Sans tries to beg, tries to bargain, and Mettaton only shakes his head, gritting his teeth. He wants to scream, it isn't fair that this is happening and that he's being taken away but... but that doesn't matter now, does it? What matters is-

He freezes, eyes wide, soul trembling slightly as he hears Sans's words. His confession. Now? He tells him now!? Of all the times, of all the things.

The emotion behind it, the desperation, the bargaining, pushes along the connection between them and blooms in his soul. He's confused, worried, but then it really hits him what this means. What Sans means and for a moment all he feels is joy, a fragile happiness that threatens to overcome his own mind with its delirium.

And then the fear hits. And with it, resolution.

"Sans..."

He can't return his feelings. He can't say it. Not now. Not when there's even a shadow of a chance that the Reaper is making him lie.

"I want to say more, darling, but I can't. Not now. Not like this. Please trust me when I say that- that it's best if we part ways for now."

He turns his hand (gently, oh so gently) to cup Sans's face.

"I will be ok, in the end. This event will end and we'll be together again. All right?"

He can feel them coming back, the voices and images rushing back, and he knows that if Sans doesn't agree or tries to stall, he'll have to run. And he will. Because he-

Well. The feeling is mutual. He hopes.