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When you’d found an old animatronic standing outside your door one night, looking worse for wear and coated from head to toe in soot and ash, you’d considered turning him away right then and there. Nope, no thank you, not gonna let FazCo sue your ass for this one, no matter how much of a friend you’d considered him at the time. He’d certainly taken quite the liking to you being his assistant before the Pizzaplex was burnt to the ground.
But out of the goodness of your heart (and, y’know, because he was still your friend—one made of metal and wires, sure, but a friend all the same), you’d let him in, fixed him up, and allowed him to stay as your more or less permanent roommate.
You’re really wishing that you had kicked him to the curb, right now.
“Sunny,” you say on an exasperated note for the umpteenth time, much to his very audible displeasure. “What did we say about boundaries?”
Honestly, your new job can suck it. The hours are exhausting and the pay isn’t nearly as much as you’d grown used to working for Fazbear. So after a long day at work, there’s nothing you like more than taking a nice, relaxing shower to wash off the fatigue of the day’s difficulties.
So does the Daycare Attendant, apparently.
“Sunshine,” he whines, high-pitched and pleading as his hands pull on the shower curtain. Currently, you’re playing tug-of-war with this ungainly animatronic to keep some semblance of privacy, something he doesn’t seem to have any understanding of in the slightest.
“No!” you say again with a vice grip on the curtain.
“But– But we’ve seen all of that before, Sunbeam!” he argues, pout evident in his tone. “We’re caretakers, remember? Helped bathe a million little ones before, this is no different!”
“I’m not a child, Sunny!” you nearly yell over the sound of animatronic parts clicking and the heavy stream of water raining down on you.
“But we can still help!” He’s really not backing down on this one, and you’re definitely gonna be questioning him about it later. “Plus we’re waterproof! Don’t have to worry about that, either!” he adds as if that’s the main concern here.
“Sun, I don’t need help showering!” You’re unsure if he’s decided to not completely yank away the curtain (you know he has the strength to) because he’s scared of ripping it or because he doesn’t want to force you. Either way, it’s appreciated.
“But wouldn’t it be nice?” comes his reply through the thin fabric, fingers twitching. “We know how hard you’ve been working, and– and and and! We wanted to help! You can just relax, wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
He makes a compelling argument, you’ll give him that much. But as much as work has been kicking your ass, you really don’t need Sun seeing your ass right now.
But unfortunately for you, you’re weak. The little “Please?” he gives you after a moment of radio silence makes your heart twist as much as you hate it because he knows what he’s doing, he’s not as innocent as he may seem, but you’re falling for it anyway.
When you heave a long, deep sigh, you know he’s already won. Your grip loosens on the curtain, and Sun follows suit quickly. You can see the shadow of his form perk up, rays spinning around his face.
“Oh, thank you thank you thank you, Sunflower!” he cheers, already reaching to pull open the curtain, this time without you to stop him. Still, your hands go to cover yourself immediately out of impulse. “Just think of this as saving water!”
You scoff, averting your gaze as he begins stepping into the shower with you—without his big goofy pants on you notice, thank god. You really don’t want to have to go through the weird looks at the dry cleaners for those things again.
“Like you actually need the shower,” you retort, heat crawling up your cheeks once he’s standing in front of you. This is absolutely mortifying. Why did you allow him to do this again? You’re an idiot. There’s a certain word you’d like to use to describe the feeling clawing its way through your chest rapidly, though it catches on the edge of your tongue, dancing just out of reach. Maybe it’ll come to you later.
“Helping!” he reminds you with a chipper tone. Well, clearly someone’s happy.
“Yeah, yeah,” you huff, shaking your head before pointing behind him. “Then you can ‘help’ by grabbing me the soap.”
He just smiles as he reaches and grabs the bottle, one of those giant three-in-one soaps with all the necessities mixed together. Maybe not ideal, but it gets the job done. And you are not spending that much money just so half of you can smell like coconut and the other like caramel or something. No, thank you. Not in this economy, you don’t.
Though Sun doesn’t hand you the bottle, instead popping open the lid with a satisfying click! You should have expected this from him, honestly. It’s no surprise that by “helping” he wants more than to simply be relegated to handing you things.
Your (admittedly minimal) protests fall on deaf ears, the animatronic humming a tuneless melody as he squeezes the soap into the palm of his hand. You do try, though. While he’s placing the bottle back onto the shelf, you start, “Honestly, Sunny, I really don’t know how necessary this–” but he cuts you off with a sharp tut.
“Nonsense, Sunbite!” he chimes as his hands gently fall on top of your head. “This is entirely necessary! Why, it’s the least we can do, little star. We owe you our lives, after all.” The soap suds forming in your hair as he begins to circle his fingers around the crown of your head forces you to close your eyes. You try not to let the soothing motions distract you, focussing on his words.
Ah, so that’s what this is about.
“Sunny,” you say, letting him continue massaging the soap into your scalp (which he is insanely good at, but you’re already distracted enough as it is), “You know that’s bullshit.”
You definitely don’t miss the little jolt, the way his fingers pause for the briefest of moments and flex, before he’s back to washing your hair as if nothing happened. “Language, my dear,” he replies, though it’s without any of the sternness that it usually has. “What do you mean?”
Pursing your lips, you think of how to put your thoughts into words. This is far from the first time he and Moon have gotten stuck on this– this idea that they owe you for saving them. And it’s certainly not the first time you’ve gotten stuck on how to address it.
You take a breath, letting the movement of Sun’s deft fingers calm you. Because if you’re being truly, completely honest, Sun and Moon don’t owe you a thing. Hell, you probably owe them more than anything. This goofy-ass animatronic has changed your life so drastically in the past few months, and you honestly don’t know what you’d do without them. They kind of mean everything to you.
It isn’t until Sun completely stops, not moving an inch, that you recognize you said that all out loud.
Which– it’s fine, that’s fine. You just definitely sound way more fond than you should about a robot of all things, and you wanted to think of a better way to word it—but it’s fine. Probably. Maybe.
The clicking of servos and rush of water mingle together deafeningly in your ears. Sun doesn’t say much more for a long moment, aside from a small, “Huh,” before he’s gripping your shoulders and pulling you back into the water to rinse the soap from your hair.
The silence is tense. You don’t like it. There’s a pit of dread forming in your stomach, whispering to you that you said something wrong. You try to ignore it, however useless of an endeavor that is.
Once you’re rid of the soap in your hair and can breathe again, your attention turns back to him. He’s grabbing the soap and along with your loofah as you begin to say, “Sun–”
But once again, he cuts you off. “Don’t worry, Sunbeam,” he says as he squirts the soap onto the puffer, “I’ll only wash what you’re comfortable with! You can take care of the other stuff, m’kay?”
You really do appreciate his concern, but… “That’s not what I wanted to–”
More surprised than you should be that he interrupted again, you cross your arms. He rubs the soap into your loofah with a smile that never ceases, unaware of your agitation building up. “Now, Sunbite, close your eyes. We don’t wanna get soap–”
“Sun, will you listen to me?”
You’ll admit, your tone is a bit harsher than you had intended. It makes guilt immediately well up, seeing how he just sort of stops and stares at you. It makes you wish he could be more expressive, so you could at least have a glimpse of what he’s feeling. While you love that giant smile of his, it often feels like he’s hiding behind it.
Holding out your hands, you wince. “Wait, I’m sorry, Sunny, I didn’t mean to snap–”
This time, when he interrupts, it makes you bite your lip instead of growing angry. “Sunbeam,” he says softly, still not looking at you, “Is it alright if I turn out the lights? Moony wants to talk to you as well.”
Oh boy. If he needs to pull Moon out for this one, then you’re in deep shit right now.
You muster up the most convincing grin you can, giving him a nod. “Oh– Yeah, sure,” you say in an unsteady voice, chewing on the inside of your cheek as Sun doesn’t so much as glance back at you before he’s reaching out of the curtain, long arms snaking around the corner to hit the lightswitch just beside the shower. (Why it’s so close is a mystery to you. Certainly it has to be a safety hazard, but then, you really have no room to complain when the rent is this cheap.)
The faint switch of the light being flipped is the only warning you have before the bathroom is plunged into darkness. Subconsciously, you hold your breath, waiting with anxiety gnawing at your stomach as the Daycare Attendant transforms behind you. The sounds of clicks and whirs buzz in your ear as you glance over your shoulder at him. Moon’s eyes slowly blink open, red optics illuminating the small space just enough for you to see the absence of his usual starry hat. (Hallelujah. No dry cleaning today.)
But Moon, just like his counterpart, is completely quiet. It’s something of a normalcy with him, the long stretches of silence where words aren’t needed to fill the empty space. But that isn’t what’s happening right now. This silence is tense, impatient, as if waiting for something. What, though, you can only imagine.
“Uh,” you say eloquently, your voice loud in the stillness, “Sun said you wanted to– oh!”
You stop, letting out a noise of surprise, as his arms suddenly find your waist, winding around your bare skin snugly and pulling you back against him. It startles you, the spontaneousness of it.
You can’t deny that, despite how you’re halfway out of the stream of water and exposed to the cold air, you’re incredibly warm. Like, unnecessarily so. Maybe you should ask Moon to turn the water temperature down because, as he places his face against your shoulder, it just feels so…so…
Ah. That’s the word you were looking for earlier. Intimate. This is all so shockingly intimate, a stark contrast from your usual interactions with them. Not that it’s a bad thing, not in the slightest. You’ve been nursing a special fondness for this certain animatronic for some months now. But this is nearly too much. Nearly too much in the best of ways.
“...Moon?” you question quietly, your eyes still adjusting to the dim glow of red reflecting off the porcelain shower wall as your eyes flicker to his, meeting his gaze. “What’re you doing?”
At your inquiry, the arms wrapped securely around you only tighten. Moon hums, a sound low in his voice box that rumbles his chassis gently. “Hugging you,” he answers as if that much isn’t obvious, and you can hear the mirth in his voice. He’s all too aware that isn’t quite what you mean.
“Why?”
Your question echoes in the air. The only noise that permeates the silence for a long moment is the sound of water hitting the silicone-coated metal of Moon’s back, a muffled pitter patter that you find yourself not minding. Even though there is a hulking animatronic completely covering the stream, the warmth of his body is more than enough to compensate.
“You’re too nice to us, Starlight,” comes his eventual answer, laced with a sweetness you’ve never heard the likes of from Moon of all people. (Er, animatronics? Do they constitute as people? They’re conscious, after all, so what really makes them different from anyone else?)
“I…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know what you mean, Moony.” Because, really, you don’t. Sure, you don’t think of yourself as a bad person, necessarily, but you’re unsure that you’re worthy of this praise.
A synthetic sigh pushes itself from his voice box, and you feel a pang of guilt. You know talking like this can be hard for him. Hell, it took weeks after the fire for him to speak more than a few words at a time to you.
“We’re not good with words, Stardust,” he starts, pressing his face more firmly into your shoulder and refusing to look at you. “But we– We’re more grateful for you than we can express. It may be… difficult,” he continues, the word laced with static, “but we still want to show you, show you what you mean to us. You do so much. We don’t deserve such kindness. It’s as you said, right? You’re our everything.”
And, oh, if that doesn’t melt your heart. You didn’t… you never would have thought that all the small things you did for them, most mindlessly, could mean this much.
But Moon, to your surprise, isn’t finished. He begins speaking again before you even have a chance to open your mouth. “And Sun…isn’t good with this sort of thing, either. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he didn’t know how to express what he wanted to. We know how you get, Star, so don’t fret, you didn’t say anything wrong.”
You…yeah, okay, they do have you there. You can’t help the relieved smile that slips across your face, and you slowly release a breath. Gosh, these animatronics. Is there anything they can’t do, at this point? Look how easy it is for them to simply make you feel seen. You’re the one meant to be comforting and caring for them, aren’t you? Not the other way around.
But, then again, maybe it’s meant to go both ways. In the same ways that they help you, you help them; they said so, after all. And even if the words escape Moon, you know what he’s trying to say is “thank you.”
Or, maybe, what’s implied in the way he hugs you tight and sings your praise is something else, something far more intimate than a simple thank you, but you’re none the wiser to that. It isn’t quite the right time for that talk, as much as they want to repeat it a million times for the whole world to hear them say how much they love you.
But you aren’t ready for that, so they will wait.
“You guys…” you say, your voice wavering and catching in your throat. Gosh, are you really about to cry over this? It’s so silly, something that should be trivial. What started out as Sun wanting to help you in the shower has been flooded by this tidal wave of emotions, and now your eyes are burning, though not from any soap in them.
Moon, the absolute angel, lets out a small chuckle and hushes you with a soft voice, slowly unwinding his arms so he can grab the loofah that was dropped earlier during their transformation. “You don’t need to say anything, lovebug,” he tells you, voice sweet as honey. It almost gives you whiplash, the unusual gentleness in the typically ornery voice.
Honestly, you don’t think you could pick apart the whirlwind of feelings that encompasses your mind, so you just nod and sniffle, willing away the silly tears that threaten to fall. Moon is back to his quiet nature soon after that, nothing but sweet humming coming from his voicebox to soothe you as he quickly and efficiently cleans you, allowing you to take the loofah from him to clean the areas you don’t want him touching.
You don’t even hear the sound of him turning the water off after you’re rinsed off until it’s too late. He’s snickering as you let out a yelp and jump, immediately being assaulted by the frigid bathroom air. Gosh, getting out of the shower is always the worst part.
While you stand there, shivering and dripping water all over your bath mat, Moon moves to grab your white, fluffy, dry towel from where you hung it up before getting in. He’s quick to begin wiping you down, much to your relief, drying you off so you’re not quite as cold as before. After drying your hair rather roughly, leaving you giggling, he wraps the towel around your form to protect you from the cool air.
You’re grinning ear to ear by the time you start to say, “Moon, really you don’t have– ah!”
Moon’s arms are back around you in an instant, causing you to cry out and hang onto him for dear life as he hoists you up into the air, one arm wrapped around your back and the other in the joint of your knees, carrying you bridal style out of the bathroom with a smug smile on his faceplate.
You huff once your heart is done spiking from surprise, sticking your tongue out at him childishly as he brings you back to your room.
“Ah– Moony, wait, wait!” you cry before he can get too far, making him halt, tilting his faceplate at you. You give a sheepish smile. “PJs?” The towel is comfy, but some real clothes would be nice, too.
“Hmmmm,” Moon sounds, a playful lilt to his voice as his faceplate spins before he’s striding back over to your bed, unfortunately for you. “No. Off to bed with you.”
You have half the mind not to whine. “But Moony,” you say, stressing his nickname and wriggling in his grasp. He lets you, knowing full well that you won’t be getting anywhere.
“Don’t worry, Starlight. While we’re well aware of the implications,” he tells you, far too much hubris in his tone for your face to not be on fire, “We only want to help you fall asleep.” You’re both hot and cold at the same time as he deposits you onto your bed, turning away to give you privacy while you take off your towel to climb under the covers. Petty as all hell, you can’t resist throwing the towel at him. Moon only lets out a grumble as it’s tossed right on top of his head, covering his face.
Rolling his optics, he discards the dirty thing into your laundry basket before turning back around, promptly ignoring your half-hearted glare as he settles in beside you.
This is far from the first time you’ve cuddled with either animatronic, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Surprisingly, they’re very touchy, more often than not laying in your bed with you while they charge. They make for a very good pillow, you’ve found.
Moon doesn’t hesitate to curl himself around you, content to let you slip into his arms and lay your head against his chassis. Most nights, you like to listen to the inner workings, a pleasant, steady white noise that is just as alive as a heartbeat would be.
“Sleep.” You feel the word before you hear it, a deep buzz of his voicebox against your ear that makes you laugh something soft to yourself.
“It’s not even nine, dummy,” you say despite the fact that your eyes are slipping shut without your permission, the traitorous things. Moon doesn’t reply, just starts humming again. It’s a beautiful melody, one so familiar yet too far away for you to place. Maybe it’ll come to you later.
You’re half asleep by the time Moon shifts his faceplate to place a gentle kiss on top of your head. You won’t remember it come morning, but you nuzzle farther into him, breathing something along the lines of, “Thank you, love,” before you’re off to dreamland.
Moon’s smile is just as soft as he feels inside as he quietly replies, “Of course, Moonflower. Goodnight.”