1

A footstep, then another. A squeak from his left slipper, then to the right. Another pattern, another order—  falling into another set rhythm.

Sans hums as he watches the light bounce off the tiles from the windowpane. The shine at 3pm never changed its direction, no matter how many resets it took. He wonders, maybe another butterfly effect should work for its direction to change— maybe he should secretly lead Frisk to a different route? Will that break something?

He stops, watching the dustlight dance without care. He wants to look out, maybe wave his hand if he sees a familiar monster. But he knows nothing awaits him there, so he stands, waiting for what's to come.

He wonders if Papyrus spared that human again— then again, no matter how many times this world cycles to the beginning, that brother of his would always do it again. 

Just as he was about to indulge himself to the window, footsteps carved that thought out as soon as a figure emerged.

Choppy bangs and yellow skin. That sight should’ve endeared him— if not for the knife the kid is holding.

Frisk stops just a few feet away from him, with all confidence and apparitions of what he thought the kid was. Time seemed to stop for the two of them; no one moved or even uttered a single hello. Sans never truly realized just how ominous the kid is when he’s not chitty chatty.

“What do you think?” Frisk inquired nonchalantly. Sans didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. 

“You’re a pretty gross person, huh?” A step, “You wander around to kill, that's just plain messed up.” Then another step. They were a few feet closer, and Sans can see how coldly detached Frisk’s eyes were compared when they first met. 

“Hardly. Once I finish you, I’ll leave this world to dust and roam far from this abysmal slum.” Frisk spats out.

Sans just hums, letting the kid’s monologing end so he can start throwing hands.

“—of course, with no reset.” The humming stops. Frisk sees this as an opportunity to continue. “We can’t have roaches like you here until the cosmos bursts. It’s poetic, honestly. The oldest bone dying first then the youngest goes next—”

Sans doesn’t let Frisk finish as he blasts light towards him. The kid barely dodges, and a ruthless glint shimmers. 

Their fight was more of a dance than a brawl. Each dodge pulls another blast, then both parties swerve until they meet in the middle again. Frisk utilizes his knife skills with ease, yet each parry was predictable for Sans— it pulls a yawn out of him, really.

Maybe he got too comfortable that he didn’t get to predict a side-swept, then a knife to his shoulder.

In that moment, Frisk laughs— it glitches, from its bass texture to a familiar dulcet.

Sans might literally break his neck from snapping it back quickly to Frisk. 

The familiar green, sifting back and forth with purple. No wonder Frisk felt too distinct— every aspect of his was similar to hers.

Just as he was about to get up, a knife plunges down his chest, then a hand holds him down. The weight of the kid’s knee digs his wound, but he was focused on one thing the most.

Chara—

He doesn’t know what happens after, but he wakes up suddenly. Startled, he stands up, but instantly hits his knee on the backside of his stall— wait, stall?

He looks around; his chair toppled over, a few hotdogs cooling down near the register, and a drool stained table. He was in his Hotdog Stand.

Catching his breath, he fixes the poor chair and sits back down again, but this time wide awake. 

Was that.. all a dream?

Rapping his fingers, the rhythm calms him down a bit— but that suspiciously realistic dream didn’t deter any of his anxiety. Mumbling out a few curses, a hand sneaks from behind.

“Sansy, you done here or you gonna stay here until later?”

“FUCK— oh my, Chara!” A giggle escapes the woman’s lips as she hops onto the table, cozying up her ass as she watches Sans gather himself.

“Aren’t you tired? Cause’ honestly, I’m already tired just by looking at you.”

“Funny thing to say when you look like you’ve been through the Ruins and back.” 

“Not my fault Papyrus trains roughly— Hell, my guy didn’t show mercy!”

He watches as Chara automatically rants about her day, her hands going in all sorts of directions as her legs sway under the table. He watches as her sweater rides up just a bit when she points at something random, then goes back and fidgets with its hem. 

He thinks back of the dream and her appearance there. Maybe some other time, he’ll tell her about this, and Chara will make fun of him then proceeds to pull him down the couch for some bonding time.

For now though, he closes their distance, his hands snaking up to hers into a hug. 

“Heh, are you actually tired? Well, good thing I’m nice though, because my shoulders are veryyyyy nice to lean on, yes I know hehe.”

“Shut up, freak.” Sans sighs, her warmth confronting the thoughts away, leaving them for themselves.

2

The TV buzzes, it shifts from channel to channel until they landed on some old telenovela about two starcrossed lovers. It was entertaining, but Sans got distracted after the male lead got into a car accident.

His eyes gloss over, pulling a yawn out of him.

Comparing the main leads’ life to theirs, it seems that this life that he has with his Human is tame— not looking into the grand scheme of things, that is.

He leans back a bit, giving him slight leeway to ogle at the quilt-covered Chara leaning on the couch’s armrest.

Domestic. That's how Sans would describe their life now. They’re what the monsters call a “normal couple.” Funny, when nothing in their lives has been normal until now.

Going on dates, friday movie nights, Chara cooking for them— Normal, domestic, and calm. Sometimes, Sans wondered if this was one of his realistic dreams. Maybe he’ll wake up alone in his messy bedroom and go about his day like before.

A hand wraps around his. Sans looks up to Chara, who has a soft glint to her eyes.

“Sansy, wanna get hit by a car too? I can totally nail the ‘crying-in-the-morgue’ lover act.”  

Sans hums, contemplating. “Wait, why am I  the dead lover?”

“You’re already bones, it’ll be easier instead of using CGI.” 

“But, you’d totally bone me six feet under though.” Chara groans at that, throwing her hotdog pillow at him.

Sans, for the lack of better words, enjoys what they have. He shifts closer to her, almost sitting on her lap with their proximity. Chara pays no mind as she wraps her arms to his midsection, leaning back as the movie plays for them.

If you told younger Sans that this will be his future, he would’ve laughed at you. Then he would secretly pull you away to ask if you have some mind-reading abilities. He’d never imagined something that he wished in the back of his mind would come true— much less him being less cynical after everything.

He intertwines their hands as he plays with her fingers, noting the callousness and its fragility. 

The TV continues to hum, but this time, both of them are much closer than before.

3

Sans makes a rhythm out of his tapping, but the loudness of the tavern would never let him hear the wood against his fingertips. He looks around, each monster conversing and laughing without filter. Some bottles from a table across them rolled towards theirs— but in Chara fashion, she picks them up and sets them on their table. 

“You know, I indulge you in practically everything, but why..?” He doesn’t finish his sentence when Chara pipes up.

“I can use them for later.” Sans doesn’t want to know its use, but he definitely can see the gears turning in her head right now. 

He chuckles, letting his eyes wander to the hamburger in front of him. There were some pickles poking out so blatantly. From a perspective, it looks unappetizing— but with the empowering smell, even Sans might not mind a few greens in his system.

“Lazy ass, pass me the ketchup?” He looks up, seeing Chara’s expectative gaze, twists it open and hands the red bottle. 

“Seriously could’ve picked a better nickname. Here.”

“Thanks, and no, that nickname fits you the best.”

“Har, har, freak.”

She pours half the bottle on her plate, but most of the red substance touched the cold fries on her plate. With a clank, she sets it down, but then looks up at Sans.

“Catch.” —and she slides it upright, making it topple over, spilling it over the table. 

The establishment went on in its own rhythm, with them in the corner, in their little bubble, just like when they were younger. The floorboard creeks when another customer walks in, and Sans wondered if the flooring ever got a replacement. Those creakings definitely were the same back then. 

Sans picks up the half empty ketchup and downs it in one go. Across from him, Chara whistles, a low ‘chug! chug!’ caught in the wind, until it mixed in the crowd

Nothing has changed much throughout the years— he tries not to be sentimental about it, but Chara knows him like the back of his mind.

“Sansy, lend me your eyeballs a bit.” She then points to the bar. “Those coasters— funny that Grillby never changed them. It's still ugly, even with adult eyes.” 

Sans chuckles at that, she then points at the jukebox.

“Oh! I remember deleting a song on that old thing. Doesn’t Cinder keep tabs on that thing?”

“He does— Grillbz probably blamed it on another monster though.” He can hear Chara do a little ‘heh’ before sitting down again. 

“Ya know, we ran around so much in this tavern— I can even remember Mom’s face just by the door staring daggers at us.”

He remembers those times well; Toriel picking them up by the scuffs to Grillby to apologise. It was probably a sight to see.

Sans picks up the forgotten burger, pulling out the pickles as he takes a bite. 

“Even the burgers taste the same.”

Chara nods, unable to reply as she shoves another fry to her mouth. 

“Slow down. You might bite your Hyoid with your sheer intensity.” She gulps loudly, as if proving a point.

“As if. Just bite down on your stale burger, dumbass.”

They were younger, much shorter, and more naive last time they ate here. Sans wished they had more time back then— he would definitely prank Grillby more, and probably flirt with Toriel a lot too— but that’s besides the point!

Chara continued munching until some ketchup stained her cheek. Unconsciously, he wipes it off for her, his stained thumb now wrapped around his mouth. Chara smiles at him, thanking his servitude and continues munching.

He snorts at that. At least the human in front of him hasn’t changed a bit. It was comforting to know at least one thing in his life was consistent.

“I can hear your thoughts from here. You're being sentimental again.”

A fry flies towards him. He dodges with ease, but it lands on the banquette, sliding its greasy oils in its upholstery. He can see Grillby side-eyeing them from afar. It's cold like ice—despite his antipathy for the comparison— okay why is G looking at him like he did it!?

With the ire of the tavern owner directed at him, he actively turns away to look at the actual culprit smugly sipping her hot coco.

As retaliation, he leans closer, pushing his plate away. With a devious smile, he says,

“Sentimental cause’ I miss flirting with your mom.”

Her smug smile was quickly replaced with unadulterated disgust. She gags and points.

“Ew, my mom? Seriously??”

“I’m very into mother figures, what can I say?” He can see Chara slowly edging away from the booth all together.

“Okay no—” Sans sees the reason not to double down.

“Toriel’s a baddie, a mother who works—”

Chara just jumps at him before he could even finish his new sonata about her mother, shoving a ketchup bottle down his throat (when the hell did Grillby refilled that?) 

4

The Ruins is cold, yet welcoming. A slow drizzle from a crack between the old sediment patters on the slated floors. For the most part, the whole place seems dreary. He looks around— despite its name, the Ruins seemed more well-maintained than your average ruins— and Chara kept it cared for.

Their chess board glows with the lanterns she installed by its four corners. The cold rock stools may be slightly uncomfortable, but Chara placed a small quilt for their asses, so they should  be fine. And each crack on the walls either had skull stickers or a surprisingly ton blooming gold flowers.

This place feels less bleak because of her tweakings. 

Sans looks back to the chess board. Her rook was now closer to his knight— one wrong move from him, both his rook and the pawn behind it could be gone.

“My turn!” And without waiting for a reply, she takes away his knight, replacing a bishop in its place. She sticks out her tongue as another tease falls out of her mouth.

Sans could see three different routes for his win. But the most obvious one that he can do immediately is striking her knight. His bishop can easily slither its way up, unsuspecting and careful. She would either pull back her nearby rook, or maybe her pawn, but both moves would guarantee a space for his knight. That would be an instant checkmate. 

But Sans ponders for a bit— and places a random pawn to e3. 

It was a quick win for Chara. She cheers, fist pumping in the air as she gloats about her ‘undefeated’ win-streak.

Annoyingly, he was charmed. 

There was never a time he wanted to win more than he wanted to hear her cackling. Her smile that reaches her eyes is the most devastating thing she does for his ribcage, her cheeks slowly turn rosy as the adrenaline keeps her high, and the way her joy was because of Sans’ doing— everything was timelessly pretty. 

He doesn’t remember anyone else making her this euphoric, and he was proud of it. Always will be.

Her cheering shakes him off his thoughts. He scoffs in a faux matter, adding some sourpuss attitude to sell the bit.

“You should’ve studied chess more than your physics book, dumbass!” 

He just laughs, the bit leaving as he fondly holds her hand. He kisses its backside, leading fleeting ones to her arm.

“My queen overturned our board once again. One day you’ll skel-a-ton of competitors with your skills.”

“My king should ready his phalanges for some page flipping later, huh? We need to catalogue my future rivals.”

“My fingers may have a lot of bones for it, but I just have no tibia-tation to study.”

They giggle amongst themselves, uncaring for the falling chess pieces, or the slight sway of the flowers. 

Right now, it was him and her. Just like when they were younger.

In the end, it's always her. He guesses he’s a fool for succumbing to her.

Chara traces his nosebridge, her fingers landing on his cupid’s bow. She leaves pepper kisses on each place her finger touched. Sans leans closer as her eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

Well, he was always a fool for her, wasn’t he?

5

“My dearest brotha,” A puzzle piece was removed from his hands. Papyrus looks at his brother’s grin lidded face as he continues, “Have you seen my human, per chance?”

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY PER CHANCE, YOU NUMBSKULL.” Papyrus says, exasperated. “BUT TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, SHE TOLD ME SHE WAS HEADING TO THE RUINS.”

With a nod, Sans gives back the piece, giving him pointers on which side can be a better start. Papyrus ruffles his skull and mutters about not leaving a lady in waiting. He skiddales away before the man could trap him with his bone-crushing hugs.

As he reaches their usual play place, he finds it devoid of any Chara. The rock stools looked cold as ever, and the wall flowers greeted him with a little sway. 

Did she already leave?

They could’ve bumped into each other on the way, though. 

Looking around for a bit, he suddenly has an idea. With another place in mind, he heads left. The hallway from here on out was unkempt with vines that snaked around the loam to the jagged stonewalls it protruded. Broken slabs lay scattered amongst the dirt with smashed lantern pieces that could nick you. 

Anything can make you trip, or hurt, so Sans does his best to keep a lookout— lest he wants to lose a bone or two. 

As he reached a familiar clearing, a few memories jogged up to him. But before he could look back, a familiar green stood amongst the yellows.

In the midst of the golden flora, stood Chara. The flowers whined underneath her sole, but said flowers shimmered despite being trampled on.

The flowers seemed to welcome her presence.

He looks around for a bit, unwilling to disturb her peace, and sees just how prominent those golden flowers here are compared to the other parts of the ruins. Every flower was beautifully interwoven with every dangling vine he spots, while others chose to lay on the loess, painting a blooming garden in his wake. 

As if sensing his presence, Chara turns her back, smiling when she realizes who her visitor was. She walks over the flora, reaches out her hand, and takes his.

“You found me, Sansy.” 

Cold bones meet warm skin; their fingers slot perfectly together.

“I’d look for you no matter what, you freak.”

Chara leads them to where he found her, pulling him down to sit. 

Sans lets her pull him close, lets her lie them down on the foliage, he lets her hug his arms to her chest. This comfort was the only thing he could give right now, and it's what she needs too.

Chara rarely comes down here, let alone by herself. Sans isn’t really that perturbed, but he is  worried that his human might be plagued by something.

“If you hadn't found me, I might've rotted here forever!” He snorts at that.

“If that happens, I’ll just collect your bones and make a shrine dedicated to Endogeny.”

Chara gasps as she punches his arm.

“You wouldn’t do that, ” she eyes him suspiciously. “—would you?”

He probably wouldn’t, but he lets out an impish smile. Seeing that, chara ruefully shakes, woefully lamenting the supposed ‘future betrayal of her boney lover.’

Sans just shakes his head as a deep-rumbling laugh escapes. 

The open chasm poured in a bit of sunlight for them— and that dewy light bounces off Chara’s skin, making it pleasantly soft to the eyes. 

“I’m glad you're here with me, Sansy.” Sans doesn’t comment on its softness, nor its subtle shake. But he does ask about her day, and how it was going for her. 

Chara sighs, turning away from Sans. The skeleton notices her slight fidgeting, how her body doesn’t stay still despite lying down, and her hand tightly gripping her locket.

Sans watches her every move, but Chara shifts back, now facing Sans. 

“I just, well— I’ve been thinking a lot,” She pauses, locking eye contact with Sans. “These past few days, just about our life in general.”

Sans hums, his hands tracing circles in hers. It grounds her a bit, and Chara squeezes back in appreciation.

“Because of that, I can’t help but look back every once in a while, ya know?” She stares at the dustlight streaming in. “I’ve always thought life above was the only thing that existed.”

“It was torture— not being accepted, then being subject to their abusive prejudice just because I was different.” Her red eyes glistened a bit. “I did nothing wrong. Hell, I didn’t even fought back when things hit the fan!”

“You should’ve, that would be a valid crash out honestly. But running away was valid too.” Chara chuckles at that.

“It's fine, s’not like I could turn back time now.” She closes her eyes, feeling the light stream past. Her soft dulcet echoes as she continues.

“After the fall and the Dreemurrs took me in, it felt like I was the luckiest girl alive. It was the first time I ever felt such kindness. The fall gave me another chance.”

“But..?” Chara smiles sadly at that.

“It cost a life.”

They laid there, letting her words reverberate across the silence. 

“I just wanted to repay their kindness.”

“They don’t blame you, you know?” Sans doesn’t know if Chara heard that, or if she did, decided to ignore it. Said woman opens her eyes and looks at Sans with an unknown fixation. He, of course, actively melts at her attention. 

She looks away, as if burned. If Sans was actually looking at that moment, he would’ve seen a small nip at the corner of her eyes, now wiped away by her sleeve. 

Chara sighs, her chest a bit lighter than before.

“I miss Asriel.”

The flowers rustled, as if responding to her notion. Sans notices a stem winding itself to Chara’s arm. Its floral stem tugs, gentle yet demanding. 

She giggles, pulling away from its grasp.

“Flowey, if you drag me down this early, no one will take care of y’all.”

A flower shakes, then it sways.

“Golly— even if you lay underneath the flowerbeds, it’ll be no use since you are as brittle as your skeleton boyfriend! You’ll ruin our ecosystem. I’d rather not have your essence here.” Flowey grunts, then it continues its slow slithering back to her arms. 

“Isn’t that beneficial to your kind? I think I’m a fresh bone— dunno bout’ Chara though.”

“Hey! I’m good fertilizer— not only do I have bones, but skin too! Your soil will be stuffed with all  nutrients.”

Sans watched from the sidelines. It was a funny scene; a human arguing compost schematics to a flower. 

It puts his mind in ease, that his lover’s dilemma was quietly diminished. 

+ 1

Sans hums as he watches the light bounce off the sheets from his windowpane. The light wasn’t harsh, nor was it searing. It was a welcomed dayspring for the both of them— the kind where it gently stirs you awake.

The bedsheets get pulled from him as Chara hogs it all to herself.

From his side, he watches the rise and fall of her chest. The steady rhythm hypnotises him. Maybe Chara’s just one big pendulum that enchanted his existence. Chara was a beautiful influence to his bone-dry subsistence. 

His internal musing was cut off as a head lay above his chest. 

“What a bare-boned chest, you can’t feel any softness.” She nestles in, his thin pajamas ruffling against her cheeks. “Whatcha thinking about Sansy? I would recommend doing pectoral wall stretches so that I can lay here more snugly.”

He snorts. “You say that yet you snuggle me up like this?”

“Your bones are still useful, dumbass. It’s called getting improvements.” All of her words were no bite, so Sans just wraps an arm around her nape. 

Comfortable silence followed as they continued laying down. They surprisingly don’t have any plans for today, so lazying around was the top priority.

“You.” Sans says.

“Huh?”

“You asked. I was thinking about you.”

He rarely sees Chara blush, but for the first time in a while, a rosy flush festered her cheeks up to her ears. 

“Why are you so cheesy, you dumbass?” Chara settles back to her side of the bed— much to Sans disappointment— and propped her arms.

“I always am.” Sans chuckled softly. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot— you know, about us.” Chara shifts, his voice dropping into that deep, steady register he only ever used when they were completely alone.

“I just think that, maybe it was  fate—” The harshness of her initial reaction melted away, and she shifted, laying fully onto her side so she could look at him even closer, taking in every line of his expression.

For the first time in a while, he was finally being truthful out loud. 

When he finally finished speaking, he turned his head toward her. Sans could write a poem out of Chara’s rapt countenance to his musings. It was so endearly appreciated. 

Slowly, he mirrored her posture, shifting onto his side until they were lying completely face to face as the space between them disappeared.

Reaching out, Chara closed the remaining distance. Her hands slid beneath the heavy fabric of his jacket, her touch light but deliberate. Sans let out a soft, contented hum at the sensation, leaning into the warmth of her careful hands.

As her fingers roamed deeper beneath the layers, a sudden spark of friction flared between them, and his own hand reached down, gripping the hem of her sweater tightly in response.

The rest of the room seemed to fade into a quiet, blurred warmth.

The dustlight slowly veered, letting its shine hit their bedside table. Sitting quietly on the mentioned furniture, was a small calendar—and scrawled in large, bold letters across a single, heavily circled number, was the word Anniversary.