Chapter Text
"Alright," Sunday says. "That makes sense. And these two, the Nihility Emanator and Miss Black Swan -?"
"Oh, yeah," Stelle interrupts seriously, bobbing her head. "I'm trying to get them together too. Unfortunately, Black Swan keeps trying to get together with Dahlia, so it's not really all working out for me yet."
Sunday nods slowly. "Right..."
They're in Stelle's room, and Stelle is showing off her island in Yamagotchi Life, because while they'd played it a little bit together, she hadn't actually given Sunday the tour yet. Sunday is still at the stage where he's more than moderately confused about what the point of this game actually is, but he doesn't want to sound as though he's not interested. He certainly finds the concept of making everybody you know into a video game character and letting them befriend one another virtually very fun, he just - doesn't get it. It seems like there isn't much to the game apart from making the Yuus themselves, but perhaps it will all reveal itself to Sunday later.
At the moment, Stelle is explaining which couples she's actually trying to get together amongst all the ones that are accidentally forming every second she's online. Sunday has already asked the question - are any of these people together in real life? - to which he'd received the rather ominous answer of for most of them, not yet. Sunday had had no idea if she just wants them to become couples - Stelle had referred to the term shipping to explain what she's doing, which seems to mean exactly what Sunday had thought it did. Sunday thinks it's rather strange, mostly because he's never been interested enough in two people's potential romance to care whether or not they started dating, but he supposes he can't exactly judge her. It's probably normal behaviour.
Stelle shifts on her seat, her hand diving back into the popcorn bag she's been noisily eating from for the past ten minutes. It's family size, and it's nearly empty. She'd offered Sunday some, but he doesn't like the idea of putting his hand into the same bag that Stelle's been touching with fingers that she licks salt off of in between every few handfuls, so he politely declined. It smells nice, though.
"I think only one of the relationships I'm trying to build have gotten together organically so far," she tells him. "After I made your Yuu stop crushing on Fu Xuan, she asked Qingque out, and now they're in love. I'm very glad I didn't have to intervene on that one, it was driving me crazy the amount of people that wanted to date Fu Xuan even after you. That's who Dahlia's current conquest is. She keeps trying to break them up."
"I see," Sunday utters, leaning forward on his arms. "I didn't even know you could do that in this game."
"Oh, yeah," Stelle says, snickering. "There's a homewrecker trait you can give them. I didn't even give it to her, she developed it naturally. I think she would have found this funny, so I kept it."
Sunday squints, watching as a woman in the long white dress and matching hat prances around the island with a powerful stride. "Interesting..."
Behind them, something slams, and Sunday jumps a foot in the air before he sees that it's just March 7th, barging in far too forcefully and cringing at the door. "Sorry!" she yelps. "I didn't mean to open it so harshly, you should blame your door for being too light and not me!"
"Of course, here comes March 7th, barging into my room without knocking and trying to break my wall," Stelle drawls, spinning around in her gaming chair to face the door. Despite her words, her eyes are glittering at the sight of her girlfriend. "Have you brought me muffins?"
March rolls her eyes, then notices Sunday sitting silently and grins. "You're here too! I've never seen you in here, Sunday. Did Stelle recruit you to do some chore like the evil chore-avoider that she is?"
"I told you I'm sorry for forgetting about dinner," Stelle groans, setting down her IPC Switch and getting to her feet. She strides across the room to meet March, clearly interested in the brown paper bag she's clutching in her hands. "You lo-ove me so-o much, so much so that you'd forgive me and buy me muffins from the bakery..."
"Good afternoon, Miss March," Sunday says, finally able to get a word in edgewise while Stelle nuzzles up to March, very clearly trying to gain access to the sweet smelling paper bag while March holds it out of her reach. "No, I haven't been recruited to do chores - Stelle told me she simply had to show of her, ah, video game island, and that was a matter of great importance, it seems."
March laughs, shaking her head. "Oh, of course. Stelle, quit pawing at me and I'll share, ok, let me sit down, for the Aeon's sake! Sunday, do you want a muffin? It's blueberry and chocolate."
"That sounds lovely," Sunday says with a grin, and accepts the treat when March gently pushes Stelle away and starts handing them out. It's large and gooey, and even still warm. It takes everything in Sunday not to tear it to shreds then and there, and to instead take a normal sized bite like a normal person. "Thank you, Miss March."
"Sunday, you are way too fucking polite," Stelle tells him through a mouthful of muffin. She's flopped back down on her gaming chair, and March has pulled up another seat from the table across the room to join them at Stelle's desk. It's truly enormous, leaving them plenty of space to all sit together. "Enough of the "miss" shit. Hey, why is that you stopped calling me "miss" but not March? Am I not womanly enough to deserve the title?"
"Stelle, Aeons!" March giggles, covering her mouth. Several crumbs still spray out anyway.
"You told me to stop calling you that," Sunday protests. He can already feel his face growing hot, despite knowing that Stelle is only joking. Probably. "Which is it, then? Make up your mind!"
"I'm kidding, I don't want to be called "miss,"" Stelle laughs, slumping back in her chair. She crosses her legs widely at the knee in such a way that Sunday is forced to look away for fear of accidental seeing something he doesn't want to. "I'm just pulling your leg, Sunday, you're too easy. If you wanna hang out with the Express Crew, you gotta learn how to tell when I'm joking or being serious. It's a real skill."
"It's impossible," Sunday groans, and March snickers.
"You don't have to call me "miss,"" she reassures him, waving him off. "Although it does make me feel very fancy and womanly, it's just too formal!"
Sunday nods and murmurs, "Alright," to which March beams before suddenly spotting Stelle's Switch on the desk and reaching over Stelle to grab it, watching the screen with a fascinated glitter in her eyes.
"Ooh, what's been going on since I last checked in?" she asks, clicking buttons. Sunday shifts his chair over so he can see, too, genuinely curious. "Have Bronya and Seele gotten together yet?"
"Not yet," Stelle replies gloomily, as March zooms around the map, presumably searching for one of the aforementioned two. "I've been trying so hard, but they still hate each other. It's kind of like how they were at first in real life, though, so I'm not too annoyed about them yet."
"Enemies to lovers," March says in a wistful tone. She clicks on a woman with long purple hair and a moody expression, watching her stomp around with a tiny blonde child wearing a large ushanka hat. "We should have an enemies to lovers arc, Stelle, it'd be so romantic."
"Why would you want to be Stelle's enemy?" Sunday asks, scrunching up his nose. "You'd have to hurt each other."
"Eh, not necessarily," Stelle says. She gazes at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I think it'd be fun, at least for a little bit. Wouldn't you love to fight me, March?"
"Aw, I sure would!" March coos, reaching over to pinch Stelle's ear visibly a little too roughly. "Especially a few nights ago when you abandoned me during dinner! What I wouldn't have given to have been able to -"
"How many times do you want me to apologize for -"
"- beat the everloving crap out of you until you were actually sorry!"
Sunday watches this back and forth with amusement, until March's play fighting grows even rougher and he decides to reach out and take the console from her hands, for its own safety. March barely notices, too busy pretending to smack Stelle silly while the other woman protests weakly. Sunday sits back and watches the screen, where they're still focused on the purple haired girl, presumably the one named Seele they'd mentioned. A lot of the people on Stelle's island are unfamiliar to him. He's had some of the Astral Express's past adventures explained to him, and March had shown him a lot of photos, but he'd never seen one of this woman. Judging by her dour scowl, he could take a guess and say she doesn't like to be photographed.
He clicks off of her and searches for Robin's Yuu. It doesn't take long. Stelle had made her a popularity queen, and there's never a moment in which she's not surrounded by other Yuus, crowding around her with awe on their faces. Sunday snorts as she scrolls towards her, where a green haired man, Miss Tingyun and Himeko are all walking with her, speech bubbles popping above Robin's head as she babbles on to them about goodness knows what. Whatever it is, they all seem captivated.
Sunday taps on the green haired man, who has an eyepatch too, he sees when he turns towards him at his command. Anaxa is his name, and now Sunday knows who he is. He looks extremely detailed, his sprite well drawn. He wonders if Stelle has photos of all of the Chrysos Heirs. There were only artistic depictions of them in As I've Written.
"What are you doing, Sunday?" he hears, and glances up to see March has finished killing Stelle and is now intrigued by him instead. Stelle is slumped over in her seat, pretending to be dead. March's expression is bright and cute, so unlike someone who would murder their girlfriend in cold blood. Sunday is sure it won't take long for Stelle to stir and come back to life, born anew.
"I was just checking in on Robin," he admits, showing her the screen. "I know these characters aren't really here, but it's still somewhat comforting to see her thriving, I suppose. Is that ridiculous?"
"That's not ridiculous at all," Stelle jumps in, alive again as Sunday suspected. Her tone is weirdly serious, not as jokey as Sunday would have expected her to be. "I mean, it's a representation of her, who looks and acts like her. I think it's fairly normal."
"I mean... I suppose," March agrees, although she looks less convinced. "I guess you must miss her a lot, right? You've spent a lot of time watching her Yuu."
Sunday laughs, wings twitching with embarrassment. "That's true... she's just as popular in Stelle's universe as the real one."
Maybe he is starting to understand the point of this game. He's not sure if Stelle enjoys it so much for the same reason that he does, though.
Sunday sets down the Switch in front of Stelle, allowing her to take the reins again. The sound of Robin singing comes from the device - Stelle had given her a trait that made her occasionally burst into song. However, he notices something different about it now. The lyrics she's singing aren't randomized by the game - it actually sounds like she's singing her own songs.
"Is that Sway to My Beat In Cosmos?" Sunday asks, curious. "How is she singing that?"
"Oh, yeah, I totally forgot," Stelle says, eyes widening. She almost drops her muffin in an attempt to quickly turn the screen to both of them, clicking buttons again. "You can give characters catchphrases in this game. Robin has some lyrics to her songs, and she sings them. Real cute."
"I forgot that was a thing you could do in this game!" March gasps, leaning over Stelle's shoulder. "What do our Yuus say, huh? You better have been nice!"
Stelle cackles as she glides across the map to search for them. Funnily enough, Sunday and March are standing next to one another in the game, too, deep in conversation. When Stelle clicks on him, he can see his and March's relationship - good friends. He suddenly has to stifle a smile.
That is, until Stelle continues speaking. "Sunday's is "I see." He says that all the time, so I figured it was perfect."
Sunday scowls as Stelle shows off his list of catchphrases, so far consisting of this one alone. "I don't say that so often."
"You do," Stelle insists. "You said it in this very conversation."
"I did not," Sunday argues back. "You must have misheard me."
"What does my Yuu say?" March chimes in, clearly uninterested in the ongoing argument. "Come on, show me!"
"Oh yeah," Stelle says, a grin crossing her face as Sunday sits back in his seat, feathers thoroughly ruffled. "Let me try and trigger her saying it."
She taps March's Yuu a few times, who Sunday has to admit is very cute, hair in stubby pink pigtails and wearing a soft blue and white dress. After a few attempts, mini March opens her mouth to speak - "Aren't I the cutest girl ever?"
"Aww, what, that's so cute," March coos, grabbing one of Stelle's gloved hands and squeezing it. It seems the urge to be violent has been entirely dispelled. "I do say that all the time, because it's true! Aren't I adorable, Sunday?"
Sunday startles at the question, looking back and forth between both women, unsure how to answer. "Uhh..."
"It's ok, Sunday, you can agree," Stelle says with a somber nod. "I won't kick your ass for saying my girlfriend is cute."
"Great," Sunday sighs, catching March's delighted anticipation. "Then yes, very adorable."
"Hooray!" March cheers, clapping. "Sunday thinks I'm cute too! This is just like the first time I got Dan Heng to say it, he was too embarrassed for so long and I finally managed to get him to stop being so stiff and serious. I wish you had been here, Stelle, Dan Heng used to be so different around me. I think I scared him."
"Well, you definitely scare Sunday," Stelle comments, pulling her legs up in her chair and snickering. "His life flashed before his eyes when you asked him that question."
"It absolutely did not," Sunday denies haughtily, shaking his head. "March, you don't scare me. Now, the question of whether Stelle does is different..."
Both of them laugh, and Sunday brightens with pride at having been the one to instigate it.
Before the conversation can deviate any further, however, someone's phone makes a series of dramatic beeping noises. Stelle yelps and fumbles for it in her pocket, leaping out of her seat so she can free it from against her leg. "Eee-yikes," she cries, and then darts across the room and out the door, leaving March and Sunday alone and the latter extremely perplexed.
"What was that about?" Sunday asks, to which March shrugs and sighs.
"Something probably not as serious as she made it look," she tells him. "It's probably Sparkle or something responding to the Yamagotchi Life survey she sent to everybody in her contacts. She has the same ringtone for everybody, it's this absolutely insufferable tune that Silver Wolf set for her. I hate it."
Sunday snorts, and is about to find a reason to excuse himself too out of awkwardness at the lack of Stelle's presence when March changes the subject, a curious look in her eye.
"I heard you're playing the piano in the car at the end of the Express," she says. She's sat back in her seat, trying to appear nonchalant like she doesn't actually care all that much. "Himeko told me you're really good. I figured you would be. You seem like the kind of guy who'd be super good at some kind of instrument like that."
Sunday blinks, surprised not only that Himeko had mentioned it to others, but also that March is interested. "Yes, I enjoy the piano very much," he tells her honestly. He suddenly doesn't know where to put his hands, so he folds them in his laps, ignoring his wings flicking his ear. "The Conductor gave me permission to use it."
"I figured they must have," March says. She fiddles with the controls for Stelle's Switch before giving up and setting it gently down on the desk. Sunday can see that the camera is following March's Yuu around, who's whistling a joyous tune without a care in the world. In real life, March brightens, as though she's had a very sudden, definitely unplanned idea. "Hey, Sunday, you wouldn't mind letting me hear you play, would you? I really hope you're not one of those kinds of people who can't play around others. You're not, are you? I feel like you'd enjoy the attention, you're kind of an extrovert."
Sunday lets out a sharp laugh, taken aback by March's observations. "I feel as though I'm anything but," he confesses, but he can't deny that he does enjoy the attention. Robin had been the one to get most of it in their youth, and Sunday wasn't necessarily jealous of her, but there had been occasions where he would have loved to have received praise for something he'd achieved and there had been no one around to witness it. This is how most of his piano-related feats had been, and the reason why only Robin herself even knew how good Sunday was at playing. She had often been apologetic for the fact that she had inadvertently taken up everyone's attention so often. Sunday could never be mad at her for it, not ever.
March studies him, eyes squint. "Mm, an introvert who's just really weak to people saying he's good at something?" she guesses, and is of course right on the money. Sunday grins bashfully, and March brings her hands up in celebration. "That, then. So, what do you say? Can I hear you play?"
Usually, Sunday would say no. He was always too busy for such frivolous matters as the Oak Family Head, and even if someone had ever asked him something like that, he would have been unable to accept. He also usually would have been extremely unnerved by March's simple reading of him as someone easily swayed by praise and positive attention - is he really so obvious? Perhaps he is. Regardless of what he would have done in the past, however, Sunday knows what he wants now. It's fairly simple, he thinks.
"...Alright," he says, because he does want to show off a little. So when March squeals with joy and punches the air, he already feels like he's on top of the world.
Stelle is not on the stairs outside her room like March suspected. She is, however, in the Central Storage Car, perched atop several boxes and listening to someone talk on the other end of her phone. When Sunday and March approach, she raises her eyebrows at them, but doesn't question as they wave and pass by into the next car silently so as not to disturb her.
"Yep, definitely talking about her game," March declares, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Just ridiculous. She became so obsessed with it so fast, I just don't understand!"
Neither does Sunday, mostly. It's difficult to work out what Stelle's thought process is at any given moment.
As they get closer to the end of the train, March lets out an excited giggle, clapping her hands together. "You know, the piano back here has been in that room forever," she tells him, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she walks. "It belonged to Akivili, did Pom-Pom tell you? I've always wanted to see someone play it, I tried getting Dan Heng to learn how ages ago so he could do it but he wasn't interested. He said it wasn't a useful skill. I think that's stupid, how could being able to play awesome music ever be useless!"
Sunday's not sure how to feel about the fact that Dan Heng had said that. Then again, he probably meant it more as not being useful for himself in particular as the Express's Guard and Archivist, he'll try not to take offense.
"I did know it belonged to Akivili," he tells her. "It was rather intimidating to learn that, especially due to the fact that I had to tune the piano myself and worry about the possibility of making a mistake. It worked out, though. You seem really excited to hear it played."
"I am!" March replies, beaming. "You're always so quiet, Sunday, but Himeko told me you guys had some good conversation while you were playing. It must be something you love a lot for it to inspire you to talk so much, right? Hey, maybe this will be a bonding moment for us and we'll become best friends!"
Sunday feels his face grow warm at the suggestion, although he tries to act nonchalant. "Well, I wouldn't mind becoming better acquaintances with you," he says, flashing her a smile. "I will admit I don't know all that much about yourself apart from some of the hobbies you enjoy."
At this, March lights up, stars shining in her eyes. "Oh, I've got so much I could tell you!"
And tell him she does, all the way to the end of the train. Sunday learns a lot of new things about her on the way there; that March is teaching herself to be ambidextrous, that March still enjoys making up stories about what her past could have been like even though she knows at least part of the truth post-Amphoreus, that March's favourite animal is actually guinea pigs (although she's never seen one in real life), that March once spent a good seven hours downloading apps and teaching herself code in an attempt to customize her phone to its fullest potential.
"Doesn't it look so good, too?" she gushes, opening her phone to show him. There's a million widgets on her screen in amongst all the apps, whose icons have been changed into pretty pictures of flowers, animals and foods with their real names underneath in a cutely styled font. When she swipes her notification bar down, Sunday sees a photo of herself and Stelle, laying down in what looks like it must be March's bed amongst bubblegum pillows, both dressed down as if about to sleep and grinning wide at the camera. It's an adorable photo. "I think it's pretty good for the amount of time I spent on it. And I only downloaded two viruses onto my phone that Himeko had to help me get rid of!"
Sunday snorts. Of course that happened. "I suppose it could have been much worse."
"It could have," March says, suddenly deadly serious. "I thought I was going to have to factory reset my phone. I'd lose all my hard work!"
They arrive at the end of the train, which is almost surprising to Sunday - they'd been so deep in conversation he hadn't realized they were at their destination. March gasps softly when the door slides open to reveal the piano, tarp now folded neatly on the floor next to it to unveil it in all its glory. She rushes over to it, examining it, a large grin taking over her face.
"This is so awesome," she whispers, turning to glance at him over her shoulder with a glint in her eyes. "But - what's this mark on it? Did someone do something to it? It wasn't you, Sunday, was it?"
"No, no," Sunday immediately promises, holding his hands up as he saunters across the room to meet her. "According to the Conductor, it was Aha who did this. It sounds impossible, but I suppose if it's true that THEY frequented the Express for a period of time, I'd be willing to believe it..."
"Jeez," March mutters. She runs her hands gently across the explosion mark, fingers dipping into the faint hollow in the wood. "Aha seems to be an Aeon we can't get away from, huh? Especially now that we're here on Planarcadia, it's Aha this, Aha that. I can't believe THEY ruined this nice piano."
"I can," Sunday says grimly. "It seems exactly like something THEY would do. It's not major damage, anyway. It still plays just fine."
He opens the lid, and March grins, eager again to hear him play. Sunday's heart is pumping slightly quicker than usual. It was nerve wracking to play for Himeko, certainly, but March 7th seems like the one who's far more likely to accidentally blurt it out if she thinks his playing sounds terrible. He hopes it'll be fine.
"Do you have any requests?" he asks, the same as he'd asked Himeko before. However, March, unlike her senior, instantly lights up at the question. Sunday had figured she might have had something in mind.
"Have you ever heard of The Shouting?" she questions in return. While Sunday sits on the bench, making himself comfortable with his wings settling around his legs, March searches something up on her phone, opening a familiar green streaming app that Sunday uses to listen to Robin's music pretty much exclusively. "They're a band, and they're, like, kind of overplayed, and I didn't care for them much at first, but Stelle loves them, so she made me listen. They're actually super good. So, um - have you heard of those guys?"
"No," Sunday admits, wings twitching. "I'm not as educated on modern music as you might think, for someone who has a pop star for a sister. Both of us grew up on rather old school artists, courtesy of Gopher Wood."
"Oh, you're one of those kinds of guys," March says, with great disdain in her voice. Then a hand flies her to mouth, self awareness coming back. "Sorry, that probably sounded super rude! It's just - Stelle is always making fun of Dan Heng for liking old music too, he's absolutely obsessed with old piano stuff and he never wants to listen to anything produced within the last fifteen Amber Eras. Stelle calls him performative. She says he probably listens to pop whenever we're not looking."
The very thought that he and Dan Heng share a taste in music makes something stir in his stomach. His face grows warm, which he decides to simply ignore and turn his head away for a moment while March is talking, giving himself a moment to regain his composure.
"I see," he murmurs in response, before looking back again with a smile. "Well, I take no offense. It's not that I don't like other kinds of music. I'm simply more uneducated on them. I adore Robin's music, and I would play anything that she recommended me, but that's essentially all. I'm sorry to disappoint."
"Ah, it's fine," March replies, waving a hand dismissively. "I was just hoping you'd be able to play one of their songs. I've been super obsessed with it, Stelle's been oh-so pleased with herself over it."
She glances back at her phone, lips pinched in a light frown, and before he can even consider his words, Sunday is speaking. "Play it for me," he requests, dropping his hands into his lap. "I'll see what I can do."
March looks at him strangely, head tilted like she doesn't believe he'll be able to do it, but clicks on the song her thumb was hovering over.
A gentle tune fills the room, growing louder as March turns her volume up, and growing in tension as the guitar in the intro builds into a dramatic sting and the singer starts to croon. It does sound like something March would like, the lyrics cheesy and romantic, a female voice longing for a lost love. Behind her, a keyboard drones, and a violin is played in tune with the guitar that has toned down with arrival of the vocals. Sunday listens to it intently, processing every sound, eyes glassily fixed on the hands on his knees. Standing beside the piano, March doesn't move once, a massive feat for her considering that the song is almost a full three minutes long. Towards the end of it, Sunday registers her feet shifting restlessly, and glances up to see a wondrous expression on her face. Her eyes lock onto his with pure anticipation glittering in them.
"Can you actually play the song after just having only heard it once?" she gushes, hands clenched into fists that she shakes excitedly. "You don't even have to look up the notes?"
"I shouldn't," Sunday tells her, biting back a grin at the shriek of delight she lets out. "Don't - don't get your hopes up too high, though, I could always mess up and disappoint you still."
"No, no, I'm certain you'll do amazingly!" March tells him, shaking her head so hard her hair hits her face. "Do you need me to play it again?"
"Hm... I shouldn't need it," Sunday replies, and tentatively sets his hands on the keys, preparing himself.
March holds her breath beside him as he begins to play, mimicking the song he'd just heard as best he can through the piano. The tune picks up quickly, Sunday's memory working in perfect tandem with his fingers as music rises from the instrument under his gentle ministrations. He's not sure how close to the actual song it sounds - it's harder to play a song that doesn't feature any actual piano in it - but judging by the way March gasps, it must at least sound passable.
Gopher Wood had been thrilled to learn that Sunday could play by ear so easily. Less he had to drill into him, probably.
"What - Sunday," he hears March breathe, as he finds a space to slow in the middle of the song, notes lingering in the air. "You're incredible, I didn't know you were so good at this! You only heard the song once and you can already play it this well? Are you sure you'd never heard it before?"
Pride swells up within him, because Sunday is still just so easily susceptible to praise. "I hadn't," he promises, biting the inside of his cheek. It doesn't stop the smile from spreading, much to his chagrin. "It sounds lovely, though. Robin always told me I should expand my musical horizons, but I simply always preferred anything that she wrote, or sang in. Maybe this is a good opportunity to find something new, however."
He does think that March is being too generous with her kind words - he's still somewhat rusty, despite the practice he had with Himeko, and especially at playing by ear. It's pleasant to hear someone tell him he's doing well, though. Sunday had missed that. Gopher Wood's praise was always somewhat disingenuous sounding to Sunday's well-trained ears, and the only occasions on which it sounded like he meant it were after Sunday had just been made to do something unpleasant that he hadn't wanted to in the first place.
Such was the way of his late guardian.
"I'll make you a playlist," March gushes, oblivious to his internal thoughts. Without warning, she slides in to sit beside him on the bench, squirming to get comfortable after only a moment of being sat. "Do you think you could play more if I introduce you to the songs? Memo-Seekers are another band Stelle introduced me to, and they actually have a dedicated piano player, so maybe it'd be even easier to play something of theirs - oh, oh, and Housesitting, I introduced Stelle to her music. Her album Keeping Up is one of my favourites of all time. I actually think you'd like that one, she's kind of like Robin if she wrote more melancholy sounding music. I've thought that for the longest time, really, but if you listen to her music with me then you can be the one to ultimately judge if I'm right or not."
Sunday listens to her rambles with wonder. Shifting in her seat, hands unable to stay still, legs bouncing in such an undignified manner, March is nothing like Robin. She's too chatty and impulsive, too blunt and childish, and yet - despite all of these traits, all of the ways she differs from his mature, soft spoken, sensible sister, the way her face lights up while she discusses the music that brings her joy reminds Sunday of her.
It brings about a gentle ache, one that Sunday has grown long used to by now. He doesn't care to linger on his grief. It only hurts, only causes him more pain, and it won't bring Robin back to his side. Thinking about how much he misses her only makes her feel further away. Despite this, he can't help but linger on the memory of Robin kneeling at the end of his bed late at night when inspiration had struck her so hard she simply had to come see him and break down the meaning of a song she'd just heard, explaining its depth and comparing it to an idea of her own, eyes ablaze with the kind of passion Sunday could only ever pray he could find somewhere else.
"...I'd be happy to listen," Sunday tells her, a smile turning up the corners of his lips. "Do you want to introduce me to more songs for me to play on this for you?"
He gestures towards the piano. March inhales sharply, then grins wide, balling her hands up into fists and bringing them to her chin with glee. March's emotions are always so infectious. He can't help but laugh with her.
"I'd love that more than anything," March replies seriously. "Then, once I've made that playlist for you, I want feedback on every single song and your feelings on them. How's that sound? It better be good!"
"It sounds wonderful," Sunday promises. His heart flutters against his will, and so do his wings, delighted flaps giving him away. "Do you want to tell me your own thoughts while you pick a new song for me to try?"
"Hell yes I do," March replies, and clicks something on her phone with vigor, face flushed. "I've got the perfect one queued up, and I just know you'll love it!"
As it turns out, March has a more diverse music taste than Sunday had initially given her credit for. He doesn't know what he expected her to listen to, but certainly not death metal, rock or electronic hip-hop. She doesn't play all of it with the expectation of him repeating it back on the keys in front of him, but he does as best he can, to March's utter delight. His finger fly across the piano for the next couple of hours, and the two of them discuss music, and March constructs him a playlist that amounts to sixteen whole hours that she demands he listens to as soon as possible and sends an entire dissertation on in her text messages.
"You guys been nerding out?" Stelle asks, when she finds them making sandwiches as a snack in the kitchen together a while afterwards. "Over music, like nerds?"
"If that's what it means to be a nerd, then sure," Sunday replies simply, letting Stelle's teasing roll off his back. He's learning what it means to take a joke from the unserious woman, and every time he does so, Stelle grins at him like he's just passed a test. "March has introduced me to a great many new songs I'd never heard before."
"And Sunday's given me a new appreciation for the piano," March adds, smiling wide at him from the other side of the counter. She clicks the butter tub shut, sliding it over to him for him to put back in the fridge. "It's not even nerdy, Stelle, it's cool. You should join us in the awesome music club, we've just made it up and I think you'd appreciate it."
Sunday's heard nothing of this, but agrees wholeheartedly anyway.
"Pshaw," Stelle scoffs, waving her off. She heads to the fridge and grabs a jug of milk. What for, Sunday doesn't know. He prays she's not about to drink it straight from the jug. "I'm gonna keep enjoying music in my own, actually cool way, but thanks."
"You're not cool," March deadpans, glaring at her. "You dig through trashcans and are still sad about Twig getting deleted. In the big year of 2158, mind you!"
"Ah, Twig," Stelle sighs mournfully, leaning back against the fridge with the jug in hand. "I still watch those compilations when I need cheering up. "What's nine plus ten -" March, finish the line for me, and don't make that face, it's still funny!"
"No," March replies sadly, head dropping down to meet her knuckles on the counter with despair. "It's not."
Not understanding what they're talking about, Sunday asks another question that he hopes he'll be able to follow the answer to. "Who was on the phone, Stelle?"
At this, Stelle startles, standing straight up like she's been electrocuted. "Oh, I fucking forgot!" she yelps, nearly dropping the milk that she'd just started unscrewing the lid of. "Holy shit, March, it was Fu Xuan, because she asked for an update on her Yuu and I sent her the picture of her with Qingque, and she was annoyed as fuck about it so I told her - I told her to ask Qingque in real life what she thought about it and then get back to me!"
"What?" March screeches, her miserable demeanour from before vanished in an instant at this news. "Stelle - holy shit, Stelle, what did she say? Did she say she'd do it? Is this actually gonna finally happen?"
"I don't know, she said she'd ask but I don't know if she actually will!" Stelle yells back. Her face is pink with excitement. "I'm going to text Qingque and ask if Fu Xuan's spoken to her, Fu Xuan will never tell me but I have to know!"
At this, March lets out an unintelligible cry that Sunday can't interpret but Stelle seems to be able to, both women rushing to each other around the counter, milk forgotten as they crowd around Stelle's phone to draft a text for someone Sunday is only vaguely, secondhandedly familiar with.
He takes this as an opportunity to escape unnoticed, knowing he'll hear about however this relationship drama ends later on regardless of whether he understands or cares.
The next day, he finds March in the Party Car, playing Stelle's Switch on her own. She's wearing a white dress with her hair pinned back from her face, slippers on her feet. Dan Heng sits on the couches behind the bar in a dark hoodie, reading. Both of them greet him when he enters. Sunday notices a droop in Dan Heng's gaze that makes him appear more tired than usual. It occupies his brain for a moment, and almost makes him want to go and sit beside him and ask what's wrong, but he doesn't, because he's not insane.
Instead, he goes up to March to see what she's doing, curious and currently aimless with nothing much to do until Himeko wakes, as she'd asked him to accompany her to a store in Dovebrook later in the day.
"Are you doing anything interesting?" he asks, as he sits down beside her.
March hums, shrugging nonchalantly. "Not really. I was playing Digforge, but I get sick of it so easily without someone to co-op with and Dan Heng's being mean and won't play with me."
"I can't play with you," Dan Heng jumps in, and Sunday swivels on the bar chair to see him leaning on his fist and still staring into his book, although his eyebrows are furrowed darkly. "Stelle broke the controller I was using, because she's a menace, and I don't want to use one that I'm not used to."
"So you'll just never play again," March pouts, and turns her gaze to Sunday, faux disappointment on her face. "He's so mean. Isn't he so mean, Sunday?"
He hears Dan Heng make a noise at that, but when Sunday looks at him, he's neatly folding away a look of confusion and reverting back to his usual blank resting face, his book lifted slightly higher as if to be used a shield. Sunday can now read the title of the book - Phantasmoon Game's Winners Traces: The Universe In An Instant. No doubt being read less for entertainment purposes and more for the sake of the data bank.
"...Maybe you should get him a new controller if you want him to play with you, March," Sunday suggests, the thought thankfully coming to mind before too much time passes since March's last words. It takes all his effort not to accidentally say Miss March. He doesn't need to be made fun of any more. "What is Digforge, anyway? Is it similar to Yamagotchi Life?"
"It's really not," Dan Heng pipes up, shaking his head. "It's a game where you dig, and you forge, and that's honestly most of what you do."
"Dan Heng's such a spoilsport," March sings, setting the Switch down. On the screen is the main loading screen for Yamagotchi Life, as if she'd just quit the game despite Sunday seeing her play a moment ago. "Digforge has more than just that. There's, like, enemies to fight, and things you can build, and places you can go see. Dan Heng hates it because we usually play on peaceful mode, so there's no enemies he can protect us from, and he's bad at everything else."
Dan Heng sighs rather than protest, which means it's probably true.
"It's ok," March chirps, eyes glinting as she grins in the Vidyadhara's direction. "It's not your fault you're uncreative."
Sunday frowns, thinking the comment seemed rather uncalled for, but before he can say anything - not that he was going to call her out, he has no idea what's going on between them but it's not his problem to deal with - March pushes the Switch away and smiles brightly with too intense of a gaze.
"Did you listen to any of the playlist I made you?" she asks, nudging him with a sharp elbow. "I added a few Robin songs to it afterwards to incentivize you to. Come on, tell me you found something you liked!"
Sunday did, actually. "I listened to it as I was trying to sleep last night," he says earnestly, folding his hands together in his lap. Key word being trying, because Sunday did not sleep very well. He didn't leave the library, but he could hear the silent shuffling of others meandering about at all hours; it seems he's not the only one who struggles with sleep, judging by the tired look in Dan Heng's eyes and the fact that Himeko hasn't arisen yet at ten am. "You judged my tastes fairly well. I enjoyed it greatly. Of course, the Robin songs were my favourite, I'm sure you can guess."
Thankfully, March laughs at the joke, weak as it was. "Yeah, no duh! I'm super glad you liked it, though, I just knew we were awfully similar, Sunday. Ooh, you know what we could do today - I wanna make you take a personality test with me. I've done it with every other crew member, even Pom-Pom, and it's so fun seeing how close our answers end up being. Dan Heng got assigned a wolf as his spirit animal when we did it, and he was so annoyed because dragon was literally an option. You kept redoing it to try and get dragon afterwards, didn't you, Dan Heng?"
"I did not," Dan Heng answers, and his tone is odd. Too sharp for how he'd usually speak to March 7th. Now Sunday's wondering if they had an argument, which he seriously can't imagine - March is just so sweet, and Dan Heng is so agonizingly kind and patient with her that it doesn't even seem possible. "But you really wanted to get a bunny as your answer and you kept getting a deer. That, I do recall."
"Mhm, did I really?" March sounds surprised at her own lack of recollection, lips curling upwards. "I don't remember, but that sounds like something I'd want! I do feel like my spirit animal would be a bunny, they're so cute and sweet but they're also fast and get underestimated by predators. And we all know nothing can get me if I don't want it to!"
"I believe that," Sunday says with a grin, and March claps her hands, clearly tickled by Sunday's reaffirmation.
"As for you... hm, I think your spirit animal would be something silly," she continues, gaze bearing into Sunday. She looks concentrated, like she's really thinking hard. "Like... like a fish. Do you feel like a fishy person, Sunday? What do you think?"
Behind them, Dan Heng scoffs. Sunday's not sure why - does he really give off the vibes of a fish? Perhaps Dan Heng disagrees. Sunday hopes so. He's not sure how he feels about being assigned such a creature to be whatever a spirit animal is, which March seems convinced is something that he has.
"I don't feel very fishy," he confesses, shaking his head. "Sorry. If this is just about what animal I think I would be, in a world where humanoid entities didn't exist and only the animal kingdom remained, I feel like the answer as to what I would be is somewhat obvious. However, if you have other thoughts, I'd be happy to hear them, although I'm not sure I agree with your first assumption."
March nods as he speaks, lips pursed. "You're right," she says, after a pause. "I think it is obvious. You would be... an elephant. Do you know, they live in fission-fusion societies, with multiple groups of Families coming together, although the males tend to live alone as they get older despite them being social creatures. They're also extremely intelligent, comparable to primates like monkeys. I watched a documentary about this not too long ago with Stelle when we were too wound up to sleep, and it was actually super interesting. You kind of give me elephant vibes, Sunday, wouldn't you agree? I bet that's your spirit animal."
Everything she's just said has thrown Sunday off his groove entirely. He laughs, slightly confused at how seriously March is saying something that makes so little sense and uncertain of how to respond. "Uh..."
"Enough," he hears, and snaps his head around to see Dan Heng getting to his feet. He's slid a silver bookmark in the pages of his book, and is coming about with a determined glare, although it's not fixed on him - he's staring at March, eyes thin. "I was going to allow you to play your little game, to have your fun because you weren't harming anyone, but it seems you can't resist being insulting. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Sunday looks back and forth between the two of them, mind working a mile per minute, although that's clearly still too slow. March just blinks, tipping her head to the side. "Insulting?" she queries, and her tone has changed, too, all of a sudden. "I meant everything I said completely earnestly. Come on, what did you want me to say? A bird, because he's a Halovian? Aeons forbid a girl gets creative."
"Stop that," Dan Heng snaps, and March grins in a way that looks almost wicked, and then everything suddenly slides into place.
"Fine," Evernight drawls, her head turning slowly so her bored eyes can meet Sunday's. "March's answer would have been a bird. I was trying to be more interesting than that, although perhaps elephant was the wrong creature for you... too big and brutish looking, too dirty. Mhm, perhaps a dolphin, or an octopus instead?"
Sunday blinks, breath catching as he tries to decide how to proceed with the conversation now that he knows who he's really talking to. Honestly, the fact that it's not March is a relief - Sunday doesn't know if he could have lived knowing March 7th viewed him as an elephant, spiritually.
"I think a bird is a good answer," he tells her, and Evernight just rolls her eyes, huffing as she crosses her legs and casts her eyes back to Stelle's Switch. The change in her entire demeanour is obvious now that she's not pretending. Slower, smoother, more elegant. Even still, Sunday can't believe he didn't notice.
"Of course you do," she mutters, unimpressed. As if Sunday no longer exists, she looks to Dan Heng, something bright sparkling in her eyes. "What gave me away, apart from my real answer? You seemed rather restless back there, moaning and groaning to yourself with every word I said."
"You're not March," Dan Heng replies simply. Now that Evernight is revealed, he's less bristly, his irritation settled. His arms are still crossed tightly over his chest, but when he catches Sunday's eye for a brief moment, he drops them and sighs. "I'm not going to give you tips on how to pretend to be her better."
Evernight pouts. Even this is different from March's pout - more calculated and mocking. "How mean," she proclaims, grabbing the Switch and swivelling around so her back is to the bar. "One day you might need me to be her, and perhaps then you'll be more grateful for my presence."
"What are you doing here?" Sunday interrupts to ask, finally acknowledging the second elephant in the room. Evernight smiles, and gestures down at the device in her hands.
"Playing a video game," she says, like it's obvious. "March was too tired to come out today, so of course, it's my responsibility to take over. I might as well pass the time in a way that will entertain her."
Dan Heng's dissatisfaction with this becomes obvious as his eyebrows pinch, a frown crossing his face. "What's wrong with March?" he demands, tone more annoyed than Sunday thinks he's heard it before. "Did she give you permission to take over for her, and if she's tired, shouldn't you be letting her body rest?"
Evernight sighs lightly, not even glancing up at him. "I don't need "permission" to take over the body that she and I share. It's mine too. Besides, not all kinds of exhaustion are physical. You should know that, little dragon."
Dan Heng opens his mouth, then closes it again. It seems he doesn't know how to respond to that.
The opening theme for Yamagotchi Life plays as Evernight reopens the game and sits back, a pleased smile sitting on her lips.
"Of course, I have my own goals for being here," she tells them. "I wasn't satisfied with how the character March made for me looked, so I remade her. Don't you think she looks so much more like me now?"
She scrolls through the map and locates her character, who does look very different to how she looked the last time Sunday saw her. March had made her to look identical to herself in most ways, just with longer hair and crimson eyes, but Evernight has shifted everything about herself - slightly thinner eyes, a more mischievous looking smile, a sharper nose, smaller eyebrows, different bangs that don't lay the same way March's do. Even her walk is different, daintier. It's kind of interesting, Sunday thinks, to see how differently she imagines herself. He supposes not many people with March's disorder get the chance to see how their alters actually would look if they had a separate body of their own, so Evernight is special in that regard.
But that's not what he's really focused on right now.
"I was just talking to March last night," he says, neglecting to even comment on the pink-haired Yuu strutting around on screen, walking right past a small girl with red hair and winged shoes trying to get her attention. "She - she seemed well. Are you saying there was something wrong with her that she wasn't telling any of us about?"
He tries to remember if there were any signs whatsoever, and can't think of any. He couldn't possibly have done anything, could he? Almost certainly not - March had been smiling the entire time they were together, and had left smiling too - but still, it's in Sunday's nature to overthink, no matter how ridiculous and dramatic the thought.
At his words, Evernight hums, eyes flitting towards his. Her gaze is somehow more intense than March's despite them looking the same. "It's not whatever you might be thinking," she tells him calmly. "Do you never have bad days, Harmony Pathstrider? Do you never think about the unpleasant things in the world too much for you to bear? My purpose in March's mind is to protect her from the things that might cause her harm or upset, and occasionally, that is herself. You understand, little dragon, don't you?"
Dan Heng's face is stony. Sunday wonders what he's thinking.
Amphoreus, and everything that came with it, was not so long ago. It's been several months, and everyone else in the universe appears to have moved on to more recent, more interesting news, but for those who were trapped there for hundreds of years, wandering alone -
Sunday can't even imagine. He's shocked that March, Dan Heng and Stelle have been normal for as long as they have since their return.
At the silence, Evernight smiles, then holds out Stelle's console to Dan Heng. "Play some games for a while, hm?" she suggests, eyes glittering. "I've grown tired of it anyway, and March will likely want to come back soon enough. You'll watch over her little digital friends, won't you?"
Dan Heng says nothing for a moment, then takes the Switch from her hands and sighs.
"Sure," he mutters, and goes to sit back down on the couch next to the table where his book lies, forgotten.
Sunday would do anything but ask to know what's going on inside his head. Beside him, Evernight sniggers, like she'd expected this.
"It's strange," she says, seemingly to no one in particular as she stares off out the window into the yard beyond. "Being in this form again. I almost miss Amphoreus."
Then she gets to her feet and walks off towards the Parlor Car. No goodbyes, just her sudden absence where it was before. The door slides shut behind her as the sound of her slippers shuffling against the carpet fades.
Sunday is left at the bar, sitting aimlessly and alone.
"Drink?" someone suddenly says, and Sunday jumps before realizing it's Shush. When it had been turned on or how long it'd been lurking, he has no idea. Either way, it's standing expectantly in front of him now, drying a glass that Sunday's fairly certain nobody even used recently and is just being fiddled with to make the robot look busy. "Or would a joke cheer you up?"
"No thank you," he replies politely, and gets up to do - something, although what, he's not sure. Himeko would have texted him if she was awake yet, and she hasn't. The mood has been slightly dampened by Evernight's words. The reminder of what happened to them not so long ago. Sunday doesn't want to think about the horror of what happened on Amphoreus anytime soon, and judging by how quickly Dan Heng had been willing to accept the Switch from Evernight's hands and exit the conversation, he isn't either.
So when Sunday hesitantly walks over and sits gingerly at the edge of the couch beside him, he doesn't ask.
The Nameless of the Astral Express have histories the likes of which Sunday will never be able to fully understand. He will never know the full story of what they went through on that infinity-shaped planet, or their connections to the people who lived there, or what they lost when they left. All he can do is try to be enough that March 7th doesn't feel lonely enough to call upon Evernight, so that Dan Heng never again has to wear the forlorn, grief-stricken expression that he currently has on his face right now. As for Stelle - he doesn't know how Stelle feels. She's been just as jokey and ridiculous as ever since leaving Amphoreus. Sunday doesn't think anything could shake her.
On the screen of the game reflects the last thing Evernight had been looking at. A girl with pink hair smiles cheerfully with multicoloured eyes, dressed in a soft white dress and matching sandals. Dan Heng watches her walk around in such a way that it almost looks like she's gliding, his eyebrows pinched with emotions too powerful for Sunday to comprehend.
"This game is ridiculous," he mutters to himself, but still he doesn't turn it off, and instead switches to watch over a different nearby character, a blonde woman with a guitar case on her back, as she chatters with a smaller girl in a blue beanie about exploring the cosmos.
"Yes," Sunday agrees. "But Stelle likes it."
Dan Heng nods, a sigh escaping his lips. "But Stelle likes it."
There's a long pause.
"...I thought Evernight would only come out if March's life was in danger," Sunday admits, wringing his hands in his lap. "I recall that she told us before that that would be the case. Do you think March doesn't even know that Evernight is doing this? Taking over while she feels under the weather, that is?"
"It's possible," Dan Heng replies. He sounds tired, eyes fluttering shut. "If she doesn't, I'll make sure to let her know. I imagine that Evernight wouldn't have revealed herself to us if it weren't for the fact that she believes it's what best for March. What March told us about her was true at the time, but it could be possible she's changed her strategy."
Sunday hadn't thought of that. "Hm," he says, watching Shush jolt around behind the bar. "So you believe she was intentionally trying to have you call her out? Why?"
Dan Heng's gaze follows Sunday's. Together, they stare at the robot as it moves dishes back and forth aimlessly, telling jokes to itself, draining power for seemingly not much of a reason at all.
"It couldn't be easy," he says, "to be that powerful and have to ask for help from someone who knows better than you what to do."
...Sunday doesn't know what to say to that.
As if to shift the mood, the character on Dan Heng's screen suddenly yelps. Both of them look down at her, startled. It seems like she's just stumbled and fallen on the path, and the small girl with the beanie that she was with has wandered off without assisting, leaving the woman lying on the ground and kicking her feet, crying out for help.
Dan Heng groans and drags the beanie girl back to help pick her up and restore normality.
"Like I said," he tells Sunday, peering over at him through his eyelashes with a weary expression. "Ridiculous."
On screen, the character - Serval, it says - offers a thumbs up towards the screen. Thanks, Galactic Trash King! she says, grinning wide.
"Ridiculous," Sunday agrees, and watches Dan Heng's fingers move on the triggers, mind wandering away from the present and back towards March, his brain not catching up to the fact that he's staring until it's far too late to be beyond saving.
"I figured you'd probably be here at some point," March tells him, offering a bright smile. She opens her door fully, allowing Sunday room to get by. "Come on in, sit anywhere that there's not a plushie."
As it turns out, there aren't very many options for that. March's room is extraordinarily pink and infested with toys, bears and cats and bunnies and mice of varying levels of fluffy scattered across every surface, but especially her bed. Posters line the wall, trinkets on shelves sitting proudly. Photos she's taken display on a monitor on her wall - one of her and Dan Heng wearing matching caps, another of Dan Heng asleep sitting up on a couch in the Parlor Car, one of Mr. Yang and Himeko laughing while they eat, taken from behind. As he watches, the photos change to others from her gallery. Suddenly Stelle is grinning obnoxiously in front of a large, snowy tower, and March herself is posing besides a woman that Sunday recognizes as Director Topaz of the Ten Stonehearts, who's clutching a Warp Trotter in her arms. She's smiling too.
Sunday's so captivated by March's photos that he almost forgets her request. He finds a spot on a blue office chair that sits in front of her computer, sitting gingerly like he could get told off for it somehow. On her desk sits a printer and several trays of photographs. Sunday's surprised to see himself in one of them - he's sitting next to Stelle and holding cards in his hands, laughter frozen on both of their faces. It's strange seeing himself like that. He looks happy.
"Dan Heng's already come by to make sure I'm ok," March says suddenly, and Sunday jumps at the reminder of the fact that he has company - and in fact, is the company, as this is March's room. The woman is perched on the edge of her bed, clutching a brown teddy bear in her arms. She's changed clothes since earlier, too, into lacy fuchsia pajama shorts and a torn tank top that Sunday's definitely seen Stelle wear before. "He told me about what happened. I really had no idea."
"It's not so much that anything happened," Sunday returns, folding his hands together in his lap. The urge to yank his feathers or bite his cuticles has been especially strong today, although watching Dan Heng play on Stelle's Switch and shopping for new clothes for Himeko when she'd eventually awoken had kept him plenty distracted. "It was just... odd, I suppose. I hadn't imagined that we'd see Evernight around again unless it was a life or death situation."
"Mhm, yeah," March hums in reply, eyes dropping to the floor where her painted toes curl into the downy carpet. "I mean... I knew she's been around. I can feel her in my head sometimes. It's weird alright... it makes me feel like I'm sleeping. Sometimes I zone back in from what I thought was a daydream and find I've done something I don't remember. It must be her. Unless there are more people in this head of mine that I don't know about, which I do think is possible. Stelle and I talked about it before, she thinks there's at least one other who takes over for me sometimes."
"Oh, is that so?" Sunday says, somewhat surprised. This is straying somewhat off the topic he wanted to discuss when he came in here, but he would never say no to learning more about the Nameless he lives amongst now. "Do you know their name, or what they... do?"
March shakes her head. "No, not really. I just know that sometimes my memory gets foggy, and Stelle or Dan Heng tell me when I ask that I was acting kind of obnoxious. Well, Dan Heng doesn't say that - he's way too nice to phrase it in that way, but Stelle tells me things how they are. Apparently, sometimes I'm just really giggly and act kind of silly or immature, which, yes, sounds like how I usually act. I'm self aware enough to know that. But still - the fact that I don't remember afterwards makes me think it must be someone else."
She giggles, a slightly nervous edge to it as she clutches the bear tighter. "It's a little unnerving, not knowing what's going on in my own head... I think I can trust whoever's in there, though. Including Evernight."
"That's good," Sunday says, nodding. "I do hope you manage to figure that out, too."
In truth, DID is somewhat confusing to try and understand, but he's certain that the same goes for his OCD with everyone else, so he's done his best to learn on his own. The Data Bank held information on it that Sunday's fairly certain must have been inputted by Dan Heng directly from March's own experiences, but it was useful. Sunday feels somewhat guilty about having this thought, but he can't help but be kind of grateful for the fact that he's not the only one on the Express with a unique mental disorder that affects his everyday life. He thinks if he was the only one, he'd be far more anxious about hiding himself away when his stranger symptoms revealed themselves, but March is so open about it that it's honestly reassuring.
March stares at him for a brief moment, eyes unfocused and a hum in her throat, before she locks eyes with him again and tips her head. "I guess you didn't come here to talk about Evernight though, huh..."
"No," Sunday admits. Again, his hands twist together, the urge to pull feathers out waxing and waning. "I was worried about you, Miss March - ah, March. Evernight made it sound like... you might need someone to help you, and I know I'm not a Nameless or even really anything more than an ally of yours, but still, I thought maybe I would be able to... offer some kind of assistance, if you were struggling."
He cringes at his own words, both embarrassed by their sincerity and ashamed of how superficial they sound. He truly means it, and his heart is racing as he speaks for no real reason in particular other than that March might reject him. He'd be fine if she did - after all, it's her decision to make as to whether she wants him to be around her for longer than he already is - but still, it would be even more awkward.
However, at his words, March is starting to light up, a grin crossing her face. "Aww," she coos, squeezing her bear and giggling. "Sunday's concerned about lil' ol' me. That's sweet. You're such a good guy, Sunday, but sometimes you're so hard to read that I worry you hate me!"
Sunday would heavily disagree on him being a good guy, but that's absolutely not what he's going to disagree on in that sentence. "I don't hate you at all, March," he rushes to say, surprised she even thinks such a thing. "I apologize if I've done anything that's made you think that way. I'm more used to... concealing how I actually feel about things and wearing a poker face than I am to revealing my thoughts to others. It's a habit I perhaps need to work on breaking."
The very thought is terrifying. Sunday's whole life had been worked around Gopher Wood and all of his rules, his divine laws, and even though he's long dead now, the idea of dismissing all his teachings feels wrong despite how harmful they were to Sunday. He's trying his hardest not to allow Mr. Wood's ghost to keep haunting him, but it's not easy. When he's struggling with keeping things neat and orderly, all he wants to do is beg for Mr. Wood to return to him and fix his broken brain by whatever means necessary, and that kind of sick weakness will be hard for Sunday to stomp out.
At his words, March 7th giggles. "You're fine, Sunday, I know you don't really hate me," she says, waving off his concerns with a soft bear paw. Then she sobers slightly, her tone darkening. "As for how I am, I - I don't really know. How ok can someone really be after Amphoreus?"
Good question. Sunday wouldn't know - he wasn't there. Yet, he knows exactly what she's talking about.
"You know," he starts, pondering his words carefully so that he doesn't say something untoward. "If you're still struggling, March... I wasn't Bronze Melodia for nothing. I would be more than happy to listen to your troubles, and while you may less appreciate the part where I'm supposed to guide or forgive you, I can still do everything else. I've been told I'm a good listener, which I do hope is the truth. It was part of my job, after all."
March blinks, then giggles again, quieter this time. "Still Bronze Melodia even outside of the Dreamscape... well, thank you, Sunday, I really appreciate that you'd be willing to help me like that. Both you and Dan Heng, although he's so much more awkward about emotional things like this, he has no idea how to articulate what he wants to say some of the time." Her breath catches, smile wavering. "I can understand it. I mean, even I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not on Amphoreus anymore. Why do I still feel like this?"
Sunday takes a deep breath, watching as March brings a finger to her mouth to nibble on, the bear's plastic eyes bulging from how tightly she's squeezing its chest. If Sunday was ever good at anything besides piano, he was good at being Bronze Melodia. Sunday was perfect for a role where he had to say a lot of perfectly strung together words that were mostly meaningless despite how hard he tried to make them the opposite, just enough to reassure but not enough to actually fix anything. Day by day, the suffering of his people drowned him, and day by day, he could offer nothing but meaningless comfort. He is not Bronze Melodia anymore. March is a companion of his, sitting right in front of him in her pajamas under the rosy fairy lights. Not hidden behind the private wall of a confessional. Sunday can make changes here that he never could in the Dreamscape, under the ever-watchful eyes of Gopher Wood.
"You spent a lot of time down there," he tells her. Subconsciously, he's slipping back into that old persona, that old mask of perfection he used to wear, and he has to shake it off. "No one would have been able to do what you did and leave without some sort of scarring. It's more than understandable, March, that you'd be left feeling afraid. I'd be honestly more concerned if you really were perfectly fine."
That's true, it is, so why had it taken Sunday so long to ask March how she was faring after the years of torment spent alone on that unfamiliar planet? Maybe because, it seems, March is just as good at hiding behind a mask as he is. It makes his chest tighten, wondering if she'd been sad the other day when he'd played piano for her and she'd created that playlist for him and lovingly named it Sunday's tunes, with a string of dove emojis after it. He is supposed to be so attuned to this kind of thing.
Before him, March takes a shuddering breath, clearly trying to laugh off how nervous she is. "It feels like - like Dan Heng and Stelle aren't even fazed by it," she confesses, voice growing ever softer. "When Dan Heng came by earlier, he asked me how I was, and he brought me a drink and a snack, and he talked to me about an update that came out about this internet drama I was super invested in to distract me, and it was nice, but - but I wish someone else felt the way I did. It's so cruel to want that, but I do! I hate being alone in this, and feeling like neither of them understand even though they went through the same thing I did! I mean, I... I don't want them to be hurting. Not that I'm hurting, I - I mean - sometimes I forget where I am, and it's scary, and I woke up this morning like that and I didn't even know what to do. Without Evernight, I don't even know what I would have done. Stayed in bed all day, probably, like a miserable puddle of pink and blue cute girl."
She laughs again, just as shaky and wet as it was before. Sunday stays silent. The part where they start to get into the depths of what their problem is is the part where he's supposed to stay silent.
March sniffles, then exhales through her nose. "I mean, I'm fine, basically. I'm not crying all the time, I'm not always thinking about it, it didn't destroy me - I wasn't even hurt on Amphoreus, not at all. I can cope with everything most of the time. I just wish... that someone understood a little better. Every time I bring up what happened to Stelle, she sort of... shuts it down. Brushes it off, or changes the subject. I don't know if she's just being awkward about it because it'd involve having to talk about her feelings, which she hates, but I just have the worry... that I'm the only one who still feels..."
She trails off, then lifts her gaze to meet Sunday's. Her eyes are shimmering, a helpless look on her face.
"Like I'm there," she finishes softly. "Like I never left, like I'm still alone."
Now is Sunday's time to say something. He knows this well, and yet - and yet, after hearing this, it's a struggle to know what to say next. So many pleas from so many suffering people, and after all this time, Sunday still feels that pain hot in his chest like he used to, the sting of empathy and hollow ache of uselessness combined into a symphony that ordinarily turns perfectly into apathy.
Today, unlike all those other days, Sunday rises to his feet. He strides over to March's bed, where she's sniffling against her bear's head, small and helpless looking, and hesitates for only a moment before he sits down beside her on the bed and reaches out to pull her into a gentle hug.
It's awkward, for a brief moment. Then March melts into it, her strawberry-scented hair tickling Sunday's chin as she drops her head against his shoulder, shuddering as Sunday holds her against him. Sunday had worried that she wouldn't be ok with it, that she would have found it weird and pushed him away, but thankfully, she allows it. She seems to appreciate it, even, lifting her own arms to tug him closer, holding him tight in a soft hug.
It's been a long time since anyone's hugged Sunday. Despite the fact that he initiated this, he suddenly feels too warm, a feeling stirring in his heart that reminds him undeniably of being with Robin. He can't stop his wings from fluttering, a knee-jerk reaction that draws a genuine giggle from March as his feathers accidentally smack against the side of her face.
"That tickles," she laughs, but doesn't move to push him away. "Your wings are so soft, Sunday..."
"Sorry," he apologizes, and tries to move his head out of the way, but she doesn't allow him. She only snuggles closer to him, seemingly not minding his wings being in the way. He's absolutely mortified for a moment at how he's unable to keep them still, his relief at being held so gently made obvious through them, but it's also possible that March doesn't understand the language of Halovian wings, so maybe it's not even a problem. He allows himself to relax, hesitantly letting his gloves hands fall to her back and run along it gently. "...Sorry."
"Don't apologize," March mumbles against his shoulder. His shirt remains dry, which is also a huge relief, as Sunday had been concerned about the possibility of her crying against him. However, it seems he's done something or other to cheer her up. "Thank you for listening to me, Mr. Bronze Melodia..."
"Don't - don't actually call me that, please," Sunday laughs nervously, and March seems to pick up instantly that he means this and changes tactics.
"Ok, fine," she relents. He can hear a smile in her voice. "Thank you, Sunny."
"Not you too," he groans, and has to bite back a smile at the way she laughs. Thank goodness, he'd been able to calm her down. Thank goodness, he's not completely and entirely useless.
He tightens his hold on her just slightly now that he's confident she won't push him away for it. "You know you aren't alone, at any point," he promises her. "You're surrounded by people who love you dearly, and who will never allow you to be alone again."
With her face buried in his shoulder, all he can do is stare out into her room. Watch the photos on her walls change, take in one of Stelle kissing March on the cheek in what was clearly a selfie gone adorably wrong, another of Dan Heng and Mr. Yang making dinner with identical smiles that look so foreign on the former's face, another of Himeko posing in front of some sort of stadium crowded with people, hands folded and smile relaxed, love in her eyes for the person behind the camera. March 7th's room is full to bursting with love. It's evident in every corner. In the hundreds of photographs, in the mismatching plushies, in Stelle's clothes on the floor and one of Dan Heng's books forgotten on her bedside table. Sunday has never been in a room like March's before. It feels like the exact opposite of his cold, empty childhood room, the one he'd spent so little time in and, when he was there, it was full of misery, leaving him tossing and turning and believing he was cursed and repulsive for the intrusive thoughts he didn't have a name for and didn't know how to control.
He'd never wish his childhood woes on anybody, not even someone he hated with all his heart. Much less March, dear March 7th, bright and sweet and loving. The thought of her feeling anything like how Sunday had used to makes his stomach roil.
"I know," March replies, barely louder than a whisper, but still sounding warm. She brushes against his wing with her fingertips, causing him to shiver again and send them aflutter, which seems to amuse her so. "You're a really good guy, Sunday, you know that?"
"I don't think so," he admits, letting out a breathy laugh. "But I - I truly do appreciate you thinking so, more than you know."
That he does. The inner child in Sunday relaxes, just a little, feeling slightly less evil and monstrous.
Suddenly, March sits up. She looks him dead in the eyes, her own dry now and completely serious, like she's just thought of something. "Sunday," she says. "You know you're not alone either? And you know you can come to us if you need anything, too? Because you're one of us now. You're part of our family, basically officially."
Sunday blinks, so thrown the air is stolen from his lungs. He hadn't expected this to be turned around on him so quickly.
"That's..." he starts, and then cuts himself off, because it's clear from the determined look in March's eyes that she's not going to take any arguments whatsoever. "That's kind of you, March. I'm grateful for the reminder."
He doesn't entirely believe it, not at all. But it's hard to doubt March. She could probably persuade someone who was drowning to buy water from her, just with her brilliant smile and confident pitch alone.
March brightens, then finally, pulls away. Sunday mourns the loss for a brief moment before he remembers that this is about her, not him, and lets her shift to get comfortable again. She lets out a soft, shaky breath, probably exhausted from a day of so much upset and confusion - Sunday can't imagine what it would be like to go to sleep in a terrible mood and wake up again only to find that someone had been living in his body throughout the day, doing his daily chores so he wouldn't have to, rallying companions to his side and keeping him from being alone at the end of the day.
"I do feel better now," she murmurs, and her lips twitch. "Maybe later, I'll - talk to Dan Heng again, and see if he's willing to say anything new about Amphoreus. I missed him a lot in the time I was alone. I think it'd be good for me to at least try and... open up, I guess."
"Of course," Sunday agrees, shoulders slumping as his work is done. His wings finally still against his face. "I'm glad to have been able to help you, somehow."
March grins, and then clasps her hands in front of her, heterochromatic eyes glittering. "So now that I'm me again, and I'm in a better mood," she starts, suggestion in her tone. "Would you be up to playing me piano again? It was so calming last time, and besides, I absolutely have to hear some of your new favourites from my playlist on it!"
Warmth floods him, and before he knows it, he's nodding his head in agreement. "I'd be more than happy to," he tells her, to her great delight as she claps her hands and leaps to her feet. It was so calming last time. Sunday, calming. March, ever restless March, finding him calming. In these times of trouble, it means more to him than anything. "You want to do that now?"
"You're not planning to sleep yet, are you?" March asks, in such a way that suggests she knows he's not. She slides a pair of slippers on, leaving the bear plush sat nicely against her multitudes of pillows. "Come on, it'll relax me. Besides, I don't wanna think about anything else right now. It's been too chaotic of a day for that for me, and you've got such a soothing presence, Sunday, it'll be sure to make me feel ten times better!"
The praise goes instantly to his head, as it always does. "Anything for the wonderful March 7th," he proclaims, and his heart sings when she laughs and drags him to the door, the success of the evening and the idea that she'd loved hearing him engage in his favourite hobby so much that she was interested in joining him to play yet again filling him with enough pride for him to almost feel like his old self again.