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Jun 4

Songbirds (Sunday) ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

“I do not know when it happened,” he whispered. “But somewhere along the way, you became the most important person in my life.” ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

Synopsis: Beneath exchanged glances and quiet victories, you’ve been in love. The two of you carrying a secret softer than a quiet birdsong.

Genre: Fluff, Slowburn (Highschool!au)

Pairing(s): Sunday x Afab!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: I needed a little Sunday fix so here’s a fluffy little slowburn that I conjured up. Happy reading :3

You had spent most of your life glowing under the attention of others.

Not intentionally. It simply happened.

People noticed you everywhere you went, as though there was something naturally luminous about you that drew them closer before they could stop themselves.

Teachers adored you because you were polite and hardworking. Parents loved you because you were graceful and well-mannered. Students flocked to you because you always knew how to make people feel seen.

You remembered names. You remembered favorite snacks, birthdays, tiny details from passing conversations.

You laughed easily, listened sincerely, and carried yourself with a kind of effortless elegance that made people want to stand beside you just to bask in it for a moment longer.

By middle school, everyone already knew your name.

You were the girl classmates compared themselves to without meaning to. The girl teachers trusted immediately. The girl younger students stared at with wide-eyed admiration in the hallways.

It was suffocating sometimes.

Because the truth was—

You were never the kind of person who wanted to constantly be perceived. You liked the quiet.

You liked sitting by windows while rain tapped softly against the glass.

You liked libraries that smelled faintly of old paper.

You liked empty music rooms after class where nobody could ask anything of you.

You liked walking home alone with your thoughts drifting aimlessly between clouds and streetlights.

But loneliness and solitude were two very different things, and people never understood that. They assumed that because you smiled so easily, you always wanted company.

So there was always someone beside you.

At lunch tables. Between classes. Outside the school gates.

Your phone never stopped buzzing. Invitations piled endlessly on your desk. Group chats multiplied overnight.

People waved at you from every corner of the hallway like they personally knew you, even if you barely remembered speaking to them once.

You tried. You truly did.

You answered kindly. You stayed patient. You listened to everyone’s problems until your own exhaustion settled quietly into your bones like winter frost.

Because that was what people expected from you.

The star of the school. The perfect girl.

The one who always looked radiant no matter how draining the day became.

By the time high school began, the attention had evolved into something larger than you could control.

People talked about you before you even entered rooms.

Freshmen whispered when you walked past. Upperclassmen knew your schedule despite never speaking to you directly. Teachers held you to impossible standards because you had “so much potential.”

Rumors spread constantly—not malicious ones, most of the time, but endless stories built around your existence like you were less of a person and more of an idea everyone collectively created.

“She’s so pretty.” “She’s good at everything.”

“She’s probably dating someone already.” “She’s so nice.”

“I heard she stayed after school helping—”

“I heard she got the highest score again—”

“She’s literally perfect.”

Perfect.

You began to hate that word. It meant perfection left no room for exhaustion. No room for irritation. No room for ugly feelings.

Whenever you withdrew to recharge, people assumed something was wrong. Whenever you ate lunch alone, classmates asked if someone upset you. Whenever you declined invitations, they looked strangely disappointed, like you had failed to perform the role they assigned to you.

Sometimes you wanted to disappear for just one day.

Just one.

To walk through the hallways without eyes following you. To sit somewhere quiet without someone recognizing you. To exist without constantly being needed by everyone around you.

But the strangest part was that despite all the noise surrounding you—

Very few people actually knew you.

They knew the polished version.

The smiling version.

The version that carried conversations effortlessly and made everyone feel comfortable.

But nobody noticed how tired your eyes became after social events. Nobody noticed how often you lingered in empty classrooms because silence felt sacred to you. Nobody noticed the way your shoulders relaxed the second you were finally alone.

High school was the first place where your popularity stopped feeling warm. Instead, it became heavy.

A spotlight that never shut off.

And sometimes, late at night, lying awake with your phone buzzing endlessly on your bedside table, you wondered quietly to yourself—

If people would still love you as much if they saw how badly you wanted to be left alone sometimes.

Junior year began like every other year before it.

Too loud.

Too many introductions, too many eager teachers, too many classmates excitedly calling your name across hallways before the first week had even properly settled.

You slipped back into your role naturally—the smiling greetings, the effortless conversations, the graceful composure everyone expected from you.

And yet, despite all the familiar noise around you—

Something felt different.

You noticed him on the third day of school.

Not because he demanded attention.

But because he didn’t.

In a campus overflowing with people desperate to be seen, Sunday existed with a kind of quiet self-possession that felt almost untouchable.

He sat near the windows during orientation, posture straight, fingers neatly folded over a thick hardcover book while sunlight spilled across the silver strands of his hair.

The rest of the classroom buzzed with conversation, chairs scraping loudly against the floor, people exchanging social media handles and gossip after summer break.

Sunday never looked up once.

At first, you thought he might simply be shy, but over the following weeks, you realized it was something else entirely.

He was… self-contained.

Refined in every possible way.

His uniform was always pristine, his handwriting impossibly elegant, his speech polite to the point of old-fashioned. Teachers practically adored him. Students admired him from afar even if most were too intimidated to approach directly.

And academically—

He was terrifying.

Every exam score posted on the bulletin board placed his name at the very top.

Every competition. Every essay. Every presentation.

Always first place.

Meanwhile, yours sat directly underneath his.

Second. Second—

Second.

Your classmates joked about it constantly.

“The school’s golden girl versus the genius.”

“You guys are literally academic rivals.”

“I bet you hate each other.”

But you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t.

Not when you caught glimpses of him quietly helping teachers carry stacks of papers after class without being asked. Not when you overheard him patiently tutoring struggling students despite clearly wanting to go home already. Not when you noticed how gently he handled library books, as though stories themselves were sacred things.

There was something deeply melancholic about him.

Beautifully so.

Like moonlight reflecting across still water.

People admired you loudly. People admired Sunday quietly.

You began noticing him everywhere after that.

In the library during lunch. In the music room after school, soft piano melodies drifting faintly through cracked doors. In the courtyard beneath the shade of trees, reading while autumn leaves gathered around polished shoes.

And the more you noticed him—

The worse it became.

Because your feelings arrived subtly at first.

A flicker of curiosity.

Then anticipation whenever you entered classrooms and spotted him already seated by the window.

Then awareness. Painful awareness. The kind where your eyes searched for someone instinctively before your brain could stop you.

You started memorizing small things without meaning to.

The way he adjusted himself before writing. The way he tilted his head slightly whenever deep in thought. The low, calm cadence of his voice during presentations.

Even the way sunlight seemed softer around him somehow.

It was humiliating.

You, the girl everyone called graceful and composed, suddenly forgetting what you were saying mid-conversation because Sunday happened to walk past the hallway outside.

And the worst part? He barely seemed aware of your existence beyond basic politeness.

“Good morning.” Always courteous.

“Excuse me.” Always calm.

“Thank you.” Always distant.

Meanwhile your heart had begun betraying you completely, because for the first time in years, someone captivated you without trying.

No performance. No charm. No effort.

Just quiet brilliance wrapped in elegance and melancholy.

And somewhere between passing glances across classrooms and hearing piano music echo through empty hallways after school—

You fell in love with him.

Sunday never intended to stand out.

People often assumed ambition was what drove him—that he enjoyed praise, titles, admiration, the endless string of accomplishments tied to his name like medals pinned neatly against a uniform.

The truth was far less glamorous.

He simply did what needed to be done.

As the eldest sibling, responsibility settled onto his shoulders early in life and never truly left. Taking care of Robin had always come naturally to him. He made sure she ate properly, studied properly, rested properly.

Even when they were younger, Sunday carried himself with the quiet seriousness of someone far older than he should have been.

Success became less of a desire and more of a necessity.

Good grades meant stability. Extracurriculars meant opportunities. Leadership positions meant stronger credentials for the future.

So he studied. Worked.

Perfected.

Again and again until excellence became routine.

By sophomore year, he had somehow accumulated enough achievements to intimidate half the student body without even trying.

Honor societies. Debate competitions. Music recitals. Volunteer work. Academic awards.

And eventually—

Student Council president.

He remembered staring blankly at the announcement sheet after the faculty selected him.

Another responsibility. Another expectation.

Another thing to maintain.

Sunday accepted it with the same quiet composure he accepted everything else.

Politely.

Without complaint. Without joy either, because despite how accomplished he appeared, there was always a strange emptiness lingering beneath it all.

He moved through life methodically, like someone following a script written long before he was born.

Wake up. Study. Lead. Achieve. Repeat.

People praised him constantly, but praise had long since stopped feeling meaningful.

Until you.

The vice president of the student council. The school’s beloved golden girl.

He noticed you long before he wanted to admit it.

At first, you were simply… unavoidable.

Your laughter echoed through hallways like sunlight pouring through open windows. Students gravitated toward you instinctively, teachers softened around you effortlessly, and somehow every room you entered felt warmer without you even trying.

Sunday didn’t understand it.

He had spent most of his life observing people carefully, dissecting motivations and behaviors with quiet precision.

Most popularity was superficial. Fragile. Built on performance.

But yours wasn’t.

People genuinely loved you.

And more confusingly—

You loved them back just as sincerely.

He noticed the little things first.

How you stayed behind after meetings to organize paperwork because you knew it would lessen everyone else’s workload. How you remembered details about people most others forgot instantly. How you spoke to nervous freshmen with the same kindness you offered teachers.

You were endlessly gentle in ways that didn’t feel performative.

It unsettled him.

Then came the moments that ruined him entirely.

The first time you smiled at him directly during a student council meeting, Sunday lost his train of thought mid-sentence.

A humiliating experience.

Your eyes had crinkled slightly at the corners when you thanked him for helping prepare documents, voice warm and genuine, and suddenly he became painfully aware of his own heartbeat.

After that, things only worsened.

His attention began drifting toward you involuntarily.

He noticed when you seemed tired despite smiling anyway. He noticed how your cheerful voice softened when conversations became sincere. He noticed the way you lingered in quiet places when you thought nobody was paying attention.

And somewhere along the way, without permission from logic or reason—

You became woven into the fabric of his everyday life.

Sunday would catch himself searching for you instinctively upon entering classrooms. Meetings became easier to tolerate because you sat beside him.

Even his piano playing changed.

Late afternoons in the empty music room transformed into something dangerous.

At first, he told himself he simply enjoyed practicing, but eventually, every melody began sounding like you.

Soft classical pieces became gentler beneath his fingertips. Love songs he once dismissed as sentimental suddenly carried unbearable meaning. Even when he closed his eyes, he could picture you so vividly it almost frightened him.

Your smile.

Your laugh.

The brightness you carried so naturally despite how exhausting the world could be.

And God—

His heart.

Sunday hated how human you made him feel.

For someone who spent most of his life composed and restrained, loving you felt catastrophic.

You sat beside him during meetings while discussing schedules and budgets completely unaware that his pulse stumbled every time your shoulder brushed his accidentally. You smiled at him so sweetly it bordered on cruelty.

And meanwhile Sunday remained trapped in silence, pretending he was unaffected while every song he played on the piano belonged to you already.

At some point, the space between you and Sunday stopped feeling formal.

Neither of you could pinpoint exactly when it happened.

Maybe it was after countless student council meetings where the two of you ended up staying later than everyone else, organizing paperwork side by side beneath dim classroom lights.

Maybe it was the afternoons spent walking through hallways together after class because your schedules somehow always aligned.

Or maybe it was because no matter how crowded a room became—

You always found him.

Sunday noticed it long before you realized he had.

Student council gatherings, school festivals, assemblies, crowded hallways filled with noise and movement—it didn’t matter where he stood.

Your eyes always searched for him first.

And every single time they landed on him, your face brightened instinctively. Like finding him was the easiest thing in the world.

It did terrible things to his heart.

“You’re staring again.”

Sunday blinked softly, immediately looking back down at the stack of documents in front of him. “I was thinking.”

You leaned against the desk beside him with a grin. “About me?”

“…No.”

“That pause was suspicious.”

“There was no pause.”

“There absolutely was.”

Your laughter filled the empty classroom warmly, sunlight spilling across the desks while late afternoon painted everything gold around you. Sunday tried very hard to focus on the papers in front of him.

He failed miserably.

Because you looked beautiful like this.

Relaxed. Happy.

Real.

Not the polished version everyone else knew.

Just you.

And somehow, the more time he spent around you, the more he realized how lonely you actually were beneath all that brightness.

You loved people sincerely, but people exhausted you too.

He noticed the subtle sighs you released after social events. The way your smile softened into something quieter whenever crowds disappeared. The relief in your posture whenever the two of you found yourselves alone together.

Around him, you didn’t seem pressured to perform.

That realization terrified Sunday more than it comforted him.

Because he was beginning to understand something dangerous:

You trusted him.

He didn’t know what to do with that kind of tenderness. Love had always seemed frightening to him.

It was fragile. Temporary.

A weakness people eventually weaponized against each other.

Sunday had spent years carefully constructing walls around himself so nobody could reach the softer parts underneath. It was easier that way. Safer.

Then you arrived and dismantled those walls so gently he barely noticed it happening, like sunlight slowly warming frozen ground.

One afternoon during exam season, Sunday skipped lunch entirely to continue reviewing notes in the library. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting there until a small paper bag suddenly appeared beside his elbow.

He looked up immediately, and you stood there smiling sheepishly.

“You forgot to eat again.”

“…How did you know I was here?”

“You disappear to the same three places every time you’re stressed.”

Sunday stared at you silently.

You blinked. “What?”

“You pay attention to me.”

“Of course I do.”

The response came so naturally that it stole the air from his lungs for a moment.

You sat beside him afterward, unpacking the lunch you brought while whispering dramatically about how the cafeteria nearly ran out of bread because students were panicking over exams.

Sunday listened quietly, the corners of his lips threatening to lift despite himself.

“You should take better care of yourself,” you murmured suddenly while handing him utensils.

“…I manage adequately.”

“You survived only on coffee and bread yesterday.”

“That is technically sustenance.”

“That is technically concerning.”

He let out a soft breath that almost resembled laughter. Your eyes widened immediately.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “You laughed.”

“I did not.”

“You did! Wait, do it again.”

“That is not how laughter works.”

“But you looked cute.”

Sunday nearly dropped his fork.

You didn’t seem to notice the damage you caused saying things like that so casually.

Or maybe you did.

Either possibility unsettled him equally.

Eventually, walking home together became routine.

At first, it happened accidentally. Then intentionally. Then inevitably.

The city always felt quieter beside you somehow.

You talked about everything while walking beneath evening skies—music, books, ridiculous school rumors, future dreams, fears neither of you admitted to other people.

And for the first time in years, Sunday found himself speaking more than listening.

Not because you pressured him, but because talking to you felt… easy.

One evening, rain began pouring halfway through your walk home, forcing both of you beneath the awning of a tiny convenience store.

You laughed breathlessly while shaking water from your sleeves.

“We should’ve checked the forecast.”

“You said the clouds looked ‘romantic,’” Sunday replied calmly.

“They did.”

“You are now soaked.”

“And yet I stand by my statement.”

Sunday looked at you quietly then.

Your hair slightly damp, your cheeks pink from the cold, smiling at him like this moment alone was enough to make you happy.

Something inside him ached so deeply it frightened him.

“…You’re staring again,” you teased softly.

“…Perhaps.”

The honesty startled both of you.

Your expression softened immediately afterward. Gentle. Like you understood how difficult that admission was for him.

And somehow that made it worse.

Sunday was beginning to realize loving you no longer felt terrifying.

It felt inevitable.

Then he introduced you to his younger sister, and Robin adored you almost instantly.

The first time Sunday brought you home to help with a student council project, his younger sister took one look at you and immediately decided you belonged there.

“You’re even prettier than he described,” Robin said brightly.

Sunday choked on his tea.

“I did not describe her.”

Robin looked unimpressed. “You composed multiple suspiciously romantic piano compositions the same week you were while telling me about her.”

“…Robin.”

“You smile at your phone now too. It’s creepy.”

You tried desperately not to laugh while Sunday covered part of his face with one wing.

“I apologize for her behavior,” he muttered.

“She’s adorable.”

Robin beamed instantly. “See? She understands me.”

And somehow, despite the looming pressure of exams, responsibilities, endless meetings, and the exhaustion of everyday life—

Things felt lighter around you.

Softer.

Sunday still carried the weight of the world carefully on his shoulders.

But now, whenever he looked beside him—

You were there too.

By autumn, your relationship with Sunday had become something impossible to ignore.

Not officially.

Not verbally.

But everyone around you could see it.

The lingering glances. The instinctive closeness.

The way the two of you moved around each other with quiet familiarity, as though your lives had begun syncing together naturally without permission from either of you.

People stopped referring to you as academic rivals. Instead, they smiled knowingly whenever they saw the two of you together.

And that happened often.

Far too often for Sunday’s already fragile composure.

“You two are disgustingly married for people who aren’t dating,” March complained while watching you organize paperwork side by side.

“We are not married,” Sunday answered immediately.

You looked up from the papers with a thoughtful hum. “True. We’d probably have matching planners if we were.”

Sunday went completely silent. The entire room burst into laughter while the tips of his ears turned pink.

“You’re making him short-circuit again,” Stelle whispered dramatically.

You smiled innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

But you did know.

God, you knew.

The closer you became, the more obvious it was that something existed between you that neither of you could name aloud yet.

Sometimes it surfaced in tiny moments so gentle they nearly hurt. Like the afternoon the student council was decorating for an upcoming school event.

You stood on a ladder trying to pin decorations higher along the gymnasium wall while everyone else argued over color schemes below.

“This would be easier if someone taller volunteered,” you muttered.

“You are going to fall.” Stelle sighs as she watches you from below.

“I am perfectly stable.”

The ladder wobbled slightly.

A pause.

Then suddenly—

Warm hands settled carefully around your waist.

Your breath caught immediately. Sunday stood behind you now, steadying both you and the ladder with quiet disapproval written across his face.

“I dislike being correct in situations like this. You should have waited for me to come back,” he murmured.

You looked down instinctively.

Big mistake, because from this angle, he was painfully close.

Close enough for you to notice the faint flush dusting across his cheeks despite how composed he tried to appear. Close enough to feel the warmth of his hands lingering through the fabric of your uniform.

Your heart began pounding violently.

“…Sunday.”

“Yes?”

“You’re holding my waist.”

“…I am aware.”

Neither of you moved.

Below, several student council members exchanged looks before immediately pretending not to notice.

One of them mouthed finally. Another nodded solemnly.

You nearly laughed from embarrassment.

Meanwhile Sunday looked moments away from combusting entirely, but even then—

He still didn’t let go until you climbed down safely.

Walking through school together became second nature after that.

Students greeted you constantly in the hallways while Sunday remained quietly beside you, listening patiently as you drifted from topic to topic.

“Do you think the chemistry exam was unfair?”

“No.”

“You finished fifteen minutes early.”

“The questions were straightforward.”

“You are the worst person to ask for reassurance.”

“You scored higher than ninety-seven percent of the class.”

“That is not the point.”

Sunday glanced at you then, subtle amusement flickering across his expression.

“You are seeking emotional validation, not academic feedback.”

“…Maybe.”

“I think you performed well.”

The sincerity in his voice made warmth bloom instantly across your chest, and somewhere nearby, a group of younger students watched the interaction with dreamy expressions.

“They’re literally like a romance novel couple,” one whispered.

Sunday heard them.

Judging by the immediate redness spreading across his ears and the slight fluff of his wings, you knew he heard them.

You smiled to yourself quietly.

But your favorite moments always happened in the music room.

Especially at sunset.

The room became golden in the evenings, sunlight pouring through tall windows while dust drifted lazily through the air like floating stars. Most students had already gone home by then, leaving the school wrapped in rare silence.

Just you.

And him.

Sunday sat at the piano bench while soft melodies flowed effortlessly beneath his fingertips, elegant and melancholic all at once. You usually perched beside the piano quietly watching him, chin resting against your hand while the music wrapped around the room warmly.

He always played differently around you.

Softer.

More emotional.

Like his heart was speaking through the piano because words alone failed him.

That afternoon, the sunset painted him beautifully.

Silver hair glowing amber beneath the fading light. Long fingers dancing gracefully across ivory keys. Expression calm but vulnerable in a way only you ever seemed allowed to witness.

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then smiled softly.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The piano stopped immediately.

Silence.

Sunday slowly turned toward you like he wasn’t entirely certain he heard correctly.

“…What?”

You blinked innocently. “Hm?”

His face had gone completely red.

Not subtle pink. Red.

“I—You cannot simply say things like that casually.”

“But it’s true.”

Your voice remained gentle. Honest.

Sunday looked genuinely stunned. As though all this time he had convinced himself his feelings existed in solitude despite every lingering glance and every soft moment shared between you.

“You…” He swallowed quietly. “You love me?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Was I not obvious enough?”

“I believed you were merely kind.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

Then you laughed softly.

“Sunday, I bring you lunch, spend every afternoon with you, visit your house constantly, and listen to you play piano for hours.”

“…That does sound rather incriminating.”

“Very incriminating.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you.

Beautiful.

Speechless.

Overwhelmed.

Then suddenly he stood so quickly the piano bench shifted loudly against the floor.

Before you could react properly—

Sunday’s hands grasped your waist.

Then you were lifted effortlessly onto the piano bench with a startled laugh escaping your lips.

“Sunday—”

“You make me lose all coherent thought,” he confessed breathlessly.

Your heart skipped violently, because he looked almost desperate now. Like someone who had spent too long holding himself back.

“You are unbearably gentle with me,” he continued softly, forehead nearly touching yours now. “You make everything feel lighter. Safer. And I—”

His voice faltered briefly.

“I do not know when it happened,” he whispered. “But somewhere along the way, you became the most important person in my life.”

Your expression softened instantly, and that seemed to destroy whatever restraint he had left.

Sunday kissed you suddenly.

Tenderly at first, like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. Then deeper, when your hands instinctively curled into his sleeves, pulling him closer while the sunset wrapped around both of you in warm gold.

The piano keys beneath you sounded softly when his hand braced beside your waist.

Neither of you cared.

Because after months of longing, restraint, and silent devotion—

You were finally his.

And he was finally yours.

The first person to notice was Robin.

Which, according to her, was deeply insulting because she claimed she should have noticed far earlier.

“You two are unbelievable,” Robin sighed dramatically one afternoon while watching you and Sunday study together at the dining table.

You looked up innocently. “What did we do?”

“You’re acting like newlyweds in an old romance film.”

Sunday nearly inhaled his tea incorrectly.

“We are not acting like anything,” he said calmly, despite the very obvious pink coloring his ears.

Robin pointed accusingly. “See? That! He gets embarrassed now.”

“I have always experienced embarrassment.”

“No,” Robin corrected. “You used to experience irritation. This is different.”

You covered your smile with one hand while Sunday quietly avoided eye contact.

Truthfully, it was different now.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Nothing about your relationship had suddenly transformed overnight into grand declarations or public affection.

It was quieter than that.

Softer. But somehow far more obvious.

Because once you loved someone openly, even in silence, it seeped into everything.

Into the way Sunday immediately looked toward the classroom door whenever your voice echoed faintly from the hallway. Into the unconscious softness that settled over his expression the second you entered rooms. Into the way you gravitated toward each other instinctively at every opportunity, like magnets incapable of resisting pull.

People noticed.

God, people noticed.

“Good morning!”

Your voice rang brightly through the classroom one morning as you hurried through the doorway carrying far too many folders in your arms.

Before anyone else could even greet you—

Sunday was already standing.

“I will take those.”

Several classmates exchanged looks immediately.

You blinked. “I can carry them.”

“You are struggling.”

“I’m surviving.”

“You nearly dropped three on your way into the classroom.”

“But I didn’t.”

Without another word, Sunday gently removed the folders from your arms anyway. Your fingers brushed during the exchange.

Tiny.

Brief.

Yet somehow the entire room fell suspiciously silent afterward.

One student leaned toward another immediately.

“They’re definitely together.”

“Absolutely.”

Sunday pretended not to hear them while placing the folders neatly onto your desk, but you noticed the faint smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.

Your heart melted instantly.

You had also become far less subtle. Not intentionally.

It simply became harder to contain your affection around him.

“Sunday!”

Your voice echoed loudly through the courtyard one afternoon. Across campus, Sunday looked up immediately from the book he’d been reading beneath a tree.

The second his eyes landed on you—

He smiled.

Not polite. Not restrained.

A real smile.

Soft and warm enough that nearby students visibly paused mid-conversation.

“Oh my God,” someone whispered nearby. “He literally lights up around her.”

You jogged toward him happily, entirely unaware of the devastation left behind in your wake. Meanwhile Sunday closed his book calmly despite the fact his heartbeat had already become embarrassingly uneven.

“You’re late,” he murmured as you approached.

“You say that like I’m not only three minutes late.”

“It was seven.”

“You timed me?”

“…Perhaps.”

You laughed brightly before sitting beside him beneath the tree, close enough for your shoulders to touch naturally.

Neither of you moved away anymore. That was another thing people noticed.

The intimacy hidden inside your body language.

The way Sunday’s hand instinctively settled against the small of your back whenever guiding you through crowded hallways. The way your fingers absentmindedly fixed his loosened tie while continuing conversations normally. The way your knees brushed beneath desks during meetings and stayed there.

Like closeness had become second nature. Like loving each other had quietly rewritten your understanding of comfort entirely.

One evening after student council duties finally ended, the two of you remained alone in the classroom while rain tapped softly against the windows outside.

You sat on top of one of the desks while Sunday organized paperwork nearby.

“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “people have definitely figured us out.”

Sunday didn’t look surprised.

“They began suspecting months ago.”

“Months?”

“You once fell asleep on my shoulder during a council meeting.”

You gasped softly. “You said nobody noticed!”

“You were drooling slightly.”

“Sunday!”

A rare laugh escaped him quietly. You stared at him almost immediately.

“…There it is again.”

“What?”

“That laugh.”

Sunday shook his head faintly, though affection lingered visibly across his face now in ways he no longer bothered hiding from you.

The rain outside softened into a gentle rhythm, and after a moment, your expression grew quieter too.

“Are you still scared?” you asked softly.

Sunday paused. He understood the question immediately.

Love.

Commitment.

The vulnerability of allowing another person close enough to hurt you.

For a long moment, only rain filled the silence between you. Then Sunday slowly approached until he stood directly in front of where you sat on the desk.

His gloved hand lifted gently to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“No,” he answered honestly.

Your chest tightened.

Because he was being honest.

Sunday had spent most of his life believing love came with conditions. That affection disappeared eventually. That people left once they saw the less beautiful parts of someone.

And you—

You had grown up loved by everyone yet still profoundly lonely sometimes, constantly performing warmth and perfection because you feared disappointing the people who admired you.

Both of you came from worlds where love felt transactional in different ways.

Fragile. Conditional. Frightening.

But somehow, together—

None of it felt frightening anymore.

Not the vulnerability. Not the devotion. Not even the terrifying depth of it all.

Because loving each other had never felt like losing something.

It felt like finally being understood.

Sunday’s thumb brushed softly across your cheek.

“You make life feel gentle,” he admitted quietly. Your eyes softened instantly.

“And you make it feel safe.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other while warm classroom light spilled softly across the room around you.

Then suddenly—

“Okay, this is actually sickening.”

The classroom door burst open. Several student council members stood frozen in the doorway staring at both of you dramatically.

March pointed immediately. “I knew it.”

“You owe me twenty credits,” Stelle whispered angrily.

You burst into startled laughter while Sunday closed his eyes briefly in silent defeat.

“We were not doing anything inappropriate,” he said calmly.

“You were gazing at each other like the final scene of a romance movie,” Caelus replied.

“That is arguably worse,” Dan Heng added.

You laughed harder while Sunday sighed softly beside you.

But even then—

His hand never left yours.

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