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The realisation struck Soul completely out of nowhere, he was only walking from his room to the kitchen, in search of a snack– absolutely nothing was wrong {beyond the inherent wrongness of his existence} and yet he suddenly found himself all too aware of a growing pressure in his head, pushing down his thoughts.
It was happening again.
‘It’ being that strange malady that every so often will begin pressing in on Soul, sanding down his edges until he’s left completely soft and vulnerable. He knew what it was, thanks to Heart {and Mind, though he struggled to admit it} experiencing the same thing, but he refused to give it its proper name. It was sickening, wrong; Soul was never a child – none of them were – there is nothing for him to return to, nothing to reclaim.
Regardless, it was happening again– even after Soul had spent so much time and effort attempting to hold it back. The sensation was dizzying, fog clouding his senses, making him feel too big and too small all at once.
Something twisted in his chest as a realisation came to him; he isn’t safe here. He can’t let Heart and Mind see him like this. It’s bad enough that they know it’s something that happens to him {he still cringes thinking about all the times Heart or Mind have had to rush into his room after he started pathetically sobbing in the middle of the night} the thought of them seeing him like that, vulnerable, exposed, small, is far, far too much.
He needs to hide. But his room is too far, there’s every chance he could run into one of the ids on his way back– and they’ll know. Sickeningly, they somehow always seem to know.
Freezing in place, Soul’s eyes dart around, searching for something, anything, anywhere he could go to hide, just to wait for it to pass.
{Waiting for it to pass is easier said than done when he has a tendency to spend the rest of the day small if he slips up and allows himself to drop. He tries to ignore that thought.}
Relief washes over Soul as he finally spots something that could help: a door, half hidden behind a vase of whatever flowers Mind had placed in it {Soul never cared to learn their names}. He knows what’s inside, it's just a storage closet. Soul almost forgot it was there.
If Soul almost entirely disregarded it, then surely the ids would too. It’s perfect.
On shaky legs, Soul stumbles to the door, quickly opening the door and slipping inside, making sure to shut it behind him as quietly as he can manage.
Only a few steps into the closet, and Soul can’t hold himself up any longer, the shaking overpowering his limbs and forcing him to lower himself to the ground, tucking his body behind Whole’s drum kit to hide out of view from the door, just in case someone did enter.
Just a second after he has that thought, he realises how childish it is. He is far too big to be at all obscured by the drum kit, not to mention it is not a good shape to hide behind. He’s just as exposed here as he would be anywhere else in the room– and yet the idea that he is hidden behind still causes something tightly wound to unfurl, just a little, in his chest, relief soothing his constant, fearful shaking.
Curling his limbs up, he leans over, gently resting his head against the drum kit. He knows deep down how scared he was just a few minutes ago, but it’s hard to imagine. Everything outside of the closet feels so far away. All he has the ability to think about now is how sleepy he’s getting, cocooned in the dark and the quiet of the closet.
Soul lets out a weary sigh, and his eyes slip shut.
The first thing Soul hears – before he’s even opened his eyes or realised he’s awake – is a door slamming open. He jerks upright, only for a sharp pain to bloom across his head as the drum kit he was resting against clatters, before falling over.
Soul usually isn’t one to wake up feeling small, but the noise – of both the door and drum kit – and the pain do a fantastic job of making him feel even tinier than he was before he fell asleep. Whining, he raises a hand to rub his head, trying desperately to stop the tears pricking his eyes.
“[Soul? What the fuck are you doing in here?]” Mind’s voice shakes– is he angry? Was Soul not meant to be here? That’s ridiculous, surely, there would be no reason for their storage closet to be off limits, but the tone of Mind’s voice causes an endless swarm of {bad, you’re bad, that was wrong, wrong wrong wrong} to fill Soul’s head.
His fist clenches, grabbing and tugging his hair as he does.
“[Shit. Hey, hey, Soul, look at me. What’s wrong? What are you doing in here?]” Mind’s voice does something Soul can’t quite place. It seems softer, but it also doesn’t. It’s strange.
Soul’s whining and Mind’s footsteps are the only sounds as Mind approaches Soul. He’s fast, almost a run but not quite.
“[Soul. Let go.]” Mind’s hands wrap around Soul’s fist, trying to coax it open as best he can. Soul only whines louder in response, face heating up as his eyes turn glassy– he can feel the tears in them threatening to fall. He grips his hair tighter.
“[Please.]”
Slumping forward, Soul loosens his grip, allowing Mind to gently guide his hand out of his hair and back to his side. Then, Mind cups Soul’s face in both hands– the metal is cold, it’s nice. He can’t help but sink a little further into Mind at the touch.
“[There you go,]” Mind says. He sounds more relaxed now, but the air hangs heavy, like he wants to say something else but isn’t sure what. Soul doesn’t bother trying to piece it together, content to drink in the feeling of Mind’s cool hands against his skin.
Tracing his fingers over Soul’s cheeks, Mind seems to search for something in Soul’s face for a moment– not that Soul has the energy to figure out exactly what he’s after. After a moment, he shuts his eye, still tracing patterns onto Soul’s cheeks.
Softly whining, Soul attempts to lean into Mind’s touch, encouraging him to continue. He can’t help it, it’s nice, he wants more.
“[Easy, starlight, I’m not going anywhere.]” Mind removes his hands from Soul’s face– Soul almost starts whining more insistently, how could he say one thing and then do the other not even a second later– but then Mind is tugging Soul into his lap, encasing him in his arms. Hooking his chin over Mind’s shoulder, Soul lets out a small sigh.
“[What were you doing in here, anyway? I was… worried.]” Even small, Soul knows what Mind means.
{Folding chair clattering against the floor– noose tightening around his neck–}
“[Hey, hey. Breathe. I’m not mad, okay? I’m just relieved to know you’re alright.]”
Soul whimpers, fists tightening in Mind’s shirt– Mind doesn’t protest, just holds Soul a little tighter.
After some deep breaths, encouraged by Mind rubbing circles into his back, Soul manages to gain the will to speak. “{Just… wanted to feel safe.}”
“[You didn’t feel safe in the rest of the house?]”
Soul whimpers, shaking his head ‘no’. He’s already used up all the words he was capable of.
Mind sighs.
“[Alright, we can talk more about this when you aren’t regressed. Do you think you can manage leaving? This isn’t exactly the most comfortable, and I have no idea when the last time you ate was but you could probably use some food.]”
Hesitant as he is to leave his hiding spot, Soul nods. Mind will look after him, right? And he’s pretty sure he wanted to get food before he ended up here.
Wrapping his arms around Soul and holding him tight, Mind carefully stands. It isn’t easy, seeing as Soul is significantly taller than Mind, but he somehow manages to balance himself upright while still keeping Soul held safely in his arms.
The two of them spend the entire trip to the kitchen with Soul holding onto Mind as if his life depended on it, and Mind cooing soft reassurances in his ear. If Soul was in a more adult headspace, he would be grateful for the fact that Heart isn’t around to witness this– but he isn’t, Soul feels all of two years old at the moment {and if he’s honest, that’s being generous}, and the only thing he can think about is the soft comforts Mind is giving him.
Eventually, they make it to the kitchen. Carefully, Mind places Soul on the counter, before beginning to search the fridge and cabinets for anything he deems a suitable meal for Soul, who fusses at first when he loses Mind’s touch, but eventually contents himself with kicking his feet where they hang off the counter.
Mind slides a plate next to Soul, prompting him to still.
“[You can eat here, right? I’d rather not have to carry you and the plate at the same time.]”
Soul nods, reaching for the plate’s contents: a sandwich, cut into fourths. Just the sight of it is enough to push Soul a little further into his younger headspace. He picks up one of the small sandwiches with one hand, reaching out for Mind with the other– Mind holds onto the hand with both of his, and Soul hums happily as he bites into the sandwich.
It doesn’t take Soul long to devour each and every sandwich– they’re good {Mind always makes good food} and he hadn’t even realised how hungry he was. Mind lets go of Soul’s hand as he picks up the plate to place in the sink; Soul whines, reaching out for him. It doesn’t take long for Mind to return, carefully scooping Soul into his arms once more and gently shushing him.
Now that he’s been fed, all Soul wants to do is to stay with Mind, preferably in his arms. He needs to be held. If Mind lets go of him again– especially since he wouldn’t even have a reason to, now that Soul has been fed– he won’t be happy. Soul still isn’t capable of talking, but he wraps his arms tighter around Mind, and hopes he gets the message.
“[It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, starlight,]” Mind coos into Soul’s ear as he begins walking; where is he going? Soul doesn’t know– and he doesn’t have the energy to care, really.
After a while of Mind moving around while trying to still safely hold Soul, accompanied by various shuffling and clicking noises, Mind finally sits down, taking a moment to reposition Soul to be more comfortable. Soul simply rests his head against Mind, allowing him to do whatever he wants with Soul, just happy to be held.
Something soft and fluffy is draped over his shoulders– it takes him a second to realise it’s a blanket. The weight of it around him is comforting, he can’t help sinking into Mind as his thoughts grow ever fuzzier. Mind does something, but Soul can’t quite make out what he’s doing, and he doesn’t have the will to move to get a better view. He doesn’t need to, as not long after, the TV lights up and begins playing a familiar set of sounds.
In seconds, Soul is shuffling around, trying his best to remain cuddled into Mind while also being able to see the TV, but it’s hard to hold onto Mind and face the screen at the same time.
Mind seems to notice his struggle. “[Here, let me,]” he says, before tucking the blanket around Soul and cradling him in his arms, then slowly, carefully laying back, Soul’s head resting on Mind’s collarbone, tilted towards the TV.
This is perfect. Soul wraps his arms around Mind, humming softly in a wordless thanks, before he’s quickly enraptured by the soft but vibrant colours of the movie’s opening scenes.
Still cradling Soul with one arm, Mind brings a hand up to card through his hair– Soul’s eyes soon grow heavy, a pleasant haze overtaking all of his thoughts. He’s simply content to take in the bright colours on the screen, the blanket wrapped around him, Mind’s hand in his hair, and the gentle rise and fall of Mind’s chest. It’s comfortable. He’s safe.