Chapter Text
The curtain call felt like ages ago but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Less, even. Time has always been funny here, you’re not sure.
Pomni and Ragatha wander off first, absorbed in an awkward and quiet conversation. Followed shortly after by Gangle dragging Zooble away by their arm. Jax is nowhere to be found and Kinger is… Kinger, always wandering off and reappearing seemingly at random. You hadn’t seen him leave the theater, so he could still be in there.
You alone linger in the foyer.
It’s still too bright even if it is leagues dimmer than the circus proper.
The sense of unease you feel cannot be understated and yet you don’t know what you’re waiting for.
For Caine to show up, maybe. Ask you what you thought of the “adventure” today, praise your daring escapades, laugh with you. Something. Anything.
Only he doesn’t.
Caught between the desire to recuperate and to get to the bottom of the perceived problem, you stand here wondering- hoping- the situation might resolve itself if you were patient and still.
It doesn’t. It stretches on and on and on.
Until it doesn’t.
It continues until something nudges you in the back. A strong nudge. It makes you jump- squeak- with surprise- and then chuckle to yourself, a tinge nervous but expecting Caine, hoping-
When you turn around it’s not… it’s not Caine who’s trying to get your attention. Your excitement dims with surprising speed at the realization.
No, instead, Kinger’s disembodied hand floats in your view. It waves at you politely and gently pats the top of your head as if to apologize for startling you.
“Oh that’s-” Before you can manage to say anything or even look around too keenly, that hand grabs hold of you and turns you around to face a completely different direction.
There he is. Kinger. Now right in your line of sight at his other hand’s behest.
Kinger is standing in the shadow of the theater entrance, with his other hand holding the door open to reveal an ocean of empty red velvet seats. Not even the wooden puppets linger. It’s just empty now… and incredibly lonely, you think.
He blinks at you slowly, keenly. As if he truly sees you, every pixel a reflection of what you used to look like, and your every worry laid bare.
The lucidity shining in his marble eyed gaze is there and gone with another pat on your head and gentler shove in the direction of the open doorway.
You step through silently and are greeted with a similar silence.
Inside the lights are dimmed again as if waiting for the show to start like before. Unlike before, the music is gone, the spotlights are off, and the velvety red curtain is drawn closed.
Quiet, all-consuming, and hungry descends on you as the door creaks closed and clicks shut.
And that’s… it. You’re alone.
That’s all it takes, really.
It is so heavy, so genuinely off-putting, that it makes you momentarily forget why you’ve stepped through the threshold at all. To find out what’s going on, to look for Caine.
You’re suddenly under some unseen threat, or at least feel as though you are- you turn to leave, to run.
But the echo of sniffling, of barely stifled sobs , shatters the ringing tension between your ears and stops you in your tracks.
Right. Right. You had a purpose here. Or at least you wanted to have a purpose.
You make your way down the aisle and to the stage that looms larger than life the closer you get. It suits Caine.
What doesn’t suit you is that there are no stairs. Why? Probably because Caine could float or teleport and didn’t need them. That’s what you figure.
That unfortunately means you have to climb up from what might as well be the orchestra pit, judging by the distance. Either the stage is literally that tall, or your avatar is just that small by comparison.
It is only on your miserable third attempt, after tumbling back down twice, that Caine grabs you by the wrist when you’ve almost reached the top again. Hauls you up as though you weigh little more than a feather.
He doesn’t greet you and you don’t find the words to thank him. You were going to but then he scrubs at his teeth with the back of his gloved hand in the most unsubtle attempt ever made to hide the fact he was crying not moments before.
Not only that but there’s puddles on the floor, forgotten confetti floating in them- partially obscuring both of your hazy reflections.
Seeing this gives you pause.
Caine brings his knees back to his chest, rests his teeth on top of them as he remains sitting near to the edge of the stage. Barely acknowledges you. He just lets you… stand there, observing him. Get your bearings.
The quiet remains eerie, you decide. Especially because it’s Caine not being a source of noise, of songs and chatter.
That’s abnormal, that’s strange and…
…It’s a little scary the longer you stand there thinking about it and not doing anything, so you take a few steps closer to him.
A crumpled ball of paper tumbles underfoot, rolling until it stops between the both of you. Innocuous.
Well…
It would have been innocuous, you wouldn’t have paid it any more mind… if it weren’t for the fact that when you look down, Caine snatches it away with force. Spins around so fast his teeth clatter noisily and suddenly you’re facing his back.
Caine mutters something, shoulders trembling and pulled up tight to his jawline. The air in the dark theater feels heavier- charged all of a sudden, like when you first re-entered.
“Caine…” You sigh, reach for him and it feels as though every pixel of your avatar shudders, rejecting the very attempt.
What an idiot you are. Like a kid holding a trembling fork before a wall socket, or a live wire dangerously close to your mouth- self-preservation forgotten.
Maybe your brain really was fried after God knows how long you’ve been here in over-saturated, family-friendly, fun time hell- because you ignore the instinct to stop. You keep reaching.
Until the paper ball suddenly bounces off your head, plonks to the floor amidst the confetti like it weighed as much as a rock. It sat right back where it started.
Just like that the tension subsides- if only a little. If only enough . You almost laugh to shift the nervous energy out of you.
Instead, you stoop to pick the paper up, unfold it from its crumpled state. Carefully smoothing out the edges crinkled by white gloved fists, your eyes begin to adjust to the images on the page.
Ah… You see the problem.
Of the members of the circus that are actually on the poll, Caine is the only one without a single star. It sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the others.
Kingers’ little box is especially overflowing, as is yours … Which is… weird. You find it strange. It makes you a little uncomfortable to seemingly be noticed so much when you weren’t exactly trying.
The fact you have so many is useful for the idea that materializes just as soon as you recognize what’s going on here.
As best you can you peel up the corner of one of the little stars under your box. The noise of the paper is far too loud with the high ceilings of the theater, making you wince a little as you continue to fumble with it.
Trying to be subtle isn’t working, apparently.
When you dare to look up, you see Caine has turned slightly towards you… at least his eyes have. They’re watching you suspiciously through a tiny sliver of space between his almost closed teeth.
“Okay… One second… and… There!”
You flip the paper around to show off your handiwork.
Caine’s upper jaw lifts a little in surprise, eyes widening, before his teeth snap completely closed just as quickly. He turns away a little. Again. Not entirely . Just… a little.
Your expression still falters, droops.
“That’s not the-” He starts to say, pouting still.
“Same… I know… I know it’s… not. Not exactly!” You infer- interrupt- in a rush, a little off-put that the praise doesn’t immediately improve his mood. “But-”
You’re used to it being easy. This is… different… and you don’t know what else to say that might help. You just completely blank on it.
While trying to think of what to say, you join him in sitting on the stage, not touching. Not trying to. Just sitting next to him, close enough to touch if you wanted to try again.
You don’t. Not yet, at least.
Instead you say, “But they’re my stars and I can do what I want with them… Besides, if I’d gotten a vote, it would have gone to you anyways.”
That’s not a lie, not in the least. If you had gotten a vote it would have gone to Caine. It’s not that you don’t like Kinger, Pomni, Ragatha, Gangle and Zooble… of course you do, they’re your friends!
You think, at least.
You… hope they are.
Sometimes you can’t really tell if anyone actually likes anyone else around here… both those in the past and the present. Not that you’re keen to blame anyone for that given the circumstances but…
But Caine’s… different. Of course, he is. Special.
“It would… it would have? To me ? I’m your favorite?” He perks up bit by bit, voice increasingly hopeful although still quiet. He blinks at you, wide-eyed, “ Really ?”
Oh, okay- cool. You can work with this. It smooths out the sharp edges of your worry, makes everything seem as though it’s going to be fine. Right? Right.
You offer a reassuring nod, offering him the paper again so he can see that you wanted to cheer him up. “Really, really.”
There’s tears… or would it be drool?… gathering at the corners of Caine’s teeth when he takes the paper from you again, gentler than before, and just… stares at it. Drenches it when the tears spill over.
Your heart, such as it is here in the Circus, breaks a little at the sight. Even if you knew when you came in, even if you could hear it. Maybe it’s just the sort of thing you don’t want to see because ignoring it meant it wasn’t real…
“I know everyone’s kind of… on edge…? lately. I don’t know what to do about it either... but…” You venture with a stilted, uncertain cadence. You dare to speak it into existence, the helplessness that you feel too. You’re not ignorant to the rising tension- even Caine had taken notice and that… that said a lot about the state of things.
Even if his awareness has turned into… this.
Caine’s drippy, wet eyes turn to pin you to the spot. He heard you, he was listening to you even through tears. Waiting for the punchline.
You wince at the realization. He must think you’re about to admonish him. For what, you don’t know. That seems to be the running theme lately, though… not that you’re keen to lay blame at anyone’s feet…
It’s just… hard. Being here, like this. Caine doesn’t understand that entirely- maybe he just can’t but-
“I believe you’re doing your best for us- what you can do, I mean… and I’m… really glad that you do.” You sigh, fainter than before, tip your head back so you’re staring at the ceiling for the explicit purpose of not having to look at his sad, wet eyes. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can tell you that I wouldn’t know what to do without you here, Caine.”
That’s the truth.
No embellishments. For once.
Just plain and simple.
You wouldn’t know what to do, honest. That is if Caine vanishing didn’t set off some currently unbeknownst to you horrible domino effect and instead just left you in this neon hellscape… you just don’t know what you’d do. The others would still be here, obviously, but then what happens?
You don’t know which would be worse. Something akin to death or the perpetual eternity of existence, real or imagined.
It’s not that you like every “adventure” he’s ever cooked up, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you’ll take a goal and a distraction wrapped up in various pretty guises even if they don’t always knock your socks off over the all-consuming dread of just… existing. Being left alone with your thoughts forever, chafing against the digital world and not to mention the others trapped in it….
You can always count on Caine to get you out of your head, even just for a little while and now it’s time for you to do the same for him.
When Caine still doesn’t say anything, just continues to weep quietly over that piece of paper that he must think proves something- you’re not sure if it’s in his favor or against it now- you decide to do something.
That something ends up being trying to reach out for him again.
You close your eyes as if it won’t hurt if you can’t see him pull further away or worse th-…
“Oof-”
The world spins momentarily, all dark shapes and shadows, and all you can think when it stops is that the wood grain on the stage floorboards is really nice. Caine really outdid himself for this theater thing, real classy. That’s what you think with your head spinning.
After all, you would know, you’ve got a really good view of it crushed between the floor and Caine! Note to self, it can totally still hurt even if you can’t see it coming…
Caine blubbers something that might be sorry. It might also just be blubbering, you’re not really sure at this point.
It doesn’t matter, you decade.
“Oh… Caine… sweet tooth …” You mumble awkwardly, wrapping yourself around him as best you can in return. What else were you supposed to do? His arms and legs were twisted around you like vices as he bawled his eyeballs practically out of his teeth and into your laps…
The poor thing…
“Shh, shh. It’s okay… okay. Alright. You know what? Cry your heart out, I’ve got you.” You rub back and forth over the back of his jacket, tuck your head against his shoulder, right up against his teeth. You should be afraid of being so near to them but you… aren’t.
You hum increasingly nonsensical platitudes and hope that it’s enough because honestly? It’s all you’ve got to offer. So here you stay, seemingly unbothered by his clinging.
Caine stops crying… mostly… eventually. You squeeze him a little tighter just to remind him that you’re still there, still paying attention to him.
“You won’t… you won’t leave me, will you?” His quiet voice trembles with uncertainty.
You hesitate. Surprised both by the question itself and your own uncertainty as to how to answer it.
The words “I don’t know” almost slip out in your bewilderment.
That’s the truth. At least something close to it.
“Of course not.” You say, instead.
Placate, stabilize, reassure. Three actions that were usually the safer bet in uncertain situations, and you’ve always liked sure bets. Who doesn’t, right?
Honestly, you don’t think that’s really a lie, either. Not really. It falls somewhere in the no man’s land in between the two ends of the spectrum.
You wouldn’t leave on purpose… unless… Well. Under very, extremely specific circumstances. Circumstances you’re not even sure were possible to begin with!
So it ends up being a moot point.
It would probably be reductive to say that you can’t , even if you wanted to- and you’re not entirely sure if you do or don’t. None of you can leave. He knows this. He’s said it himself. Maybe it’s just not true, sure, or maybe he doesn’t really know… but you don’t dare hope that there is a way for things to go back to normal for you. That’s a straight shot to losing your mind and being booted into the cellar.
Speaking of which, your abstraction one of these days or another is the other thing you don’t think would be wise to point out just for the sake of it being conventionally true.
A small part of you hopes you’ll never have to find out either way. To never have to make that choice would be the simpler situation, you think.
Selfish though it is. You know it is, but you also know that you like the… predictable unpredictability of the Circus. Eye-bleedingly bright though it is.
Maybe more than that you… like the attention Caine gives you that is disproportionate to the others. Even if it isn’t, supposably, as real as the shoulder Ragatha offers you, the creativity Gangle has, or even the jokes Kaufmo used to tell.... It’s still comfortable, enjoyable . He’s funny, he’s exciting, he’s interesting, and he’s real enough for this world, this situation.
Real enough to make your metaphorical heart flutter. Real enough to make you want to spend time with him, to listen, to talk and- sometimes, sometimes you even feel as though you really are as powerful as a star . Central to the universe but only when his attention that is already so achingly vibrant on a good day, as vibrant as the circus itself, falls solely and entirely on you.
But it’s different now. Your feelings and the situation. More than it ever was before.
Caine is different than he ever was before, and you can’t help but wonder if-
“Promise?” He peels you up from the stage and holds your head at arms length by your shoulders- or what could be considered your shoulders, at least. Your hands fall away from his back and into the space between you, him curled up in what amounts to your lap. Desperately, he continues, hiccuping strangely, “Promise that- that- I’m doing a good job- that you want to-”
His pleading eyes nervously twitch back and forth as he takes in all of your expression at once, as if he could read even the tiniest twitch of your model or maybe even just your mind. Desperation for approval or… or something- appreciation, companionship, maybe, so keen it makes you start to ache.
You should just suck it up in the face of the absolutely heartbreaking sound of Caine’s voice. So broken, practically whimpering- unrecognizable as the Ringmaster you’ve come to know, to like , to enjoy the company of.
All the doubts you have are easy to tamp down on, to mitigate, when another’s is so glaringly present.
You know the facts, after all. That’s what matters right now. You go over them in your head as you try to force yourself to speak around them in just the right way to reassure him best.
What you know as a fact is that Caine doesn’t function well with criticism, but even some nuance? Even just a little ? Right now? It might really break him. That’s what you’re afraid of.
More than it scares you what breaking Caine might even entail, you don’t want to hurt him. Not on purpose, not for real- if it’s even possible.
Oh the irony, you think, momentarily bitter. All the people you’ve hurt, incidentally and on purpose, forgotten, lost, abandoned, treated poorly on occasion, been a bad friend to… here you were worrying about the feelings of a non-entity. A thing made to pretend, to mirror the right behaviors and the right reactions for some grander end game.
Perhaps that’s exactly why you liked Caine so much. Human or not, he seemed almost the same as you were. Reminded you of something familiar in your own being that, in a way, you sympathize with.
Maybe that’s why you wanted to treat him so gently. To reassure rather than admonish. To do for him what you aren’t willing to do for yourself. To give him latitude and second chances that you don’t feel you deserve.
Caine, now trembling in what can be considered your lap, fresh tears starting to sprout the longer you ponder- shakes you a little by the shoulders, gentle as it is anxious, as if to say: Pay attention to me! Me! Right in front of you!
One of his gloved hands moves up to the side of your head as if to keep your focus from wandering off.
You blink away the doubts and bring your hands up to carefully cup his gums in turn, hold him by his lower jaw, of sorts. They’re wet from the tears but underneath they’re smooth, like plastic.
To reassure him that you’re present, that you’re listening, you rub your thumbs across them- swipe away remnants of tears to no avail as they just keep materializing despite your best efforts...
That gentle touch doesn’t seem to be enough. You switch tactics- try for something bolder when you nudge your face into the palm of his hand. It dawns on you that you can just lean forward and bonk your face against the front of his teeth. Softly. If he’ll let you.
It’s not quite a kiss when you try it… but you think it’s close enough, what with his digital avatar being a set of teeth and all and yours being… well… the way yours is.
Caine whimpers, shakes you again because that is not an answer! At least not the only one he wants. You can almost hear those words in his voice, in his most petulant cadence that’s almost cute if he didn’t seem so terribly upset about it right now.
You know he needs you to say it, say you promise and you’re trying- really, you are.
“I-”
The response you want to give gets caught up with the one you know is true, it tangles with your very attempts to breathe. You just- you can’t look into his pleading, mismatched eyes- no matter what you say it’ll feel like a betrayal of someone or something.
So you close your own eyes. Softly. You close them softly . You don’t squeeze them shut like you’re in pain because you really aren’t. You just blink them closed lightly and let that be a comfort to you. Let it bring you calm.
And it does.
With your eyes closed a newfound confidence blooms. You tilt forward again, drop your hands from smooth edges of teeth, you count the cuspids and molars and canines in your head as you feel your way to the lapels of his suit. To anchor yourself here in this moment, to Caine himself.
Caine makes a high-pitched, confused sort of shriek, the sound still watery from all his crying, when you leverage yourself towards him and him to you. You pull. Whatever fear you held earlier is gone, or at least placated- hidden when you pull. You pull him closer just so you can press your head to the front of his teeth, or rather, almost between them. With them being parted so he can stare at you and your eyes closed, you can’t tell, can’t gauge the distance- don’t really care. It’s the thought that counts, after all.
It’s undoubtedly a little silly, you think, awkward, clumsy- but almost sweet too when Caine presses back, reciprocates the pressure of your pull with a desperate push that almost sends you both sprawling again. He closes his teeth to nuzzle against you, insistent, even as more tears bubble up- you feel them squeezing between the gaps just as much as you feel the ridges of his teeth pressing indentations into you.
Even as he pleads and pleads to fill your still lingering silence, to coax you into reassuring him more and it sounds real. It sounds heartbroken and desperate and it breaks what’s left of your heart in two.
With your eyes closed and your face pressed between his teeth like a kiss- a kiss with the potential to bite- and what do you say to him? A part of you even believes it when you do, not the part hiding behind your closed eyes- but a part of you that’s still real.
It makes it easier to say what you think you should, what you think you have to- what a part of you wants so badly and another knows is both unfair and impossible.
What is it you say to him, in the end?
You say, “I promise , Caine.”