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It’s hard not to be nervous about his new situation. It’s been years since he last found himself out of his own routine, but this is so much more than just that. He can iron creases in his trousers all he likes, but he’s still so far from home that no matter how hard he looks, he can’t manage to see it.
It’s been a few days, but he’s still waiting for the final shoe to drop, for the Nameless to come to their senses and change their minds about him. Forgiveness isn’t something he deserves, he knows that just as much as he knows what kind of risk they took taking him with them when they had every reason not to. He also knows he doesn’t belong here, but he can’t go back after what he did to Penacony, and even if they were to issue some sort of formal pardon to him, he won’t go back until he can face Robin again as himself anyway.
He sits quietly on one of the cushioned seats on the Astral Express, his body turned towards the window and arms resting on the back. It’s a lazy pose, one he wouldn’t have dared allowed himself a week ago, but he’s alone up here. Infinitely alone, considering the breadth of the cosmos.
He misses his own pocket of Penacony, his office hidden behind a series of puzzles few could solve where he could be alone with his thoughts and worries. The Nameless have given him his own room, of course, and it seems they’ve all collectively decided to give him his space as well. A part of him is grateful, of course, but a smaller, childish voice in the back of his mind worries that those cheerful greetings and welcomes only existed in the moment and that now they’re aware of what they’ve actually committed to.
He’s the outsider, a new anomaly, an extra piece of a puzzle that can never fit no matter how hard you try to force it to. Will he be taped to the back so he can’t be lost, or will he be discarded and considered an error in the manufacturing?
He sighs.
When did he become a person who sighs?
“There you are.”
Sunday turns and sees Welt Yang approach, carrying two mugs with designs that don’t quite match. As much as Sunday likes order, the possibility that each of them came from different parts of the universe admittedly intrigues him.
Then he remembers his lackadaisical posture and turns to sit properly, straightening his spine and forcing himself not to shrink. Mr. Yang is someone he respects, someone he knows he can learn from, and more than anything, all Sunday wants is to earn his trust. He won’t ask for forgiveness, but to know that Mr. Yang could one day look at him without any suspicion at all has been a recent motivation for most of his actions. He will earn the mercy granted to him somehow, and more than that, he will find a way to make sure Mr. Yang never regrets bringing him here.
“Please, have a seat,” he says, almost forgetting his manners. Although, with him being the guest here, he supposes any offer would be redundant. Still, Mr. Yang sits anyway, placing both cups on a table between them. “It’s so incredible up here. In Penacony you can create anything with the power of a dream, but I don’t think we could have ever replicated the stars as how you can see them here no matter how hard we tried.”
“I understand what you mean,” he says. “The universe is vast and incomprehensible, and I think we on the Astral Express are the fortunate few who get to see for ourselves how it really is.”
“The infamous path of the trailblaze,” Sunday muses. “To get to see the stars like this.”
“That’s part of it,” he says.
“What’s missing?”
“Do you remember what I told you before? That’s it’s about the people you meet along the way. Each and every one of those stars represents an entire world lived in and molded by the people who belong to it. We all look up at the same sky, seeing what we choose to see, but those people on the other side of where we’re looking have seen places and had experiences we can’t imagine until we see it for ourselves.”
“Someone must be looking back at us then,” he says.
“Someone always is,” he says. “And a very small number will board this train and will follow the silver rail back to where we started.”
Sunday takes a deep breath. “They won’t know what happened in Penacony, will they?”
“I can’t say for sure,” he says. “But you are welcome to share your story as you see fit.”
He huffs a laugh.
“I’m not sure I can,” he says before turning towards him. “Mr. Yang, is it alright for someone like me to meet those people? I don’t have the same…spirit as the crew here. Even if I’m not one of you, I don’t know if I could represent the Nameless. I wouldn’t want to leave the wrong impression.”
“I think it’s important that you do. I think you’ll learn more by seeing the world with your own two eyes, and you’ll grow and become someone who can better make the kinds of decisions the you in the past wasn’t quite ready for.”
Sunday laughs weakly. “That’s a kind way to call someone inexperienced.”
“Not inexperienced, no,” he says, pushing one of the cups towards him. “Just like the rest of us, you would benefit from different perspectives. Here, Himeko made this for you. She thought it would make you more comfortable.”
“Please tell her I said thank you,” Sunday says, accepting the cup.
“Tell herself the next time you see her,” Mr. Yang says. Sunday manages a nod. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. You’re a passenger here and our guest, and until you’re ready, you can consider the Express your home.”
“This might be a good time to bring up that I haven’t asked how long I can stay yet,” he says.
“You can stay as long as you’d like,” Mr. Yang says. “As long as you’re willing to follow the path of the trailblaze and honor the spirit of the Nameless, you will have a place here.”
“So many paths,” he sighs. “Maybe this time I’m finally on the right one. I am sorry… for the trouble I caused.”
“You believed you were doing what was right at the time. I’m not here to lecture you or scold you. We’ve all made choices we have to live with, and all we can do is try our best to learn from them.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Mr. Yang.”
Mr. Yang chuckles softly. “I was supposed to make sure you’re comfortable on the Express and got carried away. Forgive me, old habits die hard.”
“It’s appreciated,” he says. “It’s been a while since I stopped to listen to someone, and you’re someone I would like to learn from.”
“I’m just an old man dragging his years of accumulated wisdom around with him it seems,” he says.
“I wouldn’t call you that,” he says, meaning it as a kindness, but hearing himself say it makes the skin about his feathers tingle. He brushes them back, hoping to pass it off as just adjusting his hair.
“Too well mannered for that, I suppose.”
“No, I just don’t agree with it,” he says with more conviction, taking Mr. Yang by surprise.
“Slightly more experienced then,” he says, giving him a pass.
“Yes,” Sunday agrees before he takes a sip of coffee to avoid saying anything else. Older, yes, but in a way he finds intriguing. Authoritative but never domineering. Patient but quick to strike. Handsome with a touch of silver over his brow that–.
He swallows another gulp of coffee, grounding himself before he lets his mind get too far. The bitterness is admittedly a welcome reprieve after spending so long in the sweet dream. He may even dare say he would be content to never taste anything sweet again.
It’s strange to think that this bitterness is too a gift, a show of kindness in the form of a warm welcome meant to give him energy. But for what purpose does he need energy when his only task on this train is to sit here and stare out the window?
“Miss Himeko is generous,” he says anyway. Mr. Yang hums in agreement. “Should we be worried that we haven’t heard from the others yet?”
“We’re… concerned, but this isn’t the first time a group of trailblazers lost contact for a little while. We just have to trust that they know what they’re doing and prepare ourselves in case we have to intervene.”
Sunday takes another sip. “Like if you have to hit someone with the Express, for instance.”
This surprisingly earns a real laugh, bringing an unfamiliar warmth to his chest. Wonweek would roll his eyes and say something about how it would happen more often if he ever learned how to properly tell a joke. But he’ll take this rarity and hold it close.
“On the rare occasion, yes.”
Sunday covers his face with one hand and groans, a different, unwelcome heat taking over instead. Shame is his least favorite emotion second to regret, and unfortunately in this scenario, he gets to feel both.
“It makes for an unforgettable story, if it helps.”
“I think that might make it worse,” he says. “Please tell me something else. Anything. I’m not above begging these days.”
Mr. Yang chuckles again. “Alright, alright. I won’t torture you.”
“Thank you,” he breathes in relief. “I would still like to hear one of your– better stories.”
He hums and takes a sip of his coffee. “We sort of became temporary detectives at the last stop.”
“Oh?”
Sunday sits up dutifully as he listens to Mr. Yang recall one of the stories from his adventures, watching as the light in his eyes belies his otherwise stoic demeanor.
It gives Sunday something small and dangerous, a quiet flicker of hope to wrap his hand around and squeeze.
The universe maybe be vast and comprehensible, but exploring and becoming a part of it is… possible. If the small fractions Mr. Yang has experienced can affect him this much, then Sunday can only imagine the person he’ll become in just a few years.
Years…
The possibility of being on the Express for so long feels like a reach, but what if it isn’t? What if he truly could become one of them? Not a guest left to stare at the stars, but someone sent down to different worlds in the name of the trailblaze.
What if Mr. Yang went with him?
That strange prickle around his feathers returns, and he forces himself to look back out the window. Now is not the time to be wistful, but here with them, he’s not sure he remembers how not to be.
He’s not great with change, but still, this excites him.
And there he tastes a different sweetness hidden beneath.