"Good morning, Grillby," you chirp as you enter the quiet bar, lugging a heavy toolbox in both hands.

"Good morning to you too, Y/n. I see you are all prepped for the job."

"Heh, yup~ I don't think I could have found a heavier toolbox." You joke, setting the toolbox down by the busted jukebox. It's your day off, and you'd decided to spend it fixing Grillby's broken jukebox. Of course, it had all been pre-arranged, you haven't just shown up out of the blue dressed in an old flannel shirt and dirty jeans, carrying a toolbox. That would have been weird. When you were in with Papyrus you'd talked it over with the bartender, offering your services for free in exchange for your own enjoyment and a chance to hear the jukebox sing. And today is that day.

Kneeling beside the music-maker, you pull out a screwdriver and begin removing screws.

"Let me know if there's anything you need." Grillby says, moving off to serve a customer.

"Will do."

For the next ten minutes, you sit quietly on the bar floor, pulling apart the jukebox and occasionally losing a screw. Grillby comes over at one point with a glass of water and sets it down beside you.

Thanking him, you take a glug of the fresh liquid.

"'Sup, Grillbz." Says a familiar voice behind you.

Panic has you swallow the water and then lapse into a barely suppressed coughing fit. You'd know that irritatingly smooth voice anywhere. It haunts you in your dreams.

"Oh hey, you're finally gettin' the jukebox fixed? 'Bout time." G says, leaning on the bar.

Ducking your head, you try to look as inconspicuous as possible. What are the chances that he'd turn up at this particular bar? On your day off? He isn't stalking you, is he? Oh god, you hope not. It's bad enough seeing him in your house almost every day.

"Yes, Y/n is doing us a huge favour by fixing it. She's the one to thank." Grillby agrees, gesturing to you.

You're screaming internally.

G hadn't recognised you yet! There was still a chance you could get away without being noticed!

"Eh? Y/n?"

Shit.

There's the sound of heavy footsteps as G walks over to you, and stops just off to your right. Reluctantly, you lift your head, sparing him a small look.

"Hi..." you mumble.

Grillby looks between the two of you with interest. "You've met before?"

"Heh, you could say that." G grins, reaching down to pat your head. You swat him away with a feral growl. 

Grillby watches the interaction with mild confusion. 

"Do not touch me." You warn, brandishing the tip of the screwdriver at G. 

"Sure thing, doll." He grins, looking far too pleased to see you. If he'd had a tail you're sure it would be wagging.

Grillby leaves you two to talk, much to your horror. You'd hoped the friendly bartender would help you.

"So, you're a mechanic now?" G asks, crouching down to watch you.

"The term is conservator," you grumble, fiddling with a screw, "and it's just a side job. The better question would be what are you doing here? You're not following me, are you?"

"As entertaining as that would be, I actually work here-"

Your hand slips and stabs itself with the screw.

"-fuck!" You cry out, shaking your hand while also staring incredulously at the skeleton, "you can't be serious?! Can I not go anywhere without you popping up?"

He just laughs in your face, "nope~"

You grumble and cradle your hand, only to freeze when G reaches out and takes it in his. You glare at him as he inspects the small bead of blood at the tip of your finger, his gaze that of childlike innocence. For a moment you drop your guard, wondering if as a skeleton he even has the ability to bleed himself. But then that moment is shattered as he places your finger in his mouth, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

"Hey!" You yell, both flustered and enraged that he'd pull such a stunt in public. He laughs again as you retract your hand back to your shirt, wiping away his amber-tinted saliva.

"Now that's a face I like," He says, standing up with a smirk, "red is a good colour on you."

He walks away after this, grinning stupidly like he'd just won the lottery, and disappears into a back room labelled 'staff only'.

You take this opportunity to have a quick break outside to gather your thoughts, and also apply a plaster to your finger, curtesy of Grillby. The fire elemental even instructed you to tell him if G annoyed you too much, catching on that the two of you might not actually be the best of buddies. This concern had warmed your heart and also handed you an olive branch. Finally, you've found someone who can put G in his place should he need it. The skeleton may not listen to you, but he most certainly has to listen to his employer. You should make an effort to come to Grillby's more often if only to tease the porcelain monster with the knowledge he can't do anything about it while under his bosses watchful eye.

Now feeling a little better with the situation you've found yourself in, you head back inside with a slight spring to your step, and return to the dismantled jukebox sat patiently awaiting you. You manage the action of picking up your screwdriver before you suddenly freeze, an urgent thought surfacing in your mind.

"...His spit is fucking yellow."