Chapter Text
You’re being watched.
You weren’t sure at first—Don’t be stupid. What are you thinking? Why would anyone be watching you?—but as little sense as it makes, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that’s exactly what’s happening.
He hasn’t done anything the entire time he’s been here.
He looks down every time you glance over, seemingly engrossed in something on his phone, but you see him raise his head again in your peripheral vision and know without a doubt that it’s fake.
He’s watching you, this strange man you’ve never seen before, and you can’t figure out what he could possibly want.
What was so fascinating about a guy in ugly old sweats doing his laundry?
You ignore the stare you feel burning a hole in the side of your head for a moment and take a good hard look at your clothes, tumbling around in the dryer.
There’s nothing special in there—no suits or brand-name fashions—so it’s not like you especially look like someone worth mugging…
Not that you think this particular guy would do that.
Say what you will about their ‘violent’ reputation, but you’d never once been attacked by a monster.
In fact, monsters had been on their best behavior for years. Whatever they’d been like Underground, as warlike as their day-to-day had supposedly been, that had all come to a screeching halt when they’d surfaced.
Any given monster off the street these days was probably more of a law-abiding citizen than half the human population and that…
…wasn’t too much of a surprise, actually.
If you were a monster, you don’t think you’d want to defy one of the terrifying Empress Toriel’s edicts, either, even if it was to integrate peacefully into the society of the people whose forefathers had trapped your whole species in a subterranean prison.
But that was the past.
Monsters and humans are working together now, towards a mutually beneficial coexistence.
It’s ongoing work, the very definition of a work-in-progress, with expected tension and disagreements from both sides, but all things considered it seems to be going…pretty well.
Monsters are slowly sharing their knowledge of magic and their impressive technological breakthroughs, and humans are offering their guidelines for building a more peaceful society. As intimidating and battle-scarred as your new nonhuman neighbors almost uniformly are, that’s something that many of them seem to genuinely want.
Which is why it’s so weird that this skeleton is staring daggers at you in a public laundromat like he wants to make you an exception to the Play By The Rules decree set forth by his monarch.
Come on, you hiss at yourself in your own head, don’t be…you’re smarter than this. Back up and think it through for once!
Okay.
So.
The skeleton.
You turn your head, trying to seem like you’re just casually looking over. Like every time before, his skull ducks down to ‘look at his phone,’ giving you plenty of opportunity to observe your unsubtle stalker.
He’s tall, at least a head taller than you, but between his slouching posture and being all the way across the room it’s hard to tell for sure. He seems lanky, even for a skeleton, and his baggy hoodie and ripped, paint-splattered jeans do very little to add to his bulk.
Not for the first time, your eyes fall on the overstuffed bag by his feet, ostensibly full of ‘laundry’ but this guy had been here since you came in—at least an hour ago—without so much as a sock tossed in a machine.
He hadn’t done anything, didn’t even have his own detergent with him to actually look like he was just a regular customer, nothing to see here…
Whoever this guy was, he was awful at selling this laundry ruse.
The skeleton shifts at about the same moment you realize you’ve probably been looking at him for too long. You start to turn again, not wanting to catch his eye(-socket?) and start a confrontation, when out of the corner of your eye, you see it.
A flash of color: a soft, pretty shade of violet spreading across his cheekbones.
You had no idea skeletons could blush.
Your eyes are back on the guy in an instant and he looks all too aware of your gaze. It seems like the shoe is on the other foot now, but you don’t bother to appreciate the irony.
Suddenly, you’re looking a lot closer, even as an inexplicable drop of sweat beads along his skull.
In spite of the hunched shoulders and the pointed avoidance of eye-contact, there’s a very particular vibe to this skeleton. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, but now that you’re actually paying attention…
He looks anxious beneath your stare; nervous and desperate and…maybe even a little lost?
It’s certainly not the spooky vibe you’d thought you’d been getting before and you’re not sure what to make of it.
Until you take one more glance at his bag—still overly full, with no detergent or fabric softener or rolls of quarters in sight to accompany it.
That’s all it takes to make it click in your head.
The ‘laundry’… it wasn’t a flimsy pretense at all; some half-baked excuse to lurk around and scope out people to rob.
In this moment, right now, this skeleton looks like nothing so much as a clueless college kid dumped out into the world on his own for the very first time, dazed and confused and too scared to actually ask anybody for help.
And you just happened to be the only person in his direct line of sight to ‘discreetly’ observe.
See?
You are smart when you actually think things through!
…And you’re also not the type of person that can just stand by when you know somebody else is struggling.
You turn back to your own laundry and see the skeleton sag a little in your periphery—probably relieved you’d stopped staring at him—but he doesn’t move from his vantage point, or stop staring at you the second he thought he was in the clear.
You’re fine with it.
You let him watch you wait out the dryer cycle. You let him watch you dig out all your clothes and plop them onto a table. You let him watch you sort and fold and pack them away neatly in your bag so they wouldn’t be too wrinkly by the time you got them home and properly put away.
And then you grab your bag and your stuff and head right on over to him.
His eye-sockets go wide as soon as he realizes what you’re doing.
Up close, you can see two little lights in them, the same purple color his skull had turned before, and that one of his canines is just a shiny gold replica of the other. Under the buzzing fluorescent lights, it gleams the same as the bone-shaped tag on the black leather collar he has hanging loosely from his vertebrae.
You think that it looks kind of like a dog-collar…but all the spikes and collars of monster fashion have always seemed a little odd to you and you’ve always reasoned the reverse is probably true of monsters looking at human fashion.
Who are you to judge?
“Hey,” you say, putting on your friendliest smile.
Before you can get so much as another word out, though…
“sorry!” the skeleton blurts out. “i’m sorry, i didn’t… i know i was……but i didn’t mean to, uh…… i, i wasn’t…t-tryin’ to………”
…Oh, stars above.
You realize quickly that this guy is legitimately intimidated right now—by little ol’ you—and you have to bite back a surprised laugh.
And an instant burst of pure endearment.
“First time at a laundromat?” you guess with a poorly restrained smirk, and the skeleton freezes like a deer in the headlights.
He’s quiet for a beat…but then slowly, a sheepish grin comes across his skull.
“…heh. nyeheheheh, ah jeez…” He reaches up, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “m’i that obvious…?”
“N…no,” you attempt to assure him, but you’re not the best liar if the faint shade of purple that comes back across the guy’s cheekbones is any indication.
Hastily, you change the subject and introduce yourself, holding out your hand.
He stares at it for a moment, like he has no idea what to do with it—suddenly, you can’t remember if handshakes are a thing monsters do or not—but eventually, he takes your hand in his claws for a careful shake.
“papyrus,” he says. And then, after another second, “i really…didn’t mean to stare…at you. i just… you seemed like you…knew what you were doin’…?”
You nearly laugh again: you, seeming competent?
Psh, that’s a first…
But, “Not my first rodeo,” you agree. “Do you, uh…maybe want some actual pointers, or help, or…?”
Papyrus takes a second to figure out what you mean, not really seeming to get it until you gesture down at his own bag of laundry.
“oh. oh, no,” he says quickly, “i don’t… i only brought that…in case… but i don’t! heh, i don’t actually…have anything, yet…?” Like everything you’d already noticed he was missing, you guess. “i’ll just, uh…be more…prepared when i… next time. y’know.”
………
Was he for real?
Was Papyrus actually planning on lugging that bag of dirty clothes all the way home and back again when he had actual supplies?
To…what? Avoid inconveniencing you?
That was…really dumb.
And relatable.
And even, in the weirdest way possible…kinda polite?
You may’ve just met him, but you feel like Papyrus isn’t the sort of guy who should get left hanging. You don’t want to leave him hanging.
You think he deserves to see a little of that good old-fashioned human kindness your species is always bragging about.
Which is probably why you shove your jug of detergent into his chest and, when his hands are full, snag his laundry bag out from under him.
“Nah,” you say decisively, heading over to an open machine. “I’m gonna help. You’re gonna learn some laundry.”
He sputters, offering up a half-hearted protest or two, but ultimately Papyrus is no match for your sheer force of will: he quickly caves and allows you to show him the ropes, this time from up close.
He’s more attentive than you expect, seeming to hang on your every word as you explain all the things that had tripped you up your first few times: picking the right cycles, not overloading the machines, the difference between how much soap you were advised to use and how much you actually, probably needed…
Papyrus takes all this information in quietly, as utterly focused as you’ve ever seen anyone be.
With such a serious expression on his skull, dead-silent and looming just over your shoulder, you don’t feel quite so bad for your misconception before.
He is pretty spooky-looking… but when you tell him about your first time really screwing up the detergent levels and all the overflowing suds that had ensued and he laughs with that unassuming little ‘nyeheheh’ of his, it’s impossible to think of him as ‘scary.’
Papyrus may be awkward and quiet and…maybe even a little weird? But he’s not scary and you feel a profound sense of satisfaction deep down in your soul for being able to help him out!
(Your wallet isn’t as happy about your good deed for the day. With your…situation…being what it is, you can’t be entirely guilt-free about any charitable act that involves lost quarters, lost soap, lost time…)
(But your wallet can shove it—the relieved, beaming grin Papyrus gives you over his clean, neatly folded laundry is worth its weight in gold.)
“you’re a lifesaver,” he says, like he genuinely means it. “thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” you reply, meaning it just as much. “Glad to help you figure it out! It, uh…ha, it seems like you were past due for it.”
Papyrus must know exactly what you mean—he had a lot of laundry to do, with a lot of weird stains, and he picks at a ratty sweater with those sharp claws of his while that purple blush colors his cheekbones again.
“uh…y…yeah,” he mutters, bashful. “i, uh…thanks. y’know. again.”
Stars, he’s cute.
But you know damn well you don’t have room in your life for that right now.
“Seriously, don’t mention it, happy to help!”
You start to gather your things, hefting your own bag of laundry up over your shoulder.
Papyrus frowns.
“…you’re leavin’?”
“Yep, gotta get home eventually.” You pause, eyeing his pile of clothes, and teasingly add, “Unless you don’t know how to get those back into your bag all by yourself?”
That makes Papyrus snort and laugh, shaking his head with good humor.
“nah,” he says, “i’m…i got it from here, don’t…don’t worry ‘bout me.”
But before you can start to go, a look flits across his skull, one you can’t even begin to place.
“hey. uh…” Pointedly avoiding your curious gaze, Papyrus says quite firmly, “don’t worry. you’re gonna be fine.”
…Well, that makes you frown.
“O…kay?”
You…really don’t know what to say to that. Aside from, ‘yeah, I sure hope so???’
You err on the side of not acknowledging it at all.
“I’ll…see you around, Papyrus. Good luck with your packing…?”
“yeah, thanks. see ya’.”
You really wish you knew what that look meant…but it doesn’t seem directed at you, or anyone unless his laundry had suddenly developed enough sentience to become exasperating…
So, with a jingle of the door, you head out of the laundromat, finally on your way back home.
But you can’t stop thinking about what Papyrus said.
‘you’re gonna be fine.’
What did that mean?
He hadn’t said it with any ill intent, none that you could hear, at least.
It had even sounded…reassuring? In a slightly ominous kinda way…
Maybe it’s a monster saying?
That…sorta made sense? A quick vote of confidence for somebody before they left your sight, out into a dangerous world where ‘fine’ couldn’t be guaranteed, that could pretty easily be a part of monster etiquette.
Especially if the person had just done something nice for you.
…Yeah.
Yeah, that was probably it!
You deliberately shake yourself of the weird feeling, deciding not to dwell on the negative.
How could you when even mired in the urban metropolis that was Ebott, you had such a gorgeous evening to enjoy?
Not quite dusk, the sun still shines above the streets you walk, pleasantly complementing the stunningly mild weather of the day. The foot traffic around you is far from heavy, just a handful of passersby here and there busy with their own lives and paying no mind to you or anyone else around them.
In the distance stands the majestic, snow-capped peak of Ebott, the city’s namesake…or maybe the namesake of the city? You’re not exactly up to date on the lore and you have no idea which of the things got its name first.
You’d learn though, you decided happily, and until then, you could just appreciate the stunning mountain for what it was— in spite of the long and mixed history attached to it.
…Although maybe you should appreciate it a little less while you’re walking.
Your inattention—because what else could it be?— has you completely missing the person you carelessly check shoulders with.
You stumble, losing your grip on your bag and fumbling for it even as automatic apologies start to fall from your lips.
“Oh stars, I’m so sorry,” you say to the poor stranger, grimacing at yourself. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I………”
You trail off, at an abrupt loss for words.
The man—the skeleton you just bumped into seems to have no such issue.
“OH, NONSENSE, SIR,” he says, his gloved hands straightening you with ease. “I WASN’T, EITHER. NO HARM DONE.”
You continue to find yourself speechless for a moment, staring at the monster before you.
This skeleton was just barely taller than you, with broad shoulders and a voice much deeper than you’d expected. He was dressed mostly in black with a splash of color in the plum scarf around his neck, but none of that held your attention quite so much as…
You hadn’t been able to see the lights in Papyrus’ eye-sockets until you’d gotten close. You’re pretty close to this skeleton, too, but you know instantly that there’s no possible comparison to the dim, little pips Papyrus had quietly watched you with.
Even from a mile away, you’d be able to see this skeleton’s eye-lights: huge and neon, electric purple blazing against the black of his sockets above a wide, sharp grin.
His gaze is intense. His smile unsettles you. You have no idea why.
You decide you don’t need to know why.
Grabbing your things, you apologize again, making to move around him when…
“LAUNDRY DAY…?”
“Huh?” He helpfully points one sharp, gloved claw at your bag and your manners kick in. “Oh! Hah, yeah, gotta…gotta get it done sometime.”
“DON’T WE ALL,” he muses, his grin so perfectly pleasant that you start to return it. “I’M SURE YOU WERE VERY HELPFUL.”
The smile drops from your face.
“What?”
The skeleton blinks at you, as if startled by your surprise. “OH, NO OFFENSE MEANT, OF COURSE,” he says. “YOU SIMPLY SEEM THE TYPE.”
“The…the ‘type’?”
“TO HELP PEOPLE,” he explains. “TO LEND A HAND OR MAYBE A FEW QUARTERS OUT OF…WHAT?” He pauses to squint at you, like he’s searching your face for something, and whatever he finds tilts his smile into a smirk. “THE GOODNESS OF YOUR HEART? WITHOUT EXPECTING ANYTHING IN RETURN?”
Your heart skips a beat.
What the hell?
Was he there?
Was he watching you?
Did…did he know Papyrus or something…?
But before you can even ask the speciesist? question, he laughs.
“THAT’S SO NICE OF YOU,” he chuckles. “REALLY, THE WORLD COULD USE MORE PEOPLE LIKE YOU.”
You…don’t know what to say.
And somehow, you find yourself really not liking the direction of this conversation.
“I’m… I have to…get this home now, so…uh…”
Surprising you again, the skeleton waves you off.
“YES, OF COURSE. SORRY TO HOLD YOU UP, SIR.”
He lets you edge past him and an odd feeling of relief hits you, like your soul was just let loose from a vice. For a second there, you thought… you didn’t think he’d let you pass and you had no earthly idea what your next move would’ve been.
You don’t make it more than three steps down the sidewalk before you hear his voice again, though.
“OH, SIR!” he calls and you reluctantly turn on your heel. “IS THIS YOURS?”
Your jaw nearly hits the pavement when you see the thing he holds up to you— your wallet, with your cash and your keys and all your cards…!
Thoughtlessly, you lash out, snatching it back.
“Where… How…?!” you stammer, torn between confused and upset, but the skeleton just keeps calmly grinning that eerie grin at you.
“YOU MUST’VE DROPPED IT,” he tells you patiently. “NOT TO WORRY. IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME.”
You almost could’ve believed that.
If not for the way he leaned in, ever so slightly, his bright eyes going empty—pitch-black above that insistent shark-smile.
“YOU SHOULD BE CAREFUL.”
Your stomach drops.
It feels like your heart is going a mile a minute and suddenly, there is nothing more important to you than going home right now.
“I…I’m…gonna go,” you manage to eke out through your tight throat, taking a few unsteady steps backward.
The skeleton seems to find this an agreeable proposition. His smile seems a touch less menacing and his eye-lights are back as he says, with all the pleasantness in the world, “OF COURSE. HAVE A LOVELY NIGHT, SIR…”
You turn and start walking.
Quickly.
And if you work up the courage to look back after a few steps only to find the strange skeleton gone, like he was never even there, how much faster you walk after that is nobody’s business but your own.
You make it home to your little apartment just as darkness finally falls. You shut your door and bolt all the locks behind you and you go straight to your bedroom to put away all your clean clothes.
By the time you’re tucking the last of your socks into a drawer, you’ve managed to calm down a little.
At the very least, you don’t feel like you’re being watched anymore; followed by gleaming, phantom eyes lurking after you in the dark.
You’re not being watched.
…You’re…pretty sure of that…