Chapter Text
“I can’t believe you, I can’t believe you!”
You duck out of the way of a couch pillow aimed at your head, nearly losing the stack of books in your arms. “Oh hey Liam, didn’t hear you guys come in.”
Liam, standing in your living room with a tangible feral energy, glares as you continue down the hallway from your room and carefully place your book stack on the ground by Tyler. Ty seems more interested in leafing through your books rather than actually packing them.
“I hate you so much! Mettaton , Shore! It’s Mettaton! And you just…just hung out with him?!” Liam grabs your shoulders, shaking you wildly. “What the fuck ?!”
You grin unabashedly. “Look, it was a surprise for me too. He’s friends with Alphys and heard about everything going on and decided to be my mentor for a day. I couldn’t exactly ask if you guys could tag along too. Would’ve if I could’ve.”
He wails, draping himself over Faith, who gives him a consoling pat, leading him to the small dining table. “All right, all right, eat your pizza before you blow a fuse.”
“I got your favorite?” you pipe in helpfully, grabbing the box and holding it out to him. Pineapple and ham, which also happens to be your favorite. You grab a slice before Liam takes the box and busies himself with drowning his misery in pizza sauce.
Ty looks up from the art book from your favorite video game and wrinkles his nose. “Heathens.”
“Uncultured.” You take a massive bite in his direction.
It’s been a while since the four of you have had a chance to just hang out together like this outside of dance practice. That combined with the bombardment both from Faith demanding full explanations about what’s been going on since the funeral and Liam losing his utter mind over your Mettaton hangout prompted you to give the promise of pizza and answers if they came over and helped you with packing up your apartment.
It’s been two days since the outing with Mettaton. Despite Grillby saying he was ready for the Soul sharing stuff, he did ask for another few days to actually prepare. In the meantime though, he had also begun clearing spaces for your things so that you could actually start moving in. There’s no rush, given that your lease isn’t up for another few months but no point in waiting around until then.
Besides, it’s not like you’ve got work to keep yourself busy at the moment. At least no one unsavory has shown up to your place, though that might be the rotating guard that takes shifts throughout the day. Gave your elderly neighbor a right scare to find a massive armored dog sniffing through her near jungle of plants just yesterday.
Faith doesn’t touch any of the pizza. Instead, she watches you with narrowed eyes as you grab a slice for Tyler (pepperoni) and shoo him away from your books before handing it over. Finally, she speaks up. “So. A lot’s happened, huh?”
“...Yeah.”
She crosses her arms. Motions by flicking her fingers. “I know about the bullshit your dad did. But start at the funeral for these guys.”
“Right.”
The funeral is where you start. It’s easier now, after having to go over it again and again and…well it’s weird. The pain is still there but now you can’t help but view it as more of the injustice that it actually is. There’s not as much guilt.
Suppose you’ve got Grillby and the other monsters to thank for that.
Ty and Liam stare with open shock as you go over what happened with your dad. Faith joins them once you start in on the deal Asgore made, the reason for the bodyguard posted outside your door and the subsequent mob at your job, the forced participation in the study done by the mage program dudes (come to think of it, what the heck is the program even called?) and the outing with Mettaton.
The reveal about Gerson and the other missing monsters sits heavy on your tongue…but Undyne told you not to say anything. But these are your teammates, your friends . You trust them. But this is more than just a bit of gossip, this is literal murder-
Silence falls while your internal struggle takes a tumble into your gut where it sits heavy and uncomfortable.
“...Holy shit,” Tyler finally says, a tad faintly.
You can’t help it. You laugh. “That sums it up, yeah. And here I thought the start of summer was nuts.”
Faith leans forward in her chair. “Are you okay? Like really okay? This is an insane amount of… insanity to be dealing with.”
The quick assurance rises on your tongue, but you stop yourself from simply shying away from the concern. That’s what’s led to so many of these problems in the first place. “I…I wasn’t. For a while there. I mean, it’s bad enough to lose a family member you care about and deal with ‘normal’ family drama. But absolutely nothing is normal for me anymore. I’m trying to not just wallow in self pity, you know?” You look at Liam. “Mettaton told me that sitting around moping isn’t going to change what’s happened. I’ve got to keep looking ahead, moving forward and all that. So that’s what I’m doing.”
The three of them look at each other, and you know them well enough to recognize that they don’t quite believe you.
“Hey, c’mon guys,” you say brightly, standing so you can nab another piece of pizza. “Let’s not forget that I also have an amazing monster partner and I’m learning actual magic from the king of monsterkind himself. Even with all the weirdness, I’d say my life is pretty freaking awesome. Not to mention I’ve got the best dance team in the world and now we've got even more time to practice and speaking of, Tyyyy?” you drawl out, turning to him. “How long have you known about the ball and all that?”
“Uh…well.” Tyler has the decency to look sheepish as his fingers drum over the book in his hands. “Not that much longer than you guys. Maybe a week.”
“ I see.”
He grimaces. Pauses for a moment. When he next speaks, his words are a bit strained. “You know, maybe this is a sign that maybe we should just-” He breaks off into a violent cough, hand flying up to his shoulder.
“Hey, dude, you okay?” Liam is quick to get up, poised to slap his back, but Tyler waves him off.
“I'm fine,” he mutters, rubbing at his shoulder. “Just choking on my own spit.”
He's gone white, so you grab him a glass of water. “Careful, we don't want to lose you before the final audition yeah?”
He laughs dryly.
You make sure he's recovered before you give him a gentle pat on the arm. “Now, what were you saying?”
He gives you a weak smile. “Just that…we need to make the most of the extra time we have left.”
The silence is tense after that. Liam breaks it by giving Ty a light punch on the shoulder. “Just because our lives have turned into some kind of RPG thing doesn't mean you gotta talk like a doomed hero dude. Now let’s eat, finish up and maybe we’ll have time for a few hours of practice before bed huh?”
Groans all around from everyone, including you. Things ease back into light hearted laughter and teasing but a pit continues to sit heavy in your stomach. Faith notices of course. She always does. When you busy yourself in the kitchen sorting out which dishes to keep, she comes over and bumps her hip against yours.
You give her a weak smile.
“You’ve got something else on your mind.” She reaches over to grab a mug and the bubble wrap. “Don’t lie.”
“...yeah.”
“And?”
You can’t look at her. “I can’t.”
Faith scoffs lightly. “Sure you can, just gotta say the words-”
“No, Faith I mean.” You take a deep breath, glancing at the boys arguing over the writing of a popular zombie game sequel. “It’s bad , bad shit. Bigger than me bad and I’ve been told very explicitly not to talk about it.”
She frowns at that. “Oh. Oh shit.”
“As soon as I can, I will. I promise.”
She gives you one of her signature stares, the kind where you can almost see lightning flickering in her eyes. “Okay. Hopefully it gets all sorted soon?”
You laugh dryly. “Yeah. Yeah I hope so.”
~~~~~~
You flop on Grillby’s couch with a groan. Four hours of dance practice was killer, especially after taking the time off you did. Muscle memory is a liar .
Grillby kneels down, untying your shoes and slipping them off your feet. He’s dressed in a black sleeveless turtleneck and you find you very, very much like the look on him thank you very much. “Hard practice?”
You wiggle your hand back and forth. “Hard in that if you go a couple of days not dancing, it takes a bit for the gears to get going again. A good sort of hard. Painful. But good pain.”
He snorts at that, removing your socks before he kneads gently against the arch of your foot. It’s a spot where pain likes to linger. The heat of his hand is heavenly. “Do you need a shower?”
“You calling me stinky or something?”
“Maybe.”
“Rude.” You wiggle your toes. “I showered there, felt too gross not to.”
“Ah, that’s what it is.”
“What?”
Releasing your foot, he takes your hand, stretches your arm out, and sniffs at your skin. “Not your usual soap.”
He noticed that? “I had to borrow Faith’s,” you say, grinning a little when he starts rubbing his cheek against your arm. Like a cat rubbing its scent onto its favorite person. “It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s not yours,” he murmurs. He’s moved his way up, wrapping his arms up around your waist and laying his head on your lap. You run your fingers through the top of his flames.
“You’re being particularly clingy,” you note.
“Hmm.”
Warmth dances over your fingers. Each flame moves languidly but…there’s something else there. A deep breath, a directing thought to your magic and the feeling clears in your mind. Not nerves…not exactly, but somewhere in that field. Anticipation. Resolve.
He’s ready.
“Oh.” You pause in your stroking. “Is it time?”
He lifts his head. Rubs his thumbs over the small of your back. Now his flames are picking up speed, flicking back and forth. “Only if you are ready too,” he says, his calm voice stark contrast against the flare of excitement that brightens his colors.
Oh shit! You wiggle a bit to sit up. “Yeah! Yeah, of course!”
His smile spreads wide, gleeful.
“Should I have dressed up?” You pluck at your faded band tee. “Or is this a ‘get nakey’ sort of activity?”
Grillby snickers. “It can be, but not this time I think.”
“No?”
He shakes his head, releasing his koala grip on you to take your hands. “I was looking into as much as I could find about Soul sharing. That’s why I asked for a little more time,” he says softly. “I didn’t know what to expect when this happens with a human Soul. I still don’t, not really. Shockingly , there is very little in terms of textbooks focused on monster and human Soul intimacy.” He rolls his eyes before he grimaces, going slightly blue. “I finally tried asking Toriel.”
Oh that must have been an amazing thing. You can just picture him blue in the face and stuttering like a teenager asking a parent about puberty. “Aw, you embarrassed yourself for me?”
“Better her than Asgore.”
You take a moment to imagine that conversation. Ugh, full body cringe. “Fair point. What did she say?”
“It wasn’t much help, unfortunately. Said it’s been too long that anything she might have known before the war is long forgotten. Mostly she just gave me a lot of very…direct warnings about being careful.” He flickers a scowl. “As if I need to be reminded.”
You give him a gentle bop with your fist. “I’m not a fragile little flower.”
He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Sorry, I know you aren’t. It’s just that humans don’t…this sort of thing…” He takes a deep breath. “It is important that you understand fully what this means. Without the distraction of ‘getting nakey’.”
It’s serious time then. You fold your legs up, squeezing Grillby’s hands reassuringly. “Okay. Tell me then, like it’s the first time I’ve even heard about this.”
He nods. Nods again. Then, like reciting words from a book, he says, “To share a Soul is to share the most intimate part of ourselves. It is done in trust, in love and in confidence. To trust another with your Soul is to be seen at our most vulnerable.” He softens. “You remember what happened when you held mine.”
As if you could ever forget. Holding his Soul, feeling the downy soft surface under your fingertips, the way that his breath quickened. In that moment, you caught just the barest glimpse of the world beyond the flames. His emotions, his thoughts and…well. Him. For a brief moment, it was all made clear, like the fog had faded from a steamed up mirror.
So. Yeah. You recall how special that moment was.
You swallow, nod. “Yes.”
His colors dance in peachy hues. “It’s not an exact science. But opening those pathways allows insight into deeper emotions, intentions and thoughts. Sometimes memories.”
“Memories?”
He nods. “Experiences shape who we are. Those memories carve out patterns of our Soul. So opening that door can let them slip out. When Gaster and I shared our Souls, I saw moments from his childhood. The war. The joy and the sorrow and the horrors he had experienced. And he saw the same from me.”
Oh. That’s…you don’t know how to feel about that.
It must show on your face, because Grillby is quick to assure you, “It’s not involuntary. Whatever you wish to keep private will stay private.”
“I…well, I just…” You hesitate and grimace. “I wouldn’t want any of my bad memories to ruin anything.”
“Like what?”
Well…like the night Alex assaulted you and you caused his broken neck, or the hours spent alone as a kid with your fantasy books, listening for the front door to open so you could scramble to hide them. Or a number of other depressing things.
You put a grin on your face. “Oh you know, bad hair days, or me practicing my Oscar speech in front of the mirror. Embarrassing stuff like that.”
He sees right through you. “Shore, I will only see what you wish for me to see,” he says, shaking your clasped hands up and down gently. “And that’s if this works like it does for monsters. I don’t know if it will. The same will be true on my end. I trust you, and I want you to see the moments that are important to me. But can I be blamed for not wanting to show off my most shameful memories?”
“You can trust me with it!” you blurt out. Even as you say it, the understanding hits you. “Ah.”
A quick smirk flickers over his face. “I won’t think less of you for anything I may see, or anything you choose not to show me.”
He’s so kind. It somehow still catches you off guard sometimes. You lean forward, give him a soft kiss. “Thank you,” you whisper.
He chases after your kiss and oh, this is quite nice isn’t it? There may be some indulging that leads to Grillby pinning you back against the couch and kissing you senseless for a few minutes. You can’t say that you really mind and you most certainly can’t be faulted for encouraging him.
Far too soon for your liking, he pulls away. He’s flushed that delightful light blue color. “There is something else.”
A little lightheaded, a little breathless, you grin. “Should I be signing a contract or something?”
“This is important,” he chides, giving your nose a little boop.
“Mhm, I’m listening.”
“Are you?”
“I am! Pinky promise.” You hold up your pinky as evidence.
A head tilt. “Does the pinky make a difference?”
“Of course it does!” You wiggle your pinky until he offers his own and hook them together. You pump your hands up and down twice. “Means a super serious promise. Can’t be broken.”
He smiles in that way that he does when amused by some human bit of culture or another, a gentle wonder mixed with a touch of bemusement. “I see.”
“So, what’s this important thing I should know?”
He keeps your pinkies hooked together, his own hold squeezing gently. “Opening Souls like this to another creates a bond between them.”
Well that doesn’t surprise you. Even just surface level magic stuff has left its mark on you in ways you never thought possible. “I’m guessing you mean in a very literal sense.”
A nod. “What that means exactly is different for each monster. Some can always sense the other, some can use it as a way to tell what the other is feeling with a single tug on the bond. Magical energies can connect, even outside of an encounter or training.”
You give a little grin. “Well, don’t I kind of do that anyway?” You poke at your magic, letting it brush up against him. His flames shiver and you catch the sense of a mixture of various emotions that flash through him in a split second. Surprise, desire, scolding all melded together.
“Yes,” he says after a moment, clearing his throat. “That is not usual for monsters.”
“Mage thing I guess.”
“Perhaps. It might just be a ‘you’ thing.” He finally releases your pinky.
A thought occurs to you. “Is sharing Souls just a partner thing? It seems so intimate that I couldn’t imagine it being otherwise.”
Grillby squints for a moment, thinking. “It depends on context,” he says slowly. “It’s not exactly something that goes around being announced but it’s not unheard of for non-romantic partners to share Souls. Siblings sometimes will, usually twins. In that context, it’s not to build a bond for a partners, but rather to strengthen a platonic or familial bond that is already there.”
“So…kind of like trauma dumping to only the people you trust the very most.”
He sputters around a surprised laugh. “I suppose so. But it’s so much more than that.” He wiggles his hands a bit, as if he’s not sure how to fully explain it. He gives up after a few seconds, during which his flame pops and trembles like a cat’s tail. “Regardless of the specifics, it brings monsters closer together. Gaster and I…we….” He pauses and rubs at his chest. You don’t think he’s even aware that he’s doing it. “When he died, it was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. Our bond shattered. It almost took me with it.”
It’s impossible to miss the somber flickers of deep red that pass through his flames. You can’t even imagine that kind of pain, to lose someone bonded in such an intimate way. It brings to mind the fact that both of you have so stubbornly avoided even talking about; he will outlive you.
That is a fact.
If you do this, if you bond with him in such a way, he will eventually suffer that loss all over again. The sharp twist in your heart has you swallowing back a brief flash of heat behind your eyes. “Why would you be willing to…Grillby, that sort of pain, I’m not worth -”
“You are,” he says simply. Fiercely. His hand drops from his chest and the warmth returns to his color. “I am willing to endure whatever loss may come. Because I love you. Nothing more and nothing less than that.”
Your head ducks, eyes flicking away as a deep blush overtakes your face. To be trusted with this, for him to want this, even with the reality that it could cause him pain down the road….
It feels so good it hurts.
He must take your silence as hesitation because he angles his head to try and meet your eyes. He wilts a little. “We don’t have to do this right now,” he still assures you. “If you need time, o-or to think about it, that is perfectly fine.”
You shake your head. “No, no, I just…” You have to swallow and run your tongue over your teeth in a self soothing motion. Breathe deep, c’mon. You manage to pull back the overwhelming sensation of wanting to cry and lift your head. “I just can’t believe how lucky I am.”
His hands are already rising to cup your face before you even finish speaking. He swipes a thumb over your cheekbone. “Luck might have brought us together,” he whispers softly. “But it is our own choices that have led us to this moment. I am choosing this. I am choosing you .”
There’s an unspeakable, near unbearable wave of joy that threatens to spill out. Your eyes squint under the force of your smile. “I choose you too.”
His returning smile is just as wide and several times as bright. He taps his forehead to yours. “Are you ready?”
“ Yes .” It’s a near plea.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.” He smoothly shifts to join you on the couch, so you turn to face him. He sits cross legged and you mirror it as nerves tickle in your stomach. When he holds his hands out, palms up, you place your own on top of his. “We should start with just your Soul.” His eyes dart down to your chest and back up, so fast you almost miss it. “To let you experience what it’s like to have your Soul called outside of an encounter.”
Your eyebrows raise. With a grin you can’t quite help, you ask, “It’s not just the chance for you to ogle my Soul up close?”
Another blink and miss it glance down. “Maybe.”
“You’ve seen it before.”
“As I said; it’s all about context. Besides.” He leans in closer. “There is a vast difference between seeing it distantly and holding it in my hand. If you will allow me.”
“I suppose it’s only fair,” you say as lightly as you can. A struggle, given how rapidly your heart is smacking against your ribs. “Since I got to hold yours. Just…well. It got a little damaged after the whole thing with my dad-”
There’s an angry flash of white that lasts for just a moment. Then he simply sighs and squeezes your hands gently. “I figured as much. You know that I will not judge you for that, right?”
“Y-yeah, I just…wanted to warn you I guess.” You take a deep breath, shaking out the nerves with a wiggle of your shoulders. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Grillby nods. “If you want to stop, for any reason, you tell me immediately. That is my only condition before we do this. Whatever reason.”
“Got it. Same for you, okay?”
To that, he just nods again. Then, with a deep breath of his own, he releases one hand to raise it up, fingers extended as if waiting for your Soul to simply jump out of your chest and into his palm. It wants to. You can feel it like a heartbeat, swelling in your chest, eager to burst free. When Grillby’s fingers bend in a beckoning motion, there is no hesitation, no struggling against the call. Your Soul leaps out in that now familiar three beat stutter and your eyes are inescapably drawn to it.
As you feared, there are still some marks on the surface. But it’s not nearly as bad as it was before, when Alphys called it out in the lab to study it. The shimmering glow has returned and the once faded spots too hold a shine, though in a lighter tone than the rest of it. It's changed, but then again, so have you.
Grillby stares at your Soul with rapt attention. That rare hue of pink swirls like curling smoke through his fire. His hand, still outstretched, has shifted to a cupped hold, though there is still a few inches of space between your Soul and his palm. “There you are,” he whispers near reverently. “Stars, look at you.”
You flush in the same moment that your Soul flares with light. “I…don't know what to say,” you admit in the same hushed voice.
“You don't have to say anything.” Grillby tears his eyes away from your Soul to meet your eyes. “May I touch you?”
Throat dry, butterflies in your gut, you simply nod.
Grillby releases your hand so that both of his can rise up. He moves like one handling something unbearably precious, slow and precise. The moment that his fingers brush against the surface of your Soul, you jolt as an utterly alien sensation shocks through you. Trying to find words to understand it is near impossible. It's like suddenly becoming aware of an itch deep down inside of you, a feeling of something hidden away for your entire life standing in the light of day for the very first time. It is warmth, it is vulnerability, and the heat of Grillby's lightest touch warms you from the inside like a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a winter day. Goosebumps spring up over your arms and crawl up your spine. You gasp, unable to stop your body from shuddering. Every part of you is alight. Literally in the case of your eyes. You don't need to see them to know that they're shining violet with your magic.
Grillby has frozen, watching your expression closely. “Are you okay?”
You have to take a moment to gather your wits. “Yeah, I just. Wow. That's…different.”
“Good different?”
A moment to assess. It's strange. It's…it's so raw. Your Soul is so, so utterly fragile, when held in the hands of someone else. A quick squeeze, or a single motion could crush it, like the paper thin wings of a butterfly. Some deep instinct is demanding that you be scared, that you fight, this is dangerous.
But you're not in danger. You've never felt safer in your whole life.
“Yes,” you whisper. “It's good.”
He visibly relaxes. “Good.” With that, his hold on your Soul slowly shifts to something more solid and he gently draws it closer to him. It goes willingly, a magnet drawn to its matching partner. The violet hue paints purple over his flame, turning his color into that of a sunset. He's beautiful, he's otherworldly and he is staring at your Soul like he cannot believe that it is resting in his hands. A gentle swipe of his thumb and it preens under his touch. That deep place inside, that itch, reaches for more of his warmth. You find yourself leaning forward, following along because well, it's you isn't it? Your Soul is the core of your being and the more attention Grillby gives, the more it feels like your own physical body has shrunk down to be held in his hands. Every inch of you is warm, every cell of your being is washed in the terrifying and exhilarating vulnerability of being truly seen for the first time.
Grillby is utterly enraptured. You can see it in his eyes, the way they gleam with swirling golden joy and wonder. When he brings your Soul up to press a kiss to the surface, you can feel the spark of his magic that leaps from him to sink into it and in an instant you are no longer in gentle sunlight, you are in the blaze of a thousand spotlights, you are washed away by the smoke and the fire and the immeasurable depth of his adoration, of his love. Regardless of the faded spots, and the dim cracks that spiderweb over the surface, he cherishes you. Your breath is stolen away, you clutch at your chest as tears spring to your eyes.
It’s an automatic instinct to return this wonderful, overwhelming love. Your magic surges, your Soul shines brighter than you've ever seen it and Grillby too flares brightly as your own wave of emotion slams into him. It actually makes him physically reel a little, his eyes nearly round.
“O-oh,” is all he can manage, breathless and stunned.
That just about sums it up. If the connection between you two is already this strong with just your Soul, how much more insanely powerful will it be with both?
You're desperate to find out.
“Still okay?” he asks and his voice is a little croaky with emotion.
“Yup.” The word cracks midway through so badly that you can’t help but burst into giggles. “Oh lordy, that sure sounded assuring, huh?” you mutter, wiping at your eyes.
His flames pop, betraying his amusement. As if he can’t bear to look away from your Soul for more than a moment, he goes back to staring. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “So bright.”
You’re not one to usually self praise. Goodness knows you have enough trouble even accepting compliments. But he’s right. Your Soul is beautiful, even with the signs of your hurt that still cover the surface. It’s a living gem, it’s captured life in a glistening, faceted form. “It doesn’t seem real,” you still admit, your own gaze caught in the shifting colors. There’s purple yes, but in brief flashes you see other colors. Green. Orange. Red. All of them merged into shimmering violet light. “It’s…it’s really me. That’s all of me, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” It’s a statement, one full of pride. “The very culmination of your being. Every memory, every emotion lives inside. Your life and your magic all start right here.” He gives it another kiss, prompting another rush of heady warmth. That smug little grin on his face tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, the jerk.
You can’t say you’re mad about it though. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
“Well that hardly seems fair,” you pout. “Why should my Soul get all the attention?”
Grillby pretends to think for a moment. “Because it is breathtakingly beautiful and I am quite content showering you with all the attention you desire?”
The initial urge to tease fades before it fully hits your mouth. There’s just something about having your literal Soul held in the hand of your lover that makes you a tad sentimental. “I want to see you too.” It’s a hushed whisper, nearly caught between the blush that heats your face.
His gaze softens from his own teasing grin. “Are you ready for that? I am truly content with this if you need more time.”
“I might actually cry if we don’t.”
Grillby, bless him, doesn’t laugh. He simply holds his hands out, returning your Soul to you. It hovers above your hand and oh, that’s so weird , it’s like an echo of your magic skimming the surface of your skin. It’s as familiar to you as your own face, yet somehow as strange and alien as a cryptid.
There’s no time to focus on it. Because Grillby is now clasping his hands in front of his chest and oh, oh there he is. Inverted, white, shining like the brightest star engulfed in otherworldly flame. Your memory didn’t do nearly enough justice. He’s breathtaking . Oh you just want to cry, he’s so beautiful!
Your Soul shines brighter, mirroring your joy. There’s an ache there, that sense of magnetism swelling to an overwhelming need to be as close to him as possible. You have to curl your fingers up to stop your Soul from simply leaping over to him.
“So, what now?” you ask breathlessly, both from nerves and the sensation of your Soul fluttering against the cage of your fingers. It tickles your insides.
His Soul answers for him; it darts forward and he's just able to snatch it back, cupping it gingerly in his hands. Light pulses between his fingers, white against embarrassed blue. “S-sorry.”
You let out a surprised laugh. This is just like that animated short you saw ages ago about two school boys and their hearts literally chasing after the other. “Got minds of their own, huh?”
“Something like that,” he says around a crackling chuckle.
Flame thrashes with building nerves, your own gut doing it’s best to rise up your throat. There’s uncertainty on both sides. The two of you are standing on a brand new, terrifying precipice. The very ground under you threatens to crack, to crumble away and send the both of you plummeting into unknown depths.
You’re scared. You want this so badly. You want to know , you want to see him and you want to be seen. All the scars and the nasty, filthy parts of you left to rot in the darkest part of your mind. The bright, shining moments that have carved out who you are, who you want to be. Your needs, his desires, your hopes, his dreams.
You want to see everything .
Your hands shake and your Soul warms.
He breathes in. Out.
You both release your Souls at the same moment.
It’s not a slow motion, building tension scene from a cheesy romance movie. There is barely time to even breathe for the speed at which your Souls crash into each other and in that single moment you are no longer simply you .
Thrashing, storming, burning, silently yelling. You are a typhoon and he is an explosion, the two energies caught in a magnetic storm of magic. You are pulled in, you are repelled, you are caught in the battle of opposite elements that cannot be together but cannot stand to be apart.
Is this supposed to happen?
No, no, this is not normal-
Should we stop?
What’s happening?
Thoughts fracture, stolen by the force of your energies fighting to join together. Stopped by something…something like a wall, like thick glass and it is bending, cracking, snapping but it does not break.
He is floundering. He’s so powerful, he’s so strong but under the raw force of your magic, he is but a candle caught in a crosswind. You knew human souls were stronger, you knew it and yet for the very first time do you understand what that means. His light shines unwavering, but the force of your innate, untethered magic swarms him like a tidal wave.
He’ll drown.
You reach for him, push past the maelstrom and shove a mental fist against the glass wall again, again and every time you hit it, you understand that this is not a wall from your clashing elements, it’s your wall, your last, stubborn hesitation and desire to hide away but no, you don’t want that! You want to be free of these last hesitations and secrets! You want to let go of it, so you punch and you slam against it until it shatters and-
You are exposed , you are raw and you are burning, you’re surrounded by fire and smoke and there is pain, yes but not the pain of burning. It is the pain of an open wound exposed to the air, it is the pain of a bruised bone, it is the pain of being laid utterly bare with the sky itself staring down at your naked form as you fall-
He is there to catch you.
There is-
CONNECTION .
The pain washes away in an instant. You are held, you are embraced, you are covered in warmth and love and magic and so completely wrapped in the sheer presence of him that you truly cannot tell where your energy starts and his begins. He is so filled with joy, it sings in every molecule or magic dust speck or whatever it is that makes up his being and it loops over and over again, bouncing off of your own growing wonder until there is nothing but this happiness, this feeling of simple rightness .
You were made for this.
A gasp deeper than anything you’ve felt before bursts from you as you rapidly blink, clearing your eyes from…oh. You’re crying. You hadn’t realized. Giant, Ghibli-esque tears roll down your face to plop from the edge of your jaw.
Concern, joy, love, worry, love, love.
The barrage of feelings comes not from you, but directly from Grillby. That’s so weird! Not exact thoughts or words but almost like an echo of the base emotions, announcing themselves in your head in a crystal clear but distant echo. It’s the strangest sensation.
Grillby laughs out loud, perhaps feeling your bewilderment in his own head and you gasp once again at the sight of him. His hands clasp yours, you weren’t aware that he’d physically done that. His face, his hands, his everything ripples with just about every color you’ve ever seen on him. You’re reminded instantly of the aurora borealis, of light dancing through the sky. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen and-
He’s crying too. Silently, smiling, but still crying.
“A-are you okay?” you croak, sniffling past your own waterworks.
Soft, love, gentle, relief. “Yes, I’m fine,” he says gently. “Are you?”
“I…yeah, I’m-I can hear…can you…?”
Fondness, love, laughter. “Yes, this is part of it.” The rainbow of his molten, swirling colors soars. He motions with his head. “Look.”
It’s a fight to tear your eyes away from him and away from the galaxy of colors and to the Souls hovering before you but once you do, oh, once your gaze falls down, you are once again caught in a sight more beautiful than you could’ve imagined.
Your Souls have joined together. Inlaid, with his upside down heart shape pressed against the surface of yours, the two of them spin slowly in the air. Your purple Soul has taken on flame-like quality, flickering and soft at the edges, the downy fluff of a bird. Grillby’s Soul is painted with the same array of color that dances through his flame. Somehow, impossibly, the light shining from him has grown even brighter. Together, they create a kaleidoscope that casts a pure rainbow over you, Grillby, everything.
Once again, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
“We did it,” you whisper, for the moment seems far too precious to break with more than the softest hush. “It worked.”
Grillby makes a sound then, an exhale that carries the release of something carried for a long time. “You let me in.” He takes a shaky breath and smiles so fiercely that it pushes more glowing, molten tears down his face. “Thank you.”
There are no words to encapsulate the swarm of emotions that fills every cell in your body. Luckily for you, words aren’t needed. He can See you, he can feel every spark of relief, of love, of guilt , you’re sorry that you hesitated, you want to hold him, you want to hide away your vulnerable insides, you’re scared, you’re so, so unbearably happy and you-
You are gently pulled into him and you no longer simply feel him, you are inside him. His mind, his thoughts, his everything . There is no heartbeat because he has no heart. Instead, you feel the pure power that courses through every inch of him. Fire. Magic. Every inhale stokes the flame, every exhale carries smoke and embers. You are enveloped in power, you are the fire and flame of stars and dust and the remains of a great phoenix.
You See him. He welcomes you. He wants to show you. A wave caresses you, pulls you in even deeper-
Your vision goes white.
Memories flash before you. Some hazy, dulled by time. Some as bright and clear as a movie on a massive screen. You witness his creation through his eyes, taste the salt of driftwood on your tongue, feel his confusion and his wonder as the crash of ancient waves beat a rhythm with the crackle of a young fire.
You take his first breath with him.
You see his friends. His family. Monsters you have heard stories of. Nin the mouse, sitting atop Rumble the troll. She’s animatedly telling a story, gesturing so wide that she seems in danger of falling off. Taza, the tengu, scolding Grillby as he accidentally burns a pile of mushrooms. Gerson, younger, broader ( alive and there is the sorrow and deep rage at how unjustly his end was) gleefully waving his massive war hammer.
And then, for the first time, you truly see WingDings Gaster. Every inch a skeleton but animated with pure life . Gangly, thin. Sockets bright with a light that seeks knowledge and ways to share it. You hear him speak, his voice ( familiar ?) scratchy and heavily accented. Little moments with him shine the brightest. Quiet moments, sitting side by side, Gaster’s skull painted beautiful hues of gold from Grillby’s fire while he pours over a book. Silly moments, chasing each other with harmless attacks, dancing in a battle of synchronized movements. Gentle, tender moments, shared under the gaze of the stars, of glistening rocks in an underground cavern.
Then-
Terrible, dark moments. Not just with Gaster. No, he doesn’t show you much because the pain of revisiting those moments steals your breath and crushes your heart to dust. Terror, rage, blinding madness engulfed by flame. Brief flashes of the war skim past your eyes-
You feel the sting of ice shackled against his wrists. He’s so scared , he doesn’t want to die.
You feel a sword in your hand, hear the screaming of humans falling before him. The screaming, oh it never goes away, it always rings in his head as the dead claw gouges into his Soul. Their voices cry that he doesn’t deserve to live.
You feel your Soul splitting as he sobs his terror and regret, held by the trembling grip of the skeleton who shares in his agony.
He’s seen so much, suffered so much . How can he still be so bright? How can he still care?
He holds you, guides you and shows you exactly why.
You see the Underground. You’ve heard stories, seen pictures even, but they pale in comparison to his memory. His first home built below, a spot of warmth and safety in the darkness of those early days. There was so much fear back then, in his Soul and all the others. But he was so determined to keep monsterkind alive. Their hope, and their dreams of a brighter future drove him to shine all the brighter himself. They dug deeper into the mountain and he led the way, his light casting out the darkness.
Monsters come to him to be unburdened. To step into a place of laughter, good food and warmth. He takes pride in it, this bar he built in the snowy forests of Snowdin. He keeps the lights on, always. Their golden glow painted over the thick canopy of white draws in souls in need of comfort and he gives it in ample supply.
Even during his darkest times. The day that the Underground shook with tremors that had never been felt before, the day when all feared that the ceiling would collapse and the lights went out, the day when W.D Gaster vanished and Grillby’s Soul ripped in half, stands as clear in his mind as if it just happened. You feel it, remember it as if you were the one writhing on the ground, confused, terrified and desperately clinging to a soon to be shattered hope that the one he loved was okay.
Why does no one remember? Why does everyone stare at him blankly when he screams Gaster's name? Why won't Sans look him in the eye? Why does Papyrus shut down at the mere mention of his name? Where he is, what happened, please, someone tell him why!
It hurts. Ten years have passed and the edges of that wound remain as raw and jagged as the day he died.
The following days after Gaster’s death are not so clear. Pure despair, such as you’ve never felt before. A hazy, distant weakness. His body dimming, fading away. Heavy. Numb.
Falling Down.
Sans, young, scared, alone, begging him to wake up.
A tiny Papyrus, holding his limp hand, tugging, demanding.
Fuku. Parents taken away from her, not from this no, but she too suffered, she too sat by his side and sang the lost songs of his people, the whispering, crackling words of fire and cried her own sooty tears.
He had to wake up. He was all they had left.
He had to keep going.
You understand now. You understand why he cares so, so deeply about everyone. He’s seen suffering, he’s suffered such terrible agonies himself. But he has also felt joy. He has been loved, he has been treasured and all he wants is to ensure that no one suffers as he has. He wants to return the love he has been given throughout his life.
He’s terrified to stain the ones he treasures with the blood on his hands and the bite of his flame. He welcomes in everyone who steps through his door, but keeps his distance. He can’t risk it. He can’t hurt them with his sharp, jagged edges.
He can’t risk being so deeply hurt by loss. Not again. There are people who need him to stay strong. A broken weapon could still be used. And that was fine. That was all he needed to be.
Until-
You.
Oh. Oh how he loves you. There are so many, many moments he holds dear and they all flash before you with the soft haze of a wonderful dream.
Stepping foot into his restaurant for the very first time. Trailing sand, tangled hair a bold strike of red and orange and golden yellow against the soft browns of the walls. Your eyes, shining with a wonder he so distantly remembered feeling himself so, so very long ago. Those eyes captured him immediately but it was your kindness that caught him so off guard and pulled him to you. You were awkward yes, as so many humans are in the presence of monsters for the first time but you were also kind . Not just to him, but to those he keeps safe. In the uncertainty of the new world they had found themselves in, monsters truly needed a genuine friend.
You only now understand just how much that means to him.
It’s strange to see yourself through his eyes. The moments that stand out clearest to him. Some make sense, like catching you climbing up his drain pipe, or the night you danced with him to distract him from the storm. Others are quieter moments, times you didn’t even realize he was watching. The care with which you clean your surfboard, hands strong and sure, skin chapped by salt water and sun. The way you sometimes pick out little patterns in the pathway of the Walk and make a game out of stepping on specific stones. Your sleeping face, mouth slightly open with your hands curled up and pressed against your chest. Even the more annoying things, like picking out peppers and mushrooms despite his best attempts to mask them, the forgetfulness, the quiet spiraling of your mood when something is wrong or when you don’t feel good are treasured moments to him.
He notices everything, from the crease that digs between your eyes when you find something frustrating, to the specific grin that you fail to keep from your face when you’re about to perform some sort of mischief. He pays attention to every emotion that paints over your face. Most of them loud, proudly announced to the world but others, perhaps the most important ones, kept quiet and small. He’s so delightfully, selfishly proud of the knowledge that there are certain expressions that only he has seen.
He loves how you live every single day finding delight in something, big or small. Even on your bad days, you fight to smile at least once. You find any sort of reason to keep going. You’re so much stronger than you believe and he cannot fathom how you don’t see it. Waving off compliments, pushing past your own achievements in favor of plowing ahead, proving that you can do more even though you don’t need to. Recklessly at times, so stupidly foolish at times and it drives him absolutely insane because don’t you realize how much he needs you simply as you are? How much he needs you to be safe, to be happy and so joyously you?
But he must admit, your rash perseverance is simply another reason that he fell in love.
When did he fall in love? He’s not sure of the exact moment. It was fast, it was inevitable. The small moments and the large, all of them pulling him deeper into the riptide that is you and he let himself be swept away in everything you are. You took his hand, despite everything, and you haven’t let go. You keep pulling him forward, grip unwavering.
You brought light back into his life.
A pause in the rush of memories, of overwhelming emotions. You’re grateful for it because you feel as if you haven’t taken even a single breath this whole time. Tears still stream, blurring your vision as Grillby swims back into view. He’s very still, watching you closely. Concern creeps across the bond, as if he’s trying to hold it back to avoid overwhelming you further, but can’t quite manage it.
“Are you alright?” he whispers.
Your lip trembles. A sob breaks free and you can’t even begin to muster the strength to choke it back.
This is what you’ve wanted. Your whole life, you wanted someone to love you like this. There was never any doubt that he loves you, you know that. But to see the depth of it, to feel it for yourself and how desperately he cherishes you is…it’s so much more than you ever could have imagined.
More than you had ever allowed yourself to hope for.
Grillby pulls you to him. Clumsily, every breath a short whimpering cry, you clamber into his lap and go full koala on him. Legs around his waist, arms around his neck, you bury your face and you cry.
Your intertwined Souls have risen out of the way. Like some kind of ethereal disco ball, they both float above, casting their light down on the pair of you as Grillby gently rocks and soothes you. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
“ I’m…I’m s-sorry .” you finally warble.
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
This is dumb, why are you being so dramatic? You should be happy, you are happy! You just…you…you still don’t understand . How can he treasure you like this, you don’t deserve him, you don’t deserve to be loved like this, you’re nothing , you’re just-
“Shh, none of that.” He warms, holding you tighter.
But he doesn’t understand .
“Then help me understand,” he whispers fiercely. His hand tangles in your hair and he presses his cheek against your skull. “So I can explain why you’re wrong.”
You hiccup around your tears. “I…don’t know if I can…”
“You already did the hard part.” He taps your back above the spot where your Soul normally resides. “You let me in. Now you just have to show me.”
“P-pushy.”
“Shore.” He very gently eases you out of your koala hold just enough to look you in the eyes. He cups your face, uncaring of the moisture that covers it. The slight sizzling would almost be funny if you weren’t still weeping buckets. “You need this, just as much as I do. I can scream my feelings from the rooftops, show you every example of why I love you, but if I don’t understand what you need to hear, then it helps no one.”
“...How?” you whisper.
So gently, so tenderly, he says, “Just think about what you want to show me. I will be there.”
You have to take a few more gulping breaths. Then, with a final, shaking exhale, you reach up to grab his head, lifting your own to meet his forehead with yours. There’s more force behind it than you intended but you barely even have time to hiss out another apology before your vision once again goes white.
What flashes before your eyes is not nearly as coherent as what you saw in Grillby’s memories. Mostly because you don’t have a clue what to do and…well. There’s so many emotions tossing around in your mind that it’s hard to focus on any one thing. Come on, just focus, you can do that much. Just focus…
“...focus, why can’t you just focus ?”
An extensive dining table. A simplistic math sheet in front of you, dirtied with pencil marks erased over and over again because you just don’t understand, you’re trying but your dad is yelling and you can barely see past the tears welling in your eyes. You’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry-
“Don’t yell, that’s not going to help anything.”
Mom?
Her face is fuzzy, details stolen by time. But that purple clip she always used to wear to pull back her hair. That you remember. You remember how soft her hands always were. Even when she began to fade away, beaten down to just a shell of herself, her hands were always soft.
Until they were simply cold. There isn’t much of the funeral that you remember. But you do remember reaching up, standing on your very tip toes because you couldn’t see into the casket. Reaching in, trying to shake her awake and crying when your tiny hands touched ice cold skin.
Dad pulled you aside. It was one of the only times you ever saw him cry. “You have to be strong now,” he told you firmly. “It’s your job to be strong.”
You have to be strong. That’s what you had to be. If you cried, if you pouted, if you did anything he disliked, there were consequences. The lightest, being ignored. That was an easy one because then all you had to do was shut up. If you were lucky enough to be ignored, you could prevent worse punishments before they happened.
(Outrage, sparked in flame. You were a child, you were just a child!)
He never hit you. But he did drag you into your room when you made too much fuss, shutting the door, locking it and leaving you in the dark because if you dared to turn the light on, that’s when he’d come stomping back with venom spitting from his teeth. The locking up in the shed came later, when childish tantrums turned into more rebellious acts of pride and stubbornness. And well, didn’t you deserve it? He provided for you, he let you continue your dance classes, sent you to the finest school your little valley could offer. He took you out into the mountains, taught you to fall in love with the beauty that nature offered. It only made sense.
(No, no, it was cruel, it was foul, he wants to smash in that bastard’s face and watch it burn)
He could be kind, when he wanted to be. When you acted right, when you let him talk about what he wanted, followed what he wanted to do. Yes, he could be kind.
When you actively deserved his kindness.
As you grew, you came to the realization that he wasn’t the only one. Most people don’t want to hear sob stories. At best, telling anyone about your sad little life would make them feel awkward. At worst, it would drive them away and word would get back to your dad and into the shed you’d go, all while he screamed at you not to tell lies. Don’t tarnish the family name, don’t damage his reputation, be strong, be better, be strong, be strong .
So you put up the walls. You plastered on the smile. You made friends. They never came to you with their personal problems, you weren’t good enough for that. But you still gave your help whenever they asked. Because that meant they needed you. And that was all you wanted. The alternative meant being alone, being lost in the books you snuck home about heroes with tragic pasts who went on grand adventures and found true love and maybe, just maybe , if you acted the part of a hero in a story, it would eventually come true. Be there for everyone else, be kind, be the one they could trust to help out in a pinch and one day! Oh, one day you’d be swept away by a dashing hero who would take you away from this place.
Then. Alex. Alex, a storm of perfect white teeth and a smirk that sent your heart fluttering. He came to you to talk about more than just the latest town gossip, or who was with who or anything like that. Not only that, he listened to you . You could complain, you could gripe and just be yourself and he didn’t run away. You grew to hate the world together and he was the only one who didn’t care about your family status, he didn’t care about making those surface level ‘social relationships’ simply for the sake of making connections like so many did once you graduated high school.
Sure, he was rough around the edges. But that was just the ‘bad boy’ vibe, right? So what if he got explosive sometimes, so what if he pulled you away from what friendships you had? He was the only one who understood you anyways.
He loved you.
You…thought he loved you.
(It’s okay, he is here, you are safe.)
You don’t even remember what caused the fight between you and Darrin that night. Something stupid probably. It was still enough to snap that last bit of self control. You’d called Alex in a mixture of blind rage and tears and he came. He always came when you called. He took your hand, he promised a better life, a life of adventure and whirlwind excitement. You followed him. You trusted him.
He took you to the old abandoned mill. You’d been there before, shared your first kiss there. It was an off limits place, shut down after an electrical fire took down over half the building. Alex liked those sorts of places. The abandoned. The dangerous.
It was then that he pulled out a bottle of pills. You didn’t know what they were. You didn’t want to take them. Alex promised freedom, a way out of the world and its problems. You just had to trust him. He’d been waiting for the right moment, it’s okay, it’s worth the risk, don’t you want to be free? Where are you going? Don’t you love him? Don’t you trust him?
“No, no please, stay back! Let go of me!”
He attacked without warning. Grabbed your jaw, squeezing hard enough to force your mouth open. You didn’t think, you couldn’t do anything except lash out. You shoved him. Hard. You’d always been the stronger one, years of muscle built from dance classes.
There was old equipment everywhere. Rubble on the ground. He stumbled. Fell. You’ll never forget the crack that his neck made when it made contact with the sharp edge of some old piece of machinery. You’ll always remember the noise he made, even as his mouth stayed pulled open in a vicious mockery of a smile as blood stained those perfect white teeth.
You’ll never forget that you just ran and left him there to die.
It was all just a fantasy. Those books, those stories. The heroes who always did the right thing, the family they found along the way. The sense of belonging and knowing your purpose in the world.
It was a lie.
You’d built everything you are on a lie .
In the year or so following the accident, you came to the realization that you didn’t even know who you were. Your real face had been lost among the dozens of masks you created. The different versions of yourself for each situation, for each person. Which one was real?
Were you even real? Or just a pretend mockery of the person you wanted to be?
It was too much. So you ran away the moment your grandmother gave you an out. You left behind the tangled mess of masks and pretend friendships. You were blank, you were nothing but…maybe that meant you could start over.
You made a new mask.
You became Shore. Just Shore.
For a while there, it seemed to work. You met Faith, Liam and Tyler. You got a job at the surf shop. You spent hours in the ocean because it filled some of that nothingness inside you. You kept dancing because it was one of the only times when you truly felt like you were allowed to simply exist without a worry about anything else. It was the only other time besides being in the water that you felt truly tethered to your body.
It was hard, so, so hard, but you finally started to feel…maybe like a real person.
Then the impossible happened. Monsters, real monsters! An entire race of beings that you spent your whole childhood reading stories about. You wanted nothing more than to meet them, speak with them. But how selfish of you, to shove yourself where you weren’t wanted just so you could feel like you were part of something bigger than yourself.
You just wanted to be more than a mask. You just wanted someone who knew you. Saw you for the mess underneath and wanted you to stay anyway.
Maybe that was what drew you to Grillby. He too wears a mask of sorts. Keeping people at a distance out of an infuriating but relatable act of preservation. Some part of you must have seen it from the start. He was so beautiful, so kind and you were but a moth drawn to his flame. You wanted to be close to him, you couldn’t help it, could you? Despite your promise to never fall in love again, to give up on that impossible dream, you just couldn’t stop yourself from falling all over again.
He was worth it. Every moment has been worth it because what an adventure your life has become. Magic, monsters, and one who truly loves you. It’s everything you’ve dreamt of, cried for and never believed you could have.
But you’re not the hero of a story. You keep making mistakes, you keep making things worse for those around you because you always try to do your best but you never know what you’re doing and it’s not just you who suffers for those mistakes now, is it? But it’s okay, you just have to be better , you have to keep proving that you’re learning and growing and you’ll be strong because that’s-
You are embraced. Physically as well as through the bond. A thin gasp of air shakes your chest as your vision clears from the hazy trip down memory lane. Grillby’s the one clinging to you now. So tightly, as if he fears that if he doesn’t, you’ll slip away.
You sit frozen. You don’t dare to move, to blink, to breathe. Finally, in the smallest, pathetic whimper, “Please say something.”
“I love you.”
It’s the truth. It’s the truth because you don’t need access to his thoughts to know, you don’t need the bond singing with the force of it. It’s because you know him and you trust him and just as he always does, he calms and silences your fears simply by being here. Holding you.
Even so. Something held tight, silently afraid for so long finally, finally unspools.
You sob grossly into his shoulder for a while. “Thank you,” you choke out.
He presses his mouth to the side of your head. “I love you.” It’s a whisper, but it’s the fiercest you’ve ever heard him. “Do you hear me?”
You nod. It’s all you can do.
Grillby’s magic is all around you. It sings, it warms, it protects. “You pay so much attention to others that you can’t see what a wonder you are.”
“A wonder of a mess maybe.”
He rubs a hand up and down your back. “Of course you’re messy. Everyone is. I have spent the last thousand years being a mess. From one mess to another, I can tell you with absolutely certainty that you are not simply pretending to be a good person.”
“M-maybe I’m just really good at it. Um, faking it, I mean.”
You can feel him chuckle silently. “Shore, you are perhaps the most sincere person I have ever met. And I have lived with Papyrus.”
That brings a snotty, bubbling laugh out of you. “Stop that, I’m trying to break a record for crying on an elemental here.”
“Dearest,” he says gently. “I will do whatever I must to help you see yourself the way I do. The way that all of your friends here do. You did not lie or cheat your way into being cared for. You simply chose to be kind. Kindness is not an inherent reaction, human or monster. We must choose it. And sometimes, it takes far more strength to actively choose to care. There is no shame in that.”
You take a long, deep couple of breaths. “It’s just hard to ever fully believe that.” It’s a terrible admittance. You’ve always been scared of this. That you’re not a good person but merely someone pretending to be. “What if all I am is just a fake and I’ve deluded myself?”
He strokes your hair for a long moment. “Do you want this person that you are right now, here in my arms, to be fake?”
You shake your head, sniffling.
“Then you are a good person. Because you actively choose to be one. That is all that matters. Not your past, not your blood.” You feel him look up at your still intertwined Souls. “You have suffered alone for long enough. I love you and I am here with you. With all the mess and strings attached.”
For maybe the very first time in your life, you…you believe it. You believe him.
You’re also freaking exhausted. “I…I think I’m done for tonight,” you croak.
Without another word, Grillby makes a motion that you feel but don't see. A moment later, your Soul retreats back into your chest, finally easing that sense of open vulnerability. However, even with both of your Souls resting safely back where they belong, you can still feel the bond. It’s faint, and you no longer have that clear but distant access to his feelings. It’s like…a single lamp post off in the distance, nearly swallowed by night. Its firm, golden glow is still there. Comforting. All you have to do is reach out and touch it.
Woof, you’re dizzy. You moan softly, letting more of your body slump against Grillby. “You were right about one thing.”
“Just one?”
“That was definitely not a ‘get nakey’ activity.”
Grillby breaks into the breathless, crazed laughter of the utterly worn out. You can’t help but join in, weak giggles barely above a wheeze. He leans back until he flops against the couch with a soft ‘oof’. He holds you steady enough you barely feel the bounce against the cushions. You rearrange to get comfy and set your head against his chest.
The light of your bond flutters under your cheek. Strong, steady and warm.