Chapter Text
"Brother," she'd hum in that same gentle voice, smoothing out the wrinkles present in the satin fabric of her dress before rapping her knuckles against his door thrice. Robin's voice floated through the air, waiting for a reply from her sibling on the other side. She waited several beats, giving him ample period to reply should he choose to do so before she continued her earlier sentence.
"It's been some time since you left your room. All the people of Penacony are starting to worry for your health, and that sentiment has begun to be shared amongst the heads. I understand your request for privacy given... recent events, but it would certainly be within your best interests to make some sort of public appearance. If not for yourself, then at least to soothe the public and ensure them that all is right within The Family."
She waits for a few more seconds, hands clasped together as if pleading with him, the only noise present being her own heartbeat in her ears. This is a desperate attempt on her end, one that she isn't certain will even work, but if anyone could get him to just speak, it would be her.
Her words are muffled in part to the door separating them and the two pillows he's surrounded his ears in, yet they still register in his mind, echoing over and over again.
A metallic sound resonates in his ears, ringing louder with each passing second he spends on his lonesome. His fingers dig into the pillow, as if he can somehow squeeze his frustrations into the cloth. The interior of his mouth is remarkably dry and each breath drawn is shallow, as if it’ll be his last.
He knows it won’t be. He won’t draw his last breath today, tomorrow, or ever, and every night when he lies down to rest he knows that it is temporary. He curls into himself, burrowing deeper into the unkempt sheets of the mattress as millions of voices continue to whisper to him, taunting him or lamenting his actions.
Why do such a thing? Why be so selfish?
He doesn’t care. He never did! If he did, he wouldn’t have been so reckless.
Putting the lives of millions in danger, have you no sense? This young man is supposed to be a head, no less.
He starts to grind his teeth as the voices intensify, drowning out all other noises present. Another knock, louder this time.
"Brother? Are you there?"
He pulls his head from the pillow, and he feels as if he’s suffocating. He backs up against the headboard of his bed, trying to still his breathing.
Her voice persists. Brother. Brother. Brother. Sunday.
It all falls into silence once more, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He clutches at his chest and he feels as if he might die for what feels like the hundredth time this week.
"…. At least consider my words. I’ll be entertaining the Astral Express if you’d like to stop by and maybe exchange a word or two."
When he had finally calmed down, her footsteps had long faded away, leaving him stewing in his own silence for what felt like hours but was really only minutes.
"Robin…" he croaked out, before rubbing his forehead in agitation. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, his body trembling slightly. A strangled sort of sigh slips from his lips as he finally rises from bed, the bed squeaking in relief at his decision to finally get out. Feet slowly sliding across the floor, he makes his way to the bathroom and flicks on the lights. He squints at the sudden brightness, his pupils constricting as they adjust to the fluorescent fixtures.
His appearance, his existence, equally dreadful in their shared rights. His skin was a touch more pallid, washed out by the lights or naturally due to his own isolation, he couldn't tell.
A feather plucked from the wings on his head lands in the bowl of the sink. Then another. Several more until he is satisfied with his appearance, and even then he frowns.
He peels his gloves off, then his vest and undershirt, the rest of his clothes falling into a heap on the floor. A single hand grasps the rightmost knob, twisting it just a smidge under what would otherwise be a perfect right angle. He steps onto the smooth stone flooring inside of the shower, closing his eyes and looking downwards as the hot water envelops his body.
He’s aware that he hasn’t been taking the best care of himself as of late. That he’s inconsistent in that aspect, failing to uphold this long standing penance hes sworn to since childhood. His attentions shifted long ago to something more important.
That night burns a hole in his memory, replaying on the insides of his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes or was well past the point of reasonable exhaustion to finally 'sleep'.
The moment he felt everything shift and become irreversible.
He was to ascend to the heavens, become the scorching sun. Harmony and Order had coalesced into one, THEIR voices speaking to him.
Rise. Rise. Rise. Open your eyes. See color, see life, see the sky.
His own memories slipped from his lips, gentle murmurs contained inside the metal cocoon.
We’ll sing together, step onto the same stage..
His weary eyes opened and acknowledged the long night before him, the will of many standing before him.
Once again, he saw color.
Once again, he saw life.
Once again, he felt strength and saw the strife in the world and the endless possibilities slipped between his fingers, forming into paths. This perception was overwhelming to his senses, and he felt terrified.
Stifling heat suffocated him, and his heart felt as if it had stopped beating.
Ena… Hear my cries. Speak to me.
Whisper after whisper floods his hearing, drowning out his progressively incoherent mumbling.
{I can understand everything present. I can hear their woes, their anger, their resolve.}
{I can’t feel anything at all. I can’t see myself, cant explain this fluctuation.}
{Feelings…I know they experience them. There is so much to them, a sort of balanced chaos within each body.}
{I am grounded, I am in THEIR dream. But ‘I’ should not be here.}
He raised both hands and the shell mirrored him, golden tears streaking its mechanical face. A bell chimed and he reached for the sky, index finger extended to meet THEIRS.
That single light descended from the heavens then, a lone pinion. Caught and held close, it held the collected harmony of all inhabitants of the planet of festivities.
The Astral Express seized the opportunity and after a tough struggle, they emerged victorious. He had failed.
The stage beneath him crumbled, and he went with it.
Dying like this is undignified. But I… I’m undeserving of a dignified death.
His vision had faded, darkness creeping in at the corners of his eyes.
Sunday. It’s a magnificent name, isn’t it? A day of rest and worship, a day where all creation revels in the blessings provided by the Lord.
It’s a good name. It holds a lot of weight.
Then you shall bear this weight. Grow into the name, become their salvation. You’ll keep going, for the sake of humanity.
It was only when he felt a pair of arms around his body that his eyes snapped open.
'The dream is over.'
He stiffened at her embrace, his eyes slowly softening as they fell together. As much as he wanted to embrace her back, he found himself unable to move.
Light catches in his eyes and he squints, gazing at the sky.
I am the scorching sun, and if nothing else, I will die an honest death.
He was the first to wake up. Amidst everything, he recognized her still slumbering form nearby. He paused, waiting for a breath from her, then five more. After a while, he had forced himself up and shuffled off in the opposite direction, eager to leave before he could be seen.
He remembers how when he finally had a moment of clarity, he could feel something new coursing through him. It wasn’t the drink in his hand, but rather something more potent. A new strand of vitality, unbreakable by conventional means.
The glass in his hand had slipped and broken on the floor, and when he moved to pick up the shards a jagged piece had so quickly sliced through his finger.
He huffed in disappointment at his clumsiness, ready to bandage the wound before it got worse.
To his surprise, it had healed over faster than he could tend to it, as if the wound itself never existed.
And the first seed was planted, the one that made him question his own humanity.
Conclusion: He’s different, somehow.
The water cascades down his body, patches of his skin tinted red from the heat. He stands underneath the stream, the water soaking into his scalp as he carefully massages shampoo into each root. He massages carefully, though that doesn’t stop the dismay from taking place on his face as he pulls out clump after clump of knotted hair.
A natural consequence of his inaction, yet he couldn’t help himself from groaning at the sight. The last traces of shampoo are thoroughly scoured from his hair, the soapy residue sliding into the drain between his feet.
He turns the water off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. Little droplets kiss his body, worshipping every inch of his tender flesh as they move lower, stopped only by the warm fabric hugging his body.
Moving to the sink, he grasps his toothbrush and squeezes a droplet of toothpaste onto the bristles, quickly dousing the brush before he puts it in his mouth.
His head is quiet now, empty except for a muffled static. There’s nothing to distract or occupy his mind in the current moment. Not even when he moves to the wardrobe to select an outfit does he stop to think if he should perhaps go with a tie or an ascot or a simpler piece that wouldn’t take much time to assemble.
Change. While he welcomes it, would they? He has an image to uphold, an untouchable cleanliness and chastity that needs to present now more than ever. A gentle breath that he’d been holding in exits through his nostrils as he secures the blue brooch to his lapel, arranging the cape around his shoulders.
He exits his room for the first time in a few days, straightening his posture almost immediately. Even the slightest misstep could be the start of a nasty slew of rumors. He doesn’t want to subject her to that.
"Where did you even get that? It looks a bit…"
March 7th winced, squinting at the object her grey-haired friend was holding. In their hands was a figurine meant to resemble their image, seated atop a trashcan with a baseball bat in their hand.
"It certainly matches their energy. Truly, I can’t imagine a more accurate depiction of their likeliness."
Dan Heng added, poking at the grey plastic that made up the figurines hair. March pouted, placing her hands on her hips.
"Why don’t the rest of us have figures anyways? We’re just as important as them."
"Do you really want something like that floating around representing you?"
"Hmm.. Maybe you’re right. A face this cute can’t be properly captured. The real deal is way better!"
"March is right. You’d miss out on all her funny antics if you just had the figure." The trailblazer adds, going back to observing their own merchandise.
"Antics are your deal, not mine! If I had to recount every single time…"
Dan Heng sighs as the two begin to go back and forth, electing to turn his attention to you for the time being. He crosses his arms, gazing fondly upon your relaxed smile.
"You’re in rather high spirits. What’s the secret?"
"No secrets here. We just saved the planet and we’ve been invited back to Penacony to commemorate our achievements? I’d say that’s as good a reason as any to be in a good mood."
"Not to mention Miss Robin will be here to thank us personally! Can you believe a Halovian superstar will be here just for us?" March gushes, her face turning a soft pink at the mention of the singer.
"She’s really going to make an appearance? I thought she’d want to lay low for a while given that whole Charmony Festival disaster.."
"The Family is pretty unconventional in their modus operandi, but like Mr. Yang mentioned now is not the time for them to go into hiding. They’re shouldering the burden of fixing things both physically and relations wise. Sending out an extension of the Harmony is likely the first of many olive branches."
"I guess that makes sense. Out of all the people in the Family though, wouldn’t it make more sense to send out a head rather than some cosmic superstar? That’d be like if we sent you out to apologize for all the atrocities on the Luofu."
Dan Heng crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes.
"Those situations are hardly comparable."
"You get the picture. What I’m trying to say is that this is just very disorganized. But it’s certainly appreciated."
You raise your glass of Pika white grape soda, toasting with your crewmates as a brilliant display of fireworks lights up the sky.
"Welcome, Astral Express members. It’s a pleasure to see you again on our humble little planet."
Humble isn’t exactly the word you’d use to describe Penacony, but you understand she’s trying to downplay just how grand the planet is in order to uplift her guests. You smile and nod, bringing the glass in your hands to your lips as your companions continue conversing with Robin. While they’re engrossed by her presence, you take the time to slip off, exploring the interior of the Radiant Feldspar.
Your aimless wandering takes you to the lounge in the middle of the ship, and from there you take a moment to admire the decor choices. Not much adorns the walls aside from empty frames, and potted plants are placed every few meters, pressed up against the walls. You continue on without rhyme or reason until you come across a door.
No ones paying any attention to you, and if they didn’t want anyone accessing the room, certainly they would’ve had someone guarding it. Another glance around the room, then you gently push on the door, entering when you’re one million percent sure that you’ll go unnoticed should you be sneaking into a restricted area.
His on and off headache has only slightly bothered him since he boarded the ship. He’s chosen to push it back and ignore it; he doesn’t need to be the center of attention tonight nor does he desire any more pity be placed on his character than necessary. All is well, for the most part with guests relegated to different sectors, the vast majority present on the deck near Aft Pool; after all, his sister is the highlight of tonight and he doesn’t wish to take her spotlight away. There are still a few stragglers in the corridors, giving him dirty looks or averting their eyes and snuggling into crooks out of earshot to whisper tasteless rumors. He pays them no mind. He’s here to make an appearance, say a few rehearsed sentences to ease his public perception before bowing out of the limelight once more. The less people see of him, the better.
He steps out of the elevator, gazing at the interior of the midship. It’s a visual marvel, and likely a hefty financial burden as well. Though, Old Oti likely has no issue throwing money towards the behemoth to ensure it continues running. At this point, it may as well be considered one of the Great Wonders of Penacony and to have it suddenly be out of commission would be far more damaging. His gaze first lands on the long table in the middle and the many delicacies that decorate it— Oak Cake Rolls, an assortment of mixed sweets, Clockie Pizza, and Floatdisc Burgers just to name a few.
Food in the dream has long since lost its appeal to him. He can’t help but wonder if that same view is held true by the inhabitants now that the climate has shifted and dreams have been viewed with more scrutiny. It’s entirely his fault, that much he’s aware of, the guilt unshaken all these weeks later.
Still, he picks up a cake roll, taking a few tiny bites out of it to keep occupied. He’s about to head back to the deck when he feels something change; amidst the calm and agitation on this level of the Feldspar, something skittish surfaces. His eyes dart to the corner as something moves nearby; one of the rooms has someone inside. To be expected; amidst festivities business does not cease. He can imagine some member of the Family promoting another project, their nerves on edge. A gentle smile on his face, he decides to pop in and make a visit.
"Apologies for my abrupt entrance—" he begins, only to stop when his gaze comes to rest on you of all people. His wings fluff up, his face turning a soft red from embarrassment. On instinct, his wings cover his cheeks, and he takes a few steps back.
"Sunday…" you mutter, instinctively going to reach for a weapon that isn’t there. He quickly raises his hands in defense, the wings on his head returning to their resting position.
"I mean no harm, please. I’ve made an honest mistake."
"So I’ve heard. Shouldn’t you be in prison somewhere? Last I checked holding people’s minds hostage isnt some silly mistake that’s easily forgiven."
He chuckles awkwardly at this, shrugging slightly. "The Family is benevolent enough to have granted me a second chance. I’d be a fool to not utilize it."
"If you plan on pulling a stunt like that again, we’ll stop you just as quickly."
"Do you really think so lowly of me? That I’d interrupt your merrymaking to force you into action? That I’d stop you from…."
His shoe taps against the flooring, sending confetti flakes scattering across the floor and into the air. He pauses for a second longer and looks at the balloons hovering in the air, the vibrant building blocks stacked only a few feet high.
"…Actually, what are you doing here? Forgive my curiosity but it isn’t every day that I get to hold a one on one conversation with a Nameless. Shouldn’t you be on the top deck with your friends?"
He watches as your lips curl into a frown, one hand coming to rest on your hip. The nervous air he had sensed earlier has now shifted to a more negative feeling; distrust laced with subtle animosity. To be expected of course, he is the same man that tried his very best to imprison you in a dream, you have every right to be on your guard.
"I have no obligation to share that information with you. Who’s to say you won’t twist my words around?"
Sunday doesn’t say anything more, his gaze traveling up and down your body. You’ve since relaxed your posture, most hostility having dissipated the longer he remains in your presence. The corners of his mouth slip into that ever-charismatic smile, and his lips part ever so slightly, the seeds of a chuckle slipping from his lips.
"As implied by my earlier statements, I have no intention on causing any further strife. My appearance tonight is for—"
"Brother!"
He stops speaking, his expression faltering from that usual coolness for a moment. He smoothly returns to his usual posture and greets his new guests.
"Robin… And the Astral Express Crew. Welcome aboard, it is the Family’s honor to welcome you aboard the Radiant Feldspar."
Their grey haired friend shakes their head, crossing their arms.
"Not anymore. It’s the Astral Express’s greatest honor to welcome you aboard The Talalov."
"…We’re still workshopping the name." Dan Heng sighs, shaking his head. March nods her head in agreement staring daggers at the trailblazer.
"Good. There’s no way I was going to call it that…"
He watches as you ease up in their presence, a slight hum leaving him.
"This is a new development. You mean to say this airship no longer belongs to Old Oti?"
Robin nods, gesturing to the crew. "As a gift for their heroic actions, this ship now belongs to the Express. I’ve just finished up the commemoration ceremony for it."
"Ah, I missed it. I meant to be on the upper deck earlier but I ran into them, struck up a conversation and must’ve lost track of time."
He gestures to you, and you nod your head.
"In any case, we’re all here now. Why don’t we head back up there and enjoy the rest of our night?"
The group begin to depart, leaving him behind. Robin turns and looks at her brother quizzically, confused as to why he’s remained there.
"Sunday?"
"I’ll join you all in a bit. I just need a moment."
She stands still for a moment longer, before sighing and replying.
"Thank you for coming out tonight. It means more than you know."
The Express Crew has long since departed, and he no longer has any reason to be here. Gloved fingers on one hand tap against the counter of the bar, the other wrapped around the stem of a glass. He takes a sip before setting it back down on the counter and sighing, the throbbing in his head intensifying.
Seeds are planted in the soil with the intent to grow into something greater. They are carefully tended to all their lives and given every possible chance to bloom into their full potential. Yet, when they fail, they are deemed faulty and discarded. When they succeed they are adored ‘unconditionally’ until they no longer produce desirable results and are ultimately left to rot.
There are the stragglers which cling to every last drop of water and soil they receive, desperate to survive and carve out an existence in the world despite their circumstances.
And of course, there are the weeds and parasites which rear their ugly heads and pose a threat to the beloved blooms. Their eradication is only temporary; no matter what is done to stamp them out, they come back again and again, persisting when all else lives and dies. Resilient and yet so unsightly.
He isn’t one for drinking but tonight is as good a night as any. He isn’t in the mood to think any further. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples, the wings on his head fluffing up. A familiar voice passed through his ears, startling him.
"Isn’t this a rare sight?"
He frowns, only to look to his left and see you.
"…What are you doing here? I’d say it’s sheer luck we’re in each other’s company again but I’m sure that’s not the case."
You fold your hands over each other, easing into the bar stool next to him.
"Wasn’t aware that it was a crime to inhabit the same places as Family heads."
"Ex-head. And it isn’t a crime per se, just extremely off-putting. That aside, I thought the Express already left the Asdana system. So why is it that you’re still here?"
"Could it be that you’re dreaming of me? Are you sure that I’m even real right now?"
He smiles and scoffs, his cheeks tinged a slight red as he waves you off dismissively.
"I’ve heard that one already. You’ll have to try harder."
You sigh, rolling your eyes.
"Anyways, to answer your question, the Express did leave. I decided to stay in Penacony for a while longer. Help wherever I may be needed. And right now…"
He looks to the side, his wings covering his cheeks in embarrassment.
"I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help."
"I didn’t say you did. But if it applies…"
He tenses up as you reach for one of his wings, plucking a feather free that had become out of place. The movement had been so swift that he hadn’t had enough time to protest or react properly to it. His eyes remain fixed on yours, watching as you flick the feather away and settle into a more relaxed position.
"..Then why not let it happen? We could help each other."
An eyebrow of his raises. You? Help?
"You’re a Nameless. What could you possibly need help with? I don’t think there’s anything that could place us on equal footing."
"….Well, I kinda need a place to stay. Being a Nameless doesn’t exactly guarantee a steady enough income to purchase a house and my prior place of rest issss… Four or five solar systems away by now, give or take."
"I could arrange for your nightly rates to be reduced or nullified altogether within The Reverie."
You shake your head. "The Reverie is full, and I don’t want to be the type of person who kicks someone out. That’s just not right."
He drags a hand down his face, groaning. He knows he shouldn’t take your word, that he should double check. He knows he shouldn’t even be considering your offer in the first place let alone trying to find a solution. Yet he isn’t thinking straight (granted, he hasn’t done so in a while. A bad decision can be remedied, yes?) He knows he should just say no and get in contact with your crew because you can’t be in your right mind either, can you? His inhibitions are lowered and his mind is foggy and he can’t even see straightforward without his vision blurring when he says—
"You can live with me. I’ll take you up on your offer."
His stomach flips almost immediately. Part of him feels so nauseous he might just hurl here and now and yet the other part is so very nervous, waiting for you to accept his offer or reject it.
"And you really mean it? You’re not just messing with me or trying to lure me into some trap?"
"…. I… do. I mean every word."
The grin on your face in that moment almost makes him spit up his drink. He keeps it down thankfully, a shaky sigh coming from his lips.
"Come on then. I’d rather not be out any longer than necessary." He slides from his stool, holding a hand out to you. Once you take it, he begins guiding you back to his home.
"It’s a nice place. I just wish the decor wasn’t so uh… on the nose. I feel like I’m being watched."
"Really? I’ve lived here for a while and I can’t say I’ve ever felt that sensation."
"I’m sure you haven’t… Anyways, do I sleep in the guest room or…?"
"Had I known I was going to entertain a guest tonight, I would’ve prepared more. So…."
"It’s fine. I’ll just sleep on the sofa."
"No, I’ll sleep on the sofa. I wouldn’t want someone visiting to be uncomfortable at any point during their stay."
"I think sleeping on a sofa is pretty low on the list of discomforts compared to sleeping in a false dream you constructed."
"…Fair, however I insist that you just take my bed."
"I can’t, it feels wrong to kick you out. You know what, why don’t we both just sleep in the bed? It looks big enough."
He huffs. Neither of you are willing to let the other sleep on the sofa, so naturally a compromise would be the next step. Still…
"Really, I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa."
It’s not like he’s going to be sleeping at all. His mind is still bothering him, slowly scratching away at the layers of his mental.
"Are you always so insistent? What’s the worst that could happen? It’ll just be for a night or two until there’s a place for me properly set up."
He could say the same for you. His convictions may have finally met their match in the form of your unwavering determination.
"Okay. We’ll share the bed."
A decision he would come to regret sooner than later. His eyes remained shut, yet no rest came. He listened to the ruffling of sheets and exasperated sighs for ten minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore.
"What? What is it?"
"I can’t get comfortable. It’s too cold."
"Well I like it cold."
"What happened to my comfort being your top priority?"
"Im sure you’ve been through worse. If you’d just stop squirming—"
"Ughhh!"
"And stop taking all of the blanket. You don’t need anymore."
He closes his eyes again, listening to your incoherent ranting until it all goes quiet again. He turns over onto his other side to check, and sure enough, you’re asleep. He can’t help but smile at this new development, eventually drifting off himself.
Sunday wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for. He doesn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. His eyes remain closed as his head sinks deeper into the plush pillows, a soft groan slipping from his lips. He breathes in, taking in the scent of something sweet. He opens his eyes and he nearly stops breathing for a moment upon seeing your sleeping face, peace and comfort apparent in your expression.
He’s closer than would be considered normal for two acquaintances who just so happen to share a room. Yet he can’t bring himself to move just a few inches back. Something about you is inherently fascinating and he’d like to know just what it is.
Something akin to content stirs in his chest the longer he stares, unable to move. His mind is a medley of excitement, uncertainty, fear and so many other things all at once. He wants to gently nudge you and wake you up, but would that be too intimate? Nerves slip from him and he exhales just a bit too hard. When his breath hits your face and your eyes flutter just a tiny bit he steels himself, ready for you to wake up and inevitably freak out.
But you don’t. You mumble and move just a bit closer, effectively eliminating any chance he had at backing away and just leaving you here for the time being.
This is more awkward than it needs to be; he recognizes that. All he has to do is roll back over, maybe close his eyes or heaven forbid leave the bed but alas those options have flown out the window when he feels your head come to rest on his chest. Maybe it’s the rush of being with someone new, someone who has so much to offer him yet asks for so little in exchange (you’re renown across the galaxy; it wouldn’t be a difficult thing to get you situated with a comfortable job and living space. He would’ve done it had he not been so… eager?)
Irrational. He was irrational that night and now there’s a so called stranger in his bed. They haven’t done anything but it still wouldn’t be something that looks good on paper. A soft murmur escapes your lips and he looks down at you, his heart racing in his chest. And he thinks he understands what this feeling is now— gratitude.
Grateful that you of all people were the one to show up, to give him this opportunity. He understands that you’ll be the one to fulfill this longing that he never recognized was present; because now you’re here, and he has you and Robin. Everything seems to click then. He carefully drapes a hand over you, having it come to rest at the back of your head as he holds you close. For the time being, you’re one of his favorites.
And he can rest easy with that.
A short distance away, the door shuts silently, the culprit a sister who had intended to wake her brother only to decide he needed a little more time to sleep. No matter; today was a day for rest, after all.