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“Hey, anyone home?” you call out, closing the front door against the summer evening heat.
If the heavenly smell wafting from the kitchen across the room didn’t answer your question, then the sounds of clanging metal and rushing water did. Your dry eyes closed a little as you breathed it in, the scent lifting a tired smile on your face. Slowly, you shuffled toward the couch, the smell carrying you like an old cartoon character.
You dropped your heavy work bag onto the floor right as the owner of the clean but cozy home popped his head around the door frame.
“OH, Y/N, YOU’RE FINALLY HERE!” Sans shouted as cheerily as ever. “IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? WAS TRANSPORTATION DIFFICULT TODAY?”
“Nah, it was okay. Christy went home early, so I had to close. Sorry I’m late,” you said, rubbing your sore shoulder sheepishly.
Sans waved a soapy hand, flinging suds through the air. “NO APOLOGY NEEDED. IN FACT, YOUR TIMING IS PERFECT! THE ZUCCHINI BREAD WILL BE READY IN JUST A FEW MINUTES!”
“Awesome.” You yawned and glanced down at the strangely unoccupied couch. “Is uh . . . Papyrus home?”
“HE’S NOT ACTUALLY. HE SAID HE HAD TO BE SOMEWHERE. I DIDN’T ARGUE OF COURSE- THAT LAZYBONES REALLY NEEDS THE EXERCISE- BUT IT'S A SHAME HE WON'T GET TO TRY MY NEW RECIPE WHILE ITS FRESH,” Sans huffed.
“Well I’m looking forward to trying it,” you said encouragingly.
After all, it was the reason why you came here instead of heading straight to your home and passing out like your body wanted to.
That, and you loved enjoyed spending time with Sans.
Like right now- watching his smile perk back up at your comment brought a spark of warmth that made losing an hour or two of extra sleep worth it.
“GOOD THING I MADE PLENTY THEN, MWEH HEH! I’LL BE RIGHT WITH YOU ONCE I FINISH THESE DISHES, SO MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME,” he said, disappearing so fast he might as well have taken one of Pap’s shortcuts.
“Thanks,” you yell half-heartedly.
Plopping down onto the ancient but well kept piece of furniture, you sagged into it’s cushy embrace. Taking Sans’s invitation to get comfortable, you kicked off your sandals and leaned back with a relieved sigh, only to suddenly frown at the feeling of your hair bun bump against your head.
You always wore your hair up when out of the house to keep it from getting in the way. But right now, keeping it up was getting in the way of you relaxing. So without giving it a second thought, you undid the tight up-do and let your thick hair fall freely onto your shoulders for once.
Oh yes, that felt much better.
Now if only you could do something about how tired and achy you felt. Unfortunately, you’d left your pain reliever in the car, and falling asleep on your friend's couch was out of the question. You settled for fiddling with the hair tie and distracting yourself with thoughts of the mouth watering food to come.
While you weren’t a big fan of zucchini bread, you were a big fan of everything Sans baked.
Well okay, maybe not everything.
Your stomach still roiled at the thought of the first dish Sans made you.
Turns out, food poisoning is just as awful as it sounds. But even then you were more concerned with how upset Sans was when he learned his uncooked taco meat made you sick. So much so, you were willing to give his food another try after the skeleton assured you many times that it was perfectly safe.
That had been the best chili you’d ever eaten in your life.
Since then, Sans’ cooking only got better and better each time.
He’d even branched out into doing baked goods and treats as well. Although for some reason, they all had some sort of vegetable in them- whether it was a classic carrot cake, or a chocolate okra smoothie. He didn’t say why, but you had a sneaking suspicion that after accidentally getting you sick, he’d swung to the other extreme and snuck them in to keep you healthy.
It was actually a pretty sweet sentiment, pun intended.
Not to mention, they were always so good that you hardly ever noticed the added veggies at all, no matter how gross it sounded. Sometimes you wondered if he added monster magic to it or something, but he always told you the only “special monster ingredient” in them was ‘love’ with an audible “WINK”.
Sans claimed he wasn’t joking, but that had only made you giggle more.
Just the memory itself had you smiling fondly. That is, until the kitchen suddenly went silent, jerking you from your thoughts. You gazed down at the floor, not wanting to be caught staring at the door like you were just sitting there waiting for him.
(Which you were . . . but you didn’t want him to know that. He might think it’s weird.)
You’re glad you did, because not a moment later the skeleton reappeared, tugging his gloves back on.
“OKAY, THAT’S DONE NOW. I HOPE I DIDN’T KEEP YOU WAITING TOO LONG,” he said as he walked toward you.
(You thought you saw Sans start, his dilating pupils lingering near your hair, but it only lasted a second so you must had imagined it.)
“No, no, you’re fine, I’m just chilling,” you said, propping your head up with a hand.
Sitting down on the opposite side of the couch, Sans studied your face for a second before his browbones furrowed.
“HMM, YOU DO LOOK MORE TIRED THAN NORMAL. ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE FEELING WELL? YOU SHOULD GO HOME IF YOU NEED TO. I CAN PACK YOU SOME BREAD TO TAKE HOME.”
You’re touched that he’d put your wants over his own, but shake your head with a light laugh.
“Thanks, but I’m just a little worn out, that’s all. I’ll be good once I eat.”
He looks like he wants to argue back, but simply sighs, “FINE, IF YOU INSIST.”
Before the silence can get awkward, he kicks the seat with a restless boot and asks, “SO HOW WAS WORK TODAY?”
“Eh. Pretty normal,” you shrug.
Sans blinked. “OH. THAT’S GOOD . . . THAT’S GOOD . . .”
You nodded along silently, your gaze returning to the carpet
Guilt sunk to your stomach at the following silence, but you just didn’t have the energy for small talk.
That, and it really was just a normal day at your boring job. Honestly, you didn’t understand why Sans liked listening to you ramble about your typical nine to five day. Maybe because it was so different from his own?
Not sure what else to do, you squeeze your right shoulder again, wincing slightly at the tight muscle.
“DO YOU WANT TO LIE DOWN FOR A BIT?” Sans asks, his loud voice drawing your attention.
You looked up to see him pat his shorts. “HERE, IT’LL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.”
Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s offering and sputter out, “uh no, no, I’m good! I don’t wanna bother you-”
Sans cut you off with a laugh, “IT WON’T BOTHER ME IN THE SLIGHTEST! BESIDES, PAPY LIKES TO DO IT SOMETIMES, SO I’M USED TO IT.”
Despite his bright, inviting smile, you don’t move.
As tempting as the offer was, it was still a little weird to think of resting on his lap. Especially considering you’d only been friends with him for what, a couple months now?
But . . . he did say it’s a common thing he and his brother do so . . maybe he sees it as more of a familial thing?
Or maybe he’s just more open when it comes to comforting someone.
Either way, you were too tired to resist the opportunity to lie down on your crush’s lap
“Okay, if you insist,” you finally relent, echoing his words back to him.
Sans’ smile widens ever so slightly as he scoots back and sets his hand on the sofa arm, leaving the rest to you.
As casually as you could, you inch closer and lean down. You cross your arms on his lap first and then lie your head on top, while the rest of your body stretches out on the long couch. Once you're done positioning yourself, you let out the breath you’d been holding and close your eyes.
“Comfortable?” Sans asks, his voice much much quieter than you’re used to.
You hum back affirmatively, not trusting your own voice at the moment.
As expected, his bony legs aren’t exactly soft, but you’ve slept on enough hard desks in your life for it to feel fine. Besides, just being horizontal meant your muscles were longer fighting gravity. You instinctually inhaled, feeling a light wave of sleepiness sweep over you.
“Is Your Shoulder Still Troubling You?” he speaks up again.
He had noticed that?
With your eyes still shut you nod, confused as to why he would ask, and suddenly feel something push against it.
“Here?” he says, prodding at the sore spot.
“Yeah,” you mumble, hoping he’s going to do what you think he’s going to do.
Your assumption is proven right when his fingers begin kneading your shoulder.
For a guy without skin or flesh to practice on, he’s really good at this- applying just the right amount of pressure to loosen the muscle up. You practically melt under his touch, too caught up in the flood of relief to feel self-conscious.
In fact, you were having trouble even staying conscious.
But although you were starting to doze off, you couldn’t help noticing how quiet Sans was. Usually when you didn’t talk, Sans would do the talking for you, which you were more than fine with. But right now he wasn’t saying anything- just slowly massaging your back from shoulder to spine.
You couldn’t remember him ever being this silent before.
It was . . . nice.
You don’t know why, but something about being in his company without any talking felt special.
It made you feel special.
. . .
Ignoring your neck’s painful protests, you buried your not at all warm face in your arms, sinking into the dark hole they provided.
You weren’t going to think about those thoughts right now.
You weren’t going to think about anything.
You were going to rest.
And rest you did . . . until a sharp pain yanked you out of your daze.
“Ah-!” you yelped, flinching your head up.
“SORRY- SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU- I’M SO SORRY!” Sans cried, instantly releasing his grip on your hair.
“It’s okay, Sans,” you rushed to assure him. You could feel him relax a little at your words and continued. “I don’t mind if you touch my hair. Just don’t pull it too hard or it’ll sting, okay?”
“OH. OKAY. I’LL BE VERY CAREFUL THIS TIME. I PROMISE!”
You smiled pleasantly and laid your head back down the same way as before.
After a moment, you felt his hand rest in your hair and very carefully run through the surface strands. Sans repeated this over and over, each time growing more and more confident in his strokes. The soft motion was soothing, and once again, your eyelids began to droop.
Then out of nowhere he lifted his hand away, leaving your head feeling a little colder.
But before you could voice your confusion, his hand returned to your hair, only now it felt different.
You weren’t sure why until after a few more runs through your hair, you felt the tips of his fingers on your scalp. Only they weren’t blunted by the leather fabric like usual. Instead they felt thin and strangely sharp.
But you forgot all about the texture of his hands the moment he started scratching, his touch featherlight and slow.
A tingle shot down your body, making you shudder and making him pause.
“Did I Hurt You Again,” he whispered anxiously.
You slowly shook your head.
“No . . . feels good . . .”
That slurred answer seemed to satisfy him and he started massaging your head again, rubbing little circles on your skull.
The back massage was nothing compared to this. This prickled your arms with goosebumps while simultaneously unwinding every tight nerve in your body. You couldn’t remember the last time you were treated with so much tender care.
For a moment, nothing else mattered.
Not your headache from the complaining customers at your job. Not the aching soles of your feet. Not the insecurity you felt being this open and vulnerable with your crush.
It was just you and Sans- him gently rubbing your head while you drifted on a cloud of pure bliss.
It was peaceful.
It was perfect.
It was-
“. . . Beautiful . . .”
. . .
You cracked open an eye.
Did . . . Sans just . . .
. . .
“Mmm?” you faintly grunt in case you misheard him.
He chuckles and catches a thread of hair off your cheek.
“You’re So Beautiful . . .”
. . .
Okay, you definitely didn’t mishear that.
Breaking out of your cocoon of contentment with considerable effort, you turn onto your back and blink up at him.
“I’m what?” you asked, still sounding a little groggy.
It could just be your eyes adjusting to the light, but Sans’s baby blue pupils seemed to shrink a little.
“Your HAIR! I SAID YOUR HAIR IS BEAUTIFUL! I MEAN, I HAVEN’T HAD MUCH EXPERIENCE WITH HAIR, BUT YOURS IS! IS REALLY NICE!” he explained, his bare boned hand fiddling with his bandana.
Oh . . .
. . . . so he didn’t . . .
. . . right.
Of course he didn’t.
You were just hearing what you wanted to hear.
Pushing down your disappointment embarrassment, you gave him a sweet smile.
“Heh, thanks. I like it too. I’ve been thinking about cutting it shorter, though,” you say as you thumb a lock of it.
Sans’s tight smile slips suddenly into a frown.
“WHAT? WHY?”
“I dunno. It’d be easier to deal with if it were shorter,” you answer nonchalantly.
Sans crosses his arms. “I DON'T SEE HOW THAT WOULD MAKE IT EASIER.”
“And I don’t see any hair on your head, mr. bone,” you tease.
“WELL, IF I HAD HAIR AS SOFT AND PRETTY AS YOURS, I KNOW I WOULD NEVER CUT IT!”
You’re thankful Sans has his head turned up in a pout, because you swear your entire face was pink right now.
You twist your hair as you stare at it thoughtfully.
If Sans really liked your hair that much, then maybe you won’t cut it after all . . .
Especially if it means he’ll play with it again
Setting the strand and your decision aside, you glance back up at Sans and start giggling.
“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?” he asks, lifting a brow bone at you.
“I just . . . imagined you with hair,” you chuckled.
He put a hand behind his head and smugly shut his sockets. “DO I LOOK COOL?”
Which only made you laugh harder as you imagined his sparkly anime hair flowing in the wind.
“WELL AT LEAST YOU’RE FEELING BETTER IF YOU CAN LAUGH AT ME . . .” he huffed, but you could hear the playful ring to it.
Still, you wheezed out, “s- sorry Sans, heh heh, I couldn’t . . . help it, heh.”
Then taking a deep breath, you added, “And . . . thanks. For the massage and stuff.”
“AND THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME TOUCH YOUR HAIR,” Sans glanced away shyly, “EVEN AFTER I ACCIDENTALLY HURT YOU.”
“It’s cool Sans, don’t worry,” you said with a sympathetic smile. “Next time, I’ll show you how you can braid it if you want.”
Wait . . . did you say “next time”?
“BRAID IT? LIKE, HOW YOU BRAID BREAD?” Sans quickly asks before you can correct yourself.
“Yes, like that,” you say, eagerly pouncing on the distraction.
Sans beamed down at you, his big, brilliant eyelights twinkling like stars, almost hypnotizingly so.
“IN THAT CASE, I ALREADY KNOW HOW TO DO IT! IS IT OKAY IF I TRY BRAIDING YOUR HAIR NOW?”
“Pfft, sure, knock yourself out,” you said calmly, while the beating in your chest was anything but.
Still, you forced yourself to slowly sit up like an adult and not a giddy school girl onto the seat beside him. You kept your back to him, pushing your hair off your shoulders so he could reach it more easily. Sans got the message and moved as well, his cushion squeaking as he did.
Sitting hunched over, you once again felt his boney fingers brush against your back as he gathered up your hair, though the chill was less intense this time.
The sensation also wasn’t nearly as strong as the back rub and scalp massage had been, but the shifting of your hair and slight pull on your roots still felt really nice. And even better, the comfortable silence resumed without any pressure to break it. Only this time you kept your eyes open, no longer as tired as you were earlier.
After what felt like a minute or two, Sans let go of your hair and clapped (though thankfully not next to your ears).
“THERE YOU GO! WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
You twisted around to face him and raised the braid, running your fingers over each knot.
“IT’S NOT TOO BAD, IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF,” he smirked proudly.
“Yeah, you did a great job! I love it,” you praised sincerely.
Sure, it was a little lumpy and loose in some parts, but overall it was pretty good.
Plus, Sans had made it, and that’s all that really mattered to you.
“OOPS! LOOKS LIKE I MISSED SOME,” the skeleton suddenly said, lifting a hand towards your face.
You sat completely still as it passed into your peripheral vision, brushing gently across your cheek and tucking the runaway hair behind your ear, before withdrawing as slowly as it approached.
You desperately wish he hadn’t done that.
Because now there was nothing hiding the red tips of your ears.
“Uh- heh- thanks,” you stammer out, turning your flustered face down to observe strand 493 of your braid.
“OF COURSE,” Sans replied.
You subtly peered back up at the skeleton and . . . was it just you, or was his grin just a tad cheeky?
He . . . he hadn’t done that on purpose . . . had he?
Maybe you were just projecting again, but something about the look he was giving you seemed a bit . . .
. . . burnt.
You frowned, sniffing the air.
“Um, Sans, do you smell that?” you ask, gazing toward the kitchen doorway.
Sans sat still for another second, then sprung to his feet, sockets wider than you’d ever seen.
“OH MY STARS!”he exclaimed as he madly dashed across the room. “I FORGOT ABOUT THE BREAD!”