Mettaton gives the floor a few inches in front of him a rueful smile. Rational, huh? He supposes it is. All of this is so, so rational. Emotions and trauma and memories all slotting into place to make this hot mess a reality.
The robot listens quietly as Sans talks about his death. About the experience. About his 1 HP. Mettaton forgets that, sometimes. It's odd to look at someone who seems so whole, so solid, and know that on the inside, somewhere, something is off. That their body isn't like yours and will never function like yours. He's not less. He'll never be less, Mettaton realizes with a bit of a jolt. When did he stop thinking he was better than him? When did he start looking at Sans like an equal? He'd known, logically, that technically the skeleton wasn't beneath him (unless you refer to height) but now- now he feels it. Truly understands it.
He really does view him as a friend. Fuck.
Sans is odd about touch too. It's something he noticed way back when Sans was trying to get a new hoodie and Mettaton had grabbed him to move him. He'd frozen, probably fighting back the urge to teleport, thinking back on it. Mettaton never apologized for that. Funny how that only occurs to him now.
He lays a hand out between them. Silent. He hadn't noticed that he was so close to Sans until there is the barest of shoulder brushing. It's the best he can do right now, this non-verbal question. As it is with the kids, Sans doesn't have to take the invitation for contact. Mettaton makes sure his actions look as natural as possible, to lessen any feelings of coercion. He wants to hug him, but he knows that is not welcome now.
"There's no need to apologize, dear. Not talking to someone before they disappear for forever is a completely understandable regret."
So understandable, in fact, that it's the kind of regret that makes you lie awake at night, wondering where that key of yours landed.
"...He gave me a bouquet. For my birthday. It was late and during that time when the Mirrors crossed over, but it was a beautiful thing. I still have it on a desk in my room."
It has a place of honor next to a hand knit pink scarf. It's never wilted. Mettaton thinks it's one of the few nice things about Wonderland that Papyrus's vibrancy will never die.
"Did Papyrus ever know about whoever messed with your magic?"
It's a gentle question. A gentle prod. If Sans shuts him down, he won't push again. But he's curious. Did Papyrus ever know? Or did Sans keep secrets from his own family too?
no subject
The robot listens quietly as Sans talks about his death. About the experience. About his 1 HP. Mettaton forgets that, sometimes. It's odd to look at someone who seems so whole, so solid, and know that on the inside, somewhere, something is off. That their body isn't like yours and will never function like yours. He's not less. He'll never be less, Mettaton realizes with a bit of a jolt. When did he stop thinking he was better than him? When did he start looking at Sans like an equal? He'd known, logically, that technically the skeleton wasn't beneath him (unless you refer to height) but now- now he feels it. Truly understands it.
He really does view him as a friend. Fuck.
Sans is odd about touch too. It's something he noticed way back when Sans was trying to get a new hoodie and Mettaton had grabbed him to move him. He'd frozen, probably fighting back the urge to teleport, thinking back on it. Mettaton never apologized for that. Funny how that only occurs to him now.
He lays a hand out between them. Silent. He hadn't noticed that he was so close to Sans until there is the barest of shoulder brushing. It's the best he can do right now, this non-verbal question. As it is with the kids, Sans doesn't have to take the invitation for contact. Mettaton makes sure his actions look as natural as possible, to lessen any feelings of coercion. He wants to hug him, but he knows that is not welcome now.
"There's no need to apologize, dear. Not talking to someone before they disappear for forever is a completely understandable regret."
So understandable, in fact, that it's the kind of regret that makes you lie awake at night, wondering where that key of yours landed.
"...He gave me a bouquet. For my birthday. It was late and during that time when the Mirrors crossed over, but it was a beautiful thing. I still have it on a desk in my room."
It has a place of honor next to a hand knit pink scarf. It's never wilted. Mettaton thinks it's one of the few nice things about Wonderland that Papyrus's vibrancy will never die.
"Did Papyrus ever know about whoever messed with your magic?"
It's a gentle question. A gentle prod. If Sans shuts him down, he won't push again. But he's curious. Did Papyrus ever know? Or did Sans keep secrets from his own family too?