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“yeesh, ten years. sure doesn’t feel like it, huh?”
“No, it doesn’t,” you mumble, desperately trying to tear your eyes from the mirror in front of you. The glass must’ve been recently cleaned, because it’s so clear that you can almost notice every pore, every mark that lines your face. It does nothing to hide the time that’s passed.
Sans shuffles a bit, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. His gaze is also trained on the mirror, but he doesn’t bother to stare at himself. Why would he? After ten years, nothing has changed about him. There’s nothing new to see.
But you? You’ve changed. And as Sans runs his eye lights across your reflection, you think he’s definitely noticed, too.
He clears his throat. “you remember when we first met?”
You stare at your skin. You stare at your face. You stare at your clothes. It’s so different. It’s all so different.
How did he even recognize you anymore?
“Sort of,” you finally reply. “It’s a little fuzzy, but…”
“you couldn’t stop mentioning it for a week,” he reminds you, snickering when you duck your head in embarrassment. “if someone tried speaking to you back then, we were all you would ever talk about.”
You make a noise, somewhere between a hum and a snort. “That sounds about right,” you admit. “Was I really that embarrassing back then?”
The phrase hangs in the air for a moment. ‘Back then’. Because it really was such a long time ago, wasn’t it? That first time you fell down that rabbit hole, the first time you opened your computer to a world you’d always love… it was so far from you now. A memory, that you had to repeat over and over, watching it slowly blur with time. Details that smudge with every recollection. A xerox of a xerox.
Was that… was that what you were? A warped memory of yourself 10 years ago? The thought churns your stomach, and you startle a bit when Sans starts talking again:
“‘s nothing embarrassing about it. i thought it was cute.” A gloved hand brushes against yours. You latch onto it after a moment. He juts his head towards your reflection. “you sure have grown since then, though.”
“Not too much though, right?” Your voice accidentally comes out too small. Can he hear how nervous you are? “I mean, I know change is good and all, and I’m not supposed to stay the same, but… I’m not too different, am I?”
Sans blinks, turning away from your reflection to face you. You can see him turn over your every word inside his head, and for a moment you wish you could hear everything—every thought he’s ever had about you, every time you’ve ever passed his mind. You wish for one more chance to peer into him, to know him as completely as you can.
Finally, his smile grows. “‘course you’re different. but you’re still… you, y’know? look again.”
You give the mirror another glance, and gasp. There you were! A different you, from a different time, with a different look in your eye. The you from ten years ago waves at you, and you hesitantly wave back. After a moment, your current reflection slowly replaces the younger version of you.
Maybe you’ve changed a little. Maybe you’ve changed a lot. But maybe that’s okay.
“the future is a good look on you, kid,” he says, giving you the same look he’s given you for 10 years—wait, no. Even that’s changed. It carried more weight than it used to before. You think you understand it better than you ever have. “here’s to another ten years, yeah?”
“…Yeah.”