"Fuck," you hissed, standing clad in a towel, hair and shoulders still dripping on the carpet in front of your closet.

"was gonna last night, but you passed out on me," mumbled Sans, who was still curled up under the covers and steadily inching towards the side of the bed you had vacated twenty minutes prior with each half-conscious flop of his body.

You were late for work already, your whole morning routine having been upended.

You had forgotten to do laundry, again, and the only clean, work-suitable clothes left were the pieces of the suit you had worn to your job interview, now at least half a size too small. Not to mention, you had to wear a binder just to get the shirt to fit right. Everything about the suit, but the jacket and pants especially, was too tight and you could only hope you wouldn't have to do anything that required a full range of motion while wearing it, like driving, or using your arms, or sitting down, or taking slightly deep breaths.

You resolved to put on pajamas as soon as you got home, later.

But it was more than just your reluctance to imprison yourself in old menswear that kept you behind the clock. You were unused to having an entire other (semi-)conscious entity privy to your morning rituals. You thought you had caught him staring at your ass while you were brushing your teeth, and you had definitely caught him staring when you stepped out of the shower. And you were even more aware of his presence as you sat alone in your kitchen, scarfing down your banana and absentmindedly sweetening your coffee like any other day, as if you weren't seriously considering calling in sick just to crawl back in bed with him.

You hovered in your bedroom doorway, fidgeting with your cuffs.

"Hey, I'm about to head out. You don't have to leave, though."

He snored. You crept over and crouched next to him, tentatively prodding the lump you thought was his shoulder.

"Sans?"

He snorted himself out of his slumber.

"nnyup."

"I'm leaving. You don't have to get up, just make sure you turn the little knob on the handle so it locks behind you when you do leave or… yeah, whatever. Do your thing. Sleep as long as you need, ok?"

"k."

You hesitated, then kissed him on the cheek, unable to stand up until you had done so. His fingertips flew to the spot and you treasured up the slight widening of his eyes at the chaste show of affection.

"oh. hey. you, uh… heh, you look like the guitar player guy from ac/dc."

With your face scrunched up and your downstairs neighbors surely unappreciative of the rattling you made emphatically stomping across your apartment, you nearly got your middle finger caught in the doorjamb on your way out, despite his protests that that was definitely a compliment.

He was gone when you got back of course, no trace of him left other than the chilly humidity in your bathroom from a shower he must have taken hours ago. But no sooner had you fallen into bed with your laptop, wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a well-loved, if not freshly laundered, tie-dyed fundraiser t-shirt, than you received a text.

Sans: are you off work yet

You: Yeah, just got home. Why, what's up?

Sans: stakeout at asgore's?

You: What? Wait. Sans. What. Seriously?

Sans: do vulkin shit pumice

You: I don't know! Do they? This rhetorical question really distresses me dude

Sans: i don't wanna say you know you wanna

You: Shit pumice? Or go spy on asgore? Because? honestly?

Sans: (yes.)

Sans: but i know you do know you wanna

Sans: plus you begged me to help you set your parent trap

You: Ohhhhoho, is THAT how that conversation went down?

Sans: as i recall yeah

Sans: so come over

You: man I just changed into my pajamas….

Sans: so? who are you under the impression you're talking to

Fair point. You waffled for a moment, but it wasn't as if you had plans, and if there was one person in all the world you did not need feel the need to dress up for, it was Sans. His having seen you naked and being your - your boyfriend didn't need to change that.

You: fine, I'll be there in a bit.

You shoved some sandals on over your socks and grabbed your keys and wallet. When you got there, it was Papyrus who opened the door for you.

"PAJAMAS AT A STAKEOUT? THAT'S MOST UNPROFESSIONAL, DETECTIVE." He lowered his aviators to wink at you. Sans appeared behind him with a pair of binoculars on a strap around his neck, no more dressed for amateur detective work than you.

"yeah, way to make e.v.'s finest look bad."

"E.V.'s finest what."

"'zactly."

Papyrus shoved him at you.

"IF THE TWO OF YOU CAN'T LEARN TO RESPECT EACH OTHER AND WORK TOGETHER, YOU'RE OFF THE FORCE!" He slammed a hand against the wall and turned his head away dramatically. "YOU HAVE 72 HOURS TO CRACK THE CASE. NOW GET OUTTA MY SIGHT!" He winked at you again before wandering off to the kitchen.

"Um? Does he know about the, uh… the actual plan, or does he just think we're having, like, really immersive kinky roleplaying sex?"

"i'm sure he just thinks stakeouts are a cool activity for buddies. which they are. not everything's gotta be a weird sex thing," he said, a touch defensively. "but nah, he doesn't know about the, uh, bigger picture."

As if on cue, and in his mind, it may well have been a cue, Papyrus re-emerged from the kitchen.

"WHAT DON'T I KNOW?" He gasped. "ARE YOU TWO DIRTY COPS? DIRTY IN THE UNETHICAL SENSE, NOT THE SEXY ONE. OR, PERHAPS ALSO THE SEXY ONE, IN THE INTEREST OF LEAVING NO STONE UNTURNED."

"d'ya think we'd tell you if we were?"

Papyrus squinted.

"HMM… IF IT WERE ME," he muttered, "...AND I'M USUALLY RIGHT… YYYES?"

"well, there ya go."

"OH, THANK GOD! IT'S MY FIRST DAY ON THE JOB, I CAN'T GO ROUND SUSPENDING MY BEST DETECTIVES LEFT AND RIGHT ALREADY!"

"Thanks, uh… uh, captain? We won't let you down."

That having been cleared up, you patted down the pockets of your pajama pants, making sure you had what little you'd brought with you.

"So, are we ready? Do we have everything? And more importantly," you said, tapping a finger on your chin pensively, "do we have time to get snacks?"

Sans scoffed.

"oh, i'm sorry. did we get our wires crossed, or did i not say the word 'stakeout'? the snacks are handled. damn rookie punk."

Sans plucked a grocery bag off the coffee table with a hooked forefinger and a smug huff.

Papyrus spasmed, clearly remembering something quite urgent at this late hour.

"OH! DETECTIVES! BEFORE YOU GO, I HAVE IMPORTANT MISSION MATERIALS FOR YOU!"

He bolted off and returned with a grocery bag of his own.

From it, he procured two pairs of plastic sunglasses identical to his own, two fake mustaches, two shiny plastic star-shaped old-timey sheriff's badges, two apples, and two cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off in little plastic baggies. Once you were both outfitted to his satisfaction, he leaned in the doorway as you both left, blasting what you hypothesized was the theme from Tango & Cash from an ancient boombox he'd placed on the side table specifically for your exceedingly cool slow-motion exit, which you gladly hammed up. For Papyrus' sake, of course.

Time resumed its normal pace as you both climbed into your car. Still really into the whole detectives thing, though, you grinned, pushed your shades up your nose, let your tires spin and peeled away from the curb, your adopted mustache mysteriously amplifying the adrenaline rush. You drove normally the rest of the way, however, especially once you noticed Sans' death grip on the window handles, then parked a few houses down from Asgore's, on the newer, still undeveloped end of the street, and shut off your ignition.

"So what are we looking for?" you asked.

"eh, just stuff like what time he gets home, if he leaves, if he has any appointments, what time he goes to bed, stuff like that. anything we can use."

"Soo, we're actually casing the joint for B and E at a later date. Guess we really are dirty cops."

The sun hid behind the trees and houses and you both removed your sunglasses in order to see better.

"Actually, I'm surprised he's not home, yet. Haven't we only got about half an hour left of daylight?"

Sans grunted, dug in the grocery bag for a bag of chisps and a soda, and opened them, the bag tearing down the side and scattering a few crumbs on his shirt already. You stuck your arm in and grabbed a handful of your own.

Due to the fact that you were currently engaged in activities of questionable legality and certain unscrupulousness in pursuit of a scrap of dubiously helpful information, and due to the fact that in spite of this, he was already beginning to doze off in your passenger's seat, you were reasonably suspicious that maybe, just maybe, this was an elaborate ploy he had concocted just to have a reason to hang out again. And unnecessary as that was-he could just ask; after all, you were dating, even if your mind kept tripping over the words for it-the idea made you feel warm and dreamy and confident enough to ask for confirmation of your suspicions.

"Hey, Sans?"

He jolted out of his heavy-lidded, nodding state and you almost felt a bit guilty.

"present."

"Um, so- is this a date?"

"nah, that's a chisp. stolen, might i add."

"Ah, there's that sparkling wit. With the dad jokes." You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

"uhh. is it- i mean." He coughed. "is it a date. huh. interesting question."

"Well, the reason I asked," you continued quickly in hopes of saving the both of you some of the time you'd lose waiting for Sans to admit to anything, ever, "is because depending on the kinds of buddy cop movies you watch, stakeouts that are just stakeouts usually don't end up in sex. And in my own personal experience, dates… do, often enough. But a stakeout that is a date? Who knows? Anything could happen."

He tilted his head, frowning in sudden contemplation.

"that's… a very good point."

"Yeah, well… food for thought."

He took a sudden interest in a stray cat that was grooming itself on the driveway nearest his passenger's side window, drumming his fingertips on the armrest. He cleared his throat.

"is- would- hypothetically, would a stakeout be an okay first date?"

"Hmm, yeah, I think so. Points for originality. And extra if it actually results in good intel."

"then that's definitely what this is."

"Good, I thought so. Then it won't be unprofessional of me to do this," you said, swinging your legs out from beneath the wheel and stretching them out sideways over the center console until your feet were in his lap.

"oof."

After that, you were both silent, listening to the quiet drone of the talk radio, or an occasional barking dog, and the noises of garage doors opening and closing as people returned home from work. The street lamps overhead lit up all at once, though it wasn't yet completely twilight.

You stole chisps and swigs of soda from Sans, and he let you, even though there were plenty of snacks left in the grocery bag you hadn't even bothered to investigate, yet.

Eventually, though, you grew bored and sleepy, but since stakeouts don't bear up under falling asleep on the job, you turned to Sans instead, wiggling your feet in his lap to get his attention.

"Hey, wanna play a game?"

He shot you a look.

"listen, jigsaw, your idea of fun is fucked."

You blinked.

"Wha- oh! Oh, yeah, yeah, I forgot about that. Ha, literally, fucked. No, I swear I meant I Spy or I'm Going on a Picnic or something along those lines. No kinky sex torture. I mean, unless you want kinky sex torture, but then you don't get to blame it on me."

He seemed to think about it for a minute, then leaned back in his seat, eyes scanning your surroundings.

"i spy somethin' green."

You brightened immediately.

"Hey, what a champ, that's the spirit!" you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Is it… that mailbox?"

"nope."

He slowly removed the sandal from the foot you had resting on top of the other one and flicked it behind him onto the floor of the backseat.

"Um?" you asked.

"ya got it wrong. gotta try again," he said with a sly grin that told you he thought himself terribly clever.

"Is it the grass?"

"it's november and we're in a drought, where do you see green grass? wrong again."

Your other sandal was discarded in the same way.

"Car?" you pointed.

"so sorry," he said, pulling your sock off by the toe.

"Garage door?"

Other sock.

If you got it wrong again, something more crucial was going to come off. Luckily the cat Sans had been watching earlier darted around in front of your car and it dawned on you.

"The collar, the cat's collar!"

He just smiled and you prodded at him with your bare foot.

"Sans! That's it, isn't it?" you cried desperately as he took his time answering.

"...yeah, it was," he conceded eventually, proud of himself.

You huffed and folded your arms in front of you.

"My turn. I spy… with my little eye, something… silver."

Car, house numbers, lawn ornament; he lost both his slippers and his jacket.

"can i just point out that this is already unfair 'cuz i didn't wear socks today."

"I didn't make these rules, you did. What happened, did you get 'em all… dirty?" you purred.

"you have no idea," he said, lowering his voice.

Then he cleared his throat. "yeah, no, they're just, they're in the wash. normal sock things. uh, hmm…"

He trailed off, searching.

"your keys. please tell me it's your key ring."

You bit your lip to stop your grin from spreading.

"No," you squeaked. "Sorry."

"are ya, though? are ya really? somehow, this's not how i thought this was gonna go."

His voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he tugged it off over his head.

You shrugged when he could see you again.

He took a long time to answer.

"truck nuts. oh, jesus h. christ, it's the truck nuts, isn't it. who the fuck has truck nuts? what year is it? god damnit."

You gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up. It was, indeed, the truck nuts.

"don't believe this shit… my own game…" he muttered. "all right, uh… it's red."

You cast your eyes about, willing yourself to think like Sans-to think like a smartass. Red, and it would have to be hidden, but right under your nose, because he would want to rub your face in it eventually.

Of course! You slapped the steering wheel.

"Ugh, you think you're so clever, don't you?"

"i have my moments. think you've got it?"

"I do. I'm betting my pants. ...My car," you said, gesturing to the dusty maroon hood visible through your equally dusty windshield. "Whaddya say to that?" you challenged him.

"heh. i say, 'take off your pants, 'cuz it's not your car.' can you even call this thing red right now?"

You blew a raspberry at him and scowled as you wriggled out of your flannel pajama pants, bumping your hip on the steering wheel. You were going to have to be much more careful with your next guess. Or, with the way he seemed to struggle to keep his gaze directed above the bottom hem of your shirt, perhaps much less careful.

You considered your choices thoroughly at any rate, and settled on the leaves of the Japanese Maple tree in the closest yard.

It was not.

Your cheeks blazed as you sat, speechless. You clicked your tongue, weighing your two options. Naked from the hips up, or down? An impossible choice.

"Hmm. Well, um, my options are, I think… equally bad? I honestly don't know which I'd prefer to take-"

He waved his hand dismissively, a little abashed.

"-it's okay, you don't actually have to- i mean, this was just a stupid thing, y'know? i shouldn't've let it get this far to begin with."

You pursed your lips. The things you'd do for this guy...

"Got a quarter?" you asked.

He gave you a questioning look, but fished in his pocket and handed you a coin which, when flipped, came up tails.

Sans's red mystery item might as well have been your entire face as you pulled your underwear down to your knees, but it didn't occur to you to ask.

You drummed on the steering wheel, willing yourself to focus, but the silence over your center console had quickly gone wired. You came to your final answer, a stop sign, by some miracle, as most parts of your brain had already forfeited the match some minutes ago.

He nodded, slowly.

"Oh, good. Well. That certainly escalated quickly."

You tried to regulate the sound of your breathing, shaky with nerves and adrenaline and the thrill of how he couldn't tear his eyes off of you. And so it was your turn to find something to fixate on, but you had developed a sudden case of tunnel vision.

"I spy something blue."

He snorted and splayed a hand over his face.

"is it somethin' out there?"

"Nope."

"good."

With little hesitation your lips met his teeth above the gear shift, but you immediately drew back, grinning sheepishly as you attempted to delicately spit out some polyester moustache fibers.

You peeled the moustache off his face and he did yours as well.

"and here i thought i was about to get friendly with tom selleck."

"So did I! Sorry to disappoint."

"we can always make it up to each other."

You drew in a breath, something resembling prudence, and a logically sound inhibition or two.

"I don't know," you whined with all the paltry resolution you could muster, "we should be watching for Asgore, we also probably shouldn't be caught watching for Asgore, also we're currently absolutely breaking public decency laws. We really… really… shouldn't go getting ourselves in more trouble."

"yeah, that would be bad, huh?" he asked, his tone leading.

"Truly regrettable."

He cleared his throat and adjusted his shorts, though that did nothing to hide his erection. You suspected he only meant to bring it to your attention, anyway. Not that you weren't acutely aware of it, to begin with.

"good thing we're so responsible. an' law-abiding."

You had never before heard a more apt description of two individuals about to engage in vehicular sex.

"That's us. I'm just gonna hop in the backseat? To grab my clothes."

"yeah, i should get mine, too."

You tried to keep your ass low and away from the windows as you scrambled into the backseat, and he laughed and poked at you as you did.

You landed against the back passenger's side door, legs spread wide, one foot planted on the seat. His laughter died off.

"this is the worst idea we've had in… uh... days," he groaned, crawling towards you on his hands and one knee.

"Has it even been that long since our last nonsense?"

"hours, minutes, whatever."

You caught his chin in your hand.

"And do you really believe that, or does it just make your dick harder to think it?"

"heh. you know me; bit of both," he rasped, unapologetically taking in the sight of your naked lower half spread out before him.

No teasing, this time. Just the parallel ridges of his knuckles suddenly pressed against you right at the center of his attention. Your eyelids fluttered shut as he pulled those knuckles upwards, and around, massaging your clit and bringing to your attention just how aroused you already were. And it was exactly everything you needed and wanted since you had fallen asleep in the middle of trying to seduce him the night before.

You bit down hard into a "fffuck" as you leaned against the door, your head tilting back to rest on the window.

"yeah?" he asked, and you didn't even need to peek through your lashes to know exactly which Sans-brand self-satisfied-ass look he was pulling on you, just from the tone of his voice and a single word.

"Yeah," you replied, grinning back at him crookedly, but indulgently and with all the acute fondness and familiarity you felt, just as you had a thousand times before. You opened your eyes to find him much closer than you had expected him to be, the glint of his eyes searching yours.

Your grin fell but your heart rate rose to meet it as you matched his sudden, uncommon seriousness.

"y'always make that face. what's it for?"

You shook your head, but only just, and kissed him in the same movement. He rumbled his approval of the change of topic straight onto your lips, then a little louder by your ear when you leaned forward and reached out to fumble for his dick. You only lightly grazed the underside of it with your fingertips, and yet you had never heard him sound so relieved.

"Yeah?" you echoed him from earlier because you had to, your lips never quite disconnecting from his skull.

"you know, it's very uncool to make fun of someone who's as uh… conflicted as i am, right now."

"Conflicted?" you drawled, angling your head to get a better look at him. "You don't seem too conflicted." You got a firmer grip on him, this time. "Does this help?"

"that is a loaded fuckin' question." He laughed, weakly, rearing back on his one knee that was planted on the seat. He perched there for a long moment, uncannily still, seeming to study you underneath him. You became self-conscious as the object of his focus and eventually looked away from him.

"alright," he said, finally. Before you could ask what he meant by that, he looped his arms under your knees and pulled you across the seat towards him until you were halfway lying down.

Suddenly, you squawked.

"i... i haven't even done anything yet," he said, puzzled and concerned.

"Ow, fuck, it's the seatbelt thingy. It's digging into my side- hang on."

You wrestled with the offending plastic contraption until it was safely tucked into the crevice between the seats.

You heard him sigh before you had turned your attention fully back to him, and then with little warning, he was laying fully on top of you.

"oh, god. what are we doing?" he mumbled into your shoulder.

"Like right now, specifically, or in general, or...?"

"what am i doing?"

"Me. Is that alright?"

His grip on your sides tightened, his fingertips digging into your flesh, and you nudged his forehead to try to get him to look at you. He did so with little more encouragement, and held your gaze for a long moment, his jaw grinding in thought.

"i'm uh, thinkin' of- fuck, asgore."

You blinked.

"P-pardon?"

"no, he just pulled up."

"Oh, fuck, right, Asgore!"

Sans deftly disentangled himself from you and crouched on the floorboard behind the driver's seat. You mirrored him on the other side, but evidently were squirming too much by his estimation.

"are ya crazy? get down."

"I am down, but let me remind you, my lower half is assbutt naked, and kinda sticky, and I'm trying not to think about how long it's been since I vacuumed out my floorboards" you hissed.

"how long?"

"I… I don't know. Oh, gross. I'm starting to think strip I-spy was a bad idea."

"shame, i kinda liked it," he said, reaching for the binoculars in the front seat and lifting them to his eyes.

You tsked and sighed, but smiled anyway.

"Okay, fine. Me too."

He looked away from the eyepieces to steal a glance at you, and his hold on the binoculars sagged the longer he looked.

You inhaled sharply, as if awoken by a hypnic jerk.

"-But we're never doing it again, right?"

"oh. oh, god, no. no, i mean, we- we're a lot o' things…" he trailed off, focused once more on whatever Asgore was doing.

"...we're a lot of things, but?" you prompted.

"mm, nup. that's it."

"Oh. Well, what's going on out there? I can barely see past Truck Nuts."

"nothin' interesting so far. he's just bringin' in his groceries. it's a lot… jeez, how much does he spend a month? hope he's got a costco membership."

"Well, he's a big dude. And you've seen how much food mom can put away."

He shrugged, silently surveying. You sighed and shifted your legs, resigning yourself to being stuck in the backseat floorboards for at least as long as it took Asgore to get his groceries.

"oh, what the hell and fuck?"

"What!? What!?"

"what's name of that guy..."

"Are we playing twenty questions now, and do I have to take off my shirt if I get it wrong? 'Cuz, honestly, we've been there already and I don't think now is really the time to revisit it."

"nah, that life's behind us now. uhh, j-somethin', real human-y soundin' name," he muttered, squinting. "jake? johann? jiminy? jesus, maybe? he's talkin' to asgore."

"Jesus is talking to Asgore."

"i'm serious. obviously not the human religion guy, just… this guy, whose name i am seventy percent sure is also jesus. y'know, the internet guy... with the face?" he gestured by pulling his hands away from his cheeks horizontally.

"What, Jerry?!" you shouted before remembering that you were in a confined and not strictly sound-proof environment and clamping your hand over your mouth.

"oh, man, i was way off."

"What?! I wanna see, move over and hand me the 'nocs! 'Noc me up, man!"

He made room for you and handed the binoculars over. "just like pa always warned me. can you read lips?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," you said, squinting through the twilight to see the King waving a pastel pink sheet of paper at the town menace. "Asgore's saying, uh, 'Gee, your newest Japanese soap commercial sure was a riot! Really loved the part where you lifted up their skirts and slithered your-'"

"nope."

Bony fingers pinched your lips closed. You batted them away.

"He's got a flyer or something, but I can't tell what it says, can you?"

"nah. damn."

The conversation between them lasted for several minutes, with Asgore politely nodding and slowly regretting having struck up the conversation with his neighbor in the first place, but also still resolutely trying to foist the flyer on Jerry. Jerry didn't appear to be enjoying the conversation any more than Asgore was, and yet when presented with the seemingly obvious option of just taking the flyer and ending the discussion right then and there, would instead sigh and slouch further.

Eventually however, Asgore got a one-shouldered shrug out of him as he turned to go inside. He watched Jerry go in, and as soon as his front door shut, he crept, as much as a monster his size could creep, over to his mailbox and placed the flyer inside before returning for his final armfuls of groceries.

You sighed. You weren't a mail thief. The trail had run cold, and there was nothing to be done about it. You slunk back in your corner of the floorboards and stretched your legs.

"Well, that's that, I guess," you said dolefully. "Unless Asgore's steppin' out at night, I think we're probably done here, right? Like, I have to pee and it's starting to get cold in here, so… what do you think?"

As you spoke, his face lit up with childlike glee as he gripped your shoulder and pointed.

You scooted back towards the center just in time to see Jerry removing the flyer from his mailbox and depositing it directly into his trash can before returning to the flyerless sanctuary of his home.

"Oh, HELL yes!"

A mail thief you were not, but a trash thief? Of course! You grew up with monsters! And Jerry didn't even fucking recycle it, so, really, it was the ecologically responsible thing to do.

"get your pants on, boo, i got this."

"Boo?" you echoed, but he was already waist deep upside down in Jerry's trash can with his legs kicking over the side for balance. When he emerged, foil pop tart wrapper static clinging to his skull, holding the crumpled pink ball aloft like a grand prize, you had to ride a surge of terrible adoration that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

"it's a bake sale for the senior center," he said, arriving neatly in the passenger's seat while you were still in the back, reclothing yourself. "saturday at three."

"Oof, mom's gonna hate that. Competing bake sales in the same week? Yikes."

"her loss, our gain. now we've got a guaranteed timeframe he's gonna be out of the house."

"So we can break in and plant a dildo to Inception a conversation out of him and my mom. Man, what is my life?"

"yeah, i'd definitely say things are heating up, narratively speaking."

"Hm? Hey, where'd you throw my left shoe? Did it land behind the seats?"

"well, i say we blow this joint. we got our clue."

You acquiesced when you located your shoe and climbed back into the driver's seat. NPR filled the silence on the way back to his and Papyrus's house, and though that silence was comfortable enough, Sans bounced his knee the whole time and spent the journey home looking out the window.

You followed him inside to a once more empty house, and once he deposited his keys in a little handmade clay dish on the counter, he turned to face you.

"hey, i've got somethin' i wanna show ya," he said casually, as if he hadn't been working up to it for the last fifteen minutes.

He led you through a door in the kitchen and your eyes had to adjust to the darkness of his garage. He stepped away and flipped on the light switch. Next to Papyrus's car was a motorcycle, gleaming and pearlescent.

"Waaait," you said as the bike compelled you toward it, "this isn't… This isn't the same one, is it? It looks just like your old one."

He laughed.

"better not be, i sold that piece of junk for scrap when i moved away, and i actually paid, i mean, y'know, decent money for this one."

"You're not even a little nostalgic? Hell, I am. It's so, so pretty, Sans. When did you get it?"

He shoved his hands down in his pockets, glanced at you, then glued his eyes to Papyrus's car's front bumper.

"'smorning."

You whistled.

"Brand new, huh? You got a name for it yet?

He exhaled.

"i was actually, uh… hopin' you'd name it."

You had your arm extended for the handlebars, to touch the shiny black rubber, but you froze mid-reach, dropped your hand down to your side. You looked over your shoulder at him, shocked and delighted.

"You what now."

He shrugged and leaned against the passenger side door of Papyrus's convertible, casually crossing one ankle over the other.

"the other night you were listing off the pet rocks i gave you forever ago, there was one I especially liked. shit, what was it…"

"Mjolnir?" you offered, but he shook his head.

"Dwayne?" Still no.

"Buttpotato?"

"buttpotato." he clapped, or rather, clacked, and pointed, grinning.

"Buttpotato?" you repeated. "I- no, I cannot in good conscience let you let me name your new bike, especially if Buttpotato, the name that I, as a twelve year old, gave to a pet rock, is the standard I'm gonna be held to."

"so don't name it buttpotato. if it helps, i'll just call it something else behind your back if i hate it."

You scoffed, but felt a smile tugging at your lips. You scratched your head, then folded your arms.

"Okay. I'll sleep on it, see if I can come up with something worthy of twelve year old me."

You took his hand.

"But for now, let's go back inside, it's cold out here."

He didn't budge, and he wouldn't meet your eyes.

"there's, uh. somethin' else," he said, his voice suddenly sounding very small despite the acoustics of the garage, "i wouldn't have bothered getting a new one if i didn't plan on usin' it more than just every once in a while."

He waited for you to respond, but you weren't sure what he was getting at, so you just gave him a blank look and waited for him to continue. Instead, he screwed up his face and laughed. The sound was painful.

"aah, forget it, it was a dumb idea. probably should just take the damn thing back. probably be twice the hassle it was buying it…" he trailed off. You couldn't let him.

"Wh- no, go back to the first thing. What did you mean? You're not leaving again, so soon?"

"no," he said so quickly his voice cracked. "no. i just meant, i've kind of started making plans for, uh. for being… around, more. wanted to see what you thought."

"What, like, you're gonna take more time off from work?"

"uhh… sort-mm, somethin' like that."

You kissed him without another word, without missing a beat, but you hadn't fully intended to start what you then started. Then again, when had you ever, where he was concerned? Probably Papyrus would be horrified to see you making out with his brother against his car, but goddamnit, you'd just heard the best news and you wanted to give the man a kiss or two thousand. And who could blame you if you didn't want to stop once he'd pulled you in so close you nearly tripped over the bone tangle of his feet.

Then, suddenly, he pushed you away.

"nah, that's not it. that's not what i meant, i'm sorry."

You shook your head, confused.

"i'm thinkin' of coming home, permanently. i'm thinkin' of quitting the job."

Your stomach flipped before you even fully registered the implications of that statement.

You laughed, too, a loud, sharp bark of disbelief that bounced off of the smooth concrete floor and drywall, but you knew he wasn't joking.

"Wow!" you said unconvincingly, knowing that any other thing that could come out of your mouth in such a state of shock would be unequivocally the wrong thing to say.