Sans was overwhelmed.
He was five minutes into his first ever supermarket trip and this was absolutely too much. So many brands, so many people. He reaches a hand up to tug at an eye socket. It grounds him. He doesn’t have to kill anymore. Look at all the food.
It’s still overwhelming.
“Excuse me?” A voice asks. Sans turns to face it. It’s you. “Sans, are you okay?”
Sans tugs at his eye socket again. “yeah. just fine.” He gives you a look. “what’re you doing here, anyway?”
You shrug. “Eh, just getting some ice cream. Gonna have a movie marathon.” Your eyes light up with a realization. “Heeeey, you should totally come over!” There you went again. Trying to get him to be social. He would hate you if he didn’t love you. Course, even you didn’t know that, so he could at least pretend he was neutral in the situation.
“yeah, and i have two functioning eyes,” he snarks. “you’ll have more fun without me, go on ahead.” You look frustrated at that.
“You look really overwhelmed,” you admit. He does. When you walked up to him, he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke up. Normally he had a much more heightened sense of awareness, especially when it came to you. He was just kind of staring at everything, in a sort of daze. “I just wanted to know if I could help.” And then you smile, and god, if he could ever resist that smile, he probably wasn’t Sans the Skeleton.
“fine,” he relents. “just… walk with me around the store? i haven’t been to one of these before. paps normally does the shopping.” You nod, and take his arm. He subconsciously leans into you a bit. He wonders why you never seemed freaked out by his appearance. Monsters were scary-looking enough, but he had a big gaping hole in his head and a bloody red eye. Any logical human would run, screaming in terror. Some actually had. But you never did. You had just wanted to be his friend.
And he fell in love with you.
It started slow. He started paying extra attention to you whenever you spoke, as if the world may break in two if he missed a word. Gradually, he started to crave the sound of your laugh, the color of your eyes. It started to hurt when you left him alone, a dull ache that sometimes faded from his senses but always came rushing back when he thought about it. He couldn’t get enough of you. He wasn’t good enough for you. Sometimes he loves you so much it’s overwhelming.
Sans was overwhelmed.
But you were here to help. You guide him throughout the store, helping him pick the correct brands of pasta, soda, paper towels… you’d been at his house enough to pick up on at least some of those details. He could fill in most of the rest, and when he couldn’t, Papyrus was only a text away. The store seemed less crowded, less full, with you next to him.
Finally, with your guidance, the groceries are all checked out and loaded in your car. You’d insisted that you should drive him home to help him put his groceries away. Sans had taken a shortcut to the store so he didn’t have a car or anything to leave behind.
He stares at you the whole drive home. You’re so beautiful. You don’t think you are, but you are. You tap your fingers mindlessly on the steering wheel as you idle at a red light, and he wonders how he got so lucky as to meet you.
You park at his house and grab probably twenty bags on your way in, nearly toppling over and screeching something like “MULTIPLE TRIPS ARE FOR NERDS” but manage to make it to the kitchen counter anyways and deposit the food. He was glad you didn’t trip, then you may have broken the food on the floor, and he hated to waste food. Luckily, you didn’t like to waste food either, so you had some common ground.
He reaches up from behind you to place a can on a high shelf, pressing as closely as he can to you as he does. You smell nice, like flowers, or maybe sugar. He could live off that scent.
Whoops. Too close. He can see your cheeks flush. He quickly backs away and grabs more cans to put away, this time in a different spot.
Sans hears the front door open.
“SANS? I’M HOME!” Oh, Papyrus was back.
“In the kitchen,” you call in a singsong voice.
Papyrus enters the room fairly quickly. “OH! YOUR HUMAN IS HERE! HELLO, HUMAN!”
“Hey Papyrus,” you laugh, ringing as sweet and clear as a bell. Your laugh was like a drug. “Just helping Sans put his groceries away, and then we’re going to my house for a movie marathon. Wanna come?”
“n-no!” Sans interrupts, and all eyes in the kitchen immediately flick to him. Shit! “i.. i mean… papyrus was going to organize his action figure collection, right?” Papyrus had probably hundreds of action figures. While food had been scarce Underground, apparently cheaply made plastic people were not. Despite Papyrus’s best efforts, the figures always ended up a mess.
Papyrus’s eyes light up. “OH! YES! I MUST DO THAT.” He turns to you. “I AM VERY SORRY, HUMAN! I WILL HAVE TO ASK FOR WHAT YOU HUMANS CALL A ‘RAIN CHECK’!” You giggle again, and it’s melodious.
“No problem, Papyrus. How’s next Friday sound?”
“THAT SOUNDS WONDERFUL! I WILL MAKE PREPARATIONS ACCORDINGLY!” And with that, he sprints upstairs to attend to his figures. That had been a close one. As much as Sans loves his brother, he didn’t want him to intrude on a private occasion with you and him.
“ready to go?” Sans asks, when the last bag of food is in the freezer and the empty grocery bags are stored in the pantry, stuffed together. He didn’t like to waste so much plastic, he could use the bags for other purposes.
You nod happily, and you are so adorable that it’s all he can do to not kiss you where you are. He didn’t have very good self control.
“alright, then.” He grabs you, holding you in a tight hug. You shoot him a confused look, and he smirks. “hold on tight,” Sans quips, and throws them into the void, sucking them back out at the correct point in time and space: around 2:00 pm, your house.
Teleportation was a hell of a doozy. You seem to agree. When you arrive, and he lets go (though he really doesn’t want to) you stumble around a bit in circles, obviously dizzy. Teleportation used to be a lot gentler, but when Sans gained his head injury, courtesy of Queen Undyne, and everything went to shit, almost every part of his magic became more intense. Magic was a reflection of the self, and Sans was a hot mess.
Sans was, by almost everything on the Surface, overwhelmed.
But when you hung off his arm, like you were now, trying to catch your bearings, everything felt a little calmer. A little smoother. A little more orderly. A slight pink flush and a stumble may seem clumsy and unrefined to some, but on you, to Sans, it was what he lived on.
He was a little obsessed, perhaps.
When everyone is safely deposited on the couch and you are diving headfirst into a tub of Double Dunker ice cream (your oddly specific favorite, a mocha flavor swirled with cookie dough and chocolate cookies), Sans asks what movie they’re watching.
The FUCKING Notebook.
Of fucking course.
He won’t complain (outwardly). He gets to watch your reactions to each and every scene. Your small puffs of breath when he can see you fighting tears, the screen reflected in your eyes… it was way better than the actual movie.
And when the movie ends, and the credits roll, he’s very aware of the fact that you are no longer sitting two feet away from him, sucking on a spoon, but are now laying against his shoulder. He can feel you shift as you breath.
He shifts to lean back, ever so carefully. This is nice. More than nice.
Then you get up to change the movie. Sans immediately feels the loss of proximity and warmth, and nearly springs out of his seat to kneel next to you at the movie case at the base of the television.
“How’s this look?” You ask, holding up a DVD of 50 First Dates. Another romance. Nope. No way.
“i mean, we could do that,” Sans jokes, “or,” he reaches out to grab a different case from the shelves, “we could watch this.” He dances the title up to your face. Your eyes immediately widen in surprise.
“Saw?” You look a little uncomfortable. You fidget with your hands a little. “I mean, I guess it is your turn… but…”
“you own it. you telling me you haven’t seen it, not even once?” Not that that’s a surprise to Sans. Your thing was romance. But, maybe if you were terrified, you would sit close to him again. Maybe even wrap your arms around him? He would be able to feel you tremble in fear and feel your warm breath on his cheekbone as your breathing sped up and he could-
Woah. Get out of Sans-land. You were talking to him.
“-and I got it from a friend, they dared me to watch it but I chickened out so I had to take off-” You look up at him. “Hey, are you listening?” You smack him over the head lightly with a DVD case. “Stop going to imagination land.” You pout, crossing your arms in mock offense. It’s adorable.
Sans wants it.
Sans wants you.
“yeah. yeah, totally listening.”
You frown, but Sans can tell you’re forcing it. “You liar,” you tease playfully. You can’t hold the frown for long and end up grinning, snatching the DVD from his hand. “Fine. Guess we gotta watch this snoozefest instead of a sweet tale of two lovers, one beset by the perils of memory loss.” She mocks deep upset, hand clutching her chest as she pretends to sob pitifully.
“how will you ever recover,” Sans deadpans. “also, snoozefest? sugar, you’re gonna be wetting your pants by the time this one is done.” He didn’t think the movie was all that scary, but you certainly would. Sans grins with what he hopes looks like malice. You don’t seem affected in the slightest.
“I’m sure it is,” you reassure him, patting him on the head as if he’s two. He notices how you pointedly avoid the hole in his head, and he’s thankful for it. Too many humans had just stuck their hand straight into it in a fit of curiosity. While it didn’t hurt, it felt weird and tingly and invasive. Certainly not comfortable at all.
Sans sighs as you put the movie in, settling back down on the couch. When you sit down next to him, you’re already pressed up against him. It should be a piece of cake to get you to cuddle him in your terror.
Sure enough, midway through the movie you are curled up next to him, clinging to his jacket. You’re shaking really hard, and even whimpering ever so slightly. You had a really low tolerance for horror movies. This wasn’t even scary. Then again, Sans doubted he’d find anything scary after what he’d experienced Underground.
When something particularly terrifying happens, you flinch towards him, fingers digging into his jacket. He’d gotten a new one after he came to the Surface, he’d had a feeling that bloodstains on clothing weren’t socially acceptable up here. It was still blue, almost exactly the same style. You have a leg hooked around his lap, and overall, you’re clinging to him like a baby koala to its mother.
Needless to say, Sans likes this arrangement. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you even closer, and you shudder, though from what, he isn’t sure. You press your face into his jacket and he rests his head on yours, and though he hasn’t taken his gaze from the television he knows exactly how you are positioned, his senses are so heightened.
“Sans?” Your voice peeps out, muffled by his jacket.
“C-can we turn the movie off?” You sound truly terrified. Sans likes it.
“fine,” He relents. Then he pauses. A small grin forms on his face. “but first you gotta kiss me,” he teases. He knew you wouldn’t actually do it, you were so shy and you always thought that-
And your lips were on his cheekbone.
They’re so soft, and warm, and he doesn’t think he’d ever tire of this feeling. Before he knows it, before he accepts it, you’re already pulling away, leaving him with a feeling of loss.
Your cheeks are bright red and he’s sure that he’s flushed, too.
“o-o-okay,” he stutters. He reaches forward, fumbling for the remote. When he has a grip on it, he turns the screen off. “alright, it’s done. now we can-”
Your fingers lightly press against his opposite cheekbone, guiding his face slowly towards yours. Slowly, torturously, you lean forward, until he can feel your breath on his teeth and the soft brush of your lips on him and you’re so warm and
He kisses you.
It isn’t gentle.
It’s hot and passionate and Sans can’t think straight, he’s too busy biting your lip, or slipping his tongue in his mouth to tangle with yours. You clutch the back of his hoodie, pressing back just as insistently, making small little noises that make Sans want to take it further, further. But this is enough, he reminds himself. This is enough.
He brings a hand up to tangle in your hair and press you closer as he shifts you to his lap, and you’re grasping his hoodie so tightly that he can feel your fingers through the layers of clothing.
Then, finally, unfortunately, you have to pull away. Gasping for breath with a heaving chest, eyes glazed over and fuzzy, you relax backwards. Your cheeks are warm and red and you look dizzy.
Your eyes flick up to his own, and you deepen your blush, and it’s all Sans can do to stop himself from taking you right then and there.
Too much, too fast. If Sans took what he could now, he would take it and would never stop. He needed to be more prepared.
“I- I… would not be opposed to doing that again? Sometime?” Then your eyes flick to the side and he can barely make out a mumbled “Now?”
Yep. It’s official. You’ve officially done the impossible: make Sans love you more than he already does.
So he kisses you again.
And Sans is overwhelmed.
But with you by his side, in his lap, he thinks he can deal with it.