"...happy birthday."
Sunny inhaled sharply.
Memories trickled through him, like aged wine bleeding through a cracked decanter. A breath was caught somewhere in his ribs, where the ache pulsed.
Dull. Unyielding. Familiar.
Still, he smiled. Or something shaped like one. His lips moved, but nothing reached his eyes. They stayed shadowed, glassed. His fingers rose without consent.
Two taps to the chest—a private ritual. A mantra.
No hope. Never again.
And like that, the mask reformed. As if it never broke.
Sunny flashed a toothy grin at the blonde Saint before him, voice cheerful, "Why, thank you! But how did you know?"
Something clawed behind his smile—half-starved, feral hope. He smothered it. Same way he always had.
With silence. With cynicism.
Sunny wouldn't blame Cassie for the cavities that crowned his soul. Nor hope she remembered him—not even as someone.
Even if the thought was blindingly sweet. Deceptively so, because in the end, it was simply sugar-coating over a scab.
'Just no. Stupid brain, won't get out of my head.'
What an inconsiderate brain.
Cassie didn't answer immediately. Her smile thinned, lips trembling at the edges.
Sunny glanced at her blindfold—a familiar blue, soft against the sharp lines of her face.
A shame.
He remembered her eyes—not vividly, but enough. The memory lingered, like warmth clinging to ash.
He wanted to see those eyes again.
He missed them. Missed her. Missed the things she no longer remembered.
Before Sunny realised he had been staring, Cassie turned away and walked a few steps, as if studying the dining hall of the Brilliant Emporium.
"It's strange," she started, "I've been delivered a note asking me to find a person named Sunless and wish him a happy birthday."
Sunny did not interrupt her, his gaze lingering. She shifted, but continued, "On a winter solstice, of all days. It happened a while ago. But, the strangest part? The sender of the note... was me. And I don't remember ever writing it."
He didn't respond. Just watched her. Watched the words fall from her like glass beads—unpolished, a little cracked.
She mused aloud: about his name, about the missing records, about fate torn open like a man-shaped hole. She filled the air with questions. Speculations. Shadows of possibilities.
He didn't hear them. Not really.
'Was I wrong...?' Cassie sighed in her heart.
She hadn't expected confirmation, not really. Still, when the silence followed—when his expression remained unchanging—she felt... foolish.
She probably sounded insane.
But before she could walk it back—
"Are you alright?" Sunny blurted out.
Cassie paused, almost fumbling over her words. "...excuse me?"
The shift was jarring, the question unmoored from anything she'd just said.
Did she look that unstable?
'Ah... this is embarrassing.' Cassie wanted to squeal. Unfortunately, her professionalism forbade it.
Still, as Sunny spoke, she found herself wordless.
"You look... haggard." Sunny frowned. He moved away from the bench, walking towards her. "Your clothes are creased, your hair is uncombed, and your eyes are sunken."
He paused, his gaze lingering on her soft features. "You're burnt out."
None of his accusations had to do with the conversation. Only observation. In his mind, her clothes had always been neat and tidy, her hair a beautiful waterfall of pale gold, and her lips held a simper that masked her emotions.
But now...
'She's restless.'
A hint of restless intensity. One which had never been there before. As if she was... unstable. Fragile, having lost her innate, composed balance.
"..."
Cassie didn't reply, stumped by his words. Unlike her expectations, he didn't call her insane, only... fatigued.
'No... this is him being polite.' She sighed, biting back an urge to pinch her nose.
But...
'He isn't wrong.'
No, he was right. It was simply that... no one else had pointed it out. She didn't realise when she stopped combing her hair. She didn't realise when she stopped ironing her dress. And she didn't realise when she stopped sleeping for weeks on end.
Before she knew it, her hand rose up to her face, caressing it.
Perhaps it was because everyone else was busy too. Everyone was haggard nowadays. Neph was leading her own people, while Effie was raising a child even as she lived up to her responsibilities. And the rest, too, were busy.
As for those beneath Saints... her transcendental beauty probably overwhelmed them. Enough to overwrite any blemish.
Yet, nevertheless... she felt seen.
Her lips twitched—just enough to crack the mask. She raised her head in the direction of the man's approaching steps. For a moment, she was regretful there was no one else around.
'I wish I could see how he looked right now.'
Shaking her head, she beamed at the man. "I am fine. Aren't all Saints haggard in our world?"
Not waiting for a response, she sighed, "Sorry for that earlier. I suppose I got... carried away."
A beat later, she whispered. A bit quieter this time. "It's foolish, I know."
Sunny grinned, bowing lightly. "Of course not, Saint Song of The Fallen. After all... how could I mind a customer?"
His words grounded her back to reality.
'Ah, right. The commission.'
Holding back the urge to slap her own cheeks, she parted her lips to reply. However, she was cut off as she sensed Sunless summoning a Memory, and it was... a chair?
"Take a seat, m'lady." Sunless smirked. "You look like you'd walk into a wall. Eat something—it's on the house."
Cassie stared blankly, her lips parting just a little—caught between protest and bewilderment.
She hadn't expected him to summon a Memory, let alone one so... mundane. She didn't even sense enchantments.
And yet, there it was. A simple chair. Not conjured in splendour, but presented with the solemnity of a knight offering a crown.
The absurdity of it lodged in her throat—tight and trembling—until something cracked through. A hiccup. Then a sputter.
Eventually, she laughed—and the sound rolled through the diner like the first notes of a forgotten lullaby. It slipped past faded wallpaper and linoleum floors, lingering like warmth where there had only been stillness.
Watching her nearly stumble over as she sputtered, the stress leaving her shoulders, Sunny smiled. He found himself breaking out into a chuckle himself... and a dangerous thought surfaced in his mind.
He didn't say it aloud. He never did. What right did he have to say things like that? What right did she have to hear it? Not after the things they had done...
Still, the thought lingered.
'You look so much prettier when you smile.'
Still, she was laughing perhaps... a bit too hard. Especially given her blindness. Before he realised it, he warped behind, as if to catch her. However, he froze. He hesitated, hands twitching in place, making Cassie tremble even harder.
"It's alright," she managed between bubbles of mirth. Her voice was breathless, but sure. "You can hold me."
She reached back, found his hand, and gently guided it to her shoulder—her chortle undimmed by the contact. He let it rest there, steadying her.
"Haah... I-I am sorry," she tried to apologise, but a few giggles still escaped her lips, leaning into his support, "I-it's just I didn't expect you to... have an actual chair as a Memory!"
Not to mention, he had just told a bona fide Saint—one of the world's most revered ones—that she looked like she needed a proper meal.
What kind of man tells a Saint she looks like she'll walk into a wall!?
A shadow of a smile touched Sunny's face as he responded. "Why not? It's made by the finest craftsman I know. Hell, that man might have been the great grandson of a god for all I know! It's the highest quality chair you will ever see!"
"I believe you," Cassie shook her head, the ecstatic sensation clinging to her face as she felt her hands caressing her cheeks.
They hurt from smiling too hard.
Soon, she sank into the chair. A hum escaped her throat—half sigh, half astonishment. Truly, it was absurd. This chair was... comfortable. Disarmingly so.
Before she could dwell on it, a plate clinked softly onto the table. Strawberry pastry, chocolate mousse, a cup of doubly sweetened coffee.
"It's on the house." Sunny pulled up a stool. "Made it myself. Do enjoy."
Cassie could vaguely sense it. A piece of cake in front of her. The cake was placed on a beautiful porcelain plate, and even had a fresh cherry on top... it was not like she had never seen one before, but desserts weren't exactly a mainstay of her diet.
'Right. It's a café, as well.'
She picked up a small silver spoon and tasted the cake, as not to seem impolite.
'Still, I wonder if he's related to my past self's weapon... why is this so tasty?' She paused, rolling her tongue in her mouth.
Placing the spoon down, she looked at the handsome shopkeeper. Met with his gaze, her lips hesitated, torn between composure and shame, struggling to formulate a response.
'I just wanted to confirm my suspicions, but... would it be rude if I didn't place an order...?'
But what exactly could she order? She hadn't actually planned anything.
Still, crumbling under the weight of his gaze, her lips parted. Words flew like spell-tech jargon. "I want a Memory that can draw information from my enhanced senses, and use them to produce a deterministic sequence of events and solutions to my depreciated fatalistic abilities."
As the words left her mouth, she hurriedly bit into another piece of cake, as if afraid he'd question her on what any of that meant.
After a few seconds of deafening silence, Sunless finally spoke, "So, since your fate related abilities aren't working, you want a Memory that calculates the future?"
"Yes, yes, that." Cassie replied, wincing inwardly. Her words were rushed—like she'd tripped mid-step and just kept walking.
Why was she so antsy today?
She'd already embarrassed herself twice in front of this eye candy—ahem, gentleman.
'What? I did my research too!'
Her spoon moved as her mind whirled, but a click snapped her out of her reverie.
'Oh... damnation... that word sounds familiar.'
She'd already finished her cake.
By the time she looked away from the cake, Sunless had already moved away, as if searching for something.
"I will see what I can do," he hummed, before glancing at Cassie, "As for the man-shaped hole in fate thing..."
Cassie's ears perked up.
"I can't really tell you much."
Her shoulders dropped down.
"...but."
Her chin lifted, just slightly.
Sunless failed to suppress a chuckle, and only now did she notice he was teasing her deliberately. Though she was definitely the more mature of the two, she could not help but pout. However, that only made Sunless laugh harder.
'How cute.' He smiled to himself, before sighing.
"If you want more information, I suggest looking into the vile thieving bird."
With that, Sunny had wholly extricated himself from getting involved back with his old cohort.
It stung a little. Not much. Just a little.
As little as subsuming a lineage fragment.
He glanced back at Cassie, who was lost in thought. She looked a lot less tense now, at least emotionally.
'But not physically though...'
A mischievous idea spun at the back of his mind. While Cassie was spaced out, he vanished.
A loud squeak echoed shortly after.
"W-wha?" Cassie fumbled her words out, hands reaching to pat her shoulder, only to meet another pair.
Sunless chuckled, "Oh, you should have seen the look on your face!"
Cassie's cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth, ready to scold him, maybe, just a little—
But then, the hands gently pressed into her shoulders.
"You did give me permission to hold you, no?" His mouth curled, hands settling gently on her shoulders.
Cassie gave a small nod—not quite verbal consent, but permissive nonetheless. She didn't flinch or pull away. Instead, she leaned in, as if the tension had been waiting for someone to notice.
Her breath hitched, a shudder running through her breath. She couldn't describe it, but it wasn't as simple as simply cracking her joints. The tension in her shoulders dissolved, slow and steady, tracing its way down her spine like a trickle of cold rain. She hadn't realised how much it hurt until the pain was gone.
Her breath shivered free, escaping before she could hold it back.
Sunny chuckled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You haven't slept or rested in weeks, have you?"
It wasn't flirtation. Not exactly.
Just... concern. Kindness, perhaps.
Even Saints had limits, and she'd passed hers long ago—running on the fumes of duty.
He couldn't help her. Not anymore. Or maybe... not yet. But he could still ease her burden, if just a little.
And that was enough for now.
Cassie stayed quiet, covering her mouth with a handkerchief—as if to hide the sounds slipping out. Still, her trembling hand gave her away.
The stress unwound like knots in her flesh. She could feel herself unraveling under his touch, her mind swimming somewhere between mortification and relief.
"Consider it a complimentary service," he said. "A discount for our first Saint."
Cassie's muffled voice echoed through the handkerchief. "You didn't need to do this..."
"It was either this or a loyalty card." Sunny shrugged.
Beneath the blindfold, he swore she definitely rolled her eyes.
'Cute.' Sunny couldn't help but smile, squeezing her shoulders. 'And soft.'
Her shoulders softened under his hands, tension melting like snow under sunlight. This close, even a Saint felt so fragile beneath his touch.
Neither of them spoke. The sounds of their breathing mixed with that of the ticking clock. Cassie could have pulled away. Could have pushed his hands off, scolded him, or tightened her performance again. But she didn't. She just breathed, easing under his touch.
Not long after, Sunny let go of her shoulders, much to her dismay. Still, the stress had mostly left her by now.
'I wonder how'd he learnt to massage so well?' She wanted to ask, but it would be too awkward. Sunny did not want to tell her he mastered this craft by massaging his own self, either.
A few moments of comfortable silence passed, before she eventually voiced a question. "How long before you close?"
Sunny paused, before replying. "Another hour."
'Another hour...' She hummed to herself in thought. It was a bit selfish, but she wanted to stay here for a while longer. This place... grounded her. More than she had been in several, long weeks.
...she coughed to herself, before taking a sip of her coffee. When the receptionist had taken a peek, she had briefly switched to her vision. And...
'I get why they call it the eye-candy shop.'
A moment later, Sunny stood up and said, "When you're finished as well, come to the inner rooms of the shop. We'll work out the details regarding the Memory."
Cassie shook her head. "Ah, it's fine. I'm finished anyway."
"You haven't even taken a proper sip yet, what do you mean you're finished?" Sunless rolled his eyes.
Cassie opened her mouth to reply—only to yelp as his finger flicked her forehead. Knocked back into her seat, she looked up with a pout and rubbed her head.
However, Sunny ignored her, smiling to himself as he walked away. "It's good to know when to take it slow. Especially so when it's you. You've been working for weeks."
She scowled, muttering under her breath as she sensed him walk away, fading behind the walls. 'Show off...'
Nonetheless, she silenced herself and looked at her own cup.
Steam was still rising. She could down it all at once—but that would prove Sunless right. She was rushing.
'A way to be patient, to be more relaxed.'
Humming softly, she sighed. "I understand."
Sunless left the room first and closed the sliding door firmly shut, leaving her in silence. But with a bell at her table to call him if she required him.
Cassie fidgeted with the cup. Eventually, she took a sip.
Just a sip. Small, slow—controlled. As the moment might shatter if she rushed it.
The warmth pooled in her chest and spread across her tongue. Then came a sharp, unexpected sting in her eyes.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
When had calmness become so alien?
Doing that might have been as easy as breathing for some people, but for Cassie, it was as difficult as warfare itself.
She took a deep breath and—almost without thinking—tapped her chest twice. The rhythm felt oddly familiar.
The memory of her own laughter still lingered. It was strange, unfamiliar. It had sounded like someone else.
But it had come from her.
And for once, that didn't feel like a mistake.
Setting down the cup, she could not help but smile. Just a faint curl of the lips, cracking through her façade of a mask.
She wasn't happy. Not yet.
But... she was way less sad. The silence ached less, and she could imagine what peace tasted like.
'Thank you, Sunless.'
Maybe there was hope after all.