And fuck, of course Mettaton digs right into it, because he always does. It's like he can sense weakness or something. Actually, maybe he literally can. Who knows what robotic vision is like, anyway?

"uh, well--"

Mettaton keeps going before he can fully cobble his thoughts together. He's half-focused on the movie as well, so his mind is in approximately five different places right now.

"your personality, i guess? i dunno..."

God, don't put him on the spot like this. Half the time he thinks that Mettaton is as avoidant of the whole Affection Thing as Sans is, but then he doubles down on the flirting and compliments and such. Sans is used to mixed signals at this point, but it still throws him for a loop sometimes.

Mettaton shifts his position and Sans looks up as the robot's shadow falls over him. This smug jerk.

He grins back, trying to stand his ground.

"well the ego is fascinating, if nothing else. the narcissism could be a case study for..."

Mettaton props his head on Sans's shoulder and his thoughts kind of just go away for a second. Wow. Mettaton is very close.

If he just tipped his head slightly to the side, they'd...

He doesn't. He stays still.

"never, uh, understood how you found the time to make thirty whole movies."

To be fair, they mostly consisted of Mettaton just sitting somewhere sprinkling himself with rose petals or glitter or whatever else.

He holds up a hand.

"can i have a k--" Nope. "--ookies and cream thing? never tried one before."

He's going to chug the whiskey if this keeps up, never mind that it was a gift for Mettaton.

It's strange, what passes through the connection and what doesn't. If Sans wasn't so adamant about never touching science again, he'd almost want to study it, see what rules even govern a connection like this. It's personally unprecedented, as well--he's never had a soul-based connection with someone--so he can't even be sure what's normal. There are times it's like he's in Mettaton's or Alphys's head, but not in the sense of being them. In a sort of...observational sense. It's all impressions, feelings. The feel of all that extra physicality, all that extra HP, like having a sort of sense for what it's like to be in their skin, metaphorically speaking.

The emotions are the strongest part, but they're not always easy to identify. Like now--there's something like pride or...self-confidence maybe? Self-love? There's a sort of caution too, or gentleness, or restraint, a bit like a cool breeze, as Mettaton lifts his head away again--and then slides down to sit next to Sans instead.

It's...comfortable. They're close. Next to each other now, so it's a lot easier for Sans to look at him. He appreciates when things take less work.

Comfortable. Nice. He keeps coming back around to those two things, every time he tries to reason and rationalize himself out of the fact that this connection exists. Just like how every time he thinks he or Mettaton or both of them have ruined the whole thing, things repair themselves.

Whatever it is, whatever it becomes--and it won't become anything, probably, maybe, who knows--it's still nice and comfortable.

"i'm incredibly charming."

He almost follows it up with the caveat that, if he weren't charming, no one would like him at all, but--trying to keep things positive here, or something. Light. That's the word.

"and nah, only when i like someone." It slips out before he can stop himself, so he decides to just keep going, since anything else would probably make this agonizing. "i'm kinda reserved with compliments and such, i guess. but when i like someone, i talk 'em up. won't shut up about it. heh."

Especially to other people. And maybe that's not such a good thing. You build someone up, you kind of put them on the spot, make them feel like there's some kind of higher bar they're supposed to be reaching for. It puts them on a pedestal--like he's done with Papyrus, like he's done with Frisk.

He doesn't think he's done that with Mettaton, partially because he's seen a lot of Mettaton's faults. But there's a difference between ignoring someone's faults and accepting them. He's not sure which he's doing here.

"hmm, so you're saying you're...priceless?"

He grins sidelong at Mettaton and even winks. He'll never be any good at flirting, but he can at least give it a comedic spin.

"sounds like you gotta make it an even thirty, one of these days."

He accepts the candy with a smile and passes Mettaton the whiskey bottle. Good, it's better if Mettaton starts in on it first.

"nothing mixes better than booze and comedy."

"touche."

What can he say? His role is to be an immovable force. Or at least a most-immovable force. His stubborn streak has nothing to do with integrity and everything to do with just sort of sitting down and not moving.

There's a slight flutter along the connection that makes Sans's soul jump a little, but he's not sure of the context. The context always gets lost. It might have been in response to something Sans said, or something on the movie, or something Mettaton thought in passing or remembered. No way of knowing.

He's really glad that Mettaton doesn't go straight to teasing after that little...reveal.

"one of the few things i pretty consistently try to do. just, uh. i dunno. always feels like people should hear all about someone's positives."

He never has a good word to say about himself, but he has a thousand good words to say about the people he likes.

He chuckles a bit and grins at Mettaton.

"you'd be surprised. every now and then i meet someone around here who's never heard of you. can't fathom how they could've missed wonderland's biggest star."

Mettaton is not easy to miss. You'd have to just sort of be ignoring the network whenever Mettaton posts, or somehow just not hearing about any of his concerts. How could anyone not notice someone like Mettaton? He's anything but subtle.

And really, he does deserve the attention.

Mettaton cracks open the whiskey. Sans tries to refocus on the movie, but it immediately becomes almost impossible as Mettaton starts describing his features and...drawing attention to them. Sans can't help looking, watching the way Mettaton's hand moves. Is this intentional? This has to be intentional. God, how did Sans ever think he could stand up to Mettaton on the field of flirtation? It's like trying to light a match in a hurricane.

He looks steadfastly back at the movie, but then Mettaton sticks his leg out--because of course he does, he's Mettaton--and leans on Sans for balance.

It really is a leg of some description.

Sans decides abruptly that he needs that whiskey. He holds out his hand for it.

"y-yeah. good company."

The back and forth has always been fun. It's such a unique dynamic. He's never really had a friendship before where they can give each other shit and have it be harmless. He and Alphys do it sometimes, but it's almost always that self-deprecating sort of thing that comes from both of them being disasters.

Mettaton has absolutely gotten one up on Sans here, though, and from the grin he definitely knows it.

"heh, i hope so."

He's not sure. He's still not sure if it's just putting people on a pedestal, building them up too much. Setting too-high standards for them. Maybe he just needs to choose his words a bit more carefully.

"pfft, you're not worried that it'll distract from your real place? imagine if people start staring at the mansion instead of at you."

Mettaton would never stand for such a thing.

Mettaton seems keen to keep the whiskey, but Sans finally gets his hands on it and takes a long pull. Liquid courage, or so they say. He's never sure if it counts as courage.

He just needs to calm down.

"i dunno." He didn't check the box, but most movies aren't much more than an hour, right. "sorry, i, uh...i guess it's more boring than i expected."

It's been funny and cheesy, but somewhat lackluster. Mettaton probably has places he needs to be. Hell, he probably has better things he could be doing right now.

No...he needs to stop that. Mettaton came out because he wanted to. It's not like Sans dragged him out of his room. Mettaton said himself he could use a break.

He wishes he'd picked a better movie, though.

The entire thing is so absurd and so Mettaton that he can't help but laugh.

"oh my god. yeah, you're right, that'd be amazing. i think everyone'd lose their minds."

In all possible ways, no less. He's trying to imagine the reaction from newcomers. They'd probably start thinking that Wonderland is all about Mettaton.

"welcome to mettatonland. mettaland. heh, like a theme park. hey, that's not such a bad idea, huh? a whole mettaton theme park."

Mettaton seems to be well on his way to tipsy already, so Sans sneaks the bottle again and takes another swig. Might as well stay neck and neck. Mettaton is still leaning on him, his head coming to rest on Sans's shoulder.

It's like when Alphys drapes herself on Sans, or when Papyrus leans on him while they're watching a (ironically enough) Mettaton show, but also not. Also very different. He glances at Mettaton, just for a moment. He's so close, and just...beneath the more complex emotions and that little flutter of anxiety, there's just this warm contentment. Just having him this close; Sans could be satisfied with this and nothing more.

He could be. He's never very good at wanting things. Half the time he couldn't even say for sure what he wants, if anything. He's better at accepting what he has, especially if it's something actually good.

And this is actually good.

"we could pick something else. bet there's more movies kicking around here somewhere."

Possibly also fossilizing with the chip crumbs.

"you're right, though. the...company."

It's the second time Mettaton has said something like that. And it's still weird, the idea that Mettaton considers him good company at all. There's something else about the way he says it, though. Because sure, the person you're with is generally more important than whatever you're doing together, especially if you're hanging out with friends and such. Seeing a movie is also such a typical thing to do when--

Sans goes still and he blinks at the screen, heat starting to creep up to his cheekbones again.

Oh god.

Oh god.



Is this a date?

Oh now they're in for it. Honestly, he kind of wants to see this happen. Not necessarily in Wonderland, but just in general. Mettaton has literally everything else, so why not a freaking theme park on top of the rest of it? He could even hire some kind of weird dancing mascot, like in those weird commercials with the old guys.

"theme park, man. do it. not that i'd ever visit, but still."

It's ridiculous enough that it takes his mind off the building anxiety and awkwardness. This isn't a date. This can't be a date. This is just--haha, this is just two friends hanging out, yeah. That's all. Two friends watching a dumb movie and drinking and eating chocolate and talking about silly bullshit.

That's all.

"pfft, okay, fair enough. wouldn't be the same without alphys acting as...human anime translator. well, to be fair, i've seen enough of it by now that i kind of get the gist of things."

Some things about anime are just always going to be baffling.

Mettaton gets up to turn off the movie and--oh god, no. If he turns off the movie, there'll be no background noise, no distraction. It'll just be the two of them sitting in a quiet room, getting drunk, possibly making really bad decisions.

He takes the bottle for himself as he watches Mettaton sway. He takes a swig for his nerves. Half the bottle is gone already, and yeah, it's helping.

"well, you've been kinda chugging it. just, uh, don't fall on me."

The room is starting to swim a little, pleasantly.

"you okay up there, mr. tall and handsome?"

Why did he say that. He sort of flops back a little against the edge of the couch.

"...i mean, not that i'm, uhhhh, the aesthetics guy."

"ehh, so much activity. so many dangerous rides. i don't take risks if i can help it."

Not physical risks, at least. Mental risks, plenty. Emotional risks, much less often. Every hour of every day of his life is a constant cost/benefit analysis calculation. Most of the time this means sitting around doing nothing.

He grins at the comment and shrugs.

"i don't mind it. anime's fun."

There's a reason why Mettaton could probably pass as a character from an anime, but he figures he shouldn't say that out loud.

He's glad he picked a good bottle. Not that he was intending on getting himself or Mettaton drunk. It was more like a backup in case the whole hugs and kisses thing didn't go over well, which it didn't. He takes another very long pull from the bottle. Mettaton hasn't left very much, but Sans is already somewhere past tipsy.

He stares up Mettaton for a moment, feeling overly warm. Gotta be the booze. Gotta be the booze making him feel so weird and reckless.

"yeah. facts..."

He's right, at least. Mettaton being tall and handsome is a fact. He keeps staring up at him, tracing a finger around the lip of the bottle.

"do ya..." Emotional risks. And booze. "...want me to?"

He has completely lost track of what's happening on the TV.

"keep...talkin' like that, i mean. with the facts and stuff."

He hopes he's being subtle. He thinks he's being subtle.

He's not being subtle.

"pfft, alright, alright. i'll just show up and eat all the crappy food and ignore the rides. how's that sound?

That should be safe enough. There's a pretty slim chance of dying from theme park food when you don't have an actual digestive system.

Mettaton looks back at him, and Sans watches his face as he realizes what Sans just said. So, he wasn't being that subtle. Figures. Subtlety is the first thing to go when he drinks.

Mettaton takes a step closer. Then another. Then another, until he's standing over Sans. Sans has to tilt his head almost all the way back to look up at him. He's so damn tall.

We're toeing that line, you know.

There's a poem from the Surface about two roads diverging in a wood. Sans has never read it, but he's aware of it. He always figured it was some kind of metaphor. Two paths laid out before you, and you pick the one that looks different and maybe a little risky, because one way or another, things will be more interesting. It's not how Sans lives his life. It's simple math. You have a fifty-fifty chance of success--or you have a one hundred percent chance of success. Or, in Sans's case, it's less "success" and more the other thing. There might as well only be one path, and he's been on it since he was born, until it started going in circles.

There's something else to the metaphor, too. It's not often in your life that you're aware that you're standing at a crossroads. You don't often know when an important moment is happening until well after it's happened. But that's what this is now. An important moment, a choice, and it's weird.

It's weird because he actually does have a choice.

Because now that it's out in the open, Mettaton can give him one.

He always does that. He's so good about that. Letting Sans choose. Though, Sans figures that this wouldn't work at all if one of them couldn't. And the booze is muddying things, and that might be an issue later, no matter what happens.

His soul feels like it's fluttering. Like it wants to fly right out of his chest. It occurs to him that he doesn't actually know what he's feeling. Excitement? Nervousness? Abject terror?

"i..."

He needs to answer the question. Needs to choose. But he's...he's Sans. He doesn't do this. He doesn't think with his soul. And he tends to wait until there's only one real decision that can be made. And he...doesn't tend to get a choice in how things go. They just...go.

He's a different person than when he first came to Wonderland. It'll be two years in a few months. Things have been different. Things have changed. The rules are different here. The paths are different. And over and over, especially in the last year, he's been picking the one that's a bit more difficult. The one that's a bit more...

Risky.

He stares up at Mettaton, trying to meet his eyes and mostly succeeding.

"you know that...that song you played at that, uh, concert thing. awhile ago. when i thought you hated me and like, you played that song about...uh, the candles. romaine candles? about, like. potential, and...you had to explain what the candle thing was?"

He's rambling. He's pretty sure the candle wasn't named after lettuce, he just can't remember the word right now. And he's still staring at Mettaton.

"i liked it, cause, i guess it's...kinda...like this past year has been weird. for me, i mean. i keep doing new things. being--trying to be different. and, we uh, on the citadel, we talked about, i mean i think i remember telling you how i don't really...it's not usually a thing for me. not usually. but that night, i felt like..."

He's stalling. That's all he's doing. Or maybe he really is just trying to articulate this whole thing, but he's not actually sure he can. Not when drunk. It's like a repeat of everything on the Citadel, with fewer explosions and heartfelt explanations of stars.

He drops his gaze finally, frowning a little in the direction of Mettaton's knees.

"the day i came back to life that time i died--me and chara, we went out with some of that, uh, non-dairy coffee creamer. the powder kind. it's incredibly flammable. downright explosive. so we, heh, we wrote our names with creamer and then set them on fire. it was stupid and dangerous and it's--one of my best memories in this place."

He grins, sudden and bright. He picks a path.

"i think, uh. i think lighting a firework isn't any more or less dangerous than lighting non-dairy creamer. i think i want to...try."

He feels lighter, instantly. It's not the end of the world. Whatever happens, it's not the end of the world.

He looks up at Mettaton again, still grinning.

"is--that okay?"

Sans realizes he's made a mistake almost immediately, as soon as Mettaton interjects to correct him. Roman candle, alright. That sounds better, though he still doesn't know what a roman is. Hasn't bothered to find out.

Mettaton is staring at him with wide eyes, and his body has gone all tense. He reaches up, runs a hand through his hair, then grips at it, like he needs something to hold onto. And along the connection, there's a pullback, like an alarm going off. A sense of oh, no.

Sans has made a mistake.

And he knows what that mistake was, even before Mettaton starts to answer.

Wasn't expecting that. Fooling around, not feelings.

There's fear and awkwardness and something that feels a little like heartache. Sans feels his own soul close in on itself, tightening, pulling back as well, almost like it wants to sever the connection just so it can hide itself better. He needs to go. He should leave. He fucked up. He misread this entire situation. Of course, of course, of course he did. Of course some tender feelings and soft expressions doesn't mean--it doesn't just happen like that. It doesn't just happen.

He picks up the bottle and drains it in two gulps, expression unchanging.

Didn't mean to lead you on.

"no, you. you didn't. i'm just an idiot."

He needs to go, he needs to get out of here, he needs to leave Mettaton alone and stop bothering him with all this--all this needy, clingy bullshit. Who the hell did he think he was? He's Sans. God, the mere fact that Mettaton would want to "fool around" with someone like him is astonishing, and Mettaton is much more a physical being than Sans. And hell, that's probably just for the novelty. But that's unfair. That's probably unfair.

He should go, but he doesn't. He can't do that anymore, he can't just avoid everything. He dove into this headlong, this whole thing, all of this, is his own fault. He chose to start down that path and it's like the ground opened up beneath him, because that's what happens. That's what happens when you risk anything at all. Part of risk is figuring out how to deal with it after things go wrong.

Mettaton keeps talking. Keeps explaining. He doesn't run either. He can't be available to people like that, only that's completely fucking ridiculous. Opening up your soul and connecting it to someone is the complete opposite of being unavailable. Doing that with friends isn't the same as a relationship, but it's close enough--and god, Sans wasn't even thinking that far ahead, wasn't framing it in relationship terms. Just--just try something new, see what happens. But the point is, it's absurd if Mettaton thinks he can maintain that distance while the three of them are connected like this. It's a powerful, grounding connection that goes completely against this whole "stardom" thing Mettaton believes in. Well, that explains why his soul had felt so hesitant back then.

Sans glances up at him when he mentions that this has happened before. Ah. Alright. That gives some more context. He's worried about...

He's worried about hurting Sans.

Except hasn't Sans done the hurting here?

And Mettaton just keeps apologizing. Sans stares at the carpet. He's quiet for a bit after Mettaton finishes.

"okay." He's still staring at the carpet when he says it.

God, he fucked this up so bad, and now he's solidly drunk, and everything feels swimmy and swirly and he feels like he's falling. He wants to go sit in that meadow in the woods that he likes for a few days, or maybe just go sit at the bottom of the swimming pool for awhile.

"i mean, uh." He presses his hands to his eyesockets for a moment and digs the heels in, muttering a quiet fuck under his breath. Then he drags his hands away, and he is absolutely not looking at Mettaton anymore. "i mean, uhhhh. just, might as well dig thisss hole deeper, i wasn't gonna say no to--i mean, not that i'm good at it, but the fooling around thing is, it was on the table, cause i was thinkin' this whole time how i just--really wish i--"

He wishes he could kiss him.

Only he can't.

Skeletons don't work like that.

Sans doesn't work like that.

"and you don't gotta--you don't gotta explain, i'm, i keep didging, digging up people's...personal shit, their secrets and, i don't--i don't want to--be that anymore. i don't want to be that. i'll listen, but you don't, you don't have to, okay?"

It's important that Mettaton understands that, understands that Sans isn't going to demand anything. Never. His expression is as neutral as always, but it doesn't matter, because he can't hide behind that with Mettaton. Not anymore. Not when Mettaton can probably feel the turmoil.

"'m sorry i misread things. an' i'm sorry i opened up some kinna wound. le's just, just get another bottle somewhere an' forget this ever happened, yeah? forget i said anything. s'okay. don' hafta be a big deal."

It's not the end of the world. No matter what he's feeling right now.

He gives a quiet sigh. Not his fault for feeling how he does, sure. People keep saying that. Except he's Sans. He's better at this sort of thing. He's supposed to be good at keeping his emotions perfectly under control--if under control means, letting them gray out and vanish entirely. Usually he just doesn't feel things that strongly at all. And when an emotion is that weak, it's easy to ignore.

He's supposed to be able to control it. And maybe that's another reason he avoided the concept for so long--because it means giving up a certain amount of control. Love is uncontrollable. That's why it's so dangerous. Why it leaves people so vulnerable.

There's that fluttering sensation again from Mettaton, and it creates a sort of feedback loop as Sans feels it flare up again. He tries to crush it down.

"no, i know. just need you to--to know you don't hafta tell me. i don't wanna--don't wanna demand nothin' from you. is all."

He won't demand anything. Not an explanation, not any sort of closeness at all. He's always contented himself with whatever he does have.

He feels Mettaton's soul reach back out, almost desperately as their souls shrink away from each other. It's almost instinctive, the sensation of a hand reaching toward him--the sensation of closing the distance and taking hold of it, just to hold on. He's not going anywhere. He won't run.

Mettaton moves, and Sans can't help but be surprised when he sits down right next to Sans again. Sans expected him to want more distance after all that, but he's...right there. Sans could lean on him if he wanted.

He doesn't. No demands. He can feel that Mettaton is panicking as it is.

He stays still and quiet as Mettaton starts to explain. He doesn't interrupt. Doesn't comment on how lonely it sounds to be a celebrity, or how the connection between the three of them might as well be a relationship like that. Doesn't ask for clarification when Mettaton mentions his Mirror--though Sans's eyesockets do widen just a fraction.

So this all goes back to Bucky. Sans had no idea the man was so important to Mettaton. Mirrorton had name-dropped him, but Sans had never gotten around to talking to Bucky about it. He's seen him on the network, he thinks, but he's not sure if they've ever spoken.

It's ironic that the flood event started to repair not one but two of Mettaton's relationships.

Sans stays quiet again for a little while after Mettaton has finished. He watches Mettaton sidelong.

"i had no idea."

This all goes so much deeper than he thought. And it ties everything together. Bucky, Mirrorton, all of it. Their relationship falling apart would have given Mirrorton a foothold with Mettaton. Which also means that this has been going on for longer than Sans thought.

"so tha's...another reason why you've been so...hesitant. those few months where it felt like you were tryin' to disconnect. makes more sense now."

And why he was so upset when he realized what bumping foreheads meant to skeletons. And why he's been so cautious about Sans's feelings.

Sans sighs again and folds his hands in his lap.

"you're always talkin' 'bout how...celebrities hafta do this, hafta do that. but i dunno. you've always cared. 've always reached out past that sorta..." He gives a vague hand wave. "dunno, barrier you make around you. connectin' with me an' al like that...don't think it makes you lessa--less've--less've a celebrity. s'more--s'more real and compelling when celebrities are like--real people. yanno?"

He says it all carefully, haltingly. He's drunk, and he doesn't want to make this any worse than it already is. Even drunk, he still knows how to pick his words.

He's quiet again for a bit.

"metta, you wouldn't lose me. i don' think--don't think we can lose 'ch other. s'what a connection like this means."

He presses a hand to his chest. It means never being alone.

"we're stuck tozgether--togeth--together until one 'f us goes home. an', i mean, heh." He actually does smile a little. "you know, we both kept trying to uh, to push each ozzer away for the longess time, an' it never worked. you got like, i dunno, graviry. gravity. like a star. heh. heh."

He almost loses it for a second there, both because of the booze and because he's starting to realize how silly this all is.

"just mean, 'f us an' our, our total bullshit, an' wonderland combined, if all that hasn't ruined it all yet, i think we'll, we'll be okay. whatever happens."

He wants to reach out and take Mettaton's hand, but he doesn't. No demands. So he just holds onto the connection instead.

"you're not gonna lose me. cause--i'm okay with just being this, or--bein' anything else. i'm--just, uh, just happy you're sittin' here, an' i just--kinda figured--i realized i wouldn' mind 'f it was somethin' else too. i dunno what to, to call any of it. just. i dunno. 'm happy either way."

He gives Mettaton a very small smile.

"but, thanks for--tellin' me all that, and. and i'm sorry it happened. the bucky stuff an' the mirror stuff. jus' sorry it all happened. glad you two are patchin' stuff up."

It's been going on for months. He always thought it was just Mirrorton's influence--but it seems that part of it was Mettaton himself. He's been afraid of getting too close and hurting someone; and of getting hurt.

He gives a small shrug.

"i dunno. all those human tabloids seem t' indicate different."

He's only seen a few of them, but people seem incredibly invested in celebrity drama. Particularly who celebrities are or aren't dating. Sans is pretty sure that monsters are the same way. There was always so much gossip about Mettaton back underground.

There's that giddy feeling again, setting off a feedback loop all over again. His smile widens a little, though he doesn't quite look at Mettaton. He feels almost...shy. Which is ridiculous. He's Sans. Shame isn't even really in his vocabulary.

"i'm glad. losing a close friend like that is...it sucks."

Nothing's been the same since he and Frisk stopped speaking to each other. And he knows he's the one to blame, and that he's the one who has to improve himself before he can possibly even consider asking them for friendship again. But it still hurts.

Mettaton thanks him and Sans gives him a small, lopsided smile.

"hey, yanno..."

Then Mettaton reaches out and lays his hand against Sans's face, gently turning Sans to face him. Sans stares at him, eyesockets a little wide. This is...very intimate, and Mettaton is very close to him. He wasn't expecting this, not after Sans basically put his entire foot in his mouth. He expected distance. Comfortable distance, but distance all the same.

"a-anytime, metta."

He finds himself staring at Mettaton's mouth just for a second and god, he wishes--it's stupid, but he wishes--

"i..."

Don't. Don't say it.

He feels warm and dizzy.

"is--is this okay?"

"yeah...true."

He's out of Bucky's league, then. And he's a thousand miles out of Sans's league, but Sans already knew that. This thing they have, whatever it is, it would never work on the Surface. Someone like Sans has absolutely no place anywhere near all the beautiful people. Nor would he ever want to be. The thought of any of it would never even cross his mind.

Things don't work like that here, though. There's no gossip really, no tabloids, none of the usual glitz and glam of a celebrity lifestyle. And yet Mettaton still doesn't consider himself free.

Sans decides to drop it. It's not an argument he's going to win, and he'd rather not argue the point anymore. He'd rather focus on the way Mettaton is staring at him, the feelings and the alcohol making his bones hum with warmth. Sans reaches up and lays his hand over the back of Mettaton's.

God, this is ridiculous. This is stupid. This is absurd. What are they doing? This isn't going to work, and why in the hell would anyone ever want someone like Sans, and why Mettaton, of all people?

Maybe he'll just never really understand it.

Mettaton leans forward and Sans closes his eyesockets. He feels Mettaton's forehead press against his own and makes a soft sound. He leans into it, shifting a little closer. There's the same rush there always is, stronger as it moves through the connection between them--a grounding, an intense feeling of being cared for. Loved, maybe. A large part of him wants to keep asking, if this is really, truly okay, if he's not crossing some boundary that should never be crossed. He keeps waiting for Mettaton to push him away or pull back, but he doesn't.

Anything could happen. This probably won't work. It might all go wrong. Someone like Bucky can offer so much more than someone like Sans. Wonderland might pull the rug on them. It could all just fall apart, and even if they've proven that they stick together against the odds, that might change. Anything can happen.

It makes him scared and giddy and a little excited.

He grips Mettaton's hand tighter.

"okay."

He opens his eyesockets partway and reaches up with his free hand, gently laying it against Mettaton's face, hoping it doesn't feel weird. The metal is warm.

"god, i wish i could kiss you."