[Keats' awkward attempts to return the hug go unnoticed; it's not like Mettaton could feel it. He's hugging the idiot because he wants Keats to feel it, not because Mettaton needs one.
...though, and he'll never say this out loud, there's a ridiculous comfort in being this close. This hideous jacket smells like ink and tea and Keats' hair smells like soap.
...cat soap, but still. It's nice.
Mettaton doesn't let go, but sways the both of them back and forth, like someone trying to calm an upset child.] Easy, Mr. Guardian, [he mumbles into purple fabric.] I'm alright. You don't need to be fighting friends you barely have on my account.
I'm. [Huff.] I'm just glad you don't feel the same way he does is all...
no subject
...though, and he'll never say this out loud, there's a ridiculous comfort in being this close. This hideous jacket smells like ink and tea and Keats' hair smells like soap.
...cat soap, but still. It's nice.
Mettaton doesn't let go, but sways the both of them back and forth, like someone trying to calm an upset child.] Easy, Mr. Guardian, [he mumbles into purple fabric.] I'm alright. You don't need to be fighting friends you barely have on my account.
I'm. [Huff.] I'm just glad you don't feel the same way he does is all...