hellooo, i'll be going on a short hiatus (2-3 weeks max) to rest & make a multimuse for more members of the circus that i've been wanting to write! i'll promo it here once i'm done, then i'll archive this blog. i'm also aware there are asks and starters i haven't responded to yet (smh), so i'll be moving those to the other blog if my partners decide to follow me there! thank u so much for your patience and i hope you have a great day! ❤️

also, di.scord drop below! mutuals feel free to add me & let me know who u are!

they wouldn’t take stealing away from him. humor glimmered in foxtrot’s eyes, appreciation. at the same time, though, it dawned on him that he wouldn’t mind either way. if they asked him to steal, he would. if they asked him not to steal, he wouldn’t. a rarity, meeting someone like that. like them.

he’d gotten used to their smiles and laughter and jests, and it hurt to see them like this. but when he looked at them, he realized this was part of them as well. they tried to hide it, and it had slipped through the cracks. it was still them. and fox liked them just as much. his strength lay in running away, he knew that, but he wouldn’t do that to them. he wanted to go with them. he wanted to stay with them.

he pressed one sweater sleeve between his fingers as he waited for them to respond. when they spoke — about their parents, an unexpected subject — his breath faltered and his gaze flicked up to fix on their face. their parents were gone. missing. hollowness settled in foxtrot’s chest. missing meant something in-between, indefinite, uncertain. unknown. an absence, cold and unexplained. they’d been gone for years — west hadn’t known where they’d been for years — and the contract with the circus prevented them from searching for their parents any sooner.

“oh,” foxtrot said softly. and before he processed what he was doing, he found himself moving to sit closer beside them. pillows creased beneath him. his gaze skimmed over the mirror. he wished he had something better to offer, some immediate solution, some answer to secrets they deserved to know. but he didn’t. so he leaned against them gently instead. “i’ll help you.” his voice was soft. “however i can, i will. i promise. and you can… you can introduce me to your parents when we find them. it’ll be okay.”

it was always jarring, to speak of their parents’ disappearance outloud. alien, piercingly terrifying. they didn't have to explain their situation in the circus, nor did they have to speak of it, for it was almost an unspoken rule not to mention anyone's troubled background unless they brought it into the conversation themselves. west never did. they would mention their parents, but not their disappearance, how their questions ate them hollow. speaking about it made it real, ugly, and they never knew how to handle it.

things were not as ugly now, though. not as they had expected. their chest still carried bricks and their eyes stang, but with foxtrot's gentle weight beside them and his quiet promises---his quiet acceptance---everything felt just a little less heavy. not weightless, not smaller. just more bearable, in a way they hadn’t known they needed. unwittingly, west found themself pressing against fox as well; clinging to warmth, to him. their words were quiet when they spoke, tired, though the soft gratitude in them was unmistakable.

"thank you," it slipped from their lips free and true and real. they shifted soundly to rest their head on his shoulder, wet cheek against soft fabric that smelled comfortably of him. west exhaled through their mouth---they could fall asleep there, they thought. they stared ahead as they spoke, at the mirror that reflected only pillows and tent walls. “i don’t know where to start, what to do... but i have to know where they are. i--... i won’t rest until i do.” dearest, most persistent thoughts, yet strange on their tongue. it didn’t weight them as much as they thought it would.

『🔧』 “I KNOW! I- I fucking know that! Okay?! I- I’m just-…” Like she said; not good. The worst part was, she knew every word that Westin was saying was true, even if she couldn’t really help herself right now. She’d already dealt with the immediate consequences, and now they couldn’t seem to let go of that at all! And not to mention how guilt-trippy she probably came across as. Socially inept as she still may have been, she was better than this. She was better than someone who threw a pity party whenever something went wrong.

This environment that she’d created simply wasn’t good for her - for either of them. She wanted so badly to use this rare moment of vulnerability to be able to open up to someone else, but… the notion was soured by the scorn that she couldn’t help but see, even if there was none. She pulled her legs to her chest almost protectively, eyes cringing shut again. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be.

… no. No, she could still fix this. It just… wasn’t the right time. The last throes of her fury, the corpse of her pent-up rage briefly reanimating itself now lay still once again. She could think a little more clearly - but it didn’t make the air around her any less oppressive. She had to say something. The silence she’d manufactured already seeped into her veins - and as she so thought, bringing with it the slow and painful death of a friendship.

“… things just aren’t good right now, West. I- I dunno what the fuck to tell you, I- I dunno what you wanna hear. Shit, just-… it’s like every bad thought I’ve ever had just, fucking- gets… right fuckin’ on top of me. And-…” She seeped in a sharp breath - the same one that a pained lion might take as a hunter raises its knife. The hardest admission for her, yet one she knew was inevitable - and perhaps even necessary.

“… you can’t help me. I- I don’t think so, not anymore, not-… not after this. I’m sorry. It-… it was my fault for- for pushing you away. For- for acting like this.” At last, her head dips the whole way into her curled legs - her last few words muffled, but just clear enough to comprehend, just audible enough through the sting in her throat for the anguish in her speech to be understood.

“… you should go. Just-… just leave me, okay? I can’t do this.”

Every bad thought she'd ever had. Yeah, they'd witnessed that. Through screams and sobs, it seemed they'd heard every bad thing that had ever befallen her, every scar and bruise and still-healing wound. In the midst of everything, they hadn’t had the time to process it---truly grasp the gravity of everything, what had led her to that outburst in the first place---before they had barred their teeth to bite back. The truth had not returned clearly for them to look as a whole, as stingy bitterness hoarded their emotional availability all for itself, leaving little room for anything that wasn't in the here and now of their own thoughts and emotions.

But perhaps that was why they needed time away.

You can't help me. They realized now that they couldn't, no. Not like this. A sting of guilt pierced through then, sharp as freshly polished knife. They had wanted to help, they remembered so. Could this have turned out differently, had they not erupted with their own anger and tears? They’d always been quick to react, and quicker still to lash out. The urge to comfort the other as she dipped her head into her knees remained, though West hardly felt they had the right to at this point.

West might not have ended the conversation on their own; rarely one to back down from argument themself, to seek time and space for recollection instead of pouring everything that they had then and there. But when Alex suggested that they should go, West found little inclination to disagree.

“Yeah,” not backing down, not obliging, but agreeing: they needed to put space between them, if they wished to avoid the shattered glass that lay scattered beneath their feet. West shifted in their seat, casted a glance towards the open tent flaps. “I’ll, uh...” they’ll what?  The teenager cleared their throat. “I’ll leave you to it.”

West rose from their seat to retrieve their top hat from the workable. It occurred to them that this was the Mirror House's back room---it was Alex who should be leaving; this was where they worked---but the words died in their throat. One last glance over their shoulder, by the gaping tent flaps: their friend, curled on the floor and tearful. They wondered if this would be the last they saw of her. 

And the part of them that still cared, fiercely and unconditionally, shriveled at the very thought.