"Yeah. You are. I know." He'd said it at least five times, probably. They didn't exactly think to count.

Frisk flops down next to him into a sit, and then further until they're lying down on their side, half curled up, almost pressing against him.

"Will soon," they correct belatedly. A part of them wants to run and find Serif, but an even bigger part doesn't want to leave him alone. Or to be alone themselves.