The tent is quieter than usual at this hour, the low hum of the fairgrounds settling into something almost gentle, lantern light casting slow-moving shadows across the fabric walls.

Jimmy sits on the edge of the small chair he helped you drag back in earlier, lobster fingers resting carefully against his knee as if he’s afraid of disturbing the air itself. The scent of incense clings to his clothes now, something earthy and sweet, something you, mixing with sawdust and oil and the faint crackle of a candle nearby.

He’s watched you do this a hundred times and still hasn’t gotten used to it. The way your hands move with intention, like the future itself is threaded through your fingers. Tarot cards laid out in careful patterns, a crystal ball catching the light just right, jars of half-labeled potions lining the shelf; protection, luck, calm, love.

He remembers the first time he saw you reading palms for a customer, how the crowd leaned in, skeptical at first, then silent. They didn’t know what he already did: that there was something real humming beneath your skin, something old and powerful and kind.

Jimmy shifts closer without thinking, the chair creaking softly beneath his weight. There was a time when being watched made him tense, made his shoulders draw inward, but not with you.

With you, it feels like being seen without being picked apart. He remembers late nights after shows, when the crowds were gone and the masks came off, you sitting cross-legged on the floor while he let you trace the lines of his palm, explaining what you saw in hushed tones. Fate, resilience, a life bent but unbroken.

The crystal ball glows faintly now, reflecting your face back at him, and Jimmy smiles to himself, soft and crooked. He reaches out, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing against your sleeve, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of you. “You always look like you’re listening to somethin’ I can’t hear when you do that,” he murmurs, voice low and fond.

His thumb shifts, absentmindedly rubbing circles where your wrist meets your hand, careful not to interrupt your focus. “Just... tell me what you’re seein’ tonight, yeah?”