[Wasn't it a year? I believe that's what you said. ...I won't give up, I will find a way to allow us all to choose to go or stay. I promise.] The hand flutters, then comes to a rest on the back of Sans's jacket. As long as Sans keeps hinting, he'll keep promising. Reassuring. [I wonder. How long has it been since I had his spaghetti?]

He... genuinely doesn't know. How long since he vanished, all traces of even the accident erased?