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It was no secret Sans had anxiety. Sometimes it was incredibly paralysing, and he tried to play a lot of it off. He had to. There was no easy solution to the aftermath of years being trapped in Underfell.
They were safe now, and they knew it, but it didn’t erase the fear. He knew it could all be reset in a blink, not that anyone would believe him. He’d be dismissed, so he kept the fears to himself. Besides, what good would it do, infecting others with that fear, only for all knowledge of that fear to disappear with a reset. No. This fear, this pain and anxiety was his to deal with. He’d never asked anyone for help with it before though, and he was nervous enough standing outside your apartment now. He struggled with himself, part of him telling him to turn tail and flee whilst he still could.
Steeling himself, he knocked hesitantly on the painted door. He heard the shuffling of paper in the room and then soft footsteps before the door swung open to reveal you standing there.
“Sans?” You inquired, confused as to why the shorter skeleton would be outside your apartment at this time. He was avoiding looking at you, single red light focused on the ugly carpet in the hallway of the complex. A fat drop of sweat rolled down his skull.
“Uh…h-hey Y/N…I uh…Can I come in?” He asked, cursing his stutter, light flickering between you and the floor, not wanting to reveal the reason for his visit in the hallway, in case of passers-by. Honestly it was more of an instinctive request, but he was still relived when you nodded and stepped away to allow him inside.
Your apartment was bigger than he was expecting. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was the neatness of it that surprised him. You could be so scatter-brained at times that he imagined your apartment to be much the same. Not that he was in any position to judge someone else’s cleaning habits. The first time he’d met you, you’d been on your way to return some overdue library books. You’d confessed to him then, that you weren’t an organised person, so he associated the two. Clothes strewn everywhere maybe, or the odd plate on the sideboard. But it wasn’t to be. Everything was spotless, the only sign of you he could see in the room was a small pile of books next to the faded sofa. Once a deep plush green, like a billiard, it was now a pale subdued mint. Somehow, it still looked homely. A few red and white scatter cushions made it look comfortable, and the low set, wooden coffee table seemed to blend in with the atmosphere. The legs of the table were gorgeous, slender and curved, with patterns dancing up the side, engraved into the dark, varnished wood.
A half empty mug rested on an owl shaped coaster on the table, paler than the table it rests on. The dark liquid stains halfway up the inside of the white mug, and from the smell is a cup of coffee, almost black, with only a little milk in it. He wouldn’t have pegged you as a coffee drinker. Your quiet personality and introverted actions meant he subliminally paired you with the softer flavour of tea.
He supposed he really didn’t know much about you. So what in Asgore’s name had possessed him to come and see you at this moment?
His mind whispered to him that it was your gentle and cautious nature that attracted him to you. Your quiet manner of speaking, the way you would speak positively to him, using positive reinforcement rather than Papyrus’ favoured negative reinforcement. And it wasn’t just in mind you were welcoming. Your rounded figure was so much more delicate and soft than he was used to, more comfortable than Papyrus’ sharp bones, than Undyne’s hard muscle or Mettaton’s hard metal body. Fat and flesh and skin padding everywhere made you so soft, so tactile. He wanted to dig his phalanges into you and cling to you, never letting go. Your presence felt safe, like home.
“Take a seat, please. Do you want some coffee?” You asked your unexpected house guest. He stiffened at your voice as though he had been lost deep within his own thoughts.
“Errr yes please.” He offered politely in response, seeming somewhat sheepish.
You nodded at the thickly clad skeleton. “How do you take your coffee?” You inquired, hand wrapped around the handle of the coffee pot already, positioning the pot over a large black Pac-Man mug.
“Uh, black. No sugar. Thanks.” He spoke briskly and almost sharply, a contrast with your own whisper gentle tone. But you were used to this mannerism, it was typical of many monsters and you had come to find Sans was one of the least aggressive monsters you had met. In fact, you had a feeling he was a bit lost sometimes. He seemed to be searching for something. Maybe his search was futile, you didn’t know. You mused over the idea as you poured the warm smelling coffee with a gurgle into the cup.
Meanwhile, Sans had perched himself delicately on the sofa. It was as he imagined it to be. Warm, cushioning and welcoming, the kind of sofa he would have liked to sink into and sleep on after an exhausting day of work. And yet…he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was so on edge mentally that he couldn’t bring himself to relax physically. Instead he ran over in his head what he was going to say to you.
So uh…Y/N…I was wondering if every time I have a panic attack I could come see you? No.
Okay…how about…so I happen to have crippling anxiety and I for some reason find myself inexplicably drawn to you, so maybe we could use you helping me to cope with them as a bonding experience? Tch. As if.
He groaned and put his face in his hands, not realising whilst lost in his myriad of thoughts you had made your way over and set the hot cup of coffee down in front of him, positioning yourself on the opposite end of the small sofa.
“You okay Sans?” You asked your companion. He seemed surprised to see you sitting there.
“What? Me? Yeah ’m fine! Just dandy.” You blinked.
“Okay…so what did you come to see me about Sans??” You pressed gently,
“I... uh…” He muttered, raising the ceramic mug to his mouth in a pathetic bid for extra time to think over his line.
He finally lowered his mug after taking the longest sip he could. You were looking at him expectantly. He set the mug down with a clack and a frustrated growl.
“I dunno! Okay? I dunno why I’m here an’ I don’t know why I feel so damn comfortable around ya! It’s like…maybe ya get what ‘m goin’ through. I dunno.” He cried frustrated, gritting his teeth in anger at his own inability to express his desire to spend time in your company in an articulate manner.
He looked over at you hesitantly, sure you’d be angry with him, for yelling, for intruding on your own personal space only to fill it with his own doubts and worries, even if he hadn’t really expressed any of them.
Instead, you were looking at him with an expression he couldn’t place. It wasn’t sympathy, he’d seen that too many times to mistake it for something else. It was more like…empathy. Empathy mixed with confusion and maybe a little fear or uncertainty. Sans wasn’t sure. He couldn’t say he’d ever spent much time studying human facial expressions.
Although he could watch your face all day. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement, the crease between your eyebrows when you were sad, or the way you angled your head when you were being critical or studying something carefully.
Silently, you reached over towards Sans. He flinched at your movement, but seemed unable to move away, frozen like a deer in headlights, hands suspended half way up his chest, palms spread defensively. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him towards you until he was almost sat in your lap. He was warm and seemed so awfully delicate, you were almost afraid to touch him, as he sat frozen in your arms. You prepared to pull back.
Sans sat in your arms for a moment, registering that you were hugging him. You were warm, far warmer than he was. You smelt like coffee and new books. It was comforting and in the security of your arms, he felt more at ease than he had done in a while. You seemed to tense for a moment and it seemed as though you were about to pull back. Hurriedly, Sans wrapped his arms around your middle, feeling your softness give way to his boney appendages, as though you were welcoming his into yourself. He pressed his face into the nape of your neck, breathing in your scent. Your skin was smooth and slanting over your bone, a stark contrast with the harshness of his own bones.
You could feel something warm coming from Sans, something warm and liquid. It stained your shoulder and trickled along your collar before beading and rolling over your clavicle. You didn’t need to ask, Sans’ heaving sobs which wracked his small frame answering all questions you might have.
As you cradled him in your arms you thought of some questions, but you decided they could wait. After all, the skeleton clearly needed comfort right now, and you were more than willing to provide it.
After a little while Sans pulled back, wiping red tears from the bottom of his sockets, a bright blush playing across his cheeks. “Uh…sorry about all that.” He said, gesturing sheepishly to the light red liquid staining your shoulder and seeping into the fabric of your t-shirt.
You dismissed his concerns with a shake of your head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s due to be washed anyway. Besides I have a feeling you needed to do that! Everyone has to let it out at some point.” You smiled at him and Sans felt a warm sensation inside his bones.
“Heh. I guess so. Thanks Y/N.” He murmured, rubbing a hand across his vertebrae.
“So, do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” You asked him gently, not wanting to provoke an answer from him again.
“Uh…I guess it just all gets a bit much sometimes ya know? An’ what with my anxiety, Boss ain’t exactly the best at dealin’ with emotions. So I just thought maybe I could come see ya when I need a break?” He asked, avoiding your eyes.
You placed a hand on Sans’ knee, just above the end of the shorts. “I’d be honoured Sans.” You spoke with such genuinely he felt his soul swell and tears sting his sockets.
“Thank you.” He knew it was sappy to get so worked up over such a simple gesture, but it showed how you cared for other people. How you would happily give up your time to make another person feel better.
He spent the rest of the evening with you, resting between your thighs, head resting on your stomach, battling the warmth in his soul which hadn’t been there when he had arrived and which he hadn’t’ felt with anyone else. He didn’t know what it was, but it made him feel comfortable.
He was beginning to think maybe he could open himself up to you.