sunshine on the river. // a sundrop/sunrise story.

sunsets end in farewells, not goodbyes.

the last of the children exited the daycare, running off with loose shoelaces to his parents. sundrop shut the door, leaning against them for slight support; from what he didn't know.

he was tired. very, very tired. playtime hadn't been able to distract him as effectively as it would have used to, and glitter glue didn't comfort him either. was he malfunctioning? he patted himself down. outfit, check. bolts, check. flexibility? also all in order.

why was he so tired?

although the daycare was closed for the day, partytime wasn't over. if sundrop put his stereo next to the door and focused real hard, he could hear the strumming of an electric guitar and the singing of a voicebox belonging to one certain loved bear.

he loved hearing their performances. they always did so well. he never got to see how they looked, though, nor speak to them in person. if sundrop was told to, he could swear up and down that they probably don't even know he existed. that sundrop existed.

sundrop was a daycare attendant. he wasn't meant for performing. no, he was meant to babysit the children. a last resort, a replacement. his role in the fazbear franchise could well be considered staff. he didn't feel like he deserved a title at all, considering he felt as invisible as guard bot, and those guys only came out at night to guard from intruders. so, to clarify the comparison, sundrop was so invisible that, like the guard bots, no one would ever see him but lost children and ungrateful parents. but he loved the children anyway, whether he was programmed to love them or not. he enjoyed quality time with them, teaching them manners and playing tag and crafting with googly eyes and plastic moustaches. the moustaches were a favourite with the kids, they loved using them to help paint their dads, uncles, or any male relative. it was adorable.

so what is this ache? was he supposed to feel that? there was no way he was in fully functioning order with this pain. he should get himself checked out.

but his programming forbid him from leaving the daycare. his only other friend, moondrop, was the one who could leave, and the main reason was because moondrop served as outstanding security. he was meant to take up naptime and read stories to the children and sing lullabies, but suddenly he started roaming around the pizzaplex at random and attacked anything out of place. he might've saved the pizzaplex from an burglar or too, but that's only what sunrise heard. he wasn't sure if it was true, and he'd never be able to confirm with the way moondrop started avoiding him.

moondrop's been doing this ever since his eyes turned an unnerving shade of red. they weren't red. not before.

moon's beautiful eyes used to be a comforting sapphire blue that could lull little younglings to sleep within seconds, and grant them positive dreams.
now he caused nightmares.

for that reason, moondrop was put down softly, and put away in sundrop's own body. thus the new rule stood.

"never turn off the lights."

that was his most important rule; to protect the children, in other words.

and, though he'd never admit it out of fear of mockery, he was also highly scotophobic.

for dummies, sunrise is afraid of the dark. extraordinarily afraid. when the power was redirected at night and the lights went off, all sunrise could do was curl up into a ball, hiding away in a play structure as he felt the panic attack rising (or that's what the night guard called it) and moondrop taking over. what were the guards thinking?? he can't fight moon. not his friend, his only friend. not him.

please don't make me fight him.

// prologue.