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Sunday - Blog Posts
mmmm nice :))))))
I just had the cutest and funniest idea, how would the hsr men react to their baby trying to breastfeed from them thinking they're the reader.
I'm doing this according to the characters who may/might have great personalities and assets.
Blade
Baby tries to latch on
He freezes. Completely. Soul leaves body for a moment. Then—"I am not… your parent/mother." Cue the most awkward, silent pause in existence. He gently, but very firmly, redirects the baby with a deadpan expression and dead eyes.
He tells no one. Ever. Not even Kafka. Especially not Kafka.
Jing Yuan
He stares down at the baby in mild surprise, then lets out a slow chuckle. "You must be terribly disappointed, little one."
He gently boops their nose with a finger and rocks them calmly, absolutely planning to bring this up to the reader later with that smug twinkle in his eyes. Bonus points if he sighs and says, "Looks like I’ll need to grow a pair after all."
Dan Heng
Instant red. The man turns into a statue. He gently pulls the baby away with both hands like he’s defusing a bomb and just... stares at it in mortified silence. Later, he’d overthink every single second of it. Won’t talk about it unless someone forces him to, and even then: denial.exe.
Welt
He adjusts his glasses with a slow sigh. "Ah… no, no. Wrong person, little one."
Handles it with mature, dad-like composure but absolutely brings it up at the next family meal like, “Reader, your child mistook me for you. It was... a unique experience.”
The baby loves him even more after. He’s their favorite uncle now. It's canon.
Luocha
He blinks, smiles softly, and calmly goes, “Oh? You’re hungry?” before realizing what they’re trying to do.
Cue a brief, very polite internal crisis.
He distracts the baby with a flower or a pretty trinket like nothing happened, but the internal monologue is just, "This is not in the medical texts."
Sunday
A pause. Then a quiet laugh, like soft bells in a dream.
"Ah… even your confusion is a kind of love, little one."
He would philosophize the hell out of that moment. Probably strokes the baby’s head, muttering something about how all souls long for comfort. Might even start psychoanalyzing the baby.
Still doesn’t know how to emotionally recover, though.
cw// g0r3 / b100d
more silly doodles, + sunday :))))
I never thought id simp for a flaming shadow demon thing in a newgrounds series but here we are ig
I didn't forget about Tumblr what do you mean-
Anyways, Sunday. Join his cult.
Sunday x Reader (Drabble?)
Sunday’s only regret was you.
He’d tried his best to suppress any feelings he had for you, smothering them within him, keeping them tucked secretly away behind his breast pocket, in the innermost reaches of his heart.
Of course, he would not spare you from the sweet dream. Only he needed to suffer, for everyone else to partake in the sweetest of dreams, cocooned and safe from the harsh realities of the monotonous drudgery of life. He’d alone remain strong, so all the weak could indulge and live life as they wished.
He presided over these dreams, but he did not know the ins and outs of them all, did not know what each individual person wished for, nor what they lived out in the comfort of safety.
And he couldn’t stop his curiosity, you, his sweet little secret respite; what life did you truly wish for above all else?
With the promise he’d never invade the sanctity of your dream again, he peered down, seeking you out amongst a sea of others.
Only to be met with his own visage.
In your dream, you were with him. Laughter and sweet nothings spilled between you, love curled into your forms as if you’d always been together, as if you’d always loved him. As if you needed no other.
With a heavy heart, what if’s and what could have been on the tip of his tongue, he pulled away from the comfort of your dream, bitter on his palate like medicine.
He returned to his gilded cage, hoping for you to remain peacefully asleep in the safety of your dreams.
S U N D A Y🇯🇲🇯🇲
.
.
.
.
.
©Cloud9ineExpressions
I thought I couldn’t be convinced, but I listened to the arguments.
Well, I’m not taking back a single word of mine; sometimes fans are really out of their minds. But one person helped me see Sunday from a different perspective, and that gave me something to think about. Through Zuko. The HoYoverse just really poorly executed what the Avatar writers managed to do, or maybe I just can’t stand the hype.
I'll never believe your tears, Sunday.
edit: i was given a great analogy to zuko from avatar, and now i'm not so critical. thanks everyone for your attention
I want to say this upfront: as a character, Sunday works perfectly fine for me. But I absolutely can’t stand how the fandom obediently swallowed such a stupid retcon of his character. And I can’t stand fandom stripped him of all blame. Time and time again, I see posts like: “Oh, my precious little sunshine! Don’t cry... Oh no, he’s crying in his ultimate! He didn’t deserve this, poor thing!”
And I’m left wondering: what the hell?
What the hell was HoYoverse thinking when they gave us a dictator with a god complex (borderline chūnibyō syndrome) as an antagonist? A character who defended someone who sold children into slavery. Someone who mocked a slave for their origins. Someone who placed himself above the local police and even above the very creator of Penacony. All while chaos reigned under his (and Family’s) rule in Penacony. Within Penacony, everything’s a mess: banditry, alcoholism, shady financial dealings. Criminals hide from the hounds in the Dreamscape, and Sunday defends them, driving the hounds away. Many people work for pennies, losing any chance at a better future. And some have even been dragged back after death, turned into lifeless husks just to serve as local attractions.
Sunday knows how to act righteously, but he chooses to do things his own way instead. That’s his whole arc. He became a god (boss version) for the Dreamscape and felt zero guilt over the fact that Penacony under his rule remained a pit of sin and filth, far from any kind of paradise.
And then, we defeat him. He regrets... but only regrets losing. His remorse isn’t about what he did—it’s about being beaten. He’s ready to do it all over again, just with a different strategy.
So again, what the hell?
Why does HoYoverse give us a character like this (admittedly fascinating because he’s ridiculously stubborn, manipulative, selfish, and unhinged), only to suddenly turn him into a martyr, a lamb, and a tragic victim we’re supposed to feel sorry for? Poor Sunday, who only wanted the best but ended up dooming everyone to suffer. They’re so insistent about making us pity him that it’s disorienting. What’s the point? No one’s going to believe it. He locked his own sister in a cage, justified slavery, carried out vigilante justice, and controlled the fates of millions. No one’s going to believe he’s a victim...
Except they d i d. And that’s what pisses me off the most. People have forgotten that just a year ago, he was the thorn in everyone’s side, deliberately hurting those around him with glee. Now they call him “sunshine,” “poor thing,” “precious baby.” They wipe his tears during his ultimate move, saying he doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned, doesn’t deserve to face the consequences of his actions. Are you all out of your minds?
Why didn’t Kokolia get a chance? Why didn’t Tisok 2 get a chance? (Tisok 2 is from a side quest about a ruler whose memories were erased. In it, we’re shown that she was a tyrant before losing her memory. The NPCs ask us, “Does she deserve redemption?” And no matter what, the NPCs will yell, “No, absolutely not!” Funny. She doesn’t deserve it, but Sunday does?)
The idea that he isn’t to blame is also questionable. He and Robin grew up under the same person’s wing. Robin was constantly told her perspective was wrong, yet did she grow up as a submissive follower? No, she grew into a truly strong person capable of thinking for herself. But Sunday? He basked in the praise for his bad decisions. He’s just an overgrown brat who decided the world is his playground.
So no, I will never believe in his redemption. I will never believe he’s changed. HoYoverse can’t convince me that he’s repented or truly regrets his sins, because as long as he’s free and has done nothing for society, it’s all meaningless.
He will never have a place on my Express. The Express will never be his home. He will never stand among the people who’ve become my family.
I'll never believe your tears, Sunday.
edit: i was given a great analogy to zuko from avatar, and now i'm not so critical. thanks everyone for your attention
I want to say this upfront: as a character, Sunday works perfectly fine for me. But I absolutely can’t stand how the fandom obediently swallowed such a stupid retcon of his character. And I can’t stand fandom stripped him of all blame. Time and time again, I see posts like: “Oh, my precious little sunshine! Don’t cry... Oh no, he’s crying in his ultimate! He didn’t deserve this, poor thing!”
And I’m left wondering: what the hell?
What the hell was HoYoverse thinking when they gave us a dictator with a god complex (borderline chūnibyō syndrome) as an antagonist? A character who defended someone who sold children into slavery. Someone who mocked a slave for their origins. Someone who placed himself above the local police and even above the very creator of Penacony. All while chaos reigned under his (and Family’s) rule in Penacony. Within Penacony, everything’s a mess: banditry, alcoholism, shady financial dealings. Criminals hide from the hounds in the Dreamscape, and Sunday defends them, driving the hounds away. Many people work for pennies, losing any chance at a better future. And some have even been dragged back after death, turned into lifeless husks just to serve as local attractions.
Sunday knows how to act righteously, but he chooses to do things his own way instead. That’s his whole arc. He became a god (boss version) for the Dreamscape and felt zero guilt over the fact that Penacony under his rule remained a pit of sin and filth, far from any kind of paradise.
And then, we defeat him. He regrets... but only regrets losing. His remorse isn’t about what he did—it’s about being beaten. He’s ready to do it all over again, just with a different strategy.
So again, what the hell?
Why does HoYoverse give us a character like this (admittedly fascinating because he’s ridiculously stubborn, manipulative, selfish, and unhinged), only to suddenly turn him into a martyr, a lamb, and a tragic victim we’re supposed to feel sorry for? Poor Sunday, who only wanted the best but ended up dooming everyone to suffer. They’re so insistent about making us pity him that it’s disorienting. What’s the point? No one’s going to believe it. He locked his own sister in a cage, justified slavery, carried out vigilante justice, and controlled the fates of millions. No one’s going to believe he’s a victim...
Except they d i d. And that’s what pisses me off the most. People have forgotten that just a year ago, he was the thorn in everyone’s side, deliberately hurting those around him with glee. Now they call him “sunshine,” “poor thing,” “precious baby.” They wipe his tears during his ultimate move, saying he doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned, doesn’t deserve to face the consequences of his actions. Are you all out of your minds?
Why didn’t Kokolia get a chance? Why didn’t Tisok 2 get a chance? (Tisok 2 is from a side quest about a ruler whose memories were erased. In it, we’re shown that she was a tyrant before losing her memory. The NPCs ask us, “Does she deserve redemption?” And no matter what, the NPCs will yell, “No, absolutely not!” Funny. She doesn’t deserve it, but Sunday does?)
The idea that he isn’t to blame is also questionable. He and Robin grew up under the same person’s wing. Robin was constantly told her perspective was wrong, yet did she grow up as a submissive follower? No, she grew into a truly strong person capable of thinking for herself. But Sunday? He basked in the praise for his bad decisions. He’s just an overgrown brat who decided the world is his playground.
So no, I will never believe in his redemption. I will never believe he’s changed. HoYoverse can’t convince me that he’s repented or truly regrets his sins, because as long as he’s free and has done nothing for society, it’s all meaningless.
He will never have a place on my Express. The Express will never be his home. He will never stand among the people who’ve become my family.
i just really wanted to fight him, why did he have to yap so much ahhh
bro literally yapped for 3 hours i have no idea what is going on anymore
Sunday
they let him out of the basement🥹
And they blamed God for the atrocities they inflicted on themselves, human to human.
They asked why He looked on as they dismantled each other.
They couldn't even use right the thing they bragged about: free will.
"God, intervene" - their excuses are their acceptances that they can't be without You.
Through the histories, it’s only Your mercy that the chief of this world fears.
So embrace me with it, Almighty, cover me up, for all around me, the things happening seem to tell me that I, for one, have no power to escape his grief, destruction, and trickery.
There are no miracles
without
the sadness of life.
For in sorrow, turmoil, and hopelessness,
God reveals Himself
most to those who trust in Him. Be strong in God.
Now, if you cannot prove to me that science solely exists on its own,
please let me believe my God in peace.
For all your knowledge, inventions, discoveries might as well be duplications of what God already created in the beginning.
Tell me something new— something beyond the CHATGPT that thinks like a man, replies like a man, and relies solely on the knowledge of man, a creation of God.
So let me have my God, while you perfect your machines.
Lies Of There gods. Am sorry !? NO, but a god that tells me to do what's real to me differs not from a marriage that encourages me into a threesome or worse a gang bang.
He does, what he wants, when he wants, how he wants and the atheist won't accept it, that even in there factual existence He was always aware. God, does, what he wants, when he wants, how he wants Period
Hell will remain a fantasy until it becomes a reality.
The ambiances of life without God are unbearable.
deeper you glide into the abyss of demolition
into self annihilation
into eviternal doom.
God is the avowed love
God is the only hand
God is all except transgression
@lifepath25
Summer flowers 🌼🌸
Fallen in life...
Sunday HSR X Reader
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ SNOW DAY! ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
masterlist
part 1
its a little bit of a different format!! be warned because i know the first part was well loved
this is technically a part 2 though its a little more angsty but I tried to still hold the same dynamic. Sunday having some self doubt is a warning. You don’t need to read this part but you’d need to read the first part to make this make sense.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Something cold brushed your cheek. You stirred, barely, burying your face deeper into the couch cushion. The blanket someone had kindly placed over you was warm and smelled faintly of lavender. The lights in the Parlor Car had dimmed. The stars outside twinkled lazily, unmoving.
“HEY! HEY! WAKE UP!!”
“AAAHHH” Your body spasmed upright as your eyes flew open in a panic. You blinked wildly, sleep still clawing at the corners of your vision. Something someone was screaming directly into your ear, high pitched and furious and
“We’re about to make a jump! All passengers must be prepped and present! Did you think this was a nap train?! Come on, come on!”
“PomPom?” you croaked, eyes wide and dazed, hair in complete disarray. the tiny conductor screeched, arms flailing, foot tapping with enough force you swore you could feel it through the couch. “We jump in fifteen minutes! FIFTY FIVE SECONDS of that are already gone! Do you want to arrive half dreaming and in pajamas?!”
You blinked again, your heart now racing for a whole new reason. The blanket slid off your shoulders. Across the room, seated calmly with tea in hand, Welt Yang gave you an apologetic nod as if this sort of thing wasnt normal. Beside him, Himeko, already dressed in her usual beautiful self with not a single red strand out of place, smiled gently. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You should hurry. These jumps can be disorienting if you’re not prepared.”
“Right. Yes. Okay. Jump. We’re jumping.” You stood too fast. The blanket tripped you. Your leg knocked into the table, rattling Himeko’s teacup. “Sorry! Sorry. I!”
“Just go get dressed!” PomPom wailed. “You’re embarrassing me”
You scrambled out of the Parlor Car, heart pounding, brain trying to catch up to your body.The halls of the Astral Express were softly lit, calm in contrast to your internal panic. You stumbled into your room, kicked the door shut behind you, and launched into the most frantic wardrobe selection of your life. Pajamas off. Shirt on backwards. Fixed. Pants? Where were your pants? Oh god, you’d slept in one sock and now you were wearing mismatched ones but there wasn’t time to change. You brushed your hair with your fingers, tied it up…. was that a feather from last night still in there? You stopped. Looked in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed. There were faint sleep lines on one side of your face. But your eyes were awake now alive with motion, with chaos. And as you adjusted your jacket and took one last breath, you had a glimpse of something else.
The navy blue blanket where you’d tossed it before rushing out.
Sunday.
You paused, just for a moment. The memory of his soft voice in your sleep though you hadn’t really heard the words lingered faintly, like a dream half remembered. Had he really just sat there and let you rest? You smiled without meaning to, but only for a moment. Pom Pom’s voice echoed from the hallway again.
“FIVE MINUTES! And not a second more!”
“Coming!” you yelled, grabbing your boots and stumbling out of the room like a storm with arms. You arrived at the boarding deck just as the others began gathering. Caelus was still tugging on his coat, March was fixing her scarf as if her entire existence depended on the perfect loop, and Dan Heng had been ready fifteen minutes ago and clearly didn’t understand why the rest of you looked like you’d been hit by a comet. Sunday was there too. Fully dressed. Elegant even in simplicity. His hair was slicked back, a calm expression on his face as he glanced your way and then, just for a second, something softened in his gaze when he saw you.
“Sleep well?” he asked quietly as you joined the group.
You nodded, tugging your jacket into place. “Yeah. Thanks for the blanket.”
He tilted his head. “Seemed like you had an adventurous night?”
You blinked at him. But his eyes sparkled, just a little. The floor beneath your feet gave a small rumble. Lights along the ceiling began to pulse with color. Pom Pom stood atop the central platform, now fully in Conductor Mode, voice echoing with more authority than their small frame should’ve ever allowed.
“Next stop,” Pom-Pom announced, “an old and well met planet, we are visiting Jarilo-VI again”
The ship jumped. You barely had time to brace, but this time, it didn’t feel so disorienting. Maybe because you were surrounded by them. Your crew. Your friends. Or the fact that next to you in the parlour car, Sunday is always taking in the works around him like he was just born. So much wonder made you feel so fortunate. You weren’t entirely sure when that started to feel comforting. But it did.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Jarilo-VI welcomed the Astral Express crew with its usual frosty greeting icy winds sweeping the platform, snow clinging to every rooftop and ledge, and that quiet stillness in the air that only came with winter.
You stepped off the train behind the others, watching your breath fog in front of your face. The city beyond still stood proud despite its scars. Belobog had changed since you were last here less tension, more movement. There was life in the people’s steps now. A subtle, growing hope.
March was already snapping pictures of Caelus helping a local child shovel snow off the street, her voice excited and dramatic. “Sometkme i look at him and wish I had that drive but he does stuff like he has daily tasks or commissions”
Caelus was half buried in a snowbank but gave a thumbs up. Dan Heng, coat already pristine and zipped, muttered something under his breath and walked ahead toward the Administrative District. He’d been assigned to assist with a few lingering logistics, as had Himeko and Welt. The grown ups, as March dubbed them. You? You had been told absolutely nothing.
No tasks. No missions. Not even a clipboard. Which was exactly why, once everyone else had scattered, you stayed behind. Your eyes trailed over the rooftops dusted with white, the distant roads sloping down into familiar territory. Serval’s workshop, maybe. Or even a chance run in with Bronya or Gepard. Heck, you’d even take a weird monologue from Sampo as long as you weren’t standing still in the cold. You adjusted your coat and turned to sneak off “You’re not going alone, are you?”
You flinched and turned around quickly. Sunday stood just behind you on the platform, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes squinting slightly at the sun reflecting off the snow. Still in his usual attire, not a shred of weather appropriate attire in sight. He blinked slowly, then added, “I thought I might accompany you. If you don’t mind.”
You hesitated. He didn’t ask why you were going. Just wanted to tag along.
“Sure,” you said, smiling, “but not like that. You’ll die in five minutes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve survived much worse.”
“Yeah, sure. luxury suits. Come on.”
You motioned for him to follow and dragged him back into the Express, heading straight for the storage closet where everyone’s winter gear was kept. You shoved open the door and started rummaging. He watched you with amused patience as you returned with armfuls of thick clothes. You tossed a jacket at him navy, heavy, with silver trim. He barely caught it before you were already looping a scarf around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach properly. “Arms up,” you ordered, like he was a kindergartener and not a six foot tall enigma.
“You’re very particular about this,” he murmured as you tugged the sleeves over his arms and zipped the coat halfway up his chest.
“You probably haven’t even seen snow before,” you muttered, voice muffled as you fixed the scarf, “Pretty boy like you? I bet Penacony was all dream beaches and sun.” You tugged a beanie over his perfectly styled hair. “This would eat you alive.”
“I think I’m capable of”
“There.” You stepped back, satisfied, and grinned. “Now you look like a fashionable marshmallow.” Behind you, a suppressed snort cracked the silence. You didn’t even turn. “March, if you even think about saying anything, I’m throwing snow down your coat.” More giggling. Retreating footsteps. Sunday glanced in the direction of the sound and then looked back at you, blinking under the knit hat you’d shoved onto his head. “Am I… presentable?”
You pretended to examine him, chin in your hand like an artist judging a sculpture. “You’ll survive. If only just.”
His smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes. Together, you stepped off the train and began your slow descent into the city. Jarilo-VI was still beautiful in the way icy sunlight catching on rooftops, the clink of tools and laughter echoing from a few shops that had reopened. As you both walked, you explained what each building had been during the whole event when the astral crew were all there, and how things had changed. Sunday didn’t speak much, but he listened. Genuinely. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his eyes followed every movement children pulling sleds, old workers salting roads, steam curling from chimneys.
“It’s different here,” he said softly after a while.
You hummed. “Cold?”
“it feels like fresh air.” His breath fogged in the air. “I used to think eternity would be the only path to peace”
You turned to look at him. He shook his head. “Its so nice to see people out.” His gaze dropped to the footprints the two of you left behind in the snow. You smiled.
“Also,” he added lightly, “I haven’t felt my fingers in the past twenty minutes. So perhaps you were right.”
“Well no duh” you grinned, and bumped his shoulder gently. “Welcome to winter, dream boy.”
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Eventually, you ended up outside Serval’s workshop, laughter and music spilling from the inside. She was strumming her guitar for a cluster of teens, everyone bundled up with hot drinks and wool scarves. The moment Serval spotted you, her eyes sparkled with mischief and she called out, “Hey! You brought a date?”
You flushed immediately. “He’s not”
“I’m here by choice,” Sunday cut in smoothly, tugging his scarf down just enough to speak clearly. His voice was calm, a slight smirk on his lips. “Don’t let her flustered denial fool you.”
You shot him a look, but he only raised a brow in amusement.
One of the teens whispered, “Is that guy famous or something?” Another murmured, “He looks like he owns a whole company.”
You buried your face in your scarf.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Later, as the sun dipped and shadows grew long, the two of you sat at the edge of the city, the rooftops of Belobog glowing gold beneath a dusky sky. You handed Sunday the last bit of your hot drink without looking at him. He accepted it, hands brushing yours, and took a sip.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice more serious now. “For letting me come along.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” you muttered, gaze fixed ahead. “I just needed a tall coat rack.”
There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Then I hope I’m fulfilling my purpose admirably.”
When you didn’t reply, he added, quieter, “I don’t take your time for granted. I’m glad to be here with you.”
That made your heart skip. You looked away, flustered, and he didn’t push. The stillness wrapped around you both like a blanket, snowflakes drifting lazily in the air. You leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly.
“Hey! Hey, there you are!”
You both turned to find Lynx bounding up the road, scarf trailing and cheeks pink from the cold. “There’s a frozen lake just outside the city! We cleared it for skating come join us! Serval’s already out there bullying Gepard, and I need backup.”
You stood, grinning. “Say no more. I’m in.” You glanced at Sunday. “C’mon.”
He blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry what exactly are we doing?”
“Skating.”
“…That’s like walking but more dangerous?”
“You’ll be fine.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ve survived worse.”
“I’m not convinced this counts as survival.”
You were already walking, but he didn’t hesitate long. He stood with a quiet sigh, resigned but not unwilling. “I assume you’ll mock me if I fall.”
You smiled over your shoulder. “Respectfully.” You smirked. “Come on. We’ll get you moving.” He hesitated but only for a second. Lynx clapped her hands and turned back toward the main street, clearly expecting you both to follow. You tossed Sunday a look, and he reluctantly stood with that soft little sigh of surrender he always gave around you. In retrospect the lake wasn’t far just past a ridge near the edge of Belobog’s perimeter. It was tucked away like a secret winter garden. A large sheet of glassy ice shimmered in the moonlight, surrounded by snowy banks and pine trees dusted in white.
A few lanterns had been strung up between wooden poles, casting golden halos onto the lake’s surface. Music played faintly from a small speaker on the snowbank, something upbeat and old school that you suspected came from Serval’s collection. And there they were: Serval, skating backwards with way too much confidence, trying to start a conga line with a group of teens nearby. Gepard, already red in the face as he stumbled along the ice, attempting to catch up to her. You were pulling on your skates before Sunday even had a chance to decline. Lynx offered to help him get into his pair, but you shooed her off.
You stood on the lake first, gliding across the surface like it was second nature, your balance steady and posture relaxed. Lynx clapped excitedly as you looped around her, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the ice.
“Wait wait wait!” she squealed, trying not to fall as you twirled her.
You laughed freely, cheeks flushed and heart light.
“You’re weirdly good at this!” she cried.
“I have secret skills,” you said with mock seriousness.
“I literally live here, how are you like this.” Lynx replied. you winked. Gepard was the next target.
“Hey, Captain,” you called, skating up beside him with a wide grin, “Race you to that snowbank.”
He narrowed his eyes, the same competitive spark you remembered lighting up in them. “You’re on.” Two seconds later, you were both flying across the ice, skates slicing through it with sharp precision. Three seconds after that, you crashed spectacularly into the snowbank, laughing as you rolled over onto your back and blinked up at the stars.
“You okay?” Gepard asked, snow clinging to his uniform.
“I’ve been better,” you wheezed, still laughing. Serval skated over next and dropped onto her knees beside you. “You die?”
“Spiritually.”
The next ten minutes were a blur of white flurries and screaming as Serval roped you into a full scale ambush on the Landaus. Lynx betrayed you instantly. Gepard tried to remain neutral. It didn’t work. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until your hair was full of snow and your gloves were soaked and all the while, Sunday watched from the sidelines, sitting alone on the bench near the treeline. His winter coat bundled around him, scarf you wrapped earlier still snug around his neck.
His eyes followed your every move. Your joy was loud. Free. Untamed. He watched as you threw snow with both hands, collapsed in a heap of laughter, and got back up just to do it again. Your smile wasn’t measured. It wasn’t perfect. It reminded him of what should have been. Of what he never had. His own sister had never laughed like that. Robin had smiled, yes, but it was always rehearsed duty bound. Everything in Penacony was orchestrated. Everything was planned. Conditional. watching you here, he felt it again, that strange ache. That pull toward something… unconditional. It made his chest tight.
“You’re not gonna sit there all night, are you?” Serval’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned slowly to see her smirking down at him, hands on her hips. “Why don’t you get out there? She’ll catch you if you fall.”
“…I have no experience skating.”
“Exactly why you should.” She leaned in slightly. “You two act like you’re not into each other, but you’ve got the tension of Bronya and Seele after seeing each other for too long” His eyes flicked up to her.
She winked. “Go on, dream boy.”
You were in the middle of trying to help Lynx build a snow cat when a shadow fell over you. You turned. Sunday stood awkwardly in borrowed skates, hands in his pockets.
“…I believe I require assistance.”
Your brows lifted. “You’re actually going to try?”
“I was… encouraged.”
You snorted and skated over. “Okay, come here.” You held out your hands, and he took them without hesitation.
“Bend your knees slightly,” you instructed, “and keep your core tight.”
“I feel like I’m being trained for battle.”
“well trying anything new kinda feels like that.”
His feet slipped, and he lunged slightly but you caught him. You laughed, and he stared at you. “I will admit,” he said quietly, “the company makes it tolerable.”
You felt your smile soften. You pulled him gently along the ice, step by slow step. He clung to your hands like they were lifelines. Lynx waved at you two from across the lake. Serval gave a not so subtle thumbs up. You pretended not to see them.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ warmth immediately spilled into your bones, melting away the bite of the Belobog chill still clinging to your coat. You stepped inside with Sunday beside you, arms still linked, boots dripping faint traces of snow onto the polished floor.
His scarf was still a little uneven where you’d adjusted it earlier, and his cheeks held the last blush of cold. His steps were careful, as they had been all night, but steadier now. You were guiding him more than anything. Not that he’d admit it.
You glanced at him as the doors closed behind you.
“You know,” you started, “I think you’ve set a record for the most times someone’s fallen in one walk.”
“I would prefer it not be the legacy I leave behind,” Sunday replied, smooth and quiet, a faint wryness in his voice. “Though you seem particularly fond of recounting each incident.”
“I’m preserving history,” you said, stifling a laugh. “Someone has to tell the tale of the Great Trip of Ten Feet Past the Bench.”
His gaze shifted down toward you, expression unreadable but fond. “If I recall, you were laughing too hard to be of any assistance.”
“I got there eventually,” you said innocently. “Besides, you falling over is weirdly elegant. Like watching a tree try to curtsy.”
That pulled a quiet breath from him, something like a laugh but more reserved. “It was… a good night.”
You smiled at that, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. It was.”
The two of you walked a little slower now, letting the soft lights of the Express guide your path past the Parlor Car. Himeko’s voice murmured faintly from the direction of the tea table. Someone probably Dan Heng had left a book open on one of the lounge chairs.
You and Sunday paused in the corridor just before it branched off into your rooms. The moment hung there, gentle and still. He looked at you, his tone quieter now. “Thank you… for inviting me.”
You tilted your head, a little amused. “Pretty sure you invited yourself.”
“I did,” he admitted, “but you didn’t send me away.”
Your smile lingered, warm. “Wouldn’t have, even if you asked.”
He gave a small nod, the weight of the day still visible in the curve of his shoulders, but there was ease there too like something heavy had been left behind in the snow.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
You didn’t let go of his arm right away, but when you did, your hands brushed one last time. He turned with quiet steps and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, the soft rustle of his coat fading behind him.
You stood there for a moment longer, just listening. The train hummed, steady beneath your feet. The stars drifted lazily outside the windows. Eventually, you turned and wandered toward the main lounge where March was curled up on the couch with a blanket, swiping through pictures on her camera.
She looked up as you walked in and grinned. “Okay. You have to see this one Bronya mid fall. her arms are doing this dramatic flailing thing. I swear, it’s like ballet.”
You laughed and plopped down beside her, glancing over at the tiny screen. “She did try to defend her honor.”
“Yeah, and then immediately ate ice again,” March said, beaming. “And you and Sunday? how was that today… nothing out of the ordinary…”
You rolled your eyes, reaching for a throw pillow. “You’re imagining things.”
March wiggled her eyebrows. “Sure I am.”
You stayed a few minutes longer, sharing stories, teasing each other in the soft glow of the lounge, until your body finally reminded you how tired you were. After promising to join her again tomorrow for more photo reviews, you stood with a stretch and padded quietly down the hallway. The lights dimmed slightly as you reached your door, and in the stillness, you caught yourself thinking back on the day. The snow. The skating. The way Sunday had looked at you when he said he didn’t mind being useful if it was to you.
The crew slept quietly around you. The hum of its systems was softer in the middle of the night, like even the machine itself had tucked in. You hadn’t meant to stay up this late but after tossing and turning in bed, your sweet tooth had convinced you to sneak down to the kitchen car. Just something small. A cookie or two. Maybe something warm to hold for a while.
You were on your way back now, satisfied and relaxed, your steps light as you padded barefoot through the dim halls. Most of the lights had dimmed to a faint glow, golden enough to keep the shadows at bay but soft enough not to wake anyone. A few stars shimmered lazily beyond the train windows, the galaxy at peace. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.
Your hand hovered over the handle to your room, ready to turn in at last until you heard it. A sound. It came from the guest car just around the bend. Your brows furrowed. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.
You stayed still, holding your breath. There it was again. A stifled breath. The kind someone might mistake for a cough if they weren’t paying attention.
But you were paying attention. It was the sound of someone trying not to cry. Your first instinct was to leave him be let him have his space, his privacy. But the image of him skating with shaking knees and guarded pride, of the way his eyes had softened during the snowball fights, lingered too vividly. The fondness you felt for him wasn’t something you could ignore. You stepped away from your door and moved toward his.
The door to his room was slightly ajar. You didn’t call out. Probably should’ve knocked. You just stepped inside quietly, drawn by something you didn’t have the words for. The room was dim, lit only by the faint starlight filtering in through the window. Sunday sat upright on the edge of the bed, his coat shrugged off and draped over the chair. He hadn’t changed for sleep. His eyes were red, his shoulders trembling just slightly. He was turned away, both hands clasped as if trying to hold himself together.
You simply knelt in front of him, your knees pressing into the floor, eyes searching his face until he finally looked down. His breath hitched at the sight of you. His lips parted like he might try to speak, but nothing came. So you offered your hand. No words. No expectations. Just your hand, palm up, waiting. He stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly hesitantly he reached out and took it. His fingers were cold. His grip was light at first, like he didn’t quite trust himself to hold on. But then he exhaled, the breath catching at the end, and he interlocked his fingers with yours. He didn’t cry again, not right away. He just breathed. Slow. Shaky. Like the pain had found a safe place to settle.
Minutes passed. And then, quietly, he spoke. “…You looked so beautiful today,” he whispered. “With the others. With that girl… her laugh reminded me of Robin’s.”
Your thumb gently brushed over the back of his hand. “She always tried to laugh like that,” he said. “But it was always… restrained. Like it had to be measured. Beautiful, but… not direct.” His voice broke. “Not like yours.”
You stayed still, grounded, letting the silence hold space for him. “I kept thinking… if she had a life like yours… if I had” He stopped, trembling again. “Every time I look at you, I learn something else I never knew I needed to value. Every gesture, every laugh, every time you reach out for someone like it’s nothing…” He shook his head, a small, helpless sound. “It teaches me what I missed. What she missed.”
You lifted your other hand to rest gently against his knee. His grip on your fingers tightened, like he needed something to hold on to.
“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “That the more I see, the more I’ll realize how empty everything I had really was. And yet, I can’t look away.”
He looked down at you again then, and in that moment, he didn’t look composed or mysterious or sharp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” you said softly. “Im sorry for barging in.”
He exhaled again, a little steadier now, and lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours. There was no need to say anything else just yet. You were here.
You stayed like that for a while his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand warm and solid in your own. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Then, slowly, you shifted. Still kneeling, you leaned forward, resting your head gently on his legs. Your cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his trousers, and your fingers relaxed around his.
Sunday froze, just for a moment. His breath hitched again, but not from pain this time. Then his hand moved. Carefully. Tentatively. Fingers brushing through your hair. He stroked it once. Then again, slower.
The movement was gentle like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch you this way, but needed to anyway. Like this moment was fragile, and he was terrified of breaking it. You let him comfort himself in the rhythm of it, in the quiet press of your presence. The train hummed softly beneath you both, as if it too understood the importance of silence right now.
His hand paused only once just to curl lightly at the ends of your hair, like he was memorizing the texture. Then, after a while, he shifted forward, leaning down just slightly.
His hand cupped your face, thumb grazing along your cheek with a reverence that felt almost sacred. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He didn’t say anything after. He just stayed there, his hand still against your cheek, his other resting in your hair.
Eventually, he sighed, a sound almost reluctant to disturb the stillness.
“…If you stay like that much longer,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse from emotion, “your neck is going to ache terribly.”
You hummed softly, not moving just yet. Still, the smallest smile ghosted across your lips.
Sunday HSR X Reader
꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ Get used to it ꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱
masterlist
part 2
a small drabble with him as a passenger of the astral express…… and march being a fangirl
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ The Astral Express gym wasn’t exactly high tech, but it had everything you needed: open space, training mats, and just enough echo to make your footsteps sound cooler than they actually were. Sunday stood on the mat already, stretching his arms slowly. He was always composed. polished words, a little distant but never unfriendly. A recent addition to the Express, still settling in. You figured sparring would be a good way to break the ice. Or, at the very least, make him sweat a little.
“You ever sparred before?” you asked, rolling your shoulders as you stepped onto the mat across from him.
“Once or twice,” Sunday replied, giving you a look that was polite. “I assume you’ve done this more than that.”
You shrugged. “Yeah, a bit. We do it sometimes, just to stay sharp. Helps keep my mind quiet too.”
That made him pause for a moment. “I can understand that.” There was a brief stretch of silence as you both settled into your stances. You smiled.
“Alright. Light spar. First to three taps?”
“Fair enough.”
Then you moved. Sunday was careful. Precise. He didn’t rush or overstep, but you could tell he was reading you watching how you shifted your weight, how fast you reacted. You responded in kind, your movements smooth and quick, not showy like usual. This wasn’t about flair. It was about rhythm, connection, learning someone without needing words. The first tap came when you managed to slip behind him and brush his shoulder. He looked surprised. The second came quickly after his palm barely grazing your side as he dodged your next strike.
It was fun. Quietly fun.
Somewhere in the middle of the third round, things shifted. You both moved at the same time your foot angled to pivot, his shifting forward for a counter. It wasn’t anything dramatic, no wild kick or spin, just a split second misstep.
You felt your foot catch his. His arm moved quickly, instinctively reaching to steady you. Too late. Your balance tipped forward, his backward, and gravity did the rest.
The two of you landed with a dull thud on the mat. For a second, neither of you said anything. You opened your eyes to find yourself sprawled over him, chest pressing lightly against his, palms braced on either side of his shoulders. His arm was still around your waist where he’d tried to catch you.
Your faces were close. Close enough to count the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that his breath, warm and even, brushed against your cheek.
“Oh.” The sound escaped before you could help it. Not exactly graceful.
Sunday’s eyes didn’t move away from yours. His expression wasn’t annoyed, or embarrassed. If anything, he looked… thoughtful. Still. Like he wasn’t sure what to make of the moment either. You felt the weight of the silence more than the fall.
“I, uh” You shifted slightly, meaning to push yourself up, but your hand slipped against the mat, and you instinctively leaned closer to steady yourself. Now your nose almost touched his.
His hand, still on your back, tensed faintly just a twitch. But he didn’t move it. You laughed under your breath, a little breathless. “This probably looks worse than it is.”
“Maybe,” Sunday said, voice low, not quite smiling but not pulling away either. “But I’m not complaining.”
That made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him again, There was something softer in his face now. you realized you weren’t in a rush to get up. Not yet.
“…You okay?” you asked, quieter this time.
He nodded once. “You?”
You nodded too, eyes not leaving his. “Yeah.”
Another beat passed. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing under your hands. Not hurried. Just… calm. You slowly pushed yourself up and off of him, offering your hand once you were upright. He took it without hesitation. His fingers were warm.
Back on his feet, Sunday brushed some dust off his sleeve, but his eyes lingered on you longer than before. There was nothing more to say right then. So he just smiled and walked away.
“God I need a cold shower after that”
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Turns out it wasn’t a cold shower but nevertheless, a shower. The steam from your shower still clung to your skin as you stepped into the parlor car, toweling your damp hair with one hand, dressed in your usual cozy nightwear. You’d taken your time lingering under the hot water, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in your chest after the spar with Sunday.
It was the way he looked at you. Still. Quiet. And how you hadn’t wanted to move. You exhaled, trying to shove the memory aside. Maybe it was just adrenaline. Heat of the moment stuff. Totally normal when you faceplant into someone’s lap. Right?
As you rounded the corner into the parlor car, voices floated up from the seating area. You paused half curious, half wary.
“…I’m telling you,” came March’s unmistakable whisper. “They were on top of each other. Like, full on dramatic slow motion fall. And neither of them moved for a good ten seconds. It was so weirdly quiet. I thought they were gonna kiss.”
Your stomach dropped. Your face lit up like a reactor core.
“March.” That was Dan Heng. His tone had that deadpan flatness that meant you’re being ridiculous again.
“No, I’m serious!” March hissed. “It was intense. They were looking at each other like… like in one of those cheesy holo dramas. And she totally forgot I was there. I had to back out slowly like I was interrupting something.”
“Maybe you were,” Caelus muttered under his breath.
“EXACTLY,” March said. “I mean, I always thought something might happen, but not this soon. And with Sunday? He’s like… all elegant and mysterious”
“I heard that.”
Three heads whipped around at once. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, still towel drying your hair, blinking at them like you’d just caught them stealing cookies.
March squeaked and jumped three inches off the couch. “You! When did you get there?!”
“Long enough,” you said flatly, stepping fully into the car. “Long enough to hear my public execution.”
March scrambled to explain herself, hands flailing. “No no no! It wasn’t an execution, it was it was a friendly dramatic retelling! Like bedtime gossip!”
You stared at her. Dan Heng looked like he was rethinking every decision that led him to this moment. Caelus was trying very hard not to laugh.
You pointed at March. “Next time, announce the playbill if you’re gonna perform my personal life in three acts.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” March said, now clutching a cushion to her face. “Honestly, I thought it was kind of cute!”
“March.”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop talking!”
You plopped down into the seat beside her, stealing the cushion from her arms to bury your face in it.
“I hate everything,” came your muffled voice.
Dan Heng finally looked up from his book. “So… did anything actually happen?”
You didn’t answer. When you pulled the pillow away, your face was still pink. You shrugged. You slumped into the seat and closed your eyes.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You walked along the glowing path of the new planet’s market district, your boots clicking softly against the polished stone. Lanterns floated above the crowd, casting a warm shimmer over everything, and strange alien wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze. It was one of the calmer stops for the Astral Express no explosions, no urgent missions. Just exploration, some research, and a little breathing room.
You sipped your drink a fizzy, spiced thing with a color that probably wasn’t natural and hummed to yourself as you trailed behind March and Caelus. They were arguing about the best souvenir to bring back for Pom–Pom.
You lingered by a street vendor selling constellation shaped pastries when a man tall, smug, and clearly very into himself sidled up beside you.
“You look like you could use some company,” he said, his tone low and confident, like he thought he was the main character in a romance drama.
You blinked, startled. “I’m uh, I’m good, thanks.”
But he didn’t get the hint. He smiled wider, stepping just a little closer. “You sure? Someone like you shouldn’t spend a night like this alone. I know a place nearby quiet, private. Just you and me, maybe some music”
“Wow,” you interrupted, trying to laugh it off. “That’s… forward.”
“Life’s short,” he replied smoothly. “Why waste time pretending?”
You took a step back, now officially uncomfortable. “Really, I’m not interested”
“She’s not.”
The voice came from behind you, calm and steady. Sunday. You turned your head just as he stepped into view, his hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but voice just sharp enough to cut tension.
“She’s my girlfriend,” he added casually. “She’s not into that sort of thing.”
Your eyes widened. Girlfriend? Oh.
The guy blinked, his confidence faltering. “Oh I didn’t realize…”
“Now you do,” Sunday said, still polite, still calm. “You can move along.”
The man muttered something under his breath and walked off, melting into the crowd like smoke.
You exhaled slowly. “Okay. That was…”
“Uncomfortable,” Sunday finished for you, tilting his head slightly. “He wasn’t taking the hint.”
“No kidding,” you muttered. Then, with a faint smile, “Thanks for the save.”
He looked at you, eyes softening just a little. “You looked like you needed one.”
You nodded. “I did. But also ‘girlfriend?’ Really?”
“Seemed effective,” he replied without missing a beat. “Was I wrong to assume you wouldn’t want to go home with a stranger tonight?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “No, definitely not wrong. Just… caught me off guard.”
He gave a small shrug. “You can correct the record if you want.”
You looked at him, thoughtful now. The lantern light played against the sharp lines of his face, but his gaze was gentle, open.
“Nah,” you said, voice light. “Let them think I’ve got someone.”
Sunday gave the smallest smile. And then, almost too quiet to hear. “Maybe someday they’ll be right.”
You turned to him but he was already walking ahead, hands still in his pockets, calm as ever. You blinked. Then grinned.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
March wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Not really. She had just been browsing one of the cute trinket stalls on the edge of the plaza admiring some heart shaped glass charms when she heard your voice from the next row over. You sounded… awkward. Uncomfortable.
Curious, March peeked around the corner, just in time to see some local guy lean in too close to you. His tone was oily, confident in that blech kind of way that made her want to throw a glowing pebble at his head. You were clearly trying to shake him off.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
March’s soul left her body.
Sunday’s voice was smooth and even, not threatening, but with that finality that made the creepy guy instantly freeze. He stepped up beside you with this casual calm, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but there was no doubt in his tone.
“She’s not into that sort of thing,” he added coolly. “You can move along.”
The guy mumbled something and slinked away. March’s brain started loding the spinny ball of death.
Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND?!
She didn’t even mean to gasp aloud, but it happened. Thankfully, no one heard. She ducked back behind the trinket stall, crouching like she was dodging a security drone. Her heart thumped against her ribs. When she peeked again, you were talking to Sunday, flustered and blushing. He stood there like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just set the local rumor mill on fire with one casual sentence.
March didn’t wait another second. She took off sprinting.
“I’M SORRY BUT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”
Caelus and Dan Heng both jumped in their seats as March burst into the tea shop, nearly knocking over a decorative lantern in her haste.
Dan Heng put down his cup with a sigh. “Let me guess.”
“No no guessing. Just listen.” March bent over the table, panting dramatically. “Sunday just called her his girlfriend. To a random guy. Who was hitting on her.”
Caelus blinked. “Wait. What?”
“You heard me! He said it without hesitation., ‘She’s my girlfriend.’ Boom. IT WAS SO KNIGHT IN SHINNING ARMOUR.”
Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t correct him?”
“Not at all! She blushed! She just stood there blushing!”
Caelus slowly grinned. “Huh. I thought we were still in the pining phase.”
“That’s what I thought too!” March wailed, dropping into a seat across from them. “I thought I had time to mentally prepare for the will they won’t they!”
Dan Heng leaned back. “Maybe they skipped to the good part.”
March glared. “This is a story, Dan Heng. There’s a structure.”
Caelus sipped his tea again, amused. “BUT LIKE he did that just to protect her. Im sure we would do the same thing”
“Shhhhh are either of you wanting to marry her and want to look longingly at her.”
Dan Heng muttered, “I don’t think that that matters when you’re watching out for someone”
March just pointed toward the plaza. “Mark my words. Those losers are happening .”
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
March 7 lay curled beneath her mountain of pastel blankets, one leg sticking out, mouth slightly open, a bubble of drool forming with every breath. She looked… innocent. Unaware. Vulnerable.
Perfect. You stood at the edge of her bed, Caelus beside you, both cloaked in shadows and silence. “She sleeps like someone who hasn’t committed crimes,” you whispered.
“She sleeping like she didn’t fully diss Dan Heng and I for just existing,” Caelus murmured, smirking. “She called me a coward yesterday for not pushing you two together faster.”
You narrowed your eyes at the blissfully unaware March, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Your time of reckoning is over.”
And then, like a flash of divine vengeance, the pillow came down. WHUMP. March jolted awake with a squeak, arms flailing, hair a tangled mess. “WHAT WHO”
“JUSTICE,” you declared, striking again, this time dual wielding pillows like a vengeful sleep deprived warlord. “FOR PEACEFUL EXISTENCE.”
“TRAITOR!” March screamed as another pillow hit her in the face, this one clearly Caelus’s, who was now leaning against her dresser and howling with laughter. “You were supposed to be neutral!”
“I was never neutral,” Caelus grinned, tossing another pillow into your hands like a loyal arms dealer. “I just picked the winning side.”
“You picked VIOLENCE!”
“You picked CRAZY
Pillows flew. March kicked off her covers and dove behind the mountain of backup pillows she had an arsenal you knew too well. She emerged like a pink haired general, dual wielding plushies shaped like various alien mascots.
“I DID NOTHING TO YOU CAELUS!” she shouted, flinging one at Caelus’s head. “I THOUGHT YOU SHIPPED THIS LIKE ME! AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!”
“I WAS trying to make it happen, March!” you cackled, blocking her throw with your arm. “but you’re crazy lady.”
“Because SOMEBODY has to!”
The room became a flurry of feathers and yells, the floor littered with fabric casualties. March screamed something about “romantic sabotage” while Caelus used a star shaped cushion as a shield and tried not to collapse from laughter. Eventually, panting and half buried beneath a pile of glittery pillows, March flopped onto her back.
“This isn’t over,” she wheezed. “You might’ve won the battle…”
You sat on the floor, leaning against her bedframe, heart light and cheeks aching from laughing too hard. March peeked at you with a sleepy, dramatic glare.
“Just admit you like him,” she muttered.
You grinned. “No comment.”
Caelus snorted. “So that’s a yes.”
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The corridor was quiet, save for the distant, muffled thumps echoing from March’s room. Sunday padded down the hall in soft slippers, wrapped in a navy blue pajama set that still looked oddly regal despite the sleepy looseness of it. The collar was slightly askew, and his curls had lost their typical styling, falling gently across his forehead. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him toward the commotion curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe instinct.
The door to March’s room was open just enough. And there you were. Mid laugh, caught in the middle of a pillow war that had clearly escalated. Caelus was ducked behind a wardrobe like it was a bunker, March stood on her bed like a self declared queen of feathers, and you glorious in your pyjamas were twirling a pillow like a blade of justice.
Feathers floated through the air like snowflakes. Sunday didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, half in shadow, just out of your view. And he watched. And he smiled. He’d grown up in rooms where laughter felt rehearsed. Where joy was reserved for ceremonies, and everything had meaning, even the silence. He had known peace, yes but the kind that was still, stagnant. Like a pond reflecting stars instead of the sky itself.
Robin had always tried to shield him. Kept him wrapped in the comfort of his ideals, gave him a dream so beautiful he forgot what real light looked like. Messy, loud, brilliant life. The way your hair stuck to your cheek with sweat, the way your eyes gleamed as you dodged March’s wild throw, the unfiltered, unashamed joy in your voice as you shouted something absurd about “pillow fueled vengeance.”
He’d never seen experienced this feeling. Sunday’s heart thudded quietly in his chest, a rhythm that didn’t belong to the Family or any script he’d ever memorized. He liked that you weren’t afraid to be ridiculous. That you laughed freely. That you made others laugh.
He liked that you didn’t seem to carry your burdens in front of him not because they didn’t exist, but because you chose, for a moment, not to let them define you. he liked that when you were with your friends like this, you looked entirely untouchable. Unreachable. He wanted to reach anyway. But he stayed still. Let the moment stay yours. A feather floated past his cheek. Sunday blinked once, then quietly turned, retreating back down the hall before anyone noticed. He didn’t need to be in that moment to be part of it.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Feathers still drifted in your hair. Your arms ached from swinging pillows like weapons of mass destruction. March had declared herself “the rightful queen of shipwide shipping” before collapsing in a pile of her own making, and Caelus was last seen crawling down the hallway muttering something about betrayal and glitter.
You didn’t make it to your room. Your legs had carried you halfway down the train, and then… gave up. The Parlor Car welcomed you with soft lights and the hush of starlight outside the window. It was quiet here. Peaceful. And most importantly there was a couch.
You barely noticed the figure already sitting there. You just dropped into the opposite end of the long velvet seat with a graceless thump, curling onto your side and sighing like the soul had been knocked out of you. Your hair stuck to your forehead. Your shirt was rumpled. You didn’t even bother taking off your socks.
Sleep claimed you within seconds. Sunday, seated near the center of the couch with a book resting gently across his lap, blinked slowly. He hadn’t even heard you come in. His eyes drifted from the page, tracing over your sleeping form. The way your chest rose and fell. The faint smudge of pillow war aftermath still clinging to your cheek. One of your shoes had fallen off somewhere on the way in your foot dangled off the edge of the couch, sock half hanging.
You looked peaceful. He closed the book without a sound. He stood, quietly padded over to the small linen cabinet near the entrance of the car, and pulled out a soft, navy blue blanket. One of Himeko’s spares, likely. He unfolded it carefully, draped it over you from shoulders to toes, and adjusted it so it wouldn’t slip off during the night.
Then he knelt beside the couch, brushing a stray feather from your hair with a light, careful touch. in a voice only the walls heard, he murmured,
“Sleep well. May your dreams never be burdens.”
He lingered for a moment, hand resting just beside your shoulder. Then he moved to the nearby armchair, sat down, and tilted his head toward the stars just outside the wide train windows. His book remained unopened in his lap, forgotten. He didn’t need it. Tonight, the soft rhythm of your breathing was enough.