The bar was busy. Like always on weekends.

Voices overlapped, the clink of glasses and the bass from the jukebox filling the air in that familiar chaos you had learned to thrive in. You balanced plates with ease, your apron tied tight and a pencil tucked behind your ear.

A table near the front flagged you down, but before you could take a step, the bell over the door jingled—and everything paused.

Because in walked Papyrus.

In full, glorious fashion. Cape, gloves, sparkling scarf, and what looked suspiciously like glitter sprinkled in his bones. He posed in the doorway like he was on stage, even though no one had asked him to. As usual.

But what no one expected was what happened next.

He strode straight up to you—ignoring the confused glances, the pointing, the whispers—and with zero hesitation, lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

—"DEAREST BELOVED," he boomed. "I HAVE ARRIVED TO ESCORT YOU HOME WHEN YOUR HEROIC SHIFT HAS ENDED."

You blinked, heat crawling up your neck.

The bartender nearly dropped a glass. Someone at table 4 gasped. A regular whispered a stunned "No way..."

—"Wait... they're dating?" a voice muttered.

Papyrus turned to the room, still holding your hand like you were royalty.

—"YES. THIS EXCEPTIONAL HUMAN IS MINE, HEART AND SOUL. AND I, IN TURN, AM THEIRS. WE SHARE AFFECTION. AND OCCASIONALLY—COLD LEFTOVERS."

You buried your face in your hand, groaning. Not because you were embarrassed of him. No—never that. But Papyrus didn’t do things quietly.

He glanced back at you, smile wide, voice softer now:

—"I know you said to keep it subtle... but I wanted them to know you're loved by someone great."