Chapter Text
Sam instantly attaches herself to Jax because of his rabbit appearance. Rabbits have always been her comfort animal, so even though Jax is brash and sarcastic, just being near him grounds her. She subconsciously follows him when she’s overwhelmed, and in her regressed little space, she sees him less as the intimidating jerk everyone else does and more like a mischievous bunny plush come to life. Jax, on the other hand, isn’t used to anyone seeking him out for comfort. He expects fear or annoyance in response to his teasing, not affection. At first, he mocks her clinginess—snickering about being her “stuffed bunny”—but over time, he realizes that she isn’t braindead; she’s simply finding something safe in him. Against his own instincts, he grows protective of her, letting her stick close, softening his edge when she’s vulnerable, and distracting her with his humor. Their dynamic balances his chaos and sarcasm against her need for comfort. It turns into an odd but sweet bond: Jax as the cynical trickster who reluctantly lets someone in, and Sam as the anxious, comfort-seeking newcomer who interprets even his sharpness as grounding playfulness.
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Sam had only been in the Digital Circus for a few hours when she spotted him—long ears, sharp grin, loud voice. He stood out immediately, and her heart jumped the way it always did when she saw anything rabbit-like. She shuffled up to him nervously. “...You’re a bunny,” she blurted out.
Jax blinked, then smirked. “Wow, ten out of ten for observation skills. Next you’ll tell me the sky is up.”
Sam flushed, fidgeting with her sleeves. “No, I just… I really like bunnies.”
Jax tilted his head, sizing her up. He was used to wariness, but this girl’s wide-eyed awe made him hesitate. Finally, he chuckled. “Well, congratulations. You’ve officially found the Digital Circus’s resident rabbit. Don’t get too attached, though—I bite.”
But when she smiled faintly at that, like she didn’t take it as a threat at all, something twisted in his chest. He didn’t say anything, just looked away with a muttered, “Weirdo.”
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The night had been overwhelming—too many strange sights, too much noise. Sam had retreated into her little space without meaning to, shrinking into herself and curling up in the corner of the main tent. She hugged her knees, rocking slightly, trying not to cry. That’s when Jax walked by. “Well, don’t you look like a kicked puppy. Or I guess… a kicked human. Same difference.”
Sam looked up, her eyes glassy. “...Bunny,” she whispered softly, reaching a hand toward him. Jax froze. Normally he’d have fired off three snarky comebacks by now, but something about the way she said it—like she was clinging to him as the only solid thing in the chaos—made him pause.
Jax let out an exaggerated sigh, tossing his head back. “Unbelievable. Out of everyone here, you pick me to latch onto. You must really be desperate.”
But he didn’t pull away. Instead, after a second, he let her grab hold of his sleeve. He looked down at her—her small, shaken posture, the way she clung like he was the only steady thing in the whole tent—and muttered under his breath, “...Tch. Fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. Don’t go thinking this makes us besties.”
He plopped down beside her with a flourish, crossing his legs. “Congratulations, kid. You’ve officially adopted the world’s least cuddly rabbit. No refunds.”
Sam’s breath hitched, but she leaned closer, resting her temple against his arm. Jax stiffened immediately, ears twitching like antennae. “H-Hey, personal space. You ever heard of it?”
She didn’t answer, just curled closer, her rocking slowing.
Jax rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Great. I’m a pillow now. I should start charging rent.” He glanced around the area—thankfully, no one seemed to be watching. The last thing he needed was Pomni or Ragatha catching sight of him being… nice. He leaned back slightly so she could rest easier without realizing it.
“Y’know,” he said, keeping his voice low, “if you’re gonna cling to me like that, you better be prepared for top-tier jokes at your expense. I don’t come cheap.” He smirked, though it was softer than usual. “You’re already looking at the circus’s best material—consider yourself honored.”
Sam let out a tiny giggle, muffled against his sleeve. It was shaky, but real.
Jax blinked, surprised. The sound tugged at something in his chest he immediately pushed down. “Oh, fantastic. I made you laugh. Guess that means I’m stuck with you now, huh?” He tipped his head back dramatically. “What a cruel fate. Saddled with a human leech.”
Her eyes slipped shut, her breathing slowing as she relaxed against him. Jax stared down at her for a moment, lips pressed in a thin line. Then, carefully, he shifted his arm just enough to let her rest more comfortably against his side.
“Don’t get used to this,” he muttered, even quieter now, his grin softening when he was sure she couldn’t see.