Same as the Mother's Day Extra:
Due to the author's note dating allll the way back to Chapter Twenty-Seven, the following extra takes place shortly after Sans was sentenced with a restraining order!
★
It’s not until Faust wakes you up with a gift shoved right on your face that you realize it’s Father’s Day.
Still tired, it takes a few tries for you to sit up straight in bed, thanking Faust when the gift is in your hands. He follows it up by handing you your phone, a guilty smile showing when you face him.
“What were you doing with my phone?” you ask, narrowing your gaze at him.
“Someone was calling you!” he replies, almost stuttering in his words. “I picked up, and it was, um. . . the person I’m not supposed to see anymore.” The remaining part of that sentence is whispered, sadness present in his eyes. “We still talked a little bit, though.”
“How little, exactly?”
He tenses, facing elsewhere -- far, far away from your line of sight. His fingers twirl with each other as he pouts, huffing. “. . .Half an hour, I think? I. . . I just wanted to know how he was doing. It’s not fair we can’t hang out together anymore! He’s- He’s still a friendly person!”
“It’s the law, Faust,” you remark, booping his nose in hopes of getting him to face you. “We just have to wait those years, and we’ll be back to normal.”
“Five years is way too long!” he exclaims, crossing his arms. “Wh- What if they add more years? And. . . And what if we have to move out again?”
“That won’t happen,” you offer him to sit down next to you, holding him close and letting him rest his head on your shoulder. You wipe some of his tears away, these already making way down his face. “Trust me on that, will you? We’ve been doing well up until now -- Those five years will be over before we know it.”
He pulls away, facing you with a frown. “But don’t you miss him, too?”
You freeze in place, sighing. “I do, but I have to be patient.”
Faust stands up from bed, hands balled up and frown unwavering. His gaze centers on your phone, still waiting for your use. He points at it, furrowed eyebrows and straight lips forming a more determined expression on his face. No words have to be spoken for you to understand him.
“Alright,” you speak up, smiling. “I’ll call him back, but don’t go looking through my calls next time, okay? You should listen to what the judge said back there.”
He nods, once and slow -- clearly unconvinced by your last statement. “. . .Okay.”
Though he barely smiles, he still assents. He steps away from bed, gives his back to you, and leaves, allowing you space to make the call. You still wait until he shuts the door behind him, taking the phone when you’re sure he’s not about to interrupt again.
★
Sans picks up within the third ring, voice sounding breathless from the other line. There’s no other noise besides it, his background near completely silent. “Hey,” he greets, taking a long pause and following it up with a ‘Happy Father’s Day’.
“Thank you.” You chuckle, how long each pause is prompting you to ask over his state. “Are you doing alright over there, though? You sound like you’ve run a marathon.”
“Not far off the truth.” He laughs, another long pause taking over. “Some parents saw your name when you were callin’, and they immediately recognized who you were. Excused myself for a minute, but I didn’t want ya to hang up, so I went off to the first place I could think of.”
“A really far place?”
“No, but one with a lotta stairs.”
“You know you could’ve just. . . called back, right?”
There’s another stop, to which you can hear him stifle a chuckle. “Can’t think straight when it’s about you.”
Caught off guard, it takes a good while for your brain to process his sentence. You grin afterwards, shaking your head. “. . .Was that a pun?”
“Might’ve been,” he remarks, tone sheepish. “No homo, though.”
You lay back down in bed, rolling to the side and keeping your phone safe between your shoulder and ear. Concern reigns over the calm left by your banter, a frown replacing your smile as you debate whether to bring up your question or not.
“. . .Sans?”
“What’s up?”
You press the phone closer to your ear, trying your best not to let your worries worsen. “Did that get you in trouble? Those parents seeing my name on your phone, I mean.”
“Excused myself ‘fore they could comment anything about it, but it’s fine, pal,” he replies, the sound of him sitting down on something soft continuing after. “We’ll be holding up that get-together in a coupla hours, so I have that as an excuse -- And if it comes to it, I can just change ‘(Y/N)’ to ‘babe’ and nobody’ll suspect a thing.”
“Twice in one call, huh? Thought the judge said we couldn’t do this kinda stuff anymore."
You roll back to the other side, trying to ignore the effect of his words on you. Instead, you close our eyes and breathe in deep, trying to forget both occasions of him joking around with you. Once you open them again, you sigh -- as quiet as his background. “Got me there,” he replies, laughing. “Guess you’re gonna have to turn me in, then.”
“I just might,” you retort, resting an arm against the back of your head, lifting yourself up slightly. “Better keep an eye out, ‘cuz they’ll be at your door before you can hang up.”
You don’t notice you’ve lost track of time until you hear a school bell ring from Sans’s line. At that, you force yourself to shake out of your relaxation and verify your phone call’s ongoing info, seeing fifteen minutes and counting on screen. You sit back firm in bed, awareness falling back over you when you hear Faust knock on the door and see ten o’clock marked on your phone.
“The event’s at noon if you’re feelin’ up for it, (Y/N),” Sans comments, interrupting your thoughts. “Gotta go get ready now.” He pauses, though you call tell it’s not due to fatigue this time around. “Talk to ya later? Forgot to tell ya what I originally called you for.”
“That’s what you get for flirting,” you reply, smiling.
“Can’t help it, pal.”
With one last exchange between you, the call reaches its end. You each say your goodbyes and hang up, his words and banter remaining in your thoughts even as you head to the bathroom to get ready for the day, contemplating the idea of going to the after-school activity while you shower, thoughts straying over to his flirting every so often and dismissing them the second you start to take them seriously.
Right now -- with his restraining order and Jessie in jail -- there wasn’t much space for that kind of thinking at the moment. Making sure things stayed the way they were currently was your main objective; allowing things to worsen after all that hard work was something you proposed yourself to fight against, even if the task involved not letting your wants be fulfilled.
Perhaps, for the next Father’s Day, it would be a different story -- one where it wouldn’t involve secretive calls and constant watch over your surroundings, or Faust snooping around just to stay in touch with the monster.