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More often than not, Asgore felt like he was missing something. Not his usual ache of missing Toriel or his poor Asriel; this was a deeper, not as focused feeling, something he couldn't really put his paws on. Any time he tried to pinpoint just why or how he really felt, it would disappear, like water through a sieve. And yet, somehow, he knew that it was important that he remember, that he needed to figure out what he’d forgotten. That, if he didn’t, he would regret it for a very long time.
It wasn’t as simple as putting something down and realizing you’ve misplaced it, that you weren’t sure where you’d lost it or even if you had really lost it (he’d done that enough times with his crown before he simply…..stopped wearing one); it was almost as though he was missing part of himself, a part that he hadn’t known was nearly as important until he couldn’t remember it. He only knew that something wasn’t right.
The feeling only intensified whenever he went to Hotland, to visit Alphys, his Royal Scientist. She was a good friend, and she was hard at work on the problem of monsters who had Fallen Down. It seemed to be getting more frequent, and if they couldn’t find a cause or a cure, he worried for the future of his subjects. Then again, Asgore frequently worried for the future of his subjects. There was only so much he could do, with the barrier still in place. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be brought down. The last time it had been down, they had lost so much. And with the humans likely still wary of monsters, it seemed safer for the barrier to stay in place, for the monsters to stay Underground, as cruel as that might seem.
But these were the sorts of decisions that he had to make, as King of Monsters. He had to consider the well-being of all of his subjects, and take the time to consider what was best for them in the long run, even if it may not seem that way right now.
It was a lonely life, since Toriel had left him. Asgore didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems, and so he shouldered them alone. The only time he felt free to speak his mind, to unburden himself was when he was in the garden, surrounded by the yellow flowers his human child had so loved. In the garden, he could be at peace, talking to the flowers as he tended to them, his cares watering them as much as the actual water they drank.
As much as he loved spending time in the garden, it was there that the feeling of missing something, of forgetting was the strongest, despite the peace of the place. It was bittersweet, the not knowing. Because if he knew what he had forgotten, he would ache even more. Not knowing, he could shoulder the sense of loss with his other burdens.
But he was sure it was something worth remembering.