what is 'home,' to you?
‘Just a few days,’ what a riot.
Sans doubted that over a month was considered ‘a few days.’ But yet, that’s how long they were gone for. Sure, they still messaged him, but the texts were short and simple, just like when he first met them. He guessed they were just enjoying their time there, and didn’t really have time to talk. While he understood that, it still hurt to know they were having fun while he has to suffer alone.
The false hope that they would be back before New Years was certainly unwanted. He knew it was going to be unlikely, with it being just a week since they left, but a week counts as several days. Still, he was left to watch the clock tick to midnight without them. He did have his other friends, but it really wasn’t the same. Undyne slapped him hard on the back that night, telling him to chin up, that they would be back before he knew it.
The second week since they had left, Sans spent hoping the next morning would grant then. He found himself spending more time at their home, staring at either the flowers at the door, waiting for them to come bursting through the door. Of course, it never happened. As much as he wanted to avoid it, he found himself flipping through the two sketchbooks left on the table. The one with the flowers and himself. The flower one still had only the lilies, but he guessed they wouldn’t of had any time to draw the echo flowers between the small gap of the Christmas party and leaving for their parent’s. While it was weird to see himself in one of the books, it filled him with some form of warm fuzziness. They had mentioned how they would draw people they didn’t want to forget, and he was happy to know that he was on the list. He wasn’t sure of how he would feel if he knew that, and that they hadn’t drawn him. Just the mere thought of it made his soul pulse in pain. It became a habit for him to whisper a new message to the echo flowers every night, just in case they came back the next morning.
By the third week, Sans was beginning to worry. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to stay fine like this. What if they had hurt themselves somehow, and couldn’t come back? What if they discovered they didn’t want to leave their home anymore, and never came back, ever? What if- what if they were killed? His soul throbbed at all of those horrible thoughts. Of course none of those were the case, they were still texting him, showing no signs of any of his anxieties. They were just spending their time nice and slow. He didn’t dare impose on the probable happiness they were feeling right now, even if it was without him.
Into the fourth week. everyone was catching onto Sans’ miserableness. He still cracked jokes and had his overall lazy demeanor, but it was more or less so a facade. The permanent smile on his face was definitely more strained, and he wasn’t putting as much heart into his usual puns. It had become a reflex now, just like when the resets were happening. Why did he keep relating this to the resets? Neither were very similar, but here he was. He sighed and let the back of his skull connect with his bedroom wall. It was starting to get hard to think it was okay that you were gone.
Five weeks was definitely more than a few days. They’ve been gone for about a month now. What's so interesting about being with parents? The last time he had checked parents were just God awful. Surely they should be running out of things to catch up on, right? How long were they separated? Most of it could be summed up in just two days probably, so why has it been five weeks instead of the promised ‘few days’? Did they know how much Sans was tortured from being away from them for so long? His soul had an ache almost as permanent as his smile as he counted the days.
He couldn't bare to be in your house when the sixth week came along. Only for the flowers, but even seeing the lonely pots on the table made his soul cry more. How dare they leave him like this for so long. Did they even know the damage they were dealing, breaking their alleged promise of a few days? He wasn't sure when he stopped sending a sweet saying to the echo flowers. Their home was deadly silent after he stopped. He discovered how much he hated the silence. He wanted to cry in agony just like his soul, but, he was stronger than that. He could power through this. He had to.
Seven. The Seventh week. By this time, Sans questioned them ever returning. Maybe they had forgotten about him. The only time he left his room anymore was to water their flowers. Other than that, he would just spend the passing days skulking on his bed. Heh, he still had humor at least. It hurt Papyrus to see Sans like this. This, horrible feeling of loneliness was taking a toll on everyone now. Sans couldn't help but laugh at his stupid dependency on them. Who knew them leaving for almost two months would practically kill him? It was so pathetic, pitiful, he hated himself for acting this way. He wondered how they would be if the roles would switch, would they feel the same? Or would they be able to function normally as a person? He wasn’t crazy enough to find out.
It was into the Eighth week, when they finally came back. Sans had just finished watering their flowers, staring off into space for a while, until he heard the soft click of their front door unlocking. He had never shot up faster in his life, pulling the door open the moment he saw the handle moving. He looked down at their beautiful face, oh God how he missed it. The ovular shape, the shining eyes that looked back up at him, the short bangs slightly obscuring their eyelashes, they were beyond flawless.
He cupped their face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over their cheeks. Leaning down, and for the first time, he pressed his teeth against their own mouth.