Frisk nods, their eyes following Sans as he stands and looks around at the mess surrounding them. Though it feels world's away they still feel a pang of guilt about leaving without tidying everything back up, but...they can come back afterward, or at least apologize.

Another quiet nod, and Frisk places their hand in the skeleton's own with a wobbly, tired smile that speaks of far more trust than they should have in a monster that had been mere seconds away from killing them in cold blood. While that nervousness and fear is still there, something else is blooming again beneath, a warmth that never, ever seems to die no matter what Frisk is put through.