A/n: Heyya'll, pinksterz!💕

Did cha miss me?

You: Did you seriously have to ask us that every fricking time you show up?!

o-o I guess that's both a yes and a no.

Anyways, I'm back from such an unexpected hiatus-it wasn't a hiatus. -_- It's obviously because no one said Why Not? in the previous chapter. I'm not mad it's just, nothing's gonna happen in this book if no one completes the keys, I've mentioned this to you all, didn't I? ☺

Plus, those words, even just those tiny words are my fuel, my motivation to continue, my determination, so spam flooding the comment section with 'Why Not?' is highly appreciated-😆

But I'm also kinda grateful for this at some point, since I got rest, and worked better on school so... Yet school has finally ended this July, so expect me flooding your notifs with story updates, natch! 😄 hehe, maybe.. 😭

Anyways, I present you a free open chapter, just as a revival for this seemingly dead book.😊

Enjoy, pinksterz!💕

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Three hundred seconds.

She seeks for it.

Five more minutes, she wished time would be generous to give. Yet however, more than five minutes was all that she received.

There past three hundred seconds, five minutes, a day, five weeks, a month, five years, a decade... The same as ever, her routine seemed to be.

She'd quietly sit in their blue-tiled dining area, on a creaking, wooden, white rocking chair, humming a sweet tune as she knitted a beautifully hand sewn sweater, a thimble by her thumb, and red rectangular thin-brimmed glasses hung up on her pint nose. Using her weight, she was rocking the seat back-and-forth in sync with the song she hummed.

She wasn't that old, she was on her 40s going 50s. Even so, not much of Mrs. Frisk Gaster's appearance had changed. The same chocolate brown hair down to a neat bun, her smooth fairly pale skin, her amber-glazed golden irises, and the sweet pink smile on her face, they all never left, her radiance was plastered all over her face, it was extraordinary.

Simultaneously, she'd turn her focus on the sweater, then the window, and then back to what she was knitting. After repeated exchanges of concentration, she looked at their old grandfather's clock, to see the hands point to half past noon.

It was time for her to pick up her children from school, but...

"Five more minutes." she sighed, placing her sewing tools and material on the rocking chair's surface as she stood up. She headed after the top cupboard, pulling out a bottle of tomato ketchup. She then places it neatly on the table before her.

Putting both hands on her hips, she watched the clock as five minutes seemed to chase after its end. Just how long does it take for her to merely grab a bottle and set it down soonest after? Time is such an unjustifying swindler, don't you think?

Five minutes was something she knew she shouldn't abuse, but it was that in five minutes, does she really had the determination to be on the move. One time, she was asked if she felt widowed after all these years of waiting, but she disagreed, saying, "If I feel the loving warmth of my dear husband in my arms again, even after 10 years, it would've felt as if I have been waiting for five minutes." she smiled, and all was concerned as she added, "He promised to come back after five minutes. I know it may sound silly, but believe it or not, I do see him."

Not as a paranormal presence, of course. She thought. By then, she would've been sent to the nearby asylum.

She was married to a man, or rather, a skeleton, who was loyal, not only to his wife, to his friends and family, but also to his beloved country of Ebott. A brave and noble soldier, he had served in the army for decades, it was scary.

She was most afraid he'd come home in a casket, knowing his job in the front lines was dangerous, and foolish. They'd sometimes argue on whether or not it's time he takes the leave, and yet it annoyed her very much of how he refused, and chose to continue to protect his homeland.

For every mission he took, she'd always be at home, biting her fingers in anxiousness of his arrival. Fortunately, he always comes home successful, relieved, and tired, all was nerve-wracking.

But today, the moment he disappeared before her for ten years, she had never felt so calmed and dependent on his word of five minutes.

Oh yes, such an impossible time. Who could manage to go out and come back home under only three hundred seconds? It's like heading out for only one step and turning about for another, of all the ridiculousness.

Yet she had faith in him.

He may return for a century, or meet with each other in heaven, but to her, the entirety of the life she spent would've been five minutes itself. She wanted to believe her husband wasn't lying. This is why she'd wait for exactly five extra more minutes with everything she does.

Even if it meant she'd get late at work, for her kids, drive slow, or burn her cooking, she just wanted to make sure.

Drinking a glass of water to help her swallow up medications for her weak heart, she brought out a note and a silver pocketwatch from one of the drawers and set them on the table, just beside the ketchup bottle. She knew her husband might come home thirsty, so she's always prepared.

She headed out of her home to fetch her kids from school.

It was quite peculiar how five minutes had past, and a neighbor suddenly rushed into the house to rummage around for a phone. Frisk never came home for those five minutes.

________________________________

He closed the door shut behind him as he entered his home. It was empty, but he knew the children and their goat grandmother was here, in their bedroom, and asleep.

It was a dull and boring evening.

He took off his black trench coat, and black military hat, as well as his black gloves and neck tie, before hanging them on the rack. Letting out a deep sigh, he sat on the couch, and silently gazed at his luggage that he brought with him after arriving just now.

He placed both of his phalanges on his face and rubbed it hard, before looking at the time. It was five minutes before 10 pm, so he stood up, and headed to the kitchen for a drink. He didn't care if ten has already reached him, five minutes never meant anything to him.

As aggravating as it sounds, the memory of his last words to his wife before he went to the last shit he would endure for ten years, never occured to him.

Arriving at the dining area, he was surprised to know he wouldn't be going through a hard time searching for a drink, as there stood a ketchup bottle neatly placed on the table right before him.

A slight jolt of enlightment spread through his bones as his pinpricks, and hands landed on it. He was about to twist and open up the cap, when he finally noticed the note and the pocket watch.

He recognized the little time trinket almost immediately. It was his gift for his beloved wife before he-

"It'll be quick. Just give me five minutes." he grinned, both of his hands rubbing the palms of his distraught spouse in reassurance.

"Ridiculous! You're absolutely kidding me, do you even expect I'd believe such bluff?" she huffed in irritation, yanking her arms away from him.

"Darlin', I can teleport, it isn't impossible." he chuckled gleefully.

"Teleport, my foot, the last time you did, you fell in a hole on a mountain, face it--you're too old for this!" she grumbled exasperately, before calming to a more concerned tone, "Sans. I'm worried for you."

Hearing this, he nodded in understanding, his huge smile softening along with her tense shoulders. He walked towards her, leaning to close the gap. It helped in relaxing the two of them a bit, naturally.

Sighing, he took her chin to make her gently face him, "Frisk, you know you didn't need to. I'll be fine."

"We can't be so sure, what if this would be the last time we'd ever see each other, what then?" she lowly muttered audibly, her frown showing across her fairly pale face as the atmosphere darkened a bit. It was rather cold.

"This wouldn't be the last time we'd see each other!" he said, tracing his fingers along her chocolate brown hair, "I promise to come back, and if this day shall be our last, then it's a matter of time five minutes has already gone by."

She was a bit unsure as she looked down to the tiled-floor on the ground, before finally giving him an acceptable amount of faith. "Five minutes?"

He smiled widely at her retort in satisfaction, slowly handing her his silver five-minute pocket watch, and held on to her as tight as he can. "Five minutes. I love you so much, Frisk."

"I'll love you forever, Sans." she smiled back sadly.

"I wish you could've said you'll miss me..." Sans gritted his teeth in grief at the memory, gripping unto the fabric of his shirt, as an emotionally stinging pain surged rapidly through his chest. "A-ah!" he tried to scream in hopes of avoiding the coming tears to spill, but failed anyways.

His eye sockets were already visibly sore from crying, and I could not imagine what they'll look like if he cried some more. He gripped tightly on the edge of the table, and on the ketchup bottle he held in his left hand, while falls of translucent liquid slowly slid out of pitiful holes of pitch black darkness.

Would having her say she misses him could make any difference though? That is the bitter question.

But, he would've retired and head home earlier if he was sure she'd miss him. That day would've never ended up as the last moment they'd meet each other, just how ironical that sounded.

He was deciding on whether or not he should smash the bottle he held in expressive anguish, but recalled how he still had the note in hand. Wiping a portion of his tears, he sat on the white rocking chair, and unfolded the worn-out piece of paper.

On it, were his wife's beautiful penmanship, sewn together to form a meaningful letter, all hand-written in black fountain pen ink. He took in the familiar atmosphere around the letter for a brief moment, before reading on,

"Dear Sans,

The moment you read this, the moment relief could now bathe my troubled mind with calm, cold waters. You are alive, my dear. I cannot express how much joy and gratitude I'm emitting, for I was right to believe in you for all this time.

You truly stuck to your word, arriving exactly after five minutes, I cannot believe that was ever possible, and yet my faith stayed entrusted upon you.

In exchange for the wait and struggles that I have been battling throughout those mere minutes, I only implore of you one thing; take your time, my darling.

Through the years that felt of five minutes, I've stumbled upon a realization of how time was a valuable gift to us. It was through taking time, have I ever realized just how precious and significant those five minutes really were to me, and I thank you greatly for that. One can never always have five minutes in their life.

As our time runs out, it could only mean something. Either your five minutes are up, or an eternity of more five minute duplicates are adding up. So please, never give up hope, never rely on trying to battle time with useless horseplay, and never think of time to wait for you.

You will be the one waiting for time, for those five minutes to catch up.

I then, will, and love you, and our children.

Love,
Frisk"

The note was crumpled tight in his hands, as more tears of pain flowed wildly down his cheeks after finally reading his wife's letter. Deep inside him, however, nothing will happen, and it'll be wrong of him to keep this up.

Besides, it'd be embarassing to think Frisk could be watching intently up there.

So he shook and slapped his face gently, whilst he quickly chugged down the bottle of ketchup, trying his best to help get a hold of himself. There was no time to lose. Following Frisk's final demands, he sets to a new chapter in life.

He was patient, however...

He can't wait for his five minutes to be up.

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There'll also be another open chapter coming, I can't wait for you guys (especially Soul Sewn Buttons fans😉) to read. Don't forget to say why not? The why not? bank is empty.. 😐

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Description: Love Is Perfect

Level 3: Locked

Frisk is a perfectionist office worker, who writes up a bucket list to describe her 'perfect' ideal guy. She chose Asriel, a doctor, but soon falls for an annoying yet cheerful substitute barista, Sans.

Please say Why Not? 😞