Work Text:
They’re alone in the passenger car hallway when Sunday kisses him for the first time. For a moment the window and starry sky and lamplight are drowned out by the heat of Sunday’s mouth and a sensation of fluttering wings, the only betrayal of his nerves. Welt stays there, acquiescing, until Sunday pulls away.
“There you are,” Sunday says, staring back at him.
The words are oddly familiar. Unbidden, the vision of a moonlit corridor with sweeping windows rises in Welt’s mind. A memory of a memory of a dream that had left him aching. Sunday, lovely and tranquil in the marbled light; lost in thought until some invisible thread pulled him back and he turned, smiling—
There you are, Mr. Yang.
“Sunday…”
“You were dreaming of this too. I know.”
Their foreheads are still pressed together. Feathers graze the nape of Welt’s neck as Sunday’s wings fold around them in a cocoon, a weightless embrace. Sunday isn’t looking at him anymore, but in his face there’s a glint of the bright certitude that had once ruled a dreamscape. A conviction with no aim, redirected into this moment.
“If you’ll allow it,” Sunday whispers, “I’d like to try something new.”