[Sleep is heavy and inviting, made moreso by the arid climate and distant sound of wind whistling through stones and long corridors. Sans couldn't feel most of it, but there was something to be said for the suggestion of it all. A heavy head on his shoulder -- even through sleep -- only added to the comfortable illusion.
Until that imagined weight shifted slightly, jarring Sans from sleep and serving him a sudden reminder. This time, in a familiar shock of brown hair. Deep, dusky brown, without even a hint of red.
If he relaxes at that realization, it's only slightly.]
no subject
Until that imagined weight shifted slightly, jarring Sans from sleep and serving him a sudden reminder. This time, in a familiar shock of brown hair. Deep, dusky brown, without even a hint of red.
If he relaxes at that realization, it's only slightly.]
... Frisk?