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“I’m sorry, what?” Aventurine scratched his ears, as though he suspected he’d heard wrong.
“I’m pregnant,” Sunday repeated, managing to look both wan and frustrated at the same time.
“That’s a terrible first joke, featherhead.”
“I’m not joking,” Sunday said firmly. “You of all people should know what happened.”
Aventurine was flabbergasted. “I fucked you raw once and you’re already knocked up?”
“Three.”
“What?”
“You did it thrice,” Sunday couldn’t help the compulsion to correct.
“Well, in for a credit, in for a thousand, you understand… I wasn’t sure there’d be a next time.”
“Your thoroughness is what led to this situation.”
“Male Halovians can’t really get pregnant, can they?”
“Congratulations,” Sunday said icily, “it seems you’ve ‘gotten lucky’ again, Mr. Aventurine.”
“You mean it really wasn’t just a rumor?”
“I don’t joke,” Sunday reminded. “It’s a small chance but not zero.The genetic sequence is usually dormant but under special circumstances, not unheard of to trigger.” It was just that usually these conditions happened to happily mated pairs actively trying.
Sunday could not find a phrase that described their relationship less. Aventurine and his relationship was already tumultuous, adding the baggage of their present positions as a fugitive and his smuggler-minder and the fact that he was in poor health, it was truly a mess.
“I don’t expect you to raise it,” Sunday said suddenly. “But I will require some things.”
Aventurine stared at him. In the next second, he straightened from his slouch on the armchair, hands on knees. “What do you mean?”
If it were possible to terminate the pregnancy or have it by himself, Sunday wouldn’t have brought this up at all. He trusted Aventurine knew that, but he was still reluctant to come to this part of the negotiation.
“Halovian males don’t give birth to live young. The capacity for pregnancy is a throwback and redundant gene code from when our ancestors had to find ways to survive as a species.” After all, it wasn’t as though songbirds had many ways to ascertain their survival. Breeding numbers was simply one. It was relatively recently that they were able to establish a foundation using their empathy as bargaining chips and weapons.
But it had been a long time since a Halovian male had gotten pregnant by accident.
“Once I lay the egg, I can nurture it by myself, but I need to build back my reserves.” Depleted as he was, he couldn’t ensure there wouldn’t be complications.
“--’Lay’??”
Sunday was starting to think this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere. “Yes. You’ve been in there, you know I can’t possibly squeeze a fully grown child out.”
Aventurine’s face was briefly thoughtful, much to Sunday’s displeasure. Given the emotional signals he was picking up, there was no doubt he’d started reminiscing.
Sunday clapped his hands once to get his attention.
“--Sorry, this is a lot to take in. What do you need?” Aventurine wiped a hand down his face.
“A lot of food, bedding materials, painkillers and nourishment.”
“...Isn’t that last one the same as the first?”
“No,” Sunday said blandly. “Nourishment will come from you.”
“....Like my blood?”
“No.”
“Sex?” Aventurine asked hopefully.
“No,” Sunday replied, “your emotions.”
“...Well, shit.”
“You’re capable of some. It would be better if I could harvest from someone else but as the father yours will still work best.” Honestly, if he weren’t starving he wouldn’t even consider Aventurine, a man who hid behind layers of lies and had murdered his own feelings to survive. That he had been able to salvage a little from his excitement and pleasure was more testament to his ability than anything else.
“So it is sex.”
“Not quite. I simply need to find ways to stimulate you.”
“Well I like the sound of that,” Aventurine said, perking up.
Sunday’s smile turned briefly sincere. “Do you? Then give me permission to use my ‘abilities’ on you.”
Aventurine stilled.
“It won’t undo your little drug, if you’re so concerned. Besides, I will need you alive, for the child’s sake.”
“That’s comforting,” Aventurine muttered. “So you’re going to give me a dream?”
“Yes.”
“Well, alright.”
That was easy. Sunday was somewhat surprised.
He eyed Aventurine a bit dubiously.
“Well? Lay it on me.” Aventurine held his hand out carelessly.
“Body contact won’t be necessary,” Sunday said primly, but Aventurine simply reached out and dragged him onto his lap.
“You want to excite me, don’t you?” Aventurine smiled, his uncanny eyes hooded. “Besides, wouldn’t want you running away while I’m in dreamland.”
Sunday frowned, but it wasn’t as though there was an abundance of trust between them. He silently resettled himself a little more comfortably, knees splayed around Aventurine’s thighs.
“Alright, let me begin.”
“Oh and one more thing, Mr. Sunday…”
Sunday paused, his hand raised halfway to Aventurine’s temple.
Aventurine reached out with his other hand, settling over Sunday’s stomach, the touch noticeable even through the layers of clothing.
“This life is the only other Avgin in this universe. I’m not letting you keep her all to yourself.”
“...If you wanted more, you’ve had ample opportunity.” With normal women, he might add.
“And have my enemies use them as bargaining chips? No, this is a unique and lovely little opportunity. Besides, it’s not as though I can make you disappear.”
Sunday raised his brows. “Do you kill all of the partners you mate with?”
“Settle down, ‘kill’ is a strong word. Anyway, aside from that night, haven’t I been the perfect host?”
It was that night in question which made Sunday hesitate… “No, just wondering how many of your previous partners are dead.”
“Not any I didn’t set out to ruin first. I’m usually more careful. What can I say, you just rile me up…”
Sunday pressed his fingers to Aventurine’s head decisively, preventing him from saying more.
Sunday sighed as the weak but familiar flow of power made ‘reality’ a little more malleable. The lack of memoria was already a strain. Truthfully, if not for Aventurine’s recent feeding, he might not even have the energy for this, so he had to turn a profit, as the IPC would say.
He cautiously sifted through his own memories, trying to find something stimulating from Penacony’s many myriad of popular Dream Bubbles. But for Aventurine a romance or an adventure held little appeal.
He thought for a moment, then in the tiny dream bubble around them, erased the ship from perception, giving a sense of weightlessness.
“Space?” Aventurine laughed. “A little lackluster after being sent to the edge of death, don’t you think?”
He leaned in, his breath ghosting along Sunday’s jaw. “A little tip, ‘fear’ won’t work on me.”
Sunday jerked at the rush of air along his sensitive ear feathers, frowning as a meteor shower surrounded them. Faint appreciation at the sight filtered through Sunday’s halo, but it wasn’t enough.
His thoughts drifted to the words Aventurine had let slip on his first night on the ship. Unfinished business could only mean revenge. With another thought, the scene changed. He put Aventurine on a lofty throne, Oswaldo Schneider cowering at his feet.
Aventurine’s heart was steady but his grip on Sunday’s wrist tightened. And then, suddenly, darkness like a tide ripped through Sunday, making him recoil, the vision immediately dispersing.
“You don’t want me to think about that man, angel.”
“...You’re being difficult.”
He’d have to get more creative.
Slowly he changed the surroundings again, an oasis in the desert, cloth stretched overhead to shade from the sun and not too far away, someone was singing.
Aventurine startled, nearly crushing Sunday’s wrist. Shock, excitement, longing, heartbreak. The fierceness of that passion made Sunday reel, but was immediately replaced with anger.
“That song. Where did you hear that song?”
“Let go.”
Aventurine seemed to realize he was holding on too tightly, straightening slightly.
Sunday rotated the wrist, smoothing out his sleeve cuff. “...A Nameless once visited my hometown when I was a child. Knowing we valued song, she taught the flock there many songs she’d heard on her travels. Most of the lyrics for this one were lost. But music has a way of being engraved in your heart.”
“Let me hear it again.”
Sunday was wary. “You didn’t seem to enjoy it.” Aventurine was calm now but the anger had been shocking. His psyche couldn’t handle too many more negative emotions in his delicate state.
“...My bad, I thought… it’s nothing.”
After a long moment, Sunday released his power. For something so trivial, his own voice was power enough. Clearing his throat slightly, he started to sing.
Song was the birthright of Halovians. Some were more gifted than others, but a terrible Halovian singer was rare. Sunday had inherited his mother’s keen ear for music. He loved precise, clear notes the most; the magic of their ordered harmonies. As a result, he’d never forgotten any song he’d heard once.
He sang softly, bridging gaps with pure notes like stringed pearls. The song sounded light and joyful, as though for a festival or a traveling song. Sunday had liked the rolling rhythm of it, tapping in time.
Suddenly, Aventurine started following along under his breath, exotic words Sunday had never heard, roughly in tune. The lyrics, Sunday realized.
In the quiet room, their voices slowly harmonized, breath mingling.
Cautiously, Sunday lowered his mental barrier and was stunned. A rich, potent cocktail, more longing, but a little joy. A strange, heady exhilaration. A bittersweet sorrow. He’d rarely felt such things from Aventurine before. He hadn’t been sure he’d be capable.
After all, as a slave or in the IPC, emotions were only a liability. After spending so long in such an environment, it was no wonder Aventurine hardly knew how to feel anymore.
But Avgins, from what he’d read, were a free and ardent people. Among them, Aventurine might’ve been a bright star.
But fate hadn’t ordained so.
Sunday hummed, bridging the song back into a loop, then reached out and touched Aventurine’s hand once more, this time in wordless comfort, thinking of a father who’d sold his children.
“...You’re actually quite soft, aren’t you?” Aventurine said.
“...I beg your pardon?”
“There are more feathers in your head than I thought.”
Well, it seemed this high roller was feeling better. But the rush of fizzing delight and something warm and hearty, almost close to adoration confused him.
“Hold your hand up.”
Sunday reluctantly complied, then watched Aventurine press their hands together, like a two-person prayer. Sensitive to ceremony, Sunday hesitated.
Aventurine murmured a few lines that sounded somewhat different from the ones before.
“...What was that?”
“Hm?”
Sunday repeated the sounds, more to taste them than any hope he’d get a real answer.
Aventurine laughed. “The way to end the song.”
Sunday decided not to push, nodding and moving to get away from Aventurine’s lap.
Only to find Aventurine’s hands holding his waist in place. “What, that’s it?”
Sunday frowned. “I’ve received enough.”
“Really? I think you could use a little more, though. Didn’t you say you had a deficit?”
He licked his lips lightly. “I’m in a good mood, let’s have some fun.”
Alarm started to filter through Sunday for a moment, but Aventurine had already started pulling his jacket off.
=
Later, mostly naked and a little sore, Sunday couldn’t help but feel a little cheated.
Once was an emergency. Twice in succession was unprofessional. He had a looming feeling that wouldn’t be the end of it, either.
Aventurine snaked an arm around and splayed his hand on Sunday’s naked belly. “There really is a bump,” he said with some surprise.
“I’m not so idle I’d make such an elaborate ruse,” Sunday couldn’t help but snipe.
Aventurine hummed and let his fingers gently play over the swell, reminding Sunday of the way those hands had been all over the rest of his body, too, traveling over his chest and waist and thigh to ankle. Aventurine had become far more handsy than before.
Sunday let him do as he liked. There was hardly any part of him Aventurine hadn’t touched at this point. Besides, this ‘meal’ had been enough to make him feel sleepy and overly full in more ways than one.
The swell was barely noticeable, if not for Sunday’s otherwise flat abdomen. The curve was soft and jelly-like. After being packed with as much nourishment as possible, it would be wrapped in a layer of soft shell and ready for laying.
Lost in thought, Sunday soon fell asleep in exhaustion.
When he woke next, there was a lavish dinner on a cart next to the bed.
“Awake?” Aventurine said from the side. He had a tablet screen open in front of him, scrolling through a shopping portal.
“I had to make do, but fortunately our chefs are nothing if not resourceful. Have a taste.”
There was a lot of food. Even knowing he would need three times his usual amount to feed the rapidly growing embryo, Sunday still felt a bit overwhelmed.
A thick porridge, grainy and fragrant with broth, seeds, and nuts, filled a deep ceramic bowl. Stewed meat, falling off the bone, and tender flaky fish still simmering in a clay pot with colorful vegetables. There were also cut fruits and berries and herbal tea steeping golden in a crystal pot.
Sunday looked it over silently. Very nutritious.
“As for the bedding, you never specified what kind you needed…”
“It’s for the brooding nest,” Sunday said absently. “Soft, smooth, warm”
“...Are you actually going to sit on it to incubate?”
“No, a sling will suffice, but when I sleep, the egg will need to be cushioned so it won’t be crushed.”
“...You know a lot about this.”
“It’s prudent to do research, once confirmed.”
“Right. The medicine is with the medibot. Do you know your due date?”
Sunday looked blankly at the wall. “...Around six weeks.”
“...That’s fast.”
“The child will do most of its growing outside,” Sunday explained. “Once my body has enough nutrition to impart, it should be fine.”
“Oh~”
Hearing that lyrical hum, Sunday stiffened. “...I don’t require sex.”
“Isn’t it easier that way though? Besides, I made sure you enjoyed it more this time.”
Recalling the sticky feeling of his spent cock on his thigh, Sunday frowned. Sex was messy and undignified. Especially when he felt like a piece of sticky dough being played with.
“I’ll consider it if you make some concessions.”
“Oh?” Aventurine leaned in on one arm. “That might be interesting.”
Sunday glanced at him. “I still need to digest. It will take some time.”
“Sure, sure. Try some of this, for now.”
Sunday sat up straight, taking the spoon from his hand, starting with the porridge.
In fact, he usually ate lightly. There was always some feast or another in the Dream and he’d long tired of the taste. Outside, his body was nourished by the pool and on the rare occasion he needed to supplement it, he’d drink a specifically formulated liquid capsule. The only thing he ate regularly might be sweets… But he had a responsibility, now.
Sunday forced himself to eat as much as he could.
“Tsk, still eating like a bird,” Aventurine commented, his chin balanced on his knitted fingers as he watched him. “Well, room for dessert?”
Sunday blinked. “No, I don’t think…”
“I had them make some ice cream. Try it.”
A hovertray levitated in, revealing a shallow cup of ice cream. Sunday swallowed reflexively. “I’m too full.”
“It’s hardly anything, it’ll melt in your mouth. Come on, I’ll help.”
…What was he supposed to help with? No sooner had Sunday thought it then Aventurine pushed the food cart away and pulled Sunday back between his thighs. The way his hand casually settled on his stomach was a tad obvious.
Sunday wondered if he’d underestimated Aventurine’s stake in this project.
“...You don’t have to worry.” After all, while the pregnancy was unexpected, Sunday had weighed and made the decision. He had nothing to do but follow through. “I have a sense of measure.”
Aventurine brought a slender gold spoon of ice cream to his lips. “You’re supposed to have social contact, aren’t you? That’s what the doctor said.”
“...Sitting in the same room is fine.”
“Isn’t this better?”
Sunday was a bit uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong, sugar? Are things not proceeding as planned?” Aventurine asked sweetly.
Sunday resisted the urge to turn and look at him. That comment all but confirmed that Aventurine was being deliberately overly attentive.
And he was right. Sunday hadn’t planned for Aventurine to do more than begrudgingly provide materials as usual.
“I do like surprising you,” Aventurine laughed lightly, caressing Sunday’s abdomen and making him tense.
“Normally I’d enjoy your distressed little face a little more, but that probably isn’t good for the baby. Relax, I’m just very good at being ingratiating when I want to be.”
“I’d rather you be honest,” Sunday said. “The dissonance between what I feel from you and your actions… is jarring.”
“Right… I guess it’s a lot less effective when you have a cheatsheet,” Aventurine murmured. “Should we just go back to the sex?”
“No,” Sunday vetoed. “There are other ways to please… a partner besides gifts, attention, and sex.” Although why Aventurine defaulted to these things was a knot he wasn’t quite ready to pull apart.
Sunday settled his hand over Aventurine’s on his abdomen. “Moreover… I can sense this life is precious to you. But I don’t require you to fawn over me. I won’t hide the child away from you unless you give me good reason.”
Sunday paused. “After all, family is important.”
Aventurine fell silent then squeezed Sunday’s waist, burying his face in his neck. “I really want to fuck you again right now.” That sentiment at least seemed to still be honest.
But that was another thing. “You… I’d prefer to have more control if we plan to make this regular.”
“Aren’t you cute,” Aventurine laughed. “I can tell you don’t have any experience, featherhead. Trust me, it’s much better for both of us this way.”
“I’ve always adapted well,” Sunday said stubbornly.
“Hmm, then shall we have a game to decide?”
Sunday glanced back warily. “What kind?”
“I was thinking… strip poker?”
And that was how Sunday found himself down to a pair of undignified underwear as Aventurine laid down a royal flush, his pants and a shirt still intact.
“...Let’s stop here.”
“Why, Mr. Sunday, are you unable to liquidate?”
Sunday gave him an unimpressed look in reply. There wasn’t really anything else to take off but his halo.
Chuckling, Aventurine stood up. “That means I win, then. But don’t be upset. If you really want to be on top so much then I can arrange something… It’s really a pity. The more you want control, the more I want to mess you up.”
Only Sunday’s upbringing kept him from shrinking back into the chair as Aventurine approached. He stood up unhurriedly, reaching for his folded pants.
Aventurine predictably beat him to it, cornering him against the poker table.
“C’mon, darling, don’t be coy. It’s just going to come off, anyway.”
Sunday sighed. It seemed nothing would get done today once again.
=
Learning how to ‘ride’ was more embarrassing than fulfilling. Sunday’s waist and thighs hurt even more, now. Fortunately, while he’d never been particularly limber, he wasn’t particularly clumsy, either.
Sunday sighed as he sat down gingerly and began to fold and fluff the bedding in preparation for nesting. He had to set this own bed off limits for any more sex- although Aventurine seemed to see that as an intriguing challenge.
The Paperfold Academy had long developed into something quite different, but he’d always found the precise folding art of origami taught to aspiring Dreamweavers very soothing. Soon, he managed to shape the sides of the bed to his liking, creating a smaller bowl inside before he began to fill it with anything soft he could find.
Aventurine came in partway, only to be shown the door. Now, he was back, feeding bite-sized hors d'oeuvres to Sunday as he hovered.
“I’m fine,” Sunday told him, but a bite of some kind of seafood and cherry tomato was stuffed into his mouth. He bit down on it with a gentle snap, chewing politely.
“I didn’t think you were going to build an actual nest…” Aventurine peered down at the rolled-up bedding. “Wouldn’t it be better to just buy something customized? Seems a little undignified for a former leader of Penacony.”
Sunday was too preoccupied to even feel a twinge at the address. At any rate, he was never particularly attached to the title so much as the responsibility. He fashioned a sling from a silk bedsheet, wrapping it around his shoulder to test. “It’s better to make sure of it, myself. Besides, skin contact is more important.”
Aventurine pulled up a pillow and lay on the bed, sinking an inch or two into the mattress. “Kind of hard to move around this.”
“Fortunately, the egg won’t be ambulatory.”
Aventurine hummed and struggled to roll onto his side to continue observing Sunday. “Make one for me, too.”
Sunday blinked, doubtful.
“Come on, you’re going to need to take a bath sometimes, right? I might as well look after it some of the time.”
Sunday thought about it. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted Aventurine but he could probably trust he wouldn’t involve a child.
Nodding slowly, Sunday folded another. “Come up, let me fit it.”
Aventurine sat up obediently and let Sunday wrap the sling around him. Sunday measured the pouch, adjusting the strap.
“Almost feels like you’re groping me,” Aventurine remarked mildly, making Sunday lose his place.
“...”
“Just saying, I don’t mind. You can get a little more handsy instead of tearing my sheets up all the time.”
“So you’d rather I tear you up,” Sunday said drily. Perhaps he might, if not for the order.
“I’m quite durable,” Aventurine offered.
Sunday closed his eyes to prevent himself from rolling them and leaned over to bite the man’s ear, successfully prompting a short yelp.
=
When the day came, Sunday locked himself in the bathroom with a lot of medicine and soft cloth. Aventurine eventually had to manually override the door to get in.
At that point, Sunday couldn’t care less. He was dry heaving and in pain, nearly out of his mind but for the supreme control he’d been raised to have. The titanium bars of the small pool dented slightly under the pressure of his hands. When the egg finally came free, he wearily bathed it in the warm pink water and checked it over.
It was about the size of a navel orange, the shell thick, golden and elastic, ready to grow with the babe within.
Exhausted, he could only hold it weakly in his arms until Aventurine gingerly came over to help him out of the bath.
“It’s smaller than I thought.” Aventurine wiped down and dressed Sunday in fresh, loose clothes, but he couldn’t help but glance at the egg a few more times. Even though they’d done everything to prepare it was hard to believe it was real.
“Can I touch it?”
Sunday nodded mutely.
The shell was firm but not brittle, with a beautiful, almost crystalline sheen. It gave off warmth and if he focused he almost felt like he could feel a tiny heartbeat.
In awe, Aventurine held both mother and child in a daze until Sunday made some unhappy noises at not being able to sleep.
“Right, time to get you nested.”
Clean, fed, and asleep, Sunday truly looked angelic, his pale skin glowing with satisfaction and his pretty face softened. It was one of Aventurine’s favorite looks though he liked the angry, vengeful version, too. One of his feathery ears was folded back and after several weeks of care, his halo was gleaming. In his arms, the egg-- their child-- was happily leeching warmth.
The robot scanned him and gave a more or less clean bill of health, so Aventurine took him back to the bed.
=
Sunday woke up feeling warm and slightly squished.
It was a puzzling sensation that delayed his waking up process for a good ten seconds. When he finally realized the warm arm pinning his waist was Aventurine, he felt a bit complicated. Fortunately, the child in the egg was oblivious to any emotions he might be having. In his arms, it pulsed with a faint, barely-noticeable hum.
Sunday smoothed a hand over it fondly, making a small noise of his own back at the child.
“...Are you chirping at it?”
Sunday tensed, looking back. “You’re up,” he observed.
“Don’t stop, it was cute.” Aventurine yawned, cuddling closer so he could see over Sunday’s shoulder to the egg, his unsettling eyes showing a small gleam of interest.
Sunday hesitated, then shifted so he was facing Aventurine, bringing the egg between them for a better view.
Aventurine stroked the egg, and tangled their legs together casually, satisfied. “Are all halovian eggs gold?”
“I don’t know,” Sunday admitted. “Most halovians are born like other humans, now.”
“Not bad, same color as your eyes.”
‘Or your hair,’ Sunday thought privately. He was unsure as to how he’d feel when the child hatched. He hoped he didn’t look too much like Aventurine. It would raise too many questions once they grew older.
“What’re you looking so worried for? Does it still hurt?”
Truthfully… yes. Painkillers and modern medicine helped but he couldn’t help but feel a phantom pain remembering yesterday’s ordeal. But that wasn’t what Aventurine needed to know.
“I’m not worried. It went as well as it could possibly have.” He’d been prepared to have to stay in the bathroom for a full day longer.
Aventurine didn’t comment further, rolling the egg gently on his palm instead. After a few minutes, he let Sunday take it back and got up to summon a hovertray of food.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to eat anything, but you look like you could use a good meal.”
Sunday sat up. “There’s no need, I can walk by myself now.”
“Then watch you nibble on some cookies and tea? Please.” Aventurine scooped up some kind soup or porridge from the hovertray- it smelled good, but he was a little preoccupied.
The egg no longer required any sustenance from him and what he ate no longer had any bearing on the child’s health. He wondered if Aventurine had forgotten that. Sunday had been braced for this day from the first moment.
“...What, want me to feed it to you on my lap?”
“You don’t need to do all this, anymore,” Sunday said, finally. “It won’t matter to the baby.”
Only two inches away on the bed, Aventurine stilled.
=
Aventurine tilted his head back.
It had been a while, but it always astounded him how quickly Sunday got his temper up.
“What would you like? Shall I take responsibility for you?”
Sunday frowned. “No, that’s not possible.” Then, he blinked, sensing the strange anger seeping from Aventurine.
“Haah… Was I not good enough?”
“What?”
“I was going to take my time but I didn’t expect you really thought so lowly of me.’”
Sunday carefully folded the egg back into the sling, making sure it was well settled. “What I think of you or don’t, in this case, has no bearing. We agreed that you’d help. You’ve been sufficient help.”
“‘Sufficient’? Angel, you really don’t know how to talk to people. So what is it? Now that the egg’s out you don’t need me anymore?”
“...I don’t want you to force yourself.”
“What?” Aventurine stared at him. “You think… I’m forcing myself… to touch you?”
“I understand you have some… difficulties around intimacy. Most of our interactions also end in sex. That’s not going to be possible for me in the near future.”
“Wait, do you think I’m… trying to get frisky with you?”
Sunday gave him a look.
“...Shit, wait. Give me a minute, here…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “While I like messing you up, Angel, give me a little credit? Can’t you like, sense my feelings?”
Sunday hesitated. “Your feelings… haven’t changed. I can’t sense anything from you when we aren’t intimate.”
“Simply put, you doubt my motives, hm? So how about I give you the reason?” Aventurine set the
“I’ve decided to raise the stakes,” Aventurine said simply. “After all, doesn't the winner take all? I don’t plan to leave anything on the table, instead of just staying with the child, I’ll have you both.”
“...I disagree. The child is yours by blood but I am not.”
“I’m not saying you have to agree right now. I just think you can give me a chance.” He interlaced his fingers with Sunday’s left hand and brought it to his lips. “Or do you hate it?”
“...Whether I do or don’t, it’s not a wise course of action.”
“What makes you say that?”
Sunday gave him an incredulous look. “We’ve done nothing but bicker and test eachother since we’ve met, Mr. Aventurine.”
“But you said you would save me, isn’t that right? Is there no room for me in your personal paradise?”
Sunday stilled. “...I don’t think you understand what you want.”
“Then give me a little test.”
“...Pardon?”
“I give you my consent. Just try that little oath of yours again.”
Sunday, to Aventurine’s surprise, looked reluctant.
But hesitation was good. That meant Sunday thought he had something to lose. Just that thought gave him a spark of hope and a burst of pure energy that told him he was right to up the ante.
“Well? I’m waiting.”
“You’ve proven you can lie under Oath.”
“I think you know how to read it.”
“There might be pain,” Sunday reminded.
“Not if I don’t lie. Right?”
Sunday fell silent for several seconds, his arms wrapped around the swaddled egg like a lifeline. “As you wish.”
“Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please… sear his tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows”
Feeling reality bend and the psychedelic color leech at the gaps in his periphery was starting to become familiar. Was it over-exposure? Aventurine found that he no longer felt as choked by it as before. Or maybe it was… intent? It seemed like it’d be a little easier to answer this time.
“The first question: why do you insist on continuing this relationship?”
“Didn’t I already say it? Only losers ‘choose’, I want it all.”
Sunday paused, as though mulling over the truth in his little empathic head. “This… is true,” he finally verified reluctantly. He frowned at Aventurine, as though suspecting him of playing games.
“What do you want from me?” Sunday’s brow furrowed. It was testament to his confusion that he would bypass an intermediate ceremony.
This one was a little harder to answer. Aventurine felt a dozen answers spring to the tip of his tongue, only for it to burn, like the tip of a cigarette. “Everything. Sincerity. A family. The way your face crumples when I kick the blanket off the bed.”
Sunday’s fingers trembled, and he tucked them into his palms gently.
“The last question: Why me? Are you… fond of me?”
“That’s two-- hss.” Aventurine sighed and decided not to test the limits of the Oath again. “Rather than ‘fond’, I’d say it’s more like I’m a little ‘obssessed’...” Aventurine bit back another small hiss. “...yes.”
Sunday fell silent for several seconds, so long that the 113 seconds were soon gone, ticked away into oblivion. “...The Vow is complete, piety served and devotion upheld. I release you.”
“Are you sure that’s your last question?”
“...Yes.”
“Just so you know the answer is ‘yes’, too.” Aventurine grinned, a madcap smile. “So it’s time for me to get some answers, too, right?”
“...Should we allow this bond to form between us, do you understand what it means? Most Halovians part only upon death.”
“Oh, angel, didn’t I say not to use ‘fear’ on me? If I were scared of commitment, I wouldn’t be a Stoneheart.”
After a moment, Sunday suddenly laughed. It was a small sound, but not quite like the scoff he’d so often heard or even the polite cough that he allowed when he was still head of the Oak Family.
Instead, it was almost gentle, like wind through wooden chimes.
“Is this how you ‘seal the deal’?”
“As long as it’s working.”
“I see. Give me your hand.”
Aventurine raised his eyebrows. “Gonna shake on it?”
Sunday simply drew a symbol on the back of Aventurine’s hand. “The first vow. I give this branch to you. We pin our hearts with hope, to build a new nest.”
Aventurine’s hand tingled slightly, but there didn’t seem to be anything different. He examined it briefly.
“Just like that?” There didn’t seem to be any visible mark. Too bad. Nothing really sealed like ink.
Sunday seemed a little amused. “Losing faith in your own deal?”
“No, but you’re usually a little tougher to crack.”
Sunday quietly stroked the egg. “It just occurred to me… that if you can bend this much, perhaps I can, too. And if that’s the case…” Sunday smiled slightly.
“It seems you’ve made a deal I can’t refuse.”