Fox | Hunter | She/they

Logically, he knew he’d been like this for months. Still, every now and then, usually when he was tired, he’d catch himself expecting ears that weren’t there or reaching for a balance that no longer existed. Human legs were objectively more practical than whatever cartoon nonsense Caine had given him, but that didn’t stop them from feeling weird.

By the time he stepped through the doors of the Tri-Angle, the feeling had mostly faded. The booths sat mostly empty. A few customers occupied tables near the windows, but the bar itself had been unofficially claimed hours ago.

Pomni occupied her usual stool, scrolling through something on her phone. Ragatha sat beside her, nursing a drink while listening to Kinger explain a programming problem nobody else seemed to understand. Gangle had somehow managed to balance a sketchbook on the bar despite actively participating in the conversation.

"Look who finally showed up." Zooble's voice projected easily across the bar.

Jax glanced up long enough to spot Zooble behind the counter before dropping onto an empty stool. His jacket landed across the backrest beside him.

"Missed you too."

"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

"I had a route."

"You always have a route."

"That's generally how the job works."

This wasn't unusual. Delivery routes rarely took his social schedule into account, and somebody on the other side of the city had apparently decided that a replacement refrigerator constituted an emergency.

A glass slid across the polished wood and came to a stop in front of him. Jax looked down.

“No egg white," Zooble smirked.

The corner of Jax's eye twitched. “Oh, come on.”

Across the bar, a smile appeared on Pomni’s face. "You did spend an entire adventure telling everyone you were vegan."

"I spent one day being forced to be vegan."

"There was a vote," Ragatha pointed out.

"There were seven of you."

"That's still a vote."

"It's not a vote when I'm outnumbered six to one."

A snicker escaped Pomni. "That's literally how votes work."

Gangle rested an elbow on the counter, snickering. "Democracy spoke."

"Democracy can shut up."

The entire bar dissolved into laughter. Pomni choked on her drink, which only made Ragatha grin harder. Kinger didn't even attempt to hide his amusement.

Jax took a long sip of his whiskey sour and decided it was, unfortunately, excellent.

From there, the conversation veered elsewhere. Ragatha was halfway through a story about a difficult client, and Pomni kept interrupting with increasingly ridiculous questions while Gangle sketched quietly between comments. Kinger contributed occasional observations that somehow made the story more confusing every time he spoke.

Jax mostly listened. The rhythm felt familiar. Different setting, different bodies, but the same people.

The others had adjusted to their new lives surprisingly well. Pomni and Ragatha had returned to accounting and real estate. Gangle’s manga had somehow gained an audience. Kinger wrote code. Zooble owned a bar.

Somehow.

Jax still wasn't entirely sure how that one had happened.

"...and then she asked if the sink was original," Ragatha continued, face beginning to flush from the alcohol.

Pomni groaned. "No….was it?”

"I swear! It was installed four months ago."

The group collectively winced.

A message buzzed in from Pomni's phone before anyone could continue the conversation. She looked down at the screen and smiled.

The expression didn't go unnoticed.

"Uh oh," Zooble remarked from behind the counter.

Pomni looked up. "What?"

"That face."

"What face?"

"The one that means you know something the rest of us don't."

Pomni locked her phone as she spoke. "She's on her way."

The announcement was received with instant approval. Ragatha's smile returned, and Gangle abandoned all pretense of working on her drawing pad, setting her pencil aside entirely.

"Apparently, the shoot ran late," Pomni explained. "She said she'll be here soon."

"Again?" Ragatha asked.

Pomni nodded. "At least she's actually leaving this time. Last week, they kept her there for another two hours."

Gangle leaned forward. "Did she send pictures?"

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the phone from Pomni, who surrendered it with surprising ease.

Jax should have minded his own business.

Instead, his gaze dropped to the screen, as did everyone else's.

The photo had obviously been taken during the shoot. Professional lighting softened the image, while somebody had apparently spent far too much time on your makeup. The outfit looked expensive. Unnecessarily expensive, if you asked him.

Gangle's eyes widened. "Oh, she's gorgeous."

Ragatha sighed in agreement. "She really is."

Jax rolled his eyes and took another drink.

Just then, the front door opened. His attention shifted automatically toward the sound before he could stop himself.

A couple stepped inside. Neither of them was you.

He looked away fast.

On the other side of the counter, Zooble watched the entire exchange unfold. Their attention lingered before they slowly set down the glass in their hand.

"Oh, brother."

Jax glared over. "What?"

"Nothing," Zooble replied.

That answer had never once meant nothing.

The conversation resumed shortly afterward, though not with much success. Gangle was still scrolling through the photos, and Ragatha had somehow convinced Pomni to send her a copy of one.

"You know," Kinger began, "there's actually a mathematical reason people find symmetrical faces attractive—"

The front door opened again.

This time, the reaction around the bar was immediate.

"Oh, there she is!" Ragatha slid off her stool before anyone else could beat her to it.

You entered carrying far more bags than any one person should reasonably be carrying. A garment bag hung from one shoulder, while two shopping bags occupied one hand and your phone occupied the other.

Your eyes swept across the room. The moment you spotted the group, your shoulders visibly relaxed.

"There she is," Pomni echoed.

"Finally," Gangle added.

You laughed as Ragatha relieved you of one of the bags.

"I said I'd be here,” you beamed.

"You said that an hour ago."

"It wasn't my fault."

"That's exactly what somebody at fault would say."

Jax remained where he was.

Three months. Three months of Friday nights. Three months of group chats. Three months of seeing you at least once a week.

Time had done very little to solve this particular problem: you'd walk into a room, and his attention would find you anyway. It should not have felt like this anymore.

You were still laughing at something Pomni had said when your gaze finally landed on him.

Your smile persisted while you lifted a hand. "Hey, Jax."

His grip closed tightly around the glass.

"...hey, kid.” The response came easily enough.

Your smile remained, but it dulled around the edges. Not enough for most people to notice.

Unfortunately, ‘most people’ weren't sitting at this bar.

You had spent years trapped together, learning each other's habits, moods, and tells. The change was small, but it was there.

Jax saw it.

So did everyone else.

"Still hauling boxes around?" you asked after a moment.

"Unfortunately."

You smiled sympathetically. "That bad?"

"I delivered a package to a guy this morning and he asked if I could wait while he opened it."

"Why?"

"No clue. I left before I found out."

A laugh escaped you. The sound should've felt familiar.

Instead, something about the exchange felt stiff. Like the two of you were reading from a script neither of you particularly liked.

"Seriously, though. How's the new route?"

Jax shrugged. "Fine."

You moved your attention away from him after that, adjusting the bags higher onto your shoulder. "Well. Since everybody's here..."

Gangle sat up straighter. "Did you bring stuff?"

"...maybe."

Gangle narrowed her eyes. "You brought stuff."

"I might've brought stuff."

"You definitely brought stuff."

Whatever awkwardness had loomed over the group evaporated instantly.

Within seconds, everyone had gathered around the bags while you attempted, unsuccessfully, to maintain some level of order.

Ragatha received a small collection of makeup samples and began inspecting ingredients. Pomni somehow ended up with three different keychains despite insisting she only wanted one.

Kinger was handed a promotional stress ball shaped like a camera. He turned it over in both hands, squeezing it experimentally.

"Oh…wow! It compresses."

"That's generally how stress balls work," Pomni stated the obvious.

Kinger squeezed it again. "Interesting."

Gangle's gift produced the strongest reaction.

You had apparently convinced someone involved with the shoot to part with a signed copy of a limited-edition manga volume.

Gangle made a noise Jax wouldn't have thought to be humanly possible. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

She looked down at the manga, then back at you. "You are."

"I'm literally holding it,” you laughed.

Gangle squinted at the autograph. "You could still be kidding."

Jax remained where he was.

Not because he wasn't interested. Mostly because he knew exactly where this was headed.

A small box was placed beside his glass as you shifted your attention back to him.

"There."

Jax looked down. The logo was instantly recognizable: his favorite candy.

The expensive kind. The kind he complained about buying every single time he bought it.

You waited patiently for him to take it.

"...You can give it to somebody else." Jax leaned back into his seat. The words left his mouth before he had time to reconsider them.

Around the bar, the conversation faltered.

Your hand remained resting against the counter.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I don't really eat those anymore." Jax stared fixedly into his drink.

It was a terrible lie. Everyone knew it.

Just three weeks ago, Jax had spent nearly twenty dollars on the exact same candy during a gas station stop.

You slowly looked down at the box. Then back at him. The smile you'd been wearing all evening finally faded.

"...Oh."

Slowly, you pulled the box back toward yourself.

Over the counter, Zooble set down a glass with considerably more force than necessary.

Jax didn't look over. He already knew what expression he would find.

The worst part was that he'd earned it.

Nobody really recovered after that, though the conversation limped forward anyway. Pomni made a valiant attempt to change the subject as Kinger became distracted, explaining something about package-tracking algorithms. Gangle continued staring at her manga every few minutes, as if it might disappear if she looked away for too long.

You participated when spoken to and smiled when appropriate. Still, something had changed.

Jax could see it every time his attention drifted in your direction.

An hour later, the group began filtering out one by one.

Kinger left first after remembering an early meeting. Gangle spent nearly five full minutes thanking you for the manga before Ragatha physically guided her in the direction of the door. Pomni followed shortly afterward.

Eventually, only Zooble, Jax, and you remained. And the uncomfortable silence occupies most of the room.

You gathered the last of your things and slid off the stool.

"Well…"

Nobody seemed entirely sure how to respond to that.

Your eyes fell on Jax, and for a moment, he thought you might say something else.

Instead, you offered a small smile.

"...goodnight, Jax."

For years, those words would've been followed by something else. A joke. A kiss. An argument. Sometimes all three.

Now they were just words.

"Night."

The smile didn't quite reach your eyes this time. Then you turned and headed for the door. The bell hanging above it chimed quietly as it swung shut behind you.

Silence descended over the bar.

Jax reached for his whiskey sour, but the glass disappeared before he could take a sip.

"...What the hell?" his voice grew sharper.

Zooble was already carrying it toward the sink. "You've had enough."

"I've had one."

"You've had enough."

The glass vanished below the counter.

Jax glared.

Zooble glared back.

Neither blinked.

Finally, Zooble shook her head.

"You're such an asshole, you know that?"

Monday afternoon, Jax stood on the porch of a bright yellow house while someone's golden retriever tried to steal a package out of his hands.

"We're not doing this today."

The dog ignored him. Jax wasn't surprised. Most of his customers seemed equally uninterested in listening.

Eventually, the owner appeared and apologized profusely, dragging the retriever back inside. Jax snapped the delivery photo, marked the package as delivered, and headed back toward the van. His phone buzzed before he even reached the driver's seat.

Jax already knew what that meant. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, sighing. The circus group chat, of course, was active.

Kaufmo: found this loser hiding in a coffee shop

Enclosed was a photo. Jax froze. It took him less than a second to recognize you.

You sat across from Kaufmo in a booth, one hand wrapped around a milkshake while the other was raised high in what looked like an extremely dramatic argument. The photo had clearly been taken without permission.

You looked annoyed. You also looked happy.

Jax hated that he noticed the second part.

A sigh escaped him as he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. Whatever. The light turned green, and Jax pulled onto the road.

Three minutes later, his phone buzzed again. Jax lasted another thirty seconds before reaching for it at a red light.

Pomni: WAIT Pomni: is that the pancake place Kaufmo: she says ‘unfortunately’ Gangle: i need to know if the pancakes are actually that big Kaufmo: stand by

A new photo appeared. This one was significantly less flattering. You were halfway out of the booth, reaching across the table while Kaufmo laughed hard enough to blur half the picture. Jax’s eyes fixated on yours.

Kaufmo: her phone’s dead so she would like everyone to know that this image was posted without her consent Kaufmo: and that she is threatening me Pomni reacted with a laughing emoji. Ragatha has saved an image. Kaufmo: the threats continue

Another photo appeared. Jax locked his phone, switched it to silent, and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Problem solved.

The rest of the route carried on as normal. Packages got delivered, signatures got collected. Somebody answered the door wearing a bathrobe at two in the afternoon, which was a sight Jax would've preferred not to have seen.

His phone remained silent.

The next delivery brought Jax to a house occupied by a man who apparently viewed accepting a package as the onset of a lifelong friendship.

"...and then my neighbor tells me the fence isn't on my property line."

Jax nodded politely. The phone vibrated in his pocket.

"...which would've been fine if he'd actually talked to me initially."

Another vibration.

"...but instead he starts quoting zoning regulations."

The phone vibrated again. Jax resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest available surface. Following what seemed like an eternity, the man finally accepted his package and wished him a nice day.

Jax was back inside the van before the front door finished closing.

The phone came out immediately: forty-three unread messages.

His eyebrows lifted.

"...what the hell?"

The group chat had taken a sharp turn into an argument about giant pancakes. Pomni seemed convinced Kaufmo was exaggerating their size, while Gangle demanded additional photographic evidence. Judging by the steady stream of messages, neither of them had any intention of dropping the subject.

A newer photo sat near the bottom of the conversation. Before he managed to think better of it, Jax tapped it open.

The selfie had clearly been taken without your knowledge. You sat beside Kaufmo this time, your face partially hidden behind one hand as you giggled at something he'd said. Kaufmo looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Friday night hadn't even been three days ago. At the bar, most of your smiles had looked forced. Every conversation had seemed slightly off, like you were trying to convince everyone that nothing was wrong.

Here, whatever Kaufmo had said had you laughing so hard you had to hide your face.

His thumb drifted toward the keyboard before he could stop it. The message box opened. He typed something, hovered his thumb over send, then deleted the entire thing.

The light turned green before he could come up with anything better.

Ten minutes later, Jax was sitting outside another house, waiting for someone to answer the door, when he reached for his phone again.

The group chat was still active.

Pomni: wait Pomni: gangle your new chapter is trending again Gangle: WHAT Ragatha: congratulations!!! Gangle: NO NO NO NO Kaufmo: she's having a normal reaction

Jax scrolled upward. The coffee shop photos had already disappeared beneath newer messages.

His thumb hovered just above the keyboard before dropping away.

Whatever he'd considered saying earlier had missed its chance. The conversation had already moved on.

Three weeks passed.

The first thing to disappear was the greetings. At first, Jax didn’t notice.

There had been a "hey, Jax" whenever you walked through the door. Then it became a wave from across the room. Eventually, even that disappeared.

The effort disappeared with it.

No more checking how work had gone, no more lingering beside his stool while everyone else talked. No more trying to force conversations that clearly weren't going anywhere.

The strange part was that you never stopped showing up.

Every Friday, you still passed through the doors of the Tri-Angle. You still spent hours with the group. You still smiled when somebody told a joke.

If somebody hadn't been paying attention, they probably would've said everything was fine.

Jax had been paying attention.

Friday nights still belonged to Zooble.

The Tri-Angle was crowded enough that evening for Zooble to complain about it at least twice. Still, by ten o'clock, the group had claimed their usual section of the bar. Kaufmo was arguing with Pomni about something. From across the bar, Kinger was attempting to explain a programming problem that nobody understood.

You weren't there.

Nobody thought much of it. Late-night shoots had a habit of destroying whatever plans you'd made beforehand, and it had become a common occurrence for you to stumble into the bar an hour behind schedule, hair and clothes wind-whipped enough to suggest you'd sprinted directly from work. Waiting for you had become part of the routine, which was why nobody bothered to check. You always showed up eventually.

People continued to talk as drinks disappeared. The evening settled into its usual rhythm.

Sometime around midnight, Ribbit's phone buzzed.

She glanced down automatically, thumb already moving toward the screen. As her eyes scanned across the unlocked screen, her eyebrows pulled together.

Pomni noticed immediately. "What’s wrong?"

"...she says she's staying home tonight." Ribbit sighed.

The conversation stalled. For a moment, nobody seemed entirely sure what to do with that.

Then Ragatha laughed.

She'd spent the last twenty minutes finding increasingly questionable things funny, so nobody paid much attention to it. At some point, she'd also started leaning against Pomni for balance despite being perfectly capable of sitting upright on her own, which was usually a pretty reliable indicator that she'd had too much to drink.

"Honestly?"

Zooble let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, no."

"No, seriously." Ragatha pointed her glass in Jax's general direction. The gesture missed by several feet. "I don't even blame her."

"What does that mean?" Jax frowned.

Ragatha lazily blinked at him. "What do you mean, what does that mean?"

"Ragatha."

That only seemed to make her laugh harder.

"No, I'm serious."

The smile never left her face. "Why spend Friday night feeling miserable when she could stay home?"

The entire table went silent. For the first time all evening, Ragatha seemed to notice the reaction she'd gotten.

"What?" she asked, looking between everyone. "You all know I'm right."

"Ragatha," Zooble warned.

"What?" She laughed again, her glass clinking on the counter. "Every Friday, she comes in here and tries to talk to him, and every Friday he acts like she's some random person he met at a bus stop."

Across the table, several people suddenly found their drinks fascinating.

Jax felt his jaw tighten. "Can we not do this?"

"Do what?" Ragatha asked.

"Whatever this is.” He glared.

Ragatha laughed. "Oh my god, see? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Jax groaned. “Fantastic. Great conversation.”

Ragatha paused to take another sip of her drink before continuing. “You've been acting weird.”

"That's a pretty rich statement coming from this table."

Pomni groaned. "Don't drag us into this."

"No, please do," Kaufmo muttered. "I'd love to hear where this goes."

Ragatha squinted at Jax. "I'm serious."

"Dangerous thing to say after four drinks."

Ragatha ignored him. "You've spent the last three months acting like the two of you never happened."

Jax's expression stiffened. "Oh, here we go. Great."

"I’m serious, Jax.” The amusement had mostly disappeared from Ragatha’s voice now. "You act like she was just some friend from work."

"Ragatha."

"You called your girlfriend 'kid.'"

Jax let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, come on.”

Nobody joined in.

"It was one time," he shot back. "I call everyone 'kid,' for god's sake."

"Not her." The response came from Pomni before she seemed to realize she'd said it out loud.

The table went quiet again. Jax hated that.

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

Ragatha stared at him for a second.

"The point is that she kept trying." She slumped farther against the bar, a quiet laugh slipping from her. "Most people would've given up way sooner. But she didn't."

Jax said nothing.

"And every time, you acted like she was a total stranger."

"That's not what happened."

"It kind of is," Ribbit said quietly.

Jax's head snapped in her direction. Ribbit didn't look away.

Ragatha sighed. "You know what the worst part is?"

The second Ragatha asked the question, Jax dragged a hand down his face.

"She kept giving you chances." The smile was completely gone now. "And you kept wasting them."

Ragatha looked down into her drink. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

"...I don't think she's staying home because she had a long day."

The words hit harder than they should have. Because Jax knew exactly what she meant.

"You guys spent years glued to each other. You used to follow each other everywhere." Ragatha slumped further against Pomni, who looked like she wanted to disappear beneath the bar. "And then we get out, and suddenly you won't even look at her."

"I look at her."

Unfortunately, that only made Ragatha laugh harder.

"There!"

"What?"

"You said it like that."

Jax threw his hands up. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

Ragatha looked around the table. "See? He doesn't even know he's doing it."

"Oh my god," Jax muttered.

Nobody seemed particularly willing to rescue him. Gangle glanced up from the sketchbook she'd been hunched over all evening.

"She's right." Gangle’s voice was so quiet that Jax nearly missed it. She shrank slightly under the attention turned her way, but she didn't take back her words. "You always notice."

Jax frowned.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You still look at the door every time it opens, and you knew she wasn't coming before Ribbit read the text." Gangle looked back down at the page in front of her. 

“...you always notice."

Nobody spoke. Jax hated that even more.

Across the bar, Kinger set his glass down. "I thought you were going to marry her,” he commented.

The radio silence that followed was immediate.

Pomni buried her face in her hands. "Kinger."

“What?” he insisted. “They were together for years.”

"Not helping."

"Oh."

Realization slowly crossed Kinger's face.

"...sorry."

Jax pushed back from the table so abruptly that his stool nearly tipped over.

"Yeah. Alright.”

He snatched his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Have fun."

"Jax—" Pomni started.

"Don’t." The word came out sharper than he'd intended. Jax shoved his arms into the sleeves. "I'm done."

"Where are you going?" Pomni asked.

"Work."

Kaufmo glanced toward the windows. "It's...after midnight?"

"Congratulations." Jax yanked his jacket straight. "You can tell time."

Then he turned and headed for the door.

"Jax," Zooble called out to him.

He didn't stop.

Behind him, Ragatha sighed into her drink. "I still think I'm right."

"That's because you're drunk," Zooble replied.

The door slammed shut before Jax could hear the rest.

The first hour wasn't so bad.

Jax spent most of it angry.

Angry at Ragatha. Angry at Kinger. Angry at Pomni and Kaufmo and Ribbit and Zooble. Angry at Gangle for apparently keeping track of how often he looked at the door like some kind of deranged wildlife researcher.

Mostly, he was angry that nobody had disagreed.

The warehouse sat mostly empty at this hour. A few trucks were still being loaded beneath harsh fluorescent lights, but otherwise, the building had settled into the strange half-silence that came with late-night shifts.

Jax preferred it. People couldn't ask stupid questions if they weren't awake.

A supervisor handed him a clipboard.

"Didn't know you were on tonight."

"Yeah."

The man cast a glance at his watch. “Volunteered?"

"Something like that."

The supervisor looked unconvinced. Jax didn't bother to elaborate.

Twenty minutes later, he was back on the road.

The city looked different at two in the morning. Traffic had thinned, and most storefronts were dark. Streetlights painted long stretches of pavement gold and orange beneath the windshield.

For a while, the deliveries gave him something else to focus on.

Work had always been good for that. Give Jax a route, a truck, and enough packages to keep him busy, and most problems became significantly easier to ignore.

Then he stopped at a red light and looked up.

A modeling campaign from last month covered the side of the building across the intersection.

Jax recognized it immediately. Of course he did. You were wearing the same outfit he'd seen in at least a dozen behind-the-scenes photos by now.

He stared at the billboard in disbelief before dragging a hand down his face.

The light turned green. Jax drove on.

Twenty minutes later, he delivered a stack of magazines to a convenience store. The top copy slipped while he was unloading the bundle.

Jax caught sight of the cover before he could look away. You gazed back at him from the front page.

The photo looked familiar.

Jax remembered the shoot because you'd hated it. Half the evening had been spent listening to you complain while Ragatha stole fries off your plate and Pomni attempted to guess how many times you'd threatened to quit.

Apparently, the answer had been seven.

Jax remembered all of it.

He remembered you showing up on a Friday night, still annoyed about it. He remembered Ragatha stealing the jacket from the shoot and refusing to give it back for three hours.

The memory arrived so easily it annoyed him.

Jax shoved the magazine back into the stack and headed for the truck.

The route continued. The roads had mostly emptied by now. It should've been easier to focus.

Instead, every few stops brought another reminder.

A clothing store window displayed part of a campaign you'd modeled for last winter. A bus shelter featured a cosmetics advertisement he vaguely recognized from a group chat photo.

Later, he passed a coffee shop and remembered Kaufmo's stupid pancake pictures.

The connection irritated him.

None of it should've meant anything. Three months had passed.

Jax stopped at another light as someone crossed the street ahead of him.

For half a second, he thought it was you. The jacket looked familiar, and the walk did, too. Then the woman turned and kept going. Wrong person.

Jax exhaled sharply through his nose and drove on.

Ten minutes later, it happened again.

A reflection in a storefront window caught his attention. Jax looked over automatically, then realized it wasn't you.

The irritation lingered considerably longer than the mistake itself. Jax spent the next several blocks trying very hard not to think about why he'd looked in the first place. The effort went about as well as expected.

The route had ended nearly half an hour ago, but he kept driving anyway. At some point, downtown had replaced the suburbs. The streets felt tighter here, buildings crowding closer together as they disappeared past the windshield.

It wasn't until a bookstore appeared on the corner ahead that something clicked.

The memory came from those first few weeks after escaping, back when everything still felt like a hazy dream.

You'd spotted the bookstore through the passenger window and immediately started talking. Jax couldn't remember what book had started the conversation anymore. He only remembered promising he'd take you there next week.

Next week never happened.

The bookstore vanished behind him.

A few blocks later, he passed a movie theater. Jax remembered promising to take you there, too. He swore under his breath.

This whole night was a long, elaborate joke.

Everywhere he looked, there you were.

Not actually. That would've been easier.

Instead, every reminder seemed to prompt another. A billboard turned into a conversation. A conversation turned into something he'd forgotten he'd promised. Before long, Jax was thinking about things he'd spent the last three months trying very hard not to think about.

You always notice.

Most people would've given up way sooner.

"Yeah, well,” Jax murmured, voice low in his throat. The empty truck offered no counterargument.

This was getting ridiculous.

Three months. Three months of everybody minding their own business. Then suddenly, in the span of one night, everybody had an opinion.

I thought you were going to marry her.

Jax clenched his grip on the wheel hard enough that his knuckles went white. Kinger had said it with the same certainty he'd use to tell someone the sky was blue.

A horn sounded behind him.

Jax flinched.

The light had turned green.

He accelerated through the intersection, took the next right automatically, then another.

A minute later, he looked up. The apartment building sat half a block ahead.

Jax’s eyes widened. He genuinely couldn't remember deciding to come here.

Then he looked at the street signs. The recognition settled heavily in his stomach.

He knew this route.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

At some point, without meaning to, he'd driven straight to you. The building remained stubbornly unconcerned as Jax dropped his head back against the seat. This was a terrible idea.

An unbelievably terrible idea.

Unfortunately, leaving would've required admitting he was here in the first place.

The banging violently ripped you from the middle of a dream.

Your eyes jerked open.

For a few disoriented seconds, you just stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was happening. The apartment was dark. The clock beside your bed read 3:12 AM.

The banging came again, aggressive enough to rattle your bedroom door.

"What the hell?" You shoved the blankets aside and stumbled out of bed. The knocking hadn't stopped by the time you reached the living room.

Whoever was outside apparently possessed neither patience nor self-preservation.

"Holy shit, I'm coming!"

The pounding stopped.

You reached the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. The annoyance died immediately.

Jax was standing in the hallway.

You genuinely thought you were still dreaming.

His jacket was half-zipped, and his hair looked like he'd been dragging his hands through it for hours. There was something wrong with his expression.

You'd seen Jax annoyed before. You'd seen him frustrated. This was neither of those.

He looked absolutely furious.

"Jax?"

"You stopped trying."

You blinked. “What?"

"You stopped trying." The words came out sharp enough to cut glass.

You gave him an empty stare.

"...have you completely lost your mind?"

"You stopped trying."

"It’s three in THE MORNING."

"I know what time it is, for god's sake." Jax’s voice was practically a snarl.

"...why are you at my apartment?"

"Because apparently somebody has to say something!" The exclamation echoed down the hallway.

Your jaw dropped. "Are you serious right now?"

"Oh, I'm dead serious."

The anger hit all at once. Months of frustration and confusion crashed together, along with every unanswered question you'd spent the last three months trying not to think about. Three months of wondering what the hell had happened.

"You don't get to do this."

"Do what?"

"THIS." You pointed directly at him. "You spend months acting like I don't exist, and then you show up here in the middle of the night acting like I'M the problem?"

"I never said you were the problem!"

"Then what exactly are you saying!?"

"You gave up!"

Suddenly, the fact that Jax was standing outside your apartment at three in the morning seemed significantly less ridiculous than what had just come out of his mouth.

"...I gave up?"

"Yeah."

"I gave up?"

"That's what I said."

You laughed. The sound carried absolutely no humor. "I spent months trying to talk to you."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"No, you DON'T." Every word came louder than the last. "You wouldn't look at me."

"I looked at you."

"Yeah, from across the room. Amazing. Should I throw you a parade?" The sarcasm dripped from every syllable. "You want a trophy?"

Jax's jaw tensed. "You know what I mean."

"No. Apparently, I don't." You stepped forward. "So explain it to me."

"You stopped showing up."

"I missed ONE FRIDAY!"

"It wasn't ABOUT FRIDAY!"

"THEN WHAT WAS IT ABOUT?!"

The question hung in the air for less than a second before both of you started talking at once.

"You spent months—"

"Because every time I—"

"You shut me out—"

"That’s ridiculous, I never shut you out—"

"That is complete bullshit—"

"Maybe if you'd actually listened—"

Neither of you seemed capable of finishing a sentence before the other interrupted. Every answer turned into another accusation. Every attempt to explain something only made the other person angrier. The conversation jumped from missed calls to awkward Fridays at the bar to every miserable interaction that had piled up over the last three months, each accusation dragging another one behind it. It picked up speed with each turn until both of you were screaming over each other.

"I kept trying!"

"I KNOW!"

"Clearly you DIDN’T!"

"You think I didn't notice?"

"Then why didn't you DO ANYTHING!?"

For the first time all night, Jax didn't have an answer. The silence felt abrupt after all the shouting. The two of you just stood there, glaring at each other, both breathing hard from an argument that had gotten completely out of control.

"You know what your problem is?" you demanded.

Jax laughed. "Please. Enlighten me."

"You're cold."

His expression darkened. "Don't."

"You're calculating."

"Stop."

"You spend months pretending you don't care, and then you show up here acting like—"

"STOP."

"—like you're somehow the VICTIM in all of this." Your voice cracked. You continued anyway.

"You're cold! You're calculating! You're as cold as ice and I AM SO SICK OF—"

Jax yanked you forward by the collar, mouth crashing into yours harsh enough to knock the breath from your lungs. The rest of the sentence vanished instantly.

The force of it knocked you backward a step. Jax immediately followed, one hand finding your waist before you could create any real distance between the two of you. The movement felt almost instinctive, like he couldn't stand the space for even a second.

For one stunned heartbeat, your brain stopped working.

Your hands found the front of his jacket. His found your waist.

The kiss wasn't gentle. Neither of you seemed interested in gentle anymore.

Every bit of frustration you'd spent months swallowing seemed to collide in the space between you. When you finally broke apart, it was only because breathing had become a practical necessity.

Jax barely gave you the chance.

The moment you inhaled, he dove in again, his forehead knocking briefly against yours in the process.

You winced. Jax laughed against your lips, but the sound was submerged the second you grabbed his jacket and pulled him back down. Your fingers twisted deep into the fabric, one side of it becoming completely bunched beneath your grip. 

"You are unbelievable.” You hated how breathless you sounded.

"So I've been told." You hated how pleased he looked.

You hated that none of it mattered. The argument wasn't over.

Jax’s mouth found your neck before you could continue it.

He backed you into the apartment without giving either of you a chance to reconsider. The front door slammed shut behind him as the living room blurred past in disconnected pieces.

The back of your knees collided with the couch, and by the time you realized what was happening, it was already too late.

You dropped flat onto the cushions with a startled sound.

Jax followed immediately afterward, one hand braced against the back of the couch as he climbed onto you. Your arms wrapped around his neck.

His jacket remained twisted, and your shirt collar had been pulled crooked somewhere near the front door.

The argument still lingered between the two of you, unfinished and impossible to ignore. You could feel it in every frustrated movement, every rough attempt to pull the other closer.

Jax was even harder to ignore.

"Still mad at me?" his breath was hot against your ear.

You didn’t meet his eyes. "Extremely."

The corner of his mouth curled into the most infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk you'd ever seen.

"Good."

He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth found yours again, one hand tangling in your hair as if he could pull you right into his chest.

You were definitely going to have bruises tomorrow.

By noon, your skin felt sticky beneath your clothes, your head throbbed behind your eyes, and every movement dragged exhaustion heavier through your limbs. Still, you knew that setup days were chaotic, even under normal circumstances. Nobody had time to stop moving.

So you didn’t.

The circus grounds buzzed around you beneath a dull gray sky. Half-built tents stretched upward against the wind while performers hauled props and equipment across gravel, slick from last night’s rain. Somewhere near the main ring, feedback screeched from a microphone before Caine’s voice boomed loudly across the lot.

“NO, NO, NO! The lighting rig goes STAGE left, not audience left! We’ve discussed this already, my spectacular super troupers!”

“I’m gonna hit him with my car,” Zooble muttered while dragging cables across the mud nearby.

“You don’t even have a car,” Pomni pointed out, struggling to carry an armful of costume pieces nearly bigger than she was.

“That’s not the point.”

A few yards away, Ragatha balanced on top of one of the equipment crates while trying to hang fabric against a costume rack. Gangle hovered nearby, holding an entire mouthful of sewing pins while Kaufmo unsuccessfully attempted to untangle a string of lights from around his own arm.

Normal circus chaos.

You shifted the crate balanced against your hip and kept walking.

Unfortunately, Jax treated visible weakness like a personal invitation to be annoying.

“You look terrible.”

You glanced up just in time to see him leaning against one of the equipment trailers nearby, arms folded across his chest.

“Thank you,” you replied flatly.

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

He pushed himself away from the trailer and wandered closer, boots crunching softly against gravel. His expression sat somewhere between amusement and suspicion now, eyes narrowing as they tracked your face.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“It’s called working. You should try it sometime,” you shot back.

“Mm. Counterpoint: no.”

You rolled your eyes and adjusted your grip on the crate before continuing toward the loading ramp. The second you lifted it higher against your chest, your arms nearly gave out beneath the weight.

Jax caught the wobble immediately, one hand steadying the crate before it slipped. “Oof,” he started. “That was embarrassing.”

“You’re incredibly compassionate,” you mumbled beneath your breath.

He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I know.”

The metal ramp rattled beneath your boots as you climbed into the trailer. Inside smelled faintly of canvas and old paint. Equipment cases lined the narrow walls while costume racks swayed gently whenever somebody moved outside.

Your head hurt, badly now.

You set the crate down harder than intended and your body fired back, nausea surging hard enough to make you gag.

Okay. That wasn’t great.

You braced a hand against the nearest road case while dizziness swam through your vision.

Footsteps sounded outside a moment later.

“You gonna stand there lookin’ haunted all day or what?”

Jax. Again.

You squeezed your eyes shut briefly before stepping back toward the trailer entrance. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He watched you carefully from below the ramp now. “You look like you’re about thirty seconds away from dying in a medically interesting way.”

“I hate the way you talk.”

“Yeah, well.” His gaze narrowed. “You look worse than you did earlier.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

That felt concerning.

You tried to speak again, and the world tilted sharply sideways instead.

The edge of the trailer doorway lurched in your peripheral vision as dizziness slammed through you hard enough to make your knees buckle.

“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me—”

The ramp rushed toward you.

Arms caught you before you hit it.

One hand braced hard against your back while the other locked around your wrist tightly enough to keep you upright. Somewhere above you, Jax swore as the crate beside the doorway crashed loudly onto the trailer floor.

“Hey. Hey— don’t do that.”

Your cheek pressed weakly against the front of his jacket while black spots crowded the edges of your vision. Jax removed his grip from your wrist, shifting his palm to rest against your forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, eyes widening.

You tried to answer him. You weren’t entirely sure actual words came out.

Voices blurred somewhere nearby beneath the rushing static in your ears.

“What happened?”

Pomni this time.

“I dunno, they just—” Jax stopped abruptly when your knees nearly gave out again. “Whoa, okay. Nope.”

“Oh my god,” Ragatha’s voice cut through sharply somewhere nearby. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” Jax answered.

Ragatha stared at him. “You literally don’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, they’re still conscious, so we’re off to a great start.”

“We should probably get Caine,” Gangle said nervously.

“No,” you mumbled weakly before anybody else could answer.

Unfortunately, that only made the dizziness worse.

Your arm wrapped weakly around his shoulders, heat climbing sharply in your throat. His grip tightened against your back to brace you.

“Alright, no. Absolutely not.” His voice sharpened suddenly. “Hey, look at me for a second.”

You tried.

His face blurred frustratingly in and out of focus.

“You with me?”

“Mm.”

“Wow. Inspiring response.”

Despite the sarcasm, his hand stayed planted against the curve of your back.

Nearby, Ragatha was already climbing down from the equipment crate, concern written all over her face. “We should get them somewhere air-conditioned.”

“They probably need medicine,” Pomni added quietly.

“They need to stop trying to die during setup,” Zooble muttered.

Pomni winced. “...That too.”

You barely registered the conversation anymore.

Everything felt heavy.

Your head dropped weakly against Jax’s shoulder as exhaustion dragged hard at the edges of your consciousness. Through your haze, you felt him hesitate before suddenly shifting his grip underneath you.

Then the ground disappeared entirely, and the noise surrounding you dipped.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Zooble muttered nearby. “You’re actually helping…wow.”

“I’m not helping.”

“You’re carrying them.”

“And?”

“That’s, like, deeply concerning.”

“Cool observation. Shut up.”

The motion jostled unpleasantly through your fever-fogged thoughts as Jax lifted you fully against his chest. One arm hooked beneath your knees while the other stayed firm around your back, steady enough that you barely felt the uneven gravel beneath his boots.

“Jax,” Ragatha called after him, “where are you taking them?”

“My trailer.”

Ragatha frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because theirs isn’t unpacked yet.”

Zooble’s eyebrows lifted. “You know which trailer is theirs?”

“Oh my god, can everybody stop talking to me?” Jax let out a frustrated huff and picked up his pace, leaving the noise of the group behind you both. “You better not throw up on me,” his voice was tense, quieter now. “I mean it.”

You thought you felt his grip tighten against you.

Then, everything disappeared into darkness.

Consciousness returned slowly amidst a pounding headache and the uncomfortable realization that literally everything hurt.

Heavy heat pressed beneath your skin, suffocating and miserable, like somebody had wrapped your entire body in damp blankets and left you too close to a fire. Your throat ached. Every joint in your body felt wrong somehow, sore in that deep, miserable way only fevers manage to accomplish.

You shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. Something in your stomach rocked violently enough to make you groan under your breath.

“Cool, you’re alive.”

Jax’s voice drifted from somewhere nearby.

You cracked your eyes open reluctantly.

Dim yellow lamplight spilled across the cramped interior of a trailer you didn’t recognize. The ceiling curved low overhead, old string lights casting faint shadows across cluttered countertops. Uneven stacks of magazines, playing cards, empty soda cans, and half-unpacked costume pieces were scattered across nearly every available surface.

Jax’s trailer.

That realization took a second to settle through the fever’s haze.

You were sprawled across what was very obviously his bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes beneath a blanket that smelled faintly like cigarette smoke and laundry detergent. One of your shoes had apparently vanished somewhere along the way.

Jax sat near the tiny kitchenette at the opposite end of the trailer, leaning back in his chair with one boot propped against a cabinet door. A cup of instant noodles steamed faintly in his hands.

“You passed out,” he informed you, in between a mouthful of noodles.

“Mm,” you managed to mumble weakly.

“Super concerning response, by the way.”

You squinted at him. “Why’m I here?”

“Your trailer’s still half unpacked.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Mine was closer.”

Only then did you notice a damp washcloth abandoned beside the pillow, along with two unopened bottles of gatorade sitting crookedly on the nightstand.

Jax tracked your gaze.

“Don’t make that face,” he muttered.

“What face?”

“That weird one.”

“…you got me sports drinks?”

“Ragatha told me to.”

There was probably something suspicious about how quickly he’d answered that.

Your head hurt too badly to investigate any further.

Rain tapped softly against the trailer roof overhead. Beneath it, you could hear the muffled sounds of the circus still settling outside: distant voices, equipment clattering somewhere across the lot, generators humming steadily through the evening.

Everything inside the trailer felt strangely cramped compared to the noise outside. Smaller. Warmer.

“You’re lookin’ at my stuff weird,” Jax called out, brows furrowing. Your gaze had drifted to the collection of knives scattered across the tiny kitchen table.

“…you have concerning hobbies.”

“They’re decorative.”

“One of those is literally a machete.”

“It’s decorative and practical.”

You let your head fall back against a lumpy pillow with a tired groan.

That tiny movement alone seemed to sharpen something in his expression.

“You gonna throw up?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“...yes.”

“…That sounded fake.”

Before you could answer, another wave of dizziness crashed through, hard enough to make your vision warp painfully. You lifted a hand to cover your eyes.

A second later, the mattress shifted beside you.

“Whoa, okay.” Jax’s voice sounded closer now. Less teasing. “Easy.”

Cool fingers pressed awkwardly against the side of your neck for half a second before quickly pulling away again, like he’d only realized afterward what he was doing.

“You’re seriously burning up.”

“I noticed,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well, I noticed more.”

You cracked one eye open just enough to glare weakly at him.

He looked… strange.

Not soft, exactly. Jax didn’t really do soft.

But the constant amusement usually sitting somewhere behind his expression had dimmed into something darker now, restless energy flickering through every small movement. One of his knees bounced rapidly against the side of the bed frame while he watched you.

“You take anything yet?” he asked.

“For what?”

“The fever, genius.”

“Oh.” You swallowed painfully. “...uhm, when was I supposed to do that?”

Jax stared at you with a look of genuine horror.

“…How are you alive?”

You might’ve laughed a little if your head didn’t feel like it was splitting open. Instead, you attempted a shrug. Bad idea.

Nausea punished the movement instantly and your stomach lurched hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“Okay, nope.” Jax leaned closer. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m literally laying down.”

“Yeah, and somehow you still look like you’re losing a fight with gravity.”

Your throat felt painfully dry suddenly. Even breathing left you feeling overheated and exhausted in a way that made your limbs feel too heavy beneath the blankets.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath carefully through the dizziness, while rain tapped against the trailer roof overhead. The trailer felt almost strangely still now, the quiet outside broken only by distant generators humming somewhere across the lot.

Jax sighed into the silence, “You’ve been out since yesterday afternoon, by the way.”

That snapped your attention back toward him.

“What?”

“Mmhm.” Jax leaned back slightly in his chair. “It’s, like, two in the morning.”

For a second, genuine disorientation cut through the fever haze. Yesterday afternoon?

No wonder your body felt completely wrecked.

“…sorry.”

Jax’s expression shriveled.

“Ugh. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That weird guilty thing.” He dragged a hand through his hair roughly before looking away. “You scared the hell outta Ragatha.”

He glanced toward the rain-dark window.

“…and everybody else too, I guess.”

You looked at him quietly for a moment. “You stayed,” your voice came out raspy, barely a whisper.

Something unreadable flickered across Jax’s face before he covered it quickly with his usual smirk.

“Yeah, well. You looked all pale and gross.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s a fantastic excuse.”

You would’ve smiled if your face didn’t feel half melted off from the fever.

A second later, Jax grabbed one of the unopened sports drinks from the nightstand and shoved it toward you.

“Drink something.”

You stared weakly at it. “I think lifting that might actually kill me.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You carried me here.”

“…That doesn’t prove anything.”

The trailer door suddenly swung open hard enough to make both of you flinch.

Ragatha stepped inside carrying a plastic grocery bag against her chest, rainwater still clinging to the sleeves of her cardigan.

“Oh good, you’re awake!”

Jax leaned back so fast it almost gave you whiplash, all of that strange nervous energy snapping back behind his usual irritation.

“They were awake already,” he said defensively.

“Okay?” Ragatha blinked at him. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

“You sounded accusatory.” Jax glanced toward the clock before looking back at Ragatha. “Aren’t you usually asleep by like… ten?”

Ragatha gave him a look. “You texted me six times.”

“...okay, that feels exaggerated.”

“It wasn’t.”

Jax looked genuinely offended. Ragatha ignored him completely and crossed toward the bed instead, pressing the back of her hand gently against your forehead. Her expression shifted into worry.

“Oh, honey…”

“See?” Jax pointed vaguely from somewhere beside you. “That’s what I said.”

“You definitely didn’t say ‘oh, honey,’ Jax,” Ragatha replied absently while digging through the grocery bag. “You told me they looked medically disturbing.”

“Which was accurate.”

Ragatha pulled out a bottle of medicine and handed it toward you along with a water bottle.

“Did you eat anything recently?”

You stared blankly at her.

“…does half a gas station pretzel count?”

Both Ragatha and Jax looked horrified by that answer for completely different reasons.

Jax rubbed a hand down his face. “You are, like, alarmingly bad at being a person.”

“Well,” Ragatha sighed, “that explains a whole lot, actually.”

You groaned weakly into the pillow. “You guys are being mean to me in my time of need.”

“Your time of need started like twelve hours ago,” Jax shot back.

“Jax,” Ragatha warned.

“What? I’m right.”

Despite the bickering, exhaustion was already dragging heavily at the edges of your consciousness again. The medicine left your body feeling heavy beneath the blankets while the steady sound of rain softened everything else into background noise.

Ragatha noticed your eyes slipping shut first. Her voice lowered. “Hey, do you want me to stay with them for a while?”

You expected Jax to agree.

“They’re fine.”

Ragatha blinked. “That wasn’t the question.”

Jax avoided looking directly at either of you. “I got it under control.”

A strange little silence settled over the trailer.

Then Ragatha’s expression softened into something suspiciously knowing.

“...Oh,” she said quietly.

Jax pointed toward the trailer door. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were gonna.”

A smile tugged faintly at the corner of Ragatha’s mouth as she gathered the empty grocery bag again. “Alright. I’ll check in tomorrow morning.”

“Cool,” Jax muttered. “Don’t.”

Rain drifted softly against the trailer roof after she left.

You barely registered the mattress shifting slightly beside you before exhaustion finally dragged you under again. The last thing you felt before sleep overtook you completely was cool fingers pressing gently against your forehead.

“…still ridiculous,” Jax muttered under his breath.

Everything faded softly back into darkness.

Sleep came and went in miserable fragments afterward.

Every time consciousness surfaced again, it felt worse.

The fever had settled deeper somehow, dragging heavy heat through your body until even breathing felt exhausting. Your skin burned beneath the blankets while violent chills rattled through you, jarring enough to make your teeth ache. At some point during the night, you’d kicked half the blankets off the bed. Sometime later, Jax must’ve pulled them back over you again.

Jax had turned most of the trailer lights off, leaving only the faint yellow glow above the kitchen counter to cut through the darkness. Rain still pattered lightly against the roof.

You became vaguely aware of movement nearby before you fully opened your eyes. Cabinets opening and closing. Footsteps pacing unevenly across the narrow trailer floor.

Jax.

Your vision stayed blurry for a few seconds after you blinked awake. The ceiling lights smeared strangely at the edges while your stomach churned unpleasantly. You groaned into your pillow.

The movement across the trailer stopped cold.

“Oh, cool,” Jax muttered. “You’re up again.”

Again.

That word lodged uncomfortably somewhere through your haze.

You shifted weakly beneath the blankets. Even subtle movement made the room tilt. You grunted.

“Whoa, okay— nope.” Footsteps crossed the trailer quickly before the mattress dipped beside you again. “Easy, easy, take it easy.”

Your eyes squeezed shut automatically.

Everything hurt.

The mattress shifted under his weight as Jax leaned closer, one hand pressing against your shoulder before you rolled too far sideways off the edge of the bed.

“You are genuinely awful at being sick,” he informed you, his voice strained.

“Mm.”

“That wasn’t a real response.”

You tried opening your eyes again.

Jax looked worse than before.

His hair stuck out messily in every direction now, dark circles settled heavily beneath his eyes, and the sleeves of his shirt had been shoved unevenly up to his elbows like he’d been too distracted to fix them properly. Several empty sports drink bottles sat abandoned near the sink beside what looked like a half-melted bag of ice.

Jax pressed the back of his hand quickly against your forehead.

The expression on his face darkened. Like something inside of him had dropped out beneath his feet.

“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.”

You frowned weakly. “What?”

“You’re hotter.”

“…I’m flattered,” you struggled to get the words out.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

The room tilted again.

You swallowed hard against another wave of nausea as Jax stood abruptly from the edge of the bed, pacing two restless steps toward the door before stopping short and turning back.

“Okay, nope. I hate this.” He dragged both hands through his hair roughly. “Ragatha said if your fever got any worse we were supposed to go to the emergency room.”

You frowned weakly through the fever haze. “...You talked to Ragatha?”

Jax stopped pacing.

For a second, the trailer went completely quiet except for the rain hammering against the roof.

“…What?”

Your head was throbbing. “When?”

Something in Jax’s face went oddly still.

“Ragatha was here,” he said slowly. “A couple hours ago.”

Silence.

“…You seriously don’t remember that?”

“...sorry,” you murmured.

“Oh my god, stop apologizing.” He pointed vaguely toward you, unpausing his pacing. “That thing where you keep saying sorry like you’re inconveniencing me? Hate it. Knock it off.”

You might’ve answered if your thoughts didn’t feel so far away.

The trailer blurred again, and Jax’s pacing came to a halt.

“…Hey.”

You blinked slowly toward him.

“Look at me for a second.”

You tried.

His face wouldn’t fully focus.

That seemed to scare him.

“No,” his voice sharpened suddenly. “Don’t do that.”

Jax leaned down again, fingers pressing quickly against the side of your neck like he was checking for something you couldn’t understand through the fog of the fever.

“Hey,” he repeated, dire now. “C’mon.”

You tried answering him.

Your tongue felt heavy somehow.

“...Jax,” you mumbled weakly instead.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Something cold pressed briefly against your forehead before disappearing again. A wet washcloth, maybe. Your thoughts kept slipping sideways before you could grasp onto them properly.

The trailer suddenly felt scorching. You closed your eyes again for what felt like half a second.

When you opened them next, Jax was shoving his arms hurriedly through a hoodie near the trailer door. Keys jingled loudly somewhere nearby. The rain was hammering harder outside now.

“What—” your voice cracked painfully, “what’re you doing?”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

The words cut clean through your daze, enough to make your jaw clench.

“...no, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, see, the problem is you stopped being believable like six hours ago.”

You tried pushing yourself upright.

That turned out to be a horrible mistake.

The room lurched violently sideways before your body could fully follow the movement, dizziness crashing through you hard enough that you barely registered yourself slipping sideways off the mattress.

Jax caught you before you hit the floor.

“Holy shit.”

One arm locked hard around your waist while the other caught your shoulders against his chest. Your head spun weakly against the front of his hoodie while rain battered the trailer roof overhead loud enough to make everything else disappear.

For one awful second, Jax didn’t move at all.

“...you’re scaring me.”

You’d never heard genuine fear in his voice before. Not until now.

The words came quieter after that, almost whispered underneath his breath as he adjusted his grip beneath you.

“I got you.”

The sudden lift sent dizziness crashing through you again as he scooped you fully against his chest, one arm beneath your knees while the other held you tightly enough that you barely felt the movement beneath him.

Your head dropped weakly against his shoulder.

Rain and cold air hit your skin for barely a second before Jax pulled you closer beneath the shelter of his jacket.

“Stay awake,” he muttered, voice tighter than you’d ever heard it before.

Then the trailer door slammed shut, and you were off into the storm.

You recognized the ceiling before you fully opened your eyes.

The dim yellow glow above the kitchenette blurred softly through your vision while the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and laundry detergent settled around you again. For one disoriented second, panic twisted sharply through your chest before memory returned in fractured pieces:

Rain. Jax’s voice. Cold air against your scalding skin. Hospital lights smeared white and blurry through a feverish haze.

Your throat burned suddenly as you swallowed.

Speaking hurt too much to even attempt.

A weak sound escaped you anyway, more breath than actual noise.

Movement stirred somewhere nearby almost at once.

“Well,” Jax’s voice cut through the quiet, rougher than usual, “that’s slightly less terrifying.”

He sat slouched sideways in one of the chairs near the coffee table, an arm folded beneath his head while the other hung limp against his lap. Judging by the awkward angle of his neck and the blanket half-draped on his shoulder, he definitely hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.

A half-empty cold brew sat abandoned beside him alongside pharmacy bags, crumpled receipts, and a bottle of prescription medicine.

Your gaze lingered there a second too long.

“Don’t start.” Jax warned.

You frowned weakly.

“Whatever stupid emotional thing you’re about to do,” he muttered while dragging a tired hand down his face, “don’t.”

Despite the sarcasm, relief still lingered visibly around the edges of his expression now that you were awake.

Your throat burned again as you swallowed carefully, the lingering soreness sharp enough to make you wince.

“Yeah,” Jax muttered, already up and reaching for the water bottle beside the bed before you could ask for it. “Doctor said your throat’s pretty messed up.”

You opened your mouth, trying to force words to form anyway.

Nothing came out.

Only another painful rasp clawing uselessly at your throat.

Jax shook his head.

“Yeah. Don’t do that either.”

Frustration burned hot behind your ribs as you sank back against the pillows.

After everything from last night, the silence felt cruel now.

For once, Jax didn’t immediately fill it with sarcasm.

Instead, he reached toward the nightstand beside you before holding out a small notebook and pen.

You stared at it.

“…What?” he asked defensively. “The nurse gave it to me.”

You turned the notebook over slowly in your hands.

The first few pages were already filled.

Messy handwriting crowded unevenly across the paper:

water. more ice chips? yes/no blink system sucks btw stop ripping the pulse monitor off ow

You raised a brow at him.

Jax immediately looked offended. “Before you say anything, hospital-you was super annoying.”

A weak laugh escaped you soundlessly through your nose.

“That’s the other thing,” he pointed accusingly. “You keep doing that silent laughing thing and it’s weird.”

You scribbled slowly across the notebook again.

sorry

Jax groaned. “See? There it is again.”

His chair scraped softly across the trailer floor as he dragged it closer to the bed before dropping back into it heavily.

Outside, rain still drifted softly against the roof, quieter now than the storm from the night before. Daylight filtered dimly through the trailer windows, washing everything pale gray.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

Then Jax leaned forward slightly, squinting toward you.

“…You remember any of the hospital?”

You paused to think for a moment, then wrote your response:

not really

Something unreadable crossed his expression again.

“...Cool. Good,” he muttered eventually.

Your gaze drifted downward absently while adjusting the blankets.

Purple bruising enveloped the inside of your arm beneath the hospital wristband still looped loosely around your wrist.

You frowned.

Jax followed your gaze.

“…Don’t.”

You looked back toward him, then slowly lifted the notebook again.

what happened?

Jax groaned quietly into one hand.

“Seriously?”

You stared at him expectantly.

For a long moment, he looked like he might refuse outright.

He sighed, “...Are you sure you really wanna know?”

Something about the question unsettled you.

Still, you nodded.

Jax leaned back heavily in the chair, rubbing tiredly at one eye.

“You kept ripping the IV outta your arm.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“Four times,” he added flatly.

Mortification hit instantly.

“Oh, save the shock, it gets worse.” Despite the sarcasm, exhaustion dulled the usual sharpness in his voice now. “You kept trying to get up and leave the room.”

Broken fragments flickered vaguely through your memory: fluorescent lights, cold hands adjusting something against your face, Jax arguing with somebody somewhere nearby.

“You kept asking me to take you home,” he continued more quietly. “Said you hated it there.”

Your fingers stilled slightly against the notebook page.

Jax looked away afterward, attention settling hard on the coffee cup in his hands.

“And then,” he muttered, “you started begging me to sneak you back to the trailer so you could sleep.”

He paused.

“You were pretty convinced we could somehow outrun the nurses.”

Despite everything, a weak, soundless laugh escaped you.

Jax pointed toward you. “See? That one was at least a little funny.”

Then his expression shifted again, subtly. The exhaustion returned around the edges.

The trailer stayed quiet except for the soft tapping rain outside.

Then, after a long moment, Jax broke the silence:

“…You didn’t really know where you were for a while.”

The words landed heavier than anything else he’d said so far.

You watched him carefully while he continued picking absentmindedly at the edge of the cup label.

“They had you on oxygen for most of the night.” His voice lowered slightly. “At one point they were talking about intubating you if your breathing got worse.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jax finally glanced back toward you then, exhaustion sitting plainly across his face now that the sarcasm had mostly worn itself out.

“You don’t remember any of that?”

Slowly, you shook your head.

Something unreadable crossed his expression again.

“…Good,” he muttered eventually.

That single word hurt worse than hearing the details themselves.

You looked down at the notebook resting in your lap for a long moment before finally writing carefully across the page:

i made you stay there all night

Jax read the sentence once before immediately looking irritated again.

“Oh my god, we are NOT doing the guilt thing again.”

Despite the complaint, his chair still scraped softly across the trailer floor as he dragged it even closer beside the bed.

You watched him quietly for a moment.

Then reached for the notebook again.

Jax’s eyes dropped to the notebook and he sighed. “I already don’t trust that look.”

Your writing came slower now, exhaustion still weighing heavily through your limbs.

stay?

Jax stared at the page.

“…Stay where?”

You looked pointedly toward the empty side of the bed.

He pursed his lips.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

You raised an eyebrow weakly.

“You are literally contagious.”

You scribbled again.

coward

Jax let out an offended noise. “Excuse you? I spent like twelve straight hours making sure you didn’t die.”

Your eyes drifted toward him expectantly. He just stared back.

Then, he groaned dramatically into one hand before shoving himself up from the chair.

“This is emotional manipulation, by the way.”

The mattress dipped beneath his weight a second later as he climbed reluctantly onto the edge of the bed, still muttering complaints under his breath while awkwardly trying not to jostle you too much.

“There. Happy?” He settled stiffly on top of the blankets beside you. “This is already the worst decision I’ve made all week.”

You stared at him for a second before slowly lifting the corner of the blanket toward him.

Jax blinked.

“…Oh, come on.”

Your expression didn’t change.

He looked genuinely conflicted for half a second before sighing heavily and sliding underneath the blankets beside you anyway.

Warmth curled around you both beneath the cramped layers of blankets and tangled sheets. Jax still felt faintly cold from the rain outside, though exhaustion radiated heavily from him now that he’d finally stopped moving long enough to notice it.

For a few quiet seconds, neither of you spoke.

Then, carefully, you shifted slightly closer. Your head settled weakly against his shoulder.

Jax went strangely still.

Not rejection. Not quite freezing either.

More like his entire body suddenly forgot how to function properly.

“…You are unbelievably clingy after near-death experiences,” he muttered finally, voice noticeably quieter now.

A silent laugh shook weakly through your chest.

Jax glanced downward at the movement before something in his expression softened despite himself.

His arm adjusted hesitantly beside you.

Then, after a brief moment of visible internal conflict, it slid carefully around your shoulders.

You relaxed against him before you could stop yourself.

Outside, rain drifted softly against the trailer roof while pale daylight filtered dimly through the curtains. The steady warmth beside you combined dangerously with the exhaustion still dragging at your body, making your eyes start slipping shut again despite yourself.

“You better not be dying again,” Jax muttered.

You lifted one hand weakly from beneath the blankets and gave him a slow thumbs up.

“That is not medically reassuring.”

Despite the complaint, his hand traced shapes into your shoulder anyway.

By the time you were finally well enough to leave the trailer for longer than ten-minute intervals, the rain had stopped entirely.

Soft spring air drifted across the circus grounds while workers finished hauling the last equipment crates between caravans. In the distance, somebody was testing stage lights, flashes of gold and white flickering across canvas tents.

Your voice had mostly returned over the past two days.

Talking still hurt if you did it too long, your throat rough and scratchy around the edges now…but at least actual words came out instead of painful silence.

Jax, unfortunately, had started making fun of your voice the second it returned.

“You sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” he informed you cheerfully from where he lounged against the side of his trailer.

You shot him a glare over the sleeve of the hoodie you’d stolen from him three days ago.

“Your concern is touching.”

“I know. I’m practically a saint.”

Despite the usual sarcasm, something lighter had settled between you both now that the hospital panic was over. The exhaustion still lingered visibly around Jax’s face if you looked too closely, but he’d finally stopped hovering every time you coughed.

Most of the time, at least.

You stepped carefully down from the trailer stairs, adjusting the oversized hoodie sleeves around your hands while the cold breeze swept through the lot again.

“Don’t wander too far,” Jax called lazily from where he still lounged against the trailer wall. “If you pass out again, I’m charging you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going for a walk, not reenacting my medical emergency.”

“That sounds exactly like somethin’ somebody about to reenact a medical emergency would say.”

You left him muttering to himself anyway.

Spring had finally settled over the circus grounds sometime while you’d been busy almost dying.

The grass felt cool beneath your bare feet as you wandered between caravans, still damp in places from old rain but warmer now beneath the afternoon’s gentle sunlight. Wind stirred softly through blooming trees near the edge of the lot, carrying the faint smell of dirt and fresh-cut grass instead of storm air.

Somewhere farther off, Kinger appeared to be speaking very seriously to a folding chair.

You found Ragatha sitting beside an open costume trunk near the wardrobe trailer, carefully sorting thread spools into neat rows.

The second she noticed you, her expression brightened.

“Oh!” She sat up straighter. “Well, look at you. Up and walkin’ around and everything.”

Ragatha’s eyes narrowed toward your face.

“…Okay, maybe still a little pale.”

“Rude.”

“Lovingly rude,” she corrected, already reaching toward the paper cup resting beside her. “Here, have some tea. Before your throat starts yelling at you again.”

You blinked.

“…You just had tea ready?”

Ragatha hesitated like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“Well… yeah?” She tucked a loose curl behind one ear. “You scared everybody pretty bad.” She lowered her voice slightly. “...Jax especially.”

She quickly brightened again, nudging the cup toward you.

“Anyway! Drink that before it gets cold.”

You settled beside the costume trunk while she returned to sorting thread, occasionally pausing to untangle stubborn knots with quiet concentration.

For a little while, the two of you sat comfortably in the soft spring warmth. Wind stirred through nearby trees, carrying the smell of damp grass while voices drifted faintly from the main tent.

Ragatha clicked her tongue softly at a tangled spool in her lap. “Honestly, I swear thread knots itself up outta spite.”

You huffed a laugh into your tea.

Silence settled again after that, easy and familiar.

Your gaze wandered absently toward the row of caravans farther down the lot.

“…Oh.”

Ragatha glanced up.

“What?”

“I haven’t even checked if my trailer’s unpacked yet.”

Her hands stopped.

“…What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean,” you shifted awkwardly, “I kinda got hospitalized before I finished?”

Ragatha paused, clearly confused. She bit her lip.

“…Oh.”

A funny little expression crossed her face.

“Sweetheart, your trailer’s been unpacked since the first night.”

You stared at her.

“…What?”

“Gangle and I finished most of it after setup,” she explained, attention drifting briefly back toward the loose seam in her lap. “Jax brought your things over after the hospital.”

She paused, before carefully adding a question of her own, “…You didn’t know?”

Slowly, you shook your head.

Ragatha went quiet for a second.

Her mouth twitched upward softly.

“Oh, hon.” Her tone was amused, but not teasing. Fond.

“He could’ve moved you back days ago,” she said gently.

The silence afterward landed differently.

Ragatha watched realization settle over your expression before quickly pretending to become very interested in reorganizing thread.

“…Don’t be too mean to him,” she said after a moment, quieter now. “He’s had a real hard time actin’ like this whole thing didn’t scare him.”

A startled laugh escaped you.

“Oh, I’m absolutely teasing him.”

“That’s fair.”

You found Jax exactly where you’d left him, still leaning lazily against the side of the trailer with all the practiced indifference of somebody who absolutely had not spent the last week quietly spiraling.

His gaze lifted when he noticed you walking back. Whatever he found on your face seemed to put him on edge immediately, shoulders shifting faintly against the trailer wall before his expression settled somewhere between suspicion and annoyance.

“…Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

You crossed your arms loosely.

“So…”

The single word earned you a visible pause.

“…So?” he asked carefully.

“How long were you planning on keeping me?”

Jax went still.“…What?”

“My trailer,” you said mildly. “Apparently it’s been unpacked all week.”

Silence stretched long enough for realization to settle over him.

Then he sighed, raising a hand to rub his temple.

“…Ragatha talks too much.”

The deadpan delivery almost made you laugh. You stepped a little closer to Jax instead.

“‘Mine was closer,’ huh?”

He groaned softly.

“You cannot use my own lines against me. That feels illegal.”

“And the soup?”

“It was medicinal.”

“The hoodie?”

“You looked cold.”

“You carrying me to the emergency room?”

“That hardly counts.”

You tilted your head.

“…While wearing bunny pajama pants?”

His entire expression shifted into something resembling betrayal.

“Oh, okay. Cool. Awesome.” He pointed vaguely toward nowhere in particular. “Apparently everybody talks too much.”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

Something softened around the edges of Jax’s expression at the sound before he caught himself, jaw shifting faintly as though he was annoyed by his own reaction.

“…You gotta stop doin’ that.”

“Doing what?”

“That laugh thing.”

The answer came quieter than usual, like he hadn’t entirely meant to say it out loud.

The breeze moved softly between the caravans, carrying damp earth and cut grass through the lot while distant voices drifted somewhere near the tents. Jax looked away first, one boot nudging absently at gravel while he shoved a hand into the pocket of his hoodie.

“…You can stay, by the way,” he mumbled.

Your brows lifted.

“In your trailer?”

He shrugged one shoulder too quickly.

“I mean. If you want.”

The words sounded uncomfortable coming out of him, rough around the edges in a way sarcasm usually covered too well to notice.

“You don’t gotta make a whole thing outta it,” he muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the gravel. “Just figured it’d probably be easier.”

Something warm twisted quietly through your chest.

He still looked exhausted. He’d stopped sleeping properly sometime around the emergency room, and the dark circles under his eyes still hadn’t gone away.

Jax shifted beneath the silence.

“You are makin’ this unbelievably difficult for me.”

You blinked up at him.

“What?”

“This whole ordeal. Us.” He frowned at you. “Horrible experience. Zero stars.”

The laugh that escaped you this time came warmer.

His gaze lifted automatically toward the sound. Something uncertain lingered there beneath all the usual sarcasm. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but something was different. Unguarded.

You stepped closer before you could talk yourself out of it, the sleeve of his hoodie brushing lightly against your own.

Jax straightened a little.

“…What’re you doin’?”

You weren’t fully sure. Not until your fingers curled gently into the front of his hoodie.

Not until you leaned up.

The kiss landed soft, careful. Almost uncertain.

For a second, Jax didn’t seem to move at all, and you started to pull back.

His hand caught lightly at your sleeve before you could get very far.

“…Oh.”

The word left him quieter than usual. His gaze dropped toward your mouth and stayed there a second too long.

“You…”

He stopped.

“…Okay.”

The word sounded distracted. When he realized he wasn’t getting far talking, he kissed you again, this time without hesitation.

His hand found your waist before seeming to think better of it, hovering there awkwardly for all of half a heartbeat before settling anyway when you shifted closer on instinct.

That seemed to completely ruin whatever composure he’d been trying to hold onto.

“Oh, this is real unfair,” he groaned weakly against your mouth.

The complaint lost most of its bite when he dove back in, chasing your lips.

The cool spring breeze drifted through the narrow space between trailers while one hand tightened lightly at the fabric of your sleeve, the other resting firmer at your waist now.

You gasped against his lips when he nearly backed himself into the trailer wall trying to pull you closer, to kiss you deeper.

That stopped him entirely.

He stared at you for a second, expression gone strangely helpless.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “No, I’m never recoverin’ from that.”

Then he kissed you again.

Hard enough this time to knock the breath from whatever teasing remark had nearly left your mouth.

Your fingers grasped against the front of his hoodie, balling into fists while his own hand shifted lower against your back, pulling you closer without seeming to realize he was doing it. When you made the smallest startled sound against his mouth, something in him seemed to snap.

“…Yeah, okay,” he murmured, sounding vaguely overwhelmed by the entire situation.

One hand settled more firmly at your back as he started guiding you backward toward the trailer without really pulling away.

“C’mon,” he muttered against your lips, words quieter now, rough around the edges. “Before Ragatha sees this and starts cryin’ or somethin’.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! sorry if that last scene sounded a little wonky/rushed (as of 5/18), i wanted to crank this fic out tonight....will re-read later this week and nitpick it then as always, i would love to know your thoughts and any requests/prompts you would like to see, so don't be shy and leave a letter in my inbox!