"I could carry them," the other self says, and bites their lip. "But..." Their thought has been running on similar lines. How much worse is carrying them going to make things? "I'll stay with them," they decide. "Yeah, please."

Chara's hand has... quite likely melted over Frisk's own, by this point. The ghost looks down at it, mouth twisting, and gently, tentatively shakes Chara's shoulders. The flesh moves wrongly, under the sweater. "C'mon Chara, I'm right here. You can let go now."

"No," Chara says. Their stubborn, contrarian streak raising it's head. It's hard to speak with a softening tongue and every word is an effort. "You'll leave."