They don't... they still don't quite know how to make it clear when they want to smile instead of just - you know, just smiling. How to make their smile not creepy, not wrong, not mean bad things instead of good things. They know how to recognize vulnerability, but not how to reward trust, how to be reassuring and sincere and all the things a real Dreemurr is.
But they smile, and hope that says what they want to say. Hold out a hand, not with expectation or demand, but simply as an invitation. Something that can be taken or declined as he wishes. Something softer and warmer than an unyielding doorframe, something that can offer the gentle pressure that says "see? We're here." Something that can be his choice, something he gets to take or decline.]
I... I want to help. I want you to have that, too.
[What... what would Frisk say, if they were the one in control right now? What would a good friend tell somebody in need? They don't know. They don't know what words you're meant to use for this - for this... for understanding what a risk it is to be vulnerable. For knowing what it's like to crave, so wildly, the feelings of "not alone," of "accepted as I am," of "allowed to be myself," but also knowing those are indulgences that aren't meant for people like you.
They're going a little red, fumbling over their words, not being practiced and eloquent and detached at all. It's all to obvious that this isn't - this was always the role good people like Frisk were meant to play. It was Frisk in control in the timelines where people were happier. They don't know anything about making people happy, about trying to translate this ache of - it can't be sympathy, it can't be compassion, it can't be care, they've never had any of those - this ache of... wanting Mettaton to be okay. To - to not just be okay, to flourish.
To not... to not suffer this anymore.]
I know... this may not have been the easier answer, but I want to reward the risk you - I want to reward your trust. Thank you for letting me in.
action
They don't... they still don't quite know how to make it clear when they want to smile instead of just - you know, just smiling. How to make their smile not creepy, not wrong, not mean bad things instead of good things. They know how to recognize vulnerability, but not how to reward trust, how to be reassuring and sincere and all the things a real Dreemurr is.
But they smile, and hope that says what they want to say. Hold out a hand, not with expectation or demand, but simply as an invitation. Something that can be taken or declined as he wishes. Something softer and warmer than an unyielding doorframe, something that can offer the gentle pressure that says "see? We're here." Something that can be his choice, something he gets to take or decline.]
I... I want to help. I want you to have that, too.
[What... what would Frisk say, if they were the one in control right now? What would a good friend tell somebody in need? They don't know. They don't know what words you're meant to use for this - for this... for understanding what a risk it is to be vulnerable. For knowing what it's like to crave, so wildly, the feelings of "not alone," of "accepted as I am," of "allowed to be myself," but also knowing those are indulgences that aren't meant for people like you.
They're going a little red, fumbling over their words, not being practiced and eloquent and detached at all. It's all to obvious that this isn't - this was always the role good people like Frisk were meant to play. It was Frisk in control in the timelines where people were happier. They don't know anything about making people happy, about trying to translate this ache of - it can't be sympathy, it can't be compassion, it can't be care, they've never had any of those - this ache of... wanting Mettaton to be okay. To - to not just be okay, to flourish.
To not... to not suffer this anymore.]
I know... this may not have been the easier answer, but I want to reward the risk you - I want to reward your trust. Thank you for letting me in.