"I will live. I won't leave you." A promise, his voice soft, barely more than a whisper. "I could never. The thought of leaving someone I... I love... it's too much to bear."
Sunday's entire life so far, seemed to have been a series of exits. First his homeland. His mother. His sister. His father. His Dream. Even his Family had left him. His prayers to any Aeon had always gone unanswered, and the silence now had left him more empty than ever before.
And... He couldn't put Fou-Lu through any more misery. Not after seeing how Mami's loss had torn the Endless apart, after the look on his face upon discovering Sunday frozen in place, after watching him collapse to the floor, the very thought laying the other man low. Not a worshipper. Not a subject. Not his to command. The last sentence feels like a vice over Sunday's heart. He was not Fou-Lu's to control.
But could he... Could he be his, to hold close? To... to love?
Fou-Lu's eyes meet his own, the last of his tears shed. The other man presses closer, their foreheads together. The intimacy of it, the gentleness... Sunday feels like his chest could burst at any moment. Fou-Lu wipes away his tears, and the halovian leans into the touch, one of his ear wings cradling the back of the other man's hand, feathers gentle against his skin.
Walk within me. Walk with me.
His hand is taken, pressed to Fou-Lu's chest. Sunday existed, within his mind, his heart. Their fingers lace together, and Sunday's cheeks flush. He allows this, allows himself to feel that the other man is alive, that he is here. That he isn't alone. Neither of them were. Fou-Lu's words linger, making a home within Sunday's heart, too.
"You do. I have never felt more safe, with anyone. I... Want your happiness, as well. I can't bear the thought of you lonely, or in pain. I am here. I will not be far from you." If you wish it, if you want it, if you'll have me, left unsaid, caught in his throat.
Fou-Lu requests to hold him, his face flushing... Sunday's heart threatens to beat out of his chest at the sight. Could they really have one another like this? The halovian nods, squeezing the other man's hand gently. Leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Fou-Lu's hand, close to his chest, his heart. Feeling his warmth. So long as they were here, together, he thinks that he could be okay with... this. Even temporary, even fleeting.
"Of course." Sunday thinks that he would allow Fou-Lu to do anything. He would tell him of life, of his feelings. Of the world he desired, of... a future, with himself in it. "To speak of life... I feel that mine has only barely started."
It was strange to think, to wonder, now, having spent so many years within a dream. He had lost so much to this idea, this cause. And yet... He would not be here without it. He still doesn't understand why him, why any of them. And yet... there is a softer, selfish wish at the back of his mind: Perhaps... he didn't want to return. It feels wrong, at first. Of course he had to, he had a duty to Penacony.
He remembers asking Robin to kill him, the opalescent blood, sticky in his hair, on his face. The metal click of a handcuff around his wrist as he and Robin were separated. The room he was locked in, the chair he was chained to. Raised as a sacrifice, in one way or another: doomed to an lonesome eternity, or the death of his father, The Family washing their hands of the Incident. Leaving Sunday to take the fall.
Did he truly have a duty to anyone?
Sunday's not sure, anymore. There's a new feeling with that thought, not quite anxiety. Hope for the future, he thinks. Even one without his Dream. Hope for himself. It's strange, and feels almost... Wrong. But having Fou-Lu close, being asked to live for now, to spend his days lucid, away from Dreams. To create the world he sought in reality...
Sunday thinks that maybe he could.
"I... wish to hear of your world, as well. I want to understand it, understand you." He pauses, remembering Fou-Lu wishing to speak to him, having allowed Sunday to talk first. "You... had something to say, earlier. I am happy to hear it."
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Sunday's entire life so far, seemed to have been a series of exits. First his homeland. His mother. His sister. His father. His Dream. Even his Family had left him. His prayers to any Aeon had always gone unanswered, and the silence now had left him more empty than ever before.
And... He couldn't put Fou-Lu through any more misery. Not after seeing how Mami's loss had torn the Endless apart, after the look on his face upon discovering Sunday frozen in place, after watching him collapse to the floor, the very thought laying the other man low. Not a worshipper. Not a subject. Not his to command. The last sentence feels like a vice over Sunday's heart. He was not Fou-Lu's to control.
But could he... Could he be his, to hold close? To... to love?
Fou-Lu's eyes meet his own, the last of his tears shed. The other man presses closer, their foreheads together. The intimacy of it, the gentleness... Sunday feels like his chest could burst at any moment. Fou-Lu wipes away his tears, and the halovian leans into the touch, one of his ear wings cradling the back of the other man's hand, feathers gentle against his skin.
Walk within me. Walk with me.
His hand is taken, pressed to Fou-Lu's chest. Sunday existed, within his mind, his heart. Their fingers lace together, and Sunday's cheeks flush. He allows this, allows himself to feel that the other man is alive, that he is here. That he isn't alone. Neither of them were. Fou-Lu's words linger, making a home within Sunday's heart, too.
"You do. I have never felt more safe, with anyone. I... Want your happiness, as well. I can't bear the thought of you lonely, or in pain. I am here. I will not be far from you." If you wish it, if you want it, if you'll have me, left unsaid, caught in his throat.
Fou-Lu requests to hold him, his face flushing... Sunday's heart threatens to beat out of his chest at the sight. Could they really have one another like this? The halovian nods, squeezing the other man's hand gently. Leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Fou-Lu's hand, close to his chest, his heart. Feeling his warmth. So long as they were here, together, he thinks that he could be okay with... this. Even temporary, even fleeting.
"Of course." Sunday thinks that he would allow Fou-Lu to do anything. He would tell him of life, of his feelings. Of the world he desired, of... a future, with himself in it. "To speak of life... I feel that mine has only barely started."
It was strange to think, to wonder, now, having spent so many years within a dream. He had lost so much to this idea, this cause. And yet... He would not be here without it. He still doesn't understand why him, why any of them. And yet... there is a softer, selfish wish at the back of his mind: Perhaps... he didn't want to return. It feels wrong, at first. Of course he had to, he had a duty to Penacony.
He remembers asking Robin to kill him, the opalescent blood, sticky in his hair, on his face. The metal click of a handcuff around his wrist as he and Robin were separated. The room he was locked in, the chair he was chained to. Raised as a sacrifice, in one way or another: doomed to an lonesome eternity, or the death of his father, The Family washing their hands of the Incident. Leaving Sunday to take the fall.
Did he truly have a duty to anyone?
Sunday's not sure, anymore. There's a new feeling with that thought, not quite anxiety. Hope for the future, he thinks. Even one without his Dream. Hope for himself. It's strange, and feels almost... Wrong. But having Fou-Lu close, being asked to live for now, to spend his days lucid, away from Dreams. To create the world he sought in reality...
Sunday thinks that maybe he could.
"I... wish to hear of your world, as well. I want to understand it, understand you." He pauses, remembering Fou-Lu wishing to speak to him, having allowed Sunday to talk first. "You... had something to say, earlier. I am happy to hear it."