The feeling, the sight, the smell, and the memory of rainfall on the paved streets was so bittersweet, now. He felt lost, terrified. His darkest secrets were still underground yet he felt as if the guilt of them trailed behind him and weighed him down the farther away he walked from them. This place he once called home felt so foreign now...It was as if the dirt itself had rewritten its history after his people's imprisonment, mourning their absence. But he learned, from his first step into this familiar world, that nothing was ever truly gone. Memories, the sun, the moon, the stars...even hate, violence, discrimination. But there were always exceptions. Rare ones. Like the one that stood beside him under the rain, and offered his soaked figure her umbrella with a kind smile; who looked at his hands with such wonder that his Soul churned in guilt and embarrassment as he quickly hid them in his pockets. He could only wonder why the spring rain's mist and her warm grin sent a tremor of melancholy and shame through his Soul. (Where Frisk falls into the mountain in the midst of Handplates events, breaking the barrier before Gaster could finish his work with his subjects) --------------------------------- You can also read it on my AO3! LucidAngel :))