#pizza grease should NOT be any where near my potatoes

[godlesslostsoul]

Something I’ll never be over is when I was at in-patient rehab after surgery someone put my pizza on top of my mashed potatoes and expected me to eat it

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 4)

part one | part two | part three

Compared to the all day insanity of his livestream, Lance’s 23rd birthday is super laid back. Hunk makes the hour drive into Harborville and the three of them hit his favorite pizza joint. It’s not as good as the one back home on Varadero Beach, but it’s a close second. After that they spend the rest of the day in he and Pidge’s living room playing horror games and snuggling together on the couch (let it be known that Hunk is a world class cuddler and his hugs can cure most ailments). He spends an hour on facetime with his family, retreating to his room at one point to talk to his mom and dad alone. He misses them so much, even though he was just there. He comes out of his room sniffling a little and lets Hunk scoop him up like a ragdoll.

Once July is over, Lance finds his schedule suddenly packed. His subscriber count is starting to inch towards twenty five thousand and he has to sit down and process that for a while. It doesn’t seem real. That’s a fourth of the way to a silver creator award - he never dreamed he’d get that far just making weird videos and singing parody songs.

But to what end? Does he want a youtube career? This was just supposed to be a fun hobby. Not that he wants to work at the cafe the rest of his life, but his associate’s degree in social sciences has sort of been going to waste. He might be able to use youtube as a stepping stone into something else.

But what?

He would normally consult Pidge, but she’s slammed with robotics projects and barely has time to hang out at all. Hunk is still online sometimes, but he’s frequently occupied since he finally grew a spine and asked Shay out after pining for her at a distance for almost a year.

Like how you’re pining for Keith, his inner monologue tells him. He shakes his head to shut it up. Besides, Lance has only been pining for what, four, maybe five months? Not nearly as bad.

Speaking of Keith, Lance hasn’t heard much from him since the Livestream. He never responded to Lance’s text thanking him, and he hasn’t played Overwatch in a while. Shiro had recently posted a video where they were finishing up their current bike and Keith had been there (looking amazing and wow is his hair getting long), so Lance knows he’s alive. A weird sense of dread starts gnawing at him, so he sends Keith a DM on twitter.

@LanceyLance to @k_redlion Hey man just checking in, haven’t heard from you in a while, you good? We should play OW soon, I miss my dps partner ;D

He hopes that’s not too forward. While he waits for a reply (and so he doesn’t anxiously check his twitter every two minutes), Lance starts working on the guitar part of a Hozier song he wants to cover, and he’s never been more glad that he took the time to learn how to read and write music. Lance’s channel has been featuring more love songs - for which Pidge and Hunk have collectively nicknamed him Captain Subtlety. But does it matter how not-subtle he is if none of it seems to be getting through to his intended target?

He spends a good two hours practicing and then takes a break, finally letting himself check his twitter. There’s a reply from Keith and Lance almost jumps up from his chair.

@k_redlion to @LanceyLance yeah man sorry just been really busy with work and the garage i’m free this thursday if you want to play

He’s not technically free. He was planning on filming on Thursday since Pidge will be out of the apartment almost all day and he won’t bother her. But for Keith? He’ll make time.

@LanceyLance to @k_redlion Heck yeah man just name a time!!

When they do play on Thursday, Keith isn’t very talkative. He’s always sort of quiet, but he sounds tense today. His words are even more clipped, and it sets Lance on edge. They’re in a queue for a game when Lance decides he can’t take any more.

“Dude,” He asks. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Yeah, right, Lance thinks. But he’s gotta approach this carefully. Keith doesn’t open up easily, he knows that much, and attempting to force it out of him would likely backfire.

“Hey,” he says carefully. “I know we’re not, like, super close, but you can tell me if something’s wrong. I’m actually really good at keeping secrets.”

There’s a bit of silence, then a tiny breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Like how you told the entire internet that Pidge pukes in the car if she reads anything other than road signs?”

Lance makes an indignant sound. “Oh come on, that’s not a secret! Anyone who’s been in a car with her for five minutes knows she’s has the stomach strength of a toddler!”

Keith laughs then, and it’s such a nice sound, even if it’s short lived. It breaks the tension enough that Lance feels confident about trying again.

“But seriously, Keith. I’m here for you, yeah?” Lance chews on his lip. “I hope that’s okay for me to say.”

There’s a stretch of quiet that has Lance almost breaking out into a sweat. But then he hears Keith huff over the mic. “Yeah,” Keith says, and it sounds like there’s a smile behind it. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”

.

Lance gets another invite from Shiro.

It’s perfect timing because Pidge is finishing her summer term and is completely fried - something only a trip home will fix. And since she doesn’t have a car, Lance has the perfect excuse to drive her. With his neighbors set to watch his cats, they pile in Lance’s Civic, put on a playlist of Disney songs, and sing for nearly the entire drive. Pidge is damn near loopy after her final exam, but she finished her robotics project and most likely aced it. Like she does every exam. Lance doubts she’s ever seen anything lower than an A- on anything.

The Holts are just as chipper as always, even if Pidge collapses face-first into her father as soon as she steps through the door. He just pats her head and laughs. Lance brings their stuff inside so Pidge can take a much needed nap, then shoots a text to Shiro letting him know they got in okay.  They’re not set to film for another two days, but maybe he can sneak some hang-out time in there. Until then, everyone under the Holt family roof is on Pidge pampering duty.

Filming day comes and Lance brings a cake for them all to share. He pulls up to the house and parks on the street, noting that the house garage is open. Keith is inside, bent over a motorcycle and surrounded by parts and tools, looking so focused that he doesn’t seem to notice Lance approaching. He’s wearing a tank top and sweats and is covered in grease, but he still looks good, so Lance doesn’t say anything for a second and admires the view. Keith’s phone is perched on a toolbox nearby, playing music - Massive Attack. Of course he would listen to Massive Attack.

Keith finally notices him and stiffens, turning. With the cake in his arms, Lance can’t really wave, so he just shrugs and smiles. Keith eyes him up and down for a second before pointing to the door inside the garage.

“Head on in, Shiro’s in the kitchen.”

When he gets inside, Shiro stands from the kitchen table to take the cake from Lance and pull him into a hug. Lance thinks he’ll never get used to that. Keith wanders in a minute later and goes straight for the back of the house to shower and change.

Shiro looks to be in good health, as does Keith, though he’s not really meeting Lance’s eyes. Did he do something wrong? They drive to Shiro’s rented garage a few miles away and shoot for almost five hours, switching camera duty between the three of them. They get a hilarious outtake when Lance drops a socket wrench and juggles it spectacularly before it falls to the floor and bounces at least a dozen times - like something out of a cartoon. It sets them all laughing.

Once they’re done filming, Shiro locks up the garage and they head home. Then it’s time for dinner, barbecue again, but Lance isn’t complaining. He gets put on corn and potato detail while Shiro gets the grill going. Keith still isn’t being very talkative. He doesn’t seem to be actively avoiding Lance, but he thought they’d gotten to a point where they could chat candidly.

Kosmo provides a nice distraction while they eat, giving both Lance and Keith something else to focus on. As the sun sets, Lance could swear that Shiro is giving him a weird look.

“So,” Shiro begins. “Pidge is almost done with school, right?”

Lance nods. “Yep. Finishing almost a year early, even. Not that I’d expect any less from her.”

Shiro picks at a slice of pork loin. “What is she going to do next?”

Lance pouts, then shrugs. “Dunno. She’s got her eye on Boston Dynamics, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if they welcome her with a red carpet. Have you seen her thesis? I can’t even pronounce half the title.”

Shiro laughs. “Yeah, she’s a Holt alright. Geniuses, the whole family.” There’s a pause. “And what about you, Lance?”

Oof. That sure is a topic. Lance leans back in his lawn chair and finishes his beer. “Beats me. I stayed in Harborville after school because Pidge wanted a roommate, but I don’t really have anything else going for me there.” He picks at a loose thread on his jeans. “I can sort of work from anywhere? Dunno if I want to stay in a college town.”

Shiro nods with a smile, then glances at his phone. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, then ducks back into the house, closing the sliding glass door behind him.

Now it’s just Lance and Keith.

And Keith is giving him A Look. He’s not sure what to make of it, his thick eyebrows pinched over his nose like Lance just grew a second head.

“Uh,” Lance says. “Something wrong?”

Keith opens and closes his mouth several times, then is suddenly very interested in his plate. “You wouldn’t go with her?” He asks.

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Pidge? I mean, I could, I guess...? But I doubt she’d really need me. That woman is going places, y’know? She’s probably pretty eager to be on her own for the first time, especially after living with me for three years.” He laughs a little. “Though I won’t be surprised if she attempts to take one of my cats. Motoko always did like her more than me.”

Keith looks up at Lance and he looks so confused. Adorably confused. “Uh.”

Lance studies him. “Yeah��?”

Keith is chewing on the inside of his cheek a little. “Isn’t -- isn’t Pidge your girlfriend?”

Lance would have choked if he wasn’t so used to that question. “Haha, oh man, no.” He reaches for another beer from the ice chest. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Pidge and would take a bullet for her any day of the week, but she’s like a sister to me.”

Surprise is slowly dawning on Keith’s face. “Oh.” Then he starts blushing.

“Hey man, don’t sweat it,” Lance assures him. “Pretty much everyone thinks we’re an item. No one believes a guy and a girl can live together and not be dating.”

Keith looks so uncomfortable, his face and ears red. “Sorry. I thought - and then in your livestream you said you weren’t single, so…”

“Huh? When did--” But then Lance remembers his line about his heart being spoken for and now he’s blushing too. “Oh, right. Nah, I just tell that to fans, in case anyone tries to get too close. Which some have. It saves me a lot of headache to just pretend I’m seeing someone.”

He swears Keith’s eyes are glittering. “So you’re…?”

Lance nods. “Yep, completely unattached.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long stretch of quiet that has Lance fidgeting as Keith keeps looking up at him from behind his bangs. He thought Lance was taken? Is that why he’s been awkward? Or is Lance reading too much into this yet again? He shouldn’t say anything, he should keep his mouth shut and wait for Keith --

Shiro picks the perfect moment to return to the back patio and rescue him. They chat for another hour and Keith has visibly loosened up, laughing loudly at Lance’s jokes and stories. When he says goodnight to make the short drive to the Holt home, Keith smiles wide at him, and it takes Lance’s breath away.

.

They only stay in town for another two days, and Lance spends more time with the Holts. On their way out, they swing by Shiro’s to say goodbye. Keith still doesn’t hug him, but he grips Lance’s hand tight and holds his gaze with those crazy intense eyes of his.

Pidge naps for most of the drive so Lance puts on one of his favorite mixes and hums along.

They have another two weeks before Pidge starts her last term of undergrad, so Lance throws himself into YouTube. The filming he did at Shiro’s was enough for three episodes, and thankfully one of them includes Lance dropping the socket wrench. He can’t even be embarrassed when he sees Shiro laughing in the footage.

He spends three days recording before finally posting his newest cover - “Like Real People Do.” He worked really hard on this one, recording several tracks to mix together and several camera angles. Lance splices it all together in his editing software to make a little music video, and, as a last touch, puts it all in black and white. He posts it and crosses his fingers, making an announcement tweet about it.

Keith likes that tweet and Lance melts into the couch.

Pidge rolls her eyes from the other couch, looking up from the giant book she considered ‘light reading.’ Lance had told her the tale of Keith thinking he was dating her, and Pidge took on her classic Resting Bitch Face in response.

“I’d say you’re like a lovesick puppy, but I feel like even they wouldn’t be this bad.”

Lance doesn’t even look up. “Let me have this.”

Pidge huffs and makes a vague gesture with her hands. “Lance. For the love of all that is sacred, please get your shit together and ask him out already.”

But Lance pouts. “But what if I’m seeing this all wrong?” he toys with his phone a little. “He’s super withdrawn and I haven’t known him for very long. What if this is just how he acts when he finally trusts someone? He hasn’t exactly flirted with me or anything.”

Pidge turns a page in her book. “Won’t know until you try.”

Sinking further into the couch, Lance sets his phone aside and continues pouting until it’s time to make dinner.

After he disappears into the kitchen and Pidge starts hearing the rattle of pots and pans, she takes out her phone and opens the text app.

(+328) shiro this is pidge. i need to talk to you

(+770) Hi Pidge! Everything okay?

(+328) in the grand scheme of things yes. i am however about to either lose my mind or commit homicide against my roommate

(+770) Lance?

(+328) shiro. listen. lance is hopelessly in love with your brother and if i have to put up with his pining for my last term i might flunk out from sheer frustration

(+328) he refuses to ask keith out because he’s convinced that he’s misreading it and keith isn’t interested. please tell me hes wrong

(+770) Oh wow

(+770) ahahaha

(+770) Oh my god, this is hilarious.

(+770) Keith is completely smitten with Lance, but won’t do anything about it for the same reason.

(+328) oh my god

(+328) theyre perfect for each other

(+770) Yep.

(+328) but i think it’s time for an intervention

(+328) before i do something ill regret

(+770) I agree. Any ideas?

(+328) yes actually

.

Continued in part 5 here!

[popatochisssp]

Fur a Good Time, Call... 4/15

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Papyrus & Reader, HT!Sans & HT!Papyrus Chapter Warnings: none

You work at an animal shelter. You love all your fuzzy buddies and can’t imagine a better job for yourself than looking after cats and dogs all day, even when the work is hard and often gross. What can you say? You’ve got a lot of love to give!

You’re just not quite sure yet how you feel about the new monster who’s been helping out these days, and this riddle wrapped up in an enigma is something you just can’t resist investigating…

AO3 Link

Bone Appétit

You’d always known your lack of etiquette-related knowledge was going to get you into trouble.

…alright, well, maybe not always, but you’d had a feeling that not knowing Proper Adulting Protocols might be a problem for you at some point and done absolutely nothing about it, so your current predicament was entirely your fault.

It had all started with Papyrus.

You had sent him a text shortly after your first meeting, asking after his availability to meet up—and he’d immediately called you back.

Unlike his brother, who was happy to text at all hours of the day and night, it turned out that Papyrus was more of a phone person who would always just rather talk.

To be fair, it was a lot easier for you to tell him all about the nice little park nearby that you knew about over the phone, and it had made for a pretty damn cinematic reunion spot for you and Buddy when you all finally made time to meet.

It made you smile to remember the way your dog friend had gone absolutely fucking nuts when he saw you for the first time in over a week, wiggling and whining and straining so hard against his harness to get to you that if it had been anyone but Papyrus holding his leash, you might’ve been worried.

You’d already pretty much known it, but you’d since confirmed the undeniable truth: Papyrus was a really cool guy!

Your little park hangouts started to become a regular thing and even considering you had a dog as a social buffer, the conversation between you came so naturally that you think becoming friends with this skeleton was an inevitability, with or without Buddy.

Papyrus was genuinely incredible at carrying a conversation. He filled awkward spaces like a professional and introduced new topics with ease when the old ones dried up; things you felt you’d always struggled to do yourself. He was also a beacon of cheer and optimism the likes of which you’d never met and it seemed like just being near him was enough to brighten your mood on a rotten day.

That may have been another family trait. Sans had a similar effect on you, only he didn’t even have to be in the room with you to do it. You doubt that from anyone else, a picture of a baked potato fallen on the carpet and the single word ‘dang’ texted at 1:47 AM could’ve brought you to literal tears of laughter like it did coming from Sans.

You: Oh no, that’s so sad!

PUNbelievable: [IMG-42]

You: OMG, you’re still eating it?! Pick the dust-bunny off, first!

PUNbelievable: can’t, it’s fiber.

You: No!!!

Among other things, Sans was a great catalyst for a lot of your chats with Papyrus—when topics of his schoolwork got too technical for you to follow, or the latest news in monster politics and what negotiations King Gerson was involved in ran thin, Sans was always a staple to fall back on.

If Sans loved to gush about his brother, then Papyrus loved to gossip about his in equal measure, something you took full and shameless advantage of.

PUNbelievable: hey, why’d you tell Papyrus about the garlic powder sweetener thing? i thought we were cool?

You: You think you can put garlic in your coffee, choke on the first sip, and then try to insist to me that it’s better that way and down the whole thing and I WOULDN’T tell your brother you did it?

You: Besides, he told me how you only started drinking ketchup as a gag and then got hooked, I felt like I owed him a funny story back.

PUNbelievable: oh my god, you’re ganging up on me. i feel so attacked right now.

PUNbelievable: [IMG-54] look, your son is heartbroken that you could be so evil.

You: What were you holding above your head to make Buddy do that face for you?

PUNbelievable: pizza.

You: Well did you give him any?

PUNbelievable: lil bit.

It was talking about Sans that had gotten you into this situation, though.

“You Go To The Same Place For Lunch Every Day?” Papyrus had asked, somewhat incredulous. “Wowie, It Must Be Quite The Restaurant!”

You had paused in the middle of pressing smooches to Buddy’s forehead, turning to the big lanky skeleton squished onto the park bench beside you. “Well, it’s cheap,” you admitted, “which is most of it, but Sans and I really like it so yeah, I guess it’s good!”

Papyrus was suddenly squinting at you from behind his glasses. “Wait. Sans Likes It? Oh No, It’s A Grease-Trap, Isn’t It?”

“Ehhh…” You couldn’t really find the words to deny it. None that weren’t outright lies, anyway.

“Oh My God, That’s Terrible!” Papyrus lamented, a hand pressed dramatically to his skull. “You Can’t Live On Grease! Well… You Can, But You Really Shouldn’t! Do You At Least Eat Actual Food For Dinner?”

You had snorted, ruffling Buddy’s fur. “Actual food as opposed to… what, fake food?”

“Yes!” Papyrus had thrown a toy for Buddy to fetch and your only hope of distraction had practically sprinted out of your hands after it. “Frozen Meals, Microwaved Stuff, Things You’d See In A Gas Station Convenience Store And Wonder If It’s Marked Down So Low Because It Expired Two Years Ago.”

“………” Papyrus had just described half of your kitchen and pantry. “Well…”

“Oh My God,” he’d sighed. “I Suppose I Should’ve Known If You’re Friends With My Brother, But If You’re My Friend, Too, You Can’t Eat Garbage AllThe Time! I Can’t Allow It!”

Your little traitor returned and you’d busied your hands playing tug-of-war with his toy. “I don’t have many other options,” you told Papyrus. “I’m no chef and I like to have something actually edible after work, so it’s kinda pre-made or nothing.”

Papyrus had looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then settled firmly on a conclusion.

“Then You’re Coming Over To Our House For Dinner,” he’d declared. “When Are You Free?”

And that was the story of how you’d ended up here, at a nearby drugstore at what felt like the last possible moment, trying to figure out whether you were going to buy something or not.

You were pretty sure that housewarming gifts were still a thing, but Sans and Papyrus hadn’t just moved into their house. Were you still supposed to bring something?

It was your first time formally seeing the place, and you were going to be a dinner guest, so that was probably enough to warrant a gift…? Right?

You knew a bottle of wine was usually the go-to for things like this, but then also, neither of your friends had struck you as big drinkers. The last thing you wanted was to give them something they’d put in a cupboard and never use, but that also crossed off the only thing you knew for sure was generally expected and accepted.

You’d been aimlessly wandering around the store for awhile now, much longer than you’d wanted to be here when the whole gift-thing had occurred to you. If you kept this up, the employees were probably going to think you were here to steal something.

Okay, come on, you’re making this too hard. Just… get something small, you decided. Something they’d like, the first thing you see, just do it!

Papyrus ended up being easy enough to choose for once you forced yourself to stop over-thinking. A fuzzy desk succulent in a cute little pot had jumped out at you right away and it now sat innocently in your basket while you did one more lap around the store, looking for something to join it.

It was proving a lot harder to turn off your brain and just pick something for Sans, though, which frustrated you to no end.

(It had surely nothing at all to do with your very small and totally negligible crush on the guy, and how you wanted to somehow impress him with a thoughtful gift that you carefully chose in ten minutes on the way over to his house.)

Sans is a simple guy, you reasoned with yourself. This should be easy, just think of what he likes!

Well, obviously, Sans liked food, but it seemed a little gauche to bring snacks to a homemade dinner.

He liked cats, but there wasn’t exactly a surplus of cat-related merchandise here. Besides, it felt a little like a betrayal to bring a cat-thing to the house where your dog-son, as Sans kept insisting, lived full-time.

God, what else does he like?!

You were near some office supplies now and sighed deeply. You were unlikely to find anything good over here unless Sans had some deep, abiding love for colorful paperclips that he never told you about.

You had almost completely turned away from the aisle when you saw the basket of paperweights.

As soon as you picked up one of the smooth stones and read the ‘motivational’ text on it, you knew.

“It’s perfect.”

The weight plopped into your basket and you happily hurried up to the front to pay for your items.

All you had to do now was get there on time, and you were golden.

-

You actually managed to be early! Stress really did fudge your perception of time, apparently.

Papyrus had given you great directions and you found the house without any trouble. It was a little small but in good repair and in the middle of what seemed to be a very nice neighborhood.

You’d been assured you’d know which house to go to as soon as you saw it, and with the cute string of fairy lights wrapped decoratively around the fence of just one abode you were pretty sure you were in the right place.

With your gifts in hand you go up to the door and knock, hoping you’re not too early and no one’s ready to answer the door.

You shouldn’t have worried, of course: ‘too early’ is an oxymoron for Papyrus who throws the door open and greets you with his usual enthusiasm right away.

“Welcome To Our Home!” he says, ushering you inside. “It’s Such A Pleasure To Have You Over!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” you agree. You’d seen more of the inside of this place than the outside, through pictures, but it was so much nicer to see it in person. Their house had such a warm, homey vibe to it that just didn’t come through in background glimpses on your phone.

A vibe that was totally disrupted when Papyrus very loudly announced to no one that you’d arrived.

Oh, maybe not no one. The pronouncement of your name had claws skittering distantly on some tile and much, much closer the snort of somebody just waking up.

Buddy burst into the room to wiggle excitedly at your feet just in time for a very sleepy-looking Sans to sit up and lean over the couch he’d been napping on and wave a little ‘hey.’

He might’ve almost looked cool doing it if his hoodie-string hadn’t found its way into his eye-socket sometime during his nap and he had to awkwardly fish it out right in front of you.

“Sweet dreams?” you couldn’t help but tease.

“nah, i don’t dream,” Sans said distractedly. He spotted the objects in your hands. “what’cha got there?”

“Oh, I brought gifts!”

“Oh My Goodness, How Courteous,” Papyrus exclaimed. “You Certainly Didn’t Have To Do That!”

“They’re small,” you promised. “It’s just a little ‘thank you’ for having me over!”

You held out the succulent to Papyrus, who gasped loudly.

“Oh, Very Little!” He took it from you and held it up to admire it. The plant in its tiny ceramic pot had fit in your palm, but Papyrus could hold it in just the tips of his long bony fingers. “It’s So Cute! And Thoughtful! Thank You, I Love It!”

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen Sans’ gift.”

You passed the paperweight over to a curious Sans, still hanging over the back of the couch.

He took one look at it and immediately dissolved into ugly, wheezing laughter that made you downright giddy with pride.

While he was losing his shit, he helpfully flipped it over to show his brother the writing on it.

‘NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN STONE’

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Oh No, That’s Great, Too!” Papyrus assured you. “I Love Irony!”

“it’s perfect, i’ll cherish it forever.”

You smiled…and then the sight of Sans holding the rock sparked an elusive memory in your head.

“Like you cherished Rocky?”

Sans had been lucky until now. Even once you’d started hanging out with Papyrus on the regular, you always seemed to forget to ask about the fabled ex-pet and cursed yourself at home later for letting it slip your mind again and again.

Not this time!

“Oh My God, I Should’ve Known That Would Come Up Sooner Or Later.”

You watched Papyrus kneel, fondly brushing over Buddy’s fur. “Listen,” he said to you, very seriously. “I Promise You, You Don’t Have To Worry About Our Dog’s Safety.”

“…” Wait, what? “I don’t?”

“Not At All! Buddy Is Being Very Well Taken Care Of Here, I Am In Charge Of His Mealtimes,” he told you with a pointed glare at his brother. “And Buddy Is Never Outside Without A Leash Or In-Yard Supervision, So There Is No Chance Of A Rocky Repeat!”

…oh my god.

“Oh, that’s…good to know,” you managed to get out. “Very comforting.”

“Good, I Strive To Be Comforting At All Times!” Papyrus stood, his attention back on his new little succulent. “Please Excuse Me For A Moment, I Need To Put This Where It Will Get The Best Light.”

And then Papyrus went off to squirrel his gift away, totally oblivious to the turmoil he’d just caused in your mind.

“…………Oh my god.”

Sans lost it again, practically cackling at you even as he pocketed his newest rock.

“Rocky was real?!”

“i told you he was,” Sans snickered, shaking his head. “you really gotta start trustin’ me more, jeez.”

Your mind was blown. Your world-view shaken.

Clearly, the only solution was to pet a dog.

You went around to the front side of the couch and plopped down on the floor where Buddy immediately swarmed over to you now that you were on his level.

“Hi, Buddy, good boy,” you cooed, letting him sniff and lick at your face. “At least you make sense.”

You may have gotten a little absorbed in scritching and snuggling because eventually Sans interrupted. “hey, i’m here, too, y’know.”

You spared him a sidelong glance. “What, you want a belly rub, too? Ear scratch?”

“sounds like a neat trick, wanna try it?”

He actually leaned down a little bit, tilting his head in invitation. You laughed but…what the hell, why not? If he was cool with it…

You reach up and give the unbroken side of his head a little scratch. You think this might be the first time you’ve actually touched him without cloth in the way and the texture of his skull is a lot smoother than you would’ve guessed; more polished and almost soft. Your nails don’t catch on any scrapes or divots at all and you wonder if all his bones feel the same way.

Which is… wow, a lot more suggestive-sounding than you intended it.

Feeling needlessly bashful about it, you pull your hand back. “How was that?”

Sans didn’t seem quite so affected. “for an ear scratch with no ears involved? it was great, a for effort.”

“Gee thanks,” you scoffed. “See if I go for the belly rub after a rousing motivational speech like that!”

There’s not much small-talk to make waiting for Papyrus to get back. You had both just seen each other at the shelter earlier in the day and not much has come up to talk about in the handful of hours you’ve been apart.

Sans does tell you that his brother has been looking forward to this dinner all week, though, and he thanks you for coming.

Unnecessary, as far as you’re concerned. “What, like I’m gonna turn down dinner at my three best friends’ place? Come on.”

And oh, look at that, you’d made Sans blush again. Stars, it was downright adorable the way he turned blue and pretended like he totally wasn’t, with that shy little, ‘eheheheheh’ of his.

He really had to quit doing that. It wasn’t exactly helping you forget about your crush that definitely wasn’t a big deal at all.

Papyrus saved you both with his return. He didn’t ask or even seem to notice anything unusual about the fact that you were on the floor with the dog, and you admired his ability to roll with the punches.

“There, All Settled! Now, As Much As I Admire And Appreciate Your Earliness, It Does Mean That Dinner Isn’t Quite Ready Yet…”

“That’s fine, I’m not in a hurry!” you assured.

“Well, That’s Good, Because Even If You Were, It Wouldn’t Cook Any Faster!”

“Is there anything I can do to help out?”

Papyrus seemed visibly startled. “Really? You Want To?”

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind. I’m not great in the kitchen but I do have an extra pair of hands, if they’d help. Besides,” you added, “I think I’d get antsy sitting around not helping while you did all the work!”

Papyrus clasped his hands over his chest and fixed you with a beaming smile. “I Knew There Was A Reason I Liked You!” he said. “Sans, Take Notes, This Is The Thing You Need To Practice.”

At the mere mention of doing something, Sans flopped back onto the couch. “yeah, okay, cool, i’m note-taking right now.”

Papyrus squinted at him. “You’re Going To Sleep Again.”

“nah, i’m takin’ the notes on my eyelids.”

“You Don’t Even Have Eyelids!”

A loud snore was Sans’ response.

You laughed even as Papyrus let out the most comically frustrated noise you’d ever heard.

You’d only hung out with these guys separately before and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for how hilarious they were together.

“Come on, Pap,” you chuckle, getting to your feet. “Leave him be, he did some stuff at work today. Let’s go check on dinner.”

Papyrus relents and you follow him into the kitchen, where it looks like he’s making pasta.

You’re a little relieved—that’s a pretty easy dish that even you can help with, so you ask him what he’d like for you to do.

Your job, he tells you, is to watch the noodles and stir occasionally until they’re ready. He’ll be busy throwing together the accompanying salad, apparently made up of veggies from his very own garden.

If he was trying to impress you, he’s absolutely succeeded.

You alternate between watching the noodles cook and watching Papyrus chop fresh greens. His cuts are swift and even with obvious skill behind them and you feel like this man could’ve easily become a professional chef.

“Sans said you don’t cook much these days,” you said. “I think I feel a little honored that you’re doing it now just so I didn’t go home and eat a frozen gas station burrito instead.”

“Ugh.” Papyrus paused mid-slice, looking to the ceiling as if begging for divine intervention. “I Knew, I Knew You Were Eating Crud Like That.” He pointed the knife in his hand at you, mock-threatening. “You Better Not Let Me Catch You With That Garbage!”

You raised your hand, a parody of scouts’ honor. “I solemnly swear, Papyrus, you will not catch me.”

He sighed. “That’s The Best I’m Going To Get, Hmm?” You playfully shrugged and he went back to chopping a cucumber. “Well, Fine. But Of Course I’m Going To Cook If You’re Coming Over To Visit! It’s A Very Important Step In Friendship-Building, You Know!”

“Is it?”

“The Most Important! I Used To Make Spaghetti All The Time Underground, Literal Oodles Of Noodles! My Friend Taught Me The Recipe And Our Cooking Lessons Were Wonderful Bonding Experiences!”

“Wow, that must’ve been some good spaghetti.”

“Oh, Not At All,” Papyrus told you. “It Was Terrible, She Didn’t Know The Recipe, Either. But We Had Fun Making It Anyway!”

You stifled a laugh. “Why’d you keep making it if you guys didn’t even know how?”

“Cooking Underground Was Much Harder Than It Is Up Here, With All Your Syndicated Food Shows On TV And Those Recipe Blogs On Your Human Internet,” he said, flapping his hand dismissively. “We Had A Cooking Program That Aired Sometimes, But It Was Pretty…Erm…Unique. Not Very Replicable In One’s Own Home. And We Had The Undernet, But It Was A Lot Better For Social Media Than Anything Else. Basically, If You Wanted To Learn How To Make Something, Your Best Bet Was To Know Someone Who Already Knew How To Make It And Have Them Teach You.”

“And if you didn’t?” you wondered.

“Trial And Error! And Lots Of It!” He grinned a little. “Honestly, It Was Mostly Error, But It Was Hard Finding People To Taste-Test And Give Useful Suggestions. All I Had Was Sans, And I’m Sure You Know By Now, He’s Disgusting. I’ve Seen Him Eat Mayonnaise With A Spoon, Directly Out Of The Jar. I Can’t Rely On Anything He Says As Useful Critique!”

“Garlic coffee,” you agreed, sadly shaking your head.

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Exactly! Please Don’t Worry About The Quality Of This Spaghetti,” he added as an afterthought, “I’ve Studied Plenty Of Actual Recipes By Now With Only The Highest Amount Of Stars Given In Reviews!”

“I wasn’t worried. I’m sure Master Chef Papyrus has something great cooking, literally.”

He laughed but you could tell he was flattered and patted yourself on the back for making him happy.

It seemed to you that the noodles were just about done and Papyrus came to take over the pot from you when you said as much, because he didn’t have any skin to potentially scald with hot water— unlike your poor fragile human self.

You watched him drain the noodles in a steady, practiced motion, admiring his general grace when he spoke again.

“Not That You Asked, But I Prefer Not To Keep Many Secrets From My Friends And… Well, We Are Friends, Aren’t We?”

“Definitely,” you agreed in a heartbeat.

Papyrus smiled. “Then Because You’re My Friend, I Don’t Mind Telling You That The Reason I Don’t Cook As Much As I Used To Is That I Have Some…” He paused a moment. “Well, The Word My Therapist Used Was ‘Trigger,’ Is That A Term That People Use Outside Of Therapy?”

You try to school your expression to something neutral at the sudden turn. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then I Have Some Triggers That Are Kitchen-Related, So It’s Usually Just Easier To Avoid The Situation As A Whole. For Mental Health Reasons!”

Your neutral expression fails, crumpling into a concerned frown. “Papyrus, I don’t want you risking your mental health for my sake.”

“I’m Not!” he cheerfully assures you. “It’s Only Certain Things In The Kitchen, And This Is All Very Safe. I’ve Never Had A Reaction Around Vegetables Or Pasta… Which Is Great Because I’m Not Sure I’d Know What To Do With Myself If I Couldn’t Prepare My Signature Dish For My Very Cool Friend!”

That’s a relief. “Alright, as long as you’re not putting yourself out.”

(You realize, of course, by process of elimination, that raw meat is probably the thing that triggers Papyrus. You don’t need to ask why and you don’t intend to.)

“It’s nice to know you’re looking out for your mental health,” you add, with genuine sincerity. “Do you and Sans see the same person?”

“Hmm?”

“For therapy,” you explain. “Sans doesn’t come in to the shelter every day. Is he your ride to the office on the other days? Or… are you his? I feel like you would be his, I can’t imagine him taking on that much responsibility.”

Papyrus is…suspiciously quiet, busying himself with food-plating and not meeting your eye.

You backtrack a little. “You don’t have to answer or anything, if it’s private. I totally get that, no hard feelings…”

“Mmm…Sans…” Papyrus says haltingly, “Doesn’t Go. To Therapy.”

“…Oh.”

That… wow, that really sits badly with you.

Sans is a grown skeleton. You know that, of course you do, and you especially know that you have no authority whatsoever to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do. If he’s not seeing a therapist, that’s his business and should be totally fine.

But…

You saw the news reports. When monsters had first surfaced. The pictures that came out… of the monsters who’d escaped and the desolate, horrific prison they’d escaped from…

There was no other way to put it: it was bad and everything humanity had seen of it had only been the aftermath. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of grisly day-to-day these poor people had suffered through and you weren’t alone in knowing that—there was a reason health care had been the quickest thing humanity facilitated for monsters, physical and mental.

The fact that your very good friend lived through the Underground and isn’t getting any kind of counseling…

It doesn’t feel right. You really don’t like it.

At the same time though, you’re not sure how you’d even begin to express that thought. Anything you can think to say would come off as the worst kind of pushy; like you could possibly know best at something you really knew nothing about, or had any kind of right to dictate what he should do just because you were friends.

Instead, you decide to just…bite your tongue.

Papyrus is far too sharp for you, though. Without you having to say a word, he seemed to read every thought in your facial expression with a single glance.

“No, I Know, I Agree,” he told you. “I Would Love For Him To See A Therapist, Too. It’s Really Helped Me, It Would Be Nice If He Could…. But Also…He Has His Reasons For Not Going. I Thought He Was Just Being Stubborn, At First, But… His Reasons Are Actually Good Ones.” Papyrus grimaced a bit, looking at you beseechingly. “You Said I Didn’t Have To Answer If It Was Private. Would You Be Satisfied If I Told You The Reasons Why Are Private?”

“Of course,” you agree immediately. You don’t understand what a good reason could be, in a situation like this, but if it’s private, you know it’s not your place to understand.

Papyrus looked infinitely relieved by your answer. “Then The Reasons Are Private. But, Don’t Worry Too Much About Sans, He’s Almost As Tough As I Am! He Really Has Been A Lot Better Lately, Even Just On His Own. Besides,” he added with a conspiratory smirk. “We Know He Has At Least Two Very Cool People Looking Out For Him If He Ever Needs It!”

“That…really does make me feel better,” you admit, smiling a little despite yourself. “Thanks, Papyrus.”

Sans was doing okay, you assured yourself, and if he ever wasn’t, you’d be there to help. You and Papyrus both!

You share that pleasant moment of solidarity and then you’re moving on. The food has to get to the dinner table somehow and tall as he is, Papyrus only has two hands and you’d promised him an extra set.

It makes you audibly snort in surprise when on the way, Papyrus wakes Sans by kicking the edge of the couch and yelling, “Sans, You Lazybones, Wake Up! Your Friend Is Over For The Very First Time And You’re Going To Snore On The Couch All Night?”

“nah, I can snore at the table, too,” Sans mutters, rubbing his face and finally rolling off the cushions onto his feet. “i’m versatile like that.”

“You’re Impossible, Is What You Are, You Bipedal Snail!”

The bickering is almost jarring from how warm and concerned Papyrus had been about Sans just a few minutes ago, but the affection in both moments is obvious enough, if you know where to look for it.

Little brothers, you think with amusement.

Sans meets your eye on the way to the table and you get the sense that he’s having the same thought. You share a smile and he shrugs as if to say, ‘what’re you gonna do?’ before you all sit down for a delicious meal.

You almost lose your mind when Papyrus places a bowl of kibble at the fourth place setting and Buddy hops up into a chair like he’s done it a million times before, chowing down with the rest of you.

You want to take approximately ten thousand pictures of it, but Papyrus wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been studying recipes so you also really do not want to stop eating what is probably The Best Spaghetti You’ve Ever Had.

Dinner conversation is filled with effusive compliments to the chef from everyone. Or, you, at least. Sans is complimentary, but you’re not sure he has it in him to be effusive, and Buddy literally couldn’t speak.

He’d stared puppy-dog-eyes at everyone still eating and drooled a considerable puddle into his bowl after he finished his kibble, though, which was…sort of a compliment?

At some point, the topic of work had come up and Papyrus spoke a bit about his part-time job at the home improvement store. You learned that he was exceedingly coveted in the lumber department for his ability to just pick up giant boards and planks when it took several of his smaller human coworkers to accomplish the same task.

You also learned that one of said coworkers had mentioned she had negative vacation time allotted. “…And I Was Sure To Clarify If She Was Speaking Hyperbolically, But She Was Entirely Serious. Negative Time Off! I Feel Like That Shouldn’t Be Allowed, Don’t You?”

Taking off so many days that you owe your employer your time? “That doesn’t seem right,” you agree. “It feels kind of shady of your boss to allow that, but I don’t know. I can’t really imagine taking that much time off that I’d be in the red. The last time I took off was…ha, well, that week our manager forced me to take off, right before you started, Sans.”

You realized that somehow, that story had never come up when Sans looked at you with wide eye-sockets and a dawning grin. “wait, wait, hold up, she made you go on vacation? like she told you that you had to stay home for a week?” At your confirmation, he snickered. “oh my god, that’s the funniest thing i ever heard, that’s so you.”

You weren’t blind to the humor in the situation. You laugh at yourself a little along with him, but Papyrus interjects.

“I Would Never Take A Vacation!”

The conviction in his tone gives you pause. “Wait, really? Never?”

“Not For Any Reason!”

Sans chuckles. “you’re so intense, bro,” he said fondly. “it’s awesome.”

“…Well, now, I kinda want to make you go on vacation,” you admit.

You recognize the hypocrisy—you had certainly never really wanted to take time off when you had so much you felt you needed to do at work—but something about Papyrus’ firm stance just gave you the urge to be contrary.

Besides, it isn’t as if these skeletons don’t deserve a break or a trip or something. They’ve been up here for more than a year and haven’t gone anywhere else? That’s just a damn shame!

If you knew these guys at all, though, you knew you’d never get them going anywhere if you couldn’t convince Papyrus first. Sans was a homebody in the extreme and you’d need his brother on board to have any hope of dragging him somewhere out of his way.

“Isn’t there someplace you’d want to go?” you ask Papyrus. “Just to visit? Anywhere at all?”

“None Come To Mind!” Papyrus insists. “And I Certainly Wouldn’t Want To Request Time Off For It!”

You think you have your plan, at those words.

“You don’t work weekends, do you?”

Sans props his elbow on the table, looking casual but his hand is suddenly covering as much of his ever-widening smile as possible. He’s clearly already figured out where you’re going with this, and you’re grateful he’s sorta trying to shut up about it.

“No!” Papyrus answers, almost petulantly. “They Wouldn’t Let Me. And I Don’t Have Any Classes Either, Weekends Are The Worst! There’s Only So Many Weeds I Can Pull In The Garden Until There Aren’t Any More Weeds To Pull, And The Best Soap Operas Are Only During The Week, Which Is Prejudiced Somehow, I’m Sure!”

“I don’t work this weekend, either. We should do something. Y’know, for the sake of doing something instead of just laying around all weekend.”

Papyrus squints at you. You realize he’s also figured out what you’re up to.

“……Hmm, A Trap, Obviously. And Not Even A Very Clever One, I’m Afraid. You’re Clearly Trying To Trick Me Into Some Sort Of…Vacation-ry.”

“Is it really a vacation if you don’t take any leave for it, though?” you debate. “If you drove somewhere for a couple hours and then came back, you wouldn’t call that a vacation.”

“Alright, Definitional Nuance, Getting More Clever,” he concedes. “And Where Would This Hypothetical Not-A-Vacation Take Place?”

“Maybe that could be a surprise?”

You’ve never seen Papyrus look pissed before. “Ooh, Curses, I Love Surprises! Alright, Fine! You’ve Shanghaied Me, But Only If I Get To Drive!”

Fantastic, you hated driving distances. “Deal!”

-

Dinner ended and Papyrus went around collecting the dishes to wash—but this part he insists is the host’s duty and encourages you to sit with Sans and bask in the glow of a delightful dinner.

You can’t even make a sassy remark at that, it really was delicious. Instead, you plop yourself down onto the plush couch cushions right next to Sans.

“And Stars Above, Sans, Entertain Them!” Papyrus admonishes his brother. “You’re Technically A Host, Too, You Know!”

“yikes, that raises a whole host of problems”

You snicker.

“Oh My God, That Wasn’t Even Good! You’re Lucky They Like You!”

And with that way too accurate final statement that you hope nobody is thinking about as hard as you are, Papyrus was back off to the kitchen.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say to Sans, “I think you’re funny.”

“oh don’t let ‘im fool you, he does too,” Sans says, winking like he’s letting you in on a secret. “he just hates to give me an easy laugh. wants me to put more effort into my jokes instead of goin’ for the low-hanging fruit.”

“Sounds like he’s not berry grapeful for your zesty sense of humor.”

“it’s enough to make a guy meloncholy,” Sans agreed. “it’s the pits, actually, but I understand his raisining.”

You laugh and then a brilliant idea strikes you. You hurriedly whip out your phone and gesture for Sans to come closer so he can see your screen.

He watches over your shoulder as you pull up your contacts list and change ‘Papyrus’ to ‘PAPaya.’

Sans laughs, his deep baritone laugh that you can physically feel, especially when he’s sitting so close to you. It hits you anew how goddamn big he is when you realize that even though you’re sitting down on the same couch, the top of your head doesn’t even clear his shoulder.

“Is it ever weird for you?” you blurt, suddenly curious. Sans doesn’t answer, but his expression goes confused. You quickly add, “Being friends with me, I mean.”

That didn’t seem to clear anything up. “…because… you’re human?”

“No, no, the… the size difference. Is it weird?”

“oh. i dunno, i never thought about it before?” He scratches at his cheek a little, pondering the new concept. “i mean, most humans i met have been kinda small. i don’t think you’re that much different….”

You feel like he’s not giving the matter the appropriate amount of consideration. Driven by the need to prove your point, you wordlessly take his hand and flatten your palm against his.

(It’s definitely for size-comparison reasons. It has nothing to do with wanting to hold his hand.)

As soon as his big red eye-light falls on the sight of your hands pressed together, he snorts and starts laughing again. “oh my god, never mind, i take it all back, you’re teeny, what the fuck.”

“I am not, you’re just huge!”

You must not have said it very convincingly. “i can almost close my hand,” he giggled. “oh my god? this is hilarious.”

His fingers fold over yours a little bit and you definitely don’t spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the way it feels. It seems like all the scrapes and nicks you were expecting on his skull are down here instead and the scratchy roughness is a fascinating texture against your skin. You’d love to explore it more, but friends didn’t really stroke each other’s hands just because, and you don’t want to be weird.

You pull your hand away. “Come on, don’t be a jerk about it!” you say, shoving away from him playfully.

“aww, okay, you’re right, i’m sorry.” He grabs your sleeve and tugs you back toward him. “c’mere, bring it in, apology-hug.”

You hug him.

It’s almost like being totally enveloped in him— he’s unfairly huge and his arms around you practically block out everything else, even when your own arms can’t even reach all the way around his broad-set rib cage. You do your best and find that his bones are hard against your body, which you’d expected, but not poking anywhere or really even uncomfortable, which you hadn’t.

He’s warm and he smells exactly like you’d have guessed he smelled, like ketchup and dryer sheets, but surprisingly, it isn’t gross. It’s…homey. Comfortable.

You’re a little startled by how much you like it and the thought makes you realize you don’t actually know how much time has passed since this hug started.

Has it been just a few seconds or more than a few seconds? He’d have nudged you away if it was too long, right?

Should…should you pull back first?

Is this awkward now?

Sans seems to answer all of your questions in one fell swoop…by setting his chin down on top of your head to emphasize how tiny you are.

Clearly his plan all along.

“Oh, you fucker, get off me!”

You wriggle out of the hug and he lets you go. One brief second of eye-contact is all it takes to set you both off.

The two of you are laughing like loons by the time Papyrus comes back from doing the dishes.

He proceeds to tell you all the proper hostly things— that it was a lovely evening, and they loved having you over, and you all must really do this again sometime, future Not-A-Vacations notwithstanding—and you know it’s about time for you to be heading out.

It’s getting late and it’s a weeknight, so you and Sans have work in the morning and Papyrus has an early class to attend, so you completely understand. Papyrus gives you a wonderfully large tupperware of leftover spaghetti to take home with you and walks you to the door with Buddy trailing after you.

You say your goodbyes to him, and to Papyrus, and you turn to Sans to do the same.

He cuts you off.

“hey,” he says, leaning casually against the wall like the coolest guy in school in every teen movie and staring down at you with lidded eyes. “can I come with?”

Oh boy. Wow.

As it turns out, you are not prepared for the things you feel when you’ve got your crush looming over you, asking to come home with you for the night.

“Uh….” You try your hardest to cover how flustered you suddenly feel and let your mouth fill the awkward space. “I, uh, I wasn’t really planning on doing anything else tonight? I was really just gonna go home and sleep, I feel like there are, heh, better times for a hangout?”

Sans laughs and for one terrifying moment, you thought it was at you. “nah, no, you’re right,” he says. “sorry, i literally just meant coming to your house, wasn’t plannin’ on staying more than a minute.”

Your confusion is apparent enough that he continues. “you’ve seen me take shortcuts, right?” he asks. “y’know, when i’m someplace and then i’m not, ‘cause i’m someplace else?”

Oh, yeah, that neat little trick. “Yeah, I’ve seen you do it a couple times.”

“well it only works if i been somewhere before. so if i tag along with you, you can leave your car at home next time an’ i can just drop you off.”

Right. Yes, obviously, that makes sense.

“Convenient,” you say out loud. “Sure, let’s go.”

-

The drive home isn’t nearly as awkward as you worried it would be.

It’s actually… very nice.

You don’t talk much because you’re feeling a lot of feelings that need some time to be processed, but it wasn’t like Sans was talking, either. The pleasant weather was holding strong and you had the windows down, so the skeleton in your passenger seat was leaning against the door and staring totally absorbed at the moon while the warm night air blew past his skull.

Even in mostly uninterrupted silence, you find that you just feel comfortable with Sans and that’s something you really like.

You get home almost too quickly and Sans asks if he can come inside, “just to see the place, real quick, you know me, last thing i wanna do is stand between you and sleep.”

You didn’t have time to clean up or anything before you left the house, so it’s not as neat as it could be, but you don’t feel particularly embarrassed. You’ve seen enough photos of the inside of Sans’ room to know there’s no comparison.

Your house is just your house, not very big or painfully small, not insanely messy or hyper-clean. You feel like it’s an accurate reflection of you: just average.

“Got what you needed?” you ask Sans. “Is this enough for you to…shortcut? Or whatever?”

He seems to consider it. “let’s find out,” he says. “what time do you leave in the morning?” You tell him. “cool, I’ll pop over tomorrow, you can give me a ride to work.”

That seems…so unnecessary for somebody who can literally teleport.

You almost tell him so but he shoots you a wink and shortcuts out right before your eyes.

You take a deep breath and huff it out in one long exhale.

After a minute, you go to put the leftover spaghetti in the fridge before you forget about it.

It would be a shame to let Papyrus’ cooking go to waste just because you were getting all tied up in knots over his unaccountably charming brother.

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

[benbarnesescape]

The Wager - Part 5

Warning: teasing and fluff

A/N: Okay I feel guilty when I can’t post for y’all so here is an update to this part since I left you teasing – sorry it’s also kinda short!! Logan rocks my socks!

You watched Logan from on top of the island, your legs swinging idly as he moved around effortlessly finishing the last touches for dinner.

“When you asked me over for dinner and a movie, I was expecting pizza and Netflix. Not a glamourous meal from Chef Logan.”

He stops for a second from seasoning the poached potatoes to look at you, raising a curious eyebrow before asking,

“I ask you to wear the beautiful sundress I bought you this afternoon from a top notch designer to just get stained by cheap grease and frozen toppings? You really think that low of me?”

The credulousness in his voice causes you to laugh as you take another sip of your wine before letting out,

“I mean, I thought it was weird but……yeah. Kinda. You’ve never cooked for me and the pizza you order from your tower, the restaurant your family owns by the way, has delicious fresh cooked pizza. I just thought you wanted to torture me by undressing me with your eyes all night.”

He smirks, turning back to you though the hint of something mischievous stays on his lips.

“You’re partially right,” he says after a while, pulling out a sharp set of knives to cut through the lamb. The freaking leg of lamb he found time to cook for you sometime between when you left and now. The man was unbelievable. “I do plan on undressing you with my eyes all night,” he throws an intentional glance your way, his eyes slowly drinking you in. You ignore the way it makes your heart increase, or how much you want him to touch you. “But since you’ve already witnessed my skills in the kitchen I just thought….it would be nice to make you a meal.”

You nod, hopping off the island and grabbing your new empty wine glass.

“I clearly underestimated you.”

“Clearly.”

You roll your eyes as you saunter into the living room, grabbing your phone before sitting in his arm chair. You had texted Leslie and Jessica prior to him opening the door, not only explaining how the earlier excursion had gone but also the plan for the evening. You were rewarded by Leslie’s text,

Les - Over for dinner? Girl if that isn’t a classy way for saying Netflix and chill I don’t know what is.

Jess – I have to agree. Give us deets!!

That had been the last strand so you quickly started typing out to catch your friends up.

Y/N – Ladies. First off no it isn’t. Look what he’s done! He literally set his table for dinner and is making me food. HE is making me food.

You snap a photo of the table discreetly, adding it to the group message before setting your phone down.

“Give me like 5 minutes and we should be good. Just need to finish the asparagus.”

“Sounds good.” You say, relieved to feel your phone vibrate to distract you from the moment. Asparagus. Poached Potatoes. Leg of Lamb. This was the best home cooked meal you’d had since you’ve gone home to visit your mom.

Jess– Daaaammmmmmnnn Y/N. Normally I wouldn’t agree with Les so much but she’s right about this one. That’s the classiest way I’ve ever had anyone propose Netflix and chill to me.

Jess – At first I thought Logan was pulling your strings but…..I think Les is right. I think he has a thing for you.

You roll your eyes and giggle at Leslie’s incoming text.

Les – If this wasn’t a monumental moment for all of us, I’d kick your ass Jess. So rude. But she’s right

Les – Logan want’s you. But I think more than a one night stand

Les– That’s some wining and dining if I’ve ever seen it

Y/N – Did I also mention that he tried to kiss me?

Y/N – Not the tricky little kiss he got to get me here in the first place

Y/N – I think you might be right. Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know ladies. I like Logan. I like him a lot. But you don’t tell a man like Logan that. You have to play games with him

Y/N – WHAT DO I DO!?

You try to ignore the way your pulse has quickened as you type out the words furiously, almost jumping when Logan gently places his hand on your shoulder and says,

“Dinner’s ready.”

You immediately close your phone, throwing it on the couch and smiling up at him.

“Great. I’m starved.”

He chuckles inwardly to himself, turning on his heel and heading toward the table.

“Perfect. Because I have enough food I think it will please you.”

You laugh, knowing the dig is a gentle tease to your large appetite. Which was only partially true. It was only when you were really nervous paired with ravenously hungry that you ate unmethodically.

Which, around Logan, was always.

You make your way to your chair easily, Logan waiting patiently as he pulls it out.

“I know you can do this yourself. I just think the gesture is always nice.” He says as if knowing you have something sassy to say to him and you just nod, allowing him to push you in before he bends down and whispers in your ear,

“Comfortable?”

You turn to answer him but his close proximity takes you off guard, his face inches from your own and you inhale your breath as you give a short nod.

“Ye, ye yep.” You stutter out and he smiles, his hands dragging along your exposed shoulder blades before walking to the other side of the table. He takes his seat and lifts his wine glass to you and you grab yours, now freshly poured and try to ignore the way your arm is shaking.

Why were you so nervous? This was just Logan.

“To a great night.” He says and you smile, lifting your glass.

“A great night.”

You liked him. The reality of that hit him like a thousand bricks, reconfirming years of suspicious and spurring up more curiosity. Why hadn’t you ever acted on it?

He hadn’t meant to read your text. He had only planned to gently grab your attention since you were so lost in thought. But when he had bent down and saw his name, his trained eyes naturally needing to read what followed, he had realized the error in his ways. He had also realized a couple of other things that struck him as the most unusual.

You didn’t think you were good enough for him?

What had spurned that on he didn’t know. Didn’t want to know what he had done to give you the impression that you couldn’t do better. That was beyond the problem. But now he had the opportunity to change it.

Dinner went by smoothly, quietly even for you. He tried to broach topics but you brushed them aside, obviously deep in your thoughts. When you were both done, you had jumped up quickly to help get rid of the dishes, insisting it wasn’t a problem.

He took the opportunity to sit on the couch as you rinsed them off and left them in the sink upon his request. When you walked back to where he was sitting, his hands placed behind his hands as he watched you curiously, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the perplexed way your eyes flitted from his sofa chair and the couch, near him.

Finally he cleared his throat,

“You’re more than welcome to sit next to me,” he pats the empty space beside him. “I don’t bite. Hard.”

You chuckle nervously, walking toward him cautiously as you sat down, positioning yourself so your body was away from him. He keeps the same smile on his face as he bends to the table, picking up a few DVD’s.

“So I asked my sister for some rom-com suggestions and she suggested Love Actually, He’s Just Not That Into You, Think Like a Man and some Chris Evans number movie….” His eyes furrow perplexed and despite your discomfort you laugh, shaking your head.

“You went out and bought all these movies just for me?”

He shrugs,

“You said you’d be amused by having me watching a rom com –“

“Hated. I said you’d hate it.”

He laughs and shrugs.

“It’s about the same right. So why not.”

You watch him for a calculated beat before finally saying,

“You know that I hate romantic movies right?”

He nods slowly, “I figured you weren’t a fan considering all the horror, comedy, drama, documentaries, child movies and action movies that you make me watch. Noticed how romance is never a genre you ever seem to want to dip into. Easy to decide from there.”

“You know why I hate romantic movies?” he shrugs as you continue, “Their unrealistic. They set up this expectation for women that if you look a certain way and act a certain way you’ll find love. Doesn’t consider race or economic background playing a factor in peoples attraction based off of cultural dichotomies, or the fact that some women just aren’t looking for love and don’t want to be defined that way…”

You let yourself wane off and he falls back on the couch, perking up an eyebrow. This was interesting. You never really let him in on your romantic whimsies like most women. In fact, he thought you dated because you enjoyed it. He never considered there was anything else.

“You aren’t looking for love?” he asks curiously and you roll your eyes, sighing.

“…listen, love is complicated. I know that’s cliché but its true. It’s complicated and it complicates things. I truly don’t believe that it’s possible for two people to understand what it’s like to be selfless, to master giving and taking, to risk being monogamous because love compels them to only want to honor the other.”

He falls back on the couch, his head rolling over to yours and you sit up more, crossing your legs as you fiddle with your hands.

“Do you want to ever be in love? Have ever been in love?”

Another sigh.

“….I don’t know. I know I haven’t been, well…..maybe…I don’t know I’m still trying to figure that out. Love is complicated and scary and I just haven’t crossed that bridge yet.”

He leans over, grabbing your chin and gently lifting it up to his eyes.

“You’re right. About all those things – you’re right. My mom loves my dad but I don’t get why. She deserves better than the bastard. My sister also loves a bloody deuche bag but who am I to tell her any different. You love who you love. You have to live in that moment because when it’s all said and done – do you want to risk not loving someone because you were afraid?”

Your eyes watch his carefully and he’s aware for the first time how fast his heart is beating in his chest, the way your skin tickles under his calloused pads of his fingers, the way he hears your breath quicken. Your eyebrows furrow for a second and he rubs the pad of his thumb over your mouth before whispering,

“You’re brave and strong. I understand not taking a chance, there’s a lot at risk, but life is a huge gamble. And you deserve to experience it all.”

Something softens in your eyes and he knows. Knows that there’s something more than you’re letting on in how you feel. He can feel the shift in you, the way your hand instinctively comes to his arm, caressing him back as your warm trail leaves goosebumps in its wake. Knows by the way you tilt your head, your mouth placing a soft kiss on his finger, causing him to close his eyes.

He loved you. Three years, four months, 26 days he had known you and slowly fallen in love with you. Fallen in love with your smile, with the way you bite your lip when you concentrate to hard, the way you sing under your breath when you do a simple task, or dance when you don’t think anyone is looking. The way you styled your hair and the way the clothes you wore molded to your clothes. Your smile and eyes and laugh. 

He loved you and it scared the shit out of him.

“Logan…” you begin and he sighs, falling back and pulling away.

“Until then, we can decide on a movie. Or we can totally watch a horror film – I’m open to whatever.”

He tries to ignore the disappointed way your eyes glaze over, before clearing your throat and settling back far away from him.

“Horror it is.” You mumble.

The movie only had been going for 30 minutes but it had felt like hours. You didn’t know what to make of Logan’s new outlook on love but now you were more confused than ever. Logan had resumed his place on the couch but now sat at attention, his body a perfect 90 degree angle. His hands set semi-relaxed on his knees and his eyes stayed glued on the screen. It was stark contrast to his playful behavior earlier and you wondered if it was the topic that had triggered his distanced stance.

He had also bought over your wine and you both had finished the bottle, both of you drinking the half-filled glasses quickly and you played with the stem between your fingers.

He was going to kiss you. You were sure of it.

And you were tired of both of being too cowardly to do anything about it.

You placed your glass down on the table, catching him glance over at you before his eyes flitted back to the screen and you inhaled deeply, knowing it was either now or never.

“Logan?” you asked and he slowly turned his head to you, eyes dragging slowly from the screen to your own before you bite your lip.

“Yea?” he asks and you lean in and kiss him.

For five seconds you think he’s going to push you away, his mouth frigid on yours as you press your lips against his but then his hands have found your waist and he’s pulling you toward him, his body coming to life as he throws you over his legs.

Everything responds after that, his mouth molding onto yours as his hands dig into your hips and your hands find themselves in his hair. He tastes like everything you imagined. His tongue glides over your bottom lip before its teasing your mouth open and you oblige as his tongue easily finds yours, dancing together easily as he groans into your mouth. You sigh as you squeeze your legs around his own, falling back on his thighs as he follows, never breaking the kiss.

This was what kissing Logan felt like. If he pulled away and kicked you out of his apartment now, you could make peace with that because this is what it felt like to be held and kissed by him.

Your hips brush against his naval and he groans, pulling at your bottom lip before he pulls away from you, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathing hard, grasping from air and it feels like a new weight is in the room, tension pulled and now something new taut.

A few minutes later he looks up at you, smiling shakily.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”