Save Point (Sans x Reader)

Chapter Twenty-Two, Part Two

Minor content warning for mentions of risky behaviour and underage drinking. Caution is advised for those under 13 of age.

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“I didn't know this place was open twenty-four hours,” you comment, taking this opportunity to look at the inside of the cozy mini-mart the gas station had to offer. It was rare for you to look around too much -- You were only used to paying up for gas and leaving right back out.

The coolers on one side of the building are packed with all sorts of groceries, drinks, and alcoholic beverages, and the shelves are just as equally distributed to aid in last minute errands. The small café of sorts set on a different corner of the premises is illuminated by the bright, yellow lights hung above as the distinctive scent of coffee permeates through the air.

Sans takes a detour to the café and asks if you want anything from the menu. You smile and dismiss that offer, telling him you would pay for whatever you decided to order. He doesn’t seem convinced by your words, though he doesn’t insist further when you ask if he wants anything for himself.

“I was the one who made the initial invite, so I’m the one who’s supposed to do that,” he objects, rejecting your offer of paying for the soda he had picked up from the coolers.

“Did Papyrus give you a lecture about that or something?” you ask, a smile playing on your lips. You try masking it before getting the chance to say anything else, but to no avail. “You sound really sure about this.”

“I really gotta stop messin’ with you so much if you’re gonna do the same,” he comments, grinning when he looks up at you. “You’re really startin’ to get back at me, huh?”

“It’s self defense,” you remark, returning his gesture. “Can’t let you have all the fun, y’know?”

The talk ends as a tall man clad in a pink polo shirt comes out of the door placed behind the counter of the café. He offers you a small, polite smile and asks what you would like, to which you respond with the words ‘Coffee, please’. He nods firmly and walks to the electric coffee brewer next to him, where he prepares your order in less than a minute, and with equal -- if not more -- swiftness than the  female bartender at Grillby’s.

You thank the man and take the foam cup from his hands, using one hand to hold the cup while the other holds onto the napkins and sugar packets he hands you over. Sans is already sitting by one of the two tables, waiting for you to return. Your surroundings are pleasantly quiet with the exception of the faint noir music playing in the background, which is soon interrupted by the broadcaster to ask the listeners what song did they wish to hear next.

Your hearing perks up at the sound of a can being opened, and you turn your eyes to the sound to see Sans holding the soda he’d picked up earlier. You glance another look at the label and hesitate to say what's on your mind.

“So, you don't drink?” you ask, treading carefully in that question to prevent it from coming out as disrespectful. You settle down on the chair set opposite to his, holding the coffee with both hands after placing the napkins and sugar down on the table.

“Used to, sometimes,” he replies, setting his drink down to look at you. “But I'm more of a fast food kinda guy. Used to hold up a hot dog stand back when we were underground.”

“Ah,” you breath in, a small smile stretching your lips. “That’s cool -- Sorry if I came of as nosy.”

“What about you?”

“Aside from when I tried to impress someone to make them think I was grown up. . . I don't really drink unless it's for a toast or celebration.”

“Mind me asking who that person was?” he asks, the way an eye socket furrows slightly making it know he was curious but waiting to see whether you would say anything about that matter, or if you would rather keep it to yourself.

“Not at all,” you reply, stifling a laugh. “I was sixteen. Jessie was eighteen. I thought they were pretty cute, but still two years too old for me. . . And the rest kinda just fell together after that.” You cough in the middle of your confession, embarrassment threatening to follow up with your next words. “Now that I think about it. . . We're lucky we weren't compatible to have a kid. We were both half-drunk and didn't think much about the rest.”

You stop talking, realizing you'd said far too much for just one question.

“Oh man, I've said too much, haven't I?”

You can feel your ears burn as you meet with his gaze. Guilt-ridden, you quickly look back down, not knowing what to say to lessen that feeling.

“Hey,” he calls out, making you look up at him when you feel his hand briefly brush with yours. “If it makes you feel any better, I still don't know how to reject someone who's flirted with me ever since Grillby first set up his business.”

“You mean that bunny from last month?”

“That same one,” Sans answers, chuckling. “I went on a date with them once, but I didn't really want that at the time. So it was mostly me just tryna dodge whatever move they tried to pull next.”

“Are you. . . okay now though?” you ask, concern making your gaze furrow. “You shouldn't feel forced to do something like that.”

“Nah, they're a good bun when they’re not drunk and lashing out at other people.” He lets out a short and earnest laugh, casting his faint, white irises on you again. “They stopped when I told them I didn't like them in that way, so it's fine.”

You feel uneasy when you swallow the next two sips of your drink, not knowing whether it was the coffee you were drinking or how personal the conversation was that was making you feel this way. As subtle as possible, you look to your left and try to get a grasp of your reflection through one of the metallic shelves located behind the payment counter, hoping to see you didn’t look as much as the mess you felt you were currently. 

“You sure you don’t want me to treat you to anything?

If you hadn’t been holding onto the coffee cup, you would’ve most likely jolted like a cat. You look down at the beverage when you turn to his side, not knowing how to face him after that conversation. “It's fine, really,” you assure him, trying not to falter in your words. “You paid last time we went out, so it’s only fair.”

“Can I get you two anything else?”

The man in charge of the café pops out from the door behind the counter and the shelves you had been looking at. A hospitable smile shows on his bronzed face when he catches you staring at him.

“I’m fine,” you reply, placing the empty foam cup down in front of you.

“Same here,” Sans adds, doing the same with his drink.

You thank the man before he disappears back behind the door and wait until you hear a click to focus back on your companion. To your surprise, he’s staring at you rather than at his drink, the look on his irises letting you understand he wanted to have another conversation with you.

“About what I said yesterday,” he begins, picking up the near empty can of soda to swirl its contents around. “So you’re really okay with us being friends?"

“Of course I am, Sans,” you reply, a half smile and a raised eyebrow being used to scrutinize him. “Why do you ask?”

“I figured I’d ask in case you thought I was pushing you to keep doing this, after what’s happened this past month and all.”

You toy with the brim of the coffee cup as you maintain eye contact with him, flaring your nose slightly in amusement. “I honestly don’t feel that way. I actually really like spending time like this, and exchanging recipes with your brother is a huge plus -- I wouldn’t change these experiences for the world."