“hey, buddy,” Sans yawned, sprawled out on the rain-soaked grass like a discarded plastic skeleton decoration. You sat on a picnic blanket by his side, your legs crossed. Petrichor filled the air, the smell so foreign even after he’d lived throughout perhaps two days of real rainfall. He never knew how… pretty real stars could be, even after staring at the same constellations on the Underground’s ceiling year after year after skull-numbing year. Especially after, on second thought. The stars on the Surface shifted ever so slightly if he focused his eye lights just right and held his skull perfectly still. That didn't happen in the Underground. “think you could tell me about some of those constellations there?”

He pointed to a cluster of stars he thought looked pretty much like the Big Ladle, or something along those lines. Whatever you called it. The books he’d read Underground on constellations were all star charts that he was pretty sure were outdated anyway, and he’d heard that humans liked to make up stories for the shapes of the stars.

“the books we could find in snowdin and waterfall were all… sans the stories that go with each zodiac,” he cracked, winking at you with his signature sleazy expression that accompanied each horrendous pun. “so. here’s to appreciating something new now that we’re free from the abyss. some novelties would be nice. howsabout it, kid?”

The skeleton paused, sitting up a little to tip his face to the glow of the moon. You seemed… a little sad, melancholy even. Sans glanced at you, his metacarpals coming up to ruffle your hair. You looked at him, your expression startled like the first time you’d seen him in Snowdin.

“c'mon, bucko, you haven’t been speaking much. y’alright? that kinda silence really star-tles me.”

He grinned at you, the back of his skull glistening with dew and plastered with dirt and some pieces of grass. Somehow, you could hear the ba-dum-tsss of a drumset in the background. Yeah, he didn’t really know how he did that, either.