Your Perspective

Tranquil. If you had to describe waterfall in one word, that would be the word you would use. Well, that or beautiful—both seem equally fitting for the place you find yourself in. The air around you is still and silent except for the distant gurgle of rushing water, giving the area the peaceful feeling of a Zen garden. This feeling is enhanced by the soft glow emitted large blue flowers that are dotted along the walkway, and the bioluminescent water that you can see glowing in the distance. Within seconds of teleporting here, you can already feel your eyelids growing heavy, lulled into a contented laziness by the dim lighting and serenity of Waterfall. You nearly fall over before Sans decides to intervene.

"Hey there," he says, grinning as he nudges your shoulder. "As much as I love afternoon naps, we've got a party to go to, remember?"

"Right," you yawn, wiping at your eyes. If you strain your ears, you can hear distant voices echoing cheerfully off of the cave's indigo walls. Knowing that they must belong to your friends, you take a step in the direction they're coming from.

"Hold on," Sans says, gently grabbing the back of your shirt. "There's something I want to show you."

"Yeah?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

"Look up."

You blink in confusion, but do as he asks. Your heart skips a beat as you catch sight of the crystals that litter the ceiling high above. There must be millions of them, and they're so far away that they're nothing more than distant pinpricks. You'd noticed similar crystals embedded in the ceiling above Snowdin—it's their glow that provides the Underground with light—but these... they're in a completely different league. Their blue glow is much stronger than the white ones above Snowdin, and against the near-invisible shadow-strewn ceiling, they almost seem as if they're hanging in mid air.

"Wow..." you breathe. "They're just like stars."

"Wanna take a closer look?" he asks, chuckling at your awe-filled expression. You can't say yes fast enough. He grins and saunters over to a telescope that's set up against the wall, giving it an affectionate pat before leaning casually against the wall. "Knock yourself out."

You peer through the telescope's lens, but you can't see anything—everything is red. You pull back and give Sans a strange look, before swiping a finger against the lens in question. Your finger comes away covered in red dust... probably dried paint of some kind.

"Y'know," you say, putting a hand on your hip and smirking, "if you're trying to prank me, that was a pretty sad attempt—it would probably work better if the paint were wet."

"What?" Sans asks you, looking genuinely surprised. "What d'you... oh. Oh! Whoops, I, uh... completely forgot about that. I used it to prank the kid a while back, and I guess I forgot to clean it up afterwards. That, uh... wasn't intentional. Sorry about that."

As he rubs the back of his spine, you can't help but find the bashful look on his face incredibly endearing.

"Hey, it's no biggy," you say, silently laughing at his discomfort. "Was Frisk's reaction worth ruining a telescope over?"

"Definitely," he says, pulling away from the wall. "She didn't even notice—it was hilarious."

You're about to say something, but your phone interrupts again. Apprehension gnaws at you as you pull it out (the last thing you want is to be bombarded by more creepy voices), and you glance at the caller ID. It's Alphys again. You don't bother to answer, seeing as you already know what she's calling about.

"We should probably get over there," you say, holding your phone up so Sans can see. "Frisk's probably going to blow a fuse if we're any later."

"You're right. We wouldn't want to keep the birthday girl waiting, would we?"

***

Sans leads the way further into Waterfall, which you're more than grateful for. With your sense of direction, you would've gotten hopelessly lost in this maze of paths and bridges a long time ago. And you mean that both literally and metaphorically—your mind is easily lost in Waterfall's beauty, too. The glowing water constantly draws your eye (and sometimes even your hands—you couldn't resist touching it), and your urge to look at the ceiling has caused you to trip more times than you care to count.

Even the little things are distracting—the glowing mushrooms, the flowers... even the strands of lightly glowing blue grass, and the dark blue moss beneath your feet. You took off your shoes a long time ago, and are making no secret of how much you enjoy the soft feeling of moss between your toes. You let out a contented sigh, drawing Sans' attention from his place walking ahead of you.

"You seem happy," he notes, showing off a hint of his smile as he glances over his shoulder.

"Yeah," you agree. "This is nice—peaceful."

"Well, I don't think it's gonna last too long," he says, jerking his chin towards a clearing up ahead. You can just make out the shapes of your friends as they mill about in a mossy meadow-like area, their voices creating an echo in the surrounding cavern. "Whatever my bro and the kid have planned for us, I don't think 'peaceful' is gonna be a part of it."

You have to agree. Whatever your hyperactive little sister has planned, it's not going to involve enjoying the scenery. Speaking of Frisk, one of the smaller shapes turns towards the two of you as you approach, and then promptly runs over to you, her accompanying squeal bringing a smile to your face. You brace yourself, but Frisk still manages to knock you over when she tackles you. You roll your eyes at her self-satisfied grin, and then gasp as Frisk bounces excitedly from her seat on your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs.

"You're finally here!" she signs, beaming down at you. "What took you so long?! You're late!"

"Oh come on," you gasp, trying (in vain) to catch your breath. "We're not that late."

"It's been half an hour!" she signs indignantly, puffing her cheeks out in an attempt to look angry with you. It doesn't work very well—it takes all of five seconds for her to start smiling again. She giggles and rolls off of you (much to your relief), before grabbing your hands and hauling you to your feet. "Come on! I wanna introduce you to some of my friends..."

She turns and pulls you after her, catching you off guard as your arm is nearly dislocated.

"Woah!" you exclaim. "Okay, okay, I'm coming! No need to be so pushy."

"Don't 'cha mean pully?" Sans asks, walking at your shoulder. That was an especially bad one. You try to frown, but your face just won't let you. You smile and roll your eyes instead, accompanied by a giggle from Frisk. She drops your hand and turns to Sans, her attentions momentarily diverted from you.

"Woooow, Dunkle. You're soooo funny," Frisk signs sarcastically. Sans blinks, and then narrows his eyesockets in concentration.

"Think you could repeat that, kiddo?" he asks. "And, uh... maybe sign a little slower?"

You'd been surprised (and more than a little happy) when you'd found out that Sans was trying to learn sign language. He told you that since you and Frisk were here to stay, he figured that he might as well find a way to understand her better—just in case you weren't around to act as translator. You think he might have ulterior motives for doing it, though (probably to earn brownie points with a certain big sister). Frisk repeats herself, slowing her hands to make them easier for Sans to try and decipher.

"'Wow, dunk-uncle. You're funny,'" he repeats uncertainly. "I get the feeling I'm missing something here. What's a dunk-uncle?"

"That's you," you explain, poking him. "She doesn't like spelling out people's names, so she gives them nicknames instead. You're 'Dunkle.'"

Sans falls silent, a contemplative expression on his face. Frisk's smile fades as the silence stretches on, and she seems to look a little apprehensive.

"You... don't like it?" she asks, seeming a little put-out. "I... I can give you a different nickname, if you want—"

Sans cuts her off with a raised hand, and his bone-brow furrows slightly as he concentrates.

"No! I love it, Kid."

His signs are slow and clumsy, but he's still improved a lot since the two of you had last practiced. Actually, now that you think about it... he's been learning a lot faster than you would have thought possible. He started a week ago, and he's already starting to put together complex sentences. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he's done this before. (That, or he's some kind of hidden genius—it would definitely explain the quantum physics book you found at his house the other day.)

Frisk's smile immediately returns at his words, and she throws herself at him, squealing into his jacket. Sans ruffles her hair and glances over at you, looking extremely impressed with himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't get the chance. Frisk extracts herself from his jacket and quickly returns to her previous task, forcefully taking one of your hands. She takes one of Sans' too (much to his dismay) and finishes hauling the two of you over to the other monsters.

The setup for the party is pretty basic. Someone's laid a traditional picnic blanket (complete with a red and white checkered pattern) over a section of the ground, and there are three plastic tables set up a little ways away. One of them serves as the drop-off point for gifts, and another is occupied by a cake (marble cake with red frosting, expertly crafted by Toriel) and an assortment of plastic utensils. The third is covered in what looks to be some kind of spaghetti sampler (courtesy of Papyrus, no doubt), and a few different drinks. There's a stack of what looks to be party games on the ground beside the tables, and you can see Grillby manning a small gas-burning grill a little ways away from the rest of the group, hard at work grilling hamburgers.

You're relieved when you see how few people there are. There can't be more than ten, and most of them are familiar faces—from where you are right now, you can see Papyrus, Alphys, Grillby, Toriel, that cute little monster kid, and Mettaton... as well as two other monsters that you don't recognize.

Papyrus and Alphys are over by the grill, discussing something with Grillby. (It must be interesting—the fire elemental seems completely engaged.)

Toriel is on the blanket, and she's keeping a close eye on MK, who's running around in circles around the cake table (apparently excited for cake).

One of the unfamiliar monsters—a giant blue fish woman, wearing a pair of jeans and a black tank top—goes over to talk to MK, and then joins him in his running. (Her voice is loud enough that you can hear it from all the way over here. It seems like she's counting laps.) The yellow of her single cat-like eye reflects the light of the area's growing plants, so it almost seems to flash. In place of her other eye, there's a black eye patch... you wonder how she lost her eye.

Mettaton is a little bit apart from the main group with the second unfamiliar monster. You think it's a ghost... but you try not to make assumptions. You can never really tell for certain when it comes to monsters.

Frisk leads the two of you over towards that last pair, dropping your hand to wave enthusiastically at them. Mettaton seems a little bit awkward around the ghost, so he brightens considerably when he sees your sister. Frisk raises her hands and gets ready to sign something, but Mettaton beats her to it.

"Frisk, darling!" he exclaims. "You have perfect timing. I was just telling Blooky here that I want him to be in charge of the music at my upcoming performance, but, as I'm sure you can guess, he needs a little bit of encouragement—"

Frisk interrupts him with a raised hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry darling—I didn't realize that you were going to say something," he says. "Please, go ahead."

"I want you to meet my sis," she signs. Frisk tugs you forward until you're directly in front of the robot, and then looks up at you expectantly.

"Frisk says that she wants you to meet me," you translate.

"Sis, this is Ton-Ton. Ton-Ton, Sis," she signs, gesturing to the robot when she introduces him.

That nickname... is adorable, you think.

"Oh, but darling," Mettaton says, ruffling your sister's hair affectionately, "we've already met. Your sister is a very talented singer, I must say—it seems you aren't the only person in your family with a knack for the arts."

"A knack for the arts, huh?" you ask, glancing down at your sister. "What, did you pick up an instrument while I wasn't looking, or something?"

"No," Frisk signs. "I can do something better."

"Something better, huh?" you ask, smiling as your sister hops up and down excitedly.

"Yeah!" she exclaims. "I can... (one, two, three)..."

She spins in perfect sync with Mettaton, and the two of them end up back-to-back, each of them sporting an identically condescending pose. Pink sparkles appear in the air around them for effect (you think that must be Mettaton's doing—some kind of magic), and the cheers of a nonexistent crowd resound from his front-facing speakers. Frisk looks extremely pleased with herself, and Mettaton has a predictable smirk on his face.

"...pose!" she exclaims.

Sans snorts, but it's quickly replaced by an 'oomph' when you elbow him in the ribs. You may not be thrilled at Frisk's new-found "talent," but you would never discourage your sister—and you won't let Sans turn this into a joke, either. He seems to get the point, because he quickly makes a sound that could—maybe—be interpreted as an impressed hum. (Your intervention doesn't change his amused grin, though.)

"Wow," you say, trying not to sound as underwhelmed as you feel. "That was pretty cool, Frisk."

"I know!" she signs enthusiastically. "Ton-Ton taught me. He says that if I get good, I can be a dancer at one of his performances!"

Somehow, you feel that Mettaton had just said that to appease your sister. As a famous idol, you somehow doubt that your sister's skills will ever cut it. However, in the spirit of being supportive, you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

A shifting movement catches your eye, and it reminds you that you still haven't been introduced to the other monster. You turn to look at the ghost-like monster, and blink hard when you find yourself looking through them instead.

That's going to take some getting used to, you think, taking a moment to rub at your eyes.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name," you say.

The monster shrinks away as you turn their full attention onto them, and you think they may be wishing they were invisible—they become a little more transparent, making it easier to see the flower that's directly behind them.

"Oh.............. Uh............ I'm sorry," they mutter, looking away. "I...... forgot to introduce myself, didn't I....... Oh......... oh no........."

You cringe as the ghost's eyes start to water, and sneak a glance over at Frisk, silently asking for her help. She doesn't even notice you—she's too busy practicing her poses. Mettaton does, though, and he quickly comes to your aid.

"Oh, I'm sorry darling, I completely forgot to introduce you," he says. "(Y/N), this is my cousin, Bloo—I mean Napstablook. Napstablook, this is Frisk's sister, (Y/N)."

Wait... how are they related? you wonder. I mean, Mettaton's a robot.

"It's nice to meet you," you say, brushing the thought aside. You hold out a hand for them to shake. There's an awkward silence while you wait for them to take it... only to realize that they don't even have hands.

"Oh....." they murmur, tears slowly leaking from their large oval eyes. "Oh..... I'm sorry, but I...... I don't have hands........ I'm so sorry......."

Oh geez, they're crying! Oh geez—

"No, no—it's okay!" you say quickly, throwing your own hands up in a placating gesture. "It's my fault—I didn't notice! Well, I kinda did, but I wasn't thinking and so I just kinda... you know what? I'm gonna stop talking now."

Sans chuckles quietly, and gives you a knowing look that you feel is equal parts sympathy and amusement. You flush instantly, and start to twirl the hem of your shirt around your fingers to try and release some of your growing nervous energy. You feel that the five of you are slowly falling back into another awkward silence (this is even worse than when you first met Alphys!), but then Frisk saves you from any further social floundering.

"Sis, there's still someone you haven't met yet! Come on," she says, pulling insistently at your arm. You don't want to meet anyone else, but you figure it can't possibly be any worse than what you just went through.

Sans dutifully follows the two of you as Frisk pulls you over towards the cake table, where MK and that blue fish lady are still running in circles. MK seems to be starting to lose his breath, but the fish lady is still going strong, and continues to call out her lap numbers.

"Eight seven! Eighty eight! Eighty nine!" she shouts. "Come on, twerp! Keep up—only eleven more until I win!"

"No! I... I'm gonna... beat you... huff... Undyne!" MK pants. You can't help but be concerned for the little monster—he's breathing so hard that you're afraid that he's going to keel over.

Your sister waves, trying to get this "Undyne" person's attention. It doesn't work very well—she's too focused on lapping MK... again. Since you started watching a few seconds ago, she's done it at least five times. (You've never seen someone run so fast in your life—not even that famous Olympian whose pose everyone likes to mimic.)

Your sister (not being the kind of person to wait patiently), tries to interrupt the two monsters' race. She throws herself at Undyne, wrapping herself around one of the fish monster's legs. It doesn't work. Undyne keeps running, without so much as a glance at her newly acquired, ninety-pound ankle weight.

Wow... that's pretty impressive, you think. I wish I could run like that.

After a few more laps, Frisk tightens her grip around the fish monster's leg. She's starting to look a little bit green around the gills.

Oooh boy, you think. That's not good.

Your sister is notorious for her motion sickness. Her record for longest drive without barfing is only ten minutes... and anything that so much as looks like a carnival ride is completely out of the question. You bite your lip, wondering if there's anything you can do to stop the rampaging fish lady... luckily, you don't have to.

"Ninety-nine... a hundred!" Undyne exclaims. She comes to an abrupt halt, and raises both fists triumphantly in the air. "I won! Sorry Twerp, but it looks like you're gonna have to try harder next time."

Frisk shakily extricates herself from Undyne's leg and dizzily walks away from her, one hand on her stomach, and the other pressed hard against her mouth. You barely register Sans confused look as you hurry over to her.

"Frisk, what were you thinking?" you ask sternly. "That wasn't a very good idea—you know how easy you get nauseous."

Frisk's only reply is a whimper. You can't bring yourself to scold her—not when she's in such a miserable state. You sigh and gently rub her back, before holding her against you and sitting down with her.

"Take deep breaths," you remind her, allowing her to lean against you. "That's right. In... and out... nice and slow."

Sans hesitantly walks over to the two of you, a concerned look on his face. When he reaches you, he stares at you uncertainly for a few seconds, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Hey, uh... is she okay?" he asks. His gaze momentarily flits down to Frisk's pale face, and nervous sweat drops materialize on his skull. "It's not... anything serious, right? I mean, should I get Paps, or...?"

Papyrus? Why would she need Papyrus? you wonder. It has you stumped... until you remember that strange, dream-like scene from the time you died. The image of your soul wrapped in orange magic is crystal clear in your mind, and it sends an unbidden shudder down your spine. Oh, that's right—Papyrus has healing powers.

"(Y/N)?" Sans asks. His voice sounds uncharacteristically worried, and that's more than enough to snap you out of your wandering thoughts. You glance up at him, and are somewhat taken aback when you see the flicker of blue deep in his left eyesocket. He looks like he's about to go into full-out panic mode.

"She'll be okay," you say quickly. "She's just a little motion sick—she'll be fine in a few minutes."

Sans doesn't seem convinced.

"Motion sick...? Are you sure it's nothing serious?"

"I promise," you say, a small smile crossing your face. (Seeing him worry like this is kind of cute.) "Her eyes and her ears are just having a little bit of a miscommunication, that's all. She'll be back to normal just as soon as they sort it out. Right, Frisk?"

Your sister groans quietly, but still manages to gives Sans an encouraging thumbs up. Sans carefully searches your face, and seems to relax when he sees how calm you are. The lights slowly return to his eyes, and he takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as the tension leaves them.

"Well... if you say so," he says uncertainly. You feel you should offer him more reassurances, but you don't get the chance.

"(Y-Y/N)!" a voice stutters. "T-There you are!"

A familiar yellow-scaled monster hurries into view, her face breaking into a smile when she catches sight of you.

"O-oh, and Sans is here too. Good—I'm glad you both could make it," Alphys says, adjusting her glasses. "I was s-starting to think you got lost."

"Sorry about that," you say, returning her smile. "I got kinda caught up in Waterfall—I wasn't expecting it to be so pretty. Oh, and speaking of pretty... that dress looks really good on you, Alphys."

"What? You really think so?" she asks, sounding surprised. "Oh, good—I had a r-really hard time choosing between this and the polka dot one I showed you the other day."

"I think you chose right," you say. "It shows off your curves."

You and Alphys break into excited girl chatter, which makes Sans start to look vaguely uncomfortable. You would try to include him in the conversation, but Alphys just started talking about the last few episodes of an anime she finished—you feel it would go right over his head. He eventually jerks his head towards Papyrus, silently telling you that he's going to talk to his brother. You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He saunters away, leaving you and Alphys to talk about Kaichou Wa Maid-Sama.

"Oh my gosh, Usui and Misaki are perfect for each other," she gushes, taking a seat next to you. "When Misaki finally admitted her feelings, I literally screamed."

"I know! They took their sweet time getting there, though," you say. "I mean, she was obviously in love—I can't help but wonder why she kept denying it."

"Hmm..." Alphys hums thoughtfully, giving you a squinty-eyed look. "Reminds me of someone I know."

"Oh yeah?" you ask. "Who's that?"

"She's someone that you're very familiar with."

"Oh no... it's not Frisk, is it? 'Cause I don't know if I'm ready for her to—"

"Wrong. Try again."

"Well, besides you and Toriel, there's no one else it could be. I don't think it's Toriel, and it's definitely not you, 'cause you already have a girlfriend..." you say thoughtfully. "Speaking of your girlfriend, when am I going to meet her? You go on and on about her sometimes, and yet I don't even know her name."

A familiar light sparks in Alphys' eyes at the mention of your girlfriend, and you can't help but start to regret your choice of topic. When Alphys starts talking about her girlfriend, it's near impossible to shut her up. (And you mean that in the nicest way possible—Alphys is the closest thing you have to a best friend.) Your mind wanders as Alphys begins to ramble about her girlfriend, and you can't help but wonder if you'll ever talk about someone like that... with so much affection and enthusiasm. Your mind briefly flits in Sans' direction, but it just as quickly shies away.

He just thinks of me as a friend, you remind yourself. We haven't even known each other for that long—maybe four weeks, if even that.

You'd known Charlotte for years... and look how that had ended. You can't help but grimace at the thought. It's not that you don't trust Sans. You do, with your life.

You'd seen him at rock bottom, and he'd let you into parts of his life that not even his own brother knows about.

He'd cried over your broken soul when you were dying.

He saved you from Flowey, and then blamed himself for not being able to the first time.

He loves to listen to you; whether that be talking, playing the piano, or singing.

He smiles genuinely whenever he sees you, and you can't deny the tap dance that your heart does whenever the two of you make eye contact.

You might have started off as some kind of strange counselor, but look where the two of you have come since then. You drop by his house so often that he's learned to expect you—he's always sitting on the couch, ready to offer you a seat beside him.

But the fact remains... you'd trusted Charlotte, too. You trusted her in the same way that you trust Frisk, and yet... The trauma that she'd inflicted on you isn't so easily undone. You aren't going to walk into anything too quickly, no matter how much you want to—no matter how you feel towards him. If the two of you are going to get any closer... he's going to have to convince you that he's different. That this isn't just going to be a repeat of eight years ago.

And besides, you don't even know if he feels that way towards you. Every time you think he's doing something flirtatious, he always immediately does something else to make you think that it was just an accident. Like that one time, when he put his hand on your knee... only to pick a piece of hair off of you. Or when both of you reach for something at the same time, and end up touching. He tends to linger for longer than the situation would usually call for, but... well... you just don't know.

So, no. You, being the socially awkward and cautious person that you are, will probably end up being that one old lady that lives with her house full of cats. Well, maybe that's not strictly true—you don't think there are any cats living in the Underground (not including the sentient ones, of course). Fine. You'll just take care of a colony of mice, instead.

"I mean, unless you don't want to," Alphys says. Then she falls silent, as though waiting for a response from you.

You blink, disoriented from all the time you'd spent sifting through your mind. You go to say something, only to realize that you don't know what she was talking to you about. And when had Frisk left? Your lap is empty, and strangely light in her absence. A glance over towards your friends has her talking animatedly with MK and Sans—you think he may be telling them some of his party-related jokes. Your heartbeat quickens when you catch sight of him, and you have to put a lot of effort into refocusing on Alphys.

"Sorry," you say apologetically. "But, uh... can you repeat that?"

Alphys smirks at you, and she looks away and takes an excruciatingly long time to push her glasses further up her snout. If she's trying to make you anxious, it's definitely working—you don't like that... that aura she's giving off. She's giving you this feeling that she's about to talk about her OTP from Mew Mew Kissy Cutie.

"Oh, (Y/N)," she says, trying too hard to sound neutral. "You're so spacey..."

You think (you hope) she's going to leave it at that, but when she turns to look at you again, she has a crazed look in her eye. She giggles under her breath, and rubs her clawed hands together.

"You're thinking of a certain..." She hesitates for a moment, as if getting ready to gauge your reaction. "...skeleton, aren't you?"

You flush instantly, and you have the urge to hide in the hood of your jacket. However, that's unfortunately not a possibility—you'd left it at Grillby's. So instead, you opt to ignore it. If you choose not to acknowledge it, maybe she won't notice.

"What? Psht—no," you say, your voice a pitch or so higher than normal. "Ha ha—what makes you say that? I wasn't thinking about him. I was just... uh... Frisk. I was thinking about Frisk."

"Him?" Alphys asks, smiling as she pounces on your mistake. "Don't you mean, Sa—"

"So!" you exclaim, cutting her off. "What were you saying about your girlfriend?"

"Aww, (Y/N), you really shouldn't keep trying so hard to hide it," Alphys says, ignoring your desperate plea for a change of subject. "Sans is your Usui—you two are so cute together! I've seen the way he looks at you. And the way he calls you 'Buttercup....'"

"That's just a nickname," you protest.

"Try pet name," Alphys corrects. "And if that's not enough, then there was that time he almost fought with Grillby over you—"

"...What are you talking about?"

"And when you two were in the woods that one time, and he let you cry in his arms—"

"C'mon Alphys, that was private—"

"And that time you nearly touched his soul—"

"Just how many cameras do you have?! And why were you watching—"

"And you always sing for him, even though you don't want to—"

"Alphys!"

"(Y/N), you two obviously like each other. If you just told him, then maybe he'd—"

"La la la la la laaaaa! I'm not listening!" you exclaim, making a show of covering up your ears.

Alphys smirks at you again, but seems to decide to let up for the time being.

"Okay, okay," she says, holding her hands up in submission. "Fine, I won't talk about it... for now."

Something about the look on her face assures you that the issue is going to come up again sometime in the future. If Alphys is determined about anything, it's defending her ships. You take a deep breath, trying to bring your heart rate back down.

"So," you start, "what were you saying earlier? I'm sorry, but I was thinking about something else."

"Something that definitely doesn't involve Sans," you add, noticing Alphys' grin.

"I was just saying that my girlfriend is actually here, at the party," Alphys says slowly, obviously reluctant to change the subject so soon. "And that I could introduce you, if you want."

"Sure, that'd be great," you sigh, relieved.

As long as it doesn't involve talking about my crushes, I'll do anything, you add to yourself.

"Okay. She's right over—"

"HEY YOU! You call that grilling hamburgers? THIS is grilling hamburgers!" a hearty voice yells.

You and Alphys turn simultaneously to look at the speaker, and are just in time to see Grillby's portable grill erupt with flames worthy of a bon-fire. Every single person at the party falls silent, and stares in disbelief at the monster whose hand is on the grill's dial.

"Oh d-dear," Alphys mutters. She draws a hand across her face and sighs, before standing and hurrying over to the fish lady (who seems a little too excited at the height of the flames). Not knowing what else to do, you stand and follow her.

"U-Undyne, you really shouldn't turn the heat up that high," Alphys says gently. She reaches up to place a calming arm on the fish lady's blue arm, rubbing it to take the edge out of her words. "We've talked about this, remember? From that time you caused that explosion in the lab?"

"Yeah!" Undyne exclaims, beaming down at Alphys. "That was fricking awesome!"

"Undyne..."

"C'mon Alphys, that guy was taking way too long to cook them," she says. "And I figured—why cook them on low heat for ten minutes, when you can do it on max heat for one second?!"

"Undyne, sweetie, that's not really how it works..."

...Sweetie? Wait. Is Undyne...? you wonder, putting the pieces together. Strong, cool, passionate, former head of the royal guard... well, she definitely fits those criteria.

It seems that Undyne is Alphys' girlfriend. You're somewhat surprised—you hadn't expected Alphys to be dating someone with a personality so... different... from hers. You have to admit though, that they seem pretty cute together.

On the other side of the grill, Grillby, completely unfazed by the intensity of the flames, is hard at work putting them out. He turns off the gas, and then... sucks them up, you guess? He kinda... absorbs them into himself, until there's nothing left on the grill but a few little black piles of ash. When he sees you watching, he seems to sigh, and gives you a helpless shrug.

"I was just trying to help, Alphys," Undyne says. She seems a little bit put-out, herself.

"I know sweetie, I know," Alphys coos. "But... well... c-cooking isn't really your strong suit."

"...Fine. I'll PROVE to you that I can cook! You and me Flamehead—we're gonna have a cook-off!"

"U-Undyne! That's not what I—"

"Fine," Grillby says, decisively adjusting his glasses. "What are the stakes?"

...Grillby's going along with this? Oh boy... this just got heated.

A loose ring forms around Undyne and Grillby as the other guests' interests are piqued. Undyne cracks her knuckles and smiles, leering in her opponent's direction.

"The winner gets to pick out the first party game," Undyne declares, throwing her shoulders back. "And the loser... HAS TO BE PART OF THE CLEAN UP CREW! How do you like that, huh?!"

"...Are you certain?" Grillby asks, crossing his arms. "For I am not likely to lose."

"Of course I'm sure! With my girlfriend cheering me on, there's no way I'll lose to you!"

A tint of red enters Alphys' scaled face at her girlfriend's words, and she sheepishly rubs one of her arms. You feel a hand on your shoulder, and turn to see an achingly familiar skeleton at your shoulder. No matter how desperately you try, you just can't ignore the thundering in your chest as his proximity to you.

"My money's on Grillby," Sans whispers, grinning. "Unless Undyne goes first—she may end up breaking the grill, and winning by default."

"You're too excited for this," you say quietly, trying to beat back your smile. "I get the feeling Undyne is dangerous around fire."

"Oh, but that's what makes it fun to watch," Sans points out. You laugh quietly and then refocus on the developments between Grillby and Undyne.

"We will both make two hamburgers each," Grillby states. "But who will be the judge?"

"Judge? Why do we need a—"

"I think F-Frisk would make a good judge," Alphys says, quietly giving her input. "Frisk and Sans."

"A judge, huh? I dunno—don't think I'm suited for it," Sans says quickly, shifting uncomfortably at your side.

"I think you'd make a good judge," you say loudly, shooting Sans a mischievous smile.

Finally, a chance to get back at him.

"MmmHmm!" Frisk affirms, gently pushing him towards the two competing monsters. Sans shoots the two of you a look of mock betrayal, but reluctantly allows Frisk to force him towards the center.

"Alright, Fireface—YOU'RE GOING DOWN!" Undyne roars.

"Mmm!" Frisk exclaims, holding up her hands in a kind of "wait" gesture. She runs over to you and grabs your wrist, dragging you into the center of the circle.

"W-wait a sec!" you protest. "Frisk, what are you...?"

She picks up her whiteboard (which had been laying on the picnic blanket), and starts to scribble.

"We need more contestants!" she says. "I've got one volunteer—anyone else want to join?"

"A COOKING CONTEST? NEATO! I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, WOULD NEVER PASS UP ON A CHANCE TO COOK WITH MY FRIENDS!" Papyrus exclaims, trotting over towards the grill.

"W-wait!" you stammer. "I didn't—I don't want to—I didn't volunteer!"

Frisk gently takes your hand, moves her bangs away from her face, and looks up at you. You try to stay strong against her puppy eyes, but they're just too powerful for you. You could never say no to that face.

"Fine," you sigh. Then an idea pops into your head, and a wolfish smile crosses your face. "But I'm going to need some ramen and a pot."

"Ramen?" Sans asks, an understandable amount of confusion displayed on his face. "Like... ramen noodles? What for—aren't you supposed to be grilling hamburgers?"

Frisk squeaks with excitement and bounces on the balls of her feet. She knows exactly what you're up to, and she can't wait to see the result. You ruffle her hair, feeling that the judging panel may be stacked just a tiny bit in your favor.

"You'll see," you say.

***

After a few minutes of hard work behind the grill (and a few lower level explosions on the part of Papyrus and Undyne), all of the contestants have their entries done. You place your two completed hamburgers at the makeshift judges' table (the presents on one of the plastic tables had been relocated to the picnic blanket), and then go back over to the grill to clean up after yourself. You pour out the leftover pot of boiling water into the nearby stream, and then get to work scrubbing down your section of the grill. Grillby is watching you with an approving look in his eye, apparently glad that he's not going to have to do it himself.

Excited chatter is drifting up from the ring that's formed itself around your two judges, and you make sure you join them before the judging starts. You find a place next to Papyrus, and then take a moment to survey the competition's entries. Even though you don't know for certain which belongs to who, you can guess just by looking at them.

The first pair is badly charred and crumbling, but they haven't completely disintegrated yet—you can guess they're Undyne's. (The only reason she hadn't sent them up in flames again was because Alphys had been lending her a claw.)

The second pair can't even be considered hamburgers. They're actually clumps of charred spaghetti forced together to have a hamburger shape. You know that Papyrus really likes to cook spaghetti, but this is ridiculous.

The third pair looks like they've been sent down straight from hamburger heaven. Each has a perfectly grilled patty, with an array of fresh vegetable toppings and an expertly buttered, lightly toasted bun. Your mouth is watering just from looking at it. You wouldn't expect any less from the master himself, though—you figure his name is "Grillby" for a reason. (Actually, now that you think about it, who names their child "Grillby?" Maybe it's just a nickname.)

And finally, there's yours. Beside Grillby's little angels, they don't exactly look like much—they're definitely edible, but they're somewhat plain and lumpy looking. However, your hamburgers have a hidden secret—one that your sister is sure to appreciate. (You can't wait to see the look on Sans' face, either. You'd been secretive when you were making it, so hopefully he doesn't know what's coming.)

"Let the judging commence!" Mettaton exclaims, holding a microphone out in front of him. He'd made himself the unofficial umpire during the competition. His voice is kind of annoying to listen to for long periods of time, but you have to admit that he's good at making interesting commentary. "Starting with entry number one—Undyne's fabulous... uh... what did you say it was called again?"

"I call it... THE PASSION BURGER!" Undyne roars. MK and Alphys cheer her on, the former bouncing up and down excitedly.

"Entry number one, Undyne's passion burger!" Mettaton exclaims, correcting himself. "This fabulous burger was made using the pent up energy and unbridled fervor of the former head of the royal guard! And what do the judges think?"

Frisk pulls an adorably disgusted face at the sight of the "passion burger," but seeing the anticipation on Undyne's face, she soldiers on. She takes a tiny bite of it, her face instantly screwing up as she has to resist the instinct to spit it back up. She swallows hard, and then gives Undyne an obligatory thumbs up.

"Judge number one survived the encounter!" Mettaton exclaims, gesturing flamboyantly towards a wincing Frisk. "And judge number two?"

"...Do I have to?" Sans asks, grimacing as he stares down at Undyne's not-exactly-edible hamburger. You stomach twists in sympathy for him, but it's easily overridden by your amusement. This is fun.

"YES, BROTHER, YOU MUST!" Papyrus calls. "I KNOW THAT IT MAY NOT BE AS GREAT AS I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS', HAMBURGERS ARE, BUT IN THE SPIRIT OF COMPETITION, YOU SIMPLY CAN'T REFUSE—IT WOULD BE BAD SPORTSMANSHIP."

"C'mon bro..." Sans mutters, staring down at the black lump. He glances up at you, begging you with his eyes to help him out of this mess. You smile sweetly at him, and give him an exaggerated shrug.

"It seems judge number two is afraid to taste the full extent of Undyne's passion," Mettaton notes, posing dramatically. "And we all know the technical term for that, folks—that's right. Chicken!"

He presses a button on his chest, and a very realistic gobbling sound emanates from his speakers. (He seems to be having a lot of fun with this.) Sans glares at him for a moment, but then lets out a resigned sigh, and picks up the rock-like burger. He makes a big show of shoving the whole thing in his mouth, all at once. It would be impressive... but you think you might have caught a hint of royal blue magic at the last moment.

Your thought is confirmed a moment later, when there's a soft thud on the ground behind you. You turn to examine its source, and aren't really surprised to find a black rock. (Sorry, hamburger. Though burnt, it's still technically a hamburger.) The rest of the crowd eats up the trick, though, and they utter a collective gasp at his uncharacteristic boldness. Even Mettaton seems a little bit humbled.

"Urk—that was... huff... awful," Sans mutters. He throws in a few retching noises for good measure.

His performance is nearly believable. The only hint that it may not be real is his approval-seeking smile in your direction. You give him what he wants—a smile and a roll of your eyes, as per usual. His grin widens at your expression, and he kicks his fake retching up a notch. An onlooker might think that the burger is killing him.

"Oh my," Mettaton says, an exaggeratedly awed expression on his face. "It seems the burger of passion was almost too much for him. Well, on to round two—the Great Papyrus's miraculous... burger?"

"This appears to be spaghetti," he continues, examining the plates of burnt spaghetti (they'd completely lost their shape). Papyrus puffs out his chest with pride, and nods enthusiastically.

"THAT IT IS! YOU OBSERVE SPAGHETTI THAT HAS BEEN EXPERTLY MOLDED INTO THE SHAPE OF A HAMBURGER. I CALL IT... THE SPAGHETTI BURGER!"

"Well... I'm sorry, darling, but only hamburgers are being considered in this contest," Mettaton says. There's an unusually gentle tone to his voice, and the way he's looking at Papyrus is somehow different than the way he looks at everyone else. More... genuine, maybe? Or open? You can't quite put your finger on it. "And your entry... well, it doesn't have any beef—or meat of any kind—in it. I'm sorry Pappy darling, but I'm going to have to disqualify you."

"OH..." Papyrus says, looking extremely disappointed. You feel like you need to comfort the skeleton, but once again, he's surprisingly quick to perk himself up. "THAT'S OKAY! I'LL JUST ADD IT TO MY FOOD MUSEUM! I HAVE BEEN CONSIDERING CREATING A NEW PIECE FOR SOME TIME NOW... AND NOW I HAVE. IT ALL WORKS OUT."

"Thank you for understanding," Mettaton says. "Now, on to entry number three! From the grill master himself..."

The taste testing of Grillby's burgers goes as expected. Frisk wolfs hers down without so much as stopping for air, while Sans just shrugs and says that it's okay. (After eating at Grillby's so often, you guess that it's probably just normal for him.) With Grillby out of the way, that just leaves you.

"And finally, last but certainly not least, entry number four!" Mettaton cries, pulling an incredibly dramatic pose. "(Y/N)'s never-before-seen secret recipe, brought to us straight from the surface..."

He's building it up too much, you think, wincing to yourself. It's not that special.

"...the Mystery Burger!"

The audience gives an appreciative "ooh," and looks on with renewed interest as the judging recommences. Frisk beams at you and immediately starts munching, her burger vanishing within just a few heartbeats.

"Did you make more?" Frisk asks you, her large brown eyes silently pleading with you. "You did, right? Please say you did."

You'd anticipated this. This specific type of burger is a kind of special treat for Frisk—you only make them on special occasions, because it takes so much more effort than the regular 'ol store bought variety. You grin and point behind you, where there's a steaming stack of burgers sitting beside Papyrus's spaghetti sampler. She immediately leaves the judging table and runs over, snatching up a paper plate and going whole-hog with the extra burgers.

"Hey, save room for cake, alright?" you call. She hesitates just long enough to nod in your direction, before going back to filling her plate.

"Well, folks, it seems the birthday girl has already chosen a favorite," Mettaton notes, watching as Frisk starts to stuff her face. "And judge number two?"

Sans takes a hesitant bite of your hamburger. You watch him carefully, and have to hide a smile as his eyesockets widen in surprise. When he pulls back, you nearly choke with unexpected laughter—he has several strands of ramen noodle stuck between his teeth, and he doesn't even seem to notice.

"So that's what you wanted the ramen for," he notes. "Well, you definitely get points for creativity, Buttercup. And it's not half bad, either."

The noodles bounce along with his words. Someone in the crowd cracks up, and pretty soon, everyone is laughing along with them—even Grillby is chuckling. You try your hardest not to do the same, but by the time your eyes start to water with the effort, it's too much for you. Your sides hurt with the force of your giggling.

"What?" Sans asks, bewildered. You need all of your air to try and keep from blacking out, so instead of saying something, you point to your own teeth. It takes him a moment, but it eventually clicks. "...I have noodles in my teeth."

You nod, trying (unsuccessfully) to make your laugh attack subside. Sans' cheekbones turn blue, but despite his embarrassment, he laughs good naturedly along with the rest of you. Then he goes to work removing the affixed noodles, conjuring up a bone to use as a toothpick.

"Well," Mettaton gasps, still fighting down his own laughter. "Beauties and gentle beauties, the judging is now over. Now, for the verdict. Judges, what do you say?"

Sans opens his mouth to say something, but Frisk speeds over and interrupts him with a waving whiteboard.

"Everyone wins!" she says. "Everyone did great—you too, Papyrus!"

You notice that one of the "spaghetti burgers" has a bite out of it.

"WOWIE," Papyrus says, sparkles entering his eyes. "THANK YOU, FRISK."

Frisk smiles at him, and writes something else on her whiteboard.

"Your spaghetti burger was actually pretty good," Frisk says. "But since everyone did their best, everyone wins."

"Wait, WHAT?!" Undyne exclaims. "But if everyone wins, then who gets to pick out the first party game? And who has to clean up the party?! C'mon, Punk, you've gotta choose a winner!"

"Everyone has to agree on a game," Frisk says. "And everyone has to help clean up. That way, everyone has to work together. That a good thing, right sis?"

"That's right," you say, smiling to yourself. Your sister's such a good kid—it's moments like these that make her so lovable. "Let's make it a team effort."

"Wha—but I was gonna win that thing," Undyne complains. Alphys makes a show of rubbing her arm sympathetically, but seems to be trying hard to hide a smile.

"I'm sure you would have won, Undyne," MK squeaks, trotting over to her. "You're the coolest."

You tune out of their conversation to turn to Sans, who'd made his way over to you during the commotion.

"Welp, that was fun," he says.

"It was," you agree, choosing to ignore the hint of sarcasm in his voice. "It's been a while since I've cooked something."

"I could tell," he says, pulling a face.

"Hey!" you exclaim quietly, fighting back a giggle. "At least I can cook, unlike some skeletons I know."

"Are you making fun of my bro now, Buttercup?" he asks, a playful grin on his face. "Careful—you wouldn't wanna get on the judge's bad side, now would you?"

"Oh, I wasn't talking about Papyrus," you say. You put your hands on your hips and lean over slightly, making use of your one-or-two inch height difference so that you're looking down at him. "He, at least, can make spaghetti. You, on the other hand... well, I don't think I've ever actually seen you set so much as foot in the kitchen."

"I know it may be impastable to believe," Sans says, winking at you, "but I can make a pretty decent quiche."

"Hmm... I'll be the judge of that," you say, smiling. "You'll have to show me someti—"

You're interrupted by a familiar blue and purple missile. Frisk throws herself at you again, and it takes all of your strength to keep yourself upright.

"Woah!" you exclaim. Then you chuckle and pull back a little bit, so you can get a good look at your little sister's overly-excited face. "Alright, alright—what's got you all riled up all of a sudden?"

"Goat Mom's gonna cut the cake! Come on!"

***

Sans' Perspective

Welp, that was, uh... unexpected. I definitely didn't come to the kid's birthday thinking that I would be asked to judge a hamburger grilling contest. But, y'know... it was okay. Sure, being the target of public mockery wasn't fun, and I nearly took a bullet in the form of Undyne's cooking... but in the end, it was worth it. I managed to make (Y/N) laugh. (And I mean really laugh. She was laughing so uncontrollably hard that she looked like she was going to cry for a second there.)

I absentmindedly move my cake around on my plate, distracted by the sight of a certain human. She's over with her sister on the picnic blanket, trying to keep the kid from shaking her presents too hard. (After wolfing down her piece of cake, she won't leave them alone.) The sight of (Y/N)'s easy smile makes my soul do somersaults from its place in my ribcage, and I have to turn my complete attention to my plate to try and distract myself. As much as I want to hog her attention, I should probably let the kid get in some time, too.

I take another bite of the cake. I'm usually not a big fan of sweets, but this cake is an exception. I should really consider trying to get Tori to give Papyrus cooking lessons...

"BROTHER!" a voice exclaims.

Speak of the devil.

"Hey, bro," I say, carefully balancing my fork on the edge of my plate. "What's up?"

"I WAS COMING TO ASK YOU HOW YOU ARE LIKING THE PARTY SO FAR," he says. He's balancing his own piece of cake on the top of his skull, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "YOU SEEM TO BE ENJOYING IT!"

"Yeah, bro," I say. "You did a good job, helping to plan this thing. It's great."

"I AM SO GLAD YOU THINK SO!" he exclaims, puffing his chest out. "AND THE FUN HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN! YOU SEE, WE STILL HAVE THE GAMES AHEAD OF US..."

Paps waggles his bone-brows, and throws me an exaggerated wink. I'm... not sure what to make of that. I it were me, I would say that I was up to something; probably a prank. But this is Paps we're talkin' about. I shrug mentally, and decide that this would be a good time to deliver a good one-liner. Just the thought of Paps' reaction is enough to make my smile grow a little wider.

"Yeah, I'm sure it'll be great," I say. "But we have to make sure we don't have too much fun—you know what they say about birthday parties, right?"

"WHAT? WHAT DO PEOPLE SAY... WAIT. SANS—"

"Having too many of 'em can kill you."

Paps stares at me for a moment, before groaning and running a hand down his face. I chuckle quietly, taking another bite of cake.

"SANS, WHY MUST YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO ME?" he groans.

"C'mon bro, that was a good one."

"ALL I WANTED WAS ONE, PUN-FREE DAY. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?"

"Well, if you wanna get technical... that wasn't really a pun," I point out, my grin growing ever wider.

"PUNS, JAPES, JOKES IN GENERAL!" Paps exclaims, throwing his arms up. The excessive movement unbalances the plate on his head, sending cake cascading down his face. Papyrus freezes, his arms still in the air as red frosting slowly drips off of his chin. His shocked expression is so perfect that I end up choking on my last bite of cake.

"Hey, uh, bro?" I ask. "I think you've got a little something riiiight—"

Before I can finish my statement, he turns on his heel and marches off in the direction of the nearest stream. I hear a quiet laugh from over from the direction of the blanket, and turn to see (Y/N) looking in my direction. Her gaze flits towards the retreating form of Papyrus for a moment and then back over to me, a knowing smile on her face.

That sight of that toothy smile makes my soul go nuts, but I force the sensation down, and offer her a shrug in return. She looks like she may come over and talk to me, but she's quickly snatched up by Alphys, who drags her over towards Undyne. I try not to feel too disappointed, but the loss of her attention leaves me with a sinking feeling that I'm not sure what to do with.

"Sans," a quiet voice says. I stiffen, and try to hold back a groan as I find a certain nosey fire-elemental standing at my shoulder.

"Hey, Grillbz," I huff, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm. "What's up?"

He doesn't say anything, instead giving me a knowing look and a raised eyebrow.

"What's with that look?" I ask, playing dumb.

"...You still have not said anything to her," he says.

"Yeah," I agree. I'm too tired of our bickering to get angry at his continued interference.

I take a longer-than-normal amount of time to eat a bite of my cake, hoping that he'll get the message and walk away. He doesn't.

"What's your point?" I ask, barely covering up a sigh.

Grillby doesn't say anything, instead resting a flaming hand on my shoulder. He keeps it there for a few moments, and then he just... leaves. I stare at his back as he walks over towards Frisk, who's still anxiously surveying her presents. Apprehension gnaws at me when the two of them start talking, but I'm not sure why. I'm just getting this feeling... like there's something going on here that I can't see.

"Hey, is it time for presents yet?!" a child's voice shouts. That little yellow monster kid rushes over to Tori, who's somehow become the party's unofficial overseer.

"Hmm... I would say that that it is about time," she says, pausing her conversation with Napstablook. "What do you say, my child?"

Frisk squeals, jumping excitedly up and down from her place next to the stack of presents. She immediately grabs the topmost one, rubbing her hands along the creases in the wrapping paper to try and find any tape that she needs to take off.

"Goodness, child—hold your horses," Tori says. She gently taking the present from her, and sets it back on the pile. "Wait for everyone to get here, first. Gather around, everyone! Frisk is going to start opening her presents."

Once everyone's gathered on the picnic blanket, Frisk wastes no time in ripping open her several brightly-colored boxes. And when I say 'rip,' I mean it—her vigor is almost alarming. (It's a little too similar to Chara's treatment of monsters in genocide runs.) Shreds of paper rain down on the assembled party goers like confetti, and by the time she's done, the entire blanket looks like it's covered in multi-colored snow.

The kid is overjoyed with every single one of her presents. She seems to be having a hard time deciding which she wants to use first... I can't help but smile when she picks mine. (Paps looks like he's about to have a conniption fit, though.) She sits down amid the paper pile and immediately starts riffling through "A Pun a Day Keeps the Boredom at Bay." Hopefully, that joke book will improve her skills a little bit. If I have to sit through one more nonsensical knock knock joke... well, let's just say that it's not gonna be pretty.

"O-okay, everyone!" Alphys exclaims, standing up. "I think it's time we start on the p-party games. Right, Fr-Frisk?"

The kid drops the book like it's a hot coal, and jumps to her feet, nodding enthusiastically. Somehow, it looks like the kid is even more excited for the games than she was for presents—she's so antsy that she can't seem to stay in one place.

"But who's gonna pick the first game?" Undyne asks. "No one won the contest earlier."

"I think Frisk should," Mettaton says smoothly, placing one hand on the kid's shoulder. "It is her birthday, after all."

There's a general murmur of approval from the group, though Undyne is a little bit more reluctant about it.

"I do have a suggestion, though," Mettaton continues. He quickly glances over at Alphys, and the two of them share some kind of look between them. Mettaton nods to himself, before crouching down so that he's on level with the kid and whispering something into her ear.

...I don't like this.

Whatever he tells her makes her eyes light up, and she instantly reaches for her white board. I steal a glance over at (Y/N), wondering if she has any idea what's going on. She meets my eye, but she looks just as confused as I am.

"We're gonna do karaoke in pairs!" she exclaims. "Mettaton's gonna let us use him as our karaoke machine, so he'll pick the songs..."

"But don't worry, darlings—I'll be participating, too," Mettaton adds.

"And I'll pick and announce the pairings, since I can't sing for obvious reasons."

...Oh no.

Dread washes over me. There's no way I'm going to sing—I'd rather eat Paps' entire spaghetti museum and then suffer the consequences afterwards.

"We need an even number of people," Frisk continues, "So if anyone wants to sit this one out, there has to be an even number of you. If there's an odd number, then everyone has to play. Anyone who doesn't want to play, raise your hand."

I can't raise my hand fast enough. Everyone in the group turns to stare at me, each with a varying amount of amusement displayed on their faces. Out of everyone here, I'm the only one that raises my hand. A single bead of sweat forms on my forehead, and then lazily makes its way down the side of my skull. The kid waits a few more moments, but no one takes pity on me. Even Napstablook and Alphys are participating.

"Sorry, Sans," she writes. "Looks like you're gonna have to participate."

"Wait!" I protest. "C-c'mon, kid, don't do this to me."

The kid actually has the gall to smile at my discomfort. Any small hope I had at getting out of this activity are extinguished, and my hand falls limply by my side. Why does it seem like everyone is determined to see me squirm? At least (Y/N)... wait, never mind. She's got this smug look on her face, as if this is exactly what she wanted.

"Paps? Tori? C'mon guys, help me out here," I plead, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"BROTHER, THIS WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU," Paps says. "YOU ARE ALWAYS SINGING IN THE SHOWER—I HONESTLY DON'T SEE WHY YOU'RE SO OPPOSED TO THIS."

Did he just say...? Oh, god, he did.

Tori hides her face behind her hand, but the folds at the corners of her eyes betray her smile. From the corner of my eyesocket, I can see that (Y/N)'s in a similar position. Her hand is covering her face to hide her smile, and her shoulders are shaking with her barely restrained laughter. My face burns, and I have to forcefully beat down the urge to teleport back to Snowdin. There's no way this can get any worse.

"Okay. I'm gonna tell you guys' the pairs now," the kid writes, casting an evil grin in my direction. "And they are: Undyne and Alphys, Papyrus and MK, Grillby and Toriel, Mettaton and Napstablook, and finally... Sans and my sis."

It just got worse. Oh god, it just got so much worse.

I can't—not with her—oh god, no.

As everyone else gets up to find their matchups, chattering and excited about the upcoming event, I'm frozen in place, completely mortified by the idea of singing with (Y/N). (Y/N), with the voice that would put the angels themselves to shame. (Y/N), the one person whose opinion I care about. (Y/N), the one person that I... that I... My arms robotically move of their own accord, reaching for my hood and pulling it tight around my skull, completely hiding my face.

"Sans?" an achingly beautiful voice asks.

I retreat deeper into my hood, and shove my hands into my pockets.

"Sans' isn't here," I mutter. "He's in hoodieville."

"...Is Sans going to come out of hoodieville?"

I don't answer. I can hear (Y/N)'s clothes rustle as she shifts in place, and I can imagine that she's nervously fiddling with her clothes, trying to figure out what to do with me.

"Hey," she says softly. "I... Well... if you really don't want to do this that much, then I guess..."

She hesitates for a moment, and then sighs heavily.

"...Then I guess we can both sit this one out," she says sadly. "I was actually kinda excited to sing with you—I did say that if you got me to sing, you'd have to sing with me someday—but... if it really makes you that uncomfortable, then..."

She trails off, and the moss under her feet makes a faint squishing sound as she taps her feet on the ground.

"I guess... I'll go let Frisk know," she mutters.

My soul twists in reaction to the disappointment that's heavy in her voice, and I can't help but feel a little guilty about the fact that I caused it—especially when I'm always pressuring her to sing when she performs at Grillby's. My hoodie loosens just a little around my head, giving me a hole just large enough that I see her through. Her face is soul-wrenchingly crestfallen as she slowly turns around, and starts to trudge in Frisks' direction.

Before I know what I'm doing, I take a step forward, and catch her by the wrist. She turns to look at me, and I can tell that's she's being careful to keep an artificially neutral expression. The sight of it makes my resolve weaken just a little bit.

"Do you... do you really want to sing with me?" I ask quietly.

When she had said that she had wanted to sing a duet with me, I hadn't taken her seriously. But if this is something that she actually wants me to do... well... I can't say no to her. She doesn't answer right away, and her eyes flit across my face as she tries to gauge my reaction will be.

"I do," she says quietly. "But if you don't want to, I'm not going to force you."

She really knows how to guilt trip me. I'm not even sure if she's aware that she's doing it... but she knows exactly what buttons to push. After getting her to sing several times in front of a crowd, even though she clearly doesn't want to... there's no way that I can say no to her when she asks the same from me. Especially if she wants me to sing with her. I take a deep breath, and slowly put my hood back down, steeling myself for what I'm about to say.

Where's the alcohol when you need it?

"Fine, I'll do it. Just... just don't laugh, okay?"

***

The kid has a secret sadistic streak, I'm sure of it. Why else would she purposely make the two of us go dead last? I have to watch everyone else do near flawless performances, and it gives me ample time to imagine all the different ways I can screw this up. I could be off key, off beat, I could stumble over a word... the list is endless. I glance over at (Y/N), who's completely absorbed in watching Alphys and Undyne's performance. They're singing the theme song to some anime, which is pretty predictable for the two of them.

I don't know how she does it. Not only does she sing, but she plays these extremely complex piano pieces at the same time. I mean, I know what it's like to play an instrument. I do a little bit of guitar, and then I taught myself trombone (that was mostly for comedic value), but she takes it to a whole different level.

I think she can feel my stare, because she shifts in her seat on the blanket and glances over at me. She gives me a gentle smile, and nudges me reassuringly on the shoulder. Even that simple contact makes my soul pound, which, on top of my nerves, makes me think it might burst if it pulsates any faster.

"We'll do fine," she whispers, keeping her voice down.

"That's easy for you to say," I mutter. "You're practically a siren."

"I'm not that good," she protests. "Besides, even if we do mess up, no one here's gonna judge us. They're our friends."

"I'm not sure I can do this," I admit.

"Well, neither was I, right?" she points out. "But I do okay, I think. And if I'm being honest with myself... I might even say that I kinda like it. I still get nervous... but I'm getting better."

She shifts towards me a tiny bit, brushing ever so slightly against me. Every place she makes contact feels like it's on fire. It takes all of my self control not to lean into her touch.

"I have you to thank for that."

If she keeps saying things like that, my soul's going to explode. As it is, I have to look away from her so she doesn't notice that my face is the color of an echo flower. I fiddle with the zipper on my hoodie, but when I notice I'm doing it, I make a conscious effort to put my hands on the ground. Instead of moss... I accidentally put my hand on top of hers. Her breath hitches, and I instantly snatch my own hand away again.

Shit.

I hadn't meant to do that. My soul is pulsating so hard I'm half afraid it may actually phase out of me, and my face is so hot that I think I might give Grillby a run for his money. Luckily for me, I don't have time to feel too embarrassed—Alphys and Undyne's song ends, and Mettaton is already calling us up to the "stage."

I swallow hard and get up, following (Y/N) as she walks towards the center of the picnic blanket. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop my bones from rattling. Mettaton offers us the two microphones that Alphys and Undyne had abandoned. (They're wireless, and seem to connect to his speakers.) We take them, and I'm shaking so hard that I nearly drop mine.

"So, what's our song, Mettaton?" (Y/N) asks.

"Oh, I've got the perfect one for you two, darling," he says. "Have you ever heard of Drop Pop Candy?"

For the love of—why that song? Of all songs, why does it have to be that one?!

"I have! It's really popular up on the surface right now," she says, sounding surprised. "But then how do you guys...?"

"Someone found it in the garbage dump. How else, darling?"

I can't help but agree with whoever threw it away. It's awful, and mushy, and I hate it. ...Okay, that's a lie—it's catchy, and it's been on my favorites playlist since the day I found it on the UnderNet. I even know the whole thing by heart.

"Let's just get this over with," I sigh. "Which part do you want to take?"

"Wow, even you know it?" she asks. "That's the mark of a true masterpiece right there—Sans knows it by name."

"Shut up," I say weakly, glancing away. This was a really bad idea.

"Okay, okay," she says, grinning. "I'll take the harmony."

"...Why do I have to be the main part?" I complain under my breath.

"Are you ready, beauties? Because here. We. Go!" Mettaton exclaims.

https://youtu.be/4lPZyaNRiAg

  (Sans has Sans' part, and you have Papyrus's part. Bolded text is Sans, normal text is you, and underlined text is both of you. Have fun!)  

When the music starts, I almost completely forget that I'm starting out the song. I rush into my first line, and I'm stuttering more than Alphys used to in front of Undyne.

"U-Umbrella at your side. It's raining but you c-close it tight..."

"And how are you, purred a cat just passing through."

"Those heels that you like are soaking, but is that alright?"

The sound of (Y/N)'s voice in harmony with mine is somehow... soothing. After the first few lines, I start to loosen up a little. My grip on the microphone relaxes just a tiny bit, and manage to keep myself from stuttering.

"Let out a sigh for another day the same as the last,

Come on let's try, dye it blue and change it up from the past,

Reflecting up from a puddle but then gone in a flash,

Is that the most that you could dream or wanted to see?"

"But look around,"

"Dance up and down,"

"The world is now,"

"Still goin' round,"

"Just feel it pound,"

"We're skyward bound,"

"Move at the top speed of sound..."

Even with my nervous mistakes, (Y/N) harmonizes my voice perfectly. I... kind of like it. I like it a lot, actually. This... isn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. My misgivings are slowly melting away, and as I enter the next part, I completely let go of my fears, and end up singing with the enthusiasm that I'd have when no one's listening.

"Running to another day, I wanna break away and take the leap,"

"Do do do do,"

"Buh duh duh, buh duh duh-duh-duh,"

"As you're stuck on yesterday, no sun to rise would be okay with me~"

"Do do do do,"

"Every day, every day is okay."

"Taking it step by step, we'll always move ahead,

Our love is growing red, need me more, need you more~

You fall down seven more time, I'll be there seven, eight, nine,

As we keep trying, we'll find—"

"We're always singing the same tune~"

(Y/N) locks eyes with me and then beams, the brightness behind her smile sending my soul into a tizzy. Her gaze doesn't leave my face as she goes into her part, and for a moment, I completely forget that we have an audience.

"Now falling to her side, the drops of rain that mix with light,"

"Stealing a glance, hid a cat who turns his back,"

"Their heads starting to sink, this boredom is too hard to fight."

"Just spinning lies with the only thread of kindness we saved,

Or if we're blind, and the truth is just a painting in grey,

Drowning us out, all the noisy drops that fall in the rain,

But fingertips traced every line, and opened my eyes~"

"I'll paint it blue,"

"I'll play a tune,"

"I'm wishing too,"

"For something new,"

"It will come true,"

"With me and you,"

"And then we'll—"

"Finally break through!"

As we go into the refrain, I'm starting to realize that I actually mean what I'm singing. I may not have written it myself, but I mean every word. I wonder... if she realizes that. She probably doesn't. Of course she doesn't. Why would she? I'm too afraid of the future's uncertainty to tell her. That thought causes me to mess up a line, and (Y/N)'s concerned look practically makes me melt on the spot. I love that she cares about me. ...So why is this so hard for me, at the same time?

"Cry to me, know that I care—lean on me, and I'll be there,

As we keep trying we'll find,

You're always gonna be there, too."

It's almost funny how well her part suits her. I've done nothing but lean on her since I met her, and what have I been able to offer her in return? Not much; nothing that would make up for the baggage that would inevitably come with being in any kind of relationship with me. I'm broken in ways that she still doesn't completely understand—why should she have to pick up the pieces? It's not fair to her.

And besides... she could always be ripped away from me in an instant. Even though she controls the reset button, there's always that chance that something could go wrong. That fear is what keeps me from being completely honest with her about my feelings. When the time came for me to harmonize with her in the last line, I couldn't bring myself to do it. It would feel like I was lying to her—there really is no guarantee that she's going to be there. She must notice my slip, because for the rest of the song, she's not as enthusiastic as she was before.

We finish off the song okay, but I could tell that her heart wasn't really in it. Neither is mine. The praise that we're showered with seems far away as (Y/N) silently looks at me, a mildly confused expression on her face. She can always tell when I'm upset—this time is no different. The look in her eyes is asking me if something's wrong. But I... I can't bring myself to talk to her about it. Instead, I plaster on one of my fake smiles and slip away, giving myself some space away from the stifling happiness that comes from the rest of the group. Why can't I just be like that? Why can't I just be happy?

A minute or so later, Frisk detaches herself from the others and rushes over to me, her never fading smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Dunkle!" she exclaims. "We're going to play board games! C'mon!"

She never was one to read the mood—she's completely oblivious to the fact that I'm not up to it. Unlike her sister, she's not exactly empathetic. Oh, her sister. She can tell that I want to be left alone, and so she's kept her distance from me since that song... but that doesn't stop her from sending anxious glances in my direction. Her concern is practically palpable, even from across the room.

"C'mon!" Frisk signs again. She doesn't wait for an answer, and instead drags me over to the others. I don't wanna upset her, so I go along willingly.

For the sake of everyone here, I suffer through a few games, making sure my smile doesn't slip. Out of everyone, (Y/N) is the only one that doesn't buy it. We don't say anything to each other, but she always manages to find a place next to me, at every single game, and continuously offers me her silent support. I... what did I ever do to deserve this? What did I ever do to deserve her friendship? She doesn't even know what's going on, and yet she's there to help me if I need it. And I do need it. I need her here. I need her here, serving as a reminder that everything's okay. That I'm still moving forward, and that there's still hope.

It's not long before the party starts to lose steam. MK and Napstablook both excuse themselves and go home, and I feel like now's a good time to follow suit.

"Hey kid, I think I'm gonna go hit the hay," I say, letting the kid know that I'm going. "You have fun, though, okay?"

"WAIT, BROTHER!" Paps exclaims, hurrying over. "YOU CAN'T LEAVE JUST YET!"

"C'mon, bro—it's getting late," I say. He knows it's just an excuse. I stay up way latter than this on a daily basis. In fact, sleep is nothing but a luxury—that's the curse of insomnia.

"You can't leave yet," Frisk agrees. I groan quietly, noting her trademark determined expression. "There's still one game left."

"Y-yeah," Alphys agrees, scurrying over. "There's just one m-more game. After that, you're free to leave."

They're ganging up on me. There's no way I'm getting out of this.

"Fine," I sigh. "What is it?"

"NYEH HEH HEH!" Paps exclaims. He's grinning, and he's got the strangest glint to his eye. I'm still not used to seeing that mischievous look on his face. "YOU WILL THANK US LATER, BROTHER."

...I don't like the sound of that.

"EVERYONE! WE'RE GOING TO START THE FINAL GAME!" he shouts.

Everyone rushes over, and Paps' mischievousness is mirrored in on every single one of their faces. The only exception is (Y/N). She's alive with nervous energy, apparently getting the same feeling that I am—that something's going on here. My suspicions are heightened when Alphys pulls out a tin can filled with an assortment of popsicle sticks, and offers it to me.

"Pick one."