#probably..?

"Don't push yourself too hard, hmm?" Sejal pressed his head down to print a kiss on his forehead. "I know the festival is important, but you're even more so."

Sunday couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"I'll try," he lied.

"Good." Sejal cupped his face and held hers against it, speaking gently into his lips, "I know you can do it. You worked so hard for it. Even if some mishap will happen, no one will disparage the effort you put into this."

He looked at her intently, right into her smiling clueless eyes, right into her wounded weary soul that still found in herself a sliver of kindness to spare for others.

"It will be perfect," Sunday promised, covering her hands with his own. "I'll make sure it is."

An eternal paradise of safety and happiness for everyone at the expense of a single sacrifice—such price was barely worth mentioning.

"I believe in you," Sejal laughed and kissed him, and Sunday tightened his hold on her, tippling the essence of this sole last moment like a hopeless drunkard chasing the high.

It wouldn't get any better for him. Not for him.

But it would—for everyone else, and that's all that mattered.

"See you in a dream."

It wouldn't be him there, but if it was important to her, if he was important, Sejal would find him in her paradise. Sunday hoped she would.

"Or not," Sejal smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "For such an occasion I might actually use my waking self to congratulate you when this all ends."

Sunday smiled back, not feeling his lips.

"Don't," he said softly, fingertips ghosting her cheek. "Sleep well. That's all I want for you."

"You're not part of the script," Sunday said slowly.

"Surprise guest appearance."

Sejal stepped out of the shadows and bowed to him, her leathery tail making a graceful curve in the air. She looked the same way she did at Penacony, she acted like nothing had changed since then, even though everything did, and Sunday couldn't just close his eyes and pretend to believe it, because the time for dreams had passed.

He was wide awake now.

And he would stay awake until the time for curtain call comes.

"Why did you wake up..?"

"I never planned on sleeping forever. Penacony was always no more than a dream, bound to end sooner or later."

"Why are you here then? You should've left me in that dream."

"Is that what you want..?"

"…"

Sejal cupped his cheek, and Sunday fought against himself to turn away from her instead of leaning into her touch. His fingers ached, his fists squeezed tightly.

"Please…" He asked her quietly, barely above the whisper, hoping Sejal would understand him without words, when he wasn't sure what he begged for himself.

She did not.

"Please what?" Her hand slid to trace his ear. Sunday had to take a sharp breath of air, backing away from her touch only to feel her fingers catching his wing, palm pressed against his head. "If you want me to leave, you have to say it properly. Because right now…"

Sejal tugged him closer, cradling his stuttering, breaking heart with her hand.

"You don't sound like you want that."

That would be because he did not.

Still, Sunday clasped her wrist in his grasp, pulling her hand away from his chest. Sejal allowed him to do it without any resistance, just as she always did, and somehow that made it harder to let her go. To completely push her away, even though he should've done that.

Because Sunday was certain—if he'd ask her, she'd leave without a fight.

"…What do you want from me?" Sunday said quietly, feeling her pulse through his gloves. "I have nothing of value to give."

Sejal sighed.

"I would've tried to swoop the whole package, but I guess the Slave of Destiny struck you a deal first, so there's not much—if anything—left of your free time, yes?"

"…Why would you want that..?"

She tilted her head and looked at him like that was the most foolish question Sunday could ever ask. Even though it was completely logical.

"I am a wanted criminal with a price that's only going to rise in the future," he reminded her of the obvious.

Sejal frowned, her hand slipping away from his wing.

"You don't think it's the price for your head that I'm after..?"

…When it dawned on him that prior to those words, he never even considered such possibility, Sunday himself was startled. How could he, a man always wary and cautious, one that was used to plan for all outcomes, not think of something so obvious..?

Sejal tensed in his grasp, his silence echoing in palpable hurt in her eyes, and Sunday immediately knew that this was the moment: the crossroads of his destiny where he had to make the best possible choice.

And there was only one both good and ruthless, that was best for Sejal, that was kind, and selfless, and just. That Sunday of the Oak family would not hesitate to make, bearing the minute pain for her cloudless future.

But he was not that person anymore.

"…Will you be satisfied with just my head..?" Sunday asked, watching her, attuned to notice the minute changes: the way her shoulders rounded, her gaze softened, her lips curved. Just one short phrase, and she was back to that familiar languid self, supple and pliant, a person shaped of liquid metal that melted into the touch—and slipped through it with no less ease, no matter how tight you tried to hold them.

"It's been known to happen," Sejal murmured, smiling at him, and when Sunday discerned the underlying meaning, he couldn't help but look away, hiding the lower part of his face under his wings.

"I take it you're here to tease me," he said curtly, glancing at her.

"If that is all I'm allowed to do…"

His fingers trembled around her wrist, and Sunday let go of her, but without delay Sejal's tail roped around his leg, its pointy end slipping under his thigh strap, not pulling him close, but not allowing him to run away either. Not that he planned to, but what insidiousness this was—to use her own body as a leverage, knowing all too well he wouldn't want to hurt her.

"I'm not," Sejal said softly, catching his hand and intertwining their fingers. "But it's the easiest part to do."

"Then what would be the difficult one..?"

He watched her thoughtfully, heart heavy and firm, ready to take a blow Sunday knew he deserved.

For a very long minute Sejal held his gaze before leaning in to hold him.

"…I'm sorry," she said quietly, and this kind of soft punch he never expected took all the air out of his lungs.

"…Why..?"

"…I believe in you. I know you can do it."

Sunday stiffened.

He couldn't possibly forget those words when they were among the last few she said to him at Penacony.