed call from Isabelle. Huh. What's so important for her to text you a bunch of messages and even call you? Isabelle works as a restaurant waitress at a busy diner, so she doesn't have a lot of time to text and do that kind of shit. Not to mention that her boss is kind of strict about phones during shifts.
You dial her number and wait, sipping your coffee patiently.
Ring, ring.
"Hello?" Isabelle's bubbly voice chimes.
"Hey, 'Belle. What's up?"
Isabelle laughs. "Did you even read the texts?"
"Uh, no?"
"Oh my God, you're so stupid sometimes," Isabelle sighs. "Whatever. I'll make it quick, since my boss might be back in a sec."
"I'm listening."
"So, like, you've been hearing about how monsters are trying to get into human society, right?" Isabelle asks.
"Yeah, I have."
"Well, they've announced an hour ago that they're officially going to allow about a hundred monsters to integrate into the world for a few months! Workplaces are being chosen to accept monsters for jobs and houses and roommates are being sought after. I'm totally gonna sign up! It's gonna be SO exciting!" babbles Isabelle.
"Whoa. Hold up, Isabelle." You frown, chewing your lip again. "We can sign up to house monsters in our places?"
"Yup!" she squeals.
You remember how your heart swelled when you heard about the monsters struggling for freedom. Even though your conscience tells you that your tiny little apartment with only a bedroom, a cramped kitchen/dining room, bathroom and little guest room (that's currently overflowing with stuff you hadn't unpacked since moving here a few months ago) would never fit an extra person, you shrug. "Why the hell not," you say. "I'll sign up too."
"YAY!" You can practically hear her bouncing up and down from the other end of the line. "Okay, my boss is making his rounds. Gotta go, (y/n)!"
Before you can say bye, she hangs up.
Isabelle, your best friend. Bubbly and energetic, she completely contrasts your more reserved and cautious behavior. Her dark brown, curly hair bounces effortlessly and her eyes are shining with unbridled happiness pretty much all the time. You sometimes wish that you were as gorgeous as her, but hey, who's to say you're not beautiful?
You run and hand through your hair and scoff. Your looks are, if anything, average. At least you think so.
You're about to open your new email from Mr. Underwood when the bell rings abruptly and your eleventh-graders jostle in. Straightening up, you stow away your phone and tidy your desk up, ready to teach another lesson.
The rest of the day goes by fast. Not much happens besides your usual lessons and a session of mentoring with another student, Angel, who's been stressed out lately. As the bell rings for the day and students rush home, you get comfy in your chair and settle in for an evening of work.
You do the usual, checking assignments, jotting down grades and averages, preparing tomorrow's lessons, that kind of thing. It takes you about two or three hours at the least, but your mind is distracted and you keep pausing to chew on the end of your pen, forgetting what you were thinking about earlier.
The monster situation is intriguing you. You never thought yourself much of a compassionate person, but their story has touched you in such a way that you can't stop thinking about it. You're actually considering cleaning up the nuclear waste zone you like to call your spare room.
Thanks to you and your daydreaming (or is it eveningdreaming?), you just finish your work at seven and grab your belongings and hightail it out of there. It's a little shadowy and creepy in the corridors around this time, but you thankfully make it to your car without any incidents.
As you drive home, you turn on the radio again, hopeful for more monster news, but the only thing warbling from the speakers is what people these days call music. Making a face, you pop in a CD of yours and start humming along to the sound of Foo Fighters.
Tossing your keys and purse on the table, you flop down on the couch. It's been a long day, but you pull out your laptop and search up "monster homes."
You get a ton of results, but you see an official government website about the situation of housing for the one hundred-strong monster community. There's a questionnaire you can fill out so you can put in an application for housing a monster (or monsters, you learn. Guess some families want to stay together.) It's boring, but you finish it quickly, send the questionnaire in with your email and close your laptop. Done.
All of a sudden, you remember that you haven't checked your email yet and that Mr Underwood had sent you an email. You pull out your phone and check your inbox. There it is, from James Underwood, concerning the faculty.
Dear Miss (y/n),
It is with great pleasure that I announce that we will be accommodating one monster teacher into Mount Ebott Secondary School. He or she will be replacing our beloved Mrs Jessica Ackles as she settles into retirement. We wish her the best of luck and are ready to welcome whichever monster is selected to teach here.
We are sending out a call for people who are willing to house this monster in their home as they will need to live in a place that does not take more than an hour to drive to in bad weather or half an hour in good traffic.
If you are willing to take on this opportunity, please contact our secretary, Mrs Tran, or myself, to get further details.
Best wishes,
James D. Underwood, principal of Mount Ebott Secondary School
Well, well, well. This isn't a big surprise, but it's still exciting nonetheless. You find yourself typing a reply as fast as your fingers can, a smile growing on your face as you do so.
Dear Mr Underwood,
I would gladly make room for a monster at my home. Please respond with details and such.
Ms. (y/n)
A few minutes later, you get a reply.
Dear Ms. (y/n),
Here are the details of the monster we are accepting:
Name: Sans
Monster type: Skeleton
A skeleton named Sans, hm? You test the name in your mouth, whispering it to the screen. Sans. Sans the skeleton. You wonder what he looks like... is he a literal skeleton? You hope not. That would be creepy.
Then again, compared to other monsters you've seen, it can't be that bad.
Subject to teach: Physics
Classes and grades to teach subject: eleventh and twelfth grade (advanced classes for both)
So he's teaching similar classes to you. You both teach advanced classes but he does the older grades for physics. Not bad, skelly guy.
After flicking through more boring and long-winded stuff, you come to the conclusion that Sans is a genius in physics and looks like he could've been qualified to teach in university if humans accepted monster diplomas. Unfortunately, they didn't.
You see his phone number at the bottom of the info, and wonder if Mr Underwood's introduced you yet. Oh well. You'd like to meet this guy, see what he's like. If he's gonna be living in your apartment for a while, you suppose that you should get to know him.
You freeze at this thought. He's a monster, isn't he? Is he like other humans? The skeleton and the goat guy did, but you don't know about Sans...
You slam your phone back down and take a deep breath. Maybe you'll talk to him in the morning.
Yeah, that's what you'll do... right?
Eventually you stumble off to bed, thinking about the skeleton that'll be sharing your little apartment with you.
A nasty thought hits you right before you go to sleep.
Does he snore loud?