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Chapter Text

Somehow, Allan feels differently about Ken now. 

It was strange how his obsession and love for the other had been twisted and, in a way, used against him by Ken during his introduction of patriarchy to BarbieLand. He remembers nights crying on the beach in the spot he usually waited for Ken after Barbie's big blow out parties ended. Those parties were over, as were the moments Ken comes to see him after being rejected by Barbie in favor of Girls' Night. Now, Ken spends his nights with the other Kens, letting them admire him for his knowledge on horses and patriarchy. They marvel at the respect he had gotten in the real world, even Ken's rival-Ken looks up at the inspirational symbol Ken transformed into.

At night, Allan leaves the DreamHouse to his housemate Midge, whom knew a lot of details about him, (but Mattel had assumed was his wife after he moved in). They'd share the house in harmony. And Midge didn't question when Allan came home around nine every morning, eyes slightly puffy from crying at the beach every night, and appearance disheveled from sleeping there. She didn't have to explicitly know to know. When he got home, Allan would shower, wash his face with cold water from the bathroom sink until his eyes reflected that presentable look of feeling okay again. By then, an hour would pass, and they'd both make something to fake-eat. Sitting at the table making heavy or bantering conversation, though lately it was light— like the amount of food he eats.

This late-morning, however, instead of a Ken, Allan gets whisked away by brainwashed Doctor-Barbie. Who tells him mindless and bluntly, "Ken wants to talk to you. Meet him at his house."

Barbie's- Ken's... Mojo Dojo Casa House is oddly empty, and quiet. Allan notes there seems to be a surplus of Kens and a few Barbie's at surrounding Barbie-turned-Ken homes. Dread drops heavy in his stomach as he presses "Ken's" doorbell, the joyful ring bouncing off his inner skull like a never ending thought. Minutes drag in his mind as he sees Ken approaching, until it all speeds up. The door suddenly swinging open, Ken leaning on the top of the plastic-wooden door, towering and invading his space, intimidating him with his tall, muscular form. He should feel like prey, and he does, but despite the bad intentions lingering, his heart beats faster with past thoughts and wants of this.

Allan.

Eyes dragging up, he spots Ken's black joggers with the lightening bolts down the sides riding low on his hips, white briefs brandishing his name along the top showing. Vision flashing up so fast past Ken's abdomen, his head is spinning. Only seeing a shirtless, toned chest, perfect, platinum blonde hair, and striking, blue, ocean eyes. "Allan," a firm hand grasps the top of his left shoulder tight enough to leave soreness in the inevitable invisibility of the currently small, pinkish marks temporarily branded into his skin. Nausea hitting his bloodstream as a faint redness makes its way to his face. Sick with nerves, and thoughts, responsible for his flushing cheeks.

"Y-Yeah," Allan's croaking out in answer, blinking back into reality. Ken's frowning a little at the corner of his mouth and he winces, clearing his throat, "What d-did you, um, want to talk to me about?" Reluctance clear in his wavering eyes, unable to make contact with Ken again.

"We need to get you in a manly set of clothes, Allan. Your usual outfit isn't very..." Ken looks off to his left, gesturing with palms turning up and opening, physically communicating him envisioning his land. "...Kendom." Snapping back to Allan, he lazily smirks. "Let's go," Ken slips into the minimal space next to Allan, pressing a warm hand into the small of his back, "all my clothes will fit you."

Allan is gushing all over the place. Lower back hot with Ken's hand intimately leading him into the pink house, like he's a brainwashed Barbie. The redhead imagines Ken thinks he is, considering he's basically a Ken with no power. The thought igniting a flash of thundering chills down his spine that wash funny feeling warmth down his entire character, turning his legs a little jello-ish as he's taken up to the second story.

"Sit here," Ken commands him firmly, just like the ripe, lingering ghost of a hand print left lying on his left shoulder. Allan settles the back of his knees snuggly against the edge of the second story's floor, which stops in favor of the missing wall that creates the open view from the house. Feet freely dangling as he looks out at the other transformed houses. Swallowing down the thoughts of his Ken from before Kendom as they gurgle up murkily throughout his body. Threatening to remind his face of how it looks when it's sobbing out, 'I miss who you were, Ken.' "Stand." Shivers run laps down his arms, make the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

Ken's eyes induce a hard to breathe sensation as Allan looks back at them staring him down. The other doll fake laughs uncomfortably before leaning over to reach around the front of his neck, gripping together the fronts of his shirt's collar, and standing Allan up himself. Who gasps softly for air absent in his nonexistent lungs as his world spins. Returning to his mind to find his hands tightly holding Ken's wrist and forearm with weak knees, like Ken is the only thing Allan can never let go of...

. . .

Allan had that look in his eyes again. The one that made Ken stare deeply back into them, transfixed on dilated pupils, a softly propped open mouth, and that puppy-like expression with slightly widened eyes— all so full of a strange emotion he has never seen in the other. Ken, never having had to use his brute force like this, didn't know if that was a good reaction or not. Allan's smooth yet slightly rough palms seep heat into his arm. The warmth and tightness at which he holds onto him, like he's losing him, makes him feel funny and forget about how difficult being in charge is. Ken's eyes search him left to right hard enough he sees his own reflection inspecting Allan intently, tugging him back to the present moment. "-Close your mouth," he almost stutters as his face eases his fascination away and his body snaps away, gone instantly in a weak attempt at masking his emotions— that he remembers he isn't supposed to have, for the reason that, in patriarchy, being a man means showing emotions makes you weak. Ken assumes he did it right, considering Allan doesn't squeak a word or knowing look his way.

Distracting them both, Ken picks up a pair of cowboy boots he had set aside and holds them up to Allan, envisioning if they would look good on him. Dramatically, throwing them to the side when finding it unsatisfactory. He repeats the process, holding up a pair of boots or matching cowboy-themed jackets, shirts, and pants or shorts before deciding better of it.

When he stares hard at Allan, nothing in hand, he can see trepidation riddling itself throughout the other's awkward stance, as if nothing looking like it was made to be worn by him was his fault. For a split second, Ken's eyes flash with a thought that it's a sign maybe he should back down from everything now... He can't. Although he's hurting Allan, he can make it up to him later, when he finally wins Barbie over. He can't let everyone know he was wrong. That would go against patriarchy, Ken reasons. In those terms, being a man is about always being right, even if your wrong, and doubling down when others who aren't seen as your equals try to challenge your authority.

Allan isn't his equal. He's not a Ken, so he doesn't hold as much manly-ness in his body. Evident in the way Allan's belly was flat and smooth like a Barbie's, not toned like a Ken's. Steps polite like a Barbie's, yet  lighter than a Ken's, but still heavy. Somehow different than both stereotypes in a plentitude of ways. Allan doesn't fit any of the mainstream profiling of BarbieL- Kendom. Therefore, his social position must be lower than a Ken but... higher than a Barbie? "Uh- Ken," high pitched hesitance questions him.

Ignoring the other, "I know just the thing," Ken reaches into the back corner of his pink closet stuffed messily with his outfits. Pulling out an article of clothing purposefully hidden within the depths of his own clothing. Standing in Allan's space, Ken one handedly pulls his shirt apart like it's held together by Velcro and not buttoned together. Regardless of its actual material, it opens like it is Velcro and, almost mysteriously, the striped shirt's buttons remain undamaged. Gaze traveling, seemingly harsh, as it follows the pretty, reddish hue that spills down Allan's smooth chest, despite his face's expression slightly revealing Ken's fixation of Allen's unique body type.

Hand coming up, absentminded in its soft thumbing of the fading mark he unintentionally left on the pale shoulder. The warm skin hot with soreness, soft on the outside, and tender on the inner most parts. Ken glances away with his own reprieve, "Put your arms up." In his downcast eyes he sees Allan's shirt slide off his arms, landing on the pale pink floor lightly. Wordlessly following his order, the redhead timidly raises his arms.

Ken had remembered this in a book about what some human males had done to another male. The book being about tolerance and things unacceptable now that there was no more patriarchy. But, since there actually is patriarchy in the human's world, that means he should do some of those things? Especially since Ken is instating his own patriarchy. Wondering if Allan might enjoy wearing a dress like the human male early on in the book did. That he just needs a little push like those human males had given that other male from a later chapter.

When Ken quickly finishes tugging the dress down his body, Allan is donning Barbie's strapless, pink and white checkered dress. The one Ken saw her last wearing on the beach when he'd gotten hurt trying to surf. It fits not as awkwardly as he had imagined. Allan's flushing face complementing the color scheme.

Ken read in that book from the real world that women were essentially men's property, so he could do what he wanted with them. Un-comfortability sprang across his mind, and he felt like slapping himself for even have remembered that fact. Ken would have to slap himself when he was away from Allan, whom Ken could never let know the less than ideal parts of the human's early patriarchy. The real world had its boundaries crossed in certain areas he knew he could never think to bring to Kendom. The lines he saw were blurred, some things seemed alright, others he instinctually knew weren't, and the majority was plain confusing to him. 

"Can I?" Ken nervously stretches his right hand out until it's a foot away from Allan's waist. Allan nods, torn between appearing both as if he doesn't want to watch it happen, and as if entranced in Ken's curiosity and seeming want. The blonde's skin continues to prickle with apprehension as he makes contact with his waist. Everything slows as his hand leisurely feels out Allan's side. It's warm, as is the air between them, and his figure fills out the smooth material of the dress surprisingly well. Ken's pulse high and breaths falling out slow and shallow as he thumbs deliberately at the other's hip. Lost in the scarlet color that had crept over the reddish flush right above where the start of the pink dress covered Allan's chest. Its overwhelming with how good the contact feels, the air tight and feeling low with oxygen, skin hot with the simple pleasure flowing through his blood, and ineffable emotions filling his head about how Allan looks right now.

Gaze notifying Allan of his left hand slowly asking for permission to touch his side once again, "... is this okay?" The murmur low, his eyes flickering up from Allan's dainty chest to his face for approval. Evocative eye contact searing through the palpable tension between the distances of their bodies. The slighter doll nods stiffly. Cheeks rosy red, widened eyes gleaming with that strange emotion Ken can't pick apart or place in his catalogue of expressions. Allan looks away suddenly, appearing bashful, as if he wants to disappear, but can't reap enough of Ken's touch to want to leave, or stop him. Which Ken finds himself willing to comply with either, should the other ask.

Carefully, his hands work together as they squeeze gently and feel up his sides, each bit of pressure pressed into Allan's lower waist and upper flanks overflowing with strange intention. Tightening the distance between their chests as his hands slip onto his lower back. Ken's mouth subconsciously props open in focus, blonde eyebrows knit together as he comes forward, mindlessly dipping his head down to lay his chin on Allan's shoulder. 'He's just like a Barbie.' Imagining, 'this is what it would feel like to hug her.' Ken holds Allan tighter, tilting his head farther into the back of a head of hair. The scent of it similar to Barbie's reeling him in tighter as his eyes gloss over in sadness.

Their chests pressing together, soaring hearts beating in tandem, and tears gleaming in eyes for reasons each cannot share the sentiment of with the other. Silence enough to speak the words of the minds embracing bodies so far away from the hearts supposedly speaking through each other.

. . .

Allan swallows hard. Physically remembering the moment so clearly it was strikingly difficult to not squirm at the remnants of such graphic emotions and imagery existing in his mind. He knows why that situation is something that shouldn't have happened, even if he was okay with it. Hurt stings his tear ducts. For some reason, it felt so much more awful being able to physically feel Ken imagining Barbie when he was holding him. The look in his eyes, distant and yearning for someone else to be there heartbreakingly evident. The hand that came up to caress his hair like it was supposed to be longer further telling of unsaid emotions within Ken's body. For a few moments, Allan truly believed his Ken, the one he wasn't created to like-like, but had come to love anyway, had been there experiencing heaven with him.

Allan... doesn't... tear himself apart over it.

After Barbie realized she didn't have to ask to be human, she could just... be human, Allan knew, then, how utterly sensational Barbie was. Having forgotten how special she is during his servitude of Ken and in his inadvertent distancing from her— Ken was always happy when it was just him she gave her attention to. Now, Barbie is living on both as an idea, and as part of the people who make the ideas. She was something worth wanting to chase after, worth torturing yourself over for the mere possibility of being in her life as her unequal, equal.

Sometimes, Allan wishes he was more than an Allan. That he could go to the real world like the other Allans had, whom had transpired to form *NSYNC and seemingly never looked back. But, deep down, Allan was content with being in BarbieLand. Happy to be Allan. Knowing who he is here remaining enough for him. Existing in the background of Ken's life being something altogether unavoidable at times, though he found he was okay with that long ago.

. . .

In passing glances, Allan observes as Ken apologizes to Barbies and Kens alike for the entirety of Kendom. Some need time to forgive, others don't have much for Ken to apologize for, and a few need time to even want to be near him. It's a tedious process. Noting, with regret, that he cares more about Ken having yet to visit him. Pain from a familiar wound twists in his chest, and it's more than Ken not recognizing him as someone on the list of people he hurt. Adding an additional layer of hurt for Ken not even acknowledging him. Burning thoughts of blistering self doubt settle around in his skull about what that means for his mental state.

Unable to consciously be around Ken, Allen takes to fixing Barbie-DreamHouses in which she didn't feel as though she romantically liked "her" Ken. Asking for nothing in return as he works on their homes for the couple of days required to perfectly restore them. (Getting rid of the leather couches leaving a particularly large increase of serotonin within his body.) The unofficial work never failing to busy his days with the occasional random Ken or Barbie also helping out. Despite Allan occupying his days, Midge notes Allan beginning to fake eat regularly, stay during the nights to sleep, and an increase in his mental and physical health. Their conversations during meals picking up again with passion and joy. Speaking of their days and discussing the increasing normalcy of Ken's having some power in the new BarbieLand.

Two and a half weeks come and go and Allen is offered a job, by President Barbie, as a special ambassador of both Barbie and Ken parties. Representing the Ken, Barbie, both, or none of the parties as someone who communicates the concerns and beliefs of the entirety of a party feeling as if something unjust or immoral is happening with the involvement of another party, within the inside of their society and out. It earns him more than, if not quadruple, his usual attention from Barbies and Kens alike. Allan basks in being recognized more often in public, occasionally being invited by Kens to hangout at a couple of Mojo Dojo Casa Houses they collective bought, and be honorably asked by colleague Barbies if he would like to go to their Girls' Night. Jobs intertwining, Allan spends more time with Weird Barbie who works in the sanitation department, chatting and joking during free time. In favor of coming down to the beach after work, they drive to her Weird House in her Weird Car. Discussing with discontinued dolls living in her house, that he's friendly with, of their steadily improving lifestyles since the overthrowing of Kendom.

Weeks pass and Allan saves up enough from his job to afford his own DreamHouse. Midge brings him house warming gifts with a beaming smile that Allan accepts with an incredibly genuine and warm, "I didn't expect this, thank you, Midge." As a rule of routine and general enjoyment of each other's company, they often spend dinners, lunches, or breakfasts at restaurants, each other's houses, and diners. Dolls talk minutely in passing of his moving out, some already suspect they were never actually together together in consideration of the timeline.

The town talk inspiring Physicist Barbie to approach them with, "Hi Midge, Hi Allan." Confronting them both before they settle on a pair of low-to-the-ground, hot pink, beach chairs, "So, some rumors have been circulating around town about you two. And I just wanted to make sure you knew about it."

Rapt attention remaining on his face, Allan waves a hand absently and smiles warmly, "Oh- We've heard in passing by. Thank you, Physicist Barbie." Glancing to Midge before asking lowly, "Are you okay with me telling her?" Not wanting to share information that includes details about her personal life without her knowing consent.

Midge openly appreciates the sentiment with a gesture, "Have at it, Allan."

When is all said and done, they assure the Barbie she can share the facts about them never being together, only existing as roommates, and remaining friends now that Allan had moved out.

The waves crash soundly against the shore in the absence of the Barbie's voice having required his hearing earlier. A nagging feeling of forgetting something crashes into Allan just as abruptly as the noise of the water. Ignoring it as he and Midge laugh off the accusations of them ever being together in the context of knowing certain things about each other. Sharing fondness that their friendship is so strong it could make dolls think they were romantically involved.

Moments later, Allan feels his heart drop to start throbbing dully in slow beats when a familiar look crosses Midge's face. 

"No..." Face falling as that forgotten, tightly packed in bundle of memory and emotions within the back of his brain rushes to the forefront of his mind. Allan would be lying if he said he had completely forgotten about Ken since he noted him seemingly avoiding him. Flash moments of hanging out at the collective Ken houses filled with thoughts of Ken during Kendom, seeing Barbie-Ken couples in the streets gave him downcast eyes he couldn't explain, only ignore. Loud emotions of sadness, far-away tears of content, and confusion corroding his sleepless dreams based around that deep, distant longing for Ken. The stars in the sky threatening him with memory of a familiar, dimly lit spot on the beach, night haunting him with memories of the ever changing doll he lost once, and thinks he's already lost again considering it's what Ken wanted to happen after Kendom. Thoughts of Ken wanting to finally be happy for himself, even without his presence in his new life, simultaneously soothe and rile Allan's soul.

Midge, regretfully nodding at his reaction, skillfully acts as if she hadn't caught Ken's character in the background looking their way. "Since we got here, actually..."

Pounding in his ears is the sound of his heart swelling, pressing against his rib cage violently, and the water hitting sand in harsh waves. A naturally occurring attribution representing his emotions overwhelming his bodily functions. Face sweaty with instinctual nervousness at the remnants of memories shared between two bodies belonging to hot skin, yearning for each other's touch, as they hug impossibly close. Cold shivers blooming down his spine as he feels phantom sensations of his hands curling in soft, platinum blonde hair, soothing a shaky, warm, muscular back, and fingertips digging lightly into a body he could never dare dream of having like this again. The nape of Ken's neck so satisfying to grasp and tuck the blonde's head closer into him. 

A remembering moment so chocked full of physical sensations Allan's mouth runs choppily on auto pilot, "What... face... is he making?" Blank, yet far away, curiosity following the words unsteadily flowing from his vocal cords. His unblinking stare into the distance slightly breaking to focus.

"Definitely that one squinty, eyebrows pressed, almost pouty expression."

Allan forces himself to not breathe shallowly to regulate his entire body, "He's trying to keep his serious, Beach face on. But he's curious and doesn't understand what's happening... over here." Mouth running practiced thoughts that match expressions he recognizes and subconsciously flips through in his mind like flash cards. The implications of what his reaction could mean for his current relationship with Ken flashing vague thoughts over the memory of Ken having been so physically close to him once.

"Come on, Allan. Let's go get lunch, take our minds off this, and cool off." Midge sways her legs over the side of the low beach chair, "The sun is very hot today." Allan mimics her body language before standing and helping her up, not that she needs it.

The redheaded doll attends his usual hands on hips stance while Midge clears her throat with a gentle smile, "Twirling a glass, eyebrows down, poorly puffed out chest," she chides with a playfully disapproving dip in her tone. "Deep eye contact with, uh, the general area." Providing with familiar, never ending amusement.

Allan's eyebrows raise as he looks away, aspirates with a high pitch, "So, hot. The sun, today," awkward in the uneven voicing of a cover up with warming cheeks. "Where did you want to get lunch, again? I didn't, uh, hear you, the first time." The doll glances at her briefly in questioning, playing the part of getting attention off him despite them both knowing it would never work with Midge. She chuckles for a moment in fondness at Allan's cracking voice.

"I was thinking-"

Chapter Text

'-how is Allan doing? He looks... better.' Ken wonders why the last part aches. Questions why his thoughts provide that the slighter doll had always been doing okay without Ken. It makes his face hurt, like when that weird thing happened to his body and eyes when he broke down after his patriarchy had been toppled. Barbie told him it's called crying. 'Barbie said crying feels achy and good sometimes,' Ken frowns slightly, 'my body feels achy for Allan?' The idea that this emotion running through his skin and settling in his chest felt good was off.

His face dusts with a red shyness at the sudden comparison between two experiences, 'my body felt good when I held him...' Ken glances to the side anxiously, remembering Allan's hand winding through his hair, pulling him closer, and how holding him felt different than moments before. His hand had stopped reaching for blonde strands that weren't there, instead, skimming through short, red hair with a silky, yet rough, texture. He was suddenly craving the weird feeling that had bubbled up in his chest right before he pulled away from Allan.

The feeling Ken figures Allan didn't want to experience with him... Especially since noting the severe lack of the other within his life ever since Kendom. He continually recognizes that when reflecting on a list of people who consistently wanted to interact with him during before-BarbieLand, Allan pops up more often then not. The redhead is there at the beach in late mornings, always before him. Always the first to try to say, "Hi Ken." He's there during the night, after blowout parties, soothing the despair rumpling his skin. A beck and call away whenever Ken needed him, or on the occasion he wanted to hangout. 

He was blind sighted during various attempts at winning Barbie's attention, always forgetting to look to people around him for happiness instead of someone who loved him as a friend. Guilt crawls down his throat, into his stomach. They were the ones making the effort, wanting him in their life. Ken inadvertently brushed Allan off every time in Before-BarbieLand, even during Kendom. Forcing him to comply with Barbie activities, even when knowing he wasn't brainwashed like them. It's no wonder the slighter doll doesn't want him back in his life considering how horribly he's treated the other 

It inspires a wave of anguish to hit the tide of his body, washing his thoughts away from Allan and to how other dolls must have felt, and still feel, about him from Before-BarbieLand and during Kendom. Wrongs he has yet to right play in the background of his mind like subtle waves reminding him of work still needing done. Stuck in cobwebs are the dolls still deserving of justice. They exist within the corners of his head repetitively chanting his misguided actions.

Change is dousing all of BarbieLand once again, and, more pressingly, it's pouring over his body and mind. It worms worry and new found anxiety into his soul, furthering the inevitable differences in his life compared to the familiar days before new responsibilities. The unknown ideas of what the next day may clutch in its mysterious hands caress his thoughts much like the invisible ideas molding his mind into something less immature— yet something, he thinks, is entirely Ken. The ones that speak to him in dreams, too vague to get past the indecipherable truth that there's something missing about everything in his new days. Giving him a slippery awareness of an absence in weight pressing into the bed he returns to every night. 

It emphasizes the importance that he is often left alone, in the plastic memory of Barbie he inhibits. Where he is lead by thoughts to the outer edges of his mind that burn with muddling emotions transcending into present, past, and future. The stars in the night sky dip his entire body in the memory of a feeling he desperately grasps onto, never managing to dig his fingers into the eyes of the moon always telling him he's forgetting something. It's essential, vitally so, and some mornings Ken cannot help the sweat that paralyzes his limbs, the red heat that swims in his body, or the thickness in his throat that gives him an unusually gruff voice. Unfamiliar feelings riddled around his body, soaking in all the new experiences that came with the undeniable loss of Barbie.

The weeks spent apologizing, letting people be angry; Taking it all, knowing he deserves it. Behind the blazing trial of shame accompanied with his past actions, Ken is left with many moments to himself; Forcing him to settle his bruised core down, take his character into consideration, and answer the question of his creation. To profoundly think about what he wants, needs, values, and desires.

Ken.... He's Ken. Along the way of all the new thoughts overpowering his once fairly empty home of a head, he's forgotten to peer back inside and finally decide what Ken values. 

He digs back to his roots from before to his simple love of Beach. Since he could remember being in a box, it has been both an area and job he has adored. The feeling of Barbie missing from that scene has long since dunked into the waves of his disregarded, distorted views of her. However, as he ducks his head sheepishly away from the horizon line he's been mysteriously gazing into, the dolls of which he's still wronged remind him the job aspect of Beach has changed too.

When was the last time he'd gone to this sandy sanctuary just for the sake of himself? Enjoyed it alone, like he had before being integrated into the role and life expected from him by the now familiar, pinkly colored world. 

...

A night free, and alone, comes easy for Ken. The night like dark pools of ocean water swallowing the beams of the sun; reflecting back sparkles of the salt in its eternal, murky depths. A cold breeze prickles the back of his neck, sounds of parties and nights with friends echo along the streets, and a chill lingers within his skin. 

Beach in view, his heart skips a beat at the sound of waves rocking into the sand quietly, yet louder than during the day without the joyful chatter of dolls. It's a familiar sound that now, unknowingly, weighs a building tension in his throat. The feeling of something catching up to him bristles down the ridges along his spine.

That familiar spot on the beach where he would once visit lays itself out for his searching eyes. The broken scene of it deviates depressingly from its glory in comparison to his routinely visits during Before-BarbieLand. The feeling of sand compressed beneath him stretches his mind into a dreary sensation he's been feeling regularly in vacant days. 

Gradually, his heart begins to burn, and wetness streams slow and lithely down his tan cheeks. Emotions stubbornly lodge themselves in his throat until they turn into a sob he is learning to quiet down. The forgotten feeling has long since fought to grab at least a small piece of as proof is what he is now grabbing handfuls of. That one emotion he had always tried to claw his hands into and hold tight to his chest, to remember. He not only feels the remnants of the awful ache of loss, but he now also knows he had been wanting to remember this profound memory of a presence his body has been subconsciously yearning and sulking around every silent, lonely, empty room for. 

The moon cries, he thinks, it leaks its milky tears of stars into the sky, and he remembers. Ken remembers the ocean is his own home, filled with his tears like the house Barbie had given him. The stars reflect beautifully across the aching waves desperately washing onto sea, trying to grasp the land that never stays within its pitifully, graceful hands streaking out across the horizon. It can't seem to ever remember holding the coastline despite its closeness to it; always trying yet never reaching. It changes his view of the beach, his enchantment growing roots ever deeper into the depths of his slow, painfully aching heart. 

His body communicates the sensation of a presence through his shivering skin and hands missing the warmth of a memory he can't help but dream of. To want something terribly bad and know it does not want you back as it tries to love something else is tragic. It is a tune his body plays to for the first time as it learns what it means to empathize with the pain of realizing that to truly love something is to let it exist happily, even without you there. But, it does not mean it will hurt any less, and that is something no doll living a meaningful life can run from. 

...

The tears of the sea he has wept are wiped off his face with the back of his hand; leaving a wistful smile on his lips yearning for the moment of opportunity. His eyes are down turned with his uncertainty from moments ago. They hold a glossiness stating a new peace of mind and heart. The ocean roars quietly and the tide purrs into the land. It felt like minutes, but his internal clock—rusty to past nights once spent accompanied by another wishing only his happiness—recognizes the time spent introspecting as hours. 

Ken's fondness of the beach interlinked with such a moment of clarity of his character is something he believes may never come to him again so beautifully.

A rustling noise of someone approaching soothes his mindfulness into matted skin tanned because, he reaches to finally find, he likes it that way. Ken doesn't turn his head, but he listens intently as his heart excites itself with the idea of who's approaching him. The muted steps sound a bit louder on the absorbing sand keeping the quiet peace around its perfectly crafted scene. Tension builds high in his body and the reflecting water entices him to look away in favor of knowing. He refuses to look, and the idea of the unknown becomes a little more comfortable in his head as he soaks up the moment of mystery like a sponge.

"Hi Ken," a happy voice greets him. 

There is none of the heightened satisfaction his mind hopefully imagined upon hearing the familiar voice of Ken. 

He doesn't turn toward the doll he'd spent so much of his time competing with for Barbie's attention, "Hi Ken." 

"Me and some other Kens are inviting Kens to come hangout at our Mojo Dojo Casa Houses. If you wanna join us, or something," he tags on the last part with last-minute, cool indifference— reminding Ken that Ken had softened into amazement as he began to look up to him during Kendom. "We're watching Spirit tonight.” (Another thing he loves are those majestic horses of the human world.)

 A small, genuine smile slides itself on the sitting Ken's face. 

"Thank you, I'd be honored to," he turns his body to the left, grasping the outstretched hand helping him stand as an act of acceptance. Gazing at a doll he has always known, but never seen beyond a worthy, cool rival keeping him from Barbie's life, he find words in the moment of comfortable, staring quiet. He half shrugs with hope shying through his quick confidence, "I'm sorry, Ken. I always competed with you for Barbie's attention. But, now that she's gone... I'm realizing the competitive nature of our relationship would be fun if we just did it for ourselves in the hope of creating a good friendship."

"I would love to be friends, Ken," he grins goofily, not baring the intentionally cool front that had supported the tension between the two battling dolls in the past. They clasp hands and pull forward into a friendly hug much like the goodbye ones used during Kendom. Pulling apart, Ken comments cheekily with kindness, "maybe someday soon I'll teach you how to do flips." 

The Ken's eyes sparkle with laughter and a bantering glint he can't shake. Ken knows they are not the same eyes of his rival. They're both changing and learning how to adapt to all the sudden and gradual differences around them. "I'd like that, Ken," his genuine tone rolls out smooth and grateful. 

A silent wave of the water crashing muted into the shoreline sounds quiet in the back of his mind, and it whispers to him a name he feels in his ribs faintly.