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[Although he can't speak again since the nausea hasn't yet worn off, Mettaton does appreciate that Asriel listens to what he did manage to get out. The rubbing is appreciated too--it's comforting.

Eventually, Mettaton's heaves ebb. He shudders and doesn't lift his head yet, trying to catch his breath. It's...probably for the better that Asriel doesn't get a look at the mess in the trash. Not a pretty sight.

That was awful, and yet the ex-robot is starting to feel a little better. It seems as if this was a reflexive human action, one meant to fix whatever he'd done. He still feels weak, to be sure, and he's going to need to clean up, but it's better.

He'll be okay.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Mettaton mumbles quietly over the lip of the trashcan--]

Asriel, can you fetch me some napkins? Goodness, I'm a mess...

[The way he asks, his voice sounds so small and tired. How pathetic.]