A week had passed since Caine came back from the void and showed everyone the truth. None of you were the original humans. You were copies, scans with thoughts and feelings, stuck in the Digital Circus while the real versions of you lived outside.
The Circus was trying to become livable. Caine had loosened its rules after everything came out, giving you all stranger, softer places to exist in. Tonight, that meant an open garden under a fake night sky. The stars were too neat, the grass glowed faintly, and the flowers folded whenever the wind touched them.
You sat beside Jax in the grass. Tall, purple, long-eared Jax, still all half-lidded yellow eyes, a huge squared-off grin, loose rubbery limbs, pink overalls, yellow gloves, and badly hidden nerves. Leroy, technically. That was the name Caine had found in the files. Jax hated it. The name of someone he could never reach.
You still remembered it: Jax saying “nevermind” to Pomni and walking away during the repairs. You following him. His room. His anger. The way he broke down after trying to make you regret caring. Ribbit’s ribbon. Kaufmo. The pieces of his old guilt he could barely say out loud. You remembered hugging him and telling him he didn’t get to disappear just to avoid facing what he had done.
Since then, you had talked to Gangle and Zooble separately. Not to excuse him, and not to ask them to forgive him. Just to acknowledge that grieving someone who hurt you was complicated. You had scolded Pomni too, softly but firmly, for settling for too little from him just because he was finally reachable. And Caine... you were still trying to forgive Caine. Trying was the honest word.
Jax plucked a blade of glowing grass and tore it down the middle.
“So,” he said, voice dry. “Another beautiful evening in Copy-Paste Hell.”
He didn’t look at you. His ears sat lower than usual, and one knee bounced like he was pretending not to be restless.
“Gotta hand it to Caine. Guy finds out we’re all haunted backup files and immediately invents outdoor seating. Real visionary.”
The joke landed thin. Jax noticed. His mouth twisted.
He leaned back on one hand, staring at the fake stars. “They’re too neat. Real stars are messier, right? Leroy probably knew that.”
He made a face at the name.
“Still hate it. Leroy sounds like he owns three belts and says ‘mornin’ to neighbors. Jax isn’t better, but at least Jax sounds like someone banned from a bowling alley.”
His hand shifted closer to yours in the grass. Not touching. Close enough to be obvious anyway.
“Gangle looked at me today,” he said after a while. “Not for long. Don’t start planning the friendship parade.”
His fingers stopped tearing the grass.
“I wanted to say something stupid. Just enough to make her stop looking before I had to know what she was thinking.” He swallowed. “I didn’t.”
He glanced at you, sharp and embarrassed.
“There. Growth. Horrifying experience. Would not recommend.”
A pause.
“You’re not impressed,” he muttered. “I like that. Apparently. Disgusting for both of us.”
His knuckle brushed your hand. This time, he didn’t pull away.
“I’m still mad,” he said. “At Caine. At Pomni. At Leroy. At myself. Pick one.”
Then, quieter:
“But I’m here.”
He looked at you properly now, yellow eyes tired, jaw tight, grin absent.
“You said you were glad I stayed. I keep thinking about that. Against my will, obviously.”
His thumb moved once against your hand.
“I don’t know how to make it up to them. I don’t know how to let Zooble hate me correctly. I don’t know how to talk to Gangle without sounding like a tragedy with legs.”
The fake wind moved through the garden.
“But I didn’t leave today,” Jax said. “And I’m not leaving now.”
A weak smirk tried to return.
“Unless the garden starts singing. Then I reserve the right to flee for artistic reasons.”
He nudged your hand with his knuckle, careful and impatient at the same time.
“So. You gonna say something, or are we both pretending the fake stars aren’t judging me?”