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Ever since the events of the Charmony festival and Sunday's decision to join the Nameless, he'd been finding it increasingly hard to sleep. Ironic, really, considering he'd wanted to create an eternal dream only to now find the few he could get plagued with nightmares of his failure, which would often end with a fall which would wake him up too shaken to try again for the night anyway. So, he simply gave up on sleeping altogether, getting by on small naps throughout the day instead and opting to read by the window in his usual corner of the party car instead.
He hated the solitude of it, but there was little to be done. Sometimes he'd catch Stelle coming down from her room for a glass of water, or Mr. Yang on the occasion he struggled to sleep as well, and would have a small conversation with them but they were both far busier, more important people than him, so he would never ask them to stay.
That was all before the ordeal on Amphoreus had gained them a new passenger, however.
One such night, Sunday waited for a little in his room after the others had gone to bed before returning to the party car and settling in his corner. It had become such routine that he didn't even have to ask Shush for a cup of his favourite blend of tea, one simply appeared on the table beside him and he gave the robot bartender a small thank you before continuing to recount the day's events in his journal.
When he heard the door open and a hesitant, unfamiliar trail of footsteps he turned to lock eyes with the express' latest procurement. The man stopped instantly, blue eyes wide with surprise as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be.
"Oh. Sorry... I didn't think anyone else would be awake." The man ( what was his name again?) rubbed the back of his neck, his tone weirdly flat for an apology that seemed more out of habit than genuine .
"Did you need something?" Sunday asked, wondering if the man ( Seriously, what was his name? ) always looked that suspicious when doing nothing wrong.
"No nothing like that. I just couldn't sleep is all," Once again his voice, unsettlingly, had no inflection to it, like he physically couldn't add any if he tried. The man ( had Sunday even been told his name? ) seemed to debate something in his head, "...would you mind if I sat with you?"
"Do as you wish... What is your name?" Sunday worked the question in just so it would stop bothering him. The man frowned and took strangely long to think of an answer.
"... Khaslana." That didn't sound right but Sunday had no reason to care if he was lying, they were both part of the "Nameless" anyway, if the man would answer to it, then it would do.
"Alright Khaslana," he repeated, watching the other man take his seat and setting down his journal. The current scenario presented an opportunity to get to learn more of the man in front of him, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by the man. A Lord Ravager born from a simulation was sure to have something interesting to talk about. "I don't believe we've had the chance to speak before. I'm Sunday."
"Sunday. Stelle told me about you and your home planet. Penacony, wasn't it?" Khaslana held his gaze with eyes Sunday realised were far more dim and hollow than he'd spotted initially. It was unsettling, but he doubted his own, practiced expression looked much friendlier, though it twitched as he realised the Lord Ravager knew more of him than he'd thought.
"Ah, Miss Stellaron. How much has she told you exactly?" The smile he gave Khaslana didn't reach his eyes, and his words came out with a little venom on them he hadn't expected.
"The whole story I believe," of course she had, "and while I don't wish to dwell on the past and understand the importance of individual choice... I don't think you were wrong to try and create an ideal world for the people you love." He averted his gaze to stare out the window into the stars, his voice wavering almost unnoticeably in the last few words.
Sunday was taken aback by the sudden confession and decided he couldn't think of a good enough response, so instead he joined Khaslana in his contemplation, and they gazed absently at the stars together until the morning came. Sunday expected this to be the last of their interactions, at least for a while.
The next night Khaslana joined him again.
"Can't sleep again?" Sunday asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to be polite. He took in more of the man's appearance this time. His white hair was tousled as if he'd had his hands in it minutes prior, and he was dressed down to a plain black shirt, pants and boots. The outline of a sun peeked out from his collar, partially, and clearly intentionally, covered by a choker around his neck. Khaslana met his eyes as he sat and once more despite their radiant blue colouration they looked devoid of any light.
"I can't remember the last time I did. Or had to, for that matter. You?"
"Insomnia. It's a common result of being in Penacony's sweet dream for too long." Sunday gave him half an answer, still wondering what exactly Khaslana meant about when he last had to sleep but decided against enquiring further.
"Ah, so you're here often then." His flat tone made it extremely difficult to tell how he was supposed to interpret Khaslana's words sometimes.
"Would you prefer I wasn't?" Sunday asked him without accusation.
"No." His answer was instantaneous, a brief flicker of panic in his eyes. It seemed Khaslana couldn't interpret Sunday's tone well either, "No. That's not how I meant it. I... don't like to be alone."
The man before him seemed smaller than before, an almost imperceptible blush over his cheeks as he stared at the table between them like it owed him credits. Sunday had to admit it was an endearing display coming from a Lord Ravager. He chuckled a little and thought of an idea.
"I didn't mean anything by that question, Khaslana. I simply wanted to know if I could bother you into indulging me a little," He mused, letting the smile from his laughter linger a little as Khaslana tilted his head a little, not unlike a puppy, "would you like to play a game?"
"What kind?"
"A little icebreaker. I used to use it to get the children who attended the Harmony church's youth sessions to get to know each other," he wasn't sure what Khaslana had done to remind him of this, but it would keep the conversation light to avoid a repeat of yesterday, "the way it works is that one person comes up with a question they'd like to know from the other person, then gives their own answer without telling the other person what the question they wanted to ask was. The other person then has to give their answer to what they think the question the other person wanted to ask was." Khaslana took a moment, then his eyes flickered with recognition.
"I get it. I have memories of playing it a few times when I was young. You get one opportunity to ask what the question was and one to ask what the other person thought the question was, right?"
Sunday was very surprised (and slightly annoyed) that a simulated person in a simulated world had managed to come up with what he had thought to be his own original idea, but it certainly made things easier if he didn't have to explain it any more. However, Robin had always complained it was too confusing for children, so the confirmation that someone else had deemed it appropriate fed his ego a little.
"That is correct, yes. Would you like me to go first? I'll try to keep the questions simple to start with, and would ask you to do the same." He took Khaslana's prior response as confirmation he'd like to play. Khaslana nodded then as Sunday went to speak looked slightly unsure.
"Wait. If one of us says a word one of us doesn't understand, are we allowed to ask what it is?" Sunday hadn't considered that, actually. The game relied on an understanding of a world that the two participants shared, and the two of them couldn't have come from more different places.
"Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Anything else?" Khaslana shook his head.
Sunday nodded in return and recalled what he always started with when he had played in the past.
“What is your favourite animal?”
"Charmony Dove."
Khaslana tilted his head again. "I'm sorry a what?"
"This is going to take longer than I thought."
Over the course of about a month's worth of playing in small doses, despite the amount of explaining they both had to do almost every time one of them gave an answer, Sunday had actually learnt quite a lot about Khaslana.
First it had been small things, such as the fact that Khaslana had grown up in a town called Aedes Elysiae, that he had a hobby for treasure appraisal, and that Amphoreus had vastly different months to Penacony, with Khaslana's favourite being the Month of Freedom. The way it was structured sounded very nice, to be honest, outside of the Season of Calamity.
"By the time I got to Okhema most of that tradition had fallen away," (Sunday had then had to ask what an "Okhema" was, though he could guess it was a city of some kind) "turns out you can't really have a Month of Strife to wage war in when you're always at war. The Month of Mourning though... The priests were even busier than they ever had been." Sunday had moved on to the next question after that.
Gradually their answers got longer as simpler questions ran out, and Sunday learnt old myths and small anecdotes Khaslana had dredged up from what he's learnt were the memories of over 66 million past lives.
"How do you still remember so much so vividly?" Sunday had asked, as they'd gradually started to drift away from the game's structure.
“My memory of the first cycle is the strongest though, so I get most of my answers from there." His head drooped a little, with what Sunday had learnt to interpret was mourning. "The rest of what I can remember is mostly either blended with that... or from after the reset."
Near the end of the week, Sunday learnt the names of the people Khaslana had known and lost, and what Khaslana had had to do to them. The man sitting across from him was showing more emotion too. His tone would falter as he recalled previous moments with them and he would speak with a somber smile, eyes glistening with unshed tears that would turn into small coils of steam as they met his cheeks. Sunday wondered just how painful and desensitizing the burning hatred inside him must be if it stopped even his tears from falling, and it made his chest ache. He and Khaslana could relate on many things, but this was one Sunday would never be able to do anything but offer sympathy for.
"You aren't even allowed to cry for them. That is... Unbelievably cruel."
"I don't deserve to."
"You loved them, Khaslana, you deserve to mourn them. I mourn the fact I will never see Robin again sometimes despite my actions, do I have no right to that either?"
"That's different. You acted out of love."
"And you're telling me you didn't?"
Khaslana looked at Sunday like he'd hung the stars, then broke down completely. He curled up into himself, the hissing of steam growing louder as it rose in large wisps from the man's cheeks. His entire body was wracked with sobs so violent he trembled with the effort to dampen them, and he struggled to breathe in between them.
Sunday felt a pit form in his stomach and quickly got up out of his chair, moving to kneel by Khaslana.
"Is it alright if I-" he didn't finish his sentence before Khaslana threw himself out of his chair and into Sunday, burying his face into his neck and holding him so tightly he could feel the other man's heart hammering against his own. If not for that and the fact Khaslana was burningly hot where he met his skin, Sunday would've been more than a little flustered rather than wincing in pain. He brought his hands up to Khaslana's face and pulled his head back to force eye contact.
"Khaslana. Look at me."
Khaslana gave a whimper in response and looked at him terribly sad but still terribly distant (and also now golden) eyes. Equally, Sunday found it terribly endearing and puppy like, but that line of thinking was terribly inappropriate at the present moment.
Sunday focused his tuning on Khaslana and spoke directly into his head.
"You need to calm down. Listen to my voice." Khaslana's eyes seemed to take him in a little more. “Whatever memories it is that haunt you, close your eyes, breathe deeply and imagine them receding back into the depths of your mind, like the air flowing to your lungs."
Khaslana closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Gradually, he stopped shaking, his heart rate slowed down and the searing heat coming from him dulled to a comforting warmth. He opened his eyes (now blue again) as he exhaled, meeting Sunday's with reverence.
"... How did you do that?" Khaslana asked quietly, his voice still a little wet but with more inflection than Sunday had ever heard from him.
"Harmonic tuning." Sunday sighed with relief and smiled, lowering his hands to Khaslana's shoulders, "I believe I mentioned it before. I don't normally use it to calm those stricken with grief as it only serves to make the process harder but I made an exception."
Khaslana tilted his head. "Why?"
"You were burning me." Sunday gestured at where Khaslana's face had been on his neck, the area of which had turned an angry shade of red. Khaslana's eyes widened.
"Oh Gods I'm so sorry I-I didn't mean-"
Sunday smiled and pulled him back into a hug, resting his head on his shoulder and feeling a flush come across his face as he felt Khaslana's heart rate pick up again. "I know. It's alright."
"No-no it isn't I hurt you. We should seriously treat that-"
He couldn't bring himself to care; the warmth emanating from Khaslana was the most comfort he'd felt in a long time. "I know. In a moment."
He ran his fingers gently through the snowy white tangle of Khaslana's hair and that was the end of the argument.
They stayed like that for maybe five minutes on the floor before getting up and asking Shush for the first aid kit (the poor robot had seen the whole thing and had been debating whether or not to go and get someone).
Khaslana's hands were careful as they applied the burn ointment and bandaged his neck, having insisted he do it as an apology, which Sunday further insisted was unnecessary but let him do it anyway considering he couldn't see the full extent of the burn because of its location. When he finished, he handed the first aid kit back to Shush and brushed his fingers lightly over the gauze, gaze seeming distant for a moment.
"Khaslana? Is everything okay?" Sunday queried, and the other man's attention snapped back to him, face flush with embarrassment.
"Ah. Yeah. Just... Nevermind." He pulled his hand away and gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "You should get some rest for once so that it can heal. I'll see you tomorrow."
Sunday tried to sleep that night to no avail, so he opted to return to writing at his desk instead, hoping perhaps he'd be tired enough in the morning to get an hour or so in then.
When the express' scheduled morning rolled around, there was a tentative knock at his door. Having successfully made himself a little tired, he walked sleepily to open the door, expecting one of the usual suspects to be in need of something.
He found Khaslana there instead.
The Lord Ravager in his doorway looked small despite their now very noticeable height difference, with Sunday's vision falling to about chest level if he didn't tilt his head upward. He was still dressed as he had been last night, and at this distance Sunday could see just how little his tightly fitting shirt left to the imagination when it came to the man's impressive musculature. Not that he hadn't felt it when he'd held him, but it was easier to admire now that his life wasn't in danger from Khaslana's other type of strength. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time Khaslana had caught him staring during the day, and he'd often catch Khaslana doing the same, so he was unlikely to comment on the light tinge of red Sunday's face had acquired. When he looked up to speak, the Lord Ravager's face didn't look all that different from his own.
"Khaslana." He let a smile form on his lips as he uttered the other man's name; he didn't care why he was at his door, only that he was company Sunday would always enjoy. "Would you like to come in?"
Khaslana nodded sheepishly, an almost unnoticeable pinprick of light shining in the previous voids of his irises, and Sunday stepped aside to let him in. He let the man study his room for a moment, although there wasn't much to see. Considering he spent most of his time at his table in the party car, he hadn't bothered with much decoration besides his belongings and a few photos Stelle had gifted him on the wall. The space barely looked lived in besides the books on his desk because it barely was.
"There's not much to look at I'm afraid." He said to draw the man's attention, moving to sit on the bed and gesturing to the space beside him. When the larger man sat, the bed sagged a little under his weight.
"It's fine. My room doesn't look all that different." Khaslana gave him a rueful smile. Now showing a lot more emotion on his face, he managed to look even more puppy-like than he ever had before. Sunday could almost picture the sad droop of his ears and it did terrible things to his heart. "I didn't want to touch anything at first because... I didn't want it to be real."
Sunday tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Khaslana found a sudden interest in the floor, bringing his previously fidgeting hands to hug himself.
"I am unbelievably grateful for all you and the Nameless have done for Ampho... For me. But even knowing everything I knew before wasn't real, that I wasn't real until a couple of months ago, I still find myself longing to go back more than anything. To wake up in Mydeimos' arms again and realise that this was all a dream." There was such a deep, tearful longing in his voice that wasn't quite free of his usual flat tone, but it made Sunday want to hold him again nonetheless, to lessen that grief for even just a moment.
"Khas-"
"Phainon."
"What?"
Khaslana's voice had been barely above a whisper, and he took a deep breath before meeting Sunday's eyes with a steady gaze.
"Phainon. That's the name everyone used for me on Amphoreus, before the reset. Khaslana is the name I used after. My real name is technically Neikos496, the name of my data file, but no one other than Lygus ever called me that." A small shudder went through him when he mentioned Lygus. "I gave you the name Khaslana because I didn't think I could be Phainon again after all I've done."
Sunday leaned forward and took one of Khaslana's trembling hands in both of his own. It was so warm. Sunday longed to pull him even closer to feel that warmth envelop him again.
"Would you like to be?"
"More than anything." He whispered like it was shameful, voice on the verge of breaking as small wisps of steam rose from his flushed cheeks. "I haven't felt this much emotion in so long... I came here to thank you for that, actually."
He moved close enough Sunday could feel the heat coming off of him like gentle sunshine, and Phainon freed both of his hands to cup Sunday's cheeks. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled a little this time, those two tiny points within them of light seemed radiant. It was the most beautiful thing Sunday had ever seen.
"Thank you for making me feel human again, Sunday."
He kissed Sunday softly, just an experimental brush of their lips at first before Sunday reached his arms up to pull Phainon in again, gloved fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss gradually deepened and both of their desperation started to show through. Phainon whined into his mouth and Sunday swallowed it gladly, letting the larger man push him down on the bed. They only broke off when the oxygen deprivation started to make them faint, gasping for breath. Phainon's chest was heaving as he panted, lips swollen and shiny with spit as he looked at Sunday with blown pupils, the tear stains beneath them concealed by the deep scarlet colour of his cheeks.
"You look beautiful." Phainon all but cooed at him, still not completely devoid of the flat tone the man could never seem to shake, but coated with so much honey and dripping with so much love the lack of inflection seemed unimportant. He brushed his thumb across Sunday's cheek and he caught his hand to keep it there, planting a kiss on his palm.
"You look like a puppy." Sunday mused. Phainon let out a little laugh and moved his hands to the sides of Sunday's head to lean down and nuzzle into Sunday's cheek.
"You're not the first person to think so." He spoke into his skin, kissing gently along Sunday's jawline before burying his face in the pillow beside him, bringing their chests together as he laid down fully, tucking his arms beneath Sunday to hug him. Sunday brought his arms up to reciprocate the embrace, feeling his heart slow to match the steady pace of Phainon's above him. That radiant warmth soaked into every inch of him; combined with the comforting weight of Phainon's body the man acted as a heavy, heated blanket that made Sunday feel truly drowsy for the first time in months. He inhaled deeply, face tucked into the curve of Phainon's neck, and found that while he could mostly smell fresh cotton and sunlight, there was a faint, lingering smell of wheat underneath.
"The scent of his home." Sunday thought, remembering what Phainon had told him about the time he spent laying in the wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae. It seemed impossible that a simulated world could leave such a trace on a now real person, but it was undeniably present. Sunday briefly wondered if Phainon could smell the bath salts from the dream pool on him, or maybe the drunken sweetness of Penacony that hung in the air like smog. As his eyes fell shut, he decided he wouldn't bother to ask. The pain of their loss and self-loathing wasn't gone, but it seemed distant as it was overtaken by the comfort of the other's presence. The past didn't matter, not for the present moment, anyway.
And on that gilded morning, if only for just a few hours, they were finally allowed to rest.