"Sans? This is Frisk. Again." Frisk recites dully. She keeps repeating that mistake. Announcing who's calling. He would recognize her voice right off from the first syllable of his name. Frisk is well aware of this evident truth. At the moment, though, she's not thinking clearly. Her mind's wandering elsewhere.

This is her 14th call made in the past 12 hours. Since arriving home, Frisk hasn't had an ounce of peace. Mentally, she's a chaotic mess. Non-stop worrying. Reconstructing the events of last night in her mind. Fretting incessantly over what she possibly could have done to cause her skelefriend to become so withdrawn. Distant toward her. Like she is presently.

Was it about her letting slip that he had been having nightmares? No, that was an accident. He had to know she didn't mean to mention his secret in Pap's company. She hadn't planned on breaking his trust. Sans had to know that. Right?

Frisk wasn't confident he did.

She absently winds a piece of toffee colored hair around her left index finger. Her front teeth gnaw at her lower lip, furiously kneading plump pink flesh. Frisk blows air, oxygen whooshing out of her lungs in an exasperated sigh.

"Just calling to remind you about tonight." Her voice unintentionally rises in pitch as she vents her building frustration via voicemail. He won't listen to any of these anyway. So what if she gets a little angry? He deserves it for how he's been treating her recently. Karma and whatnot. "You know? My designated sleep-over with you and Pap? Yeaaah.. Well, good talk. See you in a few, I guess."

With that, Frisk jabs her phone's touch screen. The pad of her right index taps the button to save her message when prompted then hits 'Send'. She glares balefully down at the silent device. Mightily willing it to ring.

"Dangit, Sans, answer your phone, you stupid lazybones." she grumbles, heat flushing her cheeks. Unblinking, her eyes watch the LED lit screen switch to reflective black.

Impatiently, she waits to hear back from him. Frisk paces the bedroom floor restlessly in front of her bed, phone firmly in hand. To and fro. East to west.

She can't stay still. Her body has to be in constant motion or she'll have a breakdown. One with angry tears and yelling. She doesn't want to subject her mom, -whom is freshening up in her room across the hall-, to that.

Thus she paces. Finds something to occupy herself. Anything. 'Anything' meaning spam Sans' phone with missed calls. His inbox with voicemails and unanswered texts.

Her knuckles are sore from gripping the hard plastic casing so tightly. Raging stiffness laces her right forearm at holding her limb in the same bent position for hours on end.

Frisk rubs the affected area. Her left fingertips press, indenting skin, massaging taut muscle. Over and over in smooth methodical circles. Her ankles throb from all her sharp turns. Nimble steps slow to an easy walk.

She wants an explanation for his behavior last night. Acting like she was invisible. Avoiding her whenever they happened to be in the same room together. Any effort on her part for idle chit-chat, ruthlessly shut-down.

His excuse?

"Uh, I would, but... Hey, don't you still owe Pap a lesson? Why don't you go do that and we'll talk later?"

"Sans, I'm not going to be so busy I can't manage a simple conversation. Tell me what's bothering you. Please? I'll listen."

"Nah, I don't want to get in the way. I won't distract you while you're in the zone. I know how you are."

"Sans-"

" I'll grab some ketchup from the fridge and catch up on some sleep. Don't worry. We'll talk later. Promise."

He never provided one. Sans just said his piece, took his lousy ketchup and retreated upstairs for the rest of that night. Fleeing her presence. Leaving her to stew in her thoughts. He didn't even see her off when her mom came to pick her up. No goodbye. No 'See ya, kid'. The brooding skeleton just stayed in his room.

That hurt.

Of course, Papyrus' spaghetti lesson was postponed until further notice. Frisk had no choice. Try as she might, she couldn't concentrate anymore. The poor skelechef was heart-broken, however, ever the cool dude, he understood. His acceptance of things made Frisk feel even worse than she already did.

Does. Her mood definitely hasn't improved over night. During the day either.

Her mom's best attempts to cheer her with a slice of her famous butterscotch cinnamon pie, a snack for afternoon lunch, failed spectacularly. She even cracked puns, seeking to pull a laugh out of her despondent child. Her mom hurriedly gave up soon as she realized the source of her daughter's distress.

Nothing would have helped anyway. There's only one solution to her problem.

Having a heart-to-heart with Sans. Or, rather, heart to soul. They'll talk things out and bond over delivery. Yeah. Maybe she'll introduce Sans to pizza. Exchange silly jokes. Some laughs and good food are bound to revive her favorite skele.

Oh, who was she kidding? There'll be none of that. He'll just ignore her again. She's sure of it.

A gentle knock, a rhythmic thumping of furry knuckles against unyielding surface, reaches her hearing. Yanking Frisk out of her destructive train of thought. She's grateful for the interruption.

"Frisk? It's almost time. Are you ready to go?" her mom kindly inquires. Her warm motherly tone is muffled, filtering through layers of solid wood.

Frisk freezes, halting at the right corner of her fluffed mattress. Two feet from her bedside table. Slanting her neck at an angle, she reads her alarm clock's digital face. Three block style digits, brightly illuminated in red neon, tauntingly stare back at her.

7:25.

She blinks several times in dismay. Papyrus was due to pull up their driveway in 10 minutes. Reluctantly, her gaze flicks to the zipped duffle sat atop her bed's comforter. Everything she could need has been packed snugly ahead of schedule.

Toothbrush. Pyjamas in the form of an oversized plain white tee and purple drawstring pants printed with candy pink polka-dots. Her preferred sleepwear. A flimsy spiral dog-eared notebook and drawing paper. Box of colored pencils. A pair of unmentionables. Bottle of headache reliever. Phone charger. A striped sweater and gray jeans. Her change of clothes.

In all respects, Frisk was prepared for her weekend with the brothers. But, was she ready? Yes and no. The notion of living under their roof for two nights and a day, apart from her mom, was daunting.

Sure, with Pap around, things might not turn out so horribly. Still, she wasn't looking forward to this little get-away.

It showed, too, when she responded, feigning peppiness. "Yeah, Mom! All set!" Her voice noticeably cracks from overexertion. Frisk winces at how fake the emotion seems. Even to her own ears.

The doorknob jiggles and her door creaks open on its hinges. Toriel pokes her horned head through the gap, peering into the room. Buried within thick white fur, irises washed in ruby red land on Frisk, gleaming concern. Bushy brows knit themselves together.

She chooses her words carefully. "Frisk, my child. Are you certain you want to go? I could have Undyne or Alphys watch you instead?" Toriel suggests, studying her expression. Frisk wags her head in the negative.

Fun as that sounds, anime and rough play wrestling, -for that's usually what a visit to the couple's apartment implied-, Frisk doesn't want to be a third wheel. Tonight is date night for the pair, after all. Romantic that she is, the young girl wasn't going to impose.

So, she sucks it up. Puts on a brave front for her mom's sake. "No, I don't want to spoil their night with my moping." Her mom nods once in approval, skepticism lingering on her goat features.

"I'll be fine. Really." Frisk assures. "I just need to speak with Sans face-to-face," she urgently adds, "I have to do this, Mom. He's hurting for some reason and not knowing... He's not letting me in and I-" Unable to finish, Frisk clamps her lips together. She swallows the lump in her throat. Wetness gathers at the corners of her eyes.

Toriel nudges the door wider, revealing her smartly dressed figure.

Dressed for success. Frisk thinks.

Light spills out into the shadowy hall. Her lips curve up in a faint smile. "I know, my child. I know. You do what is necessary."

What is necessary. Right.

Those three words stick with her as Toriel kisses Frisk on both cheeks on her way out the door. Then tugging her into a strong embrace smelling of cinders and butterscotch cinnamon, affectionately nuzzles her nose with her own.

Her mom vows to be back home from her flight by Monday morning should all run smoothly. She sternly reminds Frisk to call if she needs her for anything. Emphasis on 'anything'. She'll have her phone on.

Frisk soothes her she will and in a flurry of skirts, her mom departs for Asgore's loft. Four minutes later, tires squeal, crunching gravel. Signalling Papyrus' arrival.

Frisk adjusts the leather strap of her duffle on her right shoulder. She inhales for courage. Exhales for calm. Determination unmatched, sassily, she lifts her chin.

Here we go...
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A/N: Here, have another chapter! I insist!

Ha, but, in all seriousness, I know this is a quick update. I surprise myself with how fast I was able to write this. After Gaster, I thought I'd be too burned out to think of anything.

Nope. I actually got inspired last night and this scene was what came to mind.

Poor Frisk. If only she knew the reason Sans was avoiding her..

We know why, at least, don't we?

With that said, I'm curious. I have a question of you readers. How do you think Frisk might respond if she found out? Think she'll believe him? Or will the answer drive them further apart? Will Sans tell her during the weekend?

Aha... Okay, that's enough out of me.

Thank you so much for reading. Remember to vote if you enjoyed. Comment if you'd like to leave feedback. Any comment or vote is greatly appreciated. Thank you again! Until next chapter!
-J