you know what? not even god can stop me

The minutes fall away like dominoes, each one ticking into the next. The sun dips lower, casting dark shadows over the alley that separates his apartment building from the one next door. A flicker catches the corner of his eye and turns to look, gazing into the window directly across from his bedroom. As he sits quietly, patiently drumming his fingers on the soft cushioning of the chair, a figure enters the room.

Wonwoo has loved you from the moment he first saw you. It’s been a little over six months since you moved in across the way. In all that time, he hasn’t learned what you do or where you’re from or even what your full name is. But it’s fine. None of that matters. 

He’s sure you were made for him.

You walk around your bedroom, following the same well-worn path that you do every evening. Disappearing into your bathroom and emerging a few minutes later in a silky bathrobe. Sitting at the vanity to attend to your skincare routine, gently massaging your beautiful skin with rich creams and moisturizers. Wonwoo appreciates the way you care for yourself. He likes that you have your nightly rituals. He has his own, too.

He reaches for his camera.

It’s late summer, the time of year when there’s no relief to be found at night, the air just as warm and suffocating as it is during the day. Sweat prickles on Wonwoo’s forehead, but he ignores it. He’s glad your landlord is as cheap as his. Air conditioning units would only make this difficult for him. He’d figure it out, of course, but it wouldn’t be as easy as it is now. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s a sign from the universe, how easy this is. Proof that the two of you are meant to be.

He brings his camera to his eye, playing with the focus, until the pretty face reflected in the vanity mirror is perfectly clear. Click-click-click goes the shutter, the only sound that can be heard in Wonwoo’s bedroom, other than his heavy breathing. 

His room is pitch black around him. Wonwoo’s always been comfortable with darkness. It hides all manner of sins. It hides him from your view on nights like this, even when you walk over to your window to lift the sash. A light breeze ruffles the bottom of your bathrobe, exposing more of your thighs to Wonwoo’s hungry eyes. His finger strokes the shutter button again. 

You undo the belt of your bathrobe, letting it fall open, and Wonwoo captures the reveal of the sheer babydoll chemise beneath. It skims the tops of your thighs, not quite covering the matching pair of panties you wear with it. Wonwoo’s gaze roams over your body, admiring the way the clingy material highlights your skin. He loves when you dress up for him. You never bring anyone home. Who else are you wearing these things for, if not him?

Of course, you’ve never acknowledged his presence. That’s part of your game, isn’t it? To display yourself for him but never look at or talk to him. Put on a show but never react to him taking your photo or touching himself. 

He’s very good at playing your game. After all, he wants to win. 

You’re a worthy prize.

You recline on your bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, and start scrolling on your phone. As he watches, shutter clicking, your free hand slides down your torso. Your fingers curl, pressing into your covered pussy, rubbing in slow circles. Oh. Wonwoo swallows thickly. 

It’s one of those nights. 

Silently, he puts his camera down again. Locates the button that switches from photo to video. And clicks it. 

The red light flickers on. 

Wonwoo quickly brings the camera back to his eye, practically cracking his glasses in the process. He fixes the focus, aiming the lens at the hand between your legs. As you start to caress harder, your legs part slightly, giving him a clearer view of your panties. The tiniest swirls of lace are visible to his eye, as is a growing wet spot. He silently thanks the universe that he splurged on an expensive camera model. 

Your nightgown is rumpled up around your waist as you press your hand more firmly against your cunt. It isn’t enough, judging by how you dip your fingers beneath your panties to glide over your slit.

“Come on, baby.” Wonwoo wasn’t planning on adding narration to this recording, but the words slip out anyway, in a low, urgent tone. “Slide them in.” He zooms in again, on the wetness gleaming on your fingertips. 

He’s disappointed when you pull your hand away, but that feeling is short-lived when he sees what you’ve reached for - the bright red toy that you keep under your pillow. It’s long and thick and Wonwoo feels his cock jump at the thought of it spreading you open. 

He could use it to help stretch you for him. 

Swiftly, rather desperately, you shimmy your panties down your legs, and Wonwoo’s mouth floods with saliva, nearly choking him as he stares entranced at your bare pussy. He wants to put his lips on it, kiss it until you’re squirming, pleading for him to slide his tongue inside. You’d make such a beautiful mess of his face. 

His earlier impatience is forgotten now as you work yourself up, dipping the tip of the vibrator in and out of your soaking folds, the quickening rise and fall of your chest letting Wonwoo know how much you’re enjoying teasing yourself. By the time the toy disappears into your cunt, Wonwoo’s just as breathless himself, and hard as a rock. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he murmurs, adjusting his lens again to capture the deft movement of your hand. “Fuck yourself for me.” For him, just him, and no one else. 

As if obeying his very command, your hand moves faster, and your mouth drops open in a pleasured gasp. Wonwoo groans. If only he could record the sounds you’re making, too. But you’re not loud enough for his camera to pick them up from here. 

He clucks his tongue. There’s no way he’ll accept such weak noises when he’s the one fucking you. He’ll coax loud cries from you any way he can. 

Your body undulates like a wave, hips canting as you plunge the toy deeper, and something inside Wonwoo snaps. There’s too much distance between you right now. With an aggravated huff, he slips off the chair, kneeling in front of his window. He lets his camera rest on the window sill as he lines up his shot. It’s better. But it’s not enough.

He needs to be closer.

As quietly as he can, he clambers out onto the fire escape. 

He’s taking a risk by being out here. There are no lights in the alley, but the glow of the moon is bright. That doesn’t stop him. He moves silently, crouching against the chipped metal railing, camera peeking through the slots, closing the distance between you as much as he can. 

For now, anyway.

His grip on the camera turns to iron. He’d rather fall off this fire escape than drop it. He glances around the alley, double checking that there’s no one else around. Once he’s reassured that it’s just you, him, and the moonlight, he refocuses - first his mind, then the lens. 

His breathing quickens as the toy slides into your folds again and again. He’s never envied an inanimate object more. He licks his lips, imagining the taste of you on his tongue. You’re not sweet, he’s sure of that. There’s nothing sweet about you, the way you tease him, leaving your curtains open like this. Inviting him to watch. 

Tempting him to do more.

His cock strains against the fly of his jeans, and he drops a hand to his crotch to squeeze himself, biting back a moan. Desire overwhelms him, but he can’t risk jerking off out here. The absolute last thing in the fucking world that he needs right now is to get caught. That would fuck up his plans. That would destroy him.  

Your other hand plays with your breasts, pushing your babydoll up until one is exposed, thumb rolling over and around the nipple. Wonwoo pictures himself there, lying beside you, head bent to take your other nipple in his mouth. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back and allow you to finish yourself off. His fingers twitch at the thought of taking the toy from you and fucking you with it, through orgasm after orgasm, until you’re both drenched in sweat and exhausted.

He shoves the fantasy aside for later and retrains his steady gaze on your motions. He grips himself again when you start to pump the toy in and out faster. Your hips rise to meet each thrust, and Wonwoo might ruin his boxers at the sight. Fuck, he can see through the zoom how soaked the insides of your thighs are. He palms his erection slowly, trying to give himself just the slightest bit of pleasure, not enough to tip it over, only enough to feel good, and that’s when you start to come. 

As he gawks open-mouthed into the lens, your pretty pussy swallows the tip of the toy one last time. Then your hand suddenly lets go, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead. You shudder and writhe, and Wonwoo nearly drops his camera as he loses control too, the wet warmth of his cum spreading in his pants. 

Doubled over on the fire escape and breathing hard, it takes him a moment to regain his composure. Once he’s recovered, he stops the recording, and lifts the camera to his eye again to take another look. You haven’t moved from your bed, but you did remove the toy, and now have one hand tracing lazy circles around your clit. He wonders if you’re going to go again. Some nights you seem insatiable, seeking your high with a fervor that gives him chills to recall.

He’ll make sure you get your fill, when it’s time. 

For now, he’ll keep on watching. 

He’s always been a patient man. 

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“Can you not say it like that?” you reply, shivering. The room is getting chillier by the minute. The old radiator in the corner is doing its best to try to keep up with the cold temperature outside, but its best is terrible. 

If only you’d packed better for winter weather. At least your silky pajama set isn’t too revealing. Not that Wonwoo can see you right now, with his glasses on the nightstand by his side of the bed. That’s bed, singular, as in only one. The reservation your company booked had been for two rooms, but one computer error and no other vacancies later, here you are, stuck sharing the same bed with the most frustrating man alive. 

Why are work trips always so cursed?

“Say it like what?” 

“Like you’re inviting me to something that we both want to be happening.” 

Wonwoo’s face is deadpan as he stares at you. “Okay. How about - get your stubborn ass under the blankets already so I can finally get some sleep - is that better??” 

Not better, exactly, but considerably more normal. The two of you have been at each other’s throats since the day you were hired, locked in a neverending battle for dominance. You argue constantly, one of you always challenging the other. You’re not sure anymore who started it, but you do know one thing for certain - you will not lose to him. 

“Fine. Just remember the agreement.” 

“I’m not gonna leave my side.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes as you slip beneath the blankets. The bed is queen-sized, with space enough between you that you’re not touching at all. You lie on your side and face the wall, completely ignoring him - or trying to, at least. Until you move your foot and accidentally brush his calf.

“Ow!” He lifts the blankets to look at his leg. “I think you cut me with your toenails.” 

“Shut up, no I didn’t.” You barely touched him. 

“Keep your little talons to yourself.” 

“Maybe you should sleep in something other than your boxers,” you suggest, then add quietly, “...if you’re gonna be such a little bitch about it.”  

“I told you, this is what I always sleep in. I run hot. Also? I was not expecting any company tonight.” 

“It’s not my fault the reservation system glitched or whatever,” you point out defensively. “I don’t want to be here.” 

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. Now, will you please just relax?” 

“Shuttup,” you mumble under your breath, kneading your pillow, pushing the lumps around. “I’m relaxed. Go to sleep.” 

“You can’t order me around,” comes a mumbled response you’re nevertheless meant to hear. He never lets you have the last word. Never. 

At least you’re not cold anymore, since bickering with Wonwoo always fires up your blood. The way he gets under your skin should honestly be studied and applied as a torture technique. You close your eyes, hoping that when you open them again, it will be morning and this nightmare will have ended. 

And maybe that would’ve happened if the universe wasn’t such a hater.

In the middle of the night, you wake to find yourself lying chest-to-chest with Wonwoo - intertwined, with his hand splayed across your hip and your leg lying over his. Your surprise fades into resigned acceptance. Sure, this might as well be happening. 

At least it can be somewhat easily explained away - in your sleep, your body was obviously drawn to his heat. It’s his warmth you were attracted to, not his surprisingly impressive physique. Did he always have such big biceps?. How does he hide those under his button-ups? Or move without popping a seam? 

The position you’ve ended up in feels weirdly intimate, as if the two of you are embracing. If Wonwoo wakes up while you’re wrapped around each other like this, he will undoubtedly start some shit, and you’re too tired to deal with that. Slowly, you roll your hips, trying to slide your leg off of him.

Wonwoo groans in his sleep. His hand clutches at you, holding you close, stopping your shifting. You wait a few minutes until he settles again before trying to push yourself away. But this requires more effort, and you jostle him awake. His eyes meet yours, then drop down to where you’re tangled together. 

He’s beyond smug. “I knew you’d end up over here.” 

“What?!” you exclaim. “You’re on my side!” 

He scoffs, then grabs his glasses, looking around. “Whatever. Notice how you were the one wrapped around me? This wasn’t just my doing.” He frowns. “Besides, this is probably just, you know…” 

“...body heat?”

Something flickers in his eyes at your suggestion. “…sure.”

You lie there in silence for a moment, staring at each other. His hair is messy and his cheeks are smushed from his pillow. You must be delirious from lack of sleep, because you catch yourself thinking, he’s kinda cute when he’s not being an ass.

A chill distracts you. The radiator hasn’t given up the fight, but the war is over. Damn it. You never sleep well when you’re cold. 

Time to choke on your pride.

“Will you stay here?” 

“Like this?!” 

“No, I mean like - “ You turn over, so your back is facing him again, then kind of scoot backwards until you’re closer but not quite touching. “Like this. You know, for -“

“- body heat,” he finishes for you. “Yeah, sure, that’s fine.” 

“Great.” That was puzzlingly easy. “It’s too cold - ”

“But only if you say please.”

“What?” 

You glance over your shoulder to find him smirking at you once more. It’s teasing now, rather than smug, and despite yourself, you kind of like it. This is why he’s so frustrating - he stirs up so many confusing emotions in you. 

Wonwoo repeats himself slowly. “Say. Please.”

“You’re. Not. My. Boss,” you reply mockingly.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again. You want me to be nice, you need to be nice, too.” 

“Who’s not being nice?” You pout, honestly unsure if you’re flirting or fighting at this point. Maybe it’s the same thing for the two of you. 

“Do you want me to stay or not?” 

“Oh, shut up and help me get back to sleep. The faster I sleep, the faster you do, too.” 

“That is…” He falls silent, recognizing that you have a point. 

Without another word, Wonwoo lays down, pulling you towards him. His bare chest warms you through your top while his fingertips on your arms draw goosebumps. Hot and cold, a mixture of sensations, a mess of emotions. This is going to change things, isn’t it?

His hand traces over your lower stomach, lighter than air, and your breath hitches. In the darkness of the room, it’s easy to avoid thinking about any potential ramifications, and focus instead on the tingling pleasure blooming everywhere he touches you. 

“Is this what you meant?” he asks, and you gasp as his fingers push lightly on your lower stomach. An urgent need is growing inside you. “You said you need help.” His lips ghost over the back of your neck. “Do you want me to touch you?”

You do, but you don’t know how to tell him that without losing the game. You whimper his name, and push his hand between your thighs without another word. 

He kisses the side of your throat. “That’s what I thought.”

You open your mouth intending to give him an earful of what you think. But his fingers press against you through your clothes, and you can’t speak for all the moaning you’re doing. With a low chuckle, he pulls your leg back over his, spreading you open for him. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pajamas. 

This is really happening. You take a deep breath, and as you exhale, you let yourself melt against him.

“That’s it, just relax.” 

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“Slow down, will you? I don’t understand why we’re running.” He draws his long black coat closer around himself, trying to ward off the night’s chill. It’s not even late autumn yet, but he can already sense winter starting to creep in. It depresses him. He’s always hated the long, dark nights that come with the change of season. 

Chan huffs in protest. “I’m not running, hyung, I’m just trying to get to our seats before the show starts.” 

Wonwoo hears screaming and jolts nervously, out of Chan’s line of sight, thankfully. He swivels in search of the sound, to find it’s coming from an audience gathered around one of the booths, where a contortionist is twisting himself into a knot. His lithe limbs bend further at unnatural angles, and the crowd cries out again in horrified astonishment. 

He frowns, turning away from the freakish display. “Is it really that big a deal if we miss a little?” 

“Yes, it is! I don’t want to miss a minute - Minghao said the show is amazing, and you know it takes a lot to impress him.” 

Wonwoo wouldn’t call his friend Minghao a harsh critic, necessarily - he’s usually very measured in his reaction to things, weighing his words carefully. Yet he’s had nothing but good things to say about the circus since he visited on opening night, nearly effusive with praise every time he brings it up – which he has nonstop. It’s incredible, hyung. You haveto experience it for yourself. It’ll change your life.

Wonwoo isn’t too sure about that last part, but he has to admit he is curious, which is the only reason he’d agreed to come here with Chan tonight. Minghao isn’t the type to use hyperbole so casually. Besides, he’s not the only one who has been raving about the circus lately. It’s all anyone has wanted to discuss - his friends, his coworkers, even the little old lady who runs the laundromat he frequents wouldn’t stop bending his ear about it the other day as he waited for his clothes to dry. It’s as if the entire sleepy little town that he calls home has fallen under some sort of spell - everyone’s just so enchanted by the Midnight Menagerie.

Without another word, Chan takes off again, this time at double his pace. Normally, Chan struggles to keep up with Wonwoo and his long gait, but right now the younger man is giving him a good workout instead. He follows Chan towards the opening of the big tent at the end of the path, where a man in top hat wearing a pinstriped black and red vest stands on a small platform, greeting guests as they enter. 

“Step right up, step right up!” the barker shouts, gesturing to the crowd. “Come one, come all! Come witness the menagerie!” As Wonwoo’s steps bring him closer to the platform, the man turns to look at him. His hat tilts down at such an angle that Wonwoo can’t see his eyes beneath the shadow it casts, but his teeth gleam sharply in the dancing lights when he smiles. “Such extraordinary delights await you.” 

Laying it on a bit thick, Wonwoo thinks. But as he ducks beneath the open flap of the tent, the crown of his head just barely brushing the canvas, he feels a crackle of electricity in the air. The crowd hums with excitement, and despite himself, his curiosity grows. 

The circus tent is surprisingly big on the inside. The ring in the center is a perfect circle, with five sets of stands placed around the perimeter at equidistant intervals. Most of the rows in the stands are already filled. Chan consults his ticket and then points to a pair of seats in the center of the front row.

“Wow, best seats in the house!” 

Wonwoo hums, craning his neck to peer at the rigging connecting the poles that buttress the tent. Harnesses hang suspended above his head, swinging slightly as they wait for the trapeze artists. He wonders what possesses someone to take up the skill, having never had the urge to fly himself. He prefers to keep his feet planted firmly on solid ground.

Once in their seats, Chan leans forward eagerly, drumming his hands on the partition at the front of the stands that separates the audience from the ring. Wonwoo checks out the rows behind them, nodding at a few familiar faces here and there. It looks like half the town is here tonight. He spots a few coworkers and waves.

He resists the urge to check his watch. He worked a long shift today, and he’ll be working another one tomorrow, and he could really use a good night’s sleep in between. Wonwoo doesn’t like his job at the factory, but his father got him the job, so he feels a sense of obligation to keep it, even though his old man is gone now, having worked himself right into an early grave. Wonwoo’s hoping not to follow in his exact footsteps.

Impatience growing, he leans towards Chan. “How long until…” 

The lights in the tent go out. The crowd around him gasps, and he falls silent as a spotlight suddenly explodes into brightness. In the center of the ring stands a man wearing a top hat to match the barker’s, dressed in a full jacket with tails, the silky material shimmering crimson like blood. His gloved hands rest on a golden cane in front of him. Wonwoo’s sitting close enough to see that the head of the cane is some sort of animal head, but he can’t quite make out what exactly it is. Something with horns, it looks like.

The ringmaster lifts his face and takes a deep breath. 

“Good evening and welcome, one and all, to the Midnight Menagerie!” His smile grows as the audience applauds, then he holds up one hand. “Please, save your applause for the performers. They have worked so hard to bring you the most amazing, most stupendous, most unbelievable show!”

As his voice booms through the tent, the ringmaster strolls around the ring, pausing every few feet to punctuate his words with a dramatic flourish of his cane. 

“Oh, what incredible sights we have for you tonight! We have acrobats! We have trapeze artists! We have clowns and contortionists, magicians and mystics, all ready to enthrall! You’ll laugh, you’ll gasp, you’ll cry and shout!”

When he’s only a few feet away from where Wonwoo is sitting, the ringmaster stops. Wonwoo knows that the space is too dark for him to be visible to the other man, especially with the spotlight in his eyes, but he swears that he looks directly at him as he speaks. 

“Once you experience the wonders of the menagerie, you’ll never be the same.” 

As he speaks the last word, Wonwoo hears a strange ringing, like a bell has been struck somewhere in the distance. He stares at the ringmaster, and the edges of his vision begin to

narrow, until he sees nothing but the man in the top hat. His smile seems… distorted, somehow. It makes Wonwoo’s skin crawl, and he watches in horror as it stretches and stretches and stretches - 

“Here we go,” Chan mutters giddily. His knee bounces against Wonwoo’s, and Wonwoo finally blinks. The strange vision passes. All the overtime he’s been working is clearly starting to wear on him if he’s dreaming in the daytime now. He takes his glasses off and rubs at the tender bridge of his nose. 

The ringmaster moves on, finishing his path around the ring. “Yes, the Midnight Menagerie has all of this and more, here waiting for you! All we ask of you tonight is one simple thing - don’t hold back. Give yourselves over to the marvels you see. Give in to the magic of the moment! And now, with no further ado - the show begins!” 

The spotlight goes out, and when the lights come back up, a cavalcade of acrobats tumble and flip a path across the ring. After the acrobats come jugglers, then clowns. The ringmaster reappears between each act to provide an introduction. When the aerialists take flight on their trapezes, Wonwoo does admittedly feel a sense of wonder at the ease with which they hurl themselves through the air. But for the most part, he’s a fairly passive audience member, quietly observing the acts, struggling to stay awake as the show wears on. 

After the trapeze artists take their bows, the tent plunges into darkness again. This time, the audience sits nearly silent, only a few voices murmuring here and there in hushed anticipation, and Wonwoo feels it too, thrumming in his veins. He squints for a second, because it looks like there’s a small light flickering in the middle of the tent, hovering in midair - 

WHOOSH

A blinding ball of fire suddenly erupts from the ring, right in front of his and Chan’s seats. 

“Whoa,” Chan yelps as they both shield their eyes instinctively. There’s another billowing flame that seems to come out of nowhere, but as the fire fades into nothingness, Wonwoo catches the dim outline of a person standing in the shadows. 

The lights in the tent come up slowly, illuminating a woman dressed in a crimson and black corseted dress, holding a small baton. No, not a baton, Wonwoo realizes - a double-ended torch, lit at one end. She raises the torch to her painted red lips and blows, sending another jet of fire into the air, climbing higher than the others. As the flame ascends, Wonwoo feels the heat kiss his cheeks gently.

Chan gasps, and dodges again, but Wonwoo doesn’t move. He can’t. He’s frozen in place, completely transfixed. In all his years on this earth, he’s never seen a woman as breathtaking as you.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please present - YN, the fire breather,” the ringmaster calls out from the edge of the ring, gesturing with his cane. He takes one of your hands as you curtsey and brings it to his mouth for a brief kiss. You smile sweetly, and Wonwoo’s stomach gives a strange twist.

The ringmaster steps to the side as you lift the torch to your lips again. Wonwoo hears music crackling through the tinny speakers in the tent – some drums beating a steady rhythm while a reedy instrument plays a melody he doesn’t recognize. You exhale, another flame shooting into the sky, and then you quickly twirl the torch to light the other end. Wonwoo watches your face as you spin, drawing circles of fire around the ring. He hadn’t known that such beauty existed before now - certainly, not in his small town.

In the flashing illumination of the flames, he eagerly studies every detail about you. A simple golden head chain is draped over your forehead, matching a twisted double chain choker wrapped around your elegant neck. When you turn, he catches sight of ink crawling across your bare shoulders, but the tattooed letters are unrecognizable to him. The hem of your skirt is raggedly frayed, giving the illusion of burnt edges, as though fire had at one point consumed you whole.

Wonwoo wonders at that moment what it would feel like to burn. 

He sits in rapt silence while you command the audience’s attention alone in the ring with nothing but the fire you control. The torch splits into two halves, and you wave one in each hand as the pulse of the music picks up. Your skill is astonishing - the flames seem to bend to your will as you dance around the tent, tracing fiery shapes in the air. Wonwoo’s not alone in his admiration, he discovers, when Chan nudges him with his elbow.

“This is insane. How is she doing that?” he asks as you breathe another flame to life. “I thought fire breathing involved alcohol or something that they spit out – but she’s not drinking anything?”

Wonwoo shrugs, a little annoyed at having his focus interrupted by his friend. He doesn’t have the slightest clue how fire breathing works, and he doesn’t really care. All he wants in this moment is to be left alone to watch you, but it’s too late, the ringmaster has reemerged to signal the end of your act. The man raises his cane, and you bow, then raise both torches to your mouth, and swallow the fire, extinguishing them one by one.

The audience cheers around Wonwoo, and he is snapped from his daze, sluggishly putting his hands together to clap while Chan whistles next to him. As tent goes dark once more, Wonwoo catches a brief spark before the spotlight reveals the ringmaster standing alone. There is no trace of you, save for the wisps of smoke floating over Wonwoo’s head.

The ringmaster grins. “On with the show!”

After the final act has finished, all of the performers return to take their bows. Wonwoo’s eyes are drawn to you as you step forward and take the hands of those next to you before bending low. When you rise, your gaze sweeps over the crowd - and lands on Wonwoo.

His heart jolts. You can’t possibly be looking at him - like earlier with the ringmaster, there’s simply no way for you to see him in the shadows like this - except that when you smile, all logic flies out of his head, and he knows that you’re smiling at him, and him alone.

That’s when he feels it. His chest constricts, like a rope has been tied around his insides and is squeezing tight. He doubles over, pressing a hand to his sternum, suddenly fearful. His old man dropped dead of a heart attack when Wonwoo was only twenty. Wonwoo always thought it was from spending his life slogging away on the assembly line, but maybe the men in his family just have bad hearts - and maybe it’s his time to go now. But then the squeezing stops, and instead, there is a tug, like the rope has been pulled taut.

And then it’s gone.

He straightens up in his seat, breathing hard, hand still clutching his chest. Chan glances over at him.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo nods, even though he’s not actually sure if he is. But the pain has vanished, so he must be? He looks out into the ring again, hoping to find you still there, but the performers are leaving through a back entrance to the tent. Disappointment sweeps over him.

“Yeah, I just - I could use some air.”

“Let’s get out of here. I want to check out the food anyway.”

Outside the tent, Chan immediately begins to babble about how much he enjoyed the show. Wonwoo nods and agrees whenever the younger man pauses to breathe, but he’s distracted. It’s back, the weird sensation of something pulling at him. He ignores it, heading down the row of booths selling cotton candy and other carnival treats, lining up behind Chan as he joins a queue. But it doesn’t go away this time - if anything, it’s getting more intense the more he stands still.

He can’t take it anymore. “I think I’m gonna walk a bit while you wait. I need to stretch my legs.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll catch up,” Chan replies, his attention already focused on the selection of treats in front of him.

Wonwoo feels it again, that tug, and follows it willingly, walking down a narrow alley formed by smaller tents. He’s on the mystical side of the Menagerie now, where the fortune teller and the palm reader and various other practitioners of the dark arts lie in wait. 

Wonwoo isn’t a believer in the occult, but goosebumps ripple down his arms anyway as he weaves between the tents. The wind is picking up now, the air starting to feel heavy with the humidity that presages a thunderstorm, despite the time of year. He turns the collar of his coat up, waiting for the rain. But the lightning comes first, illuminating the pathway in front of him. 

He counts his breaths until he hears the distant rumble. The storm is a few miles off, so there’s no need for him to grab Chan and leave yet. The lightning flashes again as he reaches the end of the path. He wavers for a moment, unsure which way to go, and his ears pick up a humming, the sound of the generators that light this place, probably. He trails the sound, turning right. 

The tents here are smaller, and he realizes after a moment that he’s wandered into the performers’ area, where they eat and sleep between shows. And there you are, standing in front of a tent near the end of the row. He stops in surprise, and hangs back, out of sight, to admire you from afar. Even under dark and cloudy skies, your beauty shines so brightly that it takes his breath away.

Droplets start to fall as Wonwoo waits in the shadows, wondering if he should introduce himself, tell you how much he loved your performance. But his opportunity is ruined as another man steps towards you and strikes up a conversation. Wonwoo gets a good look at the man, recognizing him as a member of the town, someone he knows by sight but not by name. He lingers for a moment before shuffling away to find Chan, his hands in his pockets and his thoughts turning to smoke in the rain. 

He should go back.

Wonwoo comes to that conclusion at work the next day. He spends his shift on the assembly line being haunted by memories of your performance, recalling your hips swaying as you spun the fire in the air, and the soft orange-yellow light that had shone in your eyes, as though you were lit from within. On either side of him, his coworkers talk about their plans for the weekend, and crack dumb jokes to pass the time, but he doesn’t really hear anything they say. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face.

It’s like he’s got a crush. That’s all it is, he tells himself, a crush on a stranger, and then he gets lost in thought about your lips again. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. It’s been a while since he dated anyone. He’s not usually the love-at-first-sight type. He prefers to take his time getting to know someone - that is, when he has the nerve to ask anyone out. But right now, he can’t get you out of his head. He wants to see you again. What’s the harm in indulging in a little crush?

He thinks about asking his coworkers if any of them want to go. It’d be easy enough to do - the circus is still the main topic of conversation at work. But the thing is, he doesn’t want to tell anyone he’s considering going again. Not out of embarrassment - he understands after last night’s show how amazing the Menagerie is and willingly counts himself among those captivated by the circus. No, there’s something else holding his tongue, a weirdly selfish instinct he can’t explain.

So, he returns alone to the Menagerie.

The big tent that housed the main show is packed again, with more familiar faces in the rows that fill the stands. The show tonight is the same as the previous night, with the ringmaster leading the audience through the performances. Wonwoo watches politely, clapping and cheering along after each act. 

When the tent plunges into blackness, he sits up in anticipation. Fire blazes into existence in front of him and his heart begins to race. You’re every bit as lovely as he remembered, dancing gracefully through the ring while swinging your burning torches. He doesn’t have to see the crowd around him to know that all of them are just as captivated by you - it feels as though the entire tent is breathing as one as you move. 

Even though every other act has been the same tonight as last night, it seems like your act is shorter than before. It’s far too soon before the ringmaster is returning to your side and you’re taking your bow. Wonwoo tries to keep his eyes on you as the tent lights dim again, but in the darkness you disappear, leaving only rolling curls of grey-white smoke in your wake.

The human cannonball is introduced as the next act, but Wonwoo isn’t interested. The air in the tent is cooling off, so he wraps his coat tighter around himself and waits for the act to end so he can make an exit. He should feel happy now, shouldn’t he? Instead, he’s oddly deflated, let down by how quickly your routine ended. He shouldn’t feel like this. His desire to see you has been sated, and yet… and yet, he wants more.

A sharp tightness around his rib cage. The unsettling sensation from the previous night is back. He coughs a few times, like he’s trying to dislodge something caught in his lungs, but there’s nothing in his airways. Whatever this is, it’s deeper, and becoming more insistent with every passing second.

There’s another tug, and he can’t breathe, because the overstuffed tent is suddenly suffocating. An overwhelming need to stand up hits him, which he struggles against, not wanting to be rude to the people around him. But the tugging won’t stop, it keeps pulling and pulling at him, until he can’t take it anymore. He abandons his manners and leaves before the act ends, practically crawling over the other audience members in his row in his panic as he heads for the entrance to the tent.

The circus barker is long gone from his post outside the tent. Wonwoo leans against the podium there, cool air rushing into his lungs while he forces himself to take deep breaths in order to calm down. As the discomfort slowly fades away, he sighs, relieved. He’s heard about anxiety attacks before, but he’s never had one. He supposes it’s another sign that he’s been working too much. He ended up working a double shift today because one of his coworkers, Shik, didn’t show up.

Now that he’s feeling okay again, he considers for a moment going back into the tent to catch the end of the show and the final bows. But he thinks better of it. He needs to go home, take a long, hot shower, and then crawl into bed. A good night’s sleep will help.

Despite his best efforts, Wonwoo doesn’t sleep well that night. He falls asleep quickly, but then wakes hours before dawn, sweating and shaking, torn from a dream that dissipates the moment he opens his eyes. All he can recall are hands that singe his skin like branding irons, leaving twisted lines behind, symbols that he can’t decipher. The more he tries to remember them, the faster they fade from his memory.

He tosses and turns after that, until his mind returns to more comforting, familiar territory. He pictures you dancing in the firelight. Then he pictures you standing in front of your tent again, hand outstretched, only this time it’s Wonwoo who takes it. You lead him into your tent, and turn away from him, wordlessly asking for him to undo your corset. He imagines your skin to be smooth and warm beneath his hands, your lips soft against his. He fantasizes about you on top of him, hips rolling smoothly as you ride his cock, and he strokes himself until he’s spent and can sleep again.   

At work, he’s a zombie, mindlessly going through the repetitive motions on the assembly line. Shik is out again, but he doesn’t volunteer to cover for him. When it’s time to clock out, Wonwoo declines his other coworker Jeonghan’s invitation to go out for a drink and heads straight home, craving some peace and quiet.

He heads for the couch after dinner, but finds he’s too restless to relax, amped up with unexplainable energy. Instead of passing out in front of the tv like he expected he would, he ends up pacing around his living room. He needs to get out of his house and burn this off. It’s a nice evening, so maybe he should go for a walk. And, well, if he’s going to do that, why not go back to the Menagerie? It’s a nice place to walk around, and besides, you’re there. He’d love to see your pretty face again. Maybe tonight he’ll actually speak to you.

The barker winks at him as he enters the tent, as if he and Wonwoo have a shared secret. It leaves Wonwoo feeling a bit unnerved, but he puts it out of his mind as he takes a seat in the front row again. Chan was right - nothing beats sitting front row center for your act. He longs to feel your heat on his skin again.

Tonight, you perform a new trick, taking pair of fans and lighting the ends, then twirling until the fire swirls around you. You toss the fans over your head and catch them with ease, then spin again, sending sparks flying in every direction.

Wonwoo sits forward in his seat, wanting against reason to catch one. 

Again, your act is over too quickly, and the rest of the show flies by as well. When you come out for the final bows, he decides he can’t go home until he’s spoken to you. He doesn’t know how long the circus will be in town - the Menagerie sprung up without any announcement. It could all be gone tomorrow, taking you with it, and what will he do then? The thought fills his veins with dread cold as ice.

Hurriedly, he stands and makes his way to the exit while the performers are still waving to the crowd. He circles around the tent to the back, where he knows you’ll be exiting, and then he waits, drumming up the courage to speak to you. He runs it through in his mind - he’ll introduce himself first, then shower you in compliments. He can picture your sweet smile already.

And if you’re so flattered that you want to accompany him for a drink this evening? Well, he’d like that very much.

The performers begin to trickle out of the tent. Wonwoo stands to the side, hands in his pockets, his body zinging with that peculiar energy from before. By all rights, he should be dead on his feet right now, yet he’s never felt more alive. He’s excited to finally talk to you, hear your voice, see your smile.

But the moment your eyes meet his, he’s so struck by your beauty that he stumbles over his words, his tongue heavy and dull in his mouth.

“H-hey, I’m - I mean hello, I’m - I - you were amazing tonight.” 

Your eyes sweep over him, and Wonwoo swallows, trying to regain control of himself, but it’s hard to do under your direct gaze. It sends him back to that moment you’d shared in the tent the first night he’d come to the circus. He wonders if you’re thinking about it now, too. Surely you recognize him?

“Thank you,” you finally say, voice lush like velvet, wrapping him in warmth. Since your act has no dialogue, he didn’t know what to expect when he finally heard you speak. But it suits you. “I’m pleased that you enjoyed the show.” 

“Yes, I did. It was…” Words fail him - how does he explain just how mesmerizing he found your act? Instead, he cuts to the chase. “I’m sorry, I don’t do this often, but do you - would you - “ 

You cut him off. “I think it’s going to rain soon.” Wonwoo’s heart falls in his chest, though the gentle smile you give him does help somewhat to cushion the landing. “I’m afraid I can’t get caught out in the rain. It’s not good for my act.” With a wink, you turn to leave. “Have a good evening.” 

Wonwoo panics. 

“I’m sorry, wait, please!” He jumps in front of you, holding his hands out, and then realizes you might think he’s reaching for you, like he intends to physically restrain you. But you don’t flinch or react in any visible way, standing your ground while Wonwoo lowers his hands. “Please, I just wanted to - to talk to you.” 

This isn’t how Wonwoo wanted this to go. He can feel everything slipping away - if he can’t get you to talk to him, how will he ever convince you to give him a chance? He never really focused on this moment in his fantasies. It was always glossed over, his dirty little mind eagerly skipping ahead.

“Is that what you really want?” you ask, eyebrow cocked, giving him a knowing look. 

Wonwoo flushes, ashamed, as if you can read his thoughts. He shakes his head, then stops and nods, then sighs. “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” 

He meant that as an aside, but he’s a little too loud in his nervousness, and not only do you hear him, but you start to laugh. He’s crushed, ready to throw himself in front of the knife throwers and pray that they miss their marks, until your expression softens. 

“What’s your name?” 

“W-Wonwoo.” 

“Wonwoo.” He’s never heard anything as lovely as you saying his name. “You enjoyed the show tonight, Wonwoo?” 

He nods, a little too emphatically, and you laugh at him again, and god, he’s your willing clown now. Whatever it takes to keep you smiling like that. 

You favor him with another laugh, moving closer. “They say the weather will be fairer tomorrow. Will you come back and see me again?”

“Yes,” he replies eagerly, answering without stopping to think. Yes, of course he’ll come back, why wouldn’t he? He’d do anything you asked of him right now.

“Good,” you hum, nodding and smiling. Wonwoo catches a flicker of orange in your eyes as you step towards him. He holds his breath as your lips brush his cheek.

“I know you won’t let me down,” you murmur. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Your prediction was correct – not long after that, a cold rain begins to fall. The people around him run for the tents, laughing and shouting, moving quickly to beat the downpour. But instead of seeking cover, Wonwoo remains rooted to the spot, staring at where you’d disappeared between the tents, pressing his hand against the heat of your kiss.

“They found Shik last night,” Jeonghan says, taking a long drag off his cigarette. 

Wonwoo frowns. All day, the factory’s been buzzing like a hive, his coworkers droning to one another in muted voices while working. Shik’s been missing for four days now. Wonwoo doesn’t know Shik very well - they’ve never socialized outside of a few lunch breaks - but he’s never missed more than a day of work. Skipping four in a row can only mean trouble, and from the tone of Jeonghan’s opener, he surmises that this story won’t have a happy ending.

 “What happened?” 

Jeonghan exhales heavily, but is careful to blow away from Wonwoo’s face, knowing how much he hates smelling like smoke. (Although these days, he doesn’t mind too much the way the scent clings to his clothes.) Wonwoo joins Jeonghan on his cigarette breaks even though he doesn’t smoke, since Jeonghan’s his sole connection to the rumor mill. 

“They found him in the woods behind his house.” Jeonghan pauses before bringing his cigarette to his lips again. “He’s dead.”  

Wonwoo figured that was coming, given the atmosphere on the floor today, so his response isn’t quite what Jeonghan hoped for, only a quiet hum and a nod. The other man continues on with the grist undaunted. If he can't get a big reaction, Jeonghan will still settle for being the center of attention.  

“My cousin’s a rookie down at the station, and he was one of the cops called to the scene. He told me Shik was a fucking mess. Looked like he’d been wandering for days, clothes dirty and torn, one shoe missing.” Jeonghan shakes his head. “His face was bloody from bramble cuts, and they found ash on his lips.”

“On his lips?” Wonwoo echoes. The word triggers the memory of your lips on his cheek.

“Uh-huh. They don’t know why - someone said it could be from smoking, but that doesn’t make sense to me.” Jeonghan pauses again and Wonwoo waits with his patience cracking. He knows his friend enjoys having a captive audience, but he wishes Jeonghan would hurry up with his story. The sooner he gets back to the line, the sooner time he can return to the circus. He needs to see you. “Not that Shik was a smoker, anyway. You ever remember seeing Shik out here?” 

No, now that he thinks about it, he’s never once seen Shik out here by the loading docks, where all the smokers meet to puff their miserable shifts away. “That’s odd…” Wonwoo mumbles. He wants to be done with this conversation. 

“That’s not the strangest part.”

In spite of his impatience, he can’t help but ask. 

“What’s the strangest part?”  

Jeonghan grins, his eyes glimmering with the thrill that comes only from telling secrets, and leans forward, dropping his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, since the cops haven’t released any of this info to the public, but… Shik had a giant wound on his chest. Five points, like this.” He grips the center of his sternum through his shirt. “They thought it was a wild animal attack, something with claws or talons.  But when they looked under his fingernails, there were chunks of skin there.”

“Human skin?” Wonwoo blurts out. “Like a human attacked him?”

“That’s what you’d think, right? But turns out Shik had a big tattoo over his chest that got ripped through, and the skin in his nails? Had matching ink on it.”

Despite the lack of a breeze, the hairs on the back of Wonwoo’s neck stand up. “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Jeonghan nods. The thrill has left him now. He takes a few more drags off his cigarette, then drops it, snuffing it out on the macadam. Wonwoo catches a brief flash of red in the embers. “What the hell could drive a man to claw his own heart out??”

Wonwoo keeps his word. He returns to the Menagerie that night and meets you outside the tent again. He didn’t think you could be any more beautiful, but the way your face lights up in recognition sends his heart soaring. You mention that you are hungry, and he offers to buy you anything you’d like to eat, but you shake your head.

“I’m craving something the Menagerie doesn’t offer,” you say, then gesture to the end of the field where your tent sits. “Will you come walk with me? I want to hear what you thought about the show tonight.”

He’d like nothing more than to stay with you, so he quickly agrees. As you lead him away from the main tent, he feels it again, that tug. But tonight, it doesn’t frighten him. If feels natural now, like it’s part of him. Like it’s right.

You lead him away from the main tent and he follows, rambling in his excitement, telling you how much he’s been enjoying the show, how all of the acts are incredible, but your routine is his favorite. He lets it slip that he’s been coming to the circus every night for a week now. He wonders if you think that’s sweet or strange. He can’t tell from your close-lipped smile.

He wants to ask so many questions. He wants to know where you’re from, how you became a fire breather, how you ended up in the Menagerie. But you don’t give any indication that you want to talk about yourself, or talk at all, period, content to let him prattle on. That’s fine, he’s willing to do whatever you want him to do. Isn’t that why he’s here tonight?

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say with a playful grin as the two of you reach your tent. “It can be such a long, lonely walk some nights.”

He hums, unable to suppress a smile. “I’m sure it is.” He glances around, finding that many of the other performers have already gone inside their tents. “Um, so, are you still hungry?” He would bring you anything your heart desires right now, as long as you don’t send him away for good. He really doesn’t want to go home right now, not when he’s had these precious few minutes basking in your presence. How can he possibly leave now?

You give him that enigmatic smile again. “Are you trying to invite yourself in?”  

“Yes. No. Fuck,” he swears, stumbling over his words, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep cursing, I’m just -”

The wind stirs, picking up red and gold leaves scattered around the edge of the field and tossing them in the air as you step towards him, taking his hand in yours. “I know what you want, Wonwoo. It’s okay.”

“You - you do?”

He’s surprised, so he’s unprepared for you to step towards him, and place your hands around his neck. Your kiss is soft and sweet, a simmering heat that draws him in like a moth to a flame. He wants more, so he wraps his arms around you, holding you close against him, and moans into your mouth as you lace your fingers through his hair and pull slightly. His reaction makes you laugh, and you lean back to look into his eyes.

“What would you give to be with me tonight?” 

“Anything. Everything,” he tells you. And he would, he’d do anything, he’d give you everything. He’d let himself be consumed by you. It’s a new feeling for him, and as much as it scares him, it excites him too, a fact that becomes even more evident when you feel his hardness pushing into your thigh. “Whatever you want.” 

“You?” you ask, both of your hands gripping the lapels of his jacket, keeping him close so you can rub your leg over him. “You’d give me all of you?” 

Isn’t that what he just said? “Yes, yes,” he gasps, impatiently throwing his hips forward to rut against you. Why are the two of you still standing here? He considers taking you by the hand to lead you to your tent, so he can show you exactly what he’s willing to give you right now, every throbbing inch of it, but before he can tear himself apart from you, you take the lead, grabbing his hand. 

“Show me.” 

The inside of your tent is very simple, just a small dressing area and a bed made of many cushions and furs piled on top of each other. The tent is lit by a single lamp hanging in the center. You don’t let go of his hand until you’re lying on the cushions, so he can lower himself on top of you. Beneath the ash and smoke that clings to your hair and clothes, he can smell something sweet, like roses, and he breathes you in deep.

He kisses you passionately, giving himself over to the feelings of desire that threaten to devour him whole. He runs his hands over your face, across your corseted breasts, up your bare thighs, fingers mapping every inch of you that he can touch. When you push him away and sit up, turning your back to him so he can help you out of your dress, he bites his tongue to prove to himself that he’s not dreaming. His fantasy has become reality. He can’t believe this is happening.

Once your dress is off, you lie back, and he exhales roughly. You’re a goddess, your bare skin radiant in the soft light. He doesn’t deserve to look at you like this - no one deserves to. He doesn’t know where the thought comes from, only that it is true. He decides right then and there to worship you - and maybe if he does, he can earn that right.

So he asks.

“What do you want?”

You open your arms. “Love me, Wonwoo.”

He does, and he will. There’s no hesitation in him now - he’s ready to give you his heart. He doesn’t stop to consider about how fast this is happening - how quickly his infatuation took him over, body and soul. He doesn’t worry about what will happen when the circus inevitably leaves. He doesn’t think at all.

Instead, he submits himself willingly to your waiting embrace. His hand slips between your thighs while he kisses you, and he catches every moan of yours with his greedy mouth. Your wetness coats his fingers, hot and slick, and he grows needy, needier than ever, and lines himself up so he can sink into you, letting your warmth envelope him completely.

“Wonwoo,” you cry out as he buries himself to the hilt, “yes, more, I need more!”

This moment is beyond anything he imagined. He beings to slide his cock in and out slowly, savoring the way your cunt hugs him tightly. He’s hot all over, sweating in the musky air of the tent. Beads of his perspiration roll off his nose and chin and land on your chest, and he gawks openly as you swipe through it with your hand, collecting the drops and bringing them to your mouth.

“More,” you demand, sucking his sweat off your fingertips.

Wonwoo groans brokenly. He presses your thighs back, spreading you open wider. He glides smoother, deeper, inside you, his pelvis bumping against yours at a speed that has you crying out with every thrust. He’s fighting like hell not to come right now. He needs to show you that he’s here for your pleasure and not the other way around.

He shifts the angle of his hips a little and drops a hand to your clit. As soon as he’s built up a good pace with his thumb, your mouth falls open, and he takes the opportunity to fill the space with his tongue.

And then - in his chest - that tug again - harder than before - oh god, it hurts so good - Wonwoo doesn’t want it to end.

He feels your hand pushing at him and he backs away in confusion, but you’re only trying to change positions, guiding him to lie on his back. You straddle him, and sink down on him quickly, to his immense relief, and start to ride. He grips your thighs so tightly that he’s afraid he might draw blood, but you don’t notice, or you don’t care, rolling your hips and tossing your head back in ecstasy.

“That’s it,” you pant, “more, give me more, give me everything!”

You arch your back and cry out as pleasure spreads through you. He feels you clenching and his eyes roll back as he fills you with his seed. His orgasm doesn’t crest, he just keeps coming and coming, and you haven’t stopped clenching, and there it is again, that pulling -

His vision goes black, but in the darkness, before he loses consciousness, he sees a spark.

When Wonwoo opens his eyes again, it’s morning. You’re lying next to him, sound asleep, covered in furs. He’s also blanketed, though he doesn’t remember lying down. He doesn’t remember a thing after making love to you, actually. He moves to sit up, but he’s lightheaded, a little dizzy. He supposes that’s no surprise after the exertion of last night. He also notices that his chest feels lighter now, like a weight has been lifted. Is this what love is?

He wonders if you have anything he can eat, as he’s suddenly starving. He shifts carefully, trying not to disturb you, but your eyes open anyway. You smile softly at him. Yes, this is love, he thinks, and bends to kiss you.

“That’s a lovely way to wake up,” you whisper against his lips. “How are you feeling? You fell asleep so quickly.”

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’m good. I’m a little hungry, though,” he admits sheepishly.

You nod. “I should imagine so,” you say, lifting a hand to touch him lightly, running your fingers over his chest. “You should get yourself some breakfast.”

He should also get to work - his shift starts in an hour, according to his watch. Or maybe he should call out and stay, keep you in these blankets all day.

“Do you want something? I could bring you something, we could eat together.” He makes the offer a little shyly, and you laugh, pressing gentle fingers to his cheek.

“You’re very sweet, but I’m not hungry. Besides, I have to get ready for my day, and I’m sure you do, too.”

He can’t hide his disappointment. But you sit up, the furs falling from your naked torso, and pull his face to yours for a lingering kiss.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, nudging his nose with yours before your lips touch his again, soft and yielding. “You’ve nothing to fret about. You’re mine now, and I’m yours.”

His head swims. The air in the tent is suddenly sweltering, and the scent of ash fills his nostrils. When he opens his eyes, he sees that orange glow in yours again, but then it’s gone. He’s relieved by your words, and sighs, nodding in agreement. You’re his and he’s yours. He’ll always be yours.

“I’ll come back tonight,” he promises.

You smile. “I know,” you hum, kissing him again. “And you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Of course he’ll wait for you, by the back of the tent. Nothing can keep him away.

All day, he replays the events of the previous night, looping the memories over and over in his head like a never-ending movie. He ignores Jeonghan’s questions and spends his shift silently lost in reverie, marking the time until he can return to the Menagerie and return to your arms again.

But when he arrives at the field, a fresh bouquet of red roses in his hand, he finds it empty. The circus is gone.

He falls to his knees. It can’t be. It’s too cruel, the thought of having you and losing you all in one night. How could this happen? Why didn’t you tell him you were leaving?

He recalls your parting words. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?

Yes. Yes, he will. He walks into the forest at the edge of the vacant lot and finds a tree to recline against. His chest starts to itch beneath his shirt, and he scratches at it absentmindedly. Yes, he’ll sit right here and wait for you to return to him, as long as it takes.

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