Sans' Perspective

"Woah! Guys, did you see that?! Grillbz actually made a move for once! Wow... this is better than a soap opera!"

Oh, I saw alright—and I'm not a very happy skeleton.

Now, Grillbz's a great guy. If I were to ever call someone my best friend, he would be my first and only choice. As such, I know him real well—even more than he realizes, after so many resets—and I know he's not the kind of guy to do something so forward. So if he's doing something like this... if he's turning into a blushing mess over after a girl he's just met... he's gotta be serious. And that's really bad news.

I look over at (Y/N), and just the sight of her is enough to make my soul go nuts. It pounds against my ribcage like a sledgehammer, as if it's trying to force its way out. (Y/N) is matching Grillby's blush shade for shade, and she's got an adorably flustered expression on her face. However, seeing as that expression is aimed at Grillby, and not at me...

I tap the bar top with a skeletal finger, hoping the action will give me an outlet for my growing irritation. It's not working very well.

This week-and-some that I've spent with (Y/N) has been the best that I've seen in a long, long time. Every time I'm with her, the burden of my bad memoires lift just a little bit from my shoulders, and the void in my soul gets just a little bit smaller.

When I came home to find (Y/N) limp on my couch, her body cold and her soul shattering... it had felt as if the world itself were ending. As though it were my soul—not hers—that was breaking. Right then, at that moment, I had actually wished for a reset to happen; something I haven't done since the first time Chara stole Papyrus from me. I don't know when I started caring about her so much, but now that I do...

I can't lose her. Not to death, and not to Grillby.

My teeth start to hurt as my permanent smile manages to stretch a few inches, and I'm pretty sure my eyesockets have long since gone dark. I've gotta do something, before this goes any further.

"Hey, Grillbz," I say, forcing a cheerful tone into my voice. "Buddy. Pal."

Grillby manages to rip his eyes away from (Y/N) to look at me, a questioning look to his constantly shifting face. He blinks in surprise when he sees my expression, and takes a half-step backwards. I place a protective hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder, making my position as clear as possible without arousing her suspicion. Luckily for me, Grillbz is a master of silent communication, and my unspoken message easily gets across.

Back off.

Grillby seems a little bit crestfallen, but he does a good job of hiding it. He's slowly returning to his normal coloration, and he's quick to recover his composure.

"Oh... it seems I may have made a mistake, (Y/N)," Grillby says smoothly, adjusting his glasses to hide his embarrassment. "I had read somewhere that human social guidelines called for that sort of conduct, but that does not seem to be the case. Forgive me."

Y'know... I wish I could lie that well.

If those pink flames of his were anything to go by, he knew exactly what he was doing. Nevertheless, I'm grateful that he gave in so easily. I'll have to find a way to make it up to him—maybe I can finally get around to paying my tab.

"O-oh, uh... that's okay," (Y/N) stammers.

She rubs one of her arms self-consciously, and seems to be trying hard to brush the encounter off. Or, maybe I read her wrong—her blush is still going strong despite Grillby's withdrawal, and it doesn't seem to be showing any signs of fading.

"Hey, uh, Sans? Is there a... uh... reason you're so close to me, or...?"

At her words, I suddenly realize that I'm invading her personal space. The side of my skull is brushing against her hair, and my arm is sandwiched between us. I'm not even sure how it happened—as far as I know, I'd only put my hand on her shoulder. It takes me a few seconds to take all of this in, which is more than enough time for my forehead to break out in a nervous sweat.

"Heh, I, uh... whoops," I mumble, quickly jerking back to my original position. My soul is beating wildly in my chest, and I'm forced to look away from her as my cheekbones start to flush again. (How many times does that make it today? Like, five? More?)

Geez, she's practically magnetic.

Grillby is watching me carefully, and I'm pretty sure I detect a hint of a smirk in that grin he's fixing me with.

'Well, at least I did something about my feelings for her,' I imagine him saying. 'How long are you going to beat around the bush, Sans? You should tell her what you think of her.'

I groan softly and put a hand over my eyes, trying to drive that thought away. It stubbornly refuses.

There's no way I can tell her, I remind myself. She probably doesn't think of me that way. And even if she did... I can't afford to like her. Until this whole reset thing gets worked out, it'll just end up hurting me. God knows I'm enough of a mess already—

"So, are you going to order something, or did you call me over purely for the conversational value?" Grillby asks, interrupting my train of thought. He removes a notepad from his vest's breast pocket, pen at the ready.

"I'll take my usual," I say, grateful for the distraction.

"Would you like the Sans' Special, or just the regular?"

"Just the regular."

"Well, that is certainly unexpected," Grillby notes, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

Grillby almost seems confused. When he catches me glancing at (Y/N), though, understanding dawns in his eyes. He chuckles quietly as he writes my order down.

"I see," he says sagely. Never before have two simple words made me so utterly embarrassed.

"And what can I get you, (Y/N)?"

"Uh... that depends. I can't find a menu anywhere," she says, looking fruitlessly up and down the bar.

"Basically, you've got two options: burgers or fries," I tell her.

"...Really? That's it?" she asks, looking at me skeptically. "That's a pretty short menu."

"That is the abridged version," Grillby says. "Those are my two most popular items. If you would rather see the full menu..."

Grillby reaches for something underneath the counter, pulling out a very thick scroll-like piece of paper.

"U-uh..." (Y/N) stammers.

Grillby holds it level with his glasses, and shoots me a mischievous smile before letting the menu unfurl. (Y/N) watches in fascination as the paper drops below the bar, and then rolls along the floor for several feet. By the time it's done, it's as long as the bar itself. (Y/N)'s expression is priceless—I have to try really hard to fight back laughter, and even then, I still manage to snort.

Good one, Grillbz.

"Wow. That's... a really long menu," she notes, sounding slightly intimidated. "You know what? I'll just take a burger."

Grillby skillfully rerolls the menu and stores it back underneath the bar. Then he scribbles her order down in his notepad (as if he needs it to remember such a simple order), and looks back up at her.

"Excellent choice," he says. "Would you like anything to drink with that?"

"Just water is fine," she says.

"Oh dear. That might be a little... problematic," Grillby mutters.

"What? Why?" she asks.

"Grillbz can't touch the stuff," I answer for him. "'Cause, y'know... he's made of fire."

"...Oh," she says awkwardly. "Well, uh... that makes sense, I guess. ...Wait a minute."

(Y/N)'s eyes slowly make their way along the back wall, which is lined with Grillby's entire selection of alcohol. Her brow furrows adorably, and her lips purse as she tries to organize her thoughts.

"So, you can't touch water," she says, "but you don't have any problems with alcohol? I mean, you do realize that it's extremely flammable, right?"

"..."

Grillby lapses into silence, his pen still poised over his notebook. Then he slowly turns to look behind him, regarding the assembled bottles with a newly acquired wariness.

"I... did not know that," he says. "I suppose I will have to be more cautious from now on. It would be a shame if I happened to light my establishment on fire."

"You mean it's never happened before?" (Y/N) asks, incredulous. "Okay, I'll bite—I've got to know. How is it you aren't burning anything?!"

"It took many years of practice," Grillby says, turning back to face her, "and quite a few unfortunate accidents. I assure you, though; I can be quite... formidable... when I want to be."

I get the feeling that last comment was aimed at me. Grillby gives me a pointed look and leans in towards (Y/N). My magic automatically forces its way to my left eye at his proximity to her, and I have to use all my restraint not to summon one of Gaster Blasters. Grillby smirks at my reaction and stops short, his flaming face just inches away from hers.

Instead of kissing her—which is what I'd automatically assumed he was going to do—he starts tracing a shape in the air between them. I have no idea what he's tryin' to do. (Y/N) seems just as baffled. When Grillbz's done with whatever it was he was drawing, he leans back, and theatrically snaps his fingers. Flames spring to life in the places he'd 'touched,' bringing his drawing alive in dancing tones of orange and red.

That bastard.

It's a heart. Of all the things he could draw, he chose a heart. Apparently, he's not gonna give up as easily as I had originally thought. That, or he's doin' this just to get a rise out of me. If that's the case, then he's doing a good job of it. If (Y/N) weren't here, I'd have a long string of choice words for him.

(Y/N) stares at the flames with awe, fascination written all over her face. Even as the flames fade away, she continues to study the air in front of her. When she finally comes back to reality, her smile is almost as bright as the flames had been.

"Wow! Grillby, that was so cool!" she exclaims. Grillby adopts a self-satisfied smile at her praise. "Sans, you've got some really cool friends, you know that?"

"Yeah, he's real cool," I mutter, giving Grillbz the stink eye. "Or should I say cold?"

Cold-hearted, that is.

"Actually," Grillby says nonchalantly, crossing his arms and staring down at me over top of his glasses. "I prefer to think of myself as hot."

Wow. So this is what it's like to be stabbed in the back.

"Pfft—that's such an overused pun. I've already heard it today," (Y/N) says, smiling good-naturedly. "Let me guess—you got that one from Sans."

"That is correct. He is quite the comedian."

"Yeah, he sure is... uh, quick question. Do you have a restroom in here, by any chance?"

"A restroom? Yes, of course. Just go through that door there, and you will find it on the right hand side."

"Thanks. I'll be right back."

(Y/N) gets up and scurries away, vanishing through the door that Grillby had pointed out. The air grows exponentially heavier in her absence, until it's almost stifling. I grit my teeth and stare at the wall, trying to contain the anger that's bubbling in me. Somewhere in the bar, a second hand is making its way around a clock. I start counting along to its pace, trying to distract myself. It ticks once... then twice...

"Sans," Grillby says. "I—"

The sound of that traitor's voice instantly sends me over the edge, my magic lighting in response to my sudden wave of anger. I stand on the rim of my stool and plant a hand on the bar, using the other to grab Grillby by that gaudy bow-tie of his. I pull him towards me until our faces are practically touching and look him right in the eye, the blue light of my magic reflecting off of his glasses.

"Are we going to have a problem, buddy?"

Grillby calmly returns my stare, completely unperturbed by my glowing eye and the rage associated with it.

"No," he says simply. "There is no problem... unless you make one."

"What," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "you thought I was just gonna sit there and—"

"It is obvious to me how much you care about (Y/N)," he continues as if I hadn't spoken, slowly loosening his bowtie. "You are practically infatuated with her. I am not trying to take her from you, if that is what you think. I may find her attractive, but I—"

"Then what the hell was all that about?!" I exclaim angrily, my arm trembling as I lift him a few inches.

Grillby sighs, almost as if he's disappointed in me. He completely undoes his bow tie, easily slipping out of my grasp. When he has his feet on the ground again, he takes out a rag from beneath the bar and starts to run it along the counter top, even though it's already perfectly polished. He's calm and collected, as always... and it makes me want to bash him against a wall.

I call magic to my fingertips and rip his yellow-orange soul clean out of him, ribbons of magic wrapping around it until it practically looks like it's turned blue. Grillby doesn't so much as blink. I lift my outstretched hand, itching to throw him across the room.

"Sans, how long have you been a patron at my bar?" he asks quietly. The question catches me off guard, and I hesitate in my attack, my arm frozen in its place.

"I... what?"

"Let me put it another way. How long have we been friends?"

Guilt is slowly worming its way into me, and my magic flickers in response to my growing uncertainty.

"I... I dunno. Two or three years, give or take?" I mumble.

"That is correct," he affirms. "And after all of that time, do you really believe that I would do anything to harm you? Either physically, or—perhaps with more relevance to our current situation—emotionally?"

My magic completely fades away as a flood of shame washes over me, and my arm drops limply to my side.

"...No," I mutter. "No... you wouldn't."

I sigh and collapse back onto my stool, my skull in my hands.

I... I actually attacked him. My best friend.

"Sorry, Grillbz," I mutter. "I just... she means a lot to me, y'know?"

"Yes," he says, a hint of a chuckle to his voice. "I realize. It would be impossible not to, after all of that."

"But... I don't get it," I mutter. "Why did you...?"

Grillby recalls his soul, and then reaches under the bar and pulls out a slightly dirty cup. He polishes it as he talks.

"I will admit, my intentions were genuine at first," he starts. "I can see the merit in (Y/N). But you are my friend, Sans, and I would not betray your trust."

"Stop bein' so vague about it, and just tell me what you're trying to accomplish," I sigh, propping my skull up with one hand. "You've always got a reason for what you do—what is it this time?"

Grillby sets the now-spotless glass down on the counter with a soft clink, and looks me in the eye with an uncomfortable level of seriousness.

"I was trying to get you to ACT, Sans."

"...What?"

"It is obvious that you like her. However, no matter what I did... you were unwilling to show that to her. Me, yes, but her... I was trying to get you to do something, Sans—to show her that you care for her."

"That's not your call, Grillbz," I murmur tiredly. "I'll tell her, but only when I'm ready."

"And when will that be, Sans?" Grillby presses.

"I..." My gaze drops away from his as I trail off, and I resort to studying my reflection on the bar top. He's got me—I don't have an answer for him.

"That is what I thought," he says softly. When he notices my downcast expression, he sighs and leaves his post behind the bar, circling around it to take a seat beside me. "Sans, I have known you for a long time now, and I know that you are not the kind of person to take initiative—"

"Heh. Yeah, I am pretty lazy," I say, using the old standby to try and lighten the mood a little.

"You and I both know that it is not just laziness," Grillby says firmly, unwilling to let me slip off-topic. "In this matter and others, you are simply too afraid of failure to take decisive action—I have seen it time and time again. You do not like to show your hand until you are absolutely positive that the cards are in your favor... and while I admit that strategy will keep you from making a bad bet, it also means that you will be sitting at that same table, immobilized, for as long as your uncertainties remain unresolved."

"Grillby..."

"You know that I am right," he says gently, "and I am sure you understand where I am going with this. (Y/N) seems to make you happy, when there is not much in this world that can. But if you do not do something soon... well, it is just as you yourself said—a lot can happen in the space of half an hour."

I cringe at his statement, the image of (Y/N)'s broken soul returning unbidden to my mind. That's right. A lot can happen in half an hour. If she had died then, I would've had to live the rest of my life knowing that I'd made a terrible mistake—that I'd never told her that I loved her.

But if everything resets again... losing her would... I'd... I'm already too close to her as it is.

"Grillby... you don't understand," I sigh, putting a hand over my eyesockets. "Under the circumstances, I... I can't tell her."

"You are right," he says sadly. "I do not understand."

"I have seen your apathy, yet I do not understand why you always treat each day as if it were a burden to you."

"I have seen you intoxicated countless times, yet I do not understand what causes your desire to get yourself drunk."

"And I have seen how you refuse the help that is offered to you—even that of your own brother—and yet I can never understand why you push others away."

A rare spark of anger enters his voice, and his hands, which had been pressed flat against the granite of the bar top, curl themselves into fists.

"I do not understand..." he growls, "not because I do not wish to, but because you always refuse to explain it to me!"

Well, I've succeeded in getting him to lose his cool... but not in the way I wanted. I sink lower on my stool as guilt begins to gnaw at me, my mandibles resting on crossed arms. Grillby breaths shakily and looks away, taking a moment to collect himself before he continues.

"Look, Sans... I only want to see you happy," he says softly. "But no one—not even (Y/N)—can make you happy if you are unwilling to let yourself be happy."

I don't answer. Grillby sighs and gives in, the light cast by his flames shifting as he moves to get up.

"Well..." he says slowly. "I... I suppose I should go get your orders ready. But please... think about what I said, Sans. You of all people deserve to be happy."

He hesitates for a few moments to put his bowtie back on, giving me time to change my mind and say something to him. However, stubborn as I am, I continue to avoid his gaze, instead opting to look into the reflection of my own sad, empty eyesockets. Grillby shakes his head sadly and then turns away, retreating back into the kitchen.

***

"Hey, I'm back!" (Y/N) calls cheerfully.

At the sound of her voice, I jerk upright and plaster my usual smile on my face. I doubt it'll do much to hide my depression—it's uncanny how well she can read me sometimes—but I've gotta at least try. I don't like her seeing me like this.

"Hey, Buttercup," I say, trying to match her carefree tone.

"You know, this place is a lot bigger than it looks," she informs me, taking a seat on the stool that Grillby had just left. "I actually got lost for a while back there—it's practically a maze. But anyway, what did I miss? Where's Grillby...?"

She trails off, apparently noticing the strained face I made when she mentioned Grillby.

"Sans?" she asks softly. "Did something happen?"

"What?" I ask, putting in a lot of effort to make my voice steady. "Pfft—no. Why would anything happen? Of course nothin' happened. Heh heh."

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

"Your eyesockets are dark," she points out.

"Oh... they are?" I ask, feigning ignorance. "Heh. Weird; I didn't notice."

"Sans..."

"I'm fine, really."

The look she's giving me right now... man, she really knows how to pull at my heartstrings. Her eyes are practically pools of sympathy, and just the sight of them is enough to guilt-trip me harder than Grillby's entire speech had.

"Sans, I can tell something's wrong," she says, laying a hand on my shoulder. "Stop trying to pretend that it's not."

"Heh. See, this is why it sucks to be a skeleton," I say quietly, my gaze dropping away from hers. "You can see right through me."

"Sans, you can talk to me about anything, remember?" she reminds me. "Just tell me about it—I'm sure it'll make you feel better."

I take a deep shaky breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I'm gonna have to tell her eventually. It'll kill me if I don't. Even know—when we're sitting so close to each other that our knees are practically touching—I have this insatiable need to be closer to her.

I want to hold her in my arms, close enough that I can feel her heart beating as if it were my own. I want to feel the touch of her skin again, so soft against my cheekbones. I want to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, to make her promises that I could only dream of keeping. I... I want her. I love her—everything about her—and it's killing me that I'm so close to her, yet so far away.

I... I'll have to tell her at some point. I think. Let's just get it over with.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to keep my hands from trembling. I turn towards her and stare deep into her eyes, my soul pulsating so quickly I'm afraid it'll shatter.

"(Y-Y/N)," I stammer. That sounded really pathetic, even by my standards. I swallow hard, and try again. "(Y/N), I want you to know that I... I..."

I'm shaking so hard that my bones are starting to rattle, and the words die on my tongue. I can't do it. I just... I just can't do it. I'm not ready. There's too much at risk.

'In this matter and others, you are simply too afraid of failure to take decisive action.'

As I recall Grillby's annoyingly true words, I groan and drop my skull onto my crossed arms, hiding my profusely blushing face. It's just three words, and yet...

"...Sans?" (Y/N) asks uncertainly.

"Nothing," I mutter, my voice muffled by my jacket. "Forget it."

Even though I can't see her face, I can practically feel her worry.

"Is this about earlier?" she asks. "I mean... last timeline?"

It's a good guess, even if it's wrong—I'm still plenty upset over that, too. Deciding that talking about Flowey would be marginally better than confessing my feelings, I raise my head just enough that I can see, and nod.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks. "I mean, a lot's happened that I don't really understand, and I was hoping you could shed some light on everything... but if you'd rather not talk about it..."

"No, I wanna know what happened," I say, my bones creaking as I sit up. "What did that... that weed... want from you?"

"Well, it's probably easier if I start explaining from last night. Frisk woke me up, saying that she had 'lost something...'"

**(Discussion Skip)**

"...and then this weird grey monster somehow restored my memory. They said something to me, but I couldn't understand it, and it disappeared before I could talk to it. You showed up not too long after," she explains.

I sit in silence for a few seconds, struggling to absorb everything she'd just told me.

Frisk can't reset anymore... and only (Y/N) can.

And since she knows all about the resets, and knows that it's better not to use that power... My eyesockets widen as the meaning behind that transfer starts to register, and my smile is so wide that my cheekbones hurt.

"(Y/N)... do you know what this means?"

"I... think so?"

"It's over," I say dazedly. "The resets... they're finally over."

"Yeah," (Y/N) agrees, her smile almost as wide as mine. "I guess so."

No more resets. It almost feels unreal—never again will I have to man my sentry station, waiting for Frisk to leave the ruins. Never again will I have to encounter Chara. I won't have to watch Paps die anymore. The Underground is at peace, and it's going to stay that way. The cycle... it's finally broken. I can finally move on with my life.

"That's the best news I've had in a long time," I say, practically drunk with happiness. "I could kiss you right now, Buttercup."

(Y/N) goes completely still, her (e/c) eyes widening. She blinks rapidly and looks away, her face turning so red she almost looks like a tomato.

Huh? Why is she... oh.

"N-not that I wanna kiss you or anything," I babble, my words tumbling over one another in my race to correct myself. "I just meant—it's a figure of speech, y'know? Oh! But I don't mean that I don't want to kiss you—I'm sure you're really kissable. Actually, those lips of yours look really soft, so, it's not that I'm against kissing you... wait! Forget I said that. Uh... I just... y'know... we're just friends. Heh. Yeah."

(Y/N) snorts, covering her mouth with a hand. She seems to be trying hard not to—her eyes are watering with the effort—but she ends up laughing anyway, that beautifully breathless laugh of hers bouncing off of the room's stone walls. Matters get even worse when the other guys join in on the fun. Apparently, everyone else in the bar had been listening in, and they make no secret of it as they completely crack up, their howls of laughter making the very air reverberate.

I'm pretty sure it'd be hard to tell me and Grillby apart right now—my face is so hot it might as well be on fire. I pull the hood of my jacket up and go back to resting my skull on the bar, completely mortified. It had been bad enough having Bun-Bun get all clingy earlier. And now, to top it off, all this happened. I'm seriously regretting bringing (Y/N) here.

"Sans," she gasps, still fighting back laughter. "That was—that was—oh my god, Sans. That was adorable."

"Oh, shut up," I mutter, my voice once again muffled by my hood.

"Hey," she says softly, lightly bumping an arm against one of mine. "I get it—you didn't mean it like that."

...I kinda did, though.

"C'mon, get out of there," she says, gently tugging at my hood. "I'm sorry I laughed. Just come out. Please?"

"Can't," I mutter cheekily, smiling a little to myself. I may be embarrassed, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't like the attention (Y/N)'s giving me. "Too lazy."

I don't make any move to put my hood down, but I don't protest when she does it for me. She giggles at my still-blue face, and flicks me lightly between the eyesockets. I flinch backwards in surprise, my hand flying to the spot she'd touched.

"What'd you do that for?" I ask, bewildered.

"I wanted to get the turtle out of his shell," she says, grinning slyly at me. "And it worked."

"Well, this turtle isn't just gonna let you get away with it," I growl playfully, narrowing my eyesockets at her. I reach over and quickly ruffle her hair, pulling back before she can slap my hand away.

"Hey!" she exclaims, fake-scowling at me. "Sans!"

"Heh," I chuckle. "Got'cha."

She tries to keep scowling, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. She gives up and beams at me, rolling her eyes as she starts to smooth her hair back down again.

It isn't long before Grillby decides to return, sporting a steaming plate in one hand and a bottle in the other. As he travels along the length of the bar, he catches my eye, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at my rapidly fading blue blush.

'Well?' I translate. 'Did you tell her?'

I answer his silent question with clenched teeth and a half-turned back. I'm still smoldering over the whole predicament he's forced on me—why does he have to stick his nose where it doesn't belong? His flames make a popping sound at my reaction, something that I've learned to associate with disappointment over the years. (Almost like a clicking tongue.)

Beyond that, though, he doesn't react to my cold shoulder. He continues to play the role of diligent server, placing the steaming plate in front of (Y/N). Well, maybe I'd judged his reaction too soon. Instead of placing my order on the table like a normal person, he slams my customary bottle of ketchup down on the counter top with all of his might, splattering ketchup all over me.

"What in the—Grillby!" I exclaim, looking down at myself.

"Oh, my deepest apologies, Sans," he growls, an uncharacteristic sarcastic edge to his words. "Allow me to clean that up for you."

The flames on one of his hands flare as he reaches towards me, apparently planning to 'clean' my hoodie by turning it to ashes.

"Nope, don't bother," I growl, perfectly matching the venom in his tone. "I've got it."

With a flick of my wrist, my magic pulls the ketchup out of the fabric of my hoodie. I twirl the substance around in the air for a moment, before smirking at Grillby and letting my magic fade away, ketchup splattering all over his previously sparkling quartz bartop. He doesn't say anything, but his flames are slowly shifting to an angry red color.

"U-uh..." (Y/N) stammers, looking back and forth between the two of us, worry lines appearing on her forehead. "Am I... missing something here?"

"Ye—"

"No!" I shout, drowning out Grillby.

Grillby plants his hands on the bar in frustration, making all of the assembled dishes bounce with the force behind it. What's left of my ketchup spills all over the counter, contributing to the mess that'd already been created. Grillby's flames are burning so furiously that they're starting to curl up over the edges of his clothes, and the ketchup under his hands instantly evaporates, filling the air with the smell of spoiled tomatoes.

"Stop being so difficult," he hisses, swiping off his glasses. His eyes are glowing dangerously bright, a sure sign that he's preparing an attack.

"Stop being so damn nosey," I retort, my eye flaring up again.

"This is for your own good!"

"You don't get to make that kind of decision!"

"Stop being so hard headed!" he exclaims, leaning menacingly towards me. "I am trying to help you! Or maybe, since you are so against moving forward, I should look out for my own interests, and see what she thinks of me."

"You wouldn't dare," I growl, allowing my fingertips to light. "If you so much as look at her funny, I'm gonna—"

"Quit it!" (Y/N) yells, forcing her way between the two of us. "Both of you!"

She's surprisingly strong—she practically shoves me off of my stool, and Grillby staggers backwards and rams into his wall of bottles, making them rattle enough to clink against one another. The sound is all the more noticeable since the pub has gone completely silent, every customer exuding shock. Grillby and I have never so much as argued before, much less get violent with each other.

"I can't believe you two!" she exclaims, her eyes flashing in anger. "You're practically at each other's throats, and here I thought you were friends! What in the world is going on?!"

Grillby looks pointedly in my direction, daring me to field the question. I stubbornly refuse to say anything, and glare at him in return.

"You know... I am starting to wonder why I even care in the first place," Grillby mutters to himself. He slowly unfolds and replaces his glasses, his flames starting to return to their normal orange color. "You are right—it is not my decision. You may continue being miserable, as that seems to be what you so wish."

I grunt incoherently and plop myself back down on my seat, signaling that the conversation is over. So long as he doesn't say anything too revealing, he can be as grumpy as he wants—what do I care?

(Y/N) continues to look between us, her confusion plastered all over her face. As the two of us stretch into silence, she sighs in defeat and returns to her own seat, scowling as she starts eating her now-cold hamburger. I want to say something to her, to apologize for all of that... but there's something about the expression on her face that tells me I should probably let her be. (And I thought I had some scary looks.)

Grillby silently stalks off, disappearing back into the kitchen. Without anything else to do, I start to absent-mindedly swirl the spilt ketchup with a finger, carefully avoiding Grillby's handprints. This definitely hadn't turned out like I'd thought it would.

I thought that would be the last I see of him, but I'm apparently wrong again. Grillby returns a few minutes later, a washcloth and a fresh bottle of ketchup in hand. I watch him as he cleans up the mess, and then silently places the bottle in front of me.

"A peace offering," he explains, seeing my suspicious glance. "I... I admit that I have overstepped my boundaries, and I... I apologize for that."

I hesitate for a moment, before sighing heavily and steeling myself to apologize.

"Me too. I mean... I'm sorry too. And you're right," I admit, looking away. "But I just... the timing's not right. I'm not ready."

The two of us stare at each other for a moment, before we both let out a breath in sync. It seems neither of us likes to argue with the other. (Arguing is exhausting, and takes up too much effort for my tastes.) I sneak a glance over at (Y/N), who's giving the both of us a knowing smile. She says something to herself under her breath, something that I'm not sure I heard right.

'...Bromance?' I wonder. Uh, sure... whatever that is.

I snatch up the bottle and take a much needed swig of ketchup. Honestly, I'm starting to wish I'd taken the Sans' Special—I really need a stress reliever right around now—but that could get messy with (Y/N) here.

"Wait," she says, as if noticing something for the first time. "Is that... ketchup?"

"Heh. Yep," I say, holding the bottle up for her inspection. "What, you want some?"

"Um, no thanks," she says, looking a little weirded out. "I've just never seen someone drink ketchup before. Do you really like it that much?"

"Yep," I say simply, grinning at her grossed-out expression. "Don't you?"

"For fries, yes," she says. "But just drinking it? That's a bit much."

"To each their own, I guess," I say, bumping her playfully.

"Yeah, yeah," she says, bumping me back. The smile on her face slowly falls away, to be replaced by an expression of surprise. "Oh! I completely forgot! I've got something for you."

"For both of you," she tacks on, glancing over at a slightly sullen looking Grillby. He perks up at her words, and shoots her a curious look. She stands up and rummages around in her back pocket, taking out what seem to be a stack of slightly-crushed envelopes. She hands two of them to me, and one of them to Grillby. One of them has my name on it, and the other is for Paps. (Which I find kind of funny, as it's obviously Pap's handwriting on it. Why is he writing himself letters?)

"What's this?" I ask, turning my envelope over.

"It's an invitation to a party that Frisk, Papyrus, and Alphys are putting together," she explains. "It was originally for me, but it's also doubling as a birthday party for Frisk."

"A birthday, huh?" I ask, carefully working it open. "Now that I think about it, I don't even know how old she is."

"She's twelve," (Y/N) says, smiling proudly.

"Well, I guess that means I'm gonna have to get her a present," I mutter to myself. "I'm not lookin' forward to that. I have no idea what the kid even likes..."

"I'll help you," she says. "Maybe we can go shopping together or something. I still have to get her a present, too—all the ones I had lined up are still on the surface."

I nod and pull the invitation out of its envelope, wincing as my hand is instantly coated in glitter. I've had bad experiences with glitter. Paps uses it in his spaghetti so often that there's practically a coating of it in our kitchen, and I know from experience that it's nearly impossible to wash off. I shake the thought away and open the card, quickly scanning what Paps wrote.

"YOU ARE INVITED TO A 'WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND' PARTY FOR OUR GOOD FRIEND, (Y/N). (And Frisk's twelfth birthday party. Presents are encouraged,)" I read. Simple enough. It's also got instructions on where to meet and when—apparently it's happening this Friday, and it's a picnic-type thing in Waterfall. I close the card, and sigh when I notice that Paps left me an extra message on the back.

"BROTHER, I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU DON'T LIKE THESE KINDS OF THINGS, BUT YOU MUST SHOW UP. OTHERWISE, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE FORCED TO DRAG YOU THERE MYSELF," I read. "AND PLEASE, SHOW UP IN MORE... APPROPRIATE... ATTIRE. (AT LEAST WEAR SHOES FOR ONCE.) OH, AND I ALSO ADVISE KEEPING THE PUNS AT A MINIMUM. I FEEL YOU MAY HAVE A BAD INFLUENCE ON THE HUMANS. NYEHFULLY YOURS, PAPYRUS."

I roll my eyes and haphazardly shove the invitation into one of my jacket pockets. Then I flinch and sigh, remembering how much glitter was on that thing. It's gonna take forever to get all of it out.

Grillby waited for me to open mine, and now goes to open his. Once again, a poof of pink glitter accompanies the removal of the envelope, resulting in something like mini-fireworks when they came into contact with his flames. He blinks in surprise, before shrugging and going to open the card. A folded piece of paper falls out of it.

"That's new," (Y/N) notes. "What's it say, Grillby?"

Grillby picks up the paper and skims through it. His brow furrows, and he actually rereads it, as if doubting he'd read it correctly the first time. Then he chuckles knowingly, refolds the paper, and carefully tucks both the invitation and paper into his breast pocket.

"What's it say?" I echo, starting to grow a little concerned. I don't like the look he's giving me.

"Frisk simply asked me to cater at the party," he says, turning away. That doesn't explain the creepy smile, though.

"What else does it say?" I press.

"Nothing else," he deadpans. "Well, nothing else I can tell you, that is."

"Something's definitely up," (Y/N) murmurs.

I have to agree with her. Something's up, and I don't like it. However curious I am, though, I don't feel like getting dragged into a second argument. I don't try to pry deeper and instead take another swig of my ketchup. (Y/N) seems to have a similar train of thought, and continues munching on her hamburger as if nothing remotely interesting had happened.

"So, Grillbz," I say eventually, glancing towards the front of the pub. "Since when did you have a piano in here?"

"Piano?!" (Y/N) exclaims, her hamburger falling to her plate, forgotten. "Where?!"

"Uh... over there," I say, pointing towards the front left.

There used to be a few tables there, but they'd been cleared out in favor of a dusty old upright piano. I've never seen it before, which strikes me as a little odd. After so many resets, I should know this place inside and out—I guess that means it's a fairly recent addition.

"I told you about this weeks ago, Sans," Grillby sighs, shaking his head slightly. "Someone found it abandoned in waterfall, and I requested they move it here. It arrived yesterday."

"Oh yeah..."

I vaguely remember him mentioning something about a piano, but the memory is so faded that it's practically disappeared. Technically speaking, if I count the resets, he told me about it over a year ago.

(Y/N) rubs her hands furiously on her jeans (getting all the grease off of them, I guess), before hurriedly standing up.

"Hey, you don't mind if I use it, do you?" she asks Grillby, her voice practically bubbling with excitement. "I haven't gotten to practice in, like, forever."

"You play piano?" I ask, eyesockets widening a little bit.

Geez, she does everything, I think. She sings, she writes, and now she plays the piano.

"Yup," she says, beaming.

"Well, I've gotta hear this," I say cheekily, crossing one leg over the other and making myself comfortable. "I've never gotten to hear the amazing (Y/N) in concert before."

She breaths in sharply at my words, her smile all but fading away. She slowly sinks back onto her stool, a somewhat apprehensive look on her face.

"Never mind," she murmurs.

Uh oh. Did I say something wrong?

"You may if you want," Grillby says, looking a little puzzled. "But... now you seem as if you would rather not. Is something the matter?"

"I've never played in front of anyone but Frisk before," she mutters, twirling a strand of hair around a finger. "And I haven't practiced in over a week... and I don't even play that well on a good day. And even if I did..."

"Stage fright," I guess. She nods, her cheeks flushing.

"That is nothing to worry about," Grillby assures her. "Everyone here is very kind—no one would judge you. In fact, I have not met a single monster in all the Underground that actually plays the piano. So, if you want to be technical about it, you are already better than all of us."

"And besides," I add, "what makes you think you're not good?"

"Oh, well... I'm not expert," she mumbles. "I just kinda... play what I want to, I guess. I'm not a big fan of all that classical stuff. I can't even read music that well—it takes me months to learn a new piece, and I have to listen to someone else play it before I can get anywhere."

"Well, it sounds to me..." Grillby says thoughtfully. "That you tend to play by ear. And if you can play by ear, then that is a very big accomplishment."

"Means you're a natural," I correct. "C'mon, Buttercup—you should play somethin.' If it helps any, you can just pretend we're not here."

I really want to hear her play. I've seen how quickly those fingers of hers move across her keyboard—I can only imagine how they fly across the piano's keys. She looks at me critically, like she's trying to assess whether or not I'm being genuine. She seems to decide that I am, and takes a deep breath.

"Alright," she mutters. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

Suddenly, a really good pun comes to mind, and I catch her by the wrist before she can walk away.

"Hey, what's the difference between a musician and a dead body?" I ask, grinning. She'll love this one.

"I don't know," she says. She smiles and rolls her eyes—she already knows me so well. "What's the difference?"

"One composes, and the other decomposes."

She takes a moment to drink in the pun, and then beams at me. I can feel the tension leaving her body, and it manifests as an airy laugh.

"Wow, Sans," she says, wiping away a fake tear. "That was actually really clever... for once."

"Come on," I say, already preparing another one. "My puns are always majorly creative."

"Oh boy," she says. "This is going to go on for a while, isn't it?"

"I dunno," I say, winking. "Depends on how much treble you give me."

"I guess I can stay here and listen to your puns, if you'd rather me not play..."

I'm quick to let go of her, raising my hands as a placating gesture.

"Piano it is then," she says, giggling.

She makes her way to the other end of the room, carefully weaving between the haphazardly placed tables. Wherever she passes, monsters look up at her in curiosity, wondering what she's doing. She sits at the piano, everything but a tuft of her (h/c) hair disappearing behind the piano's bulk. She takes a moment to do some kind of warm up (I think they're called scales?). The notes are shaky at first, but they slowly smooth out as she gains more confidence.

The room goes almost completely silent, any remaining conversations hushed as the patrons wait in anticipation of her first song. She takes an audible deep breath, and then launches into the first bars of a song. It's sweet, yet melancholy at the same time—soft yet driving. It's surprising how contradictory it is at times... and yet, I can't help but think that it sounds somewhat familiar. I've never heard the song before, but somehow... it reminds me of someone.

Wow... I don't know what she was talking about. She sounds amazing.

When the song ends, silence returns to the room. Then, applause rings out, echoing against the stone walls like thunder. I don't applaud, but my smile is so wide I'm pretty sure it's taking up half of my face. (Y/N) peeks around the side piano, as if she can't believe what she's hearing. When she catches my eye, I throw her a thumbs-up. She instantly flushes, and goes back to hiding behind the piano.

She plays another song, and then another, and another. Before I know it, a good hour's gone by. And still, she hasn't lost a single member of her audience.

"This is the last one," she calls. A disappointed "aww" echoes through the room. "My fingers are starting to go numb. And besides, that's literally all the songs I have memorized."

"(Y/N)!" I call.

"Yeah?"

"You should sing to it."

"Sans, I told you..."

"Does the song have lyrics to it?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Then you should sing to it," I say, determined to get her to overcome her stage fright.

"That is an excellent idea," Grillby adds.

"Yeah, (Y/N), sing to it," a monster calls.

"Yeah!"

Pretty soon, the entire room is chanting for her to sing. (Y/N) seems a little bit overwhelmed, but she reluctantly agrees. (Not before she gives me the stink eye, though.) She takes a moment to gather her courage, and then starts playing again, her ethereal voice raised in accompaniment.

https://youtu.be/igswH1Lyzsc

https://youtu.be/_de94rSr8m8

"The crescent moon's so high in this dark and lonely sky,

An ocean of obsidian tangled in the light,

So make a wish now upon a shooting star,

And watch it fly across the night, into the beyond."

This is by far the most complicated song she's played so far. And yet, somehow, she manages to sing along to it in perfect sync, not so much as a note out of place.

"In this unwritten tale, without a single word,

Could somehow own the night—the moon only a blur,

The hidden masterpiece you hide where none can see,

Would take to the sky like a bird set free.

Tomorrow, we'll spread our wings and find where we belong,

You dream to see the world someday,

Would you mind if I tag along?

Listen close, and you can hear, as it's suddenly drawing near,

Your wish is coming true.

The crescent moon's so high in this dark and lonely sky,

An ocean of obsidian tangled in the light,

So make a wish now upon a shooting star,

And watch it fly across the night,

Ah, until this whole dream, has come to an end!

So if we lose our way because the map we drew

Is quickly blown away, lost to the desert wind

I pray a light appears to guide our drifting souls

Into an age to last a thousand years

You've fallen prey to desolation time and time again

But I only remember how carefree you were back then

All the things we long to hold, as our cards begin to fold,

Appear within our reach

Let's break away the veil of this dark and endless night

Your tears will fade into days that still lie ahead

If you could take what's reflected in your heart,

Beyond the dawn you'd set your sight

Ah, this swift gale of wind will carry us there..."

I'm completely entranced—(Y/N) practically turns into a siren when she sings. I'm not the only one. Grillby's flames have reverted back to their pink state, and he's leaning so far forward than his elbows are resting against the far end of the bar. And I don't mind. His reaction is justified, after all. Who could resist (Y/N) after hearing her sing like this?

When she finishes, the entire restaurant falls silent, as though they're exiting a trance state. Then, the whole building erupts, cheers and whistles bouncing off the ceiling along with her audience's enthusiastic clapping. Her face is completely red when she finally stands up, offering an awkward wave to her new-found fans. She hurries back to the bar, and practically collapses against it, panting for all she's worth.

"That was incredible, Buttercup," I murmur. In all honesty, there aren't any words that can express how amazing that was—she beats out that Metta-dork by a mile. But I've never had a way with words, so 'incredible' is the best I can come up with.

"That is an understatement," Grillby says, agreeing with my silent statement. "Well, was it as bad as you had thought, (Y/N)?"

"No... talking," she gasps. "Breathing. Just... breathing."

"I guess that took a lot outta you, huh?" I note, chuckling. "I guess it's about high time we leave—you can catch a nap at my place, or somethin.'"

"Sounds good," she murmurs tiredly. "I... wow, that was a lot at once."

I get up, and wait for her to do the same. When she doesn't, I poke her playfully in the side.

"Am I gonna have to carry you?" I ask, easily dodging her clumsy swat of retaliation. "'Cause I'd really rather not—you're pretty heavy, you know."

"Did you just call me heavy?" she asks, raising an accusatory eyebrow.

"I dunno. Did I?" I ask mischievously.

"Rawr," she growls half-heartedly, staggering to her feet.

Grillby coughs, drawing my attention away from (Y/N).

"So... are you going to pay at some point, Sans?" he asks. I freeze, fighting down the urge to teleport.

"Heh... uh... just put it on my tab, Grillbz."

"Right," he mutters. "The tab. And are you going to pay that off, at some point?"

"Probably," I say, dodging the question.

"Wait, I can't let you pay for me," (Y/N) says suddenly. "Oh, darn it, I completely forgot—that gold Frisk gave me is in my backpack..."

"Uh, it's no trouble or anything," I say.

"It's not that," she says, checking her pockets. "I just don't like being indebted to people. It can make for a lot of nasty situations later on."

"You sound like you're talking from experience," I note.

"Kinda," she admits. Then she sighs, finding her pockets empty. "Well, this is awkward. I guess I'm going to have to wash dishes or something."

"No, not at all," Grillby says, waving it off. "I would tell you that it was on the house, as it was your first time here... however, it seems you would prefer I not give it to you free. So, I will instead say that we are even. Perhaps even more than even—you just gave me over an hour of free entertainment, after all."

"Well, when you put it that way," she says. "I guess so."

"See you around, Grillbz," I say, leading the way out of the pub.

"Actually, I have a proposition for you, (Y/N)."

She hesitates, turning back towards Grillby.

"How would you like to work here? After all, what good is a piano without a pianist?"

(Y/N) mulls it over, a thoughtful hand raising to her chin.

"I would pay you, of course. And it would only have to be for an hour a day."

"I'd love to," she says finally, a smile stretching across her face. "Actually, the works out perfectly—if I'm going to be living here for the rest of my life, it makes sense that I should get a job. As much as I love Toriel, I'm an adult, and I should probably start acting like one."

"Then it is settled," Grillby says, a rare smile crossing his flaming face. "Would you be opposed to starting tomorrow?"

"No."

"Then I will see you at eleven," he says. "Just in time for rush hour."

"Alright," she says. "See you tomorrow!"

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about (Y/N) spending so much time around Grillby, especially after today... but I'm not going to protest if it means I can listen to her play again. She waves to Grillbz and follows me out the door, the cheery twinkling of a bell sounding as it closes behind us. All's well that ends well, I suppose.

Author's Note

             Woooo! Grillby's! XD Yup. I completely underestimated how much was going to happen at Grillby's. This is the longest chapter yet... and when you consider that it's Part 2, well... yeah. That's a lot of time spent at Grillby's.              So, I will admit that I was all over the place this time around. (However, in my defense, I had a fever when I was writing most of it, so... but the writing's good! I was very impressed with myself on that point.)            And just so I stave off calls of inconsistancy--yes, I know that the cannon version of Undertale doesn't have bathrooms. But the bathroom excuse is an easy way to get a character away from the others, and so I took full advantage of it. I guess ZanaTale AU now includes restrooms. :-)
            For people who are worried about pacing, things are going to pick up REALLY soon. Look forward to a lot of important chapters.
            I should probably say something about the songs I included, before I forget. The song is Lapis Lazuli Aoi Air from Arslan Senki ED. (Which is yet another anime who's songs I have, but I haven't actually watched.) The piano cover was made by the extremely talented KzMac Piano, and the lyrics I included were once again from AmaLee. (AmaLee is one of my favorite Youtube singers.)

And, finally, here's some food for thought: 

 *Will Sans ever confess?

*What the heck is going to happen at this party that Frisk planned?

*What is the Sans' Special, if it's not regular 'ol ketchup?

*What do you think Sans' and Papyrus's soul traits be? I think Paps' would be loyalty, and Sans' would be discernment.

Until Next Time, Guys!

--Zana