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“Hey, Mettaton? We’ve got a little bit of a problem.”
That was precisely the opposite of what Mettaton wanted to hear on his wedding day.
Nothing had gone wrong so far. The sun was shining. The outdoor venue Mettaton and Papyrus had rented was set up perfectly in a grove of ornamental cherry trees. None of the bridal party had tripped and ruined their outfits.
So what was the problem now?
Upon hearing Undyne’s words, Mettaton stopped fussing with his dress and looked at her in alarm. “What’s going on? Nobody’s hurt, are they?”
“No, no… uh…” Undyne scratched the back of her neck. “Don’t freak out, but… I think Pap’s getting cold feet.”
It felt as if there were a pit in Mettaton’s stomach. “What?” he barely managed to get out.
Undyne put her hands up. “Don’t freak out! I think you can talk him out of it. Sorry, I just don’t know what to say to him. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
“Lead the way.”
Mettaton followed Undyne into a little church by the venue, all the way to a little room meant for fussy babies and their mothers during a service. Inside, Papyrus, wearing a creamy white tuxedo, was sitting in a chair, audibly sobbing, while Sans tried to console him.
Sans looked up and saw Mettaton at the door. “Hey, Pap, someone’s here to see ya.” He began to back up toward the doorway to leave the two in privacy.
Papyrus took one glance at the doorway and quickly turned away again. “Go away, Mettaton! I’m not supposed to see you in your dress before the wedding, it’s bad luck!”
“Sweetheart…” Mettaton came and knelt carefully before Papyrus, who covered his face with his hands. “What’s this I hear about you getting cold feet?”
Papyrus’s sobs died, and he was silent for a good half-minute. Mettaton waited patiently until the skeleton could speak.
“I-It’s not cold feet… not exactly… I just know I’m not good enough for you.”
“Whoever told you that?” Mettaton demanded, one hand grasping Papyrus’s knee.
“No one. I figured it out all by myself. I’m just a silly skeleton who’s got nothing to offer you.” Papyrus let his hands fall to his lap, but his eyes were tightly closed.
“Nothing to offer?” Mettaton was incredulous. Papyrus really must have been feeling the stress of the wedding—an open display of this kind of attitude was very unlike him. “Darling—you have everything to offer me! Your kindness, your generosity, your absolutely unwavering belief that everyone can be good if they just try—I wouldn’t be the same without you in my life. I want you in it forever. That’s why we’re doing this, that’s why I proposed to you!” He took Papyrus’s hands and kissed each one, then looked at him with pure adoration. “My sweet—if you truly don’t want to go on with the wedding, we don’t have to. But you must know that there isn’t a single soul on this earth that I would rather call my love.”
Papyrus broke down sobbing again, but for an entirely different reason than before. After a minute or so, he finally stopped. “Alright. I can go through with the wedding now. I’m sorry.”
Mettaton stood up and kissed his to-be-husband’s forehead. “No need to be sorry, darling. I’m just glad to help you feel better.” He started to leave the room. “Now no peeking at me, it’s bad luck!” he called over his shoulder. He could have sworn he heard Papyrus let out a laugh before sobering again.
When the hour came, and Mettaton and Papyrus stood before each other at the altar, Mettaton saw no trace of regret or fear in his eyes. And as they were pronounced husbands, he felt every bit of love Papyrus had for him in their kiss.
Together, completely confident in their choice, they walked into the first bit of their happily ever after.