Welp, you really messed that one up. Niice.

I've always hated going to that shop, ever since I moved here. The aisles were always crowded with monsters and humans alike, and the cashier was relentless in her judgmental stares, from my fingers fumbling for my change to my wobbly smile as I tried to stop my hands from shaking.

The shopping bags are already cutting into my palms, and I wonder if I should've taken the bus.

No. Too much heat. Too many people. Too little room.

I huff a deep sigh, the muggy atmosphere of the town starting to get to me. The day was grey, cloudy and humid. It seemed to me that on days like these, there was never enough oxygen.

Just keep your head down, in one two three, out one two three. Easy. It's easy.

IT SHOULD BE EASY WHAT'S WRONG WITH Y-

Suddenly my ankle twists and I tumble like a sack of spuds, letting out an unnatural squawk. I land, knees-first, on the unforgiving concrete pavement, the impact jarring all the way from my knees to my hips. I catch myself from slamming my chin into the pavement- barely.

Palms burning, knees on fire, I pant heavily, sniffing, trying to hold in the sobs. I carefully coordinate my awkward limbs until I'm sitting on the ground, legs pulled up to my chest; and inspect the damage. My knees already have bruising, and one is bleeding profusely. I touch the bleeding wound gingerly, and a jolt of pain courses through me. The tears are welling up. Shit shit shit shi-

'Hey, kiddo, you okay?' I freeze as a low, cheery voice cuts into my thought-process. Looking up, I see a monster- a skeleton- looking down at me, grinning. 'Uh.. Uh..' My brain has turned to porridge. I swipe at my tears, only succeeding in smearing blood across my right cheekbone.

Smooth. Fucking smooth.

I feel like my 21 years of age have halved.

'I…' my tongue seems to have gone awol.

Realizing I'm struggling at being a functioning human, he holds out his hand. 'You look like you… knee-d… a hand.' he grins at you, winking. 'I'm Sans.' Was that.. a pun? I tentatively reach to take it, then falter.

This is already pitiful enough, you can stand on your own.

Ignoring my screaming nerves shooting pain through my entire bottom half, I gather my determination and stand on my own two feet. He- Sans- shrugs, stuffing his hand back in the pocket of his thick blue hoodie, still donning a wide grin.

I finally look at Sans properly. His skull is matte but smooth, like marble, and despite being bone seems to move fluidly. His eye sockets are pools of darkness, save a glint of mischief in each. His smile stretches across his face, and I know instantly that I like him. Not that it matters, because I'll never be seeing him again, especially after the spectacle I just pulled.

'… I'm Lucie.' About bloody time!

For the second time that day, he extends a hand, this time for me to shake.

'Hey, Lucie.'

This time, I take it.

Was that a whoopie cushion?

Laughter bubbles up out of my mouth as I take in how surreal the situation is. Sans starts to laugh too, gravelly and self-assured, still not taking his eyes off of me.

'Here.' he says, and picks up the fallen shopping bags. 'Where to, pal?'

I pause for a second, unsure of whether I should be giving my address out to total strangers. Well, the answer to that was no, but, should I be giving it out to this total stranger?

I think my ankle might be sprained, or at least badly twisted. I'm sure I can feel it swelling in my boots, but maybe it's just me overthinking. As usual. My knee's still pumping blood. I must have hit.. a vein? An artery? I was never so good at biology. There's no veins in my knees.. right?

… What's the difference between a vein and an artery?

I shake my head, I'm getting fuzzy. I don't know if I could get home by myself.

I finally decide that it's probably more dangerous to be lying passed out on the street bleeding than to be walked home by someone I didn't know too well. Besides, he'd used a whoopie cushion trick, for god's sake.

I mumble my address, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to clear my head.

'Lucie?' He says, his grin fading slightly for the first time. 'You're looking a little green there, bud. Here, I'll take ya home.' He puts my arm around his shoulder, and helps me hobble along the dusty path. He's warm, warmer than he looks, and 'You know, you're only a street away from me.' He says, smiling. 'I moved here 'bout a month ago, with my brother Papyrus.'

Papyrus… I think. What a funny name… Nearly as funny as Sans.

Then all of a sudden I feel my legs turn to water. Sans' arms grab me tightly just as everything fades to black.

Open your eyes. How long has it been? Oh god what if you've slept for a day and you've missed your shift and you're going to get fired and run out of money and you'll never be able to catch up on the rent and you're 3 months behind already you're such a mess you're such a mess

Bleary-eyed, I shunt the anxious thoughts to the back of my mind and checked my phone. Five in the evening- I'd slept for 3 hours. A quick scan told me that I was in my own bed at home, with no Sans in sight. A second revealed a glass of water, two painkillers and a note:

Hey Lucie.

Was feeling stalker-y so I left

I had to lock the door behind me bc otherwise you'd get mugged or something, so I've got your key. Call me when you're awake.

Look how KEY-n I'm being ;)

My number – XXXXX-XXX-XXX

Cringing at the awful pun, I took the painkillers and gulped down a slug of water. Drawing back my covers, I realize both my knee and my ankle are bandaged, and feel a hell of a lot better. Gingerly stepping out of bed, I trudge to the kitchen to make a sandwich, head pounding and stomach screaming for some very late lunch.

Taking a chunk out of a hefty chicken sandwich, I think about the abrupt, unexpected meeting. For some reason, thinking about him cracking a pun and impossibly moving solid bone to wink makes me crack a smile, heat rising to my cheeks. I made a right fool of myself. Taking another bite of the sandwich, I look at the number he'd jotted onto a scrappy old receipt.

You don't deserve him.

The voice in my mind says. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing with all my might that it would leave, that I could have a calm, tranquil day. To no avail.

You don't deserve to even know someone like that. He basically just saved you, and you can't even get out of bed some days. You're weak.

The tears are back.

Weak.

I could probably deal with it all, the overthinking, the esteem-destroying whispers in my head, the static filling my brain every time I said or did something wrong. I could probably deal with it all, if only I weren't so sure…

If only I didn't know… that the voice was stating truths.

I take the receipt, observing the indents on the paper, the places where the ink has bled, the rounded curves of the letters. I crumple it in my fist, hold it at arm's length, and let it fall into the bin. A single tear falls but I swipe it away, limping back to bed. I knew I wouldn't be leaving it until work started the next day.