Honestly even Sans isn't sure what constitutes high-quality ketchup. He's found "fancy ketchup" before, but fancy just seems to be a word they use to indicate that the flavor is a little different. He read somewhere that there's something called artisan ketchup and man, if he ever makes it to the Surface in any permanent capacity, he is diving into that scene.

But anyway.

"i tried some already. it's pretty great."

It actually is pretty great. The flavors are somehow a little bit more subtle than usual. It's nice.

Frisk isn't one to hesitate, though, at least not for very long. They jump right in. Sans cradles his mug of cocoa in his hands and leans back in his chair a little. He watches the steam rise from the mug in little swirls.

"yeah. weird."

That's one word for it. Awkward, exhausting, depressing, those are some other good words. Sans has already talked with Papyrus, had to spill almost every last one of the secrets he's worked so hard to keep. That sort of thing is more than just exhausting, it's draining. Sans feels emptied out. In more than just the usual sense that comes with being a skeleton.

"kid, i gotta..."

Apologizing is hard. Sans rotates his mug slightly, back and forth.

"i...owe you an apology. i, uh. all those things i said. i..."

He rubs the back of his neck, fingers clicking against his cervical vertebrae.

"that was really awful of me to say. it was...really unfair to you."