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Stelle sat on the beach shore in Astropolis after all that running around to gain an audience with Mr. Arita, dealing with the sham of the IPC, finding out that Nihilux was the Aha, and the whole situation with Ratite. They definitely deserved some time off. Stelle herself was ready to sleep for a billion years and never wake up again.
March sat beside her, rambling on about Robin's concert, the new album she got, and the many photos she took.
"Hey, Stelle, look at this picture. Isn't it pretty?"
"Every picture you take is pretty, March."
"Hmph. Trying to get an opinion from you is like talking to a Recorder."
Stelle simply chuckled, listening as March continued to grumble about her photos being mislabeled. She didn't mind. After everything they'd been through, sitting here with March beside her and listening to her complain about something so trivial was exactly the kind of peace Stelle had been craving.
March continued scrolling through her photos, occasionally stopping to show Stelle another one.
"And look at this one! How did the system even manage to label this as a picture of a vending machine? There's not even a vending machine in the background!"
"Maybe it sensed the emotional presence of one."
March stared at her.
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't know. I'm tired."
"You're impossible."
Stelle only smiled.
For a little while longer, they stayed there, letting the evening pass them by. Eventually, however, the sun began to dip lower over the horizon.
They decided to return to the Express to check on how Sunday was doing. Safe to say, he was managing the Express pretty well alongside Pom-Pom.
As soon as the doors opened, Stelle was greeted by the familiar interior of the Express. It was strange how comforting it felt to return to it. After spending so much time surrounded by unfamiliar faces and places, there was something reassuring about seeing the same seats, the same halls, and the same little pieces of home they'd grown accustomed to.
"Oh, you're back. How did Astropolis treat you?" Sunday asked, sounding concerned.
"It was good, Sunny. We managed to get Mr. Arita to side with us, so we'll be able to save Planarcadia and get Himeko and the others back."
Sunday's expression softened with relief.
"I'm glad to hear that. It sounds like your efforts weren't in vain."
"Definitely not. Although..." Stelle paused, glancing toward the nearest seat. "I think I've had enough running around for several lifetimes."
"Ahh... after all that running around, I just want to hit the hay."
"Haha, sure. Even though you barely helped," Stelle teased.
"HEY! I was helping! As, uhhh... moral support. Yeah!"
"I'm sure Ms. March also helped in her own way, Stelle," Sunday added.
"See? Sunday agrees with me!"
After some light banter, they decided to rest for the day. Even though they had been given a place to stay in Astropolis, the Express felt safer and more familiar than anywhere else.
Before long, March was sound asleep. Stelle, however, wasn't able to drift off so easily. With the chaos around her finally settling into silence, there was nothing left to distract her from the thoughts she'd been trying so hard to ignore.
And among those thoughts was their archivist.
Dan Heng.
She wondered what he was doing.
Whether he was safe.
Whether he was thinking about them.
Whether he was thinking about her.
Stelle sighed and pulled the blanket closer.
As much as she didn't want to admit it, she missed him dearly.
Hoping to quiet her mind, Stelle decided to head to the Archives. Perhaps the familiar scent of old books and the memories of Dan Heng would be enough to lull her into sleep.
She opened the door, only to find Sunday already there.
She hadn't expected to see him, but strangely enough, his presence was comforting.
Sunday sat quietly within the Archives, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
He looked up when he heard the door open.
"I'm taking it you couldn't sleep either, Stelle."
"Yeah..." Stelle sighed, taking a seat beside him. "I feel like everything is starting to hit me all at once."
Sunday chuckled softly at that, his expression gentle.
"Would it make you feel better if you said everything out loud?" he gently coaxed.
Stelle hesitated for a moment before settling onto the futon beside him. Before she could stop herself, the words began pouring out.
Sunday said nothing, simply listening as she rambled. She told him everything—the anger she felt toward the IPC, the betrayal, and everything that had happened in Astropolis. Eventually, she began talking about her time with Robin, knowing that Sunday would want to hear how his sister had been doing.
"She's doing well," Stelle said. "She's still Robin."
A small smile appeared on Sunday's face.
"That sounds like her."
"She played for us too."
"She did?"
"Yeah. And so..." Stelle paused. "I tried playing the piano."
"And so you played the piano?" Sunday asked, intrigued.
"Yes, but I was terrible at it. I even tried to copy the way you played."
"Oh? Perhaps I should start giving you lessons, then."
"No way. It felt so awkward trying to play the notes. I don't think I could play, much less learn."
"Hmm... well, everything takes time."
They fell into silence once again, the quiet of the Archives settling around them.
After a while, Sunday broke the silence.
"You miss Dan Heng, don't you?"
Stelle froze.
"...Was it that obvious?"
"Considering you came all the way to the Archives, and knowing how close the two of you are... yes. It was quite obvious." Sunday paused before adding gently, "Stelle, you don't need to worry. He'll be fine."
"People always say things like that, even though we don't actually know if they will be."
This time, it was Sunday who froze.
Stelle noticed.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
She hadn't meant to hit a nerve.
But perhaps she had said more than she realized.
"Sorry," Stelle quietly said.
Sunday shook his head.
"No. Don't apologize."
His gaze fell toward the floor.
"You're right. We don't know."
Stelle looked at him.
There was something almost bittersweet about the realization.
Both of them were waiting for people they cared about.
Both of them were trying to convince themselves that everything would be okay.
And neither of them truly knew if it would be.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
"Guess we both have our misconceptions," Stelle murmured.
"Guess we do."
Another comfortable silence settled between them, lingering for a while before Sunday finally broke it.
"We should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow will likely be another busy day."
"Alrighty then, Sunny."
Before Sunday could say anything else, Stelle simply plopped her head onto his lap.
"Ah... I see my lap has become your pillow."
"It's comfy."
Sunday chuckled softly, shaking his head. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, the quiet motion gradually lulling Stelle into a deep sleep.
Sunday soon felt himself drifting toward sleep as well, but not before carefully adjusting the futon so they could both rest comfortably.
For a while, he simply watched Stelle sleep, the tension that had been weighing on her finally gone from her face. There was something strangely comforting about having someone beside him in the quiet of the Archives. For once, neither of them needed to say anything. They could simply rest, knowing that, at least for tonight, they didn't have to carry everything alone.
For tonight, that was enough.
The End.