Change in The Air

Mettaton Ex has always felt like a boy trapped inside of a girls body. He's always liked boys. He's always felt different.


7. The First Change


I woke up gasping for breath, dried tears on my face and a watery mouth. 

I was wrapped in the arms of someone who was wearing a maroon sweater that was soft to the touch. They smelled like lemongrass and sleep.  It was Papyrus, I could smell him from a mile away. He was my favorite smell.

I was shaking, so I buried my face into his sleeve and let out a small sob. 

"Shh," He whispered, holding me close to his chest, "It was only a dream, only a dream..."

Except it wasn't a dream. I had been reliving a memory, and oh, what an awful memory it was. 

We were sitting on his couch, in his living room, and Supernatural was playing on TV. Everything was fine, everything was quiet and safe. 

Papyrus and I had become closer over the past few days, I'd go as far as to call him my best friend, but I don't know how he'd feel about that. I must admit, I like to know what he thinks of me. I don't know why, but I do, so when I asked him this morning if I should bind my chest, he told me to do what makes me happy, and I did just that. 

So I was sitting there with a flatter chest, trying to simply absorb the warmth from his body. I loved this feeling, the feeling of acceptance, of hope, and I wanted it to last forever. 

"You started crying in your sleep, are you okay now?" 

I wiped the tears from my cheek with the back of my sweater paw and looked up at him through watery eyes.

"Y-Yeah, thank you, Papyrus."

He hugged me closer.

"No problem."

His nimble fingers stroked my long, black hair gently as I let my eyes focus on the television. The memory was still fresh in my mind, but I felt safe with him, so safe that it almost seemed like none of it even mattered.

So, as I watched Dean and Cass talk, I said to Papyrus, "I want to cut my hair."

"You do?" He replied, but nothing about the way he said it implied any distaste.

"Yeah," I said with a nod.

"Okay, then," He said, "I could do it for you."

"You can cut hair?" 

"Sure," He said, standing up and beckoning for me to follow him. 

We went into his bathroom and he motioned for me to sit on his sink. He opened up one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of scissors; I was unsure why he had them in his bathroom, but I decided it didn't really matter. He surveyed my face briefly before raising his scissors and holding a few strands of my long hair between the blades. 

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, I'm positive."


"So, how do you want it cut?"

"You know, short-long. I really want side bangs to cover up my bad eye-can you do that?"

"Sure thing," He said with a nod, cutting another portion of my hair. 

I giggled in excitement and he smiled as my hair fell to the tiled floor. He seemed to be more and more impressed with his work and I couldn't be more relieved because it's not like he was a professional. His brown eyes were soft and focused the whole time, his lips parted slightly in an act of concentration. His intricate work reflected in his eyes and I could tell he was doing a good job, in fact, this was exactly what I was hoping for. 

When he was finished, I turned to look at my reflection in the mirror, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't flinch. 

"Papyrus," I breathed.

"Is it bad?"

"No, no, it's perfect."

He grinned, dimples poking at his rosy cheeks. 


I laughed at his nervous face and innocent manner and pulled him into a hug. 

"No, thank you. 





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