You return to your apartment with a clouded mind and existential dread clawing at your stomach, churning breakfast around like it's going through a twister.
But then you open the door and step in to be greeted by a neat and tidy living room, and that dread is overcome by surprise.
Though neither Frisk's new friends nor they themself seem to be home – further confirmed by the shoe rack having your sandals on it only – there's a sticky note on a coffee table explaining they've gone out to meet more neighbours. And with your worry over where they could be dissipating, you take this opportunity to look at the changes more closely. The living room, while still relatively unfurnished, has been freed from dust bunnies and cobwebs – even the floor looks to have been mopped. Aside from that, the coffee table isn't yours, and that leads to a question you would need to ask later. Then, there's a pair of bean bags that are also not your property, and you make a quick mental checklist to ask about that later, too.
For now, you want to lie down on one of those two seats and rest your thoughts for a while. One's bright yellow and patterned with ducks all over. The other's a brighter pink, with a dark red plaid pattern for contrast. It's safe to say the right choice would be the one that clearly doesn't look like it belongs to an elementary schooler, yet… It's the one that looks most comfortable. Regardless, you resist, as it's not like you're going to be resting for long. You need to see how much Frisk and their friends cleaned up and what there's left for you to do. Groceries would be one of the main things on that mental checklist, though…
You find it hard to believe you've been given free groceries to prepare today's dinner.
"If you wanna feel less guilty about me taking care of you, then you should avoid going anywhere today. Rest up and do what you need to do tomorrow," Sans had stated before you left his place, placing the bag in your hands and seeing you off – like you've known each other since ages ago.
And now that you have time to look at what's inside, you plop down on the less comfy-looking bean bag and pull out the first thing you touch.
You take everything out and distribute the items on the coffee table. Then, you analyze the ingredients: white rice, canned vegetables, vegetarian sausage links, various spices, cooking oil, and a bag of red apples. At the bottom, there's two mini, ready-made cherry pies, along with a note reading: "i asked frisk what they wanted for dinner. bone appetit. have them help you cook, and don't do anything else after that. unless you wanna borrow another shirt. you'd have to wear the one that says 'helpful meatballs' next."
And there's that.
As if you haven't yet accepted the fact a practical stranger has seen things you have shown no one else but your husband since being widowed, you have to accept you've been given more help than you could possibly give in return.
You sincerely doubt Sans still feels like he needs to make up for what he said, so you check your bank account balance on your phone, calculating a tentative budget to pay him back somehow. Separating at least ten or twenty would be a likely good enough amount for now, and then maybe you could simply tip him whenever you go to his grocery store – if he even lets you in after what he's gone through. Though you admit to being spiteful every so often, burdening someone to such degrees doesn't match with whatever plans for revenge you had in mind. Ignoring him or deflecting remarks like the one he'd made to you yesterday would've been your choice – and not having him act as your doctor by obligation. Facing him tomorrow to properly thank him will be difficult, as so will be actually finding him a gift to thank him with.
"You go first."
"No, you."
There are voices near the living room's entrance – one you recognize as Frisk's, whereas the other is unknown.
"Wh- YOU'RE the one who lives here!"
"But… But what do I say?
"The truth, duh!"
With the door left unlocked, it seems like a shock to Frisk when they turn the knob around and see you sitting not a few feet away from where they are.
And in that shock, they step back and slam the door shut.
"She heard me!"
There's a groan in complaint from the other person, and then the door opens again.
A purple monster stares at you, her eyes wide and stance stiff. There's sweat on her brow, and her gaze jumps from you to the door behind her. Her mouth opens, as if she plans to speak up, yet…
She turns around and storms out.
"Sorry, dude. You're on your own for this one!"
Rushed footsteps turn faint, and it takes a while until Frisk steps inside, the door left open by the previous visitor.
"Tell me what happened, sweetie," you say, biting back a smile. "It's okay."
They take off their shoes, leave these on the rack, and close the door, then rest their back against it. Their face fully lowers, droopy ears covering most of their gaze away, though not enough for you to not catch the tears going down their cheeks. It's difficult not to feel a soft tug at your heart at the sight of them like this. Nonetheless, you figure that by the reaction of what you assume is one of the people who helped them tidy your home, it's not as big of a deal as they think it is. Perhaps it's something silly. Or perhaps not. But in the end – silly, serious, or neither of those two – their well-being goes above what they're worried about.
"We…"
Though seemingly impossible, they're able to lower their gaze even further, and more tears are shed, matting their fur.
"...We broke your wedding ring, wh- when we were unpacking. One of the boxes fell, a- and then lots of tiny things spilled out. We thought we picked everything up, b- but then Susie stepped on a black square thingy, a- and-"
"It's alright."
Realistically, it does hurt to acknowledge one of your few reminders of your husband's been broken, yet… It doesn't really matter. It can be fixed, unlike any ties and trust you may break with Frisk or their friend for an accident.
"I'll take it somewhere to get it fixed," you state, smiling. "And if it's still in the box, it's likely still fine."
Frisk stays looking at the floor for what feels like a full minute, until that silence ends with them muttering, "...Are you sure?"
"Of course," you reply, chuckling. "What did you think was going to happen, huh? I'd turn into a witch and eat you and your and your friend?"
"N- No!" Their gaze lifts, their eyes widen, and they shake their head. "I, um… I thought you'd faint again, a- and that I'd have to ask Sans for help again!"
"Really?"
"Really!"
They hurry to your side and settle their hands over your shoulders.
Their expression changes to a stern one, and their grip on you feels like that of a concerned parent's grasp on a child when they've been hurt.
"He called you stinky!"
"You're still hung up about that?"
Their expression intensifies: brow heavily furrowed, eyes sharp and wild, and a deep frown forming as they analyze the calm you're displaying.
"...Yes."
They let you go, stand up straight, and cross their arms.
"And I don't wanna have him help you too much if he's gonna say stuff like that again."
For a moment, it feels like they're ready to leave the house and knock on their enemy's door to look for vengeance, yet their eyes soften as they glance behind them.
They walk off to the exit, slip their shoes back on, and open the door, revealing the purple monster – Susie – standing outside, her posture making it clear she's been caught.
"Uh… Hey," she says, waving at Frisk. "All good?"
Although you can only see their back, it's easy to know they're happy. Their ears have perked up, and they're bouncing on their heels. You stand up to view more, and notice they're doing grabby hands at the monster in front of them, waiting.
She hesitates, yet hugs them shortly, then grins and pats their back.
"Want me to tell Kris and others how it went?"
They nod once, then signal for her to wait and search in their pockets while she stands by.
"Payment for helping me move in."
"...Are you sure I can take it?"
"Obviously!"
Susie takes what she's offered: a handmade coupon for what appears to be 'Frisk and Mom's special dessert', as you assume from the drawing on the paper.
"We're making doughnuts next weekend, so you're invited!"
Frisk waves her off as she steps back.
"Can you tell the others about it?"
"Count on it."
She attempts to turn around, though she stops herself as you make brief eye contact.
"And, uh… Sorry about the ring, Frisk's mom! I'll…" She's sweating once more – and she avoids eye contact again at all costs. "I can… try fixing what I broke, if you want?"
You grin, then shake your head and wave her off.
"Thank you for helping us move in, dear."