"I don't know what else to call it either," they have to admit, an air of defeat in their words. What do you call it when you want to get to know a person so much, you even want to see the ugly, dark things you aren't supposed to want to know? Their anger, their sadness, their mistakes. Their before they fell. What do you call it when a moment when they're overflowing with life and excitement makes you grasp at the empty space where your heart should be? What do you call holding hands and never wanting to let go? Sort of even liking how solid and fierce a too-tight grip around their own hand feels.

Still feels... feels foreboding, to give that name to it. Like it... dooms the pair of them. Like it cements the idea that they're going to drag Frisk down, inflict pain whether it's intentional or not, contaminate them like toxic waste buried in a clear pond.

"We could call it fate," they offer shakily. A nicer word for a scary reality. Why did you climb that mountain? For an unhappy reason. But maybe.... maybe if you just say it's foolishness, or it's fate... maybe then you can pretend it wasn't a death sentence, right? "But I don't want to call it love. I want it to be something that lasts longer than love. No tricking each other or having to earn it or... anything that makes love scary. I just... want us to be us."