Synopsis: You and Sunday didn’t interact much outside of orchestra. You had your seperate lives, and you were perfectly content with that. Until Anaxa takes a sudden fondness for Sunday, and now both of your friend groups collide. On top of that, you and Sunday have to perform a duet together. Can this get any weirder? It can!
[dividers by @ispeaknotkneel and @starrliqhtt respectively]
Ft. Sunday x Reader, Chrysos Heirs (Phainon, Mydei, Anaxa, Castorice) as your friends, and Astral Express gang (Sunday’s friends)
tags: fluff, slowburn, cellist!reader, pianist!sunday, badminton player!reader n Sunday, snarky/sassy!reader (MIGHT be slightly OOC for some characters!)
wc: 6.7k (I SEE THE JOKES FROM A MILE AWAY, DON’T YOU DARE)
TAGLIST: @aellesira, @amorsial, @leafyonz :> (comment to be added!)
A/N: i bless you with a long chapter that completely escaped its master.
The next morning, you woke up feeling tired beyond belief.
You went through your usual routine. Sit up for five minutes, then get up, and start your day.
As you made yourself breakfast, you saw the note you left on the dining table. Your parents actually responded. The thought brought a small smile to your face, but it faded as soon as you read what your mom wrote.
That's nice, (name). But your father and I can't come to the concert, we're gonna be at work for a couple of days again. (Also I don't think you'd even want him there in the first place.)
You sighed, completely unsurprised. But your mom was right about that one thing. You grabbed an egg and a bowl to make an omelette, and your steps were the only noise in the house. The silence was like a close friend with how often it came around.
Even with the silver lining, it was such an overused excuse. Every time you had an event, it was always 'we have work again,' or 'family invited us over,' as if their cousins were more important than you. The first time they missed an event, you remembered crying yourself to sleep for a week straight, and now it's just completely normal to you.
You sat down at the table, with your omelette plated, and flinched when you heard heavy footsteps.
Then you realized it was just your dad.
As he came into view, dressed up for work, he acknowledged your existence with a nod.
You nodded back as you ate.
That was the most interaction you've had with your dad this week.
You packed your bag for school, grabbing the textbooks you needed, along with your phone.
You opened the door, and saw Phainon and Mydei in front of your house, as usual.
You grinned, and ran to meet them at the curb.
Mydei offered a smile and a nod, and Phainon was hyper in comparison.
"So? How was the morning for you today?" Phainon asked, walking beside you.
Mydei answered for him. "I think you already know the answer."
"C'mon! They can't wake up feeling dead every day!" Phainon argued.
Their bickering brought a smile to your face, bigger than the one this morning.
They looked at you expectantly, stopping for a moment.
"So, what's the verdict?" Phainon asked.
"Woke up…" You dragged it out for suspense and comedic effect. "Feeling dead, as usual."
Phainon let out a sigh at being proven wrong, and Mydei said nothing.
You three took a left turn, and kept going down the road until you reached Anaxa's house.
Anaxa walked down his driveway, but his teal hair was completely messed up. The eyepatch was still in place, oddly enough.
He joined Mydei at the back, and the four of you chatted while walking to school.
"(name), what classes do you have today?" Phainon asked.
"Dunno, I don't check," you shrugged. "Besides, I'm not gonna fail, and that's what matters."
Anaxa asked, "Why settle for the bare minimum when when you have so much more to offer?"
You laughed. "Anaxa, not all of us are scholars like you."
Phainon nodded, and added his own two cents. "Yeah, I wish I was as smart as you are!"
"Phainon, remember that you have your own talents, and seek to hone those skills, rather than chasing a pipe dream," Anaxa said. From first glance, it might've sounded insulting, but you knew he meant well. Phainon knew that too.
You turned your head to glance at Mydei. He was walking with his hands in his pockets, looking deep in thought.
"Mydei, you good? You've been more quiet than usual…" You trailed off, wanting to let him answer.
"I'm fine," he replied. Too quick, you thought.
You looked at him again, not fully believing what he said, before turning to Phainon again.
He looked between you and Mydei, worry etched on his face. If something was wrong, he wanted to help in any way he could, but this seemed like something out of his capabilities entirely.
The group was silent after that. Not a comfortable silence, but a tense one, where all the words you said still lingered in the air.
You spent the rest of the walk wondering if that was the right thing to say, if you should've phrased it more gently, or if you shouldn't have said anything at all.
Once you reached the school, you wished everyone good luck and walked inside the building.
Chatter rang off the walls as everyone talked about some missing assignment that was due a month ago, or some random gossip, which you didn't pay attention to. You had better things to listen to.
You found your locker and put your bag inside, after trying to weave through the massive crowd. It was harder than you thought.
You went to your first period class, which was AP Language, thankfully. At least it wasn't Math, you thought.
You sat in the middle row. Not too close, or else you'd look like you're actually interested, and not too close to the back to seem suspicious.
The classroom looked boring and forgettable. Bright white lights, with your average desks and tiled floors.
It was spacious though, you could give it that.
However, all good things must come to an end. Such as your daydreaming.
Someone tapped on your desk. You looked up, and saw Sunday, of all people. You raised an eyebrow at him, because there were plenty of seats available. He looked sheepish, and his wings were partially covering his face. What little you could see of his face was already painted with a faint blush, probably from embarrassment.
"Excuse me (name), is the seat beside you taken?" He nodded at the empty desk to your right.
You shook your head, and he sat down.
You took out your notebook and mechanical pencil, because you didn't plan on missing anything despite how boring this class is.
You put it in between you two, and Sunday brought out his own pen. It was light blue with a diamond on top, and the ink was blue.
You put your elbow on the desk, propping your head up with your fist. Your pencil clicked against the desk in a calming, repetitive rhythm.
You asked Sunday, "Is it just me or do we have a lot of classes together?"
He shrugged in response. You went back to clicking the pencil.
Blissful silence until class started. The teacher—someone you couldn't bother to remember— raised a hand for quiet.
You glanced her way through hooded eyes.
After the classroom had died down, she started off with her presentation about figurative language and its use in storytelling.
You answered some questions, not bothering to raise your voice too loudly, and you hurriedly scribbled down the important notes you needed as she talked.
You heard the scratch of pen on paper as Sunday wrote his own notes on the blank page you weren't using, although he wrote much slower than you did. You wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even yourself, but you were slightly concerned that he might not get all the notes down in time.
"Listen closely because I won't be saying this again," The teacher stated.
You tilted your head up, hoping that it wouldn't be too bad.
"You're going to pair up for a project—" she started. Someone raised their hand, cutting her off.
"How many people?" The person asked. They were sitting behind you, and you couldn't help the sigh.
The teacher stared. "I think you can answer that one yourself. And the pairs are assigned, you get what you get."
The room erupted in a collective groan, you included.
She went up to the front row, and placed a sticky note on someone's desk.
"Once you get the sticky note, go and find your partner," she instructed.
You clicked your pencil against the desk, and put your head in your arms.
A lot of people in the front row were standing up, searching for their partner. The teacher made her way to your row, and put a sticky note on your desk.
(name) and Sunday, the note read.
Was the universe trying to put you two together at this point?
Sunday glanced over to see the note. "Oh, we're partners then?"
You nodded.
The rest of the class passed by without a hitch, and your second period class today was… P.E.
Damn it. You sighed, and made your way to the gym on the other side of the building.
The walk to the gym should count as our class, you thought bitterly.
You saw Castorice there, and your scowl eased by a fraction.
She looked a bit worried for a moment, before realizing that it was probably just the class being a pain.
You walked to the bench, and flopped down beside her.
"Cass, you won't believe what happened in language," you said.
"Really? Do indulge me, I'd love to hear about it!" She said, leaning closer to you.
"I got partnered with Sunday for a project," you stated. "Isn't it a bit weird? He's practically everywhere I go!"
"Could be fate," she offered.
You stared at her, while also taking in her appearance. She wore a purple oversized shirt and black sweats, with her hair in twin-tails.
You cleared your throat, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole. "How's the thing going?" You knew you weren't caught up on the latest chapters, but that could also be because Castorice hasn't written any more yet.
"I've been in quite a writing slump," she admitted. "New chapter by… the end of this week, hopefully."
You nodded, and waited for the P.E coach to say something.
The coach told the class to run laps around the gym, which received a collective groan from the class. Castorice got up first, sighing. She offered her hand when she saw you still sitting down, and you took it with a grin. She did most of the work to pull you up, but you'd deny it wholeheartedly. You ran slower than usual to make sure that she didn't fall behind.
The sound of shoes squeaking against the floor deterred a lot of students from having conversations while running. Not you though.
"Cass, am I cooked or am I cooked," you asked.
"Why?" She heaved.
"I—" You slowed down further, while Castorice didn't change pace. "—might need to go clothes-shopping for the concert."
Castorice looked thoughtful, and she said, "I can ask Aglaea if you want."
You let out a sigh of relief, and thanked her profusely. "Yes, that would be amazing!"
"What time?"
"Eh…" You trailed off, thinking about your non-existent schedule. It was Wednesday, and you had nothing today. "5:00, at the latest? Is Aglaea free then?"
Castorice nodded, right when the coach said that the class was gonna do dodgeball. You hated dodgeball.
It was boring, you got hit, and the class passed by in a blur. And you were separated from Castorice, to add insult to injury.
(insert divider here)
The long-awaited lunch break. It finally came and blessed the school. The chatter was even louder in the halls than it was in the morning, and you went outside to meet up with Phainon, Mydei and Anaxa.
Your phone vibrated in your pocket. Coincidence, right? Maybe it's not from them…
The Basement
Mydei: (name)
You: yea??
Mydei: sorry if i was rude today. had a bad day.
You: all good :) just please let me know next time, ty
Phainon: yay, you two made up! Can we have Burger King for lunch?
You: NO
Mydei: no.
Anaxa: No.
Phainon: :(
You: no Wendy's we had that last time
Phainon: yea… so McDonald's??
Mydei: im fine with anything except Wendy's.
Anaxa: I suppose we should have McDonald's.
You: its settled. also where tf are u guys?? Im at our usual spot and i cant find u :(
Phainon: no, mydei anaxa and i are at the spot. Where are you???
You: gimme sec i'll brb
You looked at your surroundings, and realized you were on the opposite side of the building. You ran to meet the others at the usual spot, right in front of the main entrance to the school.
You arrived slightly out of breath, and even hungrier than before. Anaxa was giving you the most deadpan look in existence, Phainon was holding back laughter (and failing), and Mydei just shook his head with a faint smile, arms crossed.
"Lemme guess: gym class?" Mydei asked.
You nodded. Those three—and Castorice—knew you so well, it would be impossible to lie to them.
Phainon said, "Cass is joining us by the way! Hope you don't mind, (name)."
You shook your head. "Why would I ever refuse Cass's company? She's my best friend, just like all of you!"
Phainon volunteered to go find her, and it was just you, Anaxa, and Mydei.
You sat down on the grass as soon as he left, leaning against the school.
You stared up at the sky, looking at the clouds. Some of them were like blobs, and you saw one that looked like a heart.
The grass was cold and dry underneath your hands. Mydei and Anaxa leaned on the school's brick wall beside each other, to your left. The height difference was definitely more noticeable, you thought.
"(name), how was gym?" Anaxa asked, turning so that his eye was facing you.
"Boring as usual," you said flatly, turning towards him.
You let out a weary sigh. Everything seemed dull today, and you didn't know why.
You felt like you could just lie down on the grass forever, and then wake up to the sun shining on your face. Your eyes fluttered shut, until you realized that no, you couldn't fall asleep now. You were tired. Well, exhausted would be a better term. Maybe the burnout was catching up after all…
"(name)," Anaxa said. "Don't fall asleep now. We have McDonald's to look forward to."
A ghost of a wry smile appeared on your face. You knew that despite what others may say about him, he did care. In his own ways. Such as reminding you about food when you look like you're about to pass out.
"Thanks, Anaxa."
He sighed and muttered, "Never gonna get you to stop with the nicknames, am I…" He shook his head in fond exasperation.
Mydei watched the exchange with a hint of amusement. Anaxa sat down beside you, smoothing out his black pants.
Always insistent on cleanliness, you thought. You smiled wryly at him, and put your hands flat on the grass.
You glanced at his white shirt. Tucked in as always, with a teal star shape on the chest.
Mydei was the opposite. He wore a loose black Pierce The Veil shirt, and grey sweats.
He sat down beside Anaxa.
You looked up at the sky, then looked forward, towards the road that led to the school. The road you knew well enough to practically memorize.
"(name)?" Mydei tapped your shoulder gently. You blinked at him, and saw Phainon and Castorice looming over you.
"I think you zoned out for a while, partner." Phainon's voice was etched with concern.
You stood up, and brushed the grass off of your clothes.
"I'm fine, don't worry! Anyways, let's go to McDonald's," you said.
The five of you walked down the familiar road, conversation passing easily between you.
Mydei and Anaxa were in the front, and you were in the middle, with Phainon and Castorice at the rear.
"Probably gonna get a low grade in P.E this year," you sighed.
Castorice and Phainon stared. "Was badminton for nothing then?" He asked.
"Hopefully not," you shrugged.
Castorice had a gleam in her eye when you turned to face her. You braced yourself.
"(name), since Aglaea's going to help you find clothes for the recital…" She trailed off on purpose. That cheeky girl, you thought.
Phainon's jaw dropped. He looked like he was still processing the shock from before, and this one simultaneously.
"Wait—what do you mean (name)'s going clothes-shopping? You didn't think to tell me?" He sputtered, holding his hands up in disbelief.
You spoke up. "Phainon, I mean this with all due respect, but your fashion sense is… subpar."
He stared. Then huffed, and crossed his arms.
Mydei pointed out that McDonald's was close by. Everyone collectively hurried their pace, even Anaxa. (Although he'd say it was to avoid getting trampled if you asked.)
As you went inside, you spotted some other groups from school. Blade, Kafka, and Silver Wolf were at a table together, eating their respective meals. You looked away as soon as you could, because Blade had a mean glare.
You and Mydei got a Quarter Pounder meal, while Phainon got a Big Mac. Castorice and Anaxa got a cheeseburger meal, and the five of you sat down at a table after getting your food.
You all sat at a table, with you, Anaxa, and Castorice on one bench, and Mydei was beside Phainon on the other. You were in the middle, with Anaxa taking the aisle seat and Castorice squished in the edge.
You paused after a bite, putting your burger down. You asked the table, "Am I cooked?"
"Depends," Anaxa stated, after finishing a fry. "For what?"
"Recital."
"No, I think you'll do just fine. I've heard from Sunday's friends that he plays really well," Anaxa answered with a hint of pride in his tone.
You gave him a side-long look. You silently hoped that Anaxa wouldn't get too obsessed with Sunday and creep him out.
When you turned to Castorice, you could see the fanfiction writing itself in her head. You made a mental note to ask her about it on the shopping spree with Aglaea.
You tried not to burst out laughing right there, instead taking a bite of your burger. The beef wasn't juicy, but it was tolerable. The pickles were crunchy, and the sauce was also tolerable at best.
Phainon was currently trying to challenge Mydei to see who could finish their fries faster.
When Mydei declined, you smiled mischievously.
"If you don't want them, you can always give them to me, just saying…" You couldn't hide the shit-eating grin that was on your face.
Mydei declined. "(name), I can tell what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work on me."
"At least I tried, right?"
"You are a very persistent thief, yes," Mydei admitted.
You gasped in fake shock. "Me? Steal something? I could never!"
"You stole my pencil twice in math class," Anaxa deadpanned.
"It was within reach," you said.
Anaxa shook his head, and continued eating.
By the time all of you finished your meals, it was only halfway through the lunch break. You gave up trying to defend yourself after the 5th mention of you stealing something.
The door opened, and you looked to see who it was.
Sunday and his friends again.
Well, two people were missing. March and Welt.
So it was the three of them. Dan Heng, Stelle, and Sunday himself.
They sat at the table next to yours, with their trays of food.
Anaxa practically jumped at the chance to talk to Sunday. (A regular reaction to seeing a friend, he'd say.)
You shared a look with Castorice.
As they were talking, Phainon somehow managed to put Mydei's hair in twin-tails without him noticing.
You sighed. But you didn't tell Mydei, because he should get the honor of finding out himself. If Phainon could stop giggling like a maniac, that is.
Stelle was staring, and joining in on the giggles. Dan Heng looked mildly confused, but tried to pay attention to what Sunday was saying.
Anaxa had a deadpan expression. Sunday cocked his head like a bird, wings fluttering.
Mydei just looked exasperated. "Can someone tell me what has happened to my hair?"
"Phainon put it in twin-tails," Castorice said. She had that gleam in her eye, the one that let you know that there's gonna be a new chapter update with this exact shenanigan. It's a miracle they haven't found it yet, you thought.
Phainon looked betrayed. Mydei looked even more exasperated, and gave Phainon a look. Stelle was giggling. Dan Heng looked relieved. Sunday was still trying to process what had just happened, because his wings were fluttering at different paces. You assumed his thoughts were running a mile a minute when his wings fluttered rapidly enough to become a fan.
Mydei untied the twin-tails himself, and gave the hair ties back to Stelle. You don't question how he knew.
After Sunday's group finished, you walked back to school in a giant blob, because Blade, Kafka, and Silver Wolf decided to tag along as well.
You were somewhere in the middle, near Kafka. Silver Wolf and Blade made up the rear, while everyone else was in front. Mydei and Phainon took the lead, (unfortunately) and the others were…somewhere.
You didn't bother thinking about it.
"(name)," Kafka said airily. "Nice to meet you formally."
As if this could even count as formal, you thought.
"Thanks…?" Your brows furrowed in confusion.
"Ah, no problem! But I must ask, are you prepared for the recital? It's in a few weeks from now." She had sunglasses on, and she smiled lazily.
"Well, I'm… getting prepared," you said.
"That's good, wouldn't want you to panic last moment."
And with that, she disappeared towards the rear, bringing you in between Stelle and Sunday.
You were still confused about that conversation with Kafka, but you tried your best to not think about it.
"—do well, trust me!" Stelle was laughing, and patting Sunday on the shoulder. You assumed they were talking about the recital.
You ducked underneath her arm, and walked directly in the middle.
Sunday was surprised, because his wings puffed out and fluttered once. "Oh! (name), I didn't see you, my apologies."
"Nah, it's fine. Besides… I—uh, I sorta drifted here." You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly.
"How…? This isn't that large of a group." Sunday looked concerned. His brows furrowed in confusion.
You remained silent. You couldn't explain that weird conversation with Kafka, nor the gut-churning unease you felt while talking to her.
Sunday didn't press further, although you could tell he didn't fully believe you. Stelle was merely concerned.
You sighed. "Well, Sunday. Have you gotten your clothes ready for the recital?"
He nodded. "Why do you ask?"
"Just making sure," you said.
You wanted to ask for his number, because you needed at least one form of communication with him that wasn't talking in person at school.
You hesitated, for some weird reason. "Sunday… could I get your number?" You added hastily, "Obviously, to communicate with each other for recital business and all."
He nodded, and his wings twitched as they moved to cover his face. You pulled out your phone from your pocket, and gave it to him.
He typed in his number, and handed back your phone.
You looked at the contact name.
Sunday.
Just Sunday? You thought. You smiled wryly, and sent him a message.
You: lmao silver wolf is bothering blade at the back, you can hear them bickering from here.
You turned off your phone, and watched as he looked back to find Blade looking exasperated, and Silver Wolf just laughing.
He faced you again, and you had an I told you so look on your face.
"Well… third period can't be that bad, can it?" You joked.
"Don't jinx it, (name)," Stelle warned.
"Stelle, we don't even share a class," you said flatly.
She tried to come up with a retort, but ultimately failed.
The group managed to make it back to school without anyone getting lost, which you thought was a miracle.
But now you have to suffer through third period. You let out another weary sigh as you rifled through your bag for your math textbook. Thankfully you shared this class with Anaxa.
Math wasn't his best subject, but he was above average compared to the rest of the class that you both were in.
He sat next to you, in the middle row. "Don't steal my pencil," he warned.
You smirked. "Who said I would?"
"Knowing you, it's better to be safe than sorry."
You then turned to the teacher when they called for the class's attention.
They explained some more complex algebra, and then they gave you a worksheet.
You took one look at it, and all your thinking skills seemed to disappear.
You sighed. "Anaxa…"
He looked over at your blank paper, and your pen clicking against the desk impatiently like it always did whenever you were confused about something.
He explained the concept to you, albeit with multiple failures along the way. But by the end, you got it. Somehow.
"(name). 25-14 isn't -11," he pointed out, almost at his wit's end. But he'd keep going, because you're one of few people who looked at him and saw Anaxagoras, not a blasphemer or a performer, or someone who's mad. You saw past all the titles and rumours, and saw him. He appreciated it, more than you'd ever know.
"Wait, huh?" You rubbed your eyes and looked at the paper. "Oh my lord, you're right. It's positive 11, not negative, what was I thinking?" You erased half of the equation, and rewrote it.
The equation still took up half of the space on the worksheet designated for answering the question, which was half a page.
Anaxa stared at your handwriting.
"It's seriously not that bad, at least you can read it," you said defensively.
"I wasn't saying anything."
"You were judging my handwriting," you retorted.
He didn't deny it.
"I knew it." You smiled smugly, and went back to finishing that math problem.
You stood up to put your worksheet in the hand-in basket at the teacher's desk, when Anaxa suddenly put his on top of yours with a speed that you didn't think was possible for him.
You shot him a look.
He smiled innocently in response.
You walked up to the teacher's desk, turned in your work, and went back to your desk to sit down.
The teacher told the rest of the class, "If you haven't finished the worksheet yet, it's homework."
The class groaned, and the bell rang for fourth period.
You and Anaxa made your way through the crowd of people to your lockers, and gave one last solemn nod to each other before 4th period.
A meme was stuck in your head during History class. Both Phainon and Mydei were there, and you couldn't help but watch as the two bickered over which president did the least damage to America.
You were in the middle of them both, because the teacher had told you to get into a group of three and work on a project.
You jokingly asked, "If you were elected president… what would you do?"
Phainon grinned, and immediately caught on. He proclaimed dramatically, "I will bring it back! Bigger, better, stronger—"
"—Bigger, better, stronger," you interrupted. You grinned at him, and Mydei shook his head with fond exasperation. "What about you, Mydei?"
"I would…rather not accept the position of president," he stated.
You huffed. "Well, whatever suits you."
"But if I were elected president…" He saw the smile slowly forming on your face, and he played along just this once. "I will bring it back. Bigger," he continued, putting up a finger, "Better, and stronger."
Phainon beamed like the sun itself. You grinned. Mydei had a smile on his face.
"Alright, back to work now."
You and Phainon deflated at the same time.
After much grumbling and complaining, you three got it done. Mydei did most of the work, Phainon pitched in to correct him occasionally, and you wrote everything down while also providing a different opinion for the counter-argument.
The three of you went to go find Anaxa, and he was slightly red.
"Gym?" You asked.
He nodded, still trying to catch his breath. You patted him on the back, and walked slower to make sure he could still catch up to the group if he needed.
Anaxa lived closest to the school, so it made sense that he was the first one to leave. It was still bittersweet as you said goodbye, knowing fully that you'd see him tomorrow.
Then you eventually left, leaving Phainon and Mydei together. You waved goodbye from your yard, and went inside.
You kicked off your shoes, and changed into pajamas in your room.
You made a beeline for the sofa, and turned on your phone.
The Gorls!! <3
You: im homeeeee and I love youuuu
Cass: (name) what do you have planned this time?
You: shopping trip, remember??
Cass: oh yeah! It's 4:30, I'll be there soon!
You: with another esteemed guest… right?? ;)
Cass: how could I forget?
Agy: I have 5 notifications in 30 seconds.
You: thats one message every 6 seconds :0
Cass: My apologies!
You: ughhh im so bored rnnn
You: help
Cass: hmm… maybe we could call?
You: ykw, that would be amazing!!
You: [started a call]
Castorice joined the call, and you saw her in her room filled with butterflies, purple fairy string lights, and plants on her desk.
You were on the sofa, because that's where the best internet is, and you waved to her.
"Hey Cass!"
"(name)! Always a pleasure to see you!" She waved cheerfully.
"Okay, so where were you during the walk?" You asked.
"I was with Dan Heng and Anaxa! Dan Heng is really nice, just letting you know." She had the gleam in her eyes.
"Cass! Dan Heng is not my type."
"Well… just in case…"
"No. Anyways, Kafka creeps me out sometimes," you said.
"Why?" Castorice tilted her head.
"Because, she's like…the only conversation I had with her, she was cryptic, and disappeared right after to go bother Blade or something." You shuddered.
"Well… I'm sure you two won't encounter each other that much!" Castorice said, in the hopes that it will cheer you up.
You groaned. "But I have to see her tomorrow, Cass."
"At orchestra? I hope she won't try anything there."
You nod. "Everyone's too focused on sheet music to be cryptic. And our conductor always manages to find something wrong, it's an achievement for her to let us run through a piece with no stops."
Castorice, traitor that she is, laughs.
You frown at her. "Wow, Cass. Wow. Now I know where your loyalties lie," you said, although there was no heat to it.
She smiled. Until she looked at her phone clock. "Oh, it's 4:45! I'll be there soon, don't worry!"
She then hung up, and left you on the sofa, rotting.
You decided to text Sunday, of all people.
Sunday
You: hello again
Sunday: (name)? I wasn't expecting you. Do you need anything?
You: nah, just wanted to tell you that ill send a pic of what clothes I end up getting, since we have to match. Or can you do it first, and ill get mine based off of yours??
Sunday: Yes, I can do that.
You: thanks :>
Sunday: [sent an image]
You: good lord, where do you find these??
Sunday: They were in my wardrobe.
You: …where did you get them is what i meant
Sunday: My father gave them to me.
You: oh thats nice :>
You hated how dry you sounded. But thankfully, it was 4:50.
You decided to change into something more reasonable for the mall, and you waited outside your house for Castorice and Aglaea.
At 4:55, you saw the car Aglaea drove. You got into the backseat, saying hi to Castorice and then Aglaea.
You buckled your seatbelt, and she drove towards the mall.
Or so you thought, because Castorice said that 'We aren't going to the mall when you could just have something from Aglaea herself.'
It was a valid reason. She was one of the best fashion designers in the world.
And so, you ended up going to her house instead.
Aglaea stepped into the room, and you saw fabrics, some scraps of cloth pinned to a mannequin already, and beautiful dresses and suits alike, hanging on different mannequins scattered across the room.
She ushered you towards the center, in the middle of the sunlight shining through the tall windows, and turning everything golden.
"If you had told me we'd be going here," you started, "I'd wear something much better than this."
Castorice shrugged, and offered a meek smile.
Aglaea gave you a once-over. "Royal blue, right?"
You nod. "Nothing that restricts the sleeves though."
She nods, and disappears into her giant closet.
She returns with a tape measure.
"No, really there's no need—" You start, but she cuts you off.
"Can't have you wearing something that doesn't fit, (name)." You swore you almost saw her pout.
"Well…okay, fine," you concede.
She took your measurements, and found something in her closet that matched what you wanted.
She asked you to try it on in the fitting room, and practically pushed you towards the curtain.
You put on the clothes she had picked out for you, and you absolutely loved them.
You came out of the fitting room, and spun around to give Castorice and Aglaea a full 360.
The black fabric shone in the sunlight, with a singular royal blue necklace with a charm in the shape of… angel wings. Just enough colour for the recital, while still being formal enough to blend in with the rest of the orchestra.
Castorice absolutely loved it, and asked if she could take a photo to send to the guys.
"Sure! I wonder what Phainon would think," you said, grinning.
She held up her phone to take a photo, and the camera flashed as you posed.
You went over to her, and looked at it. You nodded approvingly, when she looked at you.
The Basement
Cass: [sent one image]
Phainon: OMD (name) LOOKS SO AMAIZNF!!!
Mydei: wow, you look good, (name).
Cass: (name) texting btw, MYDEI WDYM I ONLY LOOK 'GOOD' what about great, or amazing :/
Mydei: You look like you are dressed for a recital.
Cass: ill accept it :/
Anaxa: What is all the fuss about this time?
Anaxa: Oh, (name) that definitely suits you. You'd look good in it next to Sunday. Have you figured out what he's wearing yet?
Phainon: anaxa's form of a compliment is being like a helicopter parent btw XD
Cass: don't diss my boy, he hasn't had much experience with those yet lmao
Anaxa: I take back what I just said.
Cass: see?
Mydei: back to the topic at hand, please.
Cass: oh shit, mb Mydei D:
Cass: I think this will suit (name).
You ask Castorice to send the photo to you, and she does.
You then send it to Sunday.
Sunday
You: [sent an image]
You: this is what I'll be wearing to the recital :p Does it match with your clothes??
Sunday: [sent an image]
You: oh yah, we'll be fine :>
Sunday: Are you sure? I can add more blue accents to mine.
You: nah, its fine XD don't sweat it :>
Sunday: Okay then. Also, when are you free this week?
You: not today lol, my schedule is packed
Sunday: tomorrow? For the project, and practice.
You: sure, what time after school??
Sunday: 6:00, at the library?
You: sure, i can do that :>
You: see you tomorrow, get enough sleep :D
Sunday: See you tomorrow, (name).
You turned off your phone, not realizing that Castorice saw the entire thing.
She had a look in her eyes that you couldn't place. But you were suspicious, nonetheless.
Aglaea drove you back, and wished you good luck at the recital. You took the clothes that she wrapped, and put them on the highest shelf of your closet, just to be safe.
You called Phainon first, after you changed into pajamas. Then you lounged on the sofa, procrastinating on making dinner.
Phainon was gushing about how good you looked, still. He was in his room, lounging on the bed in his pajamas. Which consisted of a chimera shirt and pants with a chimera pattern.
"Phai! Glad you think highly of my clothes for the recital."
"No problem! Only the best for my best friend, after all!" He grinned proudly.
"What about Mydei and Anaxa?"
"Second best," he said with a mischievous smile.
"Wow Phainon, how could you?" You said with fake despair.
He grinned, and laughed with you.
"I'm gonna add them to the call, and I'll tell them what you said," you joked.
You did end up adding them to the call though.
Mydei sighed, he was in his room, lounging on his bed with a bowl of honeycakes in his lap. He was in his pajamas, which were literally a black shirt and plaid pants.
Anaxa seemed to be studying, you could see the textbook on his desk, along with a bunch of other notes as he answered. He was wearing his dromas pajamas, as usual.
"Anaxa, chill out a little! Make some time for your friends!" You teased.
"I… suppose you have a point," he begrudgingly admitted. He started to pack up his notes, and cleared off his desk.
"I respect Anaxa's commitment to studying," Mydei started, after finishing a honeycake. "But I do agree with (name)."
Anaxa gave him a deadpan look.
Phainon smiled.
You laughed.
You treasured these moments, when the days were so cloudy that the sun seemed like it wouldn't shine again. Because these moments were like a lantern, ans you wouldn't trade them for all the money in the world, which was saying something.
"What do you guys wanna be when you're older?" You asked.
Mydei shrugged. "Maybe… a cat-sitter, or a babysitter."
You nodded. Mydei was always gentle, even when he was criticized for it.
"I'd wanna be a history teacher!" Phainon chirped.
"Yeah, makes sense. You love it, after all," you said. "Anaxa, what about you?"
"I… haven't completely decided yet," he admitted. "Maybe a scholar in the future, to continue my studies."
Phainon changed the topic with a joke, and Mydei retaliated, for once.
"I have bad handwriting? Have you even seen yours?"
"Guys, guys, there's no need to fight," you said. "It's clear who has the best handwriting here. Me, obviously!" You grinned, and watched Anaxa perk up to immediately deny your claim.
"For real though, who has the best handwriting?" Phainon asked.
Everyone went into a contemplative silence, and you broke it.
"As much as I hate to say it… I think Anaxa has the best handwriting here."
They all hummed in agreement.
After that, they went through topics easily, like fish through water. At one point, they somehow managed to end up debating the amount of hatred a referee would need to cancel every goal in a soccer game.
"(name), what are some things you wouldn't do, even for all the money in the world?" Mydei asked.
You paused for a moment, thinking it over. "I… wouldn't want to lose you guys," you said confidently.
Anaxa smiled.
Phainon went quiet, taking in the severity of your statement.
Mydei nodded once.
This silence was fragile. A single footstep could break it, and… some selfish part of you wished this atmosphere would last forever.
Phainon yawned. "I think we should all go to bed now, right?"
You nodded, as your eyes suddenly felt extremely heavy.
Mydei and Anaxa hung up, and so did you.
You trudged to make dinner, and you didn't realize how late it was.
11:00 already? Damn it, I'll be in bed by midnight, you thought.
You made some instant ramen, and had that for dinner, with no sides.
Then you trudged towards your room after washing the bowl you used.
You flopped onto the bed, tucking the blankets close to your chin. You then grabbed another pillow, and hugged it close to you.
Today was a good day, you thought.
(bonus points for u if u got the meme i put in XD)
Since you said vapereon was your fav…I have the sleeping vapereon plush 💗💗
AAAAAAAAAAAAHZHSHUAHSUHSUHSUSH
omggggg ur so lucky!!!!!!!!!!
I LOVE VAPOREONNNNN!!!!! <33333333333
words cannot describe the cuteness aggression i feel rn!
(im watching the brazil vs norway game btw XD)
In a world where musics and politics are never found without the other, you are the IPC's pride and joy - a violin prodigy known both for your skill and unpredictability. When Penacony, and therefore the Family, are finally seized under the IPC, it is only fitting that their prized pianist, Sunday Oak, is offered to you as an accompanist.
There is nothing but darkness — a blue-tinted darkness, filled with silhouettes of people whose faces you cannot discern — as far as the eye can see. Your shoes make little sound, but they ring in your ears as clear as day. Muscle memory alone guides you to your position.
Polished wood, its touch as familiar as family, anchors you. It holds your hand when your guardian cannot, it encourages you when the audience will not, and it guides you when the piano cannot.
In one hand is a thin bow, long and sturdy between the very tips of your finger tips. It threatens to fall, it threatens to break away, but it will not — and you know it to be so. You know it like your own hand; you can picture so clearly the slight bend of the brazilwood, and the cream-colored strings, so white and yet not, that yellowish hue ever so prominent, connecting the tip of the bow to the frog at the end.
In the other is your lifelong companion, heavier and larger, with a fingerboard pressing four steel strings into your fingers. The strings themselves are nothing threatening on their own — they are thin and soft and one pull is all they need to snap. But they are your voice, they are your soul, they are you, pulled and pressed and strung into a wordless, yet borderless language.
Your feet halt by instinct, your last step setting in as you stand in your designated spot as rehearsed. You close your eyes briefly, and breathe. Somewhere beside you, a few steps back, you hear another breathe alongside you, and you can see them too, in a way — although the image is nowhere as clear as the one of your violin.
You imagine hands poised just above black and white keys, lifted gracefully into a practiced pose. You imagine eyes scanning lines upon lines of sheet music, pages they cannot see in this light and yet they pen with their memory nevertheless. You imagine lashes fluttering closed for just a moment, and then another breath, before they open again, calm and determined.
And then there is a click, and you know to close your eyes as day comes to the theater at last.
On the stage, the spotlight is your sun. Beneath its artificial light — too bright and too blinding to be natural — performers bloom, their petals unfurling until a flower is born, brilliant colors practically glowing. Your violin is your flower, but it has yet to blossom. It needs a touch, it needs the bow, it needs you to truly sing.
As is customary, you bow to the audience. You rise, basking in their gaze, eyes filled with apprehension, excitement, and skepticism. Your guests for the night are all cut from the same cloth — most if not all wealthy, many on the older side, and all wondering the same thing: whether you will live to the talk surrounding your name, or fall horribly short, leaving only expected disappointment.
Sharing a glance with your accompanist, they nod. The corners of your eyes crinkle.
The stage is set. All it needs now is for you to set it all in motion.
You hoist your violin to your shoulder with no more than a simple turn of your wrist. It has long carved out its place in your body, and now, like the final piece to your puzzle, it slots in the small dip between your shoulder and your neck as if it had always belonged there. You lean onto the chinrest, raise your bow, and the show begins.
String glides against string in a sweet caress, clear, drawn out notes echoing out into the theater. Your fingers fly across the string board, guiding and coaxing with gentle presses a story of love, of yearning, and of affection. A maiden’s longing puppets your hands, a forbidden romance carries your bow.
Vaguely behind you, you hear the chords of your accompanist acting as your beat, as your background. But they are drowned out by the maiden’s cries as her woes become your own, and you crescendo as they grow louder and louder.
Time belongs to this moment, and you belong to time. The theater fades away into a fairytale painting as you play like a man possessed. Sorrow bleeds into your tune, and heartbreak furrows your brow. Your violin fills your ears, and the music consumes you.
The pain of heartbreak threatens to break through — you can see the one she’d loved marrying another as she too, is forced into a loveless marriage. Resentment towards the world that made it so burns your skin, hatred towards a god that would deny her again and again fuels your drive.
But beneath it all, beneath all of the pain and the tears and the grief of a happier life, there is love. Love that burns brighter than the sun and the stars, love that persists despite the shackles. Love that will continue to live, even as she withers away without it.
A love that is grieved.
Eventually, you slow, and the cries grow quieter and quieter. A diminuendo takes your performance to its end, whittling away piece by piece until it all fades to black.
And for a moment, you stand there, heart pounding in your chest, sweat beading at the back of your neck, bow still raised like a statue. Slowly, you hear the world returning.
You open your eyes to roaring applause. The amber of the stage blinds you, making you squint for just a moment before you fully adjust. The flipping of sheet music catches your attention, and you turn to set eyes upon your accompanist for the first time.
This one is a woman, middle-aged and with long, straight hair. She wears a black dress that has long sleeves and covers her neck. On her feet are heels, high enough to be in fashion but not so high that it is inappropriate. Her face is set in a practiced smile, but you can see the frustration lurking behind her eyes and set jaw.
She is just like all of her predecessors.
No one special then, you think with a silent sigh, returning to the audience with a blank stare befitting that of a statue.
After a few seconds, the applause dies down. You hear the chords of the piano once again, signalling the next act of your recital.
Raising your bow, you close your eyes, tuning out the rest of the world once more. And then it is string against string, this time spinning a new tale altogether.
—
The velvet curtain brushes against your arm as you push it aside. Entering backstage, a weight lifts off your shoulders and you can feel your body begin to relax.
Here, away from the eyes of your audience, it is… quieter. Not completely without sound, but quiet enough.
The amber hue is more muted, and the space is illuminated only by the lightbulbs that line the mirrors. Wood a similar color to what makes up your violin crafts the walls, and a dark carpet is splayed over the concrete floor.
Walking over to where your case lies, you bend down and unlatch the clasps. In the corner of your eye, you see your accompanist talking to someone in whispers, as if making sure you cannot hear. You see a glimpse of purple, a bit of light pink, and white and red.
With a knowing shake of your head, you turn back to your violin. Obviously, it is far more important than whatever that accompanist had to say about you.
You lay the instrument into the velvet mold, and besides it, you open up the little compartment and take out your rosin. You straighten and pull over a stool, moving aside the tail ends of your outfit before sitting down to rosin your bow.
You don’t have to see your accompanist to know what she’s saying about you. It’s always the same — you’re too intense, too unpredictable, too difficult to work with. You play too much into your emotions, you don’t play by the book, etc. Whether these complaints come dressed in shame or in arrogance, in the end, it's the same tale that they spew.
A joke it is, that they never dare to say these things to your face. Are they scared of angering you, of you lashing out? You frown at the thought. You aren’t temperamental — at least, you’d like to think you aren’t. If anything, your former classmate Aventurine has always complained the opposite, that you showed about as much emotion as a rock.
Then again, Aventurine is nothing if not a liar.
You sigh as you take your final swipe of the rosin (you don’t need much), kicking back into your chair and staring up at the ceiling. With another accompanist turning tail and fleeing, you're surely due for another scolding by Benefactor Jade.
“Someone’s looking awfully blue after their show.”
Red and white invade your vision, and you blink in surprise as halos of purple and blue meet your gaze.
“Jelena,” you say, eyes widening slightly.
The harp player in question smiles, arms propped at either side of your face. You hear an indignant squeak and you hum knowingly.
“And Numby, too.”
Jelena kicks her leg out and pulls a chair over with her foot. The second she sits down besides you, Numby clambors onto her lap, and Jelena’s hand instinctively rests atop their head. You tilt your head.
“I thought you were with Lady Jade?”
“I was, but you were looking pretty lonely over here,” says Jelena. Numby leaps on her and noses at her face, coaxing out a laugh. She wrestles the trotter down. “So I thought I’d come and keep you company.”
You don’t reply after that, only giving her a simple nod. You peek over at your accompanist and accidentally meet gazes with the Lady Jade herself. The freshwater pearls of her irises narrow slightly, and she offers you a thinly veiled smile before continuing her conversation with your accompanist.
Internally, you cringe. “If they have any complaints, they should bring it to me instead of bothering her.”
Jelena hums in agreement. “Yeah, I agree. They’re just scared of you, is all.”
“There isn’t much to be scared of.” You set your bow in your case and shut it with a hefty thud. “We haven’t even talked for long.”
“Well, you know,” Jelena stands up, Numby hopping onto her shoulder once more. “That’s just how most musicians are. They’re scared to take risks — playing by the book is what keeps them in the game. And… to be honest, you’re one of the biggest risks an accompanist can take. Not even I always know what you’re planning.”
“But this one was from Paperfold,” you point out. “And I find it hard to believe that I’m scarier than Lady Jade.”
“Well, Lady Jade smiles. You don’t.”
You look at her tiredly. "That again?"
Jelena only raises a brow, to which you roll your eyes and brush her off. The clicking of heels catches your attention, your body seizes straight by instinct. The same cannot be said for Jelena, who brightens at the sound, turning with an excited beam.
“My lady,” the both of you say in unison.
Your benefactor hums eerily as she stops before you, her snake-like eyes scanning you up and down for any signs of weakness. There are none to be found, of course — at the end of the day, you are a member of the corporation, and you know better than to show your cracks.
“I must first congratulate you on your performance, [Name],” she simpers, reaching out to brush at your cheek with perfectly manicured nails. She adjusts bits and pieces of your outfit, even after the recital has long already finished. “The sponsors were very pleased with what they saw. Splendid job.”
“Thank you.” You bow slightly. Noticing that the room is emptier by one more person, your jaw tightens. “The accompanist — she quit, didn’t she.”
Jade lets out a little sigh, shaking her head slightly as she puts a hand on the small of your back. “They always do, don’t they? Don’t worry though, we’ve already found a suitable replacement.”
Both you and Jelena share a surprised glance. Already?
Your guardian giggles at your expressions, bringing your attention back to her. Her hand gently urges you and Jelena forward and towards the room’s exit. “Come now. We have an afterparty to attend, don’t we? You’ll meet him there.”
“Yes, my lady,” you and Jelena answer.
You feel the incoming migraine even before you step outside. You’ve never quite liked entertaining patrons, but when your life is essentially IPC property, it comes with the territory. Hopefully, Jelena can do most of the talking for you, as she always has. But you doubt it — unfortunately, you are the star of the show today.
A quick glance at Jelena tells that she's come to the same conclusion. All she offers you is a knowing smile, to which you don't grace with a response. Dread pools at the bottom of your gut as the three of you approach the outside of the theater, the sound of conversation and money-filled laughter muffling through the doors.
Tonight was going to be a long one.
—
It’s only been an hour, but your mind already feels numb.
At least, you think it's been an hour. There's no clock in this damn banquet hall, and it's improper etiquette to check your phone unless prompted to, or if by some miracle you manage to find privacy — but of course, you haven’t had a single moment to yourself without being swarmed by patrons and fans alike.
The night soon devolves into a golden tinted haze. You humbly thank patrons one after another, your only sustenance being your flute of champagne as their faces blur into one.
Holding the flute by its stem, you take another tentative sip, searching the hall for Jelena or Jade. An older businessman is talking your ear off, and you’re only half-listening because your livelihood quite literally depends on it. You drop a few “mhm”'s and “yes, of course”'s whenever appropriate, but to be honest, he could ask you if you wanted to blow a hole through Lady Jade's face and you’d say yes to appease him.
Jelena is off entertaining sponsors of her own. Your eyes meet momentarily, and she bites back a laugh at your predicament. When you narrow your eyes, she offers you a sympathetic shrug before returning to reply to something her sponsor said.
She’s so much better at this whole business thing than you are. You mentally sigh, and turn to your own sponsor.
“Now, I was thinking-” he prattles on, but before he can finish his sentence, chilled hands drop lightly on your shoulders, interrupting your conversation — or lack thereof.
“I’m terribly sorry,” says the familiarly honey-laced voice behind you, and relief floods you. Your savior smiles at your sponsor. “But I must borrow them for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
Faced with the force that is Benefactor Jade, your sponsor folds like paper. “Oh, no, of course! Please, don’t worry.”
You don’t have to see her to know that Jade wears another one of those closed-eyed smiles. “Thank you for your benevolence, dear patron. Now, come along, child, we have much to discuss.”
As she leads you away on the marble coated floor, your gaze draws to the chandeliers hanging overhead. They’re almost completely made up of glass, reflecting a prism of lights onto the banquet hall. Waiters patrol the grounds, always offering refills, new glasses of alcohol, or snacks for guests. You pick off a hors d'oeuvre yourself from a passing waiter before listening to what Jade has to say.
“You’re very lucky, you know,” she hums. “You’ve become quite infamous in the music world for being difficult to work with. If this young man hadn’t offered to play for you, we would’ve had quite the time finding another accompanist for you. So do try and take care of him, child.”
You don’t have to be a genius to figure out the underlying message of her words. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you.”
With her hands still on your shoulders, she guides you through the crowds, offering short greetings to those who asked for them. Faces meld into another until suddenly, you see a hint of feathers and the glint of gold.
Halovians.
The Family was here.
Their presence comes as a surprise — while they are one of the IPC's many assets, gained two decades ago, the corporation hasn't completely ingrained them into its grasp. For the most part, the two groups are more akin to strained business partners as opposed to being master and employee. No Family member worth their salt would willingly attend a corporation event.
So why are they here?
An imaginary spotlight flickers to life as you zero in on Jade’s targets. Two Halovians stand with their backs to you, one dressed in black, one in white, like a perfect yin and yang. The taller of the two, the one in black, turns as you near.
“Lady Jade,” he greets. His face is lined with age and he sports a sinisterly perfect smile. Round glasses frame his face, and although his eyes are closed, you can’t help but feel as though he is looking right through you.
“Sir Gopher Wood,” Jade returns the greeting, and the other Halovian turns to face you as well. The second his face comes into your vision, all thoughts in your mind cease to exist.
Soft, dove-grey hair frames his face in snow-dipped feathers. His eyes are soft and mellow, but behind them lies the same condescending, patronizing gleam from all those years ago. Those lustrous gold rings have always infuriated you. As beautiful as they may be, jewelry is only as beautiful as its wearer.
Like everyone here, his expression is carefully sculpted marble, tailored perfectly to appease any who may lay their eyes upon it.
First comes shock, and then there is forcefully subdued, irrational anger. You thought you were free of this man — ever since you graduated, you'd thought you'd never again have to see his wretched face. And yet, here you are.
For out of every pianist in the world, it just had to be—
“Sunday.” Your voice is just a touch lighter than a whisper. Even his name leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, as if you’d just downed a vat of acid.
“[Name].” His tongue is laced with just as much honeyed venom as yours. Those damned gold rings crinkle at the corners as he tilts his head, the feathers of his headwings rustling ever so slightly. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
I wish I could say the same, is what you would’ve liked to say if every word didn't hold the weight of your life in them.
Instead, what comes out is “Yes, it has been some time.”
Your eyes pivot to Jade for an explanation, even as the answer crafts itself in your head. One of Jade’s hands drops from your shoulders, while the other rubs you reassuringly — or at least, it is meant to be reassuring. It's difficult to warm ice, after all.
“Say hello to your new accompanist, [Name]. He has traveled quite a ways away in order to see you.”
Sunday’s right wing twitches as Jade gives his introduction. You clasp your hands in front of you, actively avoiding his gaze in favor of burning holes into Benefactor Jade instead. However, Jade, as shrewd as ever, catches onto this quickly and turns to you with a glint in her eye.
If you could've, you would've sworn.
“Why don’t you two go and catch up?” she suggests, looping an arm around Sunday and tugging him to her, and thereby closer to you too. You immediately stiffen and lean as subtly as possible away from him as you can, but Jade’s iron grip keeps you in place. “Go off, have some fun, do whatever young people do nowadays. Mr. Wood and I have much to discuss.”
Reluctantly, you nod. Sunday sidesteps Jade and comes to your side. He doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement for the sake of courtesy.
“Well then,” he chuckles, extending a gloved hand. “Shall we?”
You sigh, looking to the ceiling and mentally reciting a prayer to Qlipoth for patience. And only, only because Jade and Gopher Wood are watching, you place your hand in his, and allow him to drag you off.
“So,” Sunday says once you’ve outside of earshot from your two guardians. “How have you been? Aside from losing yet another accompanist, that is. Ah— how many has it been now? I’m afraid I’ve lost count over the years.”
You cast a longing glance to the food table, only for Sunday to lead you to the dance floor. “Still ever the talker, aren’t you?”
Sunday chuckles. He takes the role of lead in your dance, one hand just under your arm while the other guides. The softness of his wings brushes your hand as you begrudgingly join him in practiced steps.
“There are many things that have changed since our days at the academy—” Sunday releases you momentarily, and you spin, hands still touching, before you return to him. “—but that is not one of them. Do you perhaps find my voice irritating?”
You hum, adjusting your hand on his shoulder. “Always asking questions you already know the answer to. Tell me, is your music still as insincere as your tongue?”
“Your words are as cruel as ever.” Sunday shakes his head with a smile. “You know, no matter how much you may despise my music, it was those same songs that earned me the position of top student in our grade — defeating even you, dear star.”
“Of course,” you agree, eye twitching at the nickname. “That is what happens when you sacrifice authenticity for precision.”
“And am I to believe that that is so wrong? If I recall, it is your corporation, rather than the Family, who values such things.”
At the mention of the corporation, your hand tightens on his shoulder. "Believe what you like. But if you are to work with me, precision will only get you so far."
“So I’ve noticed,” Sunday clips back. With a sudden turn, he throws you out, and you flow with it with a flare of your hand, only for him to reel you back into a dip.
Your head tilts back as he lowers you. Briefly, you wonder whether or not he’s to drop you then and there. But Sunday wouldn’t be Sunday if he let his courteous mask fall, and so his arm supports you as securely as bedrock.
When he pulls you to your feet, the dance takes a turn, and you draw closer to him, posing the question that has been haunting your mind:
“Why are you here?”
Sunday raises a brow. “Am I not allowed to attend an old classmate’s recital?”
“You know what I mean.” You can feel the gazes of many on your bodies. After all, Sunday has made a name for himself — who wouldn’t know of him? The protege of Paperfold Academy of Music, the sun who had managed to take your crown. “Why are you here, demeaning yourself to accompanist of all things? Last time I checked, you were the Family's pride and joy.”
“I have no ill intentions, if that is what you’re worried about,” Sunday hums. “I merely saw you in need of a pianist, and I believe I am certainly qualified to play the part.”
Does he think you’re stupid? You scoff as he gently pushes you into another twirl, your eyes never leaving his. “So it was your father.”
Instantly you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. After all, you and Sunday are like night and day when it comes to song, and Sunday would never willingly work with you — that era is long gone, left behind in Paperfold along with the rest of your childhood.
And to prove this, Sunday’s lips press into a fine line and he averts his eyes.
“Another lesson, then, is it?” Your lips twitch into the beginnings of a bitter smirk. “And just what did you do? Skip church one too many times? Have you fallen into blasphemy?”
“Very funny,” Sunday says dryly. “I do have a life outside the church, you know.”
“You do, now?”
Sunday gives you a pointed look with narrowed eyes. You shrug innocently.
“It’s a genuine question.”
He sighs. “Why do I even bother with you?”
"The same reason as to why I bother with you. The higher-ups told us to. Didn't we just establish that?"
“I prefer you when you’re quiet.”
You’d like to throw another quip at him, but the words die on your tongue as you whirl through crowds, and Sunday eager to avoid any further discussion. Your mind is soon preoccupied instead with keeping up and keeping your feet off his, and his off yours. You’d hate to see what those steel-toed dress shoes would do to you.
In order to avoid getting motion sickness from the constant whirling, you’re forced to look Sunday directly in the eyes. His expression is… still — as if he had no expression at all. You don’t know how else to describe it. Almost as if he wasn’t here, in this moment, dancing with you, but rather, somewhere far away.
It would be worrying if it weren’t so strange. But you decide not to question it. The last person he needs as a therapist is you, the very person he has resented since your student days.
It isn’t your place to ask.
Before you know it, the dance comes to an end. Sunday dips you one last time, and for a moment, time freezes. Detested gold fills your vision, and you want nothing more than to look away, but like a sailor to a siren’s call, you cannot.
Slowly, as if prolonging this moment as much as he can, Sunday lifts you. And then, with a bow, he finally speaks.
“Thank you for indulging me.”
You raise a brow. You didn’t have much of a choice now, did you? But surrounded with so many eyes and ears, you hold your tongue.
“You dance well,” you say instead. Regrettably well, you might’ve added.
Sunday hums with a smile. He looks a little too proud for your liking.
His lips part, but he’s interrupted by a shout of your name. Through the crowds, you spy Jelena waving you over, Jade by her side.
“I shouldn’t keep you.” Sunday steps back, hands held behind his back. “Go on, then. Don’t keep them waiting on my part. Besides, we’ll have plenty of time together in the future, dear star.”
You only nod for appearance’s sake, eyes already zeroed in on your fellow corporate slaves.
That tree over there has been here since the 1800’s. Well, that’s what the museum says, and you can’t really trust the museum, but that’s also my own personal vendetta against them so… yeah.
i hope the running joke and whole concept of avengers doomsday is someone going “i know a guy” over and over until everyone in the mcu ever is involved
You know, an interesting tumblr transformation that's happened gradually, and which I've seen no one talk about: ask-culture has essentially dropped off to nothing.
By which I mean, asks used to be WAY more of the tumblr economy. They used to be more common to send, and receive, and see. They were integral to the collaborative, forum-like behavior of old tumblr communities, not even to speak on the HUGE number of ask-blogs that used to exist to only be interacted with in ask-form.
I'm not saying this in a vying-for-attention way but instead in an observational way: I used to get way way more asks in like 2015, even with a fraction of my follower count. I wonder if it's due to the homogenization of social media sites? There's a lot more of this divide between "content creator" and "consumer" instead of just a bunch of peer blogs who would talk to each other. "Asks" aren't really a thing on twitter, are they? And as I understand it, the closest thing to an "ask" on instagram or tiktok would be a creator screenshotting some comment and responding to it in a new reel or video or whatever those content mediums are. Are asks just too tumblr-specific? Is that aspect of the site culture dying out as more and more people converge to using all their social media sites in the same way?
it's probably from assholes making asks a minefield of trolling/harassment for years with no real blocking ability, which turned people off from allowing asks on their blogs so as a whole the site moved away from it
but now that we do have better blocking, we should try to revive it.
