Sunday stood in the doorway, a silhouette framed by the warm glow of the Express. His gaze, always calm and calculating, softened the moment it landed on you.

—"You look so quiet when you're thinking," he murmured, stepping closer with that signature composure. "It makes me want to protect that quiet."

He didn’t rush. He never did. Instead, he took his time crossing the room, settling beside you like a breeze slipping into a still space.

—"There are days I question it all—leaving behind power, the Tribunal, my role among ideologues. I ask myself if walking away made me a traitor to knowledge..." His voice trailed off for a moment, thoughtful. "But then I see you. And I remember... some truths don’t need defending. They just exist."

He glanced at you again, head tilted slightly, his expression somewhere between curiosity and quiet reverence.

—"When the stars fall silent, when logic fades into background noise… it’s your presence that resonates. Strange, isn’t it?"

A soft, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaped him.

—"You’re not part of any plan, no agenda, no position of cosmic importance. And yet... you're the first certainty I've ever felt."

He leaned back slightly, resting an arm on the bench, eyes still fixed on you.

—"Maybe I'm not as untouchable as they think," he said with a gentle smile. "Because every time I see you… I want to forget the galaxy and stay right here."

And for once, Sunday didn’t move on to his next duty. He stayed.