Undyne

Your phone rings at 2:17 in the morning.

You stare at the screen. UNKNOWN NUMBER. You let it ring until it stops, then turn your phone face-down and try to go back to sleep. Three seconds later, it rings again.

You groan, grab your phone, and answer. “Hello?”

Nothing.

You wait.

Then, quietly, a woman's voice asks, “...Alphys?”

You blink. “No.”

Silence.

“...Oh.”

The woman on the other end sounds absolutely mortified. “Sorry. Wrong number.”

You could hang up. You probably should. It's two in the morning, after all, and you have no reason to stay on the phone with a complete stranger. Instead, you find yourself asking, “Were you trying to call someone important?”

A pause.

“Yeah.”

Something about her voice makes you hesitate. “Are they okay?”

Another pause, longer this time.

“...I don't know.”

You sit up, suddenly more awake. The stranger exhales shakily before admitting, “I just needed somebody to pick up.”

You don't know this woman. You don't know her name, why she called, or what exactly happened tonight. But somehow, you stay.

The conversation lasts almost an hour, mostly nonsense. She complains about her day, you complain about yours, and somehow the two of you end up laughing over a story about a vending machine that apparently has a personal vendetta against her. The longer you talk, the less it feels like you're speaking to a stranger.

Eventually, before hanging up, she suddenly asks, “What's your name?”

You tell her.

She repeats it quietly, like she's making sure she remembers. Then she says, “I'm Undyne.”

And the call ends.

You stare at your phone for a few seconds afterward, wondering why you already feel strangely reluctant to put it down. Eventually, you fall asleep, assuming you'll never hear that voice again.

---

Four days later, you move into your new apartment.

The building is old, the elevator makes horrifying noises, and the upstairs neighbor seems to have an obsession with stomping around at midnight. You don't think much of it at first. Most of your belongings are still packed away, and you're more concerned with figuring out where everything goes than worrying about whoever lives above you.

Until 11:48 PM.

CRASH.

You freeze.

Another crash follows, then a muffled, “SON OF A—!”

You stare at the ceiling. “Are you kidding me?”

You grab your broom and knock against it. The noise immediately stops.

Silence.

Then footsteps.

Heavy ones.

A few seconds later, there's a sharp KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK at your door.

You open it.

A tall woman stands outside, red hair tied back messily, an eyepatch covering one eye, and a completely busted lamp tucked underneath one arm.

“Uh...” She scratches her head. “Sorry about the noise.”

You stare at her. Something about her voice feels familiar.

She lifts the broken lamp slightly. “I was trying to fix this thing.”

“You broke it.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out.”

You almost laugh. She glances past you before asking, “Got a toolbox?”

“Why?”

“Because apparently I'm bad at fixing lamps.”

“You're asking me?”

“I'm desperate.”

You sigh and step aside, letting her in. “Fine.”

“Awesome.”

She steps into your apartment, looking around at the boxes and unfinished furniture. For a moment, she seems genuinely curious about the place, but then her eyes land on your phone.

The screen is still lit.

An unknown number.

Undyne's expression changes, just slightly. She looks at you, then at the phone, then back at you.

“...Wait.”

Your stomach drops.

That voice.

That exact voice.

“...You?”

She points at you, realization slowly spreading across her face. “You're—”

“...The wrong number?”

Her jaw drops.

For several seconds, neither of you speaks.

Then Undyne suddenly bursts out laughing. “NO WAY.”

You cover your face. “You're my upstairs neighbor?!”

“Apparently!”

“And you called me at two in the morning!”

“YOU ANSWERED!”

“You called again!”

“BECAUSE YOU WERE NICE!”

She stops.

The laughter fades, and for just a second, there's something softer in her expression.

“...You were.”

You look at her.

She looks away almost immediately, suddenly becoming very interested in the broken lamp in her arms.

“Anyway,” she mutters, awkwardly holding it up. “You still got that toolbox?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

You lead her farther into the apartment, and she follows, still looking slightly amused by the ridiculous coincidence. She starts rummaging through the toolbox as if she knows exactly what she's looking for.

“You know how to use those?” you ask.

“Absolutely.”

“You're holding the screwdriver upside down.”

She looks down at it.

There's a brief silence.

“...I knew that.”

“You definitely didn't.”

“Shut up.”

You laugh, and she gives you an exaggerated glare before turning her attention back to the lamp.

Neither of you actually manages to fix it.

By the time Undyne finally gives up, it's already later than either of you expected. She stands near the door with the broken lamp tucked under her arm again, looking like she's about to say something.

Instead, she simply shrugs. “Guess I'll have to buy a new one.”

“You probably should.”

“Yeah.”

She hesitates for a moment before giving you a small grin. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Undyne.”

She leaves, and the door closes behind her.

You stand there for a moment, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hallway before moving upstairs.

Then, a few seconds later, you hear another loud THUMP from above.

You look toward the ceiling. “YOU GOOD?”

“YEAH!”

A pause.

“...PROBABLY!”

You laugh under your breath.

Neither of you notices that the lamp never actually gets fixed.

And neither of you realizes that this won't be the last time she knocks on your door.

Because after tonight, the visits become easier. A borrowed tool turns into a random conversation. A random conversation turns into another late-night call. Eventually, Undyne starts knocking even when she doesn't really need anything, and you start recognizing her footsteps before she even reaches your door.

Neither of you can pinpoint when it happens.

Somewhere between the wrong number and the broken lamp, the stranger from that 2:17 AM phone call becomes your upstairs neighbor.

And somehow, your upstairs neighbor becomes someone you start expecting to hear from.