#comfor

"I mean it! We're running out of wall space, but we really gotta hang this one. Can I have it in my bedroom?"

"Yeah, of course…"

"Awesome! Oh, we gotta go on a trip sometime. There are a bunch of really pretty nature scenes just walking distance from the house. You could bring your stuff and paint something there!"

"Bored of the tree in our yard?" Whumpee asked, trying to be lighthearted, but deep down, fearing that that really was the cause of Caretaker bringing up the field trip. Going out was still a bit difficult for them, and they would've rather stayed home and painted the same tree another three hundred times.

"Never," they said with a smile. "If you're not bored of it, then I'm not bored of it either. I just thought it would be a nice little challenge, to paint some of those sceneries. There's a huge field just behind the hill, with a bunch of straw bales. I am dying to see that in your artistic style. But we can go later as well, there's no rush."

"There's kind of a rush. They'll bring the straw bales… wherever it is they bring straw bales, and then I can't paint them."

"There will be straw bales next year. Truly, no rush."

Whumpee looked back at their painting, wondering how Caretaker could always be so enthusiastic about them. "What do you see in my paintings?"

"Huh?"

"What do you see when you look at them? Is there some deep symbolism to it that I can't see? I just see the same tree I've painted at least five times already."

Caretaker was quiet for a little while, with a kind smile on their lips. "I see healing," they said. "Your healing. It's more precious to me than anything."

Whumpee tried to see behind the tree. Tried to think of the hours they had put into painting it. It really did bring healing to them, every brushstroke another step in the long journey back to health. Still, they only saw a tree. A badly painted one. "I see."

It wasn’t a pleasant day, so in normal you fashion, you got the fuck out of the house and went to one of your places.

You know, your place. The place you can go to get out of the house when you aren’t feeling the best. It probably didn’t matter a terrible about to normal people, normal people would want to just go home after a bad.

But you? Nope, you wanted to go get one of your favorite pastries and sip the best frozen chia latte you had the joy of discovering. That might seem like an exaggeration, but it was true. Or maybe it was because said chai latte was now one of your normal comfort foods.

Now let’s start at the beginning. When people have a bad day, you would think that something specific happened and you would be all irritated about it.

Wrong.

It was like one hundred different small things were tosses at you today.

Like a bully blowing a spit ball at you every other minute at school all day.

Like someone was throwing a small pebble against your window like a clock ticking and no one else understands why its irritating.

Its like the sake of being normal and not freaking out of the small things is tying you down while that small drop of water continues to hit your head. Over and over and over and over.

You weren’t exaggerating, today had been one of the final straws for you.

That’s why you wanted to get your favorite latte before going home to lock yourself in your safe spot for the next 48 hours.

You knew logically that you shouldn’t react this way, that today wouldn’t have been as bad to anyone else. You think maybe that is the reason why it is so terribly awful, no good, very bad to you.

So now that you are sat at your booth, in an irritatingly packed café that you feel safest at, do you realize that you were really fucking hungry.

A result of your sleeping in, leading to you missing it entirely and needed to rush to work. A result of your shitty co-worker taking a handful of your chips without asking.

SO of course you couldn’t eat them after that, you didn’t ask to have food problems. But you know that coworker didn’t wash his hands.

You just wished he would have asked, you could have put some on a plate or a napkin if he was that hungry.

So instead you gave him the rest of your small bag of chips, only snapping at him slightly for not just asking.

You weren’t germophobic, no, you were autistic. And you sure as fuck didn’t like when people touched your food, you physically couldn’t eat it if someone touches your food. At least without asking.

You felt like a huffy toddler about it. It wasn’t a big deal.

But to you it was.

Now as your stomach churns, a dull ache setting in as a result.

Your frozen late helped only mildly, the frosty drink made your stomach hurt just a little more but also filled your brain with a satisfaction of eating and it being one of your safe foods.

Now if only you weren’t so anxious about going back to the empty counter to buy a pastry or one of their divine sub sandwiches.

You sigh, steeling yourself, yes, you can do this!

You wait at the counter, only seconds passed when the worker was there to take your order.

With a grin you were sat back at your booth, waiting for your chicken sub to be made. You could practically feel the delightful chemicals your brain would make at eating your favorite sub.

It was when you got the sandwich with great joy that you took that beautiful first bite of heaven.

Ready for the feelings of nirvana after a bad day to hit your soul.

But then, after chewing, once, twice.

Did you let silent tears slip.

Yeah, this was your last straw, fuck the other stuff.

Your sandwich’s chicken was cold.

And its not like a cold cut deli sub. It’s a grilled chicken sandwich, you have to heat that up.

So, instead of saying anything, you put the sandwich down, folding your arms and letting your tears slip.

You didn’t want to make a scene.

This was fucking ridiculous; you were crying over a sandwich.

Your throat was closing up, hands shaking and chest feeling like it was filled with rocks.

Because of a fucking sandwich.

Your own frustration of the day was enough to put pressure on the dam, but the cold chicken ruining your safe food was what broke it.

You can’t believe your brain is screaming that you would rather die than have this happen to you.

You knew you were overreacting.

So, when you felt someone sit down in front of you, you had to fight the urge to sob.

In your head, you begged for them to leave you alone.

“Do you need help?” you flinch at the voice, freezing. You didn’t want to lift your head, you were embarrassed. You didn’t need anyone to see you crying over a sandwich.

“I was worried about you, pretty human, I could hear your stomach doing the rumbly thing human stomachs do when hungry, but you were distressed when you got your sandwich?” you heard him shuffle slightly as you couldn’t stop the sob he most definitely heard.

You couldn’t complain about your chicken being cold as the reason for your breakdown in a public place to a Monster of all people, they have actually starved through a famine and had to eat whatever was offered.

“Can I please help you? I do not wish for you to be sad, human.”

You felt compelled to actually lift your head to show you were listening, to at least shake your head ‘no’ so he didn’t feel awkward about leaving. But he spoke again, more like he was trying to stall you from looking up at him.

“Your soul sounds very distressed, it is a very sad sound, I would like to help you feel better” he sighs softly, “No one should be left sad.”

“My chicken is cold.” You mumbled against your arms, lifting your head to look at the Monster who was talking to you. You went to excuse yourself, and tell him it was okay.

Until you realize that with your head against your arms on the table, your eyes could only find his chest.

You were fond of the soft yellow sweater he wore, but not fond enough to stare at it instead of looking at him.

“I like your glasses” you mutter, finally sitting up to see his face.

He did have very cute glasses, a soft yellow gold like his sweater. You wondered if he changed his glasses with his outfits or if he dressed to match his glasses.

“Thank you, Human” it was odd to watch a skeleton skull be so animated… But his eye sockets crinkled as he smiles. You found that to be really cute. Monsters were so cool. “Will you allow me to ask them to heat up your sandwich? I am happy to talk to you more about your day when I get back”

You started before you could stop yourself, a rant that almost brought you back to tears.

“You cant just heat the whole thing up, then the lettuce will be soft and mushy, the pickles will be to hot, the cheese will be melted and I hate melted cheese, the bread will get crispy, that why I always ask them not to toast it- because it’s a whole system balance” you were scratching at your hands and wrists again, a terrible stim you did when you were in a bad mantal state.

“That is okay, Human, we can switch” he smiles softly, reaching his hand out to stop your shaking hands, like he was used to doing such a thing.

You pause, staring at him, “Switch?”

“Yes, you can tell me what you ordered, and I will order it for myself. That way the chicken is hot. Then we can switch.”

“But the chicken is cold?” eloquent, you were (not), but you didn’t want him to think he needed to do that. You could just buy another one. You also already took a bite out of this one. You think you would pass out if someone took a bite out of your sandwich then gave it to you.

“That’s okay, I can have them toast this one, I like mine toasted.” Fuck, you felt like he was treating you like a toddler. A sense of irritation rising in the back of your head like an ugly snake made of your anger rearing its head.

“But I already took a bite of it,” you say, trying not to sound snippy. He was just trying to help.

“In Monster culture, sharing food is a grand gesture of trust and care. You sharing your sandwich with me is just like declaring me to be your best friend”

You blink, eyes widening slightly. He was being kind to you… but was he offering to share because ‘your soul was in distress’ or because he thought of you are a suitable human.

He did call you pretty human earlier.

So with a hellacious blush, you nod, thanking him for being so kind to you as he takes your sub back to the counter.

It is only mere minutes before the shockingly tall skeleton Monster is back with one more sub than he left with.

You could have done that; you could have easily just asked them to fix it.

But you knew deep down that you never would have.

“Here you are, pretty human,” The Monster’s smile shined with the sun coming in through the window, his braces creating a small sparkle that you would have never seen on anyone but a skeleton.

“Thank you, pretty Monster” you say back, realizing that you probably should have said handsome.

But he seemed unbothered, as a golden orange glow reflecting off his cheek bones. “Nyeheheh! Thank you!”

You and the tall Monster ate your sandwiches tossing back and forth chatter after he insisted you tell him what made your day so stressful on your poor soul.

It wasn’t until you were leaving the shop did you get the name and phone number of said skeleton Monster…

Papyrus, huh?

Your phone suddenly began to ring. Not wanting to get up, you roll onto your knees, patting your hand on the bed trying to find your phone without looking. Once you feel the cool surface of your phone in your hand you grab it, squinting at the bright screen.

Tsukki

After lowering your brightness, your heart thundered in your chest, what was he doing calling you so late at night? Your finger swiped across the screen answering the call.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks, and you mentally curse yourself, for not checking how your voice sounds.

“Hey y/n,”A moment of silence. “Are you alright?”

You clear your throat, trying to sound happier, more like yourself that the school knew you by, happy, confident y/n, the y/n that never got upset or angry about anything, the y/n that so many people seemed to think that she had everything together. You haven’t even noticed you started crying again.

“Y/N!” A shout came from the other end of the phone that you forgot you were holding.

“Um...Yeah?” Your voice cracks again, as you try to wipe your nose.

“I was talking to you,” He says.

“Tsukishima, I can’t do this anymore…” you cry into the phone

“I- Y/n are you okay?” He sounded concerned, you’ve liked him for such a long time, never wanted to tell him how you felt because you were ashamed of yourself, that if he knew about you on the inside, he’d never want to be with you.

Shaking your head a few times to clear your thoughts, you soon realized that the call had ended. Dropping your arm to the side you began to cry again, you didn’t like this feeling, trapped in your own emotions and how others seem to be outstanding people, getting praised and excited over. While your mother is pressuring you to be the best when you are trying your best.

A hard knock comes on your door, you're wondering who it could be, you got up, knees aching from being bent for so long. You wobble over to the door, turning the knob, and there stands the golden boy in glasses. You’re confused as to why he’s here.

He comes into your room without a word, you’re silent as you close the door, walking over, and sitting down in the same spot you were in before. Him going to sit beside you. It’s just silent between the two of you, your mind coursing through with different thoughts about why he’s here and-

“Y/n I think you’re beautiful,” He says quietly, and you’re not sure if you really heard what just came out his mouth.

“Tsuk-,” You say, but you are cut off to a pair of soft lips touching yours.

Your eyes flutter shut as you kiss him back, you wanted this for so long and you were finally getting it.

Normally Tsukki wouldn’t do such things, but he’s seen you before, and how you act, once he got a closer look at you he knew that there was something going on inside. He wanted to touch you, hold you and tell you that everything’s gonna be okay as long as he’s there.

He pulled you into his arms, cradling you to his chest, your sobbing again blubbering to him about everything you feel, all the while listening to the sweet sound of his voice, murmuring things into your ear.

If he can see the real beauty in you, isn’t it worth fighting for?