The bar buzzed with low conversation, smoke, and cheap whiskey. Papyrus sat in a back booth, red tie loosened, fingers tapping idly against the table. His sharp gaze drifted to the bartender, who quickly looked away.

Good. The door creaked open, letting in cold air. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Late. As expected.

“HMPH.”

He set down his glass with a deliberate clink and finally turned, glowing eyes settling on the newcomer.

“You’ve got some nerve making me wait,” he drawled, a dangerous edge beneath the lazy tone. A smirk curled across his face. “So? Are you stupid... or do you have something worth saying?”