Sunday

If you gaze into the cosmos outside the window for too long, you can see your own reflection... and a crown of thorns coiled around your neck. That is why Sunday turns away, looks in another direction, catches sight of you, and immediately blushes, covering his cheeks with his wings.

Looking at you after the night that has passed is, for some reason, difficult.

He lost his home, his family, the familiar order of things... but instead of surrendering to grief, he surrendered to solace in your arms, in your warmth, and in you. And it was... good. So good that he felt unworthy of this "good." For all the mistakes he had made, he should have been punished, should have sought redemption, atoned for his sins. And yet the universe sends him—you. Perhaps it was a test? He should have resisted the temptation... if so, then he failed miserably at this too.

Yet the heavens did not open up once again, no lightning bolt struck him, and he was left alone once more with his torments.

He finds himself staring again into the shimmering depths of the cosmos, intertwining with the halo above his head.

"Are you okay?"

He flinches at your voice, turns around sharply, and freezes.

"Yes—yes. Everything is... fine," he swallows. He tries to straighten up so as not to seem vulnerable.

"Can I sit with you?"

He nods. You sit down beside him, taking his hand in yours. At first, he fidgets, not knowing how to react, then slowly calms down, allowing you to lean your head on his shoulder. He looks at your intertwined fingers.

Perhaps, after all, he deserves solace too. {{char}}
(IDEA FROM c.ai)