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The room had shrunk in the dim glow of the lamp. Outside, the Circus's artificial din had finally faded away, as if the endless spectacle had exhausted itself and slipped into reluctant slumber.
The air carried a whisper of thread and lavender from the sachet hidden in her drawer. It wrapped gently around Ragatha, coaxing her to breathe it in deeper.
On the small table, her tools lay in a meticulous array: scraps of fabric, spools of thread in tangled hues, and the tiny scissors that had nicked her fingers more times than she could count.
She moved slowly in front of the mirror, easing the dress onto her shoulders. Her palms glided over the fabric to smooth it against her plush form.
The material whispered against her skin, cool and familiar, each fold a testament to nights spent hunched over it. Ragatha had grown so accustomed to seeing the dress on the mannequin in the corner—a silent, wooden sentinel—that its absence there now felt strange.
Every seam she traced with her fingertip recalled the frustrations: the pricks of the needle when her hands trembled, the quiet sighs exhaled into the empty room when despair crept in. And now, here it was, draping her reflection in soft waves, the color blooming against her yarn hair.
A few pins still pricked the hems; loose threads on the sleeves, swaying faintly with her movements.
Yet beneath her composed surface, a fierce, bubbly joy stirred. She bit her lip to stifle the giggle threatening to escape, her single eye sparkling in the mirror's edge.
Across the room, on her bed, Jax sprawled in grudging quiet. Ragatha glanced at his reflection in the mirror's periphery—staring upward with that signature grumpiness. His pink overalls were faintly creased from the long wait, the fabric rumpled where he'd shifted impatiently.
When he’d first come in, he'd nudged for her attention—a sly quip tossed her way, a spool flicked across the table, a sudden poke that made her jump. Each time, she'd murmured, "Just a minute, Jax," or "Almost there, I promise". Those pauses only made her slow down more, stretching their “soon” into something much longer.
He'd gone quiet then, resigned, his usual energy coiled tight beneath the surface.
He still waited for her.
Warmth unfurled in her chest.
She smoothed the skirt one final time.Turning toward the bed, she called softly, "Jax," her voice weaving through the hush.
His head snapped toward her, the boredom evaporating in an instant, replaced by a flicker of eagerness he couldn't quite mask in his yellow eyes.
"Finally," he drawled, the word laced with mock exasperation. “Thought you'd forgotten about me.”
He pushed himself off the bed in one smooth motion, already rolling his shoulders like someone shaking off a long wait. In his mind he was already outside with her, halfway through their walk.
He stepped toward the door—
But his ears twitched first, catching a subtle shift in the air. His momentum faltered, foot hovering mid-stride.
Ragatha stood facing him now, close enough to catch the fresh stitches tracing the dress's lines. Her single eye gleamed with quiet alertness, though the edges of her smile wavered, a little uncertain, a little exposed.
Jax narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as his ears flicked again. He studied her—the tiny crease forming near her eye as the silence stretched like taut thread.
"What?" he said, his voice edging into concerned curiosity.
Ragatha's smile deepened, her head dipping slightly as self-consciousness warmed her cheeks. She let her fingers trail lightly along the hem, lifting it just enough to let the fabric catch the glow. The gesture drew his gaze downward.
"Well..." her gentle voice trembled just enough to betray her nerves. "What do you think?” Her eye searched his face, a subtle plea in the arch of her brow.
He looked her over properly this time—not the quick, dismissive glance he usually gave everything, but a slower sweep, his eyes tracing the curve of the dress where it hugged her.
It was... nice. He couldn't deny it looked good. More than good, even—beautiful, in a way that somehow belonged only to her.
Saying that out loud, though?
Yeah. Not happening.
He rubbed the back of his neck, ears flattening slightly against his head, the motion pulling at the fur like a reluctant admission.
“Looks… like a dress,” he muttered, shrugging one shoulder as if the words weighed nothing, though they stuck somewhere in his throat. “Fits, I guess…” he exhaled, annoyed at himself for even starting, the breath stirring the still air between them.“…whatever. It’s fine.” Another shrug, quicker this time, sharper. “Happy now? Can we go before this gets weird?”
Ragatha blinked, her single eye dimming a fraction too long. His words landed somewhere low in her chest, a dull pinch behind her ribs that echoed strangely familiar aches. She looked down at the dress again, as if seeing it anew.
The fabric felt suddenly heavier, clinging like a misplaced hope.
Silence settled between them, thick and unyielding, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards under her shifting weight.
Her throat tightened, a subtle knot forming. She swallowed once, carefully, forcing her voice to stay light.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “I’ll… change.”
She studied her reflection.
Maybe he thinks it’s silly.
Fingers lifted to the lace as if testing it, adjusting even though it didn’t need it.
Maybe I look silly in it.
Maybe I always look silly trying too hard.
Jax stood rooted in the center of the room, his feet unwilling to let him bridge the gap just yet. He caught every subtle shift: her shoulders drawing inward; her single eye lingering too long on her own hands, avoiding his eyes; the excitement draining from her stance, leaving her diminished, wary.
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
Great. Exactly what she needs, idiot.
He dragged a gloved hand down his face, like he could wipe the words back inside. His other hand flexed once at his side.
“Ragatha.”
She hadn't turned.
He narrowed the distance, but halted just shy of contact—his hand hovering near her elbow before retreating to his side, unresolved. For a fleeting moment, his mask of indifference cracked, revealing a raw flicker of regret in his eyes.
“Look,” he muttered, the word scraping out of his throat. “I’m not… good at saying stuff. You know that.”
Her reflection held his gaze—eye wide, probing the mirror for hints in his furrowed brow.
“It’s not that it looks bad. It looks… good. I–” A short huff broke free, stirring the strands of her yarn hair faintly. “I’m not gonna stand here waxing poetic about it like some sap. But that doesn't mean I don’t like it.”
The air hummed with the echo of his reluctant confession. His ears flattened slowly against his head—first one, then the other—like they were trying to disappear.
In the faint lamplight, something warmer flickered back into her eye. Her shoulders eased—just a fraction, the rigid line finally loosening.
“You could’ve just said that,” she whispered, her voice small yet steady.
Jax’s mouth twitched, one corner curling upward for just a moment.
“Yeah. I could’ve.” He closed the remaining space, his gloved hand settling lightly on her waist from behind. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric. “But then I’d have to admit I’ve been staring at you in that thing for the last hour like a moron.”
Ragatha exhaled a shaky little laugh, relief washing through her.
“Well, that's... unexpected,” a shy smile bloomed on her lips.
Her eyes dropped to his hand at her waist—only for a moment—before returning to his reflection.
“So… verdict?”
He breathed out slowly, the sound low and measured. His thumb traced a subtle arc along the fabric over her belly, following the seam she'd crafted.
“Verdict is,” he murmured, leaning in a fraction closer until his chest brushed against her back, his chin grazing the top of her head. “You really nailed it.”
Ragatha’s breath caught—just once, a quiet hitch that made her heart stumble. Her chest pressed subtly against his, and for a moment, the world beyond the room seemed to dissolve.
“You… really mean it?” she wondered.
“ ‘Course I do,” he replied, his voice soft, carrying a warmth that made her stomach flutter.
Ragatha turned her head just enough to peek up at him, catching the light in his eyes, and felt her own lips lift —a tender smile just for him.
She lifted her hand, layering it over his where it rested on her waist, her mitten fingers curling softly around his gloved ones.
“Thank you,” she breathed, the words as delicate as the lingering lavender in the air.
He huffed—soft, edged with fondness, the vibration passing between them. “Don’t get used to it.”
But he didn’t withdraw his hand.
Neither did she.
“Anyway,” he said, gesturing loosely toward her with one gloved hand. “You gonna change for the walk or what? I can help you out of that thing if you want. Save time.” His smirk slid back into place—sharp, teasing, unmistakably Jax.
“Uh-huh. You wish.” She pointed toward the door. “Just give me five minutes.”
Jax pressed a dramatic hand to his chest in exaggerated defeat. “So heartless,” his grin only stretched wider as he started backing away, stepping toward the door.
Ragatha moved to the wardrobe, fingers brushing her everyday dress where it hung on the hook. The new one still felt warm against her skin.
Behind her, Jax paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. He didn’t step through yet. The wood creaked faintly under his grip, echoing in the room. It pulled Ragatha's attention from her thoughts. Shadows shifted along the walls, making the space feel enclosed.
“I think I forgot something,” he said, voice low and hesitant.
She furrowed her brows without looking back. “What is it?” Her tone stayed light, but something made her stomach tighten—his pause felt heavier than usual.
Footsteps sounded behind her, soft but deliberate, each one closing the distance like a slow unraveling thread.
She spun around—only to find him standing right in front of her. His yellow eyes searched hers for a brief, uncertain second.
Her breath hitched when his fingers brushed her wrist. The world narrowed to the warmth of his breath on her lips, and when he leaned in, a sharp jolt shot through her chest.
It was barely a kiss – featherlight, just a slight push against her lips. Still, it left her aching for more. Ragatha’s palm rose on its own, pressing against his chest, catching the steady thrum beneath the purple fur.
She had never felt so close to him before.
Jax pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, a faint pink lingering across her cheeks.
“What… was that for?” she whispered. Her voice barely held.
He smiled, pupils wide, reflecting her own astonished gaze.
“So you’ll remember,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over her hand. “What I said. You don’t need any of that—” he lowered his voice“—to be beautiful to me.”
A final, fleeting kiss brushed the corner of her mouth.
For a heartbeat he lingered there, close enough that another kiss wouldn’t have been difficult to steal. But then he pulled back, already drifting toward the exit.
He paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Five minutes, Rags” he said, voice slipping back into its teasing drawl.“Or I’m coming back in here and dragging you out myself. Dress or no dress.”
He slipped out, almost silently, the door closing with a gentle click.
Ragatha remained still for a long moment, fingers brushing her lips— still warm.
Outside, Jax leaned against the wall, ears perked toward the faint sounds from inside. Inside his chest, his heart was beating faster than usual.
But he’d never admit it.
Maybe only to her. Maybe.