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It’s just the two of you on the couch. Well, more like Sun on the couch and you draped over him, a very soft, plush, and lovely weighted blanket.
You’re currently watching a romance movie, the name of which he can't remember, too busy thinking of how to mix his paint to match that lovely shade on your flushed cheeks. The movie may have been heavy on the romance, at which point Sun had ignored to focus on the real love in front of him. This comfort to be so close to someone, someone who wasn’t a child, hadn’t been felt in a long, long time.
When Sun awoke in your living room, you bleary eyed and disheveled, him weary and close lipped, he thought he knew exactly how things were going to play out.
You, doing exactly what you purchased him for, and him, well, responding. But, that wasn’t the case.
You explained profusely that no, actually, you weren’t going to be the same as the previous people. You didn’t even purchase him, no, his arrival was a pitiful attempt at consoling you.
“I’m sorry, it’s just—” You sighed and ran a hand down your face, looking absolutely done with this situation. “My sister worries too much.” That was it, your only explanation.
Then you asked, arms crossed, “Do you wanna be returned or. . .” you gestured vaguely at the space between you.
Was this a second chance, he thought? Or, perhaps a brief respite among the constant. . . whiplash? Sun didn’t know. But, he was here now. Although he was, admittedly, frightened by the unknown of the future, he didn’t have much in him anymore to go back to waiting, for however long to exit that cursed box. He wasn’t sure he would even be accepted back. You might end up like the others. If you do, it would just be one more mess for him to clean. He can do that. He’s done it so many times. What’s one more mess? A twinge of guilt ran through him—how can he think that?
Thus began Sun’s, and Moon’s, time with you. You stayed true to your word. You offered them your ex-fiancé’s clothing, eventually taking them shopping to get clothing that mostly fit them. When they expressed their concern that they might not find anything that’d work, you said that you would tailor it to their size. Actually, you were quite adept at sewing, a skill you’d picked up a few years ago for, you admitted with a shaky voice, your daughter.
Moon was the first one to learn what happened to her. You’d unlocked the door that was across from your room with a duster in hand. You shut the door behind you after you entered.
He knew that you deserved privacy, that you kept it locked for a reason. So, he didn’t intrude, didn’t invade. Not until he’d heard soft sniffles, the sounds of items being shuffled and window blinds hitting against the wall almost drowning it out. To quell Sun’s (and his) concern, Moon approached and knocked lightly.
“Friend, is everything alright?”
Your breath hitched, wet. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Another sniffle. “I’m fine, Moon.”
He hesitated. Should he just let you be? They’ve only been in your house for a few months now. He’d carefully admit that the three of you were building a friendship. What if his pushing only damaged whatever friendliness was between you? What if this was a tipping point and you’ve just been biding your time to— to—
“Moon?” Your voice was clearer and louder and— You’d opened the door.
You were in your pajamas, just a plain shirt and loose pants. Your face was tired—always so tired—with a hint of your own concern. “Hey, c’mon now.”
His hands—their hands, not just his, what he does affects Sun just as much as it affects him—were worrying at their fingertips, frown on his faceplate and a furrow between his nonexistent brows. You took them, his hands, into your own, duster tucked into your elbow. If you were being honest, your hands weren’t in any better state than his.
“Gears churning too hard, hm?” You asked in a patient, soft voice. You weren’t harsh, you weren’t loud. The one time they’d ever seen you mad, truly mad, you were still quiet. A cold fury. So different from the others.
“Yes, yes friend.” Moon wasn’t the one to be comforted here—gosh, how he disliked how the tables have turned. There were tear tracks along your cheeks, visible even without his night vision. Your eyes were red, nose, cheeks. Your mouth was shut in a wobbly line, as if any moment it would burst with a sob. Turning your clasped hands, he began to run his thumbs along your knuckles. “What’s wrong?”
You broke eye contact then, frown deepening and you pressed your lips tightly. In your hesitance, Moon looked behind to take his first glance at the room.
Moonlight was streaming in from the window to the right, dimly illuminating the room, revealing a sight that would have taken his breath away if he had it.
A child’s room.
Teal walls, green circular rug of a flower, and white furniture that was painted with a mixture of childish scribble and cleaner but no less joyful art. The bed was messy and unmade, but there was no dip to signify that a small weight rested there often. There was no need to. Neither Moon nor Sun had seen the little girl that it once belonged to. Not in person, at least. What you were moving around, Moon assumes, were the picture frames of you and her. DVD covers. Short chapter books. Figurines.
You looked so much happier in the photos. Your hair was longer too. You used to be fit. Returning his gaze to the fragile body in his hands, he felt as if he was seeing a husk of that person.
“Just—“ You began, voice cracking sharply. You swallowed. You tried to make eye contact again but couldn’t. You looked at your hands engulfed in Moon’s. “Making sure it isn’t dusty.”
Hearing the words out loud, the reason he’d come to himself, spurred the welling of artificial tears. “Would you like help?”
Your eyes widened slightly, curiosity flashing across your face before you process his words, then— “Yes, please.” And there goes the little barrier you had up. Tears started falling again, shoulders hunching up. Your face twisted and you pulled your hands towards your face to wipe away and try to make yourself look somewhat presentable. Ugly, wracking sobs escaped, and you let the duster fall. It clattered against the hardwood flooring as Moon gently pushed your hair back from face.
It was like a dam had burst open in you and out spilled your grief in haunting wails. He pulled you closer to him and you clutched, grasped him, soiling his shirt with your tears and runny nose.
The two of you stayed like that for an unknown amount of time. Once you’d calmed down to small sniffles, he asked you about her. What was her name? What was she like? Her favorite color, animal, show? What did she want to be? Did she want a pet? What were some of her hobbies? What was her favorite book? What did she dress up as for Halloween?
As the two of you talked, he picked up the duster, moving slowly and carefully, lifting one item at a time and setting it back down perfectly, as if it had never been moved at all. You sat on the rug, holding a frame of the two of you during one of her birthdays. She was turning four in the photo, you said, and you had gone to a local restaurant, hoping to recreate the tradition of going to a favorite restaurant every birthday like you had. You talked a lot about her, Sabrina, you said her name is. A bright young girl, you’d say, that will take the world by surprise.
You always spoke of her in the present test, not of the past. Moon was careful to do the same. You’d grown to have a smile on your face as you recounted memories, laughing at some inside joke he hadn’t caught. An ache grew and grew in his chest. What would all of their lives be like if Sabrina was still here? It would’ve been domestic. The house would be warmer, louder. A little family, the kind that Sun and Moon had always dreamed about but never dared allowed themselves to hope.
After that night, you were more open to how you were feeling and what you were thinking. Sun and Moon both did the same. When it was one of their bad days and they were the ones to break down in your arms, you held them tighter than any lover could, with a love and care unfamiliar to them.
A year passed with growing affection between you all. Sun and Moon had their own closet with their own, perfectly fitted clothes in the guest room. The guest room had become their very own room now, all thanks to you. They personalized it in a way that— Well, you brought to life things that they never would have possible. Discovering new hobbies. Creating art using materials more professional than children’s supplies. Exploring how they want to dress themselves, how they want to behave and what jokes they’re comfortable making. Experiment with language.
Sun and you were outside in the backyard. It was a summer evening, the setting sun finally letting way for a cool breeze. You’ve changed as well. You’re not as tired looking anymore. You’re taking care of yourself more. You started exercising again. That last part took a lot of encouragement on their part that they’re ecstatic had succeeded. It’d been a month since you started, so no major progress had been made. Just that you feel a little bit like your old self again and that you have a long way to go.
Romantic Latin pop music played in the background—Chayanne, the father of all of Latin America, you’d joked—as the two of you practiced salsa. Sun was leading, able to learn much faster than you. He was still enjoying the moment, of course. You were giggling and bashful as you stepped on his toes and went against the direction he was leading to.
“Alright alright, I got it.” You promised, a grin on your face and a spark in your eyes.
“Are you sure, starlight?” He teased, a playful grin on his face. “You sure have stepped on me less times than the last! Doesn’t mean you’re ready though.” He flicked your nose, adoring the way your eyes tracked his finger.
“Just you watch Sunny.” You pulled on the tip of one of his sun rays in return. “Y’know, if we put ‘Tiempo de Vals’, I’d blow all your expectations away.”
“As in the title, we’d be doing the waltz, not salsa, dearest.” Your eyes fluttered as you briefly looked away, becoming flustered. It’d become a new habit that Sun had picked up, calling you endearing pet names. Oh, how he loved to see you flustered and stuttering, that beautiful shade splashed across your cheeks he can only hope to recreate with paint.
“Well, sure, but I’d be good at some form of dancing then.”
“‘Good’ is arbitrary. What matters is that you’re having fun.”
The song changed. The speaker was playing Chayanne songs on shuffle, changing from “Un Siglo Sin Ti” to “Cuidarte el Alma”. This song has become a shared favorite amongst all of you. It was, to put it simply, romantic, devotional. Especially for Sun and Moon who, terrified as they are to admit to themselves, have begun to relate to it. Instead of imaging a vague person to fit the song, they image you. There’s been an itch, an urge, growing lately. To tell you how they feel. To speak the words they’ve been holding back for months now.
“Sure Sunny.” You’re agreeing to disagree, he knows. You even roll your eyes. “Our song’s playing! Why don’t we just dance and quit stalling, hm?”
“Stalling?” Appalled at the notion, he lifts a hand to chest, rays extending outward. “Me? Stalling? How could you accuse me of such a thing?” He crossed his arms and turned the other way, a smile trying to force its way through his offended expression.
“I’ll make it up to you.” You walked to enter his eyeline again. “You’ll see.”
He tilted his head in though, humming. “Now what could my lovely starlight offer me?”
“A display of waltz skills that would make the royals of the past green with envy.” And you hold up your hands, waiting for him to clasp them.
A rush of eternal gratitude filled him. He answers your silent question and moves your hands to the proper position. He chuckles internally at your bravado yet already making a mistake.
“Well? Are you gonna change the song?”
“I think we can dance just fine to this song. The waltz is romantic. It deserves an equally romantic song.” He begins to lead you, towards the flower garden you two had started together.
“But he has a song that is perfect for it!”
“Then we will dance to it next.” He compromises and spins you around.
You just laugh in response and he just has to agree with the song in that moment. He really does love your laugh. The way your mouth curls as you concentrate on the steps. He really is crazy for you, and he can only have the secret for so long.
At last, the song comes to a lull, fading out and into “Humanos a Marte.” Sun stepped away to change the song to the one you requested. He returned, violins of the intro playing. With you now more familiar with the steps, you lift gaze from your feet to his face. He’s got that look on his face you’ve noticed appearing more lately. You get the feeling it’s not on purpose. His eyes half-lidded, endearing grin on his face.
“The song’s really got a hold on you, huh?” Gosh how that expression made your heart flutter. You’re sure you’ve looked at him with something similar before. You’d bet money on it.
“You could say that.” He blinked, as if realizing how he looked, and fixed himself to a safer (in his opinion) expression.
“Oh yeah?” A tinge of disappointments struck your heart at losing his gaze. You’d do more, flirt, make it obvious, but you’re terrified of hurting him.
“Please, it’s as if you don’t me!” He scoffs. “With these lyrics, La pasión que prefieres y hacerla girar, bésame en tiempo de vals, and Mi tiempo / para ti. Sure gets the imagination going.”
“Chayanne is quite the romantic. What’s he got you thinking?”
“Exactly what the song is describing.” Here, with comments like these, you feel confused.
He’s got a teasing grin on his face, leaning down to get even more in your space. Is he genuinely flirting? Or is he just messing with you?
“Well, we are almost doing the same thing.” This is fine. You know it. This is just your casual back and forth banter. Still doesn’t make you stop from wishing it was real.
“‘Almost’ is the keyword here.” He stops leading you, coming to an end by swaying in place.
You just hum, squinting your eyes at him. There’s a perfect response in your mind, you know exactly what to say next. But you can’t, no matter how much your chest aches from holding yourself back.
The song’s reaching its end, the last verse playing. The music fills the space between you, which is increasingly becoming smaller as Sun leans in. He lets go of your hands and slides them up to hold your face with a featherlight touch, hands trembling. He’s staring at you intensely, gaze flickering to each of your eyes.
Your eyes widened, your own gaze flickering between his eyes to his mouth. “Is this okay?” You ask, mouth drying, heart racing.
“Yes. Is it okay with you?” He responds, a hair away from your face. His fans kick on and a blush floods his face.
You swallow, ecstatic that at last you can kiss him. “Yes, yes, please.”
A thrill runs through him and he closes the distance between you two. His lips, warm and soft. He kisses you carefully, as if you’d break away at any moment. The shake in his has worsened and you press them against your face, interlocking your fingers with his. Before you can return the kiss in full, he breaks away.
A breeze hits your face, Sun’s rays spinning rapidly enough to create one. He’s grinning ear to ear, face entirely flushed, but you can’t help but hold some worry. “Sunny, are you okay?”
“Perfect, starlight!” He laughs brightly and taps your forehead with his. “Just— Little by little.” His rays slow down and his smile calms, turning sheepish. He can’t quite meet your eyes.
“Oh.” You sighed, relieved that it wasn’t any worse than you expected. “Yeah, of course.” You lifted his chin. “I’ll wait as long as you need. I just want to know,” Now it’s your turn to be blushing and avoiding eye contact. Gosh, you haven’t felt this shy about a romantic relationship since your early 20s. “Did. . . you want to? Would you want to do it again?” Your voice was barely audible over the music as you asked.
“I did, and I would. I want to kiss you again right now. I want to— to do so much more with you.” His shoulders slump as if he were sighing. “I’m sorry, starlight, I know you’re different, truly I do but—”
“Sun, hey, sunshine, I get it. It’s alright.” You take his hands from your face and hold them in yours, running your thumb along his knuckles. “We’ll take it little by little, baby steps.”
He wraps his arms around you into a tight hug. “Baby steps.”
“What are you thinking about?” You whispered to him one night.
Moon and you lay on your bed, an occurrence that started long before your relationship as partners started. You faced each other, you on the left side and him on the right. His hand resting on your hip, the other caressing your cheek, tracing the features of your face. His small frown and furrowed brows mixed together to create an expression of contemplation.
“Why didn’t they full send our upgrades?”
You sat up, blanket sliding off your shoulder, Moon’s hand sliding down to the arm holding you up. You leaned over him, moonlight shining down on your back, casting you in shadow.
“What do you mean?”
Moon shifted to lay on his back, hands resting against his chest. “When we were. . . repurposed, we got ‘upgrades’,” he scowls, voice turning sour. “Softer casing, expressive faceplate, to list a few. All for the goal of pleasure.” His hands clench into fists. He and Sun and have been trying their hardest to get rid of that bad habit of theirs. “Why not just make us human as possible? Wouldn’t we—“ His voicebox fizzled out, words being replaced by intense static.
As he struggled to articulate his question, you caressed his face, understanding. “We won’t ever understand their actions unfortunately, and we don’t have a way to figure it out.” You took a breath. “The best thing we can do is continue onward and look for the good in life.”
Moon understood, he did, really. But he couldn’t help himself from wondering. Why? What if? These two questions always haunted him, even in the daycare. What if he looked more human? What if he could breathe? Had a more natural skin tone? What if he had hair?
As if reading his mind you said, “I still will love you, more human or not, Moon.” You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I’ll always love you. However you look like.”
He often feels eternally grateful to have met you. The wonderful person that you are. This is just one another of those moments. If he were human, warmth would’ve been spreading throughout his chest. You love him. His lips twisted into a mischievous grin, “Even if I—“
You snorted and leaned back, rolling your eyes. “Yes Moon, even if you were a worm.”
“I was going to say slug, but close enough.” He reached up and pulled you down, meeting your lips.
Your laughter was swallowed briefly before you broke the kiss to swat him playfully. “Moon!”
“What?” He pushed your hair back and cupped your cheek. “I needed to be sure. I’m just a poor, lovesick fool.”
“That makes two of us.” You sighed your last laugh and returned his kiss, this time focusing on the act.
No, his face wasn’t modeled like that of a human. No, you couldn’t exactly cup his cheek like he did yours. No, his lips weren't as soft as a human's. You didn’t care. You never cared about your differences.
His warm tongue slides gently against your lips and you open your mouth in invitation. A soft sound escaped you as the kiss deepened and you lost yourself in the moment. His large hands, one holding your wait and the other your pushing your head in his direction. The way they tightened around you. The sound of his fans kicking on. The carefulness of his tongue, savoring you without discomfort. You memorized his taste, the way his tongue dragged along the roof of your mouth.
The emptiness it left behind as Moon broke the kiss, giving you a chance to take in air you hadn’t realized you needed.
“I love you too,” He declares, and instead of calling you an endearing pet name, he says your real, full name. “I love you. Forever. Until our parts fill with rust."
“Even if I were a worm? Or a slug?”
“Even then, dearest. You’re mine. Ours. Always will be.”
“I like the sound of that.”
You rest your forehead on his. “And you’re mine.”