Papyrus doesn't know the angel, doesn't know his circumstances or his story or even much of his personality. Hasn't actually even asked for a name, figuring it might be the sort of thing they don't give out. But damned if he's not struggling to see the difference from the person in those weird memories. The eyes and wings and all, that's a little different. But that... expression, tone, posture. He knows that.

"Uh. It's, I sure wasn't looking for it. That was some... past life, or something? We can't just go back to it, you were right about do-overs."

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. As much as he'd rather just say whatever make this guy happier... he has no idea what the angel wants to hear. So the gift of honesty will have to do.

"But, I want to be more like that. He... was a good person. Better than me," Papyrus glances back at the gash in the floor, and the memory of the lectures. "Even when he was grieving, he tried to be happy. All the worst things that skeleton guy did... he was trying to do something right. Whatever he thought that was."