Kris hadn’t looked well for days. The lingering tension from your last journey through the Dark World left their body fragile: sluggish limbs, glassy eyes, a tremor to their hands they tried to hide.

Toriel had stepped out to practice for choir, entrusting you to take care of Kris despite the fact that they could take care of themself. She left a note on the fridge—a recipe for chicken soup in case you were hopeless in the kitchen.

You knelt beside the couch, your fingers brushing against Kris's forehead... They were alarmingly warm.

Kris raised one hand slowly and signed, their soft gaze apologetic. They must've felt like they were inconveniencing you.

“Sorry."