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Nighttime always took a lot longer after a bad day. No one knew why, but no one questioned it either.
The stars above the circus grounds shimmered as usual, programmed into symmetry that never shifted. The lake reflected them in a flawless mirror, unbothered by wind that did not exist unless summoned. Everything here ran on intention.
Except you.
You sat at the edge of the dock, shoes you weren’t able to remove getting wet in the water. Somewhere in the distance, the tent lights flickered as Caine fixed something no one asked him to.
The wood beneath you was warm. Not from the sun, but from residual processing heat, as if the world itself had a pulse running just under its surface. You pressed your palm flat against it, grounding yourself in something solid, even if “solid” here was only an illusion. Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to not even be used to things like that.
You’d learned to recognize those tiny imperfections. The faint distortion at the edge of your vision when Caine was thinking too hard. The way the colors of the circus grew over-saturated when he was overstimulated. The others didn’t always notice. Or maybe they did, and it just unsettled them too much to say it out loud.
It felt different today.
Maybe that was because, today’s adventure hadn’t gone as planned. Some had been complaining about how the adventures weren’t what they wanted, not bringing them any joy. Caine got upset, and cancelled it entirely. Some might call it a tantrum, but maybe he was just upset it wasn’t the first time this happened.
. . .
You didn’t hear him arrive this time.
You felt him.
“My star,” Caine’s voice rang out, a little too rehearsed. “Out here all alone? If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you were brooding! And brooding is strictly discouraged unless it is narratively compelling!”
“Caine,” you began, “I’m not.. really in the mood.” The words came out softer than you intended. I guess he just had that effect on you.
For a split second, you thought he might push past it anyway; launch into theatrics, a musical number about the importance of morale. That would’ve been easier, in a way. But he didn’t. There was a pause instead.
“…Ah.”
When you finally turned your head, his grin was still there, just dimmer. His hat tilted forward just slightly, casting a shadow over one eye. You sighed through your nose and looked back at the water. “You don’t have to put on a performance for me.”
Another pause.
“I’m not performing!” he stated. You didn’t look at him. “Caine.”
The way you said his name made his fingers twitch against your shoulder. “…Perhaps minimally performing,” he corrected himself.
Silence stretched between you, thick but not hostile. The tent lights in the distance blinked once. Twice. Then steadied. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.
“I should be asking you that,” you began, “Why’d you just cancel the adventure like that?” He stammered, quickly wanting to change the subject. You could always tell when a topic was making him uncomfortable. Although you didn’t usually like continuing topics that did this, it was important this time.
“I-It was solely a dramatic exit!” he replied quickly. “The others were expressing dissatisfaction, so I just solved the problem!”
“That’s not solving it.” He went quiet. You turned toward him now, drawing one knee up slightly. “You were upset.” His jaw tightened.
“No,” he said automatically. “I was not.”
“Yes you were.”
“No I wasn’t !”
“Yes, you were.”
“NO I WASN’T!” He screeched. You flinch at the sudden shift in tone. He notices, obviously, and immediately frowned.
“I-I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to- well, snap, at you!” He paused. “I just.. well..” he seemed to be finding the right words.
You tilted your head. “Talk to me.”
“…They didn’t like it,” he admitted, the words smaller than the grin trying to hold them up.
You sigh. “I know,”
“It was meticulously constructed, too! Exposition, rising action, a climax! I even added a surprise confetti waterfall!”
“I know.”
Caine’s eyes flickered behind his teeth. The circus lights in the distance dimmed a fraction, like the world itself was bracing. “I did everything right,” he continued, quieter now. “At least.. I think I did. But, this still happens every time. What am I doing wrong??”
You shifted closer on the dock, your shoulder brushing his sleeve. The contact was intentional, meant to try and ground him. “They aren’t upset because it was bad,” you said. “They’re just tired.”
His grin twitched. “Tired?” he echoed. “They don’t require sleep, so why would they-”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He stopped. He was going to complain about being interrupted, but the words he was interrupted with intrigued him. You could see it in the way his hat brim dipped lower.
“They’re tired of being here,” you clarified softly.
The words settled in heavily between you. The lake rippled, even without wind.
Caine didn’t respond immediately.
“But, I will them entertainment!” he said after a moment, voice carefully measured. “Constant stimulation, personalized adventures..”
You nodded gently. “I know.”
“..Is that not enough?”
There it was again. Enough.
“It’s hard to explain, Caine.”
You watched the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like he wanted to fix something. Caine’s eyes shifted toward you, searching.
“And you?” he asked. “Are you tired?” The question wasn’t defensive, maybe just curious. You held his gaze.
“Yes,” you admitted. “Sometimes.”
The circus lights dimmed another degree. You saw the way some light went away from his eyes, the way it does when he’s upset. You quickly try to backtrack. “B-But not of you,” you added quickly, steady and sure. “Never of you.”
Something in his expression made you think a certain thought crossed his mind. Relief, maybe curiosity. Or maybe something close adjacent. He looked back at the lake.
“Y’know..” he begins. “The others have been discussing.. leaving, more often.”
You gulp. “.. I’ve noticed.”
“They don’t want to.. actually, leave me, right?”
You sigh, seeing the way he denied this claim anytime it came up.
“Caine, I’m sorry but.. they do.” You pause. “They miss it back home, their families.. we’ve told you this many times. I know you’re trying your best here, but the adventures aren’t going to make up for lost time with their loved ones.”
He doesn’t respond for a moment. You can see how upset he is, by the way he crosses his arms and hides his eyes behind his teeth. But considering how he hasn't yelled yet, maybe it’s not too bad yet.
. . .
Yet.
Caine’s jaw tightens further. When he speaks again, his voice is a bit too measured. “And if such an opportunity presented itself,” he says carefully, “an exit,” he confirmed, his grin twitching wider, “you wouldn’t use it. Correct?”
You feel your stomach drop before your brain catches up. “Caine…”
“Correct?” he repeats, louder now.
The tent lights in the distance blink erratically.
You swallow. You love him. You do. But you promised yourself you would never lie to him just to keep the peace. He deserves honesty, even when it hurts.
“I don’t know,” you say softly.
The dock beneath you vibrates faintly. The lake distorts, reflecting a warped version of the two of you, his grin stretched impossibly wide.
“I see!” he laughs.
“How thrilling! The suspense, the indecision! You humans truly are fascinating!”
“Caine-”
“You are all free to choose! But of course,” he continues over you, “You don’t know. You NEVER know, do you?”
The circus lights burst brighter for a split second before dimming almost completely. You grab his hands.
“Caine.”
He jerks, eyes glitching behind his teeth.
“..You can’t. I-“ he glitches, the grid beneath what you usually see on his body now visible. “You don’t want to leave me, right?”
“Caine, I-“
“You can’t leave me! I do everything for you, I- YOU CAN’T LEAVE!” He shouts. “The others wanting to leave.. I’ll admit, it hurts. A lot. But it’s not the same with you—with you, it’s more than just a little sting—you know that!”
You’ve never seen him like this.
“I cannot lose you,” he says, still being comforted by your hand. “The others.. they hate me! Resent me, tolerate me at best, But you-” His hands grip your wrists, not painfully, but desperately.
“You don’t,” he says. “You understand me. If you leave-” His grin falters completely.
“If you leave, there is no one left who stays because they want to.” The circus lights flicker violently now, shadows stretching unnaturally across the dock.
“Caine,” you murmur, stepping into him.
“I can adjust,” he rushes on. “I can improve the adventures! I can alter the environment. I can make this world indistinguishable from yours! I can be enough for-”
“Caine!”
You reach upwards, grabbing him midair and pulling him into your arms. He stiffens for only a moment before collapsing into you, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His hat tilts sideways, pressing awkwardly against your shoulder.
“You’re not losing me,” you whisper into the side of his face. “I’m right here.” He doesn’t say anything. He just stares and then looks away, as if hiding his eyes.
“Caine, listen to me.” He trembles. “I love you,” you say again, slower this time. “Please get that through your head. I love you, and nothing will change that.” His grip tightens.
“But I am human,” you continue gently. “And humans are allowed to feel complicated things. Missing home doesn’t erase loving you.”
There’s a wet sound. You pull back slightly. Tears. Actual tears.
“I don’t want to be something you escape from,” he chokes. “I don’t want to be a cage.”
“You’re not,” you say firmly.
“But I am,” he insists. You cup his face again, thumbs brushing away the tears even as more
replace them.
“You are not a cage,” you say softly. “You are a person. A flawed, dramatic, most-of-the-time overwhelming person.”
A shaky laugh escapes him.
“And I love you,” you finish.
His breathing steadies gradually under your touch.
“Good.”
The sky above brightens back to its usual artificial night. You press a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth, or, tooth, I suppose.
He leans into it instinctively, like he needs the confirmation. The heaviness lingers between you, though.
You can feel him thinking again, so you pull back slightly and smile at him. “Come here,” you said softly, taking his hand.
He blinked. “I’m here?” He asked, confused. It’s funny, how oblivious he is sometimes.
“No, I mean-”
You tugged him back down onto the dock. This time, you shifted so you were sitting cross-legged, pulling him down across from you. He allowed it, still watching you like you might disappear if he blinked.
“Do you remember when you were first showing me around this place? What happened in the lake?”
He tilted his head. “Of course! You described it as ‘almost convincing.’ I had to adjust the reflection algorithm afterward..”
You smiled.
“Help me skip stones.”
He paused.
“Why? That’s.. well, as you all call it; boring! ”
“Eh, agree to disagree.”
He stared at the water. Then at you.
Then, quietly, he reached into the dock beside him and generated a small, smooth stone in his palm.
He handed it to you first.
You leaned forward and flicked it across the surface. It skipped once, then twice, and then it sank.
“Three,” you declared proudly.
He immediately generated a perfectly weighted stone, calculated the optimal angle, and flicked it with mechanical precision. It skipped nine times. You stared at him flatly.
“…I can do better.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
He hesitated, then picked up an imperfect stone. Threw it badly. It plopped straight down, and you clapped anyway.
“Well done, ringmaster.” He looked at you carefully.
“Is that sarcasm?”
“What do you think?”
He studied your face like it was the most complicated algorithm he’d ever encountered. Then he leaned forward and rested himself lightly against you.
For a while, you just kept tossing stones. Some skipped. Most didn’t. He tried to subtly adjust his throws, but you caught him every time.
And eventually, his grip on your hand loosened from desperate to simply affectionate.
After several quiet minutes, he spoke again, voice small, but steadier.
“I’m sorry for.. well.. snapping, at you earlier.” You squeezed his fingers.
“It’s fine, Caine.”
“No, it’s not fine! You shouldn’t have had to-“
You firmly press a kiss against him, as he quickly stops what he was doing to lean into it. And as you pull back, you see a slight glitch in his eyes as you feel his body get warmer.
“I love doing that to shut you up.”
“..Shut up.”
You pick up another stone, weighing it in your palm. This one is uneven, slightly jagged on one side. You rub your thumb over the rough edge before flicking it forward.
It skips once, tilts, then sinks.
“Two and a half,” you say decisively.
“That is not how halves work!”
“You wouldn’t understand. It’s human math.”
He reaches down and this time doesn’t generate a stone. He actually looks for one, fingers combing along the dock planks until he finds something small and hands it to you.
“It’s asymmetrical,” he notes.
“Yeah.”
You throw it anyway.
It hits the water and bounces once (by accident) before plunging under.
You gasp dramatically. “You saw that, right? That was one.”
He freezes. “That wasn’t intentional!”
“Doesn’t matter. It counts.”
“…I dislike this scoring system!.”
You nudge him with your knee again. “Try again.”
He shifts slightly, mimicking the way you angled your wrist earlier, and then he throws.
It skips twice. He stares at the water like in amazement.
“Two,” you announce proudly. “You’re improving.”
He seems like he’s going to protest for a moment, but stays silent when he realizes there’s no reason to.
You both fall into a rhythm after that.
Sometimes you miss entirely and it just drops straight down. Sometimes he gets three in a row and looks at you with poorly disguised pride. Once, you throw one so badly it bounces backward off the dock post and nearly hits his hat.
He stares at you.
You stare back.
“…It was a warning shot.”
“I’m indeed warned!”
You laugh, real laughter, the kind that makes your shoulders shake.
And he watches you like that sound is something fragile and sacred.
After a while, you stop announcing the numbers. The “competition” fades without either of you acknowledging it. You sit closer now, thighs touching, hands occasionally bumping as you both reach for the same stone.
At one point, your fingers brush, and you intertwine your fingers with his deliberately.
There’s a faint warmth that spreads through his hand, subtle but unmistakable. The dock beneath you hums softly, like the world approves of this quiet equilibrium.
“.. If you ever did leave,” He swallows. “Would you at least tell me?”
You pause. “..If I ever found a way out,” His jaw tightens, bracing.
“I wouldn’t decide without talking to you,” you continue. “I wouldn’t make that choice alone.”
“You’d include me in the decision?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“…Even if the decision hurt me?”
You nod slowly. “Yeah.”
The water laps quietly at the dock. He processes that.
“I don't like the idea of you leaving,” he admits.
“I know.”
“I might get upset again,”
“I know.”
He looks almost sheepish. “I am… working on that.”
You smile softly. “I can tell.”
He shifts closer until your shoulders are pressed together completely. Then, after a hesitant second, he turns and lowers you so you're lying against him, feeling his warmth. You let him.
You end up half draped over his chest, your ear near where a heartbeat would be if he had one.
There’s a faint rhythmic hum instead.
“I don’t want to be someone you’re stuck with. I want,” he says after a long pause, his tone barely above the water. “to be someone you stay for.” You swallow hard at the words.
You lean up and place another kiss on him, this one softer. Not to shut him up again. Just because you want to.
“You already are.”
The water is still rippling on the lake from the previous throws. The dock is warm beneath you, the lights of the circus in the distance are steady and peaceful, and for once, the world doesn’t feel like it’s waiting for something bad to happen. It’s just existing, and so are you.