Napstablook's house is at the edge of the town on the higher end, further up the mountain. It's bigger than it used to be; there's a spare room built into the side, and it doesn't look like the left half of a set anymore. It's still vaguely ghost-shaped, though, with a circular bulge at the top that doesn't seem very architecturally sound and a small little door that looks a bit like an afterthought. You knock, trying to be polite. After all, it's possible that Napstablook isn't home.

There's no reply for a little while, and you're turning around to leave when you spot a wisp of white out of the corner of your eye. Napstablook is peeking out the window, and when they see you looking they slide right through the wall.

"hello..." they say, sounding uncertain.

You wave at them.

"did you come to visit?" they ask.

You nod.

"oh..." They seem a little thrown by this. "i'm not used to having visitors...the house isn't very tidy...oh no..."

You try to look reassuring and wait, not wanting to pressure them any further.

"well...you can come in if you really want to," Napstablook decides, looking a little brighter. "it's ok if you don't, though..."

And they fade back through the wall, leaving you to open the door yourself. It's unlocked, like it was the last time. You judge that Napstablook, though shy as always, wasn't actually unhappy about the prospect of company, and let yourself inside.

If anything, Napstablook's new house is tidier than their old one. It's bigger, so the sparse furniture looks even smaller in comparison. The only corner that really looks lived-in is the one with the computer. Piles of CDs and other equipment you don't recognize surround it. There are even some machines you don't remember seeing last time. You think that one's a set of turntables, and there's a box along one wall with a lot of switches and dials that looks complicated enough to launch a small rocket with.

You point at some of the new stuff, interested. "oh..." Napstablook says, and blushes, looking pleased. "i don't really know what i'm doing with it yet, but mettaton insisted. he's being really nice to me, it's...kind of weird..."

You nod, pleased.

"...do you want me to show you...what it does?" Napstablook asks shyly.

You nod again, smiling wider this time.

"...okay..."

And they do. They show you what each of the things do, with a mix of technical jargon and names that they've clearly made up themself. It's a lot of fun listening to their descriptions, and eventually they get so wrapped up in their work that they forget to be nervous around you. You find out that an excited Napstablook sounds pretty much like they normally do, only with fewer pauses.

The music provides a nice counterpoint. It's relaxing, and you find yourself getting lost in the loops that they've made that run into and build on each other so nicely. It's amazing how the smallest melody can turn into a full-fledged song with the proper coaxing. You think you'd like to learn a little more about music yourself, and you can see how Napstablook can stay inside all day and work on this.

Encouraged by your enthusiasm, they show you some samples of new projects they're working on, too. You don't know much about the music, but there are more kinds of sound than there were before. Napstablook talks about things like loops and samples and synthesizers and some other stuff you don't understand. You don't worry too much about trying to understand it all; instead, you just enjoy the stuff they show you. It isn't hard; their enthusiasm is infectious.

Eventually they wind down, looking a little self-conscious. You wish you could give them a hug, but you're pretty sure you'd pass right through them, so you don't ask. Instead, they ask you suddenly if you'd like something to eat, and then flush again as they remember last time.

"We could try again," you say.

It doesn't work any better than it did before, though this time you imagine that you can just barely feel the faint impressions of sandwich against your fingers. Instead, you pull out the pouch of mushrooms you got from the River Person and nibble on one of those. You forgot yesterday, with everything that happened, but it does make you feel better. It feels like sunshine inside your stomach, radiating out to make all of you feel warmer.

Napstablook watches you as they eat their sandwich. It hovers in front of their mouth and just sort of slowly vanishes, a little bit at a time. You try not to stare, because that would be rude.

After your shared meal, they invite you to lie on the floor and feel like garbage again, and you're happy to agree. A little too happy, it turns out, because as time begins to lengthen and the ambient sound of the apartment takes on a strangely musical quality all its own, you find yourself examining a strange little tightness in your chest. It's gotten bigger and more snarled in the time you've spent with Napstablook, while you weren't paying attention, and now there's very little to distract you from it. You know it's the things you don't want to talk with them about, but even deciding that you won't isn't making the feeling go away.

Needless to say, it doesn't feel very nice.

You don't feel like crying, not quite, not really. You wish that you could cry—it'd bring up the topic of conversation, even though right now words seem like they'd get stuck in your throat. But you don't want to make Napstablook feel bad, even if there's a chance they'd understand. It's not like you can't stop yourself from crying, either; you can do that almost without thinking about it. You know how to control that much, even when everything is going wrong.

But the things that are going wrong now are unimportant in comparison to before, and not going after you specifically, and something about the littleness and distance is getting to you in a way that big explosions and near brushes with death didn't. You feel small and weak and off-kilter, and honestly a little bit sick, like something's wrong with you—and you don't know why. And worse, you can't help but feel guilty about those things when the only cause of them, as far as you can tell, is someone else hurting far more than you're hurting. Every time you feel like you want to cry, that thought comes in and walls away the tears, and then they drain back into nothing.

You're not sure how long you stay in the gap between moments with Napstablook, but eventually you think you hear something at the edges of your perception, and as the sense of timelessness fades away you're graced with a large and extremely glamorous robot, arms akimbo, looking down at you with a quizzical frown.

"Well, isn't that an unhappy face!"

You blink at him, and slowly push yourself up on your elbows, pushing away the last vestiges of disorientation. Mettaton.

Your face doesn't seem like it's in an unhappy position, though. You raise an eyebrow at him quizzically.

"Don't give me that, darling," he says, and ruffles your hair absently with one hand, looking over his shoulder at Napstablook. "Blooky, you haven't been letting the human get you down, have you?"

"i...um..." Napstablook looks a bit lost. "i didn't know they were upset...oh no..."

You shake your head vigorously and give Mettaton a pointed look, trying to dig up some words to explain exactly why he's wrong—the last thing you wanted was to make Napstablook worry, and you'd been doing fine until just now! Doubts are eating away at the back of your argument, however, and it's slowing the words down. "I'm not," you get out stubbornly.

"...I see," Mettaton says eventually, and you realize that he'd sounded a little angry before. You didn't even recognize the dangerous edge in his voice until it was gone. "I get out a bit more than my cousin, so I hear things. Celebrities have networks, you know! And mine are telling me that you might have some things to be glum about."

He's not going to get specific if you don't, you sense, and you're grateful. You just shrug, trying to be as friendly about the gesture as possible.

"I see," Mettaton says again. You're not really giving him a lot of material to work with, you must admit. "I'm glad you're getting along with Blooky, though! Not enough people appreciate his relaxing aura."

Napstablook, who's floated shyly closer to both of you to see what's going on, splutters a little in protest, and you bite back a giggle.

Then you pause, and tilt your head, as something strange about what he just said occurs to you.

" 'He'?"

"oh…" Napstablook says, flushing brighter than you've seen thus far. "uh…um…"

To your surprise, they start almost to sink through the floor, but then Mettaton makes an authoritative shooing motion and they float back up again, still refusing to meet your eye.

"Now, now, none of that!" he chides. "I know you're not one for the spotlight, Blooky, but I'm confident that you can handle this much. They're just confused, that's all."

Mettaton likes to assume things about people, but in this case he's completely right. "Um…" you start, not sure how to articulate what you're confused about, or even why it confuses you in the first place.

"Monsters usually tell each other what they want to be called," Mettaton explains, "and then tell their friends, and word gets around. Blooky decided on 'he' when we were younger, but then he had trouble telling anyone."

"y…yeah…" Napstablook looks a little ashamed, though you can't see why. You can't quite figure out how you'd bring up a topic like that either. "...you can call me whatever you want," they add, with the ghostly equivalent of a shrug. "it's not like it bothers me, or anything."

It does bother you, though. How are you supposed to know what Napstablook wants without something clearer than that? You cast a pleading gaze over at Mettaton, looking for guidance.

"There you have it, darling," he says, with a wink. "He's not really bothered. I think you should call him whatever you feel most comfortable with."

Napstablook actually looks pleased with Mettaton's advice, which surprises you. Aren't people supposed to care, or does that not apply to monsters? You can feel yourself squirming, but try to settle down and think about it anyway.

...You want to call Napstablook "he," because Mettaton does, and he seems to know Napstablook best. But if you do that, then the other monsters who hear you say it might start doing it as well. And then Napstablook might end up hearing about it, and...you're not sure if you're ready for that kind of responsibility. It feels like a secret—which fits Napstablook pretty well, given how little the other monsters seem to know about their ghost neighbor.

Eventually, you muster up your courage and ask if it'd be a problem to call Napstablook "he," too.

Napstablook shakes his head, looking a little pleased. "that's fine...i stressed you out, didn't i? oh no..."

You flop back down on the floor instead of reaching for a hug he can't return. "No, it's okay," you say.

"...What about you?" Mettaton asks suddenly.

What?

"What do you want to be called?" Mettaton asks. You look up at him, upside-down from your angle; he's craning his neck slightly to catch your face, and your eyes lock like that, awkwardly. "Monsters call each other 'they' when they don't know each other, and I thought that if everyone was still calling you 'they' after all this time then it was because you wanted them to," he continued. "But if you didn't know, then...have we been using the wrong pronouns for you, darling?"

"...I like 'they,'" you say quietly. You hadn't realized that you did, not all the way, but now you do—you realize that it feels like a warm little light in your chest, like a healing bolt of magic straight to your soul. You don't want them to stop—it's another thing you'd miss, if you went back to the humans.

Mettaton smiles. "I see. Thank goodness."

You wonder a bit more about ghosts and robots and estranged friends and family, and then you get up and hug Mettaton, and then blow a kiss to Napstablook. "Thank you," you say to both of them, and mean every little bit of feeling you can push out into the words.

"You're welcome, darling," Mettaton says, and Napstablook stutters out something similar, except for the last part. "And now, would you like to come with me for a while?" Mettaton continues. "I think Blooky here should get back to work. He's got a set to complete for my next show, after all!"

Napstablook, to your surprise, looks pleased by this teasing rather than pressured, and sees you off pretty cheerfully, still looking a bit flustered by your flirting. You're a little sad to leave him, but you're willing to take Mettaton's hint to avoid overwhelming him. You're glad he's helping you out with that.

You expect him to say goodbye to you soon after that, or try to drop you off with Toriel like everyone else has been lately, but instead he leads you at a businesslike pace down the side of the mountain and through a cross-section of the town. You take a short but idyllic mountain path, and then you arrive at his private mansion.

For Mettaton, it's pretty understated, and surprisingly quiet. He has plans to do some more land development here at some point—you've heard rumors of arguments with the other monsters about logistics—but for now his house is tucked away by itself from the rest of the town. It's broad and tall, with wide windows hung with heavy drapes in deep reds, just like stage curtains. You've seen the building under construction, but you haven't been inside.

This time, Mettaton invites you in, points you to a sofa big enough to swallow you, and asks you if you want something to drink. He doesn't do much eating himself, he explains as he fusses with a kettle—it's more convenient just to keep his body charged. There are electrical outlets in every room in the house, and you spot several extension cords in out-of-the-way corners. Since Alphys adjusted his body, he can leave it at will, but he's out of practice carrying physical objects when he's not inside them.

"Besides," he adds, a little ruefully, setting a sparkling mug in front of you, "I'm not really ready to be seen like that just yet. I should probably explain it eventually, but I'd rather be everyone's perfect, mysterious idol for a little while longer."

You nod and sip at your drink. It looks like hot chocolate, but there appear to be sparkles in it, and there's also a hint of peppermint. It's hot, but not as hot as Undyne's, and the milk has cooled it down some. You take a tentative sip and roll it around your mouth carefully. It's sweet, and right behind the chocolate is a little bit of a bite. You decide that you like it, though it reminds you a little bit of Christmas, which is weird since you're pretty sure that's still some months away.

"I also don't think Alphys is quite ready for everyone to know yet, either" he continues, pensive. "She's doing very well, with her new job and everything, and introducing the Amalgamates to their families went very smoothly. And she's even told Asgore about me, and agreed to let me tell the people I was closest to as a ghost. But I don't want to bring any more trouble on her head before I know that she can handle it.

"But enough about me," he says, and you sink a little further back into the couch cushions and try to hide behind your mug at the sharp look he gives you. "How have you been doing, Frisk?"

You shrug.

"Do you not want to talk about it?" Mettaton asks, sounding concerned.

You shrug again, because it's not that you don't, and not that you do. You take a longer gulp of your hot chocolate, and refuse to meet his eyes.

"In that case, there's nothing else for it," he said, and there's a dangerous glint in his eye that has you checking the couch for a trapdoor. "I'm used to comforting ghosts, sweetheart. Next to that, humans are child's play!"

You're not sure exactly what he means by that until he disappears briefly and shows up again with his arms full of pillows and blankets. You curl protectively around your drink as you're suddenly bombarded with more bedding than one monster could possibly need, even a monster idol. You have no idea where he even got all this stuff, or what he thought he'd need it for, but you're quickly distracted from the question by the warm, fluffy walls being raised around you.

He crashes down next to you, and you think for a moment he's going to tickle you, but instead he goes still with the weight of his arms pinning you under enough bedding materials that you can't quite see out of them.

You're expecting him to move, or say something, but he doesn't.

You lift your drink pointedly and make a confused sound at him.

"Oh, do you want me to take that?" he says.

You nod, and he plucks it out of your hands and sets it on a corner of the coffee table. Then he settles his hand right back where it was and just breathes. You wonder if he needs to, if it does something necessary for his body, or if he just got in the habit for the sake of realism in performance. Either way, it's calming.

It's very warm under the blankets, too, and the longer the situation stretches the more ridiculous it seems. You feel laughter bubbling up inside you, and though it starts silent it gets louder when Mettaton joins in. You sit there, bundled with excessive enthusiasm, and let yourself laugh.

Then, almost before you realize it, the laughter has turned into something else. You bury your face in a nearby pillow and feel the tears build up, annoyingly slowly, in your eyes. They're wicked away right away by the fabric. Even monsters (and ghosts) cry more than you do when you're upset. You haven't cried in a pretty long time, and it's this anticlimactic every time, but your shaking ribs do their best to make up for it. You feel like you imagine Papyrus must when he rattles his bones. You're pretty sure you're crying partially in embarrassment at the extravagance of all this, but it seems to be helping nonetheless.

Mettaton's laughter died away as soon as yours changed, and you can feel him patting your back through several blankets. "There, there, darling," he says softly. "Just let it all out."

You nod, and let yourself keep crying. It doesn't take very long before you can feel the tears drying up on their own, and you pull away from the pillow and wipe your face on your sleeve.

"Feel better?"

You give it some thought, and then nod.

"Do you want to stay here for a little while?"

You don't have to think about that one; you nod again right away.

"Got it," Mettaton says quietly, and hands you your peppermint hot chocolate again. You sip it and snuggle sideways into his side. He makes a surprised little huffing noise, and when you sneak a glance up at him, he's smiling faintly.

"Here, now." One of his arms extends and plucks a tissue from a box in the corner, handing it gingerly to you. You blow your nose and wipe your eyes and wad the tissue up, pushing it into your pocket.

"Frisk..." Mettaton looks hesitant now, and you look up at him, waiting. "It may not be interesting to a child as young as yourself, but I want to tell you a story. Will you listen?"

You nod and keep quiet as he finds it in himself to begin.

"Once, there were two ghosts. They were cousins, and very good friends. For as long as any of them could remember, their family had found objects to possess and gone out to the edges of the ruins and beyond to the more rural monster settlements. One of the family members had started a farm, but he'd been an odd one and had faded out long ago, leaving the farm to the only cousin who had any interest in inheriting it."

He seems to be telling you his life story. You've heard parts of it before, but he's a good storyteller; you sit quietly and listen.

"But there was one member of the family who hadn't inherited the farm, and didn't want to become a hired dummy, either. He had bigger dreams—ones that involved getting noticed, not mocked, by the monsters he lived with, and maybe even a life on the surface. He tried helping his cousin at the farm, but that didn't get him any closer to his dreams. And so he befriended a monster from the capital in secret, and made a deal."

Mettaton looks away, off to a distant corner of the room. His eyes are sad. "And he told his cousin that he was going far, far away, and that they'd never see him again. And then he vanished."

Mettaton's looking the same way, and then tightens the hand he's got around your shoulders. "For years, they thought I was gone," he said simply. "In a way, they're right. Most monsters still think that Alphys created me, instead of making me a new body, and...I don't want to correct them. Most of my family still doesn't even know."

You wait for him to look down at him, and then raise your eyebrows. Is he going to tell them?

Mettaton sighs. "I don't know. It's...hard. I don't want to force Blooky and the others to keep my secret, but I'm wondering whether I can just...wait and see if anybody notices."

You wonder whether you should say that they will, of course they will, but something stops you. You didn't get along too well with some of the other ghost family members, after all. And honestly, you can understand where he's coming from. There are some things you don't want your friends thinking too hard about, either.

"So, you're probably wondering why I'm telling you this story," Mettaton says eventually, looking you over.

You shrug. Monsters just like to monologue, right? And Mettaton's always performing. You hadn't really questioned it.

He chuckles a little at that, and cold fingers smooth your hair back into place. "Well, this is what I was getting at, so pay attention," he says gently. "Darling, if you...oh, how should I say it?...If you ever find yourself wanting to...go somewhere far away, someday, and not tell anyone where you are...I just wanted to tell you, I know how that feels."

Go away? And not tell anyone?

You can't quite wrap your head around what he's trying to get at, but at the same time you feel something in you that understands. It scares you a little bit.

"If you ever feel that way..." Mettaton continues, searching your face. You feel like you're under a spotlight that only the two of you can see, trying not to squirm in the glare. "I want you to learn from my regrets, okay, darling? I want you to tell someone. You remind me a little of how I felt, all that time ago, before I left. So if you ever decide to go away anywhere…even if you're worried your friends will stop you, it's safest if someone else knows where you're headed."

He takes one of your hands from where it's drifted from your mug, holds it firmly between both of his own. "If there's someone else you'd rather tell, that's fine," he says earnestly. "You have friends here, Frisk, and family, and we all care about you very much. You're a big, strong, powerful human, so I know you can look after yourself, even if you decide to go off on your own. But at the very least, even if you don't tell anyone else, I want you to tell me." He winks. "After all, I definitely know how to keep a secret."

And how long to keep one, you reflect, given what he'd revealed about Alphys before fighting you. You squeeze his hands and nod, solemnly.

"Good," he says. "Now, finish your hot chocolate. When you're done, I want to show you a special preview of my plans for my first performance! I could use your expert opinion, and you're almost as big of a star as I am, after all!"

You sigh, resigned to your fate, and gulp happily at your cocoa. Somehow, the promise you've made with Mettaton makes you feel a little less lonely and afraid, even if it's technically another weight for you to carry. When you're done, you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tightly once again, resting your cheek against the metal of his torso. Your breath fogs up its chrome plating, and Mettaton plays with your hair again.

You're not sure why Mettaton made you promise what you just did. Maybe he's just seeing more of himself in you than there really is, and the two of you are making a big deal out of nothing. Still, though, you're glad to have his reassurance.


A/N: …Okay, I was honestly not expecting this chapter to be this long. And this was with some stuff left out for later. Mettaton really, really likes to talk.

Regarding Napstablook's pronouns: there are many, many people out there who are attached to "they" pronouns for Napstablook, and I am 100% for that, it's awesome. However…in the pacifist route, when Mettaton recognizes Napstablook over the phone, he corrects himself from "he" to "they" in the same way that he stops himself from saying "Blooky." This is just my preference, but I prefer the headcanon I've come up with here to a near-mispronouning by a monster in the canon. I hope this works for other people as a midway point, like it does for me.

The next chapter might be from another character's point of view, since that's something I've been playing with for a while. The narration will switch to third-person when that happens. (It's definitely going to happen eventually.)

As always, thanks for reading!