His name was Gaster. Wing Dings Gaster. Most people called him Wing Dings, and he was a surgeon for the monster army, and there was a war going on. These things he was certain about, but everything else was washed out in a white haze. This would have concerned him more if he hadn’t been so very, very sleepy. Sleepy and warm and glad to be resting, because he felt tired, although he didn’t remember why. He didn’t worry about it.
At some point he woke up enough to wonder where he was. He was lying on his stomach across something pleasantly warm, with heavy blankets piled over him, sunlight in his face. He went back to sleep.
Later again he woke enough to register that it wasn’t sunlight and that he was sharing a bed with a fire monster, was in fact lying on their chest, rising and falling with their breaths. It would have seemed like a dream, except for the intruding reality of his pounding headache. Their chest was soft under his cheekbone.
Slowly, without really