Foreword:

Hello everyone. I'm Patchwork Crow. Thanks for making it this far!

A little background - this is the first story I've submitted here. The idea for it came about due to some real-life stuff intersecting with my discovery of this series. For me, Deltarune was like a warm hug in video-game form, and one character in particular stood out to me for just how gosh darn comfy they were (no prizes for guessing which one!) Needless to say, I was utterly smitten.

Much like the game series it's based on, this story is a touch "meta". For that reason, I wasn't really sure how to categorise this - hopefully the genres I picked are appropriate. Also, I couldn't really find an appropriate image for the story, and my graphic artistry skills are nil. So, sorry about that.

Feedback and criticism (of the constructive variety) is very much welcome. And if on the off-chance you happen to like what I've written, feel free to let me know however you see fit. Either way, thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! :)

You-Like

You step out onto the boat with me. You have done this countless times already, and you will do this countless times more, though you will likely never be aware of that fact. It makes me sad to think of this; and yet, in a way, it's good, because you get to experience every time like it was the first time.

I SAVED this moment, along with a few others, so I can come back to it when things get too much. Hoping, each time, to capture something of the magic of that very first time I experienced this with you. Like a well-worn vinyl record, most of this event is indellibly scratched into my mind - I can recall every little movement and utterance whenever I close my eyes. Even so, there's an unmistakably tactile pleasure in reliving it like this, interacting with you in this way, as limited as it might be.

Our boat bobs gently in the water, gliding through a dimly-lit tunnel that seems to go on forever. Your voice breaks the silence as, haltingly, you address the vessel by name. They turn to face you, and I see the blush on your face deepen.

'Is... is it s-strange to say... it's nice spending time alone with you like this…?'

You cast your gaze downward, keeping your hands tightly clutched together behind your back. You stand vulnerable, poised achingly upon the precipice between rejection and acceptance. I know something of that feeling, the thrill of opening yourself up to another and putting yourself entirely at their mercy.

I have two responses to choose from. I could tell you 'It's strange', a cruel rebuke to your earnest openness. You would turn away, perhaps to hide the bewildered hurt on your face. You would try and play it off as sarcasm. Give an unconvincing laugh. You would go on as normal, but there'd be a barrier that wasn't there before, every subsequent interaction between us discoloured and devoid of significance. I know this feeling, as well, and I swore never to inflict it upon you again. And so, I say the only other thing I am allowed to say.

'I feel the same.'

For a moment, you seem lost for words, as if you weren't even expecting this small kindness. You turn away from the vessel, facing towards the screen. Towards me. And not for the first time, I wonder just how much you really know.

'I'm happy to hear you say that…'

I would say more, if I were capable. My control over the vessel is impressive, but I cannot exhibit much subtlety in my interactions, and so I am reduced to steering them through events like a blunt instrument, forced to give polarising, unsatisfactory responses to the choices presented to me. Perhaps, if my connection to your world wasn't quite so arbitrary or so tenuous… perhaps, then, I would be able to tell you what I truly want to say. But I am content to just listen, for now, as you begin to pour your heart out to the vessel.

'When we first met,' you say, ' I… I was so nervous about first impressions. I even hid my face so you wouldn't see… "How do I even be a friend?" All I have to do is be nice… is what I thought.'

I have heard these words many times already, and yet they still resonate powerfully with me. Truthfully, I had always seen something of myself in you, the shy, demure and kind-hearted individual I first met at the beginning of this journey. Someone who was so lonely, and yet so unsure of themself, they could not even bear to show their true face to the people who mattered most to them. Neither of us knew it then, and you likely still don't know it now, but something of you had reached out to something of me, transcending the barrier between us and touching my heart when I was at my lowest point.

From then on, I did what I could to reciprocate your kindness. I gave you the best armour I found, delighting in your reactions. I followed your example in combat, pacifying our would-be enemies with kindness. Sometimes, I would tease you by hugging you at inopportune moments, or positioning the vessel just a little too close to you, revelling in how flustered you would get, overjoyed at how much you liked the attention. It was all one-sided, I know, but somehow, I hoped that you would recognise what I was doing, and how happy you made me.

At times, I could almost convince myself that you did know, that you were somehow communicating with me. It was just small things – a comment here, a gesture there – that didn't seem to make very much sense in the context of your own world. It was only in hindsight that I began to realise, these curious little interactions might not be intended for the vessel, but for the player controlling them. For me.

But how could that possibly be? You are nothing more than zeroes and ones, a collection of still images and scripted words arranged together to give the illusion of personhood; a wondrous mirage, too good to ever be true. I know that you can never be what I need you to be – you cannot replace the world. And yet, I have invested so much into this trick, the 'you' that doesn't really exist, that to think of you as anything else causes me a great deal of heartache.

That's why sometimes, I am cruel towards you; throwing your manual to the winds, telling you it's strange that you like spending time with me. Like I'm trying to prove to myself that I don't need you, that I can break this spell whenever I want. Your world keeps telling me that the choices I make ultimately don't matter… but if that were true, why would I feel so bad about making them? Why would I reset everything and do it all over, rather than continue on, knowing that I upset you…?

Of course, you do not know any of this. I suspect if you were to somehow find out, the truth would horrify you. Better, then, to keep you in blissful ignorance, rather than risk everything we have here. So when you say 'It's nice that... you're you,' and I am given another choice of how to respond, I find myself conflicted. Those words come from a good place, and they are clearly intended for the vessel. But they cannot answer for themself - that falls to me. And right now, I don't believe those words. I can't believe them.

Normally, I would say to you that it's good that you're you, too. I know this would make you happy, and that should make me happy as well. The alternative seems little more than stony, uncaring silence. My cursor hovers over the ellipsis – there doesn't seem to be a point in speaking at this moment.

This isn't enough. It's nowhere near enough. It can never be enough. I want you to know that, if nothing else.

'...'

I have never chosen this option before, so I don't know how you will react… I can guess, however, that you will be disheartened. That you will interpret this as a rejection, that you will close yourself off from me yet again.

'…it's… just like you to be quiet right now,' you say. I can hear the quietness in your voice, even though I am reading your words from a screen. I am about to reset, to consign this mistake to nothingness, when you do something I never could have anticipated.

You laugh.

Not the nervous little utterances you normally use to cover your embarrassment, but genuine, joyful laughter, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a mirthful smile. Coming from anyone else, it could perhaps be considered cruel. But I find your unreserved joy so charming that for a few moments, I forget to advance your text.

'That's right, isn't it? It's so... you-like!'

I know you are talking to the vessel. You can't possibly be talking to anyone else. But that pronoun – that seemingly-innocent "you" – makes me question. Are you somehow aware that the vessel in front of you is being piloted by another being? If so… how long have you known for? Since the beginning?

…before then?

I know this is impossible. And yet… and yet, for the first time in a long time, I feel… seen. It's as if the screen separating us has disappeared, and just for that one moment, you are no longer just a character in a story, but a real, living person, full of life and possibility. I almost believe that if I reach out to you right now, I could actually touch you. And, almost as if you're thinking the same thing, you smile shyly to yourself and say, '...I guess I like "you-like" things.'

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the moment is over. You continue to stare at the vessel, as if they are the only one there. But I've never been surer of the fact that, on at least some level, you are aware of me, and just knowing that makes me feel a little less alone in the world.

Once the ride ends, I hug you again. You react in the same flustered way you always do, but this time I'm not doing it to wind you up. I am visualising myself in place of the vessel, imagining what it must feel like to have you between my arms. To my mind, your scarf is prickly to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. Your fur is wonderfully soft, like cashmere, your ears like velvet. I imagine that you smell like marshmallows, and perhaps just a little bit like fresh crayon scribbled onto sugar paper. I feel the heat rising from your cheek to mine, and your quiet breath across the back of my neck. Your pulse quickens, coursing through your entire body as slowly, you start to soften into the contact. Your head butts mine, gently, and your hands find each other around my waist. For you, this is likely the first time you've been hugged outside of our tutorial. For me, I have lost count of how many times I have done this. But this time is different - this time, I have surrendered myself completely, daring to fully indulge in this mad, beautiful fantasy of mine.

I know I'm being selfish. I know that the vessel has their own life and identity, completely separate from me, and that from their perspective I am just toying with them. I know that, in taking control away from them, I am sacrificing their potential happiness and wellbeing for my own short-sighted goals, and all I'm really accomplishing is running away from my own demons. And yet, when I am at my lowest moments, when I can't face my own world anymore, I am drawn back here, back to you. I don't have to pretend here. I can just be me.

It's almost time to go. When we next meet, you won't recall any of this. But I will never forget what you've done for me, here, just by being… well, "you-like".