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Sunday did his best to contain his eagerness and curiosity. He could feel that Dan Heng was similarly eager, so surely his own excitement was just sympathetic. An amplification of others emotions. But ever since Caelus, and then March 7th, had opened their gifts and received a plush toy from Himeko, Dan Heng had been on the edge of his seat, practically taunt with nervous energy. His expression betrayed none of it, but Sunday could feel it radiating off him in waves. Finally, it was his turn to open his gifts, and he reached for the gift bag from Himeko first, and, no longer able to maintain composure, reached into the tissue paper and let out an odd rumble. With a shimmer like light through water, Dan Heng transformed as he pulled a stuffed lion toy from the bag. He hid his face in its mane, joy and peace and excitement washing over Sunday in waves. A ghostly dragon like tail waved behind him, and luminous blue horns poked through long hair. He seemed to have been so overwhelmed with excitement that he’d taken the form Sunday typically saw him assume for battle. A slip in concentration, perhaps? But if even the stoic Dan Heng received a toy, then surely that would mean…
Sunday did not let himself look at the present that waited for him. He would wait his turn patiently while Dan Heng opened the rest of his gifts. And then Welt, who thankfully did like the gift that Sunday had picked out for him, and Himeko, who had attempted to let him open his gifts before her. And then it was Sunday’s turn. He did not open his gift from Himeko first. He hardly dared look at the bag. No, Sunday opened his gift from March 7th and Caelus, which was a set of pajamas patterned with seabirds.
“To match!” She said excitedly.
And then his gift from Dan Heng, which was a fancy pen, which matched nicely with his gift from Welt, a new notebook. Finally, he picked up the gift from Himeko. It was light. That was good! His mouth felt dry as he parted the tissue paper and… and…
Pulled out a set of earrings.
“I hope you like them, I saw them and thought of you. They match the studs you have in your wing, don’t they?” Himeko said.
Sunday fixed a smile on his face, thanking her like he did the others. Of course they matched! They were lovely. He was going to put them on right now. A horrible, sick feeling twisted in his stomach, like his breakfast had suddenly gone sour.
Ungrateful boy, she got you the most expensive gift out of all of them. You receive golden earrings but covet toys given to the other Nameless? Your jealousy is obvious. Your desires are disgraceful. You are a grown man, even they are far too old to be receiving such gifts.
Sunday changed his earrings, did not look to where Dan Heng sat, cuddling his new lion to his chest, didn’t look at the toys the other two had received. Didn’t think about how the gift exchange had gone the same as every other he’d had since he was seven and had been taken in by Gopher Wood. Didn’t think about the bear he’d given to Robin that had been his since he was a hatchling, but that he was no longer allowed to keep. Didn’t think about its name.
That evening, when Caelus invited him, March 7th, and Dan Heng to his room for a sleepover, Sunday showed up in the seabird pajamas as instructed. They were soft. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t typically stay for sleepovers, he never was allowed to as a fledgling, and now, even on the express, he had to stick to his nightly routine or he would have nightmares. He would just leave early again, as always.
“Before we start the movie! One more gift!” Caelus said, producing a rather haphazardly wrapped box, and dropping it into Dan Heng’s lap. “Open open open!”
Dan Heng did as instructed, revealing the packaging for a set of three pacifiers. He regarded the gift coolly, before turning his gaze on Caelus.
“Vidyadhara are not a mammalian species. They don’t nurse. While the gesture is appreciated, the most soothing form of oral stimulation for a young vidyadhara would be a chew ring,” Dan Heng said.
He didn’t even want them. He didn’t even want them. Sunday silently excused himself to the bathroom to try and recompose his emotions.
“You’re acting spoiled,” he whispered to himself.
Why would he or Dan Heng desire such a childish object like a pacifier? Obviously Sunday didn’t, he wouldn’t, he was an adult with responsibilities and a reputation and his father would pluck the feathers from his concealed wing if he ever heard about Sunday’s sick and weak desires. To crave the comforts of childhood beyond fledging was a sign of weakness and immaturity and having been raised improperly. Sunday had not been raised improperly. Obviously he didn’t know about Dan Heng’s upbringing so he couldn’t pass any judgment on his new companion. But Sunday had no excuse for such sickness, such mental weakness, for such inappropriate envy.
Carefully, he pulled up the pajama shirt, extended his one frail wing, and plucked three feathers. Small feathers he wouldn’t feel guilty about flushing down the toilet. They didn’t sink, light and downy enough to float on the surface of the water. He stared at them for a long moment, then folded his wing away, restored his appearance to order, flushing the toilet and washing his hands to make it sound as though he simply had been relieving himself.
Sunday sat up, wings flared with fright, searching the dark room wildly. He wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t in his room! Overwhelming waves of fear washed over him. He’d fallen asleep during the movie, and hadn’t been able to complete his nightly routine. Predictably, he’d had nightmares. His heart pounded in his chest and he panted. It was too dark, he couldn’t see, he wasn’t in his room, he hadn’t done his routine, everything had just gone wrong. Tears prickled in his eyes. He wasn’t allowed to cry. He would wake up the others. Oh, Xipe, even his breathing could wake them up! Getting up and turning on a light wasn’t possible, and after everything that had gone wrong, Sunday skipped straight to his last resort. He retreated under his blankets and slipped his thumb into his mouth, suckling on it as he sniffled and tried to hold back tears. Like always, it worked. His heart and breathing slowed as a warm calm settled over his mind. It had been a while since he’d last been so out of sorts he’d had to suck his thumb. He could taste the bitter aftertaste of soap, but that wasn’t unfamiliar. And the taste didn’t matter. Sunday’s eyes slipped closed. It was the feeling. The comfort.
He wished he had his bear. Or that Robin and his Mom were here with him. Just someone to hold him and tell him that it was just a bad dream, to wipe his face and tuck him in again and leave the door open with the hall light on so it wasn’t dark.
He wanted a toy of his own from Himeko. And he wanted a pacifier for himself so he didn’t have to suck his thumb. Biting down, Sunday screwed his eyes shut. If he was thinking of impossible things he wanted, he might as well wish to start over again in childhood, or for his parents to still be alive. Sunday never got what he wanted, he wasn’t supposed to want. He was a good boy. A quiet, obedient child who did what he was told and didn’t ask questions and didn’t need a night light or a teddy or to share a room with his sister.
It wasn’t working, why wasn’t it working? He wasn’t panicking anymore but he still felt like crying, like a spoiled hatchling who hadn’t gotten his way. Probably because he was sucking his thumb like a hatchling. He removed his hand, shoved it under his pillow instead. With his free hand, he reached under the soft pajama shirt to pluck at his feathers. One, two, three feathers, soft down that could easily be explained away. He was being bad. He needed to be good. Everyone was going to find out how awful he was, everyone was going to know. Every time he’d been caught showing such weakness it had been horrible, humiliating. He plucked three more downy feathers. Everyone would know and he’d be dragged up in front of everyone on the express and he’d have to apologize for his jealousy, apologize to his Father for not following his instructions on how to grow up properly, apologize for trying to hide and excuse his sins. One, two, three more feathers. At least Himeko hadn’t gotten him a toy. It would be confiscated if she had, and Sunday wasn’t sure if his heart would be able to handle that. Sunday wasn’t allowed to want things and if he did have good things, nice things, they were never there to make him feel better. They were always there just to be taken away if he misbehaved.
He hadn’t done his routine before bed.
He had to go brush his teeth and comb his hair and preen his wings and count the feathers and he had to—
“Sunday? Are you alright?” A quiet voice asked.
He fled Caelus’s room and did not look back, didn’t stop until he had reached the guest room that was technically his now, and started his nightly routine at two thirty in the morning.
Sunday did not make any intentional plan. In fact, he tried his hardest to compartmentalize, to ignore the small pieces of information that his brain picked up. The package of pacifiers was in the archives, tucked in one of the “miscellaneous” drawers, one rarely opened, alongside a specialized toolkit and some spare electrical tape. March had more toys on her bed than anyone could reasonably keep track of. Welt occasionally would leave a warm, weighted quilt in the lounge car, folded over the back of a chair. Caelus had a collection of various novelty cups, some that came with lids. Himeko’s inventive cooking meant that the shopping lists were rarely scrutinized too closely, and acquiring all the items on the list could be an all-afternoon affair. Which was how Sunday found himself entirely alone on the Astral Express.
Nobody was around to notice if Sunday slipped into the archives. Not that anyone would think twice about him visiting the archives anyways. He opened the drawer, then the plastic packaging, which was so startlingly loud that Sunday nearly dropped the package. But he managed to remove a pacifier, which he hurriedly shoved into his pocket, before retreating. They were going to know. He was stealing, and stealing was wrong, a sin, he was indulging in a weakness that he should be working past, moving on from. He retreated back to his room, burrowed under his blankets. It was warm and they pressed down on him with a comforting weight and if Sunday closed his eyes, he could pretend it was a hug. Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close like he deserved the comfort.
A pathetic chirp escaped him. The closest he could manage to a hatchling’s begging peep. He pressed a hand over his mouth, frightened someone might overhear, but… everyone was out. He was alone in his room and nobody would know. So he let himself chirp again, tears welling up in his eyes. He was just a tiny, scared hatchling, crying and peeping and calling out for his mom and dad to comfort him.
Oh, our dear little hatchling, they’d say, and scoop him into their arms and cradle him close. Don’t cry, Sunny, it’s alright. And they would rock him in their arms until he stopped crying, radiate calm and comfort until it was all he could resonate with. They’d preen his downy wings, smooth back his hair to kiss his forehead, hug and cuddle and soothe him. And because he was their precious little hatchling, they’d slip a pacifier into his mouth to make sure he was a good, quiet hatchling.
The soft nub in his mouth and smooth plastic against his lips stifled the occasional chirps he couldn’t seem to stop making. Good hatchlings should be seen and not heard, but he was trying his best, and that was the point of the pacifier anyways. To help him be a good, quiet hatchling. The fantasy grew around him as he eagerly began to suckle. They’d tuck him in, because clearly the reason why a hatchling like him was so fussy was because he was tired and needed a nap. Hatchlings needed so much sleep! And care! Sunday was a good hatchling and he wasn’t as needy.
A good hatchling could be left alone somewhere quiet and cozy for nap time. In fact, that was what hatchlings needed for nap time, so Sunday wouldn’t be lonely or sad about it. He could nap in peace and when he woke, he’d get a tasty snack, a treat for being such a quiet, well-behaved hatchling who didn’t fuss about being left alone for a nap. After all, it was just a short nap and his mom and dad would be back to wake him gently when nap time was over.
With a final muffled chirp, Sunday fell into a blissful sleep.
He dreamt of lying curled up against his sister, the two of them so small in a familiar nest. With tiny hands he reached out and held onto hers, peeping softly and Robin peeped back, quiet, reassuring noises. Warm and safe.
Waking was jarring. There was a knock on his door, sudden and loud, and he sat up.
“Sunday, are you alive in there?!” A muffled call from outside.
They would want a response. Sunday felt like he was falling. He had been so comfortable, so warm and happy and safe, he’d been dreaming of Robin, of their childhood nest, he wasn’t ready for all of reality to come crashing down onto him again. But it was. His back ached, throbbing pain from his missing wing, and as he opened his mouth to respond, something fell from it, clacking as it landed in his lap.
Fear joined the other roiling emotions. He chirped before he could stop it. Not a vile mockery of a hatchling peep, but a frightened Halovian chirp. Just as disgraceful. Sunday cleared his throat, hoping, praying whoever was outside his door hadn’t heard that.
“Just a minute, please,” he called. His voice was rough from sleep, weak with uncontrolled emotion. This was why he wasn’t supposed to indulge in such activities, it would only lead to further disorder. He shoved the pacifier under his pillow, too weak to dispose of it as he should but strong enough, or perhaps just embarrassed enough by his own weakness, not to put it back into his mouth. He tried to fix his clothes. Xipe help him, he had climbed into bed in his day clothes and now they were all wrinkled, and he’d gotten his bed dirty, it was dirty, he’d worn outside clothes into his bed, all of his bedding would have to be washed now—
“Sunday?”
“Just a minute!” He called, louder this time.
His clothes were unsalvageable. Too wrinkled. He changed quickly, promised to strip his bed as soon as he could, and opened the door, hoping he didn’t look too frantic. It was far too much too soon, but March 7th and Dan Heng stood at his door when he opened it. He wanted to curl into himself and cease to exist. He had tried to tame his hair, but it surely must still be a mess, along with his wings, since he didn’t have time to comb it, and his bedding wasn’t straight either.
“Sorry, I must have fallen asleep while reading. Please pardon my room and my appearance,” Sunday said.
“I told you he must have been napping,” Caelus insisted from further down the hallway.
“You’re fine, you’re fine! Just wanted to let you know that it’s time for dinner, we got takeout so there’s no need to hide from Himeko’s cooking tonight!” March said.
“Thank you. I’ll be there shortly,” Sunday said, and quickly retreated to comb his hair and check the time. He’d overslept. It had been a horrifying four system hours! No wonder they had been worried. He would not make such a mistake again.
The pacifier seemed to burn like a brand in the back of his mind until the next week. After fixing his appearance, and his bed, he’d hidden it in his bedside table, behind his journal. He had found a little box to keep it in so it would stay clean, and to prevent anyone from immediately knowing if someone did happen to open the drawer. He wanted it, every night, but forced himself to wait. There was no knowing when someone might come into his room. They would see, they would know, and then he would be plucked in front of the whole Express for being a thief and sick in the head. It could only be when he was sure there was nobody else around. And when the others left for their weekly shopping trip, he scurried to his room once it was clear nobody was doubling back. As he hurried down the hallway, he paused in front of March 7th’s room.
It would be wrong. But surely, she’d never notice just one. And he’d put it back afterwards. He just missed his own bear so, so much, enough that when he did slip into March’s room and saw the messy pile of toys at the head of her bed, he nearly felt overwhelmed. How could he choose? He grabbed a plush at random, one from the back, and hurried out, all but running back to his own room like he could be caught at any moment. He set an alarm, even more vital this time, and changed into his pajamas.
One hour.
Sunday climbed onto his bed and hugged the plush, a powder blue rabbit with long floppy ears and soft fur, to his chest. It wasn’t the same. He didn’t want the rabbit, he wanted Moony! The same begging chirp escaped him even as tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted his bear, which may not have been as soft, or as new, but he Moony had been there for him for… Sunday couldn’t think of that. He wanted his Mom, his sister, wanted Moony! He felt so overwhelmed, he couldn’t put any words to the feelings swirling in his head, his halo shuddered and almost seemed to ring from how overpowering they were. So he hugged the rabbit to his chest and sobbed. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want the rabbit, he wanted Moony! Suddenly, he wanted nothing to do with the rabbit. Sunday threw the stuffed toy across the room with a shriek. It hit the far wall with a muffled thump, its eyes clicking against the siding as it fell to the floor. His breathing came in huge, ragged sobs, and his throat hurt. This was awful. He felt awful. With a thrash, he rolled over to beat at his pillow and mattress, even his wing escaped to flap noisily and uselessly.
He was being too loud, but he couldn’t stop. Father would find out, would pluck his wings raw and bloody in front of the whole family-! Sunday pressed his face into his pillows, chirping in sudden fright and trying desperately to choke down his wailing. Then he remembered. Hatchlings that couldn’t be kept calm with a soft toy could have a pacifier to help them be good, quiet hatchlings.
“I’m good,” Sunday whimpered. “I can be good, please!”
He scrambled for his bedside table, for the secret little box in his drawer and the shameful treasure inside. As soon as he pulled it out and slipped it into his mouth, Sunday collapsed back onto his bed, hugging himself and suckling on the pacifier. Tears still ran down his face, sliding over his cheeks and into his hair, tickling at the base of his wings, but at least he was quiet. Too exhausted and overwhelmed to try and conjure up some fantasy of comfort, Sunday all but passed out into his nap.
Waking up was awful. His alarm went off, and he had to get up, fix his appearance, and put the rabbit back. It was more important this time. He couldn’t be caught. But his appearance was far worse. His hair was a tangled mess, and even after sleeping, his eyes were swollen and red from crying.
Everyone is going to know you had a tantrum like a spoiled little hatchling. They’ll look at you and they’ll know.
Hating how he looked, he emerged anyways to return the rabbit, then retreated back to his room before the others could return. By the time Sunday heard people in the hallway of the express again, he was sitting in his reading chair, listening to a podcast episode from several months ago where Robin had been a guest speaker, and had a cool washcloth over his eyes. It was the best he could manage to both try and continue calming himself down and to restore his appearance to order.
“Sunday~! Time to wake up! We got takeout again! And I made sure we got your favorite for dissertation, too!” Caelus called after hammering on the door.
“Just a minute!”
It was a great relief that nobody seemed to notice anything off about his appearance. He was doing a good job at appearing to be composed. But he still felt even worse than he had before he’d been left alone for the shopping trip.
Sunday was exhausted. Even with his nightly routines, he couldn’t sleep. He wanted Moony back so badly he had drafted then deleted multiple rambling texts to Robin. Surely Robin wouldn’t still have Moony…
The thought was so upsetting that every time it popped back into his head, Sunday had to go clean the entire party car. The party car was spotless. It shone like it hadn’t in years. Caelus kept joking that you could probably eat off the floor. Which you couldn’t, because even with all of Sunday’s hard work, he couldn’t remove all of the contamination and dust in the same way he couldn’t stop thinking about how surely, Robin wouldn’t still have Moony. She was a grown woman, and needed a teddy bear just as much as any other adult did. What did that make Sunday? She would have given Moony away, at least, not thrown him out.
The floor was shiny enough to be used as a mirror. Sunday stared down at his reflection. He should clean the lounge car, too, it would take longer since he hadn’t cleaned it in a few days. As soon as he had made his way down to the sitting area, he froze.
Sitting on one of the couches was Welt, and curled up in his lap was Dan Heng. The radio was on, playing some news broadcast about some planet or other that Sunday suddenly did not care about. As he watched, Welt lifted a hand to rub Dan Heng’s back with gentle, slow motions, careful not to tangle the long strands of hair that escaped from the loose ponytail they’d been tied into. Dan Heng seemed to sag even further against Welt and made an odd rumbling purring noise. Then, as he moved slightly, something tumbled down from between them, landing softly on the ground. The lion toy. Dan Heng leaned back immediately, stopped purring, but Welt was the one who bent to scoop up the lion and press it back into Dan Heng’s waiting grasp. And then Dan Heng was back to being hugged and pet. A hot, searing feeling squeezed Sunday’s chest so tight he stopped breathing. Something choked its way up his throat and desperately, he tried to stifle it. He couldn’t start crying, but what escaped him was worse. That high, sick little chirp that was the mocking approximation of a hatchling peep.
“Sunday-?”
He dropped the cleaning supplies and escaped, back to the party car, even though it was a dead end. Welt and Dan Heng were between him and his room, and the thought of going past them right now made him want to scream. Vision blurring, he thought he might just start screaming anyways. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his room and hide, but that was also a lie. Throwing himself down in a booth, Sunday hid his face in his arms. If he asked, would Welt hold him too? Rock Sunday in his arms like a hatchling in need of comfort? If Sunday had Moony, dropped him like the Dan Heng’s lion, would Welt pick it up for him and smile so warmly as he handed it back?
No. Those were stupid, disorderly thoughts. Moony wasn’t his anymore, and Robin probably threw Moony away in the trash and Moony was gone forever and contaminated and dirty just like Sunday. A hand settled on his shoulder and Sunday jumped.
“Sunday, are you alright? You’ve been cleaning nonstop for the past five days, and uh… well I came in here to see what Caelus was up to but you really look like you’ve been through the wringer,” it was March, her hand was icy even through his shirt and coat, and she sounded worried.
She knows what’s wrong she knows you stole her rabbit and ruined it you threw it at a wall and broke it chipped it’s eyes let it fall on the floor and it’s dirty now and you put it on her bed.
“I’m fine,” he said, feeling the lie scrape along his throat on the way out.
“How about we go see what Caelus is up to?” March asked. “Maybe he’ll let us watch a movie or something. You sound sick, maybe a movie and some hot cocoa and snacks will help!”
“I’m sorry,” Sunday blurted out as soon as March pulled him upright. “I don’t deserve to go watch a movie or have hot cocoa, I stole… I stole one of your stuffed animals last Saturday and I hurt it because it wasn’t M- because it wasn’t mine.”
Something worse was coming and he covered his mouth with his hands and his wings. March was a pastel blur before him.
“Oh. None of them have gone missing? But if you ever want to borrow one, you’re welcome to! I have a lot, as long as you promise not to hurt any of them again, just ask beforehand! I let Dan Heng borrow one until he got his own,” March said.
“I don’t want any of your stuffed animals, I want my own!” The words escaped anyways.
Sunday ran. Again. He didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead as he ran through the lounge car, all the way back to his room, and wished he could slam the door. Finally safe, he curled up in the corner hidden by his bed, and cried. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! None of it was fair. He wanted Moony, he wanted to be held and comforted, and he couldn’t have any of it. Everyone else always got what he wanted without even having to ask. He would have given everyone what they wanted without having to ask, and that would have been fine, because then there would have been nobody left to judge him for being weak. Now he’s back to nothing, worse than nothing, because he doesn’t even have Robin with him this time. And once again he had to keep every want to himself. When a knock sounded on the door, he didn’t reply.
“Sunday, are you in there? It’s Welt, March told me you weren’t feeling well.”
There was a long stretch of silence and Sunday wiped his nose on his sleeve instead of sniffling and making a sound. He’d have to do the laundry immediately after he got himself together again.
“Would you let me come in to see if you’re alright, Sunday?” Welt finally asked.
“J-just a minute!” Sunday said, and hauled himself to his feet. He had to change his shirt, and wash the tears and snot from his face. And put himself back in order.
“Sunday?”
He didn’t look presentable. His hands couldn’t stop shaking and he wrinkled his shirt badly, it wasn’t comfortable. He wanted to just put on his pajamas instead, since they would be easier to put on, but there was no way he could answer the door in his pajamas. All he could do was smooth the wrinkles as best he could. Then open the door.
“Oh, Sunday, come here,” Welt said, as soon as the door opened. He couldn’t move. There was a sound like pity to Welt’s voice, but it wasn’t bad in the way Sunday had expected it to be. “What’s wrong?”
Welt’s posture was open, arms extended slightly as if ready to catch Sunday.
Ready to catch Sunday to drag him out in front of the entire Family and pluck his wings until he bled for being a thief and a liar.
Sunday shuffled forwards into those open arms and let himself be captured. He felt himself get pulled against Welt’s chest, warm arms around him, and he couldn’t take it anymore.
“It’s not fair,” the words were so, so quiet, but tore their way out painfully. “It’s not fair.”
“I know,” Welt said. “I know it’s not. Can you tell me anyway so I can fix it?”
Sunday shook his head.
“I’m not… I’m not allowed to want things. Everyone else gets them. It’s not fair. I don’t… it’s not a lot. I don’t want a lot. I don’t mean to be so needy. I only… it’s only… just little things. I didn’t mean to steal, I’m sorry,” he said, then clung to Welt in case any of his admissions would spell the end of the hug.
“You’re right, that isn’t fair at all. You are allowed to want things, Sunday. And we’d all really like to know what it is you want, so that you can be happy and cared for here on the Express,” Welt said. “I know, we could play a little game, would that help?”
“What kind of game?” Sunday asked.
“Let’s pretend we’re making your dream bedroom! What color walls would it have?” Welt asked.
Sunday thought for a moment, barely processing that they’d moved into his room, that Welt was gently herding him over to his chair.
“Maybe… light blue?” Sunday said, letting himself get sat down.
“And what kind of bed?”
Sunday stared at the bed in his room. It was a perfectly fine bed. A full, with soft sheets and warm blankets.
“The one I have now is fine.”
“Ah, but this is your dream room! Maybe you’d want more pillows, or curtains to go around it, or an extra fluffy blanket?” Welt prompted.
Sunday shook his head.
“I wouldn’t need anything else. Maybe… just Moony,” he said.
“Moony?”
“My bear. But I don’t have him anymore. I had to give him to Robin because I got too old for toys. She probably threw him away,” Sunday said, and before he could start hyperventilating again, Welt grabbed his hands.
“You don’t know until you ask her. And we both know that Robin cares about everyone very much. She wouldn’t throw away your bear,” Welt said. “Do you want to ask her if she still has your Moony?”
Sunday nodded.
“But I’m scared,” he said. “What if she doesn’t? What if I never get Moony back? I gave him away because Father made me. I should be grown up enough to not want him anymore.”
“March sleeps with a whole collection of plushies on her bed, does that mean she’s not a grownup?” Welt asked, and Sunday shook his head. “And Dan Heng has his lion now, does that mean he’s not a grownup?”
“Of course not! But they’re… they’re allowed to want things!” Sunday said.
“You’re allowed to want things, too,” Welt said.
“Anything?” Sunday asked.
“We can’t stop you from wanting things, and if you ask for anything, then as long as it’s within reason, we can try and make it happen,” Welt said.
Anything within reason. Anything within reason! He chirped and reached out towards Welt.
“I don’t want much, I promise, it’s not a lot and if it’s too troublesome that's ok,” Sunday said, and chirped again. He couldn’t stop. “Please, please, I’ll do anything, but can you please give me another hug and… and tuck me in? I’m tired.”
Welt smiled at him, smiled!
“Of course. But surely you wouldn’t want to get into bed in your day clothes, right? Let’s get you in some nice cozy pajamas.”
Sunday felt like he was in a dream. At Welt’s gentle insistence, he stood, let himself be led to his closet to pick out the soft seagull pajamas he got as a gift, and let Welt help redress him. Then he brushed his teeth, and wandered back over to his bed. He chirped, and Welt gave him a long, warm hug, and tucked him in.
“Can… can you leave the bathroom light on for me? So it’s not dark?” Sunday asked.
“Of course. Sweet dreams, Sunday. If you need any help getting Moony back, just ask, ok?” Welt said.
So Sunday slept, and dreamed of a warm, safe nest in a room with light blue walls.