A Different Circumstance - A Slow Morning

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	Sam choked down a foul tasting hunk of hamburger he had forced himself to bite into. As the chunk of tainted sandwich slithered down his throat, the dragon shivered as a small wave of nausea erupted up his throat. It had taken him several minutes to work up the nerve to eat garbage from the dumpster behind QC's Diner in the first place, and he already regretted it.

	Sam tossed the tainted sandwich against the wall of the dumpster in frustration and dug around for something better. As he moved a heavy trash bag to the side, he spotted a container holding a half-eaten pancake coated in butter and drenched with syrup. Sam snatched the sticky plastic and hastily cracked it open. Finally, he had found something untouched by any of the rotting waste and grime.

	The drake lifted the sugary slab and lowered it into his gaping maw. He clamped down onto it with a squelch, sending sticky juices into every nook and cranny of his mouth. The pancake tasted good, but every movement Sam made was slow and hesitant. His face carried a disgusted, shameful grimace.

	This was what he was reduced to; eating trash like a feral animal. In his mind, he had no other choice. After all, the only real food he had back home was an assortment of incomplete ingredients that would lead to incomplete meals, and Sam didn't even know how to cook in the first place. It wasn't for a lack of trying, but nobody ever offered to help him with learning.

	Sam picked up a nearly empty carton of orange juice and drowned the pieces of pancake stuck to his tongue and throat. He sharply exhaled with his last gulp and dropped the carton in a random spot in the sea of trash. Sam's stomach felt decently full for the first time in what felt like forever, but he couldn't help but question if it was worth it.

	Sam looked down at himself and examined his clothes. He was covered in grime, wet coffee grounds, and several unidentifiable stains. He may have been nose blind to the stench of trash and rotting food, but there was no denying that he smelled awful. He would need to walk all the way home in such a filthy state, then take a shower and wash his clothes as soon as possible.

	The guilt-ridden teenager shifted in his spot and pulled himself up with a pipe connected to the building. Just as he did, the back door suddenly cracked open, followed by the familiar sound of a clawed finger tapping away at a phone. Sam immediately ducked back into the dumpster and halted his breathing. Slowly, the door fully creaked open, and a figure he recognized as Catti stepped out.

	Sam's heart raced with an intense feeling of fear, supplemented by a surge of adrenaline. As Catti's footsteps came closer towards the dumpster, Sam shut his eyes and waited for the worst. 'This is it', he thought. Catti was going to see him inside the dumpster, and she would know exactly why. She would report him to the authorities, and he would end up with a criminal record.

	...Or so he thought. To Sam's surprise, Catti came to a halt and walked no closer to the dumpster. The faint sound of phone tapping could still be heard as she found herself extremely concentrated on multiple social media accounts at the same time. She occasionally chuckled at the contents of the various pages she visited, but she remained quiet for the most part. Knowing how hard it was to get her to look away for her phone, Sam allowed himself to breathe slightly easier..

	For several awkward minutes, Catti continued with her online escapades, completely unmoving from her spot. This was beginning to be irritating for the filthy dragon, but there was little he could do other than to wait it out. Good things come to the patient, it seemed, as at the very moment Sam considered making a run for it, the back door opened a second time.

	"Catti! Your break ended seven minutes ago! Get off of yer phone and finish yer shift! I don't pay ya for nothin'!" an angry female voice called. The familiar southern twang to her speech revealed her to be the nice rabbit monster working the cash register and serving the folks who sat up front on the stools. She was the one who ran the show, and she was known around town for being kind, but tough on lazy employees.

	Catti barely suppressed a huff and followed her boss back inside. The very moment the back door swung closed, Sam practically jumped out of the dumpster and skittered away as fast as he could. He swung around the corner to his left and approached the traffic barrier to find that the hurdles had been moved back into place.

	Sam had no time to carefully push the hurdles around and duck underneath the tape. A single swipe from his claws ripped it in half just before he tackled the hurdles out of the way. The sound of clattering wood echoed through the trees loud enough to be heard halfway across town.

	As soon as he was out of sight from the police station, the dragon felt a weight press down onto his neck with enough force to lower his head to face the ground. He felt like such a spineless coward that ate trash out of the dumpster and ran away from fat girls he could easily overpower with one arm tied behind his back. He felt as if he was—as he had been told countless times—a failure.

	In his current state of mind, anyone attempting to approach him would be ignored at best, and forcefully shoved to the ground at worst. He knew he smelled like the dumpster he rooted around in, his clothes were covered in grime and food stains, and there was always at least one bit of food he couldn't wipe from his maw without help from a mirror. If he brought himself to admit to anyone what he had been forced to do minutes prior, he would likely start crying.

	He already felt ashamed enough, but the prospect of anyone seeing him cry at all was horrifying. Sam was a man, not to mention a dragon, and he was going to act like one. He would take everything in stride and deal with it by himself like he always did. He may have to leech off of other people's waste to survive, but he needed to ‘stop being such a pussy.’

	'Go inside, take a shower, wash your shit, go to bed,' Sam thought as he approached a familiarly rusty mailbox. He snagged a tiny handle on the flap and jerked it down, finding it was empty. The drake closed the mailbox and walked up the driveway leading to his front porch.

	Sam climbed the rickety old steps and opened the door with a twist and a yank. Almost immediately, the rank smell of marijuana hit his nostrils like a truck. Most of the lights within the house were off, but a TV in the living room illuminated the rough outline of a cloud of smoke just above the couch.

	On couch itself lied Sam's mother, a female dragon monster wearing sweatpants and a white, sleeveless shirt covered in fresh stains. Her hair was moderately longer than Sam's, but it was frizzy and uncontrollable due to her neglecting to wash it in several days. Her purple, scaly skin took on a much bluer hue than her son's, and the bags underneath her yellow eyes were dragged downwards in a sleepy, drugged-up haze. Her filthy claws held a pretzel in the air just above her face in one hand as the other held an ancient bong. Her gaze was fixed upon a generic soap opera, paying no mind to the many empty bags of snacks strewn about the couch and coffee table.

	Sam felt an odd feeling within his chest upon seeing such a display in front of him. It clenched his heart tightly with a feeling of bewilderment and rage that accelerated his heart rate. He had just rooted around a dumpster, gotten himself filthy, and power walked home to avoid anyone so that he wouldn't break down in public. And yet, here his mother was, filling her gullet with food he could have been eating instead of trash that had been touched with other people's unwashed hands and mouths.

	Sam slammed the door behind him with enough force to rattle the entire house as he stomped over to his waste of a mother. He stopped at the couch and stared daggers at her, prompting an agonizingly slow, non-verbal response in the form of lazily turning her head and looking her furious son in the eyes. She looked at his stained clothes and angrily twitching snout, and smelled the aroma of trash emanating off of him.

	"Did you really eat out of the garbage again?" she asked in a raspy voice, "that's just like y—"
	"Don't you fucking start that shit with me," Sam snarled. "I was STARVING, and here you are, smoking weed and eating shit you bought with money we don't have! What the actual FUCK is wrong with you!?" he practically screamed as he slammed his fist on the couch's armrest.

	"Hey! You don't get to speak to me like tha—" his mother attempted to say, but Sam wasn't having any of it.
	"GO FUCK YOURSELF," Sam snapped, "STOP WASTING OUR MONEY ON USELESS SHIT!"

	Sam stomped away, seething with anger. He moved past an old family photo of him, his mother, and one of his many step-fathers that barely clung to the sticky wall. The carpeted floors felt like concrete underneath his boots after several years of never being washed.

	Sam swung his cracked bedroom door open and slammed it behind him, making sure to lock the door just before he pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the floor. He kicked his boots off and reached between a segmented part of his uncomfortable mattress. He groped around for only a moment before he found what he was looking for.

	Sam pulled out an unopened bottle of expensive, high proof whiskey he had stolen from Grillby's grocery store the other day. He mercilessly twisted the cap off, tossed it onto his nightstand, pressed the bottle to his lips, and chugged. The burn stung his mouth, throat, and chest more and more with every gulp, but he needed to get drunk fast.

	Sam had forgotten about the shower he planned to have in his fit of rage, no longer caring how he smelled or looked. All he needed was for the alcohol to cloud his mind and soothe his nerves.

	Finally, Sam relented and set the bottle on his nightstand next to his alarm clock. The whelp greedily inhaled as much air as he could to keep up with his fast beating heart. He covered his face with both of his grimy hands to hide his face away from himself.

	"God damn it..." he rasped. His deep breaths shook and shuddered as he struggled to keep the poison within his body from spilling out any further than it already did. Sam quickly grew impatient in waiting for the buzz to whisk his thoughts away from him, prompting him to grab the bottle again and chug.

	Sam slammed it back down onto the nightstand and looked at it. It was just under half empty by now, and he had only been drinking for a few minutes. The monster looked longingly at the fiery, caramel colored liquid held within its glass container, but he decided against drinking any more.

	Sam closed the bottle and stuffed it back in its hiding place within his mattress. The dragon snatched his blanket and wrapped it around his body as he slumped into bed. There was still an hour or two he could be spending doing something productive, like finding another packet of cigarettes, but he would sooner be arrested for breaking Undyne's barrier than being caught a drunken mess.

	Mere minutes later, the effects of the whiskey began to take hold. Sam's thoughts were muddied and blurred, his eyelids felt heavy, and he felt soothed, yet very dizzy. With a yawn, he attempted to get out of bed and stretch his joints, but he accidentally tripped over himself and landed on the cold, hard floor.

	"Augh, what the f—*hic*... Ugh..."

	If there's one thing he still managed to remember in his drunken stupor, it was that he needed to drink some water to ward off a hangover. Sam shakily pushed himself up and stumbled to his feet and attempted to pull his door open, but the doorknob wouldn't budge. "Oh... r-right..." he mumbled. He unlocked his door and opened it properly on his second attempt.

	Sam held onto the wall and slowly stumbled down the hallway. The bathroom held a faucet that would suit his needs, and it was closer than the kitchen. All he needed to do was to drink some water and avoid conversation with his mother at all costs. She certainly didn't need to know he was drunk, even if she was stoned at the moment.

	Sam passed his mother, who still lay lazily on the couch. Sam's uncoordinated, clumsy footsteps, along with hearing his arm slide against the wall at an uneven pace, alerted Sam's mother to her son's drunken state. She didn't say anything though; she was too baked to care.

	Sam lumbered into the bathroom and slammed his hands onto the bathroom counter, which had always been surprisingly clean. The drake looked himself in the eyes within the mirror and noticed how one of his eyes was a tad more closed than the other. He slowly corrected this, along with wiping away a piece of food he noticed on his snout. Sam turned the cold water on and haphazardly dunked his face right in, taking in several gulps.

	Sam stopped drinking from the faucet when his stomach began to feel bloated and full. The whelp yanked his head out of the sink and looked at himself once more. He slowly began to hate what he saw in the mirror. He didn't know why, but he felt awful from just looking at the grime and sweat that had accumulated on his face.

	Sam couldn't help but feel this way whenever he thought about himself while he was drunk. He saw every little imperfection his sober self would rather ignore. Every error in his monstrous appearance, his rude personality, the way he talked, his nicotine addiction, his ever-encroaching spiral into alcoholism; everything.

	Sam raised his fist in the air, aiming it at the mirror. He stopped himself before he sent his fist rocketing into the pane of glass. His house was already in shambles as it was, and he would only end up making as ass of himself and hurt his hand in the process. Instead, he shifted his gaze from the mirror and backed away as he began to breathe faster as if he was out of breath.

	'I need... I... I g-gotta sleep this shit off,' he told himself. The dragon bumbled his way back to his room without giving his mother a second glance, again using the wall to keep his balance. Sam shoved his bedroom door wide open, then slammed it behind him. He neglected to lock it again due to his drunken, self-deprecating state.

	Sam flopped onto his bed and ignored the uncomfortable hardness he felt from the bottle still hidden within the mattress. His breathing slowed, and the raging storm in his mind stilled until it was as calm as a frozen pond. With one last yawn, Sam's world suddenly went dark.

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	A soft, warm entity wrapped its arms around Sam's torso and squeezed him in a tight embrace. His own arms gently hugged it back as his fingers caressed its impossibly soft jacket. He opened his eyes that he had not realized were closed, revealing fiery orange hair attached to a gray, familiarly feminine face.

	Sam's breathing moved in sync with the monster in his arms, creating a smooth and comforting rhythm. The thought of observing his surroundings entered his mind, yet he could not will himself to pry his eyes off of the girl. All he could make out was a bright, orange light surrounding him.

	A name he had spoken at least a thousand times teased the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't remember what it was. A name that held so much meaning a long time ago taunted him for letting the memory slip. He felt a world's weight in guilt over somehow forgetting something so important.

	"I-I d-don't wanna l-l-leave," Sam suddenly spoke against his will. His voice sounded younger and much less hoarse, but his words came out forced and awkward in his intense hesitation and confusion. A warm wetness he hadn't noticed before soaked his eyes and cheeks. Was he crying?

	The girl's grip on Sam's body softened, but she still held him close. She finally opened her eyes and stepped back to get a good look at him. Her confident eyes were a bright blue that rivaled the sky itself.

	"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," she spoke. Her voice was loud and awkward, and yet the voice itself was muddied. He couldn't make out any other distinct characteristic, and a part of him mourned that he couldn't hear her voice any more clearly. "It's gonna be okay..." she repeated.

	"B-but..." Sam began, "I-I'm gonna m-... miss y-you..." Sam strengthened his grip on the girl.
	"You wouldn't ever leave me, would you?" she asked, ignoring Sam’s words.
	"N—" Sam tried to deny such an accusation, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. The reason eluded him, but he knew he was going to leave her behind. Permanently.

	The girl giggled. "You're funny, Sammy."

	The orange light around the two monsters sluggishly flickered at an uneven pace, and yet Sam could still clearly see the monster in front of him. "Saaaammyyyy..." she said in a teasing, sing-songy voice. The flickering grew quicker as did Sam's heart rate.

	The flickering light increased in intensity until it was nearly blinding. Sam felt dizzy and disoriented, and his grip unwillingly loosed from the girl. He felt as if he would topple over and fall into an infinite abyss, and that grabbing her would do nothing to stop it.

	"Sammy..." she said as the light around them finally died, leaving them within a pitch black void. "Do you wanna go over to my house to play video games together?" the girl asked.

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	"Yes."
	Sam opened his eyes to find that his eyes were caked in crust, his heart beat quickly, and the mattress he lay his head upon was soaked with tears. His heavy breath shook and shuddered as if he had been sobbing.

	Sam shifted his hand and felt something plastic trapped between his claws. It felt like a bag of chips, but he couldn't be too sure due to the lack of light. Sam looked over to his nightstand and glanced at the clock, which read 4:48 AM. It was too late to go back to sleep, prompting the dragon to climb out of bed and stumble towards the light switch.

	Sam fumbled his fingers around the switch and flipped it up, but the light didn't turn on. Confused and irritated, Sam mumbled something about 'the damn bulb blowing out again' and attempted to unlock his door. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. It was only now that he remembered that he had forgotten to lock it when he returned from his trip to the bathroom.

	The dragon chastised himself for his forgetfulness and pulled his door open, only to be greeted with a wall of smoke that nearly choked him. Suppressing a cough, Sam lumbered down the hall to see an even bigger, thicker cloud of smoke lingering over the couch. The groggy teen entered the bathroom, mysterious bag still in hand, and flicked the light on.

	Almost immediately, he noticed that the bag had a note hastily taped onto it; 'eat if you're so damn hungry' in sloppy cursive. The bag was a cheap, store brand bag of BBQ chips. Sam walked out of the bathroom, pushed through the dense fog of smoke, and stepped out onto the front porch.

	"Great," Sam mumbled under his breath, "Now I smell like shit AND weed. Fuck, I should have taken that shower." The dragon lamented his poor decision-making skills as he tore the bag open and retrieved a small clump of chips from its plastic wrapper. The taste of the chips tasted quite decent by Sam's standards, but he’s had better.

	Within seconds, the bag was emptied into Sam's gaping maw, crumpled into a ball, and shoved into his pocket. It wasn't much, but the snack sized 'meal' was more than he got on most mornings. He wanted more, but he had learned long ago to take what he could get.

	Sam shuffled back into the house and quietly shut the door behind him. The cloud hanging over the couch had partially cleared up, but it was still there as it was when he walked outside. The stench still lingered as heavily as ever, much to his annoyance.

	The whelp dragged his feet towards the couch to see his mother seemingly sound asleep. He barely managed not to make a rude quip targeted at someone who couldn't retaliate and headed back to his room. The moment he entered his room again, he clumsily flopped onto his bed and shut his eyes.

	A moment of silence passed. Then a minute, and another. Sam squirmed and turned in his bed and tried to get just a few more minutes of sleep, but to no avail. For reasons beyond his understanding, he would stay awake no matter what.

	With a groan, Sam picked himself up off of the bed and trudged back into the hallway. However, the bathroom door was closed, and the light was on. The sound of pressurized liquid colliding with porcelain was enough information to tell what was going on.

	Sam retreated back into his room and snatched his blanket for use as an impromptu mask to shield his nose from the smell of pot. After he had wrapped it around his face and over his neck and shoulders, the whelp plopped down on the cleanest part of the couch and snagged the remote resting on the coffee table next to a recently used bong.

	Sam kicked his feet up and turned the volume high. The broadcast on TV was an old re-run of a sitcom from decades ago, complete with cheesy laugh tracks and dumb one-liners from the characters. He felt no real interest, but he needed something to occupy his mind until it was time to leave for school.

	The bathroom door slowly opened, bleeding light throughout the house just before being flicked off. Heavy footsteps approached from behind. "You're up early," his mother rasped as if she hadn't spoken in years.
	"Mm-hmm..." Sam grunted underneath his blanket.
	"...You got drunk again last night," she coldly stated.
	"You're one to talk," Sam shot back. "There's a reason you have that restraining orde—"
	"I don't wanna hear it," his mother interrupted.
	After a moment of awkward silence between the two dragons, Sam spoke up again. "Why do you care, anyway?"
	"Because I don't want to pay your bail when you get arrested for theft," she replied. Sam lifted his head and looked at the woman, who had her arms crossed in disapproval. Sensing that he had no response, she continued. "What if you go to school smelling like booze? Hmm? What if... you went to school all drunk? That would all come back to me, Sam."
	"Is it all just about you? I'd deal with that shit, too," Sam countered. He internally realized she had a point, but he'd be caught dead before directly admitting that.

	Sam's mother stepped around the couch and took a seat next to him. Her weight compared to his own on the couch was jarring, but he ignored it the best he could. They stayed silent as their attention was glued to the TV, but the moment it cut to commercial, she had a question for her son.

	"What are you doing up so early?" she asked.
	"I went to bed early yesterday," he half-truthed.
	"...You mean you drank yourself to sleep after your tantrum?" she grumbled.
	With a sigh, Sam half-heartedly deflected the question. "Whatever..."
	"...So are you just going to sit here and watch TV until it's time to go to school?"
	"Yep," Sam affirmed. He had no other plans, even if he still needed a shower.

	Silence returned between the dragons on the couch, but the sitcom resuming its broadcast gave them both an excuse to keep that silence. Sam had nothing he wanted to say and personally wanted to keep conversation to a minimum until it was time to leave. Yet, the moment the commercials returned, Sam's mother had even more questions.

	"What... What are you going to do... When you leave, anyway?" she sputtered.
	"...Go to school, hang out around town, come back home, and go to sleep. Same as every other day," Sam replied.
	"No... not... not when you leave TODAY. I mean, when you become an adult and leave me," she corrected.
	Sam looked at his mother again and was surprised at the sincerity in her voice and eyes. He then realized that he had no plans for when he finally moved out. He hadn't known all this time, and he never bothered to think about it.
	"You don't even know," the older dragon smugly stated.

	The commercial break couldn't end fast enough for Sam. He began to resent his mother's pestering and prodding when she normally let him keep to himself. Before the sitcom could return, Sam's mother continued.

	"Are you gonna get a girl?" she abruptly asked, "You'll need SOME reason to leave so that I don't have to worry about you stealing shit," she said with venom in her voice.
	Sam took a breath through his blanket and truthfully told her "I don't know. Again, why do you ca—"
	"You need something to keep your hands busy so that your hands aren't taking things without paying," she interrupted. "You don't even gotta love her as long as she fucks good and can keep you occupied." At those words, Sam could not help but feel offended on the behalf of a girl that didn't even exist. Sam rolled his eyes and watched as the sitcom came back on.

	Still, his mother had more to say. "Actually, I can show you how to drop some panties, now that I think about it..." she said.
"...What?" Sam questioned. He turned to look his mother in the eye to see an unnatural grin on her face. The teenaged whelp grew nervous, yet curious as to what she meant by that.

	The draconic matriarch stood up out of her seat and extended a hand towards her son. Sam flinched at her gesture, unsure as to what his mother's intent was. His mother always acted strangely under the influence of drugs, so he didn’t know what to expect.

	"Come on, Sam, stand up… And take that blanket off! You look retarded like that!" she ordered. Sam nervously swallowed the saliva accumulating in his stiff mouth, removed the blanket from his head, and took his mother's hand. She pulled him up to her level and took a moment to look at him. She eyed his posture, face, his hair, judging his worth.

	"...U-uh..." Sam mumbled, "W-what are you...?"
	"Sam... I'm going to teach you how to slow dance," she revealed much to Sam's surprise.
	"Y-you're gonna...... w-wait, what?" Sam sputtered.
	"Come on, don't 'what' me. Everyone who isn't socially retarded knows what slow dancing is! Here..." She gently grabbed Sam's wrists. "Put your left hand on my hip, then hold my hand with your other, and I will hold your shoulder."

	Sam reluctantly did as he was instructed and grabbed onto his mother. However, due to inexperience and hesitation, the teenager stood there, unmoving. His eyes shifted from one thing to another within the living room as to avoid eye contact for as long as possible.

	"...Sam..." she said to grab his attention, "Are you gonna start moving, or what?"
The drake was extremely confused. Even if his mother was being her usual rude self, she was strangely showing a small bit of... Sam didn't actually know what to call it, but it seemed like she almost cared about him for a moment.

	The older dragon sighed. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"
	After a brief period of utter silence, Sam slowly shook his head as he continued to avoid her gaze.
	"...You have to lead me with your right foot. Just think of... I dunno, any old song, and dance to it. Move with the rhythm while you pull and push me along with your hands," she explained.
	"Uh... a-alright," Sam finally spoke.

	Sam shifted his legs and tugged against his mother's weight as he shuffled to the right. She followed in his clumsy footsteps in perfect unison. Sam took another step to the left back to his original position, and she followed. "You're already getting the hang of it, Sam," she playfully said, "But... You're stiffer than a gay man with viagra. Move your hips! Get loose! You're dancing, for Angel's sake!"

	Not wanting to disappoint someone who could easily shove him out the door to fend for himself for the rest of his life, Sam continued awkwardly stepping around with his mother in tow, only now he reluctantly moved his hips and moved his mother's hand around. He glanced at her face to see a look of satisfaction, assuring him that he was doing well.

	Sam grew more accustomed to the rhythmic movements, building newfound confidence that allowed him to take things a tad further. He stepped around with much more grace and vigor, twirled himself and his mother around in circles. He almost felt a smile unconsciously creep onto his face.

	"Better," his mother said with pride in her voice, "but now I'm gonna teach you a few more... complicated things."
	"H-huh? Like what...?" Sam inquired. The hesitation and nervousness he felt before suddenly shot through him once more, filling him with dread.
	"I... I am going to teach you how to twirl me," she explained. "It's actually very easy if you're as competent as you seem. Let go of my hip, and move my hand in a small circle above my head clockwise, then spin me back the other way."

	Wordlessly, Sam followed her instructions. He released his grip on his mother's waist and spun her around with his hand over her head. His mother spun around with a surprising amount of grace and professionalism as if she had done this many times before. The way her disheveled hair moved in perfect sync with her head, the confidence she carried with the speed at which she spun, the way she lifted one foot off the ground, and the courageous look in her eyes told the story of a woman who had danced for much of her life.

	And yet, it had only been a mere two seconds, which were enough to leave Sam surprised. Before he found himself nervously locked up again, the whelp twirled his mother counter clockwise and brought his hand back to her hip. "Perfect," she said in an assuring tone. "Now! Release my hip again and pull away, but don't let go of my hand!" she exclaimed excitedly.

	Sam followed his command and did as he was told. His mother released his shoulder as he parted his hand from her hip, and flung himself back. His mother did the same, posing for a camera that didn't exist as she tilted her head back and reached her arm back to receive an imaginary rose. Without the need for another word, the two dragons softly walked back into each other and softly collided, placing their hands back into their original positions. "Now, Sam, I'll let you take charge. Use what I've taught you," she said with immense confidence in her voice.

	The song playing within his brain was a lyric-less melody at the beginning, but now every sound, instrument, and word spoken in the song he could possibly remember came back to him as he repeated the moves he had been taught. He spun his mother around and collided with her countlessly, landing each technique with more and more grace each time. When his mother abruptly flung her leg up and leaned back, he instinctively knew to lean in with her while keeping a steady hold to the ground with his foot as their faces grew uncomfortably close.

	Though it felt like mere moments, they spent several minutes silently dancing without a tune to guide them. To Sam, dancing in such a way felt cathartic, letting him release tensions in ways he might have otherwise done so more destructively. However, the sound of Sam's harsh morning alarm snapped them both out of their trance.

	“...You should start getting ready for school,” Sam’s mother said to the teen’s surprising disappointment. He actually felt as if he was having fun for once in a long time, and it was over so soon. Just as Sam lowered his head and let go of his mother, a horrifically awful sensation churned within his stomach.

	His eyes widened, and a rumbly, nauseous groan erupted from his torso. Feeling warm saliva coating his entire mouth, Sam immediately bolted for the bathroom. He barged in and crashed to his knees in front of the toilet.

	Sam’s jaw flew open as a hot mixture of stomach acid, unidentifiable sludge, and chunks of food poured into the ceramic bowl. The horrid retching and gagging coming from the sickly dragon whelp were disgusting enough to make anyone within a five-mile radius cringe.

	Sam raised his head from the bowl thinking it was over, but just before he accidentally spewed another payload of vomit into the raised toilet seat, he dipped his face back in and continued throwing up.

	Amid Sam’s coughing, pained moaning, gagging, and questions as to ‘why the fuck she didn’t flush when she took a piss,’ his mother pulled her phone out of her pocket and barely managed to find the school’s number in her contacts. She sighed in frustration as she thought of how to tell Ms. Alphys that Sam would be taking a sick day off.

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Previous Chapter, Monday Blues: https://pastebin.com/5BsdgwCt
Next Chapter, Withdrawal: https://pastebin.com/VxFRBLss