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She knew she shouldn't have gone downstairs. But she was in, haha, a low mood, and she'd read all her books a hundred times, and she had enough leftover snail pie to last for a while, and somehow she'd got stuck in an endless loop of thinking If only I had a guest, I'd have someone to bake for, which was really short for If only I had a guest, I'd have someone to talk to and care for and something to do and a dearly-needed distraction and a reason to keep going.
And now she was staring at that damned door. She wanted very much to bury it in rubble so that the next child who fell wouldn't pass through it and stumble into Asgore's clutches. It had been so long since Quinn had left, and before that had been Nitya, and before that, Odell, and....
But if it was a simple matter of saving lives, she'd have done it ages ago. Or she would have gone along with the children, chaperoning them all the way back to New Home, and... and then what? Kill Asgore, so the child could go free? Give up her own soul?
If only any of them had listened to her when she told them they could have a good life here. But the fact remained that none of them had wanted that life when they left. Perhaps it was crueler to stifle them and keep them alive in the Ruins than it was to let them live before they died.
Either way, the Underground was no place for children -- Asriel and Chara had shown her that.
She forced herself not to think about Chara's life slowly leaving them, or Asriel's dust in the garden. It was best not to pick at those scabs. No, she would go upstairs again and find something useful to do, even if its only actual utility was in getting her to stop thinking about the awful past.
She was about to do just that when she heard a strange thumping noise from the other side of the door. What on earth...? Then she heard someone call "Knock knock!"
She froze. Nobody knew she was here, did they? There was that sweet, shy little ghost who came to the Ruins every now and then, but they seemed so easily startled she could not imagine them telling anyone else about her. Besides, ghosts didn't have corporeal knuckles, so they couldn't very well knock.
The voice was friendly-sounding, at least. She kept listening, waiting to find out what its owner wanted.
"Isabelle," said the voice. Ah, yes. He must be talking to someone named -- "Isabelle working? I had to knock!"
Oh. Oh no. She managed to stifle her giggling just in time.
Feeling slightly guilty for eavesdropping, she settled down next to the door to listen.
"Oh, here's one. Why can't you rely on a snowman?" She strained to hear the comedian's audience, but there was only silence. "Because they're so flakey!"
She grinned to herself.
"Nah, actually they just don't like my jokes." Well, those snowmen were wrong, and she was offended on his behalf. How could anyone not like such awful jokes? "Hmm. Lousy weather today, huh?" She supposed it must be cold outside the door. "Yeah, I went up to the border between Snowdin and Waterfall for a change of pace. Tried to catch some fog. But I mist."
Toriel didn't know if it was because the jokes were genuinely funny or if it'd just been so long since she'd heard any, but she had to wipe tears out of her eyes with one hand while she kept the other firmly over her mouth to keep from laughing.
"So yeah, I had to fog-get that idea. In Waterfall proper the weather's pretty lousy too, though. It rains all the time, and sure, they give out free umbrellas, but I don't know how those things work. They're way over my head," said the man outside the door.
Toriel was suddenly terribly nostalgic for the rest of the Underground. The ruins were so small, and nothing ever changed. She sat down next to the door, eager to hear more.
"Eh, these aren't working so great," said the comedian. He knocked again. "Knock knock!"
She opened her mouth, almost automatically, to ask who was there, and then stopped herself. For whatever reason the gentleman outside the door had chosen to go somewhere he could be alone to tell these jokes. She ought to respect that, and not ruin it by butting in.
Besides, if he knew someone was listening, he would probably go away.
"Noah!"
Noah who?
"Noah good place to eat?"
Well, I have some leftover snail pie in the refrigerator, and --
"Yeah, I knew you were gonna say that. Not like there's anywhere else in town. Grillby's it is." There was a sort of shuffling and crunching, like somebody getting to their feet in the snow. "Welp. See ya later, mysterious door. You've been a good listener."
She waited a little while longer, but he was gone.
* * *
Her routine was pretty much the same every day. Each morning she'd go out, check for fallen humans, and tend to the flowers, humming to herself all the while. Sometimes she'd catch herself singing Chara's favorite song, and she'd have to stop, but the flowerbed -- the grave, she tried not to think -- was well-kept.
After the flowers were taken care of, she'd make her way through the ruins and climb down the balcony to gather snails and hunt bugs. She traded the bugs for groceries and necessities with the Froggits there. They knew routes through the Ruins into the rest of the Underground that larger monsters could never take, and used them to bring food back from the human dump. Though they weren't very talkative, her half-hearted haggling for butter and eggs was the closest thing to conversation that she got nowadays.
Then she'd climb back up the balcony, go home, and make dinner for the week -- snail casserole, usually, although she did what she could to dress it up a bit. If only she had someone to cook for... yes, well. She didn't.
And, as her reward for taking care of those odds and ends, she would sit by the door with a blanket and a book, hoping to hear bad jokes.
"Knock knock!"
Who is there?
"Beets."
Beets who?
"I dunno, beets me!"
Oh, he was good. She wondered why he was out here, and not telling jokes to an appreciative audience.
Well. She was appreciative, she just couldn't show it. She sighed.
"Knock knock!"
Who's there?
"Interrupting cow!"
Oh, everyone knows this one --
"MOOO! ...yeah, that one really doesn't work when you're telling jokes to no one, does it? Hmm."
Well, no, it didn't. But the beets one was excellent. She was going to try and remember it.
"What does an evil hen lay?"
What?
"Deviled eggs!"
Oh, that one was good too! Maybe she could tell it to the Froggits at the market. Maybe then they wouldn't be so shy.
"Well, look, they can't all be winners. Knock knock!"
No, no, that one was wonderful!
"Wooden shoe."
Oh, well, if you insist. Wooden shoe who?
"Wooden shoe like to hear another knock-knock joke?"
Well, obviously.
"Okay, okay, one more. Knock knock!"
Only one more?
"Sherwood."
Sherwood who?
"Heh. Sherwood like you to open this door!"
She sighed. It would be so nice to have a -- well -- a friend. But she couldn't risk it. He was very funny; surely he had plenty of friends and would not wish to be burdened with some lonely old woman who wouldn't come out of the Ruins.
"Aaand that's the show for tonight, ladies, gents, and other non-existent people of impeccable taste. Now I'm off to do something, uh, useful." He paused. "Well. Inasmuch as anything is useful at this point," he grumbled. "Hey, who am I kidding? No one. Literally, even. Joking at empty air. Well, whatever. I'm off to go be a worthless slob with twelve shitty jobs."
Oh dear. What had him so disheartened? And he must be a very hard worker to have twelve jobs.
* * *
He didn't come back for a long while after that, but then one day she heard a familiar rapping at the door and sat down to listen.
"Knock knock!"
It is good to hear you so cheerful-sounding! I was very worried.
"Radio!"
Radio who?
"Radio not, here I come!"
A giggle escaped before she could stop herself.
"Uh, just a sec, ol' door ol' buddy ol' pal, think I heard someone."
She berated herself for having made any noise as she listened to the crunch-crunch-crunch of footsteps and the rustling of branches.
"Nah, nada. Looks like it's just me, you, and Alphys' camera. I must be getting paranoid."
Alphys who? she wondered. Alphysit more often if you do? And now she really wanted to see if he liked that one. She'd just write it down along with her other favorites. Maybe if another child fell, they would appreciate her humor, and if not, she could at least revisit the joke when she was feeling down.
"Anyway, now we've established there's nobody here but us chickens, why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?"
The what?
"To stay on the same side!"
Hmph. Well, as he had said earlier, they could not all be winners. She wrote down her Alphys knock-knock joke, wondering why this Alphys had a camera. Was the mystery man on the other side being filmed for some reason?
"Why did the chicken cross the road, roll around in a mud puddle, and come right back?"
Well, if he was being filmed he surely wouldn't appreciate her interfering with whatever it was he was trying to do. Good enough reason for her to stay quiet, and not feel guilty about listening to someone who thought he was alone.
"Because it was a dirty double-crosser!"
She liked that one a lot. She scribbled it down.
"What happened when the elephant crossed the road?"
She wondered what he was being filmed for, and why he wanted to keep it a secret. Was it some sort of surprise for a friend? A contest, perhaps? Or maybe he was a professional comedian, and he wanted to examine the video later for awkward pauses and slip-ups.
"It stepped on the chicken!"
She tried to picture the voice on the other side onstage, and realized she had no idea what he looked like.
"Why didn't the skeleton chicken cross the road?"
He was probably not an actual chicken, she decided, although it would be funny if he was. If he was a resident of Snowdin, he likely had fur.
"Because he didn't have the guts."
Hm. And he had a fairly deep voice, so he was probably one of the larger sorts of monster. Perhaps a bear, or a moose? Not a Gyftrot, those always seemed to take themselves terribly seriously.
"What kind of bone will a dog never eat?"
Ah, yes, or he might be a dog or a werewolf. Toriel recalled that the royal guard in Snowdin had been largely comprised of canid monsters.
"The trombone." She was very startled at the sudden, distinctive brass "WAH-wah-waaaah!" noise that followed. "See? I'm enriching your life with incidental music."
And she was smiling so much that it hurt, because he had no idea how true that was.
* * *
Her scraps of paper with jokes on them were starting to overwhelm her writing desk, so she'd saved up her bugs for a little diary. Until she'd met -- well, not met, she'd only heard him -- but until she'd heard the comedian on the other side of the door, each day was indistinguishable from the next, and she'd had no reason to write much down aside from recipes and lists. Now, though -- now she knew it'd been two weeks since that awful joke about the double-crossing chicken, and that last Tuesday he'd told a particularly good one about hedgehogs. Who knew what today would bring?
"Knock knock!"
Hello, friend! You sound tireder than usual.
"Cash!"
Cash who?
"Ha! I knew you were a nut!"
Well, you try living like I have for centuries, see how you like it. Toriel immediately felt bad for this thought, and then she just felt ridiculous. It was only a joke, and it wasn't as though he even knew she was here. Besides, it wasn't so bad here. She had a comfortable home, and food, and a few books, and something almost like companionship.
"Knock knock."
It sounded very forced now. There must be something bothering him.
"Otto."
Otto who?
"Otto know, I've got amnesia."
It should have been funny. It was a good joke! But there was something very resigned about the delivery.
"Heh. Maybe that one's a little too close to home. Or a little too far from it, if you wanna get technical."
Oh dear. She didn't understand at all what was wrong, but, well. He sounded so resigned. There was likely nothing she could do to help even if she did open the door, though.
"Eh, what else can I do, really? All I'm good for is jokes."
I am certain that's not true! she thought. You must be good at one of your twelve jobs. Or at the very least, you must be an expert at time management.
"Knock knock."
I am sorry you feel so terrible, friend.
"Abby."
If you knew how much happiness you'd brought me, perhaps you'd feel differently. Or... or perhaps you would stop coming here. It is difficult to know.
"Abby birthday! Well, not for about a week, but still, I gotta find something to give him. Maybe a really good pasta strainer?"
Him? Who?
"Nah, Undyne'd just ruin it. Better stick to action figures, then. And maybe those stupid fashion basketballs he really wanted."
Fashion... basketballs? Things certainly had changed since she'd been queen.
"Least now that I have the employee discount I won't have to pay an arm and a leg for 'em. Much as Mettaton would like arms and legs. "
Toriel was getting increasingly confused, not to mention a little worried about her friend beyond the door.
"Eh, still, he's worth it. I couldn't ask for a better brother."
Ah, yes. He was always talking about his brother Papyrus, who sounded terribly sweet. Usually the voice seemed happier when he was bragging about his brother, though.
"I just wish... well, no point dwelling on it, is there? There's no undoing any of that. Just everything else that gets undone."
Something awful had happened, then, that he was having trouble getting over. She understood about that. But on the other hand, at least his little brother was all right.
More than ever, she wished she could open the door and invite him in.
"And now I'm rambling like a numbskull. This door's certainly not getting me anywhere. I must sound pretty unhinged."
As dispirited as he sounded, she had to stifle a snort at that one.
"Anyway, I guess I better get to Hotland. My first show's tonight! Wish me luck!"
Best of luck, she thought, although she was sure he wouldn't need it if he was as funny in front of an audience as he'd been to her.
* * *
Toriel's diary was starting to fill up not only with jokes from the mysterious man on the other side of the door, but with her own jokes, which she kept coming up with despite her best efforts.
"Knock knock!"
There you are! How was your brother's birthday?
"Kent!"
Kent who?
"Kent you tell who I am by the sound of my voice?"
I suppose I can't, as familiar as it is now.
"What's a Froggit's favorite drink?"
You know, they've never told me. They're not very talkative. If they were, perhaps I would not be sitting here waiting to hear you.
"Croaka cola!"
Ha! I like that one!
"...So, uh, the fashion basketballs went over pretty well. He thinks the action figure must have been from Santa, though. Guess I have only myself to blame for that."
His brother must be young if he still believed in Santa. That explained why her friend worked so many jobs he disliked. Toriel wondered where their parents were.
"Heh. All the times he thinks I'm slacking off and I'm really -- well, I am slacking off, I'm not gonna lie to a random door, but. Heh. There's always more beneath the surface, isn't there?"
Oh dear. He was getting melancholy and confusing again.
"I can't help myself though, I keep going downstairs and -- and checking."
Despite her confusion, she could at least relate to that. She found herself going downstairs and waiting at the door more and more these days.
"And there's still nothing! I'm thinking maybe it's finally happy."
It? Was 'it' something that lived in his basement?
"I don't want to get my hopes up, but on the other hand, I won't even remember getting them up, so really, what's the harm?"
Yes! Get your hopes up. You deserve hopes, my friend. Even when you make no sense. Especially, really; there is far too much cold reason in this world for my taste.
"Anyway, thanks for listening. I better get back to the knock-knock jokes or I'll never win that no-bell prize." He knocked. "Knock knock!"
Who is there?
"Goat."
Her heart nearly stopped. He didn't know, did he? He couldn't know. She hadn't said anything, and she hadn't been outside the Ruins in so very, very long. Goat... who?
"Goat to the door and find out!"
She nearly laughed aloud in relief, and then caught herself. And then, for the first time in a long while, she thought about that impulse.
Because he did sound so lonely. Perhaps it was selfish to want a friend, when she had everything she needed, really, but -- but she was certain he could use a friend as well. Someone who could listen, and occasionally offer encouragement. Perhaps there would be awkward questions, and perhaps she wouldn't hear him again, but -- well -- perhaps not. And hadn't she just been telling him -- well, thinking at him, really -- that he ought to let himself get his hopes up? Maybe she ought to try listening to her own advice.
"Knock knock!"
Toriel took a deep breath. "Who is there?" she called through the door. Oh no, she sounded awful. She should have practiced, or, or just kept her mouth shut. He wasn't going to answer, was he? Now that she'd spoken, he would be leaving just like everybody else --
"Dishes!" he said. Oh. Oh good. He did sound surprised, but not displeased.
She remembered, belatedly, that she was going to have to actually answer him now. "Dishes who?"
"Dishes a very bad joke."
She had never laughed so hard in her life -- because it was funny, because she was so relieved, and because, well, because she was happy in a way she hadn't been for a long time.
He waited for her to get her breath back before knocking again, which she thought was very considerate of him. "Knock knock!"
"Who is there?" she asked.
"Orange!"
"Orange who?" she asked.
"Orange you sorry you answered that knock?"
She giggled. "Not in the least!" she said.
"Heh. Well, you probably will be after a few more jokes. Usually after two or three my friends tell me to knock it off."
"They should say that earlier, then, before you have a chance to get your foot in the door."
"They probably don't wanna shut the door in my face. I can't fault 'em." He knocked again. "Knock knock!"
"Who is there?" she asked, eagerly.
"Justin!"
"Justin who?"
"Justin time! I was worried you wouldn’t be home!"
And then it occurred to her as she was snickering over that, that maybe now she could finally tell him all of her jokes.
"Knock knock!"
"Who is there?" she called, as she flipped through her diary for some good ones.
* * *
"So why do you come here?" she asked one day.
"I dunno, why?"
"No, no, that was an honest question. I am sorry. I could -- I could try to make it into a joke if you like," she said doubtfully.
"Oh! Uh, well. Isn't it obvious? I come here to make bad jokes."
"Surely you could make bad jokes anywhere, though," she said. "Why a door in the woods?"
"Because behind that door is the only person I've ever met who appreciated a lousy joke as much as I do."
"The only person you've never met, you mean." And besides, you came here before you knew I was here, she thought. But she was certain most of those one-sided conversations earlier were meant to be private, and she didn't want him to feel embarrassed.
"Yeah, that too," he said. "I'm uh. I'm supposed to be patrolling out here."
Ah, so he probably was a member of the Royal Guard. "Patrolling? What do you expect to find?"
"Not much, to be honest," he said. "That's why I can slack off so much. But I'm out here just in case a human shows up." She stiffened. Oh, yes. Of course. Asgore would, wouldn't he? He'd want to catch them as quickly as possible, before they got their bearings. Before they had the chance to meet other monsters along the way. Before he could begin to doubt himself and come to his senses. "Yeah, I know, pretty dumb, right?" said her friend, startling her out of the funk she'd sunken into.
"That is not the precise word I would use," she said, darkly. "But I share your lack of enthusiasm for the idea."
"Huh, really? Why?" he asked. "Everyone else's pretty gung-ho now we have six souls. You like it underground that much?"
She paused. "I -- I would rather not talk about it." This was what she'd been afraid of -- the awkward questions she couldn't answer, the horrible memories, the --
"Okay, yeah, guess that was a pretty nosy question," he said. She was briefly astonished that it could be that simple. "You wanna know what I think about this human soul business, though?"
"If you would like to tell me, then yes," she said, cautiously.
"I think people tend to think that the secret to being happy can be boiled down to just one problem, you know? And if that problem was solved, their lives would be perfect and everything would be all rainbows and buttercups 24/7. And I think, lately, people are thinking more and more the only problem is that we're stuck here, that there's maybe three people in the whole Underground who remember what the sun looks like."
"And you do not share this opinion?"
"Ha! Well, I definitely have one problem I get kinda fixated on. But my one problem is something completely different. I... I really don't think anything's gonna change if we get to the surface, though. Not for me, and not for anybody else. We'll all end up right back where we started, hoping for someone to fix our one unfixable problem all over again. I -- sorry, sorry, I know it's not polite to talk politics with people you barely know, I got kinda soapboxy there, it's really not--"
"No, no, I completely agree with you," she said. "You are unusually perceptive."
There was a brief pause. "I... uh... thanks," he said, sounding a little sheepish.
"Besides, it is refreshing to hear you be so opinionated. So often you sound... disinterested in most things."
"Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry, I must be a pretty depressing conversationalist."
"Not at all. Talking to you has..." She hesitated to admit this. "...has made me so happy. I look forward to it all day."
"Aw, jeez, lady, you're making me blush."
She wondered what that might look like. They would never meet, so it hardly mattered, but she couldn't help her curiosity. "I suppose the topic of conversation is a bit depressing, though no fault of your own. We could change the subject; your choice. Although I should warn you that if you keep being kind and intelligent and funny I may compliment you."
"Heh. Guess I'd better keep it up 'til I'm blue in the face, then. As for a new topic, I, uh. I'm... not a very interesting guy. How 'bout I tell you about my brother instead?"
She smiled. "He is your favorite subject."
"He's just so great! I can't help it," he said. "So there's this costume party coming up, and Papyrus really wants to go, and I was wondering if I could ask your advice...."
* * *
And then, one morning, she saved a child from an angry flower. The child was quiet at first, but grasped puzzles very quickly. And they were surprisingly independent. Well. Of course, they would have to be if they came to Mt. Ebott all alone and -- and fell, by accident, she told herself. Yes. By accident.
Children who came to Mt. Ebott were rarely very happy, but this one seemed grateful for her assistance, so she decided it would probably be all right to leave them alone.
She hurried through her chores, and while she rolled out the dough for the butterscotch cinnamon pie, the worry started to set in. What would she do if the child went through the door?
Maybe she should destroy the passage. That would be the safest thing, wouldn't it? And then no one could ever leave again. And she would never have anyone to talk to except for Frisk and the Froggits.
She could practically hear her friend beyond the door saying that would make a good band name.
Maybe... maybe it didn't have to come to that. Maybe she could just keep the child away from the door by distracting them. But she couldn't see that working. This child... they seemed very determined.
She was so lost in thought that she lost track of time, and it was only after she'd put the pie in the oven that she looked at the clock and realized how late it was. She hurried downstairs, thoughts of the pie and the child and being late to her usual knock knock joke appointment all jumbled up inside her head.
"Hello?" she called down the corridor.
"Hey! There you are! I was getting worried," he said, with a forcedly-carefree attitude.
"Oh, no, everything is fine," she said quickly, although truth be told, everything was not fine. She desperately wanted to tell him all about how nice it was to have a child in the house, but he was there to patrol for humans, and even if he didn't believe in Asgore's horrible cause, well, he had a younger brother to support. He might try and take Frisk anyway.
No. No, she was going to try not to worry about that right now. Besides, she was certain her friend was better than that. "I, ah. Would you like to start?"
"Sure, why not? Knock knock!"
"Who is there?" He barely patrolled for humans anyway. He just sat here and told jokes to a lonely old lady. Taking Frisk to Asgore would have required him to do something.
"Carrie!"
"Carrie who?" she asked. There was a good chance Frisk would get past this sentry, at least. But he'd said the rest of the Underground was enthusiastic about Asgore's plan.
"Carrie me home, I'm tired!" he said.
She remembered, belatedly, that she was supposed to laugh at jokes that were funny.
"Sorry, I guess that one wasn't so great," he said.
"No, I -- I am so sorry, I have a lot on my mind lately."
"Like what? Sorry, you don't have to tell me if you'd rather not, I get it, I just -- you put up with me rambling and whining, you know? So if you need someone to listen, I'm all ears. Metaphorically, I mean, I don't actually have ears."
She took a deep, shaky breath. "If -- oh, this is going to sound ridiculous."
"Can't sound as ridiculous as some of the stuff I've seen," he said.
"Well. I. That is." She gathered her nerve. "If a human ever comes through this door, could you please, please promise me something? Watch over them, and protect them, will you not?"
There was a dreadful silence.
"I -- I know it must be a great deal to ask of you, especially since --"
"Of course I'll do it," he said.
"Oh." She could not quite believe it. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said. "I... I promise." She'd never heard him sound so solemn before.
She'd finally found someone who thought doing the right thing was more important than getting back to the surface, and it was a little overwhelming. "Oh, thank you! You -- you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you so much. I could not stand the thought of... well." She wiped a tear out of her eye.
"Nah, you can trust me." He did not sound entirely convinced of this himself, but she knew that whatever else her friend was, he was kind-hearted.
"Thank you," she said again. "And -- and if you do not hear from me..." She was still considering destroying the hallway and burying the door so no more humans could leave. "...know that I am just fine. I have plans that may keep me away from the door." Well, it wasn't technically a lie.
"Wow, that's not ominous at all," he said, sarcastically. "But, uh. I. Well. I'll really miss you if you vanish, you know that, right?"
She was grateful he hadn't asked her to stay. She'd have had trouble turning him down. "Then spend time with your brother, and tell your jokes at that hotel. I'm sure the audiences there love you."
"Nah, you're definitely my best audience. It'd be a real drag if you got sick of me too! Uh, speaking of which, this conversation's getting kinda serious. You wanna tell more jokes, or...?"
"If you like, you can," she said. "I think I would enjoy that. But -- but I might not laugh very much. Just know that I still appreciate them."
"Okay. Well, then. What's brown and sticky?"
She couldn't help actually trying to work out the answer to this sort of joke. She'd been quite good at riddles long ago, on the surface; they had been very popular when she was young. "I do not know," she said finally, although she could think of at least one rather juvenile answer.
"A stick!" She snorted a little at that. "What's brown, sticky, and extremely dangerous?"
"A pointed stick?" she hazarded.
"No, no. Shark-infested peanut butter!"
She hadn't expected that, and she certainly hadn't expected to laugh that hard today.
She stayed for as long as she could, but she did not want Frisk exploring on their own and finding her down here. "I apologize," she said finally, "but I -- I have to go take care of something. And remember, if you do not hear from me --"
"Yeah," he said. "You said. You had plans." He sounded very gloomy. "But, uh. You mean a lot to me, whoever you are. And I'm really gonna miss you. So I'm going to be very selfish and cross my fingers that those plans of yours don't work out. Sorry."
She sighed. "I understand. And I feel much the same."
"Okay, well. Guess I better let you go, huh? Anyway, I have a conveniently-shaped lamp to go dig out of storage."
"You say such strange things sometimes," she said, laughing.
"Guess that's what happens when you talk to strangers, lady," he said.
"Oh, no complaints here. I a-door our conversations."
There was a long pause, and Toriel wished she hadn't said something so forward. But then he spoke. "Yeah. I do too. I really, really do."
It was her turn to blush. Of course, that was surely not how he'd meant it, but, well, it was very flattering nonetheless. "Thank you." She caught a whiff of the pie in the oven upstairs, and realized she'd better find Frisk. "I really do have to go, though. Please, take care of yourself, friend."
"I will," he said. "Hey, want one more joke for luck? It'll cheer you up."
Oh, she couldn't refuse him. It might be the last time they spoke. "If you like."
"Knock knock," he said.
"Who's there?" she called through the door.
"Ya," he said.
"Ya who?" she asked. She hadn't heard this one before.
"Oh good, if you're shouting 'yahoo' you're already feeling better," he said.
And she still didn't know what he looked like, but even through the door she could hear how wide he was grinning, and that made it impossible for her not to smile. "You're right. I do. Thank you, and... and I hope we will speak again very soon."
As she climbed the stairs, she laughed a little at that last joke, feeling an optimism she thought she'd lost long ago.