Sans sighed as Frisk locked herself in her room for the fifth time this week. Maybe he was coming on too strong.

This time, he worked hard on making a cinnamon butterscotch pie. When he had caught Frisk alone, he had presented it to her.

It was now splattered across the wall.

"Master, will the pearl be better?"

He sighed, turning to face the Shade in charge of Frisk's wedding gown. "Diamond."

The spirit of a dressmaker nodded, floating away. He sighed, rubbing where his temple would be. There had been an increase of dead lately, taking up more of his time. Time that could be used to woo Frisk.

Sans preferred to have a willing bride than someone forced.

An idea popped up.

-_-

Frisk angrily paced inside her room.

How dare he.

Did Death really think she was going to fall for some words and some food? Not one crumb would pass her lips!

But, he was determined, she give him that. No matter how many things Frisk broke or threw at him, Sans would just come back with a new gift.

And...He was charming, in a way. There was something about how Sans was taller than her, how he would light up at seeing her, and how his cheekbones would flush blue...

That made him...not so terrible.