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"Hey, Dan Heng," March says one day, apropos of nothing at all, "what's your love language?"
Dan Heng blinks down at her, a little perplexed.
They're sitting on her bed, doing not much of anything. March is sorting through her most recent photos on her camera, and Dan Heng is reading quietly, listening to her go on about composition and lighting, trying to nod and hum at the right times.
"... Love language?" He echoes.
“Love language,” she confirms. “You know, like… how you give and accept love. Gift giving, and spending time together, and stuff like that.”
He blinks again.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it,” he replies, trying to keep his voice even as March pouts at him. “Why the sudden question?”
She huffs dramatically, and reaches over to poke him in the arm. He leans away from it—not that he’s very successful—as March chirps, “I was just curious. Is it against the rules to be curious now?”
Dan Heng scrutinises her for a moment, and can’t help but sigh. She has always been a rather bad liar, and he can see it in the twitch at the corner of her mouth, and the way she plays up the dramatics to cover it up.
“... No. But you don’t tend to be curious without reason,” he says slowly. March’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest, looking up at him from her place curled into the pillows with a frown.
“Can’t you ever just humour me?” She whines. He bites his tongue to stop the smile that tries to fight its way onto his face. “Listen. I’ll tell you what they are, and you tell me which one you think is yours. Deal? Okay, good. They’re—”
“—I never said yes—”
“—Hush,” March cuts him off with a huff. “They are: physical touch, gifts, compliments, doing stuff for people, and… uh… oh! Spending time together.”
Dan Heng stares down at her, the proud glint in her eyes for remembering all of them, and says, “Those seem like oversimplifications.”
“Shut up and pick one, you wet carpet.”
He pauses for a moment. “... Isn’t the phrase ‘wet blanket’?”
“Shut up,” March groans playfully, reaching over to poke him again—in the ribs, this time. “You’re so annoying. Just pick one!”
He sighs, and looks down at the pages of the book in his lap, where the lines of ink start to run together, and lets himself think about the question properly. Love language… he’s not very familiar with ‘love’ in the first place.
Gifts and compliments… no, not those. Saying so would probably push March to tell the others to buy him things, or compliment him more—the idea of that makes him feel almost nauseous with guilt. Definitely not those. Physical touch is also an outright no; even from the crew, people touching him for too long makes his skin feel like television static with how overwhelming it is. It has lessened a little in recent years, thanks to March’s forced exposure therapy (also known as hugging him until his brain is fried and he has to physically push her away) but it still isn’t something he’s exactly comfortable with.
Hmm. Then, maybe spending time together? He… does like spending time with the others, even if he’s bad at keeping up conversations. Just sitting quietly with them has always been a nice way of reminding himself where he is, when the whirring of the servers in the archives starts to sound too much like rushing water and the naked skin on his wrists starts prickling. But saying that feels too much like pleading for their company, and Dan Heng is not quite that pathetic. Yet.
Doing things for others, then. That… feels like a safe answer. Doing things for the crew has always made him feel… nice. He likes being useful and helpful. He likes being reliable. Plus, it’s a good way to repay Miss Himeko and Mr. Yang for everything they’ve done for him.
He’s summarily removed from his thoughts by March snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, you don’t need to think that hard about it,” she giggles. “You really have no idea, huh?”
Dan Heng barely has a chance to open his mouth to respond to her before March is sitting up abruptly with an excited gasp that tells him that she’s just come up with an idea that’s probably going to be one part uncomfortable (for him) and two parts troublesome.
“What if we do an experiment?” She says, grinning, and Dan Heng’s left temple starts to ache. “We can make a checklist and do the process of… uh, exclusion?”
“... Process of elimination,” he corrects.
“Yes, that, whatever. The important part is finding your love language!”
This time, he can’t quite hold in the sigh that rises in his throat. “And… why do we need to do that?”
“So we can love you better,” March announces. Dan Heng’s brain shorts out for a second.
“So you can do what?”
“So we can love you better,” she repeats, smiling at him. “If we know your love language, then we know what to do for you to make you feel loved! Because—and don’t try to argue with me, because I am a certified Dan Heng Expression Reader and I know when you’re lying—because sometimes you get really sad and mopey and I want to know the best, most efficient way to make you feel better when that happens.”
She reaches over to poke him in the side again. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to lean away.
“Because it’s against the Express rules for any of my friends to be sad,” she insists, and Dan Heng cannot try to shove down the warmth that starts to grow in his chest any faster.
… He is really far too attached to these people.
PHYSICAL TOUCH: MARCH 7th
The experiment goes like this:
For the next five days, the Astral Express crew will select one love language a day to test on Dan Heng (without his knowledge, of course, because Caelus said that would skew the results of the experiment). Five crew members—including Pom-Pom—and five love languages in five days.
March thinks it’s really rather genius. The hardest part, of course, was setting it all up without Dan Heng figuring out what she was doing. After their conversation, he had been shooting her suspicious glances, but she was hoping that he thought that she had forgotten about it.
The simplest part, naturally, is designating who will carry out what task—because for the most part, it’s obvious.
March will take physical touch, because she already forces her hugs on him and he won’t tell the difference between a normal March hug and a March hug for an experiment. Caelus will take quality time, since he’s the best at convincing Dan Heng to leave the archives so he can drag him somewhere for one of his ‘quests’. Pom-Pom will do gifts, because it’s the least suspicious; Himeko will take acts of service, because… well, because she wanted it, mostly, and Mr. Yang will do compliments because he’s got the good fatherly aura for it (and because, in March’s opinion, it will be very effective, because Dan Heng looks at Mr. Yang like he hung the stars.)
Once the trap is set, the only thing left to do is to wait for the right moment to spring it.
And so, two days after their conversation, when Dan Heng’s fight-or-flight has mostly settled down and he’s stopped being so suspicious of her—probably because he thinks she’s forgotten—March finally sets her plan into motion.
“Dan Heng!” She sing-songs, sliding the archives door open without bothering to knock. By now, she’s learned that he hears her footsteps coming down the hall long before she actually opens the door. “It’s mandated bonding time!”
“... Didn’t we say evenings only?” He mumbles, one pointed ear twitching at her loud voice. He’s hunched over at his desk, about twelve books and scrolls set out over the small space, scribbling something in his journal. There’s a new entry open on his monitor, the cursor blinking on the blank page, awaiting instruction.
March huffs, and crosses her arms over her chest.
“It is evening. It’s five o’clock.”
“That is a rather loose definition of ‘evening’,” he says back, a little weary, but he finishes off whatever he’s writing down with a flourish, clicks his pen and closes his journal, glancing at her over his shoulder. “... Where’s Caelus?”
“He’s busy,” March chirps. “C’mon, hurry up, my show is on and you’re wasting runtime!”
Dan Heng sighs heavily, all dramatic and put-upon, and stands up, wincing a little as he stretches. March can’t help but wince with him—his posture has always been terrible, and there is no way that sitting over a desk for hours every day is good for his spine.
“... Let’s go, then,” he grumbles. He looks grumpy, but she knows it won’t last long. He’ll be happy as a clam as soon as he’s comfy on her bed, curled up in her blankets. Still, it’s nice to have at least some cooperation from him. It used to be that she would have to physically drag him to their bonding sessions, which was a good workout but not very practical.
And so, off they go—not that it’s a very far way to go, considering March’s cabin is just next door, but it’s the vibes that matter the most.
It isn’t much work to get everything settled, the show turned on and March’s snacks collected. Dan Heng sits and waits patiently like he always does, trying to hide his yawns in his sleeve. He’s not very successful.
When the show is on, March finally sets her plan into motion.
She reaches out, and grabs his arm, and tugs him back into the pillows with her.
“Hmph- ugh. March, what…"
“Shush,” she says. She throws the blanket over him, and wraps her arms around his waist—Jeez, this guy is hard, does he have rocks for muscles?—and tugs him again to get him to shuffle closer.
“... What are you doing…?” Dan Heng mumbles, somewhere evenly between confused and mildly uncomfortable.
This type of reaction is… nothing particularly new. March knows that Dan Heng is weird about a lot of things, but he’s extra weird about people touching him; he never lets anyone but the crew get close, and even then, he tends to lean away or try to dodge, or just generally shies away from them.
But she also knows that, no matter what his conscious reaction is, Dan Heng doesn’t dislike them touching him. It’s been one too many times catching him flushed and dazed after Mr. Yang ruffles his hair or Himeko kisses the top of his head for her to believe that.
He doesn’t dislike it, she knows—he just doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to react. The implications hurt a little—maybe they sting more than they should—but she sets it aside for now.
Dan Heng is tense and stiff under her hands, gone glacially still as she curls into his side.
“... Chill,” she whispers, as the show plays in the background. She pays it no mind. She’ll probably have to watch this episode over again, but it’s worth missing to conduct her experiment. “I’m just hugging you.”
Dan Heng doesn’t respond. But very, very slowly, she can feel the tension in his shoulders begin to unravel, little by little. It’s a long process—it always is—but she knows he’ll get there eventually. He just needs time to get his body and his brain aligned and to realise he’s not actually in any danger. Time to remember where he is; time to remember nobody is going to hurt him, here.
… That thought makes the ache in her chest worse. How, she wonders. How does anyone hurt a person as brilliant, as loyal, as good as Dan Heng? How did the people on the Luofu rationalise the things they did to him?
March hears Dan Heng sigh quietly, and the thought wisps away as her focus returns.
“You okay?” She asks, voice soft, just to make sure she’s not overwhelming him—not that he would say it anyway if she was, because Dan Heng has a chronic case of keeping things to himself that he should not keep to himself, but it's good practise to ask anyway.
The only response she gets is an incoherent mumble as he finally shifts slightly, sinking back into the pillows a bit, and then sighs again. She pats his arm gently, and he doesn’t flinch, which is a good sign.
And so they lay there and watch television, and Dan Heng relaxes slowly, the only movement the slight slump of his shoulders and the occasional twitch of his ear, flicking whenever she leans too close and her hair tickles him.
“... March,” he mumbles eventually, a little slurred—tired and small and very un-Dan Heng-like. She hums softly, inquisitive, and he responds by shifting slightly, just enough to lean down and bury his head in her shoulder.
Ah, so they’ve reached that stage. He’s finally gotten sleepy enough to leave the aloof facade (and the constant fight-or-flight instinct, always prickling at the back of his neck) behind and give in to the fact that he just really, really wants someone to hold him for a little while.
Well. March has no problem with providing.
She wraps her arms around him tighter, flopping back into the pillows with a quiet oof, and pulls him down into her side so he can lay against her shoulder properly—she’s greeted with a heavy exhale, somewhere along the lines of relief, and waves of fluffy black hair tickling her jaw. A smile creeps onto her face, and she pats his shoulder gently.
“Comfy?” She says, a little teasing, and Dan Heng purrs sleepily in response, and her grin widens. Another good thing about him no longer having to hide his heritage is the built-in endorphin release. He might be solid and kind of cold, but the purring alone absolutely makes up for it from a cuddle buddy standpoint.
… And if both of them fall asleep there in March’s bed, with the show still playing in the background and their legs tangled together under the blankets, nobody has to know but them.
(Nobody but them and Pom-Pom, actually, who comes to wake them for dinner later and scolds them for sleeping in the evening before they’ve eaten.)
QUALITY TIME: CAELUS
The next day, it’s Caelus’s turn.
Now, to be truthful, until March had brought the topic up, Caelus… also hadn’t known what ‘love languages’ were. Hey, give him a break, alright? He’s only been consciously alive for like, a year and a half.
Nonetheless, he is willing to do anything if it’s funny, and he’s extra willing to do things for his family, so he has zero problems with the task designated to him—which is basically just ‘take Dan Heng somewhere fun for a day and mess around together’. Incredibly simple, and also there are no downsides. Of course he’s going to do it.
The easy part is deciding where to go. The Luofu is an easy no—after the absolute mess before the Wardance, Caelus is pretty sure that going back ‘home’ so soon would not be very good for Dan Heng—and Belobog can get a little bit boring for a full-day outing, though he’s sure that if he called Lynx up, she would jump at the idea of leading them camping on the snow plains. Sounds like a very Dan Heng-esque activity.
But it would also inevitably turn into Dan Heng working, which is not what he’s aiming for today. So Penacony it is!
He goes to knock on the archives door very loudly at noon sharp, and he hears a thump as Dan Heng startles and presumably drops a book or something.
He comes to the door silently fuming, grey eyes narrowed, and Caelus can’t stop himself from grinning at him. His hair is all fluffy, the red kohl under his right eye is smudged, and his jacket has fallen askew and slipped off his shoulder.
His eyes narrow further at the sight of him. “... Can I help you?”
“Come to Penacony with me,” Caelus says, smiling innocently.
Dan Heng sighs, and opens the door a little wider, crossing his arms.
“Is this your way of asking me to pay for your gambling again?” He grumbles. Ah, their archivist—ever suspicious.
“What? That’s crazy, of course not. I just want to spend time with you,” Caelus assures him, in a tone that he knows will make Dan Heng agree, because he thinks he’s lying and feels compelled to supervise him to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.
… Which most of the time is a reasonable and valid concern, and Caelus absolutely would be using his credit card for his gambling. But not this time! He’s determined to make this a good day without spending all of Dan Heng’s money.
He squints at Caelus for a moment longer, and then sighs. Heh. Predictable as ever.
“... Fine,” he mumbles, “but only because you can’t be trusted alone around slot machines.”
Caelus grins. All according to his master plan.
“Great, thanks! You’re the best!”
If Dan Heng’s cheeks are a little pink when he slams the archives door in his face, Caelus won’t tell. (And also valiantly ignores the strange fluttering of his heart.)
He comes back out five minutes later, with his hair tamed and his eyeliner fixed and his jacket set on both shoulders proper, sighs when he sees Caelus like he was hoping he wouldn’t still be there, and nods.
“... Alright. Let’s go,” he murmurs.
So they go.
It’s not an incredibly long trip. It would be, if they didn't have the Astral Express's beacon system, but they do, so it’s not a long trip to get to Penacony, nor does it take a long time to check in. They are shareholders now, after all.
Into Caelus's room and into the pool and into the dream—with no strange banana-related detours this time, thank God—and they’re meeting up in the most predictable place possible: the slot machines in Aideen Park.
“Caelus,” Dan Heng is in the middle of sighing, like he already knows what’s coming, but Caelus is too busy tugging his credits out of his pocket to pay attention to whatever he says after that.
“Hi Darcy. Ten tokens, please.”
“You got it, my friend!” Darcy slurs, drunk as ever, leaning heavily on the street lamp next to him as he fumbles over ten Aideen tokens and swipes the cash out of his hand. “Have a good time!”
“Thanks,” Caelus chirps over his shoulder, already reaching for Dan Heng, tokens in hand. He stares at him like he has two heads, and he grins back. “What?”
“... Nothing,” he mumbles, still perplexed. “Nothing at all. Um, how often do you come here for that man to recognise you?”
“Often enough,” he says, already dragging him towards the slot machines.
“... Right.”
Caelus stops in front of one of the Dreamy Slots, and shoves five tokens into his hands. Dan Heng stares at him harder.
“... What?” Is all he says.
He nudges him closer to the machine. “Put them in the slot and pull the lever. Come on, it’s not hard.”
“No, I… I know how a slot machine works,” he sighs. “You want me to play…?”
“I’ve been coming here every week and spending ten tokens in this slot machine trying to get the Robin faces,” Caelus informs him, deadpan. “It’s been three months. I need to know if your luck is better than mine.”
Dan Heng blinks slowly, and says, “It isn’t.”
He nods. “Let the machine decide.”
Dan Heng stares at him for a moment longer, and then seems to decide this isn’t a fight he’s going to win, pushes a token into the slot, and pulls the lever. It rolls on three gold coins, and spits out a Condensed Aether.
“Woah,” Caelus mumbles, instinctively, bending down to pick it up.
“... Is that a good thing?” Dan Heng asks, brows furrowed.
“Pretty good, yeah. But not what I’m looking for. Keep rolling, I want the secret Robin triple.”
“Are you certain that this ‘secret prize’ even exists?” He says, partially under his breath, and puts in another token, and then pauses. “... Actually, wait. What even is the prize?”
Caelus huffs, and crosses his arms. “Well. Uh.”
He sniffs, trying to come up with something that won’t make him sound incredibly irresponsible, and then decides that it probably doesn’t matter because Dan Heng already thinks he’s irresponsible anyway, and full-sends it.
“Nobody actually knows. Because nobody has ever won it before.”
Dan Heng blinks at him. Caelus blinks back.
“... So you’re being swindled,” he says eventually, and Caelus bristles playfully.
“I am not being swindled!” He argues. “It’s real, and I’m going to be the first to roll it. Pull the lever, Dan Heng.”
“It sounds a lot like you’re being swindled, and this is just an underhanded tactic to get Robin’s fans to spend more money on these slot machines,” he says, but he pulls the lever anyway, as instructed.
It lands on two ice creams and a Hanu, and spits out a Moment of Betrayal. Caelus pockets that too, nodding slowly. Still no triple Robin, but at least a useful combat item. No Aventurine-tier luck. Maybe he should have called him for this, instead…
“Again,” he requests politely, and Dan Heng sighs, and inserts another token.
A coin, a Hanu, and an ice cream. Huh, have they run out of luck already…?
But then, the images on the screen flash and change—no fucking way.
“Dan Heng!” Caelus squeals, a little louder than he means to, grabbing Dan Heng's arm and shaking him, a little harder than he means to; he nearly stumbles. The three Robin faces flash on the slot machine screen triumphantly. “Yes! Finally! And I didn’t have to text Aventurine after all!”
“... That’s what you wanted, then?” Dan Heng says, something like fond exasperation in his voice as the machine spits out a little black card with gold decorations on it.
Caelus grins at him, retrieving his prize and clinging onto his arm affectionately and pressing his cheek into Dan Heng's shoulder. “Yes. Yes it is. Thanks, Dan Heng. You’re the best.”
Dan Heng huffs and looks away, his cheeks rosy in the dim light. Caelus's heart gives a pathetic little stutter. “... That’s… a bit much. But I’m glad you’re happy.”
His grin widens, and there’s a warm feeling in his chest that has nothing to do with the Stellaron. They’re having fun, he thinks—he hopes—so they might as well continue on this path.
… Actually.
Caelus looks down at the card in his hand.
“Hey, what do you think this is for?”
Dan Heng looks down at it too, and hums thoughtfully. “... It almost looks like a room key.”
He nods, and asks, “Wanna walk around the hotel and try every room with me?”
“Not really,” he sighs, but this time it sounds more like a laugh—soft and a little nervous, but a laugh nonetheless. Caelus smiles triumphantly, and grabs at his wrist.
“Too late! Let’s go!”
(They do not, in fact, end up trying every room. Dan Heng uses his common sense and suggests that a special room key is likely for some kind of special room, and they go up to search through all of the premium rooms instead. They find it eventually.)
Caelus leaves Penacony that day—after ice creams and SoulGlad, of course—with one more Golden Aideen Token than he had arriving, and a surprisingly relaxed Dan Heng with a small smile on his face.
And that last one, he thinks, is worth more than money can buy—even if he also finds himself several thousand credits poorer when returning home that evening.
RECEIVING GIFTS: POM-POM
Pom-Pom considers themselves a very good conductor.
Over the years, they have said hello and goodbye to many, many passengers of all shapes and sizes, each one with a new personality—each one with new likes and dislikes to learn, each one with special requests for them, each one to be treated differently according to their preferences and their attitude.
Some passengers they like. A timid but kind scientist, who eventually disappeared; a white-haired fox who wrote often and gave good advice, but who missed home (and a special someone) too much to stay; a pair of twins who always stuck together, but whose journey led them elsewhere.
Some passengers they don’t like, and the one that comes to mind immediately is passenger Welt’s old companion. Tall, blond, and always causing trouble, and never cleaning up after himself.
But the group on the train right now, they think, might be some of their favourites. Himeko and Pom-Pom have a special bond, and despite the animosity with his previous companion, passenger Welt has really grown on them—wise and very, very powerful, but still very nice, and he still thanks Pom-Pom politely for everything, and smiles at them often. The three younger ones occasionally tick them off—passenger March is prone to leaving her juice glasses all over the place and forgetting about them, and passenger Caelus puts his feet up on the cushions when he’s playing on his phone, and passenger Dan Heng is often the last one to come to meals after losing track of time in the archives.
… But despite all of that, Pom-Pom loves them dearly.
So when March and Caelus come to them, and tell them that they want them to prepare a gift for passenger Dan Heng, who has been having a hard time lately, Pom-Pom jumps on the opportunity. It isn’t often that this passenger will accept gifts, after all. Actually, it isn’t often that he will accept others doing anything for him. He still offers to help with cooking and cleaning and maintenance, even though it isn’t his responsibility.
Pom-Pom appreciates the help—truly, they do—but they worry sometimes that passenger Dan Heng is spending too much time working and assisting others, and not enough time taking care of himself.
The Astral Express and Pom-Pom are intrinsically connected. Pom-Pom knows about the awful dreams; the nights where Dan Heng will go down to the kitchen after screaming himself awake and make tea, just to sit at the table staring at nothing and let it go cold. The long hours he spends in the archives, working and working and working still, until eventually the coffee fails and he passes out on his desk, just to wake up terrified again. They’ve heard the restless shifting and the quiet whimpers, the time it takes Dan Heng to catch his breath and wipe the tears and stop trembling after the truly bad ones.
So, yes, they do jump at the opportunity to prepare a gift for this passenger. But who can blame them, really?
But deciding to get Dan Heng a gift is one thing. Trying to decide what the gift should be is a different beast entirely.
In the almost three years that Dan Heng has been on the Express, Pom-Pom regrets to admit that they have actually learned precious little about what he likes. Mostly because this passenger doesn’t seem to particularly care. He eats anything Pom-Pom makes, does the chores he’s assigned, and performs all of his duties flawlessly without fail.
He likes books, Pom-Pom knows that much. Dan Heng likes books—the knowledge within, the act of collecting, the act of preserving and caring for the physical copies, the act of enshrining the information they contain in the Express’s digital data bank.
But it seems to be his one and only real hobby. Pom-Pom sees him reading and writing often, but unless he’s with others, never doing much of anything else. He can be coaxed into various things: photo-taking sessions, movie nights, listening to music, video games… Pom-Pom has even seen him playing chess with Welt several times. But he never sets out to do any of these things on his own time, or when he’s alone. He might enjoy them, but at the end of the day, they are other people’s hobbies that he is roped into.
What do you get for someone who only has one interest?
… Pom-Pom could, of course, ask someone to pick up books for them to give to Dan Heng. But that feels… lazy. And, after all, a conductor should know what kinds of things their passengers like! So perhaps Pom-Pom can use this as a learning experience.
They go to Himeko first, naturally.
She tilts her head at them, in that curious, thoughtful way, and hums softly.
“A gift for Dan Heng…? How interesting. What have you thought of so far?”
“... Well, Pom-Pom doesn’t just want to get him a book,” they huff, crossing their arms. “But… Pom-Pom isn’t really sure what else he likes.”
Himeko laughs fondly. “How about a new set of pens, then? I think he’s almost gone through all of his ink in the set I got for him a couple of months ago.”
And so Pom-Pom nods, and jots it down.
They go to Welt next, who smiles pleasantly and doesn’t ask any questions, and suggests a few movie titles that Pom-Pom has never heard of, and says they’re a genre Dan Heng might like. So they nod, and jot it down.
After that, they ask Caelus and March, who suggest Xianzhou snacks and new earrings respectively—when Pom-Pom asks what kind of snacks, Caelus tells them that he likes mung bean soda and Scalegorge Spring Water, and then says they should also get him something called a songlotus cake. Pom-Pom nods, and jots it down.
Next, they take to asking some of Dan Heng’s friends outside of the Astral Express crew, during their occasional visits on board—first, it’s Sushang, who proposes a new sharpening kit for this passenger’s spear; then, it’s Boothill, who hums and haws and eventually settles on a new pair of good boots; following that, it’s Bailu, who grins and wags her tail and suggests a mortar and pestle.
Pom-Pom nods, and jots it all down, and by the time the day comes to actually give the gift, everything they decided on has arrived.
Deciding was hard—this time, not because they didn’t know what to get him, but because they couldn’t pick between all of the suggestions they were given. But they settle on some Xianzhou snacks, the sharpening kit, one of the films that Welt recommended, and a pretty pair of jade earrings that March helps them pick out.
They wrap everything nicely, and that night after dinner, Pom-Pom puts the plan into motion.
Even though their paws are soft and that makes knocking very difficult, this passenger always hears them coming anyway, and the archives door is opening only moments after they stop in the hallway in front of it.
“Conductor?” Dan Heng says, blinking down at them, brows furrowing in confusion as he sees the gift boxes in their arms. “... Hello. Do you need help with those?”
Pom-Pom huffs, and tries to shake their head, but the gift boxes block part of their face, so they chirp back, “No, no, I don’t need any help. These are for you!”
Dan Heng’s eyes go wide.
“For me?” He mumbles, a little incredulous.
“For you!” Pom-Pom confirms. “You’ve always worked very hard! You never complain, and you do all your assigned chores on time, and you’re always offering to help with everything. So, to thank you, Pom-Pom decided to prepare these gifts for you!”
“... Um, conductor… I do appreciate it, but that isn’t necessary,” Dan Heng says quietly. All of a sudden, he looks a little shy.
But they just shake their head, determined. They worked much too hard preparing these gifts to allow this humble passenger to turn them down!
“Take them,” they insist. “You always do things for others, but you never allow others to do things for you—from all of us on the Express, we appreciate what you do, not just as our protector and our archivist, but as our friend! So, you should take these gifts. I worked really hard to make them perfect!”
And Pom-Pom knows that Dan Heng won’t say no to that. This passenger might pretend to be stoic and cold, but Pom-Pom knows that he cares a little too much about the feelings of those he considers important.
“... Okay. Thank you very much, conductor,” he mumbles, polite as ever as he kneels down to collect the stack of neatly-wrapped parcels. Pom-Pom smiles, deeply satisfied, even as Dan Heng ducks his head sheepishly.
“Good. Please enjoy your gifts, passenger Dan Heng! I hope Pom-Pom did a good job picking all of them.”
“I’m sure you did well,” he assures them hastily, still looking down at the gifts with something like awe. “This… really is too much, but… thank you.”
“You’ve said that three times now!” Pom-Pom scolds. “Ever since you were banned from saying ‘sorry’, you’ve started saying ‘thank you’ more than ever—stop that!”
And that, at least, makes amusement flicker across Dan Heng’s face, a small, rare smile growing on his lips. The satisfaction grows.
“Good night, passenger Dan Heng. Sleep well. And come to breakfast on time, tomorrow!”
“I will, conductor,” Dan Heng promises. “Good night.”
He stands, and slides the door of the archives shut with one last faint smile, and Pom-Pom can’t help but feel as if they’ve succeeded.
Dan Heng isn’t late for breakfast the next day—he’s wearing his new earrings, Pom-Pom notices—and there’s none of the heavy darkness lingering in his eyes that would indicate a harsh night with little sleep.
(That, and when he bites into the songlotus cake, it makes a bright, cheery cackling sound that sounds like laughter—Dan Heng stares at it, perplexed, as the rest of the crew giggles on and on.)
ACTS OF SERVICE: HIMEKO
Himeko is someone who tends to love loudly.
When she cares for someone, she makes it known. What’s the point in leaving it quiet? She wants there to be no doubt—to love someone is to love them whole-heartedly, unconditionally, with noise.
Most of the time, this works out great. On difficult mornings, when Welt has tired shadows under his eyes, a squeeze and a quick check can brighten him up a bit; March adores the affection, and will beam like a car headlight when Himeko tells her that her outfit is cute or her photos are pretty and well-done; even Caelus flowers under her cheek pinches and questions about how his video games are going.
But Dan Heng is… different.
His childhood was not normal, Himeko knows. Strange and painful and lonely, trapped in a place with people who were unpredictable and violent and who did not like him. Left in a cold cell for his formative years, with caretakers who were neglectful at best and outright cruel at worst.
He dislikes busy places and loud noises. He doesn’t like people touching him without warning—or touching him at all, really—and he always seems to be on high alert, just on the verge of fight-or-flight, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
That seems to have calmed a little bit, as of late, especially now that they know his ‘true identity’, but he’s still so tense so often that Himeko winces thinking about the knots in his shoulders from holding himself so stiffly.
And, of course, the nightmares haven’t gone away. They haven’t even lessened, not in the three years Dan Heng has spent on the Express, slowly being coaxed to heal; in fact, they seem to have only gotten worse with the crew’s visits to the Luofu, as Dan Heng is forced through reliving traumatic events that Himeko doesn’t dare to imagine.
When March brings up the idea to her, Himeko can’t help but feel curious. Dan Heng hasn’t reacted as anticipated to her other forms of affection—he tries to dodge her cheek-pinching and her kisses, goes pink and stutters and avoids her for the rest of the day when she compliments him, and trying to get him to talk about his interests is like pulling teeth. So, perhaps the time has come to test out a different method; one perhaps better suited to his more… reserved personality.
Acts of service, March had called it. Little, quiet things that she can do to make Dan Heng’s day easier, to take a bit of the stress from his young shoulders. Himeko can do that.
It starts, as it usually does, with a cup of coffee.
That morning, Dan Heng comes down to breakfast on time, with new polished jade earrings and a Xianzhou snack in hand that Himeko does not have to ask the source of, looking remarkably at ease—he’s still yawning and sleep-warm, black hair all fluffy, his ears twitching. He sits down at his spot, the same place as always, and lets Welt pat his head without complaining.
She nudges a cup of coffee towards him, and Dan Heng doesn’t even blink before reaching out to take a sip. But his eyes widen a little when it touches his tongue, and he swallows and pulls the mug away to stare down at it, a little perplexed.
“... Who made the coffee…?” He mumbles drowsily. Himeko can only smile, and resist the urge to pinch his puffy cheeks.
“I did.”
He looks over at her, drowsy and uncomprehending, and then nods slowly, and says quietly, “It’s good.”
“Thank you,” she replies. Welt gives her a strange look, part disbelief and part amusement, as if to say, you’ve never made me tailored coffee.
She sticks her tongue out at him while Dan Heng isn’t looking, and he laughs.
The poor boy is still half-asleep at the breakfast table, so Himeko takes it upon herself to assign another silent task, and quietly piles food onto his plate when Pom-Pom brings it out. In the fluorescent light of the dining car, his cheeks look a little red when he thanks her softly, but interestingly enough, nobody brings it up.
He finishes everything she gave him—including the cup of coffee—and heads back to his work after breakfast, though not before offering to help with the dishes at least twice.
There’s a small smile on his face when he goes. Himeko isn’t even sure he knows it’s there, but the rest of them sure notice.
March shoots her a wink.
Her next little act of service requires a small distraction to coax Dan Heng out of the archives around noon, which March and Caelus take care of without issue. The room being empty allows Himeko to sweep in without detection and quietly do a bit of cleaning.
Light dusting, because Dan Heng keeps up on it like a maniac but really does not care for the task—it leaves him and his sensitive nose sneezing for half an hour afterwards. Removing and washing a couple of mugs that have accumulated on his desk, no doubt last night’s tea and his eleven o’clock espresso, as well as tidying up a few files he hasn’t put away yet for data bank updates that she knows are done and straightening out his blankets on the futon mattress.
And then she’s off again, back to her own work, but not before she can stand just around the corner to hear Dan Heng’s quiet, surprised noise when he returns from the impromptu outing to a cleaner archives.
They miss each other around lunch, but she sees him again before dinner, this time in the dining car a bit early to help Pom-Pom set the table. He silently—and rather shyly—pours her a coffee, and Himeko has to try very hard, once again, to not reach out and pinch his cheek.
“Thank you, Dan Heng,” she says instead, taking the handle of the teacup to stop her hands from doing anything without her permission, smiling up at him.
“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “... Thank you.”
Her smile widens a little, but in the end, she settles for simply shaking her head, and replying, “Nothing to thank me for.”
He doesn’t respond to that. But the next morning, she finds a new text from him on her phone, linked to a marked entry in the archives—a scanned version of a book about elaborate coffee presses.
Himeko smiles.
WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: WELT YANG
Welt isn’t sure, really, when he started to refer to the kids as ‘the kids’.
Somewhere between finding March and finding Caelus, he thinks. It must have been. But then again, he isn’t sure when he started to think of them more as kids, as his responsibility, rather than just crewmates or companions, either.
But they most certainly are ‘the kids’ now. Even if they aren’t kids of the traditional definition, being an immortal dragon, a girl who was frozen in ice for an undetermined amount of time, and a vessel for a Stellaron.
They seem to remind him a little too much of three girls he used to know, though, and Welt takes to the role of a mentor like a duck to water, and can't find it in himself to regret it.
So when the two younger ones come to him with a proposal, about love languages and showing Dan Heng that they care after his… less-than-incredible recent experiences, Welt says of course, and asks what he has to do.
The mission March and Caelus give him boils down to something really rather simple: be extra nice for a day. More specifically, to compliment and praise him extra. Welt can admit that March’s very long and in-depth explanation of ‘love languages’ went over his head a little bit, but he certainly got the gist.
And so, when the day of his ‘mission’ rolls around—or, ‘experiment’, as March calls it, which feels mildly demeaning somehow—Welt is still a little confused, but determined to do this properly. These kids are good kids, and as long as they’re in his care, he intends for them to know it. That includes their taciturn eldest.
Dan Heng appears at the breakfast table that morning early for the second day in a row, which is a little unusual for him, but he looks lighter and more relaxed than he has in months, so Welt definitely isn’t going to complain. He’s there before even Himeko, which means it’s just the two of them and the distant tune of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, courtesy of Pom-Pom.
Welt looks up at him when he wanders into the dining car, still blinking the sleep out of his bleary eyes, with his puffy cheeks and his fluffy hair, curls sticking up every which way, and can’t help but smile.
“Hey, son.”
It earns him a little, drowsy wave as Dan Heng settles into the seat beside him, and just like yesterday, there’s no protest or hand pushing him away when he pats Dan Heng’s head.
Moments later, he receives an actual verbal response—just a soft, mumbled, “Hello.”
Time to begin his ‘mission’, Welt supposes. The words come easier than he expects them to.
“The new earrings suit you very well,” he finds himself saying, eyeing the well-polished jade now dangling from Dan Heng’s pointed ears. Pom-Pom picked them well. Idly, he wonders if they had help with that.
The ear in question flicks as Dan Heng pauses, surprised. “... Thank you.” It takes him another moment, but eventually, he adds quietly, “I like them.”
“Did you tell Pom-Pom that? I’m sure they would appreciate it,” Welt chuckles, and Dan Heng seems to flush a little, glancing away.
“... I haven’t yet, no. But… mm. I will.”
Welt nods, his expression softening. There’s a warm feeling in his chest, grown a little too big for his heart to contain.
“That’s good.” Another beat of comfortable silence, filled by only Pom-Pom in the next room and the quiet rumble of the train, and Welt decides to take the leap of faith. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
Dan Heng startles a little, now very awake, staring up at him with wide eyes. He looks a bit like an alarmed cat—it’s not the first time Welt has had the thought.
"Proud… of me?" He echoes, like there's no concept more baffling. "Ah. Why?"
"You've been a little more outgoing lately. I know things got rough for you after our initial visit to the Luofu," Welt says, gently, because Dan Heng is easy to frighten off with this kind of thing, "but recently, you seem… happier. More at ease."
The archivist deflates a little, almost sheepish, and mumbles as if by way of explanation, "It seems we've finally been afforded the opportunity to breathe, after the last few expeditions being so chaotic. It's been… good, to spend time together."
Welt can't help the small, fond smile that takes over his face, and only barely holds himself back from reaching out to ruffle Dan Heng's hair.
(He's a little too attached to these kids, maybe. Just a little.)
"You've been making a lot of progress, recently. I feel like we're seeing more of you," he says quietly.
"… I've been less anxious since the Luofu. For all the time I spent worrying about what would happen if the crew ever discovered my identity, what ended up happening felt a bit anti-climactic, but… I'm glad," Dan Heng admits softly. "When I was on my own, keeping the secret was easy, because fretting over how people's opinions over me would change was unnecessary if I knew I would only be staying a few weeks in one place. But after joining the Express, it felt like every day I kept it from you all, I felt myself getting heavier and heavier."
Once more, Welt has to take a deep breath to stop himself from reaching out to offer physical comfort; half because the actions make his own heart ache under memories, and half because he isn't too sure how much Dan Heng would appreciate it.
So, instead— "Well, it's good that we know now. Not just because you feel better not having to hide an important part of yourself, but also because…" Welt hesitates, for just a heartbeat, lingering on the thought of family, and then decides to soften the blow, "… because we're your crew, and we care about you. We want to support you the best we can."
And then, because the words alone feel insufficient, Welt reaches across the table and lays his hand on top of Dan Heng's gently, and offers a smile.
"You're a good kid," he says softly, "and your trust is precious to us. So… thank you for sharing these parts of yourself with us, Dan Heng."
Perhaps it's slightly too heavy-handed, if the sudden wet shine to Dan Heng's eyes means anything—the archivist glances away, blinking rapidly and sniffing, before mumbling somewhat meekly, "Thank you for being worth trusting."
"It's my pleasure," Welt replies, squeezing his hand.
… And then, finally, allows himself one very fond hair ruffle, grinning at the soft, watery laugh it earns him as Dan Heng attempts to duck away. For some reason, despite all the posturing and squirming, the kid never seems to go very far.
The entire crew has been acting extremely odd all week.
First, it was March being… well, clingier than usual. Which is not that odd in and of itself—every so often, she got a little insecure and worried that she was genuinely annoying him, and required a little bit of coaxing and subtle reassurance that this was not, in fact, the case, and that she was his friend and he liked her very much.
But it felt different, this time around. Less like it was for her sake, and more like it was some kind of scheme which would inevitably lead somewhere. The next four days more than confirm this: Caelus dragging him places to spend time together for no real reason (Dan Heng refuses to acknowledge the possibility that it may have been a date), Pom-Pom’s sudden and obscene amounts of gifts, Miss Himeko tidying the archives despite the fact that the task is often left to him, and just yesterday, Mr. Yang’s… incredibly flattering speech.
Something is going on, Dan Heng is certain. And he intends to get to the bottom of it.
… He can’t imagine it will be very difficult. March is very bad under pressure, after all—proven by the way she looks away and shuffles her feet and giggles awkwardly when he presses her on the matter.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she chirps, lying through her teeth. Her poker face has never looked worse. He narrows his eyes, and she wilts, shoulders drooping. “... Okay, stop looking at me like that, stop it! Listen, I’m not pulling a prank or anything like that. I promise! I’ve changed my ways and sworn to do good from now on!"
“‘From now on’?” Dan Heng parrots, unimpressed, crossing his arms over his chest, and March shifts her weight nervously.
“... Um… yeah. From now on. You know, as in, like, a week ago.”
He stares a little harder, and March droops further. He has to bite his tongue to force down the amusement that attempts to rise to his expression.
“Okay, okay, enough!” She whines. “I’m really not pranking you, okay? I was just doing a little social experiment, that’s all… Remember that conversation we had on Thursday about love languages?”
Dan Heng blinks at her slowly, and says, “Yes.”
“Well.”
The silence settles between them, and they stare at each other for a moment, before he finally breaks it, prompting, “‘Well’ what?”
“Well, that was the experiment, obviously,” March huffs, rolling her eyes and copying him by crossing her arms. “Keep up, Dan Heng. We were doing an experiment on you to figure out what your love language is!”
He searches her face slowly, seeking deception, but finds none of her usual tells—either March has recently gotten very, very good at lying, or she’s telling the truth.
… Somehow, the first option still seems more likely.
“Why?” He manages to force out eventually, a strange ache radiating out from the center of his chest. His finger twitches, a silent impulse to rub at his wrists, and he tamps it down.
March wrinkles her nose at him, puffing out her cheeks in exasperation, and says, “Didn’t you ask the same question the first time? I told you, it’s to figure out what your love language is. Y’know, so we can do stuff you like to make you happy.”
He takes a deep breath, and tries to let the sudden wave of frustrated confusion pass him by. You have no right to be upset. It isn’t her fault you don’t understand, the voice in his head scolds.
“... I… wasn’t aware it mattered so much.”
She gapes at him, dramatically scandalised.
“Of course it matters!” She sighs, shaking her head. “Dan Heng, we’re your friends. Himeko says you’ve been on the Express for ages, and I’ve known you for almost two years, but I was thinking about it the other day, and I realised that… I really don’t know very much about you.”
She purses her lips then, looking a little put-out, and admits, “I don’t know the best way to calm you down. I don’t know how to comfort you when you’re sad. I don’t know how to help you feel better when you’re just under the weather, because whenever that happens, you hole up in the archives and you don’t let anyone really see you.”
And isn't that a somewhat uncomfortable revelation: March and the others want to see him when he’s being miserable and wallowing in self-pity. For some reason.
… Or, not just ‘for some reason’, he reminds himself. Specifically because they want to… comfort him.
(Or maybe, the voice in his head mutters, they're faking it because they want you to quit being a useless waste of space and get back to work, you stupid child.
It sounds an awful lot like Preceptor Taoran. For once, Dan Heng ignores it.)
“Hey, listen. I’m… I’m sorry if I upset you by going behind your back,” March mumbles, and she’s shuffling her feet this time, nervous in the silence. “I thought it was a good idea, and I wanted to do something nice, and you never really objected but you never said yes, either…”
“March,” he says, interrupting her anxious ramble. “It was fine. I didn’t mind.”
Her head snaps up, two-tone eyes wide. “Wait, really?”
Dan Heng clears his throat, suddenly feeling awkward under the eager, excited gaze—he’s already regretting it, but there’s no going back now.
“... Yes. It was…” the word nice gets caught in his throat. It doesn’t quite fit. But then again, neither does anything else he can come up with, so he settles for repeating, “It was fine.”
March's expression has already brightened immensely before he's even finished speaking, and she's already reaching over to take his arm and pull her over to her bed—ah, maybe confronting her in her cabin was an oversight—and forcing him to sit, grinning widely.
"Well, since you don't mind, then we can talk about it!" She chirps. She leans forward, and stares up at him expectantly.
Dan Heng, unfortunately, has no idea what she's expecting. His silence only makes March more antsy, though, makes her lean forward a little more, raising her eyebrows.
"… Well? What did you think?"
"What did I think about what?" He replies, lost.
March pouts. "The experiment, obviously. You didn't think I was just doing it for fun, did you? I was looking for results! That's what happens when you do experiments, isn't it?"
Dan Heng can only blink a little, and say, "I suppose."
"Right, well then, it should be obvious!" She huffs, and rolls her eyes. "We were doing the experiment in the first place to find out what your love language is, Dan Heng. So… now you've experienced them all, which one is your favorite?"
… Ah. So that's what she meant.
"Is that what this was about?" He says, slightly stalling for time, because he isn't sure he actually has an answer. March pouts, and he continues, "This was a lot of work just to figure this out."
"Well, what else am I supposed to do if I ask you and you don't know? You left me no choice," she complains, and flops back against her pillows, staring up at him expectantly.
"… How do you even tell?"
March sighs heavily, put-upon.
"You have the emotional intelligence of Madam Herta's puppets, seriously… okay. I assigned specific love languages to different crew members to enact on you on different days, see? I was 'physical touch', Caelus was 'quality time', Pom-Pom was 'gifts', Himeko was 'acts of service', and Mr. Yang was 'words of affirmation'! So, all you have to do is tell me how each different one made you feel. You're supposed to feel good and happy, you know? Appreciated! Warm and fuzzy inside. So…?"
Dan Heng takes that in for a moment, lapsing into thoughtful silence, because… well. He didn't feel particularly… bad, during any of them?
He had felt a little guilty when Pom-Pom showed up at his door with all of those presents—those earrings looked rather expensive—and it was a little odd to have Mr. Yang suddenly praise him like that out of nowhere, but… it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.
Truth be told, he'd been so wrapped up in being confused and trying to figure out what the crew was doing to feel anxious about it.
"… I… suppose… I liked all of it," he mumbles, shifting awkwardly on the bed. The conversation at large is mildly uncomfortable, but he knows that March isn't the type to be brushed off easily—she'll keep bugging him about this for weeks if he tries to evade her. Better to just get it over with quickly and honestly. "Um, accepting the gifts made me feel a bit guilty."
March sits up, suddenly looking much more invested, two-tone eyes sharp and curious, a small frown tugging at her lips.
"Guilty?" She parrots quietly. "Why's that?"
Dan Heng shifts again, cold tendrils creeping up his spine. This is rapidly approaching unsafe territory. He scrambles a little, mentally searching for an excuse, but anything he manages to think up either doesn't seem particularly believable or would probably only make March more concerned.
But she's looking at him, eyes wide, expecting an answer, so. Well.
"… The earrings looked very expensive," Dan Heng admits softly, fidgeting with the torn sleeve of his jacket. The threads on the hem are unraveling again—he'll have to fix that soon. "I suppose I felt bad taking something so much money was spent on."
March hums, contemplative, and then asks, "Do you think that's the real reason, though?"
He blinks at her, feeling slightly stupid. "… Uh. Yes?"
"I don't," she chirps simply, squinting up at him. "Do you remember when Caelus went to the Luofu on that big ghost-hunting trip thing he did and brought back snacks for all of us? Or last year when Mr. Yang bought you that new notebook? Those things weren't expensive, but you still had the same weird look on your face, and you were really reluctant about taking them."
Dan Heng can only blink again, and think, huh.
"… I think you're just weird about people giving you stuff," March huffs, jabbing at his thigh with her foot. It doesn't particularly hurt—he fakes a wince anyway, rubbing at the spot she poked, just to see the triumphant glint in her eyes. "Which… you know. You're weird about a lot of things, but this one is particularly depressing. You know, when people buy gifts for you, it means they care; they're thinking about you even when you're not around, enough to look at something and be reminded of you. We buy things for you that we think you'll like because we want to make you happy."
She pauses for a moment, and then adds, "And also because you have, like, three actual possessions, and still live out of a suitcase after years of being on the Express. I figured maybe if I gave you enough stuff you would run out of space in there and have to start decorating the archives."
"… Is that why you keep bringing me clothes?" Dan Heng asks.
March snorts, and shakes her head. "No, I keep bringing you clothes because you're a walking, breathing fashion tragedy, Dan Heng. You have one jacket, buddy. You need to expand your horizons."
He bristles a little before he can stop it, clutching onto the sleeve, and mutters perhaps a bit defensively, "What's wrong with my jacket…?"
"Speaking of things you're weird about," March says, shaking her head. "Never mind, let's just move on. What about the other ones? Himeko helped tidy up the archives for you, didn't she? How did that make you feel?"
And he pauses for a moment, mulling it over carefully, and eventually settles on, "I appreciated it a lot. I had more time to work on the databank, since I didn't need to do any tidying. And she dusted, which… was very nice of her."
He nearly wrinkles his nose at just the thought. He likes keeping his space clean, and organising the archives is a very calming activity, but dust tends to build up quickly on the older files if it isn't done routinely, and he's… not a fan of the task. He always finds himself sneezing for an hour afterwards.
March grins, and prompts further, "What about Mr. Yang's day? He had 'words of affirmation'… I'm sure that went very well."
… Hm. Dan Heng hates her. He can feel the tips of his ears warming already.
Listen. It isn't like he sincerely likes Mr. Yang more than the others, okay? That's not it at all. Dan Heng likes the entire crew equally—maybe a little more than likes them, if we're practising honesty today, but he can't let himself linger on the thought of family for too long or he thinks he really might start crying, despite the fact that he hasn't so much as felt his eyes sting since before he lost his horns.
It's just… well. Mr. Yang has a very specific aura which happens to be very calming. He's kind and gentle, but also patient, and he doesn't try to pry out answers; he waits for Dan Heng to go to him, or for the two of them to end up together by coincidence, like in the breakfast car late at night. Trying to lie to him feels awful, even worse than trying to lie to Miss Himeko, so somehow, inevitably, Dan Heng ends up telling him things that he doesn't usually share with people.
Perhaps the most inconvenient part is that he does actually feel better afterwards.
"… It felt a bit strange," Dan Heng confesses quietly, because even if it is slightly embarrassing, lying to March when she has that look on her face is like pulling teeth. "But I won't say it wasn't… nice."
"'Nice'?" March repeats, probing.
He makes a valiant attempt not to scrunch his nose up. "… Pleasant."
"You can just say you liked it, you know. It isn't against the law to like things," she sighs.
"Fine," Dan Heng replies, only slightly childishly, and then winces a little at the sound of his own voice. How does March always manage to annoy him into acting like this…
She stares at him, eyes wide and expectant, and he bites his tongue, a sticky anxiousness clinging to the inside of his ribcage.
"… I liked it," he finally manages to grit out. March rolls her eyes at the strain in his voice, and he tries very hard to remain the mature party and not glare at her. He doesn't particularly think it's working. "… Stop it. I did what you wanted. Can I leave yet?"
"Nope," March says, popping the 'p' and sitting up abruptly. "We aren't done yet. Did you enjoy your day out with Caelus?"
Never mind. Forget practising honesty. Dan Heng would like to exit this conversation with a sliver of his already very broken dignity remaining, and actually admitting a single thing about his ice cream date short outing with Caelus is going to ensure thorough mocking for the rest of March's natural lifespan.
"… He didn't spend all of my money. So, yes."
"Is that your criteria for a fun day out?"
Dan Heng huffs. "With Caelus? Yes."
"Okay, note to self, Dan Heng is a cheapskate," March says, intentionally obnoxious. "Moving on. What about our sleepover?"
"… It wasn't any different from normal?" Dan Heng replies, frowning a little, suddenly confused. "Was that part of the experiment?"
He thinks back to their most recent 'enforced bonding time', but isn't able to call up anything particularly out-of-the-ordinary; March was a little cuddlier than normal, but sometimes she's just like that. They're different, in that way. She likes touching people, likes having them close—she's always reaching out to hold hands, or leaning on somebody, or begging someone to carry her because her legs are tired. It's just the way March is.
It's just the way Dan Heng isn't.
But he gives it a little more thought, and then thinks, wait. Because, wait. Is that even true anymore?
That evening, he could have moved away. Could have nudged March off, and made up some excuse about being too warm, or not made up any excuse at all, and they could've just watched their show like they always do. But he didn't.
Just like he doesn't shy away from Mr. Yang anymore when he tries to pat his head, and just like he doesn't stop Miss Himeko before she can do her slightly embarrassing little rituals, pinching his cheeks gently when he comes home and kissing him on the forehead before he retreats to the archives for the night, and just like the doesn't avoid Caelus's endless attempts to press their shoulders together or hang onto his arm.
He just… lets them. He lets March hug him and he lets Mr. Yang ruffle his hair and he lets Miss Himeko squish and dote and he lets Caelus cling. And… it doesn't feel bad. It's nice, maybe. Sometimes he even wants it.
And what an unfamiliar feeling it is, to want something like that, and to just be able to have it. To be given it, without restraint or condition.
"March," slips out before Dan Heng can stop it, and she stares up at him, wide eyes unblinking, and he flounders, because. Well. What is he supposed to say now?
… He's never asked for something like this before. He isn't sure he knows how.
This is ridiculously pathetic, the little voice in his head murmurs. They only do it because they're good people, because they pity you—they don't actually care about you. Just how stupid are you?
Familiar anxiety floods his chest, creeping up his windpipe and clogging his lungs. It's hard to breathe, all of a sudden, and much harder to speak, but March is looking up at him, patiently waiting, slowly growing worried the longer the silence goes on, and that's not allowed. She can't be worried about him. That's his job.
Dan Heng closes his eyes, because everything is easier in the dark, and chokes out past the thick lump in his throat, "Can you hug me?"
He can hear March make a soft, surprised noise, but then there's shuffling, and arms wrapping around his waist as she presses her cheek against his chest, holding on tight, and inexplicably, Dan Heng feels a little like sobbing.
And the touch prickles everywhere, too-hot-too-cold, like shivers of lightning at the base of his spine, but he never, ever wants it to stop. He gasps, and it doesn't really feel like enough air, and March's perfume smells like vanilla, a little too sweet, and she's warm—how strange. Her hands are usually freezing.
"Are you okay?" She asks, soft and a little concerned, and talking seems like too much of a task right now. All he can do is inhale sharply again, shuddering, and try to nod, and hope that's enough communication to reassure her.
March only makes another sound, and tightens her arms around him a little more, and asks, light and gentle, "You gonna hug back, or…?"
… Oh. Right. That's what people do, isn't it? Get it together, Dan Heng.
Despite the fact that his entire body feels somewhere in between lead and sunlight, simultaneously heavy and weightless, he manages to lift his arms to wrap around her—he isn't exactly sure where to put his hands, so he settles for around March's shoulders. It feels stiff and awkward. He isn't sure he's doing this right.
But March just hums, obviously satisfied, and snuggles a bit closer, so… he can't be doing it that wrong.
"There you go. See, it's chill," she chirps. "Just a nice, friendly hug. How do you feel?"
And Dan Heng's tongue still feels too big for his mouth, but he's been asked a question, and he can't just nod or shake his head this time, and not saying anything would be rude. So. He has to respond.
But his lungs still feel short of air, and when he opens his mouth, he struggles to get the words out—the first coherent thing he manages is, "Sorry."
… Unfortunately very typical, and also very unhelpful.
But March just snorts, and shakes her head.
"Never mind. You know what, why don't we go find the others. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to discover your newfound desire for physical contact."
That gets the words to come out. "March, no, wait—"
"Too late!" She cheers, pulling away and taking his wrist in her hand and tugging her along behind him. "Come on."
Dan Heng could resist, really. March isn't strong enough to make him do anything he doesn't want to. But. Well.
He spends too long contemplating pulling away and not actually pulling away, however, and they end up in the parlor car, drawing curious and amused looks from Mr. Yang and Miss Himeko—and then, by extension, Caelus, who only looks up as he loses in the game on his phone.
"March, Dan Heng," Mr. Yang says, with the extensive, evergreen patience that Dan Heng has come to associate with him. "What's going on here?"
"I have an announcement," March announces, far too loud considering everyone is sitting within a twenty-foot radius of her. "Dan Heng just asked for a hug."
The crew stares at them, with a range of emotions including mildly surprised, amused, and wildly entertained, and Dan Heng makes a valiant attempt not to feel like he's going to shrivel up like a dying plant. He doesn't get very far.
"That's good," Miss Himeko replies, supportive as ever, amber eyes glittering. "Did you give him a hug, or did you bring him out here to inform us first?"
March huffs, and crosses her arms over her chest. "Well, of course I gave him a hug. But he needs another one. From all of us, this time. Family group hugs are healing!"
Mr. Yang makes an amused sound. "Did Dan Heng give his permission for this group hug, March?"
March opens her mouth to respond, and Dan Heng figures it's probably best not to let her say whatever she's about to say, and clears his throat to cut her off.
"… Um. It's fine," he mumbles. His face feels oddly warm. "Just, if we could, maybe, keep it—"
He doesn't get to finish the sentence before Caelus is up on his feet, and throwing his arms around him and squeezing.
"—brief," he finishes awkwardly. March giggles, and wraps herself around him on the other side. Over her head, Dan Heng can see Miss Himeko and Mr. Yang exchange almost mischievous glances, and then they're both coming over to join the rapidly-growing pile of Trailblazers in the middle of the parlor car.
And… it's nice. More than nice, maybe. Mr. Yang's head is resting on top of his, and Miss Himeko is rubbing the nape of his neck gently, and he's sandwiched between March and Caelus as both of them seem determined to squeeze all the breath out of his lungs, clinging to him tightly. Every inch of his skin is buzzing faintly, like his nerves can't handle the sudden influx of sensory input, and he feels dizzy and tongue-tied, unable to do anything but stand there in their arms, his eyes stinging.
… Huh.
"Wow, your hair is really soft," Caelus comments, warm breath against the side of his throat, and Dan Heng can't help but shudder, even as his arms come up without his permission to loop loosely around him and March.
"Hey, there you go," March giggles, pressing closer. "You're getting the hang of it! Not so hard, huh, Dan Heng?"
No. No, he supposes it isn't, and honestly, he's not sure if that makes him feel better or worse, because oh, this is so nice, and he could have just… had this? Could have just asked for it, all along, and they would have provided?
Of course they would have. They're good people, who, for some incomprehensible reason, have decided that they care about him and he is worth their time, worth their effort, and who refuse to take 'no' for an answer. Of course, if Dan Heng had requested something they saw as so simple, they would have provided it.
Here, standing in their arms, cradled at the center of this mass of warm bodies, it does not feel simple to Dan Heng.
But the warring emotions within him—guilt and fear and anxiety and confusion and love love love, so much love that Dan Heng hardly knows what to do with it all, where to put it, if he can't contain it all within—are too complex to explain through the knot in his throat. So instead, he nods, and ducks his head down to bury his face in March's shoulder, notes of coffee and leather and vanilla touching his nose as he hides, surprisingly not overwhelming.
Perhaps he's already gotten so used to them.
"Ah, there he goes," Himeko murmurs, soft with amusement, petting through the downy curls at the base of his neck.
Mr. Yang hums, similarly fond. "You alright there, Dan Heng?"
"… Mmm."
"Yeah," Caelus chirps, as if translating, patting his back. "Emotionally overloaded, but good."
"What are you, the Dan Heng translator? That's supposed to be my job," March huffs playfully.
"Well, too slow. The early bird gets the worm."
"The early bird gets eaten by the cat," grumbles March.
"I'm not sure that's the phrase, March," Welt chuckles.
"Mouse," Dan Heng finally brings himself to croak, feeling his ears twitch—ah, when did his Cloudhymn slip—as Caelus laughs breathily near his cheek. "… It's 'the early bird catches the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese'."
March makes a confused noise. "Why doesn't the first mouse get the cheese?"
"… Because the first mouse gets caught in the trap."
"Oh," March says, not particularly pleased to have learned that. "Well that sucks."
Welt sighs heavily, and Dan Heng cannot help the faint, broken laugh that slips out, his shoulders shaking a little. Actually, perhaps all of him is shaking a little. Caelus squeezes him tighter, and the trembling doesn't feel so bad.
"Woah," someone mumbles—probably Caelus—and then there's a hand brushing his cheek, carefully swiping away wetness, and ah, when did he start crying?
"Oh— Dan Heng, don't cry," March hurries to say, pitched with something like panic. "I'm sure the trapped mice are fine!"
"I don't think that's why he's crying, March," Himeko murmurs, gentle but endlessly fond.
"Huh…? Oh. Ohhhh."
"Not the sharpest bulb in the shed, her," Caelus says quietly, just into his ear, and Dan Heng lets out another watery giggle, leaning into the steady arms around him a little more. "… It's okay. Don't worry, Dan Heng. We'll be here as long as you need, yeah? You wanna go sit down? You're shaking pretty bad. I don't want you to pass out or anything."
"Mmm," is all Dan Heng can manage in response, half-affirmative, and the hug loosens to let him slip out—the loss of warmth aches in his chest like a physical thing, but it does make it a little easier to breathe through his tears with the slightly overstimulating buzzing under his skin fading away, and it's not as if any of them stray far. The entire crew trails behind as Caelus leads him over to a couch, and Pom-Pom appears out of nowhere with a convenient cup of chamomile tea already clutched between their paws.
He will fall asleep there, with Caelus on one side and Mr. Yang on the other and March sitting on the floor in front of him with her phone lifted up to play cat videos after a declaration that their next experiment should be testing things that help Dan Heng feel better.
The cat videos do help a little, if he's honest, but not nearly as much as being here, warm and safe and surrounded by familiar comfort.
And after he dozes off, the rest of the crew will all share furitive glances, and silently agree amongst themselves that they are not going to move an inch until Dan Heng wakes up of his own accord.
In thirty long, exhausting years, it is by far the best sleep he has ever had.