silent night | Sunday x Reader

silent night

It was quiet.

Except, no, that would've been a rather inadequate, exceedingly drab way to describe the scenery in which you've surrounded yourself in.

Throughout your stay at The Reverie Hotel, you never knew it to behold racket in the middle of the night, so the silence in the air was nearly expected and not at all noteworthy.

Rather, it had not been merely quiet, but everything was so still, so maddeningly stagnant, that all that you felt in that very moment was the sensation of tiny bumps that prickled upon the chilly surface of your arms, as well as the thrumming of your anxious heart that resided in your chest as trepidation clung like a suffocating blanket to your lungs.

In short, you swore you felt like you were being watched; watched long enough for your worries to occupy the vacancies between your rational thoughts, watched long enough for the trees that surrounded you in the courtyard to still, as if they, too, were afraid that whatever was seemingly nearby would undoubtedly perceive them first, as unlikely as that was.

Sick of the sheer absurd nature of your intrusive thoughts, you hastily gathered the small amount of belongings you brought outside to get up from the spot of grass you sat upon. With your mind purely occupied upon going back to your hotel room, where you hoped had been far safer, a sudden voice broke all your will and intent.

"Dearest guest?"

Startled, you fell backwards onto the plush grass with a distinct gasp of discomfort. As you sharply turned your head upright to face the one who shattered your solitude, all that you could see were blurry lines of glowing light, heavily disrupting the clarity of your vision.

"My heavens, that was quite the startle. I apologize."

The mellifluous voice surely sounded familiar, but with your visage currently impaired by an irritatingly obnoxious amount of illuminance, you couldn't see who it belonged to.

Over the span of a few deep breaths taken to still the anxious tremor in your chest, the luminous aura had slowly dissipated and only lingered near his right hand, moving downwards to form a glowing radius around what seemed to be a lantern the stranger had carried.

As you blinked the aftereffects of the blinding light away from your sight, you felt something sink—though you weren't sure if it was your heart or your stomach—at the sight of the gray-haired man in front of you.

Standing before you was the head of 'The Family', the organization you've heard far too many conspiratorial whispers about in passing, and yet knew next to nothing of the truth in full. It wasn't that you've never seen Sunday before, but it was always when you were far off into the background, never once having the chance to hold a full-fledged conversation with him.

And yet, here he was now, and all you could feel was an awkward sense of distrust, instilled in you by the overheard whispers that enabled your inhibitions to take over the reins. Perhaps the eerie atmosphere from earlier didn't help either.

"Ah... Mr. Sunday." you tentatively acknowledged his presence.

The winged man noticed the hesitance in your tone, yet graciously offered you his free hand so you could stand upright before you two conversed further.

You quickly declined with a shake of your head.

Sunday's tongue clicked, his eyebrows furrowing together, but the sudden expression of disappointment was as brief as it was abrupt.

"Please, I insist."

Despite your display of obstinance, he still held out his hand for you to take, patiently awaiting your next move.