They're...not sure they understand it themself. Their brow dimples. they have to break it down into a piece of something they can explain - small little nuggets of simple words that Frisk knows and understands in their entirety, because they know they're nowhere near as smart as Chara is, when it comes to adopting great long eloquent strings of words. Or even just pretending they know what stuff like that means. Determinism. Right?
"I guess...love isn't the problem. It's just, like..." A spurting intake of breath, and a long blow of it that stirs the fringes of their hair. "Sans and Mettaton and everyone else...they're important. But they're not the most important. You are. So when I feel like I've upset you, I - it feels like..."
Like there's no point to anything. Because the one person that makes your world meaningful, whose ungainly sprawl across the floor, half-collapsed and sliding down from their bed, and stutter-laugh about flesh prisons, and penchant for crafting ill-advised potato guns, and impulsive bursts of wild energy that sends a ketchup bottle plunging through a window - if that one person doesn't love you, what's the point in any of it? If that one person is angry at you, if they don't think the world of you, then what are you good for?
"It feels like there's no reason to keep going. There's no reason to stay determined."
Not a lot of little things, but one complete person with their own life, with their own world. Someone whose time they've monopolized enough, whose attention they've worn far too often.
Does that make sense?
"There's no reason to stay at all. It isn't fair. It isn't fair to you, to always feel like, like if you do something wrong, I'll stop wanting to be here anymore."
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"I guess...love isn't the problem. It's just, like..." A spurting intake of breath, and a long blow of it that stirs the fringes of their hair. "Sans and Mettaton and everyone else...they're important. But they're not the most important. You are. So when I feel like I've upset you, I - it feels like..."
Like there's no point to anything. Because the one person that makes your world meaningful, whose ungainly sprawl across the floor, half-collapsed and sliding down from their bed, and stutter-laugh about flesh prisons, and penchant for crafting ill-advised potato guns, and impulsive bursts of wild energy that sends a ketchup bottle plunging through a window - if that one person doesn't love you, what's the point in any of it? If that one person is angry at you, if they don't think the world of you, then what are you good for?
"It feels like there's no reason to keep going. There's no reason to stay determined."
Not a lot of little things, but one complete person with their own life, with their own world. Someone whose time they've monopolized enough, whose attention they've worn far too often.
Does that make sense?
"There's no reason to stay at all. It isn't fair. It isn't fair to you, to always feel like, like if you do something wrong, I'll stop wanting to be here anymore."