Feathers That Weep ||Robin x Reader||

|10| It's Where We Go, It's Where We'll Be

The heavy doors of the Penacony Hotel creaked open as you and Robin stepped inside. A blend of opulence and history greeted you, the polished marble floors gleaming under the warm light of chandeliers.

The lingering scent of lavender wafted through the air—a stark contrast to the cold reality of leaving behind Mister Gopher Wood’s mansion.

The Penacony hotel was finally done and running. Meaning it's time for the Penacony Quest.

You glanced at Robin, who was already busy admiring the grand staircase leading to the upper floors. Her eyes sparkled like the crystal chandelier above, though her lips curved into a small, contemplative smile.

“Back home,” Robin murmured, clutching her suitcase tightly. It wasn’t quite her usual warmth; the weight of everything that had happened still lingered.

You nodded, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Yeah. Let’s settle in.”

After dropping off your luggage in your room, you decided to head out for some fresh air.

Your and Robin's Rooms were next to each other. Robin was busy organizing her tour memorabilia, humming softly to herself. The melody trailed behind you as you walked down the hotel corridor.

Just as you rounded a corner, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

His sharp features looked more gaunt than you remembered, his eyes sunken with a mix of exhaustion and something darker—concern, perhaps?

“Sunday,” you greeted, your voice calm but wary.

He didn’t respond immediately, his piercing gaze fixed on you.

"You finally became the family head! Congrats I guess." You don't even know what to say to him, so you just say what comes to mind.

Then he spoke, his voice low and strained. “You’re reckless, you know that?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “What are you talking about?”

“That concert,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You—” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “You took the bullet. For her.”

The memory surfaced unbidden: the flash of the gun, the crack of the shot, the searing pain. You inhaled sharply. “She would’ve been—”

“She wasn’t,” Sunday interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “She wasn’t hurt, but she’s scarred. Do you even realize what that’s done to her?”

You looked away, guilt coiling in your chest. “I did what I had to do.”

“No, you didn’t!” Sunday’s voice cracked, his frustration evident. “You could’ve found another way. Rationality—damn it, Y/N! You’re supposed to think things through!”

But then Sunday sighs, taking in a deep breath to not lash out on you.

“I couldn’t risk her,” you replied quietly, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know that.”

Sunday stared at you for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then, his shoulders slumped, and he exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “You’re impossible.”