The sun hit my apartment in a way that made everything feel a little too bright, almost accusatory. I squinted through the blinds, groaning.
"Morning," Alex said, voice deadpan as he perched on the edge of the couch. His hair was tied back as usual, though one stubborn strand flopped across his scar, giving him a slightly ridiculous look.
"Morning," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "How are you so… functional at this hour?"
He shrugged, as if my question were inherently stupid. "I am not. I just hide it better than you."
I snorted, sliding off the couch. "Hide it better? You mean nap for four hours straight and wake up looking like you slept on a pile of marshmallows?"
Alex's expression didn't change, but I swear the corner of his mouth twitched. "Maybe marshmallows are underrated. They're soft. Comfortable. Better than your bed."
"Better than my bed?" I echoed, offended. "I sleep on a bed that is literally a fortress of memory foam, three pillows stacked like a pyramid, and a blanket that was 20 bucks but worth every cent."
Alex leaned back, hands behind his head. "Then why do you look like death warmed over?"
Touché.
We ended up in the kitchen, because any Sunday that starts with banter deserves food. I pulled out eggs and bread while Alex just leaned against the counter, watching me fumble with a frying pan.
"You're going to burn them," he said casually.
I brandished the spatula like a weapon. "I've never burned eggs in my life!"
"Not yet," he replied, perfectly calm.
I rolled my eyes. "You're the worst cooking critic ever. And you know it."
Alex tilted his head. "I'm not a critic. I'm an observer."
"Observer," I muttered, flipping an egg dramatically. "That's just a polite way of saying 'I silently judge every decision you make.'"
He shrugged. "Judgment is a gift."
I grumbled something about gifts being overrated and overcooked eggs, but he didn't react. I decided it was a lost battle and sat down at the table with the half-decent meal.
Breakfast ended up being… acceptable, if you ignored the slightly crispy edges. Alex ate in his usual quiet, precise way — no crumbs, no wasted bites — while I shoved food in like a man starving from a week of take-out and coffee.
"So," I said between bites, "what's the plan today? Besides judging my cooking and laughing at my culinary skills?"
Alex considered. "We could do nothing."
"Nothing?" I nearly choked on my toast.
"Nothing how?"
"Nothing like… wandering aimlessly. Watching people. Listening to random conversations. Maybe getting coffee if you feel ambitious."
I grinned. "Perfect. Just perfect. A Sunday of pointless activity with the world's quietest, most judgmental companion."
"Companion, yes," Alex said, dry as ever. "Judgmental, debatable."
We ended up wandering the city streets. The air was warm, faintly sweet with street food and the scent of wet concrete. I gestured dramatically at a hot dog cart. "Adventure calls! You hungry?"
Alex raised a single brow. "I don't need food."
"Don't need?" I echoed, horrified. "Alex, we're on a Sunday adventure. You must indulge."
He sighed, resigned, and ordered a pretzel instead. I got a hot dog with everything on it, including onions I probably shouldn't have touched.
As we walked, I kept up a running commentary of everything I saw.
"See that guy?" I said, pointing at a man in a too-tight suit. "Clearly owns three cats, spends entirely too much money on coffee, definitely talks to plants."
Alex glanced briefly, expression unchanged. "Or maybe he just likes suits."
"No," I said firmly. "Too narrow a tie. The sign is clear: cat person."
He shook his head slightly. "Or insane."
"Exactly," I said, pointing at the pigeons circling above. "Crazy cat men attract pigeons. Fact."
Alex ignored me, but I caught the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Victory.
By early afternoon, we'd ended up in a small park, sitting on a bench under a tree. I had my feet stretched out, hot dog in hand, Alex's pretzel crumbled neatly into a paper bag beside him.
"You know," I said, licking mustard off my fingers, "we should do this more often. Just wander. No case, no killers, no paperwork. Just… us."
Alex raised his eyes to the sky, then back at me. "That sounds like the most irresponsible thing we could do. And yet… I agree."
"See?" I said, tossing the hot dog wrapper into the trash like a king. "Even you admit it's good."
He smirked faintly, a rare expression. "I didn't say that. I said I agree that it's irresponsible."
I groaned. "Alex, you ruin everything. Even my victories."
"You're victory enough," he said, almost under his breath.
I stopped. "What was that?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
I narrowed my eyes, pretending to glare. "I heard that. And I will hold it against you for the rest of the day."
He rolled his eyes. "I can live with that."
The rest of the afternoon turned into a series of little misadventures.
I got my coat stuck in a revolving door. Alex didn't help, only pointed out that I should probably stop flailing like a madman.
We argued over whether pigeons were plotting against humans. Alex insisted they were "just birds."
I attempted to race a kid on a scooter. Alex warned me not to fall. I fell. Hard. The kid won. Alex didn't laugh — but the smirk was there.
By the time evening crept in, the sun had begun to dip behind buildings, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. We ended up at a small food stall, getting fried snacks that left grease on our fingers and satisfied bellies.
"I think we're experts at doing nothing," I said, leaning back against a wall.
Alex didn't respond immediately. When he did, it was dry but amused. "You mean doing a lot of pointless things efficiently."
"Exactly," I said. "A skill few possess."
On the walk home, the city lights reflected on wet streets. Our conversation slowed, comfortable silence stretching between us. I glanced at Alex occasionally, noticing the way he carried himself — relaxed, calm, the world not weighing him down today.
I realized how rare this was. Sundays like this — no cases, no chaos, no killers — were precious. And I appreciated it more than I could say.
As we reached my apartment, I sighed. "Well, that was… surprisingly good. Even you'd admit it, right?"
Alex paused at the door. "Maybe. For a Sunday."
"Maybe?" I groaned. "I'll take that as a win."
He smirked faintly. "You always take things as wins."
"Exactly. And it's why I'm brilliant."
Alex shook his head, smiling just a little. "You're insufferable."
"And you love it," I said, pushing past him and collapsing onto the couch.
Alex sat beside me, stretching his legs out. "I tolerate it," he said, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"Same difference," I said, grinning. "Sunday well spent. Mission accomplished."
He glanced at me quietly. "You need to rest more than you realize."
"Maybe," I admitted, leaning back. "But not today. Today was perfect."
Alex didn't respond, just stayed there quietly. And somehow, that was enough.