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Moonlight and Porcelain

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  The child’s mother shook her head, smiling at her sleeping angel. She kissed the small one’s forehead, whispered sweet promises of wonderful dreams, and switched the lights off. The sleeping child, face void of nightmare and radiating of innocent mirth. As she sleeps, the moonlight frolics through the glass window and bathes her small objects of joy.
  And as the clock struck twelve, a small soldier’s eyes crack open. He stretched, confused, nose twitching at the scent of powder and perfume.

  Not only, he, but the rest of what the small child called her “kingdoms’ people” began to move. Popping their joints, cracking their knuckles, shaking the sleep out of their small systems. They, who the moon called as the children’s guardians. They, who had been bestowed life and magic by the moon. They, who were but inanimate objects during the day and yet living creatures by night.

 He, who was but a toy soldier living under the care of a small little girl. He was not to be here, for he knew he was to be the guardian of the shoemaker’s son a few streets down. He was the odd toy, for he was not charming and pastel, but rather of stoic face and order. Yet he knew he fit – he knew that it was not of deep regret that he ended up in the little girl’s house rather than the shoemaker’s son.


  “Min Yoongi, are you still sleeping? The moon has been out for minutes!”

  The soldier grunted and stood up slowly, brushing the dust off of his red uniform. “I don’t really have a lot to do tonight Hoseok.” The latter snorted and shoved his hands in the pockets of his green trouser, “There’s a ball tonight at the palace.” His face was alight with a heart-shaped smile and Yoongi nodded in thought.

  Jung Hoseok, a rather lively doll. He was a... prince. He’s the little girl’s hero, the saviour of the damsel in distress. Painted with a smile, armoured with a sword made of tin, and glamoured with a hand-sewn outfit, Jung Hoseok was the ideal type of toy to fall in love with. And he was! For the little angel always glorified him; always made him the protagonist of every adventure she’s conjured. Every toy in her box and every plushie adorned atop of her shelves idolized Jung Hoseok.

  He wouldn’t say that he and Hoseok were friends, for that concept is foreign to him. The humans’ definition of friends was someone you play with, someone you confide to, someone you would treasure as you grow up. But Yoongi was not a human. He was the one to be played, he had nothing to confide about, and he does not grow up. But he supposed that the moon intended for all toy guardians to be friends. So he guessed he considered Jung Hoseok as a friend, even if he is still confused as to what friendship truly is.


  He knew one thing though: that their mother moon had granted all of them something even more foreign than friendship.




  For in every child, the mirth of love is but of innocence and purity. For in every child, this world is not tainted by darkness, but rather bathed in light and painted with splashes of joy and impossible dreams that were not so impossible if the child wishes it to be. For in every child that a toy must guide and protect, love is something that can reach out even to the most inanimate of objects.

  And love... his love.
  His love was a boy who danced to the softest of tunes. His love was a porcelain doll.
His boy was not someone... or something who would consider a toy, but nevertheless, the moon bathed him with life. Yoongi’s life. His love was his life.


  “Bring Jimin tonight?” Hoseok grinned and brought him out of his stupor. Yoongi’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles and shrugged before nodding. He and Jimin wouldn't miss out on an opportunity to dance in the palace.

  He slowly climbed up the stack of books that the child had fashioned into a staircase. His love’s home was perched on top of the little angel’s drawers, right beside the newest addition to the girl’s kingdom – a dollhouse that was lived in by the Sullivan family. It was a pain for Yoongi to climb all the way up but he did not mind at all.  It would be all worth it.

  He groaned as his wooden legs gave out a small squeak. Even if he was a toy soldier, it wasn’t long that he got into a battle. The little angel has always stationed him as a palace guard for Hoseok’s princess rather than an actual soldier or general at wars that the shoemaker’s son would definitely play him for. He did not mind, not at all - the toys in the palace were great company and sometimes Hoseok’s princess lets him in the castle and gives him simple jewels or the small paper roses the child had fashioned in one of her games. They make excellent gifts for his love.

  He rolled his shoulders and huffed as he reached the last book. He could see the yard of the Sullivan’s family and hear the joyous chatter between them. Yoongi never really found the appeal in dollhouses. What good was a house that was exposed to everyone as they passed by? But to each and their own; he supposes that an exposed house was better than being kept in the toy-box for a long time.


  He smiled and waved at the Sullivans as he passed by, ignoring the twin rabbits’ whistles and teasing. Of course he and Jimin were not the only couple in the little angel’s kingdom, but perhaps it had been because several of the toys were such romantics that they found their relationship quite interesting. Yoongi thought that it wasn't that big of a deal, but even he knows that their love is something special and blessed by the moon.

  He took a deep breath and knocked on Jimin’s room, before turning the key once, twice, thrice. And he smiled as the soft tinkering melody of Canon in D Major began to play. The lid of Jimin’s room slowly lifted and Yoongi let out a contented sigh as his love slowly peered from his room a grin adorning his delicate features.

  Jimin was beautiful, porcelain and fragile. Yoongi had always been afraid that someday he’ll break more than he already was. Jimin smiled widely, reaching his arms out for Yoongi. He returned the smile and embraced him; the corners of his mouth turned downwards when he buried his face in Jimin’s neck and he brushed his hand through the small crack carved on Jimin’s back. The little angel’s mother had accidentally dropped Jimin’s musicbox three days ago and Yoongi was just so glad it was merely a crack.


  Jimin wasn’t the little angel’s favourite, nor was he anything special. But for Yoongi, he was the most radiant in the room – even if he only shines when the key to his musicbox is turned. He was fragile, made out of porcelain, and he was small – smaller than him by only a bit. But when he danced ever so gracefully to the tune of the metallic tinkles, everyone – everything – stopped to look.

  He wasn’t even a toy; he was but a decoration. But the moon saw something special in him, so much that she decided to let him breathe. Yoongi was eternally grateful. His Jimin, his love, his precious porcelain prince; but sometimes he wished Jimin remained as an ethereal decoration.

  His porcelain skin – no matter how much Yoongi treasured it – was something everyone was afraid to break. Jimin would complain everytime Yoongi carries him on his back, or carries him like a bride while coming down the stair-like books and he would joke around at how he wouldn’t break if Yoongi let him down and Yoongi would pretend his heart doesn’t break because he knew how much useless JImin felt during those times.


  But he was just so so afraid he would break and shatter.


  “Jimin! Pleasure to see you out of your room tonight!” the mother of the Sullivan household said cheerfully, glancing at the hugging couple. Jimin giggled, light and honey-sweet. “I’m pleasured as well Ma’am. It’s been a night since I was let out, but I’d experienced longer nights.”

  Jimin had always been kept in the small hexagonal damned thing - a room that Yoongi loathed beyond his being. The girl’s mother loved to play the music-box during her daughter’s naps or sleep, but there are days when the box is rarely open. And sometimes Yoongi wouldn’t be able to climb fast enough, sometimes the books topple over while he’s climbing it, sometimes he’s stuck under the bed, just sometimes Yoongi wouldn’t be able to see Jimin. And it pains him, because despite it being his home for years, Jimin is scared of the jeweled walls that enclose him. Sometimes Yoongi would crank the music-box, and he would see Jimin curled up, sniffling and letting out wails and cries, and if toys could shed tears he was definite that Jimin would've shed the purest crystal tears.


They descended the stair-like stairs and Yoongi glanced at the wall clock hung up on the little angel’s room.

  They only had three hours left.


  Jimin nudged him and pouted, upset that his lover had been ignoring him. Yoongi smirked and kissed his cheek, “Don’t be sad sweetheart, Hoseok and the princess are throwing a ball tonight.” He felt his heart melt at the twinkle in Jimin’s eyes. “Are Jungkook and Taehyung going?” Jimin asked and Yoongi gave his lover a look. “You’re already looking for other men? I’m wounded, doll.” he acted and the latter chuckled before wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s neck. “Nonsense love, it’s just that they dance way better than you do.” He giggled and Yoongi gave him a halfhearted glare.

  He knew that Jimin treated Jungkook and Taehyung like his little brothers. They were the little girl’s favourite plushies, no bigger than the size of her palm. Jungkook had a sharp tongue but Jimin could never take him seriously – not when the only clothing he had was a knitted bunny onesie. Taehyung on the other hand, was a bit eccentric and cheerful, dressed up in a lion onesie.

  Yoongi knew not to be jealous when Jimin dances with Jungkook, because he knows he lacks the skill. The way Jimin dances and twirls with and around Jungkook is mesmerizing. His heart was filled with happiness whenever he saw Jimin glint under the moonlight and be on the ballroom's spotlight. He especially adores the way Jimin's tinkling laugh echoes when Jungkook spins and then dips him by the waist.
And after all, he knew that in the end, Jimin’s favourite dance would still be with him. He was not the best, no no, he was not even good. But when Hoseok would make the musicians play the softest of violins and sweetest of harps, Jimin would lay his head on his shoulder and Yoongi would rest his hands on the shorter’s hips, and they would slowly sway. Quietly, sweetly, gently.


  Just like tonight, when Hoseok had whispered to him that he’ll have a slow tune played, Yoongi thanked him and approached his love with a smile that showcased his gums. Jungkook pretended to gag and Yoongi glared at him, but he could see how much the bunny plushie is happy for them. Jimin intertwined his fingers with his and they walked outside of the castle.

  They smiled at each other as they stood by their favourite spot. The corner of the little girl's play table, just right beside a window where the moonlight served as their very own spotlight. Yoongi took the lead and began swaying with his love. They danced, words murmured and whispered.

The doll chuckled as Yoongi dipped him and kissed him on the forehead. "My, my General Min, aren't you a brave little soldier? Surely you must be ready for battle." he jested and Yoongi was hit with an overwhelming sense of fondness. "Don't need to. A face like yours could end wars, Park." he murmured and halted their dance so he could embrace his lover.


  They weren’t royalty like Hoseok and the princess.
  They weren’t favourites like Jungkook and Taehyung.
  But that’s alright.

  Because when they’re bathed in moonlight and are tangled in each other’s embrace,
  Even without beating hearts –
  They’re in each other’s arms. They’ll be alright.

Chapter Text

But right now, nothing will be alright.

  Not when half of Jimin’s body is shattered, and Yoongi sees him smile so brokenly.

  Yoongi went to visit him, to take him out to see the new flower garden the little angel had prepared as a new addition to the castle. It was made of crepe and construction paper, decorated with glitters and heaps of beads.


No one was really aware that the mother of the household had dropped the music-box this morning.
  He cranked the music-box like usual, and if he had a heart, it would have pounded badly when he hears an off-tone in the tinkle of the usually sweet metallic tune of Canon in D Major. Nothing would have prepared him when he saw Jimin hugging himself, in shock and grief evident in his face.


  Toys didn’t feel pain. At least not physically.
But Yoongi was sure that something in his small wooden body made hurt. It made him breathless, made him speechless, and made him feel hopeless.


  His love wouldn’t be able to dance anymore. Gone were the nights of dancing in bathed moonlight, gone were the nights of joyous hopping with Jungkook and Taehyung, his love’s shining light was gone and both of them couldn’t even shed tears. Jimin gave him a broken smile and Yoongi doubted that toys didn’t have hearts, because he felt his clench and constrict. “My sweet.” He whispered softly, fists clenching and shaking. And it was then that Jimin’s shoulder shook, and his smile dropped that had Yoongi feel like a thousand building blocks were burying him alive. “Y-Y-Yoongi-“ Jimin wailed and Yoongi immediately knelt down, narrowly missing the shards of porcelain right beside Jimin. Not that it mattered, because he wouldn’t bleed.

  He tried to shush Jimin and whispered his love’s name over and over again. He closed his eyes tightly, and let out a strangled cry. Why? Why, why, why?! It felt painful, it felt like the moon had taken away his breath and soul.


  Gone was Jimin’s left leg, and so were chunks of his left arm. There was a huge shard missing on Jimin’s back, a hollow empty space on his right rib and there were cracks on his face as well. Yoongi wished they were able to cry, because he didn’t know how to release all this pain. It was too much for him, and he couldn’t imagine what Jimin was feeling.

  “Love, I’m sorry.” Jimin started, “I heard from the Sullivan’s there’s a new garden and I... I knew you would take me there but it seems that we won’t be able to dance tonight.” The doll took a deep shaky breath and tried to smile. Yoongi bit his lip hard, definite to leave a small nearly unnoticeable chip on his wooden lip. Gone was his plan of adorning Jimin’s ankle with the crafted bracelet he had made with the princess as a gift. The garden had a lot of beads to spare. However, how? How can he give his love the gift when it will just remind Jimin of what he has lost?

  He let out a shaky breath and carefully unwrapped his arms gently. He wordlessly left, hands clenched. “Y-Yoongi?” he heard Jimin call, and he had difficulty breathing because of how scared, how broken, how shattered it sounded. Not that he needs air.


  The Sullivan’s mother had approached him with worry and he could see the heartbreak she felt through her beady eyes. Toys didn’t feel physical pain; the thought rang in his head. They could only feel pain through their soul, one that the mother moon had given them. His voice cracked a pitch as he asked the woman to let him borrow a blanket or a piece of soft cloth. She wordlessly handed him a pink cloth, squeezing his hands with her furry synthetic hand.


  He hurried back with fast steps, heart breaking even more at the sight of Jimin staring silently in empty space. The boy’s head snapped up to look at him and stuttered, "I t-thought you l-left m-me.” His love was afraid, scared, alone. But the soldier couldn’t speak, his throat felt like it was being strangled by an invisible string. He wrapped Jimin with the blanket and Jimin's eyes widened in confusion. “W-what are you doing?” Yoongi supplied no response and continued with what he was doing.
He hoisted Jimin’s body up and secured the cloth over his chest. He slowly stood up, hooked his arm on Jimin’s left leg with his right arm supporting Jimin’s bottom.


“Wrap your arms around me, doll.” Or what was left of them.


  They descended the stair-like stairs and Yoongi glanced at the wall clock hung up on the little angel’s room.
  They only had three hours left together.


   And he's going to spend every last second of it with Jimin. It wasn't perfect, the garden's flowers that instead of delicate petals were replaced by the craftsmanship of a small child. Paper flowers - and yet Jimin managed to find how wonderful it was. Jimin. Jimin. His Jimin. 

His love. His life.
The porcleain dancer that shines through his graceful movements as the tinkle of the musicbox plays.


  And the next night when Yoongi woke, gone was the musicbox perched on top of the little girl's dresser.