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The Express was never a quiet place. In fact, quiet was probably the last word Sunday would ever use to describe it. Which was a fact he had to adjust to when he first joined. Which felt like a Herculean task, if he was honest with himself.
As the Family Head, he was surrounded by silence the majority of the time. Cold, hard silence. That was gone here on the Express.
Even when he had just joined, noise was everywhere.
From Pom-Pom’s constant scolding of everyone and their cleaning of the Express, to Caelus’ general shenanigans, something was always in the background. And at first, the constant noise made Sunday uncomfortable. After all, living so long in silence and alone meant that now, being surrounded by noise was pretty jarring.
But now he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Oh, and of course the rest of the polycule was constantly doing something. Dan Heng was the closest thing to a workaholic as a Trailblazer could get—not that Sunday himself was any better—meanwhile Caelus and March were always getting into dumb shenanigans together and attempting to pull Dan Heng and Sunday into it. Not that either of them minded.
At least Sunday didn’t. But sometimes he could tell Dan Heng was overwhelmed. Which Sunday only hoped he helped with, if only a little bit.
However, sometimes there were moments like these. The Parlor car was quiet and empty, while Sunday himself was just staring at the stars as the Express chugged on the Silver Rail. But the quiet wasn’t the oppressive, almost intimidating kind that permeated Penacony and especially the Oak Family residence. Not that kind. It was almost gentle, the kind that made him relax his shoulders because all he could hear were the faint sounds of the rest of the crew and the quiet record player.
Well, it was like that.
Because Sunday heard loud footsteps and that’s when he knew his peace was over.
“C’mon! I wanna ask him!” A high pitched voice said through a laugh, and Sunday didn’t have to look up to know it was March.
“You’re impossible. We barely give him any time to be alone. What if we overwhelm him?” Came the second, clearly more masculine voice. Which Sunday guessed was Dan Heng, because worrying was basically Dan Heng’s second hobby.
When March burst into the Parlor Car and immediately froze when she noticed Sunday was already staring at the door.
“...Were we that loud or were you being a haunted doll?” She asked with a sheepish smile, but still bounded over to where Sunday sat and moved to sit next to him. And that was when he noticed the hairbrush and hair ties in her hands.
“Both,” Sunday hummed sarcastically in response as his eyes tracked Dan Heng moving to sit on Sunday’s other side.
“I tried to stop her.” Dan Heng mumbled, a sigh escaping his lips, but before he could continue March decided to butt in.
“I wanna braid your hair!”
“...Pardon me?” Sunday blinked, eyes a little wide with confusion. His head wings twitched, already threatening to cover his face. He didn’t really do his hair very often. Usually keeping it down instead of dealing with it.
“Your hair! I wanna braid it!”
“I recommend letting her, she’s very stubborn.” Dan Heng dryly remarked with a grin, more than likely because he noticed Sunday glancing at him in confusion.
“I suppose so?” Sunday agreed, still very clearly unsure but willing to let March do whatever she wanted because despite his own claim at self-control, March always had a sneaky way of getting what she wanted. Although he wasn’t the only one weak to March anyways, because when Sunday glanced back at Dan Heng, his eyes were looking at March with that soft look he always gave them all when he thought no one was looking.
Sunday couldn’t help the smile forming on his face, at least until March let out what sounded like a happy noise, and tugged him to stand up.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” March grinned, shoving Sunday onto one of the many stools littering the Parlor Car, before pulling a chair up behind him and sitting down. “You have pretty hair. Did you know that? It’s very important to me you know how pretty your hair is.”
“Yes I did?” Sunday answered hesitantly, turning his head to glance at March before she moved his head back to face forward.
“Good.”
Sunday could hear Dan Heng snort before quickly covering it up with the worst fake cough imaginable. Which made Sunday glare at him, and in turn Dan Heng actually let out a laugh.
“The mighty Family Head reduced to a doll.” Dan Heng dryly remarked, a smirk on his face as he moved to the table nearby the pair.
“While the Imbibitor Lunae has been reduced to a model for March’s photography ideas.” Sunday quipped in response without a beat, which only made March giggle.
“I swear you both can’t ever be nice to each other.” She hummed, starting to brainstorm ideas for Sunday’s hair. “I was just going to braid it but now looking at it, your hair is too short for a single big braid unless I start at your scalp.” March mumbled to herself. And although Sunday couldn’t see her face, he could guess she had her eyebrows scrunched in concentration like she always did.
“Maybe two small braids on the sides meeting up to one braid in the back? His hair is longer in the front anyways.” Dan Heng said, hands moving to grab two strands of hair from Sunday’s head, his eyes looking dead into Sunday’s with a small smirk. Which only made Sunday let out a strangled noise of embarrassment and his wings cover his face.
Which of course only led the other pair to laugh.
Sunday quietly mumbled, “both of you are impossible.” His voice still shaky and head wings now refusing to move.
“I think I’ll go with Dan Heng’s idea.” March decided, starting to brush Sunday’s hair.
Silence settled between them all again, and Sunday’s wings did settle back into their normal position, although the blush remained. At least until March—who Sunday guessed hated silence—decided to ask a question she had apparently put thought into, a rare event in all honesty.
“Who did your hair on Penacony?”
The question might’ve been simple on the surface, but it made Sunday’s shoulders visibly tense up. At least he assumed it was visible, because Dan Heng’s expression shifted to concern.
Who had done his hair on Penacony?
Sunday remained silent, clearly thinking with his gaze purposefully trained on the floor. He was sure if he actually made eye-contact with either of them, things would spill that he did not want spilled quite yet.
His mother had done it when he was a young child. He still remembered her. In small fragments he always held dear to his heart. She always smelled like carnations. She always loved playing with him and Robin. She had always shown her affection and almost always told them they were loved. Even when Sunday’s disgusting black wings grew in, all she said was you might not fly with your wings, but I know my little dove will find another way to fly with that gentle, soft, smile she always had.
And she had loved maintaining their hair, and more often than not he and Robin would sit in her bedroom talking about their days while their mother did their hair. As a child it had become one of his favorite parts of the day, save for playing with their toy plushies and instruments.
“Sunday?” Dan Heng asked, clearly now concerned as Sunday had probably been staring off into space for quite a while.
“My mother did.” Sunday mumbled, forcing his voice to steady itself. Something he had a lot of practice of as Family head and the Bronze Melodia. “She did, when Robin and I were very young, before she passed.”
“Oh.” March mumbled, clearly realizing the sore spot as her braiding slowed.
“...Robin did it after.” Sunday continued.
He still remembered that too. When Robin would learn hairstyles then beg Sunday to let her do them on him. He still remembered her putting her clips and feathers and whatever else she used onto Sunday because it would ‘make him prettier.’
And he was sure Robin had seen how it cheered him up, because every time he seemed down after being scolded by their music teachers, she always found him with a brush and hair ties in her hand. And without fail, by the time he finished, the disgust that had made a seemingly permanent hole in his chest felt a little easier to carry.
Even after his wings were cut because of Grandfather, Robin was there at his bedside trying to cheer him up with her songs and playing with his hair. No matter how many times the servants gently chastised her for refusing to leave the room when he needed to “rest.”
Those moments with Robin were some of the only childhood memories where Sunday looked back and didn’t notice anything clearly wrong. It had been one of the few things in his childhood that were genuinely nice with no strings attached.
“...She always insisted I try on her new hair clips before she wore them. She always said they looked prettier on me.” Sunday mumbled, head wings already twitching to cover his face once again.
“You both always seemed close.” Dan Heng hummed, hand moving to hold Sunday’s own.
“...Were the hair clips nice? I can’t imagine Gopher Wood having good taste.” March asked, clearly a little hesitant and trying not to say something wrong, but the remark did pull a small chuckle from Sunday.
“Most of them were, but because we had Family servants pick them when they went shopping, or Robin herself found something she liked.” Sunday said with a small smile. “Robin never liked what Grandfather bought.”
Wait.
He said grandfather.
Sunday’s gaze snapped up to look at Dan Heng, terrified that he might have disappointed March and Dan Heng by still keeping Gopher Wood so close in his heart despite everything the man had put him through.
Instead all he found was softness. And Sunday had to admit, it kind of hurt. But in a good way.
In the way that felt like the disgust from when he was a child that had indeed made a permanent home in his chest was slowly being chipped away piece by piece. And it hurt, but also helped.
“...After Robin started leaving Penacony more often, I started doing my hair on my own, sometimes a stylist would help if it was a more intricate style. But by the time I became Bronze Melodia I had cut it and stopped styling it due to how busy I was.” Sunday finished, eyes moving to stare at his hands.
He still remembered those days with sharp clarity. They had, in the end, been some of the worst years of his life. A never ending list of expectations to meet, constant lessons on everything from piano to the social politics of Penacony. He barely even had time to write letters for Robin. And that was with Sunday refusing to touch the memories of harsh and—more often than not—cruel punishments from his Grandfather.
“...Well now you have us!” March finally spoke, hands adding a hair tie to the now combined braids. “I love doing hair, I’m forcing Caelus to learn, Dan Heng kinda knows, Miss Himeko does really pretty hairstyles, and even Mr. Yang knows how to do hair!” She prattled on before pausing.
“Wait. You had longer hair!?”
The surprise in her voice pulled a chuckle out of Sunday. “I did. It was around Mid back before I had it cut to make it easier to maintain on my own.” He said with a small shrug.
“...You’d look better with longer hair, y’know,” Dan Heng mumbled, leaning closer to Sunday, eyes trained on his face as if trying to imagine Sunday’s face framed with longer hair. “You seem like the kind of guy who always likes trying out new styles.”
“Yes! He could be my mannequin instead of me having to bother Miss Himeko all the time.” March laughed, already digging through her pockets looking for something.
“I fear you would leave me bald if that happened.” Sunday dryly remarked, which led to a very offended huff from March.
March dramatically cried, “my love! My dove! You wound me!” But the fact she was holding in giggles was obvious in her tone of voice.
“I believe I agree with Sunday.” Dan Heng grinned, clearly getting closer to Sunday. And upon a small eyebrow raise from Sunday, Dan Heng hesitated, before gently kissing Sunday.
And almost immediately Sunday’s face reddened, head wings puffing up as he fought the urge to cover his face. Sunday didn’t think he’d ever get used to the kisses from his partners. But especially from Dan Heng. He was always so quiet and subtle with his affection that whenever he did kiss Sunday it felt like a lethal blow.
“Hey no fair! I wanna kiss him!” March then whined, clearly done with the hairstyle, and the poutiness in her voice made Dan Heng break the kiss to chuckle, while Sunday himself was still very clearly flustered.
But apparently there was no rest for the weary because March immediately moved to sit on Dan Heng’s lap and kissed Sunday. Which earned noise that could only be described as a mix of surprise and embarrassment being pulled from Sunday. Which only made Dan Heng laugh a little harder as he moved his arms around March’s waist.
When March finally pulled away Sunday was clearly too frazzled to speak. He did try, but of course it only led to an embarrassed noise as Sunday finally covered his face with his very visibly puffed up headwings.
“Nooo! Don’t hide from us!” March whined, which only led to Dan Heng quietly laughing even more because the current picture of Sunday being too embarrassed to speak while March was whining was the funniest thing that had happened in a long time when it was just them three.
Sunday did peek through his wings, unbeknownst to him, apparently he was a sight for sore eyes, if the way March’s and Dan Heng’s eyes widened.
“C-c’mon. Check out your hairstyle.” March fumbled, pulling her cellphone out of her pocket and shoving it into Sunday’s hands.
And Sunday did obey, but only because he was curious how it turned out. He didn’t have much trust in March’s shenanigans after being dragged into them one too many times. With his wings finally moving from covering his face and losing their poof, Sunday turned on the camera. And his eyes widened, it actually looked fairly good. But there was something else.
It looked exactly like something he had worn as a child. He could still hear his mom talking as she braided, attempting to teach him while he practiced on one of Robin’s dolls. One goes up, one goes down, and they take turns going over and under, like you and your sister taking turns on the stage. She would say in her soft voice, the kind that always made Sunday think she was beautiful.
March noticed Sunday staring, and her expression fell for a moment. “...Do you not like it? I can’t tell if you like it or not because you go quiet when you’re happy and when you’re sad.” She huffed, turning to Dan Heng, who only shrugged. “And you’re no help either,” she grumbled.
“I love it.” Sunday said, a small smile on his face as he tilted his head to see the braids moving across his head. “...Thank you, bunny,” he said, handing her back the phone.
“Bunny?” March asked, eyebrow raising, but the faint blush on her cheeks and the smile on her face gave away that she loved the pet name.
“I don’t have to call you it anymore if—”
“No! No, no, I like it, I like it!” March immediately scrambled, hands moving to cup Sunday’s face. “Tell him I like it cause he’s being mean.” March said, head turning to Dan Heng but hands still firmly holding Sunday.
“...She likes it,” Dan Heng grinned, a laugh escaping him as he moved to bury his face in the crook of March’s neck before kissing it, leading to a squeak from March and a laugh escaping Sunday’s lips.
Maybe Sunday didn’t grow up surrounded by the perfect kind of love. And with age the disgusting hole in his chest got bigger and bigger until he was pretty sure all he was was a disgusting hole of nothing that nobody cared about unless he covered up the hole with power and smarts.
But with his partners, it was smaller, not by a huge amount, but smaller. The gaping wound in his chest was filled a little, but not by power. But by affection. By kindness. By care.
And honestly? Sunday wouldn’t have it any other way.