Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From a certain point in life, when personal awareness grew in the soul, people have been afraid of the darkness.

It’s hard to comprehend the reason- after all, darkness is the natural state of the universe, and lightness is simply caused by a giant sun far away. However, everybody believed that light is more natural than darkness.

And, everybody, would scare themselves by saying that, scary monsters may emerge from the very darkness.

Well, leaving that alone, monsters emerged from six feet under.

Pretty hard to tell if it was a dream or not, but your life definitely had always been like one.

Sometimes it’s just hard to question exactly how real the reality is.

And meeting Sans is not something that you expected.

The encounter with Sans marked a shift in the fabric of your reality. It wasn't every day that you found yourself face to face with a skeleton who seemed to defy the previous laws of the universe. His iconic grin and laid-back attitude contrasted sharply with the fearsome monsters that had emerged from the darkness.

However, it is just that, in the end, he ended up as your boyfriend, in addition to some friends you made with other monsters. The skeleton brought a unique charm and humour to your days that you hadn't experienced before. Despite his nonchalant demeanour, Sans was surprisingly caring and attentive, especially considering you are a human.

You would drop by the skeletons every day- not only for the sake of Sans, albeit an important one, but also to enjoy quality time with Papyrus.

Less frequently, you’d also visit other monsters. Special occasions also call you on to a gather-up in the backyard of Toriel’s.

However, more frequently, you’d just watch movies with Sans and Papyrus on the sofa, or share quiet moments with them in the comfort of their home. Sometimes you also go out for a stargazing or picnic. However, more active ones were vetoed by Sans, since, as he said, he preferred the "lazy and easygoing" approach to life. Despite his penchant for relaxation, Sans would occasionally indulge you in these outings, his subtle smile revealing that he enjoyed them more than he let on.

Your life was quite mundane, you’d say. There is no typical exposition, rising, climax, or resolution, like the plots for fiction. There are not any specific sections for those. But that’s what life is, and you definitely enjoyed it, especially considering the skeleton by your side.

Watching the stars has always been the obsession of Sans, and you found solace in sharing that obsession with him. The night sky became a canvas for your thoughts, dreams, and conversations.

“So where did your obsession originate? I mean, you don’t have this back underground.”

Sans reclined on the blanket, his eye sockets fixed on the myriad of stars above. A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he considered your question. Finally, he let out a sigh, the air escaping his skeletal frame.

“Hard to say,” Sans replied, his gaze never leaving the celestial display. “To me, it is just that everything changes, but the stars... they've been here longer than any of us. Makes 'em feel like old friends, ya know?"

You nodded, understanding the sentiment. The stars, with their silent brilliance, provided a sense of stability in a world that had known its fair share of upheavals. Sans continued, his voice soft yet contemplative.

"Back in the Underground, staring at the same spot on the ceiling every night became a habit. A way to clear my mind. When we came up here, it just kinda of stuck. The vastness of the sky, the constellations, it's like a never-ending story written by something bigger than all of us."

As Sans spoke, you felt a connection to his words, a shared appreciation for the simplicity and complexity of the cosmos. The stars were a bridge between the extraordinary and the ordinary, linking your mundane life with the mysteries of the universe.

You love every moment you spend with him- and everything about him.

You become obsessed with his obsessions, to love what he loves and to be happy for his happiness, to be sad for his sadness.

It definitely feels good to just be with him.

Another day ended, and you yawned, before falling asleep. 

Chapter Text

You woke up, with a thermometer right beside your pillow.

Sitting up unsteadily, you covered your forehand with your palm- as hot as a boiled potato.

Then your eyes shifted to the thermometer- thirty-eight point five Celsius.

In such a state, you aren’t sure if you had read it correctly- but it seems to be a reasonable number and your drowsy head serves as proof.

A wave of discomfort washed over you as you realized that you were in the grips of a fever. The room felt both too hot and too cold simultaneously, and your body ached with every movement. You groaned and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, hoping to quench the thirst that seemed insatiable.

As you took a sip, you couldn't help but wonder how you had ended up in this state. Memories of the previous day were foggy, and your mind felt like it was swimming through a sea of hazy recollections. The only thing clear was the persistent warmth emanating from your body.

You need some medicine.

Beside your glass, there were some paper boxes, a tablet of pills, and a written note.

With your head hurting like hell, you took the box and moved it closer to your eyes to see the text on it- para-

A sudden wave of ache interrupted your reading. You shook your head and attempted to read again- Paracetamol.

Yeah, you need that.

You fumbled with the box, struggling to open it with shaky hands. The crinkling sound of the paper echoed in your ears as you managed to tear it open. Popping the cap, you retrieved a couple of the Paracetamol pills and swallowed them down with the last sip of water from your glass- it’s quite hard to read the instructions- but you are certain that one pill won’t instantly kill you. You can read them later.

As you lay back down, you couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settling in. The room seemed to spin slightly, and the throbbing pain in your head persisted despite the medication. You closed your eyes, hoping that the pills would soon take effect and grant you some relief.

Spending another hour- perhaps, who’s keeping the record anyways- on the sleep, you finally up again, glad to find a cold brain- despite your forehead still hot.

But at least your mind is clear instead of foggy.

You slowly sit up, pushing the blankets away from your body as you assess your current state. The room still felt a bit hazy, but the fog in your mind seemed to have lifted a little. You glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing that more time had passed than you initially thought. It was now mid-morning, and the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room.

With a newfound clarity in your mind, you decided to try and piece together what had happened. You reached for the note on the bedside table, the one you had noticed earlier. As you unfolded it, you recognised the handwriting, albeit a bit messy:

“Buddy, you’re ill. Anyway, I've left some paracetamol for you. Take it, stay hydrated, and get some rest. Take care of yourself, sorry I really can’t do much.”

In addition to a sketchy skeletal face.

Your heart sank a little as you read the note. The sketchy skeletal face added a touch of warmth, despite the circumstances.

But- wait, his name… Sans right?

Why do you feel it oddly… alien?

He should be your- right?

You furrowed your brow, a strange sensation creeping over you as you tried to recall the name. Sans. It felt oddly distant as if it belonged to someone you once knew but couldn't quite place. You shook your head, attributing it to the foggy remnants of your fevered mind. Perhaps the illness was playing tricks on your memory.

At least you hope so.

As your hunger called you to rummage through the fridge, you found a small cheesy cake that was half eaten, with a plastic fork stabbed into it.

You eyed the cake with a mix of confusion.

You shared that yesterday with Sans, right?

You remembered his face, the very moment he handed you a piece of that cheesy cake, the very moment he bite his piece- how on earth does that, it feel so alien?

Is your memory tricking you?

Every moment you experience with Sans is real, yet, how on earth do all of them feel distant?

And alien.

Your head complained again with another strike of sudden ache.

No matter what, at the moment, it seems that getting food into your stomach is more urgent. You sighed, taking out the cake and placing it on the desk. 

You took a moment to inspect the cake, wondering if indulging in a cheesy treat was the best idea when you were still recovering from a fever. However, your stomach growled loudly, and hunger seemed to override any concerns about your health.

With the plastic fork in hand, you tentatively took a bite of the cheesy cake. The rich flavours danced on your taste buds, providing a momentary distraction from the lingering discomfort in your body. As you chewed, you couldn't help but think about Sans.

The memories of him felt like fragments of a dream. His skeletal face, the warmth in his eyes, and the shared moments—were they real, or were they part of the fever-induced haze in your mind? You shook your head again, trying to clear the confusion, but the alien feeling persisted.

As you finished the cake, you decided to search for more clues about your connection with Sans. You moved around the room, examining the few personal belongings scattered about. A photo caught your eye—it was of you and Sans, smiling together. The picture seemed genuine, yet there was an unfamiliarity that lingered.

It is a photo, right?

At the moment, your vision is blurred, making it difficult to discern the details of the photograph. You rub your eyes, hoping to clear the haze, but the alien sensation intensifies. The room seems to waver around you, and you find it challenging to focus on anything.

It’s just strange- everything just feels, strange.

When the room finally steadies, you decide not to investigate further.

Then there is a phone call coming in.

The title says, “Boss”.

You hesitate for a moment, considering whether to answer the call or not. Your boss might be looking for an update on a project or some urgent matter. With a sigh, you decide to answer, holding the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you say, your voice a little shaky.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" your boss asks, genuine concern in their tone.

You clear your throat before responding, "I'm not at my best, to be honest. Still having a headache and high fever.”

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Take the time you need to recover. We can manage things here for a while," your boss assures you.

"Thanks, I appreciate it,” you reply, feeling a bit guilty for being unwell.

"Take care. Health comes first. But, um, there's one thing I need to discuss with you. Can you come to the office tomorrow for a meeting? It's important, but we can reschedule if you're not up for it, or you can choose to attend it online.” your boss suggests.

You pause, considering the request. Going to the office with a fever doesn't sound like the best idea, but if it's crucial, you might have to make an exception.

"I'll see how I feel tomorrow morning and let you know, alright?" you say, hoping that the fever subsides.

"Sure, that works. Get well soon, and don't worry about work for now. Take care," your boss says before ending the call.

Wait, how it comes so naturally.

You feel as if you are suddenly in another person’s body,

responding to your boss without much thought. The words flowed effortlessly, but the disconnect between your actions and your current state struck you. As the call ended, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

The room began to waver again, and the strange alien sensation intensified. It was as if reality itself was becoming increasingly unstable. You rubbed your temples, trying to make sense of the surreal experience.

However, something suddenly struck you.

With a deep breath, you decided to confront the uncertainty. You reached for your phone, scrolling through your contacts.

But.

There is nobody that starts with an S.

The note, the memories, and the sketchy skeletal face became even more perplexing. Your mind raced, attempting to reconcile the vivid recollections with the absence of Sans in your contacts.

The room continued to waver, and a sense of disorientation settled in. Questions flooded your mind. Who left the note? What’s on the photo? And the cake? What on earth is your job? Who is your boss?

A mix of confusion and anxiety settled in as you tried to make sense of the conflicting information.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, sitting back down with a deep sigh. The room felt surreal, and the alien sensation persisted. Questions lingered in your mind, demanding answers that seemed just out of reach.

“Fuck,” You mumbled.

At least swearing makes you feel better.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The room, although still wavering slightly, seemed less chaotic with the simple act of swearing. It was a reminder that, despite the surreal circumstances, you were still yourself, grappling with the uncertainties surrounding your existence. You are still you, at least, you should be you.

Right?

You are still… you.

The affirmation echoed in your mind.

Then it died down.

Actually, you aren’t sure at all, at anything.

Just, fuck it, everything since you have woken up… and all the high fever, skeleton, cake, note, medicine, everything…

Suddenly, a headache strikes again.

The pain in your head intensified, pounding with each heartbeat, as if the very rhythm of your heart was orchestrating the discomfort. You clutched your temples, gritting your teeth against the sharp waves of pain. The room, which had momentarily steadied, once again swayed and wavered, amplifying the disorienting sensation.

You need to rest.

No matter the truth, you need some rest.

Just the moment you lie on the bed, the world around you starts to blur.

But also at the very moment, your vision turned full dark, a skeletal silhouette with a hoodie approached you, which suddenly made you sit up and glance around.

“...Sans?” You attempted.

But nobody.

…which proves that,

You really need to rest.

Chapter Text

You are up again.

The fever has gone.

Something is lost.

Not only the fever.

Even if you don’t know what.

You have recovered from the fever with a nice thirty-six point eight.

Now it’s ten a.m.

You called your boss to inform them that you can go to the meetings in the afternoon.

Ending the call, you sit on the sofa.

But you just feel that something is lost.

You cook some dinner yourself, then carry the bag for the work.

You took the bus as you often did, and after tapping your bus card, you saw an old man sitting in the second seat of the row on the right. So you choose to sit on the last seat on the right.

You listened to the traffic noises, the sound of the engine, the honk and the fraction between the wheel and the ground.

Then you got off, reaching your position according to the timetable.

Then you listened to the human noises at the meeting, watching the mouth opening and closing, then went home again.

But, what’s the lost thing?

It is worth questioning.

Friday ended with thirty-six point eight, and tons of confusion.

Also a sense of loss.

What’s lost?

You are on another boring weekend.

Even if you are on break, your rebelling stomach is forcing you to buy some groceries.

You randomly picked some vegetables, meat, snacks, and everything, before going to the counter.

You took out a bill of 100 and handed it to the clerk.

“Any changes?” The clerk asked, examining the bill, “You only bought for, like, twelve point eight. We don’t have many changes left.”

“Nothing changes.” You replied.

The clerk looked at you, then looked at the bill, sighed, and fumbled in the drawer.

“Here, the changes, it should be eighty-seven point two.”

You took that, nodes, “I’ll take the bills, but where are the changes?”

The clerk looked at you again.

“I mean, what changed?”

The clerk looked at you in confusion, “Are you crazy?”

You did not care at all, you left.

“Why looked at me that way?” You complained on the way back.

Home again.

Finally a chance for a rest.

Everything is so strange as if you were an outsider of this world.

You robotically had your night meal.

You sat back on the chair in your bedroom.

Then eyed the notes, medicines and photos.

Something is still lost.

You took the notes- there were texts, you swear, but it’s now just tons of messy lines.

The medicine is still the same pills.

The photo- with Sans.

Right, it’s Sans.

You are sure.

You examined the photo…

It’s just a photo.

You decided as you put it back.

Another day of futile.

Frustration tortured your sleep.

Still awake, you flipped your body.

Then stared at nothingness in the dark.

There was no hint of any light.

You decided to open the curtain.

The outside was also shrouded in the darkness.

But suddenly, it just felt as if darkness blinded your eyes- even if you don’t know how.

Thankfully your eyes quickly adapted to that.

While the very presence of yourself was still being, everything you saw was painted in black.

As if, the very presence of yourself was not part of this darkness.

You used to be scared of this.

But now, you are not afraid anymore.

Not that you are not afraid of the darkness,

It’s just because you aren’t part of this anymore.

The sensation is really weird…

…enough thinking, you should go to sleep.

You need to find out what is missing.

But sleep brought no solace, even if you were in bed, frustrations, and confusions still lingered.

The next morning, you got up to greet another day.

Well, you can’t greet something that’s not alive but, whatever.

The first thing you did was put the note and photo together, to simply look at them again.

No clue.

You can not read anything out of the photo and the note.

You sighed and stood up from the seat.

If there were any clues left for you, then it could only be present on these two.

But you got nothing.

It is driving you crazy.

You are not in a good appetite because of this, so you simply skip breakfast.

You still do not get how you just woke up one day with a high fever and completely changed from staying with Sans to an average worker dealing with daily routines.

It’s not coherent at all.

The urge to go back to the old times, the leisures with all of them-

Even if all the memories are blurred.

You looked out through the window, to see the outside covered with snow.

Last night you suffered from insomnia, everything was black, but it’s now in a completely different colour.

You decided to go out and walk a bit to take a break.

It feels nice to take a break from all of the frustration but to be honest, it is kind of chilling because of the snow slapping your face.

Even if you had worn a very thick jacket.

You had kept your head down to avoid the snowflakes, but then you suddenly saw a person walking towards you.

At the very moment your figures came across each other, you suddenly had an irresistible urge, out of no reason.

“Excuse me, actually, I’m looking for someone, can you help me out-”

The other person spoke as he continued to move without hesitation, “What? Sorry, I’m too late for-”

“Oh, five two eight four…”

The number would definitely be helpful- you suddenly had a vague memory about a very specific phone number.

Five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine.

“Thanks!” You yelled to the figure that was disappearing at the horizon.

That person ignored you.

No matter what, you got the important number.

Five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine.

You repeated the number and jogged home with excitement.

Just in case you’d forget it, you wrote that on a piece of paper.

Five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine.

With a deep breath, you dialled a number that seemed vaguely familiar. 

The phone rang, and the anticipation built with each passing second. 

"Hello?"

"S-Sans?" you stammered, the name feeling both foreign and strangely familiar on your tongue.

There was a pause before the voice on the other end responded, "Who's this? I don't have your number saved."

The disorientation and confusion intensified. You felt a lump in your throat as you struggled to make sense of the situation. "It's me. I... I don't know, but something is missing, and I think you can help."

The voice on the other end remained silent for a moment, then spoke with a hint of concern, "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, it could have been a wrong number. But, if you're in trouble, maybe you should talk to someone you trust.”

“Oh-” You checked the number again, “Sorry, I did get the number wrong.”

“It’s okay, good luck.”

Then you ended the call.

You shakingly typed in the numbers again.

“The number was not valid, please try again.”

You checked again,

On the paper, five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine.

On the phone, five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine.

It was silly to rely on a random number that you suddenly recalled.

Then what’s the point of this whole number, what does it mean?

Why did it even appear here?

You reread the note.

Five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine.

You still can not make anything out of this number.

Then perhaps it didn’t have any meaning from the very beginning.

You crumpled the note and tossed it into the bin out of frustration.

There was no point in the number from the very beginning, it seemed.

Now all your clues have been thrown away, leaving you with more confusion than ever.

You still do not understand how you just woke up to, all of these.

There was absolutely no consistency.

The whole- thing was in complete disorder.

But just as you got frustrated, your body moved itself.

“Hell!” You screamed.

This is already beyond your comprehension.

Suddenly, you felt that you were not yourself- instead, you were driving an uncontrolled body.

As if you were in someone else’s head, watching the very actions.

Your body walked to the kitchen and prepared the brunch.

Then it put the dish on the table, and sat down to eat.

You felt like a spectator in your own life, unable to control the actions unfolding before you. It was as if you were witnessing someone else going about their daily routine, and a sense of detachment settled in.

As you mechanically ate the brunch, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in your own existence. 

The taste of the food was dulled, and the textures felt distant. You observed your own hands lifting the fork to your mouth, but the connection between the physical act and your consciousness seemed tenuous.

However, you don’t remember the ketchup had such flavour- it should be sour and sweet, but it just tasted like rusty metal.

Even if you were physically consuming the food, the experience was devoid of the usual sensory richness. It was as if the vibrant colours of the world had faded, leaving behind a monochrome existence.

With each passing moment, the sense of disconnection deepened. You were aware of your body moving, but the agency behind those actions felt elusive. The frustration and confusion grew, intertwining with the surreal nature of your current state.

After finishing the meal, your body moves on autopilot, cleaning up the dishes and returning to the bedroom. It was as if every action was predetermined, and you were merely a spectator, unable to intervene.

After everything was finally done- your body suddenly stopped and stood in place- it was not until then that you moved your arm to find out that you were in control again.

Well, at least you finished something that you must done- you were having brunch anyway.

No matter what, searching for him, the skeleton, was the top priority.

Even if presently, your mentality was a total disaster.

You went back to the room, there was still the note, the pills, the photo. Nothing was new.

As expected.

You sat down on the bed, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The alien sensation persisted, and the disconnect between your actions and memories left you feeling lost. The frustration and confusion reached a peak, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was missing.

You glanced at the note you had crumpled and tossed into the bin. Despite your earlier frustration, a part of you couldn't let go of the nagging feeling that there might be something significant about the number—five two eight four triple-one O eighty-nine. You retrieved the crumpled note and carefully unfolded it, staring at the digits as if they held the key to unravelling the mystery, even if they had been proven useless.

And those are what you could get.

No more, no less.

It should be him, right? With whom you spent all the quality time. He should be the one taking care of you during the hyperthermia, the one who bought you the cheesecake.

You had been out of this for solely a few days, and everything was already in disorder.

You looked at the photo- again. And the messy note, the crumpled number, the pill.

Right- you hadn’t checked the pill.

You still did not know where it was from. Perhaps this would offer some clues about the man you were looking for.

There had to be some info about the doctor. So you examined the paper box. Nothing.

You fumbled in the box, then you found a receipt and prescription.

And there was a signature on the prescription.

It was kind of messing, but you still tried your best to distinguish the letters.

You put the letters into the search box in the map app, then you notice a pharmacy with the same title on the receipt.

The cold winter air nipped at your face as you navigated the snowy streets, your mind racing with questions and uncertainties. However, that didn’t stop you from looking for any clues.

Upon reaching the pharmacy, you entered, hoping to find some answers.

At the entrance, they put a skeleton model- in the past, you were afraid of such things. That’s why you were scared to go to the doctor. But now, speaking of the skeleton, the first things that came to your mind were bad skeleton puns and ketchup.

You don’t know how.

The familiar scent of medicines filled the air as you approached the counter. A pharmacist looked up from their work, offering a polite smile.

"Can I help you?" the pharmacist asked, then raised the head, “Oh- I remember, you came and bought some medicine for cold. You were in such a bad state and you barely stood. Do you need more doses?”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the prescription in your hand, “I… bought… the medicine myself?”

“Yeah, you were barely able to communicate, nearly in a coma, I’d say.” The pharmacist continued, “You seem to have been better.”

“What do you mean that, I was nearly in a coma?” You were confused.

“Well, you may not remember because of the high fever. You came in here, talking incoherently. I was honestly worried that you might pass out. You mentioned something about a headache and also handed me a prescription. It was quite a relief to see you getting better," the pharmacist explained.

The medicine was bought… yourself.

“Then, can I check the phone number that was left?” You asked.

“Sure. If you want to check it for insurance purposes or anything, I can provide you with that,” the pharmacist offered, reaching for the store's records, “What’s the number on the receipt?”

You took that out, and read digit by digit,

“Five, two, eight, four, triple-one, O, eighty-nine.”

The pharmacist typed the number into the system, and after a moment, they told you the number of the purchaser, “And it was under the name Sam. I’m not sure about that since your voice was vague. Are those details correct? I can request an edit if you find it wrong. I mean, you were so ill and it’s easy to get everything wrong.”

“Yes, thank you,” You replied as you put the number into the phone, “Thanks for everything.”

It must have been Sans, it must be.

You decided to go home first, since, first of all, you didn’t want to catch another fever, and second, you wanted a long conversation with him- and you were not expected to do so in the snow.

En route, you couldn't shake off the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling within you. The pieces were slowly coming together, yet there were still gaps in your understanding. The number, Sam, Sans- and also, the pharmacy who told you that it was you who got the medicine.

Wasn’t that Sans you have always believed?

It was Sans who cared for you during your fever, shared moments with you, and left a note with the phone number at the pharmacy. You also remember the very details of him accompanying you through your hardest times. Then, how on earth was it revealed that it was you who bought the medicine?

And was it just a misspelling or something? Was it Sans, as you suspected that the person got the name wrong, or was it really Sam? Are you Sam?

You don’t know, to be honest.

Since the fever, everything just went down the hill. 

Even if you were sure that this was the reality, everything just seemed detached from you. You can not pinpoint the moment when the disorder in your life began, but the more you delved into the details, the more elusive the truth became. You found the sole coherent talk you made was with the pharmacist, and the auto-pilot mode your body went into during brunch, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life. Also, the previous meeting and your boss- everything was more of a hazy experience rather than a concrete reality. It’s really hard to tell what had happened, and everything- it is just operating at its own pace- as if, you were not alive.

You were just presenting your life.

Instead of choosing to actively do anything else except for finding clues about Sans, you were just participating in this world and reality.

But that’s not a choice you made as well- you didn’t choose to live like this, you were just suddenly thrown into this. The sense of loss, confusion, and the strange disconnect between your memories and actions continued to haunt you.

But, hey, at least you got some clues, right? No matter the whole, illogic everything before, you got the phone number for contacting him.

Maybe it may bring an end to this. Well, at least you hope so.

The near you got, the more excited yet anxious you got. At the same time, you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there was something fundamental you were missing. The sense of detachment lingered, making every step feel like an uncertain venture into the unknown.

To say that you are excited, it’s definitely the chance of finding who you’ve been looking for. Actually, for this whole journey, you had been formulating possible scenarios in your mind. You were excited about all the possibilities, all the words he could reply to, and how you should respond. All the answers he may throw at you, all the questions you wanted the answer for.

The night was getting darker and darker. The stars above began to gleam with an intensity that mirrored the anticipation in your heart.

Geez, it was a long time to take.

And seeing the stars… made you recall something.

But you need to hurry up for the new number.

Finally, at the door, you took your key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar sight of your living space. The air inside was still, and a sense of quiet hung in the atmosphere.

All of that won’t affect your excitement for the newfound number.

Sitting on the sofa, your hand was trembling as you fumbled for your phone in the pocket.

You were still shaking as you opened the app, and input the number.

Then you took a deep breath, checking the number once more time.

Yes, it is correct.

You were preparing the first sentence you were going to say- even if you had prepared it the whole time, you were still kind of hesitant about the first sentence.

Should you just give him a normal greeting, or cut to the topic directly?

After another minute of pondering over the opening, you finally decided to hit the green “call” button.

You took another deep breath and said the sentence confidently as your phone beeped.

“Hi, Sans, I-“

“The number was not valid, please try again.”

…

Did you?

…

“The number was not valid, please try again.”