Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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You would never forget the first time you met a walking, talking, skeleton.

I mean, how could you? Even though monsters had been on the surface now for approaching 6 years, you didn’t get many of them all the way here on the opposite coast, and those that did make the long train ride to relocate here usually resembled animals, looking to get out of the sweltering California heat and over-crowded conditions. The large majority of the monsters that had surfaced from under Mt. Ebott either decided to stay nearby, or had their travel heavily restricted due to the “Magical Risk Assessment" that was required as part of their limited citizenship. But slowly but surely, the more common and less “dangerous” varieties fanned out to new lands, eager to explore the wide world they’d been denied for so long. You knew the King and Queen -massive goat creatures of some sort- were relocated to somewhere in your city with the human ambassador, in order to be closer to the nation's government buildings, but the other handful or so of dogs, cats, and rabbits mostly blended seamlessly into the background after the first couple years of getting used to surface life.

But this guy. 

Skeletal fingers made a clinking sound as they passed the glass bottles of pasta sauce over the scanner and placed them gently into a plastic bag, so as to not crack them against each other or his joints. 

Trying to be subtle, you chanced another glance at his face - er, skull- by pretending to read an advertisement for Monday specials taped up on the half wall behind him. Yup. That was one hundred percent a Skeleton. Where his eyes should have been, there were only hollow pits that seemed to be filled with depth resisting blackness. It would have been utterly terrifying if not for the small bright lights floating in their centers, acting as far as you could tell like pupils would. It was still a little scary. The only part of him that you could see that didn’t scream out of season halloween decor was the giant, almost cartoonish grin that stretched all the way from one cheek to the other. 

Maybe he thought it made him look friendly, but really it just took him into the uncanny valley zone. You politely elected not to tell him.

You weren’t monsterphobic. Really you weren’t. You had a couple bunny coworkers, and your downstairs neighbor was a vibrant purple cat monster with a penchant for gossip. But some self-preserving part of you that knew bones belonged inside of the body had begged for any other cashier to come up while you waited in the short two person line for your turn to check out. As usual for a grocery chain at two thirty a.m., it was operating on a skeleton crew. 

Ha. Get it? Because the guy checking you out was a s-

“* lady? are you doin’ alright? you’re almost as pale as me.”

A deep baritone voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you found yourself staring directly into those piercing lights as the monster stared at you expectantly, pasta box in one stocky bone-white hand and the other hovering awkwardly over the keyboard. Shit. He’d been saying something to you. 

“Um, oh. I’m sorry, what did you say? It’s pretty late... or early, depending on how you look at it.” You patted yourself on the back for your quick thinking, but by the look on his face, he didn’t quite believe your excuse.

“* right. i uh, asked what brought ya all the way out here in the middle of the night for two jars of spaghetti sauce and a giant box of angel hair?”

From the halting tone of his response, you suspected he might have said something slightly different and paraphrased it the second time around. His smile seemed a bit forced, but it might have been your tired eyes playing tricks on you. 

A huge yawn clawed its way out of your mouth.

“Mmph. I forgot that I agreed to bring something to the work potluck tomorrow…er,  today. Can’t go wrong with the basics, right?” You blinked blearily and almost flinched again, forgetting momentarily that you were talking to a goddamn bone man. 

He nodded in acknowledgment, taking another cursory look at the box of pasta you’d selected. Those glowing embers flickered toward you once, twice - as if trying to decide on something. Then -

“* hold tight. i’ll be right back.” 

Abruptly, he crossed the unspoken barrier of the register counter and ambled casually but with purpose off into the maze of aisles. Frowning, you wondered what the hell his problem was? A barcode issue would be just your luck; all you wanted was to make this goddamn spaghetti and climb back into your warm bed, between your cozy comforter and your cool sheets; precious minutes of your allotted sleep time before work dwindling the longer you stood in this liminal nightmare-filled hellhole. 

You were now the only person in line, and possibly in the store. A cold trickle of fear made its way down your spine at the thought of being completely alone with this strange spooky figure in the middle of the witching hour. There were only hundreds of movies about this exact scenario, all ending in looming pitch-black spectres creeping up behind you soundlessly. Dead quiet except for rustling exhalations like dead autumn leaves upon the nape of your neck, ripe with the scent of grave soil and corpseflesh.… digits like frost coated branches brushing, dragging, grabbing your wrist like a bear trap and -

Something touched you.

Letting out a strangled cry, you stumbled blindly away from what you were positive was the grim reaper incarnate ready to drag you straight to the burning depths of hell, tripping over a tiered display of canned soup with a mighty racket and going sprawling. Time seemed to slow as you anticipated hitting the hard floor, accompanied by the crash of chicken noodle thunder.

.

or

..

not?

…

Time was taking… its sweet time. Tempting fate, you slowly opened one scrunched up eye to see what the hold up was to the imminent demise of your tailbone. Obviously, it was not a horror movie monster with a flowing cloak and bloodied scythe. But what you saw instead still drifted just to the left of reality. Your cashier stood in place of the reaper, half-crouched in a defensive stance and reaching out in your direction with one partially outstretched hand. For the first time that night his fixed skull was surprisingly expressive. His sockets were blown wide, one missing its white pip while the other found it in excess; a cyan ring pulsing in its dark void. 

You? Well you were floating. Your body, along with every single semi-fallen product was paused mid air in snapshot disarray. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment; the only sign of the second hand ticking forward was the fact that his chest under his uniform was rising and falling rhythmically, as the stunned monster pulled in huge gasps of air.

“Sans?!”

He flinched hard and blinked, and the store echoed with the sound of ninety-three cans, and one now very awake customer, crashing to the ground.

A middle aged woman with clipped hazelnut hair and a nasty expression turned a corner and was making her way down the center aisle directly towards the register. 

Sans, at least you assumed that was the monster’s name, was all of a sudden disconcertingly close to you. In the confused mental state you were currently in, it took all your willpower to avoid scrambling backwards among the rubble, putting more space between you and his corpse-like figure. He’d knelt down with a faint clatter of his own and messily pressed a blue cardboard box that rattled into your hand, the other trying to help you to your feet by grabbing your forearm and tugging. He was still smiling, but the white lights back in both eyes were frantic. His voice was as well, panicked and whispered close to your ear as he tried to plead his case.

“*  i didn’t mean to startle ya. m’ sorry. please don’t tell her i used magic on a customer. shit. please. this is my last write up. i can’t lose this job.” 

You noticed he let go of you very quickly once you were standing, and took a large couple steps back, even though that meant leaving the pile of dented cans on the ground around you like some sort of incriminating red and white themed funeral pyre. This was right about the time the ornery woman approached the disaster zone, looking none too happy about it. She shot a withering look at her assumed instigator, who winced, then turned to you and instantly switched gears. Her pearly whites blinded you with their intensity and inauthenticity as she plastered on a smile bigger than even Sans’s. 

“Please excuse me Ma’am. Was our cashier bothering you? He usually works in the back as a stocking assistant, but he’s on call to run the front on night shifts like this as needed. This is far from his first incident. I truly apologize for any discomfort he may have caused you, and hope you don’t hold his behavior against our establishment.”

What a bunch of shmoozy corporate bullshit. You glimpsed behind her at the cowed monster, who all of a sudden looked a lot less frightening than you’d remembered him in the harsh halogen light. He was short, stocky, and a bit chubby; dressed in a wrinkled white polo shirt and unflattering blue vest, loose black jeans pooling a bit over his worn sneakers. His face was lowered to the ground, and his hands hovered at his sides like he was searching for a place to hide them. Even now, that toothy grin remained, but it looked smaller than it did when he was checking you out earlier. Damn, this guy was committed to his customer service persona. Guilt swirled deep.

The manager had retrieved your grocery bag from the end of the belt and was holding it out to you with dainty fingers. The jars inside chimed as you took it quietly - you still hadn’t addressed her. With a satisfied nod, the store manager turned to leave with a sharp gesture for the skeleton to follow her. The way his lights momentarily shot to you in a last desperate plea broke you.

“Ma’am, wait!” She turned around, and you thought you could just see the remnants of a vindictive smirk dissolve as she wrenched her lips upwards, back into her creepy smile. What a fake bitch.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Your employee here did nothing wrong- in fact, he was helping me up after my tired ass accidentally knocked over the soup display. He’s been very kind and helpful.” 

You weren’t sure who looked more surprised, the manager or the monster. The latter was staring at you stunned, jaw slack and glow filling more of his dark sockets than you remembered. 

“A-ah,” The woman tried to brush off the correction with a flip of her well tamed hair. “I’m certainly glad to hear that then. Did he finish checking you out before this… incident occurred? I truly hope you are unharmed and found what you were looking for to your satisfaction.”

As you go to open your mouth to tell her that no, you hadn’t quite finished paying yet, you were interrupted by none other than the cashier himself, trying to meet your gaze meaningfully as he drawled. 

“* yup, we’d already finished up before that happened. they’re good to go mrs. fontaine.”

What? That wasn’t right. He’d been getting you another box of pasta for whatever reason and then when he’d returned… you… acted like a total asshole towards him. He gave you another pointed glance, brow bones raising and head tilting towards the automatic doors. Still smiling… but again, differently? It was hard to place exactly what was different about it, but it made him look much less “uncanny” and more so just… well, friendly. 

Fine. It was nearing three in the morning and you weren’t sure you had the heart to get him in trouble again after just getting him out of it. You’d just have to pass on the karma.

As you dug your keys out of your pocket and made sure your phone hadn’t escaped during your fall, you saw him give you one last brief look before disappearing among the aisles, thankfully in a different direction than his manager. 

You tossed the plastic bag in your passenger seat and shoved the key roughly in the ignition. What a weird fucking morning. Well, it wasn’t likely you were ever going to see that skeleton man again - you weren’t exactly a common connoisseur of crack-of-dawn grocery runs. 

Something yellow caught the corner of your vision before you could drive off, peeking slightly out of the bag and contrasting with the dark blue of the cardboard box that Sans had added. You never had a chance to check what he’d swapped out. 

You put your car back in park and fished out the package. It was still pasta, same brand, same huge family size - but instead of your go-to angel hair, the box said “farfalle”, and the noodles inside looked like little bowties. The yellow you’d seen was a post it note, stuck crookedly to the back of the box and crumpled by the rest of the bag's contents. 

In messy handwriting, it read- 

“* didn’t want you to be bow-tied up too long with late night cooking for nothin’. angel hair is gonna be mush by lunchtime. these are much better for big batches, and also keep better in the fridge. add a pinch of salt to the water for best results, if ya don’t already. “

It was simply signed “S”, though you had a very good idea of who had written it. You smiled faintly at the occasion-appropriate wordplay and put the box gently down in the seat beside you, being careful not to squish the note any further. You wanted to stick it to your fridge, with the rest of your magnet collection of strange memories and memorable experiences.

After all, this definitely qualified. 

.

..

…

The bowtie pasta was a hit. You’d been afraid it would clump together into a sticky mush by the time the party rolled around like your first choice always did, but the large shapes retained a lot more form - just like the note said.

It’d been like this all day. You just couldn’t stop thinking back on the events of the early morning, and not without a small amount of guilt. You'd been so rude to that monster…no, that person who was just trying to help you out after hearing you were in a tight spot. It bothered you enough that you skipped the second half of the potluck and drove all the way to the other side of town to visit the grocery store by your house, just in case he was there.

You wanted to make sure he hadn’t gotten fired for letting you leave without paying… and apologize for freaking out on him… and thank him for the help.

He wasn’t there. The pile of cans was fixed neatly, the most dented being hidden near the back. Monday’s specials had been swapped out for Tuesday’s. You had a small moment of fearing the worst before rationalizing and chastising yourself - of course he wasn’t there. He had just worked an early morning shift, so the poor guy was most likely at home getting a good rest. Silver lining, that bitch of manager didn’t seem to be here either. Disappointed and a tad embarrassed, you waved away a nice teenager that asked if you needed any help and got back to the office. 

Laptop open, you went over the social media queue your team had worked on, correcting a couple grammar errors and sending back one that had missed the mark entirely. It was made by one of the interns, so you accompanied it with a nicely phrased email that went over where it could be improved, along with the company's brand booklet attached. 

Or at least… you tried to. Once, twice, three times your finger tapped on the touch panel to click the “attach” option, but nothing responded. 

Okaaaay.

You tried closing out of the email browser. Sometimes that glitched out, due to being a shitty corporate third party server. The arrow didn’t move.

Fuck. It was frozen. 

Resigning yourself to rewriting the entire email, you held down the power button to reset the damn thing. The screen blinked out as expected, but … stayed black. Isn’t this the part where the logo is supposed to appear and it turns back on? 

Time of laptop death - 3:23 p.m. Cause - Unknown.

Your day could not get any worse. That wasn’t even the company laptop, but your personal one you’d bugged them to let you use after seeing what they offered as part of the job package for their PR division. You’d have to drop it off at the computer store after work today. Seeing as being computer-less really limited your potential, you spent the last couple hours going downstairs to tutor the intern in person in lieu of sending that email. At least that went well.

The store you usually went to was pretty close to your house, even if it was a 20 minute drive from work. You figured this would make it easier to pick it up if it took until the weekend for a fix. Your laptop was generally well behaved, but while your preferred brand was a beast for graphics programs, it was pretty limited in what you could do to it without advanced knowledge or being aligned with the company. Not that you knew much about computers regardless. That was for a very different variety of nerd than you were.

As always, the inside of the computer store smelled like metal, hot plastic, over-cleaned carpet squares and recently waxed tiles. The tech that approached you was a young man- blonde, handsome, and extremely condescending. After asking if you had tried turning it off and on, which you obviously fucking did, he had the nerve to ask if you were sure you just didn’t push the power button too lightly. You demonstrated for him exactly how hard you pushed the power button, which might have been slightly exaggerated… and also what you were fantasizing about being able to do to that stupid smirk on his face. 

He finally relented and agreed that something was up, still managing to make it seem like you had done something to cause it. Once they pinpointed the cause, they would call you to quote the fix and then move forward with repair work. Unless something inside was entirely trashed, he said there was a good chance of it being fixed in a few days tops, but there was a chance they’d have to send it out to the manufacturer if it needed to be opened up. It would be a pain in the ass to use the company computers that long in that worst case scenario, but it couldn’t be helped. 

You spent the afternoon wallowing, watching episodes of an anime you’d seen ten times already and stuffing your face with leftover pasta. It felt good to stab the fancy starchy shapes with your fork, smearing them in the blood of your enemies, er, spaghetti sauce. This might actually be your new favorite pasta type- it was a wonder you hadn’t ever tried it before. 

Bed was calling your name by nine, after being up at the ass crack of dawn and having to deal with… all of that. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow, and dreamt of skeletons, supermarkets, and sophisticated spaghetti. 

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

With dreams so strange, it’s no wonder you slept through your alarm. 

Cursing God, the Universe, and that useless piece of plastic and metal on your nightstand, you power through your “getting ready speedrun” and manage to beat last month’s record of 25 minutes to get showered, dressed, and in the car. Regretfully, this meant you wouldn’t have time to brew coffee or warm anything up for breakfast. As you were already in a foul mood because of your defunct laptop- this would spell a world ending disaster for your coworkers… maybe you should make a quick stop by your local coffee and bakery chain.

In for a penny, in for a pound right? Being ten minutes later than you already were wouldn’t kill anyone. But a non-caffinated you might. 

Hm. 

In your brilliance, you forgot that coffee shops in the morning were.. well… busy. Especially this chain, which had just started carrying a new brand of monster pastry from the west coast that bragged being made by, for, and OF spiders. With the number of monsters spreading out year to year growing, larger chains were starting to introduce magical foods, drinks, and other “cultural” and “exotic” staples. With a price tag to match. Corporate diversity and all that. They looked delicious as you waited in line, eyeing the glass case, but you just couldn’t help imagining finding a crunchy spider leg in your croissant when you bit into it. A sweet cold nice cream was one thing, but you’d pass on this for now.

Some poor chump was manning the register, hidden by a horde of thirsty caffeine addicts, while another girl rushed to and fro in the back making drinks like her job, life, and limb depended on it. The former probably did. You really hoped the cashier wasn’t half as peppy as she was, calling out names with a bounce and flourish. 

Morning people... still one of the world's greatest mysteries. 

The guy behind the counter sounded pretty chill anyway. He was taking orders in a relaxed manner, his low voice distinct enough to cut easily through the din of coffee chaos. It was strange, really. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it sounded… familiar.

“* heya. welcome to caffeine kingdom. what can i getya this morning?”

Against ALL odds, you found yourself face to face with another skeleton, for the second morning in a row. In fact, this guy and the grocery store guy could be twins, with the same round features and wide (if not tired looking) grin. He was wearing the classic Caffeine Kingdom employee uniform, which consisted of a light brown short sleeved shirt and darker brown slacks, with a black jacket partly covering his logo-emblazoned cream colored apron. A pair of white cotton gloves were slipped over his hands. It was sweltering in here, so this confused you for a good moment until you realized it was probably to keep customers from seeing too much of his bones. 

This annoyed you momentarily, for his sake, until you recalled your reaction to his look-alike and realized that people like you were the exact reason he had to do so. 

Someone cleared their throat. “* ahem… lady? coffee? got a bit of a line behind ya.” 

Really? Again?? You had to stop spacing out in front of skeletons. This one was giving you a strange look… well, at least you thought so. He still had a patient smile smoothed on, but the lights of his eyes were scanning your face, and one of his … brow bone thingies was canted higher than the other inquisitively. 

“R-Right! I’ll take a tall iced java chip frappucino, with a shot… make that a double shot of espresso.. And uh… a blueberry muffin.” 

He repeated your order in that lazy voice and the chipper barista got to work. It looked like the monster was also in charge of the glass pastry case, as he shuffled over to grab a huge sugar crusted muffin from the stack. It was wrapped casually in brown wax paper and then shoved into a branded bag as he rang you up. You had a bizarre sense of deja vu. 

“* that’ll be $8.72 with tax.” You swiped your card and took a small step back to wait. “* name?” He suddenly asked, handing you the small bag with your non-spider pastry. 

You blinked, still waking up. “Huh?” Eloquent. Poetic. Was he trying to hit on you or something? 

A gloved hand gestures to the ponytail moving at the speed of sound over the drink ingredients. 

“* for the coffee order. it woulda bean hard to get your attention otherwise, with all the other people waitin’.”

Okay... was telling bad jokes mandatory for skeleton monsters or something? Hey, it wasn’t up to you to judge their culture. You give him your name and he grabs a sharpie from his apron pouch to write something on the cardboard drink cozy he put with your receipt.

Thirty minutes and one demolished muffin later, you finally got your coffee order and hustled out of the crowded shop. It was strange, but the entire time you waited at your small table in the corner, you swore you could feel eyes on you. Every time you looked back at the register though, the most likely suspect was easily gabbing with his next customer or telling a coffee related joke. Some of them were actually pretty clever, and you hid your guilty smile behind what remained of the fist sized muffin as it slowly diminished. There were a lot of groans, but you heard a couple people gift him a pity chuckle. What could you say? The under-caffeinated were a tough crowd.

Confusing morning of twin skeletons aside, the rest of your day went by uneventfully. Thank God. The computer you had on loan from your boss was slow as molasses- hell, it barely ran Photoshop- but it worked for the basics. It made you miss your dream machine. You sincerely hoped whoever was fixing it could find what was wrong, and soon.

.

..

…

It wasn’t until Thursday afternoon in the middle of work that you got a call from an unknown number with your local area code. Taking the slim but hopeful chance that it wasn’t a spam call, you answered it and pinned the phone between your cheek and shoulder, continuing to type away at a third draft for an email newsletter.

You fell into your professional work call greeting by force of habit. “Hello? With whom am I speaking?”

“* this is techdeck down on 14th street sw, calling about a laptop? i think i figured out what’s up with it, but was wonderin’ if you could come down in person. i’m here until seven tonight, if that works for you?”

That couldn’t mean anything good. If it was a simple fix, they would’ve just quoted you over the phone… which meant your laptop was either trashed or going to be exorbitantly expensive to get back up and running. Heart sinking, you glanced at the clock- it was already almost 4pm. 

“Sure thing. I get off work at five, so I’ll be down around 5:20. Who will I be asking for?”

You heard the faint clacking sound of a keyboard over the phone, followed by a muffled conversation- likely another customer. 

“* hm? sorry. just come to the tech counter. i’m the only one here on thursdays. kinda hard to miss. see ya soon.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up his side of the line. 

.

The tech counter was in fact, very easy to miss. It was just another black laminate topped counter among the other ten or so black laminate topped counters hosting registers, customer service personnel, electronic insurance salespeople, and so on. Eventually, you spotted the small sign above the section you were looking for, as well as the body behind it, leaning further back than he should in a precariously tipped rolling chair. 

Oh. You had misunderstood. He meant that HE was kinda hard to miss. Why, you might ask? Because the tech guy you were supposed to be meeting up with was ANOTHER FUCKING SKELETON. 

You stood like a boat lost at sea in the middle of the store, baffled at what the hell was happening to your neighborhood and why there was a sudden influx of this specific type of monster. Did they spawn by mitosis or something? For a split second, you theorized it might just be the same guy, but who in their right mind would work a grocery night shift, a coffee morning shift, and a retail tech position? No one, that’s who. It was impossible. They would die of exhaustion. 

So you approached the counter and as you did, met the eye of the monster that looked way too uncannily like your barista and grocery cashier. This guy was dressed in a pale grey collared button up that barely contrasted his skull and a black tie, but he had the exact same deep, dark, round sockets. The same bright white dots floated inside them like tiny fireflies moving in unison. The same melon slice grin, that seemed to widen as you walked up.

“* heya pal, thanks for comin’ by. you’re the lady with the broken touchpad and unresponsive screen, right? we talked on the phone earlier.”

You nodded, but you must have been giving him one hell of a weird look, because he broke eye contact and nervously adjusted his tie. It was on crooked, and his efforts only made it worse.

“* so, you don’t seem super thrilled to see me ..." He slowly lowered his chair until all six wheels sat on the floor. "* would you rather come back tomorrow when tony’s in? i can leave him a note. he might be easier to work with for ya…” 

Worms felt less slimy than you did. He thought you didn’t want to interact with him because he was a monster. You were this close to updating your resume with “professional accidental skeleton offender” and “presumed bonephobic”. You shook your head hastily, hands up in a placating gesture.  

“No! No, shit, it’s not like that, I promise. I know what it looks like, but …” you trail off.

Don’t ask him. Do not ask him. Under no circumstances should you ask him. You have already done enough damage. 

“I gotta know, do you have any identical siblings? Or cousins? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve seen like, three skeletons around town in as many days. It’s kind of weirding me out.”

You swore the sides of his smile dropped minutely, and it took him a second longer than natural to respond. When he did, he sounded embarrassed and a bit hurt. 

“* oh… i got a brother, but he looks nothing like me. do you… seriously not remember me?” There was a soft rhythmic scraping sound as his hand - bare and boney, rubbed against the vertebrae along the back of his neck. He muttered under his breath —

“* and here i thought i looked pretty distinctive ‘round these parts.”

If the flat grey carpet could swallow you up at this moment in time, you would welcome it. Uncomfortable heat prickled up your neck and across your face, turning you a bright pink.

“Y-You’re that cashier from the grocery store?” You stated the now-obvious. His grin tilted. You were starting to pick up on the fact it was a permanent fixture on his face- a unique feature to him- and not the result of a family of overly cheery skeletons or a severely intense people pleasing habit.

“* yup. and your coffee guy. was admittedly a bit worried when i saw ya yesterday, after that disaster with the soup display, but you didn’t even flinch. kinda thought you might freak the hell out again in the middle of morning rush hour…n’ that really wouldn’t reflect well on my customer service score. for whatever reason though, you seemed fine that time.” He shrugged lackadaisically, but there was still something plastic about the expression he was wearing now, versus the one he wore earlier. You weren't sure you could physically get much redder, burning with shame. 

“* in any case, if you really are comfortable working with me, let’s go take a look at your laptop. i have it locked up in the back. there’s somethin’ i wanted to show ya about it.”  He stood up behind the counter and opened a small hinged door to invite you into the associate only zone. 

The moment of truth. Every sensible molecule in you wanted to be over the subconscious fright you’d shown at the store, but what if you reacted in some shameful way if you got too close? You probably wouldn’t go so far as screaming again, but what if you flinched or something? Ugh. You were going to swear off horror movies for a good while after this. He’s just a regular guy. You took a deep breath and stepped through the small opening to join him on the other side of the counter. There was a brief moment you stood face to face and you waited for something to happen. Nothing did. No cold sweat, no racing heartbeat, and no creepy crawly feeling. He was still very weird looking to you, but whatever part of you feared the strange monster at first was gone.

Thank goodness. Your relief was mirrored on his features as he broke eye contact and guided you along the wall to a black metal door. It led into a small back room bursting with tables, tools, and tech in various states of dismantlement. Right away you saw your laptop, a small silver island stranded in the middle of an absolutely chaotic workstation. Tiny screwdrivers, graphics cards, USB sticks, wires, and pieces of chassis littered the surface so that the charcoal grey top was almost invisible. That was without even mentioning the food trash; there were several balled up fast food bags, a few dirty tupperware, and three… THREE empty bottles of ketchup.

“* sorry...” He pushed past you and hastily grabbed some of the clutter and tossed it in the already overflowing trash can beneath his desk. Woof. You’d hate to see this dude’s house.

Desk cleaned to his standard (which was still extremely messy), he sat down in the rolling chair and looked back over at your shape still lingering just inside the doorway. He gestured to you with a wave of his hand. You took the hint and came closer, posting up behind him and to the side where you could see easily but not block his overhead light.

“Tell it to me straight, doc. How bad is she that you had to call me here in person to see her?” You and your wallet prepared for the worst. “Am I looking at having to buy a new laptop?”

“* pssht, no way.” He finished setting up your laptop on his desk. Now it sat face down, the seamless bottom shiny and meteorite grey outside of your blue plastic glitter cover emblazoned in stickers. “* no offense, but you humans give up on fixing these things way too easily. i’ve made better stuff out of parts in worse condition.”

Only now did he swivel in his chair to look at you, and for the first time, you think you’re getting a peek behind the mask of his various work personas and seeing his actual personality. His arm easily slung over the back of the seat rest, and the features of his skull were relaxed; his sockets ever so slightly lidded and his permasmile set loose and easy. 

“* see, i was thinkin’— ‘man, i wish i coulda found a better way to thank that lady for saving my tailbone from my asshole manager.’ seriously, she is constantly looking for any reason to can me. you really did me a solid, even though you were scared stiff of me and crashed inta that stack of cans because i startled ya.”

You cringed at the memory. “I never got to say it, but I am SO sorry —”

He chuckled, the underside of his sockets crinkling with mirth. “* and then later, when that online review came through complimenting me, and bashing her — stars, her face was priceless, ya gotta believe me. anyway, i recognized your last name from the review, your first name from your coffee order, and then put two and two together when tony gave me your work order sheet to diagnose.”

That was… a bit creepy, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt for unlikely circumstances. It wasn’t like he tried to look you up or anything. You were glad he saw the review at least. It was hard to remember exactly what you had written at 4am, but it made you feel a bit better knowing he hadn’t thought you entirely hated his guts until today. 

“* the name is sans, by the way. although ‘that nice cashier with the kinda scary bones’ did make me laugh so hard I dropped an entire case of toilet paper. could say it really had me rollin’.” 

You buried your face in your hands and died slowly.  

“* hey, don’t sweat it. not the first time the skeleton thing bothered someone that much. probably won’t be the last. first time someone still was nice to me despite it though.” 

The sound of rain on a tin roof prompted you to look back up at Sans, who was drumming his fingers on the aluminum laptop case. His casual demeanor remained in essence, but he gestured to the machine with a knowledgeable flourish.

“* so what’s up is that your parallel random access machine needs to be reset, as well as your system management control chip. this particular brand of laptop has a kinda faulty one, and we get these a lot. i could easily fix it, but you’d probably be back in here next month with the same problem. can’t replace it because this laptop takes a screw type that only the company itself has.”

That sounded annoying. You couldn’t imagine going without your trusty laptop for a whole week every single month. Maybe it was better if you started saving up for a new one after all. You could do some freelance on the side maybe, or finally take your mom up on that underpaid logo job for Uncle Dillian…

Sans was still talking, finger tap tap tapping on the case.

“* that’s why i asked you to come by.”  

The clunk of a metal deadbolt sounded loudly from the room entrance, and there was a split second that irrational fear returned before you could quash it.

“* i need your permission to do some stuff… uh, off the books. as thanks for tuesday, i can make your laptop work even better than it did when you brought it in. hell — better than when you bought it. it’ll last longer, go faster, and you’ll never have a problem with that ram issue ever again. but to do that, i gotta use magic to open her up.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at the monster in front of you in a new light. Behind those lazy eyes was a glint of… something. Suddenly, you get the feeling that Sans was wholly overqualified for this minimum wage tech position. That he was a lot smarter than he was letting on, and if he didn’t want someone to know that- they would be completely unaware. Again, it sounded like he was trusting you with something, though why you still couldn’t understand. Did that grocery job mean that much to him that he was willing to go so far as to help a human who’d screamed in fear of how he looked? He was still smiling, always smiling, but the air in the room weighed on your shoulders like a dense haze. 

The implications of what he was offering were huge. This was not only likely highly illegal on a store level, but it was a federal misdemeanor for monsters to be caught using magic in public, around and especially on humans. You’d brushed off the event from Tuesday morning as a weird-feeling but helpful happenstance, but like a splash of freezing water, you realized that in order to keep you from falling, the monster in front of you had risked arrest and at minimum, a huge fine. 

One he obviously couldn’t afford, if the three different jobs you’d seen him at held any weight on his economical status. By him even telling you this, he was risking his job. There was only one thing you could say in the end, really. 

“I won’t say a word. Your secret…from before and now, is safe with me. I’m still not sure if what I did is worth going to all this trouble, but I really appreciate it.” A huge part of you was curious how monster magic was going to fix your laptop, but there was no way he planned to do it with a human around. “When should I come back for it? I work 8-5 Monday through Friday, and I’m off weekends. I’ll be as flexible as you need me to. I can even take a long lunch if that’s most convenient.”

He waved you off with a hand, already hunched over the workstation.

“* no need pal, just stand right there and don’t get too close- this’ll only take a minute.”

The reason for the locked door now clear, you relaxed - as much as someone about to see freakin magic could relax. Even after six years, that was still something you found hard to fathom. When the monsters emerged from the mountain- they brought with them concepts that for a short time, shook the world on its foundation. The fantastical beasts from myths and legends now walked the streets, and lived next door. Souls truly existed, a physical thing and not a spiritual implication. Magic, the type with fire and flying and a mystical glow was no longer out of reach. For them, anyway. Humans stayed as boringly normal as ever.

The first thing you noticed was the faint smell. It was the electric air that preceded a storm, atmospheric and heavy. In response, the hairs on your arms and neck stood at attention for a moment before calming. 

Your laptop, as well as several of the tools on the table began to take on a cobalt glow and rise - stopping to hover around shoulder level for the seated monster. He reached for none of these, however, but plucked something out of empty air that formed into a teeny tiny white tool that blended in with his fingertips as he moved it closer to the flat back of the machine.

It was a bone, you realized as he unscrewed the back, custom shaped to fit the star shaped fasteners. Once the flat piece of aluminum hovered up out of the way with the rest, the other tools came into play. Watching him work was mesmerizing. Those jointed fingers that unnerved you before were incredible - dexterous and clinical in their precision. Whatever he was doing, it was much more than simply switching out the dysfunctional chip. Wires were clipped and re-soldered. Pieces came out to be replaced by faintly glowing gold parts that… you suspected weren’t exactly on the normal tech market. 

A half hour passed in a flash, and Sans was finishing up and screwing the back panel on your laptop - which looked no different on the outside. The illicit screwdriver disintegrated, and the rest of his tools settled back in their places on the desk, glow fading.

He turned around with a satisfied look and pressed the power button on your now-opened laptop. With a quiet chime, it started up easily and startlingly quick. 

Your split second reaction was to give him a polite round of applause, which seemed to please him all the more. Playing along, he bent at the waist for a slight bow and gave you a socketed wink.

“* welp, here she is. you now probably have the most powerful laptop in the country except for my friend and i. definitely the only human besides the ambassador with monster tech, that’s for sure.”

You took the proffered laptop, now closed and turned off, like it was made of solid gold. Which it basically was. According to him, you now get to use Illustrator on a machine more powerful than NASA and the US military. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you, Sans. That was amazing.” 

“* eh,” he deflected with a forced-casual shrug, but if you were reading his skeletal expression right, might be a little embarrassed. “* ‘ts nothin much. had some extra chips and stuff lying around.” 

The door unlocked with a noticeable sound, and you took that as your invitation to leave. He’d returned the favor, and now the two of you were even. A simple human and a tech genius monster drifting through life in the big city of Washington D.C.

You gave him a genuine smile and thanked him one last time before following him out through the back room door, crossing back over to the customer side and paying for the repairs. To add insult to injury, he only charged you the base $85 diagnostic and labor fee, which he even went so far as to apologize for - saying they’d get suspicious if your laptop left without any work being done on it. 

You were just turning to leave when you felt his smooth hand on your wrist, barely lit before recoiling back, likely remembering your last reaction to him touching you.

Held between two of his bony fingers was a folded slip of receipt paper. You took it and unfolded it, the three - three- four arrangement of numbers making it obvious what it was.

“* don’t take this the wrong way.” He reassured you as you raised your eyebrow at his phone number. “* but now that your machine is uh, a bit custom, i’d appreciate it if ya came to me first if you have any questions or problems with it.”

That made… a lot of sense actually. The next person who looked at it would be doing the equivalent of poking around a crashed space ship. It would also have the potential to lead back to Sans and once again, cause problems for him. Voicing all this, you shift the laptop to one arm and punch his number into your contact list as “Sans- Skeleton Genius”. Out of lingering childhood habit, once you’d done so, you crumple up the paper and pop it into your mouth like chewing gum. It was gone in a couple seconds and a gulp.

You were pretty sure the entire back side of the store could hear the deep belly laugh that came from your new personal tech guy. 

“* you’re a pretty weird human, ya know that lady?”

“Maybe I am.” You responded with a laugh of your own. “See you around, Sans. I’m really glad I ran across you again. You’re a pretty interesting guy yourself.”

You held out your now free hand, and with only a bit of hesitation, he shook it. Briefly, but just long enough to notice that his hands were… warm, and tingled with a sensation similar to static electricity on your skin. Not what you’d expected. But honestly, what about this strange week was anything like you’d expected it would be?

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

Shit. When Sans claimed your computer would work better than it had when you bought it, that was only the tip of the iceberg.

For starters, it was blinding fast. You could effortlessly run all of your design software at the same time; with huge files open, email to the side, and music playing and your GPU didn’t even break a sweat. It never ran hot anymore, it stayed whisper quiet, and you hadn’t gotten a single pop up or stutter since the day he fixed it. At work, you were less stressed, more efficient, and more productive - to the point even your boss complimented you on your drive. 

You held your phone open to Sans’s contact page, considering texting him to let him know what a great job he did, and how much it had improved your life, but like the other ten times this week, you decided against it. He’d given you that number for tech emergencies only, not to hit him up randomly. 

Besides your miracle laptop, over the next couple weeks your life settled back down to a boring sort of normal. Get up, make subpar coffee and a plain bagel, go to work, come home, cook dinner, and watch TV or browse the internet until bedtime. Occasionally you would go out with a few friends from work, and Saturday Nights were usually reserved for Alex, but more often than not dusk found you in pajama pants on social media. Due to a rather intensive job taking up all your energy at work, there had been very very little of the first two, and a LOT of internet browsing. 

Tonight was no different. Cat video...local business suggestion... job announcement. Another one of your friends from high school got engaged… and was that? Yup. Another pregnancy announcement. Obligatory congrats comments made, you kept on keeping on. Clicking ignore on yet another useless ad, something in the sidebar caught your attention.

New Friend Suggestion: Comic Sans

Not even fancy monster tech could stop the way too on-the-nose suggestions for local people you might know. You couldn’t be sure it was him, but… well, the profile picture was a cartoon bone for Christ sakes. The jokes wrote themselves. 

Your cursor hovered temptingly over the request button. 

No way. He might have been friendly towards you, but that didn’t mean you were friends. You closed your laptop and instead switched to laying prone on the couch with your phone hovering over your face, the show you were binging's audio serving as background noise. You pulled up the text chain between you and your best friend and long time coworker.

Alex had asked you if you felt up for eating out tomorrow, to celebrate surviving another Friday. Additionally, she added, it would stand to extra celebrate the end of that brutal marketing campaign that went live this morning, signaling the end of three whole months of grueling work, meetings, and spreadsheets. That sounded damn perfect to you. It had been weeks since you went out with any of your friends, thanks to the aforementioned campaign. Even your weekends were spent running errands and catching up with rest lost during the week. To that matter, that meant it had been weeks since you had a true vent session with your best buddy. You talked to the tomboyish designer at work daily, but for some reason, hadn’t yet told her about — “the skeleton incident.”

Maybe you could give her the abridged version at dinner tomorrow… skipping the parts where he used illegal magic to make you float of course, and again to superpower your old laptop. Yeah, she’d get a real kick out of your humiliation and fate’s constant attempts to humble you. You read over the last couple messages. Alex had set your display name the first time you'd trusted her with your phone, and you'd been too lazy to change it back. 

DZNGRL95: Sure, we can hit up Ghostburger - been a while since we went! First drink on me~ ;*

PINKY: You got a deal! Meet you in the lobby after work Fri. No need btw…Dress cute! <3

You roll your eyes. Alex’s idea of dressing cute involved more metal and leather than you, but you supposed humoring her wouldn't hurt. Sometimes, she liked to pretend the two of you were a couple on your anniversary and try to get free drinks from the staff. Probably what she was up to actually- she would just have to hope they’d rotated the staff since then. That ploy wasn’t going to work on Walter a third time.

For the sake of your dear friend you wake up twenty minutes early. You put a little more effort into styling your hair, and poke yourself in the eye no less than three times as the necessary sacrifice for bad ass eyeliner and mascara. After you were happy with the “you” in the mirror - you dressed like normal for work. As usual – you’d change into your “cute” clothes after work. This trip was a bi-monthly ritual for as long as you’d worked at the company, so… six years now? 

Which meant you had this routine on lock. 

Besides a few compliments on your look, the day passes normally. Everyone was in a good mood. You put together a bit of copy text, edit a few photos to use on the next PR campaign, and start work on some flyers for a few local businesses - including the burger restaurant you and Alex were destined for. That had been how the two of you discovered the hot pink, delicious landmark all those years back.

You ate bowties and store bought alfredo sauce for lunch, and wondered which of his three crazy jobs that mysterious skeleton was working today. A whole week had passed without seeing him randomly, so you assumed your weird brush with random unusual shit had finally subsided. There was always the chance you’d see him if you got coffee, but otherwise, chances were slim. Just as they should be with seeing a random stranger in a huge city.

.

..

…

Five o’ clock eventually rolled around, and as soon as the digital number changed, you were already up and speed walking to the bathroom. It only took about ten minutes to change into your “dinner date” outfit, but damn what miracles ten minutes could do. You looked great! 

Alex was already dressed and waiting impatiently in the lobby when you came out. Her shoulder length pink hair was done up in a messy updo, showing off the shaved undersides. Several silver trinkets dangled from each ear and from around her neck, layered on top of a well fitted leather jacket. Bold make up made her blue eyes burn from under a thick ring of liquid liner. 

Tall platform heeled docs thudded satisfactorily on the quartz tile as she made her hot-ass way over to you. You were only a little jealous of her effortless confidence and charisma, but that was part of what you loved about her - she was always happy to share.

“Ready to go fake out some middle aged men into free booze?”

Yup, you called it. “Fine, fine, but just ONE drink, and I’m not kissing you again.”

She complained all the way to her car, which was so much nicer than yours. “What?? But it looks so much more convincing! Just a little one?”

You laughed and got in the passenger side, purse pinned between you and the door. “Fat chance, Romeo.”

“Lip peck?”

You rolled your eyes and gave her a wry smile. “Nuh uh.”

“What about on the cheek?”

*sigh* 

“Maybe. Maybe. Let’s just see if it’s Walter or not before you start writing your dewy-eyed love letter.”

The lingering overtimers on the third floor could probably still hear her enthusiastic “Woo-hoo!” as she flat-footed the gas pedal and sped out of the parking lot.

.

..

…

Ghostburger was a tourist staple, but also one of your favorite restaurants this side of the city. Alex fit right in, and you’d be lying if you didn’t also dress to complement the vibrant hot pink, black, and white decor of the diner. She led you inside with an arm lightly wrapped around your waist, already scheming. You recognized the hostess, who joked with the two of you all the way to your booth. As part of your ploy, Alex slid you both in on the same side, placing you on the outer edge. She looked so confident, it was almost cathartic when good ol’ Walter came to take your drink orders and gave her a chastising finger waggle and a fond welcome. 

You put in for two Love Drunk Punches while she sulked. They returned shortly in his hand, and you took a grateful sip - ahhh, delicious as always, and much needed. 

Walter smiled as he watched you savor it, and then chuckled as you shoved the thin straw between Alex’s bright purple lips and instantly cured what ailed her. You waited for him to take out his menu pad, but he just gave you a short bow. 

“My apologies ladies, but I am actually ending my shift in just a minute. One of our newer waiters will be coming to take your food orders shortly, as well as any drink refills you might need.” He looked pointedly at Alex as he said this, and she flushed. 

“Please don’t give him too much trouble, the poor lad already has a bit of a rough time of it.” 

With a wink, he untied his black apron and waved goodbye. Walter, what a great guy. You wished he was your Uncle or something. 

As you distractedly looked over the menu (just in case they’d changed it in the last few months), you filled Alex in on life. You started with boring stuff, but one thing led to another and before five minutes had passed, the menus lay discarded, Alex looking at you with sparkling interested eyes and a disbelieving grin.

“So it was the SAME GUY three times? Holy shit, you must have been SO embarrassed!" She leaned forward onto the table and steepled her pointed iridescent nails. “You said he was a skeleton monster? I think Beck said they’d seen one of those last month at the grocery store, shopping. Really tall? Broad shoulders? Kinda loud?”

That… definitely wasn’t your skeleton. You shook your head. “Nah, try short and smiley, tells a lot of jokes.” Alex nodded, drinking in the details. 

“He’s literally always smiling, but not actually smiling, you know?.” You tapped your chin. “Uhhh, not sure how else to describe him.”

“Does he kind of have a cheshire cat vibe going on?” 

Yeah, yeah, that was pretty apt. “That’s a pretty good way to phrase it. Very cat-like.” You motioned to your midsection. “Actually has a bit of fluffiness going on too, and don’t ask me how that works either.”

Alex was staring past you and upward, eyes wide and shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

“* i uh, usually prefer the term ‘big-boned’, but fluffy isn’t horrible i guess? makes me sound like some sort of cute animal.”

Remember what was said earlier about fate being done humiliating you? Yeah, you take that back. The way you were wearing your hair meant your ears were showing, and you just knew Sans the goddamned workaholic skeleton - who was most definitely standing right beside your table - could see them adopting the color of a beautiful and majestic fire truck.

You knew you eventually had to face him, but potentially, there was the option of staying here with your face frozen at the table for the rest of eternity. You weren’t ruling that one out. 

“* so, normally i’d introduce myself, but it looks like that’s covered.” He must have done something, because Alex giggled. That traitor. “* just in case, name’s sans, and i’ll be your waiter today. can i get ya a drink refill or put an order in for any grub today?”

You felt a mildly muscular arm snake around your waist and give your side a playful squeeze. 

No. Alex. No. 

You tried giving her a look by tilting your head towards the wall where she sat, but she was still easily making eye contact with Sans. 

“Yes please! We’re actually here for our anniversary today, and my girl and I would die for another one of those Love Drunk Punches. We come here every year and they always give us a free one.”  You felt her warm lips smack on the side of your cheek, most certainly leaving a bold lip print. “Isn’t that right, Princess?”

How could she do this to you? You feel Sans’s eyelights burning a hole in the side of your head, and could hear his amused grin as he congratulated you and said he would go check the policy on “free anniversary drinks.” 

As soon as you were sure he was gone, you shot your head up and gave your friend a betrayed flailing of hands and sound garble combo. 

“How?? Why?? Four times, Alex! FOUR TIMES.” She was laughing heartily, alternating between slapping your back and slapping the table. You hoped her mascara was waterproof, there were definitely a few tears. “And the date thing?? Oh my GOD what if I see him again around town? He’s gonna think we’re a couple.”

She wiped a last tear from her eye and shrugged. “So what? Just means your mystery monster pal knows you snagged a hottie.” She tried to give you a wink, but was still holding back a few leftover giggles, so it came out more like a stuttered blink. You watched as she brought her half consumed bright pink drink to her lips and paused, eyes narrowing. 

“Unless…” You watched the corners of her lips travel upwards in a knowing smirk. “Unless you don’t want him thinking you’re taken. Maybe you’d rather he think you’re single?” 

You sputtered helplessly in your attempt to shut that dangerous train of thought down. Once Alex got something like that in her head she wouldn’t let you live it down for months. 

“Absolutely NOT Alex. Stop. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Sans and I aren’t even friends technically, we just keep seeing each other randomly all over town because he has ten million jobs and I have a vendetta with lady luck.” 

She opens her lips to tease you more, but wisely shuts them again as Sans comes back carrying a tray balanced deftly on one arm with two sparkly pink drinks set on top, each with a dollop of whipped cream and a dusted chocolate heart on top. It was hard to even notice them as you got your first look of the night at Sans. You knew what the waiter uniform was; you’d seen it hundreds of times, but it looked so different on him. Not that you meant that in an insulting way, but the hot fuchsia button-up, rolled up to his elbows, almost glowed against the polished white of his arm bones. His apron was new and almost as black as his sockets, tied somewhat neatly in back, but not quite. This pair of black slacks fit him much better, and ended right above the laces of the shiny black shoes they were forced to wear here. They made him look a bit taller, but that could also just be the fact you were seated while he stood. 

“* the bartender laughed at me but gave me the goods, so i guess you’re in the clear ladies. or uh, in the pink - more accurately.” He chuckled at his own joke while placing a drink first in front of you, then in front of Alex. 

“* food? all those rom-antics are sure to work up an appetite. plus, you wouldn’t want to get too love- drunk and have to end the night early, right?” One of his glowing sockets clicked similarly to a shifting ice cube as he winked at you both. You marveled at how unlike a normal skull his behaved. He was enjoying embarrassing you, that was for sure. Subtlety was not a protocol Sans was putting into play right now, and judging by his shit eating grin, one hundred percent on purpose. 

You hoped he attributed at least some of your embarrassed flush to the first drink you already had in you.

“We’ll have two Ghostburgers please. Cody in back knows how we like them.” You desperately tried to get a hand back on the reins of this interaction before Alex tried anything else. His eyelights held yours briefly, then tore away to his menu pad where he jotted something down. “* got it. be right back with those. scream if ya need anything.” 

It was what the waitstaff were trained to say, but Alex elbowed you anyway. What was your life becoming? It took effort, but you eventually managed to tear the subject away from skeletons by asking her about her ongoing monster rights efforts. Alex, a bunny monster named Lulu, and Gretchen were all collaborating in their free time to improve monster relations in DC. According to her, it was slow going. While DC was progressive somewhat with humans, that extended to monsters less than you’d expect it to. They’d been dealing with rent hikes, wage slashes, and general bigotry from people and businesses set in their ways and unable to accept change. Not being full citizens meant they weren't protected by any of the laws already in place either. 

She was filling you in on her organization of a monster run farmers market to expand the accessibility of magical food and produce when your skeletal waiter returned with your entrees and an amused expression. 

Your burger looked like it always did, bun toasted to perfection, cheese still dripping down the sides, and drowning in sauce. 

“* um, please tell me that cody wasn’t just fu- i mean messin’ with me by making me tell yall this—” He cleared his throat, or lack thereof. “* here are your ghostburgers ladies, medium rare, no pickles, and uh.. extra spooky sauce.” 

Alex lost it. You felt your spirit ascend. Sans stood there, the bone right under his eyes, on top of his cheekbones, just barely blue if you looked at it in the right light. 

It was Alex that eventually had to answer him. You were too busy mentally drafting your will. “No, that’s honestly our usual order, but yeah— Cody probably also wanted to fuck with you. Don’t tell me they hired you because of the restaurant theming?” 

His embarrassed blush, if that’s what it was, darkened a half shade as he glanced to the side and bent down closer to the table. “* hey, a monster’s gotta do what a monster's gotta do. the tourists sure love it.” He shrugged helplessly and although he was answering Alex, gave you a crooked grin. “* speaking of which, i gotta get back to it. i’ll check on you two later, k?” 

As you ate your burger, that despite your embarrassment was as tasty as always, you couldn’t help but notice what Sans was saying. The way he flitted from table to table, easily joking with couples, families, and even the people who came in alone. A lot of people looked like they asked to touch him, poking and prodding at his visible hands and arms. 

“I wonder if that gets annoying, being touched all day.” Alex commented through a mouthful of burger. You nodded distractedly. 

“Yeah… it’s gotta be rough. people either don’t like you, or like you just because you look interesting… his manager said he has trouble with customers at his other job.” 

Alex furrows her brows and leans way forward onto the table, shirt almost but not quite landing in her saucy plate. You brace yourself. That was the “Alex has an idea” pose. Almost as dangerous as the “Alex wants to pair you up with someone pose.”

“I’ve decided.” She says firmly, taking a massive bite of her burger and leaning back against the booth. A manicured finger was pointed directly into your face. 

“You should make friends with him.”

Another large bite of food gave you time to process. “Me?” You muffled. “Why?”

She got a bit of sauce on your chin turning your face once more in his direction, where a middle aged woman was sticking her finger in the space between his radius and ulna. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, but had that fake smile you were starting to learn taped on.

“Because he needs one, and obviously likes you.” Before you could protest, she held up her hand. “Not like that, although I still ship it. But just call it a hunch. I think you’d get along well.”

Alex had a lot of hunches, and you hated to admit they were usually right.  

You didn’t answer right away, and for once she didn’t pressure you. She even let you change the subject back to summer plans, and what the group should do for your yearly mini vacation that was coming up in a couple months. 

Sans came back over eventually and brought you your check, making several more food jokes in the process. As expected, the second set of drinks weren’t on the receipt. Ugh. Alex. You got the bill (like a proper date) and gave your friend a look that said she was immediately sending you money for her half. Chivalry was dead and buried.

She drove you back to your car, making easy conversation and venting about work. She didn’t bring up Sans once, not during the car ride there, and not in your text messages the next few days either. It was as if once she said it, the idea simply left her altogether. 

You, however, did not forget. Over the weekend, and all throughout work the week after - you thought about it. Often. 

Sans was nice. He seemed like a chill guy, and even though you could both be registered as each other’s unintentional stalkers at this point - had never come off as rude or super creepy. He was pretty funny, even though his puns were horrible, but that was kind of great in its own stupid way. Most of your interactions had been brief, but from what you could tell he was easy to talk to, and probably a decent person to hang out with, or grab a bite with after work.

If he’d been human, would you have already tried to make friends with him? 

Part of you thought so, and another part felt bad for thinking so. 

A third part, fueled by Alex and the injustice of a guy like that being potentially friendless - set your course. It wouldn’t do to force it, but if you saw him again… and luck willing you probably would, fuck it. 

You were going to try and get to know him a little bit better. 

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

“You have his NUMBER??”

Alex gave you a whole six days of peace before getting on to you about “Operation Skeleton” - as she dubbed it. Which was a lot, for her.  It was a mistake, really, that you let slip that he had given you his contact information at the tech store a couple weeks prior. Now you were practicing advanced acrobatics to prevent her from forcibly taking your phone and texting him.

“No-Stop! He said it was just in case I had computer questions! Not for sending memes!”

You were almost on top of your desk at this point, phone up-stretched to the point where you could likely receive cell signals from Mars. 

“Oh come ON, who the hell gives someone their number if they don’t want to be contacted? That guy probably lives for memes! Give. Me. The. Phone!”

People were looking. Her front was smooshed against your side in a herculean effort to reach the device held in the very tips of your fingers.

“I’m just gonna send one. He’s gonna love it, I know it! -nd then-” Your hand muffled her speech, palm pressed flat to the front of her face. “Yll be besht frands, twusht me.”

One fancy hand flip and turn later and your phone was now (relatively) safe deep in your bra. 

“Look. He probably already thinks I’m a goddamn weirdo, I treated him like an ass the first time I met him, and I just called him fat by accident to his face last week. I am NOT texting him out of the blue asking to ‘hang out’.”

Your friend pouted, but took a step back and collapsed into an empty desk chair. She wasn’t even on the right floor for her department, but with as much seniority as you two had, you could get away with murder.

“Fine, fine. So is that it then? You’re just going to ignore an obvious sign from the universe to befriend this guy? A skeleton guy? Dude who is a skeleton? A Bone Bro? Do you realize how freakin cool that is??” 

You were beginning to think Alex was a bit jealous. “I thought what he looked like didn’t matter, miss equality?” She wrinkled her nose at your light teasing, but sighed and slumped back. 

“The coolest shit always happens to you. Just saying that if it were me, I’d have a boney bestie by now.” 

To violent protest, you ruffled her freshly dyed purple hair- leaving a coating of the plum color stained on your palm. Well... that’s not coming out. You settled back into your own chair now that the threat of cell phone theft had passed.

“Not everyone is as outgoing as you, Ally. I… I never said I wasn’t going to try to make friends with him. I just want it to happen on its own terms- you know? Naturally. I know where he works, and at least one place that I’d be likely to see him if I went. I’ll just… talk to him when I see him. Like a normal person.” 

It was your turn to get your hair ruffled, then pulled into a huge muscular hug as Alex “awww’d” you.

“I get it, and you’re right. You do things differently than me, and that’s why I love ya so damn much. But keep me posted okay? I’m invested in this now.” 

With a last fit of giggles and an irritated shushing from Debra across the office, you sent your best friend on her way and got back to work. 

.

..

…

Your next chance to talk to Sans came up much earlier than anticipated, and not one bit in the way you expected. 

As a company treat, your boss was offering to take the entire design department out to Maestro’s, and like hell you were passing up a juicy steak way above your pay grade. That seemed to be the consensus of almost everyone in the office, as by mid afternoon Thursday, you had a group of over 20 signed up to go. Your boss made the reservation for the next day after work and everyone quietly celebrated dining out on the company card. 

He was the last thing on your mind as you chattered excitedly to the others from your work floor, where everybody going had gathered to carpool to the restaurant. Family had been invited as well, so Brad was introducing a couple newer employees to his husband, and everybody was cooing over Lulu’s batch of young bunnies that she apologized for having to bring due to lack of a babysitter. 

They were all model citizens and the softest little ones ever, so everyone - even the ones who didn’t really like kids- accepted them readily into the fold. 

Maestro’s was a very nice restaurant; the kind with pressed linen tablecloths and display plates that sat at everyone’s seat just to look nice before being replaced with the actual food dishes. Everyone had dressed corporate casual, even Alex who would usually be shot dead before being seen in a nice dress or slacks. The group filed in and after an efficient game of musical chairs, took their places at the combined table in the center of the restaurant. You ordered what was probably the best cooked steak you’d even eaten in your life, and shared a bunch of appetizers and sides with the table so that everyone could try a bite of high quality cuisine without buying ten copies of each. You may be opportunists, but you weren't about to be wasteful.

You were on your second glass of wine and chewing happily on a bite of truffle mac and cheese when you saw him. 

The hostess was just showing him to a booth on the far side, near the back of the restaurant but still within clear sight of your seat. He was dressed to impress, a navy jacket with rolled up sleeves sitting nicely over a light blue dress shirt. He was even wearing a tie — on straight! You stared without realizing as he ordered a drink and settled into his seat comfortably. For once, it was apparent that he wasn’t here for work… but he also didn’t seem like the type of guy to come to a place like this by himself.

Still carrying on her conversation with Brad, Alex slapped you on the back as you recovered from a short coughing fit, having inhaled a noodle down the wrong pipe as you put two and two together.

Oh god, he was probably waiting on a date! All of a sudden you felt horribly invasive for just being here, as if seeing this side of Sans’s private life was a bridge you’d crossed without intending to. 

All the same, you found yourself more and more distracted from your coworkers and their casual conversation, in lieu of scanning the room for any sign of your skeleton not-friend’s plus one. Would they be another monster? A human? Would they be more masculine or feminine? Every time the hostess led another person towards the back of the dining room you minutely perked up, but without fail, all of them joined other parties waiting for them.

Sans’s drink arrived, and from the unintelligible rumble you could hear, he told the waiter something, to which they laughed with as much polite reserve as they could manage. 

You got pulled into a short conversation about hot keys, but when you looked back five minutes later - he still sat alone, nursing a mostly finished glass of golden brown liquid. Brilliantly white under the chandelier lighting, you could see his jointed fingers tug at the rolls in his sleeves. The waiter stopped by and it sounded like Sans ordered something else. 

.

He was two and a half glasses of what you were pretty sure was hard liquor down. Twenty minutes had passed so far since he’d been seated and if there was any question he was waiting on someone, they’d been answered ten minutes back when the hostess and the waiter had both checked on him with empathetic faces. What you were pretty sure was a free drink was placed by his slumped form. Even from here you could see the shrunken edges of his smile, smaller than you’d thought it capable. 

A streak of anger flashed through you. What kind of asshole was this late for their own date? By the time your table was packing up leftovers and figuring out rides, you weren’t the only one who’d noticed the teledrama happening on the far wall. 

“Woah, look at that guy. He must’ve gotten stood up.” Commented Brad, hand looped over his husband's shoulders. The handsome blonde shook his head sadly in that direction.

“That’s rough, heard it happens pretty often in online dating though, especially with.. uh, monster folk. People get talkin’ but chicken out when it comes to meeting up.” 

Debra was older, but well meaning. She knew well enough at least to whisper under her breath — “I bet it’s not the first time for that fella. He does look pretty creepy, being a walking skeleton and all." Anticipating what a couple people were about to say, she added. "I know, i know, they’re just shaped like that… but still.”

From the glare she shot at Debra, and the following glance Lulu gave the figure at the aforementioned booth, you wondered if they knew each other from the mountain. Her kids pointed over at him, asking to go visit, but she shook her head with hanging ears and with a soft apology- hustled them all out, shushing them. 

Alex looked dismayed, but despite being constantly up in people’s business, she sucked in these types of situations. You were pretty sure she shot an undercover glance at you when she recognized who it was, but you really didn’t think it was a great time to insert yourself in his personal life. What right did you have to do so? Hell, you’d only met the guy a handful of times in passing. 

You picked up your bag and went to stand by your best friend - you were her ride home tonight as you’d previously arranged - but the last glimpse you’d seen of Sans, head laying on the table with his suit jacket crumpled up in the seat beside him, lanced into your side like a sharp thorn.

Aw geez…

“Hey, Al… do you think Brad and Greg could give you a ride home? I uh..” You gave a subtle nod towards the booth radiating depression and excessive alcohol consumption. She gave you a soft smile and a hug, already grabbing both boxes of leftovers from your hands.

“On it girl. Say no more- I’ll see you tomorrow for movie night, and I’ll bring your lunch. Text me when you make it home.” She turned. “Brad!? You got room for one more?”

And that was that. 

You hung back as everyone paired off and departed. Eventually you stood alone nearby your empty table as a waitress began to clear off leftovers. She gave you an expectant look, and flushing, you ambled off in the general direction of sad skeleton land.

Were you actually going to do this? What on earth were you thinking? 

You approach at a glacier pace, calculating the right approach. It would probably be a bad idea to startle him, or get his hopes up that his date had eventually gotten here… a paltry forty-five minutes late. Ire burned through you again. The least they could have done was call. 

That was it! You straightened, walking past him as stealthily as you could while still looking normal. You posted up by the bathroom, from where you could still see him, but his view of you would be mostly blocked from where he sat in the booth. You pulled out your phone and scrolled to his contact, finger hovering over the “send message” option. 

After a moment of hesitation, you tensed your shoulders and typed out-

7:43  (771) XXX-XXXX: A fifth job? Really? Aren’t you bone tired already?

You paused at the skeleton joke… was it okay if you made those too, or was that one of those things only he could joke about? Ugh, stop overthinking it. You pressed send, and heard a faint chime from his table.

He startled from his face down position, hand digging his phone out of his coat pocket and unlocking it. The faint look of hope on his face was painful to observe. You saw his brows furrow, eyes widen, and then his head turning to and fro as he tried to seek the mystery sender out. Narrowing his sockets, he tapped something out. Your phone vibrated in your hand. 

7:44  Sans- Skeleton Genius: Who is this???

You winced— oh yeah. If you never messaged him after putting his number in your phone, he of course wouldn’t know who you were. Guess you had to do this the hard way.

He was still glaring at his phone like it personally offended him when you slowly approached from the bathrooms, purse held close to your body like a shield. 

“Hey. Fancy seeing you here.”  His skull shot up and you were momentarily concerned about whiplash on his end.  Face more frozen than normal in shock, it was hard not to notice how his blurry eyelights brightened from a barely-there dim to a star-like brilliance. After a pause, his small smile slowly grew until it took over the entire lower half of his face. His lights looked you over deliriously before settling back on your face.

“* weird human lady!” He slurred out with a drunken chuckle. “* ‘rnt ya a sight for sore sockets?” 

Alright, that’s a… good reception. He was much less sober than you anticipated, but glad to see you. As if just noticing the state of his table, he sloppily pushed his collection of empty glasses to the side and tried to dab at the wet spots of condensation with his jacket. Halfway through, he paused his efforts and craned his neck over your shoulder where you stood beside his table. That large silly grin faltered.

“* oh... wait. yer probably here with your girl, yeah? y’ should really get back to her.”  His shoulders bent a couple inches towards the table top. Fuck, you’d almost forgotten about that. Now… might not be the best time to deal with clearing up that bit of misinformation.

“Alex? Yes, but no. We were actually here with a work outing, but everyone left already.” 

You took a nervous breath. Even trashed, you could see he was quickly putting together the pieces that formed the intimidating question of why you were still here when the rest of your party, and your “girlfriend”, was already gone. His brow quirked. Here it was… the moment of truth. “I saw you from our table…” Understanding flashed in his sockets and those points sharpened briefly as he winced and turned away from you. The back of his shirt stretched across his spine as he curled self-consciously, and you could see a faint indent of the ridged column and the ladder of his ribs as they strained the thin material   

“* yeah. not my best moment here. i was…um…” 

Saving him from explaining what was clearly obvious, you interrupt him by gesturing to the empty side of the booth. “Do you mind?”

“* huh?...” He turned back to regard you, faint confusion in his narrowed sockets.  “* oh. suit yourself i guess… though if ya gotta catch up with yer crew i understand. i was jus’ about to giv- uh, head home.” He waggled a weary hand at the seat as he dropped the front of his skull heavily in his hand, the top of it looking from your perspective like a polished white bowling ball. With the skeleton’s blessing, you sat almost delicately, setting your purse on the bench beside you. God this was awkward. 

If this was Alex sitting across from you, what would you do? If he was one of your friends, waiting for a date who never showed, what would you say?

“Have you eaten?” The mostly full glass of something strong was slick with condensation as you slid it away from his arm. His jointed fingers parted to reveal the dull glow of his miserable gaze. He sighed deep, and the air from it rattled him faintly. 

“*... no. but uh, you don’t gotta do this. really. i know i’m just that creepy monster guy you see everywhere, so, don’t… you shouldn’t feel obligated just because I look like someone poured a bottle of bourbon on a cremation site.”

Holy shit do NOT laugh at that. Last minute herculean efforts turned the beginning of a chortle into a convincing cough. You grab a menu and open it casually, looking for something that had a lot of carbs and sided more on the comfort food side of things. Monsters might process alcohol differently, fuck if you knew, but the healing power of loaded fries knew no borders. 

Sans halfheartedly glared at you in growing suspicion as you flagged down a waiter without answering his self diatribe, ordering two waters and a large order of loaded truffle fries with extra bacon. 

The waiter walked off, and you cut off the monster before he could speak. “I’m here because I want to be. You just…”

You screamed internally, face reddening. Fuck. You. Alex. 

“You looked like you could really use a friend right about now.” 

It took him a second to drop his glare, but incrementally, he straightened and overcorrected, leaning against the back of the booth with his arms crossed - silent. You wondered what the brightness of his eye lights meant. They were still fuzzy edged, but were back to their usual medium wattage. 

Now he just looked drunk and confused. 

The fries arrived quickly; the waiter looked relieved to not have to continue nursing the poor monster alone. You pushed them over in his direction, you were still pretty damn full. 

“Eat. You are sloshed, good sir.” 

A couple minute stand off and he relented, clearly starving from dining on a cleaning fluid only diet. He selected a fry and lifted it to his mouth. Maybe it was weird you were watching this, and you tried your best to involve yourself in a couple fries, but the novelty of a skeleton eating was not lost on you. So out of the corner of your eye, you watched as the fry he held up to his teeth shimmered an imperceptible blue before his teeth separated a controlled half inch and he slipped it inside. 

Nothing fell out, or stained his shirt, or … well, anything like that. Not sure how that worked, but again, not the time to ask. He must have found them delicious though, because his next bite consisted of a half handful of fries drenched in toppings, and his mouth opened a lot wider. Weird. But cool.

You ate in silence for a while, sipping water and nibbling the occasional bite of food so he didn’t feel awkward eating alone. The minutes passed finding him looking at you almost constantly with a disbelieving expression. 

“Sorry for texting you.” You finally started with. “I didn’t want to just walk up to your booth like a freakin weirdo, even though I ended up doing that anyway. I know you gave it to me for computer emergencies.” 

The rate at which he was consuming slightly glowing blue fries slowed. The color of which must have reflected onto his face as he muttered—

“* you can text if you wanna. i don’t mind. might not be able to answer at work though.”

Tamping down the excitement of potentially crossing the border from weird acquaintance to casual texting status, you deflected. 

“So… never?” You joked and winked, hoping it came over as light as intended. “I can’t believe you manage four jobs. I had two for a bit after college and it killed me.”

“* six.” Another fistful of fries gone.

“Huh?” 

“* I have six jobs actually, seven if you count my monthly gig.” You gaped at him, fries forgotten. Seven? Seven??! Without thinking, you grabbed his hand - startling him into dropping the fry about to disappear into the black void of his mouth. It bounced once before resting, bent and sauce smothered, on the no-longer-pristine tablecloth.

“What the hell dude?! No wonder you keep popping up like a fucking ghost. How do you even have today off? Or did you work earlier?” He scoffed and shook his head, but let you keep the appendage you currently held hostage.

“* worked this morning, but asked for the night off for... uh, this. was supposed to be working at gburg tonight.” 

Time for the hard part of acting like a good friend. You hated this part of being a good friend. 

“So…what happened? You don’t have to talk about it— I know you don’t know me that well and all, but maybe that’s better. You can vent about it and I won’t judge you.”

At his suddenly weary expression, you let go of his hand - that had been the wrong thing to say apparently, but instead of clamming up again, he sighed, using a fry as a directors baton.

“* a’ight. if you insist on it, i’ll tell ya. met this girl on a dating app that said it was 'monster friendly'. i told her a few jokes, sent a few pics, you know how it goes.”

You tried really hard to not think about and wonder about the implications of what “sending pics” for a guy made of bones meant, but kept your undivided attention on Sans, who had eaten his baton and was now using his free hand to gesture instead. 

“* it was goin’ well— at least i thought it was. i brought up maybe meeting over dinner or somethin’, cause i’m not sure about you humans, but any decent monster wouldn’t make a move one way or another without getting a good read on ya in person. plenty of people who play a convincing game but have a nasty soul, ya know?”

The concept made sense, but you had a feeling that what he was actually trying to say was going over your head. You nodded regardless, hoping to keep him talking. He was still slurring, but the food seemed to be doing wonders to help sober him up. 

“* we set a date, a time, a place and all that. my lil bro got really excited over it, even ironed my jacket and helped me get this mess on.” He gestured to his now wrinkled beyond repair clothes and damp outerwear. “* and uh-”  He opens his jaws wider than ever, revealing two noticeable points usually hidden behind the bottom row as he tosses one of the last fries inside, where it disintegrates into nothing. “* - you know the rest. here i am. drunk at a fancy human restaurant with a nice stranger trying to buy me pity fries.” 

You don’t correct him, but you do take note that this is the second time you’d pointedly been referred to as a stranger, and wonder if you should take that as some sort of hint. As if waiting in the wings, the waiter swings by and puts down the check book. You reach for it but Sans is faster than he looks. They run his card using a handheld scanner and he puts it back in his wallet, gathering up his jacket and making to stand. 

“* but…” He shuffled in place. “* i appreciate ya taking the time to sit, and make sure i got some grub in me. the fries were pretty great.”

It was his turn to stand beside the table where you sat. His tie was crooked. You caught the dangling sleeve of his jacket and he met your eye - you had to make sure he could get home safe. He was still very drunk, even with all the fries in him.

“Did you need a ride home? I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.”

For the first time since he’d gotten to the restaurant, a small laugh escaped him. 

“* nah, i didn’t drive, but again - thanks.” He tugged the arm from your grip gently and stumbled back. For a minute, he just stood there wobbling slightly, giving you another one of those looks you couldn’t read. Readjusting his grip on his coat, he turned to walk out.

“* knowing you, i’ll probably see you around, yeah? later pal…get home safe alright?”

You turned to grab your purse, intending to follow him to at least make sure he got into a car okay, be it a ride share, a family member, or a friend. But by the time you glanced back up a second later, bag in hand, Sans was already gone. 

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

You hoped he’d made it home safely. Alex had immediately called and grilled you for details the second you informed her that you’d gotten home, but you elected to give her the bare minimum- as the strangers-sharing-fries privacy pact commanded. 

Of course, the only thing she took away from all of that was that Sans had technically said you were allowed to text him. Which was obviously just him being polite. His behavior before and afterward certainly didn’t point towards wanting you as a texting buddy, at least in your opinion.

“Still,” Alex said through a mouthful of popcorn, still refusing to drop the subject by your Saturday movie night routine. “Now he knows you’re interested.”

It was too bad the throw pillow you grabbed was too small to suffocate her. 

“I. Am. Not. ‘Interested’! He is a ske-le-ton, Ally! All bones!!” You punctuated each word with a push down on the cushion, her raucous laughter pushing back. She effortlessly pushed you off and pelted you with a couple kernels of popped corn. 

“Kidding, kidding! But I meant that whether Mr. All Bones wants to admit it or not, you made it pretty clear that you were willing to do right by him. I wouldn’t take it so hard, he probably has had people pretend to be his friend before as a joke. Lots of guys like that are kind of defensive.”

You thought back to the story he’d told you about his “date” with a frown. “Those people are literally the worst.” You grumbled, and Alex agreed. The repetitive urge to text him to at least make sure he made it home without issue returned. There was no doubt about it that at the minimum, you had adopted him into your “mothering” habit - and were concerned about the guy. 

You pulled out your phone and stared at it as if the glaring screen would give you the right answer. It was just to make sure he was okay, and not run over, or murdered, or kidnapped, or knocked out in an alley somewhere. Just that.

“What are you doing?” A blur of purple and black launched herself at your back. “Oh shit. You’re doing it!?”

8:21 (771) XXX-XXXX: Make it home ok? 

Sent. 

“That was… really lame. I hope you know that.” You rolled your eyes. What did she expect, emojis and gifs? A classic Vine? It was bad enough that you were asking in general. You reminded Alex that Sans had an insane number of jobs and likely wouldn’t respond until later, if at all. Personally you were betting on the latter. 

At 9:05 your phone vibrated, and in response four eyes were immediately and intensely staring at the text on the screen. 

9:05   Sans- Skeleton Genius: yup.

Oof. He even put a period on the end. Alex winced with you. “Okaaay…” She admitted. “Maybe I might have been reading into things a bit hard.”

Without warning, your phone buzzed again. You opened the message.

9:06   Sans- Skeleton Genius: knock knock

Was he… setting up a knock knock joke? Alex snorted, sharing a humored look and a shrug with you. Well, you might as well, right?

9:07 (771) XXX-XXXX: Who’s there? 

Not even a minute later - *bzzt*

9:08   Sans- Skeleton Genius: fang

You swear, if he was trying to set up a vampire joke in late July you were going to block his number. Alex dug her elbow into your side. What a nosy bitch- whom you loved dearly. You swatted at her as she made grabby hands at your phone. 

9:09 (771) XXX-XXXX: Fang who? 

Under fingernail gunpoint, you added a little vampire emoji. You’ll show her who’s a “stick in the mud”. Your phone was quiet for a little after that, to your disappointment. Alex had put on “Eight Legged Freaks”, one of her favorites - pre-vetted for lack-of-skeletons by yours truly - and you watched boredly as a ten foot long tarantula ate a car. Good thing you didn’t have to worry about spider monsters being a thing. 

*Bzzt* The terrified faces of the car's inhabitants froze in a two person scramble for the remote.

9:24   Sans- Skeleton Genius: fangs again for the fries. and the company. it’s all kinda fuzzy. hope i didn’t make an ass out of myself. 

*Bzzt*

 9:25   Sans- Skeleton Genius: not that i have one. cuz of the skeleton thing. u get it. 

*Bzzt*

 9:25   Sans- Skeleton Genius: sorry, force of habit.

Silence fell, and it seemed the onslaught had stopped.  

“What did he say?” Alex asked, you knowing damn well that she’d been reading over your shoulder. 

“Well… he said thanks for the food yesterday, and that he didn’t remember much and hoped he didn’t say anything stupid. Then he updated me on the non-existence of his ass, which he then apologized for. Telling me about it, that is, not not-having one in general. I think he might be tipsy again.”

The movie had been long forgotten for the Sans Situation. The popcorn bowl sat in the center, a willing sacrifice, as the both of you pored over your phone and dissected his recent messages. It was hard to figure him out. As far as you or Alex could tell, he wasn’t being unfriendly or necessarily friendly. But he was telling jokes? You argued he did that with literally everyone, which was sustained and recorded. In any case, it had been thirteen minutes since his last text, mentioning his skeletal non-ass, and thirty since you’d last responded. Time was of the essence.

Why did this feel like dismantling a bomb? Snipping the wrong wire had the potential to lead to ruin. But if you didn’t do anything, it might still go off in your face. You looked at your phone. So far, all you had written was a smiley face followed by “lol”. Not your strongest effort. Backspace. 

-:--  (771) XXX-XXXX: Don’t apologize, I laughed. :) Besides putting an insane and frankly impressive amount of bourbon away, no, you didn’t do anything too weird at Maestro’s. 

You paused. That was probably good, right? Answered his question, reassured him that his joke was fine… only one smiley face, typed old school- so casual, but not distant. yep. 

“Ask him a question back.” Advised your Friendship General. “Keep him talking.” 

You felt a bit manipulative, planning things out with her like this, but relented. You added one more thing and sent it.

9:41  (771) XXX-XXXX: Don’t apologize, I laughed. :) Besides putting an insane and frankly impressive amount of bourbon away, no, you didn’t do anything too weird at Maestro’s. Are you at work?

You tried not to look too hard into the fact you got a text back almost immediately. Alex did no such thing.

9:42   Sans- Skeleton Genius: sorta. my set ended at 9, but don’t feel like going home. bro keeps asking about my date. it kinda sucks. 

*bzzt*

9:43   Sans- Skeleton Genius: why am i telling u this?  

Definitely a bit drunk. You had the feeling Sans was usually a pretty guarded person when not under the influence of alcohol, only emphasized by that rictus grin of his.

9:45  (771) XXX-XXXX: I have a feeling it starts with the letter “B” and ends with “ooze”. Call it a hunch.  (You let your fingers hover before resuming.)  Just chilling with Al, so like i said last night, vent if you need to. 

An annoyed whisper, as if Sans could hear it if she spoke too loud. “Why did you mention me?” 

You sent your message, much more comfortable with zinging them off now that he was responding in kind. “Because, Ally, in case you forgot, he still thinks we are madly in love and in a long steady relationship. When exactly would I have set him straight on that?”

She huffed and ran her fingers through her hair - soaking up the consequences of her free-drink inspired actions. 

9:48   Sans- Skeleton Genius: u got me. m good though. had a couple of beers, but think it’s bout time i vent home. can’t avoid it forever… so gnight, i guess. 

A last text came in before you could type what you wanted to say. The guy had lightning fingers.

9:48   Sans- Skeleton Genius: btw, not driving. knew you were gonna ask.

You both shared a laugh at that. 

.

..

…

You really should have been asleep hours ago, but it was eking into the first few hours of Sunday and for some reason, you couldn’t seem to enter that relaxed state that preceded sleep. Instead, you scrolled endlessly through meaningless bullshit and pretended that sleep was simply an illusion that would take you forcibly when it got frustrated enough. It didn’t have anything to do with the walking enigma that had entered your life with a crash of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and refused to leave. Nor anything to do with the fact that despite not knowing hardly anything about him, you found yourself strangely invested in his current mental state.

The notification bar lit up on the top of your screen, with the last name you could have possibly expected to see at three a.m. 

3:13   Sans- Skeleton Genius: hey. can i ask you a question?

Maybe he had the wrong number? At least you knew he made it home again, somehow.

3:17  (771) XXX-XXXX: if you meant to text your local weirdo stalker, then shoot.

It started vibrating repeatedly, signaling an incoming call. What the fuck? What the fuck? One minor freak out and three rings later you picked up the call from Sans seconds before it went to voicemail.

What the fuck?!

“* sorry, mighta had a… bit more to drink once i got home. too hard to text. didn’t wake ya did i?”  His already deep voice was extra husky on the edge of sleep and slurring a bit, like he had been last night at the restaurant. That made much more sense, there was zero chance he would call you if he was even a little bit sober. 

You swallowed. Suddenly you were very awake.  “N-nope, still up. Now what could I possibly answer for this very boozed up skeleton man?”  

And why the hell did you say that? Three a.m. you was not normal.

He chuckled tiredly. With every bone in your body you prayed he would remember this call just as well as he remembered your chat at the restaurant. Which was hardly at all.

“* uh, i don’t really have ‘nyone else to ask. th’ only other friends i have in steady relationships are monsters, and we jus do things diffrently i guess.”

It felt like you were standing in a tunnel looking at the headlights of an oncoming train. He was not about to ask your critically and painfully single ass for relationship advice, was he? 

“* so, what’s the deal? is it actually even worth it? jus seems like a whole lotta work to put yerself out there and then find out it was alla joke to you humans. i like jokes, if ya couldn’ tell. im a humerus kinda guy. but this one? not very funny.”

From your limited understanding, either he had another date shut him down, or his Maestro’s date finally reached out and said something really cruel to him. And like Alex thought… it didn’t seem like he had many human friends to begin with. Or any, if his drunken phone call contact was you. You must have taken too long to respond, because you heard a shifting of sheets and the creak of hardwood under shuffled footsteps. 

“* shit... i dunno why i called ya. sorry.” That made two of you. You heard a sink turn on, then off. “* ‘s not like we know each other, not really. just forget about it, alright? seriously.”

You snapped out of your stupor right before he hung up. “Hey, wait!” He didn’t say anything, but you could still hear the ambient sounds of his house in the background; the ticking of a wall clock, the scrape of a chair, the quiet hum of a fridge, and the soft steady sound of his breath. It was weird to think that that was a function you shared, despite him lacking the organs to cycle it.

“I… um… I’m really not a great person to ask all this.” There was a soft intake of air, as if preparing to speak, but you powered on. “But finding someone you connect with - finding someone you want to be close to, I want to think it’s worth it. Eventually. But it can be really messy, and hurt a lot, trying to weed through the people that don’t work. You just kind of have to… let yourself process it, vent to a friend, and keep trying… That’s what I do-er, did, at least.”

Woah. This was much deeper than you were intending to get with a casual acquaintance today. 

The only sound on the other line was his measured breathing, for a minute or so. Then in an almost whisper - 

“* what uh… what if i don’t have those types of friends?... the type you can just air stuff out with. ones that don’t tell ya you’re just not tryin’ hard enough, or hover too much the second ya stop smilin' — where… do ya find those?”  There was a hesitance there, like he almost didn’t want to ask. 

These were already much more vulnerable questions than you expected from a guy you’d talked to a handful of times by happenstance.

You take a minute to wonder exactly what this monster’s circumstances are, that he didn’t have anyone to talk about stuff like this with until tonight. How he dealt with all the events of the Emergence, and adjusting to the surface, and adopting a whole new culture. Who was he among his own community, and how alone must he feel out here, thousands of miles from the rest of his people? You wanted to find out, if only to ease those worries.

“I mean, we could be friends like that, if you wanted? Get to know each other? Hang out without running into each other randomly? From what I’ve seen, I actually think you’re a pretty cool guy, Sans the Skeleton.” 

It felt like there were bees rioting in your stomach as you waited for him to answer. There it was- out in the open. Hand outstretched holding a proverbial olive branch for him to either take or set on fire. You wanted to tell him “no pressure”, but that was kind of a lie. There was a lot weighing in the stale air of your bedroom right now.

“* yeah?” Was all he finally said, seemingly working through things on his own end. It sounded disbelieving, but a little hopeful. “* dunno why, but uh… yeah. that sounds… nice.” 

A faint tapping noise starts up, like he’s drumming hard fingers on a tabletop. A nervous reflex?

“* i should really get to sleep, before my bro gets up. he’s a very early riser.  um, thanks again. for all of that. i’ll uh… text you?” He seemed to be fumbling, unsure of where to go next. This was weird territory for you too, but it was starting to feel like something you could build on.

“Goodnight Sans. I’m sure you work tomorrow, so try to get some sleep, okay?”

The sound of the chair slid out again, and by the sound of scuffing, it sounded like he was headed back to bed as well. 

“* heh, i’ll try. goodnight, weirdo”  

*click*

You kept the phone pressed to your ear for another minute as your brain caught up with your mouth as to what the hell just happened. 

If you weren’t mistaken… it looked like you were officially friends with Sans? Maybe? Who now saw you as some sort of love guru for your solid and totally not-fake human relationship. That wasn’t going to backfire at all. 

It wasn’t until five that exhaustion finally claimed you, falling hard into a fitful, restless sleep.

.

..

…

Sans didn’t text you at all on Sunday, but you suspected that had something to do with staying up until four a.m. drunk, and then working the rest of the day with a presumably wicked hangover. You did not pity him. Either that or he forgot that he called you altogether, which was a disappointing but realistic possibility. 

Luckily for the both of you, being somewhat clingy was Alex’s thing, not yours, so you decided not to dwell on it and fill your day off with more important things. It was kind of nice, to have a day to yourself not filled with chaos. You did the laundry, went grocery shopping, and made a respectable attempt at the next boss encounter of your new favorite RPG. Your ass got brutalized, but it was still fun. 

The light airy feeling you’d built up over the course of the afternoon was doused chillingly by the text you received around six pm. 

6:07  Sans- Skeleton Genius: gotta talk to you. caffeine kingdom? 7:30 tomorrow?

An uneasy feeling settled in your gut. That could mean… so many things. Most not great. Maybe drunk Sans wanted a human friend, but sober Sans was putting his foot down on the idea? Sighing, you started a new message. You could do this. You were an adult, and would settle whatever this was with a very adulty and not at all nerve wracking conversation in a public place. 

Trying to act casual, you simply responded -

6:10  (771) XXX-XXXX: Sure. See you then. 

You picked the controller back up with clammy hands and lost twenty two more times in a row.

.

..

…

Monday morning had to come eventually. God. You were ironically so jittery that coffee in any form seemed like overkill. 

He would probably be working anyway, you reassured yourself, so it’s not like he expected this to be a long talk. The first day of the average workweek was bound to be hell, and this small yet popular establishment was always flooded with tourists and locals alike. 

Out of nerves, you arrived ten minutes early. After a few second debate on whether to grab a table and wait for the inevitable or face him first while ordering, you decided a casual approach might give you an idea how this conversation was going to go. If your memory served well, you’d been told before that you had a bit of a tendency to catastrophize. 

The skeletal face that greeted you at the front of the line looked exhausted, but neutral. The underside of his sockets were a dull blue, resembling eyebags on flesh, and his “* mornin’.” seemed less 'chill' and more like a man who was at risk of collapsing on his feet. 

You ordered the same thing as last time and as he rang you up, he turned his head towards the back.

“* hey sasha, ‘m going on break. cover the register?”

The sweltering cafe turned arctic. The same peppy barista from last time agreed easily and took the skeleton’s place as he shambled to the end of the counter and into the lobby. Luckily, there was exactly one tiny two-person table available, and Sans all but crumbled into the wooden chair on one side.

You, however, sat down warily and began eating your blueberry muffin, by which you meant that you were tearing teeny tiny crumbs off with your fingernails and nibbling them bit by bit. Sasha called your name and you snuck off to grab the sweet smelling cup before sitting back down as quietly and primly as you could. Weary eyelights finally rose to meet yours and you felt your spine stiffen even further, ramrod straight against the back of the chair.

“* thanks for comin by,” He started. “* look, i just wanted to apologize for all the trouble the last few days. ’m usually not like that, and i feel bad that you got wrapped up in all my personal bullshit.”

He wasn’t wearing his gloves today, and his segmented hand made a soft rasp as he dragged it over the smooth surface of his skull. He wasn’t looking directly at you, thankfully - eyes staring at a fixed point past your shoulder.

“* i get a bit… weird when i drink, and it was way out of line for me to call you like that. you’ve been way too chill about all of this, considering you don’t even know me and i've already drunkenly spilled my guts to you twice now.”

There was a pause as your eyes met, his guilty and spent, yours sympathetic and confused. Despite everything, you could tell both of you picked up on his unintentional joke, but didn’t know how to insert it into such a charged conversation.

Another crumb of muffin, a little bigger, made it past your lips as you bid your time responding. There were no backspaces here.

“Well, I did tell you that you could talk to me about it, so if you’ve been beating yourself up about that - don’t.” You finally settled on. “After all, what are friends for?”

Shoulders uncurling and sockets narrowed, he gave you a startled look. 

“* you were serious about that?” He sounded like you’d just told him the grass was actually red. 

“Of course.” The battered muffin was finally starting to look partially eaten, a bigger bite now disappearing behind your lopsided grin. “Why would you think I wouldn’t be?” 

*tip* *tip* *tip*  Finger drumming nervous tic confirmed.

“* i was drunk,” he stated like that explained anything. “* i figured you were just sayin’ shit to get me off your back, so you could get back to sleep. didn’t get why you’d want that with someone like me regardless.”

The last of your nerves melted away with the reveal of the huge misunderstanding, and you finally took a huge sip of your delicious dessert coffee.

“Nah, the offer stands. I mean, we already see each other all the time anyway - why not make it official?” Placing your drink to the side, you pick up the one page menu and flick it like a business person fluffing an important document.

“Ahem. I’ve been reviewing your resume Mr. Sans… Bone Guy,—” This actually broke through his weary countenance and pulled a bark of startled laughter from him. “ —and it looks like you fit the qualifications for the position of ‘cool pal’ at the company of ‘weird human stalker chick’.” 

You were a millisecond too fast for Sans, who tried to pluck the menu from your hands, but you simply turned in the chair and continued, taking a sip of frappe to add to your hiring manager persona.

“Should you choose to accept, compensation will be given in the form of -oh how did I phrase this- ‘rad memes’, ‘chill vibes’, and ‘unlimited bitching coupons’.”

You glanced up to gauge his reaction, and although the bags under his eyes remained, he looked like an entirely different monster. His hand rested on his forehead and he was leaning back in his chair, shaking with silent laughter. Hearing you pause, he shook his head fondly and stuck out his bony hand. 

“* yer gonna dust me if you keep it up, weirdo. but uh, if you’re sure about it, i think i can fit another job into my schedule. i insist that ‘shitty jokes’ are added to my benefits package though. i know you got em in ya.” 

Without any hesitation at all, from either of you, you grabbed his hand tightly and shook on it.

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

The couple weeks that followed were… surprisingly not much different, save for a few tiny changes. 

The biggest of which being your coffee budget. Now that you knew Sans worked at Caffeine Kingdom on Monday and Wednesday mornings, you made an effort to stop by before work for a treat, and to bother your new pal on his ten minute break. He’d still seemed a bit caught off guard the first couple times you’d shown up in his line, asking if he wanted to chat for a bit as you sipped your drink, but by the third time he was already grabbing a muffin and jotting your name down on the cup cozy as he saw you walk in.

Secondly, and you almost saw this coming, was the amount of jokes you were submitted to on a daily basis. Once he’d gotten past the idea that there was some unspoken rule about how often to text new buddies, it was relentless. You became his sounding board for new puns, knock knock jokes, and harmless pranks to pull on his brother— Papyrus. 

It was… really fun actually. A refreshing switch up to your stale routine. By the time you got up, depending on where Sans had worked the night before, there was usually something to giggle over while brushing your teeth. Once lunch rolled around, you knew you could expect a couple conversation starters to respond back to while eating, annoying your coworkers with your snickering.

“Uuuuuughh.” Lamented your best friend, throwing her hands exaggeratedly into the air before collapsing on your desk, pretending to die an untimely death. “Have I told you yet today that I heavily regret pushing you to be friends with that skeleton guy?”

“Five times,” you answered proudly, sending a photo of Alex in a miserable heap to Sans with the caption “It’s not even noon - I’m getting stronger.” You knew it would make him laugh. You were fairly certain he enjoyed the disgusted reactions to his jokes more than the actual jokes themselves.

“He seemed cool and mysterious at the burger place! Not a... “ She scrunched her nose as if smelling something unpleasant. “lame jokester.” 

You kicked her abducted rolling chair and sent her spinning three feet out into the center of the office. 

“Excuse you, but I happen to think he’s very funny. I bet you’re just jealous I have a new texting buddy besides you and Brad- who only shares funny cat videos.”

She waved you off. “No way. Are you kidding? I’m just happy to see you actually thinking about something other than work for once. I insist you give me all the details this weekend though. You still never explained how you went from those awkward-as-hell texts last Saturday to bosom buddies two days later. There’s gotta be something juicy there.”

For once, your penchant for oversharing with your friend faltered. You really didn’t want to tell her about Sans’s depressing early morning phone call, which meant you couldn’t tell her about the resulting meet up at the coffee shop... which did leave your sudden change of heart shrouded in mystery.

“Like I said,” you tried to deflect with forced casualness. “He texted back the next day and apologized for acting so weird. Then we just started texting more. Not much else to it.” If she could tell, she didn’t say anything. 

You bit into a spider doughnut. Sans had reassured you this morning that because they were baked with the remains of monster spiders, the chance of you finding a whole body part in your pastry was impossible— as monsters turned to a fine dust when they died. You… weren’t sure if that made it better or worse, but if the monsters didn’t balk at the practice, you supposed it didn’t hurt to be brave. And he was right- damn were they good. They even had the strange fizzy sensation of food baked with magic, disappearing in your mouth with a burst of flavor instead of settling in your stomach. That had taken some getting used to too, when monster food first started appearing on shelves, but while you didn’t go out of your way to eat it often, it was a familiar enough experience by now to not freak you out. 

Your lunch was nearing its end, but just before you clocked in, one last notification chimed from your phone. Sans, of course. Both Brad and Alex were in the same building as you, and Brad was on the same floor, so they had no reason to text. Instead of the joke you were expecting, it was a local address, for a moderately well known bar downtown. Moments after, your phone began ringing. That was a habit of his too. Sans preferred texting for most casual conversation, but if he had something relevant to ask, he had no qualms in calling you immediately. 

“* heya,” he began as soon as you answered. “* as part of my friends with benefits employment package, i get favors right?”

There were obviously still aspects of human culture he hadn’t picked up on yet. He could alternatively be trolling you… which knowing him was just as likely. “Maaybe don’t phrase it like that, but sure.” You laughed. “Need me to burn down a bar for you?”

“* nah, please don’t, or i’d be boned out of another job.” You mentally noted the address with interest. So this was another one of his mystery jobs. Counting them off on your fingers — this must be his…fifth one out of his stated seven total. You tried to imagine Sans as a bodyguard or a bouncer, and while a couple months back, you might have pissed yourself at a spookily lit skeleton dressed in black checking your ID, right now you couldn’t imagine him stopping a stiff breeze from entering the premises. 

“* actually… meeting up with another match here on saturday, and uh, i kinda wanted someone there to weigh in. you know humans and their confusing social cues, and i really don’t. you can bring your mate too, if you want. i know this cuts into your saturday date nights, so i understand if you gotta say no. ” 

Awww! He was finally confiding in you! You’d been secretly looking forward to this moment. Jokes were fun and all, but it felt like he’d purposefully been keeping things lighthearted to avoid a repeat of Maestro’s and his drunken call. You’d been worried he was falsely keeping a smile on his face (ha) for your sake, but perhaps he'd just had a pretty solid week. In any case, you quickly agreed on both yours and Alex’s behalf. Thanks to her needling you earlier you knew she wouldn’t mind, even if that meant you were back on pretend couple duty. Oh the tangled webs you weave. 

“No, no, we’d absolutely love to be your secret human wingmen. Is this a sunglasses or no sunglasses mission? Should we wear disguises? I can probably scrounge up a couple of fake moustaches if it’s for you.”

The slight nerves you’d detected in his timbre melted away with a warm chuckle. 

“* i mustache you to just come as yourselves. just sit at the bar and keep an eye socket out for me, if that’s alright to ask.  i’ll actually be working so i can probably get you both a drink on the house as my thanks.”

He’d be working? You wondered if this was him learning his lesson from last time, and meeting up in a much lower risk environment. If things went south, or they didn’t show like last time, nothing was lost and he was supposed to be there anyway, so it wouldn’t be as awkward. You held back on quipping that his 'skeleton genius' was showing. Clock in time was a few minutes ago, but you kept him on the line as you set up, discussing the time he wanted you there, what the person looked like, and a few other details. 

You finally let him go when the PR manager started giving you dirty looks from the desk near the water cooler. 

“* thanks again, pal. you’re really saving my coccyx out here. see ya saturday.”

*click*

You googled what the fuck a coccyx was and left to go tell Alex of your change in weekend plans. 

.

..

…

“And we have to dress up, why?” You complained, as the sides of your dress cinched your waist into a more dramatic shape with the harsh tug of a zipper. 

“Obviously, to assert our dominance over this mystery girl. Sans might have asked us not to step in, but two smokin’ bitches sitting nearby will give us very important info on if this girl is jealous, insecure, or possessive.”

As much as you hated your boobs being lifted to your collarbone, she had a good point. “How do you know so much about this? Is this your secret second life or something? Professional wingwoman? Undercover dating show host?”

She gave you a flirty smooch on the cheek and a wink before swiping a bold blue across her lip. It complimented her currently navy hair perfectly. “If I was one, you wouldn’t still be so stubbornly single. Now get your shoes on or we’re gonna be late. I need to know what kind of human swiped right on Mr. Sad and Bonely.”

.

..

…

According to Sans, the human he’d been talking to was tall, had a pretty smile, and “nice cheekbones”. His words, not yours. It had taken another long phone conversation Friday night to get anything actually useful out of him descriptively. He had a bit of trouble listing things that you’d taken for granted noticing. Apparently, monsters were so distinctive that humans, for the most part, looked remarkably similar. After some needling he mentioned her hair was brown, he thought, and after finally pulling up her picture, mentioned that she had green eyes, tanned skin, and a pretty lithe and muscular body shape. 

You marveled at the apparent priorities of skeletons. 

Alex found a parking space along the street a couple blocks from your destination and pulled you along towards the bar. You stopped in front of a nondescript building. “Are you sure this is the right place?” You double checked the address. It was your first time here, but Alex was a known bar hopper. She gave you a large knowing smile.

“This way!” She opened a plain unmarked door that immediately descended into a set of plain wooden steps. It was only halfway down that you began to hear the clink of glasses and smell the fruity acidic smell of liquor. 

Like always, you heard him before you saw him. In his distinctive voice, he smoothly announced-

“* here ya go. a sidepeach for one peach of a patron.” Whoever the recipient was giggled tipsily. 

First Alex, and then you emerged into a small, intimate bar, sized for maybe 30 people comfortably. The entire place was dimly lit, making the bright blue and yellow abstract designs on the walls pop under accent lights. Ironically, none of that was near as eye catching as the bartender himself. 

Dressed in a smart black vest over a white shirt, Sans was alight in a wash of blues and golds as the ambient light from multiple sources painted over his bones. Aside from his eyes that shone like the stars in Van Gogh's “Starry Night”, the rest of his skull might as well have been a moving art piece. 

Tables sat empty as humans crowded around him at the bar, the monster looking entirely in his element as he made friendly conversation; mixing and delivering drinks and jokes without missing a beat. It was suddenly obvious why he decided to meet this girl in a place he felt so otherwise comfortable. Trying not to steal his attention, you tugged Alex into a couple of the empty seats at the very edge of the bar furthest from the entryway.

“I take it back. Don’t tell him I called him a lame jokester earlier. He’s so cool.” You found humor in the fact Alex’s opinion of Sans seemed to rise drastically around anything involving free alcohol. 

Speaking of which.

Both of you were so busy casing the joint, trying to catch any sight of Sans’s mystery date, that when another bartender (human) stopped in front of you you almost didn’t notice him. 

“One Hibiscus Eclipse for the “wallflower”, and a Midnight Velvet for her lovely 'mate', compliments of our head bartender.” 

Two beautiful drinks were set down in front of you and Alex, who for once also looked caught off guard. The “head bartender” didn’t pause in his mixing, but shot the two of you a wink and a nod. Okay. Maybe Alex was right. That was pretty cool. 

Delicate notes of vanilla and caramel floated across your tongue as you sipped your fuchsia drink, balanced improbably with the rich berry, lemon, and hibiscus flavors that gave the cocktail its namesake. Once again, Sans was full of surprises. 

“Holy shit, this is delicious!” Alex exclaimed in delight, sipping her own coffee themed drink that had somehow been dyed to match her hair.

Magical laptop and coffee puns notwithstanding, you were pretty sure this was your new favorite job of Sans’s. Taking another sip, you glanced over at the bottom of the stairs, where another small group of people had just entered. Too bad this wasn’t a leisure visit - you were on a mission.

And there she was. You tugged on Alex’s jacket to get her attention, who subtly twisted in her seat to see. It must’ve been her, the brunette bombshell strutting in like she owned the establishment. Gentle brown curls tickled sun touched freckled shoulders, visible outside of the … generous allowances of her cream colored dress. It dropped low in front and complimented her hourglass figure. A black heel nudged your spy partner so that she would pick her damn jaw off the table. That snapped her out of it, though she still muttered a “Goddamn” under her breath, eyes trailing over the woman’s shapely calves and (Sans was right) high feminine cheekbones. 

You almost spilled your own drink. What the actual fuck? This Aphrodite look-alike was interested in him and all he could think to describe her with was her damn cheekbones? You sighed and took another small drink. Monsters…

The crowds easily parted to let her through, much like a river parts for a passing ship. Her course landed her directly in front of Sans, leaning against the bar with arms purposefully placed to emphasize her ample cleavage. 

“You must be Sans, right?” She gave him a winsome smile, but continued without giving him a chance to respond. “Well, of course you are. I don’t see any other handsome skeletons here, do you?”

Even her voice was liquid chocolate. At this range, not even the monster was immune to her charms. He put down a last drink with a garnish and gestured for the other bartender to take over orders. He sidestepped to the edge of the crowd, in the direction of where you and Alex sat, and the Goddess followed. 

“* victoria, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” A white gloved hand took hers and tapped the back of it against the flats of his teeth in a facsimile of a kiss. You wondered how much of this was his bartender persona, and how much of his behavior was authentic. It was still hard to tell at times. 

“* can i make you a drink? it’s on me, of course.” She batted her eyelashes at him and ordered something you couldn’t quite hear, something that made him falter ever so slightly before letting go of her hand and turning to mix something up. You wished you were closer— the bar was a bit loud and you could barely hear them— but you were afraid that if you moved, it would be obvious as to what you were up to.

You felt a hand on your back, and blue lips whisper close to your ear. “She’s beautiful alright… but something seems off about her.” Only seeing a confident and charming woman, but trusting your friend’s experienced judgement, you looked closer. You were still at a loss. She was simply sitting there watching his back, wiping off one of her hands on her dress. She’d likely rubbed it through a bit of wetness left on the counter. 

It was by this time that your monster friend had turned back around with a pale yellow drink garnished with a purple bloom. His fingers lingered on the back of her hand as he passed it to her. It obviously wasn’t the same, but you were surprised to see him being so touchy with her after almost going out of his way to avoid touching you at the cafe. Was that because of the grocery incident? 

Stop. This was about Sans right now. Focus. You tried reading their.. well… her lips again while nonchalantly nursing your quickly disappearing cocktail. She brushed her hair out from behind her ear, blocking that side of her face altogether. Fuck. 

Something sweet smelling and cold drenched your left side, and you tried your hardest not to yelp.

“Alex! What the fuck was that?” Her now empty glass sat on the dirtied countertop, the rest of the thick liquid seeping through your dress onto the seat.

She guided you with hands on the dry side of your waist to a chair a couple spots down. “Oh, I’m so sorry babe. Here, sit here for a second and I’ll grab some napkins to clean you up.” 

That infuriating mastermind. While you were uncomfortably damp, her move had worked as intended. You were now in earshot of the two, who barely noticed anything had happened.

“* so, you said you were a hairdresser? sounds pretty hairrowing at times, yeah?” 

She laughed, but it was halfhearted and almost soundless. 

“I work at a very prestigious salon. We work with actors and politicians actually. So yes -”  You could almost hear her clench her teeth from here, prim voice forcing out a joke in kind. “You could say it’s at times.. a bit hairy.”  

The sides of his grin hitched, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She waved away the topic and paused to carefully sample her drink around perfect lipstick.

“I have to admit, I thought you’d be taller, being a monster and all, but that’s not a problem. Pictures can be .. pretty deceiving.”  His smile fell a bit more; guess he was a bit sensitive about his height. What a shitty thing to say, you couldn’t help but frown while thinking.

“* uh, yeah, out of the two of us, my bro definitely got the height. sorry v. guess you could say i got the, heh, short end of the stick.”  He wasn’t leaning so much anymore, a few inches more distance between them than earlier. 

This time, it was like she ignored his attempt at humor altogether. 

“Speaking of your brother, he’s the monster posterboy right? Along with that teenage brat?” The temperature in the small bar dropped a couple degrees. 

“* papyrus is the monster ambassador. tibia honest, he and frisk do some really important work.” You’d never heard him sound like that before. You chanced a glance over, and your blood froze. Those friendly lights were missing entirely from his sockets as he sent a painfully tight smile at Veronica. She was lucky she was too busy messing with his fingers to notice. 

“I’m sure he does.” She mollified, giving the hand she was holding a light squeeze. “I bet that means you get to see the Queen often then, right?” She reached up and trailed a manicured nail in a straight teasing line down his forearm. 

“Maybe you could introduce me sometime, sweetheart?” 

That conniving, manipulative, piece of shit! It looked like Sans was a step ahead of you in realizing Veronica’s game, pulling his hand out of her wandering grasp in one controlled, artificially casual move. The lights were back in his eyes, but the lower half of his face may as well have been thick plastic. 

“* yeah, maybe. tori and i aren’t on great terms at the moment… bit strange that you looked up my bro though. i don’t remember putting anything about him on my profile."

“Of course I wanted to know more about the ma-monster that I was speaking with. You’re just so interesting, darling.” Stubbornly unaware that anything was wrong, she reached once more for his hand, which he removed from the table to adjust his already perfect collar. 

“* dunno if i’m comfortable introducing you to my inner circle until i know ya better. i hope you understand, v.” By the aggravated look on her perfect face, she obviously did not understand- or at the very least, wasn’t used to her charms not working on whichever hot blooded male she had her sights on. Joke’s on her. You were pretty sure Sans didn’t have any blood- hot or otherwise.

“Look Mr. Sans.” She spat out, honeyed voice now bitter and icy. “Someone that looks like you isn’t going to find anyone in this city, and especially not a catch like me. I was willing to overlook the skeleton thing, and tolerate your stupid jokes if you’d do me this one. little. favor.”

The booze in your stomach swirled uneasily. 

“You want to date someone so people get off your back about it. I want to date someone to climb the status ladder. So I suggest you review your very limited options and tell me what I want to hear.” Sans’s bone white hand encased her tan one, trying to tear her fingers off of his collar where they gripped like fangs.

“* funny you’re so insistent on seeing the queen, being such a royal pain in the ass yourself.”

The expression she made was hilarious, an offended gasp leaving her mouth as she let go of his collar. A glance around showed you that everyone was still too distracted in their own revelries to notice the building tension, but it was only a matter of time. Either this witch was going to make a commotion, or there was a small chance Sans would. Sorry to say you didn’t know him quite well enough yet to judge what he was like when angry. 

He’d said to not get involved… but… you knew the law skewed unfairly against monsters in altercations. You were making this judgement call for his sake. Your glass was cool and slippery in your hand as you slid off of your stool. You would have to play this smart.

A pair of eyes watched you from a table near the back and gave you a thumbs up. The blue lights dyed the rest of her the same color of her hair and makeup, but you’d recognize your friend anywhere. She’d been looking out too, and it looks like you were both on the same page.

Pretending you were headed towards the bathrooms, you stepped quietly until you were almost behind Veronica. Then, it was only a crossed ankle and an intentional overstep that sent you careening into her seated form, the rest of your drink dying the front of her pristine dress a bright berry. You used her shoulders to support yourself and looked up at her with a plastered grin and lidded eyes. 

“I’m sho sorry!” The now-drenched woman leapt to her feet, pulling you even further off balance into her. Sans pulled back from the bar, dumbstruck. 

“Wha- How dare you!? This dress was Armani! It’s ruined!!” Claws dug into your upper arms as she tried to pry your limp weight off of her (plush) chest. Ironic. She was mad and uncomfortable, and no longer focused on Sans - perfect. Now for the final play.

Putting on your absolute best shit-faced impression, you pulled back and squinted at her face. You’d never live this down, but let no one say you didn’t do the most for your friends, new and skeletal included.

“Alecsh? Tha you? I misshed you so mush shweetie!” Craning your neck upward- damn she was so tall- you smacked a sloppy kiss right in the center of her mouth. You knew the lipstick you’d worn stained… bad. She’d be rubbing at that mark for hours even with makeup remover. 

The entire bar was staring at you, and everyone saw as the furious banshee of a woman shoved you away and pulled her hand back to strike you. Forgetting your drunk act momentarily, you flinched in anticipation of what was likely going to be a nice bruise to explain on Monday. 

“* don’t even try it.” Her thin wrist was held tight in his fingers, and the look on her face meant that she must have finally seen that empty socket look she’d missed before. You’d caught yourself between a couple of stools, and for the most part avoided hitting the edge of the bar. Besides the ambient smooth music that contrasted the disturbance, the rest of the bar was so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

You could see the red angry flush of Veronica’s cheeks even under her thick foundation. “You.. You…” Her crazed eyes couldn’t decide between you and the monster that still held her, preventing her from attacking you. She yanked her wrist hard, and Sans let go at that exact moment, sending her off kilter. Righting herself, she sniffed and spit venom. “ Useless freak. Next time, just stick to your own kind. Lose my number.”

With a last growl at you, she gathered her purse and what was left of her dignity, and stormed up the stairs and out of the bar. There were several sighs of relief, and a nice middle aged couple stepped forward to help you up and dab you off (again), reassuring you that nothing that happened was your fault, and that that woman was just a miserable person. Alex approached soon after, and while at first she pretended to have just come from the bathrooms and checked if you were alright, you could tell from the glint in her eye and her barely hidden smile that she was damn proud of you and wanted to gush. 

First though. You scanned the back of the bar looking for a short bony figure, and quickly found him talking to the other bartender in hushed tones. Concern for his job flooded you for a moment, but when the other man placed a comforting hand on his shoulder with a couple pats, you knew he was checking in on Sans the same way the guests were checking in on you. He wasn’t in trouble, which meant your plan had gone off… mostly successfully. No one was the wiser that Veronica was anything other than an extra bitchy guest with a huge stick up her ass, and Sans was framed as the responsible employee that stopped a fight. 

You wanted to talk to him, but between the hushed whispers between patrons, the resurgence of orders from new and old guests alike, and the fact you were now covered in sticky alcohol - you didn’t get the chance. You’d be sure to text him as soon as you got home, and hoped he wasn’t too upset with you for butting in. Alex helped you to her car, put down a towel, and started the short drive to your apartment to salvage what was left of the night with bad movies and conversation. The entire drive she gushed over how freakin awesome your fake out was, and how she wished she had a better view, and how the look on Sans’s face the second he realized that bitch was going to slap you was fucking terrifying! You laughed and quipped along with her, but still felt uneasy. Talking about the incident just reminded you of all the messed up shit she’d said to Sans.

Alex decided for herself that she was going to sleep over tonight, and a set of stolen pajamas, a shower, and an hour later found the two of you cuddling on the couch watching a dumb feel-good movie. 

11:13 (771) XXX-XXXX: Are you okay? Call me when you can. 

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

Trapped under a hot, squooshy weight - you slept fitfully. Alex had you pinned to the couch after falling asleep on top of you around 2 a.m. From your limited vantage point, popcorn littered the floor and your phone lay just out of reach.

Still no call. 

The rational part of you knew he was likely still finishing up his shift— bar work was like that— but the part of you that reared its head in the still and quiet of the night wondered if you’d put your nose in where it didn’t belong; if he decided that he’d get rid of both of the humans that plagued his life in one fell swoop. He could turn to literally anyone else for jokes, and the first and only time he’d asked for your help... you ignored his wishes and made such a huge mess of things.

As three a.m. came and went, your phone sat still and silent on the apartment floor. No new notifications. Your eyelids were so heavy…. He had to be off work by now, right?

3:43 a.m. - One New Notification.

~~~~~~~ ✧ ☠︎︎ ✧ ~~~~~~~

Sans had volunteered to stay and lock up. After that catastrophe, Doug had offered him the night off early, but he needed some time to think (brood) before going home to an empty house and a still mostly-full bottle of rum. The past few weeks had already had him spiraling back into dangerous habits, and he owed it to Paps to keep his rare promise that he wouldn’t fall so far in front of his friends and family again.

Ironic then, was it not, that three of his seven jobs revolved in some sort of way around alcohol? He liked them though. The extra shifts he’d taken from Grillby over the years to pay off his tab had paid off, where the ancient elemental had been thrilled to show him a thing or two behind the counter. That, along with a good word from the hothead himself, had gotten him a job here easily. As long as he was in a good headspace, this was one of his favorite places to be up here, on the surface. The lights reminded him of his favorite room in Waterfall, the drink menu was short enough that he could mix them in his sleep, and the usually tipsy human-folk were especially receptive to his humor and chatter… all while keeping that nice wide counter between him and them. No fingers through his arm bones, or warm beer spilled on his favorite jacket. 

Doug had already left, though, and now the bar sat empty as well — save for one monster. He was using the expensive-looking counter as a footrest currently; improbably and perilously tilted back in one of the bar stools while a mid-range bottle of bourbon dangled in his hand. He hadn’t opened it… but he wanted to. Papyrus had slept over at Tori’s again tonight with Frisk, so he wouldn’t be home to see him stumble in, smelling of gloom and embalming fluid. He didn’t have to go overboard, but maybe just a shot or two… just so his mind would quit repeating everything that disgusting woman had said to him, and so that he could forget how her long nails felt like thorns drifting across the surface of his bones. Sans shuddered.

The glass neck of the bottle jingled musically as he shifted it in his hard grip. 

Why did he keep putting himself through this? Oh yeah… he thought wearily as he rubbed at the dark creases beneath his sockets. Papyrus. His little bro meant well, he really did, but this was the inevitable result of his brother’s pleas to 'put himself out there.' Where 'there' was a place thousands of miles up and away from literally anything and anyone familiar. 

His brother was just hardly ever home, with his ambassador work and friendship with Frisk. His own relationship with the kid wasn’t bad, but after what they put him through… it just wasn’t quite the same. Plus his ex would be there… with her newly re-bonded mate… so that would suck. And yeah, it was alienating to not have any friends close by, or coworkers that wanted to hang out, or ...a datemate. Ha— as if. It was kind of lonely… alright, really lonely - but that’s what work was for.

As below, so above. 

The more he worked, the less he was at home. The less he was at home, the less time he had to sit and think. The less time he had to think… Well, the less time he had to think about other things. 

The resets. The culture shock. The way their rent had been raised another hundred dollars this month. The news shows and internet articles and political flyers that found their way into the brothers’ mailboxes— that Sans tried his best to get rid of before Papyrus could see. The way he was treated like either a nightmare or a novelty at work and at lunch and around town… 

The glass clinked again.

.

That bitch had already blocked him by the time he’d finished wiping the counters and took a minute to fish out his phone to glare at her profile once again. How dare she try and use him like that? Where her photo once grinned up at him with a winning smile and deceptively kind eyes was a white box with a grey x. Figures she’d just pretended to be interested in him to get to the Queen. The nice messages, the compliments, the jokes, the flirting… it had all just been a trick. A ploy to get what she wanted out of him. It’s what so many of them were good at. Most humans he found, except maybe Frisk... and possibly you, were either out to get something, or cruel enough to act like they cared just long enough for him to take the damn bait. Just like the girl he’d invited to the steakhouse. And the guy before that… and the person before that. 

 “* Useless freak. Next time, just stick to your own kind.” Her sultry voice echoed.

That was fine by him. He’d do her one better, even. Dating was too much work anyway. A waste of time and a waste of money, which he didn’t have much of to begin with. He’s sure you meant well when you told him all that sappy stuff over the phone that night, but in his experience, maybe it was just better to call it quits while he was ahead. 

….shit.

There was a blinking notification on his screen when he dug out his phone to check the time. You’d sent him a text over four hours ago. He’d seen it earlier, but was too caught up in his cleaning and wallowing to answer you. Guilt simmered on a low broil; after you and your mate agreed to help him, and come all the way out here, and despite his precautions — almost gotten caught up in that whole mess, almost gotten injured  — he’d straight up ghosted you. 

Stars, he was a shit 'friend.' When did you leave? Had you gotten home alright? He couldn’t remember if you’d gotten any drinks after your first; he was too distracted with Victoria. It was far too late to call you like you’d asked him to… ugh. This night could not get any worse. Sans took one last lingering look at the bottle in his hand. That wasn’t quite right. If he got drunk and ended up dialing you up again at ass-early in the morning to gripe about his latest crash out, THAT would be scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel. He’d better not. 

Fingers hovered over his touchpad keyboard, attempting to spin together an excuse with the frayed threads of his current mental state. He wouldn’t blame you if you rescinded your offer of friendship after seeing what a mess he was outside of the glimpses of him you'd gotten at his various jobs, even though you were one of the few bright points in the chaotic din of his life right now. Righting his stool, he plonked the liquor bottle on the counter and huffed in frustration. How pathetic was he? What would Frisk do in this situation?

3:43 a.m.  comic sans: so sorry i missed this. got caught up in my own head a bit after closing the bar. i don’t wanna wake you up, so go ahead and hit me up later when you get this. i’ll make it up to the both of ya for the shitfest that turned into. hope you got home alright. sans.

*send*

… Why the actual fuck did he put his name at the end? That was so lame. Welp, too late now. It was always like that with you, for whatever reason. His fat fingers seemed to work ten percent faster than his empty head. Slotting the bourbon back on the shelf where it belonged - untouched by his nonexistent lips - he double checked the locks and used tired hands to rifle through the void and rip him a path home— face down and straight into bed. 

.

There was a message waiting for him when he woke next. It was from you. You’d been worried about him (he figured guiltily as much), but didn’t seem upset about anything beyond that. That... couldn’t be right. Your mate had spent the night, which was a weird detail to include, but according to you they were fine as well. Thank the Rune. He wanted to meet up with the two of you to try and smooth things over, or to pick your brains as to how the hell that banshee of a human managed to put one over on him— how his luck sucked so bad at this— but hadn’t he caused you enough trouble with all that? 

Besides… When was an appropriate amount of time to wait between becoming friends and asking someone to 'hang out'? Did he count as a traditional 'friend' like Undyne was to his brother, or did human friendships differ to monster ones as much as he was discovering human relationships did? Stars he was out of his element. He was a pro at faking casual conversation, but that was no help to him here. 

9:12  weirdo 🍜: Obviously you don’t need our opinion on “V” anymore, but did you still want to hang out and let off steam about it? That was pretty rough dude. Come cash in on your benefits.

Sans felt his face heat up. After you offhandedly mentioned he shouldn’t use the term “friends with benefits” to describe their brand new friendship —he looked it up online. And uh, yeah. He might have dusted a little inside. He then instantly had to call back Papyrus, and clarify that when he’d casually mentioned getting a “pretty cool new friend with benefits”, he had misspoken, and to PLEASE not repeat that to Frisk or Tori.

By the sound of Frisk’s choking and wheezing laughter in the background of the call, he was too late on the first account. The fact that he was still alive the next day… meant it most likely hadn’t gotten to Tori though. Frisk may be sixteen now, but their Mom still treated them like they’d just fallen into the Underground yesterday. Phew. That was the LAST time he would use a phrase he’d read on the human internet without Googling it. Thankfully you had a fantastic sense of humor.

9:23  comic sans: that sounds great actually. i work until 8 today, but — He hesitated. 'come on buddy, she already offered. just do it!'— maybe we can meet up after? 

There was a lull as he got his lazy ass out of bed to shower and change clothes for work. It was the computer store today, so it would be an easy shift. He could mostly hang out in the back room and avoid socializing while he fixed up the various phones, laptops, and PCs that had come in over the course of the week. As he scrubbed last night’s tension from between his joints, he tried to think of a good place to meet you and Alex that wasn’t his house. It sounded horrible when directed towards you instead of Victoria, but he would still rather get to know you a bit better before bringing you or your mate around his lil bro. It was just a precaution. Papyrus got attached far too easily, and while so far you’d been nothing but helpful, and friendly, and empathetic to a fault - he didn’t want to chance it. He hoped you’d understand.

Lucky for him, that problem solved itself too. 

9:12  weirdo 🍜: sure thing! we can all chill at my place and eat depression popcorn. 

9:13 weirdo 🍜: if you can eat popcorn. can you eat popcorn? you ate fries… so?

9:13 weirdo 🍜: I can go out and grab monster snacks or something if that’s better.

He found himself chuckling into his mug of bitter coffee at the stream of texts. That was the first time since moving to this new area that anyone had asked about his dietary preferences. After reassuring you that yes, he could eat popcorn and no, you didn’t need to buy him any special snacks, he left for work with minutes to spare. Which meant he was early— of course. The government would have a fit knowing he used his teleportation magic as much as he did, but he had dialed it down to a science - coming and going so that no human was the wiser. His attendance card was flawless.

He wasn’t sure how you’d done it, but by lunch, he was in much higher spirits and had already almost forgotten all about miss nice-cheekbones and the events of last night— much too busy listening to you bitch about the latest water cooler gossip. He still wasn’t sure what you did for work, he'd never asked, but it sounded elaborate. And drama filled. No wonder you were such an empathetic listener.

Near the end of his shift, he felt a buzz in his pocket that ended up being a message with your address attached. A shot of nerves spread, itching through his bones, but he just pulled anxiously at his tie and reassured himself that things would turn out just fine. 

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

The apartment was spotless, the snacks were purchased (including a few bags of monster snacks, just in case) and you were in the middle of fluffing your couch cushions for the third time.

Alex sat on cushion number three, impeding your efforts and teasing you, already ruining your earlier sweeping and vacuuming attempts with her hand deep in a bag of salt & vinegar chips.

“You can stop mother henning. I doubt Sans runs a tight enough ship at home that he’s going to notice that you dusted your baseboards.”

Okay… maybe you have been letting your nerves get away from you. It was just that this was your first time having your new friend come over to your apartment. And not that it mattered, even though it kind of did, but your first monster friend. And not just any monster friend... but Sans. Funny magical super-genius and drink-mixer extraordinaire. You wanted to make a good impression. Alex was right though. After seeing the state of his workstation at Techdeck, you had a very strong sense that he wouldn’t care if you lived in a disaster zone. In any case, he was likely too out of sorts after last night to notice much of anything anyway. 

You were still furious about Victoria. Sans was a sweet guy as far as you could tell— great to talk to, and helpful, and hilarious, and that bitch had treated him like trash. The more you thought about it, the more you wished Sans hadn’t stopped her from slapping you, so you could have recreated the vivid mental image you’d been stewing of tackling her to the floor and ripping her beautiful, perfect, shiny, luxurious, hair out. 

*Ding Dong*

“I got it!”

“I got it!”

Seconds before Alex, you opened the door to wide sockets and a shocked expression as the two of you filled the doorway huffing and puffing. Sans was wearing his work uniform still, that pale grey shirt that blended in with his bones paired with a crooked black tie, and was holding a two liter of Sprite to his chest like it would defend him from your friend’s eager greeting. 

“Sans!! It’s great to see you! Please come in— I’ve been so excited to officially meet you.”

While you’d won the battle, grabbing the door had left your hand occupied as Alex ushered the shell-shocked monster inside your abode. 

“* uh… likewise? thanks for having me over on short notice. hopefully it’s no trouble.” 

Great. Now he thought Alex lived here too. You closed the door and caught up to them as your 'girlfriend' showed him around your living room. 

“— and this is where the magic happens! Movie nights, rants about work, interventions- you name it!” 

Sans catches your eye and gives you a little wave, eyes screaming a soft and quiet “help!" You speed walk over to Alex and catch her by the arm with one hand, grabbing the bottle of soda Sans had with the other to place it on the coffee table. 

“Alex, let’s not overwhelm the poor guy. He just got off of work —” You check your watch and frown. “— three minutes ago? How the hell?” A droplet of pale blue sweat beads on the side of his skull as you give him a baffled glance. He simply shrugs. Chalking it up to more monster weirdness, you gesture to the couch. 

“Get comfy, and I’ll get us something to snack on and some cups." You give him a reassuring smile. "It’s really good to see you.” Something moves in the corner of your eye as you turn to the kitchen. A look is tossed her way. “And Alex, give him a while to settle in before hitting him with the nth degree.”  She still plops down next to him on the couch, but by her body language, you could tell she was going to go easy on him. Your best friend was super nice, but could be a bit excitable at first. Like an unnaturally dyed puppy. Sans didn’t seem like the type to hang around peppy, hyperactive people... and who knew what type of mood he was in? He seemed fine, but you’d already seen first hand just how easily he could put on a mask.

His low baritone easily carried through the walls of your apartment while you gathered the bags and boxes of food you’d bought in your arms. Alex was asking him about his jobs, which was a safe enough topic. You took a minute to breathe; Sans was here, in your apartment, and everything was chill. Just… be cool. Using your fingertips to grip a trio of plastic cups, you rejoined the group in the main room. 

“* —so there i was, with a banana stuck in my eye socket and a bunch of cherries stuck in my ribcage and I said, ‘what do i look like, a fruit salad?’— oh hey, you didn’t have to buy those!”

He easily caught the bag of Popato Chisps you’d picked up at the local specialty food store that carried them. 

“Nah, but I kinda wanted to try them too, so it was a good opportunity. I also have Barbecue, Cool Ranch, and Ketchup flavor if you want boring human chips.”  Sans eyed the bright red bag in your arms with laser intensity. 

“* what flavor?” If you looked hard enough, you could probably spot a puddle of drool starting to form on his shirt. Smirking at Alex, you tossed that bag his way as well. She always made fun of you for your weird chip flavors, but it looks like this pick was a win. The seldom-used single person chair squeaked as you sat down diagonally from the couch. 

You really didn’t want to ruin the mood, but Sans had come here for a reason… should you bring it up? Let it sit? Wait for him to broach the topic? He certainly seemed in a better mood than expected for someone who just got… dumped? Whatever you’d call that disaster of a first meetup. 

Sans had just finished his fruit salad story when Alex shifted to lean against the arm of the couch, legs up and facing the slouched body on the other side- who was conservatively munching the ketchup chips. Just like the fries, they glowed faintly in his fingers before being snapped up in his toothy maw.

“So—” She started, taking a short drink from her cup. “Are we gonna talk about that bitch, or did you just want us to cheer you up?” Her tone suggested it was an open ended question, and either option was perfectly fine. You didn’t miss the way he tensed up at the mention. The room fell quiet for a spell as he seemed to try and find the words to start. You couldn’t blame him.

One hand loosened his tie in short nervous tugs. “* can’t avoid it forever i guess…” He muttered. “* assuming you both heard enough of that to get the gist of it?” 

Two heads bob, one still shoving handfuls of chips between her painted lips as she glared. She tries to muffle out something with her mouth full, but you interrupt. 

“Enough to know that she was trying to use you for your connections, which is total bullshit. Hate to say that’s not uncommon, especially with girls that look like her. Guessing she was nothing like that online?” He shook his head with a glare into his drink cup. Alex piped up, finally swallowing her mouthful of mashed potato.

“Do you really know the Queen though? That’s crazy!” She withered under your disapproving glower. “Not that… that’s super cool or anything… or important at all.” 

Sans had by now loosened his collar enough to where you could see the barest hint of his clavicle, forehead damp. “* i mean, yeah i know her, but so do a lot of people from underground. it was different than it is up here. we’re all… well, we tend to stick together. 'least we used to.” 

It felt like there was something else he wasn’t saying, but you didn’t push it. According to the census, there were only around ten thousand monsters total that had emerged from beneath the mountain. It had been a startling amount at the time… but compared to the number of humans in California alone, near where they'd emerged — well, what Sans was saying made sense. 

You reassured him, “Look, we aren’t going to think any differently of you because of it, if that’s what you’re worried about. We literally live in the same city as the President and I don’t give a shit about that either.” That got a small smile out of him. “Now, what I want to know is how you’re feeling about it. I know I want to punch her lights out, and Alex here feels the same, but this is about you. Let it out, bone man.” 

He looked conflicted for all of five seconds before clenching the bag of ketchup chips within his skeletal grip and letting out a frustrated sigh.

“* i…i… i just don’t understand. how is it that i keep falling for this trick again and again? different apps, different humans, same shit. i can’t tell if every single one of em is rotten, or if i just manage to have the bad luck to attract every asshole in a fifty mile radius.” The more he talks, the more keyed up he gets- although his volume stays hushed and intense. “* i don’t get what i’m doing wrong! i’m honest, i try to be flexible, and open minded - even when half of this online dating stuff is way outta my comfort zone. they judge me for literally everything. kinda has me wondering if this type of thing - humans, monsters - can even work. maybe papyrus is just wrong about this one.”

Breathing hard, his eyelights sweep the room taking in his present company before flinching. “* no offense…”

He jolts again as Alex leans over to rest a soft hand on his shoulder. “Look, bud, you don’t need to hold back on our account. It sounds like you’ve had a pretty shit time of the dating game around here, and it makes sense if you wanna try something else, or even take a break altogether. You shouldn’t feel obligated to find someone.”

Alex always knew what to say. You felt dumb as you tried to come up with something comparable that had a chance of making the monster on your couch feel better. If only there was a way you could help him pick through the people who would hurt him and use him. If only there was a way to market your friend better, so that the people he needed to find would find him. 

You snapped your fingers and gasped. Icy blue eyes and a pair of tiny white lights stared at you in confusion. 

“That’s it!” You pulled out your phone and frantically scrolled, before coming to a stop with a triumphant humph. The 'friend suggestions' page from your facebook was thrust into your friend’s faces. “Who is that?”

The smooth bone between Sans’s brow furrowed. “* that’s… me? not sure i follow.” Alex seemed just as lost.

“Yeah, that’s you. You don’t even have a profile picture, man.” You clicked on the cartoon bone and found exactly what you suspected. “And unless you have everything set to private, this account is entirely empty. No hobbies, no likes, no interests - just a blank page with a bunch of reposted jokes. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your online presence is worse than my forty year old mom's.”

He ducks his skull into his shoulders, grumbling. “* is uh, this supposed to be part of making me feel better?”

“Hold on, just hear me out. Let me see your dating profile.” You make grabby hands at the phone sitting next to him on the couch. 

You saw Alex’s eyes widen as she got what you were going for. Sans was not there yet in the least, but reluctantly handed over his phone anyway. Ignoring the very tempting “jet pack” button on the very front, you confirmed your worries. 

This one had a picture at the very least, even though it looked like the sort of photo you would use for a license… in fact, you had a hunch that it was the photo he’d gotten taken for his restricted citizen license. Under that —

Sans, Comic  •  28

Washington, DC

⌦ Male, Questioning

🌐 Skeleton Monster

𓁺 Looking for Datemates

❤  Hobbies: Being Lazy

My Self-Summary 

Regular guy. Skele-ton of fun. Interested in naps, puns, and finding someone to share them with. 

God this was sad. You were honestly surprised anyone would swipe right on this at all.

“* so….?” Sans reaches for his phone back, and you pass it to him. Alex got a peek as it went by and winced. “* that bad?” 

A deep thrum of determination burned within your chest. “Yes Sans. It’s honestly horrible.” The way his smile faltered made you feel slightly bad, but you pressed on. It was for his own good. “I-I’m not saying you are horrible! We just need to make the profile match the monster. And luckily for you, my calcium based friend— I am a professional at marketing.”

Those fascinating lights played ping pong with the empty profile on his screen and your face, understanding slowly dawning within them.

“Alex and I are going to be your new hype-team, and starting tonight— we are going to use all of our nefarious advertising powers to make you, “Comic Sans”, one hell of a catch.”

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~ ✧ 🩵 ✧ ~~~~~~~

“* okay, okay. you’re goin’ to… what, give me a makeover or somethin’? dunno if you noticed, but make up is kind of a lost cause without skin” He chuckles easily, but you can tell by his deflection that he was still unsure about the whole idea. You’d been trying to explain that you wanted to make some edits to his online presence and fix up his dating profiles to give him a stronger image, but you were struggling a bit with the delivery. It was really hard to tell a client their internet image sucked ass, and it was even harder to tell a new friend you were still feeling things out with.

Alex steps in, much bolder than you could ever hope to be, and cups his rounded jaw in her hands to turn him her way.

“What she’s trying to say is that this is what we do for a living. Trust us. We take good business, great restaurants, and interesting people and make sure the image they are projecting online matches who they are offline. You won’t have to change at all. Your problem is that you really don’t have any online presence, so you can’t attract someone that’d make a good match for you.” 

He discreetly moves out of her hold to grab another handful of chips, and you make a note to tell Alex to cool it with the touching. You don’t think he likes it very much. His shoulders lift in a tiny shrug.

“* i guess… i guess that makes sense.” 

You watch him fiddle with his phone with a complex expression you struggle to read. Hey, you were still only a few weeks into “reading malleable bone” so you were going to give yourself a pass here. 

“* i appreciate it, i really do, but… can i think about it?” 

Shit. You might have come on with your idea a bit too strongly in the wake of his recent struggles. He’d just said he might not even want to keep looking. Maybe he didn’t want help at all, and was just looking for a bit of support and understanding. That’s what you’d advertised to him, after all, and if that’s what he needed, you’d try your best to deliver.

Conversely, brand new at the language of “Sans’s skull” and nowhere near ready to give up on his floundering love life, Al reaches out for him once more; smile huge and confident and ready to toss him onboard your plan like a net of freshly caught fish. 

“What’s there to think about? From what I hear from my girl here you’re a Calcic Casanova! I bet—”

“Of course you can think about it, Sans.” You interrupt. “There’s no pressure either way.”  You don’t even realize the smile on his face isn’t entirely genuine until it melts into one of grateful relief; which you kick yourself for not noticing earlier. Alex, enthusiastic to a fault but not totally dense, finally gets the message and backs off into her corner of the couch to sulk.

A gentle sigh escapes from between his teeth as his body sinks into the cushions. “* thanks… uh, i’ll let you know.”  

From then on, you vow to try and pay a bit more attention to what Sans might be feeling, versus what he was or wasn’t saying. You forget sometimes that not everyone is as forthcoming as your bestie. That slightly dazed expression, the lost look in his eyes as they picked at the whorls in your coffee table… The whole point of him coming over was to gripe about his current issues, but you were getting the feeling that he was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable under the spotlight. You knew how that was — you were kind of the same way— and it was another note to add to your growing list of facts about your new skelebuddy.

‘Presumed extrovert… might actually be a bit of an introvert.’

You put a shiny kelly-green pin in it, determined to move on to a less Sans-focused subject. “Well, that solves that, I think. Unless… you had anything else?” You give him space, just in case you’d read him wrong and he still needed to let out his frustrations. Those lights track around the room and take in various pieces of decor, thinking.

“* no.” He says, with almost a tinge of disappointment that was quickly hidden behind a bright grin. “* that was pretty much it. thanks for listening, it really does help like ya said.” Half-destroyed bag of ketchup chips set beside him, he makes to stand and brushes off a few orangey crumbles. “* guess i’ll make like a bug and get outta your hair now.” 

Wait… Was he leaving? 

Did you just assume he would like to hang out after the fact? You wonder if the stuff you said to him about his profile made him uncomfortable, or self-conscious, and now he was just making up an excuse to get the hell out of your apartment. 

Before you can stop him, Alex hops up and grabs her bag. “Shit, I totally forgot that I promised Brad that I would stay over and watch his dog tonight while they’re out of town. Really sorry to dip like this guys but, I better get going!”

.

Brad…

Brad didn’t have a dog. In fact, Brad didn’t even like dogs. What the hell Ally? 

You give her an incredulous look while Sans shifts from foot to foot in front of the couch in a lazy two-step, unable to make a casual exit while someone else was flitting from surface to surface grabbing keys and her phone and that orange marmalade chocolate bar in the fridge you were savin- THAT BITCH!

You let the betrayal slide because you’re a gracious and amazing friend who was going to immediately text your purple haired thief “what the fuck” as soon as you figured out what was going on. 

But Brad’s mystery dog notwithstanding, within five minutes Alex had given a still-stunned Sans a goodbye fist bump, you a goodbye peck on the lips (goddammit Al) and disappeared out the front door with a wave and a wink.

There was the sound of a car starting up with a purr and peeling off, followed by… silence.

Then it was just you and Sans, who after an awkward moment, drifts over to the door himself to make good on his own farewells.

You trail him, a couple feet behind until the two of you are crowded in your small apartment entryway. For a moment he simply stands with his back to the wood, shuffling and looking at something very interesting on the tops of his shoes. You… you really screwed this up, didn’t you? Should you at least offer him the rest of the chips? A peace offering of sorts? The “I’m a terrible host and overstepped my bounds” customary goodbye gift? He looked like he was waiting for something. 

Probably the chips.

You’re surprised when he speaks up suddenly, pupils still fixed on his worn but clean black sneakers hard enough to burn holes in the fabric.

“* i owe ya both big time for what you did at the bar.” It looks like he goes to shove his hands in a pair of pockets that don’t exist, and he makes up for his fumble by wiping his palms on his pants instead. 

“* and ‘m sorry you got dragged into my mess, again.” 

You try to reassure him. “It’s okay, rea—”

“* no, it isn’t.” 

He looks up sharply and pins you under a serious stare, expression tight. “* you coulda gotten hurt. hell, you almost did. all for some stupid date that didn’t even pan out. can ya please just let me apologize for that?”

Oh… he’s upset.

This must have really been bothering him. It was just like the time at the coffee shop, when he’d felt the need to meet up with you in person and apologize for drunk dialing you in the middle of the night. Or how he’d been so fixated on repaying you for not ratting him out at the grocery store that he upgraded your whole damn laptop. Maybe it was a cultural thing, or just something he was personally particular about?

Well… if it meant that much to him, and it clearly did, you’d respect that.

“Okay.” Wanting to seem sincere, you place a light hand on one of his shoulders. When he doesn’t pull away, you give it a light pat. “I accept your apology, Sans.” 

Your easy agreement catches him off guard, like he was expecting more of an argument, but after a moment of surprise his face relaxes into something a little friendlier; a little less burdened, and you know you’ve done a good thing. You let your hand fall naturally after an appropriate amount of friend-supportive-contact time.

“* thanks, pal... maybe next time, we can hang out without it being an embarrassing example of my personal life? if you want ta. really losin’ points on my ‘cool-guy’ quarterly performance review here.”  With a wrinkled unbuttoned dress shirt covered in orange dust, and a half undone tie lying like a piece of overcooked pasta around his neck, he would have to work really hard to preserve that illusion of ‘cool’; and you had half a mind to tease him about that. 

“Hey—” 

His hand hesitates, having begun to reach for the doorknob, apologies given and everything he’d been invited over for accomplished. 

All the same…

You really didn’t want him to go. Maybe he didn’t want to go either? It was worth a shot. “You know... you don’t have to go yet right? We can hang out more… right now?” 

Another try for his non-existent pockets, and you were starting to think this guy’s normal out-of-work outfit included some sort of jacket. It was kind of crazy how different Sans was acting currently, a harsh contrast to a friendly waiter, or a smooth bartender, or a smart tech genius. 

But you had a feeling that if you wanted to be better friends with Sans, this hesitant, private, and slightly awkward side of him was one you were going to become well acquainted with. A turtle with a huge smile drawn on his brightly painted shell. You were kind of looking forward to coaxing him out of it.

“* it’s pretty late.” An upward inflection at the end, a question— one last attempt to give you a way out, in case you were just being polite. 

“I’m not tired if you aren’t. Do you… like video games?” A last chance given in return, an open ended offer. 

A silence. 

A shuffle.

A shy smile.

“* what kinda games you got?” Unable to keep an answering grin off your face, you walk back with him into the living room and crouch down in front of your TV cabinet— Alex forgotten and forgiven in the moment.

“Well, I play a lot of community builders, but I also have some classic couch co-ops that could be fun. There’s Mario Kart Moonlight, Smash Brothers Knockout, and uhhh Rock Band 6. Does one of those sound—oh!” 

You’d expected him to sit down again; but when you turn to see what his opinion was of your selection, you find his curious sockets less than a foot away from your face, peering down with wide lights at the plastic cases in your hands. 

“* never played knockout before, but i have the first one at our place. guessin’ it’s pretty similar?” 

GEEZ. For someone who had issues with Alex getting all up in his space, he sure seemed to have no trouble invading yours. Not that you minded, but damn that had surprised you. As you settle your overactive heart, you thank all the stars in the sky that you’d been totally clean of scary skeleton movies since your fateful and mortifying first meeting with Sans.

He must have been looking at your collection over your shoulder; as soon as you approve his pick and turn back around to set up the system and grab a controller for each of you, he gets up and makes his way back to the couch. 

.

“* sorry.” 

You’d taken the opposite side of the couch against the other arm, having passed him his controller and taking a couple ketchup chips as payment. They really were delicious; tangy and herby with that potatoey base. Currently, you were deciding whether you wanted to hand Sans’s skeletal nega-ass back to him with Dark Pit or Pikachu. You pause in your deliberations.

“What for now?” 

His expression didn’t give away too much, sleepy looking eyes picking through each character icon one by one. Was he actually reading the stats? What a nerd.

“* forgot for a second you had that… thing. didn’t mean to spook ya.”

This again. “Sans I am not scared of you.” He gives you a skeptical huff, lingering on Mewtwo for a second before color swapping Luigi. Green, Cyan, Purple —

“I’m not. You just surprised me. I-I noticed earlier that you didn’t like Alex being all touchy with you, so I wasn’t expecting you to get so close,” you explain with a casual shrug. His cursor stops.

“* you noticed that?” 

You were too busy picking whether Samus would kick ass better in pink or blue to notice two intense points of lights staring at you. Pink it was. Vibrant and dangerous.

“Of course, silly. Now pick a character already. I’ll go easy on you.” 

.

“* … “

“* …heh. alright.”

“... Dry Bones? Really? Are you just doing this for the obvious pun?”

The small skeletal reptile jumps in presumptuous victory, the sound of rattling bones coming through the speaker over top of the background music. Bones silent but just as smug, matching eyelights turn to you from his side of the couch. 

“* why don’tcha start the match and find out?”

.

..

…

It turns out he absolutely was and simultaneously, absolutely wasn’t. Sans wrecked your shit. No, he more than wrecked your shit— he mopped the floor with every single character you picked, all with that stupid little bone turtle. How was he this good?

“* geeeet dunked on!”  The demolished bag of chips falls to the floor.

Likewise, Dark Pit falls into the bowels of hell, and a tower of flame laments your twelfth loss in a row. God, Damnit! Your anguished growl is drowned out by deep, wheezing laughter directly to your right. As the next match starts, you throw your body weight to the side and with an “* oomph—”, Dry Bones becomes cooked bones. A perfectly prepared osso buco smackdown.

“* you dirty cheater!” He was laughing, and it sounds different from any laugh you’d heard from him so far. It peters out into comfortable silence, and somehow, you don’t mind the fact that when the next match starts you are instantly on the defensive. It was just fun to play with him.

You continue like this for a while, working your way together through at least half the two-liter of sprite and a delightfully fizzy bag of Popato Chisps. It was bad for game play to sit at such an angle to the screen, so over time you'd both migrated closer to the center of the couch, a chip-bag's width of space between you. At this point, you were desperate enough to try Princess Peach, who was being firmly de-crowned. 

“* so… say i have this friend. a monster friend…”

Dry Bones makes a bit of a rookie mistake and you send him careening off the side of the stage. 

“Yeah? What about him?” 

Glancing over, you go to pause the game when you notice how intently he’s focused on the screen. Like he would rather have this conversation with a modicum of separation. You decide to continue the battle, chewing on what angle Sans could be going for. He takes long enough to continue that you chance a peek over at his form, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and casually flicking the analog sticks. 

“Sans?”

He jolts.

“* right. so, this friend of mine owns a restaurant. decent food, pretty welcoming atmosphere. not the newest and shiniest little bar you’ve ever been to but... it's nice.” You can hear his shoes scuff against the area rug. 

“* but uh, ya see, maybe he has a bit of trouble with gettin’ new customers. maybe they see it’s a monster bar and think it’s not worth tryin’, or that the food’s weird. maybe they just don’t think it’s all that special… with all the bars they already got.”

You’re… following, you think? Was he trying to get you a side job? It’s him that actually pauses the game, one hand scratching at the back of his neck as his knee bounces. He’s nervous, for some reason.

“* how would you… market? yeah, how would you market that guy? his restaurant, that is.”

Sans was literally handing you a kindergarten level jigsaw puzzle and you were playing checkers with the pieces. You put down your controller altogether and turn to face him. 

“Well, that’s easy.” A pair of lights flick your way imperceptibly. “I would just have to get to know him— your friend, that is— and figure out what’s special about his restaurant. I would want to focus on what makes it stand apart from all the rest, and what he’s most proud of about it. Getting more customers is… always good, but you’d probably want them to come because they’d enjoy it, not just because someone sold them a good image.”

He’s nodding; controller poised in front of his face hiding everything but his grin. You wish you knew exactly what he was thinking. 

“Did you… want to give me his number? I’d be happy to give him a ‘friends & family’ discount.” The sides of his smile twitch upward. He knows you know. You switch the chips to your other side and scoot over until your shoulder barely touches his, hoping that that was still inside his comfort zone. 

There’s a slight, barely there increase in weight as his left leg shifts, tilting his body a couple inches back into the support of yours. 

“* think ya already got it.” Between his fingers, his phone waggles back and forth to point out the fact that he was clearly making a self-directed analogy. “* if it’s you doin’ it, i suppose i can try whatever idea you have to get this old grill and bar on the map.” He doesn’t say it, and he doesn’t need to. Accepting Alex’s enthusiastic help was a bit too far of a push for him to open up in a way he felt comfortable. You’d let her down gently.

Idly waking his phone, he pauses; suddenly stiff against your side. 

“* is it really two a.m.?” 

You thought your eyes were feeling a bit achey, but had pushed through for the sake of— nah you were just having way too much fun losing to Sans. You would be tired tomorrow, but it was nothing you hadn’t coffee’d your way through before. Your skeleton friend though… didn’t he work at the coffee shop Mondays? The morning shift at the coffee shop on Mondays?

Wincing, you turn to the shell shocked remnant of a man about to work a busy shift on maybe three hours of sleep; less, depending on if he had to call a taxi to get home. No— you couldn’t do that to him. Maybe it was a bit invasive, but it’s what a good pal would do.

“Holy shit Sans, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how late it was. Can I drive you home?”

Right now you didn’t care if he lived clear across town. It was the right thing to do. He got up and took two tries to shove his phone into a pocket that worked. 

“* no, no, it’s fine. my fault for not noticing either.” You didn’t get the notion he had a car from the other times you’d seen him or how he'd arrived. There was absolutely no way he was walking. 

“Come on, man. I can let you out a couple blocks away if you just don’t want me knowing where you live. It’s way too late for a cab.”

Sans pauses in tidying up your coffee table, browbone raised. 

“* that’s not—” He stacks one last cup and turns to you, hands free and tone rushed. “* don't worry about that. seriously, thanks for having me over. it's been great. really great. come by the shop tomorrow if ya wake up on time— i’ll treat ya. my fault you stayed up so late.”

Before you could agree or disagree with his assignment of blame and offer of caffeination, you feel something large, warm, and sturdy envelop you and squeeze tightly. Your unexpected skeleton hug was over before you even put together that it began, and the culprit was… gone.

“Sans?” You check the door, the kitchen, the hallway, the bedroom, the bathroom?? But nothing. It’s like he just vanished into thin air. Honestly, you’re starting to freak out a little bit, even though there’s most likely a perfectly valid, not worrisome explanation for this. 

You whip out your phone. 

*ring*

*ring*

“* ullo?” His mouth sounds full, like he’s brushing his teeth. What a weird mental image. Would he just need to brush the fronts? Did he even need to spit? There was a glass clinking noise as he put whatever weird specialty skeleton toothbrush he had back in- wait—

“Sans! Where the hell did you go? You just—” There was a bit of theatrical flailing on your end that was going sorely unappreciated by your empty apartment. “—disappeared!” You catch him halfway through a huge yawn that cuts itself off with a hacking cough. His sheepish voice comes through the speaker.

“* shit. uhhhh don’t suppose you have room in your roster for one more magic secret?”

Magic. Of course. Your new friend. Could literally freakin teleport, and you were finding this out at TWO A.M. ON A SUNDAY. 

Two. On a Sunday. Your betrayal had duplicated. First the chocolate bar, then the coolest thing you have ever heard of in your entire life plops itself in your lap as you’re about to curl up in bed.

It’s too early and you are too damn tired, now that the adrenaline of losing an entire five-foot-something man is dying down. You sigh.

“I’ll have you know, that is probably the craziest bomb you could have ever dropped right before I had to go to sleep, but seeing as you probably start work in a couple hours, i’ll let this slide.”

The squeaking of springs suggests he is ninety percent of the way to snoozeland. 

“* mmm sure thing. i’ll splain it later.” There was a good chance he wouldn’t. “* hell, i’ll take ya somewhere.” World-changing, if true. Likely not. “* lemme just…” 

.

.

.

“* zzzzzzzzzzzz”

Aand he was out. You force your eyes to stay open just a while longer to finish cleaning up the living room and brush your own average sized and shaped teeth, then let yourself collapse into bed as well. You’d start Operation Sans first thing tomorrow.

After your free coffee.