LOL the plot is seriously messed up, i have to try and fix it XD
втω, ιи тнιѕ fσит, ѕσмє "и"ѕ αяє ωяιттєи ℓιкє 'υ'ѕ, αи∂ тнє 'т'ѕ ℓιкє 'м'ѕ.
–-•–-•--•--

*tem skip from last chappy~*

Sans's POV
Crap, what did I just do?! Doesn't matter now, I guess...
I don't know if inviting Fresh to Grillby's is the smartest thing I've ever done, but here we are, sitting at the bar table, me sipping my ketchup and Fresh a cotton candy milkshake topped with heaps of whipped cream and sprinkles. Heh. As if he isn't hyper enough. His sunglasses don't even have words anymore- there are only two bright yellow stars. He's just mindlessly slurping down the most sugary thing in the whole underground.
I look at him, worried, and ask," Hey, are you okay there? I mean, you don't look so fresh right now... Oop, that's sweet-"
Fresh had just puked rainbows onto his fries. Literal rainbows.
"Okay then, bud..."
Saving me from awkward conversation is my best pal, Grillby.
"нєу, ѕαиѕ, ι fιχє∂ тнє кαяασкє мα¢нιиє ιf уσυ'яє ιитєяѕтє∂. ι яємємвєя α ωнιℓє αgσ уσυ υѕє∂ тσ ℓσνє ѕιиgιиg."
"Yeah... Sure, why not," I shrug, all the while internally screeching at myself.
I walk towards the newly fixed karaoke machine and give it a good long glare, then proceed to choose a song...
"This one seems nice... Yeah, I'll do this one," I mumble. I don't even know the lyrics.

{play the song }

"I am from the east side of America,
Where we choose pride over character,
And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us,
This is."

I see Fresh walk towards the sound, as if entranced by a spell. He grabs a microphone and starts to sing with a heavenly voice.

"I live on the west side of America,
Where we spin lies into fairy dust,
And we can pick side, but this is us, this is us,
This is."

His shades are off for once, and I can see his SOUL floating in the dark eyesocket of his. Some unrecognizable emotion flashes through them for a split second, so quick that I think I have imagined it.

"And don't believe the narcissism,
When everyone projects and expects you to listen to 'em-"

"Make no mistake, I live in a prison,
That I built myself, this is my religion"

"And they say that I am the sick boy,
Easy to say if you don't take the risk boy,
Welcome to the narcissism; we're united by our
Indifference"

"I live on the east side of America,
Where we desensitize by hysteria,
And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us,
This is"

"I live on the west side of America,
Where we spin lies into fairy dust,
And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us,
This is."

"I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy"

"I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy"

" And they say that I am the sick boy"

"And they call me the sick boy."

There's a certain lightness in my chest, one I have never felt ever since the guilt of the CORE accident started to haunt me, ever since the first genocide route happened. Ever since my brother had died countless times. Ever since I have died countless times and I'm always too late to stop the genocide.
It feels great.

"Don't believe the narcissism,
When everyone projects
and expects you to listen to 'em."

"Make no mistake, I live in a prison,
That I built myself, it is my religion"

"And they say that I am the sick boy,
Easy to say when you don't take the risk boy.
Welcome the the narcissism.
We're united under our indifference!"

"Feed yourself with my life's work."

"How many likes is my life worth?"

"Feed yourself with my life's work."

"How many likes is my life worth?"

"Feed yourself with my life's work."

"How many likes is my life worth?"

"Feed yourself with my life's work."

"How many likes is my life worth??"

"I am from the east side of America"

"I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy"

"I live on the west side of America"

"I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy"

"I am from the east side of America-"

"They say that I am the sick boy"

"I live on the west side of America"

"And they call me the sick boy"

"I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy,
I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy "

("I am on the east side of America")

"They say that I am the sick boy"

("I am from the east side of America")

"And they call me the sick boy..."

Without realizing, somewhere in the song our fingers had intertwined. A smile bloomed on Fresh's face, and I can vaguely feel the corners of my mouth turned upwards into a genuine smile. The applause breaking out around me is muffled, and all I can see is Fresh laughing and probably saying something to me in his incomprehensible lingo.
In any case, I didn't expect for him to smash his 'lips' against mine.

---------------
For the song, if someone didn't figure it out, normal text is Sans singing, italic and underlined id Fesh, and only underlined is both singing together. Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter, the final plot is coming ;)