[It takes awhile, but that's fine. It's tiring, but that's also fine. It must be tiring to be someone's anchor. Yet again, he finds himself wondering how Papyrus does it, how he makes it look so easy. How he's not just exhausted all the time, dragging Sans's deadweight around.]
[Papyrus is just Papyrus.]
[But the tears and sobs eventually subside, and Mettaton speaks up and pulls back a little, and he smiles. It's watery, but it's there. Sans smiles back at him.]
heh. well, don't worry. guy who designed it makes pretty tough clothing. i'm sure it can handle a bit of wet.
[It's a silly thing to say, and that means Mettaton is starting to feel better. This is...a thing, he thinks. People cry and it's awful, and then they feel a little better after. Some kind of catharsis or something.]
[Sans pretty much always feels worse. Unless Papyrus is there. Maybe that's the key. Having someone you trust enough to cry in front of.]
yeah? well...that's...good.
[That's good. It's good that this helps. Shame for Mettaton that it has to be Sans, but...]
[Mettaton leans forward and presses his forehead to Sans's.]
[And.]
[It's like last time. The way his soul just surges, like it's borne up on a wave. It's frighteningly easy, the way such a simple gesture makes him feel so much. All the empty space contracting, craving something Sans never really thought to want or even think about. He doesn't really...want things. Even when he was a kid, wanting things just never occurred to him, because he could be happy with so little. Papyrus, a roof over their heads, ketchup, bad jokes, quiet.]
[And yet here this is, whatever it is, and despite himself, despite all reason and all rejection of the notion that he even deserves things like this, he...kind of...wants this.]
m-metta...
[He still doesn't get it. Doesn't understand why Mettaton would do this with him, and why now. The timing's a bit awkward. Papyrus would have done this after Sans cried all over him, but that's--that's different, of course. The context is different.]
[And then it clicks. Mettaton doesn't--know. How could he? He's probably got the most physical matter of any monster in the Underground, all that metal, all the circuitry. How would he know the weird nuance of how monsters with so much less physical matter convey affection?]
[It's the same as when Mettaton kissed him at Valentine's. It's just--a thing. Just a nice thing. Just seeking contact and comfort. No great meaning behind it.]
[That's fine. That's fine, of course, though it means that Sans should probably...tell him. Explain it. Not now--that would ruin not just the moment, but everything Sans has been trying to do here. It would ruin everything. Later. Sometime later when things are less...less this.]
[It leaves an ache in his soul, and he feels it shrink away, fall back into all the usual nothingness.]
[It's okay. Because this is still nice. This is still nice all on its own.]
action
[Papyrus is just Papyrus.]
[But the tears and sobs eventually subside, and Mettaton speaks up and pulls back a little, and he smiles. It's watery, but it's there. Sans smiles back at him.]
heh. well, don't worry. guy who designed it makes pretty tough clothing. i'm sure it can handle a bit of wet.
[It's a silly thing to say, and that means Mettaton is starting to feel better. This is...a thing, he thinks. People cry and it's awful, and then they feel a little better after. Some kind of catharsis or something.]
[Sans pretty much always feels worse. Unless Papyrus is there. Maybe that's the key. Having someone you trust enough to cry in front of.]
yeah? well...that's...good.
[That's good. It's good that this helps. Shame for Mettaton that it has to be Sans, but...]
[Mettaton leans forward and presses his forehead to Sans's.]
[And.]
[It's like last time. The way his soul just surges, like it's borne up on a wave. It's frighteningly easy, the way such a simple gesture makes him feel so much. All the empty space contracting, craving something Sans never really thought to want or even think about. He doesn't really...want things. Even when he was a kid, wanting things just never occurred to him, because he could be happy with so little. Papyrus, a roof over their heads, ketchup, bad jokes, quiet.]
[And yet here this is, whatever it is, and despite himself, despite all reason and all rejection of the notion that he even deserves things like this, he...kind of...wants this.]
m-metta...
[He still doesn't get it. Doesn't understand why Mettaton would do this with him, and why now. The timing's a bit awkward. Papyrus would have done this after Sans cried all over him, but that's--that's different, of course. The context is different.]
[And then it clicks. Mettaton doesn't--know. How could he? He's probably got the most physical matter of any monster in the Underground, all that metal, all the circuitry. How would he know the weird nuance of how monsters with so much less physical matter convey affection?]
[It's the same as when Mettaton kissed him at Valentine's. It's just--a thing. Just a nice thing. Just seeking contact and comfort. No great meaning behind it.]
[That's fine. That's fine, of course, though it means that Sans should probably...tell him. Explain it. Not now--that would ruin not just the moment, but everything Sans has been trying to do here. It would ruin everything. Later. Sometime later when things are less...less this.]
[It leaves an ache in his soul, and he feels it shrink away, fall back into all the usual nothingness.]
[It's okay. Because this is still nice. This is still nice all on its own.]
[And Sans really just doesn't want things.]
heh. you...uh. you feeling a little better?