It had all begun a long time ago, on a cloudy day with the sun sporadically peeking out from behind the veil of clouds covering the sky. It was just after lunch time, and they'd sought out the only quiet place where they would linger without interruption. Here was the place where they partook in many things on their own. Things like finishing a puzzle that had to be put aside during lunch, or drawing on the bricks with a stone, though this activity usually brought a nasty slap on the wrist because they were technically 'vandalizing' their home. To them, this place was something akin to a pocket of time untouched by the others for only a short hour or so, allowing plenty of space for them to run around without interruption.
Though small, it felt as though this little patch of grass was theirs, and theirs alone, for the other children their age did not venture this close to the fence separating them from the meadow beyond. The caretakers would occasionally glance back to check on how the lone child fared, and after a brief assessment, they would be left to their own devices without those prying eyes. Though, besides carving into the bricks with a stone, there wasn't much prying to be done.
After all, nobody really paid much attention to what was only part of a background
He had appeared out of thin air, popping into existence one day while they'd sat and soaked up the rays of weak winter sunlight. They'd been quite taken aback. After all, who would have thought that a flower, of all things, would one day talk to you while you were awake?
He had caught their attention simply by calling out a cheery 'howdy!'
No signs of another person within the area, only a little golden flower.
"I'm Flowey," he had announced as soon as he was certain that he had captured the human's interest. "Flowey the flower." They stared, eyes wide as the plant seemed to sway from side to side on its own accord. There was hardly even a breeze strong enough to make it move with such vigor.
They rubbed their eyes.
They pinched themselves.
And after a moment to process what was happening, they finally responded with a wave of their hand.
"How're you today?" They had answered with a shrug and the flower, to their amazement, sidled closer while fluttering his petals. "You looked awfully lonely just sitting there all by yourself. Where are all your friends? Shouldn't you be playing games with the others?"
It wasn't as if they were seeking somewhere private because they didn't want to play with their housemates, however they looked towards the other side of the yard where the voices of the others children playing could be heard.
"Well," the flower said, tilting his head, "I guess I can understand why you're flying solo. You're probably just worn out from all that noisy stuff, aint'cha? I mean listen to them. They sound awfully rowdy."
The corners of their lips pulled upwards a tad, because the flower wasn't all that far away from the truth. The others were always bursting at the seams with pent up energy waiting to be used, but they weren't avoiding the other children because they were overbearing. If anything, they would have loved to have been a part of whatever it was that they were currently engaging in, to leave them tuckered out as a result of playing an intense game of tag or ball.
The flower waited, gazing at them expectantly, beaming all the while. For another minute or so they stared back at the plant. And then they lifted their hand to respond. The flower's smile faltered slightly as they made odd movements with their fingers, and he tilted his head as soon as they'd finished.
"...Haha, what?"
Ah. It was silly to assume that he might have known their method of communication. Another fact that may prove that this creature was not a figment of their wild imagination; something from their mind would've understood their unique gestures. A ghost of a smile was all they could muster, as well as the barest hint of another shrug.
"You're not much of a talker, are you?"
They nodded slowly. The flower rustled his little leaves quizzically and opened his mouth, taking in a breath, and then snapped it shut as though he had forgotten what he was going to say. Then he tried again.
"Well, you don't mind if I hang out with you, do you? I'm not bothering you?" They shook their head quickly, shifting from sitting on their rear to on their knees, patting the frozen ground beside them. The flower eagerly vanished into the earth and popped up once more through the thin layer of frost, causing the child to start with surprise as Flowey shook the snow from his tiny body with a shiver.
This must be a dream, they thought.
And so they'd stayed there, sitting by the cold brick building as Flowey cuddled up against their leg, telling them grand tales of mystical creatures. They could only shut their eyes and let their imagination put pictures to Flowey's words. It was a wonderful way to pass the time. It was probably the most fun they'd had in a long time, given that not even the caretakers took the time out of their busy schedule to humor them. They hadn't realized just how lonely they'd felt before the bells chimed, calling for all the children to return inside. The melody interrupted Flowey's tale of a mighty dragon, and he paused to give the source of the sound a heated glare. Reluctantly the child stood, unable to mask their disappointment.
"Hey hey hey, you're going to leave so soon? It's only been an hour. Can't you stay just a little bit longer?"
They shook their head sadly, pointing toward the growing line of children at the stained-glass double doored entrance. He looked crestfallen for a moment. "You'll come back tomorrow, right?" They paused, startled. Tomorrow? Would this odd creature really be here after another day passed?
"Well?"
They knelt down so that Flowey didn't have to strain upwards and nodded.
"Great! What do you say we meet up again then, eh? We could sit right here and make up stories and stuff. It'll be fun. I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow, so don't leave a buddy hanging, okay?"
A buddy.
A friend.
They could hardly stop their eyes from watering as they gave a few eccentric nods. Flowey swayed, grinning.
"Fantastic!" They offered their littlest finger to the flower, and he wrapped one of his leaves around the appendage and leaned his little face against it.
He was warm to the touch.
"It's a promise. I'll be waiting."
He let go of their finger, and they rose to their feet and began to depart.
"Hey, kid! What's your name?"
Oh, how rude of them. They'd completely forgotten to introduce themselves. They could hear the overseers counting the other children, and they kneeled back down to quickly write their name in the snow besides the flower. They began to trot away, but Flowey's voice wasn't drowned out by the other kid's laughter or the crunch of snow beneath their feet.
"See you tomorrow, Frisk!"
They reached the line of kids shuffling indoors, and when a caretaker asked why their eyes were full of tears, Frisk merely rose their fingers to sign;
I've made a new friend!
It might as well have been an eternity since Frisk had someone to play with, even if their newest friend wasn't even a human. They did not doubt Flowey at all, however, for the flower was much more mobile than they had originally thought. He was perfectly adept at playing tag. And if they weren't chasing each other around the wide expanse of the backyard, they'd cuddle up together by the wall and watch the clouds that lazily passed overhead. If it were snowing, they'd try and count all the flakes that fell before one of them lost count and had to start over. If the snow were melting, sometimes Flowey would sit underneath the gutter and drink the water that dripped down the pipe.
Frisk had tried the water at one point. It was gross. Flowey had only laughed at their scrunched up expression and lightly made fun of them before they wandered off to find something else to entertain the two of them.
Life had gotten exceptionally better now that Flowey was around. Someone to finally play cards with, share snacks that were spirited away from unguarded cupboards, even take naps with before the chimes would sound and they'd bid a temporary farewell.
The chances of this phenomenon merely being a dream had all but evaporated into smoke as the days turned to weeks, and weeks into a month. Flowey would always be waiting for them whenever the children were let outside to play without fail, sun, clouds, or snow. Sometimes they'd lie awake thinking about all the fun they'd had that day, and what joy may be in store for them tomorrow.
Though they couldn't quite shake that feeling of dread that clawed at their mind if they didn't ignore it properly.
"Hey Frisk."
They stopped tying ribbons to the dead branches and turned to look at Flowey. The sun hung low on the horizon, the warmth it emitted melting the snow beneath their feet. Slowly, very slowly, the brown grass beneath was beginning to stir, the occasional tiny blade of grass sporting a greenish color. He beckoned them over with one of his leaves, and they dropped their roll of magenta ribbon and heeded his call. They bent down next to them, peering around their petals to see what he had to show.
It looked as though a patch of clover was beginning to grow, and he turned back to look at them, all smiles.
"See this? Spring is on its way. You think they'll let you stay out longer now that it's getting warmer?"
They shrugged, glancing over at the two adults supervising the other children's play.
"I bet they will," he continued, prodding one of the young buds. "And when they do, you and I can play more. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Why, of course! They nodded, reaching down to touch one of Flowey's petals affectionately. He leaned into their touch, humming pleasantly before he turned around to face them.
"I have a lot of fun playing with you, Frisk. Lots and lots. You love playing with me too, right?"
Once more, they nodded. Flowey beamed up at them.
"Hee hee. We'll have lot's more fun when spring comes. And when it does, I bet we can find other things to do once all this dumb snow melts. Don't you agree?"
Another nod. The flower vanished into the earth for a moment and Frisk stood, waiting expectantly for him to resurface. When he did he was only a few meters away, inspecting the ribbon-clad branches. He voiced his approval with a short-lived chuckle.
"We're going to be together forever, you and I."
Frisk's cheeks began to ache from smiling too much.
They could hear the muted whispers through the door. Their eyes burned from crying so much, and their palms were red from pounding on the wall. They paced back and forth from within the meager space of their room, glaring at the door handle. If they were not eying the door they were hurrying over to the window, where they'd strain to catch sight of their secret place where Flowey was surely waiting. But no matter how much they pressed their cheek against the pane, they couldn't glimpse the tree that marked the spot. Footsteps sounded down the corridor and paused at their door. There was a shuffling of papers, and the handle turned. Frisk pushed away from the window and gave the intruder an expectant stare as they shut the door behind them.
The headmistress was an elderly woman who had the temperament of a docile mare. She seldom spoke to Frisk, and when she did, it was usually about their health, or what sort of lessons or presents they'd receive from the orphanage.
She sat down in one of the ancient arm chair and adjusted her spectacles, clearing her throat loudly.
They waited. Eventually, she began.
"Frisk," she said, and they immediately grimaced. That tone, sweet like honey, only promised a reproach of some sort, and those always stung, no matter how gentle she tried to sound. "One of the workers told me you were sneaking an extra sweet during lunch time. Is this true?"
They did not hesitate to answer. They raised their hand to reply, signing quickly;
I did.
She tutted sadly, shaking her head.
"Dear child, why would you do such a thing? You've been so good for so long." They only shrugged, glancing back towards the window. The woman waited patiently for Frisk to answer. After they tried to guess the time, they did.
I took some for my friend.
This brought on a pause as the headmistress' jaw went taut for a moment. She was surprised. None of the kids paid any mind to Frisk because of their inability to speak. She then lit up, clapping her hands together.
"Oh child, how wonderful! It's taken you quite some time to make another friend. But you shouldn't steal from the kitchen. Your friend already got their desert, you know. They don't need seconds."
Frisk did not miss a beat.
My friend does not live here.
Her hands stilled, her proud expression slowly draining into something unrecognizable.
"Does... Not live...Here?" They nodded, pointing to the window and said;
They wait outside for me every day.
This time, the silence was uncomfortable.
They hadn't seen Flowey for five days now. They know for sure that it's been five, because they counted every time the red digits on their clock struck midnight.
Something they'd said had halved the amount of time they could spend outside to none, leaving them trapped within the walls of this dull room with nothing to do but pace up and down along the wall.
Back and forth.
Left and right.
Was it truly bad that they had told the truth? Were they not descriptive enough?
How exactly could they tell someone that a friend they'd recently met was nothing more than a flower that could talk? The encounter itself was still hard for them to swallow, and yet for the past month they'd met up with the plant without fail only proved that he was as real as anyone else here.
People in various uniforms would come to question them occasionally, and their translator, the headmistress, would relay what she was saying to these odd people.
He's my friend, they said. I see him every day. Please let me go out and play. He might think I'm not coming anymore.
Their plea was ignored as the adults turned their back and spoke in hushed tones, leaving Frisk in a world that they'd only just escaped. They retreated back to their spot by the window and tried to catch a glimpse of Flowey in order to assure themselves that he knew he hadn't been abandoned.
Frisk's confession was soon labeled as a lie. This earned them furious glares over shoulders and the other children yelling at them for keeping them indoors.
"It's your fault we've been cooped inside," they'd all shout. "All because you said you talked to some stranger."
The workers who supervised the children during the times Frisk was let out reported no suspicious silhouettes lurking around a stray orphan. They had all insisted that Frisk was left to their own devices, and was probably pulling a boy who cried wolf.
Though the accusations stung and the disapproving glances cut into them like knives, they didn't utter a word to defend themselves.
These people would never understand.
They were only glad that they finally had the chance to see Flowey again. As soon as the doors were opened and the children spilled from the entrance like a blocked river, Frisk sprinted with all their might towards their place, where Flowey would surely be waiting for their return.
But nobody came.
Another month passed without any sign of Flowey. The days passed in a dull blur, even with the color returning to the Earth. The other children have continued about their lives as though they were never interrupted by last month's 'stunt'.
Every day, Frisk would wait by the birch tree, fixing the tattered ribbons that littered its branches.
Every day, Flowey wouldn't come.
Downhearted, Frisk would return to their room before the recess ended, and would promptly go to bed until they could try again the next day.
They pulled dandelions from the ground in order to stop them from spreading all over the grass.
Did weeds make talking flowers sick?
Did they ward them away?
May rolled around without so much as a warning. Easter had vanished into the past, soaring by as though it hadn't even happened.
But they know it had, because when all the kids went inside with their eggs, Frisk left a few by the birch tree before following their lead.
When they looked out the window during supper, they saw that the gifts they'd left behind were gone. Sure, an animal could have made off with them, but they continued to entertain the thought that maybe Flowey had stumbled upon them.
Maybe he had finally returned.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It was supposed to be happy. Upon seeing sunlight shine on perfectly yellow petals, Frisk had nearly choked on a relieved sob as they rushed to meet their long-missed friend. They had so many things to tell them about, so many apologies to make, all sorts of games to play.
But when Flowey's expression registered in their vision, it brought them to a screeching halt.
He was smiling like he always did, waving a tiny leave as a hello, but there was something off about his expression.
In a sense, it reminded them of the face of a Barbie doll.
Plastic.
Fake.
Unnerved, Frisk slowed and came to a stop just out of Flowey's reach; they knew that they were, because Flowey's vines couldn't catch them from this far away during hide and seek.
It was odd. This was the smile that Flowey always donned. Why did it seem so different now?
"Howdy, Frisk," he called. "I haven't seen you in forever! I was afraid you'd been adopted!" A gust of wind stirred the branches now flush with green foliage. Sweat began to bead upon their forehead, though it was hardly the heat bothering them now.
"Come on over," he said. "We have sooo many things to catch up on now that you're finally back."
Perhaps after spending the day as normal would brush away the unease.
Unfortunately, it only grew.
Sleep did not come easy that night.
"Those kids should feel awful for bullying you."
Frisk stood tossing a tiny rubber ball against the wall. Sometimes it would rebound out of their reach, and a vine would catch it and throw it back. They'd catch it, pause for a moment, and then pick up where they left off.
A shrug was all that was used to respond.
"Aren't you mad at them?"
They didn't even need to think about it. They caught the ball and looked down at Flowey, then shook their head slowly.
No. It wasn't the other orphan's words that kept everyone inside. The fault alone was Frisk's. Flowey's smile evaporated slowly into a frown. He turned back towards the wall as the breeze rustled his petals.
"I would have taught them a lesson if they talked to me like that."
A shiver threatened to creep up their spine, but they merely continued throwing the ball. Flowey was quick to fall back into the rhythm.
The two spent the rest of recess in silence.
He didn't even say goodbye. One moment he was there while Frisk glanced back over at him, and in the next he was gone.
The balled rolled to a stop in the grass.
They missed it.
"You know," he began.
They were sitting up against the trunk of the tree, idly turning the stem of a dandelion around in between their fingers. The sun was high above them in the sky. The other children were laughing and yelling as they jumped through a hose, eagerly cooling down during such a hot day.
Flowey was no more than two feet away, watching Frisk intently. They could feel his beady little eyes boring into them before he continued.
"You should come away with me. You should leave this place." The stopped turning the dandelion and looked at him, aghast at the notion. He didn't wait for them to respond, he only rushed onwards.
"You obviously aren't happy here, and I want to play with you more. You want that, don't you? To play all day without dumb adults telling you what to do, or being bullied by other kids? We'd have so much fun, Frisk. You could do whatever you want." There was a pause. Then his voice dropped lower, as though he was afraid that the breeze may carry his voice to the ears of an unwanted eavesdropper.
"I could take you away right now."
Frisk dropped the stem, the seeds scattering in the air. Some stuck to their bangs and eyelashes, but they were distracted by the sudden fight or flight reaction that rushed through their blood.
There was nothing threatening about Flowey's words at all. If he had asked this of them back when they first met, Frisk would have agreed at once without any hesitation.
But ever since the absence, they'd been oddly aware of a creeping feeling of dread slivering its way up their leg, something that kept them awake at night in fear that they'd see a flower-shaped shadow looming outside of the window.
Flowey remained still, his smile wide as he waited for them to agree.
Frisk took a deep breath.
And they shook their head.
Almost immediately, Flowey's smile dissipated. They could have sworn that an ugly grimace had crossed his tiny features as he inched forwards, looking as though he was feigning confusion.
"Wh-wha? Frisk, why? You told me that you hated it here. You hate it, right? You hate being ignored? If it's just you and me, you wouldn't be ignored."
They stood and took a step back. The two both froze in shock by the action.
Then Flowey growled.
"Frisk, don't be an idiot," he spat. "You told me yourself you wanted to leave a long time ago. Back in winter! I'm giving you your freedom on a silver platter, and you're telling me no? I thought we were friends, Frisk!"
They were.
They were.
At least they thought they were. They shook their head slowly at first, then picked up the pace with urgency, pointing beyond the fence, towards the swaying ocean of tall grass that made up the meadow. Flowey stopped in his advance and looked at them as if they were some ugly bug in a sink that needed to be drowned.
"…You really think you have a choice?"
They found Frisk strung along the fence with their pants in bloodied tatters.
They'd screamed and screamed and screamed until their useless voice was hoarse and their vision was so blurry with tears that they were now certain that they'd never see clearly ever again.
The workers didn't believe them when they said that a talking flower had shredded their ankles like barb wire with vines adorned with brutally sharp thorns.
The imagination of a nine-year-old was much too vivid nowadays.
"It's all in your head, Frisk," they chastised.
"Monsters aren't real."