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Sunday was on the run for his freedom, and quite possibly his life.
He'd escaped the Family's imprisonment only half a system hour ago, and he walked towards the bright lights of Aideen Park in disguise.
He, like Robin, had power over the Dreamscape and could change his appearance as he pleased. Right now, he was posing as a dark-haired man in his thirties, wearing clothes that were expensive but not overstated—the kind of person who wouldn't stand out one bit in the Golden Hour.
Trying to appear casual, he weaved through a crowd that had gathered for a musical performance. Jazz music filled his ears, drowning out the pounding of his heart.
Just as he was getting close to the edge of the crowd, he felt someone's stare on his back. He turned, only to see Sparkle's bright red eyes staring right at him from across the crowd.
He didn't know how she recognized him, transformed as he was. Maybe because she was so skilled in the art of disguise herself.
She flashed him a wide smile, and that was how he knew she was about to cause him a world of hurt. She cupped her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. “Bloodhounds!” she called out. “There's a scary criminal here trying to hurt me!”
His heart dropped to his stomach.
Several of the Bloodhound guards on duty ran towards them, and Sunday resisted the urge to curse under his breath, settling for a quick glare at Sparkle instead. When she caught his eye, her faux-scared expression turned to a smile for a split second.
She waved her hand to urge the Bloodhounds closer. “He's over here! Quick!”
He turned around and weaved quickly through the crowd. He could hear the Bloodhounds shouting to each other, but he didn't look back. When he got to the edge of the crowd, he broke out into a run.
He ran into an alleyway and onto the next street, running across despite the cars driving by. He made his way deep into the maze of the city through various streets and alleyways until he felt he was far enough to catch his breath. He ducked into an alleyway that seemed far enough out of the way and heaved a few heavy, panicked breaths.
Suddenly, a hand covered his mouth. He let out a muffled exclamation, scrambling to remove the hand.
“Shh, don't be too loud,” Sparkle said. “You don't wanna get caught, do you?”
Calmer, Sunday removed her hand from his mouth and turned around. Sparkle was smiling confidently. The city lights shining through the mouth of the alleyway were striking against her shadowed silhouette.
Sunday said, “What in Aeons’ name was the purpose of that?” His voice sounded odd to him, as he'd transformed it into a stranger's, so he let the disguise dissipate. He became himself again, in both appearance and voice.
“To ruffle your feathers a little, of course. To someone as skilled as you, my little prank should be no problem to deal with.”
“Your idea of a ‘prank’ is insane. Are you trying to get me killed?”
“Of course not. I just thought it would be fun. Mind if I tag along?”
Sunday scoffed. “You expect me to believe you wouldn't sell me out to the Bloodhounds again?”
“Luckily, you don't need to.” There were voices and the sound of footsteps nearby. Sparkle pushed him against the alley wall, covering his mouth. She stood on her toes and murmured into his ear, “Either way, you're stuck with me.”
Sunday's heart pounded in his chest. Right now, he was at the mercy of a Fool who was liable to do anything for the sake of entertainment. He was too aware of her warm fingers pressed against his lips, and not aware enough of the faraway voices of the Bloodhounds. Her leg pressed against the inside of his thigh.
He reached up and removed her hand from his mouth by the wrist. Still holding her wrist, he said under his breath, “How were you even able to recognize me?”
Footsteps drew closer, and Sunday tensed. When the footsteps left, he exhaled a long breath. Sparkle was smiling at him, amused by his plight.
Sparkle said, “Don't you think it's just because I'm better with disguises than you?”
“My disguise was fine. How did you know?”
“It's in your eyes, Chicken Wing Boy.” She tugged her hand from his grip and then traced her fingers lightly up his cheek. She brushed the corner of his eye. “Your whole expression, really. You always look so serious, like every situation is life or death.”
“This situation is life or death. I'm an escaped convict.”
“Ah, ah, I don't think so! The Family is too soft to kill one of their own-”
“Quiet,” Sunday hissed. “They'll hear you.”
Thankfully, she quieted, and they listened for any more noise. Sparkle's leg was pressing harder against his, and he didn't know how to mention it without giving her the chance to mock him about it. Even through clothes, his thigh tingled where it made contact with hers.
A voice came from way too close. “Hey!” A Hound called out to one of his comrades.
Sunday's body jerked in surprise, and Sparkle quietly—almost inaudibly—laughed at him. She leaned forward as she laughed, pressing her forehead to his shirt.
Sunday all but growled in frustration. He was being pursued by law enforcement at this very moment, and yet the girl who sicced them onto him was draped against him, laughing at his expense.
He was stressed out and high-strung from being chased, and yet he still liked the way she was pressed against him. He hated it.
The Hound received a muffled, far-off reply from a comrade. He said, “Did you check this block yet?”
Sunday pushed Sparkle off and stepped away from the wall. Her expression feigned hurt, and he tried not to care. He activated his disguise and said, “We need to go.”
“We?”
“Yes. Unless you think the Bloodhounds will be friendly with you once they learn who you are?”
He suspected that if he left on his own, Sparkle would point out his location to the guards again to distract them from herself.
Sparkle only smiled, slipping her hand into his.
Sunday shook his head, but he gripped her hand tightly. At least this was a practical way to make sure she didn't run off and cause more trouble.
After running further away from the Bloodhounds, Sunday thought it would be best to find an in-dream hotel to stay in. The Reverie was obviously a no-go, and a room would give him time to rest and plan away from prying eyes.
When they finally arrived at the entrance of a hotel, Sparkle chortled. “Did you pick this one for a reason?”
The signage at the front entrance was not over-the-top, but was dark and elegant in a sensual way. Both hourly and nightly rates were listed. It was obviously a hotel meant for couples.
“Most hotels are like this in the Golden Hour,” Sunday said. “Take it or leave it. You don't need to hide with me.”
“No. I'll come.”
Sunday worried what she could be planning. But, not wanting to cause a scene, he silently tugged her hand and they went into the hotel.
In the lobby, Sunday approached the front desk. Before he could get in a word, Sparkle grabbed his arm and rubbed her body against his side.
She dramatically moaned. “Oh, baby, please hurry up. I don't know how much longer I can wait!”
Sunday's cheeks burned. The woman at the front desk raised her eyebrows at them.
Sunday cleared his throat, not trusting his voice to not come out hoarse. “We just need one room, please.”
Sparkle moaned again, pressing her breasts against his arm. The worst thing was, he enjoyed the sensation, and her moaning was not helping. He felt hot under his shirt.
After a stilted conversation with the employee, Sunday finally got ahold of a room key and all but dragged Sparkle to their room. As he pulled her down the hallway, she said, “I didn't know you were so eager.”
Sunday didn't think his face could get hotter than it already was. He pulled her into their room and locked the door behind them. He turned on the light switch and glared at her. “What was that? Are you an animal in heat?”
Of course, she was smiling like always. “Aww, don't act so upset. You liked it, didn't you?”
“I didn't-” Sunday stopped himself. He couldn't exactly say he didn't like any of it. Despite everything, he still felt like a sinner when he lied. Lying wasn't worth the hours of rumination he'd have later about whether he was a sinner. He said, “It was completely uncalled for. What if we were caught while you were causing a scene?”
“You were in disguise, we were fine! You can take it off now.”
“And show my embarrassment to you on my own face?” Sunday asked, but he dropped the disguise.
“That's exactly what I'm saying.” Sparkle took a moment to study his face. “Aww, so cute and pouty.”
Sunday stared at her, debating commenting on that because she could not be serious, but he decided to ignore it. He brushed past her, walking into the room. “You're being completely ridiculous. Do whatever you want. I'm going to start making a plan on how to escape the Dreamscape.”
“Don't you want my help?” Robin's voice said.
Sunday turned and looked over his shoulder, shocked, until he saw Robin standing there with an uncharacteristic doe-eyed look.
He turned back around. “Don't ever turn into my sister in this kind of establishment again.”
“What?” she said, still in Robin's voice, “Don't you like it? I thought you'd have a sister complex or something.”
“No. Stop that.” He sat at a small table in the corner of the room, determined to ignore her.
Thankfully, Sparkle turned back into her normal form. She leaned over his shoulder, watching as he grabbed a tiny notebook and pencil from his pocket. She said, “Seriously though, can't you just get help from your sister? She'd get you out of here in no time.”
“I don't want to implicate her. The last thing she needs right now is for people to think she's complicit in my crimes.”
“So noble.”
Sunday refused to take the bait. “Go entertain yourself with something else. I need to focus on writing down everything I know about the Golden Hour.”
“How boring. Tell me if something interesting happens.” Sparkle stood and then flopped onto the bed.
The one and only bed in the room.
That was a problem for later.
Once Sunday finally ran out of ideas to brainstorm for his escape plan, it was late enough to go to sleep.
Sleep was not technically required in the Dreamscape, but it was still beneficial to do so to rest the mind. Staying up for days had no long-term effects, but it would dull his mind.
Sparkle was sitting on the bed over the covers, fiddling with her phone. Despite her already having taken a spot on the bed, Sunday walked up to her and stated, “I'll take the bed.” He tried to leave no room for discussion.
Of course, it was impossible to leave no room for Sparkle, who thrived on dramatic conversation like it was air. She looked up from her phone. “Really? What a coincidence! I'm also sleeping on the bed tonight.”
Sunday put his hands behind his back, setting his shoulders stiffly. “No, you are not.”
“What do you want me to do? Sleep on the floor? Should I ask room service for a spare futon?”
“If you must.”
“Oh, but won't that look so strange? A couple who rented a room for the night, sleeping in separate beds? What if the Bloodhounds find out and catch you?”
“We are not a couple,” Sunday stated plainly, but Sparkle smiled at him like she knew how much effort it took to keep his voice steady. He gave the problem a few moments of thought. “A lover's quarrel is a good enough excuse. You might even use it to get your own room,” he said pointedly.
Sparkle fake-frowned. “Tired of me already? How sad.”
“Well? Is it not a sound excuse?”
She tossed her phone to the side and leaned back on the pillows, closing her eyes. “How are your acting skills? Are you ready to stage an argument with me in the lobby?”
“That would draw far too much unnecessary attention.”
“And requesting a second room with no sign of an argument would be less suspicious?”
Sunday sighed. “I don't know why you're so intent on sharing a bed with me.”
Sparkle opened her eyes again, rolling onto her side and supporting herself with an elbow. “Why do most people share beds, Chicken Wing Boy?”
His cheeks heated slightly. “You are not ‘most people.’ I know you're just trying to get under my skin.”
“Is it working?”
Sunday turned around. “I'm using the shower first. Take whichever side you want.”
“So bold, Chicken Wing Boy~” Sparkle cooed as he walked away. Sunday stiffened his stance, refusing to show any sign of weakness.
Sunday came out of the bathroom in a simple, dark night set. Sparkle said, “Where did you even get that?”
“I have power over the Dreamscape. I can change my appearance at will, and that also goes for just my clothes.”
She sprung up from the bed and grabbed the neckline of his shirt. He leaned slightly away in surprise. Sparkle rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “Wow, it's physically here! My disguises are just illusions, what a shame.” She looked up at him, and he felt hot with her face so close.
Sparkle leaned back out of his personal space and opened a nearby closet. “But, look!” She giggled. “I'm gonna wear one of these. Aren't they so modest for a hotel like this?” In the closet were two dark silk robes. “Do they expect us to cover up after sex or something? Actually, do you think they’re gross?”
The reminder that they were at a love hotel made Sunday's throat go hoarse. He cleared it before speaking. “I am sure they are replaced every day. It does not cost any material to make more, after all. And the labor cost should be rather small.”
“Huh. The dream is so weird.”
While Sunday was debating whether or not to take that as an insult, Sparkle grabbed one of the robes and fled to the bathroom with a few parting words.
As he waited for her, Sunday sat on the edge of the bed and waited for his demise.
When Sparkle came out, it was hard not to stare at her. Her hair was tied into two low pigtails by her neck. And while the silk robe technically covered more than her regular clothing, it was made of thinner material and felt much less modest.
The idea that she was about to get in bed with him made his traitorous heart leap. He hated that he had these reactions to her, and that it took so much effort not to stare.
It was a small mercy that she said nothing as she lifted the covers on the other side of the bed. Once she laid down, Sunday—after a painful moment of deliberation—got under the covers and clicked off the bedside lamp, making the room go dark.
Sparkle said, “What, are we actually going to sleep already?”
It was pretty late in the night already. “You should’ve asked that before you got in bed. When do you normally sleep?”
“I dunno. Haven't slept since I got to Penacony.”
Sunday sighed, eyes closed. “I should've pushed harder for this to be included in the introductory pamphlet. Sleeping isn't necessary in the dream, but your mind still benefits from the rest. Just try it and see how it is. You'll probably feel much better in the morning.”
“You're being awfully nice,” Sparkle said. “Is this the natural kinship that forms between bedfellows?”
“Of course not.”
“Then, why?”
That question sounded oddly genuine. Sunday got the feeling that she wasn't just asking as another way to push his buttons—she genuinely wanted to know.
He wondered if this was what Sparkle was truly like—insecure in herself and unafraid to admit ignorance.
The blankets rustled as Sunday turned over partially onto his side, looking at her dark silhouette. Her body was facing the wall. He asked, “Are you under the impression that I hate you?”
“Why wouldn't I be? I know you hate my guts.”
He knew he hadn't given her much reason to believe any different, but her answer still surprised him. Carefully, still not fully convinced this wasn't a trick, he said, “I do not hate you. If I hated you, I would've kicked you out of this room hours ago.”
“You could've fooled me. Why do you act like you hate me?”
It was because he hated how easily she got under his skin. He hated that his perfectly crafted persona crumbled in an instant every time she opened her lips. She knew exactly which buttons to push to force him off balance.
He did not want to admit any of that, however, and answered with a question of his own. “Why do you act like you want me to hate you?”
Sparkle finally rolled over to face him, and he could tell she was smiling even in the near-dark. “Don't you get it? You're just so fun to mess with.”
The thing that he refused to admit was that it was almost fun for him, too.
In disguise, Sunday held out his hand to Sparkle just outside the hotel. “Come on. We need to get moving.”
She smiled, and her eyes were mocking him. “Aww, you really want to hold my hand?”
He didn't show a reaction. Sparkle was admittedly good at pushing his buttons, but his face was a mask that had been shaped by years of dealing with the Family and Gopher Wood. “It's the best way to make sure you don't run off, Fool. Would you prefer it if I left you behind?”
She placed her hand lightly on his, caressing his palm with her fingers before pulling her hand away. Sunday's skin tingled where she'd touched through his gloves.
She said, “Oh? What could this mean? Should I write to an advice column? ‘There's this Chicken Wing Boy who keeps making excuses to hold my hand. Do you think he likes me?’”
He reached out and grabbed her hand himself. “I tolerate you, and that should be enough. We need to meet with someone and switch to a new hotel.”
He'd arranged a meeting with a Family employee under the assumed identity of another Family member using the hotel's public phone. He was lucky that people in the dream always had their guard down, not thinking he could be an imposter.
He tugged her along and started walking. Just before he turned his head away, he caught a glimpse of her pouting. The way her cheeks puffed out showed an innocence that would have suited her if not for her personality. She said, “You're no fun today.”
“If you want entertainment, go find it somewhere else.”
Even though he wasn't looking at her, he could hear Sparkle's grin as she spoke. “No. I think I'll stay right here!”
Sunday sighed. He didn't know why he didn't just leave her on the street.
But, sometimes, when he looked in her eyes, he thought he could see the true person beneath the facade she put up. That person intrigued him—something about her was like a kindred spirit. They were like small glimpses at the person who had been laying next to him last night.
Sadness. Jadedness about the world.
As long as he sensed he was getting closer to her true self, he wouldn't be able to leave her be.
Later, as they sat at a table in a relatively lonely corner of Aideen Park, the sound of beeping gambling machines and music covering their voices, Sparkle said, “How long until he gets here? I'm bored.”
She was in a disguise as well, having donned it just after they left the hotel. Sunday was a little relieved that she could, at least for now, not torture him with her cute face and voice.
He said, “As a follower of Aha, should you not make your own entertainment?”
She rested her hand on her palm. “People-watching is boring here. Just a bunch of people trying to get rich in the most boring way imaginable. I'd rather stare at your cute little wings instead.”
“I'm suddenly glad to be in disguise.”
She smiled. “Whatever you say~” Even with her voice disguised, the little singsongy trill she made in the back of her throat as she teased him was unmistakable. He felt like he was knocked off-balance.
Sparkle continued, “I could just shout your name to everyone and make my own little circus out of the ruckus if I wanted. But as a follower of... which Aeon do you follow now?”
She asked it so nonchalantly, but she had to know it was a sore spot. His voice came out strained and gravelly. “I don't know anymore.”
She laughed. “How could you have ever had a reputation as a perfect little pretty boy? You're so easy to rile up.”
“The Family would disagree.”
“It's just me, then? Ooh, how flattering!”
The most embarrassing part was that it was true. He was usually able to hide his inner thoughts from everyone—he wouldn't have avoided detection as a follower of the Order otherwise—but Sparkle got under his skin way too easily. She always knew the exact worst thing to do or say.
He said, “I would not take that as a compliment.”
“Good thing I'm not you then~!”
Soon, the person they were waiting for soon arrived, and Sunday carefully interacted with him as the fake identity he'd assumed.
The man was a dream nurse stationed in the hotel on the side of the dream rather than reality. Sunday carefully urged from him some details about his schedule, as well as a few vague hints about security rotations.
As they walked away, Sparkle said, “Aren't you in charge of a lot of this stuff? Isn't it kind of embarrassing that you don't know the details?”
Sunday didn't fall for the bait because Sparkle was off the mark, this time. “I was in charge of it. Even though I’m not a member of the Bloodhounds, I know the general picture of security, especially around the Reverie. However, I wouldn't put it past leadership to change it specifically to thwart my escape.”
“Well, did they?”
“No.”
The rest of the day was spent similarly, approaching the few members of the Family he thought he could fool with a disguise to get a general idea of the situation around the Reverie.
Nothing had changed since his imprisonment. He didn't know whether it was a relief or a bad sign of things to come.
Sunday entered the room of a different hotel, red in the face. This time, Sparkle had asked the front desk attendant if they sold extra condoms at the hotel. Extra-small, specifically. She'd emphasized that part much, much more than she needed to.
She had to know it was an odd request, even besides everything else—in the Dreamscape, there was no risk of disease or pregnancy.
Sparkle left her disguise the moment he closed the door. “I didn't think Mr. Chicken Wing Boy couldn't take a dick joke. Did I hit it right on the head? No pun intended.”
Sunday didn't dare leave his disguise. It was the only mask—the only semblance of dignity—he had left. “I do not need to tell you anything about my body.”
“So it really is small? Don't worry, it just matters what you do with it!”
Sunday rubbed his temples with a hand—a poor excuse to hide part of his face. The worst part of this was not what she was saying, but the fact that all of this “dick” talk made him extremely aware of his own dick—which was of perfectly normal size, mind you. He could tell blood was rushing between his legs by how he was starting to feel turned on, and he willed himself not to get hard.
This was insane. Sparkle was insane.
Sunday realized Sparkle hadn't said anything in a while. He peered past his fingers and caught her staring at him with something that almost resembled concern.
After a few moments of staring, Sparkle shrugged. “I'll leave you to it, then. Go work on your cute little escape plan, or whatever you called it.” She turned around and walked away. Distantly, he heard her ungraciously plop onto the bed.
Had she been worried that she went too far? He really hadn't felt like it was too far at all—which honestly seemed like a personal problem that called for some self-examination—but she'd considered his feelings and gave him some room to breathe. It was an odd feeling.
Sunday finally dropped his disguise, calm enough to be in his own body again. He followed Sparkle into the room, flustered and half-hard, hoping that the sight of her wouldn't set him off again.
The moment he caught sight of her, he wished he'd gone to the bathroom instead. She wasn't even trying to be alluring, but the way she laid on the bed, pigtails perfectly fanned around her head and legs bent in a way that showed off their shape, sent a thrill through him.
He quickly called the first shower and zipped out of the room as quickly as possible.
He had barely stepped out of the bathroom, changed into simple nightwear, when he caught sight of a half-naked Sparkle, wearing only a bra and panties.
She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling at him. Sunday said, “ What are you doing?” His eyes darted back and forth between her and the wall.
She held her ankles as she lightly rocked back and forth. “I don't have any pajamas. You don't expect me to sleep in my costume, do you?”
Even as flustered as he was, he didn't miss that she referred to her regular clothes as a costume. Trying very hard to keep his eyes on her face, he said, “That doesn't matter. Why would you change your clothes before your shower?”
“I dunno.” She stood from the bed and walked by him, fingers caressing his arm. “Maybe just to fluster a certain Chicken Wing Boy.”
She went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving Sunday standing there in a hot, blushing mess.
Sunday sat at a little table in the room and pulled out his notes on his escape plan. He tried to read them, but he couldn't concentrate on the words. All he could think about was Sparkle sitting on that bed, and how she'd done it just so he would see her.
He debated how humiliating it would be to masturbate right here, while Sparkle was still in the shower. He knew the shame he would feel wouldn't be worth it, but he felt himself growing harder. He put his elbow on the table, head in hand, and sighed, glancing at the tent in his pants. There was no way he was hiding this. Sparkle would have a field day.
He folded and shoved his notes back into his pocket and trudged to the bed, intending to lie down under the blanket to hide his arousal. However, just as he was sitting at the edge of the bed, the bathroom door opened, and there was Sparkle, hair down, wearing nothing but a towel.
He felt heat rising to his face. He said, “I would have thought that this was too far for a prank, even for you.”
Sparkle smiled. “What if it's not a prank?”
The room fell silent. He stared at her, as if doing so would let him see the thoughts in her head. She wasn't wearing makeup, but her smile acted as a mask just as well.
Sparkle waggled her eyebrows. “You're considering it.”
“I'm considering what's going through that head of yours.”
“Oh?” She approached him and stood over him, her forehead almost touching his. He had no option but to stare into her bright red eyes. “Is it not enough that I want to see what the former leader of the Oak Family looks like when he moans?”
Sunday exhaled through gritted teeth. Her voice had gone straight to his erection.
Sparkle shoved a knee onto the bed between his legs, and he hissed as her knee brushed against his clothed erection. Sparkle laughed. “You're already hard? No wonder you were sitting so awkwardly.”
Sunday grunted. “I'm done with your little farce. If you're going to act like this, you'd better face the music.” He pulled her face down to his and kissed her messily, his lips not slotting quite right over hers.
When he let her go, his lips tingling, she was smiling. “I should've known you'd go for a kiss on the lips.” She leaned over him, urging him to lay his back on the bed. Hair draped around like a curtain, she said, “You know we're not in a real relationship, right?”
He growled, pulled her fully onto him by her waist, and kissed her again.
From there, everything was a tangle of limbs and touches and scathing words. When Sparkle finally let her towel fall all the way down, Sunday couldn't help but stare at her body.
She said, “I will say, the Order was lucky to have you. It feels good to be worshiped by you.”
“I do not worship you.” He pushed her back onto the mattress, climbing over her. He kneeled above her, peeling off his dark, long-sleeve shirt and throwing it to the side. “I don't even worship your body.”
He must've been imagining it, but Sparkle's laugh almost sounded nervous. “Then what was with that adoring little face, lover boy?”
He pulled down his lower garments low enough to free his erection, and Sparkle laughed. His cheeks heated with embarrassment at the sound. Was that really her first reaction to seeing him?
She said, “Is this why we're doing this? You wanted to show your dick to me to prove you're not extra-small?”
She was so frustrating, but all it did was make him more desperate to touch her. Sunday dragged her hips—and thus her whole body—closer, and she squeaked in surprise and delight. “You know that's not what this is. You riled me up on purpose.”
He tried to lean over her, but the waistband of his pants was too restrictive around his thighs, and he grunted in annoyance. He stood from the bed and kicked off his pants and boxers. “What exactly were you hoping for? Were you just pent up?” He got back on the bed, kneeling between her legs again.
Sparkle just stared at him, her smile not nearly as wide as before. It was off-putting. She said, “I think it's hot when you grunt and growl like that, you know.”
Her odd expression made him pause. “Do you... really want this?”
He searched her face. Her lack of makeup made her look tired and vulnerable in a way that he wasn't used to. She was smiling, but the expression wasn't plastered onto her face like a mask.
Sparkle grinded her mound against his erection. “What do you think?”
He groaned at the friction, and he both hated and enjoyed that he knew she liked the sound. He pressed his tip to her slit, and she let out a tiny little moan. “Just like that, lover boy. Come on.”
He held himself with his fingers and guided his tip lower until he found her entrance. He pressed slowly into her, and she squeaked a little.
He didn't know whether it was a good sound until she shoved her hips closer. “More,” she said.
Gritting his teeth, he sank into her slowly, hissing at the feel of being inside her. She felt so warm and tight. She flexed her walls around him and he groaned.
Sparkle chuckled and said, voice strained, “I should've known that you'd be circumcised, hmm?”
“Doesn't matter,” he grunted. Just a little more, and he bottomed out, coming to a standstill as they both caught their breath.
Sparkle let out a cute moan, wiggling her hips just a little. “Feels so good. You're right, it doesn't matter. I just forgot to make fun of you when I saw it earlier.”
It was silent for several moments, besides their breaths. It hit Sunday just how intimate this felt, being inside her and waiting for her to adjust. He'd even kissed her on the lips earlier.
He wanted to see how she would react if he kissed her again. He leaned down and kissed her lips slowly and softly, with none of the urgency or messiness from earlier. When he parted from the kiss, he had the pleasure of watching her eyes flutter open. Eyes half lidded, she said, “What was...” She trailed off.
Sunday gently shushed her and kissed her again. Maybe it was all in his head, maybe she was just an insanely good actress, but he felt like he was kissing whoever the real her was behind all of the masks.
He kissed her again and again, and she began moaning into his mouth, just from the kisses. He separated from her lips one last time, bringing his cock most of the way out of her, and then thrusted in.
They moaned in unison, and then Sparkle giggled.
“Something funny?” he asked just before he thrusted into her again.
She didn't answer, and embarrassment shot through Sunday as if she'd made fun of him.
He thrusted again and again, picking up the pace, grunting a little with every thrust. Sparkle moaned, her tight walls clenching around his cock.
When he felt the beginnings of an orgasm starting to build, Sparkle laughed. She said, “You even make missionary exciting! You're always so serious about it all.”
Frustrated that she was still making fun of him, he thrusted harder, and she moaned again and again.
She sounded so much different from when she was faking it in the hotel lobby.
He felt like her expression was getting more and more vulnerable, her face betraying more emotion the longer they went. Her moans became more primal, less controlled, and he felt his orgasm coming closer.
But there was something about how her face was, strained almost like she was in pain, that made him stop thrusting into her. Cock still throbbing inside her, he asked, “Are you okay?”
Her eyes slowly opened. “You're... worried about me?”
He didn't want to answer that question. “Do you want to stop?”
Sparkle gave a half-hearted laugh. “Am I really acting that weird?”
“Enough that I would notice.”
“Oh.” She smiled softly. “I want to keep going. Just... slower, maybe.”
This was Sparkle, the person who antagonized, humiliated, and teased him at every possible moment, but his heart felt like a knot in his chest at the idea that he might have hurt her. He said, “I can do that.”
He started thrusting again, savoring the pleasant friction of dragging his cock slowly in and out of her. He kept this slow pace as he thrusted again and again, and soon, Sparkle was moaning softly all over again, just like with the slow kisses earlier.
It was like watching her come undone. Her moans were so intense and sweet, and her face filled with more emotion than he'd ever seen. She almost looked like she might cry.
The sounds she made, the genuine emotions on her face, the way her body responded to him—he was becoming trapped in her spell, almost forgetting that they weren't lovers or even friends. All he wanted was to pleasure her, to see her become more and more undone, to believe that he was seeing glimpses of the real her.
He kissed her slowly, drawing a sweet moan from her mouth. His heart ached as he realized she probably reacted this way to gestures of affection because she wasn't used to getting any.
He was desperate not to come before her. Just as he was reaching his limit, and he felt the orgasm about to come, Sparkle moaned and came long and hard around him. The pulsing and her beautiful moan sent him over the edge, and he released into her, cock pulsing hard and heavy.
When he was completely spent, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she could lay partially draped over him.
He opened his eyes, looking to see if she would say something, but she had already fallen asleep—or at least pretended to—head resting on his chest.
He held her as he fell asleep, vaguely wondering if she'd figure out a way to make fun of him for this in the morning.
He woke up to the sight of Sparkle smiling widely right in front of him. “Rise and shine, Chicken Wing Boy!”
Sunday startled and swore under his breath. Sparkle sat up and started laughing. “Fool, what are you-”
She laughed harder. “You should've seen your face! I get it, though. Not used to waking up next to someone, are you?”
Sunday sat up, rubbing his face. “That's not what startled me.”
“I know,” she said lightly. “It's just fun to twist it around and make fun of you for it.”
It was only then that Sunday realized that he was still naked, his bottom half covered by the blanket. Sparkle was sitting on top of the covers, wearing a bra and panties. She'd probably woken up a while before him.
But it seemed that she truly didn't have any other clothes with her. They'd need to buy something more comfortable for her to sleep in.
Sunday had the urge to slap himself in the face. Why was he thinking like Sparkle needing pajamas had anything to do with him? Shopping for her wasn't his job.
Sparkle stood from the bed. “Well, time to put my clothes back on. What a shame, it was so fun to see your reaction to my naked body.”
Images from the night before flashed through Sunday's mind, and he felt himself blush. Sparkle smiling up at him from the bed, her expression contorting with pleasure, her moans getting louder as she became more and more undone-
He stared down at the blanket.
Sparkle caught on instantly. “Are you thinking about me? Good to know I can torment you even in your memories.”
Her teasing tone was so different from how she was last night. He'd felt so close to her, like he was finally catching a glimpse of the real her, but now all her walls were up again.
He wondered if she did it on purpose to drive him crazy.
“So you admit that it's torment.”
“Yeah. I'm not oblivious, Chicken Wing Boy.”
It suddenly bothered him that she never used his name. Even last night, she'd called him lover boy, like she was avoiding saying his actual name. “Why don't you ever call me by my name?”
Sparkle held up her clothes, carefully stepping into them. “It's a stage name, isn't it? Why would I call you that?”
Her blasé reaction gave him pause. He'd never tried to hide that Sunday wasn't his birth name, but he didn't expect Sparkle to catch on and treat it like it was an obvious truth.
“It's not exactly a stage name. But the Family does mandate its members to come up with a name to be used in the dream and public-facing affairs, yes. You shouldn’t find fault in using it, though. Sunday is more familiar to me than my birth name, at this point.”
Sparkle put her arms through the sleeves of her outfit and started putting on her accessories one by one. Sunday watched with fascination.
Sparkle frowned a little. “Hmm.”
“You don't like it?”
“It just feels too familiar.” She strapped her mask to her head and adjusted its position carefully. “I hate my stage name. It's cute, but it doesn't mean anything anymore.”
“Mine is different. I don't even associate myself with my birth name anymore. I chose this name for myself, and it has meaning because of that.”
He remembered the day he chose his name along with Robin. She'd chosen her name because she admired the birds in the sky, and he'd chosen his because he knew that some birds were destined to fall to the ground.
But now, he wasn't sure about his old ideology that had led him to choose the name Sunday. It had failed him, after all. Maybe his name was meaningless, too, if he was on the cusp of giving up on the Order.
Sparkle said, “Yeah, I don't feel like my old name, either. But I'm not Sparkle.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Nothing. Everything. Anything but Sparkle.”
“Okay.” He could do her that one small favor.
Sparkle smiled and said, “Now, do I get to stare at you while you get dressed?”
Sunday sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly remembering his embarrassment. It was only after Sparkle put on that smile again that he realized how candid of a conversation they'd just managed to have with one another.
Sparkle said, “Just kidding. I almost forgot to apply my makeup. You got away this time.”
She all but skipped into the bathroom, and Sunday found himself staring after her.
Sparkle felt the material of the clothing on a nearby rack, whistling appreciatively. “Wow, the former head of the Oak Family is treating me with his big money~!”
Sunday covered her mouth with a hand. In a low voice, he said, “Are you trying to get us caught?” Their disguises weren't worth anything if she stated his identity so plainly.
She removed his hand from her face and held it. “Relax! There's no one within earshot.”
“There is no one that you're able to see, you mean.” Sunday wrenched his hand from her grip.
“Sure, sure.” Sparkle turned away to look at the clothes on the next rack.
He had taken Sparkle to a clothing store with the intent to buy her a pajama set. He thought it would be a quick endeavor, but Sparkle was inspecting every aisle, as if looking for the perfect set.
Sunday said, “Why do you care so much about which one you get?”
“I have an image to uphold, even in front of you. Besides, I want my one gift from the Chicken Wing Boy himself to be a good one.”
The idea that this was the only “gift” he'd ever give her was a little unsettling. It was a reminder that they would be going their separate ways very soon. If she didn't get bored of him, they'd still part ways once Sunday escaped the dream.
Sparkle held up a pajama set. “How about this one?”
It was a white pajama set with chickens printed all over it. “I was under the impression that you have an image to uphold.”
“But it's funny, right?”
“I can't contain my laughter.”
Sparkle gasped, smiling.
Sunday frowned. “What?”
“So you do have jokes! I thought your entire sense of humor revolved around being a wet blanket.”
Sunday sighed, and Sparkle once again returned to her shopping.
The set she finally picked was a halovian-themed pajama set with elegant little halos and miniature wings printed all over it.
She'd forgone all of the silken sets made of the high-quality material she'd been appreciating earlier and instead got a set with a pattern that was supposed to represent him.
He wasn't sure how to feel about that.
The day went by similarly to the previous, with Sunday making what little preparations he could while Sparkle followed and watched him like he was her own personal immersia.
Or maybe he was the one dragging her along with him. He couldn't quite tell the difference.
Later that night, in yet another hotel room, Sparkle changed into her new pajamas and Sunday felt strange at the sight.
She was Sparkle, the unreadable, larger-than-life Fool, and she was wearing clothes that he bought her. She'd specifically picked a design that was reminiscent of him, and it made him feel like she was his.
She smiled. “Cat got your tongue?”
He liked how the clothes looked on her, but all he wanted to do was rip them off.
She was addicting. After last night, when he'd seen her so vulnerable and full of emotion, all he wanted was to be with her again, to catch that glimpse of her true self again.
He cleared his throat. “My tongue is just fine.” He didn't want her to know how much these simple pajamas affected him.
Sparkle's expression dropped only the tiniest bit, and Sunday suddenly felt guilty for not saying anything.
When they laid in bed, Sunday didn't immediately turn out the light.
He still felt guilty for lying about how she affected him. He admitted, “When I caught sight of you in the clothes I bought you, the only thing I could think was that I wanted to tear them off of you.”
“Really?” She turned towards him, looking pleased. “I don't think that store does returns.”
“You know that's not what I meant by that.”
“Fine, then.” She sat up, facing him, and reached up to the first button on her shirt. “Why don't I put on a show for you?”
He covered her hands with his own before she could undo the button. He didn't want this to be just another one of her performances. “Let me.”
Sparkle blinked up at him blankly before slowly letting her hands fall from her shirt. Sunday unclasped the first button and slowly made his way down her shirt.
Both of them breathed slowly, without much intensity, but Sparkle's breath hitched as he accidentally brushed her clothed breast.
After he undid the last button, he gingerly parted her shirt open, revealing her breasts to the air.
He said, “You're not wearing a-”
Sparkle smiled slightly. “What kind of person wears a bra to bed?”
“One with an image to uphold,” he replied, caressing her breast with his thumb.
“Ha, even I'm not that intense.” He brushed over her nipple, and her breath hitched again.
He slowly explored her body, first with his fingers on her breasts and then his mouth. He kissed and felt her stomach, stripped off her pants and felt her legs. He kissed her everywhere, learned the shape of her with his eyes and his hands and his mouth.
When she finally decided to do the same to him though, it was like an exercise in vulnerability. She stripped off his clothing piece by piece, and it was nothing like the first time they'd done this.
Before, everything had moved quickly, not giving him enough time to comprehend the situation before he was already in it. Today, though, as each part of his body was revealed to her, he had to make peace with the idea of baring it to her, of being vulnerable and seen by the person who made fun of him and tricked him at every turn.
And where he had been gentle with her, she was much more intense.
He was laying down as she sat next to him, and her fingers slowly, gently wrapping around his erection until she was holding it in her hand. His breaths came quickly, almost like a mild panic.
She dragged her hand over him slowly. “How does it feel to be at my mercy? Scary? Brave? Perhaps what you've wanted all this time?”
Sunday said nothing, only hissing in a breath as her fingers moved over his sensitive cock.
Sparkle said, “I was wondering why you let me follow you around like this. I thought maybe you just found me entertaining enough to keep around. But maybe you just wanted this, all along.” She gripped him a little firmer, her finger playing with his tip. She leaned in close to his face and whispered, “So, how about it? Were you letting me follow you around all this time because you wanted to fuck me?”
“That- that's not-”
Sparkle quietly laughed. “But of course that's it. Why else would you put up with me?” She pumped his cock faster, and he groaned. “Why else would you spend time with someone like me?”
Even as arousal clouded his mind, her words didn't ring true. She had the wrong idea about this—all of this.
“You have it all wrong.”
Her fingers were rough against his cock—too rough, without any good lubrication, but the painful friction turned him on even more. He knew she was trying to jerk him off painfully, and he liked it.
“Do I? I may be a Fool, but I think I'm the only one making sense.”
She jerked him until precum spurted from his tip, giving some well-needed lubrication, and her fingers suddenly felt so much more sensual. Sunday moaned, his hips pressing up further into her hand.
Just as he felt his orgasm coming, she stopped, holding his pulsing, aching cock in her hand. “Not yet,” she said, and he pathetically gasped.
Sparkle said, “Why did you let me come with you?” She stroked her fingers lightly on his cock, keeping him close to orgasm.
Through the arousal, a thought occurred to him. “Is this,” he groaned, “an interrogation?”
“Just tell me why.”
She toyed with his aching, neglected cock just enough to keep him at the cusp of orgasm. His mind was blank—he couldn't form a whole thought, as much as he tried.
“Sparkle-” he said, before remembering she didn't want to be called that. Panting, he said, “Not Sparkle. I... I want to know who you are.”
Sparkle's teasing of his cock stopped. “What?”
His cock ached, but his brain latched onto this truth and he remembered what he wanted to say. “I let you follow me because I want to know who you are.”
She ran her fingers slowly up and down his length, and he moaned. She said, “What do you mean?”
Her finger played with his tip, and he couldn't keep his thoughts straight. “I just... want-” He moaned pathetically as she lightly squeezed his length. Between breaths, he said, “I want- to know who you are beneath... all of that. The person I saw last night, the one that- ah , feels real, I want to see her again.”
Sparkle started jerking him again, and he moaned at the intensity, already forgetting what they'd just been talking about. He thought she'd stop again, but she just kept pumping her hand on him more and more.
He came quickly, his cock shooting cum all over himself and her hand.
It was the greater part of a minute before he came back to himself. He blinked slowly at Sparkle. “That was... certainly one way to ask me.”
Sparkle traced her finger over his stomach, spreading his cum around in the process. “Was it okay? I thought that this way, I'd get the truth.” He couldn't tell if she was genuinely shy or just acting.
“It's fine.” He liked it a lot more than he should have. “But I... I don't like to lie. I either tell the truth or hide it.”
Sparkle met his eyes, smiling. “So next time I want a question answered, should I ask the normal way?”
Sunday laughed a little, but the sound barely made it out of his chest. He wasn't used to laughing naturally. Maybe it was just the afterglow, or maybe it just felt good to have stated his feelings out in the open.
“Ask however you want. I wouldn't complain.”
She giggled, but it was the first time he felt like she was laughing with him, and not at him.
Over the next few days, Sunday continued making preparations for his escape, with Sparkle tagging along.
He couldn't chance getting too close to the Reverie without a proper plan, but Family members were easy to find enjoying the Dreamscape, and Sunday knew the exact identities to assume to get the most information and resources out of them.
All the while, Sparkle was of no help at all, making up progressively nonsensical identities for herself in order to tag along without getting caught.
When he was posing as Henry, a new employee at the Reverie, and she was posing as Bunny, Henry's cousin’s sister's friend's affair partner, it was a wonder they didn't get caught.
He should've been annoyed, but he was just glad that Henry wasn't a real person with a reputation to ruin. It was also a little bit fun to see what identity she'd use to try to get under his skin next.
Common sense told him that he should just leave her somewhere and not look back. But he was too far in at this point, and every day he felt like he got closer and closer to the real Sparkle.
He felt that he could see the real Sparkle in the occasional soft expressions she made and the brief candid conversations they managed to have in-between her teasing. Every glimpse of her was addicting, and it drew him in further and further until he couldn't escape her magnetism.
It was a humiliating place to be, so drawn in by a Fool who delighted in his misery, but he found solace in the fact that she stuck to him in the same way he was stuck to her, unable to let go.
Sparkle walked backwards, facing him as they passed by rows of shops and boutiques. “So, is this a date?”
Sunday noticed she was about to crash into someone and reached forward, steering her away with a hand on her shoulder.
Sparkle looked to see what she almost hit. “Whoops! I almost hit someone there.” She smiled, putting a hand to her mouth. “So thoughtful, Chicken Wing Boy. You’re such a gentlemanly date.”
“Most dates do not include both parties being in disguise.”
“They do on Hallow's Eve. Didn't think of that, did you?”
Sunday steered her away from a lamppost. He sighed. “Please, just look where you're going.”
“Aw, but it's so cute seeing you steer me back and forth. You really don't want me to get hurt.”
Sunday raised his eyebrows. “Would you rather me let you crash into the next pole?”
“I know you wouldn't let me,” Sparkle said, but she faced forward and fell into step next to him, like she didn't want to test her luck to see if it was true.
“Why wouldn't I?”
Sparkle stopped walking, and he naturally stopped next to her.
“Because you care,” Sparkle said. He looked down at her, and she was staring at him, expression unreadable. “You care, don't you?”
Because you care.
Sunday's thoughts went haywire, a mix of of course I care and why would I ever care and do you care about me too?
“I...” He didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell whether or not she was being serious or not, whether to put his walls up or let them down.
Then, Sparkle bursted into laughter.
She clutched her stomach as she laughed. “You really fell for that? Did you really start considering whether you cared about me?”
Sunday clenched his jaw as he stared at her, feeling a little betrayed. He knew it was bound to happen at some point, but it felt strange for her to turn their fragile, deepening bond into a joke.
But maybe it was all in his head, and this was all one big, cruel joke she was playing on him. He had no way of knowing, and he wouldn't put it past her.
“Then, tell me. Do you care about me?”
She smiled. “You know, it's a little boring to stab back with the same question. But, if you want me to answer it... maybe the same kind of care a child has for their favorite toy?”
“You don't mean that.”
She smirked. “Do I?”
Sunday felt a tremor of uncertainty in his chest. Sparkle was so hard to read. He was so confident in calling her bluff, but now her expression was so invincible that he was doubting himself again.
He let out a long breath. Almost muttering, he said, “Most people don't fuck their toys.”
Sparkle's eyebrows shot up and she bursted into laughter. Swearing always felt like a sin, but her laughter almost made it worth it.
“I didn't know you had it in you!” she said. “Favorite sex toy, then.”
“That's not any better.”
“What about boy toy?”
Sunday sighed, but he was fighting off a smile. “None of them. Come on, we should get out of everyone's way.”
He started walking again, and there was something pleasing about the fact that she automatically skipped after him.
The last thing Sunday wanted to do was waste a whole day hiding indoors, getting no closer to escape. He'd tried to leave the hotel earlier, but the Bloodhounds were on high alert today, and were asking people about a fugitive.
Maybe the orders for his capture had finally escaped logistics hell and were being put into action. Maybe they were searching for somebody else.
Either way, the facts remained that he had to lay low today and that he was running out of time. He was a sitting duck, but going out while the search was fresh would be a death sentence.
He peered out the window again onto the busy street. Nothing seemed too out of place at the moment.
Sparkle said, “You don't need to keep staring out there. Nothing’s changed.”
Sunday turned to look at her from his spot at the window. Sparkle sat cross-legged on the bed. She was all too relaxed knowing that they were probably being pursued.
Well, Sunday was being pursued. If Sparkle was caught, though, she would probably be arrested too.
Sunday said, “You only know that nothing's changed because I keep checking.”
“And what are you gonna do if something does change? If you see several Bloodhounds down there right now, what will you do?”
He didn't want to follow her logic—it always led to him getting made fun of in the end—but he couldn't help thinking about it. What would he really do if he saw his pursuers out the window?
He said, “I would stay put. If they were already close enough to see through the window, they would also be close enough to see our escape. My best chance would be to don a disguise and stay in place.”
“See? It's the same either way. Just come back from the window and sit.” She patted the bed.
Sunday sighed, his shoulders deflating. He was used to hiding physical displays of emotion, but in front of Sparkle, who could read him like a book even if he hid it, he didn't see the point. “Checking the window is the most productive thing I can do right now.”
“And isn't it freeing that the most productive thing you can do right now is accomplishing absolutely nothing? It means you can do whatever you want.”
He stared at her, admittedly seeing her point. After a few moments, he said, “I can do whatever I want within the confines of this room, you mean.” He walked to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, next to her. It filled him with anxiety to stop checking the window, but he knew it was a pointless activity and tried to stay put on the bed.
“Well,” Sparkle said, leaning onto him so her breasts brushed his arm. She murmured into his ear, “When you put it like that...”
Sunday felt a blush coming on, but he shook his head. “Just because I'm willing to step away from the window doesn't mean I'm up for that. ”
“It would be good for your stress.” Sunday gave her a pointed look, and she giggled. “Don't worry, I get it. Then just talk to me instead. I'm bored just staying here all day.”
It was a strange thing, to feel like Sparkle was actually trying to make him feel better. Cautiously, still waiting for the punchline, he said, “What did you want to talk about?”
Sparkle lit up, like it was the exact question she was waiting to hear. “I'm glad you asked! I was actually wanting to tell you what I was up to on the Radiant Feldspar.”
She launched into a whole story about fireworks she'd told everyone were bombs, and the—in her words—cute but boring finale that followed.
Sunday was honestly impressed at her ability to throw the entire Alfalfa Family and their distinguished guests into disarray just like that, but it was no wonder she also didn't want to get caught by the Bloodhounds. This was the worst crime she'd committed in the dream by far.
He said, “You neglected to tell me that you were wanted for making a bomb threat, of all things.”
She shrugged. “You never asked. Besides, you're wanted for more serious crimes than me, so what's the harm?”
It was strange and depressing to think that his crimes were more severe than a bomb threat, even if it was the truth. More bitterly than he meant to, he said, “I suppose there is none.”
Sparkle laughed. “Don't be so sad! I can stage a coup myself to one-up you, if it'll make you feel better.”
“Please don't do that.”
“Only because you asked so nicely. But it's always an option~!”
While Sunday didn't mind Sparkle's cheery attitude, it was definitely too cheery, and he knew that she didn't just want to brag about her crimes on the Radiant Feldspar. He said, “What are you really trying to get at?”
“I'm just saying that I can commit worse crimes than you so you can see me as the bad guy again. Won't that make your self-righteous self feel a little better?”
“No, not that. I know you're making fun of me so I don't change the subject. What do you really want to talk about?”
“Who do you think I am?”
The question caught him off-guard. “You're Sparkle. Who else?”
It was only when Sparkle backed slightly away from him, eyes wide, that he realized his mistake.
No wonder she didn't like being called by name. “Sparkle” was not her name; it was the name of her mask.
He amended, “What I mean to say is, you're you. Maybe Sparkle is just a part of that.”
Sparkle slipped into that smile she always used to mask her face. “Smooth recovery, Chicken Wing Boy.”
He didn't feel like he'd “recovered” anything, but her smile at least brought the conversation back into familiar territory. “Do you not see it that way?”
“Not really. I'm me and Sparkle's Sparkle.”
She said it confidently, but he could see her mask slipping again. She looked down at the duvet, playing with the fabric at her fingers, and her smile slowly fell.
He didn't know whether it was to reassure her or just to say something to fill the silence, but he said, “You know that Sunday is not my real name.”
She looked up and stared at him. She wasn't smiling anymore—she looked troubled, more than anything. She looked like she was actually listening to him, and it made him feel strange, and more than that, seen.
He continued, “It's not my name, but it has become as real a part of me as anything else. It... represents an ideology I no longer fully subscribe to, but, even so, I couldn't imagine myself by any other name. In my haste, I assumed the same of you, and for that I apologize.”
“How... diplomatic,” Sparkle said, but with none of the teasing smile she usually had.
“A leftover habit as the former head of the Oak Family. But it's the truth.”
She studied his eyes. “Then... apology accepted.” She smiled in that rare way that didn't feel like a mask—her smile was softer, her eyes kinder. “Not that you offended me, you know. Your opinion doesn't have that much power over me.”
Sunday's heart rate quickened, and he felt lightheaded. He didn't know how to act when she smiled so genuinely like that. “I- I know. That wasn't my intention.”
Sparkle suddenly stood. “I'm going to the bathroom.” She left quickly, and he heard the bathroom door shut.
He placed his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand, staring at the floor. He knew she'd just made up an excuse to run away, but he didn't mind at all.
He also needed the privacy to calm down his burning face and the racing of his heart. Apparently, all it took was one genuine smile to fluster him beyond belief.
When Sparkle returned, Sunday was back to standing by the window, staring down at the street.
He'd caught sight of a single Bloodhound, but nothing more.
She said, “I step away for only a few minutes and you can't even behave yourself.” She walked closer, stopping next to him by the window. “There's nothing to see, you know.”
Sunday clenched his jaw. He was tempted to tell her about the Bloodhound he'd just seen, but he instead hung onto a question that was on his mind. The words played over and over again in his head as he contemplated whether to voice them.
“Hey, Chicken Wing Boy! You gonna talk to me?”
Movement caught his eye out the window, but further inspection showed that it was nothing but a drunken guest emptying their stomach into a bush.
“Brother?” Robin's voice called.
Sunday glared at her. “Don't call me that.”
Sparkle let the disguise fade away, a glowing red fish swimming away from her body. “But it made you look at me, didn't it? So easy.”
Sunday affixed her with a hard stare. He couldn't understand what her game was—what she wanted. One moment, it was almost like they were actually friends, and the next, she was back to antagonizing him, same as always.
He'd noticed, though, that her jabs had lost their bite in recent days.
Maybe she only acted like this, with a metaphorical mask on her face, because it was comfortable, familiar territory.
He wouldn't even blame her. Every time she did it, he met her with the same behavior, acting like they were still nothing but reluctant allies.
Unless this was all one big prank by Sparkle—he wouldn't put it past her—they were more than that now. Sunday was determined to break that cycle here and now. He wouldn't meet her mask with one of his own.
He finally let the words in his mind escape through his mouth. “Why did you follow me?”
Sparkle raised a brow, smiling. “That's what I've been doing for the past week, Chicken Wing Boy.”
“I mean, why did you follow me in the beginning? Why didn't you just laugh as the Bloodhounds chased me and leave it at that?” He stared at her determinedly, hoping that she'd meet him with honesty. Hoping that she'd take off her mask just a little longer.
“Wow, so serious~!” She cooed. “Is it really that important?”
“It is,” he stated plainly. “I answered almost the same question from you a few days ago, so I think it's about time you reciprocate.”
“As I recall, you were under some duress at the time. Are you gonna do that to me, too? Are you gonna edge me until I tell you the truth?”
“Is that what it will take to get you to speak candidly with me again?”
Her smile fell slowly from her face. “You're really serious.”
“Of course I'm serious. I can't keep up with this... game you're playing. I don't know why we're sometimes open with each other and other times not. Just... tell me. Why did you follow me in the first place?”
There was a long pause, in which Sparkle stared at him all the while, smile no longer on her face. He held his breath as he waited to see how she would react.
“I was bored.”
“Just because you were bored?”
“Mm-hm,” she hummed affirmatively. It was so obvious that she was lying that Sunday suspected she was doing it on purpose.
She wanted him to push her. She let all her secrets rise to just below the surface for him to find, and she was showing him exactly where to push.
It gave him hope that she truly did want to open up to him. No one made a treasure map if they didn't want their secrets to be found.
He grasped under her chin and urged her head up, giving her no choice but to look into his eyes. “No, that's not it. Tell me. Why have you followed me all this time?”
“I already told you, it was just because-”
“It is not because you were bored,” Sunday said, and she froze.
He wondered if he'd read the situation wrong. Perhaps Sparkle hadn't been hoping for him to push her. It was quite possible that he'd already crossed a boundary that he shouldn't have.
Just as he was going to give up asking, Sparkle said, “You looked fun, that's why.”
Sunday let go of her and sighed. “That's the same answer worded differently. I know you weren't only bored.”
Sparkle stared straight ahead. She was looking through him, gaze straight and unmoving, like a doll. “I was lonely.”
“Lonely?” Part of him thought she must be lying again, but a bigger part of him realized that she was telling the truth this time. A mix of happiness and disbelief filled his chest as he realized Sparkle was finally being honest with him.
“And I know what you're thinking. Aww, poor Masked Fool, she only has an entire tavern of friends to turn to and be merry with. How could she ever truly be-”
He kissed her, swallowing her self-deprecating words from her lips.
She made a tiny, satisfied noise as she leaned into the kiss, and it sent a pleasant jolt through Sunday's whole body. He wrapped his arms around her and she wrapped hers around his neck, pulling him down closer, more firmly to her.
She'd looked almost like a doll before, but now she was alive in his arms, responding to his every movement.
When they finally separated, breaths mixing, Sunday said, “Has it helped you feel less lonely?”
Sparkle smiled that soft smile that always threw him off-balance with how real it felt. “A little, yeah.”
Her hands moved from his neck to stroke his wings. Her touch was light and provocative against his sensitive wings, and the sensation sent a thrill through him. His wings involuntarily twitched and slightly fluttered. Sparkle's smile grew wider at the sight.
In a low voice, almost a whisper, he said, “Let me take you to bed.”
Almost as quietly, she said, “Such a gentleman this time~! If I knew your wings were an on switch, I would've touched them long ago.”
“I would've shoved you away if you tried,” he said as he picked her up with his arms around her waist.
She giggled. “You don't need to carry me. I know you're just a weak little office worker.”
He carried her the short distance to the bed and set her down. “Is this another thing I must prove to you? That I'm not weak?”
Smiling mischievously, Sparkle said, “It's more honorable than proving the length of your dick, at least.”
Heat rushed to his face. “You know it wasn't about that.”
“Then what was it about?”
He leaned down over her, his forehead almost touching hers. “This.” He kissed her with as much intensity as he could muster.
She melted under him, and they lost track of time for a long while.
Later, when they were still in bed, Sparkle turned towards him, resting her head on his chest. In an uncharacteristically demure voice, she said, “Do you really like having me here?”
Sunday didn't answer. She'd never used this tone with him before, and even after everything, he wasn't fully convinced it wasn't some trick of hers.
Sparkle didn't break the facade, but insisted. “I can leave, if you want.” She sounded defeated. Heartbroken.
And that was what urged the truth out of Sunday's lips. “No... no. You don't need to leave.” His heart ached for her, and he wrapped an arm around her. This was probably the same insecurity he'd seen glimpses of before, now expressed to him in all its glory.
“Good, good. ...thank you.”
He held her, slightly tense, waiting for her to point and laugh in his face for believing that she was genuine, but the moment never came. He asked, “Is this some new trick of yours?” His tone was gentle. Like she might push him away again if he pressured her.
“No.”
“No?” He expected a little more than that.
“This is how I used to be before I was Sparkle. I think, anyways. It's hard to remember. Now, it doesn't feel like me anymore. It feels like a mask.” She pulled away, and when he looked at her, she was grinning, as if she hadn't sounded so vulnerable a moment ago. “See? I can switch it out just like that. I kind of envy you, saying that your stage name is just a part of you.”
The ease at which she switched her mask was something Sunday knew well. He knew what it was like to have a tortured brain and a smiling mien, to constantly feel one step away from breaking and yet carrying on, day after day.
He knew what it was like to train his wings to never move when he felt emotion, to sculpt a smiling face of marble and pretend that he was invincible.
He knew what it was like to suffer like Sparkle did. His heart broke for her, and he pulled her close, hugging her to him.
“What's the matter?” she half-laughed. “Were you actually moved by me? How embarrassing. I was just joking.”
He understood this defensive wall of hers by now. “No. You weren't.”
Sparkle chuckled. Then, it turned into a full belly laugh. Between breaths, she said, “Huh? I can't,” she took a moment to laugh again, “I can't stop laughing!”
She laughed harder and harder, the shaking of her body feeling more like that of sobs than laughter, and Sunday held her as tightly as he could, hoping to be an anchor to ground her to reality.
And yet, she only laughed and laughed.
All Sunday could do was hold her, knowing that this was the sorrow she'd been holding in for all this time.
After they checked out of the hotel, he and Sparkle stood outside, in disguises once again.
Sparkle said, “What's next? Need to find another place? Those Hounds aren't fully gone, you know.”
“I know.” Sunday mentally reviewed his escape plan, shuffling the fake IDs in his pocket against each other with his fingers. After checking a few more things, his preparations would be complete.
Sparkle leaned in front of him to get into his field of vision. “What's wrong?”
He stared at her, feeling strange about what he was about to say. “I think I'm able to leave today. I only have a few more preparations to make.”
Sparkle's face fell only slightly, but he caught it. “Oh.”
There was an awkward feeling in the air as he led them closer to the entrance to the Reverie. He pointed out one of the Bloodhounds to her. “The guard rotation is just as I expected today. It will be lightest this evening, during the event in Aideen Park.”
“Oh yeah?” Sparkle said, with none of her usual bite.
He didn't know exactly how to reply. “That's correct.”
They stared at each other for a long time. He wondered what was going on in her head.
Was she sad that he was leaving? It was cruel, but he hoped so. After everything, he was hesitant to leave her.
She said, “You need to leave tonight?”
“It's the best time. Besides, the sooner I escape Penacony, the better. You haven't forgotten that the Bloodhounds are searching for a fugitive, have you?”
“I dunno, they seem pretty calm today. Maybe they caught them. But I know that's not the real reason you're in a hurry.” She turned into Robin, smiling sweetly. “It's your dear sister that you want to see so badly, isn't it? I won't keep you waiting.”
“What's wrong?” Sunday asked, his former rage at seeing Sparkle as his sister not even crossing his mind.
He knew what was wrong, but he wanted to hear her say it, even if he had to goad it from her.
“What do you mean? I'm Robin, and I'm as perfect as ever!”
“I've realized that you usually wear my sister's face whenever you want me to look at you like I care.”
Sparkle froze for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Sunday to know that he was right.
He said, “What is it you want from me?” He just wanted her to say it out loud. He wanted to know that she actually wanted to stay with him, and that he wasn't just dragging and forcing her along.
In a quiet voice, Sparkle said, “Take me with you?” It sounded like a question more than anything else.
He breathed a sigh of relief, and happiness swirled in his chest. Really, he should've just invited her this morning. “I can do that.”
After making all the final preparations, they got one last hotel room where they could hide from the public eye and talk in private.
Sunday threw several fake IDs from his pocket onto the bedside table. “These are a few of our fake tester identities for the Reverie Hotel. These are not real people, but test profiles we have in the database and use to make sure everything is working correctly. These identities are only used for internal testing, so the hotel staff should not recognize them as fake.”
“Wow, so prepared. When did you find the time to get these?”
He raised his eyebrows. “What did you think I was doing meeting with those people in disguise?”
She shrugged. “I just thought you felt the need to play politics even while on the run as your little hobby.”
“Then you were mistaken, as you usually are.” She snickered. “My plan is crude but simple. We'll walk into the Reverie at a time when the Bloodhounds have less staff on guard, reducing the chance we will be stopped and questioned. We'll exit the Dreamscape using these identities and then meet up afterwards.”
“You think it looks too suspicious to check out together?”
“It does. We need to leave separately.”
Sparkle gave him a look, and it wasn't hard to guess what it was for. She didn't fully trust him not to escape without her.
He wished she did, but there was no earning that trust overnight. He would just need to show her by being there when the time came.
He said, “You can still transform yourself outside of the Dreamscape, so you can check out using that fake identity. It will be low-risk. I cannot do the same, and I'll instead sneak away to where I keep a small spacecraft.”
“You really think it will still be there?”
“I would hope I hid it well enough. You just need to wait for me at Gate 3, and we'll leave in the spacecraft together.”
“You know this plan requires me to have a lot of trust in you, right? I'll be stranded in the hotel otherwise.”
“There's no way it wouldn't require trust, because I'm the one who made the plan. You do not need to participate if you don't wish to.”
He hoped she would come with him. He worried that she might get caught if she tried to escape on her own.
It was an unreasonable worry, since he had no doubt she'd snuck her way into the Dreamscape in the first place, but he still worried.
Sparkle said, “When will the security be lighter?”
“From what I can tell, right about now. We have a window of half an hour or so.”
Sparkle grabbed two of the IDs from the table. “Then I'll take these. One to use and one as a backup. Bye-bye, Chicken Wing Boy. I'm going first.”
She turned around and started opening the door. He knew she didn't fully trust him, but he couldn't just let her leave, thinking that they would never see each other again.
He said, “I'll be there.”
Sparkle smiled at him over her shoulder and left, giving no indication what was going on in her head.
The escape was laughably easy. Too easy, even—Sunday wondered if the security rotations staying the same and the event in Aideen Park were Robin's doing.
If it was, he really didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve her aid after what he'd done, but he was grateful for it.
Maybe, in the future, if he and Robin met again away from Penacony, he could look her in the eyes and thank her and know that their bond hadn't fully been broken.
He left the Dreamscape without a hitch. He knew he'd made the right call to put his Dreampool in a secret room no one knew the location of. Otherwise, his real body would be in a cell already.
He snuck through reality to get to his hidden space craft. He powered on the engine, and the entire thing came to life. He checked his fuel, and, upon realizing it was full, his heart ached.
It wasn't full last time he'd left it here. Robin was the only one who could've filled it.
After saying a quick thank you under his breath that would never reach Robin's ears, he took over the controls and moved his ship out of the abandoned docking area.
After maneuvering through abandoned passageways, he eventually joined the crowd of space crafts constantly pulling in and out of the hotel. He docked at Gate 3 and waited for Sparkle to arrive.
He wondered if he'd be able to spot her even in disguise, the same way she'd spotted him last week.
As he waited longer, staring out the window at the people leaving the hotel, he wondered if this was her final trick for him.
He felt like they'd reached an understanding with one another, and that he'd connected with the true her—or at least, the truest mask she had.
But it was possible that she'd been acting all along, just to see his heart break as she got the last laugh.
But he knew her better than that by now.
He spotted a light-brown haired woman wearing a modest blue dress, and he knew it was her. He could tell by the way her gait held a small skip in her step, and the playful look in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide.
He pushed the button to open the door and left the pilot's compartment to see her.
The moment the door closed behind her, her disguise dissipated into red smoke and glowing fish, and she tackled him with a hug, almost knocking him off-balance.
He grunted. “You need to be careful. We can actually get hurt in reality, you know.”
“I know; I didn't spend my whole life in the Dreamscape like you.”
“Right.” He stared down at her face, still hardly able to believe that she was here. “You made it.”
“How else am I going to tease my Bird Boy?”
He liked it better than Chicken Wing Boy, at least.
“My Sunday.”
His heart leaped in his chest. “Sunday?” he repeated.
She pressed her pointer finger on his nose. “Your name, silly. It's a part of you, isn't it?”
Cautiously, worrying he was pushing her too soon, he asked, “And yours?”
“Call me whatever you want. I want to test if my name is a part of me, too.”
“...Sparkle?” he cautiously said.
She smiled. “The very same.”
He hugged her close, burying his face in her shoulder. “I'm glad you came, Sparkle.”
“Me too,” she whispered.