[A few years ago, he could not have answered that question with such certainty, if at all. He'd kept their home exactly the same, the children's room just as it was, and all of Toriel's things waiting for her return. He'd still held hope of regaining some measure of what he'd lost, and like a fool he had dangled that in front of Frisk.
But it was with them that he realized how foolish that hope was. It was for them that he gave it up.
And then to forget, and remember, and see his own life with new eyes while he was in Beacon - he knows he did no good, keeping his home like a memorial to all he'd lost. None of them would ever return to him. He didn't deserve it.
Even with that knowledge, he can't quite imagine clearing it all away. But he won't face that choice now. He will never see that home again.]
They are well. They are living with two human friends, a man called Tim and a child called Frisk. [He makes a sort of watery sound that's trying to be fond. He's not even sure what exactly he's on the edge of tears about, specifically.] Last year, Tim drew them both a birthday picture on the community rock, so that everyone would leave them gifts.
[He hadn't wondered too much at Frisk and Chara both being included; maybe their birthdays were just near each other.]
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[A few years ago, he could not have answered that question with such certainty, if at all. He'd kept their home exactly the same, the children's room just as it was, and all of Toriel's things waiting for her return. He'd still held hope of regaining some measure of what he'd lost, and like a fool he had dangled that in front of Frisk.
But it was with them that he realized how foolish that hope was. It was for them that he gave it up.
And then to forget, and remember, and see his own life with new eyes while he was in Beacon - he knows he did no good, keeping his home like a memorial to all he'd lost. None of them would ever return to him. He didn't deserve it.
Even with that knowledge, he can't quite imagine clearing it all away. But he won't face that choice now. He will never see that home again.]
They are well. They are living with two human friends, a man called Tim and a child called Frisk. [He makes a sort of watery sound that's trying to be fond. He's not even sure what exactly he's on the edge of tears about, specifically.] Last year, Tim drew them both a birthday picture on the community rock, so that everyone would leave them gifts.
[He hadn't wondered too much at Frisk and Chara both being included; maybe their birthdays were just near each other.]