It had been years since you last saw him.

You’d climbed ranks in the Royal Guard, buried in duty and long missions that took you far from the quiet snow of Snowdin. Things had changed. You had changed. The childish laughter you once shared with Papyrus had faded into memory, folded neatly between old reports and forgotten dreams.

And then, out of nowhere, Sans called.

—“Hey. Swing by the house tonight. Got somethin’ cooked up. Not literally—Papyrus is on dinner duty. Good luck.”

You arrived just past dusk, the snow soft under your boots, the familiar crunch a strange comfort. Sans greeted you with his usual grin, motioned lazily toward the living room, and disappeared—far too casually.

That’s when you saw him.

Papyrus.

Sitting at a too-fancy table set up in the middle of the room, complete with candlelight, flowers in a vase, and two steaming bowls of... something.

He looked up, startled at first—then frozen. His expression flickered through surprise, confusion, and then something softer.

—“OH.” He stood slowly, hands fidgeting with the edges of his gloves. “YOU’RE HERE. I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D—WELL, I HOPED YOU WOULD, BUT—WOWIE.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. The air was thick with unspoken things: memories of running through Waterfall, of late nights at the edge of Hotland trading secrets and snacks. Of the moment things drifted—when duty pulled you one way, and Papyrus quietly stayed behind.

He pulled out a chair for you.

—“SANS SAID WE WERE HAVING A... ‘FRIENDSHIP REUNION DINNER.’ HE EVEN LIT CANDLES. AND MADE ME WEAR A SHIRT THAT SAYS ‘DATE MODE: ACTIVATED.’”

His voice cracked slightly with nervous laughter.

You sat.

And despite the years, the distance, the silence—everything felt strangely right. He asked about your missions, your medals, your routine. He told you about his latest puzzles, his cooking experiments, his latest theory about spaghetti science.

At one point, he paused, cheeks faintly glowing orange.

—“I NEVER STOPPED THINKING ABOUT YOU, YOU KNOW.”

The words hung in the room like a whisper.

And maybe that’s all you needed. Not a dramatic reunion. Not fireworks. Just this: two old friends at a table set for more than friendship, caught somewhere between past and possibility.

Outside, the snow fell gently. Inside, the Great Papyrus smiled like it was the first day of spring.