Hear me out..
Abel vs Caine, trying to get reader AND Reader has no idea their acting like 5 yr olds over a person (AKA READER X3)
HEAR ME OUT, TWIN-
(Yes is the human AU cuz I luv the AU n ur work 😌 <3)
ꜱɪᴅᴇꜱʜᴏᴡ
tadc caine x reader, abel x reader (love triangle ...uh oh)
human!caine/human!abel x acrobat!reader, human!au (everyone works in a real circus), reader is gender neutral, no beta we die like caine
word count: ~3419
synopsis: abel and caine start acting strange.
the rest of the circus notices long before you do.
The first clue should have been the tea.
Rehearsal had gone long enough for your shoulder to start complaining again, the familiar ache settling in somewhere between irritation and consequence. You sat near the edge of the platform, loosening the wrap around your wrist while the rest of the cast drifted toward water bottles, snacks, or whatever excuse they could find to delay another round of notes.
The aerial silks hung motionless overhead now, swaying only faintly whenever someone crossed too heavily beneath them. You rolled one shoulder carefully, regretted it, and let out a quiet breath through your nose.
“You’re overcompensating.”
You looked up.
Abel stood a few feet away, sleeves rolled neatly as he looked down at your hunched form.
“For what?” you asked.
“The shoulder.”
“…hello to you too.”
Something faint shifted in his expression, not quite amusement, but close enough to count.
“Humor me,” Abel said, stepping closer. “How bad is it?”
“Not bad at all.”
He gave you a look.
“…fine. A little bad,” you shrugged.
Before you could argue, he crossed the remaining distance and reached for your arm.
You should have expected that. Abel had never asked permission to fuss over you when he thought he was right.
His hand settled lightly near your shoulder, attention narrowing with practiced focus.
“You’ve been overcorrecting since warmups,” he said. “Right side.”
“You say that like I’m doing it for fun.”
“No,” he replied mildly, stepping back at last. “If this were recreational, I’d assume worse judgment.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You know, most people usually pretend to feel bad after insulting someone.”
“And ruin my reputation for honesty?” Abel asked. “Besides, you’re significantly easier to deal with when you aren’t sulking.”
You rolled your eyes hard enough to make the effort known. “You’re unbearable, you know that?”
He looked faintly pleased with himself. "And yet,” he said, holding out a paper cup, “you continue tolerating me.”
You blinked. Tea. Steam drifted lazily from the lid.
“…did you bring that for me?”
“Yes.” The answer came with enough certainty to make the question feel unnecessary. “You stopped tolerating coffee after difficult rehearsals years ago,” Abel continued, as though this explained everything. “You get irritable and then insist you aren’t irritable, which somehow becomes everyone else’s problem.”
You stared at the cup.
“You remembered that?”
Abel furrowed his brows. “You say that as if I’ve suffered catastrophic memory loss.”
“Well, it’s just that it’s been a while since then.” You took the cup from his hands. The tea was still hot.
You hadn’t expected him to remember something so small. Maybe that was what unsettled you.
Abel’s expression softened by a fraction, something quieter slipping beneath the usual self-importance.
“You still forget meals when you’re stressed, too,” he said. “Some things don’t change.”
You looked away. His expression flattened.
“That answers that.”
“Oh, c’mon, I was busy!”
“You always say that.”
“But I am!”
“Yes,” Abel agreed dryly, “and tragically terrible at taking care of yourself.”
Heat climbed into your face fast enough to annoy you.
Before you could come up with a response—
“GOOD NEWS!”
Caine crossed the rehearsal floor with theatrical urgency, tailcoat hanging half off one shoulder while an aggressively overstuffed drink carrier balanced precariously in his hands.
“My candy heart and paper flower!” he announced, visibly delighted to find you alive. “I sensed workplace misery and have arrived bearing morale!”
He crouched beside you with surprising confidence, setting down an absurdly large paper cup decorated with far too many handwritten labels: peach tea, honey, lemon, electrolytes.
“…what is this?” you asked.
“Recovery!” Caine said proudly. “Hydration! Emotional restoration! One cannot expect dazzling aerial feats from a performer running exclusively on poor decisions and shoulder pain.”
A pause settled as Abel glanced from the drink to Caine.
“…electrolytes,” he repeated flatly.
“Hydration,” Caine corrected. “You looked tired.”
Abel folded his arms.
“They already have tea.”
“Wonderful,” Caine replied brightly. “Now they have options.”
You looked down slowly. Two drinks sat in front of you.
Abel’s practical chamomile.
Caine’s aggressively optimistic mystery beverage.
“…why do I suddenly have two emotional support teas?”
Across the room, a snort echoed from rehearsal mats.
“Oh, this is gonna get pathetic real quick,” Jax muttered.
You frowned.
“…what is?”
Jax looked between the two drinks, then at the men standing on either side of you. “Nothing,” he claimed, far too quickly. “This just feels like future entertainment.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“…right.”
Beside you, Caine nudged the larger drink closer.
“Try mine first.”
Abel’s gaze dropped toward it.
“Absolutely not.”
You blinked.
“…why are you both acting weird?”
“We aren’t,” they said at the exact same time.
You looked between them once before taking a careful sip of Abel’s chamomile, because it was already in your hand.
Caine looked personally betrayed.
Whatever this was, it seemed significantly above your pay grade.
The second clue probably should’ve been finding Caine in your dressing room.
You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him and hovered by the doorway.
“…what are you doing?”
Caine looked up from beside your vanity with the unmistakable expression of somebody who had already decided this interaction would end in approval.
“Oh! Perfect timing!”
Your dressing room looked…adjusted.
Nothing dramatic enough to make you wonder whether you’d entered the wrong space, but enough to pause over.
The lamp near your mirror no longer flickered every few seconds, the harsh brightness replaced with something easier on tired eyes. Your rehearsal notes had been shifted neatly to one side to make room for tea, a plate of sliced fruit, and crackers that looked suspiciously healthy. A folded blanket rested over the back of your chair, and beside it sat a heating pad you were fairly certain had not existed this morning.
You stared at the lamp, at the heating pad. At the assortment of snacks. Then at Caine.
“…did my dressing room always have medical equipment?”
“Ah!” Caine pointed proudly. “You noticed!”
“That does not answer the question.”
“No, my little lucky charm, it absolutely did not!” He grinned.
You exhaled through your nose.
“Caine.”
He stepped around the vanity, smoothing his coat with visible satisfaction.
“You looked uncomfortable yesterday.”
The answer came simply enough that it caught you slightly off guard.
“You keep reaching for your shoulder after rehearsal,” he continued, gesturing vaguely. “And making that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you insist you’re perfectly fine while very obviously not being perfectly fine.”
You narrowed your eyes. “…I hate that multiple people have started saying things like that.”
Caine brightened. “Wonderful! That means I’m observant.”
“You replaced my lamp.”
“It hated you.”
“My lamp…hated me?”
“Yes! Flickering, harsh lighting…it was entirely unsupportive during vulnerable emotional moments.”
You glanced toward the blanket.
“…and the blanket?”
“You complain about being cold after rehearsal.”
“I do not.”
Caine paused.
Then, with startling confidence, “You absolutely do.”
Unfortunately, he was right. The realization must have crossed your face because his grin widened.
“HA! Validation!”
Despite yourself, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh escaped you as you set your rehearsal bag onto the table.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Caine said, gesturing grandly toward the snacks, “prepared.”
A soft knock sounded against the open doorway.
Abel stood there, gaze moving once across the room.
The lamp. The blanket. The heating pad. The suspiciously healthy snacks.
Caine.
You watched the assessment happen in real time.
“…what,” Abel asked after a pause, “is all this?”
Caine straightened.
“Care.”
The word landed with enough confidence to make you glance between them.
“You looked exhausted,” Caine continued, now speaking to you, as if explaining something obvious. “So I made minor improvements.”
Abel stepped farther inside, attention drifting briefly toward the lamp before settling on the heating pad.
“You bought this?”
“Borrowed,” Caine corrected. “From physical therapy.”
“...since when did the circus have a physical therapy department?”
“Since now.”
You snorted at that.
Abel, meanwhile, reached down and pressed lightly against the back of your chair.
The thing gave an alarming creak.
“…you’re still sitting in this?” he asked.
“It’s a chair,” you stated.
“It’s unstable.”
The backrest shifted sideways with terrible timing. Caine frowned.
“…that seems antagonistic.”
You dropped into it anyway.
Both men frowned at the exact same time.
“Don’t,” Abel warned.
“That thing looks vindictive,” Caine added.
You stared.
“…it’s a chair.”
“A dangerous chair,” Abel remarked.
“A hostile chair,” Caine nodded his head in agreement.
Something about hearing them agree felt strange enough to make you laugh.
The sound seemed to redirect both of their attention at once.
Abel’s expression shifted first, the faint tension at the edges of his posture easing as he glanced toward you.
“There,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You look less exhausted.”
Caine’s grin dropped immediately. “Oh, that is unbelievable.”
You turned to look at him, “…what is?”
“I replaced a defective lamp, procured food, introduced heating technology, and improved general living conditions,” Caine declared, gesturing broadly toward the room. “But he says one mildly competent sentence and suddenly he’s Employee of the Month?”
Abel crossed his arms.
“You brought crackers, want a cookie?”
“Nutritious crackers.”
You rubbed briefly at your temple.
“…you two know this is my dressing room, right?”
Neither acknowledged the question.
Abel’s attention had already shifted toward the chair again, expression darkening when the backrest tilted sideways beneath your weight.
“You are not sitting in that.”
The chair creaked loudly beneath you.
Caine frowned at it. “I don’t trust that.”
“It still works,” you groaned, mildly annoyed now.
“No,” Abel replied calmly, “it survives.”
Caine pointed once toward him.
“See? Now that was good.”
Abel looked unimpressed by the praise.
“I’ll have a new one brought in by tomorrow.”
Caine straightened.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unnecessarily slow.”
Abel turned toward him fully now, attention sharpening.
“…slow?”
“You heard me,” Caine replied, folding his arms. “You can’t expect an injured aerialist to continue diplomatic negotiations with hostile furniture for another twenty-four hours.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again.
Abel’s gaze flicked once toward the heating pad, the lamp, the tea, lingering briefly on the carefully rearranged vanity before returning to Caine.
“I suppose I should be grateful,” he said evenly. “You managed not to make things worse.”
“Oh, now that’s offensive!” Caine argued, “I noticed a problem and fixed it.”
Something unreadable crossed Abel’s face.
Abel’s expression settled into a glare. “I noticed it first.”
There it was, small and quiet. Petty enough to miss if you weren’t paying attention.
Caine’s eyes widened.
“…excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“No, I heard you,” Caine started, “I’m simply choosing to believe you misspoke.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“…what exactly are we talking about?”
Neither of them answered. Which, somehow, felt stranger than if they had.
Out in the hallway, footsteps slowed.
Through the cracked doorway, Ragatha stood frozen mid-conversation while Pomni leaned just far enough to see inside, lowering her voice.
“…are they fighting?”
Ragatha hesitated. Her gaze moved slowly between Abel and Caine. Then toward you.
“…I don’t actually think they know they’re fighting.”
Pomni frowned.
“…should somebody stop this?”
From inside the dressing room, voices overlapped.
“Tomorrow is perfectly reasonable.”
“It’s negligent.”
You looked toward the ceiling, exasperated.
“…what is happening?”
By the fourth week, the strange behavior had become difficult to explain away.
It surfaced in ways that felt too specific to call coincidence and too ridiculous to take seriously.
The chair situation escalated first.
You arrived at your dressing room one afternoon to find your old chair gone, replaced with something significantly sturdier and far less likely to collapse beneath you after rehearsal. A note sat neatly on the seat.
Try not to destroy your spine. —A
You had barely finished reading it when Caine appeared in the doorway, stopped short, and narrowed his eyes at the chair like it had personally insulted him.
He said nothing.
The following morning, a footrest had appeared beneath your vanity.
A card leaned against it.
Superior performers deserve superior lounging arrangements. You are legally obligated to relax at least a little. —C
You still had no idea whether he was joking about the legal part.
Food became another battlefield.
Abel’s lunches arrived quietly, practical enough to feel irritating.
You forgot lunch yesterday. Again. Eat this. —A
Caine’s appeared with considerably more enthusiasm.
FOR RECOVERY, FORTITUDE, AND GENERAL SPARKLE RESTORATION. (Please consume before rehearsal-related misery resumes.) —C
One afternoon, you found both sitting beside each other on your vanity.
You stared at them for several seconds.
Then ate both.
The circus, unfortunately, had started noticing.
Pomni had developed a habit of looking between you, Abel, and Caine like she was trying to solve a math problem she deeply resented. Ragatha kept asking if everything was okay in a voice that suggested she already knew something you didn’t. Zooble seemed mostly annoyed by the increasing tension hanging around rehearsal.
Jax had become intolerable.
“You know,” he teased one afternoon, watching Abel and Caine argue across the rehearsal floor over whether you should still be climbing silks that day, “I think somebody should start charging admission.”
You frowned.
“…to rehearsal?”
He looked at you for a moment. Then slowly blinked.
“Oh, wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jax shushed you quickly, looking suddenly delighted. “Actually, forget it.”
By the end of the week, you were too tired to keep wondering why everyone had started acting strange.
Abel and Caine had both disappeared into some higher-up C&A meeting that evening, which, for once, left rehearsal blissfully free of unsolicited concern and oddly competitive acts of service.
You dragged yourself toward the community kitchen expecting food and, if the universe felt unusually generous, a few uninterrupted minutes of peace.
The second you stepped inside, every conversation stopped.
You paused in the doorway.
“…why does everyone look guilty?”
No one answered immediately.
Pomni suddenly seemed very invested in stirring tea she had already finished stirring. Ragatha offered a smile that looked suspiciously rehearsed. Across the table, Zooble rested their chin against one hand with the expression of somebody watching an accident unfold in slow motion.
Across from them, Gangle sat unusually stiff, twisting the edge of a napkin between nervous fingers like she had somehow become complicit in a crime. Beside her, Kinger glanced up from his food with mild curiosity, as though he had only just realized everyone else had stopped talking.
Jax, predictably, grinned.
“You know,” he broke the silence, leaning back in his chair, “that question gets way funnier depending on how much you know.”
You frowned.
“…what does that mean?”
“Nothing!” Ragatha answered much too quickly.
“It definitely means something,” Zooble muttered.
Pomni glanced between everyone at the table, then toward you.
“…okay, wait,” she said carefully, “can I ask something without it being weird?”
“Based on everyone’s faces?” you replied, dropping into the nearest chair. “Probably not.”
Jax snorted.
Pomni hesitated anyway.
“…what exactly is going on with Abel and Caine?”
You blinked.
“…what do you mean?”
Nobody answered. Around the table, something unspoken seemed to pass between them.
Jax sat up straighter.
“Oh my god.”
Ragatha slowly lowered her mug.
“You don’t know?” she asked.
You frowned harder.
“Know what?”
Zooble stared at you for a second.
“…wow.”
“Can somebody stop reacting like I forgot my own birthday and just explain?”
Across the table, Gangle looked increasingly alarmed.
“We thought you knew,” she mumbled quietly.
“Knew what?”
Jax leaned forward like Christmas had arrived early. “Dollface,” he drawled, sounding genuinely entertained, “they’re fighting over you.”
You laughed.
No one else did.
The sound died embarrassingly fast.
“…wait,” you said slowly.
Pomni looked at Ragatha. Ragatha looked at the ceiling. Zooble looked exhausted already.
“...you’re serious?”
“Yes,” six voices answered at once.
You stared at them, chuckling again, weaker this time.
“No.”
“Yes,” Zooble replied flatly. “Painfully yes.”
Gangle finally spoke up, voice small. “Abel also got really upset when somebody moved your rehearsal schedule.”
Kinger nodded thoughtfully. “Caine yelled at a lamp once,” he paused for a moment, thinking to himself.
“…for you,” he clarified.
Jax pointed an accusatory finger at you.
“Do you know how much money I’ve made off this?”
Your head turned.
“…what?”
Pomni visibly winced. Jax did not.
“There’s a betting pool.”
The kitchen exploded.
“JAX!” Ragatha hissed.
“What?” he said defensively. “Nobody made me the villain when Kaufmo started odds.”
“Kaufmo started—?”
“You’re missing the point,” Zooble interrupted. “The point is everyone noticed this like two weeks ago.”
You sat back slowly.
“…they’re competing?”
The sentence came out sounding faintly ridiculous even to you. The silence that followed felt like an answer enough.
Somewhere near the stove, Ragatha grimaced sympathetically.
“…yeah.”
Before you could say anything else, the kitchen door opened. Every head turned.
Conversation died so quickly it almost felt rehearsed.
Abel stepped inside first, and Caine followed close behind, halfway through complaining about something involving “creative oppression” and “budgetary cruelty.”
Both stopped. Their attention landed on you, then the table. Then the very obvious silence.
Slowly, Abel’s eyes narrowed.
“…why,” he asked carefully, “does this feel concerning?”
Beside him, Caine looked between the room and frowned.
“Why does everyone suddenly look guilty?”
Across the table, Jax leaned back in his chair, grin widening.
“Oh, don’t let us interrupt.”
He tilted his head toward Abel and Caine.
“Please. Continue whatever this is.”
For the first time in weeks, you found yourself looking at them differently.
In hindsight, stepping out of the kitchen alone had probably been too much to hope for.
You had barely made it outside before footsteps followed behind you, familiar enough that recognition came before you even looked up.
Abel fell into step at your left, jacket folded neatly over one arm and expression carrying the faint exhaustion of whatever executive disaster he and Caine had apparently survived.
Caine appeared at your other side a moment later, still visibly annoyed, though whether with the meeting itself or Abel remained difficult to tell.
For a while, nobody said much.
The path between the caravans stretched quietly ahead, evening air cool enough to settle some of the noise still rattling around in your head. Now that somebody had pointed it out, certain things suddenly felt difficult to ignore.
“…they rejected the lighting proposal,” Caine said suddenly, like he had been waiting for an audience.
Abel sighed, “they rejected unnecessary spending.”
“It was ambiance.”
“It was glitter.”
“It was tasteful!”
“You wanted colored bulbs in a storage hallway.”
You glanced between the two of them.
“...so this meeting was just the two of you arguing for an hour?”
“Forty-five minutes,” Abel corrected.
“Fifty,” Caine said at the same time.
Interesting.
The kitchen scene suddenly felt much harder to ignore.
Fine. If they wanted to behave strangely, you could work with strange.
“Settle something for me,” you murmured.
Both looked over immediately.
You had to look away to stop yourself from laughing.
“What?” Abel frowned slightly.
Caine narrowed his eyes with sudden suspicion.
“You both seem very confident lately,” you continued carefully. “Which one of you is actually better at fixing things?”
Abel answered first.
“I am.”
“At practical things,” Caine replied. “Important distinction.”
“You glued a speaker back together.”
“And it worked.”
“For six hours.”
“That sounds like success.”
You nodded slowly, thoughtful enough to make both of them pay attention.
“Hm.”
Abel looked over first. “Hm what?”
“Oh, nothing,” you kept your attention fixed stubbornly ahead.
Caine straightened slightly.
“No, absolutely not. You started something.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes,” they said together. The synchronization almost got you.
You took your time answering, making a show of thinking about it first. “I was just deciding whether I trusted either of you to help with my trailer shelves.”
Immediate silence followed.
Abel recovered first.
“They’re unstable?”
“No,” you replied.
Caine frowned.
“Then why mention them?”
You shrugged.
“Curiosity.”
By the time your trailer came into view, they had somehow moved into a debate about proper shelving, hardware quality, and whether decorative choices counted as structural incompetence.
You slowed near the door.
Both stopped.
Abel opened his mouth, probably ready to make another snarky remark to his counterpart.
You cut him off before he got the chance.
“No.”
He blinked. Caine smirked, briefly victorious.
“You too.”
The victory disappeared.
You reached for the trailer door, fingers curling around the handle before you glanced back.
“By the way,” you said lightly, “you’re both terrible at being subtle.”
Neither moved. For once, neither interrupted.
You opened the door.
“Try harder tomorrow.”
You stepped inside.
The argument started before the door had fully shut.
a/n: can't tell if this crosses past the funny border into cringe-territory, but...hey, at least i had fun writing it? hope everyone enjoyed reading lol caine won the last poll for who to write next, but i also got a lot of requests for more abel content in my inbox, so hopefully this is a sufficient compromise! as always, send requests! i love your requests they are so silly and yummy and yipeeee
