[Very quickly, Fugo's expression shifts from annoyed and distantly embarrassed to ... not much all, really. The frustrated wrinkle between his eyebrows and irritated set of his mouth smooth out, leaving behind a flat expression that's difficult to read.

Express yourself. That, more than anything else, is what reminds Fugo that Mettaton honestly has no idea what he's talking about. So what's the point of getting angry about it? He doesn't have the energy to. Even if he did, it's never been safe to let himself indulge in that feeling.]

Sure. Whatever. [He shoulders his bag, preparing to leave.] You're sticking around to maintain this area, right? If you are, I'll direct anyone who needs to rest to this storefront.