Chapter Text
*
Come on in and sit beside me, where the waters collide
Bathin' me in the iris of your widening eyes
What can you share to keep my hands cuffed?
Somethin' so bright and blessed that I'm all but crushed
*
Weak In Your Light - Nation of Language
Companion Playlist
Like most things that happen in the Digital Circus, it all starts with one of Caine’s creative ideas.
The day after the awards ceremony, a new and odd tension washes over the group; so aggressively palpable that even Caine senses it as he floats above them, his gums frowning. He wonders, silently, if the gun challenge had been too divisive, too encouraging of inter-group violence - what good is a team-bonding exercise if there’s still all that weird atmosphere left behind after?!
And so, he settles on giving them a new team-bonding challenge for the day, one without firearms and instead featuring a myriad of cosy cliches clearly inspired by candy-coloured teen movies.
“A slumber party?” Zooble repeats, moments after Caine has delivered his enthusiastic plan. “Huh. That doesn’t… sound too bad, actually.”
“Yeah, I’m down for that,” Pomni nods. Gangle is nodding too, a faint smile on her mask. “Like I said before, the chill ones are kinda fun.”
Ragatha looks tentatively interested. Kinger, as usual, is just happy to be involved. Jax - who would normally insert some kind of sarcastic quip right about now - is distant, his stare floor-bound and his arms crossed. He stands some distance away from the group, unusually sulky and quiet. Pomni risks a quick glance over. Jax doesn’t look up.
“GREAT!” Caine booms, not even letting the others get a word in. “Then hold on to your nightgowns and get those dubiously homemade face masks a-mixin’! And remember: no sleeping, no fighting, but mild existential crisis is A-OK! Chop chop, happy campers!”
To Caine’s credit, the adventure is much milder than previous escapades. The group are transported to a setting akin to a typical suburban home, with rooms doused in hazy, pinkish lighting, the decor evoking late eighties to early nineties sensibilities; spiral-cord phones and cassette players, plush furniture with zany patterns, that sort of thing. It’s pleasant. Nostalgic.
In a large master bedroom, the group begin to settle, finding themselves dressed either in loungewear or cutesy pyjamas. A mass of cushions, blankets, sheets and string lights form a sort of sleepover-haven; a fort fit for comfort and gossip, complete with teen magazines, beautifying products, bowls of popcorn and a stack of rom-com VHS tapes.
They’re about halfway through an overly-sentimental movie about sisterly love when Jax lets out an exaggerated, strained groan. The sound of it makes Gangle jump so abruptly that her mask slips and falls; luckily, it lands softly onto a comforter, and doesn’t break. Zooble helps her fit it back into place.
“This is lame,” Jax comments, obnoxiously loud. “Are we seriously gonna just sit here watching these weak excuses for movies? C’mon, guys! Can’t we do something a little more… juicy?”
It’s the first normal Jax thing he’s said all day, and this doesn’t go unnoticed by the group. Jax’s off-kilter mood had been worryingly obvious to everyone, most of all Pomni. And so, finding themselves strangely relieved at Jax’s return to form, nobody risks scolding him for the interruption.
“Well, what would you suggest?” Zooble says, unfazed.
“Tch, I dunno,” Jax rolls his eyes. “Like a game, or, somethin’, I guess.”
“Oh! We could play spin the bottle?” Ragatha suggests, suddenly piping up. Pomni raises an eyebrow. “I u-used to play that at sleepovers when I was younger, heh.”
“Wow, Rags,” Jax grins, throwing her a sidelong look. “You’re kind of a dark horse, ain’tcha?”
“There’s a horse here?” Kinger blinks.
“W-We don’t have any bottles, though,” Gangle says, glumly.
“HOW ABOUT SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN?” suggests Caine, suddenly popping into view.
Everyone yelps, startled; this time, Gangle’s comedy mask does break. United in their chagrin at Caine’s constant unannounced drop-ins, the group frown at him. Bubble also phases into view.
“Let’s make them mud-wrestle in a ball pit,” he offers.
Caine falters. “W-What? No… Bad Bubble. Anyway… We’ll be sticking to the standard rules for this one, folks!” He points his cane at the group, letting it glide over each member as he concentrates his focus. “Hmmm, who shall it be…”
“We haven’t even agreed to-” Zooble tries to start.
“YOU!” Caine points to Pomni, who flinches. “And YOU!” Caine also points to Jax, who looks alarmed for a second before covering it quickly. “ALRIGHTY! You know the rules! Play nice, with plenty of spice! INTO THE CLOSET WITH YOU!”
With comically enlarged hands, Caine grabs Pomni in one and Jax with the other, plucking them like reluctant weeds and then scooting them together, pushing them down a corridor until they slide into the gloomy dark of an open closet door. Despite their muted protests, Caine is persistent, lingering for a moment in the doorway.
“Your time starts… now!” he tells them, looking at his wrist - which is lacking any kind of watch. “Spend it wisely!”
The door slams shut.
It’s not quite pitch black inside, as there seems to be a smattering of glow-in-the-dark, star-shaped stickers on the ceiling, and a crisp line of light seeps in from under the doorway. As such, Jax and Pomni can just about see each other’s features in the small closet. When Pomni tries the door handle, it’s firmly locked.
“It’s only seven minutes,” she says, mostly to herself. “How bad can it be?”
She feels the awkwardness, then. The way Jax can’t even look at her. The way he stands, rigid, with the slightest repetitive tap to his foot. How heavy the air between them is, laced with echoes of words yelled the day before; regret and spite, venom and hurt. The vacancy often found in Jax’s forced, blank, smiling stare is nowhere to be seen, now - instead, his brow crumples with discomfort.
Pomni considers her options. She chooses her default approach. “Hey, do you, uh… Wanna talk about… yesterday?”
She voices this suggestion carefully, her tone light; but Jax scoffs bitterly anyway, pouting somewhat. “No,” he says, letting out a terse sigh. “Not particularly.”
“Okay, fine.” Pomni throws up her hands. “We’ll just stand here in silence until time’s up, then. Fine by me.”
A long stretch of seconds passes by languidly, with the tension between them only growing more itchy. Pomni can hear the increasingly rampant thud of Jax’s foot against the floorboards - thump, thump, thump - and she eyes him with concern, squinting to try and make him out in the dim light.
“Are you… okay?”
“Who cares,” Jax retorts immediately.
“I… care.”
“Well stop caring!” Jax suddenly breathes out, his eyes wide and ears twitching. “I didn’t ask you to care! Not you, not any of the others, and I sure as-”
“Are you scared of the dark?” Pomni interjects.
Jax stumbles over his words as he processes her interruption. “W-What? N-No, why would I be scared of the dark?”
Pomni shrugs. “I was, for a long time. As a kid, I mean. I used to get these horrible nightmares, and stuff. I had to have a nightlight for years.”
Jax huffs at this, a brief, churlish laugh escaping him. He sneers down at her. “Pff. You mean you’ve always been a total crybaby?”
Pomni laughs dryly at this, raising her eyebrows in sardonic defeat, clicking her tongue. “I guess so.”
Another barren wasteland of silence follows. Pomni tolerates it well, but Jax clearly suffers; dark quiet gives him too much time to think. His head is loud, and he searches his thoughts for something - anything - to say. A joke. A question. In his frazzled state, he panics, speaking aloud what he meant to keep locked in his mind.
“I’m… sorry,” he finds himself muttering, so quietly that Pomni nearly misses it.
“What?”
Jax makes a choked sound of frustration, his teeth gritting, his fists clenching. He should finish the sentence with a snarky comment - I’m sorry you’re so DUMB. He should retreat from the vulnerability; every possible alarm bell to run rings loudly in his head, shrill in warning. But Jax is tired of running. And in this small, stolen space, perhaps he can allow one brief moment of weakness.
He can always deny it later.
“I’m sorry about… yesterday,” he continues, his voice flat and thin. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, when you… And I… It’s not like me to just lose my cool like that, y’know? And just… God, this place just does things to you sometimes, and I…”
It’s not the first apology Jax has offered Pomni, but she’s taken aback nonetheless. As his sentence trails off, she resists the urge to speak, too hesitant incase the moment is broken. Jax slumps until his back hits the closet wall, which he slides downward against, landing to sit on the floor, his head in his hands.
“Forget it,” he says, bitterly. “Just forget I said anything.”
“O-Okay,” Pomni says. She spends a few seconds wondering what to do, then carefully moves to sit next to him on the floor. Jax doesn’t recoil. “Soooo… are you saying we did make a good team, after all?”
“Sure. Whatever. If that’s what you wanna hear.”
Pomni accepts this, then takes a deep breath inward. “You know, Jax, you might not be the… easiest person to get along with, but… I don’t want you to abstract, and I don’t think anyone else here does, either.”
Jax looks up from his hands sharply, frowning at her. “Who said anythin’ about abstracting?”
“N-No one,” Pomni rushes to clarify. “I just meant, well… if you weren’t around anymore, I’d… I’d miss you. I… I wouldn’t forget about you. I just… I just wanted you to know that.”
Jax is silent for a long moment, staring at Pomni. And then, with his voice low: “Why are you telling me this?”
“Cause I think you need to hear it,” Pomni says simply, shrugging. She lets her head fall backwards until it hits the wall. “And it’s easier to say what you really think or feel in the dark, isn’t it? At least, I think so.”
Jax doesn’t speak for a long while, trying to stumble through the complicated emotions that swarm in his heavy head and aching heart. He feels a strong desire to regain control of the moment, and so, falls back on his usual schtick. He forces a laugh.
“Heh. You’re a real piece of work, Pomni, you know that?”
“H-Huh?”
“Saying stuff like that. Jeez! That movie really rubbed off on ya, huh? You’re getting all sappy on me!” He shakes his head and relaxes his smile. “You gonna start coming up with goofy nicknames for me now? Drawing me in the back of your diary?”
Despite herself, Pomni laughs. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously!” Jax says. “You are coming on to me!”
“Am not,” Pomni replies, still laughing.
“Suuuuure, okay. I didn’t hear you complaining much about being shoved in here with me, though. It’s almost like you wanted to be locked together in a dark, cramped space, with nobody around to see what we might get up to-”
“Jax!”
“What? I’m just saying it like it is, Pom-Pom, and you can’t even deny it! I don’t hear you arguing otherwiiiise~”
Guided by unknown impulse, Pomni decides to call his bluff. She smirks. “Go on, then. Do something.”
“W-What?”
“You heard me,” she says casually. “Do something, then. Or are you too chicken?”
“Pfff, how dare you, I’m no chick-”
“You totally freaked out when I just tried to hug you yesterday.”
“Th-That was, that was different! I, I…” Jax groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You took me by surprise, and I just-”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wh-Whatever! This is dumb. Hasn’t it been seven minutes already, anyway?!”
“Mm, maybe,” Pomni realises she hasn’t thought about it. “Maybe seven minutes doesn’t really mean seven minutes here. Who knows, with this place. Caine could keep us locked in here for hours.”
The thought is sobering. Both Pomni and Jax sit with it for a grim moment, their breath held and throats feeling thick. After a beat, Jax lets out a frustrated groan and raises his voice.
“Hey! It’s been seven minutes, Caine! We’re kinda done in here!”
Rather predictably, there’s no answer. Jax mutters something under his breath, exasperated. Pomni twiddles her thumbs and bites her tongue - once, twice, but not a third time. The urge to say what she so fiercely wants to say bubbles too strongly under the surface to be held for any longer.
“Hey, uh… Jax?”
“What?”
“Say I was… If I had, been, uh, I mean…” Pomni swallows. “What would you have done if I had, uh, come on… to… you?”
Jax raises his eyebrows. “Ha! For real?”
“Y-Yeah…”
“Huh. Well, I guess I wouldn’t have blamed you, given I am totally irresistible.”
Pomni laughs weakly. Pleased with this, Jax grins wide. He gives her an easy once-over, a look up and down, his shoulders dropping.
“And,” he continues. “I guess I wouldn’t have hated it, either. Maybe I’d have even gone along with it! Just for kicks, who knows? Could have been kinda funny.”
“F-Funny?”
“Yeah, like, you and me, God, what a weird pairing, right?” Jax says cheerfully, laughing somewhat unconvincingly. “I mean, I’m waaaaaaay out of your league.”
Pomni frowns. “You really think so?”
“Sure,” Jax shrugs nonchalantly, his expression still relaxed. “And anyway, aren’t I a little young for you? Or what are you, the type that likes ‘em young?”
“You’re only three years younger than me,” Pomni scoffs, lightly amused. “Hardly a huge age gap.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jax says, stretching, kicking his legs out and slumping a little. “But there’s one other teeny-tiny thing you’re forgetting.”
“What’s that?”
“Well. I’d have to actually like you, dummy!”
Pomni accepts this statement quickly, letting it hit her square in the chest in one harsh blow; she shakes off the instinct to feel hurt by it. Her smile twitches nervously in one corner. “R-Right. Yeah.”
Jax looks at her, eyeing her smugly with one eye shut, his grin smaller than before. He adds nothing. Pomni, suddenly feeling self-conscious, shakes her head and lets out uneasy laughter.
“Of… of course,” she says, trying her best to play it off. “Yeah. Duh. Haha. Totally. Figures.”
“Yeahhh,” Jax breathes out, unbothered. Enjoying the tease. “I mean, you’re not even my type, honestly-”
“I g-get it, yeah…”
“Like, we’re soooo different-”
“Yeah. Yeah! T-Totally…”
“Which is what makes it all so hilarious!”
Pomni pauses. “Makes… what so… hilarious?”
“The fact that I like you,” Jax says, offhand.
The confession enters the space between them, feeling overwhelmingly raw and new. Pomni freezes, unsure how to handle it, unsure if she even believes it. Shocked, she blinks at him slowly.
“Y-You… do?”
“Sure, why not?” Jax answers happily, as if on a mere whim. “Sure. I like you, Pomni! How about that?”
She squints at him, her suspicion rising. “Are you… are you fucking with me?”
“Isn’t that what you want me to do?” Jax leers, wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes narrowing in glee.
“That’s… that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“So, what? You gonna make out with me in the closet, now?”
Pomni, totally regretting saying anything at all, rolls her eyes impatiently. “Don’t be an asshole about it, Jax, okay? Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
“Why? This was just gettin’ to the interesting part.”
The thin and worn thread of patience in Pomni’s psyche finally snaps; she gives a quick growl of frustration, staring at him with irritation flaring in her eyes. “Fine! Fine. You wanna make out, Jax? Is that it? You want me to go along with whatever stupid joke you’re trying to play on me?”
“Who said this was a joke?” Jax asks, as if wounded by her accusation. He bats his lashes. “I mean every word I say.”
Pomni’s chest heaves. She’s angry and anxious and nervous, filled with the sting of adrenaline and the cloying flurry of butterflies in her gut. There’s that tempting lure of what might lay ahead if she just gives in to her impulses, but it requires so much risk, and she’s not sure if she has the strength to see it through.
She could fight him again, maybe; throwing punches at his stupid, smug face. She could wrestle with the door handle until the door finally breaks open. She could simply ignore him. Instead, for whatever heat-of-the-moment reason, she decides to challenge him.
“Y-You do it, then,” she suggests, shakily.
Jax shrugs, seemingly unaffected, demeanor lackadaisical. “Fine by me.”
“G-Go on, then!” Pomni stutters, her breathing laboured.
“Alriiiight, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jax says, but there’s a slight twitch under his left eye.
He moves, then, adjusting his position slightly to lean in closer. Pomni braces for it, her breathing shallow, her eyes fluttering to a close. In seconds, she feels him there, right there, his face so close to her own, his breath against her cheek. There’s no sound. No taunting, no clever remarks. Just the thuds of their respective hearts beating, their panting breaths. The moment is still. Tense.
Pomni feels Jax’s hand come to rest tentatively on her waist, and she gasps at the sudden touch; he’s really going to do it! She hears him inhale sharply, can feel how tense his fingers are on her side, the muscles twitching with anticipation. The air is warm between them, the darkness swallowing everything, making this feel secret and hidden and hot.
For a second, Pomni almost feels his mouth brush against hers - but then, he retreats, pulling back. Confused, she opens her eyes, only to find him forcing a grin on his face.
“Pffff!” His laughter is strained. “HA! You actually thought I was gonna do it?! Man, you really are dumb.”
But he’s blushing, and his words are messy and stumbling, and he’s blushing - Pomni can’t believe it. Jax is actually flustered, unable to look at her - until he does. Their eyes, meeting; his are startled, his pupils tiny and quivering. Hers, huge and open and curious.
“S-Stop looking at me like that, jeez, you’re c-creepin’ me out,” Jax says, woefully unconvincing. He’s fooling no one, least of all himself.
Pomni inches closer, moving until she’s kneeling beside him, and Jax watches this happen with growing discontent written all over his face. Undeterred, Pomni cups his face with her hand, thumbing his cheek; a full-body shiver runs over Jax like a tingling wave.
“W-What are you doing?” he asks, monotone.
She doesn’t answer. She simply leans in, presses her mouth to his, and kisses him. At first, it feels like he might try to fight her off, but that only lasts the briefest of moments; soon, he’s melting into her, holding onto her like she’s offering his personal salvation, and then Jax is kissing her back.
The sensation is a little strange, but pleasant, their lips meeting and feeling surprisingly compatible. Jax winds his arms around Pomni’s torso, holding her there; both her hands cup his face, and together they are lost to it. Pomni can feel how inexperienced Jax is, his movements slightly clumsy, and she wonders idly in the back of her head if this is possibly his first kiss.
There are so many reasons she shouldn’t be doing this. So many. And yet, Pomni can only focus on the one reason she should: because it feels really, really good.
When she pulls back, Jax mutters a soft string of pleas - no, no, don’t, come back, I, no - so she kisses him again, lowering herself down to straddle his lap proper. Oh, that does it; they really, truly make out then, the heat of it feeling not too dissimilar to their fight just the day before. Bodies moving, positions changing.
Jax whimpers into her mouth as Pomni lets her hands run down his sides, the sound vibrating against her tongue as it brushes against his own. They break apart briefly, panting heavily, hands still trying to find new areas to grope; Pomni whispers a quick you okay? Jax responds with a nod, and then they’re tasting each other again.
Somehow, they end up with Pomni on her back, Jax bent over her, his lanky body huge and cumbersome trying to fit with her smaller frame. Drunk on sensation, he paws at her chest, his mouth finding purchase on her neck, nuzzling there, nipping; Pomni gasps, clutching the straps of his overalls.
“Can we even…?” Pomni finds herself asking, breathlessly.
“Whaddayou think?” Jax murmurs into her neck, deadpan. Distracted, he licks a deft line up the length of her neck, all the way up to her rosy cheek; she inhales sharply.
“R-Right,” she nods, barely able to focus. “F-Figures.”
Jax props himself up on his hands, staring down at her, his expression a mixture of amusement, lust and surprise. “You saying you’d want to?”
“M-Maybe,” she admits, bashfully. “If… If you did.”
And then, Pomni watches it happen in real time; the devastating realisation that suddenly overcomes Jax. Lucidity returning to him, a cruel reminder of the reality of the situation - what he’s done, what they’re doing, what this means. His breathing is rapid and strained, a grimace beginning to contort his features. He’s suffering, now, feeling raw and maskless.
Pomni thinks that any second now, Jax will cut the tension with a quippy line, something that alleviates him of sincerity, removes him from being present in the moment. He’ll play this all off as a joke again, maybe. She thinks he’ll find a way to save face. But he doesn’t; he simply stares at her, confused and furious and frightened, a manic sort of fear evident in his eyes.
“I don’t want to care about you,” he admits, low and quiet.
“I know,” she whispers, sympathetically.
He lets his body go lax, then, his long limbs limp as he falls into her, collapsing into her arms, defeated. Jax’s face smooshes into her shoulder, and he groans against it - a stifled moan that conveys his weary, anguished irritation at having revealed himself so unceremoniously. Pomni, knowing that the worst of the battle is already won, smiles to herself. She wraps her arms around his back.
Jax shifts slightly so he can speak without his words being muffled by her clothing. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead.”
But he also curls himself into her, his arm looping around her waist and clinging to her, his legs intertwining with hers. His words sound sharp, Pomni thinks, but his actions are that of a needy, touch-starved thing, one trying desperately to sap comfort. She smiles wider.
“Are you kidding?” she says, gently, stroking between his ears and sighing softly. “And have all those guys lecture me on what a bad idea getting involved with you is? No thanks.”
Jax laughs at this - a genuine, boyish kind of giggle, one Pomni feels reverberate against her chest. Then, he tenses, his body stilling. He tuts to himself. “Y’know… There’s a chance I might… go back to just being a total jackass to you, once we… get back out there.”
“Oh, I know,” Pomni replies, calmly.
“It’s a… habit,” Jax attempts to explain. “Kinda.”
“Habits can be broken.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Sure,” Pomni says lightly, tracing circles at the base of his skull. It’s soft. “If it’s for the right reasons. If you want it badly enough.”
“Hey, Pom?”
“Mmm?”
“Would you wanna… do this again… sometime?”
Pomni tenses, her eyes widening. “Sure, y-yeah. I’d… I’d like that.”
“Heh,” Jax smiles to himself, letting his eyes close. “Being held… it ain’t so bad.”
In the enclosed, nearly-lightless sanctuary of the closet, they lay together like this for some time. No words said between them, and no heat, either; just easy peace, fragile comfort exchanged between their touching bodies. At some point, Pomni begins to hum a tune - Daisy Bell - keeping her voice low and subdued. Jax taps to the rhythm with his finger, gentle pads against her side.
Pomni marvels at how relaxed Jax begins to feel in her arms - how foreign this seems, given only the day before they’d been at each other’s throats. Things can change so quickly in the Circus, emotions turning on a dime, moods shifting faster than the false worlds they find themselves standing in. What will come of this? Pomni doesn’t know. This could all be so fleetingly temporary.
You must be misremembering. Is that what Jax will try to pull again, later? Will he deny this ever happened, to both Pomni and himself?
Casting this worrying line of thought aside, Pomni exhales slowly and decides not to care, for now. It’s far easier to simply enjoy the present moment, to savour this feeling of closeness, with the one person she couldn’t ever have predicted she’d get so close to. How did this happen? How did Jax become the one she most longs to spend time with?
Pomni doesn’t know. She can’t trace back to the exact moment fate twisted in that direction, nor does she have the energy to search for it. She closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and feels alluringly close to falling asleep.
The two doze together through that light variety of sleep, the sort where one is still somewhat aware of physical sensations and the rough passing of time. Neither want the game to end. But, as all things must, it eventually does - the two are abruptly jostled from their sleepiness when the door suddenly bursts open.
Jax, with impressively speedy reflexes, jumps away from Pomni, faster than she’s ever seen him move before. Light spills into the closet, and both of them squint, adjusting to the sudden brightness, only to see Caine looking eager in the doorway.
“Well, would you LOOK at that TIME!” he booms. “Seems your seven minutes are up, you lawless vagabonds!”
“We’ve been in here for like an hour,” Jax retorts, exasperated. “Were you even counting?!”
“Oop! Guess that watch of mine is broken after all,” Caine says, taking another peek at his (still watch-free) wrist. He taps his gums thoughtfully. “Oh well! Did you lovebirds have fun CANOODLING to your heart's content?”
Jax stiffens, his expression almost a snarl, and he looks as if he’s about to spit out some moody, protesting comment - when Pomni laughs, softly, lifting herself to a stand.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she says evenly. “But me and Jax are just friends.” She glances at Jax, half expectant, half hopeful. “Right, Jax?”
For a moment, Jax hesitates, conflicted. Friends. Every instinct in his marrow tells him to reject the term. He could roll his eyes, laugh scornfully, and call her delusional again. He should do that. But he doesn’t. Jax lets his features soften, a sigh leaving his chest. He grins at her.
“Right,” he nods. “…Friends."
Pomni isn't sure yet if he means it. She hopes he does.