[ his eyes watch the writing, hanging on each word. 'not intentionally.' It...resonates, within him. Sans isn't...hurting him on purpose? Surely, he's the only one. Other people aren't like that. Papyrus bends down to a knee to write again. He's hesitant, but...somewhat hopeful looking.
his pen sits in front of the mirror, trembling slightly. The feeling is overwhelming: like a rambunctious, loud song barricaded behind a steel door in his soul. It falls to his side for a moment, and his hand lifts to touch the mirror with boney fingertips. ]
we should not.
but i will think about it
[ a somewhat taboo friendship. He looks...nervous, but a little excited. A friend. The thudding feeling in his chest grows. It is quickly dispelled by a somewhat anxious looking breath.
don't let him in completely. But perhaps it'd be good to get some reconnaissance? What if the real Sans and the Mirror Sans are similar?
no subject
his pen sits in front of the mirror, trembling slightly. The feeling is overwhelming: like a rambunctious, loud song barricaded behind a steel door in his soul. It falls to his side for a moment, and his hand lifts to touch the mirror with boney fingertips. ]
we should not.
but i will think about it
[ a somewhat taboo friendship. He looks...nervous, but a little excited. A friend. The thudding feeling in his chest grows. It is quickly dispelled by a somewhat anxious looking breath.
don't let him in completely. But perhaps it'd be good to get some reconnaissance? What if the real Sans and the Mirror Sans are similar?
It's...purely recon. Nothing more. ]