Frisk laughs when Sans scrubs at their head, ducking a little and smiling affectionately up at him. One hand stays curled in his jacket for a few extra moments before Frisk realizes and they let it drop away again.

"But it's not even for food," Frisk grumbles, tugging at the bottom of their sweater. The pun, however, earns a snort and giggle, and succeeds in distracting Frisk from the topic. "Ehehe! Yeah, they're all flying by beach-y keen!"