Silence is building like pressure in their ears, and the gentle noises of Frisk crying are like nothing so much as broken glass, musical and grating and signs that they really, really fucked up this time like never before, and--

Chara grits their teeth and looks further away from them, and it's like the words are teeth that weren't ready to be pulled out yet.

"Look, I just did, ok? I had t--... It... ... ... it was like I had...."

They run out, and their termite little sins are crawling up and down their neck and face, and their face is hot and they're full to the brim with shame and hate. They hated those monsters. They hated the underground. They hated themself.

They have nowhere to put it all except to fill themselves like a silo, so they leave everything as is. Their fingers have stopped picking, and their shoulders are tense enough to hold a bridge.

"Everyone's awful," they whisper. It answers nothing and everything.