TAKE A LEAP!

foxtrot didn’t know what to do.

perhaps this was why he eventually allowed estella (invited her) to see his memories again when words failed him, desperate she’d tell him how to fix things. secrets don’t survive in relationships, she’d said. people don’t want apologies, they want reasons. i hope wren will be giving you some soon enough.

when? foxtrot had thought, over and over. time kept passing and they kept avoiding him, and he fought the growing fear they’d never speak to him again.

he distracted himself to keep from sinking into his thoughts. he did whatever stagehand tasks people asked of him, without a single complaint and without speaking much at all unless necessary. he performed coin tricks alone until his hands ached. each time he overheard a whisper about him or himself and wren, he ducked his head and quickly slipped away.

when he had a chance to venture into town, he gathered gifts like a magpie seeking glittery items. keychains. earrings shaped like suns. shiny stones. he hid them around the circus where he hoped wren would find them: wordless reminders that he still cared, he hadn’t vanished, hadn’t gotten on another train and disappeared. reminders he was still… there.

even though he felt invisible.

when wren found foxtrot in the dream palace at last, their voice startled him. he spun to face them, heart skipping a beat and surprise vivid in his eyes — both at their sudden appearance and at the realization they’d spoken to him. they’d searched for him. then they spoke again, invited him to talk. it took a second for him to regain his wits and summon a response.

“yeah,” he replied, as though he hadn’t been waiting for them to approach him for days. his voice came out quiet and hoarse from underuse. he cleared his throat. “sure. just, um… lead the way.” he would still follow them anywhere, despite everything.

wren led foxtrot out of the tent, their knees weak.   they tried not to focus on the eyes of the other circus members as they went, or the sharp pang that went through them the moment they laid eyes on fox.   they’d given themself time, but they still seemed to be caught in-between their emotions, each stronger than the last---between fear, and love, and hate for something he hadn’t yet committed.

with all of this inside them, it was rather difficult to make small talk.

though the circus had moved even further up north, the temperature remained just about the same, the sky gray with clouds.   wren turned to look at fox, feeling like they might crawl out of their skin.  “um,” they said, their voice soft, their fingers fidgetting.  “i’m-- sorry for taking so long to reach out.   i worried i might do something bad.”

a terrible explanation.   they pushed past the lump in their throat, past the lies they’ve already said thus far, and their eyes flickered to the scattered tents around them.   “when i brought you here, um-- none of the mirrors had actually been broken,” they admitted.   whether or not foxtrot had suspected it already, they didn’t know---clever as he was, he had probably given them the benefit of the doubt.   "it was something i made up with gilmore ‘cause i knew i'd fuck up even more if we stayed at the hotel, and i know that’s bullshit to hear, but-- but i have a track record of doing that when i feel that way, and---”

their stomach twisted, and their chest ached.   “and you can be honest with me,”   they say, their gaze meeting his at last.   their arms were crossed over their chest---protectively, defensively, as though the words themselves could hurt them.   "do you think i’m mad?   after this, after everything---i lied and avoided you for days.   i saw how you looked at me that night.”   hesitant,  dumbstruck,  afraid.   the full force of their rage and desperation revealed, to receive the appropriate response and consequences.

“is it not socially acceptable to flirt with the sister of your best friend’s boyfriend?   genuine question.”

wren wouldn’t describe themself as a coward.

selfish, however, would fit them like a golden-striped glove.

they’d evaded foxtrot for days.   hidden behind and in-between mirrors, their reflection veiled in the blind corners they’d invented through trial and error and need;  disappearing in the shadow-clad circus paths foxtrot had yet to memorize;  spending long hours hopping between tents, breaking a game or entering a sword fight with a zanni, the harmless metal providing only a breadth of release. 

finding little things from him.   gifts, unsaid messages from his nimble fingers.   stitching their story together until they were sound enough to tell it.

they knew foxtrot was helping in the upcoming play.   as much as they avoided him, the tight-knit circus was no place for secrets, and within a day everyone knew about the new stagehand.   (wren’s boyfriend, but they aren’t seeing each other a lot, have you noticed?---do you think...?---i’m surprised wren has lasted this long.)   they entered the dream palace like slipping into a memory, and they inhaled deeply before finding fox in the grand, impossible auditorium.

“no way, i dun wanna do this thing again.”

relief washed over him when gilmore didn’t question him. a heavy fog had settled over foxtrot’s memory, but as he followed gilmore through the circus, he tried his best to remember important details.

paying attention wasn’t too difficult. gilmore spoke with as much captivating vibrancy as his demeanor. they journeyed along the paths open to guests and then along the concealed routes taken by those who worked there. even if gilmore paused long enough to let foxtrot speak, the boy remained silent — wonder had bloomed in him again and stolen his voice. he began to understand that he’d only caught a glimpse of the hidden side of the circus during the times wren had shown him around. this was different. this was another layer of secrets — and a sense of deeper layers that remained unseen and unspoken.

foxtrot also concluded that gilmore rather enjoyed the more peculiar aspects of the circus, even if they could disorient anyone caught unawares.

and then they dove into a tent that instantly took his breath away. a garden with flora that, upon closer inspection, appeared plucked straight from dreams. verdant plants, vivid blooms, all crafted in dough and sugar. foxtrot turned in a circle, admiring them. awe leapt in him again when a butterfly flitted past.

it all left him rather spellbound. gilmore broke this effect in a heartbeat with his request. foxtrot blinked at him, assuming a jest or a trick. it made more sense as the ringleader explained. necessary to keep him in one piece. a choice between an insect and a flower.

you’re free to pick.

foxtrot faltered, and distrust flickered in his eyes before he could hide it. evidently, he still had enough energy to overthink, because to him, this sounded suspiciously like a test. gilmore’s original request specified an insect. picking a flower might not mean failure, but it might risk… something.

or maybe gilmore just wanted him to eat a bug for a laugh. foxtrot’s thoughts muddled.

the crease in his brow betrayed a mental wrestling match between his options. after a few seconds — and a longing glance at the baked sunflowers — a weary sigh escaped him. “right,” he said, with a sort of grim determination. “best to be safe, i suppose.”

it only took a bit of bug-hunting before foxtrot found a ladybug perched on a leaf. swiftly yet gently, he closed his hands around it and slid it onto his palm. sugar powdered the ground like light snowfall. his hands hadn’t trembled enough to scare away the bug; which, foxtrot decided, proved he was awake enough to handle any chores gilmore gave him.

his palm tickled. the bug wasn’t alive, he reminded himself. it was just… moving. mimicking life. he had eaten moving gummy bears before, gifted to him by wren, so he could handle this. tightness coiled in his chest. he’d never realized how easily his thoughts slid to wren until the mere thought of them ached. he forced himself to refocus on the task at hand.

steeling himself and stifling the sudden fear that the bug was, in fact, real, he pinched it lightly between his fingers, and — without dwelling on it — popped it into his mouth. and… hummed softly, pleasantly surprised. sweetness melted on his tongue.

“wasn’t as bad as i thought it’d be,” he confessed upon returning to gilmore. it hadn’t been a real bug, to his immense relief. he might switch to flowers if he had to eat something from the garden daily, though. a possibility struck him, and curiosity overwhelmed his exhaustion enough to brighten his gaze. “did lou’s dad help with any of this? it just, um… reminds me of his bakery, a bit.” both the beautiful creations and the scent filling the tent. he also dimly remembered learning lou’s father used to work in the circus.

though it had not been gilmore’s intention to startle or confuse the boy, he certainly didn’t appear alarmed by it.   in truth, gilmore had faced this exact reaction several times---from previous short-term employees who usually only needed a roof over their head for a couple of days, unbothered by the texture or material of the roof itself---and everytime, their bafflement and hesitation brought joy to his face.   they could take the job or leave it.   to gilmore, the simple concerns of humanity were extraordinarily amusing.

such as pondering whether a bug would crunch or melt between their teeth.

“take your time,” he cackled, plucking another piece of the lavender to eat.   the tent was small, so gilmore couldn’t lose sight of foxtrot as he weaved through the plants.   finally, the boy returned, his eyes somewhat lighter than before.   the consumption of the bug elicited only what any other delicacy would; pleasant surprise, easiness, sparkling contemnent.   however, gilmore could feel the subtle shift in the circus’ structure, in the invisible threads that held its magic together.   like a needle, weaving another stitch into a tapestry.

at foxtrot’s question, his gaze lit up. 

“mr hémery, yes!”  he agreed, his smile as bright as the circus lanterns.  “he used to travel with us some time ago.  this was his final contribution to the circus, as a parting gift and something of a love letter.   brilliant mind, that man, very brilliant---i haven’t seen anyone breathe life into sugar so convincingly.”   gilmore reached to break off a piece of sunflower and offer it to foxtrot.   its petals were still warm.   “here, have some more.   we have a bit of a walk ahead of us and i need your senses sharp.”

gilmore led him through twisting pathways and laughing vendors and shadow-veiled entrances.   it was not that long of a distance, but when everything twisted and bended into itself, even a single turn was a gateway to adventure.   in the meantime, gilmore went on, his voice now bouncing with unveiled excitement.

"your most important task during the day shall be to assist our performers in rehearsing for our returning play, ida,”  he said, pausing for a moment to watch a small, enclosed carriage drive through.   several zanni hands waved at them over a crowd of masked heads.   gilmore waved back, unphazed.  “it’s a story about a pair of desperate friends who attempt to steal a couple of stars from the queen of night, aspiring to wish for a better life for themselves.   there’s laughter, backstabbing, acrobatics---a masterpiece, a wonderful show!

i’d hope you would stay with us long enough to watch it in all its glory,” gilmore said, leading foxtrot towards a tent perched next to a lantern-clad tree,  “but our journey to the netherlands shall not last longer than a month.   at the very least, we could use your help with the preparations.”

inside, the tent was akin to a palace.   its walls stretched further and higher than they feasibly could, thick marble columns reaching high into the glittering ceiling.   a chandelier hang over a scattered crowd, chatting and laughing as they made their way through the maze of illusions.   a teenager leapt into the wall, his group screaming in delight as the marble enveloped him.

gilmore led foxtrot further within, approaching the woman in the blue gown.

“our dear illusionist,” he said, his eyes glittering.   estella appeared as catatonic and serene as always, but she nodded, her eyes lingering on foxtrot a moment longer than they ought to.

“a pleasure to see you again,”  she murmured, her dress swaying across the floor as she turned to face them.   “a spectator?”

“a stagehand,”  replied gilmore, flashing foxtrot a smile.  “i was telling him he was to assist in the preperation of ida, and wished to show him the auditorium for a spell.”  he was already moving behind estella, searching for an opening into the wall with his hands.

foxtrot nodded in confirmation of his name, though gilmore’s next words left him a little baffled. how long did they expect him to travel with the circus? foxtrot realized he had few qualms about staying as long as they permitted him to stay. it felt like part of him had gone missing — the practical part that would have considered what his siblings might think or how the theater owners might respond if he didn’t return on time. foxtrot simply couldn’t bring himself to care.

his focus kept drifting into the past like a ship with a broken anchor, and as he listened to the duo, his thoughts floated backward again. this was the sort of aimless adult chatter, spoken with little regard for anyone listening in, that had once filled his father’s mansion during parties. several times, the boy had hidden beneath tables laden with treats to escape social expectations. he had sometimes dozed off there, listening to the thrum of words and laughter.

he imagined he might doze off now if he listened long enough — he already struggled to keep his eyes open — but the questions that surfaced in his mind kept him awake. who was ida? more importantly, who was gilmore’s companion? medico. a medic. he couldn’t help feeling studied a little too closely by him, like he saw through the cracks in his act.

self-conscious, foxtrot avoided his gaze and tugged at his sleeve. the chill of the early hour sent a shiver through him, but a warm flush had crept across his face as well, as it often did when others discussed his relationship with wren. guilt twisted in his chest this time, though. what would they say if they knew what happened last night? how would they treat him then?

gilmore addressed him again, jolting him back to the present. the ringleader radiated theatrics and energy despite the time — late, to those who lived in a circus that awoke at the magic hour. foxtrot nodded and stepped backward, ready to follow gilmore and begin working. then— might be best getting him to bed. he cast a startled glance at gilmore’s companion, then back at gilmore. a place for him to rest. foxtrot was half-desperate to collapse anywhere, but he ignored this. he wanted to claim that he wasn’t tired, but that would be a lie — an unconvincing one, at that — and he faintly remembered wren warning him long ago that gilmore despised being lied to.

“that… sounds nice,” he admitted, “and i appreciate the offer, but… sleep’s a bit tricky for me at the moment. i’d rather do something more useful than lying awake.” he needed a distraction, anything to keep his mind occupied. besides, wren had told him that assisting as a stagehand was a condition for him accompanying them. foxtrot knew exhaustion might force him to sleep eventually. just… not yet.

“wren hasn’t gotten much sleep either, though.” this part slipped out. even if he didn’t sleep, he wanted wren to have a chance. an inhale, trying to keep his voice steady. “i know they’ve got a broken mirror to fix, but they— they ought to get some rest as well.”

anyone working in the circus could attest to the fact that gilmore rarely saw limits, both to works of art and to human capabilities.   rather, he pushed the former, and entirely neglected the latter, oftentimes simply forgetting such a thing existed.   it was evident now, as foxtrot refused a chance to rest and opted to work instead, a decision which quickly convinced gilmore.   the only flaw he found was that sleep, apparently, evaded the boy.   gilmore had always believed that sleep was one of humanity’s greatest pleasures, alongside food and dance, and any chance to indulge should be appreciated.   

still, he believed foxtrot was aware of his own capabilities, and only nodded, knowing it’d be only few hours until sunrise anyway.   at the mention of wren, gilmore cackled, shaking his head.  “they’ll drop when they need to.   i don’t expect our troubles to be resolved tonight, and i am not responsible for my staff’s sleeping habits.   come, now, let us find something useful for you to do.”

with that, he bid his companion farewell, emphasizing that he’d like to find his drink as it is upon his return.   as the ringleader led foxtrot back into the golden side of the circus, weaving through the tents and stands without running into a single patron, he unravelled foxtrot’s responsibilities as a circus stagehand.

“there are about two hours left before sunrise, so there is little to do other than get you accustomed to your temporary space,”  he said, his voice bright but imposing, companding attention---his days as an active ringleader and a performer showing through even now.   he led foxtrot through the main paths of the circus, explaining the composition and the fact that everything, essentially, connected in interwoven circles that evaded the eye if they beholder was unprepared or unaware of them.   “most of the magic fades by day, the roads brighten, and the circus is much easier to navigate,”  gilmore added, with some disdain.

he continued to explain a regular stagehand’s duties and the well-hidden passageways used to empty bins or restock stands.   in the night’s shadows and a step behind the outstanding decorations, they were indeed almost entirely unnoticed, unless outright pointed out.   “you, specifically, shall be given another sort of task, given your previous work environment.   but these will be amongst your duties.”

then, gilmore led him into a tent, giving him no warning of what to expect other than a boisterous “follow me!” before diving between the sheets.   the tent smelled strongly of dough and sweet things.   all around, a bright-colored garden filled what little space it was given, and should one look closer, they’d realize that every leaf, petal and stem was an edible piece of art composed and decorated with expert showmanship.   a butterfly fluttered over a patch of blue carnation, its wings transluscent.

gilmore went straight to the lillies, plucking an obligatory piece. 

“my first request for you,” he said, breaking off a petal,  “is to find an insect here and eat it.”   his voice was alight with amusement as he popped the petal into his mouth, the melting sugar eliciting a joyous hum.   he continued,  his gaze alight.   “i promise, it isn’t as strange as it sounds.   you see, it’s of great importance that you eat something from the circus should we wish to keep you in one piece.   our magic is powerful, but accidents happen even to the best of machines.   instead of producing an entire, long-winded contract for such a short-term employment, i’d much rather you ate a piece of this place every day you’re travelling with us, as a safety net.”