What a difference a year could make.

Frisk was examining themself in the mirror. They were wearing the top Mettaton had given them; it seemed so long ago, now. Their window was wide, to catch any hint of breeze; and the sound of revelry came through. They could barely remember how they had looked back then. Their hair had been raggedly cut, and now it flowed, long enough to tie in a low ponytail with only a few strands fighting loose; and the top bore testimony to how much they had grown. It was almost too short now, and it had been loose when they'd first donned it; now it was snug, their body still slender but no longer scrawny.
Puberty threatened, but dressed like this their body barely hinted at it. Their shorts showed knees scarred from rough falls, and only a light dusting of darker hair covered their shins. Their voice was just starting to mature; they regularly tried to push aside their terrors of waking up one morning sounding like Asgore.
They saw a doctor regularly in the city; they took blood tests, and they were going to start a course of injections to help regulate their hormones. With their body being... ambiguous, there was no solid answer as to what levels of hormones their body would produce as they went through life. Growing up was terrifying; but today... Today all of that was to be pushed aside. Today they would see the people they loved, and remember they they were all here, and free, and together. Today they would remember that it didn't matter what the future held; they wouldn't have to face it alone. Today they would celebrate, and the fear of the future or the sadness of the past had no place.

Today was for joy.

The differences struck Sans regularly; more often, he knew, than anyone else. It felt at times like he had lived several lifetimes stuck in the Underground, and he still had bad days- they came less often, and he was less determined to hide them under a guise of jokes and so-called "laziness". It was partly time, he knew; partly the people around him who had come to care for him, not just the persona he put forwards. And, though he never said as much, it was partly Frisk, and the way they had reminded him what hope felt like.
His bedroom looked nothing like it had in Snowdin. Well, it was still a bit untidy; but now there was actual furniture, and the bed- more than just a mattress- looked half-way made. He had a chest of drawers and it actually had a variety of clothes in it. It genuinely felt like home, now. That struck him often, too. The idea of belonging somewhere, of letting himself have something that he never wanted to lose.
He pulled open a drawer; it was a bright late spring day, and shorts seemed fitting. Not that it mattered to him; he wasn't bothered by the heat any more than he was the cold, but he found a certain joy now in mimicking what the others tended to wear. His fingers landed on the shorts he had used to wear, day in, day out, out of apathy. They were faded and battered, and stained where he had interrupted Frisk's painting and they had splattered him in surprise.
He was tempted, for a moment, to wear them, out of some sort of reminder of where he had come from. Then he pushed them aside and pulled out a different pair of shorts. This wasn't a day for dwelling on being down there.

It was a day for looking forward to staying up here.

Papyrus rarely looked back. There was simply too much to be excited about, looking forward; he had started driving lessons, although he was surprised at just how hard it turned out to be. Still, he wasn't phased. He'd gathered books on cars, and started to learn how they worked.
He hadn't settled on a single job. At the moment, he thought that he should learn to be a car mechanic, either on the vintage petrol cars or the modern electric ones; there was no pressure on any of the monsters to get a job, but Papyrus always found something to do. He spent a lot of time with Mettaton, helping him with his camera work; maybe a cameraman would be a better idea.
He threw open his wardrobe with enthusiasm. There were so many options available to him in the future- so many things to do, so many things to see. So many clothes he could wear today! He looked out the window. Everyone else would be dressed to suit the weather; he should do likewise. He pulled out a pair of cut-off shorts and his favourite sleeveless t-shirt- baggy, with "COOL DUDE" printed on it. Sans had got it for him.

Papyrus liked the surface. He liked the sun on his bones, and he liked the humans. He liked the trees. But more than anything, he liked the way this life had affected his friends- and especially his brother. He liked it when Sans was actually happy about getting up in the morning; he liked being surrounded by his friends, and cooking for them; he liked it when Sans didn't rush him to bed, because he was too busy enjoying his own life.

For Papyrus, today wasn't about freedom, or the surface. It was about the people he loved, fiercely. It was about seeing them happy.

Undyne woke before Alphys. The smaller monster murmured in her sleep and curled closer to her girlfriend as she tried to get out of bed. They'd been up late the night before- having their own celebrations, together. Just them. Undyne couldn't say how she had slept through the sounds of festivity, or how Alphys still was. She scooted back into the bed and held her girlfriend, listening to the noise outside.

Alphys woke slowly; treasuring the sensation of Undyne's arms around hers. "Good morning," she heard her say, and grinned.
"Yeah... It is." She wiggled free and kissed Undyne's cheek.
For a few minutes they just stayed in bed; enjoying each other's closeness, no need for speech. Eventually Alphys pulled away. "We should- we should get up."
Undyne grumbled and grabbed her, pulling her back as she tried to get out of bed. She let out a laugh and relented, turning back to her girlfriend.
They both had so much to celebrate. Their freedom, their second chances, their friends.

But for a few more minutes, they just celebrated each other.

The sunlight shining through the window fell on a stack of papers. The top one was covered in typed words, with red notes here and there. A red pen was making it's way down another sheet, pausing occasionally to leave a tick or a note.
Toriel glanced over her glasses at the sunshine, the sky, the trees waving in the gentle breeze. It was a beautiful day; she had no doubt that the celebration would be wonderful.
For a moment, she put her pen down and let her mind wander. It had been quite a year. She had hoped to get the marking done before this, but there was only a little left. She was looking forward to getting out, spending the holiday with her child and their friends.
Her child. Her family. She smiled, leaning back. A little over a year ago, she was sat in her house in the ruins; remembering the sweet child who had fallen down, and that fierce determination and unwillingness to back down they had shown. She remembered how she wrestled with her fear for them, her grief.
And then, of course, her friend the joker had never returned. She had asked him to look after any humans that passed through- and now she knew he had done just that. But oh, how lonely she had been. Lonely, and sad, and restless.
She looked down at the papers she was marking. Now she had a child, and her child's closest friends had become family- loud, and rambunctious, and utterly devoted to Frisk. She smiled. And, of course, she had all her students- she was a teacher now, a real one, one of several in a real school.
It was because of her students that she was missing the early celebrations. She was determined to finish the marking while it was all fresh in her mind, rather than leaving it until later in the holidays.

These children, after all, were their future. And their future was her hope.

Asgore stood in front of his house, cup of tea in hand. There were so many monsters milling about; enjoying the sun, and the day; the memories and the promise of the future. He remembered that first day- it hadn't yet been a full year, not until near sundown, but today was the day and everyone was out to enjoy it. They had wonderful weather for it, but he didn't think it would have mattered if it was cold and wet. His people would have enjoyed it anyway.
"His people". He didn't think of them that way very often any more. Although king in name, he spent much of his time gardening; many houses were now surrounded by beautiful gardens that blended into the woodlands that were still very much part of this area of the town, the place where most monsters lived. He occasionally helped with disputes, but he was now mostly just viewed as Asgore, the gardener, the father to their hero, and he was okay with that.
He was far happier with the badge of fatherhood than he was with that of being a monarch. His people didn't need ruling, not any more; a little guidance, which they took just as readily from Toriel as from him. She seemed to have forgiven him- although how much of that was for the sake of their child, Asgore didn't know, nor care to ask.

It didn't matter. Forgiveness was forgiveness. Frisk had forgiven him straight away; his people had never known how much he needed forgiving. On a day like today, the sun on his fur, the happy cries of his people surrounding him, he started to feel like he could forgive himself.

From one celebration to another! This is a jump of about five months, taking us to May. Things have changed a little, relationships have become more settled and people have started to move forwards. Nothing major has been missed though.

On with the celebrations!

-Ren