Frisk's hand slides under your shirt and up your back, their cool fingers casting goosebumps across your skin. You involuntarily shudder when they reach the sensitive declivity of your back, skin peppered with scars from a past you want to forgot. They rest there; folding their fingers over your obtruding spine.
Your baggy sweater, the one you couldn't leave the house without wearing, did a good job of hiding your body. Usually you're fine beneath the snow-white covers in your tee, but now you suddenly feel naked without that sweater and you don't know why. You don't know why your skin crawls and your breath trembles. A finger ghosts over one of the scars, and that's when it dawns on you it's not the sweater.
You didn't realize you were crying until Frisk's sharp intake of breath snaps you back to reality. You're not wherever your mind was taking you, you're in Frisk's bedroom, because you both begged your mom to let you spend the night at their place, and now you're ruining it. They flinch back, but you wrap your arms around them to keep them close, to let them know it's not anything they're doing it's just the big dumb thoughts in your big dumb head. You bury your face into their shoulder and murmur, "I'm ok. I was just thinking about something. Sorry." And you feel one of their hands disappear from your back, their fingers now combing through your hair.
They open their mouth. Then close it. Then open it. You already know the question dancing on their tongue, and you can almost feel your own gut twisting up like Frisk's does whenever they clam up about speaking. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff, and, well, you've both done that one too many times. So you answer their question for them before they take the dive.
"I was thinking about my body," you say. Your face is still buried into their shoulder. The heat from your own breath bounces off their soft pajamas, warming your nose. Frisk's hand pauses, then resumes dancing through your hair as if to silently say, continue. You do.
"I feel grotesque." You flinch at your own words, but it's true. "Sometimes, I wonder how anyone can look at all the ugly things about me and still love me." Frisk's hands shift places again, and this time they're wrapped around you, pulling you tight in an embrace. Your eyes squeeze shut as you hug back, focusing on their warmth to keep you grounded in this tiny, blue room. They open their mouth again but, this time, there's no hesitation.
"When I look you, all I see is Chara," Frisk says ever so quietly in the voice they trust with only you and a select few hearing. "And even if there are some parts that you don't like, those parts are still Chara in my eyes, and I love every part of you, Chara." They pull back so that they can sign, but you still feel warm. You wipe your eyes. Toriel loves every part of you, and so does Asgore, and so do our friends. Their hands pause for a heartbeat, before they continue signing, And I know Flowey does, too. You notice their signs gaining a bit more strength, fingers dancing beneath the low light. I can't promise that I can make those feelings go away, but, I can promise that nobody thinks those things about you.
"Somebody did, once." The words are blurting out of your mouth before you can even comprehend them. And once you can, you instantly regret it. All of the warmth, all of the things you were desperately holding onto to keep those thoughts away have been wrenched out of your metaphorical hands. You feel cold, hazy, and alone, as if you are floating in an endless, pitch black void. You stare hard at your hands, clenched into fists, and you don't look up even as Frisk signs something. You don't look up even as their palms gently lay across your fists, rubbing circles into your wrists, and they're doing the embarrassing thing where they're sucking in deep gulps of air and expecting you to follow suit- you do. It's only then, after breathing in unison for a while, and your pulse is finally slowing, do you decide to accept their silent invitation to meet their gaze on your own terms. Hesitantly, your eyes flicker up to their face and they're smiling in that same caring, loving, understanding way that always makes your heart flutter.
"You're safe here," Frisk whispers. "You're away from them now, Chara." They understand, and it burns. It burns like a swirl of emotions; embarrassment, happiness, thankfulness, sadness, anger, acceptance. You want to cry for a thousand different reasons, but now you can't bring yourself to shed a single tear at all.
They're right. All the people in the past who have hurt you because of who you are and how you look- they never loved you in the first place. Your family taught you what real love was. And Frisk...Frisk taught you that humans were capable of real love, as well. And that you were capable of it, too. Finally, you open your mouth and thank them, but two simple words don't feel quite enough. You utter three more, and Frisk's smile grows even wider.
You relax your fists, choosing to interlock your fingers with theirs, instead. The bad memories, the discomfort prickling at your spine, the amalgamation of confusing emotions- all of it dissipates as you smile back…but the one thing that remains through it all is the unconditional love you feel for the human in front of you.
Damn, who would've thought you of all people would fall in love with a human? You laugh, even though it's not that funny.
You end up taking Frisk in your arms and topple them over onto the bed while you're giggling idiotically and their mouth parts in confusion. You plant a kiss on their cheek and they start giggling, too. They wrap their arms around your scar-riddled back. Your face is still tear-stained and your body still feels uncomfortable, but, when you're here tangled up with the person you love, you think it's going to be okay.
This was my first fic! It's just a fun little something I wanted to do. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!