There was a time when I had a brother.
Not by blood, not by name, but by something deeper.
We were never truly siblings, yet I saw him as one. And despite the distance—despite the barrier of screens between us—he felt closer to me than anyone else ever had.
Even through the glow of the monitor, I saw something familiar in him. A lingering echo of someone I couldn't quite remember, yet somehow knew.
To me, he was my Papyrus. And I was his Sans.
We played together for what felt like forever—months, maybe even a year. I never kept track of time, never counted the days. All I knew was that he was there.
He watched me go through distant relationships, saw me get heartbroken again and again. But he stayed. Through everything, he stayed.
And for a while, that was enough.
I didn't need anything else. I didn't need anyone else.
I only needed him.
And I never realized how much I loved him… until the moment I lost him.
It happened during the pandemic, in 2020. We were together, celebrating the Sixth Bloxy Awards inside Roblox. The last Bloxy Awards.
That same year, I met someone else—someone I would come to call my Frisk.
She was a fan, but also something more. I saw in her a kindness that felt rare, something genuine, something good.
The three of us—him, her, and me—shared games, events, memories. I even created a Valentine's event map, a small world just for us.
And then, in 2021, everything fell apart.
The map was destroyed by a game update, blocks replaced for no reason, the world shifting into something unrecognizable. And then—without warning, without explanation—they were gone.
Both of them.
It had happened before. I had lost so many girls I had relationships with. But why him?
Why him?
I couldn't understand it. I couldn't make sense of it. He had disappeared overnight, as if he had never existed. And the only connection I could see, the only answer I could grasp, was her.
My Frisk had taken him away from me.
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to place the blame on her. To tell myself it was her fault.
But it wasn't just her.
It was humans.
And yet, no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how many times I replayed it in my mind, I couldn't blame her.
I couldn't even break the promise I made for her.
It was etched into my soul. Branded into my mind.
"Frisk, I promise—for you—to be more pacifist."
I had told myself those words. And in doing so, I had bound myself to them.
I should have never made that promise.
But maybe—just maybe—it was the only reason I had been able to resist the hatred in the first place.
Maybe it was the only thing that kept me from losing myself.