Listening with an easy sort of distance, Sans nods along as if he's listening to a radio drama of someone else's life. It all makes a lot more sense when you stop ascribing it to yourself and start imagining the concepts attached to a nebulous, nameless third party.

Papyrus' name ruins the illusion, and Sans shrinks slightly into his hoodie. He hadn't talked to Papyrus, as a matter of fact. Not since putting him to bed in a hallway after both of them happily danced around what actually happened.

No use interrupting just to play the sad sack, though. Steven's speech is still just ramping up, after all.

"Heh." There's something close to genuine mirth in Sans' sockets, despite how weighed down they are by the enormity of the day. "Nice one, kid. Gluin' 'em down... I gotta try that."

A beat.

"... And you're okay?"