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It was a typical slow Friday night when Moon stumbled upon the treasure.
Ever since he’d learned how to access the Plex’s security cameras, he’d taken a different approach to his nighttime patrols. Sure, he’d still sweep the whole mall a few times a night, but sometimes, he’d simply keep an eye on everything through the cameras while making the most of those precious five minutes of freedom. On this particular night, he snuck into a dusty corner of the basement and peeked into a beat-up cardboard box bearing what looked like a stylized bow tie drawn on the front, wherein he found a most unusual collection.
“Look Moon,” Sun giggled, “it’s you!”
The images did look like him; at least, they did if the person looking at them had atrocious eyesight and sub-average object recognition capabilities. The blueprints, creased poster, and water-damaged photographs in Moon’s hands all showed the same character, that being a practical bowling ball of a gentleman with a cratered face, a comically tiny nightcap, and four limbs haphazardly sticking out of his body. The straight, forward-facing nose was new, but his pointed shoes and bell-adorned wrists were unmistakable.
“Good golly, he’s absolutely hideous!”
“What exactly is wrong with him?” retorted Moon.
“Now now, don’t get your knickers in a twist! Believe me, you’re a definitive improvement. And it’s a good thing you are, ‘cause otherwise I’d have to look like that too!”
“Still, what don’t you like about him? He just looks different, that’s all. A bit more like that ‘vintage’ pattern on the blanket Ellen’s mother once brought her for naptime.”
“Only once. Do you remember why?”
“…Fair point.” It had indeed taken a good fifteen minutes to truly convince Ellen that little Johnny had in fact been lying, and the “creepy moon man” on her blanket was not, in fact, going to eat her in her sleep. And, by extension, that Moon himself wouldn’t.
Moon turned his attention back to the box, carefully pulling out the other aged papers and sorting them by character. Most of the faces were new to him, but he did find an unfamiliar, goofy gator design with a very familiar name.
“Oh ho ho, how I wish Monty could see these!” guffawed Sun. “You think we can find a way to sneak them over to him?”
Moon hummed noncommittally, his fingers brushing cardboard as he reached the bottom of the box. Confused, he flipped through the sorted piles, checking for any stuck pages or slips small enough to escape his notice.
“What are you looking for?”
Moon’s reply was quiet. “There’s no you.”
“…Huh. Maybe the other me is in another box?”
Moon looked up. There were no boxes of the same construction or apparent age nearby. No more bow tie symbols.
Sun hummed to himself thoughtfully. “I guess that Moon just…didn’t need a Sun.”
“That can’t be right.” Moon crossed his arms in a self-hug. “I couldn’t…” he murmured, “…Who would I even be, without your light?”
“…Well for one thing, I’m sure you’d be just as much of a sap.” Sun paused, then a gentle warmth settled around Moon’s mind as his other half moved closer. “But for the record? I wouldn’t want to be without you either.”
Moon relaxed, a soft chuckle escaping his voice-box. “Which is good, seeing as we’re stuck together for the foreseeable future.”
“Yup! It’s got its ups and downs, this life of ours, but at the end of it all, I’d say—”
The animatronic froze up as the lights overhead turned on, sending Sun spinning into the front. He over-dramatically sighed before placing the papers back in the box, casually sneaking out one drawing of a cartoony banjo-playing gator. As he began his stroll back to the Daycare, accompanied by the comforting glow of Moon’s lingering presence, he finished his sentence.
“…It’s worth it.”