CRASH.
A blink of shock, and then tears welled in their eyes. Not from pain. The ceramic shards of Mom's favorite mug hadn't cut into their bare feet.
But she was going to be so mad.
Their hands shook, stopping them from picking up the mess right away. But they had to do something. Standing here, crying… that was only going to make things worse.
Don't be stupid. She's not going to hurt you over a cup, Chara said, though they sounded angry too. Even if it's the special one that I…
They trailed off, which only made Frisk more curious. The cup was special—it was shaped like a snail, and lumpy enough that it was probably molded by hand. Or paw. It was always the first one Mom used when it was clean.
And now it was in a thousand pieces all over the floor.
"My child! Are you al—" Mom froze in the kitchen entrance. Her nightgown hung off her loosely, making her look like a ghost. But she didn't snarl, or shout, or anything Frisk's old parents might have. "Oh…"
"I'm so, so s-sorry…" Frisk barely choked out. Their hands clenched and unclenched at their sides, but they couldn't run away from their mess. They'd just end up stepping on the shards and making everything worse.
"Frisk, it is alright… let me just…" Mom frowned down at the broken pieces between them, like she could scare the ceramic bits away with just a glare.
They gulped. At least she wasn't glaring at them like that…
"I will be right back with a broom. Do not move, alright?"
The gulped and nodded. Not moving. They could do that.
You can still breathe, dummy.
Right. Thanks, Chara.
They felt like they were rolling their eyes. They did that a lot, but they still helped anyway.
Mom returned quickly and started sweeping the broken pieces into a dustpan. As soon as the bulk of it was cleared, she swept Frisk up into a tight hug.
"I am so glad you are alright. You could have easily cut your feet."
Frisk's head spun, and not just because Mom was squeezing the air out of them. Her favorite cup was broken forever… and she was still just worried about them?
That's what moms are supposed to be like, Chara reminded them. You're lucky you get to have her.
Frisk squeezed their eyes shut, and the last few tears dripped onto Mom's shoulder as they hugged her back.
They were lucky. Luckier than they could ever say.
"I'm still sorry," they apologized again, out of habit. "I just wanted to make you some hot ch-chocolate before bed…"
Mom paused, pulling back from them just enough to see their eyes. "That was very thoughtful of you, my child. What if we made hot chocolate together instead? I can reach the high cupboard more easily."
Frisk's face heated. They'd wanted to do it themself. To prove they still could, that they could be helpful, too. But instead they'd just made things worse.
"That… sounds good," they said quietly.
Mom ruffled their hair and smiled. "Why don't you fetch us a pot while I finish cleaning this?"
They nodded eagerly. The pots were under the sink, a much easier place to reach. They couldn't mess that up.
By the time Mom was done cleaning, the only evidence that anything had broken was a small chip in the tile floor.
Told you. You'd have to mess up way worse than that to upset her.
Chara's voice sounded… like they regretted something. It didn't make sense.
Do you know Mom? They asked. You sound like you do. But she can't hear you, or see you, or smell you. How would you make her upset?
A sad laugh echoed through them, turning the first sip of hot chocolate bitter.
You wouldn't understand. You're too good at being good.
Frisk's eyebrows scrunched, and Mom looked up at them curiously.
"Is something the matter? The chocolate is not too hot, is it?"
They shook their head and took another big gulp. It was the perfect temperature, thanks to Mom's careful magic. And when they actually paid attention to the flavor, it exploded with sweetness in their mouth.
"It's amazing."
No hot chocolate had ever tasted this good. Maybe it was because Mom knew the perfect ratio of chocolate powder to milk. Or maybe because it was made with love.
Ugh. You're sappier than…
Who? Frisk asked when Chara held back again. They were being weird today. Why would they keep holding back from the only person they could talk to?
(Frisk was still a little convinced they were shy.)
It's none of your business. As for why the chocolate tastes better, there is a simple explanation. You are acquiring my tastes.
Huh. That answered one question, but brought up a bunch of others. Frisk wouldn't ask, though—Chara only talked so formally when they were feeling nervous. It would be rude to push them.
With a quick huff, Chara's presence faded again. On the next warm sip, the chocolate tasted like plain old sugary liquid. Chara could've at least stayed until they finished their cup.
...Oh, whatever. Since you're hopeless without me.
Frisk smiled, and downed the rest of their mug eagerly.