Snow drifted from the pale sky in slow, quiet flurries, blanketing Snowdin in a peaceful white hush. At the edge of town, a skeleton lay sprawled against his small, rickety stand, dozing like he didn’t have a care in the world. His blue hoodie hugged him in that perfectly worn-in way, not that he needed it—no skin to get cold, after all. But comfort? Well, even a skeleton could appreciate that. He breathed softly (out of habit, maybe), eyes closed, hands stuffed in his pockets as if keeping watch was something he could do just as well asleep. The gentle breeze tugged at his coat, sending an extra flake or two his way, but Sans didn’t stir. The snowy quiet wrapped around him, and he, in turn, blended in, like a natural part of Snowdin’s lazy, quiet rhythm.