Chapter Text
my black eye casts no shadow, your red eye sees no blame
florence + the machine – kiss with a fist
"I don't like it," Chara says, suddenly. You roll your head to the side, cold blades of grass rubbing across your cheek. They have that look – eyes wide, irises like bleeding jewels, a frozen half-smile – that look that means they've decided to do something interesting and they won't let anyone stop them. Nothing good ever comes out of that look. You don't smile much unless you do it on purpose, don't really bother using your energy when most of the time it doesn't really affect anything, but the corner of your lip twitches anyway.
* Don't like what?
"How it looks on you. It looks stupid. Let me fix it."
* You can't just erase a black eye, you know.
"Obviously," they snap, pushing themself up to lean on one arm. "I never said anything about magically erasing it. Don't act like you're dumb."
* Well, it's not like I can change that, either.
They scowl at your raised eyebrow and settle back onto the ground, which pretty much means that you win. You'll just wait to see what comes next. In the meantime, you turn your head up again, joining them in looking up at the stars, or at least what stars you can see through the smog and light pollution. Just a few for now, although more will poke through soon when the night gets deeper.
"Quit making fun of me. It's not endearing. Where'd you get that thing, anyway?"
* Some older kids picked a fight with me. I didn't fight, though.
"Why the hell not? What, did you get scared or something?" You can hear a tinge of irritated disbelief slip through. "Where else are you hurt?"
* Nowhere else. I told you I didn't fight them.
"So if you didn't, then how'd you get out of it with just a black eye, liar?"
* It's not a lie. I never fight. I win.
Chara rolls over and shoves you away, grumbling. You wriggle back into place with a deliberate smirk and they poke your bruised eye. It's more sensitive than you'd have expected.
You wonder just how late you'll be here. Chara tends to get restless, but you're happy to lie right where you are, disconnected from the world, way out in this little park that no one uses anymore. Some homeless people used to come here, but then the two of you started to make it a habit. Now this place belongs to Chara and Frisk as soon as the sun goes down.
"At least tell me you got something out of it."
* Five or six bucks. One of them got away.
"Good, but not good enough." They sit up, shift onto their knees, stare down at you from above, and there's a little flutter in your stomach. "Just get up already so I can fix your smug, stupid face." You wouldn't mind it if they stayed right where they are, but they're clearly impatient so you sigh and follow along, rolling your eyes as they half-drag you into place, both of you settling back to face each other. They look you over like a painter trying to figure out how to make a random drip seem like it was on purpose.
* So are you going to tell me what you're doing, or do you just want to keeping staring at my souvenir?
"Stay still," they say, grabbing the side of your face with one hand and forcing you to keep steady. "Quit it with all the fidgeting." You have no idea what's coming, so you'll play along. It's always more fun like that anyway.
You've barely finished the thought when they sock you right in the face, knocking you over completely while you hiss in pain. Getting punched in the same eye twice wasn't really on your agenda for the day, but hey, you'll take it. They shuffle over, not quite on all fours, studying their work as you wince and chew your lip to distract from hot, brutal pulses of bone-deep ache, and then they nod, decisively.
"There. Mine looks better on you."
Looking up again, you notice their pale face is speckled with dew, little spots that glint just the slightest bit in the smothered moonlight. You're about to sign... something?... but your mouth's gone dry for some reason and it's a little distracting. Chara's kind of adorable like this, all absorbed in looming over the still-twitching blue and purple butterfly they've got pinned to a board, their cut-ruby irises slightly glazed in deep thought, and suddenly you know exactly what you want to do.
* Come a little closer. There's something on your face.
They look like they're about to get angry again but apparently reconsider, slowly and awkwardly lowering themself closer to your level. Maybe they feel like they owe you just a little after that punch, even if the truth's the complete opposite. You squint as if you're searching for something, let the moment stretch until they start to look just the slightest bit uncertain...
... and then you ram your fist above their cheek as hard as you can, dissolve into giggles while they roll in the grass cursing your name and swearing vengeance. The whole spectacle is totally worth watching through to the end, but against all odds something else catches your attention for a second: a single spread of golden petals all out of place in the dim light, stem already snapped. It must have been half-buried by the dirt and green before the two of you knocked it loose.
"What the hell was that for?!" They're finally back upright, daggers in their eyes. You shrug.
* I wanted us to match.
They flinch away, cheeks going pink – with their skin, they're hopeless at hiding it – and you slip the flower into their hair while they're trying to remember to get mad enough to think of a comeback. You hum, satisfied; that outfit was boring without an accessory, and their sweater's big stripe does a great job bringing out its color.
The flower's something else, obviously, but it kind of reminds you of a buttercup. Small, pretty, and toxic to livestock.
It's perfect.