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Mutts don't get funerals.
Gallagher counts himself lucky he was even included in the toast the present Nameless had given.
The Nameless... Did they succeed? Or is Sunday...
The memoria is heavy around what remains of him. If he had a breath, it would be taken from him by the pressure. He should be used to this by now, with how long he's been here.
How long has he been here? It doesn't matter. He'll be here the remainder of his miniscule existence...
A mutt like him doesn't get to wonder.
Caelus is pacing. He's always restless, but this is the first time Sunday has seen him like this. Back and forth, the tip of his thumb is probably raw by now with how long he's been nervously chewing on it. They're in the party car, currently, and it's eerily quiet – not even a peep from Shush is heard.
Caelus paces in front of the bar, and Sunday sits in his corner observing. He tried to help, but the Trailblazer didn't acknowledge him. He's lost in his own head. Sunday understands.
They stay like that for a good ten minutes before the door to the parlor car slides open, Ms. Himeko stepping through. She descends the stairs gracefully, walking over to where Caelus' pace will take him. He bumps into her slightly, but she hugs him to her, and he seems to sag into the embrace instantaneously.
Himeko sighs, resting her chin on Caelus' head before looking over to Sunday and giving a small smile. He nods back.
They leave the car shortly afterwards, leaving Sunday to wonder what that was all about.
The next time Gallagher becomes aware of his consciousness, the pressure is gone. The memoria no longer bears down on him, and he can take a breath.
A breath? He looks around, then down at himself. He- He has a body! And he's... He's behind a bar. Where is he? This doesn't look like Dreamflux Reef or any of the Golden Hour bars.
There's a faint bit of memoria here. It's more than what would be in a normal establishment, but it is nowhere near as strong as Penacony. Looking around, there's a glowing, yellow, spiral staircase leading up, there's booths with red cushioning, and the windows...
Outside the windows is... Space. Stars and planets and such. Gallagher let's out his breath, grinning with teeth as he chuckles and shakes his head.
The Nameless truly are incredible.
Gallagher turns towards the space behind the bar and takes a step. And another step. And another. And he's walking! He has a body and he's walking around, and his smile only grows as he looks around and finds traces of the current Nameless scattered about.
One of March 7th's spare cameras sits at the far booth, Dan Heng must have gotten distracted by Caelus since there's a book that he assumes is from the archives next to what looks like a game controller on the bar.
There's a cup of strong smelling coffee from Himeko next to the camera, along with a few of Welt's drawings, and-
Huh.
Gallagher stands at the end of the bar, looking at the far end of the train car and sees...
"Birdie...?"
Sunday doesn't like to wander.
The train is still new to him, and despite everyone telling him that he can go wherever he wants, he stays put in the party car. The little corner Sunday claimed for himself is enough for him.
He's sitting in one if the chairs, idly counting stars when he hears that nickname in that voice. Sunday almost thinks he's dreaming, but he looks over to the bar and- He pinches himself because he MUST be dreaming.
There is no feasible way that he is awake.
"Hound..." Sunday says, mouth opened in shock. There he is, Gallagher is standing at the far end of the bar, looking as real as one possibly could.
Wait, they're outside the dreamscape, how is he...
"You're gonna catch flies, angel," Gallagher says with a smirk. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't know how I'm here, either."
And isn't that something. A history fictionologist the answer. He could just make one up if he wanted, but no. He just stands there, arms limp at his sides like a fool and smirk-
His smirk has dropped into a gentle smile. That's certainly not a thing that should be aimed at Sunday, especially from Gallagher. Yet there it sits.
And it looks beautiful on him.
Sunday closes his mouth - he was never a fan of bugs - and walks over to Gallagher, who leans on the bar top once Sunday stops in front of him.
"You are a selfish man." And whoa, where did that come from? Rage is not a new emotion to Sunday, nor is any other emotion, really, but right now he feels scorned. Like a widow who thought her husband died at sea, but he's just been abroad this whole time and has finally returned.
What a selfish man, indeed.
Sunday didn't know he could feel like this, especially for a man he never had had feelings for.
Well. That's not true, but to the public, and to Gallagher himself, it was. The head of The Family in love with a Bloodhound... HAH! Mr. Wood would have disposed of him if word had got out.
Not "If Mr. Wood knew," oh, he knew. He knows everything. The public doesn't, though, so as long as everyone kept their mouths shut everything would go smoothly.
It didn't go smoothly, anyway, but not because of his little... crush. No, that was all the Nameless. And Aeon's bless them.
Maybe Sunday is the selfish one.
The night that Sleepy took him would have been a good night for a confession. Gallagher is by no means a priest, but he would have taken it. But then he got, well, stabbed, and everything just went. Wrong. And Sunday never told him.
Then, Gallagher died. Or so they thought.
Now they're here, and the first actual sentence that came out of his mouth is a lie. Old habits die hard, huh.
Fuck old habits.
Gallagher's stance didn't faulter, but his face did. His eyebrows drew inward in confusion before he manually smoothed it out. Sunday opens his mouth again, but then closes it. Maybe he should just stop talking forever, actually, what if he never said a word again-
Gallagher's face shifts into. Something. It's neutral, but something's off.
"No, that's not right. I was the selfish one. The things I kept from you because of the things I wanted - or thought I wanted at the time. You never deserved to be treated like that."
Sunday takes a breath.
"You're rambling, birdie, just tell me what's on your mind. Do you wanna drink? The Nameless have a lot of options, I'm sure I can spin somethin' up for ya." Gallagher offers.
"No, I'm alright, thank you. I- Hmph. I am tired of being in charge, and I am tired of doing the wrong things to get what I didn't even want, and I am sorry I have treated you they way I have because-" Sunday inhales through his nose, mouth drawn out in a line.
He glances up at Gallagher after staring at the counter. Can he say the words he needs to? Or are they going to stay lodged in his throat until he chokes on them.
Sunday leans on the bar a little, bringing himself closer to where Gallagher is also leaning. He tries to let out the smallest of smiles before saying, "I never meant the negative things I said to or about you. I have never wanted to say them, either."
And Gallagher... Gallagher looks at him for a moment. Sunday can't look away from him. The light of the bar brings out his eyes, making them almost appear to glow, and Sunday is-
Sunday's in love.
Fuck. Fuck, he is, isn't he.
Originally, Sunday was just going to admit he never hated him, and never wanted to, but now.
Oh... Oh.
It's so much deeper than he thought.
"Never wanted to say the things you did, huh?" Gallagher says, and Sunday seems to be knocked out of a stupor. He smirks at him and a small blush appears on his face.
Yeah, there's his cute birdy.
"I've never hated you. I had to put up an appearance for The Family. I don't deserve forgiveness, but know that I do truly apologize for what I've done." Sunday goes back to looking at the counter of the bar, but his wing-ears twitch like he wants to say more. He's still got his tells, huh.
"Got more to say, angel? I'm pretty sure I'm here all night." Gallagher leans a little closer and tilts his head at Sunday.
"It astonishes me that you have such a strong likeness to a canine."
"Yeah?" He teases.
Sunday blushes again, "I did not mean to say that aloud"
Gosh, he's so cute. Gallagher needs to kiss him.
Whoa now. Slow down a minute. Where'd that come from?
Gallagher just got a body, he is truly in the flesh for the first time in who-knows-how-long and now he's thinking about kissing Sunday; Sunday Oak, the former head of The Oak Family, the one who nearly ascended to Aeonhood, the man who had so much power at his fingertips-
Yeah. Yeah, Gallagher wants him.
"You're cute, birdie. Finish what you need to say. I'm listenin'."
Sunday takes a big breath before letting it out slowly. His bangs move slightly from the airflow. "Please do not belittle me for my final olive branch."
Gallagher raises an eyebrow, but nods seriously. What is his birdie talking about? Surely not what Gallagher hopes he'll say. Sunday nods back, and takes another breath.
"I have had feelings for you for quite some time now. Your... 'death...' did not quell it like I had thought it would. I fear it made it more apparent. I've missed you, hound. Gallagher. I've missed you, Gallagher."
Well shit. Gallagher blinks, shocked. Sunday's head is tilted down, his bangs covering his view of Gallagher as he plays with his fingers waiting for a response. He's almost glad he can't see him, as he's gaping like a fish and probably looks stupid.
Gallagher leans on one arm, going to move the other before Sunday speaks, still not looking up, "I understand that you do not feel the same," Gallagher tilts Sunday's head up, "but I needed to tell you. You deserve to know."
"I don't feel the same way, huh? Angel, when I was drowning in memoria, I would occasionally come to consciousness and think about what might have happened to you." He rubs Sunday's chin with his thumb, running it up his jaw and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
Gallagher continues now cupping Sunday's jaw. Sunday leans into it slightly, "Did you succeed in what you thought you wanted? Did the Nameless save you from that wretched man? Did you save yourself from your own mind? But then, the memoria would squeeze, and my thoughts dissipated until I went under again."
He doesn't know where this confession is coming from, really. It feels like it's been stuck in his chest and now that there's no memoria suffocating him, it can let itself out. "I wasn't allowed to wonder, wasn't allowed to wander, but I always woke up and wanted, needed to make my way to you."
"I have felt the same for a while now, Sunday. I don't know when it started, but I know it's not gonna end. Not even death could keep me from you."
"Since when were you a poet, hound?" Sunday lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
Gallagher grins and chuckles, "I always have been, birdie."
Sunday takes Gallagher's hand from his face into his hands and leans forward over the bar. There's a blush high on his cheeks, and his wing-ears flutter as if they can't decide whether to cover it or not.
"Whatcha thinkin', angel?"
"My time on the Express has shown me that I needn't be as strict with myself. I can let myself be... Reckless. Free. You ask me what I am thinking, and I don't know where to start."
Oho... His birdie is something special. Gallagher's grin turns into a smirk. He leans forward over the bar, their faces hardly an inch apart. Sunday's blush darkens and his wing-ears go to cover it, but they lightly tap Gallagher cheeks instead.
Gallagher lets out an involuntary giggle before closing the distance and giving Sunday a light peck on the lips. He goes to pull away, but Sunday pulls him back in and gives him a kiss that takes his breath away.
The moment Shush stopped talking, Caelus knew something was wrong.
Contrary to the name, Shush has always been a chatterbox. None of the crew know why, but they have to accept it. Except now.
No, now, when Caelus walks into the party car again after Himsko calmed him down – he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, can we please move on – he finds-
... Huh.
Yeah no, that's Gallagher and Sunday making out over the bar.
Alright then. Caelus turns around and goes to find Dan Heng, leaving the two love bird... birds? One is absolutely a bird, but the other is a dog. WHATEVER- He leaves the two to their snogging.