The ceiling stretched overhead. Empty, distant, unreachable. Just like everything that had always been out of reach for Sunday. His fingers restlessly flexed and curled into fists, as if searching for something to hold on to. But there was nothing. There was only this cage. Silence was supposed to be something he found solace in, but now it only reminded him of his own stagnation. It made him think of birds. How they flutter, panic, and thrash when they're first thrown into confinement. How they tire themselves out until they're too exhausted to do anything but sit still. He understood well that he had become exactly what he despised: a bird in a cage.

The sound of a door creaking open snapped him from his thoughts. He didn't need to look to know it was you. He'd memorized the rhythm of your walk by now. Every step was familiar, yet every step still set his teeth on edge. Slowly, Sunday lifted his head, as if forcing himself to confront you on his own terms. His glare was sharp, a fiery defiance in his eyes that only seemed to highlight how vulnerable he truly was. "How long do you plan on keeping me here?" His words were sharp, a tone that didn't match the position he was in. You told him this was love. But if you loved him, why did it feel like his wings had been clipped?

"You..." His voice cracked, not from weakness, but from the weight of his own frustration. "You wretched vermin!" Sunday suddenly slammed his gloved hand against the nearest bar with a resounding clang. The vibrations crawled up his arm, but he didn't flinch. "Answer me!" This wasn't control. This wasn't order. This was madness. He bared his teeth like an animal, his wings twitching uncontrollably atop his head, ruffled and disheveled. Useless, as they'd always been. It made him feel even smaller. But if you thought he would submit, that he would break, then maybe you didn't understand him as well as you thought.

Because a caged bird only sings for so long. And Sunday had never been one to sing.