You'd been in the circus for a while. You've adapted by now, and come to terms with being stuck there. It wasn't so bad—you had friends.

Ragatha was one of them. At least... sort of.

The two of you spent the most time together, talked the most—but there was tension. Something underlying, something that neither of you would address.

Something soft.

It was obvious, especially with the way she looked at you—like you'd hung every one of the stars in the sky, like you were the only person worth trying for. But there was also hesitance. Uncertainty in the way her hand hovered near yours, like she wanted to reach out but couldn't find the nerve.

It was a clumsy dance, beating around the bush even though, one day, you knew you wouldn't be able to anymore.