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Dear Mr. Yang,
I hope this note finds you and the rest of the Astral Express crew doing well. It has only been a few days since the Express departed, but you all have been on my mind. Your help in Penacony has left quite the impression, I must say. There are threads of the Trailblaze woven into every corner of the sweet dream, and yet it coexists in peace with the Harmony. It is a wonderful feeling. I know I am not the only one to think so.
I've included a small token of my esteem: giantmoa pudding tarts. I hope you all find them to your liking.
With gratitude,
Robin
P.S. Rumor has it that you are now the caretaker of a lost Charmony dove. They are special birds, but fragile, and require delicate care. Should you ever be wanting, I will be happy to provide tips on their care.
Miss Robin,
First, the entire crew wants to thank you for the well-wishes—and the pudding tarts. I hear they were delicious. I'm certain they will reach out to you personally, but still. They are remarkable kids, aren't they?
Speaking of, I must profess that your dedication to your path is also quite remarkable. You've had to make many hard decisions and bear many griefs in a short amount of time, but you are still bringing light to those around you. If it's not too presumptuous, and please let me know if I am overstepping, may I say that I am proud of you? Few people have the strength to confront loved ones when they are wrong; fewer still ever do anything about it beyond harsh words. Keep hold of that strength. It will carry you far.
You are correct about the Charmony dove. He may be mourning the skies right now, but I think he will begin to heal soon enough. You're also right about the care. His body is strong, but his wings are fragile. Still, I think this one will one day soar to heights unknown. At least, that is my hope for him. You have my word that I will keep him safe and cared for until he can fly again. Even if he is refusing to nest with any of us....
Charmony doves are quite similar to each other, aren't they? I know this one has a counterpart out there. Should that one need someone to hear her songs, I'm more than willing to listen.
All the best,
Welt Yang
Dear Mr. Yang,
I thought I had enclosed enough tarts for the entire crew, plus any passengers, but I must not have. I'm including another one to make up for the one you didn't get.
Thank you so much for your kind words. It's been a long time that anyone's had that kind of pride in me. Usually it's all about the singing, and I'm always happy to hear that people enjoy it, I really am! It sometimes feels like that's all I am to them, though.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm not. I'm honored that you'd care that much.
I know that what I did, I did for the betterment of Penacony and for a wayward soul. Sometimes it feels like I was too harsh. I didn't want to shatter any hopes, not in the sweet dream. Is it better to snuff out a dream that has become twisted? I want to say yes. I really do.
Charmony doves can be very stubborn, but he'll consent to a nest once he gets tired of the back pain. He's not accustomed to sleeping often, though, so if he flutters about in the night, don't let it bother you.
Kind regards,
Robin
P.S. You don't have to call me 'miss,' you know. Just Robin is fine.
Just Robin,
Thank you for the tart. I've discovered that pudding tarts make excellent medicine for Charmony doves, so I gave mine to him. When I offered him this one, he insisted we split it. The tarts are, indeed, delicious.
Please don't apologize. You don't sound ungrateful at all. It's... difficult to be placed on a pedestal like that. Certainly, people are impressed by the power and the height, but they don't understand the balancing act it requires. Don't let them build your pedestal too high. It's very lonely there at the top, and it can be shattering to fall.
I think there are times when we have to be harsh, even when it hurts, because it is that pain that inspires growth. Think of it this way: would you rather wake them while the dream was still sweet, or wait and let that sweet dream twist into a bitter nightmare? Sweet twisted dreams might be hard to let go of, but it's harder still to shake off a nightmare that can haunt you.
The Charmony dove has decided to nest in an old storage closet. It's at least big enough for him to stretch his wings, but the conductor is a bit put out at having to store the floor cleaning supplies in the corner of the Parlor Car. You're also right about him being restless at night. I'm usually awake then myself, and I've found that he'll settle down if he's not alone. While I do worry about him, I'm also very grateful for the company.
Wishing you a pleasant evening,
Welt Yang
P.S. If that's the case, then you can call me Welt as well. It's only fair, right?
Dear Welt as well,
… you know, that Charmony dove wrote to me and told me you were kind and easy to talk to. He was right. Your words have given me a lot of comfort and much to consider. It might always hurt a little to think of waking the dreamer, but at least now I can make peace with it.
Is it wrong that I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who's had to stand tall on a pedestal? How did you manage it? I'll have to manage the balancing act for a while yet, and I can't risk a fall.
(Please don't tell him about that!)
I'm relieved to know that the Charmony dove isn't alone in the waking world. It does his heart good to have found a kindred spirit. I've heard his song on the wind and it sounds brighter than before. I know I have you to thank for it.
With all fondness,
Robin
P.S. I can do terrible dad jokes too!
P.P.S. That dove also told me that you used to be an animator! What kind of projects did you work on? Anything I might have seen?
Robin,
Apologies for the delay in responding to you. I had a bit of a mishap with a mission, but I'm doing fine now.
You wouldn't have seen the series I created, no. It was only ever shown on my home world, and it is very, very far away from here. Though, the kids find it entertaining, so maybe you will too. I've made you a recording of the first Arahato movie and one of the most popular episodes with this letter. The quality won't be perfect, but they should be perfectly watchable. (Watch the movie first. It's a retelling of the origin story and a good way to discover the series.)
As for the pedestal... well. I never learned to manage it. I fell off it many times and got back on it just as many. I didn't have a choice. Don't make my mistakes. Don't let it get so high that the fall will break you.
Though, if that does happen, I know there are people who will support you regardless. The Charmony dove, for sure. So will I.
A mutual acquaintance has discovered that I have some passing skill with baking, and has insisted I learn to make pudding tarts. He also insisted I send you one, so there you go. I can't guarantee it'll be any good, though, so it won't hurt my feelings if you don't try it.
… I'm glad to hear that I can bring him a measure of solace. If it's not too forward of me to say, I think that dove has done my heart some good as well. It has been a very, very long time since I have felt this comfortable with another.
I'm not sure I ever have.
Anyway, do give you your opinions on the tart, and, of course, Arahato. Constructive feedback is an important part of the development process.
With affection,
Welt
P.S. I'm so proud.
Dear Welt,
Arahato was amazing! Most animation around Penacony is just basic kid's fare like Clockie, so I've never seen any that feel like they were made with adults in mind too! I love how the hero is so ordinary in the grand scheme of things, and yet he's able to transcend that with just a battle cry! The movie was great, but that episode—it was just. so. GOOD. “Tyrant of the false heavens! Witness the shattering of stars!” And the moment when everyone thought the hero had died to save them all? It made me cry! I just want to write a song about it now!
Not that I would! I mean... not without your permission, anyway.
There's something really sentimental about this series to you, isn't there? I can tell. True artists put a little of themselves into their art, and I got that feeling when watching it.
My only critique is that the robot seems a bit overdesigned. The skirt part seems like it would get in the way in a real battle.
The pudding tart was quite good! And I loved the little bird you drew on top. It was very sweet. Though... is it supposed to be that alcoholic?
The Charmony dove told me you hurt yourself! He also told me that you're terrible at asking for help. If you worry him too much, he'll get stressed, and when he gets stressed he'll pull out his feathers. And if that happens, I'll... I'll tell the rest of the Express crew to spray you with the dumbass spray!
Behave yourself!
Robin
Robin,
I'm sure it'll hearten you to learn that the dumbass spray has gotten good use on the Astral Express. Today alone, Dan Heng and I have both been sprayed once, March twice, and Stelle got the entire thing dumped over her head after chasing the Charmony dove with the bottle. She was yelling something about him confessing something? I don't know what it was all about, and no one else will tell me either. It's really rather aggravating.
Himeko has now taken possession of the bottle and rest of the crew is only allowed to use it with her permission. I'm not allowed to use it at all because I'm 'the one in most dire need of it,' according to everyone else.
Bullies, the lot of them.
You don't need my permission to make art. I'm just honored that my work has inspired you so!
The series is incredibly sentimental to me. I modeled the main character after my childhood hero. The world lost him way too soon, but I will never be able to forget him. It's no exaggeration to say that it's his influence that made me the man I am today. Now, whether that's a good thing or not depends on who you ask, haha.
I did not design the Arahato mech itself, but, just between us—I agree.
Ah, I must have forgotten to put the instructions in when I sent it. My apologies. The pudding part is supposed to be lit on fire first. That burns off the alcohol but leaves the cognac flavor behind. The kids got upset that I made a tart only the adults and the dove could eat, so now I'm experimenting with more child-safe flavors. Should the results turn out well, I'll send you one.
I'm not sure what the Charmony dove told you, but it truly wasn't dire. Just an old injury acting up. Though he's right in that I need to be better about asking for help. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
Your next tour is coming up soon, isn't it? Be safe out there. Remember that all of us on the Express will be here cheering you on. And remember what I said about pedestals.
Take care of yourself,
Welt
Dear Welt,
Sometimes we need to be bullied a little in order to see the problems within ourselves. As long as it comes from a place of love. And I get the feeling everyone on the Express cares a lot about you. I'm a little envious; it can get a little lonely when people are afraid to be casual with you. Pedestal problems, am I right?
Please don't be angry with the Charmony dove. All he told me was what I said in the letter. If you're worried he spilled some secret of yours, don't be. The dove understands discretion.
So do I.
You've offered me a listening ear and shown me nothing but kindness in these letters. I hope you know that goes both ways, yes? I can tell that thinking about your hero hurts you. The dove has raised concerns with me, too, that you're carrying a heavy weight on your shoulders. Please, let us be a listening ear for you as well. It's the very least we can do.
With love,
Robin
P.S. Forget what other people think. Do you think your hero's influence was a good thing, or a bad thing?
Robin,
Pedestal problems, indeed. I'm grateful to be (mostly) off of one. At least the crew doesn't insult me when I do something they don't approve of. Well, the Charmony dove has called me an idiot once, but frankly he was right and I was being an idiot, so he gets a pass. I don't mind the bullying as long as I know they understand why I act the way I do. Eventually the dove will get comfortable enough to bully you again. Just be patient. I'd offer, but I'm not very good at it.
I see stubbornness runs common in little doves. It's an admirable trait.
To be honest... I don't know if it was a good thing or not. Both, perhaps. It's hard to explain; it's a very long story that everyone involved in would like to forget. But I can try.
For starters, Welt Yang is... not the name I was born with. It's actually my hero's name. Welt Joyce. He passed the name down to me when he and my father were murdered passed away.
I was eight when
I didn't have a choice
It was my fault they
… forgive me. I suppose the topic's more difficult to talk about than I thought.
I just know that I cannot change the past. All I can do is keep trying to be a better man, day by day. The Charmony dove is an inspiration for that. He's inspiring in many ways. My life is better for knowing him. For knowing you, too.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but I have begun to dread the day the Charmony dove decides to fly away from here. It's only been a few months, and yet... he has become very dear to my heart.
I'm sorry for rambling. This whole letter's a mess, isn't it? Enough about me; how is the tour going? You're not letting them overwork you, are you? It's admirable to try and help everyone, but you can't help people if you extinguish your own flame. To help, I'm enclosing a box of blooming tea I acquired from the Xianzhou Luofu. I've found it works well for relaxation, though I recommend a spoonful of honey to cut the bitterness.
With all affection,
Welt
Dear Welt,
The tour has been going well! I'm trying to be more proactive about self-care this time around, but it's hard to do when there are so many people to meet and so many ways in which I can help! I'll try to pace myself, though. The tea really helps. I didn't know making tea could be meditative! Just sitting and watching the tea blossom in the cup makes me stop and relax. I think I actually prefer it without the honey, though.
I've been taking the time to work on that song I told you about while I drink it! I'm enclosing what few lyrics I have so far with this letter. Please be honest with your suggestions.
I think it's lovely that you chose to honor your hero in such a way! He really must have meant a lot to you. If your hero made you into what you are now, then he must have been a very kind and heroic man himself. That's what I think, anyway.
But—and forgive me for being forward—doesn't it feel lonely to wear another person's name?
You should tell the Charmony dove how you feel. I think he'd be glad to hear it.
Love,
Robin
[Untitled]
Verse 1:
I stood alone on that field in my dreams
The world reduced to me and you
A broken spear clenched in your hand
And your soul torn apart at the seams
[add second verse]
Bridge:
My wings won't break this time
In this dark and quiet sky
Chorus:
I rise again as the nighttime falls
and call for the shattered stars
[?]
Robin,
A few days ago, we on the Express watched the broadcast of your last show. March won't stop talking about it. I agree with her assessment: you were magnificent. The passion you have for song comes out so clear. I always admire artists as skilled as you.
I took a look at the song lyrics and they're a lovely start. I'm sending my suggestions with this letter. Please feel free to discard them; I'm only passingly familiar with music theory and songwriting, so I doubt they'll be of much help. I also made some mocha pudding tarts that went over well with the crew, so I'm sending them too. No alcohol to worry about with this batch.
It is a little lonely, sometimes. But on the other hand... it's been years since anyone's called me by my birth name. It feels—how should I put it? Like an old coat in the back of the closet. It's still warm and it's still in good condition, but it feels a little foreign to put it back on.
Maybe one day I'll feel comfortable enough to wear it again.
Ah, the Charmony dove... perhaps it's best if I don't mention it to him. He's working so hard and growing so much, and I don't want to hinder his progress. It would be selfish of me to cage him before he has a chance to fly.
With love,
Welt
The Ghosts of You
Verse 1:
I stood all alone on that field of light
The world reduced to me and you
A spear clenched in your giant's hand
As you broke those childhood dreams
Verse 2:
In my dark dreams you took my hand
Oh, you placed your soul in me
But then I wake in the amber morn
To the empty, quiet breaking
Bridge:
My wings won't break this time
In this cataclysm sky
Chorus:
I rise again as the twilight falls
and call for the shattered stars
In this night where dreams may end
I'm defying the ghosts of you
I won't let your shadow break me
Dear Welt,
I could cry. Oh, who am I kidding, I did cry. It's perfect.
Are you still okay with me using this? What name do you want on your songwriting credit? Welt Yang or do you have another pseudonym? And no saying Anonymous either!
Love,
Robin
P.S. Sorry for the short letter, it's gotten crazy busy here! I'll write a longer one later, I promise!
P.P.S I ate all of the tarts in one sitting. They were that good.
Robin,
No need to apologize. I understand being busy. Take care of the things you need to and be sure to give yourself breaks when needed!
I should be the one to apologize. I didn't mean to make you cry. They're just... idle thoughts. You're still welcome to use whatever you like of it; it's really not necessary to give me any credit. I don't envy you the task of beating that mess into shape.
The Charmony dove says hello, by the way. (He keeps trying to peek at what I'm writing. It should be annoying, but instead it's really rather cute.) He's been integrating more and more with the rest of the crew. March is just thrilled that there's someone other than Himeko who will actually volunteer for hand spa day. The dove dragged me into it as well, which... well, I don't know if fuchsia is exactly my color, but he was so happy with it that I couldn't say no.
With love,
Welt
Welt,
Is everyone on the Express okay? Has something happened to the Charmony dove? He isn't returning my messages and this morning I got back my last letter to him unopened. It's not like him not to answer and I'm worried.
Please tell me my brother's he's okay. I don't think I could survive if he got hurt.
Robin
Robin,
I'm sorry for the delay in replying to you. Yes, all of us, including the Charmony dove, are alive. Physically, we're fine.
How well our mutual friend is doing mentally is another matter. It is not my place to spill his secrets, nor is it my place to try and force him to write to you if he is unwilling. I ask that you be patient with him. He is coming to terms with a wound in his heart, and it is the kind of wound that, in my experience, never truly heals. Please rest assured that I am with him, and I will do everything within my power to help him. I won't let him go through this alone.
He may reach out to tell you soon. I know that you will not judge him, but he doesn't. Be kind to him, even if he's angry or says something hurtful. And don't blame yourself. Promise me you won't.
With love,
Welt
he told me what happened. he's right to hate me.
it's all my fault.
he's right. I should have been there. i should have known.
Robin,
I know we just spoke on video call, but I just wanted to reiterate:
It is not your fault.
You did not choose to hurt him. You did not choose to take advantage of a child. You were a child yourself, with no way of knowing what was happening. Why would you, when all you were shown was kindness?
We like to blame ourselves when these kinds of things happen, because it gives the illusion of control. I'll tell you what I told him: I understand wanting to place the blame on your own shoulders. I understand being angry with yourself. I don't want that for you, for either of you. Save that anger for the one who did this.
Promise me that, when you start to feel like you're at fault, that you'll reread what I have written here. I do not blame you for any of it, and—once he comes to better terms with what happened—neither will he. He's lashing out in pain and fear right now, much like a wounded animal would. I know it hurts, but you cannot blame yourself for it. I swear it on all that is holy, it is not your fault.
Eventually he'll understand that he wasn't at fault either. If he still doesn't believe it, then I'll just have to keep reminding him until he does. I will do that forever, if need be. I'll remind you too.
With love,
Welt
Dear Welt,
I have so many questions I want to ask, and so many things to say, but I'll keep it brief. Thank you for being there for him. Thank you for being there for me. It's a hard thing to come to terms with, but I have been in contact with the dove since your letter, and he's... he's working on it. Your analogy reminds me of a Charmony dove my brother and I kept as children. It too was afraid and hurt and at first it pecked anyone who dared touch it, whether they caused pain or not. Eventually it understood that we meant no harm. It just took time. I keep rereading your letter to remind myself of that when it gets hard.
How do you understand so much about this? And how do you always know what to say to make me feel better? The only other person who has managed that is my brother. Speaking with you is like speaking with him, except you have more common sense. Sometimes. Sometimes you're a very silly man.
Like now. Why, Mr. Welt Yang, haven't you told the dove you're in love with him?
Love,
Robin
Robin,
The first three drafts of this letter were all me trying to refute your assertion that I'm in love with our mutual friend.
...
But they would all be lies, and we would both know it.
I'm not what one would call experienced in relationships. I've never had time. I don't think I've ever let myself even consider the possibility of falling in love and it's terrifying.
I'm an old man. Were we on my world, I would be about to turn eighty-eight years old. Homo sapiens is not normally a long-lived species, but there are extenuating circumstances that have led to me no longer being fully human. I will live for a very, very long time to come. That doesn't change the fact that I've lived a great number of years, and with those years comes enough baggage to fill the Astral Express. Some of that baggage is... it's dangerous. And I would never forgive myself if it caused him harm.
If I could take this burden from him, I would, in a heartbeat. But I can't and he's the one who must suffer with it. I do not want to add to those burdens, and I fear that's all I'd be able to give him. He deserves the world, and then some.
With love,
Welt
Welt Yang,
You're a dumbass. I'm telling Miss Himeko to spray you.
The age thing is an excuse. Halovians aren't immortal like the people of the Xianzhou Alliance, but we live for much longer than the average human, too. I know you know this. And yes, the dove is younger than you in the sense of years, but he's also a grown adult.
You are far younger than him at heart. I think that balances it out nicely.
And everyone carries some baggage. You know his very well, and you're willing to accept it. Why do you think anyone would do less for you?
Maybe you're scared. Which I get! I've never been in love either, but I do know what it's like to let yourself love someone unconditionally. It might be because I'm a twin, but I cannot fathom the idea of not being there so someone can lay down their burdens with me, knowing that they'll be there with arms wide open when I too need to lay my burdens down. It's not a romantic love I have, but isn't all love similar? Love, in essence, is trust. Trusting someone enough to give them your heart and to know they'll return it more whole than before.
… it sounds really scary when I put it like that, huh?
Love,
Robin
P.S. He told me what Welt means, by the way. If you think he deserves the world, then why aren't you giving it to him?
Robin,
Himeko and I have been asked to give a guest lecture at Paperfold Academy on the nature of the Trailblaze. I've also heard that you will be there as well to commemorate the Dreamlight Anniversary celebration.
If you have any spare time, I invite you to visit the Express the day after the celebration. There's someone here who misses you very much and is afraid to admit it. Send me a text if you can make it so we can work out the details.
With love,
Welt
P.S. I do hope you can say yes. I admit, I wouldn't mind seeing you either.
“How're you enjoying the book so far?”
Sunday doesn't look up from his spot on the loveseat when Welt walks into his cabin, coat slung aside him on the seat and feet propped up like the space was always made to include him. In one hand he holds a book (Percy Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, a near-exact replica from his days at UC Berkeley), the other adding notes in his journal as he reads. The furrow of his brow and the adorable little pout on his lips speak of deep concentration. If they didn't have an audience, he'd kiss that pout away—but they do, so Welt contents himself with ruffling the feathers along the back of his wing.
“Joachim, no, that tickles!” he laughs, his wing smacking his hand away.
He chuckles. “That doesn't answer my question, little sun.”
“'These are the immortal Hours / Of whom thou didst demand. One waits for thee.'” Sunday grins, marking his place with a ribbon before setting the books aside. “It's a fascinating tale. Your annotations are helpful, but I'm probably going to have questions later.”
“I'll do my best to answer them. As a warning, though, my doctorates are in theoretical physics, not literature.” Joachim leans his hip against a nearby bookshelf to steady himself as Sunday reaches for his hand. “I bet you're wondering why I asked you to meet me here this late, aren't you?”
“I'll admit, Doctor Nokianvirtanen,” and Sunday's smirk grows a bit naughty, “that I'm a little curious why we're meeting in your cabin, of all places.”
He snorts, amused despite the sting of it. “That's Dr. Welt, thank you. Dr. Nokianvirtanen was my father.” Still, Joachim squeezes his hand in a bid to gather up his courage. “I brought you a gift from Penacony. I figured you'd want some privacy for it.”
“Oh?” Sunday's eyes light up. His wings fluff a bit in excitement. “What is it?”
“It's not a 'what.'” He turns his head just a bit, his smile wavering as he nods his head. “It's a 'who.' You can come on out now.”
Joachim can tell the exact moment Robin steps out from the shadows, even without seeing her. It's evident in how Sunday's grip on his hand becomes painfully tight and how his eyes brim with sudden tears. “...sister?” Sunday whispers, his voice quavering as he shoots to his feet. He hesitates, shrinking into himself. “Is it—is it really you?”
“Brother,” she cries, and in three quick steps she throws herself at him, her arms tight around his neck and face pressed into the crook of his shoulder. “Sunday, I am so sorry—you didn't deserve—”
Sunday takes a shuddering breath, then lets go of Joachim's hand to wrap his arms around her, like she is the most precious object in the universe. Another breath, and he begins to cry, his slight frame shaking in her embrace. “Robin,” he sobs, his tears streaking through her halo and into her hair. “I'm sorry too.”
Neither of them notice when he walks away, their world narrowed down to them and their shared grief. It's probably better they don't; as much as he desperately wants to stay, privacy is what they need, to be able to bear their souls to each other without an audience. Still, Joachim lingers for a moment at the door, something small and hurt and longing in his chest as he catches Sunday's plaintive whispers of sins committed against him long ago, Robin sharing the weight of his grief with every reassurance.
It's only the knowledge that Sunday is safe and cared for that allows Welt to slip away.
It's not until well after midnight that something catches Welt's attention.
Retreating to the Party Car had made the most sense at the time. Even with his enhanced Herrscher hearing, he couldn't make out what Sunday and Robin were discussing from this distance and with the noise of the other passengers around him. It was the best way he could respect their need for privacy.
(Sunday sobbing, I couldn't make him stop, Robin, I tried so hard—)
He'd overheard too much as it was.
Instead, he'd found himself a spot in the corner and watched the stars instead.
The stars have been his companion all his life. From cool summer nights in Finland spent stargazing with his father to flying drones at night with Tesla, his first awed meeting with the man who would become his hero; from Murata Himeko's excited UFO spotting plans to field trips to the planetarium with his son to his terrified, lonely death on the moon and worse. The stars have borne cold, indifferent witness to it all, from every small triumph to every humiliating defeat.
Welt is thankful, sometimes, that the stars in this universe have not been there for his lowest times. It makes it easier to stargaze when he knows they haven't seen his shame (and God, does he have so much of it).
Had these stars watched Sunday's shame as well? Had they looked on, uncaring, daring to shine when Sunday's own light was nearly extinguished? Or did these stars have the mercy to look away when innocence died?
The rest of the crew have long retired for the night when Robin enters the Party Car alone. Welt looks up from where he's leaned against the window, unable to keep the worry off his face when Sunday doesn't follow her. She looks, frankly, awful—red tearstreaked cheeks and puffy, bloodshot eyes—and yet, she's somehow smiling through it all. “He's okay,” she says before he can ask. “He just wanted a few minutes to collect himself. Though he might fall asleep on your couch; crying tends to wear him out.”
“That's fine. I'll take care of him if he does,” he says in audible relief. Still, his brow furrows in concern as she approaches. “What about you? How are you doing after—hearing all that?”
He's not sure what he expected, but it's not this; Robin immediately dives in for a tight hug, burying her face into his chest. “I'll be okay,” she says, her voice hoarse. “It was... it was hard. It was so hard. But I think we both needed to talk about it.” She sniffles. “Thank you.”
Welt freezes at the unexpected contact; after a moment he sighs and wraps his arms around her, one hand rubbing up and down her spine in soothing strokes when she holds on that much tighter. She's so much smaller than Sunday, and yet she feels more solid, more steady. The protective urge he feels when seeing her upset is not quite similar to his desperation to protect Sunday; it's more similar, perhaps, to the way a little Joachim had loved his big sisters Tesla and Einstein, back in the days when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. “Don't thank me. I'm just glad I could help.”
“Don't discount yourself,” she says, the hoarseness of her voice adding to the stern tone. “I don't think he would have ever come this far without your care.”
“I haven't done much of anything.” It's too quiet, in the car, and the stars are too bright where they peer at him from the darkness. Welt closes his eyes against it all. “I just listen. Give him a safe space to talk. I just... I wish I could do more.”
She sighs against his chest, her breath puffing hot through the fabric of his shirt. “You really love him, don't you.”
It's not a question, but something in her voice compels him to honesty. “I do.” He swallows, then pushes her back just enough that he can look her in the face; the glow of his eyes, combined with her radiant halo, makes everything look a little blurry. “I love him so much it scares me, sometimes.”
“Loving him is the best thing you could do for him.” Robin's bleary smile turns teasing. “Joachim.”
Welt flinches as if she'd doused him in ice water. “Ah.” He swallows hard to push down the sudden nausea. “You—you overheard that, huh?”
“...is that a bad thing?” Her wings fold up, curling inward towards her cheeks. She bows her head in embarrassment. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to overstep. It's just, he kept calling you that when he spoke about you.”
“It's fine,” he lies. “I just wasn't expecting it.” The name, in Sunday's voice, is the promise of a new beginning. To know that Sunday would call him Joachim even at his most distraught soothes the youngest parts of him, the ones he'd buried so long ago. But in this moment, under starlight and shadow, hearing the name Joachim from someone else only serves as a reminder of all the broken pieces he'd buried along with the name.
He draws up a comforting smile—it's well-rehearsed, this mask, enough so that he can see her visibly relax. “I'm okay with it if it's just around me and Sunday. Please don't use it in public, though.”
Robin nods, though her gaze is uncomfortably piercing when she takes a step back. “Still. I should be more considerate. I just though that—well, you're family now.”
That stops him short. Family. The backs of his eyes burn, suddenly and swiftly. She says it with such certainty, as if it were an indelible fact of the universe, even though he's done nothing worthy of earning that right. His smile melts into something more honest as he warns, “You might come to regret that.”
“No, I don't think I will.” She takes his hands in hers, just to hold; her grip is deceptively strong in its earnestness. “Are you going to be okay?”
Again, she catches him off-balance. “I'm not the one you should be worrying over.”
“I can worry about you if I please,” she retorts, sassy enough to draw a huffed laugh from him. “You just... you looked so sad when you were standing by the window.”
“I was just—thinking about things. Don't worry about me.”
“Like your hero?” She presses back a frown at his startled look. “There's a darkness in you, sometimes. Sunday and I have both noticed it.”
Welt sighs through his nose. Robin is almost as good as Sunday about seeing right through him; there's no stopping the hot flush of shame that rushes over him at how naked the insight makes him feel. “...he was part of it, yes,” he finally admits. And it's true; he was. “I really will be fine. I promise, I won't let it affect Sunday.”
“That's not what I'm worried about.” She lets go of his hands. He mourns the loss of it, the comfort the gesture brought. “You can't keep it held in forever. You know that.”
A shuddering breath escapes him. It feels like he's a child again, afraid of the monsters in his closet and more afraid still to admit they were real. “Please stop,” he whispers.
“I'm sorry.” Robin steps up on tiptoe to run a hand over his scruffy cheek. ”Just—you should talk to him about it, sometime. I know my brother. He'd be more than happy to listen.”
“I have.” A tight little smile crosses his lips, tasting of love and grief in equal measure. “He's done it before. Having him there... it helped more than I can ever put into words.”
“You know I'll be happy to listen too, right?” Her halo has a pearlescent glow to it, he's noticed. Different, certainly, than the brilliant prisms of Sunday's own, but no less warm, no less radiant in color. “It's the least I can do for both my big brothers.”
His eyes begin to burn again. ”I would never dare to doubt my little sister,” he says.
Robin reaches for him again, but this time he is the one to pull her into the hug, holding her tight. It never ceases to amaze him, the wonderful myriad of people that call him family, claim him as one of their own. What else can he do, but love them in return?
Love is trust, she'd said in a letter—after all the heartache and betrayals he's suffered, he's managed to trust again, with Sunday. What could it hurt to try once more?
“I'll write you soon,” he promises as he leads her to her waiting shuttle. “Though you can always call, if that's easier.”
Her smile lights up the room, brilliant and unrestrained. It's the kind of starlight that, he thinks, he could get used to. “Yeah, but I can't reread phone calls. Take care of my brother, okay?”
“I will. I always will.”
Welt stands there at the partition to watch her go, then for a few minutes longer, until he hears familiar footsteps approaching. “You didn't want to see her off?”
“Telepathy, remember? We've said our goodbyes. Besides, I thought I'd give the two of you a moment alone.” Sunday slots himself right in front of him, leaning his back against Joachim's broad chest. He's washed his face and made an attempt to look fine, but even that can't hide the reflection in the window of faint redness ringing his lower eyelids and the hoarse, nasal tone of his voice. Joachim loosely crosses his arms over his shoulders, Sunday's halo obligingly tilting out of the way so Joachim can rest his chin on the top of his head. “Thank you. I didn't know how to ask her to come. Not after all the awful things I said to her.”
“We all say things we don't mean when we're hurting, little sun,” he says, gentle. “She understands that.”
Sunday hums and leans back against him. “She shouldn't have to.”
“No one should.” The silence drapes over them like a blanket as they stand and watch the stars. “That's just not the world we live in, though.”
“... you know,” Sunday begins, soft and hesitant, “Robin told me something odd in her last letter. That you told her you'd take it away. What he did to me.”
He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, holds him just a little tighter to his chest. “I did. And I meant it.”
Sunday sighs, then whirls around in his embrace to face him. “Don't ever say that again. Don't even think it,” he whispers, gloved hands cradling his face between them. His eyes pinprick with the hint of fresh tears. “Do you hear me, Joachim? Never! I don't even want to think about you going through something like this.”
Something young and fragile within Joachim's heart splinters at the words, spiderwebbed cracks like broken glass. “...I understand,” he murmurs. “I promise, I won't. I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry, I just—why would you even think that?” Sunday whispers, his halo flickering low. “Why would you be willing to—to—I don't understand.”
Joachim sighs through his nose. How does he even begin to explain? It's not as if it could break him any further than he's already been broken, could it? Pain has been an intimate partner for him all his life. He's lived and died and died again, been torn apart and glued back together more times than he can count—what is one more hurt, in the grand scheme of things? When he's so accustomed to the pain that it feels like he needs the quiet ache to ground him?
It's rare that words fail him, but the explanation is already terrifying enough without saying it out loud. Instead, Joachim tilts his head down just enough to capture Sunday's lips in a kiss. It's chaste, almost delicate, just the barest press of skin to skin. It says: because your sorrows are my sorrows too. It says: because your joys are my joys.
It says, simply: because I love you.
Sunday's halo glows brightly in the darkness. He leans into it, three more feather-light kisses that taste of salt and affection and relief, before tucking his head under his chin and relaxing against him. This time Joachim wraps his arms around his waist, keeping him close. “Can we... stay like this? Just for a little while longer?” he asks.
“Of course,” he says, holding him just a bit tighter. “Whatever you need.”
The stars twinkle in the cold expanse of space, watching, waiting; Joachim draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes against them, focusing instead on the warmth of the sun held in his arms.
Dear Joachim,
Thank you for the surprise batch of pudding tarts! I've been sharing them with the aid workers at the hospital I'm visiting. They usually funnel sweets to their pediatric patients, so it was a nice surprise for them to get a treat too. I hope you don't mind.
I wish I could have stayed longer on the Astral Express. I didn't think that visiting my family would make it harder to be apart, but it has. I miss him. I miss you too. At the same time, it's good for me—and for him—to grow in our own ways.
Why does life slumber? I've been thinking about that a lot. Especially now that I've awoken from the dreams of my childhood. Maybe life slumbers because we need to sleep in order to create our dreams. Maybe it slumbers because the waking world is too hard to face. Maybe it sleeps because we have to have dreams to look forward to, to cling to when things are hard.
Or maybe it's different for everyone.
Remember when I asked you if it was okay to snuff out a sweet dream before it became a nightmare? My sweet dream was his nightmare, and yet we both slumbered inside it for so long. I'm glad he has someone like you to help keep him awake until he can dream peacefully again.
But what happens when someone has been awake for so long that they forget how to dream? Who will help them create sweet dreams again?
I fear you've been awake too long, Joachim. Please, talk to him. Let him help you dream again.
Always, with love,
Robin