Archive of Our Own ^beta

Martyn wasn’t used to having another person in his space.

He was overjoyed that Jimmy was joining the show, of course, and more grateful than the other could ever know, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have limits.

He was at his limit.

A bowl of half-eaten cereal sat abandoned on the table. It was staring at him. Challenging him.

“Jimmy, stop leaving your dishes out!”

A voice echoed back from the bathroom, muffled by the static of the shower.

“What? I can’t hear you!” 

“I said-“ Martyn raised his voice further “-you need to stop leaving your bowls out.”

“What?”

“For the love of- Do your washing up! 

“Say that again?”

“Oh, forget it.” 

Martyn picked up the bowl and began the lengthy process of washing it out. The suds stuck to his skin, the squeak of ceramic against sponge settling in his ears, the repetitive motion soothing his fraying nerves.

Martyn was nervous.

Under the guidance of False, Jimmy had taken to training with the canaries like a fish to water. Each evening he’d come home with a sparkle in his eye and feathers in his hair, and Martyn would smile tightly as he rambled on about each new trick they’d tried within the confines of the enclosure.

Last night, Jimmy had bounded in with even more enthusiasm than usual, and exclaimed that False had said that they were ready to move into the ring, that if all went well, he’d probably be ready to be introduced in the next performance.

And Martyn had smiled. He’d smiled and said congratulations, and allowed his brother to talk on and on about how excited he was, how ready he was to finally be planning his routine. He’d given encouragement despite the prickling dread beneath the surface, despite the myriad of feelings simmering deep within his chest.

The squeaking had stopped, and the bowl was clean.

He turned on the tap, washing away the bubbles, staring as the suds ran down the drain leaving no indication they were ever there at all.

Fitting.

The noise from the shower ceased, and Martyn could hear his brother banging against the walls as he moved, still unused to the small space of the trailer even after the three weeks he’d been living there. As the bathroom door clicked open, Jimmy was clearly brimming with excitement, humming a song under his breath, a melody Martyn couldn’t quite place.

Martyn wouldn’t take this from him.

He smiled, and Jimmy smiled back.

It would be fine. He’d cope.

Somehow.

***

Another day, another spreadsheet.

Martyn did like his job, but he had to admit that occasionally Microsoft Excel did get the better of him, and today was shaping up to be one of those days. He glared at the screen, a headache setting in as the next year’s worth of budgeting glared back, the numbers blurring together until he could hardly tell profit margins from insurance bills.

Running his hands through his hair with a groan, he shut the lid of his laptop. Maybe a break would do him some good.

Martyn still wasn’t used to being confined to his trailer during the work day, so whenever he took a break he always preferred to do so outdoors, especially on nicer days such as today. The sun beamed down onto the trailers, and a brisk breeze blew through Martyn’s hair as he stepped outside. The trailer park, as he had expected, was empty, the only signs of life being the quiet birdsong from the trees behind the motorhomes and bell tents. 

In the mood for company, he decided to head to where he knew people would be working, but not too busy: the area with the carnival games and booths, aptly nicknamed “Carnival Row”.

The walk was pleasant enough, his route skirting the edge of the big top shaded by the trees, the dappled light warm against his skin. The darker patches of ground glistened with the dewy remnants of last night’s frost, while the places the warmth reached seemed to glow in the sunlight.

The tranquility was somewhat disrupted by the noise of a couple of different soundtracks overlapping as people practiced their routines inside the large tent, but Martyn was used to it, and nobody else ever seemed too bothered by the cacophony, so rather than annoying him it reminded him of home.

When he arrived at the line of fairground rides, it was far livelier than he'd expected. Rather than the chill atmosphere of the maintenance crew, ride operators were running to and fro, reinforcing tent pegs and testing the ride’s light cycles, setting up their stalls for public viewing. 

Feeling the electricity in the air, the excitement that could only mean one thing, Martyn felt like an ice cube had been dropped down his back.

It was show day. 

He’d forgotten that it was show day.

Martyn felt as his eyes threatened him, blinking rapidly as they began to sting despite the smile he quickly attached to his face.

It wasn’t like it was a big deal. He’d wanted this. He was the one who had stepped back, he was the one who had suggested Jimmy as his replacement. He’d done it, it was his choice.

It didn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. It didn’t stop him feeling as if his lungs were punctured, it didn’t stop his breath from catching as a vignette closed in on the edges of his vision.

He turned from the stalls, and began to retrace his steps. 

This time, the sound of rehearsal only added to his distress, each out-of-sync beat increasing the volume of his heart, the sound of his blood pumping filling his ears. 

Martyn broke out into a run, stumbling in his haste to get away from the people, the light, the noise. As the trailers came into view, he almost collapsed, followed up by an unexpected wave of nausea. 

Doubling over, Martyn dropped to the ground as the very world seemed to spin around him, squinting as the light of the sun reflected up off the dewy grass. The sound of the birds only seemed to grow, and he clapped his hands over his ears to try and escape it. His lungs were refusing to cooperate and he felt his chest shudder with fast, impractical breaths, the very world acting against him. Even with his eyes closed he could feel tears escaping, and every rustle of the trees felt like a hot poker to his throbbing head.

He was drowning.

A twig snapped to his right. 

Martyn’s head shot up, eyes wide in fear, though he wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, and he locked eyes with the perpetrator. 

Scott stared back, seemingly as caught off-guard as Martyn was.

“I, uh-“ Scott began, “I can go get Ren-“

“No-“ Martyn stuttered, his breath hitching, “No, please, stay, don’t go, don’t-“ he cut himself off, screwing his eyes shut as he willed himself to stop crying.

“Okay,” Scott crouched down in front of him, still clearly uneasy, “Okay, I won’t go, I’m…” Scott placed his hands around Martyn’s own, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Martyn couldn’t tell which of them were shaking. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

Martyn didn’t know how long they sat there, his hands enveloped in warmth, the two of them sprawled out on the slightly damp ground. 

When it no longer felt like the world was trying to eat him alive, he became aware of how stiff he was, and he rolled his shoulders to release some of the tension. 

“Back with me?” Scott asked. Martyn flushed, raking his hands through his hair.

“Sorry you had to, uh, see me like that.”

“There’s no need to apologise, it happens.” The soft lilt of the blue-haired boy’s accent was calm against Martyn’s beating heart, and he was filled with relief that Scott was the one who had found him crying in the woods, rather than someone like Ren, who would make him talk about his feelings because ‘repression wasn’t healthy’ or whatever.

“It’s because it’s a show day, right?”

“Yup,” Martyn sighed, “Jimmy’s first.”

“And your first on the sidelines,” Scott added. Martyn hummed non-comittally, not wanting to let Scott know quite how right he was.

“I just worry, that if something happens to Tim, it’ll be my fault.”

“Well that’s stupid,” the blue-haired man scoffed.

“I got him this job-“

“And he agreed to it.” Scott’s tone was patient, but tinged with an emotion Martyn couldn’t quite understand. “He knows the risks. He understands the risks. It would only be your fault if you pulled the rug out from under him, and you’re too good of a person to do that.” 

“Scott, how do you know Jimmy?”

Scott’s body tensed as he considered his answer.

“We were close at uni. I haven’t seen him since then.”

“What do you- oh!” Martyn’s memories fell into place, and his smile fell. “Oh. You’re that Scott.”

“Yep.” Scott pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the ground, refusing to meet Martyn’s eyes. 

“You- you wrecked him, dude.”

“Yeah, I do that.” Scott’s voice tightened, and he closed his eyes to hide the sheen of tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

The silence settled again, but this time it felt heavier, harder to cut through.

“He missed you, you know.” Martyn said. Scott’s breath hitched, and Martyn saw as his shoulders shook. “When you left. He missed you.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have.”

“You need to talk to him, Scott.”

“Martyn, I can’t do that.”

“You need to-“

“I can’t.”

“He thought you were happy-”

“I was happy!” Scott jumped to his feet, brow furrowed in a gaudy mosaic of anger and fear and shame, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “I was so happy. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. Still is. I-” his voice caught in his throat, cracking. “I loved him, Martyn.”

“Then… why leave?” Martyn couldn’t hide his confusion. Scott gave a single humorous laugh, turning away from his friend.

“Because I don’t get nice things. I… I break nice things.”

Martyn watched motionless as Scott walked away.

He was still unable to comprehend how his Scott and Jimmy’s Scott were one and the same.

His best friend Scott, who he’d known for years, the person who’d helped him get over his performance anxiety, the person who’d saved his ass more times than he could count, who was somehow the same person who’d dated his brother, walking out without even a goodbye.

He didn’t understand.

Standing up, he sighed. 

This was gonna be complicated.