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“Have you ever sing before?”
“That's a sudden question.” Welt commented. The senior trailblazer and Sunday were in the party car's bar counter, sitting side by side doing their own thing. Welt's hand hadn't stopped doodling something in his sketchbook before he properly replied, “To answer your question; no, not really.”
Sunday put down his pen between the pages of his journal, his head turning to face Welt. “Not even to yourself?”
“Maybe in private times, who knows?” Welt teased.
There's something off about his tone — the usual colour looked rather timid in his eyes, but Sunday decided not to focus on that. “Would you like if I give you singing lessons?” he offered instead.
It was the bespectacled's turn to stop what he was doing and looked at the Halovian bewildered. “I…” he chuckled and shook his head, “I don't think that's necessary. I'm not exactly singer material.”
“But I like your voice.” Such a spontaneous statement from Sunday, one would've thought he was under the influence of alcohol to be saying such bizarre thing out in the open, yet there were no evidence of drinks near them. It's not like he's lying either. “Red is often associated with malice, death, and warnings. Yet the colours from your voice never fails to give me comfort.”
Sunday had once told him about his sound-colour synesthesia, about how he can see colours in melodies. Every member of the Astral Express has one colour in their voice, yet for some reason, he sees two in Welt Yang's. While it's not uncommon to see more than one colour in a person's voice, ever since his senses has been dulled and toned down, seeing that tint of red standing out among the muted colours never fail to excite him. It's unfortunate that it kept being overshadowed by brown, so he made it his mission to bring that colour out however he could.
It took a while for Sunday to realize that Welt has been quiet from the lack of colours in the air. He looked up, wondering if he had said anything wrong or overstepped his boundaries somewhere. His mouth pressed into a thin line when he saw that Welt was looking right at him. It was somehow unsettling with the way the older man didn't even blinked.
"Um… Welt?" he spoke, and that broke from whatever trance they were in. Welt immediately looked away, and from the way his hand went up to cover his mouth, Sunday guessed he must've been flustered.
“Well, I'm,” Welt paused to cough. “I'm glad my voice was able to provide that.” He returned his attention to his book, to the page that hardly has any space for any more drawings today. “I don't sing, but I can read articles about the history of Belobog instead if you're interested.”
Sunday hummed, pretending to be consider the offer, yet the way his feathers perked and flapped once betrayed him. Such a dull topic to anyone else, but he would take any chance to hear Welt talk so passionately.
To see that cerise red blooming free from the neutral brown in his voice.
“I'll be happy to listen.” he smiled.