The Smell of Old Books (Sans/Reader)

Epiphany?

There was always a time for anything.

You hadn't really heard of a time for whatever this was again.

Sans fell asleep on your couch, wrapped up like a burrito in that fuzzy pink blanket. His look was peaceful, serene. You wondered what he was dreaming about, that cute smile plastered hazily on his face.

It was one of those nights, and sleep avoided you like the plague. You kept replaying the day's events in your head over and over and over again. Honestly, it felt like cycling in an exercise machine - you weren't going anywhere with this. Yet it wasn't like you could just stop, could you?

You bit your lip hard.

He kept reassuring you that it was okay, that you hadn't totally rejected him earlier. ( Like seriously. Who makes out with someone, tell them they like them, and then say they aren't fit to date? An asshole, that's who.) Sans spaced himself away from you, only a few inches that still somehow felt a million miles away, and talked with you for a while.

Sans asked you typical, therapist type questions afterwards. Questions that would've been too personal, too close to home. But it was with Sans, he felt more like a home than your stupid bookstore did. ( Don't tell him that, that sounds creepy...)

Were you okay? (No.) How long have you felt like this? (Forever?) Have you ever tried to...? (Of course not.) Did your hand hurt? (A little, just if you moved it wrong.) Did you want to go see someone? (You should, it would just be hard.) You should really go see someone. (You know. It'd just be difficult.) Would you text him, or call him, if you ever felt bad? (You weren't sure, but you'd try. You told Sans that you would though.) Did you want to get something to eat? (Actually, yes. Your appetite had returned with a vengeance.)

You wondered how Sans really felt about it all. He was supportive as all hell, but your excuse sounded like such bullshit...(?) You were telling the truth, but you wished that you had something that sounded more realistic - something less pathetic. Sans deserved that at the very least, right?

The taste of copper started to overwhelm your thoughts.

You had cut your lip open.

Taking a deep breath, you wiped your arm against your lip. Sure enough, there was blood. You felt stupid, but it wasn't really worth it to beat yourself about it. There was too many things you could use against yourself already; why do it over something so dumb?

Precisely for the fact that it was stupid.

Was it really healthy for you to be thinking like this? Honestly. You had said what you've said for a reason, it wasn't for you to go back on everything you've said to him.

If you weren't going to get better for yourself, why not do it for Sans? (For your mom.) He obviously cared about you enough to spend the entire day with you. He must've realized that today was hard for you as well, hence why he was spending the night.

Maybe he was just a good person.

Or maybe he genuinely cared about you.

You hoped for the latter. (It was the latter.)

Your laptop stood on your beaten up coffee table, a YouTube video showing up on the screen - completed, showing suggestions for your next video. Sighing, you grabbed it and clicked out of the video, choosing to go to Google and search something.

Therapists near me.

Sans'd be proud of you. Hell. You were sure a lot of people would be proud of you for this. Undyne, Alphys, maybe even Toriel would be...