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“Mr. Sunday.”
Sunday paused in the doorway of his hotel room, grip tightening on the handle of his luggage. “Mr. Aventurine. I wasn’t expecting you.”
If Aventurine was similarly surprised to see Sunday in his assigned room, he didn’t show it. He was already half unpacked by the looks of it, his larger suitcase open on one of the thankfully two beds. He stood opposite the door, framed by the large curtained window that led out onto the balcony facing the sea. His hair looked artfully trussed as it always did. His smirk was the same as that last fateful meeting they’d had— not from after the mask had dropped, and his face had filled with a barely restrained fury, but before, when their negotiations could still fall in either favor. His eyes were from after though.
That smirk widened as Sunday took him in. Aventurine stepped from behind the far bed, slow enough that his approach could be a threat or an offering. Sunday briefly thought that he would accept it either way. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
This was certainly Caelus’ fault.
“It has,” Sunday returned, momentarily stunned into simple speech.
But he'd imagined this moment before. What would he say to Aventurine if they met face to face again? It was a reasonable question, considering how many of the Express’ old friends stopped by the train on a whim. That’s what he told himself when the problem kept him up at night, even though he hadn’t prepared speeches for Ratio, or Sparkle, or Black Swan.
Sunday took a breath, gathering as much sincerity as he could muster. For this, he would pull from his more concrete plans. “I must apologize to you. No matter how opposed our positions were, or what other circumstances were unfolding at the same time, the violence I used against you was completely unacceptable. I'm sorry that I added to your suffering in such a callous way, especially when I was meant to be easing it instead.”
Aventurine stopped, his head tilting like Sunday had handed him a puzzle he had no clue how to begin unpacking. Then he laughed, but it wasn’t really a joyful thing, stuck somewhere between disbelieving and sardonic. “No need for all that, friend,” he said, his voice curling strangely around that word, friend. “It’s all water under the bridge, isn’t it? These things are the cost of doing business. Why don’t we just pretend it never happened?” He held out a hand to shake.
Sunday’s eyes flit over the Stoneheart’s face. He didn’t know what he was looking for, or, he did, but it was the sort of honest forgiveness he’d only seen on Aventurine in those sleepless fantasies where it truly was just water under the bridge. Instead he found that same businesslike facade but sharper, like his past self had whet the blade and it refused to dull with a simple apology. Who was he kidding? Of course it wouldn’t.
Still, Sunday took the outstretched hand and shook it. He would simply demonstrate his sincerity until that sharp blade decided not to draw blood. If it ever decided not to.
“To starting over,” he said, and meant it.
—-
Sunday figured that as desperately as he wanted to patch things over, more space could only do them good. He pulled a more appropriate vacation outfit out of his suitcase and slipped into the bathroom to change. March had taken him shopping specifically for this occasion, with Dan Heng to counterbalance her more showy style. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate her fashion sense, it was just that he was a little uncomfortable with it on himself. Instead he’d come away with breathable turtlenecks that he could wear underneath looser, boxy tied shirts, and shorts with leggings underneath.
He changed quickly and made his way downstairs, where the boardwalk gave way nigh instantly to the beach. Sparkling white sand led into what felt like endless blue waves. He took off his flip flops and let the fine sand slip between his toes as he meandered over to where the Astral Express had claimed a few lounge chairs and a large umbrella. No one was underneath it, but there was a volleyball game going nearby and a few friends of the Express splashing in the water not much further out. He took a deep breath, exhaling the tension of even this morning’s short exchange. Sunday pulled his notebook out, settling in to watch.
He'd gotten the beginnings of a refrain and a rough sketch of the ocean down when a deep voice interrupted his musings. “Sunday.”
“Mr. Yang.” Sunday looked up with a smile, closing the journal. He could see now that the volleyball game was taking a break.
Welt grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from his brow as he smiled back. He wrapped it around his bare shoulders and sat on the edge of the lounge chair across from Sunday. “How is your roommate?”
“Fine,” Sunday answered.
Whatever his face did, Welt frowned immediately. “Sunday, I'm really sorry. Himeko or I should've double checked the room assignments beforehand. Would you like to switch?”
Definitely Caelus’ doing then. No one in their right mind would pair Aventurine and Sunday together after the Charmony Festival— Ratio could attest to just how well that conversation had gone. Maybe it was a complete coincidence that Aventurine had been absent from the Express and Sunday from Penacony since then, but it couldn't be said that their last meeting wasn't a factor. But the Trailblazer tended to think just to the left of what was rational, which often allowed them to see things others didn't. Maybe there was something here Caelus wanted him to see.
Plus, it was only for two weeks. “I'll survive, Mr. Yang.”
“The goal is to thrive, not just survive,” Welt reminded him. It was a sentiment he'd repeated often when Sunday first joined the Express, little more than a pillar of anxiety and guilt with a dash of grim hope. “Whatever else is going on, we want you to have fun above all.”
“I promise to have fun then,” Sunday smiled.
Welt searched his face for a little longer before he relaxed. It was still a mystery what it was he looked for or found in Sunday's countenance that guided his decisions. He could apparently see straight through the most intricate glamours, and Sunday's carefully practiced expressions could no longer conceal anything from him. He was very lucky that Welt operated with a level of sincerity that Sunday still had to work to achieve, or else the skill would be frightening.
“Alright,” Welt relented. “Talk to me if anything changes though, okay?” He was briefly distracted by something over Sunday's shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Speaking of, incoming.”
Sunday didn't turn, but nodded anyway. “It's fine. Thank you.”
Welt stood to return to the game, which left room for Aventurine to plop down in his place, changed into a pair of shorts and an aloha shirt with the top few buttons undone himself. “Hope I'm not interrupting,” he huffed.
“You're not,” Sunday offered. “In fact, I'm pretty certain Mr. Yang’s team is losing. I don't think they can afford to have a player sit out.”
Aventurine laughed. “Then let's hope this match won't cost him his Alpha status,” he jabbed.
He wasn’t certain he would call Welt the Express’ pack Alpha, but he didn't have much prior experience with those sorts of pack dynamics and wasn't interested in gaining any. He definitely couldn't see anyone in the Express fighting over who got to lead.
Aventurine leaned back in the lounge chair. “I half thought you'd be in the water by the time I got down here, but I see there was no danger of that.”
“I don’t swim,” Sunday confirmed.
“So what, you plan to spend two weeks on the shore?”
“There's plenty to do on the shore,” Sunday defended.
“Like?” Aventurine raised a brow, daring him to prove it.
Sunday hesitated. There was plenty to do without getting in the water, like the game going on right now, or browsing the vendors closer to the boardwalk. There were boats and other watercraft that could be rented as well. If nothing else, there was always walking along the beach or sunbathing to fall back on. Aventurine had to know all that though, which meant the question was more about Sunday’s plans than a list of hypothetical no-water beach activities.
Sunday held his journal a little tighter. It’d become his second brain since leaving Penacony, allowing him to organize his oft overflowing thoughts. He’d taken to cataloguing his new experiences and encounters in it, like a mini handwritten database. It was personal to him, but he was learning that he could share the personal too, just for the pleasure of having shared, the relief of being known. The members of the Express understood how much that meant to him and met him with a level of care he probably didn’t deserve. There was no guarantee that sort of vulnerability wouldn’t get him knifed in this case.
He opened his journal anyway, tilting it to show Aventurine the latest page. “I’ve been taking notes on the various encounters we’ve had during our travels. It’s difficult to capture everything when we’re in the thick of it, though. Now that we have a chance to relax, I’d like to take the time to not only observe this planet, but to reflect on some of my older notes as well.”
Aventurine leaned forward, his eyes darting between the page and the beach. The tide had receded a bit since Sunday started sketching, and not everyone who was there was still present on the beach, or could be made out in great detail, but it was obvious enough that the drawing had been done today. Then those eyes flicked up to Sunday’s face, peering at him over pink shades. “How is this different from what you did on Penacony?”
“What?” Sunday asked, momentarily stunned.
Aventurine waved a hand, although his expression wasn’t nearly as casual. “Observing stuff, making little models so you have it all captured in intricate detail. What comes after?”
Sunday swallowed. How was it different? He knew it was because he promised it would be, and because he had people to keep him accountable instead of feeding his worst thoughts and impulses now. He looked down, flipping through the pages. “Reflection and understanding, hopefully,” he answered. “Dewlight Pavilion’s model served a much different purpose. I want to learn from the people and encounters I have while with the Express, not control them.”
When his eyes met Aventurine’s again, they had softened. “Sounds like fun,” the Stoneheart hummed, sitting back in his chair.
Sunday nodded, letting out a breath. “What about you?”
Aventurine shrugged, pulling a tube out of his pocket. “Sunbathing is a waterless activity too,” he said. Then, with a look that spelled trouble, “Is putting sunscreen on someone one of those encounters you’ve had yet?”
Sunday blushed, feeling his whole face and more go fully red. Was he—?
“Kidding!” Aventurine teased.
Sunday pressed his journal over his face with a groan, but that wasn’t nearly enough to drown out Aventurine’s cackling.
—
Aventurine's phone pinged. It was early, enough that Sunday's own group chats were still dormant. He'd only just gotten dressed himself, not in any rush to be on the beach today. Aventurine pulled the phone out of his pocket, immediately frowning.
“Work?” Sunday guessed.
Aventurine sighed. “No rest for the wicked, as they say.”
Sunday couldn't help the way that rankled. This assumed that Aventurine was both wicked and undeserving of rest, and maybe both were true to some degree, but they didn't have to be. It had taken the upheaval of his life’s project and criminal expulsion from his home for Sunday to learn that. “Anything I can help with?”
Aventurine smirked at him over his phone. “Why, so you can harvest company secrets?”
Sunday shook his head. “So you can go five seconds without the company working you to death.”
Something about that answer shifted Aventurine’s expression. Sunday talked over it before that sharp tongue could get going. “NDAs are easy, and I guarantee you will not find my resume lacking.”
Aventurine paused, chewing on that for a moment. “And what, you wanna play assistant out of the goodness of your heart?”
“If you have a concern about my behavior, you’re free to take it up with my train full of parole officers.” It was a gross oversimplification of his relationship with the members of the Astral Express, but it was also language Aventurine might resonate with more. He didn’t have to trust Sunday not to be a threat to him yet, just that there were systems in place that tied his hands in a way that prevented it.
“...Fine,” Aventurine relented. “But don't complain once you see it. And you'll be a volunteer consultant.”
“Not a problem,” Sunday confirmed. It wasn't as if he was aiming for anything more.
Aventurine sat down, pulling out a work laptop that he'd clearly brought for this very purpose. He held Sunday to the promise of signing an NDA before he was allowed to look at anything. From there, the work was familiar enough that he fell into the rhythm of it smoothly.
It wasn't that Sunday missed this sort of logistical work, it was just that… okay, maybe he did miss it a little. Being Family Head had involved far too much of it all the time, and there truly were parts of his former position that he wouldn't reuptake except under duress, but this was like a puzzle to him. An itch that maintaining the Express’ archive with Dan Heng almost scratched, but not quite. And like the archive maintenance, it was always a pleasure to work in tandem with a brilliant mind. Sunday found himself at the end of an hour wondering if there was anything else he might help with.
For Aventurine's part, he looked briefly mystified that they'd finished the task in an hour in the first place. Then he seemed to remember himself, the all-business smile falling in place over his features. “Not bad. Maybe we'll get to see more of the beach after all,” he huffed. “I’ll owe you a drink for this.”
“I thought I was a volunteer?”
That earned him a more sincere grin. “Compensation for a job well done. Some things are best handled under the table, don't you think?”
He got the joke, yes, but that was the kind of thinking that had gotten him into trouble a bit too recently. “There should still be plenty of sun left if you're interested,” he replied instead. “Will you be heading down?”
Aventurine eyed him for a moment before waving him off. “Nah, you can go on ahead. I need to make a call first.”
Sunday nodded. “Be sure to enjoy your vacation,” he felt the need to add before leaving Aventurine to it.
—
It happened as they were getting ready for bed that night.
“By the way, what's with the blockers?” Aventurine asked offhandedly. “I'm an adult. I can handle new smells.”
Sunday blinked up at him from where he was setting up his bedside table. “I'm sorry?”
Aventurine pointed to the scent gland on the untattooed side of his own neck. “You don't need to block them. I'm not gonna sniff you in the night.”
Oh. Sunday placed down his book before grabbing the high neck of his shirt. “I'm not wearing blockers,” he explained, pulling it down to prove he wasn't.
Aventurine blinked, suddenly looking much less annoyed. “Damaged?”
Sunday's face pinched. “No.” No, they weren't damaged, not unless you counted the unusually low amount of scent he produced as a birth defect. But then maybe that was a blessing, considering what he did smell like.
Sunday didn't want to have this conversation. It felt inevitable though, with every new position, new hire, new routine, new living situation. Why can't I smell you? Like the withholding was purposeful, like it was an offense. Like it was a failing, and if it was, then wasn't it his?
He could read the question lingering in the room. If not damaged, then what? What's wrong with you? Still, he would not answer it preemptively. Let Aventurine ask.
Instead, Aventurine shrugged. “Alright then,” and left it at that.
Sunday inhaled… and then let it out as Aventurine simply moved on. He hadn’t realized he’d been gearing up for a fight until it hadn’t come.
—
“Sunday! Help us!!”
Sunday whipped his head toward the call, only to see Caelus wrestling a… fish? There certainly were fins… near a grill. They had a tan bucket hat with fishing hooks on, but the rest of the expected tools were absent. Dan Heng stood to the side refusing to intervene, his dragon tail flicking in barely restrained annoyance.
Sunday sighed, relaxing his shoulders. At least this wasn’t actually an emergency.
“What's happening?” he asked as he approached the pair.
Caelus readjusted the creature in their arms, wrestling it down to the sand. “We went fishing earlier—”
“You had me control the water, you mean,” Dan Heng interjected.
“—sure, whatever— and we caught this huge thing, and the locals said it's some kind of delicacy and we should be able to— argh, hey, no fighting back! To make a feast out of it. They even handed over a recipe!”
Sunday blinked, watching as Caelus devolved into a slap boxing competition with the tentacled… well. Penacony was known for its strange tastes, and he was sure most of their other companions were well-travelled enough to have resilient palates. What concerned him a little more was Dan Heng's demeanor. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes!” Caelus cried. “This thing doesn't seem to realize that it's already lost! Get eaten, bozo!”
“Not quite,” Dan Heng huffed. “It's just Caelus being incapable of taking anything seriously as usual.”
Oh. So it was bad.
“We’re on vacation!” Caelus grunted, finally jabbing the creature in a place that stopped its squirming. “I promise I’ll take it seriously in seven to ten business days.”
“It’s a more immediate problem than that.”
“What’s the problem?” Sunday asked, hoping to mediate. It was strange, mostly because he was usually helping Dan Heng to mediate between Caelus and a third party unused to the Trailblazer’s antics.
Caelus rolled their eyes, dusting sand off their knees as they got up. “He found out who you’re rooming with.”
Sunday looked to Dan Heng. “You have an issue with Aventurine?”
Dan Heng’s brows furrowed. “Don’t you have an issue with Aventurine?”
Sunday looked briefly away. He could feel his face heating, and not just from the sun. “We’re working it out,” he conceded.
Perhaps this was a lesson he should’ve learned on Penacony, but the more they interacted over the past few days, the more Sunday realized he had no clue where he and Aventurine really stood.
It was as if Aventurine’s words and inner self were destined to be permanently at odds with each other. The less Aventurine liked or trusted him, the sweeter his words were. Yet it seemed the more they settled into each other’s rhythm, the less curated his words became, so that Sunday left their conversations not quite bleeding. So should he take his cues from the Stoneheart’s words, or from his actions? Still, Sunday hoped it wasn’t just wishful thinking leading him to believe they were making progress.
“You shouldn’t have to work it out on vacation,” Dan Heng said, as if he’d perhaps been repeating this argument for however long the two had been fighting. “You deserve to relax, especially in your hotel room.”
“And you should worry less,” Caelus butt in. “I told you I know what I’m doing!”
Sunday could see Dan Heng’s hackles raise even higher. No one would ever have a more non-existent filter than Caelus, after all.
“I already told Mr. Yang that I was fine,” Sunday assured them. When Dan Heng looked ready to argue, he added, “And that I will have fun, and that if the situation becomes untenable I will inform him. Would you prefer it if I informed the Express chat instead?”
Dan Heng pressed his lips together, his shoulders slowly slumping. “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he sighed. “You’ve pushed yourself a lot since joining us. I just want to make sure you’re not pushing yourself too much.”
Sunday smiled. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
Caelus cooed at them both. “Aww, see? There’s nothing we can’t hash out,” they grinned.
Dan Heng rolled his eyes, but accepted it when Caelus pressed their wrists together. “Don’t pretend you didn’t create this problem in the first place.”
“There’s no praaablem,” Caelus sang. “Right Sunday?” They extended their wrist to him as well in silent offer.
“We will see,” Sunday smiled, because he would be a fool to let the Trailblazer win that easily. It also allowed him to play off his hesitance to be scented as part of the joke. Not because he didn’t want to, but it still took time to remind himself that they wouldn’t reject him for his scent or for its weakness. He pulled up the edge of his sleeve to reveal his wrist and felt relief when Caelus’ grin only grew wider as they made contact.
The Trailblazer had a scent like the burning edge of a nebula, awe-inspiring in its audacity and unmistakably alpha. Dan Heng, by contrast, was perfectly at home at the seaside, the sweet omega scent of candied lotus seeds and deep, dark ocean. He didn’t get to experience them in such clarity often, with his weak nose, so he savored these moments when the Express members made sure to include him.
“Alright!” Caelus clapped their hands together after they’d all been properly scented. “Who wants to help me cook this thing?”
Sunday looked down at the… creature… and wrinkled his nose. Well. New experiences and all that.
__
Against all odds, mornings were the smoothest part of Sunday and Aventurine’s time together. Perhaps because their morning routines were precious to both of them even on vacation, enough that they were unwilling to let any past tension or current relearning interrupt that. It was kind of impressive how smoothly they’d divided both time and space for hair and skin routines. Aventurine was as meticulous as Sunday was, even with the addition of his ear wings to take care of.
Which was why Sunday was already on alert when Aventurine took almost twice as long in the bathroom as he usually did. It wasn’t really bothering Sunday in that he was already done for the morning, and taking it slow either way, but it was concerning.
Aventurine shuffled in from the bathroom and directly to his bed, flopping onto it with a groan. “Do you know if they do room service?” He asked, just barely audible past his pillow. “I want ice cream so bad but I am not going out there right now.”
The hotel they were staying in was refreshingly small, just a few scant stories and barely a boardwalk between them and the beach. It had the sort of homeliness a larger, more commercial enterprise like the Reverie could never hope to achieve. It was perfect for a cozy beach vacation where they hopefully wouldn't have to contend with the fate of an entire planet. Maybe just with fulfilling their own cravings.
Unfortunately, that also meant it might not have room service. “Maybe not, but I was researching on the way here. There are a few interesting restaurants close by. I’m sure one of them has ice cream or something similar. I could cover?” He'd padded out his fugitive budget plenty while traveling with the Express, and it was the least he could do to reinforce the olive branch.
Aventurine looked up, an exceedingly rare hope in his eyes. “You’d get me ice cream?”
“Sure,” Sunday agreed, his heart pounding in his eardrums. It wasn’t like it was difficult, so weren’t both of their reactions a little over the top? “Why don’t you choose something and I’ll go pick it up?”
Aventurine pushed himself up on an elbow, making a grabby motion with his other hand. Sunday opened the page for one of the restaurants before leaning over to pass his phone.
Aventurine grabbed his sleeve instead, tugging him onto the bed. “You’re not just getting something for me, right? Everything’s better together,” he smirked.
Sunday blushed, definitely unable to hide it this time, but when Aventurine scooted over to make room it felt impossible not to take the proffered space.
Sunday had been praised over his political career for the principled nature of his decision making, how impressive it was that he was unable to be swayed by an attractive scent or olfactory appeals to instincts. What came off as steadfastness was really just an incapability to smell them in the first place. Outside of scenting, he had to be far too close or the other person to be trying way too hard in order for him to properly make out their scent.
He wasn’t sure if it was one or the other or both happening right now, but Aventurine’s scent was truly the only thing on his mind as they looked at what turned out to be an extensive range of flavors. He knew the Stoneheart's cologne just fine from their time on Penacony with the way it overpowered everything else, but now he could make out the bright citrus, the soft milk and honey sweetness of his actual scent. It seemed almost cruel to cover up something that lovely.
“What flavor are you going for?” Aventurine asked, pulling him out of his daze.
Sunday blinked back into focus to see Aventurine had already added something to their cart and was watching him. Cheeks heating, Sunday chose the first thing that caught his eye. “This looks good,” he said, adding it to the pickup order.
Aventurine let out a quick breath, turning away to hide a smile. “Sure,” he agreed, going a little red himself, but he sounded strangely pleased about it. That’s when Sunday actually bothered to look at what he’d chosen. It was a tangerine sherbert.
He was going to take his sweet time getting back, just for his own sake.
—
Sunday returned to the room to find all the bedding dragged off the beds and into a nest, or at least the half-constructed evidence of what might’ve been one in another life. He placed the ice cream bag on the entryway table, surveying the room.
“Aventurine?”
“No! Go away!” came Aventurine's voice, muffled from behind the bathroom door. There was a note of panic there, and against all odds, Sunday could smell it: Aventurine’s orange milk and honey scent had taken on a rotten quality, like overripe fruit left in the noonday sun. Like fear.
Sunday stepped carefully through the room, making sure not to disturb anything on his way to the bathroom. “Aventurine, can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Aventurine yelled, but the laugh after was high and reedy. There was a thump, and then his voice was coming from closer to the floor. “Just— I can handle this. So. Fuck off.”
Sunday elected to sit as well, crossing his legs as he got comfortable near the door. He was significantly weak-nosed, but he wasn’t stupid. If the hastily half-built nest hadn’t been a clear indicator, then the fact that Sunday didn’t have to work to identify his scent definitely was. Aventurine was in heat, or at least rapidly descending into it, and he was terrified.
Sunday wondered briefly if this was why they’d been paired together. It was supposedly in a beta’s nature to balance the hormonal extremes of both alphas and omegas. They made okay substitutes when a more suitable heat or rut partner wasn't available. It was through raw experience alone that Sunday wasn't totally useless in this “natural inclination” as well.
“I don't doubt you can,” He affirmed, keeping his voice steady. “But you also don't have to do it alone. I can help you.”
There was that laugh again, high and piercing and obviously distressed. “Sure, because you just wanna help, right, beta?”
Sunday took a breath. That was obviously aimed to hurt. Not well aimed, though, and certainly not Aventurine's best work. He forged on.
“My little sister is an omega,” Sunday explained. “Our mother was no longer with us for her first heats. I helped her build her nest and stayed with her. It became habit.”
The words hung in the air for a moment with no response. Sunday wouldn't regret saying them, but it was long enough that he began to worry how they were being received.
Then the door opened a crack, just enough to see one imperious pink-peacock eye scrutinizing him. Some of the fear scent leaked out as well, but it was mild still. Aventurine must’ve been calming down. “Telling me about your sister's heats is a weird method of trying to fuck me.”
“What?” Sunday nearly choked. Is that what Aventurine was worried this was about? He knew there were people who thought that way, but… “No, I wouldn’t—” handwave— “without talking to you before your heat started anyway.” Not that anyone had been making arrangements with the Head of the Oak Family.
Finally the door opened fully.
Aventurine leaned out to peer at him. This state of dishevelment couldn't really be called artful— his hair was a mess, he was shirtless, sweaty and flushed, and his pants were half undone. Sunday made it a point to only look at his face from then on.
“I haven't had a heat in…” Aventurine wrinkled his nose, “a long time. Why the hell did it have to happen now?”
Sunday took a moment to stand before offering Aventurine a hand up. The Stoneheart peered skeptically at it, but took it. “This happens to people in high stress situations,” Sunday explained. “Your body may skip a heat or so until you're under less pressure and can relax, at which point the flood gates open. Robin had a lot of sudden heats between tours. When was your last one?”
Aventurine grit his teeth. He was shaking as they walked further into the room. He didn’t drop Sunday’s hand. “When I was twelve.”
Sunday couldn’t help but stare. He opened his mouth to ask… and then closed it again. Frankly, he could more than imagine why Aventurine’s heats had stopped, had already forced that information out of him once. He didn’t need to do it again. “Okay,” he breathed. “Well. We can try to make this as pleasant as possible.”
Sunday squeezed his hand before dropping it so he could remake the beds.
Even on weakened legs, Aventurine grabbed a sheet and started helping. Sunday flashed him a quick smile. The work would go faster this way, which meant he could get Aventurine off his feet faster. Once that was done, he pushed the beds together. “For a wider base,” he explained.
Aventurine nodded, staring with some trepidation at the two unadorned mattresses anyway.
“Just worry about arranging things in a way that feels right,” Sunday said as he went to grab the bedding. He placed it in the middle of the two beds, then stepped into the bathroom, giving Aventurine some space.
The bathroom wasn’t as much of a mess as Sunday might’ve feared, but it had just barely begun to let go of Aventurine’s distress. He found Aventurine’s shirt on the floor, but it had absorbed most of the scent and would have to be washed before it went into the nest. He gathered as many of the towels as he could and took a deep smell of each of them just in case… they were mild enough, and he could still sense whatever they were laundered in, but who knew how that would balance out for Aventurine. With any luck, he would be noseblind to all forms of his own scent anyway.
He came back to Aventurine half on the bed, pushing fabric around to form a weak wall.
Sunday circled the mattress so that he wouldn't come up behind Aventurine and added the towels, reinforcing the edge of the nest. “You might want to add pillows where you want your back to be,” he suggested, watching as Aventurine looked from him to the provided materials, before beginning to arrange them again.
They built in tandem for a little while, Sunday shoring up the walls while Aventurine constructed the middle himself. Aventurine was mostly inside the ring of materials by now, already looking more relaxed for it. Something suspiciously close to pride grew in Sunday's chest. He didn't know which was worse: that, or the idea that watching Aventurine build what might've been his first or second nest ever was oddly cute.
“It needs more,” Aventurine huffed, kneeling in the center of a decently sized nest. Sunday didn't really think so, but it wasn't his instincts they were soothing.
“Okay,” he answered instead. “What do you want?”
Aventurine turned determined eyes on him. “What's in your suitcase?”
Ah. “They won't smell like much, if that's what you're looking for,” Sunday sighed. “I can ask the others for—”
“No,” Aventurine shook his head immediately. “Just. You have jackets, right? Or bulky stuff?”
Sunday did bring a few jackets, along with his long sleeves and oversized shirts. Aventurine used them to pad out the nest until it was nearly twice as large. Then he shuffled to the side until there was room for two. “Come’re.”
Sunday froze, already halfway to the chair in the corner. “You want me in your nest?”
Aventurine's face did something complicated. He swayed in Sunday's direction, but seemed reluctant to admit it. “Just come here,” he finally huffed after a moment of seemingly fighting himself.
Sunday did as he was told, watching Aventurine for any sign he would change his mind as he climbed over the side and into the nest. Aventurine immediately grabbed him by the waist, arranging Sunday so that he was flat on his back in the middle before curling up half on top of him.
Sunday waited for Aventurine to settle before relaxing himself. It took a moment to release the breath he was holding. Then something occurred to him, and he tried not to laugh. “Am I one of your nesting materials?”
Aventurine raised his head to give Sunday a look that was definitely meant to cut. “You're not an object.”
Sunday finally released a tiny laugh. “I don’t see why else you’d insist on me being in your nest,” he said before he could filter it.
Aventurine dropped his head back down. “You’re not that stupid either,” he grumbled. He shuffled until his arms were wrapped fully around Sunday’s chest. “Whatever. Just hold me if you wanna help.”
Sunday wanted to know, but it was true that he wanted to help more. If Aventurine wanted to drop it then he would.
He wrapped an arm around the Stoneheart’s shoulders and settled in.
—
Sometime hours later, when the sun bled from red to purple into the deep blue of the sea outside their hotel room, and they had settled into the sort of restfulness that preceded sleep, Sunday’s phone rang.
Aventurine grumbled about the disturbance from where he was laid out over Sunday's chest. Sunday couldn't help his fond smile as he reached over to check the ID before answering.
“Caelus?”
“Hey Sunny, where are you? We haven’t seen you since breakfast!”
“Our hotel room,” he answered. “There was an emergency, but we’re fine now.”
“Tell Trailblazer they owe me takeout,” Aventurine complained, obviously half asleep.
“Aventurine? Are you okay?” Caelus asked.
“No,” Aventurine answered, drowsy and slurred. “I did what you asked and made nice with your silly bird and it sent me into heat.”
“What?!” Caelus shouted down the line.
“What,” Sunday repeated, much calmer but not less shocked.
“So you owe me. Dinner in bed. I want a bottle with it too, something strong.”
There was a lot of sputtering from the other end while both Sunday and evidently Caelus processed that. “We're fine, thank you,” Sunday said on autopilot. “I will check in tomorrow.”
Then he hung up.
Sunday took a breath. “Asked you to make nice?”
Aventurine huffed. “They were the one who made such a big deal about getting me to room with you. Even said they'd cover my expenses if I played along. As if I need someone to pay my way.”
Sunday's eyes went wide. “Caelus asked you to room with me?”
Aventurine looked up then, squinting at Sunday. “Pushed hard enough I figured you must've put them up to it.” He shrugged. “Easiest way to figure out your angle was to go along with it.”
“I did not have an angle,” Sunday rushed to clarify, just in case it wasn't clear. “I didn't even know we would be rooming together until I arrived.”
Aventurine huffed, a hint of amusement to it. “Yeah. I got that part.”
Something clicked. “And that made you feel safe enough to go into heat?” He tried not to feel anything about the next part. “Because I’m a beta?”
It was Aventurine’s turn to be confused apparently. “What?”
On Penacony, matchmaking had been a matter of political importance as much as it was of interpersonal interest. Of course the Dreamscape’s social elites were above petty posturing and fighting to secure a mate, but that didn’t mean alphas and omegas didn’t compete to secure powerful, advantageous partners in more subtle ways.
Notably, in a system built like that, betas may as well not participate. Their only use was to stand in as temporary partners until someone better could be found, not to have any desires of their own.
Sunday had been painfully aware of the third space he occupied, where his participation was expected but not welcomed. His political position made him a prime candidate for proposals, many of which were retracted after learning of his beta status, or his barely there scent, or his weak nose. All of these made him sexless in their eyes, not even worth the time.
Did Aventurine see it that way as well? He’d been obviously afraid, but had been soothed easily when Sunday assured him he wasn’t going to be taken advantage of. Was that why?
It was the reminder of Aventurine’s fear scent that made him take a breath. Was it really that important right now if it was getting Aventurine through his heat comfortably? It still hurt, but probably not. “Nevermind,” he sighed. “It’s nothing.”
Aventurine sat up. His skin was still rosy, and he wobbled slightly, so that Sunday had to put out a hand to steady him. “It’s not nothing,” he frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Sunday pushed himself up as well, wondering how to go about this delicately. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”
Aventurine snorted, gesturing at his own state of undress—
“But,” he deliberately ignored that, “if the reason you feel safe around me is that you think I’m not attracted to you—”
Aventurine’s eyes went wide. “So you are attracted to me?”
Sunday opened his mouth, and then closed it, going a shade of red that could probably rival Aventurine’s. “That’s— well— I don’t mean—”
Aventurine shook his head. “Wait, stop it,” he breathed, before climbing into Sunday’s lap, which was both a baffling decision in this context and not at all helping. “Give me your wrist.”
“Aventurine,” Sunday did not plead, because that would be stupid.
If practically announcing his crush mid-heat didn't scare Aventurine off, bafflingly enough, then his scent could certainly finish the job. Like pennies and dried blood, he'd been told before, the accompanying expression implying they wanted badly to scrape the taste from their tongue.
“Sunday,” Aventurine countered. He was still far too flushed, and probably overheated if the faint sheen was anything to go by, and if Sunday looked closely he could see a minute shiver go through him periodically, but his voice was firm.
Sunday pulled up his sleeve and offered his wrist.
Aventurine pressed their wrists together, a quiet whine going through him as he did.
Sunday had been bathed in the omega’s scent practically all day, but scenting was another beast altogether. It was strong, enough that scent morphed into taste that coated the back of his tongue, into that faint emotion sense he rarely ever recieved— nervousness, a residual fear, but also a giddiness, a want that mirrored Sunday’s own. Reciprocation.
Sunday’s breath hitched. “You don't hate it?” Or me?
“What's there to hate?” Aventurine smiled, lopsided but happy.
Sunday took a breath, still huffing the happiness in his scent. “I don't smell awful to you? Like… blood.”
The Stoneheart shook his head. “Reminds me of rubbing a coin for good luck. Like polished metal. ‘S nice.”
Sunday exhaled, relief flooding him. He’d let so few people get close enough to smell him, hadn’t had the courage to ask in so long. He was so glad Aventurine liked it. Liked him.
But. There was still the heat to complicate things. “And… you’re sure you mean that?”
Aventurine rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “Aeons above,” he grit out. “Yes.”
Sunday pressed his lips together. Aventurine must’ve felt his doubt through their scenting, what with the way his own began to sour.
He pulled his wrist away. “All that and now you’re the one that won’t believe me?”
“I want to,” Sunday said. He knew how unfair it seemed, to be relieved that Aventurine had apparently seen past a misconception about him so easily and then turn around and doubt his feelings, but still. “I also don’t want to hurt you. I’d rather be extra cautious.”
Aventurine sighed, the fight seemingly going with it. He slumped against Sunday’s chest, exhaustion finally pulling him down. “Fine. I’ll prove it later, then. Can we sleep now?”
Sunday shuffled them down until they were flat in the nest again. “Get some rest.”
—
Aventurine's heat finally broke on the last night of their stay.
It could’ve been worse— they could've been forced to extend their booking, or to make Aventurine travel during his cycle. Sunday wasn't really upset about it. The beach itself had no special appeal for him, and the word vacation held nebulous meaning after spending most of his life on a resort planet anyway. He could content himself with having helped and hopefully made a… well. He wouldn’t speculate.
Aventurine looked up at him from beneath blonde lashes, pink and cyan bands clear and in their normal proportions for the first time in days, and it took everything Sunday had to not either kiss him or flee the nest. “How are you feeling?” he managed instead.
Aventurine sighed, his head thumping back down onto the pillows. “Like I spent half of my PTO having the worst, horniest flu of my life,” he groaned.
Sunday made a sympathetic noise. It certainly was a privilege to be returning to the stars instead of an office after this. He reached over to brush his fingers through Aventurine's hair, his mind only catching up to the fact that Aventurine may no longer appreciate it after he'd begun to card through silky strands.
He started to pull away only for Aventurine to grab his hand, turning it to bury his nose in Sunday’s wrist. Sunday knew his scent could only be weak like this, and yet Aventurine intertwined their fingers anyway, finally sitting up and stretching.
“Let's go swimming.”
—
It wasn’t quite midnight, but it might as well have been.
With the moon as their only witness, Aventurine pulled Sunday behind an out of the way rock before stepping out of his flip flops and shrugging off the towel he’d grabbed before they left the room. Then he turned to Sunday, looking expectant. “The more you keep on now the more wet and uncomfortable you'll be later,” he teased.
Sunday huffed, but took off his shirt and sandals. He allowed Aventurine to drag him into the tide, the waves lapping at their ankles, then shins, then thighs with a gentleness they didn’t appear to possess in the day. Aventurine let go to dunk himself fully once they were far enough to do so, then turned to Sunday with a look that made him take a step back.
The Stoneheart grinned, his hair plastered to his face by salt water. “Relax. I won’t soak you… on purpose.”
Sunday huffed, but was too entranced to give this clear and present danger its proper consideration. “Reassuring.”
Aventurine’s smile softened and he stepped closer, his arms raising to rest over Sunday’s shoulders. “I said I’d prove it, right?” he murmured.
Sunday took a breath. “You did.”
Aventurine leaned forward, his hands shifting until he could cup Sunday’s jaw. He pressed their lips together, softly at first, then deeper when Sunday parted for him. Sunday clutched at his hips, tried not to get swept away in the waves or Aventurine or both.
Aventurine was grinning when he pulled back, their foreheads still pressed together. “I wanted to do that since Penacony, by the way.”
“Since…?” Sunday asked, just barely catching his breath.
“Do you not know what handsomest man in Penacony means?”
“How was I supposed to know if you actually meant—”
“Oh be quiet,” Aventurine snickered, before kissing him so.