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Frisk doesn’t really know what Sans and Toriel mean to each other, but they know it’s something good, something kind and important to the both of them.
Sans doesn’t live with them—neither Sans nor Papyrus do—but they might as well, seeing how often they’re over. Either just for the afternoon, or dinner, or spending the night, it’s easier to count the times the pair aren’t in the house rather than when they are. Which isn’t a bad thing—Frisk likes having them around, even if Frisk still can’t get used to the absolutely staggering amount of puns Sans can knock out, or Papyrus’ unwavering excitement over everything. They’re still some of Frisks’ favorite people.
And it’s obvious that Toriel really likes spending some time with Sans— well, sans everyone else. Not because Toriel doesn’t like anyone else, not that at all, but Frisk figures it’s because Sans gets her to smile in a way that Frisk hasn’t seen her smile at anyone else. They talk with each other like they don’t really talk to anyone else (massive amounts of terrible, awful jokes, with vary lengths of content silence and soft words spoken in between), and Frisk figures that’s probably pretty important for both of them.
And it’s good for them, Frisk thinks, even though adult stuff is kind of confusing to Frisk’s ten-year-old logic sometimes, but there’s nothing bad about people being happy together, even if Frisk can’t really understand all the reasons why or how things are the way they are between the two of them.
Which is why Frisk tries, really does try, not to interfere when it’s just Toriel and Sans, but that’s kind of difficult when Frisk comes home from school to the smell of pumpkin pie and the quiet murmur of conversation, interrupted with delighted giggling every so often.
Frisk tries hard not to let the front door make a sound as they come inside, quietly stepping out of their shoes and leaving their backpack by the door. Usually Frisk would announce they’re home, get scooped up into a hug by Toriel and then have a snack, but since Frisk hears Toriel speaking in a quiet tone, and Sans answering her with just as quiet (but far deeper) a voice, Frisk figures that might not be the best thing to do.
But… well, Frisk is kind of curious what they’re talking about, especially since it seems they’re the only ones home, or the only ones up and about, anyway (which is a bit odd for Sans sometimes; he generally works night shifts at a gas station a ways outside of town, so usually he sleeps from early hours of the morning until late afternoon). And if they’re laughing a bit, it can’t be bad stuff, stuff Frisk shouldn’t be around to hear, so maybe it’s not the worst thing to do when Frisk shuffles into the living room, not quite into the kitchen, just… stands out of sight and leans in, listens.
“—outta this world, T,” Sans is sighing, and there’s a scrape of silverware on china, which makes Frisk think they’re eating together, most likely waiting for Frisk to return home so they can join them both, as what usually happens on weekdays.
Toriel giggles softly, pleased. “Why thank you, Sans! I’m glad it’s… a kin to your taste.”
They both laugh at that, Toriel’s high-pitched chuckles a stark contrast to Sans’ low snickers; Sans is usually the one making all the horrible puns, so Frisk is more than a bit interested to listen to Sans enjoying a joke that isn’t his own (even if it’s terrible).
“I can’t eat if you’re making me laugh, Tori,” Sans tells her with absolutely no malice or annoyance in his voice (there rarely ever is, anyway), and Toriel laughs out an apology, though it’s not nearly as sincere as it might be with Toriel giggling between each syllable.
Frisk doesn’t think they’ve ever heard Toriel so happy—giddy, actually might be a better word. It’s nice, really nice, actually. Frisk likes knowing everyone is just as happy as they themself are.
Because the conversation seems to die down for a bit, Frisk tries to move a little, to find a place where they can see and hear what Toriel and Sans are doing. Around the doorframe that leads into the kitchen, Frisk hides there, watching Toriel sip coffee from a mug while Sans all but licks his plate clean, apparently not willing to accept the fact he’s finished the slice of pie he was served.
“Would you like more?” Toriel asks, as polite as always.
Sans shakes his head, pushing the plate away from himself with a little snort. “Nah, better not. Don’t wanna get carried away before Frisk can have some.”
Toriel’s face falls, just a bit, at the mention of Frisk. “I hope they’re alright, it’s a little later than usual…”
“It’s only three-thirty, T,” Sans assures with the ease he normally has, the nonchalance he always speaks with, “They’re probably just down the street. Don’t sweat it.”
Toriel hums, still sounding a little bit uncertain, and Frisk really wants to pop out from their hiding spot, laugh and assure Toriel that they’re fine, really, they were just playing around! But before Frisk can figure out the best way to announce their presence in the house, there’s a scrape of chair against tile, and Frisk’s gaze focuses back to the two monsters in the kitchen.
Sans is up now, empty plate in hand as he steps towards the sink, in turn, towards Toriel’s seat at the table. He leans in close to her cheek, and Frisk might not know what that is, but Toriel smiles with all the fondness in the world as Sans tells her a whispered “Smooch,” to reconcile for the fact that his kisses are, more or less, a “toothy” ordeal, with the lack of lips and all. He does it to Frisk all the time, pressing his teeth to the top of Frisk’s head with a long, drawn out “Smoooooch, kiddo,” or some variation thereof, which always gets a smile out of Frisk.
It’s heartwarming to see how pleased it makes Toriel, who giggles quietly as she watches Sans shuffle to the sink, slippers scuffing against the floor as he sets his plate in the basin. He eyes the pie sitting on top of the inactive stove, practically calling out to be eaten, but before he can properly drool over it, Toriel is getting up from the table as well, their mugs from the table in her paws as she wanders close to the sink. She sets the mugs down in the basin, Frisk knows, not because Frisk can see her do it, but because they hear the clatter of them as they’re set down.
But then Toriel turns to cup Sans’ skull with a gentle paw, arching over him (with her incredible, nearly seven feet of height towering over Sans’ stout four feet) to press a kiss to his cranium, something that makes Sans’ shoulders visibly hunch up as he lets out a rather embarrassed-sounding laugh.
“Hey, it—“
Toriel smiles as she straightens back up, her paw gently smoothing over his back (which Sans shivers a little at, Frisk thinks, from the little shift of his feet). “Thank you, Sans,” she tells him with her usual sincerity. There’s a silence between them, then, that is far different from anything awkward—it’s comfortable, safe. Frisk doesn’t exactly know how to describe it, but it’s a nice silence, something that brings a smile to Frisk’s face as they watch Sans and Toriel stand side by side, too close for something casual, with the way their sides are pressed up together.
Frisk almost doesn’t want to say anything, almost goes up to their room so they don’t interrupt… whatever that is, but Frisk knows Toriel is going to worry if Frisk isn’t officially home soon, so they wait just a few moments longer before tip-toeing out to the front door, moving to open and close it loudly, loud enough that it will be heard—from the sound of Toriel’s gentle gasp, it is.
“Is that you, Frisk?” Toriel calls out as Frisk pretends to shuck their backpack again and step out of their shoes. This time, they don’t try to sneak as they head into the living room and into the kitchen.
“Yeah—I forgot my jacket in the classroom so I had to walk back and get it,” Frisk lies—nothing bad, of course, just something to keep Toriel from fretting over nothing.
Frisk notes that the closeness between Toriel and Sans hasn’t entirely disappeared, which is good, but they have taken a half step apart, probably to resist being too weird in front of Frisk. Not that it bothers Frisk; if they want to hold hands and kiss and do stuff adult people do, well, it’s not like it’s Frisk’s place to say anything (but, for the record, they do like watching Sans get embarrassed by his own nervous fumbling around Toriel, and the happiness on Toriel’s face when Sans tells her extremely awful jokes).
“Sans and I made pumpkin pie today,” Toriel is telling them with a smile while Sans… apparently tries to recover from being too sappy, Frisk guesses. Then Toriel is turning to grant Frisk a gentle hug while kissing the child’s forehead. “Would you like a slice?”
Frisk nods eagerly, so Toriel moves to get a clean plate and dishes out a slice. Then she dishes out another, turning to hand one plate to Frisk and bumping Sans with her forearm, offering him the other when he looks at her from his gaze in the sink basin. She gives him a knowing smile with a little arch of her eyebrows, and Sans takes the plate with a little chuckle and moves to sit at the table again, this time with Frisk.
“How was your day, little one?” Toriel is asking as Frisk smiles into the first bite of pie, humming at the thick taste of pumpkin and spice over their tongue. When Frisks lifts their head to answer, they notice Toriel standing just behind Sans’ chair, a paw resting on his back—something that could be casual, and is probably supposed to be, except even with Sans’ head bowed as he eats, Frisk can see the ethereal blush over his cheekbones, the little hunch in his shoulders.
Frisk grins around their fork, going back for another bite.
“It was great, mom,” Frisk tells Toriel after the next bite, and doesn’t miss how she melts a little at the sentiment. “How was yours?”
“Great,” Both Toriel and Sans answer at the same time, which is followed by a few embarrassed chuckles between the two of them; Frisk grins as they duck their head down and take another bite of pie.