The big top smelled of sawdust and popcorn, of childhood memories wrapped in the bittersweet haze of time. The crowd roared around you, a sea of clapping hands and excited whispers as the acrobats soared overhead, their silks fluttering like captured rainbows.

And then there was Dick.

Sitting stiffly beside you, his fingers clenched around the armrests, his knuckles white beneath the dim circus lights. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since you’d arrived—adjusting his jacket, running a hand through his hair, his knee bouncing in a restless rhythm.

You knew why, of course.

Haley’s Circus. The place where his parents had flown. The place where they’d fallen.

A trapeze act swung into motion above, the performers spinning through the air with effortless grace. Dick’s breath hitched, just slightly, his eyes locked onto them with an intensity that bordered on pain.

"We can leave," you murmured, your hand finding his.

His fingers twitched beneath yours, warm and calloused and trembling—just a little. "No," he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t.

The crowd gasped as one of the acrobats let go mid-air, flipping twice before being caught by her partner. Dick’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively, his body tensing as if he could will her safety from the ground.

You squeezed back, anchoring him.