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You’ve never been the type to cut yourself any slack when it comes to pain: shit just happens sometimes, and you’d better not make a fuss out of it if you want to get anywhere in life. That’s how it’s always been: no mercy for those who want to hurt you – and no pity for you if they manage to. Big kids don’t cry, after all.
Except, they do sometimes.
It happens during a movie night: you are still not very familiar with the human culture – there’s only so much you can learn of while living in a small village at the end of the world and then in a dungeon sealed away a millennium ago – so you let Kris and Frisk argue about what they want to watch until they decide to settle on a series Frisk has never seen before.
– It’s modern classics, – Frisk says as the opening song plays, shaking their head ever so slightly to the rhythm as the letters on the screen fall in their places, forming a title that reads Arcane, – I’ve heard of it a lot, actually. Well, better late than never, I guess?
You are a bit skeptical at first – it’s an adaptation of some ancient videogame, after all, and even you know those tend to fail miserably, – but by the end of the second episode you find yourself enjoying the show quite a bit for a number of reasons, you are pleasantly surprised with the way the story presents itself – impressed, even.
It’s the third episode, however, that shatters you into pieces.
You are watching as the screen burns with blue fire – the fire born of loss and guilt and sorrow, of an excruciatingly painful desire to belong, of a hope so desperate that it hurts, – as tears start welling in your eyes.
It feels familiar, somehow – the darkness of the room, the blurred silhouettes surrounding you, the deep-seated ache in your chest that’s clawing at your throat from the inside...
That’s what it was like back in the True Lab, you remember, as you clench Frisk’s hand in yours tightly. Except, it’s a movie on the screen now, not your memories.
And then, just like that time, too, you suddenly hear yourself starting to laugh. Laughter pours from your eyes, floods your lungs, squeezes all the air you have left inside out with disjointed sobs and sighs as you go on laughing and laughing and laughing with a single thought in your mind: this is the funniest shit in your life.
Seriously though: can there be anything more funny than trying to protect somebody so hard that they die?
Than wrecking the home you’ve been looking for so long with your own hands?
Than being left by the one person you knew you could trust with anything?
Only dying in the process of this all, you guess.
It’s just so absurd, you think. So absurd and yet so, so fucking funny, and you hate it so much, and you keep laughing and crying and crying and laughing as your lungs burn, begging for as much as a single breath, and–
– Chara?
You feel the warmth of Frisk’s hands on your shoulders as they call your name.
– Chara, are you okay? – they ask again, concern written on their face, as you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. Behind them you notice Kris, their expression stoic as usual, yet also somehow clearly full of worry.
– Y-yes, – you answer in a strained, unsteady voice, struggling to regain at least some control over your breathing, – Guess I just related to that Powder girl a little too much. Nothing I can’t take, ha-ha.
For a moment or two, Kris and Frisk exchange weird looks.
– You know, you are such a dumbass sometimes, – Kris says softly as they get up from the couch and reach for the remote to switch the TV off, – No more movies for today, I guess? Well, anyway, I’ll be in my room if you need me.
You don’t bother to ask what they meant by that – you can do that tomorrow, after all, and you are too tired now, you think.
As soon as they turn off the lights and leave the room, Frisk falls on their side of the couch and pulls you into a hug.
– Big spoon today? – they ask, and you mumble something affirmative in response as they press themselves against your back, too soft and warm and comforting to refuse. You wish them good night, and they give the top of your head a loving kiss before covering the two of you with blankets, and in no more then ten minutes they are asleep, breathing steadily into your neck.
You close your eyes, too, but sleep doesn’t come; you are exhausted, and yet, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to be able to pass out, the looks on Frisk’s and Kris’s faces never leaving your mind, questions racing in it back and forth: What did they mean? Did I say something wrong?
And it’s only when the first rays of the rising sun start shining through the window that it finally clicks:
Powder was never meant to be a relatable character. She is a tragic one.