"Just fine?" Frisk stares at them, aghast. "Just fine? I was lost without you! I didn't know what to do! You think I ever wanted to be just, just alone like that, without you? I - you're my friend, my best friend, I don't wanna - I don't know how to be alone!"

There's a tremor in their voice again, that halting shudder as they struggle gamely not to burst into tears. Why do they have to be such a crybaby? Couldn't live without that clamor in their head, or that clamor outside of it. Couldn't live without Chara. Chara, just being Chara, whether they're laughing and giggling or giving them chocolate and a juicebox or throwing ketchup bottles at windows or curling up and crying and pretending they're not crying because big kids don't cry or trying to be brave or trying not to panic or slicing their way through undead monstrosities or clinging to Frisk as they lay there trembling on the floor, snarling that Frisk isn't a burden.

"I love you, you butt."