(no subject)

[mercybutton]

 They're tired of being alone. (With only Flowey.)

They know they did this to themself. They isolated themself with him and refused to talk to anyone they passed by, sleeping in ridiculous places, in strange enough places in strange enough positions to have given themself aches and kinks in their bones, though they know they'll all fade. They're tough. Very elastic.

It's been months. They still haven't quite gotten over October--they were so lively. They felt like the forest. They felt like spring gusts and fresh flower sprouts and fire and clean air, and even better? They could see. Not perfect, but it was a degree, and they felt air in their lungs fresher and freer than they ever knew before.

That was fun, but that was months ago. Nowadays, they just feel like stale fog. It's heavy. It's still. And they walk through the halls sick and still, they haven't had an appetite in upwards of a month, they feel so static, they feel useless. They feel so awful, blind and disabled and drained of all want to do anything.

Flowey has calmed down much, and for once, they thank his soullessness--his lack of caring gives him endless patience to deal with them, thank goodness. They know it's bad of them to be happy that he lacks a soul, but they can't help but be just that. It's selfish. They can't bring themself to care. He's still very much mad at Asriel, but his fervent temper has cooled enough so that he won't strangle his counterpart upon sight. He ropes Frisk into helping him cook things (a flower can't do much on his own in a kitchen, unfortunately) to pass time and hone his own skill. Frisk is his critic, of course. These are peace. Or sometimes Flowey reads to them in private rooms, both laughing and joking and making fun of the text or each other, or discussing morals and philosophy. Those conversations are especially interesting between a kid like them and a soulless little blossom. It's moments like these that they cherish, that feels enough like home that they calm just a little, just a little.

They don't last long.

Frisk leaves Flowey near the Edge and the Forest, with a pile of philosophy books to pore over, as they retreat into the castle. They should socialize--reckon it's how they'll stop feeling so quiet and blobby. They don't want to, not at all, but they should. They should at least try. As a solace, they decide to let people engage them, instead of listening for people and tracking them down and starting conversation by themself. They don't start conversations, they commentate.

So they linger in places, sitting on windowsills and swinging their legs, or running hands across shrubbery in the gardens, or mumbling poetry and quotes to themself as they stroll down halls. Lots of poetry, lots of quotes. Thomas Paine and John Locke and Matthew Arnold and, and...

Comments

[justletmewin]

Asriel wasn't doing anything in particular. Lately the days have been slow and quiet for him; something he's relieved for, given how chaotic his October had been. It wasn't the slow and quiet that led to tedium to madness either--because time actually passed. Losing his god status and the ability to reset is the greatest thing to happen to him.

"Howdy." Asriel alerts Frisk of his presence before sitting beside them on the windowsill. "Long time no see..."

[mercybutton]

* Oh?

Frisk turns in his direction. They look... not too bad, but their hair is sort of a mess.

Their heart clenches tight with guilt. They never bothered to talk to Asriel once for all those months. Asriel, of all people. The one person besides Flowey who they might have been better friends with (who also wasn't a double of them), who they were supposed to be friends with. Ideally, like sibilngs, but that's a relationship they can't seem to work themself towards. They slide off of the windowsill, stumble their landing a little, and take in the too-familiar sound of his voice. Frisk holds out their hands--they want to touch him. Tactile comfort.

"Asriel? Is that you?"

Of course they know it's him.

[justletmewin]

They extend their arms toward him, and he thinks he understands; Asriel is more than happy to embrace Frisk. They're free to run their hands around him, get a feel for him. To let them know he's there in an "I'm not going away and leaving you behind" sense.

"Yeah, it's me." he answers. He rubs their back in what he hopes is a relaxing gesture. "How have you been? You weren't looking good when I last saw you. I've been wondering what you've been up to lately."

[mercybutton]

It is. The hug is such a comfort. Frisk runs fingers through his fur, taking in his soft texture, tracing the shape of the back of his skull, where his ears start, down his spine, across his shoulders. They want to solidify his shape to them.

"'M sorry. I just… I, uh, I didn't want to talk to anyone after October. I'm sorry I shut you guys out, I should've reached out sooner, I um… yeah. What about you?"

[justletmewin]

God, Asriel loves being hugged. There's so much love and compassion in that one little act and he could never enough of it.

"It's okay, you got nothing to apologize for. I didn't feel like showing up much either. Even though I apologized to everyone, I just didn't want to show my face, you know? I still felt rotten for what I did." he smiles. "I've been looking after the flowers at my favorite place in the garden. I lost some of them to the frost that happened a few months ago, but the golden flowers were safe. I replaced what died and now the new plants are just sprouting from the ground."

[mercybutton]

They retrace him over and over, running fingers through his fur. This is solid. He is solid. He is here and real and they're blind but this is an anchor other than a pot and a flower and a voice that they can hold on to.

"That sounds great, Asriel. Sounds like you got a new hobby. Flowey's gotten back into cooking, but it's kinda hard when you don't have any legs or arms and your only friend is blind."

Fuck, this is a million years late.

[justletmewin]

"Heh, well... I've always been into gardening, actually. It wasn't until after... all the bad stuff Underground happened I started taking it up again. Someone has to take care of these flowers. And since I'm here... I might as well take care of the castle flowers too."

There's a joke to be made somewhere about a flower growing flowers. It doesn't come to him however.

[aghostinthemachine]

The only human children he'd interacted with so far were those two terrible Charas - both having left a very sour taste in his mouth from their encounters. Oh, what he'd give to see Frisk again. To be able to endulge himself a little with being Uncle (Aunt? He didn't care what they referred to him as) Mettaton for them.

Luck seemed to be on his side today as he spotted the child while walking through the gardens. The glambot immediately perks up and heads over to them, unable to stop himself from smiling at that familiar sight. A part of him wondered if they were the one from his timeline. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Frisk, darling! I was wondering when I was going to bump into you! How have you been?"

[mercybutton]

They could never forget the tinny ring that Mettaton's voice carries try as they might. It's one of his defining features, especially to someone like them, and they know right off the bat who it is.

"Mettaton?" Frisk slips off the lip of the fountain, trotting over a few steps, judging distance by the sound of voice. They're still about six feet away from him, and not... quite looking at him straight. Oops.

"I've been… fine. I'm okay, actually. What about you?"

[aghostinthemachine]

"In the flesh! ... Metal. Whatever."

Why would they want to. Mettaton, being the self absorbed celebrity he is, doesn't notice Frisk avoiding his gaze. He does hold out his hands as he draws nearer though, oblivious to the fact that the child can't see what he's doing.

"Asides from some minor issues, I've been fabulous. No surprise there, am I right?" Because, really. "You look good. ... Have you gotten a bit taller?"

[mercybutton]

Thing is, they're not trying to avoid his gaze. If the way they seem to be unsure where his face is despite looking in his general direction doesn't give it away, the dark in their eyes should.

Nor do they know he's holding out his hands, but they do hear the clank of his boots against the stine pathway. So they keep standing there.

"Maybe. It's been a few months. I'm glad you're doing well, though; anything new and exciting happen?"

[aghostinthemachine]

"My debut on the surface has been successful! It's been amazing. Even better than I imagined."

He pauses, lowering his arms and moving a bit closer to Frisk, studying them for a moment. Frisk can more than likely hear him move and lean over, then feel him perhaps a bit too close for comfort. Because what are personal boundaries?

"... Did you get a haircut?"

[mercybutton]

They certainly get the gist of the new position of his face. It's unnervingly close, especially after such a long stretch of relative isolation, but Mettaton's like that. They've come to accept it as fact and something unchangeable--or something they've given up on changing.

Haircut?

"Uh… no. It's been growing out, now that I think about it." It's probably long enough to wear in a bun! Ooh.

[aghostinthemachine]

If only Frisk could see Mettaton's face. His eyes sparkle and he clasps his hands together.

Longer hair means styling and who better to do that than him? Just think of all the adorable things he can do with it.

"It looks lovely! You know, if you ever wanted me to style it for you..."

Hint hint.