Work Text:
“Hey.”
Your voice cuts through the silence smoothly, the one-syllable word barely making it off of your tongue. Sans, to your left, shifts his weight onto his right arm. You hear it in the subtle ‘shff’ of his jacket rubbing against itself.
“sup?”
The mock-stars of Waterfall twinkle with abandon. You glance down at your phone, battery finally down to three percent after three days underground. The clock, fixated internally, tells you that it’s 11:55 pm, the thirty-first of December.
“Can I kiss you?”
The question’s out before you can regret it. Another ‘shff’ passes and you know he’s looking at you, but you keep your eyes above, holding onto the lights in the ceiling. The courage to do anything else is lost on you. You dig your fingernails into the ground beneath you, hoping it will keep you from grasping onto your sweatshirt nervously.
“why?” he asks, unwaveringly, tone unchanged.
“Why what?” you ask back, and you’ve ended up grasping your sleeves anyway. They’ll be stained blue with the dirt, but you don’t care.
A moment passes. “why me?”
You look at him then, his white pupils bright and attentive as usual. The ground suddenly feels cold beneath you and you wiggle your toes, mainly to keep your sanity.
Your phone reads 11:57. Because you’re here. “Because I want to.”
He blinks and, though it’s hard to see in the darkness of the cavern, his grin widens. Something about it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand, like it’s imminent that he’s going to say no.
But he’s here. And you want to.
“i ain’t gonna lie, pal, you’d be doin’ all the work.” He sounds tired.
“I don’t mind,” you say honestly, tearing your eyes from his and switching from fumbling with your sleeves back to grasping at the dirt. “I’m not gonna do it if you don’t say yes, though.”
A final phone check says 11:59 and two percent left. You think you’ve shown him everything funny you have saved to the device already – it was well worth the wasted battery since you got to hear him laugh with you.
“welp, sure, why not.”
A few seconds pass. Hesitantly, you bring your gaze back to him, though he’s avoiding yours. Can’t be having that, now; you bring your left hand up, fingernails stained with blue underneath, and place it gently on the curve of his jaw.
He remains still, but the little white dots are completely fixated on your movements. You rub your thumb absently on his cheekbone and you wonder if he can blush like Papyrus does.
Your hand goes to the back of his head and you tilt your own to the right, pressing your lips against his teeth.
An innocent fluttering happens somewhere in your chest. He can’t reciprocate, so you compensate for that by curving your head just a bit more, placing your other hand on his chest and keeping your eyes half-shut. You’re about to pull away, a satisfied grin already forming, but the sensation of his bony hand on your neck is enough to put you right back.
You give a tiny groan; nothing too telling. Your heads tilt to the left in the semblance of a second kiss.
When you pull away, the hand on his chest tells you that he’s breathing heavily. You wonder if the cyan spots on his cheekbones are from the dirt on your fingertips or if he’s actually blushing. Either way, you quietly tell him, “Happy new year,” watch his expression shift to amused confusion, and sigh as your phone shuts down.