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“Toriel?”
Toriel turns to Papyrus and glances at the bowl of what would soon be the filling of a butterscotch cinnamon pie.
“Hm?”
“You’re out of vanilla, I already added some but I’m afraid it’s not enough.”
“Ah, sorry,” she says, “I’ll go see if we have any substitutes,” she pauses, “But it smells lovely so far, I’m sure it will taste great either way.”
He smiles.
“I hope so.”
It’s a cozy Friday afternoon. Rain falls heavily on the roof above them, but inside, it’s warm. Today is Sans’ birthday and Papyrus and Toriel have been planning a little surprise for him for a few weeks now. It’s not much, Sans wouldn’t want much. Just a quiet dinner and dessert at home with his family, and maybe a few decorations to spice things up.
Toriel returns from the pantry with a bottle of maple syrup.
“Why don’t you try this instead? It will have the same effect.”
She goes back to working on the crust as he adds it in.
“Do you think you are almost ready to pour the filling into the crust?”
He nods, struggling to mix the filling without spilling it out of the bowl.
“Almost.”
She laughs a little.
“I think it is mixed enough. We still need some of that to go into the pie, you know.”
He blushes a little and stops mixing.
“Right, sorry.”
She shakes her head.
“Do not worry, it is a difficult skill to master.”
With that, she takes the bowl and slowly pours the mixture into the crust, then slides the pie into the oven.
She smiles briefly, seeming satisfied, then: “Ah, we still have to clean up.”
Papyrus laughs sheepishly, then starts to help her put things away.
“You’re a wonderful baking partner, by the way,” Toriel states as she ducks into the pantry, arms full of ingredients.
Papyrus blushes, handing her a bag of flour, “I’m glad I could help. You’re like, incredible you know.”
Toriel replies with a warm smile. “What do you mean?”
“I just… Sans is lucky to have you, that’s all. I mean, you put all this together for him.”
She giggles. “Well, it’s the least I could do I suppose.” She closes the pantry door and walks into the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. “How are the decorations going, sweetheart?” She asks the child sitting at the dining table, scribbling all over various party decorations.
Frisk shoots her a thumbs up and a sweet smile, then promptly goes back to drawing.
“Could I start hanging some of these up now?”
Frisk nods, not looking up from their artwork.
Toriel turns to Papyrus. “I’m definitely going to need your help with this.”
He’s not that much taller than Toriel, but he gets the memo.
“So,” Toriel begins as she starts hanging up decorations, “What have you been up to lately?”
Papyrus sighs, “Not much, honestly. Just… work, I guess.”
“Hm,” Toriel replies, “Why not?”
“Uh… I don’t know. I mean, I do know. I used to hang out with Undyne all the time, and now that she has a girlfriend... “ he sighs, “I don’t want to sound like I’m not happy for them, because I am. I just kind of miss her.”
“Well, I think something you’ll find is that it’s not going to be like this forever. I mean, sometimes when people first get into a relationship they want to spend all of their time together, but that doesn’t work out for most people, and eventually they’ll start being, well,” she laughs a little, “ Normal again I suppose. And, you know, maybe you’ll get closer with her girlfriend and then maybe you’ll want to spend time with both of them.”
“Like… being a third wheel?”
Toriel just shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
She smiles. “Maybe in the meantime, you should find someone else to hang out with. You aren’t dating anyone I assume?”
Papyrus scoffs. “Why would you?”
“Because you would have brought that up, no?”
“Right, yeah. I mean, I don’t even know where to start with that, though. Would I have to download a dating app or something?”
Toriel smiles again. “You wouldn’t have to. You could go to a bar or something. Or maybe there’s someone you already know that you might be interested in.”
Papyrus laughs awkwardly. “No. Not at all.” That was a total lie, but as far as he’s concerned that’s between him and his diary. Is she insinuating something?
“Well, you should consider it. Going out to meet people I mean, maybe even just to meet friends.”
Papyrus nods, knowing good and well he isn’t going to do that. He looks back at the dining table. There aren’t any more decorations that need to be hung up. Frisk is kind of staring at him though.
“It looks good, don’t you think?” he asks.
It doesn’t look amazing , the decorations look a little messy, and definitely weren’t planned out at all, but Sans won’t mind.
Frisk nods while Toriel looks around, taking it in. “It looks lovely,” she finally says.
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Maybe Toriel was right , Papyrus finds himself thinking the next weekend. Undyne and Alphys still spend nearly all their time together, but for once he’s actually invited to come along. It’s kind of exciting. Part of him knows he shouldn’t be depending on Undyne so much, but if it bothered her she’d say something, right? Plus she literally lived in his living room for a couple months when her house burned down. Maybe it’s okay if he’s a little overbearing.
Papyrus parks outside of Alphys’ building and goes in to find her apartment. It’s very nice, which is odd for a twenty-something-year-old college student working a minimum wage job in the city. Papyrus knows not to ask, but he really has to wonder how she’s affording all this.
“Hey, Paps,” Undyne greets. She and Alphys are sitting at the kitchen counter.
“Hi! Um, are you guys ready to go?”
Undyne rolls her eyes. “ We are.”
“We’re w-waiting on one more person,” Alphys explains.
Before Papyrus can ask who, the door slams open behind him. He turns around and moves out of the way.
In the doorway stands a tall man with long-ish black hair. He’s wearing a black crop tank top and shorts with a pink cropped shearling jacket on top and black combat boots, which probably make him seem taller than he really is. He seems to be dressed for the summer, an interesting move for early spring in Toronto.
“Man, how are you late? You literally live here,” Undyne complains.
Mettaton pushes his heart shaped sunglasses onto his head and takes a sip of his iced coffee.
“Sorry,” he replies, not sounding especially sorry, “I brought drinks for everyone.”
He’s Alphys’ roommate, that explains a lot. Mettaton’s kind of like a local superstar. He used to be the lead singer of an indie band that was fairly popular, but when he left the band behind, he signed to a record label and completely blew up. The locals celebrate him as humble for never leaving Toronto for LA or something, Undyne says there’s nothing humble about screwing people over. They don’t really get along. Anyway, he’s pretty rich, so it explains the fancy apartment.
Mettaton brings everyone their drinks, then sits down on the couch with his.
Undyne makes a face after her first sip. “Did you just get us all your order?”
He nods. “It’s good. If you wanted something different you could have replied to my text.”
She seems annoyed, but she doesn’t reply.
“So where are we going?” Papyrus asks, wanting to ease the tension.
“We’re gonna check out the botanical gardens,” she replies, “And then get lunch or whatever I guess.”
Mettaton groans. “The gardens?”
Undyne locks eyes with him. “Yeah. You don’t have to go. You’re the one who invited yourself.”
His expression changes. “No, it's fine. I’m sure it will be... Thrilling.”
Why would he invite himself? Papyrus wonders, doesn’t he have more important things to do?
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The trip to the gardens doesn’t really answer any questions. Papyrus can’t tell if it’s just in his head, but he keeps catching Mettaton looking at him, yet he hasn’t spoken a word to him. It doesn’t especially bother him, it’s just odd.
Luckily, it ends up being fairly enjoyable, well, as enjoyable as a couple of flowers and trees can be. They stop by the bathrooms on the way out. Alphys goes in and Undyne is about to before she stops by the door.
“Are you guys good?” She asks, “Because I’m not gonna stop on the way to the restaurant.”
“I’m good,” Papyrus says, then glances at Mettaton, who simply nods.
Undyne slips into the restroom, leaving the two men alone outside. Well, not entirely alone, there are a few people around, but not as many as the other areas of the gardens. Mettaton looks at Papyrus, again. He almost looks like he wants to say something. Papyrus meets his gaze, trying his hardest to look expectant, whatever that means. It’s hard. Mettaton has the most intense eyes. They’re brown, not any special color or anything, but that doesn’t make them any less entrancing. They look like murky water in the shade of the trees. Deep, mysterious. What the hell is going on in there?
Luckily for Papyrus, Mettaton gives in.
“Hey, um,” he begins, suddenly seeming much less confident than he had moments ago, “I’d like to talk to you at some point. Alone. Today, maybe.”
Papyrus feels his face flush. He’s not sure what he expected but it certainly wasn’t that. Mettaton wants to talk to him? ALONE? This could only mean a small number of things and he’s pretty sure all of them would be utterly groundbreaking.
“Yes,” Papyrus replies quickly, sounding much too eager. He tries to tone it down, “I- Yes, I can talk today, alone. After lunch?”
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Lunch ends up being very awkward. There’s a strange tension in the air that hadn’t been there at the gardens. This sort of thing tends to happen when Mettaton and Undyne are confined to the same space. They won’t talk. Papyrus can try to break the ice, but it rarely works without a sufficient distraction, so today he doesn’t even try.
Mettaton always sits across from him. In the silence, Papyrus can’t help but stare. What else is he meant to do? He doesn’t look at his face though, with fear of meeting his eyes. He can imagine what they’d look like. Golden, like honey with the sun shining into them from the windows. He wouldn’t squint though, and mess up his perfect face? No, Mettaton wouldn’t dare.
Instead, Papyrus looks at his hands. They’re, well, big. Pale, slender fingers, tipped with black nail polish and decorated with silver rings. How is it possible to have attractive hands? Good lord. He holds the menu in front of his face, presumably to avoid Undyne’s gaze, but it ends up being kind of a relief for Papyrus as well. Until, of course, the waiter comes and he realizes he hadn’t spent a second looking at his own menu, and now everyone has to wait an extra insufferable ten minutes.
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After lunch, Undyne drives everyone back to Alphys and Mettaton’s apartment. Papyrus quickly says his goodbyes, and then heads down to his truck, which is waiting for him in a parking garage about a block down. He hears loud footsteps and the sound of rattling metal behind him when he’s about halfway there. He glances behind him, then promptly stops when he realizes who it is. He spins around.
“Mettaton! Wow, sorry. I almost forgot.” How could he forget ?
Mettaton smiles awkwardly. “It’s... um, alright.” He takes long pauses between his words, like he’s a little out of breath but trying to hide it.
“We don’t have to talk in the middle of the sidewalk,” Papyrus offers, “We can just head to my car, if you want.”
Mettaton nods, glancing around afterward. There’s no one on this street right now, it’s never particularly busy. Does he think one of his fans will just materialize behind them?
The walk to the parking garage is brief. When they get there, they climb into the front seats of Papyrus’ truck. It’s old, red, with rust climbing up from the bottom. It had been his father’s.
“Okay,” Mettaton begins the second they’re both settled, “I know I really should have brought this up earlier,” he’s so close to Papyrus’ face. He’s one of those people. He always has to get so close. He puts his hand on the console. Papyrus has a hard time listening to what he’s saying. It’s so bad.
Mettaton doesn’t notice, he just kind of keeps talking. It works out because he talks a lot, and tends to say a lot of nothing.
“-Ugh, sorry for rambling,” he says when Papyrus finally tunes back in, “It’s- It’s about the letter.”
Papyrus doesn’t say anything, expecting him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“Um, what letter?” He finally asks.
Mettaton smiles slightly in amusement. “What do you mean ‘what letter?’”
“I- I mean I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you get a letter that... Relates to me?”
Mettaton shakes his head. He must think he’s playing dumb. “Well, yes. You sent me a letter.”
Papyrus is beyond confusion. He most certainly did not. The last time he sent an actual letter, on pen and paper, he was probably a child. Mettaton is definitely not going to believe this.
“I didn’t send you a letter,” he can’t help but smile a little, mostly out of confusion.
“Is this like... a prank or something? You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he starts, his face much more serious now, “It’s not a prank. I didn’t send you anything.”
Mettaton frowns. “Okay,” he doesn’t sound convinced, “Right. Then can you explain why I received a letter, with your name and return address?”
“I- I don’t know. Are you sure they delivered it to the right address?” Papyrus asks. It’s not like he sent anything to anyone else, but he’s not really sure what else could have happened.
Mettaton smirks. “Look, I don’t know what kinds of letters you’re sending, but I can tell you that what’s written in this is definitely for me.”
The way he emphasizes the word ‘definitely’ makes chills run down Papyrus’ spine. What the hell does that mean? He knows he has to ask the question he’s been dreading this whole time, although he knows he probably doesn’t want to hear the answer.
“Do you have it?”
“Well, it’s not everyday a guy receives something like this in the mail,” Mettaton replies, pulling the letter out of the pocket of his pink shearling jacket and handing it to Papyrus.
“Have you had this with you all day?” Papyrus asks, not yet unfolding the wrinkled piece of paper in his hands.
Mettaton blushes. “Well, yes. I mean, I knew I was going to talk to you. It’s not that weird.”
Papyrus unfolds the letter slowly. His hands are getting sort of clammy, he hopes it doesn’t show up on the paper.
The page is filled from top to bottom with handwritten words. Oddly enough, it’s actually his handwriting. In fact... He reads the letter. To his absolute horror, it actually is something he wrote. It was a while ago. He was going through a weird phase, well, maybe he’s still in it, but can one not be self-aware? He had written this in his diary one night. Hoping it would take his mind off what it had been on all day, all week, really. It wasn’t that bad. It was kind of sweet. A love letter. He’d never intended to send it. He didn’t even know Mettaton’s address at the time. It was just for him.
Nonetheless, it’s incredibly embarrassing. It wasn’t written to be read by another real person, let alone the one it was about. If he were to write an actual love letter, one he would send, he would probably make it nicer, for one, and he’d cut out at least half of the extra details here. Mettaton definitely doesn’t need to know about the hand thing.
Honestly though, he wouldn’t write a love letter to actually give away. It’s so much more embarrassing than just saying the words to their face, which might sound odd, but it’s true. It’s kind of old fashioned, it almost seems cowardly. It must make the person on the other end think you’re too scared to talk to them, and that’s an awful starting point.
Though, the thought of Mettaton opening the letter, genuinely believing Papyrus had slipped it into the envelope himself, stamped it, licked the seal and all that, and then reading it, thinking it was written just for him. It kind of makes his heart race, as if it wasn’t already beating out of his chest. And it was all a lie. It wasn’t even for him. Although it certainly seems like it is.
“So…?” Mettaton says after a moment, “Are you going to tell me you’ve never seen this in your life, or what?”
Papyrus looks up at him. His eyes look pitch black. “Actually, I did write this.”
“Oh, right,” he replies with a snarky looking smile. What a dick, “And the rest?”
Papyrus shakes his head. “I know it sounds dumb, but I’m telling you, I didn’t send this to you. I- I wrote this in my diary. I have no idea how it got to you.”
Mettaton’s cheeks redden. “In your diary…? That… Actually explains a lot.” He pauses for a second. “So, you didn’t send this, and you don’t know who did.”
Papyrus nods. “Right.” He hadn’t even realized the implications here, that somebody must have done this if it wasn’t him. Someone went through his diary, what were they looking for? They couldn’t have known what he had written in there. They found this page, ripped it out, and, well, sent it to Mettaton. But how? And why? And maybe most importantly, who? “Do you have the envelope?”
“It’s in my room,” Mettaton replies.
“I want to see it,” Papyrus demands.
Mettaton looks away, as if looking back to his apartment building. “I mean, if I’m going back there I’m going to stay there. Can I just send you a picture later?”
Papyrus agrees and gives Mettaton his phone number. Mettaton slides his phone into his coat pocket, then looks at the letter in Papyrus’ hand.
“Do you think I could have it back?” he asks.
Papyrus frowns. “What? No. I mean, I’m trying to get to the bottom of this. How am I supposed to do that without my main source of evidence?” It’s not like it’s even his. He was never meant to see it. Why would he want it back anyway?
“Whatever,” he turns to get out of the truck, then stops and continues in a softer tone, “You know, there’s a lot we didn’t talk about. There’s a lot we should talk about.”
“Yeah,” Papyrus replies, eager for him to leave and get the picture of the envelope. “You know what, maybe we could meet another time and talk for longer.”
Mettaton nods. “Alright, I see,” he places his hand on the door frame, how is he so tall? “I know a good place. I’ll text you.” He hops out of the truck, flashing Papyrus a smile before he leaves. “See you.”
As soon as Mettaton is out of sight, Papyrus slams his head onto the steering wheel, thankfully not setting the horn off. He really just made the hottest guy he knows walk home in platforms, in the cold. What an idiot.
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“Hey man! How was the date?” Sans greets as soon as Papyrus walks inside.
Papyrus plops onto the couch next to him and holds his face in his hands. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”
Sans raises an eyebrow. “Is third wheeling really that bad?”
Papyrus looks at him without moving his head. “There was a fourth wheel.”
Sans gives him an understanding nod, of course he doesn’t really understand. He pats him on the back. “That’s rough. I couldn’t spend four hours with that guy either.”
Papyrus shoots him a glare. He doesn’t need to say anything.
“Sorry.”
Papyrus gets up and heads toward the stairs.
“Really, bro, I’m sorry.”
Papyrus turns around to face him and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I just have stuff to get done,” he says, then goes up to his room.
Mettaton texted him on his way home. Of course he didn’t look at the message while he was driving. He looks now.
MTT: so theres this cute little cafe a couple blocks from my place. I think youd like it. I can pick you up. how about wednesday?
MTT: oh right
After that he sent the photo. Papyrus taps on it to see it better. It’s a white envelope with, sure enough, his name and address listed as the return address. He wouldn’t have picked out a plain envelope. He would have found a prettier one, maybe red or pink. Also notable, the handwriting on the envelope is not his. It’s not even close. He wonders how Mettaton didn’t pick up on that, although most people probably don’t wonder if every letter they receive is a prank.
Papyrus: Yeah. Not my handwriting.
MTT: hm interesting
MTT: are you free on wednesday?
Wednesday. How often does he even work? Once a week maybe? And he gets to take home more money than Papyrus would make in ten years?
Papyrus: No. I have work every day but the weekend.
I have a full-time job , he wants to add.
MTT: right. sunday then?
Papyrus: Sure
He doesn’t seem as invested in this mystery as Papyrus is. He should be. It affects him too, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s why he wants to meet up so badly, to talk about it. That makes sense.
Papyrus gets up from where he had been sitting on his bed and heads over to his desk. He opens the drawer. There are pens, pencils, loose pieces of paper, it’s a mess. He’d never leave it like that. Leaving the drawer open, intending to organize it later, he heads back over to his bed and kneels next to it, ducking his head underneath. There it is, his stack of diaries. There are quite a few, he’s always liked journaling, it eases his mind. He spreads them out on the floor. Sure enough, one is missing. It’s his newest, although he’s had it for a few months now. It would usually stand out from the rest. Most of them were neutral, browns and blacks, this new one was blue. It had a dog on the front. It was a gift from a family member. He hates dogs. The family member does not know him very well.
Regardless, it’s actually good that it stood out, because it makes it very obvious now that it’s gone. He stacks the books back up and tucks them underneath his bed. So now what? Somebody stole his incredibly personal belonging. Somebody who could have gone into his room. That’s a start.
His first thought, of course, is his brother. Though, despite how annoyed he is with Sans, he doubts he would do something like this. Mostly because Sans doesn’t really go out of his way to do anything if he can help it. Maybe it’s naive, but he knows Sans better than anyone else. Sure, he thinks he’s funny, he likes pranks and all that, but his jokes are never mean-spirited, and he’s never taken it this far before.
Papyrus goes downstairs. The couch is empty. He looks into the kitchen. It’s empty as well. He’s either headed to work or his girlfriend’s house. Papyrus sighs. He tries calling, but Sans doesn’t pick up. There is another thing he could try, though.
He goes back upstairs, this time heading to the second door in the hallway. He knocks, just in case, no response. When he opens the door he’s relieved to see Sans is not there, but disgusted at the state of his room. It looks like a storm rolled through. A catastrophic one. Papyrus takes a deep breath. At least it’s not his room.
He starts searching. He looks through what he believes is meant to be a pile of clean clothes, nothing, just clothes. He opts to skip the pile of dirty clothes, instead moving to the dresser. There’s not much in it, probably because all of Sans’ clothes are on the floor. A couple of large textbooks live in the drawers on the side, but nothing Papyrus is looking for. He reluctantly looks under the bed, which is actually just a mattress on the floor that he has to lift. There’s plenty of junk under it, because of course there is. Among the clutter is a blue book with a cartoonish dog on the cover. Papyrus nearly drops the mattress on himself in shock. There’s no way. He grabs it, maybe the relative got both of them the same gift.
He hastily flips through the pages and stops at about halfway. Ripped paper at the spine of the book, where a page had been torn out. This is it, without a doubt, his missing diary. He sits there for a moment, on the unvacuumed floor of his brother’s room, staring at it. A month ago, at most, if he had opened to this page, the letter would have been in that spot. The letter that’s now a wrinkled piece of paper in his coat pocket.
“Hey, uh, what are you doing in my room?”
Papyrus practically jumps off the floor, book still in hand. Sans is standing in the doorway, he’s holding a paper plate with a hot dog on it.
“You- I- I could ask you the same question,” he accuses.
Sans looks confused. “Bro, I’m pretty sure we’re in my room.”
“No, I mean,” Papyrus rolls his eyes, “I could ask you why you were in my room, and I am asking you that.”
Sans shakes his head, walking past Papyrus to sit on his mattress. “No idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t been in your room.”
Papyrus turns around to face him. “Then why did I find this under your bed?” he asks, holding the book up.
Sans squints. “What? Did I steal your copy of the dog encyclopedia? Sorry.” He takes a bite of his hot dog.
Papyrus responds with an unimpressed face.
“I’m sorry dude,” Sans says, sounding a bit more genuine than before, “I don’t know what the hell that is. I don’t go in your room, and I definitely don’t steal things from you.”
Papyrus sighs. Maybe he’s telling the truth. He should probably be a bit more charitable, considering he was accused of essentially the same thing earlier today.
“I mean, you have to see how this looks to me, right? I was missing something that I left in my room, and when I look in your room, I find it under your mattress. It kind of looks like you took this and hid it under your bed, no offense.”
Sans shrugs. “Yeah, I see. But, you know, I didn’t, so there’s that. What is it anyway? Why is it such a big deal?”
Suddenly Papyrus feels like he’s going to cry. One of his biggest secrets was just revealed to the last person he would want to know. Sans is so dismissive, too. He holds back his tears. He doesn’t even know what happened, he remembers.
“It’s my diary,” he says, suddenly feeling very awkward, standing in the middle of the floor. He sits down and opens back up to the place where the page had been ripped out. “Apparently, someone took something that I wrote in here and ripped it out,” he sighs, “And they sent it to Mettaton,” he says looking away.
Sans widens his eyes. “That’s… Actually kinda fucked up. What did the thing say?”
Papyrus blushes. “It was kind of a love letter.”
“Kind of?”
“I mean, I was never going to give it to him. That’s kind of the worst part.”
Sans nods. Papyrus had never actually told him about his crush on Mettaton, but it doesn’t especially shock Papyrus that he seemed to know already. He’s not dumb.
“Well, I can help you narrow it down, then,” he says.
“Yeah?” Papyrus replies eagerly.
“Yep. Definitely wasn’t me.”
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
The cafe Mettaton brought Papyrus to is actually quite nice, not that he expected anything different. It’s not very busy for a Sunday morning, and it has a lovely atmosphere. Quiet music fills every silence, sun streams in from the large windows, and the coffee is incredible.
“I knew you’d like it,” Mettaton says with a smile, “And you do, don’t you?”
Papyrus nods, still chewing his first bite of croissant. It’s heavenly. He makes a mental note to not look at the bill when it comes up.
“So, have you made any progress on your investigation?” Mettaton asks, absentmindedly stirring his tea.
Papyrus frowns. “A little. When I got home I searched my room and the diary was gone.”
Mettaton raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t look up from his drink.
“So… I searched my brother’s room.”
Mettaton looks at him.
“It was under his mattress.”
He grins. “Oh my god. No fucking way.”
Papyrus looks over at the table next to them, which seats a family with young children, then back at Mettaton, who doesn’t seem to notice, or care.
“Well, yeah, but I don’t think he did it.”
Mettaton gives him a look. “You don’t. Uh huh.”
“Okay, I know. I thought the same thing. But I- I don’t really think he cares enough to do something like that. I mean, really, he doesn’t even clean his room.”
Mettaton snickers. “I see where you’re coming from. But, like, who else would have access to your room? And who else would steal something from you and hide it in his room?”
“Maybe someone’s trying to frame him,” Papyrus answers with a shrug.
“You really think it’s that intricate? Isn’t there a saying about this? Like ‘The most simple answer is usually the most likely.’ You know what I’m saying?”
“Occam’s razor, yeah, I know that.”
“You know what it’s called?” Mettaton teases.
Papyrus looks away. “You know, my brother is a quantum physicist.”
Mettaton raises his eyebrows. “And he works at Burger King?”
“There’s not much demand for quantum physicists these days.”
Mettaton rolls his eyes. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant. What I mean is that you can’t even apply it to this.”
“It doesn’t apply to everything. Did he say that the most simple solution is always the correct one?”
“I don’t know,” Mettaton retorts, “I didn’t even know it was one guy.”
Papyrus takes a sip of his coffee. It just makes him feel more tired. It always does that.
“Well, anyway, I wouldn’t even consider him to be the simplest solution. You can say what you want about that, I guess, but it just doesn’t add up to me. I mean, he didn’t even know that I…” he stops himself, “You- You know.”
Mettaton looks him directly in the eyes. Jesus. It’s a little scary, honestly. Well, hot, but still scary. He smirks. He must have been waiting for this, he would.
“That you what? I’m not sure that I do know.”
Papyrus feels his face get hot. He finds himself thanking God his cheeks don’t get bright red like Mettaton’s.
He looks away, but it’s no use, he can still feel Mettaton’s eyes on him, burning a hole into his head. They do sort of look like fire in this lighting.
“You know what? It’s actually not that important.”
“No, no. Now you have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging like that.” he urges.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Papyrus says, a hint of irritation in his voice, “I’d think you were the one who sent the letter.”
“Right, great guess. Why wouldn’t I just keep the diary if I had it, instead of sending myself one of the pages in the mail? And I would not be caught dead in your brother’s room, no offense,” he frowns and softens his eyes, “I mean, really, I’m just curious.” He’s an awful actor. He’s been in a few movies. They’re all terrible. They’d be unwatchable if he wasn’t so attractive. Papyrus, of course, has watched them all multiple times. Not his proudest achievement.
“I like you, he didn’t know until I told him yesterday.” The lie was not worth it.
A smile spreads across Mettaton’s face. He’s insufferable. Papyrus has never hated him so much, not that it means much.
“Really. I think that’s pretty important to the investigation. Maybe I could get that in writing?”
Papyrus ignores him. “So you agree with me then?”
“Mm, not really,” he says, “But I’m willing to move on. We have more to discuss, no?”
Just then, a young waitress comes over with the card scanner.
“Are you ready to pay?” she says, seemingly talking directly to Mettaton.
He looks at Papyrus. “Oh, we’re splitting it, of course.” He smiles sheepishly when he sees the look on Papyrus’ face. “Sorry, only joking,” he says, taking his wallet out of his pocket and sliding his card into the scanner.
After the waitress leaves he smirks. “I’d never make a cute boy pay on the first date.”
And hopefully none of the other dates either, Papyrus thinks before realizing he had called it a ‘date.’ He’s joking, obviously, right? Or maybe he’s not. Some kind of date if he isn’t.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
The outside air is still chilly, even on a sunny day like today. It’s only March, warmer weather doesn’t roll around until late April at the earliest. Papyrus walks next to Mettaton along the brick sidewalk. Today he’s wearing regular combat boots, the ones without the platform. He stands at just about Papyrus’ height, maybe an inch taller. It’s still impressive, honestly, not as intimidating though.
“So what else did you want to talk about?” Papyrus asks after a few moments of silence.
Mettaton’s cheeks redden. “Well, you know. We never talked about the actual letter…” he says, trying not to speak too loudly.
“No, we didn’t. Do you want to? I don’t think I do.”
Mettaton isn’t listening. His focus is directed at a group of girls that appear to be approaching them.
He feigns a smile the entire time. They take a few pictures and the girls leave. The smile is gone the instant they walk away.
“That was kind of sad,” Papyrus admits.
“What? They got their pictures! It’s not like it makes any difference to them,” he replies defensively.
Papyrus shakes his head. Maybe he’s right, but his opinion still stands.
“Poor kids,” Mettaton replies, now he’s actually smiling, “They got to meet their celebrity crush and they don’t even know that he wasn’t even that excited about it.”
“It’s different when you say it like that.” Papyrus is smiling a bit too.
Mettaton places his hand on Papyrus’ shoulder, gently. “Let’s get back to the car,” he says, but he doesn’t even have to. Papyrus could have known, just from that look in his eyes. They’re especially intense right now.
Mettaton starts the car right after they get in. The engine doesn’t roar like Papyrus’ truck. It’s completely silent, actually.
“So you like the rings,” Mettaton comments, putting his hand on the back of Papyrus’ seat to look out the back window as he backs out of the parking spot.
Papyrus’ eyes go right to Mettaon’s hand on the steering wheel. Yes, the answer is yes, but he decides against saying anything.
“I think they’re pretty cool, too. I’m not gonna lie, I started wearing them because I heard girls were into it. Glad it’s not just girls.”
“Is that why you paint your nails too?”
“Damn, you’re an expert huh-?”
“I can see them right now. I don’t have them memorized,” Papyrus says shortly.
He laughs. “Okay. Well you’re right, I do it all for validation.”
Papyrus is pretty sure he’s joking, but maybe he’s just self-aware. Probably not.
He sighs. “I don’t know. I know you want me to talk about the letter, but there’s not much to say about it. I was into you and you didn’t like me back. I thought it would help me get over you.”
Mettaton doesn’t say anything.
Papyrus picks at the rips in his jeans.
“It didn’t work.”
Mettaton pulls into Papyrus’ driveway a second or so later. He smiles a little.
“I get it,” he says, “If someone did that to me I wouldn’t rest until I found out who it was. I don’t really think my advice is helping you at all.”
Papyrus looks at him.
“I mean, you’d know better than me, right? Besides, it’s not my dignity on the line.”
“So,” Papyrus replies, trying to understand what he’s saying, “You don’t want to meet up again?”
“No,” he shakes his head and laughs a little, “Sorry, no. That’s not…” He places his hand on the back of Papyrus’ seat, but this time it’s not because he’s backing up. “I think we should meet up again. It’s just that, well, I don’t really care about any of this, the investigation I mean--or the letter honestly.”
“So... why do you want to meet up…?” Papyrus responds quietly, realizing he must have monumentally misunderstood the situation.
Mettaton tilts his head forward slightly. “Papyrus, my dear, I’m asking you out on a date.”
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
Papyrus spends most of that night and the following day feeling stupid. It’s not like he didn’t realize the things Mettaton was saying, but Mettaton always talks like that, how was he supposed to know he wasn’t joking?
His boss makes him leave work early. Apparently he messed up one too many orders. It’s embarrassing, he’d just been so distracted all day. It’s better than being fired, of course.
When he gets home, Sans is laying on the couch on his phone.
“Hey bro,” he says, “The kid’s upstairs. I hope you don’t mind. I told them they could use the markers in your room.”
“That’s fine,” Papyrus replies, “You’re babysitting?”
“Tori has a weekly school board meeting every Monday after school,” he explains, “Usually you’re at work. It’s no big deal, though. Good kid, all they do is, like, arts and crafts.”
Papyrus smiles. “That’s really sweet of you.”
Sans shakes his head, but he’s smiling back.
Papyrus heads upstairs. Sure enough, Frisk is lying on their stomach on the floor, drawing a picture of a yellow flower on a piece of printer paper.
Papyrus kneels down next to them. “That’s a really nice drawing,” he says.
They sort of jump when he talks, maybe they didn’t see him come in?
“Um, thanks,” they mutter, avoiding his gaze. Papyrus doesn’t think anything of it. They must have been really into drawing. No one likes being interrupted. He certainly doesn’t.
Papyrus leaves to take a shower and change out of his work clothes, and when he gets out of the bathroom, Frisk has moved to the living room.
The thought doesn't hit him until he gets back to his room. If Sans watches Frisk every Monday while he’s at work, and lets them go into his room… It’s crazy though, why would a sweet little kid do something like that? Purposely embarrassing people, not exactly in-character for Frisk.
He flops back onto his bed. Maybe Mettaton is right to not care, but Papyrus isn’t sure if he could not care, even if he tried. Still, it’s probably useless. He’s not the best detective.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
Papyrus strains the boiling water out of the pasta and dumps the steaming noodles back into the pot they were cooked in. He turns around to grab the sauce, then stops. A drawing of a yellow flower is stuck to the door of the fridge by a couple of dog shaped magnets. The words “Frisk Dreemurr” are scrawled across the top in surprisingly neat handwriting.
It also looks… very familiar. Papyrus takes his phone out and scrolls back through his texts with Mettaton until he finds the photo of the envelope. He sighs, feeling wrong. Is this pointless? He’s gotten this far, though.
He holds his phone up to the picture on the fridge.
“Oh my god…” he says under his breath.
“What is it?”
Papyrus jumps. Sans is standing in the entrance to the kitchen, he had not been downstairs before.
“Sorry,” Sans says, chuckling, “But really, what are you doing?”
Papyrus shakes his head. “It’s… Well, you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
Sans replies with a confused look. “Well, you gotta tell me now.”
Papyrus looks at the drawing again, then back to the picture on his phone, as if double checking. It’s undeniable, though. The writing is very distinct, and identical.
“I think… I know who did it.”
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
Going on a date, a real date, with Mettaton, is incredibly surreal.
He picked a fancy restaurant not too far from the cafe they went to last week. It’s not very busy. Papyrus isn’t really sure how he figures that out. He must have some kind of formula that tells him when to book reservations, or he just reserves half the tables in the restaurant. He probably could.
He’s wearing a deep magenta colored blazer, but he doesn’t look overdressed. He has a plain t-shirt underneath and his neck is decorated in jewelry. His face is utterly entrancing tonight, somehow more than usual. He seems to be literally glowing, and his eyes… Papyrus can’t even look. He’s wearing more rings than usual as well, did he do all that for Papyrus? That is sort of how dates tend to be, isn’t it?
Papyrus doesn’t feel underdressed in his outfit, however plain it may be. One gets used to being overshadowed by Mettaton. He always looks good.
Papyrus made a mental note earlier not to talk about his discovery, or the letter at all. Luckily it’s not hard, Mettaton always seems to have a lot to say.
“I’ve done a lot of talking haven’t I?” Mettaton says, as if on cue. He couldn’t be a mind reader. They’d be in a much more awkward situation if he was.
“I don’t mind,” Papyrus replies, smiling. He really doesn’t. He could listen to Mettaton talk for hours. His voice is deep, smooth, dark chocolate.
“Tell me something,” he says, “Ask me something.”
Papyrus looks down at his meal. It looks expensive. It’s really just glorified spaghetti. It’s not bad of course. That’s practically all he’s eaten in the past month.
“I, um, well I’ve always wondered, like, about your career, I guess,” he looks up at Mettaton and smiles, “But it feels kind of silly to ask you what you do, since, you know...”
Mettaton takes a sip of his drink. “You’re just going to make me talk more,” he warns.
“I really don’t mind,” he pauses, “If you don’t, that is.”
He laughs. “Of course not,” he takes a bite of food, and continues when he’s done, “Well, there’s a lot to it. I write. I’m not that smart, I don’t write alone,” he takes another bite and pauses to think—and chew, “I record music—when I have music to record that is. I have photoshoots, video shoots,” he sighs, “Meetings. It’s kind of boring a lot of the time, honestly.”
“Do you… Like it?”
He smiles. “Oh, yes, of course. I love it. Nothing can be fun all the time, I suppose.”
“You don’t like meeting your fans,” Papyrus says plainly.
Mettaton shakes his head. “You really won’t let that go, will you?”
“I was just wondering,” Papyrus replies, putting his hands up defensively.
“Sure,” Mettaton says with a smirk, the snide look quickly fades, though. “Maybe I should have been nicer. I’ve been thinking about it, actually. I love my fans of course. I just hate the feeling that I’m being… followed, if that makes sense,” he shrugs, “I still feel like it wasn’t that big of a deal, though.”
Papyrus nods. “I’m glad you thought about it. Maybe you should keep thinking about it.”
Mettaton stares at him, a faint smile on his face. He almost seems like he’s trying to read his mind.
“Well maybe you’d think differently about it if you were in my shoes.”
He’s certainly right about that, they’d make his feet hurt as well.
Papyrus rests his head on his hand. “I used to want to be famous,” he says wistfully.
Mettaton leans in a little. “What made you change your mind?”
Papyrus smiles. “It’s unrealistic, besides, I like my job.”
Mettaton nods. “You’re a chef,” he states, perhaps just to prove his knowledge, “Are you any good?”
“Of course I am,” he playfully scoffs, “Don’t ask me that!”
Mettaton laughs, then looks into Papyrus’ eyes, Papyrus stares back, getting the feeling that’s what he’s meant to do. His eyes are dark and intense, yet strangely comforting. He’s not so intimidating anymore—still Papyrus feels his cheeks flush. A smile creeps onto Mettaton’s face. Can he tell?
“I really enjoy your company,” he says, “I’m glad we could have this time together, and, well, actually get to know each other.”
Papyrus tries to keep himself composed, but it’s hard not to get flustered.
“Yeah. Thank you, I mean. I, um, had a really good time too.”
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
When they arrive at Papyrus’ house later that night, Mettaton walks him to the door. They stop there. It’s chilly, they have to stand close.
Mettaton rests his hand on Papyrus’ jaw, which surprises him, but is not unwelcome in the slightest.
“Well,” he purrs, “I can imagine we’ll be meeting again soon.”
The nerve. Papyrus is almost offended, but then again, he’s not wrong.
He nods, trying to match Mettaton’s energy. “Of course.”
Mettaton takes a moment to stare at him, then moves his hand away. Papyrus suddenly feels so much colder.
“I hope you have a good night, love. I can’t wait to talk again.”
Right as he turns to leave, Papyrus speaks up. “Wait.”
Mettaton turns back to him. “Hm?”
“I-I know you didn’t want to talk about this, but, um, I solved the mystery. I know who it was.”
“Really?” He actually seems interested. Papyrus lets out a breath.
“Yeah. It was, uh, a lot less sinister than I thought, to say the least.”
“Well come on, who did it?”
Papyrus sort of laughs. “It was Frisk.”
“The… Child?” Mettaton asks, not sounding convinced.
“I know,” Papyrus assures, “But they admitted to it. Not to me, they confessed to my brother when he asked.”
Mettaton shakes his head. “I- Why?”
Papyrus looks down. “I guess they overheard me tell my brother’s girlfriend that I was, um, kind of lonely. I think they were drawing in my room when they went looking for markers or something and found the letter and, well, you know.”
“Not saying I condone their actions,” Mettaton says, smirking, “But it did sort of work.”
Papyrus laughs. “Yeah, wow. I hope they don’t realize that.”
“I want to tell you something too, actually.”
“Oh, well, go for it.”
“I, um,” he blushes a little, “I feel kind of bad, telling you this now. I actually did like you, back then. I’ve always thought you were cute.”
Papyrus widens his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He smiles. “Well you never said anything. You just stared at me all the time. I couldn’t tell if you were into me or hated me. Besides, I tried to.”
Now Papyrus blushes. “I thought you were joking .”
Mettaton laughs. “Maybe that’s on me. I’m just too funny,” he places his hand back where it had been before, “It’s alright, though. None of that matters now, right?”
His rings are cold. “Right.”
Mettaton pulls him in, but he doesn’t kiss him, instead he just stares for a moment. He really likes to do that, apparently.
Then he kisses him.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥