Oh, come on now, maybe when we're not being launched into space with a million animal-inhabited planets I can sit down and finally put pen to paper.

[Oh, now, what's Mettaton going to ask. Keats looks at him quizzically, and then...]

[He says that...strangely worded question.]

[And bolts.]

Hey! Hey, hey now, you come back here! [He says, reaching out to grab Mettaton by the shoulder.] Of course we're dating, you silly machine!

[A beat.]

We are, aren't we? I thought we already were.