To preface this chapter, I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to get this done. Truth be told, I'm really not sure I'll be able to finish it the way I was doing it before.
This chapter is going to be a couple of snippets, but the intention was that the emotional core of this story was going to be between the drifter and Flowey, finding kinship with one another as the only entities without a soul.
A man his age, the drifter knows he should be embarrassed to be guided by the hand like a child. And in a few ways, he is. He's perfectly capable of walking on his own, but on the other end, he's never known such a loving touch before.
During their trip, Toriel makes conversation with him. Some questions strike him as odd, such as "Do you prefer cinnamon or butterscotch?" Of course, only knowing what one of the two is, he answers "cinnamon". Lucky he even knows what cinnamon is. Too dangerous to actively seek out those ingredients on the surface.
While she asks him questions, he does so as well. The kinds of questions he always wanted to ask people, yet never got close enough to. How has her day been? Does she like to read? And does she like bugs? The answers to those questions being that her day has been well, she does like to read, and she does like bugs! He's got a lot more questions, but he'd like to make a good impression on her. Don't be overbearing with the questions.
Just as they reach the end of a long hallway, Toriel lets go of his hand. She gives him a strange device which he knows to be a cell phone, based on observing people on the surface. With an impatient, excited smile on her face, she asks him, "Could you please stay here? I would like to surprise you with something at home, but I don't want you getting lost."
Nowhere has the drifter ever felt at home, but there's a glow of hope in his heart at the idea that he'll find this to be a place where he belongs. A safe place where no one will wish him harm. Graciously removing his hat, the drifter replies, "No need to worry, Madame Toriel." With that, Toriel thanks him and rushes away. The drifter lingers, at peace for the first time in ages.
That is, until he catches an all too familiar sensation at his back: A spectator's eyes watching him, sizing him up.
???* A very big human looking thing. Does he bleed like a human does?
Sharply turning around, he scans the area around the hall, but all he sees is a little golden flower on the ground looking up at him with the biggest, most cloyingly friendly smile he's ever seen. That wasn't there before, he's certain of it. Raising a brow, the drifter crouches down, "Well, howdy there, little fella. Where'd you come from?"
"Howdy right back to ya!" the flower says, and the drifter nearly jumps back in surprise. As though going through the motions, the flower introduces himself, "I'm Flowey! Flowey the flower! You're new around here, right? What's your name?"
Huh. It's strange. Even after running through all the names he's contemplated in his head, he turns up blank. Not wanting to keep the question hanging in the air too long, he finally answers, "Sorry, l'il Flowey, but I don't have one."
Flowey gives him an odd look, one the nameless can't quite describe. Harder still to define since that bright, peppy smile comes right back in a second. Though, he does notice the glimmer of intrigue in those beady eyes. "Really? Hm, that's no good!"
Nodding in agreement, the drifter sits on the ground. "Yeah, just never really needed one before, and I wasn't given one. So I never bothered." Miss Toriel wanted him to wait, so what harm is some conversation with the one person who bothered asking for his name?
Around twenty minutes after she stops calling, the drifter begins to wonder if Miss Toriel ever meant to come back. Perhaps she only meant to take him this far, maybe she's playing some cruel game with him.
"You're an adult, right?" Flowey asks somewhat abruptly. "Why don't you just go?"
"I thought about it," the nameless answers after a surprised pause. "I've toughed it out before, so I suppose that it wouldn't be the first time. Just that-"
With a little scoff and a roll of the eyes, Flowey retreats into the soil, reappearing behind the drifter. "If you don't know if she's coming back, then just go!"
"...Good point, little fella," the drifter hummed as he stood up, venturing out of the room at last. Better to leave than linger with the fear that he'll be abandoned again.
Even after one week of living in the Ruins, the drifter still feels... out of place. Don't get him wrong, this is paradise on earth compared to his life on the surface. But when surrounded by the monsters of the underground, he looks very human, and it was a little more than disconcerting to discover that instead of flesh and blood, monsters were made of magic and dust. He long ago forgot exactly what he was made of, if he ever knew it, but it might not be magic, and it sure as hell wasn't dust. So if he isn't human and he isn't a monster, what is he?
The drifter breathes deeply as he waters the golden flowers where he first fell. This spot seems to call to him when he wanders the Ruins, but why?
After he finishes watering the flowers, he starts taking care of the weeds, mumbling quietly to himself. There's a door in the basement of Toriel's house. As nice as she is, he didn't come to the underground to be treated like a child. He never was a child, and he could never pretend to be one even if he wanted to.
No. Toriel may be sweet on her best days, but something tells him she doesn't want him going down to the basement for a reason. Not a selfless one either. He doesn't want to be duplicitous, especially to someone kind enough to take him in, but sneaking past the basement door when Toriel's asleep crossed his mind a few times...
As he's musing, a familiar face pops up from the ground.