[To hear Papyrus talk was like being wrapped in a blanket too tightly; overwarm and itchy and constricted. Sans loves his brother, loves him more than anything, but the weight of his honesty is enough to send his already dismal posture into a slump.
He can't look at him, focusing instead on the carpet right beside his brother's left boot. For the life of him, he can't think of a single thing to say in response.
His hope for Papyrus was always rooted in the guy's happiness. Getting what Pap needs, first, then what he wants, and seasoning it all with the goofy camaraderie that came with having a brother. A skeleton can't do much other than smile, but even so, seeing an expression of joy on Papyrus's face felt like something. A change he was making in a world entirely resistant to his input.
How many of those grins were not so much earned as given? Because he was too wrapped up in that goal to see just exactly how transparent his decline was to someone like Papyrus, who knew him so well? Since they were kids?
They've always looked after each other, sure. But it was never supposed to be like this, and Sans can't help feeling the urge to take a shortcut anywhere but here.
He's still staring at that little patch of carpet. The thread is almost worn bare, and Sans can't help relating.]
I'm sorry. [He finally manages, voice husked out and soft before finally looking up. His own smile is firmly in place, easy and relaxed and practiced.] I never meant to make you feel that way, Pap. I mean it. You don't gotta worry about me so much. I'm fine.
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He can't look at him, focusing instead on the carpet right beside his brother's left boot. For the life of him, he can't think of a single thing to say in response.
His hope for Papyrus was always rooted in the guy's happiness. Getting what Pap needs, first, then what he wants, and seasoning it all with the goofy camaraderie that came with having a brother. A skeleton can't do much other than smile, but even so, seeing an expression of joy on Papyrus's face felt like something. A change he was making in a world entirely resistant to his input.
How many of those grins were not so much earned as given? Because he was too wrapped up in that goal to see just exactly how transparent his decline was to someone like Papyrus, who knew him so well? Since they were kids?
They've always looked after each other, sure. But it was never supposed to be like this, and Sans can't help feeling the urge to take a shortcut anywhere but here.
He's still staring at that little patch of carpet. The thread is almost worn bare, and Sans can't help relating.]
I'm sorry. [He finally manages, voice husked out and soft before finally looking up. His own smile is firmly in place, easy and relaxed and practiced.] I never meant to make you feel that way, Pap. I mean it. You don't gotta worry about me so much. I'm fine.