Chapter Text
In hindsight, he should’ve at least hesitated.
“Sunny, please!” Stelle had whined, looking so desperate that he worried she’d throw herself to his feet. “March won’t go! Dan Heng won’t go! There’s no way I can ask anyone else! You’re my only hope!”
Stelle was a young woman inclined towards dramatics and mischief, and if even Dan Heng refused to indulge her, then whatever she sought was indeed ill-fated. Rather than realizing this, Sunday took one look at her crumpled face and fell for her act like a fool.
“It’s super important! And! You won’t regret it!” Stelle insisted next, taking him by arm. The more she buzzed with anticipation as they approached her destination, the more Sunday realized he had, indeed, made a mistake and would regret much of today.
But here they were, standing in front of a kitsch café, with a sign happily reading, Destiny’s Slaves At Your Service!
Horrifying title aside, it was just a maid café, the interior otherwise quaint and surprisingly tasteful. The girl at the counter was worryingly young, chewing bubble gum and playing some kind of game. Her uniform was rather expected, just being the usual black and white attire with cat ears clipped to her hair. She didn’t so much as twitch as the bell rung above their door, fixated on her screen.
“Yoohoo!” Stelle exclaims. “How’s it going Bro–”
“Pause.” The girl holds up her hand, her childish expression attempting severity. “No one gets to use that name in front of total randos. You will call me by my title.”
“Silver Wolf,” Stelle says only for the girl to hiss.
“My new title!”
“Emperor αWolf of the 999th Layer of the Dark Zone,” Stelle corrects, clasping her hands. “God of the Destruction’s Destiny.”
“Hmph.” The little girl with the overly long title seemed quite satisfied with that, nodding a few times. “You may call me Silver Wolf, peon, in respect for our history together.”
Stelle, what kind of company do you keep? Sunday wonders, questioning many things about Stelle right now. Including, how much of her behavior is your influence?!
“It’s been some time, Stelle,” Silver Wolf says, for Sunday would need to write down her entire formal title later. “Anyway, who’s this rando? March didn’t want to come?”
“She didn’t,” Stelle whines but composes herself quickly after, gesturing at Sunday with a grin. “Anyway this is Sunday. We adopted him last month.”
“That’s ah, not what happened,” Sunday interjects, wings fluttering irritably. He tries not to fluster as Silver Wolf raises an eyebrow at him. “B-But it is true that I’m, um, a recent acquaintance.”
“Recent and she’s already dragging you here, huh?” Silver Wolf blows a bubble. It pops. “My condolences, dude. She’s only here for one thing and one thing only… Well, two things.”
“What two things?” he asks, trying not to twitch too much when he smiles amicably.
“Oh, well, you know…” Stelle plays coy. It’s horrifying. “I can tell you when you come of age, Sunny…”
Sunday is older than her.
“I’ll tell you right now that you more or less came here for nothing,” Silver Wolf says. “It’s just me and the big guy today.”
…big guy?
“W-Wait, seriously?!” Stelle gasps. “Even Firefly isn’t?!”
“Kafka has shopping therapy and Firefly has physical therapy,” Silver Wolf explains. “So it’s just us. That’s why it’s all quiet… Barely any customers…”
Sunday had noticed that the café was…unusually quiet. There wasn’t any sound at all beyond the chiptune of Silver Wolf’s game and the tapping of her fingers on the button. Sunday wasn’t sure how crowded maid cafes usually were, but still…
Stelle seemed pretty down for a bit but then perked right back up.
“Well, I don’t mind saying hi to Bladie!”
Bla…die…?
That was an unusual name for a maid… Or was it the big guy that Miss Silver Wolf mentioned? If so, then he was likely working in the back, meaning that Silver Wolf was the only maid on duty. Sunday wasn’t sure the quality of service they’d get, but Silver Wolf was a child and a clear associate of Stelle’s, so it wouldn’t be so bad to linger.
“I’ll let him know,” Silver Wolf says, ever indifferent and easygoing. “But he has been practicing his signing, so if you get the egg rice and he makes a mess out of the ketchup bottle again, please be nice to him.”
“I would never dream of being mean,” Stelle coos. “Bladie truly has a heart of tofu…”
Sunday’s impression of this man grew stranger by the second, but he politely refrained from commenting.
Silver Wolf led them to a table decorated with a lacy cover. It was otherwise set up like any other restaurant. If one didn’t know any better, they’d think the establishment respectable but then they’d see the interesting choice of waitress attire…
“Coffee or tea?” Silver Wolf asks before they can even look at their menus. “Our new coffee maker needs to pitch in more, so pick coffee.”
They both pick coffee even though Sunday has to sheepishly ask for cream and sugar. He disliked the taste of bitter things, but he was far more inclined to grit his teeth than discomfort than cause any trouble.
Which wasn’t the correct dynamic for clients at a maid café but Silver Wolf acting so blasé, pushy, and very much spoiled for her age was…much better than something considered more proper.
“I’m not talking how Firefly and Kafka would,” Silver Wolf snaps when Stelle opens her mouth. Stelle hardly seems disappointed, but Silver Wolf remains huffy. “Honestly, you’re distracting me. I’ll let Bladie know to handle the rest. Hurry up and order.”
Still not giving them time to look at the menu… It was so nicely formatted, too… Such a waste.
Sunday did manage to ask for a cheesecake he had glimpsed from the list and Stelle asked for the egg rice. Silver Wolf didn’t write down their orders, grunted, and stepped away the second they had their coffee. In terms of work ethic, it was very lacking.
Just what kind of place is this…?
“Normally the service is better,” Stelle laughs. “But Silver Wolf doesn’t care to work. I bet she’s only here because she didn’t want Bladie to work it alone…”
“And this… Mr. Bladie is…?”
Stelle chokes on her drink and ends up cackling again, the sound vaguely malevolent.
“Pfpfppfpffff. Uh. It’s…” She clears her throat, but she’s still shaking with mirth. “Blade. His name is Blade. He used to have some other name, but it’s Blade now. Don’t tell him I told you that.”
“Mr. Blade, then,” Sunday amends. “I wonder what kind of person he is.”
“Hmm…” Stelle thinks it over. “Scary and soft. Like…a really angry marshmallow. But he’s only angry sometimes… Usually when uh, Dan Heng’s around… Otherwise, he’s more gloomy than angry…”
“I…see.” Sunday didn’t see. Stelle’s description was confusing. But he suspected that this might’ve been why Dan Heng didn’t accompany her here. Not that it was any of his business what happened between him and Mr. Blade. “Soft, huh.”
That word choice did get his attention.
“Super soft!” Stelle insists. “He’s basically a mother hen like you. I think you’ll get along with him, just don’t like, mention him around Dan Heng ever and vice versa.”
Sunday blinks. He could protest, but he’s too curious.
Gloomy but soft…
As he mulled over those words, he added enough sugar and cream to his coffee to risk diabetes. Stelle snorted softly but sipped happily at her own drink. Finally, Sunday heard a door open and turned his head.
Oh. His eyes widen ever so slightly, but his face is sent ablaze. So Mr. Blade also wears the uniform.
Stelle’s description of gloomy was very befitting. Blade’s expression was rather dour, but Sunday recognized a bit of anxiety as he was focusing quite a bit on the tray he was carrying, which held their plates and bottles of syrup and ketchup. His long dark hair was tied into twin tails, a rather cutesy and jarring style with his more masculine features. A strong jaw, a furrowed brow, eyes of striking, molten red…
And yes, the dress. Which had clearly been tailored to fit his broad frame, frilly sleeves around strong biceps, the generous pectorals, which the low cut front happily showed off. The slim waist and swaying skirt…
“Bladieeee!” Stelle calls, and Sunday has to shut his mouth immediately. He downs his coffee, the scorching heat doing little to temper the ugly hellfire in his chest. Stelle just waves without a care. “Over heeeeere!”
They were the only ones present, so where else would Mr. Blade go?! Oh, but, Sunday was starting to wish that Blade would go elsewhere, because he was in such a horrific, shameful state…!
But no. No. He needed to be proper. He needed to be perfect.
“Stelle.” Blade’s voice was appropriately deep, but there was a richness to it that had Sunday’s wings fluttering. “And this is…?”
“Introduce yourself, Sunny!” Stelle coaxes, because she loves chaos and destruction and making everything just a little more difficult.
Or so Miss March says. Sunday would never think such a thing.
“Sunday,” he corrects before mustering everything in his body to smile up at Blade. “My name is Sunday Oak. Ah, but just Sunday is fine, you don’t need to call me Mr. or…”
“You should call him master,” Stelle adds to which Sunday nearly squawks.
“N-No, not necessary!”
“Hm.” Blade raises an eyebrow. “It’s just a part of the job, Master.”
That horrific word did horrifying things to Sunday’s gut that he dare not describe, lest the world inch just a little closer to its end.
“P-Please just call me Sunday.” He’s trying not to beg. He’s trying. “Just Sunday is fine.”
“As you wish, Just Sunday.” Blade is obedient enough, which is something that Sunday shouldn’t think about. His hand shakes a little, and worry flickers across Stelle’s expression. Blade holds up a hand before she can speak, and with a sharp intake of breath, he carefully sets down their plates, even as his grip quivers throughout. There’s a clatter where the plate hits the table, but everything is in one piece.
Despite that, Blade winces a little. Sunday offers a reassuring smile, but to his dismay, Blade ignores him to fumble with the ketchup bottle.
While dead quiet and stern in concentration, he squirts the ketchup onto Stelle’s order, managing a very mangled heart and some kind of message in what looked like pinyin. Stelle squeals and claps, but Blade is more stressed than anything with the results.
“It looks great!” Stelle exclaims with such delight. It’s not convincing delight, but she has the spirit if nothing else.
Sunday steals a glance, noting that Blade’s cheeks have reddened ever so slightly.
“What about the spell?” Stelle asks. Blade blinks.
“...there’s a spell?”
A long stretch of silence. Stelle never elaborates, so Blade just moves on to try and squirt the syrup onto Sunday’s cheesecake. The drawing…appears to be some kind of cat?
A very wobbly-lined cat, one that’s endearing in the earnestness of its attempt.
Sunday finds a smile pulling at his lips, one entirely unrelated to courtesy.
“Did you want me to add more cream and sugar to your coffee, Mas–Sunday?” Blade asks next, correcting himself when Sunday shivers. He watches as Sunday’s wings flap from nerves.
“N-Not necessary, Mr. Blade,” Sunday manages, smooth where his wings are still fluttering. “Thank you so very much for your service.”
Blade ducks his head, and Sunday has to do everything he can to keep his eyes on the other’s face and to absolutely not, under any circumstances, allow his gaze to travel lower than that.
Stelle has already begun wolfing down her food as though she had been starved all day. Sunday supposes he should follow suit and take a bite out of his cheesecake. It’s sweet and soft on his tongue. He quite likes it. But…
He’s far too distracted by the way Blade fidgets with the lacy strap wrapped around his thigh to even register the flavor at first.
It should have been unremarkable, all things considered. Despite his attire, Blade was rather reserved and soft-spoken, so most of the conversing was Stelle cajoling him.
They played a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors, but after a few rounds, Sunday realized that Blade only ever used scissors, which led to Stelle only ever using rock. To keep things balanced, he switched to only using paper, which made Stelle pout and Blade stare at him.
That crimson, candleflame stare did very dangerous things to his gut, so they dropped the rock-paper-scissors for now.
“Are you gonna sing a song for us, Bladie?” Stelle purrs next and Sunday tries not to express too much interest in the idea. His wings still flutter.
Blade, however, grimaces.
“I can speak the song lyrics.”
“I’m good with that!” Stelle says, and Sunday clears his throat. As much as he agreed, he did sense that Blade seemed…quite uncomfortable.
“No, it’s alright, Mr. Blade. Haha… Stelle, you shouldn’t be so pushy. Isn’t that listed on the rules?”
Stelle pouts again.
“Bladie will take a picture with us, right?”
With… With both of us?!
Sunday didn’t know if his heart could take that, but looking around, wasn’t that normal?! There were numerous pictures of customers with the maids! Although most of the pictures were of maids that Sunday didn’t recognize. There was a young girl with long flowing hair and another young woman with her wine-dark hair tied back. Silver Wolf was in a few pictures, but not many…
And Blade was in none.
Right now, Blade looked rather sullen. Camera-shy, perhaps? Or something else?
There was so much about this world that Sunday didn’t understand. His perspective was expanding in a way that was both overwhelming and a little traumatic.
“Kafka would like to see,” Blade is mumbling under his breath now. “So I suppose…a picture is fine.”
I’m not sure if it’s fine?!
His heart wouldn’t stop hammering, his wings flapping to work off some of that energy. Stelle is grinning, her gaze flickering between them. Blade, thankfully or cruelly, is just looking at the floor. He’s fidgeting with that strap again.
Wretched. Perverse. Whoever came up with that will never be worthy of the pearly gates.
Oh, but Mr. Blade seems like a very kind and upstanding individual! Heaven would be happy to have him! Especially when he’s so polite, so proper, so strong… He’d be such a good protector…
Sunday was going to fast and flog himself when he got home. That sinful cheesecake sat in his stomach like balls of lead.
“Sunny, over here!” Stelle exclaims. “We’re gonna take a picture with Bladie!”
She was already clinging to Blade’s arm, and Sunday tried very hard not to notice the way she couldn’t fit her hand around his bicep. Blade really did look…so strong.
Sunday nearly trips over himself and stands by Stelle. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s not close enough to Stelle where touching her, even platonically, felt appropriate.
To his despair, Stelle gives him a look.
“You need to stand on Bladie’s other side,” she scolds. “Otherwise, it’ll be weird!”
Weird. Weird, she says…
Sunday had many questions and asked none of them, meekly shuffling past Blade to stand next to him. There was no way he could touch Blade either. That wasn’t happening. His hands would burn in the fiery pits of Hell if he ever thought about it.
Oh, but Blade surprisingly smelled quite nice. Was that vanilla? There was an artificial sweetness to his scent but underlying it was something richer and muskier. There were distinct traces of lilies and Sunday almost wanted to lean in for more of a whiff…
“Alright, alright,” Silver Wolf says, shaking her camera at them. “I’ll be your photographer, and if anything funny happens, you’ll get shot. And banned.”
Stelle retracts her hand from Blade’s arm, thankfully. Blade’s expression doesn’t change. Sunday manages to stop himself, horribly flustered and ashamed for his actions. He musters up a smile, but Silver Wolf still frowns at him.
“Hey bird guy, aren’t you standing a little too far away from Bladie? He’s not going to bite ya.”
“Ah, I…”
“His name is Sunday,” Blade interjects.
Heat flushes through him, and he manages not to stumble.
“S-Sorry, I’ll, um, I’ll take a step closer…”
“That’s better.” Silver Wolf sniffs, unapologetic. “Alright, say hi cheese or whatever.”
Only Stelle said it, so enthusiastic that Sunday was embarrassed for being unable to join. His smile is threatening to twitch, but he’s experienced enough to stay composed. Even though his cheeks are still burning.
Silver Wolf takes a few more shots, humming as she did.
“Alright, gimme a mo, and I’ll have this edited and ready.”
Sunday, for lack of knowing what else to do, sinks into the closest chair. He can still hear his heart racing and to his horror, Blade is looking at him.
“...are you alright?” The question is gruff but the underlying care is simply too much.
Sunday hurriedly waves his hand and laughs it off, and he ignores the way that Stelle’s expression is contemplative, her gaze impossible to read. Not that he wants to know whatever it is that she’s thinking.
It can’t possibly be any good. He shouldn’t have come here.
He wants to think that, but he can’t bring himself to when Blade kneels a little before him.
“I’ll…get you some water. Unless you want anything else, Sunday?”
Sunday’s heart skips a beat. Just from that.
“Water…is fine.”
After getting him a glass and a pitcher, Blade apologizes. There are dishes to be cleaned and Silver Wolf will take everything from there. Sunday washes down his disappointment like the bitterest of medicine.
Stelle handles the bill and it doesn’t matter how properly Sunday has been raised or how much he prides himself on his manners, he can’t bring himself to offer a split. And so Stelle pays and Silver Wolf gives her a discount on a ‘Kafka’s’ behalf. Sunday still doesn’t know this Kafka but he doesn’t want to think about the glazed look and dopey smile that Stelle gives whenever her name is spoken.
“Aaand pictures cost extra,” Silver Wolf says, sliding forth two pictures. Sunday stiffens immediately, seeing him and Stelle pressed up against Blade, with Stelle holding up her hand to form one half of a heart and Blade clumsily forming the other. When had they done that?!
Sunday looked like such an interloper in that picture that it felt repulsive. Only Blade had his other hand up, index finger and thumb pressed together to form a smaller heart. Aah!
“Wow, your wings really be flapping,” Silver Wolf remarks, raising an eyebrow. Sunday pulls back, aghast but unable to stop his wings so he settles for trying to block his face from view.
“It’s his first time, so be nice,” Stelle defends, and Sunday wishes she hadn’t bothered. “Anyway, no discount or deal for these…?”
“Those are for Firefly and Kafka, Bladie never agreed to that,” Silver Wolf says. “I’m sure you could get him to agree, but considering how slow it’s been today, can’t you pay the full price just this once?”
Stelle grumbles a little and Sunday is even more aghast at the idea that she would rob Blade of full compensation. Surely this was akin to robbery, wasn’t it?! At the very least, it was coercive!
“I-I can pay the full amount,” he offers. “Mr. Blade, um, he served us very well, and I would like to support your…um. Business.”
Silver Wolf relays the price and it’s…it’s very high, but Sunday just kept thinking of Blade’s reserved expression and his clumsy hands… His large, clumsy hands… His muscular arms and full chest, how well the uniform emphasized such qualities…
“Yoohoo, your card,” Silver Wolf calls, waving said debit card in his face. He takes it back, flustered, but Silver Wolf hands over the pictures. And she drones, “Thank youuuu for your service, Master~”
Sunday cringes, that rising heat in his cheeks doused by the pure horror of being addressed in such a way by a girl significantly younger than his little sister.
“Please. Just Sunday. Don’t… Don’t ever use that form of address for me.”
“Sunny’s a really proper, prudish guy,” Stelle explains. “But you can call me Master~ all you want~”
“Pay your tabs and get better at Luma Karts first, scrub.” Silver Wolf sticks her tongue out. “You’re centuries too young to make that kind of offer to…”
She gestures expectantly. Stelle understands.
“Emperor αWolf of the 999th Layer of the Dark Zone!” Stelle says, clasping her hands just like before. “God of the Destruction’s Destiny!”
“It’s only because of my boundless, overpowered generosity that you can even call me Silver Wolf,” the emperor/god/young girl huffs, folding her arms. “Don’t forget that!”
“Understood!”
Understood, Sunday thinks, unable to bring himself to rejoin the conversation. Especially when he’s still staring at the photographs he…paid for.
His father would be rolling in his grave if he ever caught wind of this… Sunday would have to kill him a second time should there ever be a miraculous rebirth.
He says nothing as Stelle waves Silver Wolf off, giving her regards and best wishes, namely that next time she’ll see this Kafka or Firefly…
“Hey, bird guy.”
Sunday only perks up when addressed directly.
“Come back sometime,” Silver Wolf tells him, and her expression is impossible to read, but the words… “Bladie would like that a lot.”
Sunday nearly gets smacked by the door on his way out. Shamefully, he never responds to that.