Again, another twitching hand to the back of the neck. A familiar motion, is it not? He was reaching for it when they'd first met, and at first they'd the notion - perhaps it had something to do with the scarf he wears.

Perhaps, but perhaps not.

It's rude to make assumptions.

"Don't be absurd," they say, smoothly, as though they actively prepared what they were about to say to both children prior to this moment, their fierce desire to soothe spoiled nerves both an unnerving surprise and a weary constant. "You have plenty of skills to offer to the world at large."

Genuine compliments? Genuine advice? No. Never. This cannot stand. They will lose their footing. And thus Mettaton evades the center of their attention for the moment, as they comment to Frisk, wholly serious: "I believe we have dire need of a head matchmaker, if you are game."