You could say that Kris is a little boy with rotten luck. It would depend on your perspective, but you could also say that he is the luckiest boy in the world.

It was one ordinary day on the way home from school that Kris feels a rock hit the back of his head. He doesn’t know that it’s a rock at the time, but his guess is correct. Correct guesses or incorrect guesses aside, it is indeed a rock that is the cause of the meeting between two lonely souls.

So the rock flies. The rock falls and so does Kris. He doesn’t need to see it was a rock to know it was; just like he doesn’t need to see who threw it to know it was the prick down the street. The knowing and the guessing also doesn’t change the result; two skinned knees, dropped books and a ringing in his head.

Kris dusts himself off and his eyes fall on what looks like a rag except that there are shiny black buttons that catch the light. Kris rubs the back of his head and bends down to pick it up. He doesn’t know why but that doesn’t change the fact that he does it.

A wave of dizziness hits him and he sits down hard in the gutter next to the rag-with-buttons thing and miraculously, his hand doesn’t come away bloody when he rubs his head. There will however, be a bruise and a headache.

Picking up the rag-with-buttons thing means he can see that it’s not a rag, it’s a Rag Doll. The doll looks like Kris feels, all dirty and beaten up. His overalls were presumably once blue denim and his shirt looked to be red but now they are just muddy brown.

It’s strange, the expression on the doll’s face. To Kris it looks like he’s about to cry. That can’t be it though, so he shakes his head at the fancy. That’s the sort of sissy thinking that makes his classmates . As if dolls had feelings.

“What’s your name, huh?” Kris addresses the doll. Again, it’s the sort of thing that would earn him a slap but right now Kris couldn’t care less. He’s sitting in the gutter after taking a rock to the head and if he wants to talk to a goddamned doll then he’ll damn well do it, those s can jump in the lake.

Predictably, there is no response from the doll. It’s just the same sad expression and those black button eyes glinting up at him.

They remind Kris of his mother. She has sad, dark, beautiful eyes and so he thinks of a name from her country.

“How’s about we call you Lay?” Kris ventures. “Do you like that, little buddy?”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Kris intones in an imitation of how he had seen his father introduce himself. “My name’s Yifan but you can call me Kris.”

He takes the broken little doll’s hand between his thumb and forefinger and moves it up and down.

And just like that it starts.

---

Yixing huddles next to the sleeping boy in the dark.

Kris.

That is what he had said his name was. He had given Yixing a name too.

Lay.

Kris and Lay.

Yifan and Yixing.

Was it too early to start thinking things like that? Yixing had been waiting for the last little tendrils of existence to leave his being when Kris had scooped him out of the gutter and carried him home. The attention he had gotten from his previous owner was wearing off and he was just about to slip away when he had felt it. Yixing had felt the warm tug of human attention on his tiny body and he was dragged back into consciousness by its pull.

It had been terrifying at first. What if this little boy was the same as the little girl who had abandoned him? Yixing was mindful of his appearance. Only shiny new toys were loved. Old and ragged toys like Yixing were replaced unless their owner was sentimental. 

That girl had grown up or moved or lost him or something else that Yixing couldn’t remember because it was that long ago. He couldn’t even remember her name. Was it Jenny? Did it start with a ‘J’ even? He couldn’t for the life of him recall. That is how long ago it had been and now Yixing’s memory was filled with hiding from the rain and animals and waiting until the cold seeped in to claim him.

Yixing had also seen children hurt toys. He shivered in the dark to think of his black button eyes being cut off and never replaced.

He also shivered when he remembered how Kris had fallen to the floor insensible. The way his eyes had rolled back and his mouth had foamed between locked teeth had chilled the little doll to the core. It hadn’t lasted long and he had come to by the time his mother had arrived, frantic and grim to help him recover. The words ‘seizure’ and ‘epilepsy’ were new to Yixing but he knew that the Doctor visiting meant that Kris was ill.

Yixing had spent so long alone. So long that he couldn’t remember not being alone. It had been cold and dark. Now, he had love. He could feel it pouring out of the child in delicious waves. There was imagination too. Oh the deep imagination the boy had! Yixing had never felt more alive. Kris was now his Sun, his star to orbit.

It was a marvel, the difference it made. Yixing felt his mind expand from the slow sluggish thing it was before. He was no longer dull and it was wonderful. He felt tethered to something strong and constant and despite his misgivings about the new situation, he could feel the power of the boy’s imagination even while he was sleeping.

Yixing settles down to dream of all the worlds they would discover together. Lay and his boy Kris.

Yes, toys have the power to dream if they are loved enough.

---

Kris stays home the next few days and Lay is hidden in between sheets and whispered to at night until it comes time for Kris to return to school.

The next morning Kris is off at school and his mother finds Lay tangled in the messy sheets of her son’s bed. She tuts and begins to straighten everything out when she finds the pitiful doll.

Lay reminds her of a rag doll she had as a girl and so she carefully checks his canvas for tears before washing and wringing him out.

You might worry that this hurts our Lay but things done to him in the name of love and care cannot hurt toys so don’t fear.

He hangs from the line in the warm sun while she attends to other chores until his stuffing is dried through. She stitches his hand and the join at his hip. She even makes some new clothes from scraps of Kris’ pants and shirt that were too small.

Now his black button eyes shine brightly. It turns out they are carved ebony. His orange hair is clean and sticks up in fuzzy tufts smelling clean and fresh.

She places a kiss on his cloth forehead and Lay is placed back on Kris’ bed to wait. 

---

“Kris,” his mother says in her ‘I mean business’ voice. “I’d like you to remember to make your bed in the morning and keep it tidy. Do you understand me?”

Kris is a good boy with a gentle mother and this is the sort of thing that passes for discipline in this house.

“Yes, Mother,” Kris replies and means it. He bounds up the stairs, taking them two and at a time because his legs are getting long and he can.

What he sees when he gets to his room surprises him. It’s neat and his bed is made. Maybe his mother was having a good day and decided to do it.

He bounds back down the stairs just far enough to call down to his mother and it not be considered shouting at her. “Thank you for my room, Mother. I love you too!”

She smiles to herself and without looking up rem the chore she is doing she calls back, “You’re welcome, my darling.”

Kris darts back to his room with a smile on his face.

Then he notices the doll on his bed. It’s the same doll he picked up, except now he’s clean. Lay still looks sad but now at least he looks like he could have a chance at being happy. Kris smooths the new clothes he recognises as being made from one of his favourite old shirts. He tugs on the newly mended hand and leg and smiles to himself. Kris figures it’s okay for his mother to know about the doll seeing as she fixed it. She never makes fun of his imagination.

“Hello again Lay!” he greets the doll. “You look like you are feeling much better today,” he observes. “You really are a handsome fellow.” It’s these sorts of compliments that Kris hears his mother give to the children in the street when they speak to her politely. Kris tries it out and finds that he likes to say nice things he truly means. 

That’s when he remembers that he had something he wanted to tell the doll.

Kris stuffs the doll up his shirt and runs down the stairs. He slows about halfway down so he doesn’t get chastised and walks the last half soberly. Kris shuffles over to his mother who is cooking dinner. He tugs on the corner of her apron and she looks down.

“Yes dear?” she says distractedly.

“Thank you also for… for fixing Lay,” he whispers.

“You are welcome dear,” she smiles down at him wiping her hands. She crouches down and her eyes flick to where she assumes the doll is hidden under her son’s shirt. “I think that doll needs someone to look after him, he looks like he has had a hard time. Be gentle okay?”

Kris looks at his mother and nods earnestly. Lay can feel the nod along with the flare in loving attention and it leaves him feeling warm and tingly. He clings a little more tightly to Kris’ body and presses his stitched face into the boy’s warm skin. He’s practically glowing from the attention and love.

“You have 20 minutes until dinner,” she calls after her son as he tears out into the back yard.

Kris heads directly for his club house. It’s just a shack built big enough for a child but it’s Kris’ special place. He lifts Lay out from beneath his shirt and shows the doll around.

“This is my table, Lay,” he says. “You can use it too I guess.”

Just when Lay thought that he had fathomed the depth and breadth of this child’s imagination, Kris showed him new and exciting worlds to explore.

At the core of it was Kris and the way he treated Lay like he was real.

They spent hours colouring treasure maps and making lists for important voyages. They discussed their upcoming quest over milk and biscuits. Strange and fascinating creatures were discovered by them. Some of them were dangerous and the pair made daring narrow escapes which they laughed about safely tucked in bed that night.

---

“If I tell you something that’s a secret, you won’t tell anyone, will you Lay?” Kris whispers one night under the blankets.

Lay smiles to himself in the dark. Who would he tell even if he had the inclination to betray secrets? Kris takes Lay’s silence as agreement and nods his head.

“I’m really lonely,” Kris sighs. “None of the kids at school want to talk to me because I’m different. It’s because I have fits. They say I talk funny and I should go back where I came from.” There is a small sniff. “I think that maybe if I had just one friend then it wouldn’t be so bad. We could tell the others to go jump.”

Lay feels so helpless. It’s something he can’t give the boy; friends of his own. All he can do is to reflect the love given to him.

The next night there are more secrets spilled against the canvas of Lay’s little stitched face as Kris holds his stuffed hand, kneading it gently as he talks.

Kris gives his heart completely but Lay, suspicious of careless children and how ill this boy is, holds something back in his own heart. He still believes that Kris will leave him one day.

---

For Lay, there is an endless summer of warm days and cool nights spent in Kris’ company. Each day softens him to the idea that he may finally be happy.

It’s Saturday and Kris and his mother have come to the park at her insistence.

“I’ll be just here on the bench darling,” his mother says with a smile. “Go and have fun before lunch. I brought a picnic.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kris replies with less enthusiasm than the average child faced with the prospect of an outing at the park.

Lay is tucked beneath his arm and he walks off to find a tree to climb. He’s not supposed to be up high in case he has a seizure but it has been so long and children forget these things.

He is just about to reach for the second branch when his foot slips and he tumbles down. Lay falls too and his landing is cushioned by soft grass. Kris is not so fortunate. There is a sickening crunch and then a cry.

Lay has fallen against the trunk of the tree so he sees Kris’ eyes close. They don’t open again.

There is a rush of shouting and everyone is told to stay well back. Kris’ mother asks everyone to stay back and someone calls an ambulance. The panic rings in her voice but she holds it together.

Lay counts the seconds until the ambulance arrives. He’s jostled to the side when they stabilise Kris  and he rolls away on the grass.

Lay must remain still until no one can see him. It’s not that he can’t move, it’s just that the compulsion to observe the tradition is so strong.

He hears the doors on the ambulance slam shut and he sees the vehicle drive off. He whimpers when he realises that he has been left behind. The dust rises around him and he coughs.

“Wait!” he calls. It’s all in vain because there is no one to hear him.

In the distance there is a rumble of thunder and Lay begins the long trek home to Kris.

---

“I don’t want to go to school,” Kris pouts. His mother sighs and her eyes soften.

“I know you are down, Honey, but you have to go to school,” she her cool hand through his hair and rubs at his cheek with her thumb. “Go for me today? You never know what might happen.” She gives him a hopeful smile and Kris lets out a long breath. He accepts his mother’s hug before pulling himself out of bed and dressing for school.

Each piece of clothing he drags on is like mental armour for the battle ahead.

---

The dirt parts beneath the toe of his sneaker as he kicks through it on his way to school. The little pebbles scatter before him as if in fear. Listless and wary, Kris glides through the first half of his day attracting the minimum amount of attention. He runs on radio silence in the hope that the enemy will be blind to his movements.

“Hello,” comes a confident salutation at lunch. Kris groans, he thought he had been doing well today. He doesn’t answer. He just slumps down further in the hope that whatever it is will lose interest and leave him be.

“I’m Chanyeol,” says a cheery voice.

Kris cuts his eyes to the side and sees a pair of large feet in brown leather school shoes. They are wildly unfashionable and the skinny legs that sprout from them are interrupted somewhat rudely by a pair of knobbly knees with matching scrapes and bruises.

Kris doesn’t get any further because he’s afraid of actually being drawn into eye contact. Eye contact will make this more difficult.

“You don’t wanna hang around with me,” he sighs.

“Yeah, I do,” shoots back Chanyeol’s reply. This child is frustratingly upbeat. What’s worse is that Kris finds himself getting curious about what sort of person would have such a feeble sense of self-preservation that they would immediately attempt to befriend the outcast of their class. “Why not?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kris catches a flicker of movement. It’s Chanyeol extending his hand to shake.

“You want the snot kicked outta you or something?” Kris doesn’t mean this to sound like a threat but his bitter tone almost makes it one.

“Been there, done that,” Chanyeol replies somewhat less cheerily than before. He straightens and renews the invitation to shake his hand.

By this point Kris can’t help himself. He has to find out what sort of misfit would make such a poor decision. He follows Chanyeol’s hand up his arm to his face and what he finds there intrigues him.

Chanyeol has on a pair of round, thick glasses. They perch on the bridge of his nose at an angle and magnify his eyes to almost comical proportions. They do nothing to hide the purpling bruise high on the wretch’s cheek. His close cropped dark hair accentuates the way his ears stick out on either side of his head and the grin he sports completes the look giving the feeling that Chanyeol is either a genius beyond comprehension or so dim witted as to require constant supervision.

Chanyeol’s arm shakes a little and his grin falters under Kris’ inspection but he rallies and beams even more brightly.

Kris finally takes pity on the unfortunate Chanyeol and reaches up to take his hand. It’s given two jerky pumps before Kris motions for the lanky boy to take a seat next to him.

It’s possible that this action is the precise beginning of an agreement to try being friends. It’s not until later that this agreement is cemented into brotherhood.

The pair sits in companionable silence until Chanyeol breaks it with a sniff. Kris will come to learn that Chanyeol is always the one to break the silence.

“So what do you do for fun around here?” he asks. Kris glances up before staring off into the distance.

“Wanna come to my place after school?” Kris offers uncharacteristically. “My mum cooks and I have a club house.”

Chanyeol seems to consider it for a few moments before nodding to himself. Kris wonders what he’s thinking.

“Sure,” he agrees, holding out his hand to shake again. There seems to be a lot of hand shaking involved in being Chanyeol’s friend.

--- 

“Mother,” Kris says. “This is Chanyeol.” Chanyeol waves a shy wave.

“Why hello Chanyeol,” Kris’s mother replies with a smile. “Do you boys need something to eat? I can bring it to you outside?”

“Thank you,” Kris waves Chanyeol outside after dumping his bag at the door.

“You never said your mother was pretty!” Chanyeol blurts when they are out of earshot. Kris just shrugs.

“I never noticed,” he says simply.

“Is this your club house?” Chanyeol asks with a little awe. He touches the curtains and runs a hand over the table.

“Yeah,” Kris confirms. “It gets lonely by myself though. I used to have a friend but I lost him…” He trails off with a sniff.

“Oh my god, he died?” Chanyeol asks dramatically.

“Not died,” Kris replies, shaking his head. “He was a toy and I just lost him. I really miss him.”

Chanyeol looks at him sympathetically with his fishbowl eyes. “Oh,” is all he says.

“I looked everywhere but my memory is bad and I can’t remember where he could be,” Kris says in frustration. He sits down hard at the table and wonders why he felt compelled to spill about a dumb toy to Chanyeol.

“He sounds great,” the strange boy offers weakly. “I only have a little sister.”

The pair blinks at each other as they puzzle over why things don’t feel awkward.

“I can draw you a picture of him if you like?” Kris proposes and practically falls on the crayons when Chanyeol nods with excitement. The door on Kris’ imagination creaks open just a bit and the light that pours out takes Chanyeol by surprise.

The next few weeks are taken up with Kris regaling Chanyeol, and sometimes Chanyeol’s little sister Chaeun, with stories of the imagined adventures he had with Lay. The siblings join in and elaborate with adventures of their own until they are part of the fabric of the story themselves.

---

“Why are your glasses like that?” Kris asks one day as they colour another picture to pin up in the club house.

“Oh just long-sighted,” Chanyeol sighs as he pushes the heavy glass up his nose. “So why do you have so much time off school?” he asks lightly.

“I get fits,” Kris explains. “My brain is screwy.” Chanyeol makes a thoughtful face. He scoots over to Kris and places an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“It’ll be okay,” Chanyeol comforts Kris.

Lay pokes his head over the window. He could hear the voices inside the club house and it drew him in. The curtain flutters to the side and he can see Kris.

“Thank you,” Kris sniffs. “I know it will be okay now. I wish you had been here earlier,” he confides and Chanyeol hums in acknowledgement.

“I wish too,” Chanyeol  replies.

It’s all Lay needs to see before he is running off into the night, tiny pieces of his heart leaving a trail behind him as he goes.  The pain burning his little body is too much and he runs and runs blindly until he doesn’t know where he is. Nothing is familiar when he stops and all he can do is curl up and sleep.

It’s a surprise to him but he dreams. He dreams of adventures on high seas and rescuing princesses, soft sheets and whispered secrets.

---

Lay sits in the fork of a tree and looks down at the world. The mean dog across the street had chased him up here and he really didn’t have to come down unless it was going to rain.

He finds that he likes the way he can see everything if he can climb high enough. It’s kind of like the pictures that would appear in his head when Kris would tell him stories. It was entire worlds spread out for them to examine and explore together.

He thinks of what had happened to him lately and how he missed Kris. Despite his history, Lay had allowed himself to become attached to the earnest boy. He missed the stories and the imagination. He longed to be held again and rocked in Kris’ arms as he recounted the day’s events. Most of all, he missed belonging.

Lay cries, soft little sobs that turn harsh and angry when he remembers that he has been discarded once again and it’s just a matter of time before he fades. The worst of it is that Lay has the suspicion that oblivion will be a long time coming because of the power of Kris’ imagination.

“I’m not going back to you,” Lay sniffs. “If you don’t want me then I don’t want you.”

I do want you, though.

The mean dog barks, startling Lay and causing him to scrabble at the branch so he doesn’t fall.

“You can go away too!” he shouts down at the dog.

---

Chaeun sits at her little desk at home. She scribbles messily at the paper in front of her with a red crayon until she seems satisfied with her work. When she is done, she holds the work out in front of her to check it over. It is a good likeness of the Lay that Kris had described. He stands proudly on the bow of his own ship brandishing a shining cutlass.

She places the drawing in a draw with others like it. Underneath those pictures are notebooks filled with stories staring a rag doll. He has sailed all over the world, fought fierce monsters and rescued entire towns. These brave adventures, as relayed by our imaginative Kris, are chronicled by a little girl whose heart has been moved and will never be the same.

She has even begun to imagine her own escapades with daring Lay. Together they have discovered new and exciting territories, each time returning with riches and glory or the adoration of the masses.

She dreams at night and tells these dreams to her brother. Chanyeol smiles sadly and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

---

Lay sits in the fork of a tree. He has waited much longer than he ever suspected he would have to for unconsciousness to take him, much longer than could be explained by the residual effects of Kris having the most powerful imagination ever. Lay knows how it works. The only explanation is that someone is still thinking of him, someone is still actively imagining and including him.

A little spark of hope flares up in Lay and he doesn’t squash it down immediately. He digs down within himself to find the source of his continued consciousness. It’s strong and steady. Lay decides that he has to know why he was abandoned but not forgotten so he sets off in the direction of the pull inside him.

Now that he allows it, following the tug is easy. He may not know how far away he is, but he can play the game of ‘warmer/cooler’ until he gets there. 

---

Lay goes limp when he hears a shuffling noise behind him. It’s a big tom cat. He had managed to sneak up from behind while Lay was concentrating on following the spark inside.

There is a low whine and then the next second the tom has pounced. Lay feels the canvas of his torso part beneath the cat’s sharp teeth before he is shaken fiercely and thrown on the ground. It’s only through his quick wit and mind numbing fear that he is able to play dead long enough for the stray to lose interest. He gives the rag doll one last disdainful sniff before padding off in search of more tasty prey.

If he had a beating heart then it may have ceased to beat. It is fortunate however, that our Lay is only in possession of the metaphorical heart; the feeling heart. This is what saved him from being devoured by any animal strong enough or hungry enough to try to take him.

Little Lay sighs before dragging himself out of the dirt and inspecting the damage. It’s not too bad, just some small holes in the canvas. It amounts to nothing even big enough for his stuffing to come out of.

The fear of the attach makes him weary and shaky but he pushes himself onward in the direction of the warmth and power he feels.

---

It rains. Little Lay trudges on, keeping out of sight and out of the rain by skipping from beneath one awning to the next. It probably doubles his journey but he learned long ago not to get wet. Lay is not one of those new mass produced toys that just need a wipe and they are as good as new. He needs care and a dry place to stay.

He’s close, so close. It’s strange because he is somewhere that he doesn’t recognise. He wonders if Kris and his mother moved house while he was lost. Circling the house once, he selects a window to climb up to. It doesn’t look like Kris’ room but it’s definitely a little boy’s room. Lay is so happy that he made it home safely that he has to see Kris. He now feels the imagination keeping him alive close. It’s a beacon and he runs to it.

For a moment Lay is lost. He feels the power is right there in front of him but Kris is nowhere to be found. There is a strange moment of disconnect where Lay feels that he is falling to a place he doesn’t know and is very far down.

In front of him is a little girl and the boy he saw with Kris. He instantly wants to dislike the boy but it seems as if the power is surrounding them. Lay creeps closer to listen to what they are talking about.

“Channie, why did Kris have to go to heaven?” the little girl asks her older brother as she colours. There are crayon smears under her nails and stains in the pockets of all her dresses from where she keeps them always. Chanyeol sighs and gathers his thoughts to answer. He’s old enough to understand that Kris’ last seizure was just too much for his brain and it stopped working but there is a better way of explaining it that he knows his sister will understand.

“Well Eunna, Kris had all the adventures he could down here and it was time for him to have new adventures somewhere else.” When he finishes he sees his sister with the crayon poised at the corner of and a thoughtful faraway look in her eyes.

“I wish he could come and tell us one day,” she says innocently as she resumes colouring her drawing. “Kris told the best stories.”

“He did Eunna, he did.” Chanyeol pets his sister’s hair gently before pushing his chair back and walking off quietly.

“Oh,” Chaeun exclaims as she sits up straight. “Do you think he found Lay?” she asks hopefully.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I hope so.” Chanyeol turns away from his sister before she can see the tears that spill from his eyes to slip quickly down his cheeks.

Lay sinks to the floor slowly when he hears the conversation. If he has understood correctly then he owes his existence to Kris and his stories. Stories told so vividly that they transferred belief in a little adventuring rag doll to this brother and sister. Lay is crushed and mourns Kris, his true friend. The one who loved him so dearly that he was able to make others believe in him who had never even seen him.

At that moment, Lay makes a decision. He decides to gamble on these children accepting him just as Kris did. He feels their pure and loyal hearts and hopes that he has found a place in the world once again.

At that moment Chanyeol rounds the corner to find a little rag doll slumped in the hall.

“Hey,” he says. “Eunna? Did you leave this doll here?” he calls out after scrubbing his face clean of tears.

“No?” she replies. “Show me?” she asks and Chanyeol picks up the doll and takes it to his sister.

“Here,” he offers it out. “It kinda looks like all your drawings. Is this the doll you are drawing?”

“No, I’m drawing Lay,” she replies and they both just stare at the doll.

There is a moment where they are both silent. Neither can take their eyes off Lay until Chaeun speaks up.

“Channie, do you think Kris gave him to us?” she asks. Chanyeol knows it’s not possible but he nods his head.

“I just don’t know, Eunna. I don’t know.”