[He does love it. He loves--being understood in this way, that sometimes a simple touch is enough, that there doesn't have to be a reason for it.]

[(He doesn't know, himself, about Mettaton's relationship to touch or lack thereof. Someday he'll find out. He might cry. It wouldn't have affected him a year ago; he didn't care then.)]

[For now, it's easy to lean into the touch, to close his eyes. It's not quite trust, but--it's close. Closer than he probably ought to be.]

Yes. A pretty shadow in a nice suit. A very big shadow that spread over my whole city, and beyond. And hurt people, every minute of every day.

[He had it coming, so to speak.]