Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The transitional period of boarding the Express involved too many variables for my personal comfort. The unexpected encounter with Welt in the Dreamscape was enough to send my pulse racing—though that situation, at least, found a peaceful resolution.

With the end of one journey, another began; departure from one destination meant progress towards the next. Or, as some might say, “your new life comes at the cost of your old one.”

After all, I’d already said my goodbyes to Penacony, and, with my goals at least roughly in alignment with those of the Express crew, I surmised the ideal option was to request permission to travel with them temporarily. I didn’t have any other destination in mind, in any case.

The risk was low in the event of failure. Still, that didn’t prevent me from agonizing over potential outcomes.

In meeting the rest of the Astral Express crew, the unclear trajectory made planning ahead for such circumstances virtually impossible. The most I could do was imagine a few scenarios and prepare arguments to rehearse accordingly. Still, without sufficient evidence to commit to any single possibility, my mind bounced among them as though in a game of bubble pinball. Whatever conclusions I did manage to reach were minimally productive—in retrospect, I would say, not worth the headache—but did I really have any choice in the matter?

It was a frustrating situation, to say the least—especially since, for all of the effort I expended on anticipation, the actual outcome was not one I’d spent extensive time contemplating: after some discussion, the crew deferred the decision primarily to the Trailblazer.

“Wait, me?”

Evidently, I was not the only one surprised.

All eyes in the room were on him, and suddenly, I was stumbling around in the dark. In reality, the floor of the parlor car was solid beneath my feet; even so, it might as well have fallen away at that very moment. The warm, welcoming atmosphere suddenly took on the oppressive light of an interrogation chamber.

Funny—I can’t say I ever expected to be on this end of a confessional. I wasn’t fully prepared to divulge my past crimes in order to convince them to allow me to join, on the basis that I thought they weren’t worth considering—at least not in such detail.

Such a situation would have been too ironic for my liking.

“Yes, you.” Himeko’s voice was gentle, patient—with a fond note to it, rather than a scolding one. “It was you who faced him directly in battle, after all, so I think your input should hold the most weight.”

“Well, I wasn’t alone.” His retort abrupt, the Trailblazer’s attention dropped to the floor, and his fingertips flexed in apprehension. “I don’t think I should necessarily be the one making the final call.”

“You don’t have to make the final call,” Himeko assured him. “How about we hear your opinion and then decide collectively?”

I noticed Dan Heng shift his weight slightly, leaning just a bit more into the Trailblazer, as if to provide comfort—and, sure enough, the Trailblazer’s gaze rose again, though it rested on me only for a split second.

I swallowed. How odd, that the Nameless who courageously saved Penacony would require such reassurance outside of battle.

“Since you were indeed my past opponent, that means I can learn the most from you.” I chose my words with the distinct feeling that I was trying to avoid startling a small animal. “Please, speak your thoughts.”

The Trailblazer’s eyes seemed to come back into focus then, but the light within them changed, his brow knitting faintly when he looked at me. I set my jaw.

There was a beat of silence in the parlor car as the Trailblazer drew a long breath.

“I don’t agree with what you did,” he stated, plainly enough, though by the end of the sentence, the tension was gathering in his voice.

Another breath.

“How could you be okay with hurting so many people?” His words picked up speed as they continued. “Didn’t you know that controlling your whole ‘survival of the fittest’ thing with your own hands just replaces the very system you sought to overthrow? That’s not even how any of this works. You didn’t even think about how your plan would affect anyone other than yourself, did you?”

I did, but—

I had to clench my teeth to avoid letting the words spill from my mouth. A sick feeling rose in my throat, so I swallowed it down again. 

“I don’t think you should join the Nameless,” he concluded. “I think you’re a threat to our safety.”

There was a bitter comfort in hearing him speak so decisively, as immediate rejection was indeed one of the scenarios I’d considered. Still, digesting his words was only marginally easier for it.

“However…”

However?

He’d sounded so sure of himself that I found it hard to believe there was more nuance to his opinion.

“Seeing as you’re only joining temporarily, and you’re not technically a member of the crew…”

The Trailblazer glanced to either side, as if about to admit a well-kept secret, and took another slow breath.

“...I’m willing to give you a second chance.”

I blinked, suddenly aware of the air flowing in and out of my lungs.

“Thank you.” The words left my lips before I’d even registered I’d spoken them.

“As am I.” For all intents and purposes, Dan Heng, as the formidable guard, seemed the most intimidating member of the group, yet his voice was soft—amicable, even, like he’d already made up his mind prior to this conversation.

“I mean, as long as you’ve gotten nerfed turning into the good guy, we can’t really say no to that!”

March’s comment, while the underlying argument aligned, contrasted such that it took me several seconds to process her words. To the same degree that I struggled to comprehend exactly what she meant, I couldn’t help but chuckle at her singular perspective on the situation.

So, it seemed they’d reached a consensus. With everyone’s piece said, they all exchanged glances in the space of a moment.

“Thank you all for your willingness to forgive me.” I brushed off my coat with one hand.  “I shall do my best to fulfill my duties as a passenger, until I find the destination at which I believe I can disembark—at which point, it will be farewell.”

“Hm.” Himeko’s voice was bright with approval. “In that case, the decision is made. We’ll have to let the conductor know, too.”

That was a conclusive enough statement that I finally felt the tension begin to leave my body; I flexed my fingers and toes and filled my lungs with the cool air of the Express. It took all of my conscious effort not to sigh too conspicuously in front of the others.

It suddenly occurred to me that it might feel quite nice to sit down—however, there was still too much nervous energy buzzing about in the room, so I couldn’t say the couches on either side looked particularly inviting at present.

A crease formed in my brow as I debated my options. Thankfully, Welt, ever observant, seemed to notice my predicament and took me aside, ultimately leading me to another train car. The lighting in this one was much dimmer, and the space arranged such that it didn’t feel like I was being watched from all sides. The darkness of space outside, dotted with the light of the stars and brushed with Penacony’s rings, seemed much more conspicuous from here, so my eyes were particularly drawn to the window. The leisurely atmosphere was a suitable distraction from everything that had just happened.

I seated myself in one of the armchairs. It felt luxurious enough, if a bit out-of-place, as if it and the rest of the furniture in this nook was merely for display. I reassured myself the chair would not abruptly disappear from underneath me, and dedicated the remainder of the evening to quiet contemplation.

It wasn’t as long a respite as I would have liked. The events from earlier in the day soon began to weigh on me, and my eyelids grew heavy.

Then, the conductor marched over; before I saw them, it was their strangely squeaky footsteps that caught my attention. I certainly had to blink a few times as they approached to ensure I wasn’t seeing things—I wasn’t previously aware that the conductor of the Astral Express was… a sapient mascot?—but, given all of the recent occurrences in Penacony, I told myself, stranger things had happened.

“Passenger Sunday! Welcome aboard the Astral Express!” They paused next to my chair and waved a stubby hand at me in greeting.

“Ah, thank you kindly.” A smile spread across my lips. “You must be the conductor.”

“That’s correct! Pom-Pom is the train’s conductor!” With a flourish, they struck a proud pose, their hands now on their hips. “The others informed Pom-Pom that you’d be traveling with us for the foreseeable future, so Pom-Pom wanted to make sure to extend a proper welcome!”

I gave a slight nod. “It is much appreciated.”

“If there’s anything you need while you’re on board, be sure to let Pom-Pom know!”

“Actually, about that…” I tapped my fingers on the arm of the chair. “Given the late hour, I was wondering if I would be permitted to access… some form of lodging, perhaps?”

“Ah, of course! We do still have one unused room on the Express!” Pom-Pom performed another movement that I could only describe to myself as ‘doing a little dance.’ “It’s quite basic, but so long as it is otherwise unoccupied, you are welcome to use it for the duration of your travels with us. If you’ll please follow Pom-Pom, Pom-Pom will show you where it is!”

With a chuckle at their confidence and expressiveness, I rose from my seat and followed after the conductor. Given their short limbs, they walked at an easy pace, so I had ample time to further observe my surroundings and learn the arrangement of the place. Right now, the dining space was quiet enough, though I could easily envision it filling with passengers socializing and spending the night in great merriment.

The image left a vague, bittersweet feeling in my heart for reasons I couldn’t describe at the time.

Pom-Pom led me back through the parlor car and across to the passenger car. The unoccupied room rested at the far end of the hallway, so it was certainly a bit of a trek from the meeting car—but perhaps that wasn’t all bad, as I could see myself needing the mental and physical distance from the goings-on in order to properly relax.

The room was indeed basic and straightforward, closely resembling a hotel room—that of a usual hotel, mind you, not a luxurious resort like the Reverie. Fittingly, it came with the at once familiar and alien feeling of a place of temporary rest from one’s travels.

I thanked Pom-Pom again. As they departed, I proceeded to stare blankly into the room.

The only noise was the usual murmur of machinery audible on the rest of the train, but the back of my mind buzzed with loud anticipation as I examined the cabin. It was certainly a minimalist arrangement, featuring only a bed, a chair, and an empty desk—meant to be further decorated and expanded upon by its permanent occupant, I was sure.

I stepped deeper into the room. A faint itch traveled from my fingertips up through my arms.

With a slow breath, I plopped myself down unceremoniously on the bed. It was surprisingly soft.

I set my phone to charge, and with that, the buzz in the back of my mind quieted somewhat. It would have to do.

Chapter Text

It’s never easy to sleep in an unfamiliar location, so I wasn’t optimistic that I would feel refreshed the following morning.

Upon waking, restlessness clawed at the inside of my ribcage and crawled through my limbs. Logically, I knew that I had no pressing matters to attend to, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I was forgetting to do. I turned on the light, dressed, and paced a number of circuits around the sterile-looking bedroom, to no avail; my brain seemed stuck in an idling, half-awake state.

So I made my way out to the passenger cabin, traversed to the parlor car, and opted for laps around the train instead. No one else was awake yet, so I could mostly ignore the fear of disturbing the other passengers with my presence, so long as I kept my footsteps quiet.

I examined the layout of the place until my eyes tired of the task, seeking something to tidy or rearrange. I silently commended the Express crew for keeping the place as presentable as it was, given the nature of their adventures. Still, at the continued lack of direction in my movement, the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach only sharpened its edges. Periodically sitting in one of the chairs for a minute or two at a time calmed the sensation temporarily.

Somewhere in the middle of my pacing session, I became aware of the music playing softly from the phonograph in the corner. I hadn’t recalled hearing it the evening before, so I conjectured that someone must have turned it on in the interim. (Or perhaps I had simply been too focused on the conversation with the crew to notice it.) It was a soothing acoustic track that I would call the epitome of easy listening; I had no qualms about hearing it on repeat. And besides, watching the phonograph’s movement gave my attention something to do for a bit.

Eventually, I deemed my pacing unproductive and gave up on trying to find something to do. It was on my way back through the passenger cabins that I heard a door behind me slide open with an oddly satisfying rattle.

I paused halfway down the hallway, and turned to see Dan Heng making his way into the cabin, from the same door through which I’d entered not thirty seconds prior.

“Ah, Sunday.” His voice was low and measured, but not impolite. “Good morning.”

I flexed my fingers. “Good morning, Mister Dan Heng.”

He shook his head as he approached. “Please, no need for formalities. Just Dan Heng is fine.”

“Ah, all right.”

He stopped just before the adjacent door. “How have you been settling in?”

Either he gleaned my answer from how my lips pursed and my gaze wandered, or he took the extended silence as a telling enough response. Regardless, he broke the awkward pause with a change in subject.

“I don’t suppose you’ve yet been granted access to the Express’s data bank?”

I blinked. “I don’t believe I was aware the Express had a data bank.”

He lifted his chin faintly in intrigue, and then turned fully to the door. “Come in. I’ll get you connected.”

Dan Heng slid the door open with a single smooth, practiced movement, and the noise it made was arguably even more satisfying than that of the cabin’s main door.

Beyond the threshold was a comfortably small room with sloping walls, bifurcated by a railing about two-thirds of the way back. Every available space on its perimeter was dedicated to either a bookshelf or a computer—in some cases, both at once. The whispers of machinery filled the room as water might fill a vessel. On the back wall was a mural detailing the orbits of celestial bodies I didn’t recognize.

“This room is the archives,” Dan Heng explained as he led me in. “It’s open to everyone on the Express. However, it’s also my personal room, so please make an effort not to barge in here unannounced if you can avoid it.”

“Duly noted.” At that comment, I did notice the bedroll situated within the alcove behind a couple of free-standing processing units. Inlaid into the floor beneath it was a screen that spanned the width of the room and displayed a mesmerizing image of the surface of a body of water. Instantly I understood how watching the light’s fluctuations might lull one into a relaxed state.

“You can access the data bank from any of the terminals in here,” Dan Heng continued, “as well as all of the physical records. If you’d like, I can connect your phone to the Express’s network, and that way, you’ll also be able to access the data bank remotely.”

I reached into my pocket. “That would be much appreciated.” Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to retrieve my phone before leaving my bedroom.

I unlocked my phone, and he took it from me wordlessly. For how rough his hands were, his grip was unexpectedly delicate as he spent a minute or so pressing some buttons and typing in some commands.

Soon he passed it back to me. “There—you should be good to go.”

“Thank you.” Sure enough, an additional shortcut had appeared on my phone for navigating to the data bank. Its location disrupted the previously orderly arrangement of the grid somewhat, but I found myself shrugging it off; almost contrarily, something settled into place in my heart at the thought of connecting to the Express’s network—as though that aspect alone made my stay a more permanent arrangement.

I looked back to Dan Heng. During my moment of contemplation, he’d turned his attention to the nearest computer terminal. Though he was no longer facing me, his presence in the room was no smaller for it.

“I take it you’re the administrator of the archives, then?”

“I am. It’s the job Himeko gave me when I boarded the Express. Oh, I almost forgot to mention…” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re also welcome to access any of the physical books in this room. Just don’t remove them from the archives.”

I followed his gaze to the opposite corner of the room; a narrow desk traveled the entire length of the wall, the space underneath interrupted at intervals by deep shelves. Thick volumes rested in stacks atop the desk as well—probably wiser not to mess with those, in case Dan Heng had deliberately placed them in a specific arrangement.

I stepped into the alcove. The books on this particular shelf were heavy reference volumes, with hard covers in subtle colors, decorated with golden lettering. I allowed my gloved fingers to wander across their spines, my eyes only half-processing the titles before me.

“Dan Heng, do you have a preference between physical media and digital media?”

The meditative noise he made resembled the murmur of a computer. “Each format has its merits. I’m fond of the search functions available with digital copies, but it’s true that physical books often have sentimental value to them, too. Plus, the methods of organization between them are different, so it’s easier to maintain backup copies when you utilize both in equal measure.”

I nodded to myself. “A very thoughtful answer.”

“Do you have a preference, Sunday?”

“Hmm.” Pausing my hand on the spine of a book, I glanced down to a lower shelf at my feet. “I have to say I agree with your assessment regarding the benefits of keeping both. As far as personal opinion, I rather enjoy the tangible aspect of physical media.”

I looked to him to assess his response. His attention rested on the volume strapped to the right side of my coat.

“Carrying a book is certainly a different experience from carrying a phone,” he remarked, his brow lightly creasing in thought. “But they do both have their uses.”

Now my fingertips wandered to my journal, brushing softly across its cover. “That they do.”

For a moment, I anticipated that Dan Heng might continue the conversation, until he suddenly lifted his gaze to the ceiling, as if remembering something.

“Ah, it almost slipped my mind—it’s almost time for breakfast, if you would like to join us.”

I folded my wings, my attention meandering to an empty corner of the room. “So long as I am welcome, I will gladly accept your offer.”

“Of course.” Dan Heng’s voice was just a bit higher, just a bit warmer, than I expected—as though the crew had no right to refuse my presence.  “You’re a passenger on the Express, after all.”

Apprehension began to bubble in my stomach as I followed him to the meeting car. It was almost imperceptibly different from the nervous energy I’d felt earlier that morning. Perhaps it was due to the distinct possibility that a chance to socialize with the crew would turn out to be an enriching experience.

Still, there was that Trailblazer to consider. I conjectured that, given his opinions on me, his demeanor was potentially the most volatile. March was… unpredictable, yes, but I had no reason to believe she would act in a hostile manner—and the rest of the crew seemed affable enough. Would their presence be enough to cue the Trailblazer into polite behavior?

Finally we crossed the chasm of the parlor car. When we arrived at the meeting car, it was empty and quiet, just as I had left it last night. Dan Heng led me to one of the booths along the left wall, set into which was a row of enormous windows providing a spectacular view of Penacony’s clock tower. Given the atmosphere, it indeed felt somewhat like walking into a diner. I could almost imagine for a moment that I was back in the Golden Hour… though when I attempted, a heavy feeling tugged at my heart, so I halted that train of thought where it stood.

Dan Heng took a seat at the booth; his subsequent glance toward me indicated that I should do the same, so I followed suit, remaining on the outside seat for convenience’s sake.

A series of loud footsteps signalled the arrival of someone from the spiral staircase behind us; judging by their pace and weight, I had a reasonable guess as to who it was. They stopped briefly at the base of the stairs, and then hurried over to the booth where we sat. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the Trailblazer’s gray-and-black silhouette appeared in my peripheral vision.

I pressed my knuckles into my thighs as he approached and turned to catch my attention.

Before I could evaluate his expression, he spoke:

“Oh, hey, Sunday!”

My eyebrows rose.

The Trailblazer started to take a breath as though to say something else, but, in the middle of the action, froze in place, evidently realizing the incongruity of what he’d just said.

We merely blinked at each other for a second or two, equally surprised at his good-natured greeting. Was this really the same man who’d labeled me a threat the prior evening?

Abruptly, as his recognition fully settled in, he pivoted and all but tossed himself back in the direction from which he’d come—I felt the situation allowed for calling his behavior humorous —muttering under his breath, albeit vehemently enough that I could easily make out his next words:

“Curses! Curse you, Sunday!”

For lack of any other ideas, I looked to Dan Heng for an appraisal of the situation.

He was smiling. His steel-blue eyes, usually cold, now glimmered, and there was a faint, yet fond curve to the corners of his lips as he stared after the Trailblazer.

I briefly, but very seriously, questioned whether I wasn’t dreaming.

Still, I chose my next words carefully.

“...Is everything all right?”

Dan Heng only glanced in my direction, sitting up straighter and rearranging his hands on his lap as he spoke. “He has some things to work out.”

Things?

My fingertips pressed into each other. By things, I conjectured, he likely meant the Trailblazer’s opinions on my presence. It certainly appeared, based on that single unexpected comment, that there was some dissonance in what he thought of me boarding the Express as a passenger. Indeed, even after all of that vitriol, he had been willing to give me another chance. That was a pleasant surprise in and of itself.

I wonder if he’s more conflicted than he lets on.

Before long, the Trailblazer returned, showing no signs whatsoever of his previous distress. Though he gave no further acknowledgment of my presence at the table, he didn’t seem to actively avoid looking at me, either, his gaze intermittently passing over me as though I was a mere part of the furniture. He seated himself, easily yet wordlessly, next to Dan Heng.

Then, the sound of additional footsteps behind me heralded the approach of the other crew members. I looked over my shoulder to watch as they entered the meeting car.

“Good morning, everyone, Sunday.” Welt was the first to extend a greeting, punctuating it with a deliberate nod in my direction. “I’m pleased to see you’ve joined us today.”

“Mister Dan Heng—” I broke off and cleared my throat to restart my sentence. “Dan Heng graciously extended the invitation to me, so I thought I would take full advantage of the opportunity to mingle with everyone.”

A light sound like a chuckle escaped Welt’s throat as he and Himeko lowered themselves into the booth. “It’s all right—you’re a passenger on the Express now. You can just treat it like any other casual occasion.”

“A casual occasion.” I echoed his words, my wings stirring to stimulate my train of thought. “Thank you. I will try to keep that in mind.”

“Were you able to settle in okay?” Himeko’s voice was again patient and inviting.

I pressed my lips into a firm line. “I’ve… managed, more or less.”

“It’s okay if you still need some time,” she reassured me. “You’re in a new place, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve encountered a lot of new experiences in just the past few days. It’s only natural to be nervous.”

It’s only natural to be nervous.

I rolled her consolation around in my mind; the notion ignited a flame of warmth and familiarity somewhere in a deep corner of my heart. I earnestly tried to recall whether anyone had ever told me anything like that before.

Perhaps I knew of one person who would say such a thing.

Already I was beginning to understand how the Express crew could build such sturdy rapport.

Welt opened his mouth to speak again, but the abrupt slam of a door interrupted him. I guessed by the ensuing clamor that March was making her way into the car.

“Ah, hopefully I’m not too late!” March made it to the booth and slid into the seat in record time, and with such gusto that I was surprised she didn’t cause a serious collision. “I thought I went to bed on time, but…”

“Take it easy, March.” A fond laugh colored Welt’s voice. “As you can see, we haven’t even started eating yet, and for that matter, Pom-Pom—”

“Coming in hot!”

By now it was evident to whom the last voice belonged, and it was accompanied by the loud rattling of what must have been a cart. Again I began to doubt that I wasn’t dreaming, or perhaps the unwitting subject of a cartoon crafted by the creative minds of Penacony.

Pom-Pom’s arrival was both comically conducted and comically timed. By some miracle, their cart—its size impressive, given the stature of its driver—screeched to a halt perfectly in front of the table and drew anticipatory stares from the entire crew. I might have allowed myself to laugh, except I was too transfixed watching the crew distribute a series of dishes onto the table, their expertly practiced motions signifying just how many times before they had performed this particular task.

It wasn’t a breakfast like any I was used to experiencing on Penacony. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was bad.

“Oh, that’s right! We have one extra with us today!”

March flashed me a bright grin as she passed a plate across the table to me. My hands grasped it of their own accord. And as the crew arranged the table, the aromas of various breakfast foods made their way into my nose; I suddenly became aware that I was salivating. Perhaps finding it within myself to eat something was not a lost cause.

“And maybe for more than just today, too!”

For a single instant following March’s declaration, I was under the scrutiny of the entire Express crew—but perhaps ‘scrutiny’ was the wrong word, because, looking back, I didn’t sense any legitimate hostility in their gazes; for that fleeting moment, a sense of security filled my chest, like I may as well have been sitting at that table with close family.

And then the sounds, scents and sights resumed their concert, the input raucous, but not entirely unpleasant.

The next feeling I was aware of was that of hot tears welling up in my eyes. Strange—I couldn’t fathom what part of this experience might make me want to cry.

Just the additional stress, I told myself. I wouldn’t normally cry in a situation like this. It was like Himeko said—I was in a new place, experiencing new things, so it made perfect sense that, emotionally speaking, I wouldn’t be at my strongest.

I screwed my eyes shut, hoping that the others were too preoccupied with setting up the meal to notice.

–

I still felt restless, but somehow, at some point during the day, I was relaxed enough to doze off in a chair. I suppose the lack of proper sleep the night before may have been a factor as well.

I dedicated my afternoon to quiet contemplation. In inventorying my grounding techniques, I was able to stave off the persistent itch to rearrange my surroundings, at least for the time being. (I continuously reassured myself that there was no deadline by which I had to have all of the fine details of my place on the Express worked out—if there was, I was not made aware of it.) Intermittently, the crew members departed the train to attend to their various tasks and errands, returning later in the evening with similar irregularity.

Thus, my first day on the Express passed relatively uneventfully.

It was shortly after dinner when I found myself back in the meeting car, occupying a similar position to the one I’d taken up the night before—that is, standing and looking out the window at the expanse of space beyond.

By now, the sound of footsteps had become the usual background noise as the Express crew went about their duties. As a result, I was not particularly alarmed to hear someone approaching, though I checked over my shoulder for good measure.

I held my breath as the Trailblazer made his way towards me. Yet his gaze was even, his pace relaxed, his posture not particularly aggressive. I hoped I was right in judging that he didn’t come seeking an altercation.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” To further reduce the chances of an argument, I took the initiative to start the conversation.

“Oh. Not particularly.” As he paused at a comfortable distance away—just out of arm’s reach—the Trailblazer’s movements were casual, with little precision. “I just… came to say hi, I guess.”

Came to say hi? I raised an eyebrow at that.

Evidently, the Trailblazer noticed the change in my expression. “Is there something weird about that?”

“I… suppose not,” I began carefully, running my fingertips along one side of my coat. “I didn’t expect you to visit me of your own accord.”

The corner of the Trailblazer’s mouth quirked upwards. “Just figured it’d help establish a…” He faltered, searching for the right words. “...a connection if I did.”

“A connection.” The echo had fallen from my tongue before I was even aware of it. “I see.”

I supposed that was the nature of casual conversation—bids for interaction intended to increase the strength of a bond between two individuals, even if the interactions themselves were not of any particular substance.

“Anyway,” he stammered, “just figured I’d come see what you were up to.”

“Hmm. Well, not much for today.” My gaze drifted back to the window. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, mostly.”

After a brief pause, the Trailblazer made an affirming noise, and then took another breath.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why did you join the Express, anyway?”

I drew a sigh through my nose—quietly, as I prepared my answer.

“Because I had nowhere else to go.”

When I looked back at the Trailblazer, there was a light crease in his brow as he processed my response.

“That, and I still desire to someday build a paradise. I realized that, to that end, what I require most at the moment is knowledge and experience. I surmised that joining the Express crew for some of their travels might be the most fruitful approach for acquiring such experience.” I again allowed my fingertips to press into one another. “That said, as I mentioned earlier, once we reach a destination I deem appropriate, I plan to disembark. So, right now, I am merely a humble passenger.” 

The Trailblazer gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowed in concentration, as though he was digesting a difficult lesson. Indeed, my answer probably gave him much to contemplate, given what he knew about me from Welt as well as from before—back in Penacony.

“Is that a suitable answer to your question?”

“Oh!” The Trailblazer’s back straightened, my voice evidently pulling him from his reverie. “Of course. Thank you.” He averted his gaze. “That’s… all I wanted to ask for now.”

I dipped my chin in some semblance of a nod.

With no further words on his tongue, the Trailblazer cast me one final glance, his eyes stirring with a wealth of emotions and thoughts. Slowly he turned and departed to his dwelling for the evening, disappearing behind the door to the parlor car.

Well, of all directions that conversation could have taken, that was certainly a more positive one. Given my concerns about the Trailblazer’s hostility, I considered this particular interaction a small victory.

And, if I wasn’t imagining it, it did indeed feel somewhat easier to fall asleep that night.

Chapter Text

I corrected the angle of the chair, but the sense of satisfaction welling up within me was only temporary.

My shoulders lifted in a sigh. Still a sense of unease gnawed at my insides, continuously reminding me of all of the factors of my situation that were outside of my control. The position of an armchair was something I could control, yes, but it did very little to ease my more pressing worries.

Still, I reminded myself, no large task is accomplished without the completion of countless much smaller tasks. Perhaps even the most minute adjustment was worth it for the respective weight it took off my heart. Even if my only achievement for the day was altering the position of a chair, it was an achievement nonetheless.

“Passenger Sunday! How are you holding up?”

Pom-Pom paused to greet me as they passed by, sweeping the floor with an appropriately-sized broom.

Perhaps there was a deliberate choice in the Express employing such an adorable conductor, as, despite my situation, I couldn’t return their gaze without smiling. “I’ve certainly been better, but I think I’ll manage. Thank you for your concern.” I tapped my fingers on the back of the chair I’d just moved. “Conductor, are you sure there’s nothing you need help with?”

“Nope! Leave the cleaning to Pom-Pom.” They gestured towards me with the handle of their broom. “We can’t have our esteemed guests tiring themselves out on household chores! Just sit back and relax while we make our way to our next destination.”

“If you’re certain.” I flicked my wings. “I will do my best.”

With that, Pom-Pom left to continue their task. While fidgeting with my clothing, I suddenly recalled that Dan Heng had previously given me access to the data bank. That should keep my mind occupied, at least for a little while, assuming I was able to focus properly.

I was impressed with the data bank’s ease of navigation, its information presented in intuitive categories. It seemed the Express—Dan Heng himself, rather—kept records of everything the crew had encountered on their journeys: all manner of people, places, things, and concepts. Sifting through it all would certainly take time, but on the other hand, if one were searching for a specific subject, the process could be completed with relatively few steps.

As for myself, since my primary goal in this journey was the acquisition of knowledge, I believed any new information I could acquire would be worth my while.

It happened that alternating my browsing with walks around the Express improved my mood greatly, even as restlessness continued to linger quietly in the back of my mind. I was considerably more content with how this particular day progressed, and was just beginning to contemplate retiring for the night when someone approached my corner of the meeting car—and when I looked up, who should appear but the Trailblazer, once again paying me a visit. As with the previous evening, nothing in his body language suggested ill intent or anything other than a desire for casual conversation.

“You’re back.”

As I verbally acknowledged his presence, the Trailblazer met my gaze; the golden glow of the meeting car cast a leisurely light into his eyes.

Once more, he stopped at a comfortable distance away. “Yeah, I just came to say hi again.” 

“You don’t have any further questions for me?”

He shook his head. “Not that I can think of—not right now, anyway.”

I took it as a good sign that a genuine smile found its way to my face, alighting on my lips. “Shall I expect visits like these to become part of your routine, then?”

He glanced at the floor. “You could say that.”

I flicked my wings and rested a knuckle on my chin. “Trailblazer, by any chance, would you call yourself a creature of habit?”

Still avoiding my gaze, he nodded. “Yeah, I would say so.”

“Hm. Then you and I are alike in that regard.”

Cautiously he looked back up at me, and met my eyes with a curious curve of his brow. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

And then, silence.

“If there is nothing else you’d like to ask,” I began slowly, “may I be so bold as to pose a question of my own?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Why is it that you joined the Express?”

Again he averted his gaze, although this time he almost fully turned away from me. My heart spent the next several seconds creeping up into my throat, my feathers strangely ruffled by gesture. Was it overstepping to ask that?

“I had nowhere else to go,” he finally replied, his head drooping to hide his face.

“Ah.” I pursed my lips, inwardly debating an appropriately neutral answer. “Then you and I are alike in that regard as well.”

He said nothing.

Was there really no other reason?

I was on the verge of following up with this question, but, seeing as I had apparently already struck a nerve (or, at least, gotten dangerously close to doing so), I elected it unwise to pursue the topic further. Perhaps that question could wait until another time.

As the silence extended, his gaze wandered. At length, his attention returned to me, the turning of the cogs in his mind almost audible in the stillness of the meeting car. But, offering no clear conclusion to his thinking, he wordlessly pivoted and made his way back to the door.

Well, I’d made it another day without igniting the Trailblazer’s temper, at least not to the same extent as the first evening. I wondered whether it was too soon to call that a success—perhaps another small accomplishment for the day, if nothing else.

Somehow, I found it even easier to sleep that night. Part of it must have been that I was getting used to staying on the Express.

I also wagered that the beginnings of a routine were a contributing factor. It was indeed comforting to know for certain that there was no impending disaster, no consequences to failing to check the position of every chair and table.

After all, I mused with a chuckle, that was mostly Pom-Pom’s job.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the data bank wasn’t the only bountiful source of knowledge on the Express; one could indeed learn much from the passengers themselves.

Pom-Pom was often too immersed in their chores for much chatter. However, I gathered that an appropriately-timed greeting might elicit a brief remark, about either the other crew members or something more outlandish—for example, the conductor’s grooming routine and how it affected their shedding.

(Just how, I wondered, would this knowledge assist me in building a paradise? I could never know for sure.)

Then, there was Dan Heng. Though he was himself a man of few words, my access to the archives was crucial for times when my fingertips ached for the touch of a hardcover volume—or if I simply wanted somewhere to get away from the noise. Not that the Express was particularly lively—rather, the archives all but guaranteed uninterrupted silence; if Dan Heng happened to be there at the same time, he was more than happy to occupy the room without indulging the additional demand of small talk.

And then there was March, a spontaneous bundle of energy who, in many ways, seemed Dan Heng’s polar opposite—perpetually eager for social interaction, even to the point of inviting someone like me into her own room— on my third full day on the Express, no less—and I hadn’t the heart to refuse her enthusiasm.

In accordance with her personality, her room was all bright colors and fluffy plush toys, though with moderate lighting that made one feel at ease. Moreover, in contrast to the archives, it was amply furnished, like a proper living space. Most notably, the entirety of one wall was dedicated to photographs she’d collected throughout her time on the Express. In observing how she handled her framed pictures and her analog camera, it struck me that her opinions on the relative benefits of physical and digital copies of things might, in fact, mirror Dan Heng’s. Perhaps, despite their discrepancies, the two of them were not so different after all.

“Ooh, I need to make sure to get a picture of you, too!”

At her statement, my mind suddenly went blank, my eyes now failing to register the photographs on the wall before me. I wondered whether my wealth of experience appearing in front of people—or, indeed, in front of cameras—had then mysteriously vanished; for all of the time I had spent in a high-profile position in Penacony, now the prospect of being captured on film caught me worryingly off-guard.

I turned to look at where she stood in the middle of the room “...Of me?”

March gave one of her characteristic grins, complete with a bounce on her toes. “Of course, you silly—so we can remember that you’ve traveled with us!”

I failed to reciprocate her enthusiasm, my smile feeling forced and lopsided. “March, I’ve only been here for three days.”

She shifted her weight towards me, a slight frown gracing her lips. “It’s not like the amount of time you’ve been on the Express determines how important you are. And besides, you said you might not be here very long, which is all the more reason for us to take a photo.”

All the more reason?

So, if I wasn’t misinterpreting, however temporary and unofficial my stay, there was value to it all the same—according to March, anyway.

Indeed, now that I thought about it, did the duration of an event necessarily dictate whether it was worthy of fond recollection?

I found myself pondering whether the Express had harbored other such temporary passengers in its long history. Were they faced with the same self-doubt, wondering whether they truly had a place on the train despite not planning to stay?

Or, alternatively, who was to say that any modicum of knowledge I gleaned on my adventure wouldn’t come in handy somewhere down the line?

Even if that knowledge was of… Pom-Pom’s shedding routine.

I closed my eyes to allow my thoughts to settle.

“I suppose you are right.” I ruffled my wings a bit, adjusting to the newfound comfort warming my body.

Evidently pleased with my acquiescence, she sped off to her desk on the opposite side of the room. I followed, observing as she seated herself in a soft-looking swiveling chair and then reached towards the camera perched atop a set of drawers.

“You know, March,” I began, catching her attention, “in some ways, you very much remind me of my sister. Did you ever get to properly meet her? Aside from our exchange in the lobby of the Reverie, I mean.”

She turned the camera about in her hands. “Y’know, I’m trying to think! We might’ve gotten the chance to talk once or twice, but so much happened in Penacony that I’m not sure we ever really sat down and socialized—though I think that would’ve been really fun!”

“Hmm.” I took reassurance in her praises. “That’s too bad.”

“I was already so excited when we ran into her just that one time,” March continued, invulnerable to any decline in mood. “I mean, imagine running into a singer like her when we’d only just gotten off the Express!”

The warm feeling from earlier now spread to the tips of my fingers, and I paused to savor it before speaking again. “I do seem to recall you voicing your enthusiasm at the time.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of Robin…” She stopped playing with her camera, her voice slow and her brow knit as she looked up at me from her seat. “If it’s okay to ask, were you able to say goodbye to her and stuff?”

I took a moment to process her question. Though I was still warm, my heart weighed heavy in my chest, so I heaved a deep sigh to ease the ache.

“I was.” My gaze meandered aimlessly along the walls of her room. “On one hand, I’m not sure we’ll ever meet again, but on the other hand, if the universe is truly infinite…” Now I met her eyes again. “I’d like to think the possibility is out there somewhere. And besides, she’s a very capable person—I’m sure she can take care of herself. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself, at least.”

She nodded, approving of even my meager positivity. “I hope you get to see her again! I hope we all do, together!”

I huffed the softest of laughs. “Thank you, March.”

“Okay, now hold that pose, and say cheese!”

Her face disappeared from my field of vision, replaced by the analog camera she held up. Regrettably, it took my brain several seconds to parse what was happening—but I hoped that, at the flash of light and the click of the shutter, that the smile I allowed to spread across my face did not appear too awkward.

For what I had learned from the data bank so far, I learned an equivalent amount—at the very least—from March herself about life on the Express. She seemed not to mind that I contributed little to the conversation aside from the occasional prompting question, which would send her on a series of tangents that often felt much like an adventure in and of itself.

To this extent, the day left me in high spirits. Part of me later regretted not paying closer attention to the dangers behind such boundless optimism.

Perhaps foolishly, I thought that when the Trailblazer visited me once again that evening—surely for nothing more than our usual chat—I would have no reason to worry.

Except that after he approached me, amicably enough, the Trailblazer’s expression suddenly grew stern, his eyes narrowing and his jaw setting.

“Wait, you’re the one who used Aventurine, aren’t you?”

Aventurine.

The shadow that fell across my thoughts then was like that of a curtain descending upon a stage between acts.

I avoided his gaze. “Ah, the IPC ambassador.”

Oddly, he didn’t speak for a few seconds. When I stole a glance at his face, his lips had parted, and though his eyes were still dark, embers of resentment smoldered brightly within them.

“You’re the one who hurt him.”

My heart gave a painful beat of protest against my ribs. I was too scared to meet his eyes.

At the time, I did what I thought was right in order to protect my family. In gathering intelligence via the gambler, I separated myself from Penacony’s most imminent dangers, and simultaneously gained some leverage over the IPC’s foothold, leading to multiple areas of benefit for the state of the sweet dream—at least, that was what I had hoped, if not for his little magic tricks. I believed his role was a small but necessary sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.

But I could not force this many words from my lips right now, and I feared they would only further stoke the Trailblazer’s anger.

So, all I managed was a meager “I’m sorry.”

“He could have died! ” The Trailblazer’s voice cracked, rising to a pitch I hadn’t heard even during our first conversation on the Express. “When I finally got him onto the train, he was—!”

The Trailblazer took a sharp breath then, and lapsed back into silence—silence that was, before long, intermittently broken by fainter breaths, escaping from his lungs with the irregular shape of shards of glass.

When I dared to glimpse his face again, his eyes were tinged red with tears, his attention drifting somewhere near the floor.

Several minutes passed as he wept. He didn’t speak again, nor look me in the eyes.

However, he also made no move to leave—as though he only wanted me to bear witness to his anguish.

I spent those minutes gathering my courage, pondering what would be best to say in this situation.

“I’m sorry,” I finally repeated, bringing myself to face him. “It didn’t occur to me at the time that my actions to protect those I loved could harm others to such an extent—others who were, indeed, cared for in a similar manner—or, if it did occur to me, with a lack of foresight, I deemed it unimportant. For that much, I take responsibility.”

My words seemed to appease him; gradually, his breath evened out, and he gave no indication that he would raise his voice again.

Yet, for a long time, he said nothing, his moistened eyes searching my face, as though for a sign of doubt or dishonesty. I simply stood where I was and allowed him to evaluate my apology.

It was just as I began to wonder how long he would remain when he opened his mouth to speak again—but not to vent his frustration or even to prompt further explanation.

Instead, what he said was:

“Good night, Sunday.”

A cordial greeting—one he had not extended to me previously. A tickling sensation rose along the back of my neck.

I took a slow breath, allowing the remaining unease to evaporate from my lungs.

“Good night, Trailblazer.”

He blinked. “Caelus.”

I tilted my head faintly.

“You can call me that,” he added.

“Caelus.” I tested the name, allowing it to glide across my tongue. A foreign feeling, but one to which I could see myself growing accustomed. “Good night, Caelus.”

His greeting reciprocated, he gave a decisive nod and turned to depart for the parlor car. Given the previous events of the evening, I doubted whether it wasn’t my imagination that I thought I caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as he left.

Caelus. Again I tried the sound of his name, this time within my mind. A name meaning ‘of the heavens.’ How appropriate, for one whose pastime was to journey among the stars, witnessing all that they had to offer.

And it now seemed that, in some ways, I had become a sort of starfaring witness myself—just maybe in ways quite different from what I had expected.

Chapter Text

By the fourth day, I was acclimated enough to life on the Express that I began having dreams again. Granted, it was a bittersweet experience. And, in all honesty, I couldn’t fully remember what it was that I dreamt about. I assumed it must have been about Robin, or my time with Gopher Wood—or perhaps both, because, upon waking, so heavy and powerful was the grief in my heart that I could hardly stand up straight. Focusing on any given task throughout the day was incredibly difficult—not even the data bank could keep my attention. Though, at least, I think I managed to hide my predicament from the rest of the Express crew, because no one commented on anything seeming amiss.

And so I dedicated another day to contemplation. I thought back to everything that happened in Penacony—and even before that, the memories alternately tugging at my heartstrings in quite a cruel fashion. I was grateful that today was not a particularly busy day on the Express, so that no one was there to witness my pitiful weeping.

Still just the extra stress, I told myself. Prior to my boarding the Express, I was fully capable of reminiscing about all kinds of things without indulging the urge to cry. I supposed that, though I was making progress, I was still in the middle of getting used to my new surroundings. I would eventually regain my previous emotional resilience, I assured myself—it would simply take some time.

Thankfully, by that evening, I had dried my eyes and was satisfied that Caelus would not notice anything out of the ordinary about my conduct.

Needless to say, I no longer knew what to expect when it came to his nightly visits; the only consistent aspect was their timing.

Though I once happened to spot him leaving the archives early in the morning, he was never on the Express during the day—at least, not that I noticed. Regardless, like clockwork, shortly after dinnertime, Caelus would make his appearance; so long as I was in the general vicinity of that particular nook in the meeting car, he would gravitate towards me much as though I were one of the celestial bodies his name evoked. His steps were always measured, clear in their intention, yet not unnecessarily enthusiastic.

Would tonight’s conversation invoke more guilt and frustration, or would it remain within the realm of good-natured small talk? (I wasn’t sure I had the emotional stamina in me for the former.)

Perhaps the complexity was in that it could oscillate between both, encompassing the full range of emotions that Caelus doubtlessly experienced—complexity that was frightening, but very much a quintessential part of mortal existence.

Today, his greeting of choice was a simple pronunciation of my name:

“Sunday.”

Something straightforward that, nevertheless, brought me joy. A smile found its way naturally to my lips. “Good evening, Caelus.”

Indeed, there was something comforting about addressing him by his name rather than a less personal title. The way Caelus mirrored my smile suggested to me that he thought the same.

After a brief pause, he glanced to the side, making a vague gesture with his hand. “Shall we sit?”

I lifted my wings, pleasantly surprised at his affable demeanor. At the same time, I regretted the pang of alarm that prodded at my stomach shortly thereafter—a reminder of the risks of allowing myself to feel hopeful.

Regardless, I concurred. “A fine proposal.”

And so we sat, with Caelus facing me from across the low table between us, at a distance indeed quite suitable for conversation. Once seated, he leaned forwards in his chair and folded his hands. An almost devilish grin spread across his face, his eyes glimmering with intrigue.

Clearly, he’d arrived with a topic prepared.

“...So how’d you get your wings pierced?”

Of course he’d find a way to ask about that. I couldn’t help but smile wider, in spite of myself.

I looked into the space behind him. “I suppose you could say that was the extent of my… rebellious phase.”

With all of the responsibilities I’d had from a young age, it wasn’t as though I had the free time to do much more. For all the trouble my position as the head of the Oak Family had gotten me into, perhaps it had kept me out of some other, much more commonplace forms of trouble, now that I thought about it—falling into mud puddles notwithstanding.

Caelus’s eyes widened. “It would hurt more than getting your ears pierced, wouldn’t it? I mean, isn’t it basically like stabbing through your arm?”

A deep crease formed in my brow as I considered this very… corporeal question. I could see how he would arrive at that conclusion.

“More or less. Not quite, really, as they’re not adapted for flight like the wings of birds, so their morphology is somewhat different, but…”

I flexed my wings to support my point. “...Yes, it would be quite different from a cartilage piercing, for sure. Granted, that doesn’t stop some of us from trying to fly with them anyway. The young boys, I mean.”

“Ah.” Caelus flashed his teeth. “Ouch. That sounds like it would be a good way to get some solid bruises.”

I huffed. “It very much is. And some mud on your clothes, for that matter.”

At least, even if the memory of failure lingers, the mud can be washed away, and the bruises can heal.

“It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

A breath of laughter rose in my throat. “That’s because I am.” I hadn’t thought Caelus would need to know that story for any reason, but here I was, telling it to him anyway, my words flowing easily from my lips. In the end, I appended the pivotal detail: “I almost broke my halo.”

And in response, Caelus laughed along—a short and restrained chuckle, but one that warmed my heart nonetheless. I allowed myself to venture a guess that, in spite of his previous hostility, his current attitude meant that our development of mutual trust was making some progress. It was a dangerous feeling, like teetering with one foot on a ledge, or perhaps above a tall flight of stairs—but in this particular conversation, on such a mundane topic, the risk of stumbling and falling was probably not too severe.

Chatting with Caelus, I mused, would probably not break my halo.

“Granted, I was very young at the time,” I added, my fingertips pressing into each other, “but that doesn’t mean I would recommend trying it in adulthood, either.”

“Oh, of course not.” Caelus cocked his head, his expression still bright with amusement. “May I take a closer look?”

I blinked.

At my wings?

That must have been what he meant. I struggled to come up with anything else to which he might be referring.

“At your wings, I mean.” He delivered his words one at a time, as though he feared offending me with the suggestion.

So I was right.

“Oh. Sure.”

Who was I to refuse?

Here was that same sheepishness again—the same as yesterday when March wanted to take a picture of me. All of my experience as Bronze Melodia was out the window for good, it seemed.

At least, until I adjusted to living on the Express. That was all it would take, I assured myself.

Caelus reached beneath his chair to bring himself closer to where I sat. Not once did his gaze leave the tip of my left wing.

In the interim, I caught myself wondering how much time he’d spent with my sister, and whether he’d managed to get a proper look at her wings, if only to justify why he seemed to treat mine as such a curiosity—but, knowing that line of thinking would occupy more of my attention than I was willing to forfeit right now, I forced it back into the recesses of my mind.

I could talk about my sister with March, but around Caelus, it would behoove me to remain on my guard—at least a little, until his animosity fully subsided.

I hoped I was still correct in doubting that he would break my halo.

With Caelus finding a fitting position adjacent to my chair, I tipped my head to the right so that my left wing pointed towards him. I felt his stare begin to burn a new hole in my feathers to match the piercings I already had.

Upon sitting down again, he remained still for several seconds. I figured he might require additional prompting, so I lifted the tip of my wing just slightly. Sure enough, his eyes followed—and now, his hands were gradually rising from their place in his lap as well.

I stifled a grimace, hoping my brief hesitation wouldn’t offend him.

“If you’re inclined to try touching them, please be gentle.”

They weren’t as fragile as they looked, but I didn’t need to give him that leeway—at least, not right now.

“Mm.” Caelus seemed unbothered by this condition, as his nod was decisive, focused.

He leaned in. With utmost delicacy, his fingertips made their way up to my wing, just scarcely brushing the ends of the feathers. I allowed my wing to fold slightly at his touch, reacting but not quite recoiling.

Well, so far so good. As of right now, he seemed to bear no intention of harming me.

When I extended my wing again, his fingers alighted on my feathers. His touch was hardly a disturbance to my senses; indeed, I wager I was more aware of his form in my peripheral vision where the window to the space outside should have been. Still, I kept my attention sharp, in case he made any unpredictable moves. Yet he continued his caress with great care—so softly that my wing hardly twitched in response.

Apparently satisfied with palpating the stiff edges of the primary feathers, he skimmed his fingertips up the side of my wing until they just barely contacted the spikes. Now his hand contacted the coverts a little more closely, and I had to hold my head still to suppress the faint, warm shiver that traveled down my neck.

He paused. Suspense filled the air.

“Is this thing supposed to be here?”

“Hmm?” I turned my head as much as I could to look at him, endeavoring to leave my wing where it was. 

“This…”

His fingertip gently poked into my feathers, now leaving a slight prickling sensation, like he was scratching a nonexistent itch.

“Oh. That’s a new feather coming in. It’s called a pin feather.” My wing flexed involuntarily, resolving the sensation of his touch. “It still has its keratin shaft, but that falls apart naturally as it grows into place.”

“Ah.” Caelus withdrew his hand. From the beat of silence alone, I couldn’t tell whether he fully processed my explanation. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

I shook my head, my wing brushing his fingers in the process. “No, no—it’s much like your hair or nails growing in. It can… itch somewhat, but that isn’t typically an issue outside of the major molts.”

“Major molts?” His voice rose with curiosity.

I realized then that this conversation was far more in-depth than I originally intended—but perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. Caelus seemed genuinely interested in learning about… me, or my wings—whichever it was he truly favored.

If nothing else, I certainly preferred it to facing his resentment.

And, if it wasn’t too optimistic of me to think so, it was entirely possible that deepening his understanding of me might actually curb that resentment—even if that understanding centered on the constitution of my wings.

“Once in summer and once in winter,” I explained. “They occur intermittently throughout the year as well, just… not to the same degree as when the seasons change.”

“Ah. I see.” Movement in my peripheral vision told me that he gave another nod. “So this is supposed to be here. It’s just a new feather.”

“That’s correct.”

Content with the results of his tactile investigation, Caelus sat back in his chair.

But, from his wide-eyed expression, it appeared when I readjusted my posture that something else had now caught his attention.

“Oh, your ears are pierced. It took me this long to notice.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “ ‘This long?’ It’s only been a few days since I arrived on the Express, has it not?”

Perhaps I was misinterpreting his observation, or some aspect of his perspective, but the interval of time I’d spent with the crew did not seem long to me at all—at least, not in the grand scheme of things.

His lack of a verbal response only raised further questions. He glanced away, the color of his face warm in the light of the meeting car.

Well, to take other factors into account: recalling when we first met in Penacony, that was indeed quite a while ago—several months, in fact. Granted, both the Nameless and I had been so busy with our respective positions that I doubted Caelus—or any of them, for that matter—had the opportunity to closely examine my appearance. There was no doubt in my heart that among all of us, I was, by far, the most meticulous about it. Indeed, with the progression of events in Penacony, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were far too focused on their own survival to notice any minute details, like whether my ears were pierced, much less the state of my vest or trousers. (Though, in Caelus’s defense, he probably paid more attention to my wings, what with their evident novelty.)

…Had it really been that long since they first checked into the Reverie?

Still… that line of reasoning would suggest that Caelus had spent ample time since then looking at me—or, at least, considering my absence, thinking about me—enough that he would refer to the current moment as ‘this long.’

I hadn’t noticed his eyes on me particularly often at breakfast, but it was hard to tell for sure with my attention divided among the entire crew.

“Oh, and your halo—is that something you can feel?”

Caelus’s next question interrupted my thoughts. Sure enough, his gaze was now focused behind my head, though his hands still rested patiently in his lap.

“Feel?” I tucked my wings in a little more, my brow furrowing. “Well, yes, it’s a part of my body just like anything else, though it’s not particularly sensitive to touch—again, like the ends of hair or fingernails. But… yes, if someone were to touch it, I would be able to feel it.”

…And if handled roughly, it can hurt, like when I severed it at the entrance to the dream.

I suppressed the urge to shake my head to rid it of the troublesome memory. That was not a story Caelus needed to hear right now—not if I wanted to keep this conversation as pleasant as it had been up until this point. He’d heard the note about me almost breaking it—that should be more than enough for the time being.

“May I?”

Caelus once more tossed me an expectant glance that I found strangely difficult to resist.

“...May you touch my halo?”

He nodded slowly, like a student awaiting praise from their teacher.

If my duty as a passenger on the Astral Express was to keep him entertained and indulge his curiosities, then so be it.

I let a breath out my nose.

“As you wish.”

This time, Caelus spent much longer deciding how best to approach his objective. I turned in my chair to facilitate his assessment—but not without a spark of anxiety igniting in my stomach at the thought of willingly turning my back to him.

It’s fine. He’s not going to hurt me.

I wasn’t entirely sure I could trust the reassurance I gave myself, but it was all I had to rely on at the moment. Surely, if something about this interaction went south, the conductor or one of the other passengers would intervene somehow? I couldn’t imagine a situation in which willingly dealing physical harm to another member of the crew was at all acceptable.

I took a breath to calm the worries swirling within me, listening to the shuffling behind me as Caelus adjusted his position. Finally he found what he must have considered a suitable angle, and the shuffling noises stopped.

For several seconds I questioned whether he wasn’t hesitating as well; it wasn’t until I turned my head, just a bit, that I felt his fingertips on the upper-left corner of my halo: a feather-light touch, as it were, not unlike the sensation of someone gently tugging on the ends of your hair—and as he allowed his hand to glide down my halo’s edge, he increased the pressure to a soft caress, and against my will I felt my eyelids fall closed. All of a sudden, they felt so heavy that I doubted any force in the universe could lift them.

Meticulously he traced the curve of my halo, pausing at every groove and corner, investigating each and every detail, as if trying to engrave its shape into his memory. His touch left a trail of mild tingles that gathered at the back of my neck. In the end, to avoid giving a visible shudder, I instead rolled my shoulders to dispel the sensation—shifting my halo just enough to briefly intensify his touch into a gentle press, not unlike that of someone giving a massage.

It was then that his fingertips withdrew from where they had come to rest at the bottom edge of my halo. The surface there suddenly felt cold. I opened my eyes.

“Sorry, does that bother you?” His voice rose as he spoke, reflecting what seemed like… genuine concern.

Faintly I shook my head, in case his hand was still in its vicinity. “No, it’s…”

What could I say without sounding too dismissive, but also not too vulnerable?

“...It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I can stop.”

Please don’t.

I had to clench my jaw to prevent the words from escaping my throat. How could I think such a ridiculous thing, especially in regards to someone who had previously demonstrated such a vehement dislike for my very presence?

Indeed, at that moment, I recalled that the last person I willingly allowed to touch my halo in such a manner…

…was Robin.

I attributed the warmth seeping into my heart partially to embarrassment, as my wings began to curve inwards, and partially to gratitude that he was behind me right now, so that he couldn’t see my expression.

I hoped that getting some proper rest tonight would be enough to bring my emotions back within the realm of rationality.

At length, his delicate touch returned to my halo and began up the other side. This time I allowed my eyelids to gradually slide closed, the bright meeting car descending into darkness around me. The cycle of air in and out of my lungs slowed, and my head started to feel heavy.

“If you’re having conflicting feelings, I can stop.” Caelus’s voice sounded strangely distant. But it rose in pitch again—this time tinged with a chuckle, rather than worry. “But also, if you enjoy it, you can just say so.”

I tried to give a soft grunt in acknowledgment, at the very least, but my voice never made it out of my chest.

Still, he didn’t seem unhappy with the silence. His fingertips continued to travel along the grooves in my halo, pausing where he deemed appropriate—and by the time his touch reached the top again, surreal visions were swimming behind my eyes. It was only the cold sensation, returning in the abrupt absence of his touch, that lifted me from my doze.

“Thank you.”

What for?

I mentally rewound to the beginning of this conversation, struggling to navigate through the haze of sleep that clouded my thoughts. Finally, I came up with a response that seemed suitable enough.

I glanced over my shoulder towards where he stood. “Did that sate your curiosity?”

“It did, actually.”

He certainly sounded much more pleased than he had during any conversation we’d held previously.

“Anyway, I should get going.” The rustle of clothing indicated that he had turned away from my chair. “Good night, Sunday.”

“Good night, Caelus.”

It wasn’t until the last reverberation of my words faded that I detected the sound of his footsteps, as always, retreating to the other end of the meeting car.

I breathed a deep sigh and leaned back against the chair. Stiffness had set into my upper back, so I rolled my neck and shoulders, separating my body from where the chair had seemingly molded to it.

Caelus was right—the time I’d usually turn in for the night was fast approaching. As much as I lamented leaving the comfort of the chair, reminiscing on the sensation of his fingers gliding along the edges of my halo, I told myself I’d lament more tomorrow if I allowed myself to fall asleep for the night with such poor posture.

So, reluctantly, once I was confident Caelus had long since left, I lifted myself from the chair and started to make my way back to the passenger cabins.

Chapter Text

“So, uh… your outfit.”

For the second day in a row, Caelus was preoccupied with my appearance. For once, I wasn’t actually too surprised. I hadn’t deemed it outside the realm of possibility that he might ask to touch my wings or halo again; this wasn’t much different.

Since he had once again invited me to sit, our conversation was comfortable and casual, my pulse regular and easy. I hoped for the evening to maintain this level of predictability.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but wonder why all of his animosity had seemed to suddenly disappear.

“It’s different from before,” he continued. “The one you wore back in Penacony, I mean.”

“Ah, yes.” I caught myself lifting my arms from the chair in which I sat, as if to afford him a better view of my clothing—as for myself, I’d already checked it for imperfections countless times. “It is indeed. I changed out of the family head’s outfit at the first opportunity. After all, I am a fugitive.”

The sigh that left my lungs then was a suitable excuse to restore my former posture. At that point, a bit of the self-consciousness smoldering at my cheeks faded away. “I… did want to keep it for its sentimental value, but, unfortunately, I lost it somewhere in Penacony during my final visit.”

“Hmm.”

At Caelus’s noncommittal noise, my gaze rose from the floor to his face. From that grunt alone, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, much less anticipate his next words. A mote of anxiety swirled in my stomach at my helplessness.

Nor did his expression didn’t help much—he frowned, looking quite pensive, and surveyed me up and down, as though assessing my appearance for flaws. I couldn’t fathom why, as he didn’t seem like the type to know the rules of keeping one’s dress in order, much less follow them.

The tie should be on the center line, the shirt must not protrude from the vest…

“It looks very flattering on you.”

I blinked.

Flattering? A… compliment?

From Caelus?

He returned my gaze, his countenance now enigmatically neutral. I supposed that he was waiting for a verbal response.

“Oh.” Self-consciousness burned at my throat; I tried to swallow it down during the awkward pause that ensued.

To break the silence, I offered the first reply I could think of that felt sufficiently conventional and honest. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Between yesterday and this… he’s gotten awfully bold. Or perhaps just awfully friendly.

With the confrontation from several nights ago still relatively fresh in my memory—as I wagered it was in his—I certainly hadn’t expected him to compliment me. At least, not so openly.

Not to mention, there was still yesterday’s… extended period of physical contact. For someone who didn’t think I should join the crew or even stay on the Express, he was oddly curious about me, and oddly eager to investigate the novelty of my wings and halo—not just by staring at me until his eyes burned through my feathers, but also through a gentle touch, his fingertips lingering for what seemed to me like much longer than necessary for a casual inspection.

(Not that I didn’t enjoy it, I admitted, but that didn’t make his behavior any less strange to me.)

If I wasn’t reading too far into the situation, he seemed like he was looking for excuses to get close to me.

He isn’t trying to court me, is he?

The question stuck itself in my throat.

My first line of thinking was that this inquiry arose from mere impulse, and nothing more. It wasn’t something appropriate to ask him outright; indeed, there was hardly a tactful way to phrase such a question—even if I did decide to pose it to him, I would likely spend an unnecessarily long time deliberating on a precise wording. And, that aside, I would hate to sabotage the trust we’d managed to build with such an intrusive topic.

After all, there was a distinct possibility that I was overthinking things. There was no reason Caelus’s advances couldn’t be purely platonic in nature.

All in all, simple logic affirmed that it would be better not to ask.

But the longer I pondered it, the desire for an answer nagged at me all the stronger, rolling around in my brain and brutishly displacing all of my more familiar thoughts.

Caelus still hadn’t spoken again. Instead, he stared at me intently; his eyes were wide and bright, but his countenance was otherwise unremarkable.

At long last, I brought myself to speak—if only to interrupt the uncomfortable silence.

“These past few days,” I began, “you… you seem like you’ve been quite forward with me.”

Caelus blinked—dramatically, like he’d just been awoken from a deep slumber.

“Oh, yeah.” His expression remained unchanged. “I guess I have.”

“Based on your opinion of me when I first boarded,” I continued cautiously, “I never would have guessed you would be so… open to the concept of, for instance, touching my halo.”

Now his eyebrows rose. “That was okay, right?”

“Yes, of course.” My fingers fidgeted where they’d landed on the arm rests of the chair. “To be clear, that was not a complaint. I did consent to your advances, after all, so… there is no need to worry in that regard.”

“Ah, good.” Some of the tension evaporated from Caelus’s shoulders. “So you enjoyed it.”

For a moment, my breath froze in my lungs, until I forced myself to keep breathing to save myself from further embarrassment. My wings started to curve inwards.

“...I would say that the experience was not an entirely unpleasant one,” I relented, selecting my words even more painstakingly than before.

Now even more of Caelus’s concern dissipated, replaced by a fond smile that pressed into his cheeks and wrinkled his eyelids. “Good. I’m glad.”

I felt a crease form in my brow.

“You are… glad? For my sake?”

“I am,” Caelus replied evenly. “Is that unusual? Oh—”

It seemed that his mind made the connection as soon as the words left his lips, as his expression suddenly went blank again. For another second or two, he proceeded to stare into space, his hands folded in his lap in deep contemplation.

When his eyes focused again, they met mine.

“That is unusual, isn’t it?” he inquired, as though I would be of any help deciphering his feelings.

I gave a slow nod, my earlier wariness now seeping into even my movements. “I would say it is… unexpected.”

He parted his lips a couple of times, seemingly unable to find the right words to express his feelings.

“I guess I’ve been—” Just as he started to speak, he broke off again, and his gaze fell, one of his hands rising to cover the lower half of his face. Now, his mysterious demeanor had inverted into painfully obvious bashfulness, without which the remainder of his sentence might not have been so incriminating:

“...interested in you.”

Interested in me.

The words echoed in my head, again displacing the thoughts that had previously taken up residence there.

Very vague, but that’s certainly one way to put it. And it’s not inaccurate, clearly.

Moreover, his sudden change in mannerisms, as though he was ashamed of his curiosity, did indeed seem to indicate that his interest was not solely platonic—or, at the very least, was much stronger than he had previously anticipated.

He, or either of us, for that matter.

I straightened my back. “So you have.”

Caelus proceeded to intently examine the floor, his shoulders falling in a hushed sigh. “It’s… complicated.”

I pressed my lips together, a bitter feeling stirring in my heart. So I wasn’t overthinking things—that much was correct. But that still left the mystery of how his behavior had grown so amicable after the tongue-lashing he’d given me only a few days prior—a mystery even to him, it seemed.

Indeed, the truth was often messy and contradictory, but that didn’t necessarily make it any less genuine. Inconvenient truths tended to coexist, almost paradoxically, in many cases.

“…I can only imagine.”

I couldn’t tell if Caelus heard my remark. A sea of emotions still swirled in those golden eyes of his. I wouldn’t blame him if he had been too lost in thought to perceive my voice.

The silence extended for another few seconds. Caelus moved only faintly, his brow twitching every so often to signify the depth of his introspection. I started to doubt that he was even still breathing.

“Would you mind if I—?”

He met my gaze again so abruptly that I had to stop myself from leaning away. But his question ended almost as soon as it began, hanging unfinished in the air between us. I was again left puzzled as to what he could be thinking.

“…If you…?”

“…I don’t know. Sorry.”

My breath left my nose in something like a chuckle. On one hand, I couldn’t stand the feeling of being unable to follow his train of thought; on the other hand, there was something comforting in knowing that he was just as lost as I; the two of us were lost together, equally disoriented in the vast expanse of space.

Another contradiction, perplexing but true.

“It’s quite all right.” My gloved fingers began to interweave in front of me.

I averted my gaze. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you.”

I inhaled. “After all, I—”

“Sunday.”

For some reason, my heart leapt in my chest when he spoke my name—so deliberately, and with such confidence so uncharacteristic of all of his previous actions—much differently from how he said it when prefacing it with “good night.” Judging by his previous behavior, I never would have thought him capable of such assertiveness.

Prior to this, he’d only spoken to me so decisively when telling me off. And never in that conversation did he call me by my name.

This man was full of surprises. I wasn’t sure I enjoyed how my pulse raced at the thought.

“It’s okay.” When he spoke again, his voice was gentler—more casual.

Then, he shrugged his shoulders, the last of his authoritative presence vanishing in the motion. 

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t say that. I should say you don’t need to apologize. I mean, if you feel like you need to apologize to me…” He fidgeted, stumbled over his words. “I don’t think you need to. We already went over everything you did wrong, so I don’t think rehashing it is going to help anything. It’s… it’s in the past, I think. At least, I think you coming here is a sign that you won’t try it again.”

I exhaled slowly as I processed his words. In spite of their meandering, they offered more clarity on his stance than anything else he had told me thus far. I felt as though a weight hanging over my head had started to lift, as though the gravity in the train car had been adjusted a minuscule amount—and the light in the room seemed to brighten imperceptibly.

So he really isn’t angry anymore—at least, not as angry as he was before.

I swallowed. “You seem more willing to offer me forgiveness than I anticipated.”

“I know.” Caelus glanced into my eyes—just a brief glance. “It surprised me, too.”

So we really were lost together—neither of us less bewildered than the other, navigating a sea of uncertainty as boundless as the universe.

I suddenly wondered whether he felt as anxious about this situation as I did.

I figured that it was extremely likely.

I followed his gaze down to my hands where they rested in my lap. My fingertips had steepled together again before me, pressing into each other and shifting intermittently.

Was he intentionally looking at my hands, or had he just spaced out in their general direction?

I began to unfold my hands experimentally, my palms turning to face upwards towards him. Sure enough, Caelus’s attention remained transfixed on them, shifting in accordance with my movements, as though his pupils were connected to my fingers by an invisible string.

It was much like how he’d been looking at my wings and halo. That observation gave me a reasonable guess at the unspoken question in his gaze.

Gingerly, I offered one hand—hardly even extending it towards him, simply further upturning my palm. At this gesture, Caelus’s attention flitted to me for just a second or two. It seemed to me like a request for permission.

Now that he’d admitted to his curiosity about me, his thoughts were significantly easier to interpret.

Just as before, he lifted his chair to move closer, this time angling his approach a bit to avoid colliding with me where I sat. After a moment, deeming his position appropriate, he proceeded to lift one of his hands.

He remained bent over where my wrist rested atop my knees, his target far from a mystery—and his movements were painstakingly slow, as though he feared igniting the Stellaron within him should he maneuver too abruptly.

First, his fingertips contacted mine, just as delicately as before, with my wings and halo—one by one, until all five of them settled into place. Then, the rest of his hand gradually pressed downwards into my palm. Despite the gloves separating our skin, his touch was warm, firm, and quite deliberate.

Next he brought forward his other hand, moving the first aside just enough that he could conduct what looked like a thorough tactile investigation. He palpated my fingers gently and drew his thumb across my palm, as though trying to discern the most intricate of details through the fabric of my gloves.

I felt my eyelids start to grow heavy again, my breath slowing as it cycled through my lungs. Somehow my heart protested more than ever before at the thought of resting my eyes, as though it believed I was in a more vulnerable position than when I had my back turned to him. Come to think of it, now he’d be able to see if I closed my eyes, which could alter his approach.

Did I want to surrender that much control to him in this moment?

It might be okay. It might be worth it just for a minute.

After all, he hadn’t broken my halo. He was quite far from it, in fact.

Finally, I allowed my eyes to close. Caelus’s movements grew impossibly more leisurely, his hands shifting back and forth across mine by a fraction of an inch at a time. At length he simply clasped my hand in both of his, resigning himself to pressing countless circles into my palm with his thumb.

When I decided to look back up at him—if only to keep myself from dozing off—he returned my gaze with what, for all intents and purposes, looked like a fond smile.

I had no idea what to say to him.

His grip on my hand tightened just a bit.

But before I could interpret the gesture, before I could guess at the meaning behind it, he let go and began to rise to his feet.

“Wait.”

I only became aware of having spoken after the word had long since left my lips. My voice was heavy and dry in my throat with drowsiness.

Though he was already halfway standing, Caelus paused.

I corrected my posture, returning my hands to my lap, my fingers closing in on one another. “Never mind. You may go.”

“Do you want me to stay longer?” His response came almost too soon.

I clenched my jaw. The itch to speak again bubbled at my tongue, but it was getting late, and I could feel my sensibilities slipping away into the far recesses of my consciousness. If I did respond to his question, I likely would have made a fool of myself.

That notwithstanding, I was merely a humble passenger. I was in no position to make any demands of the Express crew.

“You look like you want me to stay longer,” Caelus observed, his voice soft.

Still I said nothing.

I gave Caelus no indication that his guess was, indeed, correct. He returned to his seat nevertheless.

I made no further movements, aside from watching him closely. Yet, in return, his eyes interrogated me.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?” he finally asked.

“Hm?”

“You told me to wait,” he reminded me, now looking away. “I… wasn’t sure if that meant you had something specific you wanted to say to me, or…”

I steepled my fingertips again, rather tightly, and took a breath.

“I…” I paused again. “I would like to know your thoughts about me. You seem to have quite a few of them.”

Perhaps only with an answer to my burning question would I feel any less lost.

He nodded, pondering his response beforehand. “I do. And… they’re all different.” Now he folded one arm across his front, lightly grasping the opposite wrist. “Like, they’re going in different directions.”

I flexed my wings. “...Different directions?”

“Yeah.” He further averted his gaze. “Some are good, and some are bad. Though, lately, there’ve been a lot more good ones.”

As I thought.

That much was evident from his earlier behavior.

“There used to be a lot more bad ones,” Caelus continued with a deep breath, “but I guess, seeing you now, and… hearing what you went through in Penacony…”

So it wasn’t necessarily true that he wasn’t still angry.

Not necessarily.

“Would you say the bad ones have gone away?” I asked.

“No—at least, I don’t think so. It’s just…” He fidgeted back and forth. “...easier to sit with them, I guess.”

So you still have your reservations about me.

That’s okay—I don’t blame you. I would feel the same in your position.

I imagined, even for how blatantly obvious of an interest he’d developed in me, it would be incredibly difficult for him to let go of his lingering resentment.

Or perhaps, for that matter, I would feel even worse. If I were you, and you were me, I don’t even know that I’d be able to find it in myself to forgive you.

My pulse pressed languidly into my eardrums, leaving behind an ache in my veins.

“Sorry,” he added. “I’m not really answering your question.”

I allowed a deep sigh to pass through my airways. It did little to still my quivering heart.

“It’s all right. As you’ve said, it’s complicated—which I think is entirely appropriate, given our equally complicated circumstances.”

Caelus mirrored my sigh.

We really were lost together.

“Anyway,” Caelus began again, “I’m tired, so I should probably go to bed.” He started to once more rise to his feet. “See you tomorrow, Sunday.”

I held my gaze on his empty chair.

“Good night, Caelus.”

“Good night.”

After a final backwards glance, he left.

‘Interested in you.’

‘Lately, there’ve been a lot more good ones.’

I turned those utterances over in my mind—along with the remains of Caelus’s touch, some of the warmth and pressure still flitting across my fingertips where his had contacted them.

For lack of a better descriptor, his gestures were affectionate.

There’s still a chance I’m overanalyzing it, but… that chance is growing increasingly slimmer with time, I think.

Despite my rational approach, I found myself sighing again, my gaze drifting to the other end of the meeting car from where he’d long since disappeared.

Part of me wanted immediate answers. That much was evident.

But he had probably already provided as much of an answer as he could give.

Another part of me knew well that rushing the investigation would only lead to inaccuracies and unreliable leads, and thus an incorrect conclusion. Even the most straightforward of questions would do no good if even Caelus himself wasn’t certain of the answer.

Lost together…

I mused that, if nothing else, I preferred this to being lost alone.

Chapter Text

Caelus surprised me once again—this time, by visiting during the day.

Until now, I had yet to encounter him roaming the train before our usual meeting time. Yet, today, he appeared in the middle of the afternoon while I was sitting at one of the booths at the far end of the meeting car, engrossed in studying the data bank on my phone.

Indeed, I likely could have missed his arrival entirely, had he not effectively announced it with his half of a lively conversation, his voice echoing through the car from where he’d entered at the adjacent door. Though I didn’t catch his exact words, there was no question about the energy and affability in his voice.

Soon, his conversation partner entered beside him.

At first, I recognized the newcomer purely on instinct, freezing where I sat—yet it wasn’t until I puzzled over his identity for another several seconds that I was able to place his name and significance.

Aventurine.

What was he doing on the Express?

Last I’d seen him, he’d been in poor shape, to say the least. That was many months ago now, though, so there had been ample time for him to recover. Still, his current vigor surprised me: he carried his chest high, and his posture was relaxed, his gloved hands falling into the pockets of his trousers as he sauntered into the car beside Caelus. He stood so close to the Trailblazer that their shoulders brushed.

And the entire time, Caelus’s gaze remained eagerly on him, to the point that he seemed to navigate the staircase solely by memory, hardly even checking where he was putting his feet. Even from here, I could see the flash of Caelus’s grin, flickering in and out of view as he chatted with his companion.

“That room really is too big for one person.” The sound of Aventurine’s voice, flowing and melodious, yet with a rough texture, briefly brought me back to our prior meeting at Dewlight Pavilion. “It’s quite luxurious. I do have to say, I’m impressed.”

“It’s probably more like what you’re used to at the IPC, isn’t it?”

And, in stark contrast to our conversation the previous evening, Caelus spoke freely, with enough speed that I had to concentrate to decipher what he was saying.

“Just about,” Aventurine replied. “Although, of course, their taste in furniture is quite a bit more… expensive than yours.”

I tentatively concluded that Aventurine was just here for a visit—perhaps simply to catch up with his Trailblazer companion. The two were evidently very comfortable around each other.

This struck me as odd, given their dealings back in Penacony. Weren’t they enemies at that point?

I was suddenly aware of just how much of the Trailblazer’s journey I’d likely overlooked.

“Oh, and I almost forgot—Sunday is here, too.”

The closeness of Caelus’s voice interrupted my reverie; he and Aventurine had continued their approach as they conversed, and now stood about at the distance of the next table over.

While Caelus kept walking, however, Aventurine froze where he was, as though his shoes had suddenly adhered to the tile.

I doubted, in this environment, that Aventurine posed any threat to me—much less anyone else on the crew—yet a chill passed down my spine at the sight of his piercing eyes. His expression warped into one of disgust, his lip curling back against his teeth.

“You again?” Aventurine’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How did you end up here?”

Just when I thought I’d escaped the worst of Caelus’s animosity. I continued to hold my phone above the table, if only for an excuse to intermittently look elsewhere when Aventurine’s intense glare overwhelmed me.

I took a deep breath, and then answered:

“It’s a long story.”

My ears tickled at the strangely harmonious sound of my own voice. After a moment, I realized that Caelus had said the same thing at the same time, even his cadence identical to mine. We glanced at each other, rather comically.

The corner of Aventurine’s mouth cracked into a bitter smile at this display of unity. “Whoa.”

Caelus pivoted, partially turning back towards Aventurine. “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt anyone anymore.” Then, he tossed another look in my direction. “At least, I don’t think he is.”

In spite of the current situation—or perhaps because of it—I found his verbal support comforting. I suppressed the warm feeling growing within my chest before it stole away my attention.

Now Aventurine started to turn around, with the obvious intention of continuing their conversation somewhere else. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed, a low growl directed at Caelus; nevertheless, I managed to decipher his words.

“What, do you want me to have nightmares again?”

Caelus took a hurried step towards Aventurine. This time, it was my voice that interrupted the tap of his shoes against the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

Aventurine stiffened visibly.

“...What?”

He refused to face me. I kept my eyes on the back of his coat.

“I did what I thought was right at the time, which I realize, in retrospect, was a flawed judgment.”  Now I put my phone down on the table, my hands coming to rest atop it. “For many reasons, I think avoiding a conflict would have been impossible, but that does not excuse the great deal of harm I caused.”

Aventurine tilted his chin towards me just a bit more—enough that I could see the brilliant violet flash of his eyes, brighter still in the warmly-lit meeting car.

“Are you serious? Who are you and what did you do with Sunday?”

An enigmatic mix of emotions stirred within my heart. One was the tang of offense, yet another was a strange murmur of pleasure at the notion that I had changed so much from my previous iteration—even if his comment was truly only made in jest.

“You almost killed me, you know,” Aventurine spat, disregarding my contemplation. Now he turned fully around again, his jaw set. “You very much meant to kill me, and it would have worked if Mister Stellaron here hadn’t stepped in at the last possible moment.”

At the bite in his voice, I had to press my feet further into the floor to prevent myself from slipping back into my memory. His voice sounded the same as when we’d previously confronted each other—that much remained clear in my recollection.

“I understand.” Still, I managed to keep my words even. “And I understand that this had lasting repercussions for those close to you, as well. In fact, it sounds like it still does, which is why I want to take responsibility.”

At the time, I had no way of knowing of his bond with Caelus—and even then, it was entirely possible they’d forged such a bond after the events on Penacony. Still, one way or another, Aventurine’s untimely death would have robbed him of the chance to spend time with this oddly alluring Trailblazer.

My sincere apology seemed to render Aventurine speechless; his mouth has fallen open, his eyes now glimmering with disbelief rather than hatred.

“If I recall correctly,” I continued, deliberately meeting his gaze, “at the time, you said you valued your family above all else. Is that still correct?”

Aventurine hesitated, collecting his wits. “Yes.”

I folded my hands in front of me. “I see. That is an admirable trait.”

Now Aventurine smirked, his posture loosening somewhat. “What, trying to get on my good side now?”

It seemed he wouldn’t be easy to placate—as I’d anticipated.

Still, I believed it was worth a try. Future opportunities to correct my past mistakes may not always present themselves so readily, after all.

Caelus, previously only observing our conversation, now interjected.

“Technically, since he’s on the Express,” he ventured, glancing between us, “that makes Sunday part of the family now, too.”

Upon processing this remark, Aventurine fully relaxed, rolling his head back along his shoulders. “Huh. When you put it that way, it does make striking a deal sound a lot more enticing. Working together might not be such a bad option.” He raised one hand to brush his hair aside from his face. “So you’re really that sure Sunday’s a good guy now, huh?”

Caelus nodded. “I think so.”

This time, Aventurine’s grin at Caelus was one of fondness, the wrinkles below his eyes deepening. “You and your optimism. Well, we all know you’re scared of your own shadow, so if you’re really not afraid of Sunday, surely that must count for something.”

Caelus simply grinned back for a moment before he perked up again, with a look towards the bar. “Oh, hey, Aventurine, did you want to grab something to drink?”

Aventurine followed his gaze, the easy glow returning to his eyes. “Sure, why not? What is there to choose from?”

The pair began to make their way past my table. Aventurine, however, paused to toss me a final remark.

“We’ll continue this later, Mister Sunday,” he assured me with his usual impish smile. “If there’s anything you’d like to collaborate on, think about it between now and then.”

I merely observed as they continued to the far end of the bar. They were soon joined by the bartender robot hounding them for their orders, or perhaps for the opportunity to tell them an awful joke. I couldn’t quite make out the conversation between Caelus and Aventurine, but its volume and leisurely flow reflected the comfort and joy they evidently found in each other’s presence.

My wariness now fading, I mentally reviewed the exchange we had just concluded.

‘Technically… that makes Sunday part of the family, too.’

This particular phrase stuck in my head; I found myself returning to it countless times. For all of Caelus’s sheepish behavior over the past couple of days, this singular utterance seemed to most directly support his acceptance of my presence—and it had fallen from his lips so naturally, like it wasn’t even something difficult to admit.

Granted, it was entirely possible that he was hiding his indecisiveness from Aventurine, perhaps to save face. I thought that more plausible, at least, than his resentment for me dwindling to nothing so promptly.

Still, without sufficient evidence to draw any definitive conclusions, I nudged the issue to the back of my mind for now and returned my attention to the data bank.

–

That evening, Caelus ended up standing behind my chair, his fingertips once again tracing the curves of my halo. Though I wasn’t particularly sleepy at the moment, I still allowed my eyes to fall closed, reveling in the reassurance of his touch.

I supposed we had, at least partially, progressed past the need for conversation; after all, now he was perfectly content to caress my halo seemingly without end, with neither of us uttering a single word in the interim.

If he wasn’t content for whatever reason, he certainly gave no indication—-at least, not one I could perceive from here.

So my thoughts wandered. Sure enough, as with earlier that day, they repeatedly returned to the same place.

“Earlier, when you told Aventurine I was part of the family…” Given the extended gap in conversation, I kept my voice low to avoid startling him. “It was a comforting thing to hear. Even though I may not end up staying on the Express for long.”

“Good—I’m glad.” His smile was audible in his words. “The crew all think of one another as family, anyway. And you never know—Dan Heng said he’d leave once he found out where he’s going, but sure enough, he’s still here all these years later.”

It sounded like he was hoping I’d stay.

At this point, it was impossible to tell whether I’d be able to fulfill his wish—it hinged on too many unknown factors.

I leaned my head back a little more. “Perhaps.”

“And Welt always says that trailblazing doesn’t necessarily mean you have to stay on the Express,” Caelus continued, his fingertips not stopping their ministrations. “The Path of the Trailblaze can take you all sorts of places, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less of a crew member just because you’re not on the train anymore.”

He was clearly trying to encourage me. A soft chuckle rose from my chest, though I endeavored to remain still to avoid throwing off his movements. “I do seem to recall him mentioning that while he was accompanying me on Penacony.”

A brief pause reflected Caelus’s moment of excitement. “Oh, so you’ve already heard his spiel! That’s great.”

Now a wide smile spread across my lips. “So that was his spiel , huh?”

“It was! We’ve all heard it more than a few times. But it’s a good reminder nonetheless.” Caelus’s fingertips stopped again, hovering at the sides of my halo. “And I think, even if you don’t stay that long, that means we should just enjoy it while we can.”

I opened my eyes. “Enjoy it while we can? Do you mean my time on the Express?”

“Of course.” His voice rose incredulously—like the answer to the question was self-evident.

It seemed he’d gotten over his embarrassment of admitting he was interested in me.

A few seconds passed in silence. Caelus didn’t move, as though he was waiting for me to speak again.

I began to reach into my left pocket. “Caelus, could I perhaps ask you a favor?”

Caelus’s hands fell from my halo. “Sure, what is it?”

“Since I embarked on the Express—rather, since I left Penacony—I haven’t been able to secure an opportunity to shine my halo.” As I spoke, my fingers worked to unfold the fine cloth I’d produced from my pocket. “It’s… quite difficult to do by oneself, to say the least. By any chance, would you be willing to do it for me?”

If he was so eager to touch my halo anyway, I supposed, and I already allowed him to do that much, why not extend my acquiescence to this particular task?

He hesitated. “I can try, but I can't guarantee I’ll be able to do it right.”

“It’s not a particularly technical operation,” I assured him, offering the cloth over my shoulder. “If you find any smudges or specks of dust, simply wipe them off with this.”

He took the cloth in one hand, and I felt him delicately resting the other hand on the edge of my halo, as if trying to hold it steady. A faint warm sensation crawled down the back of my neck.

He didn’t move. “Is this something you have to do… like a routine?”

“Yes, it’s better to do with some regularity, much like any other form of bodily maintenance.” I adjusted my posture, straightening my back and squaring my shoulders. “It’s just… not something I’ve been able to prioritize while I’ve been on the run.”

“Hmmmm.” Caelus made a drawn-out, contemplative noise. “Yeah, if you need someone else to do it, I can see how that would be really hard.”

In extenuating circumstances, contorting to shine one’s halo to the best of one’s abilities was not impossible—though it was also not particularly enjoyable or effective, hence the more conventional option of deferring the task to a reliable companion whenever possible. It was indeed a ritual that required a special bond, a certain degree of trust—which is why, in spite of my ongoing concern about the condition of my halo, I had only just now offered Caelus the opportunity to perform this favor.

The faint pressure of the cloth under Caelus’s hand skimmed the right side of my halo. My eyes closed softly of their own accord. I wondered whether Caelus perceived the rise and fall of my shoulders as I drew a slow breath.

In a single instant, I recalled many a time when I’d do this for my sister—but, of course, it had been quite a while since she’d done it for me, and, naturally, I doubted I’d get the chance to experience such a thing again. The thought drove a bitter pang through my heart, and I debated whether to suppress the deep sigh that followed. If Caelus noticed it, the only indication was a brief pause in his motions.

“And you can feel this?”

His sudden question interrupted my reverie—perhaps for the better.

“Yes, of course.” I glanced over my shoulder. “As I said, it’s like touching someone’s hair or fingernails.”

“Ah.” Caelus patted lightly at another spot on my halo. “So it must be a nice feeling, then.”

It would certainly make logical sense for prosocial behaviors and their associated stimuli to invoke a pleasurable response.

“...Yes, I would say that it is.”

“So you do like it,” he observed, his voice even rather than incriminating. “Good, because I like it, too.”

The ache left over in my heart gradually gave way to a pleasant warmth. There was still a weight on my chest, but the sensation was not so unbearable.

For several minutes Caelus continued to shine my halo. Even while the touch of the cloth grew more infrequent, his other hand perched dutifully on my halo’s edge. I wondered how far I could shift my weight, leaning into the pressure, before he noticed.

But I didn’t entertain that thought, instead continuing to sit straight, until eventually Caelus let go.

“I think it looks a little better,” he remarked conclusively. “Maybe. I don’t know how to tell.”

“Regardless of what you managed, I’m sure it’s better than it was before.”

I turned to reach over my shoulder again, and faithfully Caelus replaced the cloth in my hand. I stowed it back in my pocket and left myself a mental note to clean it later.

Then, I tried to look back at him, but I couldn’t swivel my head quite far enough from where I sat.

“Thank you, Caelus.”

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help.”

I heard the tap of his footsteps against the marble floor as he turned to leave. But before he departed, his hand found its way to my shoulder, curving firmly against my coat.

That moment seemed to span several seconds, the pressure seeping into the entire side of my body.

“Good night, Sunday.”

Time started moving again when he spoke. It took every ounce of my strength not to lean into Caelus’s touch—at least, not enough that he would notice.

“Good night, Caelus.”

All too soon, he left, taking his warmth along with him. The ache from before returned to my chest, this time more faintly.

Back in my room, I tried to remind myself of how it felt in order to lull myself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Another quiet day on the Express.

I’d anticipated needing to deal with plenty of unexpected circumstances on this journey, and said surprises had proven themselves capable of contributing to a splendid drama—or, at the very least, pleasant circumstances, as demonstrated by Caelus’s behavior. I lacked the vocabulary to properly summarize my experience with him in a single word, or even a short sentence, ponder as I might in between reading articles in the data bank. Perhaps my refusal to let it bother me too much was a sign that I was making progress.

I would never be able to tell if he was keeping more surprises up his sleeve, but I was no longer quite so wary of the idea of puzzling over them. Indeed, the thought kept my mind stimulated, and effectively discouraged me from wearing a groove into the floor of the Astral Express with my incessant pacing.

That conundrum from a mere seven days ago seemed so distant now.

On this particular evening, Caelus offered no greeting as he sat before me; he simply appeared in the meeting car, as prescribed by his routine, and made his way to me without speaking a word. At first, I fretted over whether something might have happened to upset him during the day, until I saw that his eyes were clear of worry, even in the silence.

When he met my gaze, the corner of his lip curled into a smile. Still he said nothing. Instead, he fidgeted with his hands, as though trying to think of an appropriate topic for discussion.

I merely watched him.

Ultimately, he decided to reach out towards me, keeping his hands low and close together. I deliberated what he could be seeking for several seconds, until I recalled how intently he’d held my hand a few evenings prior—and offering my own hands appeared to be the correct answer to his wordless inquiry. As soon as they were within his grasp, he took hold of them with great care and dedication, like he was handling a precious artifact, investigating each groove in my fingers and fold in the fabric of my gloves before ultimately deciding to fully clasp my hands in his. Today, his grip was stronger, but still not aggressive, as though he merely feared letting go. 

I noticed a tightening sensation in my chest, like something pressing on it from the outside—as if it were my heart he was holding instead.

He almost seemed to sense this response, for he glanced down at our hands where they rested between us. “Do you run warm?”

I tilted my head. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“Huh.” He softly stroked my fingers with his own, savoring the feeling of holding them. “Your hands feel warm to me. But maybe I just run cold or something.”

Or perhaps he was perceiving the heat that I was sure had risen to my face by now.

Caelus looked up. For a split second, I feared that he could hear my thoughts. But he said nothing, and posed no questions. His eyes wandered, searching my expression, as if for any anomalies.

I dipped my chin. “You’ve asked me quite a few questions over the past several days. By any chance, was there anything you wanted to ask me today, as well? It is part of my job to listen, after all.”

Caelus’s attention fell briefly to the floor. “Actually, there’s…” Even as he stammered, he didn’t let go of my hands. “…something I should probably talk to you about. Well, actually, on second thought, it might be better just to show you.”

Show me?

When he looked up at me again, his eyebrows had risen, his eyes glowing golden with vitality. “Would you mind if I got a little closer?”

Even closer than he already was?

My heartbeat was steady. My breathing, likewise.

No threat.

I shook my head. “Not at all.”

He gave my hands one final squeeze before he let go.

Once more he manipulated his chair, although this time with great consideration of where he should put it—even more than when he sought to touch my halo—his brow furrowing as he tested a few positions in sequence.

I wasn’t sure what to anticipate. I doubted his objective was to touch my wings or halo, as I’d previously consented to those particular requests, and if that was what he wanted, I considered it likely that he would simply ask me again. And he had already been holding my hands upon posing that question.

So what else could he possibly want? To get a closer look at my face, perhaps? Or even to listen to my heartbeat?

At last he found what he must have deemed a suitable angle and set his chair down—after all of that consideration, effectively just next to mine. I wondered whether he indeed wouldn’t try touching my wings again with this approach. But when he seated himself again, he was hardly facing me—though in the midst of all of his movements, his knees brushed against mine. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar to me, and it seemed to ground me in a different way than when he held my hands.

I straightened my back as I watched him settle, pondering his next actions.

In the moment that he met my gaze, a million questions swam through his eyes, glittering like the stars. I couldn’t tell if he was asking for permission for something else, or simply wondering about me, thinking about how the two of us had ended up in this corner of the meeting car on this particular day.

For some reason, after all of the reassurance I’d managed to give myself, this thought made me uneasy.

But I soon forgot about that unease as two million sensations replaced it, sending my consciousness spiraling into chaos—chaos that lasted only an instant, as, by far, the most prominent sensation of them all, bringing me back to my senses, was the sobering feeling of Caelus’s body against mine, his arms clasped tight around my back.

Now it was my turn to wonder whether he ran warm, for I rather felt as though I was being embraced by a star—heavy, hot, and radiant, anchoring me in place.

Or was it rather Caelus who anchored himself to me, as one of his hands seemed to fasten itself to the back of my coat—his head tucked comfortably in the crook of my neck, like it was always meant to be there?

Given that we were in separate chairs, it was really quite the awkward embrace, but Caelus seemed to enjoy it no less. He vocalized softly; I hesitated to label these noises as anything definitive, for fear of assigning them unnecessarily implications, but the important matter was that his breath was long and drawn-out, rising from deep within his chest, almost like he was about to start crying.

Almost like he had awaited this moment for an excruciatingly long time.

When I lifted one wing to better accommodate his head where it rested, he turned and buried his face in my scarf, with the ends of his hair fluttering at my feathers. My heart ached sweetly at the gesture.

It seemed like second nature, then, that my own arms settled around his back, gripping low about his waist.

Caelus’s breath, slow and leisurely, tickled my neck. Even as they grasped my body, his arms wandered, as if cataloguing every possible purchase they could find on my back. At length one of his hands meandered upwards towards the back of my head, sending a shudder down my spine as it passed beneath my halo.

And then, unceremoniously, his forearm proceeded to collide with my halo, leaving a cold jolt in its wake.

Caelus’s body stiffened. “Ah, the halo.”

His voice reverberated directly into my shoulder.

I found myself disappointed at how abruptly he let go, the loss of his warmth against me very nearly painful. This experience perplexed me.

“I forgot that would make this hard,” Caelus added, his awkward smile coming into view as he corrected his posture.

Something about the remains of his touch at my sides, the way his face was still too close to be in focus, his lack of physical awareness despite his prior curiosity—the absurdity of all of these factors enticed a genuine laugh from my throat. All the weight on my body lifted then, a dizzying loss of gravity, though this lightness was not nearly so unpleasant.

I suddenly realized, regaining my composure with a deep breath, that, try as I might, I could not recall the last time I had laughed.

When I managed to look at Caelus again, his eyes were wide, smoldering with the meeting car’s warm illumination.

His voice cracked as he spoke, as though it had taken a mere ten seconds to rust over from disuse.

“I love hearing you laugh,” he breathed. “I’d like to hear it more often.”

My heart anchored itself to his brilliance once more. “Well, perhaps you will get another chance in the future.”

It wasn’t quite a promise, but, given the circumstances, I saw it as something far from an impossible wish.

In response, he showed me a tooth-rotting smile full of fondness. I had no time to feel sheepish, though, for in the next moment he lifted one hand to caress my face. My eyes closing on their own plunged my vision into blackness, and I forgot about everything else in favor of the desire to further press his gloved palm into my cheek. I leaned as far as I could into his touch without throwing myself completely off balance. I could only feel the bare skin on his fingertips, and somehow, as coarse as they were, their warmth against my face was deeply comforting. I folded one wing inwards, the tips of the feathers lightly tracing the back of his glove.

“Is that you telling me you want me to stay longer?”

I could hear his smile.

I made myself look at him again, a blush hot on my cheeks. “Only if you wouldn’t mind. As a passenger, I’m hardly in a position to make demands of you.” As my lips moved, the renewed touch of his hand sent sparks through my nerves: the dancing embers that could bring a fire to life.

He chuckled, the creases in his eyelids deepening.

“Of course not. I love you, Sunday.”

Of all the things Caelus had said and done that shocked me, this confession was, remarkably, not one of them (though my heart insisted otherwise, replying with a feisty beat against my ribcage).

Rather, all of the mysteries from the past seven days, previously swimming formless in my mind, clicked into place.

I forced a breath out through my nose. “So you’ve finally admitted it.”

He laughed again, playing along. “Right? Took me long enough.”

Long enough.

Did I have enough evidence to confirm my hunch?

That he’d been fond of me this whole time, and simply couldn’t bear to confess—to me, or to himself? That would explain his indecisiveness, his erratic behaviors, his tendency to switch from detesting me to softly wishing me a good night at the metaphorical drop of a hat.

“If I may ask,” I ventured, “how long have you felt this way?”

He refreshed the pressure of his hand against my cheek, clearly unoffended. The blood against my eardrums was practically deafening.

“I don’t know.” His gaze faltered and fell to the floor, yet his fingers refused to abandon my face. “I… I’m having a hard time placing it. With all of the different thoughts I had about you, I… don’t know if I can really tell.”

“That’s quite all right,” I assured him. “I was merely curious.”

It was as I’d thought myself—seeking answers from Caelus would do no good if even he wasn’t aware of the answer.

“You’re okay with it, right?”

I blinked. “With what?” My jaw brushed against his fingertips as I spoke.

“With…” He briefly averted his gaze. “With me being in love with you. And with me not knowing how, or when, or why.”

“Of course. Your own feelings are not something you need to ask permission to experience. And, I may have neglected to tell you this before, but…” I gently took his hand from where it rested against my cheek. “Human hearts are full of contradictions at any given moment. These contradictions may be difficult to solve, and indeed, not all of them can even be solved at all. Nevertheless, that does not make their individual constituents any less real.”

I could no longer attribute the reddish color of his face solely to the lights in the meeting car; the wheels turning in his brain were practically visible, stuttering as they struggled to process my tender grasp of his hand.

Finally, he gave a verbal response.

“Ah. You’re trying to comfort me.” His flustered gape vanished, giving way to the same fond smile from before. “Thank you, Sunday. That’s very kind of you.”

“No need for thanks.” I replaced my hands in my lap, taking Caelus’s hands along with them. “As I mentioned, listening and giving advice is part of my job. Though, given that we are now both passengers on the Express, you may also consider it somewhat of a personal favor, if you wish.”

His smile grew impossibly wider, until he could hardly keep his eyes open. “Thank you,” he repeated, perhaps disregarding my comment, although the warmth behind his words was genuine.

Then he added, “Could I hug you again?”

It only took me lifting my hands from his before he cast himself against my body once more, his arms returning to their comfortable grip around my back. This time I reciprocate the gesture properly and without hesitation.

We sat like that for quite a while, until I found myself measuring the rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips. My eyes wandered what they could make out of the meeting car, and my wing curved dutifully around where his head rested against my shoulder.

Perhaps to call this arrangement “comfortable” on his behalf was a grave understatement.

At long, long last, it seemed that he’d finally had enough of this form of physical contact for the evening—at least for the present moment, as he still separated himself from me with some hesitation, some reluctance. But, lo and behold, when he looked me in the eyes again, he was still smiling.

“I should get going. Good night, Sunday. Rest well.”

He let go of my hands with a conclusive grasp of my fingers.

“Thank you, Caelus. And the same to you.”

He rose from his chair without looking back. As he made his way to the parlor car, I thought I saw a skip in his step; the notion coaxed a chuckle from my throat.

The movement of air was warm, warm against my heart—still warm into the night, even though my bedroom was a bit cold.

Chapter Text

I soon lost track of the days I’d spent on the Express.

Not because I, admittedly, still felt a bit lost, but because I couldn’t be bothered to count them any longer.

After all, the bonds I’d forged with the crewmates made feeling lost just a bit easier to endure.

Dan Heng, providing me refuge in the form of the data bank and of his quiet sanctuary in the Archives. March, in the form of boundless enthusiasm and equally unlimited anecdotes about her crewmates. Himeko, with her gentle guidance. And, of course, Welt, with his patience and encouragement for me to take my time getting used to the place—getting used to all of the new experiences.

It seemed that, with the mystery of Caelus’s feelings towards me solved, our relationship was more effortless than ever. He kept his routine faithfully, and I looked forward to greeting him each evening with no qualms in my heart, however brief our conversation.

Moreover, he embraced me several times over those days—certainly at least four times—the gesture growing ever bolder, the fervor with which he buried his face in my scarf increasing with each iteration. And delightfully, he was learning how best to position himself around my halo to avoid interrupting his own movements, and how best to situate his head so that my wing could fall easily around it, further deepening the comfort of his grasp.

Just when I thought I’d memorized how reluctantly he let go of me each evening, his body parting from mine as painstakingly as possible, he once again caught me off-guard.

The fabric of my scarf rustled as he tilted his head, and his face was so close to mine that I could feel the steady whisper of his breath on my cheek.

So much warmth. And his scent, a bit acrid, but sweet all the same, wafted into my nostrils.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat, or perhaps two.

Every nerve in my body anticipated the next movement—but it never came. Instead, his weight abruptly vanished from my shoulder, leaving his arms loosely around my back. He withdrew from me like he’d been stung, or perhaps pricked by one of the prongs on my halo, despite the fact that I’d hardly moved.

So what had prompted his sudden change in behavior? In spite of my doubts, my fingertips remained unmoving against his waist.

He looked at the floor, his bangs so low over his eyes that I couldn’t read his expression.

“What am I doing?” he muttered to himself, as though he was alone in the room.

He tilted his head impossibly further away from me.

“I can’t kiss Sunday. ”

“Why not?”

The words left my lips of their own accord. Perhaps, having confirmed that my guess at his intentions was correct, my brain had skipped the next several steps—notably, of considering what I was going to say prior to actually saying it. I stifled the urge to groan out loud at my own foolishness.

Yet I couldn’t find it in myself to feel embarrassed at such a pointless inquiry, as I realized I truly desired to know the answer.

Hadn’t he just reconciled the nature of his feelings for me? If he enjoyed caressing my wings, touching my halo, and indeed, holding me in his arms, then what made the essence of a kiss so very different?

I didn’t expect, when he met my gaze again, that he’d look, for lack of a better descriptor, afraid: his eyebrows turned upwards at the inner corners, and his lips were slightly parted, as though he had to force himself to breathe.

His eyes flicked back and forth across my face, scrutinizing me for… something. I couldn’t fathom what.

Perhaps he didn’t know any of these answers, either. Just one more enigmatic question, left for the both of us to puzzle over until the end of time.

Softly, the way he’d voiced my name echoed in my head. It was devoid of the same fondness with which he pronounced it every evening, to which I hadn't realized I’d grown accustomed. In fact, it was full of something like… disbelief.

Disbelief that he’d ever grow to feel genuine affection towards me. Towards someone he used to detest.

‘I truly dislike you.’

My heart clenched, but not in the comfortable way that it always did when he held me. It hurt.

It hurt much like when I’d severed my halo. The pain sliced through my chest, finding its way between my ribs to pierce all of my tenderest parts.

As jarring as I found the thought, I couldn’t truly blame him.

Because I’d experienced much the same resentment towards myself. I knew all too well how he felt, having known the smoldering of hatred and frustration in my heart upon setting eyes on my past self, how he smirked and carried himself with haughty confidence.

I liked to think I was different from how I was then, but perhaps the difference was still too subtle—the resemblance still too strong.

Caelus still didn’t speak. He just looked at me, almost blankly.

Until, after what felt like an eternity…

“...Sunday?”

Now his voice was a whisper, hushed and reverent.

My wings stiffened. “Yes?”

Caelus still only looked at me, myriad thoughts swimming through his golden eyes, his expression shifting subtly as time passed. My withered heart dared to feel a sense of hope.

“Wait,” he finally breathed.

At long last his gaze seemed to truly focus on me, once again anchoring me in place. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re different now… aren’t you?”

I pursed my lips and swallowed.

“I would hope so. I…”

I’d looked my past self in the eyes and told him how much I detested him. I’d faced him in battle myself, confronting his strength, and, at long last, granted myself departure from the deeds I’d committed—the freedom to forge a new future, even as those memories weighed heavy in my chest.

I forced myself to meet his gaze.

Then, I took a breath.

“I am trying to change.”

Through his fingertips still resting at my sides, I could feel Caelus’s body tense. It seemed that even the air itself stopped moving through his lungs. The furrow in his brow deepened.

I couldn’t hold his eyes any longer.

“Caelus,” I began, endeavoring to look back at him intermittently, “if you truly cannot find it in yourself to forgive me, I understand. In your position, I can’t imagine I would be able to, either. In fact, I—”

“Sunday.”

Wait.

A sense of deja vu tickled the back of my mind.

We’d done this before. We’d been here before.

Back when I’d first suspected the nature of his feelings towards me, I’d caught myself apologizing—and he’d stopped me with a decisive call of my name, traveling straight to the innermost part of my chest, where it bloomed in a flicker of warmth, much like the sight of a match being struck, a candle being ignited.

I looked at him again. I didn’t know what to say.

I waited for him to speak. To say something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he lifted one hand tenderly about the side of my face so that he could properly tilt my head, and he kissed me.

His lips found their way to mine, and his touch was soft, so soft, and his breath was so gentle and hot on my face. My wings folded inwards to meet the sides of his head, and he kissed me, and he kept kissing me, even as my hands faltered and meandered up to his shoulders, and then to his neck, to hold him in place, for lack of anywhere else to settle. I thought the kiss would go on forever; he refused to pull back, occasionally beginning to withdraw, but then decided he was not yet finished, and returned his lips to their place against mine, renewing the whisper of his breath against the hot skin of my face. It was like he couldn’t get enough.

At long last—at long, long last—he pulled away far enough that I could scarcely meet his eyes, a vague golden glow somewhere in front of me.

For a long time, he didn’t speak. The only sound, on top of the whirring of machinery and the hushed music from the phonograph, was of him quietly catching his breath.

Then, after a decisive exhale, he remarked, “I have a lot to think about.”

I tilted my head, leaning back enough so that I could properly see his face. “How so?”

His attention wandered. “Well, it’s the same stuff I’ve been thinking about for the last… three weeks.”

Three weeks. Had it already been that long?

…Ah, right. The contradictions. The same contradictions that had puzzled us both.

We were lost together.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

The curve of his mouth drooped slightly. “We’ve already talked about it, though. I mean, kind of. I don’t know if it’ll ever get resolved.”

I allowed a sigh to leave my nose. Perhaps this was just another struggle with which we’d have to coexist. But revisiting it didn’t always have to be an irritating experience.

Conundrums and surprises… they weren’t always bad things.

“Well, if it would be of help to you, I’m happy to listen anytime.”

Some warmth returned to his expression. “Thank you, Sunday.”

I mirrored his smile. “In actuality, I should be the one thanking you. ”

Caelus cocked an eyebrow, at once playful and perplexed. “For what? Falling in love with you?”

I wasn’t entirely certain what my breath was trying to do, exactly, when it rose in my throat then, but what escaped my lungs was something halfway between a cough and a burst of laughter that I managed to disguise behind a closed fist, my wings curving inwards towards my cheeks.

I somehow collected myself well enough to speak again. “I can’t say that’s the wording I would have selected…”

I had only just begun readjusting my posture when Caelus’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Wait! Put your wings back where they were!”

I paused, and blinked, several times.

“...Like this?”

From where my wings had only just begun to extend, I folded them back against my face, so that the longest feathers hovered just before my lips, where they’d previously contacted my hand.

Clearly, this was precisely what Caelus wanted, the light in his eyes brightening so suddenly that I couldn’t help but envision a bomb going off, the Stellaron within him exploding with joy.

He bounced in his seat. “That’s cute!”

Of all of the adjectives I might have chosen to describe myself, that one was not among them.

I avoided his gaze, and my wings, incriminatingly, folded even further against my face, almost fully obscuring it from his view.

“Caelus, please. Just a moment ago, you were talking about how you couldn’t kiss me… and now this. ”

And what of that self-doubt he’d expressed a few seconds prior? Once again, he’d changed his mind shockingly quickly. Just another one of his surprises.

“Oh, I was, wasn’t I?” Caelus straightened his back. “Well, you can see how well that went.”

He spoke of his affection so nonchalantly, like it was an obvious fact—like it was something inevitable and undeniable, question it as he might.

“Anyway. It’s getting late. See you tomorrow, Sunday.”

As he voiced his usual greeting and moved to rise from his seat, my wings, evidently deeming the circumstances sufficiently safe, slowly settled back into place.

I watched him stand up. “Good night, Caelus.”

With him out of earshot, I finally began to properly understand what had just taken place—and what was clearer than anything else I gleaned from that interaction was the following sentiment:

In my traitorous heart, I dearly wished that the kiss we’d shared wouldn’t be our last.