The beginning of this chapter is inspired by this picture: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CVEpGGxVAAAsPWJ.png

Your Perspective

"Grillby's, huh?" you ask, staring up at the prominent sign that adorns Snowdin's signature hole-in-the-wall. You'd passed by it countless times on the way to Sans' house, but you'd never actually gone inside. 

 "Yup," Sans' says. "Best bar in all the Underground." 

 Sans' pulls the door open for you, a bashful grin on his face. 

 "After you," he says sheepishly. 

 "Wow Sans," you say teasingly. 

"You're such a gentleman." 

 "Heh. I try." 

 The two of you step into the room, the door swinging shut behind you. Warmth instantaneously rushes over you, and you can't help but sigh, reveling in it. You're slowly starting to get used to the cold that inevitably comes with your Snowdin trips, but that doesn't mean you like it. Once you've warmed up, you take a moment to look around, taking the place in. 

 The first thing that you notice is that there aren't any windows. Instead, lanterns are strategically placed along the walls, their soft glow bathing the single room in a warm red-orange light. It's almost striking how small Grillby's is, but somehow, that works to its advantage. There's not much seating—only one or two booths to one side of the room, and a few tables on the other—but every single seat is filled, and the animated voices and laughter of the bar's inhabitance reverberates cheerfully throughout the compact space. The mouth-watering smell of greasy food wafts through the air, and judging from the thin layer of grime on the hard-wood floor, it's been served here for many, many years. 

 The dim lighting, the laughter, the smells, everything... it's almost nostalgic for you. You have the vaguest memories of visiting a pub like this with your parents when you were little, and the happy memories associated with it bring a dreamy smile to your face. There's a word to describe places like these. What was it again...?

Homey.

Sans chuckles at your expression of euphoria and leads you further in, heading towards the bar that lines the back wall.

"Hey, Sans!"

"Hi, Sans!"

"Back already, Sans?"

Wow... I didn't know he was so popular.

Every time he passes a table, the monsters that occupy it tear themselves from whatever it is they're doing (eating, playing cards, smoking... dog treats?) and send a friendly greeting in his direction. Sans seems almost immune to the attention, as if this is an everyday thing for him. He barely spares the time to wave at them. Well, with one exception.

"Hey, Sansy~"

S-Sansy??!!

Sans flinches at the sound of the speaker's voice, and turns to look at a table near the entrance. A rather drunk looking, pale-peach rabbit girl has fixed Sans with a lop-sided grin, and beckons to him with a finger. The sight of it rubs you the wrong way for some reason.

"Oh... uh, hey Bun-Bun," Sans mutters, a cringe-worthy grimace on his face.

Wha—Bun-Bun?! Please tell me that's not a nickname...

"You look a little bonely, Sansy~" she purrs, beckoning again. "C'mon over here—I'll buy you a *hic* drink."

You don't even register the fact that the statement was a pun. You're too miffed.

Lonely?! I'm standing right here!

An unidentifiable feeling starts to burn in the pit of your stomach, and you find your hands balling themselves into fists.

"Sorry, but I—"

"Oh Sansy, don't be mean~" she slurs. The rabbit smirks at him and gets up, staggering drunkenly over to him. She completely disregards you presence and throws an arm around his shoulders, leaning in close.

"I already said—"

"Aww... *hic* c'mon, sexy bones," she whines. She lazily draws a finger along the line of Sans' mandible, making him shudder involuntarily. "You won't regret it~"

You go rigid, you teeth clenching as you watch this... this bunny putting her paws all over your skeleton. Before you can think about what you're about to do, you take a slow step towards the her, one fist readying itself to find a new home in the offending rabbit's furry face.

"Leave the poor guy alone, Bun-Bun," one of the patrons calls.

"Yeah—he's obviously here with someone," another monster calls, gesturing towards you.

"And besides," calls a duck-looking monster, "I thought you were going after Grillby. Whatever happened to that little fling?"

"What, Grillbaby?"

The rabbit disengages herself from Sans (much to his relief), and staggers across the room towards that last speaker. She sways dizzily as she stands in front of him, and jabs him in the chest with an accusatory finger.

"Don't you remember, feather face? He was *hic* too hot for me to handle."
The whole room bursts into laughter, which causes the rabbit to spin around triumphantly, raising her hands in the air.

"Thank you, ladies and gentleman~" she drawls, her body swaying in a lazy figure-eight pattern. "I'll *hic* be here... be here all..."

The rabbit promptly passes out, and falls unceremoniously to floor. Howls of laughter bounce off of the walls, making the pub sound more like a madhouse than a restaurant. The tension that had been gathering in you slowly starts to abate, and you find yourself laughing with them. The rabbit had just been really drunk, that's all. There was no reason for you to be jealous.

Wait... jealous? you ask yourself. Your laughter catches in your throat, and one of your hands makes its way to your chest as you try and dissect your previous behavior. Why... why would I be jealous? I... do I...

"Don't worry, I've got her," the duck says. His words snap you out of your thoughts, and you gently shake your head to try and clear it.

No, I'm just imagining things.

The duck hops off of his stool and roughly slings the rabbit over his shoulder, before waddling past you and out the front door. The buzz that'd filled the room with the girl's collapse slowly dies down, and the other patrons go back to whatever it is they were doing.

"So, uh... that happened," Sans says. He rubs the back of his spine (neck) self-consciously, and there's an ever-so-faint tinge of blue to his cheekbones. The sight of him flustered after that bunny practically molested him makes that strange feeling (that definitely isn't jealousy!) start to make itself known again.

I'm overreacting, you tell yourself firmly. That was nothing. She barely touched him, and she wasn't in her right mind. And besides, it's not as if he asked for it to happen. I'm sure he didn't like it. There isn't anything between them. There can't be. Definitely not.

"Hey, buttercup... you okay?" Sans asks, looking you over with a questioning look in his eyesockets. "I don't think I've ever seen you scowl like that before."

"Who was that?!" you blurt. You instantly regret it, and you can feel your face beginning to turn red. 

"U-uh... I mean... I'm fine. Yeah."

"Who, Bun-Bun?" Sans clarifies. "She—"

"She's the town drunk," another monster says, cutting into your conversation. "And she's absolutely nuts."

"Yup," another monster agrees. "That girl will flirt with anything that moves, and poor Sans here usually gets the worst of it."

"Ooh, I remember this one time where Drunk-Bun actually—"

"I-I think she gets the idea, fellas," Sans says quickly, cutting them off. His face has made the rounds from light to royal blue, and his blush is only continuing to deepen.

"Wait, I think I actually want to hear this," you say, smiling at Sans' embarrassment.

"So Drunk-Bun gets hammered, right? That's normal," the monster continues. "But then Sans comes in, and some wise guy decided that it would be a good idea to—"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not gonna listen to this."

Sans takes you by the wrist and hurriedly leads you away, much to the amusement of the two monsters. Under other circumstances, their guffaws may have elicited some kind of response from you. At the moment, however, you're too busy trying to conceal the blush that's starting to creep across your cheeks. Sans is practically holding your hand.

That doesn't mean anything, you tell yourself. I... I'm overthinking it. Darn it, why am I blushing?!

Sans only lets go of your wrist when the two of you reach the bar at the back. You bite your lip, trying to quell the sudden pang of disappointment that pulses through you.

What's wrong with me?

You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm your whirlwind of emotions, and sink onto one of the barstools. You definitely have a lot to think about, but this isn't the time for it. You can mull everything over once you're on your own, and Sans isn't there to comment on your weird behavior.

"So, uh... where's the bartender?" you ask, trying your best to return to a somewhat normal topic of conversation. Sans takes a seat on the stool next to you, and glances down the length of the bar.

"He's probably in the kitchen," he says. "Maybe I should—"

"Don't worry Sans, I've got it," a less-than-attractive fish monster on the opposite end of the bar calls. 

"Yo, Grillby! You've got customers."

"Hey Sans," you mutter, leaning in so you're not overheard by the fish monster, "people around here sure like to ease-drop, don't they?"

"Heh. They sure do," he agrees. "But don't worry—it's just 'cause you're new. Give it a few minutes, and they'll go back to acting as if you don't even exist."

"That's true," the fish monster says sagely. "Grillby's is mostly made up of regulars—we don't get many newcomers, so you're a novelty."

"Oh. I see," you say.

From the corner of your eye, you see a figure emerge from the back room. They're unusually bright, and when you focus your attention on them, you realize why. The man is completely made of fire.

Wait... fire??!!

You turn to Sans, your eyes wide in shock. You try to say something, but it seems your voice isn't working very well.

"What, not what you were expecting?" he asks, smiling at your speechlessness. "You're still not entirely used to magic, are you?"

"Hey, Grillbz!" Sans calls, waving the fire-man over. "Can we get some service over here?"

The man raises a finger, as if telling Sans to wait a second. The light of his body reflects off of the immaculately polished bar top as he walks along it, and he pauses when he reaches the fish monster. They seem to be talking, but this "Grillby" seems to be so soft spoken that you can't tell what's being said.

You know it's rude to stare, but can't tear your eyes away from him. Your mind is moving a mile a minute, trying to piece together how physics could possibly support his existence.

How does he keep his shape? What's fueling him? you wonder. Is it magic? And how is he not burning anything up right now?

The man's very being contains a lot of dizzying contradictions—even more so than Sans. His immaculate bartender vest-uniform thingy, for example, is somehow completely unaffected by his flames.

What, are his clothes flame-retardant or something? you ask yourself. Actually, it's a miracle that the floor itself isn't combusting. And what about his glasses—shouldn't they be melting? Wait... why does he need glasses in the first place? He doesn't even have eyes! Or... I don't think so, anyway. It's kind of hard to tell.

Grillby, finishing his conversation with the fish monster, continues his journey along the bar until he stands directly in front of you. He seems to be as interested in you as you are in him—he cocks his head slightly as he looks at you, one hand resting thoughtfully on his chin. (And yes, he is staring at you. Now that he's closer to you, you can see that the fire behind his glasses is more of a yellow color, and seem to work in the place of eyes. Somehow.)

The two of you stare at each other for nearly a minute, silently drinking in each others' presence. It might just be your imagination, but you think his flames have taken on a slightly more pinkish hue during that time, and they seem to be making a slightly louder crackling sound than they had before.

"Hey, uh... Grillbz?"

"Oh, hello, Sans," Grillby says quietly, switching his attention over to Sans. "My apologies—it seems my focus lapsed for a moment."

Just as you'd thought, he's very soft-spoken. His voice is smooth and melodic, and his overall tone is very formal. Seeing him talk to Sans, you can't help but take notice of how different the two of them are. Sans, with his ultra-casual wear and somewhat rough language, seems very out of place next to Grillby, with his articulate speech and ironed dress.

"No problem, Grillbz," Sans says. "What's up?"

"Sans, you were here just a few minutes ago," Grillby says, raising a fire-eyebrow. "It is very unlikely that anything of interest would have happened in that time."

"I've gotta disagree with you there, Grillbz," Sans says, sending a knowing look in your direction. "A lot can happen in a half-hour."

"Well, I suppose I will take your word for it," Grillby says, sighing quietly.

He glances in your direction, that strange pink tinge entering his flames again. Then he blinks and fiddles with his glasses, pushing them further up some non-existent nose.

"So, Sans... who is this friend you brought with you?"

"Oh, I completely forgot to introduce the two of you, didn't I?" Sans says. He gestures to you, and then to Grillby, in turn. "Grillby, meet (Y/N). (Y/N), Grillby."

"Ah. So she is the elder human that you have been telling me about?"

...Sans talks about me? For some reason, the idea of Sans telling his friends about you makes you really happy.

"Yup," Sans confirms, smiling at you. "She's the one."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Grillby says. He holds out a flaming hand for you to shake.

"It's nice to meet you too..." you say uncertainly, glancing at the hand he'd offered. You've tried touching fire before—you're pretty sure every kid has at least once—and needless to say, it didn't end very well.

"Do not worry, I do not bite," Grillby says, a hint of a laugh to his voice.

"Uh... you're made of fire," you say flatly, stating the obvious.

"I do not burn, either," he adds, chuckling. "Trust me."

"Well... okay then."

You hesitantly clasp his hand in yours. It's one of the strangest sensations you've ever felt. You don't go through him, like you would have expected, and being in contact with his flames doesn't hurt, either. The best way to describe it is to say that his fire is like a really powerful desert wind—it keeps your hand in place by blowing it back, and it's just hot enough that you don't want to touch it for too long. The individual flames tickle as they dance across your skin, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing.

Grillby smiles warmly at you, and you think you pick up on a thoughtful look in his eyes. You're about to take your hand away when he adjusts his grip, and then raises your hand to the place his lips would be. You go completely still, and even though you want to pull away, you don't—your mind has completely flat-lined from the shock of the gesture. Grillby's body is slowly changing colors, and by the time he releases you, he's glowing a soft petal pink. Your face is probably doing something similar.

"U-uh..." you stammer. "Um..."

If it were physically possible, steam would be coming out of your ears right around now. That was the closest thing to a kiss you've ever been subject to—there aren't exactly any boys on Mt. Ebott.

"Woah! Guys, did you see that?!" the fish monster exclaims. He's pointing at you and Grillby with one mustard-brown fin, and he's practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Grillbz actually made a move for once! Wow... this is better than a soap opera!"

Author's Note

Hey, guys! I just want to apologize for the cliff hanger. This is actually only half (or maybe even less than half), of the original chapter. It was taking me a long time to write it, so I decided to split it in two and give you an update on time. There is good news, though! That means the next update should come sooner than usual, since I'm already working on it. Oh, and it's going to be a big one.

--Zana