Your Perspective

"Pick one," Alphys says. She holds a can of popsicle sticks out to Sans, and watches him expectantly as he stares down at it.

"...Why?" he asks.

He's clearly suspicious. So are you, actually—this whole setup reeks of mischief. If the fact that you're drawing straws isn't enough to convince you, your friends' expressions definitely are. They're all staring at Sans with undisguised anticipation, and no one else so much as asks for an explanation... almost as if they already know what's going on.

"J-Just do it," Alphys says, holding the can a little bit closer to him.

"Shouldn't you at least tell us what the game is, first?" you ask.

"O-oh..." Alphys says, glancing over at you. "I g-guess I'm getting ahead of myself, huh? O-oops."

She laughs awkwardly, twirling one of the popsicle sticks between her fingers.

"Fr-Frisk, you're the one that came up with it," she says, directing the question to Frisk. "Do you want to e-explain it?"

Frisk bounces up and down excitedly, and gives Alphys a bright thumbs-up. She doesn't so much as pick up her whiteboard (confirming the fact that everyone else already knows what's going on, as only you and Sans can understand sign language), and turns to you with a radiant smile.

"We're playing 'Ultimate hide-and-seek,'" she signs. "Or, as I like to call it... the SSS Game."

...Ultimate hide and seek? you ask yourself. SSS? I'm lost.

"It's basically the same as regular hide-and-seek," Frisk continues, "but there are two seekers instead of one."

"That's it?" you ask. "I don't see what's so 'ultimate' about it."

Frisk's smile somehow manages to grow wider at your comment.

"Well, there's something else, too," she signs coyly, "but you have to choose a popsicle stick before I tell you what it is."

That's a red flag. Your sister rarely withholds information from you, so if she's doing it for something as benign as a game of hide-and-seek... you figure that's a good enough reason to put your guard up. You narrow your eyes, but beyond that, don't do anything about your nagging suspicion. It's your sister's birthday—you can't bring yourself to say no to her, no matter how fishy the game smells.

"Fine," you sigh, beckoning Alphys over. "I guess I'll go first."

Alphys hurries over to you with barely contained excitement, practically shoving the tin into your face.

"If you get a b-blue dot, that means you're one of the two people that are seeking," she clarifies.

"Okay..."

You reach into the tin, and, lo and behold, the popsicle stick you choose has a blue dot on it. Somehow, the fact doesn't really surprise you. Nor anyone else, for that matter—there wasn't any 'oohs' or any other exclamations of surprise... just knowing smiles. Well, with the exception of Alphys. She squeals in excitement, but quickly covers it up by clearing her throat. She gives you an awkward smile and nervously adjusts her glasses, before going back over to Sans.

"Y-your turn," she says, once again shoving the tin at him.

"I'm not sure about this," he says, his perpetual smile growing tight at the edges.

"Come on Sans," you encourage. "It's just one more game. Besides, it may be fun."

"Y-Yeah! It'll be really... fun," Alphys echoes. Her statement, however, seems significantly more ominous than your own. Especially with the added effect of her crazed laughter.

"Uh... Alphys?" you ask, a tiny bit concerned for your (seemingly unstable) friend. She promptly stops mid-laugh, and a pinkish tinge soon makes itself known on her scaly cheeks. She clears her throat again, and reoffers the tin to Sans.

"J-Just pick one," she mutters, clearly still embarrassed—she's staring at the ground, not even bothering to look and see what his result is.

Sans, apparently realizing that he doesn't have a choice, sighs and resignedly picks a popsicle stick out of the container. He studies it for a moment, before rolling his irises and holding it up for everyone to see.

"WELL WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT?" Papyrus exclaims. "MY BROTHER AND (Y/N) ARE BOTH SEEKERS. WHAT AN UNFORESEEN, COMPLETELY UNPLANNED, AND ENTIRELY RANDOM COINCIDENCE!"

Frisk gives Papyrus a sharp look, her eyes going even squinty-er than normal. You've been subjected to that look enough times to know what it means. "Shut up." Papyrus, unfortunately, doesn't seem to get the message. He beams at your little sister, and gives her an exaggerated wink. Frisk groans helplessly in response, and facepalms. It's adorable.

Real smooth Papyrus, you think, cringing on behalf of your favorite cinnamon roll. Real smooth.

"A-Anyway," Alphys says quickly, desperately trying to draw Sans' attention away from his brother, "now that we have our seekers, we can s-start the game."

"...Aren't the rest of you going to draw straws?" you ask.

"What's the point?!" Undyne bellows. "We already have our seekers! Let's just start already!"

Undyne has been so quiet recently that the sudden loud noise startles you, making you jump. Your sudden movement, in turn, startles Alphys, making her drop her tin of popsicle sticks. The moment she realizes what happened, she swoops down to sweep up her fallen sticks... but not before you got a good look at them. Every single popsicle stick has a blue dot on it.

What in the world of Ira...? you think. I can't believe Frisk rigged... no, never mind. I can totally believe that. But why would she...? Actually, you know what? I'm just gonna roll with it.

"Okay, now what?" you ask, pretending you hadn't noticed Alphys' slip. Sans shoots you a surprised look, as though he can't believe that you're going along with it. (He'd noticed the rigged system, too—you could've seen his scowl from a mile away.)

Instead of answering, Frisk runs over to you and takes your hand, before dragging you over to your seeker-in-arms. She shoves you next to Sans, so that the two of you are standing side-by-side, with only a few inches between you. You can feel your heart skip a beat at your proximity to him, but you stubbornly ignore it. Now isn't the time for that.

"Now... we play," Frisk signs, a creepily eager smile crossing her face.

Before you know what was happening, she whips something long and metal out of her back pocket, and attaches it to you. You shiver at the feel of cold metal against the sensitive skin of your wrist, and it's only then that you realize what the object is. You go to protest, but the damage is already done—Frisk just finished fastening the other end around Sans' own skeletal wrist.

"Huh? Wait, wha—kid!" Sans exclaims. He stares down at the handcuffs with obvious alarm, and then jerks his arm up, as if testing their integrity. Your own arm is—inevitably—forced to follow his movement.

"Woah!" you exclaim, taken by surprise. The chain of the handcuffs rattles as you strain against it, and its metal digs painfully into your skin as you pull the chain completely taut. "Fr-Frisk? Wh-what... what in the world...?"

Frisk takes several steps away from the two of you (until she's out of your reach, you guess), and then spins around to face you, that creepy grin still present on her otherwise innocent face.

"I said that there was one other thing," she reminds you. "This is it. The two seekers have to search for everyone together. And so, to make sure that you follow the rules..."

Frisk gestures towards your linked hands, and giggles at your obvious discomfort.

"You get to wear handcuffs!"

You stare at your sister in utter disbelief, not entirely sure what to make of all of this. The whole thing is absolutely crazy, and irrational, and wrong in so many ways that your mind is having trouble processing it. However, through all of that, one thing sticks out to you—your sister is unexpectedly creative. Diabolically creative. Oh, and resourceful. Where had she even gotten the handcuffs?! Where you're dumb struck, though, Sans is beside himself.

"K-kid, get this thing off of me," he says. He seems to be trying hard to stay calm, but his nervousness is easily betrayed by his voice. It's shaking ever so slightly, and it's just a tad higher than you deem normal. "Right now."

You have to agree. You don't like this—not one bit. However, you know that there's no way your sister's going to let you go that easily. Not when she'd (obviously) spent so much time planning this. She shakes her head, and her smile transforms into more of a leer. Then she fished around in her pockets for a few moments, before holding up something for the both of you to see. It looks to be a small key; assumedly the one that goes to your handcuffs. It catches the light of a nearby echo flower as she playfully dangles it in front of the two of you, taunting you with the promise of your freedom.

"I can't just let you go," she signs, the key temporarily disappearing into a curled palm. "That's your reward—you only get the key once you've found everybody."

"Frisk, I'm serious," Sans growls, his hands curling into fists. "This isn't funny. Unlock us. Now."

"No," she signs. To emphasize her words, she jingles the keys right in front of him, mere inches away from his nose cavity. "You have to find everyone first."

Sans goes silent, his irises bouncing as they follow the keys in their dance. Then, without warning, he lunges for them. It was a good idea, and it may have worked, too... if he hadn't used his left hand. The handcuffs go tight just inches before he would have reached them, and you gasp as you lose your balance. You trip over your own feet, and nearly careen into Frisk. Luckily, you're able to catch yourself at the last moment.

"Careful..." you mutter. Your warning goes unnoticed—Sans is too busy glowering at a certain birthday girl. Instead of giving in (which is what you would have done), your sister simply giggled and took another step back, still taunting Sans with the keys.

"I'm warning you, Frisk," Sans says, his voice dangerously low. "If you don't let me go, right now, I'm going to bust my way out of these things."

And he means it. You turn to look at him, and you can't help but be a bit unsettled when you find traces of blue in his eyesocket. You don't really understand why he's so up-in-arms over this. Yes, the handcuffs are an inconvenience. Yes, they're weirding you out. But they aren't really doing any harm, right? All they're meant to do is guarantee that the two of you are close to each other, something that probably would have happened anyway. (You can tell that something's wrong with Sans, and you don't want to leave his side until he tells you what's up.)

So, then, what's the problem? Is it the handcuffs themselves? A psychological reaction to the loss of control? Stress? The party has been going on for a long time—maybe he really is just tired, like he'd said. Or maybe... maybe it really isn't the handcuffs, after all, but the idea of being handcuffed to you.

Maybe he doesn't want to spend time with you. Maybe you'd made him angry with you. You bite your lip, hoping with all your heart that isn't the case. Did you do something? Was it something you said? Oh, you bet that it's probably because you forced him to sing with you—

"Look, kid," Sans says, taking a deep, shuddering, breath. "Please, be reasonable—we didn't sign up for something like this. Right, Buttercup?"

Oh, you'd been so stupid. It was blatantly obvious that he hadn't wanted to sing. I mean, he'd even retreated into his hoodie, for god's sake. Why had you forced it on him? You're such an idiot. Sure, he'd looked like he was having fun for a little while, but then there was that one line, and then for the rest of the song... this was an awful idea. You should have never have come to this stupid party in the first place. It's been nothing but a complete disaster—

"...Buttercup?" Sans asks, sounding uncertain. He glances over at you for a moment, before returning his gaze to the still-dangling keys. Then, as if realizing something, he does a double take, and studies your face more closely. Whatever he sees instantly wipes all traces of irritation from his face, and his magic quickly splutters out.

"Hey..." he murmurs, "what's wrong?"

He instinctively goes to touch you, his non-cuffed hand reaching out for your face. He hesitates just moments before he would have made contact, and instead of landing on your cheek, his hand finds a new home on your shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" he asks you softly.

"Y-yeah," you stammer, looking away. "I'm fine."

You're clearly not fine. You're upset. And confused. Sans keeps sending you contradicting messages, and it's starting to mess with your head. One minute, you think that he has feelings—like romantic feelings—towards you. But then the other... it seems as if he's intentionally putting distance between the two of you. It's gotten to the point where you have no idea how he really feels, and it's... well, it's kind of depressing. All those romance novels you'd read were right. Love hurts.

Sans goes silent in the face of your denial, but doesn't press you. You feel his hand leave your shoulder, and when you eventually look at him again, you find that he's put as much space between the two of you as possible. The chain of your handcuffs are pulled taut between you, and he's back to staring at the keys in Frisk's hands. As if... they're the only thing that matters. That stings. You'd thought that it had been blatantly obvious that you wanted him to dig deeper, to show you that he cares about you... but it seems all he wants is to get away from you.

Your heart sinks just a little bit deeper into your irrational sadness, and you can't bring yourself to care about this stupid game anymore. If Sans' doesn't want you there, then what's the point? ...You just want to go home.

"Well, Sans?" Frisk asks. She seems a little more solemn than she had before, and she keeps sneaking worried glances over in your direction. It seems that she, at least, noticed your sorry emotional state. "What are you going to do?"

"I..." Sans trails off, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. You think you see his head jerk ever so slightly in your direction, as if he were going to look at you... but he restrained himself from doing so. He hesitates for a few more moments, and then sighs heavily. "...Fine. It's not like I really have a choice, right?"

Frisk instantly perks up, and claps her hands together.

"Great!" she signs enthusiastically. "There are a few other rules: we can hide anywhere inside the Waterfall boundaries, and nobody can use magic. That means you, Dunkle. No magic."

"...You're killin' me here, kid," Sans mutters, not exactly enthused.

"That's about it," Frisk finishes. "Are you ready?"

"No," Sans says, answering for the both of you.

"Well, too bad! Close your eyes and count to fifty."

"Fifty? Why fifty?"

"Just do it!"

"Alright, alright. They're closed."

"You too sis," Frisk signs. You can barely see her hand motions—your eyesight is too blurry.

Alarm visibly flashes across your sister's face when she notices your watering eyes, and for the first time since announcing this game, she seems uncertain. She glances over at Alphys, as though she's searching for support. Alphys, however, doesn't even notice your sister's reassurance-seeking look. She's too busy staring at you, her shock obvious in her wide eyes and slightly agape mouth. Her reaction is mirrored almost perfectly on every single one of your friends' faces—none of them have ever seen you cry before.

Seeing them so worried only makes you feel worse. You're a comforter, a counselor. You're always there to help others out when they're distressed; to take their burdens—their pain—onto yourself, so that they can feel better. It's what you do. Heck, your very soul is made for that purpose. Why else would your core trait be empathy? In their eyes... that makes you strong. You're an unshakable rock, someone that they can depend on to be sturdy if they need to lean on you. You're not supposed to break down. Or, at least... not like this. Not for your own selfish reasons.

And if you think about it... there's not really anything for you to be upset about. You're being irrational, and over-emotional, and you know it. You're not even entirely sure what caused you to feel like this in the first place. But despite all of that... you can't help what you feel. Your tears threaten to overflow as shame and embarrassment are added to your original distress.

You grit your teeth and weakly tug on your handcuff, desperate to get away from the searching looks of your friends. That's what you always do. When you're upset, or angry, or scared, you always run away. No one is supposed to see you when you're like this. You're like an emotional mechanic. And what good is a mechanic, if they can't fix their own car?

"Sis...?" Frisk asks, taking a step towards you.

You need to get your act together, and fast. You blink back your tears, and give your sister the largest smile you can muster.

"I bet we can find all of you in less than ten minutes," you drawl, putting your free hand on your hip. Your sister is extremely competitive. If there's anything that will make her forget all of this, it's a challenge. As predicted, it works like a charm. She stops dead in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she considers your statement.

"Waterfall is huge," she signs. "It'll take you at least an hour."

"Nah, kid—we'll do it in five," Sans pipes up.

"Sans, you're supposed to have your eyes closed!"

"Whoops, sorry—eye couldn't help myself."

Papyrus lets out a frustrated cry in the background, which manages to make you feel a tiny bit better. It also gives you the opportunity to sneakily wipe at your eyes—Papyrus had just launched into a rant about the evils of pun-based humor, drawing everyone's attention away from you.

"Let's get started already," Frisk signed, impatient. "Close your eyes!"

"But kid, I technically don't have any," Sans points out. Frisk goes silent, staring at Sans with an unreadable expression on their face. "Therefore, I can't exactly close them. Iris my case."

Frisk immediately dissolves into giggles, and Papyrus goes ballistic. For once, Sans actually made a good pun. On any other day, you would have been in stitches. Today, however... you just aren't in the mood. You manage to plaster a tight smile onto your face (for Frisk's sake), but beyond that, the joke may as well have fallen on deaf ears.

"Dunkle! You know what I mean!" Frisk signs between giggles. "Come ooooon!"

"Okay, okay. Eye'm doing it. See?"

Frisk is laughing so hard that she's having a hard time standing up. You, however, aren't amused. You want to get this over with, so you can go home and sort out your conflicting emotions with a tub of ice cream and a comfy blanket.

You pointedly close your eyes, and slowly start to count to fifty.

"One... two... three..."

By the time you get to six, all conversation in the clearing has vanished, to be replaced by the sound of rapidly fading footsteps. You listen closely, trying to keep track of where they're going (you want to find them as quickly as possible). However, Waterfall's echo-y nature makes it impossible—they all sound as if they're going everywhere. (It's very disorienting, actually.)

"...Fifty."

When you open your eyes again, you find yourself completely alone. Without the cheery babble of your friends' voices, Waterfall has once again fallen into its normal state of peace and serenity. The quiet sound of rushing water helps you calm down a little bit more, and as you pause to listen to it, you find yourself letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The last few minutes had been... intense, to say the least.

"So..." Sans says slowly. "They're gone."

"They're gone," you agree, your relief obvious in your voice. After your simple statement, the two of you lapse into an awkward silence. You're content to keep it that way—you don't really have anything to say to him at the moment, and you'd rather be left alone for awhile (as alone as you can be, seeing as you're handcuffed to him).

"...Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, now?" he asks.

Anger surges through you at his words, and you clench your jaw to keep from saying anything rash. See, this is what you meant about being sent contradicting messages. He was just desperate to get away from you, and now he wants you to confide in him?!

Fat chance.

You huff belligerently and ignore his question, instead moving to take a step forward. You'd expected Sans to follow you, so you're caught by surprise when the chain between your handcuffs goes taut, stopping you dead in your tracks.

"We need to get going," you mutter, refusing to look back at him.

"Woah, hold your horses," he says. He tugs gently on the chain that connects you to him, as if telling you to come back. "Not until you tell me what's going on with you."

"We're wasting time," you state, your voice clipped and carefully devoid of emotion. "The sooner we find everyone, the sooner we can get these things off. Then we can both leave this stupid party, and go our separate ways. That's what you want, right?"

Sans hesitates, trying to read between the lines.

"...Is that what this is about?" he asks quietly. "The handcuffs?"

"Yes and no," you mutter. "Just—I—it doesn't matter. Come on."

You insistently pull on the chain, but Sans doesn't budge. (Who knew it would be so hard to force a skeleton—who should logically be significantly lighter than a human—to move?)

"Not until you let me into that head of yours," he insists, his voice firm. "You were almost crying earlier, (Y/N). What am I supposed to do, ignore it?"

"If that's what you want, then yes."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"I—you—argh, just forget it!"

You continue to strain on your handcuffs until Sans reluctantly gives in, sighing heavily as he falls into step beside you. As the two of you fall silent, your anger with him slowly fades away, leaving you feeling... exhausted. Pure and simple. Your conscious mind still hasn't managed to grasp your reason for being angry in the first place—you figure it was just a reaction to all the drama that you've been put through today.

"So..." you say eventually. "Where do you think they could be? You know your way around this place a lot better than I do."

Sans doesn't answer.

Great, now I've made him mad.

"Maybe we can check—"

Your chain goes taut again as Sans suddenly stops. Your breath catches in your throat as your arm is nearly ripped out of your socket, and you start to topple backwards...

"Woah!" he exclaims. He rushes forwards, and catches you moments before you would have hit the ground. "Got'cha."

"Thanks," you mutter. Your heart is beating hard in your chest from the contact with him, but you're equally annoyed with him. Hadn't you said to be careful? You quickly free yourself from his grasp, and go to keep walking...

"(Y/N)."

You stop, but don't turn around. You can feel that strangely resilient anger bubbling under the surface again, and you're trying hard to keep it under control.

"What?" you ask, your voice measured.

"Look, I... I-I care about you, y'know?"

Your heart skips a beat, and everything—even your breath—goes completely still. Is he saying... what you think he's saying? You look over your shoulder at him, a spark of hope lighting somewhere deep within you. Maybe... maybe today would end on a good note, after all.

"You're one of my best friends."

That spark instantly dies. Of course, how typical of him—yet another contradiction.

"I don't like seeing you upset, and I... I'm here, if you ever need a shoulder to lean on. Just like you're always there for me. It's not just a one-way thing."

You can't believe him. How dare he? Your jaw clenches as you try to bite back a sharp remark. You're starting to realize just why you're so angry with him all of a sudden.

"I can't help you, if you don't tell me—"

"Wow. That's rich, coming from you," you interject, your voice icily calm.

"I... what?"

Your hand tangles in the chain of your handcuffs, and you squeeze until your skin aches. It's a good feeling—it helps to keep you anchored.

"The whole 'I can't help you if you don't talk to me' thing. The 'It's not just one way' thing. That's so... heh, you're such a hypocrite, lecturing me about the importance of communication."

"A hypocrite?" Sans asks, his voice rising. "I... why would you say that? What did I ever do to you?!"

"What, do you think I'm blind?!" you cry, spinning around.

Angry tears are starting to burn in your eyes, and you grit your teeth against the waves of hurt and betrayal that are washing over you. The anger that you'd sensed gathering in Sans completely abates at the sight of your tearing eyes, and he's left looking dumbstruck. Does he really have no idea what caused this?

"What? No, of course not! (Y/N), please, just tell me what's wrong, and we can talk this through—"

"That's just it, Sans!" you snap. "I don't know! I don't know what's wrong! I know that there's something wrong, Sans, and that it's been bothering you for a long time... but you refuse to talk to me about it!"

Sans' voice catches in his throat, his irises vanishing into the empty void of his eyesockets. You take a moment to gasp for air, as your outburst had taken whatever you had left. As soon as your lungs recover, you continue, your tears spilling rebelliously down your cheeks.

"And here you are, telling me that I should be more open? Ha! You weren't open when you broke down at Grillby's that one time. You flat out lied to me."

Sans flinches, and looks away.

"What, you thought I didn't notice? Sans, I've been lying to my sister for over eight years now—I know a lie when I see one. And then, there was that whole thing between you and Grillby. I just love how you glossed that one over."

Sans looks like he's trying to melt into his hoodie.

"Over the past week, there have been dozens of times where you avoided questions, or purposely skirted issues. And then today, it all just kinda blew up! I don't understand why you got all depressed in the middle of Drop Pop Candy, of all songs, and then there was the whole thing with the handcuffs! I'm not exactly enthused about them either, but if you hated the idea of being stuck with me that much, you could've just said so, and I would've boycotted this whole fucking game with you!"

You fall silent for a moment, putting a hand to your forehead and breathing hard. There it was. The root of the issue. It wasn't just today—he's been hiding something from you since he first introduced you to Grillby. You think you have a fairly good idea of what it is... but that's not good enough. You want him to be the one to explain it to you.

"...That's not it," he mutters. He studies the glowing grass beneath his feet, unable to look you in the eye.

"Well, I'm not psychic, Sans!" you exclaim. "I can't read minds, okay? Yes, I'm good at telling how a person feels. Can I immediately tell why? No! You have to talk to me."

"...I really like having you around, (Y/N). Don't ever think otherwise," Sans murmurs, fiddling with his own handcuff. "In fact, I dunno what I'd do without you."

"Then what—"

"I just didn't wanna be alone with you," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

At first, you don't know what he means. Then, as his face starts to glow the same shade of blue as the grass beneath his feet, you understand. Sans makes an effort to look up at you, and you think you catch the slightest hint of desire in those irises of his, buried underneath mountains of restraint and caution.

And, just like that, all of your uncertainties; all your fear and anxiety... it all completely melts away. You were right all along. He loves you. Even more than that, some part of him wants you. There's just... something that's holding him back. You still aren't sure what that is—there's more that he hasn't told you—but the relief that you feel from this one small victory is enough for you to let the matter drop.

You take a shaky deep breath, and start to wipe away at the moisture on your face.

"Thanks, Sans," you murmur, your voice hoarse. "I really needed to hear that."

"I... I still haven't told you everything," he mutters, opting to look at a distant crystal instead of at you.

"I know," you sigh. "But that's okay."

He looks at you so fast that his spine cracks.

"But..."

"Tell me when you're ready," you say. "I want to know, but honestly... I don't think I can handle much more emotional junk right now. Just look at me—I'm a teary mess."

"Heh. Yeah," he agrees. "It's been a long day."

"One thing after another," you say sagely.

You sniff, and clear the rest of your tears away. Then, something occurs to you.

"Oh! I didn't get to tell you earlier—everything was moving so fast, I never got the chance to really talk to you," you start. "Your singing was amazing, Sans! I don't know why you were so nervous."

"W-what?" he stammers, looking a little flustered. "No. C-c'mon, you're just sayin' that."

"No, really," you say. The sight of the skeleton's intensely glowing cheekbones makes a small smile cross your face. "You were great, and I loved singing with you. We should do it again sometime. Well, you know... only if you want, of course."

"I..." it takes him a moment, but he eventually manages to gather his thoughts. "I'd... like that."

You're glad that whole argument is behind you. Your smile widens at his words, and he sheepishly returns it. He goes to rub the back of his skull (something that you've long since classified as characteristic Sans behavior). However... he unfortunately uses his left hand to do it. (You're starting to think he's left-handed.)

Your handcuffs go taut again, and you're suddenly pulled forward. You squeak as you find yourself flush against Sans, forced into an unplanned embrace. Sans goes completely still, except for a single, involuntarily shudder. You're so close to him that you can actually feel it as it travels the length of his body. ...You think your heart's about to explode.

The two of you stand like that, perfectly still, for what feels like an eternity. You seem to be at an impasse—neither of you pull away, but neither of you move to hug the other properly, either. It's only when Sans takes a deep, shuddering breath that the spell is broken. The awkwardness of the situation finally known to you, heat rushes to your face, and you move to take a step backwards...

"Wait," Sans croaks, his voice unusually husky. His free arm snakes around your back, and he pulls you back against him. You don't resist, and allow him to hold you close. Your heart is thundering so hard in your chest that you think that he may be able to hear it.

"Sans?" you ask uncertainly. This is uncharacteristically forward of him.

He doesn't make an attempt to answer your unasked question, and instead rests his mandibles on your shoulder. He lets out a shaky sigh, and the feel of his breath against your ear sends a shiver down your spine. Encouraged by the physical contact, you absent-mindedly start to run your free hand along the back of his skull. You've always wanted to do that. His skull feels smooth and soft beneath your fingertips, and you smile as Sans shudders at your touch. Then a ragged moan escapes from him, and his phalanges tangle in your shirt as he somehow manages to hold you tighter. His grip seems... desperate, somehow. Like he's afraid you may disappear if he lets you go.

"Sans?" you ask again, growing a little bit concerned. He's trembling, and that's never a good sign. Sans flinches at the sound of your voice, and quickly wrenches himself away from you.

"D-did I...? Oh geez. I-I didn't mean—shit," he stammers, drawing his hood up. He's trying to hide his face, which at this point, is just a few shades away from looking like a giant blueberry. "I'm sorry, I-I swear I didn't mean to—"

He doesn't finish his statement. Instead, it's his turn to try and get away from you. He takes a few hurried steps deeper into waterfall, but he's stopped short by your handcuffs. Again. (You're beginning to realize why Frisk put them on you in the first place.) He huffs in frustration, and strains uselessly against them, as though they'll come off if he wishes hard enough.

"Hey, Sans," you say quietly. He flinches again, and you can see just the slightest hint of a white iris as he looks at you from the corner of his eyesocket. You open your mouth to speak, but you end up closing it again. You can feel your face heat up, and stare at the ground as you continue. "I, uh... liked that. You don't have to apologize."

If you don't start dropping hints, this whole almost-but-not-quite nonsense is going to go on forever. Sans stares at you, apparently having a hard time digesting what you said.

"You... did?"

"Yeah."

He continues to stare at you, his cheekbones so bright that you can actually see his face from within the shadows of his hoodie.

"...Oh."

That's all he says. His irises don't leave your face, and the two of you simply continue to stare at each other, neither of you sure what to do next. Eventually, it gets to the point where it starts to become awkward. You cough, hoping to break the silence, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"We should probably start looking for them," you say quickly.

"Y-yeah," Sans agrees, his irises finally shifting away from you. "Heh. We've uh... probably overshot our five minute goal, huh?"

"By a landslide."

Author's Note

Hee hee~ We're getting close, people! In the words of Frisk, the SSS Game--the Sans/Sis Ship game--has begun! You may have noticed that I'm giving you another two part-er. Well, that's because there was so much I needed to squash into this thing that I couldn't do it all at once. (The chapter would've been another 40+ pager, and honestly, I'd rather not do that again.) So, I tried to let you down easy by making it less of a cliff-hanger... but I know you're all still gonna be frothing at the mouth to know what happens next, so I'll try to be on time this time around. (Don't worry, I have an entire trans-Atlantic flight I can use to work on it! Next time I update, it'll be from the states.)

Before I say anything else (I have a whole list), I have to talk about this chapter's cover image. It was created by (the person who I consider to be my) official artist, the amazingly talented ! She's also the person that created the cover for WTSM, and the cover for My Greatest Experiment. These next few chapters (where Sans finally gets around to confessing, as you can guess from the chapter title) are really important, so I thought that it would be best if it had an original chapter image this time around.

Anyway, this chapter turned out unintentionally angsty. I mean, I had this whole thing planned out, and a giant argument on Reader-chan's part definitely wasn't a part of it. (I guess that's what I get for listening to "Crossfire" on repeat while I'm writing. Note to self: listen to something happier next time around.)

And finally, last but not least, I'm now the official editor of Edgy Mc My Chemical Romance's fanfic Insidious. I really like her fanfic so far (I'm only on chapter 4--I'm a slow editor XD), so much so that I actually offered to edit it for her. (And before I get, like, a gazillion comments requesting me to edit for you guys, I have to say that I'm sorry, but I currently have my plate full at the moment. With the addition of Insidious, I'm currently juggling 3 fanfics at the moment... and I have bad coordination. Any more, and one of them might just come crashing down.)

Until next time, guys!