( It’s in his head, definitely. Unless his mind likes feeding him visuals of how Sunday might be gazing at him. Rough everywhere, bulky and objectively full of character. There’s always a new layer to him to discover when he spends any time with him. Another clue that could help answer the question of who he is.

Without Mikhail, he gets to choose now, no?

Sunday dabs his index over each diamond, frowning - those shapes are familiar. )

Your mark reminds me of your pet. It’s not so bad on you, I think it suits you.

( Yes— he must have been too nervous earlier to search him properly. Sunday glances down at the puppy trunks, all that for nothing. He walks around to face him and deliver the news more concretely. )

You were not spared after all. I’ve yet to investigate the origin of these.

Have you felt any sort of fatigue in your stay so far?

( it’s impossible not looking down even for a fraction of a second, okay? He’s just bigger than Sunday is all. He’s probably just yapping away because he’s trying to fill the space with a distraction. )