The house remained silent for hours. Most of the morning's guests had gone home, and a majority of its inhabitants had gone to bed. Soft wheezing mused through one of the rooms, accompanied by the sound teardrops hitting the wooden floorboards. Wrapped in someone else's coat, a woman sat across from Gerson in a separate bed, watching the unsteady rise and fall of his chest cavity. Every few seconds the elder's breath would take a hitch, making her want to weep forever. The more time she spent staring at him, the more distraught she became. Unable to control her steady fall of tears, Frisk sought it best to leave and collect herself.

Tiptoeing past the sleeping goat residing on the sofa and the conspicuous adult male beside him, she quickly slipped through the front door, shutting it carefully to not awake any of her other family members. But to her dismay, she didn't manage to bypass everybody the way she'd intended.

On her way out of the front door, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty corridors. Not for a split second did she believe she wasn't alone that morning. All was too at ease and calm. Every monster in the capital was in their rightful beds. Each rested soundly as the sun above the caves crept slowly over the treelined horizon.

There would be times when Frisk would forget all about the surface, being below a mountain had now meant practically nothing to her. If not for the Delta Rune she would have given no mind to it. But since it was now etched into her palm, she can no longer neglect the matter. Now, it was the only thing on her mind. She knew Gerson was really sick, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do- That is if she couldn't get him out of the Underground on a rainy day.

Gerson told her that he longed to see rain. Not the ones in Waterfall, but the kind that falls from clouds, above the mountains. Who knew how many years he had left? Not too many, as far as she knew. If she can't even fulfill this aged, departing man's wishes, then what kind of princess would she be to the foundation of her people?

If she wasn't sure before, Frisk was damn sure now. After an entire year of thinking things through, this one moment was enough for her to make a final, solid decision. She needed to break the barrier. One way or another, she was going to do it.

Sadly, Frisk wasn't too bright in the field of soulology, as she'd heard her mother call it whilst listening in on her and Gaster's conversations. She barely understood soul color or traits. The only place she could imagine finding any information on such topics would be in Asgore's study. The one room in all the underworld she wasn't permitted entry. Not to mention she needed a key to get in and that said key was almost always in Asgore's pocket or hidden somewhere. She had little to no time at all to get in or even take a peek at the hundreds of different novels in there, not if she wanted to remain unseen. It was about five in the morning, Asgore would be up in an hour and already sitting at his desk, sorting through legal documents and what-not.

As soon as Frisk caught sight of the door, she scampered towards it and dropped to her knees, looking through the keyhole and into the empty office. She squinted, a sliver of sunshine dimly lighting the wooden floors feet in front of her. Withdrawing her from it, she started feeling the trim of wall beside the door's shelling, probing at a shallow crack between the welcome mat and wall where she'd once observed Asgore hide the key away. Unable to find it there, she began to lift the mat and look beneath it, hoping her father would be that stereotypical, American next door that left their spares in plain sight. Nope. It wasn't under the flower pot either. She even went as far as poking through the soil around all the tiny buttercups, too. No luck whatsoever. Suppose this meant Asgore had the key after all?

About to call quits and look elsewhere, the sound of alienated footsteps began to approach from down the corridor. Frisk quickly scooped up the remaining dirt from her search and sprinkled it back into the flower pot. With no idea where to go, she shoved her clenched fists into the pockets of her jacket and made a break for it.

By then it was too late, there was no way she'd make it back home without being noticed. Not to mention that there was still potting soil all over the floor, the mat was in the middle of the floor upside down, and the paint beside the study had been vigorously chipped when her hands refused to stop shaking.

Her heart pounding against her ribcage and blood rushing to get into her veins, she freezes as tapping emitted from behind her, loud and echoey as someone tsks. A roughly low, quiet voice murmurs words that she was almost too afraid to catch.

"Did you do all this?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Frisk hastily answers back as justly as possible, straightening her posture to feel a little more confident in her words.

"Did I do what?"

"This. All this over here. Did you do it?" He spoke louder, not in a way that he seemed threatening, but in a way that showed he was watching long enough to be suspicious.

Frisk doesn't turn around. Her chest gets heavy, and her face felt warm. If she admitted it he'd only ask why she did it. Then he'd grow curious when she didn't tell the truth right away, and she would be in trouble. Silence overtakes the room, dust particles glistening gin through the windows, footsteps nearing Frisk in short strides. Sounding unsure, hesitant. Despite this, he remains loud and clear, his voice reaching Frisk and making her loosen while listening to them.

"I'll have you know, Ma'am, your skirt is covered in dirt and your fingers are raw, from clawing at things like dirt, I presume."

Frisk sighs. Her fingers were indeed skinned raw. Raw, red and burning. He must have noticed when she reached her hand out for the walls to catch herself.

"Good eye." She breathed, deciding if she should face his direction or not.

He chuckles, sending chills up her spine effortlessly, whether it was for good reasons or not.

"It isn't that I'm overly observant. I'm just not a complete idiot."

The tapping pauses while Frisk's hood was gently pulled down, revealing her soft brown hair in a semi-casual bun.

"Good thing there are maids here, you can blame them for the damage."

Frisk rolls her eyes from behind their lids and shyly turning to face the man. Though she did so with a look of composure, she felt the need to vomit. Her stomach twisted into knots, her body shook, and her heart felt like it was going to burst.

"You know I could never do such a thing."

He agrees with her statement, knowing very well that she was too honest to lie about something. Let alone something so stupid. "Yeah, I know."

Frisk frowns, looking behind him and seeing the mess she made from afar, feeling a little guilty for it. She soon directs all her attention towards the figure before her.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be back home asleep?"

"No one will miss me, guaranteed. So what are you doing here?"

"I asked you first, so you have to answer before me."

"You and your logic, I swear. For your information, I saw you sneaking out of the house and thought I'd follow you before anyone else did."

She smiles a little, relaxing some more. "I admire your dedication."

"I know you do. Now, tell me what you're doing here."

Frisk bites her inner cheek as she attempts to read his expression. He looked tired but better rested than last night. His shirt was a little tattered, probably from fighting Undyne, and he was staring at Frisk with content. Something about the way he carried himself seemed to lack the confidence he once had. He stood tall and firm as ever, that childish spark was hidden, deep inside of him, she knew. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't figure him out. What more did he need from her?

She trusted him, more than anyone else now. If she wanted to keep things cool she would have to tell the truth no matter how questionable it may be. With luck, she thought, he won't read too much into it. Swallowing another lump, Frisk points to the study.

"I need a key to get in, but I can't find one."

He cocks a brow. "That's what the mess was all about?"

"Yes. I thought it'd be around here somewhere."

He huffs slightly, closing his eyes and rubbing his neck, slightly irritated by her response. " You and I both know there's no way Asgore'd leave that thing in the same spot twice. What do you even need from there?"

"I was hoping to find a book."

His eyes open, piercing into Frisk's being and taking her breath away. She had longed to see those eyes for so long, to feel them glancing at her and to watch them light up as brightly as they had now. They traveled along her facial features and captivated her undying attention. And she hated it.

"A book?"

"Yes, a book."

"Aren't there several on that bookcase by the firepla-"

"Yes, there are but none of them is the kind I'm looking for." She interrupted a sudden seriousness in her tone. "I'm not looking for fairy tales, tragedies of romance novels, let alone an encyclopedia based on some stupid snails."

He furrowed his brows, matching Frisk's attitude perfectly when they begin to have a literal conversation. Frisk missed the way he could shift gears so quickly, how his forehead would begin to crease when he was in thought. He puts his hands in his pockets, returning to the phase he'd been stuck in earlier. But this time he was happier, what with Frisk standing just feet away and looking up at him.

"Can I help in any way?"

"Only if you have a book based on the history of the Underground."

He points over his blood-stained shoulder with his thumb, tilting his head "Got it back in Hotland."

Frisk presses further, stepping closer, the two only inches apart by the time he decides to do the same. "I also would like to see a few about souls and their anatomy, traits, whatever else I can get a hold of."

He groans a little, blush dusting his cheeks. He enjoyed seeing her again, but her actions began to worry him. "Got that too. Why do you need them?"

"I just do, alright? Can you bring them to me?"

"No, but I can always bring you with me."

Frisk gives him a skeptical look before he continues.

"Pretty sure you don't want the others to ask a bunch of questions, right? "

"Right. After all, you've asked a lot of them."

"You know me, I'm a curious guy."

"No, you just enjoy annoying the crap out of me."

"Hehe, that too I suppose."

Frisk averts her eyes from his grin, looking behind him and huffing. "Let's just go, okay?"

He nods, swiveling on his heals and walking with a purpose down the corridor, Frisk rushing up from behind him to catch up. He chuckles at her struggle to keep at his pace and slows down for her, looking down at her and smiled a bit, solemn in his words.

"You kept my old jacket, huh?"

Frisk nodded, her voice quiet, soft and kind. "Of course. You left it behind when I was sick. It's kept me company."

"Because I haven't?"

".....Exactly."

He sighs, feeling Frisk's hand clasp his. She weaves her small fingers into his tightly, squeezing his hand enough for it to hurt a little.

"You're so horrible, Sans."

He couldn't tell if she was angry with him or not, but he was willing to face her rath regardless because he sure as hell deserved it. He doesn't hold her hand back, knowing he had no right to anymore.