Cameramen and women swarm the judge like flies, waiting for Sans to make his exit out of the courtroom. You chew on your lip as you stay behind, anxious to see him and ask over his decision: whether he wanted to stay or leave.
Rather than getting anywhere close to answering that question, you come across the unmistakable sight of him being held back by two police officers, these keeping him in one place despite the chains already weighing him down. His steps are heavy and loud, made heavier by how he's forced to walk faster, then slower, then straight, then hunched.
"Please, move aside, everyone. We need space," the judge demands, stoic expression talking for itself -- allowing no one to contradict her. "Make space for Sans to walk, and don't bother him with pointless questions. Whatever needs to be discussed will be brought up in next week."
You're close to choking up when you gain a full, unobstructed view of him and his walking pace: tired, slow, and sluggish. More restraints are placed on him in comparison with Jessie at court, who only had two pairs of handcuffs on them: one on their wrists and one on their ankles. Contrarily, Sans has multiple chains and a collar, making him look more beastly than he was ever supposed to be. His gaze acknowledges you, though one of the two officers pushes him to keep on walking, breaking the moment.
He's forced to look down regardless of him simply arriving to talk with you, the clothes he has now holding the same colour of the town's local prison.
"You have fifteen minutes to say or do whatever you need with him before we take him away," the other officer mentions, handing him to you the same way one would of a disposable item. "Make sure to bring him back to us on time, else you're in for some jail-time, too."
You hold the monster tight as soon as he's handed over to you, the chains cold to the touch, the faint warmth his soul exuded barely there -- barely enough to make up for that temperature, only rising when you nuzzle him closer to your body.
"Can we go somewhere private?" Sans asks, strength returning to his voice. "I-"
Having no time to waste, you take his hand and lead him to the most private location you can find, this being a small corridor set at a long distance away from the waiting area and cameras still circling like vultures. There's only two doors to your view: one a visibly cramped janitor's closet and the other an old storage room, both which are locked from public use.
You corner him between a wall and your own body, eyes already brimming with tears.
"What did you choose? Wh- Why're you being taken away like this?"
Visibly perplexed, it takes Sans a while to respond, chains clanking as he goes to grab your arms, preventing you from wiping the tears away.
"Whatever I choose, I still have to go with 'em 'till the next day of the trail gets here. I ain't supposed to go nowhere 'till all this is over with."
At a loss for words, you can only grab his face with your hand, staring deep into his irises as you blink your emotions away and sniffle, weak smile shaking when you try to make it grow. You bite the inside of your mouth to restrain yourself and cup his cheekbones with your fingers, touching him with careful strokes. Sans doesn't say a word, watching as you try to regain some form of calm, no matter how small -- an almost impossible feat considering the reality displayed in front of you. It's hard for you to let go of his face, hand tensing on him.
"So it's not permanent? I. . . This still isn't right. The collar, the chains, I- You- They're not supposed to do thi-"
"Don't worry 'bout that now. There's somethin' else I gotta say before I leave."
"Wh- What is it?" you ask, frowning. "I really can't stand seeing you like this."
Sans looks up at you and shakes away from your hold on his face. He hands you a charm instead, placing the faux jewelry on the palm of your hand when he asks for you to bring it out.
"Tori put a spell on this," he explains, closing your hand with both of his, these kept together by the chains. "It's, uh. . . supposed to protect our house long enough 'till the case is solved."
You squeeze the charm strong in your hold, barely able to contain your emotions the more he spoke with you -- the more you looked at him in his current state.
"Always keep it with ya. I wanna come back home and see you and Faust waitin' for me -- safe n' sound."
". . .So you're gonna wear the handicap?"
Sans's expression glooms with that question, irises dimming as his gaze narrows with what you can identify as dissatisfaction.
"Who do ya take me for, (Y/N)?" he asks, tiredness temporarily fading from his tone, surety and humour returning to his speech. "Or do I really gotta show ya how serious I am about you?"
His words are a challenge, a prominent hint of desire present in them, further made clear by him pressing himself closer to you.
Your soul tenses right as you take a sharp breath, caught on a similar situation to the day you were with him at the store's changing room. He waits for a response on your part, irises lingering on you, a brighter shade of white returning and replacing the faint grey from before.
You stop and think, reluctant to acknowledge the fact you had grown doubtful again -- not on the same level as from the day at the winter gathering, but doubtful nonetheless. Closing your eyes tight, you breathe in and try to search for an answer along with a bit of clarity -- any amount -- for your thoughts.
Next, you open them, ready to make a decision.
Choice #5.0
What will you do next?
a.) Hug.
b.) Kiss.
c.) Decline.
d.) Brush him off.
e.) Take it further.