Make up for what, he'd say--he's the idiot who said all the wrong things and then lost his cool. As unforgivable a crime as blasting them away with a magical laser would be, in his mind. Someday, maybe, he'll be the one to set things right.

Later, Frisk says. How odd. He stands slowly, seemingly fused together legs separating again. [That's fine. Goodbye.]

He's going to go too. The garden sounds... nice. A good place to not think.