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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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[determinedest]

[* But nobody came.








They're sorry, Partner.

They really are.

But apologies mean nothing now.]

[Dec. 31]

[fulllifeconsequences]

[Frisk doesn't want them.

They know they'll get in a ton of trouble with everyone else if they hear that Chara took away all Frisk's presents during the saddest Gyftmas they've probably ever had. Part of them almost - almost craves it. Just wants to bring a maelstrom of punishment onto themself and get it over with.

But Frisk will feel awful, probably, once they've moved on from Chara. Gotten this over with. Found someone who really won't demand an angel, because try as they might, that's all demons are interested in.

...For lack of a better idea, they stow all the presents under their own bed in Toriel's room. Maybe they'll still get in trouble, for stealing, but then they can be given back when someone nicer finds them.

Except for one, anyway.

Nobody else gets a say in what happens to Chara's gift, and Frisk... Frisk doesn't want it.

Understandable, Chara decides, ripping the paper away and unboxing it. It'd just be a reminder of bad memories, coming from Chara. Like they're soooo special and soooo great for knitting it, anyway. Frisk can knit. They'd probably be able to do it for themself, and with half the time and effort. They could just ask the closet for a way nicer one.

It was a stupid gift idea. Bet you really feel like a horse's ass now, Chara. You made a fool of yourself, wasting time and enthusiasm on an idiotic idea like this. Doesn't even look good, honestly. Your mattress stitch is a crooked disaster. You could have blocked it more evenly. Even if they wanted it, they'd probably be embarrassed to wear it.

Their cheeks burn and their stomach writhes in shame. Ought to have just unravelled the whole thing when it became clear they'd destroyed this friendship.

Frisk wants them to get rid of it.

They carry the box out to the back. Play with matches, play with nondairy creamer, because Sans taught them the powdered stuff is flammable.

They burn the stupid sweater and bury the ashes.]