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The Astral Express was never truly silent.
Welt had learned that a long time ago.
Even when nearly everyone aboard had gone to sleep, when the lights throughout the passenger cars had dimmed, and the doors to each bedroom had long since closed, there was always something. The low, steady hum of machinery beneath the floor. The occasional metallic shift somewhere deep within the train. The nearly imperceptible vibration that traveled through the walls and furniture as the Express continued along the silver rail.
Usually, Welt found those sounds comforting.
Tonight, they were doing very little for him.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling above his bed looked exactly as it had the last several times he'd opened them.
Welt stared at it for a moment.
Then he closed his eyes again.
He adjusted his pillow.
Turned onto his side.
Waited.
Nothing.
Several minutes later, he rolled onto his back.
His eyes opened again.
The ceiling remained unchanged.
Welt sighed.
There were nights when sleep simply refused to cooperate. He'd had enough of them throughout his life to know when continuing to lie there was accomplishing nothing.
Still, stubbornness kept him beneath the blankets for another few minutes.
Eventually, he reached toward the small table beside his bed and found his glasses.
The moment he put them on, the dim room sharpened into focus.
"Enough of that," he murmured.
He pushed the blankets aside.
The floor was cool beneath his feet.
Welt didn't bother dressing properly. There was little point. At this hour, everyone should have been asleep. Even March, who had a remarkable ability to remain awake far later than she reasonably should whenever she found something interesting to occupy herself with, had disappeared into her room hours ago.
A drink might help.
Water, perhaps.
Or tea, if he was willing to wait for it.
Welt opened his bedroom door.
The corridor outside was empty.
As expected.
He stepped out and quietly shut the door behind him.
The Express felt different at night.
Not unfamiliar, exactly. Welt knew every corridor well enough to navigate most of them without the lights. But there was something almost dreamlike about seeing spaces normally filled with conversation completely deserted.
No March rushing past with her camera.
No Trailblazer investigating something that absolutely did not need investigating.
No Dan Heng quietly trying to escape whatever the other two had decided to involve him in.
No Pom-Pom hurrying around and reminding everyone of rules they had undoubtedly already broken.
Even Sunday's presence had begun weaving itself into the rhythm of the Express.
That had taken some adjustment.
For Sunday himself, perhaps more than anyone else.
Welt walked slowly down the corridor.
He wasn't particularly thirsty anymore.
He considered turning around.
Then he'd simply end up staring at the ceiling again.
So he continued toward the Party Car.
The door slid open.
Welt took one step inside.
Then stopped.
Something was glowing.
It was faint.
So faint, in fact, that he initially wondered whether someone had forgotten to turn off one of the smaller decorative lights.
The Party Car was dark otherwise. Tables stood empty. Chairs had been neatly returned to their places. Beyond the windows stretched the vastness of space, scattered stars passing slowly in the distance.
And near the couches—
There.
A soft, pale glow.
Welt frowned.
He stepped farther into the car.
The doors closed quietly behind him.
For a moment, he couldn't determine what he was looking at.
There appeared to be something piled on one of the couches.
A blanket, perhaps.
An unusually large one.
Welt took another step.
The shape moved.
Barely.
A subtle rise.
Then fall.
Breathing.
Welt stopped again.
Someone was sleeping on the couch.
His first assumption was the Trailblazer.
It wouldn't have been particularly surprising. Welt had found them asleep in stranger places.
But the silhouette was wrong.
There was too much—
Welt narrowed his eyes.
Feathers.
Those were feathers.
A great mass of pale feathers covered most of the couch, layered over one another in the darkness.
The glow was coming from somewhere above them.
Welt approached more carefully.
He came around the end of the couch.
And finally understood what he was seeing.
"Sunday...?"
The name left him almost soundlessly.
Sunday was asleep.
Not merely dozing after sitting down for a moment.
Asleep.
Deeply, by the look of him.
He lay curled on his side, knees drawn slightly toward himself. His face was half buried against one of the couch cushions, silver hair fallen messily across his forehead.
He looked remarkably comfortable.
That alone was strange enough.
Welt had grown accustomed to seeing Sunday composed to the point of severity. Even aboard the Express, where there was no Family audience to impress and no position requiring him to maintain appearances, old habits remained.
Sunday stood straight.
Sat straight.
Spoke carefully.
Dressed immaculately.
Even when relaxing, there always seemed to be some small part of him maintaining control over exactly how much relaxation was permitted.
There was none of that now.
His hair was disheveled.
The small wings framing his head rested loosely against his cheeks.
And his halo—
Welt stared.
So that was the source of the light.
Sunday's halo glowed.
Of course it did.
Perhaps Welt should have realized that sooner.
He had seen it countless times. It was always there, hovering behind Sunday's head, but aboard the brightly illuminated Express there had never been any reason to notice that it produced light of its own.
Here, in the darkness, it was unmistakable.
A gentle radiance surrounded it, catching along the edges of Sunday's hair and illuminating the couch immediately around his head.
It made him extraordinarily easy to find in the dark.
Welt almost smiled.
Then his attention returned to the feathers.
Because there was something significantly more surprising than Sunday's halo functioning as an inconvenient night-light.
Sunday had wings.
That statement, by itself, was obvious.
Everyone knew Sunday had wings.
Welt had spoken to him while looking directly at the small pair beside his head.
What Welt had not known was that Sunday possessed another pair entirely.
And they were enormous.
One curved around the front of Sunday's body, partially concealing him from view. The other appeared to be tucked beneath and around him, its outer feathers spilling across the couch.
They formed something remarkably close to a cocoon.
Only Sunday's head, part of one shoulder, and his lower legs were readily visible.
Welt remained where he was.
He had never seen these wings before.
He was reasonably certain no one else aboard had, either.
Sunday's usual clothing certainly did not indicate that anything was hidden beneath it.
Yet there was no mistaking them.
Welt's gaze moved from the wings to what little he could see of Sunday's clothes.
Pajamas.
Actual pajamas.
Loose pants covered in tiny cartoon stars.
Welt recognized them.
March.
There was absolutely no question.
He remembered her presenting Sunday with an assortment of "essential Express supplies" shortly after he'd joined them, most of which had apparently been selected according to March's personal definition of essential.
Welt hadn't realized Sunday actually used them.
His shirt was considerably simpler—just a plain, loose T-shirt.
Or it had once been plain.
Two openings had been cut into the back.
Sunday's wings emerged through them.
The cuts weren't particularly elegant, either. Someone had clearly taken a pair of scissors to the fabric and decided functionality mattered more than appearance.
Welt looked at Sunday's bare feet.
Then around the couch.
No shoes.
No discarded book.
No datapad.
Nothing suggesting Sunday had been sitting here doing something and accidentally fallen asleep.
There was, however, a folded blanket beneath one of his wings.
Welt's expression changed.
Sunday had come here specifically to sleep.
That raised considerably more questions.
Welt glanced toward the doors.
He could leave.
Perhaps he should.
Whatever reason Sunday had for sleeping here, he was currently succeeding at it. Waking him simply to ask why seemed unnecessarily intrusive.
Sunday was safe.
He looked comfortable.
And, frankly, Welt had never seen him sleep this peacefully.
He turned slightly.
One of Sunday's wings twitched.
Welt looked back.
A few feathers shifted.
Sunday made a quiet sound into the cushion and curled more tightly into himself.
His wing followed.
It drew farther over his body until only the top half of his face remained visible.
Welt's mouth twitched.
There was something almost absurd about it.
Sunday spent his waking hours carrying himself with the dignity of someone perpetually aware of being observed.
Apparently, when unconscious, he became a ball of feathers.
Welt decided he would leave him alone.
He turned toward the small refreshment area.
He could still get his drink without disturbing Sunday.
A glass of water would be enough.
Welt moved quietly, taking care not to let anything clatter against the counter. He filled the glass, took a sip, and glanced toward the couch again.
Sunday hadn't moved.
Good.
Welt drank slowly.
Then he noticed the way Sunday's neck was bent against the arm of the couch.
He frowned.
Comfortable might have been generous.
Sunday looked comfortable because he'd wrapped himself in his wings, but the couch itself wasn't designed to serve as a bed. His head was at an awkward angle. One leg had slipped partly over the edge.
Welt considered it.
No.
Sunday was an adult.
If he wanted to sleep on a couch, he was perfectly capable of deciding that for himself.
Welt took another drink.
He looked back.
Sunday's foot was now hanging completely off the couch.
"..."
This was none of his concern.
He finished the water.
Set down the glass.
Looked at Sunday again.
Welt sighed.
He approached the couch.
"Sunday."
Nothing.
Welt waited.
"Sunday."
Still nothing.
That was somewhat surprising.
He'd expected Sunday to be a light sleeper.
Perhaps he hadn't been sleeping much lately.
That thought did little to alleviate Welt's concern.
He moved closer.
"Sunday."
A little louder this time.
One of the small wings beside Sunday's face twitched.
His brow furrowed.
But his eyes remained closed.
Welt hesitated.
Then reached down.
He placed a hand gently against Sunday's shoulder—or where he assumed Sunday's shoulder was beneath the layer of feathers.
"Sunday, wake—"
Sunday exploded.
Welt jerked backward.
Two enormous wings flung open with enough force to send the blanket sliding to the floor.
Sunday shot upright.
His eyes snapped open.
For one wild second, there was absolutely no recognition in them.
His wings spread behind him at their full width, feathers flared dramatically outward. The smaller pair beside his head had puffed up so thoroughly that they appeared nearly twice their usual size.
Even Sunday's halo seemed to react.
Its gentle glow abruptly brightened, bathing the entire couch in pale light.
Welt had already taken two steps backward.
"Sunday."
Sunday stared at him.
His breathing was quick.
Then recognition arrived.
His expression changed instantly.
"Mr. Yang?"
Welt relaxed.
"It's only me."
Sunday blinked.
He looked around.
The Party Car.
The couch.
Welt.
His own wings.
His gaze stopped.
There was a long silence.
Sunday slowly looked over one shoulder.
One enormous wing remained stretched almost completely outward.
Then the other.
He looked back at Welt.
"...Ah."
Welt adjusted his glasses.
Neither spoke.
Sunday's wings began folding inward with painful slowness.
The smaller wings beside his face, however, remained completely puffed.
"I apologize," Sunday said.
His voice was rough with sleep.
Welt hadn't heard it like that before either.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
"I reacted somewhat..."
Sunday glanced at the blanket on the floor.
"...excessively."
"You were startled."
"Yes."
Sunday reached down and retrieved the blanket.
Welt watched him carefully fold it once.
Then again.
Even half asleep, apparently.
Sunday placed it beside himself.
Only then did he seem to remember that Welt was still standing there.
His eyes lifted.
Welt's gaze briefly moved toward the enormous wings now folded behind him.
Sunday noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"They are generally concealed beneath my clothing," he explained.
"I gathered as much."
Another silence.
Sunday's little head-wings were still puffed.
Welt tried very hard not to look at them.
He failed.
Sunday followed his gaze.
His expression tightened slightly.
Welt cleared his throat.
"Are those going to settle?"
Sunday went very still.
"The wings beside your head," Welt clarified.
"I know which wings you meant."
Sunday lifted one hand.
His fingers brushed the feathers.
Apparently, he hadn't realized.
The moment he felt them, something resembling genuine embarrassment crossed his face.
He immediately began smoothing them.
Welt looked away.
"I won't mention it."
"I would appreciate that."
Welt waited until Sunday had recovered what remained of his dignity before looking at him again.
Sunday sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap.
His hair was still a mess.
He was wearing star-covered pajama pants.
Two enormous wings were sticking out of the back of a shirt he'd attacked with scissors.
His halo was glowing brightly enough to read by.
The illusion of perfect composure wasn't particularly convincing.
Welt decided not to tell him that.
Instead, he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.
Sunday watched him.
"May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why are you sleeping here?"
There it was.
For the first time since waking, Sunday didn't have an immediate answer.
His eyes moved toward the windows.
Stars drifted silently beyond them.
"I find the Party Car comfortable."
Welt waited.
Sunday glanced at him.
Welt continued waiting.
"It is generally unused at this hour," Sunday added.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I believe it does."
"It explains why you can sleep here."
Welt leaned back slightly.
"It doesn't explain why you are."
Sunday looked away again.
The feathers of one large wing shifted.
"I simply prefer it."
"To your room?"
A pause.
"There is nothing wrong with my room."
"I didn't say there was."
"The accommodations provided to me have been exceptionally generous. I would not want you to think I was dissatisfied."
"I don't."
Sunday's shoulders loosened by perhaps half an inch.
Welt studied him.
"How often do you sleep out here?"
Sunday's eyes lowered.
"Occasionally."
Welt waited.
Sunday did not elaborate.
"Occasionally," Welt repeated.
"Yes."
From somewhere behind them came a sleepy voice.
"Every night."
Sunday froze.
Welt turned.
Pom-Pom stood in the doorway.
The conductor was wearing a tiny sleeping cap.
Sunday stared.
Pom-Pom stared back.
"Pom-Pom."
"Don't 'Pom-Pom' Pom-Pom!"
There was genuine betrayal in Sunday's expression.
Welt raised an eyebrow.
Pom-Pom marched farther into the Party Car.
"Sunday has been sleeping here almost every night for weeks!"
"Pom-Pom."
"He always cleans up!"
"That isn't—"
"And folds the blanket!"
"Conductor—"
"And he doesn't make any trouble, so Pom-Pom didn't see any reason to say anything!"
Sunday closed his eyes.
Welt covered his mouth with one hand.
Not quickly enough.
Sunday looked at him.
"Are you laughing?"
"No."
"You are."
"I assure you, I'm not."
Pom-Pom looked between them.
"Sunday's a very polite couch sleeper."
"Thank you, Pom-Pom."
Sunday's voice had gone completely flat.
"You're welcome!"
Pom-Pom turned around.
Apparently satisfied with the destruction left behind, the conductor waddled toward the door.
"Goodnight!"
The door slid shut.
Silence.
Sunday stared at it.
Welt lowered his hand.
"Every night?"
Sunday exhaled slowly through his nose.
"I had believed Pom-Pom, and I possessed an understanding."
"I suspect Pom-Pom became concerned."
Sunday's gaze dropped toward his hands.
The humor faded from Welt's expression.
He waited.
Eventually, Sunday spoke.
"My room is quiet."
Welt said nothing.
Sunday rubbed his thumb slowly across his palm.
"Very quiet."
The Express hummed beneath them.
A faint vibration passed through the couch.
Sunday's feathers shifted with it.
"I had expected to appreciate that," he continued. "Privacy was... not something I possessed in abundance for much of my life."
Welt listened.
"I thought having a space entirely to myself would be pleasant."
"But it isn't."
Sunday considered that.
"It is."
Welt waited.
Sunday sighed.
"It is also difficult to sleep there."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Welt suspected Sunday knew perfectly well.
He didn't challenge him.
Sunday looked around the darkened Party Car.
"The Express sounds different from here."
Welt followed his gaze.
"Different?"
"You can hear more of it."
Sunday's voice had grown quieter.
"The machinery. The doors. Pom-Pom walking through occasionally. Sometimes someone enters for water."
Welt looked at him.
Sunday continued staring toward the windows.
"It is easier to sleep when I can hear that other people are nearby."
There it was.
Not quite an admission.
But close enough.
Welt understood.
Sunday seemed to realize how much he'd said.
He straightened.
"Regardless, this arrangement has caused no difficulty. I am perfectly capable of—"
"Sunday."
He stopped.
"You don't need to justify it."
The large wings behind him loosened.
Just slightly.
Sunday looked down.
"I see."
Neither spoke for a while.
Eventually, Sunday stood.
Welt looked up.
"I should return to my room."
"Why?"
Sunday seemed surprised by the question.
"It is late."
"It was late before I woke you."
"Precisely. And you presumably came here for a reason before discovering me."
"I couldn't sleep."
Something changed in Sunday's expression.
Small.
Almost amused.
"Then it would seem neither of us is particularly successful tonight."
"So it would."
Sunday bent down and picked up the blanket he had folded next to him.
He folded it properly this time and placed it over the back of the couch.
Then he turned toward the corridor.
His wings shifted behind him.
Fully unfolded, Welt realized, they would have made moving through the Express somewhat inconvenient. Sunday appeared accustomed to compensating for them, angling his body slightly before passing furniture.
He took several steps.
"Sunday."
Sunday stopped.
He looked back.
"Yes?"
Welt considered his words.
"You don't have to go back to your room."
Sunday frowned.
"I beg your pardon?"
"If you can't sleep there, forcing yourself to return accomplishes very little."
Sunday glanced at the couch.
"I can remain here."
"You could."
Welt stood.
"Or you could come with me."
Sunday stared at him.
Welt could almost see him attempting to determine what exactly had just been proposed.
"To...?"
"My room."
Another pause.
Sunday's head tilted slightly.
"Why?"
"Because you said you sleep better when someone is nearby."
Understanding came slowly.
Then uncertainty.
Welt continued before Sunday could construct twelve reasons why accepting would constitute an unreasonable imposition.
"My room isn't silent. And if it doesn't help, you can always come back here."
Sunday looked down the corridor.
Then at the couch.
Then at Welt.
His wings gave a small, uncertain rustle.
"Are you certain?"
"I wouldn't have offered otherwise."
Sunday was quiet.
For a moment, Welt thought he would refuse.
Then Sunday looked back at the couch where he'd apparently spent nearly every night for the past several weeks.
His expression softened.
"Very well."
Welt nodded.
Sunday stepped toward him.
"Thank you, Mr. Yang."
"Welt is fine."
Sunday blinked.
Welt began walking toward the door.
After a moment, Sunday followed.
The Party Car doors slid shut behind them.
Neither noticed Pom-Pom peeking around the corner at the far end of the corridor.
The conductor watched them disappear toward Welt's room.
Pom-Pom's ears twitched.
Then Pom-Pom smiled.
And quietly returned to bed.
The walk back to Welt's room was quiet.
Not uncomfortably so.
At least, Welt didn't think it was uncomfortable.
Sunday might have disagreed.
Welt could hear him following a few steps behind, mostly because the corridor was otherwise silent enough that every small sound carried. The soft pad of bare feet against the floor. The occasional whisper of feathers brushing against fabric. Once, the very end of one wing grazed the wall when Sunday turned a corner too sharply.
Sunday immediately pulled it closer to himself.
Welt glanced back.
Sunday noticed.
"Apologies."
"You don't need to apologize to the wall."
Sunday looked at the wall.
Then back at Welt.
"I wasn't apologizing to the wall."
"Good."
Welt continued walking.
Several seconds passed.
"I was apologizing to you."
"For touching the wall?"
"For potentially disturbing you."
"Sunday."
"Yes?"
"You aren't disturbing me."
Sunday went quiet.
Welt resisted the urge to look back again.
He was beginning to notice a pattern.
Sunday apologized often.
Not excessively in ordinary conversation, perhaps, but whenever he believed he had taken up more space than necessary.
And with his wings visible, he quite literally took up more space.
The pair on his back remained partially folded as they walked, held close enough to prevent them from brushing against everything they passed. Welt imagined that concealing them beneath his usual clothing must require them to be folded even tighter.
That couldn't possibly be comfortable.
Another question for another time.
Tonight had already produced enough unexpected information about Sunday.
The glow from his halo followed them down the corridor.
Welt found himself glancing toward it occasionally.
It really was considerably brighter in darkness.
Not enough to illuminate the entire hallway, but enough to cast a faint sheen over Sunday's silver hair and shoulders.
Sunday caught him looking on the third occasion.
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
Welt faced forward again.
"I hadn't realized your halo produced light."
Sunday seemed genuinely surprised.
"You hadn't?"
"No."
"I thought it was rather obvious."
"During the day, perhaps not."
Sunday considered this.
"I suppose the Express is brightly lit."
"It is."
Another few steps.
"Can you control it?"
"My halo?"
"Yes."
"To some extent."
Welt looked back again.
Sunday's halo dimmed.
Not completely.
The glow softened until it was barely more than an outline behind his head.
Then it brightened again.
"Interesting."
Sunday's expression shifted.
"You find it interesting?"
"Of course."
Welt stopped outside his room.
"I don't have a halo."
For some reason, that earned him the faintest smile.
"No," Sunday said. "I suppose you don't."
Welt opened the door.
He stepped inside.
Sunday followed.
The door closed behind them.
For the first time since accepting the invitation, Sunday properly looked around.
Welt's room was exactly as Welt had left it.
Which was suddenly something he was acutely aware of now that someone else was standing in it.
There were books.
Quite a few books.
Some arranged neatly.
Others less so.
His glasses case sat on the bedside table despite his glasses currently being on his face. A cup he'd used earlier remained on the desk. Several personal items accumulated over years of travel occupied shelves and other surfaces throughout the room.
It wasn't messy.
But it was lived in.
Sunday stood just inside the doorway.
His eyes moved slowly around the room.
Welt allowed him to look.
Then Sunday's attention landed on the bed.
He stared at it.
Welt walked past him.
Sunday continued staring at the bed.
Welt took off his glasses.
Sunday looked toward the rest of the room.
Then back at the bed.
Welt folded his glasses and placed them on the bedside table.
Sunday's eyes moved around the room again.
Welt finally looked at him.
Sunday was still standing by the door.
"Is something wrong?"
Sunday hesitated.
"No."
He looked at the bed.
Welt followed his gaze.
Then realization dawned.
Ah.
There was no couch.
Nor was there a second bed.
There was a chair at the desk, but Welt sincerely hoped Sunday hadn't assumed he'd invited him here to sleep upright.
Sunday looked at him.
"Where would you prefer that I sleep?"
Welt gestured toward the bed.
"There."
Sunday stared.
The silence stretched.
Welt waited.
Sunday looked at the bed.
Then at Welt.
Then at the bed again.
"...With you?"
"Unless you'd prefer the floor."
Sunday's head-wings twitched.
Welt almost smiled.
"I wasn't suggesting the floor."
"I assumed not."
"Then yes. With me."
Sunday seemed to require a moment to process this.
Welt couldn't entirely blame him.
When he'd made the offer in the corridor, it had seemed obvious enough. His room had one bed. Sunday couldn't sleep alone. Welt couldn't sleep either.
Sharing seemed practical.
Now that they were actually standing beside the bed, however, Welt could appreciate why Sunday might want clarification.
"Only if you're comfortable with that," Welt added.
Sunday looked at him.
"You needn't feel obligated simply because I found you asleep in the Party Car."
"I don't."
"And I don't wish to displace you from your own bed."
"You won't."
"I could sleep on the—"
"No."
Sunday stopped.
Welt looked pointedly toward the floor.
"You're not sleeping there."
"I was going to say chair."
"You're not sleeping there either."
Sunday glanced toward the desk chair.
"I have slept in less accommodating places."
"That isn't an argument in favor of doing it again."
Sunday opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Welt pulled the blanket back.
"Come."
Sunday's expression did something peculiar at that.
Nothing dramatic.
Just a brief flicker of uncertainty.
Then he approached.
His wings complicated matters immediately.
Sunday turned sideways to pass between the end of the bed and a nearby piece of furniture, carefully pulling his feathers inward.
Welt watched him.
"Are they difficult to maneuver with?"
Sunday looked over his shoulder.
"My wings?"
"Yes."
"No."
One wing bumped lightly against the bedpost.
Sunday stopped.
Welt raised an eyebrow.
Sunday stared at him.
"...Not usually."
Welt smiled.
Sunday looked faintly offended.
"You've arranged your furniture rather closely."
"I wasn't expecting someone with a six-foot wingspan."
That made Sunday pause.
His gaze shifted.
Sunday reached the other side of the bed.
He stood there.
Welt sat.
Sunday remained standing.
"Sunday."
"Yes?"
"You'll have to get into the bed eventually."
"I am aware."
"You seem unconvinced."
"I am considering the logistics."
Welt looked at his wings.
Sunday looked at his wings.
That was, admittedly, a reasonable concern.
"How do you usually sleep with them?"
"They fold."
"I noticed."
Sunday's expression flattened.
Welt decided not to mention the couch cocoon.
Yet.
Sunday carefully sat on the edge of the mattress.
His wings lifted slightly to avoid being trapped beneath him.
Then he brought his legs onto the bed.
The mattress shifted.
Sunday immediately froze.
Welt didn't comment.
Sunday lowered himself.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As though lying in bed incorrectly might somehow constitute a breach of etiquette.
Eventually, he settled on his side.
At the absolute edge of the mattress.
Welt stared at the considerable space between them.
Sunday stared straight ahead.
One large wing lay folded tightly along his back.
The other was tucked awkwardly against his side.
His hands were folded together beneath his chin.
His entire body was rigid.
Welt lay down.
He pulled the blanket over himself.
Then he looked at Sunday.
Sunday didn't move.
"Comfortable?"
"Perfectly."
Welt looked at the approximately three inches of mattress keeping Sunday from falling onto the floor.
"Are you?"
"Yes."
"You're nearly off the bed."
"I am not."
Welt waited.
Sunday shifted perhaps one inch inward.
"There."
"Much better."
Sunday closed his eyes.
Welt did the same.
The room fell quiet.
Not completely quiet.
There was still the hum of the Express.
The faint sound of its machinery.
Occasional movement somewhere beyond the walls.
But compared with the Party Car, Welt could understand what Sunday meant.
His room muted much of it.
Welt listened.
He could hear Sunday's breathing.
Slow.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Too deliberate.
Several minutes passed.
Welt opened his eyes.
Sunday was in the same position.
"Sunday."
His eyes opened immediately.
"Yes?"
"You aren't asleep."
"Neither are you."
"Fair."
Sunday closed his eyes again.
Welt stared at the ceiling.
Another minute.
"You're very tense."
"I am attempting to sleep."
"You look as though you're preparing for a medical procedure."
Sunday's eyes opened.
Welt turned his head.
Sunday looked at him.
For several seconds, neither said anything.
Then Sunday made a sound.
Small.
Barely audible.
But unmistakably a laugh.
Welt smiled.
"I'm pleased you find that amusing."
"My apologies."
"There it is again."
Sunday's smile disappeared into something more sheepish.
"I suppose it is."
"You don't need to be so careful."
Sunday looked at the ceiling.
"I am in someone else's bed."
"Yes."
"That generally warrants a certain degree of consideration."
"You aren't a guest at a hotel."
"No."
"You're also not attending a diplomatic function."
"Thankfully."
"So stop lying there as though someone is grading you."
Sunday's head-wings shifted.
"I wasn't aware there was an improper way to lie down."
"You've discovered one."
Sunday looked at him again.
There was amusement in his eyes now.
It softened him.
Welt realized he rarely saw Sunday like this.
Not performing politeness.
Not measuring every word.
Not carrying himself as someone who had once stood before thousands and expected every person in the room to listen.
Just tired.
Slightly embarrassed.
And apparently incapable of occupying more than the smallest possible portion of a mattress.
Sunday shifted.
This time he moved several inches closer.
Not close.
But no longer in immediate danger of falling.
His wings loosened slightly.
"Better?" he asked.
"Considerably."
Sunday settled again.
They fell quiet.
Another few minutes passed.
Welt wasn't sure which of them spoke first.
It didn't particularly matter.
Somehow the conversation resumed.
Nothing important.
That was perhaps what made it pleasant.
Sunday asked about something on Welt's shelf.
Welt told him where he'd acquired it.
That led to another question.
Then another.
Eventually, Welt found himself telling Sunday about Earth.
Not the complicated parts.
Not tonight.
Small things.
Places.
Food.
Weather.
Sunday listened.
He was good at listening.
His questions were thoughtful even as his voice gradually became softer.
At some point, Sunday rolled over.
Now they faced each other.
His halo had dimmed again.
The glow cast just enough light between them that Welt could make out his features.
"Your home sounds beautiful," Sunday murmured.
"It could be."
"Do you miss it?"
"Sometimes."
Sunday's eyes lowered.
"I miss Penacony sometimes."
Welt was quiet.
Sunday's fingers curled slightly against the pillow.
"That feels strange to admit."
"It shouldn't."
"Considering everything that occurred there?"
"It was still your home."
Sunday looked at him.
Welt continued.
"We don't only miss places because they were good to us."
Sunday's expression changed.
Something quieter settled into it.
"I suppose not."
They said nothing for a while.
Sunday's eyes closed.
His breathing slowed.
Welt watched.
Then Sunday's eyes opened again.
He sighed.
"Still awake?"
"Unfortunately."
Welt thought.
Then he shifted closer.
Sunday's eyes followed him.
"Would you mind trying something?"
Sunday looked wary.
"What?"
Welt almost laughed.
"Nothing terrible."
"That is not particularly reassuring."
Welt extended one arm.
Sunday looked at it.
Then at him.
Understanding came.
And immediately, Sunday went very still.
Welt didn't move any closer.
"You said it helps knowing someone is nearby."
"It does."
"Perhaps nearby isn't quite enough."
Sunday stared at him.
Welt could almost see the conflict happening behind his eyes.
He wanted to accept.
He also seemed to have absolutely no idea how to accept.
Welt waited.
Finally, Sunday moved.
Slowly.
He crossed the remaining space between them.
Welt placed an arm around him.
Sunday froze.
Completely.
Welt felt every muscle in his shoulders tighten.
He immediately loosened his hold.
"Too much?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
Welt paused.
Sunday swallowed.
"No," he repeated, quieter. "It's... fine."
"Are you certain?"
Sunday nodded.
Welt settled his arm around him again.
Nothing else happened.
Sunday remained stiff for several seconds.
Then Welt felt the first change.
His shoulders lowered.
Barely.
Then again.
A slow exhale left him.
One of the small wings beside his face brushed Welt's chest.
Sunday didn't pull it away.
Welt adjusted his arm until it rested comfortably around Sunday's upper back.
Sunday moved closer.
Not much.
Just enough that his forehead touched Welt's chest.
He stopped.
Welt said nothing.
Another breath.
Then Sunday shifted again.
His head settled beneath Welt's chin.
Welt could feel the faint warmth of Sunday's halo near his shoulder.
"Comfortable?" he asked quietly.
A pause.
"Yes."
For once, Welt believed him.
Sunday's body continued relaxing.
It happened gradually enough that Welt might not have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention.
The tension left his back.
His hands unclenched.
His breathing stopped sounding intentional.
The small wings beside his head settled completely, feathers lying smooth again.
Then something enormous brushed Welt's arm.
He looked down.
One of Sunday's back wings had opened.
Sunday seemed unaware of it.
The wing lifted behind him, stretching outward before slowly curving forward.
Feathers brushed Welt's side.
Sunday's eyes opened.
He immediately realized what was happening.
"My apologies."
He began pulling the wing back.
Welt placed a hand lightly against the feathers.
Sunday stopped.
"It's fine."
Sunday looked up.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
Sunday hesitated.
Then allowed the wing to settle.
It curved over Welt's side.
Welt blinked.
Warm.
Very warm.
He'd expected feathers to retain some heat.
He hadn't expected this.
Sunday's wing was like a heavy blanket fresh from somewhere warm, except softer.
Much softer.
Welt ran his fingers lightly over the outer feathers.
Sunday's eyes fluttered.
"Sensitive?"
"A little."
Welt stopped.
"You don't have to."
Sunday's eyes were already closing again.
"I don't mind."
So Welt rested his hand there.
Sunday exhaled.
The other wing moved.
This one came from behind Sunday.
It unfolded slowly, spreading across the mattress before curling around Welt from the opposite direction.
Welt suddenly found himself enclosed.
He looked down.
Sunday was half asleep.
Apparently this was instinct.
The same cocoon he'd formed around himself on the Party Car couch was taking shape again.
Except Welt was in it.
Feathers surrounded them on either side.
One wing curved over Welt's waist.
The other rested behind him.
Sunday tucked himself closer against Welt's chest.
His hand found the front of Welt's shirt.
His fingers loosely closed around the fabric.
Then he stopped moving.
Welt lay still.
He could feel Sunday's breathing against him.
Slow.
Deep.
Even.
"Sunday?"
No response.
Welt waited.
"Sunday."
Nothing.
He looked toward the clock.
Then back down.
It couldn't have been more than a few minutes.
Welt almost laughed.
Weeks.
Sunday had apparently spent weeks leaving his room every night to sleep on a couch because the Party Car made him feel less alone.
And now—
Welt looked at the sleeping man tucked against his chest.
Sunday's face had gone completely peaceful.
No tension between his brows.
No careful expression.
Nothing.
One of the small wings beside his face rested against Welt.
Welt gently brushed a stray lock of silver hair away from Sunday's eyes.
Sunday didn't stir.
Instead, his grip on Welt's shirt tightened slightly.
His wing drew closer around them.
Welt smiled.
"So that's all it took."
Sunday slept on.
Welt adjusted the blanket, though it felt somewhat unnecessary beneath the additional weight of Sunday's wings.
He finally understood why Sunday cocooned himself in them.
They were remarkably comfortable.
Welt closed his eyes.
The warmth surrounding him was pleasant.
So was the weight of Sunday against his chest.
The room didn't seem quite so quiet anymore.
There was Sunday's breathing.
The faint rustle of feathers whenever he shifted.
The hum of the Express beneath them.
Welt had left his room because he couldn't sleep.
He had walked all the way to the Party Car for a glass of water he hadn't particularly wanted.
And somehow he'd returned with Sunday.
Welt's hand rested against Sunday's back.
He felt himself beginning to drift.
Then Sunday moved.
Welt opened one eye.
Sunday burrowed closer.
His face disappeared almost completely against Welt's chest.
One leg shifted until it bumped against Welt's.
The wing covering Welt tightened.
Welt stared down at him.
So much for maintaining a respectful distance.
"You are considerably less reserved when you're unconscious," Welt murmured.
Sunday made a quiet, incomprehensible sound.
Welt's smile returned.
He closed his eyes.
This time, sleep came easily.
Sunday woke slowly.
That, by itself, was unusual.
He was accustomed to waking all at once.
There was rarely any period between sleep and consciousness. His eyes opened, his thoughts returned, and within moments he was aware of the time, the day ahead, whatever responsibilities awaited him, and exactly how long he had until he needed to begin them.
This morning was different.
Consciousness returned in pieces.
Warmth came first.
Sunday was extraordinarily warm.
Not unpleasantly so.
He felt surrounded by it.
Something soft rested against his cheek. There was a steady pressure around his back, something beneath his hand, and a slow rhythm somewhere very close to his ear.
He breathed in.
Exhaled.
His body felt heavy.
Comfortable.
Sunday decided, in the hazy space before his mind fully awakened, that he didn't particularly want to move.
His wings were warm.
The blanket was warm.
His pillow was—
Breathing.
Sunday's thoughts stopped.
His eyes opened.
Dark fabric filled his vision.
Sunday stared.
There was a button.
A wrinkle in the fabric.
His own hand.
His fingers were curled into someone's shirt.
Sunday did not move.
For several long seconds, his mind refused to provide any useful information.
Then everything returned at once.
The Party Car.
Welt.
Being woken.
His wings.
The conversation.
Welt inviting him here.
The bed.
With you?
Sunday's eyes widened.
Oh.
He was in Welt's bed.
With Welt.
Sunday remained perfectly still.
Perhaps if he didn't move, he could somehow delay confronting the rest of the situation.
He became aware of Welt's arm around his back.
That was manageable.
Expected, even.
Welt had been holding him when he'd fallen asleep.
Sunday remembered that.
What he did not remember was apparently attempting to fuse himself with Welt sometime during the night.
His face was pressed against Welt's chest.
One of his hands had gathered a section of Welt's shirt into his fist.
Their legs were touching.
Sunday had moved so close that there was effectively no space left between them.
And then there were his wings.
Sunday closed his eyes.
No.
He didn't want to look.
Unfortunately, refusing to look did not make him any less aware of them.
One wing was curved around Welt's back.
The other had draped itself across Welt's side and partially over both of them.
Sunday had cocooned him.
Completely.
Sunday opened his eyes again.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
Welt was still asleep.
Thank the Aeons.
Sunday studied him for a moment, making certain.
Welt's breathing remained deep and even.
His face was relaxed.
His glasses were still on the bedside table.
He hadn't woken.
Good.
This was salvageable.
Sunday could simply move.
Carefully.
Quietly.
He would disentangle himself, return to his room, get dressed, and by the time everyone else woke, there would be absolutely no evidence that anything unusual had occurred.
Except Welt would remember.
Sunday decided not to think about that yet.
First problem.
His hand.
Sunday slowly loosened his fingers.
The fabric slipped free.
Welt didn't move.
Excellent.
Sunday lowered his hand to the mattress.
Second problem.
Welt's arm.
It rested securely around Sunday's back.
Sunday considered it.
He could lift it.
Slowly.
Sunday reached toward Welt's wrist.
Before his fingers made contact, Welt shifted.
Sunday froze.
Welt's arm tightened.
Sunday was pulled directly back against him.
His face landed against Welt's chest again.
Sunday stared at absolutely nothing.
Welt exhaled.
His chin rested lightly against the top of Sunday's head.
Sunday waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Welt remained asleep.
Sunday's head-wings slowly puffed.
This was becoming considerably more difficult than anticipated.
He tried again.
This time he managed to get two fingers beneath Welt's wrist.
Very carefully, Sunday lifted.
Welt's arm moved.
Sunday slipped slightly backward.
Success.
Then his wing reacted.
The one wrapped around Welt tightened.
Sunday stopped.
He glared over his own shoulder.
The wing remained where it was.
Sunday mentally instructed it to move.
Nothing.
He tried physically pulling it back.
Several feathers dragged lightly across Welt's side.
Welt stirred.
Sunday immediately stopped.
His heart was beating far faster than this situation warranted.
Welt's breathing changed.
Sunday watched his face.
No.
No, no—
Welt's eyes opened.
Sunday went completely motionless.
For a few seconds, Welt merely stared ahead.
His expression held the familiar confusion of someone whose mind had not yet caught up with consciousness.
Then his gaze lowered.
He saw Sunday.
Sunday stared back.
Neither spoke.
Welt blinked.
"Good morning."
Sunday had prepared for several possible reactions.
That had not been one of them.
"...Good morning."
His voice came out quieter than intended.
Welt looked around.
Then down.
Then at the enormous wing still draped over his side.
Sunday wished the mattress would open beneath him.
Welt lifted one hand and touched the feathers.
"You appear to have trapped me."
Sunday closed his eyes.
"My apologies."
Welt laughed.
Actually laughed.
Sunday's eyes opened.
"I fail to see the humor."
"I don't."
"You are laughing."
"I am."
Sunday began retracting the offending wing.
"Then I will correct the problem."
"There's no hurry."
Sunday stopped.
Welt's fingers were still resting lightly against the feathers.
Sunday looked at them.
Then at Welt.
"You don't mind?"
"Why would I?"
"I spent the entire night wrapped around you."
"Apparently."
Sunday's face warmed.
He turned his head.
Welt's expression softened.
"Did you sleep?"
Sunday paused.
That was unfairly simple.
"Yes."
"Well?"
Sunday looked toward the window.
The protective shutters had adjusted sometime during the night, allowing a faint suggestion of artificial morning light into the room.
He tried to remember waking.
Not this morning.
Other mornings.
The Party Car couch.
The stiffness in his neck.
His wings occasionally going numb because he'd slept on them incorrectly.
Waking at the slightest unfamiliar sound.
Returning to his room before everyone else woke.
He looked back at Welt.
"Very well."
"Good."
Sunday's gaze lowered.
"Better than I have recently."
Welt didn't make anything of that.
Sunday appreciated him for it.
Instead, Welt leaned back into the pillow.
"Then I'd consider the experiment successful."
Sunday's mouth twitched.
"Experiment?"
"You seemed determined to approach sleeping as a technical problem."
"I did no such thing."
"You spent several minutes determining how to lie down."
"I have wings."
"So you've mentioned."
Sunday looked over his shoulder.
His wings were still loosely surrounding both of them.
The sight should have embarrassed him more than it did.
It still embarrassed him.
Just not enough to immediately move.
That realization was perhaps more concerning.
Sunday settled his head back against the pillow.
Welt watched him.
"Not escaping anymore?"
Sunday went still.
"You were awake?"
"Not at first."
Sunday's eyes narrowed.
"How long?"
"Long enough to notice you glaring at your own wing."
Sunday stared.
Welt smiled.
"You might want to work on that."
"I was attempting not to wake you."
"You nearly succeeded."
"I would have, had you not been holding me."
"Ah."
Welt considered this.
"So this is my fault."
"Partially."
"Naturally."
Sunday's head-wings twitched.
Welt looked at them.
Sunday immediately noticed.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"I was going to observe that they're considerably more expressive than you are."
Sunday looked offended.
"They are not."
One of them flicked.
Welt's eyebrows rose.
Sunday reached up and flattened it against his hair.
Welt laughed again.
Sunday gave him a look.
"You seem unusually entertained this morning."
"I slept well."
Sunday paused.
"You did?"
"Very."
That silenced him.
Welt had been unable to sleep too.
Sunday had almost forgotten.
He'd assumed this arrangement had been entirely for his benefit.
"You weren't merely humoring me?"
"No."
Sunday looked down.
"I see."
A comfortable silence followed.
Neither moved.
That was the strange part.
There was no reason for Sunday to remain where he was.
They were both awake.
The purpose of sharing the bed had been sleep.
Sleep had been accomplished.
Logically, Sunday should get up.
Instead, he stayed.
Welt's arm remained around him.
Sunday's wings remained across Welt.
The Express hummed around them.
Sunday listened.
The sounds were quieter here than in the Party Car.
He had noticed that last night.
But they didn't bother him now.
There was another sound to fill the room.
Welt's breathing.
Sunday's eyes slowly closed.
He wasn't going back to sleep.
Probably.
His body disagreed.
Welt noticed.
"Still tired?"
"No."
Sunday yawned.
Welt said nothing.
Sunday opened one eye.
"Not a word."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"I can't imagine how you'd know."
Sunday's eyes closed again.
Welt's hand moved slowly over his back.
Once.
Then again.
Sunday relaxed before he could stop himself.
The motion was soothing.
Dangerously so.
One of his wings shifted closer.
Welt's fingers eventually wandered from Sunday's back to the feathers nearest the base of his wing.
Sunday inhaled sharply.
Welt immediately stopped.
"Sorry."
"No."
Welt waited.
Sunday's face was warm again.
"It's fine."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
Welt carefully resumed.
His touch remained light.
Sunday had not expected that to feel as pleasant as it did.
His wings were sensitive, particularly near where they joined his back. Not painfully so. Simply more responsive to touch than most people would assume.
His feathers loosened almost immediately.
Welt noticed.
Sunday could tell.
"Don't say it."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were."
"I was merely thinking your wings seem to disagree with your insistence that you aren't tired."
Sunday opened his eyes.
"You've become remarkably opinionated about my wings considering you discovered their existence approximately a couple of hours ago."
"I've learned quickly."
Sunday stared at him.
Then, despite himself, smiled.
Welt smiled back.
For another minute, neither moved.
Then a sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Sunday's eyes opened.
He lifted his head.
Welt listened.
Someone passed the door.
Sunday's entire body had gone rigid.
The footsteps continued.
Then faded.
Sunday exhaled.
Welt looked at him.
"Concerned?"
"No."
"You stopped breathing."
"I did not."
Welt raised an eyebrow.
Sunday ignored him.
He looked toward the clock.
Then froze.
It was later than he'd thought.
Not dramatically late.
But late enough.
People would be waking.
March, in particular, had an irritating tendency to emerge from her room at unpredictable times.
Sunday sat up.
His wings opened around them.
Welt was suddenly deprived of his feathered blanket.
"Where are you going?"
"My room."
Welt pushed himself upright.
Sunday swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"I should get dressed."
"Reasonable."
Sunday stood.
Then he stopped.
Welt watched him.
Sunday looked toward the door.
Then at himself.
Pajama pants.
T-shirt.
Bare feet.
Large wings.
He looked over his shoulder.
His wings looked back, metaphorically speaking.
Sunday's expression slowly changed.
Welt understood.
"Ah."
"Yes."
Nobody knew.
Sunday had successfully concealed the larger pair of wings since arriving aboard the Express.
And now, to return to his room, he had to walk through the passenger corridor with them completely exposed.
"How did you get to the Party Car last night?" Welt asked.
"Very carefully."
"And no one saw you?"
"No."
"Pom-Pom did."
"Pom-Pom doesn't count."
Welt smiled.
Sunday gave him a pointed look.
"Pom-Pom was already aware."
"For how long?"
"Since the first night."
"And never mentioned your wings?"
"No."
"Impressive."
"Until last night, Pom-Pom had proven exceptionally capable of respecting my privacy."
There was still genuine grievance in Sunday's voice.
Welt almost laughed again.
Sunday approached the door.
Then stopped several feet away.
Footsteps.
Both listened.
Someone was coming.
Sunday immediately stepped backward.
The footsteps grew louder.
Then a voice.
"Ugh... why am I awake..."
March.
Sunday's eyes widened.
Welt looked at him.
Sunday looked at Welt.
March's footsteps were approaching.
Sunday moved.
Quickly.
He crossed the room and ducked out of direct sight of the doorway.
Welt stared.
Sunday pressed himself against the wall.
His wings folded tightly behind him.
"What are you doing?"
Sunday raised one finger to his lips.
Welt's eyebrows rose.
The footsteps stopped outside.
A knock.
Sunday's expression became horrified.
"Mr. Yang?"
March.
Welt looked at Sunday.
Sunday shook his head.
Welt looked toward the door.
"Yes?"
"You awake?"
Sunday silently mouthed something.
Welt couldn't determine what.
"Yes."
"Can I come in?"
Sunday's eyes widened further.
Welt was enjoying this more than he should.
"One moment."
He got out of bed.
Sunday looked toward the bathroom.
Then the closet.
Then beneath the bed.
Welt watched this sequence with increasing disbelief.
"Sunday."
Sunday looked at him.
"Do not hide under my bed."
"I wasn't going to."
"You looked at it."
"I was assessing the room."
"Get in the bathroom."
Sunday immediately did.
The door closed.
Welt waited until Sunday's halo glow disappeared beneath the crack.
Then opened his bedroom door.
March stood outside.
Her pink hair was disheveled, and she looked approximately half awake.
"Morning."
"Good morning."
March squinted at him.
"You look weird."
Welt paused.
"In what way?"
"I dunno."
March leaned slightly to one side.
Welt subtly moved with her.
She frowned.
"Why are you blocking your room?"
"I'm not."
"You totally are."
"I'm standing in the doorway."
"Suspiciously."
Welt sighed.
"What did you need, March?"
"Oh."
Apparently she'd forgotten.
March thought.
Then snapped her fingers.
"Right! Have you seen Sunday?"
From inside the bathroom came absolute silence.
Welt kept his expression neutral.
"Why?"
"I wanted to ask him something."
"What?"
March looked down.
At her own pajama pants.
Then back at Welt.
"Do you remember those pajamas I gave him?"
Welt's mouth twitched.
Inside the bathroom, Sunday stared at the stars covering his legs.
"Yes."
"He never told me if they fit!"
Welt glanced very briefly toward the bathroom door.
"They fit."
March blinked.
Welt realized his mistake.
Too late.
"How do you know?"
Silence.
Inside the bathroom, Sunday's eyes closed.
Welt adjusted his glasses.
March stared.
Welt stared back.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You know something."
"I know many things."
"About Sunday."
"Again, many things."
"About the pajamas."
Welt sighed.
"March."
She leaned closer.
"Is Sunday in there?"
Sunday's halo immediately dimmed until the bathroom became completely dark.
Welt almost admired the instinct.
"No."
March stared at him.
Welt stared back.
"You're being weird."
"I'm tired."
"Okay..."
March clearly did not believe him.
Then another voice called from farther down the corridor.
"March."
Dan Heng.
March turned.
"What?"
"You said you wanted breakfast."
"Oh! Right."
She looked back at Welt.
Then pointed two fingers at her own eyes before pointing them at him.
"I'm watching you."
"Go eat breakfast."
"I'm going."
March started away.
She stopped.
Turned back.
"Tell Sunday I'm looking for him if you see him!"
"I will."
"Thanks!"
She disappeared around the corner.
Welt waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then closed the door.
The bathroom door immediately opened.
Sunday stepped out.
His halo brightened.
He stared at Welt.
Welt stared back.
"You told her the pajamas fit."
"I made an error."
"You think?"
Welt sat on the edge of the bed.
Sunday looked down at himself.
"She nearly discovered me because of trousers."
"She would be pleased to know you're wearing them."
"That is precisely why she cannot know."
Welt laughed.
Sunday sighed.
"We have a problem."
"A relatively minor one."
"March is awake."
"Yes."
"Dan Heng is awake."
"Apparently."
"Pom-Pom is certainly awake."
"Pom-Pom already knows."
Sunday ignored that.
"The Trailblazer may be awake."
"Possibly."
"And I need to cross the corridor."
Welt considered him.
Then his wings.
Then the door.
"Can you hide them beneath that shirt?"
Sunday looked genuinely insulted.
"No."
"Just asking."
"They are not collapsible."
"They appear quite collapsible."
"They are foldable."
"Important distinction."
"Extremely."
Welt stood.
"Then we'll check the corridor."
Sunday frowned.
"We?"
"I'm not sending you out there like you're escaping a crime scene."
Sunday looked toward the door.
"This increasingly feels like one."
Welt opened it a fraction.
He looked left.
Then right.
Empty.
He opened it farther.
"Clear."
Sunday approached.
He peered around Welt.
No one.
"Your room is three doors down," Welt said.
"I am aware."
"Then go."
Sunday stepped into the corridor.
One wing caught on the doorframe.
He stopped.
Welt looked at it.
Sunday slowly freed the feathers.
"Not a word."
Welt raised both hands.
Sunday continued.
One step.
Two.
Three.
He was halfway there.
A door opened.
Sunday froze.
Welt froze.
Sunday's wings flared instinctively.
The Trailblazer stepped into the corridor.
They stopped.
Sunday stared at them.
They stared at Sunday.
Their gaze traveled upward.
Messy silver hair.
Glowing halo.
Puffed head-wings.
T-shirt.
Star pajama pants.
Bare feet.
Then—
The enormous pair of wings extending from his back.
Silence.
Sunday's expression emptied.
The Trailblazer blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Their gaze shifted past Sunday.
Toward Welt.
Standing in his bedroom doorway.
Then back to Sunday.
Then back to Welt.
Sunday visibly realized exactly how this looked.
"Good morning," he said.
The Trailblazer continued staring.
Sunday began walking.
Very calmly.
Very normally.
He passed them.
The Trailblazer slowly turned to watch him.
Sunday reached his bedroom.
Opened the door.
One wing hit the frame.
Sunday shoved it through.
He stepped inside.
The door closed.
Silence.
The Trailblazer looked at Welt.
Welt looked at the Trailblazer.
Another long silence.
Finally—
"He has more wings?"
Welt nodded.
"Apparently."
The Trailblazer looked toward Sunday's closed door.
Then back at Welt.
"Why was he coming out of your room?"
Welt considered the question.
"He slept there."
The Trailblazer's eyes widened.
Welt immediately realized that clarification had somehow made things worse.
"Because he couldn't sleep."
The Trailblazer stared.
Welt sighed.
"Go have breakfast."
The Trailblazer continued staring for another second.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
They took three steps.
Stopped.
Turned around.
"The wings are cool."
Welt smiled.
"I agree."
The Trailblazer continued down the corridor.
Welt watched them disappear.
Then he looked toward Sunday's door.
He could already imagine the conversation taking place behind it.
Or rather, the complete lack of one.
Sunday was probably standing in the middle of his room, reconsidering every decision he'd made since boarding the Astral Express.
Welt went back inside.
He closed his door.
On the bed lay a single pale feather.
Welt noticed it immediately.
He picked it up.
It must have come loose sometime during the night.
Long.
Soft.
Almost perfectly white beneath the room's light.
Welt ran his thumb carefully along the edge.
Then placed it on his bedside table.
He'd return it later.
For now, Sunday had a more immediate problem.
The Trailblazer knew.
And Welt had the distinct feeling that by breakfast, keeping Sunday's wings secret was going to become considerably more difficult.
Sunday remained in his room for exactly seven minutes.
For the first two, he stood just inside the door.
For the next three, he considered changing.
For the final two, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at absolutely nothing.
The problem was not his clothing.
Well.
The clothing was part of the problem.
Sunday looked down.
The pajama pants March had given him were covered in tiny stars, some yellow, some pink, some blue. A few of them had smiling faces.
He had objected when she first handed them to him.
March had informed him that this was irrelevant because they were "cute and comfy and literally perfect."
Sunday had privately discovered that she was correct.
He had never intended for her to know.
His shirt was even less presentable.
It was an old gray T-shirt he'd modified himself shortly after realizing that sleeping with his wings constrained beneath fabric was intolerable. The openings across the back had not been cut with much finesse.
They merely worked.
Sunday looked over his shoulder.
His wings were still out.
Fully.
There was no putting them away without changing into his usual clothing.
That meant binding them close against his back, arranging the specialized layers he wore beneath his coat, and then dressing over them carefully enough that their outline couldn't easily be seen.
He could do it.
He did it every morning.
He had done it every morning since joining the Express and even before that.
Sunday looked toward the mirror.
His hair was still disordered from sleep.
One of the smaller wings beside his head had a feather sticking out at an angle.
His halo remained slightly brighter than usual.
He looked...
Sunday struggled to find an appropriate word.
Domestic.
He disliked that word immediately.
He looked comfortable.
That was somehow worse.
Sunday sighed.
There was another problem.
The Trailblazer.
There was absolutely no possibility that the Trailblazer would keep this information to themself.
Not maliciously.
Sunday didn't believe that.
But secrecy required a level of restraint that the Trailblazer did not consistently demonstrate when confronted with something they found interesting.
They had just discovered Sunday possessed an additional pair of wings.
Large ones.
Sunday could already imagine the breakfast table.
March would ask where he was.
The Trailblazer would say something.
March would ask another question.
The Trailblazer would say more.
Dan Heng would attempt to intervene.
March would become louder.
Himeko would become curious.
Pom-Pom—
Sunday narrowed his eyes.
Pom-Pom already knew.
He stood.
There was no point.
None.
If he dressed now and went to breakfast looking as he ordinarily did, March would simply spend the entire meal demanding to see his wings.
The Trailblazer would confirm their existence.
Pom-Pom might offer additional testimony.
And Sunday would eventually have to explain himself anyway.
At least if he went as he was, the matter could be addressed once.
Efficiently.
Sunday liked efficiency.
He stood in front of the mirror.
He smoothed his hair with his fingers.
Then attempted to flatten the errant feather beside his face.
It popped back up.
Sunday stared at it.
He flattened it again.
It returned.
Sunday's eye twitched.
"Fine."
He left it.
His back wings shifted as he approached the door.
Sunday paused with his hand over the control.
This was ridiculous.
He had addressed crowds numbering in the thousands.
He had stood before members of the Family without hesitation.
He had argued matters of philosophy, governance, morality and fate.
He was capable of walking into a dining car wearing pajamas.
Sunday opened the door.
The corridor was empty.
Naturally.
He stepped out.
His halo cast a faint glow against the wall.
Sunday started toward the dining area.
He made it several steps before one of his wings brushed lightly against the side of the corridor.
He folded them closer.
Not hidden.
Just controlled.
He refused to sneak.
If someone saw him, they saw him.
The secret was already over.
Sunday continued walking.
Voices grew louder as he approached the Party Car.
March.
Unmistakable.
"...and then he just said 'apparently!' Like that's a normal answer!"
Sunday stopped outside the door.
The Trailblazer had told them.
Of course.
Dan Heng's voice followed.
"What else was Welt supposed to say?"
"I don't know! Maybe explain why Sunday suddenly has giant wings!"
"He doesn't owe us an explanation."
"That's not the point!"
"It sounds like the point."
"No, the point is that Sunday has apparently been walking around with secret bonus wings this entire time and nobody told me!"
Sunday closed his eyes.
Secret bonus wings.
Wonderful.
Himeko spoke next, sounding considerably more amused.
"Perhaps Sunday simply preferred to keep them private."
"But why?"
"March."
"What?"
"You're proving his point."
A brief silence followed.
Himeko laughed softly.
Sunday decided this was as good a moment as any.
The doors opened.
Conversation stopped.
Immediately.
Every head turned.
Sunday stood in the doorway.
For once, no one said anything.
The Trailblazer was seated beside Dan Heng, halfway through eating.
March sat across from them with a piece of toast suspended several inches from her mouth.
Himeko held a cup of coffee.
Pom-Pom stood near the end of the table.
All five stared.
Sunday stared back.
The silence continued.
He stepped into the car.
His back wings followed.
March's toast slowly lowered.
Sunday walked toward the table.
Nobody spoke.
He reached an empty chair.
Then paused.
The chair had a back.
Sunday looked at it.
Then at his wings.
His wings looked, once again metaphorically, at the chair.
He pulled it away from the table and turned it slightly.
That wouldn't work.
Himeko quietly stood.
"Here."
She moved another chair out of the way.
Sunday looked at her.
"Thank you."
He sat sideways enough that his wings could remain behind him without being crushed.
The feathers relaxed.
Everyone continued staring.
Sunday folded his hands on the table.
"Good morning."
Nothing.
Sunday looked around.
"Is something wrong?"
March made a noise.
Not a word.
A noise.
Sunday looked at her.
March pointed.
At him.
More specifically, at his back.
Sunday followed the direction of her finger.
He looked over his shoulder.
Then back at March.
"Yes?"
"You—"
March stopped.
Tried again.
"You actually—"
Another failure.
The Trailblazer took another bite of breakfast.
"I told you."
March turned violently toward them.
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE EXAGGERATING."
Dan Heng sighed.
"Why would they exaggerate the number of wings Sunday has?"
"Because they exaggerate everything!"
"I don't."
Dan Heng looked at them.
The Trailblazer paused.
"Not everything."
Sunday reached for the tea.
March's attention snapped back to him.
"Sunday!"
"Yes?"
"Since when do you have those?!"
Sunday poured himself a cup.
"Since birth, presumably."
March stared.
Himeko hid a smile behind her coffee.
Dan Heng looked down at his plate.
The Trailblazer openly grinned.
March slapped both hands against the table.
"You know what I mean!"
Sunday set the teapot down.
"I do."
"Then answer me!"
"I have always had them."
"Why have we never seen them?!"
"Because I keep them concealed."
March's eyes widened.
"How?"
Sunday took a sip of tea.
"With clothing."
March looked offended.
"I know what clothes are!"
"Then I am uncertain what part requires clarification."
"Sunday."
Himeko's tone carried a gentle warning.
Sunday lowered the cup.
"Apologies."
March pointed at him again.
"Your pajamas!"
Sunday's expression changed.
Only slightly.
The Trailblazer noticed.
Himeko noticed.
Dan Heng probably noticed.
Pom-Pom absolutely noticed.
March didn't.
"You're wearing them!"
Sunday looked down at the star-covered pants.
"So it would seem."
"I KNEW YOU LIKED THEM."
Sunday closed his eyes.
There it was.
March practically beamed.
"You told me they were 'an unnecessary addition to an already sufficient wardrobe!'"
"I recall."
"And you've been wearing them!"
"For sleeping."
"That counts!"
Sunday's back wing flicked.
March noticed.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh my gosh."
Sunday immediately became suspicious.
"What?"
"They move when you're annoyed."
"They are wings."
"I know, but—"
March leaned over the table.
"They're expressive!"
Sunday looked at Welt's empty seat.
He was beginning to resent that man for introducing this observation into the world.
"No, they are not."
One of the smaller wings beside his head twitched.
The Trailblazer pointed.
"That one is."
Sunday slowly looked at them.
They stopped pointing.
Dan Heng ate in silence.
Sunday could tell he was doing everything possible not to participate.
Himeko finally intervened.
"Perhaps we should allow Sunday to eat before interrogating him."
"I'm not interrogating him."
"You've asked eight questions in approximately thirty seconds."
March counted on her fingers.
Sunday reached for food.
Breakfast today consisted of several dishes, most of which Pom-Pom had arranged earlier.
Sunday chose something simple.
He was suddenly extremely aware that everyone could see his wings.
Not merely see them.
Observe them.
The large pair remained partially open behind him because folding them tightly while seated was uncomfortable. Several longer feathers extended beyond either side of the chair.
Sunday had lived with them his entire life.
He rarely thought about them unless they became inconvenient.
To everyone else, they were apparently the most fascinating discovery aboard the Express since the Trailblazer found something questionable inside a trash can.
Sunday took a bite.
March lasted twelve seconds.
"Can you fly?"
Sunday swallowed.
"Yes."
March's mouth fell open.
The Trailblazer stopped eating.
Even Dan Heng looked up.
Himeko blinked.
Pom-Pom, notably, continued organizing dishes.
March leaned forward.
"You can FLY?"
Sunday looked around the table.
"Did none of you consider that possibility?"
The Trailblazer looked at his wings.
Then at him.
"Honestly, no."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Dan Heng answered instead.
"You keep them hidden. We didn't know they existed."
"A fair point."
March was almost vibrating.
"How high can you fly?"
"I haven't measured."
"How fast?"
"I haven't measured."
"How far?"
"March."
"I'm curious!"
Sunday took another bite.
"I can fly sufficiently well."
"That's the most Sunday answer possible."
The Trailblazer nodded.
"It really is."
Sunday ignored both of them.
Himeko looked at him over the rim of her cup.
"Are they uncomfortable to keep hidden?"
That question was different.
Sunday paused.
"Occasionally."
Himeko's expression softened.
"You don't have to hide them here."
Sunday looked at her.
March immediately nodded.
"Yeah! Why would you?"
Sunday's gaze dropped briefly toward his plate.
"It is simply what I'm accustomed to."
No one said anything for a moment.
Sunday continued.
"They are difficult to accommodate in formal clothing. Over time, concealing them became more convenient."
He didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
His wings had always attracted attention.
Halovians were hardly unusual in Penacony, but wings of Sunday's size were less common. People stared. Children pointed. Adults asked questions they believed were polite simply because they asked them quietly.
Sunday had learned young that hiding them made public appearances easier.
Eventually, hiding became default.
Himeko nodded.
"That makes sense."
And that was all.
No demand that he stop.
No speech about accepting himself.
Just acknowledgement.
Sunday appreciated that too.
March, however, had moved on to a different concern.
"Wait."
Sunday knew that tone.
He looked up.
March's eyes narrowed.
"Why are you wearing pajamas at breakfast?"
Sunday stopped chewing.
The Trailblazer immediately looked down.
Dan Heng looked at the Trailblazer.
Himeko looked between them.
Pom-Pom suddenly found the tablecloth extremely interesting.
Sunday swallowed.
"I chose not to change."
March frowned.
"You?"
"Yes."
"You chose to come out here looking like that?"
Sunday looked down again.
"March."
"What? I'm not saying it looks bad! It's cute!"
Sunday's wings shifted.
"Please don't call me cute."
"It is."
"March."
"The little stars match your halo!"
Sunday's halo brightened.
Whether from irritation or embarrassment, even Sunday wasn't entirely certain.
March gasped.
"IT GETS BRIGHTER TOO?"
Sunday shut his eyes.
"Yes."
The Trailblazer made the mistake of laughing.
Sunday's eyes opened.
His gaze landed on them.
They immediately became fascinated by their breakfast.
March's original question had not disappeared.
"So why didn't you change?"
Sunday considered lying.
There was no point.
"The Trailblazer saw me in the corridor."
Everyone looked at the Trailblazer.
They slowly lowered their utensils.
Sunday continued.
"At that point, I assumed my wings would become common knowledge regardless of whether I concealed them before breakfast."
The Trailblazer looked wounded.
"You don't trust me?"
Sunday looked directly at March.
Then back at them.
"You told her."
The Trailblazer paused.
"Okay."
March frowned.
"Wait."
Sunday's stomach dropped.
She looked from him to the Trailblazer.
Then to the empty seat farther down the table.
Then back to Sunday.
"Why were you in the corridor in pajamas when the Trailblazer saw you?"
Sunday remained very still.
The Trailblazer looked at Dan Heng.
Dan Heng looked back.
A silent exchange occurred.
Dan Heng's expression clearly said:
Do not.
The Trailblazer's expression said:
I wasn't going to.
March noticed.
"Why are you two doing that?"
"We aren't," Dan Heng said.
"You are!"
Sunday reached for his tea.
Perhaps if he drank it quickly enough, he could drown.
Himeko looked amused now.
"March, perhaps Sunday simply woke up and stepped into the corridor."
"Without shoes?"
Sunday's bare feet were beneath the table.
He curled his toes slightly.
March's eyes narrowed.
"And the Trailblazer said earlier that he was coming from—"
The Trailblazer's eyes widened.
Too late.
March turned toward them.
"Coming from where?"
The Trailblazer looked at Sunday.
Sunday looked at the Trailblazer.
There was a clear warning in his eyes.
Pom-Pom suddenly announced:
"Anyone want more toast?!"
Everyone looked at Pom-Pom.
Pom-Pom held up a plate.
"Fresh toast!"
March stared.
"Pom-Pom."
"Yes?"
"You're hiding something."
Pom-Pom's ears shot upward.
"Pom-Pom doesn't hide anything!"
"You totally do!"
"Pom-Pom is the conductor!"
"That doesn't answer me!"
Sunday rubbed his temple.
Himeko smiled into her coffee.
Dan Heng looked tired despite having only recently woken.
The Trailblazer appeared to be enjoying themself again.
Sunday had almost forgotten how chaotic breakfast aboard the Express could become.
Almost.
March turned back toward him.
"Where did the Trailblazer see you?"
Sunday considered his options.
He could refuse.
That would only make March more curious.
He could lie.
March would investigate.
He could tell the truth.
Sunday took another sip of tea.
"The corridor."
"I know that."
"Then you already have your answer."
"What part of the corridor?"
"Near the passenger rooms."
March leaned forward.
"Whose room?"
Sunday stared at her.
March stared back.
His back wings drew slightly inward.
The Trailblazer suddenly became very interested in their food again.
Himeko's eyebrows rose.
Dan Heng closed his eyes.
Sunday realized there was no escape.
"Welt's."
Silence.
March blinked.
Himeko lowered her cup.
The Trailblazer chewed very slowly.
Dan Heng looked at Sunday.
Pom-Pom looked upward as though seeking divine intervention from the ceiling.
March pointed toward the empty seat.
"You were coming out of Mr. Yang's room?"
"Yes."
"In pajamas?"
"Clearly."
"With your wings out?"
Sunday's patience thinned.
"As you can see."
March's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Sunday knew exactly how this sounded.
He decided to end it before her imagination could make matters worse.
"I slept there."
Absolute silence.
Sunday immediately regretted the phrasing.
March's eyes became enormous.
The Trailblazer coughed.
Dan Heng put his fork down.
Himeko's eyebrows rose another fraction.
Pom-Pom whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh dear."
Sunday's head-wings puffed.
"That statement requires context."
"YES," March said immediately.
Sunday inhaled.
"Welt found me sleeping in the Party Car last night."
March's expression changed.
Some of the excitement faded.
"You were sleeping out here?"
Sunday nodded.
"Why?"
Before Sunday could answer, Pom-Pom spoke.
"Sunday sleeps here every night."
Sunday turned slowly.
Pom-Pom froze.
"You."
Pom-Pom backed up one step.
"Pom-Pom is helping!"
"You have helped enough."
March looked between them.
"Every night?"
Sunday sighed.
"Recently."
"Why didn't you sleep in your room?"
Sunday looked down.
There it was again.
That question.
Last night, with Welt, answering had somehow been easier.
Perhaps because the Party Car had been dark.
Perhaps because Welt hadn't surrounded the question with concern.
Perhaps because there had only been one person listening.
Now five pairs of eyes were on him.
Sunday's wings folded closer.
"My room is very quiet."
March waited.
Sunday continued.
"I found that I slept better here."
"Because we're nearby?" Himeko asked gently.
Sunday looked toward her.
"Yes."
March's expression softened completely.
"Oh."
Sunday disliked that sound.
It contained too much understanding.
He focused on his tea.
"Welt discovered me last night. We spoke for a while. When I intended to return to my room, he suggested I sleep in his instead."
March blinked.
"With him?"
Sunday's halo brightened again.
"Yes, March."
"So you guys just cuddled?"
Sunday nearly inhaled tea.
Dan Heng turned his face away.
The Trailblazer dropped their forehead toward the table.
Himeko covered her mouth.
Pom-Pom's ears bounced.
Sunday set his cup down.
Very carefully.
"No one used that word."
March looked delighted.
"Did you?"
Sunday stared.
March stared back.
His wings betrayed him.
The smaller pair beside his face puffed.
March gasped.
"Oh my gosh, you DID!"
"March."
"You cuddled!"
"We slept."
"While cuddling!"
"We were in the same bed."
"That's not an answer!"
"It is the only answer you're receiving."
The Trailblazer lifted their head.
"Were the wings involved?"
Sunday turned.
Slowly.
The Trailblazer immediately looked regretful.
"...Never mind."
Too late.
March's attention snapped to Sunday's wings.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Sunday said.
The Trailblazer smiled nervously.
Himeko's eyes moved between them.
Dan Heng sighed.
March pointed at Sunday.
"Did you wrap Mr. Yang in your wings?"
Sunday said nothing.
That was enough.
March slapped both hands over her mouth.
A muffled squeal escaped.
Sunday's face burned.
His halo brightened so dramatically that the table gained a new light source.
The Trailblazer stared.
"Wow."
Sunday immediately forced the halo dimmer.
Himeko finally lost the battle and laughed.
Not loudly.
Not cruelly.
But enough.
Sunday looked at her.
"My apologies," Himeko said, still smiling. "I don't mean to embarrass you."
"I believe that opportunity has passed."
March lowered her hands.
"That's adorable."
"I asked you not to call me that."
"But it is!"
Sunday's large wings spread slightly in exasperation.
The feathers rustled.
March immediately shut up.
Sunday looked around the table.
Everyone was watching him.
He expected embarrassment to win.
Expected the familiar urge to fold everything away, retreat to his room, change into proper clothes, and restore some degree of control.
It didn't.
Not entirely.
He was embarrassed.
Profoundly.
But no one looked disgusted.
No one seemed disturbed by the wings.
March was fascinated.
The Trailblazer thought they were cool.
Dan Heng appeared mostly concerned with ensuring Sunday wasn't overwhelmed.
Himeko had already made room for him at the table without being asked.
Pom-Pom had known for weeks and treated the whole thing as completely ordinary.
Sunday looked at his back wing.
One feather near the edge was slightly crooked.
He reached back and smoothed it.
March watched.
This time, Sunday didn't tell her to stop.
The doors opened.
Everyone turned.
Welt entered.
He had changed.
Unlike Sunday.
His hair was neat, glasses properly in place, clothing arranged as usual.
He walked several steps before noticing the table.
More specifically—
Sunday.
Still in pajamas.
Wings out.
Surrounded by everyone.
Welt stopped.
Sunday looked at him.
Welt's eyes briefly widened.
Then his mouth curved.
"You gave up."
Sunday sighed.
"Entirely."
March whipped around.
"MR. YANG!"
Welt's smile vanished.
Sunday almost laughed.
Welt looked at March.
"What?"
March pointed between him and Sunday.
"You cuddled!"
Welt looked at Sunday.
Sunday looked at Welt.
A long silence passed.
Welt calmly walked toward the table.
"Good morning, everyone."
"MR. YANG!"
Sunday's mouth twitched.
Welt should have known better than to sit down.
There were several empty places at the table.
He could have chosen any of them.
Instead, perhaps out of habit after the previous night, he took the open seat beside Sunday.
March's eyes followed him the entire way.
Welt sat.
March leaned forward.
Welt reached for the coffee.
March leaned farther.
Welt poured himself a cup.
March was now practically lying across the table.
Welt looked at her.
"Good morning, March."
"You cuddled."
"So I've been told."
Sunday's head-wings twitched.
The Trailblazer made a poorly concealed noise into their breakfast.
March pointed accusingly at Welt.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Welt paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth.
"When, exactly, would you have liked me to tell you?"
"This morning!"
"You arrived at my room approximately fifteen minutes ago."
"Yeah!"
"And Sunday was hiding in my bathroom because you were standing outside the door."
Sunday slowly turned his head.
Welt realized his mistake.
Again.
March's jaw dropped.
The Trailblazer immediately looked at Sunday.
Himeko smiled.
Dan Heng stopped eating.
Pom-Pom made a tiny gasp.
Sunday stared at Welt.
"You told her."
Welt closed his eyes briefly.
"That was unintentional."
"You have done that twice this morning."
"I haven't had coffee."
"You seemed considerably more competent last night."
March slapped her palms against the table.
"SUNDAY WAS IN YOUR BATHROOM?"
Sunday looked at the ceiling.
"I was not using the bathroom."
"Why were you hiding?!"
"Because you were attempting to enter Welt's room."
"Because I wanted to ask him if he'd seen you!"
"Which was precisely the problem."
March's eyes widened.
"Oh my gosh."
She turned to Welt.
"So when I asked if Sunday was in your room—"
"Yes."
"You lied!"
Welt took a drink.
"I protected his privacy."
"You said no!"
"Correct."
"That's lying!"
"March."
Himeko sounded amused.
"Perhaps we don't need to litigate this over breakfast."
March sat back.
"Fine."
Welt returned his attention to his coffee.
Sunday resumed eating.
Three seconds passed.
"So what was the cuddling like?"
"March."
"What?!"
"You have already asked."
"You never answered!"
"And I believed that was sufficiently indicative of my desire not to."
March frowned.
Then looked at Welt.
Sunday immediately pointed at him without even turning his head.
"Do not."
Welt's mouth twitched.
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Good."
March crossed her arms.
"This is unfair."
Dan Heng finally spoke.
"It's their private business."
"But I'm curious!"
"That doesn't make it your business."
March slumped.
The Trailblazer leaned toward her.
"I saw Sunday coming out of his room."
Sunday turned.
"That is the extent of your knowledge."
The Trailblazer immediately sat straight.
"Correct."
Welt hid another smile behind his cup.
Sunday's wings were proving remarkably useful for determining his mood.
The large pair behind him were relatively relaxed now, feathers lying smoothly. The smaller pair beside his head moved much more frequently.
A twitch when March asked something irritating.
A slight lift when Sunday was surprised.
A subtle flattening when he became embarrassed.
Welt suspected Sunday had spent years learning to keep his face controlled while entirely overlooking the fact that four other appendages were perfectly capable of betraying him.
He decided not to mention that again.
For now.
Breakfast gradually resumed.
March managed nearly a full minute without asking Sunday another question.
Then she noticed something.
Welt reached into his pocket.
He'd nearly forgotten.
Sunday saw the pale feather before Welt even placed it on the table.
His eyes widened slightly.
Welt set it carefully beside Sunday's plate.
"I believe this belongs to you."
Sunday stared at it.
March stared at it.
The Trailblazer stared at it.
Himeko looked over.
Dan Heng glanced briefly in their direction.
Pom-Pom continued eating.
Sunday picked up the feather.
It was one of the longer ones.
Not a primary flight feather, but considerably larger than the small feathers near his head. Welt guessed it had come from somewhere along the outer portion of Sunday's back wing.
Sunday turned it between his fingers.
"Where did you find this?"
"On the bed."
Sunday paused.
"Oh."
March's eyes moved from the feather to Sunday.
Then to Welt.
Then back.
"You shed?"
Sunday looked at her.
"I molt."
March's eyes became enormous.
Sunday immediately realized that had been the wrong thing to say.
"You MOLT?"
"March."
"When?!"
"Periodically."
"Like a bird?!"
"Halovians are not birds."
"But you molt!"
"That does not make me a bird."
"Do the little wings molt too?"
Sunday closed his eyes.
"Yes."
March gasped.
"Do you get all fluffy?"
Sunday opened his eyes.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Do you lose a bunch of feathers?"
"March."
"Does it itch?"
"March."
"Do you—"
"March."
She stopped.
Sunday took a breath.
"We can discuss the particulars of Halovian feather maintenance after I have eaten."
March's entire face lit up.
"So we CAN discuss it?"
Sunday froze.
He had walked directly into that.
Welt took another drink to hide his amusement.
"...Apparently."
"Yes!"
Sunday looked at the feather again.
He smoothed his thumb along the shaft.
Then held it toward Welt.
Welt blinked.
"You can keep it."
The table went strangely quiet.
Welt looked at Sunday.
Sunday seemed entirely sincere.
"If you want to," he added.
Welt glanced down at the feather.
"I was returning it to you."
"I know."
"Are you sure?"
Sunday nodded.
"It came loose naturally. I have no need for it."
There was something carefully casual about the way he said it.
Welt knew Sunday well enough now to recognize when casualness required effort.
He accepted the feather.
"Then I'll keep it."
Sunday's expression softened.
"Very well."
Welt placed it carefully beside his coffee for the moment.
March stared.
Her eyes moved to the feather.
Then to Sunday.
Then back to the feather.
Sunday noticed.
"No."
March's mouth opened.
"No."
"But I didn't even—"
"No."
"Sunday!"
"You were going to ask for one."
March looked offended.
"Maybe!"
"You were staring at it."
"Because it's pretty!"
Sunday resumed eating.
March stared at his wings.
Sunday's chewing slowed.
"Don't."
March looked at him innocently.
"Don't what?"
"You are currently assessing which feather you intend to request."
"I'm not!"
Sunday turned slightly.
March's eyes immediately snapped upward.
"You were."
"Okay, maybe a little."
Sunday sighed.
March leaned toward him.
"Can I have one?"
"No."
"Why does Mr. Yang get one?"
"Because it had already fallen out."
"I can wait for one to fall out!"
Sunday stopped.
March brightened.
"Yeah! I don't want you to pull one out or anything. But if you lose another one naturally, can I have it?"
Sunday considered her.
That was considerably more reasonable.
"If you happen to be present when one comes loose."
March frowned.
"That's super specific."
"I am not establishing a feather distribution service."
The Trailblazer raised a hand.
Sunday looked at them.
"No."
They lowered it.
Himeko laughed.
Dan Heng looked suspiciously amused.
Pom-Pom climbed down from their chair.
"Pom-Pom already has lots!"
Everyone turned.
Sunday stared.
"...What?"
Pom-Pom froze.
March gasped.
"YOU HAVE SUNDAY FEATHERS?"
Pom-Pom's ears shot upward.
"They fall on the Party Car floor!"
Sunday's expression became blank.
"And you collect them?"
"Pom-Pom has to clean!"
"Where do they go?"
Pom-Pom looked suddenly nervous.
"The lost-and-found."
There was silence.
Sunday stared at Pom-Pom.
"The Astral Express lost-and-found contains my feathers."
"Only four!"
"Four."
"Maybe five."
Sunday covered his face with one hand.
March pushed away from the table.
"WHERE'S THE LOST-AND-FOUND?"
"No."
Sunday's wing shot outward.
It blocked March's path like a feathery barrier.
March stopped.
Everyone looked at the wing.
Sunday looked at the wing.
He slowly lowered it.
March's eyes sparkled.
"You can do that?"
Sunday stared.
"Do what?"
"Use them like arms!"
"To an extent."
March immediately forgot the feathers.
That was almost worse.
"Can you pick things up with them?"
"Some things."
"Can you open doors?"
"Depending upon the door."
"Can you hold a cup?"
"No."
"Can you slap someone?"
Sunday paused.
The Trailblazer leaned forward.
Dan Heng looked up.
Welt raised an eyebrow.
Himeko hid a smile.
"...Yes."
March gasped.
The Trailblazer whispered, "Awesome."
Sunday looked at them.
"I have never done so."
"Would it hurt?"
"Probably."
"Can you—"
"March," Dan Heng said.
She stopped.
He gestured toward Sunday's plate.
"Let him finish."
March looked at Sunday.
His breakfast was indeed only half eaten.
"Fine."
She sat.
Sunday gave Dan Heng a grateful look.
Dan Heng nodded.
For approximately five peaceful minutes, breakfast proceeded normally.
Sunday finished eating.
Welt drank his coffee.
Himeko and Dan Heng discussed something concerning their next destination.
March attempted to steal something from the Trailblazer's plate and nearly lost a finger.
Pom-Pom cleared dishes.
It felt ordinary.
Except Sunday was still sitting at the table in star-covered pajama pants with two enormous wings spread comfortably behind him.
Welt noticed Sunday didn't seem as aware of them anymore.
At the beginning of breakfast, every movement had been calculated.
Now one wing rested partly along the floor.
The other occasionally shifted whenever someone passed behind him.
He wasn't hiding.
Welt liked seeing that.
Unfortunately, Sunday finishing his breakfast meant March's self-imposed restraint immediately expired.
She put down her drink.
"Okay."
Sunday looked at her.
"No."
"I haven't asked anything yet!"
"You said 'okay' with intent."
Himeko laughed.
March ignored him.
"I want to see them."
Sunday blinked.
"You can see them."
"No, I mean all the way."
Sunday glanced behind himself.
"They are currently visible."
March shook her head.
"Your full wingspan!"
Sunday stopped.
March spread both arms as far as they would go.
"Like—whoosh!"
Sunday stared at her.
"Whoosh."
"Yes!"
"That is not a unit of measurement."
"You know what I mean!"
Sunday looked around the Party Car.
Then at his wings.
"Why?"
March's arms dropped.
"Because they're huge!"
"That is hardly a compelling reason."
"I've never seen wings that big before!"
"You live in a universe containing significantly stranger things than large wings."
"Yeah, but none of them are sitting at breakfast with me!"
The Trailblazer nodded.
"She's got a point."
Sunday looked at them.
They shrugged.
March stood.
"Please?"
Sunday sighed.
"March."
"Pleeeease?"
Sunday's smaller wings flattened.
March clasped her hands together.
"I won't touch them."
Sunday looked at her.
"I wasn't concerned that you would."
"I won't take pictures!"
That got his attention.
March's camera was sitting nearby.
"You won't?"
She immediately nodded.
"Promise."
Sunday considered it.
Welt watched.
There was no pressure in March's expression now.
Just curiosity.
Excitement.
Sunday looked at his wings again.
Perhaps yesterday he would have refused.
Perhaps even an hour ago.
But everyone had already seen them.
He had answered questions.
He had survived breakfast in pajamas.
And, somehow, the world had not ended.
Sunday stood.
March immediately stepped backward.
"So?"
Sunday sighed.
"Very well."
March's face lit up.
"YES."
"But if you make this unnecessarily dramatic, I will stop."
"I won't!"
The Trailblazer stood too.
Sunday looked at them.
"What are you doing?"
"Observing."
"Sit."
They sat.
Himeko laughed.
Sunday moved away from the table.
He needed space.
The center of the Party Car offered enough, provided he was careful.
Sunday glanced around.
Tables.
Chairs.
Ceiling fixtures.
He adjusted his position.
March followed at what she apparently considered a respectful distance.
Welt remained seated.
Dan Heng turned in his chair.
Himeko watched over her coffee.
Even Pom-Pom stopped cleaning.
Sunday rolled his shoulders.
The movement was small.
His wings responded immediately.
The pair on his back lifted.
Until now, everyone had only seen them partially opened.
That alone had been enough to establish their size.
Fully extended was something else.
Sunday opened the right wing first.
Feathers unfurled in layers.
The wing stretched outward.
Farther.
Farther.
March's mouth slowly fell open.
Then Sunday extended the left wing.
The Party Car suddenly seemed considerably smaller.
His wingspan was enormous.
Each wing extended several feet from his body, broad and full, the longest flight feathers spreading neatly along the outer edges. Near the base, the feathers were dense and soft, becoming longer and more structured farther outward.
Sunday adjusted them carefully until both were completely open.
His halo glowed between them.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
March's arms slowly dropped to her sides.
The Trailblazer stood again despite being explicitly told not to.
Dan Heng didn't correct them.
Himeko's eyebrows rose.
Welt simply stared.
He had seen the wings open when Sunday startled awake.
But that had happened quickly.
Chaotically.
Sunday had flared them defensively before immediately folding them again.
This was different.
Now Welt could actually appreciate their scale.
They made Sunday look completely different.
Larger.
Not physically.
In presence.
His silhouette transformed.
The soft pajamas made the contrast almost absurd.
Sunday stood in the center of the Party Car wearing smiling stars while looking, from the shoulders upward, almost celestial.
March finally spoke.
"Whoa."
Sunday looked at her.
"That is your assessment?"
"Sunday, they're HUGE."
"I am aware."
"How do you hide those?!"
"With considerable effort."
Dan Heng's gaze moved along one wing.
"What's the span?"
Sunday thought.
"I haven't measured recently."
March immediately pointed.
"We're measuring."
Sunday's wings began folding.
"No."
"WAIT!"
March rushed forward.
Sunday stopped.
She caught herself before getting too close.
"Please?"
"Why?"
"Because now I need to know."
"You don't need to know."
"I emotionally need to know."
Sunday stared.
Welt laughed quietly.
March looked toward him.
"Mr. Yang, help me."
"I'm staying out of this."
"Traitor."
Sunday began folding his wings again.
March groaned.
"Nooo."
He stopped halfway.
March immediately went silent.
Sunday looked at her.
"You genuinely want to know?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
March seemed confused by the question.
"Because they're part of you."
Sunday went still.
March shrugged.
"And I know basically nothing about them. I didn't even know you had them until today."
She looked at one of his wings.
"They're cool."
Sunday's expression softened.
"Cool."
"Very."
The Trailblazer raised a thumb.
"Extremely cool."
Sunday looked toward Dan Heng.
Dan Heng gave a small nod.
"They are impressive."
Himeko smiled.
"Beautiful, too."
Sunday's wings twitched.
His halo brightened.
March immediately pointed.
"It did it again!"
Sunday's expression vanished.
"March."
"Sorry!"
Welt smiled into his coffee.
Sunday exhaled.
Then reopened his wings.
March practically bounced.
"Okay! Don't move!"
She hurried toward one of the storage cabinets.
Sunday watched suspiciously.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding something to measure with!"
"I did not agree to—"
"You reopened them!"
"That was not consent to a scientific investigation."
The Trailblazer stood.
"I'll help."
"No."
March and the Trailblazer were already searching.
Dan Heng sighed.
Himeko laughed.
Pom-Pom announced that there was measuring tape in one of the maintenance drawers.
Sunday slowly turned toward the conductor.
"Why are you encouraging this?"
"Pom-Pom wants to know too!"
Sunday looked around the room.
He was surrounded.
Welt caught his eye.
Sunday stared at him.
Welt lifted his coffee.
"You can still say no."
Sunday's expression softened slightly.
He knew that.
That made the absurdity somehow easier.
March emerged triumphantly holding a measuring tape.
"FOUND IT!"
Sunday looked at her.
Then at the tape.
Then at his wings.
He sighed.
"Fine."
March cheered.
"But no photographs."
"Promise!"
"And you are not putting this measurement anywhere."
"Promise!"
"And no one is touching my wings without asking."
Everyone immediately nodded.
Sunday spread them fully again.
March approached one side.
The Trailblazer took the other.
Dan Heng reluctantly stood to make sure they actually measured correctly.
"Start at the tip," he instructed.
"I know how measuring works!"
"Last week you measured a table diagonally."
"It still gave me a number!"
"An irrelevant number."
Sunday closed his eyes.
This was his life now.
Welt watched from the table.
The feather Sunday had given him remained beside his cup.
He picked it up.
Sunday's eyes opened.
Their gazes met.
Welt gently lifted the feather between two fingers.
Sunday smiled.
Small.
Private.
Then March yelled from beneath one enormous wing.
"SUNDAY, STOP MOVING!"
"I am standing perfectly still."
"Your feathers moved!"
"They are attached to a living organism, March."
"Dan Heng, tell his feathers to cooperate!"
"I am not doing that."
Himeko laughed.
Pom-Pom began offering unsolicited measurement advice.
The Trailblazer somehow became tangled in the measuring tape.
Sunday's left wing twitched dangerously.
Welt leaned back in his chair.
The morning had become considerably louder than he'd expected.
But looking at Sunday standing in the middle of it—wings completely open, pajamas still on, no longer making any attempt to conceal either—
Welt couldn't find it in himself to mind.
Not at all.
It should not have taken this long to measure two wings.
Sunday had become certain of that approximately four minutes ago.
March stood at the end of his right wing with one end of the measuring tape pinched between her fingers.
The Trailblazer stood at the other.
Dan Heng stood between them.
Nobody appeared to know what was happening.
"You're pulling it crooked," Dan Heng said.
"I'm not!"
"You are."
March looked down.
The measuring tape ran diagonally from the outermost feather of Sunday's wing toward somewhere near his opposite shoulder.
She frowned.
"Oh."
Sunday stared straight ahead.
The Trailblazer moved their end.
"Like this?"
"No."
"Like this?"
"No."
"Here?"
"That's worse."
Sunday's left eye twitched.
Himeko sat at the table, calmly drinking her coffee.
Welt had finished his and was now observing the situation with an expression Sunday found increasingly irritating.
He was entertained.
Sunday could tell.
Pom-Pom stood beside March offering directions that contradicted Dan Heng's.
"You have to start from the very tip!"
"I am!"
"No, the other tip!"
"There's like a thousand tips! They're feathers!"
"The longest one!"
"Which one's the longest?!"
Sunday closed his eyes.
His wings remained extended.
Fully.
Both of them.
They had been extended for far longer than he'd anticipated.
Ordinarily, this wasn't difficult. His wings were strong. They needed to be. Holding them open for a short period required little conscious effort.
Holding them perfectly still while two people repeatedly repositioned measuring tape was another matter.
The muscles along Sunday's upper back had begun to ache.
His wings remained steady.
Mostly.
"Okay," March said. "Wait."
Sunday heard the tape retract.
His eyes opened.
March was staring at it.
"What happened?"
"It went back in."
Sunday inhaled.
The Trailblazer nodded thoughtfully.
"That's what measuring tape does."
"I KNOW."
"Then why'd you let go?"
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO."
Sunday's right wing gave a small tremor.
Welt noticed.
His expression changed.
"Perhaps that's enough."
March looked toward him.
"But we haven't gotten the number yet!"
"You've been trying for several minutes."
"We're close!"
Dan Heng looked at the tape.
"We aren't."
March looked betrayed.
"You were supposed to help."
"I've been trying."
Sunday's wing trembled again.
This time March noticed.
She looked up.
"Wait."
Sunday's feathers settled.
March lowered the tape.
"Are you okay?"
"Perfectly."
Welt sighed.
Sunday looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You clearly have something to say."
"You said the same thing last night while lying three inches from the edge of my bed."
Sunday's halo brightened.
The Trailblazer immediately looked between them.
March's eyes widened.
Himeko smiled.
Dan Heng looked tired.
"That is unrelated," Sunday said.
"My point is that your definition of 'perfectly' appears unusually flexible."
Sunday's wings gave another involuntary tremor.
March immediately released the tape.
"Oh."
She stepped closer.
"Does holding them like that hurt?"
"No."
Sunday paused.
"Not exactly."
"Then what is it?"
"Have you ever held your arms outward for several minutes?"
March looked at her arms.
"Oh."
"Precisely."
March's expression dropped.
"Sunday! You could've said something!"
"You were attempting to measure them."
"Yeah, but I don't want your wings to fall off!"
Sunday stared at her.
"My wings are not going to fall off."
"You know what I mean!"
"I genuinely don't."
"Put them down!"
Sunday was already doing so.
The relief was immediate.
His wings folded inward, feathers rustling as the muscles relaxed. He gave them both a small shake before allowing them to settle naturally behind him.
One wing drooped lower than the other.
March looked horrified.
"Did we break it?"
Sunday turned his head.
"No."
"Why's it doing that?"
"It's tired."
"Your wings get tired?"
Sunday looked at her.
"They are part of my body."
"Right."
March nodded.
"Right. Obviously."
The Trailblazer looked disappointedly at the measuring tape.
"We failed."
"Spectacularly," Dan Heng said.
"We got some numbers."
"You got six different numbers."
"One of them could be right."
"None of them were."
March looked at the tape.
"We can try again later."
Sunday's wings immediately tightened.
"No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"Next week?"
"March."
"Okay!"
She put the measuring tape down.
Sunday rolled his shoulders.
His wings loosened.
One gave another small shake.
Several feathers fluffed outward before settling.
March watched every movement.
Sunday noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"March."
"They're just really cool."
"You have established that."
"I've never known someone with big wings before!"
Sunday moved back toward the table.
He intended to sit.
March followed.
He stopped.
She stopped.
Sunday turned.
March smiled.
"Yes?"
"Are you going to follow me for the remainder of the day?"
"Maybe."
Sunday stared.
March grinned.
Welt's shoulders shook.
Sunday turned toward him.
"I am pleased my suffering has provided you with entertainment."
"You're hardly suffering."
"That is a matter of perspective."
Sunday sat.
Carefully.
His wings settled behind and beside the chair.
March sat across from him.
For approximately five seconds.
Then her eyes widened.
"Oh!"
Sunday's expression immediately became wary.
"What?"
"You can fly."
"We discussed this."
"I know!"
"Then why do you appear surprised?"
"Because I just realized you could show us!"
Sunday blinked.
"Show you what?"
"Flying!"
March threw both arms outward.
"Fly!"
Sunday stared at her.
The Trailblazer immediately perked up.
"Yes."
"No."
"Why not?"
Sunday gestured vaguely around them.
"We are aboard a train."
"So?"
"A train traveling through space."
"So?"
Sunday looked at Dan Heng.
Dan Heng shrugged.
"Don't involve me."
Sunday looked back at March.
"Where, precisely, do you expect me to fly?"
March pointed upward.
Sunday followed her finger.
The ceiling.
He stared.
March stared.
The Trailblazer stared.
Everyone looked up.
Sunday slowly looked back at March.
"No."
"Why?"
Sunday stood.
He looked upward again.
Then extended one wing partway.
Even partially open, it occupied a considerable amount of space.
"If I attempted to take off in here, I would hit the ceiling."
March looked between him and the ceiling.
"You'd go that high?"
"Immediately."
"Really?"
"Yes."
The Trailblazer leaned forward.
"How powerful are your wings?"
Sunday considered how to explain.
"Powerful enough to lift me."
"Obviously."
"From a stationary position."
March frowned.
Sunday continued.
"I don't need a running start."
Her eyes widened.
"You can just jump and fly?"
"In simplified terms."
"Show us!"
"March."
"Not in here! Just show us the takeoff!"
"That is the dangerous portion."
"Oh."
Sunday looked at the ceiling again.
He could already imagine it.
One downward beat.
Perhaps two.
Then the unmistakable sensation of his skull meeting the ceiling at a high speed.
"No."
March looked disappointed.
"I value my head."
Welt nodded.
"A sensible policy."
Sunday pointed toward him.
"Thank you."
"Though I admit I'm curious."
Sunday's hand dropped.
Welt smiled.
Himeko laughed.
March brightened.
"So you'll show us sometime?"
Sunday considered it.
There were planets where it would be safe.
Open areas.
No ceilings.
No fragile objects.
No March standing directly beneath him.
"Perhaps."
March gasped.
"Really?"
"I said perhaps."
"That's basically yes."
"It is specifically not yes."
"I'm counting it."
Sunday sighed.
The Trailblazer raised a hand.
"Can you carry someone while flying?"
Sunday's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"No reason."
"Then I refuse to answer."
"That means yes."
"It means I recognize a dangerous line of questioning before it develops."
Dan Heng nodded.
"Wise."
The Trailblazer lowered their hand.
March was still staring at Sunday.
More specifically, at his wings.
Sunday shifted.
She continued staring.
He moved one wing.
Her eyes followed.
Sunday moved it in the opposite direction.
March's eyes followed again.
Sunday stopped.
"March."
"Yeah?"
"What now?"
She blinked.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I know."
"Why?"
March hesitated.
That was unusual.
Sunday's suspicion increased.
"March."
"Okay, don't say no immediately."
"No."
"I DIDN'T EVEN ASK."
"You specifically requested that I not say no immediately. That strongly implies I will want to."
March crossed her arms.
"That's unfair."
"It is deductive reasoning."
"Just hear me out."
Sunday sighed.
"Fine."
March leaned forward.
"I want to hug you."
Sunday blinked.
That wasn't what he'd expected.
"You want to..."
"Hug you."
Sunday looked at her.
March looked entirely serious.
He glanced toward Himeko.
Himeko appeared equally curious about where this was going.
"Why?"
March's eyes flicked toward his wings.
Sunday immediately understood.
"No."
"Sunday!"
"There it is."
"Please!"
"You don't want to hug me. You want to investigate my feathers."
"I can do both!"
The Trailblazer nodded.
"Efficient."
Sunday gave them a look.
March stood.
"I just really need to know."
"Need to know what?"
"How fluffy it is."
Sunday stared.
March gestured enthusiastically.
"You wrapped Mr. Yang in them last night!"
Sunday's halo flared.
Welt looked down.
The Trailblazer grinned.
Dan Heng rubbed his forehead.
Himeko smiled.
"We agreed not to discuss that."
"No, you decided not to discuss it."
"March."
"And Mr. Yang got the full wing cocoon!"
Welt looked toward Sunday.
Sunday looked away.
March continued.
"Was it warm?"
Welt considered.
"Very."
Sunday's head snapped toward him.
"Why are you encouraging her?"
"She asked a straightforward question."
March's eyes widened.
"How warm?"
"Like a heavy blanket."
Sunday covered his face.
"Soft?"
"Very."
"Mr. Yang."
"Extremely."
"Welt."
March made a sound of pure delight.
Sunday lowered his hands.
Welt was smiling.
Sunday narrowed his eyes.
"You are enjoying this."
"A little."
"A little."
"Perhaps more than a little."
Sunday sighed.
March walked around the table.
"Please?"
Sunday looked at her.
She stopped a few feet away.
She didn't approach farther.
That mattered.
Sunday's expression softened.
"You really want a hug solely to determine whether my wings are comfortable."
"Not solely."
March smiled.
"I like hugs."
Sunday knew that.
Everyone aboard the Express knew that.
March expressed affection easily.
Freely.
Sunday had never quite understood how she managed it.
"Plus," March added, "you look like you'd give really good hugs."
Sunday blinked.
"I..."
He had no response to that.
March held out her arms.
"Please?"
Sunday looked at Welt.
Welt didn't say anything.
Didn't encourage him.
Didn't nod.
He simply watched.
The choice remained Sunday's.
Sunday looked back at March.
Her arms were still open.
He sighed.
"Very well."
March's face lit up.
"But—"
She froze.
"Don't run at me."
"I wasn't going to!"
Sunday raised an eyebrow.
"...I was only going to walk fast."
"Walk normally."
"Okay."
March approached.
Sunday stood.
She stopped directly in front of him.
For all her enthusiasm, she suddenly seemed uncertain.
"Can I?"
Sunday nodded.
March hugged him.
Sunday stiffened automatically.
Not because he disliked it.
He simply wasn't accustomed to people doing that without ceremony or warning.
March's arms wrapped around his middle.
Her head barely reached his shoulder.
Sunday looked down.
March waited.
Sunday slowly brought his arms around her.
"There."
March's voice was muffled against his shirt.
"Now the wings."
Sunday closed his eyes.
"Of course."
Welt laughed.
Sunday's right wing lifted.
March immediately went still.
The wing curved forward.
Feathers brushed across her back.
March gasped.
The other followed.
Sunday brought both wings around her.
Not tightly.
Just enough to surround her.
March disappeared.
Almost completely.
From Welt's angle, all that remained visible was the top of her pink hair between two enormous layers of pale feathers.
There was silence.
Then—
"Oh my gosh."
Sunday looked down.
March's face emerged slightly from the feathers.
Her eyes were enormous.
"They're SO WARM."
Sunday's mouth twitched.
"You sound surprised."
"I don't know what I expected!"
She pressed her cheek into the feathers.
Sunday stiffened.
March made another delighted noise.
"And they're so soft!"
"March."
"THIS IS AMAZING."
Sunday's head-wings puffed.
The Trailblazer pointed.
"He's embarrassed."
"I am not."
Himeko laughed.
March hugged him tighter.
Sunday looked down.
Something in his expression softened.
His wings adjusted around her instinctively.
The feathers overlapped more securely.
March went quiet.
Sunday noticed immediately.
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
Her voice came from somewhere inside the cocoon.
"I'm appreciating."
Sunday blinked.
"Appreciating."
"Yes."
A few seconds passed.
March's head appeared again.
"It's like being inside the world's fluffiest heated blanket."
Welt nodded.
"Accurate."
Sunday looked at him.
"You are never going to let this go, are you?"
"Probably not."
March settled back against Sunday.
"I live here now."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Tell my room I loved it."
Sunday began opening his wings.
March immediately grabbed him tighter.
"No!"
"You cannot live inside my wings."
"Why not?"
"Because they are attached to me."
"Exactly! Mobile house!"
The Trailblazer stood.
"I want a turn."
Sunday's wings snapped shut around March protectively.
"No."
The Trailblazer stopped.
"Why does she get one?"
"Because she asked first."
"I am asking now."
Sunday looked horrified by his own reasoning.
The Trailblazer smiled.
Sunday realized the trap.
"No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"Next week?"
"Absolutely not."
March poked her head out.
"You should do it."
"You are not helping."
"It's really nice in here."
The Trailblazer looked increasingly interested.
Dan Heng spoke without looking up.
"Do not form a line."
The Trailblazer slowly sat.
Himeko laughed.
Sunday finally loosened his wings.
March reluctantly stepped away.
She immediately looked colder.
Sunday noticed.
"See?" she said.
"See what?"
"I miss it already."
"You survived perfectly well before learning they existed."
"That was before I knew what I was missing."
Sunday folded his wings.
March reached toward one.
Then stopped herself.
She looked at Sunday.
"Can I?"
Sunday followed her gaze.
She wanted to touch the feathers.
He considered.
Then extended the edge of one wing toward her.
March's face lit up.
She carefully ran her hand along the outer feathers.
Very carefully.
Sunday was surprised.
He had expected enthusiastic petting.
Instead, March touched them as though Sunday had handed her something fragile.
"They're beautiful," she said.
Sunday's expression changed.
The room became quieter.
March looked up at him.
"I'm serious."
Sunday looked at his wing.
He'd heard that before.
Usually from people who meant impressive.
Unusual.
Divine.
Something to display.
March just seemed to mean beautiful.
"Thank you," Sunday said quietly.
March smiled.
Then one loose feather drifted free.
Everyone watched it fall.
It floated slowly between them.
March's eyes widened.
Sunday saw it.
March saw Sunday see it.
Neither moved.
The feather landed on the floor.
Silence.
March looked at Sunday.
Sunday looked at March.
March pointed.
"Does that count?"
Sunday stared at her.
She clasped her hands together.
"You said if I was there when one fell out!"
Sunday slowly closed his eyes.
Welt laughed.
The Trailblazer protested immediately.
"That's rigged!"
Pom-Pom hurried over.
"Lost-and-found!"
March dove for the feather.
"NO!"
She grabbed it first.
Pom-Pom stopped.
March stood triumphantly, holding the pale feather with both hands.
Sunday opened his eyes.
March looked at him.
Her excitement softened into a question.
"Can I really keep it?"
Sunday stared at her for a moment.
Then sighed.
"Yes."
March beamed.
"Thank you!"
She hugged him again.
Sunday stumbled half a step.
His wings flared.
March laughed.
This time, Sunday didn't complain.
Welt watched him.
Sunday caught his gaze.
Welt lifted the feather Sunday had given him.
March lifted hers.
The Trailblazer looked between them.
"This is favoritism."
Sunday's mouth curved into a small smile.
"Yes."
The Trailblazer gasped.
Dan Heng laughed.
Actually laughed.
Everyone turned toward him.
Dan Heng immediately looked away.
"I didn't say anything."
Sunday's smile widened.
Breakfast had ended some time ago.
No one seemed particularly interested in leaving.
And Sunday—
Still barefoot.
Still in ridiculous star-covered pajama pants.
Still surrounded by people asking entirely too many questions about his wings—
found that he wasn't particularly interested in leaving either.