There's that face again: pain and regret and betrayal and loneliness and want all wrapped up in a little succinct bow. Of course Papyrus still wants to be friends. Of course he misses him. Of course he'd welcome him back, as a friend, with open arms. That's just how Papyrus always is.
He's perfect. He's sweet and charming and silly and perfect.
Mettaton knows he's running away, but who would ever blame him? You can't just be friends with someone you shared your SOUL with. Not after daydreaming about picket fences and 3-hour long, operatic wedding vows. Not after you picked out engagement rings.
"I'm sure that would be lovely." Meaning 'no.'
Consider the door closed. The metaphorical one. The real one...
Mettaton flicks his wrist and a small, box-version of himself summons into the air over by the camera. Its tiny hand smacks away Sans' jacket before it disappears.
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He's perfect. He's sweet and charming and silly and perfect.
Mettaton knows he's running away, but who would ever blame him? You can't just be friends with someone you shared your SOUL with. Not after daydreaming about picket fences and 3-hour long, operatic wedding vows. Not after you picked out engagement rings.
"I'm sure that would be lovely." Meaning 'no.'
Consider the door closed. The metaphorical one. The real one...
Mettaton flicks his wrist and a small, box-version of himself summons into the air over by the camera. Its tiny hand smacks away Sans' jacket before it disappears.
"We're fine now, darling. You can let us out."