Viri!

You awake to a buzzing in your head, a stabbing in your eye, and a flash of light from outside. Thunder booms, rattling you to your bones. Your heart beats violently in your chest as you sit up and tilt your head up to the glowing stars on your ceiling to catch your breath.

The rest of your room is dark and silent, save for the hammering of rain outside and the steady, quiet breathing from across the room, Frisk’s. Another flash fills your vision, momentarily illuminating the room before casting it into shadow again, and another crash of thunder follows – barely two seconds after, you note. As your pulse returns to normal, you notice the prickly yet comfortable chill in the air. As the panic ebbs from your body, you find yourself alone in the dark.

Reflexively, you bring your hand up to your left eye, only to wince in pain as your fingertips brush the petals clustered there. Right, right. You’d forgotten. You groan and wrap your arms – also speckled with little clusters of golden petals – around yourself. Another nightmare, you conclude. By some stroke of luck, none of the details stuck with you, but you can still feel the darkness and the fear in the corners of your consciousness, lingering with all the allure of a memory just out of your reach. Perhaps if you weren’t so used to this routine already you could find it within yourself to be frustrated, but right now you just feel tired. You know you won’t be getting back to sleep tonight, though. You never do after a nightmare.

Part of you wants to go to Mom – she could offer you a hug and some comforting words, which you could really use right now – and another part of you wants to wake up Frisk – they’d understand – but the part of you that wins out is the one that doesn’t want to be a burden. So you stay curled up on your bed and listen to the rain instead.

The drops on the window are so thick and so numerous that they all just coalesce and run down the glass in a single, constant stream. You keep trying to single out a couple to watch them race, but none of them last long before melding with the rest of the raindrops. The water distorts your view of the backyard; it’s a sorry sight, all mud and leaves.

The weather has been like this nonstop lately. It feels like the dark clouds are here to stay, permanently, like this is your new reality and you have no choice but to get used to it. You don’t mind it, really. You’ve always liked the rain. Besides, having a body of your own again means you’re sensitive to things like the sun and the heat, and you absolutely hate it, to say the least. The sun can stay hidden for as long as it desires. But you can tell it bothers Frisk a lot. You can always tell when something is bothering Frisk; after sharing a soul with them for so long, there’s very little they can hide from you. Staying cooped up at home isn’t their speed at all – they’d rather be out exploring or playing with their friends – but there isn’t much that can be done with all this rain. Unlike you, they thrive in warm and happy places, and this bleak weather has been weighing them down like a sack of boulders.

That’s the thing about Frisk. Everything about them exudes warmth, really. Their selflessness, their optimism, their smile… They really are the “sunshine child”, aren’t they? They’re the kid who could show mercy to a kingdom full of monsters trying to steal their soul. They’re the kid who could stay determined through it all, so much so that not even death could stop them. You feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, tinged with bitterness. They’re the kid who broke the barrier, and they’re the kid who saved monsterkind. They were able to do what you failed to do, and then they found a way to bring you back, too, just to tie everything up with a pretty, perfect little bow. Because “everyone deserves a second chance”, as they say.

It makes you want to laugh.

…

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself instead.

At first it bothered you, the way they’re so much better than you, that they succeed in absolutely every area you fail. It was certainly…painful, to watch them clean up all your mistakes so easily, to see how perfect they were, in everything they did. But eventually you realized that they definitely weren’t perfect, actually. They were just a lot better at acting as if they were. In some ways, the two of you are like two sides of the same coin, and with time, you’ve grown to love that. Haven’t you? They even out your rough edges. They keep you grounded and stop you from doing stupid things. And in return, you’re their voice of reason, a loyal friend who will listen and won’t hold back an honest opinion. Not to mention a practically limitless source of information who will gladly (and proudly) help them with their homework.

The fact that they tolerate your near-constant presence at all confuses you, but…you’re glad they do. What would you do without them? Honestly?You glance over at them, snuggled up in the covers on their bed across the room. You don’t even want to think about what you’d do. You surely couldn’t handle living again, or the complications that come along with doing so, or just being here, without them. It was their idea to try to help you get a body of your own again, but of course you’d agreed, because you had been sure you’d intruded on their life enough already. They’d followed through with it, too, all the way to the end, despite all the moments when it seemed impossible.

The pattering of the rain continues steadily in your ears as you reminisce. They had stayed right there by your side when you stepped into the sunlight on your own two feet for the first time in so long. They sat there at the top of the mountain with you for what felt like hours while you took everything in, felt the sun on your skin and the blades of grass between your fingers, and they waited until you felt ready to see everyone else again. They held your hand when you saw your parents, when Mom and Dad could finally see you standing right there in front of them, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to push all the words you wanted to say past the lump in your throat. They didn’t complain when your grip became so tight you worried you might break their fragile fingers. They know how hard all of this is for you, and they don’t mind spending time with you when you don’t want to be alone. They feel more important to you than the heart in your chest that shouldn’t even be able to beat anymore.

They understand you in a way no one else does, in a way you doubt anyone else ever could. You wish there was a way to tell them just how much they mean to you, but you know by the time all those feelings are condensed into words they become nearly meaningless anyway. It almost makes you wish you still shared a soul with them, so they could understand your feelings just as clearly as you could understand theirs, but something tells you they already understand, to some extent. You hope so.

You groan and pull your blanket over your head, as if you’re trying to quiet your thoughts with it. Even with the rain, it’s too quiet. And your thoughts are too loud, like a bunch of buzzing bumble bees that could sting at any moment. You don’t want to be awake right now. You don’t really want to be asleep, either. You need to leave your room.

Sneaking another glance at Frisk’s side of the room to make sure they’re still asleep, you slip out of your bed and pad to the door as quietly as you can. Of course your blanket is still wrapped around you. For comfort. The door doesn’t creak very much, luckily. You know how inconsistent it can be. You’re cautious as you shut it behind you.

The hallway seems to swallow you up tonight. You can still hear the rain, but it sounds more distant in this part of the house, and everything looks like a shadow in the darkness that your eye is slowly adjusting to. You ignore it and make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe you could make yourself some hot chocolate, make the best of being awake against your will. You think there were some packets in the cabinet.

Gentle, dim light streams in through the kitchen window. As you make your way to the cupboard to grab a mug, you’re overwhelmed with a sense of peace and tranquility. You feel it in every part of you. There really is nothing to compare with the feeling of being alone in the middle of the night, with the sound of rain enveloping you. You’re glad that none of the bedrooms in this house are very close to the kitchen, because the microwave can be a little loud. You lean against the counter as the mug spins round and round inside of it, humming away.

You have a better view of the backyard down here. There isn’t much to be seen in the middle of the night with all this pouring rain, but your house backs onto a peaceful forest that you and Frisk have explored many times. There’s a small creek a little ways in – you’re sure it must be overflowing by now – and a huge, fallen tree with clusters of mushrooms growing from it in various places. It must have kept watch over the forest for well over one hundred years before meeting its inevitable fate, certainly the oldest tree in your backyard. It must have been around since before you climbed Mount Ebott even. The first time you and Frisk came across it, you picked up a few flowers laying nearby and set them on the rotting log, and the two of you held a little mock funeral for it. You felt somewhat bad about, ironically, outliving it, which must sound strange, but Frisk understands.

With all this rain, the flowers must be long gone by now.

The lightning and thunder are almost simultaneous now. You jump a little as the kitchen is flooded with light, and in that moment, the microwave starts beeping. Shoot. You rush to open the door and take the mug out and almost burn your fingers in the process. You must’ve gotten too lost in thought.

Setting the mug on the table, you pour in the hot chocolate powder and begin to stir. The spoon makes a little ting! each time it hits the side of the mug. You try to direct your thoughts in a less dangerous direction, more towards thinking of the future rather than reflecting on the past. What are you going to do tomorrow? (Or, well, later today. A quick glance at the microwave’s little digital clock tells you it is past midnight.) Maybe you could read a book, or work on your most recent knitting project. Even if the rain did let up eventually, it would be too wet and muddy to do much outdoors.

The hot chocolate is still very hot, but you brave a sip anyway, because of course you do. Bad idea. Now your mouth is on fire. You squint your eye in disappointment.

Hopefully Dad’s garden is still salvageable after all of this. You know how much effort he puts into maintaining it, and you enjoy helping out with it whenever you visit. You would hate to see all that hard work go to waste, and just when it was finally getting somewhere, too.

It always felt weird, when you thought about it for too long. You used to garden with Dad when you lived in the underground, too. You used to drink tea with him in the living room and have long talks, just like you do now. You used to sit and read with Mom, and knit sweaters in your room when you had nothing better to do. Sometimes it was as if nothing had changed, and you didn’t always know how to feel about that, because eventually, your mind would bring up everything that had changed. And that was a slippery slope of drudging up memories you would much rather leave buried.

You blow on your hot chocolate a bit and take another sip. Luckily, it doesn’t burn off what few taste buds you have left this time. It tastes like warmth and bittersweet memories and home. You feel the slightest tug on your heart and close your eye.

Mount Ebott isn’t visible from the kitchen window, but you picture it in your mind anyway, shrouded in dark clouds and pouring rain, looming in the distance against a dark sky. You don’t have to try very hard; it’s a familiar image. You were ten years old, and your world was hell. It was a mountain, and it promised an escape. You could think of no greater force between two pieces of the universe.

At first, you had been disappointed when you woke up after the fall. But then Asriel found you, and the world didn’t seem quite so dark anymore.

You never deserved him. You knew that then, and you know that now. You…don’t want to think about him. You can feel guilt creeping in like thorns in your skin. Like the golden flowers that rooted themselves in your reanimated body, sharp and painful when you pull on them. You don’t want to think about him…

You hate being around Flowey. You wish you understood him, but you don’t. Time had created a rift between the two of you that not even the abilities of reality-bending determination could fix. It was hard to see him as the same person sometimes. It was harder not to feel guilty when you did. Even Flowey said so himself: Asriel died in that throne room years ago, and he was never coming back.

Your face feels wet and it’s not because of the rain. You let out a deep breath and take another sip of your hot chocolate. You wish you could just get over this – it’s certainly been long enough – but the past still infects your mind like weeds. Ironic, is it not? Ha.

But, no. Despite it all, you could still hear his voice in your head. Soft, as he asks, “Chara, can you tell me about the surface?” You can see the stars in his eyes as you tell him of the ones in the sky. You can feel his head on your shoulder as he yawns, his hands holding onto yours as he tells you you’re not a bad person. You can hear his shuddering breaths as he sits beside your bed and you can feel his fear as if it were your own and you feel a bullet through your- his- chest and-

A boom of thunder that you can feel at your very core startles you from your thoughts and before you know it, your mug has tumbled from your hands and collided with the floor in a manner that is far from quiet. The ensuing silence, however, is deafening.

You don’t even react to it right away. You just stand there and stare at the mess of shattered porcelain and hot chocolate on the floor with a blank expression on your face. You think, This might as well be a metaphor for my life. And then you make a move to clean it up.

Your hands are so shaky as you pick up the shards and there’s a well of frenzied energy building up in your throat. You kind of want to scream. The rain is still hammering against the earth outside. You think about how much Asriel would have liked thunderstorms.

…

You don’t notice the presence of another person in the room until Frisk’s avocado socks suddenly appear in your line of sight. You startle – again, embarrassingly enough – and look up, and sure enough, Frisk is looking at you with an expression of concern on their face.

“You okay?” they whisper. Their curly hair is sticking up all over the place, and they look about as tired as you feel. Immediately, you feel extremely guilty.

You nod. “It just slipped out of my hand... I’m sorry for waking you up.”

They shake their head as they kneel down to help you pick up the remains of the mug. “It was kinda hard to sleep with all the thunder anyways. Why’re you up?”

“Mm…” You hesitate. “Nightmare.” You’d almost forgotten that was why you were awake right now in the first place.

“You wanna talk about it?” they ask, glancing at you as they drop the shards into the trash.

“No, I don’t remember it. It was just hard to go back to sleep afterward.”

“Oh. Okay.”

For a minute, they quietly watch you clean up the hot chocolate with a wad of paper towels, fidgeting with their hands. Your eye is carefully trained on the ground, but you can practically feel them trying to think of something else to say.

“You should go back to bed. I will be alright on my own,” you say, knowing they don’t want to leave you alone right now, because they can probably sense your obvious agitation, can’t they? You don’t want them losing sleep for your sake, though. They’ve done that enough already.

Instead of responding, they grab a chair from the kitchen table and turn it around so that it’s facing the window, sitting down next to you with their knees curled up to their chest and their head resting on their crossed arms. They look at you expectantly.

You sigh and roll your eye but scoot your own chair next to them anyway. “You’ll be tired tomorrow,” you warn them as you get comfortable on the chair and bring your legs into a cross-legged position. “Then we will both be tired and grumpy. Is that what you want?”

They shake their head sharply and scrunch up their face. “Whatever!” They tug on the blanket you still have draped around your shoulders, so you slip it off and pass them one of the corners so the two of you can share. They smile and immediately drop their head onto your shoulder, leaning into you. You hesitate for a moment, but then you lean your head on theirs, too.

“I am more upset than I should be about that hot chocolate.” The sound of the rain fills the empty space between your voices. It almost sounds like it has calmed down a bit, but it’s still pattering away.

“Sorry,” they say.

You laugh. “It’s not your fault.”

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you don’t need words when it’s just the two of you together. Just being there is enough. The fact that they’re there with you at all immediately makes you feel a little less on edge. It makes the rain seem even more peaceful somehow, now that you get to share it with someone. A flash of lightning illuminates the room, and moments later, the low rumble of thunder follows. It’s nice.

The distant tick of the clock in the living room keeps the time, and you almost think Frisk has fallen asleep with how quiet they’re being, but then their voice breaks the silence. “You’re sure you’re okay, though. Like, really okay?” It catches you off guard.

You open your mouth to reply but find that the words get stuck. Oh. You are okay… You are. But the way they said it makes you aware of a pressure behind your eye, and you think you’re about to cry again. You’re able to mutter out a small “I-”, but nothing else comes out.

Frisk doesn’t say anything, either. You get the impression that they’re waiting for something, and for a moment that makes a frustration build inside you, because you can’t give them what they want, you already told them you don’t want to talk about it, no matter how hard you try you’re never going to get better at letting yourself feel things like they want you to- And now you’re even mad at yourself for getting frustrated with them. You don’t want to be like this. You don’t even…

“I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be here,” you finally say. Your voice sounds small.

Hm. You thought you had gotten over this, too.

“I know,” Frisk says. And of course they do. Of course they do. You can’t tell whether that’s comforting to know or not, but…it encourages you to continue.

“I’m…tired of feeling that way.”

Frisk reaches over to hold your hand.

“I have been for a long time. I thought… I was stupid enough to think killing myself was the answer-” You choke out a laugh, but it might have been a sob. You can’t even tell. “I get to help my family, and in return, I am granted the sweet release of death. Two birds with one stone, right?” Laughter bubbles in your throat and it’s a mess as it escapes you. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t stop yourself. You think Frisk is hugging you – you can feel their arms around your shoulders – but your eye is closed and all you can think about is the bitter taste of buttercups.

“A lot of good that did, huh? I literally could not have failed harder if I’d tried.”

The flowers growing in the socket of your left eye sting. Saying all of this out loud makes you feel sick, but for some reason, right now, you feel like you have to get it out of you.

“My brother is dead, and somehow, I am still here. And I still feel the same! Ha ha! If anything it’s only gotten worse! I should be dead, what, twice over? Thrice? And that’s not even counting all the times we- you died, with all the Resets. Do those even count? Does it even matter…?”

Your awareness slowly slips back into the present moment as you wrap your arms around Frisk. Their presence makes you feel steady, grounded, as it always does, and you subconsciously clutch fistfuls of their sweater in your hands.

“Sometimes all of this just feels like a sick joke. I don’t know. Like…maybe one day, I’ll wake up back… back then, and none of it will have even been…real. Or maybe I won’t wake up at all, ha…”

And maybe that would be for the best.

“I do not deserve any of this…”

Frisk says, “I love you, Chara”, and nothing more.

And somehow, it is enough. You take a breath; it kind of stings your raw throat. “I love you too, Frisk.”

You think about how lucky you are to have them, at the very least.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I think you’re s’posed to be here.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage right now. Because truly, you mean it when you say, what would you do without them? For a moment, you pause and try to soak everything in. You can’t tell whether you feel empty or…relieved. Both, probably. There’s a little bit of guilt there too as you catch a peek of morning sunlight reflected on the kitchen floor. The two of you must have been here for a while…

Finally you pull away from the hug and rub at your eye with the heel of your palm. “Jeez, I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Frisk replies with laughter in their voice. “Whoops.”

You didn’t even realize, but outside, the rain has almost stopped, reduced to nothing more than a slight drizzle. You stretch a little as you stand up from your chair and walk over to the back door, which is on the other side of the room and glass so you can see right outside. It’s very cloudy, but there’s a little bit of light shining over the horizon.

“Oh. It’s kinda stopped raining,” Frisk says as they meet you by the door.

“You wanna go out there?”

“In my socks?” Their voice cracks with disbelief on the last word and you laugh.

“Just for a minute. I need some fresh air.”

Frisk sighs loud and dramatically as they sit on the ground to take their socks off. You open the door – cautiously, as Mom is still asleep and you know this one has a habit of squeaking – and are immediately greeted by a wave of cool air. The comforting smell of rain envelopes you. It’s called petrichor, if you remember correctly, and it’s actually the smell of the soil as it becomes moist, rather than the rain itself. Interesting.

“Ready!” Frisk hops up and bounces on their toes.

You hold the screen door open for them, and the two of you slip outside. Luckily, there’s a little wooden porch here so you don’t have to be standing in the mud, but even the porch is a little wet and slippery. It doesn't have a roof or a cover or anything, so the little sprinkles of rain pitter patter on the top of your head and tickle your cheeks and forehead as you tilt your face to the sky. Frisk is giggling to themself as they splash around in the puddles beside you.

You feel vulnerable. You feel free. You feel terrified… But you feel safe. You think to yourself, this is what it means to be alive. To feel raindrops on your skin, to splash in puddles with your sibling, to feel the relief that comes after crying and to wait for the sunrise. And you wish this was something you could understand all the time, something you could always keep in mind when your thoughts start drifting in dark directions again. It’s so easy to forget how beautiful the world can be sometimes, when you’re always stuck in the shadows. Sometimes you need someone to remind you of why you’re here.