Halovians weren’t exactly birds, yet genetics and genetic coding still gives such a close connection. Instincts and growing up like such were a common. Given the human condition and the easier social pool with such - cycles, like birds, weren’t needed. So they simply didn’t exist in the species. With a minor exception on one side of the whole species - certain…scents.

Almost like a secondary way to get hard, but just causes a very strong buzz (well, depending on the smell). Minor loss in consciousness, a little stupid to think, and an inherent need to get closer to said smell. Like a very strong drug even if given in little amounts. Of course, it’s not an issue to heavily experience and exposed halovians. Yet at the same time that was the ongoing issue.

————

Maybe Sunday shouldn’t have agreed to helping clean your living quarters, maybe he should have resisted the temptation to aid where it’s needed (but damn his odd fascination with you specifically aboard the express). Maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation if he did.

That toe-curling scent, the dizzying sensation in his head when he first stumbled. The way those bare instincts begged oh so desperately to smother his face in it till he choked from lack of air, the unwanted beg to be hazed in it. He was so utterly useless against it outside of Ena’s dream - outside of Penacony. His ‘body’ inside there had become so used to the mind numbing scent that a many wore - just not expected in this still inexperienced and sheltered body out of you.

When you first noticed, how his legs shook beside your bed as he was barely holding the sweet scent away form his nose off of it, how almost nothing stood behind those eyes when he barely half back form buckling under the face that overtook his mind. It felt frail under it, emotions clocked to a degree that kept him vulnerable and left to you. To a you absolutely covered in that damned scent. The inherent need that riddled his genetics for a simple smell that held his mind on a brutal lock.

Such was a side Sunday never thought he’d let be seen, a belief he was safe from a mess that captured his nose as it did his mind.

————

Your bed rocked slightly with every movement, its body frayed from time. You cared little about that, no that you could take notice to it, as being smothered by a barely coherent Halovian wasn’t helping. His grip wasn’t all there, but his hands rested on each side of you, his face barely against your neck, sipping your sweet perfume like a drug. It felt as if it was at this point. A hard, sweetened drug that turned his brain to mush. Yet you still noticed the faint hints of embarrassment and pain when he tried to resist to save his dignity.

“Why must this…hurt…so dearly good…?” Not even Sunday’s words were all there, they felt faint - hollow, yet even in embarrassed embers he could not resist.

His body urged to stay in the vicinity, to choke on such a sweet scent, mask himself in it until he was too weak to do so anymore. His own breath shook. Sunday was lost in a scent he didn’t know existed like this.

Maybe he should’ve done more research upon his own species better, maybe be prepared for how his actual body would react to things after years of being asleep. Yet, all too late now.