Chapter Text
Sunday’s fingers were now wrestling inside her mouth.
“Spit it out.”
Stelle stared at him weird, with a mouthful of greenish goo—and Sunday’s fingers. “Wu-uh.”
It was delicious, alright? Nothing weird, let alone poisonous. Just something March cooked up and left in her fridge. A gooey ice cream that became gooey because she stuck it in the fridge instead of the freezer. It was still edible, and Stelle wasn’t about to throw out ‘food’.
“Stelle.” He demanded, a bit more stern now. Jeez.
She ended up spitting it out, and Sunday helped wipe her mouth afterward.
This is what he had become—reduced to wiping her face like some kind of overbearing babysitter. Ever since recovering under Stelle’s care, Sunday had grown oddly observant, overprotective, and touchy.
Not that Stelle minded.
They talked. A lot. To her surprise, he kept opening up during his recovery. At first, she figured it was the fever talking—half-lucid ramblings that he’d regret spilling once he was fully awake. But no. Even after he healed, Sunday stayed talkative, willingly letting bits of himself slip out. No sign of regret. Thank goodness.
Sunday even seemed to be the most comfortable around her now, with the rest of the crew coming along to befriend him, noticing his gradual ease. Nobody tiptoed around him anymore and he no longer looked like he was calculating the quickest escape mid-conversation.
Dare she say, he was even… clingy. But Stelle wasn’t about to call him out. If the quiet cat finally sniffed her hand and let her pet it, she wasn’t about to scare it off.
As he gently wiped the spit from her chin, Sunday sighed. “Do you always stuff random things in your mouth? Even when they clearly look inedible? Were you born yesterday?”
Well, she had scavenged trash. On each planet they land. Though she can save the shock for him later. Surprise surprise.
Instead, Stelle hummed in response and bit down—lightly—on his finger still lingering by the edge of her mouth.
Sunday didn’t flinch. He kept cleaning her, letting his finger be bitten. He’d adapted too fast to her antics. Hmm…
She experimentally gave his finger a lick, and he jerks. Bingo.
He flushed, but then quickly regained his composure, grabbing her cheek with one hand.
“My finger,” He frowns, “too, is inedible.” His whole face scrunches, twisted in that rare, exasperated way that Stelle found extremely entertaining. She liked it when he got like this. And she really liked that he only ever got this way around her. She very much likes it.
Grinning, Stelle grabbed his wrist with both hands, attempting to drag it closer for her to lick again.
Upon noticing this, he yanked his hand and bolted out of her room. He flew down the stairs to another car with Stelle playfully chasing him and giggling at a short gap behind him. A real horror.
“Oh my!” Himeko barely stepped aside as Sunday zipped past.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Himeko!” he called out, barely slowing.
Not far behind, Stelle chased him down with her tongue sticking out, cackling.
Himeko sighed fondly, watching the two disappear down the hall. For a brief second, she caught a glimpse of Sunday’s face—lit up with mirth, color rising to his cheeks.
It suited him.