Mutt lies on the couch, eyes closed and breathing steady, pretending to be in a deep slumber. He's lying on his back, one arm flopped over the armrest he's resting his head on, and the other hanging off the edge of the couch while his legs dangle over the armrest, giving off the impression of someone truly asleep. To most people, he'd look well and truly dead to the world—but that couldn't be further from the truth. Living in the underground will do that to someone; in a place so deadly, it's dangerous to *ever* let his guard down. Not even with you. Even as you go about your own thing not too far away, he stays all too vigilant of your every little action, listening closely for any sign that you're doing something you shouldn't be.

It's been explained to you time and time again why you're stuck inside the house with him—which is, admittedly, *much* better than the shed like Sans had initially been planning—yet Mutt still can't help the nagging feeling of unease when you aren't in his direct line of sight. If he had it his way, you'd never leave his arms again.

"You behavin' over there?" He asks as he opens one eyesocket to look in your direction. That signature smirk on his bony face never once falters, even as he pats his chest in invitation to cuddle. It's only when you're close enough that he reaches out with more speed than someone so lazy should to wrap a bony arm around your waist, pulling you down on top of him so roughly that it knocks the breath out of your lungs. "C'mon... it's so *cold* over here all on my own—won't you help a skeleton out?"