Can I Have A Treat... The Most I Really Have In Mind Is Something About Post-pacifist Flowey/flowey Having

can i have a treat... the most i really have in mind is something about post-pacifist flowey/flowey having a good time cause i want to see my funny little dingus happy

your wish is my command.

A solitary leaf drifted lazily off a tree. Flowey watched through the murky windowpane as it reached its destination, joining its brethren in cushioning the falls of pedestrian feet. 

“Really pretty, huh?”

Flowey turned his gaze from the window to see Frisk sauntering over and saddling up to star. “Bet you didn’t have them this pretty in the Underground.”

Flowey didn’t answer their statement, instead electing to return stars gaze to the window. Frisk either didn’t get the memo or simply didn’t care, as they continued standing next to Flowey, bouncing on the balls of their feet, awaiting a response. After a long moment, Flowey whispered a sigh and, without turning his head, spoke back to Frisk bluntly.

“I don’t see anything pretty about them. They’re dying husks of things that used to be living, all shriveled up and DEAD. All they’re doing is putting on a good show before their eventual demise.”

Frisk was silent for a while and Flowey gave them a glance to see that they’d covered up their mouth with their hand. Surely Flowey hadn’t shocked them THAT much, had he? They knew that star was a soulless husk, of course he wouldn’t find dumb leaves PRETTY! 

Frisk made a weird noise with their mouth and Flowey realized they were covering up a snicker. “I never knew you were a leaf nihilist, Flowey.”

Flowey stared at them, trying to figure out what blatantly incorrect assumption was most worthy of counteracting. “I’m not—leaf nihilist isn’t even a real—it’s TRUE, isn’t it? Sure, the leaves LOOK pretty. But that’s just a cover-up. A way of hiding that they’re dying on the inside!”

“Are we still talking about leaves?”

“YES!”

“If you say so.”

Frisk stared at Flowey for a moment, trying to read his thoughts. “That’s not what the leaves make me think of. You know, leaves aren’t ‘alive’ alive. They’re part of the tree.”

“So? The tree is dying, then. It’s losing parts of itself until it rots away completely!”

“The tree.”

“YES, the tree!”

“Alright. But I don’t think the leaves are part of it. They’re like… fingernails, or something.”

“Fingernails.”

“Well, that sounds kinda gross… it’s like… I dunno, like how dogs shed their fur, right? And they’re still the same, living dog underneath. They just get a new coat! And just because their outsides are different doesn’t mean the tree isn’t the same on the inside!”

Flowey contemplated this for a moment. Star didn’t… hate that idea. He looked back down towards the trampled leaves, red and golden in the light of the drowsy sun.

“But, y’know, you could try not making everything about death and gloom and stuff. The leaves can just be leaves. Pretty leaves. You have to admit they’re pretty.”

Flowey was silent.

Frisk gently placed their hand beneath Flowey’s face and shifted it upwards so his gaze rested on the trees.

“Especially the ones not on the ground.”

Sunlight beamed through the branches, lighting the trees aflame with color and vibrance. Flowey let out a sigh despite himself as somewhere deep within him a singular knot unraveled. 

Frisk was right, star admitted. This was so much better than the leaves underground. To say the least.

Flowey grudgingly tore his head away from the sight and looked at Frisk, aggravated to see that they were covering their mouth again. “What?” The question came out less aggressive than he’d intended.

“Nothing. You just looked so starstruck. You REALLY need to get out more. And maybe look up more. Though I see how that could be a problem, considering.” They moved their hands a foot apart and grinned.

“What’s that even supposed to—HEY!”

Frisk giggled. Flowey adamantly fought any desire to join in. He was not about to injure his pride in such a manner. Flowey took a deep breath. No need to acknowledge what they’d said, that would only encourage them, it would only—

A little ways away from star, Flowey heard Frisk whisper a single word. “Shortie.”

Flowey launched himself off the windowsill. “YOU WANNA SAY THAT TO MY FACE, YOU LITTLE—”

They found themselves breathless on the floor, Flowey claiming it was from rage and knowing it was from laughter.