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“You’re staring, angel.” Blade spoke in his usual low voice, laced with the tiniest hint of a tease. He sat in a lonely corner of his assigned room aboard the Stellaron Hunter’s ship as he polished his sword. Sunday was situated on the opposite corner of said room, resting on an armchair— that Blade had specifically placed there just for the Halovian.
He had started reading a novel he had always found interesting these recent days, but having this oh so very rare and peaceful sight presented in front of Sunday was incredibly distracting.
The other man’s words were enough to make him lose focus, anyways.
And Blade let out a small chuckle, shooting Sunday a sly smile from just above his shoulder.
It has been over a year since he had joined the Stellaron Hunters after the whole Penacony ordeal, and Blade just always seemed to stick out from the others. There was just something about the man that made him different than the others, in a way he couldn’t figure out.
Yet.
Maybe it was something about his history? His looks? His eyes?
Oh, how often Sunday could find himself drowning in that sea of crimson red, swallowing him up and clouding his mind from whatever worry was lingering in there.
And Blade was known to be a cold, and extremely reserved person. Sunday knew that well by now.
Then why had he always been accepting of Sunday’s presence, always letting him take up as much of his personal space as he wanted, without arguing or seeming reluctant about his actions? Sunday had always wondered, in full truth.
“Fuck,” A hiss coming from Blade pulled the Halovian away from his thoughts. Sunday immediately got up, stepping towards the Stellaron Hunter, watching as he gripped his wrist, noticing blood dripping from the middle of the other man’s palm.
Despite Blade’s ability to have his wounds close themselves up and heal in no time, blood would of course leak, reminding him of the fact he was still alive. That he was still a functioning human being, despite everything he had gone through, despite all the injuries he had recovered from, unwillingly.
That is the only wound he will never be able to close.
Now, due to the undeniable sharpness of his sword, the indigo-haired man had accidentally cut open his palm. And Sunday rushed over to the cabinet where Blade once mentioned keeping a — not much needed — first-aid kit while Blade now sat on the edge of his bed. The Halovian immediately grabbed said kit, taking out a roll of bandages, as well as a bottle of oxygenated water and some required oils.
“Here, let me help you.” Sunday kneeled in front of Blade, making sure to sanitize his wound before applying anything or wrapping it up. He sprayed a little of the oxygenated water, which made Blade curse under his breath in sheer discomfort. The antiseptic felt tingly— a familiar sensation he had always found uncomfortable.
The Halovian then spread a little of medical oil over said wound, before immediately covering it up in white bandages. Sunday realized just to how close he currently was to Blade, immediately backing away and clearing his throat. He looked away from the other man, covering his rapidly blooming-red cheeks with his wings.
Silence settled between them in a comforting manner, all thanks to the ambient sounds of the galaxy.
“Thank you, Sunday.” Blade said, voice barely above a whisper, as if these word were only reserved for Sunday, and Sunday alone, to hear, despite being alone in a secluded place; the rest of the Stellaron Hunters knew better than to just come in barging in his room, anyways.
Sunday looked up at Blade, feeling himself melt under these same blood-stricken eyes as they stared at him. “You’re welcome,” he replied, giving Blade a small smile added to his response. “It’s really no problem. I’m glad you let me help you in something such as.. this.”
“You know,” Blade started, looking at his bandaged wound and then at Sunday. “I could really use your help in taking care of my wounds more often.”
Sunday let out a surprised noise, staring a Blade in a sort of confused look. “It would be my pleasure.” He replied nonetheless, smiling lovingly at the other man. “But are you sure?”
Blade chuckled at his words. “Of course I’m sure.” He said, scooting a little closer to Sunday. “I’m the type to be messy in this kind of stuff, and you were great at patching up this wound, even if it was a small one.”
The Halovian covered his blooming cheeks with his wings once more, shying away from Blade. “Don’t hide from me again, angel.” He teased, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“If you say so.” Sunday muttered under his breath, taking Blade’s hand — that he had just patched up — in his own and running his fingers softly over the bandaged wound. “Is this okay?”
The Stellaron Hunter didn’t seem to be bothered by Sunday’s action at all, he gladly accepted his movements. “More than okay.” Blade replied, and Sunday couldn’t believe the actual softness of the other man’s hand.
If Sunday hadn’t noticed before, he definitely noticed now.
“Your hand feels softer than it looks.” He thought out loud, and for once, any words Blade had left died on his tongue; the compliment — whatever it was — made him go absolutely speechless.
Sunday cleared his throat, his fingers leaving Blade’s palm as an awkward silence settled between them. They just sat there now, unmoving and mute.
He should really think before speaking.
“My apologies if I made you uncomfortable, Blade.” The Halovian spoke after what seemed an eternity, wings covering half his face in embarrassment.
Blade seemed unsure of what to say. He felt like he couldn’t speak.
It had been a while since somebody had genuinely complimented him. Not his skills on the battlefield, or his ‘achievements’ as a Stellaron Hunter.
Just Blade.
It made something bloom in his chest, something he hadn’t felt for far too long, he guessed.
He wanted to show Sunday more of his wounds, more of himself.
The Halovian shared similar pains with him, in the end. They had both lost themselves, their true selves, a long time ago.
Blade hesitated for a moment, then turned to actually face Sunday. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a crack in the usual cold façade he wore. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what was to come. "You seemed interested in my scars earlier.” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't usually show them to anyone, you know.”
Sunday nodded, seemingly understanding of the weight Blade's words held. He had always sensed there was more to Blade than he actively knew about, a hidden depth beneath the surface. "You.. don't have to feel obliged in showing me the rest," Sunday replied, his voice soft and reassuring. "Only if you're comfortable."
Blade looked down, his fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt. As he pulled the fabric over his shoulders, the room seemed to grow colder. Scars marred his pale skin, a tapestry of pain and survival etched across his body. Some were thin and fully healed, others thick and standing out to the others, each telling a story of its own.
For a moment, Sunday couldn't find the right words. The sight of Blade’s scars was overwhelming, not necessarily because of their appearance, but because of the pain they represented.
He approached slowly Blade, his movements careful and slow. "Aeons." Sunday said, meeting Blade's eyes.
Blade's gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude crossing his features. He reached out, gently taking Sunday's hand and placing it over one of the larger scars on his chest, hidden under long wraps of bandages. "This one," Blade murmured, "was from a battle I thought I'd never survive before getting cursed with immortality. It reminds me of my past, of the person I used to be."
Sunday felt the roughness of the scar and bandages under his fingertips, as well as the not so excepted warmth of Blade's skin. He could feel the weight that each scar carried, the burdens they bore.
"You're still here," Sunday said quietly, squeezing Blade's hand. "You're still standing, Blade.
Blade's lips curved into a faint smile, letting go of Sunday's hand. "I don't show these to just anyone," Blade confessed, his voice filled with a quiet vulnerability. "But I trust you, angel.“
Sunday's heart swelled with emotion this time. He reached out, gently touching Blade's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I'll always be here," he promised, his voice steady and sincere. "No matter what."
And as silence stretched between them, the atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. The tension could’ve been cut with a knife, and Blade's eyes flickered with a mix of vulnerability, and something deeper that he couldn’t put into words. Sunday could sense the change, his heart beating a little faster as he held Blade's gaze.
Without warning, Blade inched closer, closing the small distance between them, faces a few breaths away
And before Sunday could fully register what was happening, Blade leaned in and pressed his lips gently to Sunday's in a sudden kiss. His eyes widened at the unexpected action, but he didn't dare pull away.
It was soft at first, a simple brush of lips that sent a shiver down Sunday's spine, filled with years of unspoken words, a quiet yearning that had finally found its voice. Uncertainty flickering in his eyes, as if Blade was just testing the waters.
But the moment their lips touched for a second time, it was like a spark igniting a flame.
And as it quickly deepened, the tension between them faded away into nothingness.
Sunday quickly melted into the kiss, his hands instinctively reaching up to rest on Blade's shoulders. The kiss deepened, a mixture of tenderness, of raw emotion and a pent-up passion that neither of them had fully acknowledged until now.
It was a release of all the unspoken feelings that had been unconsciously building between them.
Blade's hands found their way to Sunday's waist, pulling him closer as if afraid to let go. He leaned into Blade's touch, a silent invitation for more.
The Halovian’s heart raced, his breath catching in his throat. He felt a surge of relief and warmth, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Blade responded with equal fervor, his fingers gripping tighter at Sunday’s waist, pressing their bodies flush together.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.
Sunday opened his eyes, meeting Blade's gaze. There was a warmth in his eyes, a softness that reassured Blade. He smiled, a small, tender smile that spoke volumes. "You caught me off guard," Sunday admitted, his voice low and a little breathless.
Blade's lips quirked into a faint, almost shy smile. "Sorry," he murmured, though there was no regret in his tone. "I just.. I felt like it was the right moment."
Sunday nodded, still holding Blade's gaze. "It was," he agreed, his voice filled with sincerity. He reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of indigo hair away from Blade's face.
Blade's eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. He took a step back, giving Sunday a little space.
"I don't know what this means," Blade said quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I know I don't want to lose what we have."
Sunday stepped forward, closing the gap once more. He reached out, taking Blade's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "We don't have to figure it all out right now," he replied, his voice calm and steady.
Blade nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Sunday. "One step at a time," he whispered, a small smile playing on his lips. "Was that.. okay, though?” Blade asked, his voice barely a whisper.
It was clear this was something he hadn’t done in what seemed forever. The kiss had been spontaneous, driven by a surge of emotions he couldn't contain.
Sunday smiled once again, a warm and genuine expression that reached his eyes. He gently cupped Blade's cheek, his thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.
"Yes," he replied softly, his voice filled with reassurance and a hint of amusement. "It was.. perfect."
Relief washed over Blade's features, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He leaned into Sunday's touch, a rare moment of tenderness that spoke millions of words. "I honestly don't know what came over me," Blade admitted, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Sunday chuckled softly, his fingers tracing the line of Blade's jaw. "It’s okay," he said, his tone soft and laced with sincerity.
For a moment, they stood in silence again. It was a small, intimate moment, a quiet understanding that words could never fully capture.