You smile at the sight of the two getting along right away. Not half an hour had passed since Sans arrived at the door of your home, yet your son was already involved in deep conversation with him, discussing division step by step. You leave the two to continue with the lesson while you head off to the kitchen in search for some refreshments.
Your eyes scan the cabinets for any snacks you could give them. You settle for potato chips and fruit juice for the time being, taking out two plastic cups for the drinks and a bowl for the snack.
“(Mom/Dad) used to teach me all this stuff before they got a divorce!”
The bowl almost ends up on the floor when overhearing that conversation. A few chips end up scattered around, though you're able to save most of them. Wanting to comprehend what they were talking about, you inch a little closer to the door keeping you from seeing them at the living room and press your ear against it.
“What about your other parent?” the skeleton questions, an awkward tone present in the way he asks that question.
“They're out of the country, so they can't really help me much with school, but. . . But they always call in the weekends. And they visit us on holidays, too!”
You can't bring yourself to step out of the kitchen just yet, not wanting to interrupt the conversation they were having. You give it some thought and settle on waiting a little longer, overhearing more of their conversation that consisted mostly of your relationship with your ex (wife/husband), a topic you never imagined your son would be discussing with his math tutor. The embarrassment is enough for one day, so you try to avoid being the center of attention by waiting for a change in the pair's topic of conversation.
“How do you divide by this many numbers?”
A soft sigh in relief leaves your mouth when hearing your child change the subject. After a few more seconds of wait, you push open the door, placing the bowl of chips and the two glasses of juice on the coffee table located close to the work desk (S/N) sat on. Sans is standing next to him, pointing out what he should do next.
“Would you like me to take out a chair for you?” you ask, unable to see a guest standing without remembering the hospitality rules your mother taught you since you were young.
“I'm fine,” he replies, looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of you standing by. “But thanks. You look like the one who should be gettin' some sleep."
“What gave it away?” you question, an amused smile showing on your lips.
“Other than the bags under your eyes, the way you're leanin' against the wall right now kinda gives it away,” he remarks, returning your smile by chuckling to himself after his comment. “I should know, since I do that a lot after making my rounds around the school.”
You rub the back of your head, a yawn forcing its way out of your mouth.
“Well, I. . . I'll go wash up while you guys keep on doing that. Let me know if you need anything.”
After making sure it was okay for you to leave the two alone, you hurry off to the bathroom, a sense of relief remaining among the rest of your thoughts now that you had a helping hand around the house. You take this moment to relax, taking five more minutes than usual in the shower to appreciate the free time you had now that tutoring was out of your way.
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You place (S/N) down on the bed and turn off the lights, a few cushions placed next to him to avoid a possible fall. You make your way out of his room, shutting the door as silently as you can and walking back to the living room to see the tutor off.
“Thanks again for helping us,” you speak up, directing your words at Sans as a small smile shows itself over your (s/t) complexion. “It's honestly a huge load off my shoulders.”
“I'm just doing my job,” the skeleton objects. He stands up from his seat on the couch, approaching the exit of your home. “I should be thanking you for the food.”
“It was only chips and juice,” you state, letting out a small laugh. “It really wasn't much to give thanks for.”
His smile seems to lighten up at your comment, the white pinpricks of his eye sockets glinting as a result. The hand he placed over the doorknob retreats back to him and he extends it out to you.
“The name's Sans, by the way. Part-time janitor and tutor at your service,” he adds, looking up at you. “I don't think we've introduced ourselves properly yet.”
“(Y/N),” you reply, taking his hand in yours. “It’s nice to–”
A loud 'pop’ followed by his hand detaching from his arm makes your words come to an abrupt halt. You stare down at the detached hand you were holding onto, shock making your mouth fall open.
“Holy crap, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to–”
You stop again in your words when hearing him break into hearty laughter, his shoulders shaking and an amused glint crossing the light of his eye sockets. Scared out of your mind, you freeze in place, unable to snap out of it despite his laughter.
“I gotta hand it to ya,” he speaks up, a final chuckle erupting from his ribcage. “The face you made just now was priceless.”
“I thought I hurt you for a moment there!” you exclaim, finally snapping back to consciousness. “I. . .”
You breathe out a heavy sigh, relieved to know you hadn't completely screwed up after formally getting to know the tutor's name. A sense of terror still remains on your shoulders, weighing you down as you stare down at the hand still in your hold. You look at it for a few seconds, an idea crossing your mind.
“Need a hand?”
“Literally.”
Grinning, you give him his hand and wait until he adjusts it back on his wrist before saying something else.
“I was gonna get some coffee to wake up and get stuff done around the house, but I don't think I need that anymore with what just happened.”
“Glad to be of service,” he comments, winking at you. “See you next Friday?”
“See you next Friday," you reply, small smile growing wider as you watch him make his way out of your home.