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"Or- or remember when Dan Heng crashed a motorcycle into a lamppost on Taikiyan?" March said, mouth half full of toast.
Dan Heng sighed heavily. "Perhaps I should bring up that you were jostling my shoulders around?"
"Come on, no one was hurt!" March said. "And it worked out because you couldn't points on your license since you don't have one!"
Stelle poked Sunday on the shoulder, and he snapped to attention.
"Hm?" he said, giving a sleepy tilt of his head.
"Do you have a driver's license?" Behind her, Dan Heng tried to wrestle his plate back from March with limited success.
"I..." He blinked. He must have one. On Penacony, people owned cars. He must have owned a car. He had money. Maybe he had a chauffeur? No, no that couldn't be right. He would've had a license. At least for identification purposes. He frowned.
"Plenty of people don't have licenses," March said, Dan Heng's hand on her face, pushing her away.
"I would think you would have no need for one, being the Oak Family head."
"No, I... had a license." Sunday frowned deeper. Some part of him told him that was right. "My apologies. I- well, I must've. When I was sixteen I took Mister Gopher Wood's car for a joyride."
March and Dan Heng paused. Stelle raised her eyebrows. Sunday could feel beads of sweat on his neck.
"Excuse me. For a moment."
Before the crew had the chance to say anything, he stood, and made his way to the party car.
Stelle turned to Dan Heng and they shared a shrug.
"That was... out of character," March said.
"Was it?" Dan Heng said. "He's always so..."
"Tapped out?" Stelle suggested. "Spacey? Cottonball brained?"
"Maybe. I was going to say quiet."
"No, I meant I didn't think he had that side to him... taking his dad's car?" March's eyes lit up. "Maybe he was a rebellious teen!"
"Somehow I doubt that," Dan Heng said.
“Come on, imagine it! Sunday in a leather jacket… oh! Maybe that’s where his pierced wings came from! And maybe he wore moody eyeliner– like in those magazines! Maybe he liked rock n’ roll, too! Aw, wait, could you imagine if he sang songs with Robin?” March clapped her hands together. “That would be so awesome!”
“March.” Dan Heng feigned a cough.
“Aw, they could do a brother-sister concert! Do you think we could talk him into it?”
“March,” Dan Heng said, with more urgency.
“What, you don’t like the idea? I mean, well he is an intergalactic criminal and all, but I think–”
“I think that’s quite enough,” Sunday said. March snapped around to look at him. He had a hand pressed behind his back and his face was pressed into a stern line. March turned tomato red.
“O- oh! Sunday!” March laughed nervously. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“Mad? Oh, no,” Sunday said with a sarcastic drawl. “I love when people speculate about my childhood. Go on.”
Stelle bristled, standing from her spot on the couch. “Sunny–”
“Don’t call me that.”
“– OK, Sunday. She didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No?” Sunday said. He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m sure she didn’t. March, do you want to know why my wing is pierced?”
Sunday took a step closer; Stelle took a step between the two, and Dan Heng immediately sprung up, moving to flank Sunday.
“Guys, relax!” March shouted.
For a moment, no one moved. Sunday and Stelle kept intense eye contact. Dan Heng’s hand hovered over Sunday’s shoulder. March sat half off the couch, looking about ready to run. They all breathed in sync. Stelle blinked once. Sunday followed, blinking slowly at first, then a few times rapidly; his face screwed up. Stelle made quick eye contact with Dan Heng, who gave her a frown and retracted his hand. March reached out to push Stelle aside, but she stood her ground. When the first tear fell, the world started moving again.
“Sorry,” Sunday mumbled, “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He sunk to the ground, putting his head between his knees as best as he could with his halo in the way. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Stelle took a clumsy step back, and Dan Heng stood frozen in place. March scooted off the couch and onto the floor next to Sunday. “Hey, don’t cry, I took it too far. I’m sorry. Don’t be silly.”
“Sorry– I– March, I didn’t–”
March put a hand on Sunday’s shoulder and he leaned into it until March was awkwardly wrapping her arms around him. Stelle and Dan Heng exchanged another look.
“What did I do? March, what did I say?”
“Huh?” March said.
Sunday lifted his head up, the trio made varying expressions of surprise and distress. He was ugly crying.
“Oh, uh, you just were mad when you overheard me speculating about your teen years.” March furrowed her brow. “Hey, do you wanna go get a soda? That always helps me when I’m upset. A little sugar never killed anyone!”
Sunday nodded. March helped him up, sparing one last worried glance at Stelle and Dan Heng, and helped him up the stairs into the next car.
“What the fuck,” Stelle said.
Dan Heng pinched the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck, indeed.”
Sitting in Sunday’s admittedly open corner of the Astral Express, March watched Sunday nurse his tiny cup of decaffeinated soda. She wondered how he could make it last so long. I mean, really, the thing was kid sized. But he had insisted on a small cup.
“Hey, Sunday?” she said, poking him with her foot. He didn’t startle, which was a good sign.
He looked up from his drink. “Yes?”
“You… uh… sorry if this is intrusive. Before, when you were mad. You offered to tell me how you got your wing pierced.” Sunday tensed. “Oh, no, I don’t need to know. But it… sounded like a threat. I was just wondering, uh, do you have a lot of stories like that? I don’t really.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s blank up there. I’ve tried really hard to remember, trust me. But even before Evernight showed up, uh, it just wasn’t there. Mr. Yang told me that sometimes when we have a lot of stories like that, maybe the brain doesn’t want to remember them.”
Sunday looked back down at his drink.
“I guess my point is, uh, I’m just wondering. Do you have blank spots, too? Like me?”
It took a moment – Sunday opened and closed his mouth a few times – but he finally began to speak, “It’s funny you bring that up. I do have, ah, blank spots. They’re just mainly from when we met. I remember very little of the Charmony Festival and the events leading up to it, actually.”
March sat very still. She felt like she was about to mess this up any second, like Sunday was a fragile glass figurine and she was carrying it across a room full of building blocks barefoot or something. She wasn’t good at this sort of thing! Why her! She held her breath.
Sunday continued, “I actually… have a lot of blank spots, I guess. Not just the Charmony Festival. The days sort of blend together since I joined the Astral Express. The space air maybe. Everything is so the same. I wake up, and time passes, because it must, physics dictates that it must. But I feel like it’s just… endless mornings. The days start off clear and I lose progressively more clarity as they go on.” He looked up, and gave a weary smile. “Perhaps I’m overwhelmed.”
“I have days like that, too. I’m afraid of the big forgetting, but there’s also little forgettings. It’s why I take pictures.” March nodded thoughtfully. “When Evernight is in control, it’s so obvious, right? I mean, besides the red eyes, right. Duh. And when she takes over everything gets… fuzzy. I’m not suggesting– I mean, I don’t know, but…” She bit her lip. Sunday’s features seemed to soften. “Nevermind. It’s not important.”
“No, no. It’s not… a bad suggestion.” Sunday frowned. “Do you remember before I joined the Astral Express? Back on Penacony, with that woman, Tingyun was her name I believe?”
March nodded. “Oh, that was a headache! It was you, and me and Stelle, and Tingyun, and Mr. Yang, and that… Workweek? Weekday? Something like that.”
Sunday took a small sip of his drink. “Wonweek. The name was my suggestion.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was part of me.”
March frowned. “Huh?”
“Like Miss Tingyun’s situation. I found myself in a similar one.”
Several things clicked at once in March’s head. “Ohhhhh. Oh! Oh…” Sunday nodded. “Is he… did you, like, absorb him?”
“My original thought is that I won. Perhaps that isn’t the full truth.” Sunday turned to look out the window.
March poked him with her foot again. “Hey, that’s fine. Evernight and me share, right? And I’m still the cutest, most adorable, prettiest, awesomest girl in the whole universe! I’m…” she followed Sunday’s gaze. “I’m still me.”
A moment of silence as the stars passed by outside. Sunday stood. “Thank you, Miss March, for the drink. I’d like some time alone to think, if you wouldn’t mind.”
A chill came from inside March’s room, but Sunday knocked politely anyways. Either March would be in, in which case she would be likely to let Sunday in to talk, or Evernight would be, in which case she would likely say ‘buzz off’. Either outcome had been carefully considered.
“Come in,” came March’s voice, muffled by the door.
Relieved, Sunday pushed the door open to find March at her desk, applying a dark cherry lipstick. “Oh, Miss Evernight, I didn’t mean to– I’ll come back–”
“Sit,” she said, gesturing at the bed. Stiffly, Sunday walked over to the bed and sat at the edge. “Speak. You can hold the rabbit pillow if it makes you more talkative.”
Sunday coughed. “I wanted to speak about yesterday.”
“And?” Evernight said, not looking up from the camera on her computer. “I believe I told you to speak.”
Sunday silently picked up the rabbit pillow from the floor. “I thought about it for a long time. I don’t know if I’ve come to a conclusion.”
“Come to a conclusion about..? I don’t think there’s anything to come to a conclusion about. You and me are the same. That’s about all there is to it.”
“You misunderstand me.”
Evernight capped the lipstick, placing it down neatly on the desk. She turned to face Sunday, eyes piercing. “I’m not surprised. You’re frustratingly vague as usual. Speak what’s on your mind. No Aeon will strike you down for simply stating your thoughts.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the desk.
“Ah. Right.” Sunday swallowed, holding the pillow closer. “I want to get rid of Wonweek, I think. Is that within your capacity?”
Evernight paused, slowly lowering the mascara wand. Very deliberately, she placed it in its holder, moving glacially, as if giving Sunday time to think. He held his ground.
“I suppose it might be. Though whether or not that means you would be eliminated as well is a bit of a matter of philosophy. Though I suppose that type of overthought is something you’re into, too. Have you considered it, little bird? That you too might face oblivion?” She turned to face him. “No, you haven’t. Tell me, why is it that you seek to destroy him?”
“I don’t like the blank spots. I don’t like feeling incomplete like this. I think there’s something wrong with me.”
Evernight sighed. “You often fret over things you don’t understand, don’t you. You don’t even know – you aren’t Sunday. Or, well, as much as anyone can trace who ‘Sunday’ truly is.”
Sunday’s head started hurting. “What? No, I’m Sunday.”
“No, you’re not.” Evernight scooted the desk chair closer to the bed; it was actually quite disarming watching her struggle against physical space. Something humanizing, equalizing. It reminded him of coming out of the Sweet Dream in a way. He had felt weaker, more awkward. Like a tadpole dragging itself out of the water and into the mud.
“All sapient life is like… a pond. Still seeming, but teeming with life underneath. If one were to put it under a microscope, you would see the millions of microbes – further still, molecules – that make up the constitution of ‘self’. Each person experiences changes in ‘self’ – like all water, it cycles. But a part of ‘self’ does not constitute a whole ‘self.’ Identity is more nuanced. For people like you and me, we are more like… a canal. Man-made barriers between each pool of ‘self,’ flowing into one another like chambers. The water that enters the canal does not leave the canal unchanged. You are not the same as the sea that enters the first chamber. You are not Sunday.”
“That makes no sense,” Sunday said. His head really hurt. “Not the metaphor, the metaphor is cogent. I don’t know if I agree with the concept. I’m Sunday. I choose to believe I am.”
“And what if Wonweek believed the same?” Evernight hummed. “What makes you more deserving of being than him?”
“I made him.”
“And thus?” Evernight leaned back in the desk chair. “Even if that were the case, does making something mean you have the right to destroy it?”
“Yes,” Sunday said.
Evernight raised her eyebrows. “Wow. You’re a basket case.”
Sunday’s head was pounding. “Likewise,” he heard himself say.
“No, no. At least I acknowledge what I am.” She smirked. Something inside Sunday recoiled in disgust. “You would destroy the person who loves you the most. You are so afraid of being actually unconditionally wanted that you would kill yourself to avoid the feeling.”
“That’s not fair.” Sunday pouted. “That’s not fair at all.”
“Come on, is that all you can muster, little bird? You need Wonweek.”
“No.”
“Yes. You’ve lost your bite.” Evernight stood, and so did Sunday — Sunday? He felt his body move like as if he were watching from afar.
“You throw your weight around as if you know anything, but you’re just as rejected as me. Don’t kid yourself. March accepts you because she knows she can’t be rid of you. You’re too deluded to see she’s lying. You are blind to the fact that you are powerless. Unwanted. You see the way she talks around you. She tolerates you.”
“Get out.” Evernight pushed her chair over in a spurt of violence with nowhere to go. “Get out!”
“Gladly,” he said, walking past her to the door.
Sunday sat nursing his headache. The past few days had been rough. Stelle sat by the radio with him, throwing a handball at the ceiling.
“As we approach the turnover of the fiscal period,” the radio droned, “Reports from star systems all over the universe are projecting prosperity.” Sunday tried to focus on what the announcer was saying, listening for mentions of the Asdana system. It had to be early in the list. He just had to focus enough.
“Sundaaaaay,” Stelle whined. “This is boring. I’m bored.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Dan Heng took it. He said I was brainrotted. I’m not brainrotted.” Stelle threw the ball at the ceiling and whiffed entirely. It landed on the other side of the room. “Tell me I’m not brainrotted.”
“You’re not brainrotted.”
“Exactly! Now go tell Dan Heng that!” Stelle sat up, swinging her legs under her so she was kneeling on the chair.
Sunday flicked the radio off with a sigh. If he wasn’t going to be able to focus, he might as well make himself useful.
“You don’t have to knock,” Dan Heng said through the door. Sunday slid it open. Inside, March was sitting on Dan Heng’s bed.
“Ah. I’ll be going.”
“Wait!” March said, scrambling to her feet.
“What brings you here?” Dan Heng said, ever calm.
“...I had a message from Stelle. It’s– she wants her phone back.”
“This again,” Dan Heng said, facepalming. “She left it in here, she can get it back whenever she wants-”
“Sunday, can we talk?” March said. She was frowning. Sunday looked at the floor. “Privately.”
“I’ll go bring Stelle her phone.” Dan Heng squeezed past Sunday, leaving the two alone.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, I don’t know what came over-”
“I’m not good at this sort of thing. So just let me get it out.” March said, and Sunday slammed his mouth shut. “It really hurt Evernight’s feelings what you said yesterday. I know you were overwhelmed, but it was not right to drag me into it like that. And- and I didn’t like it. I don’t want you to beat yourself up! That makes me feel like, bad. But I didn’t like it.”
Sunday swallowed. “I am sorry,” he said. Simply.
“I know. And I do forgive you! But just… don’t beat yourself up, ‘kay?”
Sunday felt numb. “OK.”
“I’m not trying to blame you for things like this! Ugh, this is so hard.”
“OK.”
“What I mean is we just– not just me, I mean, everyone. We don’t want you to mope around! You’ve done some bad stuff.”
“Yes.”
“No– I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, like. Ugh!” She threw her hands up. “Look, just don’t be a sad-sack. I like you as you are. Even when you get all scary.”
“OK.” Sunday stood by the door, frozen.
“Um… do you wanna…” March took a step towards him. “Do you want a hug?”
Sunday nodded. March moved in for a hug. She was about a head shorter than him, but strong, and it felt nice to be held. He felt itchy all over. He didn’t deserve this. He wanted it so bad. But he didn’t deserve it.
After that, March took up the habit of sticking to him like glue. She was always touching him in little casual ways that made his heart recoil from its own warmth. He wanted this. He shouldn't have it. He had it. He shouldn’t need it. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
The worst part was her kindness. Whenever he shifted away, she withdrew. Like he deserved the gentleness. Like she really believed that he deserved it.
“You know,” Evernight said. “Your fear is palpable to her. Even if she doesn’t know what she’s experiencing.”
“I don’t control that,” he said. What he meant is, I shouldn’t.
“Well that’s stupid,” she hummed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I just don’t want him to think I’m doing it out of pity,” March said.
“Trust me, that’s not his concern,” Wonweek said.
March groaned. “I guess on the bright side that’s one problem solved.”
“Can you leave my room?” Evernight said.
“We need to talk,” Wonweek replied coolly.
“No, I don’t think we do.”
“I don’t want to talk to you either. This is for March and Sunny’s sake.”
“Fine, I’m listening, harmony boy.” Evernight sat on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“She can’t even kiss him on the cheek without him panicking,” he sighed. “It’s pathetic.”
“We agree on that. What do you propose?”
“I want you to kiss me,” Evernight said.
Sunday flushed pink. “Huh? What?”
“I’m serious. Wonweek and I discussed it. We think it would be best for your relationship if you just practiced with me.” Evernight pushed him against the wall.
“Miss Evernight-” Sunday swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not like I don’t like you.” She ran a hand up his chest and cupped his cheek.
Sunday’s heart beat faster. “I- OK- what?”
Evernight swooped, kissing him softly. She laid a peck on his lips, then licked little kitten licks against the opening of his mouth. Sunday instinctively opened, and Evernight softly bit his lower lip. Sunday whined. “Good little birdie,” Evernight said low into his mouth. “Get out of your head girl.” Sunday mewled, reaching out to kiss her again, and Evernight met her lips, sticking her tongue in his mouth. They stood like that for a while, just kissing, until Evernight pulled away. Sunday was red from the suction and the heat. His ear wings fluttered a bit, following her as she pulled away. “Was that good, bird?”
The fuzz started to clear a bit as she got further away, and Sunday chased the feeling by burying his head in Evernight’s neck, kissing the crook of her collarbone. Evernight shushed him, petting his hair. “Now, Miss birdie,” she said, tipping his head up to look her in the eyes. “Forget.”
“What has gotten into you?” March giggled as Sunday cuddled up into her lap. He felt light. Air-headed, even.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t hate it though?”
“I don’t either.” Sunday hummed. “Are you sure you’re feeling OK?” She put the back of her hand to Sunday’s forehead, and frowned. “Oh, you’re cold.”
“Warm me up?” Sunday said.
March looked down at him. It felt warmer already.