The Sansmaster: hey kiddo, u okay?

The Sansmaster: look, im really sorry about the other night

The Sansmaster: i know i screwed up

The Sansmaster: please give me a chance to talk to you

The Sansmaster: you've been a good friend and i

The Sansmaster: just please text me back

The Sansmaster: please.

You've changed the name of the contact "The Sansmaster" to "Sans".

Undyne and Alphys brought cookies over after work. You had left an hour after Undyne had impulsively made you take a week break. You knew that it wasn't a great idea, especially the way you were feeling, but she somehow made you agree. You trusted Undyne with the store but you still couldn't help feeling uneasy everytime you weren't at the bookstore.

The cookies laid untouched.

You hardly showered and couldn't be bothered to get out of your apartment. Apparently, you were on a break so why not just act like it? A break meant getting out of your house and go on dates or hang with friends. A break meant sitting down on the couch and watching seasons of your favorite shows.

A break for you, however, meant laying down on your bed and feeling like garbage.

You honestly had no idea how you felt. You felt awful, yeah, but you weren't sure if you were sad or angry or whatever. That was the worst part of it all. You felt numb.

You felt your phone ring for the tenth time that morning and you groaned. You really didn't want to talk to anyone. Especially Sans.

You really messed up that time.

Despite your better senses, you grabbed your phone and looked to see who messaged you. Well, shit, actually. It wasn't even morning anymore, you had wasted almost half of the day in bed doing nothing productive. Maybe you should take a shower. Maybe not.

THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER UNDYNE: Yo. How's your break?

You took a deep breath, feeling like a total jerk. What did it really say about you when you were happy a good friend didn't message you? Where you really as nice as some people said you were? Honestly, what had Sans even done to you?

_: It's okay. How's the bookstore?

THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER UNDYNE: It's been slow, oh god! I miss you here but, no, that doesn't give you permission to come back yet. YOU SAID UNTIL NEXT MONDAY DON'T FORGET.

_: I won't. Register giving you problems?

THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER UNDYNE: No, haha, you're so funny. Has Sans texted you?

_: Why?

THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER UNDYNE: I was wondering. He called me and asked to talk to you earlier but you're not here, so.

_: Alright.

THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER UNDYNE: Need me to kick his bony ass?

_: No, no. Please don't, actually. If you talk to him, just tell him that I'm not feeling well.

THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER UNDYNE: Are you okay?

_: I'm fine. Have a good day at work. I'll see you later.

You threw your phone away from you, not wanting to see whatever Undyne had to say next. You heard it buzz again, but whatever.

Did Sans hate you? You kept wanting to know the answer, but maybe you actually didn't. If he didn't hate you right now, he'd hate you sooner than later. He'd leave just like everyone else and-

Stop.

It's not worth it to dwell on it.

Sans said he liked you, right? It likely wasn't just a drunk thing to say, you knew Sans. Kind of. It'd been like one or two months ago when you met him.

Wait.

Only a month or two ago? What the heck? It felt like a lifetime.

Whatever. It felt nice, it felt okay, you felt okay. If you could say you were okay, then that must've meant something good. Maybe you didn't mess it up awfully, you were uncomfortable after all. Sans was a good enough person to understand boundaries and he probably had his own as well. Maybe you just overreacted.

You wanted to believe these things, you truly did.

It just was that you couldn't.

You knew that those things were true and you knew that it was just whatever was wrong with you made these thoughts go through your head.

You just wanted to get better.

Maybe you should go talk to a professional again, try get your head on straight. You remembered talking to mom about it, about this, at one point. She took you to the doctor and they recommended you some pills. Crazy pills, you were sure. You hadn't wanted your happiness to be reliant on some magic medicine.

But...

Maybe you'd feel better if you just tried it.

Maybe you could act normal.

Would it be like the vodka? Would you feel in control again?

What would dad even think?
What would the monsters think?
What would Sans think?

You remembered a doctor with dirty glasses and a bald spot in the middle of his scalp. He seemed like he thought he was better than you and everyone else in the hospital. He held a scuffed up clipboard in his hand and the other one carried a chewed up mechanical pencil.

The attitude he had towards you seemed like he just knew you were crazy.

Mom and dad waited outside the room, in the waiting area. This was a visit for you and only for you.

You were fourteen at the time.

"Have you had feelings of suicide or of hurting yourself?"

"I-I, uhm... A little bit."

"Would you mind talking more about it?"

"I just... I just have a really bad time with people and I feel really sad a lot of the time. I don't really want to die or anything, but sometimes it just seems easier to do that than to deal with. Like. Life."

"Do you have a plan?"

"No, no! Of course not. I couldn't... I couldn't do that to mom or dad."

"Do you experience feelings of anxiety or dread on a daily basis?"
"Yeah," you breathed, "My heart hurts and it feels like I'm lightheaded. My hands get real sweaty and I wipe them against my jeans all the time."

"Did you know you're doing that right now?"

"Oh, I am?" You checked yourself, and sure enough you were, "Is that bad?"

"It's a telltale sign of anxiety, especially if you do it as often as you say," The doctor shook his head, "It's a good way to tell if you're feeling anxious."

The doctor sighed, "You said you experienced feelings of sadness often. How would you describe that?"

"I just feel... Awful sometimes. Like it's hard for me to get out of bed and sometimes... It hurts to breathe. Like it's just not worth it anymore or that my body just wants to not react well, I suppose," you huffed out.

"_," the doctor sounded serious, "I believe you might have problems with depression and anxiety."

"Depression? Anxiety? I just thought this was stupid things teenagers go through."

"No. This sounds serious. I'll be prescribing you some anxiety medication along with antidepressants. I want you and your parents to come visit me once every month, along with a counselor."

"A counselor? So I'm some type of crazy person?"

"You're not crazy, Ms. _. You have a mental illness, but it is like diabetes or cancer. Would you feel like you're crazy if you had diabetes?"

"No, of course not, but this is different. I'm fourteen, I don't need something stupid like pills to make me happy. I just need..."

"What do you need, _?"

You took a second and stared at him.

"I just need to be happy."

"These pills can help. It is just a chemical imbalance within your brain, it is nothing to be ashamed of. Remember to take them daily, I'll go grab your parents so we can talk over it more."

You sat there in silence, watching him leave the room.

All you had going through your head was how much you didn't want to take these pills. What would your friends say and what would your crush say if they found out? Would they shun you?

Maybe you shouldn't take them.

Dad would have something to say, he's always against medical stupidities like this. Yeah, yeah! Dad wouldn't let you take some goddamn pills, even if mom was totally for it. But mom was weird. Dad would... Dad had to say something against it.

Sooner than you would've wanted, mom and dad walked into the room. Their faces were full of worry and mom embraced you warmly like she always did. She smelled like vanilla.

She sounded distressed, "Oh, honey. The doctor told us a little about what happened. I love you, darling, you're gonna be okay. Me and your father will do anything we can to make sure you're going to be okay."

Dad looked nervous, "We love you, _."

Mom held on to your hand and squeezed hard, sitting next to you. There wasn't enough chairs for dad to sit, so he ruffled your hair lovingly.

"I'm prescribing your daughter Xanax and Zoloft. I want her to take it daily and you all need to report to me incase anything drastic happens."

Dad didn't say anything.

Dad, please. Don't make me take these stupid pills, I don't want to. I have to be normal, I want to be normal, this isn't normal!

"Thank you, doctor," Mom said, grabbing the papers from the slimy doctor, "We'll do anything to help my baby girl."

You three left and got ice cream afterwards. Mom never let go of your hand and kept repeating how much she loved you and how strong you were. She filled out your prescriptions and told you to take your pills right before you went to bed.

You never did, however.

The pills were all swallowed up by the toilet or crushed into the trash can. You wouldn't allow yourself to take them, in fear of turning even worse than you already were. Crazy people are prescribed pills, but only insane people would take them.

At least, that's what you said to yourself to justify your actions.

Maybe that was the reason why you were so messed up nowadays.

Your phone was buzzing like crazy, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You really still didn't want to look at it, but maybe it'd be a good idea. There was so many maybes going on in your head, but you should stop that. Maybe wasn't going to do anything for you, neither was sitting around and feeling bad for yourself.

Sans: i hope u feel better

Sans: undyne told me you weren't at the bookstore

Sans: i just need to tell you that what happened when we were drinking wasn't fake. at least, what i said wasn't fake.

Sans: can we talk soon?

Sans's confession wasn't just a drunken haze. He liked you and you liked him back.

Oh my god.

That was an amazing thing to realize, but...

A relationship?

Sans was the nicest person you've ever met, really, and he was really funny and great and just Sans. You really liked him, but it wasn't... It wasn't a good time for you to head straight first into a serious relationship, you knew that.

If you really liked Sans...

The best thing to do would be getting your head on straight, for both of you.

And if he respected you, Sans would be okay with that too. He's a really good friend and, hell, maybe you're just an idiot for thinking things over and over again like that.

You felt like you caused a lot of drama for nothing.

But maybe Sans felt bad, maybe he felt bad because he wasn't quite sure what to do. Maybe you two were the same - two awkward and clumsy idiots that just so happened to like each other.

And if it didn't work out...

That'd be okay.

All you cared about was Sans and your relationship anyways, romantic or not. As long as you guys were friends, wasn't that be what matters?

You took a deep breath and pushed your anxiety to the side, the anxiety that was screaming that you were an idiot and a fool. Just today... Just today you could find a semblance of being okay.

You and Sans still needed to talk, face to face, about what happened.

And so, that's exactly what you planned to do.

_: Are you free tomorrow?