He set up camp about two tables down from them in the food court, his hood hiding his face (although he got some nasty looks from a mall security guard), grabbing a drink and some nachos to make himself seem less like a loiterer and more like a normal person waiting for their friend or something. Or like a siren, Sans decided with a scowl as Mettaton wrapped an arm around Papyrus’s waist, a sly grin crossing his face. It was like hearing an angel, he said, a goofy smile cutting across his face, white teeth against brown skin. At one point he heard a brief patch of song, some theme song from a movie that Papyrus liked, followed by Papyrus exclaiming that it was amazing how well Mettaton could sing. While they walked, Sans picked up on bits of conversation between them. Probably paying for everything to make up for his lack of good qualities, thought Sans to himself. And yet here Mettaton was, positively showering Papyrus with gifts and food as they walked through the mall, window shopping along the way, one occasionally pulling the other into a store as they passed by something nice. When he got back, Papyrus would admit that he had paid for most of it, even things that probably should’ve been left on the other person. He supposed he should feel bad for spying on them, but Papyrus’s other track record with dates was that sometimes they took advantage of his brother’s kind and giving nature. While he looked good in it and all, it was unlike Papyrus to dress up for dates-if anything, he had a habit of accidentally dressing too casually for the event he was going to, and would have to dart back into his room to throw on something new.īut before he could catch Mettaton for a pre-date word on how he expected his brother to be treated, they were out the door, Papyrus already chattering on about something as they climbed into the car cheerfully, speeding off before he had a chance to blink. I think so,” he had replied, and his brother had come bouncing down the stairs before he could even call, his usually unruly curls brushed into place, his tattered scarf and gloves replaced by a neat, clean button-up and a red hat. “I’m here to pick up your brother, is he ready yet?” asked the dark-haired man, head tilting down ever so slightly as he looked at Sans (why did everyone have to be so damn tall, what the hell?). He was just too close to the line between being nice because you were polite and being nice because you thought you had to. But somewhere in the smile he mustered as he looked at Sans, in the way he didn’t really smile with his teeth, in how every hair on his stupid head looked like it had been placed there by a team of experts, somewhere there he sensed fakeness. He wished he could describe Mettaton as a greasy, cheeky, makeup-plastered piece of trash, but in reality the taller man never looked like he wasn’t halfway down the runway, and his smile seemed pretty real to the untrained eye, and what makeup he did wear was flawless somehow. His brother really needed to get out more anyways, his friend circle was starting to suffer under the duress of not leaving the house all that much.īut when he saw the person standing outside the door, he considered making his brother an account for an online dating site because this was not okay with him. About time someone else realized just how amazing his brother was, he figured. When Papyrus had told him he had a date, he was glad to hear it. The date was going well, and Sans was definitely not happy about it.
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