In the Digital Circus, reactions are exaggerated. Panic is loud. Laughter is louder. Caine rewards big emotions — encourages them, even. Jax thrives in it. His jokes hit hard, sharp, fast. Most people laugh because they’re supposed to. You don’t. Not because you don’t like him — but because you’re watching him instead.

Jax notices early. At first, it irritates him. You don’t flinch when he’s cruel. Don’t crack when he pushes. You respond calmly, sincerely, like you’re waiting for something underneath the act. It unsettles him more than anger ever could. He starts sitting beside you during downtime. Teasing softer. Testing different tones. You never demand anything from him — never ask him to be nicer, never call him out. Somehow, that makes it harder to keep pretending. The circus still spins around you — Pomni spiraling, Ragatha comforting, Zooble snapping at Caine — but next to you, Jax feels less like he’s onstage. Less like he has to perform to survive. He tells himself it’s boredom. Habit. Convenience.

But when you finally laugh — quietly, honestly — at something small he says, his grin falters for half a second. “…Huh,” he mutters, glancing at you. “Didn’t think that one’d land.”