Walking up behind Asgore and reaching up to ever so gently place my hands on either side of his neck just under the beard so as to stroke his jaw with my thumbs while his shoulders slowly sag downwards a bit in apparent relaxation (to confess my wrongdoings out of shame, I primarily did this because my hands were cold), participating in a full-blown operation to both find and carefully escort a small moth that managed to find its way into the house back to the grass outside at the behest of Asgore, not letting some silly rain ruin our plans to cook shish kabobs over an open fire by simply having Asgore hold a workable ball of flame betwixt his hands in the garage and using that to cook the skewers one-at-a-time (small kink in the plan I did not foresee was the smell of cooking meat/vegetables directly under his nose multiplying his appetite and the repeated evident watering of his mouth guilting me into giving him nearly ninety-percent of the overall product despite his weak protest)