Work Text:
“i dunno about this...”
“THE FACT YOU DOUBT ME FOR EVEN A MOMENT HORRIFIES ME!”
Sans winced, tracing the outline of the tile floor with his sock, the harsh lighting of the dressing room and his uncompromising, unflattering reflection staring back at him. Dumpy, uneven edges, and bright, clashing colours that didn’t suit him. To his right, he saw his hoodie, tank top and comfy shorts hanging haphazardly on the wall-hook. Familiar and safe.
“i appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do,” he said diplomatically through the curtain, pulling gingerly at his lime green tank top, offset wonderfully by his hot pink shoulder pads, “but i don’t think this is really me.”
“I’M GOING TO STOP YOU RIGHT THERE,” Papyrus stated, his shadow cast against the thick drape of the privacy-curtain, the smell of cologne permeating the air having passed ‘tasteful’ two hundred spritzes ago and now sitting comfortably in ‘thermonuclear’, “AND SAY THAT, DESPITE THE FACT I’VE NOT SEEN YOU YET, YOU LOOK BALLER.”
Sans hated clothes shopping, now more than ever. There wasn’t a point in getting anything fancy for himself, it was more convenient to pick up handfuls of stuff at a thrift shop, hoping the majority wasn’t stained with urine, and wearing that.
“uh--”
“BODACIOUS, SANS.”
Sans looked at himself in the mirror again, a grim facsimile of his brother, and grimaced. He knew that admitted to Papyrus that he was on a ‘downer’ would come with some regret, but this was on another level. Of course Papyrus would think taking him on a shopping spree would help. ‘SHOP TILL YOU DROP! THOUGH NOT LITERALLY, THIS IS NOT A TO-THE-DEATH AFFAIR, PROBABLY,’ he had said. Sans heard other people changing and the occasional lapse into silence as random members of the public tried not to take notice of the skeleton hovering in the changing room. Sans cast his eyes to the dark pair of skates, scuffed from use, sitting neatly on the bench of the cubicle.
“papyrus, what’s your shoe size?”
“FIFTEEN. WHAT ABOUT YOURS?”
“uh... five.”
“OH.”
“yeah.”
“I DON’T THINK MY ROLLERSKATES WILL FIT.”
“not unless you want me to live in ‘em like a hermit in a cave, then no, they won’t.”
Sans heard Papyrus gently thud his foot against the tiled floor in frustration, puffing out air.
“THAT’S A SHAME! THE FLAME DECALS ARE GREAT AT MAKING YOU FASHION FASTER. THEY WOULD REALLY BRING OUT THE LACK OF COLOUR IN YOUR EYES, TOO!”
Where did Papyrus even find cyan shorts? Sans had looked at the clothes in the store, and it all seemed very muted. They struggled to fit, as well, anything that clung to his pelvis in a way that could be considered comfortable was far too long in the leg. Papyrus had compromised and fetched him--
Sans nearly blenched.
Booty shorts.
“this was a bad idea.”
“WHAT? BECOMING CRUNK? COOLIO? IMPRESSING HOME SKILLETS? NONSENSE! NOTHING BOLSTERS THE SPIRIT LIKE LOOKING GOOD!”
“i don’t know what those mean, and i don’t think you do, either.”
“IT’S THE CURRENT FLY LINGO!”
Sans was reaching for his hoodie, tugging off the tank top with one movement of his arm.
“yeah, um, i’m looking at myself in the mirror and i dunno if--”
“OH GOOD, YOU’VE HIDDEN YOUR SHAME.”
Papyrus whipped the curtain open, like he was unveiling a new car, before his gaze fell to Sans and his expression became unreadable. Papyrus was dressed plainly in comparison, a fitted shirt that bunched up in the hollow of his abdomen, a baseball cap, and jeans, as he didn’t want to ‘STEAL HIS THUNDER.’ Sans tried to ignore the Humans going about their business behind Papyrus, who threw him little confused glances.
“SHIRTLESS IS A BOLD MOVE, BUT I CAN RESPECT IT.”
Sans fidgeted in front of him, rubbing at the soft, well-worn fabric of his hoodie, while Papyrus stepped in and closed the curtain.
“IT CANNOT BE DISPUTED. LIKE A PLANE CRASHING INTO A MOUNTAIN; YOU LOOK DANGEROUSLY FLY. BUT! WE CAN ALWAYS GO FLYER.”
“um--”
Papyrus opened the shutter shades, luminescent white, and shoved them awkwardly onto Sans’ face, hoping force would make up for his lack of ears. To his delight, Sans’ nasal bone was prominent enough to balance them on.
Sans fiddled at the shutter-shades, almost completely blind. He had difficulty peering through the slats, his vision encaged.
“how d’you see out of these things?”
“THE FACT YOU THINK ‘VISION’ IS ESSENTIAL IN EYEWEAR SHOWS WE HAVE A LONG, LONG WAY TO GO.”
Papyrus surveyed him, delicately extending his fingers to move Sans’ skull left, and then right, like a doctor at a checkup. Then, with silent concentration, he removed his own hat, delicately tightened the strap, and set it on Sans’ head.
“SANS,” he said with the decisive air of a true icon, “YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE.”
“yeah...”
“GODAWFUL.”
“yup.”
“HELL, MADE LIVING BY THE POWER OF UGLINESS.”
“geez, you don’t have to go that far.”
Papyrus reached forward, snapped Sans’ cap backwards, and stepped back to appreciate his handiwork. He clapped, delighted with himself.
“YOU LOOK UTTERLY FANTASTIC!”
Sans blinked.
“eh?”
“WITH YOUR HAT FORWARD? TOO PLAIN! LIKE YOU’RE PLAYING GOLF. BAD GOLF. ‘SNEAKING INTO THE COURSE AT MIDNIGHT AND FALLING IN POND’ GOLF. BUT THIS, THIS! I CAN’T LET YOU GO OUTSIDE, THEY’LL HANG YOU IN THE MUSÉE D’ORSAY!”
“what’s a ‘door-say?’”
“-- BUT BACKWARDS, BACKWARDS! YOU’RE SHOWING THE WORLD YOUR REBELLIOUS SPIRIT!”
Sans scratched at his head, forehead sweating, while Papyrus powered on ahead in front of him, pacing like he was a mad genius, revelling in his own ingenuity.
“i... uh, don’t really have one of those.”
“SURE YOU DO! THE CLOTHES MAKE THE SKELETON. YOU’RE WEARING A HAT. IT KEEPS THE SUN OUT OF YOUR EYES. BUT... BEHOLD!”
Papyrus gently bopped Sans on the forehead with his finger, whipped into a frenzy of fabric and fashion.
“THE RIM IS BACKWARDS! YOU’VE FOUND SOMETHING WITH INHERENT USE, AND FUNCTIONALLY, MADE IT ENTIRELY USELESS! YOU DON’T NEED THE SUN OUT OF YOUR EYES, YOU’LL JUST SQUINT AND FALL LIKE ALL THE OTHER COOL DUDES. LIKE ME! FINDING THE BOUNDARIES OF CONVENTION, THEN DISREGARDING IT TO DO WHAT YOU WANT, THAT IS THE ESSENCE OF COOL!”
“you are very cool,” Sans agreed, voice soft and sincere.
“THAT I AM. BUT TODAY IS ABOUT YOU! STRIKE A FASHIONABLE POSE!”
Sans grimaced.
“what’s... what’s a fashionable pose in this? hand on my hip...?”
“FLUTTER YOUR EYES SHUT, LIKE YOU’RE A BUTTERFLY TRYING NOT TO DISTURB A DANDELION, AND EXUDE AN ATMOSPHERE OF RAW CHARISMA SO DENSE THAT THE PRESSURE OF IT BREAKS THE BONES OF LESSER MEN.”
Sans looked at him.
“no.”
“BREAKDANCE.”
“no.”
“HAND ON YOUR HIP, I SUPPOSE.”
Sans put his hand on his hip, his elbow hanging loose. Papyrus gently manipulated it into place.
“THERE WE GO! YOU’RE PUSHING PEOPLE OUT OF THE WAY WITH PURE, UNABASHED SASS, NOT WAITING FOR A BUS AND HAVING TWO SHOW UP AT ONCE. CONVICTION!”
“yeah, i, uh... i mean...”
Sans broke.
“i don’t like this.”
Papyrus’ smile fell, before he pasted it back on.
“OH?”
Damn. Sans set to work, thinking through his method of damage control.
“i, uh... i mean, think of it this way. we both got our things. yours is being the ‘cool guy’. i mean, if i looked as hip as you, that wouldn’t work, right? we would be the ‘cool bros’, and that doesn’t give you the credit you deserve. it’s like bombing a group project on my end, but you do all the legwork, so we get a ‘decent’ grade. it ain’t fair.”
“THE FACT YOU THINK YOU’RE ‘BOMBING’ YOUR PART OF OUR ARRANGEMENT IS THE PROBLEM,” he said plainly.
Sans was quiet, wishing he were at home, asleep.
“I JUST WANTED TO CHEER YOU UP, BUT... I SUPPOSE THE CLOTHES ARE SUPERFLUOUS, IN YOUR SPECIFIC CASE.” Papyrus gave him a reassuring thud on the shoulder, before pulling back the curtain to leave, to give him the chance to change into his normal outfit. “YOU ARE ALREADY THE COOLEST,” Papyrus mused
And, at once, Sans felt a little better.
“if clothes are superfluous, can i hang out naked at home.”
“DON’T RUIN THE MOMENT.”