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The streets of Penacony were loud at night, well, it was loud during the day too, but it just looked different at night, the city lights melted together more smoothly after dark, gold and violet reflections stretching across the streets while distant music drifted through the air from lounges and casinos still overflowing with people. Advertisements flickered overhead every few seconds, casting shifting colors over anyone passing beneath them.
Sunday walked along the sidewalk at an unhurried pace, hands neatly folded behind his back as his halo glimmered faintly under the neon lights. The silver wings behind his ears twitched every now and then whenever loud laughter erupted nearby.
A few steps beside him, Gallagher glanced sideways at him while taking another sip from the canned drink he’d bought from some street vendor a while back. “You always this stiff when you walk around?” he asked eventually, voice rough with amusement. “Feels like I’m escorting royalty or somethin’.”
Sunday didn’t even look offended anymore at comments like that. At most, mildly exasperated, maybe a slight twitch of his wings, but other than that? Nothing. “I walk perfectly fine.”
“Mm.” Gallagher tilted the can in his hand slightly, slushing the drink inside it around.
“I simply prefer carrying myself properly in public.”
“Right, but I gotta say.” Gallagher pointed vaguely at him with the drink. “Nobody talks like that while on a casual night stroll.”
Sunday finally glanced toward him briefly. “You seem oddly invested in how I speak tonight.”
Gallagher snorted at that. “Well, excuse me for trying to hold a conversation.”
“You are succeeding.”
“I’m glad.” Gallagher barked out a laugh at that, shoulders shaking slightly. The sound blended into the distant city noise around them as the two continued walking side by side beneath glowing signs and drifting holograms.
Honestly, neither of them had planned this, they’d just happened to run into each other earlier. Gallagher had recognized Sunday immediately, obviously, because someone with that huge ass crowd around them wasn’t exactly difficult to spot.
Sunday had spotted him too and acknowledged him with a polite nod before waving off the crowd. Gallagher had joked about buying him a drink, which Sunday had declined but somehow continued walking beside him anyway.
And now they were here, talking, or, more accurately, Gallagher was talking while Sunday occasionally humored him with responses, truly, what a kind soul, at least he acknowledged him.
“…and then the guy seriously tried convincing me that his bird could do card tricks,” Gallagher continued. “I’m tellin’ you, that birdie just looked at me like it wanted my wallet.”
Sunday sighed softly. “Animals generally react negatively toward suspicious individuals.”
Gallagher looked genuinely offended. “Suspicious?”
“You look like you’ve committed crimes.”
“Judging a book by its cover now, are we?.” Gallagher laughed again, a hearty laugh, however it didn’t last long as suddenly a sharp hiss cut through the air.
Both of them halted their walking, Sunday’s brows furrowed slightly. “…did you hear that?”
Gallagher turned his head toward the alley beside them just as something small rolled out across the pavement, it looked like a metallic canister, bright pink and covered in stars. “Oh, that can’t be good-”
POOF.
Purplish-pink smoke exploded outward instantly, thick clouds swallowed both of them before either could react properly. Sunday coughed immediately, one hand flying toward his mouth as the smoke burned slightly in his throat. “What in the world-”
“Birdie, you good?” Gallagher’s voice came through the haze, except, the voice sounded layered? Like it came from multiple directions.
Sunday blinked hard against the smoke, trying hard to focus and find out which direction the voice actually came from and again, multiple voices came at him.
“Birdie, you good?” from his left.
“Sunday?” this time it came from right in front of him.
“What the hell?” Did Gallagher have a secret teleportation ability that Sunday was unaware of, how was he suddenly behind him? And how and why was he hearing three voices all at once?
The smoke shifted after a while, the scene that followed after was something straight out of a cartoon. There were 3 people surrounding him, which, normally wouldn’t be something weird, but the fact that it was ALL Gallagher, was concerning, to say the least.
Sunday stared at them blankly, they were identical, down to the broad frame, the shaggy brown hair, the same stubble, and of course, the same blood red eyes.
One Gallagher blinked first. “…the hell.”
The second Gallagher looked at the other immediately. “What the.”
The third pointed between them. “Wait, hold on, how are there 2 more of me?”
Sunday’s eyes slowly moved from one to the other. “…I see.” Was all he mumbled, probably more to himself, rather than the Gallagher(s). He glanced down at the empty canister now rolling across the sidewalk. Bright lettering printed across it sparkled obnoxiously under the neon lights.
“PRANK FOG - MULTIPLICATION SURPRISE!” There was a cartoon heart beside the warning label, someone clearly played a sick joke here. Sunday stared at the canister for another second before letting out a slow breath through his nose. Of course Penacony would sell something like this. Honestly, he was more surprised the packaging didn’t explode into glitter too.
Around him, the three Gallaghers were still processing the situation in real time, one was poking at his own arm, another was staring directly at the first one like he was trying to figure out if he could punch himself without consequences. The third had crouched slightly to pick up the canister off the ground. “…‘multiplication surprise,’” he read aloud, squinting at the obnoxiously glittery text. “What kinda cheap prank item is this?”
“Probably one from a tourist trap,” another Gallagher muttered.
The first pointed accusingly. “You sayin’ I got duplicated by cheap quality smoke?”
“Yes.”
Sunday pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before clearing his throat softly, three identical heads turned toward him immediately. ..The synchronization was deeply unsettling.
“…this appears to be nothing more than a rather unfortunate prank,” Sunday said calmly, smoothing one sleeve absentmindedly as he spoke. “However,” his gaze flickered briefly toward the warning label again, “the can states the effects will reverse within twenty-four hours.”
He paused before he then added, with complete composure, “Lucky you. Now you have three versions of yourself available to patrol Penacony like the good guard dog that you are.”
For a split second, silence hung in the air, then Sunday lifted an elegant hand toward his mouth, very clearly attempting to hide the tiny twitch threatening the corners of his lips.
One of the Gallaghers narrowed his eyes immediately. “…birdie.”
Another pointed at him. “Was that a joke?”
The third looked genuinely shocked. “Wait, hold on, he made a joke.”
Sunday straightened instantly. “I did no such thing.” His expression smoothed back into place almost immediately after the joke slipped out, the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth disappearing so fast it may as well have never happened at all. If someone else had been standing there, maybe they would’ve missed it.
Unfortunately for him, the three Gallaghers were staring directly at him. One of them narrowed his eyes slowly. “…you smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did.”
“The corner of your mouth moved upwards.”
Sunday adjusted one of his gloves with slow precision, gaze fixed firmly ahead. “Then clearly your eyesight is failing collectively.”
Another Gallagher let out a laugh loud enough to startle someone walking past them. “Collectively is crazy.”
“I can’t believe he just insulted all three of us at once.”
“To be fair, we are the same person.”
Sunday chose not to respond after that, around them, the city continued glowing and moving like nothing strange was happening. But despite the usual chaos of the city, people were definitely starting to notice them now.
Or rather, notice the fact there were suddenly three identical Gallaghers standing around one of the most recognizable figures in Penacony. A woman walking past slowed down mid-step before blinking twice, most likely very confused as to when Gallagher became a triplet.
Honestly, Sunday couldn’t even blame her, he would be just as confused if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.
Gallagher1 noticed the staring too and sighed. “…yeah okay, this is getting weird.”
“It was weird the second there became three of you,” Sunday replied immediately.
“That hurt a little.”
“You’ll survive.”
Gallagher2 tilted his head slightly while looking around the street. “Think people’ll think we’re some kinda performance act?”
“No,” Sunday said flatly. “I think they’ll assume Penacony has finally become too much for them psychologically.”
Sunday exhaled quietly through his nose again, already feeling the beginnings of a headache forming somewhere behind his eyes. He could endure a lot of things. Truly. He really could, but three Gallaghers at once might actually be pushing the limits of his patience.
Especially because now that the initial shock had worn off, they were starting to get comfortable. Far too comfortable for Sunday’s liking. If he had to describe the current situation in a simple manner, it would probably be like a puppy finding a mirror and being very invested in his reflection.
One of the Gallaghers had started walking circles around the others, the other kept staring at his own hands like he still couldn’t believe this was real and the last, and honestly worst one in Sunday’s HUMBLE opinion, was still holding the stupid pink canister, occasionally shaking it like more Gallaghers might fall out if he tried hard enough.
“Please stop doing that,” Sunday said tiredly, what was he? A parent watching over 3 children?
For a brief moment, silence settled between them again. Or at least, as close to silence as Penacony ever got. Sunday glanced toward the nearby crowd one more time before finally speaking again, voice calmer now, more composed. “…we should relocate.”
Three identical heads turned toward him immediately. “To where?” one asked.
Sunday hesitated for half a second before answering. “Dewlight Pavilion.”
One of them straight up grinned. “Oh?” he drawled. “You inviting all three of us over already, birdie?”
Sunday regretted opening his mouth and suggesting it immediately. “It is merely the most practical option,” he said smoothly, though the slight twitch of his wings betrayed his irritation. “You are a public figure. Seeing you suddenly duplicated would attract unnecessary attention and likely cause panic, rumors, or both.”
“…you worried about my reputation?” one Gallagher asked teasingly.
“I am worried about the reprocautions.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
“There is nothing romantic about this situation.”
One Gallagher leaned slightly closer. “You sure?”
Sunday stared directly ahead. “Yes.”
“Damn.”
Still, despite the teasing, the Gallaghers did eventually follow after him, like baby ducklings following their mother.
—
And now they were here, Dewlight Pavilion was quiet compared to the outside, almost painfully so. The moment the doors had closed behind them, the noise of Penacony’s nightlife had dulled into something distant and muffled, leaving behind only the faint hum of the building itself and the soft glow of warm lighting spilling across polished floors.
The contrast made the situation somehow feel even more absurd.
The three Gallaghers had made themselves comfortable on one of the couches in the grand hall, one had thrown an arm over the backrest like he owned the place already. Another had leaned back fully into the cushions with the sort of ease only Gallagher could pull off in someone else’s home. The third had somehow gotten hold of one of the decorative throw pillows and was absentmindedly squeezing it while staring up at the ceiling.
Sunday stood across from them in silence for a moment longer than necessary and the Gallaghers stared back. He suddenly understood why people got gray hairs from stress. “…you are all making yourselves alarmingly comfortable,” he finally said.
One Gallagher glanced around lazily. “You got a nice place.”
“That was not permission.”
“Too late now.”
Another Gallagher tilted his head back against the couch cushions slightly, red eyes following Sunday as he stood there near the center of the room, still perfectly composed despite the fact there were currently three grown men occupying his living room because of prank smoke.
“…you gonna keep standing there all night?” he asked eventually.
Sunday folded his hands neatly behind his back. “I am thinking.” Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do now. The logical solution had been bringing them here to avoid unnecessary attention from the public. That part had made sense. The problem was the aftermath.
Because now he had three identical Gallaghers sitting inside Dewlight Pavilion looking entirely too relaxed about the situation while Sunday himself was realizing he had not actually planned beyond step one. Twenty-four hours. They would remain like this for twenty-four entire hours. The realization made him tired all over again.
One Gallagher watched him quietly for a second before snorting softly. “…birdie, you look like you wanna die.”
Sunday looked mildly offended. “I do not.” He had opened his mouth to argue but he was cut off when he suddenly felt movement from behind him. Warmth pressed lightly against his back first, followed immediately by the feeling of an arm sliding carefully around his waist.
Sunday froze, his thoughts blanked so abruptly it almost felt physical. “…what are you doing?” he asked after a second, voice still calm somehow despite the fact one of the Gallaghers had apparently decided personal space no longer existed.
The Gallagher behind him only hummed lazily, broad hand settling comfortably against his waist like this was the most natural thing in the world. “What? You looked stressed.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“You looked tense,” Gallagher repeated. “So I’m fixing it.”
Sunday turned his head slightly, silver hair shifting over his shoulder as he stared at the offender behind him. “…by grabbing me.”
“Mmhm.”
One of the Gallaghers still sitting on the couch barked out a laugh while the other immediately pointed accusingly. “Hey, no fair, why does he get to touch the birdie first?”
“FIRST?” Sunday repeated.
The Gallagher around his waist grinned shamelessly. “Sounds like a competition now.”
“It is not a competition.” Sunday could physically feel the headache worsening, the hand around his waist shifted slightly again, fingers spreading just enough for Sunday to become horribly aware of how large Gallagher’s hands actually were compared to him. Which was not a thought he appreciated having.
“…remove your arm,” Sunday said carefully.
“Hmm.”
“That was not a request.”
Gallagher rested his chin briefly against Sunday’s shoulder instead, Sunday went rigid all over again.
“Oh, he hates this,” one Gallagher said from the couch.
“No,” another corrected immediately while watching Sunday’s wings twitch sharply behind his ears, “he’s trying very hard to pretend he hates this.”
“I do hate this.”
“Uh huh.”
Sunday genuinely did not know when the situation lost control completely. One second there was only one Gallagher hanging off him like some oversized cat that didn’t understand boundaries, and the next, movement came from both sides at once.
“…wait my turn,” one of the Gallaghers complained from the couch before standing up.
“Who said there’s a turn system?” the one behind Sunday replied immediately, still fully wrapped around his waist.
“That’s selfish.”
“You snooze, you lose.”
Sunday opened his mouth, fully intending to end whatever this conversation was becoming, only for another presence to suddenly appear beside him. A rough hand caught his wrist gently before lifting it slightly.
“…what are you doing now,” Sunday asked, voice noticeably quieter this time.
The second Gallagher hummed while turning Sunday’s hand over lazily in his own, large fingers dwarfing it completely. “Nothin’. Just lookin’.”
“At my hand.”
“Yeah.”
“…why.”
Gallagher shrugged. “Pretty.”
Sunday stared at him blankly for a solid three seconds after that. Behind him, the Gallagher still attached to his waist laughed directly against his shoulder. The vibration traveled unpleasantly through Sunday’s entire spine. “Damn,” he grinned, “you got him speechless.”
“I am not speechless.”
“You stopped talking.”
“I was choosing not to indulge this conversation.”
“Mhm.”
Sunday could feel heat slowly crawling up the back of his neck now, which was deeply irritating because he knew they could probably see it too. Worse, they were all looking at him with the exact same amused expression. Three identical smug smiles aimed directly at him felt less like a conversation and more like psychological warfare.
The third Gallagher finally abandoned the couch too after watching for a while longer. “Move,” he told the one holding Sunday’s wrist.
“You move.”
“Nah.”
And then suddenly there were too many hands. Sunday physically stiffened when fingers brushed carefully against one of the wings behind his ear. It wasn’t painful, Gallagher’s touch was actually annoyingly gentle, but the sensation still shot straight through him hard enough to make his breath hitch slightly.
Every Gallagher in the room noticed immediately. “…oh?” one of them said.
Sunday’s eyes widened slightly. “Do not.”
Another hand touched the other wing this time, careful fingers smoothing lightly through the feathers near his piercings. Sunday nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Sensitive?” Gallagher asked, sounding far too entertained.
Sunday grabbed the offending wrist immediately. “You are all behaving incredibly strangely.”
“Birdie,” one Gallagher laughed, “there are three of me right now. You expected normal behavior?”
“That was my first mistake.”
The Gallagher behind him still hadn’t let go of his waist either. If anything, his hold had gotten more comfortable over time, broad arm resting securely around Sunday like he belonged there. Which he absolutely did not.
Sunday tried focusing on literally anything else. The lights. The floor. The stupidly expensive vase near the staircase. Anything except the fact that another Gallagher had now taken both of his hands and was absentmindedly rubbing his thumbs over Sunday’s knuckles while talking. “…your hands are cold.”
“That tends to happen.”
“You need gloves indoors too?”
“Yes.” Sunday inhaled slowly through his nose. One Gallagher touching his wings, sometimes combing through his hair. Another holding his hands, playing with them, intertwining their fingers. Another was fully flushed against his back. What in Ena’s name was happening to his life.
And you know what made it worse, he wasn’t stopping whatever this was. That was the part truly bothering him. Because logically, he should’ve shoved them off by now. Sunday disliked unnecessary physical contact on a good day. Usually even a brush against his shoulder during crowded events annoyed him. So why was he just… standing here?
Sure, he was complaining, but his body had betrayed him completely. He wasn’t actually moving away. If anything, every time one of the Gallaghers adjusted closer, Sunday just relaxed into the touch, instead of resisting it.
One of the Gallaghers noticed it too. “…y’know,” he started slowly while still playing with Sunday’s fingers, “for someone that keeps telling us to stop, you ain’t exactly running away.”
Sunday’s stomach dropped a little. “I am attempting to remain patient.”
“Patient,” another repeated from behind him, voice thick with amusement. “That what we’re callin’ this?”
Sunday felt fingers comb lightly through the feathers of his wing again and this time he physically shivered, letting out a small pleased gasp.
Three identical red-eyed men stared at him immediately, Sunday wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole, getting run over by a specific train would be better than this.
“…that,” one Gallagher said carefully, “was not very patient sounding.”
Sunday’s face burned instantly. “You startled me.”
“By touching your wing?”
“Yes.”
“…birdie.”
“No.”
“You like this.”
“I do not.”
“You leaned into it.”
Sunday froze, because the worst part? Yes, he absolutely had leaned into the touch, you couldn’t blame him, it felt nice. The attention he was correctly receiving was sending sparks of joy through him.
He hated how quiet he became after that. Not because he didn’t have a response. Normally, he always had one. Something clean and sharp and composed enough to regain control of a conversation immediately.
But right now? Right now one Gallagher was rubbing slow circles into his waist through the fabric of his clothes, another still had his hands trapped carefully between both of his larger ones, and the third kept absentmindedly petting through the feathers behind his ear like Sunday was some kind of particularly nervous bird they were trying not to scare away.
It was difficult to maintain dignity under those conditions. Especially because his body kept betraying him in increasingly humiliating ways. One tiny gasp and suddenly all three of them were looking at him like they’d discovered buried treasure.
“…birdie,” one of them muttered softly, sounding far too pleased with himself, “you gotta stop making sounds like that.”
“I did not make a sound.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I heard it.”
“Pretty too.”
Sunday immediately attempted to pull his hands back on instinct only for the Gallagher holding them to tighten his grip slightly. Not enough to trap him, just enough to stop him from escaping immediately. “…where are you going?” he asked.
“Away from all of you.”
“No you’re not.”
“I absolutely am.”
“Mhm,” Gallagher hummed knowingly before lifting one of Sunday’s gloved hands slightly closer. “C’mere.”
Sunday narrowed his eyes faintly. “…what are you-” The sentence died in his throat immediately. Because Gallagher had tilted his hand just enough to press a slow kiss against his knuckles through the glove.
Sunday’s brain fully short circuited, behind him, the Gallagher around his waist barked out a laugh the second Sunday visibly froze. “OH, he liked that.”
Sunday turned bright red instantly. “I did not-” Another kiss.This time against the side of his wrist. Sunday’s wings twitched so hard one feather puffed out slightly. “…you are all impossible,” he muttered weakly.
“Yeah?” Gallagher grinned against his hand. “Still not tellin’ us to stop though.”
Honestly, Sunday was trying hard to at least TRY to pretend he hated this. Every logical thought in his head kept insisting he should regain control of the situation immediately. Push them away. Reestablish boundaries. Instead, he was standing there letting three identical men shower him with affection like he’d been touch starved for centuries. Which, no comment.
The Gallagher behind him shifted slightly before pressing a lazy kiss against the side of Sunday’s neck, barely there and warm enough to make Sunday inhale sharply. At some point, without even noticing, he’d relaxed enough for part of his weight to rest lightly against the Gallagher behind him. His shoulders weren’t tense anymore either. The arm around his waist no longer felt suffocating or intrusive.
It felt… nice, safe, warm. Which was a dangerous realization to have while surrounded by three Gallaghers. One of them reached up again, fingers carefully brushing strands of hair away from Sunday’s face before gently cupping his cheek. Compared to Gallagher’s rough hands, Sunday’s skin looked almost unfairly soft beneath his touch.
Sunday’s breath hitched when Gallagher finally leaned in and kissed him. He felt himself melting into the kiss, his knees buckling ever so slightly underneath him, he was sure that if one of them wasn’t holding him up by his waist, he would've fallen to the floor.
The kiss wasn’t rough, nor teasing like everything else had been up until now, it was slow. Warm. Careful in a way Sunday didn’t think Gallagher knew how to be. His fingers twitched helplessly in Gallagher’s hands, shoulders relaxing fully for the first time that night as he leaned forward without even realizing he was doing it. The hand around his waist tightened instinctively the second Sunday’s knees weakened slightly beneath him, steadying him before he could stumble.
A soft sound escaped him before he could stop it. Behind him, one of the Gallaghers laughed quietly under his breath, not mocking, just… fond. Like he genuinely found Sunday adorable like this.
Sunday wasn’t used to that kind of attention. Not gentle attention. Not affection given so freely without expectation attached to it. Most people treated him carefully because of who he was, because of the image surrounding him, because they were nervous around him. They respected him, admired him, feared him sometimes.
But this? This felt different. Gallagher looked at him like he was something precious. And apparently all three of them did. The realization settled heavily in Sunday’s chest while another kiss brushed softly against the corner of his mouth. Fingers combed carefully through his blue hair while another hand rubbed slow comforting circles against his waist.
This was too much warmth, too much affection, too much care all at once. Sunday felt embarrassingly close to becoming emotional over it.
One of the Gallaghers noticed immediately too, expression softening almost instantly as his thumb brushed gently beneath Sunday’s eye. “Hey,” he murmured quietly. “You alright there, birdie?”
Sunday nodded once, though it came out weaker than intended.
The Gallaghers exchanged a glance with each other then, something quiet and understanding passing between all three identical faces. And suddenly Sunday was being lifted off the floor entirely. A startled noise left him automatically as one of the Gallaghers scooped him up bridal style like he weighed absolutely nothing. Sunday instinctively grabbed onto his shoulders, silver wings fluttering sharply behind his ears. “…Gallagher.”
“What?” Gallagher grinned down at him. “You look comfy.”
“I was standing perfectly fine.”
“Your legs disagreed.”
Sunday opened his mouth to argue only for Gallagher to carry him the few remaining steps toward the couch before carefully setting him down against the cushions. Gentle, everything tonight had been unexpectedly gentle.
Sunday barely had time to gather himself before the other two Gallaghers moved closer too, both kneeling down in front of him while the one who carried him settled beside him on the couch.
Sunday looked down slowly, they were looking at him like he hung the stars over Penacony himself. Affection sitting openly in their eyes without embarrassment or hesitation.
One Gallagher rested his arms against Sunday’s knees while looking up at him lazily, another reached over to fix a strand of silver hair that had fallen out of place near his face.
The third simply stayed close against his side, broad hand resting securely over Sunday’s own. And for the first time in a very, very long while, Sunday felt wanted in a way that had nothing to do with status, expectations, or responsibility.
Just… him. Sunday’s shoulders slowly relaxed beneath their attention, the tension he carried so constantly finally easing little by little under their careful touch.
Three Gallaghers.
One ridiculous prank canister.
And somehow, despite everything, Sunday had never felt this loved before.