“It’s the first door on the right to the bedroom,” Flowey said. He was desperately trying to usher Rathe inside before she could ask any more questions. When Rathe began heading for the door, she noticed Flowey wasn’t moving with her inside.
“Aren’t you coming in too?” she asked Flowey. “I imagine you’d want some rest too. Not to mention it feels a little wrong just walking into someone’s old house alone.”
“You idiot,” Flowey responded nervously. “Flowers can’t go in houses. No soil.” If flowers could sweat, Flowey would have drowned himself by now. The fact of the matter is that Flowey knew whose house it was and was NOT eager to go inside there and think of her. He hoped to never think of it again, but helping Rathe out of here required going through her home. “I’ll just be in the basement until you wake up. Don’t worry about me.”
Rathe was suspicious. “If you can’t go into the house, how do you know where the bedroom is?” Rathe questioned, eyebrow raised. Flowey smiled helplessly, knowing he had been caught and quickly vanished under the soil. Rathe sighed. Flowey is hiding something from me, Rathe thought. She turned back to the door and went inside the house.
Inside the house was cozy- it was little more than simple wood, but it had been furnished ever so slightly to really seem like a home. A few pictures, a mirror or two, some plants. Even in the dark, Rathe felt welcome in this place. Rathe looked to the left and noticed a big room with what appeared to be a chair in it. To her right was a long hallway with multiple doors. Rathe wanted to explore, but as she turned to the left to check out the big room, she felt really faint, propping herself up on a wall to keep from falling. Maybe I am tired she thought to herself. Slowly she turned to the hallway, entered the first door and collapsed on the weirdly small bed. In minutes she had passed out completely.
* * *
Flowey began pacing in the basement below. Snail pie of all things, he thought. It was his favorite dish as well. At least… when he wasn’t a flower. The goat appearance, the Delta Rune, the kindness, the memories, all of Rathe was just so familiar. The only thing throwing Flowey off was that weird brown hair she was sporting. That was a totally different trait from the rest of her. “It couldn’t be Chara, could it?” Flowey said out loud. Just saying that name again made Flowey shiver.
“No,” he responded to himself. “She’s way too nice, too gentle to be someone like them. Not to mention it wouldn’t make much sense for her to see them and be so scared by their own form.” So then who was Rathe? Then Flowey remembered, being close to her he felt something inside of himself. Flowey gulped. He was about to do something really stupid.
* * *
Squeezing through the cracks in the floor, Flowey had managed to push himself up through the floorboards to the bedroom Rathe was fast asleep in. Her left hand was hanging off the side of the bed, and Flowey began to scooch closer to it. Once he was close enough to grab it, he reached ever so gingerly with one of his leaves towards her hand. At first contact, Flowey flinched in fear that she might stir, but Rathe kept on sawing logs. He placed both his leaves fully on her big hand nervously.
At first, Flowey felt nothing and was disappointed, but with a little patience he felt it again. A light thumping, but not just coming from Rathe, but coming from within himself. He felt a beating in him. Suddenly, a torrent of emotions flooded into Flowey: happiness, sadness, regret, anxiousness, contentment, fear, and yet these emotions almost felt euphoric to Flowey. It had been so long since he had felt anything but anger and nervousness and he let the emotions flow within him.
After a minute or two, Flowey had felt a dampness on his face and released his grip on Rathe’s hand to touch it. Are these tears? Flowey asked himself. Shortly after he had let go, the emotions left him, but still this close to Rathe, he could still feel the beating inside of him. He made a slow movement to take hold of Rathe again, but then hesitated, and retreated from the room all together. There would be no more beating for that night.
* * *
Rathe was out in the garden with her Father, tending to the flowers. They were both knelt over a row of golden buttercups, picking weeds, watering, and smiling to each other. “Golly, you sure do take after your mom, huh?” her father said gleefully to her. She tilted her head and smiled back.
“What do you mean, dad?” she asked him.
“When you smile,” he started, putting his hand gently on her cheek. “I can see your mother in you.” Rathe blushed a little and grabbed her dad’s hand. He laughed and turned back to his work.
As Rathe turned back to her work, she noticed one of the flowers looked like it was wilting. Upset, she watered it, hoping it might perk back up. Naturally, it didn’t right away, but in her mind, Rathe felt sad for the flower. Gently, she took the flower in her hand and it felt cold to the touch. She didn’t flinch from the flower and instead moved closer to it, never letting go. She smiled at the flower and it seemed to perk up a bit and it felt warmer in her hand. Noticing this, Rathe laughed a hearty laugh and the flower stood up firm and tall. “Everything alright down there, kiddo?” her father asked.
Rathe grinned back at her dad, still holding the flower in her hand. “Of course, Dad,” she said. “Just helping a friend.” Rathe returned to her work as the dream continued.
* * *
As she lay in the bed, dreaming away in delight, Rathe’s left hand closed softly, as though she had been holding a small hand. Flowey on the other hand was lost in confusion, but even as he sat there, unable to comprehend all the emotions he felt and all these sudden changes, Flowey smiled to himself. “Tomorrow will be a great day...” he said, content.
* * *
There are two kind of people in this world: those who know who they are almost from the get go and those who feel like they need to find themselves. Very rarely do those in the latter find themselves actually looking for themselves in a literal sense.