You felt a lag at your soul, a lazy tug that you always seemed to trip on when you moved forward. Like stepping on a piece of gum, but stronger, deeper.

An emptiness that manifested, or a weight that dragged you down.

It somehow was both- and together they were exhausting to ignore. To carry and drag and pretend to forget.

Sometimes you gave up trying to forget.

That was what led to what was happening now.

The house was quiet, the only sound being the wind outside and the clanging of pots in the kitchen.

Your hands subtly twitched under the blanket that had been laid over you, but eyes still caught the movement and held it. Sans' gentle fingers pulled your arm free of the suffocating layer to play with your hands, tapping the back, tracing the lines of the palm; rubbing along the knuckles as if it would tear if they applied enough force.

Well, maybe it would. A brief interest boiled within you and under your skin and you twitched again- but eyes held you down and the feeling simmered to a halt.

There was a triumphant yell in the kitchen, as well as a clapping sound, and then the door was thrown open- albeit less gallantly than usual, and Frisk was trotting in, tailed by Papyrus as the smaller carefully held a plate of steaming spaghetti. The plate was settled in your lap and you couldn't find the energy to flinch as it burned you.

Once the abruptness of the pain faded, the ripping buzz of it began to feel comforting. You watched as your skin slowly turned red, wondering idly if your pupil was dilating.

Apparently so, because deft phalanges swiped it off your lap and placed it as quietly as possible onto the coffee table in front of you instead, the skeleton in question laughing a bit nervously.

"Forgot how hot my spaghetti could be! But no worries, As I, Papyrus the great, was trained to handle these situations!"

You could imagine the shit eating grin on Sans face when he responded smoothly with, "It's just like you to know how to handle something hot to the touch."

You might have laughed, any other time. Something warm lit up under your cold skin, not enough to tug up your lips but enough for your eyes to soften and the burning to subside from your hands.

Frisk climbed onto the sofa and gently butt his forehead against your shoulder until you could slowly bring yourself to move. They waited patiently for you to shift before settling their head against your thigh, pulling your arm back down. Shakily, slowly and unsurely, you were feather light in your touch to lower your fingers to brush through Frisk hair.

It took you some time and hesitation, and a lot of breaks, but you eventually brought yourself to repeat the action- finding the constant touch somewhat soothing to have the kids locks against your fingers. If Frisk could feel your hands shaking, they didn't point it out.

Papyrus retreated back to the kitchen, likely to clean up, leaving you with the older skeleton on one side and a child on the other, nustled comfortably against your side.

With both hands occupied, there was no room amongst the warmth they radiated for our own anxious fire to lash and it subsided.

You didn't notice the tears welling in your eyes, but the bodies moved closer and you felt safe and warm.

"Hey,"

You choked on a sob instead of answering, and now you could feel yourself crying- thick drops that were soaking the blanket- you felt like you were having a personal earthquake with how violently you shook-

"You did well today."

You swallowed feebly around a hiccup and coughed weakly as you gripped tightly onto Sans hand, your other pulling away from Frisk to wipe your tears only to have the child cradle it close. You could feel the heartbeat against your fingers, steady and comforting, and you closed your eyes.

You did well today.

You would do even better tomorrow.

The heart beat strongly, as if cheering on your decision, and you finally smiled.

You were filled with determination.