Maybe - not so okay. Some part of them is still screaming, railing, digging fingertips into their chest and pulling until everything threatens to shutter into a uniform dark and they're letting him go but maybe they ought to, maybe they ought to try less to retain the things in their life that have hurt them.
He's hurt them. And they say they forgive and they forgive and they forgive, but do they?
Or is that, too, just another broken promise left in pieces in their wake?
"...Sans?"
They can't leave it at that. They can't. It's tentative, it's faint, and it's maybe - the slightest bit hopeful, the lift of their chin, lids still heavy and smoothing away the dark scarlet gleam that everyone must hate, but that Frisk has always rather liked because it isn't the same muddy, ugly brown as before.
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Okay?
Maybe - not so okay. Some part of them is still screaming, railing, digging fingertips into their chest and pulling until everything threatens to shutter into a uniform dark and they're letting him go but maybe they ought to, maybe they ought to try less to retain the things in their life that have hurt them.
He's hurt them. And they say they forgive and they forgive and they forgive, but do they?
Or is that, too, just another broken promise left in pieces in their wake?
"...Sans?"
They can't leave it at that. They can't. It's tentative, it's faint, and it's maybe - the slightest bit hopeful, the lift of their chin, lids still heavy and smoothing away the dark scarlet gleam that everyone must hate, but that Frisk has always rather liked because it isn't the same muddy, ugly brown as before.
"I'm proud of you," says Frisk. "For trying."