Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You remember the first time you saw a living doll. It’s one of your earliest memories, vivid and clear despite the distance of time.

You remember your mother’s hand wrapped around yours. The patterns of shadow cast on the sidewalk from the trees above, all swaying softly with the breeze. The smell of the summer air.

And you remember the little girl, older than you but still very much a child. Her hand was not held in her mother’s like yours, but instead that of another little girl. A little girl with bright red yarn hair, her face round and marked with a line down the center, her own hand mitten-like in shape.

"Doll!" You exclaimed, pointing.

Your mother glanced at the two girls.

"Yes honey, a doll," she said, unimpressed.

The girls walked past you then, and the doll waved as she went by. You let out a surprised noise, now hopping more than walking as excitement shot through you. You turned your head to look at the doll girl for as long as possible, before finally the gentle tug on your little hand pulled you too far away.

You had many questions, now.

You didn't have the words to ask most of them, so you settled on the easiest.

"Why big?" None of your dolls at home were that big. You were fairly sure none of them had ever walked around on their own either, but that was one of the more difficult questions to find words for.

"Most dolls get bigger when they come to life," your mother explained.

You were hopping again, jumping excitedly, your energy having grown far too big to be contained in such a small body. You knew it! Just like in the cartoons. Dolls could come to life.

Why hadn't yours?

"I want one!" Your mouth was still clumsy at that age, implying the t on want more than actually pronouncing it.

"You have plenty of toys at home," was your mother's reply. "Maybe if you take good care of them, one will come to life. It takes a very, very long time though. Longer than you are old."

That was a long time.

It was in fact ten years at very least, you would later find out. Often closer to fifteen. A decade or more of constant care, taking a toy with you everywhere you went, playing with it daily. At that age you weren't yet fully aware of the full size of that commitment, but you could at least sense the vastness of it. More years than you were, more time than you could imagine.

Regardless, from that moment forward your little heart was set on one thing and one thing alone- you wanted a doll just like the one you had seen. You wanted a friend like that, not only something that could be played with but someone who would play back. As soon as you got home, you lined up all your toys and chose the one that looked most like the one you'd seen that day- A Raggedy Anne doll. Not an exact match, but close enough in your opinion.

You don't quite remember how long it was before you lost that doll, but you suspect it couldn't have been more than a week. You were very young, and children are prone to losing absolutely anything the moment it leaves their hand. You remember how upset you were when you realized Raggedy Anne was missing, crying and begging your parents to find her, but she was nowhere to be found. No matter how hard you and your parents looked, she was gone. Probably dropped or forgotten somewhere away from home, you had been carrying her everywhere after all.

You tried again, with another doll. You were less attached to this one, wanting any living doll at all more than you really cared about this particular toy. You don't even remember what kind of doll it was now- or was it a stuffed animal of some kind? Either way, you lost that one too. You were more frustrated at the wasted effort than you were upset about the loss of the toy this time.

You're not sure how many times that cycle repeated over the years. You always had one toy or another at your side, but never the same one for long.

Sometimes you'd simply forget about the doll. It's hard for children to keep their own routines consistent without outside guidance. You would get distracted and forget to play with the toy you'd chosen for days, weeks even. By the time you would remember, your effort was wasted again. The clock had reset. Frustrated, you'd choose another toy for your next attempt- only to inevitably forget again.

Sometimes your family would move, as they did several times during your childhood, and the toy you'd been focusing on would end up misplaced in the shuffle of possessions. Some you even left behind on purpose, when space was limited and the number of boxes you were allowed to bring was finite. It was hard to justify leaving behind a more exciting game in favor of some old stuffed animal or another that you'd only been paying attention to for maybe a month.

Sometimes you'd be carrying around a doll for a while only to find it gone one day, donated to charity along with a load of other old toys by your mother. You didn't blame her for not knowing that particular doll was one you'd picked up again recently, it wasn't like you ever managed to keep one around for long.

Eventually your father started telling you that you were too old for dolls. You had to agree with him- you had no interest in playing pretend with dollies and stuffed animals anymore. You didn't want a toy to drag around, you wanted someone who would choose to come with you wherever you went. Someone who would want to come with you as much as you wanted them to come.

But that wasn't going to happen, was it.

You thought about how the other kids would react if you brought a doll with you to school for the new school year. There was no way you'd avoid getting teased for that, especially if you were carrying it around everywhere you went like you were supposed to. Were you really going to keep that up for ten years?

You didn't think you were.

You'd be an adult by then, after all- Something that seemed infinitely far away at that time. It was too late to start over with a new doll now.

The thought still crossed your mind, from time to time. Each time you felt like you had just barely missed your chance. Like last time you'd had that thought had been your last chance and you hadn't realized it, like your last window of opportunity was now far past. Over and over, the same heartbreak of being a little bit too late felt anew.

Maybe it had been a hopeless idea to begin with. As time went on, you came to realize that you were just as bad at holding on to friends as you were to toys. Even if you had managed to bring one to life, then what?

Adulthood wasn't as far away as it had felt. Soon you were there, and you had long since given up on dolls.

That didn't mean your interest in living dolls had gone away though. While you'd long since gotten rid of your childhood toys, you couldn't help but feel that same rush of excitement every time you saw someone with a living doll of their own. Somehow, that feeling was still something that seemed far too big to fit in your body. Something that made it hard to be still.

A man walking his dog, but the dog's paws were too rounded and the shape of the snout was soft. A doll.

An older woman, hair beginning to gray, who's baby was a little too cute and a little too calm to be real. Subtle traces of lines showed where the seams had been on the baby doll.

A young boy, maybe twelve, who was accompanied by a teddy bear that was taller than he was. The bear had a little top hat, comically undersized when compared to the rest of him.

The joy of it, seeing something you had been fascinated with for as long as you can remember.

The bitterness of it. The years of festering disappointment you pretended to ignore.

If someone asked you why you decided to cut through the park that day on your way home from work, you had decided to tell them it was because you wanted the exercise. Something about how you'd heard spending time in green spaces is good for your health. There is no reason anyone would ever ask you that question, but it helps you avoid admitting the real answer to yourself.

A place where people gather to play, often children. Some part of you was always seeking out spaces like that, hoping you might get another chance to see a living doll.

And you do see one.

While some of the more humanoid dolls are hard to tell apart from actual humans at a glance, the gleam of porcelain gives this one away. The elaborate costume is another telltale sign. The doll sits in the grass near a bench, one the path you're on goes directly past. You can get a closer look without having to change course at all.

Though the doll is sitting, you can tell he (you're assuming- he looks like a he, at least) is fairly tall. Human height, maybe a little taller than the average person even. He looks like some sort of jester doll, judging by the clothing. Poofy rose-orange pants, a complex and vaguely floral pattern of gold embroidery reaching up the fabric in lines. A vest that is nearly black, just a hint of warmth coloring it, with two large orange buttons on the front. Long, oversized yellow sleeves from the shirt underneath the vest. His hair is blond and a little messy, curling around a circle of porcelain details that encircle his head.

A little like sun rays, you think. The jester is solar themed, the metallic gold paint on the rays shines with reflected light.

He's in the middle of a conversation you can't quite hear, talking to a woman sitting on the bench proper. The person he belongs to, you assume. Surprisingly, he pauses this conversation to look at you.

Were you staring that obviously?

Most dolls don't tend to pay attention to you, even if you do end up staring. They don't usually have any interest in you at all, or much of anyone other than the person they belong to. You end up getting a better look at his face when he looks your way, that unmistakable porcelain white. Some of the details of his face are physically sculpted, the others painted. A hint of orange at the corners of his eyes, an indication of a sun-like shape, little orange rays extending from them. His lips are painted that same orange. More of the metallic paint above one eye, forming a little swirl. The eyes themselves are entirely human in shape, but the blue iris and black pupil look painted on.

All the details shift as his expression breaks into a grin. He gives you a big, enthusiastic wave.

"A new friend!" He exclaims. "Do you want to come play?"

You stop in your tracks.

You've never actually heard a doll speak before- much less had one speak to you. Until this moment, you hadn't even been entirely sure living dolls could speak.

Yet this one did, clear as day. And he was inviting you to play with him.

This gets the attention of the woman on the bench.  There's a sharp contrast between the two of them, the themed costume of the doll and the completely mundane look of a normal human being. Medium length hair, a plain white T-shirt, roughly your age or maybe a few years younger. There's a touch of frustration in her green eyes as she looks up, her focus lifting from something apparently important on her phone.

"Not everyone wants to play with you, Sun. Stop bothering people," she says. She turns her attention to you for a "Sorry about that."

"It's- it's fine," you manage. More than fine, really. Exciting, thrilling, entirely unexpected.

"Are you suuure, Nessa?" The doll- Sun, apparently- asks, with the tone of someone who knows they're entirely right. "They looked an awful lot like they wanted to play. You came to the park to play, right friend? We could play together! Do you want to?"

"Uh." You hadn't come to the park to play, no. The idea is a little ridiculous, you're not a child anymore- not that the actual reason you came is any less childish than that. Would that even be allowed, playing with someone else's doll? "I mean. Is that okay?" You ask, looking towards the woman.

(Nessa? Was that what her doll had called her? That has to be some sort of nickname, though you have no idea what it might be short for.)

"If you want to?" Nessa replies, shrugging. "You can, but you don't have to. Don't let him pressure you, he's always like this. Like a golden retriever or something, he always wants to play with everyone."

"That means yes, we can play!" Sun exclaims. He jumps to his feet, taking a step towards you.

Everything about this situation is strange. Are you really allowed to just... do that? Play in the park like a child? Not to mention your surprise at seeing Sun move away from Nessa, even if only a step, with the implication that he might go farther. You've never seen a doll leave their human's side, not even once.

... Could you really bring yourself to say no, though? Can you even pretend you'd want to say no?

"What kind of games can you play?" You ask.

The look Sun gives in response is entirely triumph, all joy. He bounces on his feet with excitement, as if barely able to contain his energy. You can relate to that feeling, a feeling that is too much to allow you to be still.

"All sorts!" Sun tells you. "Anything! We could play tag, or we could race, or hide and seek! There's also tic tac toe, word games, guessing games... Oh! And I have games on my phone, too!" The jester pants apparently has pockets, a porcelain hand disappearing into one. He pulls out an old phone, looking to be several generations out of date. You notice an orange sun painted on the back of his hand, the circle of flame around it almost resembling flower petals. "Here! I have chess, scrabble, and lots of hidden object games that are fun to play together!"

You glance at Nessa again, half expecting her to object. To tell you that this is her doll, her friend, something you have no right to be intruding on. Instead, you see that she isn't even looking at you anymore. Her attention is once again absorbed by whatever is happening on her phone.

"... You said we could race?" You ask.

Sun's phone disappears into his pocket again.

"First one to the fence wins." Sun gives a quick gesture towards the chain link fence at the far end of the park. "Three-two-one-GO!"

He moves before you can register what's happening. He's given himself a head start with your surprise.

You aren't going to let it be a big one.

Finally unleashing all the pent up energy crammed into your body, you push hard off the ground and sprint. Sun's strides are long and surprisingly graceful, but as your feet hit the ground faster and faster you begin to catch up. The world goes by in a blur of trees and grass, your heart pounding, and you put everything you have into that run. The last stretch approaches, and your outstretched hand grabs onto the fence just before Sun's does.

An unpleasantly sharp sound, his hand hitting the metal fence a split second after yours. You see he tried to pull his long sleeve over his porcelain hands to avoid direct contact with the metal, but a few of his fingers didn't get entirely covered. He must be much sturdier than an inanimate porcelain doll would be though, considering the fact that he didn't appear to do any damage to himself hitting the fence that hard.

Your theory is confirmed true when Sun flips into an honest to goodness handstand with no issue at all, flipping back to his feet a second later. Like running all that distance hadn't expended nearly enough energy for him.

Maybe it hadn't. You're gasping desperately for air, but looking closely you realize Sun is not. Or rather, he does look to be panting, but not in quite the right way. There is no sound of heavy breathing, only the motion of it. Said motions are too even as well, big but calm- only pretending to be out of breath.

Do living dolls even need to breathe?

Still, Sun seems genuinely surprised when he says, "You won!" Like he had really given it his all, and hadn't expected to be beaten.

"I won this one. I don't think I can do another," you admit, struggling to speak as you continue gasping for air. You feel a little sick. You might have overdone it.

"Oh! You're tired now," Sun says, as if he'd forgotten that could happen. "That's okay. Do you want to swing on the swings? They're a good place to sit and rest for a bit."

You look over to the playground section of the park. You do see swings there, alongside a small climbing structure and a basketball hoop. There are a few kids at the basketball hoop, but the swings are unoccupied.

You'd probably look silly, trying to fit yourself onto what is clearly a child-sized swing.

On the other hand, you think you might throw up if you can't sit and catch your breath soon.

"Sure," you say.

Sun looks utterly delighted at your response, as if he hadn't expected your agreement. So excited that he does a cartwheel on his way over to the swings, the motion fluid and perfectly balanced.

You notice he makes sure he's on the grass for the cartwheel, maybe hitting the pavement with his hands would be unpleasant even if he is tougher than normal porcelain. He doesn't have any trouble walking the paved path though, his feet protected by yellow jester slippers with curved toes.

The seat of the swing is definitely too small for you. You fit, but it pinches your thighs together uncomfortably. Despite that, it's an immense relief. You're still panting, but your heart starts to calm.

Sun, still full of boundless energy, all but jumps into the seat next to you. His momentum sends him swinging immediately, before he's even properly seated. There's no sharp porcelain-on-metal sound this time, his sleeves pulled over his hands fully.

"There!" Sun says. "We can rest on the swings as long as you'd like, friend. It was a fun race, but I love the swings too!"

"You could probably run all day, couldn't you," you comment. Can dolls even get tired?

"Not all day," he tells you, now swinging more purposely. The light runs across the golden sun rays on his head over and over, back and forth with the motion of the swing. "But yes, probably a little longer than most people," he adds with a laugh.

You spend a little while there on the swings, just talking with him. The entire situation feels a little surreal. You'd cut through the park hoping to maybe glimpse a doll in passing, and here you are now sitting and talking with one. Sun leans far back with the swing, gaining height. Once you catch your breath, you swing your legs a little as well.

Sun converses with you exactly the way any normal person would, about normal things. The weather, things he likes, things he's seen. When you bring up a topic, he never seems to lack any knowledge on it that a normal person would have. He's entirely capable of discussing hobbies, video games, books, anything. He's even played one of the games you mention, and gives you surprisingly good advice for mastering the timing of the dodge roll in it.

The pinch of the small seat becomes painful before too long, and you have to get off the swing. Still you sit in the grass with Sun for a good while longer, the two of you leaning close to both play some of the hidden object games on his phone. You compete to see who can find the most objects first.

He uses a stylus for everything on the touchscreen. You guess that makes sense, of course the screen wouldn't react to porcelain. You both reach for the screen at the same time at one point, and your hand bumps against his. His hand feels exactly like normal porcelain- Hard, solid, cold. The brush of his sleeve has the telltale feel of costuming instead of normal clothing, as well. It's an odd contrast to how lively and warm his personality is.  

It's all surprisingly fun.

Surprisingly normal, like hanging out with anyone new.

Surprisingly strange.

It keeps hitting you over and over that you are in fact sitting next to a living doll, porcelain and cloth, human in shape only. You're sitting next to a living doll, who is talking with you and calling you friend.

The feeling of it is overwhelming.

You are overjoyed. You are heartbroken. You are excited and bitter, you are both fulfilling a life-long dream and acutely feeling the disappointment of never having had this for yourself.

But you are also having fun, and for a little while that is all that matters.

Eventually you have to go. You think Sun would have happily played for the rest of the afternoon, but he's understanding when you tell him you need to head home. He gives you another big wave, multiple enthusiastic goodbyes, and even thanks you for playing with him. As if you were the one that had done him a favor.

He even invites you to come back some time. He informs you that he and Nessa come to this park every day around the same time.

Nessa herself is still right there on the bench where Sun had left her. Whatever is on her phone must be either truly amazing or extremely important, considering you don't think she's looked up from it once the entire time. She only lifts her eyes for a second when Sun returns to her side.

Maybe you will come back again, if you have the time.

Maybe you will make the time.

Chapter Text

You do go back.

It is in fact difficult to stop yourself from going back the very next day.

You manage to wait a week before returning. That amount of time seems reasonable in your head, a week. A normal amount of time someone might let pass between visits to the park.

It is with conscious effort that you walk down the path at a regular, even, casual pace. Half of you wonders if he'll even really be there. There is a strange feeling of anticipatory disappointment at the thought, trying to prepare yourself for that possibility.

Sun is right there, at the same bench as before. He jumps to his feet as soon as he sees you on the path heading his way. Nessa looks up for a moment, expression unreadable at that distance, but Sun gestures towards you and she is once again unconcerned. Her attention returns to something on her lap- a book, you think.

Sun does a full on cartwheel in your direction, then hurries to close the rest of the distance. There is an almost uncanny ease in the way he moves, transitioning fluidly into the cartwheel and then back to his feet as if it was all effortless. There is an unmistakable excitement as well, the same urge to jump and run that you're trying so hard to hold back in yourself.

"You came back!" Sun exclaims, as soon as he's close enough to be clearly heard. He's bouncing on his feet again, and you can't help it- you're doing the same thing now. "Hello again! You came to play, right? What do you want to play?"

With this much energy? With the amount of excitement and nervousness and surprise running through you?

"First one to the fence wins," you tell him. This time it's your turn for a head start.

Trees and grass rushing by, the blur of the path, an arm outstretched in anticipation of the approaching fence.

Sun wins this time. He must have been ready for this, you didn't get as much of a head start as you'd anticipated. You were also a little slower this time as well, mindful enough not to push yourself to the point of physical illness. The nausea of overexertion has been replaced by the sting of defeat.

You don't stay and talk afterwards quite as long this time. Still, Sun once again invites you to come back and play any time.

And you do.

Once a week, then twice a week, maybe three times some weeks... but only occasionally! Only occasionally, despite how tempting it feels when your way home takes you past the park regardless of if you stop there or not. Forcing yourself to go past and not in, you just visited yesterday after all...

Tomorrow instead, maybe.

(There is no 'maybe' about it.)

Your visits to the park usually start with some sort of physical game. Sun always seems to have a little too much energy to properly contain when he first greets you, and to be honest you do as well. A little running around helps both of you calm down.

After that, you usually sit for a minute to catch your breath. Sometimes you'll sit in the grass, or on the swings, or even up high on the playground equipment if there aren't any kids playing there at the moment. Sun sits alongside you and the two of you talk. You talk about the little mundane events in your lives, tell stories, joke and laugh about anything that comes to mind.

Sometimes the two of you will play a game on his phone. Once you find out that his stylus works on your phone screen too, you'll occasionally offer your phone as well. Your screen is bigger, and your phone can handle more demanding games without lagging. Though lag is only rarely a problem considering that hidden object games seem to be Sun's favorite. You find yourself developing a love for the genre as well, playing alongside him.

You often think that you really should head home after that, once you've had a chance to both catch your breath and catch up with Sun.

Instead, you more often end up finding an excuse to stay. You follow the path around the perimeter of the park with him, or think of another more physically active game to play, or simply explore the more forested areas of the park together.

Sometimes you end up losing track of time. Sometimes it gets far later than you realized, hours passing without your notice. You are absolutely mortified, the first time Nessa seeks Sun out and tells him it's time to go home. The embarrassment is vast enough to keep you awake at night. You almost don't go back after it happens, nearly too ashamed to face Sun or Nessa again.

But you do go back.

Time and time again, you're struck by how normal Sun is. How strangely normal all of this, hanging out in the park with someone's living doll.

You learn that Sun's favorite color is yellow. His favorite time of year is late spring- right when it's still early enough to have all the flowers in bloom but late enough that the skies are clear of clouds. He has a mild fear of dogs, more nervousness than phobia. His favorite movies are animated ones, though he prefers art films over the usual children's animation that dominates the genre.

He has quite a lot to say about the experience of art, of animation as both a medium to express a story and more than that at the same time. He has seen many of the same movies you have, often bringing up details about them that you'd never noticed before. He mentions he does a little art himself from time to time, and you express an interest in seeing it some time. Next visit he pulls a paper out of his pocket, crumpled and a little battered but still intact. You wonder if he has been carrying it around for the last several days, waiting for you to appear again so he could show you.

His art isn't professional grade by a long shot, but it's more than enough to impress you. Certainly more than a casual doodle. His style is somehow both abstract and covered in tiny realistic details, both nothing like what he was referencing and unmistakable as that thing. You suspect it must have taken him hours to put down every tiny mark even on the small drawing he first showed you.

After that, sometimes you bring basic art supplies to the park. Notebooks, pens, colored pencils. Sidewalk chalk, one day. Sun draws a rainbow of little flowers across a section of the path, and you help fill in some of the empty spaces with your best attempt at imitating his style. Art soon becomes another activity the two of you do together.

Maybe normal isn't quite the right word. This much fun isn't something that fits into your usual normal.

Human, maybe. He is surprisingly human-like. He is an entire person, with likes and dislikes and wants and fears.

At the same time, you are sometimes caught off guard by the inhuman aspects of him.

The way the light reflects off his face, shining where it catches the gold details. You see him avoid directly touching something hard with his hands, wrapping his sleeves over them first. There's a glass-like clink noise any time he touches stone or metal by accident, even if only gently.

One day a branch catches on the fabric of his sleeve. He lets out a small but startled "Ow!" when it rips at the threads as it pulls away.

It takes you a moment to realize that his sleeve catching is all that happened. He can feel the material of his sleeve.

"Oh! No worries, friend! It's okay," he tells you, when you express your concern- Because as weird as this realization is, you are concerned all the same. "I can heal! This," he runs a careful porcelain finger across the damaged threads, "will be gone in no time."

"Does it hurt a lot?" you ask.

Another touch to the injury, a hesitant finger settling on it carefully. He gives you a warm smile.

"Not much," he says. "I'll be fine, promise. It only stings for a minute."

He doesn't seem to be taking any extra caution with that arm later, so maybe it really has stopped hurting. True to his word, next time you see him there's no trace of the injury at all. He catches you looking at his sleeve and holds it up for you to see, every thread perfectly intact.  

A more alarming incident is the time he hits the pavement.

Normally Sun's movements are fluid and graceful, easy. You've never worried that he might trip or stumble, even when he's doing cartwheels or handstands or other tricks.

Then there is the girl on the roller skates.

Young, unpracticed with the skates. She must have underestimated the downwards slope of the path here, and ended up moving faster than she knew how to stop. By the time the two of you notice she's too close, she's already crashing into him.

The sound is almost exactly like breaking glass.

You remember, in that moment, that your friend is made of porcelain.

You're afraid to look, for a moment. What if what you see is broken pieces scattered everywhere? Could he survive something like that?

The girl is letting out a stream of apologies as she struggles to get back to her feet, disoriented and unsteady on the skates. Her knee pads are scuffed.

To your great surprise and immense relief, there are no broken shards across the paved surface. Sun sits where he fell to the ground, dazed and blinking but in one piece.

His eyes widen. You see it at the same time he seems to notice- cracks. There are cracks all across the hand he must have caught himself with. He pulls his sleeve over the hand immediately, hiding the damage from sight.

Seeing that she'd knocked over a doll, the girl's apologies become more panicked. She also begins to direct most of them towards you- apparently she thinks you're the person he belongs to.

You are not.

You do not know how to tell her that. You do not know if he is okay. You do not know what to do, and you stand there paralyzed.

Sun jumps to his feet and, smiling as if nothing is wrong at all, begins reassuring the girl. Accepting her apologies, telling her it's perfectly fine, asking her if she's all right. She seems just as surprised as you were to have a doll talk to her. Still, Sun's friendly demeanor has her quickly calming down.

You noticed, when he got up, an uncharacteristic wobble to his balance.

You notice that the hand he's trying to hide is shaking.

Sun goes straight back to Nessa after. You stand an awkward distance from the conversation- too uncomfortable to just walk up to her with the doll that was broken under your watch, but far too concerned to simply leave.

She takes him home. Sun gives you a quick wave with his uninjured hand, holding the other close to his body.

You wonder if Sun can heal from that the same way he could from the tear in his sleeve.

You wonder if Nessa blames you. She gave no indication either way.

You wonder, for the hundredth time, if maybe you shouldn't come to the park anymore.

You're too worried about Sun to not go back. You wait a few days longer than usual, in case Sun or Nessa don't want to see you again so soon after that. In case Sun needs to be home resting or doing whatever it is a doll does to recover from injury.

Thankfully, when you do go Sun is not only right there like always but is as happy to see you as ever. Nessa glances up at your arrival, then right back to her phone. You catch a glimpse of Sun's hand and see the cracks are still there, but they're fainter now. Shallower, little hairline breaks at worst.

You're more concerned about his safety after that, which he seems to find funny for some reason.

It takes a few weeks before the cracks are no longer visible. They do seem to have healed completely though, as Sun is back to using that hand without issue.

Strangely normal and simply strange. Surprisingly human and jarringly inhuman. You learn a little more about him each day.

You're glad to know him. More than the excitement of getting to meet a living doll, Sun is a genuinely good friend.

During all of your visits, Nessa stays where she is. Sometimes she's talking with Sun when you arrive, or playing something on his phone with him, or sitting alongside him on the swings- but those times are rare. The first time it happens you try to turn around, not wanting to intrude, but Sun catches sight of you and gives a big wave before you can. When your feet hesitate anyway, Nessa says something to Sun that you can't quite hear at that distance. She makes a shooing motion, sending Sun your way.

That's how it tends to go every time you catch the two interacting. Even on the rare occasion that the two are doing something together when you arrive, Nessa drops it and sends Sun your way as soon as she sees you.

"Nessa has been very busy lately," Sun explains one day. "She has a full time job, and she's doing college classes on top of that! She's doing really well, but it's a lot for her. She's tired. Getting the occasional break from me is probably a good thing." The laugh he gives after that implies that he's maybe only half joking about that last part.

Maybe that's what's always pulling her attention to her phone, some sort of online coursework she's struggling to find the time to complete. It would explain the books you often see her with, as well.

With it taking a minimum of ten years to bring a doll to life, you're sure the two had to be inseparable at some point. It must be difficult for both of them, with Nessa now so buried under coursework and life obligations that she's struggling so much to find time for anything else.

You're getting to spend so much time with Sun because of that. It doesn't feel right, to be taking joy from their hardship. You feel gross thinking about it. At the same time, you can't deny that you're happy to know Sun.

"I really appreciate you coming to play with him so often," Nessa tells you one day. Sun is out of earshot- grabbing your water bottle for you. You'd set it down and forgotten it, now dehydrated and out of breath enough to agree when he offered to grab it for you. "Sun can be... a lot. It's like having to walk a dog all the time, I swear. Doesn't matter if the weather is crappy or you're tired or you have other things to be doing, you've still got to walk the dog every single day."

"I don't mind," you say. "It's fun. Thank you for letting me come play with him all the time. I like dolls a lot, and Sun is a great friend, so it's nice of you to... share?" Is that the right way to phrase that?

Close enough, apparently. She doesn't look offended.

"Any time," she replies, nodding.

(In the back of your mind, you can't help but be a little uncomfortable with her comparing Sun to a dog again.)

(You feel guilty for that small, unintentional judgment. The two are around each other all the time when you're not around. He is hers, she knows him better than you ever will. It's probably some sort of joke between them, or an endearment you don't know the history of.)

(... or maybe just one of those things? You can't seem to put it out of your mind. Every friendship has a few sticking points, right? Little things that begin to irritate, even the closest friends run into a few of those eventually. You can't blame her for being a little tired, trying to keep up with Sun's boundless energy for years on top of her already hectic schedule. Or if you can blame her, you at very least shouldn't.)

Time moves, and slowly the weather begins to change. Clear skies begin to cloud over from time to time, the occasional drizzle coming down. A few genuine rains, even. The temperature cools from the melting intensity of summer, truly hot days farther apart.

On the rainy days, Sun wears a long jacket and rubber boots. The outfit feels jarringly muted compared to the bright colors you're used to seeing on him. Sun wears this even on days when there's only a light drizzle, not seeming to be a fan of getting wet at all. Despite that, he always still leaves the front of the coat unzipped. Maybe he doesn't want to cover up his usual outfit completely.

He also brings an umbrella and a second coat, both clearly old but still usable. The umbrella, you come to realize, is for you. He holds the old coat over his head to shield from the rain so he can offer the umbrella to you.

Time continues to move, the weather continues to cool, and you keep coming. Keep talking and playing, keep watching ducks paddle around the little pond, keep counting the days until it seems reasonable to visit the park again. You watch several movies on his recommendation, and he watches some on yours as well. You sit on the swings and talk about them together.

And you keep feeling a deep, quiet ache as well. A thought you can't stop from crossing your mind.

You had spent well over ten years trying to bring a doll to life as a child. If you'd stuck with just one instead of dozens and dozens, you could have had a friend like this of your own. Someone who you could not just meet for a short time at the end of a day, but who could come with you everywhere you went.

You could have come to the park with your own doll. You and Sun and this other doll could have all played together. When you ran out of breath you could have sat beside Nessa on the bench to rest, and the two of you would have something in common to talk about together. This is a world you could have belonged to, instead of something you visit once or twice a week.

At the same time, the ache of it feels quieter than before.

Every day, every visit, Sun makes sure you feel welcome. It's hard to feel like an outsider when Sun is there, enthusiastically inviting you in every chance he gets.

Little by little, the sharp edges of that feeling have all blunted down.

The ground becomes a little muddier, umbrella days come more frequently. Even when you start making sure to bring yours every day, Sun still brings both the extra coat and the old umbrella- just in case.

You do notice, one day, something that sticks in your mind as strange. There's a tear in his clothing, an uneven rip near the ankle. That in itself isn't odd. He already told you how it happened- He had been walking home with Nessa when a thorny blackberry vine had snagged him. No, the strange thing is that he'd told you that over a week ago. He'd told you over a week ago, and the tear is exactly the same as before. The same length of torn fabric, the same broken gold embroidery threads that have been pulled from their pattern.

"It'll heal," he reassures you, when he catches you looking. "It must have snagged me worse than I realized! But I'm sure it'll heal soon."

The edges are fraying.

You don't think too much of it.

The next time you go to the park, you don't see him there.

You don't think too much of that, either. Or rather, you think all the wrong things.

You think about how you're being silly, and how this disappointment shouldn't weigh on you so heavily. You think that maybe Sun might have decided he doesn't want to hang out with you anymore, or that maybe Nessa has gotten tired of you taking her doll away from her. You think that maybe the cold and wet and rain of the changing season has led to them finding somewhere else to spend their time, and maybe they didn't consider it important to tell you.

Of all your thoughts that day, the most reasonable one is that they might have had somewhere else they needed to be. Nessa could have a doctor's appointment, or could have been called in to cover an unusual shift at her job, or could have some family event she needed to attend. Sun would be with Nessa, so anything that prevented her from coming to the park would prevent Sun as well.

Sun might have simply forgotten to tell you something was coming up- Not that he was obligated to inform a random infrequent visitor such as yourself to begin with. If it was something unexpected, he might not have had a chance to inform you at all. Nessa could have come down with a cold or something like that, neither would have a way to contact you if she had. You'd never given either of them your number, and you'd learned that Sun's phone couldn't make calls regardless- it wasn't on a cell plan.

You thought all of that, but did not once stop to consider that something might be wrong.

Chapter Text

It is a week after your last visit. The crushingly disappointing one, where you'd stood by an empty bench for a few minutes before awkwardly leaving. The weather is good, sun shining, a few wispy clouds in the sky but no rain today. It's warm, and the breeze is cool. It might be the last truly nice day for a while, before rain and cold set in in earnest.

You're excited to spend the remainder of the day with Sun. That seems like the perfect send off to the last nice day of the season.

Over the past week, you've been thinking quite a bit. Thinking about Sun, about the park, about a million and one reasons why he might or might not want to meet you again. About if you'll get to play and talk together again like you have been. After having a week to sort those thoughts out, you have come to a conclusion: You've been overthinking this for sure. 

As shaky as your confidence can be, even you highly doubt that Sun of all people would just up and leave forever without saying goodbye. There are a million and one little things that could cause Nessa and Sun to miss a single day at the park, you can't expect they'd never miss one ever . Today you're sure you'll find them right where you always have, and you'll laugh to yourself about all the unnecessary worry.

The bench Nessa usually sits on is empty.

No one calls for you, no one waves you over, no one gets your attention.

The entire park feels as empty as that bench. There are children playing on the swings, shouts and laughs from the kids climbing over the play equipment, but at the same time it all might as well be completely deserted. There is a distinct sense of something missing, as vivid as if someone had ripped the trees from the ground.

He isn't here today either. They aren't here.

Maybe they really did decide to stop coming to this park.

You decide to walk a lap around the park anyway. As if there's some invisible audience you need to impress, to prove you weren't coming to the park only to see Sun.

Or to at very least prove that you know what to do with yourself when he isn't here.

It's good exercise, after all. Fresh air is good for you, probably. And sunlight. People say all of that is healthy. All the running around you've been doing has definitely improved your stamina, at least. You should keep up with that regardless of if you have someone to run and play alongside you. You can enjoy all of that alone.

Or, you can experience it, at least. You wouldn't call it particularly enjoyable.

You already know you're lying to yourself when you resolve to keep visiting the park regardless, strictly for the exercise.

Your lap around the park is slow, feet scuffing listlessly against the paved surface of the path. You're about halfway through the lap when a jogger passes by. You only really notice him because of the way he slows down unexpectedly a moment later, coming nearly to a stop as he looks intently into a patch of bushes ahead. You can't tell what it is he's looking at. This is the more forested end of the park, thick with greenery that has not yet shed its leaves.

The jogger only pauses for a moment though. A few seconds later he continues on, jogging ahead with the same steady pace as before.

Curious, you can't help but look towards the spot he'd been examining when you pass it. Whatever grabbed the jogger's attention is likely to be gone, probably an interesting bird or a particularly fat squirrel that would have already hidden away by now, but you look regardless.

A bright color, yellow, leaning towards gold maybe. A piece of trash someone had left behind? A discarded safety vest? If it's litter, maybe you should pick it up. You step off the path, into the grass, for a better look.

You see-

Your entire mind is wiped blank by shock. The force of it knocks your thoughts away, a refusal to comprehend what your eyes are seeing. You don't know how long it is that you stand there.

Blue eyes make a tiny movement, minute, to turn their focus towards you. You can no longer fail to know what is there in front of you, and the reality of it crashes in.

There is a doll lying there.

There is a familiar doll, yellow and orange and gold, porcelain white. Brown and gray, the ground damp from the most recent rain and soaking mud into cloth. Dirt leaves streaks across porcelain.

He’s lying there like something discarded. Like something inanimate, a toy someone dropped on the ground. Everything askew at odd angles, unadjusted, uncomfortable. The only sign of purposeful positioning in his posture is the way he wraps his arms around a blanket he has with him. Just as muddy as he is, a bundled-up blue blanket dotted with big stars that are in some places still yellow. The fuzzy fibers of it are matted.

The doll's gaze drops back down to the ground, unblinking.

You’re frozen in place a moment more.

Like a nightmare. You try to will away the sight but it’s too solid, too vivid in front of you.

“S... Sun?” You finally force out.

That doesn’t seem right. Surely this isn’t Sun. Surely this looks like him, but can’t be.

And yet when you call his name, his eyes turn towards you again.

The rest of him is completely still. He doesn’t move, not even to breathe.

“Where’s Nessa?” You manage to ask. Nessa, Nessa will know what to do. Nessa will have some way to explain this awful accident, and will fix it. Nessa is the first person Sun went to any time he was hurt. She’s had Sun for years, she’ll know exactly how to fix this. You just need to go get her for him.

But Sun, taking the faintest breath to speak with, says,

“She’s not here.” His voice is quiet, thin. Like something about to break, like something that only barely has enough substance to be above a whisper.

You feel like your mind has been knocked out of you. Like all of your thoughts have abandoned you, your body standing there empty and useless. You're lightheaded, balance wobbling even as the ground stays still.

You know exactly one thing: You need to fix this.

You don’t think that sentence in words. You don’t have the capacity, at the moment. This is something you feel, something that fills your entire self in the absence of thought. It’s the blood that runs through your body, the bones holding you up- you need to fix this. What you're seeing needs to stop.

A thin string of logic, tense and stretched tight, begins to form. Just enough coherent thought to form a plan of action, basic and maybe irrational but action all the same.

“Come on. Come on, get up, I’m going to take you with me,” you say. “We’ll get you safe and dry and then you’ll be okay. Then we’ll figure this out.” You don’t consider how this is, technically, theft. How when Nessa comes back to look for him, she won’t be able to find him. The only thing you care about right now is getting him up out of the mud.

“Can’t. Sorry, friend,” Sun says. “I haven’t been able to walk in... a few days, I think.”

A few. Days?

You immediately give up on trying to understand that. It’s nonsense.

How much does Sun weigh? Cloth, he's made mostly of cloth, isn't he? You should be able to lift that much cloth.

“I’ll carry you,” you tell him. Distantly it does occur to you that your guess on his weight is exactly that- a guess. He is made of cloth but he is also made of porcelain, and you don't actually know which is the majority. You don’t care. He could weigh twice what a human does, you'll figure something out.

Sun stares at you for a long moment. Painted eyes and porcelain features, his expression is unreadable.

“... Moon first,” he finally says. “Moon needs help first.”

“Moon?”

Sun grasps an edge of the blanket, pulling it aside. There is something underneath the layers of fabric, wrapped up and hidden away. Something that is-

You let out a strangled noise that is half a scream, recoiling, automatically jumping back a step. You feel immediately, viscerally sick.

You hate yourself for that. You hate that your reaction to what you see is revulsion, but you can’t stop it. There is nothing else you can feel about what you see wrapped in that blanket.

Another living doll, not too unlike Sun. Another porcelain jester.

Or half of one, anyway.

The doll ends halfway down, at the stomach. The end of the fabric is rough, badly frayed.

Half of him is simply gone. Mud-stained stuffing hangs out of the open wound, but so does something else. Something that looks to have too much weight to be just cloth, but that bears the same fibers. Too alien in shape to be recognizable as anything approaching human, and at the same time too familiar to be anything other than internal organs.

Guts. Organs. The doll’s guts hang out from where it is severed.

One of the arms bends at an angle that implies brokenness. So does the neck. The eyes are closed, lips parted slightly from a jaw that has gone slack.

You'd thought of this as a living doll, but you’re not sure that applies anymore. You don’t think this can still be alive.

Sun sets the blanket gently back across the body of the other doll. As if the only problem here is that the other doll might get cold without it.

“Moon first,” Sun repeats.

--------------

You drove to the park today. Usually you don't. While the park is on your route regardless, visiting it feels less awkward when it's something you happen to be walking by instead of a purposeful stop you'd have to make in your car. You had dropped that pretense today.

That means your car is, for once, nearby.

You're glad, because there is no way you could carry Moon's body any farther than that. It isn't the weight that's a problem- Or maybe it is, because that lack of weight is in itself unbearable. You are carrying only half of what was a living thing, and keeping yourself calm enough to make it even just to where you've parked is a nearly impossible task.

The body is cold in your arms. Wet. Completely still. Noticeably off balance, not just limp but unnaturally lopsided in weight with half the body missing. You wish you could have covered Moon's body entirely with the blanket again, wish you could pretend an armload of blankets is all you are carrying. You can’t. When you had reached for Moon, Sun had insisted you carry him a certain way. Had insisted almost frantically, desperately, words quiet and yet seeming to take up every last drop of strength he had.

Moon is, as Sun put it, “Hurt.” You need to support his head. Otherwise, the weight of it will further damage his already broken neck. You can cover the rest of the body, but you need to be able to see the angle of his neck and position of his head.

Not that it would make much difference one way or another, with the state of Moon's body. It's something that clearly matters to Sun though.

(You can at least cover the rest of the body. You have to cover the rest of the body. As much as you need to do what you are doing, you think carrying Moon without the barrier of the blanket would simply be beyond you. If any of the exposed, alien and yet too recognizable organs spilling from the doll's body brushed against you then you are entirely certain you would pass out. Pass out, or throw up, or start screaming and not be able to stop. Any of that, all of that.)

Your mind doesn't feel tethered to your body anymore. Like you might float away without warning and not be able to catch yourself. 

You look at the broken tilt of Moon’s neck and are sharply clawed back down to reality. 

You can't handle this. You can't, you can't.

But still you are doing it. Sun will not go if Moon does not go first, so you are doing it. Your only other option would be to simply walk away, to leave him there in the mud, and the thought of that is even more horrible than this is. 

Your vision is dim, spotty, sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You think you might be hyperventilating, or maybe not breathing at all.

The half a body held in your arms is most definitely not breathing.

The motion of walking jostles Moon's head, nearly twisting too far on the broken neck. Your chest shudders as you try to move air through it, a low whimper sounding from you involuntarily. You have to adjust your hold.

Somehow, you make it to the car. You almost don't recognize your own vehicle. The sight of it is surreal, nothing around you feels as familiar as it should be.

You place the body in the footrest area of the backseat. There's nowhere else to put it. Laying him on the seat itself would risk him crashing to the floor as soon as the car moved, and there's no way to buckle him in securely with so much missing.

The body is so still as it lies there.

You have some towels and a spare set of old clothes in your car, in case of emergency. You carefully arrange the towel under his head like a pillow, the spare clothes braced on either side to keep his broken neck straight. It makes him look a little more comfortable, as pointless as it is.

You are fragile in this moment. Pointless or not, it's a gesture that provides at least the appearance of having done something for the doll. It is what you need to keep yourself from falling apart.

Once you are reasonably confident you won't shatter on the spot, you go back for Sun.

He really can't stand. Can't move much at all, barely seems able to keep his eyes open. He looks in your direction, but you aren't confident he actually sees you.

Sun is more physically taxing to move. He is heavier than you expected after all, and he is damp. There had been no blanket to protect him like there had been for Moon. You can't pick him up entirely. The best you can do is to put your arms under his and lift him from behind, half dragging him.

The route you take with Sun is longer, the ground less even. You're avoiding the paved path as much as you can, not wanting to drag any part of Sun across the rough paved surface of the path. Not with the condition he's already in, not with how thin you're now realizing his shoes are- barely more than a layer of cloth over fragile porcelain.

How did this happen to him? How could this happen to him?

It doesn't seem like something that should be possible. It doesn't seem like something that reality should allow. Maybe it isn't possible, and you begin to wonder if you are somehow imagining all of this. Hallucinating, or having some awful nightmare. That would make more sense than for any of this to be real.

Sun's body is nearly as motionless as Moon's. Sun's breathing is sporadic, shallow, without rhythm. There are periods of time when you're terrified that he might not take another breath. Sun is capable of holding his head up and nothing more.

Even that small sign of life is only something he can barely do. His head droops forwards, swaying and unsteady as you walk.

Your vision is getting spotty again. You force a deep, slow breath into your lungs and focus on reaching the car. No other thoughts, no other goals, you focus on that and only that. Get him somewhere safe and protected, out of the mud. That you can do, that is a way you can help. You are going to help him. You are going to get him somewhere he can recover, and then this nightmare will have to end. 

Won’t it?

When you do reach the car, Sun can't buckle himself in. His hands are too clumsy, arms moving as if each is too heavy to lift for more than a moment. You do it for him. He lets himself slump against the belt, and you see that his eyes have closed.

“Sun?”

He doesn't respond.

“ Sun?”

His eyes open again, briefly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Just tired. I’m tired. Sorry.”

You get into the driver's seat, hand gripping the wheel so tight that you think it might break apart in your grasp. It is almost painful to pry your hand off so you can actually start the car.

Sun's eyes flutter open for a moment at the rumble of it, then fall shut again.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” you tell him.

But is he?

You've only been thinking one step ahead. You haven't been capable of handling more than that. What now? What are you going to do?

“We’ll get you dry and warmed up,” you tell him. “And then...” Well? Then what? You are on the road now, and immediately miss a turn despite the familiar area. "Do you know Nessa's number?" you ask. Nessa must know what to do. She hadn't been at the park, but surely you can call her. Tell her you found Sun for her, that you're taking him somewhere safer. Tell her she needs to come get him. To help him.

Moon you don't know what you would say about. You're not sure you'll be able to say anything about him at all. Maybe all you'll be able to do is to tell her where you are, and to beg her to come.

Sun's eyes are closed, and he is unresisting to the motion of the car. Despite that, he is apparently still awake and listening.

“Don’t call,” he replies. “She won’t come.”

“Why not?” A new thought, as horrifying as the others- If Sun had been left like that, if something had happened to mangle the other doll so badly... then what exactly had happened to Nessa? "Is she- did something-"

“She’s fine. She didn’t want us anymore,” Sun says.

You stop. The car stops. You don't realize that the world around you not only feels like it has stopped but actually has stopped until you hear furious honking. A car behind you, you're not sure how close it came to hitting you just now. Too close, judging by the sound of the horn. It is only with great concentration that you are able to lift your foot off the brake, saying,

“She what?”

“She was done playing with me,” Sun states. “So she threw us out.”

Focus. Keep the car moving. Stop here at the sign, then turn. Focus. One thing at a time, just get to where you're going. Get him somewhere safe, where you can at least ensure that nothing else will harm him.

Threw us out ...

You have an unbearable thought.

“Moon... is he like that, because... Did Nessa...?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sun’s tone is far too casual. There is no shock to it, no strain, a simple fact and nothing more. “But that was a while ago.”

A while?

You are nearly home, but you have to pull over where you are. You roll down your window, panting, leaning out and trying not to be sick. Something here is entirely wrong. There is no other idea you can accept, something here does not fit and everything about it is wrong.

Sun has never mentioned anyone named Moon before. He has never said anything about Nessa having another doll. None of this makes any sense.

Sun isn't thinking straight. He can't be. You're not sure he's even fully conscious, having no reaction at all to the vehicle stopping. He must not have understood what you asked. What he said doesn't make any sense. Sun is confused and none of this can mean what it sounds like. You need to help him. You can get Nessa's number from him later, when he's more coherent. She must be worried sick about him.

And Moon’s owner, too. That must be it. Moon must belong to someone else. Maybe Nessa had met up with someone who had a similar doll so they could play together. You’d call them, too. You just need to get Sun safe first.

You pull numbly into a parking spot, motions automatic, and only then realize you have arrived. You are home.

You try to move Sun first, but as soon as you unbuckle his belt his eyes open and he shrugs away from your touch. Once again he insists Moon goes first.

A while ago. Moon has been like this 'a while.' The ragged edges of the cloth. The idea that this was not just something dead, but something that had died a while ago.

No, no. That isn't right.

That can't be right.

Sun's answer could not line up with the question you asked. He's too out of it to produce any real, reliable answer.

You carry Moon's body into your living space and set him on your couch. There is nothing else you can do.

With Moon's head supported on the cushions, you don't need to watch the angle of his broken neck anymore. You pull the edge of the blanket over his head, covering him completely again.

Now you can get Sun inside. You have to half drag him again, but the distance is shorter this time and once he is inside you tell yourself he will finally be safe. That he will be able to recover now.

You don't have anywhere to set him down. You aren't going to put him on the couch, not next to the other doll's body. Or you weren't going to, until Sun opens his eyes again and only then seems to realize he's no longer in the car. He calls Moon's name, reaching for the shape under the starry blanket. You don't have any choice, then.

Considering half of Moon is missing, half the couch is still open and free. You set Sun there, in that painfully empty space. Sun takes the blanket back off of Moon's face, then carefully tucks him in.

This, after everything, is finally too much for you.

You break down into desperate sobs.

Chapter Text

At some point in your crying you feel a tug, gentle, hesitant. Sun has reached out to you. He pulls you closer to him. The pull is so gentle, you're not sure if he's giving you a chance to pull away or if he's too weak to do anything more.

You're crying so hard it hurts. Your throat hurts, your chest, your eyes, all of it hurts. You don't know how long you've been crying like this, each sob sharp as it cuts its way up from your lungs. A tear lands on Sun's hand, leaving a trail through the half-dried soil streaked across him. Another falls on his sleeve. You realize this all at once, recoiling from what you've done.

“Wait,” Sun says, reaching out to you again.

“I can’t get you wet!” Your thoughts are jumbled. All you can think of is how inanimate dolls can be ruined by water.

“I’m already wet. I can dry,” Sun tells you. He's still trying to reach you, but you've retreated a few inches too far for him to make contact from where he sits. “Please come back? It helps.”

You’re not sure how crying uselessly on him helps any more than doing the same a few feet away. You also don't like the idea of getting any more water on him, the dampness and mud that clings to him already more than you can stand. Still, the way he is reaching for you is almost desperate, and you cannot stop yourself from moving closer.

He pulls you close again as you try and fail to stop your tears from falling on him.

Maybe he needs the comfort of having someone near as much as you do.

It occurs to you that you have no idea what he actually needs. You don't know how dolls work, or what to do for one. You have nothing you can offer him. You brought him somewhere safer than lying in the mud at the park. Now what?

These thoughts do not make it easier to stop crying.

Sun waits very patiently for your tears to calm to hiccups and sniffles. Everything in you aches, and instead of two neat tear tracks beneath your eyes you find that your entire face feels wet. It's only when you've quieted to nothing but unsteady breaths that Sun lets you go.

“Could you do me a favor?” he asks.

Not trusting your voice, you nod emphatically.

“Do you have a hairbrush we could use? Preferably one with metal bristles. Please.”

“It’s a pet brush,” you say. You were right not to trust your voice, it’s wavering and nearly breaks. “That‘s the only metal one I have.”

You don’t currently own a pet. The brush was from a relative who had brought along her dog for a visit, she’d forgotten to take the dog's brush with her when she left. She’d said she would get it the next time she visited, but she lives on the opposite side of the country now and has surely gotten a new brush for her dog after all this time. The old one is still there though, waiting in your bathroom cabinet.

“That’s fine,” Sun says.

You’re only gone for a few seconds. When you come back Sun is leaning, eyes closed like he’d started to doze. He jolts awake again when you get near, clumsily reaching for the brush you hold out to him.

Clumsily, shakily, weakly. Those movements are wrong. Sun's movements have always been fluid and confident. He always made himself look so light.

You know from having to drag him to the car that he isn’t as light as you’d expected. Not as heavy as a human of similar size, but heavy still.

You can see it now.

Sun does not bother with his own tangled, muddy hair. He sets the brush down next to him and reaches for Moon instead. Carefully pulls Moon over to him, shifting the weight of Moon’s head onto his arm and then his shoulder, slowly pulling Moon onto his lap and balancing him there. He brushes Moon’s hair instead.

This seems like a familiar process to Sun. Like something he has done a hundred times.

Moon's hair isn't curly like Sun's. It's straight and dark, black at first glance, maybe midnight blue when the light hits it right. There are little white flecks in it that don’t come out when brushed. They’re part of the hair, like a dusting of stars in the night sky. 

The brush you gave Sun is small. Though Moon's hair isn't long, strands barely lying down half over his ears, it still takes Sun a long time to brush through it section by section.

You wonder exactly how long it is that Moon has been dead.

You feel vaguely sick. You pull your gaze away, wanting to look anywhere else.

Eventually Sun finishes and puts the brush aside again. He takes some time adjusting Moon's blankets, unfolding and examining layers of fabric, until he finds what he was apparently looking for. Wrapped in the starry blanket alongside Moon is something else, the fabric nearly the same blue as the blanket is. A hat, you realize as Sun pulls it fully into view. Something between a jester's hat and a nightcap, two long soft tails coming down from the brim, a stylized costume piece. The brim is a paler blue, the ends darker and marked with subtle stripes instead of a smooth gradient. Sun carefully, so carefully, slowly sets it onto Moon’s head without disturbing his neatly brushed hair.

“There we go! I almost thought I’d lost it... You’d have been so mad if I lost your hat too.” Sun gives a weak laugh, laying Moon back down on the couch and tucking him in again. “Thank you, friend,” Sun says to you. “I think I’m very tired now, though. I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

Tired, he said. You don’t think there’s a word in the English language for how vast an understatement that sounded like. Tired.

Maybe once he's rested, he'll be able to explain all of this in some way that makes sense.

It's hard to imagine any amount of rest that could fully cure the sheer magnitude of heaviness there is to every movement Sun makes.

You can't imagine at all, an explanation that could make sense of what is in front of you.

The shape of half a person under a blanket. Moon’s still face, eyes closed. You find yourself not just looking but staring, unable to stop. As if the answers might be hidden somewhere in Moon's expressionless face.

Half his face is painted, on his left side. The layer of paint isn't perfectly even, some spots a perfect opaque black and others with the slightest hint of a swirling dark blue like a cloudy night. You can see the faintest indication of the brush strokes that put down that paint. There are a handful of carefully placed dots in metallic silver paint under his left eye, like freckles or maybe shining stars. The paint encroaches a little onto the right side of his face, just enough to create a curve and to turn the white porcelain into a suggestion of a crescent moon.

Despite all of that, the shape of the face and details of his features are exactly identical to Sun's in every way. Like a twin. Moon even has the same metallic paint swirl above his right eye, though Moon's is silver instead of gold.

This is not something that can be okay.

Sun lies down on his side, either not noticing or not caring about the awkward angle his rays force his head to rest in. Maybe he's used to it by now. Sun's focus is entirely on Moon, wrapping his arms around the other doll protectively. Almost exactly like in the park. Sun’s eyes close.

You can’t stand it.

You leave the room because you’re overwhelmed, but having Sun out of sight only makes you more stressed. What are you supposed to do? How are you going to contact Nessa if Sun doesn't get better with rest? How did this happen?  What if there’s something you need to do, something you’re supposed to be doing, something Sun needs to get better and you don't know anything about it?

Does ‘getting better’ even apply to living dolls? You have seen Sun run and run and run and only pretend to be tired after. Is it normal for a living doll to become tired, or is his exhaustion an even worse sign than it already seems like?

You pace back and forth, feeling like your frantic energy might drive you to literally climb the walls if you're alone with your thoughts for even a second more. You grab a blanket, the only thing you can think of, and return to where Sun is with it.

Can dolls get cold?

Does it matter? At least with a blanket you’re doing something.

When you return, Sun is fast asleep. He does not move except to take those shallow, worryingly irregular breaths. The other doll does not move at all.

You spread the blanket out and let it settle over both dolls. Though you're careful to avoid any noise or extra pressure that might wake Sun, his eyes still open a crack.

“Oh. Thank you.” He goes to lift his arm under the blanket, seems to run out of the strength needed to do so, and has to try again. His second try is a bit more coordinated. He takes the blanket and tucks the blanket in around Moon, leaving himself out from under it.

"It was for you," you tell him.

“That’s very nice of you.” Even his smile is tired. “Thank you. I appreciate it, but it's harder to dry out with something over me. Just stay here with me, okay friend? Stay right here, it helps. I’m just tired.”

You feel vastly and completely useless. You can provide him nothing. You cannot call for the help he needs. You do not know anything, you cannot do anything. The only small comfort you could think of was instead redirected towards Moon's unmoving body, and now you're unable to come up with anything more. You think you might start crying again, but there is nothing left in you to cry with. Now you can't even do that.

So you stay, and wait. You work up the courage to sit by the couch, uncomfortably close to Moon, and you wait.

Sun sets one of his hands just close enough to make contact with you, maybe to make sure you’re still there as he closes his eyes again. You stay as still as you can to ensure the contact remains unbroken.

You sit, and wait, and hope Sun will wake up again soon.

---------------------

Four hours pass before Sun wakes. You spend the time anxiously pulling out your phone, feeling guilty for wanting a distraction, and then taking it back out when you're unable to stand the stress of waiting any longer. You feel like you've been torn apart by anxiety and then glued back together at least a dozen times. Your legs have fallen asleep.

Finally you feel Sun's hand shift. He sits up slowly, groggy, and the first thing he does is to reach for Moon. Sun pulls aside the blankets to inspect Moon, as if expecting there might have been some change in the unmoving body. You look away. Sun calls Moon's name several times, the silence after each painfully heavy, before giving up and tucking Moon back in.

“How are you feeling?” You ask.

There is a long pause before he responds.

“A little better, friend, thank you,” he finally says. His voice is still too quiet, too soft. He does seem to be moving a little more easily now, at least. His posture is a little less slumped, the movement of his arms not quite as heavy.

You wonder if now he might be a little more stable, a little more coherent. You don't want to push him so soon after waking up, especially considering that he has already had to deal with waking up next to Moon's body. On the other hand, you can't take so much as one more second of sitting here unable to provide any meaningful help.

"Could you tell me what happened?" you ask, as gently as you can.  

“We were thrown away,” Sun states, tone flat.

The same answer as before. The same answer even now that he seems alert and stable, tired but much more coherent than before.

That can't be right. It couldn't be the first time, and it can't be now.

"How?" is the only word you can manage at first. "Why? By who?" Because it can't have been Nessa. It can't have been the person he belongs to, the person he is always with, the person who was so attached to the doll that would become him that she managed a dedication you have never been capable of. It simply can't have been.

Still, Sun gives the same unbearable response.

"Nessa." Sun pronounces the name like it’s something made of rough edges, something that bites into him as he speaks it. Like he has broken his own heart by saying it. "Who else? She was done playing with me."

You don’t know how to respond to that.

Sun believes this. He really believes this, he is aware and understands and is telling you the truth.

Sun believes this, but you cannot. Something here has to be wrong, there has to have been some kind of mistake. You don’t know Nessa well enough to say what she would or wouldn’t do, but the idea of anyone throwing out their own living doll... One that had taken at least a decade to bring to life, the friend who has been with her every day for years...

You can’t fathom it. It has to be some sort of misunderstanding.

"... You can stay here for as long as you need," you tell him. "Until we get this sorted out." Because there must be some way to sort this out, somehow. You feel it just as strongly as you did at the park, the all-encompassing need to fix this somehow. To make this better, whatever it takes.

Sun doesn't react.

You try to think of something else you can offer him, anything that could help him in even the smallest way. All you can think of is how he looked lying in the mud, the image burned into your mind. Of how he looks now, dry but still covered in dirt.

"Is there any way we can get you clean?" you ask.

Yet another thing you don’t know- how cleaning works for living dolls. Inanimate dolls tend to be spot clean only, which isn't nearly enough here.

“I’ll have to take a bath,” Sun says, grimacing. “But I’m too tired for that right now.”

“Is there anything I can do to help right now?” you ask. There has to be something. He's awake now, and there has to be something you can do.

He takes a moment to think. His eyes go to you, to the floor, to the pet brush, to Moon.

“Just stay?” he asks. “It helps.”

“Okay." The word sounds far too defeated for your liking. You try to put a little more strength into your next words. If that's really the only thing you can do, then you'll do it. "I’ll stay right here. Tell me if you think of anything else.”

Sun gives a nod. His posture is drooping again, and he lets himself sag back to lying on his side next to Moon. You sit there for a time in silence, Sun drifting in and out of a doze. You don't know what to do.

You need a distraction before you turn yourself inside out worrying. Something else to focus on. You end up turning on the TV and putting on a random movie.

You keep the sound muted at first, to avoid disturbing Sun. Then you notice the way he has focused on the tv. Maybe he needs something to distract himself as badly as you do. You turn the volume to low, subtitles on, so he can follow the story. He seems a bit more alert as he watches it- if only barely.

You sit, and stay beside him as much as you can. Any time you have to leave the room for a moment, even just to go to the bathroom, he seems in worse condition when you get back. So you leave the room as little as possible.

When Sun falls asleep again, you bring out your phone and try to look Nessa up on social media. To find a way to contact her, to ask or beg or demand she provide something to help or to explain or anything at all. You come up with nothing. You don’t know her last name, or anything about her really. You probably don’t even know her legal first name, Nessa must be a nickname for something. You have no idea what.

When the hour grows late and you become tired, you’re too afraid to leave Sun alone. You end up bringing your blankets out of your room in order to sleep on the floor. Sun offers to move to the floor instead, to let you have the couch, but you refuse.

Even if you were willing to put him on the floor with the condition he’s in- and you most definitely are not- you’re not sure you want to lie where Moon’s body has been lying.

You don't sleep well, worries keeping you up more than the hard floor does. When morning comes, you call in sick to work.

Sun wakes up when you speak into the phone, despite having tried your best to be quiet. You hope that means the rest did him some good, being able to wake so easily and sit up without apparent effort. Though he does go right back to sleep as soon as you put away your phone.

Just keep him safe. Just keep him dry and warm. Stay near, keep him company. That’s all you can do for now. Maybe it will be enough, at least until you can figure something else out.

You feel like at any moment, this entire tangled mess will unravel. Like the clouds will part and everything will make sense again.

The break in the storm you've been hoping for does not come. Sun sleeps most of the day, an arm wrapped around Moon’s body. You still don’t know what to do.

It’s not until noon that you realize how unsteady you feel, and it occurs to you that there might be a physical reason for it. You never ate breakfast. In fact, you don't remember eating dinner last night either. You know you must be hungry. You know you should eat. You know you'll think better, feel better, do better with food in your system. Still, the thought of actually eating something makes you feel sick to your stomach.

Then you realize something else- you haven't offered Sun anything to eat, either. He's this unwell, and not even once in all of today or yesterday did you think to offer him something to eat. You're feeling shaky after just a few missed meals. How long has it been since Sun had something to eat?

Do dolls eat?

Another reminder of how far in over your head you are- you have no idea what the answer to that question is. You can't even find a way to contact someone who would know the answer.

Sun is asleep at the moment. You don't want to wake him, but if he does need to eat then leaving him to sleep will only make him even more unwell. You waste several minutes stressing about that before working up the courage to reach out, brushing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes open and, after maybe a second too long, focus on you.

"Hi. Sorry," you say. "I was wondering if you wanted something to eat? Or... if you eat?"

“Oh. No, we don’t eat," Sun responds. "Thank you, but cloth and food don’t mix well.”

You woke him for nothing, then. You apologize again.

Not wanting to leave him for any longer than strictly necessary, you decide on something quick for lunch. A sandwich, lunch meat and pre-sliced cheese tossed onto bread.

The smell of the meat jumps out at you when you open the package. You think you'll have two sandwiches, actually. A cookie thrown onto the plate for good measure. Two cookies. Three cookies, in fact...

It is with a great amount of willpower that you put the third cookie back. As much as stress is insisting you should stuff yourself with comforting junk food, logically you know you need actual sustenance.

The other two cookies stay.

When you come back, the blankets have been pulled off Moon again. Sun is checking over him carefully, smoothing down Moon's wrinkled clothing and brushing away traces of dirt. Sun frets over Moon’s broken arm, as if it could be mended by concern alone. Sun finds the pet brush and eases Moon’s hat off so he can brush his hair again.

You look away, focusing on your food. As much as you want to shove an entire package of cookies into your mouth, you think even those might lose their appeal if you think too much about the gruesome state of Moon's body. Though you sit nearby, you only look up once your plate is empty.

Sun has finished re-brushing Moon's hair by then, the body once again tucked in under the starry blanket as if he needs nothing more than a good rest. The second blanket is folded underneath the body, a layer of extra softness for someone who cannot feel it. Sun still has the brush in his hand, staring at it but doing nothing more. His own hair is a mess- curls matted and dirty on one side, all tangles on the other. Despite his care to keep Moon’s hair brushed, he has done nothing with his own.

You didn’t know that the sculpted face of a doll could look so tired.

“Hey, Sun?”

“Yes, friend?” His voice, too, is tired. Hushed, almost hoarse. You wouldn’t have said anything, if you’d heard that first. You have his attention now though, and it’s too late to remain silent.

“Who is Moon? I know that’s him there, but who is he?” You do not ask who Moon was, regardless of how much more accurate the past tense would be.

Sun considers the question for a long moment. He reaches over and almost unconsciously straightens a corner of Moon's blanket, then tucks in the sides a little more closely. You think Sun might have kept adjusting and straightening the blanket if there had been anything more to fix, but there is not so much as a single crease left to smooth away. Instead he places his hand on the nearest corner of the blanket and simply rests it there, unable to do anything more.

“The sun and the moon, the moon and the sun. We’ve always been together,” he tells you. “We were made as part of a set. We were both Nessa’s, we came to life at the same time. There were lots of times I wanted to talk to you about him, tell you about him. We had lots of fun together. I have lots of funny stories about him.” Some strength has come back into his voice, an almost tangible fondness. It vanishes as quickly as it came. “But... then you might ask me where he was. And I wouldn’t be able to tell you, because Nessa only had us a few years before she stopped wanting Moon. She threw him out first. I couldn’t stand that, so I went and found him, and brought him back inside. I’ve been trying to take care of him on my own since. Like a secret.”

The porcelain hand Sun grips the starry blanket with is pure white already, but even without the bloodless white knuckles a human would have you can tell he’s clutching the fabric too tightly.

“I don’t even know if he’s still alive, to be honest,” Sun adds. “I don’t think he has any life left in him. He wasn’t doing well before, but after he stopped talking he’d still give me a little sign when he could. He’d squeeze my hand or open his eyes. But when I made it to the park and tried to check on him, he wasn’t moving anymore.

“There’s a little bit of a grace period, a little time where it’s not too late after that. Where even if he runs out of life entirely, if he could get help fast he could still wake up and be okay. I don’t know how long that is.

“It still... hurts.” Sun puts his free hand up to his chest, as if feeling for some vague ache not quite possible to pinpoint. “I’ve always been able to sort of... sense him? In a way? When he’s close by. It still hurts a little. That must be a good sign, right? That must mean there’s something there? So I’m taking the best care of him I can until I know for sure.”

He says it all so clearly, so calmly. Each word is lucid and carefully chosen. The calm of it is what breaks you, you think. There is nothing here you can excuse as hysterical.

"How... long?" you manage. "How long has Moon been... hurt ... this bad?"

“A couple of years,” Sun replies. The words are flat, tired, and nothing else. A statement of a fact. “But the first time Nessa tried to get rid of him was about three years before that. I thought he would heal at least a little after the second time, but he never did. Maybe he can’t anymore. He stopped being able to talk... about eight months ago, or almost that, I think. After he was hurt, I hid him under my bed. Nessa has a playroom she doesn’t really use anymore, so it turned into my room kind of. That’s where I hid him.”

It's too much.

He's telling you Moon was alive, in that state. For years.

That Sun, cheerful and excited and playful Sun, had been keeping a secret that unbearable. That after every day you'd played together in the park, he had gone home to the mangled body of what was essentially his twin. A twin that was somehow still alive for far too long, alive and wounded and suffering the entire time.

And maybe most painfully of all, that Sun really does believe he might somehow bring back his twin with enough care. That if he straightens Moon's blanket well enough, and brushes his hair often enough, that Moon might open his eyes again.

Open his eyes and live again like this, broken and torn apart.

Your mind can't grasp it. No matter how hard you try, it doesn't feel real. Maybe you simply don't want to believe it. Like a child covering their ears and hoping that what they cannot hear isn't true, you can't bear what it would mean to believe this.

You wonder how you ever thought you could fix this, any of this, in even the smallest way. Offering a couch to rest on cannot bring back the dead.

You regret having eaten.

"What can I do?"

The question is rhetorical, a statement of despair- you know the answer is nothing at all. Sun takes it as a genuine question though, and there is an eagerness in the way his eyes lock on to yours. A surprising amount of hope. One of his hands traces almost unconsciously over a tear in his outfit, wincing slightly as his fingers brush the edges.

Sun reaches over to Moon and pulls the blanket off him slowly, stars barely rippling with the gentleness of the motion. You try your hardest not to flinch away from the sight. Still you end up grimacing when Sun gestures to draw your attention to the ragged edges of where Moon is cut in half, strange cloth innards exposed.

“Do you know how to sew at all, friend?” Sun asks.

“A little. Just the basics.” The basics being the ability to thread the needle and two stitches, all learned within the same afternoon. You’d wanted to repair a hole in your favorite shirt, which had turned out to be surprisingly easy after looking up a quick tutorial.

The body in front of you is not something as simple and inconsequential as an old shirt with a broken seam. Despite the fact that Sun hasn't directly asked you for anything yet, the idea he's implying makes you feel more than a little sick.

“Do you think you could maybe do... what is it called... a hem? On Moon? Can you do that?” Sun asks. “Since Moon never healed, the edge keeps unraveling. It keeps getting worse. But if there was a hem there, it at least wouldn’t get any worse anymore.”

Sun is staring down at Moon, a finger just past the frayed part of the fabric, almost touching but not quite making contact. You’re about to say no, to say you can’t, that the idea of sewing on a once living body is intolerably horrifying and that you wouldn't have the skill for it even if it wasn't. That there is nothing here you're capable of fixing, that the one shirt you'd mended had only lasted another few months before falling apart anyway.

Then Sun looks up at you, eyes hopeful and unfathomably desperate, and he says, “Please.”

You open your mouth to say all of those words, and not a single one is possible to pronounce anymore.

"I... can try," you somehow find yourself telling him.

You will not succeed at this. Even if you manage to complete the task itself, hemming the torn edge of an already lifeless doll would be like putting a bandaid on someone after they’d already bled to death- Pointless regardless of how good you are at it.

But you can still try.

If nothing else, maybe it could at least bring Sun some comfort. Most things done for the dead are for the comfort of the living, aren't they?

Sun comes with you as you search for where you put your needle and thread. He’s at least able to stand on his own now, though his steps are wobbly. Seeing him trying to walk unsupported is making you anxious, and you offer an arm for him to lean on. He takes it.

You can feel the shape of his arm, unyielding porcelain through the fabric of his sleeve. You can feel the inhuman way his weight is distributed, the unsteadiness of it each step.

You find your little sewing kit, a few spools of thread and the remaining few needles you haven't lost yet. Sun points to one of the spools, the thread wrapped around it a rich blue color.

“Moon would like that color,” he tells you.

Blue it is, then. You help Sun back to the couch, your sewing kit under your free arm.

Moon’s body lies unmoving on the couch, exactly as it had been left. You are only now hit with the full realization that you will have to touch the body for this.

Try, you told yourself you could at least try.

Can you?

You feel like someone has dunked you in hot water. Like everything is scalding, like there's no air for you to breathe.

Sun sits on the couch next to Moon, taking up the space that Moon does not. He slips a hand between Moon’s clothing and a second layer of plain cloth that sits under it, gesturing with the other hand for you to come closer.

“This first, then underneath?” He asks. You watch as his fingers carefully fold the frayed cloth edge under itself, out of sight. “I can help, so the layers don’t get accidentally sewn together. You don’t have to worry about hitting my fingers, it won’t hurt me.”

You guess it wouldn’t.

You kneel by the couch and thread the needle. You can’t seem to progress any farther than that though. You already feel far too close to Moon’s body for comfort, the idea of reaching out and touching it directly...

“I don’t know how to do this,” you say. “I’ve only ever sewn clothes before, I don’t know what to do with a doll.”

“It's basically the same,” Sun tells you. He has been so patient sitting there, waiting for you to gather your courage. “Any stitch should be good, just try to keep the stitches even.”

Still you can’t seem to urge yourself into action. You try, and try, but your body does not respond.

The body on the couch is similarly unmoving, as is Sun's unwavering patience.

Moon’s outfit must have mirrored Sun’s at some point. With Moon lying there completely uncovered, you can see that same style of long sleeves and the same dark vest. Moon's sleeves are a gradient of colors, from deep blue at the shoulder to a gentle sky color at the ends of his sleeves. Where Sun's vest leans towards a warm black, Moon's leans towards cool. The buttons are painted with a single yellow star at the center of each, and as your eyes trace the shape of a star you catch tiny sparks of light. Some sort of glitter woven into the fabric of the vest, little shining spots in the darkness, another starry night wrapping around him. There are fewer of those shining spots near the bottom of the vest, where the fabric comes apart into mangled threads, but closer to his chest those little lights still shine despite everything.

He must have been beautiful, at some point. Maybe still is, in a way. A work of art in that way that only dolls can really be. You wish you had gotten the chance to meet him.

Now he lies inert, broken. The intricate details of his design are marred by the way his neck sits at the wrong angle, no matter how hard Sun tries to adjust it. Now he’s dusted with dirt, torn and ragged, and everything he might have been is gone. Someone had loved him enough, spent time with him enough to bring him to life. And then in death, let neglect eat away at him.

No, more than that. As much as your mind struggles around the idea, like a stone lodged in your throat as you desperately try to draw breath around it, you have not forgotten what Sun said. Not neglected in death, neglected to death.

The feeling of sickness that washes over you this time is not nausea. It is something roiling clawing, felt more in your mind than your body. Sick, thinking about what was done to this doll makes you sick.

You are too late to do anything for him. There would have been little you could have done even if you weren't.

Still, maybe you can at least offer something in his memory.

You reach forward and, with the help of Sun's hand to steady and guide yours, begin the first stitch.

The needle moves through the fabric in a simple backstitch, your clumsy fingers moving slowly to try to make your amateur work precise. The needle jumps ahead before diving into the fabric, looping back around to come back up at the end of the previous stitch. The same motion, over and over, repeating. A small clink as the tip of the needle grazes Sun’s hands, but he does not flinch.

At a few points you have to stop for Sun to adjust the fabric, or for him to move Moon so you can reach areas you couldn’t before. The work is slow, one stitch at a time, pulling the thread through again and again and again. You recall there being a faster way to do that, but don’t remember how. Your thread runs out and you end the stitch, trying it to itself. You start another, and then another. One length of it tangles, the thread is cheap and catches on itself. You can't manage to separate the loops of thread before they knot, and you have to pull out several inches of your work stitch by stitch to try again.

Sun is infinitely careful with every adjustment he makes to Moon’s positioning, and infinitely kind to you despite your lack of skill. He does not rush you, or disparage you when a stitch lands off kilter, or grow impatient when your unsteady hands take two- three- four tries to thread the needle again.

When you finally make it all the way around, your last stitch meeting your first again, you are only halfway done. There’s another layer of fabric there, white and undecorated, the last layer over the internal parts you’ve been trying your hardest not to look at. It’s just as ragged as the layer over it. Sun folds that over as well, sliding a hand under it. This does ensure you won’t accidentally bump anything under that layer of fabric as you work, but it also means Sun is more or less sticking his hand into the other doll’s wound. Sun's own hand rests carefully against strangely shaped cloth internals.

Try not to look, try not to think. Concentrate on the needle and thread, nothing more. Work slowly, don’t let the thread tangle. Keep your stitches even and straight. Wait for Sun’s hand to move to guide you, don’t rush ahead.

You’re at the task for an excruciatingly long amount of time. You didn’t realize how incredibly time-consuming sewing by hand is, you’ve never tried to stitch more than a few inches at a time.

The hem is as neat and even as you can possibly make it. It is all you can do, so you do it with everything you have.

By the time you’re finished, you’ve developed a headache. Your eyes have been straining to keep track of all the tiny stitches, concentrating too hard for too long. You make a mistake when tying off the very last stitch, tugging harder than you meant to when the thread tries to tangle again. You don't pull hard enough to damage the fabric itself, but a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision draws your attention.

Moon

Moon’s face

His expression tenses for a moment into a flinch, subtle but unmistakable.

You yelp in surprise, dropping the thread and scrambling backwards.

Sun did not miss the movement, despite how tiny it was. Immediately he’s calling Moon’s name, a hand on each of Moon’s shoulders. When Moon does not respond, Sun’s tone becomes pleading. He grasps the hand of Moon's undamaged arm, and despite the desperation of the action Sun is still heartbreakingly gentle. His sleeves are pulled over his hands to cushion the touch of porcelain on porcelain, Moon's hand cradled in two of his own, all done with the same manner an expert might handle something priceless and fragile.

“Come on, come on Moon, please,” he’s saying. “Just one more time, one little sign, I didn’t see, I only barely saw so please just one more. Just a little, anything, please Moon, anything at all, just one more sign.”

Moon doesn’t respond. His expression is as lifeless and neutral as it has been the entire time. You do not see any twitch of his eyes or his arm, and Sun does not seem to feel any movement either. Slowly, carefully, he sets the arm back down.

“... That’s okay,” Sun says. “That’s okay, Moon, it’s okay. Can you hear me at all? Don’t worry, we’re okay right now. My friend is taking care of us. Do you remember the friend I told you about, the one from the park? Were you awake? They’ve been very nice to us, they were helping you just now. It’s okay, so don’t worry. Focus on resting, all right? You don’t need to do anything.” Sun continues on like that for a time, reassurances and pleas, his voice becoming more rhythm than meaning. Eventually it fades to a whisper, and that gives way to silence.

Moon does not react.

But he did. The two of you both saw it. You both saw it, didn’t you?

Sun seems to be gripped by the same disbelief you are. He turns his head to look at you, eyes wide and hurt and desperate.

“You saw too, right friend?” He asks. “It wasn’t just me? You saw?”

“I saw.”

Moon is alive.

Moon has been alive. This entire time, despite having been torn in half, Moon has been alive.

Once again it is hard to breathe, the thoughts running through your mind too scalding to touch. Everything painful and sharp-edged, unbearable.

Sun asks you for the thread scissors from your little sewing kit, and you hand them over on autopilot. He snips the trailing thread you left there, handing the needle back to you. Moon does not react.

A new, horrifying thought dawns on you.

“He could- does that mean he could feel that, the needle, the entire time I was doing that?” You ask.

A smile from Sun. A small one, but still a smile.

“Don’t worry, friend. I wouldn’t have you do something that would hurt him. As long as you’re careful, it doesn’t really hurt. Just a little prickle. And it must have helped! Moon moved, so it must have helped, at least a little.”

He’d moved because you’d pulled too hard at the thread. Maybe that really does mean you somehow hadn't hurt him before that moment. It's hard to imagine that idea, that being pierced by a needle over and over wouldn't be agonizing, but you also don't doubt what Sun said about not asking you to do anything that could hurt Moon.

Hurt Moon. Moon could be hurt.

Moon was alive. Moon could suffer. Moon could die.

Moon could live.

That last thought is the worst one, in a way. That he could persist like this, that after everything he must have already gone through he could still have more suffering to do. Is being alive in this state, not healing but not dying, really any better than being dead?

You desperately hope that Sun was right about the hem, that it has at least done something for Moon. Any small relief.

Sun inspects the last stitch you'd made, examining the folded edge of the hem. The tattered parts are hidden now, folded neatly over and held in place by rings of blue stitches. This does nothing to hide the exposed innards of the doll. The opposite really, that aspect of his injuries is only more visible now that the fabric has been folded back.

Somehow, Sun doesn't seem as horrified by that sight as it seems like he should be. Maybe he used to be, at some point in the past, before time wore shock away.

Sun takes Moon's starry blanket and places it over Moon again, careful as always, gently tucking in every edge and corner. The smile on Sun's face remains, slight but still there.

It takes you a while to recover, sitting on the floor with your knees pulled up against your chest. Sun lies down next to Moon on the couch, one arm over his twin. Sun looks more at ease this time, the positioning of his arm more comfortable and less protective.

There’s a tear on the fabric of Sun’s sleeve, you notice.

There are little tears all over him, actually. After the panic of how you found him and the mud and the desperation of trying to get him to any form of safety at all, you are only now realizing how many places are torn. A tear on his sleeve. Another you can't see from this angle but noticed earlier on the opposite arm, near the shoulder. A badly frayed spot at the edge of his vest, the fabric rough but not ripped through completely. Multiple on his pant legs, especially at the ankles and knees, including the one he’d had last time you’d seen him with Nessa. That one is wider than the others, the edges unraveling.

Nessa. Where is Nessa?

Is she looking for him?

Is she looking for Moon?

... If she is, do you really want her to find them?

Selfish, you're being selfish with that thought. These are not your dolls, and you can't keep them.

You aren't capable of it. You don't know what they need, and even if you could learn you know you can't trust yourself to actually do that for them. Not consistently, not for any length of time. There is a good reason you have no doll of your own, and your failures speak for themselves. It would be selfish to try to keep any doll, knowing you can do nothing but fail them.

The best you can do for Sun is to get a hold of Nessa, and try to help clear up... whatever this is. A misunderstanding, a mistake, a horrible accident.

And for Moon...

Your mind is blank. You can't fathom an answer to that.

Focus on right now. Nessa isn't here right now, and you're not sure you could deal with it if she was. Do what you can for them right now, tackle later when later arrives. You have learned one small thing you can offer them, so do that now.

“Sun?”

“Hmm?” The sound is a little sleepy, like he had been on the verge of a doze.

“Your clothes are torn. Is that something I could help with?”

“Oh!” He sits up, then pauses to readjust Moon's blanket where his sudden movement had disturbed it. “Yes please, friend. I would appreciate that.”

Sun moves off the couch, sitting on the floor beside it where you can better reach him. He tells you to choose a thread color for him. You might normally hesitate, but he looks so tired. You grab a spool of pale yellow, the closest you have to the gold of the embroidery on his outfit.

“Just a loose stitch,” he instructs. “I don’t need anything sewn completely together like you did with Moon, just a loose thread to keep the edges together so they can heal more easily. Can you do that?”

You nod.

You think you can, anyway.

Of the two stitches you know, one is... what was it called... the whip stitch? The running stitch? You don’t remember what it was called. It’s one of those, one where the needle simply moves back and forth through the fabric. Quick but not strong, maybe exactly what Sun is asking for.

You thread the needle with the pale yellow thread. Once again, you almost balk. Applying your limited sewing skills to what you thought was a corpse was already daunting, but being about to do the same with your entirely conscious friend is another kind of stressful.

Once again, Sun is patient.

“... It really won’t hurt you?” You ask.

“Just a prickle,” Sun says again. “It doesn’t feel good, but it doesn’t really hurt. And it can help, if a tear isn’t healing like it should be.”

You look again at the frayed tear at Sun's ankle. No, these are most definitely not healing like they should have.

You take a deep breath, gather your courage, and then lose it again immediately. One more try, this time more successful. You ask Sun where you should start, and he shows you.

Sun does not flinch away from the needle, at least. You’re as careful as you can be to avoid pulling at the fabric, securing the stitch slightly above and below the actual tears to minimize the risk of putting extra pressure on anything already damaged. You keep the thread loose as it snakes between the sides of the fabric. You even do your best to avoid touching the frayed parts, remembering Sun’s obvious discomfort when his own hands have brushed those spots.

There’s dusty, dried dirt all over his clothes. The most you can do about that is to brush a bit away around the areas you're working on. Your hands come away with streaks of dirt on them.

You notice something about the oldest tear, the way the fraying looks different at the edges. The tiny individual threads weave over each other in a mess of different patterns, half organized in a dozen different ways and half complete chaos. Like the weave of the fabric itself has been trying to come back together, the disorganization trying to reverse itself, a fragmented effort too slow to outpace the way the material is unraveling at the same time.

You hold Sun's arm to keep it steady when you get to the tears on his sleeves. Once again you can feel the porcelain under the sleeve. Though porcelain isn't malleable like human skin, you find that you can still feel a slight shift under your fingers when Sun tenses. You use that as an indication of how well you’re doing, avoiding anything that makes him tense up that way.

When you get to the shoulder, you’re surprised to feel no trace of the hard porcelain under his sleeve. Cloth, all the way through. At some unknown point between his elbow and his shoulder, the porcelain of his arm simply ends.

“Friend?”

You realize you’ve started unconsciously testing the material with your fingers, pressing against his arm to feel the difference.

“Sorry,” you say, returning to the sewing you’d gotten distracted from. Thankfully, Sun seems more confused than actually upset.

When you’re finished, Sun inspects your work. He runs a finger along a tear without flinching this time, finger tracing the pale thread that holds the material together. There are still smaller tears and holes left unaddressed, but Sun never directed you to those. Maybe they're small enough that they won't need stitching, or wouldn't benefit from it. Regardless, his expression as he looks over the stitches you made is relieved. That faint smile has grown a little stronger.

“Much better! Thank you so, so much, friend! That really helps.”

There is something that feels more right about him, or maybe about everything, to see him give an actual smile again. Tired but genuine, a little more like himself.

There is a relief to that. Enough that you think you might find a small smile on your own face, maybe.

Maybe it's the rest Sun has gotten, or maybe it's the fact that he now has some hope for Moon, but Sun doesn't immediately go back to sleep this time. While he doesn't have his usual energy, he has enough for activities that don't require too much movement. Suspecting he might welcome a distraction, you offer to show him a few games on your laptop. You must have suspected right, with how eagerly he agrees.

You know better than to suggest any high energy, high concentration type games. You show him some of the slower ones instead, relaxed games and little farming sims. He doesn't have much interest in the purely singleplayer games, but loves any of the ones you can play together- even if that's just one of you controlling the character while the other makes suggestions or picks dialogue options.

He stops to check on Moon frequently. Adjusts the blankets, adjusts Moon’s hat, smoothes down Moon's hair. The actions now seem more soothing than worrying to Sun though, a reassurance despite Moon’s continued lack of response. Sun's expression is more relaxed as he tucks Moon in again, making sure the blankets are perfect.

Once Sun is fully reassured that Moon has been properly checked on, it's back to games. Anything that can keep this little spark of a bright mood going, anything that might delay the sky clouding over once more.

Little comforts, all that you're able to offer.

Chapter Text

You call into work sick again the next day. You suspect you're about to burn every sick day you have, but you're not about to leave Sun alone like this.

Or Moon, you suppose.

You know you saw that movement from him, slight but real. You and Sun both saw it. Still, part of you struggles to believe he could be alive.

Maybe you don't want to believe he's alive. As horrible as the idea is, as awful as it makes you feel to have the thought at all, you can't help but wonder- is it actually better that he's alive? Alive and so mangled, in who knows how much agony, still suffering with injuries that even Sun has admitted aren't healing and likely never will?

Then you watch as Sun spends the morning talking to Moon, chattering excitedly, sounding just like himself in a way he hasn’t since the last time the two of you played at the park. The hope he is all but glowing with, the happiness even that tiny sign of life inspired in him.

Moon is alive. Moon has a chance to recover, a chance to somehow live a life worth surviving for. This must be true, because otherwise all of that joy would turn to grief.

Moon moves a few more times over the course of the day. Each time it is slight but real, undeniable. A few slight, momentary changes in expression. A single shallow breath. A twitch of one finger. Sun is overjoyed at that last one, seeming to take it as a purposeful sign, praising and thanking Moon for managing it. There is no response from Moon to that, but you can't say for sure that he didn't hear it. You were convinced he was dead until yesterday, after all.

Sun keeps a hand on Moon at all times, not wanting to risk missing even the smallest hint of motion. You stay near them as much as you can, even if there isn't really anything you can do for either regardless of proximity.

When afternoon arrives, Sun decides it's time to brush Moon's hair again. It doesn't particularly need brushing considering how still Moon has been even with those few tiny movements, but doing it is obviously a comforting act for Sun. You are not unfamiliar with that kind of urge now- to want to do anything to help. To repeat pointless, small acts when you don’t have a way to fix the actual problem. Sun can’t do anything about Moon’s broken neck, but he can brush Moon’s hair. You can understand that.

Sun pulls Moon onto his lap. He adjusts the starry blanket to ensure it stays tightly wrapped around Moon's body, but this time leaves Moon's good arm out- maybe hoping for another little twitch, another little sign. He supports Moon's head with one arm while using the other to remove Moon's hat, an action done with immense care. Still a few stray strands shift, falling over Moon's closed eyes.

There’s a small sound

From Moon.

So small it’s barely audible, sleepy and low, but a sound.

Moon grimaces. His arm raises an inch, but he runs out of strength and the arm falls limp again. Sun guesses what Moon intended to do, quickly using his own sleeve to brush aside the hair that had fallen over Moon's face.

“Moon? Moon?!”

Moon’s expression relaxes, and for a moment you think he will slip back into unconsciousness.

Then he opens his eyes.

Red. Moon's eyes are a vivid red, the look in them tired and lost as his gaze roams the room aimlessly. Despite being opposite in color, everything else about Moon's eyes are identical to Sun's. It takes Moon a moment to truly focus on anything , but once he does it's Sun his vision locks on.

“Moon,” Sun repeats. His voice is quieter and calmer this time, all of the emotion trying to disguise itself under the appearance of casual ease. As if there had never been anything to worry about at all. There is something fragile and broken and relieved beyond description there, barely half-hidden. “Good morning! You were asleep for... a while, this time! I was a little worried.” A little like the ocean has a little water, a little like a mountain is a little tall. You can feel the weight of it in his voice, despite his best attempts. “You got thrown away again. We both did, this time. Sorry, Moon. I got you back out though. We’re at a friend’s house right now, so don’t worry. They’ve been taking care of us.”

Sun shifts his arm to allow for Moon’s head to turn so he can see you properly, mindful of the broken neck that cannot support weight. Moon’s gaze is direct, uncomfortably intense for someone who was a few moments ago basically comatose.

A movement of the mouth, a trace of a whisper. Moon’s voice is too weak for you to hear. You can see the concentration on his face as he tries again.

“Are they keeping us?” He asks.

Moon's voice is lower in pitch than Sun's, and far more serious. His tone is as direct as his stare, red eyes piercing on his mismatched face.

And most surprisingly- the fact that he's speaking at all.

Moon is awake.

Sun does not reply to Moon's question. He only looks at you with an expression you can’t quite read- Something wide-eyed and vulnerable and unsure.

As intense as Moon's stare is, it's Sun's expression that feels almost too heavy to withstand.

“I can’t,” is the only answer you're able to give.

Moon’s expression does not change. There is no surprise.

Sun’s, on the other hand, collapses. Like heartbreak, like betrayal. Like those two words heralded the end of the world itself.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to!” You’re quick to add. “Sun, you're an amazing friend. I really had fun getting to meet you at the park to play. To be honest, it was the highlight of my day, every time. I... wish I had come more often. I really do." You should have, you should have. To have tried sooner, tried again, done more. There are so many things you wish you had done. "But you aren't mine. I can't just take you away from someone else."

“Nessa threw us away, friend.” Sun’s voice is too quiet again, too somber. Not like himself, not the energy and excitement you desperately wish you could bring back. “Into a dumpster.”

A dumpster?

No, that can't be right.

A literal dumpster?

That has to be a figure of speech. That had to be, it has to be. "Thrown away" can't be a literal term. Sun is an entire person, he can't be tossed into a dumpster like trash.

“That... can’t be right,” you say, because it can’t. It’s unfathomable. It doesn't match up- that's not where you found them. “She can’t do that.”

“Of course she can,” Moon states, as if the fact was clear as day. Voice clear as day. Everything about him far too intense and startlingly focused for someone with such gruesome injuries. “We’re lucky that all she did to Sun was to throw him away. Who do you think did this to me?” He tries to gesture to himself, but the movement is weak. A slight indication with one hand, his good arm shifting but lacking the strength to actually lift to a significant degree.

That-

No.

No, no.

Not on purpose.

By accident, by neglect, by negligence.

But not-

“The first time, she just tossed me out, sure,” Moon says, sensing your disbelief and filling the gap left by your stunned silence. “But when she found out that Sun had brought me back in, that he’d been hiding me? She got a noise complaint from how many times she slammed my head into the ground trying to shatter it. Eventually she gave up. Must have figured that since I wasn’t reacting anymore, that this,” another weak gesture, this time barely a flutter of fingers, “was enough. But she’d only knocked me out, and we don’t bleed out like humans do. I woke up when Sun dug me out of the trash a second time. Surprised she didn't try the same again this time.”

You open your mouth, then close it. You look to Sun, hoping to find some explanation for this. For him to say Moon is wrong somehow, delirious, a liar even.

Sun is staring down, gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He holds Moon a little tighter, a little closer.

You wonder if he’s physically capable of crying.

“If we’re still hers,” Moon continues, “then put us back in the dumpster Sun crawled out of. That’s what she decided to do with us, after all.” He’s staring directly at you. A face that is half bone white, half murky black, those two red eyes focused as if his entire being is lying in wait for the inevitable injustice of being thrown away once more.

“... No.”

What else can you say to that?

She really did throw them away. Like trash, like nothing. Into a dumpster Sun had to climb out of. The third time Sun has had to pull Moon out from the trash. Two entire people, two friends who would have been there for her for life, thrown away.

No, no.

How could she? How could anyone?

Nessa, inattentive, sitting on the park bench on her phone. Rarely ever interacting with Sun directly.

The tear that didn’t heal when it should have.

Sun lying in the mud, unable to stand on his own.

The ragged edge where Moon simply ends, rough and unraveling.

No.

You can’t stand it. You can’t stand even the thought of it. The concept is all at once bitter, sharp-edged, and true. The two of them mean it. It's true.

That’s why Sun refused to give you Nessa’s number, isn't it. She wouldn't have only refused to help them. She would have wanted them-

The thought sticks in your mind as much as it does in your throat, you can't complete it. You are not dizzy this time, but you feel like you should be. Like the entire world must have shuddered upon realizing this.

Your friend, your friend and his twin who is the world to him. She threw them into a dumpster.

And still...

"I can't keep you," you tell them. Your voice comes out flat, foreign even to you. "I'll figure out something for you. I'll figure out someone who can, someone who knows what they're doing. You can stay here until then. But I can't keep you.

"I... you know... I always wanted a living doll of my own," you admit, feeling as small as you sound. "But I could never do it. I tried a lot of times, but I just... never did it right. Wasn't good enough at it. Couldn't do it. If I couldn't even keep track of one inanimate doll... Sun, you deserve someone who knows what they're doing. Moon, you're so badly hurt and I don't know even one single thing I could do for that. Both of you should have someone who can actually help you. As much as I wish that was me, it just... isn't. I'm not that person."

“Friend...” Sun’s voice is hesitant, his gaze still fixed on the floor. He seems to be struggling to get his words out, the pause longer than is comfortable. Moon’s full attention is on him the moment he makes a sound, Moon’s good arm swaying slightly as he tries to make some sort of movement he lacks the strength to complete. You can see the frustration on Moon’s face, unable to find the strength to take meaningful action. “I would have stayed put. I would have stayed where Nessa put me, but... I couldn’t stand Moon being there in the garbage. He couldn’t get out without me, so I got us both out. I took us to the park, where I knew people would be. I thought it would be better there.”

You're not sure why he's telling you that now. You're not sure what he means by that. You don't understand him, or what to do for him.

"It's... the park does sound better than the dumpster," is all you can think to say.

Sun finally looks up at you, and you nearly look away. There is too much heartbreak there, enough to break your own heart just by seeing it. His expression presses down on something already too heavy in you, indistinguishable from physical pain.

“ No. No, it wasn’t.” Sun’s voice sounds raw, so thin it breaks on the words. “I was so tired. I stopped to rest but then I couldn’t get back up anymore. It rained and the ground got wet but I couldn’t get up. Moon wasn’t moving anymore. There were bugs everywhere. I tried to stop them from getting on Moon, but I was so tired, I was so tired and I couldn’t stay awake. The bugs kept crawling all over me, some of them tried to crawl into me. Do you know what it’s like to have bugs trying to crawl into your physical body?”

He pauses again, as if to take a breath, though there is no sound.

“There were so many people there,” Sun continues. All the strength in his voice falls away on those words, and you can hardly hear him now. An aching quiet is left in the space his volume fades from. “People saw us, and their dogs came up to us, and I asked them for help- but no one would. No one would do anything. Everyone left us there, all of them. It wasn’t better than the dumpster. Nothing got better until you found us.

“We just need to be cared for,” he tells you. “Having someone take care of us, the act of being cared for, that’s all we need. That’s what keeps us alive.”

The distinct feeling of something you’d almost forgotten- the fact that he is not human. In front of you sits a porcelain doll, the light strange in how it reflects off a face that is uncannily perfect. A doll’s face. Not something that operates by human rules, not something that has human needs.

Is that really all he needs? Someone to care about him, to care for him? Can that really be all Moon needs? Something torn and broken and missing half his self, and all he needs is for someone to care? How could someone not?

But would he be here right now, in the state he was in, if someone had?

That is what brings dolls to life, isn't it. Being cared for enough, for long enough. Is that really all that keeps them going, after?

A creature that lives off being cared for.

The idea seems too simple. Too easy.

And at the same time, something that is impossible for you to offer them. There is a reason you have no doll of your own. If caring is what they need, haven't you already proven you're not capable of providing enough of it? There has to be someone more reliable, more capable, better for them than you. Even with a need this simple, you cannot imagine yourself ever being enough to fulfill it.

You wonder how long, exactly, they had been there at the park.

How many people had seen them, had seen Sun lying there in the mud. How many people had Sun asked for help. How many people who could have done better for the two than you could, and who had chosen to do nothing at all.

There is the kick of something bitter and jealous within you. Every time you've seen a living doll, you have felt it. Every time you'd visited Sun at the park, you'd felt it. Something smashed to pieces, the edges Sun had smoothed down all breaking apart. A ball of livid sharp angles, all cutting and biting inside you, and you feel it.

How could you not? Full of so many shards and edges that it hurts, how could you not?

How could anyone not want to be his friend? There is something ugly in you that hates every one of those people.

How could anyone not want to keep him? You think your mind might tip over the edge, considering it.

Sun and Moon have been thrown away, like literal trash. They will be again, if you don't take them. Somehow only you had stopped to help them, you and no one else, and the idea of that might tear the skin from your bones with the force of incomprehensible wrongness behind it. You don't understand. You can't understand.

A breath. Though you feel like you might drown, you find that you can still draw in a breath. Shallow at first, and then another- long and slow.

There is something you do understand.

You understand the streaks of dirt that still mar Sun's face and the dried mud that clings to his clothes. You understand the way Sun has to hold Moon to support his head, to protect his broken neck. You understand the rips and tears that fray instead of healing.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll keep you.”

The weight of heartbreak on Sun's face lessens, and through it you see his surprise.

Had he not believed your answer could be changed? Had he said all that thinking you'd throw him away regardless? Had he thought you could ever throw him away?

Moon’s stare loses its intensity. His eyelids droop with an obvious exhaustion, his energy spent, and his eyes close.

You do not need to ask, this time, what you can do to help. The feeling of not knowing what to do for them has been excruciating, but now you are realizing all at once that you do know something this time. Sun has demonstrated it already, again and again. You can help.

“Sun... would it be okay if I brushed your hair for you?” You ask.

Absolute joy. Sun's reaction cannot be described any other way.

“ Yes, yes please friend I-” He takes a half second to calm himself, a steadying breath that is seen in the motion of his shoulders and chest but not heard. “I would appreciate that, please.”

The brush is still sitting on the arm of the couch, the rows of metal teeth small but usable with enough patience. Sun sets Moon aside on the couch carefully, all the attention in the world given to setting him down gently without disturbing the angle of his neck. Moon does not react, but his expression is less slack and neutral than before. There’s even a hint of movement to him still, shallow but consistent breaths shifting the blanket almost imperceptibly. Once Sun is confident that Moon is secure and safe, Sun moves to sit on the floor for you to more easily reach.

Sun is tall enough that kneeling next to him on the floor would put your arms at an uncomfortable angle, even though you could technically reach. That leaves you to instead take Sun’s place on the couch behind him. You sit as far away from Moon as possible, though now it’s out of a fear that any bump or movement could end up hurting him. You settle gradually into Sun's spot, not wanting to shift the couch cushions with too quick a change in weight. You take the brush.

Sun’s hair is still as tangled and matted as it was when you found him at the park, if not more. There's dirt all through it, dried mud sticking to the side he was lying on. The curls have begun to frizz and knot together. Not trusting the brush to do anything but pull and catch in a mess like that, you end up having to run your fingers through a section before you dare touch it with the brush.

Soft. The texture is unmistakably doll hair, but it’s much softer than expected. The curls loop around your fingers as you try to separate them safely from each other, loosening streaks of mud. It's only when your fingers can run through the section without catching on a snarl that you use the brush.

Sun immediately sits up a little straighter, leaning into the brush. He reminds you almost of a contented cat with that reaction.

Despite your best efforts, the brush does still try to catch. You end up putting a hand against his head, bracing the base of the strand, to make sure nothing gets pulled. The feeling is strange. There is no hint of body heat from Sun at all, the contrast between the soft hair and the hard porcelain underneath a little startling at first.

Sun is patient as you move through strands carefully, section by section, with the small brush. No, patient isn't quite the right word. Sun is quiet, but you think he wouldn't mind if brushing was something that took until the end of time itself. Like he would be more than happy to sit exactly where he is forever.

When you get to a section near his rays, you accidentally graze one with the metal teeth of the brush. There is a tiny tink, metal on porcelain. The way Sun flinches from that is slight, but you don't miss the jump in his posture and the way his head tilts slightly away. That's something you need to be more careful to avoid, then. After that you keep at least one finger between his rays and the brush, making sure you can't hit another by accident. When you need to reach a strand too close to a ray, you smooth it down and away from the ray with your fingers first.

The frizzy parts are easier to tackle than expected. Unlike human hair, the frizz doesn't puff into a worse mess when brushed. It doesn't quite react like doll hair either, the crinkled edges are not brittle and the strands are not unnaturally elastic to the touch. With some trial and error and careful brushing, you’re able to tame it down. The small brush, while intended for pets, is perfect for working through it with precision.

By now Sun has scooted closer to you, his back pressed against your legs to get closer. He turns his head with the motion of the brush, helping you reach every strand.

Slowly, methodically, section by section. Curls wrapping around your fingers, porcelain sunrays against your hand. Dried mud loosening, dirt crumbling away at your touch. This is something you can do, this is something that can make a difference to him.

You should have offered to do this as soon as you’d noticed his hair dry into tangles. You should have done it every time you noted the messy, dirty state of his hair. You should have done it as soon as you saw how diligent Sun was about keeping Moon’s hair brushed, despite not bothering with his own.

You’re doing it now.

Even once you’ve gotten all the tangles out, you go over each section of hair one more time for good measure.

Moon hasn’t shifted, eyes still closed, not moving except to breathe. The sight of him is a little easier to bear now.

“Do you think Moon might want me to brush his hair too, at some point?" You think to ask. "Maybe when he's awake again, I could ask him." You hope that's a matter of when and not if. You doubt he'll actually want someone who is essentially a complete stranger to brush his hair for him, but it might still be good to ask.

Sun jumps to his feet, even more excited than when you’d offered to brush his hair. The sudden movement doesn't seem to be the best idea, Sun swaying unsteadily, but he braces a hand on the couch and manages to keep his balance.

“Moon is still awake,” Sun says.

He reaches to pick Moon up, making a visible effort to slow down despite his excitement. Instead of supporting Moon's head with an arm, this time Sun wraps his arms around Moon in something closer to a hug than a hold. He balances Moon's head on his shoulder, Sun mindful of his rays as he positions Moon carefully. Sun sits cross-legged in the spot that had been Moon's, facing you.

Moon’s only reaction to all of this is to crack open one eye, clearly exhausted, and then to let it fall closed again.

“I’m sure Moon would love to have his hair brushed!" Sun tells you. "Please, friend.”

Moon has not moved again. If he really is still conscious, it can only be barely.

“I need Moon’s permission,” you say.

You aren't prepared for this. You barely know anything about Moon. You'd said that thinking it might be a day or even multiple days before Moon was properly awake again. You thought you'd have time to have a proper conversation with him, and then maybe offer to brush his hair after you'd gotten a feel for if Moon would even like that- or like you, for that matter.

What if he hates you? You remember the way he looked at you, and you don't blame him for it. Not when the one conversation you'd had with him had been you telling him you couldn't keep him when he had nowhere else to go. Even if he doesn't hate you, that doesn't mean he has to like you. He doesn't know you.

Sun waits a moment for Moon to respond to you, but the other doll is silent. Sun taps Moon's shoulder, using so little pressure that you aren't confident Moon can feel it at all.

“... Moon?” He asks. Another stretch of time without response. “Moon, I don’t think they’ll do it unless you say something.”

Another long few seconds, and you’re starting to doubt the idea that Moon really is awake until you hear a quiet,

“Fine.” The word isn’t quite slurred, but it is off kilter in a noticeable way. It's clear the single word takes significant effort from him.

Does that count as actual consent?

Was this a bad idea?

But Sun is now looking at you with the most hopeful, pleading expression, and you remember why you offered this in the first place. This is not a small thing for them. You spent so long wishing you could offer anything to help Moon, and now you have something. You aren't going to back away from that now.

“If you change your mind, just say stop and I will,” you tell him. Moon doesn’t react. You hope he's conscious enough to have understood.

Hesitant, you scoot a little closer to the two to better reach. You reach out and place a few fingers on the back of Moon’s head, testing, waiting for any objection, the brush still in your other hand.

The light does not reflect off the metal of the brush. There's a fine dusting of dirt across it, rendering it dull. While Moon's blanket is just as muddy, much of Moon himself has been protected by having it wrapped around him. If you run the brush through Moon’s hair now, Moon’s otherwise clean hair will pick up that same dusting of dirt.

“One second, wait.” You get up, Sun giving you a curious look. “I’ll be right back, I will, I just need to rinse this.”

It’s a quick trip to the nearest sink, rinsing away the dusty traces of soil. You dry the brush as thoroughly as possible, not wanting to get Moon damp any more than you’d want to get him dirty. When you return, a surprised excitement crosses Sun's face. As if he thought you might disappear into the next room and simply never come back.

You settle back onto the couch, repeating the same hesitant gesture with a light touch to Moon's hair.

"Okay, I'm ready now, if that's okay," you say.

Moon does not react. Sun gives you an encouraging look that borders on desperate.

You withdraw your hand, touching the brush to the place it had been. After a moment, you run the brush through the nearest section exactly once. Moon does not object, does not shift, does not give any indication of any kind. Cautiously, you begin brushing. You keep each touch of the brush as light as possible, mindful of the fact that any shift in position could be bad for his broken neck.

After a few moments, Moon visibly relaxes. So he is awake. He was so still that you hadn't even noticed how tense he was. Moon does not lean into the brush the way Sun did, but there is that same sense of contentment about him.

You're surprised he can relax at all, with the damage done to him. You hope it's a sign that his injuries don't cause him as much agony as equivalent wounds would cause a human, or that it at least isn't as excruciating as it might once have been. You hope it's not simply that he got used to the pain over time.

Far too much of this is something the two seem to have just gotten used to over time. Something they had no choice but to get used to, with no help available and no end in sight.

You have come to know too many unbearable things today to ever get used to. You think it might crush you, if you tried.

Brushing Moon's hair seems to bring him a little comfort, at least. It's soothing for you as well, in a way. Not only in the relief of having something you can finally do, but also the process of brushing through their hair in itself. Moon's hair is soft as well, and the motion of moving the brush through it is calming.

It doesn’t take as long to get through Moon’s hair as it did Sun’s. Moon lacks the mess of curls Sun has, and the way Sun has been carefully brushing Moon’s hair means there are no real tangles. A bit of messiness from lying down on it, at worst. You brush through it a few times anyway.

“If Sun says it, it’s fine,” Moon mumbles. You can’t see his face with the way Sun holds him, but you can hear a difference in his tone. Less exhausted, more sleepy. Like the words take a little less effort to form. “Any time Sun says something about me. Want something, need something, like something. If Sun says it’s fine, it’s fine. You can do whatever he says.”

“Careful Moon.” Sun's voice is teasing, and you think he meant for his tone to be playful. There is something strained and deeply sad about it though, half hidden but impossible to miss.  “I might just take advantage of that. I could tell our friend to paint your nails pink while you’re asleep.”

Moon makes a sound that is nearly a huff of a laugh, though it's too weak to really qualify as one.

“If you say so. At this point, maybe I wouldn’t even mind.” Moon’s mumble is a little quieter than before, faded to a murmur. Despite the fact that the tiny shred of strength he had gained is clearly fading, he seems calm and content. About to drift off to sleep, maybe.

You’re nearly finished with about all the brushing that’s possible on Moon’s short hair. A few more times, brush running through the deep blue-black of it, little stars passing between the metal tines and-

Moon stops breathing.

You freeze. A moment passes, then another.

Moon is not breathing.

Your heart and mind both immediately race with panic, a jolt running through your body. You should have noticed, you should have realized something was wrong! Just because he only seemed sleepy doesn't mean that he's okay, doesn't mean that you could ignore such a clear red flag in someone whose condition is so delicate. Now he isn't breathing, isn't moving, is once again still as death-

The look Sun gives you is confused, but then one of his hands presses a little more closely to Moon’s back. He waits a second, feeling for a breath that does not come.

“Ah, it’s okay! It’s okay friend, don’t worry.” Sun is whispering, but somehow he doesn’t sound concerned at all. “He doesn’t actually need to do that. He’s fine.” A small laugh, the sound hushed but entirely one of humor. “That’s how you know Moon’s really tired- when he forgets to breathe once he falls asleep. It’s okay.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in.

It's okay?

It's okay. Sun wouldn't be this unconcerned if it wasn't. Moon only even started breathing again recently, the lack of breathing one of the things that had led you to thinking he was already dead in the first place. He wasn't, though. You saw him, you heard him. He wasn't breathing, and started again when he woke up.

You guess dolls really don’t need to breathe.

You take a deep breath of your own.

Moon doesn’t stir as Sun stands and places him back on the couch. Sun manages to find Moon’s hat tangled in the blanket and puts it back in place, careful, his movements small and gradual. Sun fusses over the positioning of said blankets, trying to make them perfect.

How long has it been that Sun has had to do that, constantly worrying about Moon and trying to take care of him after Nessa wouldn’t anymore?

Moon’s expression is a little more peaceful than before. Relaxed but not entirely slack, more clearly sleep instead of death. Sun looks a little better as well, even as he adjusts and readjusts the blankets. The look of intense worry is gone.

Something sour in you twists, rough-edged, unshakeable.

Moon is no less injured than he was before, and might not ever be. The two of them have been through years of agony- Moon physically, Sun emotionally. Both of them are still fragile, weak, precarious. You're not sure anyone or anything could fully fix what has been broken here- least of all you.

Sun is smiling as he smoothes down one of the long tails trailing from Moon’s hat.

You can do something now, at very least.

For the moment, that’s enough.

Chapter Text

Sun does better for the rest of the afternoon. He's in better spirits, and doesn't sleep quite as much as he had been. Even Moon is occasionally awake, though maybe only barely. He is for the most part completely still, but you do catch the occasional small movement. Enough of them that Sun, while still incredibly happy to see those little signs, doesn't feel the need to individually celebrate every breath or twitch.

You spend a lot of time sitting next to Sun on the floor, your backs against the foot of the couch. The two of you talk about small and safe things, avoiding any serious topics. You play a few games on your phone, Sun fishing his stylus out of his pocket to tap at your screen.

Though he's doing better, you still try to avoid leaving him alone for even a second longer than is strictly necessary. The realization that Sun and his twin are depending on your presence only makes those brief moments away more stressful.

Sun's energy begins to falter again later in the day, as the two of you watch a movie. He's obviously tired, struggling to stay awake, but his eyes are glued to the screen regardless. You think he must already be half asleep and mumbling out dreams when he points out a random side character as the twist villain- only for the third act to prove him absolutely right.

Sun is lying on the floor now, his sleeves pulled over his hands so he can prop his head up on them without the two hard porcelain surfaces hitting each other directly. You can see his eyes drift towards closing before coming open again, over and over. He hasn’t said anything for a while.

“We can finish the movie another time if you want,” you suggest, during one of the quieter scenes.

“No, thank you...” His voice is as sleepy as he looks. “I want to be able to tell Moon the parts he missed, later.”

You’d be surprised if there was any part of the movie Moon hadn't missed. Still, apparently Sun is right once again. You glance back and see Moon’s eyes open, barely. He doesn’t seem to be able to move his head with the condition his neck is in, but his eyes move to meet your staring. You look away again.

You don’t think Moon can see the screen from that angle. You wonder when the last time he actually saw a movie was. A movie or anything at all.

Somehow, Moon has survived for this long. At the same time, it doesn't seem like he's had much chance to actually live. Hiding instead of experiencing. You wonder if he'd had a chance to come out of hiding for even a moment, or if he has only been glimpsing the world secondhand through Sun for years.

The next time you glance back over, Moon’s eyes are closed.

“Are you angry?” You ask Sun. “At her, I mean.”

You don’t need to clarify at who, or why. Sun turns away from the screen to look at you, and once again the weight of emotion on his face seems to press down on you with a physical heaviness.

A slight smile, a vast sadness. A heart not broken but torn apart, on the verge of collapse, agonizing.

“How could I be?” he asks. “She was my person.”

“You should have heard the crying,” Moon mutters. His eyes are still closed, words half slurred on the edge of sleep. “Every night for months. Neither of us could sleep like that, Sun just wouldn’t stop crying.”

Moon states that, and nothing else. There is nothing more to be said.

Sun turns away from you, avoiding your gaze. A porcelain finger fidgets with the end of his sleeve.

The movie finishes with the three of you in silence.

Sun falls asleep roughly ten seconds into the credits roll. You put a blanket over him, and let him rest.

-------------------------------

You microwave a quick and slightly late dinner that night. Sun stirs, waking up when you return to sit near the couch with your food. You can see but not hear as Sun takes a deep breath, stretching- he breathes more shallowly when he’s sleeping, you realize. He doesn’t stop completely like Moon, but doesn't take in as much air as a human being would need either.

Sun makes no move to actually get out from under the blanket once he’s done stretching. He looks content to be where he is for the moment, fingers playing idly with the blanket’s edge.

There is a brief, comfortable quiet as you eat. You enjoy the calm for a bit, waiting until you've finished your food to ask,

“How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” is Sun’s response. He must understand how unconvincing that sounded. You don’t have to prompt him again for him to add, “A little better. Not good, yet. But I’ve been feeling a little better.” He reaches up, pinching a curl from the dirtier side of his hair between two fingers. “I’ll have to take a bath soon.”

He still sounds considerably less than enthusiastic about that idea.

“It will be nice to be clean again though, won’t it?” You ask.

“It will.” He’s still frowning. The expression only turns more sour as he worries the hair between his fingers, feeling the grit of the dirt. “Baths are just... a lot of work.”

“Water doesn’t hurt you... right?” He wouldn’t take a bath if it hurt him, would he? Once again, all you can think of is how inanimate dolls are so easily ruined by water.

“No, no, we can dry,” Sun assures you. “It just takes a while. It’s not very fun, and not easy, but it doesn’t hurt at all.”

“What‘s not fun?” The voice is low, groggy, quiet.

Moon is awake.

Sun’s frown immediately flips to joy. He pulls himself up out of the blanket and kneels next to the couch, looking over Moon to check on him again.

“Baths are no fun,” Sun explains. There is a wariness on Moon's face that eases at Sun's answer, as if Moon had expected something more hazardous. “But I think we can all agree that I need one. Oh! And maybe you, too, Moon?” Sun’s attention turns back to you, expression unsure. “Could Moon have a bath too?”

“Is that safe for him?”

It’s hard to imagine much of anything being safe for Moon, with the state he’s in. Still, Sun nods rapidly.

“I don’t see why not, then,” you say.

Sun is grinning now, though Moon’s expression hasn’t changed. You suppose he doesn’t like baths any more than Sun does.

Sun adjusts Moon’s blankets again, then picks him up. The motion is careful and slow as always, hyper aware of each shift in weight and how it could affect Moon's broken neck. Sun settles to a sitting position on the couch, Moon on his lap. Notably, he has positioned Moon so he faces you.

“Moon, you should meet our friend! I know you already talked to them a little, but you should meet them properly! They’re nice.”

Moon’s gaze is once again uncomfortably intense. Brightness and near-black shadow, vivid red, sharply focused.

“The friend from the park?” He asks. He can’t turn his head to look at Sun, but the question is clearly aimed at him. “Two playdates a week, runs until they overexert themself?”

There is something embarrassing about that. About the fact that you really were that predictable. That Sun not only noticed, but relayed it all to Moon.

Sun looks absolutely delighted.

“You were listening!” He exclaims.

“Of course I was,” Moon says simply.

“Well,” Sun tells him, “Now you get to meet them in person! Say hi, Moon!”

Moon’s expression changes unexpectedly- he’s grinning. The fact that he’s doing so is almost as startling as his teeth. They’re sharp. Each porcelain white tooth comes down to a dangerous looking point.

“Hi, Moon,” he echoes, clearly pleased with the feigned misunderstanding.

Despite being cut in half, Moon is apparently still in the mood to make jokes.

Sun only rolls his eyes in response. He’s still smiling as he does it, but there's a sadness to his expression as well. The smile is fragile, and the underlying sadness runs far too deep.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it had apparently been eight months since Moon last had the strength to speak.

“Hello,” you say, despite the fact that Moon didn’t technically greet you. Close enough. “I’m sorry our first meeting was... stressful. I'm glad to get to meet you.”

You almost say that you’re glad he’s alive. Surprised he’s alive, shocked and concerned and terrified that he's still alive like this. You stop yourself before any of those words can leave your mouth.

Moon’s focus leaves you, roaming around the room as much as he can without turning his head. He seems to be noticing his surroundings for the first time.

“... Huh,” he says, eyes still wandering the space. “I didn’t think I would ever actually meet Sun‘s park friend.” His voice is softer at that, talking to himself more than you.

“But now you have!” Sun interjects. “And now we can all play together! You still want to play, right friend? You’ll play with Moon too?”

You nod. “Moon can play some time too, if he’s up to it.”

If he’s up to it being a big if. Having one usable arm technically means Moon might be able to play simple games like the hidden object apps Sun loves so much, but you’re not sure he actually has the energy to move it. As is, staying awake for even a brief time seems to exhaust him. He’s already looking tired again, his intact arm hanging limp off the edge of the couch. You see him try to lift it only to manage barely a few inches of movement before running out of strength. Sun notices, taking Moon's arm. He's as careful with it as he would be with the broken arm, setting it gently back at Moon's side. Sun's hand doesn't leave Moon's arm after, protective.

Moon’s fingers brush over the end of Sun’s sleeve. Sun fidgets with the end of Moon’s sleeve. Both actions seem entirely without thought, unconscious and automatic.

They really are twins, aren’t they.

“Oh! Maybe we could even take a walk some time?” Sun suggests. “Moon can’t walk, but I could carry him. Moon hasn’t gotten to go anywhere for a long time. It could be fun.”

A walk, you could go on a walk with the two. You could take them just about anywhere, even. Isn’t that what people with dolls normally do? Both living dolls and inanimate dolls they’re hoping to bring to life, people who have dolls take them everywhere they can.

And now, you could too.

Can you do that?

You half wonder if you’re even allowed. These aren’t really your dolls. You feel almost like someone would realize that somehow, would stop you if you tried to take them somewhere yourself. But on the other hand, these aren’t Nessa’s dolls anymore either.

More than that, you wonder if you’re capable. If something happened, would you know what to do? Sun always went to Nessa right away if there was any problem. You remember the girl who had crashed into him on roller skates, how you stood there paralyzed while Sun was hurt. Who would he go to for help now, if something like that happens again?

Really, what makes you think you can care for these two even if nothing happens at all? You couldn't manage to keep track of a single stuffed animal, what makes you think you can take care of Sun and Moon for... what... an entire lifetime? Care they apparently need, not indirectly but as a strict requirement for them to continue living?

The idea is daunting.

At the same time, the look Sun is giving you is so desperately hopeful.

“Yeah. We can go for walks," you tell him.

Sun is smiling again, genuine joy. Moon doesn’t react other than to fidget a bit more with Sun’s sleeve, you don’t think he has any expectations. Maybe he’s been hidden away for so long that the idea doesn’t seem possible, or maybe he just doesn’t have much faith in you specifically. You wouldn’t blame him.

You hope, more than anything, that you can make what you just said true. You hope that wanting that more than anything, that trying with everything you have, can be enough this time.

Even if it wasn't enough last time, or the time before that, or any time before that all the way back to your earliest memories.

Sun, dirt still streaked across his clothes and hair, little tears held together by loose thread. Moon wrapped in a blanket, the angle of his neck never quite right no matter how hard Sun tries to support him.

You want so badly to make that stop. To make it better, to make it right.

So, you’ll try. As much as you can, you’ll try.

--------------------

Moon doesn't end up having much more strength beyond that. He's quiet as Sun talks to him- about places they could go, things they could do, things that have happened. Things about you, even. There is that embarrassment again, realizing exactly how transparent you've been and how easily Sun has read you. Sun doesn't say anything even slightly negative about you, but the feeling still remains. You might try to interrupt or redirect him a little if not for how happy he looks talking about it all.

Already silent, Moon's reactions come less and less frequently. Tiny indications of movement get weaker, more sporadic. Sun keeps talking as Moon's eyes drift closed, lacking the energy to keep them open any longer. Sun keeps talking even when Moon's reactions are nothing more than the occasional twitch of fingers against Sun's sleeve. Eventually Moon goes entirely still, and Sun's voice fades to a low murmur before stopping entirely.

Sun doesn't seem distressed when Moon stops breathing again. Sad, maybe, but not alarmed. You realize that he's probably spent countless nights doing exactly this, telling Moon absolutely everything he can before Moon slips back into unconsciousness. Moon's only contact with the world. Maybe this is another thing the two are simply used to by now.

You aren't.

Sun doesn't end up able to stay awake much longer either. The burst of excitement must have taken up most of his energy. He sets Moon down as carefully as he'd picked him up, and once Moon is settled Sun curls up next to him on the couch.

To be honest, you're tired as well. It has gotten late, and calling the day emotionally taxing feels inadequate for the amount of stress all of you have gone through. You set up your pillows and blankets on the floor again, turning off the lights to sleep.

It hits you that they’re staying here. Here, in your home, with you. Not just for a few days, but actually staying. The idea is surreal, you’re not sure you entirely believe it.

If you did believe it, should you be happy? It feels wrong to be happy considering the unfathomable amount of suffering the two have gone through to end up here. Should you be sad, then? But that isn't right either. The idea of being sad about them staying doesn’t only feel wrong, it feels offensively wrong.

The floor isn’t as soft as you’d prefer. Your back is starting to disagree with your sleeping arrangements.

You’re half asleep now regardless, thoughts swimming, ideas getting harder to hold on to. Maybe you should get them a bed. Can you afford another bed? You’re not sure you can. You only have your current bed because a relative was getting rid of theirs, and you only took it because the one you’d had before that was almost less comfortable than the floor. The mattress you'd received ended up being ridiculously oversized. Comfortable, but massive.

Comfortable, it would be nice to be in that bed at the moment. It’s a huge bed, maybe you can sleep on one side and Sun and Moon can have the other. You bet you could fit at least five people in that bed without any of them touching, if you wanted to.

Would that be awkward? Would that be weird?

Your next thought isn’t coherent. You’re already asleep.

--------------------

“Sun?”

You don’t wake up entirely right away. The voice is alarmed but it is low and small as well, too quiet to drag you to full consciousness. You haven’t been sleeping well, you’re tired.

“Sun?”

The voice is louder this time, strained. Your brain senses something is wrong, and you open your eyes.

Not that it makes much difference. The room is dark, unfamiliar to your sleepy brain. You fumble for things that are not there, expecting to find yourself in your bed.

A harsh noise, like glass grinding against glass. A thrashing, a panic. A sleepy murmur- Sun, that’s Sun’s voice. You remember where you are.

“Sun-” Moon seems to have realized Sun is there, at least. The tone holds recognition but not relief. “Sun, no no no no, we have to get out, we have to get out-”

 “Moon it’s okay, it’s-” a sound of movement, a frantic thrashing, “Moon! Moon, hold still!”

You can’t see. You’re disoriented, mind racing and then tripping over itself after having been pulled from sleep so unexpectedly. Once again you’re reaching for things that aren’t there, eyes straining in the darkness.

Moon repeats his words in a frantic mantra, “No no no Sun we have to get out Sun no we have to get out.” He doesn’t seem to hear Sun’s equally frantic attempts to calm him.

“Lights on!” Sun calls. “Please, friend, turn on the lights!” Friend, it's only when he says the word friend that you realize he's calling to you.

You scramble to comply, immediately bumping into something. You try again only for your blankets to tangle around you. After that you resort to crawling, kicking at the blankets that still cling to you, feeling along the floor to try to figure out where you are. There are more struggling sounds, more protests from Sun. You find the wall, reach up for the switch, and- no, you’re not where you think you are. No matter how much you move your hand along where the switch should be, the surface is smooth. You keep trying, moving in what you hope is the right direction, and finally your hand lands on something. You flip the switch.

For a moment, the light is just as blinding as the darkness.

When your eyes adjust, the first thing you can make out is the tangle of blankets you had struggled to escape. Second is Moon’s face, eyes wide and wild and terrified. His mouth is open slightly, the tips of sharp teeth visible, body moving in a way that suggests rapid silent breaths. One of his arms is outstretched, reaching over the edge of the couch, the other bent in a way that suggests he tried using it despite its brokenness. His neck is twisted at a sickening angle, his own starry blanket having fallen off the couch and onto your makeshift sleeping spot.

Sun must have been trying, and failing, to keep Moon still. When Sun sees the angle of Moon’s neck he makes a sound almost akin to a whimper, reaching for Moon but seeming afraid to touch him at all.

Moon’s eyes dart around the room, and his expression begins to calm. Then his eyes lock onto you, and all at once that wild look returns to his eyes.

No, not just wild. Feral. Furiously, violently uncontrollable.  

“If you’re going to get rid of us, you had better do it now.” His voice is harsh, bitter, spiteful. “If you’re going to change your mind, do it now. Because I swear-”

“Moon-” Sun tries.

“I swear,” Moon continues, raising his voice over Sun's, “that if you act like you’re going to keep us and then change your mind, I will claw my way out of any trash can you try to stuff us in-”

“Moon, we don’t talk that way around friends!”

“And I will find you, and you will know exactly how I feel about that. Nessa is lucky I haven’t had this much energy in years, because if I had-”

“Moon!”

Sun tries to physically cover Moon’s mouth. He’s still mindful of Moon’s broken neck even in that moment, bracing the back of Moon’s head with one while the other goes over Moon’s mouth with a slight porcelain-on-porcelain click.

Moon bites. The sound of it is both screeching and scraping, sharp and loud. Sun flinches and pulls his hands back only to put them to the sides of his head, to his ears, the sound apparently causing him more pain than the bite itself.

“She did this to me, she did this to me, fine!” You are used to Moon's voice being faint, weak. It is anything but that now. His body heaves with each word, all his strength going into whatever equivalent of lungs he might have to push out the sound. “But to throw out Sun? To throw him away? She doesn’t get to do that! No one gets to do that! If you say you’re taking us, you don’t get to do that! Last chance! Sun says he’s not angry at what she did, but I am. I am, and this is your last chance, or I’m holding you to your word!”

Your mind is jumbled, panicked, out of order. There is only a single coherent thought in the storm of it, vivid and undeniable. You speak it.

“I’m angry too.”

And you are. Buried under the stress and worry and disbelief, you are not just angry but furious. You feel like you've been shaken, everything you know falling back together in a new pattern. Each idea connects together, and finally you understand.

Nessa literally threw her friends in the garbage.

After ten or more years of carrying them around as inanimate dolls, keeping careful track of them, protecting and caring about them. After who knew how many years of knowing them as living people, brought to life by her own attention. After Sun's smiles and excitement. After knowing his favorite movies, playing his favorite games, seeing his art. After knowing him.

After knowing Moon, knowing how close he and Sun are.

After all of that, she had thrown them away.

All of this is information you knew, yes. You knew it, but only now after being pulled straight out of your dreams by the result of it does the spark of understanding catch. Everything is set ablaze, and you are furious.

Moon stills, opening his mouth to speak again and then closing it.

“How could she,” you say.

Moon lets his good arm fall limp, hanging over the side of the couch. “How could she,” he echoes in a whisper.

Sun is now directing a rapid-fire, endless string of apologies at you. His hands hover over Moon, unsure of what to do. When you tell Sun he doesn’t need to be sorry, his apologies don't stop. They only get quieter, spoken more quickly.

After a few indecisive minutes, unceasing apologies falling to a half coherent mumble, Sun finally tries to move Moon. As careful as he is, there is still a horrifically unpleasant grinding sound when he moves Moon’s neck. Moon makes a quieter but even more awful sound in response to that, an agonizing choking sort of noise. You resist the urge to cover your ears before it breaks your heart.

Somehow, Sun manages to get Moon’s neck back into a position that is at least no more disturbing than the usual angle it sits at. He cradles Moon in his arms, the extent of the damage once again fully revealed with Moon’s blanket on the floor. Another pained sound from Moon, and Sun carefully readjusts Moon’s bad arm. Another of that same grinding sound, broken porcelain bones scraping each other. Moon winces but is otherwise silent for that.

Neither Sun nor Moon make any further movement for a long moment. Both of them look exhausted. Sun is mumbling apologies again, though you’re not sure who they’re directed at now. Maybe both Moon and yourself, maybe everyone and no one at all.

Moon says something too quiet to hear, all the strength needed to project his voice apparently spent. Sun’s apologies cease, but only so he can repeat what Moon said.

“... Moon wants to know if you’re actually going to keep us, for real,” Sun says. He does not look quite at you as he says it, unable to face you directly.

Are you?

You want to.

Can you?

You feel vividly the weight of every doll or toy you’ve lost, or forgotten about, or left behind. Everything you’ve given up on. Every project you’ve left unfinished. There are so many. Too many to count, each weighing down on you, crushing.

What will happen to them, if you keep them? In how many ways will you end up failing them, and how soon?

But if you're not keeping them, then the only other option is abandonment. To abandon them, just like Nessa did. The thought of that burns, scorching you from the inside.

Some part of you wonders if Moon, broken as he is, would make good on his threat- Even if it kills him. Even if it means killing you, which may be entirely the intended outcome he was implying.

You can't bring yourself to blame him for that feeling. Not when your own burning anger feels nearly hot enough to spread from you and set everything ablaze.

Not when you've already made your choice.

“I am,” you say. “I’m keeping you. I’ll take care of you.”

You don't know if Moon actually hears your response. His eyes are already closed, breathing ceased.

“I’m sorry for Moon,” Sun tells you. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just... hurting. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You don’t believe for a second that Moon didn’t mean what he said, but your answer is the same regardless.

Sun still looks ashamed, still avoiding your eyes. He looks so tired, but he makes no attempt to put Moon down or to settle back into sleep himself. Maybe he's afraid of moving Moon again, even carefully.

You go to where the blankets lie discarded on the floor, picking up Moon's. The dried mud clinging to the fibers is crunchy and dusty under your fingers, unpleasant. You consider dropping it right back on the floor and handing Sun a clean blanket instead, but you suspect that Moon's starry blanket is something of a comfort to at least one of them. Sun would have replaced it with a clean blanket already, otherwise.

You hold up the starry blanket, offering it to Sun. He takes it.

“Actually... do you want to move to the bedroom?” you ask. “I can sleep on the couch. Or I could just put my big pillow in the middle of the bed as a divider, it's a big bed. I just thought it might be more comfortable than the couch, and I have a little lamp I can leave on. Like a nightlight. That way, if Moon wakes up again, maybe he won’t be so... confused.”

You wonder what it was exactly that Moon was thinking, when he woke up in the dark. You wonder if he assumed he'd been thrown away again. Or worse- if he had woken up confused enough to think he'd never left the dumpster in the first place. If he had momentarily forgotten anything since, or if he had awoken thinking everything in between had been a dream. Why else would he call out for Sun, and to beg to get out.

“We’re okay on the couch,” Sun tells you. Then, more hesitantly, more hopefully, “But if you really didn’t mind... It would be nice, if there was room on a bed. Especially with a little light.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

You have to make him wait a bit while you change the sheets and pillowcases. They’re not dirty exactly, but it feels wrong to have a guest sleeping on a bed without fresh sheets. Once you’re finished you try to tell Sun you’re perfectly willing to sleep on the couch, or on the floor even (you make no mention of the way your back aches at the thought), but he won’t hear it. You get the sense that Sun is going to outright refuse to so much as come near the bed if it would result in any inconvenience for you.

It is a very big bed. Easily more space than you could ever need. You toss your big pillow down the center- technically a body pillow, though the pillowcase is a flat red without any kind of patterning or images. The pillow is long, more than long enough to divide the bed into halves.

Maybe you should have given Sun and Moon’s side more room considering there’s two of them and only one of you, but you don’t think it will matter. There’s plenty of space regardless. And as disturbing as the reality of it is, Moon does not take up much room.

Sun gives most of the pillows on his side to Moon, arranging them to stabilize Moon's neck as much as possible. This leaves Sun with roughly half a pillow of his own, sharing one at the edge of the pillow nest he'd made for Moon, but Sun looks immensely happy for it regardless. He lies on his back, porcelain sunrays no longer in the way of achieving a comfortable position.

You should have offered him a pillow as soon as you'd seen him trying to rest with his head at that odd angle on the couch. You'd assumed he must be used to sleeping like that, but he'd said it himself- he'd had his own bed. He was used to a bed, with pillows.

You pass one of the pillows from your side over to him. He takes it, giving you a sleepy mumble of a "Thank you," but he must be too tired to readjust his position. He holds the pillow close like a child with a comfort object, but he does not use it.

You'll put a few more pillows on his side tomorrow. You have more than enough. For now, both of you are tired.

The small bedside lamp glows softly on its lowest setting, the overhead light off. Sun breathes shallowly, sporadically. Moon does not breathe at all. You wonder if you'll ever be able to see that without carrying a little worry about it, even if it is apparently normal for them.

Tomorrow, all of it can wait until tomorrow. With the relief of having something soft under you, you fall asleep quickly.

There is a point in the night where you wake up, needing to get up and use the bathroom. You try to get back into bed slowly when you return, not wanting to disturb Sun and Moon, but apparently you're not quite careful enough. While Sun stays fast asleep, Moon's eyes open a crack. His gaze darts to Sun, then traces the shape of the room with significantly less urgency, and then finally lands on you. He doesn’t say anything, eyes drifting shut a second later. Asleep again, you think.

You settle into your blankets properly, and you sleep again as well.

Chapter Text

When morning comes, Sun tells you that he'll be okay if you need to go to work today. The stress on his voice as he adds an, "As long as you come right back after” has you calling out again.

Your boss does not sound particularly happy when you call in again. You're reminded of the fact that if you can't be at work tomorrow, you will need to present a doctor's note.

Hopefully this will be the last time. Sun's energy levels have been steadily getting better, and maybe he really would have been fine if you'd left to go to work today. He moves more easily, no longer needing support to stay on his feet. He stays awake as you go through your morning routine, without any sign of impending exhaustion from it. Maybe going to work tomorrow really would be fine- if incredibly stressful to think about.

And if not... You'll figure something out. You're not sure what, but you aren't going to take any chances with Sun and Moon.

As for today, considering the amount of energy Sun has-

“Do you think you’d be up for a bath today?” You ask him.

You doubt it could be comfortable for him to have been covered in mud for so long, but his expression still sours at the proposal. He runs a few fingers through the more visibly dirty side of his hair, grimacing.

“It would be nice to be clean...” he says.

Despite his reluctance, soon Sun is looking over the various soaps and other items you have stocked in your bathroom. He even goes so far as to read the label on each bottle. He has Moon nearby, placed gently on the bathroom counter with both the starry blanket and several of your blankets wrapped around him. Only Moon's face peeks out from the blanket burrito Sun has constructed around him. He's still fast asleep, not having so much as stirred during the entire blanket wrapping process.

“Our clothes are machine washable, as long as it’s cold water and the delicate setting,” Sun tells you. “We don’t need this,” a gesture to your body wash, “dish soap works better for us. Oh, and a non-scratch sponge, if you have one. Like a kitchen sponge.” He picks up your conditioner, giving it a small shake, feeling the weight. “How much of this would be okay for us to use?” He asks.

“As much as you need?” The bottle is nearly full, after all.

“We would need...” he turns the bottle around in his hands, trying again to gauge the weight, “Almost all of this, I think, if I actually washed our hair instead of just rinsing.”

“All of it?” You ask, incredulous.

Sun gives you an apologetic, guilty look. “I’ll just rinse our hair, it’s okay,” he tells you, putting the conditioner back in its spot.

“Wait- you can use it. You can use as much as you want, you can use it all if you need. I was just surprised.”

“It’s the way our hair is,” he explains. “It doesn’t work the same way yours does. Normally we can just rinse it, but if it gets really dirty and we actually have to wash it the soap makes it all brittle. Enough conditioner can stop that, but it takes a lot.”

“Use it,” you tell him. It’s not exactly cheap stuff, but one bottle of conditioner isn’t going to break the bank. You can buy another.

“Thank you,” he says. You wish he didn’t still look so guilty as he said it. A moment passes before he speaks again. “Oh- would some baking soda be okay too? And maybe a second sponge... My shoes probably need some scrubbing before they’re put in the washer, or the stains won’t come out.”

“Baking soda, got it.”

You gather the requested supplies for him. He looks over each, even requesting the packaging from the sponges to double check them, but thankfully he approves of everything you’ve brought.

Sun fiddles with one of his sleeves, and you’re curious as to why for a moment until you realize- he’s taking his shirt off. You let out a startled noise, turning around. That doesn’t help considering the bathroom mirror keeps his reflection visible, a confused look on his face. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Oh!” Only now has Sun seemed to realize what the problem is. “Friend, ah, sorry. But it’s okay! We can’t actually be naked. Look.” A pause. “I haven’t taken anything off, friend. Just look, please.”

You risk it. When you turn, Sun is still fully clothed. He has one sleeve pulled back as far as he can, holding out the arm for you to see.

At a point just before Sun‘s elbow, the porcelain is covered again. It’s the same plain white material as the material you’d added a hem to under Moon’s vest. The end of it is folded over itself, the look mimicking a tightly rolled-up sleeve around the porcelain of his arm.

“See?” He asks. “We have clothes under clothes, it’s okay. You can leave the room if you’re uncomfortable, but it would be a big help if you could stay. A full bath is a lot of work for us, it‘s hard.”

“That’s really okay?” You ask, after a moment of hesitation. If you’re asking if that’s okay for him or okay for you you’re not sure.

“It would help a lot,” he confirms. “We don’t have anything to see, I promise.”

The idea makes you uneasy, but the thought of leaving him to his own devices after he’s asked directly for help is even more uncomfortable. “Okay,” you say.

You still end up looking away as Sun strips off his clothes. Or... the first layer of his clothes? Once again you’re stricken with the fact that you really have no idea as to how living dolls work, or what they need. Sun has had to explain everything to you.

When you look back, Sun has the majority of his outfit in a bundle. His shoes he’s left out, likely to pre-treat with baking soda.

(The soles of the simple cloth shoes are completely black from mud and dirt. You have never seen Sun take them off, not even to sleep, and you get the urge to change your sheets again.)

It feels beyond strange to see Sun without his usual outfit. He’s almost completely colorless without it, everything varying shades of white except his hair and little touches of paint. However, it does seem he was telling the truth- the cloth underneath his normal clothes is something akin to a closely fitting second outfit. At his waist there’s a layer of cloth that goes under another, like a tucked in shirt. At his ankles, another folded-over section of cloth similar to the rolled-up ends of his sleeves. The cloth at his collar clings a bit unnaturally close to the base of his neck, but you definitely didn’t need to worry about him being naked in the way a human can be.

Sun steps very carefully when he moves, wincing as his bare feet make contact with the hard floor. You notice his feet aren’t quite as defined as his hands, a suggestion of shapes without all the human details. He stands on his tiptoes, as much of the foot as possible avoiding direct contact with the floor.

“Does that hurt?” You ask.

“What?” A glance down at his own feet. “Oh. It doesn’t hurt, exactly. It’s just uncomfortable. I guess it’s like a warning? Reminds us to be careful with anything breakable on hard surfaces. Very uncomfortable-” a slight frown, “but only uncomfortable.”

You don't have any mats you can give him to stand on. You do have plenty of extra towels though. You grab one and offer it to him.

“You can stand on this,” you tell him.

The way his face lights up at the offer has you smiling as well. He thanks you as he takes to towel, unfolding it a bit before putting it onto the floor. There is an obvious relief when he stands on that instead. Though his posture relaxes, his heels still don’t quite come down entirely. There’s an almost imperceptible space between that and the towel, though he doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all anymore. Maybe that’s just the way he stands, the slight lift of his heels normally disguised by his shoes.

Sun starts with pre-treating his shoes, staying outside of the tub itself while the shoes go in. He reaches to turn on the water, then pauses- stumped by the age old mystery of an unfamiliar shower. You explain the basics of how to control the water, and Sun manages to successfully turn it to hot.

Maybe too hot, by your purely visual estimate. It must be on purpose though, as Sun sticks a finger under the water and actually nudges the setting a tiny bit closer to the hot side in response.

Sun takes a sponge and scrubs the shoes, hot water and baking soda. You do notice that he avoids the water as much as possible, careful that only his hands and the shoes get wet. Maybe he's trying to avoid only ending up making himself more dirty, the water that washes over his shoes turning startlingly dark with newly rehydrated mud.

Once the shoes are about as clean as just hot water and baking soda can get them, Sun turns off the water and wrings them out. He tosses them onto the pile of clothes and goes to Moon, squeezing past you in the small space. The way he gets there is a little comical, scooting the towel he’s standing on carefully with his feet to avoid direct contact with the floor.

“Laundry time, Moon,” Sun says.

Moon gives no immediate response to Sun’s words. He does not stir when the blankets around him are carefully unwrapped, nor when Sun slowly adjusts his positioning to get a better hold of his clothes. He does take notice when Sun starts to remove his outfit though, startling as his eyes come open.

“Just laundry time,” Sun tells him.

Moon rolls his eyes with an exaggerated exasperation. “You could have warned me,” he mumbles, barely audible.

“I did,” Sun states. You think he might have been aiming for a joking tone, but the words come out without any particular emotion at all. Maybe he can't quite pretend that's funny to him, how difficult it is to get Moon awake.

After the initial startle, Moon doesn’t seem to have any objection to Sun taking his outfit. The process is excruciatingly slow though, Sun needing to take Moon's broken neck and arm into account for every single movement.

Moon slips back into unconsciousness halfway through the process. Sun continues with infinite care, countless tiny delicate adjustments. Finally he manages to get Moon's outfit off without harming him, wrapping Moon back up in clean blankets.

Sun adds Moon's outfit and the starry blanket to the pile of clothes. That should be everything that needs to be washed.

“Machine wash cold, on delicate?” You double check.

Sun nods.

“What about drying?”

“Low heat,” he tells you. “And it would help if you put them in a pillowcase first, but that’s not essential.”

“Pillowcase, low heat,” you confirm, taking the bundle of laundry. “Be back in a second.”

You triple check the settings on the washer before you do anything. You want to get this right.

Since you changed your bedding the night before, you already have a few pillowcases that need to be washed. You’re unsure if a pillowcase would only help with drying or if it’s better for washing as well. You’re not sure what the pillowcase is supposed to do at all, really. You divide the outfits among your pillowcases before putting them in the wash regardless, leaving only the shoes out. Despite Sun’s scrubbing, both are still dirty and badly stained. You have a feeling they'll need as much cleaning as they can get.

You notice a sort of musty smell from Moon’s clothes when you go to put them in. Not like Sun’s, not traces of grass and mud and dirt. This is more like stale air, like something that has sat for too long untouched. When you look more closely into the crease between the sleeves and the vest, which seem to be sewn together, you see traces of something fuzzy. It’s dust, you realize.

Moon sat abandoned for so long that he gathered dust.

You shove the clothes into the pillowcase before the sight of them can make you cry.

The washer door makes a hollow, metal bang as you force it closed. It sounds far away to your ears.

You keep your hands there, braced against the washer door, for a period of time. You press against it, as if you could hold everything back with the weight of your body alone.

A long, deep breath that comes out as a sigh.

You check the settings again, and start the washer.

Sun is waiting for the tub to fill when you come back. He sits on the lip of the tub, the towel under his feet. You end up standing awkwardly by the door, unsure of what else to do. Distantly, you wonder if the stitching you did will hold in the wash.

Cloth that can feel pain. Cloth that can heal from damage. A thought crosses your mind.

“Your outfits are like... part of you, aren’t they?” You ask.

Sun nods. He doesn’t seem to find the question or its answer to be particularly notable.

“Is it okay for you to have them off, then?”

“Oh! Don’t worry, friend, it’s fine for a little while,” he tells you. “As long as it’s not too long, it isn’t a problem. Washing and drying only takes a few hours.” A hesitation, a glance at Moon before his gaze falls to the floor. When he continues, his voice is a little softer. “Moon’s time limit for that might be a little more strict than mine. But just long enough to get clean still shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What if it ended up being longer than that?” You don’t think it will be. You can’t imagine anything that would cause that other than the incredibly unlikely, like a sudden earthquake or the washing machine somehow bursting into flames. Still, the small worry itches at you all the same.

“Then they wouldn’t be part of us anymore,” Sun replies simply. “It wouldn’t be very fun, neither of us would like that. We’d be okay though, eventually. Would you believe it’s happened to me before?” He gives you a smile, but the expression looks more sad than anything. “I used to have a hat! Sort of like Moon’s, but smaller. Then I lost it, oops. It was so hard to keep track of! I lost it one day and couldn’t find it again. That wasn’t very fun.”

Some part of you wants to tell him you can get him a new hat. You don't voice the thought, you know it wouldn't be the same. Even ignoring the sentimental value, you don’t think presenting him with any random hat would be much of a substitute for one that was literally part of his body.

Sun stops the water, apparently satisfied with the fullness of the tub. He doesn’t get in just yet, instead turning in place so his legs sit in the tub instead of outside. There is a look of immense concentration on his face as he does, pulling into a frown as water meets cloth.

He reaches out for the sponge only to realize only one of them is within reach- the one he’d used on his shoes. The other sponge, new and unused, sits on the bathroom counter.

“Oh. Friend, could you please-”

You’re already grabbing the other sponge. He thanks you as you set it down, and you retreat back to where you'd been standing a moment ago.

Having been protected only by cloth shoes, it takes him quite a while to actually get the porcelain part of his feet and legs clean. Even more so with how careful he’s being. He avoids letting his fingers come into contact with his feet, the porcelain on porcelain contact apparently unpleasant even if it's his own body. He also seems to be avoiding the water again, once more making sure only his hands and what he's washing get wet at all.

Eventually he seems satisfied with his scrubbing, wringing the accumulated dirt from the sponge and setting it next to him. He stares at the water, taking a silent but visible deep breath.

“Okay friend, this is the part I miiight need some help with,” he says, twisting so he can look at you. “I’m sorry for making you stay when you wanted to leave, but I won’t ask much, promise. I just need you here in case I get too much water in me. If I get completely soaked by accident, I need you to pull me out.”

“It’s hard to take a bath without getting soaked, isn’t it?” You ask. I thought you said water wouldn’t hurt you, you don’t ask, the question obvious.

“Too much water makes it hard to move,” he explains. “If I get completely soaked, I wouldn’t really be able to move much anymore. That’s not a really bad thing! We can’t drown, so that’s fine. We don’t actually need oxygen to live like you do. We do need it to move, though. That’s why I really needed you to stay, sorry- If I get too much of me soaked through then I could end up stuck. Which still wouldn’t hurt me since I still can’t drown, but I would need help.”

“Oh,” is all you know how to say to that. You can’t decide if that’s more strange or more frightening. No wonder he didn't want you to leave the room. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Thank you!” A genuine smile, though a brief one. “I’ll try my best to not need help with that. I know you’d probably rather wait outside, so I appreciate you staying anyway. It’s a big help to have you here, even if only for just in case.”

Sun very, very carefully moves to sit in the water properly. You look down at the floor, feeling an urge to respect a privacy he apparently doesn’t really need.

A moment later, you look back up. Something about the way he moved bothers you. The motion he made was clumsy, unpracticed, he clearly isn’t used to doing this. You see him with his arms braced up out of the water, all his weight supported on them. A slight change in the off-white hue of his clothes marks the water as it creeps up through him.

You wonder if that’s unpleasant. From what little you know about Sun and Moon’s construction, there isn’t anything to prevent water from literally soaking through them.

Judging by the way Sun is struggling to support his weight, he’s already having trouble moving. Apparently it’s not an all or nothing situation. His arms are still mostly dry and seem fine, but he obviously has no use of any part of him lowered into the water.

Once again the urge to look away, to stop staring at someone who’s trying to bathe, but you can’t manage to. He’s trying so hard. You watch as he shifts his weight perilously to one arm, hooked over the side of the tub, so he can use the other to reach for soap. He’s going to fall forward, at this rate. Every wobble, every shift, you’re sure he will.

He’s not even going to get completely clean this way. In order to keep his arms usable, he can’t get anything but his hands wet.

Another small movement, a slip, and Sun barely manages to stay upright. He clings to the side of the tub precariously. More water continues to soak into the cloth of him, creeping slowly upwards. There’s a trace of panic on his face as he sees it too- he has no plan to deal with that, does he. He has never done this on his own before, has he. He’s only trying for your sake. He's doing this on his own because he could tell you were uncomfortable.

You wonder why exactly you’re just standing there, watching him struggle that way.

You’re kneeling by the side of the tub before you can think anything more.

“I can help,” you tell him.

For a moment he looks guilty, like he might try to tell you he’s fine on his own. There’s a tone of defeat to his voice when he says “Please.”

“Lean on me?” You hold out an arm, offering it to him. He takes it, putting his arms out over yours and leaning forward on them. That has him a little more stable, at least. “Any special instructions?”

“Dish soap is fine for most things,” he tells you, sounding twice as defeated as before. “Porcelain can be scrubbed hard, it won’t hurt me, the sponge is a good one. Hair washes like normal, like you would, but after it needs as much conditioner as possible. Has to sit there for ten or fifteen minutes before it’s rinsed. Don’t worry about keeping my head above water, I still can’t drown.”

“Got it." You are definitely not okay with the idea of dunking Sun’s head in the water, but the rest sounds doable.

The water is hot. Not too hot to touch, but definitely hotter than you would be comfortable sitting in like Sun is. That means it will at least stay warm for a while- and you’re thinking this might take quite a while.

Sun tries his best to work with you. You can see just how hard he’s trying at it, how he’s doing everything he can. It isn’t long before one of his arms dips into the water by accident though, and he’s almost immediately helpless once it does. He clings to you with his other arm, but that’s all he can do.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him. You adjust your hold to keep you steady, ignoring the water that soaks into your shirt as a result.

That guilty look again, but you can feel him relax a bit as well. He lets you take his weight, no longer putting in any effort to keep his opposite arm dry anymore.

Good. Both of his arms need washing. By your guess, he had been intending to skip them. There would have been no other option, he needed use of his arms to wash himself. Even with the amount of effort all of this had obviously taken him, he had been planning on not getting entirely clean. On staying uncomfortably dirty for the sake of your comfort.

You aren’t having that.

You do the best you can, supporting Sun with one arm and washing with the other.

It feels strange. Porcelain and cloth don’t react the way human skin does, or even the way human clothes do. Some moments, feeling fabric shift beneath your fingers with no trace of muscle or bone underneath, it's hard to believe all of this is part of a living person. Other times, the slight movement of breaths against you, little adjustments to his weight, you can't imagine the material he's made of as anything but alive.

The more water that soaks into him, the more he goes limp against your arm. You wonder if that’s scary for him, relying on you like that. Knowing that if you let go, there would be nothing he could do about it. You do your best to hold him a little more steadily, a little more mindfully.

He doesn’t look too stressed, at least. More and more relaxed as time goes on, if anything.

This fabric is a rougher texture than the outfit he normally wears over it. There is a feeling of porcelain under it in some places, nothing but cloth in others. Though he said it was fine to scrub porcelain hard with that sponge, you still try to be as gentle as possible. You go over the same areas over and over with only a light touch of the sponge, only pressing harder if you can't lift the dirt otherwise.

There are a few areas where you do have to apply more pressure though, grime refusing to move otherwise. His fingers are especially bad, countless little spaces and corners that dirt has worked deep into. He holds his hands perfectly still as you work on chasing every trace of dirt out of every bend and line. Or maybe it’s that he can’t move them at the moment, both his arms are completely soaked now.

A little bit of dish soap goes a long way, the water is sudsy and cloudy. You’ll need to drain the tub at least once if you want to get all the soap rinsed away, you think. Maybe you could use the showerhead, but not until the tub is drained- You can’t reach up that far without letting go of him, which you are most definitely not doing while the tub is full. 

You let Sun dip a little deeper in the water as you try to get more of his back wet, careful to keep his head above water despite him telling you not to worry about that, and-

A sound. It takes you a moment to recognize it. It’s a cough, he coughed. You pull him up immediately, not entirely out of the tub but lifting as much of him above the water as you can without lifting his entire body.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m-” another cough, a crackling sound of water and air. You can see water drip out of the fabric over his chest. “I’m ok. It’s ok. Just water.” His breaths are small and short, now audible where they had never been before. It’s not the intake of breath you’re hearing though, it’s the movement of water.

“Are you sure?”

He tries his best to look at you properly, though even lifting his head seems to have become difficult for him. Still, there’s no sign of stress or discomfort in his expression. His smile is entirely reassuring, without strain.

“I’m sure. I’m ok.”

You keep going, now watching closely for any negative reaction. The next time too much water soaks through his chest, he doesn’t cough. He simply stops breathing.

At least your little experience with Moon lets you know that this isn’t a cause for panic. Sun’s eyes are still open as well, awake and aware and unconcerned.

Eventually the dirt loosens, coming up and away into the soapy water. Soon all that's left to clean is his hair. You grab the shampoo, assuming he must have wanted to use that instead of the dish soap considering he set it within easy reach. You would ask in order to double check, but it seems like getting a breath to respond with would be an effort for him at this point.

Without anything to pour water over his head you end up having to tip him backwards, letting his hair sink into the water briefly. He doesn’t object, still showing no sign of discomfort. Water makes his hair heavy, pulling curves into straighter lines as you pull him back up out of the water. His hair is surprisingly long that way. You take a moment to sweep aside several strands now trying to fall over his eyes.

You have to do some careful repositioning to get his full weight shifted back onto one arm. With the other you reach for the shampoo, taking a few tries to flick open the cap with your thumb so you can pour it out. You expect to need quite a bit, to fight the amount of dirt that's in his hair.

Curls around your fingers, the suds visibly discolored as they carry dried mud away. Once again is the strange sensation of soft hair over hard porcelain. Strange, but nice in a way. The feeling of the curls, warm and damp, pulled nearly straight by gravity but still trying to loop around your fingers as they pass by. The soothing, methodical process of working soap into the hair and seeing the dirt carried away into the water.

Sun was right about washing being unfriendly on his hair. The texture changes as you try to rinse it, harsher and more obviously artificial. You’re not having much success at getting any significant amount of the soap out, either. Scooping water over his head doesn’t accomplish much, and tipping him back into the water again means having both your hands occupied with supporting him.

His eyes are closed as you try that second one, you notice. You're not sure when exactly he closed them.

“... Doing okay?” You ask, nervous.

A cough, then another. Now there is a touch of discomfort on his previously relaxed face. He manages an affirmative sounding “Mmhmm.“ You feel guilty for asking.

It's about time to drain the tub, you think. You won’t be able to accomplish anything more with the dirty, sudsy water.

“Gonna drain the tub. Once the water is drained, I’ll have to put you down for a second so I can reach the showerhead,” you warn.

Another slight cough, but no other response.

You pull up the stopper. It’s harder to keep him upright as the water drains. He's significantly heavier now, soaked completely with water. He can't support any of that weight on his own either, your hold the only thing that keeps him upright.

When the water is gone, you are almost excessively careful setting him down on the tub's floor. You try to imitate the same slow attentive movement you've seen him use for Moon, mindful of every touch and shift. There is no sound at all when his porcelain hands and the back of his head meet the tub, and no flinch of discomfort in his expression. You're hoping that means your efforts succeeded.

You can’t support him entirely on one arm now that the water is down, but you still need a free hand for the showerhead. You suppose you could leave him lying where he is and have use of both hands, but that feels wrong somehow. No matter how many times he tells you he can’t drown, you don’t like the idea of just running the water over him like that. Not when he’s more or less helpless.

After some juggling, you manage to pull him into an upright position that still leaves you with one arm free. You have to lean more into the tub that way, needing your shoulder and body to keep his weight stable. More water soaks into your clothes, your shirt will probably be nearly as wet as Sun is by the end of this. Still, it works.

You run a second round of shampoo through his hair. The first round got most of the mud, but hadn't managed to get it completely clean. The second time is faster, soon leaving no more sensation of grit beneath your fingers. The suds are whiter, not carrying as much dirt as you give his hair a more thorough rinse.

After sitting in such hot water, you wonder if being taken out of it might make him cold. You're still not sure how sensitive exactly dolls are to temperature. When you put down the showerhead you make sure to leave it running, aimed at him as much as it can be. That way he won't be left completely out in the cold air while you use the conditioner, at least.

Said conditioner is definitely needed, any contact with his hair now makes that obvious.

Sun asked if he could use the entire bottle of conditioner between himself and Moon, and you stick to that. You empty roughly half the bottle, coating the hair with as much conditioner as possible until you can barely see his actual hair color through it. Remembering that he'd said it needs to sit for a while, you decide to rinse the rest of him while the conditioner works.

Rinsing will take a while, you quickly realize. The soapy water that runs out of him seems never ending. He is soaked after all, not just wet outwardly but soaked through all the cloth that makes up a large portion of his body. You’re getting soaked yourself at this point. You don't really mind it though. The water is warm, and even Sun is warm where he leans against you. His body has soaked up all the heat from the water, even the normally cold porcelain now a comfortable temperature.

It is a long time before the water runs clear, all of the suds finally rinsed away. As long as that took, rinsing his hair takes nearly as long on its own. 

You run your fingers through Sun's hair again and again, feeling the texture change. At first it is slick, heavy, your hands coated in conditioner as soon as they meet his hair. It takes some work to even see his hair color through it, each strand slippery and unruly as the weight of the conditioner pulls it down.

When you've finally rinsed enough to feel the texture of his hair again, it is soft. Definitely too soft, it will dry feeling greasy if you leave it like this. You keep rinsing, and rinsing, and rinsing, running your hands through the hair over and over to loosen the lingering conditioner. Slowly, finally, you feel a more familiar softness. Similar to when you'd brushed his hair, but without any of the grit or crumbling dust this time.

The process is time consuming, but not unpleasant. The gentle clean scent of the shampoo and conditioner fills the air, the entire room warm from the continuously running hot water.

Another small cough from Sun, more water running out of the cloth over his chest with the sound. The fabric attempts to reabsorb the water almost immediately, but he manages to take a few small breaths. His eyes are closed still, seeming content. The almost too hot water has made the entire room and everything in it warm.

No, not unpleasant at all.

Finally he is clean.

Chapter Text

Sun is sitting on the floor, half a dozen blankets wrapped in a loose rainbow around him. He leans into the corner between the tub and the wall, still not quite able to keep his balance on his own. The mirror is fogged over. The air is soft and warm.

Sun must definitely have some way to force water out of his body faster than simple gravity or air drying, judging by the amount of water running out of him in drops and rivulets. While the process of drying out is still taking some time, you're glad to see him recover faster than expected from being so completely soaked.

There is an overwhelming sense of relief, when you look at him. No more streaks and stains, no more clinging mud, no more dried soil dusted across him. Everything about him seems brighter. You'd nearly forgotten what his actual hair color is, damp strands weaving around reflective gold sunrays. 

While Sun waits to dry, you briefly leave the room to switch the laundry. The washer is definitely done by now.

When you find the pillowcase that Moon's top is contained in, you can't help but pull it out. You inspect the crease between the sleeves and the vest, checking for any remaining traces of dust or that stale smell. You don’t detect any of either, but you stick an extra dryer sheet in with it anyway. For as little as you feel like you can do for him, you can at least make sure his clothes don’t bear signs of that neglect anymore.

You double check the hem you added, as well. Thankfully your amateur stitching held up fine in the wash. Once the dryer has started tumbling along on its lowest heat setting, you return to Sun.

“I should have given Moon his bath first,” Sun comments when you get back. “I wasn’t thinking of how long it would take for me to dry out. Sorry, Moon.”

Moon doesn’t respond, not having moved from where he‘s carefully wrapped in blankets on the counter by the sink. There's a thin layer of condensation on his face, porcelain fogged over like the mirror. You don’t think Sun really expected him to respond though.

You want to offer to help Moon for him, but then consider what that would actually entail. Handling Moon, who is broken in so many places and so fragile, in water. Moon who doesn’t know or trust you half as much as Sun does, and might not even be conscious enough to consent to your help.

There is something else you can offer, at least.

“Do you want me to brush your hair again?” you ask. You’d had the thought on your way back from switching the laundry, that Sun’s hair was going to dry into all sorts of strange shapes if left to air dry while he was leaning back like that. It seemed like a shame, to put all that work into getting it clean only to watch it dry into tangles.

Sun’s expression lights up, making his answer obvious even before he replies with a, “I would appreciate that, friend, please!”

You end up sitting on the lip of the tub to get the proper angle for that. Sun leans a bit forward so you can actually get to the back of his head, though the way he does so seems worryingly precarious. You put one hand on his shoulder, just to ensure he doesn’t fall forward while you brush.

Another vast relief- the way the brush runs smoothly through Sun's newly clean hair, strands gently pulled straight before bouncing back into curves. You can feel the dampness of the hair fading, waves wrapping back up into proper curls as the weight on them lessens. The chaos of it is tamed down between the metal tines of the brush, section by section, before tangles can form.

Sun definitely finds the process soothing as well. Like nothing in the world could make him more at ease than he is in that moment.

You suppose it makes sense. He is a doll, after all, and isn’t that what you do with dolls? You take care of them, you play with them, you brush their hair. Though Sun is a person, a living being capable of independent thoughts and wants, it seems that the things inanimate dolls are meant for are still a comfort for him.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says. “This helps a lot. More than you’d think.”

You wonder if Nessa used to brush his hair for him.

A series of conflicting emotions creep in, at that thought. Bitterness, acrid and thick. Whatever Nessa once gave him, she had decided to retract it. At the same time, there is an excitement as well. You get to do this for him now. You get to brush his hair, you get to spend time with him. You get to be here for him, you get to talk to him. There is a living doll in your own home, and though he is not your doll he is your friend. He is staying, you don't need to say goodbye.

You feel guilty for thinking that second one. For taking any joy in something that has harmed both Sun and Moon so deeply.

There is a boiling sense of injustice as well, unmistakable. A soul-deep sense of wrongness, for Nessa or anyone at all to have made these two what they are and then to treat them with so little care. A blemish not just on the single person responsible, but on humanity as a whole. Intolerable.

"You deserve the help," you tell him. "Someone brought you to life, so someone should take care of you. I think you're owed that much at least."

Sun’s contentment is interrupted. You pause at the sudden distance between you as he leans away, not entirely out of reach but farther than before.

“I’m sorry if Moon and I made you feel obligated to take us,” he says. “It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it. Finding us like that, finding out that we need someone to care for us or else we won’t last. That’s a lot.” A weak, sad laugh comes from him. “You’re nice enough that you don’t want us to die, but that doesn’t mean you actually wanted to have us. That’s not a very nice position to put someone in. I’m sorry.”

“Wait-” Your hand is still resting on his shoulder, ready to catch him if he loses his balance, and you resist the urge to pull him back towards you. "Wait, wait- That's not what I meant! I'm... I was jealous," you confess. "I know that's... a really ugly feeling. But I was jealous that Nessa got to spend as much time with you as she wanted. That she got to be there for you. I don't understand why she would..." you can't finish that sentence, can't bring yourself to drag that reality into a room that had been so comfortable.

"I don't understand her," you say instead. "If she had offered to let me take you, if she had just sent you home with me from the park one day, I would have been so happy. I don't understand how she could ever not want you around. I don't understand why she didn't try to find someone else to take care of you and Moon. It doesn't make any sense. I would have been so happy...

"You deserve someone to take care of you no matter what," you tell him. "But I'm not doing anything because of that. I'm doing it because you're my friend. I'm doing this because I like spending time with you, and I'm glad to have you here, and I want to do anything I can to help. Even if I can't do very much."

Sun looks up at you, expression fragile and unreadable and too many things at once.

“Do you mean it?” He asks. “You don’t have to mean it. It’s okay, if you don’t mean it. I’d understand.”

“I mean it,” you say.

Sun thinks about that for a moment, but ultimately says nothing more. When he looks back down, he leans back a little as well. Close again, more easily within reach.

You go back to brushing his hair, the little brush separating out each curl of his nearly dry hair.

------------------------

Sun tests his balance, doing a few small stretches. He’s still damp to the touch, but has apparently cleared enough of the water from his system to move around again. That makes it Moon’s turn for a bath. You tell Sun you’ll help with anything you can, but you don’t think that will be much. The best you’ve been able to do so far is to find a way for Sun to keep his arms dry while cleaning Moon- plastic wrap and tape. He wraps both around the cloth on his arms, leaving the porcelain uncovered. Apparently it's not an issue to get that wet, as water cannot soak into the hard material.

The tub has been rinsed and refilled with hot water. Sun frees Moon from his nest of blankets, taking him to the tub and holding Moon over the water.

“It’s bath time, Moon,” Sun states.

Moon doesn’t respond. He remains motionless, eyes closed.

“I’m going to drop you in the tub,” Sun warns.

Still nothing.

Sun lowers Moon slightly, letting Moon’s good arm hang down into the water. No reaction, even with the fact that the water is what you’d consider to be a little too hot. Sun lowers Moon another few inches, the water finally meeting the folded-over end of Moon’s sleeves. The water begins soaking into the edge of the fabric, its progress marked with the slight discoloration of wet cloth, and Moon jolts awake.

There is a brief but distinct look of panic in his eyes before he realizes it’s Sun holding him.

“I’m dropping you into the ocean, where you will live among the fish,” Sun states, tone so overly serious that it wraps back around to being comical.

“Woe is me.” Moon responds in a flat deadpan, the words accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

In a move that looks more abrupt than it really is, Sun drops Moon into the water. Or rather, pretends to drop him. Sun’s hands are still there, keeping Moon's neck supported and his descent controlled.

Moon squeezes his eyes shut, a flurry of bubbles coming up through the fabric over his chest. The visual is unsettling. Looking at Moon in general is unsettling, without anything to obscure the fact that half of his body is missing.

“Moon can’t drown,” Sun reminds you, having anticipated your nervousness without even needing to look up. “He’s okay.”

Sun only keeps Moon completely underwater like that for a minute or so. After that he partially drains the tub, leaving only enough water to half submerge Moon.

Somehow, Sun manages to be even more careful with Moon than usual. Though Moon isn’t nearly as dirty as Sun was, the process of cleaning him is made slow and laborious by how mindful Sun must be of Moon’s injuries. There isn’t anything you can do but to stand there and watch.

... Scratch that on watching. Sun reaches to where Moon has been cut in two, putting his hand into the wound to wash away the mud stains there. As careful as Sun is about it, you can't look anymore. You find a very exciting patch of wall to stare at instead.

The room is quiet except for the occasional gentle movement of water. You stand there for what feels like a very long time. By the time you hear the tub drain, your legs are starting to ache from standing still for so long. You hear the showerhead switch on next, followed by an eternity of rinsing. Sun must be having as much trouble getting Moon fully rinsed as you did with him.

Your only chance to be actually useful is when the water shuts off completely and Sun asks you for some towels. You’re running low on clean dry towels at that point, but you still have a few left to present him.

The coughing noise Moon makes as Sun wraps him in towels is harsher, more uncomfortable than any of the ones Sun made. He doesn’t seem to be recovering as quickly as Sun did from the water soaked into him, even as Sun does his best to dry him.

“Sun-” The sound struggles, followed by more coughing. “I can’t get- get the water out,” he manages.

“Oh, Moon...” Sun’s entire demeanor seems to wilt, contentment drying up like an autumn leaf. “It’s okay. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get dry.”

Exactly how he’ll do that Sun doesn’t seem sure. He carefully sets Moon down, a folded over towel between him and the floor, and gently presses down on Moon’s chest with another of the towels. Moon flinches, Sun pulling away with a series of quiet apologies. He looks Moon over, concentration visible on his face as he tries to think of another way. Moon coughs again, but even you can see the lack of effect it has. The water doesn’t run out of him readily like it did Sun.

“Would a hairdryer help?” you ask.

A little of the panic encroaching into Sun's expression eases. "It might!"

It takes a minute to dig out your hairdryer, and a minute more to get a temperature Sun is happy with. He tests it first on his hand, then removes the plastic wrap and tape over his sleeves so he can test the heat there as well. Too hot, Sun asks you how to turn the temperature down. Even after adjusting it, he winces when he tests it on his hair next. He turns it down again, to nearly the minimum temperature this time. Only once he finds the perfect temperature does he let the hairdryer anywhere near Moon, and even then only at a careful distance.

Sun runs out of arms trying to do too much at once- holding the hairdryer, holding up Moon, and brushing Moon's hair before it can dry into unruly shapes. Finally you have something you can be useful at. You end up holding the hairdryer while Sun Supports Moon and brushes through his hair.

The hairdryer does what it’s designed for- drying hair- fairly quickly. The results are promising at first. Progress slows when Sun turns his attention to getting the rest of Moon dry though, getting water out from multiple layers of completely soaked cloth a much more difficult task.

You suggest moving to the living room, both for comfort and to escape the humidity that has filled the bathroom after two long baths at high temperatures. Sun agrees, and you toss a sheet over the couch for him. You don't want any dirt they tracked onto it from before the bath to get back on them. You'll have to clean the couch properly later.

The hairdryer’s snaking cord just barely reaches the nearest outlet. Sun sets Moon down on his side in order to keep as much of his as possible exposed to the air. Once Moon is situated, Sun sits next to him and sweeps the warm air of the hairdryer back and forth over him. 

Their clothes must be dry by now, you're sure. You check and you're entirely right, the laundry room is quiet and the dryer is full of warm clothes. The pillowcases seem to have done their job, whatever that was, because no disasters have occurred as far as you can tell.

You check again for that stale smell on Moon's clothes. There is nothing present but the scent of clean laundry. Good.

When you come back with the two’s newly cleaned outfits, Sun takes a brief break to put his back on. He looks more complete with his outfit, somehow. More himself. While he didn't look exactly naked without it, there was definitely the sense that something was missing.

“That’s so much better,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around himself. “And warm! Thank you, friend.”

Moon is still dripping wet. Sun places his outfit next to him.

“Sorry Moon, you’ll have to wait,” he says.

“Will that be a problem?” You ask. “There’s a time limit on that, isn’t there?”

“There is,” Sun replies. “But don’t worry, friend, we just stopped the clock on it! As long as Moon is touching his clothes, it’s fine. Just being in contact with them is enough.”

You remember how Sun had kept Moon’s hat wrapped in the blankets alongside Moon. That’s why that had been okay- it had kept Moon’s hat from falling off or getting lost, but had kept him in contact with it.

Sun continues to run the hairdryer up and down, over and over, looking determined but otherwise unworried. Moon is surprisingly still awake, but unmoving other than the small occasional cough. It's hard to tell how Moon is feeling when you know his mobility is still limited, but he seems relatively calm. You give a sigh of relief, crisis apparently averted.

A simple solution was all he’d needed. Once again is an aching, a feeling of injustice, at how simple taking care of them has been so far. Even if you're only doing the bare minimum, that bare minimum is not a great effort to ask of someone. Certainly not a great effort to ask of someone already dedicated enough to bring a doll to life.

You try not to stew in that emotion for too long, turning your mind to productive distractions. Sun will likely be trying to get Moon dry for a while, and there's nothing more you can do to help on that front. You leave Sun to it, going to your bedroom and changing the sheets again. When that is done, you grab the soaked towels left behind on the bathroom floor and throw them into the washer.

You haven't had the confidence to leave Sun's side for long the past few days, so it's not hard after that to keep finding new things to tidy. Your cleaning spree moves you back and forth across your living space a few times, letting you keep an eye on Sun. He's still focused dutifully on his task, his entire concentration on Moon. Though he seems fine, you still try to check in on him every so often. Just in case.

You’re glad you do.

You’re not alarmed when Sun burns through the boost in energy he’d seemed to have earlier in the day. He’d specifically told you that baths were both difficult and quite a lot of work. Considering how much effort he'd expended on his own bath plus the fact that he'd handled Moon's more or less single-handedly, a bit of tiredness was expected.

But then you see that his posture is beginning to droop. His movements aren’t just slowing, they’re heavy. Heavy, like when you had found him in the mud at the park. Not tired, but dangerously weak.

Moon has noticed before you did. He’s murmuring something, the words punctuated by the crackle of water in an airway, not loud enough to make out over the sound of the hairdryer until you’ve rushed to Sun’s side.

“-be fine,” Moon is saying, your ears catching only the tail of his sentence. “Rest.”

“Not until you’re dry,” Sun replies, sounding as stubborn as he does exhausted. “I’m not going to leave you like this.”

“Sun.” The word is barely a breath, immensely frustrated.

“Let me,” you interject. Sun turns towards you, surprised, apparently having been so focused on Moon that he didn’t notice you there. Moon moves only his eyes in your direction, his stare once again uncomfortably intense. “I can do it. Sun, why don’t you take a nap? I just put clean sheets on the bed.”

Sun turns off the hairdryer, maybe due to how difficult it is to hear conversation over it. He’s leaning one hand against the couch, as if just sitting there is an effort that requires extra support.

“... I can’t leave Moon alone,” he says. “He’s all wet. What if he needs help? I can’t leave him alone.”

“Then sleep on the-” Moon’s voice starts out strong, but he quickly chokes on the words. A few coughs, followed by quieter speech that requires less breath. “Sleep on the floor.”

Still Sun hesitates, unsure.

“I’ll get you blankets,” you tell him. “And I’ll wake you up if Moon needs anything at all. I’ll be sitting right here, I’ll make sure Moon gets dry.”

“... Okay,” Sun mumbles. “You promise you’ll wake me? you won’t try to move Moon on your own at all?”

“Promise.”

Sun gives a small nod, putting the hairdryer down as if it was an immense weight. As if his own arm is an immense weight, too heavy to be lifted up again. You quickly go to your bedroom to pull the freshly changed blankets and a few pillows off of it. When you come back Sun is curled up against the couch's armrest, already half asleep.

You don't disturb him quite yet, setting up the blankets on the floor for him. You don't trust that he'll do anything but lie directly on the floor otherwise. One blanket goes down to keep him off the floor, a pillow at the end. Another blanket set aside to be used for its intended purpose. You make sure to set up the spot near enough to the couch so Sun can stay as close to Moon as possible.

“Sun?”

He perks up at the mention of his name, though only slightly.

“Look, you can lie down here,” you tell him, gesturing to the makeshift bed.

He mumbles a sleepy thank you and, after one last look towards Moon, all but crawls down from the couch onto the spot you’ve made. He grabs the blanket you’d put aside, pulling it towards him. He seems to decide that’s too much work before it’s actually over him though, his eyes falling shut with the blanket still gripped in his hands.

You wonder if this is your fault. Your fault for pushing him too quickly to do too much, when he only recently regained enough energy to walk unaided. Your fault for letting him struggle so much before stepping in. Your fault for only being able to give the bare minimum, tiny and inadequate offers of help.

It isn’t much, but you bend down and untangle the blanket from Sun’s grasp. You’ve seen him tuck Moon in enough times, it isn’t a difficult act to imitate. He doesn’t react, maybe already too deeply asleep to notice.

Moon is still watching you.

You feel hesitant to do much of anything with Moon’s gaze focused intently on you that way, like any move could be entirely the wrong one. Still, you told Sun you’d help with this, so you pick up the hairdryer. You take Sun's spot on the couch.

A pause and a questioning look to Moon, to make sure he doesn't object. He does not. You turn the hairdryer back on.

Somehow, Sun doesn’t stir. Either the low setting on the hairdryer is quiet enough not to disturb sleep, or Sun is simply that tired. You imitate the sweeping motion you saw Sun make with the hairdryer, trying to keep it at the same distance he held it at.

Still Moon does not object. Still Moon stares at you, vivid and intense. Finally he breaks eye contact, gaze falling.

A cough, a sigh. The sigh is for once fully audible, though it is more a sound of water than it is of breath.

“He‘s all tired out,” Moon mumbles, barely audible through the hum of the hairdryer. “He exhausted himself for me again.”

Something about his wording makes you think.

The way Sun is always worrying over Moon. 

Sun’s energy, how he’d seemed completely fine for most of the day. Almost back to his usual self, even. He’d had no trouble with his balance, no difficulties standing. 

His determination to make sure Moon was taken care of, no matter what. 

The sudden drop in energy, going from no problem at all to being dangerously tired without warning. Abnormally tired, far too quickly and far too severely.

It hits you.

“Sun gave you everything he had, didn’t he."

“... Maybe,” Moon's voice us barely a breath, something you read in the movements of his lips more than hear. He doesn't look back up at you, almost as if he's avoiding your gaze now. "He shouldn’t be able to. That shouldn’t be possible. But it’s not possible that I managed this long with nothing to live on, either. So maybe...”

Sun has been draining himself for Moon all this time. For however long it has been since Nessa had tried to get rid of Moon, for years. Even after Sun had been abandoned as well, even when he’d been too weak to stand on his own, he’d been somehow giving up what little energy he had to keep Moon going.

All the effort he’d put into readjusting Moon’s blankets, brushing his hair, checking on him. It hadn’t just been worry- it had been keeping Moon alive, hadn't it. All at Sun’s own expense.

You'd only learned that Moon exists such a short time ago, but even in that brief window of time it has become obvious to you how inseparable the two are. How much Sun cares about Moon. How much Moon cares about Sun, guilt now etched onto his face.

Nessa had tried to throw Moon out and to keep only Sun. Nessa had found out that Sun had rescued Moon, had kept him safe, and had tried to kill Moon in response. She’d tried that hard to separate them, and for what? What in the world could possibly justify ever trying to pull these two apart? You can't think of a single thing.

It's even in their names. Sun and Moon, like trying to separate night from day.

An increasingly familiar nausea is swirling in you again. It takes a great effort from you to sit still, running the air across Moon again and again as you’d promised.

“He’s sleeping now, so- so hopefully he’ll feel better after some rest,” is all you can say. Another small comfort, everything you have to offer.

And yet not enough.

“It won’t help as much as you think it will,” Moon states flatly. “Sleeping doesn’t do much to restore energy for us. Just slows down how fast we’re using it.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Even if you did, your breath has caught in your throat. You don’t think you could get the words out regardless.

Moon coughs again, grimacing. “Do something with him when he wakes up,” he says. “Play with him, talk to him, watch something with him. Just do something with him.”

“Okay,” you manage. “Will that help?”

“It’s the only thing that will.” Moon says the words as if they’re obvious, as if they’re something you should have caught on to long before now.

Maybe you should have.

You have a thought you‘re about to put voice to, but when you look over Moon’s eyes have fallen shut. He’s entirely still now, asleep, so you say nothing at all.

There is no silence with the hairdryer still running, but there is a sense of it in the lack of conversation.

The color of the fabric covering Moon slowly lightens as the water evaporates. Every so often he stirs in his sleep, coughing, tiny dark blots appearing as water is forced to the surface. You diligently chase them away with the hairdryer each time, no matter how long it takes. The process is so slow and gradual that you're not sure how much the hairdryer does and how much is simply the evaporative power of time. Still, Moon eventually becomes first damp and then dry. Or dry as a hairdryer can get him, at least. If he’s still carrying water deeper under layers of cloth, you can’t reach it.

Sun’s expression as he sleeps is peaceful, entirely unguarded. Moon looks a bit less so. Something about his face is troubled even in his sleep, more like the look of someone fighting off a fever than the look of a good rest after a long day.

Your first thought is, 'These are human beings. Someone did this to human beings.' That's not quite right though.

The way light reflects across the painted details of Sun's face, more obvious now that he's clean. The injuries to Moon that you try your hardest not to look at, that would be incompatible with life on a human being. These two are not human.

These are people. These are people, and someone threw them away. A human being had it in them to literally throw both Sun and Moon into a dumpster. You can't stop the thought from repeating over and over in your head. No matter how many times you turn the idea over, you keep finding new and more horrible angles of it to consider.

She threw them away.

And now both are here with you. The idea is both wonderful and terrifying. You want to make sure they have everything they need, anything they want. To be the best friend to them possible, to make up for the unfathomable carelessness they were treated with. You’re not sure you can.

The fact that someone treated them so carelessly. The fact that it's now up to you and you alone to give them all the care they deserve. You're not sure either of those facts will ever stop haunting you.

You shut off the hairdryer and wait for them to wake.

Chapter Text

You have been focused on your phone for an amount of time you're trying not to think about, mind circling any distractions you can find online. Periodically, you glance up to check on Sun or Moon. Sun remains asleep on the floor, tucked in neatly. It quickly becomes too disturbing to glance over and see the full extent of Moon's injuries exposed beside you, so you retrieve his blanket and set it half over him. Only half, the blanket placed over the end of him and draped carefully along his side. You're fairly certain that Moon is completely dry by now, but you still don't want to risk trapping any moisture if you're wrong.

The stars on Moon's blanket look more vivid now, sharper and brighter now that they've been washed.

Sun is the first to stir. His fingers fumble half consciously with the edge of the blanket you'd put over him, reaching along its length.

He sits up all at once, eyes wide, reaching out. "Moon?!"

Moon responds immediately to Sun's call, jolting awake as well. His good arm is half trapped under him, but you can see him trying to reach out as well. His single word of response, "Sun!", comes out as a hushed but frantic whisper.

Sun was never far from Moon's side, and only has to turn to see him. The two look at each other, visible relief moving through both simultaneously.

(Someone tried to separate these two.)

Sun does not completely ignore you, even with his concern about Moon. He makes sure to give you a small smile and a "Hello, friend" before turning his attention back to his twin.

"All dry?" Sun asks, checking Moon over. His movements are slow, an obvious effort. Not as alarmingly heavy as they had been before, but a far cry from rested.

Moon had been right. You hadn't doubted him, but there is still a moment of the idea clicking into place as you see the proof of it in front of you. Sun has slept, but he is no less tired.

"Close enough," Moon states. "I'm fine. Go play, have fun." He wiggles his fingers at Sun, maybe just to prove he can, and Sun relaxes a bit.

"Let me get you back together first," Sun says, grabbing Moon's outfit from where it had been folded up beside him.

You move out of the way so Sun can take your place. He gives you a quick thank you as he sits back in his spot next to Moon.

You don't feel particularly deserving of that small thanks as you watch the slow, difficult process of a clearly exhausted Sun trying to maneuver Moon without further damaging him. Not to mention that, if your best guess is correct, this is another thing that will only drain Sun's remaining strength further.

There is no help you can offer him with this task. You can't trust yourself to try, not with how delicate Moon is. You can only watch, a growing frustration at your uselessness, as Sun finishes putting Moon's outfit back in place and wraps him in the starry blanket once more.

Sun does not put Moon's hat back on him. You and Moon can both see that he's looking around for the brush.

"I'm fine," Moon repeats. "You go play. I want to go back to sleep."

"... You sure, Moon?"

"I'm sure. I'm tired, you woke me up. Let me go back to sleep."

"... Okay." Sun still makes sure to smooth down Moon's hair with one hand anyway, making sure not so much as a single strand is out of place before putting Moon's hat back on for him. Sun sets Moon back down gently onto the couch, looking completely exhausted in every possible way. "Maybe I should go back to sleep too," he comments, even his smile looking tired.

All the progress you'd made in trying to help him feel better, gone that quickly.

You want to do something. You need to do something.

"Wait, I have a game I've been wanting to show you," you blurt out. You're kicking yourself for that immediately. That's a terrible suggestion, he's tired. You should have suggested a movie, or something else that wouldn't require even more effort out of him when he's already-

"You want to play?" Sun asks, a barely subdued eagerness showing through despite his lack of energy. "I'm a little tired right now, friend, but if it's a game we can do sitting I can still play. What is it called?"

You did not plan this far ahead. You did not, in fact, plan at all. You give him the name of the first co-op game that comes to mind.

You're awkwardly stumbling over a quick description of the game when you notice Moon. Sun's entire attention is on you, and your attention was on Sun. But out of the corner of your eye, you notice it.

Moon's attention is on you.

You catch a glimpse of a startlingly intense, watchful stare. Then, just as you're telling Sun that you'll go get your laptop and show him the game, Moon relaxes. The intensity of the look fades away, and his eyes fall shut.

For as protective and careful as Sun is with Moon, you're getting the feeling that Moon is the exact same way with Sun. Or is as much as he can be, with the state he's in.

You go get your laptop, as promised.

------------------

The way Sun moves his character through the game is slow at first, clumsy. You think it might be his first time using a controller instead of a stylus or keyboard, and it takes him a bit to get a proper grip on it. His porcelain hands slip on the smooth plastic until he realizes that pulling his sleeves half over his hands give him more traction, his thumbs able to work uncovered thanks to the rubbery texture of the control sticks.

It's not just getting used to the controller that's tripping him up though. His reactions are slow. He's sleepy, leaning on you a few times as if he's about to nod off before catching himself and sitting up straight again. Once again you feel a pang of guilt for asking him to do an activity that requires concentration.

The game relies heavily on teamwork, but the first few levels are more tutorial than anything. Forgiving enough to be passed even without much help from Sun's character.

As the levels pick up, so does Sun's energy level. Little by little he wakes up properly.

Sun's little character works alongside yours, following every movement and action exactly. Often Sun anticipates what your character needs before you have a chance to tell him, sometimes even before you realize it yourself. He's a little quieter about what his character needs, but with some encouragement his communication picks up. The two of you talk back and forth, asking each other for help and reacting to the game's challenges.

When you glance over at Sun, the joy is obvious on his face. There's a competitive look to him as well, as if he's determined to win at a co-op game by being the best possible teammate or maybe by simply having the most fun. Soon he's laughing, excited, the traces of his earlier lethargy gone. The colors of the screen reflect off his face, moving and shifting with his smile, dancing as if coming to life there.

He really does need this, doesn't he.

It's such a simple thing, but he needs it.

You don't think he's having fun because it's a necessity for him. There is nothing transactional about the way he plays, this isn't something he's doing in exchange for your attention. It seems more like the opposite. Like this is a necessity for him because he enjoys it so much. Because it's not just a part of what he is but who he is, something he enjoys with his entire heart and soul.

Something he could wither from, if left without.

Maybe the two of you will finish the game in one sitting. It's not a game short enough that you'd normally consider playing it through in one go, but not so long that it's impossible. Especially with Sun as your teammate, you shouldn't have to worry about failing and needing to repeat too many of the levels.

The two of you have been speaking in mostly hushed tones, but as Sun's excitement rises his voice does as well. As much as you hate to risk dampening his mood at all, you find yourself shushing him anyway.

"Shh, I don't want to wake Moon," you say, your eyes not leaving the screen as your character hands over an item to his.

A slight jerk in his character, a sign of the stick being turned too abruptly. He fumbles, his character performing the wrong action as his finger taps the wrong button.

"We won't wake him. Moon is... a heavy sleeper." Sun tells you. His voice is more subdued now, but not for Moon's sake. You can tell by his tone that the phrase 'heavy sleeper' is both an understatement and not entirely accurate. "He won't wake up just from us talking."

Ah, there it is. A heavy sleeper, as in alarmingly difficult to wake. Not well enough to be disturbed by normal amounts of noise.

A thought. Something that had crossed your mind once already, something you hadn't had a chance to express before. You say it now.

"Is there... anything Moon likes to play?" You ask.

It's so easy to see Sun's reaction, even without looking over at him. You've gotten to some of the more complicated stages in-game now, and the close teamwork demanded of you makes every stutter and stumble far too obvious.

"Moon can't do much anymore." Sun's voice is hushed again, even with volume not being an issue for Moon. "It's been a while since he could. That's why I thought maybe we could go on a walk some time, all of us together? Maybe? I can carry him."

You're not concentrating on the game. Your character misses with its next action and, although Sun's is there immediately to pick up the slack, you can tell the level's timer will run out before the objective is complete.

Maybe trying to run the entire game in one sitting was a bit much. You think it might be time for a break, and say as much. Your progress is saved, and you leave Sun briefly- just long enough for you to grab water and a snack. When you return, the laptop sits at the game's title screen. You almost offer Sun a snack as well as you sit back down, catching yourself at the last second.

"We'll definitely go on walks, once you're up to it," you say instead. "We could even go to the park if you wanted."

You have never seen such a full body, viscerally unhappy reaction before in your life. He flinches, shoulder rising and face twisting into something horrified and heartbroken. Legs pull in closer, hands tightening their hold on nothing as if worried he might somehow be ripped right out of the present otherwise.

"Not the park," you say quickly. "Not the park, that was dumb, I'm sorry-" you see Sun give a small shake of his head, directed at your apology you think. You continue on before he can try to reassure you verbally. "There are lots of other places we can go. Anywhere. The-" so many options, and yet in this moment none of them seem to exist in your head. You blurt out the first one your mind manages to grasp. "The river?"

Immediately after the words leave your mouth, you feel twice as stupid. Sun wouldn't be able to swim. Can't even be in the shallows safely. Neither of them can, that suggestion is almost as bad as the park. You open your mouth to retract that too, but Sun speaks first.

"The river sounds nice," Sun says. His voice is soft and surprisingly sincere. "You know we're not very good with water, but it would still be nice. We could go for a walk along it, or just sit and watch the water if you don't want to walk too far. Moon and I have only seen a river in person once, Nessa didn't like them much. I think she had a bad experience with water? I'm not sure. That was before we were alive, I don't quite remember. It was pretty though, that one time we did see one. I think we would like to go again, please."

"Y-yeah..." You're struggling to keep up, still reeling from both how monumentally you messed up and how quickly Sun seems to have forgiven you. "The river, okay. Just tell me whenever you're feeling ready, and on my next day off after that we can go."

Sun's smile isn't the pure joy and excitement it normally is, but it's a smile still, small but hopeful. You try not to think about work, and the fact that you most certainly won't be able to take another day off tomorrow.

There's something else on your mind, as well. You sit for a while in relatively comfortable silence, eating your snack. When you take a sip of water you remember how thirsty you are, and nearly drain the entire cup right after. Still the thought lingers, pressing in again no matter how many times you try to push it aside.

"Hey Sun? Can I ask you... kind of a weird question?"

"Of course, friend."

It is not a question that tumbles out of your mouth so much as it is a fear.

"You weren't aware at all before you came to life... right? That thing you were talking about, with Nessa and water... You don't actually remember that, right?"

As soon as you put voice to it, it feels even stronger. More real. The fear of it digs its claws into you.

The idea that your repeated failures had not only been a failure to bring life to something, but had killed something. Nurtured a consciousness and then snuffed it out, over and over.

The idea that you might have created dozens and dozens of friends, all depending on you, all waiting to come to life- all unable to cry out when you failed them.

The image of Sun lying in the dirt, clutching the blanket he had Moon wrapped in, burned into your mind. The idea that you might have done that and worse.

The feeling grips you, crushing you, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

"Oh! No, no no friend, don't worry!" Sun exclaims, clearly sensing your distress. He puts a hand on your arm in a brief comforting gesture. His hand is cool and solid and real, grounding you a little. "It's not like that! We just- we get our knowledge from our person! What we start with, I mean. When we came to life, everything we knew to begin with were things Nessa knew. That's why we don't have to learn things like how to talk or read, usually. If our person knows it before we come to life, then we get to start with that.

"It's not specific memories, just facts and ideas. Moon and I have always had a feeling about large bodies of water. Like they're something to be cautious of, like something bad maybe happened with them. Like they could hurt Nessa. So we assume something must have happened to give us that impression, that's all. We didn't actually experience anything before we were alive."

You get in a deep, relieved breath, letting it out in a long whoosh of air. Your lungs have room to expand again.

"Thank goodness," is all you can say.

You're not hungry anymore, but you nibble at your snack anyway. There's only a bite or so left. Sun sits with one hand on the floor on either side of him, looking up at the ceiling as if he could somehow admire the sky through it, lost in thought.

"It would have been nice though," he comments, "if we could have been aware sooner."

"Why?" How that could ever be a good thing is unfathomable to you.

"It takes a very long time for a doll to come to life," Sun states. "All those years of someone taking their doll everywhere, and taking care of it, but their doll doesn't really get to be there for any of it.

"Nessa had us for ten years, almost eleven, before we came to life. A lot of times it takes even longer, only ten is lucky. She spent all that time with us, but we didn't know it. We had some good times after, before she decided she didn't want Moon anymore... They were very good years... but it was only a few. It wasn't anywhere near ten. We were her favorite things in the world for a long time, but we didn't get to experience much of it. By the time we could, we had already missed most of it.

"All that time loving something that can't feel loved, that can't love back, that won't be able to for years and years. It seems like such a waste."

You want to promise him those years back. To tell him you'll be there for him for ten years and more.

You can't. Not when you couldn't even do something as simple as keeping track of a single stuffed animal that long.

"We'll go to the river," is all you can promise him. "All three of us. And other places too, whatever we can think of. We'll all go."

It's such a small offer compared to what he deserves, but he smiles anyway.

-------------------

Clean sheets, a clean Sun and Moon. The night is peaceful.

Sun holds Moon closely. You're glad you thought to toss a few more pillows onto Sun and Moon's side- Sun used them immediately. Both of them look more comfortable now. Neither of them stir much this night, eyes closed to the dim glow of your lamp.

You don't sleep quite as soundly as they do. You find yourself lying awake for far too long, thinking of tomorrow.

------------------

There's no avoiding it- you have to work today. Sun and Moon are still asleep as you drag yourself out of the bed to begin getting ready for the day.

They are not asleep when you step out of the bathroom, your hair still damp and your work clothes on. Or Sun isn't, at least. He stands in the bedroom doorway with wide eyes, looking around in a panic. When his eyes lock on to you it's like he's seeing a ghost, or maybe some long lost friend he thought was never to return.

Right. He woke up and you were gone. Of course he's panicking.

"Sorry!" You exclaim. "I didn't want to wake you, I'm sorry. I wasn't going to leave without telling you, I just- sorry."

Sun's entire body relaxes, half leaning and half slumping against the door frame.

"It's okay, friend," he says. "I just woke up a moment ago, it's okay." A small hesitation, a glance back- checking on Moon most likely, who must still be in bed. "You said you were leaving?"

"I..."

You have to.

You have to, don't you?

You can't call in sick to work forever. There will be consequences if you keep calling out, especially considering you won't be able to produce a doctor's note. You can't afford that.

... Can you?

You can't, but at the same time you are consumed by worry and guilt. What if Sun can't be left alone? Are you really going to prioritize money over him? You know it's not the same, you're not prioritizing money so much as you are the ability to afford the necessities of your own life, but still your heart is twisting itself in knots. You can't call in again, you can't, but-

"We'll be okay," Sun says. "It's okay, you can go."

"... Are you sure?" You ask.

He gives a confident nod.

Your worries don't quiet. It feels like a betrayal to leave him. It feels like you're abandoning him. 

Sun picks up on your hesitance without any need for you to speak it out loud.

"Honesty time!" He announces suddenly. "I'm putting on my honesty hat-" he mimes adjusting an invisible hat on his head, "And wearing my honesty shoes!" Those are apparently his regular shoes, judging by the lack of associated gesture. He pauses a moment, looking to see if he's made you smile with that, and to be fair he has- if only slightly. "You're worried I'm not being honest when I say we'll be okay, so that means it's honesty time!

"You know Moon and I... aren't exactly at our best right now," he tells you. "You know that. But! We'll be perfectly fine on our own for the day. It was... a little scary, for a bit there, but you've been very nice and we're both feeling much better. Not completely better, I'll admit, I think I'd still get tired very fast if I tried to do too much. But we're okay here, I don't need to do too much. I can sit and relax and nothing bad will happen. And Moon...

"This is the best he's been doing in a long time." Sun's voice has become more serious. There's a hint of something showing through in his expression, a half buried agony. "I know that's hard to believe. I know it's scary, how hurt he is. I know he's too tired and has to sleep and sleep and sleep... But he's doing so much better than he was before, friend. He hasn't even been able to talk to me for so long. I missed him so much. I was so worried that... well... Well, he's doing better now! Because of you! Thank you so much for that, friend, that makes me very happy. And because he's doing so well, he's going to be okay while you're gone too.

"Everyone has to go places sometimes. They have to go to school, or to work, or other places we can't always come. That's where you have to go, isn't it? To work?" he asks. You nod, and he gives a nod back. "You've been very nice to stay with us so many days, that was a big help, but it really is okay if you go now. Even when Nessa wanted us to come with her everywhere all the time, she still had to go places we couldn't. It's normal. It won't hurt us now. If you're still worried and you want to do everything possible, you can come right back after work. You don't have to, but if you're worried you can. Either way, we'll be fine. It's okay, friend."

You take a deep breath. You have the urge to ask him again if he means it, though you don't. He told you he was being honest, you don't want to imply you don't believe him.

"I'll come right home after work," you say instead.

---------------------------

You have someone sitting at your table for breakfast. You're not sure that has ever happened before.

You've had the extra chairs for it, they came with the table. You're not sure they've ever been used before though. Maybe once or twice, during visits from relatives? Or maybe not, you can't remember.

Sun sits in the chair opposite to you. You had assumed he'd go back to sleep after your earlier conversation, considering how early it is and how much sleep he has been needing. Instead, he requested to join you for breakfast. When you'd given him a confused look, knowing he doesn't eat, he'd responded with, "We just like to be part of things!" You suppose it makes sense.

Moon, wrapped in his starry blanket, is of course there too- Sun never wanting to be too far from his twin. Sun got your permission to lay Moon on your table, since he can't sit up by himself. There's more than enough room for that, it's not like your bowl of cereal takes up much table space.

"I could make you breakfast some time!" Sun is saying. "I'm not very good at cooking, since-" a vague gesture towards his mouth, "no sense of taste, but cereal is easy! I know how to make toast and frozen waffles, too."

"I'll make sure he doesn't set anything on fire," Moon states, blinking sleepily. Though his eyes were previously closed, you can tell he's been awake since Sun brought him out of the bedroom. You're starting to watch for the slight motions of breathing, knowing those stop completely when Moon is asleep.

"Moon is joking!" Sun protests. "Believe me, friend, he's joking! I've never set anything on fire!" His tone is far too serious for what was clearly a teasing comment.

You can't help but laugh, and you catch the quiet sound of snickering from Moon as well.

"Don't worry, I'm plenty confident in your ability to not set cereal on fire," you assure Sun. Snickering from Moon again, louder this time. "I don't take the time to actually eat breakfast often though. Usually I just have coffee."

You don't mention the fact that the reason you decided on cereal this particular morning was to stall, to watch for any sign you might need to change your mind about going.

Sitting there at the table with the two of them, you don't think you will. Sun seems completely at ease, awake and energetic. Even Moon, despite the state he's in, looks surprisingly comfortable. The genuine calm on his bi-colored face makes the sharpness of his teeth when he smiles significantly less intimidating.

"I can make coffee too!" Sun tells you. He looks so excited that you can't even manage to tell him he doesn't need to do anything like that, for fear of disappointing him.

The two of you talk for maybe longer than is wise, considering you need to be on time to work. Moon adds in the occasional comment of his own throughout- Or, more often, lighthearted teasing towards Sun. By the way Sun smiles, it's more than obvious he's only pretending to take Moon's comments seriously now. At one point he can't even manage to pretend, breaking out into laughter halfway through a sentence.

In the end you're hesitating to go out the door not out of worry, but because you don't want to leave when you were having so much fun.

You really do need to go to work though.

It's not long before that worry catches up to you, of course. The stress flows through you like an undercurrent, not consuming but still present there underneath your thoughts. You're quiet all day, your coworkers mistaking distraction for tiredness. Seeming tired makes your claims of illness more believable, you suppose. You literally count the last few seconds of your shift, watching the hand on the clock tick over to the next minute, and head directly home.

You don't pass through the park on the way, but you do think of it. The idea of it makes you uneasy. You're starting to agree with Sun's reaction to the idea of going back there- you don't think you want to see that place again.

It's a little painful how easily it turned bitter, so many good memories betrayed in a single awful moment. You can't imagine what Sun must be going through. It wasn't only the park that was embittered for him, after all.

Maybe you can find a new place now. Maybe the river will be a place you can make a few happy memories, even if not enough to make up for all the moments that were left behind in the park.

It's quiet when you get home. The undercurrent of worry flows a little faster at that, no matter how you tell yourself to calm down.

You find both Sun and Moon asleep on the couch. Their expressions are relaxed, peaceful, nothing to imply distress. Sun has his arms wrapped around Moon protectively, almost reminding you of the way a sleeping child holds onto a teddy bear.

You shouldn't wake them.

You shouldn't, they're fine, they look fine. And yet, the worry laps at you until you say,

"Sun?"

Both Sun and Moon open their eyes. Sun's reaction is that of immediate delight.

"Friend! I didn't hear you come in, welcome back! Did you have a good day?"

He's okay.

Better than okay, even. Sun is excited and enthusiastic, laughing and chatting with you. He is entirely like himself.

Sun even asks if you'll take him and Moon on a short walk tomorrow. Not far, he makes it clear that he can't do more than down the street and back at most, but he seems so excited by the idea.

You have to admit, you are too.

Chapter Text

Something brushes against your consciousness, small and gentle. A quiet sound, a faint hint of movement through the material of the bed. It takes a while before you begin to stir, pulled slowly out of sleep.

A soft, warm light. Right, you've been leaving the lamp on recently. A quiet murmur, low and constant. Then there is another voice, sound forming into words as you concentrate on it and become fully awake.

"-t's go back to bed."

The first voice responds. It's quiet, more a rhythm than words. Though you only catch part of it, that is all you need to understand.

"No no no no no no no no-"

When you sit up, the other side of the bed is unoccupied. The long body pillow has been left completely undisturbed, but the blankets on the other side are in a messy heap. Half spill out onto the floor, like someone scrambled out of them in a hurry. Your eyes follow the direction of the tangled blankets, and-

Sun sits on the floor, his back against the wall. He's clutching Moon to his chest closely, one arm under Moon's chin to support his head and the other wrapped tight under Moon's arms. Moon's blanket is there, but not wrapped anywhere neatly as usual. It's tangled around him, twisted edges and dangling corners all askew.

"Sun?" You ask.

The only acknowledgement you get from Sun is an even more frantic tone creeping into his mantra of " No no no no no no no-"

Moon's gaze flicks up towards you. He looks tired, or maybe a bit exasperated, but otherwise unharmed. Certainly not in a state you'd expect to inspire so much panic in Sun.

"Sun?" you call again. "What's wrong?"

Still no response from Sun, no sign that he has heard you at all.

You crawl across the bed, putting your legs over the side to stand up. The moment your feet hit the floor, Sun finally looks at you. His eyes go wide, a sudden flurry of movement as he scrambles away from you. His heels are heavy as they strike the floor in a panic, pushing him along the wall and into the corner. He holds Moon almost uncomfortably tight, his stare uncomprehending and wild.

"Sun, it's fine," Moon says, voice calm and even. "Look, it's your friend. Let's go back to bed, and we'll all feel better."

"Can't find you," Sun mumbles. His voice is half whisper and half pure panic, strained. "Don't want them to find you they can't find you, I'll hide you, you'll be okay Moon I'll hide you, please no no they can't find you, please don't find Moon no no no please."

Sun's agitation doesn't touch Moon, no matter how tightly Sun holds him. Moon shoots you an apologetic look.

"Nights are hard," he says simply.

"Did... Did Sun have a nightmare or something? Sun? Did you have a nightmare?" You ask.

"Nights are hard," Moon repeats, a little more softly.

You slowly, gradually lower yourself from the bed to the floor. When you try to move closer too quickly, Sun's panicked mantra of "No please Moon don't find him please no no no-" picks up. You slow down, inching along the floor on your knees as you try not to scare him further. Eventually you are as near as you think he'll let you be. It isn't as close as you'd like, but any movement from here only makes him press himself more desperately back into the corner. One of his rays scrapes the wall and he flinches, but does not pause in his attempt to back farther into the corner. Not until you go as statue-still as you possibly can, barely daring to breathe, waiting for him to calm.

Though 'calm' might not be the right word, exactly. Sun has stopped trying to flee through a solid wall, but his eyes are still locked on to you wild and terrified. He has Moon turned slightly to the side, as if to hide him from view.

"Hey, it's just me," you tell him, keeping your voice as even and quiet as you can. He doesn't panic at its sound, but doesn't show any sign of having comprehended it either. You're reminded of when Moon woke up in a similar panic, frantic and wild. "Can you tell me what happened? Talk to me, tell me what I can do to help. Please."

"Moon, not Moon," Sun says. "I have to keep him safe keep him safe, no one can find him no one can find him or-" a choked sound, suspiciously like a sob. "Not again no, no, I missed him so much, I missed you Moon, please, please."

"You don't need to hide me," Moon says. "You know you don't, don't you? It's okay, Sun. We're okay. Come on, you're tired, aren't you? We can go back to bed now. I'm right here, I'm fine."

"Please," is all Sun says in response, burying his face against Moon's shoulder.

"I'm tired too," Moon says. "I think I'd like to go back to bed." You get the feeling he's saying it more to convince Sun than he's saying it for himself. There is a vast patience to his tone, a softness you haven't heard from him before. "Sun? You're safe, I'm safe, we're safe. You're listening, aren't you?"

Sun is shaking. There is no verbal response, but you think you catch a slight twitch of fingers against Moon's side that might have been a nonverbal one. Yes to listening, maybe. No to either comprehending or to believing, you think.

Moon gives you another apologetic look. You wonder if he expected this, to be so calm about it. Maybe he has seen all of this before.

If he has seen this before- How many times has he seen it, exactly, to be so unsurprised? How many times has one or the other descended into panic in the night?

You want to reach out, to offer some small form of comfort. You don't. The terrified way Sun has hidden his face away against Moon is heartbreaking, but it is also a small sign of trust in a way. He is clearly afraid to have anyone but Moon near him right now, and he is trusting you to stay where you are. You won't betray that.

"We could build a pillow fort together," is the best you can come up with instead. Maybe having somewhere small and safe could soothe him. "We could hide in there. Or even just you guys, if you don't want me coming inside. Would that make you feel any better?"

Neither the offer of an activity to do together nor the idea of creating a hiding space pulls any part of Sun back to reality.

"Do you want me to bring you some of the blankets?" You keep trying. "It's cold over here. Would a blanket help?"

"I just got you back," comes Sun's muffled mumble. He's talking to Moon again, not responding to anything you've said. Still, his voice is a little more even this time, so maybe your words had at least some kind of effect. "Please don't go away again, please, I can't do it again, I can't. I'll take care of you this time. I'll take better care of you this time. No one will find you this time, please Moon, please don't go. Please stay awake, please. I'll take better care of you. I can't be alone again, I can't, I'll do better this time so please. Please don't find him, don't find him, I'll take care of him, no, no, please."

"I'm right here, Sun," Moon reassures.

"You went away, Moon, I was so scared. I was so scared. I woke up and you were there, and I was so happy, you were there, but you were there you were there and someone could find you. I can't let them find you again. I don't know what to do here. I don't know how to do that here. I need to keep you safe, I need to do better this time, I'll do better this time. I have to keep you safe this time, please." While the words are still clearly detached from reality, they're becoming more coherent. The words are less jumbled, more meaning and less frantic repetition.

Moon murmurs something you don't quite catch, soft and calm.

"Hey, Sun." you say, trying again. He hasn't responded to you directly, but you think talking to him might still be helping. "It's okay. Can you look at me?"

You're rewarded with a slight movement, Sun's head coming up almost enough to look at you. Not quite, his gaze instead fixed downward at the starry blanket trailing down from where it's haphazardly wrapped around Moon, but closer than before. Sun makes a slight adjustment to the blanket, seeming to only then having become aware of its messy state.

"You're safe," you say. "Moon is safe. I'm here, tell me what I can do to help. Whatever you guys need, please just tell me."

He looks so lost. He's finally looking up at you now, and the look he gives you is no less desperate than before. The wildness of fear is gone, but it has been replaced with utter despair. After a moment of eye contact the expression further crumples, as if you're seeing the very moment his heart has shattered under the weight of it all.

"I want to go home," he says.

And-

Ah.

He isn't your doll.

You hadn't forgotten that. You had never forgotten it, no.

But maybe you forgot, for a moment, how out of your depth you are. How little you know, how little help you can actually offer him. You are not Sun's person, and you struggle to provide even the bare minimum for him. He does not belong here with you. It was a little silly, wasn't it, to have thought you could-

"LET GO OF ME!"

You are ripped out of your stunned state as Moon thrashes, fighting both against Sun's arms and his own limited mobility. Sun fumbles, just as surprised as you are, trying to stop Moon from struggling out of his grasp and crashing to the floor.

"Let go!" Moon's voice is startlingly loud. "Put me down now!" And his expression...

Furious goes without saying. Fury is obvious in his tone, in his movements as his good arm shoves at Sun. His fury is all-consuming and unmistakable. But under that you catch a hint of something unfathomably hurt.

Sun holds on tightly for a few more seconds as Moon thrashes, though only to stop him from falling. He's clearly too shocked to actually argue, setting Moon down as quickly as he safely can.

"Moon-" Sun starts.

"Don't you dare touch me!"

Sun yanks his hands back, his rays hitting the walls worryingly hard as he startles away.

Moon can only barely see you from the angle he's at. Unable to turn his head, his pupils struggle at the corners of his eyes to glimpse you. Still, despite the odd angle, the weight of his anger is palpable. You don't realize you're flinching away from the intensity of it until you've already startled back.

"You." His voice is a little less explosive now. No less furious, but his anger is not directed at you. "I would like to go back to bed now." The words are clipped, each wound tight.

When you don't respond, Moon makes a reaching gesture towards you with his good arm. It takes you a moment to realize what he means- he wants you to pick him up.

"Uh- I'm- I don't-"

"You've seen Sun do it a hundred times by now," Moon states. "It won't kill me. Just do it." He makes an expression like something unpleasant has crawled into his mouth, and adds a "Please. I would appreciate help."

You stammer again, unable to get your thoughts straight. Sun sits with a frozen expression of shock on his face, his body just as still. Moon stares at you, the look blazing and furious and unfathomably betrayed in too many ways for you to fully know.

You've seen Sun do this more times than you can count. You've even done it once yourself, once, back at the park. Back before you knew Moon was alive, still capable of being further hurt. You've done this before, you've done this before, so-

You reach forward, adjust Moon's blanket to ensure it stays around him, and pick him up.

The weight isn't right. You knew it wouldn't be, but you're still taken off guard by how it's distributed. His arms and head are so much heavier than his torso, somehow. You need to keep the blanket tight around his broken arm to keep it as immobilized as possible while trying to keep his neck straight at the same time. You don't feel like you have enough arms to do everything at once.

Moon winces as you lift him. Sun reaches out automatically, stopped again when Moon bares his pointed teeth like an animal ready to bite. And maybe he really would bite, because you're not sure there's anything else that could make Sun shrink back like that.

Watching you take Moon away, Sun gives a sound that is halfway between a whimper and a sob.

"Bed. Please," Moon says. His eyes look straight ahead, refusing to turn in Sun's direction again.

You comply. Though it only takes a few steps to reach the bed, your legs are wobbly and your balance unsure. Each feels too far, too difficult. The weight of Sun's desperate eyes pulls down on you even when you're turned away. The short trip to the bed takes both too long and no time at all.

You don't think Sun could stand it, if you set Moon down somewhere out of his sight. You don't think you could stand it either.

You clumsily kick aside the tangle of blankets hanging off the edge of the bed, setting Moon down where they had been. Somewhere Sun can still see from where he sits. Despite your best efforts, a trace of pain creeps into Moon's expression when you set him down. He says nothing about it.

There is no way you can get a pillow under Moon's head without twisting his neck by accident, so you can only leave him lying flat on the bed. Unable to provide a pillow, you do your best with a blanket instead. You grab the nearest one and try to imitate the way Sun always does it, tucking the blanket in around Moon. Moon doesn't let you get far though, waving your hand away after a few seconds.

"Don't worry about it." His voice is quieter now, calmer. Like a fire that has burned through all its fuel. "It doesn't actually matter."

So you leave him be.

When you find the courage to look back to Sun, he is completely still. His arms are pressed tight to his chest as if to hold on to something that is not there, and his expression is broken, broken, broken. You don't think he could look any more utterly destroyed even if the porcelain of his face had physically shattered.

You want to do something. You want to make that stop. You want to give any comfort, any action, any words that will help.

But he is still not yours. The deeper understanding of a fact you already knew aches in your chest.

Still, you try. You can't help but try.

Still, you immediately fail. When you grab another blanket in hopes of offering it to Sun, he flinches as soon as you move towards him at all. You let the blanket fall from your grasp, lying down on the end of the bed beside Moon to show that you will not approach. In the end, you are completely unable to do anything at all.

"Sun can come back to bed any time he wants to," Moon states. "There isn't anything stopping him. Are you listening, Sun?" A slight raise in Moon's voice, a slight sharpness to his tone that you think he's trying his best to hold back. "Come back to bed when you're ready. I can't force you."

Sun does not react. Time does not seem to move.

Though time is frozen around you, eventually you begin to feel cold. Eventually you feel how tired you are, eventually you are sore from the effort of holding too still for too long. You pull a blanket over yourself to chase the chill away.

Moon's eyes are already closed, but you can see the rise and fall of breaths. His expression is far from peaceful. He's just as awake as you are.

You get the urge to try to adjust Moon's starry blanket, as if making it neat and even could untangle this situation just as easily. You don't. He already waved you away once. He does not want you fussing ineffectively over his blankets, would not want you in his personal space when his eyes are closed. 

Likely does not want anything to do with you at all. You are no more his person than you are Sun's.

You wait, hoping that Sun will move. That time will move, that something will change. Nothing does.

Despite that, time is not as still as it feels. Your eyes get heavy, your body too comfortable as you adjust on your bed. When you blink, it takes a little longer than before to get your eyes to open again. And the next time longer still, and the next longer again.

Eventually your waiting turns to sleep.

Chapter Text

You wake up disoriented. Your neck is sore, there is no pillow under your head, and your body can sense that something is out of the ordinary even before your mind catches up. You're in the wrong place, at definitely the wrong time.

A brief flutter of panic. Your alarm, shouldn't your alarm have gone off by now? You fumble as you hurriedly sit up, one hand unexpectedly sliding off the edge of the bed. As your blurry eyes focus, so does your mind.  

It's Saturday. You had forgotten, today is Saturday. You called in so many days that the weekend has come back around after just one day of work. That's why your alarm hadn't gone off.

The glow of morning light pushes through your curtains. Moon is asleep, exactly where you last left him. You must have fallen asleep waiting next to him, lying sideways at the far end of the bed.

Sun, too, is where you'd left him the night before. He's leaning against the wall, slumped forward, head hanging low.

"Sun?" Your voice comes out hoarse, fearful.

Sun raises his head to meet your gaze. He looks exhausted.

"You okay?" you ask. You ask it even though there's nothing you can do to fix it if he isn't. You're still groggy from sleep, but you haven't forgotten that this time.

"I'm okay," Sun says, voice barely loud enough to hear. His words aren't particularly convincing.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"It's fine," he says. "We don't actually have to sleep, not like you do. So it's fine."

"Have you been awake all night?" You ask, despite the answer being obvious.

"It's fine," Sun says again, even quieter than before.

There's nothing you can do about that.

You mumble a "Be back in a minute," trying your hardest to think over the issue as you head to the bathroom. Your thoughts are still sleepy and slow. Splashing cold water onto your face helps wake you up, but thinking faster doesn't mean coming to a solution. Only a more complete awareness of your lack of ideas.

You return, leaning against the bedroom doorway instead of fully entering the room. Nothing has improved in the brief time you've been gone, and nothing has come to mind either.

"I'm going to eat breakfast soon, if you want to come sit at the table again," you offer.

"That's okay," Sun says. A rejection without any of the words of one, but a rejection still.

He isn't yours, and there is nothing you can do.

You start to retreat, but are called back when you hear a "Wait." Moon's voice, sleepy and quiet. "I want to come."

That means picking him up again, if Sun isn't coming.

It's hard to imagine that now, Sun away from Moon. The idea of picking Moon up is not any less intimidating after having had practice. Now you add the fear that doing this will cause Sun anguish on to the existing fear of worsening Moon's injuries.

At your hesitation, Moon reaches up with his good arm and imitates the grabby hand uppies gesture children use. His face is so serious that you can't tell if he's doing this to lighten the mood or if it's in earnest. The humor of it mixes oddly with your worry and your inadequacy, not erasing ether but instead jamming itself in alongside them. You feel too full.

"I'll carry him," Sun interjects. He starts to get up, though the motion is a bit clumsy- you wonder if it's possible for a doll's legs to fall asleep from sitting in one position too long. "Don't worry, Moon, I'll-"

"No," Moon states. The word is flat, firm, absolute. "You won't."

Sun sinks back to the floor. You catch a glimpse of hurt in his expression, but no surprise.

Just as jarring as the concept of Sun willingly being away from Moon, the concept of Moon pushing away Sun.

You do your best. With the room brightened by morning sunlight, it's easier to see how Moon tenses and winces at every little movement despite your best effort. It takes a bit of awkwardly shifting his weight to get a secure hold on him. Each shift is another small flinch, another moment of pain you're struggling not to cause him.

Somehow, you manage to get Moon relatively secure in your arms.

You give one last glance at Sun before leaving the room. He does not look back, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

----------------------

You mix the pancake batter with all your focus, as if there was some sort of secret to it. Some hidden series of tiny details that could improve not just the pancakes, but everything. You think to add in a handful of chocolate chips- everyone likes chocolate chips, right? Extra butter goes into the pan, and you're thinking about what toppings you have to choose from (is the whipped cream still any good? You had a few strawberries left in that container, right? Will that be enough? You once knew someone who put peanut butter on their pancakes, you should get the jar out) when you remember-

Moon does not and cannot eat.

The butter has melted into the pan, but you find yourself unable to pour the batter. You find yourself unable to do much of anything at all. It wouldn't make a difference even if you could, after all.

The butter is starting to sizzle and smoke away, and yet you only stare at it.

"Hey," Moon calls, breaking you from your frozen state. You make a sort of inarticulate questioning noise as you turn towards him, and he answers it with, "What are you making?"

Right. He can't see from where you set him on the table, he isn't able to turn his head.

"Pancakes," you state. "I was going to make pancakes. Comfort food, you know? But I... I must be still half asleep or something, you guys can't eat. Obviously. Sorry. It's... I guess it was a dumb idea to begin with. It's not like pancakes would magically fix anything even if you could eat, so..."

"Make them into shapes," Moon says.

"What?"

"Shapes," he repeats. "Stars, Mickey Mouse ears, pancake with a smiley face, whatever. I can at least look at them before you eat them."

"Oh." You've never tried to do that before. The concept is simple enough though. "I can try."

Shapes. If Moon wants shapes, that's the least you can do.

You have to add a little more butter to the pan, too much of what was in there has already boiled away.

The batter pours into the pan, sizzling. You try to direct its flow with the spatula, but it's harder than expected. The pancakes start cooking the second they hit the pan, a thin layer on the bottom tearing and bunching up as you try to push around the batter. You try something you saw in a video once, pouring batter out into the shape of a smile and letting it cook for a moment before pouring more on, but that doesn't go as well as expected either. When you flip it, there's no discernable pattern on the cooked side. Your star fares even worse when you try to flip it, the poorly made points falling apart and the shape collapsing onto itself.

There's still quite a bit of batter left. You'd made up about enough for three without thinking. You pile the first set of pancakes onto a plate, one after another, and try again.

Practice does not always make perfect.

Even when you've reached the bottom of the batter bowl, scraping together drips and dredges in hopes of carefully dabbing them into the pan, you don't see much improvement from your first attempts. Fishing through the stack to find the best of the pancakes and placing them on your plate, you can... almost see what you were going for? Well, almost with everything except the smiley face, which never worked out like you'd hoped. There are a few strawberries left in the fridge though, which you can cut up and place in a little smile pattern.

... When you pour the syrup over that, the strawberry slices start to slip and swim. Even after nudging them back into place with the spatula, the coating of syrup makes the pancake look a little like it's drowning.

"I can't see," Moon says as you sit down at the table.

"They didn't come out very good."

"I still want to see. Help me up?"

You try your best to help Moon into a sitting position. The movement doesn't seem pleasant for him in the slightest, but he says nothing about it. Once you have him propped up a bit, one of your arms under his and the other supporting his head as you've seen Sun do, he bursts into a fit of giggles.

Actual giggles. From Moon.

The sound is startling and at the same time familiar- he doesn't sound too unlike Sun in that moment. He laughs and laughs, to the point where you're having to hold on to him tighter to keep him stable.

"They'll still taste fine though, right?" He asks. There's a surprising amount of excitement to his voice, an eagerness you wouldn't expect from someone who can't eat the food he's looking at.

"They should," you say. Mostly, anyway. One of the attempted smiley face pancakes you left back in the pile by the stove ended up more burned than you'd like to admit.

It's hard to see at the angle you're holding him, but you think you see something like awe on Moon's face. As if the mess of pancakes is some sort of magic trick you've performed.

The pancakes do indeed taste fine. It's hard to mess up pancakes after all, and the terrible lopsided edges of your star pancake taste exactly the same as any other pancake. The strawberries you cut up are genuinely wonderful, even if the pieces have drifted out of any shape resembling a smile.

Moon asks about the ingredients of the pancakes, the steps required to make one, your favorite kind of syrup and why. His interest seems entirely genuine, and you do your best to answer.

"We don't need much," Moon states at one point, his tone considerably more serious than it was a moment ago. The abrupt change, both in topic and in tone, catches you by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"That's all there is to it," he replies. "We don't need much. This was fun. You don't have to worry about anything more than that."

You're not sure about that, much less sure how to respond, so you don't.

----------------------

Sun stands at the edge of the kitchen, not quite stepping beyond the boundary between rooms. You put your fork down, abandoning the last syrup-soggy bite of food remaining on your plate.

"Hi," you say softly, half afraid that anything else might somehow startle him away.

Thankfully, whatever confusion had afflicted him the night before seems to have left him entirely. He looks guilty, but not startled by the sound of your voice.

"Hi," he echoes, just as softly. He can't quite meet your gaze, quick glances that turn away before his eyes find yours.

"Do you... do you still want to go on a walk today?" you offer, hoping to bring even a little cheer back to his morose demeanor.

The guilt on Sun's expression twists into shame, his posture only shrinking more.

"He's not going anywhere today," Moon states. He is surprisingly still awake, though Sun's arrival has taken all the joy out of his voice. "He spent the night awake, stressed, purposely as far away from you as he could get without leaving the room. He exhausted himself." Moon looks towards you, a movement of eyes and nothing else. "That's not your fault, by the way. He could have come back to bed at any time and been fine. That was his own choice."

It's only then that you realize Sun is leaning on the nearest object, like standing is an effort.

"I'm sorry." Sun's voice is barely more than a whisper.

"Sorry for what?" Moon asks sharply.

"For that. For... for last night, and what I said, and..." Finally he looks at you directly. That in itself seems to take so much effort from him that it's a moment before he manages to continue speaking. "Friend, I'll apologize to you first. I'm so sorry for what I said to you. You've been doing so much to help us, You've been taking care of us. It was disrespectful, and awful, and mean of me to say I'd rather be anywhere else."

"It's... it's fine," you say. "I know-"

"It is not fine," Sun interrupts, startlingly forceful. His porcelain hands make a tiny, uncomfortable sound as his fingers curl against his palms. "Don't say it's fine. It's not fine that I said that. Moon- Moon almost- I was so scared- I was so close to really losing him, and- and I wasn't going to last much longer on my own either. Nessa threw us away, no one would help us, that was it. That was going to be it for us.

"Then you came and helped us. You took us to your own home, and gave us a place to rest, and worried about us. Moon woke up again, because you did so much to help us. And then- and then for me to say that, for me to say something like that to you... I didn't even mean it. That's the most awful part of saying that to you, I didn't even mean it.

"I just... wanted things to be good again. I wanted Moon to not be hurt, and for all of us to play together like nothing ever happened. I wanted it to be like before I ever even imagined something could happen. I wanted to feel like... like if something did happen, I'd know what to do, and it would be okay. But that's not possible. That's not something that was ever possible to have all at once, and the worst thing is- the worst thing is, you've been trying so hard to give us that anyway. I know you have. We can- we can sort of- we can feel it, in a way. We can tell. We know you've been thinking and thinking about us, and trying so hard for us, and doing everything you can for us. We can tell, when someone really cares like that.

"And I said that to you. Like I didn't care, like that didn't matter. Like I wanted to throw that away. It wasn't even true, but I still said that, and that's- it's gross. It's sick. It's awful of me and I am so sorry for saying it. I am so sorry, friend."

You are left with, all at once, entirely too much to process.

Sun stands there, arms curling around himself. Like he's awaiting the judge's sentence, the punishment for a crime he knows he's guilty of.

You wish desperately you could make that look stop.

You wish he was your doll. That you knew him better, knew what to say, knew what he needed. Knew exactly how to offer him comfort. You wish that you had known last night, before everything had spiraled to the present.

Wishing does not change the facts. You try anyway.

"Thank you," you say. "I really appreciate that it means so much to you, that you'd want to apologize like that. I know you're going through a lot right now. You've been through... so many awful things. Too many. You're allowed to make some mistakes, trying to deal with all of that. So... it's not fine, but it's okay. You're okay. We're okay, okay? Apology accepted."

"Thank you," Sun says back. His words are quiet, but there is an immeasurable weight to them. Like you just lifted the world off his back. After taking a moment to gather himself, he takes a small step into the kitchen. Then another, making his way tentatively to the table. To Moon's side.

Moon's expression remains carefully neutral.

"Moon... I need to apologize to you, too. I know I do," Sun tells him. "It's scary, to have you just... out, where anyone could find you. To not know for sure where I could hide you if I had to, or when I could come see you if I couldn't have you with me, or how long it would be safe to see you without anyone noticing. But I'm the one that got to go outside, and play, and be taken care of. You had to stay put all that time. I worried sometimes about hiding you, but you were the one that had to be hidden. Every day, all day, all the time, you had to stay hidden.

"I said I was worried for you, that I wanted to keep you safe, but then I put what sounded easier for me ahead of you. To say I would ever want you to have to go back to that, to having to hide all the time, to being alone with no one there for you... To say I'd put you back under the bed just so I could worry a little less... To even think that I should worry less, if I left you there like that, that either of us could ever feel better that way...

"That's awful of me. I know it is. I'm so sorry, Moon. You don't have to forgive me, I don't expect you to. It wasn't a very forgivable thing I said. But I want you to know that I am so sorry."

 "Forgiven," Moon replies without pause. Surprise runs across Sun's face, followed by a relief that seems to wash over his entire body. "Sorry is all I wanted. I forgive you."

Moon reaches up towards Sun. For a moment Sun doesn't react, disbelieving. Then he carefully reaches towards Moon and, after another pause as if expecting to be pushed away, picks Moon up.

There are no signs of discomfort on Moon's face as he's moved. Sun pulls him into a hold that is more a hug than anything, Moon wrapping his good arm around Sun in return.

"... Our friend made pancakes for all of us," Moon says, after a moment. There's no way he can see the question on Sun's face with the angle he's at, but he anticipates it regardless. "They forgot," he states.

There is a stifled laugh from Sun, his expression twisting in an attempt to hide his smile. Vivid embarrassment floods through you.

"It's a very nice gesture!" Sun quickly says. Your entire face is turning red, isn't it. You can feel the heat of it, can see it in how Sun scrambles to give a hasty reassurance. "We appreciate that! The thought really does count, that's still very nice of you!"

"They made them into shapes, too," Moon states. "You should see."

Considering you already ate the best ones... you glance over to the stack of leftover pancakes still on your kitchen counter, waiting to be put into the fridge for another time. The rejects that were even worse than the ones that had made Moon laugh so hard.

Oh no.

Sun doesn't laugh when he sees them. He presses his lips together very tight, and not a single sound escapes him. Not that it makes much difference- Moon's hysterical laughter is enough for the two of them.

You have been given a fatal dose of embarrassment. You are rapidly expiring.

... But at the same time, to have the two of them in good spirits again...

You think that's worth the fact that you'll be eating leftover disaster pancakes for the next few mornings.

Sun hits his limit not long after, his exhaustion catching up to him. He all but collapses onto the couch, he and Moon both falling asleep there almost immediately.

You're worried, you can't avoid worrying about them. Thankfully it's only about an hour before Sun wakes up again, seeming to be fine. Still tired, but fine.

He bounces back a little faster this time. Maybe because you're slowly getting a better idea of what to do to help him, maybe because he's doing better in general. Surprisingly, Moon also wakes back up again not long after Sun.

He isn't awake for long this time, but he makes sure to use that time to give Sun hilariously bad advice at the game you and Sun are currently playing. Sun follows Moon's advice to the letter, and you can't tell if he's genuinely shocked or only acting when he takes a monumental loss that round. He must be acting, no one could take that level of terrible advice and still be legitimately surprised they lost. And yet Sun's reactions feel suspiciously real.

Moon is snickering to himself while Sun laments, and for a little while you forget about anything else.

Chapter Text

The weekend is a peaceful sort of quiet, and you take it slowly. You needed this, you think. You and Sun and Moon all needed a chance to do nothing but relax.

As much as you wanted to do something for them, to do anything and everything, spending some time doing nothing at all turns out to be a much needed balm. A few days in which there is no emergency, no pressing need, no panic or strained hopes. Something wound tight within you, something you didn't realize had been pulled taught until ready to snap, finally unwinds.

You think Sun and Moon might feel the same. Sun doesn't fuss quite so anxiously over Moon's blankets. Moon does not set the weight of that uncomfortably intense stare upon you.

Come Monday, you have to return to work again. You worry all day, of course, but you find you worry a little less on Tuesday. On Wednesday, a little less than that.

Day by day, a routine starts to form.

You start setting your alarm a little earlier. You spend that extra time with Sun and Moon, the three of you sitting and talking at the kitchen table together. Sun does learn to make coffee for you, something he is extremely proud of.  

Sun surprises you one day by being there to greet you as soon as you get back from work. There is an unexpected warm feeling at that. Like today you have not just returned to your living space after work, but have actually come home. He greets you again the next day, and you realize he intends to make a habit of this. He sees you every day now, but he is still that happy to see you return.

You make sure you offer to brush their hair every day. It is something you know how to do for them, so you're sure to do it. Neither ever refuse your offer.

Sun reacts to the brush the same way each time- like a contented cat. Moon always relaxes, eyes closing not long after you begin. The process of it is soothing for you as well, a new meditative part of your daily routine. Soft curls that wrap around your fingers as they pass by. Glimpses of little white stars between layers of night sky darkness. The feeling of the brush moving through section by section, smoothing away any tangles as it goes, over and over until it runs through smoothly.

You show every co-op game you have to Sun. You buy a few new ones, even. Not all of them end up being particularly good, but that doesn't mean they aren't fun to play together. One in particular is such a buggy mess that the glitches end up part of the fun, your characters launching each other into space with little nudges from the poorly coded physics. You play a few singleplayer games with him as well, Sun coming up with new rules to allow them to be played together. At one point you play through a game with half the controller each, Sun with the control stick and yourself with most of the buttons, doing a wonderfully terrible job of navigating the game's obstacles.

Moon cannot participate in games the way Sun can. Even when it comes to games he could theoretically play with only one functioning arm, he doesn't have the energy for it. Even small movements take a significant amount of his strength, and his coordination diminishes as exhaustion sets in. With Moon unable to properly play, the best you can do is to try to include him in other ways. You ask for his input on what you and Sun should play next, what paths you should take in games with branching levels, what your next move should be. Sometimes his advice is surprisingly good. Other times, he gleefully sets you up for total failure. You can't always tell which of the two he's decided on until the consequences of his advice have fully played out.

Both Sun and Moon tire quickly, at first. Sun spends most of the day sleeping while you're at work, and even when he seems perfectly energetic it doesn't take much to wear him out completely. Moon is only awake sporadically, often for only for only five or ten minutes at a time. He wakes up in the middle of conversations and attempts to join in only to drift back into unconsciousness shortly after.

Day by day, that changes.

Sun's stamina improves, able to do more at once before tiring out. When he does tire, he bounces back more quickly. He asks one day if he could use some of your pens and paper, and when you come home he shows you what he'd drawn while you were at work. It's a half-finished, meticulously detailed drawing of Moon. Though incomplete, it must have taken him hours to get to where he did with it. That means he was awake for hours. Awake for long enough to get bored and seek out an activity to do, then for the hours it took to actually do it.

The amount of time Moon can stay awake at once gradually increases. Five or ten minutes becomes ten or fifteen. Ten or fifteen becomes a good, solid twenty minutes without fatigue. The amount of rest he needs between each period of time awake is getting shorter as well.

Moon's limited mobility makes it difficult for him to make much use of his time awake, even as that improves. When there is nothing else for him to do, you at least try to have something available for him to watch. TV shows, funny internet cat videos, whatever you can find to put on.

At one point, Moon asks if you can put on a specific episode of a certain show. He's vastly disappointed when you tell him the episode doesn't exist.

"Sorry," you tell him. "Season 2 never actually came out. There was some network drama or something, and the whole thing got canceled." Canceled on a notoriously painful cliffhanger, to boot.

"Interesting, considering Sun and I were on season six," Moon states.

Sun is not physically capable of going pale considering his face is porcelain, but you think he would if he could. His entire body tenses, a reaction Moon cannot miss when Sun is currently holding him.

"Please, Sun, it was a little obvious that the talking iguana was something you came up with yourself," Moon says. "I had just assumed that it made it to season 3 at least before it was canceled."

"It- it was just so sad, to leave it there when the show was canceled, and you loved that one so much- I- I'm sorry, Moon- I didn't-"

Moon gives a dismissive wave with his good arm. "If you want to apologize, do it by catching me up on season six. My memory of the last few episodes is spotty, you'll need to tell them to me again."

Sun's relief is palpable.

It's through those little mentions that you begin to put the picture together, bit by bit. Late at night, long after everyone had gone to sleep, Sun crawling under the bed to be beside Moon. Sun telling Moon about the things he had seen that day, the things he had done, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper. Not Moon's only window to the world, but Moon's entire world in itself.

You try not to think about that. It's less painful to instead concentrate on the sweetness of that gesture, that Sun wanted to give Moon a world in which his favorite show had not been canceled.

You write out a list of shows you think the two might like, and you make sure one of them is playing any time Moon is awake. Moon watches each with rapt attention for as long as he can keep his eyes open.

If Moon's injuries prevent him from doing anything more than watching, then you can at least offer him something to watch.

There is a point where you end up watching the first season of the show, the one that Sun had pretended wasn't canceled after the season 1 cliffhanger. Moon re-tells how the plot was resolved in Sun's version.

Moon has a natural voice for storytelling, low and clear and even. Occasionally he misses an important detail, Sun excitedly interjecting to fill it. It's an odd combo, but you think you like it.

You think you like this.

It isn't what you expected. None of this is what you expected spending time with living dolls to be like. Maybe that's because Sun and Moon themselves aren't like you expected, or maybe you've never been sure of exactly what you expected to begin with. It's something you had put out of your mind as unobtainable for so long.

Some part of you keeps waiting to be told that you aren't allowed to do this. That you don't deserve to spend so much time with them, that you aren't allowed to have them here with you. You wait for a knock on the door, a phone call, a confrontation. You wait for the slow improvement in their health to reverse, for them to fall ill from your inadequate care. To see the proof that you aren't doing enough, can't do enough, will never be enough. That you did not put in the work to bring to life a doll of your own, and are not equipped to give these two proper care. You wait for the day you have to accept that you were always going to fail them.

Instead, you find yourself joking and laughing with Sun.

Instead, Moon tells you about some of his favorite books and you tell him about yours.

When Moon expresses interest in one of the books you'd mentioned, you get the audiobook of it for him. The three of you listen to it together a little bit at a time, pausing it when Moon falls asleep. Sun likes to guess what will happen next, his theories just as entertaining as the storyline itself.

They are not your dolls, but they are your friends. That's what this feels like, more than anything- like having two friends as your roommates. It is not what you expected, but it's fun. So much so that you can hardly believe they're still here each day. You find yourself slowly laughing more than worrying, you find yourself excited to come home.

A lingering doubt, persistent, itching under your skin- wondering how long this can last. As much as you want the answer to that to be forever, you know that forever isn't realistic. Not for you, not with how many times you've failed to keep that commitment to anything or anyone in the past. The lack of close friends in your life reminds you that it is not only dolls you've failed to keep. How much time will you have with them?

As much as you can is what you settle on. If you cannot give enough to them, then you will give as much as you can. You will hang on tight to every second, and have as much time with them as you can.

---------------------------

"Friend! Friend, come look!"

Sun is always excited to welcome you home, but today you come near accidentally hitting him with the door because of how closely to it he was waiting. As soon as you're inside, Sun's hands wrap around one of yours.

Porcelain fingers, the grip gentle despite the hardness of the material. An excited squeeze of his hands over yours, the knuckles moving in a way that is fluid but not quite human. A slight tug, more a suggestion than a real pull. You go along with his direction, Sun pausing briefly so you have a chance to kick off your shoes and drop your stuff onto the nearest surface.

"Did something happen?"

"You'll see!" Sun exclaims, giving another slight but excited tug on your hand. "Just come, just see!"

He directs you to the couch. There are scattered art supplies there, pens and pencils and markers you've told Sun he can use as he pleases. One paper sits on top of a stack, the unfinished art on it looking to have been hastily abandoned. Beside that is Moon in his usual place, wrapped in his blanket. He's awake.

Sun's hand abruptly slips from yours, the smooth surface near frictionless against your comparatively rough hands. He goes to Moon and picks him up, one of his hands under Moon's chin to support his head.

"Now watch! Friend, watch this! Ready, Moon? You can do it again?"

"I can," Moon replies.

You're about to ask what exactly Moon can do again when Sun moves his arm, leaving Moon's head unsupported. You take in a sharp breath of air, but Moon's head does not fall from the lack of support. He wobbles a bit in an attempt to keep upright, the tenseness to his expression demonstrating that this is at least a little unpleasant for him, but he doesn't seem to be in any significant pain.

You stand there for a moment in stunned silence, mouth agape.

"Moon's getting better." Sun's smile looks like it might at any moment break into laughter, or happy tears, or both at the same time. "I didn't think he could, anymore. It's been so long. But he's getting better."

Sun slips his arm back into its previous position to support Moon fully again. There's relief on Moon's face, holding up his own head being something that clearly took quite a bit of effort from him.

It took him effort, yes, but he did it. He could do it. With no injury, no threat of his neck twisting at the wrong angle, he had done it.

Moon's broken neck is healing.

Suddenly you are pulled nearly off you feet by solid porcelain arms, held tight against a body that neither has the underlying bone of a human nor the formless softness of inanimate cloth. A few porcelain sun rays brush against your head, flashes of golden reflected light in your peripheral vision. The press of them is careful, purposeful but without so much pressure as to be uncomfortable.

Sun is hugging you. He has put Moon down in order to hug you.

Your arms are clumsy as you move to return the hug as best you can. Costume fabric under your fingertips, cloth that compresses a little more under pressure than a human body would.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Sun is saying over and over.

"I- I didn't do anything!" you say. You are surprised and confused and excited all at once, and having trouble processing any of it with Sun's arms still wrapped around you.

"You did! Moon hasn't had anyone to take care of him in so long, he was hurt but he wasn't getting any better, but then you- and you take care of us and you let Moon play too when he can, you talk to him and help make sure he's safe and now look! Now he's getting better! He can get better! Thank you, thank you friend!" Sun rocks back and forth with you in tow, completely overwhelmed with excitement. When he finally lets you go, he looks like he's about to grab you for another hug immediately after. "Moon would give you a hug too, but he's allergic to feelings," Sun tells you, all but radiating with joy.

"And I have a broken arm," Moon states.

"Not for long!" Sun exclaims in response. "You're getting better! Not for long!" This time it's Moon he pulls into an enthusiastic hug, if a very careful one.

Apparently Moon is indeed allergic to feelings, considering how hard he's trying not to smile.

Moon can get better. The damage done to him can heal.

Moon is getting better.

The swell of hope, the wonder, the thought that maybe they don't need that much. It had taken so little. So little that you had convinced yourself that what you had to provide could never be enough to sustain them, much less for either to truly thrive. The idea of anything being able to begin healing such a debilitating years old wound had felt completely unobtainable.

Yet here you were. As unbelievable as it is, you cannot deny what you saw. The emotion is vast and bright, only slightly bitter at the edges with the knowledge that someone out there had denied them something so simple. A few conversations, a couple of games, a handful of hours watching TV shows. That was all it had taken. That was all Moon had needed, all this time.

You want to do more.

You want to see Moon hold his head up without discomfort, without any need of support, for as long as he wants.

You want to see Sun this happy again and then some.

For as long as you can, as much as you can, you want to see the two of them better with each day.

Chapter Text

Sun has been unusually quiet tonight. He welcomed you home as he has been, but afterwards has barely spoken. The behavior is surprising considering how talkative he normally is, but you aren't concerned just yet. The silence seems more thoughtful than anything, no trace of fear or anxiety to his behavior.

You don't doubt there's a vast amount of things he needs time to think through, after everything that has happened and everything that has changed. You don't push him to talk about it, giving him some time to process whatever is on his mind.

It isn't as long as you'd expected before your patience is rewarded, Sun getting your attention.

"Friend! Moon and I have been talking," he tells you. "We were wondering if you could maaaybe please do a favor for us?"

"Of course," you say, automatically. A second later you think to add, "Or- I think so? If I can? What is it?"

"Well-" Sun hesitates, his confidence almost visibly wilting. He looks towards Moon- who looks back, wide awake.

You can't tell if his sudden nerves are because it's a big favor he has in mind, or if it's that asking for anything in general makes him nervous. He's always hesitant to ask you for things, you've noticed.

You wonder if he was that hesitant with Nessa. You wonder if he's not comfortable enough with you to ask for anything that's not vitally important, or if it's that he's used to being denied what he needs.

Sun picks up Moon, as incredibly careful with him as always. The fact that Moon's neck has improved hasn't made Sun's handling of him any less gentle.

"It's this," Sun says, pulling back the blanket.

And-

Ah

You can't help but flinch at the sight. The point where Moon's body abruptly ends, internals spilling out, is not something you can stand to look at for more than a moment. Sun is usually so diligent adjusting and re-adjusting Moon's blankets, you're far from used to seeing the extent of the injury exposed. You're not sure you ever could be used to it, even if it was a sight you were more familiar with.

What is familiar is the nausea.

"This is... it isn't good for him," Sun says. "You know that. I try to keep him covered as much as I can, but it isn't good for him to be like this. Moon's neck has been better lately, but this is... it would be very hard to heal, friend. It might not be the kind of thing that can heal. So, Moon and I were talking today. We were talking, and since he's been feeling better today, we thought maybe..."

Sun takes the blanket, unfurling it. Manipulating the blanket should be a difficult task for him considering that he's doing it with one hand, the other still dedicated to holding Moon. Instead, Moon reaches out with his good arm and acts as a second pair of hands for Sun. His movements follow Sun's in perfect sync.

Together the two straighten the blanket, smooth away the wrinkles, and fold it into a specific shape. The folded edge wraps around Moon's body in a circle, just above the severed end of him.

"You know how to sew," Sun says. "If you could sew this here, like this-" a gesture to where the blanket wraps around Moon, "Then, then I could do this-" The trailing end of the blanket is pulled forward, completely covering the open wound. From there it's tucked around the rest of Moon's body, under his good arm and securely over the broken one. "Like that, and Moon would be much safer. It should work! Could you help us with that please, friend?"

It sinks in what Sun is asking you to do. He wants you to physically sew the blanket to Moon's body, barely an inch above where you'd added the hem earlier. The hem you'd done not realizing Moon could feel it.

Moon's expression betrays nothing, completely neutral.

"Normally I wouldn't suggest sewing something like this to him," Sun adds, sensing your hesitance. "But! It's Moon's most favorite blanket, and Nessa used to love it too, and he's been doing so much better lately, so... it should work! It should be okay. And it could help a lot. Having Moon like this, without anything to protect him... it's risky. It's not good for him. He's finally getting better... I don't want to see him get hurt even worse again. Please, friend?"

"You said you both talked about it?" You ask.

Sun nods.

"We talked about it," Moon echoes in confirmation. "If Sun says it's fine, it's fine."

"Is that... safe?" You can't help but ask. You know they're dolls, technically made of cloth, but the idea of sewing a blanket to a person's body seems wrong regardless.

"It's safe enough," Moon states. "If it doesn't work, it's not hard to snip the stitches and pull them out."

Something is still bothering you. The entire concept and everything about it, really, but also...

"And this is something you're sure you want me to do?" You ask Moon. "I know you say that whatever Sun says goes and all, but..." But you don't want to do this, but the idea terrifies you, but you're afraid of hurting him and you're not sure you can find the courage for this. But you know for certain that you can't without being absolutely beyond a doubt certain that this is something Moon wants. If anything is enough certainty for something like this, just agreeing with Sun is not that.

Discomfort creeps into Moon's expression. He shifts slightly, as much as he can with how little he can safely move in general. None of the intensity you normally associate with Moon's stare is there, his eyes almost timid as they fall to look down at the blanket wrapped around him.

"You don't owe us anything," Moon says, quieter than before. "Especially not me. You agreed to keeping us, but you don't have to do anything extra. If you don't want to, then don't. As long as Sun is taken care of, I'm fine."

You don't have to, as long as Sun is taken care of. Which means this falls under the category of taking care of Moon. Still he's not giving you direct confirmation, instead telling you that you don't have to do it.

Sun is hesitant to ask for things he needs, but it seems Moon is ready to ignore his needs completely.

Maybe that makes sense, considering how long he's spent slowly dying under a bed and watching Sun exhaust himself for him. How long did he spend that way, considering the idea of meeting his needs not only unimportant but completely unobtainable? How often did he have to watch Sun give up everything he had, desperately trying to delay for one more day what must have looked like an inevitable end?

Considering that, it's no wonder Moon puts so little importance on his safety that he won't even admit to wanting it.

This realization does not help your worry in the slightest. You are now imagining exactly how much Moon might leave unspoken, if that's his mindset. How many things does he need, things that could help him, that he would do without indefinitely if Sun doesn't pick up on it first? How many ways could you accidentally hurt him and never know, Moon enduring it without mention?

"You didn't answer," you say. "Do you want this? A yes or no is all I need, just give me a yes or a no."

Another twinge of discomfort in Moon's expression, the weight of it increasing, his shoulders coming up defensively. Sun holds him a little more securely, a small gesture of comfort.

"Yes," Moon finally says. "Yes, it would help. Yes, we don't bleed, but- but it's not- it's... I think it's obvious that this isn't exactly a healthy state I'm in." You think maybe he meant to play that statement off as a joke, giving a smile that's all sharp teeth and forced levity, but there is a painful desperation in his voice that prevents any true humor. "But I'll live either way. That's all you agreed to, I wo-"

"What color thread do you want," you say. Your voice comes out clear and decisive, without any of the nervous wobble you feared would be there.

Moon blinks, startled, mouth still open halfway through a word. It takes him a second for his mind to catch up, mouth snapping shut with a small porcelain-on-porcelain click.

"You said yes. That's all I needed," you explain. "So I'll do it. What color thread?"

"Blue?" Sun suggests more than states, looking between both you and Moon for your opinions.

"... Do you have any yellows?" Moon's voice is small, more timid than you've heard him before. "The blanket is already blue, so maybe... gold or yellow would match the stars..."

"I'll go get the thread," you tell him.

You only have one spool of yellow, the same one you used when you helped Sun with the tears on his outfit. There is no trace of those tears now, the edges woven back together as if they had never been damaged at all. You're not sure how, but you can't see any of the thread you used there either.

You're glad for that. You're not sure you could stand it, if your sewing had left visible lines across him like permanent scars.

You grab the yellow spool with one hand and the rest of the sewing kit with the others. Best to have all your colors, so Moon can choose another if this yellow isn't the shade he was hoping for. 

The extra spools end up unnecessary, Moon has no objections to the yellow there. Sun thanks you profusely, to the point where you have to reassure him that you accept his thanks and no more is needed. Moon is relatively quiet the entire time, giving his approval of the thread and saying nothing more.

The scope of the task is hitting you now, along with a reminder that agreeing to this means actually doing it. The blanket is long even when folded over, you won't be able to see the underside while you're working. In addition to needing to work half blind, you'll be doing it right next to the worst of Moon's injury while he's entirely conscious.

You thread the needle, knotting the long trail of yellow securely at its end. Sun adjusts the blanket one last time, movements precise. Not a single inch of fabric is left the slightest bit askew. Unlike during his earlier demonstration, he has Moon's vest pushed up slightly so the blanket will be sewn only to the layer underneath.

The layer that is not quite the same as bare skin, but that is the only thing protecting Moon's insides. The layer you will have to be sewing onto directly. Sun slips his fingers underneath it, a way to ensure the needle can't go too far and pierce anything beneath it.

Moon looks uncomfortable, but somehow not from that.

"Okay, okay..." You are not ready for this. You will never be ready for this. You're pulled between the fact that every possible alarm bell in your head is insisting this can't be right, and the fact that you have already agreed to do this for him. That Moon has asked you to take care of him, that it would be unfathomably cruel to rescind your agreement now. "Ready?" you still ask him, even though you are not.

A nod from Sun, a mumbled near inaudible affirmative from Moon.

You move before you can think too much about what you're doing, pushing the needle through. There's a small tink as it hits Sun's hand underneath, though once again he doesn't flinch. You realize you have no way to retrieve the needle with the position you're in now. Sun must realize as well, grabbing the needle from underneath. You indicate roughly where it should come back up, and he passes the needle back through the fabric for you. You pull the slack from the thread, hands feeling far too clumsy, and that's one stitch down. One single stitch.

You keep going, focusing as much of your attention as you can on the blanket. You try to imagine that the blanket is the only thing here, like you are mending Moon's favorite blanket for him and nothing more. It's the only way to keep your hands calm and steady enough to continue.

Sun is doing half the work for you, passing the needle back up through the fabric each stitch. The needle hits his fingers again and again, and he makes a joke to soothe your nerves about that- saying you're going to dull your needle long before he even really feels it. The work is slow, constant pauses needed so Sun can readjust the fabric as even small movements try to pull it out of place. Sun seems to have an almost inhumanly good sense for those careful, minute adjustments. You're suddenly understanding the point of sewing pins, realizing they would hold the fabric steady in this exact kind of situation if you had any.

"You don't have to pretend," Moon states. His voice is entirely calm, without any particular emotion. "It's fine. I know Sun is the only one of us you actually wanted, you don't have to act like you'd want me here if Sun hadn't insisted on it."

"Moon!" A flash of offense on Sun's face, brief but unmistakable. "That's a very rude thing to say."

"It's true," Moon responds, long before you have the time to formulate any sort of reply to his first statement. Too much of your attention was entangled in the thread, your mind struggling to switch gears without warning. "People don't exactly line up to play with broken toys." Moon's tone is light, but you're trying very hard not to lose track of your needle in the fabric as you realize he means that.

Sun opens his mouth, hesitates, thinks, reconsiders.

"Okay- now that is also very insulting to you Moon and I don't want to hear that," Sun says. "But what I meant is that was very rude to our friend. They've been a very good friend to both of us, Moon. They brush your hair, and check on you, and talk to you too. They couldn't help you before because they didn't know about you, but look- they're doing this for you now. If they had known about you sooner, they would have wanted to help you right away."

Sun turns to you, his expression hopeful and vulnerable. "Right, friend?" He asks.

He's not asking because there's any doubt in his mind, you realize. He already believes it, he already trusts it. He trusts you. The idea is overwhelming, startling, as scary as it is touching. You're not sure how much of that trust you deserve, but you have it, and for a moment that feels like the most important thing in the world. He just wants you to say it, to confirm it for Moon.

You don't get the chance.

"Sun, they're horrified every time they look at me."

Moon does not look at you. Sun's gaze falls as well.

They noticed. They both noticed. They've both been noticing. Your fingers slip, and you let go of the needle before you risk accidentally causing him harm with your clumsiness. You pull your hands back to yourself, against your chest.

Sun sees that you've stopped working, and now it's him that looks horrified.

"He didn't mean it-" Sun is saying immediately. "He's- he'll say he's sorry, he will, we both will, please don't stop here, please we're sorry, we'll be quiet, we-"

You cut him off with a frantic waving of your hands. "I'm not stopping!" You exclaim. "Or- just for a minute! Just a minute, okay? I just- I just need a second. I just need to calm down, I'll finish, I promise."

"... You promise?" Sun asks, fragile and no less pleading.

"I promise," you tell him. "I just need a minute."

You do need a minute. Your thoughts are tangled, a deep breath does little to sort them.

Moon's eyes are fixed firmly on nothing, on anything but you. His expression is completely neutral, unreadable.

"You're right," you tell him. "I'm sorry, you're right, I-" tangled thoughts, tangled words, that's not what you meant. "Not about- I mean- I'm sorry about being horrified!" None of this is coming out right, you're only making this worse. It's good you let go of the needle- Your hands aren't cooperating any more than your words are now, your gestures vague and stressed and meaningless.

"It is horrifying!" You continue, unable to stop yourself, each correction you make coming out as another mistake. "The way you're injured, the way you got injured! The fact that you've been like this! Someone did this to you, on purpose, and just left you for dead- having to hide for years on end, with a broken neck, and-" your throat closes around those words, unable to further describe Moon's injured state, "That's horrifying! It's not- it isn't because of you. It's because... how am I supposed to fix this? I want to fix that, I want to help you, but I can't! I don't know how, there's nothing I can do about it! So you were hurt and you've been hurt and you're still hurt, and I can't help anywhere near as much as you need, and- That's what's horrifying."

Sun sits completely still. Seeing him like that feels wrong somehow. You don't think he's even breathing at the moment.

"You're trying," Moon mumbles. "We can tell when you're trying. I can. You don't have to. You can focus on Sun, it's fine. As long is Sun is fine, I'm fine."

"That's horrifying too," you hear yourself say, voice barely any stronger than Moon's. "That someone would ever try to separate you. That someone would try to pick one of you over the other. That you're always worried about each other, that you've had to worry so much about each other."

Sun finally moves then, shifting into what you think might be an entirely unconscious protective posture over Moon. Like the mention alone is enough to reopen wounds.

"And this", you say, gesturing to the stitches you had completed, starry yellow on midnight blue. "This scares me so bad. I'm so scared I'll mess up and make it worse. I'm so scared I'll hurt you when you already have to be hurting so bad, all the time. I'm scared I'll be another reason you have to worry about each other.

"But I'm doing it anyway. I'm not doing it for Sun, or because he insisted on anything. I would do it for that, if I didn't have another reason, but that's not why I'm doing this.

"I'm doing it because I want to be able to talk with you more. So you can join in on games more often. So you can feel even a little bit better. I've been wishing constantly, every day, for something that I could do to help you- and if this is it, then I want to do it for you. That's why I'm trying, even if it is horrifying."

"... Oh." The sound is nothing more than a whisper of air from Moon.

Moon shifts, his good arm seeming unable to settle. Sun reaches out and wraps his hand around Moon's arm, fingers brushing his sleeve just above the wrist, and after a moment Moon calms slightly.

A moment passes. Moon hooks a finger around the fabric of Sun's sleeve, not fidgeting this time but simply there. You can't say you've relaxed at all, but you think your hands feel a little steadier than they were before.

"Is it okay for me to keep going?" You ask. "With the sewing, I mean."

A movement of Moon's hand against Sun's sleeve. It's only when he realizes that Sun isn't going to answer for him, that it's his answer you're waiting for, that he breathes the word. "Okay."

Sun has to let go of Moon, hand retreating from Moon's wrist so he can adjust the blanket again. The movements from Moon, small as they were, have pulled it far askew. It takes Sun a minute or two of concentration and tiny adjustments before he's satisfied with its positioning again.

You find the needle, a slight glint of silver metal against deep blue, picking it back up.

"Please tell me if any of this hurts you," you say. "If I make a mistake, I don't want to make it twice." You don't want to make it once, even. As terrifying as the idea of hurting him once is, the idea that you might hurt him repeatedly without knowing is near paralyzing.

"It's fine. I've had worse."

"Tell me anyway. Please."

"... It prickles a bit, when you make a new stitch," he admits. "That can't be helped. That's all."

You try your best at making every stitch as careful as possible anyway.

---------------------

It's late by the time you finally finish, stitch after stitch after stitch, the beginning of the thread meeting back up with the end. There's no way you could have made it this straight and even without Sun's help. Your hands ache a little from the repetitive movements, pushing the needle through the thick layers of blanket again and again.

Moon is pretending to be asleep. You've seen him actually asleep too often to be fooled. His face is too tense, his breathing entirely normal.

"Maybe..." Sun runs a finger across the top edge of the blanket, a tiny distance above the stitches, looking thoughtful. "Hmm."

"What's wrong?" You ask. "Did I mess something up?"

"Oh! No, no, this is perfect! Thank you, friend! Moon-" Sun nudges Moon, careful but purposeful, "Moon, say thank you."

"Thank you," Moon echoes quietly, no longer able to pretend to be asleep. His eyes open a bit, but he still can't seem to look at you.

"Oh. You're welcome." That response doesn't feel quite right, doesn't feel genuine enough, but you're unsure what else to say.

Sun is closely examining the stitches again, thinking hard.

"What is it?" you ask. You sincerely hope Sun is examining them because of his tendency to worry over anything involving Moon and not because he's spotted some sort of serious flaw in your work.

"Maybe... maybe a second row would be a good thing to add," Sun tells you. "It's a lot of heavy material, and it's likely to get pulled on. A second row right next to the first would make it stronger."

"I can do that," you say. And you can. Spending so much time on the first row of stitching has at least made you confident of that at least, even if adding another row is likely to take up the better part of the night. "Are you okay with that, Moon?"

You're surprised to hear Moon's response of,

"Absolutely not." Now he's looking directly at you, the intensity you normally associate with his gaze back full force. He tries to push himself into a sitting position with one arm, a mix of pain and determination on his face. Only one of those eases when Sun puts his arms around Moon, helping to prop him up. "If you want to do that, do it tomorrow. You're going to bed."

"Moon." Sun's voice on the single word is chastising.

"You too, Sun," Moon insists, not budging. "I'm not going to have you exhausting yourself again. It's late, and both of you are going to sleep. This," a small gesture towards the blanket, "is fine. If you want to do more, it can wait a day. Go to bed."

You can't deny that you're tired. Sewing is a deceptively slow process, hours easily poured into what seem like they should be small projects- And this was no small project.

"You sure?" you ask.

"Bedtime is very serious," Moon states. And he is serious, so much so that it's almost comical to hear that tone applied to the word bedtime. "It can wait a day. It's not like Sun is going to let anything happen to me."

You can't argue with that. You're not sure you've ever seen anyone as careful with anyone or anything as Sun is with Moon. Maybe it would be best to finish when you have more energy as well, you don't like the idea that you could get sleepy and risk a serious mistake.

"Okay. Tomorrow."

You run through your nighttime routine quickly, tiredness hitting you full force now that the stress has passed. All three of you are heading towards the bed when you feel something snag at your clothes, the pull small but insistent.

Moon. Moon is leaning forward in Sun's arms, reaching to get your attention. His stare is once again too focused, too intense, red eyes locked on to you. Even Sun looks surprised.

"Thank you," Moon says. A genuine thanks this time, not an echo of Sun's words, unprompted. His fingers slip away, and so does his gaze. "The reason it doesn't really hurt, it's because you're trying to help. Even just trying to take care of us goes a long way. A lot of things hurt less than they should, because you're trying. So... Thank you. Sun and I both appreciate it. And I apologize, for what I said earlier. Sun was right. I guess I'm just... not used to it, anymore, someone other than Sun trying to do anything for me."

You want to change that.

You want him so used to being taken care of that he takes it for granted. A given, obvious, accepted without thought.

A selfish wish maybe, wanting to inspire that feeling without being able to say for sure that you won't betray it sooner or later.

"Any time you need anything, tell me" you say anyway. The sentiment is selfish but the words come out pleading. You want him to ask. You want him to remind you, to force you to action. You might even want him to threaten you again, even, if that's what it takes. You don't want to be another person that has failed the two of them, forgotten them, left them to literally gather dust. "Please tell me. Any time, for anything, ask me to help."

Moon gives a motion that might be a nod or might be nothing at all. He leans closer to Sun, as if the concept of being offered help is something intimidating he must take shelter from.

Tomorrow comes too soon. As soon as you close your eyes, morning has somehow arrived and your alarm is going off. Moon was right about needing to sleep, you barely manage to drag yourself out of bed. The day feels long and slow, time dragging rough against you in your exhaustion, and when you get home the only thing you want to do is to fall back into bed.

You don't. If you are going to fail them, it will not be today.

Moon protests, saying this can wait another day. You tell him you're not going to bed until you finish what you started. The faster he lets you do this, the faster you'll be asleep.

A second row of stitching, even dashes of starry yellow thread running alongside the first. You work more slowly this time, putting in all your concentration to prevent tired hands from making a careless mistake. It takes ages.

Sun hugs you almost too tight after, a nonstop stream of thanks coming from him. You're not sure he would have ever let you go if not for the fact that you can't avoid yawning three consecutive times, reminding him of how little sleep you've had.

"You don't understand," he tells you. "You're saving Moon, you're saving my Moon for us. I didn't think anyone ever would. That's not how it works, for dolls. We have our person, and when they're done with us we're done. But you're saving us."

"There's not much I can do, so-"

You're interrupted as Sun pulls you back into the hug he only just released you from, holding on even more tightly.

"You are doing so much," he says. "You really are. Thank you, friend."

In the end it's Moon who has to convince him to let go, reminding him that you still need rest.

Chapter Text

It's river day.

Sun sits in the passenger seat of your car, buckled in securely, legs bouncing with barely contained excitement. It's almost surreal to see him there, his bright outfit contrasting so much with the grays and normalcy of your car. Or maybe it's not the car exactly, but the idea of being able to take him somewhere on your own that feels so surreal. The idea that you can now at any time, on any day, take two living dolls with you absolutely anywhere the three of you agree to go.

Of course this feels surreal. This is your first real outing with them, after all.

First. First of more, one of many to come. What an exciting word. You're not sure you entirely believe it.

You have Moon secured as best you can in the back seat. His neck has been doing better every day, so you risked having him lie across the actual seat instead of the footrest area. You managed to maneuver the middle belt buckle to wrap around him under his arms, to make sure the motion of the car won't cause him to fall. You also have nearly every blanket you own back there with him, padding every possible surface in case.

"Is there anything we'll need to be careful about, with you two by the river?" you ask. "Other than the water, I mean."

It takes Sun a moment to respond, too much of his focus caught up in watching the trees pass by. He's so enthralled by the sight that you'd think he had never been outside before, if you didn't know better. Maybe he'd started to go a bit stir crazy, cooped up in your house for so long.

Nessa had taken him to the park every day, after all. You feel suddenly guilty that this is the first time you've taken him anywhere, even if the reason was because he lacked the strength to go.

(Nessa took him every day, and still Sun and Moon were hurt so much. Sun had taken so long to recover enough to even leave the house, and Moon is never going to recover fully at all. She had carried around both dolls for over a decade, had taken Sun to the park every day, and still that hadn't been devoted enough to keep them safe long term. What are you going to do?)

"Hmmm... What's around the river?" Sun asks. "Dirt? Gravel? Sand?"

"Rocks, I think?" It has been a while since you've visited the river, but you're fairly sure it was rocks. "Like these smooth river stones. Bigger than gravel but not huge."

"I'll just have to be careful not to slip and fall, then," Sun tells you. "It wouldn't be good for us to fall onto rocks like that. My shoes don't have very much grip, but it should be fine as long as you're okay with going a bit slow."

He shifts, crossing one leg over the other to show the bottom of his shoe. You're easing to stop at a stop sign, with no other cars behind you on the little side road you've taken, giving you a chance to look.

Sun's shoes are cloth, the ends curled slightly to match his jester theme. The material along the sole of the shoe is darker and a little thicker than the rest of the fabric. While there's a hint of texture for traction, it isn't much. You reach out without thinking, running a finger against the texture to judge the grip.

Sun yanks his foot back out of your reach, pressing himself against the car door to create space between the two of you.

He felt that. He can feel that. Not the pressure- you didn't press anywhere near hard enough for him to feel anything through the shoe- but the shoe itself. It's all technically part of him, and he can feel it.

"Sorry!" You say. "Didn't mean to, wasn't thinking, sorry!" But he doesn't look hurt, exactly. More like... "Wait. Are you ticklish?"

"No!" Sun exclaims.

"Yes," comes Moon's voice from behind you, at the exact same moment.

"No!" Sun repeats, turning to shoot Moon a dirty look. "It isn't the same, Moon!"

"It is," Moon says. You can't see him, especially not now that you're continuing on past the stop sign, but you'd bet he's grinning with every sharp tooth on display right now. His tone is somewhere between delighted and pure evil. "He's ticklish in a ton of places. You should attack him. Show no mercy."

"Moon, Moon, I can't believe you! Traitor!" Sun is pressed against the door again, physically unable to get any further away in the small space. "It's- it's not the same, friend! I'm a doll, I'm not ticklish, Moon is just terrible and you shouldn't take his bad advice! We all know Moon with his bad advice and he was joking and I'm not ticklish." The words are punctuated by an extremely nervous laugh.

Half of you wants to take said terrible advice just because of how comically nervous Sun is about the idea. But while Sun's distress does seem in part playful, the way he's pressing himself against the door also indicates it's some part genuine as well. As fun as tickling can seem, you know from experience that the resulting laughter doesn't necessarily mean that the victim of a tickle attack is having a good time.

You couldn't reasonably start a tickle war regardless, considering you're trying to drive. But even if you were otherwise unoccupied, you still wouldn't.

"Sorry Moon, but there will in fact be mercy today. I'm not going to attack anyone." You're on a straight stretch, moving slow on the old narrow road, and risk turning for a moment to give Sun a reassuring look. "I mean it. You're safe, promise."

Your eyes are back on the road a second later, but you think you see Sun relax slightly in your peripheral vision. Only very slightly.

"I take promises very seriously, friend," he says cautiously.

"I'm being serious," you assure. "No tickling without permission, I mean it."

Slowly Sun relaxes back into a normal sitting posture. Moon calls the word "Coward" from the back. You're not sure which of you it's aimed at, but his tone is entirely fond. You don't think he's actually unhappy with your decision at all.

A quiet few minutes. You slow as the road under your car's tire becomes older, narrower this far out from the city. The trees and bushes and grass are healthier here, bolder, growing right up to the edge of the pitted road. You'll arrive at your destination before too long.

A thought, a hint of anxiety resurfacing.

"You said it wouldn't be good if you fell on river rocks," you say. "How bad would that be, exactly?"

"Well it certainly wouldn't be very fun," Sun says. "I'll make sure to keep Moon wrapped in his blanket, so he should be okay, but if I tripped and hit a rock something could crack. That would ruin all our fun, so let's try not to do that. As long as we don't go too fast or up anything too steep, it should be fine."

"How bad is a crack, exactly?" You ask. There are so many things you don't know. You don't even know if it's okay to be asking that. "Sorry, is that a weird question? You don't have to answer if it is."

"Not a weird question! Just a crack is sort of like... it's worse than a tear, and it hurts a lot, but it heals fairly easily. It's not really bad unless pieces break off."

You grimace. "That can happen? What happens if that happens?"

"That can happen," Sun confirms, the unpleasantness of that idea clear in his voice. "Think of that as kind of like a broken bone. A bad one. It hurts a lot, for a long time, and takes a long time to heal. Sometimes it might not heal back to exactly how it's supposed to be, if it isn't set right. But we shouldn't have to worry much about that today, it takes a lot for that to happen."

"That can still heal?" You ask. "Like if an entire piece comes off, that can still heal?"

"If we get all the pieces back together it can," Sun confirms. "I'm not sure what would happen if we lost a piece... but if we have them all we can hold them back together with tape or glue, and it heals eventually."

"We'll go slow today," you say, your own nerves seeming to need that statement more than Sun's. Once again you're regretting having suggested the river specifically. "If you need me to slow down at all, or if anything looks dangerous to you, tell me."

"Will do! Thank you, friend."

You make the last turn, pulling onto a single lane dirt road. The car moves slowly down it, barely above a walking speed to avoid kicking up dust. There are no defined parking spaces at the end of it, just a wider patch of cleared land big enough for a handful of cars to theoretically park in. Your car is the only one present at the moment. The weather is the most likely reason for that- Not freezing quite yet, but late enough in the year that the water is too frigid for anyone to enjoy swimming in.

Sun hops out of the car as soon as you're parked, going right to the back door for Moon. Sun takes an extra blanket and wraps it around the starry blanket already present, maybe as extra protection in case the rocks do end up being a problem. You have something to get from the back as well, grabbing a backpack with a few basic supplies.

You can smell the river, faintly. You can't quite describe it. It isn't mineral or chemical or dirty, not stale or dank. Maybe it isn't even a smell at all. Maybe it's something about the humidity in the air, the green of the trees, the coolness of the wind as it stirs.

All the shapes and shadows of the sunlight through the leaves sway and dance with that slight breath of cool wind. Though the light is a little weaker this time of year, it is still enough to feel the difference of warm and cool as the pattern of shadows brush across your skin. The same patterns sweep over Sun and Moon as well. Moon lights up in countless starry sparkles, his hair and outfit and the freckles across the dark side of his face all shining. Bright light dances across the metallic paint of Sun's rays, becoming warmer and sunnier in color than the actual sun that had produced it.

In that moment, everything around you seems beautiful.

The path to the river proper dips down, the ground there soft dirt and tangled little roots. While it's not a harsh enough surface to be any sort of threat to Sun or Moon, it is just steep enough to make footing unsure. Sun actually suggests you take Moon for a moment, since your shoes have more grip than his. Moon agrees, holding on to you closely once he's in your arms.

It's the first time he's actually chosen you to carry him specifically. Not like the time he was mad at Sun and had no other options, actually choosing you- if only for a moment. Carrying him is easier this time, as well. Though he still braces his head against your shoulder, it is no longer vital that you support his neck for him completely.

You end up going down the small slope on your behind, more scooting than walking. Your pants get covered in dirt and you don't care in the slightest. Sun follows you down a moment after, and you hand Moon back to him. As exciting as it was for the two to give you that much trust, you know Moon is safest with Sun.

Sun takes a few tentative steps onto the rocks. The entire riverbank is surrounded by smooth, rounded rocks that clatter and shift underfoot. He steps very carefully on them.

"We can go somewhere else if this isn't a good spot," you tell him. "There are a lot of little trails around here if the rocks are an issue."

Sun takes a few more steps, testing the way the rocks shift and move.

"This is good!" Sun replies. "Moon and I have been looking forward to this!"

Moon's expression remains completely neutral, unexcited. He must notice your skepticism though, and gives a surprisingly genuine response.

"I have." Moon looks around. His gaze moves slowly across the rocks and trees and sky, tracing the line of water that's only barely visible at this angle. "It's... been a while. Since I got to go outside."

Now Sun is looking around as well, as if he had only now thought to take in his surroundings. A smile breaks across his face, bouncing excitedly on his toes and holding Moon a little more closely.

River it is, then.

You lead the two a little closer to the water for a better view of it. The ground isn't entirely even, little heaps and gentle mounds of stones, but not anywhere near steep enough to endanger Sun's balance. Now that he's used to the shifting rocks, his movements are easy and confident.

Up nearer to the river the ground flattens out entirely, the shallow edges of the water lapping at the rocks. The river is slow and smooth, little indication of its movement other than the leaves floating by.

Sun stares at the water with such intense interest that you'd almost think he'd never seen a river before. Moon stays as still as possible, expression carefully neutral, eyes jumping from one thing to another as if trying to take in everything in secret.

A deep PLUNK as a stone smacks the water's surface, sinking instantly.

Sun is looking at you now, though Moon's entire attention is on the ripples spreading across the water's surface.

"I meant to skip it," you admit. "The rocks here are really good for skipping, but I, uh... guess I'm out of practice."

Sun bends down carefully and, with one arm, picks up a rock. He keeps his sleeve over his hand while he holds it. After a moment of examining it, he chucks it in the water.

PLUNK

Both dolls stare at the splash and ripples. Their expressions are identical for a moment before Moon's breaks into genuine, innocent joy.

"Throw that one," Moon says. His good arm is occupied holding onto Sun, but a slight tilt of his head is all he needs for Sun to figure out which stone he meant.

Sun picks up a flat, pitted reddish stone and throws it. It breaks the surface with a slap, sending tiny droplets across the river's surface.

"That one next," Moon says, Sun finding which rock he means almost immediately. An almost perfectly round, dull gray rock splashes into the water next.

"That one," Moon says. You don't realize which one he means until Sun walks over to it and pauses to consider.

The stone is flat on the top, more rounded on the bottom, and at very least the size of your head- if not larger. There's no way he's actually going to try to lift that. You wait for him to tell Moon that sorry, that he can't, and...

Sun hums, shifting his stance, thinking, planning.

He is absolutely going to try lifting that.

"Let me try," you say.

This is ridiculous. There is no way this can possibly go well. Are you really doing this?

Sun stands there, Moon in his arms, both watching with an expectant awe.

You are absolutely going to do this.

The stone juts out a bit at the sides, giving you something to wrap your hands around. It's stuck firmly to the ground, and you wiggle it a few times trying to get it loose. It's even heavier than it looks when you try lifting it, and one of your hands slips off.

"Careful, friend," Sun says, looking like he might reach out and try to stop you if Moon wasn't in his arms.

"I've got it," you say. You think you do. It felt heavy as it wiggled, but maybe not too heavy. Certainly not light, but close enough to liftable for another try.

You shift and rock the stone, moving it enough to reveal the dark patch of damp earth under it. There's a line on the stone where it had been pressed into the ground. You try once to lift it, then twice, then think better of your current strategy- isn't this exactly how people injure their backs lifting? You imitate proper lifting technique to the best of your admittedly faded memory and finally get the rock off the ground.

Now you need to throw it in the river.

There is absolutely no possible way you can throw this thing.

You end up slowly walking sideways, arms straining as you approach the river. Not close enough, it wouldn't make a good splash if you dropped it here. You step past the boundary of the water, onto a handful of scattered rocks that only barely peek out above the water's surface. The river trickles by between them, directly under your feet. You swing the stone back and forth, building momentum, once, twice, thrice, and-

SPLONK

The stone makes it just far enough for a proper splash.

Sun and Moon stare, mouths both open slightly, watching the ripples until they fade to nothing.

Moon's face breaks into a grin, his expression decidedly less innocent this time.

"Do that one next," he says.

Sun bursts out laughing. It takes him a moment to realize you don't get the joke, and he shifts his hold on Moon in order to point.

The rock in question sits at the water's edge, roughly five feet long and two feet tall, big and flat enough that you and Sun could have easily used it as a bench.

Now you're laughing, too.

The three of you spend some time just throwing things at the river. Pebbles and rocks, leaves and sticks, whatever natural materials you find sitting on the ground. Sun hands a few smaller rocks to Moon so he can throw them himself. His don't go as far as Sun's, even his good arm not having much strength, but he seems excited regardless.

At one point you try to teach Sun to skip stones on the water's surface. This fails completely considering you can't actually get any of yours to skip during your demonstration, but your friends are still having fun and so are you. The lack of any actual stones having skipped doesn't feel like it matters much, considering that.

Sun gets a little too close to the water for comfort at one point. As easily as he's moving across the rocks now, you can't help but imagine him tripping. He senses your worry before you voice it, taking a few steps back.

"Oops! I got a little too excited, didn't I," he says. "It wouldn't be very fun for any of us if you had to wade in and pull us out of the water, would it.

Even having been reminded multiple times that neither of them can drown, the mental image of them sinking into the water is still beyond frightening.

Eventually the three of you lose interest in throwing things into the water and begin walking along it instead. Sun excitedly points out absolutely everything of interest he sees. Moon is quieter, but no longer makes any effort to hide his staring at everything he passes.

You walk, and walk, the whole world around you feeling completely at ease.

There are places where the river curves wide, or the bank narrows, or the ground slopes. For the most part you find safe paths for Sun, but ultimately there comes a point where the bank all but disappears. There's nothing to walk on but a slick outcropping of dark stone, water trickling down it as some tiny nearby stream meets the river proper. You would risk falling yourself if you tried getting across that, and asking Sun to try is out of the question. There's no discussion needed, the fact that this is as far as you can go is understood.

There is a nice wide spot in the riverbank just before this insurmountable obstacle though, the stones underfoot flat and smooth.

"Let's stop here and have lunch," you say. "Or- sorry, I guess just me, but-"

"Wonderful idea!" Sun says. "Don't worry about us, friend! We'd love to sit and watch the water while you eat."

You shrug off your backpack, pulling out the picnic blanket you'd managed to cram inside. Under that is a small, slightly squashed but entirely edible lunch.

The picnic blanket isn't quite thick enough to completely pad the rocks. You don't mind sitting on the hard surface for a bit, but it seems to make Sun uncomfortable. You're worried for a moment, kicking yourself for not anticipating that, but then Sun unwraps the extra blanket from around Moon and puts that down as well. The double layer seems to be enough for his comfort. Sun sits, Moon resting on his lap.

Leaves drift down from the trees, yellow and brown and red and orange, big and small and every shape. The river carries them slowly. The air is a bit chill, but you are not, still plenty warm from having been up and moving. Sun and Moon look content as they watch the leaves go by with you. You nibble at your food as you watch the water.

All is quiet for a moment.

"This reminds me of that... Sun, what was it called," Moon asks.

"Oh! Oh, oh I know the one..." Sun responds. "It was... oh, I can't remember the name... but I know the song!"

Moon tentatively voices a few words of lyrics, speaking to rhythm more than actually singing, voice hushed quiet as if he's afraid to be heard. He looks a bit startled when Sun actually sings the rest of the line, clear and confident.

Sun looks expectantly at Moon. A moment of hesitation before Moon breaks into a smile, beginning to actually sing. Sun's voice joins his at the end of the line, the two continuing the song in duet.

The tune is familiar and nostalgic. You think you must have heard it once or twice before, years ago, maybe when you were a child. Something about boats on calm water, the lyrics not having cemented themselves in your memory as strongly as the melody did. Sun takes the higher notes while Moon harmonizes with lower ones, but you have a feeling they could have switched if they'd really wanted.

While their singing voices are nice, they aren't as inhumanly perfect at it as you had half expected. There are notes sung slightly off key, moments where Sun misses the correct pitch by a long shot, moments where Moon's voice hushes down too weak to carry the energy of the song. Still, there's something wonderful about it. The way the two's voices are so in sync, both so perfectly timed with each other. The way Moon sometimes sings the wrong note on purpose to harmonize with a mistake from Sun, the way Sun quiets his own voice in places to avoid overpowering Moon's.

Moon holds a few long, low notes while Sun moves a few words ahead in harmony. Their voices break apart and then come back together, line after line, adding complexity to the simple children's song.

It's rare to see Moon so at ease. There's almost always something a little guarded about him, a little tense, a little watchful every waking moment. Here, for this short time, all of that is gone. He is completely relaxed, a trace of the smile on his face audible in the song.

When the two finish, the stillness of nature around you feels suddenly quieter. Calmer, more serene. You're not sure what you should do- let the silence stand, or speak up to compliment them? Or... would it be appropriate to clap? Sun speaks before you can decide.

"Oh, friend, you should join too! We could all sing something together! There has to be at least one song we all know."

"Me??" You ask.

"Of course!" Is Sun's reply, as easy and enthusiastic as ever.

"Oh. I don't really... sing in front of people usually," you say. Much less intrude into the space of a song like that, two voices that fit together so perfectly. "I don't know if I'd be very good at it."

"You don't have to worry about that," Sun assures you, despite the fact that you're fairly certain you very much do. "We're not that good either. It could be fun!"

You hesitate, far too embarrassed to actually try singing with them but unsure of how to explain the feeling. Moon watches, and does not fail to notice your struggle.

"What Sun is saying," Moon tells you, expression now a little more serious than before, "is that he wants to do this together, with you. He doesn't care if you're good at it or not, he just wants you to be part of it." Moon's attention turns back to his twin for a moment. "They won't know what you mean if you won't tell them, Sun."

"I don't want them to feel obligated," Sun replies. "You don't have to if you don't want to, friend. I just thought it might be fun. It isn't fun if you feel like you have to."

"It's just... a little embarrassing. Singing in front of people," you admit.

"We're literally just dolls," Moon says. "Not much to be embarrassed about."

Just dolls.

Technically true, but at the same time sharply incorrect. You struggle to grasp a way to put it into words, how much you dislike that statement. How much you want to correct it somehow, despite it not being truly incorrect to begin with.

"Moon, if they don't want to they don't want to." Sun's tone has an edge of mild scolding to it, turning softer as he addresses you again. "It's okay, friend. We're perfectly happy just sitting here and watching the river."

You only half hear him.

Just dolls. That isn't right.

"What I'm worried about is embarrassing myself in front of my friends," you tell him. Your phrasing is messy, the statement not capturing everything you wanted to say. "I care about what you guys think. I care about you guys."

Moon looks away, not saying anything more. You can't read his expression.

"Thank you, friend," Sun replies. The words sound genuine, warming the cold of Moon's silence. "We wouldn't judge you, but you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just because we wouldn't judge you doesn't make it easier to not feel judged, I understand. We're all having a wonderful day, there's no need to worry."

You nod, taking another bite of your lunch. You stopped at some point while Sun and Moon sang, too distracted to eat.

There is a silence. You can't tell if it's a comfortable one or not.

Sun, at least, doesn't look upset. He's smiling as he watches the river, swaying in place slightly.

Moon's expression is more neutral, but not displeased. He gives the river his entire focus. You have no guesses as to what he's thinking.

Another bite of your food, nearly finished.

Maybe it would have been fun, to sing with them.

If they needed it, you would do it without question. You don't think they need this though. As much as they need your attention, they've had it all day. They're fine for the moment, inviting you to sing along was entirely in the interest of fun.

You chew and swallow, hesitate, and then put the last bite into your mouth. You walked for quite a while to get here. Once you're done eating, it will probably be time to head back towards home.

Maybe, maybe... ah, if you brought it up again now, that would be weird, wouldn't it. That would be extra embarrassing, if you insisted on a dropped subject only to be terrible at the activity in question.

"What songs do you two know?" You ask despite yourself. "Maybe a simple one would be fun, something easy. If you still want to do that, I mean."

Sun's face lights up as bright as the star he's named after. Maybe literally, with the sunlight shining off his rays as he turns his attention back towards you.

It takes a bit to settle on a song. Moon doesn't know many, considering the years of music he's been deprived, but in the end you manage to find something all of you know.

It is embarrassing. But more fun than you expected.

Sun suggests a song next, something from a show the two of you have discussed before. He wants you to sing it with him, to teach Moon. Reluctantly you accept.

You really shouldn't have been so embarrassed. Moon doesn't know this song at all, and there's no song as embarrassing to sing in front of people as one you don't know. Moon is doing that now, lyrics half known and melody frequently lost, his demeanor shy but his voice determined. After a few tries, he knows it well enough for the three of you to all sing it together.

For a while, you forget about the idea of being bad or good at singing, or what anyone might think of your voice. You hit harmonies along with Sun and Moon without worrying about if they're the right harmonies exactly, or if your voice doesn't behave quite the way you wanted. The sound of your voices together bounce off the rocks, skip across the river, and sink into the quiet of the trees. The wind whispers through the trees in the spaces between notes, the leaves settle onto the river and float by.

After a bit of time, Moon's voice falls to a hush no louder than the wind. He can't put enough strength into it to sing anymore.

Considering Sun's lack of distress, you guess Moon is just tired. Not dangerously exhausted, but tired. You suppose it makes sense, considering how long he's been awake for. You're not sure you've ever seen him go this long without needing to rest.

You gather up your little picnic spot, managing after some effort to cram everything into your backpack again. You begin walking back along the river, Sun walking alongside you with Moon. His hold on Moon is different now, offering more support than before. There is a careful grace about the way Sun walks, every movement smooth and even to avoid jostling Moon in the slightest.

None of you speak more than a word or two the way back. When you do, your voices are hushed so as to not disturb the calm. The previously quiet sounds of nature expand into your silence, filling the air with peaceful noise.

The sigh of the breeze, vast and slow, as if the woods surrounding the river was an infinitely large set of sleeping lungs. Laps and trickles of water, the slow river washing along the rocks. The dry stones underfoot, clattering and chattering as if in conversation with each step. Little rustles that might be animals in the bushes, squirrels and birds, or might just be the wind in the leaves. A hint of birdsong, occasional and distant.

Moon manages to stay awake, if only barely, all the way back to the car. As soon as Sun has him situated and buckled in, his eyes immediately close. He looks so content, for once there is no pang of worry as his breathing ceases and his body goes entirely still.

"Thank you," Sun says once the two of you are seated and buckled in as well. His voice is almost lost under the sound of the car starting, as if he's actually afraid anything louder might risk disturbing Moon's rest. Maybe his sleep isn't quite so heavy this time as usual. "We had a wonderful day, friend. Like good times again. I hope you had fun too."

He sounds so happy. Like maybe there's another reason his voice is hushed, like it might break otherwise. You should be overjoyed to hear that.

And you are. It was a wonderful day, you had a wonderful time. Nothing went wrong, none of your fears came true. For a while, you didn't even consider there were fears to have. You spent the day at the river with your friends, and you're not sure anything could make you happier than that.

At the same time- Forgotten toys, cold mud, Sun as he clings to Moon's broken body. The anxieties creeping back in, the flood of doubt. The panic growing in you even as you try your hardest to push it away.

It feels so heavy. An immovable object, an inevitable reality too vast to shift.

You press against it anyway, with everything you have.

"Let's go somewhere next weekend too," you say. You need with your entire being to make that true. You need to say it, and make it real. You will make it real. "This was really fun. We could come back here again if you wanted, or go somewhere else. Anywhere. Whatever you guys want, we can think about it over the week."

Sun's response is an enthusiastic nod and a bright smile. He half kicks and half sways his feet back and forth in a happy rhythm, as if he can't contain his excitement at the idea.

You want, with all of your heart, to do anything to avoid letting that happiness down.

Chapter Text

You have a new goal: To do at least one activity with Sun and Moon each night.

It's a bit daunting, at first. You find that you're not particularly good at deciding on what to do, much less finding the time for it. Thankfully, Sun is extremely good at both of those things. Though he's hesitant to ask you to do anything, any time you ask him for ideas he always has an entire list. He's good at scheduling them, too. Sun has a knack for knowing exactly how long an activity will take, finding space to fit it in neatly between the obligations in your life.

You wonder if dolls, being made to play and be played with, all have a list like that in mind at all times. Or maybe it's just Sun that does, you wouldn't be surprised either way.  

You talk, draw, and play. You don't own any board games, but apparently Sun knows a few of them so well that he can recreate them with paper from memory alone. Moon joins in more often than before, consistently staying awake for entire activities. You lose badly to him at a card game, Moon joking about how he beat you one-handed. You do in fact lose badly to Moon at quite a lot of games.

One particular game Sun is surprisingly fond of is the clean-up game. It's a simple one, the kind that obviously only exists to convince children to pick up their toys, but Sun treats it with the same enthusiasm he'd devote to any game. Maybe more than that, even. You're starting to notice that Sun is very particular about tidiness, maybe to the point of it being a little obsessive. You often come home to find that Sun has put away or rearranged your things while you were at work.

You would normally be annoyed by that, someone in your house moving around your possessions without your permission while you're not present. You don't think Sun can help it though.

One day you come home to find your cabinets open, the contents sitting in piles across the counter, halfway through being reorganized. Sun sits on the kitchen floor, looking far too tired.

"I'm just catching my breath," he tells you. A figure of speech, you understand. You offer a hand to help pull him to his feet, and he wobbles when he stands.

When the two of you make it back to the couch, Moon reaches out for Sun immediately. There are signs that Moon tried to get to Sun on his own at some point, lying at an odd angle with his blanket in disarray. Then, when he finally gets close enough to grab onto Sun's arm, his expression changes to indignation.

"What! You're fine!"

"I told you I was!" Sun protests in response. "I told you, I just needed to sit for a minute!"

He does end up being completely fine, back to normal after a minute or two resting on the couch. The two of you put the contents of your cabinets away together.

You're starting to realize that for Sun, cleaning is less an actual game and more akin to a compulsion. Something he needs to do.

Maybe it's the feeling of having some control over his environment that he needs. Maybe it makes him feel more at home after such a sudden upheaval in his life. Maybe he just feels the need to 'earn' his keep somehow, and tidying up makes him feel safer in that regard. Whatever it is, it's clearly important to him. You let him clean and rearrange as much as he feels the need to.

It does take a bit of getting used to. You have trouble finding things, nothing ends up quite where you last left it. Then you realize you can just ask Sun. Bit by bit, he has come to know where nearly every single object in your home is. He's always right there, happy to answer any time you need to know where something is. Once you understand that, the issue disappears.  

Though cleaning isn't exactly your favorite game, you still make sure to join in on Sun's cleaning 'game' any time he invites you to. The chore isn't quite so boring when you're working together, and this way you can be sure Sun won't exhaust himself trying to do it alone. He seems a little calmer when you join in, as well.

Moon's condition continues to improve, day by day, in little ways. He can move his neck and hold his head up more comfortably. His bad arm doesn't bend into such painful looking angles even when not wrapped up in his blanket, and you see him test it from time to time. Careful movements, barely visible. Fingers grasping at anything that passes by his hand. Each time he can move a bit more without flinching.

It's encouraging. It's exhilarating. It makes you want to do even more, to see him get even better. To see him happy.

Which makes it all the more crushing when one night after work, you simply don't have the energy for anything at all.

The day at work was long, and draining. The stress of it weighs down on you, and you only feel heavier as you make the drive home. You are about to let them down. Tonight, the inevitable has happened and you are going to fail them. It's crushing.

Until you actually get home, that is.

"Friend! Welcome home!" Sun greets you with excitement at the door, as usual. This time he pauses a moment after seeing you though, and a second later starts helping you put away your things. You're too tired to protest, letting him take your bags and dropping your keys onto his sleeve-covered palm when he offers it. "There are some shows Moon has been wanting to catch up on, so that's what we were planning on doing tonight," Sun tells you, energy more subdued than before but no less cheery. "You can watch with us if you want. If not that's fine, but you know where to find us if you need us!"

After that he backs off, giving you space.

It is very, very tempting to simply collapse on the floor where you stand and stay there until morning. Instead, you work up the energy to lift your feet and follow Sun.

He doesn't stop at the couch to sit by Moon like you expected. Instead he scoops up Moon from where he's dozing and carries him to your bedroom, settling onto the bed to watch there instead.

Bed, that sounds like an excellent idea. For once the vastness of the bed seems appropriate, the exact size you need in order to rest the amount of fatigue your body holds. You crawl onto your side of it while Sun sets up something to watch, Moon blinking sleepily.

You're so tired that even lying down sounds like too much to ask of yourself. You sit there half slumped forward, completely useless to everyone including yourself.

It's a cartoon Sun ends up putting on. You know Sun prefers animated content over live action, but this one leans more towards kid-oriented than his usual. It's low stakes, silly, the focus more on the jokes than the art.

Like the TV version of comfort food, maybe. You don't mind that at all.

Something brushes against you. You look over to see that Sun has pushed aside the divider pillow in order to sit directly next to you, his shoulder leaned against yours. The sensation is a little strange, all cloth and no trace of body heat, but you don't mind that at all either.

He's been getting closer to you more often lately. You're starting to get the sense that Sun is very much a tactile person, the urge to reach out and make contact always present but often held back. Held back less often, lately.

Maybe he's getting more comfortable around you now. Or maybe it's that he thought you would be uncomfortable somehow, that you might startle away if he reached out or sat too near.

You are so, so tired. Too tired. You intend to lean a little towards Sun, to let him know you're not opposed to his presence, but you end up leaning most of your weight on him instead. Thankfully he doesn't complain.

The show Sun put on has short episodes, ten minute bite sized chunks. It's only after a few have passed that Moon suggests you eat something. Sun reminds you that you still have some easy microwave meals in your freezer, and before you can even consider if you have the energy to venture to the kitchen for that there's a sudden absence beside you. You nearly fall sideways at the lack of support, and Sun is out of the room before your brain can catch up to why.

He went to the kitchen. To get food for you.

Moon looks pleased with himself. As if this was all his plan.

... Was it?

Sun is back a few minutes later with food. While he doesn't know much about cooking, there's nothing preventing him from operating a microwave as well as anyone else.

You eat while sitting on your bed, Sun and Moon beside you. The three of you chat about nothing in particular, only half watching the cartoon. This, at least, is something you have energy for.

By the time your head meets the pillow, you've completely forgotten your earlier dread. How could you worry, after having spent such a nice evening with your friends?

---------------

You make good on your resolve to take another trip the next weekend. This time you go to a little pond, this place much like the river in that it is largely empty of any human presence this time of the year. The wind is bitterly cold, but your coat keeps the worst of it out. Sun pulls his sleeves over his hands before reaching out with any kind of touch, avoiding direct contact, and it only takes one accidental brush against his porcelain fingers to realize why- His hand is painfully frigid.

You didn't even think about it before leaving the house, but now that you're here it's obvious Sun and Moon are underdressed for the weather. While you have a thick coat and a warm hat, they're in outfits that are more costume than clothing. Neither the material nor the shape offers them any protection from the cold. Moon doesn't even have his hat on, leaving it tucked into his blanket to prevent the wind from catching it.  

"Do you want to grab some extra blankets from the car?" you ask. "Or we could try something else today, maybe go somewhere warmer?"

Sun pauses, confused. It seems to take him a moment to even understand why you'd ask that, and you can almost see the metaphorical lightbulb when he makes the connection.  

"Ah, don't worry friend!" Sun assures you. "We're fine with cold, this doesn't bother us."

"Are you sure? The wind's only going to get colder the longer we're here."

"Being cold isn't a problem for dolls," Moon states, direct as always. "We don't need to be warm. We can feel the difference, we just don't care. It's not going to hurt us."

You might still hesitate, but their lack of concern about the cold is obvious now that you're looking more closely. Sun is moving easily as always, not hunching away from the wind or holding his hands close to protect them from the bite of the cold. Despite being perpetually bundled up in a blanket, Moon doesn't hunker down into it for warmth at all. You don't think either of them could fake that, not even if Sun's eager-to-please nature compelled him to try.

With the cold posing no obstacle, the three of you are able to spend most of the day by the little pond. It sits alongside a nature trail to nowhere in particular, surrounded by thick bushes and the reaching arms of ferns. There's an opening in the foliage just big enough that a bench has been squeezed into the space to sit on. Water and bushes and sturdy trees, tall thick grass for insects and soft earth for worms. The spot has everything needed to be a comfortable home for all sorts of birds. There are a few ducks idly paddling around the pond when you arrive, and they all watch you with interest. One even swims to the edge of the pond nearest to you, expectant.

Judging by how people-friendly the birds are, you're not the only ones ignoring the "Do not feed wildlife" signs around. You at least made sure to come prepared with something a little healthier than bread, bringing a few different baggies of appropriate foods for the various species you thought you might encounter.  

'Word' gets out quick, the pond going from having a handful of ducks to being occupied by what feels like an entire flock. Ducks are still the majority, but you get to see a few crows and other little birds coming to visit as well. There's even an appearance from what must be an extremely lost seagull.

It's mostly you and Sun gently tossing the food to them, but Moon participates a little as well. He throws a few treats with his bad arm, the broken one- or the one that was broken. His throws with that arm are weak and uncoordinated, only managing a few tries before it seems to pain him too much for another attempt, but he's using it.

Moon's broken arm is usable again.

No- Moon's arm is no longer broken. Still damaged, still weak, but whole. He can use his arm again.

The wind picks up, harsh and cold. Sun and Moon barely seem to notice it even as it ruffles their hair and tugs at their clothes. You can't say you take much notice either, even as you unconsciously pull your arms close to preserve your warmth. You're too busy watching Sun and Moon.

Moon carries an almost child-like excitement as he puts his entire focus on the birds, though he does his best to hide it. The birds are slowly getting more comfortable with your presence though, creeping closer and closer to try to be the first to grab at any food, and Moon simply can't hide his smile anymore.

At one point a particularly bold bird even comes close enough to grab the treat that barely made it past your shoes, the result of Moon's first attempted throw with his injured arm. Moon stares at it with wide eyes for a long moment before his head lolls, a half outstretched hand falling limp.

Sun bursts into laughter, the bird startling away- though not without the treat clasped firmly in its beak. Moon recovers a moment later, expression somewhere between indignant and mortified.

"He- he forgot to breathe," Sun laughs, quick to explain before you have time to worry too much. "He was so busy watching the bird, he held his breath too long!"

Moon grumbles something not audible over your own relieved laughter.

Eventually your most in demand treat bag runs out, nothing you have left appropriate for the ducks gathered around you. It's time to go home. Sun and Moon chatter with each other on the way back to the car, playfully arguing over which individual bird was the best. Moon is no longer even trying to hide his excitement, a surprising amount of genuine joy on his face. Despite the sharp teeth and red eyes, it's difficult to find anything about his expression intimidating right now.

The sun is low in the sky now, the shadows long and cold. Now even the still air is frigid, the trees all shivering as the wind blows through.

Still, you feel nothing but warm.

Moon's eyes take on a playful tilt as he jokes about giving particularly ridiculous names to the birds. Sun tries his hardest to play the straight man in their duo, insisting on more proper names, but he can hardly get through a word without laughing. Moon seems to know this, saying some new absurd thing every time Sun tries to open his mouth. You would join the battle on Sun's side, but Moon has you defeated before you've even joined- You're sitting there in the driver's seat, car idling but going nowhere, because you're laughing too hard to actually drive.

Next weekend. You'll have to do something again next weekend, too.

Chapter Text

The concern on Sun's face is raw and vivid as he cradles Moon in his arms. Moon sleeps. He sleeps deeply, body still and expression relaxed.

Sun adjusts his grip on Moon, and then does the same again. As if Moon's sleep is some sort of puzzle box, something that might be solved if held and examined at the right angle. Moon does not wake, does not stir. His expression remains peaceful and undisturbed.

"It doesn't feel like anything is wrong," Sun muses, his eyes not leaving Moon's unresponsive form even as he speaks to you. "Not anything that wasn't already, anyway. And even that has been getting better, he's been getting so much better... It's like he's just tired. Not scary tired, just... tired."

You hadn't found it concerning when Moon had fallen asleep on the way home from your last weekend outing. You hadn't even really found it all that odd when he'd slept most of the next day. You're used to Moon being asleep more often than not, even if that had been changing for the better recently.

You did find it alarming when the day after that, Moon still had not woken up. Not at all, not even for a moment. No amount of noise got his attention. He did not respond when Sun tugged at his sleeve, first gentle and then insistent. It was only when Sun called his name multiple times, panic creeping into his voice, that Moon's eyes finally opened.

Only barely opened. He gave a few sleepy blinks, eyes struggling to open again after each.

Though Sun had hit him with a torrent of questions and worries, Moon only had one answer to give- That he was tired. That he wanted to go back to sleep.

Several days pass with no change. Moon sleeps.

Neither you nor Sun can find any particular sign that his condition might be deteriorating. There's no indication that he's in any imminent danger. Still he sleeps constantly, heavily, only waking when Sun calls his name over and over.

And he does wake, when it's Sun who's calling for him. Often for only a minute or so at a time, but for Sun he will wake.

During these brief conversations, Moon is coherent and lucid. He does not report any pain, cannot think of anything he might need. He's even able to stay awake for a short time, if need be. He doesn't want to though, constantly complaining of feeling tired until Sun reluctantly lets him rest again. Tiredness is Moon's only complaint. Sleeping is all he wants to do.

Could he be sick? Can dolls get sick?

"Maybe we should take him to see a doctor," you say one day. You realize what a dumb statement that is the moment it leaves your mouth.

Sun is at least nice enough not to call you an idiot. He gives a smile, though one tinged with a little sadness, saying, "I don't think a doctor would be able to do much for a porcelain doll, friend."

With Moon's blanket now physically sewn to him, it doesn't shift out of place like it used to. Sun is left with nothing to fuss over. His solution is to wrap more blankets around Moon, covering him almost completely. The layers bunch and tangle, giving Sun something to adjust over and over and over. Corners to smooth, edges to worry at constantly with his fingers.

It feels like your fault. It all does.

How could it not? They rely on you. They have been relying on you, and now Moon lacks the energy to even open his eyes.

The idea digs at every thought, scraping and scratching, hollowing them out. The feeling of it haunts you, impossible to escape.

What more you could have done. What you could have done differently. Infinite unknowns you should have been doing, but don't know enough about dolls to even realize needed to be done. The same thoughts, over and over, half rational and half descending into something approaching a desperate paranoia.

"It's not your fault, friend." Sun doesn't look up from Moon as he says this, endlessly straightening layers of blankets that don't truly need any adjustment.

The comment is out of the blue, unprompted. You haven't put voice to your worries, not wanting Sun to feel like he needed to comfort you, but it seems he knows what's on your mind regardless.

"You've been very kind to us," Sun continues. "You've done so much to help us, friend. More than I think you realize. Moon has healed so much. More than I thought he ever would. He's not in danger of being hurt worse all the time now, and look- he's comfortable. He's asleep, but he's comfortable. Moon hasn't been able to be comfortable in a long time, not even when he was asleep.

"Maybe he just... needs more time. Maybe he tried to do too much at once, and now he needs to rest for a while now. Or... maybe it was a little optimistic of me, to think he could just... go back to normal, after being so hurt for so long. I'm sorry if I put that expectation on you, friend. I am so, so happy I got to talk with him again. I'm happy he isn't hurting right now. That's more than enough. That happened because you helped us, friend. Moon needing to rest again now isn't your fault."

No. No, that isn't enough.

Sun holds Moon close, and smoothes down the layers of blankets, and it is not enough. Not for Sun or for you.

Despite that, Moon does not stir. You cannot do anything to help him wake. You cannot do anything at all for him, now. You were not enough.

Nights are hard, Moon told you once. Sun has another one of those nights.

You wake up at the sound of movement and don't see him immediately, only spotting him as your eye catches the tail end of a blanket being pulled to the floor. You crawl over the dividing pillow and across the bed.

He's at least not pressed into the corner this time. This time it's the side of the bed Sun has his back pressed to, and he doesn't startle away as you peer over the side at him.

"He's asleep so I need to hide him- Need to hide him so no one finds him so he's safe- He's asleep so I need to keep him safe- If no one finds him he'll be more tired, if he's alone he won't get better he won't wake up- what if he doesn't wake up- I can't hide him or he won't be safe but I need to hide him to keep him safe," Is Sun's hushed panic that night, voice shaking.

"Blanket fort?" You suggest.

The idea goes over a little better this time. You get a weak, tentative "Okay" from Sun in response.

It's hastily constructed, your movements clumsy from sleep. You don't want to startle Sun, who has gone back to muttering to himself and holding Moon almost too tight, so you don't build around him so much as over him. A little tower of pillows hanging half off the edge of the bed to Sun's left, another to his right. One big blanket tossed over the top. You wiggle into the space under the blanket, pillows piled on either side of you, and look over the edge of the bed.

The pillows could only hang so far off the edge of the bed without being at risk of falling. The refuge created where the draping blanket spills over the edge is small. Sun doesn't seem bothered by that though, maybe the opposite even. He's leaning against the side of the bed still, but not pressing against it in a panic like before.  The angle of his head is more relaxed, the visual barrier taking away the need for vigilance. A small, hidden refuge.

His voice has fallen to a whisper. Though he still has a secure grip on Moon, he's no longer holding his twin as if wild dogs might at any moment try to rip him from his grasp.

Even the whispers have started to fade into a calmer silence when Moon wakes up. You can't see at this angle, but you can hear.

"No... No, no, Sun-"

His voice is panicked and confused in a way that is alarmingly familiar.

It's dark inside the blanket fort, almost too dark to see. Dark and enclosed.

The comfort you tried to offer Sun is the exact thing that brings Moon to that same place of deep panic.

"We're playing blanket fort," you say quickly, trying to emphasize the play aspect of it. As if this was all a game, nothing to be worried about. "Look, here's the entrance."

You fumble and, by some miracle, manage to lift the blanket in such a way that it provides a small window out in front of Moon. He goes silent.

Slowly you let the blanket fall back into place, listening for any further signs of distress. There is nothing. Another moment passes and you wiggle forward a bit more to get a better view, trying to catch a glimpse of Moon over Sun's shoulder. You have to get close to do so, your face nearly bumping against Sun's rays.

Though Moon's eyes do not glow the way an animal's seems to, or even reflect light quite like a human's does, the vivid red color is still striking in the darkness. His gaze darts to you, alarmed, but after a moment he relaxes. One of his arms is free from the tangle of blankets, already having fought out of confinement during his brief panic.

"I'll be good this time." The words from Sun are barely a squeak, tiny and strained. "I'll be good this time, I'll do better. Please don't be mad, Moon. I'll be good this time."

"Sun... It's fine, I'm here." Moon's voice is now a very careful, very purposeful calm as he focuses on Sun.

Moon struggles against the blankets wrapped around him a little, managing to work his weaker arm free. He wraps both his hands around Sun's nearest arm, fingers curling securely around the fabric of Sun's sleeve.

None of you say anything for a time. A few minutes pass, the longest Moon has been awake in days. You, on the other hand, are struggling not to fall asleep. As much as the situation calls for you to be alert, lying down on a soft bed under a warm blanket in the dark makes everything feel fuzzy. Worry keeps you barely afloat over the drowsiness that settles on you.

Sun says something too quiet for you to hear, even at such close proximity. You catch the words "Moon" and "lose."

"Not going anywhere," Moon replies. "I'm just tired. That isn't anything new. I told you I'm fine. Better than fine. See?" A slight motion that takes you a moment to decipher- Moon squeezing Sun's arm, using both of his own hands. Demonstrating his ability to use both.

Sun's only response is to adjust his grip on Moon, hugging him close.

"Sun, our friend is going to want to go back to sleep soon," Moon says. "If you stay over here worrying all night, you'll exhaust yourself again."

"I know," Sun whispers. "I know, I know, I just- I don't want to come out yet." Though his voice is still quiet, it's clearer. No longer so frantic or confused as it had been.

"I can sleep here," you add in. Really, it would be harder not to fall asleep where you are. "I'm comfortable, I don't have to go anywhere. If that helps."

Sun adjusts Moon again, holding him with one arm and reaching up towards you with the other. You're not sure why, and end up putting your own hand near his to prove you're there. You're waiting for some indication of what he might have actually intended to do, to make some sort of gesture or to grab something he was reaching for. Then his hand closes gently over your wrist. The touch is so careful, as if both of you are made of porcelain and liable to shatter. His hand stays there, and you can see the lingering tension relax from his shoulders.

Ah, that's what he wanted- To hold on to you. That was all.

Moon's gaze is on you now, intense as ever, startlingly focused for someone who has done nothing but sleep for days.

"You'll make him get back in bed if you decide to move?" Moon asks. "You won't leave him over here on his own?"

"I'll stay close," you confirm.

You're pinned under Moon's scrutiny for a moment longer. Then that intensity leaves his eyes all at once, like a candle going out. "Thank you," he says.

"Thank you, friend," Sun echoes.

Moon's fatigue returns just as quickly. His next blink is slow, heavy, and his eyes only partially re-open after. He watches Sun a moment longer, then lets his eyes fall shut. A moment later his breathing stops, asleep.

Sun's hand remains steady around your wrist.

"You okay?" you ask.

A small nod.

You wait. You're not sure what. For the right moment and the right words to say something more, maybe. For Sun to speak again. For him to spiral, or to be ready to come back to bed. None of this happens. The silence isn't uncomfortable- the opposite, maybe. It is too comfortable. Comfortable and long and soft, until you can't manage to keep your eyes open. Your mind drifts, and at some point you must fall asleep.

There is a point during the night, minute or hours later, when the position you're in becomes uncomfortable. You're about to move when you remember the situation, your hand searching for where Sun's isn't anymore. Your fingers bump against hard porcelain rays and soft hair.

Half asleep, you have the thoughtless urge to run your hands through his hair. You stop yourself before you can. He's a person, not a cat.

"Sorry," you mumble, pulling your hand back. There's a slight movement- turning his head? Or trying to follow your touch as it retreats? You're not sure. "Ready to come back to bed?" You ask.

You're too near sleep to register if he answers or not, but a moment later the blanket is lifting away. Air that had become stuffy and stale escapes, the fresh air cool on your face. You must manage to crawl back to your spot at some point, as you find yourself there shortly after.

A quick check to ensure Sun made it to his spot as well- he did. He's lying there with his arms wrapped around Moon, who is as sound asleep as you no doubt will be in a moment. As you are nearly already, not realizing your eyes are closed until you feel a tug at your sleeve and open them again.

A single porcelain finger curled, caught against your sleeve. The divider pillow is absent. You used it during fort construction, and must have left it there at the edge of the bed. Sun has reached out across the space where it isn't, in order to hold on to the very edge of your presence. His eyes are watchful, ready to pull away at any objection.

You're asleep again a moment later.

----------------------

Sun is fully himself again come morning. Staying near him seems to have worked, there is no sign that the night left him with any lingering exhaustion or harm. He adjusts Moon's layers of blankets with no more or less worry than before.

Moon is still asleep. He slept through the night, and sleeps all day after, and he continues to sleep now.

"Friend, could you get the brush for me please?" Sun asks.

"Of course."

Sun takes the brush with a thank you and pulls Moon's hat off to brush his hair. You haven't seen Sun do that himself since you started brushing their hair for both of them each day.

"I've been thinking about it," Sun says. "And I think I just need to do my very best, to take the best care of Moon I can. I took care of him before. I kept taking care of him even when I thought nothing would ever get better, and he made it through. Whatever it is that's making him so tired now, I think I just have to make sure to take extra good care of him. So I'll do everything there is to do, and I'll keep taking care of him the best I can, and he'll make it through again. I think he'll be okay. I'll keep taking care of him until he is, however long it takes."

He looks more at ease now, carefully brushing through Moon's hair. His confidence that Moon will pull through one way or another is a comfort to you as well. But still...

You remember how quickly Sun's energy dropped after Moon's bath. Sun's stamina hadn't been good then, it didn't take much to tire him out, but he hadn't just tired himself out. He had exhausted himself completely, spent everything he had, brought himself to the point where he could hardly move in order to ensure Moon would be okay.

He's going to do the same now, you're sure of it. Maybe not immediately considering he's been doing better lately, but he is going to do the same. He is going to give Moon everything he possibly can, at his own expense. He's going to do it all with that same smile and calm.

"Hey." You sit on the couch beside him and reach out a hand, not taking the brush from him but indicating your want of it. "Let me."

"Oh, you want to help?" Sun asks. He seems happy about the idea, but that's not quite right. That's not quite what you meant.

"I want to take care of him," you say.

It takes Sun a second to understand fully. You see the moment he does as he sits up straighter, an excitement making ripples through his previously calm demeanor.

You expect him to hand you the brush, but instead he adjusts his hold on Moon and you realize he's preparing to hand Moon himself to you.

You fumble, surprised, unprepared as Moon is set on your lap. Sun is there to keep Moon steady though, and helps guide your arms into a properly secure hold. He has you hold Moon close, Moon's head on your arm.

Moon's head is heavy, the porcelain hard and cold. The rest of him is soft, wrapped up in layers of blankets and Sun's concern. Though Moon is human in shape, none of the landmarks of the human body are there to feel. Not the press of bones, not the weight, not the structure of muscle and skin. He is porcelain and layers of cloth.

He seems so small. You know he is, you're more than aware of how much of his body is simply missing. Still, there is more to it than physical size. Something about him in this moment feels so fragile, so easily lost.

Moon's face shifts almost imperceptibly, his eyes coming open the smallest amount as Sun lets go of him fully. A single, small breath of air moves through him. Nothing he sees in his brief examination of his surroundings must bother him, as his eyes close again a moment later. He does not take another breath, fully asleep again.

Sun offers the brush back to you as if he is offering you the world itself, trusting you to hold it up on your back. Or maybe more like he has already handed you the world, and is simply passing over a few stray satellites as well. You take it.

Though you know Moon will neither hear nor respond, you still ask him if it's okay to brush his hair. Sun gives an encouraging nod in Moon's place. That will have to be enough this time.

You run the brush through Moon's hair, little stars parting from each other as they pass between the tines of the brush. Dark hair shines a brief, deep midnight blue where the light hits it. The sight and feeling are both well known to you now, comforting in their familiarity. You try to give each movement the same infinite care Sun always handles Moon with.

You continue brushing until the hair is smooth and tame, not a strand out of place. Moon does not stir.

Still, you will do it again. Tomorrow, the next day, and every day after. You will do anything you can, as much as you can.

Sun takes your offer seriously. Over the next week, Sun has you hold Moon as often as possible. Any time you're home and awake, you're holding Moon. It's strange at first, awkward, but slowly you become used to the feeling of him. The way he is always cold at first, warming from your body heat after you've held him a while. The way his weight shifts, uneven and difficult to predict at first but slowly feeling more natural with time.

Cloth and more cloth, so much of him is just cloth. It's jarring. An entire person with a personality and thoughts as vivid as anyone's, and holding him feels exactly like holding a stuffed animal. Or a doll.

Which, come to think of it, is exactly what you're doing.

Bit by bit, the feeling ceases to be strange. It even becomes comforting, in a way. The way a weighted blanket is comforting, the way a child is soothed by the familiar texture of a favorite toy. It starts to feel like something is missing when Moon isn't there for your arms to wrap around.

You aren't sure how much any of this might actually help Moon. Sun must believe it does something for him, to keep handing his twin over to you. It's certainly not because Sun has grown tired of holding Moon- Wherever you are with Moon, Sun is always there beside him. Always a hand on the trailing end of a blanket, or a hand grasping at the trailing tails of Moon's hat. If Sun wasn't convinced that you holding Moon would help in some way, you doubt Moon would leave Sun's arms for even a moment.

If nothing else, it's at least stopping Sun from exhausting himself.

Moon often wakes, if only for a second, when Sun hands him to you. A shallow breath, a brief opening of his eyes, and then closing again as he apparently finds nothing objectionable about where he is.

Only once does he wake up with no apparent prompt. You feel the breath before he begins to stir, eyes coming open to look around, searching.

"Sun?" He asks. It takes you a second to realize he's asking you, not calling out for Sun to respond.

"He went to grab the markers," you say. Sun had been in the middle of drawing, sheets of paper and a few pens sitting nearby. "He'll be back in a second."

You half expect Moon to stay awake to watch for Sun's return. It makes sense that Moon would want to know Sun is nearby before falling back into his sleep, especially since it will only be a moment before Sun returns. Instead Moon shifts, snuggling down further into the extra blankets Sun has wrapped around him, leaning his weight closer to your body.

"M'kay," is all he says, and is then asleep once again.

Something about that makes you want to hold Moon more tightly, more securely. You can't put a name to the feeling, but the force of it is overwhelming.

Morning and night. Movies and games, TV. Emails, physical mail, books. No matter what you're doing, if you're at home and awake then you are holding Moon.

Despite that, there is no apparent change in Moon's condition. Sun's smiles are once again carrying a deep and quiet sadness, the way they were before Moon began to recover.

You brush Moon's hair every day. You hold on to him whenever you can. You put on shows you know he enjoys, even when you know he's far too deeply asleep to notice. You talk to him, occasionally, with no expectation of a reply. It's all you can think of. If there's anything more to be done, you don't know of it. Sun doesn't have anything else to suggest, either.

A breath. A porcelain finger reaches out, snagging Sun's sleeve.

"I told you that you don't have to worry," Moon mumbles. "I'm fine. Nothing hurts. Just tired."

"I know. I just miss you." That smile again, painfully sad.

"I can stay awake for a minute... what do you want to do?"

Sun's finger wraps around Moon's sleeve in return. A gentle hold, a slight tug, and then a release.

"It's okay," Sun says. "You're tired. Go back to sleep, focus on getting better. Then once you're feeling better, I won't have to miss you so much."

Hesitation is written across both sides of Moon's face, light and dark, something that is not quite resignation in his red eyes. You don't think Moon has any faith in the idea that he will get better. The injustice of it grips you nearly hard enough to bruise your heart, the idea that Moon has come back from the brink only to slip back into unconsciousness again.

Still Moon says nothing, closing his eyes. His breathing is irregular, shallow, neither completely asleep nor entirely awake. Several minutes pass before it stops.

You adjust his blankets the way you've seen Sun do so many times, a soft cream blanket wrapped around the starry blanket and a pale blue striped blanket layered over that. As if Moon's biggest worry is the cold, or as if cold is any kind of worry to him at all. A pointless gesture that carries too much hope for any result to live up to. One of many pointless gestures, maybe.

Maybe what you're doing isn't enough. Maybe you aren't enough, will never be enough, and that's why his newfound energy left him as quickly as it came.

You do it anyway.

If it takes one hundred pointless attempts to find one thing that truly helps him, then you'll try a thousand times over.

You've seen him recover once before, and you want to see it again.

For as many times as you have failed, as many things as you have failed at, this you will try again.

So you hold Moon carefully in your arms, and adjust his blankets, and you try again.

Chapter Text

Your front door opens before you can reach the knob. A flash of yellow and orange and reflective gold, porcelain hands on your shoulders.

“Friend! Friend, come see!”

You barely manage to get out a “Wha-” before Sun pulls you inside.

Your things are taken and put aside, but not put away. Despite his usual urge to organize, Sun has you drop everything where you are. Keys tossed onto the nearest surface, bag dropped left on the floor as Sun pulls you into an impulsive hug.

The hug is almost too tight, and definitely a little too fast. One of his rays hits your face by accident, the impact not quite painful but certainly unpleasant. He releases you quickly after, apologizing profusely.

“It’s- I’m fine, it’s okay, I’m fine,” you assure him. “But- What? What’s going on?“ Roughly six different things have happened in the last two seconds, and you’re struggling to keep up.

Sun’s eyes are wide with a sort of excited awe. He can’t stop himself from breaking into a smile even as he says, “I really am sorry, friend, I should have been more careful.” The smile widens and he shifts his weight back and forth, unable to contain himself. “But come see! You have to come see, friend!”

Sun grabs on to your sleeve, no less excited but purposefully slow and careful after the accidental bump a moment ago. He gives the gentlest indication of a tug. You're confused, but follow his lead.

Sun takes you to the couch, stopping at its side. Immediately you see what has him so excited- Moon is awake.

Moon is giving you a grin like the cat that ate the canary, the canary’s brother, and then proceeded to get into an entire bag of cat treats. There is no trace of that heavy fatigue to his expression anymore. He’s leaning on his arms, finger curling over the armrest, all the extra blankets Sun had wrapped so carefully around him now only haphazardly draped across his back.  All unnecessary. Moon is awake.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

Instead of replying, Moon’s smile only becomes sharper. He shrugs aside the extra blankets and, using both arms with surprising ease, pulls himself up over the armrest to sit on it. His legs swing over the edge as he does, hanging down over it in front of him.

Wait-

For a moment your mind stops, uncomprehending.

His legs.

Moon's vest ends a little more abruptly than Sun's in a hem you added yourself. And below that, his body continues.

You recognize the fuzzy, starry blue material of the blanket. Directly under Moon’s vest it is cinched close and tight like a wide belt or a ribbon, the fuzzy fibers almost iridescent as they all lie down smoothly on top of each other. Below that is the shape of jester pants, not too unlike Sun's own outfit, though these are thinner at the top and don't flare out as much until the end. There are no seams anywhere, no signs of pieces that have been cut to shape and sewn back together. Instead the fabric has rewoven itself, the material having shifted fiber by fiber to form something new. Royal blue and bright star yellow, two completely intact legs.

Moon kicks his feet a little- He kicks them, he can kick them, they can move- happily swaying side to side in a way that reminds you of Sun. Your eyes are drawn to said feet as he does, seeing that his legs end in a star yellow shape more akin to socks than shoes or actual feet.

You think it would be intimidating to see so many sharp teeth in Moon’s smile if you didn‘t know him. You can read him well enough to recognize this expression for what it is though- Pure, unrestrained joy.

Porcelain hands on your arms, giving you a second of warning before Sun pulls you into another hug- this one more careful, but no less enthusiastic. Then, when that isn't enough, he nearly pulls you off your feet to spin you around in a full circle before letting you go.

It's not difficult, pulling you off your feet. You're so completely stunned that you think you might have lost your balance just standing there if Sun hadn't been there. 

"... How," is all you can manage.

"He was still trying to heal." Sun's voice is fragile, nearly breaking under the weight of it all. "I didn't think he could- it was already so incredible, when his neck started getting better, but this just wasn't possible! It wasn't, there was nothing to heal with, so much of him was just missing that- that there wasn't any way! But the blanket, the blanket, friend!

"We didn't expect this either! We only suggested you add it to Moon to keep him a little safer, so he could do things without it always being such a risk that he could get hurt, but- the blanket! His body was still trying to heal, even though there was no way, even though there was too much material missing! It must have taken the material of the blanket! I thought he might take it, maybe after a long time, but I never expected he could use it to heal like this! Neither of us did!

"I don't know if it worked because it's his favorite blanket, or if it worked because Nessa used to like it too, or both or neither or- or- or anything! I don't know, friend, but look! Look! That's why Moon was so tired! That's why he was sleepy all the time, but not hurting! It wasn't that he didn't have any energy, it's that all the extra he had was going to healing! He was okay, he was really okay the entire time, he was getting better. Look, friend." Now Sun's voice really does break, unsteady and barely avoiding becoming a cry. "Look, Moon is all better. He's all healed."

You stand there for a long moment, mouth agape, trying to process. Moon only grins back at you, swinging his legs still, looking pleased and entirely proud of himself.

When Moon started seeming unwell, Sun had wrapped him in more blankets. A gesture of care, an attempt to help him. He'd been wrapped up so much that neither of you had gotten more than a glimpse of the starry blanket underneath, neither of you had seen any change. Even Moon must not have known, asleep and unaware.

"Oh!" Sun leaves your side, moving over to where Moon sits. He offers an arm to Moon. "And this, too! Moon, show them that, too!"

Moon takes Sun's arm and, the sheer joy on his face displaced slightly by concentration, leans forward off the side of the armrest. One arm wrapped securely around Sun’s, Moon’s feet hit the floor to stand.

He can't. Not really. He's still almost entirely supported on Sun, his legs immediately crumpling upon being asked to hold any weight at all. They don't bend at the knee like you'd expect them too, instead folding up at random. There's no apparent support of any kind inside, no bone or whatever the doll equivalent of that would be, just fabric that easily collapses anywhere at any pressure.

"He can't stand on his own," Sun explains. "At least not yet, but maybe he will with more time! And even if not-" Sun can't seem to find the words to finish that sentence, simply indicating Moon as a whole.

Porcelain white and warm gold and midnight blue, two faces of opposite colors and identical overjoyed expressions. The two hold on to each other tightly. Though Moon’s legs cannot take any significant weight, you can tell they’re still helping him stay upright and balanced.

Moon’s legs.

Moon, standing.

Moon smiling, his feet on the ground, holding his head up straight, favoring neither arm over the other. Moon with no trace of pain on his features.

Moon is okay. Better than that. Moon is well.

You stand there for a long moment, waiting for all of this to slip through your fingers. For it to evaporate like smoke, for some caveat or trick to reveal itself.

The identical smiles before you stay, unwavering.

You step forward and wrap your arms around both of them. Sun returns the hug with his free arm, immediate and enthusiastic. Moon makes a startled sound and tries to step away, yellow sock feet sliding without purchase across the floor. Then the combination of the extra strain and having leaned too much of his weight off of Sun causes his legs to crumple under him completely, and Moon grabs on to you abruptly to avoid crashing to the floor.  

Your arm is already there to catch him, his hand holding a tight fist of your shirt to keep himself upright. The weight of him is familiar, no heavier than before. The same amount of material in a new shape.

Once the startled look from Moon's sudden loss of balance fades, it's replaced by what looks suspiciously like embarrassment. Right, Moon is allergic to feelings after all.

Still, since he doesn't look like he hates it as much as he's trying to pretend he does, you take the opportunity to hug them both as tight as you can.

Moon's energy doesn't last long. Soon after that he's asleep on the couch again, curled up for the next few hours.

Maybe that’s one thing that simply won’t change for Moon, his need for frequent rest.

Or maybe he just needs time to regain his stamina.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get your wish- to see him better each day.

------------------------

Moon's new favorite hobby is exploring your living space.

While Moon can't walk, it isn't long before he learns to crawl effectively. He refuses to let Sun help, eagerly clambering over anything he can. It's only when you come home to Sun sitting on the floor, anxiously cradling an unconscious Moon, that Sun can finally convince Moon to at least wait until you're home to go 'exploring.' At least then you'll be there to rescue him when he inevitably overdoes it and exhausts himself.

That does mean having to do things like crawling under your kitchen table to rescue Moon when he finds himself too tired to get out of the situations he puts himself in. You hold him up with one of your arms under his, sitting with him until he stops looking ready to faint at any moment.

It also means becoming very good at distracting him with other activities when he immediately wants to continue his explorations the moment he's capable (if only barely) of moving again.

Audiobooks are always a good suggestion to distract him with. If he's being particularly stubborn, you can tempt him by offering to read aloud yourself. Some days he even asks to take turns- all three of you passing the book around, each reading one page before passing it to the next.

Sun does different voices for every character. Moon puts his entire self into descriptive sections, creating an almost tangible atmosphere. You occasionally change a small detail of the story as a joke, a character name or a specific object swapped for another, challenging the other two to keep it going. Sometimes you accidentally change a detail that ends up important later, and instead of reading the actual story the three of you end up sitting there discussing how the story could have gone if things had been different.

Despite having agreed to only explore when you're home, you think Moon only mostly abides by that rule. That or he's exploiting a loophole in that agreement, tiring himself out on things that aren’t technically exploration. More and more often you're finding things re-arranged in little ways that are unlike Sun's usual organization system, or not in the place Sun remembers having put it. One night you're surprised by Moon popping out of a low cabinet, startling you with a "Boo!" Several of the objects he shoved aside to fit there clatter out onto the floor along with the mild jumpscare.

Some of his pranks walk the line of your boundaries, until one day he steps over. Moon hides your keys, refusing to reveal their location until you are well and truly late for work. Sun forces him to make an apology card after that one.

Forces him to make the apology card, but not the apology. The apology itself is both genuine and voluntary.

You accept his apology. Moon has been hidden under a bed for years, confined in a small space, unable to move on his own. Unable even to speak at a normal volume for fear of being heard and caught. You can’t imagine how overwhelming it must be, to have so many options open to him after having spent so long with none at all. Suddenly any whim, any impulse, any urge, anything is a possibility. Moon is having to relearn what to do with the ability to do anything at all.

And he is learning. After the keys incident, the most important thing he hides is the pepper shaker- which he reveals the location of barely a minute after you notice it’s missing.

While Moon’s pranks have been moving steadily into more acceptable territory, he has developed one particularly bad habit that’s proving a little harder for him to quit.

You've been finding little rough spots on some of your towels. Little holes in blankets, frayed places on old clothes you don't wear often. You don’t know why, at first. Sun is the first to realize that Moon is responsible.

"Why would you do that?!" Sun asks him, somewhere between exasperated and baffled. "We don't even eat! We can't eat! What reason could you possibly have to do that?"

Moon has been chewing on things.

"Felt like it," Is Moon's only reply. He's not looking quite at Sun as he says it, and you're not sure he knows himself why he's doing it.

You wonder if it's something to do with his teeth. That's the reason babies and dogs chew on things, isn't it? Can dolls feel something like that, teething? Is there some damage to his teeth, invisible to you, that’s trying to heal as well?

Whatever it is, you're sure you'll figure something out. Worst case scenario, Moon ruins some of your old clothes beyond repair. That's not the end of the world.

You would let Moon put every piece of clothing you own through a shredder, if that’s what it would take to see him stay happy and well.

Sun, too. Seeing his twin improve so drastically, to be not just getting better but finally better, has made a world of difference to Sun- Though not quite in the way you had expected. You’re used to Sun’s joy being enthusiastic, excitable, uncontainable. This happiness, on the other hand, is surprisingly calm. It’s Sun joking with Moon instead of fussing over him. It’s Sun being able to have Moon out of his sight for a moment without anxiety eating away at him. It’s Sun quietly enjoying the moment, relaxed, sitting completely still except for a slight happy sway.

Moon, being ‘allergic’ to feelings, expresses his joy in a different way. That way being things like suddenly reaching out from under furniture as you pass by, grabbing your ankle and making you jump so high you nearly hit the ceiling. This has in fact become his default greeting when you come home- First Sun’s warm welcome, then Moon finding yet another place to jumpscare you from.

Despite the mischief of his approach, Moon’s smile during those ‘greetings’ is rarely one you’d associate with trouble. Instead it is that sharp-toothed-but-genuine joy, like he’s legitimately happy to see you despite the fact that he went out of his way to startle you.

"I want to express my deepest regrets for Moon's behavior," Sun tells you, hands folded together and tone far too over-serious to be anything other than a joke. "Now that he's feeling better, you must learn the truth- Moon is but a terrible prankster gremlin. I offer my most sincere apologies on behalf of his gremlin behavior."

You can't stop yourself from laughing. Even Sun barely manages to keep a straight face.

You find yourself laughing a lot, lately.

Playing card games together. Sun so hyper-focused on his own strategy that he fails to notice Moon is blatantly cheating. Cheating not to win, but instead to have the most absurd hands possible. He gets more obvious with it each round. Sun never notices.

Finding a 2-4 player video game to tackle together. Moon keeps pushing your and Sun's characters off ledges during puzzle sections. The game gains an added layer of strategy, trying to both solve the puzzle and to evade Moon’s character at the same time. Eventually Moon falls asleep leaning against Sun. Sun plays the rest of the game with only one hand, his other arm wrapped around Moon to keep him from falling forward. You have your character pick up Moon’s, carrying the now unresponsive little avatar through the levels.

Drawing together. Moon gets frustrated quickly with art, deciding to fold paper airplanes instead. You show him a few origami patterns you found online. In the end Sun is drawing, you're coloring in his art like a coloring book, and Moon is folding each completed page into an assortment of little cranes and frogs and boxes.

Going to a local picnic area on the weekend. The three of you watch the leaves fall, most of them already blanketing the ground. It won’t be too much longer before the rains come too frequently and too heavily, turning the crisp autumn leaves into a sodden mess, but today they are dry and light and colorful.

Sun makes a truly massive leaf pile, using a small fallen branch as a makeshift rake. Moon points out the brightest orange leaves and insists on keeping them. Moon has no pockets, meaning every one of the leaves ends up in Sun's. You half suspect the game here is less about Moon actually wanting handfuls of leaves and more about seeing how many he can convince Sun to fit into his pockets.

When you get home, you press the leaves between the pages of a book. Several books, actually. Sun's pockets are deceptively large.

The little moments, mundane stretches of time.

Chatting with Moon while you put away the dishes. He's sitting on the floor, despite having been offered a chair. You had to distract Sun with another task elsewhere after he tried to insist on helping you with said dishes, despite how unpleasant it is for him to handle hard materials like glass.  

Helping spot clean their outfits when they get dirty, dust and smudges and traces of dirt from playing outside. They could do it themselves, but you think doing it for them is good for them. It's a way you can show care, and they need that. You want to show them that care.

Sun helping you find misplaced objects, Moon helping to misplace them- if only long enough for it to be funny. Turning around and finding the thing you were looking for in a place you've already checked. Pens arranged into a star shape on the kitchen counter. Your coat tossed over your head from behind so that it lands neatly onto the chair in front of you.

Putting on music while you take care of mandatory boring responsibilities. Bills, paperwork, the mail. Not realizing you've started singing along quietly until Sun and Moon join in alongside you.

You find yourself doing that a lot, too.

Laughing and singing, smiling and joking, playing and talking with your friends. You find yourself happy.

Somehow, against all odds, Sun and Moon seem happy too. Somehow, they have not suffered under your care. The opposite, in fact.

In the middle of playing a board game Sun picked out. He was so excited about all the different mechanics it has, but you’re starting to think it might be a little too complicated for its own good. Not that you’d ever say that- Sun is having way too much fun, and so are you despite the confusing nature of the game.

You’re starting to notice that several pieces have gone missing. With how many there are to keep track of, you don’t think this is a recent change. Moon is your primary suspect.

Moon, legs crossed in front of him, one hand braced on the floor to help keep his balance. Moon upright, awake and alert, covered in countless stars. Moon, grinning in a way that makes you absolutely sure he is most definitely responsible for the missing pieces.

You grab him and pull him into a hug. Sun must be rubbing off on you, you can’t help yourself.

Moon starts squirming immediately, and you would let him go right then if not for the small amused sound he only half succeeds in stifling.

“I know, your allergies,” you laugh, holding him even tighter. “Your terrible, deadly allergies!”

“Why?” is Moon’s response to the sudden hug.

“I’m just happy you’re here,” you tell him.

The sound Moon makes in response is quiet and surprised, not quite a word, more serious than he was a moment ago. You let him go, but his struggling has already stopped. He makes no effort to keep his own balance, falling sideways across your lap. After having held him so often while he was asleep, there is something immediately comforting about his weight draped across your legs.

“Wait a second,” Sun says, eyes narrowing. “Moon. What is in your mouth.” This is not a question. Sun already knows the answer- Moon has been eating the game pieces. Or at very least shoving them into his mouth, you don’t think he’s capable of actually swallowing them.

Moon makes no effort to deny it. He grins, sharp teeth fully on display, and shakes his head slightly. There is a faint rattling of plastic game tokens against porcelain.

“Moon!!”

Sun reaches out, likely intending to wrangle Moon and force him to give up the stolen pieces, but he only accomplishes half his goal. As soon as Sun is close enough, you pull him into a hug as well. Sun’s reaction is the opposite of Moon’s, relaxing into your hold as he wraps his arms around you in return. For a moment, Moon’s crimes are forgotten.

Only for a moment. Moon uses this opportunity to slip away from both of you, crawling away from the game board.

“Wait-” Sun starts as he realizes, but he’s trapped in place by your arms. You have to give Moon a head start, after all.

Cloth under your fingers, porcelain rays pressed closely but not uncomfortably against you. You give Moon maybe a little more of a head start than entirely necessary- it’s too hard to let go.

Chapter Text

Your bedroom is lit only by your tv, the color of each scene tinting your room a different color. You yawn. It’s the end of another long day.  

That's when something large and unrecognizable skitters across your floor and grabs you by the ankle with freezing cold hands. You let out loud yelp, scrambling backwards on your bed as you realize-

Wait

It's Moon.

Moon is half-kneeling on unsteady legs, grin wide and sharp, red eyes fitting every horror stereotype you could possibly expect from something jumping out at you from the darkness. He's snickering to himself as he lets your ankle slip out of his grasp.

"Moon! You scared me!" As much as you intend for your tone to have a slight edge of scolding, the words come out with half a laugh instead.

Moon takes a moment to examine you, maybe to figure out if he actually upset you at all. A moment later his face breaks out in a grin again, looking entirely pleased with himself.

"Boo," he says softly, as if the word alone could inspire a second scare. With the way he's still lurking at the foot of the bed, maybe it could if you didn't know him so well. "Came to say goodnight."

It's a bit before your usual bedtime, but Moon must have picked up on how tired you are. You've noticed that Moon is very good at predicting when you're getting tired, sometimes noticing your energy dropping even before you do.

"Of course, of course,” you say. “Everyone knows the best way to wish someone goodnight is with a nice relaxing horror movie style jumpscare.” While your heart is still calming down from the startle, your mouth is already trying to turn upwards into a smile.

Moon nods, still grinning. "Can't walk, but this is faster than crawling." He demonstrates, dropping back down to the floor fully so he can move to the far end of the bed and back.

The way he moves as he does that is... disturbing. There's no other word for it. It's something more akin to a spider crawl than it is a human crawl, and takes full advantage of the lack of anything equivalent to bone in his legs. The movement is skittering, low to the ground, and uncomfortably quick for what it is.

Still, when Moon pulls himself back up into a kneel at the edge of the bed, he looks so happy. There is no trace of mischief in his smile, no desire to startle you again, nothing but pure unguarded happiness. He must have learned to do that recently- that's why he ambushed you that way. He wanted you to see. He still can't walk on his own, or even stand unsupported, but this is something that improves his mobility. Something that will let him do more.

Now you're definitely smiling.

"Be careful," you still say. "I just about kicked you in the face when you grabbed me like that."

"You'd hurt your foot if you did!" Moon tries and fails to suppress a laugh, snickering like that's the funniest thing he's heard all week. He has to take a moment to get himself under control before adding, "Still could. I bite." He mimes that, sharp teeth pretending to snap at nothing.

A movement in the corner of your vision. You look to see Sun in the bedroom doorway, warm light spilling in around him.

"Moon, did you just threaten our friend?" Sun asks.

"Yes. Absolutely," Moon responds. "They started it. Threatened to kick me."

"Hmmm. Regrettably I am going to have to put you in jail for friendship crimes," Sun states.

You wonder if it’s you or Moon going to jail for this one.

There is something that is such a relief about that, the idea that Moon might do a ‘crime’ potentially worthy of friendship jail. The idea that Moon can do anything at all, even if that includes going out of his way to startle you. That he can joke and laugh and be happy so easily, without the risk of injury looming over him.

Sun crosses the room and it turns out to be you that's going to jail. He lifts the nearest blanket off your bed and tosses it over your head, leaving only a small window for your face to peer out of.

"The criminal is imprisoned." Sun mimes dusting off his hands, though he doesn't actually let his porcelain fingers hit each other. "Justice is served."

"Good job, sheriff Sun," Moon states in an absolute dead monotone, trying his best not to smile as he rolls his eyes. "The day has been saved, our hero, hip hip hooray."

There's a pause for you to join in, but you're a little too tired to think of much. Sun does not fail to notice. Or maybe didn't need additional notice in the first place, you think blanket jail might be a less than subtle encouragement to sleep.

"Going to bed soon?" He asks.

"Was going to finish this first," you reply, gesturing at the TV you've been paying absolutely no attention to for the past few minutes. You probably should call it a night. Should, but won't yet regardless. "Want to sit and watch the ending with me?"

Despite not having seen the majority of what's playing, Sun is more than happy to hop up onto the bed beside you. You offer an arm to Moon to invite him as well, and he takes it.

The palm of Moon's hand is noticeably colder than the rest of him.

"How exactly did your hands get that cold?" You ask, pulling Moon up by the arm and onto the bed.

"Bag of frozen peas," Moon says, grinning. "From the freezer."

So he was trying to scare you on purpose after all. Sun scolds him for that, but Moon clearly has zero regrets of any kind. At least Moon confirms that he put the peas back before they could defrost.

You're only half watching the TV now, even as Sun and Moon go quiet. The blanket over you is warm and comfortable. Your thoughts swim, sleepy.

Moon is having trouble sitting up. Sitting upright on his own is still something that takes effort from him, wobbling unsteadily with all his weight on his hands where they're braced against the bed. He must have tired himself out with all the movement. His solution is to readjust to a more comfortable position- which happens to be stretching out across your lap. His head rests in the space between your legs and Sun's, arms stretching out almost cat-like to make contact with Sun.

This kind of thing has been common since Moon healed. As much as he tries to escape hugs and shies away from any touch you initiate, he’s still in contact with either you or Sun as often as possible. In contact with both of you, even, any time he can manage it.

Sun wraps a hand around Moon's arm in return without really looking. You had automatically lifted your arms out of the way to make room when Moon invaded your space, and now you have nowhere to put them back down. You can't lean back without the motion pulling at your blanket.

You don't debate on it for long before putting your arms down on Moon's back. If he didn't want you to, he shouldn't have decided to lie across your lap.

You don't think he minds though.

You have no intention of falling asleep quite yet. There are probably only a few minutes left before credits roll, the screen already showing conclusions and wrapping up the last loose ends. You don't even intend to rest your eyes. You're fully committed to staying awake for a little longer, so you can have this moment of all three of you watching together before the night winds down entirely.

Intention, but not reality.

You open your eyes to a different light. The ever-changing colored tint of the TV is gone, replaced by the steady gentle glow of your lamp. You're lying on your back, blanket pulled close around your shoulders but feet left out cold. Moon is still sprawled across your legs, the stillness of him indicating that he's asleep as well. Sun is curled up nearby.

This is definitely a violation of the dividing pillow law. It seems you've continued to commit crimes even from jail. (Not that it really matters.)

Part of you just wants to close your eyes and go back to sleep.

Another part of you is cold, uncomfortable, and insists on a better position for sleeping.

You never brushed your teeth, either. Or changed into proper clothes for sleeping.

Reluctantly, you shimmy your legs out from under Moon. Somehow, that manages to wake Sun instead.

"Moon?!" Sun reaches out urgently, searching before he's even properly awake.

"Here," is Moon's immediate whisper, awakening the moment Sun makes a sound.

It has to be an immediate response, every time one of them calls out. Panic sets in at even the slightest delay. Any time there's even a momentary hint of doubt as to where the other is, both of them become frantic.

The cracks still show sometimes. As well as both of them have been doing lately, you're not sure if moments like this will ever stop happening. Moments where Sun panics in an instant, ready for the faintest breeze to collapse his entire world around him. Moments where all the mischievous energy drops from Moon and leaves him too serious, too direct, too intense.

It's momentary, this time. The relief is instant at Moon's response, the two finding each other safe and sound. The panic drains away and they are once again sleepy, comfortable, unbothered. They are okay.

You give a quiet apology and let the two know where you're going, getting up to quickly brush your teeth. You only half bother with changing your clothes. Sleeping in your regular shirt isn't going to kill you, after all.

Sun and Moon are already asleep again when you return. Sun looks like he got halfway to his side of the bed, grasped the nearest pillow, and fell asleep the moment something soft was in his arms. Moon has simply flopped over Sun sideways without bothering with anything else, perfectly comfortable.

Yeah, they're okay.

There are scars there, but they’re okay and they’re safe. Somehow, despite everything that has happened and everything you lack, you've kept them safe.

You climb into your side of the bed, finding the blanket Sun 'imprisoned' you in earlier folded neatly on your spot. Soon it is wrapped around you and you too drift into a comfortable sleep.

-------------------------

Relaxing on the couch, spending time with your friends, another of the wonderful little mundane moments in life. Sun’s sleeve barely brushes against you from where he sits on your right, the touch small but purposeful and comforting. Most of his focus is currently occupied by your phone as he searches for a new game that might be fun to play together. Moon sits on your left, waiting alongside you. The quiet is comfortable and warm.

Your thoughts wander, wondering what you should do next weekend. Maybe something that doesn’t require too much physical effort, considering Moon still lacks the stamina for long periods of activity? Then again, that has been improving, and Sun can always carry Moon if he runs out of energy. There’s also the weather to consider though, the days are steadily becoming rainier. You wouldn’t want to promise them something only to have it ruined by rain. Maybe best to have a backup activity? Or two activities, even. The weekend is two days long after all, there’s nothing to say you can’t do two things if the weather permits.

Taking them anywhere at all seemed so daunting so recently. Now your mind drifts easily between a dozen different possibilities, each one feeling nearly close enough to reach out and touch.

A hand lands on your left shoulder, Moon trying to get your attention.

His grip is... unusually tight, for some reason. Not quite enough to hurt, but only barely.

You try to duck your shoulder out from his grasp, to let him know you’re uncomfortable. You can’t. Moon’s hand follows the motion of your shoulder, fingers pressing down, holding on to you. Something doesn’t feel right.

You turn to look at him, and

Something is wrong.

Like plunging into cold water, something is abruptly and overwhelmingly wrong.

The look on Moon's face is feral. It’s animal, jarringly so, and though all his focus bears down on you intently you’re not sure you see any recognition there. It is the look of something preparing to bite.

Hard fingers gripping your shoulder, unrelenting, enough force that you start to feel the press of bones under your skin. Your heartbeat quickens even as your body goes completely still, and this is not right. This is not right.

"You," is all Moon says. There is no familiarity in his tone.

Your mouth opens but you cannot find your voice.

Some part of you is convinced that Moon must be joking. Playing a prank. He's had trouble before, going too far without realizing it. Never this far, but that has to be what’s going on. Nothing else makes sense. Moon is just trying to give you a little scare. Once he realizes you're actually afraid, once he feels the tenseness and frantic pulse in the shoulder he's still holding too tight, he'll stop. He'll apologize.

You remember the apology card he made after the hidden keys prank. The alternating squiggles of color, blue and purple and the occasional dash of yellow, that he’d put around the edges to make the white paper look less plain.

"Moon?" Sun tentatively calls. Moon doesn't respond. Moon doesn't give any indication that he even heard.

"Hungry," Moon says to you.

"Moon, we do not use that word." Sun's voice is appalled, alarmed. And ultimately ignored.

A flicker of pressure more on your shoulder, sharp electric jolts of pain running down your arm. The shock of it jostles something in your memory- you've seen this look before. Not quite this intense, but you've seen it.

Moon waking up confused in the dark that first time. The way he’d thrashed until his neck bent to a sickening angle, wild and uncomprehending. The weight of his fury when he looked at you, only resorting to words instead of teeth because his body was too broken to claw his way over to you.

That memory is something like what is focused on you now.

Something like this in the way that a step is something like a mile.

You try to shrug out of his grasp again, more forcefully this time, but he holds tight. Too tight. When you flinch, his eyes widen in intense attention. Still there is no realization there, no regret, no Moon as you know him.

"More. Not enough. Give me more."

Is this really happening? Is this a bad dream?

The pinch of bone and skin and nerves clamped under Moon's hand feels far too real.

Moon is pushing against your shoulder now, forcing you off balance, his other arm coming up to join the first. His body coils and tenses, teeth bared-

And then there is a guttural, desperate sound as he's pulled away. A sharp porcelain-on-porcelain clack as Sun yanks Moon’s hand from your shoulder. Moon claws and struggles against Sun's hold on him, trying to get a grip on anything he can as Sun drags him away from you.

An arm comes up in front of Moon's teeth as Moon thrashes, not a purposeful placement so much as a desperate attempt to keep hold of him. Moon pauses at the brush of fabric against his face. For a moment, you think maybe some sense has come back to him.

And then he bites.

The sound Sun lets out is small and wounded in more than the literal sense. A shudder runs through his body, knees bending, but he keeps his grip on Moon. Takes several steps backwards, putting more distance between you and Moon.

Moon stills. There's a brief, delayed hint of realization in his eyes. He looks at Sun's sleeve still there in front of his face and seems to actually see it.

"... Sun?" Moon pronounces it like a foreign word, uncertain and off-kilter. His limbs go limp in Sun's hold, and the feral look is replaced by something entirely uncomprehending.

Sun drags Moon backwards, out of the room, face grim. You catch a last glimpse of Moon’s face before he’s out of view.

He looks so lost.

Then the two are out of sight. You hear the bedroom door click shut.

Your phone has fallen to the floor, screen dimming and then going dark entirely.

You sit there, your mind as frozen as your body. You do not move, you do not think. Instead, you feel.

Your racing heart.

The stinging, prickling sensation threatening to overflow from your eyes.

And a slight, unmistakable ache in your shoulder.

Chapter Text

You feel a little more like yourself again, by the time you hear the bedroom door open and firmly shut again. Or at very least more like a person, capable of thought and action- even if those thoughts are a tangled mess and there are no actions to take.

Sun returns to the room, though not to your side. He keeps a careful distance.

"Friend?" He asks, voice hushed and concerned. "Are you okay?"

You catch a glimpse of white through the yellow of his sleeves. You should have been the one to ask that question.

"I... think so." Your words come out nearly as quiet as his, shaky. You’re not sure how honest that answer is, either- though you are proven correct when you double check. Putting your hand to your shoulder reveals a few sore spots, the pain already fading, but nothing more. “What about you?”

Sun’s hand moves to check his own injury, but then he thinks better of it. His fingers stop short, avoiding contact the way you would with a particularly painful wound. Though he opens his mouth to respond, no sound follows for several long moments.

He is only on the other side of the room, but he feels so distant.

"Come sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space next to you.

A pause, an uncertain sway to the way he stands, but in the end he does come over to the couch. He sits as far from you as possible, pressed against the armrest, his entire body curling up there.

"Can I see?" You ask.

It takes him a second to realize what you mean. Once he does, he hesitantly unfolds himself from the curled ball he’s hunched into- though only just enough to offer you his injured arm. His other hand hovers near the bite, protective, ready to stop you if you reach out.

You tuck your hands under your knees, to show him you won’t touch the injury. Sun’s guard relaxes a little, his uninjured arm lowering a few hesitant inches before being allowed to fall to his side. Still, you give him another few seconds to calm. You only lean over for a closer look once you’re sure you won’t alarm him doing so.  

Just past the elbow, a dashed line of clean cuts severs the weave of the fabric. The marks follow a curve, small at the edges and deeper at the center. The biggest of them are large enough to hang open, revealing the layer underneath. Nearer to the sleeve’s underside are a few more cuts from Moon’s bottom row of teeth, the marks there fewer but having sliced through no less viciously.

Once you’ve seen that, Sun rolls up his sleeve. The process is slow, and he winces as the fabric is gradually pushed up his arm.

Only the worst of the bite went through into Sun’s arm, but this layer of fabric seems to have offered no more resistance than the one above. The wounds are messier here, Moon’s teeth must have cut across as they sunk into Sun’s arm. Sliced fabric, rough fibers, ripped edges that fold down into concerningly deep indentations.

Sun makes a small vocal noise, a slight hiss of pain as he evaluates the damage. This must be his first time seeing the extent of it as well.

"Is there any way for me to help?" You ask.

Sun takes a moment to consider, carefully rolling his sleeve back down. "It's okay. I'll heal," he says, the words more breath than voice. "... If you want, it would help a little to... well, have help. With the worst spots. Later, maybe. When it stops stinging so bad."

You nod. You think the both of you might need a moment.

The questions in your mind only seem to tangle more the more you try to sort them out. Thinking about the situation more doesn’t give any answers, or even raise productive questions. Instead the same fresh memories replay over and over, more vivid each time, drowning out any other thought.

You. Jolts of pain in your shoulder. Hungry. The sound Sun made when Moon bit down.

A feeling of helpless panic is trying to bubble up within you. You have to take a breath, a mental step back. It doesn't help. You’re not getting anywhere.

"Where is Moon?" You ask. You know where he is, but maybe that’s exactly why you ask it. Something known, a safe place to start.

"Sleeping," Sun states. He’s curling up in on himself again, eyes focused on the floor. At least now he isn’t pressing quite so hard against the armrest anymore, the distance between you a few inches shorter and at the same time considerably less vast. "He wasn't feeling well, so I... I took him to bed, and helped him fall asleep. He's asleep right now."

“What...” you start, but you can’t complete the question. There’s too much to ask at once, and no way to phrase any of it. Images and moments, out of order, replace the words in your mind.

Red eyes, too intense.

A threat that was only a joke. A ‘threat’ that made you smile. A comfortable, familiar weight on your lap and the texture of costume fabric under your hands.

A threat made in earnest. A vow, a promise.

Moon thrashing in the dark, broken neck twisting, furious.

Encircling blankets. Moon opening his eyes for just a moment, that same red but gentler now, warm. Trusting you enough to close his eyes again, sound asleep.

Trusting you, you thought he trusted you.

The comfortable, mundane moments.

You thought you could trust him.

And then-

Red eyes, too intense. A hand on your shoulder, jolts of pain. A few words, scattered, without recognition. Being pushed off balance, and-

“What happened?” Is all you can ask.

What had happened, what had happened? The scene plays over and over, all at once, memories piling on top of each other into a jumbled mess of overlapping images. Still you can’t find any explanation. Nothing that could have made him angry, nothing that could have hurt him, nothing that could trigger panic or trauma. All of it sudden and surreal like a bad dream, without warning or reason.

Why?

Sun takes a long time to respond. The silence stretches on, and on, until the air feels so thick that you think you might suffocate.

Finally a sound, small and heartbroken. Finally Sun speaks.

"I think Moon is sick," Sun says.

Sick. Can dolls get sick?

You don’t think they can. Not in the same way that a human can.

"Sick how?" you ask.

Sun gives you a smile that is entirely pained and sad, without any trace of happiness in it at all. "He was alone for a long time, friend," he says, as if the answer is that simple. "I tried to spend as much time with him as I could, but that wasn't very much. We couldn't risk being caught. And even when I could come spend time with him, it isn’t the same. Not the same as spending time with a person."

You don’t like that implication, that he doesn’t count as a person himself.

You don’t try to correct his phrasing. This isn’t the time, and you understand what he means by it. Sun is a person, both of them are people, but neither is human. It is human care that makes the difference to dolls.

... Makes the difference for what? For getting sick? What does any of this have to do with today?

Sun's half-hearted attempt at a smile, sad as it is, cannot hold any longer. It collapses from his face as his head droops low, arms wrapping close around himself.

"I didn't think it would happen to Moon," he says. "It couldn’t. I knew that's how it happens, but... but not to Moon. Moon would never. He'd never. He'd- He'd say things sometimes, but he‘d- he'd never! He was just angry, friend. He was hurting, and he was scared, he was so afraid. He didn’t mean it. He would never, he would never... never, ever do anything like that... so he couldn’t get sick. Moon couldn’t get sick like that. I thought... I thought he couldn’t...

“And he didn’t!” Sun exclaims, desperately insisting as if he could make it real by convincing the world itself. The energy is gone as quickly as it came, Sun's shoulders falling from agitation to defeat. “He... sometimes, he... he was so upset... I was so worried someone would hear, that he’d get caught again, but...” The strength continues to drain from both his posture and his words, leaving little but whispers and low tones. “But then he was tired. Then he was too tired to do any of that anymore, so I’d- I’d just hold him. Until he calmed down. He’d calm down, and I’d think... There, he was just upset. He was just hurting. That’s all, because Moon would never...

“It isn’t fair.” Sun’s voice breaks and stays broken, syllables coming out a jumble of wrong angles. “It isn’t fair. He made it through, he got better. He really made it, and he healed, and now he’s sick. Now he's not too tired to be sick anymore. It isn't fair."

Sun's shoulders are shaking. There are no tears, but his arms come up to hide his face anyway. You reach out and, unsure what to do but needing to do something, place a careful hand on his shoulder.

He tenses at first, a slight startle from the unexpected touch. Only for a second though. After that he can no longer maintain the distance between you, leaning closer. He takes your arm, wrapping his own arms around it, clinging like he might otherwise be swept away.

It feels like a long time before he seems to calm down at all. It feels like forever.

Eventually his grip loosens, your arm allowed to slip out of his grasp.

There is still a question that needs to be asked.

"Sun? Can you tell me what exactly Moon is sick with?"

Sun uncurls slightly, sitting up straighter to look at you properly. His expression is pure confusion, searching your face for some hint of understanding you simply don't have. There is the sense of something vast and unspoken, something unknown to you.

Confusion changes to realization, then wide-eyed fear.

"You don't know..." The words are breathed more than said, and you're not sure he intended to say them out loud at all. He jolts, pulling away from you again. "He- maybe he'll get better!" Sun’s voice is no less broken now than it was before, but in a different way this time. Imitations of hope taped together into a mess of sounds- All brittle, all falling apart at the edges. "Don't worry about it, friend. I'll take care of him. You don't need to worry about him. He- he could get better! Maybe he’ll get better. He already healed so much, so- so just- Just leave Moon to me! I’ll watch him. I’m sure he’ll get better.”

One thing is clear from his disjointed, panicked tone-

Sun is lying to you.

You try to reach out again, but this time he jolts away from you before you can make contact. Fear returns to his expression, his entire body tense, as if he expects your touch to shatter him. You let your hand fall.

Maybe you should leave it at that. You knew from the start that you were far out of your depth trying to take care of Sun and Moon, and now you may as well have been swept completely out to sea. The water surrounding you stretches in every direction, fathomless and opaque. You don’t know enough to even grasp how much info you’re missing.

You are afraid.

An ache in your shoulder, maybe memory or maybe persistently real, indistinguishable.

All at once it is too much, too overwhelming, and you are afraid.

You cannot fix this, you cannot help this, you cannot even begin to understand this. If Sun says he can take care of this, maybe it’s better you let him. Maybe it’s better not to press him further, to do nothing but push him into further distress as you dig for information you will ultimately never be capable of doing anything about.

A new image sticks in your mind, no less vivid than the others.

The thought of Moon hidden away under a bed. Of Sun, exhausting himself again and again, desperate to keep Moon alive for one more day.

You can't stand it. Even not understanding, not knowing, unable to do anything, you can’t ignore this. You can’t leave them to face something like this alone all over again. 

Moon, isolated, slowly deteriorating as dust accumulates around him- Sun, trying to shoulder all the stress of it by himself, pretending nothing is wrong- 

There is a tug in your chest. Something almost physically painful, as if the thought alone was sharp enough to carve your heart from your chest.

As little as you have to offer, you don’t just want but need to offer all that you have.

“I want to help,” you say. “I don’t know, I don’t understand- but if you explain, I can try. Tell me what I can do to help.”

"It's okay!" He's far too quick to say that. "You don't have to worry, I'll take care of it. I will! You don't need to do anything."

"Please,” you beg.

Several emotions cross Sun's face. Anxiety, worry, panic. Sinking dread, despair. Resignation. Any attempt at acting hopeful falls away. His posture sags, like there's simply nothing left to hold him up.

"Have you ever read the book 'William's Rabbit,' " he asks, the words hollow and flat.

You shake your head.

"It's a children's book," Sun explains. "It's about dolls, so lots of kids who want to bring theirs to life read it. It's also horrible.

"The book is about a little boy named William. He has this little yellow bunny toy named Bonnie, and he loves Bonnie. He has lots of toys, but it's Bonnie he brings everywhere. Everywhere all the time, ever since he was a baby. And one day, Bonnie comes to life.

"But the book is horrible, because William is a bully. He gets bored of playing with Bonnie, so he decides to bully them instead. He pinches them, and dumps water on them, and locks them in the scary dark basement. And it's horrible. Bonnie just wants to play and be friends, but the only thing William finds fun anymore is being awful to them, and..."

You see Sun take a silent steadying breath.

"William notices Bonnie isn't feeling well anymore," Sun continues, "but he doesn't care. He locks Bonnie in the basement more and more often, because he's bored of them and doesn't want them around anymore. One day, he forgets about them there. He forgets about them for days and days. When he remembers, he's curious if Bonnie is still trapped down there in the dark. It's quiet when he puts his ear to the door, so he's not sure. He opens the door to see, and...

"Bonnie springs out and gets him." A shudder runs through Sun's entire body. "That's all it says. That's the end of the book. Bonnie gets him. Like how monsters get little boys and girls that don't listen to their parents. It's that kind of book. That's what it's about."

"That... is a pretty horrible book," you say. "Especially for children."

"It's not a true story," Sun states. "But there are a lot of true stories like it.”

“Is that really something dolls do?” you ask. “Go after people for revenge?“

The idea is hard to believe. Even Sun, after everything he had gone through, after watching Moon suffer for so long, still hadn’t been able to summon anger at Nessa for it.

Moon, on the other hand, had been furious. Of course he was furious. If Moon had lashed out at Nessa, that you would believe. It wasn’t Nessa that Moon had directed that intensity at today though. What had you done, for him to give you that look?

The scene replays in your mind again for the hundredth time. You try and try to think of anything you might have done, anything you might have said, anything you should have done but didn’t. You can’t come up with a single thing. The moment had been comfortable and mundane and warm, perfect.

Until it hadn’t been anymore.

Wouldn’t Moon have told you, if you’d done something so unforgivable? Wouldn’t Sun have spoken up, if you'd earned a resentment that deep? They are your friends. They trust you at least enough for that, you’re sure of it.

So what, then? Why?

"Not for revenge,” Sun answers. He fidgets, an anxiety gazing over the edge at panic. “But things like that still happen, sometimes. When one is left alone long enough.” He is curling around himself again, huddling, defensive. “When it happens little by little, on and off, slowly.” He grips his arms too hard, flinching as he accidentally wraps his fingers around the bite marks. “If it’s all at once... well... then the doll would die too fast for anything to happen. But if it’s slow, if it’s over a long time, it can... it can make them sick. It makes us sick. And then we might... they might... do anything, to get their person’s attention back. To get their person to look at them again, see them again, feel something about them again. Once they get sick like that, it doesn’t matter how much they love their person. Once it gets that bad, they’ll do anything- Even if it means hurting their person. Even though it almost always means hurting their person.

“That’s why Nessa, why she...”

The next words Sun is trying to form come with no sound. His expression is almost pained, mouth forming harsh shapes around words he can't seem to get out. He makes a series of stuttering, breathless sounds. Stops himself, mouth clamping shut, hands coming up to his neck. There is an uncomfortable porcelain clattering, Sun‘s hands brushing his neck and his knuckles bumping the underside of his chin. It is another moment before he can collect himself enough to continue.

“Why she tried to kill him,” he finally forces out, his voice and body and entire self strained to its limit. “Why she tried to kill her friend like that, her Moon, my Moon. Why she cut him apart. Why she broke him. She found out I’d been hiding him, so she tried to kill him. She thought he must be sick, after being without her for so long, so she wanted to make sure he was really dead this time. And then I brought him back in again, I hid him again, because...”

Because Sun cannot be without Moon. Because Moon cannot be without Sun. Because to leave one behind would be to destroy the both of them, and even if Sun accepted his own end there was still no way he could ever let go of Moon. Though he does not say it, you understand.

“I knew it could happen,” Sun tells you. “I knew that’s how it happens. But Moon hadn’t been sick before, he hadn’t gotten sick when I’d hidden him before, and he couldn’t get sick he couldn’t, because- because he would never, friend. He would never hurt someone. Not Nessa, not anyone. Not for anything. I didn’t think he could, not for anything...”

The hand on your shoulder, gripping too tight. That feral intensity, animal and unfamiliar. Moon had not been playing. You had not imagined any second of it. There had been no mistake. You are saying the thought even before it has fully sunk in.

"Is Moon going to hurt me?” you ask.

Fear flashes across his face again. The expression does not calm or hide away this time, only intensifying. If Sun’s face wasn't already porcelain white, you're sure you would see the color drain from it as desperate panic takes hold.

"No!" Sun exclaims. "No, no, I'll- I'll take care of him, friend! I'll make sure nothing happens! He won’t hurt anyone, I promise!” Sun’s gestures are chaotic, frantic, pleading, words coming in a rush. “I won’t let anything happen! I’ll watch him, I’m stronger than him, nothing will happen. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise! I’ll watch him better now! You’ll be okay, I won’t let anything happen no matter what, so- so please, friend, please. Please don't get rid of Moon, please don't get rid of us, I'll make sure you're safe, so-"

You grab one of his hands mid-gesture before you can stop yourself. The momentum of his movements smacks the hard porcelain into your palm, uncomfortable, but you close your hand around his and hold tight anyway.

"I won't," you say. You say it before you’ve had any chance to think the words through. You have no idea what you’re going to do, you have no idea what will happen next, but still these are the only possible words for you to say. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay. You and Moon are staying, it’s okay. I’m keeping you, I’m still keeping both of you.” Your brain is catching up to your mouth, and you realize what you are promising. Still, you say it again. “I’m keeping Moon, I’m keeping you. It’s okay.”

The tension doesn't leave Sun so much as it uproots him. His shoulder hitch once, twice, and it's not until he makes a sound that you realize it's with sobs. He collapses onto you and you catch him, pulling him into a hug. He wraps one arm around you in return, the other- the injured one- cradled to his chest as sobs run through him. You feel the rise and fall of every breath against you, erratic, nothing like the rhythm of human crying but unmistakable regardless.  

You have a moment to think while he cries. You wish you didn't.

You remember the dust on Moon’s clothes, the smell of stale air clinging to them before they were washed. You remember the brokenness of him.

The overwhelming joy, seeing him whole again. Seeing him awake and active, rediscovering life. The simple happiness of having him beside you, the comfortable presence of a friend.

Moon’s weight as he stretched across your lap, or leaned on you, or settled beside you.

Sitting on the couch together. The warm, pleasant quiet of it.

A hand on your shoulder.

You remember the horror movies, too. You’d never heard of the book Sun described, but you’ve seen movies like it. The same story, over and over. A doll that was neglected, mistreated, or abandoned. A doll that was furious, or turned feral, or simply descended into madness.

You’d never thought much of it. Doll characters are common in movies, usually played by humans or puppets or special effects but there all the same. They are in every genre, every medium, a part of humanity’s shared culture. Of course they would appear in horror movies too.

There are countless movies where a doll is the hero’s best friend, or the antagonist’s minion, or the wizard’s familiar. There are movies where a doll is an angel in disguise, sent to save a soul. There are movies where dolls are time travelers or detectives or the size of entire cities. It had never seemed any different from all of that, when dolls were also sometimes the monsters in horror movies. Distasteful, maybe. Not something you’d liked seeing. Not notable though, not  something you’d considered any more realistic than ghosts or werewolves or vampires.

Apparently that was wrong.

Moon tried to hurt you. Could have, would have if Sun hadn’t been there.

Moon hurt Sun. The person more important to him than any other, and Moon bit him. Bit him hard, those sharp teeth sinking in deep through layers of fabric.

What will he be like, when he wakes up? Will he be himself again? Will Sun have to fight to keep him from trying to come after you again? Will he remember you?

You hold Sun as close as you can while he cries, the sound of his sobs and the hitching of his breath pressed against you. 

Moon is sick.

Chapter Text

Sun is still slumped against you, your arms wrapped around him, but slowly he has calmed. He is quiet now, no longer shaking. You hold on to him like that for a long while.

The uneven weight of porcelain and cloth, the feeling of fabric, familiar. The way he slowly picks up your body heat, gradually becoming warmer. There was a time when you would have thought this felt exactly like holding onto an inanimate doll. A confusing sensation, when he is a person with such a vivid personality. Now the differences seem impossible to miss.

The tiny, unconscious adjustments he makes to fit against you comfortably. The arm wrapped around you in return. Slight shifts of cloth under your fingers and a faint, almost imperceptible stirring of air near his chest. The way he is never completely still, not even now, always a sway or bounce or fidget to him somewhere if you pay close attention. If there is a such thing as dead weight then there must also be live weight, and Sun is undeniably alive.

You wait for a long while before bringing up the subject of Moon again, or any subject at all.

"You doing okay?" you eventually ask. Your words are soft, Sun so near right now that there is no need to speak at full volume.

A shudder, then a slight nod. Of course he's not.

"Are there precautions that we need to be taking?" You ask, as gently as you can.

"Precautions." The word comes out low and pained, a lamentation. "Precautions like what."

"I don't know." You realize what he's thinking a moment later, and are quick to add, "Nothing that would hurt Moon. Just, whatever we need to do to make sure no one gets hurt. No one, including Moon."

"I...” Sun begins, but doesn’t seem to know the answer any more than you do. He is still leaning on you as if you're the only thing left to keep him upright. "I'll watch him. I'll take care of him, friend. He should feel a little better when he wakes up, I think. I’ll watch him closer from now on, I'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone, I promise. I promise, so please, friend..."

"You promise, I believe you." Your hand fumbles on his back, trying to give a comforting gesture that you're only half sure of how to express. You're not sure if you're imagining it or not, but some of the tension that built in him as he spoke seems to relax away again. "But you're part of anyone, too. I don't want you to get hurt either."

Sun gives a small nod, mindful of his rays. He finally manages to adjust his posture, pulling away slightly to sit up straighter. Still his shoulder rests against yours, for emotional support or physical support or both. You’re glad. Though Sun has been leaning on you, you’re not sure how well you could hold yourself up right now without him there.

A quiet- heavy, exhausted.

Moon ‘should’ feel better when he wakes up, Sun thinks. Should.

If he does, will that be it? A one off, a bad dream, something you might be able to forget with time? Is this something that will run its course, something Moon can go through and then recover from, the same way humans recover from illness?

Will you ever know for sure that it’s safe to relax? Will Moon know? Will Sun know, or will he be keeping an eye on Moon for the rest of his life? Will you be keeping an eye on Moon for the rest of his life, every one of those comfortable moments with your friends carrying an edge of fear from now on? That idea comes with a vast, excruciating sense of loss.

And if he doesn’t feel better...

Then what?

And why now? You can’t get your mind off the thought. Why now, why now?

Some sort of doll sickness caused by prolonged neglect. Moon had been hidden away for so long, and yet it’s only now that he’s sick. Only now, with you.

The two of them had seemed so happy. Moon’s health had improved so much. He and Sun had been smiling, joking, having fun- hadn’t they? You had started to think that was enough. That despite everything, they could be safe and well and as happy with you as you are with them.

But only now is Moon suddenly sick.

A thought, sudden and panicked.

"What about you?" You ask, eyes wide.

"What about me?" Sun asks in return. He sounds tired, confused, none of his usual energy present.

"What if you get sick too?"

"I won't," he tells you. "Nessa knew better than to keep me too long after she was done playing with me."

"But what about now?" You ask.

Sun’s weight leaves your side as he turns to better see your face. He examines you, searching your expression for something. Concern overtakes his confusion, and not the kind of concern you expected.

"Friend... you know this isn't your fault, right?" He asks.

He must see the answer on your face before you can answer. You answer anyway.

"He wasn't sick before," you say. "Even after everything he went through, he wasn’t sick before. Now he is. I’m not his person or yours, and I don’t know anything about dolls. I didn’t even know something like this could happen. Now Moon is sick. What if you get sick too?”

"Friend, you spend time with us every day.” Sun’s words are slow and soft, gentle. “You’re nice to us, and play with us. You bring us places, and let us be part of things, and you actually want us there with you. You didn’t make Moon sick, and I’m not going to get sick when you’re doing so much for us.”

Is that really true, or does Sun just want it to be?

"Nights are hard." You bite down on the words, barely able to get them out, hoping he understands. It takes you a moment to organize that thought into something more coherent. "At night sometimes, you don't act like yourself." Just like Moon, like today.

“That’s... not the same,” Sun says, avoidant. He must know how unconvincing that is, and hesitantly continues with, “That’s more like... an anxiety attack. Or the closest thing we have to that, maybe.” There is an embarrassment to his tone, a sadness. As if he’s admitting to something shameful and deeply flawed. “I know that sounds silly, dolls having trauma or anxiety or anything like it, but it does happen sometimes. I’ll be okay, friend.”

“It's not silly.” Your voice seems too quiet for that statement. You want to say more, to say it more strongly, but you’re not sure how. “I’m just worried. About both of you.” Another vast understatement. You sound as helpless as you feel.

Sun reaches forward, a finger wrapping around the end of your sleeve the way you’ve seen him do so many times with Moon. The hold is secure, the slight tug of it grounding.

“Moon isn’t sick because of anything you did or didn’t do. I think maybe Moon has been sick for a long time. I just didn’t want him to be," Sun confesses. “It was easier to think he couldn’t be, when he was too tired to do anything that would prove it.”

You’re not sure if you can believe that, the idea that Moon has somehow been so sick all this time without either of you noticing. 

Even if Moon has somehow been sick all this time, what does that say about how well you’ve been taking care of him? That you didn’t notice this, didn’t help this, that everything you had to offer was not enough to alleviate it. That it had only festered and gotten worse under your watch, all of the neglect boiling over at once.

There is no possibility that doesn’t involve you having failed him.

Sun seems to feel the heaviness of your silence as much as you do. You feel a brush of your sleeve against your arm, almost imperceptible, and look down to see that Sun has begun running his fingers over the end of the fabric there. His thumb moves slowly back and forth in an unconscious soothing gesture you cannot feel.

"Do you want to hear something..." funny, he seems to be about to say. He thinks better of it. "Awful," he says instead. "Nessa isn't the one who broke Moon's arm."

Sun pauses, maybe to let you absorb that or maybe to gather the strength needed to continue. His hand adjusts on your sleeve again, fingers tangling in the fabric. You wrap a few fingers around the end of his sleeve in return.

“It was at night,” Sun tells you. “A couple of months after the first time Nessa found him hiding, after she hurt him. We were talking, quiet so no one would hear, but then Moon stopped responding. I thought he was tired. It made sense, for him to be tired. But then he...

"I don't know. I didn't know what was going on. He was saying things that were scary, and trying to come out of his hiding place. He was going to get caught, he was going to get hurt, so- so I grabbed him. I tried to hold him still and keep him quiet, and he fought me. I didn’t know what to do. I had to keep him safe, I only wanted to keep him safe, but he wouldn’t stop thrashing...

“That’s what broke his arm. He was fighting so hard, and I was holding so tight that... he broke his own arm, friend. I broke his arm.”

Sun stops, waiting for something. You don’t know what. Some judgment, some reassurance, some disbelief or acceptance maybe. You cannot find it in you to provide any of that. The best you can do is to run your thumb over Sun’s sleeve, an imitation of his earlier gesture.

“Moon was quiet again, after it broke,” Sun tells you. His voice is subdued, not for lack of emotion but from lack of strength. “He was too hurt, and too tired, so he just... slept. After that, doing anything at all tired him out so fast. There were times when I worried it would happen again, when he would say things... but saying was all he did. So I thought... I wanted to think that meant he was still okay. That he wasn’t sick, that he couldn’t be. But he was so tired by then... So hurt and tired that, any time he wasn’t feeling like himself I think, it would have-” a slight hitch, a waver in Sun’s voice, “I think it would have killed him, to do anything at all. He only slept because it was all he could do.

“Friend... I don’t think the difference is that Moon only got sick now. I think the difference is that he got better. You helped him get better. That’s all, friend. It isn‘t your fault.”

For a moment you feel, strangely, nothing. Not apathy but less than that. A complete hollowness, a void where you had existed before, even the air itself seeming to pass through you without touching. Everything is so much at once that you can’t feel anything at all. Then your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes feel hot, and all at once you realize how hard you are fighting not to cry.

"What do I do?" You ask. "How do I make this better?"

The desire is so strong that you forget, briefly, how little you can do for either of them. Then Sun’s gaze falls down to where both of your fingers are wrapped around each other’s sleeves, and he pulls you into a hug.

You almost wish he hadn’t. How are you supposed to keep yourself from crying now?

“Dolls don't get better from this, friend,” Sun tells you, voice quiet and clear and close. “But no one keeps sick dolls, either. Not ever. So if there’s a way to help Moon get better, I think it would be exactly what you’re already doing for us. That‘s all we need.”

It feels almost like being told that being a friend to them has been everything. As if that simple act in itself was more than enough.

It feels almost like being told there is nothing you can do at all.

The press of porcelain around you is so careful, Sun holding you as close as he can.

You cry.

-----------------------

You and Sun sit side by side. The quiet is not entirely comfortable, but it is in a way cathartic.

A deep tiredness has set in now that your tears have dried. For a while you let your mind drift anywhere, everywhere, to everything and nothing at all. Focusing on any idea in particular feels like far too overwhelming a task. You wonder if Sun feels the same way.

"Moon bit you before, too," you state, putting voice to the thought as it comes to mind. Your voice still carries a trace of hoarseness from crying, nearly soothed away but not entirely gone quite yet. “Not long after the first time I met him, when he woke up and it was dark. You tried to hold him still, and he bit you. That was a sign of it, wasn’t it.”

You wonder if there were more. Little moments you didn’t know to watch for, words or reactions you didn’t know weren’t right. Was the intensity of his stare a symptom you failed to catch, or did being sick just multiply an intensity that was natural to Moon?

Sun shakes his head, but the way he frowns after tells you he might be rethinking that denial already. “That was different,” he says. “Maybe... maybe not totally different. He wasn’t acting like himself then, either. But he didn’t bite me anywhere that would actually hurt me. He made sure not to. His teeth are the same material as my hand, but his teeth are thinner. He couldn’t hurt me biting my hand. Even if he had tried to- and he wasn’t trying to, friend, I could tell- his teeth would have broken before I did.”

A long, slow breath of air comes out of you as a sigh.

Sun is no longer guarding his injured arm quite so carefully. He didn’t flinch when it brushed against you earlier, and he isn’t holding it with any particular caution now.

“Are you ready for help with your arm?” you ask. You have had about as much stress and sadness as you can take, and you think Sun likely has as well. You want to see something made better. You want him to feel better.

Sun takes a moment to respond, but after that brief pause he nods. “Please,” he says.

“Let me get the sewing kit.”

It isn’t far- you never put it fully away after the last time you used it. At first you’d left it out because you worried you would need it again soon. That your stitching would fail somewhere, that something would pull apart, that the lines of thread around Moon’s blanket would come undone and need repair.

Even after it was clear that the stitches would hold, you still hadn’t put it away. The sight of it had slowly become a reassurance instead, a reminder of something you had been able to do to help them.

You can do something right now, too.

Sun gives his approval of the same yellow thread as before and holds his injured arm out for help. Once again the bite is fully revealed to you, pierce marks running telltale crescents across the fabric of his sleeve. The number of cuts feels greater now, more overwhelming in the context of needing to sew across each.

You’re not sure how much the smaller cuts will benefit from thread. At the same time, you think that just the act of trying to do something to help might in itself be beneficial to Sun. A show of care. You secure the thread with a knot to the side of the first cut, moving across it with a single careful stitch.

Slowly, one at a time, yellow thread bridging across broken lines. You keep each line loose, moving away from the injuries themselves to make another knot when need be. Your free hand rests on Sun’s wrist, a finger on the edge of his sleeve. It is both a small gesture of comfort and a way to assure him that you won’t reach out and touch anything that might still be painful, letting Sun reposition the fabric himself when adjustment is needed.

One line of sharp cuts and then another, crossing over the second curving row the same way you did the first. When you secure the last end of the thread and let your hands fall away, the wounds in the fabric stay stable and closed.

“What about underneath?” you ask.

Sun pulls back his arm and slowly rolls up his sleeve. He takes a moment to consider before answering.

“Can you be extra careful, friend?” he asks.

“Careful how?” You don't want to promise anything of your basic skill level before you know what exactly you’re promising.

Sun thinks a second more, then gestures for you to give him the needle. When you give it to him, he rolls up the sleeve on his uninjured side as well. He turns the needle sideways, pricking his uninjured arm in such a way that the point only barely dips below the fabric before coming out again.

“No deeper than that?” he says, half a statement and half a question. “Otherwise it will hurt.”

“I can try.” That isn’t good enough. You can do better than that. You will do better, for Sun. “If it helps, I can do it.”

Another pause to think, and then Sun points to the deepest of the cuts into his arm. “Just these need it, I think,” he tells you.

You nod, thread the needle again, and...

Your hands aren’t steady enough. This time it is not fear of making a mistake so much as exhaustion, your body struggling to cope with the prolonged stress. It takes you a moment before you can make any real attempt. You fold a leg up onto the couch and brace your elbow against it, to keep your hands from shaking.

The needle traces very, very carefully over the fabric, bringing up the edges that have been pressed down into the wound. The cut is wider than was initially apparent, and you mumble an almost reflexive “Sorry” despite the lack of reaction from Sun.

Slow movements, minute adjustments, you make sure the needle only barely skims under the surface as you work. There are only a few stitches to be made this time, and it isn’t long before you’re done with the few cuts Sun directed you to.

“Any better?” you ask.

Sun slowly moves the arm, twisting it back and forth gently, letting his sleeve fall back into place. “Better,” he confirms.

You do feel a little better.

Emptied out, full of snarled knots you’re too tired to attempt to unravel anymore, but still a little better than before. Out of everything, this at least shouldn’t hurt him quite so much anymore. There is an assurance that this will heal, even if everything else feels broken.

The hour has, at some point, gotten late. Your exhaustion is more than just emotional now. You need to sleep, but as you have that thought you realize how difficult that will be.

Moon is still in your bedroom. Moon is sick.

You end up in a long conversation with Sun that is not quite an argument, a back and forth with frustration but not bite. Sun wants you to be able to go to bed and get a proper night’s rest, offering to stay up all night watching Moon to ensure nothing happens. You can’t help but see that as an absolutely terrible idea, for several reasons. Even if you weren’t afraid of that plan being a danger to Sun’s health, you don’t think you’re ready to face Moon again quite yet.

With Sun’s plan firmly off the table, you’re ready to just curl up on the couch and close your eyes. You can use some towels as blankets if need be. 

Sun doesn’t like that plan any more than you liked his though. He tells you that he wants to check on Moon regardless, and he can at least get you some actual blankets while he’s at it. Then he tells you he also wants to wait in the hallway all night, sitting with his back to the door, so he’ll know if Moon opens it at any point.

That idea is, in your opinion, nearly as bad as his first one.

In the end, a series of half compromises are reached. Sun will go, quietly, and grab you blankets while he checks on Moon. He will sleep nearby, between you and the direction of the bedroom, so he won’t endanger himself but will still know if Moon makes an appearance. Both of you want the other to take the comfort of the couch to sleep on, and in your mutual frustration you end up both stubbornly deciding to sleep on the floor.

Sun comes back from the bedroom with an absolutely massive amount of pillows and blankets, likely everything he could grab without disturbing Moon. Moon, who is still sleeping Sun tells you.

“... Just sleeping?” You ask meekly, doubts worming into your mind. Moon is sick, after all. That worries you, even if this sickness is apparently defined by a danger to others more than to Moon's own health.

“Just sleeping,” Sun confirmed. “I made sure.”

Sun grabbed a set of your pajamas as well. They’re soft, warm. Warm enough that you don’t need even half the blankets Sun brought with him. The sleeping spot you assemble on the floor resembles a blanket nest more than a bed in the end.

Sun lies down, but doesn’t entirely settle. His head stays propped up on his arms, watchful.

You put a blanket over him and, moving almost automatically, tuck it in around him. You’re not sure if that will be enough to convince him to actually sleep, but it is something at least. You curl up nearby with one of your oldest blankets, the pattern of it comforting and nostalgic.

For a minute, sleep sounds impossible. The floor under you, even padded with blankets and pillows, is too hard. The hum of the fridge is too loud. Your mind is too restless, the unusual angle makes the room seem too unfamiliar. Then you settle a little more comfortably into the blankets, and all at once your body realizes how badly it needs rest.

Maybe it’s how tired you are, maybe it’s trust in Sun to keep watch, but you fall asleep as soon as you close your eyes.

Chapter Text

When you wake up the next morning, Sun is absent. In his place is the blanket you had put over him, neatly folded.

There is the sound of hushed conversation from your bedroom. It’s impossible to make out any words, but the tone is at least calm. You don’t intrude.

Coffee is the only thing you want for breakfast. Sun joins you at the table not long after you’ve sat down, his expression somber and tired. You’re glad you insisted on him staying nearby last night- You don’t think he got much sleep at all.

“Is...” you stare into your cup for a quiet moment, half unsure of how to word the question and half afraid to ask at all. “How is Moon?”

“... Better,” Sun tells you, the word careful and hesitant. “He’s feeling a little better right now.”

You don’t know how to respond. The best you can do is a vague nod of acknowledgement, a sip of your coffee. You keep taking little sips like that, the room painfully silent, until your cup is half empty.

That’s when you see the movement out of the corner of your vision, a midnight blue shape taking a careful half step into the room.

The warm feeling upon seeing him is automatic, a welcome rush of joy and excitement. It is without thought, without hesitation, undeniable. Something that runs faster than thought. The heavier emotions- worry and anxiety and dread and fear yes fear- take a moment longer to catch up. They surround you like the lagging gust of wind that follows after something passes by far too quick, suffocating.

Moon leans heavily on the nearest object, his arms wrapped around it to stay upright. As soon as your eyes land fully on him he moves to put his hands up, palms facing you in a gesture of harmlessness, but doing so means having to let go of his support. He drops to his knees, legs scrunching up into inhuman shapes as he attempts to make himself look smaller.

“Hi,” you say, knowing that is far from the right word but wanting to voice something. Anything to let him know he doesn’t need to shrink back from you like that. You let your eyes drop back down to your coffee, not wanting to set your gaze on Moon if that alone is heavy enough to bring him to the floor.

The starry shape in your peripheral vision slowly uncurls and, when you do not object, hesitantly crawls your way.

You can’t help but look to Sun for his reaction- None. No alarm, no wariness, no raised guard. Sun’s expression is neutral and unworried.

There is once again a sense of loss to that, the need to double check that you are safe with Moon approaching.

Moon uses the farthest chair from where you're sitting to pull himself back to his feet. You think he might have stayed right there if he could, coming not so much as an inch closer, but he’s swaying and struggling to support himself. In the end, he’s forced to sit.

A moment like a heavy stone dropping into a fathomless pit, silent and fearful.

"I... thought I should apologize," Moon says. He's clinging to the back of the chair with one arm, unsteady. "Sun tells me I misbehaved. I'm sorry."

He sounds like himself. Like Moon. There's no trace of that feral intensity to him now, not in voice or face or body language. So much so that you could almost pretend this is a normal morning, that you could almost forget. Forget like Moon seems to have forgotten, judging by the fact that Sun had to inform him of what had happened.

Sharp teeth, jolts of pain in your shoulder, Sun shaking with sobs. You can’t.

“Do you not remember at all?” you ask.

"It's... blurry," Moon admits.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Fine," he says. "Like nothing happened." His expression twists, frustration and uncertainty. "I don't know why it happened. I'm not- I'm not mad at you. Nothing had any reason to happen. I don't know. I'm sorry."

Not mad at you, implying he wouldn’t have found it abnormal nor would he have regretted it if he had been mad. Mad like he is at Nessa, if you had to guess.

Maybe he really has been sick longer than anyone realized.

Sun scoots his chair closer to Moon's, wrapping his arm around his twin. Moon starts to lean against him, but stops as he catches a glimpse of Sun's injury.

The bite looks a little better already, if only slightly. The edges haven't frayed this time, the tiny fibers already starting to pull themselves back into their pattern. Still, Moon's expression can only be described as devastated.

"I am so, so sorry, Sun." His voice is barely a whisper. By the sound of it, you don't think it's the first time he's said that.

"You didn't mean it," Sun replies. You don't think that the first time he's said that, either.

That distance again, the pit carved out of where excited chatter and genuine laughter would normally be. You don’t know how to fill it back in. You don’t know if you can.

You finish your coffee in silence.

--------------

Moon is withdrawn. All of his mischievous smiles and playful energy have dried up. When you offer to brush his hair that evening after work, the way you do every night, he takes so long to respond that for a moment you’re sure he will refuse. When he finally agrees, the motion of his nod is so slight that it’s barely perceptible- Almost like he's leaving it up to you to decide if you really saw it or not.

Sun sits nearby while you brush Moon’s hair. The two hold on to the ends of each other's sleeves, running the material under their fingers idly. You're not sure if Sun is doing that to keep track of where Moon's hands are while he's so close or if it's solely for comfort. Moon is completely still and silent as you brush.

As soon as you’re done, Moon retreats away from you. He keeps as much distance as he can without leaving the room, purposely making sure that Sun is between the two of you at all times. When you try to invite him to a game, he declines.

This isn’t good for him. You know it isn’t.

But what can you do? You can’t think of anything.

Maybe he will relax if given a little time and space. Maybe you will, as well. Maybe, maybe.

You’re not sure if it’s despite Moon’s distant behavior or because of it, but you find the courage to sleep in your own bed again that night. You think Moon might have insisted that he sleep on the couch if not for the fact that he must know Sun would insist on coming with him, effectively exiling them both from your bedroom. Instead Moon sleeps on the farthest possible edge of the bed, Sun’s arms wrapped securely around him.

Tomorrow isn’t any better. Nor is the next day.

It doesn’t take much time before your worry for Moon eclipses your fear for yourself, and it only takes an instant to remember why you were afraid in the first place.

It happens again.

"You." Moon’s mouth stays open just enough to show the tips of sharp teeth, eyes wild and singularly focused.

For a heartbeat, everything seems to stop. The scene in front of you feels too real, too vivid, pressing hard into your mind to imprint itself in memory.

The sound of the television, a hint of bright colors and motion in your peripheral vision.

How close Moon is, closer than he has been in days. How happy you were to see him scoot that little bit nearer in order to see the TV, to watch with you.

The warmth of the room in opposition to the cool evening, and the chill descending on you.

No matter how fast your thoughts race in search of a reason, there is once again none to be found. No apparent trigger. No specific sound or event or moment in time. No prior warning. Moon simply snaps.

Time jolts forward again as Moon lunges. His fingertips pass within an inch of you before Sun is there, grabbing Moon mid-lunge. Moon's reaction is pure, uninhibited fury. He is uncomprehending, beyond reason, aware of nothing but the fact that he's been interrupted. He thrashes and fights with everything he has, teeth bared.

Sun's arm comes up in front of Moon's face to pull him back, away from you.

Your eyes catch the cuts in Sun's sleeve, edges held together by such a thin line of thread, still trying to mend.

You remember the sound he made when that wound was inflicted.

Before you can think, before you even fully realize what you're doing, you are up and reaching out. For a moment it feels like there is nothing more important in the world than to prevent that injury from repeating itself.

Then, as the fabric of Sun's sleeve makes contact with Moon's face, Moon stills. You stop short.

"... Sun?" Moon's voice is once again small, lost. There is no understanding in his eyes, only confusion. No sign that he has any idea where he is, or what's going on. "Sun?" He repeats, more urgently, as if unaware that his twin is the one holding him back.

"Here, Moon, I'm here. It's okay, we're okay. You're going to take a nap, you'll feel better after a nap. I promise."

Moon does not struggle against Sun's hold anymore. His entire body droops until he goes completely limp, allowing himself to be dragged out of the room by Sun.

You stand frozen exactly where you are, your body statue still and your heart racing. The television continues to play, jarringly upbeat music discordant in the otherwise silent room.

Somehow, you only missed a few seconds of the show. Like some mean-spirited trick of time, a lifetime passing by while the world itself only inches along by less than a single minute.

You turn the TV off. The resulting silence is so loud that you have the nonsensical urge to cover your ears.

What would have happened if Sun hadn't been right there?

Had Moon intended to hurt you seriously, or would he have stopped once he had your full attention? Or slowed down at least, given you time?

Time for what? You remember last time, the feeling of his hand clamped down on your shoulder. The harshness of it, as hard and immobile as inanimate porcelain. Like something that would not let itself be pried off for anything, that would rather break than move. If Moon caught you like that again, what exactly did you expect to do?

It is a few hours later that Moon wakes up, back to his normal self again. Or rather, his new normal. Though he is himself, he's even more withdrawn now. Once again, his memory of the entire event is fuzzy.

You don't get the chance to ease back into something approaching comfortable with Moon before it happens again. Another episode like the previous two happens the next night.

And again, a few days after that, when you're in the middle of breakfast.

And again, that same night.

That one Sun must have anticipated. You come home to see the two sitting on the floor, Sun's arms wrapped tight around Moon. As soon as Moon sees you he is wild again, he is frantic, and Sun is already dragging him away from you.

After each episode, Moon becomes more distant. He doesn't talk to you much anymore, other than the occasional apology. He won't let you come near unless Sun has a tight hold on him first, pinning down his arms. You start finding Moon curled up asleep in odd places, corners and behind furniture.

When you find him like that, you make sure to put a blanket over him.

You do not think that is anywhere near enough care to keep him healthy.

True to Sun's word, Moon hasn't hurt you. Sun has not let anything happen. Sun has even been able to avoid being hurt himself, Moon fighting him less than before. You're not sure if that's because practice has made Sun better at restraining him or if some part of Moon remembers the previous bite. Remembers how much he regrets it, maybe, or simply remembers that it didn't do him any good.

Familiarity takes the edge of fear. As it happens again, and again and again, you see it more and more clearly. The desperation on Moon's face during these episodes. The panic, Moon no less afraid than Sun in the middle of an anxiety attack.

Those anxiety attacks have been happening more often. Sun mumbles to himself, fears and self-reassurances, holding Moon close. Another thing that has become all too familiar is building blanket forts late in the night, trying to provide any small comfort that you can. You think it helps, if only a little.

One night, the inevitable happens. Moon somehow manages to slip out of Sun's arms without waking him. You're awoken by hands gripping your shoulders, opening your eyes to see Moon looming over you.

"You."

You think you should be terrified. You think maybe you should yell, scream, do anything that might wake Sun. Moon's own voice was hushed on the single word he breathed, no less intense but quieted. Maybe some part of him knows that a little more volume would wake Sun. Maybe, if you call out for help, you can wake Sun and this nightmare will be over.

Over for tonight, at least. Only for tonight.

The desperation on Moon's face is painfully vivid.

"More," Moon says. "Not enough it's never enough. More." His grip on your shoulders tightens, not quite enough to make you flinch. "Hungry, always hungry- Always starving- Give me more."

He's pleading with you.

A sickness dolls develop from long term neglect. From not being given the care they need to survive. Leaving them to diminish little by little, day by day, never having enough.  Dying slowly over weeks or months, or in Moon's case years.

It does hurt a little, when you move your arms. The pressure on your shoulder tries to restrict your movements, but you push past it. You reach up and pull Moon into a hug. He falls against you, not fighting your hold.

"Okay," you say. "You're okay. You're going to be okay. You need more, that's okay. I'm right here, see?" You squeeze him a little tighter for a moment, to prove it. "You've got my full attention. All the attention you need, okay?"

He's still, for a few seconds. He's peaceful.

"Not enough," he mumbles. Tenseness creeps back into his body, a palpable agitation you can feel press against your arms and chest. "Still not enough, never enough it's never enough."

He's starting to struggle in your grasp, weakly but struggling still. You hold on a little tighter.

It was never going to be as easy as that, you guess. After being starved for so long, Moon is hungry for more than you can give.

You call out to Sun. He wakes immediately, reaching out in a panic when he realizes Moon isn't there in his grasp. When he sees you, when he sees where Moon is, he is terrified.

You hold up one hand, making the best stop, calm gesture you can while your other arm tries to hold down Moon's increasingly frantic struggle. He is doing his best to let himself be restrained, not yet fighting anywhere near as wildly as you know he can, but you can feel the panic in him increasing as he realizes that this too is not nearly enough.

"Sun's going to help you," you tell him. "You'll be okay."

"Hungry," is the only response you get. The word is desperate in every way, that feral edge beginning to overtake the pleading tone.

You look at Sun, and he seems to understand. He approaches carefully on his knees, wrapping his arms around Moon just as his struggling is starting to become too much for you to hold back. Sun does not yank Moon away abruptly this time, instead carefully pulling his twin out of your grasp and into his own.

He doesn't take Moon far away. As oversized as the bed is, the opposite end of it is still right there within your sight. Sun glances at you, maybe considering taking Moon out to the couch if he needs to. You do your best to keep your expression calm, unafraid.

Sun turns back to Moon, wrapping him in blankets and mumbling quiet reassurances. Sun is blocking your view of Moon, or maybe purposely blocking Moon's view of you, but you can still see Moon struggling in Sun's hold. You can also see when Moon gives up, going still as the blanket wrap turns into a blanket cocoon. Sun even drapes a blanket over Moon's face, not having to worry about stifling Moon's ability to breathe when dolls don't strictly need air to begin with.

You've never seen it before, how exactly Sun calms Moon down. You're not sure what you imagined, but this seems so simple in comparison to that nebulous idea. Gentle, careful, kind. There doesn't seem to be any special trick to it, or even any force required once you are out of Moon's view and his struggles cease. Sun simply soothes him, quiet words and soft blankets.

A few minutes later, Sun's quiet words trail off to nothing. He makes a few last adjustments to the blankets, smoothing them out with the same infinite care he showed when Moon was injured and barely clinging to life. Everything is still for a time, and you realize that Moon has fallen asleep.  

Sun shoots you a look that is deeply apologetic. His mouth opens, but then he glances at Moon's sleeping form and closes it again. Apparently Moon is not a heavy sleeper at this moment, or maybe has not been asleep long enough to be quite that deeply unconscious yet.

'It's okay.' You mouth the words instead of saying them out loud. You're not sure how well he can lip read, but the shape of the okay should be easy enough to recognize.

Sun gives a small, hesitant nod, and curls up next to Moon. You don't think he will fall asleep again any time soon, but he has at least relaxed.

Your heart does not race. Your breaths come easily, and the room around you is comfortable. Warm, all the shapes soft in the gentle light of your lamp.

You don't fall asleep right away either, but still it does not take long for you to fall back into restful dreams.

Chapter Text

When you try to get Moon's attention the next morning, he ducks behind Sun immediately. For a moment it's almost funny, seeing Moon scramble across the couch to hide behind his twin. Then you see the way his shoulders have risen defensively, and all the humor dries up all at once. Sun shoots him a worried look.

"Moon." Saying his name does not make him any more inclined to come out of hiding. "I just wanted to ask if there's anything more I could be doing for you."

There is a pause before he peeks out from behind Sun, just a bit, just enough to give you a confused look. "I'm fine," he tells you.

You know he isn't.

"You don't have to be fine," you tell him. The words don't come out right, that doesn't sound like you wanted it to. "I mean, it's just... if you're not fine, you can tell me. If there's something else I can do for you, anything that would help, you can tell me."

Moon takes another quick glance at you before looking away again, as if eye contact is a risk that might somehow harm him or maybe you. Once again his expression is confused.

"You were saying, last night... I know you probably don't remember very well, but when it happens you keep saying it's not enough," you explain. "Like you need something. I know I'm not your person, and there's probably not anything I can do to make you feel like you actually have enough, but I wanted to know if there's anything I could do to at least help with that. You know I don't really know anything about dolls, or what I should do, but-" You gather all of your courage to say the words decisively, to make them solid and real. "I want to try." The confidence in your voice is there, but you can't sustain it. Your next words come out softer, flimsy. "So it would help a lot if you could tell me, if you could think of anything."

Sun moves aside, letting you see Moon's face properly. Letting Moon see you.

"It's not..." Moon starts. The words are struggling, Moon seeming to debate on simply hiding away behind Sun again instead of finishing the thought at all. "It's not that. I'm fine. Whatever I said, I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"What is it, then?" The question comes out with a desperate edge to it you can't quite help.

You can't deny it though, you are desperate. Some part of you knows Sun would have told you already if he knew there was a way to help Moon, but you don't want that to be true. You want there to be some secret, some difficult unspoken task, something that can somehow undo the damage years of neglect has inflicted on your friend. You want it so badly that you have convinced yourself it must be true.

For a moment Moon avoids your gaze again, avoids looking anywhere near you even. His eyes roam as if in search of more hiding spots he could retreat into. Then he does catch a glimpse of your face, and he stops. His posture deflates.

Moon still does not reply immediately, but you can see the concentration on his face as he thinks. He's thinking about how to actually answer your question this time, you realize, instead of how to avoid it again.

"Drowning people pull their rescuers under," Moon states, each word slow and carefully chosen. "I read about it once. That's... that's why, I think.

"It feels like dying," he tells you. A sharp tooth grazes his lip, silent and harmless, as he tries to find the right words to continue with. "It's fuzzy. I don't remember very well. I remember the feeling though- Like dying again.  Like if something doesn't save me now, I'll go under.

"I've been thinking about it a lot, lately. About why I'd go after you when I'm not mad at you. When you haven't done anything to us, when you've been taking care of Sun. Taking care of me, even. I think it might be because of that, because it's like drowning. I go to you for help. I grab onto you. That should be enough, but I still feel like I'm starving. Like I've always been starving, like I'll always be-"

A sharp tug on Moon's sleeve as Sun interrupts him. "Moon, we don't use that word. We don't talk like that." Sun's tone is not scolding so much as it is viscerally uncomfortable. His mouth is twisted as if even hearing Moon use the term starving has left an unbearable taste on his own tongue.

For a moment, Moon looks like he might insist on that phrasing as the only accurate option. Then his expression softens.

"I should be fine, but I don't feel like it," Moon continues. "And so I get... desperate enough to pull someone under, I think. I shouldn't, but I think that's the reason. Once Sun calms me down and I've rested, the feeling goes away. There was nothing I actually needed that badly. It's not anything wrong with what you're doing, it's what's wrong with me. You're fine."

Moon goes quiet, but there is a feeling of something still left unsaid. Something Moon couldn't quite come up with the words for.

"What Moon means is 'thank you,'" Sun interjects. Though that doesn't quite fit the conversation, Moon nods.

"I told you we don't need much," Moon says. "We don't. It's not your fault I was broken before you even met me. You've been dealing with someone else's mistakes from the start. Thank you for trying."

It would be nice, if you could be relieved to hear that. If you could enjoy the genuine warmth and comfort the two are offering you, content to know that this time you have done something right. To know you have taken good care of them and to worry about nothing more.

You can't. The feelings are all there, but there is something heavy blanketing them. Like a house with too much snow piled onto the roof, wood straining under the weight, barely able to stand without sagging.

You wanted to try.

You wanted there to be a way to help him, even if that would mean that you'd been neglectful in not doing that for him sooner.

You wanted there to be some way for your best to be enough. To be more than enough, even. You wanted it to be more.

"Then there's... really nothing else I can do?" you ask, still not wanting to accept the idea. If you've really been doing things so right, then why is Moon still sick? If you really have given him everything that could help, then what else is left to do? "There isn't anything I'm missing? Anything at all that could help even a little?"

The motion of a sigh from Moon, silent. The uncomfortably intense, direct stare that you know means he is entirely serious. The face of someone who is about to deliver bad news.

"Sun has been dancing around it, hasn't he," Moon states.

Sun looks away, uncomfortable and ashamed, arms wrapping around himself. 

"There isn't anything to do," Moon tells you. "Once this happens, that's it. There isn't any going back. " The intensity of Moon's gaze diminishes as he glances towards Sun, something heavy and tired tugging at Moon's expression. "You need to understand, the fact that I'm capable of sitting here and talking to you like this is already all the miracle we're going to get. Sun can calm me down. Most dolls don't have anyone like Sun and I have each other, that isn't usually possible. Once they get too desperate, they're lost. There isn't any getting better from this, this is already better than the best case scenario."

Sun does not look at you. Sun does not object, does not tell you that's untrue, does not suggest anything that could disprove Moon's words.

Moon does look at you, clear and direct.

There really isn't anything that will fix this.

There will be no secret, no miracle cure, no hidden trick to make everything go back to the way it was. To that last warm moment before a hand clamped down on your shoulder.

You have done everything there is to do.

"Okay," you say. It's not okay, but you say it regardless. "Don't worry about it, then. Sun and I will take care of you, so don't worry."

The remaining intensity of Moon's stare finally fades completely, his eyes dropping from yours. Once again he is shy, sheepish.

"Thank you," Moon says again. The words come to him more easily this time.

There is nothing more than that you can do.

You know that fact, there is nothing more.

Despite that, no matter how pointless it may be, your desire to keep trying is unchanged.

----------------------------

You're surprised to find that Moon isolates himself a little less after that day. Maybe it's because the two of you finally had an open conversation about things or maybe it's because your genuine worry got through to him, but he's no longer retreating away from you every time you enter a room. He even agrees to participate in the occasional activity, though only from a careful distance.

It happens again, of course. As soon as the two of you are back to the point where he is willing to joke with you a little again, the first few small smiles returning to his face, it happens again.

It isn't going to stop happening.

The three of you in the middle of a board game, Sun deliberating his next move. Moon is uncharacteristically quiet. He stares too long and too intently at a game token in his hand, but he is not seeing it. You understand what's happening a split second before he looks up at you.

Two feral red eyes on a face split into two halves, midnight and bone white, expression animal. Desperate. The game token falls from his hand, forgotten.

Moon lunges over the board. Plastic drums against cardboard as the game pieces scatter, knocked in every direction.

You do not flinch back.

Sun grabs onto Moon almost immediately, struggling to pull him away from you. Moon's fingers tear the game board as he claws for purchase, frantic.

"It's okay-" You hear yourself saying. "You'll be okay. You're okay, just hang in there, okay?"

Moon does not give any sign of having heard.

Sun responds to your words instead. He searches your face for a brief moment as he tries to restrain the struggling Moon, and his grip relaxes a little. Not enough for Moon to escape, but enough to look a little more comfortable for the both of them. He's more gentle as he drags Moon away, speed no longer his top priority.

While Moon rests in your bedroom, no doubt wrapped up tightly in another blanket cocoon, you work on repairing the game. You draw a new game board onto a sheet of paper, messier than the original but still serviceable enough. You set the little plastic tokens and pieces back where they were, to the best of your memory. Now all there is to do is to find something else to occupy your time for a bit. The board game patiently awaits the return of its players.

Moon re-appears a few hours later, lingering unsure at the edge of the room. You invite him back to the game board. Said board looks much better now than it did a bit ago, Sun having helped you decorate your handmade copy and tape it down to the damaged original board for better stability.

Moon hesitates, once again curling into a ball to make himself look as unthreatening as possible, but after a moment he does crawl back over. The crawl is low and slow, almost dragging. When he reaches his spot beside the game, he seems to half expect that you'll send him away again.

"Sun has been thinking about his turn this entire time, and he still hasn't decided what to do next," you tell Moon.

"I have, I've decided!" Sun insists, taking his place back at the game as well. Takes his place and then simply sits there, considering the board, expression increasingly unsure.

You look over to Moon. That small prompt is enough, Moon reaches forward and gently taps the game board. Porcelain on paper over cardboard, quiet. "Here next," he says. You think Moon might be giving genuinely good advice this time.

"Of course," Sun says, scooting his piece over to the indicated square. "That's what I'd decided on, or- Well, I was going to decide on that, I'm sure!" Still, he gives a, "Thank you, Moon."

A tiny smile from Moon, barely visible but there.

It happens again a little less, after that.

It does still happen, but it happens less.

It feels safe to laugh again. Slowly but surely, Moon allows himself to inch a little closer to you each time he's near.

Moon sprawled across your lap, something you hadn't realized how much you'd been missing until now. Then his body tenses and his breaths quicken as it hits him at the worst moment. You notice before Sun does, and have to alert him. He's never far away, it only takes a quiet word to get his attention. With the position Moon is in, it's not easy for Sun to disentangle him from you gently. Still, with some effort he does accomplish it.

Moon makes a pained whimper as Sun pulls him away from you. He clings as hard to Sun as he was trying to cling to you, and Sun puts an arm around him in return. This time Sun does not take Moon all the way to the bedroom, simply reaching out for a blanket that had been tossed over the back of the couch at some point you can't quite recall. Sun soothes Moon until he goes still.

Moon peeks out of the blankets again a little over a half hour later, looking disoriented but not uncomfortable.

"You missed the good part," you say, referring to the movie the three of you had sat down to watch.

"I'll tell you about what you missed later," Sun assures him.

Moon blinks sleepily a few times, looking around to get his bearings. He nods, shifting under the blankets so he can see the screen a little better to catch the movie's end.

This isn't going to stop happening. You understand that. Moon understands it, and you think even Sun has started to accept it.

But that doesn't mean there is nothing you can do.

And it doesn't mean things can't get better, little by little every day.

Chapter Text

You come home to an enthusiastic "Welcome home!" from Sun, followed shortly by a telltale rattle of silverware. Moon is sitting on your kitchen counter, leaning forward to root through an open drawer.

"Going through the spoons again?" you ask.

"How could you make such terrible accusations?" Moon asks, grinning. He reaches forward with a clear and deliberate motion, placing a single finger on the front of the drawer and smoothly pulling it closed. "Especially when they're true."

You can't help but smile as well. Maybe there was a time when you would have been unhappy to see someone going through your silverware drawer for reasons unknown, but you can't imagine that feeling now. To see Moon acting like himself again is an overwhelming relief, a shared joy that seems to fill the entire room.

"I'm supervising him," Sun informs you, tone somewhere between fond humor and exasperation. 

"I'm being supervised," Moon states, shoulders straightening proudly as if this was somehow a badge of honor.

You can't tell if Sun failed to stop Moon from getting into mischief, or if he was so happy to see Moon finally having fun that he hadn't even wanted to try.

"Wonderful." You're trying to be sarcastic, but the word comes out genuine. "Unfortunately I can't join you on your silverware adventure. I have to go grocery shopping tonight, I'm going to be leaving again in a minute. Sorry. We'll have to think of something quick we can all do together after, before it gets too late."

Normally you would have gone to the grocery store on the way home and saved yourself a stop, but you hadn't wanted to worry Sun and Moon by coming home late without letting them know where you'd be. Plus, this way you can double check what actually needs to go on your list instead of engaging in the familiar dance of forgetting that one thing you're out of yet again.

"Can we come?" Sun asks, and-

The look he's giving you. Honest to goodness puppy dog eyes.

You agree immediately, without hesitation. You would have agreed either way, but the look on his face has you saying yes without a single thought.

Sun goes to help Moon off the counter upon hearing your response, but Moon is already clambering down on his own. He climbs down the drawers with his hands, legs still up on the counter, ending up in a what is almost a handstand- something made easier for him by the fact that his legs weigh almost nothing. The handstand then lowers into a sort of upside-down crawl, back facing the floor, arms bent at a somewhat disturbing angle as he skitters towards you with surprising speed. He grins the entire time, watching you eagerly for a reaction.

You really should be more unsettled by that sight than you are, you're sure of it. Still, you're instead stifling a laugh as you offer him an arm. He takes it, using you as support as he pulls himself to his feet.

It's hard to tell, but you think his legs can take a little more weight now than they could before.

A moment later Sun puts his arms under Moon's, freeing up your hands again as the three of you head to the car. The rush of fresh air, the rattle of keys as you relock your front door, the excited bounce in Sun's step that Moon cannot keep up with but can look amused by as he's pulled around by his twin.

The back seat is still filled with blankets from when Moon needed them to safely take a trip in the car. This gives Sun something to fuss over, encircling Moon's in layer after layer of blankets. Though the resulting blanket nest is excessive, it isn't entirely useless. Moon still has trouble sitting up on his own for too long, something the motion of the car will only make more difficult. The blankets help prop him up, giving him something to lean his weight on.

You think that same result could have easily been accomplished with half the amount of blankets, but no one is complaining about Moon being extra cozy. The process of arranging the blankets is clearly soothing to Sun, as well. What was once a desperate gesture fueled by the need to do anything at all has become genuinely relaxing for him, a slight smile on his face and a sense of ease about him as he smoothes away wrinkles in the fabric. You wait patiently for him to arrange everything to his satisfaction and to settle into his own seat beside Moon.

As the car begins to rumble and move, Sun's enthusiasm only grows. Moon's expression betrays nothing, but the way his eyes are glued to the window proves his interest as well. It's only a trip to the grocery store, but there is a sense of excitement building in all of you.

It has been a little while since you've been able to take them somewhere. Longer than you'd intended.

It will also be the most public place you've taken them. Along with the excitement, a worry gnaws at you as well.

These are not your dolls.

Will people be able to tell, when they see you with the two?

Will signs of the neglect and injury the two have been through be obvious to onlookers? Will they think you're responsible?

Do you have to be on guard to ensure no one tries to take them from you, in order to protect them from you or simply to take them away? Do people do that, is it a possibility you need to worry about, someone kidnapping dolls? Or would that count as theft, legally speaking? Would what you've done count as theft? Is that something that could cause someone to try to take them?

Was this a good idea to begin with? You've never thought about it before, but there could be rules against taking living dolls into the store in the first place. You have seen signs on businesses before that forbade dolls from entering, even if you've only seen said signs maybe twice in your life. Even if they are allowed without issue, is there some unspoken etiquette or code of conduct for this that you aren't aware of?

Then you get a chance to safely glance behind you at a light. You see Sun smiling, swaying happily with the movements of the car. You can faintly hear a sound as well, a melody nearly lost under the noise that is unavoidable with car travel- he's humming. Moon's entire focus is still on the window, his interest in the world outside now completely undisguised. Though you have to return your eyes to the road in front of you a moment later, you hear Moon suggesting a road trip game to Sun. You're not sure how far they'll get with that considering how short a trip it will be, but Moon sounds so eager about the idea.

Sun agrees to Moon's game just as quickly as you expected him to. You feel your hands relaxing on the steering wheel, not having realized until that moment how tightly you'd been gripping it. An ache eases out of your back as the tension leaves you.

Whatever happens, you'll figure it out. It will be okay.

------------------

It is not okay.

The parking lot is busy. Sun's attention is pulled in every direction by how many things he wants to look at, and the way he grabs onto your hand indicates that even he's worried he might otherwise wander off by accident. Moon holds onto Sun's free arm to keep himself upright, already seeming a little overwhelmed. He looks straight down as if trying to avoid seeing anything that might catch his eye, Sun doing the absolute opposite as he tries to see everything at once. Sun's arm wraps around Moon to help support him, the action absentminded and automatic.

On top of that, the clouds hanging above threaten rain. Or maybe more than threaten it- You think you may have felt the touch of a single tiny raindrop on your cheek just now. You have a jacket on, but you didn't think to bring anything of the sort for Sun and Moon.

You tackle the issue of the busy parking lot as best you can. A brisk pace, quick to avoid tempting the rain but not so fast as to cause Sun stress or Moon difficulty in keeping his feet under him. A firm grip on Sun's hand, the porcelain cool and smooth, gentle tugs to ensure he doesn't walk the wrong direction or accidentally stop in front of a moving car while his attention is elsewhere. You even manage to get Moon to perk up a little when you point out the birds drinking from a nearby puddle.

There is a very brief, somewhat foolish sense of triumph when you make it to the doors unscathed. Then you are inside.

There are people everywhere. Carts squeeze past each other in packed aisles, groups of people gather in bunches around shelves. An apparently unsupervised child yells at the top of his lungs as he runs past. You have barely taken a few steps inside the store proper, but already a constant stream of people is flowing close around you.

Sun seems unbothered, if incredibly distracted.

Distracted enough to not notice the way Moon has tensed, eyes wide. His body has gone completely still, but his eyes are darting around at every movement.

"No." Moon's gaze is growing too intense, too wild, a panic quickly building in him to the point of overflow. "No, no, it's not- no- bad, no no no-"

Moon pulls back on a now extremely confused Sun, towards the doors you just came through. When Sun doesn't move fast enough, Moon lets go.

Both you and Sun move at the same time, each of you catching Moon by an arm. Despite how close he came to crashing to the ground, Moon's attempts to retreat only become more desperate. Doing the only thing you can think of, you put both arms under Moon's and simply pick him up. The weight of him is deceptively light, still no heavier than when you carried him before.

Moon twists and scrambles for purchase as you carry him back out through the doors, half acting like he's trying to cling to you and half attempting to climb over your shoulders and escape. It's not until you're a ways into the parking lot that Moon goes too still and too quiet all at once. His grip tightens.

You hear a whisper from Moon, only audible at such close proximity.

"You..."

Moon is having an episode.

He's not just overwhelmed. Moon is having an episode right here, right now.

"Okay, okay Moon, just hold on," you tell him, walking as quickly as you can. The parking lot feels so much larger now than it had before, the same distance suddenly too long and too far. You feel a raindrop hit your face, then another on your hand a second later. "Please hang on for just a minute, you'll be okay, just a little farther."

Sun has realized what's going on by now and is reaching out to pry Moon off of you. You shake your head, turning your body away from him without breaking your stride. This is not the place. The paved ground under you is harsh and the lot is full of impatient cars circling for parking, there is neither time nor space for Sun to try to take Moon now. Not to mention the eyes that will be on you if Moon struggles, and you're confident he will.

Moon is holding on to you too tight. A slight ache is starting to grow under his fingertips. Little twitches of movement run through him as his panic grows, desperate for anything that will help. You move one hand to reach up, smoothing down his hair, hoping the soothing action will distract him for a few seconds before the fact that he feels no better from it catches up to him. Your palm comes back damp from tiny scattered raindrops that have gathered on Moon's hair.

Your car, there's your car.

Your keys. You don't have a free hand to get your keys!

Sun is there, having realized the problem at the same moment you did. He reaches into your pocket with a hushed "Sorry, sorry friend" for the intrusion. A small flinch when a key at the end of the ring hits his hand a little too harshly while he searches for the correct one, but a moment later he has the nearest door open.

Into the car, quickly. You duck through the back door while still holding Moon, feeling like the two of you are made of nothing but elbows and knees as you try to crawl across the seat. Moon is starting to struggle in earnest now. You're out of time. Sun is right behind you, ignoring a series of loud and frantic protests from Moon as he tries to pull his twin away from you. One of Moon's fingers catches on your clothes and refuses to let go, pulling harshly in his desperation to get back to you.

Red eyes locked on to you, too intense, without recognition. Moon's words of protest deteriorate into what is now more pure animal noise than anything else. He bares his teeth, and a jolt of panic overtakes Sun's already fearful expression.

You flip the bottom of your jacket up, over your head, off. Uncomprehending, Moon grasps at it instead of going after you. Moving quickly before he can catch on, you scramble across the center console between the seats and to the front.

The front seat is soft on your back. Your body, rigid with stress, refuses to sink into the padding of it.

The struggle behind you is quiet. The crinkle of your jacket. Thrashing cloth. Sun hushing Moon, a constant stream of comforting words in a near whisper. Moon does not claw his way over the center console to come after you. Slowly, slowly, the sounds fade away. Water taps and patters on your windshield as the rain begins to fall in earnest, filling the growing silence.

Once the rain is the only thing you hear, you can finally relax. Sun has it under control.

Too close. That one was too close.

Not too close to you being injured, surprisingly enough. That has to be a new record for how long Moon kept himself relatively under control during an episode, and Sun was right there next to you the entire time. If Moon had needed to be stopped to protect you, he would have been stopped.

No, that one was too close to Sun and Moon getting hurt.

Pavement is not a friendly surface for porcelain dolls, especially not when one is about to thrash and fight. You haven't forgotten how Moon's arm was broken, either.

The drumming of the rain grows heavier, more constant. If the sounds behind you hadn't already faded away, you wouldn't be able to hear them now- Which might be why you nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a light touch on your arm.

It's only Sun, fortunately. You turn to see him looking at you with concern, a few raindrops trapped in the curls of his hair. Moon isn't visible directly, but there is a shape wrapped in carefully arranged blankets in his place. The blankets are still, Moon's form peaceful beneath them.

"You can leave us here for right now, friend," Sun says. His voice is nearly lost in the rain, the words barely louder than the hushed tones he used to calm Moon. "Go do your shopping. We'll wait here."

Your reaction is to give an immediate shake of your head. You don't want to leave them here without you in an unfamiliar place. You don't want to leave them unguarded, unsafe. You don't want to leave Moon so soon after what just happened, and you don't want to leave Sun to deal with everything here on his own. The idea of it is gnawing, itchy, persistently intolerable.

"No," you say, matching your volume to Sun's. "Let's go home."

More than anything, you want to get the two somewhere safe.

Sun asks if you're sure, but you've already started the car and begun backing out of your parking spot. Another car waits eagerly to take your place. Sun is frazzled enough that he's forgotten his seatbelt, and you remind him as you reach for your own buckle as well. You miss the click of the buckle due to the rain and the engine noise, but a quick glance back confirms that Sun has his on now- a gray line over his brightly colored outfit. He has a hand on the blankets beside him, prepared to steady Moon if need be.

Raindrops and wind running across your windshield. The noise of engine and road. The steady mechanical movement of the windshield wiper, over and over, your sight blurring and cleared and blurring again. No one speaks on the way home. 

Home is in sight. You pull into your spot, the noise of the car giving way to nothing but the steady drumming of rain. The wipers stop and a layer of water flows over your windows, protective but heavy, somewhere between soothing and simply tiring.

You take a deep breath, letting your head lean back into the seat's headrest for a moment. You got them this far, they're okay. Nearly home safe.

"Okay, okay," you say. "Let's get Moon inside."

"We can stay here," Sun replies, voice still barely audible over the rain. "You go inside, we'll come to the door when Moon wakes up. I don't think it's a good idea to move him right now."

"Let's be careful, then," you say. "I want to get you two in safe."

Sun doesn't respond for a moment, prompting you to turn and look at him properly. There's an uncharacteristic focus to him, something that might be the cousin of Moon's intensity. Though while Moon's is serious and sharp, this is something more vulnerable. Pleading, almost.

"Friend," he whispers. "Please."

No, not just almost. Sun is pleading with you.

You want to get them inside. You want to take them in to where it's warm and comfortable and familiar. The same protective urge that led you to immediately taking them to your house after finding them in the park, despite having no idea what could actually be done to help them. To get them somewhere you know is safe, above all. The feeling is one track and determined.

It is also misplaced, you realize, as logic presses against the pull of emotion. Today, at least, that feeling is not helping anyone.

Moon is not in any danger in the car.

Bringing him inside won't make him more comfortable. The only thing that it could accomplish is a high risk of waking him before he's ready. What then? You're not sure even Sun knows what might happen. Would he be himself? Would it exhaust him, or worsen his sickness somehow? Would he go straight into another episode, not having been given the time to fully come out of the previous one? You can't think of any possibilities that sound good.

"Sorry. You're right, I'm sorry. I'll wait here until he wakes up," you say, matching your volume to Sun's. Sun looks like he might be about to object, and you continue before he can. "I want to stay. If that's okay for me to do, I want to stay here until Moon wakes up."

You know that the two of them should be fine in the car on their own for a bit. At the same time, you still can't stand the thought of just leaving them. You want to be here with them, you want to be here for them.

Sun considers that, then nods. One of his hands is still on Moon's blankets, and he smoothes the already perfect surface of it without seeming aware of the fact that he's doing it.

"I'm sorry we made a scene, friend. And I'm sorry you didn't get your groceries," Sun tells you. He sounds like he means it, too. Like having interrupted something as unimportant as a single shopping trip is a guilt that weighs on him heavily.

"I can go tomorrow instead," you tell him. "It's fine. It can wait for tomorrow."

And it can. You don't really have anything to make a proper dinner out of, but you should still have enough odds and ends around to put together into a basic meal. Enough to fill your stomach for the night, at least.

You don't particularly feel like going through your cabinets to accomplish that mission, though.

Maybe you won't. If there was ever a night to order something, it's tonight.

You check with Sun first, making sure that Moon's sleep won't be disturbed by the approach of a delivery driver or you stepping out of the car to receive  your food. Sun gives you the go ahead, and you pull out your phone to order whatever looks most convenient.

The wait after confirming your order is long, and quiet. The rain continues to come down, the world outside seeming to drip and run along with the water on your windshield. Now that the car is off and stationary, the air inside is growing steadily colder. A tap on your shoulder, Sun offering you one of the blankets that isn't currently wrapped around Moon. Apparently Sun has still been paying attention to the temperature for your sake, even when it doesn't bother him.

You're very glad the two have those blankets available. Another irrational, protective urge- the need to ensure the two have something to keep them warm, even when you know the cold isn't an issue for either of them.

You take the blanket Sun is offering, giving a whispered "thanks" in return.

The rain has not let up at all by the time the food arrives, your shoes splashing slightly on the wet ground when you step out of the car. It only takes a second for you to receive the food and thank the delivery driver, but you're already half soaked. You shiver a little as you quickly clamber back into the car, shutting the door against the rain.

The food is at least still hot, steam rising as you open up the packaging and bringing some warmth back into the air. The scent of the food fills the space along with the heat, and you realize just how hungry you are. Taking a bite, you find that the food is as good as it smells. It's far from the healthiest meal, and delivery was pricey, but you think this is exactly what you needed tonight.

You reposition yourself, turning face Sun as best you can within the confines of your seat. Some of the worry seems to have fled the air along with the cold, or maybe you're just less antsy now that you've had a bite of food.

"I know you can't eat, but it at least smells nice doesn't it?" You ask.

"Oh." Sun isn't quite meeting your gaze, seeming embarrassed. "We can't do that either. Sorry."

"You can't smell?"

He shakes his head.

The frustration, the helpless inadequacy, another failure to provide them with any comfort. But when you say "Sorry," Sun responds with a small laugh as if you've said something funny. Somehow you find yourself laughing as well, though you don't understand why. Suddenly, the entire thing is funny.

You and Sun talk quietly about nothing important while you eat. The tapping and trickling of the rain seems to quiet to nothing more than a sigh around you, and you are warm again.

Chapter Text

The container that once held your food is empty and cooled, tucked away. You sit sideways in your seat in order to face Sun more easily, which means you don't miss it when the blankets beside him begin to stir.

The last of the day's light has already faded. When Moon's face emerges, for a moment all you can see is the white crescent side of his face. Red eyes blink sleepily, one seeming almost to float in the shadows of the dark side of his face. Then he pushes himself up into a sitting position, blankets falling away.

He looks more haggard than he usually does after recovering from an episode. His hair tangles over itself, hat sitting askew.

"Welcome back," you say. "How are you feeling? Do you think you're ready to come inside?"

A brief confusion as he surveys his surroundings.

"Our friend decided to go to the store tomorrow instead," Sun explains.

"Sorry..." Moon mumbles, looking down. He wobbles a little as he goes to pull his legs out from underneath the blankets as well, weight supported on his arms.

"Could I ask a question?" You mean to say the words gently, but they come out closer to timid instead.

Moon nods. The motion is small, his focus still on the blankets he's still partially tangled in. Sun reaches out to try to put his hat back in place, but Moon leans away to dodge Sun's hand.

"Do you know anything that might have triggered it this time?" you ask. "Or anything that might have made it worse than it would have been otherwise?"

Most of Moon's episodes seem to come out of nowhere, unpredictable, without apparent reason. This time though, there was an obvious change as soon as Moon stepped into the store. Even if the timing was a pure coincidence- something that sounds highly unlikely, though technically possible- Moon looks considerably more worn out now than he usually does after recovering from an episode. Something was different this time.

"... Overwhelmed," he answers. "I got overwhelmed. There were so many people. People who could give me their attention. People whose attention I could take ... Couldn't think about anything else. Too much." Moon's words once again have Sun looking immensely uncomfortable, on the verge of telling Moon to stop. "I knew what was happening," Moon continues, "but I couldn't get away fast enough to stop it from happening. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. No one got hurt," you tell him. "We'll just... have to be more careful, next time. The grocery store wasn't a good idea, I guess."

"Give me another chance," Moon says, immediate and urgent.

There's that intensity again. Not the feral look of an episode, but the kind of consuming seriousness that puts the weight of the world on each word.

"That might be something for another day." This one has already been too long for your liking. You're tired, Moon is clearly tired, and Sun has had more than enough stress for one day. "And maybe we should-" start smaller next time, you had been about to say. Work up to it. Moon's voice interrupts yours before you can complete your thought.

"Give me another chance," he insists. He stares at you a moment, too intent, and seems to sense that you don't quite understand what he means. "I know what happens next. You're going to take me back inside, and after that you aren't going to let me back out." His tone is grave, certain. "Too dangerous. Too much work. Too risky. You'll keep me inside. You'll lock me in a room and keep me there. Hide me again. Leave me there. Don't leave me there. Give me another chance. I can do better. I'll be prepared, next time. Another chance. One more chance."

Moon is leaning forward, his legs folded up in uncomfortable shapes underneath him, all his weight on his arms and all his focus on you.

He thinks you're going to abandon him.

Maybe not as completely as Nessa did, but Moon thinks you're going to write him off as not worth the effort. To store him away like unwanted clutter and never look at him again. To leave him behind.

He isn't asking to go back to the grocery store. He's pleading to ever be allowed to go anywhere, anywhere at all, ever again. For one more chance to prove himself before he's hidden away.

Before you can find your words, Sun gets Moon's attention with a gentle tug on his sleeve. The only illumination now is the streetlights, the light they give off warped and wavering in the rain, and every color distorts in that glow. The porcelain of Sun's hand has picked up a sickly yellow tinge, the normally vivid blue of Moon's sleeve looks faded and washed out.

"Maybe... maybe it would be for the best," Sun says quietly. His fingers wrap around the end of Moon's sleeve, but his eyes focus down on his own knees "It would be safer. For everyone. For you too, Moon."

Several emotions cross Moon's face. A dawning horror. Rage. Hurt, fear, betrayal. Heartbreak as Moon slowly, carefully sets a hand on Sun's arm. Patience, waiting until Sun finds the courage to look him in the eye.

"I can't," Moon tells him. "Sun. I can't."

Sun's expression crumples into something miserable and just as heartbroken as Moon's. He pulls Moon into a hug, abrupt but careful.

"I'm sorry." Sun's apology comes out as a little more than a squeak, the words small and strained. "Please give Moon another chance. I'm sorry. Please, please." The cries don't even seem directed at you, exactly. More that they're directed everywhere, at everyone, at no one at all.

"Hey- hey, it's okay, it's going to be-" to be okay, you almost say. The word catches in your throat before you can finish it, a promise you can't guarantee.

And-

No. No, you want to promise it. If not that, then something. Something you can do, something you will do, any comfort you can give large or small.

"I am not going to hide Moon," you tell them. Your words are firm and real. They are something you can say without any doubt at all. "We did a little too much too fast today, I think," you continue, a little more softly. "That doesn't mean we can't try again. We'll go somewhere quieter next time. We can work up to busier places."

Or avoid busier places entirely, if you have to. You're willing to plan your trips around that, if you find that Moon has a hard limit with how much activity he can handle at once. That's something you don't voice though, not right now at least. Now is not the time to mention any amount of possibilities that could end up closed off, when Moon is terrified he'll be locked away entirely. The two of you can discuss that later, if it comes to it.

"Next time?" Moon asks, voice a low murmur that's more shape than distinct words. He has to twist in Sun's grasp to face you again, his words continuing with a little more strength. "We can try next time? You'll let me try again next time?"

You nod, making the motion decisive and clear. "Next time. We'll try again."

Moon's posture relaxes, the difference slight at first but then more and more until he's all but limp in Sun's arms. His head comes to a rest on his twin's shoulder and seems to fit there perfectly, just enough space to avoid bumping Sun's rays.

"Thank you," Sun whispers. Once again the words are directed at no one, at everyone. At you and at the entire world. "Thank you, thank you."

"Let's go back inside," you say. "It's getting late. We should find something fun to do before bed."

Sun's response is only another "Thank you."

You end up going first, the rain forcing you to leave them behind in the car after all- though only for a minute while you grab an umbrella. It isn't raining quite as hard now, but you want to keep them as dry as possible. Though there is only so much you can do- Moon's feet and Sun's shoes are still made of cloth, after all, and the ground is wet.

Sun carries Moon to keep Moon's feet dry, making a sour expression as he steps out of the car and feels the fabric of his own shoes start to soak through. Despite everything that has happened, the first thing Sun does upon getting inside is to head for the bathtub to hand wash his shoes. Sun always makes sure to wash his shoes after outings, but he begins the task with unusual urgency this time.

Maybe it's less despite everything that he goes straight to cleaning and more because of it. Cleaning is most often a soothing process for Sun, having something he can wash might be the best way for him to calm down right now.

Sun always refuses help with washing his shoes, maybe due to being not-the-same-as-ticklish (definitely ticklish.) You leave him to it.

There is something else you can do for Sun while he's busy cleaning every trace of muddy water out of his shoes. You can look after Moon.

It's sort of funny, in a way- There's no way to help one of them without helping them both. Anything you do for one is appreciated by the other, a weight of worry lifted from them. Similarly, anything that leaves one of them neglected will hurt both.

(A darker thought, looming low and heavy as a storm cloud- How in the world did Nessa think she could pick one over the other? You try your best to ignore that question, it's too much for today.)

Moon sits curled up on the couch, not having moved from where Sun deposited him before heading to the bathroom. Moon's hair is a mess. The stray raindrops he picked up in the store's parking lot wet down the surface of his hair, which dried into all sorts of disorganized angles while he was asleep in his blanket cocoon. He accepts when you offer to help him with that, removing his hat.

You grab the hairbrush, but that's not going to be enough by itself. After some thought, you decide the best tools for the job are a washcloth and a small bowl of warm water. 

The fastest solution would be to simply wet down Moon's entire head, but that's not necessarily a good idea for a living doll. While the porcelain parts of the two don't seem to be affected by water, getting Moon's hair soaked would also mean water dripping down onto the cloth parts of his body as well.

Instead, you start with the brush. That only gets rid of most of the tangles, the curves and kinks his hair has dried into re-tangling immediately in some places, but it does help divide the hair into more manageable sections at least. Once the brush has done all it's able to, you reach forward with one hand. Gentle, careful not to pull, you grasp a twisted lock of hair between two fingers. With the other hand you dip the washcloth into the warm water, getting it just damp enough to wet a strand of hair.

A few passes with the washcloth, water soaking into the strands of hair a little more with each, until the irregular twist through it melts away and the strands are smooth again. One last pass with the hairbrush ensures it will dry straight this time.

Section by section, tangle by tangle. Wringing the washcloth almost dry so you can smooth down individual stray hairs sticking up, then re-wetting it again. Moon leans towards you as you work, something you normally only see from Sun.

Moon leans more and more onto you until he finally climbs onto your lap entirely. He curls up there, his hat held against his chest. The two long tails of it loop around his arms.

It isn't uncommon for Moon to lean against you, or even sprawl out across your legs like a cat. The way he's huddling against you right now feels different, though. You've never seen him openly come to you for comfort and attention like this, purposely pressing against you instead of pretending you simply happened to be exactly where he wanted to lie.

Not knowing how else to react, you imitate Sun. One of your arms wraps around his middle, all his weight leaning against you. With your free hand you run the brush through his hair, slow and careful, continuing even after the last tangles have been smoothed away.

You had forgotten. Forgotten how precarious their situation is. Kept by someone who is not their person, who did not bring them to life, who does not owe them. Their lives depend on how much time you spend with them. On where you're willing to take them, how much you want them around.

It's not something you think about often. It's something that's easy for you to forget. The idea of abandoning the two of them, of giving them any less than the best you can do, is so sharp and painful in your chest that the thought of it nearly makes you gasp.

You doubt it's quite so easy for Moon to put out of his mind, when the person meant to care about him the most has already done that and worse. When not too long ago, Moon was convinced you only kept him around because of Sun. That kind of experience is not something a person just forgets.

You had forgotten, but Moon had not. Moon doesn't have the luxury of forgetting that.

You are filled with a frantic, clawing desire to fix that. To make him safe, to make him feel safe. To tell him that whatever happens, you'll figure it out with him. To somehow erase all that doubt and worry from his mind forever.

You can't.

That, at least, you have not forgotten.

You have not forgotten all the times you have tried and failed. Toys forgotten on the floor, friendships that withered away, people you failed to keep in contact with. Countless promises to yourself and others, all broken one after another. No, that isn't something you can forget.

Still, the feeling scrapes and gnaws at you. Something persistent, something that has rooted itself too deep to ignore. When you try to pull it from your thoughts, to know your limitations, those roots pull at you. Something in you strains.

"Hey," you say. "You know how you said before, that the reason you go after me when you're not feeling well is because you're trying to get my help?"

Moon gives an affirmative hum.

"That's good. If you're ever in trouble, do that," you tell him. If you cannot trust yourself, then you can put yourself in a situation where you must do the right thing. Where you will not be allowed to fail them. "If I'm ever not taking good enough care of you two, if I'm ever not paying enough attention, make me pay attention. You have my permission. Whatever you have to do, I want you to be safe."

"You'll get hurt," Moon states, voice flat, even as he presses a little closer against you. The contact is ruffling the hair on the side closest to you even as you continue brushing the farther side, not that he seems to care.

"If you're ever hurting because of me, then that's fair, isn't it? If that's the push I need to be a half decent friend to you two, then it's worth it."

"... That's dumb," Moon mumbles. "I'm not going to do that."

A stark contrast from the time he threatened you to ensure you wouldn't go back on your word, when you'd first told them you'd keep them.

You don't think how protective he is over Sun has changed at all, or that he'd simply give up if you neglected the two of them. This means something else.

Moon is telling you he trusts you.

A trust you're not sure you've earned. A belief you can't hold for yourself, but that Moon seems to be holding for you. A promise you cannot give but must keep.

The happiness igniting in you, bright and warm, feels almost traitorous. Something you should not be allowed to have.

And yet there it is, given to you.

You put down the brush in favor of having both arms to wrap around Moon.

Chapter Text

The movie theater is large and grand despite its age. The outer walls feel only more regal for how the paint on them has faded, the streaks of dirt on the sign overhead doing nothing to lessen its imposing presence. Grass and weeds poke up through cracks in the sidewalk around the structure's corners, vines beginning to creep up the sides, nature not seeming to overtake it so much as to welcome it. To say that it is just as natural for this building to stand here as it is for the leaves to grow.

"We've only been to a movie theater once!" Sun told you on the drive over. "Back when we were new- or at least new to being alive- and Nessa wanted to take us everywhere with her. She begged her parents for weeks to let us come." The memory sounds something like the theater itself- A little worn, maybe a little bittersweet, but grand and nostalgic all the same.

You planned this outing carefully- if on short notice. A movie on a Wednesday afternoon, at the tail end of the showings for a movie that looked good but not too good, in a theater that hasn't been truly popular since you were a child. You had to bribe a coworker with a batch of cookies to get them to switch one of their weekend shifts for your weekday one, to get to the theater when most people would be at work.

You could have avoided needing a last minute bribe if you’d been willing to wait a bit longer to make this outing happen, but you want to make it clear to Moon that you meant what you’d said. There is a next time, there are more chances, you will not abandon him. Any larger gap of time might have let doubt worm in, worries that you’d simply told him a pacifying lie, so you’d made sure to have this planned before that could happen.

"This isn't a last chance kind of deal," you make sure to tell Moon. "We’re just here to have fun. If this is too much for today, we can go home and watch the rest of the movie there instead. It’s already out on streaming. I still have Sunday off too, so if we have to go home early today we can try somewhere quieter then to make up for it. We'll keep trying. That sound okay?"

Sun gives an eager nod, Moon a more hesitant one.

"Please tell me if you start feeling overwhelmed at all," you say.

Moon nods again, the motion even smaller this time.

Tickets are half price for children, and pets are not allowed. You don't see anything specifically mentioning dolls, so you buy three adult tickets. Sun and Moon both keep an arm around each other as the three of you enter, Moon able to walk as long as Sun supports his weight for him.

The smell of popcorn, buttery and sweet, so ingrained into the building that you think it would linger for years even if this batch was the last one ever made here. Lights and colors in nostalgic patterns, comfortingly outdated floor patterns and visual flourishes. The space is large in its emptiness, all but deserted. Other than the three of you, the only person in the lobby is an employee running the concession stand.

It is exactly as calm as you had hoped it would be. You can almost feel Sun and Moon's careful optimism transforming into genuine excitement.

"I'm going to get popcorn," you say. "I'd ask you two if you wanted anything, but..." You make a helpless gesture of the awkwardness of it, food-based traditions with people who cannot eat.

"Get M&Ms," Moon says.

"What?" Did you hear him right? Even Sun looks a little surprised.

"M&Ms." Moon gives you a sharp-toothed grin. "You said you'd ask if we wanted anything. I want you to get M&Ms."

He wants you to get M&Ms. Moon isn’t saying he wants candy for himself, he just wants you to get them for some reason.

You shrug. "Okay, sure." Why not, if it makes him happy.

When you approach the concession stand, the teenager at the counter begins to speak only to stop as his focus shifts to something past you. His eyes go wide.

He’s looking at Sun and Moon, you realize. Or marveling at them, more accurately. You’ve spent so much time with them recently that you nearly forgot how striking they are, how obviously inhuman their porcelain skin is even at a glance.

Sun takes a big step forward, pulling a startled Moon along with him.

"Hello!" Sun exclaims, his enthusiasm as bright as the actual sun itself. "We're dolls!" He makes a half waving half finger wiggling gesture with his free hand as if that somehow proves it.

Though maybe it does. It’s hard to miss the way the lights shine and ripple across Sun’s porcelain fingers as they move, little dots of borrowed color dancing across his hands.

"Oh," is all the cashier manages to say for a moment. "Uh, did you-" he manages to stop staring at Sun for a moment, his eyes jumping between the two dolls and you. "Did you want to order something?"

"A large popcorn and a pack of M&Ms," you say.

He looks to Sun and Moon again, seemingly unsure if he should ask them the same question. Sun is absolutely beaming, though Moon appears to be trying to find a way to hide behind his twin without losing his footing.

The expression on the employee’s face is getting closer to awe with each passing second, and Sun’s infectious smile is slowly taking hold there as well. The employee turns for a moment to scoop popcorn into a popcorn bucket that nears the size of an actual bucket, and when he turns back around he looks twice as excited. His eyes stay locked on Sun and Moon even as he ducks down to grab the M&Ms.

You pay for your indulgently large popcorn and Moon-dictated candy, thanking the concession worker. He still can't seem to look away from Sun and Moon, and there is a distinctly familiar kind of absolute wonder to his expression.

You never thought you’d be on the other side of that feeling. You never thought you’d be the one to see that awe, a person mesmerized by someone you’re able to spend time with every single day.

Two someones, even.

As often as you’ve felt the guilt of not deserving them, of not having earned their presence, all of that feels far away right now. Right now, you are nothing but happy to be here with your friends.

As the three of you begin making your way towards the theater room, Sun spins back around on one foot to face the concession stand again- Moon taken along for the ride once more, the tails of his hat swinging with the motion. Sun gives a big wave with his free arm.

"Have a good day!" He calls.

"Oh, uh-" the employee verbally stumbles, clearly not having expected that. At the same time, he sounds absolutely delighted. "Thank you? You too! Enjoy the movie!"

Sun gives another big wave before turning back around. The next few steps he takes are more excited, more energetic, though he forces himself to slow down when he realizes that Moon can’t keep up with that. Even with Sun taking nearly all of Moon's weight, Moon still can’t keep his footing for any walk faster than an amble.  

Moon at least doesn't look too bothered by having been momentarily pulled off his feet. A little shy, maybe, but once again Sun's smile is infectious.

The theater room itself is dim, two rows of tiny lights along the floor helping you find your way without tripping. The room is also enormous, the construction of it clearly aging and yet at the same time almost too regal around you.

Only a few of the many seats are occupied. While you doubt this old theater ever fills up its available seats entirely anymore, you were right that this would be a particularly calm showing to attend. You pick a spot near the middle, a good distance from any other patrons.

The seats are the pull down style, and you pull yours down to sit on without thought. Sun has a little more trouble, staring in confusion at the folded-up seat. He seems to grasp the concept, but isn’t familiar enough with the process to know how to turn his own seat into an actual sitting surface. Right- He’s only been to a theater once, you remember.

You stand up so you can demonstrate the way the chairs work, pushing yours down and then letting it fold up a few times for Sun to see. He gives a grateful nod of acknowledgement, pushing down the seat next to yours and helping Moon get situated on it before picking his own seat beside Moon.

Moon looks briefly uncomfortable, shifting and leaning heavily on the armrest. His seat keeps trying to fold back up under him, only barely enough of his weight set on it to keep it down at all. You cringe when Moon solves his discomfort by pulling his feet up onto the seat, unable to stop yourself from imagining all the stickiness and crumbs he just transferred up from the floor. You don't say anything about it though. Moon already has trouble sitting up on his own in general, and what little weight he has isn’t distributed normally. Of course sitting in a chair held down by weight alone would be a struggle for him. If having his legs up on the chair helps him keep his center of gravity where it needs to be, you’re not going to discourage him.

Sun still loops an arm loosely around Moon and keeps it there even after Moon has found his balance, more for comfort than necessity now.

There’s still a bit of time before the movie will start, the screen still cycling through static ads instead of video previews. You arrived early, not wanting to be caught in any sort of crowd if there turned out to be one.

"I think you made that guy's day," you say to Sun. It certainly would have made your day, a doll saying hello to you like that. Did in fact make your day when you first met Sun.

“He seemed nice!” Sun replies, beaming. "I love saying hi, you never know when you could find a new friend!"

“I was so surprised, the first time you invited me to come play,” you comment. “And really happy. I'd never had a doll talk to me before, I had started to think they must not communicate with anyone but their person."

"Oh, I would be considered... outgoing, I think, compared to others" Sun says, a little sheepish. "Most are a little more shy than me." A small laugh, a little being an obvious understatement.

Moon hadn’t said anything to the concession stand employee, you realize. Only Sun had spoken to him, Moon simply pulled along for the ride. Dolls are usually shy. Moon is shy.

Considering that, the fact that you managed to meet a doll who is an exception to that rule feels like incredible luck. Like more than that, like something absolutely miraculous. Something you never would have believed could happen. Even luckier, the fact that Moon too is willing to interact with you as well. Despite him being normal in that regard, shy, Moon still speaks and plays and laughs with you. You are not his person, but he has made an exception for you anyway.

Luck, you are so lucky to have this moment. You are so lucky to be exactly where you are, right here with them. Even if much of what brought them to you was bad luck- injury and abandonment and sickness- right now they are okay. Moon is calm, and Sun is smiling, and you are so lucky.

You nibble on a piece of popcorn. You know you should save it for when the movie actually starts, that it won't be long now, but you can't resist. Moon's attention is on you the second you do, a sudden excitement to him.

"The M&Ms," he says. "One M&M, and some popcorn. Three or four pieces. Put both in your mouth."

You give him a confused look, to which he responds with an expectant one. Sun doesn't seem to know what's going on, curious as you are.

Well, there's no reason not to. Even if Moon is trying to prank you, it's not like anything truly horrible could arise from that combo. You wrestle with the M&M package for a second in the dim room, some care needed to prevent the candy inside from spilling out as you tear the top away.  One M&M goes into your mouth, followed by a few pieces of popcorn. You chew.

This is... kind of amazing, actually.

The popcorn is buttery and salty, and after a moment the chocolate inside the M&M melts across it. Salty and sweet and rich all at once, the more you chew the more the flavors mix. As soon as you swallow that bite, you're tossing another M&M and more popcorn into your mouth to repeat the experience.

"That's good!" You exclaim, once your mouth is empty again. "That's really good!"

Moon's smile is wide and sharp and proud, like you'd just bestowed him with some sort of award.

"It's good?" Sun asks Moon, clearly confused. It seems he too was expecting the combination to be a prank somehow. "How did you know that was good?"

"Nessa tried it once," Moon replies, grinning. "Just once. But I remembered."

Sun is clearly impressed. So are you.

Now it's even harder to resist eating through your snacks before the movie starts. Thankfully you don't get much more time to be tempted that way. A few more people have trickled in, and after the last few stragglers settle into seats the lights dim to nothing. A slight shift of fabric, heard more than seen as the screen too fades to black, Moon wrapping an arm around Sun in return. The speakers rumble to life and the trailers begin to play.

The three of you lean close to each other, quickly sharing excited thoughts in the brief moments between one trailer and the next. With how empty the theater is and how spaced out you are from anyone else, your hushed voices are in little danger of disturbing anyone.

Sun has a surprising amount of insight on small details in the trailers. Moon cracks jokes about the more obviously terrible looking movies, but at the same time he looks absolutely captivated by everything on screen. You can't help but think about how much you want to see every single one of these movies, bad or good or otherwise, with your friends.

Soon the last advertisement fades out, and the show you came for can begin.

Your M&Ms don't last long. Next time you're getting two packs, it's too good not to.

The movie itself proves to be surprisingly entertaining, better than you'd expected. Not groundbreaking, but what it does it does well. There is a quiet moment where you glance over, to see if Sun and Moon are enjoying it as well, and-

They are beautiful.

Every color of light on the massive screen before you is reflected across the porcelain of their faces, gathered along edges and curves into shining arcs and bright little stars. The silver freckles on the dark side of Moon's face seem to shimmer as the light plays across them, and all the colors gathered on Sun's golden rays take on a warm glow.

Moon sits completely still, absolutely captivated, the shifting of the scenes changing the pattern of color and shadow reflected across him. It looks almost like all the light was made to orbit him and him alone.

Sun's attention is no less consumed, but he's more animated. His expression changes to follow the emotion of each moment, body leaning forward with a barely contained excitement to get those few inches closer to the screen. Every movement sends that reflected light dancing across his face, as if the colors have all come to life on him.  

The two are works of art. 

You hadn’t considered it before, but they are literally works of art. Someone made the dolls that became them, made them to be beautiful, and succeeded. Their faces are perfect in a way that only a doll's can be, and their expressions are wonderful in a way that only a living thinking person’s can be. Faces that are not just beautiful but that are beautiful and mean something, that mean seeing people you care about.  

It's a good thing the two are so entranced by what‘s happening on the screen, because you can‘t manage to stop staring at them. You watch them for so long that you miss the entire scene, unable even to follow the dialogue in your distraction.

You do eventually turn back to watching the movie. Still, every time the setting changes to one with new lighting, you can't help but glance over to see how it looks on them.

Moon catches you looking once, though you don't think he realizes why. He looks back with an expression that is pure, unguarded, genuine joy.

Eventually the final scene must play, and the movie comes to an end. Your popcorn bucket is empty of all except a few unpopped kernels rattling at the bottom, and you’re aware of a slight ache in your stomach as a result of your overindulgence. Moon leans heavily on Sun. Despite how quickly the time seemed to pass, it must have still been long enough for the effort of sitting up for so long to tire Moon.

Sun looks to you the moment the credits begin to roll, turning as far as he can in your direction without pulling Moon off balance, and begins chattering excitedly about the movie. His free hand makes big, energetic gestures along with the words. Meanwhile, Moon is staring at the credits on screen with the same rapt attention he had given the movie.

You and Sun talk, joking about the sillier moments and discussing your favorite scenes, while Moon focuses on the credits as if they are no less enthralling than the actual movie had been.

The flashier part of the credits end a few minutes later, the screen washed out by lights coming back on around the theater. The music grows slower, quieter, nothing left on screen but a list of names all jammed together in a significantly smaller font. The last of the other patrons are getting up to leave. Still the three of you stay where you are, enjoying the moment a little longer, until the final names scroll away and the scattered logos underneath them float out of sight.

You’re the last people left in the theater. Eventually you have to accept that the movie is over, and the three of you must head towards the exit. At least you have by now completely avoided the crowd leaving at the movie’s end, even if said crowd consisted of only a handful of people.

Sun waves again to the employee from earlier on the way out, receiving an equally excited wave in return.

Moon, who had sat in silent fascination all through the credits, finds his voice on the way to the car. He’s clearly tired, not objecting as Sun picks him up entirely. Despite that, everything about him is animated. The fact that he and Sun are twins is showing through, Moon talking with every bit of the same enthusiasm you normally associate with Sun at his most energetic.

If there was any doubt that Moon could handle quieter outings like this, it has left without a trace. Really, any desire to even think of this as something like a test- something that requires effort, that comes with stress, that brings to mind the possibility of failure- is long gone.

You are already mentally planning, dreaming, trying to figure out how soon you can do something like this again.

Chapter Text

Socks, pillowcases, and shirts. Today’s clean-up game is laundry day, nearly every piece of clothing and bedding you own sitting heaped into a pile on the couch. Fresh out of the dryer and still warm, the mountain of it is a little intimidating in size.

Not impossible to tackle with a friend, though- Even if said friend was the one who convinced you to wash everything at once instead of a load here and there as needed. Sun even did a full wash of his and Moon’s outfits instead of the usual spot cleaning. Those were the first things out of the dryer, put directly back on instead of waiting to be folded.

You’re not sure everything here strictly needs to be folded, really. The fitted sheets in particular would probably be easier to just ball up and toss into the closet. Sun’s game calls for folding though, so folded they will be.  

It’s funny to think that there was a time when something like this, someone else going through your belongings and putting them back in ways you normally wouldn’t, would have felt uncomfortable. Now asking Sun where he put something away carries a sense of familiarity and ease, like a small but noticeable weight lifted. Part of you keeps jolting, realizing you haven’t gone through some excruciatingly boring chore or another in far too long, only to realize that Sun has already done it for you. Or even better- Remembering that the two of you had done it together, the task barely registering as a chore at all.

Pants, towels, and blankets. Moon doesn’t share Sun’s enthusiasm for cleaning, and falls asleep maybe five minutes into the folding party. He lies curled up at the end of the couch next to the laundry pile. Sun carefully drapes a warm clean towel over him like a blanket.

Said blanket substitute might not have been entirely necessary. As the two of you tackle the task of folding without Moon’s help, each item you pull from the pile sends the other items shifting and tumbling around on the couch. Several land on Moon’s sleeping form, quickly all but burying him in laundry. Moon has no trouble sleeping through this, something Sun must find quietly amusing judging by his smile.

Sheets, jackets, warm winter hats. It takes a while to make a noticeable dent in the laundry mountain, slowly lowering the height of its summit. Sun hums quietly as he works. Maybe would have sung, if not for the fact that Moon is still asleep so near- and said sleep is not quite as difficult to interrupt as it once was. The two of you chat a bit about your days, quiet conversation coming in musings and fragments between long gaps of comfortable silence.

Socks and shirts and socks and socks and socks. Sun begins humming again, content, the tune meandering and at least half improvised. He pairs two socks, but doesn’t set them down with the folded laundry. Instead he simply looks at them for a long moment, his humming trailing off. When he does finally put the socks down, it's with a strange amount of care- as if he was handling something fragile.

Sun says something, quiet. He isn’t facing you directly. You couldn’t quite hear what he said, but it sounded something like,

"I wish I could belong to you too."

“What?” You are sure you didn’t hear him correctly.

There is a brief confusion on Sun’s face as he turns to look your way. You wonder if he hadn’t realized he’d actually voiced the thought out loud, or maybe didn’t know that he’d spoken too quietly to really hear. He takes a moment to think, the hesitation brief but restless as his fingers worry across a fluffy jacket from the laundry pile.

"I just wish sometimes that I could be yours," he says. "That I could feel like I belonged with your things, like the rest of the things you own."

Sun goes right back to folding, as if nothing he'd said was particularly notable or important. It takes you a few moments to come up with a coherent response.

“You don’t... I don’t own you,” you say. “No one owns you. You’re my friend. You’re a doll, but...” The words you want feel scattered, difficult to grasp. “You and Moon are people. You live here, this is your space too. No one has to own you for you to belong here."

The smile Sun gives you is grateful, and at the same time a little sad. It’s the kind of smile that’s given to someone who has completely misunderstood something important, someone who isn’t expected to be able to understand.

"Yes, friend, we're dolls," he tells you. "Dolls are things people own. You treat us like people,” another smile, just as grateful and just as sad, “and that’s absolutely lovely of you. That's maybe the nicest thing anyone has ever done for us. But we're still dolls, and sometimes we still want silly doll things.

“We like to be able to feel like we belong to someone. We like feeling at home with our person’s things, as part of that, as something that is theirs. Something they keep, something that‘s important to them, something meant to be wherever they are. It’s normal for us, to want to belong like that. To be owned by someone who cares about us. So sometimes, I wish I could be something that belongs to you. Maybe something that had been yours from the beginning, even.”

Some part of that you do understand. The desire to belong with someone, to know that you are exactly where you’re meant to be because they are there with you. To know someone cares, to have someone to care about. There is something like that running deep in you, rooted to your bones, empty and at the same time so large that it sometimes threatens to break you apart from inside.

Still, there is an aspect of the idea that you don’t think you could ever be comfortable with. The idea of anyone owning Sun and Moon the way they would an inanimate object. To think of them as no different than a decoration on a shelf, or a pair of socks, or as anything less than living breathing people. You couldn’t think of them that way, would never want to.

You almost wish you could. Or could pretend to, at least, if that’s what Sun needs to feel comfortable. You want him to know that this is his space as much as yours. You want him to be able to feel safe.

But Sun is not yours. Not yours in the sense of a person and their living doll, and most certainly not in the sense of an owner with a possession. That is not something you can give him.

Sheets, pillowcases, paired socks.

“It’s probably for the best that you weren’t mine,” you can’t help but say. “I think I’ve mentioned it before, that I could never manage to bring a doll to life myself. I tried, but... I always ended up losing them, or forgetting them. If I couldn’t even do the bare minimum for my old Raggedy Anne, then I guess it’s a good thing you two weren’t my dolls. You wouldn’t be here now if you had been.”

You could leave it there. Should leave it there. Probably shouldn’t have said any of that to begin with, you realize. No, definitely shouldn’t have. Still, even as you think that, you find your mouth opening to spill more words.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you are,” you hear yourself admitting. “Here now, I mean. When I said I would keep you, I was really afraid.” Terrified. Resigned, even, not fearing the worst so much as convinced that it was inevitable. “I didn’t think I could do enough for you.” A pause, a regret, the knowledge that you’ve said more than you should have. A stone taken off your back only to be set on someone else’s. “Sorry. That's probably not the most comforting thing to be telling you."

“Friend, look,” Sun says. He gestures, your eyes following the motion of his hand towards Moon. Moon himself is only barely visible now, sound asleep in what remains of the laundry pile. “I don’t think you have to worry about bare minimums anymore, considering you already did the impossible.” Sun’s tone is warm, gentle, and it takes you a second to understand what he meant. The impossible- for Moon to be safe and whole, completely relaxed by choice instead of exhaustion.

"It's a little backwards sometimes, isn't it," Sun continues. "People who are good at keeping track of an inanimate object can bring it to life, but that doesn't necessarily make them a good friend to something that can now think on its own. People who are good friends might not be good at keeping track of an inanimate object, so they never get to try being a friend to it. You don’t need to worry about losing us, friend. If we’re ever hurt or scared or too alone, we can tell you. We’re a little harder to forget about than that. Feeling like we belong... it would be nice, but it isn't something we need. You've been wonderful to us, we're okay. We're very well, even."

His tone is encouraging, and you do feel a little better for having heard that.

A little, just a little.

The laundry pile has nearly been defeated. Your clothes sit in colorful stacks, everything folded into neat little squares. All that’s left is what fell from the pile onto Moon, each item taken carefully as possible to avoid disturbing him. You and Sun fold these last items in relative silence.

Socks, tank tops, one last sweater.

The knowledge of something you cannot provide.

----------------

The soft warm blur of your bedroom slowly comes into focus, your eyes having opened before you even realized you’re awake- if only barely. Over the bump of pillow that divides in two you see Sun and Moon’s colors, bright sunny tones and cool deep blues. Sun is lying peacefully on his back, blankets tucked in around him. Moon is sprawled out across his twin sideways, having crawled out of his own carefully tucked-in spot to do so. You think you might see a tiny movement, the smallest trace of a breath moving through Moon as he sleeps, but your eyes are too bleary to be sure.

Your throat is dry. Your tongue sticks to your mouth when you try to swallow. Despite wanting nothing more than to stay as perfectly comfortable as you are now forever, you know what woke you up. You won’t be getting back to sleep unless you address the issue.

You push aside your covers and, just before getting out of bed, think to whisper the words, “Getting water. Be right back.” Just in case Moon is awake.

The darkness beyond your bedroom feels opaque, disorienting. Still not fully awake, you stumble a little when you find that you’re not quite where you estimated. After that you keep a hand on the nearest objects and walls, moving slowly. That way you can at least manage not to stub your toe on anything before reaching the kitchen.

Your eyes adjust a little on the way. The shape of the cup you’re looking for emerges from the previously impenetrable darkness.

You fill a glass with water and drink the entire cup in big gulps.

A sound, quiet. Something shifting, something skittering. You might be alarmed if not for how quickly you recognize the noise. Sure enough, when you put down your empty cup and turn you can see the shape of Moon there. He leans over the side of the armrest, waiting for you to come back his way.

Details become clearer as you approach. Shades of shadow and gray, a pale crescent, Moon looking nearly colorless in the darkness. The only exception is his eyes, focused and vivid red.

You pause. The room is silent. You can't see well enough to read his expression.

"Sun is outgoing," Moon states, his quiet voice carrying easily through the dark room.

"What?"

"It's unusual," Moon continues, "for dolls to be like that. But Sun is outgoing. I didn't understand, so I asked him about it once. He told me it's like going on an adventure. It's big and exciting and fun. It's making new discoveries and exploring new places. And at the end of the day, when he's all tired out, he can always come back home to where it's comfortable after. That's how he explained it to me."

Silence reclaims the air as soon as Moon finishes speaking.

Like an adventure. An adventure Sun cannot come home from after anymore. You can’t help but think how exhausting that sounds. You wonder if your home is enough for him, to feel like he can get any rest from that at all.

Moon watches you, waiting.

"... Do you think Sun is comfortable here?" You ask.

"Sure," Moon replies. "But that's not the question you were thinking about. What you actually want to ask is if you're good enough. You want to ask if you’re doing enough, if this is enough for him. If he’s as comfortable here as he was with Nessa, before all of that went bad. But you don’t get it.”

The crescent moon shape of his face tilts almost imperceptibly in the darkness as he pauses again, waiting to see if you will object to his words. You can't come up with anything to say. He isn’t wrong, after all.

"You know, Nessa was my entire world," Moon tells you. "I never really had any interest in talking to anyone but her, because she was already everything. Why waste time with anything else, when all of the most important things in the world were happening right there with her? I'm the more normal one of the two of us, when it comes to that. That's how most of us are.

"She was the entire world to me, so I wanted to give her the world. I didn’t want there to be anything that could hurt her. I wanted to be ready to fix any problem, every problem, before it even happened. I used to carry around this old bag she didn't use much anymore, I'd keep all sorts of things in it. Water, snacks, toys, games, chargers for any devices she was bringing, everything I could think of. She got sick once, and I carried her medicine the entire time. Made sure she had it the exact second it was time for the next dose. I carried around that bag so often that the strap started to get sort of... sort of tingly, on me, like my body was forgetting that the bag wasn't part of me. I had to switch to a different bag after that.

"When she decided she didn't want me anymore, she had to repeat herself four times before I even understood that she wanted me to stay put while she left. And even then, it didn't really hit me that she was leaving me there, permanently, until Sun came to get me. Came alone, in secret, in the middle of the night. He's afraid of the dark, you know. He hides it pretty well, but it terrifies him. So when he showed up on his own in the dark like that, that's what finally made me realize. And even then, it wasn't until I started dying that I actually accepted it."

"Dying?" The word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it, shocked.

You know how dire his condition had been. Logically, it’s obvious he’d known he was dying. That he must have known, for far too long a time. Even Sun had known, despite how unbearable he found it to admit. Still, to hear that word spoken so casually into the quiet darkness is jarring. It is the difference between knowing ice is cold and feeling ice water dumped out over your head. It feels more real to hear it spoken like that, more urgent. As if that past agony might hear its name being called and to come running back.

Moon gives a gesture you can't quite see in the darkness. You think it might be a shrug.

"Dying," he repeats, tone far too casual. How completely used to the idea he is only makes it feel more intolerably foreign to you. "Same way humans do when they're without food or water for too long, just like that. Sun was beside himself. That's the only reason I even really cared it was happening, Sun could feel me dying and he was hysterical about it.

“Wasn’t that I wanted to die or anything. Just didn’t feel real. Nothing did, the entire idea of living or dying sounded more like an abstract concept than anything. My entire world was gone. No more context for anything anymore. Nothing felt real without her, so nothing really meant anything. Took a long time for that to change. Took a long time for anything to make sense again.

"And now... now, here, am I happy now? I am. Things have been good here. You’ve been good to us, to both of us. But am I as happy here now as I used to be, before any of that happened? The answer is, the past is an imaginary concept. It’s gone. There’s no point in comparing now to then, because the past doesn’t exist anymore. If Nessa showed back up right now and wanted me back, I'd tell her to fuck off."

There's a moment of feral intensity to him as he says that, something wild and unhinged and frightening that can be seen even in the low light. Then his posture droops, head hanging lower as if ashamed.

"Don't tell Sun I said fuck," Moon mumbles. "He'd flip. But that's what I mean... The past is fake and it‘s gone. You could spend forever trying to compare it, what might be worse or better or different, and it still wouldn’t mean anything because the past is done and we know how it ended. I'm ready for something new. I think Sun is, too."

Moon watches you for a long moment, red eyes trained on you so intently that you think he must be able to see you much better than you can see him. Both the darkness and the weight of his stare feel equally immense.

"That's why he said it, you know," Moon adds. "Do you understand? He said he wanted to be yours. He didn't say he wanted to go back to Nessa. He didn’t say he wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He didn’t say he wished you were her. Sun said he wanted to be yours. He doesn't get this stuff.

“Sun thinks of you as someone who swooped in to rescue him and save me when no one else would. He doesn’t get that you could ever feel like that wasn’t enough, he wouldn’t have said it if he did. But I get it. So just... take it as it is. Right now Sun is comfortable, and we’re happy. Right now, nothing hurts. Right now times are good. That’s what’s real.”

Moon gives you time to digest that, patient, waiting. Still, for all the time you stand there, when your mouth finally works the best you can manage is,

"Oh." 

Are you allowed to believe that? Are you allowed to feel that?

Moon isn’t lying to you to ease your worries, you’re confident that every word was nothing but what he believed to be the exact blunt truth. At the same time, it feels impossible to accept. To not only not need to compare yourself, but to have nothing to compare yourself to. To have nothing more or less than this reality, this breath, this one singular moment.

For this moment to be good. For nothing else to matter.

Sun is happy. Moon is happy. After all of it, after everything they’ve been through, he’s telling you they’re happy.

That’s what’s real right now. That’s all that you need to think about right now.

The darkness of the space has become soft, dream-like, a blanket wrapped around every surface. You are awake, but maybe not as awake as you could be. Sleepiness pulls at you, emotion running ahead of logic.

"Do you need a hug?" Moon asks.

After everything he just told you, the memories he made himself retrace explain it, Moon is asking you if you need a hug.

You do.

Moon clambers more fully onto the armrest, closer to you. He begins to offer an arm, but must put it back down when that causes his balance to tilt precariously. The invitation is clear regardless.

The hug is clumsy. Still slightly off balance, Moon falls onto you with more of his weight than you think he intended. Much of his body is hard, unpleasant to be hit with suddenly, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him and are embraced in return.

You don’t think Moon is ever entirely comfortable with being hugged. The fact that he’s allowing it anyway- No, not just allowing it, but actively reciprocating as well- feels important. You concentrate on the moment, not wanting sleepiness to turn the memory into a jumbled mess by morning.

When you finally release Moon, he makes no attempt to support his own weight. He lets his legs crumple, flopping backwards onto the couch before twisting into a crawl.

"It's past your bedtime," he notes. "Go back to bed."

You nod. He's right.

"Do you want help getting back to the bedroom?" You ask him, in case either the conversation or the late hour might have tired him out enough to make crawling a struggle.

He shakes his head. There is a brief sparkle of stars, what little light there is reflecting across the freckles on the dark side of his face for a small shining second.

"Okay," you say. "... Thank you."

Moon crawls down from the couch. You follow him back, into the warm glow of soft light coming from your room.

Chapter Text

There are tears and cuts in a shirt you don't remember putting quite so far back in your closet.

There's a patch of rough, frayed fabric in the knee of one of your jeans.

Sun hastily swaps your blankets out with fresh ones, and you think it's just his cleaning compulsion until you take a look at the old set. It has been laundered and folded in such a way as to hide the hole in it. Said hole is big enough to ruin the blanket, stuffing leaking out.

You don't say anything yet. You're not sure what you should say.

There is no one this could be except Moon. You can’t imagine that Sun would know about this and not try to stop him, which can only mean one thing- Sun hasn’t been able to stop him.  

That only makes it harder to think of a way to broach the subject.

One night, you come home to see bone white shards scattered across your kitchen floor. For a moment, you are terrified.

Sun kneels near the worst of the shards, trying to hold back a struggling Moon. Moon who is not thrashing wildly, not desperate and feral, but making calculated pushes and twists to try to escape Sun’s grasp.

The two are fighting.

Both go still as soon as they realize you’re there, hands frozen in place against each other. Your eyes search their faces and hands, relief flooding through you as you see no damage. The broken shards on the floor are not from either of your friends.

You also notice the very specific positioning of those hands. Careful, porcelain avoiding porcelain, going out of their way to avoid causing harm even as they struggled with each other.

Sun lets go of Moon so abruptly that Moon must catch himself on the floor. Sun is on his feet in an instant, making a frantic hand-waving gesture.

"We're sorry!" Sun exclaims. "Moon, apologize! Moon is sorry!"

Moon does not apologize. He does not say anything, his expression sullen and more than a little ashamed. His gaze remains fixed on the broken pieces in front of him, the shards too small to identify and still a complete mystery.

"What happened?" You ask. "Are you okay?"

"I'll clean up!" Sun assures you, answering neither question. "Let me clean up, you don't have to worry about it! I'll clean it up!"

Sun rushes for the broom. Moon has not moved from the floor, silent. You take a few steps forward, careful even though your feet are still protected by your shoes. Moon still does not look at you. You reach forward, using your fingernails to gingerly pick up one of the bigger shards for examination.

White, sharp-edged, smooth except for where it has been broken. Glass, maybe? Porcelain? But neither Sun nor Moon are hurt. Are they? No, no, there’s no way you could miss damage this catastrophic if it had been one of them. The feeling of the material isn’t quite right either, the difference minute but noticeable. You turn the piece over, and see there is a trace of paint there. A fragment of a decorative swirl. All at once you recognize what you’re looking at.

A small crack through your heart, as fragile as what you now realize you have lost.

It's one of your plates. Not one you eat off of regularly, one of the good plates. You'd been given it as a gift. It was something that held sentimental value to you, the physical material of the plate itself not as important as the feelings you'd attached to it. The kind of item that cannot be replaced.

"Friend!" Sun exclaims, broom in one hand. "Please, be careful! You're going to get cut! We can't get cut as easily as you, let me clean up."

You let the broken piece fall back to the floor. "What happened?" You ask again.

Sun's shoulders fall, despair threatening to overtake his agitation. Moon folds his legs up against his chest, curling in on himself.

"Moon... Moon broke it," Sun states, tone defeated. "He- he just... broke it. I don't know why."

"Wanted to," Moon mumbles, gaze fixed on the floor.

"On purpose?" You ask.

The silence from both answers your question.

"Why?"

Moon reaches forward, the motion slow and clumsy, grabbing a piece of broken porcelain with no regard for the sharp edge. He looks at it as if it was him the plate was precious to, as if it's his heart that dropped upon recognizing it. Then he brings a piece to his mouth, testing his teeth on it with a tiny porcelain-on-porcelain clink.

"Didn't even work," he mumbles, tossing the shard back into the mess of them on the floor. "Pieces are too big."

They're really not. They are in fact too small to have been the result of a single drop to the floor. What you're looking at is repeat attempts at destruction, a purposeful effort to break down the pieces again and again into smaller shards. That's what was happening when you got home, wasn't it. Sun was trying to stop Moon from further breaking down the already destroyed item.

Why?

Was he trying to chew on it, the way he's been chewing on clothes and blankets? But the same question remains, why?

Sun gestures for you to move back and you automatically oblige. He starts sweeping at the shards, motions frantic and tense.

"I'll get this cleaned up, I'll get it all, don't worry," Sun tells you. "Moon is sorry, we're sorry. Apologize, Moon." He waits for Moon to speak up, but Moon does not say anything at all. "Moon! Tell them you're sorry!"

"I'm not," Moon mumbles, giving a half-hearted shrug. "I wanted to do it."

Sun grips the broom too tight, and then all at once lets it go. It clatters to the floor as Sun’s hands dart out to grab at Moon instead, hands closing around the fabric of Moon’s shirt.

"You need to apologize!" Sun insists, voice loud and harsh and carrying an anger you never expected from him. "You can't keep doing this, or they're going to get rid of us! Do you understand that, Moon? They're going to get rid of us! You can't do this, you need to tell them you're sorry!"

You set a hand on Sun’s shoulder. As gentle as you try to be, you still feel him tense at the touch.

"Hey, hey, look at me," you say.

Sun's grip on Moon's shirt loosens, fingers still tangled in the fabric even as they cease to exert pressure. Moon doesn't pull away. As harsh as the grab looked, you think Sun was still careful not to actually hurt him with it. Sun does finally work up the courage to look at you, and he looks so afraid as he does. His eyes are panicked and desperate in a way you associate with difficult nights. An anxiety attack, or teetering on the brink of one.

"Sun, it's okay. You're okay. I'm not going to do that," you tell him. "It's just a plate. It was a plate that was important to me, I am sad to see it gone and I would like an apology-." A quick glance at Moon, who has not moved. "But it's still just a plate. One broken plate isn't going to ruin our friendship."

Somehow, this seems to be entirely the wrong thing to say. Sun's reaction is best described as anguish. When he speaks, his voice comes out hitching and unsteady.

"I-it's not the first one," he tells you. He has fully sunken to the floor alongside Moon, the hands tangled in the fabric of Moon's shirt now there for comfort instead of anger.

"Okay, okay..." They're just plates. There are plates you sincerely hope aren’t on the list of ones Moon broke, but they are all only plates regardless. "You're still okay. You and Moon both. If push comes to shove, we can get plastic plates instead. Paper, even. You’re still more important than plates.” You give him a second to take a breath, for what you said to sink in before you continue. “Can I ask how many plates it was?”

"... Three," Sun admits. "I-I cleaned them up! I thought, they were all part of the same set, they all looked the same, so I thought I'd just get him to stop! I'd get him to stop, and no one would have to notice. I don't know why he won't stop!"

"They weren't right," Moon comments, still not looking up at either of you.

"Not right for what?" Sun asks, exasperated.

Moon shrugs, not seeming to know the answer any more than Sun does.

The loss of the other plates doesn't sting quite as hard. You know which Sun is talking about, and those were at least cheap. Basic, you had no special attachment to them. You're not particularly happy to hear about any of this, but Sun is right that you didn't even notice the other plates were missing. You’d thought in passing that your plate stack seemed shorter than usual, but you‘d assumed you were imagining it. You certainly hadn’t missed the ones that were gone. Between Sun’s tidy nature and the fact that you’re the only person in the household that eats, it’s not like you’d been in any danger of running out of clean plates to use.

You might be mad, under any other circumstances, to have this hidden from you. Maybe you should be mad, even. You can’t manage to feel it though.

Instead, you can't help but think again about how precarious this must all feel to them. The two had lived through being literally thrown into the garbage by someone who had once loved them. If that was something that could happen for no reason at all, for nothing, then how terrifying must it be for there to be something? For Moon to have acted in such a destructive, upsetting way?

No, you can’t manage to be mad at Sun when that’s what he must have felt like was at stake.

"Let's just clean up," you say. "Then we can all take a minute and relax."

Sun nods, but ends up shooing you away from the broken glass again instead of letting you help. You suppose it makes sense, considering the fact that it's almost impossible for him to actually get cut on the glass. He's extremely thorough as well, hunting down every shard, making sure none of the tiny sharp-edged pieces get stuck in the broom for a surprise re-appearance later.

Moon is worryingly still. Sun cleans around him until Moon reaches forward and picks up one of the remaining shards, turning it over and over in his hand. It takes you a moment to realize what he's doing- he's trying to break it again. The piece is so small that he can't manage to get it to shatter further.

Sun seems to realize this at the same time you do. He scolds Moon, lightly smacking Moon's hand with the bristles of the broom to make him drop the shard. After that Moon crawls away from the remaining mess, climbing onto the couch and out of sight.

Sun takes care even in how he throws the pieces away. He frets over the exact angle they fall into the garbage can at, trying to make sure they don’t gather at the sides or bottom where they might rip the bag.

You wish it hadn't been that plate. You don't say that, but you think Sun knows.

"I am so sorry, friend," Sun tells you. "I don't know why Moon would do this. I don't know why he keeps doing this. I don't know why he won't say he's sorry. I'm sorry for him. Please, friend, I'm sorry..."

“I know. You’re okay,” you tell him. “Do you think Moon might be doing this because he’s sick?”

Sun's expression is confused, frustrated, defeated. "It shouldn't be! That's not..." He considers but doesn't seem to come to a conclusion. Though every last shard has already been cleaned up, he still clutches the broom closely. "That isn't a symptom. There are a lot of things that can be symptoms, but I've never heard of anything like that. Maybe if he was trying to hurt someone with the pieces, but he isn't, I know he isn't! He's just... breaking things! There's no reason for it! There's no reason for it, so I don‘t understand why he won‘t stop. We've argued about it over and over, and every time I think he's going to stop, but then he does it again and- and I don't know why. I'm so sorry, friend. Sorry can't fix plates, but I'm sorry."

You move to reach for the broom, wrapping your hands lightly around the handle and giving the slightest indication of a tug. Sun allows it, his arms falling so you can take the broom. You tuck it back into its place, taking your shoes off while you're at it.

"We'll figure something out," you tell him. "You're okay, you and Moon are both okay. Let's go sit down."

Sun nods, letting you guide him out of the kitchen with a hand on his shoulder. You find Moon curled up on the couch, looking just as lost as Sun. As upset as Sun is with him, Sun still joins him there. He sits close, a hand settling on Moon. That doesn’t seem to be enough by itself, and Sun reaches out to pull Moon close. He holds Moon securely, protectively, the same way he used to when Moon was broken and unconscious.

You don't want to push into their space, but you doubt Sun wants you to be distant either.

You end up telling them you’ll be right back, leaving momentarily to grab your laptop. You think all three of you need a distraction right now. When you return, you sit with your back against the couch. Close enough to be in easy reach, the laptop visible to both dolls over your shoulders.

It's hard to concentrate. It's hard to relax at all. You click around on pages mindlessly at first, not knowing what you should search for. You end up on a video of some short indie animation, animals made of rough lines running and playing with each other. That manages to get a smile from Sun. A weak smile, but a smile still.

You look for more things like that, interesting and harmless and small. Anything that might calm down any of you the slightest bit. Sun starts to engage a bit more, a quiet word here and there.

After a while, you end up on a clip of one of those far away scenic places. Unfamiliar bushes and vines, brightly colored insects, little scurrying animals not quite like the ones at home. A tree with brightly colored flowers, all shimmering as a gentle wind blows by.

"I'm sorry," Moon whispers, so quiet you nearly don‘t hear him. He stares at the screen with an expression that is desperate and longing and heartbroken, like the sway of the branches in the breeze is the last thing he'll ever see. "I'm sorry I'm always the difficult one. I'm sorry I hurt you again.”

He still isn't apologizing for breaking the plate, you notice. He's sorry he upset you, but not for the action itself. Still, the plate was only a plate. He at least apologized for the most important thing.

“Thank you for the apology,” you say. "I appreciate it." And then, a thought that grips at your heart with the threat of a deeper crack, “There’s a big quilt in my closet, on the rack on top. It's yellow. If you have to chew on something, please, can you not chew on that one? Anything but that one.”

Moon hesitates before answering. "I'll try," is the best he can give you.

"Okay. Thank you."

Sun holds on to Moon a little more tightly.

You click another video, another distraction from the actual problem.

Chapter Text

The tension in the room is slow to ease. Still, one short minute and one small comfort at a time, Sun and Moon manage to relax. You scroll through the internet equivalent of comfort food, showing them whatever silly little things you can. Jokes, art, videos, hilariously bad advertisements, anything to brighten the mood.

The earlier events must have worn both of them out. Without the buzz of stress to keep the two awake, both dolls droop until they are lying down. Eyelids grow heavy. Moon curls up and stays that way, perfectly still. Sun keeps his arms around his twin, his hold on Moon somewhere between a guard with a priceless treasure and a child with a comfort object. Both are quiet, sound asleep.

Or at least probably asleep. Sun for certain, but it seems Moon has gotten better at faking it. He must have been awake and listening without you noticing on laundry day, after all- Though the laundry heaped on top of him might have helped disguise any tells that he was awake.

You wonder if he had been holding his breath, or if the movement had been obscured by towels and shirts and blankets. Sun once told you that Moon only stops breathing in his sleep when he’s really tired, but you’ve never once seen him take a breath while asleep. Maybe he never got back into the habit, after being so constantly exhausted for so long.

You think you should probably get up and eat something. It's late, later than you usually would go without eating, and you're hungry.

Instead you're still scrolling, restless, searching for something you know the site you’re on isn’t going to have.

A quick glance behind you. Sun's breathing is shallow and sporadic, Moon's nonexistent. Both really do seem to be asleep, as far as you can tell.

Moon’s eyes are closed. Even if he is faking, he can't see either way.

You click the search bar in your browser, and start with a simple phrase.

‘Living doll eating things‘

Many results, but you find little of relevance as you dig through them.

You find blogs where people talk about their dolls play eating. Quite a few of them, actually. Skimming through them you see pictures of dolls attending tea parties, pretend eating various fake foods, playing with toy kitchen sets, and many other things that don’t involve actually putting anything into their mouths. According to one of many tiny blogs you stumble across, if a living doll has an interest in food-related games or not depends on if their person played food games with the doll before it came to life. Nice to know, but not useful.

There are quite a few results from photo websites as well, but the content is similar to what you saw on the blogs. Cute, complete with aesthetic images of dolls posing happily with their favorite cups or fake foods, but not what you’re looking for.

You also see a surprising amount of posts across various forums from people asking if living dolls need to eat. Most of these forums are old and small, run by tiny teams of just a few people, and they are often invite only. You can’t access much of the content on them because of that, but you do find enough fragments of posts to piece together that this isn't what you're looking for either. It is surprising to see people ask the question though, despite many seeming to have a living doll of their own. You had assumed that someone who’d brought their own doll to life would be less clueless about that than you were.

You come across a youtube video, blocks of massive pixels dancing in glorious 240p resolution, of someone daring a living doll to eat a piece of cake. This one must have been a stuffed animal originally, some sort of cat maybe, soft and fuzzy all over. The video ends when they finally take a bite of the cake and, with no way to actually swallow it, end up spitting it out a moment later. There's frosting all over their face, something both the doll and the human filming seem to find hilarious.

Among the countless other links is one forum post in particular that leaves you quietly unsettled. A user stating that their doll has been complaining about being hungry. Most of the responses are alarmed, some telling the original poster to get away from their doll as quickly as possible. Apparently that one symptom, even in isolation, is a serious red flag.

The post has no updates from the original poster, no resolution, no conclusion.

None of this is helpful.

‘Living doll breaking things’

No luck, again. This search does not produce pleasant results, and you come across several things you wish you hadn't seen.

Images of dolls with glass or porcelain features like Sun and Moon, having suffered various breaks. These are at least mostly help and advice threads, even if the images make you regret having clicked.

Angry people complaining about a doll being clumsy, or careless, or acting out. The severity of the wording ranges from post to post, unnecessarily harsh at best.

An entire blog dedicated to the "training and discipline" of dolls. You don't spend long on this page.

‘Living doll chewing on things’

Another whole lot of nothing. There are quite a few results, but these are almost exclusively about dogs. Dogs trying to chew on living dolls like chew toys, how to stop dogs from chewing on dolls someone is trying to bring to life, dog-like living dolls with chewing behaviors similar to that of an actual animal

You're on another old forum, littered with broken images and dead links, when you find something.

'Doll chewing on things?

My doll Poppy has been chewing on things, like she's teething or something? Ruined a bunch of my coat hangers and one of my coats. Anyone ever had a doll do this before? Or is she just mad at me or something?'

The replies are full of speculation and confusion, mostly. A few posts down, the original poster has added a few images that are surprisingly still viewable despite the decaying state of the forum. The images are zoomed in a little too close and have the uncanny look of a bright camera flash in an otherwise dim room, but what you’re seeing is clear enough. A handful of plastic coat hangers that look like they've been gnawed on relentlessly, alongside a thick winter coat spilling stuffing from a ragged hole.

A few replies to the pictures suggest it might be the work of rats or other vermin. There’s quite a bit of doubt that a living doll was actually responsible for the damage. You keep reading though, page by page, the date stamps under each reply advancing a few days into the future as you go. Then you see it.

'Nevermind' is all the reply says. It’s from the same person who originally posted the thread, their first comment since they’d posted the images. Next is another five or six replies from other users, asking what happened. The original poster responds again.

'She died, so I guess it’s not a problem anymore.'

For a moment all you can do is stare, blinking at the screen.

There are no more responses from the original poster, no explanation. A few people ask how, a few wonder more about what might have caused the chewing, but the original poster doesn’t appear again and the thread peters out.

That’s it.

She died.

She died, and nevermind was all her person had to say about it. She died, and the only thought her person had in response was that the chewing wouldn’t be an issue anymore.

That’s it?

That’s really it?

You scroll up and down the final page of the thread, sure that you’re missing something- wanting to see that you’ve missed something. There is nothing more there.

An awful feeling settles into your gut, barbed and heavy. None of this is doing you any good.

You keep searching anyway.

You try different words, different sites, different ways to try and access the content kept behind walls or long deleted. Your search terms begin producing overlapping results, anything you can think of to try displaying pages of already clicked links. 

You keep searching.

There. First one, then another. Slowly you dig up a small collection of relevant links. A handful of posts scattered across various kinds of social media, old forums, and question websites. A small number of stories, unconnected except for how they all feature the same symptoms- A living doll chewing on things, usually fabric or plastic. One that was caught breaking a mug.

Several of them died shortly after.

Most of them, in fact.

Even the fate of those that weren’t confirmed to have died is murky. Sometimes the original poster simply stopped updating, with no conclusion.

One of the posts noted that their doll had other injuries that might have contributed, but none of the others mention anything of the sort.

You feel both freezing cold and scalding hot at the same time, conflicting temperatures flooding through you. Panic sprouts in its wake and runs wild.

Another blog post about something irrelevant to your search, your eyes frantically skimming it regardless as you hunt for information you know won’t be there. It’s about a doll who was accidentally hit in the face with a baseball while playing, one of their glass eyes cracking badly as a result. The blogger worries the damage might be permanent, asking their readers for advice.

'Don’t you live in MA?' One commenter asks. 'There’s a doll hospital near there, isn’t there? You could always have them take a look, if you’re worried.'

A doll hospital?

Doll hospitals exist?

The sound of something stirring, the shifting of cloth on cloth. Sun mumbles a sleepy greeting from behind you. You make some sort of affirmative noise in response, though your attention is elsewhere.

The first map site you bring up does, after excluding irrelevant results, list a location for a doll hospital. Two of them, in fact. There are exactly two in your country. Neither are close by.

A hand on your shoulder, barely brushing you before hesitating and pulling back again.

“Friend?” Sun asks. “Are you okay?”

There is a terrified paranoia in you, the fear that the stories you read will have caused the same to come true here in your home as well. That Moon will be still and unresponsive, that Sun will call for him and he will not wake.

That isn’t the case. When you turn you see Moon still curled up but awake, fully alert. He and Sun are both giving you concerned looks.

Even the nearer of the two locations you found is far too distant. It would take the better part of a week to even get there, and that’s a conservative estimate. So what are you supposed to tell them? That Moon’s behavior could be a warning sign of something potentially serious, but that there’s nothing you’re going to do about it? That you found an actual location specialized in treating dolls, but it’s too far away?

That other dolls have died from whatever this is?

That you’re afraid Moon might, as well?

“I’m thinking about a road trip,” you say. You adjust your laptop so the two can more easily see what’s on your screen, the location info for the nearer of the two doll hospitals. “Look.” The description is comforting, a tidy paragraph about care for severely damaged or otherwise unwell living dolls. Below that, a handful of five star reviews written in pleasant tones.

“That’s very far away, friend,” Sun notes.

“What happened?” Moon asks, more direct. “Other than the obvious, I mean.”

“I looked up dolls chewing on things,” is all you can say for a moment. It sounds so small when you say it out loud. Are you being too hasty? Isn’t this exactly what happens with human symptoms as well, any internet search bringing up results about cancer and other terrifying diseases no matter how minor the problem?

You remember Moon lying there unconscious, injuries fraying, head lolling at an unnatural angle on his broken neck.

Nevermind was all the eulogy someone had given their doll.

Something in you twists, deep and instinctive. The smell of smoke, the blaring of a siren, a tidal rush that urges you to move. To do something. 

Whatever it takes, before you end up unable to do anything at all. 

“I think we should go,” you say.

Chapter Text

Preparing for the trip is easy. Or rather, Sun and Moon make it easy.

Moon does most of the route planning. Before you have even said anything about the fact that such a trip takes planning at all, he’s already asking to use your laptop. Moon looks over maps, estimates time and distances, factors in sleep and other delays. He counts miles and finds stops along the route to replenish gas, food, water. He even makes a detailed list, item by item, of emergency supplies you might need in case of any severe weather or car trouble.

Moon does all of this with a level of serious concentration that makes you think he understands. Sun is just excited about the idea of going on a big trip, once it becomes clear you really intend to go, but you think Moon understands.

You lie awake in bed that night for far too long, unable to get your mind to stop. You’re so antsy that you think your bones might crawl out of your skin and begin the journey on their own.

“How long did they last?” Moon asks, the sound of his voice startling you despite how low he keeps it. He’s sprawled out on his back over Sun, Sun’s arms still tangled around his waist, wide awake. You're not sure if he couldn't move any farther without waking Sun, or if maybe he simply hadn't tried. You had assumed he was asleep an hour ago.

“What?”

“You said you looked it up,” Moon states. “Then you said we needed to do an urgent trip halfway across the country. So, how long did the other dolls last after symptoms showed up?”

Yes- He understands, doesn’t he.

“I don’t know,” you admit. It had taken so much digging to find anything at all, and even then you feel like you've been grasping at fragments at best. A scrap of cloth, a splinter of glass, nothing complete. “I couldn’t find much, and I don’t think any of what I did find was written when it actually first started. Just when the doll started causing too much damage to ignore, I guess. But... it didn’t seem like very long after that. A few days, maybe a week.”

“Okay,” is all Moon says. His voice has no particular emotion, and he closes his eyes without further comment.

You can’t get comfortable in bed after that. You don’t fall asleep for a long, long time.

The next day, Sun does a frankly amazing job of getting the necessary supplies together. In addition to Moon's emergency supply list, Sun has his own list of items to pack- Non-emergency foods, blankets, hygiene supplies, and other day to day necessities for a trip like this. He organizes everything neatly into the car with all the enthusiasm of a new favorite game. Despite the maybe excessive amount of supplies that the two lists add up to, Sun manages to fit everything with room to spare.

In the end, all you have to do is to inform your boss of your need to take immediate time off. You can’t find the words to explain the actual situation, and even if you could you’re not sure your boss would understand the importance of it. Instead you end up stumbling through a lie, saying you need to be with a family member going through a medical emergency.

Your boss isn’t particularly happy about it, in the end does allow you to use your vacation days for it.

The sky has only a few sparse clouds, warm sunlight cutting through the chill of the air. Moon sits beside you in the front passenger seat, Sun in the back. The two have agreed to take turns in front.

Only when you see your city recede behind you does it sink in that you’re actually doing this. With Sun and Moon handling the preparation, you haven't had the chance to put in the time and thought that makes something like this actually feel real. Finding yourself now already having set out despite that feels surreal, impossible.

Yes, you are really doing this.

You are caught between a certainty that you must be overreacting and the urge to drive faster in fear of some unknown ticking clock.

“I spy with my little eye, something... yellow,” Sun says.

While you’re focused on driving, Sun and Moon begin the most advanced game of I Spy you’ve ever heard. You’ve seen them take simple games seriously before, but this is something on an entirely new level.

“Caution sign,” Moon replies easily, referencing a sign by some construction work you’d passed multiple minutes ago. Sun congratulates him, Moon‘s first guess having been entirely correct. “I spy with my little eye, something gray.”

“Manhole!” Sun exclaims. Despite the large variety of gray things you’ve passed, that was apparently exactly it.

The two go on like that for quite some time, easily guessing each other’s intended item each round. You think half of how effortlessly they find the correct guesses must have to do with how well they know each other. 

The other half is that both are absolutely captivated by the scenery. They both act as if they have a need to memorize every single rock and tree, captivated.

The game doesn’t end until eventually Moon says he spies something brown, and Sun’s first guess of “The pile of wood by the blue house!” is shot down.

“Wrong,” Moon says. “It’s the creature of Bog Lake, emerging to seek fresh victims.”

That gets a fit of laughter from Sun, even as he scolds Moon for making things up. Moon stands unwavering in his obvious lie, calmly stating that the creature is not only real but is rapidly tailing the car on a pink tricycle. By then Sun is laughing so hard that Moon can’t manage to keep up his stoic expression, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Moon’s such a liar,” you say. “The tricycle is blue, don’t let him fool you Sun.”

That breaks what’s left of Moon’s facade, and he begins laughing too. The sound is almost childlike, unrestrained and entirely innocent.

It takes a while for all of you to calm down after that.

“There’s so much distance,” Sun says, once the laughter has run its course. The wonder in his voice carries strong even from the back seat, unhampered by the noise of the road and car. “It just keeps going. I knew it was there, it isn’t hard to look up maps, but I never thought I’d actually see it.”

He’s never been this far from home before, has he. Neither of them have.

Sun and Moon comment eagerly on the size of the world, the scenery outside the windows, the little details that you’re too busy focusing on the road to give your attention to. They’re in awe of the way the buildings thin out, shrinking as you get farther and farther from the city. They celebrate the opening up of space as fields and trees begin to dominate your surroundings. Even Moon, who is trying almost comically hard to act reserved about it, is practically glued to the window. He points out every new little thing he sees to Sun, voice hushed and excited.

They have a knack for doing that, don’t they. For turning something mundane or stressful into something fun, for bringing a little more light into a situation than there was before.

They made preparing for the trip so easy. Maybe being on it can be easy, too.

As worried as you’ve been, right now Moon has energy to spare. He’s seeing new things, joking and laughing, enthusiastic and alert. A trip like this is a rare opportunity for all of you, you want to make the most of it. You want this to be fun.

A feeling like a train approaching, slow in the distance only to arrive all at once. You want to give them more.

Not just the bare minimum. As often as you’ve worried that you could never provide that, right now you are unafraid. For a moment you are brave and solid, and enough is not a concern in your mind. Still you want them to have more. You want them to have everything.

To see everything, do everything, experience everything. You want see Sun flourish, free from any anxiety or worries. You want to hear Moon laugh like that more often. You want them both to feel entirely and unquestioningly safe as they explore anything they could ever want to see.

This must be the feeling people are talking about, when they say they want to give someone the world. You want them to have everything that could possibly be offered to them.

This trip is not the entire world, but it’s a step farther into it than you’ve been able to share with them before.

Overreaction or not, you’re certain now that this trip was a good idea.

-------------------

The smell of gasoline. A dusty strip of sidewalk that connects to nothing, sitting like a faded carpet in front of a tiny store. You’re stopped at a little gas station in the middle of nowhere, the last one for a while on this empty stretch of road.

You’re glad Moon pointed that out back in the planning stage. Your tank isn’t so low that you’d normally feel the need to stop and fill up, not yet. Without Moon to alert you, you would have driven right by with very little chance of making it to the next patch of civilization before your tank ran empty.

In addition to gas, you would definitely appreciate some snacks right now as well. Sun packed plenty, but you don't want to dip into that just yet.

You get out of the car and stretch, asking Sun and Moon if they want to come inside the shop with you. They do, of course.

When Sun helps Moon out of the car, he spins his twin around on his feet. There’s a startled laugh from Moon as Sun catches him, giving him a moment to find his balance. That takes a moment, with how Sun can’t help but bounce on his toes. More than just the excitement of going somewhere, you think sitting in the car for so long has left him with a bit too much pent up energy.

Moon does eventually find his footing. You keep the pace slow while Sun keeps Moon’s weight supported, the three of you heading towards the little store together.

The single glass door is half obscured by old advertisements and faded signs, a bell above it chiming out a happy little greeting as you enter. The interior of the store is about what you expected- small, crowded with shelves that are packed full of overpriced junk food. You mentally debate over the chips and candies, considering.

“Any snack suggestions this time?” You ask Moon

Moon’s eyes are locked on something, but it’s not the snacks. He’s staring at a small selection of what appear to be pet supplies, dog items primarily. There are bones, treats, and a handful of different dog toys on display.

A porcelain finger is raised, pointing at one of the dog toys in particular. A bright orange soft toy that vaguely resembles a little smiling dog itself, the ‘Squeeze me!’ on the packaging indicating a squeaker inside.

“That,” Moon says. “I want that.”

“You want that?” You ask, confused. The choice is bizarre. This doesn’t seem like the time at the movies, when he had suggested something for you to try. You can’t imagine what Moon would want with a dog toy for himself though.

Maybe he’s joking? But this isn‘t the kind of thing he‘d normally joke about, and his expression is intensely serious.

“I want it,” he confirms.

“You’re just going to chew on it, aren’t you,” Sun says, exasperated.

“I can do anything I want with it if it’s mine,” Moon replies.

He still wants to chew on things. Of course he does, it’s not like just starting a trip towards the hospital has instantly cured the problem. He was trying to hide it before, but now the issue is out in the open and he’s asking for help with it. He’s asking for something he’s allowed to destroy.

You grab the dog toy, along with an assortment of snacks.

“Do you want anything, Sun?” You expect his answer will be no, and the shake of his head proves you correct, but you thought you’d ask anyway.

You head to the front counter with your selections, the small size of the shop feeling a little claustrophobic around it. The man behind the counter sits half hunched over it, and his expression turns sour as he sees you approach. Sun gives a wave and his best smile as you put your selections down by the register, but the man’s scowl only deepens in response.

“Sign says no pets,” the man grumbles, gesturing at the door with his thumb.

“I don’t- I didn’t bring a pet?” Was there a sign that said no pets? You didn’t exactly check. Does that matter? Is it because you’re buying a dog toy? There’s no way he can be angry about you having a dog toy when it's something the store itself sells, especially considering there is no dog, right?

The man huffs at you, the bitter look on his face both baffling and intimidating. He makes a gesture you can’t quite interpret, something angry and vague and too choppy to read clearly.

“Those things,” he says, repeating the gesture. “We don’t let those in our store. Get ‘em out.”

You still don’t understand what he means until Sun responds for you.

“Okay! Sorry about that!” Sun says, voice cheery as ever. “We’ll leave right away. Friend, we’re going to go wait at the car.”

Sun and Moon.

That’s what the man meant by “pets."

He meant Sun and Moon.

You feel something in you break loose, and you don’t particularly feel like trying to catch it.

“Wait a second,” you say. “Sun and Moon aren’t pets. They aren't bothering anyone, there's no reason they can't be in here."

“Reason is, I said get ‘em out,” the man snaps. “So git.”

The taste of anger is metallic on your tongue, hot under your skin. Whatever you might have been about to say next would not have been pretty, but you don’t get the chance. A hand lands on your shoulder, careful but firm. Sun.

“Friend.” His tone is very deliberate, pleasant but not pleased. “We are going to wait at the car. We’ll be there when you finish up, please.”

Your mouth hangs open and you go still, full of unspoken arguments. Sun retreats, Moon going along without so much as a trace of the defiance you expected from him.

Why?

Isn’t he angry, too?

Does he not realize that no one has the right to treat him like that? That neither of them deserve to be spoken to that way? That if he wanted to argue, to make a scene, that you would be right there doing the same alongside him?

The bell jingles again as the two leave, the sound far too merry for the situation.

The man at the counter is still glaring at you, mouth scrunched up as if a particularly nasty bug had just crawled into it.

You half consider just leaving your items there and walking away. You don’t want to give this place so much as a penny of your money. The bright orange dog toy Moon wanted is still there though, staring up at you with a sewn-on grin on its little doggy face.

The man is gruff with you the entire transaction, acting like he’s one word away from ordering you to leave as well. As if just associating with Sun and Moon is enough for your presence to personally offend him.

You want to argue with him again. You want to ask him what his problem is. You want to become a problem for him.

Sun and Moon are waiting for you.

A brief second that stretches thin, ready to snap.

In the end, you simply grab your items and leave.

If the bell above the door had been set any lower, you think you might have ripped it off the wall in response to hearing that merry little jingle again.

Sun and Moon are waiting at the car, not having had the keys to unlock the doors. It’s Sun who takes the front this time when you unlock it for them. Somehow, neither of them are acting like anything unusual happened. Like they’re used to that kind of treatment.

Are they used to being treated that way? Does this kind of thing happen often?

It takes an incredible amount of restraint not to storm back into the little gas station shop and tell the man inside exactly what you think of that.

“I am so sorry,” you say instead.

“It’s fine, friend,” Sun says, making a placating gesture. “Let’s just go back to having a good day.”

"That wasn't fine," you insist. "I wasn't fine with that! You shouldn't have to be either."

Sun does not respond, uncharacteristically quiet.

The feelings in you mix, the anger and the frustration and the almost frantic sense of injustice. You want to fix this for them somehow. You can't- there isn't a way to go back in time and change what has already been said. Failing that, you want to be angry for them. If Sun can't be, if even Moon won't be, then you will. You want them to know this is a situation worth anger, that something wrong has happened and that neither of them deserved it.

"You shouldn't have had to leave," you add. "I can't believe he thought it was okay to talk to you like that. He didn't have any right to try to kick you out."

“I'm sure he did, actually!" Sun tells you. The veneer of pleasantness over the words is thin, the words coming out strangled. "It's probably his store!"

“That doesn’t mean he can treat you like that,” you say. “He-”

“Just drop it already,” comes Moon’s voice from the back seat, the words clipped and irritated.

Your train of thought comes to a stop, emotion frozen into confusion. When you turn to look at Moon, you're surprised to see him giving you a glare nearly as intense as the man running the counter had.

"What exactly do you think this accomplishes?" Moon asks. "What did you think you were going to do, in there? Argue until he called the cops on us? Do you think that if you just said it loudly enough, he'd suddenly change his mind? Get on his knees and cry that he's sorry? Did you think you were going to change the entire world by arguing with one idiot at a gas station? Was that the plan?"

You open your mouth, but you can't even manage to stutter. You have no response.

“We’re living dolls,” Moon states. “Some people are going to think we're creepy, or just not want to be around us, and they're always going to not want us around. Arguing with them isn't going to magically change their minds. If anything, it does the opposite. Every single second we waste on this is another second we're letting that ruin for us, so just drop it."

You think Sun must be giving Moon a look. You’re too frozen to turn and see, but he must be considering Moon’s response of, “You have to tell them what you mean, Sun. They’re not going to get it unless you say it.”

Slowly, you turn back around and retreat into the padded barrier that is your seat. You sink low in it, as if it could hide you from the overwhelming crash of emotions falling in you.

The shame, like a scolded child, hanging in the air like smoke. You are buried in regrets and at the same time not at all. Indignation, confusion, embarrassment, a mess of irregular shapes all half crumbled and carelessly scattered. Wisps of a persistent, angry flame flicker around the heaviness of guilt. The rubble of something unexpectedly collapsed, and you have no idea where to start sorting through it- if there's any point in trying at all.

“Friend...” Sun’s voice comes to him more easily this time, and it is gentle now. Soft. “Let’s just focus on making the rest of the day a good one.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You’re only half sure what you’re apologizing for, and aren’t entirely sure you're really sorry at all. You are sorry that you did something to make Moon look at you that way, at least. You are sorry any of this is happening to begin with, sorry that your desire to support them only dragged them down further.

“It’s okay. I think Moon could have maybe been a bit more gentle explaining,” Sun tells you. “You see us as people, and want everyone to treat us like people, and you want us to know you want us treated like people. We understand that. We appreciate it. But not everyone is going to be that nice, and that sort of thing, well... it happens. Even if you like to think of us as people, arguing isn't going to change the fact that some people don't. It only makes everyone even angrier at us. So, we try not to dwell on it. The faster we forget about it, the faster we can go back to having a good day.”

It feels wrong. It feels wrong that someone can just be allowed to treat them that harshly any day, any time, simply because Sun and Moon's existence offends them for some complete lack of reason. It feels wrong to be told there's no point in trying to do anything about it.

That's not what's important here though, is it. As wrong as it feels to you, your comfort is not the point. It's Sun and Moon who were hurt, and they are the ones who decide what it is that will soothe that wound. They told you how to help them. Right now, your job is to listen.

You rummage around in the nearly forgotten plastic bag at your feet. When your fingers find the dog toy inside, you give it a squeeze. The result is a bright, high squeak of noise. You turn again to hold it out to Moon, a peace offering, and he takes it.

"Please, Moon," Sun says. "Please tell me you didn’t really ask our friend to spend their money on that just so you could chew on it.”

Moon immediately bites down on the toy, sharp teeth piercing through the fabric without resistance. His stare is a challenge, daring anyone to try and stop him.

When Sun looks to you for backup, you shrug.

“It’s Moon’s toy. He can do anything he wants with it,” you say, echoing his earlier words.

Sun gives an over-exaggerated expression of exasperation, and Moon takes the toy out of his mouth for the sole purpose of responding with a triumphant grin. The dog toy is still completely dry due to the lack of moisture in Moon's mouth, and his teeth are so sharp that you can barely see the cuts his bite left in the fabric.

You do still need something to soothe your own scramble of emotions, and maybe the little shopping bag has a solution for that too. You pull out a snack as you move the bag somewhere safer, starting the car.

As you pull away from the gas station, you make conversation about anything that comes to mind. The scenery, the location of the next stop planned on your route, the quality of the snack- all good. You're surprised with that last one to find that both Sun and Moon have a decent working knowledge of different tastes you mention, even though neither have ever actually eaten.

And the unhappiness is left behind you, the distance growing with each word and each smile.

Chapter Text

The sky has been dark for a while now.

It's getting darker earlier each day, this time of year. That being said, the sun would long have set even if it had been the middle of summer. It's late.

The snacks you'd had earlier filled you up just enough that you'd decided to skip any opportunity to stop and eat a proper meal. A bad idea- The sugar from the snacks has now worn off and left you feeling twice as hungry than eating nothing at all would have.

You tell yourself that there's no need to dip into the emergency food Sun and Moon insisted be packed, especially not this early in the trip. At the same time, you think that if you don't eat within the next fifteen seconds you might start gnawing on the steering wheel like a desperate wilderness survivor trying to eat leather shoes.

A distant twinkle of lights on the horizon, moving closer and closer until you are eased into the artificial brightness of a proper city. The businesses here must expect people to come into town hungry, a variety of diners and restaurants and fast food places all crowding either side of the main road. You’re hungrily eying the McDonalds when Moon, now in the front seat again, shakes his head at you.

“You haven’t had anything but junk today,” he states. “Find real food.”

“ Moon. I think what we mean-” Sun’s voice from the back, “is that we want to politely suggest stopping for real food. You’ll feel much better after, friend! And you deserve something nicer than McDonalds after driving all day."

You think you’ll feel better if you unhinge your jaw like a snake and swallow three stacked Big Macs in a single bite. You feel like what you deserve is to have an entire gallon sized bucket of fries in your hands right this second.

Moon is giving you A Look.

You drive past the McDonalds and keep going until you find something that looks more like actual food.

You're so hungry that there is not a single thought in your mind beyond food until you're already entering the restaurant. You had somehow managed to park, wait (impatiently despite your best efforts) for Sun to help Moon out of the car, cross the parking lot, and pull open the doors without any other concerns at all.

As the atmosphere inside hits you- the smell of cooking food, a clang of dishes, the noise of conversation- so do the worries you'd failed to consider.

Will Sun and Moon be allowed inside?

Is this going to be a repeat of the gas station?

Was this a good idea? Your stomach complains at its emptiness, but even with how hungry you are you're suddenly unsure if you want to be here.

If anyone asks Sun and Moon to leave, you're turning right back around and going to the McDonalds. You are not making them wait at the car in an unfamiliar city while you have an entire sit down meal.

The first employee to spot you does a bit of a double take, giving Sun and Moon an odd look, and you tense. Sun responds with his best smile and a friendly wave. Any tension that was there immediately dissipates, everyone present relaxing. 

"How many?" the employee asks.

“Uh,” How many do you count as, in a restaurant? “Three, but only I’ll be eating.”

“Table or booth?”

You are surprised to hear Moon speak up before you have a chance, answering for you.

“Booth. Somewhere quiet. Away from people.” His words are quick and clipped, and only then do you see just how tightly he’s holding on to Sun.

Only then does it occur to you that this is the most people Moon has been since the grocery store.

Another thing that you forgot in your rush for food- The fact that Moon does not deal well with overwhelming environments. Moon could have an episode because you weren't paying attention to anything but your own hunger.

The waitress looks to you for confirmation, and you nod quickly. Your eyes dart around as you try to gauge how busy the restaurant is, and exactly how badly you might have messed up.

It's busier than you'd like. It's late enough that the dinner rush has died down, but it's far from dead. There's a surprising amount of people present considering the hour, a constant noise of voices and conversation and silverware filling the space.

Moon keeps his eyes focused firmly on the floor as the three of you are led through the dining area, using his free hand to tug his hat forward over his eyes. You doubt he can see where he's going, which is probably his intention. Sun keeps a steady hold on his twin, supporting and leading him.

The booth you're directed to is as far as possible from any other patrons, and it is quieter once you sit down- Sun and Moon next to each other on one side and you on the other. The back of each seat is excessively tall, forming a barrier around you. It's almost like a little room in itself, cut off from sight and most sound.

Moon clings desperately to Sun, his head down, and you hope the secluded booth isn't too little too late. A waitress sets a menu down in front of you, then leaves you be for the moment.

“I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry,” you tell Moon, once the waitress is out of earshot. “We can go if you need to.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” Moon says, sounding like he’s trying to make it true by insistence alone.

“Moon...” Sun starts.

Moon shakes his head harshly before Sun can finish. Sun puts both arms around Moon to pull him closer, and for a moment Moon leans into his hold. Then a few seconds later Moon is pushing back away, porcelain fingers clicking on the table as he tries to pull himself towards you instead. The look he gives you is not entirely wild, but there is a desperation in it that is quickly slipping into panic.

Two arms reaching simultaneously across the table, yours and Moon's both. You let your hand pass by his, instead reaching for the edge of his sleeve the way you've seen Sun do so many times. You're startled to feel the fabric tense at the unexpected touch. The fabric itself, bunching up slightly around your fingers even as Moon's arm stays completely still. You know his outfit is technically part of him, but you didn't expect it to move.

Moon doesn't seem to notice your surprise. He wraps his hand around your wrist, holding on as if to anchor himself in a storm.

A second passes, then another.

Then Moon's shoulders fall with the silent release of a held breath. The hand on your wrist relaxes as the tension leaves him, the fabric in your hold going as limp as inanimate cloth again. You have to adjust your grip slightly to stop it from slipping away from between your fingers. Moon lets himself slowly droop forward until his forehead meets the table.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.

You give him another moment regardless, still and quiet. You know Moon really is feeling okay again when he remembers his 'allergy', pulling his hand away and shrugging out of Sun's hold.

You feel a little like drooping onto the table with relief just like Moon had. At the same time, you feel like you should congratulate him. There is a sense of a disaster narrowly avoided not by luck but by concentrated effort, and that feels like something worth celebrating.

You don't though. Moon already looks a little embarrassed about the entire thing, and you don't think he'd appreciate you saying anything about it- even positive things. You try not to make a big deal of it, for Moon's sake, and simply take the chance to look at your menu instead.

As soon as you open it, you remember exactly how hungry you are.

Absolutely everything sounds amazing. You want everything. No, two of everything. You're so hungry that if they put a plate of nothing but garnish in front of you, stiff barely edible leaves and sour lemon slices, you think you could gladly eat the entire thing. Your hunt through the menu is less about finding something you’d like and more about convincing yourself not to order multiple dishes that you’d never be able to finish (despite your stomach insisting otherwise.)

“Friend?” Sun asks, pulling your attention up from the menu. “When the waitress comes back, do you think you could ask her if they have coloring pages here?”

“Sure. You want to color?”

“It’s nice to have an activity for restaurants," he says, looking a bit sheepish. Like he expects to be judged for that, somehow. “We don’t eat, so I like to have something to do.”

You wonder if he’d want to color during meal times at home, too. Maybe you should get him a coloring book? Or should you ask him if he wants some of his normal art supplies at the table, to use whenever he wants?

“Sun thinks he’s too good for silverware stacking,” Moon says. His voice is even and relaxed, and he really must be feeling better if he's making jokes again. “They always give us silverware, even though we don’t eat. But no, apparently that’s beneath the artist that is Sun.” The words carry no sharpness, a hint of a smile on Moon's face as he says them.

He’s right about the silverware. Though the waitress only gave you one menu, there are still three sets of silverware at the table. Moon eases a set of it out of the bundle it came in, bare fingers handling the metal carefully. You watch as he sets up a fork and a spoon, the curve of the spoon eased in between the tines of the fork, trying to stand them up against each other. He succeeds after a few small adjustments, a look of triumph on his face.

“As fun as it is to steal all the silverware at the table while everyone complains, Moon,” Sun shoots a pointed look at Moon, though he too is smiling in a way that shows a lack of any genuine offense, “I’m fine with a coloring page.”

When the waitress comes back around, you do ask her about coloring pages. She doesn’t seem to find the request odd, or at least not any odder than she already seems to find Sun and Moon. Maybe she assumes the two ideas are a natural combination, coloring pages and dolls.

While she's there, you order your food as well. You hadn't fully decided on what you wanted yet, but any delay in ordering would mean an equally long delay in your food arriving. The idea is unbearable, and you immediately order the first thing that comes to mind.

It is not a small dish you end up ordering. It is in fact one of the largest portions on the menu. You are certain you’ll regret that later, but you can’t stop yourself.

The waitress returns quickly with Sun's coloring page- which depicts the restaurant's logo along with a big cartoon bear mascot of some kind- and a little basket of stubby crayons. Sun sets both aside for the moment, maybe saving them for when your food arrives. Moon, on the other hand, feels no need to wait to play with the silverware. He has taken all of it, as well as the salt shaker that had been sitting off to the side.

Your food takes more than five seconds to come, which means the wait is far too long. When you complain about how hungry you are, Sun’s full attention is immediately on you. He reaches out to you, hands on your arms, asking you if you want to play a game or color on his coloring sheet with him. It takes you a moment to understand the reaction- attention and care. He’s doing for you what he’d need if he wasn’t feeling well. You think he knows that this isn’t how it works for humans, but is trying what he can regardless. It must be all he could think of, considering there's no way for him to speed up the arrival of your food.

Moon comments that there are still snacks in the car, and asks if you want him to get them for you. As in, to walk through the crowded part of the restaurant to the car and back by himself. Or, more likely, to crawl there and back. He sounds serious about the offer.

“I can wait,” you tell him. “I’m just complaining.”

He gives you a look like he’s considering trying to do it anyway. Thankfully your food does come soon after, before Moon can decide that you’ve waited too long.

The food is amazing, though you think any food would be considering how hungry you are. It's also incredibly filling. You're only a few bites in, but you are definitely about to have regrets. This knowledge does not slow you down whatsoever.

Sun busies himself with his coloring page while you devour your food like a starved animal. Moon continues his silverware arrangements, not even complaining that you took back a spoon from him to eat with. A spoon is not the correct tool for this meal, but it’s close enough, and it’s clear the forks are more fun for Moon to play with.

Sun waits until your eating has calmed a little before making conversation.

“Is it good, friend?” he asks.

“It is so good,” you tell him. “If you could eat, I’d offer you a bite and then fight you for it like a rabid dog when you tried to take it.”

Moon laughs so hard, the sound snickering and all-consuming, that the silverware he's stacking falls over.

Sun’s expression is that of a confused amusement. “I think I’m fine with my coloring page, friend, thank you,” he says, which only makes Moon laugh harder.

“I actually saw a lot of really cute pictures of dolls with fake food online, when I was looking up stuff for Moon,” you say, after a few more bites. “Apparently some dolls like to pretend eat? They had their own little kitchens with dishes and toy food and everything. I even saw some with their own tea sets, like the real thing, the fancy stuff. They all looked really happy about it. It was nice to see. Though I'm assuming that's not really you and Moon’s kind of thing?"

“I never really understood it,” Sun admits. “I know some of us like to play pretend like that, and I’m happy they found a game they enjoy! But I’ve never seen the appeal.”

“It’s weird,” Moon states without so much as looking up from his silverware pile, absolutely no sugar coating on his opinion.

“Moon, that’s rude,” Sun scolds. “And a bit hypocritical coming from someone who can’t stop chewing on things, isn’t it?”

A brief glance in Sun’s direction, Moon’s expression entirely unfazed and unimpressed. “I will eat your coloring page.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Sun says, with a scoff that sounds only half joking. “I’d be very impressed, considering that neither of us are physically capable of eating anything.”

“Try me,” Moon challenges, though the threat is clearly empty.

Despite the play-fight argument, when Sun finishes with his coloring page he still passes it over to Moon- who begins folding it into origami. Sun’s coloring continues on the unused napkins that came bundled around his and Moon’s unneeded silverware.

“You know what’s funny?” You ask. “I've always really liked living dolls. I mean, I'm sure you knew that, but I mean like... even just seeing one would make me so excited. Sometimes I'd go places just because I was hoping I might see one there, even for a second." Places like the park, though you aren't quite brave enough to admit that out loud. "But all that time, I could have just looked up videos and pictures online. There are entire blogs about living dolls out there. Entire blogs run by dolls, even. I could have looked any time I wanted, but I never did. I guess I felt like... like I wasn't allowed to, or something. Like I wasn't part of the club."

For a moment you think Sun might tell you that there is no club, or maybe that the idea of feeling like you needed to be part of some ingroup was silly to begin with. He doesn't though, instead saying,

“Well, you’re part of it now.”

Oh.

You guess you are, technically.

Maybe? Does it count if you’re not their person? If they’re your friends but not yours?

Sun is giving you a smile that is warm and genuine and kind all at once. Moon is content, his attention absorbed by the tiny precise folds he's making on Sun's coloring sheet. Suddenly you don't care if this 'counts' or not.

You belong here. Right here in this moment, you are not just allowed but actively welcomed to spend time with them.

A comfortable quiet, everyone occupied with their own activities. The food has warmed you up completely, only now are you realizing how chilly you had been before. There’s music playing from the overhead speakers, a little faint from where you sit. You recognize the one beginning now as an old favorite.

And you belong.

“This is such an exciting trip,” Sun comments. “I was just thinking, the other day- I wish I could go everywhere and see everything with our friend, it would be so fun. And now here we are! We’re really seeing everything, we’re going so many places!” There is an undeniable joy in his voice. Still, at the same time...

“I’m sorry we have to hurry it though,” you tell him. “We won’t be able to actually stop and enjoy much.”

“That’s the best part!” Sun exclaims. “We’re going on a trip so Moon can go to the hospital and get better. An actual doll hospital, for dolls! It’s not just a trip you’re letting us come along for, it’s a trip for us! That’s...” He takes a moment, seeming to wrestle with a sentiment too big to fit easily into words. “It’s wonderful!” he settles on. “It’s really wonderful of you, friend. It’s more than we ever expected.”

“Maybe next year we can go somewhere just for fun,” you say, without really thinking. “An actual vacation for all three of us, once I have vacation days again and all.” It seems so natural to say, so simple. The obvious next idea.

Then you see the look on Sun’s face.

Awe, excitement, overwhelming joy. Something that pushes him to lean forward closer to you until he's stopped by the table.

“Friend, I would hug you so much right now if there wasn’t a table in the way.”

You had forgotten, that this is the kind of promise you can't keep. You forgot how many times you've failed before, how little trust you can put in yourself. How, no matter how badly you want something, you cannot promise anything to yourself- much less to your friends.

Will they even still be in your life a year from now? Can you guarantee that?

Moon glances up from where he’s currently trying to balance a newly folded origami cat on top of a silverware teepee. You know right away that he’s caught your mistake, and for a moment you’re sure he’s about to say something about it. To warn you not to get Sun’s hopes up, to tell you that you had better mean it if you’re going to say something like that.

Then he looks back down to his silverware sculpture, busying himself with leaning sugar packets along the sides. He says nothing.

He says nothing, because he believes you. He didn’t feel any need to verify, or threaten, or emphasize. He believes exactly what you said. He and Sun both.

You suppose you'll have to do it, then.

A promise made without thinking, a wish running fast ahead of logic. Now you will have to make it true.

Now, looking at the two of them, you can and will make it true.

Chapter Text

You eat every bite of food on your plate, experiencing exactly as many regrets as you'd anticipated. It was too good to let go to waste.

Sun has sympathy for your plight. “Is it stressful, to have lots of good food in front of you when you know you can only eat so much?” He asks. “Does it make you worried about being hungry later?”

“Not stressful,” you tell him. You guess the concept must be unfamiliar to him. While he has a basic working knowledge of how food and eating works, you guess that doesn't extend to the specific emotional details of having too much of a good thing. "It's not about being worried for later, it's about how good it is right now. People don't want to stop, but they can only eat so much before they're full."

“Design flaw,” Moon states. That gets a laugh at you despite technically being an insult, which you suspect was his intention.

The dining area has started to empty out, but that means quite a few more people moving through the doors as they pay and leave. Not wanting to subject Moon to standing in that crowded line of people, you give Sun the keys and send both dolls to the car ahead of you. You join them a few minutes after and are back on the road, continuing towards your destination.

The night is cloudy, the only stars visible being the artificial lights of the city. They grow smaller and sparser behind you, disappearing one by one. The illumination spilling from your headlights reveals the shape of countless trees crowding close on either side of the road.

Both Sun and Moon are sitting in the back now, but there are still the occasional straight empty stretches where you feel safe enough to glance at your mirror and check on them. Moon is once again glued to the window, just as enthralled with the night as he was with the day. Sun seems a little less enthusiastic, and you remember Moon mentioning that Sun is afraid of the dark. Maybe that's why Moon made sure the both of them were in the back this time, next to each other. Even with Moon's entire attention on the window, he still has one arm out to wrap around Sun's. Sun's thumb moves in slow self-soothing circles across Moon's sleeve.

Time moves forward, more and more road behind you. You yawn.

“You two can go to sleep, if you want,” you say. Surely they must be getting tired too, with how late it is. “You don’t have to stay awake just to keep me company.”

“We’re okay, friend,” Sun replies.

“We don’t actually need to sleep,” Moon reminds you. Right, he mentioned something like that in the past- sleeping being more about conserving energy than restoring it for them. “We can stay awake as long as you do. Speaking of which-” a slight tap on your shoulder, not trying to pull your attention so much as to add physical weight to the words being spoken. “It’s past your bedtime. The plan was to stop nearly an hour ago.”

“I’m not tired.” That’s not quite right. You are tired, but you don’t feel sleepy. One fact pushes persistently at your mind- The longer into the night you drive, the sooner you'll reach your destination.

“Ever wonder what happens to a porcelain doll in a car crash?” Moon asks, tone suddenly far too casual. “All the safety features in cars are designed for humans. If you got into an accident, maybe because you happened to stay up too late and weren’t fully alert, what would happen to a human and what would happen to a doll would be very different. You know we can shatter? Like glass.” His tone remains easy, unconcerned, like he’s discussing the weather. It might rain tomorrow, and by the way we will shatter into a million pieces if you make a single mistake.

“Moon!” Sun scolds. “That’s morbid.” Morbid, he says, morbid. Not just inappropriate or unnecessary, but morbid. Though he’s scolding Moon, somehow his phrasing only emphasizes Moon's point.

“It’s true,” Moon states.

“Okay! Okay, I’m finding a place to stop,” you say. “Just let me find a safe spot.”

It’s another fifteen minutes before you come across a place that looks okay to stop in, a wide patch of dirt that takes you far enough from the road to park safely in. Still, you can't help but be nervous. Turning off the car makes everything seem too quiet, too dark. You flick on the little overhead light to push the feeling back, but it's a temporary measure at best. You can't leave it on all night.

Will Sun and Moon be okay in the darkness all night? Should you have brought some sort of portable light for them? Moon's emergency supplies list did include a flashlight, but that's something meant to be saved for actual emergencies- and the narrow beam of a flashlight wouldn't do much to illuminate the space anyway. Did Moon Sun and Moon forget to anticipate this issue as well? Did you rely too much on them to pack everything, think of everything? You shouldn't have just assumed they'd prepare everything themselves, you should have-

A movement of air, a gentle weight settling across you. Sun has placed a blanket over you, leaning over the center console to reach.

“We have lots of blankets, friend,” he tells you. “Tell us if you get cold. We can usually tell if it’s getting too cold for a friend, but we don’t always notice, so if you’re cold you have to tell us! We don’t really need blankets, you can have ours if you need them.”

“Oh, uh- thank you,” you say. “You guys have to tell me if you need something, too. I’ll be right here- I mean, of course I will, but... yeah. Don't worry if you need to wake me up for anything, I won't be mad at all. Just wake me up."

Moon comes up to the front with you, leaving room for you to recline your seat as far back as it can go. The chill of the night air  is quickly seeping into the car now that it's off, and you are starting to feel the cold in your fingertips. The blanket is warm though, and you're comfortable under it once you get properly situated under it. You kick your shoes off, pulling your feet up onto the seat.

Sun tries to tuck Moon in, but his work is immediately undone when Moon tosses his blanket over the center console instead. He drapes himself half across his seat and half across the console, facing the back, lying in a position that looks like it would give a human at least eight different kinds of back pains. Still, much like a cat stretched out in the most baffling places, he looks perfectly content where he is.

Sun takes a much more normal sleeping position. He curls up across the back seats, using his blanket as intended.

Everyone has settled. It's time to turn off the light. You hesitate, half wanting to leave it as it is.

Not a good idea. If it drains the car's battery while you're asleep, getting a jumpstart is not going to be easy out here. You're forced to reach up out of your blanket's warmth and, after giving a quiet warning to your friends about the impending darkness, switch off the light.

The sound of a slight cloth-on-cloth shifting, quiet, a blanket adjusting. Sun mumbles a goodnight to both you and Moon, and there is no distress in his voice. Everything is peaceful. Minutes pass in the darkness without disaster, and finally you close your eyes.

It isn’t as restful a night as you would like. Your car is not designed for sleeping in, and the seat doesn’t recline as far as you wish it did. You wake up often, adjusting your position again and again, aches creeping in.

At one point, awakening again in the unfamiliar darkness, you notice something. Moon is breathing. Your eyes have adjusted enough to see the slight movement of normal, even, regular breaths. Moon is awake. You drift off again after a moment, only to wake up again an unknown amount of time later. Moon is motionless that time, but something compels you to glance back at Sun. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but you notice it when he blinks. His eyes are open.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, voice coming out as a groggy mumble.

“It’s okay, friend. Go back to sleep,” Sun whispers in response. “Moon and I are taking turns.”

“Taking turns what?”

“Keeping watch. We're just making sure everyone is safe. Don’t worry, we’re both still getting sleep. We won’t get too tired.”

“You sure?”

“We’re sure.” His voice is warm, comforting.

You think you should tell him he doesn’t have to do that, but you know you're not awake enough to form a coherent argument. Hearing that someone is keeping watch soothes something in you, as well. Some anxious, ancient part of your brain that has been on edge this entire time.

You sleep a little better, after that.

You are briefly, vaguely aware of how frigid it gets in the car that night. Only briefly. You stir in your sleep to reach for a blanket you can pull over your head, and immediately you find it. Already draped across you are multiple extra blankets. You curl up tighter, moving a blanket up around your head so that only your nose is exposed to the cold air, and you are warm.

The next time you wake up, the sun has risen. In the morning light you can see that every single blanket in the car has been piled on top of you. The passenger seat is empty.

You see Sun sitting cross legged on his seat in the back, content to watch the trees outside wave their leaves in the cool early morning breeze. It takes you a second longer to find Moon. He's still asleep, curled up at the foot of Sun's seat. He must have wanted to keep Sun in his immediate sight, and lying on the hard center console was probably too uncomfortable after giving up his blanket.

You’re not sure how to thank them.

“Who wants to sit up front first?” You ask instead.

You laugh when Sun wakes Moon for the sole purpose of engaging in a far too serious rock-paper-scissors battle to decide. Despite Moon still trying to shake off sleep for the first few games, each ends in a tie. It is in fact fifteen games before the result is anything other than a tie. Sun is the winner, but you suspect Moon lost on purpose to prevent the game from going on for possibly forever.

Your body hurts in a dozen different spots from sleeping in the car, and when you push aside your blankets you’re shocked by how freezing the air feels. Even more so when you have to step outside for a minute to stretch.

Despite the cold, you were warm all night.

You don't think it will be long before you warm back up again.

--------------

Rest stops, gas stations, food. Miles passing by. You’re making good time. 

Sun and Moon are continuously excited about everything you pass. Everything from tourist attractions, to brightly painted houses, to funny looking trees all catch their interest as you drive by.

You put on some music, and it isn’t long before a song all three of you know comes up. Though Sun and Moon aren't familiar enough with it to have fully memorized the lyrics, they still try to sing along. Sun simply hums the tune when he can't recall some of the words. With Moon, you're not sure how much actually forgets and how much he simply pretends to. Either way, he ends up making up his own words to nearly half the song. The two encourage you to join in when the next song begins, and you do. The result is a complete mess, your attention on driving more than singing and your words clashing with Moon’s absurd made-up lyrics. All three of you have dissolved into laughter by the end of it.

Sun is in the back again by then, and he quiets down at some point. You don’t take conscious notice yet, not after such a brief time, but Moon does.

“Let’s find somewhere to stop,” Moon states.

“Why?” 

“Because Sun might explode if he has to sit still any longer.”

You’re approaching a stop sign, and pause at it an extra moment to look behind you. Sun is hunched over, his hands on his knees as if forcefully trying to stop his rapidly bouncing legs. He looks like he would crawl up the walls if there were any available.

“I can wait,” Sun says, clearly lying to you and possibly to himself.

You hold your phone out to Moon. “Help me find a good place we can get out for a bit?”

He takes it from you, which you assume must be a yes. There’s the dull tap of his fingers on the device, followed by the sound of the voice assistant starting. “Parks near me,” Moon states, enunciating clearly. You hear no objection from Sun at the mention of a park, which you hope means that parks are okay as long as it’s not that park.

A light touch on your arm, barely enough to feel. “Give me your hand,” Moon says.

Though you're passing through a town at the moment, it's not a large one. Traffic is light and the speed limit is low. You're not sure what Moon wants your hand for, but you feel safe enough to hold out an arm for him to borrow anyway.

Despite how much time you've spent around the two, you're always surprised by the feeling of their hands. Hard, almost always colder than you expect. Moon’s fingers wrap over yours, closing everything but your index finger against your palm. You feel the press of a different surface against your finger- the phone. Moon is using your finger as a makeshift stylus.

Right. You forgot the screen wouldn’t react to his fingers.

Moon’s solution to that problem feels a little ridiculous, but it works. A minute later he's pushing your hand away, voice directions starting up from the phone.

The park you’re directed to is small and tidy, low decorative bushes planted around the edges. There isn’t much there other than a few benches and trees in a grassy field, and it's empty of people as far as you can tell. Maybe not the most exciting location to stop in, but the open space is exactly what you need.

Sun is so excited at the chance to get up and move that he almost forgets to help Moon out of the car. When he does remember and doubles back for his twin, Moon waves him off. Moon clambers out of the car by himself, crawling on the small area of packed dirt that serves as a parking lot.

While still unable to walk unsupported, Moon has gotten much better at his spider crawl. More confident, able to do it for longer without tiring. You offer Moon an arm anyway, just in case, but he waves you away well.

The moment Sun reaches the grass, he’s literally jumping up and down with excitement and pent-up energy.

“Friend! Friend, friend, do you want to race? Do you want to race to the tree?”

“No,” Moon answers for you, voice surprisingly firm. “Stretch first. No running until they stretch.”

Sun makes the motion of an exaggerated sigh, sagging forward until he's nearly bent in half. “Okaaay, stretches first. Then we can race, right?”

You nod.

You’re not sure what stretches Moon expects you to do, or what stretches even should be done before running, so you follow Sun’s lead and copy each stretch he does. Moon sits in the grass, looking amused.

“Sun doesn’t have to stretch,” Moon tells you. Sun shoots him a dirty look, which Moon completely ignores. “He’s pretending, for you.”

“I’m being a good example, Moon,” Sun says, which Moon seems to think is hilarious for some reason.

After a seemingly arbitrary number of stretches, Moon is satisfied and gives you the okay to run. He’s apparently content to sit in the grass himself, waiting for you and Sun to tire yourselves out.

... Or for you to tire out, really. You try your best to keep up, but there's only so much running you can do before you're doubled over gasping for air. Meanwhile, Sun is still bouncing with excess energy. You had less than zero chance of winning any races that day.

“Friend, why don’t you go sit with Moon,” Sun says. “I can play on my own for a little!”

“You- you sure?” You ask, the words coming out all air and shape as you struggle to catch your breath.

“I’m sure!” He replies. “Go sit.”

You find Moon, who has by then made his way to one of the benches. He lies across it instead of sitting, the tails of his hat hanging over the side in a cascade of blues. As you approach, slow and panting, he makes room for you so you can all but fall onto the bench. You take a moment, concentrating on getting air back into your lungs. Once you're no longer panting quite so hard, you offer an arm to Moon. He takes it this time, pulling himself up and leaning on you.

Sun is doing cartwheels in the grass.

“Do you think he’s ever going to actually run out of energy?” you ask.

Moon snickers. “If he doesn’t, it’s your fault.”

The bench is cold, and the air carries a chill despite the relatively clear sky. As soon as you've cooled down from all the running, your body temperature seems to plummet. You press closer to Moon without thinking, only to remember that he has no body heat to pool with yours. You should have worn something warmer.

Still, aren't going to complain. Watching Sun have the time of his life running and jumping as much as he can is worth a little cold.

“How are you feeling?” You think to ask.

Moon doesn’t answer for a long moment, considering his answer carefully.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Nothing feels wrong. I like the toy.”

The dog toy, he means. Last you saw it, the top half of the head had been chewed off entirely. Stuffing bloomed from the hole, along with more tooth marks than you could count.

At least it’s... helping? Is it helping? As much as you want to hope it might help Moon's health stay stable until you can get him proper medical care, there's no way for you to tell. It could just be making the symptoms less destructive.

“Hey,” Moon says. “When we get to the hospital, don’t tell them I'm sick. Tell them whatever else, sure. Tell them I broke plates or whatever, but don't tell them I've been hungry enough to come after you."

“Why not? What if they can help?”

“They can’t,” Moon states flatly. “And if you mention it, there’s a good chance they won’t let me leave. I don’t know how things are run there, but if they had any sense they wouldn’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Would be a little like going to a vet and telling them you have a rabid dog that bites people,” Moon explains. “You don’t get to just go home with the dog after that.”

“... It’s really that bad.” You’re not sure if that’s a statement or a question. Maybe neither, maybe just an expression of the sinking feeling those words give you.

Moon shrugs. “That bad and then some,” he says, tone casual and unconcerned. “So let’s not say anything. It’s not like they can test for it, and if something happens then the fact that Sun can calm me down will throw them off. They won’t realize what it is.”

“Okay. A secret, then.”

Moon holds out a hand to you, pinky held up towards you. You give him a confused look.

“Pinky promise,” he says, wiggling the outstretched digit. “For secrets.” By the way he’s smiling, he knows exactly how silly that idea is.

You copy him and clumsily wrap your pinky around his, a little movement like a miniature handshake between the two of you.

“Pinky promise,” you agree.

Chapter Text

Summersaults, cartwheels, jumping and running in every direction. Sun has not slowed down whatsoever. You sit alongside Moon, watching as Sun makes a game out of collecting all the fallen pinecones scattered around the park. You half want to join in now that you've caught your breath, but you think you're getting tired just watching him.

Something catches your eyes- A shape, a movement, a blur. By the time you figure out what it is, it's already right in front of you.

A dog. Some sort of little brown terrier, fuzzy and low to the ground, tail wagging like mad. It stops abruptly in front of Moon and does a play bow, the front of its body lying flat against the grass. Someone must be here with their dog. The park had been deserted when you arrived, but you suppose there was no reason to expect it to stay that way.

Moon apparently doesn't share Sun's wariness of dogs. He leans down to get closer.

"Hello," he says. He uses the tone you'd expect him to greet a human being with, not an animal. "Where is your person?"

The dog does an excited little hop and gives a quiet, almost polite bark. Then it runs off again, little legs working their fastest to carry it across the expanse of grass. Now you can see who it's headed towards- the distant shape of a person, too far to make out any details across the park. Their steps are slow but steady, the dog bouncing excitedly as it reaches them.

"That was a doll," Moon comments.

"Wait, really?" You've seen some dolls that look very much like dogs before, but nothing like this. The little dog had looked exactly like a normal, natural animal.

"Had glass eyes," Moon explains. You're surprised he'd been able to detect that so quickly, you hadn't noticed at all. Though apparently that wasn't the only give away, as Moon also adds, "Too smart. And knew I'm a doll without needing to sniff me."

You're not sure you can reliably say if the dog had known anything or not, but he was right- it hadn't sniffed either of you at all. Hadn't even tried.

You see the little shape dart through the grass again- towards Sun this time. You're momentarily worried, knowing dogs make him nervous, but Sun seems to realize the dog is a doll just as quickly as Moon had. He gives an enthusiastic greeting you can't make out the words of at this distance, but you can hear the excitement in his tone.

When the dog runs back towards the distant person, this time Sun follows. The two meet up, having some kind of conversation as far as you can tell. Though they're now too far to hear anything from at all, Sun is more than animated enough for you to read his excitement. After a friendly wave and some enthusiastic back and forth, he holds out a hand. The other person shakes it. Sun walks side by side with the distant figure as they begin coming your way again, the dog running excited circles around both of them.

Moon looks both unsurprised and unconcerned. You follow his lead, knowing Moon would be much more tense if there was even a small chance of Sun being in any danger.

As they get closer, you get a better look at the newcomer. An older woman with white hair, dressed in that old fashioned way that always seems a little too formal for any particular occasion. Though the dog doesn't seem to have any setting other than fast, Sun shows a surprising amount of restraint keeping the woman's carefully slow pace.

There does come a point where Sun's ability to hold himself back reaches his limit though. Once he's within clear earshot, he can't help but run ahead to you- his last few steps more like leaps.

"Friend!" He exclaims. "Friend, friend, can I play with Daisy? Can I play with Daisy please? Gale said it was okay, as long as you're okay with it! Oh- and this is Daisy!" He gestures to the dog doll, which gives another surprisingly polite sounding woof. "And this is Gale!" A more practiced, respectful gesture to indicate the woman who is just now catching up to him. "Daisy, Gale, this is my friend! And also Moon!" There's a distinct note of pride in his voice as he introduces you and Moon.

Gale is close enough now that you can clearly see her smile, the expression crinkling the well-worn wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

Daisy and Sun are both stock still in anticipation, awaiting your answer on if they can play or not. You're not sure you would have noticed on your own, but Moon was right- Daisy really is far smarter than a normal dog. It's clear that she's both listening to and understanding every word said.

"Hi," you manage in response to Sun's introductions. Then, to answer his question, "Of course you can play. I appreciate you telling me, but you don't need my permission."

You're not sure Sun registered much of your answer beyond you can play, but you had to at least try.

"Thank you!" Sun exclaims. "Thank you, friend! Thank you Gale!" With that Sun is off, Daisy's little legs working at top speed to rush ahead of him. She goes straight for Sun's pinecone pile with Sun chasing after her, an informal game taking shape.

Gale watches them go with a fond smile.

"He's an energetic one, isn't he!" She says. "You must be taking good care of him."

"Oh, uh-" You're not sure how to respond. You have no idea if she's simply being polite or if the remark was genuine, but her approval leaves you fumbling. It is an overwhelming, exciting, giddy feeling all at once. "I've been doing my best," you tell her honestly.

"Would it be all right if I sat down next to you, dear?" Gale asks.

"Of course," you nod, gesturing for Moon to scoot aside so the two of you can make a little more room on the bench. He does so without complaint, Gale taking a moment to gingerly ease down onto the bench beside you.

Sun and Daisy's game seems to have settled into a competition of building the biggest pinecone pile, with stealing from the other player's pile apparently being fair game. For a time, you and Gale simply watch the two play. Sun runs and tumbles and laughs. Daisy zips around, much faster than Sun but only able to carry one or two pinecones at a time in her mouth.

A deep breath, the air cool and clean and peaceful. For a moment, there is no pressing feeling of needing to be anywhere except exactly where you are.

"It's nice to have someone for her to run around with," Gale comments, her smile easy and calm. "It's not as easy for me to keep up with her as it used to be, and it does her good to have a nice big run around every once in a while."

"I'm really glad we ran into you," you tell her. "Sun loves meeting new people, and he definitely needed someone to help him burn some energy. We're on a trip, so he's been cooped in a car the past few days."

You feel a bit of shyness, talking about dolls with someone who actually has her own as if that's a conversation you belong in. But no, you remember- You're part of that club now. Sun said so himself. You try your best to hold on to that thought.

"You couldn't keep up with yours either?" Gale asks. "I'm glad it's not just this old woman getting too slow! Sometimes I think Daisy could go all day long and have more energy to run around with by bedtime." She leans forward, the motion slow and careful, in order to peek past you at Moon. "And what about you? Not quite as energetic as your brother?"

"Not brothers," Moon corrects immediately, looking somehow offended. "We're part of a set, we go together." The sharp edge in his tone quickly retreats, voice softening as he adds, "Twins, maybe. But not brothers."

"Well, you seem a little more relaxed than the other half of your set, then," Gale says, unfazed.

Moon's gaze falls downwards, settling on his legs. He kicks one idly, fabric swinging slightly. You think her response might have somehow offended him again, for reasons entirely unknown to you, but he seems to put that aside as his mood eases back to something more neutral. He shrugs.

Sun and Daisy are still running around at top speed, carrying pinecones back and forth. Judging by the size of the piles, Daisy is winning.

"You know, I never expected to have a doll at my age," Gale comments, watching Daisy zip through the grass. "I got Daisy- the first one, my little dog- to keep me company. She had a good, long life. It wasn't long after she passed that I saw a little toy that looked just like her, and thought maybe it might help ease the grief. Something to remind me of her.

"Every day I'd say good morning to her, and give her a little pat on the head. I'd hold her on my lap while I watched the news. Eventually it just became routine, and before I knew it Daisy was hopping up on my lap all on her own. Time is funny when you get to my age, it sneaks up on you like that. She's not the same Daisy as the one I had all those years ago, but I couldn't ask for better company. I'm blessed to have her."

Gale's voice is wistful and nostalgic, the weight of countless unspoken memories on her gaze as she watches Daisy play. Another quiet few moments pass before she turns her attention back to you.

"What about you?" Gale asks. "It's not often I see someone with two."

"Oh..." That isn't an easy question to answer. "Sun and Moon, I- well, I only started taking care of them recently, actually. They came from, uh, a friend. She... wasn't going to be taking care of them anymore, so I've been taking care of them myself. Not that I mind! I'm really happy to have them here, it's been really nice."

"Do they behave for you?" Gale asks, and you're startled by how abruptly her tone has shifted. All at once the previously relaxed words are stony. She's not looking at you anymore, her expression flat as she stares straight ahead.  

Did you say something wrong? And what kind of question even was that, asking if Sun and Moon behave?

Maybe there's some kind of misunderstanding? Maybe, since Gale has only ever had Daisy, she has some sort of expectation that doesn't quite fit Sun and Moon?

"It's- no, they're not like dogs," you tell her, trying to clear up whatever it is that has happened. "It's not about them behaving, they're their own people. We're friends."

Gale gives a hum that is somehow noncommittal and clearly disapproving at the same time. "I'm surprised," she says, sounding as if she thinks you're lying to her somehow. "Secondhand dolls end up with all sorts of behavioral problems. You know, I find it very irresponsible of people to do that. There are all sorts of schools and community centers that will take them, where they'd be better off, but instead people go passing them around on a whim. Then they have problems, and someone ends up getting hurt. They never really adjust to a big change like that, you know. They're never going to mind you the way they would their actual owner."

The words hurt more than expected.

You knew, of course. It isn't like you didn't already understand that you'll never be the center of the world the way Nessa was. Still, hearing someone-

An animal noise, furious and incoherent. Your train of thought derails entirely. A mess of blue and white lunges across your vision, clawing over your legs to reach the other side. You have a moment of clarity before panic presses down on you, and you grab Moon at his shoulders.

"You think I Can't?" Moon spits. He struggles and writhes in your grip, boiling with an immediate feral wrath that nearly breaks him from your startled grip. The words are not directed at you this time. None of his attention is- every ounce of that wild intensity is on Gale. "What do you think I'd do, if I ever saw her again? You think I couldn't? What do you think I wouldn't do if I see you again? You think I won't?"

Gale recoils, a look of horror on her face as she tries to create distance between herself and Moon. You can feel the structure under the cloth that covers his shoulders, not quite bones but maybe the equivalent, pushing and thrashing as he tries to close that gap. Hard porcelain presses against you, not seeming to recognize your presence as anything beyond the obstacle you've created.

Daisy's response is immediate. In seconds she has rushed across the grass and is right there in front of you, snarling and barking. The teeth she bares look far too sharp and real for a cloth doll. Still Moon does not give up, does not even seem to notice. His legs push against the bench for leverage, collapsing against themselves over and over persistently.

Sun catches up a second after, and suddenly Moon is being scooped out of your arms. You scramble back off the bench, Sun's hold on Moon secure as he too retreats away. Daisy follows his retreat, barking loudly and constantly in warning, pushing him away from Gale. Moon lets out a frustrated growl of his own as he tries to escape Sun's grasp.

"What do you think I can't do?" Moon shouts to Gale over the increasing distance. "Say it again! What do you think I won't do, if you try to say that again!"

It's only when you're too far for Moon to shout over the distance anymore that he finally falls quiet, going limp in Sun's grasp. Still his expression is wild and furious, even while still. Daisy's barking chases you even after she has stopped physically following, echoing across the park.

Go, you've got to go.

Sun pulls Moon into the car as soon as you reach it, and you need to go.

Moon does not make any further sound. When you glance back, you get a glimpse of him curled into a tight ball on the seat with his arms held tight over his head. Then he's obscured as Sun piles blankets on him, carefully tucking in the edges, speaking a steady stream of soothing words.

Sun is kneeling in the legroom area of the backseat, not properly sitting or buckled in. You start the car and, remembering what Moon said about dolls and car accidents, warn Sun you're about to move. You can't move until he's buckled in. He makes a few more adjustments to the blankets piled onto Moon before hastily turning to sit down on the seat, squeezed between the door and Moon's curled form. As soon as you hear the click of the buckle, you drive.

You don't have a direction in mind other than away. You don't consult your GPS. Your only goal is to not be where you were.

You are vividly aware of how far from home you are right now. Like swimming out far into deep water, only realizing how distant the safety of shore is when the waves grow choppy. Surrounded by water from one horizon to the next, nothing under your feet.

Away. If you can't take them somewhere safe, you can at least take them away from danger.

The drive is quiet except the rumble of the car. You've ended up in a residential area, and the streets are all but empty. There are no police sirens, no barking chasing after you, no nebulous catastrophe closing in. You might have actually gotten away safe, by some miracle.

Slowly you let out the air trapped in your lungs, your next breath in deep and just as slow. Relief eases through you, tension relaxing from your arms and shoulders. Your fingers no longer strain with the force of gripping the wheel.

A tiny voice, hesitant, from the back seat.

"We... we're okay, right?" Sun asks. "You're okay? No one got hurt, so- so everyone is okay, right?"

How much trouble are we in is the unspoken question.

"I think we're okay," you tell him. "I grabbed Moon before he could do anything, and we can just leave, so... we should be okay."

You drive down smaller, thinner roads. You drive to where the houses are infrequent, bushes and trees becoming a more common sight. You drive until you are no longer in any town or city proper, entering the sparsely populated space in between. Eventually you see a relatively secluded area to pull over, and you stop there. There is a strange sort of relief when you turn the car off, the rumbling of the engine falling silent.

Moon hasn't moved from under the blankets when you turn to check, fast asleep most likely. You're fairly sure he'll be okay, considering Sun’s attention is on you instead of fretting over Moon. Still Sun's expression is worried, tense, ashamed.

You turn back around to face the front. You need a moment, maybe.

The click of a seat belt unbuckling, Sun coming back into view as he begins to climb over the center console to the front. He pauses, shrinking in on himself, when you see him. As if he expects to be scolded for this somehow.

“You can sit up front if you want,” you say, keeping your volume to a minimum so as not to disturb Moon.

Sun nods and, after another brief hesitation, climbs into the seat beside you. He settles there, slumping against the back.

He looks like he wants to talk. Starts to even, mouth beginning to open, but then his head tilts almost imperceptibly towards Moon and he remains silent. He stares at his hands, one fidgeting with the other, a sleeve pulled over the other to muffle the porcelain-on-porcelain click of the contact.

You glance back again. Moon is still sound asleep.

A motion of your hand, pointing. A tilt of your head, silently asking Sun if it would be okay for the two of you to exit the car. You get a single, clear nod in response.

Both of you open the doors on either side, exiting the car. You think Sun manages to ease the door closed again without making too much noise, but you don’t bother trying to shut yours fully. There’s no one around to try and get in anyway. Instead you simply press the door to the car, enough to keep the interior quiet even if it isn’t properly closed.

You and Sun sit in front of the car, watchful, protective. The grass you’ve settled in is soft and slightly overgrown. A breath of warmth, hot air emanating from the engine at your back. A cool breeze on your face, the stirring of the air not feeling quite so chilly anymore. Patchy clouds above move quickly on a wind that must be stronger up high, long curtains of shade and sunlight rolling across the ground. You’re under that shade now, the grass and trees far ahead of you seeming almost to glow where the retreating line of sunlight begins.

The two of you simply watch for a long, quiet moment. Neither of you move much, other than Sun idly fidgeting with the long grass. Though he seems to be doing it unconsciously, his hands are still gentle with each strand. Careful not to pull or twist, running across without damaging the plant.

Eventually Sun speaks, his voice just as gentle.

"Friend... What exactly were you and Gale talking about?" He asks.

You look at him, inquisitive, unsure as to why that’s the question on his mind.

“Moon was angry,” he explains. “I don’t... I don’t think that happened because Moon was sick. I think him being sick made it worse, but I don’t think that’s what caused it. He wasn’t trying to get help, he was angry. I thought maybe it might have been something someone said, that made him so angry like that.”

You think on that for a moment, trying to recall through the jumble of panic and stress you’d only barely had a chance to fully calm from.

"We were talking about you guys," you tell him. "And dolls, and stuff like that. And when I told her you two aren‘t really mine, that I started taking care of you after someone else stopped, she got... I don't know. She got upset, I guess. Said big changes like that aren’t good for dolls, that you would have been better off somewhere else. Brought up how you’d never really belong with me like you did with Nessa. That kind of thing. Then...” No, that was all of it. That was the end of events. “Then Moon just snapped.”

Sun is quiet for a moment, thinking. Not the kind of thinking you’d expected, though. He doesn’t seem to be deep in thought going over events, doesn’t seem to be trying to solve a mystery. He looks like he already knows the answer, searching only for the right words to explain it.

"... That would have made me really mad, too," he admits. "I could have controlled myself a little better than Moon did, but I would have been mad too. Of course that would make Moon angry. It’s...”

Concentrated thought marks his expression, porcelain face scrunching up the same way skin would. The furrows smooth back out as he lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, eyes return to the increasingly distant sunlight on the horizon.

"We were very attached to Nessa," he tells you. "Obviously we were. She was our person, we loved her more than anything. And she loved us, too. It might not seem like it now, after what happened, but there was a time when Nessa loved both of us with her entire heart. That's the hardest part, I think. That's what hurt the most, that all that love could turn sour.

"I think that might be something we need, love," he says. His tone is musing, almost unsure, the idea seeming to form only now as he speaks it. “Not any specific kind. Just... loved. It’s kind of funny, almost. Children have such a broad idea of love, they know so many things it can be. They love their friends, and love their toys, and love their favorite color. They love to run and play and explore. Then somehow, adults forget all that at some point. They start thinking love can only be one or two things. I think that’s... silly, very silly. Love is lots of things. And I think that’s something we need, to be loved.

"Do you..." He turns to look at you, and you can't quite read his expression. Something contemplative, something honest, something vulnerable. Something more fragile than the porcelain he's made of. There is a growing brightness to him, curls and reflective gold catching the light, muted colors growing more vibrant. The clouds are moving overhead, and finally you are coming out from under the shadow. "Friend, do you think you could love us?"

Everything seems to glow as the last soft shadows lift off of you. Everything warms, everything solid and vivid and somehow more real than it felt a moment ago. A little window back into summer, delicate and trembling as a new butterfly’s wings.

You do not respond immediately. You don’t think Sun expected you to, either. This is not a question you can respond to lightly, on impulse. He must know you well enough to understand that this is too important for you to respond to without careful consideration.

You think about that. About a child with a favorite color, a favorite game, a best friend. About talking with Sun and Moon at breakfast. About sitting together and watching leaves drift by on the river, about the moments of calm comfort and the moments of laughter.

You think about the feeling of Sun’s hands, on your wrist or sleeve or over your own. About sitting next to him on the couch, his shoulder resting next to yours. About the familiar weight of Moon when he sprawls sideways across your lap, or the slight trace of his presence when he curls up next to you catlike.

Smiles, one soft and the other sharply mischievous. Games and jokes and running running running until you are joyfully out of breath. All the places you want to go with them, all the things you want to show them, everything you want to experience alongside them.

You think about it all until you feel like you have filled up completely with those thoughts, all warm and shining in the light.

"I could," you say. And then, more truthfully, "I do."

A hand on your wrist, reality instead of memory, fingers looping loosely over the end of your sleeve. The feeling is not quite human, not as soft or warm as a human hand. Sturdier, more familiar. Always gentle despite the unyielding nature of the material, always protective despite inherent fragility.

And, maybe the most important part about that hand, the fact that he has reached out to you. To you specifically. That he has sought you out with his touch just to be near. You loop a finger around his sleeve in return.

"Then we can be yours," he tells you. "Then you can be our person, and we can belong to you."

Sun leans towards you, his weight settling against yours, letting go of your wrist so he can wrap his arm fully around you in a hug. His rays brush against your head, careful, barely felt.

You’re not sure what you should say. You’re not even sure what you should think. Just earlier today it seemed like there were so many rules to this, so many things it was important to keep in mind, but right now you can’t remember any of it.

You don’t know what you should do, so you simply do the thing you most want to do at this moment. You wrap your arms around Sun, not just mirroring his gesture but holding him as close as you possibly can.

A sound behind you, startling in the quiet. You have to let go of Sun to turn and see what made it.

Moon sits there on the ground, the car door open next to him. Everything about him is slightly askew. He must have leaned on the door and ended up tumbling out upon discovering it was never fully closed. The short fall onto soft grass doesn’t seem to have hurt him at all though. There is no pain in his expression, only a sleepy sort of disorientation. He adjusts his hat almost unconsciously, pulling it down over hair that’s trying to stick up at every angle.

"... What's going on?" Moon asks, voice groggy.

"They're keeping us," is all Sun says. There is something in his voice you don’t have the words to describe. Something kind, something important, something opposite to heartbreak.

Love, maybe.

"Well duh," Moon responds.

You don't think his response is due to any lack of understanding. You think he must have already known.

Though the clouds continue moving overhead, the light weakening and dulling back into shadow, you barely notice.

Yours. They are yours.

-----------------------

It takes a bit of time to get back on course, your GPS leading you out from the maze of little roads you had taken in a panic.

Sun has chosen to sit beside you in the passenger seat. Moon remains in the back, an assortment of blankets half wrapped around him. He looks sleepy, like he’s still in the process of waking up and half considering simply going back to sleep.

"How are you doing?" You ask Moon.

"Fine,” he states. “And... sorry.” His voice is smaller for a moment, softer. Only for a moment though, his next words firm and purposeful. “I’m not sorry for making sure she never said that garbage again. But I am sorry I didn’t make a more convincing argument... and for getting you in trouble, probably.”

A genuine apology, from Moon. 

“Thank you,” you tell him. You’re not sure that’s the correct response to an apology, but you mean it regardless. “I think we’ll be okay this time. Do you think you might be able to give me a warning, if you think that might happen again?”

You’d like for it to not happen again at all, but you know that might not be possible considering Moon’s sickness. In lieu of that, even a moment’s warning would go a long way. Especially since, now that you think of it, Moon hadn’t actually tried to hurt you this time. As incoherent as he had seemed, he hadn’t put you at risk for so much as a scratch- not even as you held him back from reaching his goal.

“I’ll try,” Moon says. That too seems genuine.

You think that will be enough.

You think you might be enough.

That they are enough, more than enough, to bring you far more happiness than you thought you could ever be allowed to have.

Chapter Text

Getting a motel room wasn't in the plan. You'd intended to save money by sleeping in the car as much as possible, only springing for proper sleeping accommodations if you ended up having to stay near the hospital for multiple days. Then, just as you are looking for a good place to pull over for the night, you see the motel sign. It features a little glowing person sleeping peacefully in a soft bed.

You have at this point spent two nights sleeping in the car, and there is a desperate ache in your joints at the thought of a third. The idea of being able to lie down, truly lie down flat on an actual bed...

You turn towards the motel.

You're a bit worried at first, unsure if the motel will mind Sun and Moon being with you or not. Thankfully the person behind the desk doesn't seem to care one way or another.

Sun helps by carrying your essentials for you. His arms being full means you need to be the one to support Moon, but you don’t mind. Moon has been getting better and better at staying on his feet, and what weight he leans on you is much less than the bundle of stuff you would have had to carry otherwise.

When you open the door, you're presented with the most wonderful sight- a bed!

You're more than ready to fall face down onto that bed and not move for the next eight hours, but when you go to step inside you feel resistance from Moon.

"Wait," he says.

"Bedbug check first, friend!" Sun explains. He doesn’t set anything down, as if unwilling to even let your bags touch the motel carpet.

"Right, bedbugs." How are you supposed to check for those, again? Is it really necessary? The place doesn't look that run down.

Still, you go in ahead of the two anyway. Moon does not sit down like you expected when you leave him at the door, instead holding onto the doorway for support.

Inside the room, you pull back the covers and examine the bed. You're not sure what you're looking for exactly, but whatever it is you don't see it. The sheets are clean and white, with nothing that stands out as a sign of insect infestation.

"Okay, we're good," you tell them. "No bugs."

The smile Sun gives you is strained, anxious. "Maybe we should check a little more thoroughly, friend?" he asks. "I can tell you how, if you don't know!"

You sigh out an "okay." Sun is always particular about cleaning and organizing, and normally that doesn't bother you, but you are so tired right now. It's also a little frustrating that Sun begins giving you extremely particular instructions without moving from the doorway himself, apparently intending to simply stand there and watch while you check every nook and cranny for bugs.

As soon as you're done looking over the pillow as Sun instructed, he immediately asks you to check again. Apparently your first check wasn't thorough enough for him. You must make a face, because Moon cuts in with,

"Bedbugs can kill us, by the way."

What.

"What?"

"Well..." Sun starts his sentence as if looking for a way to downplay that comment, but he can't seem to find any comforting words to do that with. "We are made of the kind of material bedbugs like most," he admits. "And since we're around people all the time, they'd have plenty of chances to spread and eat. You can get rid of them with chemicals, but if those got into us they'd make us very sick too. The only other option is prolonged exposure to extreme temperatures, which wouldn't be so bad in itself, but it would mean being isolated for days or even weeks while that happened. Which... would be very difficult for us to survive. So we like to check unfamiliar places very thoroughly."

All your sleepiness has left you. You stand frozen for a moment, eyes wide.

"Let's start over," you say. "Tell me the first step for checking again, let's start from step one."

Sun walks you through an exhaustive bedbug check, describing every possible sign and potential hiding place. You strip the sheets off the bed to check every inch of the fabric. You turn the pillowcase inside-out. You lift the mattress onto its side, sticking your fingers into the seams to scrutinize them for any trace of insects. You check the carpet, smoothing and pushing at the fibers. You check the curtains, and towels, and even check the bathroom for a shower curtain- though it turns out there isn't one, this shower featuring a glass door instead. You inspect the single chair in the room, every side of the cushion and crack in the wood. Sun even instructs you on how to check the book placed on the nightstand, pressing open the pages until the spine complains.

Sun finally feels safe enough to enter then, but you're still nervous. You ask him if he can walk you through the room check one more time. He seems to understand your anxiety over the situation and agrees, though he does finally put your bags down so he can hold Moon instead. Waiting for you to check so many things has been a little too much standing for him, Sun picking him up entirely instead of simply offering more support.

There are no bedbugs in the room. The closest thing you found was a small stain on the chair in the corner, splatters reaching out to about the size of a dime. Sun gave that the okay though, and you can't imagine how a bug would make that particular mark.

Finally the three of you can get properly situated in the room.

"Where do you want us to sleep, friend?" Sun asks.

The bed seems like the obvious answer, so much so that you're confused as to why he's asking. They always sleep on the other side of your bed.

And then you actually look at the bed, look at it as a place to sleep and not just a potential bedbug trap, how tiny it really is finally dawning on you. Your bed at home could eat this one for breakfast and still be hungry. You forgot just how small normal single person beds are in comparison.

"We can sleep on the floor if you want," Sun suggests. "We really don't mind. We could go back to the car too, if you wanted. It's up to you."

"I'll sleep on the floor," you say. "It's my mistake, so you two should get the bed."

"Friend," Sun says, his demeanor becoming serious and direct, "You are not sleeping on the floor.

"I'm not making you guys sleep on the floor because I forgot to get a bigger room," you tell him.

Moon shifts his weight, Sun understanding what Moon wanted and putting him down. Moon uses his new freedom to immediately curl up on the floor, not moving an inch from where he was set down.

"We're fine on the floor. It's not a big deal," Moon states.

He does look perfectly comfortable there, but even if he genuinely is fine there that's not the point. It's the principle of the thing, the idea that they're any less deserving of a bed to sleep on than you are. Especially considering the entire trip is because Moon has a potentially serious medical issue.

"No way," you tell him. "I'm fine on the floor too, you two should take the bed."

Moon shrugs, crawling over to the bed and hoisting himself onto it with his arms. His legs, without any true joints, end up in a tangle beside him as he sits at the foot of the bed. He barely seems to notice that, much less care about it.

"Fine, we can all have the bed then," he states. "We can all fit. Problem solved."

As if it was that simple.

Sun gives Moon an exasperated look accompanied by the motion of a silent sigh. "Not if it makes them uncomfortable, Moon," he says, sounding like someone re-explaining a simple concept to a child.

"Why would they be uncomfortable?" Moon counters.

"I don't know! That doesn't matter, they're uncomfortable and we need to respect that."

"Name one single reason they'd be uncomfortable," Moon tries next, clearly believing he's winning this argument.

"They don't need a reason!" Sun insists. "If they're uncomfortable, they're uncomfortable, end of story."

Only then does it hit you that you're the one being ridiculous.

Sun’s words are entirely genuine- he has no idea why the idea of trying to fit together onto one bed of that size would make you uncomfortable. Moon isn't just being difficult, he's as oblivious as Sun. Sun offered to sleep on the floor entirely for your sake, despite having no idea why it would make any difference to you.

Of course the idea of sleeping in such close proximity wouldn't bother them. They're dolls. Dolls are made to be held, to be carried, to be in a child's arms as they sleep. You yourself used to sleep with various dolls and plushies in your arms as a kid, even before you found out they could come to life. They were comfort objects, they were made for exactly that.

"You really wouldn't mind sharing the bed?" You ask, cutting into Sun and Moon's minor argument.

"Of course not," Sun replies. "But we don't have to if it bothers you, friend."

"Why would we mind?" Moon asks, confused and a touch frustrated.

It's a good question. Why would they? You can't quite think of a concrete reason yourself, other than maybe feeling like you’re supposed to be somehow bothered in some nebulous way. The entire idea feels suddenly silly.

"Okay, we'll try it," you say. "We'll see if we can all fit."

"Are you sure, friend?" Sun asks, still focused on your comfort over his own.

"I'm sure. And if we don't fit, you can always push me onto the floor," you joke.

Sun gives you a disapproving look at that comment, but Moon's snickering indicates he at least appreciated the humor.

You're tired, but there are still a few things you want to get done before going to bed. Primarily- the shower. You've been getting by with baby wipes and rinsing your face in the sinks of public bathrooms. While that has at least kept you clean enough not to stink, your hair has started to get greasy and you sincerely miss the feeling of being actually clean instead of ‘clean enough.’

Sun had the forethought to pack your various soaps and hair products for the trip. You check the stuff he carried up to the motel room for you, and sure enough there it all is. In addition to that is a clean set of clothes, and your favorite pajamas. You make sure to thank him for that before disappearing into the privacy of the bathroom.

The warm water is amazing. You stay under the stream for maybe a little longer than is entirely necessary, just enjoying it. Eventually you do complete your shower though, drying off and getting into your pajamas. They're warm and fuzzy, enough that you don't feel too cold stepping out of the humid bathroom and back into the cooler air of the room proper.

Sun is sitting on the bed. Moon is curled up into a tight ball at the foot of it, one arm stretched out so he can keep a hand in contact with Sun's sleeve.

You go to your bags, searching, finally finding what you’re after at the bottom of your bags- cleaning wipes and the pet brush.

You got to shower, so Sun and Moon should get to be clean as well.

With their permission, you help them clean up from the small smudges and traces of dirt they’ve accumulated over the last few days. A faint streak of dusty soil across Sun’s face, wiped easily away. Grime that has pressed into where Moon’s knees would be, slowly lifting out of the fabric as you move the wipe in patient circles. Both of their hands, yours over theirs as you wipe down every angle and surface, leaving behind clean white porcelain again. Paying particular attention to the little corners between their fingers and the edges of their sculpted fingernails where dirt tends to accumulate. Sweeping away little bits of fuzz that cling to their outfits.

They can do this by themselves. Can and do, when necessary. Sun cleans his own shoes and feet while you focus on Moon. Moon takes a clean wipe from your hand, putting it directly into his mouth and biting down on it. He uses it to clean his teeth, his inability to taste leaving him completely unbothered by the cleaning solution in his mouth.

They don’t need you to clean them up. You can tell it helps them, though. It’s something that makes them happy, it’s a way you can show you care.

Next, the hairbrush. Normally you brush their hair for them every day, but all the driving has disrupted your routine. Both of them have started to look a little messy, a little tangled. You’re glad you had a chance to stop and remember before they would have given up and done it themselves.

Moon is first. He crawls over the edge of the bed and sits on the floor in front of you, letting you reach him a bit more easily from where you sit on the bed. He doesn’t bother removing his hat, a silent request that you do it for him.

You’re not sure exactly how much sensation living dolls have in removable clothing items like that, so you try to be as gentle as you can. You don’t want to take any chances. Moon has offered you his trust in this small way, and that’s a fragile thing. You want him to know you’ll be careful with that trust.

All the little stars in Moon’s hair catch the light for a brief second as his hat is removed. You pause with it in your hands, feeling the fabric. It doesn’t feel quite the same as it used to. You hadn’t noticed until now, feeling the difference, but the material had felt almost too thin before. Like something old and nearly worn through, something about to fall apart. It seems sturdier now, softer.

You reach forward and set Moon’s hat on his lap, freeing up your hands for the brush. You get to see all those little stars again, shining as they disappear and reappear among countless strands of hair, as you smooth the tangles away.

"You didn't do much with your own hair, friend," Sun comments.

"Not much point," you explain. "I'm going to end up sleeping on it anyway, it'll look like a disaster come morning no matter what." You probably won't have time to wash it again before you have to check out, but maybe you can run it under the water for a minute to make it at least lay down.

"Could I brush it for you?" Sun asks.

Oh. You stop for a moment, surprised.

You’d never considered that idea, Sun brushing your hair instead of the other way around.

There won't be any point to it tonight though. Your hair is bound to tangle again as soon as your head hits the pillow, and you wouldn’t get the same benefit from being taken care of that a doll would. Sun knows that, you’re sure.  

Completely unnecessary, pointless in the end, but at the same time it does sound nice.

"Sure, if you want to."

The weight on the bed shifts as Sun gets up. He returns a moment later, and you feel something touch the back of your head. Not a brush. Sun has put a hand to your head first, barely making contact, letting you know he’s there. A few seconds later, you feel the first hesitant touch of the brush.

Sun is beyond careful. He starts at the bottom, so gentle that at times you can't feel anything at all. The tangles beginning to form in your half dried hair are carefully unpicked, Sun's fingers loosening knots before he risks putting the brush through them. There's a hand to your head almost the entire time, ensuring that not so much as a single hair can tug at your scalp if it holds onto the brush a second too long.

Considering how tired you are, the feeling of having your hair brushed so gently is nearly enough to lull you to sleep. You end up finishing with Moon’s hair before Sun is done brushing yours, but you hardly notice. You end up running a hand idly through Moon's hair while you wait for Sun to finish. Moon leans closer to you for support, his weight against your legs where they hang off the side of the bed.

Eventually the brush moves smoothly through your hair, without obstruction. The sensation of the brush leaves, and Sun pulls back his hand.

"There you go, friend."

"Thank you."

Moon turns to pull himself back onto the bed, Sun helping to pull him up. Once Moon is settled, you gesture for Sun to take the place his twin had been in a moment before. Sun responds with an excited nod, sitting down on the floor in front of you.

For some reason, it's Moon that then says the words "My turn."

You give Moon a confused look. The grin he gives in response is sharp, both mischievous and delighted. He grabs the hairbrush.

"I can braid," he tells you, sounding particularly proud of that fact. "Won't be tangled in the morning then. Let me?"

"That's a good idea," you say. "Please."

A good idea assuming Moon doesn't plan to tie your hair into who knows what shape instead of braiding it. You wouldn't put it past him.

You let him do it anyway. It will be funny if nothing else, assuming you can get your hair out of whatever he does to it.

You brush Sun's hair while Moon focuses on yours. Sun is always a big fan of having his hair brushed and does nothing to hide it, relaxed as he leans into the brush. You never get tired of watching his curls pull nearly straight before bouncing back, locks of hair wrapping around both your fingers and the brush as you go.

While your focus is on Sun’s hair, Moon tugs at yours with an almost mechanical efficiency. He's not rough by any means, just quick. The weight of your hair pulls back into a single line bit by bit, an almost imperceptible tugging as strands are woven over each other. The motions are precise, expert, not careful so much as too practiced to leave any possibility for error. He finishes incredibly fast, before you've even gotten the tangles out of Sun's curly hair, and you're starting to think he might have actually braided it.

That thought is confirmed a few minutes later. Once you finish up with Sun's hair, you can't resist checking your hair in the bathroom mirror.

It really is braided. No tricks, no knots, just a single neat braid. The style is a standard basic braid, nothing fancy, but it's perfect for what it is. You wonder how many times he’s done this before, to get so good at it.

You have a sudden urge to hug him. You don't think he'd agree with that idea though.

"Thank you," you say instead. "This is perfect."

Moon doesn't give the reaction you expected. No triumphant grin, no waving you off as if he didn't care either way. Instead, he looks... content, maybe. Comfortable. Satisfied and somehow relieved in a way you're not sure either of you could put a finger on.

A moment later the expression is hidden, maybe on purpose, as he turns away. He stretches over the foot of the bed again, settling there. Sun pulls him off the bed a moment later though, Moon grumbling and hanging limp in Sun's arms like an annoyed cat.

"Our friend should get first pick of their spot, so they can get comfortable," Sun says. "We're fine anywhere."

You don’t have enough energy left to try fighting the losing battle that would be arguing with that. You just thank them both again and get into bed.

There's a little lamp beside the bed. You turn it on as Sun turns off the room’s main light, leaving the room illuminated by a comfortably dim glow.

You're not sure if this random motel somehow has the most comfortable beds known to man or if your body is just rejoicing at having an actual bed to lie on. All the aches seem to melt out of you, absorbed into the bed like water into a sponge. You take a moment to enjoy it, then scoot as far as you can to the side in order to give Sun and Moon as much room as possible.

It isn't much room.

In the end, there's no way for Sun to lie on the bed without being in contact with you. His arm sits next to yours, with no space to move it away. He only barely manages to keep his rays from pressing against you, aware that the press of the hard porcelain would be uncomfortable for you.

Moon doesn't have space to lie alongside the two of you, but you don't think he would do that even if there had been room. He sprawls half across Sun's legs and half across yours, making himself perfectly comfortable. Neither you nor Sun mind that.

The bed is still wonderful. Your offer to sleep on the floor was an honest one, but you are now immensely glad that you didn't end up there. Even with a layer of carpet, there is no way it would have soothed your aches away like this.

You fall asleep so quickly that you barely have time to close your eyes.

There is a moment, in the middle of the night, where a bit of your pain returns. A sharp tingle in your back, a dull throbbing in your knee. You're only barely brought up out of sleep by it, moving to roll over and feeling the pains ease away again. Your hand makes contact with something. Without thinking, you put an arm over it. The material is harder than you expected to find in a bed.

A slight movement under your arm, and you remember where you are. Sun, Sun is here, it's him you put your arm over. You should move. You should apologize. You should give him his space back.

Yet when you finally manage to drag yourself far enough into consciousness to open your eyes a crack, you see that Sun has moved closer in response to your touch. More of him is under your arm than before. You're not sure the movement was any more a conscious decision for him than it was for you, judging by the fact that he seems to be asleep again already, but he looks so content. Like the real difference in comfort didn't have anything to do with where he’s sleeping, car or floor or bed, but instead everything to do with being that little bit closer to you.

You stay where you are, and let your eyes fall shut again.

-----------------

Your awakening is soft and slow. You have a distant, barely noticed thought that you must have forgotten to set your alarm. You relish in the fact that you didn't have to, that you are not late for anything in particular at this moment.

When you eventually open your eyes, the dim light filtering through the curtains indicates that morning has come. The little lamp is still glowing beside you, though the sun has started to outshine it. You are warm.

At some point in the night, Sun has ended up pressed as close to you as possible. You aren’t sure if that’s from the human tendency to grasp at things in their sleep or if it was Sun sleepily pushing closer to you, but he’s held there securely by the weight of your arm over him.  

You briefly consider what you thought something like this would make you feel. Shy. Uncomfortable. Embarrassed, maybe. Instead, all you’re really feeling is how warm Sun is right now. Usually Sun and Moon are cool to the touch, room temperature at most, but the close proximity has spread your own warmth to him. The fabric of him is soft, barely stirring with the tiny irregular breaths he takes in his sleep. 

They aren't bothered by the cold at all. You wonder idly if warmth is any kind of comfort to them, or if it's as irrelevant to how they feel as cold is.

Regardless, Sun looks the most comfortable you've ever seen him.

Moon hasn't moved yet, still sprawled over both your legs and Sun's. You're not sure when he woke up, but you notice he's watching you now. His eyes are sleepy. He gives you a single, slow blink before closing them again.

"I have to get up," you mumble. You're not sure if you're trying to tell Moon or to convince yourself.

"Don't have to," is Moon's response, voice soft and barely above a whisper.

"They'll charge me for another full day if we're here too long." It's definitely yourself you're trying to convince now.

"That's fine," Moon says. He stretches out and then curls back up.

Ah, of course, that's fine. You'll just stay here forever then, you suppose. You're suppressing the urge to laugh at that response.

Moon doesn't show it as obviously, but he must be comfortable where he is as well.

A tiny motion, a deeper breath. Then another, larger. The conversation, though quiet, must have woken Sun. He presses a little closer against you, the tip of a sunray bumping slightly against your forehead before Sun realizes where he is. It's barely a second more before he's gone, pulling swiftly out from under your arm and sitting up at the edge of the bed.

"Oh! Sorry, friend, I didn't realize! Sorry, sorry!"

"It's fine," you tell him.

"It's... fine?" He questions.

You nod, and the relief is evident in his posture as the startled tension eases from him at your response.

Moon is harder to move. He clearly notices you're trying to pull your legs out from under him, he just doesn't care. You could yank your legs out abruptly from the covers and be free, but you can't bring yourself to disturb Moon's comfort with a sudden motion that way.

Sun can, though. The look he gives Moon is fond, but that doesn't stop him from grabbing Moon under his arms and lifting him entirely off the bed. Moon grumbles, making himself entirely dead weight in Sun's arms.

A glance at the time has you hurrying to pack up your stuff. You can't manage to fit everything back into the bags. Sun takes over the task of repacking it, each item snugly tetris’d in alongside the others, while Moon gathers up the few items you’d forgotten to grab. And some you hadn't, all the little travel-size soaps from the bathroom disappearing into your bags as well. Sun has to stop him from trying to sneak the motel towels in too. You think Moon only attempted that last part to get a reaction from Sun though, judging by the wicked mischief of Moon's grin.

On one hand, you feel a bit useless with how well they're managing everything for you. On the other, you're not sure you've ever felt so stress free in this kind of situation before.

You catch a glimpse of your reflection on the way out. Your braid is still perfect, as if Moon had put it in just minutes ago. 

Soon you're checked out and on your way again.

Chapter Text

The weather is abysmal and traffic is worse. Sheets of rain come down on a confusing intersection, cars honking as seemingly no one knows exactly who is allowed to go when. Or maybe no one cares is a more accurate description, a pedestrian with clear right of way having to shy back to the sidewalk as a line of cars ignore a red light.

Moon is in front, reading out the GPS directions to you. Your phone's speakers aren't strong enough to be heard clearly over the pounding rain, and the timing of the voice directions have been frustratingly unhelpful. Moon is taking his job as navigator incredibly seriously though, voice clear as he raises it to be heard over all the noise. You tune out the engine and rain and tires on wet pavement, focusing on his voice.

The gloom of rain retreats from the shape of a building as you approach, and you see it.

You're here.

------------

Sun is dotted with stray raindrops, the two of you pressing close in an attempt to fit under your umbrella together. The parking lot has partially flooded, nearly an inch of water splashing under your shoes with each step. Moon is held in Sun’s arms. While Sun’s porcelain feet means he can still walk even as his shoes become soaked, Moon’s feet are entirely cloth. Sun hunches slightly to shield Moon from any water the umbrella doesn’t catch.

The building before you is squat and gray, a boxy sort of modern. Still, someone seems to have gone to their best effort to make it as cheerful as possible. There are spaces in the lot currently filled with muddy earth and scraggly bushes that you suspect would be full of flowers in a sunnier time of year. A logo above the door features a colorful bear with a stethoscope and a big red heart. As you get closer, you can see a little mural painted under one of the windows as well. Two ragdolls having a tea party, surrounded by painted flowers and butterflies. None of this does much to counter the heavy atmosphere of the pouring rain, but it does at least show that someone inside cares. Someone tried.

The door opens with the sound of a quiet artificial chime. You do your best to wrangle the umbrella, trying to shake as much of the water off as possible before it can drip everywhere.

Sun stares wide-eyed into the lobby, holding Moon so tightly that it would have been painful for a human. You look up, following his gaze.

The lobby is full of dolls.

There's a white rabbit about four feet tall, the fuzzy fabric of their body interrupted by a dozen or more patches of different materials, sitting up perfectly straight next to a woman with an identical posture. There's a round, tired-looking yellow teddy bear sitting on a girl's lap. There's a little lamb, no bigger than an inanimate stuffed animal would be, splattered in dried paint and held close by their person. There is a balding man surrounded by at least a dozen cats, some indistinguishable from normal animals and others that are more obviously dolls. There is a little doll hopping excitedly on one foot, chattering about something you can't hear, the other leg wrapped in haphazard bandages. The person they're talking to urges them to sit down, to no avail.

One of the dolls is staring in your direction. A porcelain jester. A porcelain jester. Wildly different in design from Sun and Moon, but another porcelain jester all the same.

Sun stares back at the other jester, mouth open slightly in surprise. Moon is very purposely not looking at anything at all, face buried against Sun's shoulder.

"Woah," is the first word to fall out of your mouth, followed by what you actually intended to say. "You two doing okay?"

Sun gives a nod without turning to look at you. There's a muffled "Fine" from Moon that implies he's struggling but managing.

Someone calls out a greeting. There's a desk near the far wall, a receptionist waving you over. Moon wriggles in Sun's grasp as you make your way over, Sun setting him down. The two follow close behind you, their arms linked to allow Sun to support Moon’s weight.

"Were you looking to have a doll seen today, or were you wanting to make an appointment for a future date?" The receptionist asks.

"Um-" your words stumble for a moment, feeling off balance and out of your element. "I was hoping for as soon as we could get in."

"All right. Please note that, depending on the issue, immediate appointments might not be available. Were you wanting both of your dolls seen, or just one?"

Your dolls, she called them yours.

As thrilling as that is, after how long you spent wishing the two could be yours, there’s something that doesn’t fit quite right about that. Something sharp at the corners, something too tight across your chest. Sun and Moon aren’t something you own.

Or... No, maybe that’s not quite what that means. Not what it should mean, not what it means to you.

They are yours in the same way that My friends implies a level of belonging to one another. Yours, and just as equally you are theirs in turn. That’s something that fits right.

"It’s just Moon that needs an appointment,” you tell her, gesturing to the starry jester.

She stares a moment at Moon, evaluating something you can't discern. The look Moon gives back is intensely defensive, leaning a little closer to Sun.

"I see Moon is alert and responsive. That's a good sign," the receptionist states, giving an approving nod. "The three of you can have a seat in the lobby, and we'll call over Moon for an evaluation shortly. From there we'll see when we can get you in, based on the severity of the issue and our available doctors."

That’s all, apparently. A few words exchanged, a wait ahead of you. It feels like both exactly what should happen and at the same time frustratingly anticlimactic. You turn back to the seating area, looking for open chairs, and-

There are so many dolls.

A tall, skinny bird-like doll with loose stitching holding together a tear under its eye. A little deer the size of a small dog, legs stubby and eyes huge, looking around in the same wonder you must be. A Raggedy Anne, not unlike the one you had as a child-

Sun tugs at your sleeve, grabbing your attention. He makes a small, almost shy gesture towards an empty set of seats near the corner. Next to the other porcelain jester. You nod in response.

You cross the room and settle into a chair that you hope isn't too close to the jester and his person. Sun deposits Moon hastily but carefully into the seat directly next to yours, choosing his own chair directly next to the other jester. He stares up in awe.

The jester is taller than him. Taller than most people, maybe the biggest living doll you've ever seen. His outfit is a dozen different shades of orange that play across him like a sunset, much of his porcelain body covered in metallic gold paint. His jester hat has three tails and he is staring at you with an intensity that rival's Moon's most determined gaze.

Next to him sits a comparatively normal-looking girl, short and all but swallowed by an oversized hoodie. The contrast is jarring.

You wonder how you look next to Sun and Moon, your mundane self next to their vivid colors.

"Sorry," you hear the girl mumble. "Don't mind Glitch staring, he... he does that. I'm a little weird, so he's a little weird too, you know." A small, slightly nervous laugh follows her words.

Glitch is indeed staring unrelentingly, not that Sun or Moon seems to mind. Moon has scooted a few chairs over so he can be directly next to Sun, or possibly for a better look at the other jester.

"Hello," Sun finally works up the courage to say.

The other jester stares a moment longer, then returns Sun's greeting with a small wave. Sun looks delighted, breaking out into a wide grin.

"I've- I've never seen another porcelain jester before!" Sun says. "Just me and Moon! Porcelain is already rare enough, and then jesters even more so, and- wow, I really like your hat!"

Glitch gestures for Sun to lean closer, saying something to him in a near whisper as Sun leans in. Sun gives a look of excited surprise, eagerly responding to whatever it was the other jester had said. Moon all but crawls on top of Sun to hear what Glitch is saying next, responding in a low murmur you only catch a word or two of. You can‘t hear enough to follow the conversation, but all three seem to be enjoying themselves. Judging by the lack of reaction from the girl sitting next to Glitch, this must not be too unusual for him. You let the three have their secret jester discussion.

You notice tape wrapped around one of Glitch's hands, the one he hadn't waved with. Most of it is thin white strips of tape, but there are also thick layers of duct tape around his wrist. You wonder if that’s what he’s here for.

"Oh, I have that beat," you hear Moon say after a while, volume a little louder than before. He leans back to give himself room to gesture, using one hand to cut an imaginary line across his waist.

A questioning look from Glitch.

"Really," Moon confirms. "All the way through, internals and everything."

A startled pause, and then Glitch breaks out in laughter. The sound is higher than you expected, Glitch holding a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the sound.

"Glitch, that's not an appropriate topic for laughter," the girl comments, though she doesn't sound surprised.

Somehow, Moon has started laughing as well. The sound starts snickering and voiceless, but quickly grows.

"No- it's actually really funny," Moon says, still laughing.

Moon and Glitch are both laughing hysterically at that point, as if this was the funniest thing either had ever heard. Sun is somehow the odd one out, looking confused and more than a little horrified. The contrast between the reactions- Glitch and Moon laughing so hard, Sun’s expression, the girl who has barely reacted at all- feels a little funny by itself, in a strange way.

Glitch leans forward to say something else, but is interrupted when a voice calls out Moon's name. The call from an employee sitting in a side area of the lobby, all but obscured by a small privacy barrier set up around them. They must be ready to give Moon his evaluation.

Sun helps Moon up, giving a quick series of various "Goodbye!"s and "It was so nice to meet you!”s to Glitch.

The space behind the privacy barrier feels like its own little room, outside noises muffled. Sun somehow manages to get both you and Moon onto chairs before you realize there is no third unoccupied chair for him, leaving him standing.

The employee facing you now- Dani, according to a name tag pinned to her shirt- looks clean and professional, but you can’t discern much else about her at a glance. Her smile is at least encouraging though.

“Hello there. This is Moon, I'm assuming?" Dani asks, gesturing to the doll beside you. You nod. "All right, I'm just going to run through some basic questions with you first. That will tell us what kind of issue we might be dealing with so we can get Moon the right treatment. Usually we like to get dolls in same day, but please note that appointments might end up needing to be scheduled a bit further out right now due to the meetup."

"Meetup?" You ask.

"There's a yearly doll meetup in this area," Dani explains. "The main point is just to make friends and have fun, but many people also use it as an opportunity to visit us here and get a checkup for their doll. We end up quite busy around this time of year, so some walk-in appointments have to be delayed if they're not urgent."

"Okay," you say. "That makes sense."

Is that okay? Is Moon's case urgent? If so, how urgent?

You desperately hope the employee in front of you will know the answer to that. You’d never considered it before, but now you can’t help but wonder- What exactly are the qualifications for working at a doll hospital? Multiple years of advanced schooling and intensive training is needed to qualify as a human doctor. Is it the same for dolls? What are the legal requirements for opening a doll hospital? Are there legal requirements for opening a doll hospital? The only thing you have to go on for this hospital’s reputation is a handful of positive internet reviews.

You shift nervously in your seat, the surface suddenly feeling much more uncomfortable than it did a moment ago.

"Since Moon seems alert, we're going to go over some basic preliminary questions first,” Dani tells you. “Can you tell me if Moon is currently experiencing any pain, or any difficulty staying conscious?"

Is he?

You realize you have no idea. Would he tell you, if he did? You haven‘t asked recently. Why haven't you asked?

"No," Sun says from behind you, voice clear and confident. Dani directs her attention to him, and you turn to see a surprising touch of shyness in the way he makes himself smaller under her attention. "Oh, um- hi! I'm Sun! Moon and I are a set, so I should know all the answers you need! If that's okay."

Dani gives you a very quick, almost unnoticeable look to evaluate your reaction. You’re not sure what she's looking for- Surprise that Sun is talking to her? Permission to speak with Sun?- but whatever it is, she turns her attention back to Sun again right after.

"All right, that should be fine,” she says. “Are you having any issues you need looked at as well, or just Moon?"

"Just Moon," Sun confirms. "I'm great!"

"Can you tell me what materials Moon is made of?"

"Porcelain, polyester, cotton, saran fiber, and a little bit of glaze," Sun replies without hesitation.

You blink, surprised by both the difficulty of that question and how easily Sun answered it. You wonder if that's something Sun knew by default, or if it's something he had to go to the effort of learning. You wonder if Nessa would have known how to answer that question.

Dani doesn't seem to be surprised by any of the terms Sun used, like even she already had a good idea of what the answer would be. Like you're the only one who had no idea at all.

"Is Moon currently missing any material, including recently lost clothing items?" Is the next question.

"No."

"Has Moon integrated any amount of new material recently?"

"Yes." The single word answer is a little quieter than the last.

"Can you tell me roughly how much, and what kind of material it was?"

"Polyester, same kind as Moon," Sun replies. "And it was...."

Moon fills in the gap for him, making that same cutting motion across his body with one hand. Dani's eyebrows raise, startled and concerned.

"From here down?" she asks, copying Moon's gesture.

Sun must nod, though you don’t see.

"Everything from here down?"

You catch the motion of Sun‘s nod this time, silent and grim.

"Moon was... hurt,” Sun states. “Our friend saved him, and then we used his favorite blanket to help him. He's not missing anything now, he's been doing better now, but all of that is still new."

It takes Dani a moment to reign in her shock, eyes wide.

You'd thought of Moon's injury as one only a doll could possibly survive. Now, seeing a professional’s reaction to just one of the injuries Moon had, it's becoming clear that even dolls wouldn't normally survive something that extreme.

(You already knew that. As much as you've tried not to think about it, you knew. The way Sun looked at Moon's completely motionless body, the sickening severity of the wounds. You knew. You try to get that image out of your mind, to think of anything else.)

"So I assume that's the issue you came in to have looked at today?" Dani. Her professional tone is a little off kilter now, shaken.

"No, that's been doing really well actually," Sun tells them. A proud smile is starting to chase away the darker expression that had briefly taken hold. "He's been getting so much better! Oh, oh, you should see, he can almost stand on his own now! Moon, Moon show them!"

Moon doesn't look particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but that doesn't stop Sun from excitedly pulling Moon to his feet. 

Sun gives Moon a moment to find his balance. Then, he simply lets go. There is a brief second where Moon is standing unsupported, the effort of it clear on his face, shaky and wobbling but just for a second managing.

It's a very brief second. Moon's legs give out from under him, Sun catching him before he can fall.

Moon made no attempt to catch himself. He must have known Sun would be there for him right away. Sun wraps his arms around Moon, giving him a tight hug before setting him back on the chair.

"See!" Sun exclaims. "That's so good, isn't it? He's been getting better and better and better! I didn't think it would work like that, I didn't think something like that would heal, but our friend helped him and look how good he's doing! He was hurt so bad, but now he's better!"

The joy radiating off Sun is bright and warm and all-encompassing, strong enough that it seems like it could fill the entire room. Then it begins to fade, and the contrast is as stark as heavy clouds blotting out the actual sun.

"It's... what we're actually here for is this," Sun says. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the dog toy you'd gotten for Moon.

The toy is in even worse shape than the last time you last saw it. Only half of it is present, a mess of shredded fabric with stuffing leaking out all over. The only reason you can still recognize it is the color.

"That's mine," Moon complains, apparently not having realized Sun took it. Sun hands it over without resistance when Moon reaches for it, only for Moon to remember that he has no pockets. He grumbles, handing it back to Sun.

"Moon has been chewing on things," Sun says. "Chewing on things and breaking things. That's why we're here. I tried really hard to get him to stop, but he wouldn't. I tried so hard that I think he must not be able to stop, if he wouldn't stop even for me. Something must be wrong to make that happen, so we were hoping you could fix it."

Dani stares at the remains of the dog toy, considering.

"That's yours?" She asks, directing a question at Moon.

Moon shrinks in his seat, glaring at the employee, but manages a mumbled, "It's mine," in response.

She writes something down, that answer apparently significant. "Can you tell me about the kind of things Moon has been destroying?" She asks next, directing the question to Sun again.

"Blankets and dishes," Sun replies. Any confidence he had before is quickly withering, now looking more at the floor than the person he’s speaking to. "Some clothes. He wants to chew on them. I don't know why."

She writes something down again, expression worryingly perplexed. "Did Moon ask for that," a gesture to the remains of the dog toy still in Sun's hand, "or did someone give it to him so he would have something to chew on?"

"He asked for it," Sun answers.

A furrowed brow, a twist at the corner of the lips. Somehow that doesn’t seem to be the answer she was expecting. She doesn't know what's wrong with him, you're certain of it.

Something small and panicked is beginning to flutter in your chest, growing more frantic.

You came all this way. You dropped everything to rush here, you got here, you made it in time. There has to be someone here who will know what’s wrong. There has to be.

"All right, just a few more questions," Dani states. "Has Moon been having any issues with being unusually angry, aggressive, or upset at seemingly nothing at all? Has he been saying things he normally wouldn't, or making any kind of threats at people- even if he didn't really mean it?"

This is the question, isn't it.

"No." Sun's voice is clear and calm and confident. You wonder if Moon warned him as well, or if he knew on his own to keep that a secret.

"Have there been periods of time where Moon seems confused or disoriented? Where he might not recognize a person or place he should, or does things that don't seem to make sense for the current situation?"

"No." Once again, Sun answers without hesitation. It's a little surprising, how convincingly he can lie. You never guessed that Sun would be someone who could lie so easily.

"Good, that's a good sign." Dani checks a box on her paper. "Just a few last questions here. Can you tell me if this is your primary caretaker here with you today?"

The flat neutrality on Sun's face melts into a smile, and his answer is "Yes!" He looks so happy, a hand on the back of your chair, standing near. "This is our person!"

Even Moon gives a nod. Not a small nod, not a shy nod, not a passive general agreement- An obvious, confident nod.

Our person

Your friends.

All at once, that fluttering panic in you is soothed.

You have the urge to thank them. Barring that, to hug them. Or maybe to cry, even.

You restrain yourself. You're not alone, and your reaction would probably look strange. To everyone else, you're just another person coming in with their dolls. Another person who belongs here, three people who belong together.

That thought is not making it easy to maintain some semblance of outward neutrality. You must manage well enough though, because Dani goes on to her next question without pause.

"And what's their name?"

There is a long, strange moment of silence.

Sun has completely frozen, eyes wide. He does not answer. He does not seem to be about to answer.

.... does he not... know your name...

Has he ever called you by your name?

The sudden difference in mood is so jarring that, despite having no idea what to feel, you have the urge to laugh. Sun just called you his person, and now he can't say your name.

Moon's voice cuts in, clear and steady, giving your full name- middle initial included. Dani gives an odd look at Sun's sudden silence, but writes it down. She asks a few follow up questions about your contact info, phone number and email and address, all of which Moon answers for you with ease.

Sun looks at his twin with an expression of complete surprise. In return, Moon's expression is almost tangibly smug.

"All right," Dani says, going over a set of charts on a battered clipboard. "It looks like the earliest we can get Moon in is the 20th, at 7:30 am. That should be... the day after tomorrow. Normally we'd try to fit you in a little sooner, but we're going to need a diagnostic specialist for something like this. We’re also going to need a timeslot long enough for a full physical examination, considering the amount of material that has been replaced. If the 20th doesn’t work for you we can try to fit you in somewhere else, but our diagnostic specialists are very busy this time of year. It would likely be another week or so before we’d have another time available for him.”

"No, the 20th is great," you say. "We can do the 20th. 7:30."

The next few minutes are a relatively uneventful blur. Exchanging paperwork. Signing a legal disclaimer. A billing agreement, though you won't know the actual cost until after the appointment.

Glitch waves as the three of you head to the doors, Sun giving an enthusiastic wave in return. Sun picks up Moon again so you can all squeeze under the umbrella again, hurrying to the car. The rain has at least let up a little.

The day after tomorrow. You'll definitely need a hotel, then.

"... You think you'll be okay until your appointment?" you can't help but ask Moon, who has taken the passenger seat beside you. "It's okay to wait a day, right? You'll be okay?"

Moon considers, then gives an unconcerned shrug. "As far as I can tell," he says.

That does seem to remind him of something though. He turns, and Sun knows what he wants before he asks. The ruined dog toy is deposited in Moon’s hand. Moon bites it, looking surprisingly content as he pulls at the stuffing with his sharp teeth.

You start looking up hotels as Moon chews at the toy, the patter of rain comfortably filling the quiet. The one you settle on is a bit farther from the hospital than you’d like, but it’s the nearest one that fits your criteria- Cheap, but not too cheap with the danger of bedbugs weighing on your mind.

Your finger hovers over the 'start navigation’ button. You don’t press down on it just yet. There’s something on your mind.

"Sun?"

"Yes, friend?"

"Do you know my name?"

Silence from the back seat.

Moon's smug aura radiates off him.

A long, long minute passes.

"I'm- I'm sorry!" Sun finally manages, having found no way out of the truth. "I- I was just so excited to meet someone new, and I didn't think I'd be playing with you again, so I just called you new friend and then we played and then you came back and I was so happy- but I couldn't ask your name then! You'd think I'd forgotten! And the more time that went on, the more I definitely couldn't ask! You can't just say hey, I know we've been playing together every week for months now, but I have no idea what your name is! That's rude! So- so I- so I just kept calling you friend, and it wasn't a problem. It... it wasn't a problem, right? I'm so sorry, friend."

Did you really never introduce yourself?

You think back, and back, and back...

Oh my gosh. You'd never told him your name. You'd never told him, and you didn't even notice. All this time, you hadn't noticed. There absurdity of it is vast, and you find yourself laughing as you respond with,

"It's not a problem. But was your plan really just to call me friend forever and hope I never noticed?"

Sun’s reply of “Yes” comes as little more than an embarrassed squeak.

And he would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling employee.

You can’t stop laughing.

"What- what I want to know," Sun begins, a false sort of outrage plastered over his tone to cover his obvious mortification, "Is how in the world you knew, Moon!"

"Saw it on their mail," Moon all but purrs. "When I was exploring."

"You went through their mail?" Sun asks.

"I did. They had a free quote for car insurance."

He must have gone through a lot more than your mail considering he knew your phone number and email address as well. Somehow, you aren't surprised. He went through every drawer and cabinet in the house, and it's not like you went to any particular effort to hide anything from him. He probably found your mail tossed onto the kitchen table in a pile and forgotten. Sun seems more offended by the idea than you are.

Or maybe only pretending to be so vastly offended, to shift the conversation away from the topic of not having known your name.

"Don't worry, Sun," Moon says, interrupting the completely futile scolding Sun had gotten maybe three words into. "You're even, they don't know our full names either."

"Moon, no," is Sun's immediate reply, twice as horrified.

"Your full names?" You ask.

"Oh, yes," Moon says, grinning wide as a Cheshire cat. "Nessa has never called us by them, I think she must have come up with them when she was very young. But she remembered them, so we know them."

"Moon, don't you dare," Sun warns. You pretend you somehow can't hear him, as does Moon.

"So what are they?"

"Sunshine Trevor Lemondrop and Moonbow Marie Gumdrop," Moon recites.

There is a beat of silence as that sinks in.

Sunshine Trevor Lemondrop.

Moonbow Marie Gumdrop.

The sound that comes out of you is too strained to be called a laugh, high and held long, somewhere between a wheeze and a cry of humor. Moon is laughing too, and you can't catch your breath through your own laughter.

"Trevor," you manage to say, the sound strangled.

Moon is now laughing twice as hard, and it's a struggle for him to get out the words, "Better than Moonbow Marie."

"She never, ever called us that!" Sun protests, apparently not understanding how hilarious this is. "Not even once! I'm not sure she ever even said it out loud!"

"But she remembered," Moon counters through barely restrained giggles. "For years she remembered it. Those are our full names!"

Sun makes an inarticulate sound somewhere between objection and theatrical misery. In the moment that follows, Moon goes suspiciously silent. He's still smiling though, clearly up to something.

"Of course, we also shouldn't forget the time Sun called Nessa's mother mom," he states casually.

"Moon!" You catch a glimpse of blond hair and gold rays as Sun shoots forward to lean in between the front seats. He‘s held back as his seatbelt clicks, having reached its maximum length. "I had been alive for two days at that point, Moon! Two days! It was one time! Nessa always thought of her as just mom, it's not my fault I got the names mixed up! And I feel like we're oh so conveniently forgetting the time you-"

Moon twists in his seat, now close enough that he can reach out and wrap his arms around Sun's face. Sun struggles to speak, voice muffled and incomprehensible.

"Yes," Moon says. "I think we are forgetting that, actually."

Sun's mouth is pressed into a wavering line when Moon releases him, the ends trying very hard not to curl up into a smile. As embarrassed as he still clearly is, Moon's tactics did the trick- he's not apologizing anymore. He's playfully upset now, any genuine unhappiness gone.

It really wasn't his fault that you'd never mentioned your name. Besides, you think you liked being ‘friend.’

That thought dampens your mood a bit, your laughter cooling. You’ll miss that.

The rain has nearly stopped now, nothing more than a light drizzle as you begin following your GPS to the hotel. 

"Do you guys want to wait here until I've done a bedbug check, or do you want to come with me?" You ask upon arrival.

"I'd like to come with you, please, friend," Sun says. Then his expression falls. "Sorry. I should use your name, I should use your name now."

He says it, the sounds careful and flat in his mouth. There's none of the familiarity you're used to. It isn't the same as the nickname he has excitedly exclaimed, overjoyed to see you, over and over. You feel, strangely, as if you've lost something.

Your expression mimics Sun's, like you had both bitten into something disappointing.

"You don't have to call me by my name," you say. "If you don't want to, I mean. I'm fine with friend."

"You don't mind?" Sun asks eagerly. He must think that came off as a little too eager, as he reels it back in with, "I can call you by your name, if that's what you like best. I like saying friend, but I should call you what you want to be called."

"I think... I really like 'friend,'" you tell him.

You feel a little embarrassed to admit that, until you see the smile Sun gives in return. His joy is always so infectious, you can’t manage to feel bad when he gives you a smile like that.

Chapter Text

This hotel booking is a bit more difficult than the motel you last stayed in. The receptionist here is more unsure about Sun and Moon, having to call a manager to verify that it’s okay for them to stay. You do get the manager's approval in the end though, and manage to book a room.

There is a lengthy discussion about what room to book, the bed problem coming up again. You and Sun end up going back and forth through a series of "I'm good with whatever you want, you choose" over and over, until Moon gets fed up with it. He pulls himself over to the desk, bracing both hands on its surface so he can loom closer to the startled receptionist.

“Book a room for us,” Moon states. “Any room. We don’t care.”

Luckily, the receptionist’s idea of ‘anything’ doesn’t end up being too expensive.

The room is small and modest, with both a decently sized bed and a couch apparently able to pull out into a second bed. You immediately start the bedbug check without Sun needing to prompt you this time, asking for reminders on each step to ensure you don't miss anything. Thankfully, the room is clean. The most offensive thing you find is what looks like an old napkin wedged in the almost nonexistent space between the wall and a piece of furniture.

You spend the remainder of the day doing a comfortable amount of nothing.

A shower, a nap, a movie you happen to catch playing over the hotel‘s included cable TV package. Brushing hair. Sun wants to unpack everything you brought up to the room- truly unpack it, as if you were going to live here long term- and after a while you join him. You doubt you’ll really be staying here all that long, but it makes the room feel more comfortable. More like home.

When night comes and it’s time to sleep, Moon crawls up onto the bed. He stretches across the foot of it, looking like he's waiting for you to challenge his spot of choice. Or possibly waiting for Sun to challenge him. You think Sun might be just about to, but he's stopped when you shrug and get into bed as well. Moon, to his credit, at least moves enough for you to settle into a comfortable position without kicking him.

Sun approaches the bed hesitantly, looking for permission.

"You have to sleep on the floor," Moon comments from where he's curled up like a cat.

"There's a couch for us, Moon," Sun says.

"Hmmmmm." Moon pretends to consider that fact. "No, you sleep on the floor. I'll stay here."

"Very funny, Moon," Sun states flatly.

"The bed is big enough for everyone," you say. It really is, this time. Not as big as your bed at home, but big enough for two people. Or three considering how Moon prefers to either curl over your legs or pile himself on top of Sun, taking up little to no space of his own.

Sun hesitates a second longer, maybe trying to be sure you really do mean it, before getting into the side of the bed opposite to yours. He's very careful to keep to his side, respectful of your space.

After everything, it feels a little silly. You can't remember why that was such a big deal to begin with.

Though there's space enough for everyone, there isn't a great deal of extra. It isn't difficult to reach across, shifting your arm so it brushes up against Sun's, giving him space to move away if he wants.

He nearly does. A slight shift, a small movement, Sun pulling away from your arm-

Only to relax again as he realizes you moved closer to him on purpose.

Sun turns on his side and curls up next to you. The repositioning comes with barely any additional contact, Sun still touching nothing but your arm, but there's a sense of contentment so strong that it seems to radiate from him.

Like sunshine. Like something you can sense even with your eyes closed.

A weight settles across your legs. You don't have to look to know that Moon has made himself comfortable as well.

You think back to sleeping in the car, one or the other of them always awake to keep watch. The sense of safety, the relief from a tension you didn't know you had been holding on to. That exact same feeling floods through you again now, and you fall asleep.

--------------

The next morning is a relaxed one. As agonizing as it was to race to the location of the hospital itself, there's a sort of ease that comes with waiting. There is nothing that can be rushed now, nothing more required of you, nowhere to go. You made it there, and have done everything that can be done. Now you can only wait.

You do have one tiny fear, whispering in the back of your mind, asking what you'll do if Moon cannot wait. If you arrived too late, if even their earliest appointment might not be soon enough.

You try to quell that worry with the fact that Moon is, as far as you can tell, doing fine. You catch him chewing on the increasingly tattered remains of that dog toy from time to time, but he's awake and talking and moving all without issue. If anything, he seems even more energetic than you're used to from him. When you double check and ask him how he is, his encouraging response comes with a genuine smile.

Still you can’t help but wonder- Would he tell you, if he wasn’t doing okay?

When they asked if Moon was in pain, you should have known the answer. You should have been confident about it. Can you say you’re confident about his answer even now?

Sun seems to notice your fretting. "Here, friend," he says. "I'll double check for you."

He grabs onto Moon, ignoring Moon's half-hearted protests as he holds his twin close. He lets out a contemplative hum you think is more for effect than anything.

"Yep!" Sun exclaims, finally releasing a squirming Moon from his arms. Not that Moon could have really been all that upset by it, considering he sits back down directly next to Sun not a second later. "He's okay! He's not hurting or feeling sick, promise, so you don't have to worry."

Still, the feeling doesn’t dissipate. The worry is heavy, immobile despite both your and Sun’s best efforts.

"You're still worried," Sun says, disappointed.

"I just feel like I should know this already," you admit. "I shouldn't have to ask you. When they asked if Moon was in any pain at the hospital, I had no idea what the answer was. And then they asked about what materials he's made from, and I had no idea about that either. I feel like I should know this. Know more about you guys."

Sun's mouth presses into a funny line, like he can't decide if the subject is amusing or serious and has settled on both.

"Friend... How would you have known what we're made of? We only know because we... Well, because it's what we're made of! And Moon doesn't even tell me how he's feeling. I only know because we're a set, because I always know if he‘s okay. You know how many times, after he was hurt, that I asked him how he was and he told me he was fine? Almost every time!"

"Well what was I supposed to say?" Moon asks, voice little more than a quiet grumble. "'Yeah, still cut in half'?"

Sun shoots Moon a scolding look. "Yes, Moon, if that's what you were feeling, you could have said that." Sun turns his attention back to you, expression softening. "Friend, I didn't even know your name until yesterday. It's okay if you don't know everything about us."

"That's not your fault," you say. "I never told you."

"See, exactly!" Sun declares. "You never told us. I prooobably should have asked at some point, but- but that's my entire point! We never told you those things about us, either, so you couldn't have known. You call us your friends, so... isn't that part of being friends? Friends don't know everything about each other all the time. Friends talk to each other, and learn a little about each other every day, right?"

Maybe he's right. You think you like that idea, learning more about each other. Finding new things about each other every day. That does make you feel quite a bit better, to think of it that way. Still, you can’t help but ask,

“But what if you need something? What if there’s something important, but I can’t help because I don’t know anything about it?”

"Then we'll tell you," Sun says. "Or- one of us will. Moon is always saying I should be more direct about things, and I'm always saying he should tell someone when he needs something-" a pointed but playful look at Moon, briefly, "and we're both right. So at least one of us will tell you, promise."

Is it really that easy? Is it really that easy, just being their friend?

You're starting to think that maybe it is.

"Could I ask a question, though?"

"Of course, friend."

"What is the difference between cotton and polyester?"

Sun's explanation is excited and easy to follow, going over the basics of the two materials and their uses. Moon 'helpfully' provides the somewhat unsettling information that their outfits are polyester, while their internal organs are mostly cotton.

Eventually you end up on the topic of how porcelain is painted, the different glazes and techniques used. You have a feeling this must be something Sun researched on his own, something he’s particularly interested in for reasons beyond being made of porcelain himself.

And little by little, you learn more about each other.

----------------------

The three of you hang out in the hotel room all morning, enjoying having a space a little less cramped than the car to relax in. You and Sun are binge watching a playlist of porcelain hand-painting videos.

Moon suddenly jolts to attention, pointing at the nearest clock as if it was responsible for some sort of heinous crime.

"You! Have not eaten yet!" With how accusingly he's pointing at the clock, it takes you a moment to realize he means you and not the clock. Moon pulls himself off the bed, hitting the ground with an uncomfortable thump that seems to bother you and Sun more than it does Moon. He crawls over to your luggage, pawing through it. "Sun, where did you put the snacks?"

"Oh! Oh, of course," Sun says, hastily joining Moon in his search as if it was the most important thing in the world.

"I'm fine, I'm not even really hungry," you comment. "I'll figure out what to do for food when it's closer to lunch." 

"If you don't eat breakfast, you don't have any energy and you end up drinking twice as much coffee," Moon comments. "Sugary coffee. Followed by crashing once the sugar wears off. And then you don't feel like doing anything decent for lunch, so you eat garbage and feel worse. Eat breakfast."

You open your mouth to object, because clearly that isn't true. Or at least isn't the hard fact Moon seems to think it is.

... Is it?

You're not as sure as you were a second ago.

"Found it!" Sun exclaims, along with a triumphant crinkling of a wrapper. He's up next to you before you can blink, a granola bar centered in your vision. "Here you go, friend!"

"I really am fine," you say, but you thank him and take the granola bar anyway. It's not a particularly amazing granola bar, some healthy brand without the amount of sugar that makes them taste good to begin with, but it's not bad either.

It does get you thinking about lunch though- something that isn't as far away as you'd thought, now that you see the clock- which leads to the three of you piling into the car again to look for a grocery store. Grabbing some quick microwave meals during a slow time of day, when most people will be at work, sounds like a much better idea than trying to eat out during the lunch and dinner rushes.

Still, you pass through multiple grocery store parking lots before actually picking one to stop in. You want something small and relatively deserted, just in case.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Sun assures you. It's only then that you realize how closely you were watching Moon.

"You sure?"

Sun gives a confident, serious nod.

"... I'll warn you," Moon mumbles. "If it's too much."

You relax a bit after having heard that. If anything is about to happen, you can trust that they’ll warn you before it becomes a disaster.

Inside the store it is, as you expected, largely empty. You grab a few quick and easy food items, as well as exactly one fresh vegetable at Moon's insistence. You're about to head towards the checkout when something catches your eye.

"Have you guys ever wanted gloves?" you ask.

In front of you is a small gardening display. Potting soil, a few planters, and a little rack of gardening gloves.

"Why gloves?" Sun asks.

"You don't like touching anything that could break porcelain," you say. "It's uncomfortable, right? You're always having to pull your sleeves over your hands. But if you had gloves, you could just put them on."

"We don't really like wearing clothes that aren't ours," Sun notes, uncertain.

Moon gives it a bit more thought. "You'd have to hold on to them when Sun wasn't wearing them," he says. "And he wouldn't be wearing them for long at a time."

"Me? Why only me?" Sun asks.

"Because I'm not the one doing cartwheels on pavement," is Moon's response. "And if you had gloves, you wouldn't crack a finger doing it again."

"It was once!" Sun protests.

"Let's keep it just once. Wear gloves next time."

"I landed wrong!"

"Land right next time. With gloves on."

"It's up to you," you tell him. "You don't have to if it's not something you'd like, I just thought it might help a little. You too, Moon. If you want, I can get gloves for both of you."

"Just for Sun," Moon says. "If I need them, I can take his."

Sun takes a moment longer to decide, staring hard at the little gardening display. "... It might be fun to try, maybe," he says. "If it's not too much money, friend."

"It's not. You guys can pick whatever gloves you want."

Both shake their heads, the movement so perfectly in sync that it's almost funny.

"You choose, please, friend," Sun tells you.

You try your best to help them pick out a pair they’d like, but it’s harder than expected. Sun is endlessly indecisive, to the point where he seems genuinely overwhelmed by something as simple as picking from a few different kinds of gloves. Moon refuses to give any input at all. You end up asking Sun specific questions about each set of gloves- if they'd fit his hands, if the material feels thick enough, if he likes the color. The last question is apparently not as easy to answer as you’d intended.

One set does eventually get a comment from Moon. Not much of a comment, but something at least.  

"It matches your theme,” he says, looking at a pair of gloves with sunflowers embroidered on the back.

The sunflower gloves happen to be a little more expensive than the others, but at this point any opinion at all is looking to be high praise. There’s a pair in exactly the right size as well, and Sun confirms that they’d be thick enough to protect his hands. Just to be sure, you pull off the packaging and have him try them on. It should be okay as long as you have the barcode intact to scan at checkout.

Sun takes a moment to pull the gloves over his hands, sturdy fabric sliding smoothly over porcelain. He reaches over and slowly, carefully places a hand on the nearest metal shelf. Then, after a moment, taps it. Another moment, and he risks tapping it a little more forcefully. His eyes light up.

"Woah."

The next thing Sun touches is Moon's hand. He has to reach across his body awkwardly considering one of his arms is still busy holding Moon up, but he manages to grab Moon's opposite hand anyway.

Sun’s reaction is pure, starry-eyed awe.

For the rest of your time in the store, Sun reaches out to touch absolutely everything he can.

Sun bends down and touches the floor, palm patting the ground. Sun picks up a glass mug for sale, marveling at it before carefully setting it back down. Sun taps the glass over various displays. Sun's hand brushes against the metal arms of a display rack, the items hanging off each arm swaying gently. When you go through the checkout (making sure to scan the barcode that had belonged to the gloves along with your other items), you have a thought and pay in cash. Once you get your change, you hand the coins to Sun. He closes his hands around them, rattling the coins around in his closed hand, absolutely delighted.

In the parking lot, Sun of course has to touch the ground again. Then Sun has to lower Moon down to the ground safely in order to do a handstand. He touches stray carts, the metal bars of the cart return area, your car's hood and windows. He tries every door handle, bouncing with excitement.

Instead of either doll taking the front seat beside you, Moon pulls Sun into the back with him. "My turn," Moon says, once the two are buckled in.

As happy as Sun is with the gloves, he hands them over without hesitation. Moon puts them on carefully, seeming wary of the unfamiliar texture. He flexes his fingers, opening and closing a fist.

Then he reaches over and grabs one of Sun's rays.

"Ha! Got you!"

"Moon!" Sun's entire body jolts, his tone indignant. "I can't believe you! Let go, that-" Sun pauses, shoulders relaxing back down from startled to neutral. "Huh. That doesn't hurt, actually."

Moon lets out a giggle best described as evil, as if the fact that his grasp is completely harmless is somehow the funniest prank.

Moon doesn't play with the gloves as much as Sun. He takes them off after releasing Sun, flexing his newly freed fingers. He balls up the gloves and, with a carefully calculated throw, tosses them onto the front passenger seat.

"They're good," he states. "Don't wear them too much. Hard to feel through, don't want to get stuck with them."

"I know, Moon. They are good though, that was a good idea."

"They match your theme," Moon points out a second time, approvingly.

"They do." Though only glimpsed in the rearview mirror, Sun's smile is bright. "Thank you, friend."

Chapter Text

It is nearly time for Moon's appointment, and you are cutting it very close to being late.

The drive is somehow even worse the second time. The rush of morning traffic tangles through nonsensical roads, a chaos of signs and painted lines that collide into bizarre intersections at unreasonable angles. Someone keeps honking their horn, incessant.

After spending all yesterday relaxing, you feel unprepared for the sudden bombardment of stress. Like being shoved out of a cozy bed into an ice bath.

You wish you hadn’t needed to get out of bed this morning.

You had awoken to see Moon stretched out in his sleep, one hand reaching out to you. One finger, barely touching, brushing against the edge of your sleeve. Sound asleep, but still holding on to you in that small way.

Sun, pressed against your side, expression perfectly content.

It will be worth it. All of this will be worth it for more of those relaxed, comfortable little moments in time.

Two cars are honking now, and then a third as one driver abruptly cuts off another. When you try to cross the next intersection, you have to slam on your brakes to avoid being hit by another car running a solid red light. You swear under your breath. Sun is clearly on edge where he sits beside you, and you hear a disapproving sound from him. You’re not sure if it’s aimed at your language, the other car, or both.

Almost there, just another minute or two of this and then you will be there. No matter how much or how little time Moon's appointment ends up taking, if the traffic is still like this afterwards then you are not going to budge from the parking lot. You aren’t getting back onto these roads until they’re as clear as they can get.

The building is starting to come into sight again, blocky shape becoming distinct from the gray of the overcast sky above. This particular intersection is familiar, you realize. You also realize that you’re not in the correct turn lane. The lane you’re in now only goes straight ahead, and if you don’t move over quick you’ll have to circle around through even more traffic.

Your last minute turn is sharper than you’d like, a slight jolt moving through the car at the sudden change of direction. The building is right there though, and now there's another sharp corner you need to take, and you're wondering who in the world designed this spaghetti mess of a traffic nightmare when-

You register something coming towards you, out of place, larger than your own vehicle. It too is turning, and you have just enough time to feel a sense of unfairness at its intrusion into your lane. You're going the right way, you know you are. The other vehicle is not.

You make a decision and yank the wheel.

The world breaks apart into chaos. There are too many sounds at once. Everything shakes, hard, your vision blurring at the violent motion. The gray of the sky and the green of some unknown foliage blends together into harsh, muddy forms that surge around you. You feel at least one of your wheels leave the ground for sure, the others unknown, and the moment of weightlessness is simultaneously a lifetime and an instant too brief to catch. Then there is a hard slam of momentum as gravity remembers the weight of your vehicle, and your wheels go from skimming uneven ground to biting hard into soft earth. A jolt, a skid, another jolt. Crashing and rumbling and rattling, everything moving all at once.

And then it is over, and you are stopped.

Your ears ring in the sudden quiet. You are frozen for a small eternity, waiting for something more. Nothing more comes.

A quick inventory of your body. Nothing hurts, nothing tingles, nothing feels wet or hot or cold. All your toes wiggle when tested. Your knuckles are white where they grip the wheel and it is hard to pry them off of it, but each trembling finger is intact.

Your car rests in a slight depression of earth, the grass and weeds by the roadside. A rumble travels up your body from the vehicle, the engine still running as if nothing had happened at all. The shape of the other car is not present anywhere. The driver apparently didn't so much as hesitate to continue on their way.

You get the courage to turn your head, and your neck moves without any complaint. Sun is still there beside you. He's slightly askew in his seat, as if he was thrown around the maximum length of the belt's confines. His eyes are wide and terrified, locked straight ahead.

Ever wonder what happens to a porcelain doll in a car crash?

You hear yourself mumble Sun‘s name, your tongue feeling strange and clumsy in your mouth. He does not look at you, but he blinks. He reaches up a hand to the side of his head, the side opposite to you, and there is a very soft sound of pained surprise.

Sun crosses his arms against his body and leans slowly forward, curling into a ball.

"Sun?" It's not your voice this time, it's Moon's. There's the click of the buckle and then Moon is scrambling over the center console. He is moving too quickly for you to see if he’s hurt, a jumble of blue and white and stars all blurring together. A hand darts out, landing on Sun’s shoulder before Moon flinches away with a hiss of pain as if the contact itself had hurt him.

You remember Sun mentioning the ability to feel things from Moon sometimes, when they're close. Maybe the touch had hurt.

How much must it have hurt, for Moon to flinch away like that? Shouldn't Moon's pain tolerance be astronomical, after what he's been through?

You unclip your belt as well, turning in your seat, trying to get a better look at Sun. He remains curled up, folded over himself. You think you hear the smallest hint of a whimper under the idle rumble of the car.

Moon grabs hold of Sun again, grimacing but not letting go this time. "Let me see," he says. When Sun does not respond, he repeats himself more insistently. "Let me see." Moon pulls Sun back up into a sitting position with one hand, tugging his sleeve over his other hand so he can force Sun's head to turn towards him. He seems to already know exactly where the problem is.

The gasp Moon makes when he sees it is silent, but you wouldn't know it when your own gasp comes at the same moment.

One of Sun's rays is simply not there. There is an absence where it should be, a distinct sense of wrongness to the nothingness in place of his ray. You can't tear your eyes off the empty space, and after a moment you realize you can see the broken-off base of the ray. Bone white and half buried in curls of hair, subtle porous shapes in the structure of it reminding you that you are looking at something meant to be internal.

Sun continues to stare straight ahead, eyes still open wide in shock, looking at nothing in particular.

"You'll be fine," Moon says. The words are clipped and panicked, as if he is trying to make them true by saying them firmly enough. "Stay there. You'll be Fine."

Moon lets go of Sun to climb half over him, legs still splayed over the center console, entire body twisted into a decidedly uncomfortable shape. He reaches into the passenger seat's foot area, scrambling for something. When he pulls himself back up, agony is written on his expression.

In Moon's hand, wrapped carefully in the material of his sleeve, is the broken-off sunray.

The end is jagged, uneven.

Moon does not pause, immediately reaching to open the glove box with his free hand. He rifles through the disorganized contents, items falling to the floor. His frantic search is not turning up whatever it is he's looking for, and finally you are broken from your shock by the need to do something.

"What are you looking for?" You ask. "What does he need?"

"Tape," Moon responds. "Glue. Adhesive. A band-aid, anything."

He wants to tape the pieces of Sun back together like a broken toy.

Which is what Sun is, you realize. Will that help?

You motion for Moon to move, half helping and half pushing him back into the back seat- off the center console. You open it, digging around, and- There. An old roll of duct tape, nearly used up but with a few loops of tape still left around the core. As soon as you have it out and close the console, Moon is scrambling forwards again.

You let him grab the tape with his free hand. His fingers can't get the edge to peel up though, fingernails more an indication in sculpted porcelain than true nails. You take the roll back and start the edge for him, only to realize you have no way to cut a length of tape from the rest.

Moon does. He shoos your hands out of the way and bites.

His teeth are sharp. Though the tape tries to stick to them, he still manages to bite through in an instant. Soon he has a surprisingly intact length of tape, which he immediately gives to you.

Your hands are shaking so hard that the tape shivers from where you pinch the edge, threatening to tangle on itself.

Moon's attention turns back to Sun. Moon reaches out and, carefully but firmly, adjusts the angle Sun's head is turned at. Moon's arm then wraps around Sun, a sleeve-covered wrist just under Sun's chin, holding him up and keeping him steady. Moon's closed hand finally opens to reveal the broken ray again, and he presses it back to the place it belongs.

Pain flashes across both their expressions. Sun squeezes his eyes shut, whimpering. Moon grits his teeth.

"There you go, we'll get you back together," Moon says, voice coming out quiet and half breathless. "See? You'll be fine. You always heal faster than me, remember? You'll be fine, you'll be fine." Moon's gaze moves back to you, expectant, desperate. "Come on! The tape!"

"Me?" You ask. The idea of making any kind of contact with Sun right now terrifies you. Your hands feel clumsy and foreign, useless, barely able to hold so much as a strip of tape without ruining it. You can't, you can't- He's hurt, you could hurt him.  

"Yes, you," is Moon's frustrated, panicked response. "I can't do both. You're human, your hands aren't steady enough to hold him, so you have to do the tape! Help him!"

Moon's hands are completely still, you realize. Even with what has happened, even as drowned in panic as you both are, his hands are almost unnaturally motionless. Perfect statue still steadiness.

You, on the other hand, feel like you might rattle to pieces.

Both of Moon's hands are occupied keeping Sun in place. There is nothing more he can do.

You have to move.

The tape sticks to your fingers as you try to get a better grip on it, nearly folding over itself. Sun's eyes are still shut tight, Moon's expression growing increasingly desperate.

So many curls twist around the broken ray. You struggle to steady a hand well enough to carefully, desperately carefully, brush them out of the way. Then, before you can think too much about it, you move to apply the tape.

The tape shudders and waves despite your best efforts to keep your arm still, adhesive trying to grab anything it comes near. You have to re-adjust and try another angle. Moon remains perfectly steady, motionless.

A touch, as light as possible, of the tape to the line where the two halves broke apart. You smooth it flat with your fingers before continuing. The ray is an even gold, the halves a perfect match, no shards missing. Maybe the living porcelain he's made of, sturdier than the inanimate kind, is more resistant to shattering completely.

Sun does not react to the touch. Part of you is relieved to not see any flinch, to see no sign of pain at your touch. Another part is only more afraid to see his complete lack of reaction. Sun's eyes stay shut tight and he acknowledges nothing, reacts to nothing.

Slowly, your breath held and your hands seemingly trying to jump away against your will, you manage to wind the tape around the break. You have enough length to make three good, sturdy loops before you run out. Once you've smoothed down the last edge, jagged from where Moon had bitten it, you retreat. Moon relaxes his hold, letting Sun curl up again. His quiet agony does not seem any less than before.

"Are you- are you okay?" You ask Moon.

"I'm fine," he says.

"Are you actually-"

"I'm fine," he says, voice raised and touched by an unexpected anger. "You'd see it if something was cracked!" The sudden bite in his tone quiets but does not cool as he continues. "Smacked my head, but didn't hit anything hard. Nothing broke."

Moon's expression is intense and pulled taught by stress, but it is true there is no sign of damage on him.

"Friend..." The voice that cuts in is so thin and strained that you almost don't recognize it. Each sound is wavering, broken or nearly so. You only realize it's Sun that spoke when he reaches over towards you, body still curled over itself but one arm grasping at your sleeve. "Are you...?"

"I'm okay," you assure him. "I think I'm okay."

Sun's sound of acknowledgement is another small, pained noise.

You wonder if it's possible for a doll to get a concussion. You wonder if a doll can go into shock.

Is that what's happening? Sun is in shock, from pain or injury or both?

You feel so helpless. You know the injury is severe, but you have no idea how severe. You don't know what to do, or how to help beyond literally taping the pieces together. You don't know how to make it stop hurting. Your first instinct is to take him immediately to a hospital, but-

The doll hospital. There is one, and it's near. You were almost there.

Maybe the smart thing to do might be to call for help, to sit where you are until it arrives. But how long would it take help to come, exactly? Would anyone you could call even understand that it's Sun who needs help, or would they only waste time checking you for injuries you don't have?

Moon is avoiding touching Sun, even as he tries his best to say soothing words to his twin. There's a shakiness to his voice despite the stillness of his body. Sun is staring at nothing in particular again, having retreated back away from reality as soon as he heard confirmation that you aren't injured.

The hospital is right there. So close that you could have carried Sun there if not for the lack of safe pedestrian crossings.

The car is still running, the sound of it even and unbothered. You didn't hit anything, as far as you can tell. There's a spot not far ahead where the slope back up to the road is gentler, more than shallow enough to look drivable.

"Moon, get your seatbelt back on," you say, buckling your own. "We're moving."

Moon gives you an incredulous look.

"We're getting Sun to the hospital," you tell him.

Moon glances out the window, and his eyes settle on the same gentle incline as yours had. He considers and then nods, giving one last look towards Sun before disappearing into the back. You hear the click of his buckle.

"Sun? Can you sit up?" You ask.

Sun does not respond, his already hunched posture only curling even more now that Moon is no longer beside him.

Would it matter if he did sit up properly? He still has his belt on. If something did happen, would he be in any more or less danger in that position?

Maybe the question doesn't matter either way. Even if he would be safer sitting up, that doesn't do you much good when he either won't or can't do it.

"Car is moving," you warn. You pause, hoping Sun will react, but there is nothing.

Slowly, you ease the car forward. The vehicle rocks slightly, the grassy terrain deceptively uneven compared to the smooth flat roads you're used to driving. Carefully, giving just enough gas to turn the wheels, you inch forward towards the gentle part of the slope.

You feel the start of the incline, the extra push the car needs to move up it. Though the ground is dry, the surface feels faintly slippery. The earth under the tires is soft, the heavy vehicle threatening to chew through the grass and churn into the fragile soil underneath. You keep going, gentle, gradual, ascending back up towards the road.

The car tilts, slightly but noticeably. The incline feels a little steeper now that you're on it. Not too steep, you're certain you've navigated parking lots with more serious bumps in the past, but your nerves are fried and every movement terrifies you.

Sun sways in his seat as one wheel goes ever so slightly higher than the other on the uneven ground. He shouldn't move that much for such a small jostle, wouldn't if he had been human. You're remembering now though that their bodies are almost entirely cloth, flexible, soft. They don't have bones in quite the same way a human does.

That's why Sun was thrown around so violently in his seat. That's how Moon managed to smack his head- probably on the back of your own seat. You'd guess that the impact had folded him sharply across the belt, much more so than a human could bend.

The wheels hold firm to the ground, the soft earth does not give. You make it far enough that your front wheels are at the edge of the paved road surface, and you sit there for a long moment to evaluate the flow of traffic.

You can't tell if it's the rumble of the engine through the car that moves Sun or if he's shaking. Both, maybe.

Still, you can only move when you're absolutely sure it's clear.

A space opens up. Somehow, the car pulls itself fully back onto the road without incident.

The rest of the drive feels like a dream, almost. Surreal, jarringly uneventful, every hair standing on end as your body screams of an impending disaster that does not appear. As you pull into a parking space, you find yourself struggling to remember anything at all between pulling onto the road and now. As if you had imagined the entire thing, your vehicle jumping suddenly from one location to another while you lapsed into some strange sleep.

It's a good thing you're certain you hadn't hit your own head on anything, or else you might think that you needed to visit a hospital as well.

Your keys feel heavy, like turning them requires shifting almost too much weight to manage. The car goes silent.

There is one last obstacle between getting Sun to the hospital- the fact that he's largely unresponsive to anything you say. The distance between Sun and help is nearly nonexistent now though, the empty lot letting you park right in front of the building. You get out and go around to Sun's side, unbuckling him and physically pulling him to his feet. He does cooperate with that, not entirely dead weight, but he's unsteady enough that you doubt he'd stay on his feet if you let go of him. He clings close to you, posture hunched, face buried against your shoulder.

He's definitely shaking. His breaths come in the hitching, erratic rhythm of crying.

You're trying to figure out how to offer Moon support as well, but trying to offer him a hand earns you a biting "I can go by myself" from Moon. You don't know if it's the idea that you might give Sun anything less than your full attention that makes him so angry, or if the stress simply has him wound too tight to do anything but snap.

Still, Moon cannot stand on his own. One of his fingers makes an unpleasant noise even as he tries to set his hand gently onto the hard surface of the paved lot. He quickly pulls his sleeves over his hands, but even that must not be enough considering Sun's seems to finally resurface in reality when he sees it.

"Moon, your sleeves," Sun says, voice barely a whimper. You wouldn't think Moon could hear him- Sun is pressed to your side and even you could barely make out the words. Somehow Moon must though, because he responds with,

"I don't care."

"You'll tear," Sun cries.

"I don't care," Moon insists, a mix of anger and panic stirring in his voice again.

"The gloves," you remember. "We have the gloves, wait a second, you can wear the gloves."

Your search is quick, one arm frantically tearing through your car and the other supporting Sun as he leans with you. You had put the gloves in the glove box, the contents of which are now a chaotic mess. You find one on the car's floor in a small pile of fallen items, the other still in the glove box itself.

You think Moon only puts them for Sun's sake, but he does put them on.

Through the door, into the waiting room. The path is clear, the receptionist the only other person present in the room this early in the morning. You can't move as quickly as you'd like. Sun's balance is unsure, his steps shaky, and if you moved any faster you'd risk tripping him. Moon rushes ahead of you in a frantic crawl, pulling himself up over the edge of the counter with his arms. His sudden appearance clearly startles the receptionist.

"Car accident," Moon states, words clear and quick. "Sun is broken. The other doll," a gesture of his head back towards you and Sun, "he broke. Fix him."

You're close enough now to add a, "Please," as well as the context of, "We had an appointment today, for Moon. We're late I think, I'm sorry, we were in an accident on the way here. Sun is hurt. Please tell me you guys have some sort of emergency care, or any way you can get him in, please."

The receptionist's eyes are wide as they look to the thick tape wrapped around Sun's ray, to the way he can do nothing but cling unsteadily to you.

"Wait just a second," she tells you, reaching to grab a phone. "We'll get someone over for him."

Things move very quickly from there, everything seeming to happen at once. Someone is out almost immediately. Dani- you recognize her from Moon's evaluation- appears with a wheelchair. Her attempts to get Sun to actually use the wheelchair are only met with him clinging more desperately to you though, refusing to leave your side for even the moment it would take to sit down. Next she tries to offer it to Moon, but has to give up once again when he shoots her a glare and an, "I can go by myself." She doesn't waste any more time, escorting the three of you down a hall and into a room.

The room looks all but identical to what you'd expect at a clinic for humans. The posters on the wall feature doll-related health info instead of human health info, and there is no monitor for the vitals a doll would not have, but everything else feels very familiar. White walls, a few chairs, the cushioned exam table covered by a long sheet of thin papery covering. It is a little bigger than similar rooms you've been in, getting the three of you plus Dani into the room without becoming as crowded as you'd expect.

Dani manages to get Sun sitting on the exam table, guiding both him and yourself to sit at the same time. He begins to curl up on himself again, only stopped by the fact that you're there to help hold him up. Moon ignores the plastic chairs sitting against the wall and instead sits on the floor, as near to Sun as he can get without being in the way. His expression is painfully helpless.

Dani leaves the room for a moment, telling you she'll be right back. A panic crosses Moon's face when she says that, but true to her word she is back almost immediately. She brings with her an armful of supplies- various containers, a small towel, a few other objects you don't quite manage to see clearly- which she quickly sets down on the nearest surface.

A precisely measured amount of red powder is taken from a small bottle. A clear, viscous liquid is poured into a large glass cup. The former is dumped into the latter, stirred together with brisk motions.

"This is going to help you with the pain," Dani says, addressing Sun as she rapidly yet neatly continues mixing the two components. Clumps of red powder bubble and break apart, the liquid turning a strong pinkish color. "The way this works is that it needs to soak into your body. It might stain certain materials, especially natural fibers like cotton, but any staining should go away on its own within a few weeks. You might get the urge to cough or tense up to get rid of the liquid, but try to avoid that as much as possible, okay? This only works as long as it's in your system, so we want to keep it there as long as we can."

The powder has fully dissolved into the mixture now. Dani has you let Sun lean forward, which he does as soon as you let go of him. Sun folds over himself with a muffled sound that might be either a sob or a whimper. You have to fight the urge to grab him again, to hold onto him, to find some way to protect him.

"Is it all right if I touch you?" Dani asks Sun. When he does not respond she looks to you instead, and you nod. She put a hand on his back, gentle but searching, feeling for something. Whatever she's looking to have either found or not found seems to be right, as she withdraws her hand and holds the cup of liquid over Sun.

The mixture in the cup is poured directly onto Sun's back in a steady stream. It soaks rapidly into the fabric, leaving behind a faint reddish tinge where it has touched. Sun coughs, liquid crackling in his airways as it soaks through him.

"Try not to cough," Dani reminds him gently. "The longer that stays in your system, the better it will work. It might be best to just hold your breath for a while, or to only take little breaths." She looks to you to add, "Dolls can hold their breath indefinitely as long as they stay still. Don't be worried if he doesn't breathe for a while, or if he goes limp. That's normal with this medication."

You nod again, holding out an arm to steady Sun just in case. Once the cup is empty, the last thick drops falling and soaking through, Dani has you help him lie down in a less precarious position next to you. A minute or so passes as you wait for the medication to kick in.

Sun's lies still, taking no more than the occasional shallow breath. His expression gradually relaxes, the distant panic in his eyes replaced with something more aware.

"Thank you," he whispers, not taking in enough air to produce any more volume than that.

"How are you feeling?" Dani asks. "Can you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten?"

"None." The word comes out as a sigh, relieved.

You let out a similar sound, a held breath set free as relief floods through you. Small aches run through your body as muscles held too tense for too long are finally allowed to relax slightly.

Moon takes that as a cue to inch closer, close enough to remove the gloves and place an uncovered hand on Sun. He pulls his hand back quickly, and for a moment you think something is wrong. You can see that his expression is only confused though, not pained. Moon shakes his hand, flexing his fingers as if trying to get feeling back in them.

"Weird," is his only comment.

"Better," is Sun's response.

That must be sufficient for Moon, as he moves back out of the way. Though you wouldn't say Moon is calm, that impatient barely-restrained panic has evaporated from him. You relax another fraction of a degree, knowing Moon wouldn't be anywhere near at ease if Sun still needed immediate help.

"Now that we have the pain under control, we need to set the break properly," Dani tells you. "That means we need to get the tape that's already here off, and replace it with something that will make healing a little easier."

Dani goes back to the small assortment of supplies, and only then do you realize that one of the objects she brought in is a standard hair dryer. She takes both that and the towel.

"We need heat to loosen the adhesive," she explains. "Porcelain can handle high temperatures without any problem, but we'll put this-" she indicates the little towel, wrapping it around the broken ray so every nearby curl of hair is covered, "right here to protect any heat sensitive material."

She plugs in the hairdryer and turns it on, the loud buzzing whoosh filling the room. Moon watches her closely as she works, but his stare lacks any serious hostility.

"Can you tell me if you're feeling any discomfort at all?" She asks Sun, raising her voice to be heard over the hairdryer.

"None," Sun manages to say. Or that's what you're fairly sure he said, anyway. He's too quiet to be heard over the hairdryer, but you can guess at his response judging by his relaxed expression and the shape of the word.

It takes some time for the heat to work, a period of relative calm. After a time Dani tests the duct tape with her fingers, but the edge doesn't budge. She also reaches out to touch both the towel and the nearest lock of uncovered hair periodically, keeping track of the temperature on each.  

"We recommend against using duct tape for this kind of break," Dani tells you, keeping the heat trained on said tape. "It's sturdy, which is why people use it, but it's also very difficult to remove. If anything gets misaligned or the tape needs to be removed for any reason, it can end up doing more damage than good that way."

"It was all we had," you say, guilty.

"Well, it is better than nothing in most cases," she replies. "I'm assuming this is a full break, all the way through? In situations like that, priority one is getting all the pieces back together as quickly as possible. Duct tape can accomplish that, absolutely. In the future though, it would be best to have a more doll-friendly tape on hand in case of this kind of situation. Porcelain dolls can be quite fragile. We can send you home with some of the proper tape, if you'd like."

"Please, that would help."

Finally the duct tape seems to be loosening. A corner comes up when Dani tests it, and she begins to peel it back. Once she has it going she turns off and sets aside the hairdryer, using one hand to brace the ray while the other slowly peels the tape away.

Sun shudders a bit as the last bit of tape comes away, Dani now holding the broken ray in her hand. There are bits of sticky tape residue stuck to both sides of the break, and you can't help but shudder as well at seeing the extent of the injury again. It's difficult not to panic again, looking at a piece that has broken off of him that way.

A sound, soft fabric moving abruptly. Something hard impacts the paper covering over the exam table. Dani freezes.

Moon is standing. His hands are braced on the exam table to support his weight, wobbling and unsteady, but standing all the same. The look he's giving the nurse is livid, dangerous.

"Would you feel better if your caretaker held onto the piece?" Dani asks, tone calm despite how tense her posture is. She holds out the piece to you. "Here. Very careful, we don't want to drop this."

Your heart is beating about a million miles an hour now.

Is Moon going to have an episode? The look in his eyes is not feral but it is intensely stressed, and you're not sure how much more of that he can take.

If Moon does have an episode, what then? What would you do, when Sun is effectively incapacitated and the eyes of a professional are on the two? 

Your hands barely feel like part of you anymore. Thick and useless, you're almost certain that you'll drop the piece. That you will drop part of Sun and see it shatter on the floor.

It's too late to say no, Dani has already placed the piece in your hands. Your stomach does nauseous flips as you feel the roughness of the broken end against your palm. The familiar smooth reflective paint of the ray sitting severed in your hands.

You wonder if he can still feel it all. You're terrified you might be hurting him just holding it.

Moon wobbles again and, a deep exhaustion displacing the fury in his eyes, lets himself crumple to the floor. Dani is visibly relieved. Somehow, Dani does not seem to be overly surprised by Moon's reaction. Maybe that reaction was somehow within the range of normal, or at least mistaken for it.

Sun does not move, taking only the occasional tiny breath, face scrunched up in a combination of concentration and discomfort. He doesn't look like he's in serious pain at least, and there isn't any of that distant shock to his eyes.

"We need to clean off any dirt or adhesive residue next," Dani says, as if nothing happened. Back to the supplies, she grabs what looks almost exactly like a marker. The tip is uncolored when she removes the cap though, and there's a faint chemical smell from it as she brings it near.

Sun's eyes go wide, the start of a "Don't-" before whatever he might have said next is cut off by a cough.

"Don't put any of this on the broken edge," Dani says, finishing Sun's sentence for him. "I know, I won't."

Sun relaxes slightly, though he and Moon now wear identical wary expressions. Dani reaches forward and moves the marker-like tip of the cleaner across the remaining base of the broken ray, the sticky adhesive residue coming up in little balls. She uses the towel from earlier to wipe it away.

"This kind of chemical is technically safe for most dolls in small amounts," Dani explains to you, "but it's not something we want getting into them if we can help it. It can feel a little like pouring rubbing alcohol into a wound- very painful. That's why we're going to make sure there's no contact with the broken surface."

Sun does not flinch away or react, so she must be doing a good enough job not to hurt him. Though the cautious fear eases from Sun after a few seconds, you're not surprised to see that Moon does not relax in the slightest.

When it comes time to clean the other part of the ray, the piece still in your hand, you begin to panic again. Thankfully you don't have to do much. Dani places one of her hands around yours as she cleans off the adhesive residue, maintaining the appearance of the piece being in your possession more than anything. The adhesive comes off quickly, the reflective paint once again shining and unblemished.

It feels sickeningly wrong to have it sitting in your hand this way, broken, severed. You would look away if not for the fact that you're terrified you'll drop it if you let it leave your sight for even a second.

"Almost done," Dani says.

She brings out a tube of some sort of glue next, letting you know that it's both safe for a doll of Sun's materials and isn't something that will get in the way of healing. She even reassures Sun that this one won't hurt, and it must not considering his lack of reaction as she applies it. She squeezes a dot onto the broken edge and carefully spreads it with what looks like a craft stick, putting an even layer on the rough surface.

Once again it's more the appearance of the broken piece being in your possession than the reality as Dani puts her hands around yours, readying the broken ray near where it belongs. "This might hurt a little," she warns Sun. "Like a sudden shock, or a jolt. It will only be for a second though."

Sun maintains a very neutral expression as the pieces meet, almost worryingly blank. You think that might be for Moon's benefit, considering he looks about one scare away from putting himself between Sun and the nurse.

You haven't forgotten how protective Sun was of Moon when Moon was hurt, how careful he was. The desperation to keep his twin safe. Now that same behavior is reflected in Moon. Though Moon is more outwardly aggressive about it, there's no doubt that both of them would do anything to keep the other safe.

Despite that, Sun had asked you to help Moon for him even with your limited sewing skill. Moon had panicked to see Dani holding a piece of Sun, but the dangerous intensity of his reaction had died down as soon as the piece was in your hands instead. Even now, it's clear he's only allowing the care Sun is receiving because you're right there.

The two have put so much trust in you.

You will do anything you can to live up to that trust.

Dani holds the ray in place for a count to thirty, and when she lets go it stays put. Sun is watching as best he can considering the angle, and you hope the disappearance of that totally neutral mask means the pain really did fade as quickly as Dani said it would.

Though the ray seems stable where it is, Dani still makes sure to tape over the break. The tape she uses is a thin, translucent white. She gives the basic care instructions for it, which mostly boil down to not touching the tape or injured ray under any circumstances until Sun tells you it's completely healed. And it should completely heal, she tells you. With such prompt attention, there's absolutely no reason it shouldn't heal perfectly as if there had never been a break at all.

The relief has you sagging forward like an old house, everything in you weathered and creaking. He will be okay.

Sun is relaxed again, in no apparent pain. In fact, he looks fairly comfortable now where he's curled up next to you. Even Moon, despite the touch of watchful caution clinging to him, no longer seems quite so on edge anymore. He crawls over in front of Sun and reaches up to make contact. This time, he doesn't seem bothered by whatever it is he feels.

You thank the nurse profusely. You can't say the words enough.

There is one last thing- Moon's appointment. The time is now far past when it was meant to begin.

Dani leaves the room to talk to the doctor about it, and by some miracle returns with the news that Moon will still be able to be seen. Normally you would have to reschedule, but in this case the doctor is actually bumping back the next person's appointment to see Moon. Apparently the doctor had marked down Moon's case as a particularly important one, considering his unusual symptoms and the severe injury he has been through.

You're alone with Sun and Moon for a brief time after that, Dani leaving and the doctor not yet having arrived. Moon tries to pull himself up onto the exam table but struggles, exhausted. You offer your hands and he takes them, letting you pull him up beside you. He doesn't say anything, but he does lean on you briefly. Everything about him in that moment- The way his hands rest on your wrists, the way he presses his face to your shoulder, even the silence itself- seems somehow immensely grateful in a way that words would not fully convey.

Then Moon lets go, half crawling over you so he can reach out to Sun on your other side.

"How are you feeling?" You ask. The question is directed at both, but only Moon answers- though not for himself.

"He'll heal," Moon says. "Always healed better than me. Not hurting right now." His next statement he addresses to Sun. "Don't talk. If whatever that weird stuff they gave you is helping, then don't waste it."

Sun doesn't respond in any way apparent to you, which you guess must mean he's in agreement.

Unconsciously, you run a hand along Moon's back. He's lying half across your lap in order to be near Sun, and running your fingers across the fabric is automatic. The texture is soothing, grounding. You almost stop when you realize what you're doing, but then you notice the way Moon has relaxed at your touch. His entire body, his expression, his demeanor, everything about him has finally calmed. Moon looks like he could nearly fall asleep right now, exactly where he is.

You let your hand keep moving back and forth across the fabric. Your other hand you place on Sun, just enough to let him know you're there for him.

In that brief moment of peace, the three of you wait.

Chapter Text

The doctor is an older man with a short, thick beard. "Dean," according to both his nametag and his introduction.

He checks on Sun first, giving him a quick look over and asking about his pain level- which is none, at the moment. Dean also asks Sun if you're taking good care of him. Though the question is said with a joking tone, you get the sense that it's a more serious question than it sounds.

The warm smile Sun gives in response seems to satisfy the doctor on that front at least, even if the verbal half of the answer comes out as a cough instead.

Once Dean has determined that Sun is stable and has been properly treated, he can turn his full attention to Moon. There's a slight shift in Dean's expression as he does, a warmth that fades into something more clinical. 

"Normally we'd have you sit right where you are," he says, "but your Sun here would have trouble sitting up right now, so that's the best spot for him. That makes the space a bit crowded though, so could you sit on one of the other chairs for me?"

Moon frowns, the defiant look of a child told what to do briefly crossing his face. Still, after a momentary pause and a glance over to check on Sun, he moves. Moon crawls the short distance down to the floor and across the room to the nearest plastic chair, pulling himself up onto it. Dean sits as well, pulling a rolling chair out from the corner and to the center of the room.

"Well, Moon, can you tell me how you've been feeling?" Dean asks.

Moon looks, for a moment, like he might reply. Then the seconds stretch on, and he has said nothing. The look he's giving the doctor is nothing short of a glare now, though you can't think of a single thing the doctor could have done in such a short time to offend him. Moon isn't acting with any extreme anger, and his posture isn't guarded in the way that would imply he feels threatened, but still it's like he-

Oh. Of course.

It's like he's shut down. Of course he's shut down. Sun is unusually outgoing by doll standards, and Moon is not. Moon does not speak easily to strangers, and he has just gone through an immense amount of stress on top of that. It's no wonder he isn't feeling talkative.

"A little shy?" Dean asks, sounding unsurprised. Considering that Sun's talkative nature is unusual, maybe the doctor is used to dolls that don't speak easily or even at all. "That's all right. Is it okay if I ask your caretaker some questions then, can they answer for you?"

A nod, the motion slight.

"All right, we can do that. I just need one thing from you, then- Can you confirm for me that you are capable of speaking?"

Moon scowls, but relents. "I can," he states.

"Good, good, thank you. I'll ask your caretaker about the rest, but feel free to interject if there's anything you want to say." Dean glances down at a clipboard in his hands, a thick stack of papers clamped to it. He takes a moment to examine whatever it is that's written there before to face you. "So, it says here that Moon has been destroying things? Blankets, clothes, and dishes?"

"He keeps chewing on things," you explain with a nod. "I don't think any of us know why. When I asked, he just said he wanted to. He bites holes in clothes and blankets, and broke plates so he could chew on the pieces. On the way here he asked for a toy we saw at a gas station, and he's chewed it to shreds."

"And does this seem like a behavior issue or a health issue to you?" Dean asks.

"Health issue."

"Does Moon have a history of destroying things for any reason?" Dean asks. "Out of anger, or for attention, or for fun?"

"No."

"Does Moon like to pull pranks of any kind? Maybe startle you, act out, make jokes that don't seem very funny to you?"

You're not sure you like these questions very much. It's frustrating that the doctor is so focused on Moon's behavior when you just told him that this isn't a behavioral issue. Or maybe it's less that it has you feeling frustrated and more that it has you feeling defensive, straying too close to a secret that must be kept.

"He does like pranks," you admit. "But not like- not like that kind of prank. Not mean ones. Just the fun kind. The kind everyone laughs at the end of, you know?"

Dean's face remains neutral as he checks his clipboard again, writing something down.

"It says here that Moon had an injury that resulted in a significant loss of material? Can you describe the injury to me?" he asks.

"He- Well..." You find yourself imitating the same gesture Moon has when asked about that injury, a cutting motion across your stomach. "Everything from here down," you say, your voice smaller than before.

"Well, that would certainly cause problems." The doctor's voice is still calm and professional, but his mouth has tensed into a concerned frown at your answer. "Is it okay if I do a quick physical exam on Moon? I will have to touch him for that, so if he has any problems with touch now would be the time to let me know."

You glance to Moon, who is now sitting very still with his eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn't react in any way to the question, and doesn't seem like he wants to react to it either.

"It's okay with me," you say. "Just give him some space if he pulls back, I guess."

The doctor nods, standing up out of his chair to get closer to Moon. He kneels down, one knee to the floor, in order to reach Moon's legs. When his hand wraps around Moon's ankle, Moon scowls but otherwise remains statue still.

Dean examines the material closely, testing it with a small squeeze of his hand. While you suspect that the pressure used was as gentle as possible, Moon's ankle still collapses completely in Dean's hand. You're sure Moon could have resisted that slight pressure with a little effort, but he doesn't bother. He lets the doctor understand the full extent of the damage.

Dean moves his hand slowly up along Moon's leg, closer to the knee, continuing to check the material with careful presses.  The result does not change, regardless of how or where Dean tests it. Moon's leg is as malleable and easily folded as the blanket it formed from.

Moon watches with a neutral sort of detachment. There is no discomfort on his face, or at least not any more than there was before.

"Is Moon able to stand on his own?" The doctor asks. He tugs at the starry material, then carefully pinches some of the soft fuzz of it between two fingers. Again it is the same reaction from the material, and the same lack of reaction from Moon.

"Not for very long," you say. "A second maybe, if he doesn't have anything to hold himself up on.”

"What about walking?"

"Not on his own. He can if Sun helps him, though."

"Just Sun?" Dean asks. "What about you, do you help him stand or walk?"

"Sometimes." A small stirring of doubt, a quiet feeling that you may have failed in some vague way you hadn't realized until now. "Usually if Sun can't do it, Moon prefers to crawl instead. He's gotten really good at crawling." And as quickly as the doubt came, it's replaced by an equally small ripple of confidence. You remember the pride on Moon's face when he showed you the way he'd learned to crawl, the independence that brought him. You have to wonder if he'd be more than happy to crawl anywhere the surface was gentle enough for his hands, if not for the fact that Sun might tie himself into knots at being told not to help.  

"Was this a single solid piece of material? Integrated all in one go?" Dean asks next. He moves a hand back to Moon's ankle again. He gives the ankle a slow, experimental twist, turning it farther than it should be able to rotate. Then further still, watching as the fabric twists around itself.

You keep an eye on Moon's reaction, but neither his expression nor body language holds any strong emotion. Mild irritation at most.

"Yes. We used his favorite blanket," you answer.

"Used how?"

"Oh." Right, of course he wouldn't know just by looking. As vividly as stress and fear has imprinted that memory into your mind, the doctor is not a mind reader. "Moon was... when he was... hurt like that, Sun wrapped him in a blanket to try to protect him a little. But it was still..." It's hard to find the words. Most of what comes to mind are not things you want to say, not things you want to remember. "It was bad," is the best you can do. "He wasn't safe, he wasn't well. No matter how hard Sun tried to keep that blanket over the worst of it, it was still... awful. It was a really awful wound. They both asked me if I could sew the blanket to him, so it would at least stay in place and could protect him a little better. Keep the wound covered at least. We didn't know his body would actually take the material to heal with like that."

"Hmm." The doctor's focus is still on Moon's legs, but something about that hum makes you feel like you're being scrutinized as closely as Moon is. "That would definitely do it. Normally I wouldn't recommend sewing anything to an injured doll, but if he requested it specifically I'd guess it was the best course of action. They usually know." He moves his attention to Moon's other leg, gently pressing and squeezing as he did on the first. The result is the same. "Was there any point after you added the new material where Moon seemed lethargic at all?"

"Yes." Another vastly unpleasant memory. "He was sleeping all day for a while, really worried us. I didn't know there were doll hospitals at the time, I would have brought him in back then if I had."

"How much was he sleeping?" Dean is checking Moon's knees now, or rather lack thereof. While Moon often bends his legs at that spot, maybe more out of habit than anything, there is no actual joint there. "More than twelve hours, more than sixteen...?"

"All day," you say, emphasizing the words to convey their literal meaning. "Sometimes he'd wake up for a few seconds at a time, maybe a little longer if Sun was talking to him, but that was it. He didn't do anything but sleep."

"Hmm." The sound has more concern on it this time. "You said Moon broke plates? Did any of those plates happen to be porcelain?"

"I'm not sure." You've never paid that much attention to exactly what your dishes are made of. Porcelain is the expensive stuff, isn't it? You'd never been able to justify the price of that sort of thing to yourself, not when a standard plate or bowl would do the job just as well.

Though, come to think of it...

Not every plate in your possession was something you'd bought for yourself.

"Actually," you say, "I think the last one was porcelain. I can't say for sure, but it was definitely a really nice one. Too nice to eat off of, had a lot of sentimental value to me. Moon breaking that one was how we knew he couldn't help it. He wouldn't have broken something like that, if he could help it."

Dean nods, seeming to have expected that answer. He moves to a counter at the far wall, rummaging through the drawers built into it. Inside is a small flashlight.

"I'd like to check your mouth next," Dean says to Moon. His statement is half notification and half request for permission, leaving room for Moon to object if he wishes. "Could you open it for me?"

Once again Moon wears that defiant look, like he wants to refuse simply because he can. He doesn't though, opening his mouth- though not very wide. Dean doesn't seem bothered by this, shining the flashlight inside.

The light doesn't react the way you'd expect it to. There is no faint glow through the skin of the cheeks like there would be with a human, Moon's porcelain face completely opaque. Reflected light shines back harshly, Dean squinting at the bright light reflecting back at him.

Moon does look a little uncomfortable now, like holding his mouth open even that small amount is a struggle for him, and- is it? You try to recall if you've ever seen either open their mouths this wide or for particularly long before, but you can't recall. You remember how Moon bites though, a quick snap of teeth. You're not sure if that has to do with any difficulty in opening his mouth wide enough to bite or if that's simply how he prefers to bite.

It does make you wonder, in the back of your mind, how many human things the two do are learned or imitated instead of natural to them. You catch a glimpse of the inside of Moon's mouth for a moment as Dean moves the flashlight, and you don't catch anything recognizable past the teeth. A brief flash of rounded, smooth porcelain that does not follow any of the expected contours before the sight is obscured again.

Dean gives another thoughtful hum, the sound of it turning sharply negative towards the end. He must have seen something.

Dean flicks the light off, moving with a slightly worrying briskness back to the drawers. This time he comes back with a flat wooden tongue depressor. He holds it out in front of Moon.

"Could you bite down on this for me?"

Snap

The look on Moon's face is intense and worryingly feral. He has bitten through it before you can even see him move, the doctor yanking his hand back from the splintering wood.

Moon blinks, the feral intensity breaking. He makes a face like someone who has bitten something unexpectedly bitter. His mouth opens again as he tries to spit out the remainder of the wooden tongue depressor, the wood clattering inside his mouth as he shakes his head, but to no avail. In the end he has to look straight down, relying on gravity, a chunk of wood and a shower of splinters falling out onto his palm.

(An odd thought occurs to you- you don't think he has a tongue. You're not sure how in the world he speaks without one, but he definitely wouldn't have this much trouble spitting something out if he had a functional tongue to push out the foreign object with.

Though clearly startled, Dean's voice is still professional as ever- if a bit tight for the first few words. "Were Moon's teeth always that sharp?" he asks. "Sometimes dolls have features that look sharper than they actually are. Were Moon's teeth more blunt at all in the past? Maybe still sharp even, but less so?"

"Um-" You aren't sure. His teeth have been dangerously sharp for as long as you've known him, but that isn't enough to answer the question.

"Always sharp," Sun responds for you, voice faint with breathlessness but clear all the same. There is something about the way he says it though, something that strikes you as almost too clear and confident. Neutral and without hesitation, something you've heard before.

Sun is lying.

Dean doesn't seem to notice. He looks a bit surprised to hear Sun speak up without prompting, maybe, but there is no suspicion.

Dean gives Sun a nod and thinks for a moment, a frown slowly overtaking his expression. When he sits back and turns to face you again, his demeanor is frighteningly serious.

"Well," he says. There is something stone-like to his voice, a finality. "The reason for your doll's behavior is fairly obvious. The question is how exactly he got this way.

"An important thing here is the fact that dolls normally heal a bit like how trees grow. Trees pull carbon out of the air to build their trunks, and dolls pull various airborne fibers out of the air to heal from minor injuries. That's what normal doll healing should look like. In the case that an injury is too severe for that too work, too much material lost all at once, then- Well, I'm going to be completely honest with you. When a doll loses as much material as Moon did, nine out of ten times they will die. If you had brought Moon here with the amount of damage you've described, we'd do our best but most likely we would not be talking about recovery. We would be preparing for his passing."

Dean stares at you as if waiting for you to say something. You're not sure what to say. Is this an accusation? Does he believe you did this to Moon, or otherwise let it happen? Does he expect you to defend yourself? But what defense is there to have when you weren't there? Weren't there to have hurt him, weren't there to have stopped him from being hurt, weren't there to have helped him? What can you say?

A long moment like looking up at the rocky face of an impossibly tall cliff, the immense looming weight hanging over you. A few seconds pass, an eternity, before Dean speaks again.

"In the case that a doll does by some miracle survive material loss that severe," Dean continues, "healing can take a very long time. Months if not years, slowly as they gather both the necessary energy and sufficient replacement material. Their bodies usually focus on function over form in cases like this, even if that means having permanent scars or lost material after.

"Moon, on the other hand, looks like he's done the complete opposite. He integrated an amount of material that was simultaneously far too much to take all in one go, as well as nowhere near what he actually needed for proper healing. He did it so fast that the integration of material in itself may have become life-threatening due to how much energy he used up at once. This also explains why Moon cannot stand or walk- there wasn't enough material available to complete the legs. Dolls are meant to have internal structures that act similarly to bones, muscles, and even organs- and absolutely none of those structures are present in Moon's legs. They're effectively hollow. I'd call it a second miracle that he can use them at all, but I'm not sure miracle is the right word for what we're seeing here.

"This isn't the kind of healing we see in a healthy doll. This is something we only see as a last ditch effort in dolls who have been very unwell for a very long time. I need you to tell me, exactly how long did Moon have that injury?"

"A while." You feel very small, and your voice sounds small as well. "Too long."

"More than a month?" Dean asks.

"Yes."

"More than six months?"

"Yes." Your gaze falls to your hands, Dean's stare too heavy to hold any longer.

"More than a year?"

Multiple years. Too many. A number you've never asked Sun for the specifics of, because the answer would be unbearable no matter what it was.

You can't manage to put that to words, nodding instead.

"And how is it that Moon became injured so severely?"

There it is, the question.

You're afraid to answer.

What if Dean reacts the same way Gale did, back in that park? What if he hears what you have to say, and immediately declares you unfit to take care of them?

If he finds out you never actually got Nessa's permission to take the two, will there be consequences? Will he try to take them from you? Will having them with you be considered theft, legally speaking?

Will he think that you, someone who has never been able to bring to life a doll of your own, will inevitably fail them? That you are incapable of doing enough for them, that you will never be enough for them?

What if he thinks all of that, and is right? What if it's true?

You remember the soft, small, quiet moments. Moon reaching out to you in his sleep. A finger brushing your sleeve. Moon sprawled out across your legs while the three of you watch a movie together. Sleepy red eyes opening for just a moment, settling on you, and then falling contentedly back into sleep. Moon, who is shy and wary and guarded. Moon, who trusts you.

You remember the excited hugs Sun has pulled you into. The times he has entrusted both his and Moon's safety to you. The way he calls you friend. Sun, who has said he sometimes wishes he could have been yours from the start. Sun, who says he can be yours. Who has told you that all they need is to be cared for, that love itself is enough.

Somewhere in those memories, you find your voice again.

Just before you're ready to speak, you hear Moon's voice fill the silence instead.

"It isn't their fault," Moon states, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "I was already broken when they got me. We had someone else, before. Nessa. Got rid of us. Considering I was dead when they found us, they're doing fine."

Dead.

Sun's entire body jolts. He coughs, harder than before, struggling to draw in a deeper breath as he tries to push himself to a sitting position. His expression is horrified, heartbroken.

"Moon-" the word is hoarse and whatever was meant to come next is lost in coughing. He tries again to sit, scrambling into an upright position, red dots seeping through to the front of his outfit. It looks unsettlingly like blood, even knowing that it's only from the medicine he was given earlier. "Moon, don't-" another cough, more seeping red, "Don't say things like that. You're- y-you- Look how well you're doing now! You're okay now. Our friend helped you and you're okay now, so don't..."

Sun wobbles where he sits, still clearly not getting enough air for this much activity. You put an arm around him to help steady him and he all but slumps against you, head drooping forward like a wilted flower.

Moon shrugs, looking away from Sun. "Not saying it doesn't make it stop being true," he states, quieter than before. He looks for a moment like he might say something more, but then is silent. Maybe he knows that whatever else is on his mind will only further horrify Sun.

Even if there's no doubt Sun had already known.

"He's okay now," is all you can say. You move your hand up and down along his shoulder in a way you hope is soothing. "It's okay now. We're all okay."

You take a deep breath, and look back to Dean. There is no less weight to his expectant stare than there was before, but you no longer struggle to hold it.

A mass of rocky, broken stone before you. If that is the mountain you must move for them, then you will move it.

"I've never been able to bring a doll to life," you inform him. "I met Sun at the park. He invited me to play, and I was... so, so happy. We became friends right away. Nessa took him to the park every day back then, but she didn't seem very interested in actually playing with him. So, that gave me my own selfish chance to come visit him and play with him any day." You give Sun a brief, tight squeeze with the arm you have around him, hoping your presence can keep his mind from spiraling too far into memories. "Then Nessa threw them away. By the time I found them, Sun was... he wasn't doing well, and Moon..."

No one says the words was dead. The silence speaks for you.

"So I took them home," you continue. "I didn't know what to do, so I did anything I could. I called in sick to work to stay at home with Sun, and I helped hem the fraying edges around Moon's injuries, and I took care of them the best I could. And they got better. I didn't bring either of them to life, and I didn't know they were in danger in time to stop it, but I have been doing everything I can to help them get better. I know Moon was injured too badly for too long, I know what that looks like, but please understand. I just want to help him get better. I brought him here today to find anything that will help him get better. Please."

Dean's focus is on you, on the way you hold Sun up, scrutinizing every word and movement. He looks down at his clipboard, flipping through papers as if trying to find his place in a book.  

"Ah." The little word sound is barely a mumble, more to himself than anyone. "Right, I never got direct verbal confirmation, did I..." He looks up to glance at Sun, then Moon, seeming unsure. "Would you consider this person to be your primary care-"

"Yes, they're our person," Moon interrupts, clearly irritated that the doctor felt the need to ask at all.

Dean considers for a moment, and then- like hard salt dissolving into water, like tightly packed earth loosening in the rain- the weight of his stare relaxes away. Though he doesn't quite smile, there is a hint of something more optimistic breaking through his expression.

"Well, that significantly improves our prognosis here!" he tells you. His tone has shifted to something jovial, and maybe, maybe even a touch impressed. "You know, it's very common for people to come here with dolls they've neglected to the verge of death. They always seem very concerned while they're here, and we work with them to do everything we can to save their doll. Then, once they're safe at home and the worst has passed, everything goes back to the way it was before. Their caretaker loses interest until it's nearly too late again, and then they're back here in a panic. But a doll can only come back from the brink so many times.

"In this particular case... Well, transfers to another caretaker are always risky, and it sounds like Moon was in extremely dire condition when you found him. The fact that he survived at all is something I'd have a hard time believing if I wasn't seeing the proof of it for myself. Still, that's where we are right now, and it sounds like neglect isn't going to be an issue here. That makes me very optimistic about Moon's recovery."

This time Dean does actually smile. It's slight, a faint curve at the corners of his mouth, but it's encouraging all the same.

"The treatment for Moon's chewing issue," the doctor continues, "should be very simple. When a doll is missing a large portion of internal structure like Moon is, they can undergo a sort of emergency adaptation to take in more material. That's why Moon has been getting such a strong urge to break down and chew on certain things. To remedy this, it's as easy as giving him the proper replacement materials.

"We can send you home with some finely ground porcelain, which should stop him from wanting to break dishes. I don't think we have enough of the correct cotton polyester blend on hand to replace as much material as Moon is missing, but we can give you a sample and a list of places you should be able to order more from. It's a very common blend, it shouldn't be difficult to get plenty of. All you need to do is to give Moon the replacement material and let him have as much of it as he wants, whenever he wants it. The chewing issue should go away completely once you do that."

"Then..." You're almost afraid to ask. It sounds too good to be true. "Then he'll be okay? He'll be fine?"

"Well, his health won't be in any danger," Dean replies. "But I'd temper your expectations when it comes to the functionality of his legs. The amount of function Moon has is already very impressive, considering, so it's unlikely we'll see a lot of further improvement. Proper replacement material will improve his health and reduce the risk of further complications- and should make him quite a bit more comfortable, as well- but that doesn't necessarily mean regaining full use of his legs. I wouldn't get your hopes up for him being able to walk unsupported, even with treatment."

You hardly hear half of that.

You hardly even breathe. You don't even realize until Sun's weight shifts slightly against you and he mumbles something about it, barely audible but enough for you to understand the subject of his concern. You take a long, deep breath, and feel like the entire world is stretching out bright and open around you.

Moon is going to be okay.

The doctor is so certain Moon will recover that he's not talking risks or survival odds, he's trying to prepare you for what a fully healthy Moon might be like. Telling you not to get your hopes up for a perfect recovery, when Moon being okay is already the perfect answer to any hopes you'd had. The doctor is that certain, it is all that simple. Moon will be okay.

"There is one more thing we need to check up on, as a precaution" Dean says. "Can you tell me if either of them, Moon or Sun, have ever used words like hungry, starving, or feed, in reference to themselves?"

You suppose you shouldn't be surprised he's checking for that, after hearing what they've been through. You give your most confident,

"No. They don't really use those kinds of words."

"Have either of them ever seemed to suddenly have trouble recognizing you, or someone else they should know?" he asks next.

"No trouble."

"Have either ever tried to get your attention in a way that was unpleasant, startling, or painful? Things like pinching, grabbing hair, holding on to you and refusing to let go, physically putting themselves in the way to prevent you from doing something else, anything like that?"

"No, nothing like that." You can be completely honest on that one, at least. As many times as Moon has jumped out of somewhere to startle you, it never seemed like something he was doing out of any need to have your immediate attention. Moon's random jumpscares were always for fun.

You wonder how many early symptoms like that there are, minor but bright red flags, that no one ever saw in Moon. Unhealthy behaviors he simply skipped over, jumping from too injured to move to irrevocably sick.

"And Moon said their previous caretaker's name was Nessa? Is that accurate?"

"Yes."

Sun tries to say something, but the sound struggles to form an actual word. Moon must guess what Sun meant to say, speaking for Sun before he can start coughing again.

"Vanessa," Moon says. The word sounds too precise, like someone carefully pronouncing the complicated syllables of a scientific term. "Her full name. Vanessa Shelly."

Sun gives a small nod. Everything about him seems small, right now. Like he might disappear entirely, if he could.

You can do nothing but keep your arm around him, holding him close.

So Nessa was a nickname after all. An affectionate term Sun and even Moon never let go of using, her real name foreign in their mouths.

Dean nods, writing something down. He turns his chair and his full attention to Moon.

"All right," Dean says. "I know you probably don't feel much like talking with me, but I do need direct answers from you for this. It's very important. If you don't want to speak then I can get you something to write with, or you can use one of our communication aids. We have quite a few different kinds. The easiest ones for most dolls that come in are our word board and picture board, where you can point to what best describes how you're feeling. We also have a few different voice output devices, art supplies, alphabet blocks, all sorts of different things you can try if you'd like.

They really must get a lot of dolls who are too shy to speak. Or maybe dolls who simply can't speak at all? You remember the fact that Daisy had only barked and growled, despite clearly having the intelligence to understand what was said to her.

"I can talk," Moon states, though he doesn't sound particularly happy about it.

"Good to hear. We can switch to another method if you change your mind at any point. Now, can you tell me if you ever feel like you're not getting enough attention- even when your caretaker is focusing on you directly? Or maybe a feeling like no amount of attention they give you will ever be enough?"

"No." The word comes out flat, toneless. You're surprised to realize that Moon might not be as good a liar as Sun is.

Maybe it doesn't matter either way. Dean gives no indication of having detected anything suspicious about Moon's answer. The fact that Moon didn't want to speak to begin with might be working in his favor, disguising the flatness of his answer as reluctance to answer at all.

"Do you ever feel like you need their full attention right now, without warning? Or maybe like something bad might happen if you don't get that attention, even if you're not sure what kind of bad thing exactly?"

"No." His answer is identical to the previous.

"What about Nessa?" Dean asks. He pronounces the nickname softly, with all the gentle familiarity of a dear friend placed on it despite never having met her. "Do you ever feel angry at her?"

"No." There's a bit more bite to the word this time. You can't blame him- of course he's angry at her. You're angry at her. Who wouldn't think anger was justified, after what she'd done to him? To both of them?

"Do you ever feel like you hate Nessa?" Dean asks next.

"No." This time his answer comes out worryingly bitter, more spat than said. Moon's tone does not go unnoticed by Dean this time, his focus sharpening.

"Do you ever feel like Nessa should be punished somehow?"

"No." Yes.

Dean's expression is becoming increasingly serious.

Should you step in? Should you say something?

But what could you say that wouldn't only look more suspicious?

"If Nessa was here in this room right now, what would you do?" he asks.

Moon doesn't respond immediately. For a moment you think he has decided not to speak anymore, but then you see the concentration on his face. He is thinking far, far too hard. You know he can't be about to answer honestly- You're sure he knows as well as you do that the answer would be far too alarming to tell anyone, much less a doctor who would recognize the danger of it immediately.

No, Moon isn't trying to think of how to phrase an honest answer. Moon is struggling this hard just to come up with a lie that wouldn't be an immediate red flag.

"... I'd take Sun. And leave." Moon's words are halting, forced.

"What if you couldn't leave?" Dean asks without pause, giving Moon no time to recollect himself.

More concentration. Frustration. A touch of anger on Moon's face, mouth opening just enough for a hint of sharp teeth to be seen.

"I would tell her to leave," Moon says finally.

"And if she refused?"

Moon's face twists into a sharp snarl. The expression holds for a moment, then closes back to gritted teeth. He thinks, glancing around the room as if looking for either an escape or an answer, and seems to actually find what he's searching for. His eyes land on you, and he eases slightly.

"Ask them. Our friend," he says. "Ask them to do something about it."

"Thank you for answering those for me," Dean says. He turns to the furthest back page of the papers on his clipboard, hand moving smoothly down the paper as he checks a series of boxes just out of your sight. Though he gives no clear indication of how Moon did, you don't think it was particularly well.

Dean turns to look towards you again. Or maybe not- it seems to be Sun his focus is on this time.

"Can I ask you some questions as well, Sun?" Dean asks. "I won't go through the whole list with you, but maybe some simpler answers? I know the painkiller they gave you makes it hard to talk, so if there's some other way you want to indicate your answers we could do that instead."

Sun is still leaning on you, struggling to hold his head up now that he sees Dean has turned his way. He manages a smile, though the expression is a bit pained. You're not sure if the medicine has started to wear off, or if Sun has just forced too much of it out of where it's meant to be for it to be totally effective anymore.

"I don't mind talking," he says. The words are quiet and a bit short of breath, but clear enough. With your arm around him you can feel the tiny, shallow breaths he's taking to produce those words. "Sorry, I'm- I actually love talking with new friends!" A sound of liquid in air, Sun pausing to stifle a cough. "It's just- just a little difficult at the moment."

"I understand," Dean replies. "I'll try to be quick. Think about the questions I asked Moon just now. Are there any you think you'd have a very different answer to?"

Sun does think on it. His expression is more contemplation than concentration, taking a long moment to consider.

"I think... if Nessa was here right now... I think I'd ask my friend to hold on to me," he says. "It would be very complicated. I'm not sure- not sure what would happen, if Nessa wanted... wanted us back, or... or just gone. I'm not sure, so I'd ask our friend to hold on to us tight."

You do. Though she is not here and there is no danger, you tighten your grip around Sun the smallest amount. Enough for him to know you're there for him. Enough to let him know you would be there for him no matter what, whatever happened.

Dean does not write down anything this time, just gives a nod and a "thank you" before turning his attention to you this time.

"Moon is showing some early warning symptoms of Terminal Neglect-Induced Psychosis," Dean states. "None of the really big red flags, but enough for us to be concerned. This is... well, not normal, but very common in dolls that have been abandoned by their original caretaker. Really it's a bit surprising he's only showing the early warning signs. Sun seems fine, no apparent symptoms thankfully."

You wonder what he would be saying if Moon had answered even half of those honestly.

"When you say terminal..." You ask, a fragment of a question you don't know how to phrase.

"We're not at terminal yet, fortunately," Dean tells you. "Terminal Neglect-Induced Psychosis is something we see in dolls that have been severely neglected over a long period of time. While the early warning signs- like what I've seen in Moon today- are treatable, once it progresses beyond a certain point it can no longer be cured. At that point, the doll's mental state deteriorates until they reach a state of aggressive psychosis where they're a serious danger both to themselves and to others. It can happen to any doll, even those that would normally never hurt anyone. Dolls who have reached the terminal stage can no longer interact with anyone safely, and they're no longer able to recover. At that point, the best we can do is to make them as comfortable as we can until they pass. It's something we take even the earliest warning signs of very seriously.

"Luckily, Moon still does seem to be in that early warning stage so far. That is a so far though, and if left untreated it will progress. The best treatment for that is to simply make sure Moon has been getting all the attention he's been missing. Spend time with him, as much time as you can. Encourage both of them to speak up right away about any want, need, or problem they have- no matter how minor. When they do speak up, treat it like an emergency. Stop everything you're doing to take care of them right away. It might not sound like much, but it's by far the most effective treatment for NIP warning symptoms." It takes you a half second to realize that's an acronym, neglect-induced psychosis.

"Treating Moon's chewing issue should help as well," Dean adds. "An unmet need like that can definitely worsen NIP symptoms, so having the proper material should help him recover. It sounds like he developed this while with his previous caretaker, which means his chances of recovering can be very good- if you're willing to put in the effort. We'll print out a list of NIP symptoms for you just in case though, bring him in right away if you see any new or worsening symptoms come up.

"Other than that... keep doing what you're doing. Both Sun and Moon are doing amazingly well considering the circumstances, so you've definitely been taking great care of them so far. Just keep at it, and you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"I will. Thank you," you say.

You have taken good care of them. Verified by a professional, regardless of who brought them to life, you have taken good care of them.

You have taken good care of Moon, who you found with a broken neck. Moon, who had been a far too small shape wrapped in blankets, cut in half. You have taken good care of him, and now he will be okay.

Moon is still sick, but you think even that will be okay. No, you don't just think it- You're sure of it. You half want to tell the doctor about that fact, to let him know that there is a way to escape the terminal aspect of Terminal Neglect-Induced Psychosis, but you don't risk it. You have a feeling the connection between Moon and Sun is unique, or at least too rare to be of any help to future patients. 

They really did need nothing more than for someone to care about them. To love them.

You love both of them so much.

"Do you have any more questions or concerns?" Dean asks.

"No," you tell him. "Thank you."

Though the visit is effectively over, there are still a few more things to wrap up. All of you are in good spirits as Dean finishes up the necessary paperwork, requesting informational print-outs and filling out the forms to get Moon the proper replacement material. Then, just as you think Dean is about to escort you back out to the lobby, he stops. There is a crack in his professional demeanor, like the reopening of an old wound that never quite healed. Underneath is something wistful, something painful.

"Don't take them for granted," Dean says, and for a moment he does not look like a doctor. For a moment he is just a man, one carrying the weight of far too many losses. The stillness of a funeral, a deep mourning. "Dolls can be resilient, but they can also be incredibly fragile. Your friends are made of porcelain, be careful with them. Be kind to them. You've been given a miracle here, the worst thing you could do is to waste it."

"I'll take good care of them." You mean that, with everything you have and everything you are. You can and will take good care of them. "I promise."

A small, tired smile from Dean. A touch of hope. Then the professionalism is back, and the visit is over.

Chapter Text

Sun doesn't refuse the wheelchair this time, allowing a nurse to help him to your car with it. You offer an arm to Moon, but he refuses it again.

"Help Sun," he tells you as he puts the gloves back on. There's not much you can do for Sun at the moment that isn't already being done, but you don't argue.

Once at the car, Moon shoves both the gloves and the spilled items all over your floor back into the glovebox. He doesn't organize it neatly the way Sun would, but you appreciate it regardless. While he does that, Dani shows you how to properly secure Sun in the back seat. She has him lie across it sideways due to his difficulty sitting up on his own, crossing both belt buckles over him and padding the area around him with your blankets.

You haven't forgotten how bad the roads are. You do move your car, but only to the edge of the lot so you can keep an eye on the traffic. There are still far too many cars for you to even think about moving any farther.

You don't mind having to wait. There is a growing joy in you so strong that it's hard to think of anything that would bother you right now. A sinkhole could open up under you to swallow you whole, and you'd sit there humming a happy tune at the bottom of it.

Moon will be okay. The thought repeats over and over in your head. Moon will be okay!

"I'm sorry, friend..." Sun's voice from the back seat, thin and struggling. "I lied. I didn't mean to lie to you... but I had to lie, and you were there... Moon's teeth didn't used to be that sharp... he used to... to clench them, at night sometimes, when he- when he was really upset..."

"Sun. Sun, it's okay," you tell him. You turn in your seat to face him properly, smiling so much that it nearly hurts. When Sun sees your expression, the misery and shame on his own lifts slightly. "It doesn't matter. I figured that was the case, and it really does not matter, because Moon is going to be okay. Did you hear? He's going to be okay! He's fine! We're all fine. We really made it here and we're all really going to be okay."

For once it is your joy that is infectious, radiant, undeniable. The guilt fully eases from Sun's expression, and he returns your smile with a small one of his own. You think he will be okay, as well. Though the tape wrapped neatly around his ray is an undeniable reminder of his injury, the break is set and Sun is in no apparent pain anymore.

"Oh, right!" You remember something important. You grab the two bags of replacement material you were given, offering them to Moon. "He said to let you have as much of this as you wanted, so this is yours."

There are two bags. The first is a heavy duty bag made with thick plastic, the weight of it greater than you would expect from the size. Inside are tiny crushed porcelain pieces, dull and rough, each a little bigger than a grain of coarse sand. The other is larger and weighs almost nothing, stuffed full of fuzzy off-white fabric fibers.

Moon's focus is on the porcelain bag first. He opens it, running a finger through the grains experimentally. There is an almost inaudible chorus of tiny tink-tink-tink sounds as he does, porcelain on porcelain. He scoops up a few grains, the amount small and cautious, tossing them into his mouth. A pause, and then he tilts his head. There is a look of absolute delight that breaks across his face, the grains producing a quiet rattling as they roll around in his mouth. He tilts his head the other way, giggling like it's the absolute best joke he's ever heard.

Maybe it is, judging by the tone of Sun's voice when he says,

"Moon that is so weird."

Which only makes Moon laugh harder.

Sun asks if it's okay for him to take a nap not long after that- Which of course it is. He falls asleep quickly and, unusually for him, stops breathing entirely in his sleep. Moon notices as well, and crawls over the center console to reach out to Sun.

"Good," Moon whispers, returning to his seat. All must be well, if it has Moon's seal of approval. You're not sure if it's the medicine, the injury, or just the exhausting day Sun had, but a good rest sounds like the best thing for him at the moment.

You put on an audiobook, volume turned to low, to entertain both yourself and Moon while you wait for traffic to clear up. Moon curls up on his seat like an over-folded origami cat, a position that could be comfortable to absolutely no one but him. He does look perfectly content there though, listening along with the story.

You, on the other hand, barely hear it. You can't stop thinking.

For once, none of the thoughts are worries. Every last one is a possibility.

You have your friends here with you. Your friends, who will be with you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Who you can play and talk and laugh with, who can accompany you anywhere the three of you wish to go, who can experience life alongside you.

Your friends, who are going to be okay.

You are overflowing with so much excitement that it's hard to believe the small space of the car could contain it. Like the feeling would blanket the entire city if it was to fully unfurl. You made it all the way out here in time, and there is not a single cloud dark enough to cover the clear skies of your joy.

It's a little funny, when you think about it. After all this time, you're only now realizing that what you wanted for so long wasn't really a doll of your own. If it had really been just that, you don't think Sun and Moon could have filled that hole in your life. The reality of what living dolls are like is so different from the guesses you'd daydreamed about for so long, Sun and Moon nothing like what you'd expected. If your heart had been set on that goal alone, you don't think anything or anyone could have really fulfilled it.

Yet here you, feeling like you caught a wishing star in your hands. Like you've gotten more than you ever could have asked for.

Maybe all this time, what you needed most was a friend.

Is that the right word for it? Friend?

You've never thought to question the word before, especially not when Sun has made it such an important word to you. Something dear, something close, something to cherish. At the same time, the word in isolation doesn't feel like quite enough. The meaning wouldn't be the same if said by someone else, if said about anyone else.

Something more than a polite acquaintance, or a friendly person existing at the edges of your life. Someone more than amicable company to pass the time with, or to ask for a favor now and again. Somewhere more than just being in the same place at the same time.

To have someone who wants to go everywhere with you, who would always rather have you there than not. Someone who belongs with you, who you belong with just as much.

'Partner' doesn't feel quite right, especially not with how you most often hear it used now. 'Teammate' might be closer in meaning, but the word feels too silly. Too simple, too light. Companion, maybe. You like that word, something about it speaks to you- even if you're unlikely to ever use it out loud. Not when friend is already the most important word you can think of, even if only when said for them.

A companion. Someone to go with, always. You think that's what you really needed, all this time. That is what you have been looking for, for so long.

How unbelievably lucky you are to have found two.

If you had realized this sooner, maybe you could have filled that lacking in your life a little sooner. Like wandering the desert aimlessly, passing by oases in the distance, not realizing that what your entire being was yearning for was water. Or maybe you would have still dragged your feet, who knows. Maybe you would have given up again, thinking the task was too hard and the time required too great. You might have told yourself it was too late to start now, just as you did over and over when thinking about bringing your own doll to life.

Or maybe it doesn't matter either way. Right now you feel completely unburdened. All those what ifs, the time passed and choices made and branching paths of life, feel entirely weightless. Ephemeral as a dream, intangible as a wisp of smoke. Why dwell on what could have been when your now is already greater than any other possibility?

How had Moon phrased it? The past is an imaginary concept.

Right now is real, and you wouldn't change any of it. Not a single moment, not a single breath.

Don't take them for granted, the doctor told you. Those are words you're going to hold close.

Moon is still curled up in his seat, listening attentively to the audiobook you lost track of the plot for ages ago. You'll have to ask if he can summarize it for you and Sun later. It might even be better that way, Moon is an excellent storyteller.

You have an overwhelming, almost unbearable urge to grab onto him and hold him close. You think you might startle him if you did though, not to mention how he feels about that kind of obvious expression of feeling. Instead, you reach out and put a hand on his sleeve. Gentle, without emphasis, as if you had needed to rest your hand on something and he had simply been the perfect spot.

Moon looks over, and for a moment there is nothing guarded in his expression at all. It is genuine and open, a mild curiosity and nothing else. Then, a moment later, a small smile. There is something about it that is so warm, bright as the sun despite his opposite theming.

Moon adjusts his position, sliding his arm out from under your grasp so he can wrap his own hand around yours.

And you feel like you are exactly where you should be.

---------------------

Eventually traffic calms, though the anxiety the thought of getting back on the road causes you has not. It takes quite some time for you to gather the courage to actually start the car, and even longer to inch cautiously out of the parking lot.

The idea of starting the long trip towards home is too daunting right now, especially with Sun still in need of time to rest and heal. Instead you go back to the hotel you'd booked during the wait for Moon's appointment, getting a room there again.

You don't bring Sun and Moon to the front desk while you book the room this time. Sun is still sound asleep, and you don't want to wake him just to make him wait in a hallway while you do the bedbug check. While your last room was clean, you're not taking any chances.

You wouldn't have left Sun in the car alone, but thankfully Moon is there to watch over his twin. Only once you're sure the room is safe do you go get the two, all but carrying a still sleepy Sun.

He must be rubbing off on you. Your first instinct upon getting Sun to the room is to place him on the bed and start piling what is maybe an excessive amount of blankets around him. As silly as it seems to be so particular about the placement of blankets on a doll that can't feel chilly to begin with, Sun looks so comfortable when you're done. That makes the effort more than worth it.

Despite everything that has happened, it's still barely past noon. You're exhausted.

Not a bad kind of exhausted, though. An exhausted that makes it hard to get up off the bed once you've sat down, yes, but not a painful kind of tired. There is, after all, no reason to push yourself to get back up. Everything that needs doing has already been done.

And tomorrow...

Something occurs to you. You still have vacation time left.

You weren't sure how much you'd need, so you'd requested everything you had. You made good time to your destination and Moon didn't end up needing an extended hospital stay. You have time to spare.

Tomorrow, anything. You can do anything you want. You have time.

There is absolutely nothing stopping you from visiting all the interesting places you were forced to pass by in your hurry to get here.

“Hey... Do you think you guys might want to make a few stops on the way home?” You ask Moon. “We can go straight home if you want, but there are a lot of fun places we could see between here and there if you two are up for it."

You were trying to be quiet to avoid disturbing Sun, who had already fallen back into a doze, but you guess you should have known a mention of the word fun wouldn't go unnoticed.

“Fun places?” Sun echoes sleepily, barely opening his eyes.

"Anywhere you guys want," you tell him. "Everywhere you want. Or straight back if you just want to get home and rest, but there's... there's a lot of everything between here and there. We could stop and see as much as much or as little as you're up for."

A little of the sleepiness falls away from Sun, his eyes lighting up. You think he might have sat up if not for the fact that doing so would disturb your careful blanket arrangement.

“Can we go to the doll meetup?” He asks.

“If it's still going tomorrow. I'm not sure what day it was supposed to be, that one we might have missed already." It was already a few days ago that the doll hospital was particularly busy because of it, after all.

“It’s today and tomorrow,” Moon states. “Glitch mentioned it, at the hospital.”

“He and his person came early because there are lots of things just for dolls in this area,” Sun adds. “Lots of people show up early, apparently. I was... actually already thinking about asking if we could go, if Moon's appointment was done in time." Sun sounds a bit ashamed to admit that, as if the idea of wanting anything for himself is embarrassing.

“If you two want to go, we can absolutely go.”

Your vision blurs a little as you look it up on your phone, the comfort of the bed under you trying to pull you down into sleep. Your excitement is just enough to keep you at a cozy sort of half awake as you browse, everything soft and warm around you.

Moon joins you on the bed after a moment, stretching out sideways across the foot of it. His legs hang off the edge, but he doesn't seem to care. The bag full of cotton polyester blend acts like a pillow under one of his arms, and he chews idly at a handful of the fluff. 

There it is, you've found it. The webpage is basic and has the simple appearance of something maintained by volunteer hours alone, but it looks like the right one. A doll meetup in the same city you're currently visiting, running all day today and tomorrow. Free for anyone to attend, no entry fee.

(Thank goodness for that. While you would be willing to pay whatever you must for what could be the only chance for the three of you to attend an event like this, it is just now hitting you how much you paid at the hospital. Emergency care for Sun and the doctor visit for Moon had not been cheap things. While the bill wasn't excessive by any means, it was not small either.)

With the meetup running for as long as it does, you might even have room in the day to see what else this city has to offer. You wonder if there being a multitude of doll-related activities in the area happened because of all the people traveling here to visit the doll hospital, or if it was the opposite and the hospital was built here because it was already a popular place for dolls to visit. Whichever is the case, Sun was right- there’s quite a lot.

There’s a doll activity club, advertising new activities for people and their dolls to do together every day. Today’s activity is watercolors apparently, tomorrow’s is tabletop RPGs.

There’s a “doll bonding specialist” that advertises what looks like a basic class on healthy communication.

There’s a place that custom makes backpacks and other kinds of carriers specifically for smaller dolls, so they can be more comfortably carried. The picture on their main page is adorable, a girl with pigtails and her doll- some kind of stuffed animal, a fluffy wolf sporting a long mane of perfectly styled hair- sitting in her own custom backpack. The backpack’s colors match the doll’s, and the wolf is giving the camera a look you can only describe as ‘Bet you’re jealous.’

There’s a service that promises to speed up the process of bringing a doll to life using “specially aligned crystals” and “Organic magically-charged pink Himalayan salt.” You’re entirely sure that one is a scam, but it is entertaining to read about.

There’s a doll history museum. You think you’ll pass on that one, it sounds a bit depressing to be honest. After all the worry you’ve gone through lately, you don’t think you’re up for a detailed history of doll labor laws.

Surprisingly, there's also a second museum not far from the first. This one advertises artwork made by dolls, as well as inanimate recreations of famous dolls. You wonder if said famous dolls are the handful of actually famous dolls from history, or if it leans more towards those famous by proxy- those who belonged to various celebrities or historical figures.

There is a cobbler that specializes in shoes for dolls. You think of Moon’s feet, little sock shapes with nothing to cover them or protect them from unpleasant surfaces.

“Do you ever want shoes?” You ask him.

Moon thinks a moment, then shrugs. “Nah. Boring.” A mischievous grin breaks across his face, and he adds, “If I ever needed shoes, I could just steal Sun’s.”

“Moon, if you so much as joke about that again I will push you into a swimming pool,” Sun says. His voice is too serious for him to not be joking.

“Pff. Sure,” Moon responds. “And get me out how, after? Gonna come in after me yourself? You’d be too chicken to go in and too lonely to stay out.”

“I’d ask our friend to get you,” Sun says. “Don’t test me, Moon, I’ve been waiting my entire life for the opportunity to do it and I will not hesitate if you give me any excuse.” He giggles, the sound devious and startlingly similar to Moon’s own mischievous laugh.

A no on shoes, then. Maybe for the best. While prices aren’t listed on the website, you can tell just by looking at the images that it’s not a cheap service.

This city really does have an incredible amount of doll-related shops and activities. Site after site, you're still finding more.

A makeup shop that also sells doll-safe makeup. A professional gentle cleaning service for dolls with difficult to remove stains. Countless tourist traps and other more legitimate-looking businesses that offer free entry for dolls, or discounts if you bring a living doll. You even see an advertisement for fortune telling by “Madame Marvelious and her mystical future-seeing hippo doll.” The website goes all in on the silliness of that idea, presenting it more as entertainment than any actual supernatural ability.

You read out much of the list as you go, Moon making the occasional comment or joke. Sun slips in and out of a doze, contributing a few sleepy mumbles here and there.

The one that ends up catching the most attention from the two is a doll accessory shop. Instead of offering human clothes and accessories that could also be theoretically worn by a doll of a similar size, the focus is on items custom made specifically for dolls and dolls alone. The site states that its goal is not just to offer something a doll can play dress up in, but something that can comfortably become a permanent part of the doll. Apparently that's something that can be done on purpose, even without an injury like Moon's.

Sun sits up, finally breaking from the layers of blankets to look at the webpage.

Moon doesn’t bother to look, but does tell you, "I want to go there."

“Please, Moon,” Sun scolds. “We use polite words and say please. Friend, could we please go there?”

"Absolutely," you say, without hesitation, because how could you say anything else? Though your brain does catch up to your mouth a moment later, the memory of the bill you paid once again coming to mind. "I can't promise we can get something there, I don't know what the prices are going to be like. We can definitely go and look around though."

That’s more than enough for Sun, apparently. You're surprised by a sudden hug from him, along with a "Thank you!"

It’s good to see him acting like himself again. It probably means the medicine is starting to wear off, but for the moment he is happy and excited and so are you.

Though that's far from the last relevant link in your search results, you find yourself getting maybe a bit too comfy on the bed. At some point you have ended up lying down instead of sitting up, and your phone keeps slipping in your hand. You've lost track of where you are on the page, letters blurring together and refusing to come back into focus. You only half notice that you're not actually reading anything anymore, finger tapping aimlessly at the screen.

Moon takes the phone from you before you can drop it onto your own face. Your hands don't quite understand the loss of something to hold, wrapping around Moon's hand instead. He doesn't take that away from you, even when that means he has to stretch to set the phone down somewhere safer.

You are so comfortable. You are so tired. You're not sure you've ever been more of either of those things before.

-------------------------------

Your unplanned nap lasts for maybe a bit longer than a nap should, not that you're complaining about that. Moon must have managed to retrieve his hand at some point, though he didn't escape you entirely- you wake up to find one of the long tails of his hat in your hand instead.

Unfortunately, the medicine Sun was given earlier has definitely worn off by now. He doesn't seem to be in unbearable agony, but there is a distinctly uncomfortable air about him.

“It’s okay, friend,” he tells you. He reaches a hand up towards the broken ray, then seems to think better of it. “Just a little sore.”

“How sore is a little sore?” You ask. Sun hesitates, and it ends up being Moon who answers.

“Not as much as it could be,” Moon states. “Not bad, considering.”

"If it's too much, we don't have to go anywhere tomorrow," you tell him. Then, seeing the absolutely devastated look Sun gives you in response, "We can still go! Just don't push yourself, okay? We can take things easy."

“Thank you, friend. I’ll be okay,” Sun says, despite the fact that he's still restless and fidgety and unable to sit still in a way that’s noticeably different from his usual energy. “I still want to go have fun.”

You're almost glad that it has become too late in the day to do much but relax. This way Sun at least doesn't feel like he's missing out on anything, at least for today. You're also glad you already have a few food items you can eat for dinner without leaving your hotel, nauseous anxiety bubbling up at the thought of going anywhere in your car right now.

Bedtime comes surprisingly soon, and you find yourself tired again despite the long nap earlier in the day.

Sun does not sleep well that night. Half curled up, arms crossed over his chest and hands gripping his own shoulders maybe a little too tightly, he presses as close to your side as he can. You don’t have to ask him if he’s hurting. The answer would be obvious regardless of the fact that even Moon can't seem to get comfortable when near Sun, having to retreat to the farthest edge of the bed before he finally stops shifting just as restlessly.

Lying on your back, you reach out an arm. Sun moves just enough to let you put it under his side, wrapping around him, holding him a little more securely beside you. It's a moment before he begins to relax, but he does relax eventually. Bit by bit, moment by moment, the tenseness strung tight through him eases. Eventually both of you are able to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Moon is curled up on the bed like an oversized starry cat beside you, strong morning sunlight deepening the blue of his costume. The little shining freckles on the dark side of his face are bright with reflected light, the hints of dusky color in the paint revealed. It's a surprisingly nice day for this time of year, and you have to turn up the brightness on your phone screen in order to see it well enough for your idle browsing.

It's nice to have no deadlines ahead of you. Your plans are loose and unconcerned with time, uncertainty replaced with possibility. Sun was feeling quite a bit better this morning, which means the three of you can do anything or nothing at all. You can decide on exactly what it is the three of you will do once Sun comes back from the bathroom, where he went to rinse out the red splotches left on his outfit by the pain medication. The thrill of the idea, of anything, has calmed into a comfort that is warm and soft as your spot on the bed. You think you needed something like this today.

"Sun is freaking out, by the way," Moon states casually, not moving an inch from his spot.

"What?"

"You should go check on him."

Your knock on the bathroom door sounds a little more panicked than you intended, though no less urgent than you feel.

The door opens, revealing a clearly frazzled Sun. He has the top half of his outfit off, the plain fabric underneath stained a startling vivid red all across his chest from yesterday's medicine. There are some darker spots splattered across him as well, places where water has splashed onto him. 

"Yes, friend? Did you need the bathroom?"

"No, I came to check on you." You probably should have earlier. You were so relaxed that you hadn't even thought to keep track of how long Sun had been gone. "You've been in there a while."

"Oh. I'm just-" his face scrunches up slightly with a touch of something bitter, frustrated. "It's just taking a bit, to get the stains out." Despite his casual tone, the frustration on his face only deepens. His next words come out considerably more exasperated than you think he intended. "They said it should only stain natural materials. That's what they said, wasn't it? That part is all polyester, it shouldn't have stained that! I don't know why it won't come out."

Sun allows you in to take a look at the item of clothing in question- which is sitting at the bottom of the shower stall, drenched in soapy water. You're able to see his back as he turns, and the stain there is even worse. Deep red has bloomed all across the material, dark crimson at the edges like the bleeding tones of a watercolor.

Compared to that, Sun's usual shirt is not nearly as bad as you'd expected. Most of the unwanted color has already lifted, leaving only a few faint traces of pink.

That last bit of stubborn color simply won't budge though. You watch as Sun scrubs at it, movements harsh and forceful, but no amount of soap or effort makes any difference. He winces as he goes over the same spots again and again, not letting up despite the fact that he must feel the damage he's starting to do to the fabric.

Sun does not stop when you put a hand on his shoulder. You reach farther, putting a hand around his wrist to stop the persistent scrubbing motion, and this time he does go still. He loosens his grip, the shirt falling back to the shower floor with a sad wet flop. Sun looks equally sad as the motion of a silent sigh travels through him.

"Friend? Do you think you could maybe... maybe please pick up a few things at the store, to see if anything can get the stain out?" he asks.

"Yeah." You would get him the stars out of the sky, if he asked for them. "Of course."

Sun and Moon stay in the hotel room while you make a quick trip to the nearest store, guided by a list of cleaning supplies Sun suggested might work. Normally you'd want to take the two dolls with you wherever you went, but Sun is in no state to go out right now with half his outfit soaking wet. Not to mention that the idea of having them in your car still makes you more than a little anxious, something you'd rather delay having to do. The two will be safe in the hotel room for a short time while you run to the store.

It doesn't take long. You don't have to avoid crowds like you would if Moon had come along, meaning you're into the nearest store and out again in barely any time at all. Soon you're arriving back at the hotel room with the items Sun requested- Dish soap, baking soda, vinegar, bleach, extra strength laundry detergent, rubbing alcohol, and carpet cleaner.

Despite the short amount of time that passed, Sun has exhausted more or less every soap-related item the hotel room was stocked with while you were gone. There is no difference in the stains.

Moon frowns at the carpet cleaner, and gives you a look you can only describe as a warning when he sees the bleach. Looks like those two are last resorts, then. Or maybe something you should try to talk Sun out of using entirely, if it gets to that. You put the bleach back into the grocery bag, hopefully out of sight and out of mind.

You try to give Sun the gentler cleaning products first, and thankfully you don't get to the carpet cleaner before you see some progress. It's the baking soda that does it. You do end up having to gently take Sun's top from his hands when it's obvious he's hurting himself again with how hard he's scrubbing though. Sun sits off to the side, looking defeated.

You work the baking soda into the wet fabric, fingers moving in small circles over the stains. Slowly, the reddish color lifts. It takes quite a bit of rinsing to get all the soap and baking soda out after, but once you do there is no more trace of the stain. Sun sags in relief when you show him, pulling you into a tight hug a moment later.

There’s no dryer for you to use, but most of the water can be gotten out by pressing the garment between towels. After that it’s simply damp instead of dripping, and shouldn’t take too long to air dry. Sun spreads it out flat over the bed, lying down on his back with one sleeve under his head.

What happiness Sun gained from having gotten rid of the stains seems to wilt shortly after. He curls up on the bed, smile fading, his arms crossing self-consciously over the stains on his undershirt.

"Maybe we shouldn't go..." he mumbles.

Moon is sitting on the floor at this point, having moved from the bed voluntarily this time so Sun could have room. He peers over the edge, giving Sun a Look.  Not a protest exactly, but certainly some flavor of displeased surprise.

"Not feeling well?" You ask.

"It's not that, friend. I was just thinking about how there's no way we'll be able to get this," a gesture towards himself, towards the red stains across his chest, "out any time soon."

"So?" Moon asks. "It'll be covered."

"There's a piece of me held on by tape and glue," Sun replies. "If people find out I'm stained on top of that, they're going to think I'm..." He struggles for a moment, hands making a vague and messy gesture before falling heavily back onto the bed. "Neglected, or something! I'll look like junk, they won't like me."

Moon frowns, leaning closer. "Everyone always likes you," he says. “Doesn’t matter. They’ll like you.”

"They won't if I'm broken," Sun insists, his agitation only growing more frantic despite Moon's calm. "No one wants to be friends with broken dolls!"

"Sun, when you introduced me to our friend I was literally cut in half," Moon states.

Sun flinches at those words. Suddenly he seems small, unsure, as if the memory alone could reduce him to something paper thin.

"That's different," he says, his voice as shrunken as his curled-up posture.

"How, exactly?" Moon prompts.

"You don't need to be perfect."

A pause as the words sink in for everyone, including Sun. His expression softens a bit.

"Well when you make me say it out loud, it sounds silly," Sun says.

"It was silly in your head, too," Moon counters, tone only half joking.

Sun has always been a bit of a perfectionist, you think. Someone who believes strongly in the importance of the little details, in the necessity of putting those last finishing touches on anything worth doing. It would be easy to write this off as part of that.

But he had to have known, hadn’t he? If they can tell when you’re trying, if they can tell when you care, then he had to know when Vanessa’s attention was waning.

Had to have replayed the moment a million times in his head, his twin being thrown into the garbage. Had to pretend for years that nothing was wrong while Moon was slowly dying, hidden away under a bed. Had to have heard her when she talked about him like he was a chore she was tired of, had to have known how easily he too could be thrown out without any warning at all.

What a heavy memory to carry. What a painful thing to know. Every day, every moment, a weight unrelenting.

Knowing Sun, you'd guess he'd react by giving it everything he had. You can't imagine it any other way. To go to every length, to try as hard as possible, to do anything and everything he could think of regardless of how little difference it might make. To be perfect.

To be perfect, knowing all the while that even perfect might not be enough. Knowing what would likely come regardless, what was certain to come if he was anything less than perfect. Knowing what would happen not just to himself, but to Moon who was depending on him.

Sun scrubbing so hard at his outfit that it made him flinch, and only scrubbing harder in response to the pain. Sun so carefully arranging blankets over Moon’s body, desperate to do anything at all.

You don't think that comment came from something as simple as a passing thought, a moment of over-worrying. 

“You’re perfect to me,” you can’t help but say. Maybe you shouldn’t have- You don’t want him to feel pressured into making himself uncomfortable for your sake, and you know this is a wound too deep for a few easy words to heal. “If you don’t feel ready to go out today, we don’t need to. I would be just as happy relaxing here for the day if that’s what you want. Just having you here, both of you, is already perfect for me.”

Sun doesn’t respond verbally, but his expression does lighten a bit as he thinks about that. You let him have a little space, sitting nearby but otherwise giving him peace. Whatever emotions he does or doesn't work through, whatever course his thoughts take, you will be here once he's decided on them. You don’t want to push him.

Moon, on the other hand, does the opposite. He crawls onto the bed and drapes himself across Sun sideways like a stubborn weighted blanket.

Any heaviness still in the air eases away as the water evaporates out of Sun‘s outfit. When it's dry, Sun is able to confidently tell you that he's ready to go have fun. The day's activities are quickly decided on as the three of you pack up the room together, and you set off in good spirits.

Chapter Text

The accessory shop is small. So small that you nearly miss it where it’s wedged between two buildings, Moon catching the words on the sign just in time to stop you from driving past. Lizzie’s Doll Accessories.

The shop’s interior has the air of a home converted to a business. A place that, while cozy, has become a maze of shelves and displays to make up for the modest space available. There are colorful murals painted on the walls, half hidden between uncountable racks and tables of merchandise. Despite the cluttered nature of fitting so much into so little space, there is still obvious care put into how everything is organized. A single employee bounces constantly from one task to the next, working the register and helping customers and straightening shelves and back again. You get the feeling she may be the only employee here, and quite possibly the owner as well- especially considering her nametag. Elizabeth, a close match for the shop’s name.

There are only a few other customers in at the moment. A teenager with a tiny pink kitten doll peeking out of her handbag, and a man with a squirrel-like doll about the size of a toddler. The man takes a child-size sunhat off a shelf and places it on his doll, who looks absolutely delighted.

A quick glance around at the merchandise reveals that there is a lot of it. Even without moving from where you stand near the entrance, the more you look the more you see. Every aesthetic and size you can think of is accounted for. There isn’t much in the way of standard shirts and pants- maybe it’s too difficult to stock those considering the sheer variety of shapes and sizes dolls can be- but there is every kind of accessory you can imagine.

Patches and badges, scarves and hats. Embroidery thread, tassels, lace trim. Artificial flowers in every size, and an entire display of flower crowns that appear to be made of everything from fabric to actual dried flowers. Buttons and tiny fabric butterflies, feathers, sashes and hair ties, glasses, bracelets and necklaces and hairclips, everywhere you look there’s something more on display.

You suspect you could spend hours here, in this one small room, and still not see it all. As fun as you think it will be to explore, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed at the same time. Sun and Moon seem to be feeling the same way. Sun stands close to you, as if he might get lost in a pile of accessories otherwise. He has an arm around Moon, who seems to have completely forgotten to try to keep his feet steady on the floor. Moon’s head turns as he looks all around, surrounded by too many things to stop on any one.

“Is there anything in particular you guys had in mind to look at first?” you ask, hoping at least one of them might have an idea of where to start. “We can get anything you want, within reason. Anything not crazy expensive.”

Luckily, judging by the tags on the nearest displays, most of the prices do seem to be within that reasonable price range. While you do see a few more expensive items, the more shocking price tags seem to be mainly on things that are either extremely complex or made of costly materials like hand woven alpaca wool.

"Oh. We were actually..." Sun glances around at the items, eyes moving across the displays. You can't quite read his expression. "We were actually wondering if you could pick something out for us, friend?"

As fun as it would be to pick something out for them, to see them trying on all sorts of new things at your suggestion...

“I can’t pick for you.” This isn't like the gloves, and isn’t a simple practical item like it would be for a human. The accessories here are meant to potentially become permanent to the wearer, part of them. You remember Moon talking about the bag he carried around so long that he started to feel sensation in it, his body beginning to lose track of what was and wasn't him. You can't just choose something like that for them. “You two should pick what you want. We have time, you can take as long as you need.”

Sun glances at the displays in a way that‘s almost shy, avoiding your eyes more than truly looking around. Moon waits patiently, as if knowing exactly what Sun wants to say and watching to ensure he eventually says it.

"We can't," Sun admits. "I don't mean we won't, I mean we can't. Dolls aren't very good at that kind of thing. Making that kind of decision is very, very hard for us."

"You pick," Moon says. "That's the point, we want something you picked."

You?

Sun seems to sense your reluctance.

"We thought it would be nice to have something from you," he explains. "You didn't pick us to bring to life, but you could pick something to add to us. Sort of like how kids write their names on their favorite toys, kind of? Something that shows it's theirs, and that they care about it."

Oh.

Moon nods, and oh, they're serious about this. They really want you to pick. They want something you've chosen, simply for the sake of it having come from you.

They trust you with something that important. They value your opinion that greatly.

That's...

Wonderful

And kind, something precious

Amazing, exciting, overwhelming

... and at the same time, still not something you can choose for them. You cannot make a permanent change to a living person based only on what you like, with no regard for their own preferences. This is one request you cannot agree to.

"How about this," you say. "We’ll go through everything together. You can show me some of the things you like most, and I’ll pick one of those for you.

The two think about that, glancing at each other to gauge the other's reaction as well.

After a moment, Moon nods. "Okay."

"We can try," Sun tells you. "But we might not be very good at picking things we like, either."

"I'll help," you tell him. “We’ll do it together.”

That still leaves the question of exactly where to start, though. Luckily this is when the shop’s sole employee has a chance to catch up to you, greeting you and handing you two small cards.

She gives you a quick rundown of how the shop works, and how to properly choose an item that your friends can actually take. Apparently dolls can only take certain materials, and the less like themselves that material is the less likely it is they can use that material as part of themselves. The cards are to help with keeping track of that- The front having spaces to write down what a particular doll is made from, the back having a quick cheat sheet for how compatible the most common materials are with each other.

You notice the apron she’s wearing as she speaks. Nestled snugly in the single front pocket is a plump baby doll, its red yarn hair styled into two neat pigtails. At first you think you must be mistaken, but the more you look the more certain you are- it’s inanimate.

The probable owner of this shop does not have a living doll of her own. Someone who is clearly interested in living dolls, who must love them to work here, who seems to know so much about them, and she does not have a living doll. She is still trying to bring one of her own to life.

All the times you told yourself it was too late to start, and here is clear proof otherwise. It was never too late, was it. You were just afraid to try again.

Maybe this realization isn’t all that important anymore, considering you have Sun and Moon now. Still, you feel some small wound in you has healed with this understanding.

Elizabeth must know how overwhelming the sheer amount of items displayed in the shop is, as she gives you a recommendation on which section to start with. Before she returns to her other duties, her eyes catch on the tape wrapped around Sun’s ray. She gives him a sympathetic look.

"Ouch. A bad break?" She asks.

Sun nods, shrinking from her gaze, uncharacteristically shy. "It's- it's not that bad!" He replies. "Well, it is, but- but it will heal! It'll heal fine, it's just recent, it's- it was just an accident, a car accident I mean, minor bump but I hit something, and-" he doesn't seem to know how to finish his sentence. There is a deer in the headlights look on his face as he realizes that, a slightly too long pause before he comes up with the words, "It's fine, really."

"Ah, that's the difficult thing about porcelain, isn't it," she says, unperturbed by Sun‘s anxious rambling. "Keep in mind that your body is focused on healing right now. If you add something, it might be slow to take anything new- or might not take at all.”

You'd bet that applies to Moon, as well. While his injuries weren't exactly recent, he's most definitely still focusing on slowly trying to heal.

"Is that bad?" You ask. "What happens if they can't take it?"

"It isn't too bad," she replies. "But just in case, I'd suggest items that are easy to remove if need be. Things like bags or hats are good, since they're easy to put on or take off and are useful regardless of if the material takes or not. Small accessories should work too, anything that can be removed by cutting a few threads. I wouldn't recommend anything very big or permanent like a patch. Those would most definitely need to come off if they don’t take, and that’s not an easy process with that kind of item."

You nod, giving her a thanks that Sun quietly echoes. Elizabeth moves on to the next customer, the man from earlier who is now waiting at the checkstand. His doll is bouncing excitedly, holding on tight to her new hat.

First things first, filling out the cards Elizabeth handed you. Polyester and Porcelain are easy to remember, and cotton after a moment of thought. You’re sure there’s at least one thing you’re forgetting though. Maybe you should keep the cards after this, so you’ll have something to reference if you forget again in the future. You end up needing Sun and Moon's help to finish filling them out.

Sun’s card comes back to you covered in little doodles, clouds and flowers and stars surrounding the relative messiness of his quick handwriting. The other card takes a bit more time, Moon trying to brace the card and keep his hold on Sun and actually write all at the same time. His handwriting is perfect despite that, neat yet clearly readable cursive loops.

Having both cards is a little redundant considering the two are made of identical materials, but that’s fine with you. You’re definitely keeping both of these.

From there, the three of you are free to explore the merchandise. You start with the section Elizabeth suggested- bracelets- and wander outward from there.

Sun and Moon’s reactions to the items are harder to read than you’d anticipated. Sun comments on colors when prompted, Moon on shapes, but neither give much indication of if they’d actually want to have any of it. Often they’re unable to come up with anything to say at all. Moon responds to several questions with nothing more than “It’s a button” or “it’s a scarf.” Often Sun simply stares at an item, thinking too hard and coming up with nothing.

Sun does make a few unprompted comments, but they’re all about other people. He compliments the skill of the artist who hand sculpted tiny birds on a set of necklaces, talks about how nice it is that the shop has gloves that can fit dolls with paws instead of hands, even points out items he thinks you would like. All of which is at least more to say than Moon, who is silent unless you ask him a question.

The two weren’t kidding when they told you dolls have trouble with this kind of thing, apparently.

It isn’t long before you give up on trying to push them for opinions on specific items. It isn’t getting you anywhere, and you don’t want to ruin the fun of exploring the shop by interrogating them with questions they can’t answer.

When you come across a star-themed pendant, Sun’s face lights up. “It fits your theme!” he says to Moon.

It takes Moon a moment of consideration before he finds a response. “It does.” He sounds like he genuinely hadn’t noticed that before Sun pointed it out.

That might be something to watch for. The two might know each other better than they know themselves.

It takes a while, looking through countless items, before you start to pick up on anything substantial. Items Moon lingers longer on, or spends a moment to play with. Things Sun speaks fondly of, or holds up to the light. Objects they excitedly show to each other, matching themes or colors.

Sun likes textured items. Little flowers and butterflies and fruits and shapes made out of cloth or embroidery thread, the more complex the texture the better. Sometimes he even picks up an item unprompted just to feel it, though he can’t seem to tell the difference between genuinely wanting an item and just wanting to touch it. Many of the items he takes interest in are also likely incompatible with him, metal charms and wooden beads.

Beyond texture, there is a theme emerging in the items Sun is more enthusiastic about. He most definitely has a preference for bright, warm colors and something you might vaguely call garden theming. That means flowers, yes, especially if Moon points out that it fits him. It also means anything else you might find in a garden though. Depictions of tiny hummingbirds, ladybugs, birdbaths, leaves, reeds, watering cans. Though it doesn’t quite fit with the others, he takes an interest in a few lighthouse-themed items as well.

Moon’s attention is most often grabbed by items that have moving parts, a functional purpose, or make an interesting sound. A set of keychain charms that are also miniature wind chimes. A handful of necklaces, each with a little tiny door that slides aside to reveal a little shape or image. Bead bracelets that rattle. The entire section for lockets, Moon unable to resist going through and having each one opened- even if his porcelain fingers lack the grip to actually open them himself, requiring you to do it for him so he can play with the hinges. Moon’s reactions are more extreme than Sun’s, either complete fascination or complete apathy. You watch him closely, trying to figure out the difference between items he might want to have and the ones that are simply toys to him.

Moon’s favorite by far is an old school music box that is labelled as having been specially made for use by dolls, though you’re not sure how that would work exactly. That one is a no go though, both because of the specific materials listed on its tag and the fact that it’s ludicrously expensive. Maybe you could get him a normal music box instead some time.

When you get to the hats section, most are too small to fit Sun or Moon. The two are unusually big for living dolls, so it makes sense. There are still a few you think that might fit though, and the flower crowns seem right up Sun’s alley. Maybe you could finally get Sun a hat, a replacement for the one he once mentioned having lost at some point in the past.

But when you broach the subject of hats, Sun’s response is a quick,

“No thank you, friend.” The look he’s giving the nearest hat is a strange mix of longing and revulsion. “I would just end up losing it again. I’ve already done that once, I very much do not want to go through that again.”

That experience must have been more unpleasant than you’d realized, judging by the way he sounds almost nauseous when he talks about it.

You discover a section dedicated to bags of all kinds. Purses, pouches, backpacks, over the shoulder bags, even pockets in both sew-in and iron-on varieties. More of these are the appropriate size for Sun and Moon than what you saw in the hats section. That could be because it’s easy (and adorable) for a small doll to use a slightly oversized bag or have an oversized pocket, but less feasible for a larger doll to use one that’s too small.

Moon is once again fascinated as he goes through the bags, and not just with the mechanical process of how the straps adjust or the buttons snap. He’s suddenly more talkative than you‘ve ever seen him before, going over the different aspects of each bag in detail. Sturdiness, usable storage area, how balanced the weight of them is, where any straps sit across the body, opinions on if they have too many or not enough separate divided storage areas inside. For a moment you think he might pick a favorite from them by himself, but then something changes.

The shift is small but abrupt. Like the wind dying down, like a cloud over the sun, the energy seems to drain away from him all at once. He stops in the middle of exploring a blue and gold over-the-shoulder-bag, no longer fiddling with it but now simply staring. He places it slowly back on the hanger.

“Nevermind,” he says.

“You sure?” Sun asks. His voice is subdued, a match for the sudden change in Moon as if anything more might crack like hot water on frozen glass. “You don’t have your own pockets anymore.”

“I’m sure,” Moon says. He does not add, jokingly or not, that he could use Sun’s instead.

Neither of them have any interest in that section anymore afterwards.

In fact, Moon doesn’t have interest in much of anything after that. He stays close to Sun, no longer bracing himself on any of the racks or tables to explore short distances on his own. He does not pick anything up, or point anything out, or play with anything in reach. Though at first you attribute it to bad memories, even as that weight slowly lifts from him his behavior does not change. Instead, he’s now paying keen interest to anything Sun picks up.  

There’s a section for nothing but various ribbons Sun is looking through, a display with every kind and color you can imagine and then some. You’re watching his reactions as closely as Moon is, once you realize how well ribbons match the two’s jester theming. Matching themes is the one thing they’ve both had consistent positive reactions to.  

Moon looks back at you, reaching an arm out towards you, and- oh, he wants you to hold on to him. Maybe he’s noticed how hard it is for Sun to go through the ribbons one handed. You reach out to put an arm around him, Sun immediately understanding and shifting Moon’s weight over to you. Sun gives a small smile and a “thank you,” his eyes still on the ribbons.

Moon must be starting to get tired of standing, leaning heavily on you as you take a few steps back to give Sun space. You shift your hold, taking as much of his weight as he needs you to.  

The two of you watch Sun for a moment, keeping track of which colors he pauses to look at and which he simply pushes aside.

“I know what I want,” Moon tells you.

“What is it?” One of the ribbons, maybe? Or has he changed his mind on the bags? You’re happy to hear he found something he likes. As difficult as this kind of choice apparently is for dolls, you aren’t too surprised that Moon has found something on his own anyway. Moon has always been full of exceptions to any rule.

“I want whatever you get for Sun,” he tells you. “The same thing. Whatever you think Sun would like. Then we’ll match again.”

Sun is still well within earshot considering the small space available. He turns, confused. “We always match,” he says. “Moon, we’re a set. We literally have the same face. We can’t not match.”

“Used to match more,” Moon states. His voice is flat and neutral, like he’s trying very hard to sound like he doesn’t care much at all. He gives a small, almost imperceptible gesture towards his legs. “Not the same shape anymore.”

Looking closely, he is technically right about that- even if only in the smallest way. While the two still look like identical twins, their clothing doesn’t mirror each other quite as exactly as you think it must have at some point. His pants are a slightly different shape, still clearly jester-themed but not at all the same cut. The hem he’d needed put in changes the top of his outfit a bit as well, ending higher than Sun’s.

Sun walks the few steps over to you, takes Moon with a hand under each of Moon’s arms, and regards him with a baffled concern before pulling him close into a hug.

“Moon, I‘m not telling you that you can‘t feel like that, but you are being ridiculously silly right now,” Sun states, holding Moon close. “We will always match.”

“I still want something that’s the same as you,” Moon replies, his voice quiet but decisive.

You have an idea.

You spot a red ribbon, the color warm enough for Sun but not so bright that it would clash with Moon’s cooler color scheme. It’s in the polyester section, the texture smooth and silky and soft.

As difficult as it has been to get an idea of what the two like and what they don’t, you feel confident pulling the ribbon from the rack. Color, texture, theming, material- everything is a match.

“What about this?” you ask.

Both of them look towards you. Sun adjusts his hold on Moon so Moon can get a better, more direct look.

“This seemed like it would fit both of you,” you say. “They’re small and they’re cheap. We could get you both matching ribbons, plus something unique for each of you as well. That way you can match and still have your own things.”

You get the sense that it’s important, being able to choose something special for both of them. Not just choosing something for Sun and having Moon get the same thing by default, not just satisfying Moon’s desire to reclaim some lost sense of matching with his twin, but to choose something for him and him alone.  

There is the worry that two items will be too much for them, despite the small size of the ribbons. That Sun’s injury and Moon’s struggle with lost material will make this one thing too many, that Sun’s body will reject the addition or Moon’s will take it at the expense of his own health, and then-

Sun pulls you with his free arm into a hug, and for once Moon does not try to squirm away from the closeness. You think you might feel him leaning towards you, even, when you raise your arms to return the hug to both of them.

Your worries suddenly seem small and distant, melting away like snow on a warm day.

“I like that idea a lot, friend,” Sun says, once you‘ve let the two of them go. “That sounds perfect. Right, Moon?”

Moon considers the ribbons more carefully than Sun had, the full weight of his scrutiny on them. Then his expression changes, breaking out into a proper smile. It’s one of those rare smiles that doesn’t give the appearance that he’s scheming anything, small and soft and genuine despite the sharpness of his teeth.

“I like it,” he tells you. “The plan and the ribbons.”

You’re sure of it now, choosing an item specifically for each is important. Maybe even more important than you’d guessed. Moon must have wanted that feeling of matching again desperately, if he had been willing to give that up.

You’re so glad that he won’t have to.

The three of you make multiple loops through the small shop, discovering new items each time. Bit by bit, you pick up on more specific items they've had stronger reactions to. There’s still the pressure to try to find something perfect, something they’ll both love and feel loved to receive, but if you can’t quite hit that mark you believe you can still at least find something that makes them happy. You think that’s all you could ask for, to see them happy.

You come to a decision on Moon’s first. You take the two back to a table that displays a variety of bells, made of every material from the traditional to the bizarre. They come in every shape, size, and color- And, more importantly, with every kind of sound.

Moon already played with a great deal of these the first time you went through this area. There were some he clearly liked, grinning as he shook them, and even a few he pointed out to Sun to have him listen as well. One in particular had gotten a different reaction from him though. He had shaken it, paused, and then closed his eyes before shaking it more gently a second time.

It takes you a while, going through all the different little bells, to find that exact one again. Especially considering Moon is once again ringing every bell he can get his hands on, giggling to himself. You have to test some of them multiple times, unable to hear the one in your hand as Moon runs his fingers through half the display at once. Sun pretends to be innocent all while enabling every second of it, helping Moon reach any bell his heart so desires.

There it is. The sound is light and low yet clear, gentle. Though it’s definitely closer to a proper jingle than the rattle some of the others produce, the sound is not unpleasantly sharp at all.

There’s a problem when you see the listed material, though. Plastic, metal. The little card you were handed shortly after arrival lists the plastic as potentially compatible with polyester, but it’s under the compatibility category of “Low: Ask at checkout.” Metal is a definite no go, listed as compatible only with other metals- something not present in Sun and Moon.

Maybe you can find something else with a similar sound? There are, after all, quite a few bells here.

Bells in piles. Bells in packages. Loose bells. Bells paired together with strings. Little mugs set out purely to act as a vessel for more bells. A serving bowl filled with bells. A box shoved under the table that, oh gosh, you’re just now realizing is filled to the brim with bells.

There are, in fact, maybe too many bells here.

On the bright side, with this many bells there must at least be one, somewhere, with a similar sound. Something more compatible with Moon’s materials. You just need to find it...

You pick up a bell and shake it. Not even close to correct. Another. Nope.

This could take a while.

It is only a few minutes later that you do find one with a similar sound, sitting in a little glass case with pockets for individual bells. This one is beautiful, iridescent and shining, about the size of a pea. The sound is almost identical to the one Moon loved so much. Then you glance at the tag to check the materials, and-

You did not know it was possible for a bell to cost this much.

If you added up the total cost of all your food, gas, hotel rooms, and Moon’s hospital visit all together, it would be about 1/3rd the cost of this single bell. This bell must be somehow handmade specifically for dolls, because you cannot imagine something so small costing so much otherwise. A bell made from pure gold would be cheaper than this.

You put the bell back. As important as this is, a bell that expensive would need to either grant wishes or cure cancer to justify that high a cost. You think Moon will understand, if that price tag results in you having to settle on a bell that’s good instead of perfect.

You haven’t given up just yet though. You don’t think Moon ever pulled the box of bells out from under the table, which means anything could be in there.

Bell after bell after bell, you compare each to the sound of the one Moon had liked so much. You take so long that Moon loses interest in the other bells, wandering over to a display of zippers and testing the zip on each one in sequence. He’s nearly gone through the entire supply, when finally-

A jingle that is light and gentle, clear but not sharp. The sound comes from two white bells, tied together by a thin string. The tag lists the materials as porcelain and glass.

Glass. That should be compatible. Or at least mostly? You would think of the two materials as similar, but the cheat sheet lists it as ‘Medium-low' compatibility. 

With some close examination, you think the bell looks to be at least mostly porcelain. Maybe just a little glass will be okay? Enough to try, at least?

If not, he can simply keep the bells to enjoy as they are and you can find something else for him to actually wear. These bells are too perfect to leave behind.

The bell box gives a chorus of gentle, faint jingles as you push it back under the table. Standing, you present the bells to Moon.

Moon is curious as he takes them. He carefully pinches the string connecting them between his fingers, leaning back and forth to examine every angle of the bells even as his hand stays perfectly still and steady. Then, he gives them a small shake. 

Moon’s eyes close as he shakes them again. The smile that overtakes his expression is slow and relaxed, a gradual change and yet no less delighted.  

“Do you like it?” You ask.

“Are you choosing these for me?” He asks in return, giving the bells another slight shake.

“If you like them,” you confirm.

His smile grows a little wider, sharp teeth becoming visible. “I like them,” he says.

You don’t think Sun quite understands why these particular bells are such a big deal to his twin, but Sun is excited for him all the same. Honestly you’re not sure you really understand it either, but there’s something about the sound that Moon loves and that’s enough for you.

While finding Moon’s item was a hunt, focused and determined, deciding on Sun’s item is a more relaxed process. A conversation, without pressure. You pick out a handful of different fabric flowers, along with a few butterflies and one set of little autumn leaves. Each one has a different texture, each is bright and warmly colored. There is a little corner at the end of a few shelves that’s unlikely to see much traffic from any other customers that might come in, and you direct your friends to sit down with you there. Moon gets a chance to rest while you line up the items you have for Sun to see, pulling a small box over to act as a table and keep them off the floor.

Sun is indecisive at first, clearly struggling again. That’s what you’re here for, though. You tell him not to worry about which he likes the most or thinks is best, and to simply say anything that comes to mind about them- even if that means telling you he can’t think of anything at all.

The two of you talk for a while about each, getting lost on tangents and pleasant memories along the way. You don’t try to redirect him back to the topic at hand when he wanders, you don’t need to. The feeling each item brings to mind is just as important as the more specific thoughts, and you’re happy to spend time talking with him regardless.

In the end, you narrow it down to just a single item: A pack of little fabric poppies. Each of the vivid red petals has a slightly crinkled, textured edge.

From what you can tell, Sun’s feelings on them- difficult to pinpoint as they are- are a mix of both calm and adventure. Like exploring a backyard, lying in the grass to examine all the different little plants and insects and fallen leaves, all still from the comfortable safety of home.  Like waking up and seeing how new a familiar place can be, covered in dew or shining with rain or vivid in the bright morning sun. He mentions how exciting that kind of little thing is for a doll, about the first times he and Moon saw each new season and kind of weather. Things the two came to life knowing about, but that wasn’t fully part of them until they experienced it for themselves.

Adventure and safety. Comfort and exploration. A familiar newness. Poppies.

In addition to the nebulous vibes he gets from the little imitation flowers, there’s also the more concrete fact that he loves the texture. He runs a finger over and over the edge of one while he talks, a soothing absentminded gesture.

The poppies are not the end of the conversation you have, there are still a few more options to go over after them. They’re definitely the winner in the end though.

“These,” you say, indicating the poppies. “I think these are the ones. Is that good with you?”

“Anything you pick is good, friend!” He insists. “That’s the point!”

“But do you like them?” you ask. You want to get him something he’s happy with, something that makes him happy. Something he would enjoy regardless of if you’d picked it out for him or not. “Don’t worry about if they’re your favorite or anything specific. Just tell me if you get a good feeling from them.”

The look he gives you is a little amused, a little fond, as if you’ve said something a little silly. You half expect him to only repeat the previous sentiment, but after a moment of thought he says, “I like them, friend, thank you. I like them a lot.”

It’s decided, then.

An item for Sun, and item for Moon, an item for them to match together. You take everything up to the register.

The final price isn’t bad at all. Despite being a specialized shop, the more common items are still being sold for roughly what they’d cost anywhere else.

“Glass and porcelain aren't a sure combination,” Elizabeth comments, after comparing the bells with Sun and Moon’s material cards. “The outer part should be okay, but the jinglet- the little ball inside that makes the sound- might not work. Are you okay with that?”

You don’t have a chance to respond before Moon reaches forwards and grabs the bells off the counter. “These are mine,” he states, voice firm. You have a feeling he wouldn’t be about to let them go even if he had been told they were completely incompatible.

Elizabeth doesn’t argue.

Once everything has been paid for, Elizabeth asks if you want help putting the items on. This is a service she offers completely for free, explaining that she’s seen too many amateur sewing mishaps not to. Being very much an amateur at sewing yourself, you’re glad for it.

Sun and Moon are more hesitant about the idea, but agree to it as long as you’re there to supervise.

Ribbons first. It’s agreed upon that their wrists would be the best spot, both for the visibility of them matching and to compliment the general jester theme.

Sun goes first, watching with interest as Elizabeth quickly ties a complex but obviously practiced knot in the first ribbon to secure it around Sun’s wrist. Sun asks her to go slower on the second one so he can learn how to tie it himself. She obliges, and when it’s Moon’s turn it’s Sun who ties the ribbons on for him. Sun’s version of the knot looks a little messier than Elizabeth‘s more practiced one, but with some tugging and adjustments it ends up secure enough.

Next, the flowers. There are roughly a dozen little fabric poppies in the bag you grabbed. The existing floral designs Sun already has, gold embroidery thread that climbs up his pants like vines, seems like the obvious place to start. Sun also requests some of them go on his sleeves as well, so he can see and reach them more easily.

Moon sits on the floor next to where you’re standing during this. Elizabeth offers him a chair, but Moon doesn’t budge from the spot he has chosen.

You’re even more glad you agreed to let Elizabeth do this as you watch her work. She is clearly skilled, neatly securing each of the little flowers exactly where you and Sun direct her to. She uses five or six strands for each, the thread doubled over itself multiple times for strength, not a single petal drooping or lopsided. Sun shows no signs of discomfort as she works.

“There’s no need to do any special checks for if these are taking or not,” Elizabeth notes, half distracted as the bulk of her focus is on her sewing. “As long as your doll isn’t uncomfortable, you can leave the flowers where they are. If there is any discomfort, snip away the threads and try again about a week after the break has fully healed. The material match for these is as perfect as it gets, so if they don’t take it won’t be a material issue.”

Elizabeth finishes, tying off the last threads and cutting away the excess.

Sun thanks her and takes a moment to admire the flowers, running a finger along the edges of a few. He begins bouncing in place, each bounce small at first but growing larger with uncontainable excitement.

You got the poppies for Sun, for the sole reason of being something he will enjoy. Now that you see him with them on though, you find that you’re getting nearly as excited as he is.

Bright colors, vivid excitement. Sunshine and flowers, a combination that feels meant to be. He looks more complete with them, somehow.

You think of the way the two explained why they wanted you to choose. The feeling they wanted, to have something about themselves that you chose for them. Something that shows you care about them. Now you’re realizing that the feeling goes both ways. You are excited and elated and proud all at once, to see Sun so happy with the addition you chose for him. To have him, a conscious person with his own thoughts and who makes his own decisions, accept an addition to his self from you.

For all the years you spent wishing you could bring a doll to life, you’re not sure that would have compared to having this moment.

Moon’s bells are next.

It takes a little more conversation to decide where these should go.

You suggest tying them to the ribbons at first, but Moon’s response is a hesitant mumble of “Want to match.” Tying anything onto the ribbons would defeat the purpose of having the same item as Sun, you suppose. Shoes might be a place to put bells that would fit his jester theming, but that too is a no go considering Moon doesn’t really have proper shoes. Sun proposes the idea of putting them at the front of Moon’s shirt, like the bells on a cat’s collar, but Moon shakes his head at that as well. At least you can be confident that Moon isn’t going to accept anything he’s unhappy about just to please anyone else.

“The ends of your hat?” You try next. There are two bells after all, one for each point.

Moon takes a moment to consider that proposal, expression serious. Finally, he nods.

Before Elizabeth can approach, Moon pulls off his hat and presses it to your hand. You take it automatically. It takes you a moment to realize why exactly he did that, and to react accordingly. You keep the hat in your hands as you step closer to Elizabeth, the bulk of it held in your arms with only the ends held out for Elizabeth to reach.

She seems to understand as well, coming into as little contact as possible with Moon’s hat while she works on it.

Once again, you’re thankful someone with experience is doing the sewing. You’re sure that the gesture of you trying yourself would have meant something to Moon, but you wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if that ended up causing the thread to rip from the fabric at some point.

“I always love to see that sort of thing,” Elizabeth comments, almost absentmindedly, as she works. “Many dolls are very shy, and some get so scared of anything new. But then you see them with someone who really cares about them, and as long as that person is there for them they’re not afraid of anything.”

Scared? Does she think Moon is scared of her?

... Is he?

The look he’s giving her is wary, watchful, guarded. Moon wouldn’t cower from her if she did try to come nearer- but you do think he just might bite her. You’re not sure that’s quite the same as fear exactly, or at least not quite the kind Elizabeth is talking about.

But it is a great deal of distrust. Distrust he doesn’t display towards you.

Holding a hat is a very simple job, but still you try to do your absolute best at it. To put in an effort that will live up to that trust Moon has given to you.

The bells are secured to their places, sitting at the very tips of the hat. Like something that was always meant to be.

You return the hat to Moon, who examines it closely. He turns one of the tails over in his hand, letting the bell jingle. There is an immediate relief of tension in him when it does, wariness relaxing into a small smile.

Moon’s approval is a little more subtle than Sun’s, but no less meaningful.

As you exit the shop, Sun is once again bouncing with excess energy. You can’t help it, you’re doing the same. Even Moon seems to share the excitement, not minding at all as Sun pulls him along with each little bounce.

Normally you’d want to find somewhere all of you could run around a little, to give that energy an outlet. Today though, you think the next stop you have planned will already be perfect.

Next up is the doll meetup, after all.

Chapter Text

It's about midday when you arrive to the meetup, and several minutes past that when you finally find a decent place to park. You end up circling the meetup several times while in search of that parking spot, allowing you to get a good look at both the location and roughly how many people are attending.

It is a lot of people.

A lot of them.

The meetup is held in a park that doubles as an event space, open and green. Though the sunlight this time of year is weak, the vivid blue sky is clear and the world is full of color.

And there are so. Many. Dolls.

You see a circle of people sitting together, obviously playing some sort of game, and beside them are three ragdolls of varying sizes all holding hands. Someone lifts up a little alligator with a party hat, to help them see what’s going on more easily. A fuzzy-looking frog jumps up and down, not from any rule of biology but from pure excitement.

You see animals playing in the grass, cats and dogs and lambs and rabbits all together. Some look more like actual animals, others are more human-like in proportion, and others still resemble something more like cartoon animals with their bright fur and big eyes. The largest of them is a huge bright blue rabbit, who you think might be even taller than Sun and Moon. The smallest is so tiny that you didn't even realize you were looking at a living doll at first, a little spot of white fluff small enough to fit into a pocket. All the animals run and tumble and play pounce at each other, clearly having the time of their lives.

You see a little stylized rain cloud with blue legs being introduced to a chubby white cat with a big red bow. A moment later they’re joined by... It takes you a moment to be sure, but yes, that is a Charmander. The Charmander is fuzzy, his tail flame represented by a big poof of soft-looking red and orange fluff, but that is most definitely a Charmander.

You see someone walking with a stegosaurus under one arm and a triceratops under the other. The triceratops looks around at each person passing, tail wagging like a happy dog. The stegosaurus is smaller and completely still, the stiff angle of its posture making it clear that this one is not alive- or at least it isn’t yet.

You see a handful of humans and an assortment of dolls- A pastel rainbow giraffe, a bright red fox in a long coat, a flower, a clown ragdoll- all gathered around a purple hippo that is absolutely covered in extravagant looking costuming. You wonder, could it be... But it has to be, and the similarly over-the-top costume of the person sitting next to her confirms it- That's ‘Madame Marvelious’s mystical future-seeing hippo doll’, from the ad.

There’s even- oh my gosh, is that a unicorn?

Not the actual mythical beast, but maybe even better. She is huge, bigger than a dog, nearly the size of an actual pony. Her pristine mane has been carefully brushed and braided, her fur not white so much as it is prismatic, and she is completely at ease where she lounges in the grass beside what must be her person. The perfect picture of serenity.

You have always loved dolls. What you needed most was a friend, a companion, and with Sun and Moon you have found that. That doesn't change the fact that you have always loved dolls. That you still love dolls.

You take a moment to simply sit and stare, marveling at the sheer amount of activity just beyond the confines of your car.

As wonderful as it is, it is also incredibly chaotic. Color and noise, hints of voices, people and dolls all running and laughing and playing together.

You look back to see Sun's face nearly touching the glass of the window, so eager as he watches the crowd that you think he might find a way to phase right through the door. Moon is a more delicate situation. He's in the back next to Sun, but he's not pressed to the glass like his twin. He shies away from it, not afraid but certainly cautious.  

"Sun, how are you feeling?" you ask. "Any pain?"

“Friend I want to go play, I want to go play so bad,” is his response. It takes him a second to realize that doesn't answer your question. “No pain, I’m good, I’m well and happy and wonderful and I would really love to go play.”

“Moon, what about you? How are you doing? Is this going to be too crowded for you?" As much as you'd like to simply let Sun loose to run and play, you know there is no such thing as Sun going without Moon.

Moon takes the chance to lean a bit closer to the window, hesitant and slow, evaluating. Sun breaks from his otherwise single-minded excitement to watch Moon's reaction.

“... I can do it, if I stay in the quieter parts,” Moon says. “At the edges, or where it’s not as crowded. I can do that.”

Sun gives Moon all his attention for a moment, everything he has. He looks almost as if he's searching for a way to be sure for Moon. To take away the burden of Moon needing to be sure for himself.

“I’ll keep an eye on you, Moon,” Sun says. “Don’t worry.”

“The quieter areas. I can do it,” he repeats, nodding.

"You can do it," you agree. "Are you sure you want to, though? If it's going to be hard for you, we can figure something out. We're here to have fun. You should get to have fun too."

Moon gives you a smile, small but firm and real. “I want to. Let’s go play.”

“Okay. Let’s go play, then."

You open your door, stepping out into the excitement outside.

You are hit all at once with a joyful noise. Talking, laughing, excited shouts. There is movement everywhere. Everywhere you look, something new is happening. Each second seems to happen in its own world, a bright bubble of experience completely different from the next. You only manage to pick a direction because Sun is gently tugging you that way by the sleeve, and even then you don't think he has a destination other than towards the fun.

There are so many people.

There are so many dolls!

It's the wrong time of year for flowers, but you wouldn't know it with all the colors that cover the green of the grass. People in bright clothing, dolls of every shape and size, everywhere you look it is colorful.

The center of the park is sparse in terms of permanent structures. A few trees, a modest stage for small music events- which countless dolls and people are currently using to take group photos together. Everything else- picnic blankets and folding chairs and impromptu groups simply sitting on the grass together- seems to be self organized, spontaneous or brought from home.

Circling around the space is a loop of asphalt, a walking path, and that too is as colorful as everything else. Someone must have brought more than enough chalk to share, as the path is slowly being covered in everything from complex chalk murals to freeform rainbow squiggles. Just beyond that is where most of the trees grow, all clustered around the far edges of the space as if trying to contain the excitement within. A few of the trees are massive, twisting roots large enough that people are using them as a place to sit and rest.

Though there is nowhere that's truly empty, the path is probably the least overwhelming place to be. The three of you walk it, steps slow as you try to take everything in.

Sun gives an excited greeting and a wave to absolutely everyone he passes. Some of the dolls- mostly the more human looking ones- wave back just as excitedly. Many of the more animal-like dolls return the greeting in their own way, jumping or turning in a happy circle. Most of the humans wave back as well, even if several do look a bit caught off guard. Though a few are too surprised to return his greeting, they still seem just as delighted to have received it as Sun was to give it.

Sun struggles to contain his energy, starting to bounce on his toes only to stop and apologize to Moon. His apologies come out as excited as the bouncing, quiet and quick, like his energy is so uncontainable that it can't help but show in every word and movement. Moon doesn’t seem to actually mind the jostling, more amused than anything.

During your loop around the park, you get to high five a doll who seems to have the goal of giving as many high fives as possible. You're more than happy to contribute.

You pass the squirrel doll from the accessory shop, who is proudly showing her new hat to absolutely everyone.

There's even a small group of dolls and their people sitting just off the path, playing music with improvised instruments. Sticks and rocks and bottles, the resulting sound is absolutely terrible but at the same time wonderfully fun to both watch and hear.

Any of these moments alone would have made your day. One after another, it almost feels like too much to keep up with.

As you walk the path, you get a good look at the chalk art slowly covering it. Quite a lot of the most technically skilled art comes from dolls. It’s a bit funny to see a rabbit the size of a toddler, little brow furrowed in concentration, producing a nature scene worthy of an art gallery while the person beside him draws wiggles and stick figures. The two's scenes intertwine despite the skill difference, and their combined art weaves together with the rest of the chalk art on the path, and the entire thing is wonderful in a way you can’t quite describe.

A doll made to look like a robot, all soft squares and shiny metallic fabric, responds to a greeting from Sun by offering him an entire box of sidewalk chalk. Sun has shown incredible willpower thus far, but even he has his limits. Chalk art becomes your first proper activity of the meetup.

Sun can't help but gravitate towards the heart of the chalk art mission, where dozens of dolls and people are working together on a big open stretch of asphalt. Likely knowing that will be a bit much for Moon, he gets both Moon's okay and yours to go ahead. Moon's weight is transferred quickly but carefully over to your arm, the two of you finding a quieter place nearby.

You watch as Sun's unique style, detailed and familiar and abstract all at the same time, is added to the collaborative canvas that stretches around the park.

There are a few sticks of chalk on the ground near your feet, for anyone to take.

You and Moon end up adding some art to the shared space as well.

You keep an arm around Moon as you kneel, letting both of you reach the ground. Moon being on your dominant side means you only have your non-dominant hand to draw with, but you do your best. The color still brightens up the dark asphalt even if your lines do come out a bit wobbly.

Moon does not have Sun’s interest in art, nor does he have Sun's skill, but the process still seems soothing for him. He draws mostly stars and simple shapes, plus one puffy little cloud. You draw a star around one of his stars, his lines unpracticed and yours shaky. He draws another star around that in response, so of course you draw another as well. The two of you keep drawing nested stars until reaching the ends becomes unwieldy and the points are bumping up against other, existing pieces of chalk artwork.

When all three of you have decided you're satisfied with your art contributions, you resume your loop around the park together. You feel a stronger sense of belonging here, after having joined an activity. Someone meant to be part of the meetup instead of just marveling at it from the outer edge.

Surprisingly, it's you that ends up pulled into conversations and activities next. You had assumed yourself near invisible next to Sun and Moon, but people seem to genuinely want to talk to you as well. You're invited to chat with passersby as if you were an old friend, asked all sorts of friendly questions. You end up talking with others about where you're from, your hobbies, your interests, as well as all of their own. You even get to be there when the topic inevitably, considering where you are, turns to dolls.

“Have any of you ever done any customization on your dolls?” Someone asks a small group of people that somehow, by some miracle, also includes you. A conversation and place everyone assumes you belong in- because you do. “I've wanted to add some details to Mini's dress, but I’m too afraid I might hurt her trying, you know?”

Despite the name, Mini is actually one of the taller dolls present. Not quite as tall as Sun and Moon- you’re starting to realize just how unusual their height is- but a good five feet at least. Her dress consists mostly of a transition from the tan fabric of her skin to the smoother pink fabric of a ballerina costume. The frilly pink tutu looks to be sewn directly to her body, irremovable.

“I’ve never really been brave enough for it either,” someone else admits. “I’ve thought about it, but then I figure it’s not like Pancake actually needs anything, so it doesn’t seem worth the risk.”

Pancake, the teddy bear held close in her arms, looks incredibly pleased to hear that there is nothing he lacks.

You're not sure you should say anything. While you have technically added something to Sun and Moon recently, you're not an expert. Especially not when you consider that it was something they asked for specifically, as well as something someone else did all the sewing work for. No part of the process was something you learned to do yourself. You don't think you'd have much in the way of advice or even good information on the subject.