Chapter Text
The new pillow fort was inescapably big, engulfing the center of the Circus much like it had engulfed Pomni's world.
Pomni hated the thing. She hated all of it. She hated that it needed to be there.
She hated the blanket hanging too low on the left side. She hated the way some of the cushions spilled out of the entrance haphazardly. She hated the little gap near the bottom where she could see darkness inside.
And how sometimes out of that darkness, it was illuminated by flashes of neon.
But most of all, she hated that nobody else seemed to notice.
Or maybe they did.
Maybe they just didn’t care.
Pomni pulled her knees tighter against her chest.
The floor beneath her was decidedly fake, sky above her too. The Sun outside was fake, and sometimes it talked to the Moon, which was, surprise, was fake.
Everything here was fake.
But the ache in her chest wasn’t.
That part was real.
A low rustling sound came from inside the fort.
Pomni’s breath caught.
She looked up immediately.
Silence.
Then another rustle.
Her fingers dug into her sleeves. Something twisted painfully in her throat, and she swallowed dryly.
“Hey.”
Her voice came out quiet; scratchy and raw. She coughed uncomfortably, rubbing it. She didn’t realize how much she'd screamed and cried it dry.
The fort didn’t answer.
The abstraction inside shifted again.
Pomni stared.
Waiting.
For what, exactly?
She didn’t know.
Maybe a miracle. Maybe a sign.
Maybe for him to suddenly walk out and tell her she’d been stupid for worrying. That it was one big, elaborate joke. To ruffle the hair under her hat and tease her for getting so worked up. Then make fun of said hat.
The thought almost made her laugh.
Instead her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly.
No.
No.
She wasn’t doing this again.
Not today. Not after—
Her spiraling thoughts were cut short by a burst of laughter echoing across the grounds.
Pomni flinched, turning her head towards the offending noise.
Ragatha and Gangle were sitting together near the circus tent. Gangle held her sketch pad proudly, facing Ragatha. She was pointing to something on the page.
Ragatha smiled, and Gangle laughed.
The sight made Pomni feel nauseous.
Not because they were happy, they were allowed to be. Hell, all of them deserved a happy ending after what they’d endured.
All of them.
But… he didn’t get that, did he?
The guilt followed immediately afterward.
It wasn’t fair.
Of course it wasn’t.
They were grieving too.
Everyone grieves differently.
She knew that.
So why did it feel like everyone else was moving on too fast? Why did it feel like she was the only person who still cared?
The only one still sitting outside the pillow fort every morning, the only one singing lullabies into the darkness at night. The only one filling the silence with stories about days and adventures that felt increasingly hollow without him there to ruin them.
The only one still waiting.
A familiar triangulated shadow fell across her.
Pomni looked up, and briefly thought of what a mess she probably looked. Not that she cared.
Zooble.
They glanced toward the fort, and with a series of spurs and clicks, sat not too far from the jester.
For a while they just sat with her. Listening, like she was.
To the rustling. The occasional thump.
Every little noise reminded them something was still in there. Something that used to be Jax.
Pomni hated herself for thinking it.
Used to be.
The phrase made her stomach churn.
“He seems comfortable.”
Pomni frowned.
“What?”
Zooble nodded toward the fort.
“Somehow, he’s more docile as an abstraction. He hasn’t tried getting out.”
Pomni’s chest tightened with anger as grief swelled anew inside of her.
“He doesn’t know how.”
“Maybe.”
Pomni stared at them incredulously, but they didn’t take their mismatched eyes off of the tent. They spoke again, their voice gentler.
“Have you ever thought maybe we should leave him alone?”
Pomni’s head snapped toward them.
“If he’s at peace.”
The words felt wrong.
Like nails against glass.
Pomni laughed. A short, ugly sound.
“At peace?”
“Pomni—”
“He’s corrupted.”
“I know.”
“He’s abstracted.”
“I know.”
“He’s trapped in his own mind, Zooble, fuck!”
“I know.”
Zooble finally whipped their head to face her.
Their expression wasn’t angry, but that made it worse. Because they looked sympathetic.
“What if it doesn’t hurt anymore?”
Pomni froze.
Zooble shook their head slightly and looked back toward the fort.
“He struggled for years. Hated himself. Pushed everyone away.”
Pomni’s jaw tightened.
“He was trying.”
“Was he?”
The question felt like Zooble had pressed on a bruise.
Because sometimes Pomni wasn’t sure.
Sometimes she’d think about the things she’d seen inside his mind.
The memories.
The guilt.
The fear.
And she’d think yes.
Of course he was trying.
Then she’d remember the things he’d said.
The things he’d done.
The people he’d hurt.
And suddenly she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Zooble fidgeted with their claw hand, a clicking noise filling the air.
“What if this is the first time he’s rested in years? Ever?”
The circus suddenly felt impossibly large, the emptiness around them echoing with everything that was missing.
Pomni stared at the fort.
At the blankets piled as high as the towering big top. At the hundreds of pillows they’d dragged to cover the hard tile floor.
At the place they’d built just for him, because they couldn’t bear to lock him away. She couldn’t.
Because she loved him.
Because despite everything—
She loved him.
Hot tears burned, welling in her eyes.
“No.”
The words came out of her mouth before she even realized she’d opened it.
Zooble didn’t argue.
Pomni pressed her shaky palms to the floor, shifting her weight and rising to her feet.
“He doesn’t get to quit.”
The conviction in her voice surprised even her.
“He doesn’t get to spend years hurting himself, hurting us, and then… just… disappear before he fixes it!”
The ground blurred.
For a second she thought she might cry.
She didn’t, couldn’t.
Not while he was still here.
Not while he still needed her.
She closed her eyes, balling her hands into fists in a feeble attempt to stop their trembling.
Somewhere beneath the fear and grief and anger—
She remembered his voice.
Broken.
Terrified.
The last real thing he’d said to her.
I don’t want to go.
Pomni felt a hot tear run down her cheek.
“No.”
The word came out quieter this time; not angry or desperate, but a promise.
“I won’t let you.”
For a horrible moment, she imagined him curled up somewhere inside all those pillows. Alone. Lost. Trapped in whatever fragmented remains of his mind were left.
Waiting.
The thought made her sick.
She turned away before she could spiral any further.
“Pomni.”
She didn’t answer.
“Pomni.”
“What?”
Zooble hesitated.
It struck Pomni as odd. Zooble never hesitated.
“I… I don’t think you’re wrong.”
Pomni blinked her eyes open tentatively.
“What?”
“I said I don’t think you’re wrong.”
The words sounded painful coming from them.
Zooble stared at the fort.
Their claw hand clicked louder as they returned to fiddling with it.
“I just think…” They swallowed, cautiously tipping their head to one side. “I think you’re expecting recovery to be easy.”
Pomni laughed.
The sound was sharp, humorless.
“When have I ever expected anything in this place to be easy? Come on, Zooble.”
“Fair.”
Silence settled again.
Pomni looked around the circus. The towering fabric ceiling, the plastic pipes and blocks that snaked around the borders, the dust mites that floated high in the air.
Everything looked exactly the same.
Everything except the giant pillow fort dominating the circus grounds.
Pomni hated how normal it had become.
A month ago everyone stared at it. It was new, loud, obtrusive.
Now they just walked around it.
Around him.
The thought made her chest ache again.
Pomni fidgeted with the bells on her hat, suddenly finding the courage to question Zooble.
“Do you remember when Kaufmo abstracted?”
Their antennas twitched as they turned to face her, gathering their toybox legs underneath them to stand and face her.
“…Of course.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept wondering if he was… scared.”
She stared at the fort.
“If he knew what was happening.”
Zooble didn’t interrupt, and Pomni felt a swell of appreciation at that.
“I keep thinking about that now.”
The words felt heavier.
“Because this time I know.”
A lump formed in her throat, and she forced it back.
“He told me.”
The memory slammed into her; the look on his face. The panic, the desperation.
The way his voice had cracked.
I don’t want to go.
Pomni squeezed her eyes shut.
God.
She hated remembering it.
She hated how little time had dulled it.
Weeks had passed.
It still felt like she could turn around and find him standing there.
“Pomni…”
She interrupted them, mowing over whatever they were about to say. Mainly because she wasn’t sure if she could handle whatever they had to say.
“I know he was awful sometimes. I know he hurt people.”
Her voice shook.
“I know he said horrible things, and did horrible things to all of us.”
Another tear slipped free, cascading down her face, and she angrily wiped it away.
“But he was trying.”
The words came out broken.
“He was trying.”
The fort rustled again, almost in agreement.
Pomni immediately looked over.
So did Zooble.
For a second neither moved, neither breathed. The blanket near the entrance shifted.
Pomni’s pulse hammered as hope surged through her so fast it hurt.
“Jax?”
Nothing.
The silence that followed was crushing.
Pomni looked away from Zooble before she could catch whatever expression was on their face. Pity. Sympathy. Grief. She wasn't sure which would hurt more.
What if Zooble was right?
What if he was at peace?
What if bringing him back meant bringing back all the pain he’d finally escaped?
The thought was almost too much to bear, and she physically shook her head to clear it.
No.
Maybe recovery would hurt. No, it would hurt. It would hurt and be messy and be hard.
And maybe he’d hate them for it.
Maybe he’d hate her.
But he deserved the chance.
Everyone deserved the chance.
Even Jax.
Especially Jax.
Pomni took a shaky breath.
Then another, and another, until the trembling in her hands finally eased.
Her gaze never left the fort.
“He said he didn’t want to go. I won’t let him.”
Zooble didn’t respond.
Because what could they possibly say to that?
Pomni stared back at the fort.
At the pillows, blankets, and the tiny flashes of neon that occasionally flickered through the gaps.
Somewhere in there was a soul who had spent his whole life pushing people away.
Pretending he didn't need anyone.
Acting like nothing could hurt him.
And yet, when it mattered most…
When there was nobody left to impress, nobody left to fool—
His last real words had been a plea.
I don't want to go.
And she wouldn’t let him.