The child doesn't look at him, but that's okay. As long as they don't leave him, that's okay. It's very busy, very crowded, very noisy. He can't remember why he ever agreed to meet them here at all. He can't wait to leave this place and go back home. But he did, and he needs to find them, or else they'll leave him behind, they'll think he doesn't care...

A careless passerby listening to loud music and heedless of anything else almost walks right over him. Sans-Serif stumbles out of the way with a frightened gasp, and almost loses sight of Frisk in the crowd. Hastily, pushing against the tide of people the best he can, he runs to catch up. As soon as he's within arm's reach, he grabs for their hand to hold on to.

"are we almost there?"