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The Express is quiet tonight.
You've found yourself in Sunday's room again, a common occurrence at this point. It's tidy and neat, suitable to his character, and though it looks slightly plain, you can tell that he's finally starting to add his own personal touch to the place. You smile as you take in the details. At last, he's treating the Express like his home.
Sunday is currently sitting on the carpet with his back facing you, quiet as you brush through his silvery hair. As expected, not a single knot tugs on the comb's teeth.
"You have to share your hair routine with me," you say playfully, caressing a lock curled by his nape.
"It's not particularly elaborate..." he mumbles, clearly embarrassed by the attention. "I just use decent products."
"It's surely more than just that." You go back to brushing through his hair, gently gathering it away from his face and ears. His wings peek out, fluttering softly. "Your hair is always so perfect."
Sunday just hums in response, his body visibly relaxing under your touch.
“Can I braid it?” you suddenly ask.
“Hm…?” He’s starting to sound tired. “I doubt it would stay, given my hair type…”
“Eh… probably true. Still. Can I try?”
“I don’t see why not.”
You set down your comb on the carpet and bury your fingers into his hair, separating a section of it into three equal parts. As Sunday predicted, they attempt to slip free as you start to weave them together.
“So soft…” you murmur, probably for the thousandth time at this point. You love playing with Sunday’s hair.
Once you get to the ends of his hair, barely reaching past his shoulders, you slip a hair tie from your wrist to hold the braid together. Once released, it nestles behind his ear, right where his wing is.
“There we go.” You smile. “You look cute.”
“I’m not cute…” His wings flutter again, the feathers fluffing up.
“But you are.” You rest your head on his shoulder, savouring his warmth. “You’re so cute.”
“Hngh…” Sunday mumbles, his body shifting slightly.
“Even your name is cute, Sunnie.”
“Stop,” he protests weakly, one of his small wings flapping lightly against your nose. His feathers have a pleasant scent to them, their softness tickling your skin. You’ve always been so curious to touch them, and your focus shifts to the two gold studs embedded in his left wing as they catch the dim light.
“Fine, I’ll stop… for now,” you relent, now that you have a new target. “Do those piercings hurt at all?”
“Not anymore. I’ve had them for a while.”
“Hm…” You really, really want to reach out and touch them. “They’re pretty.”
Sunday grumbles something under his breath, shifting again. He’s so weak for compliments. It’s adorable.
You finally give in to your wants, reaching out to brush your fingertips against the studs and the surrounding feathers. Sunday instantly stiffens with a gasp.
“Oh—sorry.” You quickly pull your hand back. Maybe they’re more fragile than you anticipated.
“No, don’t… apologize…” Sunday mumbles, but his breathing sounds unsteady. “You just caught me off guard. You can… touch them, if you really want to…”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
He’s trembling a bit.
“Alright…” You touch his wings again, careful not to apply too much pressure. They're even warmer than the rest of his body, and his feathers are even softer than his hair. Almost an impossible feat. You run your fingertips down the longest of them, causing him to tremble and shudder even more.
“Are you really sure it’s okay to touch them?” You wrap your free arm around his waist, hugging him gently. “You can’t sit still anymore.”
A soft sound, almost a whimper, escapes him. You’ve never heard anything like that from him before, and it both confuses and intrigues you.
“Sunday?”
“I-I’m fine…” he finally says, not sounding convincing at all. Sunday stuttering? Also unheard of. “My wings are just…”
“Just…?”
He says it so quietly that you almost can’t hear him. “...Sensitive.”
Oh.
That explains it.
“Should I stop, then…?”
“No,” Sunday says quickly, and his wing flicks back against your hand, unconsciously seeking more touch. You can’t see his expression, but the tips of his ears are bright red. “You can continue.”
And so, you gently rest your hands on both of his wings, smoothing out the feathers and straightening them. They’re a little messed up from all the flicking and fluffing up they’ve been doing. Sunday squirms, and you tug him closer, holding him against your chest.
The feathers brush against your face again. You give them a soft kiss, eliciting a more audible whimper from Sunday’s lips this time. “Mnh… feels good…”
“Yeah…?” You murmur against him, caressing his little remiges and brushing out the dust from them. “I love your wings…”
Sunday goes quiet again, but you can tell that he’s suppressing any more noises.
“Sunnie?” Your breath brushes over the shell of his ear, and he shivers. “Can you look at me?”
“Ngh…” He turns his head just slightly, his wings fluttering closer to his face to hide himself as he looks at you.
Aeons, he’s beautiful. His golden gaze, softened by bashfulness and shaded by his lashes. A blush, awfully obvious on his pale skin. His hair, smoothened from your brushing, swept across his forehead. It’s so rare that he shows so much vulnerability, and your heart skips a beat at the sight.
“No more teasing,” he finally mumbles.
You laugh, shaken from your daze. “Alright, alright… I’ll stop.”
You move your touch away from his wings and simply go back to hugging him, nuzzling into his nape with a hum. The trembling in his body eventually subsides, and he relaxes into your embrace. You have to admit, it was a little fun watching him behave so out of character. The other Astral Express members would never believe it. Not that you’d tell them about this, of course.
Well, you’ve finally satiated your curiosity about Sunday’s wings. They’re absolutely soft, absolutely sensitive, and you’ll absolutely be teasing him about them in the future.