The library was silent, the only light coming from the enchanted lamps that flickered faintly along the bookshelves. Snowdin had long since fallen asleep under its snowy blanket, but you were still there — hunched over a table, surrounded by books, stubborn as ever.

Papyrus hesitated at the entrance, holding a small container of soup in one hand and a blanket in the other. He hadn't meant to come, not really. Not after your small fight a few days ago. Not after the way your words had turned distant, and his had turned sharp.

But... here he was.

You were asleep now, head resting on your crossed arms, breathing slow and even. Papyrus took a cautious step forward, then another, until he was standing beside you. He placed the soup down quietly, then draped the blanket — the red one you always stole from his couch — over your shoulders.

He stood there for a moment. Watching.

Still.

Soft.

Then he heard a noise behind him.

Turning around, he found your partner standing by the doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

—“Hey,” they muttered.

Papyrus nodded, keeping his voice low.

—“They were... tired. I thought they might want some soup when they wake up.”

There was a silence. Heavy. Awkward.

Then, your partner sighed.

—“I came to talk,” they said, quieter now. “I’ve been thinking... this isn’t working.”

Papyrus looked up, confused.

—“What?”

—“They need someone who sees them like you do.”

Papyrus froze.

—“Even when you argue,” your partner continued, “you still show up. You still cook for them. You still tuck them in like they’re the most important person in the Underground.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His soul ached in his chest.

—“I think... you might be what they need. What they’ve always needed. And I don’t want to be in the way of that.”

Papyrus could barely breathe.

—“Take care of them, okay?”

His voice trembled.

—“I always do.”

Your partner gave him one last look before quietly leaving the library.

Papyrus stood still for a long while, trying to absorb what had just happened. Then, slowly, he turned back toward you.

Your breathing hadn’t changed. Still calm. Still peaceful.

He leaned closer. Hesitant.

His bony fingers brushed the hair from your face.

And then — just for a moment — he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

A silent promise.

A quiet apology.

He pulled a chair beside you, sat down, and let himself doze off... just a little.

When you stirred hours later, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and blinking at the rising light through the window, you found him asleep beside you, still sitting upright.

His scarf had fallen slightly to one side.

His hand rested near yours.