#chire

You pass through the entryway of your shared penthouse apartment, the doors slamming shut behind you. With a groan, you kick off your shoes and trudge over to the pink, plush couch. You bellyflop onto it, and your mind, which has had your stress amped up to eleven for the past month due to needing to finish your thesis, finally breaks away and puts you in a more vulnerable state.

As you hug one of the many plushies of Mettaton’s box form that lies around the house, the aforementioned robot enters the room. “Well, hello, beau-” Mettaton stops short as he sees you curled up like a cat on the couch, hands clenched around the marketable plush. He slowly walks over to the sofa, gently sitting on it and placing a hand on your back. “Is it one of those small times again, darling?” You nod, your head peeking out for a moment. “I understand. You’ve been so stressed lately and barely had a break.”

“Been hard,” you mumble. “Don’t have much time for care.” The anxiety had taken an effect on your skin and body, with pimples from stress sprouting on your face and your back aching from hours spent bent over your laptop.

“I can tell, lovie. Would you like me to help you feel pretty again?” You nod in response, and Mettaton takes a pillow from the couch and places it on his lap. “Come here, let me braid your hair.” You ease into his touch, allowing his gloved fingers to ease the tension in your scalp and partition your hair. The motions are repetitive and controlled, allowing you to relax more and reduce the worries inside your head. “I understand if you don’t want to talk, darling. Would you like me to share some good news instead?” You reply with a happy hum. “Good!”

Liked this and want more? Check the full Regressuary fic on my AO3 here!