Archive of Our Own ^beta

The clock showed four in the morning, and Sunday was already awake before the others. There was no difference between day and night on the Astral Express—the atmosphere was always dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of panels lining the corridors and the stars scattered beyond the windows. Dark planets passed by in silence, serving as the backdrop to an endless journey.

Sunday walked slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the quiet corridor. His golden irises swept around, briefly catching his reflection in the window glass. How expressionless it was—lips pressed tightly together, drooping eyelids, pale skin as if never touched by sunlight. He looked almost like a faint shadow between light and darkness, alive yet leaving barely a trace of existence.

Today marked forty days since he had joined the Astral Express. Of course, he counted—every single day, without fail. It was natural for someone accustomed to order, someone who always lived by a plan. However, something had changed recently.

Now, he often let things flow without an agenda. Spontaneity, which once felt foreign, now added a new color to his life. Without certainty, without a rigid script, this journey offered small, unexpected surprises. And strangely, he didn't mind. Perhaps, for the first time, he was beginning to enjoy things beyond his own predictions.

During his time on the Astral Express, Sunday had performed his duties well. There were no issues with his current job except—

His steps suddenly halted in alignment as he noticed a door leading to the party car open. His curiosity led him forward, his movements silent, golden eyes scanning the room—and finding someone.

—one problem that weighed heavily on his chest.

On one of the sofas near the window, Welt sat calmly. His shoulders slouched slightly in a relaxed posture, one hand supporting an open book, while the other held a cup still steaming. His hair fell gently over his temples, some strands swept back, revealing the refined lines of his face and an expression of serene tranquility.

Those eyes—a pair of irises as calm as the surface of a morning lake—were fixed on the pages, moving slowly in sync with the flow of his reading. Every breath he took blended seamlessly with the atmosphere of the room, as if his presence was perfectly in tune with the space.

His throat suddenly felt dry, forcing him to swallow with some difficulty. Before Welt could notice him, he immediately turned to leave.

"Sunday."

Too late. He should have remembered that Welt possessed sharp senses and a strong intuition. Now that he'd been caught, what could he do? Walk away and ignore the call of the very person who had first allowed him to join the Trailblazers?

"I'm a little surprised you recognized me right away." He replied flatly, avoiding eye contact.

Welt's attention remained on his book, while Sunday found himself unable to look at the bespectacled man for long. Even though Welt was focused on his reading—ancient history, judging by the pages—he was still adept enough to detect someone sneaking around without even glancing up.

A faint curve formed on the man's lips. "I just have a good memory." He answered.

That response sparked even more questions in Sunday's mind. He immediately tried to decipher what Welt meant by that.

Noticing Sunday's prolonged silence, Welt let out a quiet chuckle—one so soft that no sound actually escaped his lips. This time, his head lifted slightly from his book, which he then placed on his lap. His focus now shifted entirely to Sunday.

"I remember the way your presence feels." Welt clarified, concerned that his new crewmate might be too lost in confusion.

Sunday wanted—desperately wanted—to ask more about that. But was he close enough to Welt to do so? Especially after the past two weeks, when he had deliberately avoided any activity that would put them together.

It wasn't without reason. In fact, this was the very problem weighing on his chest. Every time he was near Welt, or even just whenever his golden eyes landed on him, his breath would catch, his breathing would shorten. The overwhelming joy, the restlessness that crept in whenever he went even an hour without seeing Welt, was enough to drive him insane.

The only thing he could do was suppress all these feelings and subtly keep his distance—ensuring that Welt never noticed.

"You don't have to memorize it, though." He murmured, deflecting Welt's words so he wouldn't seem too easily swayed. Though deep down, his heart said otherwise. Perhaps, in truth, he was surprised—and he liked it.

Welt smiled again, this time wider. Those mesmerizing brown eyes looked calm. At a glance, anyone would think Welt was looking at him with the same gentle warmth he always showed to others.

No one would know the one accurate fact—that at this moment, Welt was watching Sunday with an intensity that surpassed the usual.

Sunday would only notice Welt's gaze directed at one place—his face. But the truth was different. Welt could see much further, much deeper. From the top of his head down to his feet, Welt could observe him silently, even though his eyes seemed fixed on Sunday's neutral expression.

"I didn't intend to memorize it," Welt responded, his voice cool. "Haven't I told you before?" He continued, closing his book. "My memory is quite good. It's not easy to forget." He spoke with his usual calmness.

Sunday had to take a deeper breath when Welt's gentle voice reached his ears. It tickled him, sometimes even tempted him to lock that soothing voice away so that only he could hear it.

The distance between them was still considerable, not close at all, yet why did even the simplest words from Welt always make his entire body tremble? Even the hairs on his arms stood on end, shivering in a strangely pleasant sensation.

"So that's how it is." Sunday replied, clasping both hands behind his back. Hiding the restless fidgeting of his fingers as they intertwined. Gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly, his nails pressing so hard they turned white.

This feeling came suddenly, uninvited. He had looked it up on the internet, and the answer to his search was clear—he was in love.

Curiosity flooded his mind. Among them, the question—what made him fall for Welt Yang?

Was it Welt's gentle nature? The affectionate attention that made him feel special? Or perhaps the patience Welt possessed? Was it his intelligence? Which of these had made him fall in love?

All of them. More than what could be listed.

Sunday felt starved for everything Welt had. Could he, not just Welt, hold a special title? Something that marked him as a rightful owner of a part of Welt?

Not that Welt had to give up everything he owned just for Sunday. He just wanted a name—a title—something to remind everyone that even if Welt showed his kindness and care to others, in the end, he would always belong to Sunday.

"Are you planning to stand there the entire time while we talk?" Welt's voice gently prodded.

That snapped Sunday out of his thoughts.

"Come here. The seat next to me is empty." Welt said, still in his relaxed position, sitting with his legs crossed.

How difficult it was to refuse such an offer. If only he were bold enough, uncaring of his pride being shattered, perhaps right now, in this room, where only he and that captivating man existed, Sunday would have already thrown himself into Welt's broad and inviting chest.

What would it feel like... to bury his face in Welt's warmth? To have his nose filled only with Welt's scent, indulging in the comfort of those strong arms?

Sunday's gaze lowered, stopping at the book resting on Welt's lap. How much did he crave—to sit upon those long legs?

Welt's thighs... just how soft would they feel?

"Sunday?" Welt called his name again, asking for his attention.

"...." The ashen-blue-haired man stiffened. His head jerked up in slight panic, his pupils momentarily shrinking. And of course, Welt, with his ever-sharp observation, caught that instantly.

Welt let out a quiet sigh—not out of annoyance. His long legs, which had been crossed, now uncrossed. He set the book down on the table before him and rose from his comfortable seat.

When he stood, Sunday was reminded of just how tall Welt was. Especially those broad shoulders, which seemed like the perfect place to rest his head.

"You seem unfocused today," Welt remarked. He took a step forward, approaching where Sunday remained frozen near the door. "Is something bothering you?"

Sunday bit the inside of his lip to keep himself in check, to suppress the unfamiliar sensations surging within his chest. Especially when the sight before him was Welt—

Welt was walking toward him. Coming closer. Just for him. Welt had willingly left his comfortable position just to check on him?

Was his mind overreacting?

When being approached like this by Welt, he imagined those black-gloved hands would push him against the wall, trapping him with a posture larger than his own. Imprisoned in a confinement he had never experienced before.

As Welt drew closer, he instinctively took a step back. Though his expression was as flat as an ice block, his heart felt parched, yearning to be showered with wet kisses from those tempting lips.

Welt calmly halted his steps. He was in no rush to reach Sunday. Instead, from behind his glasses, those brown irises stared deeply at him.

It would be a lie to say Welt hadn't noticed Sunday's change in behavior. He was well aware—no, he felt it. For the past two weeks, Sunday had been avoiding him. Even when they were on the same team for duties, the blue-gray-haired figure always kept his distance, a stark contrast to their first meeting.

Normally, Sunday never showed any strange behavior, even when Welt was close enough to guide him through the tasks of a Trailblazer. Sunday would focus on the material, not the proximity between them.

Every day, Sunday would follow him until the task was fully completed. They spent time together, discussing everything related to Express duties and their explorations.

But in the past two weeks, Sunday had become unreachable. He always kept his distance. There was even a time when Welt invited him to a fuel station stop for Express, only to receive an outright rejection.

Sunday had never refused before.

"Nothing," Sunday finally answered. "Nothing is bothering me." That was a lie. Welt was the very source of his distraction. His mind was never free from Welt's image. It felt as if Welt had become the main character in his head.

"Then where does your attention go when you're talking to me?" Welt asked in his usual gentle tone. There was no pressure in his words.

"Honestly, I've been having trouble focusing lately," Sunday tried to defend himself. "It's because I have too much on my mind. But nothing is bothering me." Would his excuse sound like a lie? Was it reasonable enough for Welt to accept?

"At first, I thought the same," Welt replied, his voice slightly lower than before. He restrained himself from approaching Sunday immediately. "But the more I observe, the more I sense something."

"What is it?" Sunday asked, intrigued. Negative thoughts had already seeped in, sending small beads of sweat forming at his temples.

"Like this," Welt answered before taking another step forward, approaching Sunday in small strides.

Instinctively, Sunday stepped back. With every slow step Welt took forward, Sunday mirrored it by retreating.

A faint smile graced Welt's handsome face. He stopped in place, leaving only a few meters between them. There was no need to chase after a drifting leaf. Just wait, with an open palm, and let it fall into his grasp on its own.

Sunday turned away, giving Welt his back. His jaw tightened, and his neck stiffened with tension. Facing Welt drained so much energy. Yet, he still liked how his body grew tired under Welt's gaze.

"Unfortunately, I don't understand." He muttered. How many more times did he have to fight what his heart wanted? What was holding him back from admitting he liked Welt?

One: He felt tainted.

Two: He felt unworthy.

Three: He felt prideful.

"Then let's make it simpler." Welt murmured, already standing close behind Sunday.

"Maybe another time."

Sunday rejected him. And before he could truly escape through the doorway, a hand reached for his wrist. Gentle, yet firm in control. He was pulled back, away from the exit—trapped once more in this room with Welt.

He gasped, almost protesting, but before words could escape, Welt had already closed the door with a swift, silent motion. No sound, only his remarkable swiftness. As if this had been planned all along.

With the door shut completely, Welt raised a hand—his gloved palm covering Sunday's lips. A touch that wasn't rough, yet gave no room for resistance.

His body, previously being drawn backward, now found itself facing Welt. And the next surprise came when his face collided with the broad chest of the man before him.

Thump.

Sunday froze. His heart pounded wildly as Welt's familiar scent seeped into his lungs. A fragrance that overwhelmed his senses, dominated his thoughts.

He couldn't move—not just because he was being held in place, but because this sensation was too intense. Too intimate.

Welt still held his wrist, preventing any escape, while his other hand remained over Sunday's mouth.

For what reason…?

It seemed that Welt intended to hide from Dan Heng and Caelus' attention as they indulged in their affection, heading toward this very door.

Sunday closed his eyes, letting Welt's warmth seep further into his body. The top of his head tingled; he knew that right above him, Welt was gazing down with an unreadable expression.

As for Sunday himself, he didn't want to waste this closeness.

Unconsciously, he lowered his face, burying it in Welt's chest. From here, he could hear the man's heartbeat—steady, stable, strong enough to make his ears burn. Welt's breath fell against the crown of his head, tickling his hair.

Welt's scent tormented his senses even more, lulling him deeper into its embrace.

Sunday could feel his own heartbeat hammering violently inside his chest, each pulse intertwining with the tension radiating between them. The air around him felt thick, unbearably warm, making it even harder to breathe.

And it wasn't just because of the sounds coming from Dan Heng and Caelus kissing outside this door. Not just because of Caelus' muffled moans and Dan Heng's increasingly fervent kisses, growing wilder, filling every inch of the space...

The true reason that was shattering him... was Welt.

The man's hand remained on his waist, gripping him—not painfully, but just firmly enough to ensure he wouldn't go anywhere. Their bodies were pressed together, so close that Sunday could feel the heat from Welt's chest spreading to him, stealing away his balance.

But the worst of all... was Welt's gaze.

So intense. So piercing. So completely undressing him with nothing but those gentle eyes.

Sunday held his breath, desperately trying to redirect his thoughts from the unbearable heat consuming him. But it was useless.

Because Welt was still there.

Still looking at him.

Still keeping him imprisoned in an embrace that grew deeper, more suffocating, burning every inch of him that it touched.

"Sunday..."

The whisper struck him hard, shaking his defenses until they nearly crumbled.

His breath hitched.

Welt's voice was too low, too hushed, too intimate—it struck directly at his most sensitive nerves.

Unfair.

It was unfair how this man could control everything—even his reactions, even his body, even his thoughts, which were now struggling to stay clear.

And when he lifted his gaze back to Welt, the man merely smiled.

A smile that had no right to be that calm, no right to be that... ensnaring.

Sunday swallowed, his throat dry.

His very soul was hypnotized by the muffled voices of the two lovers lost in their passion beyond the door. The warmth stirred by those sounds seeped into him, shaking the fragile balance he had left. With the last remnants of his reason, his small fingers crept forward, slowly pushing Welt's hand away from his lips.

The difference in height between them remained an undeniable contrast. From above, Welt studied him, his gaze sharp and consuming, as if the smaller man before him was a rare delicacy, served only once in a thousand years. His eyes were deep, intense, capturing every fine detail of Sunday's slightly parted lips, the way his breath came in uneven intervals.

His shoulders rose and fell, syncing with his growingly erratic breathing. Welt's smile softened, his gaze never straying from the fragile figure before him. The rushed rhythm of Sunday's breaths formed a melody in his ears—a strangely comforting sound.

Slowly, Welt lowered his head, leaning in until his lips were level with Sunday's ear.

"Try taking a deep breath..." His whisper was as soft as a breeze, almost sounding like a tease. Welt himself demonstrated, inhaling deeply, inviting Sunday to follow suit.

Sunday, already drowning in the whirlwind of his emotions, had no choice but to obey. With his lips parted wider, he prepared to take a deep breath as instructed.

"Exhale slowly..."

Welt's voice hit his ears again, this time deeper, more resonant. And as Sunday exhaled, Welt did the same—releasing warm air directly into Sunday's ear.

"Hng..."

A stifled moan escaped Sunday's lips, his fingers reflexively gripping the fabric covering Welt's chest. His eyes shut tightly, his body seemingly melting into the warmth Welt provided. Instead of calming down, his heartbeat grew even wilder, his breathing more erratic.

"Sunday..."

Welt's low whisper called his name again—who knows how many times by now—and before he could fully regain his senses, that large hand tightened around his waist. What was once just a hold became a firm grasp—not rushed, but gentle, careful. Welt wanted to savor every curve of his body.

Sunday lost control. His head tilted back instinctively, exposing his slender neck without realizing it, revealing the smooth skin that was now flushed. His eyes narrowed, his body overly sensitive to Welt's touch.

His desires were manifesting one by one in ways he never expected.

"What are you doing...?"

Sunday's voice was hoarse, almost choking in his own throat. His breath came heavy, uneven, as if his body was struggling to keep up with the intensity Welt was imposing without warning.

Before him, Welt simply formed a small smile, then leaned in, closer and closer, until their foreheads touched. The sheer intimacy of such minimal distance completely trapped Sunday, ensnaring him in a delicate web he couldn't escape.

"Touching you." Welt's voice was deep, carrying a tone that echoed straight into Sunday's chest.

Sunday let out a sharp, hurried breath, and Welt felt it directly on his face—warm, almost searing. As time passed in tense silence, the atmosphere between them grew even hotter.

"Why are you... touching me...?.."

His voice weakened, succumbing to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him down to his fingertips. As if moving on their own, his fingers crawled into Welt's brown hair, tracing its texture before tightening into a desperate grip. It wasn't neat—it was messy, almost frantic—the only way he could try to stabilize the turmoil Welt was stirring within him.

Meanwhile, Welt remained composed, entirely in control. Even when Sunday pulled at his hair roughly, he merely bowed slightly, allowing the distance between them to dissolve further. His eyes gleamed with something deeper—not just tenderness, but a hunger growing wilder beneath the calm he maintained.

"Because I want to."

His words were barely a whisper, yet their effect rippled through Sunday like scorching heat.

Without giving Sunday a chance to think further, Welt lowered his head even more, letting his lips hover just above Sunday's—not touching, merely letting the hot air between them mingle, provoking him.

Welt's large fingers traced a slow path along Sunday's hipline before squeezing more firmly, demanding a response.

"And the way you're pulling my hair—you're doing it wrong." Welt whispered right against Sunday's face, his deep voice laced with an unseen trap.

His free hand reached for Sunday's wrist, which still clung tightly to his hair, while his other fingers loosened gently, smoothing the strands that had been tousled by the earlier pull.

"Let me show you how to grip someone's hair properly." He said, his face tilting slightly closer, allowing his steady breath to brush against Sunday's cheek.

One more inch, and their lips would meet.

Sunday swallowed hard, feeling something strange coil in his stomach—a swirling heat that churned until his chest felt tight. His legs suddenly lost their footing, as if he were floating aimlessly amidst the thinning gravity.

While Sunday was overwhelmed by his internal chaos, Welt effortlessly uncurled his grip, intertwining their fingers instead—turning a challenge into a firm, unyielding hold.

Sunday looked up, meeting Welt's sharp yet slightly trembling gaze—while Welt merely let out a quiet chuckle, relishing how the smaller body before him reacted so easily with just the simplest of touches.

"Your hand is wet." His voice carried a hint of teasing, though a faint smile lingered on his lips.

Sunday flinched. Sure enough, his damp palm was now pressed against the cold surface of Welt's black glove. Heat and cold. A contrast that, for some reason, felt incredibly sensual.

Could Welt feel just how damp that sweat was?

That, in truth, every drop trickling down his skin was a seed of a heat too intense to ignore?

Welt let out a slow breath, and in the next moment, he guided Sunday's hand higher, letting his small fingers rest upon his broad shoulder.

Placing it there deliberately.

Creating a closeness impossible to escape.

"Hold on to me properly, Sunday." His voice was deeper this time, accompanied by that ever-alluring smile. "I don't want you to fall."

Even if Sunday were to fall, Welt would undoubtedly catch him. That wasn't even a question anymore, was it? But how would Welt catch him?

What would he reach for first when Sunday lost his balance? Would he grab his hand first, or would he pull him straight into his embrace, ensuring his body never touched the ground for even a second?

Sunday couldn't tell. Right now, his legs felt weak, his body trembling uncontrollably, as if the world around him was spinning at a pace he couldn't keep up with.

And Welt knew. Welt knew exactly what was running through his mind at this moment.

Those brown eyes moved slowly, as if tracing every scattered thought in his head. Then, without warning, Welt lowered his head, pressing his lips to Sunday's crown in a fleeting, silent kiss. No excessive pressure, just a touch as light as the wind—yet its impact ran far deeper than one could imagine.

Before Sunday could take a proper breath, Welt leaned in once more. This time, his deep inhale drew in Sunday's scent, filling his lungs in a deliberate, savoring pull. A small pause followed before Welt finally opened his eyes again—and through the frame of his glasses, Sunday caught a glint within those brown irises.

"It would be better if you gathered all of my hair in one firm grip." His voice was still a whisper, yet it carried the charge of an electric current tracing down Sunday's nape.

And without waiting for a response, Welt swept up all of Sunday's hair, gathering it into one solid grasp.

"Because if you only pull at a few strands, you won't feel how your grip affects my entire head."

Welt's fingers tightened, gripping Sunday's hair in a way that felt possessive. The pull wasn't just idle—it had a rhythm, a precision in every movement, as if he was teaching something unspoken.

Sunday was caught off guard by the sensation that came with that grip. It didn't hurt—if anything, it felt inexplicably good. Warmth spread from his scalp, trailing down his spine, before settling deep in his stomach, leaving him at a loss for how to control his own body.

He gazed at Welt with half-lidded eyes—still somewhat sharp, in truth.

How many people had imagined Welt behaving like this?

How many people liked Welt besides him?

The Welt standing before him now, the one gripping all of his hair, the one looking at him with an allure that provoked his desires.

Tell him, how many times had Welt played like this with someone?

No matter the number. Only he would be consumed by the fire of jealousy.

If someone else were the one being pulled by Welt, would they feel the same sensations he did?

If someone else were in his place right now, would Welt give them that same soft smile?

If it wasn't him, would Welt be able to refrain from doing this with anyone else?

"You don't have to pull my hair right away," Welt's voice was low, vibrating with a seductive undertone. "A firm grip on my hair without yanking it is enough for me to enjoy it." His words were gentle, almost coaxing. As if to prove his point, his fingers slipped deeper into Sunday's hair, tightening their hold, feeling each strand twisting between them.

He exhaled slowly, inching his face closer until his nose brushed against the top of Sunday's head. "I'm quite curious," he murmured, eyes closed as he savored the moment, his warm breath ghosting over Sunday's scalp. "How would it feel if those small hands of yours pulled my hair for the second time?"

A long sigh slipped from Welt's lips before he continued, "Do you want to try again?" His hand, which had rested at Sunday's waist, slid upward, finding its way to Sunday's sweat-dampened back. A single sweep of his palm felt cool against the heated skin, a contrast that made Sunday shudder.

He bit his lip tightly, fingers unconsciously clutching at Welt's clothing. Passive. And that only solidified Welt's dominance over him.

"Try it once more," Welt whispered, his mesmerizing chuckle accompanying the words. "Pull my hair even harder."

Sunday lifted his head slightly, searching Welt's expression. Welt, who seemed so at ease, was busy inhaling the scent of his hair. Then, sensing Sunday's slight movement, he pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Their eyes locked, each carrying a different intensity.

"As hard as possible?" Sunday's voice finally emerged, hoarse.

Welt let out a quiet scoff. "As hard as you can." His hand tugged at Sunday's hair slightly, just enough to force his face to tilt up further, placing him entirely within his grasp.

"What if I make your hair fall out?" He asked, his head now tilted back.

Welt's smile deepened, as if enjoying the provocation. "Then make my hair fall out with your hands." His challenge was spoken in an almost playful tone, not threatening in the slightest.

Sunday reached for Welt's hand that was still tangled in his hair, his fingers gripping it with hunger. He touched it—the hand that belonged to Welt, the hand of the man who occupied his thoughts endlessly, the hand that had pulled him into silent, passion-filled nights time and time again.

His lungs felt constricted beneath the slow-creeping awareness. This touch… was more than just the fantasy that had plagued him. Simply by holding Welt's hand, his body was already trembling with an irrational heartbeat. He should have removed Welt's hand from his hair immediately, but his desires spoke otherwise.

Instead, he prolonged the moment. His gaze remained locked onto Welt's as his fingers traced the contours of his gloved hand, as if memorizing its shape. But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. The fabric was in the way—annoying, and Sunday never liked barriers.

Finally, he slipped two fingers beneath Welt's glove, pressing in until they met the warmth of the skin hidden underneath. His fingertips moved, exploring the palm with greedy, open hunger—teasing, testing, caressing Welt in a touch that was undeniably sensual.

At that moment, Welt released his hold on his hair. The silvery-blue strands fanned out slowly, like petals unfurling in bloom. The bespectacled man, always one to play, didn't simply let go all at once—he let it unravel bit by bit, savoring the sight of each strand cascading gracefully.

"It seems you really like my hair." Sunday commented, his touch shifting to grasp Welt's hand and swiftly swatting it away in a single, quick motion.

Welt's hand was brushed off just like that, yet not a single trace of surprise crossed his face. Sunday's sudden roughness wasn't something that could catch him off guard. With the calmness that seemed to be an innate part of him since birth, Welt merely gave a faint smile—one that was more captivating than provocative.

"So, you've realized it." He spoke lightly, as if it was nothing worth concealing.

"You get attached so quickly. I suppose that's just your habit." Sunday observed Welt with a slightly sharp gaze, analyzing just how serious the bespectacled man was about his words. Welt could very well say the same thing to anyone he met.

"You don't seem pleased." Welt extended his hand again, this time intending to touch Sunday's hair. "Do you dislike it when someone longs for your hair so much?"

Sunday swiftly caught his wrist, stopping Welt's intent before it could be fulfilled. "Aren't all hairs the same? The only difference is their color." In other words, if that were true, Welt should be able to admire any hair in the world.

Welt chuckled softly as his hand was restrained. He fully understood Sunday's point. "You're missing one more difference."

"There isn't any."

"There is," Welt gently refuted. "Every hair always has its owner."

A brief silence settled between them.

"And this hair of yours..." His fingers moved deftly, gripping Sunday's hand back, flipping the situation in one smooth motion. Now, it was Sunday's fingers trapped within his grasp. "Yours is the only one I like."

His chest tightened upon hearing those few words from Welt. Though his expression remained cold, as icy as ever, the feelings in his heart were undeniable. He was pleased—so incredibly pleased—to receive such a small confession from him.

However, Sunday had no intention of admitting it. Especially not in front of Welt himself.

Instead of responding, he lifted his other hand, reached for Welt's brown hair, and yanked it without hesitation. The strands tangled between his fingers, forcing Welt's head to tilt upward.

"Oh, my..." Welt closed his eyes, his signature smile unwavering on his lips, as if nothing in the world could faze him. In fact, his allure only grew stronger.

"Is it too strong for you?" Sunday asked, his gaze tracing Welt's face, now entirely within his grasp. God. From this angle, Welt looked utterly compliant—his head tilted back, sharp features accentuated, his gaze... ah. A dangerously tempting sight.

"Stronger than before," Welt answered slowly, his eyelids parting slightly, locking onto Sunday's golden eyes. "Does it feel that good? Being able to pull my hair again?" He whispered, his voice nearly tickling Sunday's ear.

Sunday raised an eyebrow, then without warning, yanked Welt's hair even harder. The man's head was forced further back, making him stare at the ceiling.

Welt let out a small chuckle, unbothered. "Your hands are trembling." He whispered again before slowly shifting his gaze toward the window. Their reflection was clear. But in the end, his eyes remained focused on only one figure—Sunday.

It was true; the hand gripping Welt's hair was shaking slightly. He couldn't deny it. Pleasure gnawed at his body—finding Welt so unresisting, offering himself so willingly as if he were merely a subordinate obeying his master. The sensation was too tempting, too intoxicating to resist, making his body react beyond his control.

Instead of answering Welt, Sunday took a step forward, tightening his grasp on the silky brown strands.

As usual, Welt allowed Sunday to do as he pleased, though he was perceptive enough to read the movement of the blue-gray-haired man. Slowly, he stepped backward, following the forceful push against his chest, while Sunday's fingers remained locked in his hair, leaving no room to escape.

Behind Welt, a long table stood firm—and Sunday had already made his intentions crystal clear.

"You're so relaxed." He murmured, almost like a complaint.

Then, just as he had planned, Welt's lower back collided with the table. At that exact moment, Sunday yanked his hair more roughly, forcing the bespectacled man to half-lie on the cold surface.

Yet Welt only smiled gently—as if the rough touch was nothing more than a tender caress. "What a shame if you were expecting me to react the way you wanted." He remarked, his voice as calm as the melody of a harp playing in a quiet room.

Sunday leaned down, drawing closer, mimicking Welt's intonation. "I want to know," he whispered, letting his breath brush against Welt's skin, "Just how far your patience goes."

He leaned in even further, trapping Welt beneath him. "Would you mind if I made you lose your mind just a little?" He asked, his golden eyes gleaming with something indescribable—something like someone who had just found a delectable meal.

Welt appeared relaxed in his half-reclining position on the table. Even though Sunday tightened his grip on his hair, Welt still tilted his head slightly, casting a gaze as gentle as a mentor dealing patiently with a troublesome disciple.

"What do you want to see from me?" Welt asked calmly.

"Something you've never shown anyone before," Sunday pulled his brown hair higher, causing Welt's head to lift almost to the same level as his own face. The veins along his slender neck became even more pronounced. "Not even to me."

Welt's smile surfaced lightly. Instead of feeling threatened as Sunday forced his head up so high, Welt leaned in closer to Sunday's face.

Only a few centimeters separated them before their noses would have touched—and yet it was Sunday who pulled away first, creating distance between them.

The curve of Welt's lips only widened as he noticed Sunday backing away.

"Something I've never shown before?" Welt repeated Sunday's words, pretending to be deep in thought. But in reality, he already understood where Sunday was going with this. "Which one do you want to see first?"

Sunday narrowed his eyes. The bespectacled man seemed to be throwing himself into this on purpose. "I take back what I said," Sunday said. "I don't expect anything from someone who often has back pain." He muttered.

This game had to end.

Sunday knew his limits—or at least, he had to remind himself of them. His heart and body wouldn't be able to handle whatever might come next. He always remembered that he was weak when it came to Welt.

Except for his pride.

"Back pain?" Welt chuckled in amusement, clearly entertained. "You need to find a better insult, Sunday."

His name rolled off Welt's lips—from a voice that echoed in his mind between morning and evening, noon and night, between every ticking second of the clock's hands. That one utterance alone was enough to make his heart feel like it had stopped beating.

Even though this wasn't the first time Welt had called his name.

Perhaps… it was because this was the first time Welt had done so at such close range—when his body was positioned right above Welt's, pressing him down with his own weight.

"Besides," Welt lifted his hand this time, reaching for Sunday's wrist, which was still gripping his hair. "I'm fairly certain I can make you forget about that in a matter of seconds."

The moment those words left his lips, Welt skillfully twisted Sunday's hand, forcing his grip to loosen from the strands of brown hair.

Sunday winced slightly. Just one counter from Welt was enough to make him seem powerless.

"Didn't you say you wanted to see a side of me that I've never shown anyone before?" Welt's tone remained soft, but his gaze had changed. There was something darker there—though his faint smile still remained on his lips.

Too late to back out.

With one strong pull, Welt yanked Sunday's hand without warning. His movement was slightly rough—completely contrasting his expression, which remained calm. Too calm, even.

Sunday was jolted toward him, his body pressed against Welt's. Just as he was about to pull his hand back, Welt, already anticipating the move, lifted one leg and swept at Sunday's weak spot. Instantly, his balance crumbled—it became difficult for him to stand upright.

That was when Welt rose from his half-reclined position on the table. With a firm grip, now not only holding Sunday's hand but also grasping his waist, he easily pushed Sunday onto the table.

The situation had reversed.

"Like this?" Welt leaned in closer, his voice slightly more seductive in Sunday's ear. "Is this what you wanted to see?"

Of course, Sunday wouldn't accept this. He struggled in every way possible, but Welt effortlessly caught both his hands with one of his own, pinning them above his head.

With his larger frame, Welt pressed Sunday down, ensuring that this time, it was Sunday who was trapped beneath him.

"How cunning..." Sunday muttered, his tone full of displeasure. Yet, there was something else hidden in it—something almost like reluctant intrigue.

"Am I?" Welt chuckled softly. His free fingers rose, smoothing his slightly tousled hair, trying to tidy it after being caught in Sunday's grip earlier.

Beneath him, Sunday writhed, his body searching for an opening to escape the hold. The problem was, his legs didn't even touch the floor. Welt had pushed him so far onto the table that his movements were restricted, his struggles only worsening his breath.

"I'm only granting your wish." Welt continued nonchalantly. Those deep brown eyes, brimming with an intimidating tranquility, observed Sunday's every movement from above—savoring every second of his struggle.

"Ha..." Sunday shot him a sharp glare. "You seem quite satisfied now."

"I should be satisfied," Welt replied, his lips curving into a smirk that felt more like a teasing taunt. "Especially when I can see you from up here."

His voice dropped an octave, turning into a low whisper that sent subtle vibrations into the space between them.

Sunday's breath hitched. If this continued, he knew exactly who would fall victim to this situation. Himself. The desire creeping into his mind would devour his sanity whole.

Let's guess—what would happen if that truly occurred? Sunday, consumed by lust's haze, wouldn't hesitate to tear Welt's clothes apart. If necessary, he would silence Welt's lips—the very lips that spoke sweet words to others besides himself—with a kiss demanding more than just a response.

But Welt didn't need to investigate further to grasp Sunday's condition. A single glance was enough to catch the way his chest rose and fell with restrained breaths.

A flushed face. Temples damp with sweat. Breathing growing heavier. A faint crease between Sunday's brows as he struggled to suppress the urge within him.

As if Welt could feel the pulse of desire writhing beneath Sunday's skin.

"What about you?" Welt posed the question with an undertone of hidden provocation. "Are you enjoying the view you're seeing now?"

As he spoke, he bit the tip of his black glove—pulling it off slowly, the movement precise and deliberate.

The fabric slipped away, revealing Welt's long, strong fingers. Fingers capable of gripping firmly, yet also possessing the potential to trace over skin with intoxicating gentleness.

Again and again, Sunday swallowed hard. He had to tilt his head back, gasping for air and trying to reclaim his sanity before it completely slipped from his grasp.

He shut his eyes tightly.

Damn... Welt looked so sexy right now...

"You don't have to answer right away," Welt said calmly, placing the black glove onto the chair's backrest beside them. "From your reaction alone, I already know the answer."

Sunday's heart pounded so violently that he could feel its rhythm pulsing through his skull—its tremors reverberating within him, shaking his nerves mercilessly.

Welt's now bare hand reached toward him, his firm fingers moving with unmistakable intent.

Instinctively, Sunday turned his face away, trying to evade the approaching touch. But...

Too late.

Welt caught his chin with a movement so fluid, it was as if he had predicted the reaction from the start.

His touch wasn't rough, but it couldn't be called gentle either—it asserted its presence, demanding undivided attention.

"Your skin is softer than I imagined." He murmured lowly.

Sunday finally fought back. He couldn't keep letting this happen.

He struggled, mustering all the strength he had left to break free from Welt's grip on both his hands.

Effort never betrays results.

After nearly losing his breath in the struggle, Sunday finally managed to escape.

His heartbeat had yet to slow, and amid his ragged breaths, only one thought filled his mind—

How dangerous Welt was to his sanity.

At that moment, Sunday intended to push Welt away. However, Welt, being quicker, immediately caught the smaller wrist, pinning it beside Sunday's head—one on the left, one on the right. The man's bluish-gray hair was slightly disheveled as his body was cornered.

Welt lowered his face, drawing close to Sunday's ear, then whispered, "Give me just a moment."

"Stop." Sunday's tone was firmer this time.

"I'm forcing you." Welt slightly raised his head, looking straight into those beautiful golden irises. "Listen to me first."

Sunday frowned. "What's wrong with you, really?"

"What a coincidence," Welt murmured, this time whispering right in front of his face. "I wanted to ask you the same thing."

Welt's fingers slowly moved down, his five strong fingers spreading as they encircled Sunday's neck gently.

Sunday flinched. His lips parted slightly, his breathing becoming unsteady.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Welt's voice was soft, yet his fingers remained there. The back of his index finger glided slowly, stroking the surface of Sunday's neck.

Sunday's body tensed instantly. That small touch—especially from Welt's bare skin—made it impossible for him to suppress his reaction.

"I'm not avoiding you." Sunday quickly denied.

"You are." Welt replied with certainty. "You used to always stick to me. Even during meetings, you'd choose to sit beside me. But for the past two weeks, you've been keeping your distance."

Sunday's brow twitched once. "Just because I no longer sit next to you during meetings, meals, or even duties?"

A thin smile appeared on Welt's lips. His fingers, which had merely encircled Sunday's neck, now tightened into a firmer grip.

Sunday could feel his pulse being pressed under Welt's grasp—not painful, but enough to make it hard to feign composure.

"Don't think I don't know you," Welt's voice was sharp. "Just because you've managed to hide it from others doesn't mean I can't see it too."

"I never avoided you, just so you know." Sunday's denial sounded more like a self-defense.

"Then, act like before again."

Sunday lifted his head, his eyes widening as he felt Welt's touch move down, tracing his shoulder line, slipping beneath his shirt.

"I want to see you again—the way you used to always rely on me."

Sunday's mind was a mess. Every word he could have used to refute Welt suddenly vanished, replaced by the sensations Welt left on his skin.

"When you chose to stay close to me instead of others."

Welt's touch continued exploring Sunday's skin, this time only with the tip of his index finger. His trace floated from the collarbone, slowly climbing up along the jawline, until finally stopping just below Sunday's ear.

"Haa..." Sunday exhaled sharply. His free right hand reached out, clutching Welt's collar tightly, as if seeking an anchor in the midst of the storm raging inside him. "Enough..."

Welt smiled faintly—gentle, but not entirely without intent. "I'll stop on one condition," he said casually. "You're not allowed to avoid me anymore."

Sunday tensed, his jaw tightening. "Who has the right to dictate me?"

In a sudden move, he yanked Welt's collar back, causing the bespectacled man to stumble two steps.

But Welt remained quick, his balance unwavering. Only his smile lingered, though this time accompanied by a sharper gaze. "I simply don't like it." He said, his tone still calm, yet there was something deeper hidden beneath it.

Sunday blinked. "What?"

Instead of answering directly, Welt pulled a chair beside him and sat in front of Sunday, who was now perched on the table. The distance between them shrank, the air between them thickening.

"I'm jealous."

That single sentence echoed in Sunday's mind.

Jealous...?

Welt's fingers reached out, capturing Sunday's hands, holding them with a tenderness that contrasted with the tension hanging in the air.

"Sunday." Welt called his name softly, his gaze filled with sincerity. "I like you."

Sunday froze. His golden pupils widened completely, as if his mind had yet to process the words Welt had just spoken.

"Since the first time I saw you," Welt lowered his head, resting his forehead against the back of Sunday's hand, which he held tightly. "Until now, every time I look at you..." He rubbed his forehead gently against it, his breath warming Sunday's skin. "This feeling just keeps growing stronger."

If life were a video game, Sunday wanted to press the pause button right now. Then, maybe he'd crash himself into a wall as hard as he could—or scream until the sky collapsed.

Completely unexpected. It turned out that the person he had liked all this time... felt the same way?

Looking at Welt, who was usually so composed, now appearing unguarded like this, Sunday felt something unfamiliar rising in his chest. Perhaps, a bit of pride? Because the person he had admired all this time could become this gentle—just for him.

"At least, if you don't feel the same way about me..." Welt murmured, lifting his face slowly, his brown eyes meeting the golden glint of Sunday's. "Don't avoid me anymore."

But they both knew. Welt had known from the start. He had only chosen to pretend otherwise in front of this white dove prince—about the real reason why Sunday had begun to distance himself.

Unfortunately, their precious time was interrupted by a voice from outside the door.

Sunday immediately got down from the table, but his feet didn't land properly. His body nearly lost balance if not for Welt's strong arms swiftly catching his waist.

"Careful," Welt whispered, his fingers still lingering in place. "Your foot isn't hurt, is it?"

Sunday didn't answer. Instead, he hurriedly freed himself with a slow movement, then quickly stepped toward the door. Once there, he turned the key and opened it.

At the doorway, Caelus and Dan Heng stood, surprised, seemingly not expecting to find Sunday inside the Party Car room—especially with the door locked.

"Sunday...?" Caelus blinked in confusion.

Sunday only gave a short nod, intending to greet them before quickly slipping away.

Inside the room, Welt let out a long sigh, yet his lips still curved into a faint smile. In his heart, he asked himself, 'Was I too hasty?'

Not long after, Dan Heng and Caelus stepped inside.

"Huh, Mr. Yang, what are you doing here too?" Caelus scratched his head, trying to ease the atmosphere.

Welt, who had already put his black gloves back on, simply grabbed his book before preparing to leave. "Just relaxing," he replied calmly.

Before departing, he patted Dan Heng's shoulder once, then glanced at Caelus. "Enjoy yourselves. You two."

With that, Welt exited the room, leaving the two men behind to exchange glances.

Caelus immediately turned red. "Did Mr. Yang see us?..."

Dan Heng let out a small snort. "He didn't see us."

The Party Car's lights were turned off, the door locked once again. With no more interruptions, the two resumed their previously halted activity.

.....

.....

.....

.....

"Whose turn is it to cook today?" Himeko hummed lightly as she walked gracefully toward the small whiteboard to check the schedule for this Saturday's duty.

Her finger extended, following the list there. "Hm?" Himeko tilted her head. The name March 7th was listed for today's cooking duty.

Her chest instantly tightened. It was true—assigning March 7th to cooking duty was a bad decision. Normally, March 7th was only given tasks like tidying up rooms or checking supplies in storage.

"Himekoo~"

Himeko immediately turned around. "A-Ah... March."

"What's wrong? You don't look too well," March 7th blinked curiously.

"I just had trouble sleeping last night." Himeko replied with a wide smile.

"That's because you keep drinking coffee," March 7th sighed. "You should cut down on coffee, or you'll end up with insomnia."

"It's fine. By the way..." Himeko pointed at the whiteboard. "It's your turn to cook today—"

"Whoa!" March 7th's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Really? How did I get cooking duty?!~"

"Well... I thought you should try it once in a while." Himeko chuckled softly.

"Of course! I've always wanted to be on cooking duty! I can make my favorite breakfast menu!" March 7th bounced enthusiastically.

Himeko clasped her hands together. "That's great, then." In her mind, she thought hard—she couldn't possibly let March 7th cook alone.

Absolutely not.

"Oh..." Himeko almost forgot someone. "How about having Sunday accompany you for your duty today?"

"Sunday?" March 7th touched her chin.

"Yes, he has never been on cooking duty either, just like you. It would be fun to cook with someone who's also trying it for the first time, wouldn't it?" Himeko suggested.

"I agree!" March 7th nodded enthusiastically. "In that case, I'll go find him in his room!"

"Yes, I'm sure you two will cook up a delicious meal~" Himeko waved her hand.

Dan Heng, who had just arrived, quickly approached Himeko and said, "Is it really okay to leave the cooking duty to just the two of them?"

"Sunday is with her." Himeko winked.

"Can he cook?"

"Sunday?"

"Yeah." Dan Heng replied flatly.

"Now that I think about it... I've never seen him make anything..." Himeko tapped her temple.

"Looks like we'll be eating instant noodles again." Dan Heng smirked slightly.

Meanwhile, on March 7th's side...

March 7th knocked on Sunday's door.

"Sunday!~"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No response.

"Sunday? Are you still asleep?" This time, March 7th pounded on the door.

Since there was still no answer, she turned the doorknob. Oh. It wasn't locked. She quickly stepped inside, her eyes first landing on the bed where Sunday should have been—but the soft-looking bed was empty.

"Sunday?" March 7th called again.

She scratched her pink hair absentmindedly. Where was Sunday?

As she stepped closer to the bed, she spotted Sunday resting in the corner of the room, sitting against the carpet with his legs stretched out.

March 7th immediately approached him.

"Why aren't you sleeping in bed?" She asked while shaking his shoulder.

It didn't take long before Sunday's eyelids slowly fluttered open. His brow furrowed the moment he saw March 7th right in front of him. In his room.

A wave of dizziness struck his head.

"Are you okay? Let me check." Without asking for permission, March 7th placed her hand on his forehead.

It felt warm.

"Are you running a fever??" March 7th asked in a panic.

Sunday shook his head. "No, my body temperature is just like this."

"Oh... Thank goodness." March 7th quickly brightened up with a smile. "Sorry for barging in, but today, we're on cooking duty. You and me."

"Cooking duty?" Sunday raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Yup. We're making breakfast for everyone." March 7th put her hands on her hips. "And I've already decided on the menu."

"Good, if you've decided." Sunday straightened his slightly wrinkled clothes. Then, as he stood up—oh no. His hand quickly reached for the wall, helping him regain his balance.

March 7th didn't notice his condition. She was too busy listing off menu ideas.

"Let's go to the kitchen!" March 7th immediately grabbed Sunday's hand.

Being pulled like that made Sunday stumble. He did his best to match her quick pace, still groggy from just waking up.

- In the kitchen -

"Sunday! We need to wear aprons first! And chef hats!" March 7th handed him a pink apron and a matching pink chef's hat.

He froze in place. Sunday wanted to refuse. His silence should have been a clear sign of rejection.

But since this was March 7th, of course, it wasn't that easy.

"Mandatory!" said March 7th while pulling Sunday's hand, putting on a pastel bright pink apron on him. "Here, wear the hat too."

Sunday let out a long sigh. He lowered his head, allowing March 7th to place the pink chef's hat on him.

"Aww. You look so cute!" March 7th squealed in delight.

Sunday turned his face to the side—neither smiling nor frowning. His expression was as flat as a wall.

March 7th then put on her own pink apron and matching hat. After that, she pulled out her trusty camera.

"Before we start cooking, we have to take a picture! Especially since this is my first time on kitchen duty!" March 7th immediately wrapped an arm around Sunday's shoulder.

Not wanting to disappoint the young girl's enthusiasm, Sunday offered a small smile.

"Oh! I look so pretty in the camera! Look! Look!" March 7th excitedly showed him the picture on her camera.

Sunday nodded. "Mmh. You're pretty."

"I'm the most beautiful angel in this universe~ right, Sunday?" March 7th beamed widely, exposing her neat row of teeth.

After finishing their little photo session, March 7th informed Sunday that she wanted to cook her favorite fried rice dish.

Fried rice was simple.

"Alright, let's make it now. Do you have a recipe?" Sunday asked as he rolled up his sleeves.

"We don't need a recipe! Recipes from books are outdated! I want to make fruit fried rice!" March 7th chirped happily.

Sunday's face immediately soured.

"Ah... how about ice cream fried rice?" March 7th threw out another, very... interesting idea.

"Let's just make regular fried rice. If we eat ice cream and fruit fried rice this early, people say it's unhealthy and can cause stomachaches." Sunday reasoned.

"You're right!" March 7th gave him a thumbs-up.

Fifteen minutes later...

Outside the kitchen door, Caelus had just arrived and looked confused to see the entire crew gathered there, eavesdropping.

Even Pom-Pom, the conductor, was among them, listening in.

"Oi, what are you—"

Dan Heng cut Caelus off by placing a finger over his lips.

The next moment, Caelus's curiosity was answered.

"Aaaahh, Sunday! Why is the rice burning?!"

"Lower the heat."

"Aaahh, no way!! The pan is catching fire!! You turn down the heat! I'm scared it'll explode!"

Pom-Pom, who had been eavesdropping, instantly flinched in panic.

Caelus immediately understood. The reason Pom-Pom came here was obviously out of fear that March 7th would damage the Express's facilities.

"Sunday! I finished making warm tea!"

"What kind of tea is that?" He asked, puzzled by its color.

"Honey tea with Himeko's coffee flavor!"

"You can't mix those together."

"Why not?? It tastes good! Look, I even added avocado as a topping!"

Welt let out a soft chuckle upon hearing their conversation. "We should just wait in the dining room."

"What if our kitchen explodes?..." Pom-Pom whispered fearfully.

A faint chuckle escaped Welt's lips as he replied, "That won't happen. Sunday is there."

With that, they left the kitchen door and headed toward the dining area.

Meanwhile, inside the kitchen, Sunday was peeling some vegetables when he suddenly turned to look at the door. For some reason, he had the urge to stare at it, even though there was nothing there.

"Sunday! I finished frying the eggs and meat according to your recipe! This time, I did it right! Try it! Does it taste good?" March 7th approached, holding a piece of egg and a piece of meat for Sunday.

His attention shifted as he took a bite.

"This is delicious."

He wasn't lying. It really was good.

"Really??" March 7th's eyes sparkled.

"Mmh," Sunday nodded slightly. "As long as you don't mix in any weird spices or ingredients, your cooking is actually great."

"Turns out recipes are really important! I thought cooking was just about fun experiments!"

.....

In the dining room, Welt, Himeko, Dan Heng, and Caelus were already seated at the table, facing each other. They were waiting for March 7th to bring out breakfast.

Himeko played with her phone, her mind wandering about the color of the food March 7th had cooked. Was it blue, or black? Could it have turned into a rainbow instead?

"Sorry to keep you all waiting~" That shrill voice rang out loudly.

March 7th appeared, carrying a large tray filled with food.

The bowls of fried rice were placed at each of their seats. "I guarantee you'll all love it. It's delicious," March 7th said cheerfully.

Dan Heng immediately glanced at the fried rice in front of him. The color looked normal. Not black, not green. Just regular fried rice, which actually looked quite appetizing.

"Wow, it smells delicious." Himeko praised as she picked up her chopsticks, poking around in the fried rice—just in case March 7th had added something extra.

Moments later, Sunday appeared with a tray in hand, bringing drinks and additional side dishes that paired well with the fried rice.

His gaze quickly fell on Welt. The bespectacled man was engaged in conversation with Dan Heng, who sat beside him. The way Welt spoke, his gestures, how he paid attention to his conversation partner, the look in his eyes—Sunday wanted to steal all of it, as if no one else deserved that charm but him. Only him.

He placed tall glasses of water beside each of their bowls, one by one.

When it was Welt's turn, Sunday was momentarily startled—Welt immediately took the glass, his eyes gazing at Sunday with a tenderness that was hard to ignore.

His expression softened the moment their eyes met.

"Thank you, Sunday."

He whispered so softly that his voice was nearly drowned out by the chatter at the dining table. He took a sip of water, while his brown eyes flicked toward Dan Heng, who was still busy making his point beside him.

Sunday swallowed hard in silence. His eyes couldn't tear away from the movement of Welt's throat as he drank. His Adam's apple bobbed slowly. Oh. His mind wandered elsewhere.

They both continued acting as usual, as if that moment in the early hours—when Welt confessed his feelings—had never happened.

Sunday didn't know how to respond to it. He was happy. The sound of Welt's voice when he expressed his feelings was forever etched in his mind. If he had to hear it a thousand more times, he would. He wanted to.

Once all the dishes were set on the table, March 7th and Sunday took their seats. March 7th sat across from Himeko at the far left, while Sunday sat directly opposite Welt on the right side, next to Caelus.

However, even though breakfast was ready, no one dared to take the first bite.

"Why is everyone so quiet?" March 7th asked cheerfully. "Come on, let's eat!~"

"Wait a moment, March. I'm contacting Herta. There's an urgent matter." Himeko replied, though her tone sounded like an excuse.

It seemed she was still a bit traumatized by March 7th's cooking.

Welt only let out a soft chuckle, his smile as calm as ever. With a relaxed motion, he picked up his chopsticks, scooped up some rice, and put it into his mouth.

"Let's eat."

He spoke softly before chewing.

Sunday watched him unconsciously, observing his every move closely.

"Mmh." Welt swallowed his bite. "It's good."

As he said this, he shifted his full attention to Sunday, his smile widening slightly until his eyes squinted faintly.

Sunday quickly averted his gaze, his eyes darting elsewhere.

His heart was pounding too fast now.

Seeing that reaction, Welt only smiled even more, suppressing an amused expression he couldn't quite hide. He lowered his head slightly, secretly delighted by how easily Sunday got flustered.

Ah, better to just focus on breakfast.

March 7th clapped her hands once. "It's good, right? This was made by me and Sunday!"

Dan Heng took a bite as well and commented, "It tastes normal."

March 7th immediately glared at him, "Hey! Are you saying my cooking usually doesn't taste normal?"

Welt chuckled softly at their conversation. "Alright, let's just finish our breakfast first."

Himeko put away her phone, then took a bite of her food. After a moment, she said, "Oh... The fried rice is very savory. This is really delicious."

In the end, they all enjoyed their breakfast peacefully, savoring every bite without rushing.

Sunday stretched both legs under the dining table, trying to relieve some tension in the middle of the meal. A sudden stiffness crept in, making him reflexively move his foot slightly forward.

Just as he shifted his foot, the tip of his shoe accidentally touched someone else's—softly, almost like an unintended tap.

Sunday instinctively pulled his foot back, the movement barely noticeable.

Across from him, the owner of the shoe he had touched—none other than Welt—lifted his gaze briefly toward him. A gentle smile graced his face, as if signaling that it was no issue at all.

Truthfully, Welt wouldn't have minded, even if Sunday wanted to fully rest his foot on his own—even if it meant stepping on him. Rather, what unsettled him more was that pale foot. Was it cold? Was the discomfort bothersome?

Without saying a word, Welt returned to his meal. He scooped up some fried rice from his bowl and ate it at his usual, unhurried pace.

Across from him, Sunday moved his foot forward again, this time letting the tip of his shoe remain in contact with Welt's.

He didn't look at him. Instead, he lowered his gaze, putting a bite of rice into his mouth as if he were too focused on his food.

But he could feel it.

Welt's gaze.

The faint smile still lingering on his lips.

He was devouring him with those brown eyes.

Just like how he devoured his meal.

Just like how someone would continue to fill their empty stomach—because if they didn't, it would ache, pleading to be fed, again and again.

Dependence.

"By the way..." Caelus shifted slightly to the side, turning toward Sunday. "What were you doing alone with Mr. Yang in the Party Car at dawn?"

Both Welt and Sunday immediately froze in place.

Himeko's curiosity followed, "Hm? That's good, isn't it? The closer they get, the better they'll work as a team."

Welt quickly swallowed the food in his mouth to answer, "We were just having a casual conversation. We happened to be unable to sleep."

Sunday had no intention of commenting. In fact, he deliberately wanted to let them know that Welt actually liked him—that out of everyone Welt had met throughout this entire pioneering journey, he only liked him.

"I wouldn't have asked if you were just talking casually, but..." Caelus leaned closer to Sunday, who had remained silent and simply enjoyed his breakfast. "Why was the door locked?" Luckily, the question was whispered, so only Sunday and Welt could hear it.

Welt was just about to respond to Caelus's curiosity when his action was interrupted by Sunday leaning in toward Caelus to whisper something in his ear.

Sunday was tempted to say, 'Kids shouldn't pry into adult matters.' But that would be out of character. Unless, of course, there was a fractured version of himself that would say such things.

So, instead, Sunday simply told Caelus that Welt had been helping him control the effects of his Harmony. If they hadn't locked the door, someone could have walked in and been affected by the lingering nightmare Harmony that never truly left him.

A slight scare to keep Caelus from asking more questions.

"O-oh..." Caelus quickly straightened up. "Glad it's going well. Just don't let me get caught in it—I don't want nightmares every time I sleep."

"You won't," Sunday replied. Now it was his turn to tease Caelus. He lowered his head again, reaching Caelus's ear for the second time, whispering, "Because the person in front of you will always protect you."

Caelus spat out his drink. "W-what?..." His eyes immediately darted toward Dan Heng. "T-that..."

March 7th, who had finally paused from taking pictures, jumped in, "Wow, wow, are you guys keeping secrets from me?~"

Caelus frantically shook his head.

"Not fair!~ I want in too!~"

"I told you, it's not a secret!" Caelus protested, his face turning red.

Dan Heng merely shook his head.

Meanwhile, Welt chuckled softly as usual, occasionally letting his gaze fall on Sunday, who remained composed, calmly finishing his breakfast.

Himeko stepped in to diffuse the small quarrel between March 7th, Caelus, and Dan Heng.

The breakfast gathering carried on warmly. Slowly, little by little, the loneliness that usually surrounded Sunday began to fade.

.....

.....

.....

.....

That night, precisely at eleven o'clock, Sunday walked alone down the Express corridor. Barefoot, his steps were silent, his presence barely noticeable in the shadows cast by the dim lights.

Where was he going this late at night?

The answer was simple—he was heading to Welt's room.

What did he need from Welt at this hour?

He wasn't sure. After spending the entire day locked in his room, claiming to be tidying things up when in reality, he was simply drowning in his own thoughts—thinking of Welt with every ticking second—he had finally given in to his heart.

His steps halted as he reached his destination. A door stood before him, the gateway to a small world he had never stepped into before. Welt's room.

Eleven at night—perhaps Welt was already asleep, lost in beautiful dreams.

Sunday took a deep breath and tested his luck. With careful movements, he turned the doorknob, and his eyelids widened slightly as he realized something.

It wasn't locked.

His hand remained on the knob, but he didn't push it open just yet. A wave of warmth crept up to his head, his blood surged, and his heart began to beat faster.

All this time, he had never entered Welt's room.

Not even once.

What did Welt's private space look like?

What did his bed look like?

What color were the sheets that wrapped around him?

The pillow that cradled his head every night...?

Sunday felt heat rising to his face. His breathing grew slightly ragged, his body slowly bending forward, and his head came to rest against the hand still gripping the doorknob.

How badly he wanted to step inside right now...

How badly he wanted to bury his nose in the scent of the bed Welt slept in every night...

How badly he wanted to touch and squeeze the fabrics inside Welt's wardrobe...

How badly he wanted to try on Welt's clothes...

Perhaps... that scent, that lingering touch, once pressed against Welt's body, would seep into his own as well...

At last, Sunday pushed the door open, ever so slowly. His gaze roamed, taking in the sight of Welt's room. As he carefully shut the door behind him, he noticed that Welt's bed was empty.

His golden eyes flicked to the side. The bathroom light was on, standing out starkly against the darkness of the room, where the main light had not been turned on. From where he stood, Sunday could hear the sound of water falling—the shower running inside.

Welt… was showering?

He swallowed. Something stirred within him, an inevitable reaction from merely hearing the sound of water cascading behind that door.

His mind began to wander.

Welt under the shower…

Welt's body, drenched in water…

Without a stitch of clothing…

Completely naked…

His fingers instinctively slid between his own buttocks, rubbing slightly as his lips parted wide. The flush on his cheeks deepened, his breath growing heavier.

Sunday shook his head, pulling his hand away from touching himself. He then staggered toward the bed.

He collapsed onto the soft mattress, the scent of Welt growing even stronger as his face sank into the pillow.

"Mr. Yang..." Sunday whimpered in a small voice. His thighs rubbed together. His fingers clutched tightly at the sheets.

This was arousing. It made his vision blur.

He then turned onto his side, facing the brightly lit bathroom.

His gaze was hazy, his lips slightly parted as if he needed to breathe through them.

Was this what it felt like…?

Waiting for Welt to finish his shower while lying comfortably in his bed?

Like lovers…

Sunday bit into the sheets, his eyes squeezing shut.

Lost in his own imagination.

So much so that he didn't realize—

The sound of the running shower had already stopped.

The bathroom door opened without a sound.

Sunday's eyelids twitched, assaulted by the sharp glare. Slowly, he opened his eyes, allowing his retinas to adjust as the figure before him became clearer.

And in that moment, the world seemed to stop.

His pupils dilated, golden irises widening. The sight standing at the bathroom doorway stole the breath from his lungs.

Welt.

Fresh from the shower, clad in a brown kimono towel, his hair still damp, droplets of water trickling slowly from strands not yet dry. Without glasses. Without the shield of those thin lenses.

And Welt was looking at him. Stunned.

Both of them froze.

The white towel Welt had been using to dry his hair hung mid-motion, one hand still raised, gripping the cloth without finishing its task. He let the moment stretch, at least for the next few seconds. If Sunday hesitated too long in this silence, Welt was prepared to take control.

Even without his glasses, even with his vision slightly blurred, Welt could still see him.

Sunday.

Lying on his bed.

The imprint of his teeth on the sheets was crystal clear.

Welt swallowed, his chest trembling involuntarily. The sight of Sunday in this state—unguarded, on his own bed—felt almost like something he shouldn't be witnessing.

Meanwhile, Sunday slowly pushed himself up.

He lowered his feet, one by one, onto the cold floor before finally standing. Then, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Welt remained still, standing at the threshold.

'Didn't you say you liked me?'

His inner voice echoed.

'Then there's nothing wrong if I...'

Sunday stopped just inches away from Welt.

The space between them was nearly nonexistent. Welt's gaze remained slightly confused, as if trying to process what would happen next. But Sunday didn't give him the time to think.

His hand rose.

His fingers gripped the front of Welt's kimono towel.

And in one firm motion—not just a pull, but a forceful tug—Sunday yanked him forward.

Welt stumbled slightly, reflexes quick enough to maintain his balance, but now his face was mere inches from Sunday's.

"...."

Sunday closed his eyes.

And before Welt could react—he erased the remaining distance.

His lips pressed against Welt's.

'…kiss you…'

For a moment, silence was the only thing weaving between them.

And then, Welt's eyes widened, stunned by what had just happened.

"...."

He didn't move. As if his mind was still catching up with the reality of the situation.

Meanwhile, Sunday let a small smile curl on his lips, still pressed against Welt's. In the next heartbeat, the kiss changed—no longer just a simple touch, but something deeper. More insistent. Sunday took control, capturing Welt's lips with a tenderness that grew increasingly fervent.

The brown of Welt's eyes, initially wide with shock, gradually darkened. He didn't resist. Not even slightly. If anything, deep inside, he had wanted this. He just chose not to rush. Welt let Sunday take the lead, making sure this was truly something he wanted—not just an impulsive whim.

Sunday took a step back, his hand still gripping Welt's kimono towel tightly, pulling him along. Welt followed, his pace steady.

One of his hands now rested against Sunday's back—a protective reflex that surfaced instinctively. If Sunday kept moving backward like this, there was a risk he'd trip over something and fall. Welt wouldn't let that happen.

And sure enough.

Behind Sunday, Welt's soft bed awaited. But Sunday didn't stop. Almost as if he had planned this all along, he continued his retreat, allowing himself to stumble and fall onto the mattress.

His grip on Welt's towel tightened. Their lips nearly parted.

Fortunately, Welt was always quick to react.

In an instant, the hand that had been supporting Sunday's back rushed to cradle the back of his head, shielding him from the impact against the mattress.

Thud.

Sunday was now half-lying on Welt's bed, his feet still touching the floor. Welt, on the other hand, remained above him—one hand supporting Sunday's head, the other planted firmly on the bed to keep his balance, ensuring he didn't completely pin the man beneath him.

The white towel that had been resting on his head slipped off, falling to the floor.

Sunday looked at him.

"The way you treat me… it's as if I'm something fragile." He murmured softly.

"I'm only doing what I have to do," Welt replied, calmer than the surface of a still lake. "I cannot allow you to be hurt in front of me." His voice was gentle.

The droplet of water that had been clinging to Sunday's face finally slid down, stopping right between his lips. Welt's eyes followed its trail, watching intently as the clear liquid trickled down, pooling at the curve of the man's lips beneath him.

Without hesitation, Sunday stuck out his tongue, licking away the remaining droplet in a movement so nonchalant—yet so inviting.

"Is it because you like me?" He asked suddenly, his grip on Welt's kimono towel loosening slightly.

Welt smiled. Subtle, yet not entirely innocent. There was something in the way Sunday licked that drop of water off his lips—something that seeped into him, tearing apart the control he had been holding onto so tightly.

"Yes."

His fingers, which had remained in Sunday's hair, moved slightly, stroking through the strands with a touch that felt both tender and meaningful.

Sunday could feel the shift in Welt's gaze. That look, combined with the way his fingers caressed him, sent a strange yet deeply intimate warmth through his chest.

"So," Welt tilted his head slightly, his lips curling once more, "On what basis was that kiss?"

Sunday smiled faintly, then mirrored Welt's gesture, tilting his head as well. "You can take a guess."

Welt chuckled softly, lowering his head for a brief moment during his quiet laughter before lifting it again, his gaze now deeper. "I can take a guess, hm?"

Sunday didn't answer with words. Instead, he raised a hand, pressing the tip of his index finger against Welt's broad chest, exposed by the loose kimono towel.

"If you can guess," Sunday's fingertip traced upward, then slowly back down, "Then why are you still hesitating?" His gaze, which had been following the movement of his own finger, now shifted to meet Welt's eyes.

Welt swallowed, his Adam's apple moving visibly. Did his throat suddenly feel dry?

As if understanding, Sunday simply looked at him, his eyes no longer hiding his desire.

The brown-eyed man seemed to be struggling to suppress something within himself—something on the verge of breaking free.

"I'm not hesitating," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"You know," his fingers still threading through Sunday's hair showed no signs of stopping, "If I do this, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop." That whisper tickled Sunday's ear, sending a thrilling sensation through his chest.

Sunday smiled slightly, then whispered back in the same hushed tone, "I won't ask you to stop."

His fingertip resumed its teasing dance over Welt's skin, drawing small circles before continuing in a nearly provocative manner.

The smile on Welt's lips grew wider, no longer as composed as before.

Another droplet of water fell from his brown strands, this time gliding slowly down Sunday's neck, leaving behind a cold trace that contrasted with the heat spreading through his body.

Welt's gaze immediately followed its path, watching as it soaked into Sunday's pale skin. It didn't take long before his attention fully shifted to the owner of that neck, a subtle yet captivating smile forming before he lowered his head.

Sunday hadn't even managed to say a word before Welt's lips met his neck.

"Ah—"

His short gasp was cut off when Welt began sucking on his skin, movements both hungry and demanding, as if he had been starved for days. His tongue traveled downward in a steady rhythm, then back up again, leaving behind trails of heat on Sunday's skin. Until finally, a small bite was placed there—just enough to make Sunday's body react with a reflexive shudder.

An unfamiliar sensation bloomed from the spot Welt touched. A mix of ticklish and pleasurable, all blending together, amplified by Welt's hair occasionally brushing against his skin, making it impossible for Sunday to stay still.

But Welt was faster. His fingers held Sunday's head firmly in place, preventing him from escaping, ensuring that the smaller man remained within the reach of his lips. He didn't want any interruptions to this moment.

At least, not until he was fully satisfied with savoring every inch of that slender neck.

"Mr. Yang..." Sunday's voice sounded broken, both hands now clutching Welt's shoulders, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations attacking him.

"It's Welt," the man corrected, still between his kisses. "Call me that."

"Welt..."

The trembling, submissive voice made Welt curve a small smile.

"A good step." He praised, his tone pleased. "I like that you listen to me."

Sunday exhaled deeply, his head tilting back reflexively to offer more space for Welt, who showed no signs of stopping.

Only after some time, when Welt felt satisfied exploring that pale skin, did he finally lift his face slightly. His eyes flickered to Sunday's state—panting beneath him, breath still erratic, while his neck bore slight redness in several spots.

A soft huff escaped Welt's lips before he carefully lifted Sunday's body.

Sunday felt himself floating before realizing he was being carried bridal-style. His eyes remained closed—too busy regulating his breath to fully process it.

Even so, he could still feel how firm and secure Welt's hands were holding him, as well as the distinct scent of the man's soap. A fragrance that was both soothing and intoxicating.

Sunday let his face sink into Welt's chest, while his fingers remained clutching onto the firm shoulders of the man holding him.

Welt carefully climbed onto the bed, stepping over the mattress with his knees before gently laying Sunday down. His hands ensured that Sunday's head rested comfortably on the pillow, gazing at him briefly before his lips curved smoothly again.

Then, the sudden ring of Welt's phone shattered the silence.

Sunday's eyes opened immediately, glancing toward the source of the sound. His gaze landed on the sleek phone resting on the nightstand beside the bed.

Seriously...?

At a time like this...?

Welt brushed Sunday's hair aside, tucking away stray strands that obscured that beautiful face before rising from the bed to check who was calling.

He put on his glasses first, which were beside his phone, then looked at the caller ID.

Sunday thought Welt would answer it, but instead, the man silenced his phone, turning off all incoming notifications.

Who was it...?

Sunday sat up, reaching for Welt's phone on an impulse. However, Welt was quicker, moving the device further out of his reach.

"You can check it later." Welt said gently, placing his glasses back where they were.

"If I don't check it now, I'll check something else too." Sunday's voice was soft, his gaze half-lidded as he stared directly at Welt.

"Of course," Welt gave a warm smile. "You can check anything you want on my phone."

Ah... How adorable he was.

Sunday relaxed again after Welt reassured him.

"Now," Welt sat on the edge of the bed, facing Sunday. "Are you sure about this?" One hand reached out, brushing through Sunday's soft hair. "About doing this with me, and..." Once satisfied that Sunday's hair was in place, his fingers trailed down to Sunday's chin, lifting it slightly. "Becoming mine?"

Sunday let out a short breath. "Why do you have to ask that again?"

"I have to," Welt smiled. "Because I don't want this to be just a one-night stand with you."

A pleasant relief settled in Sunday's chest. It seemed their desires aligned once again.

"How greedy..."

"I am," his smile stretched into a smirk. "I want to keep you all to myself."

"What if someone else likes me?" Sunday wrapped his arms around Welt's neck.

"That's fine," Welt gently guided Sunday back down onto the bed. "No matter how many people like you, in the end, I am the only one who has you."

Sunday pinched Welt's nose. "What if someone takes me away?"

"Then I'll just have to take you back." Welt responded as he softly grasped Sunday's wrist, pressing the hand to his cheek.

"What if I don't love you?"

Welt chuckled lightly, "Then I'll make you fall for me over and over again."

Sunday shook his head, a faint smile adorning his face.

What happened next? As seen, they seemed to be indulging in shared pleasure on a bed that was gradually heating up.

With one smooth, deft motion, Sunday's clothes were removed by Welt.

The brown-haired man kissed every inch of Sunday's body, wanting to leave marks of his claim, as he slowly shifted downward with graceful movements until Sunday's legs were slightly lifted.

Welt kissed Sunday's knees, trailing down to his toes.

Sunday couldn't clearly remember how their bodies intertwined—his vision was too mesmerized by Welt's allure.

He simply obeyed everything Welt said.

"Tell me if it hurts..." Welt whispered deeply, his breath slightly heavier.

At that moment, Sunday only clung tightly to Welt's neck, moaning his name over and over as Welt's firm hips thrust into him, seeking entrance.

.....

.....

.....

.....

The closeness between Welt and Sunday became more apparent, even though they chose to keep it hidden from the other members. No words needed to be spoken, no announcements had to be made. Everything was kept between them—woven into fleeting glances, hidden touches, and an intimacy that did not need to be revealed to the world.

During breakfast together, Sunday would always sit beside Welt, always on the same side, as if it had become a natural habit. Beneath the table, without anyone knowing, their fingers would intertwine. Welt would not turn his head, remaining as composed as ever, but his thumb would brush the back of Sunday's hand in a subtle, almost imperceptible motion—letting him know that he acknowledged Sunday's presence and relished every second of it.

At other times, Sunday would be bolder. During dinner with the Astral Express members, while everyone was engaged in lively conversation, he would sneak his foot under the table. The tip of his foot would slowly nudge against Welt's knee first, then move higher, touching the inner part of his thigh.

Welt barely reacted. There was only a slight pause in his movements as he reached for his cup, a brief tightening of his grip on the spoon, but beyond that, he remained calm—as if nothing was happening. However, Sunday could see the faint tension in his jawline, the way Welt swallowed his food just a little more slowly.

Sunday smirked, hiding his satisfaction behind a sip of his drink.

They didn't need to know.

And no one ever would.