[The clattering draws Sans's attention; it's not even being thrown at him, but he jerks away like it is, like he's dodging an attack, and that sends his own box toppling over. The knife that falls out of Sans's box isn't nearly so ornate; it looks like it might be used for gardening. Still, there's no doubting its sharpness. Sans's hand whips out to grab the handle like he's afraid someone is going to grab it, but then it freezes there. He doesn't want to touch it. He doesn't want to be in this room. His expression is hunted, and he hates that it's moving without his say so again.]
beautiful