[It's nice, just talking like this. Keats has went without years without speaking to anyone save the occasional odd call to his office phone. But sitting back, telling stories, anecdotes, funny occurrences, trading compliments and fond insults back and forth, it's...nice, in ways he hadn't considered.]
[Maybe it's because who he's talking with. He's always been standoffish to most, but with Mettaton, there's an ease here that he knows can't be quite replicated with anyone else.]
[Mettaton suddenly changes underneath him. Keats watches, transfixed, reaching up to remove his glasses and put them into his coat pocket.]
Look at you. [He says, exposed eyes narrowed, almost glittering with a smugness that goes far beyond his smile.] Guess our patience has won out, has it?
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[Maybe it's because who he's talking with. He's always been standoffish to most, but with Mettaton, there's an ease here that he knows can't be quite replicated with anyone else.]
[Mettaton suddenly changes underneath him. Keats watches, transfixed, reaching up to remove his glasses and put them into his coat pocket.]
Look at you. [He says, exposed eyes narrowed, almost glittering with a smugness that goes far beyond his smile.] Guess our patience has won out, has it?