Chapter Text
One of the reasons why you always held the hands of your friends was to be sure they were real and corporal. Not that you thought they were illusions, you just wanted to have a solid feeling of friendship. Something to hold onto. Something to grasp if something was to happen. To feel safe, to feel secure.
The monsters in the underground respected it, of course. Why wouldn't they? They wouldn't judge you for being insecure or for needing physical contact. They accepted it like it was a normal thing. Sure it was awkward sometimes when you got to know new people, especially Undyne who usually acted tough and strong, but after a while, they got accustomed to it. You didn't really want to leave…
But your soul would be the last piece for their freedom and you were scared of that. You were the literal personification of freedom to them. To you, it was a heavy burden. Everyone called you the hope of the underground but as they saw how you didn't really want to leave their shouts of joy got smaller. Only rarely have you been called their hope lately. You feared that they would force you to go to Asgore one day.
You really didn't want to be their hope.
The hope wouldn't have to deal with this kind of things. The hope would be strong and determined but that wasn't you. Easily you cried, took things too much to heart, judged yourself too much. Yet, they all believed in you. They were still your friends. Even through dark times, they stayed with you. You were glad to have them but they can't take the burden from you. As long as no one else falls down here you'd be their hope.
You couldn't stand the spotlight that they place you in. You preferred to watch from the sidelines. This was probably the reason why you felt so sick during the fight with Mettaton because it was sent on TV and everyone could see it. Now every time you would go to Papyrus and Sans's place they would sometimes play the recordings of your fight. "To watch how heroic you fought." You always felt sick to the stomach. You didn't need to see this. Didn't want to.
Unconsciously you would grab Sans jacket whenever this happened. He always seemed to kind of sense your uncomfortableness and would make up an excuse for you to not watch it any longer. Sans was probably the one that you trusted to most down here too. It felt easy to tell him about the things that were bothering you. He would reassure you that it wasn't true. It helped but sometimes it wouldn't.