The Heat of the Moment
You knew you were in trouble the moment that you saw the fifteen missed calls on your cell phone.
You’d told Papyrus you were going to be out late that evening, knowing that he was in a state and that he had asked to know where you were at all times, so he could be prepared to come to your gallant and completely unnecessary rescue the moment he deemed it necessary.
But your plans had been extended by unforeseen circumstances, completely outside your control (namely, a very drunk friend that needed help home), and you hadn’t had time to tell your bony, out of his mind boyfriend what you were up to.
Apparently, if you got the message from his twenty-two, progressively more aggressive texts, he wasn’t pleased with your forgetfulness.