Frisk scribbled on the corner of their parchment. They weren't trying to draw anything. It was just a mess of dark lines, tangling and tangling, until their pencil lead snapped.
They blinked down at the broken pencil. Before they knew it, tears were dripping down their face, turning the dark scribbles even darker.
What was the point of trying to do their math homework? Chara wasn't here to help them. For all they knew, Chara would never help them again. They'd gotten what they wanted. They didn't need Frisk anymore.
Nobody needed Frisk. Nobody wanted them.
They bit their lip, trying to stop the pathetic sobs from coming out. They had been good—they'd tried to be good, and Chara had still left.
They hadn't even said goodbye.
Frisk crumpled the math sheet in their hands. It felt good for a moment, but then they could only feel guilty for ruining something else.
"Frisk!" Mom called from the doorway, and they froze. "Come here, my child! I have a surprise for you!"
What were they supposed to do? They couldn't face her like this, covered in snot and tears. They couldn't tell her why they had ruined their math worksheet or why they still couldn't stop crying.
"Frisk? Are you—oh!"
She rushed to their side, kneeling beside their wooden chair. Her hands already glowed with green healing magic.
"Are you hurt? Did someone attack while I was gone?"
They sniffled and shook their head, feeling even worse for making her worry.
"Did you hurt yourself? I filed down the gardening tools, but…"
"I'm fine," they lied, but immediately winced. They weren't supposed to lie to Mom. Not anymore.
It didn't matter, since she didn't believe them anyway.
"Well, a big warm hug will not hurt." She gently scooped them into her arms. They felt her green magic flow through them, soothing the pangs of their soul.
"Thanks," they murmured. It didn't stop them from trembling, but it did remind them that they weren't alone.
Mom loved them. Mom cared. Why was that always so hard to believe?
(Chara had always been quick to remind them.)
"I am sorry I left you for so long, my child."
She rocked them back and forth, as if they were a baby instead of nine years old. Compared to her broad arms, they probably looked as small as they felt.
"It was just a couple of hours," they said quietly. "I'm fine. Nothing happened."
Lie. Lie. Why was lying still so easy?
"It is alright. You do not have to tell me," she said while carrying them towards the door.
Frisk's blood went cold. Was she going to throw them out? Had they lied too many times?
But no, they knew better than that. She was just retrieving her paper grocery bags, which she carried in one arm after shifting Frisk to her other. They buried their face in her sleeve as if it could hide their shame.
"Would a new set of crayons cheer you up?" she asked.
Frisk frowned in confusion. There weren't any crayons at the Ruins' small store. They'd looked after their purple one had been worn down to a nub.
Mom set down the bags on the dining room table. From inside them she pulled a bundle of freshly-sharpened crayons, tied with a thin piece of twine.
"Where did you get those?" they asked, rubbing their eyes to make sure they weren't seeing things.
"A few Moldsmals were quite happy to mold some in exchange for empty snail shells." She smiled. "The process takes them some time. I had hoped they would finish in time for… well, no matter. We can celebrate now, can we not?"
They accepted the crayons, running a finger across the smooth wax. They would have to thank the Moldsmals with a long wiggle next time they saw them.
"Celebrate…?" Their brow furrowed.
What did they have to celebrate? Chara was gone. Mom's friend was gone. They were both alone… except for each other.
Guilt clogged Frisk's throat. When had they gotten so greedy? They'd had everything they needed right here.
"It has been half a year since you came here, my child." She brushed their hair away from their face. "Well, a few days more than half a year, now. I would have told you earlier, but I felt it would be disappointing without the present to accompany the news."
Half a year. Six months. It felt like a whole lifetime, and like no time at all.
"You could never disappoint me," they said, throwing their arms around Mom's neck. "Thanks, Mom."
"Of course, Frisk." She squeezed them tight. "I love you so very much."
Those words warmed them deeper than any healing magic could.
"I love you too."