The door to Grillby's opened with a soft creak, letting in the cool air of Snowdin as Mecha stepped inside. The orange glow of the fire-owned tavern washed over him. The scent of grilled food and burning wood filled the air, mingling with the quiet chatter of the few monsters gathered at their usual spots.
He let the door shut behind him and took a moment to scan the room. Same faces. Same places. The Underground never change-well not in a major way atleast, and neither did its people.
Grillby's was one of the few places Mecha actually enjoyed visiting, though he'd never admit it. It wasn't because of the food—he didn't need to eat. It wasn't the drinks—he didn't need those either. It was simply a place to hang, to sit in silence, and let time pass without needing to fix something, and if a certain jokester was here, then even better.
A few monsters nodded in greeting as he made his way to his usual corner, the worn-out booth near the bar. His metal frame creaked slightly as he slid into the seat, his heavy joints settling into the old cushions.
Grillby, the ever-silent fire monster, gave him a glance before going back to cleaning a glass behind the counter. He didn't speak—he never did. Mecha wondered if he even can.
Mecha sighed and leaned back, his metal fingers drumming absentmindedly on the wooden table. Another day, another pile of broken junk.
His mind wandered back over his schedule for the week. Fixed the fridge for that old turtle in Waterfall—easy job. Patched up a heating vent in Hotland—annoying, but manageable. Tomorrow, he had a list of repairs waiting for him:
Some kid in Snowdin broke their tv, Again.
One of the MTT Resort ovens short-circuited, and the speaker he already had to fix.
A recording system in Waterfall got knocked into the river.
A soft clink pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Grillby placing a drink in front of him.
"...Didn't order anything," Mecha muttered, tilting his head at the glass.
Grillby simply gave a small nod, his flames flickering in a way that suggested he didn't care.
Mecha exhaled through his vents and picked up the glass. He could taste, but the warmth of the liquid against his metal fingers was oddly more comforting. He took a slow sip, letting the moment stretch out.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"You ever feel like... you're stuck?"
Grillby didn't react, but Mecha knew he was listening.
"I mean, look at this place. Same monsters. Same routine. We're all just moving in circles." His voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. "I fix things. That's what I do. But what happens when there's nothing left to fix?"
The fire monster simply tilted his head, waiting.
Mecha scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. 'That's just life,' right?" He set the glass down with a metallic clink. "I don't know. Feels like I should be doing something more. Something different."
Silence hung between them. Grillby said nothing—he never did. But in a way, that was better. There were no empty reassurances. No meaningless advice.
That was better to him anyways
He look around seeing anything would catch his attention.
The bar was as lively as ever. Monsters sat around chatting, sharing drinks, and escaping the cold in their own ways. The air smelled like grilled food and drinks, with the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the low hum of conversation.
Mecha leaned back on hus chair, his joints making a faint click as he leaned against it.
Grillby, the ever-silent fire elemental, gave him a nod towards his empty mug.
"Sure,I'll take some more" Mecha muttered.
Grillby turned, grabbing the mug from him as he walked back to the his bar.
As Mecha waited, he drummed his fingers on the counter. His optics dimmed slightly as he stared at the surface, his mind already wandering.
"You ever feel like you're just… stuck?" he asked suddenly, not looking up.
Grillby returned, seting the mug in front of him and gave a small tilt of his head.
Mecha let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, stupid question. You run a bar. You probably love doing the same thing every day."
Grillby didn't respond, as expected.
Mecha picked up his drink, rolling the warmth between his fingers before taking a slow sip. He didn't need to drink, but it gave him something to do.
"I don't know, Grillby. I go around, I fix things, I get paid. Then I wake up and do it all again. Not much else to it."
Grillby leaned slightly against the counter, his flames flickering.
Mecha sighed, rubbing the side of his head. "Like, don't get me wrong. I like fixing things. It's what I'm good at. But there's gotta be more than just… this."
Grillby, as usual, said nothing.
Mecha huffed. "I bet if you could talk, you'd tell me I'm overthinking it."
Grillby gave the smallest shrug.
Mecha smirked. "Yeah, yeah. I'll shut up and drink."