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Zooble swore they could feel Gangle’s bones for a moment.
They had cracked, snapping as she moved. They watched as she teared up for a moment, then sniffled — sucking it in. They’re still, now, as their partner wife settled back against their chest, they could barely breathe, their eyes fixed on the ceiling.
But there is an aching in Zooble's stomach.
There’s a delicate pause between the pair, darkness long overtaking them. A tile glitches from across the room, but Gangle is far too drained to notice, her eyes already closing. Her ribboned-chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm. A stable strum hits their heart, or whatever they had left of it — their stomach drops a little bit more, twisting under the other’s weight.
They bring their hand closer to her lover’s torso, rubbing their fingers across her smooth, silky ribbons. They continue as Gangle wordlessly flinches.
They watch, painfully, as she whimpers in her sleep. The sight is near pitiful, a stabbing pain radiating through their chest. The way her shoulders tremble and her lower lip quivers. A burning sensation begins to creep up Zooble’s throat.
There is an aching in Zooble’s stomach.
They gulp, their breathing halting in a sick, perverse view, their hand still resting on top of Gangle’s lower back. And she stills.
Zooble sighs, their plastic unmoving.
There’s no sunlight, no light except the piercing white buzz that illuminates the circus. There are holes strewn about the circus, endless, entrancing voids — more and more overtook the floors every day, despite Kinger’s efforts. Zooble took another deep breath, their chest tensing.
A disquieting whimper splinters through the air. Zooble gulps.
They all still keep up routines to feel... authentic. They're real. They're still here.
Ragatha, endlessly kind, though exhausted, planned the entire faux wedding for the two of them. And had compiled years' worth of old wedding ideas and shoved them into Gangle’s brain. Zooble, however, wasn’t a big wedding person, but they tried to be.
Pomni always checked in, and had actually grown much closer with two over the course of well… everything. Kinger was trying; he always was. His sobs always echoed through the circus late at night.
No one utters a word. He doesn’t let them.
Jax is… Jax. Lesser, in a way. It makes Zooble soften at times, his eyes almost always desperate, scared. It nearly hurts them. Nearly.
They shift their knuckles around a bit, a series of clicks following their movements. Their eyes locked on their shaking appendage, taking another hopeless breath. They wish they were better sighted.
There’s no cuddling just before daybreak, no dust dancing through the morning light, no first dates — not really — no marriage, no wedding, no—
They gasp, shooting themselves upward and clutching their chest. Plastic on flimsy, cheaper plastic. And Gangle’s body is shoved to the floor, her porcelain hitting the wooden floor, and there’s a loud, sharp crack. How is there a crack?
Gabbianne, “Gangle!” Gabbianne, horrible, taunting, a shaky call that’s far from the Zooble anyone knew. They scramble to hold the woman, surveying the scene.
“Are you okay?” They hold her face in their hands.
A nod.
“Are you sure?”
Another.
“You… you have another…”
No shit.
"I..."
It was ironic, really, almost humorous.
As soon as Gangle’s ribbons made contact with their face, the dam broke, an awful, hellish sound. One closer to screech than a sob, almost like a belch… a purge of everything, inside them, and everything that left. What they could feel of their insides long since charred, their brain almost desolate, and they couldn’t stop crying. Only now, in this hellish eternity, would Zooble be praying for Caine again.
Everything, everything everywhere suddenly engulfed them — the endless late nights watching over the other, the countless kisses laid across her cold surface — a surface that could only ever be cold and ceramic. Zooble could hurt her at any time. Zooble is hurting her.
They dreamed of a courthouse wedding with everyone Gangle ever knew, and maybe some of their own family. They thought of adopting two cats, maybe getting a plant, too. They pondered on the best dishes they could make for their first date. They dreamed of trying Gangle’s kourabiedes, long hours spent in a shared kitchen. They wouldn't have to be anything; they could leave it all behind, a glimmering hope appears in their gut — then ceases again. Going out in a fast, worthless trickle.
They fantasized about growing old alongside her, trying wines with her, laughing as she scrunched her face at the bitter taste. Envying her comforting naivety. They imagined a world where they lay together, years later, taking her wrinkled hand in theirs and… going.
That’s how they were supposed to go. The lucky ones get to go that way.
Gangle pulled them closer, guiding their head to lie against her shoulder. The woman shushes them as they choke on their words, burying their claws deep in between Gangle’s ribbons, sucking in cold, useless gasps.
Gangle could feel their bones so well now — she wasn't supposed to feel those, was she?
Gangle opens her mouth to speak, her breath cold. Too cold.
There are thousands of poems she could write about her partner's bones, their soul, their heart, but none of them she wished to be true. Zooble’s body collapsed against hers as they heaved, Gangle’s ribbons wrapping and knotting around their arms. Both their bodies pressed up against each other, the sense of a heartbeat, a gentle thump inside Zooble’s synthetic chest, making a mark on Gangle’s silk. It seemed pained, forced, the bearing and truth of the organ was horrifying, sickening, and far too close to—
Zooble’s grip tightened, and they shut their eyes. A snivel escapes their form, their body shaking, their words jumbled in a sobbing, blubbering mess.
Gangle pulls her ribbons from Zooble’s arms, unraveling and cupping their cheeks as Zooble’s large, scared gaze encounters her own. Their eyes widen as they stare, pleading.
“There we are,” Gangle croons.
Zooble squirms, blinking.
“Yeah, I’m here,” she mumbles, taking Zooble’s hand and guiding it to meet the mark they made across her face.
“See?” Gangle whispers.
Zooble’s brows furrow.
Gangle smiles, rubbing their soft plastic, “Still here.”
There’s a beat, then the beginnings of a wail — as Zooble launches themself into their wife’s embrace.