Chapter Text
You've got everything you need: flour, sugar, butter, sprinkles, chocolate chips, and just about everything else you can think of.
While Sans was kind enough to suggest starting a business together, Alphys pretty much went above and beyond the next level and bought all the ingredients you needed, with the excuse that you could give her a cupcake as a gift.
Just one cupcake.
She was adamant in saying you didn't give her anything more than that, and that you saved the rest for selling.
So now, you're in your kitchen mixing up a storm, getting flour everywhere and swiping off the occasional treat or two whenever you can: a chocolate chip here and a handful of sprinkles there. And just when you think you've gotten the hang of baking for bigger amounts of people, the door of the living room swings open, and you nearly drop the bowl in your hands. It flies off, yet blue magic soon surrounds it, allowing you time to grab it without everything spilling on the floor.
“sorry,” Sans says, letting the bowl go when you've assured him it's now safe in your hold. “but you left the door unlocked, so it was also kinda on you, actually. should've locked up if i said i was gonna head out for a lil’ bit.”
Though becoming roommates would only be officially happening if your joint business fails, it feels like you're already living together, with how often he visits to check on how you're doing.
“I don't need to,” you reply, after setting the bowl down on the counter. “This town is extremely safe. Concerningly so.”
“that's precisely why you gotta be careful. don't know when somethin' funky might happen.”
There's just one little thing you don't like about having him around more often than before, as if him visiting the library didn't already make him someone you talked to on the regular.
And that's…
“even if you say it's safer than any other place you've lived in, that doesn't mean it's immune to danger.”
How uneasy you feel with having him so close to you… to the point where you can hear his breaths and smell his cologne, along with whatever other scent he carries that day. Today, he smells like alcohol, and that likely explains how invasive he's being: bursting the door open, getting too close for comfort, and extending the topic of safety despite your relationship being nothing more than acquaintanceship. Sober him is seldom loud, keeps his distance, and doesn't push further over topics you may be reluctant toward, cutting the conversation short with a simple comment, only to then move on to simpler topics. You can't count how many times he's left and entered your home today without a proper warning, nor how many times he's asked for a drink of water. And you also wouldn't begin to try to count how many occasions you've had to step back to keep some distance between you without making him feel bad about it.
In summary, he's drunk as sh*t, and you don't like it one bit.
“Sans…”
You feel like you've run a full summer marathon just from saying his name out loud simply once and barely even audible, all other words caught in your throat and shortness of breath following that experience.
“sup?”
You don't dare tell him the reason you're not locking the door anymore is because you're scared he'll seriously hurt himself if he keeps on wandering around without anyone being there for him.
So, the next best thing is…
“Want to watch a movie together? I'm all done with tomorrow's batch.”
That's a lie, but you doubt he's sober enough to figure out there's still a cupcake mix you need to pour into some molds.
“sure,” he says, already on his way to the couch. “what’re we watching?”
You also doubt he'll stay awake to care about whatever you pick.
So you wash up, fix the oven’s temperature, and accompany him to the living room.
“Um…”
Frankly, you have no idea what to watch.
The last movie you saw was with your husband, months before he proposed to you.
And with you tending to fall asleep wherever’s comfy enough, even with your heart thumping in response to your then-boyfriend holding your hand, you vaguely remember it.
“...I don't know,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat and scooting as far away from him as you can. “Maybe… w- whatever’s in the recommended section?”
To further prove his drunkenness, the skeleton grabs the remote with zero regards for physical contact, then rests his head against your shoulder while he scrolls down the list.
“lemme pick,” he says, and he has the audacity to get more comfortable by propping his legs on the couch and shimmying his body closer against yours. “i know a good one.”
It's not that he smells bad or that you feel icky being around him or anything, but…
This just feels wrong.
“O- Okay.”
Sans at least had the decency of taking his shoes off before stepping into your home, and he's keeping his hands to himself, too, so it's not like he's being disrespectful either, but…
You were promised to be roommates, only if your business failed.
He's not supposed to be here right now.
“Lilo and Stitch?”
The monster grins when you say that, and you're prompted to look away, against mocking his choice of film.
“seen it before?” he asks, chuckling.
You smile, then try to shimmy away as subtly as you can…
…And thankfully enough, you're finally sitting up straight, and his head is…
Well… On your lap, but… You somehow find that better than him resting his head on your shoulder.
“Yes,” you reply, letting your smile broaden. “But I'm not against watching it again.”
It's all good.
You're overthinking this.
And you're definitely not sweating bullets over him now resting on your lap, hands still fortunately kept to himself.
“nice.”
As he clicks on the movie, you're reminded to check on the cupcakes left in the oven.
With just a brief look at the oven from the distance you're at, you're able to see they're still halfway there, so you figure that's enough time for him to fall asleep.
And with the volume kept low, the subtitles turned on, and the light rain falling, an idea pops into your mind. Although a weird and likely too intimate of an idea for what your relationship with him is, you go along with it at the lack of any better options. As carefully as you possibly can, you set a hand on the back of his skull, then begin tracing gentle circles around it, until he's successfully gotten himself more comfortable. His eye sockets begin to close, and though he fights back sleep several times, he gives in rather… quickly. Truthfully speaking, your victory comes sooner than expected, so you're left to deal with several minutes of watching the movie on your own while still rubbing some slow and steady circles across the skeleton's skull, until the oven dings, and you're finally able to escape.
As soon as you've set a pillow under his head, you (silently) book it back toward the kitchen and turn the oven off, sighing and slumping against the counter as a celebration for a successful challenge in dealing with a drunken man and avoiding awkward situations.
