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THE WORLD WAS ENDING. This had been Papyrus' first thought when he caught himself lazing about for what felt like the first time in decades, his legs dangling haphazardly from the couch as he searched aimlessly for something to occupy his mind with. The sun was at its peak in the sky, its rays beating down upon the earth and trickling through the window to bring warmth to all that it touched, and while he normally would have loved to spend his time frolicking outside with some of the many friends he had, the younger skeleton brother felt oddly compelled to stay inside and relax.
That was, if any of his friends were actually free at the moment, he would have jumped at the opportunity to hang out with them. Unfortunately, Frisk had gone to school for the day, but not without hugging him with as much strength as their short arms could manage and bidding him a cheerful goodbye. Toriel of course had duties of her own, teaching the children at said school, and he had watched the pair drive away, feeling less and less optimistic about his plans. Undyne told him that she had promised to help Alphys with her latest experiment, but Papyrus had a sneaking suspicion that it was just an excuse to watch anime or go on an outing together (he noticed that it was difficult to differentiate the two, as they were almost always combined to make the perfect date).
Sans was no doubt doing what he did best: napping in various and sometimes rather odd places of the city. Or, perhaps he was at Grillby's? Either way, wherever he was, it wasn't at home, driving Papyrus insane with his barrage of puns and slacking off when there was work to be done. Papyrus was torn between relief and discomfort at this, although, as the silence stretched further and the curse of boredom remained unbroken, he was beginning to settle on the latter.
His eye lights trailed across the stippled ceiling, attempting in vain to make out something solid from the indiscernible patterns. No more than a minute passed before Papyrus was standing from the couch, pouting as he planted his hands on his hips.
What am I doing? I am the great Papyrus— I don't wait for something exciting to occur, I go and find it! I'm spontaneous!
He was already making his way into the kitchen whilst mulling over the thought, his nonexistent gut having chosen to whip up some spaghetti. The clock informed him that it was around half past three, but it couldn't hurt to start dinner early and have a plate ready for Sans when he got home. With the pots and pans stored in the cupboards below, he had some difficulty finding what was needed, even when crouching down. After some rummaging, his hand clasped around the handle of a large pot and let out a satisfied grunt, soon placing in the sink to fill with water.
The countertop became crowded with various ingredients that he'd used in the past, as well as some that he'd never tried before but learned about from watching cooking videos on the internet— it was always fun to experiment, he found. Papyrus turned off the tap just as a subtle buzzing emitted from his pocket, followed by a familiar ringtone that nearly caused him to drop the pot as he placed it on the stove. He had memorized everyone's designated ringtone; Sans' being a trombone solo; Frisk's the soundtrack from a game they'd referred to as "Super Mario Bros"; Toriel's a pleasant piano melody with birdsong; Undyne's the opening of her favorite anime; and Alphys' being the same, only the instrumental version.
But none of them sent his soul fluttering with excitement quite like the sound of your ringtone, the chorus of a song that Papyrus had caught himself singing or humming on more then on occasion.
He scrambled for his phone and unlocked the the screen with a swipe of his thumb, not even waiting to put it up to where his ears would have been before shouting into the receiver.
"HELLO, HUMAN, HOW GOOD IT IS TO HEAR FROM YOU!" A soft laugh rung out from the other end, and although Papyrus had no stomach to house a swarm of butterflies, he felt them there anyways.
"Hey, Paps, how's it going?"
He paused, not to ponder the question, but whether it was the phone that made your voice sound so raspy, or if it was just you. Perhaps the reception at your work place was poor? "IT'S GOING QUITE WELL, THANK YOU FOR ASKING! I WAS JUST ABOUT TO MAKE SOME SPAGHETTI." You made what he assumed to be a low humming sound of approval, and Papyrus was thrilled to hear you ask if he could save some for you. He turned the stove on and felt his smile widen subconsciously, something you managed to do effortlessly no matter how far apart you were. He nodded enthusiastically despite knowing you couldn't see it, then cradled the phone between his cheekbone and his shoulder while reaching for a tomato.
"OF COURSE I WILL— I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH YOU LOVE MY INFAMOUS WORKS OF CULINARY DELICIOUSNESS! YOU'RE TASTEBUDS WILL SURELY ENJOY THIS BATCH!" You laughed again, but this time, he was one hundred percent positive that it was strained.
"I don't doubt it."
He searched for something to say— even a simple "are you alright?"— but the words died on his tongue when he heard shuffling on the other line, and a few incomprehensible mumbles. As the seconds ticked by, he grew more and more aware of how nervous you must be, and Papyrus dared to ask himself what could have prompted such an odd behavior. He hadn't registered the pile of tomatoes growing thinner, what with him squeezing them into sauce, but when he did, he merely scooped the contents into a second pot with a single, dismissive gesture, as if waving away an intrusive notion— quite the contrary to the usual upbeat mood he carried whenever it came to cooking.
"Say, um. . .do you need a hand with making it?"
Papyrus tapped his chin thoughtfully and frowned. The offer was nice, and he would accept your company at any time of the day, but weren't you busy today?
"IT WOULD BE APPRECIATED, BUT I ASSUME YOU ALREADY HAVE YOUR HANDS FILLED."
"Well, not quite."
Papyrus squinted curiously at nothing in particular. A knock from the front door put his inquiries on hold, but when he jogged over to answer it, his hand hovered over the knob, a sudden hesitancy gripping him. He could practically see you smiling when you spoke next, but while the joke spurred a mild annoyance, it was swamped by the sight of you on the front porch.
"You're supposed to say "who's there?"."
Papyrus wasted no time in scooping you into his arms and twirling you around, a giddy squeal escaping him. You were a mere ragdoll within his consistent yet gentle grip, but after only a few seconds, you returned the embrace with such eagerness that the skeleton felt his soul pulse with sheer joy. He soon realized that you were probably getting dizzy and came to a halt, blindly reaching to kick the door shut with his foot before squeezing you.
"NYEH! Y/N, AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE AT WORK? NOT THAT I DO NOT ENJOY YOUR WONDERFUL COMPANY." Papyrus pulled back somewhat to look you in the eyes, but was met with a disapproving groan and your arms encircling him tighter. The magic coursing through his bones rushed to color his cheekbones with a pale orange that he thanked the stars you couldn't see.
"Boss told me to take the rest of the day off, so I figured why not spend it with my favorite skele?" The fear of you seeing his blush surfaced when you shifted to place your chin on his chest and looked up at him, but when you made no comment on the matter, he visibly relaxed. Somehow smiling even wider now (if that were possible) he allowed the hug to linger on while he led you toward the kitchen.
"I'M THANKFUL SHE'S SO CONSIDERATE OF YOUR NEEDS FOR BREAKS— SOMETIMES I THINK YOU WORK TOO HARD."
"Hm, I guess you could say—" Papyrus was sure that you heard the crick in his neck as he looked to you in horror, but he could see that there was no remorse in your eyes.
"—I'm working myself down to the bone?" A strangled noise erupted from him that earned a chortled laugh on your part. With an aggravated huff, he unlinked his arms from around you and waltzed over to the cutting board, unaware of the regretful expression that had overcome your features. When he turned around, you were all smiles, albeit ones that seemed less sincere than the ones prior, and Papyrus carefully handed you a cutting knife. He decided against prodding when your face flushed at the fleeting touch of your hands.
"JUST FOR THAT, YOU CAN BEGIN BY CUTTING THE ONIONS!" "Aw, Paps, just seeing you torn up about my bad pun is enough to make me cry." You replied with an impish grin. You agreed by carrying out his orders with earnest, chopping up the first onion in small pieces while remaining mindful of your fingers. Papyrus did the same with a clove of garlic, watching you intently from his peripheral vision as your lip caught between your teeth in concentration. Cute.
With a shake of his head, he focused his full attention on preparing the sauce, knowing full well that if he gave into any distractions, it would earn him a rather unpleasant injury. The risk of getting dust in the meal was enough to persuade him, and he reached to grab a box of pasta from the cupboard above. Papyrus fell into a rhythm whilst he worked, humming a fanciful tune that only ever broke when he excused himself from your way. This happened more than once, he noted, but what was more puzzling was that you always seemed to be the one in his path, and not the other way around. He brushed off your flustered state each time, simply patting you on the shoulder before shuffling to where his expertise was needed, but not missing the moments where your fingers brushed against his forearm.
At this point, you were observing more than helping, as well as waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Your efforts proved to be useless, however, as Papyrus almost never ceased his fluid movements; swiftly moving about the kitchen with a sole intent; and barely spared you a glance unless it was to ask a favor of you.
Either he was too quick, or you were too indecisive; pulling back out of fear just when he lay in reach.
Ten minutes of this was sufficient to having you reeling both in shame and shock that Papyrus hadn't noticed your attempts. You hunched over the counter as he mixed the results of your endeavors together and sprinkled a handful of spice in along with it, a satisfied aura eminating from him. Suddenly, he addressed you directly, dusting his hands together and proceeding to leer at you with something unrecognizable in his gaze.
"SO, HUMAN, WOULD YOU LIKE TO TELL ME WHY YOU'RE SO TOUCHY TODAY?" You offered him a sheepish gleam and rubbed the nape of your neck anxiously, a nervous chuckle building in your throat. So he had noticed.
"I MEAN, YOU'RE NORMALLY AFFECTIONATE WITH ME, WHICH I VERY MUCH LIKE, BUT THIS FEELS. . .DIFFERENT."
Were it not for the haze that had overcome your mind in a state of panic, you would have thought that was sweet— how he cared enough to pay attention to the little details, you may never know, but then again, it was Papyrus. Still, the fierce blush on your cheeks was growing too intense to handle, especially knowing that the skeleton not only accepted your affection with open arms, but enjoyed it himself.
The silence that hung over the room was broken only by the infrequent mumbles slipping from your mouth, as well as the faint bubbling of the sauce. Papyrus tilted his head curiously at you, a subtle fear building inside that had him shifting in place. You appeared just as awkward, if not more so, wringing your hands together and refusing to meet his gaze.
"I, uh, well. . .darn—I-I'm sorry Papyrus, I'm really not sure how to say this—" The metaphorical cogs turning in his skull were sent into double-time as he processed your nervousness, scrutinizing your figure and paying close attention to every aspect. Stars, your cheeks were red. He didn't even try to push down the shrill, mental voice that screamed cute, cute, CUTE! You were obviously struggling to get out a single sentence without stuttering, and you even started to back away in what he guessed to be apprehension. It was hard to believe that you had been so clingy just minutes before. . .
"—God, this is embarrassing, hehe—"
OH.
Papyrus threw his arms in the air with an exclamation of surprise and delight, effectively startling you from your flustered spiel and causing you to clamp your mouth shut.
"Y/N, AM I RIGHT TO ASSUME THAT YOU HAVE. . .A CRUSH ON ME?"
Were it not for the eager hopefulness in his voice; the sparkles that somehow managed to be seen within his eye sockets; you would have denied it. You would have carried that truth to your grave lest you face the brutal weight of rejection. But standing in front of you was not a monster who looked ready to break your heart— hell, you didn't think Papyrus was even capable of doing such a thing without sugar-coating it with as much as possible. Instead, he looked positively thrilled at the implication, and that alone set you at ease, at least partially.
"W-Would you be disappointed if I said yes?" Your tone had a quaking edge to it, much like your body, as if you were testing the waters of an unexplored part of the ocean. Papyrus' reaction was nothing less of ecstatic as he flung himself at you, giggling like a giddy schoolgirl. Your fingers grasped at the soft fabric of his scarf and pulled gently, the weak vibrations of your laughter sending a pleasant tingle up Papyrus' spine. Smiling brighter than you had ever seen him, he assured you that no, he most certainly wouldn't be disappointed, and hooked his arm under your legs to lift you from the floor. You had no protests to this position whatsoever, he deemed as you settled further into his hold with a sigh of content, and Papyrus had to refrain from outright crying when you pressed your flushed face into his chest.
The serene atmosphere was disturbed by a plume of steam billowing above the spaghetti pot, carrying with it a faint yet delicious smell. Papyrus debated putting you down, but when met with a grunt of indignation, he decided otherwise. He managed to balance you and the task of stirring the noodles, but it was rather risky, and he had to switch hands at one point to make sure you stayed secure. While doing so, he briefly caught sight of your downcast guise before you hid yourself in his scarf and spoke indistinctly into it.
Again, he stood there in a puzzle, frowning at the thought that something was wrong. He looked between your smaller body and the stove, and with a resigned shrug, turned the burners off, thus allowing a familiar quiet to wash over the both of you. The pasta could wait. A befuddled noise rose from the back of your throat when Papyrus spun on his heel and exited the kitchen, soon plopping down on the couch and sprawling out in a similar fashion to this morning. You laid curled up on top of him, a gracious warmth encompassing your skin, which had once burned with the need for human— or in this case, monster— contact, but now prickled with a newfound intensity that enthralled you down to your very soul.
You couldn't recall the last time you'd felt this way; this comforted and safe; and to think that the one responsible was Papyrus? Well, you weren't all that surprised— he always had a way with touch that showed people just how much he cared— but you never expected to be in this situation a few hours ago. You shuffled around a bit until you could meet Papyrus' gaze and watched in amusement as he looked away, seemingly ashamed at having been caught staring. Craning your neck, you pressed a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth, snickering when his entire skull lit up a dark shade of orange.
For what was probably the first time in many years, Papyrus was left speechless. His bones rattled lightly at the feeling of your lips on his teeth, but he was hardly humiliated by it, and judging by the proud look you wore, he imagined that you were well pleased with his reaction.
"Thank you. I really needed this, but I. . ." Whatever you had planned on saying was lost as your eyes fluttered shut and you tucked your head under Papyrus' chin, murmuring softly. During any other scenario, he would have leapt up and yelled to the sky for how lucky he was, but even then, he could sense that you were in dire need of his undivided affection. Papyrus allowed his voice to soften, and his hand to run through your hair in slow, consoling strokes.
"Don't worry, I'll hold you like this for as long as you need me to."
Neither you or Papyrus were sure how long you stayed there, simply enjoying the presence of the other, but you had only struggled to untangle yourselves when the shutter of a camera was heard. Sans had refused to relent the photograph to you, no matter how much you pleaded, but in the end, it made a nice addition to the hodgepodge of stickers, magnets and other pictures on the fridge.