Chapter 3

The Stars

Five minutes went by, then ten, with no further sound to be heard. Mettaton had thrown himself onto the green couch in the living room, which turned out to be lumpy and uncomfortable, to wait for Papyrus to exhibit some sign of life. He tried calling Papyrus's phone but the call went straight to voicemail.

After ten minutes Mettaton got up from the couch. He turned toward the front door, considering what to do. He could just walk out. He'd done it before with dates that had turned out to be tiresome or unpleasant. In all likelihood Papyrus assumed the date was over anyway. There wasn't anything holding Mettaton here.

No. He couldn't do that to Papyrus. At the very least he owed the poor fellow a formal goodbye.

Mettaton walked into the corridor. The first door he encountered was plastered with stickers and signs, one of which read, "Only Papyrus Allowed!" He rapped gently and called out, "Papyrus? Are you all right in there?"

There was no answer. He knocked again and asked more loudly, "Papyrus? Are you in there?"

There was still no answer. "Papyrus," Mettaton called out in a voice loud enough to carry down the entire corridor, "if you wish me to leave you alone and depart from your house, please say so. Otherwise I intend to stay until I know you're all right."

This time he heard a very weak, whimpering voice. "I'm sorry," it said.

Mettaton tried the door, finding it unlatched. The room was dark, only a little light trickling in through the window from distant streetlamps, but it was enough for Mettaton's sensitive eyes. (Alphys was very good with eyes.) He barely took in the bedroom and its furnishings—bookcase, display cabinet, computer desk, a bed like a red racing car—because in the middle of the bedroom floor, huddled up on the carpet with his back to the door, was Papyrus.

"Oh, Papyrus," said Mettaton. "You've done nothing to be sorry for. Why are you hiding?"

"I didn't want you to see me cry," Papyrus murmured. "I've already ruined everything else."

"Papyrus, darling…"

The skeleton went on, voice barely under control. "I ruined your dinner, I ruined your dessert, I ruined your coat, I r-ruined your whole evening…" Papyrus began to cry again. "Look at me, I'm just making it worse now."

Mettaton looked down at the abject figure of Papyrus, curled up on the floor with tears running down his cheekbones. A sudden resolve kindled in Mettaton's heart: forthwith he lowered himself to the carpet next to Papyrus, stretching himself out on his back.

"Mind if I join you, Papyrus?" he asked.

"What?" Papyrus, surprised at Mettaton's behavior, unfolded himself from his fetal position and also rolled onto his back. His eye-sockets were still wet from crying but his mood now was more baffled than grief-stricken. "Mettaton, what are you doing?"

Mettaton put his hands together on his chest plate, staring up at the ceiling. "Something I once did all the time," he answered softly. "Years ago. When there wasn't anyone else but myself and Blooky."

"Blooky...you mean Napstablook the ghost? Your DJ?" Papyrus twisted his head toward Mettaton. "I didn't have any idea you knew them that long."

"I didn't just know Blooky, Papyrus. They're my cousin. Once we were inseparable, and I promised I'd never leave them, the way everyone else in our family did. Then I broke my promise." Mettaton sighed. "Papyrus...I'm not a very good person, really. You should know that, before you even think about getting any closer to me. I've hurt many people."

"That's impossible!" Papyrus spluttered. "You've been so kind and patient with me, Mettaton, putting up with me like you have tonight. I won't believe you're not a good person."

Mettaton laughed without joy. "Maybe I'm finally learning a little, darling. But you don't know all the things I've done. You don't know what I tried to do to Frisk." The stab of old shame was a painful one. "I came this close to murdering them, Papyrus. That's not something a good person does."

"But Undyne tried to kill Frisk too. She's a good person! She's best friends with Frisk now!"

Mettaton shook his head. "You can't excuse me that easily, Papyrus. Undyne wanted to kill Frisk because she burned with a passion to save her people. What did I want out of Frisk's death? Ratings."

Papyrus sighed. "So you almost did something bad...but in the end you didn't, Mettaton! You did the right thing in the end. Frisk forgave you. I forgive you."

But Mettaton went on as if he hadn't heard Papyrus's words. "And you don't know how I abandoned Blooky and left them alone on the farm, crying their eyes out. I never told them where I'd gone or what I'd become. All because I didn't want anything getting between me and stardom." He sighed. "And then Alphys gave me a gorgeous body, gave me everything she promised and more, and how did I repay her? By making fun of her, making fun of everything she loved…" Mettaton's voice grew uncertain, wavering. "I could have killed her, do you know that? I didn't know how miserable she was, I had no idea and I don't know if I'd have given a damn back then even if I had known, I could have pushed her right over the edge—" To Papyrus's shock Mettaton began to sob. The harsh, metallic noise of his sobbing stung Papyrus to tears again.

"Mettaton, please, please don't cry, I'm here for you—" Without thinking Papyrus reached for Mettaton's hand, his bony fingers interlacing with the robot's smooth metallic digits. Then he realized what he'd done and immediately pulled his hand away. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Mettaton, I shouldn't have done that, I should've asked permission."

"No, Papyrus, it's fine! I...I liked it. You can hold my hand again if you want."

"Oh. Um...okay." Papyrus shyly reached again for Mettaton's hand, interweaving fingers again, squeezing gently. "Thank you, Mettaton."

Calmness and warmth radiated through Mettaton's body from the touch of Papyrus's hand. "No, thank you, Papyrus. This is...nice. I feel better."

The two of them laid there side by side for many minutes, holding hands, looking up at the ceiling, not feeling for the time being any need to talk. Papyrus eventually broke the silence.

"I must seem so boring to you, Mettaton. Your life has been so exciting, so glamorous, and everybody wants to know you. You have so many stories to tell. Talking to you...it reminds me that I haven't done anything and I don't know anybody."

"You're not boring! Darling…" Mettaton scooted a little closer to Papyrus, gazing at him. He studied the skeleton's face, fascinated by the intricate contours and textures in his skull and how it rippled and changed with the skeleton's moods—so different from the sleek, polished, impeccably sculpted work of engineering genius that was his own face. "You don't know how intriguing you are. Especially up close."

"Oh. Oh wow…"

"Also, Papyrus, I know you think I'm a huge star but really, I'm not, not any more."

"You are too a star!"

"To the monsters I'm a star and everybody watches everything I do. To the humans...I'm an unknown at best, a freakish novelty at worst. Do you know what the grand total of my exposure in human media has been so far? Three radio interviews and a five-minute spot on a local morning show where they did nothing but pester me with impertinent questions about my fashion sense and about whether I was actually male or not." Mettaton smiled at Papyrus. "You've done better than I have, you know. You've made public appearances, standing alongside Queen Toriel! Humans seem to like you."

"Wow, do you think so, Mettaton?" Papyrus brightened.

"I do." Now it was Mettaton's turn to get bashful. "And I...I think I like you too, Papyrus."

Even in the darkened room Mettaton could tell the skeleton's cheekbones were flushed bright red. "...you do?" Papyrus eventually asked in a tiny voice.

"I do, Papyrus. Because you've been so gentle and forgiving. Because you've been trying so hard to do the right things. I feel like I can be honest with you, like I don't have to be 'on' all the time, and you'll still listen."

"...wow," Papyrus whispered. He let go of Mettaton's hand so he could roll onto his side, facing him. "May I hug you, Mettaton?"

Mettaton reached up a hand, touching his metal fingertips to the skeleton's cheekbone. "Any time, Papyrus."

Tentatively Papyrus curled his free arm around Mettaton's waist and pulled him closer, until their faces were inches apart and he could feel the skeleton's sternum pressing against his chest. Mettaton shuddered at the delicate sensation of Papyrus's bony fingertips skimming ever so lightly over the touch-sensitive plating of his back, sending an electric thrill through his wiring. Mettaton in turn wrapped his arm around Papyrus's body, his fingers running over the ridges and valleys of the skeleton's spine underneath the fabric of his shirt, prompting Papyrus to utter a little squeak of pleasure. They held each other for many minutes, lightly touching and caressing each other's bodies, before Papyrus reluctantly broke the embrace.

"Wow," he said, his voice pitched rather higher than normal.

"Feeling better, darling?" Mettaton asked.

"Yes, Mettaton, I feel great! Oh, wowie...I can't believe the star of Cooking with a Killer Robot actually hugged me…"

Mettaton giggled. "Maybe I should have you on that show soon."

"Oh, gosh! Do you think my cooking is that good?"

"Papyrus, darling...your cooking needs a lot of work."

"Aww…." Papyrus grew momentarily glum, but then he cheered up again. "Well, I guess it'll keep me busy, working on improving my cooking!"

"That's the spirit, darling!" They shared a laugh, then went back to contemplating the ceiling together. "Oh, Papyrus, I've so missed doing this with someone special."

A pleasant shiver passed over Papyrus when he heard the words "someone special", and he squeezed Mettaton's hand in his. "Do you still do this with Napstablook? Now that you're reunited?"

"Oh, once in a while! Blooky still needs the comfort sometimes. Not as much as they once did, though." Mettaton grew wistful. "So often I used to find them lying alone on the floor in the dark, sad, crying sometimes, telling me that they felt like garbage. I'd lie next to them so they'd know that they weren't alone. Sometimes we'd just lie there, not talking, not doing anything, just...being together. Other times I'd tell Blooky about all the fascinating things that Alphys was teaching me about the Overworld, about the Surface, and especially about the sky, the real sky, and everything you could see in it. She'd show me pictures from her collection of human books, pictures of stars and planets and galaxies and comets and everything else, and I'd try to describe them to Blooky as we lay together, so we could try to imagine what the night sky would look like if we could see it for ourselves." Mettaton rested his head against Papyrus's clavicle. "Who ever thought we'd soon find out? But you know what, Papyrus? I still prefer the sky I saw in my imagination. It was more colorful. More...fabulous."

The two of them lay there for a while, hand in hand, sometimes rubbing gently against each other, but mostly they lay quietly, eyes closed, imagining a sky studded not with thousands of stars but with millions, with nebulae and galaxies in every conceivable size and shade of color.

The shrilling of Mettaton's phone shattered the mood. Annoyed, he retrieved it from his thigh and answered, still lying down. "Who is it now...oh, god…I'm sorry, Papyrus dear, but I have to take this."

"It's all right, Mettaton," said Papyrus, utter contentment in his voice as he rested his skull on Mettaton's shoulder-plate.

"This had better be good. Hello?...Aaron, baby, why are you calling me right now? I told you I was going on a date….Can't this wait till tomorrow morning?...What do you mean it can't?..." Mettaton groaned. "They canceled? What, all of them? Aaron, you must be joking...What was their excuse?! Did they give a good reason?...Hm, that's actually a pretty good reason. So now we have to line up some replacement contestants. Can't the associate producer do it?...Oh, that's very flattering of you, Aaron. I'd take that as a compliment if I weren't so pissed off. I'll have you know that you interrupted a very good time...That's none of your damn business!...All right, all right, I'll be back at the studio within the hour. See you then, Aaron..." Mettaton disconnected before finishing his sentence. "...you horse-faced hypocrite." He swiveled his head toward Papyrus again. "Darling, I'm really sorry. Tomorrow's quiz show is falling apart and apparently only I have the connections and the persuasiveness to save it, or so I am informed. I hope you're not mad."

"No," said Papyrus, a great smile on his face and a warm glow in his eyes. "You're a beautiful star, Mettaton. I don't mind that you have to go do what beautiful stars have to do to shine."

"Why...Papyrus...that's uncommonly lyrical of you. Thank you." He leaned in to press his metal lips to Papyrus's cheekbone. The skeleton squeaked again and blushed more furiously red than ever. Then Mettaton jumped to his feet, pulling Papyrus up by the hand. "We'll do this again soon, I promise."

"Did you…" Papyrus said in a small, shy voice. "Did you really mean that? About having a good time?"

"Yes, darling. One of the best."

"Wowie…I...I don't know what to say."

"There's no need for words, Papyrus." He bussed Papyrus on the cheekbone again. With that he walked to the front door, Papyrus following. He retrieved his soiled magenta coat; Papyrus cringed a little at the sight of it again but Mettaton forestalled him with a raised hand and a smile. "It's just a coat, darling. I'll get it dry-cleaned and it'll be as good as ever."

Papyrus gave Mettaton a long parting hug. "Good night, Mettaton. Good luck with your show."

Mettaton struck a provocatively leggy pose and treated Papyrus to a come-hither stare. "Good night, darling. You've been a lovely audience." Then he was out the door and gone.

Papyrus looked around his now empty apartment and sighed. Dutifully he went through his evening rounds: cleaning up after dinner, scraping the uneaten fettuccine into a container to stash in the fridge, trashing his ruined dessert quiche, washing and putting away dishes. Then he went back to his bedroom. He almost went straight to his racecar bed but, on impulse, he laid himself down on the floor again and closed his eyes, and imagined.

He imagined the nightly firmament again, as he had been envisioning it before, a celestial vault such as he would never see in the Overworld: glittering with millions of stars, glowing with thousands of galaxies and nebulae in every imaginable color. But now amid the splendor, shaped from the light of innumerable stars glowing pink and silver-white, shone the magnificent figure of Mettaton, the brightest constellation in Papyrus's sky.