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[determinedest]

You've reached Frisk. If I'm not answering my phone, please leave a message or find me on the second floor, Room 12.

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END

[determinedest]

I'm...sorry.

[The words emerge brokenly, bit by tenuous bit as they grind them out, try not to ache.]

I can't...do this. Not right now. Please.

[Quieter, quieter.]

I'm sorry.

LORD

[undetermined]

[They're only words on a pane of glass. Frisk can't see their face, can't detect palms slapping against the mirror or a body recoiling away from it or anxious pacing because they're on the floor and it feels like it lasts forever. A more useful person would stay calm, would remember it helps to feel it beating, count their breaths, focus on numbers, it's normal you're not dying this will pass it's normal.

All they can do is scribble Frisk's name in the glass over and over. Doesn't help. Achieves nothing.

Frisk pulls themselves together, and a wild, frenetic swipe of Chara's sleeve obliterates all the repetitions of Frisk's name off the mirror's surface.]

* Frisk, please.
* Take a break.
* I won't say anything. I'll leave. Just... take a break.

EVERYTHING IS OKIE FUCKIN DOKIE

[determinedest]

And go where? And do what?

[It's funny. It's so funny. They feel exhausted, lying here, propped up on their hands and knees with a hand that burns as it drags over carpet. They thought maybe they'd be safe here, but look, not even that's right!

That was cruel. Best if they keep that to themselves.]

Where do I go? What do I do? I don't know, not without them, not -

[Voice chokes into silence. Throat closes.

It's gone.]

barks internally

[undetermined]

* Lie on the floor and feel like garbage? Eat something you like?
* Bandage your hand. Please.

* I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
* I shouldn't have bugged you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse.
* It's always us Charas backing you into these corners, ha ha.

* That's not funny.

[They erase it all. Start over.]

* Please, please, just take care of yourself.
* Go wherever you want and do whatever you want, as long as it makes you feel better.

[determinedest]

Stop saying that.

[The word tears out of their throat in broken, breathless staccato. Stop acting like it's your fault.

It's not funny. It's not.

Frisk gets up slowly, shoulders hunching, their good hand wrapped around their middle, gripping the opposite arm.]

I'll come back. I'll come back later. But I can't - [Throat hitches. Again. Swallow it aside.] - I can't do this. Not now.

[undetermined]

[Yeah, they dumped the real Chara when they got inconvenient, too. Bigger problems to worry about.]

* Okay.
* Sorry.

[determinedest]

[They're predictable. So predictable. They're mumbling apologies between their teeth as they stumble out of the room. They leave a reddened smear on the doorknob. They don't care.]