Snowdin's houses were quirky, to say the least—shaped like sideways blocks and decorated with colorful lights that never seemed to turn off. Frisk approached a house with a giant bone-shaped mailbox and a smaller one labeled "Sans." It was unmistakably the Papyrus residence.
Frisk raised a hand to knock when the door flung open with theatrical flair.
"YOU'RE HERE!" Papyrus beamed, his eyes practically sparkling. "WELCOME TO MY HUMBLE ABODE, HUMAN! OUR DATE SHALL COMMENCE IMMEDIATELY!"
Frisk stepped inside cautiously. The interior was a bizarre blend of bachelor pad and comic strip. Bones were everywhere. A sink with two shelves, a "mystery sock," a pet rock with a note, and a proudly displayed spaghetti pot filled the room with awkward charm.
"THIS IS MY KITCHEN! I PREPARE ALL MY EPIC MEALS HERE! BEHOLD—THE STOVE!"
He dramatically gestured to a stove that looked completely unused.
Frisk tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Do you… ever cook?"
Papyrus puffed out his chest. "OF COURSE! WELL… SOMETIMES! I MEAN… I AM A MASTER OF SPAGHETTI!"
He marched into the living room, waving for her to follow.
"NOW THEN, IT'S TIME FOR THE OFFICIAL DATE PART OF THE DATE!"
Frisk sat awkwardly in a red chair, watching as Papyrus dashed between poses, trying to look suave.
Sans peeked down from the stairwell, gave Frisk a lazy thumbs-up, then vanished again.
Papyrus fiddled nervously with a dating manual. "I… I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO NEXT. BUT I KNOW ONE THING, HUMAN!"
He stepped closer, sincerity suddenly overcoming his usual bluster.
"I REALLY LIKE YOU… AS A FRIEND."
Frisk smiled softly. "I like you too, Papyrus."
Papyrus seemed to relax instantly, nearly bouncing in place. "NYEH HEH HEH! I AM GLAD! THEN WE SHALL BE BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!"
The moment was strange, silly, and unexpectedly wholesome—just like everything else in this underground world.