Work Text:
Having the trailblazer run him over with the whole train must have had a lasting impact, of sorts. Maybe the hit damaged his brain or something? Or his heart, perhaps. Because both seemed to be malfunctioning in this moment.
“Sunday?” Her voice spoke to him, worried tone evident.
It’s only normal that she’d worry. After all, coming to such a scary realization right now is… dangerous.
Her yellow and brown eyes, her lashes, her lips, her hair… every little aspect of her made Sunday feel… strange.
His heartbeat sped up, for some reason. He felt uneasy. Nervous, possibly. But… he didn’t understand why. Whenever she smiled at him, his palms got sweaty, and he uselessly rubbed them against his thighs in hopes to cool down.
It never worked.
She’s a good person. Nice to her core, strong and determined. She and her crew lent their hand to him, in hopes for him to find the right path.
And he appreciates the help they’ve given him, as they went as far as to let him stay in the express until the destination of his choosing—as a temporary passenger.
He's thankful to every single one of them, truly. But when it comes to Stelle…
A hand to his temple stopped his train of thought. He watched as she touched his forehead with pensive eyes, analyzing him with that neutral expression of hers.
“…You’re just getting redder.” Stelle remarked, looking straight at his wavering eyes. “And… warmer, too.” After a while, she shot him a small, joking smile. “Who would have thought the leader of Penacony could catch a cold?”
Sunday choked on his own spit, coughing like mad and looking away from her.
If he stared into her eyes any longer, he might go insane.
“Whoa, okay, sorry!” Stelle scrambled to face him, but he closed his eyes shut. “Are you okay?” she asked once more, urgency seeping into her tone.
Sunday sighed, massaging his forehead with his thumb and index finger. Just what is wrong with him??
“I’m… fine.” He replied after a beat, careful in not letting his voice crack. His heart was beating a mile an hour, and an ant-like feeling crawled inside his stomach.
Stelle frowned. “Don’t tell me we need to call Bailu on you?”
Sunday sent her a questioning look, before shaking his head. “No… I think I just need to sleep it off.”
“Famous last words..” Stelle muttered, as Sunday got up from the couch. She watched him breathe in slowly, and exhale in a similar fashion. “…Wait, where do you sleep?”
Sunday hummed, slowly regaining normalcy in his demeanor. “Usually in a couch.”
“Seriously?!” Stelle exclaimed with surprise. “They may be comfortable, but you need a bed.”
“I’m fine, seriously.” Sunday sent her a quick smile before turning his head once more—prohibiting her from looking at his face.
So he gets all weird and awkward when he looks at her… noted. He’ll just have to avoid seeing her at all, then.
Stelle seemed to ponder something, letting out a thoughtful hum. “…Why don’t you just sleep in my room?”
And at that, Sunday swears he hears a pin drop somewhere.
Sleep in her room? What a thoughtful suggestion. She’s far too kind for her own good, truly. He is feeling out of sorts, so accepting her offering wouldn’t be half-bad…
…But he’s sweating bullets right now. Just the mention of sleeping in her room causes him… unease.
There’s no way he can sleep in her bed. Where her smell would be all that surrounds him. Where he’s positive sleep wouldn’t come to him—thoughts about her sleeping in the same spot not letting his mind rest.
“…No, I couldn’t.” Sunday replied, practiced tone resurfacing. “You’ve helped me enough already.”
That’s right, he’s been nervous countless times before… so there’s no need to panic. As he’s practiced, relaxed tone, firm stance…
“It’s really no biggie.” Stelle replied, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I even have a bathtub! Can you believe it?” She boasted.
Sunday took in a sharp breath, impure thoughts surfacing in his mind.
Just what is wrong with him?! Should someone mention a bathroom, there’s no way he’d picture said person taking a shower. So why is he…
“That sounds… nice,” Sunday started.
“I know, right? You’ll love it.” Stelle smiled, and grabbed his wrist in her warm hold.
He might as well use his wings and fly away, now.
She led him towards the stairs that took them to her room, and Sunday had to take extra care to not trip and fall while going up the stairs.
She has no self-awareness. She has no idea the very reason for his unusual attitude is worse because of her.
And she’ll probably be surprised when she finds him getting worse and redder instead of better.
“Well, here it is.” Stelle’s words snapped him out of his all-consuming thoughts. Before he knew it, they were already walking into her room.
It was incredibly spacious. It had so many things… like a kitchen, multiple monitors, a display case in the far back… even a lounge area! There was also another door which was probably the bathroom Stelle mentioned.
And of course, in her room was something that couldn’t be missing.
Her bed.
Sunday tried hard to register Stelle’s words as she guided him through her room. “Here’s the kitchen,” She excitedly pointed out. “Where there are many snacks. I charge for keeping other people’s things inside my fridge though.”
She pointed to the end of her room. “That’s to display a lot of things, most which I have no idea what they are. But!!” She signaled to her bat, floating in the inside of a glass tube. “That’s my bat! My amazing, incredible bat.”
Sunday’s chest swelled with a warm feeling at her proud expression. He smiled unconsciously, and followed her with his eyes as she moved onto the computer screens. “This is my gamer station. There’s a virus in here, I think. But it’s fine, because we’re friends…?”
“I see.” Sunday smiled. “It’s amazing how you can make friendships look so easy to accomplish.”
She seemed bashful at his compliment, but brushed it off and continued on with her tour. “As you can see, my bed is here. It’s a bit.. messy, but this is where you’ll be sleeping.” Stelle turned to look at Sunday. “I hope—uhm! Your face is so red!”
Sunday covered his face in shame. He was fine when she talked about the other things in her room. But when she mentioned that he’d be sleeping in her bed, he got… nervous. So, so nervous.
This is unlike him. This is dangerous. Maybe staying here was a bad idea, he should leave before it’s too late—
“Come, lay down!!” Stelle urged him, pulling him towards the bed and laying him down by force. Well, not too much force. Since Sunday wasn’t really fighting back. His body felt like jelly. Maybe he really was sick.
Stelle covered him with a blanket, and pat the surface a couple of times, making sure he was properly tucked in. She hummed, looking pensive. “…You know, I’m not really good with this. Maybe Welt or Himeko know something about taking care of sick people…”
Sunday’s eyes widened. “N—No, there’s no need to trouble them with such a small thing…” He said. “They’ve helped me enough already.”
“No way!” Stelle shook her head. “If you die it’ll be my fault…”
Sunday grimaced. “…It’s worrying that you’re only worried about being blamed for my death instead of my actual health… but I don’t think I’ll die because of this.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Stelle shrugged. Without waiting for Sunday to say anything else, she stood up straight, and turned off the lights. “Firstly, sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
She quickly ran to the door of her room, with a startled Sunday calling out to her helplessly.
But it was too late. She didn’t hear him, and closed the door behind her.
He stayed a few moments in stunned silence… before releasing a resigned sigh, and fully relaxing his body under the covers.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Sunday had tried not to focus on it, but… he could very well smell Stelle. He felt, in her bed and under her warm cover, that she truly was all around him.
If he closed his eyes and let his mind wander… he could very well see the image of her, giving him a warm, tender embrace. One so comforting, so intimate it made all his other thoughts melt away.
Of course that image was not real, but he’s never felt so close to her as he feels now.
He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Some planets and stars were hanging from the ceiling on top of Stelle’s bed, and he couldn’t help but think that suited her.
This must be the first thing she sees when she wakes up, right?
His eyelids started feeling heavy, and his breathing became slower paced.
A part of him wished that… she could be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
And with that last thought, he fell into a deep slumber, unaware of the front door opening, along with steps walking to him.
…
He saw nothing but blackness. A welcoming darkness surrounded him. Warm… comforting…
It somehow felt like this intangible space in front of him was close to him. Perhaps a bit too close for comfort, but he could deal with it.
Shift…
…!!
Suddenly, the space felt suffocating. Like a weight on top of his body, arms wrapped around him and breathing directly onto his collarbone.
…can darkness breathe?
Where was he? Why is he here? Last he checked he was on Stelle’s bed, waiting for her to arrive, and…
…He fell asleep!!
That thought woke him up with a startled gasp, but he didn’t move an inch. Only opened his eyes in a snap.
That’s when all the feelings from before were explained. The weight of a body on top of him, hugging him. The person’s slow and steady breathing right on his collarbone… with a hand sneaking under his shirt, touching his skin…
There’s only one other person who it could possibly be. The one who lent him this room, this bed…
Indeed. It was her. Stelle.
What is she doing?! Is she seriously sleeping on top of him? She kicked the covers away. No wonder her bed was so messy… does she move around a lot in her sleep?
Sunday started to fear the pounding of his heart might wake her up.
Her leg was propped up on top of his lower body, one arm wrapped around him and the other stretched out. Her mouth hung open slightly and a bit of drool was staining Sunday’s wrinkled clothes.
Usually, he’d hate looking messy, or anything but perfect. But… he’s too distracted by the situation to even pay attention to anything else.
Her hand is literally touching his torso… how did she get under his clothes?!
Sunday gripped the bedsheet with force, trying his best to remain calm. He felt warm. His face felt red. His breathing was heavy and he prayed Stelle wouldn’t wake up.
She furrowed her brows in her slumber and mumbled something under her breath, gripping Sunday’s skin slightly with her hand.
What even is this situation? Why are they sharing a bed??
The logical part of his mind told him he should wake her up. His body screamed in discomfort for being stuck in the same position for so long, and having someone breathe into him wasn’t exactly pleasant.
…But somehow, amid all of that, this is the most comfortable he’s felt in a long time. Her soft body on top of him, silver hair grazing his skin…
Her legs on top of him, like he was the most comfortable pillow in the world. Her chest pressed against him with force, he felt every breath she took against his torso.
…He needs to wake her up.
“…Stelle…” He muttered out, trying to keep his voice from sounding too shaky. Although it was ineffective. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Stelle, please wake up…” He whispered, now using his free hand to shake her shoulder slightly.
She stirred, placing a frown on her asleep face, and groaning. “Jus’…. Mnf…” as if in protest, she pressed herself tighter against Sunday’s body. And his grip on the bedsheets got ten times worse.
“miss Stelle, you need to wake up.” He insisted, this time louder than before. Because now it became urgent. If his voice didn’t wake her, his heart would.
Stelle groaned again, and hit his chest. “…Shaddup.”
He felt her hand form a fist under his shirt.
Just then, Stelle opened her eyes slowly, blinking her way into reality. Sunday looked at her, watching as she slowly woke up.
She let out a yawn, rubbing her face against Sunday’s chest sleepily, and hugging him as if be were a pillow, clearly getting ready to sleep again.
But instead, she raised an eyebrow, pressing her ear against Sunday’s chest. “Hm…?” she muttered. “Where’s that drumming coming from?”
Sunday would have said something, but he didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment.
With her hand still groping his chest under his shirt, Stelle experimentally squeezed the flesh with a thoughtful look on her face. Once, twice… and then she looked up.
“…Oh.” She blinked, when she saw Sunday looking back at her. “…You’re here.”
Sunday’s face was red from her constant attacks, and he’s pretty sure his voice would crack if he were to speak, so he remained silent and nodded.
Stelle looked at his face, then trailed her eyes down his body. Just to realize…
She squinted her eyes. “…Why are we…”
“You’re on top of me.” Sunday finally managed to speak. Although his voice sounded strained, it didn’t sound pathetic. So he’s glad about that..
Stelle hummed. “So I am…”
Sunday, in all his stupor, couldn’t help but be astonished at her nonchalance. How is she not freaking out?!
With a calm pace, Stelle got her torso off Sunday. By which that means, she just sat up. But the problem was there, she was sitting on top of him still.
Sunday felt some type of way by seeing her basically straddle him. Her messy bedhead, narrowed eyes and pouty lips….
She drowsily brought a hand up to her eyes, to rub them. “My hand is warm…” She remarked.
Sunday clenched his jaw. Of course it’s warm. That’s the hand she had under his shirt!
Now that he's taking a good look at her, he notices her attire. Or lack of thereof. Not that she's naked or anything, but the usal gloves and jacket she wears are all but discarded.
She looks... more natural. More exposed. And that... makes Sunday sweat.
“How did you sleep?” Stelle asked, looking down at him with half lidded eyes. She was clearly still half-asleep, but had enough conscience to ask about his condition. “Are you warm?”
Sunday grimaced at the question. Of course he’s warm. Perhaps a bit too warm for comfort, but whatever.
“Y…Yes.” He breathed out, bringing a hand to cover his face. “I am. Thank you for asking.”
“Good.” Stelle yawned. “Himeko told me it was necessary for the sick person to be warm.”
He could barely register her words, as the beat of his heart sounded way louder in his ears. He shakily sighed, and spoke. “…Miss Stelle, may I ask why you were on top of me..?”
And why she still is??
Stelle tilted her head. “I told you didn’t I? For warmth.” At Sunday’s silence, she clarified. “Human warmth.”
Sunday closed his eyes in resignation. “…Of course, human warmth.”
“Although when I went to sleep I wasn’t exactly on top of you..” She muttered, scratching her face bashfully. “Even to me, it sounded awkward to just warm you up like that.”
Well, it’s definitely awkward. And over stimulating. Human warmth has never felt so intimate.
Stelle hummed in thought, looking at Sunday with analyzing eyes. “…Well, March did say I was a cuddler… so maybe that’s why we ended up like this.” She let out a small smile. “You’re all disheveled now.”
Sunday tried his best to not get flustered. “…You did have a hand up my shirt…”
“Ehah.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that Sunny.”
“It’s quite fine…”
So, uh… can she please get off now?
“How do you feel now?” Stelle asked, tilting her head with a casual smile on her lips. “Feel any better?”
Did better involve all his blood travelling to his head? As in—skull.
His blush travelled from his cheeks and ears, bleeding down to his neck. His palms were sweaty, and this was doubled by the fact they were covered by gloves.
He looked up at Stelle, really looked at her. Her eyes were droopy, and her smile drowsy. Her hair was slightly messy and her cheeks were a rosy pink that he wished to squeeze.
Sunday felt his face grow warmer the longer he stared. He licked his lips, wet tongue trailing over his dry skin while yearning to hydrate hers.
Yet he couldn’t speak any of that aloud—lest she kicked him out right now.
“Ah, yes.” He said quickly, realizing he had been silent for too long. “I feel much better already.”
Stelle hummed, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind. She leaned closer to look at him, putting more weight onto her palms that laid on his torso.
“Well… you look red,” She noted, trailing careful eyes upon his complexion. “But you’re also sweating. Could it be you’re just getting out of a fever?”
“That. Could be the case, yes.” He muttered, clearing his throat while hoping it cleared his mind as well. It was hazy with impure thoughts.
“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” She asked, worry evident on her face. “You must feel hot. And it has to be worse if you’re wearing so much clothing.”
She ran her hands over his clothes. To her credit, she was just trying to demonstrate what she was pointing out.
To Sunday’s credit…
No, there is no credit. He’s a sinner.
He put a hand to his face, trying to cover his eyes for he could not seem to close them. He grit his teeth and yelled at himself inside his head.
He had let himself be swayed. He needs to get her off. Right now.
“I mean, look. Gloves? To sleep?” Stelle chided, moving her hands to the one he had on his face. “C’mon, Sunny. Surely you take them off for sleep, don’t you?”
But he’s not asleep right now. In fact, he couldn’t be more awake.
The grip he had on his face loosened—if not completely ceased—when Stelle grabbed onto his hand. His arm laid limp on her hold while she carefully slid off his glove from his hand.
Stelle tried but failed to hide the wonder in her eyes when she looked at his fingers, his palm. His skin was so smooth. His hands looked… delicate.
He had long fingers and neatly cut nails. Though the length of his fingers was noticeable even with gloves on, seeing them without was just another experience.
Stelle snickered playfully, sending Sunday a grin. “Wow. I feel like I’m seeing something inappropriate.”
His other hand gripped the bedsheets with incredible force, so much so that even Stelle perked up at the sight.
She looked at his free hand and gasped. “Ah…! I just ironed the sheets!” She exclaimed. Then she paused. “Actually, no. Welt Irons them.”
She stuck her tongue out in a silly manner, looking at Sunday with a joking smile before going to grab his other hand—intent on retrieving his glove.
Her tongue had left a wet spot on her lips. It wasn’t noticeable—not at all, really. Not unless you angled her face just right, just enough for the light to make her red lips glisten.
He felt his breath grow heavier. He thinks he’s going insane. He needs to repent.
“Alright, second glove—out!” Stelle smiled, looking at Sunday with a gleeful smile.
Sunday didn’t understand, he only felt his heart warming up at the bright smile she so gracefully sent his way. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Great work, miss Stelle.”
It was only after he said those words that he began to realize what Stelle had meant. He looked down at his hands. They were uncovered, sweaty and naked.
Oh, dear god.
“M…Miss Stelle, I need my gloves back.” He said, trying to appear firm. Though it wasn’t really working with him growing an Eiffel tower beneath her.
“What? But I just got them off.” Stelle pouted, holding up the pair of gloves in her hand.
“I know, and that is very commendable—” Stop praising her and get your gloves back! “—but I need them back.”
“For what?” Stelle frowned. “You’re sweaty enough as it is, don’t you need to take more clothes off?”
He couldn’t help but stutter at the implication, his pupils dilating as he felt his heart skip a beat. His mouth went dry, so he had no verbal response.
Stelle paused. “Did your…” She blinked. “…did your ears just flutter—?”
Sunday reached out his hand in a quick motion to grab onto her arm, hoping to apprehend her and grab his gloves with the other, but…
…He couldn’t help it. Touching her skin with his bare hands was just too much.
On instinct, he let her go—making his hand fall uselessly while he uttered an apology. “That. That was…”
His hand happened to fall on her thigh. His fingers were touching her thigh band and the rest of his palm was bare against her plush skin.
He widened his eyes and withdrew his hand once more, raising it up to his skull before trying to regain his composure.
He just now realized there was almost no space to put his hands that didn’t require touching her.
“I… I’m sorry.” Sunday spoke, tone deeply apologetic. He pursed his lips, looking remorseful. “I didn’t mean to touch your leg. That is highly inappropriate of me.”
Not only did he place his hands where he wasn’t supposed to, but his mind has been working in ways it isnt supposed to.
He’s never wished to have these thoughts about Stelle, he’s never wished to imagine her or think about her in ways that she’d find unlikeable.
Stelle blinked, looking at the man below her. His face was flushed and the wings he had on his head were threatening to cover his face.
They were drooped and radiated shame, for even his expression looked sunken.
Stelle narrowed her gaze quickly throwing his gloves behind her and humming slowly, making her eyes travel up his form.
“Inappropriate?” Stelle asked, slowly speaking as she calmly looked at him. She raised an eyebrow as Sunday seemed to grimace, fully expecting to be on the receiving end of anger.
Instead, he was met with… a snort?
Stelle chuckled, her expression relaxed as she spoke. “Who am I to judge on that? I’m the one on top of you.”
Sunday regarded her with a stunned look—bordering on betrayed. So she knew this whole time?
What is he saying, of course she did. She’s not stupid.
Stelle didn’t say a word as she flopped down, on top of him still, making her chest press against his abdomen. Her face landed on his collarbone, but she wiggled and moved herself to burrow her face on the crook of his neck.
His hair tickled her face, making her smile involuntarily, and eliciting a small giggle from her.
Sunday didn’t know why she laughed. He just thought he made her happy. And that made his heart soar.
Stelle wrapped her arms around him, and her legs as well. She settled in comfortably against him, sighing softy against his neck.
“I’m tired, you’re sick. Let’s sleep a little longer.” She murmured, her voice drowsy with sleep against Sunday’s ear.
His heart was beating erratically. His arms moved on their own—wrapping around Stelle’s waist like a vice, his own body registering her words as confirmation that he could hug her before his mind could.
He exhaled shakily, finally feeling comfort after moments where he didn’t know what to do with himself. He breathed in her scent, relishing in what seemed to anchor him to the present.
His hands gripped her waist. She didn’t complain.
This feels nice, he thought. So nice.
His eyes slowly closed. He dug his face deeper into her, wanting to feel closer as he fell into slumber.
As sleep overtook him, he had but one thought. How nice would it be, for her to be the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep…
…and the first when he wakes up.