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The faint smell of coffee together with the bothersome leather were quick to invade the halovian’s senses as he took his first step into the Astral Express. The golden eyes of his face gazed around, taking note of every detail inside the parlor car - almost in a millimetrical manner. His view trailed up to face the stunning whale-shaped chandelier - or, at least, what he assumed to be a chandelier -, his eyes narrowing softly to take a better look at the item. Beautiful. Well cared. As he would expect from the crew.
At the same time, Sunday could feel some anxious feeling bothering his senses. The sensation of uncertainty. On many occasions, he would ask himself if this was really the best choice, all the sacrifices he could’ve made to get to a place like this.
He would sigh, taking a seat at one of the leather, maroon colored couches. His attention moved to his feet, noticing the manner they rested on the ground. He was quick to adjust his position, his hands resting on his lap almost tugging onto his clothes. He shouldn’t behave like this, not when he’s a guest. For now, he hoped.
Once he raised his head, Sunday would meet with the endless skies of infinite stars outside the Astral Express. It almost felt like a dream. A… Dream? No. Not the bitter dream that he dared to think back at each second of his existence. But the dream he always wished for, the dream that he and Robin would wish for in their early childhood. Full of expectatives for the future, full of hope and desires that consumed their minds. The hope that their mother would wish for.
Sunday thought about her every day. Talking to her, hoping that wherever Xipe’s Paradise is, his mother would be listening to him. He never stopped thinking about her. Nor Robin.
His gaze broke away from the window, moving to find the notebook resting on his clothes. His fingers brushed over the cover, opening the book to finally reveal its contents. But, instead, Sunday took the feather shaped pen - the feather that was so similar to Robin’s - and an empty page flashed his eyes.
He takes a deep breath.
And, finally, the pen-tip meets with the vanilla colored page.
“To my dearest sister”
“I hope you are doing well. Hoping that Xipe’s gaze never left your presence once. Have you been doing well, Robin? I’d hope so. Please, do not be sad or upset about my departure, although I am quite sure that you already are doing that. I am fine. At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of. Penacony no longer is a home for me and now I believe that my journey through the cosmos has finally started. Started with the thorn past I crossed, that is.”
Sunday’s hand shakes for a second. He was quick enough to take the pen away from the paper. Or else it would’ve been a disaster, he says to himself.
“My wings are no longer clipped, sister. And I hope that yours haven’t been abandoned for my cause. Not again. I hope that, someday, this letter reaches you and those that I also dared to love back then.”
He paused once again. The halovian could feel his thoughts racing, almost as if he hesitated to write further into the paper. He could feel tears forming at the corners of his eyes; tears that he was quick to brush away with the back of his hand. For the last time, the pen tip meets with the paper.
“May Xipe guide you and your path, Robin. I miss you dearly. More than anything.”
“Forever in your await,”
“Your big brother.”
Sunday lays the pen over the page and closes the book in a gentle manner, placing the item back where it rested before. His back rested at the leather couch and his neck slightly tilted up, meeting with the floating whale on the ceiling once again. He could still feel the wet in his eyes. The tears do not fall. They don’t dare to roll down his cheeks. He is wrapped in his thoughts, thinking and re-thinking about his mistakes, about his past life, about the people who he misled and those who misled him.
What could’ve been different?
What could’ve changed him?
Perhaps everything could’ve been worse, but was this the best outcome?
…
No. Of course not. He knew that response already.
But maybe… Maybe if he just-
“Mr. Sunday.” A voice would drag him out of his thoughts. Sunday’s eyebrows would rise quickly and his gaze changed at the person standing next to him.
“Mr. Yang.” The halovian would respond as he quickly stood up, ignoring the tears on his eyes and hoping that the other man wouldn’t notice. He felt quite troubled about such a thing, repeating to himself how he wished his tears would simply disappear from his eyes within a second.
“I apologize if I interrupted your… Moment of recollection.” The brunette admits as he adjusts his glasses on his face. “But I believe it’s my responsibility to check on you.”
The halovian sighed softly. Did he notice how he was crying? Did he notice what he was writing? Sunday’s gaze broke away for a second.
“Of course, don’t feel pressured to do so.” Welt added to his speech once he noticed the slight change of behavior on the other’s body language.
The golden hues would trail back at the brunette. And, with a soft nod, the halovian finally responded. “There is nothing to worry about. The Conductor already gave me the instructions I needed. I appreciate the concern.” He would say, nodding softly at his own last words.
Welt would correspond the nod as Sunday spoke. “Perhaps there is anything more I could do for you?” He asks once more, attempting his best to make the halovian comfortable. … Perhaps, he was pushing a bit too far.
Although, the question lingers in Sunday’s mind. There is something he could do. But should he ask about him? He thinks and re-thinks, feeling his heart almost beating out of his chest as he debates if he should really ask such a question.
He would’ve done that for you. He thinks. And, for a moment, the world goes dark. He remembers every moment spent with him, every tender touch, every share of loveable words - and some others that he quite didn’t enjoy -, everything returned to his mind.
“Gallagher.” Sunday says out of the blue after short minutes in silence. His eyes don’t dare to gaze at Welt, almost as if he was ashamed of his own thoughts, his own words. “... What happened to him, Mr. Yang?”
The halovian visibly frowns as his attention turns away, back at the starry sky outside the windows. “I looked for him… All across Penacony as I was taking care of the few reminiscents of the Order. But… I couldn’t find him.”
Welt stands quiet. His own lips touched to form a thin line as Sunday asked him such a question, almost as if he hesitated himself to give a response. “Were you close?” Is what comes out of his lips.
And the halovian hesitates again. He shouldn’t have said that. Right? Right? His eyes darted anywhere but at the older one standing in front of him. His chest ached and his thoughts ran wild.
Should he respond sincerely?
Should he really?
What could even happen if he-
“Yes.” Sunday responds amongst his own inner panic. He finds some composure again and takes a deep breath. His eyebrows knit together as he attempts to find the right words to explain himself. “... We had a couple… ‘Encounters’ before I found myself at the Dreamflux Reef..”
And, with those words, he could see everything again. He could hear his voice. He could see his face, the beloved features that he adored. The crimson eyes that looked at him with such devotion. The calloused hands that held him tenderly.
Gallagher, the man he once dared to love. The man who was nothing but a lie. The sweetest lie that Sunday could’ve ever asked for.
Then, silence filled the room.
Sunday could feel his heart beating out of his chest, the thoughts that consumed his mind telling him that he should've been quiet. Why speak about that man in such a way? And why to Welt of all people when he's merely a passenger in this train?
His heart ached. His breath felt heavy. He could feel his hands shaking slightly. Everything seemed to bother him now. The unaligned clothes. The pillow over the couch seemed quite in the wrong place. Even the lights on the ceiling seemed quite–
“Come with me.” Welt's voice was enough to snap Sunday out of his racing thoughts. The oldest one turned his back and walked away from the halovian, that was quick to follow after.
Without another word, the brunette stopped and took a note from the counter almost in the middle of the parlor car. Then, he handed the piece of paper to the halovian.
A confused expression grew onto Sunday's features once that note was given to him. But, without questioning, his golden eyes gazed at the words written.
“To the new generation of Nameless.”
“By the time you read this, I will likely have gone to where Mikhail went.”
Oh.
Oh.
His eyes quickly travel across the words, the desperation growing evident on his expression as the realization slowly reaches for him.
“Life and death are merely parts of the fiction on the road of Enigmata, just like farewells and reunions.”
Sunday softly crumbles a part of the paper and tears fall from his eyes. He doesn't even realize he's crying. However, his soft sobs slowly grow into desperate cries as he buries his face in his hands, letting his warm tears stain the cloth of his hands. For a second, the halovian could swear he could feel his heart breaking. He coughs into his hands and attempts to catch his breath, only for more and more tears to come out.
He's gone.
He's… Gone?
He doesn't believe those words. More like Sunday doesn't want to believe the reality. How many more people will he have to lose until his sins are forgiven? How much suffering will he have to go through to forgive himself?
Robin. Gallagher. His own self. What else can he lose?
His mind spirals. He feels uneasy.
Sunday keeps crying onto his hands and his nails almost grip into his face, only being refrained by his gloved hands. And, for a second, his tears cease.
How could he leave like this? How could he leave without talking? Without saying a last goodbye? Was this out of hate? Out of revenge?
His wings flick softly out of… What? Desperation? Sadness? Anger? He wasn't sure himself.
Suddenly, the halovian feels a hand on his shoulder and his golden eyes finally rise from his palms, meeting with Welt's softened gaze upon him. Silence stood between them for a couple seconds.
“I'm sorry for your loss.” Is all that the brunette man manages to say. Words that, quickly enough, make Sunday shed tears once more.
He takes his time and Mr. Yang does not rush him. The halovian cries until he feels like it, as much as he can, to mourn the departure of the one who dared to love the dove with clipped wings. And the one who dared to love the fangless hound.
Later that day, Sunday finds himself staring at that note once more. The note that now rested in the pages of his small notebook, staring at an empty page. He feels his eyes quite dry and puffy from crying. Then, his hues wander at the glass of water on the table that Mr. Yang brought him.
The halovian sighs softly, feeling his breath still shaky. His hands gently take the feathered pen once more and the tip reaches the empty paper, together with the note that was written by Gallagher.
“To the enigmatic Hound”
“I must admit to myself that I could've never imagined that I would be writing a letter to you, of all people. But, considering where we both stand nowadays, I suppose we deserve a talk.”
Sunday shakes. His breath likewise.
“To think that you've left without saying your last goodbye deeply hurts me. Even if everything was merely a lie, your existence itself, none of that was ever deceitful to me. Everything I felt in the Dreamscape was real, including the unnecessary…”
The halovian curses under his breath and quickly crosses out a few words. It looks horrible now. He could feel himself getting nervous and small tears appeared in the corner of his eyes.
Sunday attempts to move on from this mistake. Mistake that he attempts to convince himself that is truly small. And, once again, the tip of the pen meets with the vanilla colored paper.
“Everything I felt in the Dreamscape was real, even the feelings I had for you. It is difficult for me to admit such a thing, however, I believe that at the time of your own departure you had already accepted that yourself.”
“I wonder if I will ever find someone like you during my journeys. Most likely not. Even if your features were fake, you felt human and unique. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes that was unbearable now is nostalgic to me and I wish I could feel them one last time.”
Tears stain the paper. The halovian bites his lower lip attempting to make himself stop crying. He grips tighter on the pen. He can't stop. The tears don't stop.
He sobs softly and, for once, ceases fighting his own tears.
With a shaky hand, he continues.
“The Order has finally ceased and the dream has returned to its peace. I am certain that this wouldn't be possible without you.”
“But at a cost. I've lost myself, my sister and now, you.”
“Perhaps across the immense reign of The Harmony in the cosmos there is a place where a bird and a hound are bonded together once more in a connection that cannot be broken like ours.”
“Forever in your mourn.”
“Sunday”