Chapter Text
The first time he sees you, it is Tuesday.
He has never had any particularly strong feelings on Tuesday as a whole, and why he would remember such an insignificant detail when so many of the really important bits are still hazy is beyond him, but he does, and every Tuesday afterwards he thinks of it.
You walk in with a group of your friends. He’d never have noticed any of you, given the multitude of similar gaggles of college students around the room, had a resounding clanging noise not come from your general direction, followed by a loud, unmistakeable, “ fuck! ” which made his, along with most of the other people in the room’s, head snap up to see what had happened.
It wasn’t quite as exciting a sight as maybe the class had anticipated; there you were, crouched on your heeled shoes, picking up a shattered-looking phone with a scowl on your face. It was fairly clear what had happened.
“Language, please,” the professor said from the other side of the room, though he didn’t seem particularly bothered.
“Sorry, sorry,” you respond distractedly, attention still on your now-destroyed phone. The class generally goes back to doing whatever it was they were doing, waiting for the lecture to begin.
That’s it. That’s the first time he sees you. Honestly, he doesn’t think anything of it.
The next time Sans sees you is in the same class, a day later. A class that he can’t remember the specific title of, but as far as he is concerned is the most 'human' class at this whole university - that’s why he took it. Given how informal schooling was in the Underground compared to up here, getting his education accredited looked downright impossible without some official certificate, which he never got. So he settled for simply getting his education again, and in full honesty, the whole human college experience wasn’t too bad. He didn’t mind the classes - some of it was a little unchallenging, but some of it was all new to him. When he realised just how much there was to learn about being topside from this one university, he decided not to take the opportunity for granted. His enrolment at the school, courtesy of the human government’s monster reintegration program, was free, so he might as well use the free time that would have been used on minimum wage shifts before.
This is how he finds himself in a Religious and Moral Education lecture. He picks it because it is the most distinctly 'human' class he could find, something that just never would have been a school subject underground. Philosophy, life after death, the desperate search for meaning in the world, are not especially where his interests lie, but more in how humans perceive them and talk about them and think about them. They have weird ideologies and strange opinions. He finds the fact that they’ve developed so many religions all devoted to so many specific things interesting, and the discourse surrounding them all is just as fascinating. Sue him, he’s interested in the species that he’s sharing the planet with.
The professor for this class is old and wobbly and seems to take his subject very seriously. His name is Dr Donahue and Sans listens to him intently. He tells them that whether or not it is justified, or real, religion and belief in the afterlife is important anyway. It is integral to the human spirit and it is part of what makes their species unique; the difference between human and animal is that of perception of death, and the ability to wonder what happens after it. (He mentions monsters here. He says that it is an absolutely huge deal to have another species emerge and be intelligent, also be capable of wondering about life after death. That, he says, is what mankind always thought made them unique, and to have an entire new race that has the same ability is world-changing for more reasons than one. But he’ll get into that another day, he digresses.)
He’s done with introductions to the subject by the time the third lecture comes around. He’s now getting into the juicy stuff, which involves a significant amount of questions with unthinkable answers, existentialist ideals, and a subjective line between cynicism and optimism. This is the second time Sans hears you talk, and fittingly, as he’ll come to find, for you, what it is exactly that you say is an objection. The professor is on one of his more existential tangents, and even Sans finds himself a little depressed at what he’s hearing the man say with such conviction.
“The defining moments of our lives are usually ones of pain. The role that hardship plays in our life is a depressing one from almost all angles, and yet a necessary evil. Without lows, highs do not matter; you have to endure pain for happiness to be meaningful, especially from a societal standpoint. Otherwise, the happiness is vacuous. So when you get to a good place in life, achieve something, “succeed” without enduring pain, is it really worth it? Because you have not gone through deprivation to do so, does it actually matter? Especially considering what is actually considered deprivation in society today; the lowest of the lows? If you have to have such deep, dark lows to have worthwhile highs, one might argue that it’s pointless to try for either.”
A voice from somewhere in the room interrupts.
“That’s bullshit.”
Sans pinpoints the sound to the chair directly in front of him. All eyes in the room turn to you. Sans watches the back of your head as you wait for a response.
Dr Donahue also trains his eyes on you dramatically, annoyed at being interrupted, but never one to dismiss debate.
“Oh, is it, Miss ____? Well, do elaborate for us then.”
You begin to talk fluently, completely unperturbed by Donahue’s mocking tone.
“If you need lows that badly for highs, then don’t you also need the opposite? The idea that pain is a necessity for happiness is flawed by its very nature . Happiness can be found by simpler creatures like animals far easier than it can for humans, or monsters, purely because they don’t wallow so deeply in their lows, like you’re suggesting is imperative. They’re literally incapable of doing so because their brains don’t allow for it, and yet they get on far better than we do. If we weren’t at all aware of how our pain is processed and how it affects our ability to have peace of mind, we would have peace of mind, just like that.” You snap your fingers for emphasis. “You don’t need hardship for happiness, because that implies that happiness, in itself, is hardship, if you get it without “earning” it, through pain or whatever. So all you’re left with is the hardship. But, if you become happy without hardship, it’s just that. Happy. And obviously it will never be that black and white, but to suggest that something, anything , not just hardship, is necessary for happiness is bullshit. Happiness occurs when it wants to. Sometimes there’s not even a cause. But when people like you reinforce that idea, other people spend their entire lives tracking it down, hoping that the hardship they went through is enough to finally earn it, but that’s simply not the case. Happiness is not earned. It’s found.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, you turn around in your chair and he finds himself face-to-face with you for the first time.
“Can I borrow a pencil? I forgot mine and I kinda want to write down his response,” you grin. “Just in case this is the day I finally best Donahue. I want it on record, you know?”
He isn’t sure what to say, which is kind of a first. He’s kind of still busy processing your little speech. Not to mention that some random human girl hadn't done some big double take when you noticed he was a skeleton. That was throwing him off more than he cared to admit. Most humans didn’t gloss over that little fact quite so blatantly.
Wordlessly, he hands you a pencil. You flash him a smile that is possibly one of the most prepossessing sights he has ever seen in his life, and then you turn around and stare solemnly at Donahue. Sans doesn’t listen to what the professor says next, having found something even more interestingly human right in front of him to think about instead.
At the end of the lesson, you turn back around to him.
“Here’s your pencil,” you say. “Thanks for letting me use it.”
“‘s no skin off my nose,” he says, tapping the middle of his face where his nose decidedly isn’t, with a wink.
You pause for a moment before laughing, and you do so as if you invented the sound, and as if he is the first person on Earth to ever hear it.
You calm after a moment and look at him straight in the eye before continuing. Your eyes are intense, he notes, and they stand out on your features, which are lined with freckles. He looks back at you but can’t muster the same intensity as you, and he questions for a moment whether anyone ever could.
“My name’s ___, by the way. I’m the one who smashed my phone down there yesterday.” You gesture vaguely towards the doorway of the room.
“yup, i remember. is it broken?”
“Mm-hmm. I can’t believe I did that. It’s going to be possibly physically painful to replace it, given the price tag.” You shake your head in disgust.
“s’expensive, alright. hey, how did the phone get drunk?”
“How?”
“it took too many screenshots.”
You snort, and somehow manage to pull off such a thing with complete dignity. It’s actually an almost endearing sound, coming from you.
“Man, I love puns. Wordplay is so underrated.”
He nods, smile widening.
“me too. i’m sans, by the way. the skeleton.”
You laugh again and he is suddenly very aware of how much he likes that sound.
“No shit,” you giggle. “Nice to meet you, Sans the Skeleton. See you around.”
And then you’re gone.
---
The third time you meet, it’s half a week later. Sans is waiting for Alphys and Papyrus beside a tree, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. Alphys is in the same boat as him at the moment; despite her having actual work experience in her field, and being by all means a professional, she still can’t find a job anywhere that actually cares about her credentials. When it comes to humans, it’s degree this and degree that and references here and interviews there. It was far easier to get jobs Underground. Monsters were generally good judges of character, and therefore had never needed to be quite as untrusting as humans seemed to be. Still, Alphys seemed to be liking her classes, and obviously passing with flying colours.
Papyrus, unsure of what quite to do next once the Royal Guard disbanded, quickly made it his new mission to succeed professionally in his other greatest passion in life, which is, of course, cooking. Sans is supportive; maybe Papyrus’s spaghetti had been inedible when he started, but, much like he had improved at fighting Underground when he worked at it, he had also improved at making food with some practice. He’s taking classes for it now. Sans can still barely wrap his mind around the thought that humans have full university courses purely for making food.
He checks the time. Since when is he the one who gets places early? He sighs and goes to close his eye sockets when he hears a voice.
“Hey, Sans the Skeleton. Whatcha doing?”
He turns around and is greeted by your face grinning up at him from your slightly smaller stature. Honestly, his first thought is that he’s not sure why you’re talking to him. It isn’t something that humans tend to do.
“waiting for some friends.”
There’s a short silence. He clears his throat.
“that, uh, was a pretty interesting little speech you gave in class the other day.”
Your smile widens.
“I was so right, wasn’t I? My argument totally wiped the floor with him. And yet,” you sigh with all the conviction of someone who’s just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. “I did not manage to best Donahue. I mean, did you hear his answer? It was so wrong , by the way, but he totally cut me off when I tried to respond. I would’ve gotten him, had it not been for the totally unfair power imbalance between student and teacher. ‘Hardship is necessary for happiness.’ I mean, please .”
You roll your eyes, and then fix them on his, directly on his, and he gets the feeling that no matter what your eyes do, it’ll be intense by the very nature of them being yours. When he doesn't respond right away, you take the opportunity to look at him hard for a moment, your brow furrowing. He looks back at you. A little bit of the thick mascara - or eyeliner, he's not very well-versed in human makeup terms - layered on your features is smudged, but somehow this simply adds to the overall look. Your nose is scrunched as you stare at him with those intense eyes, and after a moment he begins to feel a little bit like a monkey at the zoo.
“what is it?”
You snap out of your little trance and blink up at him, shaking your head.
“Sorry, sorry. Just not everyday I’m in close proximity to a living skeleton.”
You don’t sound particularly apologetic; just matter-of-fact. He’s unsure of what to think of you being so blatant about the whole monster thing, especially since up until this point you’d acted like it was completely irrelevant. He kind of liked that you had let him address it first by introducing himself the way he did, but also, somewhere deep down he’s slightly disappointed that you were looking at him with that intensity simply because he was a skeleton, and not for any other, objectively more exciting reasons that he can think of.
“so you did notice.”
You look at him like he’s just said something outrageously stupid.
“Well, it’s not exactly a secret, is it? Sans the Skeleton and all?”
“nope. just, uh. most humans bring it up pretty much the first conversation we have. you seemed pretty unfazed to turn around and see a monster in the seat behind you the other day. not to mention you took a pencil from me pretty easily. lotta people would assume it’s got some kind of monster germs, or has evil magic, or whatever.”
The corner of your eyes crinkle and you laugh again. It occurs to him that a lot of people would find that an inappropriate sentence to laugh after; some humans go straight to throwing pity parties after sharing any details of monster discrimination with them. To be perfectly honest though, he likes your response better. It’s good to hear someone else think that such stupidity is literally laughable.
“ Monster germs ? People actually say that shit to you? That’s like being 8 years old and refusing to touch anyone of the other gender because you’re scared of getting, like, cooties. Oh my god.”
“yeah, well, apparently some of you humans will say anything if it justifies your fear.”
He doesn’t say it maliciously, and thankfully you don’t seem to take any offence. You just nod and continue talking.
“Well, you’re right about that. People are stupid. Anyway, the reason I didn’t react to you being a monster was ‘cause I already knew. I saw you come in to class before me. I sat near you because you looked more interesting than the rest of the class, I guess.” You shrug. “Not just because you’re a monster, though - but maybe more because you showed up to your first day of a new class in basketball shorts and pink slippers.” He watches your eyes trail down his build with interest.
He ponders this. You having a reason for acting the way you did makes something in him deflate. He had thought for a second that maybe he’d met some miracle human who was different from the rest of them, who truly was blind to appearances. It was a nice thought that this whirlwind of a pretty human girl was talking to him just because she wanted to and not because he was a monster. Nevermind.
He's snapped out of his ruminations by the sound of you scoffing.
“What?” you seem offended at the look on his face. Which makes no sense, given that his face is static, and if anyone should be offended in this situation, it's him. He doesn’t have time to wonder how you picked him apart so easily before you do it again. “Don't look at me like that. Did you think I just didn’t care?"
Sans feels his smile tense at the confrontation. "well, you know, kinda. guess it's a little too good to be true, but i don't particularly enjoy being stared at like a zoo animal."
You frown deepens, incredulous. "Don't you think me literally not acknowledging or caring about the fact that you're a skeleton would be more insulting to you than if I’d, like, been scared of monster cooties? I mean, who in their right mind isn’t interested in a goddamn skeleton in their goddamn class wearing goddamn pink slippers? And, like, anyway, c'mon, I wouldn’t still be talking to you if I didn’t genuinely enjoy doing so. You made a pun when I smashed my phone! I was sold! So don’t go looking at me like that because I wasn’t totally unperturbed at the sight of a monster showing up in my world religions class." You roll your eyes. "I’m human, remember? Flaws, imperfections, emotions? Unfortunately, I don’t control those things.”
Neither of you talk for a second. You catch your breath and look at him in that same intense way once again, this time for a different reason.
“So, can I get your number? We should hang out sometime.”
After that, he stops counting the meetings.
---
“So, where are we going, bone boy?” You smile broadly at him, and his non-existent heart does a flip. True to your word, you had made plans with him the next day, and bestowed upon him the pleasure of picking where they would take place. He’d met with you at the tree on campus and was planning on taking a shortcut to Grillby’s.
“you’ll see. said you were curious about monsters, right?”
Your eyes widen a little and you nod.
“Now even more so.”
He nods approvingly before remembering something.
“oh wait - you’re, like, legal, right? you can drink?”
You roll your striking eyes.
“Yup. I’m 23, I’ll be fine. So is it a bar? That would be great, actually. Although, I am, unfortunately, the biggest lightweight of all time, so I probably won’t be able to best you at shots or whatever if that’s what you were thinking of.”
Sans snorts.
“you, a lightweight? never would have guessed from your height,” he teases light-heartedly, and you immediately stand up straighter and open your mouth to protest.
“Are you kidding me? Short jokes? You’re, like, an inch taller than me.”
His grin widens at the indignance in your voice. It’s adorably funny.
“nah, i got at least four inches on you.”
“Bullshit, you're not even average height.”
“maybe even five.”
You groan dramatically.
“Alright, shut up and take me to this elusive bar, asshole.”
He chuckles.
“alright. but uh, hey. i know a shortcut. and it might be a little disorientating the first time around.”
You wrinkle your nose.
“What do you mean?”
“just, uh. hold on to my hand, alright?”
You take a step back instinctively, face contorting quickly into indignant confusion. “What? No. Why?”
“hey. trust me. you wanted to see more monster stuff, right?”
You stare at him for a second before sighing and taking his outstretched hand. The moment your hand touches his phalanges, his soul does a weird jumpy thing that he forces himself to ignore. Instead, he focuses on his magic. He feels the familiar tug of the void for a millisecond, before both you and him appear discreetly outside Grillby’s.
For a second, you just stand there, clinging on to his hand for dear life, staring intently at your surroundings, a look of absolute bewilderment gracing your features.
“What,” you hiss, “in the ever-living fuck, was that?”
He grins impishly at you for a second before winking.
“...shortcut.”
“You can fucking teleport ?” you almost shriek. He stifles a laugh at your reaction. This is why he didn’t opt for shortcutting straight into Grillby’s.
“guess so.”
You shake your head in disbelief.
“I- I mean, what ? Does the government know about this? I’m surprised you’re here at all and not in some Area 15 fucking science lab being tested on!”
This seems to be a habit of yours, he thinks. Blurting things out that most people would consider offensive. Regular social cues seemed to be something you acknowledged, but chose to ignore. He wonders why.
Despite that little comment being insensitive at best, he can tell you don’t mean it in a hostile way, so he chooses not to dwell on it and instead revel in the absolute shock he has apparently sent you into. He enjoys flustering she who is so sure of herself all the time.
“I mean, fuck . What else can you do? Can all monsters- I mean, what the fuck ?”
He tries and fails not to laugh. You ball your hand into a fist and hit him lightly on the shoulder.
“Stop laughing! You- you can teleport ! How?”
“magic. now c’mon, let’s go inside.”
He grabs you by the hand again and pulls you inside Grillby’s. He swears he hears you mutter “fucking teleportation” under your breath as you enter the building.
Grillby’s is bigger topside than it was underground. The moment monsters were granted business licenses, Grillby had bought a place and opened the bar in it again. Monsters were thankful to have a little piece of home come back to them, and humans treated it like some kind of novelty, so business was going well, and the place was usually packed. Sans still prides himself on being Grillby’s best customer, though.
He watches your face as you take in your surroundings. You’re doing that increasingly familiar look of vigorous concentration, and your pupils are swiping left and right hastily, as though you’re trying to take in everything around you as fast as possible. You really wear your emotions on your sleeve, he notes.
He receives some greetings from other regulars and friends as he leads you to his favourite spot at the bar.
“Cute human, Sans,” someone quips. He cringes internally, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, especially when you’re so new to monsters.
To his surprise, you turn round to the speaker with a playful glint in your eye.
“I know, right?” you smirk, much to the amusement of everyone around you, who laugh loudly. Probably too loudly for how funny the joke actually was, but Sans has a sneaking suspicion that part of the appeal is purely the idea of a human embarrassing him.
He snorts obligatorily and leads you over to the barstools.
“Man, this place is fucking cool ,” you say appreciatively.
“sure is,” he watches your jaw drop as your eyes follow an anthropomorphic tree monster across the room.
“you’re not exactly subtle, are you?”
He thinks that this is where you should have the decency to blush, or apologise, or attempt to excuse your gawking. You, instead, fix him with another one of those fierce gazes that makes him feel like his soul is under a microscope.
“No. Why wouldn’t I be a little overwhelmed to be in a room with people who, up until just a few years ago, were the stuff of myth to my entire species? I don’t hide my emotions. They’re valid. Otherwise I wouldn’t have them. Duh.”
He sucks in a breath.
“i’ve.. never thought of it like that. not sure if it's entirely logical.”
“Well. No shit. You literally have a permanent smile. I’m not exactly surprised that you don’t believe in not hiding your emotions. Not many people do.”
He’s going to reply, when he sees Grillby enter from the back of the bar. He waves at the fire monster in greeting, pleased to see his old friend.
“hey, grillbz, come meet my new human friend.”
Grillby crackles at the sight of him and joins them at their spot in the bar.
“How’s it going, Sans?” he says in raspy English, which he’s taken to speaking more often since getting out of the Underground.
“s’good. hey, this is ____. she’s never tried monster food before. or monster liquor.”
Grillby nods in understanding and turns to you.
“Any preferences?”
You shake your head eagerly.
“Nope! I’ll try whatever. Just, when it comes to alcohol, nothing that’s gonna get me completely hammered.”
Grillby seems pleased with your answer. The two of you give him your food orders and he disappears back into the kitchen. You turn to Sans and wink.
“Hey, your friend’s pretty hot, huh?”
“nice one.”
“So, monster food?”
“what about it?”
You roll your eyes.
“Like, how’s it different from human food?”
“well, it’s made of magic.”
“It’s what?”
“okay, quick monster biology lesson; monsters are made up of magic. you know that, right?”
“Uh, I guess I’ve read that? I wasn’t sure how literal it was, though. They haven’t released that much information on monsters as a whole.”
“monsters are made of magic in kind of a parallel to how you humans are made of elements and shit. our bodies are literally made up entirely of magic, so physical forms are far less important to us than to you humans because we’re sustained through our soul, not our organs or whatever. so we eat food that is almost pure magic and absorb it all. we don’t have to digest it like you do. goes straight to our soul.”
“So you could say it’s like, literal soul food?”
Sans nods, chuckling at the joke.
“So how can I eat it? If it’s not digestible?”
“it is digestible, just not for us. so you can eat it normally. but it’s not gonna go down like anything you’ve had before, trust me.”
“Man. That’s wild. I can’t wait. Still crazy to me that magic and souls and shit are all real.”
“crazy to me that all of you humans grew up thinking it was fake.”
You hum in agreement. Grillby walks back into the room and sets your meal down in front of you both, raising an eyebrow at Sans when you begin to talk a mile a minute once again. Sans shrugs. Why you’re so blatant he doesn’t know, but he’s not surprised that Grillby is confused by it. Most humans are far more cautious with their interactions - not even just with monsters, but with other humans, too. You’re certainly bold and he could understand it coming off a little off-putting. Grillby, though, thankfully, seems to take it in stride, answering your rapid-fire (ha) questions as best he can, and laughing when you make a teasing joke about Sans’s shortcuts. Eventually, he strides off to go deal with a broken plate somewhere on the other side of the bar, and you take your first bite of monster food.
Sans doesn't even try to hide his amusement as he watches your eyebrows practically shoot off your forehead.
“Oh my God, Jesus Christ, oh my God."
“how is it?”
“Kind of.. indescribable,” you say with your mouth full. Sans snickers.
“that bad, huh?”
“No!” You insist. “Really good, actually, but.. wow. It’s.. different.”
He knows what you mean; he’s tried human and monster food before. The difference is profound and difficult to put into words.
“you’re not wrong." You nod enthusiastically, and he changes the subject, eager to ask you about something that's been on his mind for a while. "so, donahue, huh?”
“Mhm. Got some history there.”
“what d’you mean?”
“I’ve taken a couple of his classes before. That’s not my first, um.. confrontation with him. We have a tendency to debate.”
“you really disagree with him that often?”
“Yeah, he’s so cynical! I’m not just gonna sit back and listen to him talk about the absolute hopelessness and irredeemable-ness of humanity while he ignores every little shred of optimism that could stem from any one of his lectures.”
“if you hate him so much, why’d you still take his class?”
You cock your head. “Cause he’s a genius.”
You say it very matter-of-factly, and Sans waits for you to explain, but you just take another bite of your food and groan.
“This is so good. I don’t know how I can go back to human food after this.”
“wait, go back to the donahue thing. you think he’s a genius?”
You look at him like he’s asking you if the sky is blue.
“Um, yeah ? Dude, you’re in his class too. Have you not listened to his lectures?”
“yeah, but i’ve also listened to you tell me multiple times how ridiculous you think his arguments are, a couple times directly to his face. why’d you think he’s a genius?”
“Well,” you take a deep breath. “He’s right. Like, he is right , but only about himself. He thinks that happiness is vacuous? It is. For him, at least. And for me, I guess. But not for everyone else. That’s where we disagree. I’m more optimistic. Even if I know that it’s all stupid and pointless, I also know that most people don’t see it that way, and therefore their happiness can be meaningful. At least they’ll get to see it that way, and that has to count for something, right?”
You look at him expectantly. He’s not sure what you want him to say, exactly, given that what you just came out with was verbose and incoherent due to the sheer lack of context you provided. It sounded more like a web of thoughts you were trying to untangle than an answer to his question.
“...right,” he responds.
You deflate a little.
“I shouldn’t expect you to listen to my ramblings, sorry. Anyway. So, what are you majoring in?”
The rest of the evening is extremely enjoyable. Sans discovers that yes, he really does get along well with this human. She’s a little abrasive, and impulsive, but charming and fun. He notes her continued quirks and oddities in conversation and how bold she is about them. He also notes how cute the permanent pink flush on her features is when she’s tipsy, and how pretty her eyes continue to be. He ends up at home later than expected, and flops down on his bed as soon as he’s in the door. He, for the first time in a while, gets a perfect night’s sleep.