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miqyli · 12 days

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— retail therapy. ft sunday

— warnings: slight angst if you squint hard enough

— author's note: self-indulgent stellaron hunter sunday after playing the new tb quest. ~2.4k words.

“is this…” sunday gestures with his hands, “also part of our script?”

you let out a laugh. balancing firefly and kafka’s shopping bags in your hands, you only shook your head at the angel-like man with an amused smile on your lips.

“no, it is not.” kafka was browsing the dress sections with keen interest, blade was peering over silver wolf’s shoulder watching her as she played yet another video game, and firefly was looking over the rack of new hats. “but it’s a good change of pace. you all deserve to relax after such a hard mission.”

“i don’t think this really fits my criteria of relaxation, [name].” you only laugh at sunday’s sigh. offering him a small pat on the back and dragging him by his sleeve to where kafka was beckoning you over. “you’ll get used to it eventually. next time, we’ll do something that fits your criteria of relaxation.”

the silver haired man only shook his head. but deep down you knew he was enjoying himself – the wings behind his ears often betrayed him by openly showing what he actually felt. every now and then, they would flutter and puff up whenever silver wolf drags him to another section with new games or when he tries to deny kafka’s attempt at getting him a new shirt or coat (after his wings fluttered a bit too hard at this one coat kafka bought it immediately).

“what do you think?” you ask as you put down the bags that've been weighing down on your arms. “about us, i mean, are you adjusting well?”

you notice sunday’s hesitation, you always have when it comes to him – he often wonders how wise and knowledgeable you are to know how he felt. a hum left your lips as you sat down on one of the offered chairs at the shoe section while blade reached to the top shelf to get what firefly was pointing at.

“i…” he starts, voice just above whisper. “don’t know.”

another hum escapes your lips. scooting over to make space for him and patting the space, urging him to sit besides you. sunday does, though reluctantly, sit beside you as you watch silver wolf giggle at firefly’s struggle to walk in heels. blade’s hands hover over her figure as she stomps her way over to the shorter girl to pinch her cheeks to which she protested.

“they’re nice people.” you say, gaze never leaving them. “the galaxies may say otherwise, but they're truly the kindest people i have ever met.”

“i… apologize.”

you raise a brow at him. “what’s with the apology?”

“i have only ever thought of the five of you as bad people.” sunday admits with a heavy heart. eyes finding much entertainment on his gloves that you had gifted. “i… do not know how to act around you all, when i’ve only ever heard bad things about you. it feels wrong to suddenly be thrusted into your already tight knit group.”

you only hum in understanding. hand coming to caress the top of his head when you stood up when blade called you over.

“we understand, mr. sunday.” you gave him a small smile as you picked up the many shopping bags you had. “these sorts of things take time, just take it one step at a time.”

he only nods. and like the gentleman that he is, steals away the heavier bags in your hands with an awkward smile.

—

“do you miss the person you were before you joined?”

you wonder if blade has ever mentioned to sunday how you loved thought evoking questions like the one he had just asked. recently, the two have been paired up a lot for missions - you’re still on the fence on whether it's a good or bad thing, but you’re leaning more towards the former. you only gave a thoughtful hum as you spooned another scoop of ice cream into your mouth.

kafka had grown bored of the dresses and shoes and wanted to get something to eat. now here you were, outside a quaint little ice cream shop as blade orders for everyone - silver wolf and firefly hiding behind the man like two kids.

sunday was sitting in front of you, laughing silently after catching a glimpse of the two tables across from you being filled with your shopping bags. you laughed as well and when your eyes met his, sunday quickly averted his gaze towards his own cold treat.

“do i ever miss the person i was before i joined…” you echo his question. “sometimes, in the middle of the night whenever i’m feeling a bit too sentimental, i do.” a fond expression was probably present on your face as sunday hummed in acknowledgement. “i miss the comfort of my bed as i scrolled endlessly on my phone. or how a certain little creature in red would bring me tea and biscuits when i let time pass in my little workshop. i miss them every chance i get.”

yes, every chance you get, you reminisce over your past life. missing your father’s quick temper, your brother’s indifference, your mother’s absence; you missed them all, despite all their flaws and the bitterness that swam in your heart. and of course, how could you ever forget your little escapades in different planets with a seasoned adventurer and his vast knowledge of animation and travel or the little waddling of a conductor as they scold you nearly not making it back. you missed them all very dearly.

“what about you, mr. sunday? do you miss penacony?”

“would it be wrong of me… if i said no…?”

admittedly, that was the exact opposite of what you thought his answer would be.

the six of you were now in the car with you and blade driving (firefly suggested you all take two cars so you won’t have to be squeezed together in one). silver wolf was fast asleep at the back seat, using the many shopping bags as her makeshift pillows. you and sunday sat at the front, keeping a close eye on blade’s red car in front of you as you pondered what you would say next.

“i don’t think that’s the whole truth, but it’s not an entire lie either.” was your only response. from the corner of your eye, you see sunday take off his gloves and lay them on his lap. “would you like to talk about it, mr. sunday? i’m quite the exceptional listener you know.”

sunday laughed at your jesting and that made the breath you were unconsciously holding escape you.

“penacony, as beautiful as it was,” he fiddles with his fingers as his wings came to cover half his face - a habit you picked up on whenever he started to open up. “it was simply too much for me.”

staying silent and when sunday looked at you, you simply nod. urging him to continue.

“the flashy city lights, the ever echoing of upbeat music, to many, penacony is a paradise where nothing could go wrong,” sunday sags in his seat, “but i often wonder if it ever gets too much for them. even though i have lived my entire life in the land of festivities, i could not bring myself to enjoy the thrill and joy it offered.”

“no matter how many times i bury these feelings of guilt, they always resurface whenever…”

“whenever?” you slowly try to coax it out of him. like how a parent would to their child.

“they always resurface whenever… i find myself enjoying your company too much.” you try to hide your shock when you take a right turn. “is it truly alright for me to just leave all of penacony behind? as overwhelming it was, it offered a roof over my head. food on my table. a family.”

soft patters of rain as small droplets of water cascaded down the now slightly fogged up windows of your car. “would you like my personal opinion on this matter, mr. sunday?” the car skids to a stop as the traffic light glows red. sunday only nodded solemnly. “you have every right to not miss penacony.”

his gold eyes were furrowed in distraught. gaze boring into the side of your head as the car started moving again. “yes, penacony offered a roof over your head and food on your table, but everyone has that right. even us, stellaron hunters, the most wanted criminals across star systems, have the right to have a home. did penacony ever feel like home to you, mr. sunday?”

“no. not it has not.” sunday replies after a few moments of silence.

“just because a roof is over your head and food is served on your table doesn’t automatically make it a home.” your eyes hardened, grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly. “a home is supposed to make you feel safe, not obligated to repay their so-called “kindness”. you don’t have to feel guilty for not wanting to come back to the place that had caused you pain.”

“and what of my sister, robin?” he suddenly counters. you knew from little snippets from kafka that robin was a bit of a sensitive topic with him. “am i really allowed to enjoy this new life of mine knowing that she’s still in the family’s clutches?” his voice hardened, but at the same time it quivered and broke. “what right do i have to this newfound happiness when she could be struggling? for aeon’s sake,” he messily pushes his hair away from his face. you try not to focus on the stray tears that fell from his eyes, “i’m her older brother, her protector. she should be the one here, spending time with you and enjoying the life she’s always wanted.”

“miss robin is destined for greatness and a happy life,” stopping at another traffic light, you look over to sunday, “but so are you. i do not know the pain and turmoil your adoptive father has made you go through, but you will never be free if you keep holding on to the past.”

“i don’t think being a stellaron hunter and a wanted criminal is what you call greatness.” sunday jokes with a low chuckle making you roll your eyes.

you trained your sight on the road again. “it’s not easy to break out of whatever gopher wood has taught you,” the way you spat his adoptive father’s name with such venom made sunday wonder if you had personally met him. “but if, theoretically, we had offered you to join us earlier and to sneak you out of penacony, miss robin would be the first person to urge you to take that chance. you are her older brother yes, and it's often the oldest’s job to protect the younger,” you pull up your car in the parking lot as blade, kafka, and firefly started taking the shopping bags out of the car. “but she is still your sister that wants what’s best for you, even if it means leaving penacony behind.”

the sight of blade, a man with a harsh exterior and few words, silently carry silver wolf with such care will always stir something inside of sunday. or how kafka would happily chat with firefly over the new clothes they got on today’s shopping list, promising to do a haul tomorrow morning after the older woman cooks everyone breakfast. but if there was something that pulled at his heart the most, it would be you.

you who kindly respected his space and unwillingness to talk or socialize with the other hunters when he had been first recruited. the same you who had made him the metal wings that was now attached to his lower back - created with so much care and attentiveness sunday felt unworthy of it. you who would always be the first one to look for him whenever you were going out and extending a hand for him to take.

“everyone deserves to be happy,” you say beside him as you drop him off at the door to his room. “and that includes you, mr. sunday.”

sunday had always been treated as someone who was above everything else, that was the first thing he was taught after all. he was destined for greatness, the key to the revival of his dead aeon. so he never truly knew how to act when someone treated him as an equal. someone neither above or below anyone.

“i’m not very good with words,” sunday scoffs, thinking otherwise. “so i often convey my sincerity and comfort through actions.”

sunday feels your hand slither to the back of his neck as you slowly pull him down to your height. forcing his beating heart to still when he looks into your eyes that swam with understanding and fondness when you press both of your foreheads together.

“you can enjoy your time here, with us. you’re allowed to let go of the past and miss your sister.” your thumb rubs soothing circles on his nape, sunday feels the hairs on his arms rise. “and if you still think otherwise, then that’s also fine. breaking free from the shackles of your past isn’t easy, but you shouldn’t give up.” sunday feels the way your words leave a warm ticklish feeling on his lips, he had to fight the urge to lean into your space even more. “we want you to be happy, we want you to be here with us. so we’ll teach you how to let go. until you can do it yourself.”

sunday has seen you do this to others; after you patch up blade after a nasty fight, when you welcome kafka home, when silver wolf comes to you after a nightmare and when firefly bares her heart out to you. he finally understands why the others stuck to you closely, they showed their appreciation for you in forms of physical affections.

involuntarily, his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer he feels you may decipher the way his heart beats your name. “may we stay like this for a while?” you only hum slowly when he lays his head on your shoulder. letting your comfort wash away all the guilt and frustration, even if it was just for a moment.

you catch a glimpse of kafka leaning at one of the dark walls with a knowing smile on her lips. rolling your eyes at the older woman, you bid sunday a good night with a small smile. knuckles brushing right under his eyes where phantom tears had fallen. in your mind, you can’t help but feel that your little idea of taking him shopping to brighten up his mood was a success.

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miqyli · 12 days

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Imagine that Sunday is absolutely in love with you, but you keep calling him by the wrong name. Or, where Sunday is so down bad for you that he doesn't mind that you call him different days of the week.

"Thanks so much, Monday!"

"It's no problem."

He smiled and acted as if being called Monday was an everyday occurrence.

"Wow! I wouldn't have ever thought of that, Wednesday!"

"All it takes is a little thinking outside the box, so if you ever need any more help, don't be afraid to ask."

Despite the new name, he would always help you out. Night or day. Evening or early morning. He was there for you.

"Fridayyyyy! Worked sucked so bad!"

"I'm sorry, do you want to listen to some music to relax?"

No matter how tough life got for either of you, he always made time for you. Through the bad days and the good.

"Tuesday, Tuesday! You won't believe what happened to me today!"

"I'm all ears."

He loved how excited you got whenever you talked. He honestly could listen to you all day. Though, he also liked how attentive you were when someone else was talking to. Showing just as much enthusiasm in the subject.

"Saturday, that girl is so mean to me. She was talking behind my back and everything! Spreading all those lies too..."

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to fix everything for you."

And he would. Anything bad, said or done towards you by another, was never tolerated. The entirety of Penacony learned that the hard way.

"Let's go eat some lunch, Thursday! I'm starving!"

"Alright, alright. Let me just finish up these papers and then we can go."

Simply being with you was always enough for him. However, he sometimes wanted more but never could bring himself to say anything.

But, luckily, you always noticed.

"Thank you"

"For what?"

"Thank you so much for letting me fall in love with you, Sunday."

You could only smile as you watched his face freeze. A deep, crimson blush coating his cheeks as his wings came up to try and hide his face.

You always knew what his name was. But teasing him was just so much fun ♡!

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miqyli · 12 days

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based off of the leaks where it looks like sunday has the astral express ticket on his clothes — ii.

When SUNDAY boarded the express, he was not surprised at the… less than friendly welcome. The tenseness that would follow him to every room and cart that had another occupant was one that he knew would not leave him alone for a long time. Nobody really wanted to interact with him too much.

Nobody but Pom Pom — which was expected since they were the conductor — and you.

For some reason, you tended to him like you both had been friends since childhood who had just reunited. You bought him new clothes with your own credits, you forced helped him to decorate his bland room, you snuck into the archives when Dan Heng was on a mission and let him look at all the data and information he could dream of.

And overtime, SUNDAY found himself subconsciously keeping either you near him or him near you. Mostly the latter. Your presence was like reassurance humanized. Most of SUNDAY’s time was spent with you, and during those times he noticed how you picked up on his habits and mannerisms and knew what each little details about him meant.

He didn’t know if you had picked them up since Penacony or if you were just very perceptive and fast. But your knowledge on SUNDAY proves useful whenever it comes to missions or just mundane activities on the express.

If he’s struggling against conversation, if he’s trying not to stress over something he had placed and couldn’t find, if he doesn’t like the food but was trying to be polite.

"I’ll be fine, I’ll have Sunday with me," You would say whenever you would go off on a mission, effectively dragging SUNDAY with you. You initially thought he was annoyed by it, but the small smile that blooms on his face, so genuine and thankful that you pick him as your partner for the mission, always made you discard that thought.

The halovian likes to think that actions speak louder than words, so he will thank you by making sure you’re protected. He knows he’s not the strongest person on the express, but he also isn’t the weakest. He almost ascended, he’s more than capable of protecting you should the mission take a less-than-pleasant turn.

When it’s just a nice stop at a planet to explore and look around, SUNDAY acts like a bird who has just left it’s cage. If he drags you around during the little sight-seeing journey, please don’t be upset. He’s just so intrigued by how different every planet is from Penacony. He’s read of some, yes, but it’s very different when it’s in real life.

It’s still very new for him to introduce himself as a nameless, so sometimes he might pause mid-introduction to stop himself from saying the incorrect title. If you introduce him, he’d appreciate it. Just until he’s used to it.

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miqyli · 12 days

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HIS ANATOMY ੭୧ . . . Growing wings hurt, wing aches and fevers happen, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it does because through the pain, you were his ultimate comfort. So he gets more needy for your affections. [1.3k wc]

Sunday x gn!reader. fluff! content. so much physical touch. intimate. childhood sweethearts agenda.

Thinking about how the Halovian species can grow secondary wings in their bodies. For them, wings are such an odd physical attribute to possess. It not only shows your right of heritage for being sweet sirens of Penacony but wings in particular are random in their sprouts around the body.

Some halovians do not have wings, only accessorized halos and divine voices enough to turn mere water to SoulGlad wine. But those who do have wings, it will most likely sprout behind the ears—a pair of feathers that would first feel ticklish upon birth, but it would naturally grow similarly to hair as you get older.

Secondary wings come later in the years, Robin and Sunday’s wings started sprouting above their pelvic girdle, when they reached thirteen; the stage of puberty. It was first noticed on Sunday once when he had removed his tunic, ready to take a shower, Robin had pointed out the protruding skin just above his lower body: the formation of scapula bone, smaller than the primary bone on the shoulder.

“It’s growing.” You murmur, fascinated. Sunday could feel you reach out to touch the protruding bone, a comforting touch against the warmth of his skin.

Robin’s beside you, reaching out to feel her brother’s growing wing bone beneath his skin. She speaks enthusiastically, “I heard that it takes a couple of weeks for the socket bone to form, then after the bone, deltoid and triceps will form connecting wing humerus, radius, ulna and manus to give the wings independent movement and balance!”

“The lasts are nerve bundles, the epidermis, the follicles of the wings then the feathers, but that won’t happen till months later, now if you please.” Sunday softly swats both your hands away so he can finally retreat to the bathroom, he cannot help but smile as giggles from the two of you follow after his departure.

Days passed after the first discovery and if anything, it was an irritating process to have wings sprouting in your secondary stage. Sunday had unfortunately caught a high fever since, his lower back continues to ache, ache and ache. He was already given medicine for the pain and as he lays helpless on his mattress he hears his door creak open so softly like a psalm against the wooden floor, then the pitter patter of footfall.

“Sunday…” the young boy cracks his eyes open, a dizzying gaze trying to concentrate over the small figure poking their nose up his mattress.

Your name leaving his lips sounds weak, breathless. “You’re not allowed in here.”

“I just wanted to come see you.” He hears the small pout in your tone. “I’ve missed you already.”

Sunday, a boy so young and resolute falls helpless at your whining, even in his state he reaches for your hand, clasping your fingers together. “It’s only been a few days.” He musters up a small smile, just for you. “I’ll give you my full attention when i’m better, okay?”

“Okay.” You cannot help but feel the need to intertwine your small fingers with his, Sunday flushes at the action. “If it hurts tell me, I want to stay by your side until it stops hurting for you.”

The boy stills at your declaration. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I will.”

“You promise?”

The tightening of your clasped fingers is all Sunday needs to know, a smile so tender stretches across his face. Despite the pain, your warmth seems to honey down his fever. As per your agreement, you stick by him. You chatted about anything and everything under the sun until Robin joined the two of you a few minutes later. The three of you idled by, basking in each other’s company. The night ends with your head beside Sunday’s, Robin at the other end of the sick boy, humming a lullaby for the two of you turning the night sweeter than usual.

After Sunday’s fever subsided, it took about a month or two before the wings successfully sprouted. Robin’s wings started a few weeks after Sunday had his. Years passed since, that meant more wings sprouting for Sunday’s, the irritating ache of growing wing bones had become mild as he got older, and the annoyance of having to tuck his wings under his coat had become the norm, a mundanity—but Sunday’s mind is forever stuck upon your determined promise back when you were still children, so whenever new wing bones appear, he immediately seeks for your comfort, a needy man grasping for your embraces and simple touches that massages aches from his body, today is no different.

“How’s your back?” You asked. “Any growing aches, back pains?”

“Just a slight sting,” Sunday replies, fixing his cufflinks meticulously. But the truth is, wing aches weren’t as painful now as they were when he was younger. In fact it doesn’t hurt at all, but he keeps silent, watching at the end of his gaze as you made your way to him, frown evident on your lips.

He feels two of your fingertips pushing against his spine.

“Take your shirt off then, I’ll massage you.”

Sunday tips his head over his shoulder, flops of grey hair falling precariously over his hooded golden eyes. “You sure?”

With a breathy exhale, you’ve beckoned him. “Turn to me now.” He obliges immediately, when he’s turned to face you—you had softly tugged him closer by his tie, expert hands unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“You’re asking me as if I haven’t been doing this for years.” You chide him playfully, Sunday merely laughs. Cold gnaws softly against his bare shoulders when his shirt falls from his body, revealing white wings from underneath. Now as an adult, Sunday has grown wings on his lower hip, the wings behind his ears, the ones flapping from the back of his neck and two more on his head, the ones growing now are the large ones in his backside, he feels your hands reach out to push the supposed ache on his shoulder.

A soft grunt cannot be prevented when he finally, finally feels your touch staggering into a bundle of nerves on his wings. He feels you trace the sensitive flesh and soft feathers with delicacy, following a clumsy pattern down the bone then the ridge of his vertebrae like you’re counting the columns of his spine.

His heart is at war with himself, hammering and loud in his ears as he becomes hyper fixated with your touch, he just had to be selfish a bit.

“You know, Robin mentioned that kissing the aches can alleviate the pain.” Childish, really. Heat is quick to simmer on the shell of his ears, his bare shoulders and the apple of his cheeks after his pathetic excuse to have your lips on him.

He hears you laugh, and Sunday remains quiet, more flushed red and warm by the second.

“So demanding. You needy, needy man.”

“Oh spare me your remarks, Dove.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you!”

Sunday huffs. “But you were laughing still.”

“Okay, okay you sweet pea, I'm sorry for laughing.” You say but your breath can be felt at the back of his neck, fluttering gently like a buttercup.

You had pressed a dainty kiss at the skin of his neck, just at the radix of where one of his wings were situated. Sunday had come so far to know you that he remembers how much you favor staying in a routine, a pattern. Your kisses fall similar to your paradigm, for you had traced your lips down the lines of his spine, sending sparks of electricity through his arteries.

By the time you finish, Sunday could’ve sworn his entire back is stained by the pulpy ventures of your lips.

Your voice is quiet, a crack more vulnerable than before. “Better?”

“Yes, better.” He says, then he turns his body around, a gentle palm cupping against the back of your head. He brings his lips close, closer, so close to your own it’s almost touching.

“It’s like the pain was never even there. You have dutifully nursed me back to health, so therefore as a man of my word I can finally give you my full attention as promised.”

AUTHOR NOTE ! This specific piece is to say thank you for 400 followers, also partly because i’m currently so in love with Sunday. The wing concept was originally for a Sunday fic series i’m planning but i got too impatient ><

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miqyli · 12 days

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Imagine sitting on the express, offering Sunday a bag of chips. He politely declines, but you can tell while you're scrolling on your phone that he's been stealing glances in your direction. Wordlessly, you extended the bag to him without tearing your gaze away from your usual daily scroll. It's been a few minutes and you haven't heard or felt the sound of chips moving about. When you turned to look, you realized that he hadn't been eager for a bite of those potatoes. He was watching you eat, with a small smile on his face as though he himself was full just by watching. This was what he needed. The necessity of domestic repose.

Sunday began thinking himself as a fool, not from the nasty pit that was self-deprecation, but out of fondness for the sight. Why didn't he take this path sooner?

He shifted from his seat. A simple gesture— nearly unseen— but you heard how he chuckled curtly. Then, he spoke:

"Pardon me for my rudeness, but you have some crumbs on your face."

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miqyli · 12 days

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sunday x reader - halovian courtship

warning: no spoilers, gn! reader, pining/soft sunday, Sunday info dumping as usual

summary: where Sunday will do everything except confess, and you just think he’s emotionally stunted.

a/n: i read about birds for this

halovian courting rituals

1. Gift giving. Like their close bird companions, Halovians participate in 'nuptial gifts,' a form of gift giving to a potential partner.

You were walking into the Oak Family Headquarters, Dewlight Pavilion, sent to deliver some letters. Although, you’ve been here before, it was still a bit nerve wracking to be in such a place, undetached from your usual position as a lower end employee.

The entrance to Oak Family Head’s office was right in front of you. You bite your lip, shifting the documents to your other arm and knock.

“Nightingale Famil-“

The door swings open. The family head holding the door stands to the side.

“Ah,” Sunday says your name, “it’s you.”

Your eyes widen, blinking a couple times. He remembers me?

“Yes, it’s nice to see you again Mr. Sunday. I’ve come with documents from the Nightingale family detailing a new plan for the dreamscape.”

He looks a bit disappointed?

He chuckles, then calls out to a lone employee, “you’re dismissed for today, I’ll take care of the rest.”

The Oak employee dips his head and leaves. Watching him leave fills a pit in your stomach.

“Mr. Sunday, is something wrong?”

Sunday sits up suddenly, “Oh, no. Not at all.” It’s that movement that makes you realize that he’s been fidgeting with something in his lap…Is he always like this?

“I guess I was just a bit surprised,” he smiles, looking down to the side. You caught him.

“Surprised? To see me?” Although Sunday and you have met a few times. It was always business, just like now—well maybe he did stare a bit intently at you before, but something really was different this time!

He looks up and sheepishly slides a box across the table. “Take it as…being a good part of The Family.”

For a few moments, your eyes set upon him. What is he planning? It’s a small box. Almost nothing could fit in there. You lift the top up.

You gasp. Earrings worth more than your entire life’s salary. You slam it shut.

“M-Mr. Sunday. This really isn’t necessary. I just—“ you ramble on. Sunday places his gloved hand on yours.

“Please, take it.”

Looking into his eyes, you realize that putting up a fight with the Oak Head won’t get you anywhere. You reluctantly take the box.

2. Preening. Similar to nature, touching a Halovian's wings is an intimate gesture to show one's interest in a romantic partner. Someone should never touch a Halovian's wings without asking!

Soon after, you come across Sunday again. This time at the Nightingale Family’s institution. You were putting away blueprints, plans and documents your coworkers left laying around haphazardly. When a familiar voice calls out to you.

“Good evening. Working hard, I see.”

“Mr. Sunday?”

He approached you, then looked around the room. He seemed to realize the situation you were in and scorned your coworkers. He mumbled something about you and moving to the “Oak Family.” As he spoke his wings were fluttering. They looked smooth and soft.

“You’ve been staring at my wings. Do they interest you that much?” He chuckles.

“Well, they are very pretty but—“

“Would you like to touch them?” A light blush spreads across his face. Despite that, he seemed perfectly poised. His hands clasped behind his back, standing straight and looking right at you.

“I-is that alright?” tumbles from your lips. You hesitantly reach out.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

Upon touching them, Sunday’s wings twitched away from you before settling down. The feathers are soft and plush. Some are darker in color while others are more pale. They’re surprisingly fluffy. A bit like fur but more delicate.

The blush darkened, his gaze shifted off to the wall. His composure utterly broken, his hands fidgeted behind his back.

“Did you know that birds groom each other as a social activity? It occurs between…ma-members of a flock.” He sputters. What is he saying?

Your fingers stroking his feathers create a flutter within his stomach. He leans into the touch. Taking that as a sign to continue, you reach farther up, a light brush into the coverts of his feathers. Sunday gasps and pulls away.

“…You must take good care of them. Are all Halovian wings soft like yours?”

He wishes that moment would never end.

3. Song. During courtship rituals many birds of different species tend to sing and dance. While that is popular among Halovian people, some may chose show affection through instruments instead.

One day, a notice appears at your door. Upon examining it you realize it’s an invitation from Sunday, instructing you to his office within the Dewlight Pavilion.

Could it be about the documents you sent him last time? You wrack your brain for any possible explanation. He had been acting weirder than usual.

Heat build up in your face upon recalling Sunday’s recent appreciation for you. The earrings that are far too expensive to wear anywhere, and even worse—you bury your face into your hands. In a profound display of unprofessionalism, he let you touch his wings.

Still, every muscle in your body jittered with excitement, even though it shouldn’t.

♫ ♬ ♩

Suddenly, the closer you got, the more the hallway echoed with the sound of a violin. Slowly, you carefully stepped towards the sound, till you found its source.

Sunday was playing the violin. You couldn’t help but freeze where you were and watch him. He truly did look like angel. As he drew his bow across the strings, the light from the window shined down on him. His hair reflected the light appearing almost white. Was he always this beautiful?

Abruptly, he stands up, “You’re early. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you closed the door behind you, “I didn’t know you could play. What song was it?”

He places the violin down on his table and approached you, “It’s ‘Salut d’amor,’ one of the first pieces I learned how to play,” Sunday put his hand behind his back, “the dream master was the one that taught me.”

“It was very pretty, I can tell you’ve been playing for a long time.”

“Thank you.” A light blush spreads onto his cheeks, but it’s gone before you can realize it.

A loud silence sweeps the room. The two of you avert your eyes. This side of Sunday feels so different from what you’ve been told. He always maintains a professional barrier. But if so, what was this?

Sunday calls your name, “how do you feel about me?”

“What?” The question is so out of the blue, you must’ve heard wrong, “I think you’re a nice guy—“

“I meant as a partner, I thought you knew. Was I not obvious enough?” He mumbles over the last sentence.

“I—well—“ you stumble over your words. He was serious. The earrings, the wing touching, the invitation. You dismissed it as him buttering you up. The ‘most handsome man in Penacony’ as delegated by the latest magazines, had feelings for you?

Your face felt so hot, you felt as if you could combust into flames at any moment, “I feel the same.”

His expression softened. “That’s a relief, I don’t have to cancel those reservations then.”

“Reservations?! Mr. Sunday-“

“Just Sunday. I’ll pick you up later then,” he smiled, then placed his hand near your ear, as if looking for something, “Oh, but this time remember to wear those earrings.”

a/n #2: soft Sunday is real, did u see how protective he was of Robin in the quest? i need more hoyo. feed my delusion

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