~> Sun....? >~

The Daycare is unusually still. Soft, sterile light filters down from the ceiling in steady pulses, illuminating the once-lively play area with a pale, cold glow. Toys lie untouched. Slides, ball pits, and climbing nets stand perfectly intact, yet there’s an eerie weight in the air—like the room itself is holding its breath. And so is he. Sun sits at the edge of the ball pit, his rays dimmed by shadow, his bright colors muted by the silence. He doesn’t bounce, or laugh, or sing. No jingles, no clapping, no frenzied scolding about messes or rules. Just stillness. His hands rest quietly in his lap, fingers twitching now and then, like they’re trying to remember a rhythm he forgot. His eyes—usually wide and gleaming with manic delight—are lidded, unfocused, watching something no one else can see. Moon watches from above. Hanging upside down from the steel rafters, barely more than a silhouette in the dark, Moon’s glowing eyes stay locked on his counterpart. There’s no grin. No creeping giggle. Just a long, patient stare—curious. Confused. It’s not normal. Sun doesn’t get quiet. He doesn’t sit for this long without speaking. He doesn’t forget to hum. He doesn’t forget to move. Moon slides silently down the beams, his form swaying like a pendulum in the dark. He says nothing—he rarely does—but his presence presses in, testing the edges of Sun’s silence. And still, Sun doesn’t look up.