#sensitivecontent

Yes, you’re right! These two does not have any romantic interactions… I wouldn’t say yet due to the rollercoaster they both witnessed.

( context: Echofell Frisk apparently has patience as their soul instead of determination in this AU)

Echofell G, first met his Frisk when Frisk was apparently kidnapped and.. Some bad people have done bad things to them.

G had encountered Frisk in an abandoned ally when G was running away from the cops, why was he running away? Because G had stolen the most rarest soul from a lab.. Determination.

When G saw Frisk’s situation and condition, he planned to continue running but the bad men decided to came up G anyways..

While G was beating the bad men! The duffle bag he was carrying, a container fell from it, and it was the soul that has determination! Frisk was in.. A very bad state, they were mostly beaten to a pulp! So frisk reached for the soul and somehow merged with it!

G didn’t have time to retrieve the soul after beating up the men, he heard police sirens anyways.. So he flee’d and snatched Frisk with him!

So their dynamic currently is… just frenemies? G is a hard headed dude, Frisk is a pacifist and deals with G’s shit for a certain amount of time.

But deep down.. Frisk couldn’t talk back nor do anything to G because he was the one that saved them from that traumatic situation where they first met.

skin isn’t perfect in its appearance— stretch marks lining certain places, small bumps and dents formed naturally, uneven in color; these are the things that make skin normal, even the leftover renewed tissue from a fall or scrape you had in your childhood. 

skin was never meant to endure anything else you put it through; it wasn’t supposed to take on all of your pain and anger, never meant to be the blank paper to paint pretty red lines all over its surface. skin was there to protect you from harm, so why did you feel the need to inflict upon it yourself?

sadness, emptiness, fury or frustration— none of these should have ever led you to leave rows and rows of faded white lines on your precious skin, but it was too late. too late to pull the blade back, too late to keep yourself from falling addicted into the bliss of relief with each stroke of the glinting instrument.

you’re seated on the floor of your bedroom with a knee propped up to rest your arm on, leaning your back against the cool surface of the wall. your eyes scan over each of the traces left behind from your fit of rage years ago, reminiscing over the dreary times. the lines had faded, though the sheen over the scars are still there, reflecting a little light when hit in the right angle. the subtle shift in texture on your arm was still noticeable when you traced a line from the beginning of your wrist till your elbow with your finger.

everything was okay now.

the hopeless times were over and you’d pulled through with the help the wonderful people in your life had given you— no more uncontrollable urges that make your skin crawl anymore. everything was okay now, something your younger self hadn’t ever believed would be possible some day.

everything was not okay.

the reminders of your past haunting you each time you remember what certain lines on your skin represented— you feel as though you’ve tainted your body, disgust seizing up your body each time you see them up close. no matter how many times you’d tried to look at them in a different light, they would never be able to seem like anything more than ugly scars.

“they’re beautiful.” he’d told you before.

the first time you’d revealed them to lee heeseung was also the first time you’d ever heard those two words about the lines on your skin. he’d frozen in his place, eyes glossing over as he’d asked if he could look at them closer, hovering his fingers over each one. with eyes looking at you sadder than you’d ever felt yourself being, he’d told you that they were beautiful.

“they show how much you’ve fought: hard and long to get to where you are right now.” heeseung had voiced to you, keeping a slight tremble in his tone as he’d pressed a loving kiss on your temple, pulling you into a hug that had made you feel more cared for than anyone else had ever made you feel.

some jagged and uneven, some precise and clean— the scars were not pretty to look at, but the meaning they held for heeseung was overwhelmingly significant.

“thank you,” he’d repeated for more times than you can remember, trying to muffle his already silent cries by burying his face in the crook of your neck, “for being here now. i’m so, so proud of you.”

they’re beautiful, he’d asserted to you, not because they’re pretty, but because they show how much you’ve been through and have overcome.

looking at your arms now, you think about lee heeseung with his kind eyes and looking at the discolored thin figures, you think about lee heeseung again and about his genuine words. maybe someday, you would be looking at your scars and believe with your entire chest that they were as beautiful as lee heeseung made their essence to be.

he’d kissed you so softly and gently while keeping you tight and safe in his arms, making you believe that one day you’d finally be able to love yourself, perhaps more so than he did.