Would That Make You Happy?

Frisk is your child, the result of a teen pregnancy, but they've always been told that you're their older sister. In an effort to get away from your own abusive mother, the two of you end up falling into the Underground, where Sans is startled by this abrupt change in what had become a predictable pattern of events. Maybe your presence is what is needed to stop the endless cycle of Resets.

After many struggles, both internal and external, you and your found family reach the surface, only to face even more difficulties from the society you weren't sure you'd ever see again. You meet new friends and encounter people from your past, though for good or ill, you're not sure. Sometimes it's difficult to tell kindness from cunning.


113. Figuring Things Out

The lobby of the new MTT Resort is, in a word, exquisite.

Polished floors, manicured potted trees and floral arrangements, fine art on the walls, and a glistening fountain taking center stage, filling the space with the calming sound of falling water. It's exactly like a dream. A dream where humans and monsters alike can come and spend their money.

Mettaton surveys his pride and joy, well satisfied with the surge of business he'd been getting since Halloween. Yes, he'd have to wait to make his debut on the big screen, but this... For now he's content. Which is a little surprising, he has to admit. Before he'd been struggling here, behind the Line, but it's been different lately. Since he started seeing more of Papyrus.

A pair of humans walk through the front door and he watches, pleased, as their eyes widen and their mouths fall open while they take in the sights. Normally he'd rush forward to greet them, to put on the usual song and dance. Instead he watches as one of his new human employees —a young woman, all the the ones curious enough to apply were young— crosses the room with a smile and an outstretched hand. He gives a silent nod of approval to no one in particular.

He hears the click of heels on marble and he glances over his shoulder. His head waitress for the restaurant is there, adjusting her pink woolen hair. She's pinning it back on the sides with a pair of little golden clips shaped like flowers, and she doesn't seem to see him for a second until she gets closer. Bo jumps a little at the sight of him, letting out a short, embarrassed laugh as she comes up next to him.

"What are you doing down here? Aren't you supposed to be upstairs?" she asks, giving him a knowing smile.

"I'm waiting, darling. He's not here yet," he says, looking back at the front door again.

"Are you sure? Because I came in right after him, maybe ten minutes ago. I had to get ready for my shift, but did no one tell you?"

Mettaton presses a hand to his chest, whirling around to face Bo. Her expression turns apologetic as he bites back a frustrated sound, only to be betrayed by the grinding of metal from inside his torso. "No, no one told me! Of all the— Go. Go... waitress," he says with a dismissive flip of his hand. "Maybe figure out who failed to inform me that my guest was here and tell them they're fired."

Bo just laughs, resting her hand on her hip. "You know I'm not doing any such thing, boss."

He pouts. "I know. It just feels nice to say."

"Go on, I'm sure he's waiting for you," she urges, giving him a small shove to his back.

"He's going to be upset."

"Oh poo, no he's not! Get up there and apologize and I know for a fact he won't mind in the least." She gives him a big smile. "I have to go or I'm going to be late. My manager might get mad."

"I'm your boss," he says, walking towards the elevator. "I'm your manager's boss."

She just gives him a little wave as he presses the call button, hurrying off to work. He likes Bo. He's liked her since she was hired. She's sweet, a hard worker, and even better the humans love her. How could they not? She's nothing any of them would expect from a 'monster'. Mettaton appreciates her knack for being open and honest, and sometimes downright frank with himself and the other employees. But she's always nice about it. He's not sure she has a mean bone in her body.

The elevator dings and he steps inside. Right as he turns around he catches sight of two familiar faces across the lobby. Is that you and Deacon? He thinks so, but he doesn't have time to go say hi. The doors are closing and he's already feeling awful for making Papyrus wait. And not just today.

He'd made Papyrus wait for far too long, in his opinion.

Mettaton takes the elevator all the way up to the very top, to the penthouse apartment he'd reserved for himself. The lift opens up into a small room with a (mostly) decorative table with two chairs, and a single locked door. He enters a numerical code into a keypad set into the wall, and lets himself inside.

The space is sleek and modern, with crisp lines and perfect curves. White walls, blonde wooden floors, cream colored furniture, black stone accents, his apartment is like a spread in a style magazine. Actually, that's where it's from. He still has the magazine tucked away somewhere. (He'd also spent hours pouring over the search results online for 'modern home interior'.) It's an exact representation of the ideal 'modern' look. High contrast, and... impersonal. Sterile.

Well, that has been slowly changing. There's a vase filled with bright pink roses on a table near the door, a single shock of vibrant color that draws his eye immediately. They were a gift from Papyrus. 

"Papy, sweetheart, I'm so sorry that I'm late," he calls out to the apartment, glancing around. Hmm, he's not in the living room, but the television is on.

"METTATON?" Papyrus pokes his head out of the kitchen, grinning brightly. "OH, YOU'RE NOT LATE, I WAS JUST EARLY. LUCKILY I HAVE THAT KEY YOU GAVE ME SO I COULD LET MYSELF IN."

He's so unbelievably sweet, Mettaton doesn't have the heart to correct him. Yes, maybe he was a little early, but that didn't negate the fact that he was late, too. Well, that doesn't matter. All that matters is he's up here, with Papyrus, and he's going to enjoy his hour break from managing the resort. Maybe two hours. This is why he has managers, right?

Papyrus vanishes back into the kitchen and Mettaton follows after him, curious about what he's up to. The skeleton is wearing a ruffled, pink apron with 'Kiss the Cook' written on it in slanted cursive, a leftover prop from his now defunct cooking show. In fact, most of the kitchen is unused. The only reason he even had it included in his apartment was because it would just look odd without one. And who knows, maybe he'll have a chance to bring that old show back sometime in the future.

At least Papyrus seems to be enjoying it. He has a pair of pots on the stove, one of which he's looking down into with a patient expression.

"You know, they say that a watched pot never boils," Mettaton says, coming up beside him.

"THEY DO? OH, NO WONDER IT'S TAKING SO LONG," he says, turning his back to the stove with a guilty look on his face.

Smiling, the robot takes hold of his hand and pulls him so that he's standing with his back to one of the countertops. "It's just an expression, sweetheart," he murmurs, looking down at the apron and tracing the words with his finger.

Papyrus is blushing, and he lets out a nervous little laugh. "I-I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND THAT I BORROWED THIS. I FOUND IT IN ONE OF THE DRAWERS."

"Of course not. You can use anything in this apartment that you want," he purrs, leaning in close. "And it looks good on you."

"OH. WOWIE. DO YOU REALLY THINK SO?" He fidgets a little with the frill along the sides, over his chest.

Papyrus might have the worst sense of fashion that he's ever seen, but... "You always look good, Papy."

He looks at the front of the apron again. 'Kiss the Cook'. Maybe he should. He wants to. He wants to do this. For him. For Papyrus. For them. He's tired of dancing around this like they have for the last two weeks. The desire to touch him, to hug him without needing some kind of excuse, to lean in close when they're sitting together... He's still not sure what he's entirely comfortable with, but he knows one thing for certain.

Mettaton is not satisfied with just being friends.

A kiss should be soft. Or heated. Or passionate. He's seen Alphys and Undyne kiss more times than he'd have liked; he has a good idea of how they're supposed to go.

He's been paying attention to the wrong couple. Now he knows why he never sees you and Sans kiss on the mouth. This is... not soft. His pliable but still metal lips press against hard teeth and Papyrus goes still. Oh, what does he do now? How was he expecting the skeleton to kiss him back with no lips?

After a moment Mettaton pulls away, unable to meet Papyrus's eyes. He should say something. He really ought to—

Papyrus wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, nuzzling his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, letting out a soft sigh of relief. He hugs him back.

"I'm sorry," Mettaton says, dropping his head to rest on the skeleton's shoulder.

A pause. "FOR KISSING ME?"

Mettaton picks his head back up again, pulling away so he can look up at Papyrus. "No! Sweetheart, not at all," he says, wincing. "No, I'm sorry for getting it wrong."

"WAS THAT WRONG?" Papyrus says, looking genuinely confused. He's still blushing, bright orange across his cheekbones. Mettaton resists the urge to kiss them.

"I..." the robot hesitates. "Actually, now that you mention it darling, I'm not sure. I've, uh, never kissed anyone before."

"WE COULD, UM..." Oh Papyrus is positively glowing now, his fingers fidgeting with a small, uneven spot on the back of Mettaton's chassis. "MAYBE... PRACTICE MORE TO FIGURE OUT WHAT WORKS BEST?"

Mettaton kisses Papyrus's cheekbone, giving in to the desire. "My, my, aren't you full of surprises," he murmurs, chuckling.


He can't help but break out into a wide smile, laughing too. "Yes, darling, exactly like that," he says affectionately. As he leans in close to try to kiss him again, a phone starts to ring. His phone.

Grumbling, Mettaton flicks open a small compartment in his chest and pulls out his cellphone. The caller ID reads: MTT Restaurant. Hmm. Well, whatever it is, they can figure it out on their own. This is why he has managers. He silences the call and puts it away again.


"Not more important than taking time off to spend with you," he says, reaching towards Papyrus. For a second he hesitates, wondering if he's allowed to just do these things now. To touch him. He pushes through his reservations, cupping his cheek. "I want to make sure you don't feel neglected, like before."

Papyrus is beaming, glowing, and now a little scatter of sparkles are hovering around his head. How can he be so adorable? The skeleton hugs him close again, nuzzling where his jaw meets his neck. Oh, it's like that kiss unlocked an entirely new level of affection between them, and right now Mettaton can't get enough. He doesn't want to let him go. He doesn't want to be let go.

The hiss of water striking the heating element on the stove snaps them both to attention, Papyrus letting out a yelp of surprise. "MY PASTA!"

So much for that. The skeleton slips away from Mettaton to go attend to his noodles while he watches, a small smile curving his lips. He's content to lean there against the counter, though part of him wonders what that phone call was about. The restaurant hardly ever calls him. Usually it's the hotel's front desk that needs him the most.

Well, it doesn't matter. Whatever it is, he's certain his staff can handle it.

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