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You’ve just gotten done putting on all your makeup when you hear a quiet knock upon your door.
“What is it, dear? You know you can just come in.” You call to the door. You were staying with Alphys for the week, so you assume it’s her - she usually knocks quietly like that.
You were in a manic mood right now, excited for your show tomorrow night. You had been pacing around your room practicing all of last night while you charged, making sure you had all your lines and lyrics right. Your audience has grown exponentially since you came to the surface, and all the attention drove your manic moods even more sky-high. It was all just so exciting!!
You hoped very dearly you would still be in a manic swing when the show rolled around. It’s incredibly taxing on you to put up your extravagant, happy facade when you’re having a depressive episode. But when you're in a manic episode - oh, how glorious and exciting it is! It's like you hardly have a mask on at all.
You've been awfully excited these past two days, though. You’re sure that nothing no could break you out of this manic swing until the inevitable crash after the show.
That is, until Frisk wanders into your room with a solemn expression, clutching something behind their back. There’s faint tear tracks on their face. They stare up at you, eyes unsure, biting their lip like they don't know what to say.
Worry settles in your non-existent gut like a lead weight, your body suddenly feeling heavy. It's as if a balloon has been popped - all the excitement and joy replaced with thick dread and cold fear. Your arms begin to shake as you hesitantly speak.
“Frisk, honey? W-What's wrong dear?” You ask, cautiously. A thousand different scenarios are rushing through your mind, each one worse than the last. You wonder who died, what happened, how much of it is your fault, what you could have done differently, what you can do to help, who died, who died?!
Just as you feel yourself enter panic mode, Frisk pulls a book from behind their back and sets it on your vanity table.
You know that book.
Your panic spikes, anxiety gnawing on your systems as you stare at it, your instincts telling you to run, run far far away.
You almost wish it was someone dead, instead of this.
Frisk snaps you out of your pure panic with a hand on your hip, attempting to push you back onto the fainting couch behind you. They’re not nearly strong enough to actually push you, but you go anyway - you feel as if you may faint if you don't sit.
Frisk pokes your thigh to make sure they have your attention, and then they sign at you, “I found your diary. Well, Diaries. All of them.”
You bite your lip.
“H-how, how did you f-find that, sweetie? I-It was hidden, I-I thought.” You stammer, bouncing your leg up and down nervously. They ignore you, instead moving to sit next to you on the couch. They shuffle around until they’re facing you, and place a hand on your knee for a moment.
“I know,” They sign, “I know. And it's okay. I care. You can talk to me about it. I'm here.” They pat your leg and smile at you, a small and weak smile, and something inside of you breaks.
You curse yourself for wanting to be able to cry in your movies, because here you are, beginning to sob.
No one’s ever said that to you before. Not once in your life has anyone ever sat you down and told you that they were there for you, that they cared. No one ever saw you as someone who needed reassurance - no one ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you needed a little help now and then.
You choke back a sob, then another. Tears roll over your cheek, into your facial vent - but you can't stop crying, and your chest rattles as you sob, and Frisk is there, someone is actually there for you.
You don't know how to handle this.
Frisk rubs their thumb in circles on your knee, before telling you again that they are there for you, that they care. That they want to listen.
You blubber on, taking in their words of affection and nodding, continuous doubt that anyone has ever really cared filled, dates for the time being on this moment of pure emotion. Someone actually cares. Frisk cares. You pull them into a tight hug, probably uncomfortable for their fleshy body but you don't stop to think about that, mind too filled with wondering what you could possibly say first, how you could possibly start. Still so amazed that someone would want to hear this at all.
It takes you several minutes to settle down enough to speak, and then several more to decide how it is you want to start. You decide on the beginning, on the first time you felt so much less than everyone else - and you are hit by the realization of just how long this has been going on, just how long you’ve been needing help that you’ve been too scared to ask for.
The words flow quickly, a wild river broken free from its damn. Its simple things, at first - being too scared to say your opinions, too worried about hurting other people to tell them that they were hurting you. You told Frisk the way you would quiver and shake at the first sign of conflict, about how you would feel absolutely worthless whenever Blooky was upset, because if you couldn’t help someone feel better then why did you even exist?
You tell them about your emotional permanence, about how you completely forget what it’s like to feel anything except what you’re feeling in the moment. About how any moment of sadness is a lifetime of sadness. You pause and look down, chewing on your lip.
Frisk grabs your hand, and holds it tight. You look them in the eye and try with all your might to smile, but just barely manage to grimace. You rub your thumb in circles on their palm.
“I remember, very clearly, when I first got my box body - this one was still in the works, then - I felt...Well, I felt real happiness for the first time in awhile. I felt like everything was falling into place, y’know? I thought, ‘This is it. This is the turning point. This is where things get better.’ I had spent so much time relying on this one thing, this one point in my life being my ‘get better’ point, being the start of me being happy.
“But they didn’t get better. That night i collapsed in my room and i felt the weight of the world crushing me. ‘I abandoned my cousin!’, I thought. ‘I’m absolutely horrible!’, I thought. I kept thinking about how bad I was and wondering why it didn’t all get better, why I wasn’t feeling better,” You stop and take a shaky breath. “And i felt so much worse than i did before, knowing there wasn’t this end-all goal in front of me. I felt so horrible that I started shutting it out, feeling an empty void inside of me, empty of emotions except for the occasional horrible feeling.”
You look away from Frisk. You’re crying again, you can feel it, but you don’t open your eyes. You hesitate, unsure if you really want to tell them what you’re about to say. You feel like a burden again - you’re just upsetting them, some part of you says - they don’t need to know this.
But you’ve already started. You’ve got to tell them.
“I had to do...something. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I knew that this whole ‘having a body’ thing meant that I was fragile, breakable in a way i never was before. Ghosts can’t die, you know...But robots? Robots can die. So i went up to the roof of the lab, and I...and I…” You take a deep breath.
“And I drove right off. I tried to kill myself, right then and there.” Frisk gasps, pressing a hand over their mouth. You notice for the first time that they’re crying, and you feel a pang of guilt. They squeeze your hand harder, hard enough that you can hear one of your metal joints creak. You look at them and you are silent for a moment, finally understanding the depth of how much they care for you. They really love you.
“Oh, Come here, you.” You murmur, pulling Frisk onto your lap. You extend your arms and curl them around Frisk, squeezing them tight. The two of you sit there for a few silent minutes, crying softly, your head resting on theirs. “I was fine, really, dear. That form really has more defense than you can imagine, and I...Well, I didn’t even dent it.” You sigh softly, thinking of the past, and stare at the wall without any expression on your face.
You retract your arms, pulling them slowly off of Frisk and returning them to their normal length. You sit still for a moment while Frisk turns themself around on your lap, to face you. They’ve really grown a lot since you first met them - But you are a very large robot, and they are still a tiny human to you. You hold their tiny hands in your large ones for a minute before you speak again.
“I hurt myself, Frisk. I do it to feel something. I do it because when everything else hurts, it's all I can do to take control. And it's killing me.” You say, slowly, averting your eyes from the small face in front of yours. “I used to do it more often than I do now, but that’s just because Alphys has grown rather tired of having to fix me. I-I…I can only pretend to be clumsy for so long, I suppose.” You hold their hands tightly in your own.
Of all the things you’ve said this morning, nothing has been as hard as what you’re about to say. Nothing can compare to this. You steel yourself to say, knowing damn well that you have to - but it scares you. It really scares you. You take a deep breath.
“I need help, Frisk. I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. I’m being pulled further and further down into the dark and I - I - God, Frisk, I don’t know how to get better. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to not be like this. I don’t know if I can get better but I want to, I want to so bad. I know that this is something I’ll always carry with me, but I...I want to be able to feel happy again, Frisk. But I’m so scared.” You’re sobbing again, holding onto Frisk and shaking.
They sit with you until you stop shaking, and hold on to you until you stop crying. And then they pull their hands free, turn and hop off of your lap, to stand in front of you. You feel very worried for a moment. Was...was asking them for help too much? You don’t want to be a burden, you really don’t.
But they turn and, through their tears, they smile at you. You smile back, weakly.
“I’m going to help you.” They sign with a, dare you say it, determined expression. “Do you trust me?” They ask, grabbing one of your hands. You nod, and they pull on your arm until you stand up. They walk out of the room, still holding your hand, and you follow.
You don’t know where you’re going, and you’re certain it will be a bumpy road - but maybe this is what you’ve been needing the whole time. Someone who cares, to listen to your problems and tell you that you’re not alone, that help is possible.
For the first time in a long time, you feel a spark of hope. You feel like, just maybe, there’s a light waiting for you, somewhere. You don’t know where it is, or how you’ll find it - but you’re sure as hell going to try. You’ve spent a long while thinking that you were just biding your time until you inevitably had enough of life and finally decided that today would be the day.
But you’re finally ready to say that you’re done waiting. You have people who love you and you’re not going to throw that away.
Somehow, you’re gonna make it.