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I shouldn’t have come. I really shouldn’t have come here today. The lights are too bright. Everything’s so loud. There are so many people and it feels like they are all looking at me. I want to crawl out of my skin and die all over again. My body feels like a prison, something shackling me to this incomplete form. I feel every individual drop of sweat drip down my face. I feel how hot and raspy my breath is. My clothes don’t fit my frame. They don’t fit. I feel my vision blur and the world around me become an indistinguishable mess of vague implication. There’s a weight there. To my eyes. One that threatens to spill out. It feels - I feel utterly revolting. I hate being aware of how real I am at this moment. I miss being able to fade away into the background, to exist as a mere concept, as mere thoughts and feelings. Why did I ever agree to this? To this existence? Why couldn’t I just have stayed dead if this was what I was brought back for? I grimace. I know why.
I rub my fingers over the plastic of the red cup. It feels so cheap. Fragile. Like if I were to apply even just a little force it would crumple like an insect crushed in a giant’s palm. It would be so easy to break. So easy. Nobody would miss it. It would cause a mess, sure, but that’s easy enough to clean up, right? Who cares about the fallout, what matters is that it will be gone and I won’t have to deal with - with feeling it again. It would be so easy. The cup is half empty. If I take another sip it’ll be even emptier. A couple more and it’ll be empty. The punch tastes like shit. I should probably stop drinking it, but I need to finish this cup. I hate it when things are incomplete. I hate it.
It has been months. Why does it still feel like this? Is this really the only existence destined for me now? What is the purpose of this reincarnation? I’ve known for as long as I can remember that life, that bodies, aren’t something suited for me. It was a blessing to be a presence. A burden to have to live. Have I not proven that I am unfit for this accursed state? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
There’s a warble. My head turns towards the source of the noise. It takes a moment for my eyes and ears to return to reality. There’s someone next to me. They’re tall, though that may just be due to my own standing. They have short black hair that’s slicked back. It’s so greasy I can see the countless coloured lights shining around us refract off of it. They’ve been saying something, but I didn’t catch most of what they said. Any of it, really. They’re just staring at me. There’s something expectant in their sharp eyes. Piercing. I continue to stare up at them, like a pinned prey beneath the paw of a primal predator. I feel a snarl rise from my throat, but my face remains unchanged from my stock smile. I’m practiced. I know how to keep up appearances. I just keep staring and smiling. I feel their gaze weaken. Not soften. Weaken. Their eyes dart away and their face shifts in some subtle, off way. I keep staring at them, waiting for their next move. Should I recognize this person? Perhaps. Some corner of my mind tells me that this human was a part of Frisk’s class. Someone I should know. I spent years freeloading in their brain, after all. Yet. I can’t seem to recall this person. I’m not like Frisk. I don’t remember people. And people don’t remember me. Don’t look at me. That’s how it works. How I like it.
The human’s eyes at last break contact with mine. They drag their hand behind their neck and whistle a shrill note through their teeth. That sharp sound hurts my ears, but it doesn’t matter. It’s gone in an instant.
“Are you uh…” They finally begin to speak. Anything to break the silence, I suppose. Their voice is coarse and bassy. “Frisk’s sibling, or something?” I let out a cackle. It’s a sudden, harsh thing, as my laughs tend to be. It leaves my throat as if fired from a catapult. The human is clearly taken aback. My eyes may be deceiving me, but I could have sworn his feet shuffled backwards. He looks around hectically, as if ensuring my laugh had not gathered too much attention. He probably doesn't want people to ask why he's talking to me. I do not blame him.
I shake my head. “We are not siblings.” I say, voice flat and raspy. It comes out odd, like speech had clogged my throat and with these words I had finally spilled that old unused sound of my voice. I don’t like talking. Speaking. I like thinking. Feeling. “Frisk is just a human that happened to fall into my life.” I feel a small snort escape my nose and my smile fit my face for a moment before its strain returns.
“Right.” He breathes out. The way in which his back has straightened suggests to me that he's regretting coming to talk to me. The way in which his eyes swim to the corners of his eyes as he shuffles uncomfortably suggests that he's considering his options. Will he cut his losses and abandon this ill-fated conversation, or is his initial goal important enough to endure this pain? Personally, I'd prefer the former. “What's your name, then?” He finally asks.
It takes a moment for me to respond. I have been many things to many different people. So many roles, so many names. Amidst that mist, the true name remains. “Chara.”
“Chara.” He echoes. The name seems to roll awkwardly around his mouth like a canine growl. It sends a chilling itch down the back of my hand, which surges up to my upper back. I feel my hair stand on end. It felt like a beckoning call. He seems to ponder the name, consider how it feels on his tongue as if he were savoring it like a sweet treat. It's hideously human. “Well, Chara,” I suppress a grimace. It feels validating in a way, of course. However, a far stronger part of me wants to yell that the name isn't for him to spit so weightlessly. He doesn't understand the weight it holds, its power. The significance it carved into me. He shouldn't have that power over me. “I was just thinking… You seem pretty lonely here. Would you grace me with a dance?”
My eyes pierce his own. Drill into him. It is as if I believe that those blue windows will reveal his SOUL if I mine them strongly enough. As I stare, he flutters his eyelids and gives me a strange smile. But I'm vigilant. I can tell that behind this bravado he's quivering with… Anticipation? Nervousness?
Fear?
I don't understand.
“Why?” His facade falls apart the moment that singular word fills the space between us. His carefully composed charisma crumbles as his shoulders drop and his smile fades. His eyes gain a certain venomous ferocity. “You could have just said no.” He grumbles as he slowly begins to sulk away.
I am struck by a supreme sense of failure. It would appear I had done something wrong, made the incorrect choice. Upset someone again. What else was new? Damn it.
“That wasn't a no.” As I say that, he turns back to me, with his face brightening up quite noticeably. I was never good at pleasing people. That was Frisk’s thing. I understood people. Studied them. Did what they wanted - needed - from me. Frisk was the one who knew how to use my skill to improve the world. The best I could do was placate. Smile hard enough to assure all was well. Though I suppose if they are still able to march onward, continue to please without me, perhaps I was never really that necessary in that relationship after all. A meaningless, pointless part to play.
“So does that mean-”
“I will dance with you, if you wish. Yes.” I pace towards the nearest table and leave the cup there, before turning towards the boy and bowing respectfully as I had been taught to. As I straighten my back once more, I reach out my hand to him. That well practiced smile still sitting stalwartly on my face. After a lengthy second of anticipation, he finally grabs my hand. His skin is rough and I can almost feel its every ridge against the palm of my own hand. My teeth clench harder and I feel my skin itch. He drags me towards the dance floor.
“Do you know how to dance?” He asks, looking back to me as we enter the broiling mass of dancing teens in the middle of the room. I expel a laugh.
“Yes, I do.” I replied. I was royalty in a past life, and though Asriel hated being forced to learn dances for the more formal events held at the castle, I took pride in their mastery. The memorization and perfection of the rhythm and the movements, like a grand battle against one’s own body incensed by enthralling melodies. It was something I found quite fulfilling.
However, one’s enjoyment of such a harmonic activity is predicated on the proficiency of their partner. Asriel, unsurprisingly, was not the greatest partner for practice back in the Underground. He was as good at keeping time and matching my movements as a rock is at flying. I wonder if this boy would be able to match me. Fulfill the proper role in our choreography.
I doubt it.
We get into position as I feel the classical waltz melody course through my bloodstream. He puts a hand on my back. The hairs covering my skin bristle and raise as if they would be able to puncture his hand like porcupine quills. I close my eyes. We start to dance.
This is wrong.
I feel my body burned by a thousand eyes as I move my feet to the music. Scalding stares imprint and sear my skin. It only takes a few moments before I feel the boy's feet step on mine and he mutters a halfhearted apology. My smile stands strong as I try to focus on the music and my dance, but it’s hard to focus, it feels like from every direction there’s something trying to throw me off. I shut my eyes tighter. The boy bumps into me again. I feel the glares continue to pierce me, my SOUL feels crushed under that pressure. The music grows louder, it swells and swells and I can't. I can't handle it anymore.
I open my eyes. I see them. Originally only a vague blur in my periphery, standing just barely outside the dance floor next to a yellow monster and wearing a ridiculously mismatching, brightly coloured outfit with a poofy flowing skirt and a distractingly gaudy red bowtie. They were staring at me with a blank face, I could not even make out their eyes from here, yet just their face turned towards me felt like an army of eyes glaring voyeuristically at me. I felt so exposed, that silent ache screaming loud enough to drown out my world and make my smile crumble into dust. I can’t read their face. I can’t read it. It is sobering to remember that they are such a well kept secret from the outside after sharing thoughts with them for so long. The realization that I have been shut out of the privilege of knowing the Frisk that lay behind those absent features after getting to understand them as well as I do myself… It feels like hubris, my demon wings set ablaze by getting too close to their blessed glow. It hurts more knowing why it was that I fell.
“Are you ok?”
My mind rebounds back to the boy still in front of me, with his hands around me like a scorpion’s vice grip. His eyes look at me with… genuine? worry. My smile has fallen, but at this point I find it hard to care that my facade has buckled under the pressure of the moment. What am I even doing here? What do I think I am accomplishing by doing this? What is the purpose of this? Did I think this would complete me? Or was this just yet another method of destructive absolution?
“Why?” I ask again.
“I mean you stopped smiling and froze all of a sudden so-”
“No. Why did you ask me to dance? What was the purpose of this? Why did you ask me? ”
His face contorts into a grimace. His eyes dash around the room, seemingly taking stock of whoever else was looking at us. I have no concern about that anymore. The only eyes whose stare I cared about were already fixed on us. He tries to continue moving to the music but I refuse to budge.
“Oh, you know…” He begins, voice quieter. “You were all alone in that corner, so I thought you could use some company. Someone to give you a chance at this party. You know, so you wouldn’t feel left out. I guess.” His eyes were entirely focused on some nonexistent thing to the left of my face. He could not meet my eyes. His hands were wringing mine nervously.
“You are lying.” I state, blunt.
He looks at me, finally meeting my eyes again. His mouth flaps awkwardly as his brain searches for a rebuttal. “I’m not.” He finally replies.
“You are.” I reaffirm. My unrelenting gaze continues to drill into him. Partially to make him reveal his truth, but also partially to avoid looking at their face again.
After another moment of silence and pressure, his resolve at last breaks under the pressure.
“Ok. I admit it.” He says, finally letting go of my hand and shrinking in on himself. I presume it is not simply my gaze he is cowering from now. “That was a lie. That wasn’t the whole reason.” He pauses, staring around the venue, taking stock of the humiliation he is willing to undergo to end this confrontation. “You weren't my first choice. I wanted to ask Frisk, but they seemed really unapproachable, so I thought since you were their plus one getting on your good side would maybe have let me get closer to them by proxy.” He crosses his arms and his face shows a displeased grimace. “There. Are you happy now?”
Of course. As I had suspected, this purpose was a lie. This calling of my name was just a traitorous attempt to call upon a demon to open the stairway to heaven. This boy was not my purpose and I was not his. Even after the rough and perduring tear of our whole, I am still immutably relegated to a lesser imitation of my old role. That old purpose… Perhaps that truly was my fated role. An eternally tethered guide to the saviour of monsterkind. The irony of that role does not escape me, but it is irrelevant now. Because with that determined rip, of that final mutual deal to rid the saint of the devil on their shoulder, I lost the ability to play it. And now what has become of me? Without it, without them - Frisk. Without Frisk , I am nothing. A wandering revenant without meaning. I am a courier without messages, an artist without a canvas, a king with no kingdom. A blank map. I am incomplete.
I am nothing.
I laugh.
I laugh.
I keep laughing.
It’s so funny.
The boy is looking at me, an undoubtable carnal expression of fear and distaste that is oh so familiar to me spayed across his face. He recoils as I continue my cacophony of broken cackles. The music that enlivened the room moments before had fallen deathly silent as the sea of faces in the room had all unanimously decided to look towards my pathetic show of emotion. I bring my hands up to my face. My cheeks are wet. No, no. No. This isn’t supposed to happen. Big kids don’t cry. What is this? What is happening? Why do I feel so much, so strongly? I shouldn’t feel this way, I shouldn’t-
I feel a hand on my shoulder, sending shockwaves across my body. My hands contort and tense as I turn to face-
Of course.
Of course.
Their face is staring at me, eyes still mostly lidded, their mouth a thin line. They are looking at me, their hair still almost as messy and knotted as the day they fell on my grave. And why would it not be? I was the only one who ever pushed them to brush it, the only one who insisted they keep it in order every day.
Though their eyes are well hidden and veiled by the dark, I can still feel them pierce every inch of my being. They pierce my every atom and yet… I have no clue what they are thinking. That unmoving mask does not reveal the maelstrom of thoughts and unexpressed - repressed - words I came to be so familiar with when we were one. What lies beyond that shielded gaze is a mystery to me now. That thought tears me apart. It is a painful tear, just as painful as the one that separated us from that union that feels so distant, yet so deeply embedded within me that my mind cannot help but cry out in yearning for it.
And yet that reunion will not return. Never again will I know the passionate SOUL that lay behind that stoic mask, never again will I know the intricacies of their being, the finest comprehension of the how, the what, the why. I understand people. I study them. I knew Frisk better than I knew anybody, will ever know anyone, even myself. But now, looking at them I cannot. I do not know what they are thinking.
I want to scream.
My body is shaking. It is begging me, yelling at me to act, to do something. To let this all out.
I run.
Before I know it, I crash through the doors to the venue and am met with open air. In my haste I almost crash onto the ground due to a misstep on the steps leading into the building. My body fights with itself to fill its lungs with this air, but my breaths are cut short by hiccups and unwanted coughs. I hold myself together for a long enough moment to draw in a long breath.
I let it out in a guttural yell that echoes across the vast void of nightfall that surrounds me. The scream slashes its way through my throat and shoots out of my mouth like an explosion of fire and feeling. It lasts until my lungs are devoid of air and I am left gasping, tears dripping into the darkness. My knees buckle and my arms struggle to hold me above the ground. I feel my stomach churn and preemptively bring an arm up to my mouth. That dark cavernous yearn eats away at my inside like a parasite. Ah, but I was the parasite, my being was the hellish leech excised from the heart of a saint. Does a tapeworm weep for the loss of its host?
Should it?
It was a contaminant, it was the one corrupting its purity, it should not be in mourning over facing retribution. Just desserts. Karma.
“I thought big kids didn’t cry.” A small voice cuts through the last dying echoes reverberating through the otherwise still night. My instinct leaps to turn around my head to face him, but I can’t bear to.
There’s an expectant silence between us.
He scoffs. “What, you don’t have anything to say to me after all this time?” What is there to say? What can I say after all I have done? “Nothing at all, huh? I should have known.”
A crushing silence falls upon us again.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Do you know how many times I’ve imagined scenarios where you and I could talk again? How many different ways those talks went?” I don’t. I can’t. “So many ways. An infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities of what I’d say, what I’d do, how you’d react, how it would turn out. You were always how I’d remember you. Stoic, quiet, cold, bossy. Sometimes I’d fantasize about saying sorry for failing you and beg to return things to as they were before. Other times I imagined myself asking why you would ever be so ready to kill yourself for us, what we did wrong to make you want to do that. Eventually, I just imagined myself asking if you wanted to join me in my endless resets, if you wanted to have fun with me forever. Sometimes you would agree to join me in that cold way you often would, but other times you would turn your back on me, call me a traitor to the plan and leave me to rot alone. I was always the one groveling, at the mercy of your whims. Even when I was the one with the power, I could not help but wait for your reply. But now, here we are. Not until now did I ever imagine I would be the one glaring down at you. Now you’re the one kneeling down in tears as I watch. Now I’m the one who gets to criticize your weakness. How does it feel?”
It feels…
It feels right. Deserved.
Of course after all I had done, all the pain, all the mistakes, everything. After everything, he would want my comeuppance. Out of everyone on this earth, he would doubtlessly be the one to wish to drive the stake into my heart the most, the one who deserves his cathartic, admonishing reparations. His infinite grief, his bottomless pain, all the fault of this leech. A parasite of love and attention, leaving a permanent scar on its host that no healing could ever hide.
Why can I not stop crying?
Stop crying. I should not lament my justice.
“Hey!” He yells, his frustration boiling over. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! The least you could do is show me even the most basic modicum of respect after everything!”
I can’t bear to look at him. But I must. It was a command.
Taking a stabilizing breath, I gather my determination and turn to face him. It takes a moment to spot him beneath the veil of night and the cloudy haze in my eyes, but eventually I spot him. His yellow petals almost glowing in the cold hues of the world around him. He is standing a good distance away, in a grassy patch besides the stairway into the building. His eyes - shadowed - are sharp and impatient and his mouth is twisted in a scowl. His faux fangs are clipping into his bottom lip, though it’s clear he is at least attempting to stay stable enough to mimic the smile he got from me. An attempt to cling to the illusion he is in control of the situation, of his emotion. He is failing. Asriel has always been easy to read.
“I can’t believe that after everything that’s happened I find you breaking down over something as shallow and pointless as a high school prom.” He barks, tone chiding and biting. “I thought you were stronger than that. I thought you were better than that. I always aspired to be mature like you, you know? And now look at us! I suffered, and suffered, and changed. I had to grow! I changed so much! But you’re still a child.” He had suffered, and he was changed, that was for sure. But I know better than anyone in this world that, deep down, he’s the same Asriel. Still that sensitive, scared child. Just scarred from his hurt. He grew fangs and claws and uses them to strike at anyone who dares come too close to him. Because I came too close to him. Because Frisk came too close to him. He can’t bear the weight of that vulnerability. Not after that.
His scowl tears open as his frustration explodes. “Say something, you idiot!” He yells. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? No defense at all?”
“No.” I quickly reply. “There is no use defending from your admonishment. There is no use in running from my karma. You deserve your retribution for all the pain I have caused. My suffering is a cross I must bear to absolve the world of my sins.”
“Oh, FUCK OFF with that!” He roars. “I’m tired of your self-sacrificial bullshit! Do you honestly think the world is better if you’re punished for it? Do you think if you suffer things will suddenly be better for everyone? Do you think we like it when you hurt yourself?!” He asks. Before I can respond, he speaks again. “No! We don’t! Don’t you get it?! You doing this to yourself always just makes things worse! We care about you, Chara, don’t you see that? Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It means everything.” I spit back. “That is why I do this. No matter what I do, I just end up hurting you. It would be better if you just never cared for me at all. You of all people must understand. I have hurt you the most out of everyone. How can you bear that?”
“I- I-” He stops himself, his face softening. He spends a few moments regaining his breathing following his outburst, presumably trying to find the right words to express his heart. Finally, he releases it. “I don’t know! I- I don’t know.” His voice softens and he pauses for a moment. “When Frisk explained to me that they had you holed up in their mind the whole time I couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic irony of it all. When they said they were planning on getting you your own new body and everything, I didn’t know what to think. I thought that after I broke the barrier and… everything that happened with that I had finally come to accept what happened between us. That you weren’t the perfect friend I thought you were, that maybe you weren’t right about this world. I thought I had moved on. Put it all behind me. But then suddenly you were back. I kept my distance because it all made me feel so much. ” He pauses and takes a breath. “When I saw you in that state, I was angry. Furious that you of all people could be so… so weak. That this all happened because I thought so highly of you. I wanted to prove that I’m stronger now, that I would never be hurt by you again because you had no power over me. I wanted to prove that I was the one in control now. But I realize now… I just wanted to hurt you because I thought it would feel good to have the power over you for once. But it didn’t. It didn’t feel good at all. It felt horrible. Now I’m just sad. For you. For us. Why did this have to happen? I’ve asked that so many times over so many timelines, you know? The why of it all.”
Why? Is it not obvious? After everything I feel like it should have been clear that this all happened because of me. I am a poison who taints all who open their hearts to me. Maybe… Maybe that has been my only true consistent purpose through it all. Of course. I am a demon. Why must I seek to be anything else, when my role has been so clear from the beginning?
“I am sorry. It is all my fault. Were it not for me, none of this would have happened to you. You would have been able to live a normal, fulfilling life with Mom and Dad. You would have grown up as normal, grown to be a prince, eventually even a King. I am sure you would have made a great, compassionate King, had I not tainted you.”
He scowled and wriggled his stem in distaste. “ Tainted me? What are you on about?”
I shake my head and sigh. “Do you not see, Asriel?”
“ Don’t call me that!” He snapped, his mouth growing jagged rows of teeth as he bites the air in a spark of fury. “I’m not him anymore. I’m not that needy child anymore. I have grown up. I can handle myself! I've changed!”
A chuckle escapes my lips. “You really have not changed.” I look him directly in the eyes. “Despite everything, it's still you.”
He laughs wickedly. An unconvincing facade. “You're just saying that because you want everything to go back to how it used to be!” His face morphs into a cartoonish mirror of mine. “Two kids playing in the garden! A happy family! Me as your little cheerleader, your little lapdog!” His face whips back into a beastly roar. “Well, newsflash, IDIOT! That's never coming back!”
I feel the wind knocked out of me by his words. I look at the ground solemnly. “I'm sorry for taking that life away from you.” I apologize in a meek hush.
He laughs a farcical laugh. The kind that is used to conceal the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. It is uncanny, I must admit, seeing his face resort to that. Though I suppose he did always have a habit of copying my own eccentricities. “You know this is a lot less fun when you just… take it . Why don't you understand? I don't want you to hurt, Chara! You're my best friend! We loved you, Chara. Why is it so hard for you to understand that that means we want you to be happy?!”
“And what has become of that love, now? It is poisoned, mired by pain and sorrow. You got hurt because you ever cared about me. That is all I am meant for. Hurting those who put their faith, their love, in me. That is my singular purpose.”
Flowey recoiled in sheer offense. “What? Purpose?”
“Indeed. My purpose. The reason for my existence. My role. My entire life-” I cannot stop myself from taking a shuddering breath before I continue. “My entire life, I have been searching for that purpose. I have been looking for what my role was. The only role I had on the surface was one of suffering, one I did not want to accept. There was no purpose left for me on the surface, and so I fell. Then, in the Underground, I had found a purpose. You gave me my new purpose. My new role. ‘The future of humans and monsters’. A ray of hope. I did my due to fulfill that role then, and yet…” Saying this, I notice his mouth curl in on itself uncomfortably. “I failed. And then I was reborn. Like you, I looked for fresh purpose in my reincarnation. And the only calling I found… Was Frisk.” I feel my whole body itch, my very skin begging to be ripped into ribbons by my own nails, my brittle shard of a soul quake, at my utterance of their name. The name is like an incantation, the name of a being one must not speak of lest you be smited for it. It feels as if by speaking their name aloud I am somehow poisoning their being, undermining their divinity. “My role was to guide them, accompany them, and use my knowledge to help them through the underground. I would help them understand the world and the monsters, and they would act on my knowledge. I thought-” I hiccup, tears having begun to trail traitorously down my face. “I thought I had found my purpose at last. I thought we were happy, but then…” I take a deep breath and steady my voice. “I was foolish to think that it was mutualistic. They were fully justified in excising me. But now… I can’t help but feel hollow. Purposeless. I do not want to ruin things, but is that not the only thing I have proven effective at?”
“Wait, so this is all because of Frisk giving you your own body?” He asked, confused. “You think they did that because they wanted to get rid of you?”
I laugh, because what else is there to do? “Of course. They do not need me. Perhaps they never needed me at all. I cannot imagine why else they would spend so much time, so much energy, finding a way to remove me.”
There is a pause.
Then laughter. His stem doubles back as he continues to laugh. A genuine laugh, not a facade. It takes a moment before he can finally come up with a response. “Wow! I didn’t think you could be this stupid and dense!” He manages to say between bouts of laughter. “It’s almost as if you don’t know Frisk at all!”
My expression hardens instinctively into a scowl of frustration. “Hey! I knew Frisk better than you! Better than anyone! Better than anyone ever will! Better even than I ever knew myself!”
“You really think, Frisk, the kid that was so determined to make everyone happy they manipulated time to do so, gave you your own body as punishment ?” He looks at me, hoping to pry a response out of me, but I don’t say anything. He laughs dryly, with a certain hopeless hollowness echoing through his voice. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
I look away from him and cross my arms. I bite the inside of my lips before I retort. “I do get it. There is no place left for me in this world, and yet here I am. I know you feel the same. Flowey.” He freezes, a look of unexpectancy colouring his face. “Isn’t that right? Isn’t that why you won’t tell Mom or Dad? You think they have moved on, that you will break the perfect facade of happiness they’ve built up for themselves if you were to return as you are now.”
“They want him.” He snarls. “And in case you haven’t gotten it through your thick skull yet, I am not him anymore.” But you are. I think but don’t say. “I can’t be the kind of child they want. Besides, they have Frisk, and apparently you now as well. They’ll be fine without knowing.”
“So what is your plan, then?” I ask. “ What are you going to do for the rest of your life on the surface?”
He stops to ponder my question. He opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again, continuing to think. “I don’t really have a place to go. Not exactly many places that’ll take a talking flower.” He giggles. “But… I think if you’re around… Just living here in the surface world doesn’t seem so bad.” He smiles up at me genuinely. “It’s not like we have anything better to do.” He quickly morphs his face into a cheeky grin. “Of course, that’s only as long as you don’t mind me third wheeling with you and Frisk.”
“Thi- What!?” I yelp ungracefully. He chuckles at my reaction. “That is not funny.” I assert, but annoyingly I can’t hide the way the implication lights a treacherous spark of light inside me. One I hope isn’t too visible on my face. “I cannot do that to Frisk. They do not deserve a curse like me inflicted upon them. That is exactly why they separated us.”
“But you still want to be with them again, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Well,” he begins. His eyes trail off for a few moments before he continues. “What about what Frisk wants?”
“What? It was them who wanted to be rid of me. Is that not clear enough?”
“They were also the one who invited you as their plus one to this prom.” He scoffs smugly. “And seeing how it went, I can’t help but think maybe I should have been the plus one. I’m sure the talking flower would have been the life of the party!”
I can’t help myself chuckle. “You can’t even dance. Flower or not.”
“Hey! After your sorry show earlier the bar is pretty low. At least if I'm dancing, nobody's feet are getting stepped on!” I find myself laughing at the image.
“You were watching us?”
He winks. “I'm always keeping an eye on my best friends!” His playful smirk falls serious again. “Still, Chara. They invited you for a reason, and I doubt it was just to let you rot in a corner the whole time.”
“It was a mere formality. Politeness. Maybe even pity.” I reason.
He groans. “Ugh! You're such an idiot! You just can't possibly imagine that people care about you! Why don't you talk to them?”
“I do not want to burden them with my painful yearning for reunion. I do not want them to make space for a parasite like me.”
“Come on, Chara.” He whines. “Frisk has already been burdened with the title of “saviour of monsterkind”, of “Angel” or whatever. Having to hear out their moody partner’s moping is nothing! Heck, knowing them they'll probably enjoy it, the freak!”
I try not to think in what he intended when he uses the term partner in this context. It is not the first time I had considered our union a partnership, many times had I thought of Frisk as my partner, but I don't believe Flowey meant it in a strictly formal or platonic sense. Instead, I focus on the mention of Frisk’s angelic nature. “I do not want to corrupt an Angel.” I say.
Flowey looks at me with an inscrutably discomforted expression. “Wow… You two are so cheesy. It's disgusting.” He complains with a distorted grimace.
I glare daggers at him. “What's that supposed to mean?”
His vines shrug mockingly. His face shifts into one parodying innocence. “Nothing.” He chirps. “Nothing at all.”
I huff. “The point is, Frisk should not want anything to do with me.”
The sound of the heavy doors into the building behind us being opened behind us suddenly reverberates through the late night air, cutting our conversation short. I instinctively turn to face its source but stop myself before our eyes can meet. At the top of the steps leading into the venue, and still wearing that ridiculous outfit, stands…
“Frisk!” Flowey calls out. “Finally! I've been trying to talk to this idiot for way too long, but it feels like nothing I say can get through to them! Wanna give your best pal a hand?”
In a fruitless attempt to ignore their presence, I tunnel vision on something else. “I thought I was your best friend.” I say flatly, hoping I do not let too much of my turmoil show itself.
He scoffs. “You get the title of sibling, Chara. This means I have a right, nay, a duty, to rib you at every available opportunity.” He winks. “You're welcome!”
Hearing him label me as such makes my heart twist even further. I huff halfheartedly. “Thanks.”
Frisk looks at Flowey and begins to sign something. I look away in shame. Having spent so long in Frisk’s mind meant that I never truly learned to understand their signing, having nearly unfettered access to their thoughts made it so I always knew what they intended to say, even if I could never parse what exactly it was that they were communicating to others by signing. Now, however, it means there stands yet another imposing barrier between them and I.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever!” Flowey says in response to whatever Frisk has signed. “I'll leave you two dumbasses alone. You two can figure your own baggage out!”
Frisk signs something else I do not understand. “Hey!” Flowey barks out defensively. “I don't need your help! If you wanna act as a therapist, maybe fix your own problems first! I'm out!” Saying this, he quickly burrowed himself back underground and out of sight. Though I know he's still lingering and eavesdropping. I know him too well. He used to linger outside our parents’ room, floppy ear raised against the door hoping to figure out what was happening in there while the door was locked. I always knew what was happening, but it was funny seeing him try to come up with his own explanations. Once again, I am reminded of how, despite his vehement denials, he remains the same child I remember from back then.
I look back towards Frisk and see that they've already started descending the stairs. They pace towards me, closing the distance between us, yet maintaining a noticeable arm’s length gap from me. It was a reasonable decision, I reason. That way they would be safe from me. Regardless, I am unable to keep my eyes from being drawn into the gravity of their face. They maintained a seemingly blank expression, eyes still mostly lidded serenely. But I know there is something deeper bubbling beneath that mask. At this moment, my heart desires nothing more to understand that enigmatic face, to read it as easily as I read others’. To once again be able to access what Frisk truly feels, truly thinks, at any moment. To be able to lift up that mask and once more know what lies beneath. I hate not knowing. I need to know. I need to know so deeply.
Their arms motion to start signing, but they stop themself. I shake my head. “I am sorry I never bothered to learn.” As I say this, Frisk pulls out their phone, a blocky thing covered from head to toe in colourful stickers and with a cute anime mascot hanging off of a chain, and begins typing something remarkably quickly. They turn the screen to me and I squint to read it.
“I'm sorry.” They begin. My face crinkles indignantly. Sorry? They have no need to apologize. All that has happened today has been my fault. “I wouldn't have asked you to come if I knew you would have been so uncomfortable.”
It takes a moment for me to parse what Frisk is trying to communicate. They are being deceptive, surely. Their words show pity and an attempt at reassurance, but what truly lies behind them is a simple sentiment. I shouldn't have brought you with me because you ruin everything. Frisk is just too nice to say it so bluntly. We are very different in that way. Frisk dances around their words, shaving off any rough edges as to minimize potential hurt at the cost of the central idea being lost. I could never do this. My words cut into others like a knife, maintaining all at a distance. Better a small stab than gradual corrosion. I instinctively try to turn my eyes up to meet their face, to find the physical evidence of my belief, but quickly falter as I see no trace of malice in their downturned eyes. I avert my gaze.
Frisk turns the phone back towards them and starts typing again. I wait anxiously for them to finish. Soon enough, they turn the phone around again. “I understand, though.” They continue. “What that boy did and said was really hurtful. I've already told him off about it. He shouldn't bother you again.”
I shake my head. “This-” I take a stabilizing breath. “This isn't about him.” I think back to what my brother said, what he advised I should do. To cut through the pretense and just ask. “Why did you invite me to this party in the first place?”
I notice them seemingly instinctively make a sign with their left hand before quite literally shaking it off and quickly returning to typing on their phone with renewed vigor.
“Because you're my best friend and I thought it would be fun.” The screen now reads. “You've been so sad ever since you got your own body, and I thought this might cheer you up.”
I can't help but laugh bitterly. After all, it was Frisk’s idea to split us in twine. I can't blame them, though, nor should I be surprised they still seem to want to care for me. Frisk is too kind. Too pure. Of course they would feel misplaced sympathy for the parasite they had excised, the one writhing in pain and approaching death from the loss of its host. “You do not need to concern yourself with me, Frisk. Not anymore. I am no longer your burden to bear.”
Frisk's mouth falls open and a weak noise falls from their throat. Their arms fall somewhat before they go back to typing something on their phone, slower now.
They hold it out to me after a few seconds of deliberation. “You're not a burden.” It says.
I look at it blankly for a moment, my eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and Frisk’s face. I don't know how I am meant to react.
So I laugh.
And laugh.
And keep laughing.
It's so funny.
Frisk looks at me with an odd, infuriatingly unreadable expression. Their hands fall pitifully and nervously entangle themselves in one other.
“Sorry, Frisk.” I say once my laughter has died down. “You of all people should know that that is untrue.” Their face freezes in what I can only presume is shock. The sort of shock a child experiences when caught with their hand in the chocolate chip cookie jar. “After all, was it not your idea to excise me? To give me my own body? To be rid of me?”
Frisk’s hands shoot up and sign that symbol from earlier again. Hand outstretched with the middle and ring fingers coiled into their palm. They seemingly realize the obvious fact that I cannot understand it, as they quickly bring their phone up and start typing once more. Their fingers tap the screen at a speed I can hardly keep track of until they suddenly pause. Then it appears they hold down a single key before resuming their rapid typing. Their blank face begins to shift and contort in unusual ways as they go through these motions. I can't exactly decipher what those expressions betray of them. I feel the sound of the wind pick up around us, causing my straightened hair to wave unevenly. Their consistently messy and curled hair doesn't seem too affected, however.
Frisk continues to type furiously before seemingly deleting whatever they wrote. Their fingers begin to writhe as their face continues to twist and their breaths’ pace quickening until-
They let out a muffled grunt or yell as they toss the phone down onto the ground with an arced swing of their arm. It shatters in half, shards of its screen spreading out onto the ground like viscera. I stare down at it dumbfounded for a long moment. I feel it dawn on me, the fact that my only and final vehicle for communication with Frisk has been severed so violently. A part of me wants to scream, rip and tear out my very SOUL at the erection of this insurmountable barrier between us, this canyon preventing me from ever again being able to understand, to know , Frisk again. Yet another part of me… Is relieved. Without the means of communication with the Angel before me there can be no way my words may chain them down, send them careening into the pits of hell I call home.
Seeing the consequences of their outburst, Frisk's face morphs once more, shifting like a disturbed bog, creases of skin wrinkling on their forehead. Their arms shoot up again, signing wildly. Desperately. In the blur I notice that same sign from earlier repeat itself multiple times. Their eyes, though mostly still hidden, are downturned in a way that I can only presume suggests they are holding back a further flood of emotion they otherwise manage to always keep at bay.
Almost instinctively, my hand starts to reach out towards them to attempt to comfort them, but I stop myself. My hands fall pathetically back down to my sides. I do not want to make things worse than I already have. It is my fault this escalated, after all. Were it not for me, there would have been no need for their emotions to overtake them as they had, and their phone would be fine. They would be happily dancing in that hall with someone who would not do this to them. It would have been better had I not existed at all. It always would have.
Why must death play so coy with me?
Frisk finally seems to give up attempting to sign. Their arms fall to their sides and their hands grip their sweater tightly like beastly talons. For a long moment, the space between us is only filled with the sound of the howling wind and their harsh and shuddering breaths.
Frisk takes a deep, long, unsteady breath.
And then screams.
I freeze in shock. I have never seen Frisk, quiet, controlled Frisk, explode in such a manner. I must have truly ruined everything to get to this point. Once the scream begins to die in their throat, they face me once again. However, now their piercing bright red eyes are fully visible, staring deeply and manically into my own. It makes the hairs on my back stand on end.
“W-Wh-Why?” A near silent, stuttering and unsteady voice crawls out of Frisk’s mouth. The voice is like ancient porcelain, long unused and fragile. Their speech feels forced out as if Frisk had to fight to produce it. “Wh-Why is it so- so ha-hard to make e-everyone happ- happy?”
They take another ragged breath. “I've tried s-s-so hard to get an ending wh-where ev-v–verything is perfect.” I bite the inside of my lip. It's true. Reset after reset, timeline after timeline, death after death. All in service of breaking the barrier, of making everyone as happy as possible. Trying (and failing) to bring him back. Different attempts, fights, deaths. Different combinations in an effort to grasp tightly at something that is already gone. And I alone remain the only witness to all of their trials and timelines, forever the unjudging guide through it all. A shared sworn secrecy of what was done to get us here.
Or so it was.
As now, we are here. Funneled to the only happy ending we were ever able to find, imperfect as it was. That role of mine is over now. I do not understand why Frisk lingers.
“I’m just- I'm just t-trying to make you happy.” They force out. Of course. This has all happened because Frisk is attempting to fix me. To mend my defects as if I were a creased shirt rather than a demon. They are not the first to attempt this, to try and give me happiness and a worriless freedom. The last person who attempted that died for his efforts and was condemned to suffer for my mistakes over countless timelines. I do not want Frisk to suffer as he did. Though, I suppose at this point, it is too late. It is as they said. Countless timelines have already come and gone, rewound and purged for every minor imperfection. But it doesn’t matter. An infinite number of timelines could wash over the both of us like the tides, and a simple fact would remain written out in the sands of time. I am unfixable.
“I wanted y-you to be able to- to live y-your own life.” They continue. Slowly, they seemed to be getting an unsteady grasp on speech. I do not know when the last time they spoke must have been. When we shared a body, I was the only one who ever used those disused vocal cords on the rare occasion I was given control. “I thought- I thought you would be b-better if you had your own body. If- If you weren’t tied down to me.” I close my eyes and give a subtle shake of my head. It is not I that was tied down. I was the anchor pulling Frisk down to the deepest depths.The fire on their Angel wings sending them down into the infernal underworld. “It w-would be selfish of me. To kee- To keep you tied to me because I wanted- n-needed your help. You sh-should have been allowed to- To get your own life where you weren’t just a- a- a- a p-part of me. You should get t-to live out your own hopes. Your own dreams.”
I stare at them blankly. What? What are they saying? “My hopes. My dreams.” I cautiously begin to construct my response. “Those no longer matter. Those were all forfeit once I turned Asriel to dust. Please do not make the same mistake he did. Pour your love onto something that will not poison your well. I know you are overflowing with it, but do not waste it on me.”
“NO!” They abruptly and uncharacteristically yell, causing whatever words I would say next to die in my throat. “I want you to be happy!”
Frisk coughs, reeling from the suffocating effort of that yell. As they turn their head back up to face me again, I notice tears streaking down their chubby cheeks. Their face is warped in an emotion I can at last clearly recognize. Pain. Hurt. Once again, a part of me yearns for nothing more at this moment to reach out my hand and cup that familiar face, running my thumb across those tear-stained cheeks and reassure them that there is no need to cry. That they will be alright, despite everything.
“It’s- It’s b-been s-so hard since you left. It’s hurt so, so much. The m-missing chunk of- of my S-S-SOUL burned and ached and hurt and- It’s been so quiet. So quiet. L-Life has felt so much… emptier. I- I- I thought I would be fine with that because you would still be around! And you would be much h-happier! B-But then you stopped talking to me and it- it h-h-hurt so, so, so, s-so much, Chara. You w-were the only person that was always with me, no matter what. B-But n-now I feel so- So alone, Chara. Th-That’s why I invited you. I wanted to fix this, I wanted to get you to- to talk to me again. Be-Because I-” Frisk finally stops for a moment to catch their breath. They take their sleeves to their eyes and messily wipe their tears away, soaking them just as Asriel used to do with his sweaters. I feel a profound pang of pain in my heart watching this. Why must they- No. Why must I hurt them as I do? My heart tells me that this is all a farcical ploy of pity. They cannot genuinely miss my corrosive, parasitic presence in their mind as they seem to so heartily suggest. I simply cannot fathom it. I must disregard the sincere sadness and pain I can read on their face. It cannot be genuine. It simply cannot.
“Be-Because I-” They stop once more, as if an invisible object has wedged itself in their throat, blocking all speech. “Because I- I- Because.” Their breathing quickens and they once again start gesticulating wildly and incomprehensibly at me. I notice them push that same symbol - thumb, index and pinky finger outstretched - out towards me repeatedly. Then they bring their hands up to their face, pushing it up against their soft skin in what I can only assume is frustration. They groan. Then they turn their eyes towards me once again. They stare, breathing unevenly.
Then they lunge at me, arms outstretched. I take an instinctive step back and feel the pace of my heart shoot up dramatically as their arms entangle me. I open my mouth to shout something, but am overtaken by something much stronger.
I feel my heartbeat resonate and harmonize with the thumping of Frisk’s own heart. My breath hitches as I feel the rise and fall of Frisk’s chest against my own. Almost automatically, my breath begins to match Frisk’s rhythm. As I close my eyes, I feel our splintered SOULs fit together like a carefully crafted collection of puzzle pieces being put together to form a magnificent image. After so long of feeling such a hollow and silent existence, the way our being pulses in sync makes it almost feel like we are one once again. As our SOUL pulses between us, I can feel Frisk’s emotions as if they were my own, I feel every wave of sadness, frustration, fear and joy envelop me like the light of the sun. My arms wrap Frisk up, by fingers digging into the back of their walking disaster of an outfit. Doing this, I can feel almost all else fade from my mind as it’s replaced by every shared emotion and thought between us. For a split second, I find myself wondering if Frisk can feel these same pulses of shared being, but before my thought can even finish forming itself, I get my answer. A torrent of Frisk’s thoughts overtake our SOUL. A cascade of “Yes! Yes! Yes! I can feel us! I’ve missed this so much!” Those sentiments are mirrored in my own waves across this reunited SOUL. Slowly I feel my own self melt away as we are immersed in the tidings of our SOUL, for a beautiful moment, we are one once more. We stay in this state for a long moment, feeling the sound of our breaths mix with the wind and the heavy harmony of our beating hearts against each other. Eventually, our hands hesitantly slink away, almost as if we’re nervous if we let go even a little, this fragile union will once more shatter, but this time irreparably. Carefully, we link our hands together, fingers interlocked tightly and look into our eyes once more. We are crying.
Feeling that unanimity- such a complicated word, why not pick something simpler? Languages have a multitude of words, a beautiful tapestry to describe and convey the feelings that so easily evade us. Words are colours, and each shade of separation leads closer to communicating our emotions. That makes sense. But sometimes something simpler can work just as well, maybe even better. We tilt our heads forward until our foreheads touch. We close our eyes and bend our fingers in a familiar configuration, pushing this sign to our chest as a repeated sentiment thrums from our SOUL to every corner of our being, our body and mind until it is all that we can perceive.
“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so, so much. I missed you. I love you. I love you. I want you to be happy, because I love you.”
Tears are streaming both our faces now. Do you finally understand? I do. I do. I do. I just- You still can’t quite believe it. Your brain says it’s not possible. But what does our SOUL say?
“I love you. I love you. You mean so much to me. I never want to go without you again. I love you. I love you.”
We shouldn’t. We hurt each other. Because we love each other. We don’t want to be incomplete again. This is right. This feels right. But what if I make things worse- what if I ruin everything?
Don’t worry. Let’s just enjoy this feeling for a little while, ok?
…
Alright.
Without a spoken word between us, our feet move into position. Our mind is filled with a song, one unique to us. A mix of a slow and classical serenity and more modern, energetic and joyful sincerity. Our hands move to hold each others’ backs, as if reassuring ourselves that we will never let each other fall. Our eyes remain closed, entirely focused on the music surging from our shared SOUL. We begin to dance.
This is right.
A step. A shuffle. A spin and a twirl. Soft smiles and thoughtless harmony as we cross the dancefloor we’ve imagined around us. An empty world, all except for us and our SOUL and the music coursing through it. As we move through the song, feeling and acting out its highs and lows, that unifying thought swells and entwines itself with the music.
“I love you. I love you.”
A message impossible for either of us to miss or mistake ripples through every second of every moment we are lost in that rhythmic flow of feeling of our making. Our hymn continues to build and build, every moment causing that sentiment to swell and swell, our unity fortifying as our SOUL shines with love, until the song and our dance hits its climax.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
We look into our tear-stricken faces, and feel it so strongly, the beat of that one eternal assertion replacing the sound of song in our mind. We bathe in this feeling in silence only broken by the sound of the dying wind around us and our own tired breathing and synchronized heartbeat. That was nice, wasn’t it? Yes. It was so nice. We’ve never felt like that before. I’m sorry. There’s no need to apologize. We made it here eventually, that’s what matters. It’s not perfect. It is not. But. It feels right. Yes. Was this truly the purpose I sought after all along? Is this what I am meant for? Purpose? Why does that matter? Life doesn’t have an answer. I think as long as we make someone’s world a little better, we’re doing something right. Have I not made the world worse? For what it’s worth, you’ve made my world a lot better.
…
I love you.
I love you, too.
And the song began again.