Chapter Text
Sunday was quite fond of Phainon. After their introduction, they tended to meet up in the Party Car late at night, just sitting and enjoying the silence with each other. Nothing ever happened, they would just sit and occasionally have a drink from Shush. Neither were the type to drink alcohol, so it was usually a sweet beverage such as soda or juice. Sunday found that Phainon seemed to have a liking for pomegranate juice with milk. An odd choice, but Sunday wasn’t one to judge.
During the day, not much happened between them. Sunday was usually a solitary person, so he didn’t interact much with any of the Astral Express. But then came that cleaning day. After Phainon spilled water all over him, they went back to clean only to realize the bucket had completely bent from the impact.
“I’ll go with you to get a new one. It’s only fair, since I did have a part in breaking it..” Phainon whined about it momentarily, but then agreed, almost as if some strange thought had crossed his mind to change it. The two men exited the parlor car and entered the party car to rummage through the closet for another bucket. The closet was fairly large, enough for Sunday to go inside in order to look around.
He was completely focused on finding a bucket when Phainon entered the closet, bumping into him. He was about to protest, but his thoughts were cut off by the sound of the closet door shutting.
“Phainon, there’s
not
enough space for two people in here!” He shuffled around the man, making his way to the door, only to find it stuck in place. No way, there was no way. He was stuck in a small closet with Phainon, who he could currently feel pressing against his back. Sunday wondered how he would react if he just shifted his hips ever so slightly. He blushed, shoving those thoughts back down into the depths of his mind. They were trapped, now was not the time to be thinking like that.
Sunday squealed as he felt hands come to rest on his hips. His mouth went dry and his wings came forward to cover his face.
“Phainon.. What are you doing?” He asked the man, whose hands were currently trailing up towards his waist. He felt the taller man bury his face in his hair and take a deep breath. “Are you.. Smelling me? What are you, a dog?”
Phainon laughed at that, pulling away and giving Sunday some space. “Sorry, I got carried away. The stress from being trapped must’ve gotten to me.” It was clearly a lie, but Sunday felt bad for the man for some odd reason, so he didn’t mind. Maybe it was because Phainon currently looked like a kicked puppy.
“It’s… alright, I suppose. But we should focus on getting out first.” Sunday blushed at his confession. He really did enjoy the feeling of those large hands wrapping around his waist. He wished they had gone just a bit higher, to play with his chest. He shook his head, attempting to focus on the task of getting out of the closet. He tried the door once more, but there was no luck. Phainon pounded on it, yelling for someone to come help, but no one came. After a few more minutes of fruitless efforts, the two decided to catch their breath. Sunday’s hands were beginning to shake. He wasn’t good with small spaces.
“Well. It looks like we might be stuck in here for a while.” Phainon said. His eyes glanced down to Sunday’s lips, which didn’t go unnoticed by the Halovian man.
“I believe we should use this time to talk, Phainon.” That got the man’s attention, his eyes whipping back up to Sunday’s. “You’ve been acting rather strange today. Did something happen? Is anything wrong?”
Phainon froze, before laughing nervously. “Ah, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it Sunday.” Sunday was displeased with this answer, and was going to drop it, but then Phainon continued. “Well, I suppose it’s not nothing. I just think you’re really pretty.” The man averted his gaze, his face just as red as Sunday’s was. Sunday was shocked by this. It’s not that he was never called pretty, it’s just that those times he was called pretty have never been sincere. Usually the word had been used by people in the past who would take advantage of Sunday, using the word to butter him up a bit before they would eventually hurt him. As a result, Sunday had a hard time accepting compliments as genuine. But this time it didn’t evoke those same feelings of unease. Sunday felt flustered by his words, his wings fluttering gently as he covered his mouth with his hand.
“Oh,” was all he could think to say. Phainon moved closer, moving the hand away from Sunday’s mouth.
“Can I kiss you?” Sunday stilled momentarily before nodding, giving the man permission to lean in and press his soft lips against Sunday’s own chapped ones. He had a bad habit of biting at them when he was nervous, but Phainon didn’t seem to mind. He gripped Sunday’s waist with one hand and brought the other to his cheek. His hand found its way to the base of his wing, and Phainon stroked it gently with his thumb. Sunday’s mouth opened in a silent moan, and Phainon took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
“I think they’re in here-” The two were interrupted by the door opening and the sight of Stelle with her mouth open wide. “So sorry! We didn’t mean to interrupt!” She was about to close the door, but Phainon grabbed it, wrenching it back open. The look on his face was terrifying.
“You saw
nothing
, got it?” Stelle nodded, but the grin on her face told him she did not, in fact, get it. Sunday stepped out of the closet, taking a deep breath. He blushed and looked at Phainon.
“Thank you… really. I probably would have been panicking by now if it weren’t for you helping me out.” Sunday smiled, which caused Phainon’s heart to jump. He would do anything to protect this man’s smile. His eyes darted down to his lips, which were still wet from the kiss. He would be up thinking about that kiss all night long.
Phainon, once again, did not get any sleep that night.