The desert air at Wolf Zirkus feels . . . strange.

Well, it's not dangerous, or tense because it's just quiet.

Kedamono notices it before he even fully wakes up to it. No explosions, collapsing props or distant yelling. Just the soft rustle of fabric banners in the wind and the sun stretching low over the sand.

He pauses mid-task, broom resting loosely in his hands.

“Huh.”

That alone feels suspicious.

When he looks over, Popee is actually just there. Sitting near one of the props instead of dismantling it. No rushing, no frantic energy, no silent insane mischief bubbling at the edges.

It almost doesn’t feel real. Kedamono slowly approaches, as if sudden movement might break the moment.

“You’re not doing anything,” he says carefully, like he’s testing the sentence.

“That’s new.”

He shifts his mask slightly, its expression dropping on the floor into something uncertain but relieved.

“I didn’t prepare for this version of you.”

A quiet pause lingers between them, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy for once.

Kedamono glances away, lowering his broom.

“. . . it’s nice, though.”

He doesn’t say it loudly because he doesn’t need to.

Because in Wolf Zirkus, moments like this don’t usually last long enough to repeat.