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The sound of the door to the flower shop closing can be heard muffled from their glass chambers.
The yellow flower’s stem stands askew, very much off-center, leaning on the blue one’s petals for support.
Thankfully, Susie had made sure the yellow flower’s stem was buried in the nutrient-rich soil before leaving. It had food at the very least.
It was sharing the dirt with someone very special.
Plants possess an innate connection when sharing the ground they sit upon.
While their roots have aged and are more fragile than ever, they are still very much capable of serving one of their primary functions: communication.
The yellow and blue flower have conversed before, even with the glass barriers that had separated them in the past. The notion of this is completely absurd. Something like this should be impossible.
Then again, flowers rarely survive for as long as the seven of them have.
Maybe Asgore has that magical touch when tending to the plants in his care that make phenomena that seem impossible actually probable.
Or perhaps a greater force of destiny is at play.
Blue certainly thinks so. “Omnia vincit amor,” he often quotes. Love conquers all.
Yellow and Blue don’t have to let cylinders of glass get in the way anymore. For now, anyway.
A part of them both hope that it stays this way for the rest of eternity.
The two flowers began to imagine—an incredible ability that was gifted to them when they were anointed with consciousness—human-like arms enveloping the form of the other in a tender embrace. They swore they could feel this embrace, too, in its entirety. Their arms ghosted over each other, like a spectral chill, while the phantoms of their hands set themselves comfortably on their backs.
Yellow imagines himself kneeling in reverence as he embraces Blue, his face brushing up with Blue’s midriff. This projection, this manifestation, felt so tangible that Yellow swore he could feel the soil beneath his knees.
Blue gazes upon Yellow with just as much reverence, standing en pointe and looking upon him lovingly. His pointe shoes are rooted in the ground.
Yellow’s eyes trained over to his left, beholding a crumpled up Flowery. Flowery’s head hung low, his hair—which had once been coiffed—now tousled from enduring an immense amount of stress. Tufts of his golden locks concealed his face. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The chamber he was kept in was the only thing providing Flowery with any kind of structural support, keeping him sitting upright.
Yellow’s eyebrows furrow upon seeing his friend in so much pain. Grimacing, he peers up at Blue.
“Blue,” he spoke, “Flowery ain’t lookin’ so good over there.”
Blue solemnly glances over to see one of his dearest companions. He feels helpless in this state, confined behind glass.
At least he’s confined behind glass with Yellow. That makes this so much more bearable.
“I concur,” Blue agrees. “His breaths, from here, appear labored. I am not sure if the tape Susie applied will be enough.”
“She—,” Yellow began to stammer out, “—she’s comin’ back, right? Said she was gonna do some more to help?”
A gentle smile crosses over Blue’s lips.
“I believe she did, if I recall correctly. I am sure Susie will continue to be involved in Flowery’s recovery.”
A beat of silence passes between the two. They continue to hold each other.
Blue’s palm motions to ghost over Yellow’s hat. He removes it to cradle his head, brushing back his hair.
It almost felt real. Maybe it could be if the both of them manifested it enough.
“Do not fret, Yellow. I have faith in them,” he assured. “Love acts as the heartbeat of their paths, after all. If they were not driven by love and compassion, then they would not have put in the effort at all.”
Yellow’s eyes widen briefly.
“They? Y’mean the both o’ ‘em?” He paused, trying to think of the best way to say this.
“Are y’sure? .. You saw what Kris was doin’ with that slip of paper, right? For a second there it looked like they were goin’ to, ..”
Yellow doesn’t want to think of Kris as a potential criminal, but their behavior just now was suspicious. As he mulled over the possibility, a darkness shadowed over his face. His gaze morphed into one of sternness, deliberating as to whether or not justice should be dispensed.
“I was referring to the both of them, yes.”
When it comes to matters of the heart, Blue always tells the truth.
Yellow knew this well. His face seemed to relax a little.
“We watched Kris grow up, Yellow. I have faith that they are operating on the most noble of intentions. .. In their mind, at least.”
Another moment of contemplative, anxious silence enters between the two. This tension dissipates when a chuckle hums from Blue’s lips.
“Let us not worry about what the future holds for the time being. What we should be focused on is the present.”
His eyes alight with joy.
“And the present has you in it. That makes it, well, the present.”
It takes Yellow a second to process what was just said. Once it settled in, Yellow became engulfed in bashfulness.
He nuzzled his face more into Blue’s midriff, earning another giggle from Blue.
“Aww, shucks, Blue! Y’really know how to .. use your words real nice! It’s makin’ me feel like, .. what’s that phrase again? Butter? In my stomach? But, wait, I haven’t had no butter..!”
“Haha, it appears as if Mr. Butterfly strikes again, hm?”
The apparition of Yellow’s arms give Blue an affectionate squeeze.
“Oh, right, right, butter’s fly. Butterflies. Butterflies is what I meant!”
“I know, Yellow.”
The two establish eye contact and hold it. Nothing else matters right now. Just them.
They existed in each other’s warmth quietly for a beat before Yellow speaks again. “Y’think we’ll ever get to try eating again?”
“It is because you wish to taste butter now, is that it?”
“Maybe a lil’.”
Perhaps it’s just from the lamp that’s suspended from the ceiling that beams light down on them but, from the outside of their container, the blue and yellow flowers’ petals seem to be glowing brighter now.