Written By: Yours truly. :3

Fanart (Or more like requested chapter image) By: DWEEBYCAKE!!!! Looks amazing as always, Dweebz. 

Setting the Stage: Hmm... this is probably later on in the month. It happens before Sans and Reader-chan's first date, which will likely be my next oneshot, and the last entry in this collection.

Author's Note IMPORTANT: Before I start, I just want to mention a few things about this particular oneshot. It's a Grillby x Reader(ish) kind of thing. You'll understand once you read it. That's not what I really want to talk about. What I really want to say is that this oneshot contains self harm. So if you are sensitive to that, I wouldn't suggest reading past the time skip that occurs halfway through. 

I usually don't write about things like that, but... well... there have been a few people that I know that have self harmed before, or are (and I quote) "curious" about it. I don't blame you. I've thought about it, too. But I want all of you to know that self harm isn't the answer. It does more harm than good. Nor is this to shame my friends that have for their actions--it honestly just gave me a random spark of inspiration, and I went with it.

So, all in all, I would like to make very, VERY clear that I am not, in any way, advocating self harm. Quite the opposite, actually. That's all I wanted to say.

~Idea for a Grillby oneshot inspired by Night Shade~

~Grillby's Perspective~

It is just another regular day at the restaurant. Monsters have gathered together to talk, eat, and play their card games, just as always. They gossip ceaselessly, shamelessly spreading rumors about one another. They chat. They laugh. Their voices echo off the walls, creating a soundtrack to my job unlike any other. Despite their unbridled volume, I do not mind it. Their excited voices suit me much better than... well... most anything else, actually. The silence that reigns after closing time is near intolerable.

I am, as always, manning my station behind the bar, rag in hand. There is not much need for me at the moment—it seems everyone is content with the state of their near-full glasses—so I busy myself by polishing the earlier group's discarded dishes. The lunch crowd has just begun to gather, the tables filling to their bursting point. Many of the monsters present today are among my regular customers, but as always, there are a few unfamiliar faces. I am not surprised, however—(Y/N) is scheduled to be here within a few minutes, and they are most likely here to listen to her performance.

Ah, (Y/N). Since her appearance a few months ago, so many things have changed. I find that my little establishment has entered the public eye after her employment here, and as a result, business has been booming. It was a wise choice, hiring her.

I scrub vigorously at a glass someone from the breakfast wave had dropped off, constantly keeping one metaphorical ear out for the sound of my name being called. As no one calls it, I begin to pick up on other things. Two customers sitting at the bar seem to be getting into a heated debate over the king's change in human-related policies.

"You've met the kid, haven't you?"

"Well yeah, of course. Everyone has."

"Then how could you say something like that?! She's the sweetest person I've ever met."

"Sure, she's sweet. But that's beside the point—we need a soul. The kid has a soul. Just think about that for a second. We could be on the surface right now, James! The surface!"

"Well, what if I was a human? Would you take my soul if it meant getting to the surface?"

"No, of course not! You're my friend!"

"Well, that kid—Frisk—is friends with almost every single monster down here; including the king. You see what you're asking, now?"

"Well, okay. Maybe that human's off limits. But what about the older one?"

"The older one?"

"Yeah, you know. The one that plays the piano."

"Oh yeah. What about her?"

"Why can't we take her soul?"

"She's the kid's sister, right? That'd be why."

"But... come on, James. What are the chances that another human's gonna fall down here? Small. Very, very small. If we want to see the surface in our life time, we've gotta take one of the two humans' souls. It might as well be the older one, right?"

"Well... I mean, technically... I suppose we'd have to. If we wanted to get to the surface."

Though I usually tend to keep out of my customers' private conversations, there is just something about the subject of their musings that is making me... lose my cool, as it were. My hands are clenched so hard around the glass I had been cleaning that it is starting to crack under the pressure, and the temperature of my flames is rising to the point where the glass itself is melting. I glance down at it, a tired sigh escaping from me.

...That is the third glass this week, I think.

I turn and toss the ruined glass into a nearby trashcan, trying to keep my irritation under wraps. I cannot stand it when my customers speak of her in that way. She is not an object. She is not a tool to be used for our benefit. Why is it that they do not see that? Every time a monster so much as suggests taking her soul, I end up having to throw out another melted glass.

I shake my head in frustration, and await my flames' return to a more manageable temperature. When they do, I simply pick up the next glass, and continue my task. With the exception of Sans, it is my policy to remain aloof from my patrons' affairs. Intervening can become messy, and so, with that in mind, I will not rebuke them.

...No matter how much I wish to.

I instead tune them out, going back to listening to the general babble of the room. It remains much the same—idle talk and intolerable gossip. I sigh again, and find myself glancing in the direction of the piano. That is the sound I want to hear. The music that she creates drowns out everything else, washing the room in beautiful melodies and overpowering all other sound. I may not mind my background noise of babble, but I far prefer her music to it. In fact, it does not even have to be music. I like listening to her voice as well. It is so smooth and melodic... Whether she is singing or not, her voice somehow brings me peace. Is that strange? For me to be so attentive to a single person?

I suppose not. After all, I would be lying if I claimed to dislike her company, I admit. And more so than I should. She may be Sans' significant other, but against my better judgment, I still can't help but admire—

At that moment, the entry bell rings. I glance towards the front, and am unsurprised to see the subject of my thoughts walk nonchalantly through the front doors. The strangely coincidental timing of her entry makes it seem as though it had been my thoughts that had summoned her here. I know that to be a farce; it is simply time for her shift to begin. That fact does not stop the more imaginative side of my mind from entertaining the possibility, however.

The moment she steps into the room, the regulars call out to her, demanding her attention. She pauses in her path just long enough to wave to them, a wide grin breaking out on her face. It is quite remarkable—despite how relatively new she is, she has come to rival Sans when it comes to her popularity around these parts. It is only the minority that sees her purely for her human soul; a fact that I must remind myself of constantly. She is not in danger. How could she be? Too many people are looking out for her—one of which is one of the most powerful monsters in the Underground. I need not worry so much about her.

As she fights to break through the bulk of the crowd, she turns her attention to me. When she catches sight of me, a wide grin breaks out on her face, and she holds up her hand in a kind of wave. The moment she makes eye contact, I can feel myself start to heat up. I quickly place my current glass on the counter before it gets too hot, and try to clear my mind. It is an uphill battle, but I manage to keep myself from turning pink. I return her wave, which causes her smile to grow as she trots over to me.

"Hey Grillby," she says brightly. "I'm here."

"I can see that," I say, chuckling quietly. "You have quite the presence."

"Oh yeah?" she asks. "How so?"

I chuckle again and gesture to the rest of the restaurant. She gives me a look of confusion, and then looks over her shoulder. When she sees all of the expectant stares fixated on her, she quickly turns around again, her characteristic pre-performance jitters starting to show on her face.

"You have no need to worry," I say, picking up the glass again. "You will do fine, as always."

She blinks, and slowly shakes her head, a small smile managing to shine through her nervousness.

"Thanks, Grillby," she says.

"I do not give undue compliments," I remind her, "so please believe me when I say that you are a wonderful musician."

She laughs quietly, and dips her head as she goes to scratch the back of it self-consciously.

"Thanks," she repeats.

She looks up at me again, and opens her mouth to say something else. Before she can, however, she is interrupted by one of the customers.

"Hey! (Y/N)! Let's get some music up in here, huh?"

"Yeah! Hurry up!"

"Alright, alright!" she calls, voice raised in mock irritation. "Just gimme a second, will ya?!"

She laughs at the customer's melodramatic reaction, and rolls her eyes as she turns back to face me.

"Looks like they are anxious for your performance," I note, smiling.

"Seems like it," she agrees. She slips off her jacket, and carefully places it on top of one of the barstools. "Guess I'd better get going, huh?"

I smile and nod, shooing her towards the piano. As she turns to walk over, however, I am struck with the sudden urge to call her back. I... feel as though we had not talked long enough. Without any real cause, I find that I want to ask her how her day has been going. I want to ask her how her sister is. I would even ask after her and Sans' relationship, if it meant enticing her to continue speaking to me. As she sits down at the piano, however, that strange need to hear her speak fades a little.

I suppose I will just settle for the music.

That is exactly what I do. Content with the state of my restaurant, and convinced that I am not needed at the moment, I put down my current glass and lean over the bar, allowing myself a few minutes to focus wholeheartedly on her entrancing melodies. A sense of pride begins to blossom in me as I watch her. Though I know I have nothing to do with her abilities, I still feel as if I have played some part in the creation of this spectacle. I helped convince her to take up her performances, and she plays in my establishment. The complex pattern with which she depresses the keys may be completely of her own invention... but even still, I feel as though I have lent a hand.

Soon after it started, the first song ends. This is not a formal performance like a few of her others, so there is not any applause—life in the restaurant continues as normal, though perhaps with a quieter volume and a few added smiles. She does not hesitate long before diving into her next song, and I find myself leaning further out as I become entranced by it.

"Grillby!"

I wonder how she learned how to do all of that...

"Oi! Grillbaby! Refill!"

It must have taken many years of practice.

"Grillbaby! GRILLBY!"

I jump slightly, surprised at the sound of my name being called. A customer at the bar smirks at me, and holds out her empty glass. I cannot help but be embarrassed at my lack of focus, and so I am fairly sure I am starting to turn pink by the time I go to refill the monster's cup. I barely pay attention to what I am doing, so entranced am I by the music reverberating through the air. I think she says something else to me, but she has to repeat it a few times before it registers.

"Grillbaby!" she exclaims, giving me a lopsided grin. "You seem to be a little distracted today, hmm~?"

I blink, and make the effort to focus my complete attention on the monster. The moment I do, I have to stifle the resigned sigh that bubbles within my chest. Sitting at the end of the bar is the most regular customer I have. Bun Bun.

"I do not know what you are referencing, Bun Bun," I say coolly, quickly moving to turn away.

"Oh, but Grillbaby, look," she says lazily, holding the cup up for my inspection. "You just gave me hard liquor, Grillbaby. Me. Hard liquor."

I blink, and then move to snatch the cup from her hand. Before I can, however, she lifts it out of my reach. She gives me a playfully innocent smirk, which quickly changes into an airy laugh.

"Oh, no no no, Grillbaby~" she sings, grinning. "You can't take it back now~ It's mine."

"Bonifica," I growl. At the sound of her real name, the bunny fixes me with an amused smirk. "Give that back to me. Now. We both know that there is a good reason I keep it away from you."

"Oh yeah~?" she asks. "And what would that be again~?"

"You drink too quickly; you cannot handle—"

Bonifica leans back and drains her wine glass in one large gulp, ingesting three or four shots of alcohol at once. I go stiff, my hand still outstretched, and my flames slowly becoming more unruly.

"Bonifica," I growl, "if you pass out at my bar again, I swear that I am going to cut you off and ban you completely—"

"Grillbaby, Grillbaby, Grillbaby," she sighs, fixing me with another lopsided grin. "You're so *hic* uptight~ I can handle myself. I prrrrromise."

I open my mouth to argue again, but I end up just sighing tiredly. I withdraw my hand, and go back to my polishing. The only sign of my lingering anger is the choppiness of my strokes.

"C'mon now, Grillbaby," Bonifica continues, grinning. "You never answered me. What's got you mixing up your drinks, huh~? The meticulous Grillby would neeever make such a *hic* bad mistake~"

I try to fight back my annoyance, though a huff of hot air still manages to escape from me, making it look as though smoke has just come from my nose. I sigh and turn away, making it obvious to the nosey bunny that the conversation is over. Any normal customer would have obliged to my silent demand. She, however, is not a normal customer. She laughs at my obvious discomfort, and holds her glass out again.

"Make it wine this time, Grillbaby~" she sings.

I continue to ignore her, setting down my glass and instead vigorously polishing the countertop. The last thing that she needs is more alcohol. Bonifica tends to be a wild card even when she is sober—I have many stories about her that I could tell. Too many. I do not want to add another to that list.

Instead, I turn my attentions back towards the front. It does not take me long to become reabsorbed in the music, my body unintentionally beginning to sway to her melody. Soon, though, it is not just the music that has captured my attention. I find myself focusing in on (Y/N)'s face, a warm feeling blossoming in my chest when I catch sight of her intense look of concentration. She looks so... driven. I once again find myself leaning over the bar top, subconsciously straining to get a better view. I flinch when I hear a certain bunny's airy laugh, and I can feel a grimace form on my face as I turn to glance over at her. She twirls the skimpy remains of her drink around her glass, and gives me a self-satisfied smirk the moment she catches my eye.

"See something you like over there, hot stuff~?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I am very, very, careful to keep my reaction neutral. I make a great effort to straighten myself, and swing around to look her right in the eye.

"I am sure," I deadpan, "that I do not know what you mean."

Bonifica twirls her glass in hand, her smile unwavering in its place fixed on me. She does not say anything, and instead allows the silence between us to grow. The silence is... unnerving. Especially from her. When I can barely contain myself anymore, and am about to demand what she means, she finally speaks.

"You're bright pink, Grillbaby," she says smugly.

I blink, and look down at myself. Sure enough, the light that I am casting off is of a bubble-gum pink hue. I stare at myself in disbelief, my mortification causing my flames to burn even brighter.

"I... This is... I am feeling completely normal," I mutter.

"MmmHmm~"

"I am not distracted in any way."

"Undoubtedly~"

"You are imagining things."

"Sure~"

I fall silent again and simply stare at her, waiting for her to turn her attentions elsewhere. When she does not, I find myself becoming uneasy.

"Bonifica, I—"

"Let's make a deal, Grillbaby," she says, fixing me with a predacious grin.

"I-I do not like the sound of this," I mutter, anxiously pulling at my bowtie.

"Oh, c'mon," she slurs. "It's not anything that bad."

When I say nothing else, she continues.

"I won't say anything to that pretty human about this," she says, eyes glinting. "But only if you let me drink as much as I like~"

"Bonifica—"

"Just for today," she continues, talking over me. "Just one day of unlimited drinks, and you'll buy yourself a lifetime of silence. How's that sound~?"

I cannot allow (Y/N) to catch wind of this.

"Fine," I sigh, reaching for one of my serving bottles. "But only one day. You understand?"

"I do~" she purrs, holding out her glass. Once I fill it, she twirls it thoughtfully in front of her, staring into its depths. Then she glances over at me, that signature lop-sided grin still on her face. "I never knew you were so easy to blackmail, Grillbaby~"

Instead of replying, I casually lean over and set fire to a small puddle of alcohol a past customer had left on the bar top. There is enough residue from other drinks that the fire rapidly begins to spread, traveling in Bonifica's direction. She stares at it as it travels, her eyes bright with surprise.

"Do not make me regret this," I warn her, voice low. I snuff out the flames before they can reach her, and give her a pointed look. "Or all that alcohol in your system may spontaneously combust."

Her look of disbelieving surprise remains on her face a moment longer. But then it disappears, a look of unhealthy interest taking its place. She leans forwards on her stool, setting her drink aside so she can rest her head on her crossed arms.

"My goodness, Grillbaby~" she says. "Was that a threat? Daaaw~ I'm so *hic* proud of you~"

I sigh heavily, and attempt to funnel some of my frustration by adjusting my glasses.

"But that's not what surprises me most, Grillby," she continues, tone suddenly more serious. She looks me straight in the eye, one eyebrow raised. "I'm most surprised by the fact that she's already taken—I didn't peg you to be 'the other guy,' if you know what I mean."

"Th-that is not my intention—"

"And she's Sansy's girl, too. What, d'you have a death wish or something, Grillbz?" she asks, tilting her head. "Your best friend's got some big guns on 'im."

"I told you that I have no intent of—" I cut myself off and sigh, wearily turning away. "It does not matter. Just drop it."

Bonifica hums thoughtfully, taking a long, slow pull of her drink.

"You know... Sans isn't *hic* here today~"

I was about to turn away, but at her words, I pause, and glance over at the crowd of people in the restaurant. I scan the group of monsters, attempting to pick out the familiar form of a short statured skeleton. As she said, there is not one in attendance.

That is strange. He usually makes a point of coming whenever (Y/N) is on shift...

"It seems he is not," I say aloud, purposely sounding uninterested. "What does it matter?"

"Well~" Bonifica drawls, glancing slyly over at (Y/N), "you've just been given the perfect opportunity, Grillbaby~"

I blink, and then turn to the bunny, an eyebrow raised.

"Just what are you suggesting?" I ask, dubious.

"Oh nothing~" she sings, waving it off. "Just wanted to point out that you've got her to yourself, is all~ What you choose to do about that is completely up to you."

She glances over at (Y/N) again, and then chuckles, leaning in closer to me.

"Course, if it were me," she purrs, voice lowered, "I would show her to the bedroom. But like I said—you're not that type, are ya, Grillbaby~?"

My eyes widen at her words, and I find myself taking a step backwards. Shock is making my flames unruly, and I have to be careful not to come into contact with anything flammable.

"E-excuse me?!" I splutter, shock quickly transferring to anger. "Just what are you—"

"Now, now, Grillbaby," she laughs, rolling her eyes. "Don't get all hot under the collar on me~ I was just *hic* tellin' you what I would do. And as we both know, I'm not exactly known for my strong moral fiber."

She drains the rest of her glass, and then slams it onto the counter, moving to get up.

"You're too much of a 'nice guy' to go and do something like that," she says frankly, eyes sparkling mischievously as she glances at me. "You should start small. Buy 'er a drink, or something—have some nice chit-chat."

"Like I keep trying to tell you, that is not my—"

"Even if the two of you are just friends, wouldn't that be nice?" she asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Talking to her for a while? Sitting and laughing together?"

I fall silent. While I know that I should not follow her advice, I must admit that the idea of talking to (Y/N) one-on-one for a while is extremely appealing. I do not want her to just see me as her employer. I want her to see me as her friend, as well—a confidant.

"You won't get anywhere if you just keep pining after her from across the room," Bonifica points out, turning away. "Offer her a drink. Get some face time in. Who knows? If things go south with Sansy, maybe you'll be next in line~"

I would rebuke her, but before I can, she turns and walks away, swaying ever so slightly in her path. I continue to watch her until she safely crosses the expanse of my establishment, and then exits completely. I expect to feel relieved—I do not have to worry about her meddlesome ways anymore. But... for some inexplicable reason... I cannot bring myself to relax.

A drink? Perhaps... perhaps I should. Offer her one, I mean. What harm is there in just talking? I think. No, no. I cannot. It does not... it does not feel right. Can I do that? Would I be crossing a line? If Sans found out, would he be alright with it?

I huff, shaking my head to clear it of my wandering thoughts. I have work to do. This is no time to be thinking of such trivial things.

I reach out for Bonifica's discarded cup, and begin going through the motions. Rinse. Scrub. Rinse again. Polish. Dry. Put away. As another monster leaves, I do the same. Rinse. Scrub. Rinse again. Polish. Dry. Put away. I put all of my focus in to my work, trying to block out the sound of (Y/N)'s music. It is too tempting. Having her here is too tempting.

She is much too tempting.

As I continue developing a rhythm of my own through my work, the sound of her music grows more and more distant. Eventually, it is no different from the rest of the room's babble. Background noise.

Rinse. Scrub. Rinse again. Polish. Dry. Put away. Repeat. Rinse. Scrub. Rinse again. Polish. Dry. Put away...

"Hey Grillby!" a bright voice exclaims. It surprises me enough that I jump, almost losing my grip on the cup that I had been in the process of cleaning. I gently place it on the counter, and then shift my attention to the one that addressed me.

"Hello (Y/N)," I say, trying my best to keep my voice even. "Done with your shift?"

"Yup," she says, grinning. She stretches out her hands, grimacing a bit as she does so. "My fingers are completely shot."

"I am not surprised," I say, smiling. "That was quite the session, as usual."

"Thank you," she says. "But I'm not really that good."

"Oh, on the contrary," I say. "You are the best I have ever heard."

"That's only because you haven't been on the surface," she says. "There are some real geniuses up there. I'm just mediocre."

...I do not know what to say to that. I try to come up with a counter point, but my mind has gone completely blank. After a few moments of awkward silence, she rubs the back of her neck, and casts a nervous glance at the floor.

"Uh... sorry. The surface's probably a-uh... touchy subject."

"No!" I exclaim suddenly. She jumps, and gives me an uncertain look. "I-I mean... that is not it. I apologize. I was simply trying to figure out how to tell you to have more confidence in yourself."

She blinks, and then gets a faraway look in her eyes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"More confidence in myself, huh? Funny. Sans tells me that, too."

At the mention of Sans, the small spark of happiness that had stemmed from the sound of (Y/N)'s voice is snuffed out, to be replaced with something akin to disdain.

"Of course he does."

My flames react to my irritation, flaring brightly as I sigh and mess with my glasses. I take a moment to force them to calm down, and then turn my attentions back to (Y/N). She is giving me a strange look, her head tilted ever so slightly, and her brow furrowed.

"Uh... you alright there?" she asks. "You kinda... or-uh, your flames kinda..."

She does not seem to know what word to use to describe the sudden flare, and so she makes a hand gesture that I would normally associate with things exploding.

"I am fine," I say, sighing. She does not seem convinced, and gives me a kind of unsure hum. "I was just thinking. That is all."

"If you say so..."

I do not like where the conversation has gone. And so, in an attempt to set the mood right again, I end up doing the first thing that comes to mind.

"Would you like a drink?"

It seems Bonifica's suggestion had left a more powerful impact on my subconscious than I had thought. The moment those words come out of my mouth, I mentally kick myself. Had I not just said that I was not going to ask her? But unfortunately, I have already spoken my mind. And so, being unable to return what I have said, I stand stock still, awkwardly awaiting (Y/N)'s reply.

"A drink, huh?" she asks thoughtfully. "Thanks for asking, but I'm gonna have to say no. I don't typically drink."

"Oh really?" I ask, grateful for an opportunity to change the subject. "Why not?"

"It's just not something I wanna spend my brain cells and money on, you know? Too much cost and too little gain," she explains. "Although after an hour of non-stop piano playing, it's a tempting offer."

I should just cut the conversation off here. Thank her for her work today, and then watch as she once again turns and walks out the door. But for some inexplicable reason, I feel the need to try and compel her to stay.

I am going to regret this.

"...What if I took money out of the equation?" I ask quietly.

She stares at me for a moment, and then laughs gently.

"Grillby, are you offering to buy me a drink?" she asks, smiling. "That's unusually charitable of you, Mr. Penny-Pincher. What's the occasion?"

My flames gain a pink hue at her words, and I find my hand trembling as I go to adjust my glasses. Why does her teasing affect me in this way?

"D-Does there have to be one?" I stammer. She giggles, and slides onto the stool that Bonifica had previously occupied.

"It's a tempting offer," she says again, "but I'm still going to have to say no. See, I'm supposed to meet with Mettaton today, and I'm going to need my wits about me. The last thing I need is a buzz."

"A meeting with Mettaton?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "What for?"

"You remember when Sans and I first got together?" she asks me.

"How could I not?" I mutter. She must not hear the bitterness in my voice, because she continues on without so much as a pause.

"And you remember how Mettaton offered to let us have an all-expenses-paid date night at his restaurant, provided I do a performance? Well, it's about that," she says.

"You agreed to do it?"

"I expressed interest," she corrects. "I'm still not entirely sure what I think of him. He seems kinda... flamboyant."

"That is most certainly a word that would describe him," I agree. "Though I can think of a few others."

(Y/N) hums thoughtfully, and leans her head on a hand as she looks at me.

"You know... you and Sans seem to have something against the guy. What'd he do?" she asks.

I wince at the bluntness of her question, flames making a sudden popping sound. That is a question I do not really want to answer. However, I know that her curiosity is not something that will fade in the face of silence. I wait a few moments, holding her stare. When she does not back down, I sigh, and give in.

"Well, you see..." I mutter, uncomfortable. "Mettaton has a reputation around these parts. He... well, he is a lot like Bun-Bun in some regards."

"Bun-Bun?" she asks, expression suddenly darkening. "How so?"

I pull at my collar, flames fluctuating in intensity as my mixed emotions attempt to work themselves out.

"W-well... he is very... how do I say this?" I ask myself, buying myself time. "He is very... s-sexually active. And he... well... I was once the object of his affections. Sans' brother, as well."

(Y/N)'s eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth to say something. The words appear to die in her throat, however, because she promptly closes it again. She blinks, and runs a hand through her hair.

"O-oh," she stammers eventually, cringing. "I-I see..."

"It is not like that!" I exclaim, embarrassment flooding me. "It was not—I was not—neither of us actually entered a relationship with him! He simply had a hard time taking no for an answer, and so Sans had to step in..."

She continues to look at me with wide eyes, the barest hint of a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"It is complicated," I finish lamely. She chuckles at the pink tinge to my flames, and gives me a gentle shove.

"It's alright. I get it," she says, grinning. "But no wonder. Seeing him must be all kinds of awkward, am I right?"

"Yes," I say sheepishly. Then I shake my head, flames tossing in every which direction as I attempt to clear my head of such uncomfortable thoughts. "But in any case! You are going to accept his offer, right?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "It's just too good to pass up. It's an expensive place, and I want our first date to be something special. I'd be willing to work for that—even if it means standing on a stage for a few minutes."

"...It seems like a wise decision," I admit reluctantly.

"Welp, I've got Grillby approval. That's all the convincing I need," she says playfully, standing up. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and briefly checks the time. She gasps and shoves her phone back into her pocket, quickly moving to gather all the piano music that she had set down.

"Oh geez, I'm gonna be late!" she exclaims, eyes wide. Once she's gathered all of her paper, she quickly turns around, and hurries off. Before she goes far, though, she stops abruptly, and glances back at me over her shoulder. "About that drink—maybe another time?"

I blink in surprise, and am astonishingly quick to answer.

"Of course. Another time, then," I say, trying hard to disguise my disappointment. My smile seems to work, because she returns it easily, and nods. Then she continues on her way, the bell on the glass doors ringing as she exits.

~Later that night~

(Sensitive readers should probably stop here.)

I lock the double glass doors behind the last customer as they exit, flipping around the 'open' sign so that it instead reads 'closed.' It is a Monday. I close early on Mondays, so that I can get a few precious hours of sleep. I am the bar's only caretaker, and while I find great pleasure in servicing and consoling my late-night patrons, I do occasionally need time to recharge. I can feel that need now, like a weight tied to my shoulders—all I want to do is fall into bed and sleep.

However, even though it is already 11pm at night, I still have work to do. I turn around and survey my establishment, a heavy sigh escaping from me as I catch sight of all the dirty tables I have yet to clean, and the shine of the grease that has accumulated on the floors. I continue to stare at them for a few minutes, trying to force myself to pick up the mop that I have leaned against one of the tables. After a few minutes of sighing and resistance, I eventually reach out for it, and begin my nightly tasks.

I should hire a few more employees, I think as I wipe down the floors. If I did, there would not be as much for me to do after closing.

It seems like a good idea. My aching hands and head provide for the incentive, and there is more than enough room in my budget for it—the boom that (Y/N)'s performances had brought have made sure of that. But for some reason... the idea still does not really appeal to me. I pause in my task for a moment, trying to puzzle out why.

...I come up blank. There is not a single reason as to why I should not hire more staff. I sigh and shrug, going back to my mopping. When that task is done, I trade the mop for a cleaning rag, and go along each of the tables, polishing them until they shine.

The room is silent. I do not know why it took me so long to realize it, but now that I have, it is beginning to bug me. I do not like the silence. The stillness. I cannot stand the stillness. The movement of bodies, the babble of multiple conversations at once... I may complain about my customers' white noise, but for reasons I cannot understand, I feel... empty when it is not there. But there is something that I would prefer even above their conversation. Though there is no one else here, I can almost hear the notes of a piano being played...

I shake my head vigorously, and when that does not work to make the ethereal music go away, give myself a few wake-up slaps. And yet, the music persists. I recognize the tune, as well—it was one of the numbers from her performance earlier today. With all of the tables polished, I return to the bar and roll up my sleeves, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves in order to finish the rest of the dishes. Even as I scrub at them, however, the music continues, flowing through the air with the gentle tones of a long-forgotten lullaby. The music entices my thoughts in the direction of a certain human, and so I cannot help but think of her as I continue my monotonous pattern.

I could ask her to stay longer, I muse. She may be willing to help with clean up. And then I would get to talk to her more often...

As if in approval, the music flowing through my mind grows louder.

Bonifica was right; I should get in more face time with her. We can become good friends, if we are not already. And then if Sans slips up...

Unbidden thoughts blossom in my mind, fantasies of a relationship with (Y/N) chasing one after the other through my head. (Y/N) and I chatting for hours at the bar. (Y/N) and I hand in hand after I confess my feelings for her. (Y/N) and I on a date at the MTT restaurant. (Y/N) and I sharing a kiss. (Y/N) and I dancing at the King's annual gala. (Y/N) undressed and—

The music stalls as an angry growl is ripped from my throat, pink flames quickly transitioning into an angry red hue and billowing into the air around me.

"How dare you?!" I berate myself, barely restrained self-hate undercutting every word. "Have you no shame?! You cannot think about her that way! She is Sans girlfriend. Sans. Your best friend. You have no right to think about her in such a—a lustful manner! You are disgusting."

Despite my words, the images continue. And, no matter what I say, I cannot stop myself. My anger with myself is slowly building, the heat of my flames growing to a point where it is unsafe for me to keep handling the glasses. My red light reflects off every recently polished surface, making it seem as if I was standing in the middle of a ring of flame. Or, perhaps, in the pits of the hell I had somehow managed to make for myself. I make one last ditch effort to control my rebellious thoughts. It does not work. I can still see it so vividly... her bare shoulders, her bare waist...

Suddenly, calm washes over me. There is only one thing to do to an unruly fire—only one way to control it. Slowly, deliberately, I take off my rubber gloves. I examine my hands for a moment, watching as red and pink flames battle for dominance. They are completely out of control—I can barely make out the shapes of my fingers through the blaze.

I have made up my mind.

I turn my hands around, my palms hovering over the still-full sink.

This will force you to forget about her.

You deserve this.

I only hesitate a moment. Then I screw my eyes shut... and plunge my arms into the water. A scream is ripped from me as my flames are extinguished up to my elbows, steam billowing into the air on contact. The sound of my raised voice banishes the silence that had caused my thoughts to wander, forcing every thought and image of (Y/N) from my head. I withdraw my arms almost instantly, the pain too much for me to bear.

I stare down at my arms, my vision blurring as I grow dizzy. It has been a... a long time since I have seen my arms like this. Made of a strange, charcoal-like substance, they are black and dusty, red-white veins crisscrossing them more intricately than the threads of a spider web. After such abrupt contact with water, sections of my skin-like shell are beginning to peel and curl, allowing me a view of my white-hot molten core. The plasma shifts slowly, moving like molasses to seep out of the newly formed cracks.

I stumble back, unable to remain standing properly. I lose my balance and slam against the wall, the bottles above me rattling as I slide to the floor. I gasp for breath, the world spinning dizzily around my head. My arms hurt. They hurt so much. They are throbbing terribly, every inch of exposed black skin stinging and crying out abuse to me.

I do not mind, though.

I cannot think about anything in this state.

The pain is everything.

I cannot think.

I do not have to think about her.

All I have to worry about is this pain that I have caused myself.

I allow my eyes to slide shut, my body instinctively trying to shut down in order to concentrate on rekindling my damaged forearms. In the morning, they will be back to normal. I know that from experience. This is not the first time that I have done something like this, and it will likely not be the last. I have never been very good at managing these accursed emotions.

Before the bliss of sleep can claim me, though, there is a knock at the door. I crack my eyes open again, a trill of annoyance sweeping through me. I want to be alone right now. I do not want anyone barging in and seeing me in this state—

"Grillby, are you there?"

A muffled voice manages to make its way through the glass. I go dead still, hoping to God that the voice's owner cannot see me. I am seeing double, and I had lost my glasses in the fall... I cannot tell for certain whether or not the bar fully hides me. Regardless, I attempt to scoot further into its shelter, praying that the light of my now-blue flames do not attract (Y/N)'s attention.

"Uh... I left my jacket there earlier, and I'm gonna need it back—it's freezing out here," she calls.

Her jacket. I remember—she left it on a bar stool. However, I say nothing, and continue to hide behind the bar. Just the thought of her seeing me like this is making me tremble...

A muffled sigh can be heard from the other side of the door.

"Grillby, I dunno what you're doing back there, but I can see your shoes," she says indignantly. "Come on, open up. It'll only take me a second."

She saw me, I think numbly. What do I do? I—she—I—she cannot—I cannot allow her to—

"Oh wait. On my first day, you told me you put an extra key in the flower pot, right?" she asks thoughtfully. "Don't worry! I've got this."

"W-wait!" I exclaim, desperately trying to get to my feet. "Please, do not—"

I am shaking so badly that my legs give out on me, dumping me back onto the sticky hardwood floor. I land with one of my arms pinned underneath me, making me gasp as a bolt of pain instantly shoots up it. I could not have had worse timing. The sound of a key turning in a lock echoes throughout the empty room, quickly followed by the familiar ringing of a bell.

"There it is," she says, footsteps squeaking on old and rickety floorboards. I fight the urge to groan as my pinned arm continues to throb, and stay perfectly still. I hear the rustling of fabric as she picks up her lost artifact, and then slips it on. "That's better."

She has her jacket. Maybe she will just leave.

I tense up as her footsteps resume, and I watch as she circles around the bar. Of course she is not going to leave. I am lying on the floor—she would not ignore that. It is not in her nature.

The moment she catches sight of me, she stops dead in her tracks, a conflicted look finding its way onto her face. Her eyes sweep over my form once, twice, three times before settling on my face again. I still cannot see straight. She looks like a fuzzy blob. However, I can imagine the look on her face—it is most likely one of confusion and concern.

"Grillby?" she asks quietly. "What's going on here?"

The moment I attempt to say something, I am afraid that I will scream. It hurts. It hurts so much. Not just my arms. My soul. My soul, too. Hearing that concern in her voice... it... I cannot...

Why do you always have to be so kind?

When I remain silent, she hurries to my side, and kneels next to me.

"You're... blue," she says, disconcerted. "I-uh... I don't think that's normal. Is it?"

She still has not noticed my arms. I suppose I should be glad for my emotion-sensitive flames, for once—they are serving well as a distraction. I take a slow, unsteady breath. I need to say something, or else she will become even more worried. When I become accustomed to the throbbing in my arm, I risk opening my mouth.

"Relatively," I manage.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, brow furrowing. I refuse to answer. In the moment that I took to speak, I had to bite back a scream. I cannot risk speaking again. She studies me closely, looking me up and down. "...Can you sit up?"

Not on my own, no.

But regardless of the truth, I nod. When I do not make a move to sit up, though, she sighs, and moves to help me. It takes a considerable effort on her part, but she eventually gets me into a sitting position, leaning me against the wall. I tiredly rest my head against it, and sigh as the pressure on my arm is lifted.

"Thank you," I murmur. She sighs, and runs a hand across her face.

"Grillby, what happened?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask, choosing my words carefully. She stares at me for a moment, disbelief etched in every line of her face.

"Grillby, I just found you collapsed on the floor!" she exclaims suddenly, eyes wide. "So don't you dare play dumb with me—I'm not an idiot. What happened?!"

"Nothing," I mutter. "I am fine."

"Obviously not, if you can't even sit up by yourself," she points out.

I do not know what to say. So instead, I look away, trying to hide the shame that's beginning to show on my face. I do not like to lie to her... but it is better for her if she does not know.

"Grillby..." she says sadly. "C'mon. Just tell me what happened."

"There is nothing to tell," I say stubbornly.

"If you don't tell me, I'm gonna call Sans."

"..."

She glares at me, and then reaches for her pocket.

"Wait, please—!"

Before I can stop myself, I reach out for her wrist. The moment I make contact, pain radiates up my arm, and we both cry out and jerk back. My arm drops limply by my side, a few new cracks having appeared on my palm. I do not care about that, though. I watch in concern as (Y/N) cradles her injured wrist, her eyes bright with disbelief.

"Grillby... you just... burned me," she murmurs, shocked. "But you never... Wha...? Why? What did I do?"

"I-I am sorry," I mutter, voice breaking. "I-I did not mean to, I swear..."

She opens her mouth to say something, but she chokes on her words when she finally catches sight of my arms. She stares at them for a few heartbeats, eyes silently widening.

"Grillby, your arms!" she cries, reaching out again.

"No!" I exclaim, shrinking back. "Stop! I cannot control it—I will burn you again!"

She stops moments before she would have touched me, her outstretched fingertips frozen uncertainly in the space between us.

"Grillby, please answer me. What happened? Why are your flames gone?" she asks, voice stern.

"...Water," I say eventually. "It was an accident. I forgot my gloves."

While my words still make me feel guilty, I believe a half truth is better than a complete lie. She eats up every word, her face displaying nothing but innocent sympathy. If she knew that I had done this to myself on purpose, I doubt she would be so understanding.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asks, leaning forward. "I mean... how do you get them on fire again? You can, right? This isn't permanent, is it?"

"I will be fine," I say tiredly. "It will happen on its own. There is not anything that you can do to speed up the process."

"Are you sure?" she asks, more uncertainly. "I-I think there are some matches over at Sans' place—"

A wry grin makes its way to my face, and I manage a tired chuckle.

"That is a cute idea," I mutter dryly, "but a match would not do anything. You will just have to leave it up to me. I will be fine, I promise."

She falls silent, giving me another searching look.

"...Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" she asks eventually. "Like... anything?"

I think on it for a moment. There is really only one thing that I would want her to do for me. But... after all of that... I cannot ask that of her. No. In fact, I no longer deserve to ask anything of her. I open my mouth to tell her as much, but she beats me to it.

"And don't you dare say 'nothing,'" she says firmly. "I know that there's something I can do. Just tell me what that is."

I try to hold firm, but there is something about having her here with me that breaks down my defenses. Perhaps it is the tender look in her eye as she looks at me, or the worry coating her voice. I give in, sighing heavily.

"I... I just want you to stay here with me," I say softly, "until I fall asleep."

She blinks and then sighs again, running a hand through her hair.

"I can do that," she murmurs. "But are you just gonna sleep on the floor, or...?"

"It does not matter to me," I mutter, eyes already sliding closed. "I just... want to sleep."

"I know you've got an apartment in back," she says thoughtfully, glancing towards the door in the back of the room. "I can try to get you to your room, if you want."

I chuckle quietly, and raise an eyebrow.

"And just how do you plan on carrying me?" I ask, managing a smile.

"I... Good point," she mutters, frowning. "But... the floor? Really?"

"I just cleaned it. It will be fine."

"It's the principal of the thing," she huffs. She gets to her feet and crosses over to me, before sitting next to me against the wall. "Are you sure I shouldn't call Sans? He could at least levitate you—"

"No," I mutter. "No. Please."

Please... I just want to be alone with you. Just for a while.

She stares off into the distance, her face contorted as she fights with herself over what she should do. My wishes eventually win out, though, because she sighs, and gently scoots closer to me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, attempting to break the contact she'd initiated. "You are kind of close—"

Before I can finish, she wraps an arm around my shoulders, and gently forces my head onto her own. I go rigid when I make contact, but when she does not attempt to move away, I begin to relax.

"If you're so dead set on sleeping on the floor, the least I can do is let you use me as a pillow," she mutters.

"You... do not have to..." I murmur. Within mere moments, my eyelids have already become irrationally heavy.

"No, I don't," she agrees. "But I want to. You're my friend, Grillby—I'm not gonna let you deal with something like this on your own."

I want to tell her that I am not worth her time; that I have done her a great disservice, though she does not know it. When she starts humming, though, I allow my dark thoughts to die in my head, and decide to live in this moment. I will never get another chance like this. She is giving me a personal concert. Sans is not here. The customers are not here. It is just me... and her. A dream come true.

Her voice, as always, is melodic. The sound of it instantly serves to relax me, and my body seems to grow heavier as I lean more fully on her shoulder. Moments later, my eyes slide closed, and I can feel sleep gently pulling me into its awaiting arms.

No. I... I do not want this to end. Just... just a little longer. Stay awake just a little bit longer.

My exhausted body does not listen to my plea. (Y/N)'s voice stays with me as blackness consumes me, her song weaving its way into my dreams as I finally give up consciousness.

***

I wake up with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in my bed, flame-retardant covers cast about by wildly flailing arms. Then I freeze, and look at my surroundings. This is my room.

But I thought...

Had all of that been a dream? I suppose it could have been. The odds of (Y/N) turning up during a rare moment of weakness are astronomically bad. Calmed by the thought, I turn and reach for my nightstand, groping for my glasses.

I thought that it was too good to be true. Ah, well... it is just as well. It will be better in the long run if she never caught sight of me like that.

I slip my glasses onto my face, and then glance down at my arms. Had I dreamed that, too? No. No, there are signs of the injury that I had caused myself. While they are covered in flames again, the flames from my elbows down are a lighter color than those of the rest of my arm. I had not dreamed that part. But... then...?

Perhaps the pain made me delusional, I muse, shaking my head. But whatever the case, I have work to do. There is no use in dwelling on the unimportant.

I turn and swing out of bed, wincing slightly as my arms complain at the movement. It will be a while until they heal completely. Unfortunately, they are not damaged badly enough for me to close the bar.

There is no rest for the wicked.

I chuckle at my own joke, and cross over to my vanity. I go to get out fresh underwear, but something stops me short. In the brief time I had looked at myself in the mirror, my mind had registered that something is off. I straighten again, and take a longer look.

...Why am I in uniform?

My barista suit, though badly wrinkled, is still on my person. It seems I had slept in it. Strange, but not too far-fetched, considering the circumstances. I shrug, and am again about to undress when something else catches my eye—a flash of color. There are two blue sticky notes stuck to the far side of my mirror. I pull them off, and lift my glasses in order to read them.

"I know you said you were fine with the floor, but I wasn't convinced. You can thank Sans for getting you to bed."

--(Y/N)

"Oh, and don't bother working today. Sans is handling the bar for you, and I'm supervising him. Wouldn't want your ketchup stocks running dry. Take it easy—we'll handle it. In fact, if I so much as see you out front today, I'm going to march you straight back to your bed. Got it? You're getting a mandatory day off. No buts."

--(Y/N)

So... it was not a dream after all.

I blink, a warm feeling suddenly rushing through me.

...She really is too good to me.