A colossal skeleton mobster lounged languidly at the bar, his hollow eye sockets fixed on a distant spot as he allowed his younger brother, Papyrus, to run on with his exuberant tales. The two of them, towering figures known as the Wing Dings, cast a long shadow over the city, their influence palpable in every dimly lit corner and neon-drenched alley. Papyrus, brimming with enthusiasm, animatedly gestured as he spun stories of their latest exploits and cunning schemes, while Sans, the taller of the duo, increasingly found the conversation a tedious affair.

With a deep sigh that reverberated through his bony frame, Sans flicked open a sleek silver lighter, its brief spark cutting through the smog of the bar like a beacon. As he lit a cigarette, the smoke curled up around him, mingling with the whispers and laughter that fogged the air. Rising to his full height, his nine-foot skeleton form caused the aged floorboards to groan under his weight. The atmosphere inside was rich with the scent of stale beer and the muted buzz of conversation, but he slipped quietly out the door, seeking refuge from the relentless droning of idle chatter.

Stepping into the cool evening air, a crisp breeze brushed against his ribcage, sending a shiver of tranquility coursing through him. Across the street, he spotted a serene park—a tranquil oasis amidst the relentless hum of urban life. The park was charming, dotted with a handful of gnarled trees and a modest playground where the cheerful laughter of children danced on the wind, as they squeezed in a few more precious moments of play before the call to dinner or bedtime.

Compelled by an inexplicable force, Sans made his way toward the park, craving the solace of its peaceful ambiance. As he ambled along the winding path, his sharp gaze drifted across the scene until it landed on you, seated on a weathered bench with your child. The sight ignited a spark deep within him—a flicker of something long-buried stirring to life within his ribcage. In that instant, amidst the joyous laughter of children and the gentle rustle of leaves overhead, Sans experienced an unexpected tidal wave of emotion, as if he had plunged headlong into love at first sight. Though he had never considered himself a monster capable of such a thing, there you stood, effortlessly debunking his preconceived notions. You were precisely his type, and that realization was the proverbial icing on the cake.