[It's obviously aimed at him. He chuckles, tossing his hair over his shoulder, and purposefully struts in like he's on a catwalk.
Gorgeous. Ugh, he knows.
Anyway.
Dropping the supermodel stance, Mettaton takes in Oliver's room one last time. It looks the same as anyone else's, but there's... a feeling behind it. Despite the menagerie of friends and fans he's made along the way, Oliver was the only one to really invite him into his "home", as it were. There's a fondness to these walls that brings to mind melted milkshakes and misguided factory workers stripping for their children (not like that). He sighs and puts a hand on Annie's squirming body, stilling her from her obvious intent to leap off of his shoulder and onto the bed.
no subject
Gorgeous. Ugh, he knows.
Anyway.
Dropping the supermodel stance, Mettaton takes in Oliver's room one last time. It looks the same as anyone else's, but there's... a feeling behind it. Despite the menagerie of friends and fans he's made along the way, Oliver was the only one to really invite him into his "home", as it were. There's a fondness to these walls that brings to mind melted milkshakes and misguided factory workers stripping for their children (not like that). He sighs and puts a hand on Annie's squirming body, stilling her from her obvious intent to leap off of his shoulder and onto the bed.
Mmm? What's this on the dresser?]
Not thinking of building a better me, are we?