Work Text:
Flowey scowled at Frisk as they turned the page from the book in their hands. The human glanced up at him, blinking for a moment. Their gaze returned to the novel.
“Why are you upset this time?” they asked bluntly.
“It’s almost three a.m. and you’re not in your bed, idiot,” hissed Flowey.
The child hummed in response. “It’s the weekend, so it’s less of an issue,” they replied smoothly.
“Less of an issue?” repeated Flowey indignantly. “How many hours have you slept this week, Frisk? A child your age needs at least seven or eight!”
The brunet sighed before they rubbed their eye. “Flowey, you and I both know why I don’t sleep well. We always fall back to this argument."
Flowey growled impatiently before his roots sprouted from the soil in his pot. They lashed towards Frisk’s book before he flung it across the room. The novel hit the wall across from the pair before it toppled to the floor.
“Enough with the excuses! Toriel has given you sleeping medicine, and you tried it for what, a week? For how determined of a human you are, you’re accepting defeat too early,” snapped Flowey.
Frisk avoided his glare before they frowned. “It doesn’t stop the nightmares. What’s the point of taking them if the result isn’t what I want?” they whispered.
“This is self-destructive behavior, believe me, I know. You haven’t been on the surface for long—”
“Eight times,” corrected Frisk.
Flowey doesn’t reply. “This… is the eighth time. I haven’t stayed on the surface for as long as I have besides this timeline.”
A beat of silence passed between the pair.
“And how much longer will it be until you reset again?” asked Flowey bitterly.
Frisk laughed harshly before a tear rolled down their cheek. “I-I don’t know. I’m wondering the same thing,” they admitted with a shaky shrug.
Flowey averted his eyes from Frisk before his roots reverted into the pot. It was his turn to sigh. The brunet wandered their eyes to the window in front of them. They slumped further in their chair.
The glistening moon stood ahead as stars blanketed across the endless night sky. Crickets chirped, reminding Frisk they weren’t underground. They crossed the room and fetched the forgotten book. They placed it back into its spot on the bookcase.
They rubbed their eye, feeling drowsiness begin to overtake them. They folded their arms on the desk below them, despite Flowey’s nagging. Their eyes slipped shut as Flowey’s voice buzzed in the background like white noise.
“Fucking idiot… sleeping at the desk instead of the bed that’s five feet away ,” grumbled Flowey.
He used his roots again and wrapped them around the human. The memory of capturing Frisk’s friends (including his own parents) hit him like a truck. He ignored it as his vines shook slightly in response. Using another root, he flicked off the lamp on top of the desk.
Flowey carefully carried Frisk to their bed. He draped the MTT-themed throw blanket on the end of the bed onto the human. Frisk’s bags under their eyes were subtle, but he didn’t miss it. He let out a long sigh again.
When Frisk woke up a few hours later, they realized they weren’t asleep on the desk like they expected. They know it wasn’t the first time Flowey has done them a kind gesture, and they doubt it will be the last.