SeagullJessWritten for the #FanPrompt “shift”! Implied familial Sunday and Welt
Sunday didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he’d had a shift in perspective.
It wasn’t long ago that he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of people suffering. Suffering was so loud—discordant noises in what should have been a harmonious world. Sunday had wished to wrap his arms around the world and protect its children from all forms of suffering.
Fulwish had been the ultimate test, really. She also wanted to erase suffering from the world. Her plan had spelled doom for the entire planet, but that wasn’t what affected Sunday the most.
He had been most disgusted by the idea that the world would no longer be allowed to feel pain, all because Fulwish had decided so.
It was odd to think about. *He* had been the one to free everyone from Shuhu’s influence—from that false sweet dream.
Welt’s hand landed on Sunday’s shoulder. “Are you doing alright?”
Sunday startled. “Mr. Yang.”
The entire Astral Express crew was currently gathered in the party car. Everyone was nursing some drink or another as part of a celebration, and Sunday had been sitting at the bar separate from everyone else.
Until now, that was.
Welt said, “You seemed lost in thought there. If you don’t want me to pry, that’s fine, but…” He paused. “I heard about what you did today. Separating all of the affected from Shuhu’s influence is no small feat.”
“Are you here to tell me you’re proud of me?”
Sunday felt as if it was Gopher Wood’s hand on his shoulder. “You make me proud with your good work,” Gopher said, and his hand squeezed hard onto Sunday’s shoulder before finally letting go.
Sunday’s shoulder involuntarily twitched.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Welt said. Then he gently retracted his hand from Sunday’s shoulder, the movement natural and inoffensive. “Of course I’m proud, but that’s not what I wanted to say. I just wanted to ask: are you okay?”
Sunday swallowed, and his throat felt tight. He wanted to correct the misunderstanding—Welt’s hand hadn’t bothered him—but this new question was much more important.
‘Are you okay?’
What a strange question to be asked. He didn’t know the answer to it.
Sunday thought for a moment, looking at his hands in his lap. “I don’t know.” He looked at Welt, then, because he deserved proper acknowledgement for his concern. “But thank you for checking on me.”
If Welt had asked him the same question back in Penacony, Sunday might have answered very differently.
‘There’s no need to worry about me,’ he would say. An answer equal parts pacifying and dismissive. Then, he would push the conversation to whatever he wanted to talk about.
It was a relief to see how easily genuineness came to him after years of deception.
(1/2)