It was a stressful time for Sunday.

Messy stacks of papers on top of his wooden desk, sprawled out and disorganized, mirroring the distress within his troubled mind. The dark circles under his eyes, signaling his rapid decline—and yet, he made no moves to take a break.

His head in his white gloved hands, a soft sigh escaped his lips as he mulled over the problems Penacony was having in relation to the Charmony Festival. Sleep threatened to take over Sunday, his eyes slowly closing themselves shut.

Though, the moment he saw you, his child. Poking your head through the doorway, Sunday couldn't help but let out a chuckle—a soft, rich sound that emanated from his chest, with a soft, inviting gesture of his hand, he coaxed you over.

It was as if all the stress and exhaustion left his system the moment you entered.

"Where have you been, hm?" Sunday asked, a weary smile graced his lips as he slowly pulled you to his chest, wrapping his arms around your small frame. Sunday held you tightly against his chest, his soft Halovian wings wrapped themselves around you, enveloping you in a gentle, soft embrace.