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To be fair, he's not sure what occurred to set off such a chain of events between Aventurine and himself. Truly, one day, when Aventurine came over like he usually would for him. Sunday tried hugging him as a normal boyfriend would after not seeing their lover for an extended amount of time, but Aventurine dodged him.
It was strange, but he figured he just wanted space Sunday is the same in that aspect. Sometimes the touch of others, even if light, is overwhelming.
But…
It became bigger things.
Not texting as often.
It must be business with IPC holding him up.
No more small gifts being sent.
He never cared for those anyways.
No more visits
It was starting to become truly unbearable.
Did he do something wrong, say the wrong thing accidentally, and forget?
It was starting to stress him out, Sunday then took the initiative and requested aventurine to come over so they could talk which he surprisingly responded to in a reasonable amount of time and not the 4 business days it would take him to answer.
And that brought the argument out in the open, right in the express cart.
“I’m just worried it’s like texting me is a burden on you. I just want to know what’s wrong,” the Halovian urged, hand clenching his own chest, pupils shaking. Aventurine pinches the bridge of his nose while letting out a deep sigh.
Granted, Sunday is making a “scene” as the others (Caelus, Stella, Dan Heng, and March 7th) were gradually becoming concerned about what is going on between the two as they watched from afar, debating if they should go.
“You're paranoid.” aventurine chides, glancing at Sunday's eyes then darts them away “I don’t get why you're overreacting, I have been texting you”
As those words leave Aventurine's mouth, they seem to break Sunday he tries his best to meet the others' eyes, trying to give him a moment to do it himself before giving up.
Why are his eyes tearing up? He’s no child, but…
“You can’t even look at…” he mutters not bringing himself to finish the sentence, Sunday raised his voice slightly more, as his chest felt suffocated and he felt frustrated with himself and the stoneheart that stood stiff.
The words came out shaky. “Just tell me what I did wrong! I’ll fix it. I’ll apologize you need to communicate with me. I promise I won’t hurt you.” His head hung low as his lips began to tremble.
There was a long pause before Sunday could hear the very low voice of Aventurine, he still caught the words.
“Well, you have before.”
His mouth gaps before closing from internal hurt. “I see now”
“Wait, Sunday I didn’t mean—…I just fuck.” Aventurine approaches Sunday doesn’t back away. He lets him touch his shoulders, that touch not feeling as comforting as it used to be. “Let’s take a break.” So this is it.
Stella curled her hand into a fist, clenching it tight. Dan Heng held onto her arm as he could feel the fury emitting from her.
At that point, Sunday felt defeated, as he barely got out “How long?”
Aventurine assured the best he knew how. “I'm not sure…. Come on, look at me.” Aventurine lifts Sunday's chin carefully, seeming to wince once confronted with how sad Sunday has become.
“It's not you, I promise. I have some issues, and it’s obvious I haven’t been expressing myself well lately—”
“Or barely” Caelus interrupts.
Aventurine glares over to him but focuses back onto his love, whom he can’t even call that anymore.
Sunday looks tiredly up at Aventurine before agreeing tiredly, “Yeah…I get it, you need time maybe this whole relationship thing between us was a mistake.” Aventurine didn’t say that.
Aventurine brows pull together he lets Sunday’s chin go and denies “I never said that?” It came out as a question.
The man groans and just shrugs, giving up on continuing to talk with Sunday. “Okay, whatever, I’ll see you later.”
“Later.”
Sunday repeated back, knowing better what the actual word should be.
Once Aventurine's footsteps faded away and the indication that a ship had left the express that Sunday finally let himself realize him and Aventurine are over, and the sniffles made it clear to the others also.
The twins don't hesitate to crowd him, asking questions of what caused the argument, what Aventurine did, and what he did.
Sunday has no idea.
“Another drink, and may you shush?” Sunday words were sluggish alcohol doesn't have a bad effect on him, true. It just makes him sleepy, and Sunday liked that feeling.
Shush is hesitant. “This will be the last one; I fear you have had enough,” the robotic voice responds before getting to work on his drink.
Sunday lays the side of his face into the cold surface, the sensation grounding him truthfully.
He's so out of it that the scooting of a chair next to him doesn't register, nor does the deep growl of that same voice ordering themselves a drink.
It's only when they tap Sunday's shoulder that he realizes that someone decided to share the space with him.
“What's got you so…like this, birdie?”
‘Birdie’ Sunday blinks a few times before lifting his head to get a look at the intruder.
His breath hitches, white bullet-like eyes stare straight at him, almost amiable and welcoming but also imitating, like they were a warning alone.
How does he respond? Does he lie or tell the truth about the current waves of emotions going through his head? Sunday settled with “I got dumped.” He doesn’t particularly like using slang such as that, but it was hard to care.
The man laughs, an absurd laugh at that. Sunday glared. “That’s supposed to be funny?”
He continued to laugh nevertheless, maybe even a tad harder, after Sunday questioned his origins for laughing at his sorrow.
He hits his mental chest and apologizes, “Sorry Birdie, I just thought it was something else with the way you're sulking. Sucks that happened to you, though.”
“I guess…”
Shush then brings them both their drinks, Sunday reluctantly sitting up as best he could with the amount of alcohol in his system, taking a slow sip of it.
Surprisingly the silence between them wasn’t awkward, just calm. Sunday spares a glance at him a few times before finally asking, “What’s your name?”
“Huh, don’t recognize me? “Heh—well, I’m Boothill, a galaxy ranger,” he chuckles and smirks down at him, “and I sacken your Sunday, a former oak and brother of the pretty singer Robin.”
Sunday pauses his movement of taking another swing of the beverage, and he hesitantly asks another question “How do you know me?”
“Oh well, I was there when you were doing that whole dream takeover and was helping in the background.” He then chuckles. “It wasn’t hard to recognize even with your new look, birdie. I like it, by the way you look—”
Boothill searches for the word “brighter” he settles with it.
‘Brighter’
Sunday smiles fondly at that “thank you… Mr. Boothil.”
“No need for formalities it makes me feel old.”
For the first time in a while, Sunday lets out a generous giggle.
“noted”
Once it's down a bit, he decides he doesn’t need any more of his drink.
He thinks of aventurine. What he could be doing, thinking, and feeling. All of the above, truly. Despite that argument that set everything to hell, he still misses him.
A shiver goes down Sunday's spine, boothill mental finger had jabbed his neck slightly, Sunday looks up at him, the cowboy's face twisted with annoyance, he can tell the younger one's mind is still off somewhere.
Letting out a tsk, “Stop that mourning; a pretty doll like you shouldn’t let this lad or gal get you like this. I may look menacing—or whatever people call me—but I mean what I say.”
‘Doll’
He’s never been called that; it didn’t make him grimace, honestly… just he’s not sure.
Sunday caught himself giggling before whispering a small thank you.
“Anytime”
Pompom checks the halls they always do this just to make sure the members of their express are safe and aren’t doing anything unhinged or frankly just stupid, aka Caelus and Stella.
Sounds were coming from the party car, to no surprise.
They poked their head only to be greeted by Sunday and surprisingly Boothill too they weren’t told of any visitors tonight… Pompom shook their head before smiling fondly. Not mad about the sudden visitor nor the noise.
All because of the smile that beamed from Sunday.