"Nah, I'm asking you got a haircut." Sans glares, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "Look, buddy. Like I said. Let's skip the coy bantering bullshit. Neither of us are exactly newborns here. ... Except me, if you want to get super techni--okay, now you've got me doing it."

Taking a breath, Sans squeezed his nasal bone. He's not used to feeling this scrambled.

"Just tell me what's going on, man."