#sunmarch

Beyond the fact that he was working hard to bring Stelle and Dan Heng back via tuning, they really weren’t close enough for March to feel comfortable bothering him. Besides, he’d already done so much for her, both on Amphoreus and in reality, having been the one to pull her back. She couldn’t keep leaning on him.

Sighing, she cuddled her bunny plushie closer to her chest. She kinda wished they weren’t trapped here at Herta’s Space Station. No matter where she was on the Express, the lights were too bright. She wished they were in space, only starlight coming in instead of the harsh neon. Maybe that would help her finally feel comfortable enough to sleep.

Then again, being alone in the dark scared her. If she pulled her curtains completely closed and blocked out every bit of the overbright lights, her mind would fly back to the treasure box that Evernight had trapped her in. Of being alone, where no one would hear her calls or her cries.

She clung to the bunny plush tighter, as though the toy would curb the painful loneliness that haunted her.

“You could go to him, you know,” a little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Chills skittered up her spine, causing her to shiver. Even though Evernight had mostly retreated into the recesses of March’s memory, she still appeared every once in a while.

“What part of ‘I can’t’ don’t you understand?” she grumbled.

“Don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”

“We all know what happened the last time you tried to ‘help’.”

At that, Evernight was silent.

March would give Evernight credit where it was due; so far, she’d only made suggestions. She didn’t try to force March into anything and never took control. That was progress.

“Miss March?”

Startled, March flipped around, instantly spying Sunday. “H-hey, why are you up?” she asked, setting her plush aside. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I could say the same for you,” Sunday said, walking up to where she sat on the parlor sofa. “You’ve only just escaped your coma two days ago.”

She scoffed. “I’d argue that I’ve gotten enough sleep. Doesn’t answer why you’re up, though.”

A sheepish grin pinched his expression. “I fear that my sleep schedule has been altered due to watch duty. Speaking from past experience, I’m now too awake to properly sleep through the night.”

Guilt gnawed at March’s gut. So it was their fault Sunday was up and about at this ungodly hour. “Thanks again for everything you’ve done for them. And for me. We really appreciate it.”

Sunday gave a nod, his smile soft. “You all were abundantly kind to so mercifully accept me onto the Astral Express, and you’ve been nothing but hospitable to me during our travels. I’m glad I’m able to return the favor in any capacity.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you had to,” March corrected. “And yet, you fished me out of Amphoreus, fought off my alter ego, and then let me rest in your dreamscape so I could come out of that coma sooner. That’s… a lot to give someone who… well, ran you over with a train.”

Sunday’s lips tugged into a grimace. “Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “We can let bygones be bygones.”

An awkward giggle bubbled up March’s throat. “Still… thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wanting to fill the silence before it stretched too long, March asked, “What brings you out here?”

“I was going to listen to some music and read some of the articles from the archives. I apologize for disturbing you. I can leave—”

“No!” Panic surged through March, as cold as Evernight’s ice, but upon seeing Sunday’s surprise, she realized her reaction might have been too severe. She tried to compose herself, only to end up curling into an awkward ball on the couch. “Er, I mean… you can stay, if you want.”

Sunday’s jaw worked, struggling for words. “I don’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s not like I’m doing anything.”

“Ah… right. Then, if you don’t mind.”

“Go for it.” Some music might do her good, and having someone around would do her better. Even if that person was Sunday.

I told you.

“Shut up,” March muttered under her breath, hopefully quietly enough that Sunday couldn’t hear her from where he was standing by the record player.

Orchestra music soon swelled through the car, but it had a surprisingly lively rhythm. Hadn’t he said he wanted to read from the archives? In March’s mind, this didn’t seem like ‘archive music’.

“I thought you might play something… calmer,” March remarked.

He took a seat close by, on the opposite side of the couch she was sitting on as opposed to a different couch entirely. “I thought you might like this better.”

“You don’t have to cater to me.”

“I don’t mind.” He pulled out a data tablet, tapping on the screen.

Companionate warmth battled with chilly guilt in her veins. Here she was, imposing on him, yet he was still being considerate. “Dan Heng would be really happy to know you’re enjoying his work,” she said, feeling the need to keep the conversation going.

“He upkeeps an impressive reference library,” Sunday remarked. “I don’t usually have time to myself to enjoy research other than what was necessary for work. This has been very enjoyable.”

“You should tell him that when he comes back. He works really hard on it.”

“His effort shows.”

“Yeah, he spends so much time in the archives. I always wanted him to get out and do other things but…” A pit like that of nihility opened in her gut. “I wouldn’t blame him if he never came out again.”

The conversation lulled to an end, and March couldn’t find the words to continue. Embarrassment poured so hard over March that not even the nihility pit in her gut could make it disappear. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“You miss them,” Sunday quietly observed.

Reaching for her plushie, she nodded. “Do you… think they’ll come back soon?”

Sunday tilted his head in thought. If he was annoyed by March’s badgering, he showed no signs of it. “Since they did show signs of stirring today, I suspect they will awaken soon. I do not know if tuning has been of any help, but I will continue until they are back.”

March glanced at him through her plushie's ears. “Thank you again, Sunday. For working so hard. I know I need to stop worrying, but… I can’t.”

Sunday gave a slow nod, understanding flitting through his gaze as he set the tablet aside. “Would you like to talk about it?”

March stared at the bunny slippers she wore. “I don’t know.” A lie. She did want to talk. She wanted the silence to be filled so as to have proof she wasn’t surrounded in emptiness. That she wasn’t trapped alone in a box. But where could she even begin?

Slowly, Sunday sat back against the couch. “Miss March, if you’d ever like to talk about it, I am happy to listen. I understand that, with my past, I am the least preferable option—if you could even consider me an option at all—but still...”

His voice awkwardly trailed off. Guilt reminded her that she was the one who put her in that awkward position. No matter how uncomfortable she was, she couldn’t force that feeling on others. She had to hold it together, stand on her own two feet. She couldn’t drag anyone down with her, especially since Evernight was her problem to deal with alone. “I appreciate it, Sunday.”

He gave a nod before picking up the tablet again.

This time, the silence was not as uncomfortable as March had feared, but that might be because of Sunday’s presence. Whatever it was, it allowed March to settle against the couch, her thoughts quiet. At least, for now.

~~

It had been three hours since Sunday had sat down in the parlor car, engaged in the archive entries. He'd spent a surprising amount of time reading them while half of the nameless had been trapped on Amphoreus. Although, they had ceased to grip his interest as of half an hour ago. Logically, he should have gone to bed, but that didn’t seem like an option.

Because Miss March was asleep on the couch beside him.

That fact shouldn’t have had any influence on him, yet he could tell she’d been unsettled. Hence, leaving her didn’t feel like an option.

With a sigh, he shifted himself on the couch, crossing his arms and leaning his head back as he closed his eyes. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep in this position. At least he could argue it was in favor of a companion rather than because of work. Surely Robin wouldn’t yell at him for that.

~~

The moment March read the text that said Sunday had collapsed, panic lit a fire under her rear end. Sitting was impossible; she could only move. Only hurry as she put on real clothes. Only hurry as she slid on her shoes, hopping forward out of her room. Only hurry as she bolted from the train to the med ward on Herta’s space station.

By the time she arrived, her head was positively spinning. Clenching every muscle in her body to keep upright, she begged the dizziness to subside before she, too, passed out.

Leaning heavily against the front desk, she asked in huffs, “Hey… guy with feathers on his ears… halo… he collapsed.” She tried taking a deep breath, but she felt like anything larger than the little pants she was taking now was going to cause her to fall. “Where is he?”

The receptionist gave her a funny look as she pointed behind her. “Um, he’s in the first room that way, but—”

“Thanks.” March pushed away from the desk.

“Miss! Are you sure you’re okay?”

March ignored her as she stumbled toward the room. The brief stint ‘resting’ at the receptionist’s desk was just long enough to catch her bearings. And Sunday’s room was right there. She could make it.

When she pushed the curtain aside, two heads immediately swiveled toward her.

“March!” Mr. Yang shot up from his seat. “What are you doing up and about?”

“You should be resting!” Himeko added on, falling into step right behind Mr. Yang.

The anger in Mr. Yang’s tone surprised her, but the overflowing worry in Himeko’s voice soon helped her deduce why. “I’m okay. Really. How’s Sunday?”

“Sit.” Mr. Yang gestured to the chair he’d been residing in.

March wasn’t going to argue. She needed the world to stop spinning. And it would be really nice if her stormy stomach calmed down; she absently looked around the room for the nearest bucket.

“Honestly,” Himeko said. “What were you thinking?”

“You sent me a text saying Sunday collapsed,” she returned. “I couldn’t do nothing.”

“I told you that so you would know why we were late.”

That didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was that another one of their companions was down for a reason March didn’t know. Worry churned her stomach. For the first time, she wished she had Stelle’s sixth sense for detecting trash cans. She felt like she might need one.

When Stelle woke up, March was never going to tease her about that again. Her friend has been through so much, particularly at March’s hands. It was up to her to repay her friend back for the hell she’d gone through, and while it wasn’t much, March could start with being a little more respectful.

After sitting for a while, the dizziness and queasiness both subsided, allowing March to actually take in Sunday’s condition. He was pale. Like, ‘his feathers had more color’ pale. And his feathers were pretty light.

“What even happened?” March finally asked.

Himeko relayed everything she’d been told. Sunday had been tuning Stelle, only to collapse afterwards, muttering something about discordant mermoria before he did.

The queasiness returned full force as March’s stomach flipped at the mention of mermoria. If she never saw mermoria another day in her life, it would still be too soon. Yet, she knew that what she was, who she was, meant she’d never escape it.

“This room is a mess,” a little voice in the back of her mind muttered. “No wonder Feathers here passed out.”

That voice got March to pause. “Huh?” she thought.

“The mermoria in this room is a mess.” Evernight continued. “Crystals can’t form when everything is bouncing around like this.”

March glanced around the room, but she saw nothing.

“What are you even looking for?”

“For what you said,” she thought, keeping her dialogue internal. She’d been really careful to not let Mr. Yang, Himeko, or Pom-pom know she could still hear Evernight’s voice. That would definitely concern them, and she didn’t need them worrying any more than they already were. Only Black Swan knew. March didn’t know how Black Swan knew, but she did. Thankfully, Black Swan had promised secrecy on the matter.

“Why bother?”

“Because,” March returned. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I want to.”

Evernight was silent for a while, but then, in her mind’s eye, March saw Evernight step out of the shadows. For the first time since Amphoreus, March saw Evernight again, even if it was only in her head. “You really want to help?” Evernight questioned.

“Yes.”

“Then… we’ll need to share your body. You aren’t trained enough to do it by yourself, no matter how good of instructions I give you.”

“You want to take over my body again?”

“More like… copilot,” she corrected. “One eye, one hand. I can take the left side. You just have to follow my lead.”

March hesitated, her gaze flitting to Himeko in the chair across from her. She couldn’t see Mr. Yang, but she could feel him, his hand resting on the back of March’s chair as he stood behind her.

“As for them,” Evernight said. “You have one of two options. Either—”

“Pardon the intrusion.”

March, along with Himeko and Mr. Yang, all looked up to see Screwllum push the curtain aside

“The doctors would like to discuss the results of Dan Heng and Stelle’s tests with the both of you,” he continued.

“Thank you, Screwllum,” Himeko said.

“If you would like, I can watch over Sunday in the meantime.” The sensors that served as eyes turned in March’s direction. “But, with the arrival of March, her presence with Sunday would allow me to accompany you, if that would provide more peace of mind.”

“You can go ahead,” March said, jumping on the chance. “I’ll be fine watching Sunday.”

“Are you certain?” Mr. Yang questioned, doubt tainting his tone.

“Yeah,” March assured, trying to muster as much pep as possible. “All I’m doing is sitting here, and if there’s an emergency, all I have to do is shout. It’s really okay.”

Mr. Yang and Himeko shared a look, one March wasn’t really able to read. That didn’t stop her from silently begging for them to leave her be.

Doubt suddenly crept in, questioning what grounds she’d given them to trust her at all. She had an alter ego that had already proven to be a danger to her friends. She was an enigma who’d proven she wasn’t deserving of their trust—

“Alright,” Himeko relented.

March snapped out of her reverie. Huh?

“Keep an eye on Sunday,” Himeko said, standing from her seat and already stepping toward the exit. But she pointed a finger at March in warning. “And if you need anything, don’t be afraid to shout.”

“I promise,” March said, her heart pounding. She wouldn’t prove their trust misplaced. It would all be fine.

... right?

“Then,” Mr. Yang said, laying a hand on March’s shoulder. “We’ll be right back.”

Let’s hope they take their sweet time, Evernight said.

Even as a whole new nihility black hole opened in her gut, leaving her numb to the guilt and fear she had conversing with... well, the very reason no one should really trust her anymore, March clung to the hope that Evernight wouldn’t let her down.

Aeons, she didn’t know if she was overly optimistic or downright stupid.

When the curtain fluttered shut, March immediately turned back to Sunday. “Okay,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. Whether or not this was how she would help, she didn’t know, but the foggy memory of Sunday holding hers came to mind. It felt right to return this favor. Maybe he could feel her presence. She could only hope that would be reassuring. “What do I do?”

March didn’t get an answer. Instead, her world swirled, and she felt as though she were floating. Next thing she knew, Evernight was pressed against her side. As March’s gaze came back into focus, she tried to grapple for reality again, but she only managed to gain partial control. It was as though she and Evernight were standing in an arcade, trying to fight for space at a too-small console as they settled at the control panel. “He was exposed to intense amounts of mermoria,” Evernight explained, pointing to Sunday with March’s left hand. “If you focus on finding that mermoria, you should start seeing an array of fluid memories.”

Although her vision was half obscured, as though someone was covering her left eye, she still looked around. Eventually, she noticed ribbons of water dancing around his head in an infinity symbol. “What is that?”

“Turbulent mermoria is ever changing and can never solidify. In that way, memories can be much like water, and like water, the only way to make ice is to align the structure so it can harden.”

“Will that help him?”

“I’m fairly certain it will,” Evernight confessed. “At the very least, it won’t hurt him.”

March was just going to have to trust Evernight, even though that prospect did scare her a little. “So how do I do that?”

“You already know how. Your six-phased ice is made from your memories of your companions, is it not? Furthermore, you’ve already made a lightcone.” Evernight extended the hand she had control of into the air. “This process is similar. The only difference is you’re messing with outside memories as opposed to your own. Don’t worry; I’ll walk you through.”

Reluctantly, March set Sunday’s hand down and instead mimicked Evernight’s movements. Reaching out, she stuck her hand into the mermoria stream, only for her head to scream.

She jerked back, nearly falling out of the chair. “What the heck?”

“It’s from Amphoreus,” Evernight said, her voice tinged with irritation. “It's as though the world itself has leaped onto him.”

“How?”

“My guess is it has to do with tuning Stelle. Didn’t someone mention he passed out because of that?”

March’s gut twisted. “Then… is Stelle okay?”

“March,” Evernight warned through gritted teeth. “We don’t have time for speculation right now. Fix this; talk later.”

As much as she hated it, March knew she was right. The why didn’t matter. She had to fix it first.

With more confidence, she stuck her hand into the mermoria stream again, that oppressive overwhelm of memories causing her to wince.

“Freeze,” she whispered, instinctually moving her hand against the flow.

The water heeded her command, little crystals of ice forming around her hand. At the same time, the screaming in her head stilled, just like catching a moment in a photo.

“Good,” Evernight encouraged. “Keep going.”

March pushed everything she had into her task. Bit by bit, the infinity river above Sunday's head froze until it had formed into a solid memory.

A solid memory, frozen in time, like a… a…

March took hold of the infinity symbol, asking it to bend to her will one last time.

Next to her, Evernight hummed in approval. “Maybe you’re adept at being a memokeeper than I thought.”

“Help me,” March pleaded.

“No need,” Evernight said, stepping away from the controls as March slammed back into her body again. “You can make this moment your own.”

In a flash, the infinity sculpture disappeared, leaving a card in her hand.

A lightcone.

“Aww,” Evernight cooed, looking at the image that was gradually appearing in the holographic ice, akin to a photo developing. “March’s first crush, I see.”

March sputtered. “It’s not like that!”

“Uh-huh,” Evernight returned, the mocking smile audible in her sarcastic tone. “A lightcone that looks like that says otherwise.”

“Ugh, you!”

But Evernight was gone.

Leaving March to hold a lightcone with the crystal-clear image of her holding Sunday’s hand.

~~

Sunday’s head was pounding. He either needed that pain to subside or needed to go back to sleep, but his body warned him against the latter. It always did. No matter how much he overexerted himself, his body always demanded he press forward. Robin hated this tendency of his. The problem was, he didn’t know how to stop. The way his body would flood with adrenaline, his mind scanning the to-do list for the next task, made resting impossible.

Slowly, his eyes cracked open. White. The room was white and sterile. He glanced around before his eyes locked on the one speck of color in the room. Pink.

March.

His gaze lowered further to his hand, his mind taking way too long to realize March was holding on to him. Channeling his meager strength, he gave her hand the slightest squeeze.

“Huh?” She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. “Oh! You’re awake!”

He grimaced, his head drumming anew at the volume of her voice. “Q-quiet.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. The legs of the chair squeaked against the floor as she pulled it closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine.”

“If you’re gonna lie, you have to make it convincing.”

In spite of the pain, his lips tipped up in a chagrined smile. “I’ll be fine.”

The curtain that served as a door slid open. “Sunday?” A familiar feminine voice asked.

“Miss Himeko?”

The redhead appeared behind March, along with another towering figure. Mr. Yang. “We were so worried,” Himeko said.

The oncoming guilt caused his headache to double. The lights were almost too bright to handle now. “I’m sorry.”

“Sunday,” Mr. Yang spoke up. “I know you want to help Stelle and Dan Heng, and considering the conversation we just had with Madam Herta and Screwllum, we understand you were needed in that moment. However, it’s clear that you can no longer continue working at this pace without harming yourself.”

“I was happy to do it,” Sunday insisted, “even if this was the cost.”

Mr. Yang and Himeko shared a look. Even March grasped his hand tighter.

“That may be,” Mr. Yang continued, his tone measured. “But from now on, we insist you refrain from tuning Dan Heng and Stelle.”

Fear flooded Sunday’s gut anew, the adrenaline rush forceful enough to push the headache aside. “What? But they need me—”

“They’ve each shown signs of waking up,” Himeko cut in. “We now have reason to believe they’ll come back to us very soon, and we’re sure that is all thanks to you. But… when we’d heard you’d collapsed…”

Mr. Yang rubbed the speechless Himeko’s back, continuing for her, “We were worried we were going to lose you, too. Right now, it is abundantly clear you need to rest.”

“But—”

“Sunday.” Mr. Yang raised his hand to silence him. “We are aware that Dan Heng and Stelle might need further tuning in the future. The near future. We also know we do not have the authority to keep you down. But…” Mr. Yang’s firm gaze softened, bringing attention to the slight wrinkles around his eyes. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the span of those three seconds. “You are one of the Astral Express’ dear passengers. We refuse to stand by and allow you to drive yourself to this state. So, unless there is reason for you to perform tuning on either of them, we insist you rest.”

Failure. That’s what he’d heard. That he was a failure. The way those words hit his chest knocked the air out of him. “I… understand.”

“Good.”

Then Sunday felt a weight on his head, a tender pat he hadn’t experienced since he was but a child. His mother used to do the same thing, rest her hand on his head when she was proud of him or when she wanted to offer comfort.

Comfort…

“We don’t want to see you injure yourself,” Mr. Yang assured. “There’s no need to go to such lengths.”

Sunday was not a child. He was too grown to be feeling this emotional. And yet, he felt a waver in his chest, a warble in his lip. Not because he was a failure, but because… someone cared.

“When you feel able,” Mr. Yang continued, pulling his hand away, “Himeko and I will escort both you and March back to the Express.”

“You shouldn’t have been up, either, March,” Himeko gently chastised. “We heard from the receptionist that you nearly fell over when you came running in.”

She ducked her head, clinging tight to Sunday’s hand still. “Like I said: I couldn’t sit still when I heard what happened.”

With a loving shake of her head, Himeko patted March’s hair as well. “I know.”

Sunday’s chest tightened as he looked to March. She’d been in that bad a condition, yet come anyway?

Actually, she still looked in terrible condition. The normal color of her cheeks was nowhere to be found. He hoped that was just a trick of the lighting. But if it wasn’t...

He rubbed his thumb on her hand. Then she was a fool. A kind fool, his heart insisted, but a fool nonetheless.

It wasn’t for an hour that Sunday’s headache had subsided enough for him to stand. Not fully upright—he was sure his posture was atrocious at the moment—but it was the best he could manage.

“Before I go,” he said. “I have to tune Dan Heng one more time.”

The disapproving glares that sentence had earned him nearly knocked him back onto the bed. “You’ve worked on them enough, Sunday,” Himeko insisted, her brow furrowing as she crossed her arms in a way that should have brokered no argument.

But he had to. What he’d seen in both of their heads was too intense for him to just leave be. While he’d managed to pull Stelle into a dreamscape of his own making, a dreamscape that was taking a lot of energy to sustain, Dan Heng was still stuck in the storm. Even if he passed out again and worried these people, he had to help Dan Heng. “Trust me. Please. He needsthis. Only then will I willingly submit to your plea to rest.”

Himeko and Mr. Yang looked toward each other, each looking like they wanted to argue.

Sunday hurried to scrape his courage together, preparing to stand his ground.

“Do you promise?”

At March’s question, he turned to face her. As he took in her worry, his gut did a strange flip, and he wondered what caused the reaction: the pain in her voice or the gentle way she touched his shoulder. “I promise,” he said. “But… how do I explain this? Dan Heng is stuck in a turbulent mermoria-scape. I didn’t manage to bring him out of it the way I was able to bring out Stelle. I want to help him navigate to a… ‘safer’ location.”

Finally, both Mr. Yang and Himeko’s harsh gazes softened. “Alright,” Himeko relented. “But that is all.”

“I promise,” he said. “Although… I worry I might collapse again. I’m asking you now to not be upset. This is for the best.”

Mr. Yang pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he huffed. “If we have to carry you back to the Astral Express, we will make it happen.”

“Thank you,” Sunday said. “And… I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused with this.”

“If you don’t want to cause trouble,” Himeko spoke. “Then stop giving us reasons to worry about you.”

The corners of his lips tipped up ruefully. “I’ll do my best.”

Thankfully, he did not pass out again after taking Dan Heng into his own personal dreamscape, but the headache slammed into him anew with the extra burden of hosting a second party.

Sunday was not long for this waking world. A long, deep slumber was inevitable, but at least he could allow himself that without guilt. Dan Heng and Stelle were both safe. Now, the sooner they woke up, thereby removing pressure on his dreamscape, the sooner Sunday himself could recover.

Not that he would let Mr. Yang or Himeko know that. They were already mad enough. No need to anger them further.

The trek back to the Astral Express was a slow one, with Mr. Yang and Himeko both watching over Sunday and March like guards monitoring their prisoners. More accurately, they were like two parents hovering over their sick children.

The moment they stepped onto the train, a certain conductor ran up to them and proceeded to shout in a volume that threatened to rupture Sunday’s eardrums. “This is an order from the conductor! Both of you: go to bed!”

There was no ignoring that order. Even if he wanted to, which he very much did not, Sunday didn’t have the energy to do so. He needed sleep. Preferably a long and dreamless kind. Slowly, he made his way toward the room the Nameless had kindly assigned to him, March trailing by his side.

It took him too long to realize her bedroom was in the opposite direction.

He paused, leaning against the wall as he turned to face her. “Miss March,” he began, his eyes narrowed at her. Or maybe his eyes were narrowed because he was lacking the strength to keep them open. “Shouldn’t you go rest as well?”

“I should,” she began, “But I thought I would go grab a snack from Stelle’s room first. I’m weirdly shaky, and I don’t think it’s from lack of sleep. Do you want anything?”

Something felt off. She was jittery, and her gaze was flitting every which way except to his own. He had developed a talent for reading people. Even in his delirious state, he was pretty confident in his suspicions. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine. Really. I think whatever Evernight…” She froze, her eyes going wide as she slammed her mouth shut.

Sunday’s hackles rose, that word sending his world swirling. “Evernight?”

“Forget I said anything!”

“What did she want?” he demanded.

March’s brow knit together as her lips pursed. The edges of her eyes grew red, the corners pinched. “It wasn’t anything bad… I don’t think. She just… wanted to help.”

“Oh? How so?”

Her gaze flit around like a charmony dove in the sky. “Please…” Finally, her eyes turned to his. Her voice was soft, insecure, on the edge of cracking. “Don’t tell anyone. Keep this between you and me?”

The trembling woman before him quieted his anger. It wasn’t fair of him to take this skeptical tone with her, to challenge her trust. Not when he’d been the one undeserving of the trust she’d given him when he’d first boarded this train. He might take issue with Evernight, but he shouldn’t bring March into that fight. “You have my word.”

Like a bashful teenager confessing in a Penaconian soap opera, she tapped her fingers together. “She told me there was a way to help pull you out of your unconscious state, and if I could help you… I would. It’s only fair I return the favor of everything you’ve done for me, so… she showed me how to use the rememberance to organize the mermoria around you.”

His brow furrowed. “What mermoria?”

“It was really weird. Like… a river in the shape of Amphoreus hung over your head. Evernight showed me how to solidify that memoria into crystals, and once I did, you pretty quickly woke up.”

His eyes shot wide, his mind struggling to process. Mermoria over his head? In the shape of Amphoreus. “How… I never went to Amphoreus, so why…”

“When I talked with Evernight after that,” March continued. “She said something about… those being tumultuous memories of Amphoreus. When I touched them, they were… really overwhelming.”

“Like a storm?”

“Exactly.”

Sunday rubbed his forehead. “I think… that it has something to do with tuning Stelle and Dan Heng.”

“What do you mea—Sunday!”

His knees suddenly gave out on him, and he hit the ground.

“Ugh, nevermind!” March knelt before him. “We can talk later. Right now, you should rest.”

“R-right.” Struggling to catch his breath, Sunday tried to get his mind to stop spinning just long enough to make it to his room. Unfortunately, the headache was overwhelming, and his eyes pinched shut as he fought to stay conscious.

“Hold still.”

He felt a weight on his shoulder, one that almost took him off-balance. Then came the chill, like the warning of oncoming snow on the wind.

But oddly enough, the longer the chill lingered, the more his headache eased.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, only to see just how close March had crept to him. Her attention was on something above his head, her jaw tipped up so he was eye level with her shoulders. And she was straddling him.

He, too, became ice, frozen in place. Just what was going on? Eventually, he had the good sense to look up, except… something seemed slightly off. March’s eyes were supposed to be blue with magenta seeping into them. So why was one eye blood red?

“Almost got it…” she muttered, her brow furrowed in concentration. “There!”

The chill dissipated, and something fell into his lap. He looked down—anything was better than staring at March at this close of proximity—only to see…

“Is this a lightcone?” Hesitantly, he picked it up, examining the small card.

“It’s a pretty weak one,” March said, blessedly wiggling backwards to put some space between them. “But… yeah, it is.”

He looked at the face. The image upon it was cut in half diagonally, the bottom half showing Dan Heng hovering over an unconcious Stelle while the top half of the image…

Sunday’s cheeks warmed. The top half showed March hovering over him in the same way. It almost looked like a fairytale scene, a far too romantic a take on the situation.

“Urk!” March snatched the card from his hand. “Um… sorry. That’s… ughh, that’s so awkward. I don’t know why it does that! It’s not like I have control over the image. Just the memories. I…”

He cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he dismissed. A partial lie, but what else was he supposed to say? That the image was burned into his head now? That would only make things worse between them.

“Um… sorry for that. I could tell there was more mermoria over your head so I fixed it. Did that help?”

“It did, actually,” he confessed, gladly clinging to the change of subject. “A surprising amount.”

“Do you get headaches whenever you tune?”

“Only when I overdo it,” he answered.

“I know where Stelle keeps painkillers,” she offered. “If you want, I can go grab some for you.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you okay after making that lightcone?”

“Yeah…”

One glare from him, and her lie fell apart.

“No.” With a frown, she raised her hands, only for Sunday to see them shaking. “I feel like if I don’t have a snack, I’m going to faint.”

“Don’t try to stand up.” Sunday placed his hand on her side, as if to hold her there. “I didn’t think either of us can stand right now.”

March collapsed against the wall beside him. “We should probably get help… but I don’t want to disturb Himeko or Mr. Yang again.”

“Pom-pom?” Sunday offered.

March sighed. “Yeah, I’ll text Pom-pom.”

Pom-pom arrived within thirty seconds. To no one’s surprise, the furious creature scampered up to them so fast it resulted in a dust cloud behind them, an impressive feat for how clean they kept the train. Then, came the chastisement, along with a threat to call Himeko and Mr. Yang. Who knew a fluffy conductor that only stood at knee height could be so fearsome?

Yet, when Sunday and March told Pom-pom what they needed, the conductor didn’t waste a second rushing to Stelle’s room to collect snacks, water, and painkillers.

Sunday partly worried about how he was going to get the snack down; the knife buried in his skull was causing his whole body to protest the thought of food or drink. But fifteen minutes later, after getting the painkillers into him and a little sugar in his bloodstream, he felt notably better.

“Do you have any ideas for getting off the floor?” March dryly questioned.

“No.”

“Good, that makes two of us.”

“If you don’t!” Pom-pom cried. “I’ll call Passenger Welt and Passenger Himeko to come get you.”

Meaning they had better figure something out, and quickly.

With a groan, March painstakingly curled her legs, rolling onto her knees. Using the wall, she braced herself as she got one foot under her, then the next, before managing to stand to full height.

“Are you going to fall over?” he asked.

She leaned heavily against the wall. “Maybe.”

“Passenger March! I’ll call Passenger Welt—”

“NO!” March and Sunday shouted in unison.

“We got it, Pom-pom,” March insisted. As if to prove it, she extended a hand to Sunday. “Your turn.”

He did much the same process, crawling up off the floor until he was leaning on the wall beside her. Once there, he counted to ten, hoping the world would stop spinning.

“Are you even going to make it to your room?” he questioned.

“Uhhhh…”

“That’s comforting.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to come to terms with what he was about to offer. Something he would only offer this once, and only because it was an emergency.

“Are you two sure you’re alright?” Pom-pom asked. Their worry was so evident, Sunday could see the beads of sweat dripping from their head.

“We’ll be fine,” Sunday said. “We’re going to go rest now.”

“Thanks, Pom-pom,” March said.

Though Pom-pom clearly wasn’t convinced, they relented. “Alright. If you need anything, call for Pom-pom.”

“We will.”

As the conductor scurried away, Sunday grabbed March’s hand. “Come.”

March didn’t protest as he pulled her the short distance to his room. He tried not to lean on her, and he could tell she was trying not to lean on him. Neither were in any state to be walking. It was a miracle they didn’t take each other down to the floor.

Finally, they reached the doorway. In this temporary room of his, there was a chair, a desk, and a bed with a nightstand. With two people, there was only one correct sleeping situation. It was regrettable, but it wasn’t like Sunday hadn’t fallen asleep on a desk multiple times before.

“You can have the be—ah!”

Before Sunday could take a step toward the chair, March had pulled both of them down onto the bed.

He grunted, the mattress bouncing beneath him at the weight of them collapsing sideways onto it. “March…” he turned his head to the side, leveling her with a weak glare. “I was going to take the chair.”

“Listen.” She pointed an unsteady finger at him. “Do you know how many times Dan Heng and Stelle have crashed out together in the archives? They used to say ‘nothing's happening, it’s just for practicality’s sake.’ This once, I will believe them. And you will, too.”

“This is inappropriate.”

“Then move elsewhere.”

He couldn’t. And she knew it.

The only thing he could do was stare up at the ceiling, still shoulder to shoulder with March. “Only… this once, Miss March.”

“Deal.”

A hand lifted over his head. He stared at it.

“You can’t even give me a high five?” she deadpanned.

He was too tired to manage even a hint of a smile. However, he did manage to find just enough energy to return that high five before both of them allowed unconsciousness to claim them.

~~

March didn’t scream. At most, she gasped as she jolted awake, her breath coming in heavy pants. The nightmares were getting worse, and she swore it was twice as bad considering the mermoria maneuvering she’d just done.

“Miss March?”

She did scream at the sudden touch on her back. She flailed to the side, only to fall off the bed and hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

“Miss March!”

Blinking rapidly, her eyes finally registered the shape of someone before her. A golden halo backlit a head of gray hair, but that voice was too deep to be Stelle’s. The hands that landed on her shoulders were too large, yet that firm grasp anchored her to reality.

“Are you okay?” Sunday asked.

She opened her mouth, intending to assure him that she was, except no words came out. The only thing that escaped her was a choked sob. She slapped her hands over her mouth before more could follow. Her vision blurred, and tears soon dripped down her cheeks, landing on her hands. “Sorry,” she squeaked out.

“There’s no need for apology,” he quietly assured, his hands rubbing a slow rhythm up and down her arms.

As the floodgates opened, she leaned forward, laying her forehead on his shoulder as she begged her sniffles to stop. She must look so pathetic right now. And yet, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he settled down beside her, wrapping an arm around her back to cradle her there. The tears worsened as she clung to his jacket.

She didn’t know how long it took to settle down. All she knew was Sunday never pushed her away. He stayed, rubbing soothing circles on her back and arms until the tears finally slowed to an occasional drip. Finally releasing her death grip on his jacket—he must be furious with her for wrinkling his clothes; she knew he liked to keep polished and pristine—she rubbed at her running nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear another apology tonight,” he said, “since there is not a single thing I can think of for you to apologize for.”

Looking at his jacket, she tried to brush out the wrinkles. “That?”

He looked down. “Miss March, I fear you’ve lost me.”

“The wrinkles?” she whimpered. She then looked at his shoulder, noting the tearstain that had formed under her head. She dabbed at the wet spot with her sleeve. “And that.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his clothes while using his new leverage to pull them face-to-face. “Stop,” he softly warned. “That is not the pressing issue at the moment.”

His gaze was intense, consuming. Was he tuning her right now? That was the only reason she could think of as to why she couldn’t look away.

“The more pertinent issue is your nightmares.”

Her gut tightened. “H-how did you know?”

“There’s only one explanation as to why someone stays awake. And if I apply that information to our nighttime meetings, then that explains why you are frequently awake at the unholy hours of the night.”

She wanted to cry again. At the very least, she wanted to look away. But she couldn’t.

“Are your nightmares always that bad?”

She should have expected his question. Here she was, snotting on the shoulder of a guy who was raised to be the head of a powerful family. She wasn’t the protagonist in a romance novel, only the pathetic fainting violet in a cheesy story. What chaffed was learning first-hand that a plotpoint that would give March second-hand embarrassment was significantly more mortifying than the stories made it out to be. “No,” she whimpered. “T-they… they’ve gotten a lot worse since Amphoreus.”

Sighing, Sunday rubbed her shoulders again, as though trying to take out some of the tension in them. It wasn’t working; it only gave March a new reason to be tense. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, adding to the oddly intimate atmosphere. “I wish I could ease your burden, but my one solution… I can’t offer at the moment.”

“Tuning?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t even think about it,” March muttered, an automatic response.

The corners of his lips ticked upwards self-deprecatingly. “If you have enough courage to threaten me… then I am reassured you will be okay. However—” His tone grew serious again, “—if you want to talk, the one thing I can offer is to listen. When it comes to dreams… I’m more conscious of them than most.”

He had a point there. But where could she even begin? Finally, she twisted away, tugging at her sleeves as she settled on the ground beside him. She didn’t want to think about how she’d ended up on his lap; she was already mortified enough. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“It would bother me more knowing you’re suffering and I let you go without attempting to lend a hand.”

Swiping away the remnants of her tears, March looked at him through damp lashes.

“He’s change a lot, hasn’t he?” A voice in the back of her mind remarked.

He had. She couldn’t imagine ‘Sunday: head of the Oak Family’ being anything other than arrogantly detached as he walked with that proud elitism his position both afforded and demanded of him, only putting on his proper façade when talking with guests. Nor could she imagine ‘Sunday: wanted criminal of the IPC’ being confident enough to do anything other than follow orders or stay out of sight.

But she wouldn’t remark on that now. Right now… she wanted someone to listen. She didn’t want to go to Himeko or Mr. Yang, only to worry them further when they’d had so much on their plates. When they still worried about Stelle and Dan Heng in the medical ward. Sunday was her only option. But even if he wasn’t, he still felt like the best.

“I tend to relive what I… er, Evernight subjected Stelle and Dan Heng to,” she shyly confessed, picking at her nails to avoid looking him in the eyes. “But in those dreams… I feel like… like it wasn’t any alter ego, but just me. That I tortured my best friends.”

“It wasn’t you,” Sunday reassured. “It was Evernight.”

“Still!” March cried, panic welling up in her stomach and creeping up her throat. It stretched its spindly fingers up to her eyes, causing them to water yet again as she stared at Sunday as though begging for forgiveness. “She stuck them in a fake world and tried to convince them that they’d be happy to follow along like some kind of puppet. What kind of person does that? Especially to people they care about like family?”

Sunday’s eyes seemed to glimmer with emotion March couldn’t decipher before he glanced away, his wings slowly falling. “Someone who either cares too little… or too much. And regardless of which, it is always someone too arrogant.”

At those words, understanding finally slammed March in the gut. “Oh aeons, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad or anything!”

“I know, Miss March.” Sunday gave her a sheepish smile. March could now clock that emotion in his eyes: regret. “I hold no resentment toward you.”

“Still—”

“I told you I would listen,” Sunday broke in. “And even if that was a pointed remark—which, it was not—I would still listen.”

March’s breath caught in her throat for a long three seconds before it finally slipped out. Curling into a ball, knees to her chest, she hid her hands in her face. “I should have known better than to talk with you because of course I’d put my foot in my mouth or ramble like an idiot.” How on earth had she thought Sunday was her best option? She was such an idiot, hurting her closest friends and innocent parties alike.

Just why did the nameless want to keep her around?

“Because they care, right?” Evernight quietly challenged.

“Well,” she mentally retorted. “That was before anyone knew you existed.”

The barbed remark hit Evernight in the heart. March knew it because she could feel the barb in her own.

With Evernight and Sunday silent, March felt like she was left to drown. The longer it went, the more March wanted to melt into the floor, both for being an idiot toward Sunday and a bitch to her other self, even if her other self deserved it.

She should leave. Maybe she needed to be alone now in order to sort out her thoughts. No, deserved to be alone.

“Has this been going on since you woke from Amphoreus?” Sunday suddenly asked.

March’s mouth was dry, leaving her mute. The only way she could respond was with a nod.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t bother anyone.”

Sunday sighed, the touch of a growl indicating the level of his irritation. “Miss March,” he continued. “You are free to come to me at any time. I would hate it if I let you suffer when I was capable of doing something about it.”

She huffed. “You’re just saying that.”

He curled a finger under her chin, pulling it toward her. Her eyes had nowhere else to land than on his firm gaze. “I mean it. I will listen to everything. Even if you believe you’re ‘putting your foot in your mouth’ or ‘rambling like an idiot.’ After all, after everything I’ve done, I don’t have room to judge. And I certainly would not judge a woman who kindly accepted me when I least expected it.”

“Even when she assaulted you?” she challenged.

“I sincerely doubt you had a say in the matter.”

“I didn’t,” came her weak defence.

“Then that is all I need to know.”

Her lips trembled as her gaze lingered on his. She opened her mouth, her sleep-deprived mind unable to hold back the question before it tumbled out. “How do you escape the guilt of hurting the people closest to you? Especially when your other half swears it was to ‘help them’?”

He grimaced, and an apology quickly bubbled to her lips before it stalled, his earlier words coming to mind. She had no choice but to swallow it down. Aeons, she should just get up and leave. It would be easier on everyone if she did, but despite the discomfort she was clearly causing, he didn’t shy away. “When I find out,” he returned, his voice raw and weak. “You will be the first to know.”

Hesitantly, March nibbled her lip. He was being too kind to her. It made her heart do weird things. “Thanks.”

He gave a nod, then stood to his feet. “This isn’t me kicking you out,” he said, reaching a hand down for her. “But I think it might be best to get up. I can escort you back to your room. Or, if you can’t stand the thought, I would be happy to walk around with you. Whatever it takes to shake off the nightmares instead of sitting in them.”

She reached for his hand, feeling a little lightheaded as she was pulled to her feet. She stumbled slightly, trying to find her balance as her head spun. “Oh, your headache!” she realized. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” he assured. “Don’t worry about me, Miss March.”

She paused. She didn’t like the way he said her name. It felt too professional. Too... distant. Later, she would examine why she didn’t like the thought of him being distant, but now was certainly not the time. “You can just call me March,” she told him. “Just March. I feel like you’ve earned it by now.”

“Then…” He gave her a gentle grin. “If you insist, March.”

Her stomach did a little jig in her gut. Clearly, something was still wrong with her. Maybe she should go back to her own bed.

Or maybe… it wouldn’t be too bad to hang out with him a little longer.

~~

Sunday had a terrible habit of being incapable of being idle. When he’d first come to the AStral Express, he’d tried treating it as a sort of vacation. Even the cleaning he offered to do was vastly more relaxing than piles of paperwork and meeting after meeting. That all went out the window when the Amphoreus mission went south. He’d wanted to assist in any way he possibly could, hence his current need to help Dan Heng and Stelle. A need that was currently restricted.

Even in his weakened state, the desire to do something was too strong to ignore. Regrettably, all his wishing for a task backfired. He’d rather be bored than have gotten this one. Not because he hated the task itself, but because he hated that March was suffering.

Worse yet, he hated that March was suffering and trying to cope all by herself.

Ever since the day he’d heard her wake up in tears, only for her to break right before his eyes, he couldn’t turn a blind eye. If anything, it awoke the suppressed ‘Big Brother’ instincts within him. Those instincts were the reason he was in the parlor car now.

“You should be in bed, March.”

Startled, March clutched her plush rabbit as she stared up at him. “Oh, Sunday. I didn’t realize you were up.”

He’d been mad to awaken in the middle of the night. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her his sleep schedule was in turmoil. He’d rued it at first, but after taking on this mission, he’d found the benefits of it. “Happenstance. Now, for someone as clearly exhausted as you are, why are you still awake at this aeonforsaken hour?”

March’s nose crinkled. “You know, I take back what I said. You can go back to calling me Miss March. You were nicer then.”

It had been two weeks since that day she’d offered that olive branch to him, and he wouldn’t deny how that event had marked a definitive shift in their relationship. No longer were they mere acquaintances, but would they be ‘friends’ ? He didn’t know how to classify this now. In Sunday’s eyes, they were still strangers, but he was also the only one to know this side of her. A side he deeply related to.  “Care to elaborate?”

She crinkled her nose at him. “You’re just mean now.”

“Mean because I’m insisting you get some sleep?”

“Yeah. You’re so… pushy.”

“I will not hear any criticism from a woman who has taken it upon herself to hover over my mental state.”

“Well, you need it,” March said with a yawn. “You… you look like you’re gonna fall over with all the tuning you still do to Stelle and Dan Heng. I can’t even help you anymore because I don’t see the memories hovering around you.”

Yes, the memories. They’d had many a discussion over that. The only conclusion they’d reached was that Sunday was only affected when pulling Stelle and Dan Heng into his own realm. He wasn’t affected whenever he entered their dreamscape. It probably had to do more with Stelle and Dan Heng’s state of mind as opposed to his own.

“And I’d help if I could,” March huffed, turning to look out the window. “But Evernight told me I’m not strong enough to help them yet.”

Sunday took a seat beside her. “We agreed you will not push yourself.”

They’d discussed this before, as well. Telling everyone that March had the capability to create lightcones from memories was not information that needed to be shared quite yet. Both Sunday and March worried that whatever curse Dan Heng and Stelle were holding might be too overwhelming for March to handle in her current state of recovery. If Sunday could protect her from getting hurt, then he’d do so. Only once everyone was physically stable again would they bring this possibility, and only under his careful supervision. That might be overstepping his bounds a bit, but it would be less risky for March if they could find out how to navigate this task together rather than allowing her to go it alone.

“I know, but… my friends need me, and I just hate feeling useless.”

He couldn’t fault her for that in the slightest. “Dan Heng and Stelle are doing fine. They’re finally home, they’re moving about.”

“But they’re still suffering,” March lamented. “I know they are.”

“Is that why you’re awake?” he pressed. “Because you’re still fretting over them?”

March pursed her lips. “Partly.”

“The nightmares, then?”

Her grunt was all the confirmation he needed.

“Have they gotten better at all? Or…” He leaned in closer. “They’ve gotten worse?”

She looked away.

He grit his teeth, his nerves now on edge. “I’ll safely assume the latter.”

“Can’t a girl have her secrets?” she snipped, propping her chin in her hand as she leveled a pout at him.

“They aren’t secrets if I can guess them.”

She stuck her tongue out.

Why did that childish behavior make him smile? “I can try tuning—”

“Touch me, and I’ll knock you out myself.” March warned. “Himeko would kill me if she knew you were overworking yourself on me.”

At that, he chuckled. He shouldn’t have; she wasn’t joking. Himeko really would lock both of them in their rooms if she found out he was overexerting himself, even for March’s sake. “Alright, I relent.”

“If you want to help,” she said, crossing her legs and putting her nose in the air in feigned arrogance, “then you can figure out ways to help me sleep without tuning.”

Even though that was the task he’d taken on, he still struggled with it. Half the time, he would simply sit with her on the parlor couch, some soft music running in the background, until she fell asleep. He might read to her, or they would simply chat until the circadian lights came on to signal morning. In those long talks, he’d learned about the chaos that was her very first mission, and she’d learned about the trials he’d been forced to go through as he rose to the head of the Oak Family. At this point, he could recite the order of her missions both chronologically and in order of her favorite, while she knew the names of every prominent family figure in Penacony.

“There’s one more record I am curious to listen to,” he remarked, sparing the record player a glance. “I can turn that on.”

“Nah.” A smug grin crept across March’s face. “I challenge you to find a new night activity.”

He quirked a brow, his amusement fading. “New?”

“Yup. Figure out something different.”

So she was feeling cheeky, was she? He would just have to take that as a good sign. The March he’d first met was so vivacious, so innocently child-like. An uncomfortably stark contrast to the March that had woken from Amphoreus, so somber and mature that it almost scared him. To see this side of her emerge against him felt like success.

He mulled her request over in his mind, desperate to feed into this good mood. “When Robin and I were younger, our mother would make us warm milk with honey whenever we had trouble sleeping.”

“Ooh, that just makes me want cookies, but…” March glanced longingly toward the party car. “All the good snacks are in Stelle’s room. Well.. Stelle and Dan Heng’s room, now.”

Both Sunday and March had seen them clean the room out and Dan Heng happily move in. The unspoken rule since then was that the lackadaisical rules surrounding Stelle’s room had shifted. No longer was that to be the casual hangout spot. It was now the room of a married couple, and everyone was going to respect it as such.

“You can ask her to move the snacks,” Sunday suggested. “So they are more easily accessible.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” March said, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “But for now, follow me.”

Tossing her plush aside as she sprang off the couch, March grabbed Sunday’s hand to pull him along.

“Where are we going?” he asked, trailing after her.

“To get snacks.”

“Are there some in the kitchen?”

“There will be.”

Although he was confused, he still followed.

“I don’t know if we still have what we need,” March said, digging through the pantry the moment she entered the kitchen. “But we might get lucky.”

Sunday watched as she pulled out ingredients: flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and more.

“Oh, come on.” March was back to searching the pantry, standing on her tiptoes as she reached onto the highest shelf. “It’s gotta be here.”

“What are you looking for?” Sunday asked, sidling up next to her.

“I think that’s where Stelle hid that bag of candy we were saving from our last side quest. The one we took on right before Amphoreus. Do you see it?”

Seeing as he was a little taller than she, he reached up onto the shelf, only for his fingers to hit a plastic bag. He pulled it down, bringing the bag of brightly colored, spherical candies into view.

“That’s it!”

He dropped the bag into her awaiting hands. “What is it?”

“Chocolate. I thought they were cute and colorful, especially for being so tiny. We hid them away because we didn’t really want to share. But now… well, they’re as much mine as they are hers, right? Hopefully, she won’t be too mad at me.”

With a skip in her step, she took it over to the counter, dropping it beside all the other ingredients. “And now, we have everything we need to make cookies.”

“Make?” Sunday asked.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me you’ve never made them before.”

“N-no. I haven’t.”

March gasped, her eyes comically wide. “You remember your whole childhood and can’t remember ever making cookies?! That’s criminal.” Grabbing the stick of butter, she slid it across the counter. The only reason it didn’t hit the floor was because he caught it. She gave him a wink. “We can fix that now. They’ll go perfectly with that warm milk suggestion.”

He quirked a brow. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, what could go wrong?”

A lot of things, he thought. “There is a high probability I will mess it up. It's already been proven I’m not… great in the kitchen.”

She waved a hand dismissively at him. “It’ll be fine. The best cookie baker in the whole Astral Express is here with you.”

A bemused smirk touched his lips. Her confidence was oddly endearing. “The best?”

“Yeah. Back when I first woke up out of the ice, I didn’t know who I was at all, so I tried a bunch of different things hoping to bring those memories back. Baking was one of them.”

That intrigued him. Despite March only having a handful of years' worth of memories, they always seemed bright as Penacony itself. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It was before I got my hands on my camera and realized that was my hobby. But I did like baking, and before Stelle came aboard and found the best snacks of all time, I was happy to be the one to make sure there was a little something around.”

“Then, I suppose I’ll trust you.” He handed the stick of butter back to her.

She didn’t take it. With a smile, she pulled out a bowl and extended it to him. “Good. Then you can start by putting the butter in the bowl.”

He looked between the butter, the bowl, and her before he sighed, resigned. “You’re going to make me do it?”

“Yup.” Her smile could rival the brightness of the kitchen lights. “It will help you in the kitchen. Because, no offence, but you really do suck.”

He couldn’t be upset at her stating the facts. But he also couldn’t be upset because this seemed to amuse her, which was the goal of this little side quest. What surprised him, though, was his urge to continue, to see just how bright that smile of hers could become, and how long it would last.

So he dropped the butter into the bowl.

She leveled a flat look at him. “You actually have to take it out of the wrapper, Sunday.”

He blushed. “R-right.”

Step by step, March articulately instructed Sunday on how to make these cookies. He tried his best not to make a mess, but the counter proved his failure by the end. Sugar had spilled across the countertop, flour had dusted the floor, and he was pretty sure one cookie was going to end up with a little piece of eggshell he hadn’t been able to fish out.

“Last step.” March took the bag of candies, and without a measuring cup, started dumping them in.

“Aren’t we supposed to measure those?” he asked, seeing the pile that had accumulated on top of the dough.

“You measure add-ins with your heart, not the recipe.” And to punctuate her point, March took another small handful of candies and threw them into the bowl.

“That looks like a lot,” he remarked.

“Just get to mixing. It won’t be.”

So Sunday did as told, mixing the candy into the dough. Much to his surprise, she’d been right. Once mixed into the dough, it didn’t look like that much compared to when she’d poured it in.

“Hey, Stelle won’t be mad at me for this, right?”

Sunday’s stomach twisted nervously at the reappearance of her insecurities, and it twisted the opposite direction when he realized how desperately he wanted to assuage her worries. “No,” he said. Whether that was truth or a lie, he’d figure out later. “I’m sure she would understand the necessity of...” he looked over the disaster that surrounded him. “Teaching me skills in the kitchen.”

Slowly, she smiled. It wasn’t that bright one she’d worn before, but something softer, sweeter. Something that knocked into him with surprising force. “Then, fingers crossed.”

Relieved, he turned back to mixing the dough. “I think this looks good.”

After sliding the much emptier candy bag back onto the shelf, she returned to his side. He was acutely aware of how close she was as she inspected the dough. “Yeah, but there’s only one way to tell if we succeeded.”

March took two spoons, scooping up the dough before extending it right in front of his mouth. “Taste it, obviously.” She threw a wink at him.

His feathers flared with surprise, the action catching him off guard. Unable to look at her, he stared at the spoon instead. “O-oh?”

“Yeah. This is basically the reward of making cookies, so you can have the first bite.”

She held the spoon close enough that all he would have to do was bend forward to take a bite. He leaned in only a touch before he caught himself. Just what was he doing?

Finally, a rational part of his mind took over. He grabbed the spoon handle, but not without accidentally brushing his fingers against hers. “Then… thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” she said, scooping a second spoonful of dough. “For spending time with me. You don’t have to, but…” She looked him in the eye, allowing him to see the magical sparkle that fascinated him glittering within her duo-tone irises.  “I’m glad you do.”

I’m glad I do, too.

Yet, he found those words a little too embarrassing to speak aloud. So in order to avoid it, he took a bite of the cookie dough instead.

~~

March knew she was taking advantage of Sunday’s kindness. She should have sent him to bed ages ago.

Specifically his bed. Not hers, where they were currently sitting with a mug of milk and a plate of warm cookies between them. They’d already cleaned up the mess they’d made in the kitchen while the cookies were baking, meaning they could immediately take their prized possessions and go. But March hadn’t wanted to be alone, and Sunday had become a rather comfortable presence in the midnight hours.

She didn’t want to look too deeply into why she felt that way.

“You know,” she said, dunking half a cookie into the milk. “I think you did well for your first time.”

“Is that so?” he said, mirroring her actions with a smile.

“Yup. Oak Family head to Astral Express baker. That’s really an upgrade.”

“An upgrade?”

“Huge. Interstellar-sized upgrade.”

He snorted, trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

March grinned, her heart warm. She liked this side of him. The more human side. Maybe after all this ‘fake world’ this and ‘mermoria’ that and ‘aeon games’ the-next-thing, all she needed was having someone human by her side.

“Are you going to ask him to stay?”

March chomped her cookie. “Shut up, Evernight,” she mentally said in her head.

“I thought people liked spending time with their lovers.”

“He’s not my lover.”

“Then what’s the difference between you teasing Dan Heng and Stelle staying up together at night, and me teasing you and Sunday about this?”

At that, March was silent. Because she was sure there were differences, but at this moment, while her heart was warm from the company and the cookies, she couldn’t think of a single one.

~~

Sunday had overstayed his visit with March by… he glanced at the clock. By about seven hours.

Shifting against the headboard he’d fallen asleep against, he tiredly ran a hand down his face. As his hand fell to his lap, he turned to his other side, where March lay next to him. On her bed.

His face warmed, his wings feeling itchy as the feathers fluffed subconsciously. Aeons, this was improper on every single level.

He should have left long before it got to this point, but he could only listen when March started really opening up about the graphic scenes in her nightmares. He could tell she was embarrassed, ashamed. There was no way to leave her that wouldn’t make her feel like she was being abandoned. From a logical standpoint, it was rude. From an emotional one…

Simply put, his heart wouldn’t let him.

They were going to have to find out a better plan that didn’t involve improper overnight sleepovers. His gaze then lowered to their interconnected hands. That didn’t involve them hanging on to each other while having candid discussions of nightmares late into the night. It created an intimate atmosphere that was far more comfortable than Sunday was comfortable with it being.

As for what that different plan was… he didn’t even know if there was one. Not one that would give March the reassurance she clearly craved. The broken man inside him knew how much that brokenness hurt. If he could protect her from it, then he wouldn’t let her suffer that fate.

His gaze softened as he looked to the sleeping March. This made him feel worth something, like he held value. Unlike before, when he was striving for some lofty ideal, touting ‘the greater good’ while he committed increasingly egregious sins, he now focused on a single person, quietly tending to something that mattered.

This was where true value lay. What would it be like if he pursued this value as opposed to the lofty ideals that still lingered in the back of his mind?

He decided he could ponder that question after he left her room.

Carefully, he slipped his hand from hers. March shifted in her sleep but seemed to settle when he tucked her hand close to her. She ended up tucking it under her chin as she curled up into a little ball.

“Don’t freeze over on us now,” he murmured, recognizing this pose as the same one she’d been in when she’d frozen over. It worried him slightly, prompting him to take one of the plush animals off her windowsill and tuck it under the blanket with her. It might not help, but there was an illogical little part of him that said she couldn’t freeze over if she was warm.

That done, he took the empty plates and mugs, then carefully slipped from the room, all the while praying no one would see—

“Oh my aeons.”

Sunday’s gut plunged, ice running up his spine faster than one of Evernight’s attacks. He turned to the side, seeing Stelle and Dan Heng standing right outside the archives.

He could not have chosen a worse time to leave March’s room.

“I freaking told you!” Stelle hissed, smacking a pointedly unamused Dan Heng in the shoulder. “I knew it.”

“Stelle,” Dan Heng warned.

She didn’t settle in the slightest, instead looking at Sunday with the most smug smirk he’d ever seen. “I finally get to return the favor for all her teasing—”

“Please, don’t,” Sunday pleaded, finally getting the good sense to step out of the room and close the door behind him. “She’s finally asleep.”

Stelle’s amusement faded, but Dan Heng’s expression only grew more pointed. He looked every bit the over-protective big brother in that moment. Sunday would know. He hoped he’d looked half that threatening whenever someone had gotten a little too close to Robin.

“Sunday,” Dan Heng began, arms crossed. “Would you like to explain exactly why you were in March’s room?”

No, he actually wouldn’t, but he also knew he didn’t have a choice. He lifted the dirty dishes he carried. “May I put these away first?”

In a flash, Stelle grabbed them from his hands and was off down the hall. “Have a good chat,” she said, but then she paused, glancing back. “And Sunday, if you see March again before I do, tell her those cookies were amazing, but I’m so kicking her butt for using the chocolate without me.”

“Uh… w-will do.”

“And sweetheart,” Stelle warned. “Don’t kill March’s new boyfriend.”

Dan Heng sighed. “We’ll see.”