Your Perspective

You smile as you push the door to Grillby's open, its attached bell cheerfully signaling your presence. The buzz of conversation in the room pauses briefly, just long enough for the regulars to call out greetings to you.

"Hey, (Y/N)!"

"How's it goin,' (Y/N)?"

"Hi, guys!" you call back, giving the monsters a small wave. After a few days of working at Grillby's, you're starting to become more comfortable around the customers. In fact, you're actually starting to gain a few new friends—you're not nearly as popular as Sans, but your music is quickly turning you into a close second.

"Yo! Miss (Y/N)!" a young monster hollers, bouncing excitedly over to you. "You're going to play again, right?"

You crouch down so that you're at their eye level, a warm grin lighting up your face at their enthusiasm. This little armless reptilian monster has come to all six of your mini-concerts so far, and has quickly become one of your biggest fans. (Yes, as amazing and unbelievable as it is... you have fans. Of the domestic sort. It's not like you're a big-shot, or anything.) He's also one of Frisk's friends, and you often see the two of them playing in the snow together. If you remember correctly, Frisk introduced him to you as monster kid, or MK.

"I sure am," you chirp, your eyes following their energetically bobbing frame. "Let me guess—you have a request for me, don't you?"

"Yeah, that's right!" he exclaims, his tail waving happily in the air behind him. Then he hesitates, a more uncertain expression taking the place of his usually overconfident one. "Uh... that's okay, right?"

"Of course."

MK beams at you and scurries away, back to the table that's occupied by two larger reptilian monsters—one pink, and one orange, both equally armless. His parents, you assume. He grabs something that had been laying on top of it with his mouth before hurrying back over to you. Stars sparkle in his eyes as he anxiously waits for you to take it.

"Is this sheet music?" you ask, gently taking it from him and looking it over.

You can't help but grimace as you catch sight of the front cover. It's neon pink, and it features a very narcissistic looking, humanoid robot. He's striking a ridiculous pose, lounging on top of a grand piano with a red rose held expertly between his teeth. Between the gaudy pink getup (why on Earth is he wearing heels?!) and that insufferable smirk on his face, you almost feel as if you're holding something a lot more... adult... than a scorebook. You quickly leaf through it, feeling a little relieved when you find musical notes on its pages.

"Yeah!" MK affirms, completely missing the disgust that originally flashed across your face. "It's the piano music for Mettaton's hit songs. I really like his song 'Haven't you Noticed I'm a Star.' It's on page 10. Can you play it? Pleeease?"

You turn to the song MK requested, scanning the page. It doesn't look too difficult, but it's not too simple, either—right in your comfort zone. From what you're limited grasp of sight reading can make out, it has a bit of a pop flair to it. You're not too enthused by the accompanying picture, though. This 'Mettaton' person is striking an extremely corny, and yet somehow seductive, pose. For some reason, it reminds you (and not of a good way) of a certain celebrity from the surface. You're not going to turn the little dinosaur down, though. He's just too adorable in that oversized yellow and brown striped sweater of his.

"Sure, MK, I'd love to play it for you," you say, forcing down the urge to find the nearest trashcan. "It'll take me some time to learn, but I'll see what I can do. Uh... should I make a copy of it, or...?"

"No, the book's for you!" MK exclaims, beaming.

"Really?" you ask, touched.

It's extremely rare for anyone to give anything to you, presents or otherwise. And despite your growing disdain for the idol the music belongs to, this is the perfect gift for you. You left all of your sheet music on the surface, so you'd been meaning to build up your selection again. In fact, you'd begun composing a little in the last week to try and make up for it.

It's slow work—especially since your music-reading skills aren't exactly up to snuff—but you're inspired, and the fact fills you with determination. There's so many interesting people down here... you've actually started to write theme songs for them. (And it also helps that your awesomely high-tech phone can turn into a keyboard, as well as translate what you play on it into a music score. You're really going to have to thank Alphys for that particular modification.)

You suddenly realized that you'd spaced out, and quickly snap back to reality.

"That's really nice of you, MK," you say, rubbing the top of their scale-ridden head. "I'll be sure to learn a couple of them."

"Thanks, Miss (Y/N)!" he exclaims. He's literally jumping up and down in anticipation. "I can't wait!"

With that, he rockets away, rejoining his parents at their booth. He loses his balance at the last minute, and almost slams his head into the table... but his mom (luckily) has lightning fast reflexes. She catches MK with her tail, before scolding him about how you're not supposed to run indoors. You chuckle softly at the sight of it and tuck the booklet under your arm, before straightening and glancing over at the piano. You could go over and start playing immediately... but you feel you should address the elephant in the room.

Judging from the tingling sensation making its way up and down your spine, he's been staring at you ever since you first walked in the door, and he's still up to it. You nonchalantly glance over in the direction of the bar, trying to disguise your anticipation with a deadpan expression. It doesn't work in the slightest. The minute you meet Sans' eye, you break into a goofy smile, your heart racing at the very sight of him. He returns your smile tooth-for-tooth, lazily waving you over.

"You're here again, Sans?" you ask, rolling your eyes in mock irritation.

"Yup," he says, winking at you. "Where else would I be? I'd hate to miss one of your concerts, Buttercup."

You instantly flush at the hidden praise in his words, and you start to twirl your hair like some kind of starry-eyed school girl. An amused expression crosses Sans' face at the sight of it, and you put in a huge effort to still your hands. You can't help but feel a little bit annoyed with yourself—why do you always have to be so obvious about everything? Doesn't your body understand what a "poker face" is?

Sans has visited Grillby's every single day since you were first given the job, with the sole purpose of listening to you play the piano (and to pressure you into singing, of course). He gets this dreamy expression when you play... and it's ridiculously cute. It's so cute that it's actually distracting. You've messed up multiple songs because you couldn't tear yours eyes away from him.

And that's not even the worst of it. When the two of you visited the MTT department store to get Frisk presents for her birthday, you'd gone on a tangent to get yourself some much needed clothes. (You could only fit so much into a backpack.) You were lucky to find a store that services all of the more humanoid monsters, but since you had Sans with you... well... you'd have to be brain dead not to notice the way he was eyeing the underwear section. You were so self-conscious that you ended up buying clothes that were a size too small, and you had to go back the next day with Frisk to trade them in for the right sizes.

In fact, all he has to do is talk to you, about anything, and he'll elicit an embarrassingly flustered response from you. For example, the other day, he was talking to you about hot dogs. (Makes sense, since he runs a stand over in Hotland.) Of course, you being the dirty-minded young adult that you are (and don't you dare deny it!), your mind wandered. If you so wanted, you could have used your face as a grill afterwards.

Sans is a skeleton, you remind yourself. There's not exactly much potential there for... uh...that.

However, it's amazing how creative a—ahem—wanting mind can be. You've come up with at least ten workarounds to the obvious problem, and you're fairly sure more aren't out of the question. Anyway, the point is that while it may have taken you a while to realize it, you've finally managed to accept the fact that you're... well... you've got it bad. For a skeleton.

"Uh... Buttercup? Do I have something on my face or something? 'Cause, uh..."

Sans' irresistibly deep voice snaps you back to reality, and you realize that you'd been staring at him while you'd done your reflecting. You almost feel like you've been caught looking through an adult magazine, and your annoyingly persistent blush deepens to match.

"Oh, no! Not at all!" you exclaim quickly. "You're fine! I was just... uh... thinking, I guess."

"Thinking?" he asks, raising a non-existent eyebrow. "I see. I'd ask you what about, but I'm not sure I wanna know—that was a really creepy look you were givin' me, Buttercup."

You cringe, a beat of sweat slowly making its way along your hairline. You'd been making a face? Oh god, you hope not—the last thing you need is for Sans to start thinking you're some kind of pervert.

"Geez Buttercup, I'm joking," Sans says, giving you a concerned look. "You okay? You look tense."

"Yep! Totally fine!" you squeak, your voice unnaturally high. "Sorry, I have to go, uh... piano! I have to go play piano. 'Cause... y'know, that's my job. To play piano. Over there. In the corner. So, yeeeaaah... bye!"

You can practically feel Sans' confusion as you turn on your heel and stiffly walk towards the other end of the room, using all of your restraint to keep yourself from running.

"(Y/N), wait a moment please," a smooth voice calls. "I have something I want to discuss with you."

You hesitantly turn around, and you're just in time to see Grillby say something to Sans, gesturing towards you as if making some sort of point. He's speaking too softly for you to make out what he's saying, but it doesn't seem like it's something Sans' wants to hear. Grillby straightens as you approach them again, and turns towards you.

"I wanted to let you know that I am going to be closing early today, for the party," Grillby says. "I will need time to prepare everything, and so I am going to lock up in half an hour."

Oh yeah, the party. You're usually not the type to enjoy events with lots of people, but you've secretly been looking forward to it. You suppose that Frisk's excitement has rubbed off on you—she was practically bouncing off the walls this morning. And besides, you're curious what your sister has planned for you. (Toriel and her have been giving you these creepily mischievous looks ever since you told them that Sans accepted her invitation. She's got to be up to something.)

"Okay," you say. "Sounds good. Do you need help or anything?"

"No, I should be able to handle everything," he says, surveying a list of some sort. "I brought it up so you could plan your performance accordingly."

"Gotcha," you say. "Guess I'll have to shorten it a bit."

You turn to go again, but Sans stops you short.

"We're going together, right? Since you don't know where it is?" he asks.

"Right," you say. "And you have the presents?"

"Yup," he affirms. "I had Paps wrap them for me and everything."

"What, you couldn't wrap them yourself?" you ask teasingly.

"Nah. Too much work," he says, shrugging. "Anyway, you'd better get goin.' Sounds like you've gotta wrap this up quick."

You smile and turn away, rolling your eyes at the weak attempt at a pun.

"What? No reaction?" he asks.

"Not at the present."

"Heh, good one—must've been a piece of cake."

"We're not even there yet," you call, already halfway across the room. "It's too early for party-related puns!"

Sans chuckles, and draws a breath—you're sure he already has some sort of punny response laid out. However, you duck behind the bulk of the piano and out of sight before he can let loose. You've only just sat down, and already the room has hushed.

Let's see... half an hour. I guess I'll play that, and that... Sans will definitely want me to sing something. So, I guess... that'll work.

If there's been one constant in the last few days, it's that Sans has consistently gotten you to sing at least once each concert. You just can't say no to him for some reason, no matter how much you want to. It helps that you're starting to get used to the crowd, though. Performing in front of people isn't as bad as you'd thought it'd be. You're starting to get used to it, but that doesn't keep your hands from shaking.

You do some brief warm-ups, doing a few of the easier scales and their accompanying arpeggios. When you feel confident enough not to turn everything you play into a shaky mess, you start into your first song. As always, you picked Decretum. You figure that your audience might be getting tired of hearing it by now, but you have it so well memorized that it's more of an extended warm up than anything else.

From there, you play four or five other songs, opting to choose something slower paced. You take occasional glances at a clock Grillby had placed on the wall, keeping track of your time. You might actually make it. Sans' is so engrossed in your music that he's forgotten the time—you may get away without singing.

"(Y/N)!" he calls, just moments before your fingers return to the keys. You groan quietly, and peek around the side of the piano. You shouldn't have jinxed it. "Sing something!"

I'm going to get back at him for this someday, you think, glaring at him. Your meek resistance is instantly drowned out by the encouraging cheers of the others in the restaurant. I'm going to have to get him to sing something sometime. See how he likes it.

Despite your silent protests, you sigh and ready yourself for your song, taking a deep breath to try and quell the butterflies that are swirling in your stomach.

https://youtu.be/lsz5ijRQvUY

"You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream,

Like thoughts become a river stream,

Yet may the tide ever change,

Flowing like time, to the path, yours to climb..."

"Thou seek the light... with an outstretched hand,

A divine blade lies before you,

So command the wake of dreams,

To restore the world, cut way the seams."

"Join in our prayer—in our song—of birthrights and love,

Come the sun, illuminate the sky,

Pray that we may quell the dark,

Light take the throne,

Lost in thoughts all alone..."

A tingling of a bell sounds from the front door, nearly throwing you off. Luckily, you manage to catch yourself, and keep going. Your listeners didn't even notice your slip. You take a moment to shoot an annoyed glance at the newcomer (though you know it wasn't really their fault), and you almost mess up again when you see who it is. Even though you've never met him before, you recognize him instantly. Who could forget seeing a robot make such a ridiculous pose on top of a grand piano?

The almost painfully handsome, pink-clad robot pauses in the entry way, his gaze flitting over the assembled monsters. He almost seems as if he's waiting for them to notice his presence—he's even striking a pose for them. They're too focused on you to so much as give him the time of day. He's obviously unused to being ignored, because surprise is quick to manifest on his metallic facial features and he glances over at you, his bubble-gum pink eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks almost dumbfounded.

You hold his gaze for a moment, but then he blinks and turns away, heading towards an unoccupied booth in the corner. You mentally shrug the encounter off and go back to your music, trying your best to finish the song without making any more mistakes.

"You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream,

Like thoughts become a river stream

Yet may the tide ever change,

Flowing like time to the path yours to climb...

You... are an ocean of waves..."

You hold the last note, letting it fade out naturally. The pub bursts into applause, right on cue. You think you'd have gotten used to all their praise by now, but that doesn't seem to be the case—you still manage to blush. You stand up from your place at the piano, and give them a small wave.

"That's it for today," you tell them. There's a collective groan, and you can't help but smile as they call for an encore. "Sorry, but I'm serious. Grillby's closing up early, so you guys should start thinking about leaving."

You glance over at Grillby so he can confirm your statement, which he does by giving the room in general a nod. Another groan ensues, and the patrons slowly start to make their way out of the restaurant and back into the snow. MK runs up to you before he goes, bouncing excitedly at your feet.

"Yo, Miss (Y/N)! That was awesome!" he exclaims. "You're gonna come again, right? Right?!"

"That's right," you say, stifling a giggle as you glance down at the energetic young monster. "I'll be here Monday, okay?"

He nods so hard you think his head might fall off, before running towards the front doors after his parents. This time, he does trip. He flies right out of the glass double doors, landing face-first in a snowdrift. You gasp, and you're about to run over to him, but he manages to get up on his own (despite the fact that he does have arms). He shakes the snow off of himself and waves at you with his tail, before speeding away again.

That kid, you think, smiling to yourself. He's too hyper for his own good.

Soon, Grillby's is completely empty, with the exception of you, Sans, and Grillby. Oh, and that robot guy.

Mettaton, you remind yourself, glancing over in his direction. This isn't the first time you've heard of him. He's on every single TV channel, and Frisk mentioned him to you once or twice. Apparently, the two of them had a... well, an encounter. Frisk had told you that it was a "posing contest," but something tells you that there was probably more to it than that.

But anyway, despite being the Underground's #1 celebrity, you aren't too impressed. While you have to admit that he looks even spiffier in person than he does on TV (he's very shiny, and who doesn't like shiny things?), there's this egotistical vibe about him that's really rubbing you the wrong way. You keep a close eye on him as he gets up from his place in the corner and crosses over to the bar.

"Hello Grillby, darling." Mettaton's somewhat synthetic voice almost seems to purr as it emanates from his front-facing speakers. "It's been a while."

"Hello, Mettaton," Grillby replies, not so much as looking up at the robotic idol. He continues polishing the glass that he'd been holding, allowing the room to fall into an awkward silence. You're not sure why, but there's a lot of tension in the air.

"Did you want something, Mettaton?" Sans asks suddenly, glaring at the robot. Mettaton grimaces, studiously avoiding Sans' gaze. Again, you aren't entirely sure what's going on here. All you can tell at first glance is that Sans and Mettaton don't like each other.

"Alphys sent me," he says tightly, "to offer you my assistance—"

"What, you couldn't offer your own assistance?" Sans asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Look, I'm here, aren't I?" Mettaton snaps. "Do you really want to lug the grill all the way to waterfall by yourselves?"

"Heh. If it means talking to you, I'd prefer to do it myself."

"Sans," Grillby says, a tone of warning in his voice.

"Not that I'm gonna be doing any lugging," he adds quickly, gesturing to Grillby. "He's your guy."

"I know. I never asked you," Mettaton drawls, setting one hand aggressively on his hip.

Blue flickers somewhere deep inside Sans' left eyesocket, and Mettaton subtly taps his heels against the floor (those things are so sharp they almost look dangerous). Before Sans can start another bar-brawl, you decide to step in and try to keep the peace.

"Did you say that you know Alphys?" you ask, walking over and leaning against the bar. Mettaton jumps, apparently having forgotten your presence.

"Oh, yes—she built me actually," he says smoothly. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to cover up his previous agitation with a seductive pose. "And you must be (Y/N)—Alphys told me a lot about you."

"That's right," you confirm, graciously ignoring his proximity to you. "And you're Mettaton, right?"

"So you've heard of me," he says, sounding pleased. "But of course you have. I'm the most popular star in the Underground, after all."

"That's only because there isn't anyone else," Sans grumbles, crossing his arms. "Any half-baked drama student could easily kick your rusty—"

"But anyway," Mettaton says loudly, shooting Sans a dirty look, "that was you at the piano earlier, wasn't it? I must say, your voice was simply gorgeous."

"O-oh, uh... I'm not really that good," you stammer, looking away.

"There's no need to be modest, darling!" he exclaims, grasping one of your hands in both of his. "You were as pretty as a songbird. Alphys said that you were talented, but I had no idea—"

Grillby coughs to draw attention to himself, before tapping his wrist decisively. His meaning is obvious—if we don't hurry, we're going to be late.

"Okay, okay," Mettaton grumbles. "You're right—we should get going... I'm assuming you are going to let me help you?"

Grillby sighs heavily, before nodding and waving Mettaton into the back.

"Fabulous! I'd like to stay and chat with you more, darling, but it seems I have work to do," Mettaton says. "I'd like to take up this conversation up with you later, though—maybe at the party?"

"Uh... sure," you say.

"Then it's a date!" he exclaims, fixing you with an unnaturally white smile. "Until then, darling. Toodles~"

Mettaton and Grillby vanish into the back, leaving Sans and you to yourselves.

"What was all that about?" you wonder aloud.

"Hmm?" Sans asks.

"What's going on between you three?" you ask. "You guys don't seem to like Mettaton very much."

"What, and you do? I saw the way you giving him the stink eye earlier," Sans points out.

"Well... it's not that I don't like him," you say. "I mean, I hardly know him, so it's too early to pass judgment. But he just didn't strike me as someone I'd get along with easily, I guess. Does that make sense?"

Sans nods and turns to finish the last of his bottle of ketchup. It's only then that you realize that he completely dodged your question.

"Hey, you still haven't given me an answer," you say.

"Why don't I like the rust bucket?" Sans asks, his voice deceptively calm. "Simple. He's a talentless drama queen who has a tendency to stick his selfish nose where it doesn't belong."

...Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong?

You're getting the feeling that you shouldn't press the issue much further—Sans is staring at his ketchup with a murderous look on his face.

"So anyway, are you ready to go?" you ask, skillfully changing the subject. "Frisk will have my head if we're late."

"Yeah," Sans sighs. "I guess."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic," you note, watching him carefully as he gets up from his place at the bar.

"Oh, I'm just not a big fan of parties," he says dismissively. "Too many people. And Mettaton."

"Ah," you say, leading the way towards the front doors. "Well, maybe this one won't be so bad... seeing as it was Frisk and Papyrus that planned it."

"Maybe," Sans says dubiously.

"Oh, come on," you say, giggling quietly as you playfully bump with one shoulder. "It might even be fun."

"You only say that 'cause you've never had to live through one of my bro's spaghetti buffets," he retorts, shoving back at you. "Grillbz may be catering, but I can guarantee that Paps made spaghetti, too—and no less than twenty different types."

"Okay, okay," you gasp, tearing up as he pokes you in the ribs. "You win! It's going to be god awful, and we're all going to die from spaghetti poisoning, if Mettaton doesn't pose us to death first."

"Exactly," Sans says, chuckling. "But don't worry, I've already got the perfect epitaph lined up out for you—'here lies (Y/N), who suffered an untimely death by glamour.'"

You snort and roll your eyes, holding the door for Sans to take.

"I've got one for you, too. 'Here lies Sans, the stick-in-the-mud.'"

"That's not even funny," he complains.

You stick your tongue out at him and run a few paces ahead, before turning around and walking backwards so you can talk to him. You were going to say something... but it slipped your mind. You're too preoccupied. Now that you're looking at him, Sans seems... different, somehow. But for the life of you, you can't put your finger on why. You stare at him intently, trying to identify what the difference is.

"Uh... Buttercup?" Sans asks, his cheekbones showing the barest traces of blue.

"You look different," you tell him thoughtfully. "But I can't figure out why."

He raises a nonexistent eyebrow and pointedly stuffs his hands into his pant pockets.

Wait... pant pockets? I don't remember his shorts having... oh.

You must be blind. While his hoodie and shirt are the same, he's traded his gym shorts for grey cargo shorts. He's also wearing a pair of blue converse in the place of his slippers (though his laziness still shines through—his shoes are untied). It's a small change, but it still manages to make him look more put-together.

How on Earth did I miss that?

"Is... it a bad kind of different?" he asks casually, looking away.

"Not at all," you assure him. Actually, if you're being honest with yourself, he looks kind of cute like this. "What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be one?" he mumbles, running a hand down the back of his skull. You can't help but smile as he turns a shade bluer.

"No," you say, "but it's not like you."

"Well, Paps asked me to wear something a little bit nicer to this party thing," Sans mutters. "And so I figured, y'know, that I might as well..."

"Well, it looks good on you," you say, grinning. "All you need to do now is tie your shoes."

"You're askin' the impossible, Buttercup," Sans says, winking at you. "Too much effort."

"Yeah, yeah," you say, rolling your eyes. "So, just how far away is this thing? We're already late."

"Eh, it's still a ways away," Sans says. "We should probably take a shortcut—"

"One day the light of love, though it may seem far away, will shine again in your eyes~" You jump as your phone suddenly goes off, the Madoka Magica ending song emanating from your back pocket.

"Uh, hold on a second," you mutter.

You pull your phone out, curious who could be calling you. (You don't get calls too often.) It's Alphys. Actually, that's not too surprising—she's probably checking (for the umpteenth time) that you're going to show up to the party. You sigh and put the phone up to your ear.

"Hey Alphys," you say.

"(Y/N), where are you? You're late!" she exclaims. "And where's Sans? Oh, I hope he's with you—Papyrus hasn't seen him since this morning, and I know how much he hates parties..."

"Yeah, he's with me," you sigh. "And we're on our way. You worry too much, Alphys."

Why is she so concerned about Sans, though? you wonder. They hardly know each other.

"Good," she sighs, sounding relived. "For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to rethink the whole plan."

"...Plan?" you ask skeptically. You knew that something weird was going on.

"O-oh. D-did I say plan? I... I meant punch," Alphys stammers dubiously.

"Oh, of course," you say sarcastically. "Because that makes total sense."

"R-right!" she exclaims, completely missing your tone. "It's grape, actually—it's really good. You should totally try it... when... you... g-e-t .... h--e--r--e...."

"Alphys? Alphys, are you there? You're breaking up."

There's no answer. All you're getting is static.

Huh. That's weird.

You peg the bad reception on being underground, and you go to hang up. But suddenly... something breaks through the static. And it's definitely not Alphys.

"H-e--l-l--o."

The sound of the voice (if you can even call it that) chills you to your core. The only way you can describe it is by saying that it sounds like a corrupted recording—it's pitch and tempo are slowed down to abnormal levels, and the voice got stuck on the 'l' sound like a broken record.

"C--a-n    I     s-p--e-e--a-k     t--o    G-G-G-G-G-G-G—"

You're becoming increasingly unnerved. By the time the recording (or whatever it is) catches at the end, your hands are actually shaking. With a burst of static, the voice completely deteriorates, so garbled and indistinct that they can't so much as string two syllables together anymore. Whatever's happening, it's scaring the crap out of you.

"(Y/N), is something wrong?" Sans asks, looking at you in concern.

You open your mouth to tell him that your phone's going haywire, but you're interrupted by a sudden searing pain in your ear. You yelp and pull your phone away from you, staring at it in disbelief. It shocked you. Your phone... actually shocked you. The sounds of static gets louder and louder until you can hear it even without your phone pressed to your ear.

"What the—"

The minute Sans speaks, the static cuts off, leaving behind an eerie silence. The call is still going, though... and the screen is completely blank, save for a light purple glow. No matter what you do to it, it won't go away—your phone won't shut off, either. You get the strangest feeling... that it's waiting for you. You swallow hard and shakily put the phone back up to your ear, bracing yourself for the worst.

"👍✌☠ ✡⚐🕆 🕆☠👎☜☼💧❄✌☠👎 💣☜✍"

A new voice comes through, clear except for the occasional glitch. You don't actually seem to hear it, though... it's almost as if the words are bouncing around in your mind. You can't understand a single thing the voice is saying, but you have the vaguest memory of "hearing" something like this before. From where though, you... you can't remember.

That's strange. Why... why can't I remember?

Your memory is usually pretty good, but for some reason... you just can't place it. And the harder you try to remember, the hazier the information becomes. All you can say for certain is that you associate the voice with the color grey for some reason.

"☠⚐✍ ✋📬📬📬 🕈✌💧 ✌☞☼✌✋👎 ⚐☞ ❄☟✌❄📬"

The voice is quickly deteriorating, reverting to its more garbled state. By the time it speaks again, the static is back.

"📬📬📬💧⚐⚐☠📬 ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ 👌☜ 💧❄☼⚐☠☝ ☜☠⚐🕆☝☟ ❄⚐ ☼☜✌👍☟ ⚐🕆❄ 💧⚐⚐☠📬 ✋📬📬📬 ✋ ☺🕆💧❄ ☠☜☜👎 ❄⚐ ☝✋✞☜ ✋❄ 💣⚐☼☜ ❄✋💣☜📬"

The static is back full force, and the voice's rapidly fluctuating pitch is making it near impossible to differentiate from the background noise.

"💧⚐⚐☠📬"

Your phone clicks softly, announcing the end of the call. You numbly pull it away from your ear again, shock overtaking your earlier fear. You... aren't sure what to make of all of that.

"Hey, you okay?" Sans asks, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

More like I heard one.

"I-I'm okay," you say shakily, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. "I'm definitely creeped out... but I'm okay."

Sans looks at you uncertainly, as if wondering whether or not he should press further. He apparently decides not to, and instead reoffers his hand.

"So... about that shortcut," he says.

You nod and take his hand, secretly enjoying the feeling of his bone against your skin. The illogical warmth and softness of it instantly drives any lingering doubts about the weird call from your mind, and the now-familiar butterfly feeling you get in your stomach when Sans' teleports is (for once) a welcome distraction.

...

Little do you know, an invisible presence is watching you... and they're smiling. The effort of using magic was worthwhile, if only to momentarily see you and Sans hand in hand.

Author's Note

WOOOO! Finally. I'm so sorry this chapter's late--but school's coming to an end, so (of course)... that means projects. A lot of them. It's been driving me nuts. 

About this chapter, it's kinda all improv. I kinda just started... and then this happened. We were supposed to get to the party this chapter, but... *shrugs* I guess I got sidetracked. Hopefully, we'll (finally) get there next chapter. Sorry if I sound a little bit uh... random (?). 

The featured song this chapter is (once again) from Amalee. Funny story--I started playing FE Fates, but then this story happened. I was halfway through the Nohr route, and then I kinda... dropped it. For two months. See, that's what happens when I start a project like this--I give up everything for it. (Believe it or not I haven't played any video games but Undertale for the last two months. I haven't watch anime, either... what's happening to me?!)   

On another note--yay! 1 K reads! It feel like I'm finally starting to get somewhere. I don't know why it's so hard to get readers on Wattpad, but I'm glad I have you guys, at least. :-)

Oh, and here's what the Wingdings say (for those of you who are too lazy to translate them): 

"Can you understand me?"
"No? I... was afraid of that."
"...Soon. I will be strong enough to reach out soon. I... I just need to give it more time."
"Soon..."

--Zana