“HAVE YOU PICKED UP THE PIZZA YET?”
Papyrus’ shrill shout had you holding the phone away from your ear. Sometimes he remembered to use his inside voice, sometimes he forgot. Clearly he’d forgotten.
“Not yet, Boss, they’re a little packed right now.”
He grumbled, thankfully at a much lower volume. You didn’t want to have the poor, overworked cashiers hear his vitriol.
“That’s us, Boss.”
You did your best to be chipper as you showed the twenty year old your Detective credentials and handed her more than enough cash to cover your bill. You always used the public servant discount so that more of the money went as tip to the people who worked there. It seemed to make them a little happier.
“Alright Boss, getting in the car now.”
“SO YOU SHOULD BE HERE IN FIVE MINUTES AND THIRTY SIX SECONDS.”
“Boss,” you sighed, “I took my personal car. Not the cruiser. No lights.”
He grumbled. Getting the pizza home on Pizza Night was the only time he abused those flashing red and blues.
“I’m Still Timing You.”
You settled into the custom leather seats of your pride and joy. You cranked the engine, enjoying the way it roared to life. Your custom, personally assembled, Hell on four wheels.
“Hear that Boss? I’ll be leaving.”
You plopped the pizza in the passenger seat, carefully buckling it in.
“SOUNDS LIKE ABSOLUTE GARBAGE! UNREFINED! TASTELESS!”
You knew it was all in good fun. He didn’t like how noisy your engine was, preferring the softer purr of his new sports car. Which was fine. Whatever floats your boat and finds your lost remote. You grinned and revved the engine once more before hanging up, knowing it irritated him. Then you buckled yourself up, carefully securing the five point racing harness before easing out of the parking lot.
You drove carefully. You weren’t on duty and you had pizza in the front seat. Not even those hopped up little Hondas could get you to rev your engine. It was Saturday, you weren’t going to really mess with the integrity of your engine tonight. You would have maintenance to do first thing tomorrow and you didn’t want to risk a single thing. You had a Reaper to beat.
You pulled into your parking spot, body practically vibrating. You wiggled with excitement and snatched up your cheesy, greasy treasures. One box for him, one box for you. You practically bounced to the door. He’d left it unlocked in anticipation of your arrival.
The movies were stacked on the coffee table, plates were set out, a bottle of wine was open. Neither of you were fans of beer and he had the absolute best taste in wine so you always let him choose. You toed off your sneakers as he called from the other room, loud and somehow growly.
“IT TOOK YOU FOUR MINUTES LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE!”
You didn’t answer. You knew him well enough after six years of being ‘together’ that he was just being a dick. He was a stickler for punctuality and every weekend was sacred. Monday through Friday you two would slog through paperwork, cases, crimes, blood, bodies, and fucked up bullshit. You two worked hours that could make anyone in retail or customer service faint and those guys were tough. Saturday and Sunday were days you two had made yours, personal and necessary.
Being a Detective in general was hard enough, being one in New Ebbot City was suicide by paperwork. You needed this escape. You plopped the pizza boxes in their usual places: his on the left, yours on the right. You always covered his blind spot. It was a habit. He emerged from one of the rooms in his silk pjs.
“GO, I’LL GET THE WINE POURED.” He shoo’d you away with a clawed hand.
You laughed and shuffled off to change into your pajamas. The ritual put you at ease. Shorts, tank top, clip hair up, search for slippers that somehow always find their way under your bed, then shuffle back out. He’d already dished out the pizza and poured the wine. You settled into the plush leather couch you’d gone halvesies on a few years back and plopped your feet on the coffee table.
His red eye lights focused in on your slippers like lasers and you stuck your tongue out. Anyone else would quake in fear of your roommate. Only you could sass the eight foot tall lanky skeleton Monster and get away with it. For all his sharp features and pointy bits he was a big old softie who just wanted someone to take care of and trust. You wiggled your slippers smugly.
“It’s Saturday, Boss, no rules, remember?” You taunted, knowing he hated that he’d agreed to it, even as he secretly enjoyed it.
He grumbled and put the first movie on. It was a comfortable silence as you two dug into your dinner for the night. He really wasn’t a fan of commentary. Which blowed because you were. You loved laughing, expounding on jokes--if there were any--or just talking in general. In between movies you tucked your feet up on the couch to spare yourself further dirty looks.
“Hey Boss, family night still on tomorrow?”
You secretly hoped it was. You loved when he had his ‘family’ over. It really was just a day when Undyne and Sans dropped by. Never at the same time because apparently they couldn’t stand each other. But it was a day you spent out of the house and you strangely enjoyed it. You two spent every second together. Hell sometimes you slept in each other’s rooms.
“YES, UNDYNE IS BRINGING HER SOULMATE OVER. SANS WILL BE LATE AGAIN, HE ALWAYS IS.”
You nodded and murmured some sympathetic nonsense. He was so uptight about his brother’s tardiness. He was uptight in general but when it came to Sans he was even moreso. You had to wonder why; their relationship was strained at best, wouldn’t he be kinder towards his brother in order to foster a better relationship?
“YOU KNOW, YOU DON’T HAVE TO SKIP OUT EVERY SUNDAY. YOU COULD STAY AND MEET MY… FAMILY.”
You smiled sweetly at him. He really was a big teddy bear under all the edgy-spiky-bravado. You patted his bare hand.
“I know, Boss. But it’s your family. I’d only be a barrier between you and them.”
You didn’t want to add in that you had your own plans every Sunday. They weren’t exactly legal activities and you definitely didn’t want to hurt his feelings by admitting you made plans that didn’t include him. You were his surrogate family. You poured more wine while he popped in the next movie. This one was more your speed: full of crude humor. It was a superhero movie, which surprised you; it was packed full of swearing and obscene violence.
“THIS MOVIE WAS RIDICULOUS AND THE COMEDY WAS POOR.”
He had been immediately disinterested but allowed the film to finish because of how thoroughly you had enjoyed it.
“I think it was great! I’m keeping that one!”
You snatched the case from the pile. You two always separated the movies into yours and his at the end of the night but you wanted that one.
“YOU WOULD GET ALONG WELL WITH MY BROTHER. THAT’S THE KIND OF LOW-CLASS SWILL HE WOULD ADORE.”
While it was spoken with disdain on his skull, there was a hint of fondness in his voice. No matter how poorly he spoke of his brother it was very clear he loved him. There were just years of dysfunction layered over it. It’s why he saw a therapist and had arranged Family night. Six years ago, they were living together and you were just his patrol partner. And he hated you! Now? You were pretty much platonic soulmates and he had sort of mended the bridge between himself and his brother.
“Maybe one day we’ll meet. He needs to come over on a Saturday or something. Join us for Pizza night.”
You wouldn’t mind the mysterious skeleton crashing your sacred night.
“HE ALWAYS HAS DATES ON SATURDAYS.” He growled, clearly irritated.
“Are they not nice dates?”
You had to admit you were intensely curious about what kind of guy your partner’s brother was. Papyrus always complained about his brother’s slovenly behavior, tardiness, alcoholism, and apparently the guy was a slut. He’d complained heavily that every Saturday Sans would bring home some new floozie and spend all night making a racket.
“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL THEY’RE NOT. NICE DATEMATES DON’T HAVE DADDY KINKS.”
“Oh, Boss, don’t kinkshame. Different strokes for different folks.”
He narrowed his sockets at you, trying to find the innuendo in your statement. It was there, just more unintentional than he would believe if he noticed it. He let up his intense gaze and returned to putting in a new movie. This one was a romcom, a favorite genre for both of you. Papyrus liked to pick apart how the technique was wrong, you laughed at the dick jokes.
“YOU HUMANS HAVE NO CLUE HOW TO TELL A DATEMATE YOU ADORE THEM.”
“And Monster’s have better techniques? Pray tell, how would you woo the person of your dreams?”
You were two bottles in and far from giving a shit.
“YOU SIMPLY TELL THEM. PLAYING GAMES LIKE THAT JUST LEADS TO CONFUSION!”
“Boss, not everyone’s got the bravado you do. Some people are too shy to just spill their guts.”
His sockets lowered to half mast in a very unamused glare. Sometimes he really didn’t appreciate your jokes. Your shit eating grin told him you didn’t care very much.
“I’m Glad You’re Doomed To Never Meet My Brother. You Two Would Be The Death Of Me.”
His mutterings were met with boisterous laughter.
“Aw, Boss, I didn’t mean to get under your skin that bad.”
He tossed a pillow at your face, upending your wine glass. That made him laugh, shrill and raspy, and you adored it all the same. His laugh was getting more and more rare these days. You’ve only really heard it on Saturdays lately. A knock at the door interrupted your gigglefest. Papyrus went to answer it while you cleaned up the wine.
A deep, low growl came from the door. You turned your head; Papyrus’ body blocked the entirety of the door and you couldn’t make out any words. As nosy as you were, and you were a Detective so you were inherently nosy, you decided not to pry. Papyrus was a lot of things: a busybody, a playboy, a neat freak. But he wasn’t secretive. So you’d wait and he’d probably bitch about whoever was at the door.
You wiped off the couch with a special leather cleaner when you were goosed in the side by Papyrus’ clawed phalanges.
“Oh! Boss! You’re claw-ful!”
He pinched harder because of that, earning him a squeal of laughter. You retaliated with a pillow to the skull. He let loose another chuckle and you two amicably collapsed on the now clean couch. Another movie, this one boring to both of you. Murder-mysteries weren’t as fun when you actually lived it. It wasn’t long before you both passed out on the couch. It was larger than normal to fit your larger than normal roommate. A figure let itself into the apartment, dropping something on the kitchen table before spotting your entangled forms.
A growl filled the air, low and dangerous, but it didn’t wake either of you. Clawed fingers flexed above your sleeping face for a moment before the figure moved away and tossed a blanket over both you and Papyrus. Then they were gone, locking the door behind them.