Chapter Text
“Um, have you ever thought about the fact that he might be in love with you?”
Stelle froze. In fact, the entire party car seemed to stop, the air growing thick with expectation and denied realization, the words permeating every part of her brain. Even Sunday glanced over from where he sat further down the bar.
A snap of an imaginary finger, and Stelle’s soul returned to her body.
“I—I’m sorry, what?”
March quickly noticed Sunday’s curiosity and waved him over with a grin. After standing from his stool, bringing his book and glass of water along, she turned back to continue making her point.
“I know I’m one to talk, but a thousand years is a pretty long time! At least I could fast forward, but what about him? He was awake for the whole thing!”
Stelle remained stunned.
“Well, yeah,” she stammered. Sunday slid in on her left, and a growing part of her felt like it was an unintentional act of cornering, trapped between a rock and a terrifying thought. “Giving up wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t want to lose you either! And we did all of that to get you back, anyway!”
“Don’t turn this on me!”
“Well, it’s true! We’d all do anything for each other, right?”
March groaned loudly, tilting her chin to the ceiling to whine a long note that had Stelle believing for a fleeting moment that she’s won the argument. But then she came back down, jabbed a finger into Stelle’s face, and slammed her sideways with more evidence that nobody had considered before now.
“What would you think if someone was excited to land on a planet with you when usually, they’re fine with whoever?”
“He was excited?”
“Oh, brother! Sunday!”
His wings twitched as he stood to attention. “Yes, Miss March?”
“You and Dan Heng are kind of similar. If you had a crush on someone and were told that the two of you and nobody else were going to go somewhere together, how would you react? Or better question, how would you try to pretend like you weren’t excited?”
The question stumped Sunday, and a flurry of different reactions flashed imperceptibly across his eyes. Outwardly, he remained entirely composed against the query, at least, if it weren’t for the fact that Stelle then gave him a heinous side-eye to hopefully get him to shut his mouth.
It probably wasn’t a smart move to threaten someone like him, considering… everything, and it definitely crossed some moral code to use his junior position as an Express member to get him to do her bidding. But Stelle’s face had threatened Stelle herself first with how dangerous heat was rising to her cheeks. She needed to do something fast.
“Um…” He cleared his throat, failing to mask the wave of nervousness that, to March, had mysteriously washed over him. “Sorry. I’m no good with romance, since I’ve never experienced it.”
Stelle relaxed.
“But…”
I hope this stellaron explodes and kills us all, she thought promptly.
It was easier to pretend like it meant nothing. Dan Heng’s century of search didn’t have to imply anything to anyone, and it was simpler to believe that there wasn’t subtext beneath the game of glance-passing that had been going on between them ever since she first joined the Express.
Because Stelle was just like that. She was loud. Magnetic. She drew people’s attention because they drew her first; because everything was interesting to her, from the biggest stadiums full of celebrities to the smallest alleys where nameless strangers haggle to sell goods. She threw compliments out to anyone who looked as if they’d like one, and she wasn’t afraid to playfully hook them beneath her arm.
The Express especially.
March was the first. Tit-for-tat humor with a flip side of blunt earnesty. She and Stelle could keep up with one another no matter how far they went, and that bond only got stronger with time. Stelle’s experience on the Luofu was definitely made bearable by her presence.
Welt and Himeko were similar. They had a more laid-back approach to their relationships with Stelle, but they warmed up to one another as if they were reuniting after a long silence. There wasn’t any kind of unfamiliarity with them, more just a pause of recognition before they each dove into a role Stelle dares to call parental. Though, considering their playful sides, she doubts the thorough-ness of that title.
Even Sunday. He wasn’t as quick to befriend as the aforementioned three, but Stelle knew he was still just a person, and each member of the Express was already complicated in their own way, right? The fact that he was sitting beside them now was enough to show progress.
And Dan Heng was the definition of progress. As opposed to the others, whose personalities and ways of life were easy to read from the get-go, Dan Heng’s tendency to not speak unless he thought it necessary made it hard for Stelle to gain footing on the type of person he was. Quiet, obviously, but what was below it? What were his hobbies, his interests? What things did he avoid, what foods did he controversially not care for? He was interesting to Stelle because he hid from her.
Or well, he used to.
Sunday had since trailed off into a tangent about people he used to know whom he now deemed similar to Dan Heng, and Stelle only found herself listening once he reached his conclusion.
“…didn’t quite happen, mostly because the man was too timid to secure a location for the date.”
March frowned. “Aw, you say all that and they don’t even get together! I was invested, you know!”
Sunday nodded. “I’ll admit, it confused me as well. Thus my takeaway is this: Dan Heng’s approach when it comes to romance is most definitely not with words. He will use them, of course, or at least I’d hope so given the fact that he is your archivist, but what I mean to say is that the bulk of his affections would likely be through actions or gifts. Has he given you anything recently, Miss Stelle?”
A tricky smile melted onto Stelle’s face, laced with fatigue and fading hope that Sunday would pay heed to her silent threat.
“For someone who knows how to read people, you sure are ignorant at times.”
Sunday laughed hesitantly. “My apologies.”
She waved his words off and began to think. If March and Sunday were going to be serious about this, then she might as well engage them for a little bit, just for fun. It didn’t have to mean anything, and it wouldn’t, because she was capable of blocking out every thought that didn’t fully support the facts of reality.
Because when it came to facts of intangible emotion, she wasn’t on solid ground anymore. It was new lands, the secrets of the heart, that sort of thing. She wasn’t good with that. Conjecture with reason became just as valid as physical proof, and it was scary to think that Dan Heng might love her.
It became terrifying when she realized later that night as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, ruminating over the giddy high she felt whenever they caught each other’s gaze, that there was a high probability she loved him too.
—
She didn’t start feeling affection only after March suggested the possibility of Dan Heng’s emotions. The conversation only helped to translate the sentiments Stelle held in her chest into something tangible, which was an understatement. While she chatted with Himeko in the parlor car, the door slid open to reveal a sleepy-eyed Dan Heng who announced he was only passing through to get a glass of water.
If someone had asked Stelle a week ago (or rather, a year or two thanks to Amphoreus’ time dilation) whether the strange excitement she felt seeing him card a hand through his hair was just a platonic, teasing urge or a genuine fluster, she would have confidently said the former. But now even Himeko noticed the intensity of her distraction.
“Something on your mind, Stelle?”
“Huh? Oh, not really. I just thought about something.”
“What is it?”
Stelle laughed awkwardly and shook her head. She pretended to think about her reply, when in reality she was listening to Dan Heng’s footsteps making their way from one side of her blind perception to the other. It was only after she heard the door to the next car open and shut again that she answered Himeko in full confidence that no, it really wasn’t anything important, and that the topic of her distraction had already been forgotten.
Obviously, the pause gave her away.
Himeko raised a brow and laughed. “Oh! You know, you’re not as slick as you think you are.”
“No clue what you’re talking about!”
“There’s no need to play coy.” She laughed some more. “Shush told me what you all talked about the other day. There’s no use in trying to hide it.”
Oh.
“I’ve always hated that robot,” Stelle muttered.
Himeko tapped a finger to her chin. “I think it’s possible.”
“We need to get rid of the robot, Himeko. Please.” Stelle was about to do one of two things: either get down on her knees and beg for mercy, which would incriminate her, or glance around to make sure Dan Heng didn’t hear any of this, which would also incriminate her, if not immediately send her to the electric chair. Obviously unwilling to do either, she instead went for a secret third option, which was to stare as deeply as she could into Himeko’s soul in hopes of transmitting every ounce of desperation she could muster.
In the end, Himeko just gave her a fond smile.
“I’m not at liberty to give any formal opinion besides what I’ve already said, but if you want it to happen, then it certainly could. You two would make a lovely couple.”
“But I don’t want it to happen.”
Himeko stood taken aback. “Why not?”
Where could Stelle start? Countless thoughts ran through her mind, that of anchoring and discovering, binding and promising. Sunday was right when he said that Dan Heng was a man of little words, because when he did speak, Stelle knew it meant something. And she hated it.
She hated that Dan Heng, the loyal archivist, the direct soul, the man who faced his past and not only lived through the repercussions of mistakes not his own, but tamed his uncertainties, might love a woman whose insides could explode at any minute, killing them all.
And sure, it was literal. The stellaron was very much a real threat. Stelle knew that the Express didn’t care, but just because you promised you weren’t going to hurt anybody with the kitchen knife didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance of accidentally dropping it on someone’s foot. There were just too many reservations Stelle held about herself, and they wouldn’t go away easily.
The lame part of her thinks she’s dangerous. That she’s a monster. The logical part of her says that actions are stronger than words, and that the trust she’d been given was placed in her for good reason. The insecure part of her says that that phrase is exactly what Dan Heng would say to get her to stop moping about, which is amplified by the flustered part of her that reminds her of Dan Heng’s affection—no, regards. Just regards.
Stelle proceeded to relate all of this to Himeko. It was crazy to be talking about such a thing in the parlor car, but it was quite early in the morning and it’s not like Dan Heng had come back with his glass yet. She wondered about what was taking so long, only to glance at the door the moment he and Mr. Yang came strolling through together talking about something or other.
Stelle did not look up as they passed. She just stared at the ground, and watched Himeko’s gaze follow them instead. Then they left again, and Himeko placed a hand on Stelle’s shoulder. Himeko opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated, and sighed.
“I almost called you kiddo, but then I remembered how long you all truly spent on Amphoreus. Anyways, Stelle, do you think the Nameless would run from danger? What kind of Nameless would we be if we did that?”
“I don’t know…” Stelle replied, feeling sheepish. It were talks like these that really sobered her up.
“Cowards,” Himeko finished. “It would go against every ideal of the Trailblaze.”
“But it’s still scary!” Stelle said. “I know that realistically nothing will happen, but it’s just the back-burner thought, you know? The possibility. It could happen, let’s be honest. And what’ll we do if it does? I don’t want to hurt any of you, and I don’t want to hurt…”
She trailed off. It wasn’t about Dan Heng anymore, but herself as a person. As a threat to life. Memories of the Luofu bled into her vision again, pictures of Phantylia utilizing a stellaron to aid her plans for destruction. What if someone got their hands on Stelle and used her to threaten the Express? She cared about everybody on board, and she didn’t want to put them in any danger.
“I feel bad,” she admitted, placing her hand on top of Himeko’s and removing it from her shoulder. “I love you guys, really. I want to stay forever. But I feel like in spite of all that, I’m still capable of doing horrible things, and spending one thousand years looking for someone is too long. If it were March or Mr. Yang, I’d understand, but me? Why me?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“No!”
“Then at least take it from me,” Himeko hummed. “We all love you just as much as you love us. And for a certain somebody—though I won’t name names—it might be the type of love that makes him willingly endure a millennia.”
Stelle’s ears warmed. She pressed her lips together and thought it through. She imagined herself as Dan Heng, comparing the weights of sacrifice and devotion. If she were him, would she make the same decisions? Would she push against the boulder of effort for what seemed like forever to find herself in a maze of memoria? What could possibly drive a person to do such a thing, and was it enough?
How did love work?
How could someone see her and think of love?
—
It was a whole lot of putting up with one another in the beginning. Stelle had barely woken up for the first time before she and the others landed on Jarilo-IV, but once she was there, she was spewing stupid jokes and acting like a fool to make up for the fact that she felt like an absolute alien. Even though none of them were from the planet, in her eyes, Dan Heng and March were already acting like locals, conversing and interacting like normal people.
Stelle did not understand what “normal” was supposed to look like.
Overcompensation. That was the word. She thought of Herta and how quippy she was, then channeled that as she went around Belobog. March especially loved her banter, but Dan Heng more so just put up with what he could before pretending like he had something to attend to in his hotel room.
That ended up changing, though. He slowly learned how to read past Stelle’s facade of nonchalance, translating her verbal evasions into the raw emotions they tried to disguise themselves as. He’d offer words of comfort—and here is where Sunday is wrong, Stelle realized, Dan Heng is very much a straightforward person—without being prompted, and it would shock Stelle each time when her funny one-liners were stripped of their armor and given assurances she didn’t even know she needed.
Things were just plain terrifying. Dan Heng knew her. He knew her workings, her ways of action. She guessed trauma bonding would do that to a person, but this…
“Something in me doubts you’re actually reading that,” Dan Heng suddenly said. Stelle jumped and twisted around in her chair, looking up to spot him staring back down at her with a completely neutral expression.
“Jerk,” she immediately retorted, plastering a spread palm over the page. There was nothing to hide about her reading material, she just felt embarrassed that he had caught her off-guard. “Don’t you know it’s rude to scare people?”
“It’s rude to also take books from a library just to put them on your lap and do something else entirely.”
“Your data bank is not a library.”
He sucked air through his teeth and sat on the opposite side of the booth. Shush hovered to and fro across the bar, cleaning glasses Sunday and Himeko used the night before.
“Wow,” he murmured after a second. “Now that is offensive. I am severely wounded.”
“I can’t tell where the joke ends and the truth starts.”
“It’s all true.”
“Is it really?”
They stared at each other for a second longer before Dan Heng broke first. He laughed that familiar, awkward laugh, which was better described as the shape of a sneer with a huff of air passing through, then shook his head.
“Red-handed.”
“I can see lies.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can, Stelle.”
Without further conversation—it always seemed as if they didn’t need any—he opened his own book and turned to a marked page. Stelle removed her palm and tried to resume the paragraph she genuinely had been reading before she got distracted, but found herself unable to get back into the zone, because here was another distraction, infinitely more powerful than the wonderings of her silly brain, and it had charming tousled hair and a habit of resting its cheek against its palm as it read.
This was probably the part where March would yell, you’re screwed! with even Sunday nodding his assent behind her. Thankfully, however, March was out and about reuniting with Seele and Bronya while the Express was on Jarilo-IV for a supply run, and Sunday was somewhere, probably. Hopefully. Stelle couldn’t keep track of a quiet and mysterious man as easily as she could a peppy, energetic, and outgoing girl, but she placed a bet that he was organizing the section of the party car’s second floor where he and Stelle were sharing a space, so all’s well that ends clean.
“How often do you clean, Dan Heng?”
He didn’t look up. “What prompted that?”
She shrugged. “Just curious. Thought about Sunday and how he likes to keep things neat. Every time I go into the data bank, your bed is unmade.”
“That’s because you always decide to check logs at the most inconvenient times.”
“Maybe if you had a proper bedroom, I wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally stepping on your foot while reading about factions.”
“Oh, please. We both know you never read about factions.”
She kicked him under the table, and he yelped.
“Stop that right now,” he warned, but there was no bite to it, just the feigned anger of a little black kitten trying to make itself larger. Stelle made herself giggle at the comparison, then basked in how it seemed to exhaust Dan Heng until he relented and settled for only a returned nudge before returning to his book.
“That’s cute,” Stelle said.
“Hm?”
A part of being human is that you don’t blurt things out loud like an idiot, she corrected.
“Your way of reading,” she amended. “You do it like a little kid. Cheek on the palm, fully focused, that kind of thing.”
And there was the scoff-laugh again. Dan Heng rolled his eyes, but instead of tilting his chin up to look at her properly, he gazed at her through his fringe instead. “Is that a compliment?”
“Um,” Stelle said, like a human who blurted things out loud like an idiot, only this one was painfully self-aware. “Yeah. Sure. I guess.”
I need to be tuned one million times. Sunday, if you’re hearing this, I need you to fix me.
Sunday, to nobody’s surprise, did not respond.
She then debated whether it would be better to insult him out of reflex or change the topic.
“Are you alright?” Dan Heng’s voice cuts through the fog of her emotions again, extending a metaphorical hand for her to take. “You look… troubled, all of a sudden.”
“I just hope Sunday isn’t moving my trophies around,” she replied as if it was second nature. “I have them all where I want them to be, so I’m going to be annoyed if he changes something.”
She sighed and tossed a look toward the stairs to sell the act. She knew it was completely false, that Dan Heng could tell that there was something else going on. All she could hope was that he didn’t know what, but even that was a stretch; though she figured it would help that the secret in question involved him, and he usually didn’t include himself as a factor in conjecture.
In the end, he let it go and returned to his book. Stelle was grateful for it, as the stellaron might’ve exploded if her heart kept on at the pace it was at.
She could see him smiling, but decided to pretend as if he was reacting to his story instead, a story she sincerely hoped was not about a prince and an ordinary girl.
—
“So~?”
“I’m going to get a glass of water.”
“Wh—Stelle! Sit back down, you can’t just leave!” March grabbed the hem of her sleep shirt and tried to yank her back onto the bed, but Stelle had already spread her feet wide enough to be able to counter the tug. She held her ground, both physically and metaphorically, and argued against anything happening between her and Dan Heng ever since that embarrassing conversation in the party car.
March continued. “This is a sleepover! This is what girls talk about when they have sleepovers.”
“You’re on my turf, March. My room, which means I get to decide what we do. And what about guys? Are they not allowed to talk about romance when they have sleepovers? You’re being unfair!”
March stuttered helplessly at the ridiculous logic set out for her. She stared up at Stelle, wide-eyed and at a loss of what to say, her expression twisted into an emotion so intense that it had Stelle wondering if she really had gotten upset.
But then March threw a pillow at her and whined in her normal, playful fashion, “You’re the unfair one! Where do I even start to argue against the points you’re trying to make?!”
“Then don’t make any points in the first place!” Stelle replied, throwing the pillow back. March caught it, fell backward, and wrapped it tightly in her arms before turning her head to the spare mattress set up on the floor beside the display case.
“Sunday!”
He looked up from his journal. When he first arrived, he was caught quite off guard by the routine antics of the young Express members. But he had acclimatized by now, and did not even bat an eye at the commotion March and Stelle had been exchanging mere moments ago.
“Yes, Miss March.”
She sat upright again. “What do guys talk about at sleepovers?”
Sunday found himself at the full attention of both March and Stelle, the both of which have seemingly come to a temporary truce in order to collect an answer to one of their many pending questions. As he pondered, Stelle studied how he’d made himself comfortable: layers of blankets and more pillows than she’d expected a person like him would need. Or would the better word be want?
“I…” Sunday faltered, and for a brief moment he even looked sad. “I’m not sure. I don’t have much knowledge about what happens during sleepovers, unless you count the ones I had with my sister when we were young children. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”
The sadness wafted into March’s soul, and her voice softened as she said it was alright and offered for him to join them. He was reluctant, but she again insisted that he was just as much a member of the Express as they all were, and maybe it was the joy of seeing Sunday relax and agree to come closer to continue their talk, but Stelle too found herself relieved by March’s words for some strange, intangible reason.
‘You’re not a threat.’
Was it true?
When Sunday allowed himself the grace to sit on the edge of Stelle’s bed beside March and her pillow fight threats, she too allowed herself to dream for one unburdened moment that really it might be so.