Archive of Our Own

Starshine

--

It was certainly no fun stuck there like he was, head seated on your lap, as you tried your best to scrub away the thick layer of crayon smudged on his face.

From cheek to cheek, across the curve of the moon on the side of his head, and into the grooves of his face (as well as over his optics), Sun had a day of it, pinned down by several rambunctious children who were probably too old to be in the daycare.

It was after-hours, not long after the PizzaPlex had closed to the public for the day, and yet there you were, trying your damnedest to remove the multicolored mess some pre-teens had foisted upon the poor, not-necessarily-unsuspecting Daycare Attendant. But he was a good sport about it, all things considered.

He'd let the children do it, so he couldn't have been but so mad, despite the gang of them jumping him from one of the play-place windows. Sun couldn't escape with his tether, even if he wanted. If he flew off, there was always the risk of a lawsuit.

So, there the two of you sat, you on the couch of your fixed-up break room, and him, his bottom on the floor, shoulders under your knees, and the back of his head laid on your thighs as you dipped and wrung a rag of soapy water before going at the crayon again.

When you started work as an attendant at the daycare, you hardly expected there to be an animatronic doing most of the work himself. Yes, you'd seen the various other robots that the public truly enjoyed, the ones that were considered the money-makers, and yet you were saddled with a bot that, at first, you'd been less than inclined to be around.

Joyous, boisterous, flamboyant, and overtly dubious, Sun hadn't been your particular cup of tea for the first month or so you'd spent in the daycare. It had been obvious he was more than happy to have assistance, but you'd also made it more than obvious that you weren't so pleased to be forced into his company. 

Initially, he'd seen you, dressed in an outfit not unlike his own (though you made it a point to wear a shirt), your face fallen like you'd rather be anywhere else in the world (including an active volcano) than be near him. But he hadn't cared, giving out a yell and a prance toward you when security informed him you would be his assistant.

Not the other way around like you'd been told.

He made the initial mistake of putting his hands on you, which you immediately swatted off your shoulders, then tried to dance with you, which you, once again, swatted his hands away, and then began to ask you a series of increasingly personal questions about your person. You couldn't swat away the questions, though you didn't tell him much of anything. For all you knew, he was phishing for information for marketing purposes, or for the higher-ups.

Suffice to say, his first impression hadn't been a good one.

But now, as you got the crayon scrubbed away from his optics, you were forced to think on what got you to your current predicament. How, exactly, you went from loathing the idea of merely being around Sun, to whatever it was you were doing now. That, despite your first impression, you suddenly didn't mind the feeling of the large, mechanical hand sitting at the curve of your knee.

Or the way he finally stopped talking at a million miles a minute.

What was the turning point?

--

The first week was the hardest, by far. Already, you'd been lied to regarding your place within the company, told that you would be the head attendant with an assistant. It wasn't until you were already dressed for the day in your motley and out at the entrance to the daycare did they reveal to you the truth. Standing there, amongst those dark brick walls, surrounded by the painted posters of a macabre sun and moon jester creature, did you realize this job was hardly what you'd signed up for.

But you needed it, certainly, as you were already too deep to get out without repercussions.

Your uniform consisted of billowing breeches, a gradient of dark blue at the ankle up to a bright blue at the waist, dotted with both small and large golden stars. Your shirt was tucked into the navy waist belt that sat snugly under your ribs, followed by loose quarter-sleeves, and two star buttons down the chest. To top it off, there was a crown of metal and stars that wrapped around your head, small and quaint. It would have been a fetching costume had you not been so sullen.

Out from the far end of the room, the roller door opened for the day, long before six in the morning. And, ducking under the roller as it had yet to fully open, came a gangly, technicolor creature you would describe as vaguely resembling a robot. It was an abomination, surely. On thin, twig-like legs covered in bell-shaped bottoms, the machine came closer. Immediately, it beelined for you, the sole person in the room stood against the fountain, before it began a jaunty skip.

The bells on its wrist jangled loudly, and without much fanfare, it jumped the last few steps and landed before you.

"Hello there!" The voice was masculine, high and forced, as he gave a low bow, head below his knees. "You're-You're the new assistant! We're going to have so much fun! I'm going to show you everything! The jungle gym, the ball pit, the party room, the secret hiding--"

"Great." You replied dryly, not meaning to take it out on the machine. He hadn't done anything (yet) to receive your ire.

His head quirked at your tone, pivoting up on a long neck even as he hadn't exited his bow, "What's your name? Mine is Sun! Or Sundrop! Sunnydrop! Mister Sun! Sun Man! Momma help me, I'm scared!" Finally, he stood to full height, towering over you easily, "I don't like the last one."

Your name slipped out of your mouth unbidden, and you tried your best to relax your form. This was the bot you'd be working with for the foreseeable future, and you'd have to make do as best you could.

"Oh, I've got a nickname picked out already!" His arms went wide, hands open and fingers unfurled, "Starshine!" The large hands landed heavily on your shoulders, making your knees buckle slightly at the surprising force. "What do you think?"

The nickname would be slightly more appropriate for the daycare you supposed. Starshine fit with whatever theme the bot in front of you was going for, and your outfit was a dead giveaway for the children. His face, a sun and moon amalgamation not unlike an astrology symbol, rocked to and fro, before spinning a full three-sixty counterclockwise.

You proceeded to slide his hands off your shoulders and smooth the fabric of your shirt. There was something rather intimidating and sinister about him, his elation-filled personality no doubt some kind of front for malicious intentions. Or, at least, that's probably how the executives designed him. This "Sun" probably didn't know any better.

"It's fine. Thank you." There was no sense in being outwardly sour to the bot if, in fact, he didn't know his ass from his elbow. When it came to the intricacies of "don't touch people you don't know" and "perhaps I shouldn't speak at one-hundred and ten percent volume at all times", his programming could have very well forced him to behave in such a way.

"Yay!" He exclaimed and grabbed your wrist (again, you had to excuse your immediate twitch at being touched) and pulled you toward the open roller door. "I'm gonna show you everything!"

Indeed, he showed you everything that could possibly be offered in the colorful den you'd be calling "work" for the foreseeable future. The early morning security guard regarded you with a mix of pity and skepticism as Sun pulled you along behind him, hardly ever letting go of your wrist as he went. If ever there went a minute where he let go, you'd try to put some distance between you (twenty feet was too rude, and ten didn't feel like enough, and forty-two was about right but absolutely uncalled for), but he'd always come bounding right back, taking your hand as though you hadn't tried to get away.

It was when he hoisted you up off the floor and pirouetted that you finally had to say something on the matter.

"Down. Put me down."

"I have to show you how I fly! Watch! Watch!" A line descended from the ceiling, a large, self-locking lifting hook at its end, and he made quick work of latching it to a ring situated betwixt his shoulders. "We can get you to fly, too, sometime! It'll be so much fun!" He held you firm against him, your legs dangling from the floor by about a foot.

"No, no, no. I can see you fly from the ground. Down." Despite your protests, gravity was upon you as he zipped up into the air like a spider on a thread. You held back a yelp, your eyes screwed shut at the height from which you hovered off the ground, and clung around his neck as best you could, "Alright, you've shown me. Down."

The only thought running through your head was "Don't drop me. For the love of workers' comp, don't drop me." And "Fazbear hasn't activated my health insurance yet, please be gentle."

"You didn't say the magic word." Sun glided a few meters forward, dashing over a suspension bridge between two jungle gyms. The security guard below paid the two of you some mind, but you knew it was only so if they had to write an incident report of a busted head, they could do it properly. The hardly lifted their chin from their hand, their coffee raised to their lips as though watching a show.

Sun took you over to the ball pit and zipped around the perimeter of the room. All the while, you tucked your head against his shoulder and tried not to look down. "Remember, we have to teach the kiddies proper manners while we're here!"

" Please . Please put me down." The floor was soft under your feet when you'd come in, but falling from about six meters in the air, it wouldn't do much to cushion your fall.

The feeling of disappointment radiated off the automaton, but he relented, descending with a slow spin back to the floor. You disengaged quickly, falling on wobbling legs and onto the padded ground. It wasn't that you were afraid of heights--you were more worried about the intentions of the one who took you flying. 

When a mouse was snatched up by an eagle, the world below always looked far smaller by comparison, and even a short fall was enough to harm. Not that Sun would drop you, and not that you were dinner. He was no hawk, and you were no mouse. Allegories were odd like that.

The hook zoomed back into the air and somewhere into the ceiling, and Sun placed his curled fists on his hips, legs wide, head thrown back, "Onto the next!"

--

The "break room" was nothing more than a storage closet, and most certainly broken. It looked as though a cleaning bot hadn't come through in several months (and by months, you meant fifteen to be exact), and Sun found it a perfectly acceptable resting spot. Not if you had anything to say about it.

Your first day there would involve much cleaning, and not at all any down in the daycare. Sun could handle that, surely.

Which raised the question as to where Sun powered down for the evening (if he even did power down), received maintenance, and took a moment to himself. Was this how he spent his alone time? In some drab, cobweb-filled broom closet above a colorful play-place that looked to be all the more comfortable? Even the ball pit with its questionable smell and peculiar stickiness would have been more comfortable long-term.

"I've got my work cut out for me." You murmured as you stepped further into the room, already making a mental checklist.

"That's great!" Sun paraded into the room and up onto a perch on the right-hand wall, a half moon cutout that led onto a balcony that overlooked the daycare. Compared to the inside of the room, the open air outside was a reprieve, though you made it a point to stay far from the edge. It wasn't too far a drop, but enough that your stomach clenched and told you to go no further. "It's almost six! Almost time! We're going to have so much fun today! New names! New faces!" He stood on his toe and spun, his hands finding purchase on the arch of the doorway, blocking you from going back in the room, "Oh, they'll love you! You'll see."

"Great. Yeah. Let's go." Zipping past him through a gap between the wall and his side, you went back into the room before he had a chance to go flying again. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Okay!" Without looking, you heard the whirring of his limbs and the sudden plop of plastic balls being displaced, and knew he must have jumped from the balcony into the pit below.

--

The crayon was proving to be stubborn, but Sun hadn't moved, and remained largely quiet through the ordeal. He tended to move his head when he spoke, so it was best that neither of you engaged for a short time. And, what would you even talk about while he had his head in your lap?

How was your day?

Did you see that mom go ballistic in the party room?

Did Scott ever fix that generator?

Do you sleep?

Do robots dream of electric sheep?

If you left the PizzaPlex, would they know?

Your palm was smarting now, still sensitive to rough work and too-long use, as it hadn't healed quite fully in the time it had been since you cut it. That, or the pain of it all was psychosomatic, and all in your head, exacerbated by stress and overwork.

"They did a number on you. Why did you let them do this to you?" You asked quietly as you dipped your soapy rag again and began to work around his nose, which was stained a lovely color of purple, brown, and orange (which, in turn, looked like vomitus.)

A low hum came from Sun, but he said nothing in return, the audible clicking of his processor your only answer.

"Why didn't you just fly away?"

--

"Shit." You waggled your hand, your palm ablaze as a long line of red began to bubble to the surface. It wasn't much, a few dots here and there, but enough that the metal would pose a hazard should one of the parents complain.

In the play-place, there'd been a sharp edge one of the children skinned their knee on at one point during the day. How the edge had gotten sharp, or exposed, or suddenly decided it wanted to become a magnet for destruction and boo-boos, you'd never know, but it had attacked you all the same. And the only reason you'd been able to trace it back to its origin is because the child who'd gotten hurt was more than willing to let you bandage them up and get away from the looming visage that was Sun.

Because looming menacingly was one of his many talents, whether he realized it or not.

"No swearing!" In the star-shaped cut out of the wall panel beside you, Sun tried to poke his head through. Obviously, this was futile as one: his head was far too large and would not fit despite how much he persisted, and two: he'd climbed up to the third floor of the jungle gym just to tell you he'd heard you curse. And considering the second fact, it meant either he just so happened to be under that particular spot at that particular moment in time and heard you cut yourself by accident on that particular section of "child-safe" metal, or he'd been following you around the daycare particularly.

For posterity: looming was a talent.

"Noted." You replied simply and curled your hand into the fabric of your shirt. It staunched the blood enough that you grabbed your roll of foam tubing and laid it down next to the exposed metal. All the while, Sun hung from the side of the jungle gym, one ivory-colored eye watching with rapt interest through the small hole in the wall. "You can go now."

"But you're hurt!" Somehow, he shoved his large hand, eerily long fingers, jingle bells, and all, through the star-shaped hole and tried to grab at your shirt. His hand landed on the outside of your thigh and slid off. The blood was already drying on the fabric, though it hadn't been enough to help with your palm, "C'mere! I can help with boo-boos!"

"First," you started, as you laid the foam tube over the metal, "you're climbing the jungle gym from the outside. Second," you slammed the butt of your hand down onto the foam until it slid into place, encapsulating the metal, "I don't need help with 'boo-boos'. It's just a cut. And third," from your pocket you procured several zip-ties and began to tighten them around the foam, "I'm good. I can take care of myself."

Flaccidly, Sun's hand fell to the padded floor. The children never spoke to him in such a way, and with no amount of severity you did on a daily basis. Never did you speak to the children that way either, but the automaton in front of you was hardly a child, and thus, fair-game. You didn't want or need his help for something as miniscule as a cut.

Below, on the ground floor, several children watched the display, as Sun pressed his round face against the wall and spoke to you, snaking his arm back out of the hole. To them, you'd been a spark of humanity in a place they'd been subjected to nothing but machines, apparently terrified by the presence of Sun, and whoever "Moon" was. They came to you for most things, and it was becoming increasingly obvious Sun was a bit…

Well, the looming became more ominous, and looming was his forte, and the looming became more considerable and loom-some.

"It's almost story time." He whispered through the hole, his face doing a three-sixty rotation on its axis, sun rays tapping at the wall despite you not seeing them. "You're going to be late!"

"I'm aware." The ends of the zip-ties were cut, and you rolled the exposed, sharp plastic to the underside of the foam, "I'm sure you can manage. There's blood in here to clean up." Which wasn't a lie. There were dots of blood where the child skinned their knee and crawled out of the play-place, a long line of dried brown that you, thankfully, knew was blood and not something more sinister.

A warbling whine left Sun as he pulled away from the opening, the automaton disappearing from sight, leaving blissful quiet in his wake. It was then that you grabbed the spray bottle at your hip and the gloves in your pockets, and began to disinfect the mats leading up to that part of the jungle gym. It took the better part of an hour to clean from top to bottom, but you managed rather well given the fumes and steep inclines.

It wouldn't have surprised you in the slightest if you woke up hours later after a terrible contact high from the disinfectant. At least you'd miss storytime. But, also, probably, your lunch break.

Shimmying through the opening of the play-place, you stood wearily and popped a few of your joints, your neck cramped from having been unable to stand straight for so long. And somewhere in the daycare, you knew Sun was telling his little stories, and doing his little dances, and scaring the little ones with his little face, and not so little hands and smile.

As you made your way over to the security desk--so you could exit the play area momentarily to wash up--something brushed the top of your head. Your first thought had been that a child had leant out of a hole in the jungle gym as you passed, but as you went under the suspension bridge, you felt the sensation again shortly after passing. Daring to look up, you fell back under the bridge, realizing that Sun had suspended himself from the ceiling by the hook loop on his back, and was currently hanging upside down, his face right side up as he watched you. His legs were coiled around the line, twisted about it, his arms under his chin, even though his chin pointed to the floor.

"Why aren't you at story time?" You asked as you stood back up hastily and righted your clothes, your star crown off center on your head.

"We finished twenty minutes ago! Why weren't you at story time, hmm?" He swung closer, avoidant as you walked around him, trying your best not to touch him. "I needed a Princess for the story, and didn't have one! No, because Starshine disappeared! Sneaky, sneaky!"

"I already told you I was cleaning. I wasn't being 'sneaky, sneaky'. I was being 'busy, busy', or 'worky, worky', or whatever." The security desk was only about twenty feet away now, and Sun unhooked himself from his puppet string to walk behind you, lurching and hunched over like Igor, "Furthermore, one of the children could have been the Princess. You didn't need me."

"But I wanted you to be the Princess ." The reply was quiet to the point that it didn't register in your head.

"I have to get this stuff off my arms." You told him, trying to excuse yourself through the door into the surrounding area, "You stay here."

Sun came up to the very threshold and watched as you walked over to the bathrooms, not at all creepy, weird, or in the least bit odd. "Staying here! Right here! Not leaving at all! Not an inch!"

"Stay." You ordered again like you would to a dog.

"Staying!"

"I mean it." You opened the door to the bathroom, pointing at him, "Stay."

Sadly, when you exited the bathroom around ten minutes later, your arms cleaned of disinfectant, you found that Sun had not done what he was told. Instead, he met you right outside the bathroom, blocking the entrance as several children waited outside to go in. There were plenty of stalls to use in there, as it were, yet you couldn't help but feel the automaton was being somewhat passive aggressive.

"What happened to 'stay'?" You asked, prodding him in the chest with two fingers, "Why aren't you in the daycare?"

"I could ask the same!" He stood tall above you, chin raised, head spinning delightfully.

Oh, he was trying to play games with you. Very dangerous, teeth-gratingly obnoxious games.

"It's almost time for snacks! And I need my lovely assistant to help!" His hands were on you again, tight around your shoulders, thumbs on the slope that led to your neck, "Come on! That Fizzy Faz won't serve itself!"

--

Sun let out a mechanical groan. Some of the water must have seeped in through the gasket around his optic and was now running rampant inside his head.

"Sorry." You took your sleeve and tried to dry around it as best you could, despite the issue being internal. "I'm about halfway done. I think this is the cleanest you've been in a long time." The thought made a small smile grace your lips, your eyes softened as you stared down at the sun and moon face in your lap.

He adjusted his legs, his shoulders pushing up against the backs of your knees just a bit more than before. If you paid closer attention, you could have noted the way his feet sat on top of one another, and his hand slide up a bit further.

"When was the last time they opened you up for maintenance?"

The hand on your leg clenched tighter.

--

The party was too much.

Stepping out of the room, you breathed a deep sigh and wiped cake away from your face--your shoulders, chest, and head absolutely coated in a spongy, icing-y mess that steadily seeped into your costume. Somewhere under the jetsam, your crown of stars lay hidden, now becoming one with the cake that steadily plopped from your frame and onto the floor.

All in all, your day had been ruined, and your disappointment reasonably immeasurable.

The guardians inside the room hadn't done much in the way to stop the children from becoming destructive, and barely bat an eye as most of the cake landed on top of you, hoisted up by the birthday girl herself and dropped. Vanilla hadn't been the right flavor, as if you would have known, and the death-metal unicorn made of fondant hadn't been the right shade of imminent-death black. And so, you paid the price for the baker's insolence.

Such foolishness.

Finding the crown under the mess on your head was troublesome, but finally you managed to shake it loose. With it, most of the cake splattered onto the floor, a mess one of the S.T.A.F.F. Bots was already trying to clean up around you, including sweeping at your legs. With no small amount of displeasure, you shuffled away from the party room and made the embarrassing trek back to the break room sequestered away above the daycare. There, at least you'd be able to change and remove what mess you could from your person.

"Hey, Starsh--" Sun stopped himself short, silent as you passed him on your way near the daycare proper. A finger to his mouth, he regarded you curiously, slowly catching up to you as you went, "What a fun party, huh! Looks like you got to have some cake, too!" His attempt at levity fell on deaf ears. You simply wanted to be clean again, "But you can't work like that! You'll get in trouble, and you're no rule-breaker, are you , Starshine?"

He bounced from one foot to the other as you tried to continue on your way. Many of the parents and guardians waiting outside amongst the tables regarded you skeptically, already knowing fully-well what transpired just by the look of you. Some regarded you with pity, others with the understanding that they were lucky to not be in such a position.

Sun placed his hands on his hips, standing at the door into the daycare, "Hurry back! There's finger-painting and Fizzy Faz Fun Time coming up! I'll be wai--" you promptly shut the door in his face and started toward the side hall. Honestly, you wanted nothing more than to go home for the rest of the day and soak in the tub, run yourself under the shower until the dye from the icing left your skin. And really, you couldn't stand the happy-go-lucky nature of Sun for much longer that day.

He was an insult to injury.

When you'd gotten up to the break room, you proceeded to disrobe and grab for one of the spare costumes, this one decorated with clouds, the sleeves thankfully long to hide the icing dye seeped into the skin of your arms. The only downfall was the discoloration on your face. Imminent-death-unicorn black didn't accentuate your features quite the way it should have.

As you pulled up your pants and tightened the waist belt Velcro to fit, there was a quiet whirring to your back. Filled with a sudden sense of dread, you looked over your shoulder to find the top half of Sun's face peeking out from over the balcony. The rest of him was hidden, only the tips of his fingers visible as he clung on for, presumably, dear life. Below, you could hear the faint laughter of children at whatever kind of game they thought he was playing, but you knew better.

Covering quickly with your shirt, you stomped up to the balcony (caught off-guard by the height at which you stood from the main floor) and glared down at him.

"You were taking so long!" Sun whined, feet kicking out at the great nothing under him. Not even his beloved puppet string kept him aloft. He hung there by sheer determination alone. "I don't like the clouds. The stars are much prettier! And Starshine doesn't make much sense anymore. You're too cloudy now."

It didn't matter which he liked best. What did a machine know of what outfit looked better on you? What machine should have an opinion on what you did or didn't do? What kind of machine peeped on you when you were changing, and then commented on it as though it were as simple as the weather?

"Out." You ordered simply, and pushed against his face. He didn't budge an inch, far stronger than you despite how thin his frame appeared. "Out, out, out, you peeping Tom."

"I wasn't peeping! That's rude, and very, VERY against the rules!" His head tilted back as you continued to push on him, his joints squealing in protest, "Fizzy Faz--," he grunted against the palm of your hand pressing on the moon side of his noggin,  "Fizzy Fazz Fun Time is about to start, and I can't do it without you!" His voice had taken a slightly lower pitch, the first hint of annoyance you'd heard from him.

"I'm about to Fizzy Faz your a--"

Suddenly, you were falling, your heart pulled up into your throat. It hardly registered that there was a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, that you'd been spun mid-air in the few short seconds you fell down toward the pit. You hadn't even realized you'd been swallowed up by the assortment of plastic balls until you came to an abrupt stop, your vision obscured by blood rush and a mixture of red, green, and blue.

It didn't occur to you that Sun had let go of the ledge as you pushed on him, the two of you tumbling down as the children laughed at your antics.

Under your back, cold metal poked and prodded into your shoulders, uncomfortable, and the grip around your center was vice-like, hardly an inch left to budge. Try as you might to wriggle free, you couldn't push away, stuck under a layer of disgusting plastic balls, in a pit, surrounded by giggling children, as a short-circuiting bot thought it would be funny to nose dive off the balcony.

"Let go, you numbskull." You hissed, "You could have gotten us hurt." Sun's grip had grown tighter, squeezing your ribs to the point where you found it difficult to take a breath. "And for that, you're on Fizzy Faz duty. Alone."

"Not alone." The rumble at the back of your head was unlike anything you'd heard from Sun's vocalizer, "Not anymore." There was a raspiness to it, gurgling and dark, whispered in your ear like a threat.

Using your arms, you flailed, knocking the balls loose and away from your face, letting the light of the daycare shine down. It made it somewhat easier to breathe, but not by much. It wasn't until you slammed your elbow back and into Sun's face, did you hear him grunt in what should have been pain, as much as it could be for a machine.

His hold loosened, and quickly, to the sound of children still laughing, you bounced out of his hold and into the open. Out of frustration, you didn't bother to look back as you kicked your way out of the pit, tucking your uniform into place as you went.

--

For the next week or so, you avoided Sun like the plague. Humans weren't very good at avoiding the plague, however, and you bumped into him constantly. And often, he forced it. And also, much like the plague, it made you itch all over and wish you stayed at home.

Already, the bot tried to apologize, profusely and annoyingly. He'd blabbered and whined, sat on his knees and begged, and you didn't even bother to give him the benefit of the doubt for several days given how annoyed you were with him. He knew better, of course, and his behavior had been inappropriate. The children may have found it funny, but as an adult, it wasn't proper conduct, and certainly not something to be teaching the little ones.

After about the seventh or eight pleading attempt, you finally relented, despite your want to be annoyed with him.

"Okay! Okay, fine. I forgive you." Sun sat on his legs, hands clasped in front of him on the top of his head, face tilted toward the ground, "Just stop begging already."

"You mean it?" He leapt up in an instant, once again tall and rigid, "Wahoo!"

"No, not 'wahoo.'" You corrected, "I'm only forgiving you because you've been sulking for days now, and I have to work with you. And I'm pretty sure the kids are noticing." You glanced in the direction of the ball pit, to a few faces that peeked out from the colored assortment, "And I don't want to have to write up a report to HR. They'll just tell me it was a malfunction or something."

It was a sad reality. It could have very well been a malfunction on Sun's part that caused him to act in such a way, some kind of error in updates that didn't parse in his code properly. Often, you had to remind yourself that he was, in fact, a machine, and not some kind of walking, talking humanoid abomination. Which, he was, frankly, but not of the fleshy persuasion. Humanoid abominations came in many shapes and sizes, and oft children were found to be the most common.

And the voice you heard in the pit. The deep, baritone snarl in your ear.

Was that a malfunction, too?

"No more diving, and no more Peter Pan crap." It was the last ultimatum you were willing to give him, your hand out to shake on it should he accept. "Deal?"

"Deal!" He shook the whole of your arm, both his hands reaching out to grab yours, as well as your wrist, "Happy day! We've kissed and made up!"

All you knew was you were lucky his handshake didn't dislocate your arm.

And there was hardly a kiss.

--

The moon side of his face was clean, cleaner than it had been in such a time. There was a layer of grime and dirt that had built up over the years that even you hadn't known the real color of the plastic and metal beneath.

"Just a bit more. Thanks for being patient."

Sun's head shifted to make it easier for you, swiveling so you could reach the sun side of his face better.

"We need to do this to the rest of you, you know. Imagine how nice you'll look all cleaned up. And you won't smell like old tractor oil. Well, not as much, maybe." He would always smell like oil in some way, as was his lubrication. He at least wouldn't smell so much of aging plastic and acrylic.

He was still silent, the apertures of his optics tightening before dilating again. He gazed back at you intently.

"We'll find a night to do it."

--

The cut was a bit larger than you thought.

Your britches caught the brunt of the slice, but the slope of your knee had bled through the surrounding fabric as you made your way back to the security desk for the first aid kit.

The end of the night had proven troublesome as you went to secure the roller door into the daycare. Security had exited into the main heart of the building to finalize their sweep before "full-close", and that left you and Sun to do nightly clean up. At least, it would have, if the chain that lifted the roller door hadn't given way and whipped around as it serpentined up into the cage above.

It hadn't registered that you'd been hit at first, and you kept up with closing procedure. When at last you began to head past the party rooms did you feel the sensation of something crawling down your leg. Initially, you thought a spider or some other creepy crawly had gotten into your clothes, but the flash of red smeared on your shin was enough to disprove your theory.

Swearing under your breath lest Sun somehow hear you (worried he would descend from the ceiling on his thread and discipline you), you headed down the stairs and into the play area. At the security desk, there was a first aid kit seated on the cabinets underneath the large screen just behind it. A day didn't go by where someone didn't need a plaster or painkiller, or even a Sunnydrop Candy--why that was included in the first aid kit, you'd never know, as they didn't pay you enough to think about the terrible inconsistencies of working for Fazbear Entertainment. Such as why there were several generators hooked up through the daycare or why they cut windows into the jungle gym fifteen feet off the floor, or why they employed a somewhat terrifying robot to be a playmate to a bunch of toddlers.

You'd asked HR to have them (the generators and windows) removed for safety reasons, but they'd yet to get back to you regarding the "serious issue of utmost import" and would "do their best to remedy the situation and provide the best possible service to--" et cetera, et cetera, the typical "rules for thee, not for me" diatribe.

Obviously.

The security chair squeaked loudly as you sat, the first aid kit thrown onto the counter next to an abandoned, used plate that one of the S.T.A.F.F. Bots missed on its clean-up rounds. It was smeared with pizza grease and some kind of sauce, and you considered yourself lucky to stay away from the "food" the pizzeria produced. You'd have been desperate to eat it, but it wasn't beyond you should the need arise.

"Oh, Starshine!"

Sun must have finished his rounds early as he bounced off the top of jungle gym and landed, with more grace than you expected, on the checkerboard floor situated in front of the desk. Gaily, or perhaps gayly (as the two words were similar, in that he was both merry and cheerful all at once), he skipped over to where you sat, oblivious to what you were doing, leaning over the desk to speak.

"Done already? But-but we haven't even cleaned up the play area! You can't sit yet! We haven't checked the ball pit, or the slides, or stacked up all of the foam shapes or..." From the first aid kit, you pulled a bottle of disinfectant spray and began the arduous process of rolling up your pants leg. The red of your shin was obvious, several dribbles creating lines from your knee. "Blood!"

Boo-boo mode, activated.

Sun all but crawled over the top of the desk and landed with a roll at your feet, clacking and clanging as he went, all bells and whirring. "Ah, now, now, no need to panic!"

"Not panicking." You said calmly, not at all panicked, worried, or incensed that he crawled closer, "I can handle it."

With several worried "breaths", Sun grabbed the disinfectant bottle and twisted it about, trying his best to aim at his hands. For all you knew, he didn't wash them, or bathe, and for all you really knew, he was allergic to water, air freshener, and sex jokes. But especially the latter and former, and not so much the middle.

He sprayed his face by accident.

But then righted himself and got his hands. Once they were rightly saturated (something that must not have been good for his joints), he grabbed for your leg.

"Seriously, I got it." You chided, but didn't stop him as his cold and slightly wet hands took your knee and straightened it. Perhaps it had been some kind of protocol in his code that called for him to jump into action, some script that made him see a cut, a knick, or a bruise, and immediately think it was the death of a human under his watch.

"It's going to sting." He whined as he sprayed the cut, and he was right. While it smarted, he wiped away your leg while you sat uncomfortably and watched.

What could you honestly say?

"I can do the bandage, Sun. It's fine. I'm not dying. I'm a grown--"

Sun pushed your hand away with a huff and continued despite your weak protest. The disinfectant stung, and bubbled, and made you hiss through your teeth, but you sat as still as you could as the bot rummaged through the first aid kit for the next step. By the time he procured the gauze and tape, the stinging had subsided, and you felt your heart rate attempt to return to normal.

The silence was deafening.

"Thank you." It was all you could tell him, knowing he wouldn't have it any other way.

Sun applied the gauze and slowly, gently, began to tape it around your knee, snug and secure.

"Of course, Starshine."

--

Three in the afternoon finally arrived, and you were nothing short of elated at the prospect of leaving for the day. Already, you'd removed your uniform and changed into your street clothes, much more comfortable than you'd been for the last nine hours of your shift. The "break room" you shared with Sun had looked slightly better than it did when you initially arrived months ago, and far cleaner. For a bot that prided himself so much on cleanliness and organization, he left his quarters much to be desired.

Things were boxed away, a table brought up, two chairs, and a worn-out loveseat removed from the lobby that was destined for the garbage. All in all, you'd made it a far more comfortable space for not only you, but for the bot with whom you spent most of your time.

Out of the room and into the hallway you went.

You had so much on your agenda planned. Cleaning, cooking, washing, making sure you had enough groceries, gas in your car, and utilities to last you through the rest of the month. So far, it was going relatively alright.

You even had an idea of what you wanted for dinner that evening, excited to have a moment to yourself, without worry about the daycare and its inhabitant. You might even fall asleep in front of your phone, watching something for ten minutes, only to realize three hours later that you'd have to watch the video again because you slept through most of it.

Adult things.

Exiting into the thoroughfare that ran along the daycare, you walked quickly around and into the daycare proper, where you stepped up to the security desk to retrieve your upcoming schedule. Already, you knew there was to be a sleepover scheduled for next week, and that left you and Sun working overnight with only one other chaperone from the child's family to watch over the children. It would be your first overnight stay in the PizzaPlex, and part of you didn't enjoy the idea of the lockdown procedure in the building come afterhours.

"Have a nice night." One of the security officers said, taking a sip of their drink. You doubted it was entirely soda based on the redness of their cheeks. It might have had a little something extra thrown in for fun. "We'll keep an eye on the Big Oaf. He can't keep his head on straight today."

"You're telling me." Responding, you shoved your schedule in your side bag. From a gaggle of children, one broke from the pack and came running up to you. Quickly, they grabbed at your hips in a hug, face plastered against your stomach.

"You're not leaving, are you?" They asked, fingers tight around your bag's strap. "Don't make us stay with him."

Without thinking, you knew they meant Sun.

He'd done this job for far longer than you had, it seemed, at least at the Superstar Daycare, and knew the ins and outs of everything that went on. You doubted anything odd would happen with security sitting at the ready only a few feet away.

Telling the child such alleviated some of their anxiety, but not by much.

The child let go of your hip and ran off, satisfied with the hug you'd given them, even on your way out. They were a child of one of the regulars, no doubt one of the workers in the building.

As you stood straight and righted the bag on your shoulder, you spotted Sun standing not far from the security desk. A ball squeaked against the side of his head (he disregarded it, like most torture) before he shuffled over in your direction.

The Big Oaf.

The guard behind the desk leant back in their chair, face in a bit of a scowl as the automaton grew closer and closer without a word. "Already leaving." It wasn't a question. Sun's usual chipper voice was quiet, somber.

"Yep. And I have tomorrow off." Thankfully. One of the first real days you could have to yourself, and you'd spend most of it resting and cleaning. "Stay out of trouble. And remember, there's a sleepover party scheduled next week. I'll be working that--"

"Right!" The tone sounded forced, Sun standing on the tips of his toes as you spoke basically to him. He held firmly to the counter, shaking it as he pulled back and forth excitedly. "You'll be here! All night! We're going to have fun, fun, fun! So much fun! You, me, the others, but you and me! Me and you! All night! A sleepover!"

Your eyes darted over to the guard, brows raised at the implications of whatever it was Sun meant. "Yeah. You and me. And a chaperone. There's gonna be at least one." You looked back over at the guard fully, "Vanessa working that night?"

"Probably." They replied, noncommittal and bored, "I know I'm not."

"Alright, well, I'm outta here. Night." About to turn, you stopped, seeing Sun take a few steps forward.

"Ahem!" He cleared his nonexistent throat. "You forgot something!

You most certainly did not forget something.

Sun's arms raised in what you could only really describe as a "robotic fashion", his elbows straight and fingers pointed toward you. If you didn't know any better, the motion looked as though he were asking for… well, a hug .

The security officer at the desk stared between the two of you for several long moments, as did another of the guards on duty. Before them was the denouement of a soap opera, the Beast waiting for his Belle to answer whatever question he had asked with such a motion.

But you didn't answer. Not really.

Instead, you bowed your head, cheeks darkened, and grabbed for the door handle, "See you Friday."

When the door closed behind you, Sun hadn't lowered his arms, and the only indication that he was still active was the slight twitch of his head.

"Tough luck, buddy." The guard answered for him, tapping a pen on the tall half of the counter, "You can't drink, can you? I've got a bottle of Jack in my locker."

Finally, his arms fell, defeated, at his sides, fingers curled into the fabric of his pants. On his heel, he gave a quick turn and began to walk back over toward the jungle gym, savagely silent, and ignored the quiet banter of the guards behind him. Over on the side of the room, he watched as you started your way up the stairs, not even trying to look in his direction.

It was alright. It was fine. He'd overstepped his boundaries. Not all humans, and fleshy things, and biological creatures, and fair maidens with crowns of stars wanted hugs.

It was fine. Good. Even if you'd given that child a hug, and not him .

Sun had to learn to accept disappointment. It was a lesson he taught the little ones, too.

However, that didn't mean he didn't spend the next fifteen minutes beating himself up in the corner of the daycare, before finally sinking below the waves of multicolored plastic balls in the pit.

It was fine.

He didn't have tear ducts, so, truly, it was fine. No worries of rust or paint stripping. Even if several of the children stepped on him on their way to play, tugged on the latch that protruded between his shoulders, and dragged him along the padded floor. He didn't mind.

It was fine.

--

The children screamed. 

The lights were out. 

A child must have gotten it in their head that flicking the main light switch would be funny during the sleepover.

It was not.

Navigating by the light of the LED stars on the ceiling, you had a hard enough time as it was. When the only real source of light was the security desk on the other end of the daycare, you were already annoyed. At the sudden disappearance of Sun when the lights did go out, you went from annoyed to fuming.

The bot was skirting his duties during the sleepover, and that involved making sure the children didn't play pranks. Both of you already failed in that regard, but you were going to blame the children for the time being since it made the most logical sense.

The chaperone to the party turned on their phone flashlight and gave you a dismissive wave as you went off to find the switch. At least someone had a decent head on their shoulders, for what it was worth, which admittedly was not much. It was a shame you had to keep your phone in your bag, kept away during the day lest you text someone even once during business hours, and not on your too-short break. No. That would be far too simple.

Tripping over one of the foam play blocks, you stumbled, and were grateful that your fall was at least cushioned by the padded floor. It wasn't that that bothered you. Many things bothered you, mind, like how much you were paid, your lack of sleep, free time, and general unhappiness at being lied to regarding your job position.

That didn't bother you at the moment.

It was the laugh above your head that did.

Getting back to your feet, you scanned upwards into the stars, and found nothing but yellow and deep, dark black. But the sound of clacking and clanking metal caught your attention, the sound of wires, and cogs, and gears, and pistons.

The sounds of clockwork.

"Sun, are you up there?" You whispered into the darkness. "You better not be."

The clockwork noises faded with a deep chuckle, gone away around the backside of one of the unseen jungle gyms.

He promised no more Peter Pan crap , you thought to yourself venomously.

The door to the daycare was thrown open, and you headed out into the dark with the flashlight from the security desk. It was a shame the emergency lights stayed on behind the counter, but the main switches to the room didn't resolve the issue. Because that would have been too easy, and Fazbear Entertainment wouldn't have it any other way.

Perhaps it hadn't been a child after all. The issue must have lain in the fuse box. Or a disgruntled employee that wasn't yourself, of whom there were many.

Regardless.

Stepping into the Fazcade, the excuse of an arcade the company foisted upon the masses, you sidestepped one of the large, round, light games. It had a cracked dome on it, a ring of lights running in a circle from one player to the next. Currently there were no lights, and all the players were down in the daycare, thankfully.

" Oh, Starshine ."

"Sun, get in here and help me find the fuse box, please. I don't know where it is." You asked and waved your flashlight around to show where you were. You were fairly certain he had some kind of night vision, given how he easily stepped around the games. His gait was slow, the jingling of his bells loud in the silence.

"It's night-night time, you know." The chipper sound of his voice was replaced by a rasping whisper, and for a few seconds you wondered if he was trying to scare you, to play some kind of prank now that you were spending your first sleepover together, "The stars shouldn't be hiding. And Princesses need their beauty sleep."

"I'm not hiding. I'm trying to find the fuse box, Peter Pan ." 

And you're not helping.

With the flashlight, you whipped your arm around to point at wherever he must have been, gasping at the realization that Sun stood much closer than you anticipated. But he wasn't Sun, not really. The gold and beige of his plastic had changed, the color now a mix of purple-blue and white, his sun rays replaced with a sleeping cap dotted with gold stars. The moon half of his face was accentuated, aglow in the dark, and somehow the fabric of his clothes had shifted, perhaps by glow-in-the-dark pigment.

"Sun, what are you--"

"No. Not Sun. Moon ." He corrected, hand reaching for your flashlight. You quickly pulled it away from him, shining it straight into his optics. He groaned, covering his eyes quickly, "Stop!"

"You stop." Your tone was sharp, more than you'd intended, "You want to play games with the lights off, fine. But don't do it with me. You wanna change your costume, or outfit, or whatever, go ahead, but don't try to come sneak up on me. You wanna be coy, and call me Princess , and Starshine , and not ask if I even like it? Okay. But I'm not playing with you."

Stomping forward, you continued on despite the noises Sun-- Moon made behind you. It was a mix of disappointment and anger, a growl in his vocalizer he didn't bother to hide.

Situated at the backend of the Fazcade, the fuse box sat near the mop sink and excess party supplies, as water and flammable materials were the best things to keep around something that potentially posed a fire hazard. Never mind the plushies that may have been recalled at one point and you knew for certain were still circulating, like the Roxy plush sitting in the mop sink.

Oh, that wolf wouldn't be happy to see that.

Heading to the switch, you set your flashlight down and opened the fuse box. Inside was a nightmare of switches, most of which unlabeled, though a few stood out. Ones that had flipped, to be more precise.

That chuckle again.

Nearly hitting your head on the box, you ducked and fetched your flashlight, throwing the beam this way and that behind you. Moon was at the entrance to the back hall, arms wide as he leaned into the room. In the darkness, his optics seemed to light up, a faint red in the center as he focused on you.

"Go back and make sure the children are okay. I don't want that chaperone thinking they can do whatever while we're gone." You flicked several of the switches, yet none of them turned on the lights in the Fazcade. They must have done something out in the daycare by the sound of loud cheering heard from the room outside.

Another switch flicked. Still no light in the Fazcade.

"Did they wire the whole damn building in here?" A few more switches. Still nothing.

"Naughty, naughty." Moon came into the room, his fingers dragging along the wall as he went, " We've told you not to curse before, Starshine. It's a bad influence on the children ." He spoke slowly, as though scolding a child himself, words too methodical, "We don't want to punish you."

"Then don't." You flicked another switch and shined your flashlight in his face again. He stopped moving forward, "And stop calling me 'Starshine'. You've lost the privilege." Letting his hands fall from his face, Moon stared you down, hands clenched tightly. You flicked a few more switches on the panel, running the side of your hand up the line to trigger them all in a mass attempt to get the lights on, "I just want to get this night over with, okay? I don't want to deal with any of this right now."

Your breath caught in your throat, strong arms wrapped around you, pinning you tightly. As the lights clicked on one by one, you dropped your flashlight to the floor. The light was blinding and painful, your vision filled with stars as you tried to register that Moon had taken you into his arms. The light hadn't deterred him at first, the side of his head dug into your cheek. "Naughty Prin-- "

"Let go!" Without much fanfare, you kicked backwards into his leg, and the bot's arms went slack as you pulled away. You turned on him, ready to strike, only to find him on his knees, head in his hands, face aimed at the floor. The sun rays were back, his golden complexion returning.

He was muttering something unintelligible to himself.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, "Did you turn off the lights? Was that some kind of prank? With this Moon thing?" Sun shook his head quickly, a whimper under his "breath", a few of his sun rays bobbing into his head as he ran his hands down and around its curve. "It's not funny!"

"Sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Honest! Really! Truly!" Sun shook his head violently, his own movement sending him onto the seat of his pants like a pathetic lump, "I-I-I saw the lights go out! I followed you! Wanted to make sure you could turn them back on! I-I-I didn't do it! Cross my heart! Throw me in the trash compactor, and I'll still swear!"

"Why didn't you stay with the children?" Some of your anger simmered down to a faint boil, though your body still stood tense at the feeling of him having grabbed you. You knew from last week he'd wanted a hug, but this wasn't the way to go about it.

The best way was to write a formal letter of acquisition and wait for a reply in seven to ten business days. Holidays not included.

"What's your deal?"

"No deal! None!" Sun still refused to look at you, covering his eyes sheepishly, "I just wanted to make sure! Believe me! I want a nice sleepover filled with laughing, coloring, soda pop, glitter, line dancing, and hide-and-seek! Nothing more." One white optic poked out from between his fingers, "You're not happy here, are you, Starshine?"

It was high time someone noticed.

"No, I'm not." You let your shoulders droop with a deep, painful sigh, one that didn't leave your chest feeling any less tight, "I was hired and lied to about the job, I'm not paid enough, I fell off a balcony," you pointed at him, reminding him of what he'd done, "I'm treated like dirt by the customers, you don't listen to me, and I don't ever get any time off. Why would I be happy, Sun?"

Somehow, the wide smile on his face didn't look so jovial anymore. The tone of it spoke of a familiar downtrodden sadness. "No. No. I understand. I wanted to make you smile. You never smile. Not ever. Moon hasn't seen it either."

Every frustrating thing came to a head, and you tried your best not to get emotional. You'd been told the PizzaPlex would suck the life right out of you, and with fewer days than a week off from the moment you started working, you were feeling the stress and anxiety build in your body tenfold.

"Just, just let's get this night over with. I can't do this anymore." You bent down to pick up your flashlight, only to find it had rolled off somewhere unknown. "I just wanna go home." Your cheeks burned, hot with unshed rage, and you screwed your face up in an attempt to hide it. But it was of no use, tears already forming at the corners of your eyes.

"Why are you--why are you crying?" He asked, unsure of what was happening. Despite this, you turned away and wiped your face on your sleeves, trying your best to avoid him even as he got up and tried to walk around to face you.

"Stop." The order was weak and didn't do much good, "Go check the kids." You wished there was a corner you could squirrel yourself away in, some place you could hide until the heat of your collar went away, the pain and pressure you felt behind your eyes. Already, there was a building headache at the base of your skull, and the hand that found its way to your shoulder wasn't your own. "Just give me a minute."

Wiping at your eyes, you tried your best to hide your face so you could stop crying with some dignity. It was too much for the sun-faced automaton in front of you to understand, the human brain and all its intricacies and eccentricities too vast a concept to explain to a machine. But he did try, Sun truly did, even if he didn't understand completely, even as he already raised his hands to hug you.

But he backed away, just as you asked, and slowly stepped from the room so you could collect yourself, silent and unquestioning.

About ten minutes ticked by until you decided you spent enough time wallowing in self-pity, and running cold water from the mop sink you splashed it on your face, holding your cold fingers against your eyes until the swelling went down. It would still be obvious that you'd been crying, but it was only polite to not question it should someone see. Which, thankfully, the only other human aside from the chaperone was security, and you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they didn't care.

When at last you descended the stairs and walked back into the daycare, you found Sun herding the little ones into a single-file line, the chaperone at its end. With the lights back on, it was decided they would all head over to the arcade to expend some of their nervous energy, followed by a quick lap around the Roxy Raceway. The parents were paying for it, so you had a mind to see it done.

The chaperone escorted the children alongside a waiting map bot toward the lobby and up into the atrium. It wasn't your or Sun's place to leave the daycare, and it was only a matter of time until the little ones returned again to actually sleep at their sleepover.

Oh, the days of lock-ins and sleepovers, a bygone remnant of your past you'd never get back.

With quiet once again reigning in the daycare, you found a spot on one of the "grassy knolls" alongside the ball pit, and laid there. Already, you were tired, worn out from your short outburst and inability to rest for most of the night--not with the children in the building, and not with the soft clicking of clockwork making its way over to you.

It was a blissful moment of silence when otherwise the children would be on a hellish rampage the likes of which you'd never seen.

The sound of your name being called meekly caught your attention, and you found Sun holding a small bundle in his arms. You couldn't tell what it was from your spot on the floor, and you were more shocked to hear your real name come from him. He'd never said it before, and for some reason, the sound wasn't right in your ears. It was off and wrong.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you." The admission was easy, and you rolled over onto your side to glance up at the bot that towered over you, more so now that he was standing straight. "I'm sorry. I got worked up. It's not an excuse to treat you like shit."

"No cursing."

"I know. Sorry." Finally, you sat up, "It's okay if you call me 'Starshine'. It sounds weird when you say my name." Sun shimmied closer, and began to unfold the bundle he had in his arms. It was a fleece blanket, one with Freddy's face plastered right in the center, jovial and obnoxious. "Just don't tell Moon. He has to work for it."

A chuckle started up inside Sun's chest, and stopped abruptly.

"Have you always been able to do that? Switch, I mean. Is that why the children are afraid of napping here?"

Tiredly, Sun sank to his knees, legs plopped out beside his thighs. His hands sat in his lap, defeated, "He's always been here. He's me, and I'm him, and we're us. And that Rabbit. That rabbit doesn't like us much." He handed you the blanket, to which you wrapped it around your shoulders. "She makes things difficult."

There hadn't been a rabbit in the PizzaPlex in a long time, not for years. Not since maybe you were young. It was hard to tell anymore, given how time corrupted all things, especially memory. And if even there was one, security had never mentioned it, unless Sun meant Bonnie. 

Bonnie was long gone; "Bon-nie voyage" as some of the upper management would say when asked. It was a non-issue, something best left in the past, even for marketing purposes.

"Are you going to leave?" The tone of the question was flat, too even, and you watched Sun's face as though somehow he'd change expression. For a machine with only one emotion permanently etched into his plastic and metal casing, the way he spoke and carried himself said volumes.

"I don't know." It was the truth. You'd spoken in anger and frustration, but you hardly knew any other avenue that would offer you the time and pay Fazbear's did. It was a double-edged sword; a job you needed, but a job you were unsure you hated completely. "I don't think so."

"Good!" Sun crawled forward into your space, "Because I c-can't call anyone else Starshine, even if they wear the outfit! It won't be the same." The comment made your cheeks hurt, a small grin on your face for the first time in a long while. It wasn't much, but it was there.

"A smile ." His face grew closer to yours, bowing so he nearly hit his head against yours in excitement, "You're smiling! Ha! I got you to smile!" His fingers dug into your cheeks, pulling and prodding, "I did it!"

"Yeah." You replied thickly, the word not sounding at all like "yeah" given how he forced you to smile again. "You did it."

Excitedly, he jumped up and finally exited your space, giving a twirl before accidently careening over the red brick wall into the ball pit. In a second, his face poked out and over the wall, eyes trained on you, "Do it again."

--

As the last of the crayon washed away, you let the rag fall into the bucket at your side. Your hand cramped painfully, and with slow movements you flexed your fingers. Your skin was clammy and pruned and the faint mark was healing on your palm. Without looking, you knew the one on your knee was doing well, too. 

Your spine popped against the low, plastic chair back behind you, a welcome relief from the events of the day.

Sun's head sat in your lap still, due in part to your knees sitting over his shoulders, and in part that he didn't much want to move out of place. He rather liked it there. You were warm, inviting, and you'd even smiled at him. More than once!

The hand that sat curved around your knee moved up slightly more, catching your attention, cold digits warmed by your own body for as long as he sat.

"Alright, goofball, you're clean. Up, up." Swinging your legs, you released him and made to stand yourself. Your back hurt from hunching over for the past hour, cleaning a bot that sat patiently with his head between your legs (in the most innocent, innocuous ways). Once you got home that night, you were getting a hot shower and going right to bed.

Sun popped his head up and stared into a small mirror propped on the table. His face was, in fact, the cleanest it had been in some time. He hardly recognized himself despite being completely recognizable and somewhat horrifying.

"I'm heading home." You said with finality, picking up your bag from the loveseat to swing it over your shoulder, "I won't be back until three tomorrow, so try to behave yourself, okay?" Toward the door you went, surprised to find Sun hadn't moved from his spot near the sofa. He sat with his knees pulled up, legs tight, and arms loose around himself. "Sun?"

"Nighty night." It was the voice of Moon, though his face hadn't changed, still a brilliant mix of gold and red.

Your hand fell from the doorknob, and for a few seconds you pondered to yourself.

"Hey." You started simply, just to get his attention. "C'mere."

Your arms raised in a robotic fashion, your hands opened, palms up, and it only took a fraction of a second for the animatronic to realize what you wanted. With considerable effort, Sun dashed forward, first on his hands and knees, before finally making it onto his feet, nearly knocking into you as he easily scooped you up into a back-breaking hug.

The two of you spun around for a moment as he twirled toward the center of the room, and you held firmly to the metal loop on his back.

It was hard to leave sometimes. The automaton had gotten so used to your hugs, so utterly addicted, that he found it difficult to let you leave without getting one. It wasn't something you shared in front of security, wary of what they would think, but you didn't mind so much in private, in that little sanctuary you built for yourself above the daycare.

Begrudgingly, Sun set you down and let you walk out the door, following closely behind as you held your hand out at your back. He caught it quickly and followed in line, making sure to walk slowly lest his long legs overtake you.

Out of the hall and into the daycare lobby you went, making your way over toward the exit that would take you out into the main PizzaPlex. It was a nightly ritual when you stayed late, and one you'd hadn't broken once since you started.

At the rolling door, he released your hand and waited for you to leave, for the moment he'd be left alone for however long it took you to return.

Grabbing the sides of his head, you pulled it low and planted a small kiss above the curve of his nose, "Stay out of trouble. You and Moon." Sun grabbed your wrists firmly as you went to let go, and nuzzled his face against the top of your head, as close to something endearing as he could manage. "Alright, alright, jeez."

Finally, he let your wrists go and you turned to head through the door out into the lobby, "Try to find a closing shift you want to clean. We'll make a night of it. I'll bring my sleeping bag, and we can have a sleepover." It was a childish notion, but not one you found unappealing. With a laugh, you shook your head, "Night, Sun."

Sun stood at the threshold of the daycare and watched as you left for the evening, suddenly feeling terribly alone despite your previous reassurances. He wondered, for a moment, if the other animatronics felt the same way for their handlers, for the humans that took care of them when everything was said and done.

They must have, yes?

Even Moon, in all his quiet malice, had grown fond, the want to touch and tear tempered by your own reluctant admissions to them, that you enjoyed being around them.

Yes, the others must have felt the same, must have had their own worlds, feelings, and their own favorite humans. It felt only right to do so. But Sun did know one thing for certain.

You were his human.

His Starshine.

And he made you smile .