The sky was too big.

Papyrus stood very straight beneath it, boots planted on grass that was definitely not Snowdin snow, spine aligned with the confidence of someone who absolutely knew what he was doing. The sun hung overhead like a friendly spotlight, and Papyrus smiled up at it, chest puffed.

“NYEH HEH HEH,” he muttered to himself. “YES. THIS IS FINE. THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NOT OVERWHELMED AT ALL.”

Humans passed nearby. Some stared. Some whispered. Some pretended very hard not to notice the tall skeleton in a scarf and battle body, standing like he was waiting for applause that hadn’t been scheduled yet. Papyrus noticed all of it. He always did. He just chose to interpret it generously.

They were curious. Of course they were!

Monsters had been underground for ages. Anyone would be surprised. Papyrus waved once—bright, confident—then slowly lowered his hand when the response was less waving and more stiff silence.

Adjusting took time. Papyrus understood that. He was very good at patience. He had waited all night outside Undyne’s house once. This was nothing.

Still… the air felt strange in his ribs. Lighter. Emptier.

He reminded himself why they were here. Freedom. Fresh starts. A future where puzzles could be shared instead of guarded. A future where mercy wasn’t rare—it was normal. Papyrus believed in that future with his whole soul. He always had.

Nearby, a sidewalk crack caught his attention. He crouched, examining it with serious focus, then nodded to himself. “A TERRIBLE DESIGN. NO SYMMETRY. I COULD FIX THIS.”

Papyrus straightened again, brushing imaginary dust from his gloves. If humans were nervous, that was okay. He would be kind louder. He would be brave harder. He would show them that monsters weren’t something to fear.

After all—if you believed in people long enough, sometimes they believed back.

And if not?

Well.

Papyrus would keep trying anyway.