Work Text:
“Oh, and Aventurine?” Jade calls out to him on his way out of her office. “Your little bird friend is down in the lobby. I thought you would like to know.”
Aventurine’s protest dies on his lips. The knowing glint in her eyes is a checkmate. He smiles, convincing enough.
“I had no idea the Astral Express was stopping here.”
“Is that why you marked its arrival date in your calendar, child? A lucky guess?”
“Always,” Aventurine says no matter how much his ears burn. “If you were snooping you should have seen my predictions for Topaz’ next stray.”
“Oh?”
“I give her another week.”
“You’re stalling,” Jade informs him.
Aventurine does not stall on the way to the elevator chatting with someone and he does not stall when reaching the lobby by sorting through the many pictures Topaz sent. A strange little creature that she swore she would not take in weeks ago. Every new photo of its scraggly fur and long snout rests securely on the pile of damning evidence.
The lobby is busy as always. Aventurine moves between IPC personnel, humanoid or clad in mechs, and those that are not yet company property. He tries not to search, tries to simply let his eyes wander but the crew of the Astral Express sticks out even within a crowd as colorful as this.
Himeko’s red hair is the signal flare that catches his attention. She is chatting with someone Aventurine does not recognize and where she goes the rest of them are not far. March waves her arms in exaggerated motions to explain a device currently spinning in her palm to a very tired-looking Dan Heng. They seem to be waiting for someone or something, sitting on a bench near the gigantic windowpanes. Qlipoth’s golden glow in the sky reaches them and the decorative plants surrounding them and of course, of course, the soft flutter of grey feathers.
Sunday has not left the regal air behind on Penacony, sitting prim and proper with one leg thrown over the other. Composed and collected but the line of his shoulders is slightly slumped, the green scarf he has wrapped around his shoulders not neatly arranged. Aventurine’s heart swells embarrassingly. He has to force down a smile, too genuine and elated, tries to settle into a knowing grin.
“Well, if it isn’t my dearest friends,” he drawls and leans onto the backrest of the bench they’re not occupying, his chin propped up on his palm. “What joy that your train so happened to take you here today.”
March yelps and turns around to stare at him with a frown.
“A little warning next time?”
“It was a scheduled trip,” Dan Heng says, his stern tone not without an undercurrent of mirth. “Yet you seem surprised.”
Aventurine hums.
“It simply must have slipped my mind, busy as I am.”
“Ominous,” March tells him, unimpressed. “Do we need to be worried?”
“I have nothing but your best interest in mind. In fact, in order to demonstrate my intentions I would love to invite you all out for dinner. Surely whatever business awaits can wait another day, hm?”
Dan Heng’s eyes seem to pierce through to his very soul.
“Unfortunately March and I have prior arrangements and I believe Himeko is currently making some of her own.”
“What? I have no-“ March starts and is interrupted by Dan Heng’s elbow nudging her. “Oh yeah, of course. Our very important secret arrangements that I would never forget about. We should go find Mr. Yang right now and then head there. Silly me for forgetting. What a shame about the dinner. Anyway-“
They make their exit fast. Aventurine catches a faint they’re just going to make heart eyes at each other again before they are out of earshot and he notices Himeko’s business concluding as well.
“What a tragedy,” Aventurine sighs. “My gracious offer, gone up in smoke just like my evening plans.”
He strolls around the benches, dropping onto one most definitely chosen at random. He drapes himself dramatically against the backrest.
Sunday watches with a quiet fondness that does not help Aventurine’s heart.
“Whatever will you do now that they have all declined?”
“Well, one brave Trailblazer has yet to answer.”
“Brave, hm?” Sunday asks. “What do you think they will say?”
“Hopefully something along the lines of ‘how charming and generous of you, Aventurine, I would love to spend the evening in your delightful company’.”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“How are my chances, would you say?”
“Hm,” Sunday says and studies him, gaze roaming over the lines and slopes of Aventurine’s face, his neck where his heart races. “It depends on this person, I would say. How willing are you to gamble?”
“I’m offended you have to even ask.”
“Fair point.”
“I want to go all in,” Aventurine grins. “I think it is well worth it.”
Sunday’s wings move, a gentle sway behind his ears. He folds his hands on his knee and the fondness remains in every look.
“As an expert,” he says, “I would say your chances are very good.”
The giddiness worms its insidious way through even the most well-crafted façade. Aventurine thought himself so impervious, so practiced, and it used to sting to know how easily it all caved, in the end. A few honest words on a long evening near a departing train, a few chance encounters between a myriad of stars.
“New earrings,” Aventurine says and reaches boldly to tap them once, watches the bronze swords swing a few times. “Cute.”
Sunday lets him, calm and amicable. Aventurine aches to run his fingers along that jaw, cup Sunday’s gorgeous face, revere those delicate wings in careful strokes. A gamble too risky, too much to lose. Aventurine falters, dice in hand, and casts only glances.
“Quite impractical, it turns out,” Sunday says. “But that is a story best told on the move.”
The little burst of adrenaline has Aventurine’s fingers twitching on the bench’s backrest. A heart aflutter. What good thing stays, what good thing persists? His nerves of steel hardly extend this far.
“Then let’s move,” he says. “I’m still technically at work here.”
“Will they manage without you?”
Aventurine tilts his head.
“They wouldn’t dare stop me during a business dinner.”
“Ah, of course,” Sunday replies. “Networking is the biggest part of your job, after all.”
“All business, no pleasure.”
“As it should be.”
Heart eyes, Aventurine thinks and tries not to see it in every slow blink, Sunday’s long lashes as elegant as everything else about him. Aventurine manages to tear himself away only with unfathomable effort, getting up with a swish of his coat.
“Shall we, then?”
His steps only lighten with every glance over his shoulder that proves Sunday is following. A leisurely stroll along a thin sidewalk. The suns are still high in the sky, a day barely started, long hours ahead. The corners of Aventurine’s mouth ache from one suppressed smile too many.
“I have a place in mind.”
“Oh?”
“It will be a surprise,” Aventurine grins. “Is that not in the spirit of the Trailblaze, Mr. Sunday?”
Sunday snorts. There is a tension in his shoulders and arms that eases the second they reach the restaurant Aventurine picked. A secluded little corner, clean and out of view of other patrons. Sunday chuckles as their order arrives, variations of fried dumplings to easily fit chopsticks.
“You’re-“ he says, shaking his head and his wings spread out, fluttering in poorly concealed happiness. “Thank you.”
Aventurine leans onto the table.
“Did you think I was going to try and take you to the sushi place again?”
“No. But it is still kind of you.”
“Getting you flustered is one thing, seeing you shrink into yourself because your pretty head is being unfair is another.”
Sunday plays with a glinting earring.
“Considerations for my pretty head are also why this was a reservation for two?”
“A small gamble,” Aventurine replies without a hint of shame. “And it seems I won yet again.”
“Thankfully. How tragic it would have been to sit here by yourself.”
“I would have simply gone home and cried myself to sleep. Thankfully my irresistible charm convinced you yet again.”
Sunday laughs, easy and not grudging. A gentle chime. He eats slowly but it is not an ordeal, not a nauseating process ridden by guilt and anxiety and shame. The only eyes here are Aventurine’s.
“Your bracelets are new,” Sunday comments. “Can I see?”
The small gemstones gleam as Aventurine drapes himself over the table’s edge, letting Sunday inspect the jewelry. A single brush of gloved fingertips against his wrist and Aventurine tries not to shudder too visibly.
“Getting all dressed up for our business meeting,” Sunday says. “I’m honored, Mr. Aventurine.”
When they part they both don’t fully scoot back to their original positions. One thought closer. Aventurine drums his fingers against his cheek, his chin resting on his palm. He leans over the table once again, drawn in by no spell.
“How is business, then? What have you been up to?”
The dumplings are crispy and flavorful and Aventurine is content to shut up and munch on them while listening. Marveling and mesmerized. You get such an adorable dreamy expression when talking about him, Topaz told him just days ago. He stilled his face then but not now, allowing himself the smile because the only eyes here are Sunday’s.
“And then, additionally, I was smuggled into one of Robin’s concerts in Penacony,” Sunday says. “I did not intend to break any more laws but my new colleagues were very insistent I become even more of a criminal.”
“Living dangerously, hm?”
“I am being dragged into it.”
“Nah, you had plenty of rebellious spirit of your own, Mr. Sunday,” Aventurine says and his grin widens. “Oh, the stories I’ve heard.”
And the beautiful blush finally creeps onto Sunday’s handsome face, from his cheeks to his neck. Faint in the dim lighting but Aventurine is an expert at spotting it. Sunday shifts.
“What stories? My regrettable choices regarding an eternal dream?”
“Robin loves sharing stories of your childhood,” Aventurine says. “And all of your friends on the Astral Express need to gush about your contributions is a little nudge. Opposing the Cloud Knights to come to a fugitive’s aid, hm?”
“They were injured-“
“And the Borisin seeking shelter?”
“Listen-“
“And the-“
Sunday’s wings fold inwards to hide his face and he makes a disgruntled little noise that only has Aventurine’s heart beat faster.
“You’re impossible,” Sunday chides.
Aventurine laughs and tilts his head.
“And you’re brave,” he says. “And inspiring.”
The wings unfurl, feather by feather. Sunday regards Aventurine with an undecipherable expression. He opens his mouth as if to say something and then shakes his head.
“All this flattery almost makes me doubt this is a business meeting.”
“Mhmm. Almost.”
“How have you been?” Sunday asks, softer. “You look well.”
“Do I, now?”
“Yes?”
Aventurine feels another shiver run through his body as though after all this he was truly allergic to joy. It settles, however, the warmth like a hearth below his ribs.
“We need to work on your flattery,” he says. “Or this will really end up a business meeting.”
Sunday gives him a look.
“You’re deflecting.”
“I would never.”
“Aventurine.”
“I missed you,” Aventurine says. “I have had a good few weeks but I missed you.”
A bold gamble. Too bold, teetering on a knife’s edge and he fears that he is closing his palm too tight around a small bird. Loving and protective and crushing the tiny thing to death. Aventurine falters but Sunday is not fragile and words not the gallows.
“I missed you, too,” Sunday says and smiles. “I have had a busy few weeks but I… I really have come to appreciate our encounters.”
“I may or may not have made a note in my calendar.’
“I did, too.”
Aventurine beams, the giddiness fluttering in his stomach, in the tingling tips of his fingers.
“How much time do you have to spare today, then, Mr. Sunday? For business?”
“The whole evening,” Sunday answers. “Perhaps a little more, for business.”
The thought of inviting Sunday to his apartment is enough to send Aventurine reeling for a moment. He steels his expression, excitement spreading its wings inside him. Shaking fingers curl in and still as he rests his chin on them.
“I’ll drink to that.”
They click their glasses together. When they lean back it is one measure closer yet again, refusing to return to the spots they first sat down on. Dinner turns into a drink turns into several and the plush seats grow more comfortable by the minute.
“And I said ‘darling, any time spent on you is worse than wasted’,” Aventurine laments, twirling his hand through the air. “He did not finalize the deal.”
Sunday chuckles.
“How surprising.”
“Incomprehensible, really.”
Aventurine stirs his drink absentmindedly, the spoon scraping pleasantly over glass. Sunday watches the motions, too, entranced by circle after circle.
“It’s good to hear,” he says softly. “That you managed to stand up for yourself, in the other instance as well.”
Aventurine cherishes the blooming warmth, the pride. He preens at being acknowledged.
“Topaz said the same thing.”
“I’m glad.”
“Letting others walk all over me was better for business, but-“
“Not the business that matters,” Sunday says and smiles with his eyes sliding closed. His wings flap once, insistent.
Aventurine licks the sugar the rim of the glass left from his lips. Sweet and sweeter and it scares him less than it did a few months ago.
“Isn’t it fun, how that came to be?” he muses. “From business to business.”
“Fun is not quite the word I would choose.”
“What word would you choose, Mr. Sunday?”
“Miraculous,” Sunday says. “Wonderful. Comforting, day by day.”
Aventurine swallows.
“Better flattery this time.”
And his eyes fall on Sunday’s lips, on the curve of his mouth and his delicate jaw. His hair looks soft, so soft, and his wings downier still. Aventurine stares. A silent worship.
A loud series of meows stirs him awake, his phone buzzing in his pockets. Sunday presses a palm to his own mouth to stifle laughter.
“A more beautiful tune has never been sung.”
“I’d ignore it, but-“
“Don’t. I’m not going anywhere.”
Aventurine picks up the call, the number and ID as familiar. A picture of him and Topaz pops up any time she calls- a silly selfie, both of them in elaborate costumes and makeup. A party that would have been awful alone and yet that awful party never was, snatched away by friends who did let him leave without their support. The buzz of alcohol almost brings the sting of tears to his eyes right there and then.
“Hi,” he says and clears his throat. “What’s up?”
Topaz’ first attempt at speaking up is interrupted by a loud screech.
“Hi! I know you went on your not-date and are probably still swooning but I have a situation on my hands and could use some assistance.”
“I am still on my- at my meeting,” Aventurine replies. “What kind of situation? How serious?”
“I went out to help with the- what did you call them- the crocodile raptors. I forgot to lock my apartment’s door a second time and I can’t go back now.”
“Has Numby grown thumbs to prison break?”
“Numby, no. The new little guy I may or may not have taken in yesterday, however-“
“Terrifying.”
“Well, if you’re still canoodling with the bird boy then it’ll have to wait-“
“I’ll do it,” Aventurine says. “It’s okay. Have fun with whatever murderous creature you’ve unearthed now.”
“Really? Aw, you’re the best. You deserve a raise.”
“I’ll let Diamond know you promised me that.”
“You’re more scared of him than I am.”
“Byeee, Topaz,” Aventurine says in a sing-song tone and hangs up to another animal’s loud cry. He sighs. Sunday’s quiet laugh sends heat to the tips of his ears.
“I see we may have to cut our meeting short,” Sunday says. “That’s alright. It sounded like an emergency.”
“Something like that.”
A silence settles over them and Aventurine pushes his glass around over the table, another pleasant scraping sound. Worry squirms in him. Push too far, push too quickly-
“Do you want to come with?” Aventurine blurts out. “I only have to go up to Topaz’ place and lock her door, it shouldn’t take long.”
Sunday folds his hands in his lap.
“A walk sounds nice.”
It is raining as they leave the restaurant, a drizzle just heavy enough to be annoying. Aventurine frowns at the sky and the injustice of inconveniences but the sounds of an umbrella opening distracts him soon enough.
“Prepared for every eventuality, hm?”
“Yes,” Sunday says and beckons him. “We can both fit.”
Aventurine hurries enough for his ears to burn again. There waits only clumsiness in sincerity. When he is pressed shoulder to shoulder with Sunday, however, the racing beat of his heart is only mirrored beside him. Aventurine laughs as one of the wings flutters against his cheek.
“We can both fit except for those.”
“Let me-“ Sunday starts and tries to fold his wings away into his scarf. Aventurine shakes his head.
“No need. You can just rest the left one on my shoulder or something. I don’t mind.”
The faint blush returns to Sunday’s face and it only deepens as Aventurine interlinks their arms. Fabric rustles against fabric but it is the warmth lingering below that Aventurine seeks. A moth to the flame, to a sun no longer scorching.
“This okay?” he asks.
“Very,” Sunday replies and when they go it is with his wing nestled into Aventurine’s coat. The feathers brush Aventurine’s neck occasionally and he suppresses a shiver. For a while they walk in reverent silence, huddled together as the rain pitter-patters onto the umbrella above. A small cocoon, shielding them from the world.
“Thank you,” Sunday says, so close his words follow his racing pulse. “For the nice evening.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“If I play my cards right?”
“Ah, if it depended on you playing games of chance again I don’t think this would go all that well.”
“I could have gotten better since then.”
“Have you?”
“No,” Sunday says and changes his grip on the umbrella. “I might have gotten worse, if anything. You will have to explain it to me again.”
Aventurine squeezes his arm.
“We’ll have you counting cards in no time.”
“And add to my criminal record?”
“Details.”
“You’re the one doing business with me,” Sunday says. “Aventurine of Stratagems, fraternizing with the enemy-“
“Canoodling, actually, is how it has been described.”
They pause at an intersection, a myriad of shining cars passing them by. Neon lights drawn into lines, flashes of brightness. It is all muffled by the rain, their tentative footsteps, the heartbeat ever hurried.
“Are your own critters doing well?” Sunday asks. “It has been a while since you sent pictures.”
“Had to take them to a vet and get their claws trimmed and they have not forgiven me yet.”
“Ah. Unpardonable transgressions, I see.”
“I’ll bribe them back into loving me,” Aventurine says. “It’s only a matter of time.”
The wing resting on him shifts, feathers dragging across the unbranded side of his neck.
“They’re smart,” Sunday answers, casual, by the by. “They don’t need bribes to love you.”
If he hears the hitch in Aventurine’s breath he does not point it out. If he feels the beat Aventurine’s heart skips he does not comment.
Aventurine stops walking, shivering, shuddering. Then he leans his head on Sunday’s shoulder. Soft feathers brush along his hair, folding in a more complete caress.
“That isn’t what that was,” Aventurine mumbles.
The rain picks up. In the puddles they see themselves, silhouettes washed out and bleeding together. Sunday interlinks their fingers, one by one.
“I know.”
The fear has long since quieted. They clashed long ago, repaired what tentative peace there ever had been. This is only what comes above, built story by story. Aventurine takes a deep breath. Sunday smells good, like soap and fresh linen and the rain that falls even if their steps falter.
They stroll down the street to the hangar, taking a shuttle that responds to Aventurine’s voice, fingerprint, and keycard. Their destination is a spaceship above the high roofs of Pier Point. He barely has to check the route anymore. It is dark out when they return from Topaz’ place and the rain has slowed to a few drops every now and then. When they stand below a streetlamp and Sunday closes the umbrella they do not move apart.
“Always heard that birds run warmer than humans,” Aventurine says, avoiding the light and eye contact alike. “You’re a furnace.”
“You’re warm,” Sunday says. “I’m only nervous.”
The light catches in his eyes and the metal of his earrings. Aventurine studies, entranced, every angle.
“What are you nervous about?”
“Something that makes me wish I was as brave as you claim.”
Sunday’s fingers dance along Aventurine’s jawline, reaching the lobe and then the shell of his ear. He watches every reaction carefully, ready to retreat. Aventurine stays, fixed in place. The beat of his heart is thunder now, is beautiful cacophony.
“If I read this well, if I understood it all,” Sunday whispers, hushed and anxious. “Then may I?”
And there is only one answer. Aventurine nods, eager, too eager, embarrassment burning in the truth of it.
“You may.”
Sunday tentatively leans in, close enough to lose oneself in his eyes. Their lips brush, a short meeting before a painful parting.
Then, Sunday kisses him and Aventurine sees enough stars to mirror the night sky. There is nothing but them, the hasty little breaths shared and the flush to their cheeks. Nothing but another press of their lips together. Nothing but Aventurine’s arms wrapping tighter around Sunday’s shape. He’ll find out what it is like to touch those feathers, that soft hair, those lips. He’ll worship gladly and be worshiped in turn.
Found a gamble that pays off, didn’t you, Aventurine does not ask- because in this day, in this future, he divines only joy.