Grillby set the plate of fries in front of you, and Sans handed you the salt shaker wordlessly. You tipped it to salt your fries when the entire cap fell off, flooding your fries.
"Damn it Sans, what a waste of salt and fries."
"are you salty about it?"
"I'm gunna a-salt you," you roll up your sleeves jokingly, pounding your fist in your hand.
"alright buddy, you're worth your salt," he puts his hands up in a placating manner. You grin at him.
There's a commotion, an argument getting heated. A man and a woman are getting loud at a table and you stand up to head over. You stand over your table with your arms folded.
"Is there a problem over here?" You ask in a way that implies heavily that there should be no problems, thank you very much. Your mere presence is enough to cow the couple into hushed tones as they answer that there is indeed no problem, and you leave satisfied.
You turn back to the bar and move to sit.
THRPPPP PFFFFFFFFFFF
The bar is silent. You glare at Sans as you lift the whoopee cushion from under your rear. The bar laughs.
When things quiet down you are still glaring at Sans.
Prank war.
"PAPYRUS!" The bar patrons cheer, and you look up to find a tall skeleton in an red-orangey scarf and an impressive outfit that made him look like a knight.
Grillby came back with your fries and Papyrus made his way to the bar. The drunken bird who usually assumes what Grillby wants to say in front of average customers asks Papyrus:
"The usual?"
"YES. THE GREAT PAPYRUS NEEDS CALCIUM FOR HIS GROWING BONES!"
"but papy you're already grown." Sans turns to his brother.
"MILKSHAKES WILL MAKE ME GROW TALLER! AND SOON I WILL BE TALLER THAN KING ASGORE!"
He was distracted.
This is the perfect chance to implement your plan.
You carefully and slowly take a salty french fry and slide it into the baggy front pocket of his pants.
His attention is still on making jokes at his brother.
"you sure you don't want to shake it up?" Papyrus groans and complains.
You get another in.
And another.
Soon his pocket is filled with a quarter of your french fries and you snicker. They were overflowing from his pocket.
You go to slip one into his hoodie but draw back and take a bite of it as he turns.
"isn't my brother great?"
"Yeah he's a fun guy. Very positive," you say honestly. That gets a genuine smile from Sans.
A woman approaches Sans. She's attractive, her style seems a bit unique but still flattering. And she has a confident saunter that adds to her charm. She places an arm on the bar, accentuating her cleavage. You have to hand it to her, she knows how to work it.
"Hey, I just wanted to say I think you're a really funny guy!" She laughs and puts her hand on Sans' shoulder. Oh she was definitely interested. But was she good? You guessed Sans could suss that out for himself. Instead, you were going to wingman him. Sans said he wasn't in for romance, he never said anything about one night stands or friends with benefits or whatever they decided might happen.
"He's the funniest single guy I know! Tell 'er the joke about the rope," Sans is looking at you like he's trying to figure out your angle, so you just wink at him. He needs to get that stick he hides up his ass on out of there. If that means getting him laid, so be it. He sighs lightly, a miniscule thing he does specifically because you'll notice and understand he's humoring you in this situation. You smile at him.
"a rope goes into a bar, and the barkeep yells 'we don't serve your kind in here! we don't serve ropes, get out!' so the rope goes outside. he rubs his ends on the wall and ties himself up and goes back in. the barkeep says 'weren't you the rope that just came in?' and the rope says 'i'm a frayed knot.'"
The woman guffaws, and Sans' smile widens.
"Sans is a real sweetheart too, he brings food to the shelters around here and toys," you brag. It wasn't something Sans told you, but you've seen him around. Sans furrows his brows at you, but you don't let up. "He makes everybody smile. I wish somebody could return the favor," you wink at the woman and she giggles.
"You've already got a charming smile, but I think I could make it bigger," the woman's eyes are back on Sans.
Sans looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment. Then, he pulls himself back together and seems to be interested in what was happening.
"that's not the only thing you could make bigger," he says jokingly. And that's when you tune out.
The night is going well, you polish off the rest of your pranking fries after wiping off the salt and wait for him to stick his hands in his pocket. Maybe he'd mash them and have potato stuck in there.
You don't have to wait long. Sans sticks his whole hand into his pocket and the look on his face will stay in your favorite memories' top ten highlights. His shocked and confused self pulls out a french fry and stares at it questioningly for a moment. He hears you snicker and his expression cools. He chuckles too and turns back to the woman who is looking baffled.
"pocket fries for my pocket ketchup," he says, taking out a bottle from his jacket and spurting a bit of ketchup on the incredibly salty fry before sticking it into his mouth. The woman laughed, which is the best reaction that he could have gotten, honestly. Sans was such a gremlin. You watched his face carefully as his eyes screamed in pain at the consequences of his salty shenanigans. He was definitely going to have salt in his pocket for a while.
At least your prank didn't cock block him, you didn't know he would be getting womanly attention tonight. You might still have done it anyway, honestly. Because it was funny. He got tater'd. You decided to lay off him and let him shoot his shot. You'll play a better prank when you have time to think it through. You were thinking of something…explosive.
They ended up going home together and you hoped for the best.
You weren't sleeping. You startled awake in the middle of the night but it was a light nightmare, in comparison to the others. It wasn't enough to wake Grillby. So you sat, cuddled up to the fire monster thinking. First about the nightmare, but you forced yourself to think about happier things.
It was early in the relationship, but what would it be like to get married to Grillby? Monsters and humans couldn't have children, which was lucky because the chemicals you were exposed to during service made conceiving difficult. The settlement money was worth it to you, you didn't feel like mom material anyway. You weren't exactly an understanding and patient person when it came to things that made you mad. You still wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. He's your soulmate, you're allowed to fantasize a little. You know that there are other people you'd be compatible with out there, but Grillby was the most perfect one you could have run into.
If you could plan your wedding, it'd be small. It may be stupid but you've been saving pictures of things from other people's weddings that you like. There was this really fancy dress shop who makes custom wedding dresses. You think it'd be worth the cut in your savings for something like that. You'd blow Grillby away and he'd be glad he was marrying you.
What exactly was a soulbond, anyway? You assumed it was like it sounded, that there would be a connection between your souls maybe, like soul marriage. You'd love being soul-married to Grillby.
Speaking of Grillby, he started mumbling in his sleep. His sleep turned disturbed, he started thrashing and you reach out to pet his flames soothingly.
He catches your hand, and heat rises in his palm. It's too hot.
"Grillby wake up, Grillby! GRILLBY!" You start shrieking as your skin begins to burn. You grit your teeth and swallow your screams as your flesh melts away, down to muscle and even bone.
You kick him in the crotch.
Grillby yelps awake and releases you. Your arm screams in pain and tears are streaming down your face involuntarily. You scramble for the flask in your crumpled jeans and open it with your teeth. You take a hearty swig and fire brandy burns down your throat. The pain in your arm immediately subsides.
"I'm sorry Grillby! I didn't know what else to do," you apologize as muscle and skin begin to knit back together. You observe how it works, always mystified by how strange the world actually is. How little you know.
He's watching it too, shaking his head. He sits down and puts his head in his hands.
"...Don't apologize," he says sternly. You know he means it's his fault, not yours. You shake your head too.
"I forgive you," you mirror what he said during your nightmare. "No harm no foul right? I'm not injured," you wave your healed arm for him to inspect.
"...But you were," he says, with the same stern tone.
"A temporary inconvenience, not a permanent hurt," you insist. He sighs.
"...Healing magic won't heal death."
"I know. It doesn't heal all wounds."
You sit in silence for a moment.
"Do you have them a lot?"
"..." He's silent. "...less now," he eventually relents.
"If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," you say, and you hold him. You know Grillby still feels guilty for what he did, because you still feel guilty about punching him in the face. And the smell of your own roasting flesh may haunt you too. But you'll move on from this, that's what you always do. One foot in front of the other foot. Trauma doesn't heal overnight.
"...We were moving on foot, my division…an ambush…lost all but twenty three," he says tightly. You don't need the details. A division was ten thousand men. It was a slaughter. You could imagine Grillby in a circle of fire, only able to protect a handful of soldiers from the carnage, burning everything that came close.
You hold him tighter. You weren't expecting him to tell you tonight, but you were honored he shared it with you.
Bright orange tears trickle down his face, and you wipe away the hot fluid with your thumbs, cradling his face in your hands.
"It wasn't your fault."
And he cries silently into the crook of your neck as you hold him tightly. Your arms a tangle of comfort, you hoped.
You hold him as he cries it out fully, rocking him gently. Who knows how long he's been holding it in for. You want to be there for him, to hold a safe space for his feelings just like he's taken care of you. You were pleased and thankful he trusted you enough to do this.
He becomes heavy, and you realize Grillby has fallen asleep on your shoulder. You smile, and ease him down onto the bed softly.
You kiss him on the forehead and will him to have pleasant dreams.
Burning you means Grillby is afraid to touch you now, apparently. You thought you could wait him out, that this was just a phase, but a week into this no touching thing has gotten you frustrated in more than one way. You miss the little touches, the flirty hands all over you. Where had your touchy feely Grillby gone?
It was one of the things that made you feel loved. It was validation, a little show that he was thinking about you. He made you feel feminine, which was hard to do due to the gruff atmosphere you've been drowning in for six years.
How were you going to get him back?
You tried initiating contact more, but Grillby just humored you and pulled away as soon as it was polite to.
So now, you were cornering him to have a conversation.
You made breakfast and sat it down in front of him. You sat across from him and cleared your throat nervously. Just get it over with. Just start the convo. Come on. You sigh.
"Grillby, I miss what we used to have. You're not going to burn me with every touch, the only reason you did is because you had a nightmare. And I punched you in the face! So we're even," you crossed your arms, he huffed at that. "We just need some better rules. Like, rule number one, don't touch each other to wake each other up from nightmares," you nod conclusively.
Grillby sat in quiet contemplation before hugging you close.
"...I hate hurting you," he said quietly.
"I hate hurting you too. But relationships aren't sunshine and roses all the time, we're going to hurt each other. But it's the intent that matters. I know you didn't mean to, and you'd never do something like that to me on purpose. Us being willing to talk about it means the world."
"...You're right."
You both end up agreeing on implementing a "nightmare airhorn" to wake each other up. You were not looking forward to your next nightmare, but at least you had a plan. And everything felt better when you were prepared. You had just planned on popping a monster candy before attempting to wake him up, but you see how that could damage the trust between you. And who knows if it may have worked or not.
You got up to grab the dirty dishes and take them to the sink. Arms surrounded you and pulled you close to a solid chest, and Grillby peppered kisses to your neck, making a swell of happiness fill your soul. You felt it flip, and Grillby's answered.
It was the first time you enjoyed doing dishes.