[The tears aren't entirely unexpected. He remembers how worked up the kid had become over this the first go around, how upset they'd been afterwards. It's why he'd even bothered making a promise to them in the first place. To see them this torn at least, in his eye, gives more validity to them being whole and together than their actual words. But anxiety still drives him harder, keeping him at his distance with a tight jaw and quickened breath.

His eyes follow Frisk's arms for a long moment, tensely silent - checking to make sure the hands are empty, that there's nothing strapped around them, that he can have an advantage here should he need to pin the child down. Only when he's determined it's safe does he try to close the distance again, snapping forward to yank Frisk by the wrist and pull them away from the wall, close enough that he can drop the volume of his voice. His words are breathy, rushed, still lit with panic more than aggression.]

If this changes, I will kill you. I'm going to find a way to fucking kill you where you stand. You understand that, right?