Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ponmi woke up, after what felt like years.
She opened her eyes slowly, finally taking a breath.

“What…?”

She couldn’t understand where she was. The room was white and cold. A steady beep came from a heart monitor beside her, and she felt something tugging at her arm.

“Shit.”

It was an IV. She was in a hospital.

What was she doing there? Was this some kind of digital hallucination? A cruel joke from Caine? No… that couldn’t be.

Had she really escaped?

She heard the door open and froze. None of it made sense, and even less so the figure standing before her — a real human being.

“I see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” said the man in a jacket. Ponmi guessed he was some kind of doctor.

She stayed silent, staring in shock as the figure moved — so realistically, so human — she didn’t even know how to describe it. She just knew one thing: she wasn’t in the circus anymore.

The doctor looked at her, studying every inch of her like he couldn’t quite believe she was conscious.

He sighed.
“I understand if you’re still confused. Waking up must be… a lot.”

Ponmi just looked at him.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay. Are you ready for that?”

She nodded.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. “Let’s start. Do you know what year it is?”

Silence.

“Do you know your name?”

“Yes. I, uh… Christine.”

Oh. She remembered. Christine looked down at the bed, at her hands, her legs, grounding herself in the feeling of reality.

The doctor began jotting notes, nodding slowly.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Do you remember anything that happened before you woke up?”

Silence again. She really didn’t know what had happened. Just… the circus. Ragatha, Caine, Zooble, Gangle, Kinger, Gummigoo, Kaufmo…

Jax.

Fucking Jax.

“No,” she finally said, her voice heavy with bitterness from the memories.

“Alright. You’re doing great.”

He continued.
“What country are we in?”

“Um… I— the United States?”

“Correct. Now I’m going to test your memory. Repeat these words after me, please: King, rabbit, clock.”

Christine struggled to process them — it was all too much — but she managed to remember.

“King, rabbit, clock.”

“Excellent. Now I’ll—”

“Can we stop with the tests, please?” Christine burst out. “I don’t understand where I am. I—I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

The doctor sighed. Slowly, he began to speak.

“Listen, Christine… We found you — and several other people — in terrible condition, scattered across different parts of the city. All of you were wearing some kind of headset, like… for gaming.” He paused, making sure she was following, then continued. “You’ve been in a coma for six months. Others have been in a vegetative state for years. But, as if by some miracle, you woke up. Some of them did too… others didn’t make it. One of the patients’ wives passed away — truly unfortunate.”

Christine nodded weakly. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. Were they… the others from the circus? Was the woman he mentioned Kinger’s wife? Had someone else died? Panic started rising in her chest, thoughts racing like a runaway train.

“Some of them claim they know you.”

Christine’s eyes widened as tears finally spilled down her face. Shit. It really was them.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” the doctor went on. “The good news is, considering how long you were in a coma, you seem… surprisingly lucid. What matters now is that you and the rest of the group recover — both physically and mentally. We’re arranging a team of psychiatrists and medical specialists to help with your rehabilitation. Though, I’ll admit, your cases are… quite unusual,” he muttered, catching himself. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re awake. You’re safe.”

Christine couldn’t stop crying. Nothing made sense, and she couldn’t feel at ease in her own body. Every cell, every bone ached and stretched uncomfortably, as if she were about to burst out of her own skin.

“I understand this is overwhelming,” he said gently. “Believe me, we’ll be with you through the entire process. There’s also a particular patient who’s very eager to see you. When you feel ready, of course.”

“…R-Ragatha?”

The doctor frowned slightly.
“You mean Amy?”

“No… I—I don’t know.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, puzzled but serious, his expression unreadable.

“When you feel ready,” he repeated. “For now, try to rest. If you need anything, press the little button on the remote next to you. A nurse will come right away to help. Understood?”

Christine stayed silent for a while. She looked down at her body. She was wearing a pale blue hospital gown, and—God—she was skin and bone. Bruises covered her thin arms; she barely recognized herself. She guessed it was from months of being fed through a tube… plus however long she’d been gone before that.

Memories started to return.
It was after work — just another dull, monotonous day. She’d been craving excitement. She went out to the woods, to one of her favorite abandoned places, and found that damned headset. She put it on and… the rest was history.

Now she was here. Cold. Shocked. Terrified. Trembling.
And as strange as it felt to admit it — she missed the circus. The fake warmth, the chaos, the adventures. At least there, she had something to hold onto. Now she was stuck in this bed, nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Nothing.

This was hell.

She looked up at the doctor, noticing the way he observed her — like she was some kind of phenomenon.

Christine exhaled shakily, swallowed the lump in her throat, and finally said:

“Yes. I understand.”

Chapter Text

Christine opened her eyes.

They felt like they weighed a ton —she hadn’t really slept at all the night before. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning around the circus group.

Around Jax.

God, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Was he okay? Alive? She had no way of knowing if he’d abstracted… if he’d woken up… or if he’d even want to see her again. Doubtful, considering how things ended the last time.

Not well. Not at all.

“We were never friends.”

That line kept echoing in her head. The way he said it —so cold, so blunt. Like it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was time for Christine to stop caring so damn much. It’s not like he ever cared about her.

She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the fog wouldn’t lift.

Her stomach turned; the whole room felt like it was spinning. She still hadn’t adjusted to this new reality. It had only been a few hours.

Through the window, the first traces of dawn crept across the sky. A sliver of moon still lingered. Everything looked so… real.

She stared out at the world beyond that small pane of glass. Minutes, hours —she couldn’t tell anymore. She couldn’t get used to time here. But she could get used to the birds singing, the sun climbing, the stars fading one by one.

She’d always loved watching the stars.

She remembered when she watched them with the group —Zooble and Gangle munching on sandwiches, Kinger lost in his nostalgic stargazing, appreciating the darkness as always, Ragatha chatting and smiling like usual… and Jax, lying next to her. She’d never seen him so… at peace.

Christine wondered if he’d ever really felt that way around her.

No. Stop. Not now. He doesn’t matter.

Damn it.

Before she knew it, the door creaked open. A woman stepped in, carrying a tray of food. Christine blinked, glancing back at the window —it was already broad daylight. How long had she been trapped in her own head?

“Good morning, dear. How are you feeling today?”

Christine blinked again. “Uh… hi.”

The woman smiled warmly, waiting for an answer.

“Oh—uhm, I guess I’m okay.”

“That’s good to hear. Look, I brought you something to eat. You’ll need your strength if you want to get out of here.”

Get out of here. That’s all I want, Christine thought.

The nurse set the tray down. Bacon, bread, tomatoes, eggs —it actually looked… good.

Her stomach growled, a strange, almost forgotten sensation. Hunger. She’d missed that.

“Can you lift the fork on your own?”

Christine tried. Her hands trembled; they felt too weak to lift even a feather. But somehow, she managed —and started to eat.

“Is it good?”

Christine nodded. It really was. After months of eating digital “food” that tasted like burnt wires, anything would’ve felt like a feast.

She started eating—fast, almost desperate—and within minutes the plate was spotless.

The nurse laughed softly.

“I’m glad you liked it. At this rate, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Oh, before I forget—here.”

She set a few pills down on the bedside table, right next to the empty tray.

“What’s this?” Christine asked, wary.

Trust wasn’t something she had much of anymore—not after everything that had happened. Not after what had landed her in this hospital.

“They’re for your recovery, dear,” the nurse replied with a reassuring smile. “Neurological meds, vitamins, supplements, anticoagulants… all the boring medical stuff.”

“Oh. Right.”

Christine cleared her throat, her hand trembling as she picked up the pills. She swallowed them all at once. Better not to think about it, she told herself. I already spent six months trapped in a digital circus—how much worse could this get?

The nurse stayed just long enough to make sure Christine had taken them. Satisfied, she smiled again, turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“Oh, before I forget—your group… they’re in the same condition as you. One of them’s very eager to see you. I could take you to her, if you’d like.”

Christine’s heart nearly stopped.

Perfect. Honestly, that would be perfect. There was no one she wanted to see more than someone—anyone—from the circus. To know they were alive, to talk to them, to feel their presence for real. It didn’t matter who it was.

She nodded, excitement flooding through her, and tried to stand. The moment her feet touched the floor, her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed with a dull thud.

The nurse gasped and rushed to her side.

“Oh, sweetheart—don’t move too fast. You haven’t used your legs in months. You’re still far too weak. We’ll take you in a wheelchair,” she said gently, lifting Christine by the arms and guiding her back onto the bed.

Great. Just kill me now, Christine thought bitterly.

The nurse brought over a wheelchair, adjusted the IV line, and helped her sit. Christine let out a long, shaky sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. Her chest tightened with nerves.

She had no idea what waited for her next—but something deep inside her was trembling.

They left the room, and Christine was utterly stunned.

The hallway stretched endlessly ahead of her—crowded, alive, too alive. Doctors rushed from one room to another, nurses calling out names, secretaries tapping on screens, patients walking by, children laughing or crying—everything she hadn’t seen in months.

She wasn’t used to this. She didn’t want this.

How was she supposed to handle the real world when she could barely handle this moment?

It felt just like that nightmare she’d had her first night in the circus—falling into darkness, the madness swallowing her whole, powerless to fight, powerless to scream.

Only now, she didn’t even dare to scream. She couldn’t look insane—not here. She didn’t want them to keep her locked up any longer.

She just wanted to go home.

Home.

The thought hit her like a punch. How had she not thought of that until now?

Of course—she’d been too busy thinking about that asshole, Jax.

Jax. And the others—Ragatha, Gangle, Zooble, Kinger. Were they okay? Were they even themselves anymore? Had their minds survived it? Could any of them ever live normal lives again?

Could any of us?

Her thoughts began to spiral, one after another, faster and faster, until it felt like she was slipping right back into the nightmare.

If I were still in the circus, I’d probably have abstracted by now, she thought bitterly.

God, she felt like she was going to die.

“We’re here! Are you ready?”

“W-what?” Christine murmured, dazed. She’d lost track of time—of everything—for a few minutes.

“I’m going to open the door now, all right?”

Christine nodded. Her heart was pounding so fast it felt like it might burst out of her chest, claw its way up her throat, and escape. But the moment she saw her, everything went still.

She recognized her instantly.

Curly red hair, warm freckled skin, and that familiar spark in her eyes. She was wearing the same hospital gown, sitting up in bed.

“…Pomni?” The woman whispered.

“Ragatha? I–is that you?”

Ragatha burst into tears, rushing to hug her. The embrace was awkward—wheelchair against hospital bed—but neither of them cared. Christine wrapped her arms around her and held on as tightly as she could.

After a long, trembling moment, Ragatha pulled away just enough to cup Christine’s cheek, brushing away her tears with her thumb.

“Oh God… you have no idea how happy I am to see that you’re okay!,” she said, her voice breaking. “Well—or, I think you’re okay? Are you?”

Christine let out a weak laugh.

“Yeah… I’m okay.”

Ragatha smiled warmly. Christine had forgotten how good it felt to see that smile again.

“All right, enough tears!” Ragatha laughed, rubbing her eyes. “Tell me—how are you feeling?”

“I… I don’t know,” Christine admitted. “Honestly, I can’t even wrap my head around being…”

She looked around the room, lifting her hands slightly. “…here.”

“I know,” Ragatha said softly. “Me neither. I woke up a few days ago. Still getting used to it—but it’s a process.”

Christine lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling the sting of tears rising again.

“Hey…” Ragatha whispered. “It’s okay. It’s a process. We’re gonna be fine. Really. We’ve been through worse.”

Christine took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Yeah, I guess we have.

“Um… h-have you heard anything about the others?”

“Oh, yes! They’re all fine. Zooble and Gangle are basically glued to each other, Kinger’s… well, being Kinger, I suppose,” she said with a laugh. “But all in all, they’re doing okay. They can’t wait to see you, Pomni. Or should I say…”

“Christine.”

“Christine,” Ragatha repeated, smiling. “That’s a beautiful name. I’m Amy.

Christine just looked at her, expectant. Amy understood instantly.

She sighed—deeply, reluctantly, as if Christine had asked the one question she’d been hoping to avoid.

“Jax is fine,” she said, exasperated. “He doesn’t really talk to us anymore. He stopped by once, just to ‘make sure we weren’t still being idiots’—his words—and then left. We haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh. B-but he’s…?”

“He’s fine. Safe and sound. His real name’s Jack, by the way.”

“Jack,” Christine repeated softly. “…Jack.”

She stared into nothing for a few seconds. Silence settled between them.

“I’m sure if you go see him, he’ll talk to you,” Amy said. “You were always the only one he really opened up to—well, besides… you know, Ribbit.”

“…Ribbit’s here?”

Amy shook her head. Her face darkened.

“He passed away. I guess that’s what’s eating Jack up so badly. I think… everyone who abstracted… died in the process.”

Christine exhaled, her chest tightening. God, Jack must be falling apart. She just wanted to see him—didn’t even need to talk. Just to see him, to hold him, to hear one of his stupid jokes. Anything.

“I’ll try to visit him when I can,” Christine said quietly.

“Jack? God, Pomni, I don’t get you sometimes…” Amy paused, realizing how harsh that sounded. “Oh, God, that wasn’t very nice, was it? Sorry.”

Christine laughed weakly.

“When you see him, tell Jack we all want to see him, okay?”

“I’ll at least try to talk to him,” Christine said. “Hey… what about Caine?”

“Caine was just an AI, remember? I don’t think we’ll ever see him again.”

The nurse, who had been quietly sipping water in the corner, nearly choked. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The two women looked at each other and burst out laughing. No one else would ever understand. How could they? It was impossible.

“It’s gonna be weird not seeing him around,” Christine confessed.

“Tell me about it. I spent years with Caine by my side. Honestly, I’ll miss him.”

Christine smirked. “Yeah. Sure you will.”

Amy smiled and shrugged.

“Hey… do you want to see the rest of the group? They’re all really excited to see you.”

“I’d love to,” Christine said softly. “It’ll be so strange, seeing them as… humans.”

“It really is,” Amy replied with a laugh. “I couldn’t believe it at first—I kept expecting Zooble to rip their arm off at any second, or for Gangle’s face to just… fall apart.”

The nurse, clearly alarmed and on the verge of calling a psychiatrist, interrupted nervously:

“I–I can take you to visit the rest of the group, if you’d like! They’d be so happy to see you, Christine.”

“They really would,” Amy echoed.

“Or… we could bring them here,” the nurse offered quickly. “That way you won’t all move around too much in one day. You still need rest, remember.”

Christine and Amy nodded, settling into silence. Their hands found each other’s, fingers intertwined as they waited.

It wasn’t long before Zooble and Gangle arrived—together, of course.

Zooble’s hair was wildly curly, streaked with hints of pink, the roots long and uneven after so much time without care. Silver piercings glinted on her lip, brow, and nose. Their dark eyes were sharp, alive, and their grin stretched from ear to ear.

Gangle, by contrast, was small and pale, with long black hair and an overgrown fringe that brushed her eyes. The moment she saw Christine, she broke down crying—and Zooble immediately pulled her close, whispering to calm her.

“Hey, it’s okay… look, we’re all here now.”

“Oh, Pomni!” Gangle sobbed, throwing her arms around her. “I missed you so much! How are you? Are you okay?”

“Hi, Gangle…” Christine murmured, smiling faintly. “Yeah, I think so. Better now that I can see you all.”

“What’s up, Pomni?” Zooble said, joining in on the hug. “Long time no see.”

Christine smiled—really smiled.

It felt like a lifeline thrown to her after hours of drowning.

Slowly, they pulled apart, and for the first time in a while, Christine found her voice.

“So… what are your… you know… your real names?”

“Skylar,” said the one who had been Zooble, proudly—like the name finally belonged to them.

“Megan,” said the woman beside Skylar, softly but with that same quiet pride glowing around her.

“I’m Christine”.

They all stayed smiling in silence—until the door opened again.

And there he was.

“Kinger!” they all shouted in unison.

“Hello, everyone.”

Kinger’s eyes met Christine’s.

“Could it be…? Is that you, Pomni?”

Christine nodded and hugged him tightly. Kinger wrapped his arms around her in that protective, almost paternal way he always had. When they pulled apart, she finally got a proper look at him. He was tall, with gray hair and a neatly kept beard, his skin a warm brown tone. He truly looked like some kind of father figure—or a king from another time.

“Oh, you’re beautiful!” Kinger exclaimed. “You look so much better without that jester’s hat. Did you know you have lovely hair, Pomni?”

Christine smiled faintly.

“Uh… thanks? I missed you, Kinger.”

The man returned her smile, gentle and kind—as if to say I missed you too.

“God, Richard, can you act normal for once?” Skylar teased, laughing. Megan chuckled quietly behind her.

“Richard?” Christine repeated, surprised.

“Yeah,” Richard said, grinning. “Crazy, right? I didn’t remember it at all when I woke up.”

“The doctors had to look through his papers to find out his real name,” Amy whispered to Christine with a smile.

Christine looked around the room. Everyone was laughing, reuniting, alive and safe.

Everyone—except Jack.

“Well…” Christine said suddenly, trying to push that thought away. “How are you all feeling? It must’ve been awful, you know… everything.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Skylar sighed, in that careless, confident tone of theirs. “What matters is that we get better and get the hell out of this place. You know what? When we do, everyone’s coming to my place. I’ll make us all drinks to celebrate.”

Everyone cheered.

“That sounds perfect,” Amy said. “I’d die for a Cosmopolitan.”

“You got it,” Skylar replied with a wink.

“Oh, Skylar… you’ll make that drink I like, won’t you?” Richard asked shyly.

“Sure thing. With extra corn—just how you like it.”

They all burst out laughing, the room filling with warmth, teasing, and the easy rhythm of old friendships being reborn.

Christine just sat back, watching them, content. After everything—she suddenly remembered that the nightmare she had at the circus had an ending:

At the end of the day, no matter how dark things became, they would always be there to take her hand and pull her back into the light.

Chapter Text

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

Christine had already lost track of how long she’d been in that hospital since waking up.

The days were monotonous.

Breakfast. Pills. Physical therapy. Psychiatry session. Lunch. Dinner. More pills. Sleep.

Breakfast. Pills. Therapy. Psychiatry. Lunch. Dinner. Pills. Sleep.

Over and over again.

Still, she noticed with quiet relief that she and the rest of the group were recovering. Little by little, everyone was adjusting to their new reality— (not that they had much of a choice). The doctors kept reassuring them: “Not much longer now.”

Not everyone was thrilled about leaving the hospital. Amy was heartbroken—her mother hadn’t sent a single message, and she had no idea where to go. Skylar had offered to let her stay until she could find a new home, so at least Amy had somewhere to belong for now.

Megan’s case was different. Her family had visited multiple times, supporting her through every stage of recovery. Christine was genuinely glad she wouldn’t have to go through this alone.

Richard, on the other hand, was alone.

He had accepted his wife’s death with unsettling calm—almost as if he’d known the moment it happened, back when she’d abstracted. Still, Christine and the others tried to keep him company whenever they could.

Christine often visited him at night, when Richard seemed most alive. After those quiet, late-night talks, she no longer felt quite as heavy.

They spoke about Jack.

Christine didn’t really want to, but Richard noticed instantly.

He didn’t push—only let her speak. Their conversation barely lasted two sentences.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly. “I really can’t figure out what I did wrong for him to just… drift away like that. I don’t understand what’s happening to him.”

Richard sighed.

“In relationships,” he said, “you don’t always have to understand the other person. Most of the time, people never truly understand each other. What matters is loving them as they are—understanding or not.”

I suppose so, Christine thought.

But did he ever love me, even without understanding me?

Jack wasn’t unconditional.

No.

Shit.
He probably despised her.

She tried to get through her days without caring too much.

Though deep down, she still waited for that moment —for the nurse to walk in and tell her Jack was ready to see her, that he wanted to see her.

But it didn’t work that way.

And they both knew it.

Eventually, Christine was discharged. Some of the others had to stay a bit longer, but she was the first to leave.

They gave her some clothes, the bag she’d been found with, and after months of endless physical and psychological therapy—she was free.

The city streets were overwhelming, to say the least.

Cars roared by, people shouted, laughed, bumped into her without even noticing.

Christine finally snapped out of it and hailed a cab. She gave the driver her address, and they drove off.

Minutes later, she was there. And the second she stepped inside, she almost collapsed.

It was a flood of emotions—standing there, in that small apartment she had once called home.

She walked slowly, her fingers grazing the walls, her eyes scanning every corner.

The furniture was coated in dust, the plants were dead, the food on the counter had long rotted away.

Wait—who the hell had been paying her rent all this time? she thought.

Mom, probably.

Christine checked her phone, scrolling through her messages. Nothing.

As always.

Whatever, she thought, tears stinging her eyes.

Christine opened her cabinets and found her old clothes —her pajamas, her slippers.

She changed, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers up to her chin, leaving just a tiny gap to breathe through.

Within seconds, she was asleep.

Hours slipped by. Until—

Ting!

The sound came from somewhere inside the apartment.

“…What?” Christine muttered, half awake, blinking in confusion.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

“Oh, right. Shit.” The doorbell. Of course.

She stumbled toward the door, still groggy.

“Who is it?” she called out.

Silence.

“Hello?”

More silence.

“…Ponmi?” a voice said from the other side.

Her heart dropped straight to the floor.

Shit. Shit. Shit. She knew that voice. That cursed voice.

“…Jax?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“That’s me,” he said softly. “Can we talk?”

Christine opened the door without thinking—and there he was.

Either he’d gotten taller, or she’d gotten smaller. It reminded her of that same difference in height they had back in the circus.

His skin was warm and tan, his hair a messy tangle of dark curls, and he wore layer upon layer of jackets, as if he hadn’t taken them off in weeks. His eyes—dead and alive all at once—scanned her from head to toe.

God, those eyes. Christine had always felt like she could drown in them.

His face was marked with tiny bandages, his fingers wrapped in tape. How did he get hurt? 

She hated to admit it, but—damn—he looked good.

Jax stood there, mouth slightly open, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Then, suddenly, his expression twisted into a crooked, bitter smile, like he’d just realized his face was betraying him.

“Shit, Ponmi—out of all the things I expected today—” he waved his hands lazily in the air “—this was not on the list. You look like… I dunno, a bored secretary or something.”

Christine just stared.

It was him. He was safe. He was real.

“Jax…”

Before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around him. Hard. Desperately.

As if letting go might make him disappear again.

Jax froze for a moment—and if she dared guess, he was trembling.

“Jesus. Miss me much? Geez, Ponmi, I’m flattered!”

He chuckled, but it came out shaky, forced.

“You know I don’t do hugs, right?”

Christine stayed silent.

They stayed like that for a while. Long enough for silence to feel almost sacred. Neither one of them really wanted to move.

Finally, he pulled away—gently. “Alright, that’s—uh—enough of the emotional stuff,” he muttered, turning his head. He rubbed a hand across his face roughly. Christine caught a glimpse of something wet on his cheek, but she wasn’t about to call him out on it.

“You… okay?” she asked softly.

He gave a dry, crooked grin. “Oh, me? Totally peachy,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Because, you know, nothing says ‘I’m fine’ like… whatever the hell this is.”

The silence returned.

They just stood there, staring at each other, both drowning in words they couldn’t say.

“Hey,” she finally whispered, “do you… wanna come in? It’s a mess, but—”

She didn’t even know how to finish that sentence, or why she wanted him there so badly. The air between them was thick with confusion and something dangerously close to hope.

“Eh, sure,” he said with a half-smirk. “Why not? Haven’t crashed anyone’s apartment today yet.”

Jack stepped inside without hesitation, like he belonged there.

Christine let out a quiet laugh, shut the door behind him, and exhaled.

This was going to be a strange night.

Chapter Text

Jack started inspecting the apartment with meticulous eyes, scanning every corner, every shelf. Christine watched him, quietly amused.

“You really need to tidy up, Ponmi. This place is a disaster.”

“Give me a break. I just got here,” she replied, pausing for a moment. “It makes me really sad that my plants died… I actually liked them.”

“You… liked your plants? Sure, totally normal,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Well… I guess I just am like that,” Christine admitted, letting out a small, shy laugh.

“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head, smirking. “Hey… you got anything to drink? I’m dying for a drink.”

“Yeah, I suppose—”

“If it’s alcohol, even better,” Jack cut in.

“…Okay? I’ll see what I’ve got.”

Christine began rummaging through the clutter, searching for a bottle of wine. She knew she had some—back when she was an accountant, clients often gifted her bottles like this. Maybe that was why she often ended up drinking a little—or a lot—too much at night.

“Found it!” she said, dusting off a bottle with elegant cursive on the label: Pinot Noir, 1957. The number rang a faint bell in her mind, though she couldn’t place why. 

“Uh… this okay?” she asked, holding it out.

“Perfect. As I said, any booze works for me. Let’s pop it open,” Jack said, leaning against the counter with that infuriatingly casual grin.

She found a corkscrew, washed two glasses quickly, and began to pour.

The smell of the wine filled the small apartment. Jack inhaled deeply, letting out a small, appreciative hum.

“Mm. Not bad,” he said, taking a sip. “Smells fancy enough to make me feel cultured and shit.”

“Fancy? It’s just wine,” she mumbled, cheeks flushing slightly.

Jack shrugged, a tiny grin tugging at his lips. Christine mirrored the gesture, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, smiling softly.

It was paradoxical. Everything felt so peaceful, so calm—but at the same time, there was an unspoken tension between them. Of course, Jack would never admit it, but even he knew there were things left unsaid.

Christine didn’t want to deal with that right now.

“So… you’re Jack, right?”

“That’s me,” he said, pouring himself a little more. “Waking up was… wild. Felt nice remembering my name. Felt like me, you know?”

“I get it,” she replied softly.

Silence stretched between them.

“…Aren’t you gonna ask me mine?” she said, a nervous giggle slipping out. The wine was starting to loosen her a little.

 “Nah. I know who you are, Christine.”

Her name sounded… perfect coming from him. Warm, confident, like he could tell her exactly who she was, how she was, what she could do—and somehow make it all feel right.

Christine’s cheeks tinged pink. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked at him. Jack returned her gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. He poured himself a little more wine. She noticed he was drinking more than usual, and she realized he was nervous. She knew him too well.

“A third glass?”

“Oh, come on. Stop pretending you don’t want more too,”

Christine answered with a shrug, offering her glass to him, inviting him to pour another.

“That’s my girl,” Jack teased, mock annoyance in his voice.

Christine rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile creeping across her face.

“God, shut up, dude,” she said, shaking her head.

“Make me,” he said, plain and simple.

Christine choked on her wine, laughing, trying to hide the warm flutter rising in her chest.

“Seriously, Jack? Already drunk?”

“Of course not!” he laughed, clearly tipsy. “I’m always this eloquent and charming. Didn’t you notice, Pompom?”

“It’s Christine,” she corrected, giggling.

“I’m not calling you that. That’s a boring name! Sounds like… an accountant or something.”

“I am an accountant, Jack.”

“Exactly.”

Christine laughed at the absurdity of his logic. She missed laughing with him. God, she missed him.

“…Well, you’re drunk too, aren’t you?” he whispered.

“A little,” Christine said, matching his teasing tone. “Pour me another glass.”

Jack laughed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The night went on. Hours passed, and before they knew it, the first bottle was gone, and they were already reaching for the second. Both were clearly drunk, laughter spilling from them nonstop.

They were remembering ridiculous stories, Jack insulting Ragatha as usual, Christine bragging about her sharpshooting the last night they’d been together.

“I was really good with the guns… could do some insane tricks,” she slurred a little, a grin on her face.

“Don’t brag, Ponmi. We were in a digital world where we could do anything. And besides, our targets weren’t exactly hard to hit,” Jack replied, smirking.

Christine smiled bitterly, the alcohol lowering her patience.

“Are you even capable of giving a compliment?” she asked.

“Nah. I only give those to people who deserve it,” Jack said, joking but firm.

“Well, it sure seems like you’re just an asshole to everyone,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Jack laughed. Why couldn’t he ever take anything seriously?

“Aw, the jester’s mad?” he teased, pinching her cheek playfully.

Christine swatted his hand away, exasperated.

“You take everything way too seriously. You gotta know nothing I say is serious, Pompom,” he added, his grin softening just a little.

“Not even what you said before the contest?” Christine finally burst out. She was a wreck. The wine had stripped her of her filter, and the whole mess of feelings—the sheer ache, the betrayal, the dizzying what-ifs—just went off in her head. She glared at him, her dark, tired eyes demanding an answer she knew he wouldn't give.

Jack's face flickered with a sudden stillness. His eyes, usually half-lidded, went wide, and that infuriating, shark-like grin he always wore just melted away. He just held her gaze, his expression completely blank, making her stomach clench.

He let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna peace out now,”  he finally drawled, standing up and stumbling just a little. Figures.

“Ugh, are you serious  right now?!” Christine yelled, the sound sharp and desperate. “You always pull this crap, Jax! The second things get… I don’t know, real for half a second, you just dissapear!”

“Look, Chris,” he said, the annoyance flat in his voice as he spun around to face her. “Drop the whole 'I'm the one who gets you' act. It’s gettin old. You don’t know me,” he insisted, deliberately pausing after each word. “You know shit about my life, shit! Everything I said back in the circus was the truth. You just need to stop being so fucking dumb,” he finished, his tone devoid of warmth.

“Then why the hell did you look for me? Why didn’t you hit back that day? I know you’re hiding something, Jack!” she said, shoving his chest with shaky hands. “Stop being such a fucking liar!”

“Oh, my god! here we go. Back to the same tired, stupid conversation. Just because I wanted to check if you were…oh, i don’t know, alive? and have a chat means I’m suddenly obsessed with you? That you're an authority on my life?” Jax scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I've told you this a thousand times—get over yourself. Stop trying to find depth where it's just a flat surface. You, or anyone else from that clown show, means absolutely nothing to me!”

Christine went quiet, her breath stuttering in her chest.

She closed the gap between them and swung, connecting her knuckles directly with the corner of Jack’s jaw. It was a solid, sickening strike, and she instantly felt the sting of impact and saw the blood splatter faintly onto her hoodie sleeve.

Jack stumbled hard, catching himself just before hitting the floor. He slowly straightened up, his eyes now fixed on her with an intensity that made her want to vomit.

“That punch doesn’t make anything I just said less true, Christine,” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl that hit her like a physical blow to her diaphragm.

“Oh, you fucking piece of!- Christine screamed, launching herself at him, her attack a desperate, messy flurry of punches and scratches. It was an awkward fight given the huge difference in their height, but she was out for blood. She clawed at his neck, punched his side, and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Jack, looking genuinely stressed and trying not to crush her, struggled to peel her off.

“Shit! Crap, Pomni, seriously, cut it out!” Finally, Jack managed to shove her hard against the wall, trapping both her wrists above her head in his iron grip. Christine immediately went slack, pinned and unable to move.

They were both breathing in frantic, ragged gasps, their eyes locked in a searing, raw stare.

Jack's gaze changed—the darkness in his eyes seemed to swallow the light, and he slowly, deliberately licked the blood off his split lip, a slow, primal movement.

“Jesus Christ, Chris…” He said, breathless.

It took a beat too long for Christine to register that his bloody, sharp-toothed mouth was closing in on hers, kissing her with an overwhelming, desperate, animalistic need that stole all the air from her lungs.

Chapter Text

The kiss continued. Desperate. Visceral. It devolved quickly into something messy and desperate, Jack thrusting his tongue and teeth inside Christine's mouth, stealing her breath. Christine wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and Jack, with effortless strength, lifted her by the waist from the floor, allowing Christine to lock her legs around his hips. Jack ground his knee aggressively into her inner thigh, generating a delightful, sharp friction.

Christine could only whimper deep in his throat, completely trapped by his mouth and his arms, which were squeezing her waist so hard she honestly thought her bones might crack. She desperately hoped the bruises of his grasp would be there the next morning.

Christine’s moans intensified as the friction grew faster and more frantic, leaving her utterly defenseless.

“Keep making those noises. Yeah. Just like that,” the man demanded, finally breaking the kiss and gripping her chin to force eye contact. “…God, I hate you.”

“I hate you more,” Christine challenged, panting out the words, which only made Jack smash their mouths back together instantly, like two magnets incapable of separating for a single second.

The intense kiss dragged on for long, agonizing minutes. Christine genuinely felt like Jack was somehow torturing her; every time she tried to initiate any kind of touch—anything, whatever—he’d subtly pull back, denying her contact while continuing to kiss her with the same brutal force.

The prolonged kiss finally reached a breaking point, as Jack clearly began to lose his own control and patience. His rough groans inside Christine's mouth were just as desperate and audible as hers, and she could feel his hardness pressing constantly against her center. It was driving her absolutely insane.

Finally, he stumbled backward toward the sofa and positioned her gently onto the cushions, one hand cupping the back of her head to ensure she didn't hit the armrest. His actions were slow and careful, but his trembling body and feral eyes betrayed him. He was completely past the point of desperation.

He attacked her neck, kissing, biting, sucking, and licking her skin, trapping her beneath his much larger frame and denying her any form of mercy. He was growling and panting like an animal devouring its prey. Christine couldn't stop the loud, helpless moans; her neck had always been her weak spot, and Jack had found it instantly.

He was biting just hard enough that Christine wondered if he was actually hurting her; she could see the wet crimson staining Jack's mouth.

He moved to kiss her throat, clearly aiming lower. He tugged gently at the hem of the hoodie she was wearing.

“Can I?” he asked, breathless, his voice rough.

The woman nodded frantically, a desperate, silent plea.

Jack wasted no time. He ripped the hoodie off in one swift motion, revealing the thin, nearly transparent white shirt underneath.

Jack grinned, satisfied, the sharp teeth momentarily visible.

“No bra, huh? God, Chris, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his eyes dropping straight to the targets before him.

He eased her back against the armrest and began to slowly unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. He paused to press a wet, hot kiss into every patch of skin the buttons had been hiding. Finally, he threw the shirt open, leaving her bare from the waist up, and immediately went for her nipples, using a devastating mix of roughness and delicacy. It was the perfect, maddening balance.

Christine could only whimper, clutching handfuls of his hair as if her very life depended on it, pressing him harder to suck more, to bite more—she wanted more of everything. All of it.

Jack stopped, trailing kisses slowly down her ribs, over her hips, until he finally reached the edge of her shorts. Their eyes met, and the man simply smiled, waiting.

“Please?” Christine begged, the word a desperate gasp.

He smiled.

He swiftly stripped off her shorts, leaving her with only her black panties and the open shirt draped over her arms. Jack spread her legs and observed her intently, practically salivating. He looked utterly starved.

Finally, he hooked a finger into her underwear and slid it off. Now, she was completely exposed. Christine instinctively tried to close her legs out of a sudden wave of embarassment, and Jack pushed them apart again, wider this time, like a punishment.

“Stay right there. You look perfect.”

Jack unbuckled his belt, never breaking eye contact, then slid off his trousers, followed by his boxers, his gaze unwavering from Christine. Slowly, deliberately, he began to touch himself, his large hand wrapping around his erection. It was undeniably large.

There was something dangerously erotic about the entire exchange. The way he aroused himself just by looking at Christine, the sheer sight of her watching him—the way she could witness him completely fall apart simply from seeing her naked.

“Shit,” the man grit out between clenched teeth, unable to keep his eyes open. He started to groan. “God. You are seriously going to break me.”

He stopped touching himself and began planting kisses back onto Christine's body, but this time on her inner thighs, moving dangerously close to her core. They were forceful, aggressive kisses that Christine was certain would leave marks by the following day.

Slowly, he moved lower, until—

“Oh, God,” Christine whimpered, completely frantic. “Jack, Jack—I need—!”

Her breathing was erratic, and her words were dissolving into senseless babble. It felt too good. Jack’s hot tongue was tracing every inch of her center, nibbling lightly in some spots, aggressively sucking others. Christine’s legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and Jack grabbed them firmly to keep them exactly where they were. Perfect. Christine rocked back and forth, trying to ride his tongue, desperate for more, desperate to feel everything. Jack lifted her legs slightly, and Christine gasped as she felt two fingers slide inside her. It wasn’t difficult, considering how wet she was.

“Fuck. Oh God, f-f-fuck…”

Jack was groaning inside her, and Christine could feel every vibration throughout her body. It was all too much. She felt like she was going to explode.

Jack moved his mouth up slightly, and fuck. Right there.

Christine began to scream out loud, feeling the last thread of her sanity instantly melt away—dissolving in the heat, the saliva, and the fucking combination of Jack’s tongue and fingers.

She grabbed a handful of his hair, pushing him down, demanding more of him. All of him. She genuinely felt like she might actually die if Jack stopped right now.

Jack withdrew his fingers, and Christine gasped at the sudden, empty void. She felt his fingers trailing upward, squeezing her nipples sharply before moving up to her mouth. Jack inserted his slick fingers into Christine's mouth, and the woman immediately began to suck, lick, moan, creating a messy, salty mix of saliva and other fluids all over his hand and her own chin. All the while, Jack continued to devour her below, like he was completely starved.

His fingers explored every part of her mouth, reaching so far back that Christine choked slightly, emitting a muffled, dirty sound. Jack groaned loudly in response, clearly fantasizing that something other than his fingers was occupying Christine's mouth.

The man finally paused, panting hot, damp breaths onto her core. He pushed her legs to the side and sat up beside her on the couch.

“Come here,” he rasped, patting his thigh in desperate, shaky breaths. He helped her, grabbing her waist and moving her toward him like she was a doll, and Christine hated how incredibly hot that made her.

She finally straddled him, Jack's erection brushing lightly against her wet center. His hands remained fixed and firm on Christine's hips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this,” he confessed. “…You have condoms, right?” he asked, gently pushing a lock of hair away from Christine’s face—she was a beautiful, desperate mess.

“Yeah, I, um… wait.”

She thought for a few seconds, her mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. Oh, shit. She didn’t.

“Shit,” she sighed. “I-I don’t.”

“Really? You mean you weren't getting any before you got dragged into the circus?”

“Do you honestly think I was a sexually active person?”

Jax let out a harsh laugh.

“No. Not really.”

“Shut up,” she said, managing a shy giggle. “…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin… well, the moment.”

“Relax, Chris,” he said casually, cupping her face gently in his hands. “We don’t have to…Oh, oh—” he groaned, as he felt Christine’s hand wrap around his member.

“No one said we couldn’t do other things… right?”

“Fucking-… No,” he choked out between weak laughter and pleasured moans, tilting his head back, lost in the sensation. “Definitely not.”

He grabbed her hair, pulling her down to smash their mouths together again. One of his hands gripped her waist while the other began making slow, circular movements exactly on the spot that made Christine tremble.

Yeah. This would definitely work, too.

Chapter Text

Christine woke up heavy, her head pounding so hard it felt like her eardrums were about to explode. Damn hangover. She really shouldn’t have drunk that much last night.

Last night.

Wait. What did happen last night?

Memories flooded back like a wave crashing against her skull—then it hit her. What had happened with Jack. She covered her face with both hands, frozen in shock.

“Goddammit…” she muttered. “I really shouldn’t have drunk that much.”

Out of nowhere, the flashes returned—how they’d gone to bed together, how Jack had fallen asleep on her chest while she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his curls.

But Jack wasn’t there anymore.

Of course not. Obviously he wouldn’t stay the next morning.

She exhaled a long, heavy sigh, trying to get rid of the weight pressing against her chest. Why did she even feel surprised? It was Jack, after all.

Christine got out of bed and remembered she’d left her clothes scattered in the living room after… well, last night’s sequence. Her legs felt weak, her head still pounding, her thoughts foggy and sore. She walked toward the couch and saw her shirt, shorts, and hoodie lying there. She bent down to pick them up, wondering if that was the last time she’d ever hear from Jack.

The apartment was cleaner than before—suspiciously so. Some of the plants looked greener, fresher. She touched the soil. Moist.

Did Jack… clean up? And water her plants before leaving?

She shook her head, trying to push the thought away, and decided to take a shower.

Stepping under the water, she felt the hot stream wash over her skin, loosening the tension in her body.

She washed her hair and her body slowly, trying to feel lighter—trying to ignore the faint marks left on her skin from last night.

Christine sighed. After what felt like hours, she stepped out, drying herself quickly and pulling on her clothes. Drops of water fell gently from the ends of her hair.

I should eat something, she thought. But she wasn’t really hungry. She missed coffee—God, she craved coffee—but she didn’t even have money to buy one, or anything at all.

Great. Guess I’ll have to call Mom.

Her hands trembled as she was about to open the chat with her mother when suddenly—

An unknown number was calling. Perfect. A reason to avoid the conversation.

“…Hello?” she answered, secretly hoping it was Jack.

“Christine! Hi!” a bright, cheerful voice chirped on the other end. Christine immediately recognized it.

“Amy?”

“Yup! It’s me! How are you feeling?”

“Uh…” She definitely wasn’t going to tell her what actually happened. “Fine, I guess. Wait—how did you even get my number?”

“Oh, the doctors gave it to me! They said we should all stay in touch, remember? But that’s not the point. Hey, remember when Skylar invited us over after we got out of the hospital?”

“Uh… yeah?” Not really.

“Well, it’s happening right now! Come over! Almost everyone’s already here. Jack too. You didn’t get to see him after you left, right?”

“Eh…” Christine hesitated, her mind briefly drifting somewhere else. “…No.”

“Well, perfect then! It’ll be a nice little reunion! I’ll send you the address—oh, this is so exciting! We’ll all be together again!”

Amy sent her the address, and Christine started getting dressed to leave.

She was nervous—mostly because Jack was going to be there. He’d probably act like nothing had happened. So she should do the same.

Stepping outside, the city immediately felt like too much. The constant movement, the noise, the rush of people brushing past her—it was overwhelming. None of them had any idea what she’d been through these past months. She felt… out of place. Like she didn’t belong in this world anymore.

She couldn’t afford a cab, so she walked. The day was gray, heavy with that particular melancholy that comes before rain, and the cold bit at her hands.

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived. The neighborhood was full of bars, graffiti, and colorful murals—very Skylar, she thought.

Christine actually remembered this area. She used to come here after work with her coworkers for drinks. Maybe she’d even crossed paths with Skylar once, without realizing.

She rang the doorbell and spoke into the intercom.

“H-hi? It’s Christine.”

“Oh shit! Christine! I’m coming down!” Skylar’s voice rang through, brimming with excitement. Christine had never heard them sound anything other than annoyed before.

Skylar came downstairs, practically tackled her into a hug, and together they went up.

The apartment smelled faintly of coffee, hair dye, and acrylic paint — unmistakably Skylar’s place. Posters of obscure punk bands covered the walls, and half-finished art projects cluttered every surface. 

Inside, laughter filled the space. Amy was perched on the couch with a drink in her hand, Megan was fiddling with a small sketchbook, and Richard sat in the armchair like a patient king, observing everyone fondly.

And then there was Jack.

He was sprawled on the floor, leaning against the couch with that usual slouch, spinning an empty glass between his fingers. When he noticed Christine walk in, his hand froze mid-spin.

Jack’s eyes met Christine’s, and for a moment, the usual grin on his face vanished completely—frozen, gone.

He looked away almost instantly, gaze dropping to the drink in his hand.

He didn’t even say hello.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Then Skylar broke the silence. “Well, look who finally decided to crawl out of her apartment,” they said with a grin, tossing a pillow playfully toward Christine.

Christine smiled faintly. “Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

Amy jumped up and hugged her so tight she almost dropped her bag. “You’re here! Finally! We were starting to think you bailed.”

Richard chuckled softly. “She wouldn’t miss a gathering like this. We all went through too much not to come back together.”

Jack snorted from the floor, looking up at them with that crooked grin of his. “Yeah, a real trauma club reunion. Where’s the cake?”

Skylar rolled their eyes. “Oh, shut up, Jack. You’re just mad ‘cause no one brought whiskey.

“Excuse you,” Jack said, feigning offense. “I’ve evolved. I drink wine now. You know—keeping it classy.”

“Classy?” Skylar leaned against the counter, smirking. “You passed out on my floor last time back at the circus. That wasn’t exactly classy.”

“Artistic choice,” Jack shot back. “I was expressing my despair through performance.”

“Yeah, sure,” Skylar replied, irritation edging their voice. “Can we stop talking about you for, like, one second?” They shot Jack a glare, and he only smirked, blowing her a teasing kiss “Christine, what’ll you have to drink?” Skylar asked, reaching for a shaker behind the counter.

“Uh… what do you have?”

“Margarita, Cosmopolitan, Bloody Mary, mojito—take your pick.”

“Uhm..” Christine’s eyes flicked toward Jack without meaning to. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“Okay. Bloody Mary for you, then,” Skylar said as they started mixing.

Skylar started mixing the drinks while Christine slid onto the stool beside Amy.

Jack, not even trying to hide it, decided to drift away from Christine and took the seat right across the counter, where Skylar was busy at work.

“Why are you sitting near me?” Skylar asked, suspicious, not even looking up.

Jack smirked. “Just wanted to get a closer look at that ugly mug of yours.”

“Fuck off.” Skylar shot him the middle finger.

Christine sighed softly, trying to steer the mood back to normal. “So… how’s everyone adjusting to, you know, this world?”

“I’ve been trying to find work as an artist,” Megan said quietly. “You know, maybe doing comics or something.”

“Booooring!” Jack sang out in a mocking tune. “Can we talk about something interesting?”

“Shut up, Jack,” Skylar cut in sharply. “Go on, Meg,” they added with a small, encouraging smile.

“W-Well… I’ve been staying at my mom’s house. It’s nice having her around again. I hadn’t seen her in years.”

“That’s really lovely, Megan,” Amy said warmly, patting her back. “I’m living with Skylar now! I talked to my mom, and she got me a job as a secretary at some boring soda company—but I’m deeply grateful, of course!” she added quickly, forcing a grin. “I start Monday.”

“With that paycheck,” Jack drawled, “you could probably hire a hitman to take out your mom. Bet you’ve thought about it.”

“Shut up, Jack!” Amy snapped, glaring at him. “Anyway—Richard!” she turned suddenly. “What about you?”

“I’ve been living back at my house with my daughters,” Richard said casually.

Everyone froze and stared.

“You have… daughters?” Christine asked, shocked.

“Yup!” Richard said brightly. “Two girls. It’s been wonderful reconnecting with them after so long.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re not alone, Rich,” Skylar said sincerely. “I’ve gone back to social media to restart my tattoo work. Got a few clients lined up this week already.”

Everyone offered congratulations—except Jack, who just laughed under his breath.

Skylar narrowed her eyes. “Got something to say, Jack?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said innocently. “Just saying—you do realize you’re basically a walking stereotype, right?”

“Screw you, asshole. What about you? Still completely alone, like always?”

Jack leaned back in his chair dramatically. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked. After my bipolar mother abandoned me and my alcoholic father with my five siblings, I had to raise them all by myself in the rough streets in the hood of South Chicago—”

“Oh my God,” Skylar groaned, cutting him off. “Jack, I know what you’re referencing. If you don’t have anything real to say, just shut up.”

“Oh, c’mon, I didn’t even get to the best part!”

“Don’t care,” Skylar snapped, turning away. “Christine—what about you? What have you been up to since you got out?”

Christine and Jack’s eyes met for a brief second—then quickly darted away. Both of them pretending as if nothing had happened between them the night before.

“Uh… I—” Christine hesitated, searching for something to say. “I’m still in my same apartment. I don’t really know what I’ll do or… what kind of job I’ll get, or what I’m even doing with my life,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as panic began to creep in.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Richard said softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. You just got out of the circus—anyone would feel a bit lost.”

“Yeah! I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, Christine,” Amy said with her usual bright tone, smiling warmly.

“Yeah… I guess so. Damn it,” Christine muttered, looking down at her empty glass. “Skylar, can you make me another one?”

Skylar nodded with a sympathetic grin and started preparing the drink.

“You’re already on your second one, Chris? Seriously? I think maybe you should—” Jack cut himself off mid-sentence, realizing too late that he wasn’t talking to just anyone. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Whatever.”

Skylar glanced at him, impressed. “Wow, really? Not even one of your bad jokes this time?”

“What? No way!” Amy teased, smiling knowingly. “Christine’s always been his favorite.”

“Wha— no! Excuse me?!” Jack sputtered, his cheeks tinting pink. “Nobody here is my favorite, okay? And my jokes are hilarious, thank you very much! You just hate fun, dude”

“I don’t hate fun. ” Skylar replied, smirking. “I just hate you.” They slid Christine her drink across the counter. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Christine said, taking it. “Anyway, I’m honestly just happy Jack’s finally shutting up for once.” She let out a small laugh—if he wanted to play the game of pretending nothing had happened, then i could play it too.

Everyone laughed with her, and Jack looked visibly taken aback by the jab. Still, he smirked, leaned back in his chair, and gave her a playful wink.

Christine rolled her eyes and turned away, pretending not to notice the heat rising to her face.

The night stretched on for hours, slipping quietly into the early morning.

The group was lost in almost-normal conversation. Almost.

And by “normal,” it meant that at one point Skylar got so tired of Jack’s nonsense that they threw a piece of corn straight into his face.

Other than that? Normal enough.

Megan yawned.

“Oh god… I’m exhausted. Can we go to bed, Skylar?”

“What? Already?” Jack said, visibly surprised. “Come on, Meg, can’t you last a little longer? You lightweight.”

“…It’s three in the morning,” Megan mumbled, eyes half-closed.

“Yeah, Jack. It’s late,” Skylar yawned. “Also, I don’t want you in my house anymore. Alright, this was fun, guys, but how about we call it a night and see each other again soon?”

The group thanked Skylar for the drinks and the invitation, and soon everyone was heading downstairs. Amy told Skylar and Megan to go get some rest, then followed the others to the door.

Outside, the rain had started—soft, steady, and cold.

The sky was completely overcast, the streets washed in silver light. Christine tilted her head up, feeling the drops touch her skin… and when she turned, she caught Jack staring at her.

He looked away almost immediately.

“Wow, it’s really late!” Richard exclaimed, checking his watch.

“Yeah, Richard. Who would’ve guessed an old man like you would be out drinking at this hour? What would your daughters think?” Jack teased.

“Oh, I didn’t drink,” Richard said calmly, ignoring him. “I’ve gotta drive home. Do you two want a ride?” he asked, glancing between Christine and Jack.

“Uh, are you sure it’s safe for you to be driving?” Amy asked, worried. Richard shrugged. 

“Nah,” Jack cut in. “We’ll walk, right Chris?”

“Wait, what?” Christine blinked, caught off guard.

“Are you two living together?” Amy asked, her tone slightly sharper than before.

“No—no! Of course not,” Christine said quickly. “I don’t even know why he wants to walk with me,” she muttered, giving Jack a wary look.

“What? Is it that bad that I don’t want you walking home alone at three a.m.? Geez, stop complaining and let me be chivalrous for once, Chris.”

Amy eyed him with clear suspicion, then sighed, forcing a small smile. “Fine. If you insist. See you guys later.”

“She’s totally crazy, right?” Jack said as soon as Amy was out of earshot, smirking.

Christine stayed quiet. The silence between them was heavy.

“Oh, right,” Jack said after a moment. “I forgot she’s like, your best friend or something.” He laughed softly. “Whatever. Let’s go?”

“Jack, look… maybe you should just go home. I’ll be fine. I don’t live that far.”

Jack’s face shifted—just a flicker of guilt, almost buried.

“Listen, I… I’m sorry. About earlier. I didn’t mean to just—disappear.”

Christine froze, surprised. His tone was off. Too genuine. Too real.

“O-okay? I guess it’s fine,” she said carefully. “But you don’t have to apologize if you don’t mean it. Maybe we should just… keep some distance for a while—”

“No,” Jack interrupted suddenly. “I-i don’t want to.”

Christine let out a short, bitter laugh. “I thought you didn’t care about me.”

He looked almost… small. Ashamed. Vulnerable.

“I know I might’ve—” he started, but then caught himself, quickly masking it again. “Fine. Whatever. Be that way! If a white van kidnaps you on your way home, don’t blame me.”

Christine laughed, genuinely this time. And Jack’s face softened instantly—his grin turning real for once, his shoulders easing as if her laughter was the one thing keeping him together.

“Alright, Jack,” she said finally, giving in. “Come on”.

“Cool!” he started, grinning too wide—then caught himself. “I mean, whatever. I knew you couldn’t resist my charm.”

“Your what, exactly? You were literally begging a second ago.”

“Me? Beg? Never. You’re delusional, Chris.”

“Uh-huh.”

They started walking side by side, rain soaking through their clothes. Neither of them seemed to care.

Neither wanted to stop talking, even if they didn’t quite know what to say.

Chapter Text

They walked side by side through the quiet, rain-soaked streets.

The sound of the water hitting the pavement filled the silence between them — a silence that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but charged, like a string pulled too tight.

Streetlights flickered faintly, their reflections stretching across puddles. Christine’s hair clung damply to her face; Jack’s jacket was halfway soaked through, but he didn’t seem to care.

“So…” he finally said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Still hate me?”

Christine glanced at him, her lips curling slightly. “I don’t hate you. I just… don’t get you.”

“That’s fair,” Jack replied, smirking faintly. “I don’t really get me either.”

She gave a quiet laugh despite herself. “You always have something to say, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of my thing,” he said, shrugging. “If I stop talking, people start worrying.”

“Maybe they should,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Jack turned his head toward her, the faintest smile fading from his lips. “You think I’m that bad?”

“I think…” Christine hesitated, watching her boots splash through the puddles. “I think you act like you don’t care about anything. But you do. A lot more than you admit.”

He laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t his usual sharp or sarcastic laugh. It was quiet. A little sad. “Careful, Chris. You say things like that and people might think you actually see me.”

“Maybe I do.”

That made him pause. For a few seconds, the rain was the only thing between them.

Jack looked at her. His voice dropped, low and unsure.

“You shouldn’t waste that on me.”

Christine frowned slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked away, his smirk slipping back into place like armor. “Nothing. Forget it.”

She stopped walking for a moment. “You know, you can drop the act with me. You don’t always have to be—”

“A comedian?” he interrupted.

“I was going to say an asshole.”

He laughed, pushing his wet hair back. “Same difference.”

Christine sighed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, and yet…” he tilted his head toward her with a grin, “here you are, walking in the rain with me. So who’s really the messed-up one here?”

Christine rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help smiling. “Still you.”

Jack’s grin widened, and for the first time all night, it didn’t look like a mask.

As they kept walking, their fingers brushed — just barely — but neither of them moved away.

They kept walking in silence, their fingers brushing every so often until they finally intertwined — hesitant at first, then holding on tightly, as if neither wanted to let go.

The city around them was silent except for the soft sound of rain, and the world felt small, almost gentle.

When they reached Christine’s apartment building, Jack stopped. He hesitated, like he didn’t really want her to go just yet.

“Hold up,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Let me smoke one and then I’ll let you go.”

He lit it up, standing under the small overhang that shielded them from the rain. “Want one?”

Christine hesitated for a second before nodding. Why not. It felt like it had been years since she last smoked, and she honestly missed it.

Jack leaned closer, lighting her cigarette from his own. The spark flared between them — and so did something else. Their faces were dangerously close. Jack’s gaze stayed fixed on her, though Christine pretended not to notice.

She took a long drag, letting the smoke calm her nerves. Then she laughed quietly.

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since when do you smoke?” he shot back with a grin. “Getting rebellious, Chris?”

“I don’t know. I used to, before the circus. Not like a habit or anything — just when I was stressed.”

“Stressed,” he repeated, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “So… basically all the time?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“And you?” she asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged. “I try not to take things too seriously, unlike you. Just let life drag me around a bit.” He made a little wave motion with his hands. “Before the circus, yeah, I smoked a lot more. Guess it stuck.”

They fell quiet for a moment, both inhaling and watching the ashes crumble away in the wind. Christine didn’t press for more — she could feel there was something heavier behind his words, but she was too tired to chase it.

Jack started tapping his foot, the silence clearly making him anxious. He took one last deep drag, coughed dryly, and laughed.

“Shit. Fucking silence, huh?.”

More quiet. Christine’s eyes started to close, exhaustion catching up to her.

“Hey… you good?” Jack asked softly, tapping her cheek with two fingers.

Christine yawned. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She gave her cigarette one last pull and dropped it, crushing it under her wet boot. “I think I’m gonna go sleep.”

Jack’s expression shifted — disappointed, almost sad.

“Do you… have somewhere to go?” she asked, her tone suddenly gentle.

“Yeah,” he said, voice unusually flat. “I live a few blocks from here.”

“…Alone?” Christine pressed, trying to keep him talking while this rare vulnerability lasted.

“Yeah.”

“‘Yeah?’ she asked nervously. “That’s it? What about all that charm you always brag about?”

He looked down and exhaled, smoke curling past his lips. “Don’t have much left to say, I guess.” He smiled weakly. “Didn’t really get along with my parents. Loved acting when I was in college — my dad hated it. Hated me, I think. Tried to end things once. Haven’t spoken to them since.”

Christine blinked, startled. “…Wait, seriously? That’s not, like, a movie reference or something?”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Nah. No point lying about it anymore.”

“That’s… probably the most I’ve ever gotten out of you,” she said softly.

“Well,” he said, smiling faintly, “you did it.”

They stood there for a moment, eyes locked, tension thick and quiet between them.

“I should… get going,” Jack said finally, voice low, empty of his usual snark. He took a small step forward, like he wanted to hug her, but stopped himself halfway. “See ya, Chris.”

As he started to turn away, Christine grabbed his hand.

“W–wait,” she said, her voice almost trembling. “You don’t have to go. You can stay… if you want. Sleep on the couch.”

He looked at her, eyes wide with surprise, not pulling away. “You sure?”

She nodded. “You don’t have to go through all this alone.”

Jack froze for a moment, like the words had hit him harder than they should have. Then he nodded slowly, letting her lead him inside.

Christine gave him a pillow and a blanket, and they said goodnight.

She lay in bed after that, staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come. She couldn’t stop thinking about him — everything he’d said, everything he hadn’t.

Finally, she got up and opened the door looking for him, only to find Jack standing there too, as if he’d been about to knock.

They both froze, then laughed awkwardly. He looked at her — really looked — and for once, he just seemed… human.

They stepped closer, slow, hesitant, until their lips met. It wasn’t like before — not wild, not desperate. This one was soft. Real.

Jack’s hands found her hair, gentle; Christine’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“…Can I stay here?” he asked quietly, breaking the kiss, voice almost breaking. “We don’t have to do anything, I just…” He trailed off, looking down, hurt. Like actually needing someone was killing him from the inside.

Christine nodded, smiling softly.

He lay down beside her, resting his head against her chest, exhaling like he could finally breathe again.

Christine ran her fingers through his damp hair, her mind drifting back to what he’d confessed — the acting, his father, the suicide attempt—

“Wait,” she muttered suddenly. “That’s from Dead Poets Society, isn’t it?!”

Jack snorted softly, eyes still closed. “Shut up, will you? I’m trying to sleep.”

Chapter Text

Christine woke up, feeling rested for the first time in months. Sleeping next to Jack had relaxed her, more than she wanted to admit.

She turned to the side, only to find the bed empty. Again.

“Ugh…” she groaned, frustrated. “Asshole.”

She got out of bed, already in a bad mood. Muttering quiet curses under her breath, she headed to the kitchen to see if there was anything for breakfast.

When she got there, she noticed Jack’s jacket on the floor. Why the hell had he left it there? She bent down to pick it up, wondering why Jack would leave without taking all his stuff.

“Wow, Chris, giving me a free show this early, huh?” a teasing, flirty voice said from behind her, followed by a low whistle.

“Ah! Shit, Jack!” she yelped, spinning around — only then realizing, to her embarrassment, that she was wearing nothing but a shirt and underwear. Suddenly, his comment made perfect sense. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Uh, having coffee? Obviously,” he said casually, taking a sip. “Want some?”

“There’s… there’s no coffee in my house.”

“Yeah, I noticed. No coffee, no food, nothing. I went to get some before you woke up. Want one?”

“Uh… sure” Christine said, hesitant but secretly relieved he’d actually stayed this time.

She walked up to him slowly and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

“Thanks… you know? For staying.”

Jack froze for a second, then laughed softly — but didn’t pull away.

“Seriously? Back hugs? What are we, a picture-perfect straight couple?” he teased, finishing the second cup and turning around to face her.

“It’s just a hug. Not a big deal,” she muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed by her own affection.

“Uh-huh. And this—” he leaned in and kissed her sweetly, making Christine smile “—it’s just a kiss. Not a big deal.” He repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he set the coffee cup in front of her. “Here. You look like you haven’t slept in years.”

“I actually slept.. fine,” Christine said, confused.

“Doesn’t look like it. If I’d known you had two bags under your eyes,” he pointed at her dark circles, “I would’ve carried them along for the groceries.”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

Jack chuckled, watching her with a soft, lingering gaze.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” Christine asked, turning away.

“Nothing.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes — the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but full. Both of them drinking coffee, the bitter taste grounding Christine in a strange, domestic calm. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt normal.

“Wanna go for a smoke?” Jack asked suddenly, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and offering her one.

Christine scoffed softly. “You’re really dragging me into bad habits, huh?” she said, taking one anyway.

“Oh, come on. You love it.”

“I don’t love it. Trust me, if I could be with someone more mentally stable right now, I would.”

“Ouch. Geniunely painful,” Jack said with mock offense, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.

They stepped out onto the small balcony of her apartment, the air still heavy and gray after last night’s rain. Dusty chairs, a view of the quiet street below — everything looked washed out, fragile. They both sat down, lighting their cigarettes almost in sync.

“Besides,” Jack continued, taking a drag, “I know you, Chris. You don’t actually like stable.”

“I could say the same about you.” She exhaled smoke slowly, her eyes narrowing. “And I also know you, Jack — you do like it.”

“Ha! Says who? Your little psychic melon heart?”

“You said it yourself,” she shot back, smirking. “Yesterday, when you came begging to sleep next to me.”

“Oh, that.” He sighed dramatically. “Didn’t remember that part.”

“Yes, you did.”

Jack shrugged, smiling — that lazy, crooked grin she knew too well.

Christine picked up her phone and scrolled through her old playlist. Something melancholic felt right for the gray morning. Cigarettes After Sex began to play — Apocalypse, soft and dreamy.

Jack groaned instantly. “Seriously, Chris? Emo music? I’m so bored I might actually cry.”

“Well, I like it,” she said, unapologetically. “I used to listen to it all the time before the circus.”

“What, you’d just wake up and decide, ‘Yeah, let’s ruin the day early?’”

“And what about you?” she countered. “Don’t tell me you were one of those people who listened to, I don’t know, ABBA or something.”

Jack laughed, a real one this time. “ABBA?”

“I dunno,” she said, laughing too.

“Nah. I was more into alt rock, grunge, punk — you know, the old stuff. Music that actually meant something. It was revolutionary. Raw. Bloody.” He took another drag, eyes softening. “Now it’s all garbage.”

“I didn’t take you for an old soul. Honestly, I thought you listened to terrible rap.”

“Well,” he said with a small smirk, “I’m a box full of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

“…Forrest Gump?” she teased. “You really do speak in movie quotes all the time, huh? You like film that much?”

“Yeah, I, uh…” He hesitated. “Used to watch a lot of them before the circus.”

“As an escape?” Christine asked gently.

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “You could call it that.”

The song continued, drifting through the gray morning air —

Got the music in you, baby, tell me why

You’ve been locked in here forever

And you just can’t say goodbye

Neither of them spoke again for a while. The smoke curled upward, fading into the mist. The city below was still, the world muffled — and for a rare, fragile moment, both of them just listened.

The music faded softly into the background, and for a long moment, neither of them said a word. The cigarette smoke mingled with the cool morning air, blurring the edges of the moment like a dream Christine didn’t want to wake from.

Jack leaned forward on his elbows, watching the tiny curls of smoke rise from his cigarette. “You know,” he said finally, “I always thought mornings like this were depressing.”

Christine tilted her head toward him. “Why?”

“They’re too quiet. Makes you think too much. That’s dangerous.”

She smirked faintly. “So your solution is… what? Talk until the thoughts stop?”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing her a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Silence.

“Do you ever… think about the circus?”

Jack flicked his lighter open, the flame reflecting faintly in his eyes. “Think about what, exactly?”

“You know,” Christine said quietly, her voice softer than usual. “About going back.”

He scoffed. “Fuck no. Why the hell would I ever want that?”

“I— I don’t know,” she murmured, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “When I was there, all I could think about was getting out. But now that I’m here… I feel so…adrift. Sometimes I miss it — not the chaos, just… the feeling of everyone being together. Guidance. The group.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, exhaling smoke toward the gray sky. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “I miss the group too.”

Christine turned to him, surprised. “You do?”

He grinned suddenly, a sharp, mischievous spark in his eyes. “No! I couldn’t stand them. All I ever wanted was to get out.”

Christine groaned, rolling her eyes. “You’re unbelievable. Do you seriously not care? Not even a little?”

“Not even a little,” he said flatly, lighting another cigarette.

“I know you’re lying,” 

“Believe whatever you want,” he muttered, taking a slow drag.

Silence stretched between them — fragile, quiet, and full of things unsaid.

Then, softly, almost like an accident, Jack added, “I always worried about you, though.”

Christine looked up. His voice was different — small, uncertain, almost afraid.

She smiled gently. Then leaned in and kissed him.

Jack froze for just a second before kissing her back, his fingers tangling in her soft hair the way they always did, like muscle memory. Christine could taste coffee and cigarettes on his lips — sharp, bitter, and strangely comforting. A taste she wanted to remember forever.

When they finally pulled apart, Jack was still looking at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

“You’re going soft,” Christine teased, laughing lightly, ruining the fragile magic of the moment. 

Jack scoffed, though his voice was low, tender beneath the sarcasm. “Yeah, well, it’s all your fault”.

“Should I feel special?” she asked, her hands cupping his face gently.

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, Jack pulled her close again, their lips finding each other in the dim, gray light of the balcony — the cigarettes burning out, forgotten, as the faint echo of a song played from inside.

Your lips

My lips

Apocalypse

The kiss deepened. It turned into something more twisted, more desperate. Their tongues started fighting for control, totally savoring the taste of the other.

"Wanna go inside?" Jack asked, his voice ragged, lips slick with saliva.

Christine nodded, and that's when they completely lost control. Jack started running his hands over every part of her body he could reach, and Christine wrapped her arms around him, hungry. They stumbled into the room, and Jack sat down, leaving her standing, expectant.

He watched her for a few seconds.

"Can you..." he began, slowly, "...take your clothes off?"

Christine stared at him, surprised.

"Are you serious?"

Jack arched an eyebrow, unbothered. He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him.

"Could be hot," he whispered, looking into her eyes with a small, arrogant smile and eyes full of lust.

And with that tone, how could she tell him no?

She slowly started to pull off her sweatshirt, then her shirt, and waited, looking at him.

"Happy?" she said, the heat of the moment not quite covering her embarrassment.

Jack licked his lip, slowly, drawing out the moment.

"All of it," he said, his gaze dropping lower.

Christine muttered a curse under her breath and took off her underwear, standing completely naked.

Jack watched her, practically salivating.

"You know," he started, "you're really beautiful. Too beautiful." He ran his hands over her entire silhouette, the contact making Christine shiver. "Beautiful shape," he finished, pulling her closer to him. His nose was basically pressed against her stomach.

He let out a small, hot breath, and Christine answered with a moan. She hated how sensitive she was in moments like this.

"Get on your knees?”.

Christine obeyed instantly, as if she were outside her own body, acting on some primal, hidden instinct deep inside her.

She felt the wooden floor hit her knees. She looked up at him.

Jack brushed her face for a few seconds, and Christine closed her eyes against the soft contact.

He started unbuckling his belt, never breaking eye contact. Finally, his erection was free, already glistening with pre-cum.

He didn't force her. He simply waited for Christine to move on her own. She darted out her tongue and started to lick.

"Oh, fuck..." Jack groaned. His chest rising and falling roughly, clearly agitated.

Christine began to suck and lick every area she could, spitting lightly on the head, coating his cock in saliva.

"God... yeah, do that. Just like that." Jack moaned, gripping her hair tightly. Not forcing, just guiding. "C-can you take all of it?" he asked, a note of desperation in his voice, clearly pushing for more.

Christine obeyed, moving her warm mouth up and down Jack's length, while he kept groaning, throwing his head back, lost in the pleasure.

"You always do what you're told, don't you?" he said, a weak laugh catching in his throat.

Christine didn't reply, instead digging her fingernails into his thigh as if to say, shut up.

The woman, overconfident, went too deep and gagged slightly, the sound more slutty than she intended.

"Easy... Ah-God-... Don't rush. You're doing so good."

The praise resonated deep in her core. She moaned louder, sucked harder. The intensity caught Jack off guard. He started to groan heavily and moved Christine's head faster, clearly losing his grip.

That was the most exciting part. When they were together, they simply lost control. They gave in to passion and need, their bodies speaking louder than words. The sheer unpredictability of it drove Christine insane.

All at once, he pulled Christine's mouth off him, a thin line of saliva connecting her lips to his cock.

"Come here," he panted, pulling her up. To her surprise, he turned her around, her back to him, sitting her down on his lap.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, starting to play with her thigh, teasing her.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice dangerously low in her ear.

Christine let out a weak laugh.

"Yeah...?"

Jack kept rubbing and stroking her thigh, occasionally brushing her core, making her whimper.

"That night... I went down on you," Christine remembered, a wave of heat washing over her. "You were tight," he said with a hint of morbid curiosity in his voice, squeezing her thigh. There was a pause. "You're not a virgin, are you?"

Christine let out a nervous laugh.

"No. I, um... I had an ex-boyfriend, before I joined the circus." Christine gasped, feeling Jack start to rub slow circles on the exact spot that destroyed her.

"You don’t say," he said, a flash of jealousy in his tone. "And you guys didn’t have sex?”

"No," she replied weakly, unfocused by Jack's movement, "it was mostly all we did."

"What did he do to you?”

"What?"

"You know," he whispered. "What did you like him to do to you?"

Christine flushed at Jack's dirty talk. Too embarrassed to answer.

"I..." she cleared her throat, trying to steady her shaky voice, "I liked it when he choked me, i guess.”

Jack didn't reply, the circles getting faster, desperate, as if he wanted to make her vulnerable to pull out more information.

"What else?"

"Ah, fuck..." she moaned, arching her back. "I-I don't know. I liked it rough. When he pulled my hair, o-or when he hit me."

"Oh, so you're not into vanilla sex. Who knew?" he chuckled. He stopped moving on her core. The woman groaned, but didn't complain.

"So, what you like..." he continued, whispering directly into her ear, "is being treated roughly."

"...Having your hair pulled." He yanked Christine's hair sharply, and she cried out. "...Being hit, being talked dirty to... being choked." He wrapped his large hand around Christine's neck, squeezing gently. "Being moved around, being used like a toy. That turns you on? That makes you wet?" Christine couldn't answer, only desperate moans and whimpers escaped her. Her legs started to tremble, feeling herself soaking the man's leg beneath her.

"Did you even got to come with that idiot?" Christine let out a weak giggle, amused by the fact that Jack didn't even know him and was already insulting him. He was clearly jealous.

"Not always."

"Not always," he repeated. "So, never?"

Christine nodded her head, slowly admitting it.

"I'll make you come," he said, biting her ear. Christine moaned. "I'll leave you ruined. Legs open, naked, your hair a wreck..."

Christine felt her legs start to tremble uncontrollably, sensing a wave of pleasure rapidly approaching.

"Jack, Jack—wait—" she pleaded, panting, unable to believe she was so close to climax and Jack had barely even touched her. He just kept going, merciless.

"I'll leave you marked up. I'll bite and suck every part of your body until you beg me for more, and i’ll give it to you. I'll get inside of you and won't stop thrusting until you finish, no matter how long it takes. We'll go for as many rounds as you want, and I won't stop until you're screaming my name and you've lost your voice. Anything you want, I'll do absolutely everything for you, Chris, everything." Jack began to shake, squeezing her waist with one hand while the other still pulled her hair. "You don't know how much it turns me on to see you like this. You're too much for me. I want to leave you shattered, suck you dry, fuck you until neither of us can take any more, I want to see you desperate, rambling nonsense, I need—I need you..." He trailed off, ironically affected by his own words and Christine's relentless moaning.

Christine started to moan louder and louder, until a wave of pleasure completely invaded her. Her whole body began to tremble, realizing she had climaxed just by listening to the man's promises.

She began to sob uncontrollably, slowly calming down after the orgasm subsided.

They both panted. Jack remained silent, letting Christine recover.

"You know we're not done, right?"

He shifted her weight on his lap, his hand smoothing down the curve of her hip. The heat of his body was a furnace against her wet, cooling skin.

"No?,” Christine rasped, leaning her head back against his shoulder, utterly spent. The silence was thick, broken only by their heavy breathing.

"No. Because now it's my turn."

He pushed her gently off his lap and onto the bed. She fell backward onto the sheets, watching him loom over her, his expression unreadable, a mixture of predatory focus and deep, raw need. Her body felt boneless and heavy, yet the want was already stirring again, a traitorous pulse between her legs.

Jack lowered himself, caging her between his arms. He didn't rush. He simply started at her mouth—a slow, deep kiss that tasted like her and the promise of more. He moved down her throat, settling his lips where his hand had been moments before, leaving a line of hot, wet marks.

He whispered against her skin, "You came just from hearing me talk, didn't you? You're so fucking easy to break."

He trailed his mouth lower, over her collarbone, his breathing shallow. When he reached her breast, he didn't just suck—he devoured, pulling the nipple deep into his mouth, his jaw working with an animal hunger that made her shout. His hand dropped down, finally finding the place he'd tormented, sliding two fingers into her immediately.

Christine gasped, thrashing her hips against the sudden, welcome intrusion. "Jack! Wait—"

"I can’t. Not like this. Not with you," he growled, the words muffled by her skin. He didn't just thrust, he owned the movement, riding her pleasure, hitting that one spot he knew would make her snap.

"J-Jack! Fuck!" Her voice was a ragged shriek, not entirely pleasure, not entirely pain, but total surrender. The first orgasm had cleared the path, and this one hit like a tidal wave, slamming through her body so violently she could only tighten around his fingers and pull his hair, sobbing into the sheets.

He held her there, suspended in the aftermath, breathing hard against her breast. "Good girl" he whispered, his triumph palpable. "You liked that?" He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, the sound making her shiver violently. He looked down at her, the dark, intense look on his face the most naked thing in the room.

"Now let's see how well you listen when I'm inside you."

He rose above her, his shadow eclipsing the weak light in the room. He didn't give her a chance to recover, only enough time to register the raw, possessive heat in his eyes.

He braced himself over her, knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of her thighs. He reached down, gripping her hips, his thumbs pressing hard into the bone. The way he held her was both a promise and a threat.

He started looking for his pants (which had been thrown somewhere on the bed) and when he found it, he took some condoms out of his pocket. "Finally bought 'em," he said, with a triumphant smile. He put it on slowly, but his hands trembled.

"Spread those legs for me, Chris," he commanded, his voice a low, rough plea.

She didn't hesitate. She parted her legs, exposing herself completely, still slick, still trembling from the back-to-back climaxes. She looked up at him, her vision blurry with residual pleasure, the desperate need for him to enter her finally overriding the pain of her exhaustion.

He watched her for a beat too long, savoring the sight. Then, he shifted, positioning his weight between her legs.

He pressed the head of his cock, hot and hard, against her opening. He didn't push in. Instead, he started to rub, slow and agonizing, grazing her wet skin, letting her feel the size of him, the absolute commitment in his readiness.

"Look at me," he ordered, and she did, her eyes locked on his.

With a sudden, powerful thrust, he drove deep. One long, thick plunge that buried his entire length inside her, hitting her cervix with a force that made her cry out. It wasn't gentle. It was everything she had secretly begged for when he was whispering in her ear.

Jack let out a deep, satisfied groan that vibrated against her mouth. He paused, rigid inside her, letting them both adjust to the sensation of being completely filled.

"Tight," he breathed, the word a reverent curse. He leaned down, taking her mouth in a punishing, bruising kiss that stole her breath. He broke the kiss, pulling back just inches. He paused for a few seconds.

And then he started to move. He began a slow, heavy rhythm, a deep pull-and-pound that rocked her body on the mattress. She felt the impact in her gut, in her chest, everywhere.

"You like it rough, huh?" he grunted with each downward stroke. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, locking their hands together. "You want to be used like a toy? Like the slut you pretend not to be?”.

He accelerated the rhythm, a blur of motion and raw, desperate skin-on-skin sound. The friction was immediate, overwhelming. She couldn't form words; all that escaped her were sharp, ragged gasps and whimpers. The bed frame hammered against the wall with the force of his need.

She was too close. The pleasure was a blinding, all-encompassing force, and she arched her back, trying to get closer to the source of the heat.

"I need you to break," Jack moaned, his voice thick with desesperation, "I need you to fall apart for me”

He pulled her hair again, a vicious, guiding yank, and she broke. The climax was instant, a scorching wave of light and heat that made her scream his name, a desperate, guttural sound that tore her throat. Her body convulsed around him, her legs shaking so hard she barely felt the moment he finally threw his head back and joined her, his own ragged moan of release lost against her neck.

He collapsed, his heavy body crushing her into the sheets, his breath hot and uneven against her skin. They stayed like that, two exhausted, panting creatures, tangled in the ruins of their control.

After a long minute, Jack lifted his head, his chest still heaving. He looked down at her, his eyes soft now, satisfied.

"See?" he murmured, a hint of his old arrogance returning. "Told you I'd leave you ruined."

"Shut up," she panted, pushing him gently until he lay beside her.

They both fell silent, slowly returning to the real world after the fantasy they had just lived. Christine looked him over. Without realizing it, she had covered him in scratches and bites, his hair a complete mess. She probably looked the same, or worse.

They were both heaving, breathing heavily. Slowly, they began to relax.

"God. I need a smoke," Jack said, sitting up to dig the cigarette pack and lighter out of his crumpled pants somewhere. He lit one up.

"Wait—don't smoke in here—whatever," Christine gave up. "Give me one."

Jack handed her a cigarette, and they smoked together.

"You need to start buying your own," he warned, laughing lightly. "I'm not running a charity here."

Christine just gave him a look, annoyed, and the man burst into laughter. He settled back slightly and pulled Christine onto his chest. She immediately relaxed, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart.

Cigarettes after sex. Was there a more perfect moment than that?

Chapter Text

The months went on in a kind of strange routine—ordinary, but fun. Christine and Jack were living in what could only be called a sort of domestic “calm.” They’d eat together, go grocery shopping, watch bad movies, listen to Cigarettes After Sex on repeat, smoke, have sex—a lot—drink wine and coffee. Christine spent her days searching for jobs on her laptop while Jack slept peacefully beside her. Sometimes, they’d even make plans.

Jack paid for everything, and Christine had absolutely no idea where he got the money from. When she asked, he’d just laugh and tell her it didn’t matter. She always felt guilty about it, but she didn’t want to call her mother either, and Jack seemed to understand that.

She knew she’d have to call eventually, but she kept putting it off.

“I’ll call her today,” Christine would say—but that “today” never came. Every time she mentioned her mom, she’d light a cigarette nervously.

“You don’t have to,” Jack said once, with his usual indifference. “She’s just an old hag.”

“That ‘old hag’ is my mother.”

“So? Doesn’t mean anything.”

“…Thanks, Jack,” she said, her tone sharp. “I can always count on you for great advice.”

“You know it.”

And that was that.

Days went by quickly. The weather stayed cold and cloudy, never really changing. Jack and Christine were trapped in this little world they’d built together. It was unstable—fragile—and bound to fall apart eventually. But Christine chose to ignore that.

Looking at him hurt sometimes. She knew it wouldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before Jack got bored—or simply left. It wouldn’t be out of character for him. Christine hated admitting it, but she didn’t fully trust him. Maybe it was just her insecurities, but every time he laughed, kissed her, or touched her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all pretend. That to him, it was just a game.

She couldn’t talk to him about it, either. He’d just joke his way out of the conversation, change the subject—or worse, he’d leave. And she’d never hear his laugh again. Never see that grin, never feel his hands holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world, or his lips pressing against hers like they meant something.

And still, she stayed.

You’re ridiculous.

The days kept coming, and her thoughts got louder. They made her weaker—but somehow, they made her fall even harder for him.

She’d stay awake at night while Jack slept on her chest, breathing softly.

If only you knew what’s going on in my head.

One of those sleepless nights, her phone buzzed.

Incoming call: Amy.

She exhaled, relieved to have something to pull her out of her spiral, and quickly answered.

“Hello?” she whispered, careful not to wake Jack.

“Hey, Christine!” Amy’s voice was bright. “What are you up to?”

Christine glanced at Jack. Like hell she was going to tell Amy what was really going on.

“Nothing,” she lied, sitting up and moving Jack off her. He stirred, half-asleep. “Just watching a movie.”

“Oh, nice! Which one?”

God, stop asking questions. She forced a laugh.

“Uh… Sophie’s…Choice.”

Jack lifted his head, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her neck softly.

“Oh, I hate that one,” Amy laughed. “It always makes me cry. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. We haven’t heard from you in months, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” Christine lied again. “How—how are you?”

Amy sighed. “I’m okay, I guess. Started a new job, moved into my own place… still getting used to it all.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

There was a pause. Jack had drifted back to sleep against her shoulder. She stroked his hair absentmindedly.

“So,” Amy continued, “we’re planning a little get-together tomorrow. Skylar’s coming, everyone’s in—except Richard, he’s staying home with his girls. Isn’t that sweet? Anyway… Jack. You haven’t heard from him lately, have you?”

Jack chuckled quietly, stretching out on the bed. Christine nudged him in warning.

“No,” she said quickly. “No idea what’s going on in his head.”

That time, she wasn’t lying.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Amy said—but there was a hint of something too cheerful in her tone. “Well, maybe he’ll show up. I’ll text him. Hope you come too.”

“Yeah. I’ll be there. I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too! I’ll text you the time and place tomorrow, okay? I’m about to pass out. Night, Christine.”

“Goodnight, Amy.”

“Wait—Chris?” Amy’s voice softened.

“…Yeah?”

“You sound… different. I don’t know.”

Christine didn’t respond.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah, Amy. Thanks.”

“Did I… do something? Is that why you’ve been distant?”

Christine froze.

“Oh, forget it,” Amy said quickly, laughing weakly. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

“No, Amy. It’s fine. Really. It’s just… this new world, you know? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“O-okay. Sure. Well, get some rest. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah… goodn—”

The call ended. Christine stared at the screen for a moment, stunned.

Jack burst out laughing. Christine turned sharply toward him, irritated.

“What’s so funny, asshole?”

“‘Oh my God, did I do something wrong?’” he mocked, laughing harder. “God, she’s pathetic.”

“She’s not! She’s scared, Jack. Maybe try being a little understanding for once.”

“Understanding?” he scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? Chris, you really gotta stop caring so much about everyone else.”

“Yeah? And maybe you should start caring a little more.” she shot back, standing. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

He followed her voice as she stormed out.

“Oh, come on! It was a joke!”

“You’re not funny! She’s my friend.”

“Oh, Chris—” he broke into laughter again, and Christine groaned, collapsing onto the couch in frustration. Eventually, exhaustion took over and she fell asleep.

The next morning, she woke to another gray sky. Not a surprise.

She stepped out onto the balcony, still half-asleep, lighting a cigarette. Amy’s words echoed in her mind, filling her with guilt. She hated how she’d pulled away from her. After everything they’d been through together.

She wasn’t drifting from Amy because of Jack—not exactly—but being around him made her different. She smoked more, drank more, shut people out. She was more anxious, more restless. Jack didn’t make her better.

All he really gave her were sweet words that meant nothing—a fragile, unstable illusion that could collapse any second.

And yet, she couldn’t stay away. Every day she wanted him closer. She wanted to love him, take care of him, and—God help her—she wanted him to do the same.

He gave her peace and chaos in equal measure. She didn’t understand it.

She exhaled a long breath, trying to stop her thoughts from spiraling again. She took another drag, watching the smoke disappear into the cold morning air. It was raining softly, the city blurred like a dream. Beautiful.

Christine sat down, letting herself relax for the first time that morning—until two strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind.

“Boo!”

“Jesus, Jack!” she shouted, heart racing. “Don’t do that!”

“You’re having a morning smoke without me? Rude,” he teased, lighting his own cigarette.

Christine stayed quiet.

“What?” he said finally. “You’re really still mad? You’re gonna give me the silent treatment just because I made a joke? You know it’s funny to mess with Amy.”

“It’s not funny,” she said sharply. “You’re such a fucking—” she stopped herself, taking a deep breath. “It’s not funny.”

Jack sat beside her, taking a slow drag.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked, and for once, it didn’t sound like mockery—just confusion.

“Why do I care about Amy? She’s my friend.”

“Yeah, but… you don’t doubt her?”

“Why would I?”

“She’s nice to everyone. Too nice. That’s suspicious.”

Christine frowned. “She’s kind, Jack. That’s more than you can say.”

Jack scoffed. “At least I have principles, okay? I don’t pretend to like everyone. A friend to all is a friend to none.”

“I think it’s sweet she can be friends with everyone.”

“Being friends with everyone doesn’t mean shit. Fucking Ivan the Terrible had friends, and that guy was terrible.”

“What the fuck does Ivan the Terrible have to do with this?” she asked, exasperated.

“I’m saying it makes me suspicious. It's like she wants to take advantage of you.”

There was a pause. Christine looked at him, remembering a night months ago, when they’d stared up at the stars and he’d admitted—without meaning to—that he didn’t trust Amy.

“You still have that fear, huh?” she said softly.

“It’s not fear,” he muttered defensively. “It’s… caution.”

“So what, then? The only people worth trusting are the assholes?”

“The only person you can trust,” he said, raising his voice a bit, then lowering it again, “is yourself. Everyone else just screws you over eventually.”

Christine sighed. “Sure. You just have trust issues.”

“I don’t have ‘trust issues,’” Jack shot back. “If everyone’s proven untrustworthy, that’s their problem, not mine. I’ve never trusted anyone—and that’s why I never get hurt. That’s the secret.”

“I know there was someone you trusted once,” she said quietly. “You just don’t want to talk about it.”

Jack’s expression changed instantly—something Christine hadn’t seen since the circus.

“Whatever you’re trying to do—”

“I’m not trying to “do” anything, Jack.”

“You’re not gonna get me to talk about—” He stopped abruptly.

Christine said nothing. He looked away, jittery, his leg bouncing.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“Who? The guy Amy mentioned back at the circus?” she asked gently. “Not Kaufmo—the other one.”

Jack’s glare was sharp.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Didn’t mean to—whatever. We don’t have to talk about it.”

He didn’t answer. His leg kept shaking. Christine placed a hand on it, grounding him.

“Hey. It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Really.”

He looked at her for a few seconds, his face softening with something like sadness. Then he laughed bitterly.

“Yeah, well, this is really stupid,” he muttered, standing. “I’m making coffee.”

“Yeah. That… sounds good,” she said, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. As he walked back inside, she called out:

“Hey, Jack?”

He turned slightly.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

He chuckled—a short, hollow sound.

“Alright. Weirdo,” he joked.

Christine let out a weak laugh, but her mind slipped back into the dark corners she’d been trying to avoid.

Why did she try so hard?

Why did she care this much?

Why did everything with him have to be so damn complicated?

She just wanted him to open up — to let her in, even for a second.

But every time she tried, he only seemed to close himself off more.

You’re too much and still, never enough.

How is that even possible?

She sighed deeply, defeated, and decided to go back inside. She needed coffee.

Or a cigarette.

Or ten glasses of wine.

Or maybe a bullet to her head — anything to silence her thoughts.

Jack was standing in the kitchen when she entered, quietly making coffee. He was lost in thought, so much that he didn’t even notice she was there, watching him.

What’s going through his head right now?

“You nervous?” he asked suddenly, breaking through the heavy silence that hung between them.

“No,” she lied. “Why would I be?”

“You always do that weird thing with your hair when you’re nervous.”

He reached up, mimicking her, twisting an imaginary curl around his finger, smirking.

“I don’t do that,” she said defensively — but then caught herself with one finger tangled in her own hair. She quickly let it drop. “Shut up.”

“What?” He took a few steps toward her, voice soft, teasing. “Do I make you nervous?”

Yes.

“No.” 

Her heart was pounding, but she didn’t move. She let him come closer.

Jack cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. He kissed her forehead, and Christine felt herself melt — just like always.

“Relax,” he murmured against her skin. “Stop taking everything so damn seriously.”

He pulled back a little, and for a brief second, she saw it — that look in his eyes. Warm, calm, something that almost looked like love.

Almost.

But it wasn’t.

The day went on like any other — but something about it felt off. A heavy silence hung between them, thick and unspoken. Neither of them dared to touch the subject again; they just drank their coffee and went back to bed. It wasn’t like they had anywhere else to be.

Christine fell asleep on top of Jack, clinging to what little remained of their fragile world — a world that was already starting to crack.

Hours passed before she stirred again. It was night.

She reached for her phone, the screen lighting up her tired face. Several messages from Amy:

“Hey, Christine! How are you? I’m sending you the link to the bar. Let’s meet there at 8:30! See you!”

“Missed call — 8:15 PM.”

“You coming?”

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Christine bolted upright, panic rushing through her. She texted back quickly:

“Hey! I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I’m on my way!”

Still muttering curses under her breath, she threw on the first clothes she could find. Jack was dead asleep beside her, completely unbothered. She grabbed a pillow and tossed it straight at him.

“What the—?” Jack groaned, half awake, rubbing his face.

“Come on, Jack,” Christine said, slipping her boots on. “We have to go. Now.”

“Go where?” he mumbled, his voice raspy.

“The bar! Remember? We were supposed to meet Amy and the others, and we’re already late!”

“…We slept all day?”

“That doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “Just get dressed!”

Jack dragged himself up, taking his time pulling on his pants and a jacket.

“Geez, Chris. Relax,” he said, yawning. “I’m sure dollface won’t die if we’re a few minutes late.”

“‘We’? There’s no we tonight, Jack,” she warned, grabbing her keys. “Amy can’t know about this. You ready?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But seriously, what’s there to hide? We’re just having fun. It’s not the end of the world.”

Christine opened the door, and a blast of cold air hit her face the second they stepped outside. The street was quiet, dimly lit. They started walking fast.

“Listen,” she said, her voice low but sharp. “Back at the circus, i noticed that Amy didn’t like how close I was to you. If she finds out about this, it’ll crush her.”

Jack scoffed. “And since when does Miss Rag Doll get to decide who you hang out with?”

“She doesn’t,” Christine replied firmly. “But she’s going through a lot right now, and I don’t want to make things worse for her.”

“I think telling her would just show that she shouldn’t be sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Christine stopped walking and grabbed his hands. “Jack, I mean it. I’ll tell her eventually — just not today. Not like this. Please?”

Jack let out a long sigh. “Fine. But if I start drinking, don’t expect me to behave like a saint.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

He smirked, leaning closer until his lips brushed against hers. “It means that after a few drinks, I might wanna drag you into the bar bathroom and—”

“Got it.” Christine covered his mouth with her hand, laughing. “Please don’t do that tonight. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you?” Jack gasped theatrically, clutching his chest. “Chris, am I an embarrassment to you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” she shot back, grinning.

He shrugged, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe not.”

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “God forbid you’re late.”

Christine took his hand, and they started walking again.

“We wouldn’t be late if you hadn’t told me to take a nap,” she teased, bumping his shoulder.

“Hey, you agreed,” he countered, nudging her back. “So technically, it’s your fault.”

They kept bickering playfully as they walked through the chilly streets, laughter slipping through the cracks of tension.

A few blocks later, the neon sign of the bar came into view — flickering, warm, alive.

Christine exhaled deeply.

She had no idea what the night would bring.

Finally, they stepped inside.

The place was drenched in decor — dark walls bathed in flickering, colorful lights, old Hollywood portraits staring down from every corner, and dozens of framed quotes saying corny things like “Live. Laugh. Love. Have a vodka on the rocks.”

“This looks like a bar straight out of a really bad indie film,” Jack muttered.

“It really does, doesn’t it?” Christine replied, smiling.

“Pretty sure Skylar picked it.”

“Definitely,” she said with a small laugh. “Where are they…?”

Christine rose on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd. Then, through the swarm of people, she spotted Amy waving enthusiastically, her face lit up with a bright grin. Megan and Skylar stood beside her, drinks in hand.

“Well, guess there’s no turning back now,” Jack said under his breath, forcing a grin as he lifted a hand to wave back.

“Be nice,” Christine said, grabbing his arm and pulling him gently through the crowd.

When they finally reached the group, Amy immediately wrapped Christine in a tight hug. Megan gave Jack a polite wave, while Skylar raised an eyebrow, already amused.

“Oh my god, Chris! You actually came!” Amy said brightly. “I thought you’d never show up.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Christine said, smiling.

“Yeah, great to see you too, Amy,” Jack added dryly.

“Hey, Jack,” Amy replied shortly. “Good to see you. And you came with Christine? You two… came together?”

“Nah. We just ran into each other on the way here,” he said casually.

Amy’s mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to respond, but she let it drop. Jack slipped past her and sat at the bar, eyeing the wall of bottles in front of him. The bartenders were busy mixing cocktails under the glow of the neon signs.

“So,” he said, glancing at Skylar, “what are we drinking? What’s that in your hand?”

Skylar lifted a colorful drink. “Sex on the Beach.”

“Figures,” Jack said. “Meg, what about you?”

“Oh, I’m just having water,” Megan said softly.

“Water? It’s Friday! Is it impossible for any of you to have fun?”

“With you around, yes,” Skylar shot back with a smirk. “Why don’t you order something strong so you’ll stop talking for five seconds?”

Jack grinned and mimicked Skylar’s tone under his breath, not quite saying the words. The bartender walked up, and Jack leaned forward. “I’ll have a… Martini.”

The bartender nodded and started mixing.

“Gay,” Skylar muttered.

“Oh, shut up! Who are you to talk? You literally look like a walking pride flag.”

“Whatever,” Skylar said, rolling their eyes and turning toward Christine, who was sitting beside them. They placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “How are you, Chris? We haven’t heard from you in months.”

“Me?” Christine said, her voice tightening slightly. “I’m… fine. Just—” She hesitated. “You know. The usual. Been busy.”

“Oh really?” Megan said with genuine curiosity. “You’ve been working?”

“Well, not exactly,” Christine said quickly. “I’ve been, uh, doing all kinds of things.”

God, you suck at lying.

“What about you, Meg?” she added, eager to redirect the attention.

Megan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling shyly.

“I’m managing a fast food place. It’s the same one I used to work at before, so… it’s not like being somewhere new.”

“You’re doing more than that,” Skylar said with a small smile. “Tell them about your art.”

Megan blushed lightly.

“Well… I’ve been working on a comic. It’s nothing big, but, you know, it makes me happy.”

“That’s so sweet, Meg!” Amy said brightly.

Jack smirked, leaning closer toward Amy so only she could hear. “Still pretending to be the nice one, huh?”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Amy shot back under her breath. “I am nice.”

“Oh, come on,” Jack said with a half-laugh. “What about the time you told Megan she should kill herself?”

“What?! No! I—why do you keep bringing that up?” Amy’s voice went sharp but quiet, her expression tightening. “I never said anything like that!”

“Relax, doll,” Jack said, taking a sip of his drink. “Nothing wrong with being a jerk sometimes. Right, Chris?”

“What?” Christine blinked, caught off guard. Both Jack and Amy turned to her, expectant. “Uh—I mean… I guess there’s nothing too wrong with being a jerk sometimes, Amy,” she said, laughing awkwardly. “Though maybe telling Megan to kill herself was… a little too far.”

Jack burst out laughing, while Amy’s expression darkened.

“Can you two shut up?” Amy snapped. “The only reason I said anything that day was because I got that stupid sauce in my eye!”

“Oh, so you admit you said it,” Jack teased.

“Stop it! That’s not what I—Just shut up!”

“Calm down, Amy,” Jack chuckled. “We’re just fucking with you.”

Christine kept laughing, but stopped when Amy shot her a sharp glare. Clearing her throat, she changed the subject quickly.

“So… what are we drinking tonight?” she asked, forcing a light tone. “I think I’ll get a Margarita. What about you, Amy?”

“I’ll have a Cosmo.”

They gave their orders to the bartender, who started mixing the drinks.

“So, Chris,” Amy began again, purposefully ignoring Jack, who was quietly sipping his martini between them, “what did you say you’ve been doing these past few months?”

“Oh, you know,” Christine said, laughing nervously. “Just… trying to figure out how to live, I guess.”

“The only thing you should ‘figure out’ is how not to sleep until three p.m.,” Jack said casually—then immediately realized he shouldn’t have. “You know, since you’re… not working.”

The bartender set the drinks down. Christine quickly grabbed hers and took a long sip, trying to drown her nerves.

Amy gave Jack a distrustful look but kept her voice light. “Be nice to her! Not everyone has to work right now, and that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah, Amy…” Skylar said, snorting into their drink. “Not sure that sounded as nice as you meant it to.”

Amy blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean—sorry.”

For a few seconds, the table went quiet. The only sounds were the hum of music and the chatter of other people around them. None of them knew what to say, even though there was so much they could say.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jack muttered suddenly. “I’m getting another drink.”

The rest followed his lead. Soon, they’d been drinking for nearly three hours straight. Conversation loosened, laughter got louder, and inevitably, the topic of the Circus came up—the one thing they’d all avoided sober. The bar was nearly empty now.

“It’s just… so insane,” Amy slurred, her drink half full. “I mean, how did we survive all that?”

“We spent years trapped in that digital circus with no way out,” Skylar said, shaking their head. “Running through the same shit every single day! How did we not lose our minds?”

“Well, some of us did…” Megan added softly—the only one still sober. Maybe that’s why she looked so sad.

“Exactly!” Christine exclaimed, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed red. “It’s insane how people would just—poof!” She threw her hands in the air like an explosion.

Jack didn’t laugh. He just took another drink—he’d lost count of how many—and stared down at the table, bitterness in his eyes.

“Jesus, people,” he finally muttered, voice thick with alcohol. “If someone abstracted, they probably deserved it, alright? Some people just can’t handle the pressure.”

Everyone groaned.

“Stop saying stupid shit, dude,” Skylar snapped.

“Yeah…” Megan whispered. “A lot of our friends abstracted.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jack shot back. “They weren’t my friends.”

“Richard’s wife abstracted, Jack,” Christine said sharply. “She didn’t deserve that. Nobody did.”

The table fell quiet.

“Richard had a wife?” Amy asked, confused.

“Yeah, didn’t he tell you?” Christine started, but Jack cut her off, still fixated.

“Okay, fine, maybe they didn’t deserve it,” he said, voice rising. “But they are still weak.”

“‘Are?’” Skylar challenged, glaring at him. “You mean were, you idiot. They’re dead, every single one of them. Show some goddamn respect.”

The silence was heavy. Jack’s face went pale, like the words hit him straight in the gut. He pushed back his chair and stood up unsteadily.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he muttered, stumbling a little as he left.

They sat in silence until he disappeared from sight. The conversation had hit too close to home.

“Well,” Skylar said dryly, taking another sip. “Guess he couldn’t handle the pressure either, huh?”

“I—I’m gonna go check on him,” Christine said suddenly, pushing her chair back. The alcohol had worn down her ability to pretend.

She slipped into the men’s bathroom. It was empty—except for the sound of someone retching behind one of the stall doors.

Christine knocked softly.

“Jack?… you okay?” she asked. “I mean, obviously you’re not—you’re puking,” she added with a nervous laugh, “but, you know…”

No response.

“Jack?”

She opened the door. Jack was on his knees, hunched over the toilet.

“Jack…” she said quietly, sitting down beside him and placing a hand on his back. She glanced around. “God, men’s bathrooms are disgusting,” she muttered, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, do you want some water? Or maybe an ambulance to pump your stomach?”

Jack gagged and threw up again.

“What I want,” he rasped finally, his face still over the bowl, “is for you to leave.”

Christine shifted but didn’t move away.

“Well… too bad. I’m already here.”

“It’s not a problem for you, it’s a problem for me—” he stopped mid-sentence, retching again.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“God, I’m pathetic,” Jack said finally, his voice cracking.

“Yeah,” she teased softly. “But just a little.”

Jack gave a weak laugh.

“Can you believe Skylar said that? Just like that? That was cold, right?” he said, his voice steadier but still slurred.

“They were cold?” Christine said incredulously. “You’re the one who said they deserved it.”

“I didn’t mean they deserved to die,” he protested. “I just meant—” He sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t know what i meant.”

Christine said nothing.

Jack wiped his mouth, running a shaky hand through his hair before leaning back against the stall wall. His face was a mess—tired, red-eyed, vulnerable.

Then, suddenly, he broke. Tears streamed down his face.

Christine froze, startled by the rare display of humanity, but quickly reached out.

“Hey, hey…” she said gently, resting her hands over his. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he choked. “It’s not. They’re—they’re—”

He couldn’t finish. The word dead caught in his throat.

“Jack…” she whispered.

“Do you know how I found out Ribbit died?” he said suddenly, his voice trembling. “From a fucking doctor.”

Christine fell silent.

“I thought I was gonna see him again. I thought, since we were all awake, he’d be awake too. I looked for him all over that damn hospital—just to find out he didn’t even have a room. You know why? Because he’d been dead for two years.”

He paused, his voice breaking.

“I thought he’d be okay,” he whispered. “But I was wrong. Again. In the Circus, I thought he’d be fine too, but—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Christine said softly, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “It wasn’t anyone’s.”

“You sure about that?” Jack said, staring down at his trembling hands. “If I’d been there for him, if I’d done things differently—if I hadn’t been so… me—then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up like that. It was my fault.”

Silence settled again.

“The worst thing you could do in the Circus,” he said quietly, “was make someone feel like they weren’t wanted or loved. And that’s exactly what I did. Because… because that’s what I do, Chris.” His voice broke again. “I ruin everything I touch. Every time.”

Christine wiped a tear from his cheek. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated gently.

Jack took a shaky breath, falling quiet.

“…When I was sixteen,” Christine began after a moment, her voice low, “my dad lost his mind and killed himself.”

Jack looked up, startled. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “We lived on the ninth floor. He jumped off the balcony. For years I thought it was my fault.”

“…Why?”

“Well… the last time I saw him before it happened, we got into this huge fight. I told him he was a terrible father. That he drank too much, yelled too much—just… everything. I don’t remember what he said after that, but I looked him straight in the eye and told him I’d never think of him as my dad.”

“Shit,” Jack said quietly.

“Yeah. ‘Shit,’” she echoed. “The only reason it didn’t get physical was because my mom heard and stepped in. I left for school, and when I came back… there was an ambulance. A TV crew. A huge crowd. My mom screaming.” She swallowed hard. “And that’s how I found out.”

Silence again.

“That’s why it’s so hard to talk to her. Why she never visited me while I was in the hospital—or after. She’s always blamed me for what happened. And honestly…” Christine’s voice trembled. “I did too. I knew he had issues before, but I still felt like I was the reason he… snapped.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jack asked quietly. “You know I’m terrible at comforting people.”

“I’m not telling you so you’ll comfort me,” Christine said softly. “I’m telling you because I understand the feeling. That feeling that you could’ve done more. That you weren’t enough.”

“I get that,” Jack murmured, pausing for a moment. “But—you’re not like me. You’re kind, and sweet, and… you’re just—” He stopped, staring at her with tired, glassy eyes. “You’re just so…”

Christine let out a quiet laugh.

“So what?”

“I don’t know. Just… everything I’m not.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Obviously,” Jack joked, brushing a tear from his face.

They sat there in silence for a moment, the bathroom echoing faintly around them.

“You know,” Jack said at last, “back in the circus, it actually hurt to look at you.”

“Well, yeah,” Christine chuckled. “My skin wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes.”

“Yeah, that too,” he laughed, before his tone softened again. “But it hurt because… I knew if we stayed there long enough, I’d have to live with watching you abstract eventually. I couldn’t stand that thought.”

“You’d been there longer than I had,” she said. “Chances are, you would’ve gone before me.”

“Yeah, I thought about that, too,” Jack muttered. “You know what the dumbest part of all that is? I would’ve preferred to lose my shit a thousand times rather than never seeing you again.”

“Jack…” she tried to stop him gently. He was still drunk, clearly not in full control of what he was saying.

“No, seriously,” he insisted. “What I felt for you—what I feel for you—I never felt that for anyone. Not even for… him.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Christine said quietly.

“Chris…” he began, reaching for her hands.

He hesitated for a moment, his lips trembling. Then, softly:

“Chris, I’m in love with you.”

Christine froze, just staring at him. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

Jack sighed. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” he said with a weak laugh.

“No, Jack,” she said quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just…” She hesitated, then met his gaze again. “You’re too drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

She stood up and held out a hand to him. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Jack grabbed her hand and pushed himself up clumsily, barely managing to stay steady on his feet.

They walked out of the bathroom, and Christine noticed their table was completely empty—everyone else had left. Jack didn’t seem to notice or care.

Outside the bar, Amy was leaning against a wall.

“Oh, there you are!” she said brightly. “Skylar and Megan went home—they were exhausted.” Her smile faded as she looked at Jack. “Oh my god—are you okay?”

Jack mumbled something unintelligible in response.

“He just drank too much,” Christine said for him. “I’m taking him back to my place so he can sleep it off. I’ll call a cab—I can’t exactly carry him twenty minutes home.” She laughed softly.

Amy nodded, and they waited until a taxi finally pulled up. Christine helped Jack into the car as best she could. Just as she turned back to say goodbye, Amy caught her arm.

“Hey—um, can we talk for a sec?” Amy asked.

“Amy, I’d love to, really—but do you think now’s the best time?” Christine said, gesturing toward the half-unconscious man in the taxi.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just…” Amy sighed. “I don’t know. You’ve been distant and weird with me—but not with Jack.”

“I don’t get why you’re so fixated on my relationship with him.”

“I’m not fixated!” Amy protested. “I just don’t want—I don’t want—”

“What?” Christine snapped.

“I just don’t want you to end up like him and start hating me!” Amy blurted out.

Christine exhaled softly. “Amy, I could never hate you.” She took Amy’s hands. “Look, Jack and I—”

The cab driver honked impatiently. Christine turned her head; he was tapping his watch at her through the window.

Amy gave a nervous little laugh. “Saved by the bell, huh?”

“Listen—I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I promise,” Christine said earnestly. “No matter what. We’ll talk about this properly and figure it out.”

Amy nodded, letting her go. But just before Christine got into the car, she turned back.

“We’ll figure it out together, alright?”

She gave Amy a quick hug. Amy didn’t say a word.

Then Christine climbed into the taxi, told the driver her address, and they drove off into the quiet night.

The cab ride was quiet. The city lights blurred past the windows, painting Jack’s tired face in flickering orange and blue. He leaned his head against the glass, eyes half-open, mumbling things Christine couldn’t make out. She just sat beside him, watching, trying to make sure he didn’t fall forward.

When they finally got to her apartment, Christine half-dragged, half-pushed Jack onto the couch, letting out a long breath of relief as she freed herself from his weight.

“You should be grateful I managed to carry you up here,” she said, heading toward the kitchen to pour him a glass of water.

“Thanks, Chris,” he sang out, slurring a little. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“And you’re heavier than you look,” she shot back.

“Of course,” he said with a crooked grin. “All muscle, baby.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, handing him the glass of cold water. “Here. Drink this—you need it. And don’t call me baby, please.”

Jack chuckled, clearly still a little drunk, and took a long sip from the glass.

Christine went back to the kitchen to get herself some water too. For a few minutes, the apartment was completely silent, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the city outside the window.

“…Hey, Jack?” she called out as she walked back into the room—but he was already asleep, sprawled out on the couch, breathing softly.

“Oh,” she said quietly, half amused, half exhausted.

She stared at him for a moment—his hand dangling off the couch, his hair a mess, his expression strangely peaceful—before turning off the lights and heading to her bedroom.

Her head was spinning, from the alcohol and from everything that had happened that night. She collapsed onto the bed, the room faintly spinning around her.

Tomorrow was going to hurt. Because of the hangover, definitely. But also because of Jack.

“Shit,” she whispered, anxiety gnawing at her chest.

She sighed, rolled onto her side, and after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, finally fell asleep.