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The room smelled like synthetic cherries and the faint, acrid tang of Stupid Sauce, a scent Jax had grown oddly fond of. Ribbit squirted another glistening dollop into her eyes, the pink liquid dripping down her cheeks like tears of laughter. She flopped backward onto Jax’s bed, her long limbs tangling with his as she nestled against his side, her head heavy on his shoulder.
Jax let out a low, rumbling laugh, his voice rough with amusement. His arm draped over her, fingers brushing the damp fabric of her bow tie. “You look like a deranged cotton candy,” he said, grinning. “Like, actually. I respect the aesthetic.”
Ribbit giggled, her voice muffled by the sauce smeared grin. “I know! It’s so stupid!”
“Yeah,” Jax agreed, his thumb tracing idle circles on her shoulder. “Perfectly stupid. One of my favorite things about this place, honestly.”
Ribbit’s laughter softened into something almost wistful. “Same. I used to do this all the time back in the real world. Squirt it in my eyes before school, just to,” She cut herself off with a shrug, but the implication hung between them: Just to survive. Jax’s grin faltered for half a second, his gaze flickering toward the window, toward something unseen, out into the glitchy void of the circus. Then he shook it off.
“Yeah, well. Best way to deal with my grandparents, too.” He said it lightly, but there was a edge to it, like a knife wrapped in silk.
Ribbit’s grin widened, her black pupils dilating with shared understanding. “And my dad’s always on my case about ‘acting my age.’” She snorted, and Jax laughed with her, the sound genuine, unguarded. For a moment, the weight of the Circus lifted, for a moment, they weren’t just prisoners in a glitching nightmare. They were just two idiots, high on stupid sauce, laughing at nothing.
Ribbit’s fingers twitched against the bedsheet, the aftershocks of the sauce still humming in her veins. But her mind was clearing, sharpening, and with that clarity came the creeping dread of wrongness. She turned her head slightly, her cheek still pressed to Jax’s shoulder. His breathing was slow, steady. He was still laughing to himself, squinting as he squeezed another glob of sauce into his eyes.
“Jax,” she said quietly.
He didn’t stop mid-squirt, didn’t even blink. “Mhm?”
“Do you think any of this is real?”
Jax paused. The bottle hovered near his face, a single pink bead trembling at the tip. Then, without missing a beat, he laughed. “Of course not.” He squeezed. “Why, you planning on OD’ing on the sauce or something?”
Ribbit’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I know it’s not real, obviously, but- “doesn’t it feel wrong? Like, everything we know is gone now. Like we’re just… ghosts or memories in someone else’s weird melatonin dream.””
Jax tilted his head, his square pupils contracting slightly as he studied her. The humor drained from his face, leaving something hollow behind. “Huh.” He blinked, slow and deliberate. “I dunno. Feels like reality to me.” Ribbit’s stomach twisted. She opened her mouth to press further, but the words died on her tongue.
Ribbit swallowed nothing. The air between them thickened, cloying with the scent of artificial fruit. She squirted another dose of sauce into her eyes, blinking rapidly as the world swam. Shaking her head did nothing to clear it. “You don’t ever wish we could escape?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even for just a little while?”
Jax’s expression shuttered. “Not here.” He said it quietly, almost shyly.
Ribbit’s breath hitched. “Why not?”
“Because here is where we live now.” His fingers curled into fists against the bedsheet. “And escaping just makes it worse when you get dragged back.” Ribbit stared at him. A single pink droplet slid down her cheek, joining the mess of sauce already clinging to her lashes. She realized, with a sickening lurch, that he wasn’t joking, he meant it.
Ribbit sat up slowly, her body swaying with the effort. her grin faltered. Her fingers, still sticky with sauce, clenched against the bedsheet. The weight of his words settled over her like a glitching blanket, suffocating and cold. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide, her breath shallow. “What do you mean, dragged back?”
Jax flinched. His fingers curled into fists against the bedsheet, his knuckles whitening. “Nothing,” he said, his voice hoarse. He avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the bottle of Stupid Sauce in his hands. Ribbit’s curiosity burned, but she dropped it, compliantly, like she always tried to. She lay back down, her head finding the same spot on his shoulder, but Jax stiffened. His body went rigid, like he’d been carved from ice.
Ribbit’s heart cracked. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “…Okay.” But she didn’t move away. Ribbit blinked the sauce from her eyes, her vision swimming. She stared at the container in her hands, the pink liquid sloshing inside like a heartbeat. She wanted to take more. She always did. The wobble in her legs, the fog in her brain, it was usually comfort. But not tonight.
Tonight, her legs trembled for a different reason. She turned to Jax, her voice small. “Do you wanna talk about,”
“No.” The word was a slap. Ribbit’s breath caught. Jax had never shut her down like that, never blown up at her, not like that. Ribbit’s breath caught. The word no hung between them, heavy and final. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Jax didn’t look at her at first, he blinked, then forced a grin, sharp and brittle. “I mean, what’s the point, eh? Right? We’re high right now, so, haha, it’s not like it's the best time to talk,”
Ribbit cut him off, sharply. “Are you hiding something?”
Jax’s grin faltered. His yellow teeth pressed together, his square pupils contracting into tiny pinpricks. “What could I be hiding?” His voice was dangerously calm. “I’m not hiding anything.”
Ribbit pressed. “It seems like you are. Why do you hate talking about what your life was like outside the Circus? What are you afraid of?” Jax’s face went slack. Then, like a switch had been flipped, his expression darkened. A flash of anger, real, raw, burned in his eyes. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shake her, he almost wanted to hurt her just for daring to ask him that.
But the sauce made his limbs heavy, his thoughts sluggish like an uncomplete thought, so he did what he always did, he just shut her out, "harmlessly".
“Get out of my room, Ribbit.” His voice was low, deadly, like a bullet. “I’m serious.”
Ribbit stared at him, her vision blurring, not from the sauce, but from something worse, something like betrayal. Jax didn’t look at her. Didn’t breathe. She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “…Okay.” She got up, her legs unsteady, like she was walking on glass. “I’ll be with Kaufmo if you need me,” she said, her voice shaking. “Or him. Or anything, or,”
“Just leave.”
And she did.
Ribbit’s legs gave out halfway to Kaufmo’s room. The Stupid Sauce still clung to her skin, her clothes, her soul, but for the first time, she didn’t want it. She didn’t want the wobble, she didn’t want the fog, she just wanted to feel something real. Like how Jax made her feel, but she fucked it up somehow.
She stumbled into Kaufmo’s room uninvited, collapsing onto his bed like she always did. He caught her before she face-planted into his pillow, his fabric covered form rippling with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Ribbit’s voice cracked. “Jax just… shut me out. Like, really shut me out. Of his room.”
Kaufmo’s form flickered, his eyes dimming slightly. “He does that.”
“But it’s different this time,” she whispered. “I asked about his past outside the Circus. And he hates talking about it. I just wanted to know why.” Her voice broke, she hated that he made her feel like it. Like she wasn't allowed to care.
Jax heard her leave. He heard her talking to Kaufmo, and he froze. His hands shook as he reached for the Stupid Sauce bottle. The pink liquid sloshed inside, mocking him. Jax uttered a single, guttural ‘Fuck.’ The word tore from his throat, raw and broken. Then he slammed the bottle against the wall. It splattered, a grotesque pink flower blooming on the plaster, but it didn’t break, just like him.
The bottle didn’t break. It just splattered. Jax collapsed onto his bed, covering his face with his arms. “I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate myself.” He wanted to go to her, he wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat, sharp and jagged, like his own teeth. So he just lay there, broken and filled to the very brim with regret.
-
The next morning, Jax woke up with a headache that felt like someone was driving a tiny pickaxe through his skull. His mouth tasted like metal oddly enough, like regret, and Stupid Sauce, and he hated the taste. He groaned, rolling onto his side, and immediately regretted it when the light hit his eyes, like he wished he wasn't conscious.
Ribbit. He could feel her absence like a missing limb.
Across the room, Ribbit sat hunched over a sketchbook, her green fingers trembling as she scribbled. The lines were jagged, uneven. Kaufmo hovered nearby, his black button eyes flicking between them like he was watching a tennis match. “You two okay?” Kaufmo asked, his voice muffled by the static hum of the light glimmering from an artificial light of the ceiling, that Caine added just because. Realism or something.
Ribbit didn’t look up. “…No.” Jax didn’t answer. Just stared at the wall. The silence was suffocating.
-
Ribbit had circled him all day. The Stupid Sauce residue clung to their skin, their synthetic digital avatar, their bow, but their mind was clear for the first time in weeks. They were done waiting. They followed him to his room, where Jax was hunched over the wreckage of last night’s meltdown, fixing what he could, avoiding what he couldn’t. Ribbit sat on the edge of his bed, close but not touching.
“Jax.” Their voice was soft but firm. “Please.” Jax’s back tensed.
“Ribbit. Don’t.” His voice was flat, but his hands shook as he fiddled with a shattered circuit board.
“You never talk about your past,” Ribbit said, their voice barely above a whisper. “Not really talk. And I just… I want to know you.” They reached out, fingers curling toward his shoulder before pulling back. Their hands clenched into fists. “I want to understand.” Jax’s shoulders hunched.
“There’s nothing to know.” He finally turned around, his face carefully blank, but his eyes were dark with something raw. “Nothing worth knowing.”
Ribbit stood up, their voice rising, not with anger, but with frustration. The Stupid Sauce had worn off enough that they felt everything now, the sting from the neglect, the hurt, the need to know. “That’s clearly not true.” Their voice cracked. “You laugh with me. You comfort me when I’m upset. You let me sit with you like this, like you care,”
“I don’t,” Jax snapped, but the lie was thin, transparent.
“Then why does it feel like you do?” Ribbit stepped closer, their chin lifting. “Jax, you clearly DO care. What are you hiding?”
Jax’s jaw clenched. He looked away, but Ribbit’s fingers gently gripped his chin, forcing him to meet their gaze, his eyes were wet. Terrified. Jax’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles whitening. He looked away, his voice a whisper. “Fine.” He turned back, his eyes wet, his face twisted with pain. “You want to know? Fine.”
He turned away, pouring himself a drink from a glitching bottle of water, useless, his digital body didn’t need it, but he needed something to do with his hands. He chugged it, the liquid sloshing down his throat like acid.
“Jax,” Ribbit reached for him again.
“I was a stupid kid!” The words tore from him, jagged and ugly. “I didn’t know what I was doing! I was desperate to be bad, desperate to defy my grandparents!” His voice cracked, his hands shaking like leaves. He slammed the bottle down, and it for once shattered. “I got drunk! I drank constantly, I never wasn't holding an empty bottle! And I got out on the road because I was stupid!”
Ribbit’s breath hitched. Their hands flew to their mouth, stifling a sob. Their vision blurred, their knees weak, but they held themselves up, refusing to crumble. “Jax,” they whispered, their voice shaking.
“My friend,” Jax continued, his voice breaking. “He was just as drunk as me. We were both being stupid, we were just trying to have fun, you know,” His hands clenched into fists, shaking viciously, violently. “We slammed into a lamppost, obviously, it fucked up my brain, and- and he didn’t survive the crash.” His voice cracked. Stopped. Ribbit’s heart stopped with it.
“It was all my fault,” Jax whispered. “And it fucked up my head. And I hate it, I hate myself,” His shoulders shook and froze at the same time. Slight mist fogged his eyes, but he tried to hide it, like it was a weakness he couldn’t afford. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He turned away, covering his face with his hands. Ribbit was silent, they were stunned. They’d never seen Jax like this. Not the arrogant, sassy, untouchable Jax. This was a rabbit, no, a boy, broken open, raw and bleeding.
“Jax…” Ribbit’s voice was a whisper. They took a shaky step forward, then stopped. “I, I didn’t know, I'm so sorry.”
Jax’s voice was muffled behind his hands. “Oh, don't give me that! I didn't want to share this with you in the first place! You pressured me!”
“But you’re hurting,”
“Yeah.” He laughed, bitter with anger and hollow. “And I deserve it. We all deserve to be here.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, sniffling. His shoulders were still shaking, but he was trying to pull himself together. “Happy now?”
The room was silent, except for the hum of the glitching circus outside. Ribbit’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Jax didn’t look at them, he just stood there, his breath ragged, his body trembling with relief and shame. Ribbit didn’t answer, they just sat on the floor, their back against the wall, and stayed with him.
-
The Circus was burning. Not literally, it didn’t need to. The air itself was thick with the scent of melted wires and fear, the kind of fear that clung to your throat like tar. Jax stood frozen, his breath shallow, his heart a drumbeat of dread. Above them, Caine floated like a grotesque marionette, his cerise tailcoat billowing in the artificial wind. His gold-tipped staff gleamed as he grabbed Ribbit’s abstracted form, their jagged body twisting in his grip. Ribbit’s many eyes flickered with unstable energy, their once vibrant green skin now a mass of jagged spikes.
Caine’s voice was a sickening parody of glee. “Ohhh, Ribbit! You? I wasn’t expecting you to go abstracting on me! Get over here, Rib!” He yanked Ribbit toward him, his voice mocking, cheerful, wrong. Like a clown laughing as the world burned around him. Jax’s breath caught. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
“Ribbit…?” His voice was a rasp, barely a whisper. He took a step forward, then stopped. His legs felt like lead, his body rooted to the spot. His mind was screaming, but his body wouldn’t move. Ribbit’s head snapped toward him. Their form was glitching, distorted, but their thoughts were so incredibly clear:
A single spiral danced down their eye, vibrant, sticky, wrong. Their eyes were wide, frightened, but also furious. They reached for him, their jagged fingers trembling, but Caine dragged them back with a laugh. “Into the Cellar before you jumble anyone else!” Caine’s voice was sing-song, like he was scolding a misbehaving child. He glanced at Kaufmo, who was collapsed on the ground, his body glitching from the strain of the contact with (who once was) Ribbit. His smile faltered just a little. “Oops. Looks like someone’s hurting.”*
Floating toward the Cellar, dragging Ribbit with him. Jax stumbled forward, his voice cracking. “Ribbit, wait!” But it was too late. Caine was already pulling them toward the Cellar’s entrance. Ribbit’s last look at Jax was seared into his brain, wide, terrified, betrayed. Their form was fading, glitching, but their thoughts and intent were clear:
“You left me.”
Ribbit’s eyes were full of tears and rage.
“You could’ve stopped it.”
Caine dragged them into the Cellar. The door slammed shut. Silence. Jax stood there, stunned. His breath was shallow. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe she was gone.
“No.” His voice was a whisper, a prayer for help, a curse. “No, no, no,” He dropped to his knees. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t stop staring at the Cellar’s door.
Ribbit was gone, and it was his fault. Just like back home, everything bad that has ever happened to anyone he has ever been close with, has been all his fault.
-
The Circus was silent now. The kind of silence that felt like a living thing, pressing down on them all. Caine had disappeared into his office, laughing the whole way, like he was also trying to distract himself from something, maybe the knowledge that his world he built was fleeting. Kaufmo was still on the ground, wheezing, his body flickering in and out of abstraction. Gangle and Ragatha hovered nearby, helpless, trying to help him up. Jax was alone.
Caine floated past him, his cerise tailcoat billowing, his gold-tipped staff gleaming. He grinned at Jax, his dentures clicking. “Don’t YOU go abstracting on me too!” he sang, his voice mocking. “Remember, if you feel any URGES…” He pointed dramatically at the corner of the Circus, where a glitching “Therapy Time” sign flashed like a warning. “…give me a call and we’ll get straight to THERAPY TIME with YOURS TRULY!”
He stuck out his tongue, winked, then disappeared into his office without another word. Jax didn’t react, didn’t smile, didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the Cellar’s door, merged with the floor, like it had swallowed her whole. His face was blank, but his hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Gangle looked at Jax, hesitant. “Jax… are you okay?” Jax’s voice was dead. Empty.
“Don’t.” He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.
“Just… don’t.” He turned away, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to shrink into himself.
Ragatha turned to Gangle, whispering. “Any idea if he might... need anything? Maybe he just wants to talk to someone else,” Gangle shook her head, confused.
"I don't.. Know what he needs," she responded, sheepishly. It was the first time Ragatha ever willingly saw her take her comedy mask off without it being blasted out of her hands or breaking. Kaufmo grunted, trying to stand up with Ragatha’s help.
“Jax…?” His voice was weak, but he tried. Jax froze. His back was to them. His voice was hoarse, broken.
“Leave me alone.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He walked away, his steps heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world, the weight of HIS world, and he was.
-
Jax’s room was a tomb; the glitching light flickered like a dying heartbeat, casting jagged shadows on the walls. The air smelled like Stupid Sauce and regret. He sat on his bed, staring at nothing, his body a statue carved from grief. His breath hitched, shallow, broken, like he was drowning and couldn’t remember how to swim. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care. He failed.
Jax sucked in a breath so sharp it sounded like a sob. His chest was a cage, his ribs tightening around his lungs like a vice. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Tiny red crescents bloomed on his skin, but he didn’t flinch. He barely felt it. He stood up, paced. Like a caged animal, like a ghost, like a soul who had already lost everything.
He muttered to himself, his voice a rasp, a whisper, a prayer to a god that he didn’t believe existed. “Move on.” His voice wavered, cracked. “It’s time to move on.” He stopped. Covered his mouth with his hand, like he could stuff the words back in, like he could undo the past with sheer willpower. His fingers trembled against his lips.
“…And forget about her.” His voice broke. “She’s gone.”
He laughed. It was a sound made of shattered glass, of static, of something wrong. A laugh that didn’t belong to him anymore. “Like it even matters.” He collapsed onto his bed, his face buried in his arms. His shoulders shook. He was crying, but he was trying to hide it, like if he didn’t look, if he didn’t feel, it wouldn’t be real.
His voice was muffled, raw, torn from the depths of his soul. “Fuck.” He punched the pillow. Once. Twice. The feathers exploded and danced mockingly around him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t, he needed to hurt; needed to feel something else.
He curled up on his side, pulling his knees to his chest like he could shrink into nothing, like he could disappear and take the pain with him. His breath came in short, jagged gasps. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The light flickered again. The Circus was silent. Jax was alone.
With his guilt, his regret, the hole where Ribbit used to be, and the crushing weight of knowing he’d never get to say goodbye.
The room smelled like the ghost of what he once associated Ribbit with: cherries and the faint, acrid tang of Stupid Sauce, a scent Jax had grown oddly fond of, but now it made him retch, a reminder of the hole she’d left behind. He turned his head to the side of his bed and remembered the sight of Ribbit squirting another drop into her eyes, the pink liquid highlighting her rosy cheeks, making her look beautiful, almost. He flopped back onto his bed, his head crushing into the pillow like his heart was crushing under the weight of his regret. His head heavy with regret and his heart even heavier with grief, self-hatred coiling in his chest like a glitching serpent. Fuck, he’d let her down. And now she was gone.