Sunrise was Asriel's favorite time of day. The day the Barrier came down, when he and everyone else took the first steps out of the Underground, together, they walked out into the golden light of dawn. While a certain unwelcome person swiftly ruined the mood by trying to steal Frisk away, for a moment, the whole world was gold and beautiful and Asriel loved it.

After that, he would often find himself awake early. When he managed to wake up before dawn, he'd hurry out of the Underground exit to go sit on the ledge of path. He'd watch with a tight throat as the sun crept out of the murky shadows of morning, the first rays spilling out around the far mountains, reaching for him and the mountains across the valley. The shadows hid the village below, the unsightly outline looking mountain-like enough that it wasn't such an eyesore.

Dawn slipped away quickly and usually Papyrus or Frisk would walk out of the Underground and gently scold him for not warning someone before leaving. If it was Papyrus, he might convince his guard to join him for the last of the view before sun completely rose. If it was Frisk, they'd tut and shuffle him back inside. But that was alright as well, because if they hurried out of the castle, he could stand outside and watch as the early morning light spilled into the city from the hole in the top of the mountain, the light brightening the city like a second dawn.

Even as he grew older, he would rise each morning before the sun crept out and would then watch it as it turned the world to gold. In this fresh landscape, his nightmares dried up like the mists rising from the ground; here in the light of dawn, he had survived. He'd smile softly as Chara woke a little less eagerly in the back of his brain.

"Good morning, Chara," he whispered, gaze still pointed out of the window.

*You fool. There is nothing good about mornings.

He chuckled, his lips stretching wide over his teeth as he grinned. "How about chocolate donuts for breakfast?"

*Well. Perhaps there is one good thing about mornings.

The first time Papyrus heard thunder in New Home, he nearly chucked a bone spear out the window in surprise. He had to pause and take a breath, scolding himself mentally as he did so. Just because he'd been living in Snowdin for years, that didn't mean he should have forgotten what thunder sounded like.

Taking a moment, he paused and walked to the kitchen window. Rain rarely fell onto the Ambassador's House because of how far it was from the hole in the mountain, so his view was clear. The rain was falling in thick sheets just down the street, but from his vantage point, it looked like a dark wall of water was pouring down. Gazing up at the hole in the mountain, he saw a flash of light, followed by the crash of the thunder—it was the first time he'd seen lightning in years.

If I were to go to the Exit right now, I could probably get a truly great view, he thought and that was the moment when the intense desire to escape the Underground really hit him. Before, the thought of leaving had seemed so far off that he'd hardly thought about it at all until he'd walked out of Exit with everyone else. Even then, he'd only had a few moments to enjoy the world outside before he and Sans had to go running back in to help Frisk. Before, he'd only thought of surviving, of keeping Sans alive, of getting into the Guard, getting out of Snowdin. But now, looking at the torrents of rain, he felt the urge to leave again, to escape and… and he wasn't sure what. Dance in the rain perhaps? He wasn't a dancer, but he would make an exception, he thought.

The desire returned with each storm that came to the mountain. When they finally left the Underground, the start of the exodus of monsters to the Surface, a storm rocked the human city that night. Asriel had been nervous and mumbled about the thunder hurting his ears until Chara took over and went to bed. Sans and Frisk, both exhausted from the move, curled up on the couch and slept through the whole thing. Papyrus sat aside the boxes he'd been unpacking to curl up in a window, Doom Fanger purring loudly in his lap as he petted him.

When one loud blast of thunder rattled the house, he paused and listened as there was a thump upstairs followed by a quick tattoo of thuds until Asriel appeared at the top of the stairs. He froze at the sight of Papyrus looking up at him, breathing heavily.

"My prince? Is there a problem?"

"D… did the house get struck by lightning?" he asked, voice shaking.

Papyrus considered it, trying to remember what Frisk had said being in a house while it was struck with lightning was like. "I don't think so. We didn't lose power. I don't think the lights even flickered."

Asriel's shoulders sagged. "Oh, good. My room shook so, I, um."

"It shook down here, too," he offered. After a year of looking after the princes, he knew enough to guess what his charge might be wanting. "I suppose you can't sleep now. Would you like to come join me? Doom Fanger wants affection and I could use your assistance."

That made the prince perk up. Quickly, he scrambled down the stairs, pausing to giggle at Frisk and Sans sprawled haphazardly on the couch, and then tiptoed over to Papyrus. He sat down and started to pet the lazy cat in Papyrus's grasp. He was just starting to look peaceful and happy when another clap of thunder made him jump, startling the cat. Papyrus had to soothe the beast; meanwhile, Asriel sat back and sighed. "Stupid storm."

"The thunder is only a noise, my prince," he replied, scratching behind Doom Fanger's ear until he purred once more. "It's nothing to fear, not that the cats would know that. I have made sure that this house is perfectly secure, and Frisk assures me that as long as we're careful around electric appliances, such a storm as this can't hurt us."

"I know that," he mumbled. "It's just really loud."

"It is. But I doubt it will last for much longer. I have done extensive research and I have learned that storms like this one rarely last for long here on the Surface." By extensive research, he meant he looked on the internet, gave up, and just asked Frisk who was always much more succinct and clear about such things. Still, Frisk hadn't steered him wrong before, so he was confident.

Asriel stared up at him quietly for a moment, but then he blinked his eyes and when they opened, it was Chara staring out. "You do not seem to be bothered by the storm."

He nodded, both as an answer and as a greeting. "I find that I'm actually quite fond of storms. They're a wild, untamable force of nature, full of spectacular sights. They'd make for an excellent backdrop to a battle, should one happen."

Chara smiled. "Unstoppable and spectacular does sound very much like you."

He beamed. "Yes, I suppose it is apt description!"

On the couch, Sans twitched hard, making Frisk grumble and shift until they fell lopsidedly against him. Papyrus and Chara watched as gravity slowly forced the two occupants to slump over sideways. While Frisk quickly curled up into a more comfortable position, Sans was left grimacing in his sleep at his awkward position.

Papyrus snorted at the pair and Chara shook their head. "If you don't mind," Chara began, voice soft. "May I watch the storm with you?"

"Certainly, your highness," Papyrus answered. "I'd be more than happy for your company." As if to prove his point for him, Doom Fanger chose that moment to slide out of his lap and crawl into Chara's, who quickly began to pet the cat. Amused, he gave the cat one last pat before turning back to the window.

It was funny to Chara that while sunrise might have been the view of the skies that Asriel loved best, it was sunset that they preferred. As the sun set, the world seemed to slow down and grow quiet. Noisy humans and monsters alike crept back to their homes and prepared themselves to relax and rest. People didn't care about the beauty going on outside their homes, but Chara loved every moment. The long decline of the sun as the sky grew bruised then dark, the clouds catching fire in every shade of blue, red, yellow, pink, orange, and purple until they at last wore outlines of gold. Every sunset was different, no two the same. There was something to the idea that no matter how old they lived to be that the sunset would always change.

Looking at it, the colors set their mind alight, but nothing they ever did seem to capture the beauty of those moments as the sun vanished. Drawing it never worked—they could never get the shapes of the clouds and trees just right, the light shifting so swiftly that they could never get the shadows done in time. Trying photography didn't help either—the camera lenses never seemed to get the correct color, always seeming to skew too yellow or black to really capture the beauty.

"They're fine pictures," Papyrus told them, clasping their shoulder—unlike Asriel, Papyrus tried to be more careful with Chara, partially because he tried to be gentler with humans. The other part was because if he ever tried to clap Chara's back, he tended to knock the unsteady child down.

Chara frowned and reached for one of the photos. "The camera never does it justice. Just another failure."

Papyrus jerked the photos farther from their reach. "Nonsense! If you don't like these photos, then I will keep them. They're very good. I should know—I have excellent taste in these things."

Chara gaped, fingers still twitching to grab the pictures, but now their face was burning beneath the fur and how could they refuse him? They mumbled something and before they knew it, their pictures ended up on the fridge or in picture frames. Some ended up in Frisk's room, some ended up in Asgore and Toriel's homes, but most were in Papyrus's rooms, lining the walls next to his own items. They always averted their gaze from the photo frames and magnets, but at the same time, they found themselves smiling.

Looking out the window, they found the world was growing dark again. Always, they moved to watch it. As years go by, as they age, as they found themselves growing more alone each year as friends vanished in time, the setting sun would always be there, showing off its own beautiful displays, never the same as it was before. Even when photos yellowed and crumbled off walls and from frames, the sunset remained as beautiful as ever.

"Come with me," Frisk whispered, tugging him awake and goddamnit it was three in the morning, what could possibly be so important to wake him up now? But Sans let them tug and cajole him out of bed, and then out towards the balcony. He shuddered as soon as he stepped out into the Alaskan air—it was late spring, but there was still a chill.

At first he only blinked sleepily at the countryside—it was a beautiful place, the snow still melting slowly. Then he sighed and grumbled. "Babe, just what the hell is it that I'm supposed to-?"

Their hand pressed against his chin, gently pointing his face upward, and his words died in his mouth. Above him, the sky was a flashing, dancing light show of colors. His eyes grow wide as lights snaked high above, shifting and surging, blotting out the stars at points.

"Oh," he managed, because what else could he say.

"Oh indeed," they teased. "I didn't think you'd want to miss this."

"I wouldn't," he admitted. "I don't."

They stood in silence, watching the aurora above, but slowly, a chill crept into his bones. His joints began to shake and his teeth wanted to rattle, but he couldn't bring himself to head back inside and get his coat. Just as he heard his teeth try to clatter, a pair of warm arms, swaddled in a blanket, slipped around his shoulders.

Frisk tucked their head against his neck and murmured. "Here. I'll keep you warm."

He was grateful and reached up to tuck his hands into the folds of the blanket. Still, he couldn't bring himself to look away. "So," he finally managed. "Is this the best view of the sky you know, or what?"

They were quiet for a moment, so he waited, but when they spoke, he finally found himself looking away. "No," they spoke, voice very soft. "I know one better. It's just…"

"Just what?"

Frisk sighed, not of sorrow or relief, but of quiet confusion. "I think this one's someone else's."

He blinked and realized whom they meant. He found their hand in the folds of the blanket and gave it a squeeze. "They, uh—they get a message to you or-?"

"No, nothing like that," they explained, turning their face back to the sky. "I just… feel something… powerful, looking at it. Like a deep peace that I know doesn't come from me, at least."

They both fell quiet, because honestly, what can one say to that? Finally, he found his voice again. "So, you know some place with an even better view than this, huh?"

They paused and glanced at him, eyes glittering in the darkness. "Would you like to see it?"

His grin only widened. "Babe, how could I not?"

Frisk's secret destination for the best view in the world was even more surprising than Sans thought in the first place. First, they claimed that the view was the best only for a very short time of the year, the best time being in February. Secondly, it was in some place in South America—Sans immediately forgot which country it was. All he knew was that Frisk had to speak for the two of them and even then, their Spanish and the locals didn't quite match up sometimes, so more than once Frisk had resorted to shouting the same thing over and over and gesticulating wildly. (How that helped the locals understand, he'd never know, but somehow it worked.)

He was certain of one thing: it was goddamn cold when they arrived in the jeep they rented. He resented having to give up the warmth of the vehicle, but when he stepped outside, he was momentarily silenced.

A few feet before him, pale earth gave way to a vast nothing of blue. It looked as though the sky had melted onto the ground, absorbing the horizon aside from a few islands of rocky outcroppings. The only thing to mar the illusion was a solitary cloud hanging overhead, reflecting down into the water below.

"This whole place is a giant salt flat," Frisk announced, walking over to him from around the jeep. When he turned to them, they smiled and offered him half of a sandwich. While he claimed his half, they took a bite of their half and turned back to the vista before them. "It floods this time of year because of the rains flooding some of the lakes up here."

"I can't tell where the sky ends," he admitted, letting awe slip into his voice. It was hard to grasp—for some reason, he could almost imagine a place like this back in the Underground. The waters of Waterfall might have been still enough in places, but magic in the water turned it luminescent and cloudy, and certainly there'd been no lake big enough to compare to this. And yet, the land held a kind of majesty that was almost magical in nature.

"It's a great view," they agreed, but he could hear the smile in their voice. When he looks at them, Frisk smiled. "But it's not the best part."

Oh, so now they were feeling playful with a secret. That usually meant a generally good surprise—or at least not a malicious one, and that was good enough for him. "And where is the best part?"

They were grinning wildly now. "Not where. When." They wouldn't explain more after that, but they made him hike out with them deep into the flooded plain. They found an island and hunkered down for a while; Frisk let him sleep, buried deep into a sleeping bag despite only being in the middle of the afternoon.

Hours passed and he woke up to Frisk shaking him insistently. He couldn't shake them off since he was tucked so securely in so he had to force his way out to stop them, but once he freed his upper body, they pointed upward. Instinctually, he looked upwards and his breath escaped him in one big whoosh.

He hadn't seen stars like this since Alaska nearly a year before then and even then they hadn't gone that far from the city lights. It was dark now, but above the sky was liberally spangled with stars, their unfamiliar constellations giving him a tiny thrill as he scrambled to recall them.

Frisk distracted him for a moment by tugging him the rest of the way free from the sleeping bag and then tugging on his arms. "Come on," they insisted when he mumbled something about not wanting to abandon his perch on the rocks. "It'll be fine," they continued when he muttered about losing the sleeping bag, but honestly he was so caught up in looking up that he hardly noticed as they led him farther out into the water.

"Okay," they said at last after a long walk. "Look down."

It was almost impossible to obey; all he wanted to do is keep staring at those stars, the impossible number of them all, but then he looked down and his breath left him again. Below him, the still waters didn't look like water at all. Instead, he looked as though he was suspended in space. The stars reflected clearly in the water below, not so much like the sky had swallowed a chunk of the Earth, but more that he was not on Earth at all. Looking around, at the endless stretch of stars below and above, he felt as though he was in the depths of space. Nothing, not even himself felt important now—he was lost to the vast fullness of space, of the yawning stretch between stars, not like some astronaut but some deep space alien that could walk freely between stars. He was not some fragile skeleton—he was some star child, as free as the stars themselves.

"Fuck," he whispered, torn between looking up and looking down, lost in the sea of stars and its reflection.

"You see," Frisk murmured, startling him. When he looked up, their gaze was also facing up to the sky. Looking at them, he had to wonder if he looked as lost in thought as they were. They didn't look of this planet either; they looked like some celestial being, pausing on some journey between worlds, who stopped only to admire the view.

"It's really something," he managed, chest tight.

They didn't seem to notice him staring yet; they were too caught up in their viewing. "There's just something about this place that you can't find anywhere else."

Looking at them, he felt that faint pull—that vague notion in the back of his mind that there was some context he was missing. He considered it and just decided to ask them outright—it was usually the best way to get an answer out of them when it came to this sort of thing. "Frisk, how did you even find this place?"

They smiled faintly but still didn't turn to look. "You remember that year I took off and ran wild."

"Ran away from home, yeah."

They nodded. "This place, or rather the same place in that world—I was with some people in Oruro, I forget what for. Someone told us about this place. The rest of the group wasn't interested, but I decided to go see it for myself. When I got here, it was still the middle of the day. I spent the entire day just wandering around. But then, when night fell…" They paused, smiling ruefully. "Well, just look around."

He waited, patient.

"It's beautiful," they whispered. "It's just so… big and… And overwhelming." They chuckle. "This place, it was just so much to take in." They pause, mirth draining from their face. "And then it happened." They fell quiet, but he was too afraid to interrupt them just yet. At last, they spoke. "A thought just popped into my head. I thought 'god, Sans would probably like this place'."

He blinked, chest tight for a new reason now.

"It's funny. But that was the first time in a year that I thought of him and it didn't hurt." They looked rueful again. "That's when I knew it was time to come home, that I'd be okay if I did. That the feeling of missing home was now stronger than the urge to stay away, I guess. So, after that, I found where dad was at for a conference and went there to see him. Because I knew he'd take me home before I could chicken out of it." Their smile turned softer, more serene. "There was something about this place. It made it easier to think. Like it was putting things in perspective for me."

He cocked his head to the side, because he could see it too now. "It's easy to get perspective when you aren't even on the same planet anymore."

That made them look at him and suddenly he remembered back to the night they left the Underground, to sit beneath the stars. The night they told him about their own world, about a terrible blow dealt to them by their friend. They'd looked so lost and young, staring into the past, for a moment that he couldn't help but reach out to comfort them.

Here, now, staring at him and really seeing him, he couldn't help but think that they looked found.

They smiled. "Exactly."

For a moment, the two shared a silence as they looked back to the stars, below and above. After a while, Frisk finally chuckled and turned to him.

"So. Is this best view you've ever seen or what?"

He smiled, idly. It was perhaps one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen or experienced in his life, but that sounded a little too real, so he kept it to himself. Instead, he chuckled back. "You know, it just might be." He paused, thinking about it. "It might be my favorite too."

"I'm glad," they said simply, slipping their hand into his as they took a step closer, leaning up against them as they looked to the sky.

It took him some time, but a question began to burn until he finally had to ask. "Did you ever show this place to that world's Sans?"

They sighed. "No, never. I mean, I always meant to, but I still didn't, you know, feel comfortable with the idea of spending a long enough time with him to bring him here. I always thought that maybe I'd do it after we reconciled." They fell silent for a moment. "I wonder if that world's me will ever take him to see it."

Part of him just wanted to say fuck that guy, he doesn't deserve to see a cool place like this but he knew that Frisk wouldn't appreciate it, so he kept it to himself. Instead, he tried a different truth. "Well, I'm enjoying it."

"Good," they murmured, voice soft. After that, there was nothing else to say. Together the two of them stood there, gazing up at the unending skies.

A/N: The chapter title is an admittedly obtuse reference to the old phrase "red sky at night, sailor's delight", but once I thought of it, it stuck. This chapter was a request from kawaiiloverq. Honestly, I'm not sure this is what they had in mind when they requested it, but it's where my brain wanted to go, so that's where I went.