"...yeah." More because they'd said his name than their own, but he had remembered, and after not...too long of a gap. If Frisk can piece that much together, they'll doubtless be able to pick up that much. "Might not later." He hadn't even been able to manage this much, before. And when everything is a minor miracle, it's hard to predict what will last.

...Sans is starting to notice that trend, too. Frisk, more than anyone, should have gotten a warning that this could happen. But he'd just been so tired of upsetting them, and...and Frisk, more than anyone, made it easy to hope. So he'd just let himself hope that maybe things would be okay.

He should have known better.

Idiot coward useless worthless waste of...

Very, very carefully and very slowly, Sans leans his head down towards them. And then, as gently as he can possibly manage, he lightly nudges his skull against their head.

"Me, too. Sorry."