A game of implications

Gaster wasn't a stranger to receiving flowers from the king. Throughout the years, he'd been giften a variety of specimens, usually to "liven up" the laboraty, as Asgore himself put it. Violets were the usual choice, though golden flowers were just as frequent, due to their abundance. So it didn't surprise him when Asgore returned to the throne room with another vase.

But the variety did.

— So, what do you think? — The small vase was placed at the table, carefully between the teacups and kettle.

Golden flowers, buttercups and asters, if he remembered correctly. They were tastefully arranged, the specks of purple standing out brightly from the golden hues.

— They're beautiful, they always are. — A smile crept up his face, cradling the vase for further inspection. — But you usually only use one kind of flower. Any reasons for the change?

— Oh, well...I got inspired after you mentioned reading about flower language. It's not often I have someone who would understand it.

Oh.

— Is this a test, then?

An inquisitive smile was shot at him, Asgore's eyes glinting with the idea. One big paw offered support on the table as the king leaned back on the chair.

— It could be, if you want. — Asgore paused, eyes trailing back to the small bouquet. — We could even make a bet.

This tone of voice was not one he was used to. Playful, careful, in a way the king often wasn't. It stirred something in his soul. Some would call him competitive, maybe even to a fault, but a challenge like this, with a reward as well, it was too appealing to pass up. What was a monster to do besides taking up the offer?

— I accept it. What would it be?

— Well, how about...If you figure out their meaning until I finish watering the garden, I will pay you a cinnabun.

— Deal.

If he didn't know the king any better, the wide smile he received would have been suspicious. But it only compelled him more. Asgore assumed he would lose, he had to prove him wrong.

The vase was cold and smooth in his fingers, small grooved details decorated its teal surface. He'd seen it before, it had been used mostly for flowers inside of Asgore's home for other arrangements. A charming little piece of ceramic. At its rim, golden flowers lined the diameter, with the buttercups and asters filling most of the center.

The golden flowers were the easiest, most monsters in the underground knew of their meaning. The flowers that came from the outside. They were a symbol for hope for the future.

For buttercups, he had quite a lot to choose from. Childishness, radiance, affection. One of Asgore's favorite flowers. They used to be everywhere, as they grew faster than most, only out competed by the golden flowers. Their size and proliferation pretty much suffocated all the buttercup patches that weren't separate from the main section of the garden. An invasive plant outgrown by a regional flower. Nature loved its ironies, didn't it?

And last, there were the asters... or purple daisies. He knew Asgore grew both of them, so ruling out by exclusion wouldn't work. It was down to a lucky guess, though he couldn't even remember the meaning of either at this point.

— So, have you figured it out? — The gentle voice and sudden touch on his shoulder interrupted his pondering, nearly making him jump from his seat. Time had slipped out of his grasp, much like the vase nearly did.

— I...believe so. — Straightening his back somewhat alleviated the pounding of his soul, the weight on his shoulder barely helping it. Guessing what message Asgore had sent was easier said than done, though. It did nothing to improve his still shaken nerves. — Well, golden flowers mean hope, buttercups can represent childishness, and...

His voice died not much after. Improvising the last flower was impossible, much less without even knowing which one it was. Yes, a fifty-fifty chance of guessing correctly, but that meant nothing without knowing the meanings. A snort coming from the king did not help it either.

It only made his face grow even warmer.

— Your choice of flowers was a bit cruel, in my opinion. — He had to look up, since Asgore was behind him now. Warm eyes met his, ever so gently.

It drew a chuckle out of Asgore, the touch on his shoulder becoming more of a squeeze as it went on.

— Is that so? Why?

— Well, asters and purple daisies are too similar to each other, it's hard to tell the difference.

— I'm sorry for that, but I thought you wanted a challenge. — The king winked, one thumb caressing his upper back, drawing chills with each movement. Small, barely putting pressure, but felt with an intensity that was hard to match. — But you can tell they're asters because of the shape of their petals. Daisies have rounder and wider ones, while asters are sharper and thinner.

Something brushed against his leg as Asgore leaned over, pointing at the flowers. Something that attempted to curl on his shin right after. But was stopped, at the same moment the grip in his shoulder tensed, and then released. The phantom feeling of the hand left a warm impression on his lab coat.

Asgore cleared his throat suddenly, creating more distance between them.

— ...Not to mention they are a more intense shade of purple. But they are in the same family, so I see why you got confused.

As he spoke, Asgore sat across from Gaster again, a small package now put on the table. The smell gave it away instantly, cinnamon and sugar, something very, very familiar was inside. But...

— I haven't gotten all three meanings, though. Is it for you?

Hearty chuckles came from the king, so light that the strength of his voice barely brought them down.

— Well, you got something, and I bought it earlier anyways, it'd be a waste not to eat it.

— But nothing more fair than the winner to take it.

— If you insist, then. But as the winner, I want you to have it.

Asgore was in equal measures endearing and frustratingly stubborn. Well, two could play this game.

— Then I will have it this way.

The knife didn't find much resistance from the pastry, splitting the cinnabun in half with ease. Wordlessly, he placed the bigger of the halves on Asgore's plate.

To his surprise, Asgore froze, staring at him, almost a statue. The silence only grew more and more awkward as it went on, both halves untouched. He had to resort to nudging Asgore's foot to bring his attention back.

— Oh...are you sure?

— I wouldn't have done this if I wasn't.

Endearing wasn't strong enough of a word to describe this moment. Asgore's sheepish movements pulled a grin out of him, a softness he couldn't get enough of. And the sweetness of the cinnamon bunny only made it better. Contrary to what his other tastes would suggest, sweets were his weak spot. Pastries in specific gripped him so, so easily.

Looking around the garden, with a bouquet set on the table, a hot cup of coffee, eating one of his favorite foods with Asgore. It seemed like time had stopped. Just for a few moments, where nothing else really mattered. Not now, not there.

Unfortunately, time still kept moving, but he could make the most out of these fleeting minutes.

— What are the meanings, then? I don't think you have told me these before...oh.

He didn't mean to snort at his king, not this loudly at least, but...it was hard to keep straight face with how much sugar was stuck in his beard by now. How long it took for Asgore to realize did not help it either.

— Sorry, I... — Asgore turned beet red with the following snorts, patting the sugar off his chin. — This beard is more trouble than it is worth, sometimes...

— Maybe a trim would be better rather than taking such a drastic decision. — His face now hurt from grinning, covering part of his mouth with one hand. The huff he received from the king made it harder to stop.

— You know I wouldn't chop it all off, Dings... — Asgore leaned back on the chair, head tilting ever so slightly, setting his eyes on Gaster again.

It was different from the usual look his king would give, somehow softer than the previous ones, with an unfamiliar weight woven into it. He could almost hear a low rumbling coming from Asgore... something he hadn't heard in a very long time.

But the gaze ended almost as soon as it began. Asgore caught his stare, turning away quickly, as did he right after. The warmth returned to his face. Hopefully subtler, but no less present.

— I know.

Asgore cleared his throat again, focus turned back to the vase between them. The inconsistent lighting of the garden made his eyes play tricks on his mind, still spotting remnants of red in the king's face.

— Well...it still may be worth it for you to piece it together on your own. So you can find the combined meanings instead of just the individual ones. — The table had begun to tremble, not an uncommon sight in their meetings. Asgore's leg was sitting against one of the feet, bouncing rapidly, lightly shaking everything sitting atop it. — So you can practice for next time.

Next time?

The meanings he managed to gather didn't make any sense, but playing along seemed like the only way to get any answers about them. Besides, who was he to deny a brain teaser? And if he was lucky, perhaps they would give an answer about this...new behavior from his king.

— I will do my best. Though you better have another cinnamon bunny for this next time, then.

Asgore lit up with the request, gaze softening again. There was still sugar and cinnamon sprinkled in the mustache, hair slightly unkept from kneeling down to take care of the garden, face illuminated by the rays of sun that peeked from the ceiling. A sight he wished he could keep preserved forever in his mind.

— Of course, Dings.

It is only later in the night that Gaster found the time to consult the book. A somewhat recent purchase from New Home, after Asgore had mentioned the topic before the latest budgeting meeting. It was old, from the surface, but still in quite decent shape. He hadn't been able to read it in much depth, but this new push was all he needed.

His eyes wandered to the vase at his desk as he sat down, the reflective buttercups glinting due to the desk lamp. Examining it better, he picked up one of the asters that had nearly fallen off. Aster... Asgore loved puns, even if intricate wordplays were not the king's strong suit. Aster, Gaster, not to mention being the name of a font as well. Maybe the fifty-fifty guess was not as cryptic as he though. Perhaps he shouldn't have second guessed so quickly. Not that it would have helped him much, though

Asgore's behavior stayed in the back of his head for the rest of the day, the silence of the house bringing it closer to the front now. It was ever so slightly different, close enough to make him wonder if it was all just a trick of his imagination, but different enough to wonder about the reasons for it. An uncanny valley of sorts. He must be missing a part of this puzzle, and part of the answer could be in these tests. Only one way to find out.

Opening the book, most of the flowers were ones he knew Asgore grew, so even more further reading would be needed, if he wanted to be prepared. Being made a fool again wouldn't do. With a cup of coffee, flipping to the asters entry, he was ready for the long night ahead.