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Sans has plenty million ways of showing affection, and every single one manages to be goofy.
Take gift-giving, for example—arguably his most diabolical love language.
He's gifted you a back scratcher once. Good for your skin or something. The next time, it was an oddly specific waving inflatable guy that you'd find in a grand opening of a bakery store, just that it was tiny. More often than not, a fart spray to inspire your own pranks.
The back scratcher was actually good, though. You still use it to this day. One of your most prized possessions.
Next, acts of service. Even if he's known to be a lazy butthead, you know he's so much more than that. He does a lot for him and his brother.
If you fall asleep on the couch, you'll find yourself waking up on Papyrus' comfy bed. That tall skeleton rarely sleeps anyway.
You'll even find a well-prepared cup by the nightstand. It can be anything—orange juice, water, or whatever you prefer.
Or maybe Papyrus does that. You keep forgetting to ask.
Sans can be cryptic sometimes. Either that or something goofy comes out between those teeth. He's a weirdly consistent, witty jokester, so what else would you expect?
But he does know how to cheer you up with his nonsense—his words of affirmation. Always know what to say at the most appropriate times. Always considers everyone else's feelings first.
Even if he says the weirdest things ever.
For physical touch, Sans absolutely loves sleeping next to you. A not-very-comfortable cuddle pile of you, him, and Papyrus, if you're lucky.
Whether he be the big spoon or small spoon doesn't matter, as long as you're with him. He searches for you almost immediately when he wakes up and realizes you're not there. Sometimes, he even looks panicked... but maybe you're imagining it.
Another thing is he lets his phalanges pinch around your skin ever so slightly. Feeling the softness of your skin, and the hardness of your bones.
Quality time. Quality time?
It's getting too blurry to tell, nowadays.
You don't see him as much anymore. Which is weird. There was a point where he could barely be apart from you.
He's disappearing to stars know where, leaving you and Papyrus for hours long. Sometimes even days. Unannounced. Unspoken.
And when Sans does come back, he'll either be by your sleeping form, staring, or he'll be sleeping on the couch. Mostly, if he isn't working shifts. Like nothing happened.
If you ask him, he'll simply shrug it off. If you ask him again, he'll say an excuse that can maybe make sense.
"Papyrus," you call, uneasy, and his skeleton head pops out of the kitchen doorway. "Do you have any idea why Sans has been going out lately?"
"AW, DON'T WORRY," he sing-songs. "THIS IS A COMPLETELY NORMAL THING HE DOES!"
...Concerning.
But somehow, you believe him. Not for the reasons you like.
There's another reason that you're thinking of, and that's the mysterious work he has in the basement. You never go there, and the only reason why you even know about it is because you fell down the steps face first. Embarrassing, but it helped.
Still. Maybe he's been working on it more than ever lately.
You should pay a visit later.
A silent hum lingers in the empty room. Sans isn't here, much to your dismay, and things don't seem different as much as you wanted them to be.
There's nothing here.
You turn around.
"Oh, stop!" you huff, clutching your chest as you glare at Sans. "Where did you come from?!"
He has a neutral expression—the same one he always wears. "saw the light on. whatcha doing, sweetheart?"
You exhale, shaking your head. "Trying to figure out what you're doing. Seriously."
Sans tilts his head. It isn't a motion of curiosity, more of a "go on." Your gaze drifts away from his eyelights. Something about them feels like shame, or something else entirely.
"Look, Sans, I miss you," you admit. "But you... I don't know. I don't want to sound clingy. We haven't been—"
Gloved fingers take your chin. You gulp, letting him raise your head, your eyes searching his sockets.
You swear there's something off behind his expression.
He seems normal. It's the same, default expression he always had—except there is a certain unfamiliar weight to it, invisible layers that only someone like you can notice.
Corners of his smile twitch a little. The slight tremble in his eyelights. It's dimming rather frantically, but again, a normal soul wouldn't have noticed.
It's almost like he's not the same monster you know anymore. Maybe you're being dramatic, but there's a consistent emotion—something dark, something lost, something desperate. Perhaps eyes that have seen too much or too little at the same time.
"'m sorry," he smiles, his eyebags feeling more tired than usual.
"but i have to make sure nothing bad happens to ya."