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The ruins are quiet here. Distantly you can hear the sounds of the surface, but only if you really strain your ears. There’s the sound of bugs, the wind. There are crickets down here, and they softly chirp, seeming uncaring about the time of day. The sun is at its peak, and it shines brightly upon the golden pool of flowers that Frisk landed on in the first place. It warms Frisk’s face, their skin, soaks into their bones. Their eyes are closed, and they keep them closed, content with letting the brightness try and seep through their eyelids.
Chara is beside them. Reaching and blindly grasping for them reveals nothing, they can’t feel them, but turning their face and peeping through their eyelashes, they can see their form. They’re sprawled out on the flowers like one would a king sized mattress, and Frisk can’t help but laugh quietly at it, propping themself up to see better.
Chara’s thoroughly asleep. Conked out. He knows Chara said they don’t really sleep that deeply anymore, but they sure could fool him. They look, pun aside, dead to the world, eyes closed and face turned up to the sun. Their skin is pale, and their eyes have that reddish hue on the skin under them. A hand rests on their stomach, the other is strewn across the flowered floor. There are golden petals in their hair. They spend a long time just staring at them. They sit up properly, the warmth of the sun now aimed on their head and scalp as they do. If it weren’t for the fact Chara hasn’t drawn a single breath in the entire time she's known them, she'd have never believed they were a ghost. Okay, well, the translucency was a dead giveaway, but other than that — sure, they're pale, sure, they look a bit sickly, but he wouldn’t say dead . There’s just so much… life to them.
They still don’t know how they died. Chara hasn’t said, and hasn’t been willing to. They think back to when they met that old turtle whose name they can’t remember. He’d talked about a prophecy, and as he had, Chara had visibly soured. When Frisk asked about it later, they shut him down. Told him to not bother. That it was an old wives tale, something monsters tell their children so they’ll sleep better at night.
The angel… the one who has seen the surface… Frisks brows furrow in thought.
Is there a way to do that? To.. empty the underground? In other words, break the barrier, set everyone free. A happy ending to all this?
Chara definitely doesn’t seem to think so. They’re dead set on him leaving. He’d agreed at the time, said to give them a bit, they needed time after everything, but he doesn’t know how to tell them that the sheer amount of thinking they’ve done after the past few days has changed their mind. Has made them question more of how this world works, and their part in it.
Chara wants them to go home. Chara wants to save them. That’s what they call it. Going home is saving them. But is it? Frisk doesn’t think so, anymore. They think it’d be a disservice. To everyone. The easy way out. And nothing worth doing comes easy.
What if there is a way to free everyone? To SAVE them. To make it so no one else has to die? Maybe there isn’t. Maybe he’s being naive.
But an if means there’s a chance. And there being a chance means they have to try.
Frisk’s face sets, brows furrowed. He sits back from where he was sitting leaned forward, chin on his hands. They stand after only a moment more, stretching in a deeply satisfying way, mind thoroughly made up.
Chara wakes up by the time they’re halfway across the room. They meaning both of them ; Chara’s being dragged along by that little red string of fate as they wake up groggily, looking around them all baffled. “Oh, we’re moving— we’re moving?? Frisk? Where are we going?”
Frisk grins. They don’t answer. They never really were the talkative type, before Chara. They let them come to their own conclusions, just trodding on, if a bit faster than normal. That catches Chara’s attention. They sit up straight, still being dragged, staring at the back of Frisk. “Out?? Is it time??”
Now, Frisk stops, looking behind at Chara. Their smile widens. They let it speak for them. Chara matches it, a determined excitement lighting in their eyes, one that mirrors Frisk's own.