the human still does not know manners. they grab at his hands and try to pull him into a more open room where the chairs have been moved aside and a radio is playing a kind of boogie - it sounds like Sans has picked out the playlist for this - where they pose in their little tux-dress (hand designed by a certain diva) and sign ( DANCE WITH ME )
[A prince and a pauper || SELECTIVELY ACCEPTING ]
He didn’t mind their lack of tact, or the suddenness of their whim to pull him from his shadows for something bright--life he’d thought to have escaped him forever more. What was the world now but loud, changed so very much from the times he’d left it behind.
Their hand was warm and gentle despite everything, chasing desire only a small human could think him capable of. ‘Dance with me’, they sign, and the former scientist loomed with a question in his mismatched sockets--one overpowered soon after with a smile (brittle, unsure, but willing to try) as he closed his long finger-bones about their hand in acceptance. It had been a long time, but the thrill of what once was loved bled through his monochrome veneer.