I'm no one special... (Sans x Reader)

The next morning

Your P.O.V.: I watch, bewildered, as some guy- A SKELETON- I don't even know gets picked up by a seven-foot skeleton and walks out of the bar, briefly acknowledging my presence with a wave. I can't believe I gave him my number. He just asked for it, and I was so surprised, I gave it to him. I ponder over what just happened. The bartender catches my attention by tapping the side of his glass.

"Are you going to be ordering?" he asks me. Suddenly, I'm not sure I am. I politely decline, but tip him for his trouble before heading out the door.

The next morning, the guy actually texts me... in the Comic Sans font? 

heya.

sorry 'bout last night. i must've scared ya half to dust. some creep flirting with you while drunk.

What exactly do I say? He scared me a little, yeah, but...

Don't worry about it. Thanks for apologizing.

no problem. i owe ya one, still. maybe I can properly apologize. coffee at 3?

Ok. Where at?

that new place downtown? 

Meet you there i guess...

***Time skip brought to you by Mtt co.***

I show up at the cafe, to see him... not at all. He's la-

"heya." I jump as I hear his actual sober voice sound behind me. It's deep with some sort of accent... I wanna say... Brooklyn? But just a hint. I turn around. He's six feet tall. Not tall enough for a boss monster, but too tall to be a non-boss monster..."you're, uh, Starin' a bit, there. you ok?"

"It's gravelly, too..."

"what?" 

"What? Did I say that out loud? Shit. Er- I'm (y/n)." I awkwardly put out my hand for him to shake. He takes it firmly, and before I realize what's happening, the sound of a whoopie cushion rings out. That's one way to break the ice.

"heheh. the old whoopie cushion in the hand trick. yeah... that's the type of guy you're talkin' to... i'm immature, and i mess up a lot," he begins. "i'm sans. sans the skeleton." It apparently dawns on him that he still has my hand clasped in in his. He releases it.

Inside the coffee shop, he offers to pay. I can't shake the feeling that I know this guy from somewhere besides the bar. He starts talking about his brother and cracks a couple jokes. His brother Papyrus... wait a minute!

"Oh my god! You're Comic Sans Aster! I love your show." This guy is a comedy LEGEND. He does stand-up, and I always laugh so hard my sides hurt. His puns are on point. They're mostly dad jokes. Almost grandpa jokes, even. I remember him talking about his brother on more than one occasion. At the mention of his show, his body language becomes more closed, almost like he doesn't want to talk about it.

"could ya lower your voice? i don't people to know, ok?" He said, his cheekbones tinged with blue. That's a first. He seems awfully modest, for a celebrity. I almost can't believe what I'm hearing. 

"But you're awesome! I-"

"nah. i'm nothing special. just some guy who gets drunk in front of an audience and has stories to tell," he cuts me off mid-sentence. He almost looks embarrassed. Instead of saying anything else about it, he gives me his trademark grin, and changes the subject. "tell me about you, (y/n)."

"I'm no one. I just work at a boring office in a boring building. I have a boring little apartment, and a boring old car," I tell Sans. "Oh, and did I mention that everything about me is boring?" He laughs.

"you've got some wit, for boring," he notes. I shake my head.

"Sure. I'm the witty one out of the two of us," I joke. "Let me guess. You think I have comedy in my BONES?" We look at each other for a minute, and then start cracking up laughing. He wipes a tear from his eye socket and says:

"tibia- honest with ya, I don't know if i could have come up with anything better, captain sarCASTic." From that point, we chat and laugh like old friends. The hours pass, and as it turns out, he's pretty cool. I mean, not that there was any doubt. He's my fucking hero.

It's starting to get dark now. Sans notices this, and right as he looks at his watch, it beeps. His eye sockets stretch wide, and his grin falls flat. He has a panicked expression on his face. "i gotta bounce!" he says. "sorry to cut it short, (y/n), but i'm gonna be late for, well... my, uh, own performance. wanna come?" Is he offering me what I think he is? A free ticket to his show?!

"You really..." I trail off. He nods. "I'm sure it's sold out, I mean-"

"not a problem. you can watch backstage, if ya want." Holy crap. This is actually happening. I'm friends with Sans... THE Sans, and now I have backstage access to his show! I nod enthusiastically. He stands up and offers his hand to help me up. I take it, and he asks me if I'm ready.

"Ready for what?"

"we're taking a shortcut."

Author's note:

Oh my god. It's done! This one is the longest one yet. I really enjoy writing this. I'm going through a tough time right now and this helps take my mind off of things. This just in: depression sucks. I hope I can get more readers. Please enjoy this chapter!