After about 10 or so minuets of silence, Mettaton spoke up. “Darling?”
“Hmm?” you hummed.
“Come over here.”
“I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” you responded, slowly dragging your paintbrush.
“But it’s important.” he whined.
“Just tell me whatever it is, you don’t need me over there.” you replied in a deadpan tone due to your concentration being on the piece, rather than him.
“Yes I do.” he snapped.
Sighing, you set your brush down and stood up from your seat, making your way over to him. “What?” you asked.
Mettaton sat up and crossed his legs. “Sit with me.”
“But.” you gestured over to where you desk was.
“Sit.” he patted the cushion beside him.