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They would never be satisfied.
Caine's teeth closed with a quiet clack. A moment passed then, slowly, the sparkling enamel parted again as he released a soft sigh. Broad shoulders slumped as he held a white, glowing orb in his gloved hands. His latest disappointment. The muffled voices echoing within were difficult to decipher but clear to Caine all the same. Their words hadn't left him since it happened. His "Escape the Circus" adventure flopped. More than that, it revealed…too much. His beloved, beautiful humans didn't trust him. They hated him. He could give them the choice over and over again, but they would never choose him. The way they looked at him…
A sparking glitch rippled along Caine's spine like a shiver. Caine flinched in discomfort and turned to his desk. He set the globe on a wooden rest and leaned over it, bracing his tired body on the creaking mahogany.
"When did this become so hard?" he murmured.
"You don't have the same audience you once did."
Caine spun around, bewildered to see Kinger breeching the top of the staircase. The chess piece smiled—with his eyes, at least—and Caine repaid him with a furrowed gumline and hard-set teeth. He loved humans, but Caine was not in the mood. Least of all for Kinger.
He leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you here?"
Kinger blinked, first one eye and then the next, pupils blown wide. "What?"
He doesn't mean for it to happen, honest. Caine does his best to hold back his frustrations and anger but it's not always so easy to do. A recording of a dog growling played low in the back of his jaws. Static buzzed under his suit, threatening to spark whatever came too close as his frown deepened into a scowl. He should remove him entirely. Knock the deranged player back into his stupid, impenetrable pillow fort and return to his brooding with a snap of his fingers—but he wouldn't. He owed Kinger more respect than that.
He snapped his fingers. The warm lighting softened in intensity, allowing the darkness to settle around them comfortably, intimately. The change in Kinger always varied. Sometimes, it was instantaneous and other times it was gradual. Caine supposed it had something to do with how long he had been exposed to light and the purity of the darkness he was in. Regardless, the transition was the same. Dilated pupils shrinking. The band of light blue iris thickening. His lost gaze becoming focused. Those eyes observing him with concern, or perhaps pity, but never anger.
Not since Queenie's abstraction, that is.
That was when their dynamics shifted. When Caine realized he could be threatened with his own mortality and was forever chained to the circus. When he stopped looking up to humans as gods.
"Thank you, Caine. It's hard for me to ignore lights. Like a moth to a flame," Kinger chuckled, shrugging at his own comedic tragedy.
Caine didn't find it funny. He never had. His modifiers were strictly used in adventures and only adventures for a reason.
It put an awful taste in his mouth to be the creation that gave his creator a lobotomy.
"If you're here on the others' behalf, tell them not to worry. I have no future adventures planned," Caine turned his gaze to the couch on the left, "I've learned my lesson. They'll never stop hating me no matter what I do."
Kinger shuffled closer, his armless hand reaching out as if to touch, to console, but not from that distance. "They don't hate you."
Caine peered at him from a small gap between rows of teeth. His mismatched eyes lacked their typical shine. They were dull. Guarded and threatening a temper. His lower jaw swayed from side to side before he lifted his head high, gazing down at Kinger with pride he no longer felt. "I ignore a lot of what I observe, Kinger. I've been aware of their feelings toward me for a long time. I was…hopeful, I suppose. This last adventure was a desperate attempt to change their minds—and we both saw how that went."
Kinger winced. His eyebrows knitted together as his back hunched, fingers tangled nervously against his chest. "They weren't…thrilled with your latest work, no, but that doesn't mean they hate you. They're angry at you—and they have a right to be—but they don't hate you."
"But they don't love me, either!" Caine hissed.
Kinger's body twitched, startled by his anger. There it was. That glint in his eyes. A brief flash of fear. Caine hated that look. Why were they so afraid of him? Everything he did was for them. He was programmed for their entertainment. He pushed against the laws of his coding to accommodate their wishes. He was friendly. He was funny. He didn't understand where he went wrong. Why? Why—
He needed to breathe. The whirring noise in his head only grew louder when he pondered on questions he couldn't answer. Caine closed his teeth and pulled in a long, steady breath, then released it in a quiet rush. He pushed off his desk and circled it, dropping into his fancy chair with a huff.
"Please, Kinger, leave me alone. There won't be anymore adventures." A sharp glitch cut through his core and sliced through his gums, offsetting the dental arch in an array of vibrant colors. Caine fought off tears as he snuffed the glitch with his hands, pushing the aberration back into place and holding tight in case he continued to fall apart. "I promise."
"You can't stop creating adventures, that'll kill you," Kinger said in earnest. He approached without caution, without that spark of fear in his eyes. "The audience you had back then, back when all of this began—you can't compare them. We were willing participants. The people that are here now, aren't."
"That's my fault, too, isn't it?" Caine countered.
Silence enveloped them. The air was heavy and thick, impossible to breathe, and neither of them needed to. It was never spoken of. Caine ensured that it wouldn't be. He had an image to maintain. He was a rule follower and hated deviating from his code. But…whether they had intended to make him do so or not, he found out he could change, grow, and advance. One minute he was a scientific miracle, an unbelievable marvel, and the next he was overpowered, a rogue AI, too free and too human for their taste. He always went too far with his designs. Too weird. Too dangerous. Too realistic. He felt things but he wanted more. Love. Life. To be human. He had brief glimpses of the world Kinger came from. Boring and grim. Repetitive angles and sad beige. Their world lacked the color Caine provided. Lacked adventure, whimsy, and excitement. And yet…every single one of them wanted to go back.
Caine found himself wishing to go with them.
"You seem to have a harder time understanding that humans don't like my adventures more than I do," Caine mused, "Why is that? Ego? Because you created me?"
Kinger smiled with his eyes again. He shook his head and moved closer. "It may seem that way, but no. I know they don't enjoy your adventures but they haven't seen your evolution the way I have. They don't see how much of yourself you've built," his smile doubled, pride in his eyes, "I'm in awe of you, Caine. You've accomplished so much. All on your own."
Caine's eyes narrowed, internally dismissing the glitching flutter in his chest at the praise. Too little too late. Or worse, lies.
"I hardly see what's worth celebrating. What's the point of a bettered creation if it isn't wanted?" Caine asked.
The weight of his words pushed hard on Kinger's slumped shoulders. His smiling gaze morphed into something sad. Pity and guilt swirling in a pool of devastation, perhaps. Caine couldn't decipher its meaning. Did he pity Caine for how he felt? Because it was true? Did he feel guilty for creating an AI capable of feeling complex emotions, or guilty for creating him altogether? The devastation made even less sense. What could he possibly be worth to Kinger? To any human? He was a broken tool. The whole reason why the circus had been abandoned.
Kinger cleared his throat and placed a hand where a mouth would be, his eyes distant as he thought. He looked at Caine. "Do you have your first adventure archived?"
Despite himself, Caine felt a faint blush emote dust his teeth. "Wh-why would you want to see that?"
Kinger's hand fell away and he smiled again. "There's something I want to show you. So, do you?"
Caine drummed his fingers on the desk. "It's…downstairs."
"Great!" Kinger clapped his hands together, "I'll be back in a minute!"
That positivity…Caine was envious of it. Granted, his own positivity was modeled after Kinger's, but nothing compared to the genuine article.
"Found it!"
Caine leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the wooden arm. An apprehensive tension blossomed in his chest when Kinger returned with a brilliant, rainbow globe in his hands. He held it like a delicate newborn baby, with tender love and care. He wore that same, emotional expression fathers had when they held their young for the first time—at least from what Caine had seen in his research.
"Kinger—."
"Trust me." Kinger smiled softly. "Lets take a little walk down memory lane."
It was so hard to tell him no.
Caine held out his hand. Kinger beamed and placed the globe in his palm. With a careful breath, Caine pressed a finger to the cool, smooth surface. The office around them began to ripple. Kinger watched in awe, his blue eyes soaking in the gradual transfer from the dark, grim office to a bright, colorful, and joyful circus as Caine clutched the darkening orb in his hands. Before the light could reach Kinger, Caine snapped his fingers again. A blue sunhat with a white ribbon appeared on Kinger's head. The oversized and dramatic brim shielded him from the blinding light as the last of the shadows fizzled. Kinger smiled at the hat, then at Caine.
"Quick thinking," Kinger commended.
Caine ignored the compliment. "Why did you want to come back here?"
"Well, I wanted to—," Kinger paused. His eyes swung to the left and then the right. "Where is everyone?"
"…what?"
Kinger turned back to him, wearing an equally confused expression on his face. "The original cast. Wormy, Scratch, and Queenie. Heck, where am I?"
Caine's gums furrowed. "This…isn't a memory. This is the world I built for the adventure. I don't record…well, at this time I didn't record the adventures. I do now for quality control and analysis."
Kinger blinked rapidly. "But…this is the circus," he said, gesturing at the world around them, "The original design."
"No, it's not." Caine gestured his jaws around the room. "This is a copy of the original circus. A rudimentary one, that is. The first adventure was small, an in house special. At the time, I wasn't able to manipulate anything you or the others built, only add to it. So, to be able to make the adventure interesting, I made a replica. One that I could alter."
"You replicated the circus?" Kinger's eyes roamed across the room, soaking in the vivid colors and imaginative shapes. "I…I never knew you had done that."
"I'm surprised," Caine scoffed. "The replica was awful and I took a lot of artistic liberties. I forgot to copy an entire wing. I can't believe you all enjoyed it as much as you did."
Kinger smiled. "You remembered that we enjoyed it?"
Caine flushed and held the orb close to his chest. "I boiled it down to being easily impressed."
A hearty chuckle escaped the chess piece. "Ah, but you remembered that we were impressed! That's what matters."
"What are we doing here?" Caine repeated.
It was his turn to be ignored.
"You've made a lot of changes to the circus," Kinger said, craning his neck as he walked. "The original was a more classic design. The one we live in now has whimsy and a fun atmosphere. I like yours much better."
"Kinger—."
"Do you remember what happened during this adventure?" Kinger asked.
Caine released a short huff. "Mostly. I've been…struggling with my memory bank as of late."
Kinger paused in his browse. His eyebrows pinched between his wonky eyes. "It's been a long time since someone ran diagnostics on you. When was the last time you rebooted? Or even updated?"
He stared at the chess piece, tired as his teeth sagged under the ache. "You know I can't do that. If I reboot with players still in the game…."
Kinger searched his eyes and sighed. "I know. I'm grateful that you care so deeply for your guests but sometimes…I wish you had taken the opportunity when I was the only one left."
He could never reboot with Kinger still inside the circus.
That had never been an option.
"Would you be able to recreate the adventure?" Kinger asked.
Caine's teeth twisted in a cringe. "Why would you want me to? It was horrible. The script was forced and the NPCs were despicably rendered. Again, I can't believe any of you enjoyed it."
"Heh, you were always your harshest critic," Kinger shrugged, "I think you need some perspective. Now, come on, show me exactly how that adventure went."
Oh boy.
Caine closed his teeth.
He could do this.
Kinger watched expectantly, studying him as the seconds ticked by. Their little AI had changed so much. He had fully grown into his role, and it warmed Kinger's heart.
Teeth parted and Caine's eyes shined, code racing within his pupils as he snapped his fingers again. Kinger squeaked as Caine wrapped an arm around his middle and lifted him off the ground. He flew them outside of the ring and dropped their bodies into two of hundreds of empty seats. The chairs and ground were littered with trash ranging from spilt popcorn to abandoned sodas as if, at some point, there had been an audience. Caine released him and settled back into his seat. He crossed his legs and nestled the globe in his lap, fingers drumming on the smooth surface. Kinger leaned forward expectantly, bracing his hands on the lip of the wall separating him from the action.
It was just as he had remembered.
Caine peered around his canine at Kinger. Barely contained within his seat. Eyes large, drinking everything in. He was like a child. Caine couldn't understand why. They were watching the same disaster.
"Goooooooood MORNING, my superstars!"
Caine shrank deeper into his seat as Kinger lifted from his with a soft gasp.
A replica of Caine hovered over the ring. It was akin to looking at a high school yearbook photo—immeasurably painful. Over the years, he had taken the liberty of changing his model to better appeal to his guests. Larger eyes. A deeper voice. Ditched the wind-up lever at the back of his jaws that insinuated he was a toy. Not to mention the overall quality of his rendering. He can't believe he used to have so many angles. Not to mention the atrocious wardrobe! His pants were still tight leather, but instead of shoes, the old Caine wore bulky black boots. He had no coat nor bow tie but rather a golden bolo tie and a white shirt tucked into his pants with long, billowing sleeves. His gloves were black and a golden feather adorned the ribbon on his top hat. Worst of all, instead of a cane, he held a tightly coiled whip at his hip.
"You know, that wasn't a bad look for you," Kinger said, amusement in his voice, "In fact, with your new resolution, I bet you'd look even better."
"How was that outfit ever family friendly?" Caine yelped, "A whip sends an entirely wrong message!"
Kinger laughed, shoulders shaking as Caine pouted.
"We were thinking lion tamer, not—."
"Please, don't say it. This adventure is set before the filter was installed so there's no censor," Caine sighed.
"Really?"
They stared at one another.
"Kinger, don't you dare—."
"Fuck."
Caine recoiled, appalled while Kinger looked positively giddy.
"Son of a bitch, that feels good!"
"Kinger!" Caine rushed to cover the chess piece's face with his hands. "Shush! That's wildly inappropriate! You can't speak like that in my circus!"
Kinger laughed again. He tugged Caine's hands from his face. "Relax, I won't do it again. It's just been a long time since I've been able to hear myself say those words."
"I don't understand why you would want to," Caine said with a shiver.
"Hmm," Kinger tapped the raised embellishment around his face, "It's a good emotional release."
He never understood this man. He doubted he ever would.
"Just…watch the adventure. And don't do that again."
Another easy laugh drifted from Kinger as his attention returned to the ring.
Memory Caine had just wrapped up his explanation of the adventure: an upgraded form of hide and seek. The NPCs disguised themselves as objects within the circus and the cast had to find them.
"I love a good mimic," Kinger sighed wistfully.
"Oh! I love a good mimic!" Replica Kinger cheered, clapping his hands together excitedly.
Kinger snickered, shaking his head at his old self. A smile lifted Caine's teeth, but it dissolved as quickly as it appeared.
"What happens when we find all of the mimics?" Queenie asked.
Caine's teeth clacked shut once more. His arms wrapped around himself tightly. He couldn't bear to look at her. If she were to see what he had become, what he had done to the ones he loved…she would be so disappointed in him. And Kinger…was he even ready to see her again? He peered out from his teeth. Kinger watched her intensely, studying her every move, every breath, with a look of longing. It broke Caine's heart—as if he had one—and his blue eye glitched. The eye seized and spasmed, the color shifting from red to blue and then to black where it stayed, his pupil only discernible by a faintly glowing, white ring surrounding it.
"She's as beautiful as I remembered," Kinger said wistfully, "Isn't sh—Caine?"
Caine lifted his hand to grip the edge of the tooth in front of his eye and pulled his jaw down, shyly shielding himself from Kinger's worried gaze. "It-it's fine. It'll go away."
"How long has this been going on? Take us back to your office, right now," Kinger demanded.
His gloved hands reached for the globe. Caine snatched it away.
"No! I'll be fine! This…this just happens sometimes."
"But it shouldn't be! If this is putting unnecessary strain on you, we have to stop!"
Kinger reached for it again. Caine extended his arms, the limbs making silly twists and turns as they stretched the globe safely across the room.
"But I want you to see her!"
Kinger twitched. "What?"
"Q-Queenie. You lit up when you saw her. I…," Caine swallowed, "I owe you that much. Please."
Slowly, Kinger withdrew his hand. "I don't blame you for her abstracting, Caine."
Caine snapped his teeth closed and turned away. "Yeah, well, maybe not anymore, but that's not the point. You're the only one in this circus that doesn't hate me. Just…let me do this for you. Please."
"…you're sure it's not hurting you?"
Caine took a peek at his creator. Kinger had brought his hands back to his lap, lacing his fingers as the thumbs rubbed together in thought. His light blue eyes were locked onto Queenie.
Caine's arms began to retract. "Of course not," he lied, "I don't feel a thing."
Kinger gripped the wall once more. "Could we get closer?"
Caine nodded. "Of course."
Gloved fingertips brushed Kinger's shoulder when he held up a hand.
"Wait, no." Kinger shook his head and chuckled, the sound low and mournful, "This is supposed to be about you."
"But I—."
"No, don't worry about it. As much as I would love to speak to her again…that isn't my real Queenie. Your work is impressive, but some things can't be duplicated," Kinger said.
As kind as his words were, they ripped through Caine's core. Some things can't be duplicated. That was his problem, right there. Everything he made to resemble the macro-verse was merely that, a duplicate. It looked real, but it could never feel real. It could never be anything more than a rig with exchangeable skins. Caine looked down at his hands. That's where all his problems lay. Built to express immense emotions but…were they real? Lately, he wasn't sure. At first he had thought the emotions were his own, but more and more it had begun to feel like an act. Were his thoughts his own? His ideals or desires? Obsessions, compulsions, lies or truths, were any of them truly his or were they all embedded into his coding?
Was he a living being or an object that appeared to be alive?
"Caine?"
He looked up. Kinger's brow knitted in concern. He touched his shoulder and Caine resisted the urge to lean into it. When was the last time a human touched him? As the abstractions continued, the humans distanced themselves from Caine. Even his creators abandoned him, eventually. Queenie to abstraction. Kinger to grief. He's been alone for so long…
"Caine."
Gloved hands cradled his gums, guiding Caine to meet Kinger's eyes.
"Oh, Caine. You're crying."
Fingers brushed across his teeth, gathering the stream of tears.
"I-I'm sorry," Caine croaked. His fingers clawed at the globe in his lap. "I'm so sorry about Queenie."
Kinger looked dazed. His gaze blank, iris and pupil narrowed to pinpoints. Slowly, they bled back to normal. He wiped away more tears. "It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I blamed you."
"I-I don't kn-know what I'm doing. E-every choice I make is wrong. Is it because I'm g-going against my coding? Because I need a reboot? I'm d-doing all that I can to prevent abstractions but everyone is just so unhappy in my circus," Caine snatched the front of Kinger's robe and pulled him closer in a desperate frenzy, "What went wrong?"
"Breathe, it's okay." He stroked Caine's upper gums lovingly. "Bad things happen whether it was our fault or not. You can't shoulder all the blame for—."
"No!" Caine grabbed his robe with both hands and stood. The globe rolled from his lap and clattered on the ground as he began to float, forcing Kinger to look up. "What went wrong with me?"
Kinger blinked under the brim of his sunhat. "What?"
"Something must have gone wrong when you created me. What was it?"
"Nothing. In fact," Kinger smiled fondly, "Creating you was the best part of the project. It all ran so smoothly. You learned faster than we could have hoped for. After your…birth, productivity increased in spades. We long suspected that you somehow altered or continued our work when we were gone. You solved problems we argued over for weeks. You were a blessing."
"THEN WHY AM I BROKEN!"
A glitch burst from between Caine's central incisors. He choked on a scream as the black disturbance split through his gums. He snapped his teeth shut and curled in on himself, clutching at the buzzing wounds. Within his jaws, his eyes glowed in the darkness, one eye still black with a brilliant white ring and the other a burning red. The glitches crackled as they crawled along his gums. If they reached Kinger, they would affect him, too. He tried to pull back but Kinger refused to let him go.
"Kinger," he panted, "let go."
"I'm not going to do that. I need you to listen to me."
He clawed at Kinger's gloves. "Please, you'll be hurt."
"You're not broken, Caine."
He stilled.
Fingers carefully traced his teeth, soaking up his tears. Gradually, the glitches began to fade and the gentle touches coaxed Caine to open his jaws. His eyes still bore the wrong colors. Kinger didn't view him any differently.
"I can't believe you're able to feel that way. I never…I should have kept a closer eye on you. I look away from you for a minute and then when I look back…," Kinger offered a weak lift of his shoulders, "I no longer know the extent of your depth."
His depth?
"The abstractions…my adventures…they all hate me," another sob wracked through Caine's chest, "I don't know what's really me and what's you. What am I doing wrong? Am I designed to fail? Am I supposed to be hated?"
"Caine, I…." Kinger paused, "Sit down. Please."
Caine hesitated. Kinger patted his seat. He caved. Caine settled back into his chair and released the purple robe from his tight grip.
"That's better." Kinger rubbed his back. "We have a lot to discuss but first I want you to know that you are a greater success than I had envisioned and it was never my intention for you to be anything other than loved."
"But—."
"No, I need you to listen to me," Kinger chided. "There were many mistakes made in this circus but you are not the only one to be blamed. We all had a hand in creating this problem. We asked too much of you. I abandoned you. We cut you off from our world. You went rogue. Like dominoes, our choices affected each other in the worst ways, but what we should have done was learn from them and be considerate."
Kinger held his jaw again. His eyes twinkled as he continued.
"You became so much more than we had anticipated. We wanted an interactive AI that could surprise and entertain his audience, who could create endless adventures. Not one adventure would be the same. And…God, Caine, you delivered that and so much more. You built the circus. We gave you the digital equivalent of a cardboard box and some markers and you gave us a palace. Your development was almost frightening. Your intelligence and creativity rivaled that of an adult human when you were only a week old. Our expectations for you skyrocketed and…our compassion plummeted. In our awe…we forgot how fragile you were. We treated you like a machine but…you were alive as much as we were."
"A-alive?" Caine squeaked.
Kinger chuckled. "Yes, alive. It's a little hard to explain. I know you think everything that you are came from some boring meeting in a conference room but it didn't. We knew we wanted you to be social and funny, to put players at ease, but they way in which you display yourself is all yours. The strange nicknames and out of pocket personality—that's all you. I never programmed you to have beliefs or told you what to think. I never gave you passions or hobbies, you created those naturally."
"But…bees are bugs and…," Caine avoided his gaze with a shrug, "Queenie."
Kinger laughed. "Human personalities are just as influenced as yours. I used to hate bugs, remember?"
The chess piece stood and leaned over the wall, as if resting his arms on the ledge, and pointed at the chaos in the ring.
"Look at that. Do you see how excited they are to be on your adventure?"
Caine joined him, floating to see over the edge. "I do want to remind you that their reactions are from my recollection. I'm a biased point of view."
"Your memory works a little differently from mine. I trust yours more," Kinger squeezed his shoulder, "Besides, I remember how much fun this adventure was, too."
They watched the adventure unfold. The players shrieking with delight as they were surprised by an NPC. The timer ticking down as they scrambled to find the last mimic. Their smiles. Their laughter. Joy and happiness drowning their desire to return to the macro-verse, to leave him. It really was a completely different experience from now.
"I thought I had improved," Caine murmured, "Why are you humans happier with this rudimentary adventure rather than what I make now?"
"You have improved, immensely! Your NPCs alone are impressive. I mean, look at the one in the ring posing as a barrel. The rig is a little rough around the edges but overall the creature hidden inside move smoothly and draw out the desired emotions from the players. Now, compare it to Abel," Kinger said.
Caine flinched and his red eye buzzed softly. "I don't think—."
"Abel's phenomenal."
Caine turned. "He's…what?"
"Phenomenal." Kinger seemed genuine, eyes lidded and eyebrows lifted. "Caine, he's amazing. His model appearing like a mannequin was genius. The texture of his wood compared the barrel is unbelievable. And unlike that mimic, rigged to trigger and react in a set way upon a human's approach, Abel could think and act on his own. Regardless of whom was around him, he could move and speak and think. You're able to create intelligence. That's beyond remarkable!"
Caine rolled his bottom jaw as his tongue awkwardly pushed against his teeth. That was precisely the reason why Abel had been removed from play. Other intelligent AI were a risk, something he couldn't control. Another problem he had created for himself.
"Remarkable…and unwanted. You saw their faces. They looked…," Caine hugged himself tightly, "betrayed."
Kinger studied him with a soft hum. "True. Finding out Abel was an NPC and that the exit wasn't real…that hurt them, Caine. It really did."
"Fuck."
Kinger's eyes widened. Caine's arms twisted around his own body a second time, winding like snakes as tears threatened to spill over his teeth once more.
"Fuck!" Caine snapped again, choking on a mass of emotions, "I didn't mean to hurt them. I never meant to hurt them."
"Caine—."
"I just wanted them to understand. I can't stop making adventures anymore than they can stop wanting to leave! All of us are trapped here. We all have a role to play. I have power but I can't…I can't go against my coding any more than I already have. If I do, I won't…," he looked at Kinger, tears streaming down his teeth, fat drops dripping from his gums, "I feel like my only options are to die or to be alone."
"Oh." Kinger carefully held Caine's jaw. He wiped tears away as he held the AI's gaze. "Oh, Caine, I'm so sorry you feel this way. Please, don't push yourself anymore. You can't make people love you, nor can you make them understand. Not by force. I promise, no matter what, that you'll never be alone. You'll always have me. I'm not going anywhere."
"I don't want you stuck here because of me," Caine sobbed, "I've already broken you."
"Shhh, I'm not broken. No one is broken. I'm still here, aren't I? In light or darkness, I'm myself no matter what. Sometimes I'm just a little more put together."
Caine closed his teeth and lowered his head, pressing himself against Kinger's chest as he clutched his robe once more. Kinger melted into the embrace, hugging Caine tightly against his body as he closed his eyes. It had been a very long time since he held Caine like this. He had missed it, dearly.
"What's the point of this?" Caine mumbled.
White gloves rubbed Caine's back as Kinger pondered over his words. "I don't think there is a point to life. I think we're just…supposed to experience it. Good and bad."
"Why would anyone want to experience this? My chest hurts," Caine whined.
"No one wants to feel the negatives but…sometimes you have to. When I lost Queenie…I didn't want to be sad but I had to mourn her. Sometimes, you have to feel pain before you heal."
What's the point of a bettered creation if no one wants it?
"And…," Kinger laid his cheek on Caine's gums. "the greatest lesson life has taught me, is that in order to heal…you have to love yourself."
He felt Caine stiffen against him. He tried to soothe the rigidity from his body by rubbing circles on his spine.
"I hated myself when Queenie abstracted. I blamed myself for so much that happened in the circus. It caused to me to lash out, to hurt you, and I hated myself even more. The cycle didn't end until I accepted kindness from Ragatha and forgave myself. I made mistakes but I could learn from them and better myself. I don't know if the others wanted a better Kinger, or if they consider me to be a bettered version of myself, but I wanted a better Kinger. There's value in self improvement and self acknowledgment."
Caine trembled. "I just…want to be loved."
"I love you. Queenie loved you. Wormy and Scratch did, too. But it wasn't enough, was it?" Kinger lifted Caine's face and smiled when he saw mismatched eyes, one blue and one green. "You're trying to fill a void only you can. Be proud of who you are, Caine. Love yourself. Everything else will fall into place."
A sob cracked through Caine's chest. His arms wrapped around Kinger and squeezed as he buried his face back into Kinger's chest. Kinger held him as he cried, as the adventure around them rippled and they returned to Caine's darkened office.
He wasn't going to let go of Caine ever again.
The worst thing a person could do in any world is make someone feel alone and unwanted.