there’s been this lovely little idea going around about certain sanses switching places, and i had to throw together a drabble about it, because i just can’t get it out of my head….. shout out to lovely artists who have already brought the idea to life <33 (sorry if there are typos…)
cw: lying/manipulation in a relationship, self-hatred
this is sick. this is sick. this is sick.
He stares hard at the ceiling, unwilling to glance down at his chest. The room is too hot. The fan is too loud. He digs his free hand into the soft cushion of the couch, a futile attempt to ground himself. His mind only carries a single mantra:
i am fucking sick.
“—Sans?”
His shoulders spike instantly. He needs to calm down, needs to soften his face before he looks down at you. Your head is nestled against his sternum, your fingers wrapped around one of his lower ribs. Your heavy eyes blink away sleep as you stare up at him. He takes a slow breath.
“heya, sleepyhead,” he says. Does he sound strained? “you done drooling on my jacket yet? heh.”
You smile sheepishly and wipe the corner of your mouth. He laughs. Cups your cheek with his gloved hand. Swipes his thumb against your lips. Lingers against your skin when you lean into his touch.
It’s absolutely sick. It’s awful. He hates himself for it.
“Sorry,” you mumble, voice coarse. “Didn’t mean to use you as my pillow…”
He shakes his head. You shouldn’t apologize to him. Not ever. “nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “i’m just glad i could be of service.”
Your smile is so damn sweet, it almost makes him nauseous. You shift your body to stretch, and he takes the opportunity to burn the feeling of you against him into his memory. The warmth of your skin. The lilt of your voice as you sigh. The fluttering of your pulse. All of it, he’s desperate to never forget.
He feels himself deflate as you reach over to the coffee table to grab your phone. “Damn,” you mumble, “I’ve got work in an hour.”
It’s simply instinct. He can’t help the way his arms suddenly lock around you, trapping you flush against his body. You make a pathetic little sound. Barely even a squeak. Then blink up at him, shocked. Must’ve been too tight. He releases you a second later, allowing you to sit up.
He’s so stupid.
He was doing such a good job, too. Got the voice down perfect, even practiced his dumbass laugh. Kept his smile easy and his hood down, just the way you liked it. He was almost a carbon copy. Almost.
But based on the look on your face, Dust already knows he’s slipped up. He wouldn’t have done grabbed you like that. A pun about work would’ve been the obvious fucking choice…
Damnit, he hasn’t said a pun in the last hour. No wonder you look so worried.
“H-hey,” you say, rubbing his shoulder to console him. “Don’t be too bummed. I’ll be back tonight, okay? We can keep the cuddle sesh going then.”
He nods quickly, staring at the couch. “yeah, ‘course we can. sorry, didn’t mean to squeeze the life outta you there.” That’s not even a joke. He’s horrible at this, damnit. Excuse, he needs an excuse, quickly… “just gets lonely here, without you…”
He watches how your shoulders fall, how your face melts into a pitying smile. He doesn’t deserve it. He tilts his head away, but your soft hands grip his chin gently and turns it back.
“Sans,” you say, and Dust resists the urge to scream, “are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you haven’t really left the house in a few days, you’re ignoring your brother’s calls… You just seem so…”
Sardonic? Disturbing? Unsafe to be around?
“…Sad.” You press your lips together, as if the word was hard to say aloud. “You just seem really sad lately. Is something wrong?”
He lets out a slow breath. Lets himself study the worry in your brow, the scabs on your lips from you biting them from stress. And here he was, thinking he’s been doing a good job. He resists the urge to pull his hoodie up. To hide from you, and every other horrible thing he’s ever done.
This is what he wanted. He repeats this to himself a few times over. He went through all the trouble to get here, and now that he has you… he isn’t letting go. So he’s gotta be convincing, damnit.
He makes up a lie. Not even a very convincing one, but he knows you’re willing to believe whatever he says. Dust explains that it’s just difficult, accepting that he’s finally living life on the surface. That even after years above ground, he still has nightmares about going back. He still feels like the walls around him are closing in around him most days.
Really, it’s not that far off from the truth.
“sometimes, it just feels like one day i’ll wake up, and everything up here will disappear,” he says, doing his best to sound pitiful. Is he milking it? Maybe. “sorry. that’s sort of irrational, isn’t it?”
He has to hide his grin when you melt and gather him into a tight hug. You rub circles into his back. Promise him everything will be okay, that you aren’t going anywhere, that life with you is permanent. And he soaks that shit up like a sponge. When you kiss his forehead, and he tilts his teeth up to meet your lips, he can’t even bring himself to feel bad about it.
After all, doesn’t he deserve this?
Eventually, he’s able to pull himself off of you long enough to convince you to go to work today.
“You sure I shouldn’t stay back? We can watch a movie, I’ll order take-out…” He genuinely snorts when you poke the empty space between his ribs.
“nah, nah, you should go. i’ll hold down the fort.” He thinks hard for a second. “no need for you to become a lazybones, too. heh.” Ugh, terrible. Since when did he become so damn unfunny?
Ah, who cares. You smiled at him. You’ve been waiting on a pun this whole time.
With a firm hand on your waist, he leads you to the front door. Dust sends you off with a wink and a wave, and thankfully, you keep your smile on as you pull out of the driveway. He didn’t mess up too bad, then. But he needs to be more careful.
More relaxed. Sillier, even. You wouldn’t notice again. He’s sure of it.
Dust turns. Feels his soul drop for a second, his bones locking in place. Fuck. He really looks just like him, huh? He waves his hand in front of the mirror in the hallway and shudders. For a moment, he could even fool himself.
He pulls his hood up to shroud his face, unwilling to face himself. Stuffs his hands into a jacket that isn’t even his own. Everything about it is sick, sick, sick.
+++++++++++++++++
i hope you enjoyed :3
