(The boy's point of view)

When he saw the new kid, he groaned. Every time a new child arrived at the orphanage, it lowered chances of being adopted; then again, the boy wasn't sure if he wanted to be taken away. It wasn't as if he hadn't been in foster homes before, they always brought him back. This time, perhaps it would be more interesting he thought as he watched the child trudge up the path holding the hand of an older woman. He couldn't tell if the new kid was a boy or a girl, their coffee colored, bob-cut hair barely touched their shoulders; long bangs brushed the top of their closed eyes. He had heard the headmaster talking about bringing in a disabled kid to boost the pity factor, whatever that was, and the fact that the kid needed an aid proved his theory. Despite the cold air blowing through the open window, the children watched with curiosity as their new peer trampled the unshoveled path of snow leading up to the orphanage. There was a white dusting of snow across the kid's thin jacket, the white haired woman pulled the child along as they walked, leaving footprints behind them.

The child fidgeted as the headmaster spoke to the aid, things about papers and records, the other children had long since shut the window and were now peering at the exchange from the hallway. The boy was surprised when the new child glanced his way, their eyes were still closed. The white haired woman patted the kid's head and led the child toward the sweater room, the boy and the other children followed. They watched the ceremony with curiosity, which sweater would the child choose if they could not see? The boy watched as well, it was tradition after all, every child picked their sweater when they entered the place, it was a way for the headmaster to cheap out on clothes. The striped sweaters were all identical in design, a couple stripes across the body in a different color, and long sleeves that were removeable, allowing them to be worn during the warmer months. The aid sorted through the piles of sweaters, pulling out all the ones that would fit the child, narrowing the selection down to five options.

"Would you like me to pick you a sweater?" The woman asked as she shoved the rejected sweaters back into a large plastic tub. The child shook their head, feeling each sweater with their hand. The boy smirked in amusement, so the kid could hear; it wasn't a Helen Keller case after all. After a bit of deliberation the child picked out a sweater, the boy facepalmed, the periwinkle and magenta sweater. Just great. Absolutely perfect. He sighed, giving up on the gender mystery, the kid had long eyelashes, the kid was now a girl in his eyes.

…

The boy rubbed his face as he walked down the hallway, it had been a couple months since the blind kid had arrived and he still wasn't sure what to think of them. He had watched the kid walk down the halls side by side with the old woman who came every Monday. On Sundays, the kid even cleaned with the rest of the orphans. The smaller children loved her, they would laugh as they danced around in the field behind the house. The girl would sit and giggle silently as the children brought her clover flowers and dandelions. With a few deft twists of her fingers, a small pile of blossoms would turn into a flower crown. Often the children would dance around all day with their flower covered heads after waiting patiently in line.

One spring night, several children brought a lopsided crown of golden flowers over to where the girl was sitting, "It's for you" they smiled "we made it ourselves!" Frisk, he had since then learned the kid's name, placed the crown on her head and beamed. The children puffed up their chests in a proud manner and ran off to play. The boy looked up from catching fireflies and frowned, the shiny yellow flowers didn't suit her, he thought that she would look much better in red.

"Hey, bro! Come help us out!" an older boy called, jolting the kid out of his thoughts. In between cupping the small lights in his palms and feeling them tickle his fingers, he couldn't help but glance back at the girl. Despite looking uncomfortable, she wore the crown the whole night.

After the children were finished, their single glass jar was glowing with light, the night air was cool, and it brushed across their faces as they sat in the grass debating who caught the most lightning bugs. The smaller children even brought the jar over to where the girl sat to show her their treasure. She brushed her hand over the lid and her mouth dipped down a bit before she plastered on a smile and congratulated them. When they finally headed in, they placed the jar by the doorstep, the boy gave the fireflies one last glance, he knew that he wouldn't see their light again.

…

He heard the creak of a cot, his eyes flew open, squinting he watched a small shadow slowly make its way across the room. From the careful and slow way it moved, he could tell that it was the girl, who else would walk like Frankenstein? After she left the room, he heard rusted hinges squeak in protest as the backdoor to the orphanage opened. Wide awake, the boy slipped out of his cot, the tiles were cold beneath his bare feet as he made his way past the sleeping shapes of the other children and into the hallway.

The backdoor was propped open by one of the many fist sized chunks of concrete that could be found near the crumbling steps. The cool April night air drifted into the hallway, it smelled fresh, like the earth and freedom. After stopping to enjoy it for a moment, the boy peeked outside and stifled a squeak of surprise. The girl was holding the jar of fireflies, the green yellow light illuminated her hands and her eyes… wait, her eyes… they were open. The glowing bugs added brilliant highlights to their brown depths. The boy glanced down and sure enough, the jar of fireflies was no longer by the steps where the kids had left it. He watched the girl with confusion as she unscrewed the lid and unceremoniously dumped all of the small creatures out by tipping the jar upside down. Moments later, the lights started blinking through the air once more. The boy inched back as the girl walked carefully towards the back door, one arm cradling the jar, the other out for navigation. Her mouth formed a smirk as she reached the concrete, the boy took it was a sign to leave. Making it back to his cot safely, and a bit out of breath, his mind buzzed as he lay, staring at the ceiling.

It was the eyes, he couldn't stop thinking about the kid's eyes, they were so… well actually, they were normal, and that threw him off. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, he was so confused, he knew that the kid was blind, he had seem her trip countless times before, and there always seemed to be a bruise on their legs. Then why, why did they look so normal?! It was infuriating, he thought that blind people were supposed to have white soulless eyes! AND, she smirked at him! She knew he was there! Sighing he closed his eyes, what an atypical* kid.

…

(Switch to Frisk's point of view)

Frisk felt the night air brush across their skin as they held the cool glass jar. The breeze was slightly chilly, sending a wave of goose bumps across their limbs. Their fingers stung as they untwisted the lid, Frisk sighed, it may have been a bad idea, wearing the flower crown for so long, especially knowing what flowers it was made of. Dumping the contents of the jar into the grass, the child headed back toward the door carefully, nodding to themselves as they felt the grass give way to overgrown concrete. Hearing a movement, Frisk raised their head and smirked, it was the other child. One of the older ones, Frisk could tell by the sound of the footsteps as the other retreated. The child holding the now empty jar reached the steps and after scoping out the spot, they returned the jar to its former place. Frisk reached out to make sure that the smooth unpunctured lid was sealed tight and sighed. The skin on their forehead burned where the flowers had touched it, Ms. Scott was definitely going to notice. The soft wind did nothing to abate** the burning sensation, but the child sat there on the cold steps anyways. It was a rare moment of tranquility. No, it wasn't quiet, the crickets chirped and the cicadas droned, but it was calming all the same.

(notes)

The pronouns changed because that was how the boy thought of Frisk. When other characters speak, they use whatever pronouns they wish. I doubt the kids at the orphanage know about complicated gender identities x-x

I was told to expand my vocabulary… here are the new words this week O-O:

*atypical means not ordinary

**abate means to lessen/ reduce

I absolutely abhor the formatting on here :[

Included a bit more history on Frisk's sweater

I think my headcanon is that the boy is older that Frisk by around 2-3 years, leading to a big brother relationship :D

Oh man, was this all fluff? Eh, a bit :v

Stuff should heat up next chapter c;

(p.s. can you guess what flowers the flower crown was made of? Ow)