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Closing and bolting the door of the outhouse, Frisk carefully balanced herself over the (very large) monster toilet. Snow blew in through the gaps of the door. The surface of the toilet bowl was bitingly cold, nipping the backs of her legs. The hum of voices from Grillby’s carried across the yard. Although Snowdin had been kind to her recently, Frisk still kept her ears perked, listening for trouble while she was in such a vulnerable position. Some monsters still gave her sidelong glares, even after weeks of her stay in the town. No-one would ever threaten her while she was in the company of Undyne and the skeleton brothers, but every time she was away from them, the icy grip of paranoia once again seized her by the throat. Or was that just the cold? Frisk had never been particularly hale as a child - in her old village, she had a reputation of being small and sickly, unlikely to bear many children. In a proud farming family of broad-hipped, strong-armed women with bellows for lungs, she had always been the quiet black sheep.
Pulling up her sleeve, she ran the tips of her fingers along the buttercups growing from her flesh.
I’m even less likely to fetch a high bride price now, she mused cynically. What decent farmer would marry a weed? Not that it bothered her; such things had ceased to matter on the day she left the village.
“Oi, Frisk! Where’d ya disappear to?”
Even across the yard and over the noise of the diner, Undyne’s commanding voice carried clearly. Frisk quickly finished her business, splashed some freezing water on her shivering hands, and left the outhouse, putting her gloves back on in a hurry. Snow chilled her face as she trudged back into Grillby’s, but the warmth of the diner was all the nicer for having braved the cold outdoors. As she shut the door behind her, a hand clapped over her shoulder.
“Found her,” Sans announced to the room.
“Get your tiny human ass back over here, punk!” Undyne yelled, startling a few patrons.
Frisk turned to smile up at Sans. He winked and she was suddenly glad for her shivering and snow-pinkened cheeks, because otherwise her blushing and jelly legs would have been painfully obvious.
“C’mon kid,” he said, “I don’t stand a chance of beating these two without your help.”
As they hurried back to their booth, where Undyne and Papyrus were already bickering over which colour of counters to select for a game of monster Ludo, Frisk was giddily conscious of Sans’ arm hovering over her shoulders, and the pressure of his bony fingers on her shoulder. It was kind of disappointing to slip into the booth and feel that pressure vanish. She and Sans faced Undyne and Papyrus across the table.
“HUMAN,” Papyrus groaned, “HELP SETTLE THIS DEBATE. WHICH COLOUR SHALL YOU AND MY BROTHER PLAY AS?”
“I don’t mind,” Frisk shrugged, reaching for her half-finished drink. “Which one do you want?”
“Ugh!” Undyne slammed her fist down on the table. “Just pick the red ones, Pap!”
“THIS IS IMPORTANT, UNDYNE! DECISIONS LIKE THIS SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN SO LIGHTLY. CERTAIN COLOURS ARE LUCKIER THAN OTHERS.”
“Hehehe. Which board game doubles as a great breakfast?” Sans asked, his permanent grin getting wider. “Scrabbled eggs.”
Frisk snickered quietly, Undyne cackled, and Papyrus glared at his brother with great displeasure.
“We’ll use the blue ones, Papyrus,” Frisk suggested, hoping to solve the problem.
“VERY WELL,” he nodded, turning the board around. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NOTHING IF NOT ACCOMMODATING TO HIS LONG-TERM HOUSE GUESTS.”
Sans nudged Frisk. “You know,” he said, “It’s a good thing you’re here to help me, pal. I might tell people I’m an expert at board games, but in reality, I don’t have a cluedo.”
“SANS, WHY?” Papyrus groaned.
“That one was very good,” Frisk laughed, blushing even more than before. She took a sip of her drink, wishing that she was quick-witted enough to come up with a board game pun of her own. It was okay, though - Sans seemed satisfied just with making her laugh.
Papyrus and Undyne won the first round, and the second. Frisk had a feeling that Sans was letting his brother win, but Ludo was really more of a luck game anyway, and she did not mind losing, especially hearing the chorus of raucous “NYEH-HEH-HEH”s and “Fu-hu-hu-hu!”s of victory across the table. Unfortunately, Undyne was deep in her cups by the end of the third game, and even more boisterous than usual. One particularly enthusiastic victory thump of the table sent the entire game tumbling onto the floor.
“Game over, nerds!” she yelled. “We are victorious!”
“Welp, I’m glad you got that off your chess,” Sans commented drily as the counters rolled under the chairs.
“UNDYNE!” Papyrus opened his mouth to complain, and she promptly caught him in a head lock. “DON’T NOOGIE THE SKELETON!” he yelled as she did exactly that. Tussling like a pair of toddlers, the two big monsters fell onto the floor in a flailing pile of bones and scales.
Grillby glared across the bar at them.
“We’d better clean up,” Sans suggested, but made no move to actually do any cleaning. Frisk, blocked from exiting the booth by his presence, could do nothing to help even if she wanted to. Warmed by the alcohol in her drink, and more than a little sleepy, she leaned back into the leather seat. To her surprise, Sans lifted his hand and ruffled her hair.
“Hey,” she mumbled, annoyed but conscious of her speeding pulse.
“Getting tired, young Frisk?” he asked.
“No.”
“Liar,” he grinned. “My shoulder’s available for rental as a head rest, if ya fancy it.”
“Oh,” Frisk laughed nervously. “Thanks.”
“Usually I’d charge 50G per use, but for you, I’ll make an exception,” he shrugged. “Just 5G, hows about it?”
Feeling that she could not very well turn down such a generous sarcastic offer, Frisk shuffled closer and gently rested her head on Sans’ shoulder. Oddly, given the thick padding of his jacket and sweater, it was not the bony, uncomfortable experience she had been anticipating. On the contrary, Sans’ shoulder was exactly the right height for her to lean on, and his jacket had that comforting smell of ketchup with earthy, forest-related undertones. Frisk wished she could melt her whole body against his, but settled for just her head, and their arms resting side by side.
“Still waiting on that gold, kid,” his voice rumbled above her ear.
Something about his playfully gruff tone made her heart race, and a lump filled her throat, preventing speech. This pathetic little crush of hers was getting out of hand. Not for the first time, Frisk wondered if it had been a terrible idea to stay in Snowdin for so long. Flowey’s words echoed in her head. Yep. Getting close to people meant getting hurt. Sans clearly thought of her with a vague, older-brotherly kind of protectiveness, and to hope otherwise would be beyond foolish. And yet, Frisk could not help but ache with longing when she thought of the laid-back, pun-loving dork. It was enough just to be here next to him.
“THE HUMAN IS TIRED?” Papyrus asked, adorably concerned. He and Undyne had picked themselves off the floor by that point, and were gathering together the scattered ludo counters.
“Yep.” Sans yawned. “Time to head home, methinks, before Grillby quite rightly decides to kick us out.”
“ARE YOU STAYING THE NIGHT AGAIN, UNDYNE?”
“And have the chance to scoff more legendary leftover pasta?” The leader of the Royal Guard bared all of her sharp fangs. “You can’t keep me away, skull-faces!”
“WOWIE! I’VE NEVER HAD A SLEEPOVER LAST THIS MANY DAYS BEFORE!”
“C’mon, Frisk,” Sans said gently to the human leaning on his arm. “You’re going to owe me another 10G if you rest there any longer, and don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”
The four of them traipsed out of the diner and into the snow, cheerful with camaraderie. Several monster sentries, patrolling the town at night, gave their group a long stare. Frisk felt her skin crawl, as if she had become transparent all of a sudden, her human soul glowing brightly, vulnerably. Before she could feel scared, however, Undyne suddenly lifted her up and gave her a piggyback ride. It was probably to make a point to the guards, Frisk thought, smiling appreciatively. Undyne was really cool.
Reaching the skeleton’s invitingly decorated house, the group stumbled into the heated warmth and kicked off their snow-packed shoes at the door. Undyne and Papyrus immediately raced each other into the kitchen, emerging within minutes with plastic containers of leftovers. Calling over his shoulder that there were more leftovers in the fridge, Papyrus ran upstairs to his room, Undyne on his heels. What exactly they were planning to spend the rest of the evening doing was unclear, but they were clearly far too energised to sleep. The music which started blaring suggested a workout.
Lingering in the hall, Frisk and Sans yawned in sync and laughed.
“I’ll set up the sofa for you again, kid,” Sans said. He picked up the blankets which were already on the sofa from the night before, and promptly lay there himself.
“Hey, lazybones,” Frisk teased softly. “Where am I going to go if you fall asleep there?”
Sans pretend-snored and she tossed a cushion at him.
“Ow,” he grinned, eyes shut contentedly. “If you’re stuck, there’s always my bed, you know.”
Frisk froze, paralysed by the connotations of what he just said. Despite basically living in the brothers’ house for weeks, she had never seen the inside of Sans’ room. According to Papyrus, there was nothing of any interest there, and out of politeness, she had never violated her friend’s privacy, but the mystery remained. Given all of his secrecy, it simply came as a shock that Sans would suggest the use of his bed, even in jest.
The offer just seemed so…intimate.
Unable to think of anything to say in response, Frisk crept away towards the kitchen, hoping he had not noticed how ruffled she was by his suggestion. Like Papyrus had said, there were more leftovers in the fridge.
Stabbing unenthusiastically with a fork at some pasta, she returned to the hall to find Sans sitting up. Frisk tried not to quail as she noted the dimness of his eye lights. Despite the permanent grin, it gave him an eerie, serious expression. It was one she remembered well from the last timeline.
Y o u ‘ d b e d e a d w h e r e y o u s t a n d .
“What’s up?” he asked.
“The ceiling,” she replied. It was rather difficult to produce words.
“Heh-heh. Funny.” His tone was off. “I meant with you. The way you reacted just then.”
Crap. Frisk stirred her pasta and searched for an excuse. Finding none in the contents of the bowl, she opted for honesty. “You keep your room locked all the time. I was just surprised that you’d be comfortable with me sleeping there. I…didn’t know what it meant.”
Sans examined her closely with darkened eyes until Frisk started to wonder if her heartbeat was loud enough to be heard from across the room. Thank goodness for the thumping beat of monster music from upstairs, and Papyrus and Undyne laughing at something. There was a crash as they broke something. The noise was enough to break the tension.
“All I meant was I trust you, kid,” Sans finally said, leaning back into the sofa, giving off his usual, relaxed aura. “That wasn’t me trying to hit on you or anything, just so you know.”
It was impossible to properly tell if he was genuinely amused or if that was just his face. Frisk smiled, weakly attempting to play it cool.
“Hit on me?” she repeated, a bit light-headed. “Why would I think that?”
“Beats me,” Sans chuckled, running a hand over his skull. “I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hotland. You’re way out of my league. Maybe not out of Papyrus’ league, mind you, but I know that ship has long sailed.”
Frisk padded over and leaned against the arm of the sofa, slowly processing his words. No part of that had been a rejection, or even a dismissive pun. In fact, had he just complimented her? Sans’ eye sockets were still somewhat dark, despite his tone. They were in dangerous territory now, pacing back and forth next to the line of no return.
“That’s not true,” Frisk told him quietly, “about leagues and all. If anything, you’re out of my league.”
They were no longer making a lot of eye contact.
“Heh. You must have had more to drink than I thought, little human,” Sans commented. Rising to his feet with a sharp exhalation and several popping joints, he made a languid movement towards the stairs. “And I’m bone-tired.”
Frisk, barely acknowledging her own actions, balanced her pasta bowl on the sofa arm and deftly stepped towards him. The opportunity fading fast, she found herself moving out of pure instinct.
“Hey,” she said.
Sans turned his head and, before he could say anything else, Frisk planted a quick kiss on his teeth and stepped back. The look of wide-eyed alarm on his face was priceless. Frisk giggled and shyly retreated back to the sofa, wrapping herself in a shield of blankets.
“Frisk, uh…” The skeleton was very uncharacteristically lost for words.
“Just so you know, that wasn’t me trying to hit on you or anything,” she teased from within the blankets, echoing his own words from a few moments ago. “So don’t get any ideas.”
Sans managed to shake off his shock. “Heh-heh-heh,” he laughed. “You got me, kid. Nice one.”
Frankly, he seemed relieved that she had given him the option of playing it off as a joke. His retreat up the stairs seemed calculatedly slow, so she might not think he was running away.
“Sleep well, Frisk,” he called down from the landing. “You still owe me that 5G for shoulder rent.”
“Goodnight, Sans,” she replied.
His door shut and Frisk sank immediately down into the blankets to privately hyperventilate. Her pulse raced. Her hands trembled. Yep. That actually happened. She kissed Sans. Sans. She should have been worried about the consequences, but sheer happy giddiness welled up and crushed any thoughts of worry. She kissed him. Kissed him. Curled up in a ball of nerves, Frisk could not stop smiling.
_______
Spine against his bedroom door, Sans pressed the tips of his fingers to the place Frisk’s lips had been just moments ago. But like every other corporeal part of his body, his fingers were hard bone, and could not replicate the brief, tantalising softness of the human’s kiss. She was still there, on his couch, sweet and shy and affectionate. If he asked for another kiss, there was a strong possibility she would say yes. If he held her in his arms, she might not push him away. If he teleported down now, and seized the little human by the waist, he could have her up here, on his mattress, soft and warm and gasping beneath him, in a few desperate moments.
“Oh, Frisk,” he whispered aloud.
Hearing his own pathetic voice, Sans dropped his hand and grimaced. Shame suffused him.
Objectivity had always been the essence of the plan. He could not afford to indulge these feelings, no matter how powerful they became. If he lost clarity now, then there was no-one in the whole underground who could take his place and pass judgement on the anomaly. He had to keep his distance, not only for the sake of himself, but for all the other Sanses in other timelines with the same difficult task.
The pain it caused him was simply another burden to bear.