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Sun was panicking
It was the kind of panic you get when you know you’re running out of time and you have to do something, anything, to make it up.
Christmas was just a week away, and Sun didn’t have a gift ready for Moon.
He raced through his mind as he paced back and forth through the aisles. What does Moon like? Sleeping? Normally, Sun has a gift ready by now, but the time just slipped through his fingers.
His rays were spinning like crazy, the whirr-tick echoing through the store. People from across the store couldn’t hear the tinny radio songs that the store quietly trickled over the mulling shoppers. People the aisle over couldn’t hear their own thoughts.
But surely that was an exaggeration Sun told himself to try and stop the whirring fan-blade spin of his rays as he mulled over the scarves, hats, pillows, picture frames, table trinkets, paperweights, and other stocking-stuffer miscellanea that took up the store, a type of store that doesn’t get activity unless it’s moms with the worst hair in the world trying to find another beige table decoration or artists trying to find the perfect shade for their upcoming knit, yet somehow has shareholders on Reddit who call themselves “Apes” and want to “hodl” it “to the moon”.
Everything Sun set his eyes on he had some reason for not getting. Moon has too many pillows already, that scarf is way too yellow for him, he never wears anything but his nightcap, there is nothing Moon hates more than the color beige.
But in a moment of clarity, Sun found it. Well, he wasn’t satisfied with it, but it was one of those gifts that are just “it’ll do”. A gift that exists more for the thought of it rather than to amaze. One that’ll provoke the reaction of “aww, thank you” rather than weeping tears of joy.
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Moon was panicking
It was the kind of panic you get when you know you’re running out of time and you have to do something, anything, to make it up.
Christmas was just a week away, and Moon didn’t have a gift ready for Sun.
Moon’s fingers quickly flipped through the records at the record store. None of them are satisfactory. None of them are something Sun would ever listen to in his spare time. Does Sun listen to anything? Sure, they share a record player, but Moon can’t recall a time Sun has ever used it for anything. Every record was Moon’s, every time the needle hit the vinyl it was Moon who pressed the button, usually to either jam or impress that daycare assistant that all of the daycare animatronics have fallen for.
What would Sun like? Presumably something more sugary and upbeat, and not the classic rock that Moon usually listens to. Maybe something in the pop section?
Most of it was oldies or stuff that plays all the time at the daycare or on the radio that Sun hates. Sun had heard enough of Taylor Swift and Michael Jackson and Sabrina Carpenter and even the recent robot-pop that’s been taking the radio by storm ever since the Turing Act passed two years ago and robots were accepted as autonomous and sentient and capable of feelings and emotions and able to make music and art just like humans can, and it’s certainly better than any ChatGPT bullshit.
But his haze stopped when his fingers hit one particular record, a memory came back to Moon, hazy and disjointed but it was still there. Moon picked the album up and looked at the woman on the cover and her half-lidded eyes staring directly at the viewer.
Yes. This will do perfectly.
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There were two gifts under the tree this Christmas. Just two. Only two. Less than there has ever been in Sun and Moon’s house.
Sun wore an ugly sweater and sipped on robot-friendly hot cocoa while moon came down in pajamas that were wrinkled and rumpled.
“Moon! It’s Christmas! The other daycare animatronics are gonna be over in an hour!” Sun chided.
“Come on, Sunny,” Moon said, a half-smirk on his face as he flopped onto the couch, “An hour! Plenty of time. Plus, we only have two presents,”
They fell into their routine of teasing, but underlying it all was a sense of dread. What if they don’t like it? What if they didn’t put enough thought into it? What if Moon said he had too many? What if Sun wasn’t a fan of this artist? Too many questions! Too! Many! Worries!
The tension was there when Sun and Moon both fell into the yearly tradition of arguing over who would open the presents first. It was underlying, just to rip the bandaid off and get it over with.
Moon won the battle and got to open his present first. Holding the wrapped thingy it was large and round, soft and squishy. Just like Sun, Moon thought. He tore the present open.
Inside was a pillow. It was round and yellow and shaped like a sun, a smiling sun. Eyes closed and mouth wide.
“Well..” Moon said, “I… I like it,”
He tossed the pillow in the air for a bit, his smirk widening and widening until it turned into a full-blown smile.
Sun cheered. A wave of relief rushed over him and his posture visibly softened. “Glad you liked it,”
“Of course I do,” Moon said, “Why wouldn’t I? Open yours next,”
Sun picked up the slab. It was obviously a record. Moon loves them, but Sun wasn’t so sure about it. Why? Moon looked at Sun with his big, red eyes.
Sun opened the present, and inside was, indeed, a record. It was Chappell Roan’s “The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess”.
Sun was taken back. He had only heard Chappell Roan once. “Hot To Go” was the song. It was the most fun he ever had in the car with Moon. It got wormed into his head for ages.
“This is… thank you!”
Sun swept Moon up into a massive bear hug, squeezing him deeply. Moon fought, but weakly, chuckling as he accepted it.
“Love you, too,”
The daycare party was fun. Everyone enjoyed that Sun put on Chappell Roan and not some generic Christmas soundtrack. And when the day ended, Moon tucked himself in and snuggled himself up right next to his sun-shaped pillow.