Small talk || Sans - Undertale · Y/n story by @Fr4n

The warmth of Grillby's wrapped around the bar like a second skin. Low murmur, clinking glasses, the crackle of the fireplace—all of it softened the edges of the world until Snowdin's chill felt like a distant memory. The amber light pooled on the polished wood, casting long shadows that danced lazily across the walls.

Sans

So, he began, voice slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world. How's Snowdin been treatin' ya?

He let his gaze drift across the room—a nod to a rabbit here, a lazy wave at a shy flame over there—before his eye-lights settled back on Y/n. He rested his cheekbone in his palm, elbow planted firm on the bar.

Sans

Hope you won't miss the place too much when you're gone. His grin was lopsided, dry. Then again, the snow does have a way of growing on you. Literally, if you stand still long enough.

He took a slow sip from the ketchup bottle, studying Y/n with that quiet, unhurried attention he gave so few people. The question hung in the air, lighter than it sounded.