Work Text:
Words of Affirmation
“Is that a new tie?”
Grillby finished polishing his glass. “Hmm?”
The strange skeleton sitting at his bar signed again. “I mean, I’ve noticed you always wear a black bow tie,” he looked nervous as he explained. “My point is, the purple suits you.”
Grillby felt the smooth fabric of his tie. “It’s lavender… but thanks,” awkward flames sputtered from his head.
For a moment it seemed like the skeleton was going to say more, but had obviously let it go. He took up his cold cup of black coffee and looked away.
Grillby shrugged it off, not wanting to mention the oddness of the bow tie’s origins, or lack thereof. It simply existed at the back of his dresser. Grillby had found it stuffed in a corner of the drawer and thought it nice enough to wear that day. Yet, he never remembered buying any lavender ties.
He pushed the uncomfortable feeling down. Instead he turned to the young human couple who were happily ready to try out a monster restaurant for the first time.
-
Acts of Service
Later, that Friday, Grillby glanced at the clock. The little hand was inching closer and closer to eleven. Try as he might, Grillby was not looking forward to closing up. Exhaustion seeped into his limbs and weighted heavy on his soul. The day had been packed and it looked like the next day would be the same. Grillby cleaned off the glass, getting ready to tell the skeleton in the black sweater that he was closed.
Maybe if I start busting tables he’ll get the idea and leave? Grillby thought, wanting to avoid conversation.
Carefully he wiped off the table, casting crumbs onto the floor so they could be swept up later. He had placed the broom against the bar to remind himself. With practiced speed he wiped down the table with one gloved hand, straightening napkins and condiments with the other. The citrus smell of the soapy rag slowly gave the room a clean scent. He went from table to table till all were done. Finally he moved on to the booths, making sure to clean off the seats as well.
Ring! Ring! the kitchen phone trilled.
With the last booth cleaned Grillby went to the phone. It was affixed to the wall next to the icebox. He mentally readied himself for a conversation before answering.
“Is this Grillby’s?”
“… Yes,” he sighed, knowing where this was going.
“Is there time to put in an order for pickup?” asked the timid voice.
“No… we’re closed.”
“Oh! Sorry! I just thought – never mind. Have a nice night!” and they abruptly hung up.
The tone droned on as Grillby placed the phone back on the wall. Disaster was averted, at least the person didn’t argue with him. Next order of operation, Grillby looked for the broom. He opened the closet, but it wasn’t there. Right, he thought, I took it to the front. He combed his hands through his flames. The call had distracted him, he needed to focus. He walked out of the kitchen, but was greeted with a surprise.
The skeleton was sweeping for him. Grillby was taken aback. He wasn’t used to having someone help him close up shop, yet it didn’t feel unwelcomed. The skeleton didn’t seem to notice the elemental at all. He was humming some off-key tune, the quiet shush shush of the broom accompanying him. Something about it felt familiar, but Grillby pushed it down.
He walked up to the skeleton and spoke, “You don’t… have to.”
The skeleton jumped, his bones rattling. He looked at Grillby and placed the broom against the wall to sign, “I’m sorry. You looked so busy and tired today. I thought you would enjoy the help,” he paused nervously, “You need not worry about payment… but I can stop, if you’d like.”
Grillby shook his head. “No… it’s fine.” He started to walk away to grab the window cleaner, but he paused to ask, “Hey, what’s… your name?”
The skeleton smiled, though it didn’t quiet reach his purple eyelights, “Gaster, W. D. Gaster.”
Grillby’s chest hurt. It felt like he should have known that.
-
Quality Time
It had been another rough weekend. Grillby had dealt with every type of customer under the sun. Some yelled while others minded their business. Once he had to deal with two customers upset with each other. There were the golden moments of kind old ladies leaving generous tips, and children quietly captivated by his burning flames. Either way the restaurant was constantly full of people. By the time it was all over Grillby slumped against the bar.
Gaster, the only other person there, put down his book. “Would you like my help again?” The skeleton had been assisting for nearly every night since he first swept for Grillby.
The elemental gave him a tired smile, “I would… like that.”
Gaster stood up and took out a quarter from his pocket. He went to the jukebox and selected a few songs. The machine clicked as the vinyls slid into place, and whirred as the song started. Gaster took a rag and began to wipe off the tables. Soft brass music filled the space and Grillby already felt more relaxed. He decided to start cleaning the bar while the calm voice sang.
And the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to flame
One hasn’t the time
For the waiting game
Grillby glanced at the window and watched the amber, autumn leaves skate across the sidewalk. There was something that ached in his soul. Some part of him felt like he was forgetting something. All he felt was the distant memory of holding someone’s hand. The hand felt cold, but warmth bubbled up in his chest all the same. It reminded Grillby of his memories lost since the war. Too often would he feel like he had lost something close to him. Now it made his soul yearn with a nostalgic sadness. He flexed his fingers, trying to remember who’s hand he once held.
Gaster walked up to the counter. “Just finished with the tables. Would you like me to sweep again?” His expression shifted to one of concern, “Are you alright?”
Grillby sighed. “… Just distracted. I’m… fine.”
“You looked sad,” Gaster wasn’t letting it go. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“It just… happens,” Grillby began to explain. “I was… in the war. Maybe I hit… my head? I forget… a lot.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the discomfort in his chest. “Feels like… it was… important.”
Gaster nodded solemnly. He raised his hands to sign, but paused. Finally he said, “I imagine that must be difficult, to live your life without a past. Hopefully you can make some new memories on the surface.”
His words hit Grillby hard. His chest felt oddly empty, yet there was an odd mix of comfort. He let out a long breath and looked into Gaster’s eyelights. “Thank you… for helping. And… your time.”
“My pleasure,” Gaster grinned. “I can finish sweeping for you, if you’d like.”
Grillby nodded. His chest still ached, but there was more cleaning to be done.
-
Receiving Gifts
The days went on. Every night Gaster would clean the storefront for Grillby. He always refused payment for his work, claiming that he simply enjoyed his time with the elemental. The thought made Grillby’s soul flutter. He pushed it down as he cleaned a glass.
As per usual Gaster was sitting at the bar, book in hand. Grillby ignored him as best he could, trying to serve the last customer a drink before he would need to close.
The rabbit monster rubbed his face, “You got any milk?”
Grillby looked at him confused. Not from the lack of milk, but from the odd request. Usually it was children who would request a glass of milk, not a drunk adult.
“What?” the monster growled, “What kind of place doesn’t have milk.”
“Sir…” Grillby’s soft voice tried to interject.
The rabbit monster turned to Gaster, “Don’t you think that’s nuts? No milk?”
“They have strawberry milk,” Gaster calmly signed.
Anger melted from his face into drunken confusion. One ear twitched, “Oh.”
“Let me… get that,” Grillby said, hoping he had heard him.
A moment later he came back with a pink glass of milk, but the customer wasn’t there.
Grillby flickered in confusion, “Where is… he?”
“He left,” Gaster said. “He mumbled something about a taxi. I think he forgot about ordering the drink.”
Grillby looked down at the pink milk, “Do you… want it?”
Gaster shrugged. “Sure, I have something for you as well.”
The elemental’s chest grew warm. He nodded and handed over the cup.
In turn the skeleton pulled out a book with a red and gold ribbon tied around it. Taking it in his hand, the elemental undid the ribbon. It was a worn cookbook. The edges were damaged and the cover had a faded stain from some past cooking. He ran his hands over the hardcover, it felt familiar to him.
“I found it at my house,” Gaster explained, a touch nervous. “I’m not one for cooking, but I thought you might like it.”
For a moment Grillby was lost in the picture of the pesto pasta on the cover. It felt like a dish he had made before, but couldn't remember. The memory was so close he could almost taste it. It was like he had found some long lost item. Something he had parted with, now causally returned to him.
Gaster tapped on the counter, catching Grillby’s attention. “Do you like it?” The skeleton looked at his face like he was searching for something.
Grillby touched his own cheek, “Is there… something on–”
“I’m sorry!” Gaster signed fast. “I was staring, how rude of me.” There was an awkward pause before he stood. “I should get going. Thank you for the milk.” He gulped down the drink, gathered his satchel, and left without another word.
Grillby held the book close to his chest. He never felt lonelier.
-
Physical Touch
It had his handwriting.
Grillby’s stomach twisted. How did this book, a book he had never seen before, already have his notes written in the margins? All of the suggestions seemed to be substitutes and dupes for food in the Underground. In fact the pages bore watermarks, like the book had been found in the old dump. Grillby closed the book and stared at the cover again.
Maybe he found it second hand? Grillby mused. And some monster out there had handwriting that looks like mine. He shrugged off he odd feeling as best he could. Perhaps he could bring it up with Gaster later.
A new idea chimed in his head like a bell, I can use real basil now. He opened the book again and began to make a shopping list.
-
The lights were bright at the store, as were all of the labels. Grillby was standing before various glass jars of pesto, internally debating prices. Maybe I should make it from scratch. I t would taste better that way, his head sparked with thought.
“hey firecracker,” said a voice he recognized.
“Sans…?” Grillby turned to find the short skeleton.
He was stocking nearby noodles onto shelves and wore a hat with the grocery store’s logo.
“You… work here?”
Sans shrugged. “i only worked at outposts and thought i should try to expand my horizons. but it looks like you need help.”
“I’m looking… at pesto,” Grillby said.
“not a big pesto picker myself,” Sans stated. “What’s the occasion?”
“I got… a cookbook,” he explained. “It has… my handwriting.”
“you found an old cookbook?” Sans asked.
Grillby shook his head, “No, it was… a gift.”
Sans paused, “that’s weird, huh. who gave it to you?”
“His name… is Gaster,” Grillby answered. “He’s a… regular, and helps… clean.”
Sans let out a laugh, “oh, that old man? he helps you clean up?”
Grillby’s a spark popped in surprise, “You know… him?”
“known him my whole life,” he joked.
Grillby didn’t get it.
“he talks a lot about you,” Sans said as he placed a box of angel hair pasta on the shelf. “don’t worry, it’s all good things. he’s had some hard times but you kinda light up his life.”
Grillby rolled his eyes. “Thank… you.” He put away the jar of pesto he was holding.
“don’t like that one?”
“Making mine… from scratch,” he said.
Sans nodded, “good idea. maybe leave some left over for Gaster. he always forgets to eat.”
Grillby decided to keep it in mind, and left the aisle.
-
For some reason the store was out of the prepackaged basil. Now Grillby had found himself a new father of a potted, basil plant. Maybe it will taste better that way, Grillby thought as he placed the plant in his kitchen window.
He began to grate the Parmesan cheese into a little bowl, careful not to let his flames melt the cheese. Once everything was in the blender, Grillby snipped some basil leaves from his new plant and placed them inside. The blender whirred and roared as it mixed the green sauce. The scent of basil mixed with the starchy smell of the noodles boiling. The timer went off and Grillby strained the pasta. He mixed it all with some arugula to add to the fresh greenness. A moment later he had himself a plate that looked even better than the one on the cookbook.
It tasted amazing too! The basil mixed wonderfully with the cheese. It was both fresh and cozy, yet Grillby felt as if he had eaten it before. In fact he felt like he had made it before, for someone else too.
Grillby ate as he thought of Gaster. He wondered if the skeleton was a lover of pesto, or if he wouldn’t like it. He really likes black coffee, Grillby mused. In fact it was the only thing he ever ordered from his restaurant. Suddenly an idea came to him. Grillby grabbed the cookbook again and flipped to the table of contents. It seemed that the previous owner had placed a little heart next to one dessert. Grillby read the instructions and began to make another list for later. For now he put the pasta leftovers in some Tupperware for his friend.
-
“I made… pasta for you.”
Gaster finished sitting at the bar, he paused in surprise. “For me?” his face had a mixture of hope and concern.
“I made… it last night.” Grillby gave him a warm plate of pasta. “It’s not… breakfast food, but…” he caught the nervous look on his friend’s face. “Are you… alright?”
“Yes,” his hands twitched as he signed. “But you didn’t have to.”
“Sans suggested… it.” Grillby did his best to ignore the turning in his chest. “Maybe he’s… setting us up,” he chuckled, trying to find humor in this.
A touch of lavender dusted Gaster’s cheekbones. “Yes, how funny.”
However there was still that uncomfortable feeling in Grillby’s chest. He recalled the handwriting in the cookbook. Grillby let out a sigh, he needed to bring it up. “The cookbook… where did you…” he cleared his throat.
But Gaster understood him, “I found it in my house when I cleaned for the big move to the surface.”
“Before that…” Grillby asked again, still curious.
Gaster slouched, hesitation in his movements. “It was a gift. I had given it as a gift. However, it was left by accident and… forgotten.”
Something in Grillby’s soul knew he was right. There was that odd feeling in his chest again. It was that same emptiness he felt since the war. He thought of the handwriting, and an idea came to him. His flames were tinted with an uncomfortable green. Grillby ran his hand through them and asked, “Have we… met before?” It was the only thing that made sense.
Meanwhile, Gaster sat as still as a statue.
“Did… we?” Grillby pressed.
“I–” he started to sign, then looked away. “Yes.”
“…Yes?”
Gaster nodded.
A million thoughts ran through Grillby’s head. However he only had one thing to say. “I’m… sorry.”
Wordlessly Gaster reached his hands over the counter. Instinctively Grillby reached out in turn. Cold phalanges wrapped around his hands. It was so familiar it hurt. The smallest of pinpricks of tears burned in the corners of his eyes. When Gaster let go, Grillby’s heart broke.
“We were close,” was all Gaster signed. He sat up, backing away from the elemental. “I’m sorry, perhaps I should leave.”
“No…” Grillby said too fast. “You can.. stay.”
Gaster shook his head. “I have already caused you enough stress. It was inappropriate for me to give you the cookbook.”
He left before Grillby could stop him. The elemental watched through the window as the cool autumn wind blew at the ends of Gaster’s dark coat.
He was alone with a plate of warm pasta.
-
Gaster did not show up for coffee the next morning, nor the morning after that. Grillby’s emptiness grew. He no longer dreamed, yet woke up thinking about Gaster. With each passing hour Grillby missed their conversations. Every night he closed up shop alone. He tried to play music on the jukebox, but realized he missed Gaster’s musical tastes too. Grillby mused on the funny stories they told each other and the welcomed sight of his friend at the end of the bar. Every memory warmed his soul and brought a blush to his fire. No matter how close they had been in the past, Grillby had to face the facts.
“I… love him,” he confessed to the ceiling one morning.
As he made himself breakfast Grillby noticed a little note on the table. It was the list he had written down before. He grabbed his phone and texted Sans.
Grillby: Is Gaster ok?
Sans: he’s been better
Grillby: Would it be ok if I saw him? Or would that be too weird?
Sans: no, it’s fine. he’s staying with me and paps
Grillby: He LIVES with you???
Sans: yeah, why not?
Grillby: nm, I’m coming over with cookies.
Sans: nice! i’ll tell him
The oven beeped and the whole kitchen smelled like a lovely cafe. He left the cookies to cool while he got ready. Grillby put on the lavender tie Gaster had liked and some suspenders to match. Grillby pinned on his favorite cufflinks and went to the kitchen. He placed the warm cookies into a tin and headed out.
Autumn leaves shivered in their trees as Grillby walked down the sidewalk. The skeleton brothers’ house wasn’t too far from his, and it gave the elemental some time to enjoy the seasons. Too long had they all been trapped in the darkness of the Underground. Now they got to enjoy the vibrant colors of leaves. He watched as they spiraled down onto the ground before being swept into a swirling wind. Grillby smiled and continued on his walk.
Grillby knocked on Sans’s door. This house looked just like their old house down Underground. The bells on the wreath jingled as Papyrus opened the front door.
“GREETING, GRILLBY,” the tall skeleton smiled. “COME INTO OUR HUMBLE ABODE.”
“Thank… you,” Grillby said as he stepped inside. It even looks the same in here.
But all thoughts left him the moment he saw Gaster at the top of the stairs. The skeleton froze like a deer caught in the headlights. He turned to Sans and snapped at him in some broken language.
“i invited him,” Sans replied. “besides, he wanted to see you.”
Gaster replied in a voice that sounded like broken glass and static.
“yep, he texted me and asked about you.”
Gaster turned to Grillby.
“I… did,” Grillby added. “Are you… alright? I wanted… to talk.”
“AND MY BROTHER AND I HAVE SOME VERY IMPORTANT BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO OUTSIDE.”
“we do? i thought–”
But Papyrus grabbed his brother and bolted out the door.
Grillby and Gaster were alone in the living room. They were quiet for a long while, the silence making the air thick. It was Gaster who spoke first.
“Do you remember anything?”
Grillby shook his head.
Purple eyelights dulled into lilac. “My apologies.”
The elemental decided to break the distance between them. He offered Gaster the tin box. “For you…”
Carefully, and with much caution, Gaster took the box and opened it.
The smell of warm earl grey and vanilla bloomed in the air. Inside was a pile of fresh cookies, garnished with tea leaves and sugar. They were made with as much love as Grillby could give to a dessert. Gaster looked as if he were about to cry. He set the tin down and signed, “These used to be my favorite.”
Grillby smiled, “I thought… you would… like it.”
“Do you remember?” Gaster pressed. “You used to make me these when I was feeling depressed.”
Again Grillby shook his head. “It was… more of a… feeling.”
“Not a memory.” Gaster sighed, fingertips tapping on the tin.
“But…” Grillby added, “there’s… something else.”
Gaster looked up, ready to listen.
Grillby tried to burn even and cool. “I think…” he took another breath as blue tinted his flames, “I think… I like you.”
“You like me?” the skeleton was still save for his hands. “As in…?”
“I…” the words felt like thick honey in his mouth, “I… love you.”
Gaster was so still Grillby wondered if he had spoken at all. Then tiny, lavender tears welled into his sockets.
“Gaster…?” Grillby wanted so badly to comfort him, to hold him.
It was Gaster who pulled him into a tight hug. Grillby wrapped his arms around him. He recognized every boney bump he felt beneath the plush sweater. Even the chilled smell of bones felt familiar to him. Nostalgia without a source, the feeling gnawed on his soul and brought molten tears to his eyes. He gripped onto his skeleton and held tight.
After some time Grillby finally spoke, “I’m sorry… I can’t… remember you.” He leaned back, looking the skeleton in the face.
Gaster was crying, but wore a tender smile.
“But…” Grillby continued. “I want… to know you.”
Gaster cradled Grillby’s cheek and wiped a tear from his face. Slowly he brought their foreheads together. The closeness relaxed something in both of them. He backed away only to say, “It’s alright. I would like that too.” His cheekbones blush a deep purple, “We can talk about if over dinner, if you would like.”
Grillby smiled. “It’s… a date.”