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“...Don’t you think they got closer?”
March asks Sunday one day, unprompted.
She flops down on the seat across him in his little corner of the Party Car, and Sunday half-closes his book. He follows her gaze, landing on two familiar individuals going up a row of stairs.
“…Mr. Dan Heng and Mr. Caelus, you mean?”
“Yeah,” she nods, her eyes not leaving the two retreating figures. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like… there’s a different vibe. And Dan Heng is always next to him now.”
Sunday watches quietly as they disappear into the trailblazer’s room, and refocuses his attention on March. Her head is resting on her palm, a pout clear on her face.
“Before, when I’d ask, Dan Heng would always refuse to indulge me and would prefer to stay in the archives, but now…” her eyes narrow in thought. “Don’t you see the way he’s always attached to Caelus’ hips? I have a higher chance of finding him in their room upstairs than in the archives. It’s weird… It’s suspicious!”
Is it… really? Sunday is not sure what March expects from him, so he just nods absent mindedly, but the pout on her face does not go away.
Sunday has seen that look on her face before.
“...Are you maybe… feeling jealous?” he asks her tentatively, and March shakes her head no immediately, like the simple thought of her being jealous of them is unthinkable.
It isn’t too unthinkable to Sunday, but if she says no then he isn’t one to fight her about it.
March sits back properly on her chair, her eyes now boring holes into Sunday. His fingers fiddle with the cover of his book, visibly uncomfortable.
“What do you think of them?” she asks, redirecting the subject away from herself.
Sunday feigns thought. To be frank, he thinks nothing of them, barely sees them besides their shared meal times. Dan Heng is very reliable and informative, and Caelus is… interesting in his own ways, but he doubts that is what March is asking.
If you were to ask Sunday about what he thinks of the trio, they remind him of family, he supposes.
“I can tell they value each other greatly,” he replies matter of factly, and March must think this is a boring answer as she follows up with the most disappointed “That’s it?” Sunday has ever heard coming from her.
“…I have not had many opportunities to talk to them. I am not sure whether their current relationship is any different than before,” he clarifies, unamused.
They look like great friends that enjoy each other’s company is really all he can think of. She looks at him unconvinced, but ultimately drops the topic.
“It makes sense, I guess,” her eyes trail down to the coffee table between them, and an awkward silence settles in.
Sunday contemplates opening up his book again, but he watches as March twiddles her thumbs still rooted in her seat, her usual confidence nowhere in the room with them; all of it clear signs of reticence, and his mouth moves on its own accord.
“Why do you ask, if I may?”
“…I don’t know. Maybe I just felt a bit left out by the experience.”
March does not look up from the table, her legs slowly moving up, her shoes now flat on the seat. Sunday winces at the action but does not comment on it.
March holds her legs close to her body, face resting on her knees.
“I missed them a lot and… In Amphoreus, I did get to travel with them, but they didn’t really travel with me. It’s no one’s fault but it’s a bit upsetting.”
Sunday’s brows furrow in confusion, but his follow up question is cut short by March’s voice.
“And sometimes, I think about her, too.”
…Her?
“…Miss Evernight, you mean?”
“Yeah,” she nods, not looking up. “Dan Heng told me she was the one who separated the two of them. He was trying to reunite with Caelus so they could figure out their next move together, but then I was the one who got in their way and stopped them.”
March hides her face in her knees, guilt flowing out of her voice.
Sunday exhales once, putting his book on the coffee table to focus entirely on the stressed girl before him.
“We both know that is not true. Miss Evernight is not you,” Sunday assures her in a weak attempt at comfort.
March does not move. “I know... But still, she’s a part of me. There’s no point in claiming otherwise.”
Sunday’s eyes trail to the ground of the Party Car, his mind transported somewhere else.
A version of himself comes to mind, and Sunday can feel his throat constrict at the thought. How he wishes that man would leave him alone, yet here Sunday is, haunted by the mere thought of his existence.
If Wonweek were to possess his body and commit atrocities with it, Sunday is sure he would feel the same as her. Simple reassurance is not enough for these kinds of problems, but Sunday barely could deal with his own. He does not know what to tell her.
March’s head moves up, her eyes making contact with his, and a chill runs down his spine.
“Mr. Yang told me about you, too,” she starts, and Sunday can feel his heart rate increase.
He does not like where this is going.
“He told me about how I almost… hurt you, to put it nicely, and how Madam Herta was the one to help.”
“…”
“…I know Evernight wouldn’t harm any of the Express Crew, but it is different with you. We’re not… friends, and I feel terribly bad about it.”
Sunday can't help but scoff internally. As previous enemies, it is only natural for Miss Evernight to behave that way. Sunday knows that, Miss March knows that. This isn’t anything she should concern herself with.
Even so, Sunday watches as March’s face contorts in regret, and an ugly string pulls at his heart.
“Please, don’t be. It was not your fault.”
“I know. It doesn’t make it easier.”
———
The silence between them is heavy.
They’ve sat in front of each other, not exchanging a word for a good five minutes now. The only musical accompaniment to their non-existent discussion is the clatter of glasses coming from the bar, and the soft mechanical sound of Shush moving around.
Sunday looks at March, and she squirms beneath his gaze, clearly uncomfortable.
He knows he should say something, and yet, nothing comes to mind. If she came to him a few months ago, when Sunday was still Bronze Melodia, he would have offered her forgiveness and used everything in his power to permit her to atone; but alas, as things stand between them, Sunday is painfully aware that Miss March does not care in the slightest about forgiveness. She would be offended by the offer, even.
Sunday is not a god, and March is not a believer. She is not seeking anything from him besides discussion, and Sunday is so used to listen to others and weaponize their words and weaknesses that he has forgotten how to simply talk.
Speaking was never a problem to him and neither is presenting, explaining, counseling or debating; so why do his words run dry now?
He can hear a little voice mock him from within the depths of his mind. It tells him: if you don’t know where to go, maybe start from the beginning? and the sound advice makes his skin crawl.
Yet, with nowhere to go, he follows it.
“I remember how both Mr. Caelus and Mr. Dan Heng were enthusiastic about the expedition. They looked happy to depart,” he says finally, breaking silence, making sure to avoid March’s expectant eyes.
He remembers the giddiness in Caelus’ voice and the light skip of his steps. He remembers Dan Heng triple checking their belongings, making sure they would be fully prepared to face the unknown.
It made him happy back then, to watch them carefully prepare their expedition; to be able to witness the beginning of a breakthrough discovery for the Nameless. But then…
“But then, as time went on, I saw Mr. Yang’s face drop in horror as communications would not come back,” he admits, looking out to the vast cosmos on the other side of the car window. “One day would go by, and then Miss Himeko would send us an urgent text to come into your room, and from then on I remember how silent the Express was.”
He can see March’s eyes widen in recognition from her reflection on the window. Her face falls.
“Ah… I must have looked really bad, ahah,” she laughs, the resulting smile failing to reach her eyes.
Sunday shakes his head. “Quite the contrary, you looked peaceful; like you were having a nice dream, oblivious to everything else around you. But the circumstances made it so no one around you could rejoice.”
He remembers the slight reluctance he felt when trying to diagnose her condition, for fear of waking her up. If the dream was as sweet as it looked like, would she have appreciated Sunday’s intrusion?
March does not interject, and Sunday continues.
“I went with Mr. Yang to meet Madam Herta, and we worked on trying to retrieve communications with the two others while Miss Black Swan and Miss Himeko would try to understand what was happening to you.”
He pauses, carefully selecting his words.
“…At that time, I felt the same as you: detached from it all. I do not know how everyone in the Express operates, I do not know whether this is standard for an expedition or not, and… everyone on the Express knows that too. They know that this isn’t something I should bother with as a passenger, and that this only concerns the Nameless and the Garden of Recollection.”
"I did get to travel with them, but they didn’t really travel with me."
Her expression was so simple, yet she managed to grasp the core conflict within Sunday with ease. One is simply not so easily part of the team; no matter how hard they try.
“I felt very powerless,” he murmurs to himself.
Surely, there must have been something he could do? Something that would require his expertise, something that would make him useful to them? At the very least, something more useful than simply standing idle out of their way.
“I finally persuaded them to let me help as I could withstand dense memory zones, and they let me try to connect to Amphoreus and look for all of you from within.”
March sits up, her back straight and her shoes back to the ground. There is an edge in her voice. “That’s when I...”
“…Correct. That is when I fought you, or rather, Miss Evernight.”
Sunday stares at March as he can see the tension manifests in her body in the raise of her shoulders and the slight shake of her hands.
“...She was very unpleasant,” he tells her honestly, and it does nothing to help March’s rising anxiety. “Still, I do not hold it against her.”
He thinks of the way she would block his attempts by luring Mr. Caelus back to safety, and Sunday bites his lips. In her eyes, he was the one bearing danger.
“I do not yet understand what I feel about Miss Evernight, but I felt conflicted at our interactions. She submerged Amphoreus into an eternal evernight as she was trying to re-create the world into a safe haven by burning away the threat’s roots and everything resulting from it. No matter what, I cannot bring myself to oppose her ideas.”
I too, wished for the same thing and acted upon it.
It would be lying to say he did not see a part of himself in her actions, and yet…
“And yet… Most curiously, this time I found myself on the other side of the board.”
He remembers Robin’s embrace as they fall through the dreamscape, her touch still lingering in his bones to this day. The dream is over, she whispered to him then.
“I found myself observing the Nameless’ terrified faces, the way the bags under their eyes would deepen each passing day, the way Miss Himeko would refuse to leave your side, the way Mr. Dan Heng willingly went back into the lion’s den simply to save you two; even though all three of you would be safe with Miss Evernight, and her actions could buy the world unlimited time to deal with the looming threat.”
And all of that simply because if they gave in to Miss Evernight’s plan, it would mean that for everyone else the memories of the current Amphoreus would disappear; and nobody could accept that.
“Madam Herta, Madam Bonajade, countless ships from the Xianzhou Alliance, and even Robin… They all rallied up to help deal with the threat. They all rallied up and willingly risked their lives to help you, simply due to a selfish wish of passing on the tales of valiant heroes.”
March presses her legs together in embarrassment. “If you say it like that… I guess it does sound silly.”
“A little bit,” he agrees, and he can see the way she curls onto herself as if to hide from him. “Is preserving a few memories so important it would justify endangering the world? I pondered about this question for a long time.
“I have hurt many people during the Charmony Festival, and I truly feel remorse about it, but I never could really understand why people would rather choose to risk their lives than live in security.
“So I asked myself this: were I in your situation, would I rather save my family or save the world? Surprisingly, the answer came very naturally to me, and I made the same choice as everyone.”
He meets March’s gaze, a gentle expression on his face.
“Whether we consider Miss Evernight to be you or not, it is both of you that helped me realize that fact. For this, I am eternally grateful to you.”
Sunday bows slightly, one palm flat on his heart.
When he straightens up again, he is met with Miss March’s surprised face, a slight pink color adorning her cheeks. She relaxes immediately after, and Sunday is glad the tension in her shoulders is gone.
Still, he has more to say.
“People are inherently egoistical creatures. They will only chase what they want, regardless of others. No matter how I delude myself, I am no exception to this, and neither is Miss Evernight.”
True Harmony can hardly be achieved via goodwill alone, but unity becomes a possibility when everyone can benefit from it.
“The same can be said to everyone else that participated in the fight against the Lord Ravager. They all had their personal goals, and that is ultimately why they helped. I doubt it comes only from the kindness of their hearts.”
He would never doubt his sister, but the IPC knocks at his mind’s door, and the imaginary sound alone is able to make his skin crawl.
March nods, staying silent throughout his monologue.
“I have wished and still wish for an eternal paradise, where its people can live free of danger in harmony,” Sunday retells as he stares at the ceiling of the Party Car.
“Ultimately, what I missed is that, if to achieve this paradise I must take away people’s own ego, then I myself become the danger. People do not necessarily oppose the idea of living in complete security, they simply oppose the idea of losing themselves and their loved ones along the way.”
He thinks of his ever foolish sister and her trade with the devil for his freedom, and his heart aches.
“If to achieve arcadia I must strip myself of all that makes me, then can I really say that I’ve made it to the end?” he asks no one in particular, his eyes losing themselves in the galaxy beyond the window again.
He catches March’s reflection looking his way and their eyes meet.
“That’s… a trick question,” she comments, her voice small.
“Indeed. But I am curious; what would be your answer?”
He redirects his attention to the real her, not her mirrored self in the window. She has one hand on her cheek, her brows furrowed in thought.
“... I’m sure you know by now, but I had nothing on me when I first woke up. No memories, no name, not even clothes really.”
Sunday nods. He has been made aware of her special condition by Miss Himeko after the blocks of crystal ice enveloped her body in her sleep.
“Since I had nothing, it’s everyone here who helped me become who I am today. You could say that without them, I would be an empty husk. If, hypothetically, to reach paradise I have to remove them all from my life and go back to who I was then, then I do not want that. To me, paradise is already where they are, however flawed it is.”
Sunday thinks back to her photo wall constantly displaying pictures of the Namelesses’ adventures.
He had wondered why she always had it on, and why Miss Himeko refused to turn it off when Miss March was out of commission and they had to preserve the Express’ remaining energy.
It brought them comfort, he belatedly realizes.
“Before Caelus joined, I used to think my past was absolute, and I kept imagining what ifs scenarios about myself. I really really really wanted to know, but… not so much now.”
Sunday raises a brow. “What changed?”
“I… got sad,” she admits in a long, tired exhale, pained smile on her lips. “Everything tried to stop me. Even Evernight told me it’s better if I don’t remember.”
Her eyes trail down from Sunday’s eyes to the potted plant next to them. Her face is serene, but Sunday does not miss the slight tremble of her hands.
“When I asked Fu Xuan—ah, she is the master diviner of the Xianzhou Luofu— we managed to get some clues but ultimately she told me a very strong power was at work to prevent me from remembering. Like, Aeon-level shenanigans.”
March closes her eyes. “It was awful. I felt like I reached a dead end. It got me depressed for a while.”
She blinks her eyes open slowly and turns to Sunday, pain evident in her voice.
“Can you believe this? I’ve spent so many years chasing for answers… and when I finally manage to reach the box where all my memories rest in, I just cannot open it no matter how hard I try.”
One of her hands comes up to hold her head. “I felt so lost. So… alone.”
His mind conjures up the image of March, alone in her room, quietly sobbing away the night as fear of the unknown gnaws at her from all sides, and her comforter wrapped around her body does nothing to appease her unrest. She would look up at her wall, holding tightly onto the memories of what she has, until she would pass out from exhaustion.
He wishes he could do anything to lessen her suffering.
He is brought back to a recent time where he would reach the climax of a lifelong plan, a plan made to erase all her worries and remove the crease between her brows.
The plan would be crushed to the ground and he would fall, fall, fall endlessly into the starry skies. Gentle arms would wrap around his body, and then, ruthless arms would grab and pull them away. His wrists and ankles would get chained up, the loss of his sister’s warmth and the cold of his chains making him sick to the stomach.
Sunday would look up at nothing but the darkness of his cell; and he would hold onto nothing but air, his belongings long stripped away from him by the ironic force known as preservation.
He looks at March fiddling idly with the hem of her skirt, her expression void of any apparent sadness, and he remembers her words.
“If, hypothetically, to reach paradise I have to remove them all from my life and go back to who I was then… then I do not want that.”
“…Are they the reason you stopped looking for answers?” he points to the staircase behind him, the one leading to Caelus’ room.
March follows his finger, her eyes landing on the familiar path and her gaze softens. “You could say that,” she replies, a gentle smile adorning her lips. “After Amphoreus, it occurred to me that maybe it didn’t matter so much. I like what I have now, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
“I had to give up my memories to Evernight for her to protect us. I have them back now but, for a while, I was just an echo of myself hiding in a small camera. You remember the jellyfishes?”
A flurry of dark red flashes through his mind; a dark red that slowly attempted to crack his head open, and Sunday swallows once.
“Well, I looked like that!” she says with enthusiasm beyond Sunday’s comprehension.
March continues her retelling, the stars in her eyes slowly dimming. “Evernight assured me I would be safe, but the trade off scared me so much. I thought I would lose all my progress, forget everyone again, become someone else again. And that fear manifested and tethered me to them.”
Her gaze lands on the staircase once again. Sunday does not look at it, his eyes instead riveted on March. She looks serene, much more at peace than Sunday would expect from someone who went through that many traumatic events.
“...Even being so little myself, I longed for these two. That’s when I realized my past didn’t matter, what mattered was that I wanted to stay with them in the future,” she says, her voice ever so gentle. “I like who I am now. Who cares about who I was before, right? I think that’s what everyone was trying to tell me, and I finally get it now. Dan Heng was a criminal, Caelus was… maybe a criminal? It’s very likely anyway. And… oh yeah, you’re a wanted man by the IPC. Ha, what a team we make!”
Sunday’s mouth opens on instinct trying to interject on the last part, but he decides otherwise and curls his hands into fists.
He forces the thought away. This is neither what March wants to hear, and neither what he wishes to admit.
March looks at him confused, afraid she’s said something wrong, and Sunday feels compelled to speak up and change the subject.
“…I have known for a while now, but your wisdom keeps impressing me.”
“Hey now, what does that mean?” she pouts, and her usual demeanor makes Sunday relax a little.
“It means you have my utmost respect. You say things so frankly, so honestly, and get your point across ever so easily it stings, but the truths you speak of are all real. Your wisdom far exceeds mine. You would have made an excellent Bronze Melodia.”
He thinks back to their argument at the Scorchsand Audition venue and how their answers did not line up back then. He wonders if Penacony’s fate would have been different if she were to take his place.
March shakes her head in strong disagreement.
“No way, I would have done a terrible job, I have nowhere near the patience you have. I would have gotten fired for punching someone, I bet.”
The imagery makes Sunday laughs. Indeed, that sounds plausible.
Being the Oak Family’s Bronze Melodia is not a job you can get fired from, and she would face much harsher punishment were she to actually do that and disturb the dream’s peace, but he finds that he does not mind her simplistic vision. It is grounded in a reality Sunday did not experience, a reality where one is free to do as they please.
“...If our circumstances were different, I would have loved to be your friend,” he admits sheepishly.
March’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why? We can still do that, no?”
Sunday does not gratify her with an answer. He smiles at her, and March does not reciprocate the act.
“...Is it because you’re planning on leaving? You know you don’t have to.”
“I have overstayed my welcome. It wouldn’t be fair for everyone to keep profiting off their generosity.”
March frowns, unamused. “…I don’t think anyone cares.”
Sunday does not think anyone cares either. Still, his voice is resolute when he says: “Maybe not you, but I do.”
One cannot strip themselves of what makes them whole in a single day.
This harsh truth is what keeps Sunday up at night, not entirely comfortable to lay on this bed that isn’t his, his entire being urging him to leave the Express and depart on his own journey.
He is not one to refuse help along the way, but if he lets them take his hand and guide him indefinitely through the stars, he is afraid their influence will make him repeat the same mistakes. Surrounding himself with lively people that attract nothing but smiles and laughter will not help him achieve his goal to see the world in all its ugliness.
Some things are best experienced alone, however scary that reality is, and March must understand because she does not argue with him over it.
She stands up from her chair, and Sunday briefly wonders if he’s upset her, before she flashes him a warm smile and extends her hand for him to take.
“Alright. But then, before you leave, let’s go on an adventure together first.”
Sunday stares at the hand, unmoving.
March’s voice pierce through his silence. “I have to make it up to you one way or another. I don’t want your first and last memory of me to be a near death experience. I’ve got to show you my reliable side, too!”
His eyes move up from her hand to her eyes, and the intensity in them is enough to make his heart ache. I know you are plenty reliable, for you have done so much for me already, Miss March.
The generosity they’ve offered him far exceeds anything he could repay in his lifetime. His sins in Penacony are still unforgiven, and his atonement journey has yet to even start. It isn’t right to keep indulging in their kindness.
Still, as his golden eyes lose themselves in hers, he hesitates.
“People are inherently egoistical creatures. They will only chase what they want, regardless of others. No matter how I delude myself, I am no exception to this.”
…Does he want this, just this once?
What is one first and last expedition, when the night is still so young?
March answers this for him, as she forces herself on him to take his hand, Sunday standing up from his chair as a result. He stares at her in disbelief, her hands uncharacteristically warm, her bright smile casting a shadow over his thoughts, and he figures…
“…Very well. I will be in your care for one adventure,” he accentuates the one, and March can tell he does it on purpose but she doesn’t comment on it, choosing to reinforce her hold on his hand instead, for fear he might let go too soon.
They stay still, letting that one truth hang in between them for a few minutes.
———
“Hey, March and Sunny! What are you guys doing, a staring contest? Let me join.”
Caelus’ voice cuts through their silence, multiple footsteps growing louder as both he and Dan Heng walk closer to Sunday’s little corner of the Party Car.
March lets his hand go.
“How’d that even work with three people?” she asks the newcomer, and Caelus just shrugs.
“I have two eyes?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Don’t mind them,” Dan Heng says to Sunday as they both watch March and Caelus argue over the most pointless things.
Sunday shakes his head. “It’s alright, I am used to it.”
He watches as Dan Heng puts his palm flat on Caelus’ nape and the latter freezes, moving back obediently to Dan Heng’s side.
“Guys, can we be serious for a second?” He cuts their little altercation with ease, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “We are going to the Parlor Car to discuss our next stop with the conductor, Mr. Yang and Miss Himeko. I thought we’d let you two know.”
Ah… of course. It is time already.
Dan Heng turns to him. “You can join us if you want, Sunday.”
“Come on Sunny, don’t look so gloomy. Live up to your name!” Caelus tells him, and Sunday can feel his wings flutter in embarrassment.
He turns to March, and Sunday must have really looked pitiful because even March is looking at him with worry evident on her face.
“Yeah, come with us,” March starts, a hint of sadness in her voice, “At least let us drop you off at a place you had a say in.”
Sunday looks at her puzzled, and immediately understands. She is implying that for them, it is just another expedition, another temporary stop; but for him, once their one adventure promise is fulfilled, that destination will be his next home.
He has thought about it, but never could really picture his future. The unknown is grasping at him like a monster under his bed. When he embarked, he told them they could drop him off anywhere and he would leave obediently, but he has never thought of being able to choose where.
Maybe choosing his future for himself, free of his foster father's influence and his dear sister’s constant push on his back is the mandatory first step of his new life, and the Nameless are willing to guide him toward it.
He exhales once, then smiles at them.
“…I have made a promise to Miss March. If you would all have me, then I would love to accompany you all.”
“So that’s settled!” Caelus affirms and Dan Heng nods.
“Let’s go, let’s not make them wait.”
“I wonder where it’ll be this time~ I want a place where we can all relax for once,” March says, stretching her arms and back after sitting around for longer than she expected.
“Somewhere free of cosmic level threats would be nice, yes,” Dan Heng adds.
“I agree! What about you, Sunny?”
All three of them turn back to look at him expectantly, and Sunday does not feel trapped under their gaze like he used to before embarking on the Express. He looks at each one of them, and thinks:
A place where all of your smiles could never fade would be nice.