Blind Love (Reader X Nightmare Sans)

My Hero

The first sensation that greeted me was the sheer relief of being alive. My chest heaved with effort as I drew in ragged breaths, each intake a painful reminder of my battered state. It felt as though every fiber of my being had been set ablaze, my body a battleground of agony and exhaustion.

A cool hand slipped beneath my head, a welcome contrast to the searing pain that coursed through me. I felt the smooth surface of a ceramic object press against my lips, and a soothing voice filled the air like a gentle breeze.

"It's okay," the voice reassured me, its timbre deeper than anything I had ever heard. It resonated with a sense of calm and authority, as if it spoke from the depths of the ocean or the vast expanse of space itself. "You're safe now. Please, drink. The water will help ease your pain."

I obeyed without hesitation, allowing the refreshing liquid to trickle down my throat, its coolness providing a momentary respite from the flames that consumed me. With each sip, I felt a small measure of relief wash over me, soothing the raw edges of my battered soul.

"Better?" the voice inquired, concern lacing its words as I nodded weakly in response. "I was in the woods when I heard your screams. I went to investigate and found you collapsed."

"Thank you," I murmured gratefully, turning towards the kind stranger's voice. "You are very kind."

As I settled back into the softness of the bed, I couldn't help but notice the rough texture of bandages encasing my body. The realization sent a pang of discomfort through me, a stark reminder of the ordeal I had endured.

"W-where am I?" I ventured, my voice trembling slightly as I struggled to make sense of my surroundings.

"My home," came the simple reply, accompanied by another sip of water. "You're quite beaten up. What happened?"

I hesitated for a moment, grappling with the decision to confide in this stranger. But the words spilled forth before I could stop them, a torrent of pain and anguish that had long been suppressed.

"My mother... she was beating me," I confessed, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I was born blind, and they treated me as a burden. But when they discovered I couldn't work..."

I trailed off, the memories too painful to bear as they flooded my mind like a tidal wave. My parents' cruelty, their indifference to my suffering-it was a weight that had burdened me for far too long.

"Damn," the stranger muttered sympathetically. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I found you. What's your name?"

"I am Y/n Beifong," I replied, my voice soft but steady.

"Beifong? Sounds... prestigious," he remarked, his tone tinged with curiosity.

"It was," I admitted with a wistful sigh. "My ancestors were nobles, but... well, obviously, I don't live in a manor."

"Ah, I see," he murmured, the sound of his footsteps receding as he moved about the room. "Well, I'm Sans. My family is large, so we have nicknames. You can call me Nightmare."

An idea struck me then, a foolish notion born of desperation and curiosity. "May I... see you?" I ventured tentatively.

"See me? Aren't you blind?" he asked, his confusion palpable.

"Um, well... I meant see you in my mind," I explained hastily. "I... feel what you look like. It would help me when you talk."

There was a moment of silence, and then his response came, a sharp rejection that left me reeling.

"No," he replied tersely, his voice dark and foreboding.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I stammered, chastened by his reaction. I braced myself for his anger, expecting retribution for my audacity.

But to my surprise, his demeanor softened, his voice tinged with regret. "Shit... no, I mean... I'm... disfigured," he confessed, his words faltering as if he struggled to find the right ones. "You'll probably be disgusted."

"I have been judged all my life," I reassured him, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. "If anyone will understand, it's me. But if you're uncomfortable with it, then I will respect your decision."

"Ugh... I am missing an eye," he admitted, his voice heavy with self-loathing. "I'm bald, and I don't have normal ears. My... skin... is bony and feels like wax, and... my mouth is... and I'm black. "

He trailed off, his words hanging in the air like a weighty confession. But to me, they were nothing but superficial details, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. "What does being black  have to do with anything?!"

"I- forget it."

"Well... I think you're amazing," I declared, my voice filled with sincerity. "I believe we should be judging actions, not our looks."

There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke again, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Thank you..."

With that, he left me to shower and change, a simple act of kindness that spoke volumes about his character. And as I sat there alone, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips, buoyed by the warmth of his compassion.

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