He met his husband for the second time that day.
"Oh, you must be Papyrus's brother!" The star exclaimed, never looking at him.
Sans wanted to cry. He wanted to tell him all that had happened. He wanted to tell him about the afternoons spent lounging on the couch together, the nights spent in fits of passion, moving too fast, being too gentle. He wanted to shout that he loved him, he wanted to yank him down for a kiss.
But he didn't.
"Hi," he held out a shaky hand, "I'm Sans. Nice to meetcha."
He searched for a hint of recognition, a twitch of the lip, a spark in the eye, the utterance of a nickname.
"Always nice to meet a fan, darling. You are a fan, aren't you?"
Sans chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets and bowing his head slightly.
"Yeah," he muttered, "the biggest."
