Chapter Text
"I didn't notice it last time, but," You slid your gaze over to your boyfriend, "It smells in here." You refrained from adding just how terribly it smelled, you weren't sure if Sans had become accustomed to the harrowing scent floating around his room or not but you were certain that he knew it stunk.
Sans shrugged and offered an eased smile, his arms still poised in the air as he spoke. "*heh. yeah, i'm a slob." You turned your attention from your skeletal lover to fully evaluate his room in its full glory. Wadded up tissues littered the bed, and a stiff and green, though you were fairly certain that that wasn't its original color, rag hung from where it had been stuffed beneath the bed frame. A balled up blanket sat against a lamp on his desk and a pair of, no doubt unclean, shorts was draped over the lampshade. Dirty clothing which probably added to the unpleasant odor wafting around the room could be found almost everywhere on the floor.
You couldn't even find the floor.
Dancing with Sans had been pleasant a little while ago, but how you hadn't noticed the trash tornado on the far right of his bed or the sickly stink you didn't know. Or the sticky orange peels that decorated the underside of his dresser, just barely peeking out like some ghastly being promising gross harm. You didn't know how you missed that.
You shot an unamused smile over your shoulder as Sans moved towards you. He slid in front of you and continued to head towards his bed, plopping down and disturbing the tissues, a few of them falling to the floor, when he was close enough to. You cocked an eyebrow at him but smiled regardless.
As much as you enjoyed his comedic antics, you really needed to crack open a window. You didn't want to be a nag, but the smell was going to drive you crazy in a few minutes if it persisted, and it would. You smiled over at your boyfriend, who was eyeing you with amused curiosity, and began to take long strides over to the closest window. "*how was work?" He paused, a devilish smile passing over his features that both prodded at your own curiosity and made you suspicious.
After a moment, his features slid away from those that revealed he was going to talk again. He was content in waiting to reveal whatever was coursing through his mind, apparently, and you went with it with little more than a dismissive shrug. "It was fine," The closest window was within reach, now. It was a little ways off from his bed, maybe a foot or two to the right, and you were nearing it quickly. "Reggie says 'Hi'."
Sans shifted on his bed, resting on his elbows, a motion that caused a stream of tissues to spill from his mattress like unruly globs of hair. There were a lot of tissues on that bed.
You stumbled forward, tripping on a particularly hard box of cloth. Yes, it had dried into some sort of a box. It was gross, but you carried on, throwing yourself over the last half foot and clutching the windowsill when it came within range. You didn't dare toss a glance over at Sans, feeling as though it would waste too much time, though if you had you might have noticed the ominous glow seated in his left eye socket.
You tugged and pulled skywards at the window. It didn't move an inch. You threw everything you had into moving the window in a desperate attempt to wave away the stench, and yet again it didn't budge. It wasn't until you glanced down to inspect the offending window pane that you noticed a distinct blue glow rimming over the edges, the shine creeping over your fingertips slightly.
"*no pane no gain," Sans laughed when you glared at him, his finger languidly flicking up in the air. Before you could so much as blink, a cool gust of clean air began to flow into the room. You sucked in a needy breath of air, and then another, before opening your eyes to stare at Sans again.
His arm was outstretched and his fingers extended, palm facing the ceiling. Maintaining eye contact with you, he folded over his fingers until only the index was left extended. You stared at it for a moment, and when he began to crook the offending digit slowly, you crossed your arms and leaned to your left. You couldn't help the mischievous smile that danced across your lips, though you would have seemed more menacing if you could. "Hey, bone boy, wanna help me clean your room?"
"*hey, babe, wanna-" He shifted again so that he was sitting up fully. His legs were spread apart, though not suggestively, and his right hand rested on his knee comfortably. His right hand, which had been suspended in the air after being used to try and imitate some sort of 'Come hither' action, curled against his cheek as his arm moved so that his elbow dug into his thigh. "--come over here instead?"
The unpleasant odor was slowly and surely receding from Sans' room, thankfully. You uncrossed your arms and took a step away from the windowsill, your foot bumping against the strange box-like ball of cloth from earlier. "Get up, lazybones. We're going to clean up this mess," You shot a questioning glance towards the trash tornado, "And maybe call a meteorologist."
"*or a garbage man," You could hear the laughter in his voice regardless of the fact that he wasn't laughing. You turned back to face him, smiling even wider when you saw that he was gathering himself to a standing position.
You reached into your pocket, thanking your wit for bringing along a hoodie as the wind streaming into the room was turning the room chilly, you unlocked it and began to search for the YouTube app. You rolled your eyes playfully at the selfie Sans had taken with you and Theresa a few days ago, it sat as your home screen and you could very clearly see it despite your various apps covering it, "*whatcha doing?"
You found the familiar red icon, "Bringing up some music so we can dance while we work," Sans made a quick quip about how you were most definitely obsessed with dancing, "Hold on a minute, I'll think of a music or dance related pun."
Sans laughed heartily, a sound that filled the room with the wind and drowned out the roaring sounds coming from outside. Or maybe you were exaggerating it, you just really loved the sound of him laughing.
When you felt as though it was cold enough in Sans' room, and most of the odor had been swept aside, you sauntered over to the windowsill and pulled down on the pane, shutting off the freely flowing gusts of air that had been bursting through the room. You were glad to find little resistance this time, though that might have been because you were eyeing Sans with a sheer ferocity when you went to go shut the window.
That done, you flipped through your YouTube history and selected a classic: Studio Killer's "Ode To The Bouncer".
Before long, the room was full of trash bags and one overflowing hamper, but you could see small sections of the floor and the smell, which had returned shortly after closing the window, wasn't so strong.