Chapter Text
You were out among friends the first time that it happened. At the time you'd figured it'd been an accident. Your hand had been next to the ash tray and accidents happen, no? And Paps had been so regretful, fuzzing over you instantly, insisting that you’d both go home so he could get some ointment for your hand.
Your friends had been less convinced, and had later voiced their concern, but he had already apologized so why dwell on it? Besides, you’d claimed with a shrug, it didn’t hurt anymore and you were healing just fine. You didn't talk much to your friends after that -not that you’d left on bad terms or anything- they were just too busy. College and Uni tends to do that to people, you figured, but you were still a bit miffed that they couldn’t even bother picking up the phone. Eventually you stopped calling at all.
The mark on your hand had turned into a pale maroon when he burned you the second time. The soft, tender skin at the crook of your arm. There had been an apology then, too, but it had seemed far less... sincere.
The third and onward, Paps didn’t even bother with seeming regretful and you found yourself wondering what you could’ve done to deserve it. He couldn’t just be cruel for cruelty’s sake, could he? It certainly wasn’t like him, Papyrus was a sweet and caring skeleton, a lazy goofball who never failed to make you laugh, so why were you beginning to feel… nervous around him? Whenever he became quiet and moody… with that cigarette always in hand, it made your heart beat in a way that wasn’t pleasant at all.
About six months into the relationship you began wearing thick wooly sweaters, regardless if it was weather appropriate or not. Never at home tough, Papyrus didn’t like it and could get... creative… if skin wasn’t readily available. It was around that time when you finally mustered up the courage to ask “Why?” while nervously wringing your plaster covered hands.
At first he gave no sign that he’d heard you, seemingly absorbed in whatever re-run that was on the TV. You wondered briefly if you’d dare ask again or if you should turn tail and run, before he nailed you to the spot with a sideway glance and an arm around your shoulder. He took a long, slow drag on his cigarette before finally answering,
“Sometimes… you just talk too much.”
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Inspired by https://crappyartforyou.tumblr.com/post/165370830223/oh-my-oh-my-that-cigarette-stretch-ask-is