You see your monster again that very night, coming back from work on your bus. His face still looks a bit flushed but he's no longer shaking or swaying. You avert your eyes as he slouches down past the rows of gum studded chairs and you tell yourself that you can't feel his gaze on you.
You are looking out the window when you feel the seat next to you dip down. The glass, brightly lit up by the fluorescent lights inside the bus, acts more like a mirror than a window. You look into it, watching the monster sitting down beside you, staring blankly forward. You don't know what to say so you say nothing. You don't know what to do so you do nothing. You just close your mouth with a click and force yourself to stare out the front of the bus.
The two of you sit there, the hushed quiet between you and him growing with every minute until it almost hums with the weight of unspoken words. You find it hard to even open your mouth; that is until it's your stop.
"Um, excuse me," you say, leaning across him to push the button.
He doesn't speak but, as the bus slows to a stop, he stands and moves to the side, far away enough for you to get through, but close enough that you have to brush past him. You feel your face burn as you shoot off the bus, and you shake your head. You look back but he's still blankly staring forward, not looking in your direction at all. You shake your head again. That was weird, wasn't it? You wonder what is going on in that monster's head... and whether this is going to be a onetime thing.
It isn't a onetime thing. It starts becoming a thing. You'll sit on the window seat and he'll sit next to you. Even when, on occasion, the bus is entirely empty but for the two of you, he will still sit next to you. He never says anything and neither do you, other than: "This is my stop" and "Excuse me." And it goes on like this night after night, shift after shift, for an excruciatingly awkward week when you spend every minute either staring straight ahead, trying to piece together in your mind what on earth he is doing, or subtly checking whether his flushed and tired appearance has faded in the midnight mirror of the bus windows... That is, until one day when someone else takes his seat.
You have noticed the older woman before, staring at the skeleton monster with something akin to disgust in her watery, red-rimmed eyes but she never did or said anything. You dismissed her as irrelevant. If you had thought of the woman at all, you would never have expected her gaze to turn to you. She is middle aged, most likely in her late fifties, if you cared to guess. You don't though, and you try to ignore her as she blatantly glowers at you.
…Then the whispering starts. Harsh words echo in your ear about monsters and sin and hell. Her putrid, phlegm stained breath makes you gag internally, but you otherwise give as little response to her torrent of insults as you can.
She'll get bored and stop, like that girl did with my- with that monster, she'll get bored and stop, you tell yourself over and over.
She doesn't. She goes on talking.
"-with that slaverin' freak leering an' all. Let me tell you, you better watch out or that disgustin' fag's gonna follow you back home some night and ra-"
You barely even register the bus stopping as you finally turn to face her, the unfamiliar expression on your face cutting her off mid-sentence.
"Be quiet." You tell her. She blinks up at you, shocked by the tone of your voice. Hell, you're shocked by the tone of your voice. You turn away and look out the window once more.
"...I'm givin' you a warning, you stupid bastard," she hisses out when she recovers, eyes dull and gunged up with red veins. "I'm lookin' out for you. That ugly, freakin' thing ain't your friend. It's going to eat you up and no one's gonna care."
The bus has started moving again and you feel your skin flushing with irritation.
"He's not," you spit out, turning to look her in the veiny eyes. "And you are no one to talk about that when it looks like your face caught fire and someone tried to put it out with a bloody fork."
You don't hear a distant snort of laughter, you're too preoccupied with seeing the expression rippling across the woman's face. That probably wasn't a smart thing to say. Why did you have to say that? You shouldn't have said that.
"Fine! You're gonna get fucked up, let me tell you. I know this story. That monster's gonna break your fuckin' teeth in and scratch out your stupid eyes and you'll just take it and love it, you sick freak."
Your breath hitches slightly and you turn your face down to your lap, hands clenched tight on your knees as you focus on the rough feeling of your jeans, telling yourself to breathe. To just breathe.
"Listen to me when I'm talkin' at you, you stupid little fuck. You're gonna get r-"
"You're in my seat."
You blink at the somewhat familiar voice, the ridged tension in your frame softly melting away as you turn around to see the skeleton monster impassively staring down at the abruptly cowering woman.
The skeleton sits next to you as the woman slinks off.
"Thank you," you murmur, calming down as you take a long inhale of the slightly cleaner air. There's the usual stale smell of unclean seats and sour, recycled bus-air but also something else, a hint of smoke and something sweet and powdery, like white sherbet.
The monster doesn't say anything but jerkily nods as you both fall into your usual hushed silence. Today, however, is slightly different in that, as the bus rolls through the deserted city streets, you catch him glancing at you a few times. You've never seen him looking at you before and you find the whole thing very peculiar.
"...Thanks." He says as the bus rolls to a stop and you pass him to leave. You look back at him, eyes wide. He doesn't meet your gaze, instead staring at the floor. You know he's not just talking about your pitiful attempt at defending him from the woman's insults.
"You're welcome," you say and he finally meets your gaze before you turn away and walk off the bus. This time he watches you from the window.
He starts talking a little bit more after that. And when you say little, you mean little.
"Papyrus," he brusquely murmurs one night.
"What?"
"My name," he explains.
"Oh..."
"What's your name?" He asks you the next day.
You tell him.
"Oh..." he says and his mouth quirks up for a brief moment before he goes back to staring out the front.
Sometimes you ask the questions first. He doesn't always answer but it's nice when he does.
"You uh, feeling better then?" You ask.
"Yeah," is all he says but you feel him watching you as he says it. However, every time you glance at him to check, he's facing towards.
"You heading back from work?" You ask him the day after that.
"Yeah. You?"
"Same... Where do you work?"
He doesn't answer but you don't mind as you tell him about your job as a janitor, smiling ever so faintly when he nods or grunts in response to your words, quietly encouraging you to continue.
Even when talking, every journey with him is still filled with unspoken words. You want to ask how he lost his teeth, but you don't. You want to find out why he has shadows under his eyes, but you can't. You want to know if the cracks running up from his eye sockets will ever heal, but you will never ask. You sometimes wonder if he has similar questions in his head about you, about the slightly different shaded teeth of the bridge in the front of your mouth, the small circular burn marks peeking out of your turtleneck, just below your chin, or the fact you never wear short sleeved shirts. Papyrus never asks about any of this. But, one day, after over a month of shared journeys and about ten minutes of the usual silence, he does ask you something:
"Why did you help me?"
"Pardon?" You ask, certain you misheard him.
He repeats himself, not looking at you once while he speaks. You're not quite sure what to say so, for a little while, you say nothing, simply sitting next to him in contemplative silence as the bus roars down the dark roads. Then, just before your stop, you turn to him.
"I thought, you're kinda like me, and I didn't get help when I- well… I just wanted to..." your voice trails off as you try to think of how to explain yourself better. "…I'd do it again," you finally mumble, "if you needed it, I would do it again."
This time when you make to get off for your stop Papyrus doesn't move for a few moments, frowning down at his hands as you softly ask to get past. He starts and abruptly jumps up and out of your way, you smile up at him but he doesn't smile back.
Ugh. You probably said that weirdly. Like that you wouldn't have helped him if he hadn't reminded you of yourself. That wasn't what you meant. Oh god.
You shake your head of these thoughts and focus instead on the long trudge back to your flat. The shadows stretch out around you with every step as you make your way alone through the dark.