One-shots [Reqs: 5]

A Party? Yes. Gay Skeletons? Yes.

Krossmare, requested by Flamango_55!

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Cross stared at Killer, his eyes wide and full of disbelief. "Nightmare's doing what?" Killer's smile twitched up slightly, "Hostin' a party. He wants us to wear this and be his guards. Yanno, like those fancy bodyguards that follow celebrities." He held out a tuxedo, "He told me to give you your stuff." Cross blinked at the suit, his face scrunching up.

"I am not wearing this. I'll look ridiculous." Killer clicked his tongue, shaking pressing the neatly folded tuxedo to Cross's chest. The wrapper crinkled as he pulled his arm back, leaving Cross to catch it. He snickered at the disgusted expression Cross wore. "C'mon Crossy boy. 's not gonna be that bad. He even made sure it was white on black, just for you." Cross eyed the suit, sockets narrowed.

"No. I'm not wearing this." Killer gave a delighted laugh, producing another package from behind his back. "I was hoping you'd say that." Cross watched in horror as Killer held out a ball gown. It was lovely, the skirts and lace a soft lavender. "You have to wear this if you don't wear the tux." Gleeful, Killer gave Cross the dress and patted his shoulder.

-

Cross stood silently in his bedroom, looking back and forth between each outfit. He'd spread them out on his bed after finding that his closet had been emptied. He rubbed the dress's fabric, frowning. The tux was made of the same cloth. Cross grit his teeth, turning away with a groan to press his forehead to the wall. This was so stupid. Nightmare, Nightmare, of all people, was hosting a party. His fingers spasmed. Killer mentioned that Nightmare had put the necessary products in their bathrooms, and Cross, being the aggro man-child he was, refused to go in. He'd heard Killer leave the restroom at least an hour ago, and now it was his turn.

Despite himself, Cross pushed off the wall, stalking back to his bed to glare at the clothes. Dress or tux. Once again, a wave of self-consciousness flooded over him, making him feel embarrassed about the situation. His jaw tensed, his frown deepening. Killer was going to laugh at him, he just knew it. It had to be some sort of prank. Maybe they were hoping to see him in something other than the same old outfit he wore every day. But then again, why would they do that?? They wore the same clothes every day as well, so why would he be targeted?

A little voice whispered that they were doing this on purpose to upset him. Cross shut his eyes tightly, breathing in deeply. Prank or not, he wasn't going to risk pissing Nightmare off. Unable to shake the uneasy feeling, Cross blindly grabbed at one of the outfits, stomping into the bathroom. He shut the door, locking it and dropping his clothes on the sink. He marched across the bathroom, to the second door on the other side of the bathroom. It was a shared restroom, between Cross's room and Killer's.

The lock clicked, and Cross's shoulder's dropped. Purposely avoiding looking in the mirror, Cross began to strip, his back to the reflective glass just in case. Within minutes, the mirrors had fogged over with hot steam and the walls were sweating from the heat. He snagged a towel from the heated rack, shutting the water off and stepping out. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, Cross took a second smaller one and dried off his face.

He spotted a pile of purple on the sink and froze, his eyes going wide. He quickly turned away, fumbling with his door, muttering curses. It swung open with a slam, cool air rushing in and nipping his bones. The cold was washed out under a wave of horror and dismay.

He'd grabbed the wrong item. The tux was gone. The tux was gone. Tears began welling in his sockets, his face starting to heat with shame and humiliation. He'd grabbed the dress, and the tux was gone, and he had no doubt that he wouldn't get to have it back.