Chapter Text
You were the prettiest thing Sans had ever seen.
Now, he had never been much for the hype around soulmates: he was observant enough to see the occasional couple suddenly get together purely because "their souls said to". It seemed like a crock of shit to him: love at first sight? Ha! More like dead weight that would just expose a weak spot to your enemies. That's how morons got dusted and he sure as hell wasn't keen on the possibility of having to watch his back along with whatever idiot that he might get saddled with.
So needless to say, he wasn't fond of the idea. He also doubted that it would ever happen to him, or if it did, he would just have to break the other party's heart so that they would leave and never bother him again. No, he'd rather hit himself with a Gaster Blaster than be tied down, therefore making the concept of soulmates just a ridiculous idiom for fools to explain why they couldn't keep their hands to themselves.
Naturally, the stars had a different thing in mind the dreary evening he decided to spend at Grillby's, nursing a bottle of mustard as he glared at anything and everything.
The moment you had walked into the bar that night, looking like a drowned dog from the torrential downpour that night; he knew that he had to meet you. His very soul fluttered and pounded against his chest at the sight of you, standing at the door and flinging water everywhere with a dour frown and goddamn it that pouty look was too fucking cute. It should have been illegal, the way you were making his nihilistic, grouchy self feel just from looking at you.
When you pushed your hand through your soaked hair, his bony fingers twitched to do the same. Seeing you remove your jacket to reveal the simple red blouse underneath made his magic stutter throughout his body and the black pencil skirt only made you look more attractive and sophisticated. He couldn't figure out any other reason a professional looking woman like yourself would be in a sketchy monster bar like this than you were trying to escape the rain.
You stood with perfect posture that only accented your lovely features and his eyes naturally roamed up and down your frame with less-than-pure thoughts. The only way to describe the wonder that was coursing through him was to compare it to the feeling of seeing the stars for the first time: breathtaking with a hint of adoration.
Sans wasn't sure what the hell was going on with him to make him suddenly act like a lovestruck idiot, but he didn't give a damn as he watched you look around thoughtfully. He had never seen you before and on any other occasion, he wouldn't have even given you the time of day but his soul was literally drawn to you for whatever reason. It made you the most beautiful thing he had ever seen or ever will see and he was quickly becoming enthralled by you.
fuck. The curse smacked the inside of his skull with the realization that his vow to break his soulmate's heart was soundly flying out the window.
He could just feel the beads of sweat forming along his temples as a million thoughts blasted through his head: should he go introduce himself? Should he play it cool and wait to see what you were doing?
should i just grab 'er and run?
Wait. No. That last idea, no matter how tempting, would have been a horrible idea. Absolutely awful. Monumentally ter- oh shit oh shit oh shit!!
His entire body tensed as you approached the bar, panic and awe hitting him like a sack of bricks as you worked your way through the bar patrons. You stepped carefully, dodging drunks and flirts alike until you came to the bar to wait patiently to be noticed by Grillby. The purple flame monster purposefully ignored you, of course, and busied himself with the regulars down at the end, but you didn't seem to mind.
You even cast a curious glance towards Sans, who, in turn, accidentally gripped his bottle of mustard too tight. This resulted in a stream of mustard spraying him right in the eye, producing an onslaught of curses from the rough skeleton as he swiped at his face. Grillby shook his head and threw a spare rag his way, but otherwise offered no help to the skeleton.
real fuckin' smooth.
Sans reached for it, accidentally grabbing a small and soft hand as you gathered up the rag, a light hearted chuckle passing your adorably pink lips. He squinted the one eye that wasn't full of mustard, glaring in confusion when you lifted the cloth towards his face. The action made his soul pound even harder as your hand drew closer and he could feel the droplets of sweat dripping along his skull.
There was a wry smile on your face when you dabbed at his skull and amusement twinkled in your eyes. Your movements were gentle and calculated, meticulously swiping away the spicy condiment while he had an inner meltdown from the proximity to the one that his soul was literally screaming for. Should he say something? Should he snatch the rag and do this himself? Should he tell you a pun?
oh fuck oh fuck what do i do?!
He wished you would say something, since his brain was turning to mush. "uh..."
What came out of your mouth shocked him to the core.
"You look like you are trying to mustard up the guts to say something." you lightly remarked, setting the yellow-stained rag down when you were satisfied with your work.
His eyes grew wide and he sucked in a breath through his sharpened teeth, leaning back as though you had hauled off and punched him: in a way, you had. Punched him, that is. From his reaction, it was your turn to act embarrassingly awkward, coughing into your hand and looking away, fixing your eyes on the shelf of liquor behind the bar. The noise from the bar was slowly drowned out by the excited buzzing in his head and all he came to focus on was you and only you.
"holy fuckin' shit you're hot." The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying.
what the fuck did i just say?
Your expression morphed into surprise while he adopted a deer in headlights look.
"I beg your pardon?" Your mouth echoed his thoughts in a much more eloquent phrasing.
"i- uh, well. gee i-i... um?" He stammered, the normally relaxed skeleton now a sweating mess of unintelligible words. "i was- er, just saying how... nice! you... look..?"
good fuckin' grief, could i be anymore of a creep?
Your brows lifted and a pointed look was sent towards your drenched reflection in the mirrored surface against the wall, but your mouth was still twisted in amusement. Sans could only assume that was a good thing since you weren't slugging him or backing away with a disgusted glower and he offered you a nervous grin. He couldn't help but wonder if your soul was reacting the same way as his; maybe that was why you haven't slapped him yet?
Sans listened raptly when you opened your mouth to speak. "I will take that as a... Condiment."
There was a beat of silence before he erupted into hearty chuckles. "heheh. that was a good one: i dunno if i can ketch-up to your level."
A raspy groan on the opposite side of the bar signaled the arrival of Grillby. "Really? Don't you get sick of those damn puns?"
"i relish each and every one." Sans shot his friend a look that would have sent a lesser monster scurrying, but he masked it with grin when you looked at him with a pleased smile. "let's get the lady some grub, grillbz." At your questioning glance, he felt his cheek bones tint red. "on me, dollface."
This made the elemental's pale eyes grow wide and his violet flames spark in interest. "... Coming right up."
Sans slapped the barstool next to him, motioning for you to take a seat as though you were old friends: hell, the feeling in his damn soul implied as much. "mayo ask what a nice gal like you is doin' in a dump like this?"
Hanging your jacket on the hook beneath the bar in front of the seat, you slid onto the stool and clasped your hands together. "Peppering me with question already? We have only just met."
Now relaxing into familiar territory, he rested his chin on his hand and grinned confidently at you. "lettuce start over then. the name's sans: sans the skeleton."
Offering his free hand to you, the friendly smile you gave him made his soul skip a beat. "___. ___ the human. It is a pleasure to meat you."
You gently gripped his hand and Sans reveled in the feeling of your smooth palm in his, noticing how small it was in comparison to his own. "wow, you're really a-salting me with puns."
Your smile never faltered, even as he was still shaking your hand absently. "I do enjoy encurrying word play."
stars i could kiss you right now. He thought dreamily, his thumb circling your knuckles. you're just too fuckin' perfect.
"Is that so?"
What little color drained from his face as the world seemed to halt with a record scratch and when he met your eyes, the spark of mirth told him that he said that out loud. He wrenched his hand away from you, his hands swiftly throwing the hood above his head in an attempt to hide from his mortification as he hunkered down into his coat defensively. A merciless cackle that sounded like crackling fire reached him, signaling that the bar owner had heard that little blurb when he was bringing their order over and he knew that he would never live the moment down for the rest of his life.
You thanked Grillby for the food. "My, it certainly looks delicious!" Normally, the flame monster would preen from the compliments, but it was followed up with a; "I can see why everybody makes a big dill about the food here!"
Sans chortled in his coat when the bartender hissed in disgust at the pun and walked away. "he needs to chili out."
You giggled and he peeked out from underneath his hood to see what you were doing, watching closely as you sampled the fries in front of you. His cheeks burned red when your tongue slipped out of your mouth, licking the salt from your lips and you eyed his bottle of mustard longingly. Without a word, he pushed it over and you squirted out a small dollop before returning it to him, dipping a warm fry into the sauce. Sans gulped thickly when you nibbled on it, eyes wandering around to take in the dim bar and he found himself grateful for how warm it was kept inside: he could only imagine how cold you would have been with those damp clothes.
Unfortunately, he was now stumped as to what he should say or do.
"Say..." Your voice came out as a drawl, and he finally poked his head out of his "shell" to look at you curiously. "Are you a fan of Plato?"
The question garnered a look of confusion from the skeleton. "never heard of 'im."
He vaguely wondered if "Plato" was going to be a problem if he was going to try getting your affection: his soul clenched. If there was competition, he wouldn't have a problem knocking some teeth in on any idiot that tried putting their mitts on his human. The very thought made his soul burn with a jealous rage and he almost missed what you said next.
"He was a Greek philosopher: he's considered to be the figure that revolutionized western philosophy that would later lead to what we have now." You turned in your stool to face him, the plate of food forgotten. "You may be more familiar with Socrates, his teacher, or even his student; Aristotle."
Those names rang a bell. "yeah sure. what about them?"
You patiently continued. "One of Plato's works was called The Symposium, a philosophical text. Quite old, really. It was dated around 385-370 B.C., though we are not exactly sure of the precise year."
aw, he mused as you rambled on, she's an educated nerd. i don't understand a fuckin' thing she's sayin'.
He was starting to zone out, simply staring at you while you talked about old men and Greek playwrights. "The Symposium was themed around speeches made in a contest by a group of men to praise the name of Eros, the god of love and desire. In this particular work, Eros is portrayed as a god of an erotic form of love that would spur deeds of valor in men."
He barely caught what you said, but that last bit made Sans pay more attention. "reeeeally?"
The mischievous look in your eye said you put that bit of information out there on purpose. "Indeed. There is a particular reason I bring this up, if you would but humor me."
Sans was mildly impressed that you had him figured out that quickly, waving his hand for you to continue: he was pretty sure you could read The Bee Movie script and he'd at least pretend to listen. His soul was just excited that you were paying attention to him. "yeah, alright. i'll bite."
"In this dialog, the speech of Aristophanes is heralded as one of Plato's most enlightening works." You crossed your legs at the knee, primly placing your hands on the joint and the skeleton found it hard to keep eye contact, sipping his mustard to help keep his red gaze upward. "It is a speech theorizing the creation of soulmates."
Whatever mustard Sans had sucked in was immediately spat out, coating the bar with the sauce and his saliva. From across the room, he could hear Grillby spitting profanities in a series of crackles and snaps not unlike a raging wildfire, but he paid it no mind as he whipped his head around to stare at you. An innocent look was on your face, along with a thinly veiled glimmer of "I know what's up" flashing behind your eyes.
He tried to play his mishap off as though it didn't happen, cooly remarking. "is that right?"
"Yes, he believed that the first beings were quite powerful: strong enough to topple the gods. These creatures possessed four arms, four legs and two faces, so Zeus split these beings in half: in body and soul. This was to explain the feeling of "completeness" that one might feel upon finding their other half."
Is that what the singing in his soul was? He had found his other half and that made him feel whole? Better yet; were you feeling this as well? If so, how were you speaking so calmly? What was the point of this story?! Sans wanted to reach out and shake you, demanding to know if you were feeling the pesky fluttering too.
"It was also said by Aristophanes that when these two halves find each other, there was to be a sense of unity: an unspoken understanding of one another that would bring a great sense of joy of euphoria." His breath caught in his throat at the description. "Of course, this is but one form of the soulmate phenomenon that is described in history."
His words came out in a whisper. "oh yeah?"
"Yes, if we move our sights to East Asia, we will come upon the term "Red String of Fate"." You dipped a hand down, brushing the tips along your ankle and Sans couldn't help but follow the movement. "In some instances, said thread is tied at the ankle and in others..." You reached over, grasping his hand in one of your own, using the other to trace his pinky finger. "The thread is bound to the little finger."
Sans sat stone stiff, afraid to move for fear of scaring you away and he spoke in a rushed slur. "izatso?"
You nodded. "This thread binds two souls together: no matter the distance or hardship, this red thread will never break." You trailed your fingertips along his own before releasing him, much to his disappointment. "Those tied together are destined to be lovers."
"whoa." was all he could manage.
Your serious expression switched into a playful facade, a challenging look in your eyes. "Now, I could bore you all night with similar stories, but it would not alter what I would ask at the end."
He blinked lethargically, then swallowed in an attempt to find his voice. "and what would ya ask, doll?"
"Why, I would ask if you believed in soulmates, Mr Skeleton."
If somebody had asked the cantankerous monster that before he met you, he would have laughed at them until they dug themselves an early grave. Literally an hour before you walked into the bar, he was giving Dogamy and Dogaressa shit about their supposed "soulmate bond". He'd poked fun at Undyne and Alphys until the crazy fish bitch came at him in a passionate rage of spears and suplexes. Laughed at every single idiot he saw with the perceived "weakness".
Now here you were, a pretty little human spouting off philosophical nonsense specifically about soulmates and normally, he'd poke holes in the stories and theories until you'd run home crying. Instead, he was actually listening to you and somehow, as his own soul reached out for you, he believed every damn word you were saying. He even glanced down at the pinky your hand caressed to see if he could spot the Red Thread of Fate that bound them together: because he just knew that the two of you were meant to be.
So without hesitation, he said; "hell fuckin' yeah. i believe in 'em."
A look of pure kindness came over you and you leaned towards him with an enticing smile. "What was that you had said about kissing me?"
Sans didn't respond verbally: he reacted by surging forward, pressing his sharp teeth against your lips. Weaknesses be damned: his soul had never felt as happy as it did in the exact moment when your mouths came together and he made a brand new vow then and there. He was going to do everything in his power to make you happy and keep you safe. The two of you were going to be the pair that people looked to and said; "Wow, they go together perfectly. Couldn't imagine a better match."
You pulled away first, grinning when he tried to draw you back in and stopping him with a gentle press against his shoulder. "I suppose this means you felt it as well."
Slowly, Sans nodded, his hand reaching up to snag your own and he pressed his teeth against your knuckles like the newly-made sap he was. "y-yeah. felt like my soul was gonna fly outta my ribs."
You hummed in agreement, allowing him to hold your hand captive as you turned back to the plate of cooling fries. "You asked me what I was doing here."
Blinking, he vaguely recalled asking such a thing. "sure did, sweetheart."
Spotting a bottle of ketchup, you let out a sound of triumph and plopped a glob onto the plate. "As I was walking by, there was this tugging pull and I knew everything I had done up to this point was to bring me here. I knew that I was finally where I was supposed to be."
"so... you had a gut feeling?" he inquired, genuinely interested.
Dipping a fry into the red condiment, you slyly looked over at him. "You could say I felt it from my head tomatoes."
Bursting into a fit of joyful laughter with you, Sans decided that he had changed his mind.
Love at first sight was real and to hell with anybody that said otherwise.